"Hello? Connect me to the Godfather, please."
"Good afternoon, Godfather. I have a business proposal for you..."
In the office of Arkham Psychiatric Hospital, Shiller put down the phone, tugged at the cord, dusted the receiver, and then poured himself a drink. He picked up the old-fashioned telephone, dialed in a circle, and said, "Hello? Brand? Arrival in Hawaii? …No, no need to worry, have a good holiday, I got this."
After a while, Bruce came in and placed a stack of files in front of Shiller. "Off work now, want a drink?" Shiller offered.
"No, thank you. I don't drink."
"You look a bit haggard."
"Well, I haven't slept in almost fifty hours."
"Of course, that giant Bat Light of yours keeps lighting up. All of Gotham knows there's a Batman now."
"But..." Bruce sighed, hesitated for a moment, and said, "Pour me a drink, thank you."
"What's troubling Batman to the point of needing a drink?"
Bruce said, "I feel I shouldn't have done it. Bats don't light up, and they shouldn't."
Before Shiller could even ask, Bruce added, "I've set up 6 Bat Light beacons throughout Gotham. In the past few days, they've lit up a total of 25 times, 19 of which were pranks."
"So, I designed a security precaution for them. Since then, I've received 12 calls for help, all from mobs asking for support."
"I wouldn't allow the mobs to use them, and in retaliation, they've started causing havoc. Of course, I designed a security program. It worked reasonably well, but poor people and beggars tried to use them, and the next day, they were killed by mobs."
Bruce covered his face, took a deep breath, then took a sip of the drink. He struggled to swallow the liquid and said, "People beyond redemption aren't allowed to save anyone else. If this is what Gotham is, then I guess I've oversimplified things."
"I knew it... No bat lights up," Bruce concluded.
"I suggest you take a few days off. You run into a problem, sacrifice your rest to solve it, then you meet a new challenge and continue the same routine. It's a vicious cycle. You ought to stop. There's no benefit in overworking."
Bruce, looking fatigued, responded, "Alright, I'll go home and sleep. I'll be back at work tomorrow to photocopy medical records, answer phones, check rooms, whatever."
The next day, just as he promised, Bruce was immediately at work. Shiller was already in the office, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. Bruce brewed an American coffee for himself and began reading a research paper.
A little later, a nurse knocked and came in. "Doctor, Andre in room number five on the second floor is constantly creating a ruckus. He's demanding that the nurses increase the dosage of his morphine, threatening to complain about us otherwise."
Without even looking up, Shiller casually said, "Give it to him, three times the market rate. If he keeps making a fuss, five times."
Bruce almost choked on his coffee.
"Bird on the third floor wants us to get him painkillers. He kept us up all night."
"Tell him, the guy who sells pills fell off the guardrail yesterday and hit his head. We're out of stock."
"The person in ward number six…" Shiller flipped through the files and said, "... Either Hol or Gol, does he have some connections? Tell him to send someone in, we'll do a 70-30 split."
After the nurse left, before Bruce could speak, the phone rang again. Shiller picked up the phone while looking at the files.
"Hello? The whisky is out of stock?... Yes, I have the last bottle. Who said they had a bar the other day? Let's see... Room number one on the fourth floor. Have him run a line over here from his bar, and tell him not to pull a fast one with diluted junk, or I'll issue him a diagnostic note for permanent treatment."
Shiller hung up the phone and picked up the receiver again to dial. He said to the other end of the line:
"Tell them, we don't admit hired killers. To get in, they must have a main entrance pass, one hundred thousand US dollars per pass. Fifty thousand for the hospital entrance and an extra thirty thousand for upstairs, starting from the third floor. Buy a full package, and get a security patrol map for free."
"Hello? The Biomedical Department said the EEG machine broken yesterday, who's the person in room number two on the fifth floor? Old Brand from the East District? Donate a machine and take his people away. Come over later to get the rehab suggestions."
After hanging up, Bruce said, "Professor..."
Before he could finish, the phone rang again. Shiller picked it up and said, "Hello? …Didn't come to terms? Tell him, the twin brothers in the south offered 500,000 US dollars. And it's not a buyout. If he doesn't agree, he won't get a penny from the liquor business here."
"Hello? No, the security work in Arkham Asylum is handled by the Falcone Family. If he wants to force his way in, let him come. Send my regards to the Godfather."
Shiller had just hung up the phone when Bruce seized the opportunity to say, "Isn't there a problem with..."
"Hello? How many people tomorrow? ...No, can't do. That little vulture isn't going to bring in much money. Not as good as his old man, tell him to go to jail, we don't accept junk here. He got his father's assets? Alright, keep room number seven on the second floor for him. What? Diagnostic reports? That's an additional charge..."
"...Put off the remaining three till next month. Let the judge find a reason, something like diarrhea. There's no vacancy on the fifth floor. ...Another policeman? A bad cop? Got discovered? ...We admit mental patients here, not the mentally disabled. If he wants to get in, he should go to his old employer..."
"Anyone else? No, he can't… Oh, he has already been caught? Well, let the police put the evidence back. Look for someone named Brock. He'll understand."
Having finished dealing with things, Shiller looked up. Bruce was staring at him with a complex look; it was part shock, part disdain.
"Don't look at me like that. The hospital is running smoothly, isn't it?"
"But..."
Bruce opened his mouth, he wanted to question Shiller, but for a moment, he did not know even where to begin.
"I did some business with Falcone, he manipulated the Black Glove to provoke some lucrative mobs, then let the local police chief arrest and prosecute them, I gave them mental illness certification, got them admitted to the hospital, and afterwards, see whoever was willing to pay the most to get them out, their boss or their enemies."
Bruce stared at Shiller, Shiller spread his hands and said: "How so? Find it incredible? Or do you really believe I'm a good guy like Harvey? What led to your misconception?"
Bruce was speechless.
In the following days, Bruce, with wide eyes, watched as Shiller was not merely joining the system but inventively established an entirely new industrial chain of Gotham.
His respected professor integrated into Gotham so quickly and efficiently it was astonishing even for the city itself.
However, Bruce could say nothing, as this perfect Gotham industrial chain was mainly damaging the mobs.
From the results, the mobs were deceived out of their money, Arkham Psychiatric Hospital quickly established order, health care workers became safe, members of various mobs in the hospital were more obedient than ever. When Bruce came to rounds, he found that the mob bosses would go as far to even thank him!
They thought Bruce was a doctor, able to prescribe them painkillers, some mob bosses seeing his close relationship with Shiller, often tried to build a good connection with him by offering cigars, hoping that Shiller would let go a little, permit them to pull some strings as well.
One time, Bruce went along with Shiller to see a case, during a break, he overheard the neighboring mob boss chatting.
"Kurt is a bad boy, an absolute scoundrel, he has brought in absinthe, even directed others to completely destroy the competing family's business, in order to monopolize the liquor business here, he did have a conflict with the twins...
"Well, I say, he's done a neat job, after all, it's a big business worth millions of US dollars."
"Really that much?"
"That redhead downstairs, relying on selling cigarettes here, made twenty thousand in a week! Who here doesn't smoke? Who doesn't smoke cigars? He can get premium goods from the dock, and there are even people who deliberately come in to get this smuggling line...
"Room 2 also struck gold, who doesn't know he lucked out, hooked up with the Godfather, next quarter, he's going to have an extra restaurant."
"When the nurse comes later, put all the cigarettes out, be careful not to provoke those girls, they all are the Black Widows of Madame Red..."
The things Bruce had witnessed within these few days at the hospital led to his feelings of utter complexity and confusion.
Bruce wondered, what would he do if their roles were reversed? After thinking for a while, he admitted he couldn't really come up with a better and justified solution.
One night, Shiller was in the ward. He was talking to a woman without legs: "Not bad, the medication is taking effect, the excitement will disappear soon…"
The woman lay on the bed, very calm, or numb, she seemed like she couldn't hear Shiller talking, but Shiller continued: "Lately, there are quite a number of cases, but that's okay, the psychological treatment is about to end..." His voice, always carrying a kind of calm strength, suited the kind of nights in the hospital perfectly.
As Shiller turned around, he noticed Batman standing behind him. Batman, in his low voice asked: "How did she get transferred to this place?"
"You cured this beggar's physical problem, helped her complete the amputation procedure, but she has some inherent mental issues, so she was sent here before…"
Shiller gave Batman a look. He always looked cold and sharp at night, making him difficult to approach.
"You seem to be surprised, how come? You shouldn't have thought that I'd only conspire with the mob. What gave you that misconception?"
Batman remained silent, Shiller didn't pay him any attention, went over, adjusted the head of the woman's bed, and pulled the blanket up to cover her.
Without glancing at Batman, Shiller asked himself: "Are you feeling disappointed?"
"For this thankless city, for those who don't let you save them nor are worthy to be saved?"
"Do you think the decision of pulling the Bat Light was correct?" Batman asked in a low voice still echoing in the ward.
Shiller paused and said:
"There's no need to get disappointed. The black sun is still the sun. A bat doesn't light lamps, but still, in the dark night, the lamp lit by a bat, is indeed a lamp."
Cool light shined on the plain white sheets of the hospital bed. Shiller leaned in to smoothen the blanket at the corner of the bed.
Outside the window, the Gotham night was still slightly lit. Shiller straightened up, turned his head to look out the window. Batman saw his silhouette against the light, the moon casting a long shadow behind him.
Batman looked up; he saw his shadow, the dark bat with pointed ears, covering most of a wall and ceiling.
Bats don't light lamps, he even didn't have a lamp to illuminate himself, and for years, there had been no tiny bit of glimmering firefly light.
Now, even so, he decided to learn to light lamps - for the dark nights here, for this hopeless Gotham city.
Batman also looked out of the window, at the faint, almost invisible lights in the pool of darkness. He thought, if there ever comes a day when the sun does not rise in this absurd city, at least, on the eve of the doomsday, in the chilled night with barely visible light, there will be the lamp he had lit.
A lamp, useless but still lights up.
A lamp lit by a bat.