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May held up a pile of menus in her left hand as the door opened, still scribbling an order with her right hand.
“Sit wherever you like. Someone will be with you shortly.”
The menus were yanked out of her hand. May looked up just in time to see the three drunk, sweaty punks from the week prior hurry off to the booth near the TV. Tonight they were even more drunk and sweaty than normal.
The door opened. May sighed, picking up another stack of sticky, plastic menus and holding them up.
“Sit wherever you like,” she said, correcting the with fries on her pad to with home fries. “Someone will be with you shortly.”
Shortly was a bit of a stretch. Tonight’s staff consisted solely of her, one slip of a waitress who was out back smoking cigarettes more than she was working, and Ivan back in the kitchen. They’d get food when they got food, as May’s mother had always said. And not a moment sooner.
The menus were ignored. May looked up from the hostess station, setting her pen down on the notepad.
“DoorDash?” the woman asked, holding out a phone. A DoorDash order was pulled up on the screen for the same name her system had just spit out a minute ago.
May took a breath. “Pick up is over by the counter, hun.”
“Why didn’t you say that when I walked in?”
It was too early -- late -- for this. May wasn’t a night owl, even if her diner was. She needed something stiffer than coffee to deal with people for this long, this late at night.
“Pick up is over by the counter,” May repeated, louder this time. The woman rolled her eyes.
“Do you know when Jessica will be ready?”
“When it’s ready,” May told her. The woman held up the phone again, like that was going to change anything.
“Can you check the POS?”
That was fancy terminology for a DoorDash driver. May raised her eyebrows, jerking her head over to the kitchen.
“It look like we have a KDS in there?”
The woman looked over to the kitchen window, where Ivan was bent over the steaming and sizzling griddle. There wasn’t a screen in or out of sight. The POS just behind the counter was completely shattered. Someone had thrown a chair last week. The chair had landed, somehow, exactly in the center of the screen. May was out five thousand dollars if she wanted to repair it. So it went.
“Jesus,” the woman said, lowering the phone. “Okay. Whatever.”
May went back to her notepad, entering the final items for Jessica C. on the paper. When it was done, she ripped it off the notepad, stepping around the host stand.
“Ivan!”
Ivan reached for the ticket, pushing around some scrambled eggs on the griddle with his other hand. His hand was greasy, nearly tearing the ticket in two as he clawed it out of the window.
“She know what poached mean?” Ivan asked, squinting at the ticket. His accent was thick and his voice was soft, but he could get loud when needed. May liked all of those qualities for an overnight shift.
“Hell if I know,” May said. “I’m turning off orders for the rest of the night. This is the last one.”
Ivan reached for the cigarette perched over his ear, sticking it into his mouth. He grunted. “Boss.”
“Don’t start smoking back there,” May warned. Ivan grunted again. “Ivan.”
“If I am not smoking by customers, they are not seeing it,” Ivan said, waving a hand through the steam coming off the griddle. “Go to front. Customers coming.”
May went back up front, ignoring the dirty look from Jessica’s DoorDash driver. She passed Luisa on the way, who had finally decided to remerge from the back alley.
“Tables six and thirteen,” May said as she passed. Luisa also gave her a dirty look. Hers, May decided, wasn’t anywhere near as dirty as the DoorDash driver’s.
The exterior door opened. May punched in the code to disable the DoorDash ordering system, dismissing the warning screen that popped up. Then she opened the Uber Eats app, scrolling down to the --
The interior door opened. May grabbed a stack of menus with one hand, holding them up in front of her face.
“Sit wherever you like. Someone will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” a man’s voice said, gently sliding the menus out of her hands. “Is the corner booth okay? It’s not reserved?”
The basic politeness shocked May out of her typical hostess stand routine. She looked up, making eye contact with the blank lenses of --
-- Nightwing’s mask, perched above a shiny set of bright-white teeth. He had a split through his bottom lip, still weeping blood at the edges.
Behind him were a good six or seven people, all dressed in costumes. All tall. All armed in some way or another. All --
Real.
May’s eyes widened as she recognized Batman at the very back of the group, an unconscious man’s arm slung over his shoulder. Half-clotted blood was running down his face, sticking in what appeared to be an impressive moustache, and staining the collar of his shirt.
Rough night, May thought. There were worse injuries, but a broken nose always hurt like a son of a bitch. And they never healed quite right without a surgeon.
When May’s eyes on landed on Red Hood -- Red Hood -- to Batman’s immediate left, a genuine shiver went down her spine.
“Yeah,” May said to Nightwing, clearing her throat. “Corner booth is fine. How many menus?”
“Eight,” Nightwing replied. He waved the stack of sticky menus he’d already taken from her. “You gave me four.”
“Right,” May said. She dug around the hostess stand, pulling out another four menus from the various piles. “Here’s four more. I’ll be with you in a moment, hon.”
“Thanks,” Nightwing said, giving her another blinding, boyish smile. “B. Hood. Back left.”
Batman moved first, carrying the unconscious man with him. The man’s feet didn’t touch the ground. The arm around Batman’s neck was limp. Red Hood, clearly meant to go second, made a frustrated noise behind his mask. Helmet. Whatever it was.
“Dude. Walk.”
A man -- not in a costume -- stepped out from behind Red Robin. His eyes were larger than golf balls. He looked at May like she could intervene, holding up trembling hands.
“They just took--”
“Walk,” Red Hood repeated, poking him in the back. The man went rigid, freezing in place, before he started moving. “Same booth. Other side.”
Spoiler and Red Robin exchanged a look May couldn’t decipher. Nightwing hummed under his breath.
“You’re May?” Nightwing asked. It took May a moment to realize what he meant. “May’s Diner?”
“Same May,” May agreed. Most people didn’t read her name tag. Most people didn’t even try.
The other patrons gave the Bats a wide berth. Her table of three drunks left early, handing her a wad of sweaty cash May wiped off before stuffing in her apron. Several patrons walked up to the door, double-taked at the sight of costumes, and turned right around.
Ivan, for his part, simply leaned out of the kitchen window, raised his eyebrows, and went back to work.
May grabbed the coffee pot from the burner at the bar, sloshing it around to make sure it was full. And that she got all the burnt bits off the bottom before they started sticking. They’d get caught in the spout filter no matter what.
“Coffee?” she asked as she approached the corner booth.
Batman turned over his mug, giving her a short nod. Red Hood also turned his mug over, though how on earth he was going to drink with a helmet was a mystery. Red Robin’s hand jerked out, knocking his mug clear off the table.
“Sorry,” he said, waving off May when she bent down to kick the pieces away. “I’ll clean it up, don’t worry.”
“You’re fine, hon,” May said, but let him have it. Red Robin swept the pieces into his glove, then stood up, looking for a visible trash can.
“By the bar,” May said, pointing with the carafe. “You want coffee, hon?”
“Yes, please.”
More manners. May turned back to the booth, pouring Batman’s cup first, then Red Hood’s, making sure not to drip.
“Anyone else want coffee?”
Nightwing flipped his mug over on the saucer. At Batman’s exhale, he explained. “For Jim. If he wakes up.”
May assumed Jim was the blood man currently passed out against the cracked linoleum booth. They’d at least had the decency to prop him up so the blood from his nose wasn’t choking him.
“He need a doctor?” May asked, which was code for he better not bleed on my floor.
“Next stop,” Red Hood muttered, like that explained it. It kind of did. The entire group looked like they’d been put through the wringer. All except for --
“Paul, you want anything?” Nightwing asked the other civilian. Paul -- still wide-eyed like this was his first night in Gotham -- shook his head.
“No. I’m, uh. Fine.”
“He tried to shoot Jim and you’re offering him coffee?” Spoiler asked. May noted her pursed lips -- and the leg jiggling under the table.
“I’m playing the good cop,” Nightwing protested. “Since Jim is out, yeah. Is that gonna be a problem?”
May glanced at the other booth occupants. She could take a guess at who the bad cop there was supposed to be. It was down to Red Hood or Batman.
“New mug,” Red Robin announced, sliding back into the booth. He set down his new mug on the table. “Did we order yet?”
“We’re getting there,” Spoiler said.
May grabbed her notepad from her apron. She had a tried and true method of focusing drunks late at night. A group of bloody and pissed-off Bats weren’t too different.
“How about some fries to start?”
Four baskets of fries were up in the window within ten minutes. May stacked the plates on her tray, took a breath, and hustled back over to the corner booth.
“Fries,” she said, dropping the plates in the center. The Bats could figure out how to divide them up. She wasn’t touching whatever was going on with a ten-foot stick.
Red Robin removed his gloves. Spoiler tossed her blonde braid over one shoulder, getting it out of the way. And, to May’s absolute horror, Red Hood reached up, undoing the clasps of his helmet and pulling it --
Oh, May thought when she saw the mask he was wearing underneath. I suppose that helps things.
He was kind of handsome, the more she thought about it. In an oversized kind of way.
“These are great,” Spoiler said, having already claimed a handful fries for herself. “They have the seasoning and everything.”
“Did you wash your hands?” Red Robin asked, making a face under his mask.
“Did you?”
“Just don’t bleed in it, don’t touch any fries you’re not gonna eat,” Nightwing instructed, the apparent voice of reason. “B?”
Batman remained silent. He was still, as he’d been for the last ten minutes, staring straight across the table at the unfortunate Paul. He hadn’t touched his coffee. May didn’t expect him to.
“Paul?” Nightwing asked, nudging one of the baskets across the table. Paul gingerly reached for a french fry. His hand was smacked -- hard -- by one of Red Hood’s gloves.
“Those are for the Commissioner,” Red Hood snapped. Paul swallowed, nodded, and reached for the other basket. “So are those. Wow, would you look at that. So are those--”
“Jesus,” Nightwing said, putting his head in his hands.
“Can we order now?” Red Robin asked May. He, like Spoiler, had grabbed a fistful of french fries when she hadn’t been looking.
“Sure, hon,” May said. She slid her notepad out of her apron, popping the end of her pen. “Go ahead.”
“Four apple pies,” Red Robin said. “Three with whipped cream, one without.”
“Four apple pies, three whipped cream, one plain,” May repeated back, scribbling it down. “Anything else?”
Paul cleared his throat. “Can I get some pancakes?”
“No,” Red Hood said. Paul shrank back against the booth.
May wasn’t getting in the middle of that. She jerked her chin at the unconscious man -- Jim. “He need some ice?”
Batman nodded. May marked that down on her notepad too.
May handed the order slip over to Ivan. Ivan squinted at it, opened his mouth, then closed it. Fortunately, the still-lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth remained stationary.
“They want pie,” May explained.
“Okay,” Ivan said. He glanced back at the kitchen. “Ice machine is broken.”
Of course it is, May thought.
May returned to the diner floor with a hastily-wrapped bundle of ice. On the way back to the corner booth, she bumped into Red Robin, who was cheerfully headed toward the sole bathroom near the kitchen. He was even whistling.
“Wouldn’t use that unless it’s an emergency, hon,” May said. Red Robin stopped in his tracks, considering her warning.
“Really?”
“Really.” May held out the ice. “For your friend.”
“Right,” Red Robin said, taking the bundle. He looked a little guilty. “Thanks.”
“I’m not going back in there,” Luisa said. Her overlined lips were pulled into a stubborn pout. “Red Hood killed my cousin. And all my tables are gone.”
May thought about it. She took a drag from Luisa’s cigarette, holding the smoke deep in her lungs until it hurt.
“Wasn’t your cousin in that child molester ring?”
Luisa snatched the cigarette out of her hands, bending it. May saw her take a breath, winding up for some kind of tirade, and decided it was time to go back inside.
“Pie,” May announced from afar, balancing the tray above her head. As she approached, the discussion trailed off.
Paul was even paler than he’d been when she’d first seen him. Batman’s bad cop routine appeared to be working. If Nightwing’s corresponding good cop routine was working, she sure as hell didn’t see any sign of it.
“Who’s the plain?” May asked. Three fingers pointed at Red Robin. “Lactose intolerant, hon?”
“What?” Red Robin asked. May set the plain pie in front of him. “No, I’m just--”
“On an anti-dairy kick,” Spoiler said under her breath. From the muffled thump under the table, May guessed Red Robin had kicked her. “Nice, asshole. I’m wearing shin guards.”
“I’m wearing steel-toed boots,” Red Robin rebutted.
May set down the other pie plates in the center of the table. “Anyone need a top up?”
“Hngg.”
May blinked. “Did your guy just…”
Nightwing lifted the ice from Jim’s face. He used a gloved finger to tilt the man’s face back and forth.
“Nope. Still out.”
“He wants coffee,” Red Hood said between bites of his pie. He gestured with the fork. “That’s how much he loves coffee. He can smell it even when he’s unconscious.”
“Oh, mood,” Red Robin said. “Can we get some fresh hot coffee for the Commissioner? In case he wakes up.”
Sure hope he doesn’t, May thought. She nodded.
“Sure thing, hon.”
The diner emptied out, and it stayed empty. May had no problem with that. Even if it meant taking a hit in income for a night. The stupid iPad was off, the drunks were gone, and --
Spoiler and Red Robin were taking turns feeding Jim french fries and, when that proved a choking hazard, tiny forkfuls of whipped cream from Nightwing’s pie.
“He needs the sugar.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Look, he’s actually trying to chew a little bit--”
“Because you just stuffed something down his throat.”
“I put it in his mouth, don’t make it sound dirtier than it is.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, was the part where you--”
May pushed through the double doors into the kitchen, in awe of Batman’s poker face.
“I don’t even know why Ivan doesn’t hit on me,” Luisia complained. “It’s not like he doesn’t know I’m single.”
“Maybe it’s all the double negatives,” May mumbled.
“What?”
May took another drag off Luisia’s shared (commandeered) cigarette. After a beat of indecision, she yanked her phone out of the bottom of her apron, opened a new tab, and searched Jim, Commissioner. Gotham.
The first result nearly made her drop the phone.
“Do you think the Bats kidnapped Commissioner Gordon?”
Luisia gave her an exasperated look. She stubbed her cigarette out under her boot heel, even though it was only half-smoked.
“Oh, I’m supposed to know all about kidnapping now because my cousin was snatching little kids?”
“Wouldn’t use that unless it’s an emergency, hon.”
Nightwing grimaced, letting the bathroom door fall shut. “Yeah, probably a good call.”
“You need something?” May asked.
“I’m supposed to kill time over here so B,” Nightwing jabbed a thumb back at the table, “can get the last of the info out of Paul.”
“Huh.” May’s late-night thoughts got away from her, eager to fill the sudden silence. “Is he some kinda child molestor?”
“What? No.” Nightwing glanced back at Paul. “At least, I don’t think he is. Why, do you think he is?”
“I’m just curious.” May chewed on her bottom lip. “He hurt Commissioner Gordon?”
“Between you and me, I’m not sure he even knows who Jim is,” Nightwing said. “We caught him taking out some bullshit Craigslist hit for drug money. B’s trying to track down the guy who posted it.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Nightwing’s teeth flashed, nearly blinding her.
“Yeah, that’s not true at all,” Spoiler said. She kept her hood low on her face. The end of her braid was stuffed against her neck, dangerously close to slipping free, and it was slowly making May crazy.
“He’s not a Craigslist killer?”
“No.”
May squinted over the bar, past Spoiler’s shoulder, and into the booth. Her eyes were getting tired.
“He’s not some kind of child molestor, is he?”
May cleared the empty pie plates one by one, lingering by the booth as long as possible. Jim -- Commissioner Gordon -- was starting to wake up, which was promising. Mostly because it was almost dawn.
“More coffee?”
Batman lifted his mug off the table.
“Please.”
May hurried back with the carafe. If Batman said please, that was the kind of shit you just did.
“B got the info out of him five minutes after we sat down,” Red Hood explained. He crossed his massive arms over his equally massive chest. May stared at the fabric of his sleeves, impressed.
“So why make him sweat?” May asked, genuinely curious.
“Recidivism.”
Whatever word she’d expected him to say, that wasn’t it. May raised an eyebrow.
“He doesn’t want him doing this shit again,” Red Hood explained. The white lenses of his mask narrowed. “Ugh, someone’s coming.”
May looked up from the hostess stand. Sure enough, someone was at the front door. Someone bold enough not to be run off by Batman’s side profile in the front window.
Red Hood stepped in front of the hostess stand, arms crossed. He was standing, she realized, at an angle that emphasized the holsters on either side of his belt.
“They’re closed.”
The customer -- customer was a strong word, considering she could see a set of pliers under his shirt -- froze, one hand still on the door. He looked between May and Red Hood, back to May, then backed out of the vestibule.
“He’s still outside,” Red Hood said, disgruntled. “Does anyone listen around here?”
For a moment, May’s sleep-deprived brain found meaning again. For some reason, it had come back to her in the form of Red Hood.
“You ever do bouncer work, hon?”
Commissioner Gordon’s first words upon waking in a sun-drenched booth, propped up between Batman and Red Hood, were a garbled Jesus, followed swiftly by an only slightly less garbled coffee.
Batman pushed a mug in front of him. Gordon grabbed it with both hands, lifting it up to his face. He let out a groan as the rim butted up against his swollen nose.
May waited until he’d set down the mug again to approach. It was completely empty, so she made the executive decision to refill it. Gordon muttered something she was pretty sure had been bless you before downing the entire thing all at once.
“How do you feel?” Nightwing asked. Paul slid even further down the booth seat next to him, visibly pained.
“Why…” Gordon ran a finger along his collar, pulling up a smudge of pinkish-white. “Why am I covered in whipped cream?”
Batman paid cash. More specifically, hundred dollar bills. A whole fresh stack of hundred dollar bills. More than she’d pulled in the last three nights combined. Enough to be suspicious, if it had come from damn near anyone else. She wasn’t even certain where he’d managed to keep a full band on his person.
May stared at the pile. Ivan, facedown on the bar next to her, groaned.
“It is real.”
“I know,” May said.
“What is problem?”
May thought about it. In the kitchen, she could hear the morning shift staff swearing at each other, picking up and dropping things far too loudly for 6:00 AM.
“They might decide to come back.”
“Ah.” Ivan’s voice was muffled. May agreed with the sentiment.
“Ah.”