BLUDMONEY

BLUDMONEY

By

Scott D. Halfacre

***********************************************************

Legal crap: I have no cash, am not making any off this, don't won the characters, leave me be.

***********************************************************

CHAPTER ONE

***********************************************************

It feels great to be back in my rightful outfit. I feel lighter, faster and more maneuverable and yes even a little stronger. That's a funny comment if you knew what I had just been through.

There is no wind to speak of and the night is cool and damp; the air seems to just hang there waiting for your lungs to breathe it in. The smell in Bludhaven is different from the air here in Gotham. Gotham is somehow everything Bludhaven is, multiplied by ten. I grew up here, but I wouldn't want to live here.

Bludhaven is now my home. I'm only here in Gotham cause I owed a friend; I owe Bruce. It's a debt that I can never repay in my lifetime. If I lived to the age of 900 I could never find the time to repay him. As much grief as I've been given, I've been given something more.

Bruce gave me life.

I was once a bright and shiny Robin, next to his shadow of the Bat. I am now a shadow also and a new person has the title of Robin, along with the colorful suit. I used to think whoever made that was colorblind. I know better now, I know he was.

"Would you have left me in the cold?" Tim's not looking at me and his voice is distant, even though he is only a couple feet away.

He's staring down at the docks below us through his binoculars. I'm sure being left out of the Doe situation hurt his feelings. Ironically enough, I was hurt at being called in on a moments notice, I guess that shows Bruce does have some sort of confidence in me. He'd never say it though; I've grown up with him and can still count on one hand where I felt 'worthy'.

"Judging by the shape he's been in for a week, would you?" I decide to try and avoid the question and deviate it back to him.

"You're avoiding the question." Tim always was the brainy one. "But I see your point."

The kid has a head on his shoulders; he's only a few years shy of me yet I feel a lot older. I've seen a lot of things in my time. Even though sometimes I wish my life were different, I don't think I really do.

"I still think I could have helped." His legs move slightly but aside from that movement Tim hasn't moved at all in the past 57 minutes. He's got the discipline.

"You did help. I just wish I could have done more." I cast a look over my shoulder; it's a reflex movement. I never expect anything to be there, it's just something I do at times when I feel uncomfortable. It's come in handy a few times.

"He seems to cause that feeling in all of us." As I said… Tim always was the brainy one.

"Nothing yet?" I shift my weight from my left leg to the other and feel the slight twinge of pain from the bullet wound. The waiting is the worst part for me. I just always would rather be acting than waiting.

Patience is a virtue.

I smile to myself. Even lying in pain in a bed far away from here with the ever-vigilant Alfred watching over him, I can still hear Bruce's voice; his teachings.

"Nada." Tim still gazes through the binocs. "Oracle did say it was Pier 12, right?"

"Are you questioning me, her or yourself?" I walk in a small circle and come to stop at the edge of the building and glance up and down the road leading parallel with the docks. Nothing.

"Neither," Tim looks over his shoulder at me. "Change of subject?"

"Thanks." Said in my most sarcastic tone. "Don't you know you aren't supposed to tell the person when you are changing the conversation?"

"You asked." He said shrugging and going back to his binocs.

As I said… Tim always was the brainy one.

***********************************************************

"When?" Tim asked for once ignoring his duty.

"Yesterday." I smile and squat next to the door that is the roof access for the building and lean back into it.

"Some guys have all the luck." Tim shakes his head slightly.

"You may call it luck, but let me tell you it's practically a curse." I start checking the compartments in my gloves. This is probably another reflex action on my part. I mean I can recall everything that is in there, yet still I check it.

You can never be too prepared.

Uh huh. I hope this doesn't happen on my wedding night. I'll need a shrink for sure.

"Sure… curse. Whatever." Tim shrugs without looking. "Where do you find the time for all of them?"

"I don't." I laugh slightly and my back aches slightly.

I may be getting too old for this sh--

"It seems to me you make enough time." Tim's left hand moves slightly as he focuses the lens.

"It seems." Maybe he's got something.

"I'm just saying that you have Barbara right? And now you ha--"

"I don't have her." I cut him off.

"Yeah, I'm just saying that--"

"I know what you are saying." My voice is harder and colder than I meant.

Tim meant nothing by the comment; it's just 'guy talk'. But she's been one of very few women that move me to such extents. I would do anything for her.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at ya." I stand up and my leg twinges again, less than it has all week though. I think that's a good sign.

"I know." Tim stands and checks the time on the watch underneath the glove on his left hand, he has something. "But with Barbara, Clancy, Helena and who knows who else… I'd be tried."

"It's not like that." I don't know what it's like.

"You have no clue what it's 'like' do you?" Tim slyly smiles and puts the binocs away.

"Short Round… no man in the world does." As I said… Tim always was the brainy one.

***********************************************************

We've been waiting almost an hour for something to happen; Robin and Nightwing sitting in the dark and just waiting. Oracle had given us information about a possible gun smuggling ring; and when Oracle gives you a 'possible', that's better than most peoples 'definite'.

It's paid off.

As Tim gets closer into position I sit and watch. His approach to things is a lot like Bruce's. Mine was too but I grew out of it. So will Tim. He's started too, but I can see he has a way to go. Then again, if you are going to emulate someone…

Six vehicles approach from the south, two dark vans, three sedans – lighter than the vans – and one bright red sports car. One van is in front while the other takes up the rear of the line. The sports car is just in front of the rear van and the three sedans have taken up a 'V' formation just behind the front van. They have slowed down and are at a crawl coming north. They are about 2 piers away.

"I've got company." I hear Tim's voice through the receiver in my mask.

"The party is about to be crashed. Six vehicles northbound." I inch towards the edge of the building and spot Tim sitting in a between a group of crates.

He's surrounded by what looks to be about 10 to 13 men and I'm sure all are armed to the teeth. I mean, when you deal with gunrunners it's a good chance they aren't carrying knives.

Never bring a gun to a knife fight.

I hope one day that stops.

***********************************************************

CHAPTER TWO

***********************************************************

Robin is in the center of the action that is going on down below. The vehicles are pulling to a stop at the pier. About twenty feet away from where the men surrounding Robin inside the crates are. Tim hasn't been spotted and since the same guy trained me, I know he will not be.

The last van stops about a quarter of a mile away with its lights off. Apparently they are to watch the deal go down and be 'backup' if all hell breaks loose.

Which happens quite often in Gotham.

The first van has pulled the closest to the men standing around the crate with its loading door right next to the crates. The two sedans that were in the lead stop shy of the men by about 25 feet and form a "V" like a roadblock. Both cars facing each other, obviously they are not the 'getaway' vehicles. The sedan that was behind them slowly pulls to a halt at the beginning of the pier, again more backup. And the sports car pulls right up to the "V" formed by the sedans.

I can just make out Tim making adjustments of some sort from this far away I can't tell for sure. I try the line to him, but it's dead. He's always thinking so I guess he can't afford to speak right now and doesn't need the distraction.

I'll need to get some of the info myself. The closest vehicle to me is the last van; I'll take them first. Besides these kind of deals are never the kind of thing that go down right away.

This sneaking is less like me and more like Bruce. But it does have its good points. I mean my acrobatics isn't exactly going to endear me with the crowd, not like it used to when I didn't know any better.

Keep on your toes.

Will do.

Within 23 seconds I'm close enough to smell the smoke of the occupants of the vehicle. Down here the people ahead are just tiny spots on the horizon. They are going to have to communicate by radios, and maybe their headlights.

I crawl under the vehicle from behind and slide forwards till I'm at the front of the van. I flip on the nightvision on my mask and can make out the engine. The whole world is now a greenish tint; it takes some getting used to when you first try them on. But nowadays it feels natural at times like this. Take the clippers out of my boot and use it to cut loose the ignition wire and I am on my way to the party.

Never underestimate them.

I haven't; I'm sure of it. If I had killed all the power to the car they would know something was up as soon as they tried to listen to some music or something. But maybe… okay… 'Don't underestimate'… for good measure I clip the wires to the headlights also.

Where the hell is that voice to tell me good job? It's in my head and I still can't make him say it.

Now I'm on my way to the party. I hope Tim is doing as well as I expect he is.

I arrive at the sedan parked just at the beginning of Pier 12 about 3 minutes after I started coming down from the rooftop. There are two figures moving inside the car. The windows are tinted, but I can just make them out; the windows are cracked to let smoke out. One is in the back seat and the other is the smoker, he's the wheelman. The back seat is the one to worry about. The driver need to drive up in case he's needed, the guy in the back seat is the dangerous one; possibly a sniper.

Glancing down the pier I can see the figures gathered around the boxes. They haven't started loading the van yet, so there is still some time. I hope Tim is okay. They are about a good hundred yards away, I'm sure that shot would be nothing for this guy. Unlike the others, I can't just immobilize these guys. I'll have to take them out.

Timing and Intelligence.

Understood.

Speed and Stealth.

I got it.

Fear is not an option; it's a tool. Use it.

I am really getting sick of this.

I need to scare these guys. There are too many of them, and only Tim and myself are here to stop them. They would only need to see the shadow of the Bat to accomplish this. Unfortunately Bruce is out of commission for a bit. Then again, no one knows that. Only the 'family' is aware.

I toss three knockout pellets that I took from a compartment in my left boot and try to get them into the car. Two make it; one bounces off the window harmlessly but starts to smoke within seconds. One is enough to knock them out in such an enclosed space, but I wanted to make sure they were out, since I will need to move and fast. I didn't count on missing with one of them, now it will surely attract attent--

"What the fuck?!" A booming voice calls out from the direction of the docks.

When plans fail… improvise.

Oh damn.

Use it.

Easy for you to say, everyone fears the Bat.

USE IT!

I have an idea.

I just hope it works.

***********************************************************

CHAPTER THREE

***********************************************************

Picture this moment for a second if you will. I count 27 men in varying sizes of numerous creeds and colors, yet they have two things in common at this moment.

The first is that they are all packing heat; every last one of them is carrying an iron on their hip, ankle, waist, side or just have it in plain old sight. Some more than likely have more than one gun.

Never bring a gun to a knife fight.

The second thing these men now have in common is fear.

Fear is a tool.

They now stand wondering what happened to their other men at this point. The only thing they see is their sedan with smoke pouring out of it and beside it and a lone man strolling up towards them.

Me.

Criminals prey on the weak; they use fear as a tool. Whether it is the fear of getting hurt or the fear of it happening again, once someone has experienced this 'tool' of theirs, that person is changed forever.

They changed Bruce years ago.

They changed me years later.

The difference is we now own that tool and I'm here to pay them back in spades.

"T-Dawg?" A man dressed in red yells over his shoulder to someone I can't see as of yet.

I'm still far away, about half a football field, and walking. I can just barely hear the yell from this distance. I'm beginning to think I'm nuts for trying such a dumb act.

Never second-guess yourself.

There's electricity in the air and power in my steps. I'd call them 'strides' rather than steps, displays it better. But here I am – as far as they know – alone and half off my rocker. I just might be inclined to agree at this point at least with the latter part. I don't slow down though; I keep up the pace and notice the pain that my leg had is gone. The adrenaline has obviously kicked in.

As I'm coming up some of them start to move. One heads over to the drivers side of the van, while five others take their place behind him in step. But then they break off and head towards the loading door on the van and start loading the van as quickly as they can. They are only interested in the merchandise and aren't the real threat.

The one that yelled for his buddy 'T-Dawg', is now standing with a gentleman that looks like he could fit into any NFL starting offensive line and not let them down. The guy is large and makes me feel inadequate in the muscle department, that's not an easy accomplishment. He has the definition to prove he's been working out, along with the track marks to show how he got that way.

He must be--

"T-Dawg, you know 'im?" The mouthy one asks while fingering a pump-action with his left hand.

"Does he look like a friend of mine?" T-Dawg uses a sidelong glance on him.

"I'll take that as a compliment." With that I spring into action.

***********************************************************

I've been at this for a good three minutes and am obviously winning. But there's one thing that worries me…

No sign of Tim.

The guys have loaded the van and the driver is starting the vehicle. Tim has to be in one of the boxes, he wouldn't leave me here to fend for myself.

Not under these odds.

Odds are for losers.

I can't bring myself to stop thinking about Tim and it's causing me to be less effective than I would be normally. I'm getting overwhelmed, but I have to stay close to them all. If I take the fight away from them, their guns will win in this 'knife' fight. In close they aren't very effective.

The fear is gone and replaced by panic. They are trying to scatter like roaches when the lights come on. I can hear the distant sirens of Gotham's finest and so can they. There are 11 of them unconscious or shot by their partners lying on the pier bleeding and whimpering like children.

T-Dawg got away and so did the van. There were simply too many of them for me to--

Excuses.

I know.

You need to be better next time.

If there is a next time.

***********************************************************

CHAPTER FOUR

***********************************************************

"We haven't got a God damned thing to hold these guys on!"

"Harvey! If I hear you taking his name in vain again tonight I'm going to make you sorry!" Detective Montoya declares at her partner admonishing him with a glare.

"I was just--" Harvey starts to be cut short by Montoya.

"I know Harv." She says a little coldly.

Hard to believe this is the same woman I was out with last night. She looks different and her whole mannerisms have changed. Look who's talking, I know. But she seemed a lot different last night, then again so was I.

"Give it to me one last time." Harvey says looking at me while chewing on the end of a well-chewed pen and holding his pad. The one that has everything I have had to say for the past fifteen minutes.

"I've told you what I have to say."

"Where's the Freak? You know. Yer boss. The Bat?" He puts his pen to the paper as if he's going to get a different answer this time.

"He's NOT my boss." Instead he gets the same one.

"Harv, we've been through this enough already why don--" Renee starts to be cut off by a detective working the scene.

"You two… I mean three may want to take a look at something." According to his nametag his name is Bock. He's a black man about the same height as Bruce. He's graying around the temples and has a goatee. He's pointing over his shoulder towards the crates that were left when the men took off in a hurry.

The crates where Tim was.

"What is it?" Bullock asks as I brush past him.

"That's a crime scene!" Bullock shouts at my back.

"Then try and arrest me." It comes out cold and hard and hopefully as low as I meant to say it.

News reporters are now flashing pictures from the police lines at the beginning of the dock trying to get a clean shot of me. I try and keep my face turned just enough to stay out of the pictures. I work with detectives; I don't need anyone putting this together.

I get close to the area where Bock was thumbing us towards. I'm standing in the middle of the boxes that are left and searching but I find nothing. Montoya, Bock and Bullock come walking up as if I am the only one that is clueless.

I'm looking everywhere I can think of, the boxes, and the boards that make up the deck of the pier. Switch my sights to the nightvision again and scan the floorboards. I can just make out something stuck in the cracks of the boards.

"What is it?" Bock questions me.

I hold up a finger to keep them silent while I reach in my left glove for a nightarang to use it to dig out what I suspect is--

"Well?" Bullock asks in his bull in a china shop way.

Damn.

"It's Robin's." I grasp the transceiver tight in my left fist and start to walk away.

"Isn't that evidence?" Bock asks trying not to push my buttons.

"Damn right it is. Lissen up freak! You tell your boss that if he--"

I would have let Bullock continue but he reached for my hand. I let him grab hold and spin him up against the crate next to us. I push lightly up adding pressure to the pain at having his arm behind his back.

"He… Is… Not… My… Boss." I practically spell it out for him. "Now if you want this," I hold up my left fist in front of his face then open my hand. "Send your boss to get it."

"Nightwing--" Montoya starts.

"I gave my statement. That's more than he does for you." With that I head towards my apartment which is on the other side of town, but I can use the run.

***********************************************************

I entered my apartment through a roof access. This is an old place; I keep it now for my stays in Gotham. No matter what this place seems to drag me back in. Just like Pacino in Godfather.

I just finished taking a shower and have some of my 'normal' clothes on. Take out a burrito out of the freezer and put it in the microwave. Switch on the tube and there's me and Gotham's finest.

They even have me pushing around Harvey on tape.

I can't believe Tim would leave me like that; he wouldn't have. But at the same time he couldn't have been dragged away. He took this off early; he never had it on. I was never able to communicate with him. He had to have a reason.

Tim always was the brainy one.

He HAD to have a reason. But what reason would be good enough?

There wasn't a message before I went into the shower but sure enough the light is blinking. Thinking it may be from Tim I didn't even wait for my burrito to finish heating.

It wasn't.

***********************************************************

"Babs?"

"Hey you." I could swear I hear her perk up a bit at my voice, but I'm not sure.

"It's three thirty in the morning and you leave a message? Are you all right?" The second I said it I felt dumb for having asked. Sometimes it's easy to forget who she is and think of her as Babs.

"I should ask you that." She tells me and I can hear she knows.

"I've got television and some frozen burritos, what more does a growing boy…" I trail off having said the word boy.

"I'm sure he's fine. Tim can handle this."

"Babs, can I come o--"

Timing is everything.

I hate call waiting.

"Hold on a sec." Thinking it may be Tim I switch lines.

"Hello? Tim?"

"Dick?" A voice I'll never forget comes through the line.

"Pooh?"

"Dick, I need your help." The five words I told her she'd only have to say to me and I'd--

"I'm on my way." I sigh and grab my gym bag and toss in the Nightwing outfit.

"I heard you became a cop here and I'm at your apartment now. Clancy let me in."

She's in Bludhaven.

"I'm on my way."

I hang up and the phone rings. It's Babs still holding on the other line.

Hefting my bag on my shoulder, I lock the front door on my way out.

***********************************************************

CHAPTER FIVE

***********************************************************

I only hope he understands.

After high school I never expected to see 'Pooh' again. Turns out she stayed in Gotham and went to Gotham University. And even though we stayed away from each other, I was always aware she was there.

Before tonight the last words I had said to her was that I would be there when she needed me. All she needed to do was ask.

Pooh was my first serious girlfriend that had nothing to do with the 'hero' side of me. She loved Richard, which in part was the problem. I'm more than that and it always seemed to come between us. Essentially I chose being myself over being with her. I know that was the right choice, even if it was tough to admit then.

The wind is in my hair and reminds me of the many times her fingers caressed the same area. The engine of the Racing Boat is audible, even over the loudest setting on the stereo – which isn't surprising since I have it redlining – according to the disk jockey some band named 'Creed' is playing a song called 'One'. I pay it little mind since I have other things to hold my attention.

I can only hope he understands.

I 'borrowed' it from Bruce's collection. I also walked out on Tim when he may very well need me and walked out on Babs when I needed her. I'm doing all the wrong things but for all the right reasons.

It's not too different from being Nightwing. Being a 'hero' is more than just a costume, if it wasn't than any one of the people that dress up like Batman at conventions could do it. Fact is it takes a special personality to become one. The suit is just one of the perks.

Taking the boat is the quickest and shortest distance between Gotham and Bludhaven, and time is short. I could have taken the Batwing, but I figured taking one Bruce's things over one of Batman's seemed like the 'right thing' to do at the time. I know stealing is stealing, but at times one evil is worse than the other is.

Never let feelings guide you.

Easy for you to say.

You've never been in love.

***********************************************************

It's five in the morning as I get into the harbor.

In an hour and a half I have committed breaking and entering, grand larceny and worst of all the betrayal of not one but three good friends. I even miss the train that would have got me close to my apartment.

I'm not having a good day.

I stop to call a cab in a coffee shop. There are a few cops there and I hide my face and try to blend in. I don't need anyone to know I'm in town yet. I managed to get a leave of absence from work, thanks to Bruce. He even got it extended so I could take watch over his city while Alfred forced him to ride the bedsprings for a couple weeks.

After calling the cab I decide to try the apartment, let Pooh know that I am about another twenty-five minutes away.

Three rings. She must be sleeping; she did get to my apartment kind of late as it was. I go to hang up on the fifth ring.

Fifth?

Something's wrong.

Shit.

I drop the phone and run out of the coffee shop.

I have an answering machine that works on toll saver. It picks up on the second ring if there are messages and if not it picks up on the fourth.

Others rationalize.

The cruiser is parked outside and running.

You act.

I'm in the cruiser before I have time to doubt myself and am headed to Pooh.

***********************************************************

I can hear on the police band others are trying to figure out where I'm headed. They have a roadblock set up now about ten blocks ahead of me.

That's 3 blocks short.

Slam on the cruiser's brakes, I leap from the vehicle and I'm in an Olympic style sprint up the stairs to my apartment building. I left the vehicle's door open and the engine still running. I can hear the sirens closing in around me as I get up the stairs.

Floor Two.

I hear a kid crying, there is a guy delivering newspapers to each apartment and the smell of bacon and eggs is strong.

Floor three.

I charge towards my apartment and don't even try the knob, or my key. I kick the door in with one hard kick with my right leg, the doorjamb gives a bit and the door flies backwards and crashes into the wall causing it to bounce back on me. I hit it with my shoulder as I come through the doorway.

I am glad to see nothings disturbed as I run down the few steps that lead into the living room. I can hear the television on in my bedroom.

Something isn't right.

If the television is on… then the apartment has power. The answering machine should have picked up.

I run into the bedroom and see a light coming from underneath my bathroom door to my right.

"Pooh?" My voice cracks a bit.

I can smell it even before I open the door.

Pooh.

Dead.

***********************************************************