Night was approaching, the city lights were waking, and the lion-shaped Roman Casino slowly opened its gaping maw.
Guests of every description came and went: women with bare shoulders and shapely hips, gentlemen with polished manners. Looking at the jewelry and luxury watches glittering under the lights, Qin Wei, whose back ached from standing, remembered a song lyric.
Eighteen, at my school dance, I stood there like a lackey.
Except he didn't just look like a lackey now. He was one.
"Wei, relax! We're not here to stand guard."
Oswald produced two glasses of champagne from somewhere and handed one to Qin Wei.
His pleasures really were simple. All it took was a beautiful woman walking past for his eyebrows to rise in excitement.
"Don't assume we have to wait on these people just because they wear expensive clothes. We're all in pretty much the same dirty business. These guys might even have more blood on their hands than we do."
Oswald took a sip of champagne.
"Correction: more than I do. You're a saint, practically Jesus himself!"
"I'll kill if I have to," Qin Wei retorted, irritated by his mocking tone.
"If you have to? You don't even know when you have to." Oswald smiled, his brow relaxing. "Everyone knows there are two kinds of people you shouldn't mess with in Gotham. But if you insist on it, you'd better be prepared to kill them."
"The first kind is drunks."
Qin Wei knew that all too well.
His father was an alcoholic. Every time he had a little fucking booze, he'd beat him without knowing when to stop. As a child, Qin Wei couldn't fight back and could only endure it. Then, at seventeen, he finally snapped and sent the old bastard into the ICU with a flying kick. Only after spending a week there did that son of a bitch learn the meaning of restraint.
Oswald doubled over laughing at Qin Wei's story.
"In a way, you're a lot fiercer than I am! If I got another shot at life, I'd follow your example and give that bastard a couple of kicks."
"So, what's the second kind of person you shouldn't mess with?" Not wanting to discuss his father any further, Qin Wei changed the subject.
At that, however, Oswald's face darkened. He tipped his head back, gulped down a mouthful of champagne, then roughly wiped the corner of his mouth.
"To be precise, it's one person: the former leader of the Red Hood Gang. He's a genuine lunatic. Even knowing The Roman had put a bounty on him, he dared to disguise himself and sneak into Mr. Falcone's home alone."
"He didn't get killed?"
"He had remote-controlled bombs strapped all over him and took Mr. Falcone hostage. Nobody dared make a move."
Qin Wei grew thoughtful. The man Oswald was describing sounded remarkably like a certain famous villain.
"What happened next?"
"He drove off with Mr. Falcone as his hostage. Eventually, they found the abandoned car at North Harbor, with Mr. Falcone inside, completely unharmed."
"Unharmed? Then why kidnap him?"
"Maybe he thought it was fun. We're better off not guessing what goes on in a lunatic's head. Mr. Falcone was unharmed, but the lunatic had strapped him into a bomb vest."
"The pin on the vest was tied to the car's door handle with a thin cord. When Mr. Maroni arrived and opened the door, it started a five-minute countdown."
"Then the lunatic called. He told Mr. Maroni that if he wanted to save the boss, he had to cut off his own left hand. Of course, he could also do nothing and wait for the bomb to explode. Then he could take the throne of the Roman Empire without a hitch."
By this point in the story, Qin Wei was almost certain the man was Joker.
"Let me guess. Maroni chose to let him die, but the bomb turned out to be fake."
Knowing Joker's personality, Qin Wei arrived at that conclusion.
Oswald raised his eyebrows in surprise. His expression said it all.
An artist at shredding nerves, a puppeteer of the human heart-Joker wasn't Gotham's smartest villain, but he certainly understood human nature better than any of them. Only this approach could produce the greatest dramatic effect while driving a wedge between The Roman's top two men.
Once all the guests had entered, their conversation came to an end.
Another group was also handling casino security. Richie's crew worked for Maroni as well, and their leader, Richie Panton, had been around much longer than Oswald.
That comic had laid out the unfortunate Richie's fate: first, Batman broke his right hand at the docks; then he angered Dr. Hugo while trying to collect a debt; finally, a Bioman tore him alive into two pieces.
Yet Richie, whose right hand should have been wrapped in a cast, appeared before Qin Wei perfectly healthy. It seemed this world's Gotham really did have no Batman.
Surrounded by his followers, Richie approached Oswald with a booming laugh.
"Hey, look who's here! Our little..."
He reached out to pat Oswald's gel-coated head, but Oswald slapped his hand aside before it got there.
"You'd better not call me that damned nickname!"
Oswald's face was livid as he strained to hold his head high. But at only five foot six, about 170 centimeters, standing beside the six-foot-two Richie, about 188 centimeters, he looked like a stubborn child arguing with a parent.
"Fine, I won't. Anyway, what did Mr. Maroni send you here for? Security? I think we've got that covered."
Richie Panton supplied the opening, and a henchman named Carlo caught on immediately.
"Mr. Maroni must be worried about thieves hiding under the gaming tables. We might miss them, but Mr. Oswald can spot them without even bending down!"
Oswald bit his lip, then suddenly let out a long breath. He stopped his companion from stepping forward to argue and, for the first time in his life, smiled at Richie.
"You're right. If we divide the work, I'm sure we can do an excellent job."
But the moment Richie walked away laughing, Oswald's expression darkened as abruptly as a page turning.
"Wei, let's patrol the second floor!"
In a second-floor restroom stall, Oswald kicked the toilet in a frenzy to vent his rage. Only after tiles shattered and a pipe burst did he reluctantly stop.
His grudge against Richie went back a long way.
When he first joined The Roman, Oswald had been one of Richie's henchmen. Richie was an utter bastard who abused his subordinates at will, and the short-statured Oswald bore the brunt of it.
Not only had Richie given him a disgusting nickname, but punches and kicks were an everyday occurrence.
Perhaps that was why Oswald treated his own men well. He didn't want to become scum like Richie.
Having vented his fury, he carefully smoothed his disheveled long hair behind his ears amid the billowing spray.
"Wei, I want to kill Richie. Got any good ideas?" the young man asked through clenched teeth. As the lights went out, the murderous intent in his eyes seemed to blaze even brighter.
"You're asking me? I've never even killed a chicken. All I can do is curse him for you and hope he doesn't survive the night."
Qin Wei answered distractedly.
The gambling had been underway for a while. Dr. Hugo and those three Biomen could come charging in at any moment, but he still hadn't thought of a way to get Oswald out of there.
Just as he was racking his brains, Oswald gestured for silence.
"Shh! Did you hear that? Something's going on in Mr. Maroni's room next door!"
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