Jason watched from the street corner for a while and spotted the faint silhouette of a vehicle drifting closer. He turned to Red Hood and said, "When it gets here, stand in the middle of the road and say you're a gangster collecting protection money. Tell them to open the cargo compartment so we can check for contraband."
"That won't work, will it?" Red Hood objected. "I don't know much about gang rules, but gang checkpoints are usually in fixed locations. If you block the road like that, the truck driver will just run you over."
"I didn't expect you to have some experience. Did you drive trucks in Gotham before?" Jason asked, looking at Red Hood.
Red Hood stiffened. He realized this kid was far sharper than he had imagined.
Red Hood shook his head, and Jason continued, "Gotham drivers would do that, but the people driving aren't from Gotham. Those rich bastards brought them in from out of town. They're scared shitless of gangsters, especially with how you look right now—like a lunatic. He'll definitely open the door without a word and let us inspect it."
"Then I'll slip into the cargo compartment and ride the truck into the hotel. You don't need to get on. Stay by the public phone booth on the road we came from. Once I get it, pick me up here..."
Red Hood raised no objections to the plan. In fact, there was nothing to object to. It sounded perfect. Still, he asked, "Are you sure you can get out of the hotel in one piece?"
"I'm not sure." Jason shook his head. "I've never been to a fancy hotel like that. I have no idea what it's like inside or who'll be there, but none of that matters. Sometimes, you just have