Gwen felt a subtle sense of familiarity with Gotham.
The slums here were almost no different from Hell's Kitchen back in her New York. Most importantly, there were no super-villains. No bald giants, no stand-in ninjas, no blind lawyers.
It felt like returning from Northrend to the Western Wilds, watching those little red-scarf kids full of youthful energy. Her heart was filled with joy and relief.
Wasn't bullying noobs fun?
Of course it was fun!
But she had to admit she had still underestimated how wholesome Gotham's people were.
The real reason Tom had stolen the bags was that he thought they were full of guns and ammunition. Thinking about it, it wasn't entirely unreasonable. Look at how bulging and heavy those duffel bags were. They definitely weren't daily necessities, right? So what else could they be?
Even more terrifying was that Officer Gordon had followed the same logic and suspected him of carrying a large quantity of firearms…
Was this the legendary common sense of Gotham life?
Of course, Officer Gordon's real purpose wasn't to bust any arms smuggling. He just wanted an excuse to round everyone up and take them back to the station to investigate clues for another case.
When he unzipped the duffel bags, the atmosphere became extremely awkward.
Officer Gordon turned around and saw Gwen sitting in the distance ordering food.
"I'll have the Florentine steak and the tuna potato salad, please."
"Certainly, miss. Please wait a moment."
Officer Gordon walked over and sat across from her.
"What are you doing?"
"As you can see, I'm ordering lunch in a restaurant."
Gwen gave him a sweet smile.
"Lay's and Cheetos? Hm?"
Officer Gordon pulled out a power drill from the bag and waved it in front of Gwen. His smile was quite ferocious.
"My dad taught me this when I was little. Is there a problem, officer?"
Gwen responded with her standard commercial smile.
Officer Gordon's face clearly said "I want to complain" but he didn't know where to start. In the end he could only say, "I know Bruce is very concerned about the case progress, but you don't need to take such risky actions."
"Are you referring to buying a large amount of hardware with cash, or sitting in a restaurant run by criminals to eat lunch?"
Officer Gordon gave her a "you'd better take care of yourself" look and ran off.
The bruised and swollen Tom came over.
"Miss…"
"No, I'm not treating you." Gwen answered decisively. "The prices here are very high. If you want to eat, you pay for it yourself. Our contract doesn't include social security or meals."
"I completely agree with you."
The young man who had been holding the baseball bat personally carried a tray over and placed the sizzling steak in front of Gwen. At the same time he handed her a glass of champagne. "However, you should know that our restaurant's service standards match the prices. This aperitif is a gift from Miss Falcone as thanks for your recognition and praise of our establishment."
Indeed, not everyone could calmly order food while surrounded by a group of suited muscle men watching.
"I haven't given any recognition or praise yet."
Gwen cut a piece of steak, put it in her mouth, chewed slowly, savored it carefully, and finally nodded. "Very standard Italian flavor. Give me two more portions."
The young man was stunned. "With all due respect, Miss Gwen, one standard portion of Florentine steak is five hundred grams."
"What's your name?"
"Uh… Oswald Cobblepot."
"Mr. Cobblepot, two more portions." Gwen picked up the champagne glass, smiling like a flower. "A customer's reasonable requests should be satisfied promptly. I think that's the real standard for restaurant service."
A woman who could eat three pounds of steak in one go deserved respect. By the time Gwen finished paying and walked out, the way the suited muscle men looked at her had clearly changed.
Seriously, the taste was pretty good.
Especially when your pockets weren't empty, you could truly appreciate the deliciousness of expensive food.
Bottom-tier losers earning six hundred dollars a month could only taste salt when eating caviar.
High-society elites were different. They ate caviar like immortal peaches, using wooden spoons that carried a natural scent—preferably freshly broken from a fruit tree. Forget caviar; they could even taste front notes, middle notes, and aftertaste when eating shit.
These mafia suited muscle men looked big and fierce, but they were only tough against cops. Facing a rich young lady who could taste the handiwork of an Italian chef, they instantly became kind and friendly.
This damn capitalist society.
Gwen cursed it in her heart while enjoying the sinful pleasure.
After filling her stomach and finishing her shopping, Gwen followed her conscience and gave Tom a bigger tip, making him so grateful that tears streamed down his face.
"After I leave, there might be some mysterious guys who grab you, point a gun at your head, and ask about my information. Have you thought about how to answer?"
"Huh?"
Tom looked dazed.
"Never mind, just kidding. Not every writer uses that kind of trope." Gwen comforted him kindly. "Just in case someone really asks, tell them I'm a relative of a Wayne Enterprises board member."
"Huh?"
Tom still hadn't reacted.
"Whatever. Take care of yourself. From now on, be a good person and stop robbing bags. You're not cut out for it."
Gwen waved, got into a taxi.
Looking back at Tom holding the cash with a pure, honest smile on his face, Gwen's mood improved a lot. She knew she had done another good deed.
Although the guy looked tall and strong, had some brain issues, robbed a bag in broad daylight, got caught, and got beaten up by Gwen, he was still a good kid.
He only robbed a bag. It wasn't like he killed or set fires.
In Gwen's eyes, after seeing real dark forces, this kind of person was still redeemable and worth saving. Maybe he was genuinely poor and just needed a little care from a stranger—like a blonde beauty's smile and some cash tips.
Besides, even if he did kill and set fires, so what? Which real big shot needs to do the killing and arson themselves?
…Well, not entirely true.
Sometimes Mr. Osborn would have a brain fart or need to release mental stress and put on his green flying armor to play tag with Peter in the sky.
He could have just given Peter an offer and made him kneel down to lick his shoes, but instead he had to swing around in the air, tearing clothes while talking about dreams…
Rich people just have weird hobbies, I guess.
I'm a rich person now too!
Gwen looked at the green Franklin bills in her pocket and suddenly realized she was starting to understand the mindset of rich people.
This is class…
"Driver, do you know where the best ice cream shop in Gotham is?"