The stairs creaked, the walls were full of cracks. If anything was going to happen here, Su Ming figured it definitely wouldn't be anything good.
This was exactly the kind of place you see on TV dramas, the kind that always has some resentful spirit squatting inside, the kind of place that'll give you a blood‑splattered murder scene.
Gloomy, damp, an indescribable moldy stench filled everyone's nostrils.
The so‑called detective agency was just a residential unit that had been slapped together with a few modifications: swap in a door with frosted glass, tape some cheap letters on it to form a sign, and you're open for business.
As for whether the Inquirer had a PI license, none of the three believed he did, which meant every piece of evidence he gathered in his cases was illegal.
So if you wanted to bring the bad guys to justice, you could only rely on the .357‑caliber justice in your own pocket.
The cheap black frosted‑glass door wasn't properly shut. A thin slit leaked a faint glow from inside. Su Ming shot the two behind him a look, then pushed the door open and stepped in.
But the second he crossed the threshold, he immediately backed out again, carefully checking the sign and the slogan on the door to make sure he hadn't gone to the wrong place.
"What is it?"
Diana asked in a low voice, while the Fake Zorro tilted his head without saying much, just gesturing for the two to follow.
Once they stepped inside, even without Su Ming explaining, Diana understood.
Green Arrow clamped a hand over his nose, his face actually turning a little green: "Okay, I thought we drank a lot. Turns out I've clearly never been to a distillery."
Yeah, when Su Ming first came in he thought he'd gone to the wrong place too. The air in this small room was so saturated with alcohol that it felt like lighting a cigarette would blow the whole place up.
At first he'd thought he'd walked into some liquor distributor's office. It was only after he stepped back out that he was sure this was the right address.
No denying it, the Inquirer obviously had a serious alcohol problem, the kind that would be enough to get him admitted to Arkham for treatment.
The room was that small; once you opened the door you could see straight to the window.
Behind the desk by the window, a man wearing a faceless mask was hugging a bottle and sleeping like a baby.
Sitting in a chair, legs propped up on the desk, leaning back and sleeping without falling over, and without kicking over the candles on the tabletop—there's no way you pull that off without training.
And the Inquirer pulled it off beautifully.
Cutting a deal with a drunk is not exactly the smartest option.
From the strength of the booze reek alone it felt like you could get an elephant plastered. Even if you swapped the Inquirer out for Batman, he should've been out cold at this point.
But as soon as they came in, before Zorro could start "robbing the rich to help the poor," the Inquirer's breathing rhythm suddenly changed. Whether his mind had fully cleared was unclear, but Su Ming knew he was awake.
And if he guessed right, the hand that wasn't holding the bottle had already found the pistol in the trench coat pocket.
"Ahem! Easy there." Su Ming raised both hands to show he wasn't some thug looking to mug people under cover of darkness. "I'm here on behalf of the Justice League to negotiate some terms with you."
Diana and Green Arrow shot him looks of contempt. Since when did this guy get to represent the Justice League?
But given the three of them were currently grasshoppers tied to the same rope, they didn't call Su Ming out on his lie.
Maybe because Wonder Woman and Green Arrow were both here, the Inquirer slowly lowered his legs from the desk, laced his fingers in front of his mouth, and sat steady behind the desk.
His voice was hoarse and dry, like someone who had just walked out of a desert, with a distinct gravelly rasp.
"Welcome."
After that, he just quietly watched the three of them, the featureless mask facing the doorway, waiting.
Su Ming nodded with a smile, pulled out the chair in front of the desk, and sat down opposite him. That made a flicker of doubt flash through the Inquirer's mind—why was this stranger clearly the one calling the shots among the three?
He figured it out quickly enough though: Zorro, my ass. This was Deathstroke from that Otherworld.
Only Deathstroke's record of past kills, plus his airtight planning, could explain why the proud Amazon Queen and the clever Green Arrow were willing to follow orders.
What he couldn't quite figure out was why Deathstroke was doing this. If he himself could recognize Deathstroke, then as long as "Zorro" stayed with those two, there's no way he'd fool the Mad Laugh or any version of Batman.
Weird move. Reason unknown. But that wasn't his problem.
He might want to help the Justice League, but not as some sinner looking to atone.
He had to admit, the current situation was a bit beyond his pay grade. Not every ordinary detective can go up against a Multiverse‑Level threat; the Main World only has one Batman.
So when he saw Deathstroke sit down, he simply waited quietly for the terms.
After all, the appearance of these three meant refusal was off the table. They could talk conditions, but he couldn't just duck them. He believed the Justice League was here for the fate of the world.
Seeing the other party's attitude, Su Ming was quite pleased; having him cooperate was obviously the best outcome: "We urgently need the Key in your hand. You know which one I mean."
He kept fishing out all kinds of alcohol from his utility belt, bottle after bottle, each with a different look and color, setting them on the table until the limited space was quickly filled.
Some were products from Skywalker, some he'd brought back from Wizard World and Azeroth, and he even took out the fine liquor Elminster had given him.
The guy liked booze, so you cater to his tastes. Maybe that Key was a priceless treasure, but Su Ming was sure the liquor he brought out was just as precious in the DC World.
At least, for a drunk, good liquor had Infinite appeal.
The Inquirer slowly drew in a breath, his gaze shifting to Green Arrow. He noticed the necklace around his neck, each Silver Coin glittering in the candlelight.
He understood what Deathstroke was trying to do, and he had to admire this Otherworld visitor's sense of timing.
Bold yet meticulous, utterly unscrupulous—truly chilling.
"Borrow it? Or trade?" the Inquirer asked in his hoarse voice. This item had been handed to him by God through the Eternal Council; some things really should be made clear.
Su Ming smiled, drew out a bottle of Skywalker Supreme Venerable thirty‑year aged liquor, twisted off the cap, and found two relatively clean glasses on the table, pouring one for the Inquirer and one for himself.
The brown liquor gurgled as it hit the bottom of the glasses, the light reflected by the glass rippling outward. He answered softly, "I'm afraid you'll have a hard time ever seeing that Key again."
The Inquirer, as expected, reached out, taking the glass in his hand. He didn't even need to lift his Mask to drink; his Mask was obviously a special piece of gear.
"Do you know who's pulling the strings behind us?" He sounded like he'd asked an unrelated question.
"Voice of Heaven, Wrath of Heaven, Body of Heaven, Hand of Heaven? It's all the same to me—the one who always gets labeled 'merciful' but isn't merciful at all. That one's run into some serious trouble lately." Su Ming kept his voice calm as he clinked glasses with the Inquirer. "We both know what can be found in the Sea of Darkness. The one who sentenced you is only one half of a binary."
The Inquirer worked his jaw; you could see he was savoring the drink. "For an outsider, you know a bit too much."
"Plenty of people say that, but I firmly believe I'm not guilty." Su Ming took a sip as well. Even though it was his own company's product, he had to admit this aged liquor was brutally strong.
The Inquirer's shoulders shook, a smile forming in the outline of his face.
"Well said. We can indeed find common ground." He took a Key shining with Golden Light from his chest and set it on the table, covering it with his hand. "I don't care about this thing. With or without it, I'm still me. But since it's still my property, I want to add a few extra conditions."
"Of course, go ahead. I like doing deals with smart people." Su Ming nudged the brim of his hat with a finger.
"It's actually simple, at least for you lot—trivial." The Inquirer finished the liquor in his glass and took the bottle.
"Wait, let me guess." Su Ming held up a finger. "You accept my offer, but you also want Green Arrow and Wonder Woman each to pay something of their own, right?"
"Just like you said: equivalent exchange. That really is my style. Each of you has to give me compensation I'm satisfied with."
"Very Just. Please continue." Su Ming nodded.
The Inquirer barely had to think. "Oliver needs to give me some US Dollar to improve my current living conditions. And Diana needs to introduce me to a girlfriend. I've been single for far too long."
Oliver naturally had no problem with that. US Dollar was just a string of numbers, and he believed the Inquirer also knew the Cosmos only had half a year of life left; this was him expressing his confidence.
Because in the end times money is useless; by asking for money, he was showing he believed the Justice League could pull off a reversal.
Diana, however, looked somewhat embarrassed. Even as a Queen, she couldn't just introduce one of her sisters to someone whose face she literally had no idea about.
She simply couldn't imagine how awkward her expression would be when her girlfriends asked, "What does he look like?" Still, Amazons liked powerful Warriors. Never mind just being masked—even if he literally had no face, it wouldn't be that big a problem.
So after hesitating for a moment, she nodded as well, and the check in Green Arrow's hand had been written out long ago.
Seeing all three accept his terms, the Inquirer generously pushed the Key out from under his palm and flipped his hand. "Deal. It's yours now."
Su Ming picked the Key up from the table, tossed it backward to Green Arrow, then stood to shake hands with the Inquirer.
"Wise choice. I like smart men like you."
"Sorry, I like women. Can Diana's promise be fulfilled a bit faster?"
The Inquirer kept shaking his head and cracked a cold joke. Su Ming, smiling, pointed at him as a farewell gesture. There was still one last step left: Pandora's Magic Box.
But just as he was preparing to leave, the Inquirer called out to him again and asked in a very serious tone, "You know what the Three Original Sins mean, right?"
"Yeah, I'm very clear on that—maybe even clearer than you Three Original Sins yourselves." Su Ming took out a roast quail from his bag and tossed it to the Inquirer.
"Then you should also be clear on what the Magic Box means." The Inquirer caught the bar snack steadily, but he still looked at the three of them with great seriousness.
Su Ming turned and walked away. "The Seven Original Sins? A Multiverse Teleportation Gate? A Demon Mother Box? I get it. You just sit tight and sip your drink, and wait for good news about the Justice League saving the world."