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"It's six a.m., and a frozen Tuesday morning to all of you from Gotham's oldies station, WGHO. I'm Shawna Foxx, getting you up, up, up out of your cozy den! Get your paw off that snooze button! I'll be here with you till ten, but now we've got Alex with the early morning traffic report." I started awake, and realized that I had fallen asleep in the tub. "Oh, god." I told myself, then stepped out to dry myself, looked at my pruned skin, and sighed. I pulled the drain plug, then stretched and walked to the toilet.
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"Good morning, Ms. Kyle, Ms. Miller."
I looked at Stef, and with a grin, we chorused, "Good Morning, Mr. Mulligan." Stef chuckled, and I grinned. "How are you, Mr. Mulligan?" I asked.
"The Lord has seen fit to grace us with another beautiful day, Praise be to him. I hope you ladies have a wonderful day." He replied.
Stef echoed, "Amen to that, Jonas, and the same to you, my friend." She turned to me, and asked, "Selina, what are you doing here? I thought you'd be downtown."
"Oh, jeez. I missed the train last night, and ..."
"Don't sweat it. You had to fill out some last minute stuff with HR. We have an informal pool going on how long Annalisa's going to talk every time. We never get to, but we still have to be up there on the platform. So far, she hasn't developed laryngitis yet, although there's hope. Unfortunately, she sets the agenda."
We paused before the elevators, and I mentioned, "I saw you and Tee up there, you both looked bored silly."
"I was. I can't even play a game on my Palm Pilot(tm), it makes too much noise. Tee had an earpiece and was listening to something, but all you can do is sit there, look politely interested, and think of all the other stuff you need to do."
"What about a radio or something?" I asked.
"I can't do that, I've got to be doing something." Stef answered. "I'd love to take my laptop, but..."
The elevator dinged, and we got on.
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Stef stopped in the lobby, and motioned me to the gate. I shrugged, and swiped my badge. With a buzz, I pushed through, holding it for Stef. She swiped her badge, the gate buzzed, and I followed her down the corridor to IS. She stopped at the reception desk, and asked the girl, "Amber, anything going down to the Three Corners office? Ms. Kyle here needs a lift."
Amber popped her gum, and said, "Joanie was taking some monitors, a few machines and a laser down with some supplies." She looked at me, and said, "You mind helpin' her? They're heavy." I shook my head, and said, "Not at all."
Amber grinned, and said, "Good. I think she's got one more load. She just took one down to the number five van, she should be back in a minute."
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As we waited at a light, Joanie said, "What's your story, Ms. Kyle? How'd you come to work for Wayne?"
"I'm just your typical divorcee who needs a job." I replied. "He got everything, including custody, and he's not paying alimony." I grinned at her, and said, "Take my advice, and never marry an attorney. I can't afford one, and I needed a job, so ..." I asked, "What about you?"
Joanie drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, then replied. "I was a runaway from Chicago, living on the streets and selling myself for my habit. I was being gang-raped when the Bat came by, kicked their butts, and gave me a hand up." She ran a hand through her blonde hair, and continued, "The Bat saved my life, not once, but twice. Once in that alley, and then he kicked my butt to get my head on straight. I got my GED, and then WayneTech sponsored me at Gotham U. Why Mr. Wayne would help to pay for a burned out, addicted, two bit whore's education, I don't know." She paused, then whispered, "I just know that I'd like to thank him, and the Bat."
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"Well, here we are! This is the Three Corners office. She waved to the elderly guard, and the gate in the high chain link fence rolled back. She drove into the fenced parking lot, backing up to a set of loading docks. I saw a trash truck drive in behind us, and maneuver toward the first Dumpster. I was getting my things together, when I heard a gunshot.
"Oh, my God!" Joanie ran out of the van, toward three Hispanic youths that were running into the lot. Another leaned over the elderly guard, smoke coming from the muzzle of his gun. I dropped my purse and followed.
"You asshole! You shot him! Why'd you do that?" Joanie screeched at the shooter. While she cursed him and tried to stop the bleeding, I managed to sneak up on two of them, both of who had stopped to watch the screaming blonde. I grabbed them, and tried to slam their heads together, but they just shook it off. They grinned, and separated.
"You boys aren't from around here, are you?" I looked at them, and smiled as I assumed a defensive stance. One was wearing a Yankee's jacket, another an Islander's cap.
"We heard Gotham was a tough town, bitch. So far, you're the first one to give us a fight. What a wimpy ass, pussy place."
I grinned at them, as the three of them started to circle with me. The fourth was fully occupied with Joanie, who was throwing kicks and punches at him. He had apparently forgotten he had a gun. The two trash guys were hanging back, watching the four of us circle. I stopped, and changed my stance, and the trash guys grabbed one of the thugs, pulling his gun away, then they started to beat him.
"Well, then, surely you big, tough New Yorkers should be able to take a skirt like me." I challenged them. "After all, you owe me something."
"You bet we do, bitch." They rushed me, and I kicked the first one where all men are vulnerable. I dropped, spun, and kicked the other one's head. He shook his head, then roared and charged me. I turned and helped him along into the side of a parked van, leaving a nasty dent. He dropped face first into the dirty snow, and lay still. The second had staggered to his feet, and was shakily aiming his gun at me. He was hit by a snowball on the side of the head, which enabled me to pull the gun away, and knee him again in the groin. He collapsed with a moan, and I turned and looked at Joanie. She was grinding her thug's face into a slush puddle while he struggled feebly.
"Welcome to Gotham City." One of the trash guys told the unconscious thugs.
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With a screaming siren, the ambulance pulled away. I looked at the cops again, as they were putting their gear away. Someone had watched the fight, and called the cops. Detective Bullock moved his match to the other side of his mouth, than spat it out and stuck a fresh one in. He asked, "So, where are they?"
"Who, the New York garbage?" Joanie asked, a bandage covering the cut on her temple.
"Yeah, those out of town idiots." Detective Montoya asked.
"We, um, secured them for you." One of the trash guys said. He motioned, and the two detectives followed him to the still-idling truck. He grinned at his buddy, and then asked loudly, "George, I keep forgetting, which one opens, and which one crushes?" He winked at us. I grinned back. He was a mean shot with snowballs, especially those with rocks in them.
"I keep forgetting, Pete. Labels have worn off, too. Why don't you keep trying the different ones until we find out?" A scream from inside the truck, and another, different one when George played with the levers, producing a grinding sound from inside the truck's compactor. Bullock chuckled, Montoya grinned, and said, "Okay, guys, let them out."
"Aw, gee, Officer, we just doin' our job, getting' rid of the trash." Pete said. George worked the levers again, and we heard wails and screaming in rapid Spanish. Bullock was laughing now, and Montoya said something in Spanish that I couldn't make out over the truck's noise. George flicked the levers again, and said, "A confession? You really think so, Detective?" Another flick of the levers, and screaming in English and Spanish continued from the truck. Bullock was laughing so hard he had to hold on to the sides of the truck for support. George flicked the levers once more, and then finally opened the rotating hopper of the truck. In with the apple cores, banana peels, dirty diapers, eggshells, and other trash were the four New Yorkers, hands and feet securely bound with Joanie's plastic wire ties. Detective Montoya wrinkled her nose, and said, "Phew. Apestan!" (Phew. They stink!)
"We'll hose 'em off for you, Officer." Pete offered, motioning to the coiled hose on the side of the truck. George played with the levers again, and the New Yorkers struggled in the garbage.
"I appreciate it, but the LT might be upset if they caught pneumonia. Still, it is your truck ... "
"Okay." Pete uncoiled the hose and started to spray water on the steel drum. It ran down, and the four New Yorkers could feel the icy liquid with their bound hands. One of them begged, "Oficial, por favor, confesamos! Lo hicimos! Por favor, solamente llevanos lejos de estos basureros locos! (Officer, please, we confess! We did it! Please, just get us away from these crazy garbagemen!)
"Esta usted seguro? (Are you sure?)" Montoya asked.
"Sí, estamos seguros! Por favor, saquenos de aquí antes de que nos maten! (Yes, yes, we're sure! Please, get us out of here before they kill us!)"
Sergeant Montoya sighed. "Si estas seguro, ahora. (If you're sure, now.)" She waited until Pete and George had hauled them out, and they'd been cuffed and searched, before continuing, "Ahora, déjeme decirle sobres sus derechos. (Now, let me tell you about your rights.)"
### Chapter 11: Of Tuesdays and Thugs