Back on East 49th Street, Henry had a digital camera sitting on the table. Its small LCD screen displayed photos of the Chrysler Pacifica after the accident.
As for the car itself, it had already been towed to the dealership's repair shop for assessment. The most important thing in an insurance claim was having sufficiently credible evidence; it was not as if an insurance company would stupidly hand over money just because someone named a price.
But Henry had just finished a call with the insurance agent, and he looked utterly devastated.
The old lady stared blankly at the photos on the camera. Though the resolution was low, it was still clear just how terrible the damage was.
Skye and Lorna, the two little girls who had just come home from school, were trying hard not to laugh. Seeing Henry's miserable state and the photos of the wrecked car, the heartless pair were only a step away from rolling on the floor laughing.
"Tell me, kid. What happened to you? Your ex-wife—your previous beloved car—has barely gone cold, and your bride—your brand-new car—already looks like she's been ravaged by bandits. Have you been cursed by a demon?"
Katharine Hepburn's clever metaphor left the Kryptonian utterly ashamed. Henry said bitterly, "If I find out which demon put such a vicious curse on me, I'll go straight to his door and beat the shit out of him."
"So what happened?"
"I saw Black Spider-Man."
"So? Did you go up to ask for an autograph, act too cocky, and get taught a lesson by that friendly neighborhood guy?"
"He got into a brawl with that man made of sand without caring who got hurt," the Kryptonian said helplessly, pointing at himself. It was obvious who the "innocent bystander" in his words referred to.