The two young men stepped in, quickly searching the room through their shaded glasses. The lounge was typical for Penguin: Grand and malicious.
A small jazz ensemble found their places, Ricky Genvois, a slimey club singer specializing in entertaining mobsters, creeps and crooks, stepped up to the mike. The dancers and back-up singers were already on the scene, taking instructions from a thin man with grey hair dressed in a skintight black getup:
"Vincent, Carmine, I want you two in the front, Sam, Frank and Louis, I want you a step further back. And for god's sake remember the double turn during the scat this time…"
Mikey and Anthony decided to find their way to the bar. The bartender was step one, the instructor step two. The boss had been quite specific about that.
Mikey tried to order some drinks, but before he could get the wanted tender's attention, the piano and the clarinets started at maximum volume. The instructor started counting out the rhythm and Ricky's smooth tenor started floating through the room.
Exactly on cue the five male dancers began snapping their fingers accompanying the tune and their five combined right feet began tapping the beat. The three Russian girls repeated Ricky's tones before he continued and the five men began their choreography. The instructor somehow managed to make his voice heard over it all:
"More clarinet, Dimitri, don't let those trumpets outshine you… Martha, double the volume, I want you just as loud as Ricky in the repeat…"
The five dancing men where all in black slacks and t-shirts, not yet dressed for tonight's show. Despite their huge build, most of them moved quite gracefully. All of them had the same orange glow in their skin, the signature of a cheap tanning job. From the outside, they seemed quite similar. But there was something special with the one furthest back to the left…
Mikey nodded Anthony in the right direction. He saw him, and he was actually rather impressed by their boss's stepping routine.
"Grand finish!" the instructor yelled at the top of his lounges. The man they recognized stepped down on one knee, lifting and flexing both arms, which two of his colleagues used to get airborne as they kicked his tensed biceps in order to gain a spin. He straightened his back as the others granted him a central position. Seeing them like this, it became very apparent that he was more than just a bit buffer then the rest of the troupe.
"You know the fella?" the bartender asked as he saw Mikey and Anthony staring at the central dancer.
"What's it to ya?" Anthony quickly barked back as he put a handful of the served peanuts in his mouth.
"Two neat Johnny's" Mikey ordered as a peace offering.
"Rocks?" the bartender asked a little insulted. He served gangsters all the time, but usually they had a little more class. Only the top came here, but these were definitely just a couple of wise guys.
"Yo, you ain't know what neat means?" Anthony said in the same gnarling tone as before. His accent was that of a Bowery-boy. Definitely under 21 – not that that meant much here. He was probably a 'favorite' for someone.
Another bartender joined – their target. Anthony's bad behavior had attracted the managing bar keeper just like they had hoped.
"Please don't take my employees curiosity for insult" he started. "Sam there joined the troupe barely two weeks ago and he isn't much of a talker. The rumor is he worked with Poison Ivy for a couple of years."
"Only survived because he weren't buying what she was selling, they say" the other bartender added as he placed the two scotches on the table and offered the men a wink: "If you catch my drift…"
"So you don't know?" Mikey started arrogantly. His accent softer than that of his partner, but still noticeable. He was definitely older too.
"Know?" their target asked. But Anthony didn't get to hear the explanation. He had helped construct the story the night before, so he wouldn't miss much. Besides: He had played his part of step one.
He followed his orders and went for the stage, drink still in his hand. The instructor had just commissioned a short break. Ricky was of course complaining about the mike, his place on stage, the back-singers being mezzo sopranos when he had strictly order altos… The instructor cooled him off in the most professional way, sending him to the backroom where Anthony presumed Ricky's blue M&M's would take off the edge.
The young man stopped at the end of the stage, where he placed his drink on the edge of the scene and started tapping out a smoke from the packet of cigarettes he had in his front pocket. He decided to enjoy the show a little before interrupting:
As soon as Ricky was on his way out, the instructor had headed straight for Sam, the buff central dancer. He was apparently handing him a towel to dry off the sweat, even though the man was dry as a bone. The chances were the 'dancer' didn't even count this as a work-out, if Anthony weren't mistaken.
"I really want to use you as lead in the Geraldine-number", the instructor started, using his flamboyant gestures as an excuse to touch the dancer's bulking chest. "I know you have only been with us shortly, but I see such potential in you. I might even be able to get you a line in of the songs…" he leaned in and let his stray hand grab a bicep. "All I need is a little persuasion to get you all the way to the top."
His lustful eyes told Sam exactly what the price for such a favor would be.
"I ain't got much of a voice" the bulk answered in the same accent as Anthony had demonstrated merely seconds ago. "And not to be offensive boss, but you're a little old for me."
He pushed away the instructor in what seemed a brutal way to send a nod to Anthony, who was lighting his cigarette only few feet away.
"Hey babe" he said in the most casual way, both Sam and Anthony doing their best to stay in character. "You here early, ain't ya?"
"I need cash" Anthony yelled, knowing that such a blatant statement regarding money was not welcome in a classy mobster den like this.
Sam strode across the stage and jumped down to take his place next to the young man.
"Sure thing" Sam started, placing a thumb under the much smaller man if not boy's chin, pressing it upwards as if to kiss him. "But then you have to do something for me first."
The sleazy smile almost outshone that of the instructor earlier who looked offended at the scene, not used to getting a no. He might be new in Gotham, but he had been a central part of almost all mobster scenes across the coast, and dancers desperate enough to perform in those joints were usually eager to take shortcuts.
"I know the rules" Anthony answered, his eyes laced with spikes. "You got a room? Or do ya want me to blow it right on stage?"
"I think we can think of something" Sam purred back, letting his tongue lick his teeth to seal the deal. He took a second to make it seem like he enjoyed the young man's face before removing the thumb. Anthony shook his head violently, but when Sam placed a hand on his back, he followed willingly. Such constellations were not unknown in these parts of Gotham.
"I'll be back in ten" he yelled to the instructor without taking his eyes off the boy. The grey haired man in the black skintight attire hadn't moved, his arms crossed, his features still upset because the rejection.
"We start in three" he snarled, but Sam didn't budge.
"I'll be back in five, if this one does as told and keeps his teeth out of the game."
He raised an eyebrow that even made the dancer known as Louis No-No's skill crawl. The 'no no'-part of his name referred to his inability to accept a ladies rejection and the fact that he knew some good 'persuasion tricks' that had gotten him seven years behind bars for rape and assault.
Sam shoved Anthony into a closet backstage where the cleaning staff kept their equipment. There was plenty of room for what they had planned.
As soon as he closed the door behind them, Anthony got down on his knees. He knew the routine:
He swiftly attached the scrambler to the door, making sure nobody passing the closet would hear anything other than the kind of noises they expected.
"We're clear" Tim added as he rose to his feet. Bruce tore of the wig in order to scratch an itch that had been bothering him for the last three acts. He had settled on the fake tan, a thin goatee he had grown himself and the wig for this job. Subtle, but enough of a change to let nobody notice the dancer and lowlife was in fact Gotham's richest socialite. When Dick and Tim had transformed themselves into Mikey and Anthony back at the cave with the same sort of subtle changes, Dick had called it "Clark Kenting it".
"It's just like we expected." Bruce began. "Copplepot is thinking about expanding, but the Chinese are extremely discreet about their entrance, why we never found anything on them before."
"Have you got the attention of Keung?" Tim asked. Keung was step three – their actual target.
"He has been here for every performance since the first night."
"Did he give you anything?" Tim removed the shades and raised an eyebrow.
"Only hints…" Bruce turned around a bucket in order to take a seat. "But strong hints. I think he'll give up his location tonight. Especially if you're here to agitate him."
They had tried to get the information the old fashion way for months, but these Chinese mobsters were quite different from the Italians and Russians they were used to dealing with. These wise guys happily killed themselves off in numbers if they felt threatened, and the top was hidden better than Nightwing or even Batman had ever seen before.
"I'll do my un-charming best" Tim said in a smile. "But don't you think he'll just rent a hotel room?"
"No" Bruce solemnly stated, hearing the sound loop was nearing an end. "He doesn't want there to be any proof. Big Keung is apparently not condoning the boy's tendencies. A hotel room would demand credit card bills or unaccounted for cash. No - he will use an old hide out, somewhere he thinks is safe and abandoned."
"But no one leaves without leaving a clue or two behind" Tim added with a smile. They had them. One more night, and they had them.
"Got a chance to hear whether Dick got any intel from the old Russian?" He had seen the main barkeeper sell information left and right at every rehearsal and performance. It shouldn't be a problem to get him to squeal without blowing their cover.
"I was too busy watching the act" Tim taunted. "You're getting quite good."
Bruce raised a brow as a warning.
"Well, you are. I mean, I never knew you could tap dance or-"
"It's no different from training positions and attacks" Bruce stated as he put the wig back on. "Know your place, pay attention to your teammate's location and stay on cue. Simple as that."
The scrambler ended the program with a load moan and some basic rustling around. Dick had been snickering behind Bruce's back since the initial plan took form, which hadn't exactly stopped when he had heard Tim prepare this special soundtrack for the scrambler. Bruce had however seemed untouched by the whole creepy-gay-guy-scheme, solely stating: "a cover is a cover". Tim tried to remember that when he went back down on one knee to remove the device, sending Bruce, or rather Sam at this point a nod when he was ready for their entrance.
Sam smacked upon the door with a huge grin, making sure to look as if he was just zipping back up. One of the other dancers, Carmine 'The Reluctant Prince', walked by and made a face of disgust.
"God damn pedos" he whispered to himself, which triggered Anthony to step in his way and wave a fist at him. He was still whipping his mouth clean with the back of his other arm when he stated his threat:
"Yo, you' got a problem with me and my sugar?"
Sam put an overbearing hand on the young man's shoulder and looked at Carmine.
"Don't listen to the puppy, Prince. His bark is worse than his bite. Ain't it, Tony?"
Anthony lowered his fist but his eyes stayed the same: Wild enough for Carmine to be the one to move around him.
"We're back on in 30 sec" he hissed without taking his eyes off 'the puppy'.
Sam and Anthony hastened their pace but still managed to meet the instructor in the doorway.
"Pleased, I presume" he said sizzling, but Sam didn't get a chance to answer before Mikey came running.
"Ay, Tony. Got the load?"
Anthony proudly raised a bundle of ten dollar bills over his head. Mikey grabbed them and put them in his inner pocket without any objections from the other men.
"Nice seeing you move, Sam" he continued, completely ignoring the angry instructor between them. "I even hear you' got a singing part come up next number. Can't wait to hear that."
A patented Dick Grayson smile found its way through the Mikey-cover. Not professional, he admitted, but he was still pretty proud of himself for not filming the whole thing on his phone and sending it to Barbara and Wally right away. That had demanded more willpower than he would ever admit.
"Let's scram" Anthony stated, knowing they would have to wait for the show to get to step two - the instructor. Even though the target was just two steps away.
"Hell no" Mikey continued. "We' got the dough to buy drinks and a show coming up. I ain't missing this for the world!"
He sent Sam another winning smile. It was one thing to get to see Batman tap dance on stage. But to see him in a singing role as well? This was too good to miss! Sam grinded his teeth. He didn't need the audience.
"Let's see about that" the instructor snipped, turning his nose into the air. He still hadn't swallowed the rejection from his favorite dancer just yet.
"It was actually good of you to come, Mikey" Sam started, a vengeful grin spreading across his face before turning to the instructor. "You see, boss, Mikey here is really into the whole act we do here. And he's an old Blüdhaven-dog too."
The instructor lit up, letting his eyes take in all of Mikey. The man was actually rather attractive.
"Really?" he purred in excitement, while Mikey gave Sam a hidden scared look: This wasn't part of the plan?
"Yeah", Sam answered on behalf of his dimwitted friend. "Ever since I started performing here he's been dying to meet you, boss. He says he has seen most of your shows. Ain't that right, Mikey?"
Mikey swallowed hard. "Sure…." was the best answer he could come up with on the spot.
"Oh, a fan? How embarrassing!" The instructor said without even acting shy, quickly following up on the line by placing a hand on Mikey's back and dragging him towards the bar: "Could I buy you a drink?"
"Ain't ya doing the routine?" Anthony offered as a helping hand, but the instructor waved him off.
"Oh, pish posh. They should darn well know the steps by now anyway. Even though it is hard to get good people these days" the grey haired man blabbed on, still dragging the startled Mikey towards the bar. He sent Sam a look to know that not all was forgiven and forgotten, but then he looked down to catch a glimpse of Mikey's behind. He bit his lip while he forgot all about Sam and that rude puppy of his.
"You' the worst, Sam" Anthony added while shaking his head. Bruce found himself suppressing a smile. He settled for a Sam-answer:
"That's what you get, kid!"