"What the hell is that?!"
Covered in dust from the explosion, John Sbaletta stared in shock at the black armored figure rampaging through the bar like a tank.
"Maybe it's after the goods we shipped last time."
"But that stuff isn't with us—we were just helping! Some other big shot wanted it!"
John Sbaletta said angrily.
"Doesn't matter. Let's see if we can take down this thing first."
Old Sbaletta pulled out a mirror, using its reflection to track the black armored figure's position. With his other hand, he took out a grenade, pulled the pin with his teeth, waited three or four seconds, and threw it.
Boom!
The grenade exploded in midair near the armored figure, making it stagger.
The next second, a rotating gun barrel emerged from the armored figure's shoulder, spraying bullets wildly in the direction the grenade had come from.
"What the hell is this monster?!"
Simone Sbaletta was shocked, then quickly grabbed his son's arm.
"Have the men hold them off here—we're leaving! The secret passage is in the restroom!"
In less than half a minute, their men were wiped out by the armored figure.
The father and son hurried away, but after only a few steps, a shadow dropped from the ceiling.
Hardy landed lightly, pounced on John Sbaletta, pinned his arms with his legs to prevent resistance, and drew a pistol, aiming it at Simone Sbaletta's forehead.
With a gentle tug, heavy footsteps sounded. The bloodstained armored figure dragged a man in a suit, lifted its arm—
With a pneumatic punch, the man in the suit was smashed into the wall, reduced to a pulp.
"We surrender…"
Simone raised his hands to the man in front of him.
"A wise choice."
Hardy tilted his head. Aman and the blond immediately took off their belts and tied up Simone and John.
"Accountant, Aman, you two handle the aftermath. Anthony, Jackson, take them to the second floor—I'll interrogate them myself."
"Understood, boss. I'll find every cent they've hidden here."
The accountant pushed his glasses up, grinning sinisterly.
"Don't worry, boss. If anyone dares make trouble, I'll send them straight to God!"
Aman slung his rifle, a cruel smile on his bloodstained face.
The Sbaletta father and son were escorted by two men to a private room on the second floor.
"Kneel!"
Anthony and Jackson kicked the backs of their legs, forcing them to kneel before the table.
Hardy swaggered over to the sofa, picked up a small knife from the fruit platter, weighed it, and deftly sliced the apple into neat pieces.
Though the ninja school had only taught basic melee weapon skills, with chakra reinforcing his body, it looked quite intimidating.
"My knife is very sharp. I might not be able to cut bullets out of the air like a kendo master, but it's more than enough for people. I also know a bit of human anatomy, so I can—"
Slice off over a hundred pieces of flesh—enough to make the other party feel pain, but not enough to kill or make them faint."
"Boss, if you have any questions, just ask. I've faced more than enough threats in my life. All I ask is that you spare John's life," Simmons sighed.
"Dad, you—"
"No, no, no…"
Hardy picked up a sanitary towel from the table and stuffed it into John Spalletta's mouth.
"You two, take this kid to a private room farther away. I want to interrogate them separately. If their answers don't match, it means at least one of them is lying. In that case, both of you will get to see if I really can slice off a hundred pieces of flesh. If their answers match, then I'll agree to your request. How about it?"
A shy smile appeared on Hardy's face.
He was still a bit inexperienced with this kind of intimidation.
But that was fine—after doing it a few more times, he'd surely get the hang of it.
John Spalletta was dragged by Anthony and Jackson to a private room at the opposite end of the hallway.
"What do you want to know? Ask quickly," Simmons said, closing his eyes.
"Very good. First question: what is the total value of your gang's assets, and where are they hidden?"
"The ledger is in the office upstairs. There's about $700,000 in cash. Other properties like shops and real estate are also recorded there. There's $200,000 in the office drawer, $150,000 in Gotham Savings & Loan Bank, $100,000 in Wayne Enterprises Private Bank, and the remaining $300,000-plus is in a safe at the supermarket warehouse at 31 Dock Street."
Compared to the two mob bosses he'd dealt with before, Simmons clearly understood the importance of not putting all his eggs in one basket.
"Bank locations and passwords."
"One card is on me, the other is on my son. The password is the founding date of the United States."
That would be 840512.
"Did you hijack Penguin's goods a month ago?"
"We did take part in that operation, but the goods aren't with us. The one who wanted them was Mr. Hugo."
"Hugo?"
Hardy's first thought was Victor Hugo, the famous French writer, but that man had been dead for over a century.
"Hugo Strange. Professor at Gotham State University, chief consultant at Arkham Asylum, and recently elected member of the Gotham City Council."
That did ring a bell—at least from the original body's lingering memories.
He'd undergone a psychological evaluation by this man while locked up in Arkham, but since he wasn't considered as dangerous as other notorious villains, he never saw the scholar again.
"What were the goods?"
"I don't know. They were packed in a shipping container. I heard it was some kind of high-tech item made by Dayton Industries in Metropolis. I don't know its name, function, or even what it looks like."
Dayton Industries?
Never heard of it. He'd have to look into it later.
But as long as it didn't interfere with his own plans, Hardy couldn't be bothered with such trouble.
After all, Batman would take care of any problems anyway.
Calling Jackson to keep an eye on Simmons, Hardy went to the other room to interrogate John Spalletta.
Ten minutes later.
"That's all?" Hardy sighed, reluctantly playing with the fruit knife in his hand, looking disappointed.
Why were these two so cooperative?
Although he was a villain, keeping his word was still better than breaking it.
So…
"Anthony, check if the signal jammer outside is off. If it is, send a message to Penguin—tell him the Spalletta father and son are his."
He'd only promised not to kill them. Penguin hadn't made any such promise.