Weakness

"It's been a week already. Why hasn't a single person on my list died yet?" Wilson Fisk demanded furiously.

Jason Bullock, known as Man-Bull and recognized as one of Hell's Kitchen's deadliest men, stood before Fisk with his head lowered like a whipped dog, scarcely daring to breathe.

"Please calm down, Mr. Fisk. Things have developed far beyond our expectations." Man-Bull chose his words carefully. "We initially believed we only had the major families to deal with. We never expected the New York Police Department to interfere. We miscalculated and were severely unprepared for it. The police intervention has greatly reduced our opportunities to act. We can only wear down the major families head-on, so..."

Of course Fisk understood all that. Declaring war on New York's major families head-on was more than any organization could easily handle, even Kingpin. Their greatest advantage had been catching their enemies off guard and striking them down with thunderous force before they could react, but the New York Police Department's intervention had ruined that plan.

Oh, and there was that white-clad vigilante who had become active recently. Quite a few of Kingpin's men had been sent to the police department by that masked man. Still, people from every faction had been caught by him, so compared to everything else, the vigilante was not yet the primary threat.

The New York Police Department, on the other hand, had to be dealt with. If this head-on war of attrition continued, Kingpin's side would definitely be the first to buckle.

"George Stacy." Fisk ground his teeth. Come to think of it, the current tense situation was entirely because of that troublemaking new commissioner. If he had not been around, Kingpin might have already wiped out all his competitors by now.

Fisk found people overflowing with this kind of sense of justice the most irritating. They could not be bought, nor could they be negotiated with. They were the sort of idealists who were nearly extinct nowadays—people who fought "to uphold law and justice." The only way to deal with them was through force, making them the most troublesome kind.

Seeing his boss gritting his teeth in rage, Man-Bull immediately seized the chance to earn some credit. A vicious look crossed his face as he suggested, "Then leave it to me, boss. I'll take a few of our best men and take care of that clueless police commissioner..."

Fisk, already enraged, slapped him across the face. "Bullshit! We're talking about the goddamn police commissioner! Do you know what the consequences of killing a police commissioner would be?"

Man-Bull was a simple-minded brute with more brawn than brains. Whenever something happened, the solution that sprang into his mind was usually just one word—charge.

What? Someone was in the way? Then just kill him.

Fisk was enormously strong. That slap made Man-Bull's vision go black and left a swollen handprint on his face. Yet he did not dare lose his temper. He merely nodded again and again, agreeing—though it was unclear whether he meant Fisk had been right to slap him or right in what he had said.

Wilson Fisk was certainly ruthless, but he was no fool. He knew exactly what the consequences of rashly moving against a police commissioner would be. At this stage, Fisk had not yet dominated New York and did not possess the overwhelming influence he had in the original story. He still had to think carefully before dealing with a police commissioner.

But Fisk also had a terrible temper and held grudges fiercely. Commissioner Stacy had ruined his plans so thoroughly; if he simply let it go, he would not be Wilson Fisk.

Fisk dismissed Man-Bull. After pondering for a while, he suddenly turned around and asked, "Wesley, you said you were looking into Stacy before. What did you find? Is there anything we can use?"

James Wesley was a refined man with glasses, always dressed in a suit. At first glance, he looked like the sort of upper-class professional who moved among Wall Street circles, not someone who should be tangled up with gangsters.

In truth, James Wesley was indeed an elite professional. As an outstanding graduate of the University of Pennsylvania, Mr. Wesley had no need to run around worrying over Kingpin's affairs or handle a pile of shady business for the gang behind the scenes. With his qualifications and abilities, he could have found legitimate work and risen into high society just the same. The reason he was willing to remain at Kingpin's side and do these things was largely due to his deep friendship with Fisk himself.

James Wesley adjusted his glasses, stepped forward, hesitated briefly, and said, "There are things we could exploit, but I don't recommend doing so, sir. George Stacy is, after all, New York's police commissioner. Any action directed at him would cause..."

"I know that." Fisk waved a large hand, cutting him off impatiently. "Just tell me, Wesley. What's his weakness?"

Wesley sighed softly. He was Fisk's best—perhaps even only—friend, and naturally understood the crime lord's temperament. Once Kingpin made up his mind to do something, not even nine oxen could pull him back. No one could make him change his mind.

Wesley said, "All right. Commissioner Stacy has a daughter."

"A daughter?"

"Yes. She's still in elementary school. If we start there, perhaps we can find an opening." Wesley paused, but still tried to dissuade him. "But sir, I must emphasize that no one would want to do this. After all..."

"I know," Fisk said coldly. "But not everyone cares about a police commissioner's status. There are people like that in this city. If necessary, they could erase not only the commissioner of the New York Police Department, but even the mayor of New York City without batting an eye."

Wesley froze, seeming to suddenly think of certain people. His expression changed sharply.

"Sir, you mean..." He shook his head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, sir. We shouldn't involve them. It would only make the situation more complicated. Besides, they may not be willing to help."

"Everyone has a price. Some prices are simply higher than others," Fisk said. "I can promise them greater benefits. They'll be happy to do us this favor."

Without giving Wesley another chance to speak, Fisk waved his hand. "Enough. We'll do it this way. Trouble yourself with making the arrangements, Wesley. Contact those people and tell them I have a request. I hope we can sit down and talk."

Seeing that Fisk had truly made up his mind, Wesley knew there was no use saying anything more. He bowed helplessly and left the room to prepare for the new task his boss had assigned him.

All he could do now was pray that things would not develop in the worst possible direction. That was all.