Chapter 69 Black Sun and Bat Lamp (Part 2)

"Hello? Call me Godfather, thank you."

"Good afternoon, godfather. I would like to discuss a business deal with you..."

In the office of Arkham Psychiatric Hospital, Schiller put down the phone. He tugged on the phone cord, blew the ash on the receiver, and poured himself a glass of wine. He picked up the old-fashioned phone, dialed in a circle, and said: "Hello? Brand? Are you in Hawaii? ...No, don't worry, just enjoy your vacation, I can take care of it."

After a while, Bruce walked in and put a stack of documents in front of Schiller. Schiller said, "It's time to get off work. Do you want a drink?"

"Thank you, I won't drink."

"You seem a little haggard."

"After all, I haven't slept in almost fifty hours."

"Of course, that new giant bat spotlight you got has been on lately, and the whole Gotham knows that there is a Batman."

"But..." Bruce sighed, he hesitated and said, "Have a drink, thank you."

"What can Batman drink to drown his sorrows?"

Bruce said: "I don't think I should do it. Bats don't know how to light lights and they shouldn't light lights."

Before Schiller could ask, Bruce said: "I have set up 6 bat beacons throughout Gotham. In the past few days, they lit up a total of 25 times, 19 of which were pranks."

"So, I designed insurance for them. After that, I received 12 requests for help, all of which were from gangs who wanted me to support them."

"I didn't allow the gangs to use them, so they tried their best to destroy them. Of course, I designed the security program and it worked well. There were poor people and beggars pressing them, and then the next day, they were killed by the gangs."

Bruce covered his face, took a deep breath, and then took a sip of wine. He swallowed the wine with difficulty and said, "Those who cannot be saved will not be allowed to be saved. If this is Gotham, I have to say , well, I thought it was too simple.”

"I knew... no bat could light a lamp," Bruce said at last.

"I suggest you take a few days off. When you encounter a problem, you sacrifice your rest time to solve it. Then you encounter a new problem and continue like this. This is a vicious cycle. You have to stop. This is not beneficial."

Bruce said a little tiredly: "Okay, I'll go back to sleep and come to work tomorrow. I'll copy medical records, answer the phone, do rounds, whatever."

The next day, Bruce did go to work on time as he said. Schiller was already sitting in the office, drinking a cup of steaming coffee. Bruce also made himself a cup of Americano and started reading with a paper.

After a while, a female nurse knocked on the door and came in and said: "Doctor, Andre in Room 5 on the second floor has been making a noise. He has been asking the nurse to increase the dose of morphine analgesia, otherwise he will file a complaint against us. ”

Schiller didn't even raise his head and said flatly: "Give him three times the market price, and if you make more noise, it will be five times."

Bruce almost choked on his coffee.

"Bird on the third floor wanted us to give him headache medicine. He was in trouble all night last night."

"Tell him that the pill seller fell off the guardrail yesterday and hit his head on the ground. There is no stock now."

"The one in Ward No. 6..." Schiller flipped through the file and said, "...Hall belongs to Gower, does he have some connections? Ask him to send someone in, we will be seven and he will be three."

After the nurse left, before Bruce could speak, the phone rang again. Schiller picked up the phone while looking at the file.

"Hello? The supply of whiskey has been cut off?... Yes, the last bottle is here with me. Who said he had a bar in his hand that day? Let me see... No. 1 on the fourth floor, ask him to get a line from the bar and tell Don't fool him by cheating on him, or I'll give him a diagnosis sheet with permanent treatment recommendations..."

Schiller hung up the phone, then picked up the receiver and dialed, and said to the other end of the phone:

"Tell them that killers are not allowed to enter. To come in, they must have a gate pass, which costs one hundred thousand dollars. The door to the inpatient department is fifty thousand dollars. Above the third floor, there is an additional thirty thousand wear and tear fee. If you buy the full gift package, you will get a security patrol map... "

"Hello? Yesterday, the equipment department said that the brainwave machine was broken. Whose is No. 2 on the fifth floor? Old Bender from the East District? Donate a machine and ask him to take the person away. Come over later to get some rehabilitation advice."

After hanging up the phone, Bruce said: "Professor..."

Before he could finish speaking, the phone rang again, and Schiller picked up the answer and said, "Hello?... No agreement? Tell him that the twin brothers from the south are offering $500,000, and it's not a buyout. If he doesn't agree, then He won’t get a penny from the wine business here.”

"Hello? No, the Falcone family is responsible for the security of Arkham Asylum now. If he wants to force his way in, let him do it. The godfather says hello to him."

As soon as Schiller hung up the phone, Bruce saw the opportunity and said, "Is there something wrong with this..."

"Hello? How many people are there tomorrow?... No, no, that little vulture can't squeeze out much money. It's far worse than his father. Let him go to prison. I won't accept rags here... He got his father's property. Well, ward 7 on the second floor is for him...what? That's another price..."

"...Delay the remaining three until next month and let the judge find an excuse. Diarrhea or something. There is no room on the fifth floor...There is still a policeman? A rogue policeman? Has he been discovered?...We are here People with mental illness will not be admitted if they have intellectual disabilities. If they want to come in, they can go to their old employer..."

"Who else? No, he can't...has been arrested? Then let the police put the evidence back and find the guy named Bullock. He will understand..."

After Schiller finished his work, he looked up and saw Bruce staring at him. His eyes were complicated, with a bit of shock of "how could this be possible" and a bit of contempt of "as expected".

"Don't look at me. The hospital is running well now, isn't it?"

"But..."

Bruce opened his mouth. He wanted to question Schiller, but he didn't know where to start.

"I did a business with Falcone. He manipulated the black gloves to provoke some wealthy gangs, and then asked the police chief under his command to arrest and try them. I gave them a mental illness diagnosis certificate and let them be admitted to the hospital. As for the future, it depends on whether their boss or their enemy pays more."

Bruce stared at Schiller, and Schiller spread his hands and said, "Why? Do you think it's incredible? Or do you really think I'm a good person like Harvey? What makes you have this illusion?" <.

Bruce was speechless.

In the next few days, Bruce watched Schiller join in when he couldn't beat him... No, it's not joining, but creating a new Gotham-style industrial chain out of thin air with great creativity.

His good professor integrated into Gotham at the speed of light without looking back, and even surpassed his teacher.

But Bruce couldn't say anything. The only victims of this perfect Gotham industrial chain were the gangsters.

From the perspective of results, the gangsters were cheated of money, Arkham Asylum quickly established order, the medical staff were safe, and the gang members in the hospital were extremely well-behaved. When Bruce went to check on the ward, he found that the gang bosses would even say thank you to him!

They thought Bruce was a doctor and could prescribe painkillers for them. Several gang bosses saw that he was close to Schiller, and they handed him cigars every day to get close to him, hoping that Schiller would loosen up and let them bring in the clues.

Once, Bruce followed Schiller to see a case. During the break, he heard the gang bosses next door chatting.

"Colt is a bad boy, a complete bastard. He got his own absinthe and had another store smashed. He had a conflict with the twins just to monopolize the liquor business here..."

"If you ask me, he did a good job. After all, it's a multi-million dollar business."

"Is it really that much?"

"The red head downstairs made 20,000 dollars a week by selling cigarettes here! Who doesn't smoke here? Who doesn't smoke cigars? He can get good stuff from the dock, and some people come in specifically to get this smuggling line..."

"Room 2 also made a fortune. Who doesn't know that he got lucky and got in touch with the Godfather. Next quarter, he will have another restaurant."

"When the nurse comes over later, put out your cigarettes. Be careful not to anger those girls. They are all black widows under the Red Mother..."

In these few days, what Bruce saw in this hospital made him feel extremely complicated and tangled.

Bruce thought, if it were him, what would he do? He thought for a long time, and then admitted that he really didn't think of a more efficient and more aboveboard way.

One night, Schiller was in the ward, saying to a woman without legs: "Not bad, the medicine is taking effect, and the excitement will disappear soon..."

The woman was lying on the bed, very calm, or a little numb, as if she couldn't hear Schiller talking, but Schiller still said to himself: "There are a lot of cases recently, but it doesn't matter, the psychological treatment is almost over..."

His voice is very suitable for such a night, always with a calm power.

Schiller turned around and found Batman standing behind him. Batman said in a low voice: "Why did she transfer to this hospital?"

"You cured the beggar's physical problems and helped her complete the amputation surgery, but she had some congenital mental problems and was sent here before..."

Schiller glanced at Batman, his mouth corners were always down, compared to the daytime, he always looked cold and sharp, making it difficult to approach.

"You seem surprised, why? You don't think I'll just go along with the gangsters, do you? What makes you have this illusion?"

Batman remained silent, and Schiller ignored him. He turned around, lowered the head of the woman's bed, and then pulled up the sheets.

Schiller didn't look at Batman, but asked himself: "Are you disappointed?"

"For this ungrateful city, for those who are not worth saving and don't let you save anyone?"

"Do you think the decision of the Batlight is right?" Batman's low voice echoed in the ward.

Schiller paused and said:

"Don't be disappointed. The black sun is also the sun, and bats don't light lamps, but in the dark, the lights that bats light are also lights."

The cold light shone on the white sheets of the hospital, and Schiller leaned over and flattened the sheets at the corner of the bed.

Outside the window, the night in Gotham was still dimly lit. Schiller stood up and turned to look out the window. Batman saw that Schiller was facing the light, and the moonlight cast a long shadow behind him.

Batman looked up and saw that on most of the wall and ceiling was his shadow, a black bat with pointed ears.

Bats don't know how to light a lamp. He doesn't even have a lamp to illuminate himself. There has never been a lamp in the world that lights up for him. For many years, there has been no firefly.

But now, this bat still decided to learn to light a lamp for the dark night here, for this hopeless city.

Batman also looked out the window, at the little, almost invisible lights in the darkness. He thought, if this absurd city will never see the sun rise again one day, then at least, on the eve of the end of the world, in this cold night with dim lights, there is still the light he lit.

A light that is useless even if it is lit.

A light lit by a bat.