"Why are you..." Copper said with a gloomy face and then suddenly he reacted, frowned and cursed: "Damn..."

He turned his head to look at Schiller again, but he did not see the police's successful clichés during interrogation on Schiller's face. On the contrary, Schiller was really looking at him in confusion, which made Copper feel a sense of humiliation.

Copper pursed his lips, stretched his neck, tilted his head, moved his shoulders, and said, "You untied the belt on my arm first, it made me feel a little uncomfortable..."

I thought Schiller would refuse, but Schiller stood up without hesitation, walked to his bed, unbuttoned the belt on the armrest. As soon as he untied one hand, Copper couldn't wait to move his arm.

He tied a splint with his right hand, and Schiller reminded him: "Because of delaying treatment, your right hand fracture becomes very serious. If you drag it for two more days, you will be at risk of amputation, so tie it first."

Coppert muttered in a low voice, as if cursing something. When Schiller's eyes turned, he suddenly seemed to be choking again, silent and silent.

Schiller sat back on his original position, picked up the medical record book, and said, "Come on, let's continue to talk about this issue. Judging from the arrangement of the crime scene, you can feel that you are in a hurry. Can you tell me what you encountered?"

Coppert wrinkled his nose and raised his lips upwards, which made him look a little fierce. He seemed to want to refute Schiller's point of view, but he felt that he should not say so much to a strange psychologist.

"Let me listen to your criminal ideas. After all, you have worked so hard to do so many things. Wouldn't it be a pity if you don't have an audience?"

Coppert's intact arm grabbed the guardrail hard, he tilted his head, stared at Shiller and said, "You damn psychologist..."

Copper admitted that Schiller's words were more useful than any police interrogation method.

Schiller looked at him with a smile, and he knew very well that any criminal who appeared on the Gotham stage in the future was a fundamentalist in the crime world.

They have their own pride in committing crimes, such as the meticulousness of the techniques, the presentation of the results, the misleading effect on the onlookers, etc., and they hope to achieve perfection in all aspects.

Every crime plan they implement will focus on these issues and expect someone to see their genius ideas.

They firmly believe that crime without audiences is not a perfect crime.

Copper's reason was telling him that it was not a good idea to tell him about it at this time. If Schiller really recorded the sound, he would probably not be able to escape the judgment.

But he was so itchy that he was telling him that Schiller was the same person as him, and he would definitely be a good listener, able to understand the exquisite criminal process that ordinary people cannot understand, and able to understand his uniqueness.

Soon, Copper couldn't help it, and he said, "It was an accident, if it weren't..."

Copper paused for a moment, as if he was sorting out his thoughts, and then he relaxed all over, lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling with his eyes, and began his story.

"...I will know the godfather, it was a complete accident. My father was once a famous gangster boss in the East District. After his death, the territory and property that I should have inherited were divided up by those jackal-like gangsters..."

"In order to protect me, my mother took me back to the old house near Living Hell, but we still couldn't live in peace. My father's former enemy family chased us again and again..."

"It was one night, I was washing dishes in a bar on the East Side, and when I came out, I was surrounded. They were about to shoot. A car passed by. The seat was Lord Falco. He stopped the people and drove them away..."

"The godfather saved you?"

"Yes, I was only 12 years old at that time, but I was very thin and looked even younger. He might not be able to stand them in the shooting of a child. Anyway, at that time, I met the godfather..."

"I don't know where he saw that I'm worthy of training. I'm thin and small, in poor health, unpleasant appearance, and I can't get along with each other, but the godfather still secretly helps me..."

"So, when he needs you, do you go and kill someone for him?"

Copper said expressionlessly: "What's wrong with this? He saved me, I know, this is nothing to him, but killing someone is nothing to me..."

"I have to say that you did the case of Old Edward, you didn't look like a novice. Can you tell me in detail about that day?"

Copper shook his head and said, "It all depends on the prestige of the godfather. No one dares to act wildly on his territory. This is not something worthy of praise..."

"Okay, then let's get to the point. All you do is not going to go with the flow. What exactly do you want to do?"

"I want to get rid of the Godfather's control." Copper said in a stunning way.

“To be precise, it’s not the old godfather…” Coppert added: “I am willing to work for Falcone and kill people for him, but only the Lord Falcone…”

"I knew some time ago that the old godfather wanted to abdicate and wanted to hand over the power in his hands to his son, Falcone Jr."

Copper snorted and said disdainfully: "But he can't do it. Falcone Jr. is not as good as his father. If you follow him, you will have no future."

"If the new godfather wants to inherit the position of the old godfather, he will naturally inherit his property and connections, and this naturally includes me, but I think that Little Falcone is too far apart, and I don't want to follow him..."

Guqin

"Why do you feel that?" Schiller asked him.

"Before, he wanted to carry out reforms, and the land he gave him was messed up by him."

"He is full of motivation, but he has no goals, has tough methods, but lacks thinking. Simply put, he is not this material."

"So, what did you do?"

"I know that the old godfather is not dead yet, and it is impossible to get rid of him with tough means. I will die."

"I have received his favor and have killed people for him. Maybe we are even."

"But every Gotham person knows that as long as you have done this, you will never be able to get ashore again, either die or go all the way to the dark."

"But I don't want to be taken as part of the inheritance and follow the instructions of the new godfather, or the stupidity of the new godfather will not only kill him, but also kill me. I don't want to die, so I want to leave."

"When the Godfather asked me to come to the living hell to stare at it, I realized that the opportunity has come..."

"My first goal is the Mooney Gang." Copper said in a thrust up his tone: "I have to gain a foothold here and figure out the situation before I can make a follow-up plan. So I joined the Muney Gang, followed Fish's order, and found out everything here in a short time."

Coppert's words gradually became fluid, and when it came to this aspect, the future Penguin talked endlessly.

"When I completed the preliminary survey, the Munich Gang was no longer a good place to settle down, because Fish's territory was compressed layer by layer, and the range of activities began to become very small. I could not collect enough information. At this time, I could not make the godfather feel that I had no intention of working."

"So, I found a chance to get on Kevin's line. Yes, it wasn't him who chose me, but I chose him..."

As Copper continued to tell, his voice echoed in the ward, and his recent life turned into dramas, presenting before the two.

As his words fell, the red curtain opened, and behind it was the narrow corridor of the living hell.

Copper and Kevin stood in the corridor, and the short and hunched Copper said to Kevin in a flattering manner: "Mr. Kevin, you are good, please be sure to patronize my business..."

The tall Kevin raised his head, took a pack of cigarettes from Copot, opened them and looked at them, and said, "Are you a new cigarette dealer? I have never seen you before, you should be the crazy woman, right?"

"Yes, yes..." Coppert nodded impatiently, and then rubbed his hands in a little embarrassedly and said, "I am also forced to make a living. There are too few cigarettes in the South District, otherwise I wouldn't have come here at risk..."

"How much does a pack do you sell?"

"Seventy cents, sir, only seventy cents."

Kevin raised his eyebrows in surprise and said, "Seventy cents? What's going on? The little cigarette dealers here are all ninety cents or one dollar. Why do you sell them so cheaply?"

Kevin looked at the pack of cigarettes again, took out one from it, Coppert diligently came up to light a cigarette for him, and then said, "Actually, I still have a profit. I move around the south and north at the same time. It takes one hour and 20 minutes to walk around, and I can sell about 6 to 7 packs of cigarettes. Even if the profit per pack of cigarettes is only ten cents, and there are 13 hours a day to move, and it can be sold on average..."

Kevin took a puff of cigarette, spit out smoke, looked Copper up and down, and said, "You can still calculate it? It's amazing. The little kids I met who sell cigarettes can't even figure out how to find money..."

Copper still nodded and smiled, inadvertently revealing his experience of studying in the wealthy southern area. He kept chatting with Kevin. After Kevin smoked two cigarettes, he was a little fluttering. He pinched the cigarette butt and said, "I think you are good. You will have no good results when you follow that crazy woman Fish."

"You go and get me two good cigarettes, and I will ask you to work at the second floor shipping port. There will be a commission of three cents for every 10 pieces, which is much more than you earn by selling cigarettes."

Copper showed a look of overjoyment, and Kevin curled his lips and said, "You guys who have weak arms and weak legs are just a few of them, except for running errands, buying newspapers, buying cigarettes, etc., you can count them..."

"Those little bastards count the wrong numbers every day, and their brains are not as good as the rusty door bolt. They make me lose money. Don't be lazy and slick for me..."

As the smoke from the cigarette in Kevin's hand gradually drifted away, the curtain slowly closed, Schiller turned his head and said to Coppert: "I can hear that you have done a good job until now."

"Using your thin body, I pretended to be the most common child selling cigarettes and running errands in hell, inadvertently showing your computing ability, and successfully switched to Kevin."

"But that's not all I want."

The curtain opened again, and the cartons piled up higher and higher. Bills flew out of Copper, through the narrow corridor of the Living Hell, passing through the door of the delivery entrance, on the stairs of the cargo transport, on the kitchen of the restaurant, and a thin figure shuttled through it.

The last piece of paper was pasted on Coppert's face with a "pop". When he took the paper off with his hand, the bright neon lights of a restaurant's signature reflected in his exposed eyes.

"You shouldn't be lying in this part," Schiller commented. "I can tell that you really want to open a restaurant."

Copper's lips moved while lying on the hospital bed, he was silent for a while, and then said, "That's right, but this is not what I should consider now."
Chapter completed!