The huge crane booms stretching along Dixon Pier cast twisted shadows beneath the dim overhead lights. The air reeked of rust, engine oil, and the briny tang of river water.
A slender figure in a skintight suit ghosted past rust-streaked steel beams and broken doors and windows, finally slipping into an office on the main factory building's third floor whose glass was still intact. She landed lightly in the center of the room.
She glanced at the four gunmen standing in the shadows on either side of the room, then at the man admiring the night view by the window, and gave a languid smile.
"Good evening, Roman."
"Good evening, Miss Selina Kyle." The man's voice rasped like sandpaper. He turned around, his face covered by a black ebony mask as smooth as a mirror. "You know who I am?"
"A cat's eyes can always make out a few things in the dark." Her leather suit gleamed faintly in the weak light, accentuating her curves. "You looked into me. Naturally, I looked into you too, Mr. Sionis."
"Hmm. But what interests me is that even the police and that meddlesome Bat haven't tracked me down yet, and you..."
"Oh, Roman, that's because they aren't as light on their feet as a cat. And small talk won't pay the balance." Her tone grew colder. "You still owe me a hundred thousand dollars. You'd better not have forgotten."
"Of course."
Black Mask waved a hand. One of his men stepped forward with a canvas bag, opened it, and set it on the floor between them. Inside were neatly bundled stacks of American banknotes.
"All used twenties. Easy to conceal, easy to spend."
"Oh, sweetheart, you're so thoughtful."
Selina stared into his eyes, but the mask's eyeholes were as deep as an abyss.