Chapter 55: Batman Is Truly F***ing Scummy

"With a friend like this, who needs an enemy?"

Ma Ma Zhaodi couldn't remember who said that or who it was about, but the first image that came to his mind when he heard those words was the one standing right before him.

Batman, true to form, had proven time and again that this sentence was the perfect description of himself.

Listen to what he said: three sentences. The first monitored innocent citizens of Gotham City, a poor man whose wife suffered from a serious illness—namely, Drake. The second monitored his best friend and one of his most solid allies, Harvey Dent. The third monitored Ma Ma Zhaodi himself, who was suspected of possibly being the Pumpkin Man.

Does that sound like something a hero would do? It certainly doesn't sound like it, but if you place such actions on Batman, they immediately seem very reasonable.

If Ma Ma Zhaodi had any anti-surveillance awareness, that would be pure fantasy. He was just an ordinary short-story writer; whether it was wiretapping or signal jamming, he relied on the built-in software functions of his computer and phone. But clearly, such tricks were not enough against Batman.

He didn't even know when a bug had been planted on his person, and the fact that he had been unable to be wiretapped was itself the most glaring problem.

"Where did you put the bug?"

"It was already burned up by fire."

F***, you can't believe a single word Batman says.

"Since you're already on my trail, hiding is useless, isn't it?"

Ma Ma Zhaodi gave a self-mocking smile and vowed in his heart to meddle less in the future: "That's right. I did steal the bounty Falcone gave to the Irish Gang. I kept nine thousand dollars, used the rest to repair his house, and buried the final part in his basement."

"Why only take nine thousand?"

"That was the money for making bombs and bugs. I had to recover my costs, didn't I? I'm not rich."

"But you didn't cooperate with the Irish Gang." Batman listened to his answer and seemed to immediately sort out the ins and outs of the matter; his tone was not an interrogation, but a statement.

"That's right. The target of the wiretap was the Irish Gang. Penny-pinching Tang Ni picked up a metal lighter on the street. That lighter was very beautiful, and he liked it very much."

"But it wasn't found in the evidence—you stole it again."

"Yes. On the night before Harvey's house exploded, I secretly entered their stronghold with a forged bomb, swapped it for the high-power bomb they had originally prepared, and retrieved the listening lighter in the process."

"Why?"

Batman looked into Ma Ma Zhaodi's eyes. The sapphire-blue pupils reflected a homeless loser: no madness, no chaos, no hysteria, no bad day, no tragic life.

No traits of a villain or a hero at all; just a bit lonely, plus a bit unlucky.

And a bit poor.

"Why?"

Ma Ma Zhaodi originally wanted to answer that Harvey Dent was a good man, but looking into those bat-like eyes, he couldn't bring himself to utter that perfunctory answer.

"Because I felt guilty."

He fell silent for a moment, then answered: "Normal people should have a bit of selfishness and a bit of conscience. I count as a normal person."

"I burned down the factory. I thought it contained counterfeit money, so I casually set it on fire. Harvey Dent took the fall for me this time. I didn't have the courage to step forward and tell Falcone directly that he had the wrong man, nor did I know how to handle it."

"So I thought I could try to minimize his losses."

It all matched up. Batman thought. It all matched up.

"You didn't know that was where Falcone stored his black money."

"I didn't know. I had no reason to specifically track down the Roman's dirty money. I know you also want to ask about the Pumpkin. Let's just say it all at once: that Halloween night, I did sell a small pumpkin."

"The buyer's face was unseen. He wore a black round hat, a loose trench coat, and his features were indistinct. He wore rough men's gloves. Except for the hat, his entire body was gray."

"Do you have anything else to say?"

"A while ago, the Thanksgiving Cornucopia I made was also snatched on the street. That time, he didn't even pay."

At this moment, even Batman couldn't help but look at Ma Ma Zhaodi sideways. Not many major events had happened in Gotham recently, yet this person had bumped into every single one of them.

"Why you?" a low voice murmured to himself, his brain racing: "Why you?"

"Maybe it's because I was close by. If it wasn't me, it wouldn't have made much difference if he bought it from the store." Ma Ma Zhaodi shrugged: "I've said everything I can. If you have nothing else, let me go, shall we?"

"There's one more thing. There is a— in the sewers of Gotham—"

"Yes, yes. I recently brought food to poor Solomon. That big guy is actually quite nice; at least he didn't punch me to death. Doing that isn't illegal, are you going to investigate that too?"

Ma Ma Zhaodi had told everything he had done, and now he actually felt completely relieved. He was never someone accustomed to hiding secrets.

"Now, Batman, what do you decide to do? Throw me in jail for a long time? Or let me go to a hotel for a night's sleep?"

"I will take you to a hotel in the Burnley District. It is open twenty-four hours. Here is your thirty-five thousand dollars; it was originally meant to be evidence."

Ma Ma Zhaodi did not reach out to take the money bag. His mind was now entirely focused on the previous sentence Batman had spoken.

"I will take you to a hotel in the Burnley District."

"How will you take me? Ahem, I mean, I seem to have forgotten to bring my car keys, so you'll have to provide your own vehicle to take me there."

"Let me say this beforehand: I don't really like swinging around on high buildings. Of course, I'm not afraid of heights; I just don't like swinging around. I might throw up."

The core point of these two sentences Ma Ma Zhaodi spoke was actually just two words.

Batmobile! Batwing!

Although he should try to avoid contact with superheroes and everyone would live their own lives from now on, since tonight was already so unlucky, what's wrong with letting me have a little fun?

Just riding in a Batmobile or a Batwing. Supervillains can ride them; why can't I?

Just thinking about those two ferocious giant beasts, the hard body, the smooth curves, the cold metallic texture, and the roar and rumble of the super-high-horsepower engine when speeding like lightning, Ma Ma Zhaodi could barely contain his excitement.

Specially crafted by Lucius, the crystallization of Wayne's cutting-edge technology: a Batmobile costing eighteen million dollars, a Batwing costing sixty million dollars. Isn't that more impressive than any other luxury car?

Batman looked at Ma Ma Zhaodi. The emotions of the person before him suddenly became a bit too overexcited, and he suspected there might be some conspiracy involved.

"No need to ask too much. You'll arrive when you wake up."

"Ah?"

"Bang"

Batman delivered a hand chop as fast as lightning. Ma Ma Zhaodi fainted on the spot, with only one thought flashing through his mind.

"Batman is truly f***ing scummy."

The Batmobile is as shown in the picture (I know some friends might wonder why they can't see the picture; this is because pictures can only be viewed in the mobile app, and if you can't see it on the phone either, check if the app needs updating):

(End of this chapter)