Chapter 200: The Third Daily Casualty

Actually, the black clinic didn't have a back door; the place that many wounded people who came to the door treated as a back door was actually a small room used as a warehouse, without even a single window.

Besides an empty supply shelf, there was also a single bed. The original intention was to use it as one of the three burrows for a cunning rabbit, but it hadn't been used yet.

On the other side of the small room's wall was the internal connecting passage of this apartment building. There weren't many apartment residents, so there were few traces of people in the passage.

The tinkerer was in this position, using his super speed to achieve the ability of molecular penetration, passing through the wall. He created the illusion of opening the door from inside the clinic for business.

It was just that when he opened the door and saw the person ringing the bell at the disguised storefront, he immediately put on an unhappy expression and said, "You're not hurt, get lost."

As he spoke, he was about to close the door.

"Wait a minute!"

It was a guy wearing a cheap suit, but the outfit wasn't formal at all; his shirt was half-tucked out, and his suit buttons weren't buttoned—a hooligan's way of dressing. Plus the tattoos exposed on his neck and wrists, one shouldn't expect such a person to be very serious.

He grabbed the tinkerer's hand that was about to close the door and said, "Our boss wants you to come over."

"This place is covered by Big Old Ou, you know that, right?" The tinkerer brought out the name of the landlord, Old Black.

It was just that the young white guy chuckled and said, "Even Big Old Ou wouldn't dare to offend our boss. You say this place is covered by him, do you think it's useful?"

The tinkerer struggled for a bit, realized the other party was holding on tightly, and could only say with a look of disgust, "So, you won't let me go get some tools, are you planning to have me save people with a kitchen knife and a sewing needle when I get there? Or are you saying you're not looking for a doctor?"

"Hehe." The guy let go of his hand, but still threatened, "Doctor, don't think about running away. You can't run away no matter what, you know that."

The tinkerer was suddenly very curious: did the other party know that he was a server at the Continental? Or was it that the Continental actually didn't care about the life or death of its servers?

On second thought, this situation wasn't excessive. His relationship with the Continental was actually just an outsourced service provider. Strictly speaking, he wasn't considered a person of the Continental.

If someone of similar strength came forward, would the Continental really go to war with the other party because of someone who wasn't even a godson?

This made the tinkerer very curious about who was behind this young white guy. Was it just a reckless kid who didn't know anything? Or another big-shot figure?

There was no need for the guy outside to urge him; the tinkerer also wanted to see the world. He picked up the old-fashioned handbag he had picked up from a flea market, filled with various medical instruments and simple medicines, and followed.

Before leaving, he didn't forget to take the summoning bell. He changed the message note to "Out on a house call" to avoid anyone coming for treatment while he was unable to attend to them.

After doing all this, the tinkerer followed the guy to the alley entrance. The car responsible for picking him up was a Rolls-Royce, a low-end version of a top-tier luxury car...

This showed that the owner of this car was just rich; they didn't have the kind of power that could see the light of day.

However, even if it was a low-end version, a Rolls-Royce was still a Rolls-Royce, and the feeling of sitting in it was different.

This definitely wasn't due to the feeling of expensiveness, or getting excited upon seeing the hand-painted line on the car body. It was the design angle of the sofa seats, and the feel of the genuine leather, which was just different from the plastic leather sofas made of cheap foam.

There was no strange smell in the car that made people uncomfortable. As soon as the door was closed, the air inside and outside the door seemed to be two different worlds, blocking all the oily and strange smells outside.

Especially the British and European series of cars; the sturdy suspension system and the soft suspension of American cars felt completely different.

Driving his own Cadillac was like sitting on a waterbed that wasn't filled with water. If the road conditions were a bit poor, and he didn't pick the road, he would be shaken to the point of doubting life.

It was just that this Rolls-Royce didn't drive to a large villa in a rich area that matched it, but drove into a warehouse area. Turning left and right, it entered a place that looked like an abandoned factory.

This feeling was like seeing someone with a slicked-back oily head, wearing a neat suit and a tie. But the lower body was floral boxer shorts, revealing hairy legs, and then wearing a pair of beach flip-flops.

He really wanted to complain, but didn't know where to start.

The interior of the abandoned factory was very empty, and most of it was dirty and smelly. Only one area was decorated beautifully, as if it had been designed by a master.

Art-level floor lamps, French Rococo-style sofa chairs, and an antique coffee table that looked like it had been around for a long time.

Oil paintings that couldn't be hung on the wall were arranged in a row on easels. There was also a Persian rug that was so expensive that people didn't know where to step, covering a small space.

They even had a grand piano placed on one side. A girl in an evening gown was sitting in front of the piano, playing melodious music live. It was light and soft, making people intoxicated after listening.

Brought to this high-end area that was not coordinated at all, the tinkerer finally saw the main person of this trip: a fat old white man in a large red bathrobe, with a beautiful Black woman and a beautiful White woman in his arms.

With his burly figure, if he weren't in Los Angeles, he would have suspected he had encountered the classic villain of the Marvel Universe, Kingpin.

But Kingpin wouldn't have such poor taste, putting beautiful things and bad things together like a stitched monster.

And under the tinkerer's X-ray eyes, that was just a large lump of fat, not muscle. So he could rule out the possibility of it being that underworld emperor.

As an ordinary person without mutant abilities who could beat up Spider-Man, Kingpin was also a peak human figure.

"Tinkerer, right?" the fat old white man asked. And under the service of the two girls beside him, he lit a cigar.

The tinkerer acted like he was familiar, also cut a cigar, and lit it for himself.

The fat old white man waited patiently for the person in front of him to take a big puff and then exhale thick cigar smoke, before hearing him say: "If I said I wasn't, would you punish your incompetent subordinates?"

This fell into a self-proving dilemma. How to prove he was he without the person admitting it?

If it were a guy with a bad brain, or someone who thought he was very smart, they would be stumped by such a question. Only truly smart people know how to jump out of the problem itself to solve things.

The fat old white man was someone who could think outside the box. But he was also angered by this impolite way of responding, and thus said unhappily:

"If you weren't, I would have people beat you, beat you until you admit you are; or until you give the answer of where the person who should be is."

"Alright, let's save some trouble. I am indeed the tinkerer. What do you want with me?"