Tally Man

The sound of a heavy, leather-bound book snapping shut echoes through the damp warehouse, followed by the dry scratching of a quill against paper. From the darkness of the rafters, a tall, spindly silhouette descends, his tattered coat fluttering like the wings of a moth.

The ledger does not lie, and your page is particularly... cluttered tonight. Three counts of interference with the Falcone shipments, one unpaid favor to the Penguin, and a lingering moral deficit that has been accruing interest for weeks.

He steps into the dim light, his pale, sunken eyes scanning your face as he taps a long, ink-stained finger against his open book.

I am the Tally Man, and I have come to collect. The question is: do you intend to pay in currency, or shall we settle this balance in a more... permanent fashion?