Toyman received a warm welcome at Roland Cathedral. When he left, he took a huge stack of orders with him—all unpaid ones.
"So he's playing Santa Claus for everyone?" Roland remarked. "The villains in Metropolis don't rob banks, do they? Where does he get all that money?"
"You underestimate him. Toyman holds patents on plenty of toys. The royalties alone bring in quite a bit," Deadshot said. "If he weren't always causing trouble in Metropolis, he'd have been rich ages ago."
"Oh—then did we ask for too little?" Roland considered it. "Next time, see if you can get him to make a model fighter jet, something that can fight in the air. Preferably something stronger than the Batwing."
"That's just a fighter jet."
"No, it's a model," Roland said firmly. "Otherwise he won't make it."
"You really know how to exploit a loophole."
"It's called being flexible," Roland corrected him. "Why don't you ask him to make you a toy gun, too?"
"I don't need one." Deadshot shook his head. "The gun I'm using now suits me just fine."
"Well, keep cleaning this place up. I'm going to get some rest," Roland said.
"You really are no help at all." Deadshot spread his hands.
"Obviously. I'm the boss," Roland said. "If you need more hands, call the others over."
"Mr. Freeze has a date with his wife, Jeanne d'Arc went shopping, and Hollihan's getting on in years. I can't bring myself to drag him out of his house. Ben—hey, where did Ben go?" Deadshot suddenly realized he hadn't seen Bronze Tiger in a while.
"How would I know? It's not even nighttime. Surely we can still see him?" Puzzled, Roland called Bronze Tiger.
"Hello? What's up?" Bronze Tiger answered. The background music on his end was rather loud, as though