Nightwing

Randall Urskin hadn’t really been afraid very many times in his life. There were the usual monsters under the bed, snakes in the toilet concerns, but nothing that really rose to the level of pure, unadulterated terror. Nothing that made him want to wet his pants, claw out his eyes, do absolutely whatever was necessary to escape, to make the terror abate.

In his last moments of life, Randall knew fear. He knew terror. He knew the electric shock was coming before it arrived, knew what was about to happen to him. The anticipation was almost worse than the shock itself. Almost.

His body went totally rigid as it was flooded with thousands of volts of electricity. He couldn’t move a muscle; even his eyes were wide open. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even scream. The first smell he noticed was waste as he messed his pants. The second was a faint burning smell as his skin fried.

More quickly than it began, the current ended. But Randall was dead by that time.

“Odd that they thought this one would merit two detectives, huh Grayson?” asked Amy Rohrbach as she surveyed the crime scene two hours later.

Dick Grayson looked over the charred corpse lying in the alley as the M.E. finished her work. A light rain was beginning to fall in Bludhaven, and all involved were concerned about finishing the evaluation of the crime scene before the rain washed away key evidence. The chalk artist had already begun his work, which was usually forbidden until the ME had completed her analysis. Dust and grime covered the alley containing the corpse, illuminated by the flashlights of the investigating officers. “I’ve got a few thoughts on that issue, Amy,” Dick replied.

The cause of death appeared clear – the corpse had been electrocuted. His flesh was charred and a burning smell still littered the decayed alley. Pieces of hair had burned off of his scalp. His eyes were bloodshot where capillaries had burst, filling his pupils with blood in the final moments before circulation stopped. Most people – even cops – never see an electrocution victim. Unfortunately, this wasn’t Dick’s first time.

Amy cocked her head in Dick’s direction. “Is that so? How ‘bout some dish, Grayson?”

Dick sighed as he responded. “Amy, have you ever heard of the Electrocutioner?”

“Nope, sorry.”

“Well, he’s a costumed type who goes around electrocuting people. He used to hunt down criminals who he thought escaped justice on a technicality. Then he decided he wasn’t getting enough respect, so he became a criminal. He was in Blockbuster’s employ before…you know…”

“…before Desmond got taken off the board,” Amy finished the thought. “So, if he’s still around, and this does seem to fit his M.O., who is he working for now?”

Lester Buchinsky dropped his keys on his end table as he entered his apartment. Les had a bad habit of losing his keys, perhaps because he put them someplace different every time he entered his apartment. One of these days he’d develop a system, he thought. “Brian, you here?” he called to his dimly lit apartment. A light shone from under the closed bedroom door. Les heard the frantic sounds of scrambling from inside the bedroom.

Moving quickly, Les crossed the room and opened his closet, withdrawing a red and gray glove. He was relieved it was still in place, and carefully slid it onto his left arm. “All right, pally!” he called as he headed for the bedroom door. “You’re about to get-…”
The door burst open when he was five feet from it, a half-naked blonde girl racing out, holding her shoes and something lacy in her hands, scrambling for the front door. “Gawd, Brian!!” she shrieked. Les pulled back just in time to avoid filling her with electricity. “Bastard!!” she shouted as she charged out the front door, slamming it behind her.

Les turned his gaze to the bedroom, where his brother Brian stood dressed in only his boxers, a sheepish expression on his face as he rubbed the back of his head with his right hand. The bed was in a state of disarray. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” barked Les.

Brian managed a sly grin. “I’d say that was pretty obvious, wouldn’t you?”

“Dammit Brian, we talked about this shit. You know better than to bring some little chickie up here. Do you not get the concept of ‘hiding out’?”

The grin disappeared. “Dude’s gotta have a little fun, Les. Cut me some slack.”

“Your slack is gonna get your ass killed. And maybe mine too.”

For the first time, genuine remorse shone across Brian’s face. “Look. I’m sorry. It was dumb. I went down to the coffee shop to get a drink and…you know, I met Ruthie and we kind of hit it off. She wanted to see where I lived, and I wanted to get some, so I brought her up here. It was dumb. Won’t happen again.”

Only then did Les slide the glove off his hand. He nodded at his brother, then turned away. “Anything to eat around here?” he asked. “My damn deposition lasted so long, I didn’t get to eat.”

“So how was your first day back, Man Wonder?” Babs asked over the videophone. Dick had just returned to his newly refurbished apartment. After the lengthy period in which he’d lived in a hotel following a destructive attack on the building, Dick had lost the feeling of ‘home’ this building had once exuded. Now it was like a whole new place, and he didn’t relish starting over.

“Peachy, Babs,” he replied as he dropped his coat over a chair. “Nice little homicide, first day back. And to top it off, it looks like a supervillain killing.”

“Really?” Babs’ interest was obviously piqued. She was a junkie for all things superhero-and-villain. “Anyone I know?”

“The vic seems ordinary enough. We eye-deed him as Randall Urskin. Twenty-something, one prior arrest for possession. Nothing major, but he was probably mobbed up somehow.” Dick winced inwardly at his own cynicism.

“Doesn’t ring any bells.”

Dick nodded. “Urskin was electrocuted. Manually. Does that ring any bells?”

“Ah. I take it our friend Lester Buchinsky is back at work?”

Dick slapped his forehead. “Thank you!! I’ve been trying all afternoon to remember the Electrocutioner’s real name! It was totally escaping me.”

Babs smirked. “So I take it the newly-christened BFPD hasn’t moved on Buchinsky yet?”

“Not yet. I mentioned the Electrocutioner to Amy, but I have to be really careful. I haven’t been on the force that long, and if I start rattling off supervillain trivia people’ll wonder how I know so much. Amy was already looking at me cross-eyed.”

“Maybe this is more of a Nightwing job than a Grayson one.”

“Could be. Perhaps Nightwing could use some assistance from a certain shapely superheroine.”

“Sure thing, Chief. Let me just wrap up this strike I’m coordinating against a terrorist cell in Afghanistan; then I’ll be right with you.”

“This is quite a life we lead, huh?”

“You bet. Back in ten.”

Interlude:

Chief Redhorn had fallen into a routine over the previous few weeks. Since the recent attempt on his life, he had become increasingly paranoid. Of course, as the cliché goes, it’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you, and pretty much everyone associated with Bludhaven’s underworld wanted to get Redhorn. He was trying to do the impossible – run both the BFPD and the mob without a shred of credibility on either front. The force knew he was corrupt – they couldn’t prove it, so he maintained his office, but no one respected him. And he had lost the only moral authority he held over the mob when Roland Desmond had vanished and/or been killed.

Routine is safe, he thought. Don’t go anywhere but the office and home. Check the car before starting it. Smell food before eating it. Don’t stand by the window. As long as he had his routine, Redhorn felt safe.

But today he’d had to vary his routine. There had been a press conference commemorating the merger of the BPD with the Finger County PD. He hadn’t wanted to go, but as the new Chief of the BFPD, his presence was required. So he’d had to travel to City Hall, a few blocks from his office. It felt like an eternity.

The uncomfortable conference finally over, Redhorn walked to his car, safely tucked away in the City Hall underground parking garage. He’d parked on a lower level, and now he was all alone. His car stood idle, the only car on the lot. Beads of sweat slowly dotted Redhorn’s face as he hurried to his vehicle, suddenly terrified of the open space in which he found himself.

He stopped suddenly, ten feet from his car, when he heard to sound. A rattle. Not like a gun being cocked, but surely out of place. Redhorn’s beady eyes scanned the garage quickly. A droplet of sweat dropped into his left eye, clouding his vision.

The sound. Again. Panic gripped him. Redhorn drew his gun, sprinted for his vehicle. He imagined he heard another sound behind him, swung and fired his gun.

He heard the bullet smash against the concrete wall. Again his watery eyes swept the garage. Nothing. Had he imagined the whole thing?

Redhorn sagged against the passenger side of his car, slowly sliding into a sitting position on the ground. The sound had been real. It had to have been real. He couldn’t be going insane. Could he?

End Interlude

Leo Oaknine ran his finger across the attorney’s polished wood desk, leaving a smudge on the surface. “I thought I told you to file a Motion to Withdraw.”

F. Chrysler Guy, Attorney at Law, peered across the desk at Oaknine over wire-rimmed glasses. He stroked his graying goatee as he responded. “I have filed a Motion with the Court, but it takes time to get a hearing. I don’t anticipate there will be any problem withdrawing; I just need the Court’s consent.”

Oaknine studied his consigliore. “Good. This is just embarrassing, you bringing this absurd case. Lester Buchinsky, the infamous Electrocutioner, claiming whiplash after a five-mile-an-hour rear-ender car accident. Shameful.”

Guy chuckled slightly. “Well, the accident wasn’t his fault. He went to a chiropractor, and he was diagnosed with subluxation of the cervical spine. Treatment was-...”

“Absurd,” Oaknine cut him off. “He should have settled his dispute like a man, and fried the guy-…”

“-woman-”

“- who caused the accident.”

“Old woman, actually. She’s sixty-six.”

“Chrysler, I’ve been swiftly losing confidence in ol’ Les. He was never all that reliable, even in the Blockbuster days. Now he’s totally going to pieces.”

Guy took off his glasses and pretended to polish them while he kicked his feet on the table. Leo Oaknine was a dangerous man. He was one of Blockbuster’s ‘imports’, an outsider to whom Bludhaven would historically have been closed, but who had gained prominence under Desmond’s regime, and was now fighting to control that empire after Desmond’s disappearance. “You know,” he offered, “it’s not like you can just push Lester off on some other family. He knows a lot about our – your – organization.”
Oaknine nodded. “I know.” No more words were needed.

“So what’ve we got, Babs?” asked Nightwing as he sailed into the night.

“I accessed the ME’s report. Nothing you couldn’t have done, but I did it more quickly,” Oracle said, her voice filling Nightwing’s ear radio. “Looks like you were spot on about cause of death – Urskin was electrocuted. Looks really consistent with Buchinsky’s work, except even more savage. This was literally a frying.

“But there’s a problem, handsome. I’ve got you Les’ address. But I also took the liberty of hacking a few court records to see what our boy’s been up to since last we met. Buchinsky is currently involved in a civil suit arising out of a motor vehicle accident.”

“What’d he do?” asked Nightwing. “Fry someone on the highway?”

“Nope. He’s the plaintiff. He’s suing an old lady, claiming she caused him serious neck and back injuries in an accident.”

“Get out.”

“No fooling. And get this – Les gave a deposition this afternoon at 5 pm, in his attorney’s office. ME estimated time of death on Urskin as between five and six pm. Could be that Les has an alibi.”

“Maybe. But he’s still the obvious lead, don’t you think?”

“I’m just saying, is all. Be careful, sweets. Here’s Les’ address.”

Brian had always been the good one. Les had been nothing short of stunned when his older brother arrived on his doorstep two weeks earlier. He was still adjusting to being the one who knew what was going on, who could help his brother survive.

It seems Brian had gotten a taste for gambling in the last year. Apparently life in scenic Dresher just hadn’t been sufficiently exciting for him and so he’d turned to the tables. And the horses. And sporting events. And pretty much anything he could manage.

And he’d lost. Badly. Now he was in debt to the tune of approximately twenty five thousand, to the meanest loan shark in Dresher – Rocco Gialdi. Rocco had given Brian a deadline to pay – or else. Brian missed the deadline. So Rocco blew up Brian’s car.

Brian managed to cheat death on that occasion, but knew he couldn’t make it for long. So he’d come to Bludhaven, asking his brother for protection. He didn’t think Rocco’s influence extended to Bludhaven, but he wasn’t certain. Neither was Les.

So they were holed up in Les’ apartment, waiting for an attack that may or may not come.

Brian had finally drifted off to sleep and Les was parked in front of his television. Fez and Foreman brought a thin smile to his lips as he tried to forget the stress of his day. The lawsuit was falling apart; he knew the deposition hadn’t gone well, and now his attorney was dropping the case. No telling how many people had seen Brian when he’d left the apartment. And in any event, they couldn’t just sit around like caged rats forever. The TV was a welcome distraction.

So Les’ first reaction when it blinked off, leaving him in total darkness, was annoyance. For a second. Then he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Hi there, Les. Let’s chat.” The voice came from behind him. He spun around in his recliner, but couldn’t see as his eyes adjusted to the dark. But he recognized the voice.

“What the hell do you want, freak?” he asked Nightwing.

“Information, Les. About Randall Urskin.”

“Who?”

“The guy you fried this afternoon, Buchinsky.”

“Say what? I was in a damn deposition this afternoon, freak. Ask my lawyer. But first, get the hell out of my home!”

“If you’re innocent, Les, I’m sure you won’t mind if I have a look around?”

Les thought of Brian in the next room. “Hell yes I mind, freak!” Les lunged for the glove he’d hidden under the recliner – for protection. Equipped with night-vision lenses, Nightwing wasn’t caught by surprise. He leaped at Buchinsky as Les dove, knocking him back and sideways. Les scrambled on his hands and knees, clawing under the recliner and grabbing the glove. Nightwing delivered a kick to Les’ arm, numbing it for a moment before pain flooded Les’ nerves.

Undeterred, Les slipped on the glove and powered it up. “Fry, Freak!!”

Nightwing leaped away as the Electrocutioner lunged at him. The glove collided with the metal lamp next to the recliner. Sparks flew and the room lit up as the electricity surged. Buchinsky spun as Nightwing headed for him feet first. Just as Nightwing’s foot connected with Les’ gut, he swung the glove onto Nightwing’s arm, firing thousands of additional volts into the costumed interloper.

Nightwing screamed as electricity surged through his body. This was his second encounter in as many weeks with an electrically-powered villain, and he hadn’t fully recovered from the first. Swinging wildly with his remaining arm, Nightwing slammed the Electrocutioner away from him.

As Buchinsky fell backward, Brian emerged from the bedroom and flipped on the overhead light. “Whas’ goin’ on...” When he saw the tableau before him, the color instantly left his face. “No no no; you’re not gonna get me!!”

“Who the-…” asked Nightwing, momentarily confused. Oracle’s intel hadn’t revealed a roommate. He must have been sleeping when Nightwing had entered the apartment.

Buchinsky also spun at his brother’s entrance. “Dammit Brian, get out of here!”

Brian ran back into the bedroom, desperately looking for something to use as a weapon. He had no idea how Rocco had found him, or who this masked man was who had come to kill him, but he wasn’t about to let it happen. Frantically, Brian opened his suitcase, tossed clothes aside and withdrew his .45 Magnum. He’d just bought it a month ago, when his problems began and he’d never fired it before, wasn’t even sure he knew how. But he had to do something. Turning, he fired wildly into the living room.
Nightwing ducked as the bullet flew from the living room. “Dammit Buchinsky, who is that?!?” he barked.

The Electrocutioner said nothing, instead lunging at Nightwing, sparks flying from his glove. “Die, Bastard!!” he shouted.

Nightwing recovered and swiftly kicked Buchinsky away. Back in the day he’d have had a quip ready to fire in Les’ direction, but none came immediately to mind right now. Springing to his feet, Nightwing grabbed Les’ gloved arm above the elbow and snapped. He felt bone crack and Les’ arm splintered.

Les howled in pain and Nightwing felt Buchinsky’s weight on his arms as Les collapsed to his knees. Carefully, with a fluid motion, Nightwing swept the glove off of Buchinsky’s hand. Then he delivered a roundhouse blow to Les’ crying face. He saw Les lose consciousness as he fell backward.

Barely pausing, Nightwing scampered toward the bedroom, careful to stay low to the ground lest any more bullets emerge. He was surprised to find the bedroom empty, wind blowing through an open window. He scanned the room carefully, satisfying himself that the shooter was gone.

His precaution completed, Nightwing dialed Oracle’s number. “Babs, can you send BFPD an anonymous tip? We need cops and an ambulance.”

Chrysler Guy hated doing Oaknine’s dirty work at times like this. Guy had grown up in Bludhaven, born and raised, and he resented the recent influx of costumed vigilantes and supercriminals into the city. He thought they were cowards, blustering anonymously behind a mask. Lester Buchinsky’s silly tort lawsuit was just another example of their cowardice.

So Guy had no respect for the man across the table. But he’d learned to mask his distaste, to pretend to play along, for the sake of his employer.

He pushed pictures across the table to his guest. The pictures depicted Lester Buchinsky, in and out of costume, from virtually any imaginable angle.

“So,” Guy said to his guest, “that’s him. Buchinsky. He’s supposed to be a tough customer.”

“I doubt it. Looks like a pansy to me.”

“I take it, then, that you accept the assignment? Successful completion could, of course, lead to more work, especially considering the upcoming…vacancy…in Mr. Oaknine’s organization.”

The costumed man might have smiled, but Guy couldn’t tell under the mask. He said nothing.

“You with me?” Guy finally prompted.

“Absolutely. Lester Buchinsky is a dead man.”

And with that, the other Electrocutioner picked up the photos and headed for the door. “Make sure the money’s in my account by start of business tomorrow.”

To Be Continued...

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