Chapter 174: A Chance Encounter in the Bar

My name is Chuck Brown.

I am an aerodynamicist; of course, I use that title mainly because it makes people think I'm doing well.

But in reality, I have many other titles; I just keep them hidden in my heart and never tell anyone else.

Drunkard, failed father, unfit husband, a failure whose marriage has broken, a pitiful wretch who accomplishes nothing, an accomplice to madmen, a strange man who likes flying kites.

I picked up the glass before me and poured those unspoken titles, along with the tequila in the cup, down into my belly.

Alcohol, this thing is truly one of humanity's greatest inventions, isn't it? It can make people forget their troubles, sorrows, and pain; forget their past, present, and future.

Pity it only works for one night.

I often wonder: if there were any liquor that could make a person forget everything about themselves forever, I would definitely spend all my meager, pitiful fortune to exchange for a single cup; for me, that would be an incredibly worthwhile deal.

"Mm, no, no," Chuck Brown, leaning over the bar, muttered to himself, his voice like a sleep-talker: "I still have to remember the kite, I still have to remember my son."

"Uh, boss, do you have any non-alcoholic drinks?"

A voice suddenly sounded beside him; the strange question made the drunk Chuck glance sideways. The person wore ordinary short sleeves, a shirt, and jeans; he looked quite handsome, but also quite fierce, seeming not like a good person.

Chuck glanced at the other man but didn't pay much attention; at this moment, he was very drunk, and being able to see the other's face clearly was already difficult; his mind had no spare capacity to care about anything else.

Coming to a bar, but not drinking alcohol?

The boss behind the bar heard these words and stared straight at the other man; he seriously suspected this guy had come to cause trouble. So his eyes couldn't help but drift downward, glancing at the shotgun hidden under the counter, one of the essentials for East Side bars. Finally, after a moment, he still restrained the impulse to reach for the gun.

Of course, this was also because the other man really did look a bit like a tough customer; the boss worried he might be a high-ranking member of some gang.

"Kid, this is a bar; if you want to drink milk—"

"No, no, no, water is fine." The man smiled awkwardly: "Landlady Mrs. Reels told me to frequent her husband's bar more often and gave me a small discount, so I came running over."

Oh, so he's a tenant.

Hearing his words, the boss Reels's expression finally relaxed; he casually tapped the bar: "This is a bar; there are no non-alcoholic drinks. If you're allergic to alcohol, you can drink iced water."

"Iced water is fine, thanks—oh, do you have any food? I haven't had dinner yet."

Ma Ma Zhaodi took paper money out of his pocket, placed it on the counter, and sized up the surroundings; this was his first time entering a place like a bar—after all, he had previously been an ordinary writer shut-in with no money, so even back in his home country, he had never been to a bar or a dance hall; he had occasionally gone to arcades or internet cafes, and those places were quite fun.

The bar overall had simple wooden floors and walls; photos hung at the entrance, posters were pasted up, flyers were tacked on, and the walls even had graffiti sprayed and words written on them; in the corners stood some machines he didn't understand, perhaps game machines, perhaps song-changing machines.

From the moment he entered, the noisy chatter in the bar mixed with House music (House music, a music style); fortunately, after the TV news broadcast began, the boss turned down the music volume, otherwise the people in the bar would absolutely not have heard a single word of the news.

"This afternoon, the Riddler's signature symbol appeared in Gotham Plaza."

Ma Ma Zhaodi glanced at the news, found nothing new, so he continued eating the hamburger, fries, and fried fish blocks in his hand, while sizing up the other corners of the bar.

A dartboard hung on the wall, with a few darts stuck sparsely into it; beside it was a small table where several burly men gathered around, playing poker; it looked like they were gambling money.

Several women dressed rather sparingly in fabric and some men with tattoos and strange hairstyles gathered around the gambling table; the whole table looked like they weren't good people—I mean, they didn't look like people easy to mess with.

As for the rest, those who seemed already out of their minds, not knowing whether they had drunk too much or been drugged; or those in the corners who couldn't help but entangle themselves in pairs; or those who openly discussed prices; such a blooming crowd was the main tone in this bar. According to Ma Ma Zhaodi's judgment, most bars in the East Side probably had this kind of tone.

And in a place like this, the man beside him, wearing a cheap blue suit and merely sitting at the bar drinking in gloomy silence, seemed quite out of place.

Ma Ma Zhaodi saw him drunk on the counter, so he casually patted his shoulder.

"You don't look like you enjoy drinking, so you should drink less, Mr. —Reels, give him a glass of iced water too."

Reels shrugged and slid another glass of iced water over.

Ma Ma Zhaodi casually pushed that glass of water to his hand's side; no one noticed that a few drops of milk appeared out of nowhere beneath his palm; they dripped into the cup and, as the cup swayed, quickly dissolved into the water.

"It's on me, Mr."

"Oh, thank you," the man in the blue suit mumbled a thanks, and regardless of what was actually in his hand, he picked it up and gulped it down.

A few seconds later, he slowly sat up; although he thought he was still drunk, he could already converse normally.

Then he spoke his first sentence.

"Reels, another tequila."

Ma Ma Zhaodi sighed; giving him that milk was still a waste; he should have saved it instead.

"Hey, buddy, do you like kites?"

After drinking a few sips of alcohol, the man actually took the initiative to speak to Ma Ma Zhaodi; it seemed only when drunk did he dare to chat a few words with a stranger: "I really like them; I'm an aer, burp, dynamicist; I'm very good at making kites."

Hmm?

Ma Ma Zhaodi's heart stirred; he remembered the main mission of this business trip.

【Mission Special Reward: The Riddler's Friendship】

He opened the system panel and confirmed once more; this time's client should be named Charles "Chuck" Brown.

"Making kites? Shouldn't an aerodynamicist do work similar to aircraft or race car design? Why use learned knowledge to make kites?"

Hearing his words, the expression on the man's face dimmed again.

"If it weren't for liking kites, I wouldn't have studied aerodynamics in the first place."

"So, is your current job designing kites?"

"I—"

The man couldn't answer for a moment; this question seemed to make him feel embarrassed.

"Mm, sorry, let's change the subject." Seeing this, Ma Ma Zhaodi stopped pressing further; he waved at Reels: "Give this—"

"Chuck Brown; you can call me Chuck."

Perfect, that's the name.

"My name is Ma Ma Zhaodi—Reels, pour another drink for this Mr. Chuck; it's on me."

(End of Chapter)