I’m good. I’m glad you find them. .nice.

Caves, huh.

He’s arrogant.

Never a sweet spot, huh.

Damn city always rains.

That stupid signal hits the sky. It’s not call, it a warning that shit won’t get done.

Duffle bag tossed over his shoulder - - the motor cycle beneath his legs hums with pull of the engine. Work to be done.

Then what is this about.

Gotham. 2 AM. Tony Gilanto loads a black van of children ranging from 12-7 years old. He is the best trafficker Gotham has to offer. Batman allowed him to be put behind bars for five years in his 3rd year. A bullet finds its home in the center of Tony’s forehead. Carving a dime size hole.

. . .is there something you need from me?

[ A huff. A shift of shoulders. ] Red Hood.

Better to not assume, huh.

I didn’t ask for who he was.

I don’t know who that is.