I was acting crazy in North America, and all the crazy people there took it seriously.

Chapter 78 Does this prison accept reservations? (Bonus chapter for 200 monthly votes)

"Lucky Baron" Tom has finally been discharged from the hospital!

When he finally had his cast removed and slowly walked out of the hospital, breathing in the free air of Chicago, he keenly sensed that the city seemed... a little different.

Are the streets cleaner?

That doesn't seem right either. It's like those sneaky pickpockets who used to lurk around and steal from passersby's wallets have disappeared?

Even all the people of Chicago have become much more polite?

Tom was so engrossed in a fling with a nurse at the hospital, using his money, that he had no time to read the newspapers and was completely unaware of the major events that had transpired.

He returned to Arkham Heroes Academy full of doubts and found his former partner, "Chief" Edgar Hoover.

“Hey, ‘Chief’!” Tom asked curiously, “Have I been in the hospital for too long because of my injury? Why does Chicago feel... weird? The streets are so quiet. This isn’t the Chicago I know!”

Don't fucking call me "Director"!
Upon hearing this "code name" that raised his blood pressure, Edgar Hoover's forehead vein throbbed, and he didn't even feel like asking why he was injured.

As for his question, Hoover looked up at the sky, his mood as complicated as if he had overturned an entire chemistry lab.

How should he answer?

Tell him that while you were in the hospital, Chicago gangsters started a "crackdown on organized crime," and they were even more active than the police.

Tell him that the gang and the city government made a shady deal and he now owns his own private prison?
Tell him that gangsters are so obsessed with putting criminals in their own jails that they've made the people of Chicago more polite than ever.
—That so-called independent "Fox River Correction Company" is just a fig leaf, fooling the uninformed masses. Anyone with eyes can see that Chicago has entered an era where gangs define the order.
This series of information was so surreal that even Hoover, an undercover agent for the Bureau of Investigation, could only exclaim "Holy crap!"
Finally, he could only sigh and say to Tom in an indescribably complicated tone, "It's complicated. It can't be explained in a few words. Go to a bar and have a drink, experience the new Chicago for yourself."

Tom was confused, but the suggestion to "go to the bar for a drink" resonated with him.

He wanted to have a drink to celebrate his discharge from the hospital.

However, that perfect robbery in Canada seemed to have used up all the "luck" in his name.

Tom had barely sat down at the bar when a group of drunk people at the next table started fighting over a verbal argument.

Let them fight, the battlefield is even spreading towards his side.

In the chaos, he instinctively delivered an elbow strike, accurately hitting one of the opponents on the bridge of the nose.

With a sharp crack, accompanied by a scream, the man collapsed to the ground, blood streaming from his nose.

In the past, this would have been just an ordinary brawl in a bar, which would have ended either with each other exchanging threats or with the owner mediating and paying some medical expenses.

But things are different now.

Less than three minutes after the fight broke out, the bar door was violently kicked open!

Several burly men rushed in, and amidst the gloating laughter of the crowd, they pointed at Tom and the other drunken bastards, and shouted, "Public fighting causing bodily harm! Take them all to the station!"

Tom was dumbfounded! Who the hell is this? Even the Chicago police aren't this efficient!
He tried to argue, "Wait! They started it..."

Before he could finish speaking, his hands were roughly tied behind his back and bound.

To his further confusion, he and several other drunks were dragged out of the bar, shoved into a car, and taken directly to the nearest police station.

Before he could figure out what was going on, he was shoved into a police car and transferred to a small-looking prison.

Tom was completely out of it the entire time. What the hell is this process?
Getting into a fight and you're immediately thrown in jail?

Moreover, the police escorting him said that those who arrested him were actually gangsters?!

Has the relationship between the police and criminals in Chicago become so harmonious? He began to seriously doubt whether he had actually been discharged from the hospital and whether all of this was a hallucination caused by the anesthesia.

As he was registering for imprisonment and having his assets confiscated, a burly white man sized him up and suddenly asked, "The prison has luxury suites, would you like to apply?"

Tom: "...Huh?"

"A private room with a window, clean bed, plentiful meals, including wine and meat, and access to a gym, library, and even a radio. Relatively free movement, no forced labor required."

Tom could hardly believe his ears: "Such a good thing? What are the conditions?"

“It’s simple, just ‘perform well’.” The man rubbed his fingers together, making an internationally recognized gesture.

Tom instantly understood—he needed to pay more!

When it comes to money, he's wide awake. He just pulled off a big heist, and he has enough cash on hand to squander for a while.

"How should we 'perform'?"

"If it's short-term detention, we'll charge you by the day, $50 per day! If it's long-term detention, we also offer monthly and yearly packages..."

Tom grinned. $50 is really not cheap. A few days in jail is the price of a small car!
But if he has money and doesn't use it, he's no longer a "baron".

After paying the money, Tom was taken to the top floor of the prison.

The place had indeed been renovated; the corridor was clean and quiet, and the rooms were private. Although they weren't large, they were fully equipped with beds, tables, chairs, and even a small bookshelf.

The view outside the window is unobstructed—of course, there's barbed wire.

Downstairs is the so-called "gym"—although it consists of some rudimentary equipment.

There was also a “library” – just a few rows of books and newspapers.

Oh, and there's a brand new radio in his room!
They don't even need to wear the same prison uniform!
This is not a prison.

Both the interior of the room and the surrounding environment give the impression of a resort hotel (not so high-end).

He had never been to such a comfortable prison!

No need to work, no worries about food and clothing, guaranteed safety (the prison guards just said they'll be protected), and there are even entertainment facilities!

The guy in front even said that if he wanted, he could even have women in prison—of course, for more money!
This is practically the ideal sanatorium for someone like him who constantly walks the line between the law and reality, living a life of constant ups and downs, and who could be imprisoned at any moment!

He immediately jumped up and asked the kind-looking prison guard, "Hey buddy, does your prison offer reservations?"

He, Ram, no, Tom, was born a Chicago ghost and will die a Chicago ghost; he's determined to stay rooted in Chicago forever!
Even if things go wrong again, the worst that can happen is that we can just come here for a "vacation"!

Since you can enjoy a "luxury package" as long as you have money, what's there to be afraid of?

Chicago is so kind to a hero like him! I love Chicago!
……

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(End of this chapter)