Nightwing

“Can I get you anything else, Miss?”

Amy was startled by the waitress’ question. She hesitated, glancing away again before answering hurriedly, “No; no thank you.” She fumbled in her wallet, sneaking a peek at a bill to make sure it was at least a ten. “Will this cover the check?”

“Oh, yes ma’am.”

“Good.” She handed the bill to the waitress without looking at her, her brain spinning as she followed her prey. “Keep the change.” Amy was almost out of her seat before the words left her mouth, heading for the door of the coffeehouse.

The slight man carrying the backpack across the street was looking around expectantly. He was up to something, had to be. Maybe he would lead her back to Lester Buchinsky.

Across the street, Brian Buchinsky fingered his backpack with his left hand, the strap digging into his shoulder. Hurriedly, he scanned the street, looking for someplace to change into the uniform in his bag. Damn, he thought, where do these costumed types change? Do they just wear these absurd outfits from home? Surely not.

The armored car was still parked across the street, right in front of the bank. On guard stood watch, carrying a shotgun. The other two carried cases of money in and out of the bank on pallets. They’d made two trips already; if he didn’t act quickly there wouldn’t be very much money left in the truck. And he needed lots of money.

But there was no place to change.

Brian ducked behind a parked car, hoping the passers-by behind him wouldn’t think him suspicious. Moving quickly, he zipped open the backpack and withdrew the mask and gauntlets. He pulled the Electrocutioner’s mask over his face. It was a loose fit; it was supposed to attach itself to the costume, but he didn’t have time to put it on. Satisfied that he could see, Brian pulled on the gauntlets and tested them. He felt sparks fly from the gloves – perfect. No time to waste.

She had to strain, but Amy could still see Brian when he ducked behind the parked car. Her intentions were just to follow him; as far as she knew, Brian hadn’t committed any crime. Her blood ran cold as she watched him pull the mask onto his head. To Amy’s horror, Brian headed across the street toward the guards. The armored car. Amy reached for her gun.

He walked at first, trying to blend in as long as possible. About halfway across the street, Brian broke into a sprint just as the shotgun-wielding guard spotted him. The guard swung his shotgun in Brian’s direction, preparing to shout a warning. But Brian was on him before he could fire, grabbing the shotgun and swinging it into the air with one hand, laying a thousand volts on the guard with the other. The guard screamed as electricity surged through his body. The shotgun fired wildly, but harmlessly, into the air. Brian smelled the guard’s armored vest burning.

The shot alerted the other two guards, who were headed into the bank at the time. They spun, dropping their pallet and drawing their weapons. “Freeze, asshole!!” one of them barked.

Brian spun the guard around in his arms, feeling his unconscious figure go limp. He grabbed the hand still clutching the shotgun and fired another warning shot into the air, his other hand now tight around the slumping guard’s neck. “Shut the truck!” Brian yelled at the other two guards. “Shut the truck or he dies!!!” Sparks crackled from his gloved hand, inches from his hostage’s face.

The guards didn’t move, their pistols trained on Brian. Slowly, Brian began to back up toward the cab of the truck. He’d just have to leave with the back of the truck hanging open. He knocked the shotgun out of his hostage’s hand. It fired again as it clanked to the ground, causing the guards to duck. In one fluid motion, Brian grabbed the keyring from around his hostage’s waist and pushed him forward toward the scrambling guards. Then he sprang toward the cab of the truck.

Amy entered the fray with her pistol drawn. “Freeze, dammit!! Get out of the truck!!”

Brian was lucky; the first key he tried was the correct one. The engine roared to life just as Amy reached the cab. She reached up and smashed the cab’s window with her pistol, screaming to be heard over the roar of the engine.

Brian slammed the vehicle into gear and floored the gas, leaving skid marks as the vehicle sped off. Amy felt her arm jerked nearly from its socket by the rapid acceleration of the car. Her body was spun around, and she slammed into the truck, bouncing forward just as everything went black.

Chrysler Guy did love his General Tso’s Chicken. Cherry House must be putting crack in this stuff, he thought as he cleaned his plate. He knew he was supposed to be working; he saw the red light blinking on his phone, indicating he had new voice mail. But surely it could wait until after he’d sampled some more Crab Rangoon.

The phone interrupted his reverie. Most businesspeople would ignore a call that came in well after 8 pm, figuring it was either a crank or something that could easily wait until the next day. In Chrysler’s line of work, however, a call at that hour was often significant, and needed immediate attention. Briefly he considered letting voice mail pick up, and adding this message to the one before. “Nuts.” he finally exclaimed as he reached reluctantly for the annoying device. “Chrysler Guy.” In his best professional voice.

“Guy. This is the Electrocutioner.”

“Uh.. which one?”

“The one you and the OAKNINES are paying to kill the other one?”

Guy nearly dropped his food as he lurched forward in his chair. “Jesus! What the hell are you trying to do?!? You know better than to make allegations like that over a ph..”

“Guy. Shut up. I’ve got him.”

“Wh-wha? You what?”

“I’ve got him. Some cop just called in an armored car heist. Your boy just ripped off a frickin armored car.”

“He did what?”

“Ripped off an armored car.”

“Why did he do that?”

“I swear I’m going to kill you if you ask one more stupid question. Anyway, I’m on him.”

“Okay, okay. Just make sure he’s dead, Electrocutioner.”

The voice from his doorway startled Guy as he hung up the phone. Lester Buchinsky stood over him menacingly. “Make sure who’s dead?”

“You changed yet?” Babs voice came in loud and clear over his radio mike.

“Yup.” Nightwing perched on top of the Odell Building overlooking Bludhaven. It was a crisp Autumn night, the sounds of the city dimming as people hurried indoors to escape the dropping temperatures. The first Christmas decorations dotted the streets, looking pathetic and out of place. “You sure this is the best way to go about this?”

“Positive, Dick. You’re not going to catch The Electrocutioner in a car; the traffic’ll slow you down too much. This one is a rooftop crawling exercise made in heaven.”

Deftly, Oracle guided Nightwing through the city, listening all the while to the report on the police scanner. “Is there any word on Amy?” Nightwing finally asked in mid-leap between two buildings.

Babs hesitated before responding. “Nothing concrete, Dick. They’ve called in an officer down. Medics have responded to the scene. But there’s nothing on the scanners. By the way, don’t you have a police scanner?”

“Yup, but it’s in my car.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway.. if you hear anything else..”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks. Hey, I see the truck now. Stay online, okay?”

Brian had hoped he would have lost his pursuers by this time. He’d overestimated the element of surprise, and now it was costing him. Add to that a lack of familiarity with Bludhaven, and he was in trouble. Brian hadn’t been able to maneuver out of the city, and realized to his chagrin that he hadn’t planned far enough ahead. Even getting on the highway at this point wouldn’t really help, because he could be tracked by helicopter. For that matter, any road would lead to the same result.

Adding it all up in his head, Brian couldn’t envision any scenario that ended with him escaping with the loot. If anything, it was too heavy to carry away.

So his thought must necessarily turn to escape – period. And on that front, he had a distinct advantage. His pursuers believed him to be the genuine Electrocutioner, and that meant they’d be after his brother, not him. If he could get away from the truck without being seen, and lose the costume, they’d never recognize him.

Brian was trying to discern a way out of the truck when he heard the thud on the roof.

“You heard me, asshole.” barked Lester Buchinsky. “Who’d you just tell The Electrocutioner to kill?”

Chrysler Guy stood from his desk, putting his hands up defensively as Buchinsky approached. “No, no, Les, you’ve got this all wrong. I was on the phone with the court reporter from your deposition. She got some words wrong in the transcription, that’s all. Honest. I swear.” Guy’s mind raced as he tried to figure out how much Buchinsky had heard.

“Did you get my message?”

“Huh?” Guy glanced at his still-blinking red light. “Oh, no, no, I haven’t checked my- my messages. I went for Chinese and..”

“Exactly how many people do you know who call themselves The Electrocutioner?” Buchinsky continued to advance.

Guy backed up against the far window, terror seizing him. “Come on, Les, don’t be like this. Let’s work something out.”

“Sounds good.” sneered Buchinsky, a cruel smile crossing his lips. “I came to work out.. my frustration. And I’ve got a lot of it.”

“Look, your stuff’s in the safe. It’s unlocked. Just take it and..” Guy reeled from the right cross to his face, his head striking the window as it whipped backward. He tried to run, but Buchinsky was on him immediately, pounding him with a savage fury previously unseen. No electric weapons. No shocks. No gimmicks. Just knuckles. And blood. And all with one hand, as Lester nursed the arm he’d injured a few days earlier. He felt no pain as he pounded away, fueled equally by adrenaline and hatred.

Guy sank to the ground, the room spinning around him. His mouth was swelling, and when he tried to talk, all he could do was drool. Another punch. Then another. Spots danced before his eyes. He was only dimly aware of Buchinsky crossing the room to the safe and opening it. His consciousness ebbing, Guy made a last effort to flee, to run from the room before Buchinsky could complete his attack, only to sag helplessly to the floor.

“Ah.” said Buchinsky as he pulled his spare outfit from the safe. Slowly, he slid his right hand into the gauntlet, sparks flying as he tested it. He looked back over at Guy. “Get ready to ride the lightning, you bastard!”

Guy finally passed out as Buchinsky approached him. The last sound he heard was the gauntlet crackling.

Nightwing felt his recent wounds reopen as he landed on top of the armored truck. Dumb, he thought as he landed, to risk further injury this way. But he really had no choice. This was the only way this truck was coming to a stop.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his side, Nightwing climbed toward the front of the truck. Swinging his head down over the windshield, he saw the Electrocutioner’s mask and gloves on an otherwise plainclothed man. “Les!” he yelled at the driver. “Pull this thing over!!”

It was then that he realized the driver was using both arms to drive. He thought back to the arm Buchinsky had injured (with his help) a few days earlier. Realization dawned. “You’re not Les.” he said, almost under his breath.

“Okay, Electro-dude!! This is where we get off the train!!” Contorting his body in a way impossible for most, Nightwing swung up onto his hands, balanced parallel to the truck on its top. Then, in the same motion, he swung around and kicked in the driver’s side window. Glass flew everywhere as the window shattered. The driver jerked the wheel to one side, trying in vain to dodge the flying glass, and causing the vehicle to swerve rapidly.

Nightwing felt himself thrown from the vehicle as it lurched. In a split-second, he regained control over his momentum and somersaulted to the ground, landing on his feet.

The truck swerved off the road and onto a guardrail. Tires screeched as the vehicle crashed, the front end crumpled against the guardrail. Nightwing sprinted toward the vehicle, sure someone must be hurt, only to see the drivers side door open before he arrived. A gloved arm emerged, pulling behind it a bleeding masked man. The Electrocutioner’s mask was torn, a cut on the driver’s head bleeding down the side of his face. He staggered as he moved away from the vehicle. “Easy buddy.” said Nightwing as he approached. “It’s all over.”

“You got that right!” Nightwing spun to see another Electrocutioner behind him, this one in full costume.

Again, this assailant had no arm injury. “You’re not Lester Buchinsky.” Nightwing remarked. “John Doe, I presume?”

“Of course I’m not Buchinsky.” replied The Electrocutioner. “I’m here to kill Lester Buchinsky.” Pointing at the bloodied driver. “Or you, if you get in my way.”

Brian was trying to speak, but his words and thoughts were jumbled. He saw The Electrocutioner pointing at him, past the costumed guy (who must have come back to try and kill him again), and threatening him. “B-b-but I’m nuh… not..”

Sparks flew from The Electrocutioner’s gauntlets as he attacked. Nightwing grabbed his escrima sticks and parried the first volley, feeling only incidental electricity. That only made The Electrocutioner mad. “I’m gonna fry your ass.” he muttered at Nightwing.

Brian tried to run. The Electrocutioner saw him. Quickly losing interest in Nightwing, The Electrocutioner raced after Brian, easily catching him in a flying tackle. Again sparks flew from the gauntlets. Brian wet his pants as he prepared for the inevitable. “So long, Buch-..”

“Not today, Electric Lad.” chided Nightwing as he slugged John Doe with his escrima sticks. Doe fell backward, his grip on Brian loosened. “You’ve got the wrong guy, loser. This..” pointing at Brian, “isn’t Lester Buchinsky!”

Brian wanted to run again, but his feet failed him. Nightwing reached over and pulled off his mask, tossing it at Doe. “Who the hell is that?” asked Doe.

“I don’t know,” said Nightwing. “But it’s not Buchinsky.”

“Well,” The Electrocutioner was suddenly confused as to his next move. “Now what?”

Nightwing grinned. “Now..” lunging for Doe. “I’m taking you in!!”

Lester Buchinsky had only just arrived on the scene. He tried to stay out of sight, but that was becoming increasingly difficult. The armored truck had been under surveillance as it raced along the highway, and now police and the media were rapidly descending on the scene.

Why intervene? he thought. Let Nightwing and the other Electrocutioner beat the hell out of each other. None of his concern, right?

But he had to get Brian out of there.

He tried calling to him, to no avail. The cops were seconds away. Seconds.

Les slipped on his mask and raced into the fray.

Nightwing gripped The Electrocutioner’s arms as they locked in a wrestling match, determined not to let the electrified gauntlets get anywhere near him. Nightwing had tussled with Businsky before, but Doe was a new opponent. Doe was stronger than his counterpart, and frankly seemed a little meaner. Nightwing thought he heard Doe growling as they wrestled.

The repartee they’d exchanged earlier was gone, fierce intensity having taken its place. Doe tried to get his gloves onto Nightwing, determined to make him glow in the dark. But Nightwing had Doe’s wrists firmly gripped, preventing him from making contact. Sirens blared in the background as the police drew near, a public display none of the combatants wanted to see.

Normally Nightwing would have easily overpowered Doe. But his prior injuries had left him weakened, and he struggled to find strength as the stalemate progressed.

Finally, Nightwing delivered an upward kick into Doe’s midsection, causing his opposite number to double over backwards. Keeping his grip firm Doe’s right wrist, Nightwing twisted Doe’s right arm behind his back, eliciting a yowl of pain. Doe swung his left arm frantically, trying to gain a foothold from which to retaliate, but Nightwing had him positioned so as to make it impossible.

Violence was an inevitable part of Nightwing’s world, and he’d long ago accepted that fact. In his darkest moments, he had to admit that, while it would be a stretch to say he enjoyed the violence, it gave him a great feeling of release.

This was one of those times. A sharp twist of Doe’s arm, and Nightwing felt it crack. Doe yelled again. Nightwing jerked him to his feet, then decked him with a solid punch. Doe was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Nightwing leaped out of the way just in time to avoid the lunge of Lester Buchinsky behind him. Buchinsky staggered past Nightwing and regained his balance. “Ah.” said Nightwing as he recognized his new opponent. “I wondered when you’d show up. Thanks for waiting until I was done with him.” Pointing at Doe’s still form.

“Such a wiseass.” sneered Buchinsky as he powered up his gloves again. “I’m gonna mount your smoking carcass on..”

“Oh do shut up, Fry Guy.” Nightwing fired a shuriken at Buchinsky’s good arm, striking him just above the elbow. Ignoring the splitting pain filling his head, he leapt at Buchinsky, delivering a flying kick to the face. Buchinsky flew backward, striking his bad arm on the ground and rolling over twice. Nightwing thought he heard a whimper as Les’ injured arm took two more blows.

The police were yelling. Commotion filled the area.

Buchinsky tried to struggle to his feet, the right side of his face covered with blood from a cut above his eye. His nose was broken, and the resulting threat was more slurred than deadly. Nightwing got the message anyway.

Another swift kick to the face. What little was left of Buchinsky’s willpower evaporated. He fell straight back onto his back, out for the count.

Nightwing looked left and right. “Allright, any more Electrocutioners want to take a shot?” Seeing no takers, he quickly absconded from the scene, which would be a media circus in roughly five minutes. Both Electrocutioners lay still on the ground as the police and media arrived.

First Epilogue:

In the four years she’d worked as a paralegal for Chrysler Guy, Jeanine Cockings had seen all manner of clients in and out of the office. It was a near-constant parade of Bludhaven’s worst. So she wasn’t all that surprised when she found his office trashed as she reported to work.

What was surprising was that Guy’s office smelled like something burning. The power seemed to be out to the entire office building.

Her instinct was to call the police, but Jeanine knew Chrysler wouldn’t want them in his office, particularly since the safe was sitting open. Who knew what would be available for public consumption?

The only thing Jeanine could really think to do was close up the office and pretend, as best she could, that nothing was wrong. Take Chrysler’s messages, open his mail, and carry on as if he was in the next room working.

She was about to leave when she heard the shuffling in the coat closet.

Not much frightened Jeanine; she really wasn’t smart enough to have a well-developed since of self-preservation. Maybe that’s why she opened the closet door, armed with nothing but a paperweight.

“AHHH!!” The cry made her drop the paperweight. “GET THAT LIGHT OFF ME!!”

Epilogue Two:

Brian still couldn’t believe he’d been lucky enough to escape the melee. He hadn’t even been hurt that badly in the accident. All the costumed types had created the perfect diversion. He’d ditched the silly Electrocutioner gear and raced for.. nowhere in particular, but away.

He paused to rest by a park bench near downtown, his hands on his knees from fatigue. He never heard the sound behind him.

The first blow he felt was the billy club striking the back of his head. Brian fell hard to the ground. The second blow was a kick to the ribs. He threw up his last meal.

The third and fourth blows were billy club shots to the head.

He didn’t feel the fifth through forty third blows.

Tad Ryerstad surveyed his lifeless prey after he finished, blood from the billy club dripping onto his hockey jersey embroidered with the name “Nite-Wing.”

“Teach you to steal an armored car in my city.” he sneered.

Epilogue Three:

“-just wondering if we can tell her family anything?”

Dr. Rogers looked up impatiently. “Her family?”

“Husband and a son. They’ve been here about an hour.”

Dr. Rogers regarded his physicians assistant, Chris Pratt, as he stood over the motionless figure on the stretcher in front of him. He sighed. “Here’s what we know. She’s been comatose since they brought her in, probably due to serious head trauma. Her arm is broken in fourteen places. We’ve already had to amputate her right third and fourth fingers, and there’s a possibility she may lose the entire hand, due to serious lacerations and possible infection.

“The fractures we can set, certainly. We won’t be able to gauge whether, or to what extent, she has sustained any brain injury until she awakens – if she in fact awakens.”

Chris swallowed hard, nodded, then turned and left the room. On cue, the man and boy stood as he entered the waiting room, an look of expectancy mixed with fear on both their faces.

“Mr. Rohrbach?” Chris extended his arm. “I’m assisting Dr. Rogers with your wife’s care…”

The End...

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