Leaving Gotham’s East End, a rust-covered light rail train rumbled across a bridge, passing over the murky Gotham River as it headed straight for downtown.
Inside the empty fifth carriage, seven or eight Romans gang members in suits occupied an entire row of seats.
After Oswald finished handing out food from a paper bag, he sat down beside Will and handed him the last hot dog.
“You look distracted.”
Will shook his head without answering.
He accepted the piping-hot hot dog wrapped in old newspaper, blew on it a few times, and put it into his mouth.
“When I first got into this business, I was just as lost as you are.
But every time I saw Mr.
Maroni, I’d be filled with energy…”
In Oswald’s description, Maroni was elegant and charming.
The way he carried himself with a cane made him look as though he had walked straight out of The Godfather as Michael Corleone.
“When I take Mr.
Maroni’s position, I’m definitely getting myself a cane that beautiful.”
Will nodded.
For some reason, hearing those words from the Oswald of this period felt completely natural, as though the owner of that name had been born to make something of himself.
The light rail stopped at a station.
When the passengers who boarded saw this group of suited thugs, they fled into the other carriages as though they had encountered the plague.
Only one elderly man, hunched over, sat down opposite them.
The old man’s hair was white and sparse.
His wrinkled coat gave off a sour, rancid smell, and he clutched a paper bag tightly in his hands.
Perhaps he was hungry.
He kept staring at the half-eaten hot dog in Will’s hand.
“Do you want some?”
Will wasn’t particularly hungry, so he handed the food over.
The old man nodded.
He mumbled something incomprehensible before taking the hot dog and wolfing it down.
“Are you satisfied now?
If you are, then get lost!”
Oswald suddenly spoke, having watched coldly from the side.
He sneered as he pulled a pair of brass knuckles from inside his jacket and threatened the old man, frightening him into the corner of the carriage.
“The Romans aren’t some charity organization.
We have to maintain a hardline attitude toward outsiders.
Otherwise, anyone will think they can push us around.”
He put away the brass knuckles and explained to Will.
“I don’t want to see something like this happen again.”
Will could only nod in agreement.
But the little incident wasn’t over yet.
The old man in the carriage was still wolfing down his hot dog when a hand suddenly reached out from beside him and grabbed for the paper bag in his arms.
The old man instinctively protected the bag.
The moment he raised his head, he was slapped across the face.
The three young men causing trouble had wandered over from another carriage, bringing with them the foul stench of stale alcohol.
Violence happened every day in the corners of Gotham.
The Romans, who were in the middle of a conversation, merely glanced over without surprise.
None of them had any intention of sticking their noses into someone else’s business.
The old man refused to let go of the paper bag, so the three young men dragged him to the floor and kicked and punched him.
Will’s fists tightened more and more.
But just as he was about to get up, Oswald pushed him back down.
“Did you forget what I just said?”
Oswald’s brows knitted together, his eyes gleaming coldly beneath the shadows of his eye sockets.
The old man’s cries echoed through the silent carriage.
“It’s a little noisy.
I just want to remind them to keep it down.”
“That’s a pretty novel excuse.
If you really feel that way, then go ahead.
The glory of the Romans will support you from behind.”
“Boss, you’re really letting Will go?
Those guys reek of booze.”
The companion sitting nearby looked at Oswald in confusion, clearly implying that drunk people weren’t exactly known for being rational.
“It’s his first time out.
Let him experience the hospitality of Gotham.”
…
The three young men were having so much fun that they didn’t notice anyone approaching.
It wasn’t until one of their companions was grabbed by the collar and slammed against the carriage window by Will that the remaining two hurriedly pulled out knives.
“You’re a Roman?
We haven’t done anything to you!”
“You guys are a fucking eyesore!”
Will looked at them disdainfully, tilting his head and twitching the corner of his mouth.
Over these three months, he hadn’t done much fighting while collecting rent, but he had learned the arrogant facial expressions of gang members remarkably well.
Falcone’s name carried considerable weight in Gotham.
The young men’s eyes darted about as they hunched their backs, looking as though they might run at any moment.
“Got it.
We’ll behave ourselves.
Please let him go!” one of the young men said.
Their respectful attitude caused Will to lower his guard.
He had no idea that the young man being restrained had already pulled a dagger from his pocket.
An undercurrent of tension surged through the carriage.
The light rail was about to enter a station, and its speed began to slow.
The young man suddenly drove an elbow into Will’s face.
Then, gripping the dagger in reverse, he viciously stabbed toward Will as he staggered backward and fell.
Just as the blade was about to plunge into Will’s lower abdomen, a black figure suddenly burst out from the side.
A flying kick.
A scream.
The young man was kicked to the ground, while the dagger that flew from his hand traced a graceful arc through the air before landing in Oswald’s hand.
“Tell me.
How many cuts do I need to carve into those pretty little faces before you’ll learn justice and humility?”
The moment he finished speaking, every Roman member rose from their seats in unison.
These men were hardened veterans.
Some even had blood on their hands.
The intimidating aura they radiated was something a greenhorn like Will could never hope to match.
The young men tried to escape, but the passage was blocked by the crowd of onlookers.
The reckless idiots were quickly subdued.
“Morris, open the carriage door.”
“Yes, boss!”
The underling named Morris jammed the dagger into the gap between the carriage doors.
Amid a piercing alarm, a torrent of rushing air poured into the lifeless carriage.
The area connecting the carriages was already packed with onlookers.
Everyone knew what fate awaited these three bastards.
But nobody tried to stop it.
Not even a word was spoken.
The young men wailed and begged for mercy.
One of them even wet himself.
The young men were thrown from the train.
The area beneath the bridge immediately became lively.
The sound of heavy objects hitting the ground and vehicles screeching to a halt rang out, but it was quickly left behind by the speeding train.
The carriage returned to silence, as though nothing had happened.
The paper bag in the old man’s pocket had been torn apart during the struggle.
Blood stained the corner of his mouth as he lay on the floor, gathering the pieces of cake scattered everywhere.
It was supposed to be a cake for his wife.
The words “To My Dear Jeannie” had become crooked and misshapen along with the collapsed cream, resembling maggots crawling across a corpse.
“That’s a good excuse, but you need to learn to let go of that useless compassion.”
Seeing that Will was staring at it in a daze, Oswald thoughtfully reminded him.
The train stopped in the city center.
The moment Will stepped off the platform, he was surrounded by skyscrapers in every direction.
Glass curtain walls reflected dazzling light.
Luxury cars sped down the streets.
Well-dressed pedestrians held their heads high, their strides firm and confident.
Even though there was only a river between them, Will felt as though he had crossed the boundary separating hell from heaven.
“Straighten your back, my friend.
We represent the Romans, after all.
We can’t let people look down on us.”
Oswald adjusted Will’s collar for him and gave him a mysterious wink.
…
Inside a rented apartment in North Harbor, Gotham City
An old man pushed open the half-closed door.
“Jeannie, I’m back.”
The apartment was silent.
“There’s some bad news.
The cake I prepared for you got ruined.
But there’s some good news too.
I met an interesting fellow.”
After clearing his throat, the old man’s voice was no longer hoarse and muddled.
He walked into the bathroom, and faint rustling sounds drifted out from inside.
From behind, it looked as though the old man was tearing at his hair in front of the mirror.
A human-skin mask appeared in his hands.
“He helped me.
He gave me half a hot dog, and he even stepped in to teach three thugs a lesson.”
“Who would have thought there could still be someone like that in Gotham?
How amusing.”
The apartment remained silent.
A pair of gleaming dress shoes kicked aside the dust swirling through the air as he stepped into the living room.
“Jeannie, so you were home all along!
But why aren’t you saying anything?”
The dress shoes walked over to the sofa, where he took the withered corpse’s hand.
His pale face stared directly into those hollow eye sockets, as though trying to dig something out from within them.
After silently staring at each other, he slowly raised two fingers and inserted them into the corpse’s mouth, struggling to pull the shriveled lips into the shape he wanted.
“Come on, darling, give me a smile!”
“Why so serious?”