Tonnage

Break Dance.

>>

Wednesday was spent putting the basics together again since Lou wants him to have something ready and his friends among the bats are saying it might be a week. Apparently, there is something serious going on they need to prep for.

The fact that he knows this because he got a text from Orphan is pretty epic. Epic and completely unexpected. He doesn't even remember giving them his number.

>>

Unknown: (Typed Into Phone) Tom, this is Orphan. Just letting you know that we may not be available on Friday, and our work toward your rescue gear is on hold for now. Please, Tom. Be careful. The Police Commissioner spoke with Batman about what you have passed along, and we are well aware of just how bad things can get, and how quickly they can do it. Neither Bane nor Penguin are to be taken lightly. If things go wrong, contact me (us) immediately.

>>

They had chatted back and forth for a few minutes after that, but nothing significant. It isn't as though he isn't interested, it's just... She's a beautiful superhero. She and Spoiler are practically goddesses and... And he's...

Well, Fred warned him.

He was warned by a man who had lived it and had just enough decency left to give him the knowledge to do better with it than he had himself. Whoever Fred Dukes was, however bad he'd gone, Tom finds himself sighing as he stares at the fresh new contact in his phone and thanking the man for making the effort he had. Going into this completely blind would have been so much worse.

On a lark and just for fun, Tom adds one additional thing to his gear setup when he is fixing it. A scuba mask and mouthpiece, complete with a regulator that is already connected to the tank just like his helm. It lives in a hanging leather pouch inside the big metal chest he carries around, but there is a spot to run a hose out. He likes the idea that he can offer another person an air supply if things have gone horrible, and since he's carrying the air in bulk anyway it's a no-brainer for him.

>>

Wednesday, 3:12 PM. Metal shop area in The Yard.

“Hey, Uncle Lou! You wanted to see me about something?”

His uncle looks up from the drafting table. “Yeah, Tom. Just wanted to let you know that I've heard back from your driving instructor. He's pretty sure you can pass now but he isn't sure the truck is technically road-legal yet, and I want to get you wheeled as soon as possible. More important than the trailer, really. So that's what we're doing for the next few days to a week, so we can get you in for a driving test.”

Tom nods, looking at the diesel rig with a raised eyebrow. Currently, most of the cab has been simply removed with a giant metal bench seat replacing the comfortable bucket seats that had been there. Placed in a position that would be halfway into the sleeper car if it still had a bed in it. That his teacher mentioned legality seems obvious to Tom, it currently doesn't even have seat belts.

“Well, I don't think we can get it set up for me to sleep in it no matter what we do, so maybe we just finish the bench up into something nice, install the stuff it has to have, put a roof on it, and cover the back and side walls where the sleeper section was in lock boxes and cupboards? Maybe a water cooler would be nice, in case I ever actually use it for trucking?”

Lou tosses him a pad of paper and a pencil. “Keep 'em coming. I'll start sketching things out while you make your wish list.”

So they busy themselves with that for a while. A few hours later when the plans are starting to gel, Tom stands up from the modified log he's been using as a seat in here lately. “I need to hit the store I think. I can't leave the lot tomorrow, so the normal Thursday big shopping run will have to wait for Friday or the weekend and I'm gonna want some snacks and stuff before then.”

Lou glances his nephew's way. “Something wrong with the truck?”

Tom's face oozes confusion. “Huh?”

Lou sets aside the valve setup he's working on. A rig for a custom propane setup. “Are we waiting for truck repairs so you can go? Why can't we do the shopping on Thursday?”

Tom freezes for a second. Lou holds the bridge of his nose. “What happened, Tom?”

Tom's deep, rumbling voice comically rises just that little bit, and he begins speaking just that little bit faster.

“Oh, nothing really. Bane offered me a grand to stay home so Penguin can have an auction in one of the buildings close by. I informed the police, and they told the Bats. Didn't I mention that before?”

Lou is leaning against the bench he's working at, sitting almost sidesaddle on his stool now as he stares at his nephew with something between confusion, horror, and incredulity.

“What?! When did you even meet that psycho?”

Tom winces at the tone. “Yesterday morning? He was on the lot. Met me just outside my tent.”

Lou spins around to face away from the bench and leans against it with his right thumb and forefinger holding the bridge of his nose plaintively.

“Tom, I can't believe I need to actually say this out loud. Especially after Croc.” Lou's right eye opens, and the look can only be described as grim. “But from now on, if there are criminals on the property, yes. Inform the cops. Tell your new buddies in tights. Post it online for all I care but also, tell the bloody landowner too, would you please?!”

The rumble is so soft it almost can't be made out.

“Just didn't want you to worry.”

Lou stares at him, then after a few seconds digs out his wallet and hands his nephew a five. “Grab some corn nuts. Just corn nuts. Normal, everyday, they been making them for the last thousand years corn nuts. If anything in it tastes like it escaped the diaper of a fucking Doritos bag then we're gonna have an issue.”

Tom laughs and takes the cash. This is Lou's way. Lou can't not worry, and he can't dwell on it or it'll start to get to him. So he'll shuffle all that angst off onto something stupid and purge for a while. Tom's not sure how healthy it really is, but he's pretty sure he isn't the poster child for sanity these days either so...

He doesn't bring it up.

>>

The shop they favor is actually not in Crime Alley. With the yard being on the edge of the area, they tend to do most of their business further into the nicer areas of town whenever possible.

Nicer, of course, is highly subjective. Jokes about 'the neighbor of the beast' aside, the stain that is the rougher areas of town will reach into nearby affluent areas often. Where the prey is more worthy.

Tom makes it back to the doors, a huge, custom, metal frame and canvas backpack on his shoulders. Full of all kinds of snacks and comfort foods, along with a couple of frozen hams that were on sale and a case of soda in a variety of flavors.

He also picked up big canisters of Hawaiian Punch and Tang because he'd never realized how expensive pop was until he was the one buying it.

Of course, he wasn't intending to be yelled at by somebody in an old sedan when steps out, either. Three random gunshots that don't hit anything later and that car is peeling out ahead of the police cruiser that just started its rollers and begins pursuit.

Just another day in Gotham.

>>

Nightwing: No, wait. Excuse me what happened again?

Oracle: Tom did some grocery shopping and word got out. He had a drive-by waiting for him.

Hood: How much trouble is he in?

Oracle: None. As soon as he figured out what was going on, he got out of there. Never touched any of them.

Spoiler: Never really considered what a pain in the ass it would be to have a hero identity that you couldn't take off. He needs his own Q. Where can we pick one up?

B: Nothing is impossible, we know that better than most. But I'm willing to say that to the best of my knowledge, there are no others like our Q.

Q: Quite.

…

…

…

Hood: Oracle, when did... Q get an account?

Oracle: Oh, he's always had one. You didn't think I'd lock out Q did you?

Hood: Fuck.

Q: Master Hood...

Hood: Sorry, Al... Q.

Q: Very good. To answer the original question if I may. While quality domestic personnel are not impossible to obtain, Mr. Wierzowski does not have the liquid capital currently to do so. Nor, if I am being truthful, does he have the hearth or home that such a live-in servant would be required for. Now, post patrol snacks are in the kitchen under glass, I am calling it an early night that my old bones can be fully rested for whatever foolishness transpires tomorrow with this Cobblepot scheme.

B: Good point. Short patrols tonight. Cover the bases, but don't stay out too late unless something catches your eye. In groups, never fewer than two.

A smattering of ascents later, and the line goes silent for a while.

>>

Thursday, 8:43 PM. Tom's Place.

It really shouldn't be this annoying. He almost never goes anywhere anyway. But he's sitting here, and he's made a deal. And he can't leave without breaking the deal.

But there is something going on within a few blocks and not knowing is just eating him alive. If they are trafficking kids or something, and he just sits here, does what happens to those girls become his fault? If you can stop evil and you choose to not do so, does that make you evil?

He isn't a hero, he doesn't care what anybody says. But he tries not to be the bad guy either, and this feels like he's kissing the edge of that entirely too much.

>>

Oswald Cobblepot smiles as he leads his guests. Few though they are, their presence speaks to the nature of the meeting.

“Welcome all to my little gathering. Please follow me, we'll be moving things along shortly.”

The collection of psychosis and greed follows the shorter man as their three allowed bodyguards a piece fan out some.

“This building here has quite the history,” Cobblepot says as he leads them deeper into the structure. “Roll the clock back far enough, and this little old brick and steel construction was a shipyard. The dry dock was right below us. But after a time, they couldn't keep the dry portion of that stable anymore, and with no money to fix it, they sold the property. Where it was purchased by a bloke what wanted to start a nightclub. Glass and steel floor, so the rich of Gotham could float along over the cold recesses of the ocean.” He pulls a cord, and the massive west-facing curtains fall to the ground. This allows the brilliant sunset on display to bathe the entire area, including the dusty and dingy glass they are now walking on. It causes the entire room to glow as the myriad of reflections take on a life of their own.

He leads them to a service elevator. “Then the club itself got shut down for prohibition. Too high profile to stay in business under the law, but the noble place still performed her duty, as this became a popular spot for dropping off shipments. Float it to the dock right under the dance floor and bring it up. A wonderful old place full of charm and a bulwark against the busybodies of town hall.”

He leads them to the end of the dock, where there is a canvas garage-like cover set up that he leads them to. Black Mask leans in, then stops.

“Oswald, why are we getting into a submarine?”

The short man chuckles, shaking his head. “The place is rotted out, rusted through. The main braces might be salvageable, but the rest of it? I'll have to start over if I want to recreate it.” He takes a moment to shut the door and bark a direction into the PA system. When the ship begins to move, Cobblepot turns back to his guests, a smirk playing out as he leads them further in.

“Why? Because about the time I realized that I was going to have to demolish this place and start fresh, I had me an idea. What would happen do you think if just before a place like this was scheduled to be demolished a bunch of Bat-themed buffoons were to break in? Every other time I try to run any kind of event among us, that bastard shows up following one of you. Well, this time? Let him.”

He pulls a remote control out of his pocket and jams his fingers on a sequence of buttons. Laughing as he goes, right up until the overwhelming booming sound somewhere above and behind them. “Covered the roof of that place with braided anchor chain interlaced with tarps and anything else that could drag an idiot to the bottom and keep them there for days. Let the nosy blighters try growing gills while we're having our fun.”

The laughter continues as the brilliant but deranged man leads them to the cafeteria, where his little auction is set to be conducted.

>>

Spoiler and Orphan are in a bad way. They had paired off for this, much like Robin and Red Robin had. The Robins were coming in by way of the roof. The two women were supposed to be grappling up from the shoreline.

Bruce had been called away on League business and they were supposed to be doing recon only. But watching the submersible slip beneath the water had made both of them overextend. They weren't seen, as the hatch was closed before they had even seen the submersible. But they only have time to put a single tracker on it as it clears the dock before the walls all the way around the building above them explode, dropping hundreds of tons of glass, brick, steel, and stone on them and the dock. This rips their footing out from under them, dumping them in the water.

>>

Three blocks away Tom decides that explosions are not auctions, and Bane broke the contract first.