A great big thanks to all who have favorited and followed this project. I deeply appreciate it.
-GP
"You've been hiding out
For quite a while now,
Living off of people you know
Trying to raise a little money
To pay off all the monkeys
That you met inside the
Rabbit hole
You're taking candy from the white witch
You're smoking tea with Mama Kin
Well, there's a wolf outside
A brick house screaming;
"This time I'm gonna blow it in!""
- Shinedown, "Cry for Help"
The second I stepped onto that rooftop, I knew it looked familiar. It was warmer now than the last time I was here, but the view was the same. Wayne Tower loomed over everything else in the distance like some kind of skyscraper lifeguard, waiting to pull the other buildings up out of the danger of the alleyways. I put away my grapple gun, walked to the edge and sat down. I ignored the deja vu as best I could, but I could somehow still hear Bruce in my ear.
"Here, drink this. It'll warm you up."
I remembered glancing at the thermos of cocoa out of the corner of my eye and scowling, saying that a little cold never stopped me before and it wasn't going to happen now. I'd switched out the green tights for insulated spandex like the material he had in his batsuit that night, but the improvement was so minute it might as well be nonexistent. He held it out like he hadn't heard me. That classic Wayne stubbornness in full force that had often annoyed me. Part of me, at that time...was still trying to earn the 'R' on my chest, measuring myself up to Dick Grayson for the millionth time. I couldn't look like I wasn't up to this, not then. Then, I was scared half to death that if I wasn't a good Robin, Bruce would kick me out on the streets again. Then, I needed his approval like I needed oxygen, food, and cigarettes. It was just a thermos of hot cocoa.
But, half because I knew he wouldn't take no for an answer and half because I was freezing my ass off, I took it anyways. I remembered how the warmth as it went down my throat radiated outwards and made every part of my seventeen-year-old self feel invincible. It made me feel like nothing, not this storm or anyone, could stop me. Joke was on me, I guess.
We'd been there for the same reason I returned now: to do a stakeout on the Gotham Gazette. Then, we'd been watching over Vicki Vale after a threat had been made on her life by the Joker. Now, I was about to pay the editor a little visit. I remembered the argument I'd had with Bruce afterwards when I suggested, not for the first time, that we save Gotham of more suffering by ending the trail of torture and murder that the clown dealt out to others.
Basically, I told Batman to sack up and kill the Joker.
He told me, not for the first time, that he can never do that because he would be a part of the same evil that killed his parents if he did. 'The same as the Joker', were his exact words. Losing my temper, I had accused him of being stupidly selfish. I regretted that a bit, but what can I say? I was frustrated and tired of the routine of catching Joker and stopping Joker. Send him to the Asylum, wait ever so patiently for him to break out again...and I threatened to do it myself if Bruce wouldn't. Crime had taken my family too, but unlike him, I was going to do something about it that didn't perpetuate the whole thing.
So I tried to kill the Joker three weeks after that last argument in the BatCave. The rest you know...sometimes, people thought they knew my story better than I did and liked to point it out any way they could. People like Tim Drake did that.
"RH, come in."
What's that saying about speaking of the Devil? I groaned. "This is Hood. What do you want?"
"Check in, what's your 20?" You know, even when I was Robin I never cared for talking like cops.
"On the border between Chinatown," I didn't like this kid, "And none of your damned business."
Tim was unfazed and sounded bored."So you're in Chinatown. Fine."
I terminated the comm link, almost immediately glad that I wasn't really in Chinatown but on another island entirely. And he's supposed to be the master detective. Sure he is.
I zoomed my tactical hood's display on the top three floors of the Gazette building, and switched on the skeletal display. There was almost no one in that section, except for two in the top floor. That's likely where Gabriel Winters' office was. One sitting as calmly as can be, one standing and looking rather agitated. Leaving the display on, I walked to the edge. I sucked in a huge lungful of cool, post-rain Gotham air through the vents in my hood, and let myself fall. I only kept my eyes closed for a second. My hand dove at my belt, at my grapple gun and I fired it onto the roof of the skyscraper without thinking. I hit the brake mechanism a little too late, and I accelerated higher, shooting myself a good ten feet higher than I wanted. Didn't matter. I landed on the balls of my feet, and as I laid flush to the asphalt, I could catch their conversation through my communications.
"Read my lips, Ms. Vale: Bruce Wayne is dead. Find something else," The man's voice was flat and steady, "Or you're fired."
Ouch, that was a little harsh. I heard the clicking of Vicki's heels as she stormed out of the room, the bang of the door slam. I watched her skeleton leave his office, and head for what I assumed to be the elevator. Once she started her way down, I seized my moment. I dug the hook of the grapple gun into the asphalt, and threw my legs over the lip of the building, lowering myself down. Like a rock climber, I pushed myself away to allow more slack and before my feet broke the glass to Gabe's office, I thought about how long it'd take to get all the glass out of my pants when I got home. This wasn't about being subtle. It was about making a point.
I rolled as soon as I touched the ground, drawing a handgun and when I came to a crouch, trained it on Gabriel Winters. I stood and sized him up. He was shorter than the picture; his hair and eyelashes dark against his light eyes. His mouth was half-open in surprise and his chest labored as he stared down the barrel of my gun. I'd startled him.
I grinned; Alfred always scolded me about playing with my food.
To his credit, he wasn't trembling at all, but he kept looking at a picture frame laid face-down on his desk. "If this is about the article I passed last week, I assure you that-
"Can it, scum. Carmine Falcone wants my head on a stick. And you wanna know what I think?" I crossed the room before he had time to flinch, holding a fistful of his button-down and jamming my gun into the junction of his jaw and his throat. I loved the expression on some men's faces when they twitch with fear. "I think you know why. Here's how to play the game: you've got three seconds to talk or I start redecorating."
Gabriel squirmed in my grip, away from my gun but I choked him tighter. "Three."
"I haven't spoken with Falcone in years-"
I whipped the butt of my gun across his face, tearing the skin above his right eyebrow. I hated liars. "Two."
"Alright! Alright!" He wailed, and his hyperventilation got worse. He began to wheeze like an asthmatic, and I loosened my grip just enough for him to talk. Blood ran over his eye, and he wiped at it desperately as he spoke. "C-Carmine visited me earlier this week, told me that I had to deliver you to him. I hired the idiot to make a scene yesterday. But I didn't tell him to use children, I swear to God." He struggled for air still, but I had a feeling he wasn't telling me the whole story.
"I suppose that butters it up, don't it?" I headbutted him, cutting his wound wider and snarled in his face. "Wrong! What did Falcone use against you? You're the editor of the Gotham Gazette, did he threaten your job? I know he owns the paper. C'mon, everybody's got a pressure point - where's yours?"
He stared at me, the blood covering the whole side of his face in a veil of crimson. His eyes flickered with something like regret. "My daughter. He threatened to kill my daughter. She despises me, but I won't let her die for my cowardice. Doesn't matter now, talking with you right now is reason enough for Carmine to kill her."
There was the ding of the elevator. I didn't have much time. I tightened my grip on Gabe and lowered my voice. "Speak quickly: I know Falcone wouldn't come back if he didn't have insurance against Joker. Who's doing this?! Now, "
"I don't know, I promise," Gabe rasped, clawing at my forearm. "All I know is that Carmine wants you dead and he'll kill anyone he wants just to get to you!"
"For what?" My head was starting to hurt with the anxiety as I heard the footsteps outside get heavier and louder.
There was a knocking on the door of the office then, and I could see the outline of a man against the lights in the newsroom outside. Two more faded outlines behind him, but the voice came from the visitor. "Gabriel? Gabriel, it's Carmine. Is everything alright?"
Every nerve in my body lit up like a match and I kept glancing to the broken window. If I wanted to make it out of here, I'd have to jump back through there. I knew what I had to do; I popped out the mag in my handgun and loaded another from my belt that was full of tracker bullets. The door was starting to open and my time was up. I brought my gun from his throat and aimed for the silhouette's chest where his collarbone was. I needed Falcone alive for a bit longer. I fired, the sound blowing the silence to smithereens. I heard the door thrown open and the cocking of guns on the other side. I dove to the ground by the window, taking Gabe with me and rolled to my back, kicking up at the edge of the desk - it flipped over onto the side, shielding us from the bullets being fired from the guys at the door.
I spun around, and spread my hands out against the underside of the desk. I dug in my heels and pushed, a roar blaring out of my throat; I plowed the desk into the two bodyguards at the door, stunning them for a second. "Worthless sons'a bitches- whoa, hello!" I saw a flash of gunmetal and ducked under a bullet that whizzed over my head.
"I'll kill you, Hood!" Falcone was on his feet, bracing himself against another desk in the newsroom with a pistol in his hand. A streak of crimson was lazy-rivering over his white suit, his eyes wild and he was cursing in Italian. I smashed the two bodyguards' heads together as he tried to shoot me again, this time hitting his men.
"Is that it?" I said behind the desk while I pulled out my neck tactical knife, fitting my fingers in the grip. I didn't like to use it, but I wanted to send a little message to Falcone that words just can't say. "Just two guys? That's just insulting."
Falcone staggered towards the makeshift barricade I was behind, so I sprang. I got my free hand on his collar and his tie, yanking him over to me. I forced his chest to the ground with my knee and pinned him with a hand to his throat in a vice grip. With the blade in my other hand, I stabbed into Carmine's grass-green eye, but not deep enough to kill - as much as I wanted to. I carved, I dug, I drove the blade around the socket, the squishing noise barely nauseating me and Falcone's screams were better than any orchestra you can put in front of me. The blood made my vision redder, as red as red could be. I withdrew my blade, his eye coming with it and dangling from his eye to his head was a red strand of tissue.
"You know what your problem is, old man?" I lifted his neck and brought it close. He growled in his throat at the pain and I twirled the knife through my fingers, his eye still stuck on the tip. "You're overconfident. You have a problem with someone, you hire someone else and have them do the dirty work. I've already figured this out in one night and you've had what - twenty years? You want something done right? Do it yourself. Bottom line: you didn't keep an eye on me. And now…" I wagged his eye in front of him. "Now I'm keeping an eye on you."
His hands kept fidgeting towards the opening in his coat, and I used my other foot to trample his fingers away from his chest. I searched his inner pocket, the only one on his coat. Inside was a single photograph, and my heart stopped when I looked at it, my throat choking tight.
As I saw the picture, all my sinister demeanor evaporated into thin air. I was in the picture, along with a large black guy. He was carrying me. This was last week, when I was stabbed in the leg. Her face was only half-hidden by a mane of golden hair as she was depicted walking ahead. Oh, no...Falcone was after Abigail, too. For helping me. I needed to find her. Gabe can fall out of this skyscraper for all I care. He endangered the lives of children to get my attention. But Abigail…
I was about to shout at Carmine to tell me why he's gunning for her, but as I glanced back, he was unconscious. Blood loss. Good. I straightened, taking the photo with me and shoving it into my jacket pocket, zipping it closed. I heard the elevator ringing again, and I wasn't about to find out if Falcone's cavalry was coming. I darted back to the broken window and jumped.
