8:21PM Nightwing

"Today's crime-fighting is brought to you by the phrase, 'Shut your face, Batman,'" I deadpanned into the throat-mic before saying goodbye, "Nightwing, out," and ending the call.

My name is Dick Grayson and don't have the patience for Batman's nonsense tonight...

Tonight was supposed to be an easy, but Batman wanted to make it difficult by lecturing me about his Fraternal Order of the Bat crap. 'This is my team!' or 'This is my operation and you'll do things my way or you're out!' he'd say.

Nobody's got time for all that. Especially me, I had things to do.

In fact, all of this started because I had a plan and he just didn't like it—mostly because he didn't come up with it and was envious of my ingenuity. Last time I checked, I wasn't Robin anymore and haven't been for several years. I don't check in with Batman. That demanding-thing may have worked when I was a rookie in a cape but not today, junior. I'm not a rookie, I'm a veteran just like Lord Darkness himself. I suppose with Jason being gone, I'm the only one he can push around. Oddly enough, he doesn't attempt to bully Barbara. I'm pretty damn tolerant of his tantrums, too. God knows I've been dealing with them since I was ten but eventually I get fed-up. Tonight was one of those nights. So, I just won't speak to him until I'm good and ready.

As for the plan that he didn't like, it was a simple one: be creepy, conduct surveillance on a suspect councilman, and, if the situation presented itself, have a conversation with the guy; which, of course, occurred after I had recorded about two hours of incriminating data (Corrupt officials were easily managed when you had dirt on them).

Batman probably had wanted to handle the interrogation after I had explained my hunch about the councilman. But instead of expressing himself like a normal human being, he had chosen to hassle me about it.

Whatever, I was over it. I went back to stalking my pet councilman, who had entered his home's natatorium to swim laps by the time I decided to have that conversation. I slipped in through a skylight and repelled onto the dimly lit pool deck—the ambiance setting the mood for our chat.

11:12 PM Nightwing

As he neared the wall—and before he could lift his head to turn—I snatched him up by his hair and yanked his head clear of the water. The look on his face was priceless.

"Evening, councilman," I rumbled. "I have some questions for you. And, I hope for your sake you're feeling forthcoming. There were two men in the limo with you. One was Rupert Thorne's consigliore, Abraham Rosenbaum. Who was the other?"

The councilman expelled a ton of surprised explicatives; that reaction was actually pretty common.

"I don't like repeating myself," I said, "but I will this once: There were two men in the limo with you. One was Rupert Thorne's consigliore. Who was the other?"

His expression was infantile and his face ashened. He still was in total shock.

"Answer the question before I hurt you," I demanded.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he cried, finally.

"Councilman, do yourself a favor and assume that I already know the answer to every question I ask you," I said as I drove his head underwater. I gave him about ten seconds and then let him up for air. He came up gasping. I wasn't impressed with his ability to hold his breath. "Where were we? Oh yeah, you were about to tell me who the third party was."

"I swear I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Of course you don't. So why don't you work on remembering underwater." I shoved his head beneath the surface again and kept his flailing arms under control with my free hand. After about fifteen seconds, and about a gallon of water splashed on me, I let him surface.

"Looks like you're getting short on breath, councilman. So help me help you. Who was," I paused for affect and lowered my voice an octave, "the third person."

"Please," he struggled to say through a fit of coughing and gasping, "they'll do terrible things to me if I don't cooperate with them, probably even kill me!"

"Councilman, I'm the one trying to drown you," I said feigning indignation. "Now, let me make this clear to you: You fear Rupert Thorne and Rupert Thorne fears me. Simple logic should tell you that protecting his interests is not in your best interests. So, I'm going to ask you again: Who was the third person?"

"Please! You have to believe—"

"Wrong answer." I shoved his head beneath the surface for a third time.

He thrashed like a marlin on a hook, splashing water everywhere. Good thing my armor and the camo-paint on my face were water-resistant. My hair on the other hand was drenched and that was going to make going back out into the unforgiveable Gotham winter more terrible than it already was. Perhaps, having the cowl did have its advantages even if it did wreak havoc on my peripheral vision and spatial awareness. I won't mention that to Batman—ever. Only just recently did he stop pestering me about not wearing one.

11:27PM Nightwing

Just then, Oracle's voice chimed on the net, "Nightwing?"

"I'm a bit busy."

"Unless you're saving orphaned children from a burning building, I don't have time for busy."

"What's the problem?" My voice was a bit strained as I fought to keep position over-top of the councilman.

"Batman's beacon just went off!"

"And?"

"And, I think he's hurt!"

"How hurt?"

"Crap, I don't know! Let me roll over there in my wheelchair and check it out for you—gotta put on my Batgirl costume first!"

"When you put it like that—"

"Drop whatever you're doing and get your ass over there!"

Yikes—I pissed her off. "Okay. Okay. I'm on my way." I was definitely going to be getting the cold shoulder for a while for sure.

Oh crap! I almost forgot about the councilman. He was still moving so he hadn't drowned yet but he was close. I pulled him up by his hair and he broke the surface heaving for air. I allowed him to grab hold of the wall and he rested his cheek against it.

"Councilman." My face was only inches from his. He looked up at me with glassy eyes. "I'm going to give you time to remember who the third person was." I reached into my utility belt and pulled the pin on a smoke grenade. With a pop-hiss, I was instantly shrouded by smoke. "I hope for your sake your answer will be to my liking."

He started crying.

And like that—poof—I disappeared.

Grapnel guns are the best. So are councilmen's towels. Because, you know, wet hair…