The days of being a spiritual mentor in Meiman

"Hello? Help me transfer to Godfather, thank you."

"Good afternoon, godfather. I want to make a deal with you..."

In his office at the Arkham Insane Hospital, Schiller put down the phone. He tugged at the cord, blew the ashes off the receiver, poured himself a glass of wine, picked up the old-fashioned phone, dialed in circles, and said: "Hello? Brand? You're in Hawaii? ... No, don't worry, enjoy your vacation, I'll take care of it."

After a while, Bruce walked in and put a stack of documents in front of Schiller. Schiller said, "I'm off work, would you like a drink?"

"Thank you, I won't drink."

"You seem a little haggard."

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

"Of course, that giant bat spotlight you made recently has been on all the time, and the whole of Gotham knows there's a Batman."

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

"What would make Batman drink away his sorrows?"

Bruce said: "I don't think I should do it. Bats don't light lights at all, and they shouldn't light lights."

Before Schiller could ask, Bruce said, "I set up six bat beacons all over Gotham, and they went on 25 times in the last few days, 19 of which were hoaxes."

"So, I designed insurance for them. After that, I received 12 calls for help, all of which were gangsters fighting, asking me to support them."

"I don't allow the gangsters to use them, they just try to destroy them. Of course, I designed the security program, it works well, there are poor people and beggars to press them, and then the next day, they are killed by the gangsters."

Bruce covered his face, he took a deep breath, then took a sip of the wine, he swallowed the wine with difficulty, and said: "No one is saved, and no one is allowed to be saved. If this is Gotham, I want to say , well, I thought it was too simple."

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

"I suggest you take a few days off, and when you have a problem, you sacrifice your time off to solve it, and then you encounter a new problem, and it continues. It's a vicious cycle. You have to stop. It doesn't help."

Bruce said a little tiredly: "Okay, I'll go back to sleep and come to work tomorrow, copying medical records, answering the phone, making ward 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 us and came in and said, "Doctor, Andre in Room 5 on the second floor has been making noises all the time. He has been asking the nurse to increase the dose of morphine analgesic, otherwise he will complain to us." .”

Schiller didn't even raise his head, and said flatly, "Give it to him, three times the market price, and five times the noise."

Bruce almost choked on his coffee.

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

"Tell him that the seller of pills fell off the guardrail yesterday and hit his head on the ground, and he is out of stock now."

"The one in Ward 6..." Schiller flipped through the files and said, "...Hall belongs to Gore, does he have some connections? Let him send someone in, and we'll be seven and three."

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

"Hello? The supply of whiskey is cut off?... Yes, the last bottle is with me. Who said that he had a bar in his hand that day? Let me see... No. 1 on the fourth floor, let him lead a line from the bar and tell Don't fool him with water, or I will give him a diagnosis list for permanent treatment recommendations..."

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

"Tell them that killers are not allowed to enter. To enter, you must have a gate pass, one hundred thousand dollars, one for the inpatient department, fifty thousand for the gate of the inpatient department, and an additional thirty thousand for wear and tear on the third floor, buy a full set of gift packages and get a security patrol map... "

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

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

Before he could finish speaking, the phone rang again, and Schiller picked it up and said, "Hello?... Didn't agree? Tell him that the twin brothers in the south offer $500,000, and it's not a buyout. If he doesn't agree, then He doesn't want to get a penny from the wine business here."

"Hello? No, the Falcone family is responsible for the security of the Arkham Asylum. If he wants to break in, let him come. The godfather says hello to him."

Just as Schiller hung up the phone, Bruce saw the timing and said, "Is there something wrong..."

"Hello? How many people are there tomorrow?... No, no, that little vulture can't squeeze out much oil, it's far worse than his father, let him go to prison, I don't collect junk here... He got his father's property Alright? Well, Ward No. 7 on the second floor is left for him... what? Medical certificate? That's another price..."

"...Delay the remaining three until next month, let the judge find an excuse, diarrhea or something, there is no place on the fifth floor...there is a policeman? A black policeman? Was it discovered?...Our collection Mental illness, mental retardation is not accepted, if you want to come in, you can go to his old club..."

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

After Schiller finished his work, when he looked up, Bruce was staring at him, his eyes were complicated, a little bit of shock of "how could this be so", and a little bit of contempt of "as expected".

"Don't look at me, the hospital is working fine now, isn't it?"

"but……"

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

"I made a deal with Falcone. He manipulated black gloves to piss off some oily gangsters, and then asked the chief of police under him to arrest and interrogate them. I gave them a psychiatric diagnosis certificate and admitted them to the hospital. As for later , it depends on whether their boss or enemy pays more money."

Bruce stared at Schiller, who spread his hands and said, "What? It's incredible? Or do you really think I'm a good guy like Harvey? What makes you have this illusion?"

Bruce was speechless.

In the next few days, Bruce watched as Schiller couldn't beat him and joined... No, he didn't join, but 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 better than blue.

But Bruce couldn't say anything, this perfect Gotham industry chain, only the gangsters were injured.

In terms of results, the gangsters were cheated of money, the Arkham Mental Hospital quickly established order, the medical staff were safe, and the gangsters in the hospital were even more obedient. The mob boss will fucking say thank you to him!

They thought Bruce was a doctor who could prescribe painkillers for them. A few gangsters saw that he was close to Schiller, and they handed him cigar covers every day, trying to make Schiller let go and let them bring in the thread .

Once, Bruce went to follow Schiller to see the case. During the break, he heard the gang boss next door chatting.

"Colt is a bad boy, a complete bastard, he got his own absinthe, and had the other one smashed up, just to monopolize the liquor business here, he and the twins clashed..."

"Let me tell you, he did it very neatly. After all, it is a big business worth several million dollars."

"There are really so many?"

"The red head downstairs earned 20,000 yuan a week by selling cigarettes here! Who doesn't smoke here? Who doesn't smoke cigars? He can get good goods from the pier, and some people come in specially to get these A smuggling line..."

"Room 2 also made a lot of money. No one knows that he got lucky and hooked up with His Excellency the Godfather. Next season, he will have another restaurant."

"When the nurse comes over later, put out the cigarettes, be careful not to offend those girls, they are all black widows under the hands of Mother Heart..."

What he saw in this hospital in the past few days made Bruce feel extremely complicated and tangled.

Bruce thought, what would he do in his place? He thought for a long time, and then admitted that he really didn't think of a more efficient and aboveboard method.

One night, Schiller was in the ward and said to a woman without feet: "It's not bad, the medicine is already working, and the hyperactivity will disappear soon..."

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

His voice is very suitable for such a night, always with a kind of calm strength.

Schiller turned around and found Batman standing behind him. Batman said in a low voice, "Why did she get transferred here?"

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

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

"You seem to be surprised, why? You don't think I'm only in league with gangsters, do you? What makes you have this illusion?"

Batman remained silent, and Schiller ignored him, turned around, turned down the head of the woman's bed, and pulled the sheet up.

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

"For this ungrateful city, for those who don't deserve to be saved and won't let you save anyone?"

"Do you think the decision of Bat Light 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. It is true that bats do not light lamps, but in the dark night, the lamps lit by bats are also lamps."

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

Outside the window, the night lights in Gotham were still dim. Schiller straightened up and turned his head to look out the window. Batman saw that Schiller was against the light, and the moonlight cast a long shadow behind him.

Batman looked up, and he saw his shadow on most of the walls and ceiling, a pitch-black bat with pointed ears.

Bats don't know how to light lamps. He doesn't even have a lamp that can illuminate himself. There has never been a lamp in this world for him, and there hasn't been a single firefly for many years.

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

Batman also looked out of the window, at the dotted, almost invisible lights in the pitch blackness, he thought, if the sun won’t rise one day in this city full of absurdities, then at least, in the last days On the night before yesterday, in this cold night with dimly lit lights, there were still his lamps.

A light that is useless and useless is also bright.

A lamp lit by a bat.