Marvel Salted Fish Kryptonian

Lao Hei glanced at his eager younger brother and asked, "Tinker, I think you still need a sign. How do you want to do it? I'll have my people help you."

As they spoke, a few of the guys pulled out cans of spray paint from the inside of their jackets. It seemed like they were planning to go for street graffiti art again.

Henry certainly wouldn't object. It wasn't a proper clinic after all. If it were too formal, and officials came knocking, that would be bad news. So Henry said, "Just use the word 'Fixman'. Feel free to use your own."

"Yo!" After getting permission, a few playful young blacks immediately crawled out of the iron gate, pulled it down, and started their painting.

Henry pulled up a few clean chairs and asked Blackie to sit down. He and Charlie had finished cleaning up and were taking a break. He then took out a handful of beer and placed it on the table, offering a can to each person.

Everyone was unpretentious, just popping the tab and chugging. Even though it was spring, Los Angeles, California, still had a chill. But everyone was a grown man, and ice-cold beer was a universal favorite, so there was no reason to refuse.

After everyone took a big sip, Henry spoke first and asked, "Big Ou, this is my first time doing something like this. You have to tell me what the rules are. Otherwise, if I make a mistake in the future, it will cause trouble for everyone."

Big Ou put down the beer can and said seriously, "You are from the Continental Hotel. You have always been a neutral party outside. It is not our turn to interfere. But if you want to work on our territory, the condition is that you don't touch our business, that is, drugs and women.

"So do your job as a tinker well and don't do unnecessary things, and we will treat you as one of us. Even if the police want to cause trouble, they will notify you first."

"I understand." Henry nodded.

To put it bluntly, the mainland hotel business and the local gangs' business don't overlap, so the two sides can live in peace. If there were a conflict of interest between the two sides, they would be beaten to a pulp.

Charlie also added at the right time: "Tinker, as a service provider, although you are not prohibited from taking outside business, you represent the Continental Hotel.

"Don't touch the taboos. If you have any minor troubles, ask Big Ou to solve it. If that doesn't work, ask me or the manager to intervene.

"Anyway, just think about who your main customer base is. There are people who dare to offend those people, but they definitely won't be those young people who can't even speak clearly.

"I'll tell you how to mark it later. The contract gunmen at the Continental Hotel will immediately know there's a service provider nearby, without having to look up the hotel's contact list. Those who understand will also know to avoid trouble."

"Okay." Henry, remembering something, turned to look at the old black man, Big Ou. He asked tentatively, a little uncertainly, "Regarding my opening a shop here, are there any monthly expenses...?"

"Protection money?" Blackie asked, then laughed to himself. "Now that everyone has guns, very few gangs are charging money simply for 'protection'. There has to be some sort of business relationship between the two sides to establish a good cooperative relationship."

"Then we...?"

Henry's question was clear in its meaning. Old Charlie said, "The landlord of your house is Big Old Ou. You have to pay him rent every month."

Ah, you're waiting here. Henry made an expression of sudden realization.

Old Black bared his two rows of white teeth again, trying hard to appear friendly, but in fact, he looked more like a shark with malicious intentions, showing off his sharp teeth.

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Chapter 220: One of the Daily Wounded

No one knew when a black clinic opened in an alley in South Los Angeles. But everyone knew that if you were injured, you could go to it for treatment. The prices were much cheaper than at a legitimate hospital, and they didn't ask any questions.

Derek, a Mexican guy, had no choice but to send his companion to this black clinic with unknown background when his companion was shot and looked quite seriously ill.

The reason for making this choice was that Derek knew he had a wanted warrant on his back. If he showed up in those respectable places that required identity checks, it wouldn't take long for a bunch of police to come and arrest him.

Logically, he was the one wanted, not his comrade who was shot, so he could just find a hospital to drop him off. But the truth was, Derek didn't know if there was a wanted warrant for his comrade.

After all, no one would bother to check if they were wanted by the police, and in 93, the internet wasn't yet readily available in the US to allow for such information. Many people only learned they were wanted after being stopped at their door by the police.

Derek didn't want to gamble, and he didn't want to leave his friend to the police, otherwise he would have to face the encirclement of the rival gang alone. So, following the rumors, he went to a black clinic in an alley in the South District.

On the half-open rolling door, the word "Tinker" was written in graffiti style. Derek reached out and pushed the rolling door up, allowing the main door to fully open.

The storefront was quite shallow, like the front of a butcher's shop, with a transparent refrigerated glass case blocking most of the way in. However, this glass case had no electricity and was completely empty, with no valuable goods displayed.

There was a call bell on the glass case, and underneath the bell was a piece of paper that said, 'Someone's here, please ring if you need me.'

Derek originally wanted to bypass the glass cabinet and directly open the door leading to the inside, enter the back of this seemingly closed butcher shop, and see if it was the rumored black clinic.

Only the door with the standard horn lock was locked. Derek twisted and turned several times, but couldn't get it to open. Even when he banged on the door and called out, "Is anyone there?" there was no response.

Does this mean no one's here? So all my trips today were in vain. Derek could only retreat to the glass case in frustration and impatiently press the call bell.

The bell, struck repeatedly, not only rang but also made a heavy slapping sound. Derek seemed to want to take out all his anger on the bell and wanted to break it.

But in the blink of an eye, the locked door opened from the inside, and a white man with a rather strange appearance walked out. His hair was half white and half black, covering half of his face. There was a long scar on his face, running from forehead to cheek, which was very conspicuous.

He wore a white shirt, like something aristocrats would wear in the 19th century, with ruffles on the collar and cuffs. He also wore a bow tie tied with a black string, black trousers, and black leather shoes.

Even if someone like him claimed to be an actor in a play, many people would believe him. Derek had serious doubts about his medical skills. He wondered if he was just a nurse, veterinarian, or tailor, just filling in the gaps.

If you don't go to a regular hospital in the United States, the black doctors you can find are mostly doctors who have been involved in serious medical accidents, or who have voluntarily or involuntarily taken the blame for others and were kicked out of the medical system.

If these people hope to return to the system, they can only keep their tails between their legs and wait for someone to show mercy and give them a hand.

But if someone takes the initiative to become a black doctor and is discovered, there's probably no hope of returning to the formal system. Hospitals will never hire someone with such a tainted record.

Besides these people, there are also those who have relevant medical backgrounds but have not been able to enter the formal medical system to make up the numbers. After all, those who come here are all shady people. As long as they still want to save lives, they can't care whether they have formal qualifications or not.

Then there are those who don't even have a medical background, but are simply bold enough to treat others. Derek had a hunch that this aristocratic-looking actor in front of him was the last type, simply bold.

The person who opened the door was, of course, Henry, nicknamed "The Tinker." Although he ran a black market clinic, he wasn't there 24/7. He spent most of his time in his rented room or doing his own things.

Instead, they placed a call bell on the clinic's fake facade. While seemingly an ordinary bell, it actually contained a device that produced an ultra-high-frequency sound, making the unique sound inaudible to ordinary people.

Whenever someone rings the bell, the device alerts him to a patient at his black clinic in Los Angeles. He then changes his appearance, puts on a special uniform, and visits the clinic to solve the patient's problems, or to solve the patient's problems...

The tinker glanced at the two Latino guys who had come together to support each other. One of them had been shot in the abdomen, with only a single bullet hole. It seemed the bullet was still lodged in his body and he was still bleeding. The other had multiple scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious.

"Bring the man in," the tinker said, turning and entering the door, leaving the narrow aisle open.

With a half-believing and half-doubting attitude, Derek helped his companion in.

The interior of the clinic was quite simple, with a bed, a table, a chair in front of the table, a broken cabinet with all the glass smashed, and very dim fluorescent lights that flickered from time to time.

"Be careful of the broken glass on the floor," the repairman warned, and then he used his foot to sweep the broken glass aside.

Derek, who had helped someone in, saw this and asked, "What's going on?"

"Maybe a thief broke in yesterday and tried to steal something valuable. This neighborhood is black, so you'll just get used to it," the repairman replied, pointing to a bed nearby and saying, "Put the person on it."

The bedsheets were far from clean, with a trace of blood still on them. The only thing that wasn't offensive was that the stain was dry, not wet.

It doesn't mean that someone had bled on it recently, but it is unknown whether the sheet has been washed or is clean.

Seeing the Latin American boy hesitate and not put his companion on the bed, the repairman said directly, "If you don't want medical treatment, then leave. There's still hope of saving him if he's sent to a proper hospital. I won't force him."

After much deliberation, Derek placed his unconscious companion on the bed and said, "He's been shot."

"I'm not blind," the tinker said, but he didn't rush to save the man. Instead, he held out his hand and said, "Life-saving fee, five chops. First, collect the money, then save the man."

"Walter!"

"If you don't give it to me, get out." The repairman said decisively.

Derek looked at his companion's miserable state, then pulled out all his money from his pocket and slapped the exaggerated man's hand heavily. He said viciously, "You better hope he's okay!"

"Don't worry, this minor injury won't kill you."

After receiving the money, the repairman took out the medical tools from the handbag on the table with satisfaction and started to save people.

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Chapter 221: Just Can Treat

Henry, the tinker, saved people in a way that was, to put it mildly, unconventional and, to put it bluntly, reckless. Anyone who saw this would be so angry that they would tremble.

Removing the bullet from the abdomen is not difficult for Kryptonians with X-ray eyes.

Most people would either enlarge the wound to look for the bullet with a wider field of vision, or try their best to stir around in the other person's body and try their luck to find the bullet.

No matter which type, it is a secondary injury to the injured. Many people died from this pain.

But Henry's movements were so smooth that anyone who saw them would be impressed.

Internal bleeding, on the other hand, is more difficult to treat. If the bleeding is not severe, the wound can be sutured directly and the body can heal naturally.

But if the bleeding is severe, like Derek's companion, the bleeding must be stopped before the wound can be sutured. Otherwise, the internal bleeding will not stop and the person may die.

The tinker's method of stopping the bleeding was so wild that it would be unbearable for anyone who saw it. He took out an electric soldering iron from his handbag, plugged it in, and heated it red.

At first, Derek didn't understand the purpose of the welding gun. After the repairman took out the bullet, he actually inserted the welding gun into the wound to burn and stop the bleeding! The Mexican guy almost pulled out the gun and shot the repairman in the head!

This must have been a tough feeling, because his unconscious companion who had been shot woke up from the pain. He screamed and jumped up!

Fortunately, the repairman acted quickly and pressed down on the injured man's chest with one palm, fixing his body. This prevented him from moving and prevented the welding gun in his hand from causing further damage.

When his companion fainted again, the repairman just pulled out the welding gun. In addition to a lot of blood, some of it was burnt and stuck to the soldering iron.

Then the wound is sutured and bandaged to protect it.

Seriously speaking, the speed and technique of treating the wound was the best and fastest Derek had ever seen.

But the part about using a welding gun to stop bleeding really scared him. It made Derek's head buzz, and he didn't know how to react until it was over.

When the repairman walked to the sink nearby, threw away his disposable rubber gloves, and washed his hands, Derek regained consciousness. He angrily pulled out his gun, pointed it at the man and cursed, "What the hell did you just do?"

"Save people. What else can we do?" The repairman said without turning his head.

"Is that medical equipment?" Derek questioned, pointing at the unplugged welding gun that was thrown on the table.

The repairman said confidently, "As long as it can save lives, why do you care what its original purpose was." After washing his hands, he grabbed a piece of cloth nearby, not sure whether it was clean or not, and wiped his wet hands.

The tinker wasn't at all alarmed by the gun held before him. He simply said, "This thing is useless. Put it away."

"Shut up, shut up!" Derek repeatedly pointed his gun at the tinker. With the weapon in hand, he said with a fierce look on his face, "Give me all the money you have."

The repairman frowned and said, "This is against the rules. My fees are much cheaper than the outpatient fees of ordinary hospitals. I didn't cheat you and I saved the patient. How can you still rob me like this?"

"Who needs a reason for robbery? The weapon is in my hand, and the gun is pointed at your head. That's the reason." Derek said loudly and proudly.

The tinker, believing himself unlucky, pulled out his five-pronged sword from his pocket and placed it on the table. He raised his hands, stepped back a few steps, and said, "This is all the money I have. I'll give it back to you."

Derek looked at the banknotes he had taken out in disbelief, walked directly to the table, lifted the bottom of the tinker's handbag, and turned out everything inside.

There was a clanging sound, and the things in the handbag fell all over the table. They were all strange tools, gauze, OK band-aids, etc., none of which were valuable.

Derek, unwilling to give up, approached the tinker with his gun raised, intending to search his pockets. He kept saying, "Don't move. If you don't move, I won't hurt you."

The tinker didn't move, just muttered something.

Derek couldn't hear clearly, and because he had to get close to the other person to search him, he couldn't help but lean over and said, "Walter, what did you say?"

In a flash, the tinker grabbed Derek's gun hand and twisted it inward. He then formed a tube with his other hand and placed it in front of the gun's muzzle, like a silencer.

By the time Derek realized he was about to pull the trigger, the gun was already pointed at his abdomen and he fired a shot.

The tinker's muff didn't stop the bullet, nor did it act as a silencer; it simply slowed the bullet down, lessening its impact.

The bullet successfully entered Derek's body and stayed there, without being shot directly through or scattering around in his body due to the excessive power of the close-range shot.

If anyone had examined the injuries of Derek's companion before, they would have known that the injuries of the two were the same, that is, the location of the bullet in the body was the same.

Even after taking the bullet, it wasn't the end. The tinker pinched the artery in Derek's neck. The brief lack of oxygen to his brain caused the thief, who had lost more than he gained, to roll his eyes and pass out.

The repairman, who had no real intention of strangling the other person to death, loosened his grip and put the Latin American guy to the ground when he saw his eyes roll back.

The repairman shook his hands and said in dissatisfaction, "With such little ability, you still want to trouble me?" He then called 911 and requested an ambulance. In addition to explaining the shooting and the emergency situation, he also mentioned the location of the injured person.

Of course, the tinker couldn't have an ambulance come to pick him up, so he chose a nearby location without any surveillance cameras.

Without waiting for the 911 center's repeated confirmation, the tinkerer hung up the phone. Using his super speed, he dropped the Latino guy off at the location he'd specified. Then he returned to his black clinic.

The man on the bed was still unconscious, but his wounds had been healed and his expression was no longer as painful as before.

The tinker left a note asking them to leave as soon as they woke up and to remember to lock and close the door. Then he cleaned up the mess in the house, washing and tidying up.

Don't be fooled by the slovenly appearance of the room. The hygiene standards are actually not bad. He just takes back items that should be discarded in a regular hospital, cleans and disinfects them, and then reuses them.

All of this, thanks to the repairman's super speed, did not take much time in the real world, but just a blink of an eye.

When he finished his work, he just heard the emergency bell of an ambulance. He stopped at the spot where he had thrown the man and took the guy who shot him away. The repairman sighed and said, "Oh, I am such a good person.

"The ambulance fee, plus the emergency room fee, would probably cost a few thousand. If he had any criminal record, even the police would be interested in his life or death.

"At least I've saved my life. I won't die on the roadside like a stray dog. From this perspective, maybe I have the qualities to be a superhero."

Chapter 222 Everyday Casualties Part 2

After cleaning up, Henry left the unconscious guy in the clinic and was about to return to his rented house when the doorbell rang again. He had no choice but to pretend to be a tinker again and open the door he had just locked.

A young mother, clutching a wailing child, looked bewildered. Her race was unmistakable: black. She was incredibly petite, and compared to the average black person, one could hardly help but wonder if she wasn't old enough to graduate from college.

After all, it wasn't one's fault, and appearance varied from person to person; some people simply looked younger. So the tinkerer decided not to delve into things he couldn't change.

Besides, this young mother was a regular customer. The scar across her eyebrows was even more prominent when she frowned. The tinker asked, "What happened to the child?"