Although the temperature was still low, Metropolis completely lacked the gloomy, chilling feel of Gotham.
Jay sat on a street bench, basking in the bright afternoon sun, stuffing the last piece of pizza into his mouth.
When he left the building, Clark had chased after him to exchange business cards. It was only then that he remembered they had been so caught up in their intense discussion that they hadn't thought about this simple courtesy.
In the end, it was Lois who chased after the "two immature men" to complete the basic social procedure.
Since he was too embarrassed to mooch a meal off them, he had to be frugal with his own. He looked down at the box at his feet.
Perhaps it was because his plain clothes looked so humble; seven or eight coins had been tossed into the box.
However, with his psychological resilience, he didn't feel shame but rather a sense of having profited.
Just as he patted his clothes, preparing to catch the bus, his phone rang with a dee-lee dee-lee chime. He answered, and immediately a long, enthusiastic greeting burst through the receiver.
"Hey~~~~ brother, my brother-in-arms, have you missed me?"
Wilson's cheerful voice came over the phone, but unsolicited enthusiasm often hid ulterior motives, and Jay suddenly had a premonition of disaster.
"Did you forget to go to the auction?"
"How could I! Fuck, is that what you think of me? I'm at the auction site right now. Uh…" Wilson paused. "And I snagged you a great car!"
??
"Didn't I tell you to call me?" The ominous feeling intensified. "You didn't buy me some piece of junk, did you!"
"You don't trust me? Brother, you wound me! Eighteen hundred dollars, a Chevrolet G20. You won't find a better-value treasure than this."
A Chevrolet G20?
The model name felt familiar, but he couldn't recall it immediately. However, the price was too cheap.
"Are you sure that thing can still run?"
"Of course! Spacious, great value, strong engine. I'm sitting in it right now; listen to that exciting roar. Of course, the mileage is definitely high, you know it wouldn't be this price otherwise. The tires and engine will need a good check-up."
A loud rumbling sound came through the phone. Although Jay was full of doubt, it sounded okay.
"Alright, thanks, brother. I'm still on the other side of the bay. When I catch the last ferry back, I'll definitely… Wait a minute!"
While on the phone, his gaze unconsciously swept around. Suddenly, a vegetable delivery truck across the street, bearing the words "Robert's Fresh & Delicious," caught his attention.
Chevrolet G20…
"What the fuck! Wilson, you son of a bitch, you bought me a van?!"
The price was indeed not expensive, and could even be considered a small gain.
But the thought of other transmigrators either buying luxury cars to pick up beautiful women or driving powerful muscle cars aggressively down the road made him feel utterly defeated.
He would be stuck driving a van like a delivery driver, perhaps even expanding into the moving business. He felt his vision blur with gloom.
"What did you do? Why did you buy this?"
"Uh… brother… uh… calm down," Wilson's voice sounded a bit guilty. "First, you have to swear you'll forgive me, okay? We've been through hell and back together."
"I swear on your grandma's skull, now tell me what happened!"
"The truth is… I woke up a little late this morning, you know, dealing with two women at once… OK, I'll get to the point." Wilson quickly cut himself off. "By the time I rushed to the precinct parking lot, the Crown Victoria was already sold.
There was a 60% new Suburban and a confiscated Dodge Ram left, but you definitely couldn't afford those with your budget. And if I came back empty-handed this time, your three hundred dollar cut-in-line fee would have been wasted.
So I… I bought the last one. Hey… hey… are you alright, brother?"
Jay didn't speak. He just sat on the bench and let out a long, deep sigh.
The way back to Gotham was as long as the trip there, perhaps even longer.
Jay felt the folds of his brain had been shaken flat in the rocking cabin.
Since he wasn't in a hurry, he sat by the road for a while after getting off the boat, still feeling wobbly on his legs.
"Damn it, I don't want to ride a boat for the rest of my life."
The city's sunshine seemed to have suddenly vanished; the air was damp and cold.
He watched the bustling crowd at the dock gradually disperse, stood up, and leisurely walked toward the bus stop across the street.
Before he could cross, a white van honked its horn all the way and screeched to a halt in front of him.
The window was quickly rolled down, revealing Wilson's sneaky face.
"How did you know I was here?"
"Last ferry, naturally." Wilson jumped out of the car and tossed the keys to Jay. "Your ride!"
"My… Did you spend the afternoon fixing it up?" He walked around the van and found that, at least externally, it looked acceptable.
"Yeah, we actually scored a bit of a deal." Wilson forcefully thumped the side of the van. It didn't make the clanging sound of sheet metal, but a thudding dull knock. "This was a confiscated van that the precinct later requisitioned to haul supplies and materials.
Sometimes it also doubled as a transport for prisoners and bodies. But I knew you wouldn't care about that."
"That much is true," Jay shrugged. "Being poor is far more terrifying than ghosts or dead bodies."
"I knew it. After it was requisitioned, this van was modified once. It was fitted with bulletproof steel plates and bulletproof glass," Wilson circled the car, even knocking on the doors. "The tires were just replaced two years ago.
But it's got 180,000 kilometers on it, and the engine and transmission were about to fail, so I had the quartermaster arrange to get them replaced at a reliable garage.
A thousand dollars. You gave me thirty-six hundred, so I have…"
He suddenly paused, fumbling for a stack of bills in his pocket and beginning to count.
"Eight hundred… right?"
Wilson handed the money over uncertainly.
Jay pocketed it and patted his shoulder. "Thanks. Hearing you say all that, it actually sounds pretty good. Come on, my treat, let's go grab a bite to eat."
"Wait, you haven't seen the ultimate modification I made for you yet!"
The moment those words left his mouth, that ominous premonition surged back into Jay's mind.
He reached out to cover Wilson's mouth, but it was too late.
Wilson pulled open the rear door and leaped into the cargo area.
With two light clanking sounds, followed by a loud clunk, a long, square steel panel on the side of the van dropped flat inward, turning into a makeshift countertop.
Then, with a shhhhk, something on a runner track slid to rest underneath the window.
Jay watched, stunned, still processing what had just happened.
Wilson reached out and twisted a knob, and a small flame puffed to life.
"Holy shit! Are you out of your mind?!" Jay nearly jumped in fright. "What is that thing? A propane tank?! You put it in the car?!"
"That's the genius of my design! We'll apply to use this van for patrol, and the gas will be reimbursed." Wilson poked his head out of the side window, beaming proudly. "Your cooking is so great.
We can fry dumplings or make fried rice in the van for lunch and even sell some on the side! That way, we won't have to eat those damn pretzels anymore!"
"…Fried dumplings…"
Jay muttered the words a few times, his eyes vacant, before suddenly leaping up and smacking Wilson on the head. "I'll fry your grandma's pretzel!"
Seeing Wilson clutch his head in dejection, he sighed again.
"Well, what's done is done. Let's eat first."
…
"Hey, why can't I have the Kung Pao Chicken?"
Inside Liu Quanfu's restaurant in Chinatown, Wilson asked, holding his chopsticks with a bewildered look.
"Oh, because the chicken in that dish is fried. It represents the historical suffering of your people, and if I let you eat it, you'd think I was discriminating against you." Jay pulled the plate toward himself. "I'll get rid of it for you."
"WTF? If that counts as discrimination," Wilson snatched the plate back to the center of the table and dumped two large pieces onto his own bowl. "Then please, discriminate against me all you want."
Jay smiled. He had eaten the Four Happiness Meatballs a bit too quickly, so he lifted his bowl and slurped the noodle soup.
Just then, his phone rang; it was an unfamiliar number. He quickly sucked in the stray noodle strand near his mouth and used his little finger knuckle to press the answer button.
"Hello?"
"Uh… Jay?"
The voice on the other end wasn't entirely familiar, and Jay paused, then suddenly remembered.
He quickly wiped his hands with a napkin and grabbed the phone.
"Ed?"
"Hey, it's me." The voice on the other end sounded relieved but immediately grew tense. "I heard that Golan filed a complaint against you two at the precinct yesterday?"
"Oh, I guess so. It was probably yesterday morning, but I wasn't around anyway," Jay said carelessly. "But Bob chewed him out, so it's no big deal."
"Oh, that's good. But I'm sorry for causing you trouble. Truly, if it wasn't for you, they might have suspended me. Uh…" Nigma seemed unused to this tone, speaking haltingly. "Anyway, thank you, and I'm genuinely sorry."
"It's nothing, Ed. We know each other, don't we? Besides, that Golan guy yelled at me the moment he got out of the car. Screw him."
Jay waved off Wilson, who was looking at him with a questioning gaze. "Don't worry about the small stuff. It's good that everyone's fine. By the way, my partner and I are eating in Chinatown, want to join us?"
"Ah… Ah, no, I've already eaten," Nigma seemed to relax. "But I also heard something else that you might need to be careful about. The Major Crimes Unit, for some reason, is planning to return the prison convoy hijacking case to the East Precinct."
Hmm?
Returning the case would mean that the associated honors and credit would also be completely forfeited.
Give up meat that's already in their mouth? Peter Grogan is not a man to be trifled with.
Even if James Gordon was upright and selfless, he would, at most, only pull the two of them onto the awards stage, not return everything wholesale.
Unless… the meat had too many bones and couldn't be swallowed.
"Hey! Hey!"
Jay snapped out of his thoughts, finding Wilson rapping on the table and yelling at him. "What's up? You've been spacing out since you answered that call."
"Thanks, Ed," he ignored Wilson. "I'll keep an eye on it. I'll come find you for a riddle game sometime."
The voice on the other end suddenly sounded much lighter. "How about now? I'll give you—"
"How many steps does it take to put an elephant in a refrigerator?" Jay quickly threw out a riddle to block Nigma, fearing he would launch into a lengthy, strange one of his own.
Nigma was probably not used to brain teasers and was momentarily stumped.
"How many steps… Let me see… If the refrigerator symbolizes cruel death…"
"OK, Ed. Tell me when you figure it out." Jay said a couple of polite words and quickly hung up. Wilson looked at him strangely. "What was that all about?"
"Someone from HQ asking about the ME's complaint." He didn't mention the case. After all, it was only a plan, and if Wilson went around blabbing, it would cause trouble for Nigma.
"Don't worry about it. Bob will sort him out." Wilson tossed his chopsticks on the table and reached for two bottles of beer. "What were you saying about an elephant just now?"
"Just a small riddle. The question is, how many steps does it take to put an elephant in a refrigerator? Can you guess it?" Jay sneered. "Just focus on your food."
"What kind of riddle is that? Open the door, put it in, close the door—three steps! I do that when I grab a beer!"
"Huh??" Jay was startled. "How did you figure that out?"
"That's no riddle. That's the same process I use to grab a beer. But speaking of HQ, I almost forgot."
Wilson popped off a bottle cap and chugged a few mouthfuls straight from the bottle. "Remember yesterday on the road, I told you I saw a guy pulling an ATM with his bare hands? You bastard even accused me of being on drugs."
"What else was I supposed to think? Your imagination isn't that rich when you're sober."
"I'm serious. Harvey Bullock and James Gordon from Major Crimes found the guy yesterday."
"Wow," Jay exclaimed without any sincerity. "Then congratulations to HQ for two more heroes who died in the line of duty. Loeb can pocket two pensions."
"No," Wilson held up a finger and wagged it. "They say the guy got as strong as a gorilla by using a new drug, but that drug is wicked; it burns away the… what was it?" He scratched his head. "I forget, some kind of element in his bones. Once it was burned away, the whole guy just collapsed like ash."
"So what," Jay raised his beer glass toward Wilson. "Didn't Bob say, let those HQ heroes charge into the fray? We just mind our own business and make more money. By the way, come with me to the Old Town market in a bit."
"Old Town? What are we going to the market for this late?"
"That propane tank can fetch at least thirty bucks, and I definitely don't want to drive with a white cloth on my head pretending to be Bin Laden, and then accidentally get blown up."
——————
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