The pawn shop looked like every other storefront in the Bowery—grimy windows, flickering neon, bars on the door. But Eddie Nashton's place catered to a very specific clientele, the kind that preferred cash transactions and no questions asked.
Selina Kyle entered through the back alley, using a key Eddie had given her years ago. The main shop was dark, but light spilled from the basement stairs.
"You're late," Eddie called from below. "I was starting to think the cops finally caught up with you."
She descended into his workshop, a cluttered space filled with jewelry, electronics, and artwork in various stages of authentication. Eddie sat hunched over a magnifying glass, examining a medieval ring.
"Traffic," Selina said, pulling the Byzantine medallion from her jacket. "Tell me this was worth the trouble."
Eddie looked up, his thick glasses reflecting the desk lamp. "Depends on who's asking." He took the medallion, studying it under the light. "Sixth century, probably Constantinople. Good condition, authentic patina. I can move it for maybe eight thousand."
"The client offered fifteen."
"The client's not the one who has to explain to the FBI why Byzantine artifacts keep showing up in Gotham." Eddie set the medallion down. "Word of advice, Cat—be careful who you're working for these days."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning there's someone new in town. Someone who doesn't like thieves." Eddie turned back to his work. "They call him the Cleaner. Three fences have gone out of business permanently in the last month. All found hanging in very creative locations."
Selina felt a chill. "You think it's connected to the mob hits?"
"Everything's connected in this city. But whoever this guy is, he's not just going after organized crime. He's cleaning house. Period." Eddie looked at her seriously. "Maybe find a new line of work for a while."
"Can't. I've got bills to pay."
"Dead people don't pay bills."
Before Selina could respond, the lights went out. Emergency lighting kicked in, bathing the basement in red. Eddie reached for a shotgun under his desk.
"Stay calm," a voice said from the darkness at the top of the stairs. "We just want to talk."
Two figures descended—one in dark tactical gear, the other wearing a red hood. Not cops. Definitely not cops.
"Red Hood," Eddie muttered. "Should have locked the damn door."
The one in tactical gear spoke first. "We're looking for information about recent artifact thefts. Specifically, Byzantine pieces."
"Don't know what you're talking about," Eddie replied, but his voice shook.
Red Hood stepped forward. "Eddie Nashton, forty-three, three priors for receiving stolen goods, currently on probation. You sure you want to play dumb?"
Selina moved silently toward the back exit, but the tactical gear figure tracked her movement without looking directly at her.
"Ms. Kyle," he said. "We'd appreciate a moment of your time as well."
She stopped. Professionals. Well-informed professionals.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Someone's been systematically eliminating criminals in Gotham. The artifact thefts appear to be connected." The figure pulled out a tablet, showing crime scene photos. "These medallions have been found at three murder scenes. We think there's going to be more."
Selina looked at the photos, recognizing the coins from the Whitmore Gallery. "And you think I'm involved?"
"We think you might be in danger," Red Hood said. "Whoever's doing this sees theft as a crime worthy of death. You might want to consider a vacation."
"Thanks for the advice." Selina backed toward the exit. "But I can take care of myself."
"Can you?" The tactical figure's voice was familiar, though she couldn't place it. "Because the last three people who said that are currently in the morgue."
She was through the door and up the alley stairs before they could react, but their words followed her into the night. Someone was hunting criminals in Gotham, and apparently, that included her.