Chapter 153 Party and Umbrella (Part 4)

"Why do you..." Cobert looked at Schiller with a gloomy face, and then suddenly he reacted, frowned and cursed: "Damn it..."

He turned his head to look at Schiller again, but he did not see the expression on Schiller's face that the police had successfully interrogated him. On the contrary, Schiller was really looking at him with doubts, which made Cobert feel humiliated.

Cobert pursed his lips, stretched his neck, tilted his head, moved his shoulders, and then said: "Untie the straps on my arms first, it makes me a little uncomfortable..."

I thought Schiller would refuse, but Schiller stood up without hesitation, walked to his bedside, untied the straps on the armrest, and just after untying one hand, Cobert couldn't wait to move his arm.

His right hand was tied with a splint. Schiller reminded him: "Because of the delay in treatment, your right hand fracture has become very serious. If you delay for two more days, there will be a risk of amputation, so tie it first."

Cobolt muttered in a low voice, as if cursing something. When Schiller turned his eyes, he suddenly seemed to be choked and kept silent.

Schiller sat back in his seat, picked up the medical record, and said: "Come on, let's talk about this issue. From the layout of the crime scene, I can feel that you are in a hurry. Can you tell me what you encountered?"

Cobolt wrinkled his nose and raised his lips, which made him look a little fierce. He seemed to want to refute Schiller's point of view, but he felt that he shouldn't say so much to a strange psychologist.

"Let me hear your criminal ideas. After all, you have spent so much effort to do so many things. If there is no audience, wouldn't it be a pity?"

Cobert grabbed the guardrail with his intact arm. He tilted his head and stared at Schiller and said, "You damn psychiatrist..."

Cobert admitted that Schiller's words were more useful than any interrogation method of the police.

Schiller looked at him with a smile. He knew very well that any criminal who appeared on the Gotham stage in the future was a fundamentalist in the criminal world.

They have their own pride in crime, such as the sophistication of the method, the way the results are presented, the misleading effect on the onlookers, etc., and they hope to achieve perfection in all aspects.

Every criminal plan they implement will focus on these issues and hope that someone can see their genius creativity.

They firmly believe that a crime without an audience is not a perfect crime.

Cobert's reason told him that it was not a good idea to tell everything at this time. If Schiller really recorded the audio, he would probably not be able to escape the trial.

But he just couldn't bear it. Another voice in his heart told him that Schiller was a person like him. He would definitely be a good listener, who could understand the exquisite criminal process that ordinary people couldn't understand, and could understand his uniqueness.

Soon, Cobert couldn't help it, and he said: "It was an accident, if it wasn't..."

Cobert paused, as if he was organizing his thoughts, then he relaxed his whole body, lay on the bed, stared at the ceiling, and began his story.

"...It was a complete accident that I met the Godfather. My father was a well-known gangster in the East District. After his death, the territory and property that should have been inherited by me were divided up by those jackal-like gangs..."

"My mother moved me back to the old house near the living hell to protect me, but we still couldn't live in peace. My father's former enemies chased us again and again..."

"It was one night. I was washing dishes in a bar in the East District. When I came out, I was surrounded by people. They were about to shoot. A car passed by, and Mr. Falcone was sitting in it. He stopped the gang and drove them away..."

"The Godfather saved you?"

"Yes, I was only 12 years old at that time, but I was very thin and looked even younger. He might not like them shooting a child. Anyway, at that time, I met the Godfather..."

"I don't know him How did he see that I was worth training? I was thin and small, in poor health, not good-looking, and not good at getting along with everyone, but the Godfather still helped me secretly..."

"So, when he needed you, you went to kill for him?"

Cobert said expressionlessly: "What's wrong with that? He saved me. I know that this is nothing to him, but killing is nothing to me..."

"I have to say that you did a very experienced job in the case of old Edward. You don't look like a novice. Can you tell me about that day in detail?"

Cobert shook his head and said: "That all depends on the prestige of the Godfather. No one dares to act wildly in his territory. This is not something worth praising..."

"Okay, let's get to the point. All you did should not be drifting with the tide. What do you want to do?"

"I want to get rid of the control of the Godfather." Cobert said shockingly.

"To be precise, it's not the old Godfather..." Cobert added: "I am willing to work for Falcone and kill for him, but only Mr. Falcone..."

"I knew some time ago that the old godfather wanted to abdicate and pass the power in his hands to his son, Falcone the Younger."

Cobert snorted and said disdainfully: "But he can't do that. Falcone the Younger is not as good as his father. There will be no future if he follows him."

"The new godfather will inherit the old godfather's position, and naturally he will also inherit his property and connections, which naturally includes me, but I think Falcone the Younger is too far behind. I don't want to follow him..."

"Why do you think so?" Schiller asked him.

"Before, he wanted to reform, and he made a mess of the territory given to him by the old godfather."

"He is full of motivation, but he has no goal. He is tough but lacks thinking. In short, he is not cut out for this."

"So, what did you do?"

"I know that the old godfather is not dead yet. It is impossible to get rid of him by tough means. I will die."

"I have received his favor and killed people for him. Maybe it seems that we are even."

"But everyone in Gotham knows that once you do this kind of thing, you can never get ashore again. You either die or go all the way to the end."

"But I don't want to be a legacy. Part, and then listen to the instructions of the new Godfather, or in other words, the stupidity of the new Godfather will not only kill himself, but also kill me. I don't want to die, so I want to leave. "

"When the Godfather asked me to come to the living hell and keep an eye on this place, I realized that the opportunity had come..."

"My first target is the Mooney Gang." Cobert raised his voice and said, "I have to gain a foothold here first and find out the situation before I can make subsequent plans. So I joined the Mooney Gang and followed Fish's orders. It took me a short time to figure out everything here."

Cobert's words gradually became fluent, and when he mentioned this aspect, the future Penguin talked endlessly.

"When I finished the preliminary investigation, the Muni Gang was no longer a good place to stay, because Fish's territory was compressed layer by layer, and the scope of activities began to become very small. I couldn't collect enough intelligence. At this time, I couldn't let the Godfather think that I didn't work hard."

"So, I found an opportunity and got in touch with Kevin. Yes, it wasn't him who chose me, but I chose him..."

As Cobert continued to narrate, his voice echoed in the ward, and his recent life became a drama, presented in front of the two.

As his words fell, the red curtain opened, and behind it was the narrow corridor of the living hell.

Cobblepot and Kevin stood in the corridor. The short and hunched Cobblepot said to Kevin in a flattering manner: "Mr. Kevin, please be kind and patronize my business..."

The tall Kevin looked up, took a pack of cigarettes from Cobblepot, opened it and looked at it, and said: "Are you a new cigarette dealer? I haven't seen you before. You must be the man of that crazy woman, right?"

"Yes, yes..." Cobblepot nodded impatiently, then he rubbed his hands a little embarrassedly and said: "I am also forced to make a living. There are too few people buying cigarettes in the South District, otherwise I would not take the risk to come here..."

"How much do you sell a pack?"

"Seventy cents, Sir, only 70 cents. "

Kevin raised his eyebrows in surprise and said, "70 cents? What's going on? The small cigarette vendors here sell cigarettes for 90 cents or one dollar. Why are you selling them so cheaply?"

Kevin looked at the pack of cigarettes again and took out a cigarette. Cobert came over to light his cigarette and said, "Actually, I can still make money. I'm active in the south and north at the same time. It takes 1 hour and 20 minutes to walk around. I can sell about 6 to 7 packs of cigarettes. Even if the profit of each pack of cigarettes is only 10 cents, I have 13 hours a day to move, and I can sell an average of..."

Kevin took a puff of cigarette, exhaled the smoke, and shook his head up and down He looked at Cobert and said, "You can calculate? That's amazing. The little brats I met selling cigarettes couldn't even calculate the change..."

Cobert still nodded and smiled, and inadvertently revealed that he had studied in the wealthy area of ​​the South. He kept chatting with Kevin. After Kevin smoked two cigarettes, he felt a little proud. He pinched the cigarette butt and said, "I think you are good. There is no good result if you follow Fish, that crazy woman."

"Go get me two packs of good cigarettes, and I will let you work at the shipping port on the second floor. You will get a commission of three cents for every 10 pieces, which is much more than what you earn from selling cigarettes."

Cobert looked overjoyed, and Kevin Wen curled his lips and said, "Little brats like you who have weak arms and legs, besides running errands to buy newspapers and cigarettes, can only count..."

"Those little bastards count wrong every day, their brains are not as smart as rusty bolts, and they make me lose money, so don't be lazy and play tricks on me..."

As the smoke from Kevin's cigarette gradually dissipated, the curtain slowly closed, and Schiller turned his head to Cobert and said, "I can hear that you have done a good job so far."

"Using your small stature, you pretended to be the most common kid selling cigarettes and running errands in the living hell, and inadvertently showed your ability in calculations, and successfully switched to Kevin's place."

"But that's not all I want."

The curtain opened again, and the cartons piled higher and higher. Bills flew out of Cobert's hands, passing through the narrow corridor of the living hell, passing in front of the shipping port, on the stairs for transporting goods, and in the back kitchen of the restaurant. A thin figure shuttled between them.

The last piece of paper "slapped" on Cobert's face. When he took the paper off with his hand, his eyes reflected the gorgeous neon lights of a restaurant sign.

"You should not lie about this part." Schiller commented: "I can see that you really want to open a restaurant."

Cobert, who was lying on the bed, moved his lips. He was silent for a while, and then said: "Yes, but this is not what I should consider now."

"What I have to think about now is that as a runner, my road at the bottom has come to an end. Next, I have to find a way to become a manager."