On the Dark City Beat

The symbol of the Bat lit up the night's sky, its light emanating from somewhere in the city, most likely the GCPD. Standing on the corner of a building, Huntress stared up at it, a soft breeze, blowing through her hair.

There was something comforting and yet irritating about the Bat Signal. Ever since it had been put into use, there had been a noticeable decline in criminal activity. There had been studies and everything and every time that damn light was on, criminals, thugs, and punks instantly began laying low, suddenly reluctant and scared to cause too much of a ruckus.

Which was where the comforting feeling came in. With the criminal element crawling back underneath the rocks they came from, it made patrolling the city that much easier, if not boring. Of course, there was always those brash youngsters that though that maybe, just maybe, they could risk robbing the local liquor store, or hold up a gas station and the Bat wouldn't show.

That was where Huntress came in.

She made sure those cocky punks knew they were wrong to play with Daddy's stolen handgun, or Mommy's kitchen knife. She had gotten into the habit of making sure she broke a bone or five in their hands, a constant reminder they had thirty more she could break should they ever think crime was worth hurting others.

Still, was it too much to ask for a Huntress Signal?

The purple-clad woman snorted. Yeah, this was Batman's City and everyone knew it. Anyone else was just riding his coattails, using his reputation to their advantage. Once upon a time that would've upset her. Now though, after proving her worth, establishing herself as one of the top vigilantes in Gotham—and even meeting the Bat himself on multiple occasions—she could safely say that she had earned her place here. Even after her departure from the Birds of Prey, Batman hadn't come to shut her down, instead giving her the space she needed to keep up her private operation.

Huntress sighed.

Even though it was over two years, there were times she did miss them—Dinah and Katana. They had some fun times together, kicking butt, taking names, advocating Girl Power.

Still, the distrust between them had to be dealt with and Huntress still believed she had made the right decision in leaving. She was now free to work as she saw fit and the Birds could operate without two of its members expecting the third to flip out on them.

To say the Birds were still a duo though, would've been a big assumptions. From what Huntress had heard, they had recruited a new third member, someone to take up the bruiser role that the purple vigilante had vacated. She had felt a twinge of jealousy when she had first heard the rumors, but now she was completely over it. The Birds of Prey needed to do what was in the best interest of the Birds and that was that.

Ugh, she needed to go bash some heads in; all of this brooding was making her depressed.

Moving from her perch, she headed to the opposite side of the building, coming to a stop at its edge. Below her was an alleyway, her motorcycle parked right by its mouth. She had planned on climbing down and riding off, but she found herself staring down in disbelief.

Kneeling next to the bike was some kid. He couldn't have been older than twelve. And currently he was trying to remove the tires from her bike.

No way in hell was he going to steal her wheels.

An arrow was sticking out of the brick in front of the vigilante, a coil of rope resting on the roof. This had been how she scaled the building, fully intent on using it to climb down when she was ready. Kneeling down, she grabbed the rope and pushed most of it off, watching it fall until it dangled above the ground. Making sure she had a good grip, Huntress slid off the roof, her legs wrapping around the rope as she slid downwards.

Huntress couldn't have been more than a few feet off the dirty pavement when she let go of the rope and landed hard on the ground. The boy clearly heard her as he jerked his head up, peeking over the seat of the motorcycle, and stared right at the enraged look on the purple-clad woman's face.

"What the hell are you doing to my bike?!" she barked, looming over the child. In response, the kid bolted, stumbling over his own feet before he dashed out of the alley and took off down the street.

Huntress wanted to go chase after him, but she didn't bother, content with watching him run off. Looking down at her bike, she began circling it, looking for any damage to it. Fortunately, all she saw were a couple lug nuts removed, something she could easily put back in place.

Still, she could feel her anger burning inside of her. How dare that rugrat try and rob her? Once she made sure her bike was able to drive more than two blocks without falling apart, she was going to track that kid down and show him just how much of a bad idea it was to jack up another person's ride.

Like most cities, Gotham had its own Projects. It was public housing at its finest, if you considered worn down, dirty, and vandalized fine. Some of the poorest families living on the government tip called this place home.

Which is why a group of men, no women to be seen at all, who happened to be dressed much better than the residents stuck out in this place. The fact that no one tried to hustle or, you know, mug them, meant they weren't just some average, better dressing guys.

A lot of investigating and digging revealed that these men were mob. More specifically, they were part of the last mob family in town, and that was a family no one wanted to cross right now.

Well, no one who wasn't wearing a mask and ran across rooftops on a nightly basis at least.

It was just the two of them tonight. He was the taller, stronger, and better looking of them two, the illustrious Nightwing. Okay, maybe not illustrious yet, but one day. And no, he wasn't repeating a word he happened to hear Barbara say the other day. Not at all.

Now the other was his partner in...he couldn't say crime right there even though vigilantism was breaking the law. Let's go with partner. Anyway, his partner was beside him, watching the apartment complex across the street with a pair of binoculars. He was Robin, the younger of the two, though Nightwing had to give credit where credit was due, and he was the more analytic of the two. Very investigative. A real go-getter.

They had been at this for a few weeks. Watching these guys, tailing them when they could, and identifying which subsidized apartment they were using. They knew which window to be looking at, which always had the curtains closed. So they couldn't see what was going on in there. The two of them did have an idea.

See, these mob guys tended to go into this place a lot, and always with a suitcase or duffel bag. In they would go, their luggage of choice full of something not yet identified, and they would leave with their bags much emptier. A lot of studying body language and how someone walked with a heavy load compared to a light load helped out with that detail. Something was being left behind, and Robin had put his bets on drugs.

Which Nightwing was still a bit sore about. His younger partner was getting quicker on the draw these days. He was proud of the guy, don't get him wrong, but that didn't mean he couldn't get annoyed. Now he had to bet that whatever was in that apartment was...not drugs.

So they were at a stalemate. They needed to know what was going on in that building, yet needed to be careful that they didn't tip off those guys that they were on to them. It was by pure luck that Nightwing had run across one of those men earlier in the day, when he was not dressed up to kick ass, and had overheard him complain about a broken window latch.

While there was a great chance they had repaired that latch since this accidental tip, they had needed to act on it quickly. Unfortunately, quickly meant after dark as that was the only time Robin could get away. His folks were expecting a visitor so he couldn't be out long anyway. So this was going to need to be quick.

About a couple minutes ago, they had spotted a few of their targets heading into the building and now they were waiting for them to leave. Even though the windows had curtains pulled over them, there was this slight bit of light that always managed to escape. Once it was turned off, it would be safe enough to try and see if they could get in there.

"Light's off," Robin piped up.

Nightwing nodded and pulled out his grapple line. When compared to the stuff they used to use, this was of a higher quality. Plus the launching attachment was a bonus. All thanks went to their not-so-secret benefactor who may or may not have a thing about bats.

He waited until they spotted their guys leaving the place, empty duffle bags this time. A light load tonight.

"Sit tight, I won't be long," the older vigilante quipped before firing his line. The grappling hook disappeared into the night and it wasn't until the cable became taut that Nightwing leapt off the roof and swung across the street.

Bringing his legs up, his knees against his chest, he used his feet to cushion himself against the apartment building, the side now his walking surface. Getting his bearings, he groaned to himself a little as he realized he was a couple stories below their targets' base of operations. Oh well, it wouldn't be too difficult to solve this.

Pushing on the retracting button, he allowed his grappling device to do half his work for him and pull him up towards the right window. As he became level with it, he placed a foot on the small space that was the window sill. Reaching out with one hand, he swallowed as he tried to gain a grip on the window's bottom. This was not easy to do with gloved hands. He did his best, though, digging his fingers into the crack between the sill and the window frame.

Something was giving way, his fingers were sinking deeper into an open crevasse and-ah ha! The latch hadn't been repaired yet! It took a little more work, but he managed to get his palm under the frame. Some more effort and a grunt of exertion and he had the window opened enough that he could try to enter.

It was a tight squeeze; Robin could have probably done it easier. But it wasn't Robin doing this, it was him. So, getting into the building took longer than what he normally wanted, but he had done it and was in.

This place looked ratty. Maybe that was because the lights were off. As they say, let there be light. That light would be from the small flashlight he carried in his belt, one he had colored black so that it blended in with his uniform. Okay, that was better. Huh, that was a lot of boxes.

Boxes might not be the right word. It wasn't like there were crates in here, something that big would have been noticed. What he found were stacks of six by ten by five tin-like containers. Picking one up, he found that while there was some weight to it, it wasn't heavy enough to need a lot of strength to move.

Hmm, did he spy a table over there. Yep. Good as place as any to put this. Placing this container, or box, he was going to call it a box from now on, on the surface. He took a closer look at his find, and found a small lock embedded in the box's lid

Nice, time to see if his lockpicking skills were up to snuff.

Putting his small flashlight in his mouth, his reached for his belt and pulled out the small wire he had spent weeks upon weeks practicing with. Into the lock it went and now to turn it. Turn it. Let's try the other way for a sec. Okay, now the other—got it.

Raising the lid, Nightwing prepared himself for what he would find. Then he blinked. Several times, to be honest, but he couldn't quite register what he was seeing. It wasn't powder, or anything that looked drug related. If he wasn't mistaken, he could have sworn that he was looking at a box full of…

...diamonds?

Picking a few up, he brought his hand closer to his eyes while pulling his flashlight out of his mouth. Yep, those were diamonds. Small ones, but there was a heck of a lot of them. Now that he thought about it, there were a lot of those boxes in this room alone. How many were in this apartment? Judging by how often those mob men came in here with suitcases and duffel bags and usually leaving emptier…

Shit. This was a gold—er, a diamond mine!

Using the small communicator that was in his ear, he reported back to Robin. "I found something, R. You are not going to believe this."

"Tell me I'm right. Is it cocaine? Heroin? Don't keep me in suspense here," Robin replied.

"Nothing like that," he corrected. "I'm looking at a motherlode of diamonds."

There was silence on the line. "Excuse me, could you repeat that?"

Sounds like he had a disbeliever.

"It's diamonds, Robin. I think the whole place is full of them," the black-clad vigilante stated.

"Why would mobsters be bringing in diamonds? That doesn't make any sense."

"Hold that for a minute. Let me get out of here before I outstay my welcome." Not bothering to respond to anything else Robin might have said, Nightwing slipped the few diamonds he held into a belt pocket then shut the box in front of him. He did his best to try and lock it before returning the box to where he had first picked it up.

After that, it was more squirming out the window and shutting it before climbing to the top of the complex. In less than a minute, he was back on the other side of the street where he could show off his find to his younger partner.

"I thought you were pulling my leg for a sec," Robin whistled.

"Of course you know, that means I win our bet," the older man mentioned.

"Too bad for you we didn't wager anything." Robin shot him a shit-eating grin before returning his gaze to the diamonds. "These things look like they've been cut and polished. These aren't the raw kind."

"You don't say." Like he knew anything about diamonds except they were really expensive and all wedding rings needed to have one nowadays.

"Wish I could stay but I've been out as long as it is," Robin continued. Looking back up at him, the younger vigilante added, "Maybe you could take it to...our friend. See if she can find out anything about why mob men are trying to smuggle in diamonds into an American city."

He nodded. "Guess it really is past your bedtime."

"Oh, hardy har har." Because of the domino mask, he couldn't actually see Robin roll his eyes but it was easy to tell.

Still, it wasn't a bad idea. It gave him an excuse to go see their friend and the third member of their clan, so to speak. Lately, she had been in a funk, and he was really starting to get worried about her. Maybe this would help. Who knew.

Thus the two active members of the Batclan went their separate ways for the night.

It seemed that every alleyway in Gotham followed a city ordinance. Each one was covered in grime, graffiti decorating the walls. Trash was tossed on the ground, nearby dumpsters overflowed with garbage. This one was no exception.

However, what the other alleys didn't have was a chalk outline at its entrance. Staring down at it, Batman studied the form, visualizing how the victim was found. In one hand he held a small stack of photos, the top one revealing the body. According to the picture, it seemed the victim had been positioned against a wall, head tilted down to look at his lap. A newspaper had rested there, the victim appearing to be reading it. Blood stained the pavement and wall where it had poured out of the older man.

A breeze ruffled his cape then, along with Batgirl's. It was too much to ask the girl at his side to help in his investigation, at least when it came to observing the crime scene. Trained as she was, she didn't have the first clue when it came to minimizing crime scene contamination, as well as identifying clues. Now wasn't the time to be teaching her either, not when she would struggle with his instructions.

Looking to the young girl, he said, "Make a perimeter, two blocks." He gestured as he spoke, extending a finger and drawing a circle with it. He then stopped and extended a second figure to signify two. Batgirl sharply nodded her acceptance before she raised her grapple gun and fired it towards the roof of one of the buildings, launching into the air shortly after.

Returning his attention to the scene, Batman began walking into the alley, making sure not to disturb anything. Slowly he panned his head from side to side, up and down, making sure he captured everything with the video recorders in his lens. Besides the yellow police tape that closed off both ends of the alley, there wasn't much to indicate that the police or forensics teams had been there. The yellow placards had been removed following the initial investigation.

That's why he had the photos. Flipping through the stack, Batman searched for where each one was taken, trying to gather a sense of what had happened here. As far as he could tell, there hadn't been much of a struggle, indicating the killer had the element of surprise. Considering the blood on the wall, the attack had come from behind.

In fact, there was a small trail of blood comprised of droplets that led from the alley's mouth to where the chalk outline was. So the killer attacked the victim, stabbed him in the back, then dragged him to his final resting place. Batman narrowed his eyes. Was the killer trying to conceal his crime by doing this, or was there another purpose? His first inclination was the former.

Flipping another picture over, that was when the vigilante found the alleged drop of blood. Looking up from it, staring at the alleyway, then back, Batman began searching for the location, finding it several feet away. Stopping, he glanced at the ground, finding the offending red drop, or at least what remained of it. The forensic team had nearly wiped it out when collecting it, so there wasn't much he could do about it.

Still, it was possible the victim's blood had gotten onto the killer when he stabbed him, and fell off as the killer left. Moving further down the alley, he searched for more droplets, finding none. Even checked the sidewalk at the back exit and found none.

It was as if the killer had disappeared the moment after he had finished his crime.

Which meant the killer knew the area, so he could come and go quickly and stealthily without anyone being the wiser. Either there had been previous reconnaissance-which indicated premeditation—or the perpetrator lived nearby or had. Note to self: check for residents and former residents for criminal backgrounds.

Returning back to the outline, Batman was about to do a closer inspection when Batgirl suddenly landed nearby. She was noisy too, which immediately got the Dark Knight's attention. With her abilities, she shouldn't have crashed down like she had.

Immediately, the girl began gesturing wildly, pointing away from the alley. Frowning, Batman approached her, finding that she was pointing towards another alley. As if that wasn't enough, Batgirl grabbed his arm with her hand and began pulling on him.

"What is it?" he asked quickly, beginning to follow the girl. Batgirl ignored basic street-crossing etiquette, hurrying across the street. Hot on her heels, Batman followed her until they reached mouth of the alley.

Immediately, Batman went still. Lying a couple feet away was another body, one that he was positive was a woman. A piece of cardboard was lying on top of her, poorly concealing her from sight. Blood was pooling around her, and if he wasn't mistaken, it was still coming out of her.

Instantly, the vigilante was at the woman's side, checking her for a pulse. Pressing two fingers against her neck, he searched for the carotid artery, finding none. He then went for the radial pulse, also coming up with nothing. Batman's face twisted into a scowl. This woman had been killed, recently too.

Someone was going to pay for this.

Snapping his head to a side, he began gesturing to Batgirl even as he ordered, "Search for anyone within a four block radius leaving the scene."

Batgirl didn't even respond, merely taking off to perform her task. In the meantime, Batman looked down at the woman. As much as he didn't want to, he was going to have to disturb this crime scene to figure out what happened.

The first thing he did was look at the area surrounding the body. It was hard to tell with all the scattered trash around if there had been a struggle. Multiple scuff marks were on the ground, but there was no telling when those were made. Turning his attention to the victim, he let out an aggrieved sigh before kneeling down next to her.

With one hand, he carefully lifted the cardboard up. "Victim is female, between the ages of twenty five and thirty five," he narrated. "Clothes are of modest means, indicating the victim is of middle class." Staring at her back, he mentally noted the pose, the woman's right arm lying next to her side and right leg was straight out. Her left arm was up by her head, bent at the elbow, her left leg extended out and bent at the knee. She was lying on her stomach, her back to the vigilante. "No wounds observed on her back."

Pushing the cardboard aside, Batman then slowly turned the woman, glancing at her pale skin. She was cool to the touch as well. However, he was quick to note the knife wound in her chest. "Victim was stabbed in the right pectoral, blood flow indicative of a severed aorta. The victim bled out in minutes."

Batman then lowered the woman back onto the ground and placed the cardboard back on her, though he made sure to look on both sides of it for any clues, finding none. He then looked at her left arm, which wasn't covered by the cardboard. "No sign of defensive wounds," he spoke, looking to her hand then. "Nails are clean, so the victim wasn't able to strike at her attacker, indicating an ambush."

Walking around the body, Batman made sure to check out the right arm and hand, finding it just as clean as the left. That seemed to eliminate any theory of a struggle. Standing to his full height, he then began searching the alley, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

He came to a full stop when he noticed a drop of blood.

Looking back to the victim then to the blood drop, the Dark Knight was quick to realize that there was a considerable distance between the two. Further observation showed that was the only drop around, none appearing further down the alley.

Kneeling down, Batman reached to a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small plastic bag. In the back was a tube with a cotton swab within it. Opening the back, he pulled out the tube and twisted off the end, pulling out the swab. Carefully, he dabbed the blood droplet with the cotton swab, placing the sample back into the tube, and then into the plastic bag. Returning to the body, he pulled out a second bag and tube, collecting a blood sample there as well.

Now came the hard part. Reaching to his belt, he pulled out a cell phone—clean and untraceable. Hitting the speed dial, he held the device up to his ear and patiently waited until he heard an answer. "This is Gordon."

"Jim, there's been another murder."

Tim had made it home with plenty of time to spare. The night might be young, but this wasn't one that he could stay out late in. For a moment he had to pinch himself when he saw the time on his alarm clock. It was too weird to see a PM on that thing instead of AM.

He was back in that day's clothes; no sense in rousing any suspicion from the folks. Hmm, he wondered if his aunt had finally come in. A part of him hoped not because that meant either Mom or Dad would have knocked on his door, wanting him to take a break from studying.

Yeah, studying. His excuse to be left alone tonight. At the very least, he had been able to shut and lock his door. That way his alibi would still stand. And if he got any scrutiny for not answering the door if someone had knocked on it, he could say that he had fallen asleep. Wouldn't be such a bad idea to mess his hair up a bit, make it look like he had gotten a little of that forty winks.

It was tough being your above average high school student and being a kick ass crimefighter at night and not have anybody catch on to you. If he wanted to keep on being Robin, he had to keep his grades up as well as maintain a typical teenaged social life. It was exhausting at times, he had to admit.

He wouldn't give up on being Robin, though. Not for anything. So unless you happened to be a fellow nighttime vigilante, there was no way in hell he was ever going to reveal his after dark activities.

There was a rush that came with it. Beating up bad guys, solving the occasional crime that they happened to arrive at too late to stop. If he didn't say so himself, he'd say he was becoming quite the detective. Even if his skills weren't up to par with Dick's, he could always count on being the thinker, the one who could take a look around and come up with an explanation for what was going on.

Well, time to make an appearance, let the folks know he was still alive, get something to eat, then come back up and actually do some homework.

Unlocking his bedroom door, Tim stepped out of his room and trudged down the hallway, heading for the stairs. Up ahead, he could see his parent's bedroom, the door open and the room dark. Light coming to the left was a sign that downstairs were lit up and most likely where they were. Purposefully, he made noise as he walked, each step heavy to indicate your average teenager.

The stairs were the same way, each footstep he took thumping on each step. Quick check, shoulders were sagging? Good. Leaning back slightly? Yep. Sleepy-looking eyes? Actually, he didn't know that one and damn, no mirror or reflective surface in sight when you needed it. Screw it, he'd wing it.

The adolescent vigilante's head perked up as he caught the tail end of a soft voice, Mom's. What had she just said? If he didn't know her like he did, he would have said that she was whispering, which wasn't the case entirely. She just had a voice so soft that if you weren't paying attention, you'd miss it.

Coming to a stop, he waited to see if this was something he needed to know about. If they were talking about him, it would be nice to have the heads up first.

"I've called up the airport; her flight's already come in," he heard his dad say. "Are you sure she isn't picking up?"

"Kathleen isn't answering me. I don't know what's going on," Mom answered. Now that he was paying attention, Tim picked up on the frustration held in that soft voice.

Sounded like Aunt Kathleen wasn't here. Weird. He knew about her visit, but it was late. She should have been here by now. Correctly, Dad should have picked her up by now and she should be here. Had Dad gone to the airport and not found her?

"Jack, you don't think...you think she might be in the city?" Mom asked, worried, concern, and not a little bit of fear leaking out.

"She should know better than to be in Gotham at this time of night. Give her another call, Janet. Hopefully this time she'll pick up."

Tim was at a dilemma now. Should he continue and interrupt these worrying proceedings? Or should he head back to his room and do what he should have been doing instead of dressing up and palling around with Dick in the Projects? A groan from his stomach ended up making the decision for him. Well, might as well use this sleepy teenager scheme he had already put so much effort into. From the sounds of things, neither of his parents had checked up on him.

Descending the last few steps, he headed to where he heard his folks. Turns out they were in the kitchen, his mom on the phone and biting her lip worriedly. Curly brown hair fell around her head as she leaned over the kitchen counter, her thin, almost waifish body swallowed by clothes that appeared to be a size too big for her.

Then again, knowing how close his mom was to Aunt Kathleen, this was the kind of getup she wore to greet her whenever she came in. Some kind inside joke that Tim was not old enough to get. Even though he was almost sixteen. Just saying.

Over by the fridge stood the football player build that his father had been blessed with. With black hair combed to his left, the very straight-laced man kept his eyes on his wife, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"Hey," he called out to grab their attentions. Though everything about this scene screamed tense, as an average teenager he ignored such things. Now to add in some tactless question. "What's going on? Have we eaten yet?"

As if trying to hide what was going on, Mom canceled her call and pushed herself away from the counter. "Timothy, I'm sorry. I forgot you were here."

"So...you ate already?" he pressed with his ruse, wincing at the fact that she used his full name. Get up with the times, Mom. He preferred to be called Tim instead of Timothy.

"Now's not a good time, Tim," Dad cut in.

Glancing at the man, Tim made a show of looking around before asking, "Where's Aunt Kathleen? Isn't she supposed to be coming over/"

His dad paused. Okay, that was not a good sign. He could see the conflict in the man's dark eyes, as if he was debating whether or not to bring him in the loop. Much to his surprise, the old man said, "There's been a bit of a problem. Your aunt's not in yet but we're working to see what's going on. If you're hungry, make yourself a sandwich. I don't think anyone's up for cooking right now."

"Jack," Mom protested.

"Tim can take care of himself for one night. Right?" At that last part, Dad shot a look at him that basically asked "can I put my trust in you?"

"I can do that. We have any chips?" he shrugged.

"Good man. Your mother and I are going to go into the other room. Make sure you get to bed at a decent time tonight."

Okay, that wasn't a good thing to hear. Looks like Dad had been overhearing him messing around in his room...at a less than decent time.

No sense tempting fate here.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he snarked, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

Though he was acting, that didn't stop him from being concerned as well. If his aunt was missing… Naturally it would have to be in Gotham of all places. Not a problem anybody wanted. At the moment, he was powerless to do anything. Since his folks knew he was here, and awake, he had to stay in lest he rouse the kind of suspicions he had been trying to avoid.

For a second, he thought about giving Dick, or Barbara since he was heading that way, a call and to ask his older partner to keep his eyes peeled for his aunt. Ultimately, Tim decided against this. This was a family thing, and he was sure that his aunt probably was in the city and got lost. They should get this thing fixed up in the morning. There was no worry.

None at all.