"Hello? Put me through to the Godfather, thank you."
"Good afternoon, Godfather. I'd like to discuss a business deal with you..."
In the office of Arkham Asylum, Schiller put down the phone. He tugged at the cord, blew the dust off the receiver, then poured himself a drink. Picking up the old-fashioned phone, he turned the dial and said, "Hello? Brand? You made it to Hawaii?... No, don't worry. Enjoy your vacation. I can handle it."
A while later, Bruce walked in and placed a stack of documents in front of Schiller. Schiller said, "Work's over. Want a drink?"
"Thank you, I don't drink."
"You look a little worn out."
"After all, I haven't slept in nearly fifty hours."
"Of course. That giant Bat-Lamp you built has been lighting up constantly lately. All of Gotham knows there's a Batman now."
"But..." Bruce sighed. After hesitating, he said, "I'll have a drink. Thank you."
"What could make Batman drown his sorrows?"
Bruce said, "I don't think I should have done this. Bats don't light lamps. They shouldn't light lamps."
Before Schiller could ask, Bruce continued, "I set up six Bat-Lamps across Gotham. Over the last few days, they went off twenty-five times. Nineteen of those were pranks."
"So I designed security measures for them. After that, I received twelve calls for help, all from gangs shooting it out, asking me to back them up."
"When I refused to let gangs use them, they desperately tried to destroy them. Of course, I designed security protocols, and they worked pretty well. Then poor people and beggars started pressing them, and the next day, the gangs killed them."
Bruce covered his face. He took a deep breath, then drank. With difficulty, he swallowed the liquor and said, "People beyond saving won't let anyone else