Chapter 69: Black Sun and Bat Lamp (Part 2)

"Hello? Please transfer me to the Godfather, thank you."

"Good afternoon, Godfather. I want to discuss a business with you..."

In the office of Arkham Psychiatric Hospital, Schiller put down the phone, pulled the phone line, blew the dust on the receiver, and then poured himself a glass of wine. He picked up the old-fashioned phone, dialed in circles, and then said: "Hello? Brand? Are you in Hawaii?... No, don't worry, enjoy your vacation, I can handle it."

After a while, Bruce came in and put a pile of documents in front of Schiller. Schiller said: "It's time to get off work, do you want a drink?"

"Thank you, I don't drink."

"You look a little haggard."

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

"Of course, the giant bat spotlight you just made is always on recently, and the whole Gotham knows that there is a Batman."

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

"What can make Batman drink to relieve his sorrow?"

Bruce said: "I don't think I should do this. Bats don't light up lights, and they shouldn't light up lights."

Before Schiller asked, Bruce said: "I set up 6 bat lighthouses throughout Gotham. In the past few days, they have lit up 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 gang fights, asking me to support them."

"I didn't allow gangs to use them, so they tried their best to destroy them. Of course, I designed security procedures, and the effect was pretty good. There were poor people and beggars who pressed them, and then the next day, they were killed by gangs."

Bruce covered his face, he took a deep breath, and then took a sip of wine. He swallowed the wine with difficulty and said: "There is no one who can be saved, and no one is allowed to be saved. If this is Gotham, I have to say, well, I thought too simply."

"I just knew... no bat would light up a lamp." Bruce said finally.

"I suggest you take a few days off. If you encounter a problem, sacrifice your rest time to solve it. Then if you encounter a new problem, continue like this. This is a vicious cycle. You have to stop. It's useless."

Bruce said tiredly, "Okay, I'll go back to sleep and come to work tomorrow to copy medical records, answer the phone, make 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 American coffee and started reading a paper.

After a while, a female nurse knocked on the door and came in, saying, "Doctor, Andre in Room 5 on the second floor has been making noises. He has been asking the nurse to increase the dose of morphine analgesics, otherwise he will complain to us."

Schiller didn't even raise his head and said calmly, "Give it to him at three times the market price, and five times if he makes more noises."

Bruce almost choked on his coffee.

"Bird on the third floor wanted us to prescribe him headache medicine. He made a fuss last night."

"Tell him that the pill seller fell from the guardrail yesterday and hit his head on the ground. Now there is no stock."

"The one in Ward 6..." Schiller flipped through the file and said, "...Hall is from Gore. Does he have some connections? Ask him to send someone in. We will take 70% and he will take 30%. "

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 is out? ... Yes, the last bottle is with me. Who said he had a bar that day? Let me see... No. 1 on the fourth floor, let him get a line from the bar and tell him not to fool with watered goods, otherwise I will give him a diagnosis sheet with permanent treatment recommendations..." Schiller hung up the phone, then picked up the receiver and dialed a number, saying to the other end of the phone: "Tell them that killers are not allowed to enter. If you want to enter, you must have a gate pass, which is 100,000 US dollars per pass, 50,000 for the gate of the inpatient department, and 30,000 for wear and tear fees for floors above the third floor. If you buy a full set of gift packages, you will get a security patrol map..." "Hello? Yesterday the equipment department said that the brain wave machine was broken. Who is No. 2 on the fifth floor? Old Band from the East District? Donate a machine and let him take the person away. Come over to get rehabilitation recommendations later." After hanging up the phone, Bruce said: "Professor... "

Before he finished, the phone rang again. Schiller picked it up and said, "Hello? ... Didn't you reach an agreement? Tell him that the twin brothers in the south offered 500,000 US dollars, 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 security of Arkham Asylum is now the responsibility of the Falconet family. If he wants to force his way in, then let him come. 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 tomorrow? ... No, no, that little vulture can't make much money. He is much worse than his father. Let him go to prison. I don't accept junk here... He got his father's property? Okay, leave him Ward 7 on the second floor... What? Diagnosis? That's another price..."

"...Drag the remaining three to next month, and let the judge find a reason, such as diarrhea or something, there is no room on the fifth floor... There is another policeman? A black policeman? Discovered?... We accept mental patients here, not intellectually disabled people. If you want to come in, go to his old employer..."

"Who else? No, he can't... Already arrested? Then let the police put the evidence back and find that guy named Brock, he will understand..."

After Schiller finished his work, he looked up and Bruce was looking at him. His eyes were very complicated, with a little shock of "how can this be" and a little 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 Black Glove to provoke some wealthy gangs, and then asked his police chief to arrest and try them. I gave them a mental illness diagnosis certificate and had them hospitalized. As for the future, it depends on whether their boss or their enemy pays more."

Bruce stared at Schiller, who 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 wasn't joining, but he created 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 he was even better than his teacher.

But Bruce couldn't say anything. The only ones hurt by this perfect Gotham industrial chain were the gangs.

From the perspective of results, the gangsters were cheated out 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 leaders would even say thank you to him!

They thought Bruce was a doctor and could prescribe painkillers for them. Some gang leaders 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 get involved.

Once, Bruce followed Schiller to see a case. During the break, he heard the gang leaders 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 gives you this illusion?"

Batman remained silent, and Schiller ignored him. He turned around, lowered the head of the woman's bed, and 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 deep voice echoed in the ward.

Schiller paused and said:

"Don't be disappointed. The black sun is also the sun. Bats don't light lamps, but in the dark, the lamps lit by bats are also lamps."

The cold light shone on the white sheets of the hospital. 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 pitch-black bat with pointed ears.

Bats don't know how to light a lamp. He doesn't even have a lamp that can illuminate himself. There has never been a lamp in the world that lights up for him. There has not been a single firefly for many years.

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, looking at the dotted, almost invisible lights in the darkness. He thought, if this absurd city will never have 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 a lamp lit by him.

A lamp that is useless even if it is lit.

A lamp lit by a bat.