The rain still hadn't stopped.
Wind squeezed through the gaps in the Roll-up Door at 22 Lake Street, carrying Gotham Bay's distinctive briny smell and the acidic tang of chemical plants.
Yang Ming pushed the door open and tossed the black umbrella he'd borrowed from Wayne Manor into the plastic bucket by the door. Water dripped steadily from its tip.
The basement dehumidifier was still working hard, humming monotonously. Selene was leaning over the triage desk, peeling an orange. Hearing him come in, she lifted her head and looked him up and down over the pile of orange peels.
"A Rolls-Royce Phantom brought you back." Selene popped a slice of orange into her mouth, her words muffled as she commented.
"Those junkies hanging out their windows in the East End nearly had their eyes pop out. So? Does Gotham's richest man even have diamonds on his toilets? That dim-witted young Master Wayne didn't give you any trouble, did he?"
Yang Ming took off his damp black trench coat and hung it on the coat rack.
"The carpet was soft. The tea was good." Yang Ming went to the sink and turned on the faucet to wash his hands. "Didn't see the toilets. As for young Master Wayne, he's probably busy rummaging through trash cans for clothes right now."
Selene froze, nearly choking on orange juice. She patted her chest, looking thoroughly confused.
"Looking for clothes? Did he go bankrupt?"
"We made a bet." Yang Ming pulled out a paper towel and dried his hands. "For the next week, shift your rounds away from Upper Town and the East End black market. Take a look around the slums, Crime Alley, and the homeless encampments under the bridge across the bay."
Selene stared at him, the half-peeled orange suspended in her hand.