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Sometimes it was water balloons.
Sometimes it was used tissues.
They weren't necessarily aimed at anyone in particular, but no matter who got hit, it was unpleasant.
As a result, Henry now carried an umbrella whenever he went outside, regardless of whether it was raining or sunny.
It served as a convenient shield against incoming projectiles.
Sometimes the little brat would simply squat in a corner and stare.
The envy, jealousy, and resentment in his eyes made anyone who noticed him uncomfortable.
The worst part was that he genuinely seemed to believe his stalking skills were excellent and that nobody had discovered him.
Not only could Henry, a Kryptonian, spot him immediately—even Katie the "tabby cat" could.
Even Katharine Hepburn, whose eyesight wasn't particularly good anymore, and random passersby noticed the suspicious child sneaking around behind people.
People often glanced sideways at him when walking past.
Whenever Henry tried to approach, however, the boy would exploit his small size, weave through the crowd, and vanish in moments.
Of course, that was assuming Henry didn't reveal his super speed.
Trying to compete with a monkey-like kid in a crowded street without cheating was surprisingly difficult.
Unless he was willing to start shoving pedestrians aside with brute force.
But if he did that, forget catching the kid—Katharine Hepburn would start lecturing him first.
Besides, with Katie outside, Henry didn't dare wander too far away.
If some troublesome brat provoked Katie's wild instincts, the tiger getting shot dead afterward would hardly be considered unjustified.
As a tiger capable of wrestling an out-of-hibernation brown bear in the Alaskan wilderness, Katie's combat power was several orders of magnitude above that of the average New Yorker.
If she ever truly lost her temper, she'd become the headline of the evening news.
Besides, luring the tiger away from the mountain was one of the oldest tricks in military strategy.
There was no way Henry was falling for something that basic.
The reason he remained so vigilant was because he'd noticed something:
Whenever trouble occurred, there was always a photographer nearby waiting like a paparazzo.
New York wasn't Los Angeles.
You couldn't trip over movie stars every few blocks.
Still, it was one of the world's greatest cities, so paparazzi existing here wasn't surprising.
With the observational skills Henry had painstakingly developed, even without his super-vision powers, he could easily tell what sort of people carried two or three cameras everywhere they went.
But when the same situation repeated itself every single time, it became difficult not to suspect a trap.
An aging former movie star wasn't worth much.
But he might be.
So was this about the profits from the dementia medication?
Instead of pursuing legitimate business negotiations, were they trying to resort to dirty tricks?
Although Henry had his suspicions, he lacked evidence.
And without evidence, it was difficult to draw conclusions.
The best way to break through the mystery remained the persistent little brat.
After all, he was the only one brazen enough to follow Henry's group all the way home to their apartment in Turtle Bay on East 49th Street.
If the building hadn't had security guards, the kid probably would've followed them right up to the fourth-floor apartment door.
Had his surveillance skills been sophisticated enough to avoid detection, that would've been one thing.
Unfortunately, his stalking was so terrible that noticing him was unavoidable.
That somehow made things even more psychologically exhausting.
Just seeing his face gave people headaches.
Sometimes Henry would return home, walk over to the window, and look outside.
The kid would still be there, standing beneath a streetlamp across the road.
His obsessive-stalker routine was so extreme that someone with a weaker personality might genuinely be driven insane.
Yet it wasn't entirely accurate to say he was intentionally applying psychological pressure.
Whenever Henry opened the window and made direct eye contact with him, the kid would panic and hide, seemingly convinced that hiding behind something made him invisible.
Even paparazzi demonstrated more professionalism.
This was clearly just some clueless idiot kid being used by someone else.
And another thing—
By his age, he should've been in school.
Why did he have so much free time to run around outside?
Noticing Henry amusing himself at the window, Katharine Hepburn entered the living room after finishing her evening wash-up with Maria Thomson's assistance.
"Is that child still down there?"
"Yes, Kate."
Henry stroked his large beard.
"I honestly wonder what kind of parents would let their kid wander around outside during school hours."
"Perhaps he doesn't have any parents."
The old woman suddenly said it with a trace of sympathy in her voice.
Henry blinked.
"An orphan? Is that really possible? This is New York."
"So what if it's New York?"
Katharine Hepburn chuckled.
"You don't honestly believe that because this isn't nineteenth-century London, children like those in Oliver Twist can't exist, do you?
"My dear, I always thought you were a pessimistic realist.
"Now it seems you're surprisingly optimistic in some ways."
Being teased like that actually made the thick-skinned Henry blush a little.
"I just assumed modern child welfare programs would be able to help children like that.
"Give them an education. Let them grow up like children from normal families.
"Instead of ending up exploited by gangs of thieves and pickpockets, learning nothing but petty crime."
The old woman replied,
"Have you noticed? He's been wearing the exact same outfit the entire time.
"I don't think it's because his wardrobe contains dozens of copies of the same clothes."
Fair enough.
To add to her observation, Henry had also noticed that the kid smelled awful.
Not the smell of someone who hadn't bathed for three days.
More like someone who had never bathed since leaving the womb.
Then Katharine Hepburn suddenly said,
"Can you help him?"
"Hmm. Of course."
Henry nodded.
Then he picked up the telephone.
"Let's see... which number should I call?"
There wasn't any immediate danger, so 911 wasn't appropriate.
Nor did the situation seem to involve abuse, making CPS a poor fit as well.
However, the United States did have a national children's hotline:
1-800-CHILDREN (244-5373).
The number was easy enough to remember.
Henry dialed immediately.
Like most government-related phone services, the process involved plenty of waiting and multiple transfers.
Eventually, he reached someone who seemed responsible for handling such matters.
He explained everything about the brat downstairs.
Once he'd finished, the representative assured him the matter would be handled according to procedure.
After hanging up, Henry noticed both Katharine Hepburn and Maria Thomson staring at him with strange expressions.
"What?"
"You handled it like that?" the old woman asked blankly.
"Of course."
Henry looked confused.
"What else was I supposed to do?
"The taxes I've paid over the past few years probably exceed what many people pay in their entire lives.
"I don't think it's unreasonable to expect government agencies funded by taxpayers to actually do their jobs."
"That... is probably the correct thing to do."
Katharine Hepburn frowned.
"But why does it feel so strange?"
She looked toward Maria Thomson, who wisely chose not to comment.
Then Henry glanced out the window.
"Oh, the police are here."
He sounded surprised.
"They actually sent police officers?"
Below, a patrol car arrived with its siren blaring.
The brat immediately looked nervous but remained where he was, apparently hoping for the best.
The moment the officers got out and started walking toward him, however, he panicked completely and sprinted away.
Watching from the fourth floor, Henry exclaimed excitedly:
"Oh! He's running! He ran!
"The cops are chasing him!
"Do you think I should tell them that the kid is armed?"
Katharine Hepburn stared at him.
"Do rotten eggs count as weapons?"
"Chemical weapons," Henry replied seriously.
"The psychological damage is devastating.
"You might be afraid of them, but honestly, I am too.
"Oh wow, look at that kid go. He actually crawled through a dog hole.
"Those two officers aren't fitting through there.
"You can tell from their waistlines.
"American police standards really are terrible."
The utterly shameless Kryptonian sat happily beside the fourth-floor window, thoroughly entertained by the sight of police officers chasing a delinquent child.
His running commentary continued nonstop.
Finally, Katharine Hepburn smacked him lightly on the head.
"Try behaving like a decent human being, child."
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