The situation was getting worse, Bruce knew, and he had to find a way to change it, so he called to a newspaper boy who was on his way to make a delivery.
These kids were relatively easy to deal with, a little money and they would guide you. When Bruce was unfamiliar with the streets at the beginning, they were a great help.
The newspaper boy looked young with a round face. In Gotham, this signified that he was a capable child. Only those who lived long enough and made enough money could eat well, and not lose the baby fat on their face from hunger.
Bruce's lips were trembling slightly, his hand shaking, his footsteps unsteady, mainly because of the cold and weakness, and partly due to stomach pain.
Bruce handed the newspaper boy ten cents, the round-faced boy scrutinized him up and down, then said with an enlightened look, "Oh, I know what you're looking for now, come on, follow me, I'll take you there!"
Bruce followed the boy into a secluded alley, not afraid that the boy would cheat him, because in his hand he held a long spear and plenty of bullets, the only source of his confidence at the moment.
After winding through alleyways, down a cellar, and then up again, they finally arrived at a basement. As soon as he approached, Bruce could smell a horrible stench.
At first, it smelled like thick tobacco smoke, but on closer sniffing, there was the odor of the oil used in cooking, but it was greasier. Just smelling it made him feel like his nostrils were clogged with oil, and towards the end, there was a hint of vomit.
Bruce knew this smell too well, every time he caught Constantine, his expensive bat suit would be tainted with this odor, and then he would throw it in the trash.
He turned to leave, but an old man immediately stopped him saying: "Hey, it's rare that this kid brings customers here, what's the matter? Tell me."
"No, this is not where I wanted to come." Despite Bruce's determined attempt to leave, the old man kept clinging to him saying: "I can tell, you're feeling very sick, isn't it because there was no supply recently?"
"That's normal, the Twelve Families have been strict recently, and even smuggling goods on vehicles is not allowed. If the place you used to go to is closed, you can come here, I guarantee you, no one's goods are better than mine."
"Come, try this." The old man stuffed a rolled joint into Bruce's hand and said, "I just rolled it, it's guaranteed to be fresh. Don't worry, child, just one puff and the pain will leave you."
Bruce took a deep breath, looked at the joint, then turned to the old man and asked: "Do you know that you are hurting people? Do you know what this is..."
"What?" The old man was a bit puzzled, scratching his head he said, "Isn't it just marijuana?"
He looked Bruce up and down and said, "Oh, you're a college student, right? I understand, I understand, you guys aren't used to smoking joints directly, wait a minute..."
The old man walked back to the counter next to the basement door, took a box of cigars out of the counter, opened the box, pointed to the inside, and said to Bruce, "I told you, nowhere else will have good stuff like I do, you came to the right place, kid."
"These are the scraps left over from the Lawerence Family's smuggled cigars. I disassembled them and re-rolled the tobacco leaves. I packed a generous dose. You absolutely cannot buy such good stuff on the market."
"Did you bring a cigar cutter? If not, I can lend you one, but you can also buy one from me here. Although it's not as professional as the guillotine type, it's sufficient for cutting average cigars."
Bruce pushed away the box in his hand and said: "No, I didn't come here for this, I need to find a doctor."
The old man looked at him in surprise and said: "I am a doctor, where else are you going?"
"You are a doctor??!!" Bruce raised his voice, "And you're selling drugs to people??!"
"Drugs?" The old man seemed unfamiliar with this word, he chuckled and said: "We usually don't call it that here, it's just medicine for us, top-notch for pain relief, give it a try and you'll know."
The old man pushed the box back to Bruce and said, "No matter where you're uncomfortable, just take one and you'll sleep peacefully."
"You're crazy." Bruce said, "This stuff is addictive, overdoing it can lead to memory loss, limb twitching or even induce epilepsy. Long-term use can lead to infertility and if the dose is too large, it can cause a coma or death."
The old man took back the box, looked at Bruce and said, "Yes, marijuana joints can lead to coma or death, but pain can't do that?"
After finishing, the old man went to the door of the basement, opened the door, and Bruce saw that there were people scattered all over the room -- some with joints, some with hookahs, and some with pipes. The room was filled with smoke, and the horrible smell made Bruce involuntarily back up a couple of steps.
"Why do you think they would come here?" The old man asked, "They surely can't be so rich that they can't spend their money elsewhere, forcing them to buy my goods, right?"
"I don't serve people looking for recreation here. If you only smoke one a day, you might as well go to the nightclub next door. There would even be beauties to roll the cig for you. This place is a hospital, don't come looking for me if you're not sick."
The old man spoke earnestly, with such absurd conviction that Bruce countered, "This place is a hospital?? Do you really know what you're saying???"
"Of course, if you're not sick, you wouldn't come here, this one…we all call him Old Yak..." The old man pointed to a big-bearded man lying in the room, "It's probably something wrong with his lungs... likely an infection or maybe cancer. Because he has a severe, painful cough, he came here for treatment."
"This one is Little Pinat. Recently, he fell from a scaffold, his bone broke. He didn't have money to get it repaired, but he couldn't sleep at night because of the pain. So, he came here and stayed for a few days, and he got better. He's been sleeping soundly recently."
"And this one, we all call her the Widow of East street. Her son caught an infection and died prematurely after getting caught in rain. She cried for several days and wasn't getting better, so she came here looking for medicine. She's much better now, even able to work during the day."
The old man came back and looked at Bruce. His weathered face breaking into a smile, "From what I can see, your symptoms aren't severe, and you're very young. Smoke two a day, you should recover in a week."
Bruce looked at him somewhat dazed and said: "Are all the doctors here like this? The medicine you prescribe to people is drugs?"
The old man turned, replaced the box on the table and said: "It's clear, you're not from around here, if you just want to try something new, still, it's better to leave."
Bruce looked at him, unable to understand why his attitude had rotated 180 degrees abruptly. But the old man was looking at him, presenting an awkward smile, while smiling, he looked like he was crying.
Bruce didn't know whether he had cried or not, but he had never seen a Gothamite shed tears.
Finally, the old man said:
"This is the only medicine we can find so we may die more comfortably. If you still have somewhere else to go, then leave here as soon as possible."
"If you really have nowhere else to go, I suggest you get healed first, otherwise, the outcome will only be worse."