“My friend is waiting outside,” she promised. “Just hit ‘send.’”

Stryver toyed with the phone, eyeing her suspiciously, before finally doing as she instructed. Then they waited in silence. Within minutes, there was a knock at the door. The goon at the door peered out cautiously before unlocking it to admit a petite blonde who looked like she belonged in high school. Flaxen curls tumbled past her slight shoulders. A halter-top and miniskirt practically screamed jailbait. Hazel eyes lit up as she spotted Selina at the table. She scampered over and pulled out an envelope.

A tense hush fell over everyone, like the calm before a storm. The girl glanced around cluelessly.

“Place is a little dead,” Jen said as Selina took the envelope.

“It will liven up in a minute, trust me.”

Jen picked up on the tension in the room.

“Everything okay?”

“Great,” Selina lied. “See you later.”

To her relief, Stryver let the girl depart, perhaps to avoid any unnecessary complications. Or maybe he just had a soft spot for blondes. Taking the envelope from Selina, he inspected a second transparency. This one bore the flawless image of a single thumbprint.

He nodded in satisfaction.

“It would have been a lot easier,” she pointed out, “to just give me what we agreed on.”

He shook his head.

“We can’t have any loose ends.” He looked her over appreciatively. “And, even in that dress, no one is going to miss you.”

“No,” she agreed. “But my friend over there?” She cocked her head toward the bar, where her oblivious “date” was drooling into a bowl of cocktail peanuts. “Every cop in the city’s missing him.”

As if on cue, a news update flashed across the screen of the muted television set. A headline scrolled beneath a campaign photo of a certain prominent local politician.

MANHUNT FOR MISSING CONGRESSMAN

Stryver’s startled gaze darted between the TV and the drunk, and then back again.

“Cute,” he said, recovering quickly. “But they’re not going to be looking for him in a place like this.”

“I don’t know,” she countered. “You did just use his cell phone.”

Stryver stared in horror at the phone in his hand. He hastily wiped it down with a silk handkerchief, even as—all at once—the entire Gotham City Police Department seemed to converge upon the bar. Sirens blared outside, drowning out the jukebox. The noisy whirr of helicopter blades came from above, growing louder by the moment. Spinning red gumball lights could be glimpsed through the drawn window shades.

Brakes squealed.

Boots pounded toward the door.

Stryver’s face blanched. He glanced toward the window. Clearly, this wasn’t part of his plan.

She seized the moment. Moving quickly, she cracked his head against the table, then grabbed the big bruiser’s gun hand and flipped over the table with feline grace and dexterity. Before the baffled thug even knew what was happening, she used his gun and opened fire on the other hoods. Winged henchmen yelped and dropped to the floor.