Chapter 10: Networking and Booty

---

 

Work was going well for Jack.

With each passing day, the delivery man was gaining more notoriety and growing in popularity. Which further increased the number of orders Lorenzo was getting in a night. This, effectively meant that he was making good money.

And the best part? Jack was paying zero taxes. Seeing as he wasn’t exactly paid per hour but per commission – so in cash which included tips and commission fees – it meant that he wasn’t declaring his earnings or paying a single cent in taxes.

The locals of Crime Alley, Burnley, The Bowery and recently New Town, have quickly taken a liking to him too. Each time he went there to make a delivery, he was greeted with respect or smiles by the people out in the streets. Some locals, mostly teen mobsters or wannabe-gangbangers, even offered to look after his scooter while he went to drop off his order.

“Holyshit! Look out, Luke. The delivery guy’s coming!” One such local exclaimed, elbowing his friend in the ribs as said friend, after seeing Jack’s figure rapidly approaching in the distance, quickly straightened himself from his previous lazy position – cross-armed and leaning back against a street lamp – to offer a quick nod Jack’s way.

“Evenin’ sir!” The teenage boy politely greeted the delivery man as he came to a stop just in front of him and dismounted his scooter. “Hope you having a pleasant night. Boss just inside, waitin’ for ya!” The young man gestured with his head to the apartment further behind him.

Jack already knew it, having opened a [chamber] as soon as he got closer to the place.

“I’m doing just fine, Luke.” The young boy’s brown eyes widened in awe when Jack called him by his name. “It’s a pretty slow night. Uneventful all things considered. A little boring. But sometimes, boring is just good. You?”

He fumbled with his words, “I…- eurhh… I’m doin’ j-just fine too, s-sir…! T-thank you for asking!”

“Good. I Hope you won’t stay up too late. You’re supposed to go to school tomorrow, yes? Exams are around the corner if I’m right. You and your friend should go back home and take some rest or do some last-minute revision. Don’t be afraid to say no if you’re asked to play spotter. I’ll talk with your boss about it.”

“Oh–... I.. umm, th-thanks you very much, sir!” The teen bowed, stiffly replying. “But we’ve already been dismissed! Jared and me insisted on being here when we heard ya were coming.”

“Hmmm, I see.” Jack nodded, retrieving three pizzas from the pizza box. “So I trust you’d go home once I am gone?” They both nodded in answer. “Good then. Can I ask you to look after my scooter? If something happens, don’t try to deal with it yourself. Just scream, I’ll take care of it.”

He would still be keeping a look at them himself. He trusted these two boys or any of Stephan’s boys to not try something but still, it never hurt to stay vigilant.

“Y-yes! N-no probs, s-sir! We’ll do it with pleasure.”

Jack chuckled, tossing them each a chew gum their way. “Thanks for the help, Luke. Appreciate it. You and your friends are good lads.”

“Wow… h-he, he knew my name…” Luke said upon catching the offered chew gum.

“Didn’t think he did… ” His friend muttered. “Bro… the delivery guy knows our name… the delivery guy also knows our school’s schedule… Holy shit, I can’t believe it! Marcus won’t believe it when we tell him… Do you think he knows everyone’s names?”

“He called my name, not yours. Besides, why would he bother remembering everyone’s name?”

“If he knows yours that means he at least knows mine too!”

“No wayyy. I’m the one who he addressed first, not you.”

“Whatever. The guy is even more fucking badass in person! I heard so much ‘bout him. Wasn't expecting much but he live up to the hype! Man’s a beast. Heard that he handed over Brian and his gang’s asses last week. Cuz they apparently tried to force him into his gang.”

“Yeah, heard of it too. Sick shit. Lit stuff.”

---

While he was growing in notoriety, he used the opportunity to endear himself to the locals whenever the opportunity presented itself, and wherever he went.

His efforts were going well. While he wasn’t radiating cheerfulness and open-friendlessness as much as in his civilian identity, Jack was still pretty easy-going and polite, thus fairly approachable after the initial shock of his get-up had worn out. People began to ease up, getting used to his presence. It also helped that he proved himself to be a hard son of a bitch as his appearance suggested; and quickly enough, he was on good terms with most people: citizens, dealers, mobsters and small-time gang leaders.

He got along especially well with Mark, the first person he ever made a delivery to. The middle-aged man was a small-time gangster who ran a protection racket around Crime Alley. Ex-officer of the Falcone Family before they got dismantled by Batman, the man is a respected figure in the neighborhood. Most businesses and people were turning to him and his service for protection. Especially now more than ever.

Batman’s presence and that of the police hasn’t been felt since the Joker’s accident.

And it was only a matter of time before Crime Alley gets claimed by another villain, Jack heard from hearsays. The most likely candidates were Black Mask, The Penguin or Bane, only once the latter gets out of Arkham. While in the other two cases, Crime Alley was in the middle of their territories.

Already, various skirmishes and gun shootings had happened between the two gangs there and there. Crime Alley was sitting on a powder keg, on the verge of seeing a full-on gang war spilling into the streets. The only thing needed to begin the hostilities was a match to light that gunpowder.

And Jack has the deep, unsettling feeling that he would be that match. It was a foreboding feeling of quiet dread – a sixth sense of sorts – seemingly worming itself into the pit of his stomach, gripping and twisting his guts.

He trusted his gut feeling, it has saved him multiple times before. Jack believed it was passive of his ability as his power's first ever unlocked ability and primary function was all about situational awareness.

As such, he was going to look into ways of protecting himself; or at the very least, preparing himself enough that he wouldn’t get caught with his pants down if shit hit the fans.

---

One Saturday night, when making a delivery to Mark – for the third time – he decided to leverage his good relationship with him to inquire about something he has been looking into since the beginning of the week.

With that in mind, Jack started by exchanging greetings and making some small talk before beginning to do what he was here for.

“You’ve been gaining a rep,” Mark told him, taking his pizza boxes and exchanging them for a wad of cash. “The man with the food. The ever infallible and stoic delivery guy. As long as you’re given an address or coordinate, then no matter where you live, you’ll get that food. With a 100% certitude.”

“I’m just doing what I’m paid for,” Jack said with false modesty, shrugging.

“A damn good job you’re doing then. Better than anyone else would in your place. Streets aren’t exactly safe ‘round here. I’m sure it helps that you can handle yourself in case someone’s trying to start shit,” Mark smiled. “You know, even Lorenzo back then didn’t have such high success rates. Sometimes, he misses a delivery or has to cancel one because he couldn’t make it in time for one reason or another. So, you’re doing even better than him on that front. Something a lot of people can’t easily boast about.”

Jack chuckled, “He assured me that my customer service with women was atrocious and were I not his only delivery man, I’d have gotten the boot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… apparently he received a ton of complaints.” Mark gave him a queer look, so he added. “To be fair, only two people have called him to complain.”

“Then, it must not be as bad,” reasoned Mark. “What were the complaints about anyway? Don’t tell me…”

“Nah, nothing of the sort.” Jack shook his head. For a criminal, he sure has standards if he was genuinely disturbed at the possibility of him having sexually harassed someone. “Let’s say that I can be a little— hmmm~... too much to deal with in certain circumstances. Sometimes, I forget myself. Don’t worry, no woman has been sexually harassed during my deliveries~”

Technically, he was pretty sure that the situation with Black Canary could be considered sexual harassment. He made some pretty suggestive comments under the guise of… throwing her off her game. Yet, after she didn’t even bother to tip him and even made a light rebuke to Lorenzo about him – something about not being respectful – Jack couldn’t find it in himself to regret his actions or even be ashamed.

“Well… if you can joke about it,” the older man trailed off. “Must be light then.”

“It is,” he affirmed then asked. “Say…— Can I ask you something?”

“Oh? What is it? Go on.”

“Do you happen to know someone who can forge a good ID?”

“I do,” Mark answered, taking his question in stride. This was why he liked the older man. He was straight to the point, not pushy nor felt the compulsion to ask questions in order to satisfy his curiosity. Those are qualities that have no doubt served him well in Gotham. “I have some contacts. Depending on the quality of the work you want, I can introduce you to a forger. If you happen to be a kid under that suit, and you want to be able to buy alcohol or enter some fancier nightclubs, then one of my boys can give you an ID. For something like this. I can have it done, free of charge.”

‘My man really trying to make me feel indebted to him or endear himself to me,’ He thought with some amusement. ‘Must have heard about how I took care of the randos who tried to threaten me to join their gang.’

“I’m looking for something of a higher quality. Something a little more than a fake driver's license.” Jack said, “I want a new identity crafted from scratch. It has to be good enough that it can stand up to cursory inspections. Meaning it has to be good enough that someone may be able to take out a loan from a bank and buy a house.” He stressed, “I want the total: birth certificate, driver's license, passport, school history, even a social security number. Especially an SSN number. I want the kind of stuff I can't simply get from anyone off a street corner.”

Mark whistled, “That’s not a small feat. It’s going to be costly.”

“I’m ready to pay,” he wasn’t, in fact, ready to pay. “You know someone?”

“Yeah. I know a couple of guys who might be able to swing it. At least, I can ask them for you,” the older man scratched his chin in thought. “Though I must warn you, they may be good but I don’t think they’re going to be trustworthy or keep that shit on the down low and for themselves- if you catch my drift.”

“Oh? I would have thought that they wouldn’t tell anyone. Snitches get stitches after all. Nobody would trust someone with something so delicate if they’re going to sell you out to people afterward.”

For criminals, reputation, good or ill, was everything. For a forger, being known to do good work and keep what you learned for yourself, was a given. Else, nobody would trust them to forge something for them if they couldn’t keep a client's confidentiality.

“Normally they wouldn't, yes. But you’re a new figure in town. And people have taken notice of you.” Mark began to explain, “When no one has ever heard of you before, and you show up out of the blue and start making waves… well… that tends to attract some people's attention. They don't know who you are, where you’re coming from, what you want, or why you’re playing at delivery boy. You can imagine that if they can find something about you, a hint of some kind, they will pounce on the opportunity.”

Mark gave him a knowing look. Probably thinking– rightly so– that he was asking for the ID either for himself, a relative or a close friend.

Jack kept his nonchalance act, neither denying nor hurrying to correct him. He never said that it was for himself. He never and wouldn’t give the older man the: “iT’s FoR a FrIeNd’S eXcUsE” either.

By keeping his cool and acting unbothered, he was hoping that it would let him, and other people second-guess themselves, wondering if he was really asking for himself or simply for someone else because he could.

“The Penguin, for example, will jump on the opportunity.” Mark resumed after seeing that he wasn’t going to retort, ”The forgers might not normally tattle, but when the Penguin personally gives you a visit to ask you something? You either start talking and get a decent bribe, orrr…”

“Or you're dead,” Jack completed his sentence.

“Or you’re dead.” Mark repeated, nodding. “So, I wouldn’t recommend you to my usual guys.”

“Who would you recommend me to then?” He was sure he had someone in mind if he was telling him this.

His guess was proven right when Mark smirked at him, “Lorenzo.”

“Lorenzo?” Jack blinked, voice incredulous.

“Yeah, Lorenzo.” The older man confirmed. “Ask him. Your boss is well-connected, kid. I know for a fact that on his list of contacts, there’s someone that can help you. I would have sent you myself his way but I’m not really on speaking terms with those kinds of guys. Sorry.”

Mark was one of the biggest de facto criminals leaders of Crime Alley in these uncertain times when there was a vacuum of power and the entire neighborhood was neither claimed by any villain nor patrolled by the police and heroes. Him saying that he wasn’t on speaking terms with whoever Lorenzo knew well enough to have on some kind of speed dial was… eyebrow-raising to say the least.

“... No, no. You’ve already helped enough by pointing me in the right direction. That’s what I wanted in the first place. So thank you, Mark, I owe you a vintage wine.” Jack gave him a sharp nod. The man was fond of wine and could appreciate a good, vintage bottle of the stuff.

Mark chuckled, “Heh, tis is nothing. It’s alright. If you want to call us even, then just keep doing what you’ve been doing. Keep looking after the kids. I appreciate that you do.”

Behind his helmet, Jack flashed a smile full of teeth. “That, I can easily keep doing.”

“Good,” he was rewarded with a nod of respect. “Never could completely stamp down on the fucking scums who force orphans to beg on the streets and pickpocket money for them.” Mark spat with vitriol, “I don’t know what you did to those fuckers, but you put the fear of god in them so much that they’ve been keeping to themselves since then.”

It was good that they still did. Otherwise, he’d have given them another visit, and be forced to carry out his threats.

They briefly talked some more, exchanging gossip that went around the neighborhood, until the time came for him to take his leave.

“Welp, gotta go back to pick up other orders…”

“Then shooed off, kid. Don’t let me be the reason why you’re slacking off on the job.” Mark teased, waving him off.

“If I’m going to be rudely dismissed, then it means that I entertain an old man long enough,” Jack cheekily replied. “As always, thank you for your patronage, dear customer~ I hope you’ll enjoy your food and have a good night. Take care.”

“Old man! Ha! You really a brat under that suit.” Mark laughed good-naturedly as Jack climbed the small stair down to his scooter before hopping on it and taking off.

---

Lorenzo was definitely no ordinary pizzeria’s owner.

He always suspected it to be the case. The older man has too many items that realistically, a small pizzeria owner shouldn’t have on his hands.

The wrist-mounted GPS for one. That monstrosity of a gadget was some kind of Genius-tech. Not only did it serve as a portable GPS battery, but it could also serve as a fucking Credit card Machine, able to process transactions and make invoice receipts of an order.

There was also the waterproof walkie-talkie, which frankly, for one such device, had an insane range. Let’s not forget how it was connected to the local radio police. Something no walkie-talkie for civilian use should be able to do.

Heck! Even his delivery scooter wasn’t a normal one, he was sure. Because a normal scooter shouldn’t be able to reach speeds as high as 100 miles per hour.

And Jack wasn’t even going to mention the number of incredible people he knew. Black Canary, Mark and Orca were the ones immediately jumping to the forefront of his mind. But there were many more.

No. Lorenzo was not your run-off-the-mill pizzeria’s wonder. He’d already know it.

But this fact had been reminded to him by Mark, who advised him to talk to his boss if he wanted to be introduced to the kind of forger who wouldn't be easily intimidated by others, and would keep the specifics of the job he was commissioned to do to himself.

Thus following Mark’s suggestion, Jack asked Lorenzo the following day at the start of his shift.

“I was wondering if you happened to know someone who can make some good ID.”

The sudden inquiry threw Lorenzo for a loop. He could tell by the way he raised his head to look at him, his shoulders locked up and tense.

Lorenzo observed him for long seconds, seemingly looking for something in his stance and when he found what he was looking for or alternatively, hadn't found what he was looking for, the older man relaxed his shoulder and sighed.

“Let’s say I do,” he cautiously said. “Why are you asking this?”

“Well, you see–”

Jack gave him a brief summary of his conversation with Mark and explained his needs.

“I see,” By the end of his explanation, Lorenzo had a contemplative expression on his face. “So, you want to meet a good and dependable forger who’ll make you an ID.”

“That’s the gist of it, yes.”

“Hum, alright. I know two guys who are up for the task.” Lorenzo stated, “The first one is a villain named The Calculator. He is an information broker and a hacker. If you want to know something? You go to him. He’s some kind of computer wizard so if someone can forge you a solid ID from scratch, it would be him.”

“Sounds like he's the man for the job.”

“He is,” he confirmed. “But you’re looking for discretion and dependability too. I’m not sure he’s fully safe to trust.”

“Why? He’s the type of guy to sell his client out too?”

“Oh, he won’t sell you out to the highest bidder, alright. But make no mistake, while he wouldn’t do it, he isn’t without trouble. I’m afraid he might try to rope you in for one of his schemes if the occasion presents itself. He has the reputation.”

“Hard pass then.” Jack had no interest in having this kind of person holding something as important as his civilian identity over his head. “Tell me about your second guy.”

“The second one is… not a villain per se technically. He’s a real estate agent.”

“... A real estate agent?”

“Yes, a real estate agent. Well. One for criminals of Gotham. Now that I’m thinking about it. You and him aren’t that different in a sense, huh. Anyway, he’s the one I would recommend to you.” Lorenzo explained. “He goes by The Broker. If you want to find a hideout or lair? He's your man. If you want to have a secret storage or safe house built? Discretely? He's your man too. For a fair price, he can almost do anything.”

“I imagine that includes finding someone who can make IDs.” The man was the closest thing to a rogue this city or even this world has.

“Yeah. He can act as your intermediary. The guy has an extensive list of contacts in Gotham and out of it. As long as you meet the price he sets, he will do it.” The older man confidently said. “I also recommend him to you because the guy is well-known for his client confidentiality policy. He never gets involved with whatever people do with their properties nor tells anyone what services he did.”

Yeah, he was definitely his man. “He’ll do.”

“Alright, I’ll give you his contact later.” Lorenzo grunted, “Just need time to give him a small head up. Hopefully, with my recommendation, he’ll be more inclined to go easy on you on the final pricing.”

“Thanks, boss, I appreciate it. You’re the best.” Jack gave him a thumbs up.

Lorenzo sighed, “Thanks to you, people have taken to calling me like that when making orders. Like I’m some goddamn gang leader.”

He chuckled. “It’s a sign of respect.”

Lorenzo grumbled under his breath before clapping his hand. “Now, if that's all! I already have some pizzas for you to deliver.”

The next day, from a public telephone booth, Jack called the number Lorenzo gave to him and spoke with his man. After a short conversation, they agreed on a place and date to meet face-to-face to hash out the details of the deal and talk terms.

---

“No fucking way!” Jack couldn’t help but exclaim upon registering on his [scan] the presence of a rusted shipping container, around 8 ft (1,82m) per 10 ft (3m), embedded into a half-collapsed dilapidated funhouse’s wooden exterior facade.

The container was of a green color, the same green color as the faded paint of the fun house and the gross growing around it, which made it blend into the wooden edifice, camouflaging it from view upon a first cursory look and making it hard for someone to notice it.

However, it couldn’t be hidden from his vision.

The fact that there was a shipping container, adrift in the middle of an amusement park of all places… was mind-boggling. The fact that said fucking container was absolutely filled to the brim with weapons, ammunitions, some military equipment and gears, grenades, a fucking javelin missile, along with a military box full of cash…

‘Absurd.’ He was struck speechless. This was not like the locker full of weapons he found in the hidden basement which has since become his home and base of operation.

“No. Fucking. Way.” Before the flabbergastation was replaced by jubilation, and now, Jack was barely restraining himself from tearing open the container as he was vibrating on the spot, smiling ear-to-ear.

He just struck the fucking jackpot with this one.

After another week of hard work, his day off quickly came. Jack spent his Monday, as was his routine at this point, training at the abandoned Warehouse in Cape Carmine.

Come Tuesday, he took the decision to explore the city. It’s been a while since the last time he truly did. Even after nearly a month in the city, he was far from having visited every neighborhood or stepped foot in every district Gotham has to offer.

Thus, despite the fact that it was his day off, Jack decided to look around some spots in town while in his supe’s costume, not trusting to not be mugged while walking on the streets of Gotham. He was kind of hoping to stumble into something interesting while out.

Which he did.

Jack was beginning to believe that Gotham City was absolutely filled with abandoned hideouts and places where hidden stashes of weapons, ammunition, and cash could be found.

Because it has only been 10 minutes after arriving at an abandoned amusement park – called ‘Gotham City Amusement Park’ – which was situated in well… Amusement Mill – that he stumbled upon the container…

The place was overrun by moss, overgrown grass and vegetation, nature having stacked back its claim on the venue. Yet, this particular part of Amusement Mill had his interest, because he heard, back then, the place used to be a thriving amusement park before the Joker and Riddler made a mess of the thing. Something concerning a gas explosion, which resulted in the place being quarantined and closed down for a long time, causing the amusement park to lose money; and then, this event was followed by a bombing, which had destroyed the Ferry wheel, causing untold amounts of irreparable damages.

Making his way to the container was a little difficult. Jack had to squeeze through a tight space between the fun house and another attraction by slipping in sideways. But in the end, he got through to the other side and reached the container.

Prying open the small shipping container would be… more work than it would be worth. Luckily for him, he wasn’t limited to that. There was a lot of rubbish, debris, and detritus loitering around him after all.

He only needed to swap the weapons, ammo boxes, military equipment gears and money crate with them.

Ten minutes later, everything that was previously inside the container was arrayed on the ground around his feet.

Now that he was done emptying the container, the only question Jack had was: how was he going to transport all this to his hideout…?

---

"Hey, Mark? This is your boy, Rule. I need a favor asap. Say, do you have a car I can borrow? Just the time of an afternoon and evening, maybe."

"–…–…–….–…–…–"

"Yeah, a pick up or preferably a van will do the job. If you happen to have a U-Haul lying around, even better."

"–…–…–….–…–…–"

"I need it to move some stuff I bought for my new apartment."

"–…–…–….–…–…–"

"Yeah… I’m moving out. I recently found myself swimming in cash thanks to the main gig if you know what I mean."

"–…–…–….–…–…–"

"What else I'm talking about? Delivering pizzas, of course. The shit pays. Don't underestimate the work."

"–…–…–….–…–…–"

"Don't worry, one day I will invite you and the boys to the housewarming party…"

In the end, Jack borrowed an old beaten pick-up from one of Mark’s boys and used it to transport his haul to his hideout.

It took him three round trips to finish the task. By the time he was done, it was already well past 10:00 p.m. when he returned the pick-up to its owner. Of course, when he did, Jack made sure to return it with a full tank and leave the man a 100$ bill for his trouble.

Compared to the thousands of dollars he just gained, it was a drop in the ocean. He could have easily given him more but nothing good would come out of looking like he was swimming in money, suddenly having come across a lot of it. Better they assume he used the car to pick up furniture to furnish his new ‘apart’ like he told them.

He didn’t count how much cash there was in the crate but considering that each wad of cash was made of 100$ bills, then, there ought to have, at his most conservative estimate, 20,000$ in the crate.

Jack didn’t dare to imagine there was more.