One Month Prior:

"You're late rookie," Sergeant Amy Rohrbach says without looking up from the paperwork she’s finishing.

The ten-year veteran was well aware that I had been standing patiently in front of her desk for the past five minutes. Despite that curt greeting, she makes a silent show of ignoring me: she continues to write. After a few minutes more, she shifts the papers on her desk in a grand display. She puts a report in the “DONE” box then stands swiftly. Without turning, she motions for me to follow her outside.

It was only ten minutes. It really wasn’t my fault that I’d overslept. It certainly wasn’t my idea for some mook to stage a getaway by going through the ‘haven dump at the other end of town. Getting in late, sleep was postponed in lieu of cleaning the apartment and showering. It was never a good thing to have wet coffee grinds and other unknowns all over the bed and hanging from your hair. It also wasn’t my fault I had to report for first shift instead of my normal shift, second. My excuses actually sounded quite reasonable, but I could never tell her them. I could only imagine the reaction, ‘A corrupt cop and a vigilante!’ The condemnation would go on forever.

I suppose that part of my situation is my own fault. I’ve been so busy as Nightwing I haven’t had time to scrutinize the police. First it was Tad and Blaine. Then thanks to Soames, I ended up detouring through Metropolis to talk with intergang. I haven’t had time to figure out exactly where this “corrupt” label came from. At first, I was just happy to finally become a ‘haven cop. I neglected to find out why one moment I went from being up for a job in Lockhaven to posted in Central Precinct. Something had been wrong with that situation and Amy knew it. She told me quite bluntly that someone was pulling strings for me and preceded to rattle off some names. Amy gave me the journalistic ‘what’ and ‘who’. It was up to me to find out ‘why.’

Only I haven’t had time. I remember when I thought doing the hero gig and working at Hogan’s was bad. At least the work environment there was friendlier. My partnership with Amy is hardly what I’d call ideal. Still, despite her attitude, it feels good to be working with an honest cop. It’s strange, her hostility towards me makes me want to be a better cop. I want to prove to her that I can make a difference to the department.

Today, I don’t get the chance. It’s been three hours driving around doing mundane things. Traffic stops, running license plates, the usual. I’m fighting off sleep when a drunk and disorderly call comes in and we head off to the Zee Mores.

“Should you take Parkway Ave instead of Greene?” I ask Amy as she turns off the main road.

“Normally, but they started construction there yesterday. The Parkway’s backed up. You need to do your homework better, rookie.”

I open my mouth to reply when I realize that I should have known that. I saw the set up last night, of course I happened to be swinging from buildings at the time, not driving. Which reminds me I still need to finish work on the Nightbird. It’s mistakes like these when I wonder just how useless Amy thinks I am.

We pull up to a run down apartment and I can already hear the screaming. And the crashing. And the banging. And the ---whoa--- that was a gun shot. I reach for the comm. to call it in but she beats me to it. “This is unit 79. We have shots fired at 409 Westside road. Officer requests assistance.”

“Unit 79. This is headquarters. All other units are occupied at this time. I’ve alerted emergency service to your position.”

Her frustration is obvious as she replaces the set, none too easy. “Looks like we’re on our own. You stay behind me and stay calm. I don’t need you getting trigger happy.”

I nod and follow her inside. Trigger happy? Not likely. Down the hallway we can hear more screaming and glass breaking. It looks like our d and d is also a domestic dispute. I didn’t even think the B. P. D. answered these calls but I suppose something has got to keep the honest cops busy. We’re almost to the end of the hall when a shot comes through the door I’m standing next to.

The room goes quiet. That's not always a good sign. Amy motions for me to kick in the door. Who says chivalry is dead? With a shout of "Police" we swing into the doorway. She crouches and covers low, while I stand and cover everything high. A woman holding a frying pan gasps in surprise.

It turns out the clichés weren't necessary. Our suspect, after causing a public disturbance walking from the bar to his apartment stumbled home. At such time he decided to use his wife's flower pots for target practice. Drunk, he's a hell of a bad shot, considering the pots are five feet left of the doorway.

Wife gets woken up from the noise starts yelling at him. He doesn't stop so finally she clocks him with the non stick frying pan. Thankfully, no one was hurt. However we get to cart both the wife and husband down to central. Illegal discharge of firearms, and not only that but there's no license for the gun. So needless to say, they get an all expense paid visit downtown.

Amy and I pull into the parking lot. Just as I'm escorting our loving couple into the building, I hear, "Hard at work, eh, Gregson."

I turn to see Mac Arnot walking towards me. "It's Grayson."

"I know." He dramatically takes a drag on his cigarette. Next to me, I can feel Amy tense.

"I haven't seen you around lately."

And I know exactly why, too. 'Inspector' is a hectic job. It's tough being at the beck and call of all those criminals. I can't help but wonder what things has he been up to lately.

"The new position's keeping me busy."

"I'd imagine." I manage to say while keeping a casual tone. For a few minutes we're just looking at each other, scrutinizing. It's almost as if we expect the sins of the other to be brought to light, by just waiting the other person out.

"C'mon rookie," Amy's impatient voice says as she grabs my forearm. "You're still on the clock. You can talk to your...friend later."

Arnot fixes his glare on her. Then turns to me and raises an eyebrow with a knowing smirk. "Don't work too hard," he advises then hops into his glistening red car and drives away.

I wish I knew what it was about me that interested him. I turn to see Amy looking at me in disgust. I feel bad for her. She's this lone island of good in a sea of corruption and nothing I've done yet has proved I'm not like Arnot. Luckily, her hostility wears off as the day goes by.

After that incident, we get two D.U.I's then get called back to headquarters. I'm not in the squad room two minutes when I hear my name being called, correctly this time.

I look up to see Acting Chief Ebersol coming towards me.

"I need you to come in tomorrow night."

"No problem," I reply. "What's going on?"

The new chief is high up there on the suspect list. In some ways I wish I was still dealing with Redhorn. At least he was exactly what he portrayed himself to be. Not too sure about this one yet.

"Narcotics are doing a staging a sting down at the docks. They're short staffed. Be here at ten."

Since when do rookies go on stings?

"Ever since the Narcotics department has been too busy buying sports cars than making busts."

Oops. That last statement was aloud. Guess I need sleep more than I thought, way to go Dick. "I understand sir, I'll be here."

He's already walking away before I finish speaking. No big loss. I look at the clock. It's four, finally. Time to go home and get some sleep before my other patrol begins.

Interlude:

"Are you happy now?"

"You've made sure he'll be there tomorrow night?"

"I said I would didn't I?"

"You'll forgive me if I don't put too much faith in you Chief. It's not exactly as if you're a willing player."

"You only wish I were."

"On the contrary. That's the last thing I want."

Felt so good to sleep. Almost wanted to skip patrol tonight. But I'm going to be busy for what looks like most of tomorrow night. Besides, I want to pay a visit down to the docks. Far be it for me to trust the B.P.D. to do something useful. Couldn't hurt for me to look into it.

I'm swinging through the 'haven when I hear glass breaking. I look down to see about ten kids in street clothes smashing a display windows. What business in the 'haven is foolish enough to have an plain glass window, can we just scream "rob me"? Looks like a detour is in order, the docks will have to wait. I release my jumpline and roll when I hit the roof. I ricochet down between the sides of two buildings.

I'm close enough now to hear voices.

"Careful."

"--that was my foot."

"Look at all this stuff."

"Will you guys shut up?"

I watch as they gather up the swag and start climbing back out the window. I smile sardonically as one loses his footing on the broken glass and tumbles down, stereo flying over his head and crashing unto the floor. Definitely first timers, maybe I can convince these guys to get out of this life. They sure as heck aren't cut out for it.

I step out into the dim light cast by a random streetlight. I fold my arms casually.

"Going somewhere?"

It's extremely amusing to see ten people all gasp and look up in surprise. It's totally synchronized, very comical. The biggest bruiser of them all, recovers from the shock first. Despite his now wavering comrades, he smiles.

"Yeah," he sneers, trying to be menacing. "Right through you."

I try not to laugh.

I'm trying to avoid their leader's fists, but they're huge and as hard as rocks. The punks and I struggle for a long time, trading blows and kicks. They've gained some bravado and decided ten against one is better odds. Even though I consider myself in good shape, after 20 or 30 minutes of this, I'm out of breath. I'm starting to feel dizzy. I think that last kick the biggest goon gave me took more out of me then I realized. But, I know *that* won't stop me. I come at them with even more determination. I think they're about give up. They look as bad as I feel. The leader says, "Retreat troops. We'll deal with PJ boy some other time." I mentally sigh, there it is again, that 'endearing' nickname the scum of Bludhaven have for me. The punks scatter and are gone, I can't chase that many so I let them go. Hopefully they'll think twice next time. I doubt it, though.

Things have been quiet for about an hour, when I hear an earsplitting scream. The alley, to my right, the one next to the abandoned housing project. I see a blonde woman, mid-twenties, being held at knifepoint by four guys. First things first, I have to get this beauty away from those beasts. My appearance creates the necessary distraction for her. She runs to her car, locks it, and tears down the road. Turning my attention to the four men, I make quick work of her attackers. As I'm tying them up, I notice a strange tattoo on their forearms: a poppy. I recognize that symbol from somewhere. I can't place it though, but I know it looks familiar. After this, I'm ready to call it a night. But first, I'll call Oracle. Something tells me that these guy weren't your average muggers.

It's past two in the morning by the time I get home. I log on hoping she's pulling an all-nighter. Even if she isn't, I just know she'll get up to talk to me. I wait a few moments before I get a response.

"Oracle here," she says in her electronically disguised voice. She puts down the 'mask', and I finally see her beautiful face. Even half asleep, hair tossed, she looks beautiful.

"Hello, short pants. You better have a good reason for pulling me out of bed at two a.m.!"

"Isn't wanting to see your beautiful green eyes enough, Babs?" I ask, trying to make up for waking her. She gives me that sardonic smile, no it's more of a smirk, I reason.

"Not really twenty-something wonder; I need my beauty sleep."

"No, you don't. You're beautiful enough already." I see her blush, ever so slightly. She looks away momentarily. I continue before the silence grows too awkward, like it has done many times before. "Anyway, I need a favor. Will you look up the origin of a tattoo I saw on a gang of muggers tonight? I just know I've seen it somewhere before."

"I will do my best Dick. It's not urgent is it?" she asks. I shake my head. "Then check back with me tomorrow. I'm going back to bed, Dick."

`I'm off to bed too,' is what I was going to tell her instead I hear myself ask, "Babs, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot, BW," she says.

"Babs...would you like to have lunch tomorrow, before I go on duty?" I try to make it sound casual. From her expression, I know it doesn't work.

"Some other time, Dick."

"You always say something like that, Babs!" I'm getting frustrated at being blown off. I could understand if she felt different, but she doesn't. I know all about her reservations, and I understand them, and I'm trying not to push. I know I'm ranting inside, but...but is lunch really too much to ask for? Can't we even do that?

"I know," she says calmly, almost resigned. "But I have a lot of research for the JLA, and *you*, might I remind you."

"Ok, maybe another time, beautiful?"

"Maybe," she says. I can tell she doesn't really mean it. Maybe sometime, maybe somehow, maybe someday, maybe some year. I know I can get through to her.

"Well. Good night gorgeous."

"Good night, Batboy," and the screen flickers out.

Interlude Two:

"Hey inspector! What's the deal with Grayson? Why do you want him to be in our illicit group?"

Silence.

"I mean, as far as I can tell, the kid is just a rich and spoiled pretty boy."

Silence, again.

"C'mon, he probably takes being a cop as seriously as playing cops and robbers when he was a kid. It's not like we need more guys. Granted yes, the whole thing with Soames and Redhorn have left us open, but to start recruiting again. Besides, Grayson? What good can some prep kid do?"

"That's where you're wrong my friend. He has potential, shall we say. Also, need I not remind you that since Redhorn is missing, that puts me in charge."

"You threatening me? When I'm doing you a favor?"

"It all depends. Are you challenging me?"

"No, of course not."

"Then we don't have a problem, Captain Greene."

It's 6:05 p.m., I'm almost at the precinct. I'm running late, again. Constant absenteeism is good way to make a banner impression. I was checking with Babs to see if she had anything on the tattoos from last night, but she put me on hold to take an urgent call from Dinah. When she came back, she told me she didn't find anything, yet. When I get inside, Arnot ushers me to the briefing room. With his presence no one takes a second look when we walk in late. The briefing is basically simple: there's a drug shipment coming in from South America tonight. We're going to stake out the docks and after the transaction is made, we're going to make sure it doesn't hit the streets. My commanding officer for this assignment will be Captain Greene. He cycles through the positions of our squads, the expected times, etc. etc. etc.

"Did you get all that rookie?" Greene asks, in a condescending tone of voice.

I didn't think I looked bored, but his eyes are focused on me. "Yes, Sir!" I say trying to sound respectful.

"You, rookie, will be working with Officers, Cone, Goings, Higgins, Smith, McBride, Chang and Hernandez. You men are bravo team."

McBride leans over and whispers to me, "Hey, I know you. Grayson, isn't it? You were in my session for training."

"Yeah. I guess besides us everyone else here is a veteran?"

"Man, you're amazing to me. You missed several days near the end of training but you still managed to graduate from the academy with such a high score"

Oops, I guess my underachieving was still overachieving.

"How'd you do it?" he wants to know.

"Well, McBride, I've wanted to protect people all my life. I've trained like I was in the academy since I was 12. I had a nasty case of the flu right before finals and had to go to the hospital. When I got better I doubled my workouts to get back in shape quickly and managed to graduate on time." I see McBride shaking his head with awe and respect.

A little while later, McBride, my other fellow officers, and I are stationed at different points around the docks waiting for the smugglers to make their move. They start unloading the boats. I can just make out a red flower on some of the crates. It's a different color, but the same symbol those guys had from last night. Finally, the money changes hands and it's time for us to move in.

I have to remember, I'm not Nightwing, right now, I'm rookie police officer Richard Grayson. I keep my moves simple yet effective. There's no need to show off. I chase a couple of the smugglers into a corner. Realizing they're trapped, they pull their guns. I spin around and kick the guns out of their hands, one after the other. I handcuff them to a pole, then turn my attentions to the criminals still free. I turn to handle two other smugglers when they take off running. I take a flying leap at them, knocking them on their stomachs. I just did what I said I wouldn't. I showed off. I hope no one, especially, Greene noticed.

"Hey, rookie," one of the officer's says as I walk by, "where'd you learn those fancy moves? They never taught us anything like that the academy." There go my delusions of not being noticed.

"Grayson, I want you to see if there anymore smugglers hiding behind the warehouses," Greene orders after I hand over the collars to the other members. Like a good rookie, I go off at the request of my boss. I see one more hiding in some bushes. I take him by surprise and cuff him quickly. I look at the confiscated drugs; some of the crates are open. Guess we didn't move in quick enough because I think some of the criminals took off with some.

Back at the station, there's `congratulations' all around. Arnot and Greene look a little too happy. So I'm wondering now if the drugs that were missing went to the criminals we busted or the ones in the precinct. Greene tells me that I've handled my first big bust like a pro. Arnot just gets that look and says cryptically that things are looking up for me. Then he offers to buy me a drink at Hogan's Alley. I'm not much of a drinker, and I'm still trying to puzzle out this newfound kinship, but I agree anyway. I have to be one of the boys. Despite the company, I have a good time. It's nice to see familiar faces and to talk with my old boss.

I get back to my apartment early, for me, just past midnight. I check back with Babs one more time about the tattoos. She says they're the sign of a gang that started in L. A. and moved east to Gotham then to the 'Haven. They're called the Bone Crushers. Definitely not small time. Definitely organized. And the current rumors are that they're working with Blockbuster. Looks like it's gonna be a hot night in the city for Nightwing tonight.

It doesn't surprise me that the group goes back to Blockbuster. Everything in the 'haven seems to take its cue from Avalon Hill. What surprises me is the timing. Blockbuster has never controlled the drug traffic out in or out of this city, so why start now? He must have set this in motion a while back, because, I know, he's been too busy lately to start anything new up. Not to mention, the fact that he's sort of incapacitated right now. Waiting for a heart transplant can take a lot out of a guy, even as one as big as Roland Desmond. I bet, he'll probably be kicking himself when he wakes up. It's pretty risky not being there to spearhead a new venture.

While, I could see this move coming eventually, it just doesn't make sense now. Rolly's had enough of his resources diverted that the last thing one would expect him to do is expand. Of course, that's probably everyone's view on that subject which makes it the perfect timing. Just like when he first started.

I've gotta wonder if Minh knows about this little business venture, and how he's going to take the news. Oh, well, he's in the same neighborhood, I'll stop by his house too. Before heading out, I grab a bunch of recorders and my little spy cameras, who says bats are blind?

First stop on my list is Desmond's place. If this is Blockbuster, or one of his associates, then this is where the idea started. I know he's smart enough not to leave a paper trail, but maybe I can find something signifying his intentions. At very least, I hope I can confirm or deny this rumor.

The security's fairly light as I slip inside unnoticed. Apparently, personal health takes precedence over the latest round of 'pin-the-bullet-on-the-vigilante'. I make my way up to his study and begin to search through the desk. Some notes on re-organizing the unions, some names, some dates for payoffs, I file the information away for further reference. Gotta prioritize y'know.

I'm rifling through folders when I see that symbol. Bingo. Who said detective work is hard. I pull out the manila folder with the poppy printed on the front. Looks like my joy is overstated, the only thing inside it a scrap of paper. It reads: "Thursday. Midnight. Minh."

Looks like this drug war's about to get violent. Talk about your hostile takeovers. Why do I always have to protect the bad ones? I finish going through his papers, but that's all I find. I leave a recorder in the room. I'll ask Babs about tapping the phone later. I'm in and out all in twenty minutes, and no one's the wiser.

The next stop on our tour, ladies and gents is the residence of the esteemed, Eddie Minh. If you look to your left, you'll see the drug trade and if you look to the right, you'll see the buried bodies. Isn't this a picturesque view of the 'haven?

If you look around the perimeter, you'll notice the hired muscle in imitation Italian suits. I apologize folks, but we'll be taking a slight detour around them, if you like you can go back to visit them when the tour's over. And don't forget to stop by the Bludhaven gift shop, tell 'em Dick sent ya.

I slip into one of the unlit windows on the second story. I don't want to announce my presence. I would actually like to stay here more than five minutes (which I think is my record for this place). The drawback from not being in this house before is the fact that I don't know where I'm going.

It's been three minutes, I might beat my record this time. Or not. I duck down another hallway to avoid a patrol, when another comes into view around the corner. Left with little choice, I dart into the closest room, the door's ajar, hopefully it's empty.

It's dark. The faint hallway light, barely makes it into the room. I stand motionless, listening for movement. I hear the Asian wise guys shuffling outside and I don't hear anyone breathing inside. Things are looking up. Now, the only question is, where am I?

The miracle of night vision. All that’s in here are stacks of filing cabinets. In fact, they line the walls. How fortuitous. Hey, you can’t live with Alfred and not have some things rub off.

Just as I’m about to pick the lock on the first cabinet, the voices outside come back. I duck behind the door. No harm in laying low until they pass. But they don’t. The voices grow louder, looks like I’m going to be getting some company. I scan the room quickly, there’s only one window. Normally, it would be my egress but it’s blocked by the cabinets. Guess I’m going to be leaving the hard way. I peek out the doorway, it looks like Minh or his wife (I can’t tell which) and about four bruisers, they still have some distance to cover. The lovely thing about these estates are the long hallways. The question is, do I stay here and hope they pass by or do I dart into the hallway so I don’t get trapped in here.

I huddle by the doorway, on the opposite side of where door swings in. I’m going to wait this out; hopefully I can avoid crashing through a picture window this time. My luck doesn’t hold out, the group of muscle moves towards my door. I tense and ready for action as the door swings open wider.

When the light switch turns on I move. I throw a roundhouse punch at the first person to enter, it connects solidly, and mook number one staggers back. I spring into the air and launch myself at the next one in line. My feet hit his chest and the air goes out of his lungs. He goes down with a thump just as I ricochet off him. Using my momentum, I hit the light switch before I land, submersing us into some semi-darkness. I can see the first guy advancing; I’ll be gone before he’s recovered. I hope. I’m slamming the third guy’s head against the wall when gunfire momentarily illuminates the room. Rolling to my right, I avoid the shot easily. I’ll take that as my cue to leave.

I backhand the goon with the gun, jump on the first guy, and then launch into the hallway. In case of emergencies: make your own exit. The entire house hasn’t been alerted yet because there is no panicked yelling. I slip into another room and immediately head towards the window. I’m aiming to get off the property before the all-points goes up. So much for checking up on things here tonight, at least I got to open the window. Oh, well, it’s only Saturday night, correction, Sunday morning. I’ve got time before Thursday to figure up what’s going down in the ‘haven.

I get up early for me, ten o’clock. I’m in the shower when I hear the knock on my door. It has to be Clancy. She’s the only one with this great of timing. “Just a second,” I call out. For once, I actually have a legitimate excuse. I fling open the door, the apology for the delay already on my lips. Not Clancy. Tim. In civvies. With a backpack.

“Bad time?” he asks. “Let me guess you just got out of the shower? That’s your excuse. Geez, Dick, even I can come up with better ones than that.”

“So can I. But you really did get me out of the shower. Why don’t you grab a seat or something.”

“Actually, I’m starved, mine if I rummage through for some food?”

I nod and move into my bedroom. As I change, I can hear Tim shuffling around through my cabinets. Then I hear a loud thud, and the sound of something rolling across the floor. Oh well, it probably had to be thrown out anyway. I call out from my room, “So whatcha doing in Bludhaven, Tim? What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re running away from home to join the circus.”

“Ha. Ha.” He says dispassionately, “A fella can’t stop by to say ‘Hi.’? ”

“Depends what else he has to say. Don’t you have school tomorrow kid?”

“Hey, it’s a long weekend, I figured I’d stop by before I had to go back to pris—school. So, I stopped by to see the sights. I figured you could show me around the precinct tomorrow.”

“Sure.” I jump at that chance. Besides Clancy and Hogan, no one else has really commented. Bruce knows, but hasn’t said anything. Heck, they weren’t at my graduation. “I take it you’re crashing here.”

“Yep.” We get the kitchen in some semi-balance of order only to discover no food. Or at least none that we can identify. Everything gets chucked and we grab our coats and head out. I know just the place.

"So where we going?"

"Hogan's Alley. It's not too far away."

"Um. Dick. Isn't Hogan's Alley a bar."

I cuff him on the shoulder, "There's hope. You just might be a detective yet."

"I thought we were going to lunch," he protests.

"We are. Hogan's makes the best supermelts."

"But...Dick. It's a bar."

"You already said that, you're not getting any extra points for observation."

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" he asks exasperated. He can't quite tell if I'm really this dense or just teasing him. Before I get the chance to interject, he continues. "Hello? I'm underage. Timothy Drake. Minor. Prohibited from voting, gambling, and drinking."

"And buying cigarettes and lotto tickets and engaging in sexual intercourse. You're point?"

"You don't see any problem with you dragging me to a bar?"

"Relax kid. I guarantee you, you won't be voting or gambling."

"And drinking," he adds

I give him my most serious look as I decide to take his statement as a question. "You can't drink yet Tim. You're underage." He looks like he's ready to scream. It's time to stop teasing him before he hurts me. "Trust me. You're gonna be with me."

"Okay," he mumbles. "But it's your fault if I don't make it through the door."

"Don’t worry, you won't be the only minor in the place."

"Huh?"

Tim and Michael hit it off pretty well. The whole atmosphere of Hogan’s is extremely unique. I can tell, Tim’s having fun observing the nuances of the place. Not to mention enjoying the double tuna-melt. I’m puzzling over possibilities of places where Blockbuster could stage action against Minh when Mr. Hogan drags me aside.

"Interesting crowd you're hanging with nowadays.”

I was wondering why he didn’t say anything last night. I figured he had more tact, I’m glad to know I’m right. But that doesn’t mean I want to have this conversation. "Oh. Yeah. That wasn’t by choice."

"You always have a choice, son. Sometimes it just seems like you don't."

“Suppose you’re right.”

‘Look, I’m gonna tell you straight. If you’re gonna be an honest cop, those aren’t the friends you want.”

Talk about direct. It’s nice to know someone has faith in my good intentions. It’s feels nice to know someone’s looking out for me too. “I know, Mr. Hogan. It’s not my fault. For some reason, the guy likes me.”

“I’d do something about it son, before you get a rep you don’t deserve.”

Hmph. Too late.

“I’ll work on it. Thanks for the heads up.”

“Anytime. I’ll be right back, I’ve gotta get some stuff from the stock room.”

“I got it,” I say springing to my feet before he can object. I toss a glance over to Tim, “Be right back.”

I’m in the back shifting boxes when I hear Hogan’s voice full of elation.

"Amy! How have you been girl? I haven't seen your face around this lot in ages.” Hmm…It couldn’t be… His voice barely carries past the bar noise now. “Always sober, eh?"

"Of course, you know I come for the food." It is! Why have I never seen her in here before? It seems like Hogan’s a good friend, but then again, he’s pals with everyone in that joint, it comes from being a cop. There’s a level of camaraderie (or corruption) that exists within the group. I go back from dragging the boxes away from the ones I need.

"Thought it was the company," he replies back, teasing her.

"That too, I suppose. Life's been good overall. I have a rookie to look afterwards now."

My ears perk up and I momentarily stop. I’m eavesdropping, I can’t help it. What would Alfred say about my manners? ‘Hey,’ I reason to myself, ‘if I listen in now, I won’t have to ask Tim later.’

"Those blasted kids nowadays, making you feel old."

"I guess. I don't think he has the stuff to stick around, but it looks like he'll be here for a while."

Ouch! She’s gonna give me an inferiority complex if she keeps talking like that. I guess the adage is true, ‘it’s not who you are, it’s who you know.’

"One of those."

"Too many of those."

Too true. I’m trying to correct that, but if everyone thinks I’m on that wrong side of the fence….

Everyone thinks I’m corrupt. Except Hogan. Hogan doesn’t work at the P.D. Everyone at the P.D. thinks I’m corrupt. They think that because I’m close to everyone who’s corrupt. It suddenly dawns to me. I’m close to everything corrupt. Perhaps, a bit too close, but I’m in a position, as a cop, to keep tabs on Bludhaven’s inspector. My situation, while not ideal, can be definitely beneficial. So what do I do about my reputation?

"Hey, look on the bright side, maybe you'll be a good influence."

”I hope so.”

I finish dragging out the supplies Hogan needs to the door, when their conversation stops. I wait a few moments to see if anything more is going to be added, but it turns to nostalgia as Hogan shares an anecdote. “I remember one time, when you’re dad was on patrol….”

Amy’s dad was a cop? You learn something everyday. I come out of the backroom, pushing a box with my foot, while carrying three more. Hogan picks up the one in front of me so I can stop shuffling. At least, I assume it’s Mr. Hogan, I can’t see around cardboard.

“I think that’s what you wanted,” I say as I set down the boxes.

“Exactly. Thanks Dick. Didn’t realize how much I missed your help.”

“Hey! Whadda about me?” Michael pipes up from the bar. He’s become my replacement. “I help around here too. Don’t I get praise?”

“ ‘Your help’?” Amy inquires. Hogan quickly fills her in; when he’s done she’s looking at me strangely. Her face holds a mix of astonishment and surprise, but there’s something else there. Almost as if she can’t quite ponder out my motivations. No, it’s more like, now that she’s gained new information, her perspective has shifted and that’s what’s surprising.

I play up the buddy-buddy deal with Hogan. Even insist to pay. He refuses, of course, so I stuff the bill in Michael’s pocket, only to have Hogan snatch it out and stuff it in Tim’s palm. From Tim’s smile, I know I just lost this round to my former boss and my money to my friend. All the time, I see Amy watching the exchange. I think she’s surprised, I’m held in regard from someone who’s legit. That’s something; she’ll definitely have to get used to.

As we’re heading out, I call back, “See you tomorrow, Sarge.”

“I told you call me ‘Amy’, rookie.”

The last thing I hear before the door closes is Hogan, “You mean Grayson’s….”

Interlude Three:

“May I speak to your husband, ma’am.”

“He is busy. Why do you call for him?”

“I was just trying to confirm details about an arrangement we have.”

“I know enough that this is not done over the phone.”

“As you wish, I can be there in a few minutes.”

“No. You trust him. Everything will be on time.”

“If I could just double-check—”

“No need. We are ready. I can only advise that you do so at well.”

“...Until Thursday then.”

“Yes.”

"Come on Dick! Time for *our* nightly patrol!” Tim says impatiently. “You can flirt with Babs *after* we get home!”

I really hate it when Tim goes all bats on me. I reluctantly say so long to my favorite red haired computer hacker and close my laptop. I grab a sack with sandwiches, snack bars, and thermos with coffee. Tim and I go out the window of my apartment and onto the mean streets of Bludhaven.

We comb the area where I stopped the mugging a couple of nights ago and find nothing. We sit on a rooftop eating a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches apiece. Again, the kid asks me how things are going with Babs. He’s obsessed with my love life. Probably because in retrospect it’s almost worse than his. Key operating word: almost. Just as we’re about to going to dig into some brownies that Clancy made me, I see a familiar face in my binoculars. I hate when major crime interrupts my brownie fix.

It looks like the punks from a couple of nights ago are up to no good again. They’ve grabbed some bricks and thrown them through the window of Smithy’s Furniture and Appliance. Just your run of the mill smash and grab robbery.

Tim and I jump down and in a moment stand in front of the group. Maybe after we stop them I can squeeze some information about this move against Minh. On the other hand, they could just be some grunts in world of crime. Nevertheless, it's worth a shot.

“Hey, look it’s Pajama boy and the bat’s brat,” the gang leader says. “Why don’t we have little fun and exercise at these two heroes’ expense? ”

The group surrounds us and gets into action. A few lunge at me trying to land some kicks and punches. One ambitious guy, darts into a window and picks up a chair from inside. Throws and misses, it lands a few feet away. He hasn’t let up on the idea as he picks up yet another. He aims the chair at Tim. I punch the guy closest to me then move into action. Quickly, I scoop up the stray chair and toss it to Tim to use as a shield. The chairs bounce off each other. The one that almost hits Tim breaks into several pieces. I’ll have to send Smithy an anonymous envelope with money to cover the damages later.

I glance at Tim to make sure he wasn’t hurt by flying wood. After that I tackle the larger of the two men. Tim takes the other. In a few seconds, we’re both cuffing our prey. Now we get to leave them to what passes for the Bludhaven police force.

I slap them around a few times to get their attention; the cops aren’t here yet so we have time for some question and answer. I want to know what they know about Minh and the drug trade. They, of course, play innocent. I have a feeling they’re too scared of Minh. They won’t talk unless I practically beat them to death and that just isn’t an option. I decide to just leave them for the police and search else where for evidence.

As we turn around to leave, one of the guys says to the other, “That’s showing ‘em, Griff. We ain't no squealers.”

The other smaller kid pitches in, “Yea there ain’t no way they’ll show up at the Zee Mores, now”

I whip my head around towards them at the mention of the notorious low rent district. This earns him a hard slap to the head from his leader.

Tim looks at me and says, “Thank Heavens for stupid criminals.” With this mission accomplished, we head home to get some much needed sleep.

It’s four o’clock almost time for my shift. I promised Tim I’d show him around the precinct. For once, I manage to arrive a little early. When I finish my little tour we run into my partner Amy as she’s coming on shift. She looks at me. She looks at Tim. She turns back to me and gives me a disapproving look. Her look softens as she turns back to Tim.

“Hey Kid. Aren’t you a little young to be hanging around a police station, not to mention a bar? I saw you at Hogan’s Alley yesterday.” She turns back to me without waiting for a response. If she keeps this up she’s going to get whiplash. “Grayson, who is the kid? Your little brother? He looks like your ‘mini me’.”

Before I can say anything, Tim pipes up, "Tim Drake pleased to meetcha officer." He holds out a friendly hand.

She takes it without hesitation. "Drake huh?” she says with a raised eyebrow. "Step brother?"

"Nope. Neighbor."

"I would have put money on it that you two were related."

“Tim was my next door neighbor from when I lived in Gotham.” I supply. “He’s like a kid brother to me.”

Little does Amy know that this sweet faced kid could probably take out half the force if he was so inclined. Suddenly, Inspector Arnot interrupts to remind me I have piles of paperwork to finish on the drug bust. He raises a suspicious eyebrow at Tim but doesn’t say anything.

I shuffle off to my desk to finish work. I hear Amy and Tim talking just a few feet away. Tim asks Amy what she thinks of me as a partner? Like he already hasn’t figured it out from last night. She replies that I’m a rookie and still have a lot to learn. Again, she voices her puzzlement at why someone like me would want to try to be a cop. At least she doesn’t say anything about her thinking I bought my badge, at least not directly, to Tim.

Just as I finish typing, Arnot comes up and offers to file the report for me. He doesn’t wait for a reply as he just grabs it off my desk. I know better than to think he’s being nice to me. There’s an angle here, but I’m just not seeing it. He takes the report to his desk before he turns it in. The sound typing can be heard. As he walks by, I raise an eyebrow.

“Something wrong?”

“Nah. You just forgot to fill in a field, don’t worry about it.”

He files the report with a smile on his face. Then tells me he was glad to do it.

I meet Amy at the patrol car. Despite Tim’s enthusiasm, Amy refuses to let him come on an unauthorized ride along. So I reluctantly say goodbye. Amy and I drive around on our beat for at least an hour without incident. Then the dispatcher comes over the radio, “All units, hostage situation/ robbery at the ‘Milk, Bread, ‘n’ Stuff Mini Mart’ on Scottsdale road. Witness reports at least two gun men inside with hostages. All units in vicinity please respond.”

Only two blocks away, we speed to the scene, sirens wailing. Amy tells me to wait for her. She barely gets the words out before I’m out of the car. I can see the two gunmen clearly through the window. One is a blonde with mounds of muscles. The other is skinny with long dirty black hair. They are waving their guns at the terrified hostages. There are about seven that I can see. Not good numbers.

A few more units pull up, lights shinning. This is going to turn into a standoff soon. It’ll take forever for a negotiator to get in here. I look at the building. The mart’s directly next to a closed down deli. Examining the store fronts it looks like the store area was originally split between the two, which means I might have chance to sneak in. I slip off as Amy gives the other officers the run down. I’m in luck, after digging through some rubble, I find a spare door on the wall.

I slip into the store, signaling the customers to be silent. I’m moving around the aisle near the window to keep out of the line of sight of the bad guys. I look outside and Amy’s eyes lock instantly on mine. She glares at me but keeps silent. The smaller guy has moved down one of the aisles to grab a bag of potato chips. Three punches and he’s out cold. The noise attracts the attention of the bigger one and he whips around to face me. I charge him knocking him down. I see his finger tightening on the trigger and quickly snap his hand up towards the ceiling as a round fires. I cuff him and then check the hostages.

Amy gives me the silent treatment all the way to the station, not that she talks to me much anyway. We send the would-be thieves to processing for finger printing and mug shots. I’m about to go to my desk to fill out more paper work when Amy corners me. She drags me to the end of the hall for privacy. It’s not really effective though considering she starts yelling at me.

“Grayson! What do you think you were doing at the mini mart?” You could’ve gotten yourself or others killed. Whether, I like you or not I don’t need a rookie being killed on my watch. You had no right to risk those people’s lives. What if there had been another gunman, what would you have done then? What do you think you are some kind of Superhero?” I look down at my shoes as if I’m ashamed of my actions. “If you ever break procedure like that again, I’ll make sure you’re off the force. And you’re buddies won’t be able to help you. You here me Grayson?”

“Yes ma’am.”

She stalks off, still reeling from anger.

I’m heading back to my desk when Arnot snags me by the elbow. He drags me down to an empty office. What is this? Pick on Dick day? He closes the door then sits down in the plush leather chair.

“I heard what your partner said to you Grayson. You might’ve bent the rules a bit but there was no harm done. No harm, no foul, I like to say. I have an offer make you something that will really get your adrenaline flowing. You should consider it carefully because it won’t be made again.” He gets up and places his hand on my shoulder. “What would you say if I offered you a position in the more, exciting and lucrative division of the Bludhaven P.D.?”

I look down at Arnot's arm at my shoulder and give him a gaze that should make him feel uncomfortable. It doesn't. He's waiting for my response, grinning so confidently that I just want to knock that irritating smile off his face. That stupid smile says he's very proud of himself and probably expects me to say something along the lines of adoration similar to 'Oh, golly, gee whiz, Inspector, would you let me be corrupt, would you please?'

"An 'exciting and more lucrative division'?" I ask, echoing his last statement skeptically. Well, at least, now I know his interest in me.

"You're not blind Grayson, you're too sharp for that. You know what goes on around this precinct. Now, I'm offering you an 'in'. What do you say?"

In the spanse of a few seconds all the pros and cons and implications spin through my head. This would be the perfect undercover scenario, the only problem is: I haven't been assigned to it by anyone. As such, this is *my* name I'd be dragging through the mud, not some fictional identity, although an alias would really be convenient at this point. Also, there's the fact that I can't think of anyone in the B.P.D. with a high enough rank that would want to get an inside man on the shadow P.D. This is a one-time offer, declining would mean being cut off and out of the loop. Not that I'm in the loop, so much to begin with.

I open my mouth to reply just as the door opens.

"There you are, rookie! Did you forget you’re on the clock now?" Amy bursts in, grabs my arm. Her eyes lock with Arnot's. Disgust for each other is evident on both their faces. I stand impassive between them. The tension in this room has increased exponentially.

"He'll be along in a second, Sergeant," Mac Arnot says, emphasizing her rank. "You'll just have to find something else to occupy your time."

Amy shakes her head. "When he's on duty, his time is my time."

Okay, time for me to interject before this escalates, "I--"

"The man's an adult," Arnot cuts me off "Let him decide."

"Look--" I start, only to be cut off by Amy this time.

"Apparently, since he's in here talking to you, he's already made a wrong decision."

"Guys," I try again, "can we--"

"Meaning?" Arnot ignores me and retorts back to Amy. Nothing like getting argued over and ignored when you're physically standing in between. "Oh," Arnot continues sarcastically, "I'm sorry for dragging him away from arresting drunks and drinking coffee. Real fine police work you're doing."

"Amy," I say, trying to gain some foothold in this conversation, "why don't we--"

"Wait, a second Grayson," she says dismissively and turns to confront Arnot, "How would you know? You've never worked a beat."

"I'm sure you're very proud of yourself going out every day and--"

"I'll have you know I work damn hard and at least I'm--"

Great! Now they're interrupting each other.

"Wasting the city's time, doing something no one wants, you should get a clue, sister, and stop--"

Amy has let go of me, she's too busy, literally, pointing fingers at Arnot, who's also gesturing wildly. They wouldn't even notice if I was gone. With that thought and a mischievous smile, I slowly start to edge away.

"You're a fine one to talk about wasting the city's time. What do you know anyway you sit up in your little office making your little deals and--"

"And don't you wish you could prove any of it, you don't see the big picture. You don't see--"

"All I see is a corrupt cop that thinks he can get the run of the--"

" 'Thinks' I can? Have you taken a look around lately lady? I--"

I silently slip out and close the door behind me. I lean against the wall, listening.

"Yes I have," Amy responds, "this department makes me sick. At least Grayson makes an effort to pretend he gives a damn about--"

"The man has potential what can I say--"

"You could say you could let him get back to his job, not that you'd even care what us coffee-drinking, drunk-arresting officers do--"

"I don't. Grayson how do you put up with her? Grayson?"

"Where'd he go?"

Two minutes to clue in. Considering the circumstances, it could have been worse. Considering they're trained detectives, it could have been better. The door bursts open and they come out in a huff.

"Hi guys, miss me?" I ask innocently with a smile, leaning against the wall.

They were growling at each other, but now both are scowling at me. My smile drops. Okay, maybe this wasn't my brightest idea.

"Cute," Amy says, deadpanned. She spins on heel and motions for me to follow her.

"Think about it Grayson.” Arnot clips me on the shoulder. “I'm always around." He leans closer to whisper in my ear. "You might want to consider who got you your badge."

“That a threat?”

“It’s a friendly reminder.” He starts walking away heading in the opposite direction. Amy’s stalking back to where I’m standing, looking mighty impatient. Looks like she was right, my badge was bought and paid for by the inspector himself. Who would've guessed? As he walks away, Amy's glare follows him. When he's out of sight, that glare switches to me, "C'mon rookie. Time's a wasting. Some of us need to earn our money."

As we start to head out, I can't help but wonder if her last comment is aimed at Arnot or me, or both of us.

We’re parked across a hotel that rents rooms by the hour. The owner’s son is a long time confidant of one of our perps. Low odds that he’ll show, but we take our chances. The squad car smells of stale coffee. The windows are rolled up sheltering us from the cold of the ‘haven night. Patience is a virtue. We’ve been here for three hours, and probably will be here for three more. There’s a bright side, it’s warmer in here than during my midnight stakeouts.

“So,” I say into the silence of the cruiser. “Your dad was a cop?”

“Where did you hear that Grayson?”

“Can’t work for Hogan and not hear all his stories,” I fib.

“I’m surprised you believe anything that comes out of that place.”

“What’s that mean?” I ask jumping on the defense.

“You worked there. All the stories are hot air, filled with exaggerations and embellishments. I thought you were smarter than that.”

Note to self: Do not attempt to engage Sergeant Rohrbach into small talk, or any other conversation for that mater. We go back to sitting in silence. The scene still hasn’t shifted. Couples drift in and out the building. Pedestrians are light. Traffic even lighter. I’m running over the street plans of the Zee Mores through my head when she speaks again.

“He was a cop.”

“Come again?”

“My dad. He was a cop. Sergeant Donald Rohrbach. He worked in burglary.”

My attention is significantly distracted from the building. This is the first I’ve seen Amy anything besides cop mode. This deserves my full attention. “In the ‘haven?”

Scorn fills her voice, “Yeah. In the ‘haven.”

“So is he why you became a cop?”

“I suppose. I want to think he would have been proud of me.” She cuts off the emotional moment and her no nonsense tone of voice returns. “Enough about me. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Why’d you become a cop? Daddy cut you off?”

“What are you talking about?” I’m completely lost now. One minute she’s a lamb, the next a lion. I’m just trying to wonder how Bruce factors in.

“Don’t play innocent rookie, it’s very transparent. I’ve read your file. I want to know why a rich kid is walking a beat.”

“Technically, I’m not walking,” I point out, trying for levity.

“Technically, I don’t care.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I told you I wanted to help make a difference.”

She snorts at my comment. “That’s your story?”

“And I’m sticking to it,” I reply stubbornly and effectively kill the conversation. I pray for a distraction to ease the tension. However, none comes. For the rest of the shift the cruiser is filled with silence and stays that way.

“Get the hero, boys!”

I’m on my other job, dropping in on a contact, when the crisp voice rings out as I enter the doorway. I caught a break last night. The Zee Mores. Only problem is that slum is huge. I worked out a few ideas and red flagged some locations but there’s no way I can be everywhere. I need info; this meeting’s too important to chance.

A handful of twenty-something year old bikers converge upon me as I enter. I kick the closest one, his weight drags him down and bowls him into the three people behind him. A solid punch to the gut and a roundhouse follow-up drops another one. The next one comes at me with a chain, twirling it around so focused on the motion that he nearly takes his buddy’s head off. I grab an escrima stick and intercept the flying metal before it can connect. As expected, it wraps around the polymer, but he doesn’t let go. I pull. Hard. He goes flying, and lands somewhere behind me. Everyone loses enthusiasm after that. A few well placed punches and kicks and it’s over. Three minutes was a decent workout.

The rest of the bikers are sitting impassively around the outskirts of the room. Some were watching the fisticuffs, others ignoring it. The last thing they’re trying to do is help. I step over a leather jacket that’s housing an immobile body.

“Thanks for performing the Loners’ initiation,” the same voice says.

I look at the biker sitting in the far corner of the room. He’s alone in his little corner. The table in front of him decorated with empty beer bottles and worn playing cards. The hanging lamp almost makes the scene into a leather version of the mafia. Underneath that lone lamp sits, Wade Reilly, my contact, current leader of the Loners.

The Loners are a group of thugs in the haven. More importantly, they’re a well-connected group of thugs. They had connections with Blockbuster, until I showed them up in front of him. In the pecking order of Bludhaven baddies, they’re fairly low. I have my hands full at the moment so I haven’t cracked down on them, and Reilly, sees me as almost an honorary member. I was offered to join the group after all.

“Initiation?” I inquire.

“Get your ass kicked by the Wingster and stay on with the Loners. That’s the final test to see who begs out.”

“I need to talk to you.”

He gets up and starts walking through some beaded curtains, motioning me to follow. “You know,” he starts conversationally, “this new crew thinks you’re worse than the bat.”

As much as that statement intrigues me, I ignore it. “I need info.”

We enter his small, so-called office, pulled straight from a Harley Davidson catalogue. He invites me to sit. I stand.

“Word on the street is you don’t turn bad guys over to the cops.”

“About the Zee Mores.”

“You let the criminals fight it out. You don’t work with the law.”

Little does he know, I think. “About a drug deal. Going down Thursday.”

“Drug deals go down every other day in the haven.” I’m relieved when he finally shifts to my train of thought. After being patient at work, I’m completely tapped in that area. “Why’s this one important?”

“Minh and Blockbuster. I need a location, Reilly.”

“I’d be sticking my neck out on the line for this one. These aren’t second rate players.”

”Like you.” I state.

“That hurt, Wingster. So tell me, hero, why should I do this?”

“I figured you’d like a little payback at Blockbuster.”

“Hey, he got me where I am today.”

“By killing off the competition. What about the Loners reputation?”

“Okay,” he agrees, “give me twenty-four hours.”

“Deal.”

He walks me back out to the main room. We stop in front of the doorway. “I’ll stop by tomorrow.” I give him a pointed glare, “No initiations.”

The door swings open, and a young kid in leather leaps in at me. I don’t even flinch as he comes at me. I quickly sidestep and trip him. He crashes into a card table and doesn’t get up.

“Latecomer?” I ask Reilly, amusement in my voice.

“Jimmy, yeah, he’s always late. Catch you later ‘wing.”

Interlude Five:

“So did you get Richie Rich in the fold?”

“Not yet. I didn’t get an answer from him.”

“You slipping, Inspector?”

“Hardly, *Captain*. He’ll agree. Trust me.”

“You seemed awfully sure of yourself. So what went wrong?”

“His partner has an extraordinary bad sense of timing. She might cause a problem for him once he’s in our group. Tell me, what do you know about Amy Rohrbach?”

With expert timing, I release the jumpline and land silently atop bus 34. Last ride to the Zee Mores, and it’s even express.

As much as I don’t want to admit it to myself, I’m looking forward to tonight. Thursday, finally. I’ve spent three uneventful shifts pulling teeth with my partner and dodging Bludhaven’s friendly inspector. All the mundane and routine patrol life is catching up with me. The ‘haven’s been quiet, holding it’s breath for tonight, and so have I. All the adrenaline I haven’t used is finally going to get put to good use.

I’ve got to keep rivers of blood and corruption from flowing. The air is tense but still. Quiet is an understatement, dead is more like it, and possibly literally tonight. Who said the former boy wonder lost his knack for puns? *Nothing* has been happening. Let’s see...

Tuesday, picked up dry cleaning, checked in with Reilly. He came through for me. The meetings not a place, I would have red flagged. It’s being held in the Southside district. In one of Blockbuster’s factories. Risky, too close to home if you ask me.

Wednesday, checked in with Babs. Flirted, teased, bantered, complimented, and even cajoled a dinner date with her. It's not a date, she refused to use that word. It doesn't matter to me, I've got it all planned, a little Italian bistro. Already made the reservations, it's going to be perfect. Some dinner, talking, just the two of us. Oh, I almost forgot, she gave me some more background info on that tattoo also. Besides being a local gang, it’s a symbol of a South American drug ring. Looks like my assumption was right; Desmond wants Minh’s stake in the ‘haven. All things considered, it was a very productive phone call.

Which, brings me to Thursday. It’s a half hour before midnight. I scout out a good seat to watch from, and act if I need to. Looks like more waiting for me, no problem, I study the layout of the building. Ramps, columns, barriers, boxes, and stairs, everything an acrobat in Kevlar could hope for.

Blockbuster’s troupe shows at quarter of; lots of muscle. Tons of guns. Let’s hope the shooting doesn’t start until after the meeting does. I use the remaining time to go over my game plan, or lack thereof. It boils down simply to this: Keep the bad guys alive and from getting away. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Hah.

Rolly’s troops are getting antsy, they’re not good at waiting. I recognize some from the few trips I’ve made up to Avalon Hill. One stands out immediately. Although the five-gallon cowboy hat fails to make him discreet no matter what crowd he’s with. A mook named Stallion, pain in my side. Looks like Blockbuster’s called in the heavy hitters, or more accurately, who he thinks are heavy hitters. No one that I can’t not take on my worst day.

So far Minh’s a no show. No hostile takeover tonight. Maybe I can get home before Babs logs off. Sounds in the distance, aw, hell. So much for that idea.

It’s quarter past when Minh’s party finally arrives. I was hoping, good ol’ Eddie would figure something was up and cancel out. Headlights flicker off outside, no such luck. The Asians in Armani stroll in and flip the light switch. With a hushed boom, light fills the warehouse. Rolly’s mooks shield their eyes.

Time to size up the new players. Guns? Check. Muscle? Check. Fine imported Italian clothes? Check. An accountant? I do a double take. On second glance, he looks more like a lawyer. He’s smaller than the other six. I’d bet money that he doesn’t clear 5’4”. And he has a briefcase, how interesting. The brains of the operation, no doubt.

Stallion steps out from Rolly’s ranks. What’s this? A light pep talk before the bloodshed? Something’s off. I don’t like this.

“Where’s Minh?” he asks brusquely, pushing back his hat as it falls and obstructs his line of vision.

“He was, I must regretfully relay, detained.” Never let it be said that stereotypes hold no weight. It’s the lawyer that speaks. Okay, he’s not a lawyer, but he sounds like one. This guy’s loquaciousness could give Lady Vic some competition for the title of most verbose super villain. I need a name to call him. Let’s go with Kobayashi, an infamous lawyer. It fits.

“So he sent you?” Stallion walks around Kobayashi but still keeps his distance from the suits. “What are you his lesion or something?”

My mouth quirks up at his unintended pun. So it’s not a pun, it’s just bad grammar. Either way, I give credit for Minh’s troupe for not rolling their eyes and walking out in disgust. Kobayashi doesn’t even blink.

“Mr. Minh has contracted me to serve as his liaison for this meeting. And your name?”

“Call me Stallion. Enough of this nickel and ante talk. Do you have the money?”

Kobayashi passes the briefcase wordlessly over to Stallion. After a moment of hesitation, Stallion shoves it against one of the suits. “Hold this,” he orders. The briefcase pops open rather anticlimactically. No surprises hidden within the multitude of green. I had this wrong. It’s not a takeover. It’s worse; it’s an alliance.

I didn’t come prepared for this. But I can remedy that in a few minutes.

“The merchandise?” Kobayashi inquires simply. Stallion motions some of his companions to comply.

“Oracle, you there?” I say in hushed tones, watching as the mooks fumble with some tarpaulin.

“What’s up Dick?”

Boxes underneath the tarp. Same poppy symbol. Drug deal. They’ve been sitting in Blockbuster’s warehouse the whole time. I had the right scenario, just the wrong parts assigned. Blockbuster’s not buying out Minh, it’s the other way around.

“I need a favor, like now. It’s kind of a longshot.”

Quickly, I explain what I want her to do. I’ll fill her in afterwards. Too much to go into now, maybe later. But now, I deal with this. I can berate my shortcomings afterwards. The suits have already opened one of the crates and checked the quality of the substance.

“Fresh off the boat,” Stallion brags as if the merchandise were saltwater fish. “I tell ya’ Blockbuster sparred no expense.”

With a subtle nod, the suits give Kobayashi an all clear sign. Impassive, he gives no sign of acknowledgment.

“It’s been a real pleasure doing business with ya’ll. I’m know Blockbuster appreciates it.”

“Mr. Minh wishes me to express, in no uncertain terms, mind you, that this will be the last transaction between our two parties. He considers this affair closed and expects your employer to do the same.”

“I reckon, that he’ll consider that fair. Just make sure your boss knows there are no guarantees in this business.”

“No. There are not. This, I can assure you, will be the last time my employer will converse with Mr. Blockbuster with this level of hospitality.”

The two groups separate, the implied threat wafting in the wind. The meeting’s over without a gun ever being drawn. Rolly’s mooks and Minh’s suits are busy moving crates out. Stallion and Kobayashi supervising in their own manners. C’mon Babs, where are you?

I tense as the second to last crate gets tagged. Smoke pellets are ready, and I have a perfect line of sight to kill the lights. Timing is everything. I’m about to literally leap down into action when I hear the sound of my angel.

Sires, in the distance. Now who would have thought the police in this town would respond to a little something like an anonymous tip? Maybe it had something to do with an unlisted 911 call that the precinct failed to get a trace from that piqued their interest. That and I’m pretty sure she threw in some other nifty little things just to show off her skills.

As blue and red light filters through cracked windows, the groups below turns on each other and the weaponry finally makes its debut. Can’t have that happening though. A well placed ‘rang shatters the light just as a ball of knockout gas impacts with the floor. A few random shots. A suit takes a slug in the leg. In almost no time, they’re passed out, sliding to the floor in heaps.

Inside, I can hear the muffled orders of standard procedure being broadcast through a megaphone. If I were an overachieving vigilante, I’d bag and tag them nicely for the cops. I actually consider it. Nah, they can use the exercise. Besides, the cops have just as much love of me as the bad guys below, better to make a timely exit. Just as I’m slipping out via the roof I see the guys getting ready to storm the place. Maybe there’s some hope for the department yet.

I jump awake at the sound of Queen blasting from the speakers on my computers. “We are the Champions” ends and I hear Babs’ mischievous giggle. “Congrats on your collar last night. Even if you don’t get credit for it. I hacked into the PD’s database to check on your adventure. You never did tell me what was going on.”

I glare at the clock. Before noon. Sometimes, Babs can be positively sadistic. I roll out of bed adapting my best pout so I can frown at the computer screen. She titters. Time to get a new pout.

“Can this wait until I’m a wake?” I ask with a yawn.

“C’mon Dick. Up and at ‘em. Why are you tired anyway, it’s not like you did anything last night.”

“Give me a break Babs, I went patrolling. You know, stopping the normal bad guys from doing bad things.”

“You’re slowing down in your old age. Look at Bruce, he’s still going strong.”

I glare at the screen. She shrugs it off, this is not my morning. Of course, it is hard to be intimidating in striped boxers with pillow hair.

“Well,” she says breaking the silence, “I just called to congratulate you, I’ll see you on our date. Later Dick.”

“Bye Babs.” The video link blinks out as I’m greeted by my plain desktop. Too bad this isn’t my day off. Still, it should be interesting to see what the buzz is at work. The night shift always has the most interesting stories. They should have plenty to talk about after last night. Looking at the clock again, I have plenty of time to have a nice leisurely breakfast. I shrug on my robe and head to the kitchen. Wait a minute...did she say date?

It’s a happy shift. In reality, it’s a normal shift, but since the realization of the date word hit me, I’ve been ecstatic. I have a few second guesses over my actions last night, I still retained my good mood.

There hasn’t been a peep out of the squad or the station. Nothing. Last night I was happy to avoid bloodshed and be done with the matter. In hindsight, it wasn’t the greatest idea. Let’s sum up. Unconscious criminals, drugs, and money. Now add a corrupt element to your arresting police force and you can do the math.

Finally, I’m on break. Maybe I’ll give Babs a call, thinking about my blunder is killing my mood. I turn the corner and who do I spy, Arnot. It won’t kill him if he doesn’t see me. I duck back into the other corridor.

“Grayson!”

Too slow. Damn. If I ignore him will he go away? I keep walking, my back turned.

“Hey, Grayson! I’m talking to you.”

It was worth a shot. I turn and wait for him to walk over to me.

“That’s more like it,” he comments. Why is he always so smug? “Look, I need you to come in tomorrow. Greene will get you acquainted and you can start pulling your weight.”

Wait a second. “I don’t remember saying yes.”

His eyes narrow and he looks me once over. Our gazes lock and I can see in his eyes that he knows my resolve.

“You might want to reconsider.”

“No. I don’t think so.” I break the tense gaze so as not to appear to be threatening. The less complications I have in my jobs, the better. “Look, sorry if you went to any trouble on my part.”

His expression changes from anger to scorn back to his cheery façade. This time, his smile is more threatening. He doesn’t say a word, just silently heads off. Probably planning out the next rookie to corrupt. He’s about to round the corner when he turns back my way. He makes the shape of a gun with his hand, aims at me, and pulls the mock trigger. Then he winks, a sly grin fixed on his face.

If I was anyone else, I might have felt threatened.

Interlude Six:

“Aw, c’mon! One little rookie isn’t worth your time. He’s not worth my time either. Forget about it.”

“This is business.”

“No way Inspector. This is personal. No, forget that, it’s not even personal its just bullshit. You keep this attitude and this whole operation will turn into some sort of bad melodrama. There’s no angle here. Just let it go.”

“Oh, there’s an angle alright. Revenge.”

“You’ve lost it you know that. We’ve got a ton of drugs here, just waiting to be sold. Besides, I wouldn’t worry about it. The kid’ll probably get himself killed on patrol. Look, McBride told me today that IA is poking their nose around. You don’t need to start stirring up trouble now.”

“Perfect.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you? You’re completely losing it over some damn rich kid.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You lack ambition Greene. You only think one step ahead so you never know when your world can fall out from under you. You say IA is snooping around, and I have a problem. I think we can come up with a nice distraction to keep them busy.”

Life is going by so fast. The last couple of weeks have been so full; I hadn’t even realized it. It’s the same daily routine, but even despite the normalcy of it all, there have been major developments in every aspect of my life, more in my personal life than my professional. I guess you have to take what life gives you.

There’s never been that many people I can trust on the force. There are even fewer I like. Amy and I haven’t gotten along from the moment we first saw each other. We still argue all the time. She thinks I’m one of them, and that bothers me. Amy doesn’t have to like me, but I’d at least like her to trust me. Trust is the most important element in a relationship.

Speaking of relationships, I think I’m finally getting somewhere with Babs. She accepted my invitation for dinner on Saturday. I picked her up at the tower at 5:30 pm, with flowers and imported chocolates in hand. Before going to our main destination, we took a drive through the more scenic parts of Gotham. I wanted to surprise her with where we were going.

We went to Mario's Italian Restaurant. She and I both had a big plate of spaghetti with meatballs and mushroom sauce with garlic bread. Then we had chocolate mouse for dessert. I don’t know how she eats like that and stays so thin. The food was great but the company was better.

She let me give her a lingering kiss on the lips when I took her home. Every time we kiss or she gives me that certain look, I feel 16 years old again with a crush on Batgirl. I can only hope I effect her similarly. Some times she can be so hard to read. She and I talked for a long time before I left. I asked if she’d like to do this again next week. She said, she had to think about it. Not the best sign, but it’s not a no.

The little slice of Gotham heaven only made returning to the ‘haven more depressing. Sometimes being independent can be damn lonely. At work, I find myself missing the atmosphere of Hogan’s Alley. Only McBride has given me the time of day. We were in the same rookie class, and he seems to have this sense of awe and respect. We caught lunch one day, after working through the evidence room. He’s a real down to earth guy. Unfortunately, I’m back on my beat, and he’s still in narcotics. Oh well, it’s a small precinct.

The phone rings at 8:30 in the morning. I don’t want to pick it up, but it could be important. “Grayson here,” I say still half asleep. It’s Ebersol on the other line. He says Internal Affairs wants to see me Monday before my shift begins. And I thought things were getting boring.

Beige. The entire floor is decorated in shades of brown. There’s beige walls. Taupe carpets and café moldings. And I thought the color scheme of the Zee Mores was bad. I’ve been waiting for an hour, staring at shades of brown. Ebersol told me, it’s routine for IA to speak to rookies. I know it’s not, but I’ll play along.

“Officer Grayson?” I look up to see a petite woman wearing a well-tailored tan suit. Must be prerequisite for this place. Unfortunately, it dulls out her stunning blonde hair. Her voice seems kind but firm. I jump to my feet out of respect. I’m about to introduce myself but she cuts me off. “I’m Lieutenant Sondra Taylor. I’m sorry to keep you waiting but I was otherwise detained. If you’ll step into my office, we can talk.”

I follow her down the narrow hallway into her corner office. The world tilts from brown to blue. The pale pastel accents the metallic looking furniture. I’m still standing at attention as she settles down behind her desk.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “Have a seat.”

I settle into one of the hard backed chairs, and watch as she leafs through some manila folders. My files, no doubt about it. She closes the folder with an audible snap. “So, Richard—do you mind me calling you Richard?”

“Actually I go by Dick.”

She raises an eyebrow, but continues without missing a beat. “So how are you finding your way around the precinct?”

“I’m doing okay, I suppose.”

“Getting a sense of the way things work?”

“You could say that.”

“So, let’s talk about this drug bust. Captain Greene gave you some glowing praise about that. It’s uncommon to see a rookie gain admiration so quickly.”

“And this interests you? Shall we dispense of the pleasantries, Lieutenant? You didn’t invite me in here to thank me for a good job.”

“I’m just trying to have a friendly conversation, Richard.”

Yeah, right.

“So, tell me about the drug bust.”

If only I had some proof, this interrogation might be worth my time. Oh well, if IA is trying to clean house, things have to be looking up.

Gray. Everything is a shade of gray. And I thought beige was bad. Of course, I was also under the misconception that things were looking up. Lived high for about a week, just happy that someone else was on my side. Life was looking optimistic; I might be able to clean this place up. I sigh and lean my head against the cold steel bars of lock up. So much for that thought. Patience, would be a good thing right now. Unfortunately, I’m seething.

Out of everyone in this damn city, I get arrested for illegal activity. On not just one count to boot. What just kills me is Arnot looking so damned smug about it. He’d been planning this out for a while, I could tell by his stupid grin. I should have seen it coming.

It was all there. Those stupid drugs.

I should have seen it.

I wouldn’t have been surprised this morning when I heard a knock at my door. I wouldn’t have thought it was innocent. I mean how could answering the door get you in trouble? No, it wasn’t until Arnot pulls out the cuffs and mirandarizes me that everything fell into place. It just goes to show that all bets are off in the ‘haven. I should have realized. But I didn’t and now I’m stuck in this stupid cell. Waiting.

Same damn drugs that have been all around the ‘haven.

So is Arnot working with someone, or is it all coincidence? There’s probably more to this. I shove the thought away. I have bigger things to worry about now. Like my innocence.

An officer comes to unlock the door. Oh, what a simple thing it would be to knock him out and just waltz out. Instead, I follow as he ushers me to the nearest phone. I’m calm as I dial those well-memorized numbers and wait for someone to pick up.

“Hi, Al? Listen, I need a lawyer. Something’s kinda come up...”

Finally, fresh air.

Standing outside the courthouse, the sky has never looked so good. It doesn't even matter that the clouds are hidden by Bludhaven's signature industrial haze nor does it make a difference that I have my own personal thundercloud following me. It doesn’t matter because I'm going to make the forecast change.

Bright lights snap before my eyes. The only good thing about sitting in that closed courtroom session was a reprieve from the press. The city finally released me, having dipped far into my pockets for bail. The District Attorney fumed and moaned and naturally got my passport revoked. The fact that he sees me as a flight risk is sardonic at best.

"Just one statement Mr. Grayson?" a tiny perky blonde pest says to my right.

"If we could just have one moment of your time..."

The voices start to meld together and the question ring through the air as I descend the steps of justice. The courtroom makes the perfect backdrop, and all around me copy and sound bites drone on.

"--has just been released on bail. Arrested on charges of theft, possession with intent to distrubute, this twen--"

" --standing outside the steps to the Bludhaven courthouse where Rookie Officer Richard John Grayson has --"

" -- was arrested as part of an investigation led by the B.P.D.'s Internal Affairs department. Head of the operation, Officer Sondra Traylor declined to give a statement at this time but conveyed a sense of duty as to --"

"-- Grayson was the ward of prominent Gotham figure Bruce Wayne. Wayne could not be reached for comment --"

I hail the nearest taxi and try to let the words flow completely over me, but I still can't stop the feeling of impatience as the cab pulls out. The limelight and me need to part ways and I need to leave the hallowed halls of justice painted with innocent blood far behind. At the moment, I'm guilty until proven innocent, just another fine example of the Bludhaven legal system.

The cab ride gives me some breathing space. Sitting in a badly upholstered backseat should afford me a moment of lucidity but it never comes. The only thing I can visualize clearly is Arnot's smirking face that I just want to --

Oh look. I'm home. Strange how time can fly.

Somebody, somewhere, gets my thanks for small favors. From the street, I can tell there's no movement in the main hallway. That means no Clancy or John Law hanging out chatting. Good. It saves me the trouble of having to climb in my window to avoid them. The last thing I need is their questions and the last thing I want is their sympathy.

My feet trudge up the stairs moving like dead weight. Need to focus. Clear my name, salvage my career if there's career enough to be salvaged. Focus. Plan. Strategize, detach myself from the emotional situation, act professional, anger doesn't help anythi--

I'm quoting Bruce. No, strike that, I'm quoting Batman.

Damn it, I'm quoting Batman.

It's only a matter of time before he shows up. Which means, I have a limited amount of time to get my act together. If I could only stop seething and think straight for about two seconds. I push the door open to my apartment, flip the light switch, and kick the door shut again, in one fluid movement. My apartment of solitude. Oh, look, another blinking light. How exciting.

The little green light is mocking at me from an end table, daring me to answer it. I probably have a phone message, or two. For the first time in my life, I see the purpose of an unlisted number. I tap the button and the machine rewinds for more than a few seconds. Okay, maybe a lot of messages.

The machine finishes it's whirring and clicks over. At first, there's dead air but then I'm greeted with Tim's eager voice.

"Man, I can't leave you alone for two seconds. But seriously, if you need an assist I can come up and give you a hand and help--"

No, thank you very much. I tap delete and head for the next message.

"Robbie, man, just give us the word and we can get to Bludhaven in about two seconds to hel--"

Tap. Sorry guys, but it won't be 'Titans together' this time.

"Dick, I just saw the news, I know you aren't home, but the alarms went wild at my tower. I'm just calling to let you know I've already started on it and I'll do whatever I can to he--"

Tap.

"Dick, I heard about the arrest. I'm not sure I can do too much from Metropolis. We're not running the story and if you need any h--"

Stab. I pause to wonder what that grinding sound is, then I unclench my jaw. Yep, that stopped it, thought it would.

"Dick, I know you're still in court, I just wanted to let you know that I've been going over the files that I told you I downloaded earlier. Everything has been red flagged by your department, I'm trying to access the records from my mainframe, and I'll try to see what else I can do to--"

Stab.

"Master Dick, I'm calling to let you know that Master Bruce has requisitioned more council and he apolo--"

Punch.

"Me again, FBW. I've found the information I needed, I just need to verify this stuff as authentic, so just sit tight and I'll--"

Again, Babsie? I hit the button a bit harder than I intend and the answering machine topples over from its perch and lands upside down. It's still working. Oh well, can't wish for everything.

I suppose I can count my blessings that they asked if I needed help instead of possee-ing down here. Even still, it'll only be a matter of time. Okay, this isn't helping get me in the right mindset. Breathe in, and out. And the telephone rings again.

Change of plan. I grab my jacket and head out. I'm halfway down the stairs when the door bangs closed and I'm on the street by the time the machine picks up.

This wasn't my best idea. The second I walk through the door I want to turn around and go home. Yes, I wanted time to myself so I go to a bar. I go to a bar filled with cops. For just a moment, everyone's eyes fixate upon me, then dart away, as if scolded. I could use a drink. Thank God, I'm in a bar. I knew I had rationale somewhere. Ah, there's the neon sign that says exit.

A voice shouts out, "Grayson!"

Too late. The fugitive has been spotted. Start the spotlights and alert the media, yes I dare to show my face in public.

"Bring these over to table twelve, wouldja?"

I hesitate slightly and wonder why I thought coming to Hogan's would be a break. Oh, well. I grab the two pitchers, meander over, and then back. I plop down in an empty seat by the end of the bar. Hogan bustles about and I can feel every pair of eyes on me.

I tap the counter. "Can I get a vodka rocks here?"

Now that gets his attention. He puts down a cloth and casts a surveying look over me. I don't care anymore.

"You told me you never drink," he finally responds.

"I lied," I say smoothly.

"Uh huh," he deadpans. "I see."

He turns away leaving me to survey the condensation stains on the counter. I'm trying hard not to listen to the whispered conversations around me. Hogan sets down my drink in front of me.

"So what's eating you?"

"Like you haven't heard? Only made the six o'clock news."

"Ah, that," he says and goes back to wiping down some glasses.

"Pretty big 'that' wouldn't you say?"

He shrugs. "Not the first time it's happened in this town. Won't be the last."

"Whatever," is my glib response and I take a sip of my drink. And promptly spit it out.

"So what are you going to do?"

I put down my drink, outraged and just a tiny bit amused. "This is water!"

"I know," he responds. He flings me a towel to clean up with and continues without missing a beat. "So what are you going to do?"

"Besides the obvious?"

"Well, listen if you need any—"

"I. Do. Not. Need. Help." I'm grinding my teeth so hard, I can hear it.

Hogan slams his hands on the counter palms flat. The ice cubes knock each other against the glass with a soft clink. "You're going to catch trouble with that attitude boy."

My nerves must be flayed raw because I actually flinch. Great, this is just another sign that my game is off. Breathe Grayson. Take it down, relax... I'm a grown man! I should be able to handle myself. Damn, that's wrong! I am able to handle myself.

"Okay. I'm calm. But I can take care of this myself."

"Really? And what is yourself going to do?"

Hmm, it wouldn't be good to tell him that I plan to clear my name by engaging in illegal activity. I have to break the law to beat the law. Only in Bludhaven could the system be this backwards.

"I'll tell you what I'm not going to do. I'm not going to go down without a fight."

A new voice pipes up, "Big words rookie."

I turn to see my favorite Sergeant chastising me from a few seats down. I didn't even notice her, but suddenly a few patrolmen get grossed out and seats open up. Yeah, I can see how someone spitting water on the counter can ruin your cheeseburger. Amy slides her food down a few seats and gets up to join me.

Her eyes lock with me, and it's strange how deep brown eyes can be. There's no mistaking her no nonsense tone or the seriousness of her words. She holds my gaze and asks, "Are you clean?"

"Yes, Amy, I am."

Her eyes search mine for hidden truth or meaning. When she's convinced she doesn't see any she sighs.

"Then listen to me Grayson. Steer clear. Cut your losses, move on, have your dad smuggle you out of the state, but get away."

I blink. This isn't a threat. She's not threatening me... she's warning me. Why is she warning me? That's stupid; I don't need a warning because, "I’m not afraid of them."

"You should be. Better men than you have walked that road and lost."

"With all due respect Sarge, you don't know me."

She sighs. She stands and clasps my shoulder as if it's the last time she'll see me. Amy casts a look to Hogan. "Try to talk some sense into him. Please?"

And on that somber note, she makes her dramatic exit. Bartender, I'll have two of whatever she just had.

"What's eating her?"

"She ever tell you about her old man?"

"She said he was a cop."

"There's a lot more to it than that."

"I'm all ears, Mr. Hogan."

Something's wrong.

I can feel it in the apartment.

It's gotta be him.

I suppose it was only a matter of time.

"What do you want?" I practically growl. Ha! Whose afraid of the big ol' bat? The shadows don't move but a voice I know all too well seems to trickle out of the shadows.

"Oh, so you are alive." Oops... wrong vigilante, and he even isn't in costume. "Everyone's been wondering about you."

I was close. I get points for effort. "Yeah, I'm alive and I haven't fled town. What do you want Tim?"

"You know, everyone's wondering about you."

"Good, let 'em wonder. Did they send you down to check up?"

He nods. I flip the lights and brush past him. I walk around the apartment arranging random piles of junk, not just to ignore him but exude mastery over my domain. Yes, I preside over day old cereal. What the hell is my life coming too?

Tim's eyes track me as I move around the room, and he wonders if I've lost my mind. Okay, that pile of cd's could stand to be straightened and Tim'll have to move so I can sweep the rug. Then there's that computer that Tim's starting up that could stand to be cleaned, and I could recycle some cans.

And Tim's starting up my computer.

I grab the mouse from his hand, and leap between the keyboard and him. I shut down the computer seconds before it starts up. My eyes narrow as he watches patiently. I replace the mouse and pull out some wires from my computer, effectively isolating it from any outside connections.

"That's dirty pool," I say pointedly with a telephone wire still in my hand.

"Why are you avoiding everyone?"

"I'm trying to stay focused."

"That's why you've been cleaning for the past ten minutes?"

"Yeah, alphabetizing stuff helps me focus," I respond sarcastically. "You start with the A's then you work your way through until you read the letters F and U." Tim shakes his head and rolls his eyes, damnit can't a guy make a joke in this day and age? "What do you want kid? You've found me. I'm alive. I'm here. You can head back and tell them the news in person.

"That's exactly the point. Why should I have to do something you should've had the courtesy to do?" I shrug and he sighs and picks up the answering machine. He eyes dart over to the computer then back again. "You could have called her you know."

"I'll call her."

"When?" he prods.

"I said, I'd call her." The phone wire gets chucked towards the computer and nearly hits the monitor.

Tim raises his hands in supplication. "So, what's first on your agenda? A little vigilante break in at the P.D. station?"

"No, I thought about it. Can't do it." I look over the computer desk. It's still in disarray, and Babs is going to be sending some stuff. Sooner or later, I'll have to get it reorganized. Maybe if I start now, Tim'll help. Or not, the kid's standing motionless contemplating my answer.

"What? Why?"

I let out a small sigh as I think of the easiest way to explain my rationale. "Think of this: Dick Grayson has just been arrested."

"Dick Grayson is talking in the third person and Tim Drake thinks that Dick Grayson should know that his hypothetical situation is reality."

I pause the ever elusive search for the telephone jack and throw Tim one of my best mock anger glares. It's comforting that we can downshift from pissed to amused banter so quickly. Thank god we don't brood. "Yeah well, Dick Grayson is going to hurt Tim Drake if he doesn't stop interrupting."

"Okay, Tim Drake is shutting up now."

"If I may continue, *I've* just been arrested, and if Nightwing starts taking an interest, not that I'd think I'd be spotted, but there's always a chance..."

"That people could put two and two together especially since this is a media blitz."

The phone rings as if it accentuate my point, or to mock it, I'm not sure which.

"Let the machine get it."

Click. Whirr. The machine clicks over and the programmed message drones out, ending with an ever so perky 'beep!'

"Dick?" The inquisitive voice comes from the speakers. It's my favorite overprotective redhead. "Are you home? Did Robin get there yet? Look, I have some ideas I want to talk over with you. Not to mention, I'll need you to do some field work. Where the heck are you guys? Dick, give me a call. Just to let me know that you're doing okay? Okay?"

Tim's staring at me. Okay, I give. I motion dismissively with my hand and walk out of the room as he moves to answer the telephone.

"Barbara?" Tim's voice is in stereo as it echoes from the machine.

"Robin? Did you just get to his apartment? Have you found him yet?"

Tim hesitates slightly, checking for a reaction from me. Say whatever the heck you want kid, and I leave the living room. "Not exactly..." I can hear him say from the kitchen.

"Which means exactly what?"

"I know where he is, but I haven't talked to him yet. Why don't you send that information to his computer, and I'll... uh... make sure he gets it."

"Okay, I can do that. I'll talk to you later. And Dick, next time, don't make him answer, pick up your own damn telephone."

"Thanks kid," I congratulate Tim after he hangs up.

"But she knew anyways."

"Of course."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Well, my name is most affectionately mud right now."

"Yeah... we know this... and...?"

"So it's in for a penny, in for a pound. Situation couldn’t get much worse if I tried."

"Okay, so what's our next step?"

"Well, you're going home and I'm going to work on this."

Tim looks at me in total disbelief. "But I just covered for you, that's not fair."

"Yep, it ain't, but you're still going home. I don't need this spilling over anyone I know. Not to mention, I can handle myself."

"I know you can Dick, but don't you think that—"

"Tim, it'll be okay."

"I guess, but if you change your mind or something..."

"... I'll know who to call." And with that, I gently usher him out the front door. The bat trial run has been successfully completed. Next up, the real thing.

Okay, mental list.

Item one: proof.

Okay... that's going to take some time.

Item two: taped confession.

I quickly scribble the last part out. Yeah, in my dreams. I'll work on that one.

Item two: ... my stomach starts rumbling.

Fine, item two: food.

Item three: the investigation file. Which happens to be downtown at central. Can't steal it without people missing it. Can't get into to copy it without being seen. Well, I could if I had a clue where it was.

I do need help after all.

Damn.

"Pizza delivery. It's piping hot." And has been burning into my hand for the past twenty minutes. I shuffle my weight again, pressing a six pack of soda against the door jam.

I can hear movement in the apartment. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon. I keep my head titled downwards, the Gotham Knights hat hiding my features.

"Didn't order any pizza. Try the next apartment down."

"Don't think so Sarge," I raise my head so I can be seen through the peephole, "I've got a pepper-mushroom pie here that has your name on it."

"And if I say no, rookie?"

"Would you really be as heartless as to let me stand out here all night? Wait, I take that back. Don't answer that. Come on, I just want to talk to you, and apologize for earlier."

"Peppers and mushrooms, huh?"

"Damn straight."

"Apology huh?"

"From the bottom of my very heart."

"I thought this was food without the bullshit."

"I need your help Amy. Give me five minutes to talk." I hold the box up. "Over pizza? Extra cheese, too."

"Just a second."

Deadbolts click over; it's a positive start.