Bruce spent much of the day with Lois and Tinsel. Having no interest in the square dancing class, or the macrame class, he returned to his apartment for a nap. At five o'clock, he wasn't actually hungry enough to have dinner - and in fact, perhaps he would miss most of the hornier senior citizens. Showing up late would have its merits, Bruce smiled.
As the other residents dined, he took a quiet walk around the sprawling structure. There were leafy atriums, lobbies with grand pianos and computer monitors, pharmacy desks, and mini art galleries. Finally, he arrived at a less attractive part of the Heritage Pines. There was a metal door, slightly obscured by a large ficus. As if naturally drawn there, he silently turned the knob and slipped inside.
Bruce found he was in a sterile-looking corridor that snaked its way through the Pines building like a spine. As he walked it, he passed numerous metal doors labelled numerically. However, he could tell from the sounds and smells behind each door approximately where he was. Some led to parts within the Pines, while others led directly outside. He could smell the cool night air behind some doors, laundry detergent behind others, and garbage bins bhind still others. He was intrigued, but a voice in his head reminded gently that normal people don't sneak around in back corridors. He waved the voice off.
Several yards behind him, he heard a doorknob turn. Bruce's eyes darted around. Heating vent right above him - but no grapnel. Then he saw a tall pile of boxes next to door number 12. That'll have to do, Bats grumbled. He quickly ducked behind them. The sound of two pairs of feet shuffled toward him. Bruce pressed his back against the boxes, gripping his cane.
"- must not have deposited her social security check yet, because I only scored three hundred creds off of her," a youngish-sounding voice told his coworker. Bruce's eyes narrowed. This was sickening, and to think it exists in such an exclusive home...
His grip tightened around his cane.
"Well you can always get in a few days later - pick up her laundry, vacuum the place - it's easy enough, Bill," the other one replied. This one sounds bigger, footfalls are heavier... and a lot less remorseful... sounds like he's on the near side of me - good...
They were nearly upon him. He exhaled. He watched them just barely pass him, completely unaware of his existence.
He moved swiftly, like a shadow. He struck the larger one hard, on the back of the neck. He fell, unconscious. Then he threw himself at the second one, putting the cane crosswise between them. Pinning him, he flipped the man onto his stomach and forced his face into the floor.
His back pulsed with pain. His knees were sore against the hard linoleum floor. He ignored them, but just barely.
"Who are you stealing from? TALK!" He snarled. He felt the man jump in fear beneath him. It made him smile - on the inside.
"Fuck you!" he stuttered in mock bravado. The Batman forced his head harder against the floor, and dug his elbow into the space between his shoulderblades.
"This hurts like hell, doesn't it, Bill?" he asked darkly. "I weigh over two hundred pounds, and I don't think you want that kind of weight on your spine." He pushed down sharply to emphasize his point. Bill gasped.
"OK, OK - we've been scamming off of Mike the Player," he confessed desperately. Bill ust wanted this man to let go. It didn't happen.
"Who else?" he growled. Bill didn't answer fast enough. The larger man stirred and groaned. In one fluid moion, the cane fell swiftly on the back of his neck again, and he went still again. "WHO ELSE!" he rasped into Bill's ear.
"Homicide Lane, Gerald Foy, Marina De Leon, and Ashley Winters," he answered, voice full of panic. "That's all, I swear!"
"If anyone's bank balance comes up short, Bill," the voice lowered, "I'll know where to find you." No smoke bombs, no mask, not even a damn hat and sunglasses, he cursed. With that, he brought the side of his hand down sharply on Bills neck, rendering him unconscious. He searched Bill and his friend's pockets, collected up all the creds, their driver's licenses, and headed to the dining hall.
His joints ached. He wiped his forehead and neck with a handkerchief before entering the dining hall. It was nearly half-empty- it seemed the grumpier half ate later, he thought, telling from all the lone diners. This was good - he had a lot to think about.
Normal people would notify the authorities, he scolded. Normal people wouldn't even go through the back corridor to begin with. And besides, he continued, how are you going to return the creds to their owners? "This whole thing stinks," he grumbled into his split pea soup.
"Hey Wayne." It was Lois' voice. Part of him really wanted to talk to her. The other wanted to, well, hide in the Batcave.
"Go away," he growled before he could stop himself. But he didn't take it back.
"Damn, Bruce," she snapped. "Just being neighborly and all - but nevermind!" She spun on her heel and stormed out. A few heads turned in his direction. He couldn't very well run after her like some pup - some boyfriend - so he just watched her go.