Nightwing
Issue #7
"STREET SWEEPERS"
Day One – Blood in the Water
"Still tinkering, huh?" the pleasantly feminine voice asked from behind the cluttered worktable.
"I noticed the wheel alignment was off when I broke up the Alphas' street gang the other week," Dick Grayson replied from the undercarriage of his beastly automobile. "I figured that while I was at it--"
"You would ignore your wife and install a new GPS system?" Barbara chimed in.
Dick smirked even though his wife couldn't see it from her vantage point. In truth, over the last couple of days they had both been hard at work in the lowest level of the Nest. She was just as busy as he was but it was nice to hear a but of levity in her voice.
"You should be thanking me," he teased. "With this new equipment you'll be able to keep track of me at any spot on the planet. The moment I step out to moonlight with Harley or Ivy, you'll know."
He slipped out from under the automobile just in time to catch the rag Barbara had thrown at him. Instead of throwing something back in retaliation, he jokingly dabbed at the black oil smudged on his face. He was glad to have such a wonderful woman in his life and was even happier that their recent problems had been long forgotten. He hated arguing, especially with her. The simple fact of the matter was that she was better at it than he was.
"What are you working on?" he asked as he sprung up from the cold cement floor.
"Updating our mainframe," she answered. The various pieces of motherboards, data discs, and stripped wire were piled in front of her like a mountain of silicone. "We've got the space to make this headquarters as good as the Cave. Just need a little patience and a little elbow grease. I'm looking at you for that second one, Boy Wonder."
Dick wiped at his hands with the rag, slowly turning and taking in the expansive sublevel of the Nest. The very top floor, where they spent most of their time, housed living quarters and Babs' state of the art computer rig, but a quick elevator ride brought you to the base of their HQ. A cannel connected them to three tunnels big enough to squeeze Dick's automobile through, plus a waterway provided access to the river. There was plenty of open space for worktables, exercise mats, computer equipment, generators, and even a small gymnasium. All of this was secretly part of the Grissom Bridge in the heart of South Gotham.
Not exactly the cave, Dick thought, but not too shabby, either.
"Love to help, sweetheart, but I've got a date."
Babs sized him up from behind her magnifying goggles, the unpleasant look in her eyes expanded by the lenses. "Excuse me? That better have been a joke. There's still a remote detonator in your car I haven't told you about."
"It was, it was!" he said, raising his hands in defense. "A woman scorned and all that…don't worry about me straying." Dick tossed the rag back on Barbara's worktable as made his way around a bulky storage container and over to a small sealed chamber.
"So spill, Mr. Grayson," she commanded. "What's on your agenda for tonight?"
Dick pulled the small door on the chamber open and grabbed one of his uniforms, the black and blue coloring fitting in perfectly with the dark undertones of his hair and eyes. He began to change into the costume, checking his gauntlets and utility belt as he dressed, making sure the various gadgets and weapons hidden within were still in working order. As a final touch, he slapped his trademark escrima fighting sticks into place on his back and slid his mask into place.
"I have a meeting with the mayor of Gotham City," he answered.
---------------
The anger bubbled inside of him, desperate for a valve to explode through. He knew that he had to remain calm, but after what he had been through, he found it so hard to concentrate. He wanted to see Nightwing dead. That was the only way he could regain his ability to sleep a full night.
As a former member of the League of Assassins, he was elite among martial artists. Proportionally, there were only a handful of men and women on the planet that could best him. That simple fact alone was enough to cause him shame after his defeat. Even after taking up his mentor's namesake, he still felt weak and fragile when he should be standing proud and strong.
The irritating noise of a telephone rang in his crummy, one room apartment. He hated the disgusting squalor he was forced to live in, but what choice did he have? Until Nightwing was dead under his feet he must remain waiting. With hope, he grabbed the receiver from its cradle, silently anxious for this call to be the one he needed to hear.
The shrouded voice on the other end of the telephone line whispered his orders and then hung up. Shrike replaced the receiver and smiled. His time had finally come. After all the waiting, the sitting still impatiently, the waxing of his skills…he finally had permission to murder the traitorous Nightwing.
The man once known as Boone flexed his arm muscles to test their limits, making sure he hadn't grown soft over the last few weeks. After his last defeat at the hands of Nightwing, his skills had been outsourced by the League of Assassins. He had been resigned to taking orders from someone he barely knew. He felt like his talents had been wasted, especially in East Africa. His business with the Society was finished, his new employer eventually sending him to lie in wait in South Gotham.
Shrike stepped away from phone and toward a large map of the city held to the wall by thumbtacks. It was the only way he had spent his time, outside of honing his skills as best he could in the dank apartment. The map was lined with thin pins, linked together by bits of red string in a haphazard pattern. Haphazard to anyone except for him. Each stab of a pin in the map represented known locations of Nightwing, a place where the "hero" had popped up to do something. It was Shrike's intent to narrow the playing field by figuring out where Nightwing called home. The changes recently made in the GCPD made the areas easy to spot since the new Commissioner hated the vigilante and used the papers every chance he got to tell the world his opinions.
In fact, the morning's newspaper made mention of a thwarted mugging on East Carson Street the previous evening. The police had arrived on the scene to discover the perpetrator tied up and left hanging from a fire escape. Shrike stuck another pin into the map and stepped back to once again discern the location he desired the most.
Judging from the pattern forming, he was getting close to his goal. It was only a matter of time, especially since he just received orders to move on to his expected target.
---------------
"What do you mean you didn't ask me to come here?" Renee Montoya asked. "Harvey told me you left a message about meeting in your office tonight, Commish."
James Gordon leaned back in his comfortable chair, the light from his lamp reflecting off of his glasses. His desk was covered in stacks of papers, completely disorganized to everyone but him. His trenchcoat hung in the corner, free of all wrinkles and stains. His once gray mustache was totally white now, something his daughter never let him forget. He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, eyeing up his former employee with traces of pride in his memory.
"I'm not going to tell you again not to call me that," he replied. "I haven't been the Commissioner for quite some time. Besides, you're not even on the force anymore."
"You'll always be the Commish in my book," Montoya stated, meaning every word. "Whether I'm working under you or not doesn't matter."
She smiled at the former head of the Gotham City Police Department, wishing that change wasn't such a big part of life. Times had been tough for her when she had been a cop, but times were tough for all of them. They had been a family, their precinct relying on each other more than any of them let on. She trusted Gordon with her life and the life of everyone she knew. Even though he would never tell her so, Jim Gordon felt the same way.
"I'm sorry, but I still didn't leave you any message," he repeated. "Unless I'm getting senile…"
"I'm the one who left the message for her to meet us here, actually."
Both of the former police officers turned to face the new voice that had entered the room undetected. Gordon, who had been in situations like this more times than he could recall, simply sat up straight in his chair and reached for his pipe. Montoya, caught off her guard, reached for the gun in her shoulder holster but quickly relaxed when she saw who had spoken.
Nightwing sat comfortably in a crouch just inside the open window, his hands casually resting on top of his bent knees. He smiled, an eerie contradiction from his general appearance as a waiting gargoyle perched and lying in wait. The dark colors of his costume absorbed the ambient light and his face was partially covered in the shadow provided by the window frame.
"Sorry about any confusion," Nightwing said, "but I needed to talk with both of you at the same time."
"I suppose you've been using her as a helping hand on the streets then?" Gordon asked as he puffed away at his pipe. "I've noticed that a few of the cases she's been wrapping up originated with some rather shady details. Trying to dodge the limelight, eh?"
"Exactly," he replied. "Montoya is someone we can trust."
"Damn straight," she cut in. "You could have just told me it was you leaving the message."
"I would have except that Harvey answered the phone in your office. Bullock is a straight arrow but I'm not ready to bring him on board yet. Something tells me he wouldn't take kindly to working with me."
"He eventually came around with your mentor," Gordon said. "Bullock is a good man. You should give him a chance."
"Maybe later on down the line," the vigilante admitted. "For now the two of you are the only ones I want guarding my back."
Montoya stepped forward and sipped at the scalding coffee in her hand, savoring the warmth it provided. Her long hair was pulled back showing her exquisite features and stern expression. In the last month and a half she had been working a number of open cases with her private investigation partner Harvey Bullock, most of which had been handed to her by Nightwing. She had been hesitant at first but the relationship seemed to be mutually beneficial and she placed a certain amount of trust in the rooftop-hopping hero.
"So what's this clandestine meeting about then?" she asked.
"I want all of us to be on the same page," Nightwing answered. "Something big is brewing on the streets and since I don't have the resources inside the GCPD that Batman did I need us to keep our eyes open. Penguin is moving drugs through the city and taking over the local thugs to use as distributors."
"So the local bad boys are now pooling their efforts under Cobblepot?" Gordon asked rhetorically. The smoke billowed out from between his lips as he thought about the implications of a known criminal mastermind with nothing to lose. "By keeping his own operations separate from the distributors he's playing it smart. The manpower and general structure is all ready there. All Penguin had to do was step in and take over the street punks."
"I don't think drugs are his main purpose for returning to Gotham," Nightwing commented. "He's getting ready for something big. I just don't know what."
"Organized crime as a whole in Gotham has been shaky recently," Montoya said. "He could be gaining allies in a coming turf war. Remember that murder a couple months ago? Joshua Milton, a big time CEO, killed off by Prometheus?"
Nightwing nodded, remembering the incident that eventually led to the capture of Prometheus. The insane mast criminal had been impersonating Batman and murdering people as he saw fit. It was a nasty altercation that Nightwing realized he had been lucky to walk away from.
As close calls go, he thought, that's as close as I ever want to get.
"Well, he was originally suspected of insider trading, but my contacts in the GCPD told me they found a boatload of illegal firearms housed in one of his warehouses. It looked to be part of some kind of Underground Railroad for hot weapons."
"Where are the weapons now?" Gordon asked.
"Gone," Montoya responded before taking another sip of her coffee. "My source told me they disappeared the other night. All inventories say the guns never existed and were never confiscated. Ever since those guns disappeared the big shots in crime have been getting antsy. It's a pressure cooker out there."
"The corruption is running pretty deep these days," Gordon said with a shake of his head. "The whole department has become a disgrace in the last year. I wouldn't put it passed Penguin to have this new Commissioner in his pocket. If he gets a hold of those guns--"
"I'm on it," Nightwing broke in. "Although I'm not convinced it's Penguin that took the guns. Renee, can you squeeze your sources a little harder? We need to find anything that can tell us where those guns went."
Montoya nodded as she finished her coffee. "I told Harv I would meet up with him soon to check out a lead. I'll see what I can find out, but until then, keep me in the loop." She tossed the empty cup into the trash and adjusted her coat before moving to the door. She paused after opening it, turning around slightly to face the men behind her. "Don't push me out of this."
The door closed behind her, leaving the pair alone in the clean office. Nightwing slipped off the windowsill and stood tall, stretching his legs slightly to wake them up.
"She's still acting like she has something to prove," Gordon commented. "Good move bringing her on board, though. She was a good cop. She'll help turn things around in Gotham."
"I think so, too," Nightwing added. "Lord knows your daughter and I need all the help we can get."
"Babs enjoying that Nest you stuffed her into?" Gordon said, laughing slightly.
"I couldn't pull her out of there if I tried. How are you holding up?"
The older man leaned back in his chair again, enjoying the sweet taste of the smoke passing over his tongue. He knew if his daughter had caught him smoking again she would start quoting statistics and demand he quit immediately. He loved his daughter and he really had tried to stop, but sometimes he just needed to relax and the pipe helped take him back to simpler times. Times before he knew his daughter was one of the world's heroes, constantly fighting a dangerous fight. Times before supervillians and lunatic grudges. Times before accepting a vigilante into his family.
"The job adds to my stress by the doctor says I'm healthier than ever," he answered. "Knowing you're out there every night making this city safer helps, Dick. Just watch your back."
Nightwing smiled before jumping back into the window, preparing to leave. "Don't worry about me, Mr. Mayor. Things are finally turning around in Gotham."
---------------
Bullets tore through the wall, piercing the thick cement and plunging into the frightened flesh of several bodyguards. The woman behind them screamed as they slumped to the floor of the protective bunker, dead.
The only entrance into the bunker rocked as something large slammed against it, sounding desperate to break in. The Asian woman quickly grabbed the firearm off of her dead guard and leveled it at the door, terrified of what was trying to bust through.
Again and again the door was nearly jarred off its hinges as the mysterious assailant kept up his assault. The walls of the bunker should have protected her from the insane soldiers infiltrating her home, but the weapons they were using were like none she had seen before. As one of the top Mafia members on the East Coast, she had seen enough weapons to last her a lifetime. She was beginning to think that she should have retired when Bludhaven was destroyed.
With one final and powerful shove, the door cracked open and light spilled into the bunker, illuminating the terror on Lady Minh's face. She raised the gun and squeezed off a shot, but it missed completely because of her shaking hands. She tried to make out the attacker but the light blinded her vision. The silhouette of the large man leaning into the entrance covered the dead bodyguards, an ominous presence accompanying his posture.
"Y'all are tucked in here tighter than a mouse in his home," the intruder grunted. "Nice place you've got here, Mrs. Minh. I can tell you have the kind o' family that takes care of each other. S'why I brought your bouncing baby boy to join you in here!"
The large man yanked on something at his feet, something lanky and limp. He tossed whatever it was on top of the dead guards and laughed, apparently happy with his progress at storming her private home she had recently moved in to. It infuriated her that after all her family's work to reestablish themselves in Gotham this buffoon and his agents had taken it all away from them. Rage boiled up inside her but it quickly dissipated when she got a better look at the bloody mess he had thrown in front of her.
It was her son, Tommy, viciously torn apart by gunfire.
"You should have stayed out of Gotham when the 'Haven got nuked," the man continued. "Course, I was practically at Ground Zero when it happened and I'm still bumpin'! Can't say I blame you for trying to get back into the crime business. Old habits and all that."
"Damn you!" she screamed, the tears beginning to form in her eyes.
"Sorry, darlin'. I already been damned." As the final word left his throat he raised his unique weapon and blasted a whole clear through Lady Minh. The force of the shell penetrating her chest flipped her back against the far wall, slamming into the cold concrete with enough power to knock a full-grown man unconscious.
The last member of the once powerful Minh Family slid to the floor, a hole the size of a baseball in the center of her chest. Her killer checked the barrel of his weapon, blowing the smoke out of the tip before turning around to reenter the main house in search of stragglers to murder.
---------------
"WHAT?!?"
Rupert Thorne smashed his fist into the sturdy oak desk he sat behind, his anger seeping through his normally calm demeanor. The mob boss quickly regained his composure but never moved his eyes from the informant standing a few feet in front of him, gently rocking back and forth on his heels.
"Tha--that's what they told me happened, Mr. Thorne," the shaking stool pigeon said.
"Son of a bitch…" Thorne mumbled. "We'll have to move the timetable up. Go tell the others that the operation is moving forward tomorrow, with or without the others behind us."
The lackey muttered his understanding before quickly turning and fleeing the room. Rupert hated having to rely on underlings like him but he had no choice. His return to Gotham had to be kept secret and he couldn't afford to actively recruit anyone yet. He had to make due with whatever dregs he could find until his powerbase was back in place.
His plans to eliminate the Minh Family first and seize their assets had apparently been preempted by someone else, someone who also wished to remain unidentified for the time being. Things would have to happen faster now that his hand had been forced. If someone else was making a play for Gotham's underworld he refused to be left behind.
Since Lady Minh and her bastard children were out of the picture Thorne would simply move to the next player on his list of targets. Within a week he would control Gotham City, even if he had to climb the ladder all over again.
He chuckled as he thought of that first step on the ladder. A fat, obnoxious, pompous imbecile he hated more than most of Gotham's colorful villains.
"By this time tomorrow," Thorne said, "the Penguin will be one dead bird."
---------------
TO BE CONTINUED DURING DAY TWO
