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Back at his rented apartment, Henry changed out of his Tinkerer 's outfit and began tallying up the night's gains and losses.
The losses weren't much — mostly the needles he'd used on Andrew Saxon. Most of them were still stuck in that fat old man, and the rest would have to be melted down and reforged. Just boiling them for sterilization wouldn't pass any hygiene standards anyway.
Then came the profit check — the surgical fee. Although he'd thrown away one of the cash bags earlier, it wasn't done carelessly. He had deliberately tossed the lighter one.
Because those people had gathered the money in a rush, the two bags were a mess — mixed denominations, uneven weights. There was no perfect split of five hundred thousand per bag, despite the supposed total of one million.
He hadn't counted it on the spot, but now, with time and calm, it was clear that the exact total wasn't as neat as the client claimed.
After sorting and counting, the largest bills were twenties, but there weren't many of them; most were tens, with a good number of fives and ones. The total came to $618,646.
Money like this couldn't go into a bank. Fortunately, the Continental Hotel had its own underground procurement channels, so Henry didn't have to spend the entire fortune on petty cash purchases of a few dollars at a time.
He then made a phone call to the landlord of his black clinic — "Big Old O", who was probably out enjoying some wild nightlife somewhere.
When the call connected, deafening disco music blared from the other end. A raspy voice with a heavy African-American drawl clicked his tongue.
"Who's interruptin' Big Old O's happy time? You better got a damn good reason, or I'm sendin' someone to wreck your sweet white ass."
"Big Old O, it's the Tinkerer ."
"Ah-ha! My favorite doctor's callin' me. So, what you need, man? Girls? Blow? Or maybe one o' them special hobbies you white priests got — little boys?"
Henry wasn't in the mood to play word games. "Old O, I've run into some trouble. The FBI or LAPD might come sniffing around the clinic soon."
"So you wanna lie low?" The gang boss — who had spent his life butting heads with American law enforcement — caught on instantly. "You need me to find you a safe house?"
"No need. I'm safe. I just want you to have a few people keep an eye on the clinic. If anyone shows up, give them a little greeting. I'll be shutting down for a while, but rent will still be paid. Unless you've got another spot I could use as a clinic?"
"Ah, so you just wanna mess with the cops, huh? Now that I'm good at. Leave it to me. But if you really wanna hide, even movin' to a new place won't help — they'll still find you. If you ask me, man, take a vacation. Hawaii. Cuba. Two, three months. Enjoy life, Doc."
"Sounds like you're right. Maybe I'll take your advice and lay low for a while."
"Ha-ha! Smart choice. Big Old O's advice is always the best advice."
"Then I'll leave the greeting to you, Old O."
"How hot you want it, Doc? We got the 'AK-I-Love-You' level of hospitality, the 'RPG-Mama-Hug-Me' package, and the premium deal — 'drunken overdose party with dead girl included.' Any cop comes sniffin', I swear they'll crap their pants. Which one you want? Price goes up with body count."
Damn, Henry thought. This guy really goes straight for the nuclear option. No wonder he's got a reputation.
"I don't need anything that extreme," Henry said quickly. "Just hire a few clean kids with no records — have them hang around, play video games, eat pizza, drink soda. Make sure the cops go away empty-handed. I'll pay an extra month's rent as their 'entertainment fund.'"
"Ah-ha, easy work! Big Old O will handle it. Those kids'll eat, play, and thank you for it. You're spoilin' them, man."
"If any of your guys are stupid enough to show up and get their records dug up by the FBI, that's their problem, not mine."
"Ha! My boys like their freedom. Ain't no point sendin' them to jail for nothin'."
"Exactly. This isn't a big deal — just a little prank on the cops. No need to spill blood. If things get messy, I'll really disappear for good."
Henry made sure to draw that line clearly — not that he expected those gangsters to follow rules. He just needed to say it first, so if things blew up later, they couldn't drag him into it as a scapegoat.
Never trust too much in a gangster's sense of ethics. There's a reason diseases spread fast among them — some boundaries just don't exist.
"Relax," Old O said confidently. "Leave it to me. It'll be done right."
"Good. I'll drop the money in the usual spot — two months' rent, plus one extra as your fee. Don't contact me for the next two months."
"Ha-ha, understood, Doc! You got Big Old O's word." His laugh and chest-thumping promise echoed even through the wall of music behind him.
Henry hung up.
Another chunk of the cash had just found its purpose — the rent money for the black clinic. He counted out the right amount, sealed it in a brown envelope, and in the blink of an eye, used his speed to deliver it to the usual hiding spot.
Old O would grab it soon enough. No one needed to remind him — he knew just how chaotic the neighborhood was, crawling with pickpockets and petty thieves.
Before leaving, Henry removed the call bell device and every single note explaining its use. The bell's hidden mechanism wouldn't be noticed by ordinary eyes, but better safe than sorry — especially if the FBI started poking around.
For the next two months, the black clinic would stay closed. Henry decided it was a good time to organize his notes — a half-year's worth of medical experiments, experiences, and insights.
Just as he was considering where to begin, his "tabby cat" Katie — really a young tiger cub — came rubbing against his pant leg. Henry didn't even need his unfinished Tiger Translator device to know what it meant: the little beast was hungry.
He scooped her up. She was getting heavy — her body already as long as his forearm and hand together, but proportionally… off.
Henry frowned. Maybe he'd been feeding her too generously. Was he raising a tiger or a striped pig? Her fur gleamed sleek and shiny, but if she grew into a fat housecat instead of a fearsome jungle king, it'd be an embarrassment to Kryptonians everywhere.
"Little one, looks like you're not getting enough exercise. Bullying BB all day doesn't count. That lazy thing can't even give you proper cardio. Fine then — you're coming with me."
Henry decided to take Katie along to his third hideout, the Sheephole Valley Laboratory.
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