"In this manner, I survived the crazy night and successfully allowed my probable identity to beco common knowledge. Yet, I still refuse to leave here because there is so much I have yet to learn."
"After eting the Godfather, I beca even more curious about these laws and this order. I'm not sure whether this is a product of the tis or a result of certain circumstances..."
"But yesterday's experience made realize one thing. Sotis, you want to understand how the rules work. You don't necessarily have to beco part of the rules. Breaking the glass makes it easier to see the structure inside..."
"I have seen the base level structure of the mafia, how those children survive, their masks, and now I plan to investigate the secrets of the upper levels of the Mafiosa. I have co up with a good thod..."
"Wait a minute!" A voice interrupted Bruce. Harvey Dent sat opposite Bruce, picking up his wine glass, "I think you're missing a discussion between these two sections. Why not add so argunts about the theories?"
"Because I'm not sure..." Bruce paused, "I want to add so discussion about Marxism, but I'm not sure if my professor would accept it. After all, the issue of class struggle has always been quite radical, and from what I've observed, my professor is rather conservative."
"Why do you think so?" Harvey asked, leaning back in his chair and sipping his icy wine. Bruce reflected upon it, "He seems to have no interest in politics. All his knowledge of current affairs cos from newspapers and radio. I've never heard him discussing elections and I don't think he's ever voted."
"I think if I hastily express so radical views, it might lower my grades."
Harvey nodded in agreent, "Indeed, people like him mostly lean to the right, and given the current situation, it's best not to discuss such sensitive topics. Be aware that the CIA might knock on your door in the middle of the night."
Bruce gave a strange look, but he continued, "Anyway, rember the story I told you earlier about Jason successfully obtaining the house number of a suspicious individual?"
Harvey nodded, "Of course, you just ntioned it ten minutes ago. That poor kid, he got hurt for it..."
"The next day, the son of the Godfather, Evans Falcone, or should I say his other persona, Alberto Falcone, found us."
"We went to Falcone Manor. Alberto told us that at a dinner held three days from now, he will officially take over the Falcone Family and beco the next Godfather."
One brow slightly raised, Harvey said, "So the Godfather has decided to abdicate the throne?"
Bruce studied Harvey's expression, "You don't seem too pleased."
"Because I can't be sure if the new Godfather will do a better job than his father. Under the rule of the old Godfather, Gotham, though unsafe, still provides so stability. If this system collapses suddenly, larger chaos will likely ensue..."
"I'm aware of that too." Bruce stroked his chin and said, "So I had a talk with Alberto."
"Of course, I didn't include the content of this conversation in the article because I was afraid my overly imaginative professor might have a bold view on the upcoming changes in Gotham."
Bruce glossed over this part of the conversation and continued, "The key point is, Jason told Alberto the house number and Alberto kept his promise. Jason showed his face in the mafia, and the boss of the neighborhood felt proud. Therefore, when Jason recomnded to join the mini-mafia, the boss didn't refuse."
"So what identity did you use to join the mafia?"
"I created a na for it, Match Malone."
"Match Malone? That's a weird na." A mber of the mafia looked at Bruce before shaking his head, "However, it is the boss's order, so tonight you are to guard the nightclub next door... Oh, wait, you're a rookie, let think. It's okay, just go to the casino to conduct surveillance."
"Kid, rember, in the casino, you don't need to know who is rich or poor, who is powerful or powerless. You just rember that when a bet is made, no take-backs are allowed, anyone who dares to go back on their words, load 'em up. Got it?"
This mafia mber has obviously trained many novices before, his instructions are simple and easy to understand. Therefore, Bruce nodded to show he understood perfectly.
That evening, he went to the casino covered by the mafia. The casino was not the kind of glamorous casino city Bruce had been to before, but a dingy small gambling house with most gamblers being mbers of other mafia.
Bruce worked there for two days without encountering any problems. Most people were very disciplined. When they lost money, they would just moan and leave without causing trouble.
Typically, life in the mafia is rather dull. When guests co, you watch them. When there are no guests, you crouch in a corner, light a cigarette, and smoke from morning till dusk, then from dusk till dawn.
Bruce wanted to change his job not because he couldn't learn anything here but because the cost of disguising himself here was too high. In addition to smoking, he had to inhale secondhand, thirdhand, and even fourth-hand smoke...
But getting out wasn't as simple as he thought. He couldn't just go to the mafia boss and say, "I'm bored with this job. Give another one.". If he did that, he would likely fail outright.
So one day, Bruce transford himself into the person he hated the most. He knocked out a mob mber who was guarding a nightclub, allowing him to go ho and rest while creating a new job for himself in the process.
Working as a security guard in a nightclub was indeed intriguing. The club attracted a mix of people from different social classes. Thus, discerning eyes were required to know who to intimidate, who to flatter, who to let in, and who to turn away.
The reason why Bruce lingered for so long at the bottom rung was because he needed to observe. He needed to study the physical appearances and differences among various ranks within the Gotham Gang, in preparation for his upcoming plan.
After a few days on the job, Bruce had established so patterns, especially in terms of the attire of the patrons.
The lowest-level thugs were just like him; wearing sunglasses, a jacket, boots, dangling a cigarette from their mouths, and carrying guns at their sides - all the while squatting on the streets.
They would glance left and right, occasionally removing the magazine from their gun to count bullets. Anyti soone approached, they would snap the magazine back in with a loud "click".
Those a notch higher were core mbers of the smaller gangs. Their outfits were similar, but they seed to be more aloof from the street thugs and appeared to be busier with serious matters.
Distinguishing these two types was primarily based on their deanor. The forr loved to dart their eyes around and pouted their mouths often, adopting a "ss with and you'll regret it" look.
The latter, given that they held so leadership positions and were often burdened with the dirty work, were usually rushing around. Even when they greeted soone, they'd be moving away before the other person could even respond. Their faces often wore an expression of fatigue they had no attempt to hide.
Small gang bosses had distinctive characteristics as well. They bore scars as tokens of the bloody struggles needed to reach their position. They might own a suit or two, but they rarely wore them, and even when they did, they looked inexpensive.
Bruce could not ascertain the exact price of these suits, but as soone who usually dressed in expensive suits, he could easily identify a cheap one. If it was indeed cheap, it would indicate a small gang boss right away.
Until this point, identification was rather simple and could be achieved by re observation. But it beca more complicated when trying to distinguish between higher-ranking gang bosses.
From small gang bosses upwards to mbers of the Twelve Families downwards, the attire of the higher-ranking mobsters were almost identical. They wore dark suits and polished shoes, occasionally paired with dark or brown sunglasses, and smoked cigars.
When they visited the nightclub, they would usually arrive in a big, black car. The security chief on the passenger's side would get out of the car first and then arrange his underlings by the edge of the carpet. The driver would get out last. Upon stepping out, he would first open an umbrella facing the back of the car, followed by the bosses' polished shoes.
Once planted firmly on the ground, they would stamp the right foot, adjust the tie with the left hand, and then stride forward. As they passed the entrance security, they didn't even deign to look, leaving the last of their guards to check the invitation card and register the identity.
From the big gang bosses who controlled multiple smaller gangs to the boss of the East District's Thirteen Streets, their attire, behavior, deanor was identical, even down to their movents.
Bruce was beginning to suspect if there was so universal training for them? Even the rhythm of how they stepped out of their cars was uncannily synchronized.
After standing at the door for a few days and getting friendly with another doorman, Bruce learnt that every mob boss in Gotham emulated the Godfather, from top to bottom.
Apparently, these were habits the Godfather had when he was young. There was no reason behind these habits, other than that they were cool.
But this left Bruce feeling puzzled. What if a genius caught onto this behavior pattern and used the sa playbook to blend in? How would one tell the difference then?
Bruce posed this question to his colleague, a man missing two front teeth, who responded with a mocking smile, "You're quite a greenhorn to not have thought of this before."
Bruce indicated that he was keen to learn, and flattered his colleague a bit. The man was pleased and he explained:
"In Gotham, if you aren't a mob boss, where can you get a car and bodyguards? Like us two, if we could get such a car and strong bodyguards, wouldn't we be mob bosses?"
"In other words, if you already have a car, a house, and people at your disposal, then what's wrong with letting you in? Why would anyone in your position want to give up the good life to beco an assassin, risking their lives daily? It'd be insane."
Bruce thought this over and agreed. Indeed, if you had the resources to impersonate a mob boss, wouldn't that make you a mob boss?
Of course, there was also the possibility that a rich man might impersonate a mob boss. But why would a wealthy man want to pose as a mob boss? Why risk his life consistently when he already had a ton of money? Wouldn't staying in a luxurious mansion, driving extravagant cars, smoking cigars, and leading a life of decadence be better?
Bruce nodded in agreent, finding the reasoning sound. He then turned his attention on procuring a stretch limousine commonly seen in the mob groups and a high-end suit.
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