A good person

Chen Mo pointed at the burly man on the ground. "Do you know what he does?"

The girl said nothing.

"He sells heroin. All the stuff around here passes through his hands. Before your dad broke his leg, he might even have bought some dope from him."

The girl gripped the bills even tighter. Her knuckles were so white it looked as though the bones would poke through her skin.

"I know."

Her voice was as faint as a mosquito's whine, as though she was afraid anything outside this alley might hear her.

But when she said it, there was no hesitation in her eyes, no struggle.

It was resignation.

It was having already worked through every option at twelve, finding that every one led into an abyss, then closing her eyes and choosing the shallowest one.

Oh God, was she even twelve?

She didn't even have all her teeth yet. She was so small and thin.

"But he's the only one willing to pay."

Chen Mo stood up.

He turned toward the bound drug dealer, seized his chin, and forced that mud-covered face up.

"Look at me. Remember this face. This is me. Don't you dare give this kid trouble. Do you hear me?"

The dealer said nothing, his eyes carrying the defiance of someone with nothing left to fear.

Chen Mo lowered his voice further.

"This isn't the first time you've seen me. You know I'm always around these streets. If you dare take revenge on her, I'll find you. Then I'll take your bones apart, one by one."

The dealer suddenly stopped trembling.

He spread his lips, exposing big yellow teeth with several missing, muddy water trickling down through the gaps.

He spoke in an extremely sincere tone, even sounding a little aggrieved.

"You don't understand."

He coughed, muddy water choking his windpipe, the sound wet and muffled.

"You don't understand how things work around here. You think I'm a bad guy? Do you know what the others do? They throw bags over girls this age and take them straight to the Happy House in the south district, to the underground brothels at the docks.

"There, she has to deal with dozens of men every day. Meet her quota and she gets fed. Fall short and she gets whipped.

"Three months... oh, that's for adults. She might only last a few days before she's ruined. Then they dump her in a back alley like garbage and wait for the collectors to come. Her corpse wouldn't even fetch a decent price."

He paused, as though making sure Chen Mo had heard every word.

"And me?"

His voice suddenly rose, taking on the grievance of someone falsely accused.

"I only make her keep one man company. Me.

"I even pay her!

"I pay her!

"She needs my powder, but I don't just give her powder, I give her money too! More than anyone else.

"With this money, her dad can live a few more days. A few more days, understand? In a place like this, every extra day alive is a win. You think that's a bad thing? Around here, what I'm doing is a goddamn good deed. I'm a good person. Don't you think?"

When he asked that last question, there was even a trace of anticipation in his eyes.

It wasn't an act.

He genuinely felt he was waiting for an affirmative answer.

Chen Mo said nothing.

He looked at the dealer's face.

Mud, streaks of blood, big yellow teeth, and those eyes full of "I'm already being so good, why aren't you people satisfied?"

Sincere. Aggrieved. From the bottom of his heart.

This man wasn't lying. He truly believed he was a good person. He truly thought that a few fewer men, a few fewer beatings, and a few dirty bills for her counted as doing good deeds in Gotham.

He truly, wholeheartedly, believed he was a good person.

Chen Mo laughed.

It wasn't a Wayne-style smile. It wasn't a saintly smile.

It wasn't any of the smiles he'd practiced seventeen times in the mirror.

It was the laugh that came when something so absurd hit you that there was no other possible response.

A laugh of sheer anger.

The kind that came out loud.

Fuck, I'd refused to admit I was an overgrown baby raised under socialism, but motherfucking Gotham always finds a way to redefine a normal person's sense of right and wrong.

Chen Mo hauled the dealer off the ground, gripped his jaw with one hand, and pinned that sincere face against the wall.

"You think you're a good person."

The dealer's jawbone made a faint grinding sound between his fingers.

"You think having only one person rape her is mercy. You think giving her a few dirty bills earns you good karma? If you passed a stray cat on the street and didn't kill it, would you go asking God for credit, marveling at how your kindness left the world with one more adorable cat?"

Chen Mo pressed his face another inch into the wall. The rough grains of the bricks dug into his skin.

"You're not a good person. You're just a little more calculating than the other animals. You want to soothe your conscience with a little high-end spending, but you can't afford it, so you start depreciating the merchandise. You're not a good person. You're just one shrewd animal!"

Chen Mo let go and took half a step back. He looked down at his own foot, then at the dealer's leg.

"You'd better remember what I just said like it's scripture. If you give her trouble, I'll come back for you. I know how gangs deal with traitors. I work these streets too, bro. Don't think I won't do it just because I'm a good person."

His toe hovered above the dealer's leg bone.

"I hear a human femur can withstand about eight tons of pressure. I figure this stomp shouldn't be too far off that now. Your bone would probably turn to crumbs. Want to try?"

The dealer, who had barely reacted all this time, only began screaming when he heard that.

Tears and snot streamed down together, mixing with the muddy water and smearing his whole face. "No! You can't do this! If I'm crippled, I won't be able to work tomorrow!"

"Don't you think you're a good person?"

Chen Mo's voice suddenly became very soft. As soft as if he were reasoning with a child.

"A good person should make a little more of a sacrifice."

The dealer's lips trembled. He couldn't say a word.

Chen Mo took the battered leather wallet from his pocket and pulled out all the cash inside.

Without counting it, without even looking at it, he stuffed it straight into the girl's hands.

The girl held that pile of money.

Crumpled, stained with mud, stained with blood, stained with all the unspeakable things at the bottom of Gotham.

She looked up at the boy in the crude mask.

"Will you come back tomorrow?"

Chen Mo nodded. "Yes."

The girl didn't say thank you.

In Gotham, those two words were too expensive. More expensive than painkillers, more expensive than anti-inflammatory medicine, more expensive than life. Poor people couldn't afford them.

Chen Mo walked her to the mouth of the alley and watched that small, thin figure disappear among the overlapping sheet-metal shacks.

Those shacks were like coffins stacked together, each holding people who weren't quite dead yet.

He stood there.

He stared into space for a long time.

Then Chen Mo spat on the ground.

"This fucking justice."

The wind blew in from the shantytown, carrying the smell of rust, mildew, and something sickly sweet, as though something was quietly rotting.

In the distance, that half-broken streetlight was still buzzing, its light flickering on and off, on and off, as though the city itself had never truly lit up, but had never gone completely dark either.