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E-mails
Classes were over for the day and Dick was just as glad. He had enough on his mind without having to think about the history of Western Finance right now—or ever, if there was any justice in the world. Dropping his knapsack on the bed, he booted up his laptop and opened his mail. Sure enough, just what he'd been half expecting; there it was again, just sitting there in his in box. It was another e-mail from Urfriend, the third one this week and he still didn't know who it could actually be from.
Sure he had ideas but none of them had panned out yet and he frowned at the damn thing just waiting for him to click on 'open'.
It was almost like it was taunting him.
"A convenience store in New Carthage will be robbed at 11:07 tonight. The clerk will be shot."
The e-mails had started about a month now, always anonymous, always accurate. If he figured out what location they were referring and got there before the robbery or assault or attempted rape occurred he'd receive a follow up message. "Good." No more, no less.
If he guessed wrong and went to the wrong gas station or the wrong park bench he'd find "Do better."
He called Barbara, hoping she might have an idea he'd overlooked. "They were arrive seemingly randomly, pinpointing some crimes, ignoring others with little rhyme or reason and if there's any kind of connection between the targeted crimes, I've yet to find it."
"Is it Bruce? You know this sounds like the kind of thing he might do to see if you're paying attention."
"It's not Bruce, that was my first thought. It's not one of the Titans. I don't think it's another vigilante."
"Who has your e-mail address?"
"A lot of people have Dick Grayson's, especially here on campus; other students I have to work with, every professor, the school itself. It's published in the student directory."
"Which, I'm assuming, could be had if someone wanted it badly enough."
"Obviously."
"Okay, so is this person friend or foe? Start with that."
"I know, I've gone through everyone I can think of and while there are a bunch of people around here who may want to mess with my head, I don't know of anyone who thinks I'm Robin and that would be the only reason to send me stuff about upcoming crimes."
"Security leak, little boy."
He pushed down the flare of anger, hating it when Barbara did that; when she patronized him and went out of her way to try to make him feel like an idiot. "Or not. I haven't ruled out someone from the community."
"Well, good luck with it and watch your back. If you need any help..."
"No, thanks. I'll handle it."
"See that you do, Small Stuff."
Annoyed, he hung up the phone. It was probably someone on campus. Maybe. Certainly someone in the New Carthage area and likely someone associated with Hudson University. Probably. He hadn't figured it out yet and it was getting on his nerves.
He'd tried a number of times to simply e-mail whoever it was back and demand to know who they were, why they wouldn't just talk to him in person or on the phone and let him know how he/she knew about these crimes before they happened. Every attempt had been returned Mailer-Daemoned.
"Goddammit."
Okay, eleven tonight one of the convenience stores would be hit. So, which one?
There weren't that many in New Carthage simply because New Carthage was a small town, maybe three in the area and within a couple of miles of one another. It shouldn't be all that hard to stop whoever it was who had plans for the evening.
And how the hell did whoever was contacting him know about this stuff? They were in on the crimes? They knew who was pulling them (though different people were captured every time he'd figured out the correct location)? They were directing them and playing a game with Robin to see if he could be outsmarted?
This was staring to get on his nerves.
He opened the e-mail again and hit reply, hit cancel and opened his saved e-mail button. None of the ones from Urfriend were there. He opened his trash file. None there. He opened his sent file and, again, nothing. Everything else was; the paper he'd e-mailed to his Finance prof was there, the note he'd sent Alfred asking not to send him any more cookies because he couldn't resist eating the entire box, the birthday e-card he'd sent Donna—everything else was right where it should have been, except for the stuff from his mystery correspondent.
Maybe Yahoo was screwing up again with his account but they didn't explain the e-mails themselves. This was getting seriously annoying.
By ten forty-five that night he'd checked out the Seven-Eleven, Shell gas station with attached mini-mart and the Kwickie-Mart next to the campus. He'd installed small, temporary security cameras with the feed going directly to his own system and so was ready when the car load of three kids—maybe nineteen or twenty years old, from the looks of them—pulled up, hoodies hiding part of their faces and went inside to rob the cashier working alone.
Landing lightly beside the running car, he reached in through the driver's window. "You don't mind if I borrow these, do you?" And pulled out the keys, elbowing the driver hard enough to take him out of commission before tying his hands and making sure he was firmly connected to the steering wheel.
Next he quietly walked in the front door, turned a flip which took him to the register, a well placed foot disarming the leader and a stern look enough to cow the remaining idiot. Calling the local police, he was finished in under ten minutes and on his way home, promises of stopping by the station house to fill out the paperwork accepted by the patrolmen.
Unable to resist, he checked his laptop. One e-mail. One work; 'Good.'.
Shaking his head he stripped off his uniform, took a quick shower against the house rules of no running water after eleven. Finally he was able to settle in to finishing those chemistry problems he'd been putting off. Around one AM he gave in and checked his e-mail one last time before turning in.
The fourth item on the list was a message from Urfriend. The single sentence read; 'Fire at Stop and Shop market, 1:58 AM.'
It was one thirty-nine. The store was five miles away across town. Changing back into Robin, he was at the supermarket with four minutes to spare. Checking the perimeter of the structure he found an incendirary in the dumpster used for cardboard, the rolling container pushed against the wooden building and just starting to smolder with the smell of spilled gasoline strong.
Using his Bat-fire-extinguisher, he had the almost fire out and done in seconds. Two minutes later, it would have been another story.
Later, back in his room he checked again. One e-mail from Urfriend; 'Good.'
He had no idea who he was dealing with.
TBC
