Part Two
Dick loved sleeping on the train, he really did. Back when he and his parents worked for Haley's they rode from gig to gig in the trailer towed behind the pick-up with his dad's Harley loaded into the truck bed. No one was allowed to ride in the trailer when they were on the road and so he spent too many nights either sleeping on his parent's laps or crunched up on the tiny back seat.
Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey moved both of their two touring companies by train, each one a mile long with a hundred cars. Sixty were for the cast and crew, the other forty were for animals and the baggage of a large show; costumes, props, lights and the rest.
The train was wonderful. He had a real bed with a real mattress, his own space which everyone knew not to invade without being invited. Privacy was considered simple good manners and he loved having his own place, even if it wasn't too big. There was something of a frat-house atmosphere in their car but in mostly a good way, friendship, companionship, jokes, shared meals and professionals working together for the same end. It was good, fraternal and comfortable. It was good.
Sleeping on a moving train, is there anything more soothing, more peaceful? Maybe Garth would argue for sleeping on or below the water, lulled by the gentle waves and Roy would make a case for sleeping outside with twenty million stars above your head but for Dick it was the rhythm of the rails, the gentle rocking, the soothing sounds and the peace of exhaustion lifting away, being eased. Laying in his berth, curtain drawn, enclosed in his own world, he was happy and at peace.
He was where he wanted to be, where he belonged, he was accepted as part of the whole and his pleasure, his joy of being there was clear enough that, even if he hadn't been as good as he was at his job, he would have become part of the family just by being himself.
"So, Dick, you gonna try more than just one trick tonight? Maybe even spend more than twenty seconds on the rig?"
"I dunno, I'd hate to show you boys up, y'know."
"Ah**bullshit**choo."
"The bullshit sneeze? What are you, in sixth grade?"
"Hey, it works for me."
He was loving this, everything about it and was having the time of his life.
"Alfred, hey, how's it going?"
"Master Dick, all's well but tell me how you're faring, are you eating enough?"
"And brushing my teeth twice a day, too. C'mon, I'm fine. Bruce?"
"The Master is as ever, as is Master Tim. They're keeping themselves occupied and Master Tim is taking several summer classes to advance his studies in math and computer science."
"Of course he is."
"You're in Florida? Have you seen any of your old friends there?"
"I did, last night I was over at the Retired Home and saw a couple of the old clowns from Haley's—they were great, telling stories about back when, y'know, back when we were all touring together." If there was a bittersweet tome to his voice, Alfred chose not to comment on it.
"I forwarded some mail to you care of the circus office, have you received it, Master Richard?"
"The stuff from BPD? I did, yes. It wasn't anything, just stuff about insurance and a bunch of forms they needed filled out."
"Any word on your posting?"
"Not yet." There was some background noise, people talking, music and crowd sounds. Of course, it was a weekend, no doubt the young master was calling from backstage of whatever arena they were playing this week." "Alf, I gotta go, 'talk to you soon."
"Please see that you do and..." But the line was already dead.
"Hey Dick, everything okay back at the homestead?"
"Seems to be. Hey, 'sounds like a good crowd today, we're throwing the double and then the triple to build up to the quad, right? Like we rehearsed this morning?"
"Right and if you don't feel right or whatever, just say something and we'll scratch whatever needs cutting."
"Nah, I'm good to go, c'mon."
The crowds in this part of Florida were always among the best of the tour simply because Sarasota was B&B&RB's home city. John Ringling's old mansion was here, right on the water and he'd put the Circus Museum on his front lawn. Back when Dick was a kid he and his parents had gone as VIP's when the aerialist and Trapeze exhibit opened and he still liked to stop by when he was in the area. The Grayson's, like a lot of circus people, wintered around here, the Clown College was based here—this was Circus City to a lot of people and Dick loved the place.
"Hey, after we're done, anyone want to hit the beach during the break?" They had a three hour break between performances.
Bill nodded, "'Sounds good to me, I haven't been in the water in weeks. Boys?"
Mario shook his head, "Can't, I told a friend I'd help him with something and Jim's joining us, right, Jim?"
"Uh, yeah. 'Helping a friend of Mario's later. 'Another time, maybe tomorrow, okay?"
"Sure, maybe tomorrow."
Two hours later Dick and Bill were on the white sand, slathered in sunblock ('My mother always made me use this stuff, not all of us turn dark as a native like you do, Grayson.') and enjoying the heat, the sounds of the nearby low surf and the chance to relax.
"Hey, Bill, you think you'll do this forever"
"The circus? I don't know, maybe. I guess so. I don't know how to do anything else and I like it, 'couldn't stand an office job, y'know? What about you, you think you'll like being a cop up north?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Because of your parents?"
"Partly, yeah, but mostly I like knowing I'm doing something that has tangible results, 'helps people on a personal level."
"Circus's help people, they make people happy."
Dick smiled with his eyes closed. "Yeah, they do."
The show that night went well, like most of them did. Back in the men's dressing area one of the office assistants tapped Dick on the shoulder. He'd just finished his shower, wearing a towel and dripping. "Hi, sorry to bother you, but there's a reporter outside who wants to know if you'd give them a few minutes."
Dammit, he was tired and he'd felt something in his bicep pull during a pass tonight but...his old training kicked in. His parents always insisted that he be nice to fans and reporters, insisting that it was part of the job (well, they insisted that he be nice to everyone, but in particular...). "Sure, tell him I'll be out in a couple of minutes."
Ten minutes later,dried off, in his civvies of jeans and a clean tee shirt, he saw two people waiting just outside the entrance. A few fans were there as well, he signed a couple of autographs and took some pictures with them, containing his laugh as the teenaged girls left giggling.
"Mr. Grayson, thanks for making time for us. 'Sorry we didn't call ahead but we just the call ourselves from our editor about an hour ago."
He shook hands as the men introduced themselves, immediately forgetting their names, proving just how tired he was. Robin would have been drilled for hours in memory retention if he did that a couple of years ago and the Bat knew. "What can I do for you?"
"Answer a few questions?"
"If I can."
"'Appreciate it. Okay, for starters, does Mr. Wayne know what you're doing?"
"Of course he does and he's fine with it. He knows this is like a visit home for me." Softball questions. Either they were doing a puff piece of softening him up for the slider.
"Has he seen the show?"
"Not yet, the other tour is stopping in Gotham this year but he might catch up with us at one of the other stops."
"What's the deal with you going through Bludhaven's police academy, that a PR thing or were you filling time?"
"That's real, I was told it would be a few months before I get my assignment so I'm doing this until then."
"You here undercover?" Dick just laughed. "Is Wayne still mad about you dropping out of school and is it true that you two are estranged, especially since he moved Jason Todd and then Tim Drake in—sort of taking your place, aren't they?"
Crap. Dick kept his voice level. "Not at all and Tim and I get along well. He needed a place to live, just like I did a few years ago; Bruce provided it when no one else did and I know that Tim is as grateful as I am."
"But the fact that there were numerous rumors about you and Mr. Wayne but don't seem to be any about him and Tim, does that bother you?"
Screw this. "I don't waste my time with rumors, now it's been a long day so if you'll excuse me."
"Hey, sorry—really. One more question, please." Dick waited. "Is it true that you're turning your paycheck over to the Retired Performers Home?"
"Please don't print that. I'll deny it if you do and there's no reason to..."
The two men exchanged a look. "Okay, okay, look—you do us a favor we'll do you one; deal?"
"I guess." Maybe. We'll see.
"Are you here to find out more about the suspicions that some of the circus people are involved in organized crime?"
TBC