Chapter 786 Lethal Joke (13)_1

As Gotham gradually stepped into summer, the temperature rose and the rain ceased. Apart from a light drizzle in the early part of the night, the weather had improved significantly. For the homeless, such weather was friendlier; they no longer had to worry about freezing to death at night.

Ironically, Bruce didn't throw away the money he had received from his arch-enemy, Joker Jack. This was unthinkable for Batman. In his eyes, anything related to criminals was viral, and money was especially so.

But now, he was neither Batman nor Bruce Wayne. Neither of these two would make such a mad move as to wrestle with civilians in slums, a group of people he had never paid attention to before.

Batman would have thought this was a waste of time, because in actuality he hadn't achieved anything during this period.

He had expended all his energy and strength on one thing only: staying alive. If it were the Batman of the past, he would have rebuked it harshly as a squandering of life.

But here was Bruce, living in anxiety, barely making any steps forward. He was poor enough to have to accept Joker Jack's charity, yet still didn't have enough money to rent a better apartment.

Living Hell was Bruce's original target. He wanted to see it with his own eyes, after its transformation under his touch.

Then he found out he couldn't afford a house there.

To rent a one-bedroom apartment in Living Hell for a week cost 15 dollars. This was an unimaginable high price in the East District. Selina's apartment, also a one-bedroom with a bath and balcony, only cost 6 dollars a week.

Unable to afford a one-bedroom, Bruce lowered his requirements. There were some edge-of-building rooms in Living Hell. These were surplus single rooms that only had a bedroom, no living room or kitchen. Those with windows were 3 dollars a week, those without could even go as low as 2 dollars.

However, the room was extremely small, barely enough for a bed. Moreover, since it was rented out by others, it meant having to live with the landlord. After asking several landlords, none of them were willing to live with such a robust adult male. It was too dangerous.

Those who could rent these nice rooms for low prices were generally physically weak women, like Maggie. This way, the landlord wouldn't be threatened, and references were a must. Otherwise, Gothamites would never casually let anyone into their homes.

When he realized he couldn't afford to rent a house in Living Hell, Bruce started checking out the surrounding area. However, any house within the range of the water purifier had expensive rent.

The water purifier that Batman spent a huge sum of money installing here had now become the culprit for his inability to rent a house.

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

After referring around in circles, he finally got referred to a well-connected person who was a member of the local Children's Gang. The cigarette vendor told Bruce, "The basements around Living Hell are for rent. They not only have water purifiers but also shared bathrooms on each floor, which were built alongside Living Hell."

"But, you also need to have a mobster back you up there. I know a gang that handles this business, as long as you have the money, they're willing to help you find a house."

Bruce thought for a moment and felt that he didn't have a better option. So, following the cigarette vendor's directions, he found the mob real estate agent.

They were living in a dilapidated house at the edge of Living Hell. As soon as Bruce saw the state of the house, half of his heart sunk. If they really could get a good house near Living Hell, why would they stay here?

The Mob boss was a heavily tattooed woman. She patted Bruce on the shoulder and said, "You're not from around here, are you? We have been in this business for a year. All our clients are satisfied. As long as you pay, we can guarantee you a suitable house."

"Can I ask for the price?" Bruce asked.

"10 dollars' commission fee, we can negotiate the rent for you, you can view the room beforehand. But once rented, you can't go back."

The woman took a drag of her cigarette and said, "We can also help you find work, be it in the back kitchen or at the front desk. And of course, if you're willing to work at a strip club, I can introduce you. You will be very popular."

Hearing her make such a solemn guarantee, Bruce was suspicious. As someone who was naturally distrustful, he rarely trusted anyone. So, he eventually rejected the agent, planning to find a place on his own.

Then he found that all the people renting out houses here were agents.

Every one of these agents guaranteed that they could find a suitable house. Bruce didn't have any other choice, he could only pick an agent that he thought seemed the most reliable.

Indeed, it turned out that he had made a good choice. It wasn't a scam agency and they did find him a house. But the price was steep; the commission was 15 dollars, and the rent was 5 dollars per week with a minimum commitment of a month.

His newly rented house was still a basement, but thankfully it was quite close to Living Hell, so it had a water purification system. The tap within the room supplied drinkable water. For the bathroom, he needed to leave the house for the shared restrooms in Living Hell.

But it turned out that involving agents only had two outcomes—being scammed, or being scammed hard. Just after a day they moved in, the house began to leak water. The water pipe upstairs wasn't sealed properly and the leak was right above Bruce's bed, so he caught a cold the next day.

After another two days, Bruce found that his neighbour was involved in illegal dealings. There were ceaseless customers, and he could hear noises in the middle of the night that he didn't want to hear but couldn't escape.

After just a week of settling in, the mob came asking for protection money again. Bruce initially thought it was extortion, but since all of his neighbors paid up, he complied as well. Only after a conversation with his neighbors did he learn that the reason the rent was so low was because it didn't include this protection fee, which amounted to 5 dollars a week.

Bruce's patience was now stretched to its limits. He could tolerate going hungry, can tolerate being cornered, but he could not stand being deceived.

Batman was a very tolerant person, second only to Shiller.

Bruce wanted to deal with these housing fraudsters, but he knew he could only defeat them with brains, not brawn. He couldn't cope with getting injured. To outsmart them, he would need to pit one against the other, strike an enemy with the force of another.

At this time, he heard that the district boss was conducting a thorough investigation of landlords who were renting houses illegally. He bribed a child and received information on the investigator.

Thus, Bruce happened to encounter the informant one night and successfully became a witness, identifying the fraudulent agent who rented the house to him along with the mob who collected protection money twice a week.

Identifying the fraudulent agents was simple, however, getting the mob to play by the rules was challenging.

The investigator said that their leader wanted to meet him. Without much thought, Bruce agreed to meet. Then, he met a familiar face, Cobblepot, who was already waiting inside the restaurant.

When Cobblepot saw Bruce, he thought he was hallucinating. He unscrewed his bottle of medication, swallowed a pill and had Bruce wait in the reception room for half an hour before he re-entered.

He soon realized that his mental state was deteriorating because even the medication couldn't ward off the hallucinations.

The person facing him had a face that looked like Bruce Wayne, or perhaps it was Bruce Wayne.

But at this moment, he was thin, his cheeks slightly hollow. More importantly, his beard was unkempt, his sideburns were not neatly trimmed, he was not wearing a watch, and his boots were all muddy.

After staring at Bruce for a full minute, Cobblepot was certain that the problem was not with his memory, but with the man before him.

"What happened to you?" Cobblepot asked Bruce.

"That's none of your business." Bruce sat on the sofa and dusted off his sleeves, saying: "I can tell you how many illegitimate agents are around Living Hell, how many mobs are breaking the rules collecting protection money, and how many kids have taken agent money to recommend customers for them. I can even tell you how many pimps are present and where they conduct their deals."

Cobblepot found the situation interesting. Before him was both Bruce Wayne and the famous Batman. However, the interesting part was Batman was offering him information.

"Are you out of your mind, Wayne?" Cobblepot glanced at the weather outside and said, "If you've gone crazy, hurry up and take your medicine. Aren't there enough madmen in this city? When you can't cure them, do you decide to join them?"

"I'm not crazy." Bruce's eyes were sunken deeper than usual, but they shone brightly.

And it seemed he had entirely abandoned Riddler's style as he stated, "I can help you increase the efficiency of restoring order around Living Hell by more than 50%. The question is, how much are you willing to pay for this?"

"You really are insane." Cobblepot sat across Bruce, looked him in the eye, and said, "I'm willing to call Professor Shearer now and have him take you to Arkham Asylum for treatment. How much are you willing to pay for that?"

"I've told you; I'm not crazy. If you want to call the professor, go ahead. I am confident that I can write an excellent dissertation and graduate from his institution as a distinguished student," Bruce said.

Cobblepot covered his forehead with his hand and ordered one of his men: "Go to my office and fetch the second bottle of medicine on the right-hand side of my desk."

After a while, his subordinate brought the medicine. Cobblepot waved at his burly bodyguards, and they quickly restrained Bruce. Given that Bruce had lost a lot of weight and strength, he couldn't resist much.

Cobblepot pulled out a pill from the bottle and said to Bruce, "This is a sedative. You're heavier than me, so one pill should be just right."

Then, he had his men force the pill into Bruce's mouth. Bruce struggled, but to no avail. After a month or so, he had dropped at least 30 pounds.

Originally, he had a lean bodily build, but after more than a month of an extremely impoverished lifestyle, his water and fat stores were essentially gone, and he was beginning to lose muscle mass. Now, it was an overstatement to say he could stand toe-to-toe with Cobblepot. He definitely couldn't beat a mob's bodyguard who weighed over 80 kilograms.

Luckily, Cobblepot didn't plan to give him a hard time. He was not a madman like the Joker. He recognized the weight Bruce Wayne carried. He did this not because he wanted to embarrass Batman but because he was genuinely worried that Bruce would do something crazy and hurt himself.

A person can die, but they mustn't die in my restaurant, Cobblepot thought. If Wayne dies here, this restaurant would never be able to do business with any celebrities again.

Having had a long talk with Bruce, Cobblepot was sure that he was genuinely mad. He was not even afraid of Shearer now. He was not afraid of anything at all.

However, Cobblepot was scared.