Sincerity Is the Greatest Trick

Noon on a desert highway in Nevada.

A Ford with most of its paint peeling off was driving along a straight highway, trailing black smoke.

In the rearview mirror, a black SUV was closing the distance.

The Gambit reached out of the car window with his left hand, and two playing cards slipped from his grasp, disappearing into the gap between the wheels of an SUV.

"Bang! Bang!"

The front wheel exploded, and the car slid sideways off the road and flipped over.

"Could you drive a little more steadily?"

Sing Sing complained while holding his suitcase.

"I have three bone specimens in my box! If they get damaged, it's considered a loss of state-owned assets. Can you afford to compensate me?"

"Shut up!"

The Gambit swerved sharply to avoid a pothole.

"You stole this piece of junk!"

"What theft? That's called emergency requisition! China special agents were on official duty..."

This is United States!

"Spyware knows no borders!"

Black smoke billowed out from the gaps in the hood.

After holding on for another twenty minutes or so, the car finally broke down completely.

It spun around and slid into the parking lot of a roadside motel, only stopping when it crashed into a half-dead cactus.

A parasol leans askew at the entrance to the parking lot, beneath which is a hot dog stand.

The stall owner, a tanned Mexico man, was fanning flies with a newspaper.

The Gambit kicked open the car door, intending to go to the stall to buy water, but when he turned around, the passenger seat was empty.

Sing Sing Chow is standing in front of a hot dog stand, holding up three fingers.

"Two hot dog, three dollar. My friend, you must understand--"

(Two hot dogs, three dollars. My friend, you have to understand this...)

"Four dollars!"

(Four dollars!)

The uncle also held up four fingers.

Sing Sing's face fell, and he prepared to continue haggling.

The Gambit walked over and slammed the money on the counter.

Four hot dogs and two bottles of water.

"Wait a moment!"

Seeing that someone was paying, Sing Sing took out a five-cent coin from his pocket and placed it in front of the uncle.

"What's the difference between your bargaining and not bargaining at all?" The Gambit's voice was tinged with exasperation.

"No the same."

Sing Sing took the hot dog.

"Three dollars and ninety-five cents is the exchange of goods; five cents is the humanistic care on a spiritual level. The former sustains the body, the latter nourishes the soul."

Did you bring any funds at all?

Sing Sing's gaze drifted towards the distant desert, sunlight illuminating his melancholy profile.

"Things as mundane as funding can bind the soul of a secret agent."

"You didn't bring it."

The Gambit leaned against a pillar, looking up at the sky.

The desert sky was a blindingly blue, without a single cloud.

Under the sunshade of the hot dog stand, there were only two people chewing.

After eating his second hot dog, Gambit pulled out the crumpled contract from the inside pocket of his trench coat and unfolded it.

This is the third time.

"Staring at it won't add another line of text."

Sing Sing let out a burp. "It's not an acrostic poem."

"I'm wondering where your tricks are hidden."

Our biggest strategy is that we have no strategy.

Sing Sing crumpled the hot dog paper bag into a ball and threw it into the trash can three steps away.

"You, a con artist, certainly can't understand this kind of simple, unpretentious sincerity."

Just as the Gambit was about to retort, he caught a glimpse of the parking lot entrance out of the corner of his eye.

A short man strolled in, wearing an oil-stained baseball cap, a mechanic's overalls, and carrying a toolbox.

Sing Sing noticed it too, and with a flick of his right foot, a piece of gravel bounced off the ground.

The curve is ridiculous.

It first grazed the ground and bounced up, then hit the wheel hub next to it, changing direction, and finally hit the short guy right on the temple.

"Bang."

The short man fell face down.

How do you know he has a problem?

"You guess."

Sing Sing stepped forward, took the car keys from his pocket, and pressed a button.

Taillight illuminated a gray Chevrolet pickup truck in the corner of the parking lot.

"Cousin, congratulations on your new car!"

"That's his."

"He's lying down right now, so he's not needed."

Sing Sing tossed the keys to Gambit: "Where's that guy you're talking about? He's been driving for hours."

"We still have to go north, to the Severed Finger Bar."

Is it reliable?

The Gambit started the engine, and the pickup truck coughed twice before barely getting started.

"Unreliable. That guy has a terrible temper and is very stubborn."

That's perfect.

Sing Sing opened the passenger door and placed his suitcase on his lap. "People with strong tempers are usually capable. I'm best at signing contracts with capable people."

The Chevrolet pickup truck sped north along the desert highway.

The afternoon sun baked the asphalt road surface, creating a shimmering wave of heat.

The radio was so bad it was just white noise. I Gambit tuning it to several stations, but finally gave up and turned it off.

The Gambit, with one hand on the steering wheel, suddenly spoke.

"You said the Toad is in Guizhou now."

"Um."

"His appearance... aren't the workers in your area afraid of him?"

Sing Sing twirled the mineral water bottle in his palm.

"I was scared on the first day at the construction site. On the second day, I called him Master Mo. On the third day, I asked him for help."

On the fourth day, the cafeteria lady started giving him an extra spoonful of twice-cooked pork.

"He saved a worker who fell off a cliff with his tongue. Where I'm from, if someone can save your life, it's your brother. Looks don't matter."

The Gambit fell silent again.

An hour and a half later, the pickup truck turned onto a dirt road.

At the end of the road was a wooden house.

Calling it a bar is an insult to the word "bar".

This thing is just old wooden planks nailed together, covered with a layer of dry mud, and then someone says with disdain, "Okay, that's it."

The signboard hung crookedly, the characters faded to only half their outline, but the words "Severed Finger" could still be barely made out.

A Harley sat on the Wasteland by the entrance, its metal body covered in scratches and dents.

There was a long scratch on the fuel tank.

Sing Sing got out of the car, looked around for three seconds, and then took out his phone from his suit pocket and took a picture.

What are you doing?

"Product research suggests that this postmodern, dilapidated facade design could be replicated as a trendy, Instagram-worthy ruin bar after our old city renovation project demolishes it."

"They'll charge admission then, and a cup of milk tea will cost you eighty."

The Gambit pushed open the wooden door.

The lighting was dim, and several broken tables were placed crookedly.

The bottles behind the bar were covered in dust; a few bottles of Bourbon and a bottle of brown liquid with its label torn off were recognizable.

I don't know if it's whiskey or industrial alcohol.

The deepest corner.

A man sat alone, with a half-empty bottle of Bourbon and a dirty glass in front of him.

The muscles exposed at the neckline of his vest were as firm as two blocks of raw iron.

His right arm rested on the table, his forearm sculpted like steel.

Sing Sing squinted.

The Mutants profile he had written before popped into his mind.

Healing Factor, Adamantium skeleton, Mutants has lived for a very long time, unemployed...

Wow!

Wolverine!

Logan Howlett!

Sing Sing pulled out a blank contract and a pen, and was about to step forward to conduct recruitment negotiations.

"Take one more step, and you'll have six more holes in your body."