Milo rubbed his head, glaring at the bread loaf now lying innocently at his feet. "An attack by carbohydrates," he muttered. "This guy's a maniac."
Mrs. Pennyworth gasped. "You think he's nearby?"
Milo squinted up at the fire escape. "Oh, he's close. No one tosses artisanal sourdough with that kind of precision from a distance."
The detective dashed toward the alley's end, coat flapping, but the only thing waiting for him was a chalk-drawn sandwich on the wall with a little mocking smile.
"Taunting graffiti," Milo growled. "The work of a true sandwich sociopath."
Mrs. Pennyworth clutched her apron. "Should we… close the bakery?"
"Close?!" Milo spun around dramatically. "That's exactly what he wants! We're dealing with a culinary criminal mastermind. We need bait."
She frowned. "Bait?"
"Yes." Milo's eyes gleamed. "We'll make an even bigger sandwich. One so magnificent, so irresistible, he won't be able to resist."
Mrs. Pennyworth tilted her head. "That sounds expensive."
"I'll put it on my detective tab," Milo said, pulling out his wallet, which contained a single coupon for half-off donuts.
They went back inside, barricading the bakery doors and getting to work. Mrs. Pennyworth stacked turkey, lettuce, bacon, tomatoes, avocado, and three different kinds of cheese. Milo insisted on extra pickles. "Pickles are his weakness," he declared solemnly.
By evening, the Mega Sandwich was ready. It sat in the center of the bakery like a throne for a deli king. Milo dimmed the lights, crouched behind the counter, and whispered, "The trap is set."
An hour passed. Then two. Mrs. Pennyworth dozed off in a chair, snoring softly.
Suddenly, the bell above the bakery door jingled. Milo froze. A shadow crept across the floor. A gloved hand reached for the Mega Sandwich…
"Gotcha!" Milo leapt from his hiding place, knocking over a display of croissants. The figure in black bolted, sandwich in hand, out the back door and into the night.
"After him!" Milo yelled, tripping over a fallen éclair as he gave chase.