Author's Note: Which Robin? Take a wild guess.
Robin
At times, patrols develop certain patterns. Criminal activity on the streets can become predictable. Degenerate actions can turn repetitive. All these elements create a false sense of security concerning my work. There is a distinct tendency to disconnect from the situation and let muscle memory take over. I counter this risk of laxity by using my partner. I try to always imagine Robin as being in danger, even though this is seldom true; the boy is extremely capable. By having to constantly consider the boy's safety, my mind is kept both focused and sharp on the threat before me. Continually altering my proximity to him also assists in avoiding complacency. And, the obvious added bonus of adopting such an outlook is that, were Robin in any real danger, I would be able to act far more swiftly in his rescue. I have never told the boy this. I assume he would be upset by his role of 'damsel in distress' in my mind; he is closing on sixteen now and clings fiercely to his independence.
At present, we are engaged in our current investigation. A new masked criminal has emerged in Gotham and is already responsible for two high-profile homicides. Dubbing himself The Black Talon, this anonymous individual has brutally executed both a former D.A, Fredrick Mitchum, and former police chief, Samuel Hennessey. In effort to gather enough information to locate this assassin, the boy and I have taken to The Narrows seedier dives and barrooms. We aim to interrogate sufficient numbers tonight to bring about the investigation's end. The city's emergency rooms will be full this evening.
When we enter a notorious establishment named The Blue Bird, infamous for drawing only the city's most dangerous degenerates, I am confident of success. The room is full tonight. Our arrival has an immediate impact on the conversation: it stops. All eyes are now fixed on us. Even though most of them are habitual murderers and possess flammable temperaments, none of them move from their positions. They are scumbags, but not stupid. I am aware several pairs of eyes are leveled on the boy. They are regarding him with something akin to lust and I find myself instinctively interposing my body between their twisted gazes and my partner. I know the boy is both too quick and skilled to become a victim, but I am still wary of sheer numbers and were I to be overrun…
Enough of this; time to make my point.
"The Black Talon. What do you know? Tell me and I will leave." I announce in my dark growl. My audience are still mute, continuing to stare.
"You guys deaf or just stupid?" Robin is quick to add with his usual smile. "The big guy is offering you a pretty sweet deal here…"
"You're a pretty sweet deal, kid! Come sit on my knee and I'll give you some candy!" An anonymous voice shouts from the back of the room. A collective roar of laughter follows. I find such comments sickening. The boy is unfazed. As unfortunate as it is, Robin is used to such remarks nowadays.
"Fine. Your funeral." The boy offers as a retort. He is still smiling. It is at this juncture the assembled mass has found enough courage to move towards us. I count forty to forty-five potential attackers to contend with. These numbers are not even close to being sufficient against us.
Once I drop a smoke pellet and switch to thermals, the ease with which this situation can be negotiated is startling. Robin and I attack in tandem at first, just to cut down the numbers. The sequence we use has been practiced many hundreds of times in the cave and honed on the streets for many years: I block, he attacks, he blocks, I attack, we both block and both attack, throw in a joint aerial maneuver and then begin the sequence all over again. We maintain this hard-acquired battle rhythm for almost three complete cycles of the sequence before breaking off into individual efforts. Attacking together has eliminated twenty of our opposition and forced a further eight to surrender or simply flee. This leaves us with just a cluster of thugs to contend with, roughly six or seven each.
Again, to focus myself, I make the boy the centre of attention and work under the notion he is becoming overrun. This manufactured sense of urgency increases my adrenalin levels, gifting me with an extra boost of both speed and power. Riding this wave of heightened form, I dispatch four of them at once, two by way of pin-point accurate nerve strikes, one with my left elbow and the other courtesy of my right foot. The remaining number shrinks back, making my task even simpler. I utilize their fear and drop another smoke pellet. Staggering round in the cloud intensifies their anxiety. As a consequence, they end up hitting one another, injuring themselves and saving me the trouble. Whoever does not hit the ground immediately receives a batarang to the base of the skull, rendering them unconscious. By the time the smoke has dispersed, they are all down.
Robin stands completely unharmed in the aftermath, a tribute to his skill and conditioning. He offers me a sly wink before giving the thumbs up gesture with his right hand. I nod in acknowledgement and wave him over. Directly at my feet is a man named Dill Patterson, repeat offender and often guest at Blackgate Penitentiary. He is a man who knows things in this city, useful things. Unfortunately, for him, he does not have a reputation as an informant. It is up to Robin and myself to make him one.
"You must be getting dizzy by now, huh?" The boy says to Patterson with a grin. My partner is in the midst of teasing a man currently suspended three hundred feet above the ground by way of a thin line of braided rope. I am the only thing anchoring Patterson. Although he is still defiant, in a moment, I am sure Patterson will change his mind.
"My arms are getting tired. Robin, take over." I say. This provokes a rather panicked response from Patterson.
"What? Are you freaking crazy? The kid's half my goddamn size! He'll never be able to hold me!"
"He's right, Boss. What if my fingers slip?" The boy asks, feigning concern. Even after all these years, he still likes to play games. Robin possesses more than enough upper body strength to hold a man twice Patterson's size for an extended period. The boy's leanness gives the illusion of a lack of strength. We use it to our advantage frequently. I shrug.
"We'll say he fell. Nobody would argue."
"Okay! Gimme the rope, big guy!"
Patterson is now objecting wildly to Robin's involvement. I pass the rope over to him. The boy lets it run slightly before taking a firm grip, causing Patterson to drop down by at least six inches.
"Try to be careful, Robin." I say with a sigh.
"Sorry, Boss. This guy's been hitting the donuts pretty hard judging by how damn heavy he is. I'm struggling to hold him." Robin allows a further foot of rope to pass through his fingers. Patterson is now in frenzy.
"TAKE THE DAMN ROPE, BAT FREAK! THE KID'S GONNA GET ME KILLED!"
"Unless you tell us something, I may just let him." I say without humour. Patterson is on the verge of speaking, he just requires a little more encouragement. My partner is more than happy to help him find his voice.
"Nnghh! Jeez this is getting hard quickly! It's no good, Boss; my grip's gonna give." The boy drops an inch of rope, followed by four and then three to give the impression he is fighting to keep Patterson suspended. The man is screaming at this point, yelling unintelligible phrases that may or may not be prayers to a higher power. Robin glances over at me and shrugs his shoulders. He's asking me whether or not he has pushed Patterson too far and has thus ruined the possibility of useful intelligence coming forth. I nod to tell him we are at just the right level to extract his secrets. He offers me a pleased smile.
"ANTHONY MARGHETTA! HIS NAME'S ANTHONY MARGHETTA!" We hear Patterson shrieking to us over and over again. Now it is my turn to smile. We have a lead, perhaps a solid one. This is good news.
"And where do we find Mr. Marghetta?" My partner inquires, choosing to maintain a steady grip on the rope at this stage, seeing as Patterson is finally co-operating.
"GOTHAM HEIGHTS! THE GUY'S GOT AN APARTMENT IN GOTHAM HEIGHTS! PULL ME UP FOR GOD'S SAKE!"
"Got to do better than that, big boy. Where exactly in Gotham Heights? Give us an address." Robin says. The boy loves interrogation. And, I must admit, he has developed quite a talent for it in his tenure. The fact he enjoys forcibly extracting information is somewhat disconcerting, but interrogation of this sort is still a world away from torture. Robin will never let himself stray too far from the rules, otherwise there would be no-one to keep me in check. True darkness is surprisingly easy to fall into if you have no guiding light. The boy acts as my guiding light. He does an admirable job.
Patterson has given an address. As a reward for this co-operation, we leave him strung up outside the GCPD building alongside a digital copy of CCTV footage linking him to a still unsolved robbery in South Gotham. I estimate he will receive at least a two-year sentence for the crime, considering it was conducted with firearms. Regardless, he is once again off the streets. It will be in his own interest not to contest the charges brought against him. He will no doubt be branded an informant by his underworld brethren once word of our 'conversation' spreads around certain circles. In many ways, we have done him a favour. Thanks are NOT necessary.
As we drive towards the address, my partner checks the supplied name against several criminal databases. It is unsurprising that the boy finds a viable record almost immediately. Anthony Marghetta has a history of firearm and homicide charges that do not showcase a particularly broad range of talents. He recently completed a four-year sentence in Blackgate for minor gun-trafficking infringements and has seen his parole officer in the last week. At first glance, the jump from typical thug to atypical assassin seems like a gap too far for someone of Marghetta's character to bridge. The only miscellaneous point of interest is his current address. Marghetta does not have the type of funds necessary to support his present living arrangements. Gotham Heights is a highly affluent area to house a common criminal. It points to a possible private benefactor. We will need to investigate this further. Moments later, we arrive.