Todd stood in the elevator beside a woman from the fifty-second floor. Tan skin. Blouse tucked sharp into a dark skirt. Her clothes were nice but not tailored. She was probably an office girl, mid-level admin support. Her eyes kept flicking toward him, using the warped metal doors like a mirror.
By the thirtieth floor, she turned.
"You got the time?"
He checked his watch. "eight."
"Work late often?"
"Sometimes."
"Where at?"
"The docks."
She smiled. "Working-class guy, huh?"
"I guess."
She looked at him a beat longer than necessary, like he was supposed to say something else. He didn't. The numbers blinked past the fortieth.
"You ever go to Tuft's?"
His brow ticked. "That bar on Lennox?"
"Yeah."
"No."
Her smile faltered. The doors opened.
"I'll see you around," she said, stepping out. But she paused like she expected him to stop her.
He didn't. But resisted the urge to hit the door-close button. Finally, the doors slid shut. A sigh of relief. He hated sharing the elevator. His shoulders dropped an inch.
When he reached his apartment and turned the key, something felt wrong.
The window was open.
He froze.
Everything was still, except for the old man sitting on his couch, sharp in a tailored three-piece suit. A steaming mug rested on the table. Newspaper folded across his knee. Like he lived there.
"Mr. Todd," the man said evenly. "You work long hours. I expected you an hour ago."
"Who the hell are you?"
The man stood and folded the newspaper, squeeze the crease with his fingers. "Hope you don't mind—I opened the window. Good to circulate the air." He picked up the mug and moved into the kitchen.
"Uh-hello?" Todd called, "Who are you? And how'd you get in?"
"Alfred Pennyworth," the man replied cheerfully, rinsing the mug like he was finishing up after house-guests. "And, I picked the lock."
Todd frowned. "You know that's breaking and entering."
"I'm aware," Alfred said, drying the mug with a dish towel and putting it back in the cabinet. "Be glad it's me and not my employer. He considers manners optional. I suppose a life of wealth has that affect on some."
Todd stared at him, "What the heck are you saying?"
"Forgive me. I ramble." Alfred picked up the newspaper, tucked it under his arm. "Age does that. And I spend most of my time with someone who thinks silence is a personality trait. I digress. I'm here to offer you an opportunity, Mr. Todd." he said, crossing to the window and shutting it with a soft click. "A chance to use those particular skills of yours—detective instincts, physical aptitude—in a more productive direction."
Todd blinked. "Wait. You mean—"
"If you're interested," Alfred said, heading for the door, "we should take a ride."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Todd stood there for half a second, then followed.