Nightwing

"Are you giving yourself up?" Nightwing asked the security guard standing before him. "Are you confessing to a crime?"

Benny Peeples nodded his head then stopped. "Well… not really. It's not my intent to confess to any crimes, or get carted off to jail. But in a way I guess I am confessing to certain things. I do not want to go to jail. I'm sure you could take me into custody, probably without too much effort. But I hope you'll listen to what I have to say and, after I'm done, I hope you won't. Take me to jail, I mean."

Nightwing began to grow annoyed. "Is this some kind of joke? I don't have time for-"

"Nononono, it’s no joke!" exclaimed Benny. The crisp Bludhaven air chilled him slightly, and he pulled his jacket tighter around him. "Listen. Listen. I called you here for a very specific reason. I want to tell you my story."

Almost instinctively, Nightwing reached for his grapple, ready to leave this bizarre scenario behind and resume his patrol. But something in the old man's voice made him wait. "Who are you?"

Benny relaxed. "My name is Benny Peeples-"

"You said that already."

"And I'm mob. Mobbed up. Whatever you want to call it. I've been connected with the Bludhaven mob for forty-five years. And then some. And now…I want out."

"So turn yourself in."

"I can't."

"Because-?"

"That won't solve my problem."

Visibly annoyed, Nightwing barked at Benny. "Look. I don't have time for this back-and-forth banter. You're not making any sense. You have, however, just admitted that you are a criminal. You have five seconds to convince me that I shouldn't take you in."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" pled Benny, his hands out of his pockets and into the air in a position of surrender. "Will you let me tell you my story? I'll make it make sense."

Nightwing said nothing, his arms folded. Benny took his silence as permission.

"I joined the mob when I was fourteen years old," Benny began. "Back in those days things weren't quite as well-organized as they are today. My father was a police officer with the FCPD-"

"Finger County Police Department" Nightwing interrupted.

Benny nodded. "That's right. He was FCPD, but we lived in Bludhaven proper. Trouble is, my father was an honest cop. FCPD has historically been pretty clean, not like BPD. Honest cops on the FCPD don't make enough to live on now, and they didn't back then either. My mother didn't work. If she were alive today, she'd be diagnosed with some mental illness or another and be heavily medicated. But not back then. She had manic cycles. She'd take off for a week at a time, or just act out; really scary behavior sometimes. She blew a lot of our money. So a lot of times we didn't have all we needed.

"One afternoon when I was fourteen, I was hanging around with a friend of mine named Aaron. We were just kinda walking the streets, not doing much of anything. We wandered into Scotty's Candy Store downtown. You wouldn't remember it, but it was pretty well-known back in the day. Aaron and I liked to drop by there and pick up a 'five-finger discount', if you know what I mean. Nothing major; we'd just rip off a few pieces of gum or something. All the neighborhood kids did it sooner or later. No big deal, right?

"Well, this time we got caught; or I should say, Aaron got caught. And I was with him, so I was 'caught' too. Big surly guy working the counter, he grabs us. And we're wetting our pants thinking he's gonna call our parents, or worse, the cops.

"But he didn't. Instead, he pulls us aside. Tells us, 'You boys made a mistake trying to steal from me. You need to learn respect. What I'm gonna do is, I'm gonna give you a chance to make this right. I'm gonna give you a chance to do me a favor, and if you do the favor and keep your mouths shut about it, we'll forget about your thievery.'

"Turns out the favor is simple. He wants us to deliver an envelope, just a plain sealed manila envelope, to Meekins Grocery, directly to the owner there, Mr. Meekins. Thing is, the grocery store is right down the street. You could throw a rock from the candy store and hit it. It made no sense to hand an envelope, which must've meant something to him, to two kids you don't know from Adam, and have them deliver it - knowing they may steal it and vamoose - when you could walk it down there yourself in thirty seconds. Makes no sense. But Aaron and I, we were so scared of what might happen if he turned us in for shoplifting, we didn't ask any questions at all. Just did exactly as he asked.

"When we got to the grocery store, we gave the envelope to Mr. Meekins. Wouldn't give it to anyone but him. Told him the guy in the candy store sent us. He grinned, and before we left he slipped each of us a twenty-dollar bill. Just for handing him a stupid envelope. Grinned at us and told us to come around next week, that maybe he'd have a few jobs we could do.

"We didn't know it at the time, but later it turns out the guy in the candy store is Frank Indrale. Of the Indrale crime family- you look confused."

Nightwing had let his ignorance betray him. He'd never heard of the Indrale crime family.

Benny pressed on, emboldened by a sense that he had more knowledge than his audience. "You must not have lived here that long. The Indrales have been part of Bludhaven for over a century. Old-school, native Bludhaven, and Frank Indrale was, at the time, the head of the family. He was one of the three top capos - things weren't unified then like they are now - in town. And he's working behind the counter in a frickin' candy store. Can you believe that? A candy store! Selling Pez to eight-year-olds. And Meekins down the street - he's in the Meekins family, which is connected, a few generations back, to the Indrales. The Meekins worked for the Indrales, just like they do now. And Aaron and I had backed ass-backwards into working for them.

"It seemed pretty harmless at the time. Aaron and I kept doing little 'favors' for Frank and Mr. Meekins - Eddie. And the Crosswhites, who were also under the Indrales. And eventually the Reddings, but they're not around anymore. You wouldn't know them.

"Bottom line - it's forty five years later, and I'm still doing 'favors' for people. And they're doing favors for me. But I'm not fourteen anymore. I'm fifty-nine. I'm married. I have two grown children. I have my first grandchild on the way in about four months. And I can't do this anymore. I want to retire.

"Problem is, you don't retire from this line of work. If you're lucky enough to survive and stay out of prison, you keep at it until your luck runs out. Whatever you think of the people I work for, they value loyalty very much. They have to - it's the only thing that keeps them in business.

"But these folks, they have a different idea of loyalty than most people. Most people assume people will be loyal out of the goodness of their hearts. They think it's a character trait that the strong possess and the weak lack. The mob, they know that people are motivated by self-interest. The way to ensure their loyalty is to make sure they have a stake in being loyal. Set them up with a job. Line their pockets. Make them dependent on the larger enterprise for their own continued well-being. Let them know enough about the business to be tied to it.

"That type of loyalty doesn't allow for retirement, you see? Once you're tangled in that web, you can't be extricated. Take me. I know too much. I know where bodies are buried. I know names, dates, etcetera. If I'm out, if I'm not on someone's payroll anymore, then I'm a liability, because I have no incentive to be loyal any longer; at least, that's how they see it. Truth is, I'm not interested in selling anyone out. Everyone's secrets would be safe with me. The Indrales and their families have been very good to me over the years, and I'd keep their secrets no matter what. But no one would ever believe that."

Nightwing pondered all he had heard. "You're a criminal - by your own admission. I should take you to jail."

Benny shrugged. "Well, you could do that. I couldn't stop you. But here's what will happen if you do. I will not reveal any information, even if I'm beaten, tortured, whatever. I'll serve my time quietly and peacefully. My wife, on the other hand, will be devastated. My children will be devastated. They'll go to pieces.

"One day, someone in the organization - the Indrale family - will wonder how much information I may have passed to my family over the years. Told my wife over pillow talk, that sort of thing. They'll debate it awhile, decide that I probably haven't revealed anything major - which is true; my family is totally innocent and totally in the dark. But there'll be this nagging doubt, this feeling of 'what if we're wrong', that'll prey on them. And somewhere, sometime - maybe not right away, but eventually - someone'll say, 'you know what? Better safe than sorry'. And that'll be the end of my family. You costume types ever think about what happens after you catch the bad guy?"

Nightwing paused, then turned resolute. "Turn state's. Get protection. For you and your family."

Benny shook his head, then began counting on his fingers. "One: I already told you that I won't betray the Indrales. Two: Half the cops are corrupt, too." Under the mask, Dick winced. "Lunchmeat Deever turned state's. Look what happened to him." Deever had been hunted down and killed. "Look. I've tossed all this around. I've got no way out, except the way you make for me."

"How do you expect me to do that?"

"Not sure. But I trust you to figure it out. Plus, I have something to trade, to make it worth your while."

"What's that?"

"Insight."

"Wow," Babs remarked, pulling off her glasses. "That's a helluva situation. What are you gonna do?"

Dick had been pacing through Babs' Clocktower apartment while recounting his meeting with Benny. Clutched in his hand was a scrawled piece of paper Benny had given him. Written on the paper was Benny's address, phone number and the names of his wife and children. It was Benny's assurance that Nightwing could find him once he'd had time to think.

"You listening, babe?" Dick didn't respond to Babs' questions. She decided he just needed company while he paced, and sat patiently, turning the scenario over in her mind.

Dick had heard, but didn't know how to respond. The first thing he'd done after leaving Benny, of course, was to check out Benny's story as best he could. BPD archives confirmed things like the existence of the candy store and the grocery store. A quick microfiche check at Bludhaven Library (yes, there was only one in the entire town) showed Benny Peeples had married Ava Harris on January 9, 1966. They'd had two children, Benjamin Harris Peeples (born May 12, 1972) and Grace Sharell Peeples (born October 16, 1975). No divorce on record. Dick had done some brief research into the Cocoa Plus Factory, discovered it was sold to Mihn Investments in 1949. Dick knew the Mihn family, now largely irrelevant in Bludhaven's power structure, but definitely dirty. Near as he could tell, Benny had told him the truth.

He finally put his thoughts into words. "Part of me wants to tell this guy where he can shove it, and book him. If his family's in danger, it's because he put them there by being a crook for forty-five years. He's a criminal. He's a bad person, and he ought to be locked up."

"And yet he's still running around loose," mused Babs sarcastically.

"Well, the rest of what he said is right. His family is in danger if he's busted, or if he up and quits the mob. It may not be my fault, but I can't just ignore that fact, either."

"That's dangerous thinking, don't you think?" asked Babs. "Doesn't the whole vigilante gig involve punching the bad guys in the face? How effective do you think any of us would be if we stopped to consider the impact on a perp's family every time we bust them?"

"Maybe that's a shortcoming of what we do. Maybe we should be doing exactly what you said."

"Are you kidding? Is that what cops do?"

"It's not the cops' job. The cops are just there to keep people from committing crimes. That's it. You see someone committing a crime, you stop them and arrest them. Period."

"I know someone with pointy-ears who'd say that's what we do, too."

Nightwing considered this. "No. No, I don't think he would. We're all in this for different reasons, but at the heart of it we're ostensibly here to make the world a better place. Corny, yeah, but that's really what it comes down to. Our mission statement is broader than the cops'. We're out to do The Right Thing, not just punish bad guys."

Babs wondered if Dick was aware that he was making a distinction between ‘us’ and ‘cops’, even though he fell into both categories. She wondered if he'd thought through the implications of working a job where the ‘mission statement’ was narrower than his principles. But she decided now wasn't the time to ask those questions. "Well, ok then chief. What's The Right Thing in this situation?"

Dick stopped pacing. "That's the problem. I don't know. If I do what Peeples wants, I'll be aiding and abetting someone getting away with a lifetime of crimes."

Nightwing had asked Benny, before leaving, if he'd ever killed anyone. He had to know. Benny had given him an answer he was sure was rehearsed. "I have never directly killed anyone." It was a lawyer's answer and Dick knew it. Benny was telling him he'd never been the triggerman, never slipped the knife between someone else's ribs. But he'd almost certainly been present for murders and allowed them to happen through inaction. More to the point, he'd aided criminal enterprises that ruined lives, killing indirectly any number of people. Benny may not have blood on his hands, but he had blood on his soul.

"On the other hand," he continued. "If I book Peeples, his prediction will probably come true. I can't keep tabs on his entire family forever; some of them don't even live around here; sooner or later, they'll meet with an 'accident'. Not to mention that I really don't have anything solid I can use to book Peeples in the first place. His confession to Nightwing won't quite cut it. What would you do, Babs?"

Babs considered the question. After a lengthy pause, she said, "I'd book him. I'd dig up the necessary evidence and book him. I just don't know that I could continue doing what we do if I started considering every possible consequence of the arrest before acting. Peeples is a criminal and he deserves to go to jail.

"But I don't know if that's The Right Thing, or just The Best Thing I Can Think Of. I can't tell you what's The Right Thing. You've got to decide that for yourself," she finished.

Dick half-smiled. "I know. But I appreciate your input. I've got to run. Got a meeting with my attorney over some zoning issue with the apartment reconstruction, then I'm on shift. Call you later?"

"You better."

Frank Indrale hated his spectacles. Loss of eyesight had been one of the first hallmarks of his old age and he resented it. Much like he resented his wheelchair and the porta-cath he had to lug around all the time. Sometimes he wished he had died in a firefight, or a hit, rather than withering away, losing his dignity shred by shred as he awaited the inevitable. These were the thoughts that filled Frank's head as he peered over the obtrusive spectacles at his son Walter.

"Walter," he asked, his lips somewhat parched. "Don't you think this is a bit harsh?"

Walter Indrale was seated across from his father in their study, slowly drinking a glass of imported wine. Walter loved his father dearly, but sometimes found himself repulsed by the physical presence of the withering octogenarian. Still, he thought, he owed his father respect. "I realize it's a difficult decision. Benny is good people, but I think it needs to be done."

"I'm glad you weren't running the show when I turned fifty-nine." Frank wondered if he meant that.

"It's different, pop," Walter bowed his head as he spoke. "You were a made man. You were the head of the family. You had an heir ready to assume your role. It made sense for you to retire to private life and turn things over to me.

"Benny's not in that situation. He's not made and he never will be. He's a soldier. He's always been a soldier."

"Soldiers retire."

"Not in our business. Soldiers either die or go to jail in our business. It's not like we've got a pension plan. Plus…"

"What?"

"Well, at the end of the day…Benny's a good guy and all but…he's not family. He's not an Indrale. He's not even a Meekins." After a pause, Walter continued, "he's an outsider," as if that clenched the deal.

"Redhorn's an outsider. Blockbuster was…is…an outsider."

"Not the same thing."

"Have you informed anyone of your decision?"

Walter nodded. "The wheels are already in motion. Dispatched Longman and Daugo to do the job."

"Longman? Are you sure that's wise?"

"Sure. He's solid. He's a good soldier. He'll do what he's told."

Until one day it's his turn, thought Frank, his stomach churning. This wasn't right; it wasn't fair. But he was no longer in charge; Walter ran the family now. Shouldn't he step aside, yield to Walter's authority as Walter had yielded to him many times before? Wasn't that in the family's best interests?

Dick's day had been long and frustrating, and he was grateful for the release of a night out as Nightwing. The Bludhaven Zoning Board was giving him trouble regarding the apartment reconstruction, claiming a redesign of the prior structure violated a recently-passed zoning ordinance. When Dick noted that no one had complained prior to the attack on the building, the response was that there was a grandfather provision in the ordinance. This of course left Dick in the unpleasant position of trying to redesign his home.

The zoning festivities had been followed by a long shift at work, where changes seemed to be in the air. Everyone was up in arms about the proposed BPD merger with the Finger County PD. Dick didn't know enough about the Finger County PD to have an opinion, but he did wonder what the merger would mean for him professionally. Would he even still have a job?

Benny was in the same spot he'd been for their first meeting. He was snuggling himself in his jacket as Nightwing approached, even though the temperature was in the mid sixties. Nightwing dropped to the ground in front of him.

"Thanks for coming," said Benny. "Have you had time to think about…"

Nightwing held up a gloved hand. "Stop. This time I talk; you listen."

Seeing that Benny would comply, Nightwing continued, "I will help you, subject to certain conditions. The conditions are not negotiable. They are as follows:

"One: You never, ever, commit another crime. Ever. For any reason. Ever. If you ever so much as get pulled for speeding, I will build a case against you for all the crimes you've committed and you will go to jail.

"Two: You and your family leave Bludhaven, and don't ever come back, even for a visit. If you're coming up I-60, you figure out a way around this city.

"Three: You provide to me as much information as you can regarding the Bludhaven mob - it's past, present and probable future - as you can without violating whatever sense of loyalty it is you believe you owe to these people who you think will kill you at the drop of a hat.

"As I said, these conditions are not negotiable. You even hint at breaking the deal, you go down. Do you agree to the terms?"

Without hesitation, Benny answered, "Yes." Suddenly he didn't seem as cold. His hands emerged from his pockets. "So, where do we begin?"

"I've got a few ideas on…wait. Do you hear an engine?"

Suddenly headlights bathed the area. An SUV barreled towards the gate, seemingly accelerating towards Benny. The engine roared again and Nightwing cursed himself for not noting it sooner. Nightwing raced toward Benny, grabbing him and readying a grapnel and line in one fluid motion. He swung out of the way just as the SUV crashed past them into the gate.

For just a moment Nightwing enjoyed the night air as he swung Benny toward safety. Then he heard the hail of bullets, felt several zip by him. Machine gun fire, he thought, realizing there was no safety. The platform for which he was heading, hoping to deposit Benny, suddenly erupted into flames in a seismic explosion. Nightwing lurched at the last moment to avoid the fire, felt a slight singe on his right arm. He and Benny tumbled toward the ground, a fall of at least twelve feet. Nightwing felt Benny slip from his arms. Contorting as best he could in a frantic attempt to regain his balance, Nightwing felt his ankle twist as he hit the ground, and tumbled over himself twice before coming to rest.

When he looked up, he saw Benny, about ten to twelve feet away, lying flat on his back. A tall man stood over Benny, a rifle pointed directly at Benny's head.

Benny looked at his attacker with resigned eyes. "Hello Aaron."

To Be Continued...

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