Chapter 781: Deadly Joke (8) (Patreon)

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Ten minutes later, Bruce looked at Jack sitting in the passenger seat, wiping his eyes with a tissue, deliberately making exaggerated gestures and speaking in a strange tone, "Oh, the joke you just told is really hilarious. I haven't laughed this happily in a long time!"

"What's so funny?" Bruce asked, staring straight ahead.

Suddenly, Jack leaned in close to Bruce, almost sticking his face to his, staring wide-eyed and asking, "Do you need to eat? Are you hungry? I still have some bread in my car. Do you want some?"

"No, I'm not hungry," Bruce replied, but soon Jack saw through him. He leaned his head against Bruce's stomach and said, "I heard your stomach growling. You must be hungry. Have a piece of bread!"

Jack took out the half-eaten bread from his pocket, sniffed it, and said, "It's from last night, but it still tastes good. Won't you have some?"

"No," Bruce refused again. Even if he starved, he wouldn't eat anything from the Joker. Who knows what kind of bomb he might have hidden in there?

Jack suddenly fell silent, holding the half-eaten bread in his hands, sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, and looking at the congested traffic ahead. "Why didn't you ask me this question earlier?... Why not earlier?" he asked after a while.

"What question?" Bruce looked at him.

"How do you eat when you have no money?... The question you just asked me, you should have asked me earlier," Jack suddenly changed his expression, combed his messy hair, and rubbed his eyes.

"What's the matter with this question?" Bruce asked again.

"Nothing," Jack suddenly shook his head, as if not wanting to talk anymore. After a while, he asked again, "Did you earn any money?"

"Not yet," Bruce pressed the gas pedal, and the car moved forward for a short distance but stopped again.

Jack fell into a strange silence, as if he didn't exist. Bruce intermittently drove the truck. After more than an hour of congestion on the overpass bridge, they were finally approaching the distribution point.

Arriving at the distribution point, Bruce found that the person receiving the goods today was a stranger, and he looked unfriendly.

Bruce picked up the newly bought gun. The moment the group of people saw the gun, their expressions changed. The bald leader signaled to the thin guy behind him, and a skinny man walked forward, coldly saying to Bruce, "Are you new? Do you know the rules of the distribution point?"

These days, with Batman's genius and learning ability, he had already figured out the rules of the underworld. He didn't say much, just loaded the gun and raised it, saying, "I only know the rules of this thing."

At this point, the bald guy walked up and said, "Okay, don't be too excited, none of us want trouble. After all, now is a good time to make money. If we end up in the hospital, we won't make a penny."

"Which warehouse do I go to?" Bruce touched the gun handle again and asked. The skinny guy said, "You go to the fourth warehouse and wait in line for unloading."

Bruce pointed the gun at him, lightly pulled the trigger, and said, "Don't think about tricking me. The parking spaces in the fourth warehouse are the smallest. It takes half an hour to make a turn. Let me go to the eighth warehouse."

"Don't go too far." The thin guy raised his voice, "The eighth warehouse is where the Green Street gang can go. You, a country bumpkin with a cross square, want to go to the eighth warehouse?"

The bald guy also persuaded, "Newcomer, don't think you're so great just because you have a gun. Everyone here has a gun. We don't show it because we don't want to waste bullets. How about this, we'll open a back door for you to go to the fifth warehouse for unloading. It's the third largest there..."

Bruce was unmoved. He said, "If you don't let me go to the eighth warehouse, I'll unload here."

As he spoke, he was about to turn around and open the warehouse door. At this moment, the bald guy's face changed. He quickly walked up to Bruce, blocked him, and gritted his teeth, "Good kid, who taught you this?"

Seeing his expression, Bruce knew this trick worked. Was this the trick he learned from the old truck driver he treated to a meal yesterday?

The people guarding the distribution point weren't afraid of your gun threats, as everyone here had guns. They were afraid that you would block the truck in the center, pile all the goods at the door, and make it impossible for other cars to enter. With too many trucks, they would have to clear the mess, and they wouldn't be able to do anything else all afternoon.

Moreover, if a truck carrying valuable goods was blocked on the road, the leaders of those big gangs would inquire, and everyone would be in trouble.

Ordinary truck drivers didn't use this trick, either because they didn't know or were worried about offending too many people. But Bruce wasn't afraid at all. He didn't have those complicated relationships; the barefoot were not afraid of those with shoes.

The bald guy also saw this point. He lowered his voice and said, "Let's each take a step back. Unload at the seventh warehouse."

"I want to go to the eighth, or no deal." Bruce stared at him and said, "I've already taken a step back. Don't think I don't know. The eighth warehouse is not the best warehouse either. Behind the corner after the ninth warehouse turning east, there is a special place for transporting..."

"Okay, stop talking." The bald guy looked around and said, "You know quite a lot, but it's best to keep your mouth shut, or it won't be good for you."

After that, he waved to the people behind him and said, "Let him go to the eighth warehouse for unloading!"

Bruce, holding the gun, returned to the driver's seat. Jack, sitting in the passenger seat, applauded vigorously, saying, "You performed really well, Mr. Truck Driver. You've only been working for a week, and you've figured out all the tricks!"

Bruce, turning a corner, said, "A week is still too long. I should have figured these things out within three days."

Jack lit a cigarette, and Bruce frowned, saying, "Don't smoke in my car."

"I'll just smoke one." Jack extended his hand out of the car window, shaking the cigarette ash and said, "Within three days, learning how to drive a truck in Gotham, and then what? What will you do?"

Bruce was about to speak, but Jack took a deep puff of the cigarette and said, "Then end your foolish experience of living in the slums, return to Wayne Tower, and tell those shareholders that living in the slums is nothing special."

"You'll tell them that those poor folks just don't know how to work hard; they deserve to go hungry."

"Can't those beggars on the street spend three days learning how to drive a truck? Since they are lazy, they shouldn't go asking rich people for money. It's their own fault."

Jack's tone was calm, without any anger. He put the cigarette in his mouth and said, "Then, on that night, you'll wear a bat suit worth billions of dollars, come back to the slums where you experienced life, and beat up those who troubled you."

"You think you've avenged these people, fulfilled their dream of beating up those thugs."

"They didn't praise you; instead, they slandered you in the newspapers. You think they don't know any better; they're not worth saving."

"Then, you stand back on the top of Wayne Tower, thinking, a hero always bears many criticisms. Not being understood is your destiny. The world kisses you with pain, and you respond with a song, never forgetting your kind nature."

The cigarette smoke slowly dissipated, and Jack flicked the cigarette ash out of the window, saying, "Batman, this is why I say the person who dresses up as a bat is crazy."

"Have you ever thought that this society doesn't really need you? Everything you do is just to satisfy yourself."

"People are good at labeling things they don't need as garbage. Both of us are thrown-out garbage, but only you think of yourself as a hero."

"They see you as garbage, but you see yourself as their savior." Jack turned to Bruce and said, "Batman, we never respected you because everything you do implies that what this society does is right."

"But in reality, they are narrow-minded. Anything they don't need is considered trash."

"The garbage thrown out by society is plentiful. We treat this ugly society as a game, enjoying ourselves here, laughing heartily."

"Only you, with a mournful face, act as if the master who threw you out was something so good, something to look forward to."

Jack tossed the cigarette butt out of the window and said, "Ugly-looking, like a dog abandoned by its owner."

Bruce turned to Jack and said, "Are you done? Don't you have your own truck?"

"You hit the nail on the head again." Jack turned to him, revealing a smile, and said, "I used to have one, but not anymore."

"Why not?" Bruce asked again.

"That's the same question as before."

"What question?"

"How do you eat when you have no money?" Jack shrugged and said, "How do you buy a truck when you have no money?"

"What about your original truck?" Bruce asked.

"I'll think about it." Jack tapped his temple, making a thoughtful expression, and said, "It was in my first week as a truck driver... or was it the second week? My car was set on fire."

"I can't remember the specifics. Either I didn't load according to the gang's wishes, or I didn't bribe the warehouse managers. Anyway, on a certain day, when I went out, I saw a roaring fire..."

Jack extended a hand in front of his eyes and waved. "I saw my new car burning. It was raining that night, but the rain couldn't extinguish such a fire. It turned into wreckage right in front of me."

"At first, I went crazy trying to put out the fire. The flames burned my eyebrows and scorched my face. But later, the rain got heavier..."

With Jack's voice, rain began to fall. When it hit the ground, it made a subtle sound. The crackling sound of the fire burning echoed in his ears. In the rainy night, the fire in the burning truck was exceptionally vigorous.

A dark figure stood in front of the fire, quietly watching it burn, like a traveler who had exhausted his last strength in a snowy night.

Energy, time, and effort were all exhausted in the long night. He had no more firewood to burn, only the future hope to burn.

He used this fire to warm himself, hoping not to freeze to death tonight. But he didn't need to endure this night again because tomorrow, there would be no sun.

In the rainy night, he sat on the ground, raised his head, and silently watched the fire in the truck burn. Rain fell on him, not reaching the ground but disappearing into him like a baby returning to its mother's embrace.

Watching the intense and warm flames, the traveler excitedly danced for this last night's revelry, truly enjoying it with heartfelt happiness.

Amidst the rising flames, he laughed, letting out a deafening crazy laughter that pierced through the dark sky of Gotham.

Because he knew, it was because of this fire that he finally had the chance to laugh, to pierce through the dark clouds, and envelop the city.

It was this fire that burned away the mask trained by poverty and hardship, allowing him to show a genuine smile and perform such a great deed.

Instead of, like all those who wear masks, gently walking into that good night, as this society wishes them to do, making noise as they come and silently dying.

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Next Chapter>>Chapter 782: Deadly Joke (Nine)