Malphegor
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PIG Ch. 08
🕑 Added 2025-11-27 04:50:56 +0000 UTCEven though the temperature was still very low, Metropolis didn't have the same gloomy chill as Gotham. Marco sat on a bench by the street, basking in the bright afternoon sun, and stuffed the last piece of pizza into his mouth.
When he'd walked out of the building, Clark had caught up with him to exchange business cards. Only then did he realize that the two of them had been too caught up in their discussion to even think of such things. In the end, it was Lois who'd pushed the "two immature men doing business" to complete the basic social ritual.
Since he was too embarrassed to take advantage of their hospitality, he'd had to keep his own meal cheap. He looked down at the cardboard box by his feet. Maybe because his casual outfit was too plain, someone had even tossed seven or eight coins into the box.
But with his psychological resilience, he not only didn't feel awkward, he actually felt like he'd profited.
Just as he dusted off his clothes and was getting ready to catch the bus, his phone suddenly rang. As soon as he picked it up, an exaggerated and enthusiastic greeting blasted through the speaker.
"Hey~ buddy, did you miss me?"
Darnell's enthusiastic voice came through, but no good deed comes without a scheme, and Marco suddenly had a very bad feeling.
"Did you forget to go to the auction?"
"How could I! Fuck, is that how you see me? I'm at the auction right now. Uh... I even grabbed a good car for you!"
"Weren't you supposed to call me first? You didn't buy me some piece of junk, did you?"
"You don't trust me? You hurt me deeply! Eighteen hundred dollars, a Chevy G20. You'll never find anything with better value!"
Chevrolet G20?
The model sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Still, that price did seem very low.
"You sure the thing still runs?"
"Of course! Spacious, cost-effective, strong engine, I'm sitting in it right now, listen to that beautiful sound. Of course, the mileage is high, otherwise it wouldn't be this price. The tires and engine will need some maintenance."
A loud rumbling came through the phone. Marco was still full of doubt, but it didn't sound disastrous.
"All right then, thanks. I'm still on the other side of the bay, once I catch the last ferry back, I'll... wait!"
Talking while scanning the area out of habit, his eyes suddenly caught a delivery truck across the street with "Robert's Fresh Produce" printed on the side.
Chevy G20...
"What the fuck?! Did you buy me a cargo van?!"
Price-wise, it really wasn't bad, even a good deal. But when he thought about other transmigrators buying luxury cars to pick up girls, or tearing through the streets in powerful muscle cars with swagger, and he... he was going to be driving a delivery truck like some freelance mover, maybe even expanding into relocation services... his vision darkened and he felt his future collapse.
"What did you do? How did you end up buying that?!"
"Uh... uh... calm down first," Darnell sounded a bit guilty. "Swear you'll forgive me, okay? We've been through gunfire together."
"I swear on your grandma's grave, tell me what happened!"
"Well... I overslept a bit this morning. You know, handling two at once, okay, point is!" Darnell stopped himself before rambling further. "By the time I got to the precinct parking lot, the Crown Victoria was already sold. There was also a 60%-new Suburban and a seized Dodge Ram, but you definitely couldn't afford those. And if I went back empty-handed, your $300 line-jumping fee would be wasted. So I... bought the last one. Hey, hey... buddy, you still there?"
Marco didn't speak. He just sat on the bench and let out a long, deep sigh.
The journey back to Gotham was as long as the trip there, maybe even longer. He felt like the wrinkles on his brain were getting smoothed out by the rocking of the ferry. Since he wasn't in a rush, he just sat by the roadside for a while after disembarking, but his legs still felt wobbly.
"Damn it, I never want to get on a boat again."
It was as if the sunshine of the previous city had vanished entirely. The air was damp and cold. He watched the bustling crowd at the pier slowly disperse, then stood up and walked toward the bus stop across the street.
But before he could cross, a white van came rushing up, honking repeatedly before screeching to a halt in front of him.
The window rolled down rapidly, revealing Darnell's sneaky grin.
"How did you know I'd be here?"
"Last ferry, of course." Darnell jumped out and tossed him the keys. "Your car!"
"My car... you took it in for repairs this afternoon?" Marco walked a circle around it. At least from the outside, it didn't look too bad.
"That's right. And we kind of lucked out." Darnell knocked hard on the body, which gave off a heavy thud rather than a flimsy clang. "It was a confiscated vehicle used by the precinct to haul supplies. Sometimes prisoners and corpses, too... but I know you don't care about that."
"True," Marco curled his lips. "Compared to ghosts and corpses, being poor is way scarier."
"I knew you'd understand. After being repurposed, it got upgraded once, reinforced with bulletproof plates and bulletproof glass." Darnell circled the truck, knocking every door. "The tires were replaced two years ago. But it's run 180,000 kilometers, and the engine and transmission were basically done. So I had the equipment division swap both at a friendly garage. Cost a thousand. Out of the thirty-six hundred you gave me, we still have..."
He froze, fished out a stack of bills, and started counting.
"Eight hundred... right?"
He handed the cash over, still unsure. Marco stuffed it into his pocket and patted his shoulder. "Thanks. From the sound of it, the truck really isn't bad. Come on, dinner's on me."
"You haven't seen my ultimate modification!"
The bad feeling returned again.
Marco reached out to cover Darnell's mouth, but it was too late. Darnell yanked open the back door, leapt inside, and after a couple of metallic clicks, bang, a long rectangular steel panel folded down flat, forming a simple table. Then something inside slid down a track toward the window.
He stared in shock, not sure what he was looking at. Darnell flipped a switch, and a row of flames whooshed into life.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" Marco almost jumped into the air in fright. "What is that? A propane tank?! You installed it in the truck?!"
"That's where my genius comes in. Once we apply to use this truck for patrol duty, we can get the fuel reimbursed." Darnell stuck his head out the side window with a proud expression. "With your cooking skills, we can make sandwiches for lunch right in the truck, and even sell some on the side. That way we'll never have to eat those damned pretzels again!"
"...Sandwiches..."
Marco stared blankly, repeating the word a few times, then suddenly leapt up and slapped Darnell on the head.
Watching Darnell dejectedly hold his head, he couldn't help sighing again.
"What's done is done. Let's eat."
---
"Hey, why can't I eat the chicken parm?"
In Tony's Italian Restaurant in Little Italy, Darnell looked stunned, holding his fork.
"Oh, this chicken is… sacred" Marco dragged the plate in front of himself. "Legend says if anyone else eats it, bad luck will follow. Don't worry, I'll help you by eating it."
"WTF? If that's the rule..." Darnell yanked the plate back to the center of the table and tossed two big pieces onto his own plate. "Then so be it, may misfortune strike me!"
Marco laughed. At that moment, his phone rang, an unfamiliar number. He pressed the answer button.
"Who is it?"
"Uh... Marco?"
The voice on the other end wasn't familiar. Marco froze, then suddenly remembered.
"Edward?"
"Hey, it's me." The voice on the other side sounded relieved, then nervous again. "I heard that Gora filed a complaint against you at the precinct yesterday?"
"Oh, probably. Must've been yesterday morning. I wasn't even there." Marco said casually. "But Bob chewed him out, so it's nothing serious."
"Oh, that's good. But I'm sorry for causing you trouble. Really, if not for you, they might have put me on suspension. Uh..." Edward seemed uncomfortable. "Anyway, thank you. And really, sorry."
"It's nothing. We've known each other from before, right? And Gora started yelling at me the moment he got out of the car, fuck him." Marco waved at Darnell, who was giving him a curious look. "Don't worry about the details, as long as everyone's fine. By the way, I'm eating with my partner. Want to join?"
"Ah, no, I already ate." Edward sounded relieved. "But I heard something else you may need to be careful about. The Major Crimes Unit is preparing to send the prisoner transport hijacking case back to East End for you to handle again."
Huh?
Sending the case back meant losing the recognition and credit that came with it. Grogan wasn't the type to give up. Even if Gordon were upright and fair, at most he'd share the spotlight, he definitely wouldn't hand everything back.
"Hey! Hey!"
Marco snapped out of it to see Darnell knocking on the table at him.
"What's up, you spaced out right after that phone call."
"Thanks," he ignored Darnell. "I'll be careful. I'll come play riddles with you when I have time."
The voice on the other end suddenly brightened. "How about now? I'll give you—"
"How many steps does it take to put an elephant into a refrigerator?" Marco hurriedly interrupted, afraid Edward would start a long, strange riddle. Edward, clearly not used to such brain teasers, was caught completely off guard.
"Steps... let me think... If the refrigerator represents cold death..."
"Okay, tell me when you're done." Marco ended the call politely and quickly hung up. Darnell stared at him.
"What happened?"
"Someone from headquarters was asking about the coroner complaint." He didn't mention the case, just the prep work. If Darnell blabbed, it could cause trouble for Edward.
"Don't sweat it, Bob will handle him." Darnell tossed his fork aside and grabbed two beers. "What was that about an elephant?"
"Just a little riddle. The question is, how many steps does it take to put an elephant into a refrigerator? Think you can guess?" Marco snorted. "Eat your food."
"What's so hard? Open door, put elephant in, close door, three steps."
"What??" Marco was surprised. "How did you come up with that?"
"That's how I get beer from the fridge. But speaking of headquarters, I almost forgot." Darnell popped a bottle cap and took a long drink. "Remember yesterday on the way back, I said I saw someone yanking an ATM out of the wall with his bare hands? You even accused me of being high."
"What else would I think? Even sober, your imagination isn't usually that wild."
"I was telling the truth! Yesterday, Bullock and Gordon from HQ actually found the guy."
"Wow," Marco said without the slightest sincerity. "Then congratulations to HQ, they've probably added two new officers to the fallen-honors wall. And Loeb can pocket two extra pensions."
"No." Darnell raised a finger and waved it. "Word is, the guy took some new drug that made him strong like a gorilla. But it's super nasty, it burns away the calcium or... something in the bones?" He scratched his head. "I forgot, some kind of element. When it's burned up, the person collapses like ashes."
"So what?" Marco lifted his glass and nodded at him. "Didn't Bob already tell us? Let the big heroes at HQ charge into danger, we just keep our heads down and make money. Oh right, go with me to the old district market later."
"Old district? This late... why are we going there?"
"A propane tank's worth at least thirty bucks. I'd rather not get blown into the sky by accident."
Comments
Henrythe8thiamiam
Is it just me or is the quality much lower than the yamanaka story? It just feels like there is so much random noise in the story. Having someone buy ur car, and the back and forth wirh the cheif just feels off. Why would he go to Clark Kent and literally cry about waylon jones?
