Chapter 785: Deadly Joke (12)_1

Bruce took off, with perhaps the burly man deciding not to pursue, considering the gun Bruce was carrying.

Driving a truck that was on the verge of falling apart and gnawing on tasteless bread, Bruce felt a sense of relief. Being without money was better than being in debt - at least the consequence of being penniless now was just the end of being hungry. However, if he were to owe high-interest loans to a mob, that would surely be a real trouble.

He became painfully aware that he was no longer the omnipotent Batman he used to be. His condition was now significantly deteriorating, the most he had seen in his life.

Starvation over a series of days had depleted his energy greatly and he had lost at least a couple dozen pounds. Although his cold had gotten better, his throat was hurting like it had turned into bronchitis, and his stomach had not adjusted to the local diet, which often led to diarrhea.

Under such circumstances, it was impossible for Bruce to fight against the robust mob members, as he would not be able to bear the consequences of losing against them.

When he was Batman, if he lost a fight against the mob, he'd just humble himself back to Wayne Manor; clean his expensive suit, dress the wounds, check on his eyes and drip in some eye drops, then rest.

But now, getting beaten up by mob members, falling from the top floor building, and not to mention the risk of breaking bones or rupturing organs, he couldn't even accept the consequences of spraining his hand or foot, because then he wouldn't be able to drive.

If he couldn't drive, he wouldn't earn money. Without money, he couldn't eat. Without food, he would grow weaker, more susceptible to bullying, more prone to injuries, which would also mean earning less money…

Bruce now somewhat understood, why the team leader said that those who entered the canned area could never get out.

Because, once you step into the river of poverty, you cannot swim upstream. Everything would only slide toward the irretrievable abyss, until at a certain point, you would fall off from the waterfall and be crushed to pieces.

Luckily, Bruce's luck was not too bad in the following few days. He lived a steady life, saved up a few dozen dollars, and even made a few friends among the truck drivers.

He gradually figured out the rules here and finally managed to make a living. At this point, an experienced truck driver from another group approached Bruce, inviting him to hang out over the weekend.

Before, Bruce had joined other truck drivers in their activities, which mostly involved eating barbecue at a tasty restaurant or taking group orders. After earning money, everyone would split it.

Now, Bruce just wanted to work hard for money. He was not interested in hanging out. However, the older truck driver was the leader of another small group which had the opportunity to deliver fresh produce from the outskirts of the city—a profitable business. After thinking about it, Bruce decided to go with him to potentially meet some people from the outskirts.

The experienced driver took Bruce to a nightclub. Bruce did not have the luxury to substitute beer with ginger juice anymore, so he rather had a few drinks. Fortunately, his alcohol tolerance was higher than average, so he did not get drunk.

After a few rounds of drinks and dishes, the real part of the evening began. Some girls flocked around them and Bruce, with the strong scent of the girls' cheap perfume, felt only nausea.

Everyone else was enjoying themselves, but Bruce, having experienced a severe downgrade in his spending, could not even maintain a facade.

These girls, compared to the glamorous socialites, or even the most average waitresses at the restaurants he frequented, lacked sophistication.

Bruce started pretending to be drunk and went to the bathroom to throw up. These girls didn't enjoy hanging out with young guys like him, as they knew he was broke. The older truck drivers, although they made lewd advances, were at least generous.

Young men like Bruce also had their first time here. They enjoyed the attention and were even willing to splurge on buying drinks for these girls.

Bruce used the excuse of having gastroenteritis to leave. He then saw these guys later in a back alley, each one taking a girl to their respective trucks.

Bruce, returning alone, felt no regret but a sense of relief, as he felt nauseated by even breathing the same air as they did.

The next morning, the refreshed experienced driver found Bruce again, expressing regret that he couldn't have more fun the night prior and once again invited him out. Bruce initially wanted to decline, but apparently, the leader of his small group was going too, so Bruce had no choice but to join them.

Fortunately, there were no girls this time. A dozen people had several rounds of drinks, cleared the table, and then started playing cards.

With two people playing against each other and over a dozen people placing bets, the atmosphere was very lively. The cash that took a full day of hard driving to earn could be lost just like that. Picking it back up would receive disdain from everyone, and the glare from the boss could be brighter than a light bulb.

Bruce chose not to bet but instead played cards himself.

Without listening devices or surveillance equipment, and without x-ray vision, Bruce's high intelligence allowed him to remember every card, understand the distribution of cards on the table and in his hand. Generally, he won more than he lost, but at the end of the game, it was decided that he would have to buy dinner.

The next day, he lost more than he won and was coerced to try and win it back. Bruce felt for the first time that leisure time after a hard day's work wasn't really as valuable. He would rather drive at night.

To avoid annoying social events, Bruce decided to make urgent deliveries at night. Night driving earned more money but was also more challenging.

Driving at night tends to be tiring, especially during the initial few days when one is still adjusting to the jet lag. Other truck drivers smoked marijuana as a stimulant, but Bruce was adamant about not smoking. As a result, he had a minor collision the next day.

Luckily, the accident wasn't severe, just a slight bump. There were no traffic police or insurance here. The blame game in this place boiled down to who had more bullets in their gun. The driver of the other truck was at fault for rounding the bend first, so on seeing Bruce's young face and strong frame, the two of them decided to go their separate ways and repair their own trucks.

Everything else was fine, except for one of the headlights that got damaged – a crucial component for night driving. Bruce managed to find a repair shop and after two hours of haggling, he finally got a brand new headlight instead of a second-hand one. The cost of this was all the money he had saved up, leaving him broke once again.

Why is saving money so difficult? Bruce always pondered about it.

He couldn't figure out whether he was simply unlucky or there was something wrong with the way he handled things. Was he having a hard time adapting?

Three days of steady work, a week to ensure enough food, half a month to familiarize himself in the industry. After almost a month, all he had to show for it, besides being penniless yet again, was that he was still alive.

Being unable to find anyone else to compare with, Bruce had no idea if his circumstances were normal or not. He wished he had a trustworthy person to ask, but looking around, there was no such individual to be found.

Then he realized the most trustworthy person in this circle was ironically Joker Jack.

From his earlier observations, Bruce figured that Joker Jack was quite a successful truck driver. His loafs of bread are certainly more expensive than his own, and not to mention that he was able to afford fried chicken.

This was the first time Batman initiated a meet with the Joker, not to lock him up but to determine whether the lunatic was indeed better off than him.

The results were quite disappointing; Joker Jack was doing exceptionally well.

When Bruce found Jack, he was leaning against the entrance of the repair shop, smoking. Rather than asking him to stop, Bruce was more curious about what exactly he was smoking. On finding out that Joker was smoking good quality cigarettes costing 20 cents a pack, Bruce turned to leave.

However, Jack noticed him, cigarette dangling from his mouth as he said, "Look who it is, our top performer! Seems like you haven't been eating well. Is your bat mama not feeding you?"

Jack then squatted down near the curb and Bruce followed suit.

Jack offered Bruce a cigarette. Bruce declined, not because he didn't smoke, but because he didn't even have a matchstick.

He couldn't exactly lean over and ask Jack to light it for him. Given Jack's clumsy demeanor, he might accidentally ignite the few kilograms of explosives on them, sending them both to the God of Death.

"Ever imagined sitting and chatting with me on the roadside?" Jack said as he exhaled smoke, "And you're even envious of me. Envious that I'm doing better, that I'm richer."

"You're dreaming," Bruce replied, staring down the road, "I'm not envious of you. The only reason I'm not as rich as you is that I haven't been working as long. If I had as much experience as you, I'd be just as wealth."

"If your useless pride could be exchanged for money, you wouldn't be sleeping in the truck anymore," Jack scoffed, "You know what? I don't even want to cause any explosions right now. I don't want to complicate matters because even in its simplest form, you still can't solve it."

"Sooner or later, I'll find the answer," Bruce said, resting his hands on his knees, "I'll find it right here, I'll find it among them. The moment I find the answer, Batman will return, and I'll put you in jail."

"Doesn't that sound like a blessing?" Jack commented, "A blessing that I don't have to work for three meals a day, no risk of starvation, all on taxpayers' money."

Bruce stood up, leaning against a nearby telegraph pole. He didn't retort to Jack's statement mainly because he realized that what Joker said made sense, as his current lifestyle was even worse than that of an inmate's.

Joker Jack, arms wrapped around his knees and chin resting on them, remarked,

"I don't need to fight against you anymore; you've picked a tougher opponent yourself. He's more robust and insane than I am."

"The only thing I acknowledge insane than me in this world," He added, "is reality."

"Batman, I even want to help you out. Only if you crawl out of your cradle, you'll learn what true despair is in this world."

The last thing Bruce saw as he leaned against the electrical pole was the silhouette of Joker Jack limping away in the descending sunset. He hadn't detonated any explosives or burst out laughing maniacally, but he did something crazier—

He left Batman 100 dollars, which was enough to rent a room.