Chapter 3

Dick's POV

It seems that every time I get somewhere, I get pushed back to square one. No wonder Harvey thought this case was a major pain. I don't usually like to admit things like this, but I'm stuck.

You see, I just got that list of custom rifle makers from Jim and it's about three pages long. I have to go through each shop with that blasted shell and ask if they made someone a rifle to shoot that kind of shells. That part alone could take days, if not weeks.

Luckily, the last page of rifle makers in Jump City. I can forward that onto my adopted brother, Tim, who lives up that way. I can give him a picture of the bullet and ask him to check around for me.

Quickly grabbing my phone and dialing the Jump City extension, I waited somewhat impatiently for the switchboard operator to take the call. "Jump City Police Department. How can I help you?" a voice asked on the other end.

"I need to speak to Tim Grayson as soon as possible. It's quite important," I told the woman in a rush. "This is his brother, Detective Dick Grayson calling."

The woman was silent for a minute. "One moment. I will try and locate him for you. Stay on the line, please." She hit a button and cheesy elevator music started playing through the phone into my ear. Lovely.

A few minutes later, when I was ready to reach through the phone and rip the wires out of the wall myself, Tim answered. "Sergeant Grayson speaking."

"Hey Tim, it's me. I need a favor," I said, then going and outlining the situation for him. "I need this information as quick as you can get it. It's the make or break for my case."

Tim exhaled through his nose, a whoosh of air through the mouthpiece of the phone. "How many are on the page?" he asked begrudgingly.

Grinning, I said, "Only 6 and they're all within easy walking distance of the Department. I'm faxing you the page and a picture of the bullet now. Thanks, I owe you one."

Tim laughed. "You owe me about four or more, big bro. I'll let it slide, considering it's for police business. I'll get back to you when I'm done. You're paying me overtime for this, right?"

Laughing, I said, "Don't push it. You're lucky I let you win that boxing match last week." Every weekend, we always would meet at Bruce's place for dinner and a weekend of just kicking back and relaxing.

"Oh, you let me win? I highly doubt that. We'll see this weekend, won't we?"

"Shut up and get to work or I'll come down there myself and personally run you up the flagpole." We both laughed and said goodbye before I hung up.

Okay, that's six down, about 15 to go. 5 are here in Gotham and 10 in Steel City. Wonder if I could get Clark to help me out… Nah, I just remembered he's away to visit Diana.

Sighing, I grabbed the photo evidence and the list of names before grabbing my keys from the rack. Well, there goes about another 4 hours of my life down the crapper.

Climbing into my car, I shifted into reverse and drove off to the first of many shops nearby. Stopping at the first name on the list, I walked in, looking around as I entered the small shop that smelled of metal, lubricant and beer.

A guy popped up from under the counter. His gray hair was a mess and his eyebrows were thick and bushy. He looked like your typical hermit and even sounded like it too, but at least he spoke complete English. "Can I help ya?"

Flashing my badge, I said, "I got a few questions for you Mr. Hammerstein. It'll only take a few minutes of your time."

Wiping his hands off on a rag and sticking the scrap of fabric back into his chest pocket, he sat down on a stool nearby and nodded. "I got time. What can I help the GCPD with today?"

Showing him the picture of the shell, I asked, "You build a rifle that can shoot this kind of shell?"

Staring at the picture for a minute, he said, "Nope, that's not my work. By the looks of the rounded off tip, this belongs to Archie Kings, down on Roberta Avenue."

Nodding, I set off. Just as I got to the door, I turned and said, "Thanks for the information. I'll be sure to recommend you if I need anything in the guns department." I closed the door, climbed into my car and sped off towards Roberta Ave. That section was on the far side of town and one of the roughest sections. Thank goodness I brought my pistol.

Pulling my car over a half hour drive later, I got out, locked it and walked off to the shop across the way. Opening the door, I called out, "Archie Kings?"

A voice came from the back room. "Come on in! Close the door behind ya!"

Doing as he said, I closed the door and walked into the back room. A man about 35 sat in front of an elongated rifle barrel, using a tool of some sort to round out the inside of the metal. "What can I do for ya?"

Holding out my badge, I said, "According to one Mr. A. Hammerstein, you make rifles and matching bullets. Correct?"

His eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of my badge. "I didn't do anything wrong, copper. If you're here to arrest me, what proof you got?"

"I'm not here to arrest you Mr. Kings. I only want to ask you a few questions. If you help me, I'll leave you alone and be on my way. If you resist, I can come back later with a warrant."

"Fine," he said, somewhat reluctantly. "Yeah, I make rifles that fire those shells. Mostly people use them for hunting down in the woods in Steel City. The bucks up there are pretty thick skinned, so I make the shells with sharp spikes to help penetrate the hide."

Showing him the small hole in the base of the bullet, I asked, "Did you do that or was that after sale?"

He nodded. "I also put a quick poison in it that releases as soon as it hits its target. Takes only a few minutes to take effect. The poison then dissolves into the blood stream, leaving no trace of it and still makes the animal completely safe to eat."

"Do you have records of who has these custom rifles? It's quite important that I find out." I was hoping he'd cooperate and show me the records, but no dice.

"Sorry, Detective. My records are private. Nobody sees them except me." He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded at the door. "You can leave now."

Sighing and turning around, I left, but not before parting with a final word. "I'll be back with a warrant Mr. Kings. You can bet on it. If you resist that, you'll be in jail for up to six months for impeding a police investigation." I closed the door and got into my car and drove back to the station.

Walking into Jim's office, I said, "I need a warrant and I need it now."