"Matt, honey," Mary whispered. "Are you still awake?"

She watched his darkened bed from the door. The boy rolled over in sleep, but did not hear her. She shut the door, satisfied.

A few moments after it closed, Matt sat up, watching the door. Mom always fell for that. He crept over to the door, placing his ear against it.

"...I know, Mom, but I-I need to go out one last time. Mr. Wayne needs me."

"I just don't like these errands he has you doing. It's eleven o'clock, for goodness sake."

"Mom, please...I have to--"

"Yes, I know. It's good that you're such a dedicated employee. I sometimes think he takes advantage of you."

Terry was quiet for a moment. "Maybe. But please, I need to--"

"Alright, go. Just try and be back by a reasonable hour."

"I'll try."

Matt could hear the sounds of their mother going to her bedroom; of Terry gathering his things, keys jingling; of Terry shutting the front door. And, after a minute, the sound of Terry on the sidewalk, outside of his bedroom window. And then a phone ringing.

Terry answered. "Yeah, Max....I'm going to look for Dana again...no, there's a bar on the east side, right by pier 19...it was on a list of places the old man knew about...I don't know, she might be there....What other choice do I have?"

Matt listened, fascinated, as their conversation wrapped up. Then he could hear Terry start his motorcycle, and listened to it roar away in the night.

So. He wasn't working for Mr. Wayne at all. He was going to meet Dana. If his mother knew about this...

If I tell her, she won't believe me, Matt thought. He looked at his camera, sitting on the desk. He'd have to get proof. Then Terry would be in big trouble. And Mary would ground him, and he'd stay home more, and...

Matt had long ago figured out how to sneak out of his bedroom window, crawling down the drainpipe. He pulled on his shirt and pants, dressing as quietly as possible. Putting the camera in his back pocket, he gently opened the window.

The view of the street was dim from up here, but she could see well enough. Terry came out the front door of the apartment, walking towards his cycle. Then the sound of ringing came to her. Terry stopped and pulled out a phone. "Yeah, Max...I'm going to look for Dana again..."

DeeDee listened to the brief conversation play out, hidden out of sight in the shadow of building's chimney. It wasn't really such a surprise he still hadn't seen her tracking him most nights. She'd learned from the best, after all: one of the Triad, stuck in Juvie after she'd been betrayed by the others in her clan. DeeDee could hide almost anywhere when she wanted. It made it easy to track McGinnis, watch him twist as he searched for his beloved little Dana.

Out of sight behind the building, Terry started his cycle. He roared past, headed towards the docks. She knew the place he was headed. It was a stretch to think she'd be there, but she couldn't resist the chance to see McGinnis try his fate in that hellhole. DeeDee had her own transportation stowed nearby. She was moving towards it when something at the McGinnis house caught her eye.

A boy squeezed out of a window and started climbing down the drainpipe. DeeDee stopped to watch as he unchained a bicycle, and took off in the same direction as Terry.

McGinnis' little brother. Well, she thought to herself, this is just too good a chance to pass up...

Terry had searched in the two hours since interrogating Scar, and had found nothing. His information had been scanty, little more than confirmation of what he already knew. She knew who he was. She knew, and was attacking the person closest to him.

DeeDee. Deidre and Delia Dennis, identical twins, who went by the collective name DeeDee. They had risen through the Jokerz ranks quickly enough. They were fast, deadly, afraid of nothing. He had been unsurprised to find them when the Joker had returned, or reemerged, or whatever you called what it was he'd done last year. The Joker himself would only have let the deadliest people into his group. And the Deeds surely qualified.

Pushing the motorcycle past the speed limit, he swung into a turn. Of course, referring to them in the plural was no longer accurate. Delia was gone. He'd seen her die.

But he thought Deidre had died, as well.

He'd pushed his usual sources of information, but there was nothing. No one had seen her.

So he had gone back to the cave, digging through old case files, looking for anything that might even offer a whisper of a hint of a clue. And he had discovered the name of an old bar, frequented by the sorts of people who might be able to tell him what he needed to know. A quick directory search showed it was still there today, right on pier 19.

The streets near the docks were slick with oil, and the headlight of the cycle picked out gaping holes in the asphalt as Terry pulled up. A clutter of cars and cycles were parked out front of the shabby brick building, its name picked out in flickering neon: The Stacked Deck. A noise resembling music blasted out of the open door. Heat and sweat came out in a wave.

Terry walked through the door and several people turned to look at him. He had dressed himself in the kind of dark jacket and fingerless gloves favored by most of the synth runners, and hastily spiked his hair with gel once he was out his mother's sight. He tried to remember what Mr. Wayne had taught him about disguise. Don't exaggerate, calling attention to yourself, just draw it away from what is most memorable about you, make something that isn't you stick in their minds.

He had considered busting this place as Batman, but changed his mind. So many people were talking about Batman's recent activity, he might learn more undercover. Considering the stares now greeting him he realized the foolishness of that idea. He was a stranger here. They weren't going to let anything spill.

He thought of Dana. He remembered how she'd felt, wrapped in his arms.

He continued inside. He had to try.

Terry made his way to the bar. The bartender wore a military beret, his posture erect, his eyes doubtful.

"Um....a beer." He tried to make his voice sound husky.

The bartender eyed him impassively. "You got an ID, kid?"

Terry squared his shoulders. "Since when does the Stacked Deck card anyone?"

The bartender said nothing, but put a bottle on the bar. "Four creds," he said.

He gave a credit token to the barkeep, who rang it up and returned the card to him. He took a pull from the bottle. It had been some time since he'd drunk beer, at least as far back as before his time in juvie, when he'd hung out with Charlie. It tasted about like he remembered. But he didn't want to get drunk tonight, not for what he was trying to do. This was merely cover.

And it was working, somewhat. Once he'd gotten the bottle without incident, most of the crowd had returned to their own interests . Terry moved to the corner of the bar, trying to avoid the stale cigarette smoke.

It was almost an hour before someone else came in: two more kids from his own high school, apparently already intoxicated. They strutted up to the bar. "Hey, Gunny! Give us a couple rounds, y'know?" The bartender put two more bottles on the bar, not bothering to card them. Only does it with people he doesn't know, I guess, Terry thought.

The two kids were both lean and tightly strung. Expensive, gaudy clothes hung from their frames. Their markings affiliated them with none of the gangs; they were just high school kids, out looking for a cheap drink.

Terry nursed the beer, keeping to himself. One of the kids kept nudging the other, throwing glances at Terry. He ignored them.

Someone pounded on the ancient jukebox, and a thudding beat filled the room. The kid who had been nudging his pal had to speak loudly to make himself heard. "Hey, I know you."

Terry turned away.

"You're that guy that nearly got in a fight with Nash today," he said.

"Wasn't me."

"Sure it was," the kid continued. "Think you're pretty tough, facing down a guy like Nash?"

Setting his drink down, Terry headed for the door. "I've got nothing to say."

"Hey! Don't walk away from me, dreg." The kid made a motion with the bottle in his hand, and Terry instinctively ducked. The bottle stayed in the kid's hand, but the beer inside hit a guy in a sleeveless jean jacket, bandanna on his head.

Terry stood up and watched the kid make a placating gesture to the guy in the jacket. "Hey, sorry man, it was an accident."

The guy in the jacket got out of his booth, hauling a pool cue behind him. "Too bad. I'm gonna feel real tough, beating up a guy like you." Terry hit the floor just before the guy swung the cue.