Chapter 12—Interrogations (part 3)

"You didn't tell me you were married." Dick was back in his office, Sarah sitting in her customary spot on his desk.

"There was never a need," Sarah shrugged.

"Yeah, there was," Dick replied. "I dated you for months—I even slept with you!—and you never felt the need to tell me you had a husband?"

Sarah shrugged. "It never came up." She reached over and took his hand, stroked it gently with her thumb. "But that's not really what you came to talk about, is it?"

Dick saw no point in beating around the bush. "What are you planning?"

"What fun is it if I tell you?"

"Just tell me!" Dick's voice was low, dangerous.

Sarah laughed lightly. "Come out to dinner with me tonight, and I'll tell you." She stood and walked towards the door.

"What—?"

"Mario's. 8 o'clock sharp. I've already made us a reservation." Sarah walked out of Dick's office without giving him a second glance.

Dick was, for once, genuinely glad that Bruce had dragged him to numerous fundraisers and banquets because it meant that he owned a tuxedo. Mario's was a five star restaurant just outside of Blüdhaven. Bruce had taken him there for this eighteenth birthday a few years ago, and then again on one of Jason's birthdays after he finally reconnected with the family. It was one of the few restaurants in Blüdhaven that actually required formal wear for entry.

Dick stood outside the restaurant and straightened his bow tie. Sarah was due to arrive any minute, and he was waiting for her before he took a seat. Despite her being his enemy, Dick was taught to always be a gentleman.

Sarah arrived five minutes later and Dick offered her his arm.

"Bruce taught you well," Sarah commented quietly as the maître d' led them to their table. "You're the perfect gentleman."

"I'm not here to play games, Sarah," Dick replied, equally quiet as he pulled out her chair for her.

Sarah sat down. "You said you wanted to know what's going on."

"And I do." Dick rounded the table and sat opposite her. "However I don't think you're going to just tell me."

"And what would make you think that?" Sarah placed her napkin on her lap. Dick attempted to read her. She was dressed just as nicely as he was in a provocative backless forest green dress with a plunging neckline. She wore a simply diamond necklace and more elaborate diamond earrings; a simple white gold bracelet was on her left wrist. She wore no wedding ring. A small smile graced her features, and her eyes were bright and knowing.

"What are you hiding, Sarah?" Dick asked.

"You assume so much, Dick," Sarah purred, leaning forward. The low light and candles on the table cast teasing shadows across her bust, and Dick had to force himself to look into her eyes.

"I assume nothing," Dick assured her. "You of all people should know that."

"Only because you lost so much due to your assumptions."

"I lost nothing." Dick's back was straight, keeping both a formal and dominating posture at the same time. Sarah needed to know that Dick was the one in charge.

Their waiter came and went through the list of expensive wines and champagnes. Dick ignored him, content to allow Sarah to decide—he wouldn't drink any regardless of what she chose—and cast his gaze around the restaurant. On the far side, a business meeting was taking place, possibly something to do with technology because Fai Fudo, owner of Fudo International, was sitting at the table. Dick also recognized mob boss Adrian Roswell sitting with a pretty, scantily dressed woman who had be his latest girlfriend in the center of the room. There was only one table that Dick could see that was occupied by a single man. He was dressed in a white tuxedo with a black waistcoat and bowtie. He was idly drumming his fingers in his jewel topped cane.

"You like Brut, don't you, Dick?" Sarah asked.

"What? Sorry." He looked between Sarah and the waiter.

"Our champagne special this evening is a 1998 Pol Roger Brut," the waiter repeated in what was clearly a fake British accent meant to add to the posh atmosphere.

"Yeah," Dick replied. "That will be fine." He cursed himself for his momentary lapse of attention.

"I do not have any men inside," Sarah admitted when the waiter had left. "I have no need of them at the moment."

"Tell me what you're planning," Dick warned, "or so help me I will arrest for kidnapping me right here and now."

"And risk exposing yourself as Nightwing?" Sarah laughed. "Not a chance."

"I wrote in my report that I had no idea who kidnapped me," Dick replied easily. "I could say that Nightwing tipped me off. It's common knowledge that he and I know each other."

"If you do that, I will expose you," Sarah threatened.

"Your husband already tried that. I refuted his claims pretty quickly."

"He's a criminal and I'm an officer of the law. My claims are more likely to be believed."

"I can come up with plenty of proof against you."

"As yourself, or as Nightwing?"

"Sarah, no matter what, I will beat you," Dick stated. "Now are you going to tell me what your plan is or not."

"You haven't guessed it by now?" Sarah laughed lightly as the waiter returned and poured them both champagne. She took a sip. "I'm surprised at you."

"I know you plan to use your drug to destroy Blüdhaven," Dick admitted, pretending to look at the menu. "I just want to know how because unless you have a microwave emitter, you won't get that amount of drugs out to the general populace."

Sarah gave a coy smile. "Who said anything about Blüdhaven?"

Dick was silent for a moment before the realization hit him. "You're going to destroy Gotham!"

"Why do you think I was there last November? I was scoping out the drug scene."

"You almost killed my brother," Dick growled.

"And I plan to kill him this time," Sarah promised. "I've improved the drug since I tested it on you. It's perfection now."

"How long?"

"What fun would it be if I told you that?" Sarah gasped, bringing a hand to her chest in mock surprise. "You wanted to know what I was planning, not when."

Dick stood abruptly. "Thank you, Sarah, for the wonderful evening," Dick said, mocking her slightly. "I'm afraid I have an urgent appointment." He walked away from the towards the front of the restaurant.

"I will get what I want, Dick," Sarah called after him. "I always do."

Dick exited the restaurant and stood under the awning. A light rain had started to fall since he entered the restaurant. He walked over to the valet podium and gave a college age guy his ticket, and the young man immediately headed off to retrieve his car.

When the car arrived, Dick slid in the driver's side and coasted onto the back road the restaurant was located on. He turned left, heading straight for Gotham. The road ran straight for several miles, and Dick struggled to maintain his speed in the rain. The car seemed to not want to slow down. A curve came up, and Dick pressed his foot hard on the brake, but and the pedal hit the floor of the car—the break line had been cut! He tried to take the turn, hoping that he would be able to coast to a stop past it and call for help, but his car was going too fast. He hit a pocket of standing water and hydroplaned off the road and into a tree. The front of the car crumpled in, and the force of the crash caused Dick's head to slam forward into his steering wheel as the windshield broke. Glass rained down onto his head and cut into his scalp as he lost consciousness.


And that's the chapter! We're winding down to a close, and I know how I want to end it-ish!

For those that are wondering the 1998 Pol Roger Brut is a real champagne and sells at $84 a bottle.

Thanks again for reading! New chapter within two days!

~Red~