Junkyard Batman

Chapter 9

You can usually walk into the dredges of a building's maintenance areas if you look like you belong there, especially if you are carrying a work bag that looks heavy. I even nod at a few guys I pass as I make my way back down to where all the police tape is. They don't notice that my overalls lack an emblem.

Remembering the code Gordon punched in, I let myself into Riddler's empty computer fortress. But I'm not here for the expensive monitors or the fancy gaming chair. I'm here for the bathroom sink.

Using the tools from my belt, I cut the caulking away and unfasten the sink. It's heavy and I struggle to carry it out to one of the hand trolleys left behind from the seized meth. I take a moment to review all of my equipment to make sure I have everything.

I have my full Batsuit including helmet and basic armor and boots. I've got cord, tape, medical bandages, my battery-powered heating iron, and... my pruning shears.

And I've got the cell phone jammer in my bag, hooked up to a battery and humming away. Imported from China through some subtle means, the thing will kill all cell phone signals ranging to the floors above and below me. The pawn shop guy wouldn't let me pay anything for it, claiming it would be 'on my tab.'

That makes me a bit nervous.

But I'm already nervous.

Nobody dies.

Pushing the cart back out, I maneuver it to the maintenance elevator and wait. Twenty minutes go by and a guy working there, likely a general building and repair guy, walks around the corner and spies me waiting.

"Hey," he says, eyeing the sink.

"Could you key me in? This is a sink to replace a busted one in the lounge. I just need a key for the elevator." My gamble is that he knows the bathroom is wrecked from my earlier fight. I also hope that he doesn't ride the elevator with me. Here's hoping he is too busy to escort me.

He nods. "Yeah, let me call that in, just in case..." he fumbles with his phone for a few minutes. But what do you know, his signal isn't working. It's amusing in that he pretends to get a text. Nodding, he pulls his fab from his keychain and opens the door for me with a friendly smile.

"You're a lifesaver," I say, wheeling in. I keep the cart awkwardly positioned to discourage him from getting on. Once the door closes, I look over the buttons. According to what was publicly available for the tower's schematics, I press the 24th floor for the personal apartments.

The elevator ride is brief. I steady my breathing, trying to center myself.

This will be the worst thing I've ever done.

Rolling out into a storage room, I see an older washer and dryer that had been replaced but not yet removed. The room also has wash basins, a nice wet vac, and the fuse boxes. It's perfect with plenty of hiding places.

And this is what I do. Pushing the cart aside, I worm myself into a cabinet with my bag and sit tight. It is currently 10:34 am and I've got to hangout in this cramped spot until midnight. That is over thirteen hours of waiting.

I turn off the cell phone jammer and tuck in.

Time does not move quickly. Occasionally someone comes into the storage room. Through the ventilation slots in the cabinet I see a lanky man in a tuxedo pick up a screw driver or fetch several rolls of toilet paper but otherwise the room is silent.

I daydream of Selina in those boots and that plaid skirt. And the hoodie. And a bikini. And her birthday suit. I pretty much run through every lurid scenario I can fathom with her, and each ends up with me curled around her, kissing her shoulder, in my trailer.