Nightwing

So, what do you think Bruce is doing, Boy Wonderful? asked Barbara Gordon, his girlfriend known as Oracle, into his ear.

Lying bare-chested on his bed, Dick Grayson reached up and rubbed his tired face with sore arms, careful not to knock off the headset he was wearing to talk to her. He was in his apartment in Bludhaven, she in Gotham, and her timely call had thankfully awoken him before he overslept his shift.

“I don’t know, Babs, I really don’t. You just had to see him last night to believe it. He was just so cold, so arrogant, so righteous, so…”

So Bruce? Barbara added unhelpfully.

“Right,” Dick said, dragging himself out of bed. He began to do stretching exercises to limber his beaten body up. “I just don’t get why he’s crapping on Tim all of a sudden. I tried to call him when I got in last night, but his Dad said he was staying at a friend’s house. How’s Spoiler?” When he mentioned the new Robin, a sour taste filled Dick’s mouth. He was still angry at the pompous girl’s accusations of him in the Batcave. She frustrates me almost as much as Batman, must be why he’s so fond of her, he thought.

Confused, heartbroken, sick to her stomach and nervous. And also excited as hell.

“Naturally. Regardless of how it came about, I guess I am proud of her for gaining Bruce’s trust.”

Don’t lie to me, Dick. You’re a good lover but a lousy liar.

“Fine,” Dick said, moving to his punching bag, laying into it hard. “It pisses me off that he’s so easy on her, hands her everything. Her and Cassandra both. ‘Here, you be Batgirl now’ and ‘you be Robin’ now. Oh, Dick and Tim, sorry I’ve made both of your lives harder than they ever had to be, but all your efforts and sacrifices really aren’t that great. Nice knowing ya, don’t stop by unless I call and authorize it!”

Dick didn’t realize he was yelling until he finished and saw his punching bag lying on the floor. The chain holding it up had been wearing thin where he used it daily and apparently had chosen his outburst as the time to let go. His breathing was hard and he opened and closed his hands a few times, slowly.

He’s not THAT bad, you know, Barbara said, quietly.

“I know, Babs, and I know all of us made our own decisions in this life, but for the man at the head of the family tree, he’s a little uncaring. He’ll jump into a burning building in his BVDs to save a 1-month old baby he doesn’t know, but he won’t smile if Tim does something right. He’s never told any of us he was proud of us, and even getting a thank you out of him takes an act of Congress. I…I just wonder sometimes if it’s worth it.”

He didn’t say it, but she knew what he was thinking, what was really eating him up, and she loved him for it. In his mind he saw the Joker walk into the room and shoot her, destroying her spine. The real kicker was, that for all her good deeds as Batgirl and all the good she’d done, the Joker hadn’t shot her for being Batgirl. He’d shot her for being James Gordon’s daughter. The Joker had taken out one of his biggest enemies and he would never know it.

That wasn’t his fault either, Dick.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes again. “I know, Babs, but it’d be nice to be able to blame it on somebody. Look, I gotta get ready for work.”

Gonna put on your little green shorts and go fight crime? Her laughter was music to his ears.

Smiling he said, “No, the blue one with the gun, so don’t get smart with me, or I’ll handcuff you.”

Ooohhh, promise?

Dick made it through roll call without yawning, but if he didn’t get more coffee soon he was going to pass out. As Amy dragged him from the room, the Captain came out from behind the front desk, stopping them.

“Grayson, Rohbach, keep on the lookout for a missing Greyhound bus. It was due in last night about 4 am, but never showed. Its number is B376, and was supposed to return to the station south of your district. Take a swing around and check the station in your own turf, see if you can turn anything up.”

“How many people on the bus?” Dick asked quickly.

“Twenty-three. It was a non-stop run from Gotham.”

“Naturally,” Amy said disgustedly. “If something bad happens, it usually is from Gotham.”

If only you knew, Dick thought, following her out of the room.

Blockbuster sat in his study, drinking brandy from a snifter, waiting for his appointment. He wasn’t behind his desk but in front of the fireplace with his feet up. Lady Vic stood next to him, fidgeting.

“My dear,” Blockbuster said dismissively. “If our guest becomes, how shall we say, rowdy, we have contingencies. You shouldn’t be so nervous…it’ll put you in the hospital.” He smiled, an evil and horrible wide smile that showed lots of teeth. A predators smile. He saw Tim Fencik lying on the bed as he died, remembering their conversation.

He was just preparing to comment on the discovery when a noise alerted him to somebody standing at the door. It sounded like a hammer hitting a watermelon, and as the door slowly swung open, he saw why. Attached to the door by the long knife jammed through his forehead, Blockbuster’s hallway guard hung dead as Mr. Zsasz entered the room, flipping a small blade in his hands.

“Mr. Zsasz,” Blockbuster said, smiling broadly, opening his arms as he walked over and sat down on the front of his thick desk. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Really,” Zsasz said, taking in Lady Vic with a leer. “I was under the impression you wished to see me. I was, however, a little put off that the men I encountered on your estate didn’t seem to know I was expected.” That was a lie, as Blockbuster had informed them to let Zsasz pass unmolested. Apparently Zsasz had decided otherwise.

“Well now,” Blockbuster said. “I do not believe that will be a problem in the future.” He could see clear evidence of the fact, actually, as the numerous cuts on Zsasz’s body gave testament to those he killed. He was dripping on the expensive carpet, but Blockbuster didn’t have time to trifle with details. One detail he did notice, however, were the couple dozen other recent cuts on Zsasz’s body. He wondered where the madman had earned those.

“I was under the impression you were an impressive man worth my time, Blockbuster. I see I was mistaken.” Suddenly, faster than Blockbuster had anticipated, Zsasz hurled the small blade at Lady Vic’s head, and had produced another small knife and sent it flying for Blockbuster.

Lady Vic parried the blade up then caught it as it fell down. Blockbuster never moved, but at the last second the blade diverted sharply, slamming point first into the wood next to the window. Inside, Mr. Zsasz was surprised, but he showed no sign of it on his face. He simply nodded and said, “Meta.”

“Quite right,” Blockbuster said, moving to the side. Behind the desk, the chair turned and a beautiful woman was seated, her legs crossed. In the air before her, three golf balls hovered, juggling. “I hope I meet your exacting standards now, perhaps.” From behind Vic, one of the bookshelves moved, and a half dozen armed men stepped out, spreading around the room.

“I see,” Mr. Zsasz said, smiling. “Impressive.”

“Yes, well, your fame precedes you, I’m afraid. I do not wish our relationship to be adversarial, Mr. Zsasz, nor do I wish to end up dead. I have a job for you, if you’re interested. After completing it, you will be rewarded and free to go on your way.”

Mr. Zsasz calculated the odds in the room before leaning out into the hall, counting another dozen well-prepared men. Impressive. He looked back to Blockbuster and smiled. “May I have my blades back?”

“But of course.”

They had covered their turf four times before Dick realized something. He instructed Amy to return to the bus station within their area, nearly twelve blocks from the station missing the bus. They were on the 2 pm-midnight rotation this week, the one Dick hated, and it was just after 9 pm. The shadows grew long as they entered the back parking lot again and the door spotlight Dick shone across the parked buses did little to dispel the dark.

They were going slowly, but this time Dick was paying attention to all the bus numbers, not just looking for B376. He was out the door running before Amy knew he had moved. She hit the lights and kicked her door open, pulling her pistol as she chased her aggravating partner. She didn’t realize what he had seen until she caught him as he drew his own pistol and approached to the right. She gaped at the number on the buses before them.

On the right was one numbered D376, the D being the ID number for this station. Next to it sat another bus numbered D376, only the D had an odd curve. This close to it, she could see that was because it used to be a B, but the middle line was scrapped away.

As they circled around the bus, Amy toward side door and Dick toward the back, they called out that they were the police and for anyone to come out with their hands up. Dick’s heart was pounding in his chest, but his mind and nerves were cool. He was only uneasy because of his weapon, required by his training and regulations to carry and use it. He had only fired it a few times, but he despised guns with a passion. He understood the necessity, since less than a tenth of the cops could do half of what he could hand-to-hand, but pistols were so awful. He might break an arm or jaw with a kick, but he was skilled enough to make it a clean break that healed well. A bullet just ripped and tore and destroyed, leaving nothing to heal well.

Placing his pistol in his right hand and using the hand holding his flashlight to grasp the back handle of the bus, he waited until Amy had put her hand on the front door. At the same time, they pulled their doors open and jammed their guns in before them, covering the area quickly with their weapons and light. The word ‘freeze’ died on both their lips as they saw what was inside the bus.

In horror so great it overcame her, Amy turned and threw up beside the bus. Dick, his years of experience girding him, held his bile down, but his fury exploded behind his eyes and his pulse began to race.

Inside the bus, the 23 passengers and the one driver were dead, slaughtered viscously. Limbs lay separate from bodies, internal organs hanging from the ceiling and faces peeled and used as window shades. There was blood splattered everywhere, mixed with other products of the human body. As he stood there, trying to remember to breathe, Dick looked down at the small stream of red blood pouring from the open door, splattering on his shoes.

It was almost dawn before Officer Dick Grayson got out of the precinct and made his way home. After his beating from the Riddler and the hours spent at the crime scene, he was spent. Nightwing would return that evening, however, and find the killer. He had the day off so he didn’t worry about going straight to bed to get ready for his shift. He instead went to his equipment table, looking for a scanner he rarely used. He found it and unwrapped the bundle he’d taken from the bus.

On the handkerchief he had used to dab at the blood on the driver’s seat of the bus, Dick scrapped off some of the dried blood and activated the scanner. They had found most of the blood was nearly dry on the bus, but that on the driver’s seat was not quite as dry. Amy had asked him how he could tell the difference, so he explained about the oxidation of blood as it dried and how blood became darker as it crusted. Talking clinically had helped them both get over the mutilation.

He’d gone on to explain that that on the seat was a different color than the blood in the back and was likely from the killer, or one of, as they drove the bus to the wrong station and parked it beside the other buses. They showed the lab guys when they arrived, but while Amy hadn’t been looking, Dick had taken his own sample.

When the scanner pinged, he downloaded the data onto a disk, which he then inserted into his computer. Picking up his headset, he said, “Barbara, you on line?”

You know it, Lover, she said, but she sounded tired. Where have you been?

“Tell you in a minute. I’m sending a blood analysis. I want you to run it through the computer and see if we get a match. Plus, see if anyone’s escaped Arkham or any other prison in Gotham lately.”

Working, Oracle said. As she did, he told her about the bus station and the deaths. She told him the list from Arkham was coming up, but she’d have to check it against police reports from the last night to see if anyone had captured the escapees. She would contact him in the afternoon, once she narrowed it down or the blood sample came back.

Dick lay down, letting his eyes close for just a moment…

A loud ringing awoke him later. He realized it was dark outside and he was starving. His mind didn’t comprehend at first the noise, but then he realized it was his telephone. Nearly falling out of bed, he grabbed the receiver and said, “hullo?”

“Dick, it’s Babs,” came the concerned voice of his girlfriend. “Are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Been sleeping.

“For over 15 hours? You must have been bad off.” Dick looked at the clock by his bed, realizing it was already 9:30 pm. “Look, whatever, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours. Didn’t think to try the phone.”

“What is it?” Dick asked, getting up and stretching.

“The results came back from both sources. It’s Mr. Zsasz.”

It began at 5:30 pm, as Dick Grayson slept peacefully.

5:30

Joe Johnson settled into his car, breathing slowly. His shift wasn’t over until 6, but his superiors had realized he was sick and had let him go early. His chest was killing him, probably the damned flu. He drove home quietly, trying to keep his head up despite the pain. He had just pulled into his house when the wire slipped over his head and was pulled taunt across his throat. He struggled briefly, then died.

6:37

“Listen honey,” Mike Hunt said as he spoke into the cell phone. “I only have a few more holes to go, then I’ll be home.” Pause. “I know your mother is coming to dinner, but all I need is a shower…” Pause. “Fine. I’ll be home by 7. Love you too.” Punching the phone off, Mike hurled it into the bottom of his golf bag with a growl.

He let his anger carry his next swing, promptly landing his ball in the trees. He said more curse words as he trudged into the overgrowth. He stepped past a tree and kneeled to find his ball. He never felt the blade enter the back of his neck.

7:05

“You’re late, Brenner,” said Phil McCracken from behind the table where Gerald Fitzpatrick and Patrick Fitzgerald sat, waiting for their fourth to join in the poker game. Brad Brenner pulled out his chair, cracking open a beer as he did.

“Ah, the old lady was nagging again. ‘Why do you have to drink and play cards every week’ she says. ‘Because you’re still fat’ I answered her!” He shotgunned the beer as his friends laughed.

When the bomb beneath the table exploded, thanks to the trigger Lady Vic flipped from the limo rolling by the house, they weren’t laughing any longer.

7:31

Shirley Humpin tied her hair back as she stood on the diving board at the YWCA. She had gotten off her shift at 6, just shortly after her partner Joe had left sick. She wanted to get a few laps in then give him a call, maybe take him some dinner. She warned herself once again that partners weren’t supposed to develop romantic feelings for each other, but she really didn’t care…she was in love with him.

She dove into the water, trying to wash away her confusion and twisted feelings. She came up for air, opening her eyes and gasping at the sight before her. Two well-armed men stood smiling at her. One raised a rifle, firing before she could duck. The bullet drilled home, leaving her floating faceless and face down in the pool.

8:29

Dick Burns made his way down the street, hoping to make it to the bar before the game came on. He hadn’t heard from his old college roommate for years and had been excited to get to see him again. They were going to watch the Lakers play, drink too much, tell too many stories and probably get thrown out eventually. It was going to be a good time.

He was walking past an alley when he heard a weak voice say, “Dicky?”

Dick turned, running into the alley only to find his friend, Peter Hickey, laying on the ground holding his throat closed. “Jesus!” Dick said, running to his friend’s side. It wasn’t until he felt the bite of the knife on his own throat that he realized his mistake. He fell forward, onto his friend, but managed to roll over to see his killer.

In the dim light he saw Mr. Zsasz lean forward with the knife. “Who are you?” Dick managed to get out.

“I’m—Batman!” Mr. Zsasz said as he struck again.

9:10

Neil Doun and his partner, Maya Ride, ran after the robbers down the main street in Bludhaven, gaining on them. “I said stop!” Neil yelled, his heart pumping. This was only his and Maya’s third collar since being teamed up. She was a few years older than he was, but this was still exciting to him.

They rounded the last corner on the street and into an area where there were no civilians. Maya stopped, took a shooters stance and fired once. Her shot drilled into the knee of one of the perps, bringing him down. The others continued, but the two cops stopped by the downed thug. Keeping him covered for her, Maya knelt to apply pressure to the leg and to read the man his rights. “You have the right to remain silent…”

“Yes, my pet, you do,” said another voice, snapping Neil’s attention up. He realized they were dead when he saw the 8 armed men pointing pistols at them. Standing behind the men, walking slowly, was Mr. Zsasz, the murderer the Captain had spoken about earlier during roll call. They had received a notice from Arkham around 6 pm about his escape, but it wasn’t until now that Neil realized Zsasz must have been on the bus. “Put your guns down,” the madman ordered.

Maya would never get her gun out before she was dead and Neil wouldn’t be the one to kill her. He put his gun on the ground, raising his hands.

“Good,” Zsasz said. “Kill him.” Four shots rang out, and Neil Doun fell down dead. Maya started to rise to go out on her feet, but a punch from the injured man surprised her, knocking her down. She felt a weight on her back, then was forced over onto her back. Mr. Zsasz sat on her stomach, holding a small syringe. He jabbed her throat with it and she felt herself go dead. She could still feel his weight and the rocks beneath her arms, but she couldn’t move.

“You can go,” Mr. Zsasz told the men. As they left, he leaned forward, putting his teeth close to Maya’s ear. “Now I get to know you better.”

She screamed for twenty minutes.

10:00

The answering machine in Dick Grayson’s apartment kicked on after three rings and the voice of Amy Rohbach escaped it. She was crying and loud and angry all at the same time. “DICK! It’s Amy, pick up! Damnit, where are you?? We have a serious problem: someone is killing cops! 10 junior cops are dead for sure, with more reports coming in every minute. Everyone is being recalled, so get your ass down here!” As it sounded like she was hanging up, Amy’s voice added, “I hope you’re in Gotham.”

The machine dutifully recorded the message, but did not respond when the window in the bedroom shattered and a half a dozen round objects landed on the floor. The kitchen, bathroom and living room windows similarly shattered, littering the floor.

Eight seconds later, the grenades exploded, destroying the apartment of Dick Grayson and everything in it.

To Be Continued...

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