If you haven't read my earlier books, don't worry about it. This is all you need to know:
Phobia is a dangerous woman who can make people live out their worst fears. She was stopped by Raven (who is the only person capable of resisting her mental powers) and locked up in the prison with a device Cyborg believes can block her abilities.
Speedy is in Jump City tracking an assassin named Deadshot
Raven is once again wearing white robes and has long hair
Robin's chest was severely burned and he's still taking pain medication
And that's it. Personally I don't like wordy introductions, so that's all I'm going to say. Enjoy!
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Raucous laughter and a pungent aroma drifted through the air and permeated the dimly lit room, creating an environment made possible only with alcohol. It was a crowded and noisy bar, a place where a man could easily disappear among the shadows and faces. Sitting at a small table against one of the far walls, Floyd Lawton calmly sipped his foamy drink, barely even aware of its taste. Though no one paid him much notice, Lawton was very carefully monitoring a lone man hunched over a stool near the bartender, who had arrived and ordered a single drink nearly twenty minutes ago.
Though Lawton was a powerfully patient man, and could just as easily have remained still for several hours, he was glad to see the man stand up and place several bills on the countertop. Taking one final gulp, Lawton left his glass on the table and briskly covered the distance to the nearest doorway, sticking his hands into the large pockets of his knee length brown trench coat when he emerged into the cool night air. Only perhaps five or six seconds ahead of him, the other man maintained a slow pace down the sidewalk, unaware of his pursuer. Victor Kurnik, a man in his early thirties, lived by himself in a small apartment and worked the midnight to eight a.m. shift as a guard over at the prison. By all right he certainly did not deserve to die, but what was right meant little to Lawton. Sympathy and guilt never prayed on his mind when there was money to be had.
After several blocks Victor produced a key from his pocket and walked up the small steps that led to his apartment building. By this point Lawton had closed the distance between them and darted through the alley and into the back parking lot of the apartment, already fidgeting with two thin metal tools. The front entrance was too conspicuous—the chances of being seen were high, opening the possibility of a positive identification by the police. Remaining unnoticed to Victor on a darkened street was simple, but it would be impossible in fully lit, narrow corridors. And were Victor to be spooked before reaching his apartment, Lawton would be forced to kill in the open.
Not only would her careful plans be ruined, but Lawton would not be paid. When she hired him and prepared the instructions, she very clearly detailed the necessity of total secrecy in the initial stage. That would only be possible if Victor died in his apartment, where his body could remain undetected for days. For that to work, Lawton had meticulously planned the time required for pinpoint execution.
Fourteen seconds was the limit he had given himself for opening the back loading door, and with a smooth proficiency he inserted the two picks, one atop the other, and while depressing the pins with one pick, Lawton forced the tumbler upward with the other, releasing the bolt. He sprung up from his crouched position and pushed the door open, ticking off the seconds in his head. Approaching the nearest stairwell at a full sprint, and nine seconds slower than was necessary, he knew his target would now be on the elevator, beginning his ascent to the fifth floor.
Lawton flung the doorway open and bounded up the stairs two at a time, passing each level in rapid succession. Slipping the picks into an inside coat pocket while still climbing, he retrieved an 8mm handgun from the back of his belt, along with the cylindrical silencer attachment. When he emerged into the fifth floor hallway, Lawton had overcome the nine second delay and quickly screwed the silencer into place. Down the hallway and around the corner to the left he knew Victor would be preparing to unlock his door. The timing would need to be perfect.
As he took the final step before the hallway turned, Lawton could hear a loud click, signifying the nearest doorway had just been opened. He almost allowed himself a smile before stepping around the curve.
Sheer surprise displayed itself on Victor's face in that first moment, but his facial features tightened into hardened pain as Lawton struck his windpipe with the edge of his flattened palm, severing his ability to scream. Lawton's right leg lifted into the air as he pivoted on his left heel, and he smashed it down against the outside of Victor's kneecap. His leg buckled with a loud crunch and spittle gurgled out of the corners of his mouth, a raspy gasp the only sound escaping his throat.
Lawton grasped the scruff of Victor's jacket and fiercely thrust him forward through the open doorway. He crumpled immediately, sprawling on the floor wildly and frantically grabbing for something, anything, his mind unable to process the suddenness, the terror, of the moment. Calmly closing the door behind himself, Lawton raised his right arm and for a brief second moonlight streaming in through the window glinted off the barrel of his polished handgun. He squeezed the trigger twice and two tiny flashes of white punctured the end of the silencer as the bullets coursed outward, piercing the flesh of Victor's back and rupturing his spine and lungs. Two thin lines of scarlet squirted upward and his body jerked forward in a spasm and then lay still on the hardwood flooring. Lawton took several steps and stopped directly over Victor's head, firing one final shot into the back of his skull.
Tucking the gun into the back of his belt, Lawton quickly went to work, gathering Victor's prison guard uniform and identification. It was not long before he finished buttoning the collared uniform and attached a forged ID card to his breast pocket. A quick glance at his watch revealed the time to be 11:23 p.m., which gave him more than half an hour to be on time for his first and only shift at the prison.
Lawton slipped his trench coat back on, stuffed his own clothing into a small duffel bag that he found in the apartment, and quietly exited the apartment, taking care to lock the door behind him.
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"So you're the temp for Victor, huh?"
Lawton nodded and firmly shook the outstretched hand of the beefy man in front of him. "Name's Kirk Anderson."
"Steve Cederstrom," the other man replied. "I got the email earlier today. You have any idea what's wrong with Victor? He seemed okay yesterday."
Shrugging, Lawton said, "Probably a stomach virus or something like that. Those things tend to sneak up on you."
"Sure do." Steve adjusted the brim of his hat slightly and smiled. "You know exactly what you're doing tonight?"
"I definitely do." Lawton took a few steps away from Steve and then looked back over his shoulder. "When's my first coffee break?"
"Two hours."
"Great. See you then."
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After a circuitous and meandering walk, Lawton leaned against the wall just down the hallway from a very particular room, watching the time tick by on his watch. Hefty bribery had ensured the complacency of the man in the prison's monitoring room, whose job it was to deactivate the camera positioned outside the room Lawton was about to access. He had no doubts that the man would indeed fulfill his role, for—as Lawton well knew—money was a powerful motivator.
When the agreed upon time arrived, Lawton boldly strode forward to the heavy steel door and slid one of the large keys that hung around his belt into the lock. With a firm twist, the door clicked open and he grabbed hold of the handle, pushing it sideways. Light filtered through the open doorway into a room that was bathed in darkness moments before. The dimensions were small and aside from a decidedly modest bed and slightly beige toilet, it lacked any furnishings.
Though a hired hitman, he could not help but feel a shiver course down his spine at the sight of a lone woman already standing in the middle of the room, staring at him. The shadows obscured the majority of her features, leaving little other than her slender frame visible.
"I could feel you coming well down the hallway," she said softly. "Sooner, if I'd actually been concentrating. You look quite different without all that armour of yours, Deadshot."
"Well, there's a slight conspicuousness when you walk into a prison wearing full body armour," he replied, shrugging.
"And what have I done to merit a visit?" she asked.
"The Brotherhood is being reformed, so it's less what you've done and more what you could do."
"Only two people have the talents and connections necessary to command another Brotherhood so quickly, and I sure didn't organize it, what with my present incarceration. It's only been three months since Paris, certainly not enough time for an unknown entity to ascend the ranks and assume control. That leaves only one individual besides myself with the requisite abilities. Am I heading in the right direction? Should I assume that she's the one in charge of the operation?
Deadshot nodded. "She is."
"And you've come all this way to tell me. The famous marksman downgraded to a messenger boy, huh? Oh this must be so hard for that little self-esteem of yours. Did you at least find a few excuses to kill on your way here?"
"Only one," he said, feigning a pained look.
She let her lips curl upward into a smirk. "She's too smart to figure I'll blindly follow her, and to be honest there's very little she can offer me. So why even extend the invitation? What is it that truly brings you here for me?"
"Personal experience," Deadshot replied. "This entire thing—all the careful extensions and movements—isn't about getting rich through the standard dealings. There's a far more direct aim in mind. Specifically five pompous juveniles."
Though he could not see it, her eyes lit up and the smile grew wider.
Deadshot took one step forward and lifted his finger to point at the woman. "And none of us have the experience against them that you do. She wants your knowledge."
"Understandable. But revenge isn't as profitable as most expeditions. What did she do to gain your loyalty? "
"It's still money," he remarked blandly. "Unlike everyone else, she was fortunate enough to escape the death of the Brotherhood unscathed, and therefore still retains significant holdings. Enough for my services at least."
"Always so concerned with money. You need to expand yourself and be more assertive in your dealings."
Deadshot shrugged nonchalantly. "Nah. Why bother?"
"So will you be freeing me now, or are we going to chat all night?"
"Neither, I'm afraid. She wants to make sure you're the right choice for dealing with the Titans, and that means no free pass. You'll have to get yourself out. I certainly don't doubt that you can, but she seems to think you still have something to prove."
"A trifle, but I suppose I'll play along for now. I also wouldn't mind the opportunity to stretch my wings, so to speak. And once I'm out?"
Lawton fished a slip of paper out from his back pocket and handed it to the woman in front of him. "Go to this address. It's my own personal safe house for when I'm on the West Coast. I also took the liberty of acquiring a new outfit for you. I know how much you seem to enjoy green, so it should suit your tastes. Once you make it there, I'll contact you within a day. Oh, and the man who runs the monitoring room, I promised him money. Naturally I don't want to pay, and we can't have him talking to anyone about tonight's little escapades. So when you do stretch your wings, stretch them in that direction, if you don't mind."
"After such a lovely visit, Floyd, I'll indulge your wish."
Deadshot ducked his head forward in a sarcastic bow and backed out of the room, sealing the door shut, while a quick glance down the hallway revealed that he was alone. Now he faced the unenviable task of maintaining the façade and actually working in the prison throughout the night. Only an hour into his shift and all his objectives were accomplished. Lawton sighed. It was going to be a long and very near unbearable seven hours.