Chapter 786: Deadly Joke (Part 13) (Patreon)

In DC World With Marvel Chat Group : Table of Content/Chapter List

XXX-----XXX-----XXX-----XXX

After entering the summer season in Gotham, the temperature rose, the rain ceased, and except for some light rain in the early night, the weather improved significantly. Such weather was friendlier for those without a permanent residence, at least they didn't have to worry about freezing to death in the night.

Ironically, Bruce hadn't discarded the money from his arch-enemy JokerJack. This was unthinkable for Batman because, in his eyes, anything associated with criminals was a virus, especially money.

However, he was neither Batman nor Bruce Wayne now. Neither of them would make such a crazy move, challenging fate in the slums and confronting civilians he had never interacted with before.

Batman would think it was a waste of time because, in reality, he had done nothing during this period.

He exhausted all his energy and strength, and the only thing he did was stay alive. In the past, Batman would have condemned this as a waste of life.

But Bruce was here, uncertain and struggling to take a single step. He had reached the point of accepting assistance from JokerJack, yet still couldn't afford a better apartment.

Bruce's initial goal was Living Hell. After his modifications, he wanted to see what it had become.

However, he discovered that he couldn't afford a house there. A one-bedroom apartment in Living Hell cost $15 per week, an unimaginable price in the East District. Selena's apartment, also a one-bedroom with a bathroom and balcony, was only $6 per week.

Unable to afford a one-bedroom, Bruce lowered his standards. Living Hell had some edge rooms that were essentially single rooms with no living room or kitchen, just a bedroom. The ones with windows were $3 per week, and those without could go as low as $2.

But these rooms were tiny, only enough for a bed. Since they were rooms rented out by others, it meant living with the landlord. Bruce asked several places, but no one was willing to live with a strong adult male like him because it was dangerous.

Those who could afford such good rooms at low prices were generally physically weak women, like Maggie. This way, there wouldn't be a threat to the landlord's safety. Moreover, there had to be a recommendation from an acquaintance; otherwise, Gotham residents wouldn't easily let strangers into their homes.

Realizing he couldn't afford a Living Hell apartment, Bruce began looking nearby. However, any house within the range of the water purifier was expensive.

The water purifier Batman had installed here at great expense had now become the culprit preventing him from renting a house.

But Bruce had to rent a house with a water purifier; his stomach couldn't take any more.

After twists and turns, he finally inquired from a source, a child member selling cigarettes nearby. The vendor said, "The basement near Living Hell is available for rent. It has a water purifier, and each floor has a public bathroom, built together with Living Hell."

"But, you need a gang to protect you. I know a gang that does this business. As long as you can pay, they're willing to help you find a house."

Bruce pondered and felt he had no better choice. So, under the guidance of the cigarette vendor, he found the gang intermediary.

They lived in a rundown room on Hell's Edge. Just seeing the environment here, Bruce's heart sank halfway. If they could really get good houses near Living Hell, why live here?

The leader of the intermediary was a heavily tattooed woman. She patted Bruce's shoulder and said, "You're from out of town, right? We've been in this business for a year, and all our clients are satisfied. As long as you pay, we guarantee to find you a suitable house."

"Can I ask about the price?" Bruce inquired.

"Employment fee is $10, and we can negotiate the rent for you. You can preview the house, but once you rent, there's no turning back."

The woman took a drag of her cigarette and said, "We can also help you find a job. We have connections in the kitchen and front desk. Of course, if you're willing to work in a strip club, I can introduce you; you'll be popular."

Hearing her confident assurance, Bruce was already suspicious. He was inherently a very skeptical person, distrusting almost everyone. So, in the end, he refused the intermediary and decided to find a place on his own.

Then he discovered that everyone renting houses here was an intermediary.

Each of these intermediaries guaranteed to find a suitable house, and Bruce had no other choice but to choose the one he thought was the most reliable.

As it turned out, his judgment was not bad. It wasn't a black intermediary, and they did find him a house, but the price was high. The hiring fee was $15, and the rent was $5 per week, with a minimum one-month lease.

Bruce's new rented house was still a basement, but fortunately, it was close to Living Hell, so it had a water purification system. There was a tap in the house from which he could directly drink water. However, to use the toilet, he had to leave and go to the public bathroom in Living Hell.

However, reality proved that dealing with intermediaries only led to two outcomes: being scammed or being thoroughly scammed. On the first day of moving in, the house started leaking due to poorly sealed pipes above Bruce's bed. The next day, he caught a cold again.

After two more days, Bruce discovered that his neighbor was involved in illegal transactions, with various clients coming and going. Late at night, he could hear noises he didn't want to but had to endure.

Just completing a week, a gang came knocking, demanding a protection fee. Bruce thought it was extortion, but since his neighbors paid, he had no choice but to pay as well. Talking to the neighbor, he learned that the reason the rent was cheap was that it didn't include the protection fee, which was an additional $5 per week.

Bruce's patience was reaching its limit. He could endure hunger and being stranded on the road, but being scammed was unacceptable.

Batman was a very tolerant person, perhaps the most tolerant besides Schiller.

Bruce considered taking down these black intermediaries, but he knew he could only outsmart them. He couldn't accept the consequences of getting hurt, and outsmarting them required facing danger and using others' strength.

Just then, he heard that the big shots in the area were investigating illegal renting. He bribed a child and got information on who was being investigated.

So, one evening, Bruce coincidentally met the informant and successfully became a witness, pointing out the black intermediary who rented him the house and the gang collecting protection fees twice a week.

Identifying the black intermediary was simple, but proving the gang's misconduct was a bit challenging.

The investigator said their boss wanted to meet him. Bruce didn't think much and went. To his surprise, he encountered someone familiar waiting in the restaurant – Copperpot.

When Copperpot saw Bruce, he thought he was hallucinating. He opened a pill bottle, took a pill, and made Bruce wait for half an hour in the reception area before returning.

Then he realized that his mental condition was deteriorating, and even medication couldn't deal with hallucinations.

The person in front of him had a face resembling Bruce Wayne's, probably Bruce Wayne's face. However, he was thin, with sunken cheeks, and more importantly, his beard was untrimmed, his sideburns unshaved, no watch on his wrist, and even mud on his boots.

Staring at Bruce for a full minute, Copperpot confirmed that his memory was fine, but the problem lay with the person in front of him.

"What happened to you?" Copperpot asked Bruce.

"You don't need to worry about that," Bruce sat on the sofa, brushed off the dust on his sleeve, and said, "I can tell you how many black intermediaries there are around Living Hell, how many gangs are illegally collecting protection fees, how many children took money from intermediaries to lure customers, and I can even tell you how many prostitutes there are around here and where they do business."

Copperpot found the situation interesting. Before him was Bruce Wayne, the famous Batman. But what intrigued him wasn't that; it was that Batman had just said he wanted to provide him with intelligence.

"Aren't you sick, Wayne?" Copperpot glanced at the weather outside. "If you're crazy, take your medication. Aren't there enough crazy people in this city? If you can't cure them, join them?"

"I'm not crazy," Bruce's eyes were sunken, deeper than usual, but his eye contact was bright. He seemed to have completely abandoned the Riddler's style and said, "I can help you increase the efficiency of reorganizing the area around Living Hell by more than 50%. The question is, how much reward are you willing to give for it?"

"You're really crazy," Copperpot sat opposite Bruce, looking into his eyes. "I'm now willing to call Professor Schiller for you, to take you to Arkham Asylum for treatment. How much are you willing to pay for that?"

"I said I'm not crazy. If you want to call that professor, go ahead. Because I'm confident enough to write an excellent thesis, graduate from him as an outstanding student," Bruce said.

Copperpot covered his forehead with his hand. He told his subordinate, "Go to my office and bring the second bottle of pills from my desk."

After a while, the subordinate brought the bottle, and Copperpot waved to his burly bodyguards. They immediately pressed Bruce down, which was easy because Bruce had lost a lot of weight and almost had no strength to resist.

Copperpot poured out a pill from the bottle and said to Bruce, "This is a sedative. You weigh more than me, so one pill should be just right."

Then he had his subordinates feed the pill to Bruce. Bruce struggled, but it was useless. In just over a month, he had lost at least 30 pounds.

Originally, he had a relatively lean physique. After more than a month of extreme poverty, water and fat had bottomed out, and muscles had started to deteriorate. So far, saying he had a fifty-fifty chance against Copperpot was an exaggeration; he definitely couldn't beat the gang bodyguards weighing over 80 kilograms.

Fortunately, Copperpot didn't intend to harm him. He wasn't a madman like the Joker; he knew the weight of Bruce Wayne. He did this not to make Batman look bad but because he genuinely feared Bruce might do something crazy and harm himself.

People can die, but please don't die in my restaurant, Copperpot thought. If Wayne really died here, this restaurant could forget about doing any more celebrity business.

After chatting with Bruce for a while, Copperpot confirmed that he was truly crazy. He wasn't even afraid of Schiller anymore. Right now, he feared nothing.

But Copperpot was afraid.

[Read at www.patreon.com/shanefreak, without ads and support the work.]

XXX-----XXX-----XXX-----XXX

Next Chapter>>Chapter 787: Deadly Joke (14)