A Moron's Boss

Wilson Fisk was a fat man—though such a simple word could hardly accurately or vividly describe that exaggerated figure.

He had an enormous frame unlike that of an ordinary person, a face full of flesh, and clothes that had to be custom-made because no store carried sizes that fit him. Sitting alone at a dining table, he could take up the space of two people—possibly three.

Most astonishingly, that build did not give people the immediate impression of "fat." Instead, he looked solid, like a mountain formed from piled boulders.

It was easy to imagine that when such a giant became enraged, anyone facing him would feel as though they stood before a volcano erupting all its lava over their heads. Yet surprisingly, Fisk looked remarkably amiable under normal circumstances.

At least, that was the impression Wilson Fisk left on Richard when they first met. Fisk wore a smile throughout, his expression relaxed rather than stiff. When the other person spoke, he looked at them with a polite gaze that did not make them uncomfortable, and he never interrupted before they had finished.

Even knowing full well that this man was a crime boss, Richard had to admit that having dinner with him was a very relaxing experience. It seemed there was a reason this man had climbed to his current position.

"You weren't originally from New York?" Fisk asked as he cut off a small piece of steak with a silver knife.

Richard noticed that this man's table manners were actually quite proper. He had previously imagined Fisk eating steak by grabbing an entire half-cooked slab and gnawing directly on it.

"No." Richard shook his head.

"I was born and raised in New York," Fisk said to himself as he ate his steak. "I've seen every side of this city. Its good parts... and its bad parts. Honestly, these days, there may be more of the latter."

Richard said nothing, quietly waiting for him to continue.

"Outsiders mostly see only the glamorous side of this city. Its skyscrapers, its bustling streets, all its beautiful sides. But many people cannot see its dark side... its true face."

Fisk set down his knife and fork and looked out the restaurant window. Beyond it lay a stretch of black river water, silent and still, yet so deep that its bottom could not be seen, as though it could swallow any secret.

"I have watched this city change with my own eyes." As Fisk spoke, his fist unconsciously clenched around the silverware. "I watched it fall, decay, watched crime breed across it like bacteria. I saw good people struggle to get by in this city, while bad people lived freely and comfortably, holding positions of power.

This city is sick, terribly sick. Many of the people living in it recognize that problem, but everyone has tacitly chosen silence, chosen to yield and compromise. Crime has grown ever more rampant in the face of increasing tolerance, becoming lawless..."

Watching Fisk deliver this impassioned speech, Richard could not help feeling dumbfounded. Fisk reminded him of those loyal ministers in ancient poems, filled with patriotic fervor and eager to serve their country, yet tormented by corrupt officials and wicked villains running rampant.

But weren't you supposed to be on the side of the corrupt officials and villains? Didn't you get the role wrong?

Listening to Fisk passionately denounce rampant crime felt like Qin Hui writing an inscription for Man Jiang Hong. The whole thing was bizarrely out of place.

Fisk continued, "I used to be like everyone else, indifferent to all of this. To some extent, that made me an accomplice as well, helping crime along. It fills me with regret, with anger, as though... as though I should bear responsibility for the rampant crime we see today."

Richard sneered.

Keep pretending. You say that as if you shouldn't be responsible.

"So I decided that this cannot continue. Saving this city is our duty, Mr. Li. Yours and mine, and the duty of everyone capable like us."

"I believe you're right," Richard said.

"That is precisely why we need to make changes. In fact, you can contribute more than I can in this regard," Fisk said. "You see, I am merely a businessman. All I can do is provide money. But you—you can do far more than I can. All I can do is invest some money and build a school, a hospital, or a library. But you are different. You can make people think, guide their thinking, and help them make the right decisions.

That is why I sought you out, Mr. Li. I have a series of plans for New York... an ambition, you might call it. I will devote the work of half my life to making this city a better place with everything I have. But I cannot do it alone. I need the support of others."

Richard understood.

After all that circling around, Fisk was really just hoping that the Daily Planet would put in a few more good words for him in the future and say something favorable about him. After all, the Daily Planet's reputation and influence were growing by the day. Fisk had surely taken notice of that.

Richard raised his glass and smiled faintly at him. "Of course. If our little newspaper can contribute to Mr. Fisk's grand plan to build a better New York, we would naturally be duty-bound to help."

Considering how much money the man had given them, saying a few kind words was only proper... at least until they caught Fisk with evidence against him.

Richard figured that if one day his reporters happened to uncover evidence of Kingpin murdering someone or something, then it would hardly be his fault.

Still, for tonight, the two of them got along quite well. Whenever Fisk brought up New York's crime and darkness, he spoke with such deep hatred that for a moment, Richard nearly believed him. And when he spoke of his profound feelings for New York and his determination to reform it, he did not seem to be putting on an act, as though he were truly thinking about the city's future from the bottom of his heart.

Perhaps Fisk really did love this city in his own twisted way.

But Richard felt the main reason he could sit there chatting so happily with him was because this fat man had bled money for the newspaper.

Richard had always wanted to install a golden globe model on the roof of the newspaper building, one that could rotate on its own—just like the newspaper where Superman worked.

That was what deserved to be called the Daily Planet. It was practically a landmark of Metropolis. How cool was that?

He had never had the money for it before, but now things were different. The most troublesome part of the problem had been solved.

Just as Richard was happily chatting with Fisk, a group of men who clearly meant trouble barged into the restaurant despite the servers' attempts to stop them. The man at their head wore black clothes and had a thick beard. He strode straight through the restaurant and sat down at their table.

Several other men silently surrounded him. Each wore dark sunglasses and had an extremely arrogant expression, their faces practically screaming, "Who does the boss want taken out?"

"You're Richard?" the bearded man asked arrogantly.

"Do we know each other?"

"You may call me Viper."

Richard suddenly understood. "Oh, so you're the boss of those morons. A pleasure to meet you."