24 Networking and Booty II

Lorenzo was definitely no ordinary pizzeria's owner.

He always suspected it to be the case. The older man has too many items that realistically, a small pizzeria owner shouldn't have on his hands.

The wrist-mounted GPS for one. That monstrosity of a gadget was some kind of Genius-tech. Not only did it serve as a portable GPS battery, but it could also serve as a fucking Credit card Machine, able to process transactions and make invoice receipts of an order.

There was also the waterproof walkie-talkie, which frankly, for one such device, had an insane range. Let's not forget how it was connected to the local radio police. Something no walkie-talkie for civilian use should be able to do.

Heck! Even his delivery scooter wasn't a normal one, he was sure. Because a normal scooter shouldn't be able to reach speeds as high as 100 miles per hour.

And Jack wasn't even going to mention the number of incredible people he knew. Black Canary, Mark and Orca were the ones immediately jumping to the forefront of his mind. But there were many more.

No. Lorenzo was not your run-off-the-mill pizzeria's wonder. He'd already know it.

But this fact had been reminded to him by Mark, who advised him to talk to his boss if he wanted to be introduced to the kind of forger who wouldn't be easily intimidated by others, and would keep the specifics of the job he was commissioned to do to himself.

Thus following Mark's suggestion, Jack asked Lorenzo the following day at the start of his shift.

"I was wondering if you happened to know someone who can make some good ID."

The sudden inquiry threw Lorenzo for a loop. He could tell by the way he raised his head to look at him, his shoulders locked up and tense.

Lorenzo observed him for long seconds, seemingly looking for something in his stance and when he found what he was looking for or alternatively, hadn't found what he was looking for, the older man relaxed his shoulder and sighed.

"Let's say I do," he cautiously said. "Why are you asking this?"

"Well, you see–"

Jack gave him a brief summary of his conversation with Mark and explained his needs.

"I see," By the end of his explanation, Lorenzo had a contemplative expression on his face. "So, you want to meet a good and dependable forger who'll make you an ID."

"That's the gist of it, yes."

"Hum, alright. I know two guys who are up for the task." Lorenzo stated, "The first one is a villain named The Calculator. He is an information broker and a hacker. If you want to know something? You go to him. He's some kind of computer wizard so if someone can forge you a solid ID from scratch, it would be him."

"Sounds like he's the man for the job."

"He is," he confirmed. "But you're looking for discretion and dependability too. I'm not sure he's fully safe to trust."

"Why? He's the type of guy to sell his client out too?"

"Oh, he won't sell you out to the highest bidder, alright. But make no mistake, while he wouldn't do it, he isn't without trouble. I'm afraid he might try to rope you in for one of his schemes if the occasion presents itself. He has the reputation."

"Hard pass then." Jack had no interest in having this kind of person holding something as important as his civilian identity over his head. "Tell me about your second guy."

"The second one is… not a villain per se technically. He's a real estate agent."

"... A real estate agent?"

"Yes, a real estate agent. Well. One for criminals of Gotham. Now that I'm thinking about it. You and him aren't that different in a sense, huh. Anyway, he's the one I would recommend to you." Lorenzo explained. "He goes by The Broker. If you want to find a hideout or lair? He's your man. If you want to have a secret storage or safe house built? Discretely? He's your man too. For a fair price, he can almost do anything."

"I imagine that includes finding someone who can make IDs." The man was the closest thing to a rogue this city or even this world has.

"Yeah. He can act as your intermediary. The guy has an extensive list of contacts in Gotham and out of it. As long as you meet the price he sets, he will do it." The older man confidently said. "I also recommend him to you because the guy is well-known for his client confidentiality policy. He never gets involved with whatever people do with their properties nor tells anyone what services he did."

Yeah, he was definitely his man. "He'll do."

"Alright, I'll give you his contact later." Lorenzo grunted, "Just need time to give him a small head up. Hopefully, with my recommendation, he'll be more inclined to go easy on you on the final pricing."

"Thanks, boss, I appreciate it. You're the best." Jack gave him a thumbs up.

Lorenzo sighed, "Thanks to you, people have taken to calling me like that when making orders. Like I'm some goddamn gang leader."

He chuckled. "It's a sign of respect."

Lorenzo grumbled under his breath before clapping his hand. "Now, if that's all! I already have some pizzas for you to deliver."

The next day, from a public telephone booth, Jack called the number Lorenzo gave to him and spoke with his man. After a short conversation, they agreed on a place and date to meet face-to-face to hash out the details of the deal and talk terms.

/-/

"No fucking way!" Jack couldn't help but exclaim upon registering on his [scan] the presence of a rusted shipping container, around 8 ft (1,82m) per 10 ft (3m), embedded into a half-collapsed dilapidated funhouse's wooden exterior facade.

The container was of a green color, the same green color as the faded paint of the fun house and the gross growing around it, which made it blend into the wooden edifice, camouflaging it from view upon a first cursory look and making it hard for someone to notice it.

However, it couldn't be hidden from his vision.

The fact that there was a shipping container, adrift in the middle of an amusement park of all places… was mind-boggling. The fact that said fucking container was absolutely filled to the brim with weapons, ammunitions, some military equipment and gears, grenades, a fucking javelin missile, along with a military box full of cash…

'Absurd.' He was struck speechless. This was not like the locker full of weapons he found in the hidden basement which has since become his home and base of operation.

"No. Fucking. Way." Before the flabbergastation was replaced by jubilation, and now, Jack was barely restraining himself from tearing open the container as he was vibrating on the spot, smiling ear-to-ear.

He just struck the fucking jackpot with this one.

After another week of hard work, his day off quickly came. Jack spent his Monday, as was his routine at this point, training at the abandoned Warehouse in Cape Carmine.

Come Tuesday, he took the decision to explore the city. It's been a while since the last time he truly did. Even after nearly a month in the city, he was far from having visited every neighborhood or stepped foot in every district Gotham has to offer.

Thus, despite the fact that it was his day off, Jack decided to look around some spots in town while in his supe's costume, not trusting to not be mugged while walking on the streets of Gotham. He was kind of hoping to stumble into something interesting while out.

Which he did.

Jack was beginning to believe that Gotham City was absolutely filled with abandoned hideouts and places where hidden stashes of weapons, ammunition, and cash could be found.

Because it has only been 10 minutes after arriving at an abandoned amusement park – called 'Gotham City Amusement Park' – which was situated in well… Amusement Mill – that he stumbled upon the container…

The place was overrun by moss, overgrown grass and vegetation, nature having stacked back its claim on the venue. Yet, this particular part of Amusement Mill had his interest, because he heard, back then, the place used to be a thriving amusement park before the Joker and Riddler made a mess of the thing. Something concerning a gas explosion, which resulted in the place being quarantined and closed down for a long time, causing the amusement park to lose money; and then, this event was followed by a bombing, which had destroyed the Ferry wheel, causing untold amounts of irreparable damages.

Making his way to the container was a little difficult. Jack had to squeeze through a tight space between the fun house and another attraction by slipping in sideways. But in the end, he got through to the other side and reached the container.

Prying open the small shipping container would be… more work than it would be worth. Luckily for him, he wasn't limited to that. There was a lot of rubbish, debris, and detritus loitering around him after all.

He only needed to swap the weapons, ammo boxes, military equipment gears and money crate with them.

Ten minutes later, everything that was previously inside the container was arrayed on the ground around his feet.

Now that he was done emptying the container, the only question Jack had was: how was he going to transport all this to his hideout…?

/-/

"Hey, Mark? This is your boy, Rule. I need a favor asap. Say, do you have a car I can borrow? Just the time of an afternoon and evening, maybe."

"–…–…–….–…–…–"

"Yeah, a pick up or preferably a van will do the job. If you happen to have a U-Haul lying around, even better."

"–…–…–….–…–…–"

"I need it to move some stuff I bought for my new apartment."

"–…–…–….–…–…–"

"Yeah… I'm moving out. I recently found myself swimming in cash thanks to the main gig if you know what I mean."

"–…–…–….–…–…–"

"What else I'm talking about? Delivering pizzas, of course. The shit pays. Don't underestimate the work."

"–…–…–….–…–…–"

"Don't worry, one day I will invite you and the boys to the housewarming party…"

In the end, Jack borrowed an old beaten pick-up from one of Mark's boys and used it to transport his haul to his hideout.

It took him three round trips to finish the task. By the time he was done, it was already well past 10:00 p.m. when he returned the pick-up to its owner. Of course, when he did, Jack made sure to return it with a full tank and leave the man a 100$ bill for his trouble.

Compared to the thousands of dollars he just gained, it was a drop in the ocean. He could have easily given him more but nothing good would come out of looking like he was swimming in money, suddenly having come across a lot of it. Better they assume he used the car to pick up furniture to furnish his new 'apart' like he told them.

He didn't count how much cash there was in the crate but considering that each wad of cash was made of 100$ bills, then, there ought to have, at his most conservative estimate, 20,000$ in the crate.

Jack didn't dare to imagine there was more.