“Wow! So this Nightwing guy who’s with the Titans used to be Robin?” Roy Pinto said as he wiped out the inside of a beer glass.
“Gospel truth,” the Calculator said, sitting on the barstool at the Bar Sinister. “I never thought of it, either, but it makes perfect sense when you think about it.” He pushed his empty mug across the bar. “Another one, please, Roy.”
“That’s three-eighty,” Pinto said as he drew the beer.
The Calculator made a quick calculation in his head, then counted out four dollar bills, a quarter, a dime, and a penny. “There you go, Roy, with the customary fifteen-percent tip.”
“Thanks,” Pinto said, smiling at his customer but with ashes in his mouth. Anyone else would have given him a fiver and told him to keep the change. “So what happened after that?” Pinto asked. “I mean, I know Crumbler got caught, but what about the rest of your crew?”
“Ah, we went our separate ways after that,” the Calculator said. “Believe it or not, Signalman and Darklight decided to chuck the whole crime thing!”
“Get out!” Pinto said. “Phil? Retiring?”
“Yup,” the Calculator said. “I got a postcard from them just yesterday. They’ve bought an old lighthouse in North Carolina; they’re turning it into a bed and breakfast.”
“Will wonders never cease?” Pinto said, shaking his head. “First Ira, then Cam, then Phil. What’s this world coming to?”
“I wish I knew,” the Calculator said, taking a sip of his beer. “And Flashman just disappeared. If I know him, he’ll be back with another grand scheme before you can say ‘Brooklyn Bridge’!”
Pinto chuckled at that. “Just goes to show you, doesn’t it?”
“What’s that, Roy?”
“Don’t try anything Funky!”