Steeling her nerve, she crossed herself with the Glock—mammaries, ovaries, wallet, and watch—and pushed the back door open.

I like it,” said Wayne. To the south, he could see the tops of buildings in distant Blackfield, rising over the trees behind the house.“Then welcome to your new Batcave, Master Wayne.”“The Batcave is underground.” Leon continued his Atlas impression, hands against the ceiling.“Work with me, here. I’m old and out of touch.”“Batman’s older than you are.”“Keep it up and I’ll make you sleep in the garage anyway!

A chubby white kid with brush-cut hair was making his way up the driveway, his hands buried in his hoodie’s pockets. He seemed to be about Wayne’s age, if several inches taller. Wayne thought he looked like Pugsley Addams gone mainstream, or maybe the older brother from Home Alone.

Clutching his burning body were these impossibly strong arms, thick and hard and veiny, smooth, cold, so like the stony arms of an ogre Wayne expected to hear the battle-chant of Sauron’s army of Uruk-hai all around him, and the clank and clash of iron swords, and battle cries in unintelligible tongues.

To get the dining-room table in, they carried the table up onto the front porch, then turned it on end like a giant coin and rolled it through the house. Leon ushered Wayne in ahead of the table, confusing him at first, but when his father started humming the Indiana Jones theme and pretending the table was the boulder from Raiders of the Lost Ark, he couldn’t help but run away from it in slow-motion.

That’s what you get for dating muggles.”“Muggles?”“Civilians. John Q. Public.” He emphasized each term with a toss of his hand. “Maybe you needed to go out with somebody like me. We’re both—”“Kinda fucked up?

Inside was a pile of photographs, a bottle of perfume, a gold ring with a simple ball-chain through it, the kind of necklace that usually has dog tags on it. Wayne took out the ring and reverently lowered the chain around his neck, letting the wedding band rest on his chest.“Nice ring, Mr. Frodo.”Wayne looked up. “It was my mom’s.

Was it like in the movies?” he asked, flipping a burger. Kssssss. “You know, like a montage with a music backing, and you’re beating up a kick-bag and throwing wooden stakes at a dummy?”“That’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” Robin gave him a dark eye.

Across the street from the van was a board fence. Someone had spray-painted incomprehensible graffiti on it—could have been an ambigram for all she knew, legible upside-down as well as right-side-up.

Lot of Black folks, we talk about bein’ invisible, you know—white people, they can look right through you, like you ain’t even there. I judo that shit, right? I make it work for me. I’m like a ninja, I vanish. Ali said float like a butterfly. One minute I’m there, the next, I ain’t. Ain’t nothing but burnt rubber and a little bit of Forever Red in the air.