Departing from lower Gotham, the rust-streaked light rail rattled over the bridge, crossing the murky Gotham River toward the city center.
Inside the otherwise empty fifth car, seven or eight of the Roman's men occupied an entire row of seats, all dressed in sharp suits.
After handing out the food from a paper bag, Oswald sat beside Qin Wei and offered him the last hot dog.
"You look distracted."
Qin Wei shook his head without speaking. He accepted the piping-hot hot dog wrapped in old newspaper, blew on it, and took a bite.
"I was just as lost when I first got into this business, but every time I saw Mr. Maroni, I'd feel ready to take on anything..."
As Oswald described him, Maroni was elegant and charming. With his cane, he looked like Michael Corleone stepping straight out of The Godfather.
"When I take Mr. Maroni's place, I'm definitely getting myself a cane that beautiful."
Qin Wei nodded.
For some reason, those words sounded perfectly natural coming from Oswald, even as he was now, as though the man who bore that name was born to make something of himself.
The light rail stopped at a station. Upon seeing the suited thugs, the passengers boarding fled into the other cars as though they had encountered the plague.
Only a stooped old man sat down opposite them.
His hair was sparse and gray, and his wrinkled coat gave off a sour stench. He clutched a paper bag tightly in his hands.
Apparently hungry, he kept staring at the half-eaten hot dog in Qin Wei's hand.
"Want some?"
Qin Wei had little appetite, so he held out the food.
The old man nodded, mumbling something unintelligible, then accepted the hot dog and began taking huge bites.
"Satisfied? Then get the hell out!"
Oswald, who had been watching coldly, suddenly spoke. With a sneer, he pulled a set of brass knuckles from his inside pocket and threatened the old man, frightening him into a corner of the car.
"The Roman isn't running a charity. We have to be tough with outsiders, or everyone will think they can walk all over us."
Putting away the brass knuckles, he explained this to Qin Wei.
"I don't want to see this happen again."
Qin Wei could only nod in agreement.
But the little incident was not over yet. As the old man wolfed down the hot dog, a hand suddenly reached from beside him for the paper bag in his arms.
The old man instinctively protected the bag. The moment he raised his head, he was slapped across the face.
The three young troublemakers had wandered in from another car, reeking of stale booze.
Violence happened every day in the corners of Gotham. The Roman's men glanced over amid their conversation, long accustomed to such sights, and none had any intention of interfering.
When the old man refused to release the paper bag, the three dragged him to the floor and began punching and kicking him.
Qin Wei's fists clenched tighter and tighter.
But when he tried to stand, Oswald held him down.
"Forgot what I just told you?"
Oswald's brows drew together, his eyes gleaming coldly beneath the shadows of his sockets.
The old man's cries echoed through the quiet car.
"They're a little loud. I want to tell them to keep it down."
"That's a pretty original excuse. If that's really how you feel, go ahead. The Roman's honor will have your back."
"Boss, you're really letting Wei go? Those guys stink of booze." The companion beside them voiced his concern to Oswald, implying that drunk men were hardly rational.
"It's his first outing. Let him experience Gotham's hospitality."
The three young men were enjoying themselves so much that they never noticed anyone approaching. Only when Qin Wei grabbed one of them by the collar and pinned him against the window did the other two hastily draw their knives.
"You're one of the Roman's men? We haven't done anything to you!"
"You're hurting my eyes!" Qin Wei looked them over disdainfully, tilting his head and twitching the corner of his mouth. Over the past three months, he had barely lifted a finger during rent collections or fights, but he had picked up most of the gang members' arrogant expressions.
Falcone's name carried plenty of weight in Gotham. The young men averted their eyes and hunched their backs, looking ready to flee at any moment.
"Got it. We'll tone it down. Sorry for the trouble, but please let him go!" one of them said.
Their respectful attitude made Qin Wei lower his guard. He had no idea that the young man he was holding had already drawn a dagger from his trouser pocket.
Danger simmered beneath the surface inside the car.
As the light rail slowed on its approach to the station, the young man suddenly drove an elbow into Qin Wei's face, then thrust the dagger in a reverse grip at him as he stumbled and fell.
Just as the blade plunged toward Qin Wei's lower abdomen, a dark figure burst in from the side.
A flying kick landed, followed by a scream. The young man hit the floor, and the knife flew from his hand, tracing a graceful arc through the air before landing in Oswald's grasp.
"Tell me, how many cuts do I have to carve into those pretty little faces before you learn fairness and humility?"
As his words fell, the Roman's men rose from their seats in unison.
These men had weathered countless fights, and some had blood on their hands. Their intimidating presence was nothing a greenhorn like Qin Wei could match.
The young men tried to run, but onlookers blocked the aisle.
The reckless fools were quickly subdued.
"Mori, open the door."
"Yes, boss!"
The underling named Mori wedged the dagger into the gap between the doors. Amid a shrill alarm, a roaring rush of air poured into the lifeless car.
Onlookers had packed the connection between the cars. Everyone knew what would happen to those three bastards.
But no one tried to stop it, not even with a word.
The young men howled and begged for mercy. One even wet his pants in terror.
They were thrown off the train. The road beneath the bridge erupted with noise-the thud of heavy bodies hitting the ground, the screech of braking vehicles-but the speeding train soon left it all behind.
Calm returned to the car, as though nothing had happened.
The paper bag in the old man's arms had torn during the struggle. With blood at the corner of his mouth, he lay on the floor, gathering the scattered cake crumbs.
It must have been a cake for his wife. The words "For you, dear Jenny" had twisted out of shape along with the collapsed frosting, like maggots winding over a corpse.
"Good excuse, but you need to learn to let go of that useless sympathy."
Seeing Qin Wei staring, Oswald offered the considerate reminder.
The train stopped in the city center. As Qin Wei left the platform, skyscrapers immediately hemmed him in on every side.
Glass curtain walls reflected dazzling light. Luxury cars sped down the streets, and smartly dressed pedestrians held their heads high, their steps firm and confident. Though only a river separated the two places, Qin Wei felt he had crossed the barrier between hell and heaven.
"Chest out, my friend. We represent the Roman. We can't let anyone look down on us." Oswald straightened Qin Wei's collar and gave him a mysterious wink.
In a rented apartment in Gotham City's North Harbor, the old man pushed open the door, which stood ajar.
"Jenny, I'm home."
The apartment was silent.
"There's bad news. I ruined the cake I got for you. But there's good news, too. I met an interesting fellow."
He cleared his throat, and his voice was no longer hoarse and muddy.
He entered the bathroom, and rustling sounds drifted out.
Seen from behind, the old man appeared to be tugging at his hair in front of the mirror.
A human-skin mask appeared in his hand.
"He helped me. Gave me half a hot dog and even taught three thugs a lesson."
"How can someone like that still exist in Gotham? It's hilarious."
The apartment was silent.
A gleaming, broad-toed leather shoe kicked through the drifting dust and stepped into the living room.
"Jenny, so you are home! Why aren't you saying anything?"
The leather shoes came to a stop beside the sofa, and he took the mummified corpse's hand.
His pale face confronted her empty eye sockets, as though he wanted to uncover something within them. After gazing at her in silence, he slowly inserted two fingers into her mouth, trying to pry her shriveled lips into the shape he wanted.
"Please, darling, smile! Why so serious!"
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