Chapter 158: The Party and the Umbrella (5)

Schiller learned from Cobblepot the entire process by which he rose to become a minor boss in the North District.

He had to admit that Cobblepot was a genius, especially in scheming—his plans were meticulous, his thinking clear, his execution strong, and his acting superb, always assuming the right persona at the right moment to deceive everyone.

When he was with Fish, he acted as if he despised the invading gang bosses, like a native fiercely defending his own territory.

But after switching to Kevin's side, he began denouncing Fish's inhumanity, claiming these gang bosses' land-grabbing was profoundly just, a salvation for the citizens trapped in hell.

Fish learned of his betrayal and was, of course, furious—but Cobblepot had given these gang bosses a pretext for righteous plunder, so they had to protect him, even elevate him as a symbol, raising him as high as possible to prove that under their rule, even a weak, unskilled cigarette vendor could gain status and power, demonstrating that Fish's reign over Hell's Kitchen offered no way out.

Cobblepot made himself the very example these gang bosses wanted to showcase—not only securing his own rise, but also driving an ever-deepening wedge between Fish and the bosses, bringing them to the brink of open war.

"And then? What did you do next to make Kevin fear you?" Schiller asked Cobblepot. Before Cobblepot could answer, Schiller added: "In your previous version, you said Kevin feared you'd seize his position—but there's a flaw here…"

"These gang bosses with brains like bricks rarely fear a civilian. Most believe only guns pose a threat—and you? You're not physically strong, you have no armed force. Kevin, a traditional boss who only respects fist size, wouldn't suddenly fear you for no reason."

Cobblepot opened his mouth but didn't answer Schiller's question; instead, he asked: "Instead of this, why do you know them so well?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you…" Schiller turned, picked up a notebook from the table behind him, flipped through it, and said: "Let me see…"

"Of all the current gang bosses in Hell's Kitchen, only one has no hospital record—the other five were all patients here, including Kevin. I saw him in the hallway…"

"Isn't this a psychiatric hospital?" Cobblepot stared, eyes wide.

"Then do you think they're not insane?"

Cobblepot drew a breath—he realized he had no reply. Schiller was right: in Gotham, if you didn't have some madness, how could you become a gang boss?

"Alright, I'll continue…"

"From the start, my goal was to accumulate capital. Even if I escaped the Godfather's control, I couldn't go back to wandering the streets. I couldn't build a gang from scratch—I had to steal an existing one…"

"I began winning loyalty within Kevin's gang, using my computational skills. My water fees were always higher than others', yet undetectable. I bribed low-level staff with petty gains to gain convenience, earned more money, then used larger sums to bribe mid- and high-level staff…"

"I hadn't planned to move so soon—but a fool, sloppy in his duties, slipped up during a report to Kevin and revealed I'd embezzled extra water fees."

"As you said, these gang bosses don't care about unarmed men—but they care about money."

"Knowing I'd stolen water fees, Kevin flew into a rage, vowing to kill me. Only the intervention of several high-level men I'd bribed prevented him from acting immediately."

"But I knew I had to act early—Kevin wouldn't tolerate me much longer."

"Your experience is still insufficient," Schiller concluded. "In Gotham, don't rely on others—they accomplish nothing and only bring trouble."

"I understand now," Cobblepot snorted coldly.

"But even so, you didn't need to return to Fish. Couldn't you have killed Kevin yourself? You had plenty of opportunities."

"But that wouldn't solve the problem."

Cobblepot's tone grew weary. "That place is a quagmire. If I killed Kevin and took his place, such a massive leadership shift would destabilize the gang."

"Several wolves are circling. If the gang falters internally, they'll swarm in and carve up its territory."

"I can use cunning to kill one Kevin—but I can't kill them all. To rise and stabilize the gang, to deter them, I needed outside force."

"So you returned to Fish?"

"Exactly. At that time, Fish could still communicate—she wasn't yet fully insane. I confessed to her and offered to help her coordinate externally."

"Fish was still volatile, but her mind was clear. The prospect of profit moved her, and so we began our alliance."

In this scene, the initial light came from a mirror—inside it, Cobblepot wore a brand-new suit, tie fastened, resembling Gotham's gang bosses more closely.

His figure moved among the Munich Gang and other gangs: one moment he was enthusiastically advising Fish, the next he was feigning loyalty to Kevin.

Above Hell's Kitchen, the penguin's still-juvenile face appeared—he extended his hand, fingers strung with fine threads holding several puppets. As his soul moved his fingers, the puppets danced within the strange, eerie buildings, like a horrifying party.

"Then, I found an excuse to lure Kevin out of Hell's Kitchen. Fish killed him in an alley just outside." Cobblepot's voice returned.

"As we'd planned, Fish created a commotion to distract the other gang bosses, and I seized Kevin's territory during the chaos."

"And then?" Schiller adjusted his glasses and said to Cobblepot: "Kevin's dead, you've taken his territory—everything went smoothly…"

Cobblepot shook his head. "That never happened."

"I can't handle the recoil of any powerful firearm—I can only use a pistol. I have no talent for fighting. I can't survive by brute force."

"But Gotham's gangs live by brute force—especially these bottom-tier gangs. Too many people resented my position. I had to endure Fish. I needed her to eliminate the troublemakers."

"But she became more and more insane. She went mad, do you understand?" Cobblepot looked at Schiller. "This woman lost all reason—she became a monster who only abused and beat others!"

"So you just endured her abuse?"

"Of course not…" Cobblepot's facial muscles trembled, making his expression cruel. "The crazier she got, the better—without a mind, she could only be controlled."

"She beat me constantly—but it didn't matter. After her fits, she fell into paralyzing fear that everyone wanted to betray her. Only I could speak to her."

"I could make her kill anyone—just whisper that someone had betrayed her." Cobblepot let out a string of quiet chuckles.

Center stage, Fish sat on a wooden crate, her eyes bloodshot, lips cracked, her body stiff like a puppet.

Cobblepot's face was covered in bruises, yet he showed no fear—only a cold smirk as he leaned close to Fish's ear, naming one person after another. Her arms began trembling uncontrollably. This madwoman, driven mad by delusions of betrayal, swore to kill everyone who had betrayed her.

Gunshots rang out in succession. One shadow after another collapsed at Cobblepot's feet. Blood pooled beneath his soles. He wiped the blood from his lips, raised his head, his eyes blazing with mad triumph.

"But why did you later change your strategy?"

"I didn't lie," Cobblepot said, meeting Schiller's eyes. "Maroni approached me—even though I didn't know who he was at the time."

"He told me he'd previously struck at the Godfather's assets and had become mortal enemies with the Falcone family. He didn't want to see the Falcones reform Gotham, so he wanted to sabotage the first step of their reform."

"He knew I controlled the North District's water system, so he came to me, asking me to poison Hell's Kitchen's water supply."

Cobblepot's tone grew colder: "By then, Fish had begun to lose control—she was nearly useless."

"We devised a plan together: kill Fish and frame Little Falcone."

"That makes no sense," Schiller asked Cobblepot. "Your goal was to escape the Godfather's control, not to anger him. Don't tell me you thought this could topple the Godfather and win you freedom."

"Of course not. I'm not that stupid."

"Maroni?" Cobblepot snorted through his nose. "He thought I'd truly cooperate with him? Of course not. I saw he was a shameless hyena."

"We made a plan—but I had my own plan too."

"I suppose now you'll talk about you and your mother?"

"Yes."

The curtain opened again. As Cobblepot spoke, the scene returned to his family's old house.

Thin, gasping, Cobblepot slumped in the center of the living room, facing a scene of utter chaos.

Mrs. Cobblepot swung a chair wildly at the floor, mumbling incoherently.

Cobblepot grabbed a rope, trying to bind his suddenly psychotic mother—but she shoved him to the ground. He crashed into a table, cried out in pain—then Mrs. Cobblepot swung the chair and struck his right arm.

Cobblepot rolled across the floor, knocking over a cabinet. Items scattered everywhere.

Yet he struggled to his knees, thought for a moment, then staggered into the room, retrieved sleeping pills, slipped past his mother as she smashed things, walked to the living room coffee table, dropped the pills into a pitcher of water, and hid in the corner.

After an entire night passed, Mrs. Cobblepot finally calmed from her manic state. The fading euphoria brought exhaustion and thirst. She followed instinct, drank the entire pitcher of water laced with sleeping pills.

Minutes later, as the drugs took effect, Mrs. Cobblepot collapsed onto the sofa, asleep. Cobblepot walked over and dragged her off the sofa.

Schiller covered his forehead, interrupting Cobblepot. "Clearly, your mother and you both suffer from paranoid schizophrenia… Never mind—I can't expect you to understand such things."

"I can only say you did practically nothing. Even without sleeping pills, a patient emerging from mania collapses into exhaustion-induced sleep."

But Cobblepot suddenly sat up nervously, propping himself on the pillow to meet Schiller's gaze. "Can this illness really be cured?"

"I said it can," Schiller paused, then added: "But only for you—you're young. For your mother…"

He shook his head. "Complete recovery is impossible. At best, you can ensure mostly normal life—but when she relapses, she must be hospitalized."

Cobblepot exhaled as if relieved. Before Schiller could ask more, he said: "As you suspected, it wasn't a kidnapping scene—or rather, I kidnapped my own mother."

"It was part of my plan. I intended to send my mother away myself, then frame Maroni."

"I'd saved enough to rent a new apartment. I didn't need to take anything from the old house—but my mother refused to leave…"

"We argued. She grew more agitated, then went mad. I had no choice…"

Cobblepot gritted his teeth. "I didn't understand what was wrong. She'd been occasionally delusional before, but never this severe."

"She was completely out of control—even picked up a fruit knife and stabbed herself. I feared she'd hurt herself, so I made her sleep, then forcibly moved her to the new apartment."

"Why not take her to the hospital?"

"I had no time," Cobblepot said grimly. "I argued with my mother all day, she went mad all night—those hours were meant for setting up the scene."

"My deadline with Maroni arrived. I had to execute the plan. I hadn't cleaned the house, hadn't treated my arm—I rushed out…"

"Alright, then why fabricate the lie that Maroni kidnapped your mother?"

"That was the plan. I'd never truly cooperate with that hyena. Don't forget my ultimate goal: freedom."

"Then what exactly was your plan?"

Suddenly, Cobblepot changed course. "A few days ago, I noticed a strange figure moving through Hell's Kitchen. I'd heard his name before—he's called Batman…"

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