Part 2 – Old Friends and New Players
"What do we got," asked Lieutenant Harvey Bullock as he put out his cigar. Someone once said that Bullock may look like a greasy slob, he may act like a greasy slob, but don't let that fool you. He was a greasy slob and a smart cop. Nora Fields, the corner tried to keep that in mind.
"What we got is a Hispanic male in his thirties beaten to death," Fields explained. "If you look at the bruising on his arms and legs, it tells me that he put up a fight."
"What blow killed him?"
"A strike to the throat," said Fields. "And before you ask, we checked his prints and got nothing in the system."
"Fuck," growled Bullock. "So we got a stiff beaten to death that has no criminal record. This doesn't feel gang related."
"I agree," said Fields. "Take a look at his hands and feet, the bruises are lighter than those on his arms and legs. Also, there are slight markings on his wrists and ankles."
"Meaning?" asked Bullock.
"Your vic had his hands and feet wrapped," explained Fields. "Like a fighter."
"The vic was wearing workout shorts when he was found," Bullock muttered as he stroked his two chins. "An MMA fight that went too far?"
"Don't look at me Bullock," said Fields. "You're the detective, not me. Who found the body?"
"The Commissioner's daughter and Bruce Wayne's personal charity case." Fields let out a whistle.
"Any pressure from up high?"
"Only to keep my mouth shut on who found the stiff," answered Bullock. "Ole Jim doesn't want anybody to know Barbara found him so those vultures called reporters don't hound her for an interview."
"You got that right Lieutenant," growled Gordon as he marched into the morgue making Bullock and Fields jump a little. Despite being a decade older the Bullock, Gordon was six feet tall and weighed one eighty pounds which meant he was an inch shorter and hundred and fifteen pounds lighter than the Lieutenant. "Neither my daughter or Dick Grayson need this sort of attention."
"How's she doing?" asked Fields. "Seeing her first dead body. When she's been in the morgue before, the bodies are locked away."
"She's doing fine," began Gordon.
"Of course, she's just like her old man," said Bullock.
"Grayson has been quiet, almost too quiet. I think seeing that body brought back some bad memories," continued Gordon with a sigh. "After Wayne comes and picks him up, I'm taking Barbara home."
"Do you think we should call for help?" asked Fields.
"HEY! I don't need that Halloween costumed freak to help me solve this!" exclaimed Bullock, his facing turning an unusual shade of purple with rage.
"For now I don't think we need to involve the 'private sector' just yet," answered Gordon. "As long as this doesn't turn out to be something big, Bullock and his team got this. After all we don't need to tell Batman about every murder."
Dick sat in a chair near Lt. Bullock's desk, leaning forward, his hands clasped together with his chin on them. He thought of the moment when he saw the dead man. The corpse was covered in bruises, like he had been beaten. Or fallen, Dick thought, like my parents. The memory of their death came back to him in an instant, every single detail permanently etched in his mind. Everything that happened that night three years ago.
"Once again we like to thank the citizens of Gotham City for this wonderful turnout," roared the ringmaster Mr. Haley. "We like to take this time to thank some of our sponsors. Roland Daggett of Daggett Industries. Ferris Boyle of GothCorp. And finally Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises! A round of applause for these fine men, ladies and gentlemen!" As the crowd cheered Dick and his parents headed toward the ladder. The circus was dark except for the spot light on the ringmaster. Sure, some of the railing and steps in the seats had dim lights so people wouldn't trip going to the bathroom or concession stands, but not enough to notice the family of three heading to their position. As they walked toward the ladder of the high ladder, Dick bumped into one the roustabouts. He was in his early thirties, six feet tall and quite fat, which wasn't a big deal. The workers setting up everything had to be strong, not muscular. What caught Dick's attention was the fact that the man's eyes, one was brown and the other was blue. Just like the man that Mr. Haley had thrown out of his trailer, a thug by the name Tony Zucco.
"Mom," Dick said only to have his mother shush him, reminding him to be silent so not to call attention to the audience. Dick decided to talk to his parents again after their act as he climbed the ladder to get to the trapeze. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy filed his nostrils as the anticipation for his family's act began to rise.
"Now ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls please direct your attention above your heads," instructed Haley. "The Haley Circus presents you, the Fllllyy-ing Grrraaay-sons! John Grayson! Mary Grayson! And Dick Grayson!" The spot lights shown on Dick and his parents as they struck a pose. Trumpets blare and peopled cheered. "The Flying Graysons will perform their signature quadruple somersault, which they have perfected after nearly a hundred years with the Haley Circus and without the safety of a net. Drum roll please."
As the drum roll began the Graysons took off their yellow capes. John Grayson went first, somersaulting and twirling around and around as he went from one end of the tent to the other. The crowd cheered and clapped. Then it was Dick's turn, his heart rate sped up as adrenaline pupped through his body. His father sat on the middle swing waiting for him. Dick swung out toward him, jumped and did a somersault and then another before catching his father's hands and swinging to the next swing. When he reached the other side, he raised his arm in salute to the audience before heading back to the other side. After a triple somersault, John swung Dick to the next swing. Dick did one, two, three, four somersaults before getting back to his mother. Mary hugged him as the crowd went nuts. After the cheering died down Mary went out.
Once Mary had reached John, that's when Dick heard it. The SNAP! John and Mary fell to the ground, their joy turned to surprise, then to dread. Cheers of joy became screams of horror. Dick raced down the latter as he reached his parents, their blood stained his green pixe boots. Tears formed in his eyes as he sank to his knees, looking at his parents and let out a wordless scream of pain and grief. He didn't know how long he knelt there crying until someone said his name.
"Richard," whispered Barbara, breaking him from his flash back.
"Huh, what?" asked Dick.
"Your ride is here," she said. Barbara's blue eyes were filled with worry. "You okay, you know? Seeing your first body and all."
"Third," Dick corrected.
"Third? Oh God Richard," said Barbara as she remembered. "I'm so, so sorry. I forgot… Jesus Richard… I can't believe I didn't remember."
"Hey it's cool," said Dick. "You're just a little mixed up after seeing your first dead body."
"Yeah right," said Barbara still looking upset that she would have forgotten something that important about one of her closest friends. Dick squeezed her hand in forgiveness before looking up and seeing Alfred and Bruce walking toward him, both their faces filled with concern.
"Are you alright Master Richard," asked Alfred looking extremely concern. Bruce's concern turned to understanding. He's had flash backs as well, thought Dick.
"I'm fine Alfred," answered Dick. Alfred looked skeptical. "Really Alfred I'm good."
"Very well," sighed Alfred knowing that like Dick's foster father, he would never admit weakness.
"So, can we get out of here or what?" asked Dick.
"Well I'll double check with Gordon but it seems that since you two gave your statements you are free to go," said Bruce
"I would hope that is all the police need from them," said Alfred. "But I for one want to know if Master Richard and Miss Barbara are in any danger."
"I doubt it Mr. Pennyworth," said, Commissioner Gordon. "But on the safe side, we have kept the names of who found the John Doe out of the press. They're safe."
"That's good to hear," said Bruce. He then turned to Alfred and ordered, "Take Dick down to the limo will you Alfred. That is if he's free to go?"
"Yes, we're done with him."
"Good. Do you want us to take Barbara home, Jim?"
"Thanks, Wayne that would be great. I still got some work to do here," replied Gordon before hugging his daughter. "See you when I get home."
"See you, Dad. Love you," Barbara replied.
"Love you too sweetie," said Gordon. As they left Jim sighed, he never wanted his daughter to see this side of Gotham. "I'm getting too damn old. Lord, let this be a quiet night."
At the William McElory Museum of Antiquities. A dark figure watched the night guard make his rounds. Purrr-fect, thought Catwoman. She now had a ten-minute window until the next guard walked past. Ten minutes to take care of the security cameras then hide until the next guard walked past. Once the second guard left, grab the loot and get out. Simple, and simple plans worked best. Easier to change if something went wrong. And something always went wrong.
Catwoman used her claws to cut the glass so she could unlock the window; careful not to let the glass drop. Once inside, she leapt to one of the support beams and rummaged through her backpack. She brought out what looked like a giant smartphone. Pressing an 'app,' she brought up the old footage from last week. Using her whip, Catwoman swung to each camera to sync her 'phone' to it. Once she was connected to all nine cameras, she switched the current recording with that of old footage.
Purrr-fect, she thought as she waited for the next guard to walk by and then she could pick this room clean. The room was filled with ancient Egyptian artifacts including to brand new statues. The statute of the cat goddess Bast, made of gold and ivory, and the statue of the jackal god Anubis, made of silver and onyx.
"Right on schedule," whispered Catwoman as the second guard walked in. She started to smile until the guard's walkie-talkie squawked.
"Gorski does you copy?" asked the dispatcher.
"Gorski here," answered the guard. "What's up?"
"You on the fifth floor, right? The room where the prized pieces are, right?"
"Yeah."
"Disturbance on the first floor and Marks hasn't responded. Head down stairs and meet up Jones to check it out."
"Got it, Danny," said Gorski as he jogged out of the room. Catwoman dropped down from her vantage point. She hadn't heard about another crew hitting this museum tonight but oh well. Grab what she came for and get out. Cutting out holes in the glass, Catwoman grabbed the Egyptian jewels and put them in her backpack. As she turned to grab the statue of Bast, the gunshots rang in the silence.
"What the hell?" hissed Catwoman.
"Check out the Egyptian room, see if there any good in there," ordered one of the thieves. Catwoman leaped up to the railing, as a goon runs in.
"Son of a bitch!" screamed the thief. "Somebody has already been here. Hey... gak!" The thief was cut off by Catwoman chocking him from behind causing him to pass out.
"Mikey!? Where are you?" yelled one of the punks. Catwoman thought about jumping up and leaving; after all the jewelry she had would be worth a couple hundred grand. However, the Bast was too valuable to leave behind, worth a cool mill on the black market and there was no way she would take the chance on losing the statue. Then there was the price of information, finding out who these thieves were and who they worked for could come in handy. After all, Catwoman knew a tall, dark, handsome friend who would very grateful for this info. Very grateful, Catwoman thought with a throaty purr. She then reached into her backpack and grab a ball of caltrops. Smashing it on the ground, she leaped up to the supports, up on her googles, and waited. As three thieves ran in they step on the metal spikes and fell to the floor crying and moaning in pain. Pathetic, Catwoman thought, as she finished them off with a swift blow to the head or groin. Catwoman sauntered over to the Bast, using her sharp claws pulled it out.
"Come to momma pussy cat," whispered Catwoman as she put the statue in her backpack then checked on the downed thugs. Each was wearing black clothing, the weapons were machine guns and shotguns, but nothing worse than the average Gotham criminal had. One thing Catwoman notice was they all had the same tattoos, a snarling dog on their chests. New gang maybe?
"Here kitty kitty," called a voice. Catwoman looked up and saw that half dozen armed men in black walked in with a massive man, an enforcer. The enforcer was about six and a half feet tall and built like a body builder, and of course was wearing a red and black luchador mask along with black uniform like the others. Because you couldn't be a criminal in Gotham without having some sort of gimmick.
"Now look, boys," Catwoman began in an innocent voice. "I already got what I came for, so why don't you guys let me leave and you can have the whole place to your selves."
"What if we want what you got Catwoman?" asked the luchador.
"Now boys I know you wouldn't hit a lady," answered Catwoman.
"True," replied luchador. "But we do smack bitches like you."
"Watch it asshole," hissed Catwoman. "This 'bitch' has claws."
"And we have guns," growled the luchador. "Kill her!" Catwoman snapped her whip at one of the thugs and pulled his legs from out under him. She then struck another with her claws; leaving some vicious slash marks on his face. Cartwheeling to the left as clawed punk fell screaming in pain, she kicked a thug in the groin, causing him to drop to his knees as Catwoman tossed a bola at the fourth goon. The bola knocked him off his feet, but number five turned to shoot the Feline Fatal slapped the gun away and sent him to the floor a round house kick to the stomach. Turning to the enforcer, Catwoman struck him with her whip once, twice, then three times. As the enforcer stood there stunned, Catwoman struck him with rabbit punches to the solar plexus, a knee to the groin, and finally a kick to the side of his head. One of the thieves started to get up with his gun, Catwoman dropped a smoke pellet and pounced up and out of the building.
"Where she go?!" asked one of the thieves.
"Don't matter" weezed the luchador as he slowly got up. "Grab as much swag as you can, and let's get out of here before the cops or the Bat show up!" The thieves spread out and the enforcer grabbed the statue of Anubis. Catwoman silently cursed herself for not taking it earlier but she was more of a cat person anyway. Besides, she got a good haul, some exercise, and some news that the Dark Knight would love to hear.
The battered fighters circle each other slowly, each covered in bruises and cuts. Their only clothes were the jeans they wore, the two fighters looked different. One was white, green Mohawk, tall and slim like long distance runner, and had a meth addict's mouth. The other one was Latino, crew cut, shorter but more muscle, and covered in tattoos. Both were surprised that the other had last this long, and were both ready to finish it. Mohawk swung first, only to have Tattoos duck and tackle him onto the bloody, sand-covered floor. Their audience was mostly shirtless guys like them with some drunk hookers. The one person was separated from the crowd, he watched the Latino begin a ground pound on the meth head. Even he had been down with the others, he would have stood out.
He wore black track pants with red stripes running down his pant legs that were tucked into black steel-toe boots. A blood red leather jacket with a dozen throwing knives covered a black muscle shirt. A gold medallion with a snarling dog head and a heavy chain was around his neck. He wore a mask that was the same color of his jacket, a snarling dog. See his cold green eyes peer out of the hound's sockets, and his thin mouth from the mask's jaws. Knockout gloves covered his clench fists, and in each hand was the leashed to a scarred pit bull, both veterans of many dog fights. As he watched the tattooed Latino finish off the Mohawk-wearing meth addict, his masked enforcer came up a flight of stairs to his left.
"Well?" he asked.
"We got the loot from the museum, but there was a slight problem boss," answered Devil Dog. "The Cat was there. She got some good shit."
"Fuck the Cat," growled the man in the dog mask. "As long as the cops or the Bat didn't show up, I don't give a shit. We trade what we got for the new product, then we corner the market. Soon everyone will know about the Dog Pound Boyz."
"Got it Hellhound."