September 3, 2003
Mr. Jonathan Cheval
4806 Grummett Road, Apt. J
Bludhaven 51767
Dear Mr. Cheval:
Thank you for your recent interest in employment with Heywood Industries. We are pleased that you would consider lending your talents to our company. We would like to take a moment to meet with/interview you during the week of October 6, 2003. Please contact me at (413) 555-7034 to arrange a specific date and time. Thank you again for your interest in Heywood Industries, and we look forward to meeting with you.
With best regards, I remain Very truly yours,
Otto Van Lempkin
VP - Recruiting
OVL/nkb
p.s.: Jon, I'm really looking forward to seeing you again, and anxious to work something out for future employment. I think you could really be an asset to this company. See you soon. - Dale
Now
It felt like a bug was crawling across his head, an itchy annoying sensation. He tried to move his arm, but found it was restrained, tied behind his back. He could tell he was sideways, on a relatively comfortable surface, but couldn't make out any other details without opening his eyes, which seemed like a bad move.
This was how Nightwing regained consciousness.
He could hear breathing near him, at least four distinct people, or animals. They seemed to be above him, so he assumed they were standing people as opposed to prone people or squatting animals. At least two of the breathing patterns sounded female, one male, and one was difficult to discern.
"Hey Bonyx, I think he's awake," said a female voice. So much for subtlety.
Nightwing slowly opened his eyes. Before he could focus he heard another female voice. "Hey that's neat. How'd you do that? You know, tell that he was awake?"
"I'm full of surprises, Sultry."
His vision focused, Nightwing saw four pairs of eyes on him. He was in an office of some sort, tied to a couch. Remembering the nature of the establishment in which he'd been attacked, he reflexively checked to make sure his clothes were still in place. They were. No sewers for him today.
At the opposite side of the room stood a bald black man with a mustache. He wore a stained t-shirt and blue jeans. Two earrings decorated each earlobe.
Nearer to Nightwing were three women. Two were dressed in dominatrix outfits; one had spiky pink hair, the other long dark curls. The third was dressed in what appeared to be lingerie for a ‘top’, with long spiked boots, long leather gloves, and a face that resembled a woodchuck's. Nightwing thought for a moment the third woman was sporting stubble, but did not notice any other telltale ‘signs’ of masculinity. He guessed hers was the voice whose gender he had been unable to discern earlier.
"Hi there," said Dark Curls. "I'm Skumpy. What's your name?"
Nightwing was ready to respond when Pink Hair cut him off. "Skumpy, you're so lame. Why don't you just pass him a note or something?"
"Ladies," refereed the man, now stepping forward. He regarded Nightwing. "Skumpy is a bit forward. However, her question is well-put. Who are you and why were you in my bar?"
Nightwing's throat was parched as he replied. "Sorry bub. Name, rank and serial number only."
The man crouched near Nightwing, bringing his face inches from Nightwing's. He reeked of chicken wings. "Listen, smartass, you very nearly got killed out there in the main room. The only reason you're around to smart off to me is that Skippy over there," he motioned at the woodchuck, "pulled you out of the fracas. Around here, sometimes, people tend to disappear. And when they do, they don't get found. Ever. That could've happened to you, but it didn't. Thanks to us.
"So, Cowboy, I want to know who you are and why you are here. Who knows? Maybe we can do business."
Nightwing suddenly flipped off the couch into the air, his hands freed. He landed upright on the couch, then sprung into the air again, this time with more leverage. His momentum carried him over the startled owner and across the room. Deftly, he freed his legs and leaped onto the owner's desk, crouching before his four would-be captors. Then he smiled. "All right, let's share: I'm here about a guy named Jonathan Cheval."
"Who are you?" asked the man, annoyed at his inability to keep Nightwing detained.
"I'm Nightwing. Who are you?"
"I'm Bonyx. This is Skippy, Skumpy and Sultry."
"Skippah!!" yelled Skippy. It was the first time s/he had spoken and Nightwing wondered if s/he only knew one word.
Bonyx glared at Skippy, then turned back to Nightwing. "I don't know anything about anyone named Cheval."
"Maybe he used an assumed name when he came here. Older guy? Liked to wear a monocle?"
"How old?"
"Seventies."
Bonyx laughed. "He'd have to be a tough old bird to get along in here. In case you didn't notice, this is kind of a rough place."
"That a denial?"
"Yes sir, it is. We get some older types in here from time to time, but by 'older' I mean fifty, not seventy."
"I bet you could handle some things here," said Skumpy. Sultry sighed with exasperation. Nightwing tried not to blush. "I mean, you're already dressed for it. Why don't we have some fun?"
Babs is gonna make me bathe in disinfectant when I leave this place, Nightwing thought. Still, he managed a smile. "None of you, uh, girls remember anyone matching Cheval's description?"
Skumpy and Sultry shook their heads no. Skippy yelled, "Skippah!!" Nightwing turned to take his leave, wondering if they'd let him go. To his mild surprise, no one moved to stop him, and he found no armed guard waiting outside the door.
"Drop by anytime!" called Bonyx behind him. "We'll be here. I can get you 20% off our wings." Nightwing shuddered, hoping Bonyx was talking about chicken.
BLUDHAVEN COURIER - ITEM
Mayor Marlowe was all smiles after her meeting with Heywood Industries CEO Dale Gunn yesterday, expressing cautious optimism that the Detroit-based plant will expend its operations to Bludhaven. "We had a very productive meeting." stated Marlowe after a two-and-a-half hour long session at City Hall, followed by a power lunch at The Met. "Mr. Gunn and I each laid out what we can offer to each other, and hopefully we've laid the groundwork for a productive and mutually beneficial relationship." Gunn has previously indicated his timetable for making an expansion decision is within the next three months. Rumors abound that the company has informally begun recruiting employees for technical positions in R&D, should Heywood Industries open a plant in Bludhaven.
He only passed by the cemetery because it was on the way to his apartment. It was pure happenstance. Otherwise Nightwing would have missed the mugging, in broad daylight, of an old man. By the time he arrived on the scene, the man had been knocked to the damp ground, and two mooks stood over him, waiting to strike.
As Nightwing headed for the fray, mindful that he was out way past his curfew, he saw a cane swing at one of the muggers' feet, knocking him on his butt. The second mugger wasted no time doubling the intensity of his attack. Nightwing solved that problem by sweeping into the fray and grabbing him by his shirt collar, pulling him into the air, and dropping him from about seven feet up, safely away from the intended victim. Landing only briefly, Nightwing spun to rejoin the fray, only to see that the ‘victim’ was taking matters into his own hands, pounding the mugger with his cane two, then three, times. As the mugger lost consciousness, the old man dropped the cane and kicked him, once, hard in the ribs. "Miscreant!"
Recognition hit Nightwing as he approached Jon Law. Law was one of Dick Grayson's tenants and was no ordinary old man. Once upon a time, he'd been the superhero known as the Tarantula. Even at his advanced age, he was more than capable of taking care of himself.
"Are you all right, sir?" Nightwing asked, careful not to get too close, lest Law recognize him.
Law dusted himself off. "I'm okay. I'm okay. Thanks. Just dealing with these…" he kicked the prone mugger again, albeit not as hard as before, "ruffians. Can't an old man visit a grave without being accosted? And in broad daylight?" He looked over at Nightwing as if noticing him for the first time. "Hey, I know you. You're that Nightwing fella. I'm Jon Law. We met awhile back, with that Commandant Sturm business."
Nightwing nodded, more self-conscious than ever about being out in daylight. "I remember. Nice to see you again, Mr. Law. Were you visiting a loved one?"
"Pshaw!" spat Law. "No, son. Most of my loved ones are elsewhere. The guy I came to see wasn't ever even close to being a loved one. He was one of the most obnoxious scoundrels I ever met. Jonathan Cheval. You know of him?"
"Sure. The Monocle." Law knew Cheval? What connection could they have had?
"I fought him once, you know, back when I was in the business," Law ruminated, as if in answer to Nightwing's unspoken question. "I still got arthritis in my wrist joint because of it, hurts like the dickens whenever it gets cold."
"I thought he only fought Hawkman way back then, around wartime."
"Oh, this was after wartime. It was in 1949, out in Colorado. He was running some kind of scam. Going around robbing banks using some laser beam contraption. He denied it, but you could tell it was him from the equipment. I mean, who else fires laser eyepieces at people?
"Anyway, I was in town on my book tour and the local authorities asked me to help out. So I said OK, and got all Tarantula-ed up. Don't know exactly what I thought I was doing, but then again I never really did.
"With the cops' help, I set up a sting. Took an ad out in the paper advertising some jewel being on display at one of the local banks. Seems corny to think about now - a jewel on display at a bank. But back then, we did things like that, and criminals were so stupid, they fell for it every time.
"Except this time it didn't work. Somehow he got the drop on us, even though we were expecting him. I never even saw him coming. Got blasted from behind by one of those eyebeams, then popped with something heavy. I woke up tied to a radiator in a basement. And that's where I stayed, for at least a week. I really don't know how long. There was no light, no food. No one even showed up to take me to the bathroom. I just sat there cuffed to the radiator. I couldn't get loose, and as time went on I lost the strength to try. Eventually the rats came after me, and there was nothing I could do but take it. I was sure I was going to die. And frankly, it would have been a relief.
"But I got lucky. I got rescued. Guy by the name of Commander Steel. I worked with him a little during the war, in the All-Star Squadron, but I didn't know him all that well. He showed up, busted the Monocle, and cut me loose. I passed out, and next thing I know I'm in a hospital. I was there for three weeks before they let me go. One of the big reasons I retired. Never even got a chance to thank Steel properly.
"I darn near got killed fighting that creep. The obituaries make him sound like some sort of carnival sideshow, some harmless old man who made a few mistakes and spent the rest of his life trying to atone. Well I'm telling you, any man who could do what he did to me is evil. Not misguided. Evil. I hope that bastard suffered before he got what was coming to him."
BLUDHAVEN COURIER - ITEM
A second individual has come forward claiming to be the rightful heir to the estate of missing, and presumed dead, alleged mob boss Roland Desmond.
Preston Orcutt, 41, has filed suit in Finger County District Court asking for a declaration that Desmond is dead, as well as a ruling that he is Desmond's rightful heir. Orcutt is a resident and citizen of Tampa, Florida. He is represented by Attorney G. Lee Williams of Gotham City. Neither Williams nor Orcutt was available for comment.
Erstaz Insurance Company, which wrote a policy of insurance on Desmond's life, is still in the process of evaluating the claims made by Orcutt and one other, as yet unidentified, claimant.
"This guy's a total enigma, Babs. I've been on this case for days and I don't feel like I have any idea who he was."
Babs smiled as she watched Dick pull on his police uniform over her video camera. Every paranoid girl should have video surveillance on her fella, she thought. It had been tough hacking the hotel where Dick was staying temporarily, but it had been worth it. "So, Jon Law wasn't a fan, huh?"
"That's an understatement."
"I know. Humor, Grayson. Work with me here."
"Sorry. I just get so many different takes from different people. Edith Mays painted him as a kindly old man. Cordonbleu acted like he was a distinguished businessman. Now Law tells me he's a sadistic creep. And then there's the whole S&M, NON thing, which doesn't fit with anything else. Who was this guy?"
"Maybe you're just not getting the whole story. With the exception of Law, all these folks are suspect, right? You said you thought Mays was hiding something."
"Yeah. Everyone's opinions are colored by their individual dealings with Cheval. They all looked at him differently."
"So which one had a motive to kill him?"
"Well, except for Law, none of them that I know of. And I'm pretty confident Law isn't the perp."
"Perp. You sound like a cop, Officer Boy Wonder."
"I am a cop."
"Yup. Love the uniform, by the way. Mrowrlll.."
"See you tonight?"
"Absolutely. Where you headed?"
"To talk with our esteemed visitor from Detroit."
IN THE GENERAL COURT OF JUSTICE
SUPERIOR COURT DIVISION 66-CVS-13 |
||
ERNEST WATERS,
Plaintiff, vs. JONATHAN CHEVAL and CHEVAL ENTERPRISES, INC., Defendants. |
) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) |
|
This matter coming to be heard upon Defendants' Motion to Dismiss pursuant to Rule 12(b)(6), and it appearing to the undersigned that this matter was previously filed by Plaintiff, then represented by an attorney, as 64-CVS-497, naming Plaintiff's corporation as Plaintiff; and that said action was dismissed by way of Summary Judgment; and
It appearing that the issues posed by the present action having been resolved in 64-CVS-497;
Defendants' Motion to Dismiss is hereby GRANTED. Plaintiff is SANCTIONED $1,500.00 for filing a frivolous and groundless claim.
This the 10th day of November, 1966.
Signed, Gerald K. Lastin
Superior Court Judge Presiding
"Glad you could take the time to meet with me, Mr. Gunn. I know you're busy."
Dick looked over Dale Gunn's hotel room at the Bludhaven Hilton. Gunn had a nice room, but surprisingly hadn't opted for the more luxurious penthouse, even though it had been available. Gunn was losing his hair on top at an increasingly rapid pace, but his beard was thick and full. He sat in a desk chair turned around backwards, as Dick settled onto the couch.
"No problem," Gunn replied. "I'm happy to help, although I doubt I'll be able to."
"You were at Jonathan Cheval's funeral. I take it you knew him?"
"Yes. I wouldn't say we knew each other well enough to be friends, but we were friendly acquaintances. I've seen him every now and then over the years, mostly when he's been in Detroit. We'd usually try to get together for dinner or something."
"Did you meet him when you worked with the JLA?"
Gunn laughed softly. "No, fraid not. I didn't get out much in those days, and I think he was a bad guy again during that time."
"Again?"
"Well, I understood he had reformed for a lot of years, then went back to crime a few years before the Detroit JLA started up. Then he reformed again."
"Are you sure? That he reformed?"
"Which time?"
"Either."
"Well, I met him through Hank Heywood, who was the founder of Heywood Enterprises. You may have heard of Commander Steel?"
"Sure. He passed away awhile back, right?"
Gunn nodded sadly. "He was a good man. Died a hero, trying to liberate a third-world nation from Eclipso. He was one of the old guard of heroes, served with the All-Star Squadron in World War II. He wasn't all that active after the war, but he still had lots of contacts in the superhero - and villain - community. Every now and then he'd get together with them, have dinner, a beer, whatever. Sometimes I'd tag along.
"I met Jonathan a couple of years before Hank died. He turned up at the plant on a business trip. This was right before Cheval turned up with the Secret Society. We spent some time. Cheval seemed like a nice enough guy. Once he got a little alcohol in him, he started waxing eloquent about the old days. (These superheroes are like old army guys when they get together, especially when they've been drinking.) He talked about his villain career as a mistake, and said retiring to legitimate work was the best thing he'd ever done."
Dick was confused. According to Jon Law, Steel had saved him from the Monocle after Cheval had brutally beaten and tortured Law. How could they have then become friends? Also, he knew Cheval had returned to crime, at least briefly, after his first retirement. Was he pulled back into the life? And if he could have one relapse, couldn't he have another? Was it like a recovering addict, always resisting the pull of an addiction? None of this fit.
"Mr. Gunn," Dick finally managed. "Was there some connection between Cheval and Heywood Industries? You mentioned Mr. Heywood and Cheval were friends."
"You could say that," replied Gunn. "Heywood Industries is probably one of the main reasons Jonathan moved to Bludhaven. You've probably read that we're planning to expand into Bludhaven, open a plant here. I was grooming Jonathan to head up our R&D department, or at least act as a consultant. He moved here in anticipation of getting a job with us."
"Was he in competition with anyone for the job?"
"I see where you're heading, but I'm gonna have to disappoint you. Jonathan was going to be our only candidate for the position. He was pretty much going to write his own ticket. The interview was really just a formality."
Dick lowered his head, tried to process the conflicting information he was receiving. Law hated Cheval. Heywood should have hated him too. Instead, they were friends, and Heywood's company was recruiting Cheval. Insanity. Who was Jonathan Cheval, and why was he dead?
To Be Continued...
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