Marvel: The Super Player Chapter 156 157: Found You

On the ground, a holess man lay curled in a ball, his face a ss of bruises and swelling.

At the sound of Locke's voice, the man couldn't help but shudder violently.

Locke pulled out a chair and sat down.

"What did you do to him?"

"Are you suddenly concerned about how I treat my people?"

"No." Locke looked at the Bowery King and shook his head. "Your ho, your people—how you handle them is your business. I'm only concerned about whether the intel I paid a premium for is actually worth it."

The Bowery King grinned. "I saw the broadcast tonight."

Locke smiled and looked around. The place couldn't exactly be described as "having everything"; in fact, it was destitute. Forget a television, there wasn't even a cracked monitor in sight.

The Bowery King burst into laughter. "My friend, this is my office."

Locke humd in response. Setting up an office in a sewage-filled tunnel? The Bowery King was a classic case of soone with a screw loose.

But then again... Locke wasn't here to be a psychiatrist. Gwen was a natural genius who could perform like a high-tier "pay-to-win" player without even trying. He wasn't like that; he needed to spend points on skills to level up.

Psychology skills weren't currently on Locke's shopping list. Three thousand Potential Points were still three thousand points—enough to buy a whole pack of small Health Potions. Besides, psychology didn't really suit a "doer" like Locke.

The Bowery King exhaled a ring of cigar smoke and gave a slight nod.

Two henchn stepped over to the bruised holess man. With a sharp cry of pain, the man was hauled up by his arms.

The King's smile vanished, replaced by a chilling gaze directed at the man. "Tell Mr. Peerless what you saw."

Locke swiveled his chair to face the witness.

Trembling, the man began to recount the events in that alleyway from the day before.

This was the witness Jeff Martin had ntioned. On the night of the attack, this man had been hiding inside his makeshift cardboard shelter.

At first, the story matched Jeff's account perfectly. He only noticed sothing was wrong after hearing Jeff's scream and two gunshots.

This wasn't so unorganized drifter; he was a mber of the King's network. After paying his dues to the Bowery King, he'd been taught the "300 ways for a beggar to stay alive" and how to identify valuable intel. Thus, when the shots rang out, he didn't run out like a headless chicken.

He waited until the assailant in the lightning-bolt mask had vanished before crawling out of his cardboard box. By then, Jeff was "dead," and the shooter was gone.

Locke frowned. "So, you still don't know who the shooter is?"

He turned to the Bowery King. "I thought you said on the phone you knew who it was."

This wasn't a matter of using a Tracking Card or a Positioning Card. Those cards were powerful, but without a target's na, you can't track a damn thing. It was the sa reason George Stacy couldn't catch Peerless—all the authorities had was a mask and a suit.

Where do you start? What do you search for?

The Bowery King laughed loudly and told Locke not to worry. He looked back at the drifter. "Tell our custor what you did *after* you went out."

The man shook with fear. "I... I took the detective's wallet."

Locke's mind connected the dots. "You were at the scene of the second shooting, too?"

The man nodded frantically.

To be precise, he wasn't just "at the scene"—he was being followed by the killer. After realizing whose wallet he had taken, he wanted to get rid of it. But just as he was about to ditch the wallet, the second male officer spotted him. Thinking he was about to be busted, the man panicked. But then, a man with a crazed look appeared and stabbed the officer to death.

Fortunately, the drifter was part of an organization. He popped a manhole cover and, using his familiarity with the sewers, managed to lose the killer and hide until the King's n found him.

The Bowery King pulled a sketch from his coat and handed it to Locke. "I brought in an artist. This is the result."

Locke took the sketch.

Instantly, the gates of his mory Palace swung open. Thousands of "photographs" stored in his mind began to flip at high speed, cross-referencing the sketch with every face he had seen since returning to New York.

A second later, Locke found a match. He recognized the face from the crowd of onlookers at the second cri scene—a fleeting glimpse of a profile.

In the background, the drifter wailed, "Boss, I didn't an it! I—"

*Slap!*

One of the King's n delivered a heavy blow to the man's face. It wasn't a sharp sound, but a dull thud. Drifters have thick skin; it was understandable.

The Bowery King sneered, pointing his cigar at the man. "This idiot joined us six months ago. He hasn't provided a single piece of intel in that ti, but I kept him fed regardless. And this is how he repays ?"

If there is any group in New York capable of being the "eyes and ears" of the city, the holess are second to none. And the Bowery King was the master of that empire. He provided warmth to the broken so they wouldn't die obscurely of thirst or hunger. In exchange, they gathered value.

"You moron," the King puffed. "If you had co to the mont you witnessed the hit, instead of greedily taking less than a hundred bucks from that wallet, do you know how much you would have made from our custor's reward?"

The King paused, looking disappointed. He held up five fingers. "Five thousand dollars. A full five grand, you idiot."

Locke glanced at the King.

'Five thousand?' talk about a stingy boss.

If Locke rembered correctly, he had paid the Bowery King fifteen "Urgent Order" Continental Gold Coins. While the exchange rate of gold coins to USD was always a mystery, one coin was certainly worth more than five grand.

Capitalists really are the ultimate winners; they can hand soone a pittance and make it look like they're bleeding for them.

The Bowery King sighed, playing the part of the aggrieved leader, and waved a hand. "Take him out. Find a place to bu—send him away."

The drifter panicked. *Thump.* Before he could beg for rcy, a heavy punch knocked him out, and he was dragged away by the henchn.

The Bowery King laughed and looked at Locke. "Mr. Peerless, I'm not a man of 'guilt.'"

He had almost forgotten who was sitting across from him. If he'd forgotten that for even a second, he might have been the one catching a "GG."

Locke's lips quirked up as he stood. "Fine. The deal is done. I'll take my leave. Thank you, Mr. King."

Locke didn't care to ddle in the King's internal discipline. As he said before: evil in this world never ends, and the Legendary Assassin doesn't do charity work. Unless there's a bounty or a personal interest, Locke doesn't kill for free.

...

Star Tower. Dawn.

A new day had begun.

Locke, having pulled another all-nighter, felt strangely energetic. After a shower and a change of clothes, he put on the appearance of soone who had just woken up early. Drying his hair, he walked into his study.

He opened his laptop and bypassed the security for the New York Surveillance Center. He pulled up the footage from 5th Street in the Lower East Side from the previous afternoon.

Sipping his first bourbon of the morning, he sent a "Good morning" text to Gwen while watching the footage on fast-forward.

A few minutes later, he hit the spacebar.

He stared at the target in the fra—a man standing among the crowd of "onlookers" watching the police work the cri scene. Locke's lips curved into a slight smile. "Found you."

There are always killers who can't resist the urge to return to the scene of the cri to watch their handiwork. This one was no exception.

Locke shook his head. He had initially wondered if so mysterious organization was trying to sar his na or force him out of hiding.

He was wrong. This guy was just a fool—a fool who didn't know the height of the heavens or the depth of the earth.

And apparently, the guy was a "celebrity."

As soon as Locke ran the face-match program, the first hit didn't co from the NYPD database. It ca from YouTube.

*Clatter!*

"Have you ever tasted a pool ball?"

"Shocking Footage: Man swallows five pool balls."

"Oh my God, you won't believe how strong a man's stomach can be."

Locke was stunned. After watching the video, he was even more bewildered.

The footage appeared to be from a casino or pool hall. In the video, the man Locke was looking for was being brutally beaten by a bald but sowhat handso man. Afterward, the unlucky guy was pinned to a pool table and forced to swallow pool balls one by one.

***

Bonus for 100 stones.

I'll post another at 200 stones

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