Chapter 66 Since You Want Thrills, Go All the Way

"It looks like you've run into some trouble, and not just a hundred-dollar kind of trouble."

Seeing Thomas's embarrassed expression, Peter shrugged. "If you don't mind, you can tell us about your trouble. Perhaps we can help."

"No, sir, I just... wanted to borrow another hundred dollars from you. I'll pay you back ten thousand."

Thomas hesitated for a few seconds before finally refusing Peter.

"You still don't seem to know the cruelty of the world, Thomas."

Peter slowly walked up to him. "Just look at this street."

He casually pointed toward two young men smoking at the corner of the street. "Those guys are discussing where to go rob someone tonight, or where to beat up some clueless stray wanderer."

"This city is full of such wickedness. They are flesh-eating predators, and people like you are nothing more than harmless herbivores in their eyes. If you had a single dollar on you, they would snatch it away."

As he spoke, Peter glanced at the bruised area around the boy's eye. "I'm guessing the hundred dollars I gave you earlier was stolen by them, am I right?"

Under Peter's gaze, which seemed capable of piercing straight through his heart, Thomas rubbed his temple somewhat unnaturally.

His bruised eye ached, driving him to distraction, and Peter's piercing gaze made his mind even more unsettled.

Peter casually pulled a "Franklin" from his wallet and held it out toward him.

"You can take this now, but you could also tell me about the little trouble you've encountered, Thomas. What is your choice?"

"I..."

Thomas bit his lower lip, looked up at Peter's meaningful gaze, and then glanced back at the two fellows at the other end of the street.

The two drunken men kept casting intentional or unintentional glances in their direction.

"Maybe..."

Thomas took a deep breath, his gaze suddenly turning resolute as he said to Peter, "Mr. Patrick, perhaps we can make a deal."

"Oh? What kind of deal?"

Peter grew deeply interested in this young man, who possessed an air of mature composure in every gesture.

"I can buy this bar and give it to you!" he declared, gesturing to the bar in front of them with a statement that was as bold as it was startling.

"I mean, not right now—I'll buy it later. But Mr. Patrick, you have to help me do something."

Peter and the Martian Manhunter exchanged glances.

Thomas continued, "A group of robbers stole my watch. If you help me get the watch back, I'll give you the bar, sir."

"Sounds like a very fair deal, but why should I believe you?"

Thomas said with confidence, "Because you will believe me, Mr. Patrick. From the moment you lent me that hundred dollars, you chose to trust me. Since you made that choice from the very beginning, why not continue to believe?"

Hearing this, the Martian Manhunter let out a faint smile at the corner of his mouth and said to Peter,

"I think there is some sense in what he says, sir. You've already invested two hundred dollars; giving up now might mean losing even more than you've put in."

Peter gave the Martian Manhunter a surprised look.

Since when does a green-skinned Martian understand "sunk cost"?

Peter turned back, extended his hand toward the boy, and narrowed his eyes. "Deal!"

...

The rain in the city grew heavier. The hazy gray light was broken into thin strands by the rain, shining through the car windows into the interior, casting a dim, alluring, and wetly crystalline glow.

Peter drove toward the location Thomas had mentioned to retrieve his watch.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Thomas turned sideways to watch the water droplets trickling down the window.

The entire ride was silent, and the two soon arrived at a street corner.

A few hippies were standing on the corner, laughing and talking about something.

Peter stopped the car, unbuckled his seatbelt, and said to Thomas, "Stay here. Don't get out."

Thomas nodded and watched as Peter walked right into the middle of the group of hippies.

The car windows sealed out the sound, so he couldn't hear what Peter said, but the interaction clearly wasn't very pleasant.

With lightning speed, Peter grabbed one of the hippies by the throat and slammed him directly against the wall.

A few minutes later, amidst Thomas's astonished gaze, Peter pulled open the car door and got back inside.

"This is your watch, right?"

Staring blankly at the watch Peter handed over, Thomas swallowed hard.

"Yes... that's it."

"Looks like things went smoothly."

Peter started the car with a satisfied expression.

Watching Thomas put the watch back onto his wrist, he casually asked, "Is this watch very important to you?"

"Yes, it's a keepsake left behind by my father."

With a sorrowful expression, Thomas stroked the watch face.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his head and looked ahead, catching sight of several orphans warming themselves by a fire in an alleyway.

"Mr. Patrick, stop the car!"

Upon seeing the orphans by the fire, he immediately asked Peter to pull over.

Once the car came to a halt, he quickly pushed the door open and stepped out, handing the hundred dollars Peter had given him earlier to one of the young girls.

After exchanging a few words, Thomas returned to the vehicle.

"So, you borrowed money just for them?"

Peter asked him.

"Yes, they helped me a lot. If it weren't for them, I might not have been able to escape..."

Realizing he had slipped up, Thomas immediately shut his mouth.

Peter gave him a surprised look, said nothing, and continued driving forward.

It seemed this young man had quite a few secrets of his own.

...

Ten minutes later.

After getting out of the car and parting ways with Peter, Thomas hurried through the rain toward a phone booth.

Raindrops beat against the glass of the booth.

Shivering from the cold, Thomas pressed the telephone receiver to his ear.

His chin trembled as he waited through the endless ringing tones.

"Click!"

"This is Wayne Manor. I'm Alfred."

A familiar voice came from the other end of the receiver.

Thomas wanted to say something, but suddenly felt a wave of cowardice.

He had never been cowardly before, but right now, he couldn't bring his mouth to open.

"Hello? Who is this?"

The person calling himself Alfred asked repeatedly.

The fingers holding the receiver turned white, yet no sound could escape Thomas's throat.

Another voice came through the earpiece. "Alfred, what is it?"

"Nothing, Master Bruce. It might just be a wrong number."

Alfred hung up the phone directly.

Listening to the busy tone, Thomas hung up the receiver powerlessly, clutching his increasingly throbbing forehead.

Alfred surely had no idea that he was currently in Metropolis.

And that wasn't his fault.

That mysterious organization had found someone who looked identical to replace him, living under the identity of Bruce Wayne.

Alfred would never suspect that the Bruce he interacted with every day was a fake.

If he told him the truth, Alfred would undoubtedly be harmed by the mysterious organization.

What on earth was he supposed to do?!

Thomas—the young man whose true name was Bruce Wayne—was plunged into a state of painful inner turmoil.

After a long while, Bruce walked out of the phone booth like a walking corpse.

The rain grew heavier, and with his clothes soaked through, he shivered violently from the cold.

The next second, he suddenly felt the rain above his head disappear.

Looking up, he discovered that an umbrella was being held over him.