Chapter 5: Old Joey

Before meeting the head of the Falcone family, it was necessary to deal with the feed; it must be said that this is a good habit. 

Soon, Parker met Old Joey. 

However, this person seemed to arrive a bit too quickly; just as Dr. Zi Liang was halfway through his cigarette, the sound of the clinic door being pushed open echoed from the end of the hallway. 

At first glance, Parker could clearly tell that this man was a pig farmer... not the kind of farmer who supplies meat to a canning factory, but the most primitive, least efficient, and most time-consuming kind of “pig farmer.” 

His appearance was fairly rugged, looking like a big European man, over 40, with a commanding dark brown beard, but not a single hair on his head. His upper body was bare, and it was evident that he must have been quite fit in his youth, but now he was just a mass of fat. Wearing a thick leather apron that was covered in various disgusting remnants of food, a greasy belt was strapped around his massive beer belly, and a rusty butcher knife was slanted into his waist. 

“Hahaha—big harvest!” he laughed heartily, adjusting the belt that was sagging under his belly. 

Parker could clearly see the excitement shining in this man’s eyes. 

“Okay, I have things to attend to; when you’re done, help me close the door.” Zi Liang said, then gave Parker a look, signaling him to leave. 

“Oh...” Parker responded in a daze, then, as if he couldn’t shake off his confused state, followed Zi Liang. 

He trailed behind the doctor, stepping over the scattered limbs, walking down the hospital corridor toward the entrance. Within those few meters, the bloodstains that had stuck to his shoes seemed to be quickly absorbed into the floorboards. 

The hospital door was pushed open, and Parker stepped into the gray night, a cool breeze brushing against his face, making him feel as if everything he had just experienced was an absurd dream. 

...

...

The elegant environment and exquisite cuisine were the hallmarks of this restaurant. If accompanied by a beautiful violin piece, it would be even more wonderful. 

But at this moment, in this restaurant that should have been bustling with patrons, there was only one table of guests. 

“Listen, even the most rude diners can hardly be unmoved by such music; this is music, a wonderful language that transcends any communication barriers.” A slightly graying man sat at a round table, unabashedly praising the violin, shoving a meticulously cut piece of steak into his mouth, letting out a satisfied hum. 

This man was Carmine Falcone, the current head of Gotham City’s largest gang. 

Across from him, there was also a plate of steak that looked incredibly delicious, the sauce mingling with steam, seemingly enticing people to devour it. 

However, the person sitting in front of that steak had no appetite whatsoever. After all, he had to use all his effort to suppress the pain coursing through his body; otherwise, one moment of relaxation would lead to a scream. 

“Aren’t you going to take a bite?” Mr. Falcone asked, then gently sipped his red wine, seemingly indifferent to the battered face of the man across from him, which was almost unrecognizable. 

“Alright, if you don’t want to eat, then forget it.” He said: “But I must clarify that I am a very fair person; your money will be transferred to your account as scheduled, but since this prison break plan was unsuccessful, you’ll have to pay a price for it, right?” 

As soon as he finished speaking, a man in a suit walked over behind the bruised and battered fellow, pulled out a handgun, and pressed it against his head. 

“Ugh ugh ugh ah ah—” The man seemed to be crying, trembling uncontrollably, trying to say something, but when he opened his mouth, it revealed a row of battered teeth mixed with blood, only producing muffled sounds. 

Mr. Falcone waved his hand dismissively... 

“Bang!” 

...

However, that sound wasn’t a gunshot but the sound of the hall door being pushed open and crashing against the wall. 

Everyone was startled by the noise and immediately drew their guns, aiming at the door. 

They saw a man in a white coat, looking as if he were suffering from kidney deficiency, nonchalantly staring at Mr. Falcone, then walking straight over. 

Perhaps because this person didn’t carry a gun and looked harmless in his doctor’s white coat, none of the bodyguards immediately opened fire. 

Zi Liang walked up to the dining table, amidst a crowd of astonished gazes and dark gun barrels, and patted the poor guy who looked unrecognizable: “Hey, brother, make some room.” He said. 

For a moment, that man couldn’t figure out what was happening; perhaps he thought it was improper for him to just yield his seat, but his body, driven by fear, hurriedly wanted to escape, resulting in a clumsy stumble that left him flat on the ground. 

“Thanks.” Zi Liang sat down satisfied, as if he hadn’t noticed the dozen or so guns pointed at him: “Hello, Mr. Falcone.” 

Mr. Falcone looked at this unarmed doctor, puzzled: “Hello, what do you want?” 

“My name is Zi Liang, a doctor.” He said, adjusting his white coat: “Let me get straight to the point; Mr. George Parnes, who escaped from prison a few days ago, is dead.” 

“How do you know?” Falcone asked, momentarily taken aback. 

“I killed him.” 

A silence fell... followed by... 

“Click click click—” 

A series of bullets being chambered sounded behind his head, and Zi Liang felt several guns pressing into his messy hair. 

Falcone seemed a bit surprised to hear such an answer; he stared at Zi Liang for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. 

Of course, it was a cold laugh. 

“Ha—you might have gotten your information wrong; the person you killed wasn’t my enemy but my cousin.” 

“Oh, then I’m truly sorry.” Zi Liang said, pointing at the steak in front of him: “This looks good; is it prepared for me?” 

Falcone’s expression darkened like mud accumulating in a sewer; even the most composed person wouldn’t have a reaction upon hearing that their brother was dead... 

But he was ultimately a deeply calculating gang leader. 

“I think you’re not the kind of person who would get information wrong, so I’m giving you ten seconds now; you can either explain yourself or say your last words.” Falcone said coldly. 

Zi Liang picked up the knife and fork on the table, cut a piece of steak, and stuffed it into his mouth, then paused, seemingly taken aback by the deliciousness. 

“You know, I’ve been in Gotham for three months, and it’s only with this steak that I feel like I’m in a place where people can live.” He said. 

Falcone finally lost his composure; he jumped up, quickly drew a gun, and aimed it at the still-cutting Zi Liang: “You have five seconds left.” 

“Hey, hey, don’t get excited.” Zi Liang said, then pulled out a notebook from his pocket, starting to flip through it: “Let me find it... oh, found it, Falcone’s wife, named Carol Dela, loves shopping, raising dogs, and yoga, every Friday night she goes to a high-end beauty salon for skincare, and she is a VIP there, and every VIP has the right to reserve a luxurious temporary lounge on the third floor of the salon...” 

“Bastard, what the hell are you trying to say?” Falcone gritted his teeth, squeezing those words out between them. 

“Oh, I’m getting to the point.” Zi Liang flipped to another page in the notebook and continued: “And coincidentally, Mr. George Parnes, your cousin, also goes to a boxing training camp every Friday night; he loves boxing, which you should know, but strangely enough, the schedule shows that his training coach doesn’t work on Fridays...” 

At this point, Zi Liang didn’t know if it was intentional, but he paused. 

Five seconds had long passed, but Mr. Falcone didn’t pull the trigger. 

Zi Liang, not caring about his image, licked his fingers and flipped to another page: “That beauty salon’s lounge has a refrigerator, complete bathing facilities, soft carpets, and a bed that is 3 meters long and 2.5 meters wide...” 

“Bang!” 

This time, the gun went off. 

But it seemed Zi Liang’s head didn’t explode; instead, the poor guy who had been crouched over, not knowing his name, clutched his chest, struggled a few times, and then breathed his last. 

“Take him away.” Mr. Falcone said. 

The bodyguards quickly understood his meaning, so soon, the entire hall was left with only Zi Liang and Mr. Falcone. 

Mr. Falcone still held his gun tightly: “Who are you? Why are you investigating me?” he asked. 

“I thought you’d thank me for getting rid of your cousin.” Zi Liang mumbled. 

“The truth of your words, I will find out myself; now please answer the question...” 

“Alright, I’m a doctor.” Zi Liang stuffed a large piece of steak into his mouth, mumbling: “As for why I’m investigating you... to be honest, I only heard your name for the first time about two hours ago.” 

Falcone looked at Zi Liang’s eating manner, seemingly hesitating about something. After a long while, he finally said softly: “You should have come to me for more than just to tell me this nonsense.” 

Zi Liang stuffed another piece of steak into his mouth, then wiped his mouth with the tablecloth. 

“I know you guys want to invade Arkham Asylum, and I think I can help you.”

Chapter 6: Partners

“What makes you think you can help me?” Falcone asked.

Zi Liang sighed helplessly. “You see, this is why I don’t like making deals with you second-rate players. You know you can’t do a lot of things, yet you still waste time questioning others.”

“Second-rate players?” Falcone clearly didn’t like that label.

“Yeah, you might think you’re a big deal, and in some ways you are—controlling the largest gang in the city, with thousands of members under your command, living a wealthy life while taking lives without a second thought. But honestly, you’ve always been a second-rate, even a third-rate player, because no one pays attention to you. Have you ever thought about it? If Gotham were a book, 90% of the readers wouldn’t remember your name... Can you pass me a drink?” Zi Liang continued.

“Gotham... is a book? Haha, that’s an interesting metaphor. I’m curious, according to you, who would be the protagonist of this city? Commissioner Gordon? The Mayor? Or someone else?”

“None of them. It’s those... freaks,” Zi Liang mumbled.

“Freaks?”

“Yeah, those neurotic patients with bags over their heads, burn victims with choice phobias, and the weirdos who fly around at night in capes, suffering from chronic insomnia.”

Mr. Falcone seemed momentarily stunned, then suddenly laughed. “Haha, I know who you’re talking about, but they’re not exactly what you’d call protagonists. They’re all dead, missing, or locked up in Arkham Asylum. Even before they were locked up, their power was nowhere near mine; they were too busy robbing banks.”

“You’re right, but whether you believe it or not, you really are a second-rate.”

“Alright, I’ve lost interest in your metaphor, so either you tell me why you want to help me quickly... or you can die.” Mr. Falcone picked up his gun again, and who wouldn’t suspect that he would pull the trigger the moment he heard something he didn’t like?

Zi Liang remained unfazed, stuffing the last piece of steak into his mouth.

“That’s a good question. The reason I’m helping you is that there’s someone in Arkham Asylum I need to rescue.”

“Oh? Who do you want to save?”

“This... I actually don’t know,” Zi Liang replied.

Mr. Falcone’s expression darkened. “Are you kidding me?” he said, shaking the gun in his hand.

“Of course not.” Zi Liang flipped through his notebook. “Oh, this person is Death Row inmate number 21. Do you have anyone under you who knows who inmate number 21 is?”

“There was supposed to be one, my cousin, but you killed him a few days ago.”

Zi Liang frowned, looking a bit frustrated. “Uh, that’s awkward.”

“Alright, I don’t want to talk about his death anymore. Now, the next question is, why should I cooperate with you?”

Zi Liang closed his notebook. “Because you still have several important gang members locked up in Arkham Asylum. You should have succeeded in a breakout a few days ago, but for some reason, you failed. Now you urgently need someone who can help you from the inside and the outside to attempt another prison break…”

“You seem to know quite a bit… but are you saying... that the person who can help me from the inside is you?”

Zi Liang nodded as if it were obvious.

“Well, here’s the problem—do you not understand the meaning of ‘inside and outside’?” Mr. Falcone said. “You’re sitting right in front of me; how can you help me from the inside?”

Zi Liang lazily leaned back in his chair, looking quite satisfied. “Why not? Arkham Asylum houses the most dangerous criminals in this city, so if all goes well, tomorrow I can do something random on the street and get myself locked up.”

“You want to get yourself locked up?” Mr. Falcone paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Hahaha—are you crazy? But suit yourself. Now, let’s return to the original question: why should I believe what you’re saying?”

“You don’t need to believe me just yet because you don’t have to do anything for me, whether it’s going to prison, causing chaos inside, finding a way to escape, or mapping out a route for your armed men to storm in. I’ll handle all of that myself. You can sit here and enjoy your steak or go home and have a nice chat with your wife about your cousin. That’s entirely up to you. All you need to do is wait until I open the doors of Arkham Asylum, and then you can lead your ‘Roman Empire’ in to rescue whoever you want or eliminate whoever you want. You can believe me then.

All I need is to find my inmate number 21 and bring him out. It’s that simple. I think you can figure out this deal.” Zi Liang spoke slowly, then pointed to the wine bottle next to Mr. Falcone. “Now, can you pour me a drink?”

Falcone silently stared at the doctor in front of him for a long time. Finally, he said, “Heh, I really can’t refuse this deal.” His attitude shifted dramatically as he pushed the wine bottle toward Zi Liang.

“You know, you remind me of someone,” Falcone said.

Zi Liang grabbed the bottle and took a big swig, smacking his lips. “Who?”

“A madman, always dressed in a purple suit, telling jokes that aren’t funny at all... just thinking about him makes me feel uncomfortable.” Falcone said, subconsciously twisting his neck. “But thankfully, he’s dead. The whole of Gotham saw him cremated.”

Zi Liang chuckled oddly. “Is that so? What a pity. But you might just see him again someday.”

He said...