Penguin hung up the phone with a baffled look on his face.
He looked down at himself, turned to look at his phone, then turned back to the gangsters standing by at the door, unable to tell who had gone crazy.
There were few people in the Gotham Police Department he had failed to win over, and James Gordon was one of them. That was why Penguin paid him special attention. He knew Gordon was like a dinosaur egg: as fragile-looking as a chicken egg on the surface, but once he found an opportunity, Penguin would be in deep trouble.
Fortunately, he had a weakness. As Penguin ran his fingers along the edge of his phone, he thought that people with weaknesses were always easy to manipulate. Gordon's incorruptible nature could be used to his advantage, after all. Gotham's political scene was no stagnant pool, and plenty of people had their eyes on the seat beneath Gordon's ass.
If he wanted Gordon to become a useful old musket, he had to keep a firm grip on the trigger named Barbara. The name of an Assassin was about to leave Penguin's lips.
But then he reconsidered. What had Gordon meant by that last phone call? It sounded like a provocation: there were only two months left until the election, and he still had a whole mess of problems to clean up.
But such a provocation benefited no one. Gordon would want to resolve the trouble at the docks and on the streets more than anyone, because those places contained essential public infrastructure.
And Gordon was a good cop, so even if those territories were under Penguin's control, he would still do everything he could to protect them.
Their interests aligned on that point. Gordon was not the type to call someone