Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!
"River Runs Dry" lyrics by Jon Bon Jovi and Desmond Child. Recorded by Bon Jovi on their 100,000,000 Bon Jovi Fans Can't Be Wrong... The Premiere Collection album (Universal, 2004)
...A man has got to face his own mistakes
Sometimes you get a lucky break
Sometimes your winning streak will stay
Sometimes you gotta pay
—Jon Bon Jovi, Desmond Child, "River Runs Dry"
Chapter 34—Lucky Breaks
Captain Sidney Carruthers held the phone away from his ear as Jandt raged on. When Neal had told him what he wanted, Sidney had been sure the councilor was joking. He hadn't been. Sidney's advice to "Give it up. Alvin messed up and he got a fair hearing over it," had been met with a long diatribe that convinced him his best friend was wasted in municipal politics. With his talent for filibuster, he needed a place on Capitol Hill. After the first four minutes, Jandt had begun repeating himself. Carruthers tried several times to get a word in edgewise, but the furious city councilor kept going full steam.
He shook his head sadly, wondering what had happened to the popular high school varsity quarterback he'd known two decades ago. Neal had seemed to have everything, but he'd noticed Sid sitting on the sidelines, sought him out, and built him up. Neal had convinced him to try for the track team and it seemed like overnight, Sid Carruthers went from the Invisible Man to Mr. Popularity. The two had remained friends. Sid had never asked whether his promotion to precinct captain had been due to a well-placed word from Neal, but he'd been more than willing (if not completely happy) to conceal Alvin Jandt's more over-the-top antics. He'd nearly balked over the last one—DWI after leaving a charity gala was a good deal more serious, particularly when the perp was an academy cadet. But then, Sid had vouched for the kid when the application had been deferred to panel, and he didn't relish word getting out that someone he'd backed had messed up that badly. So he'd agreed to do Neal that favor against his better judgment. Secretly, though, he'd been relieved when the news had broken despite his efforts. At the moment, he was wishing that he'd never met Neal Jandt, never had the confidence to go out for the track team, and never set his sights on the police academy. He should have gone to live with his Uncle Roddy. He was a sheep farmer in New Zealand.
Neal seemed to have finally run out of breath. Sid sighed. "I'm not sure what you expect me to do, Neal," he said reasonably. "Your brother wasn't framed. There was an investigation and a hearing and I'm sorry to say that the facts didn't exonerate him."
"Come on, Sid," Neal retorted. "This matter would never have come to light if Wayne hadn't blown the whistle. It's obvious he has it in for Alvin and possibly for me, as well."
Wonderful. Neal expected him to take on Batman. "That's..." he cleared his throat. "Councilor, even were that true, he's committed no crime. I can have my people keep an eye out in case that should change, but as matters stand..."
"As matters stand," Neal cut him off, "should Batman launch a full scale investigation into Alvin's activities, I'm nearly positive that a detective of his caliber would notice that many of those activities were kept quiet at the discretion of one individual."
"What?" He couldn't believe that Neal was trying to pull this. "Neal, you begged me to help you out. Are you threatening...?"
"Calm down, Sid," Neal retorted. "I'm not threatening you. I'm only suggesting that you look at the facts and the way in which someone with a vendetta against me and mine might choose to spin them." He paused. "Wayne's in pretty tight with Commissioner Sawyer, isn't he? The right word at the right time..."
Sid's jaw muscles worked furiously. "Leave it with me," he said finally. "I'll see what I can do."
Selina rubbed her forehead and tried to tune out her daughter's whines while staying alert to her activities. There was only so much she could childproof in this place and all she needed was for Helena to get into something and get hurt while her back was turned.
A memory flashed into her head. Bruce wasn't much of a talker, but Selina had learned early that he could wax eloquent on certain subjects—including the dossiers of the rogues in his gallery.
"Bane was born in a prison in Santa Prisca," Bruce said. "His father was a revolutionary who died for the cause. Santa Priscan law allows for substitution: if the guilty party is unable to serve his sentence, his family may be forced to serve in his stead. Family being defined as any and all relatives up to and including fourth cousins. In his father's case, the court was 'lenient' and required only that the man's pregnant widow and any future offspring serve out the life sentence."
Selina had been aghast. Although she had little love for either Bane or local law enforcement and the corrections system, she'd been glad that such unjust legislation would never pass muster in the US. At the time, she'd felt a wave of sympathy for the child that Bane had once been—locked up for no crime he'd committed, with some of the most ruthless killers and rapists that his small island nation had produced.
As Helena's whines threatened to become full-fledged wails, Selina wondered fleetingly whether it had been equally cruel to subject the other prisoners to a typical toddler. There was no reason to believe that Bane had taken confinement any better than her daughter was.
She closed her eyes for a moment. A loud crash startled them open. Helena had pushed a wheeled desk chair along the smooth floor, and directly into a metal storage unit. Selina sprang out of her chair with a loud "NO!" and ran to pick up her daughter. It wasn't Helena's fault. She was bored and restless and trying to find something interesting to do... but giving Mommy a worse headache wasn't on the 'permitted' list.
Selina was fast running out of options that were.
Batman was having a good night. He'd been trying to get a lead on a spate of burglaries in the East End for nearly four months. It had been an annoyance; there had been an average of two break-ins each week. But because the crooks never struck when the residents were home and never stayed long, opting to take only what they could grab in the first five or ten minutes, stopping them hadn't been a priority. If he'd had more of an ego, Batman allowed that he would have made them a priority. A ring of thieves operating freely in Gotham for that long made all LEOs, sanctioned or otherwise, look bad. Still, when he thought about the people whom he had helped bring down in the interim: Vanessa Devereux and her League of Assassins security detail, Joker and Harley, the Mad Hatter... to say nothing of Gotham's more violent thugs and lowlifes, he couldn't really say that he'd been wrong to let this outfit slide under the radar.
He'd figured it out when he'd found out about the latest intrusion at Wayne Manor. Each burglary victim used an agency cleaning service. They were different services—which was why he hadn't noticed a pattern until now, but he'd finally recognized it. Cleaning agencies often had high employee turnover rates. Three to six weeks prior to each break-in, a new cleaner would arrive at the targeted household. Two weeks after each break-in, the cleaner would quit and—in at least eight confirmed instances—move on to a different agency. Batman doubted that the agencies were involved. It seemed to be the same five cleaners, casing the homes they were sent to and coming back later, taking nothing that wasn't easily accessible and leaving swiftly. Had they quit sooner, they might have even gotten away with it. Instead... Batman shook his head as he snapped a handcuff around the last cleaner's wrist, passed the connecting chain through the fire escape railing, and snapped the other cuff around her other wrist. Then he called Oracle to let the police know.
"Tell Bruce, too," he added. "It might cheer him up a little."
"Very little," Barbara replied sadly. "He misses them."
"I know. Have you heard anything?" The channel over which they were speaking was supposed to be secure, but they'd had enough of their systems and safe-houses compromised over the years to be careful about what details they divulged over their comm-links.
"No news," Barbara sighed. "You coming in?"
No news was good news, Batman translated. They were safe. He didn't need to know whether they were still in the satellite cave where he and Tim had taken them the other night, or whether they'd moved locations. Wherever they were, they were okay for the time being.
He was about to answer Barbara's question when he froze. His back muscles tensed like they always did when he wasn't alone and didn't know who had joined him. "Hold that thought, O.," he whispered.
He spun about quickly but found nobody. Every sense alert, his gaze panned the rooftop on which he stood, as well as those of the surrounding buildings. He turned back, took a running leap forward, caught the chimney edge and flipped up into a handstand. When he still saw nobody, he righted himself and whirled, checking in all directions. Nothing. He held himself very still, watching and listening for fifteen interminable minutes. When no intruder emerged, he reluctantly gave in and swung away.
Crouching in the shadows, Red Claw let out a sigh of relief as she watched him go. Patience was a virtue that she tried to cultivate, but after a quarter-hour, hers had worn quite thin. She'd been nearly ready to risk standing up, but some instinct had told her to endure a little longer.
She would not follow Batman tonight. He would be too wary, too watchful. If he had been planning to seek out Catwoman when he was finished thinning the herd of scavengers who scrabbled for crumbs, while the true predators, such as Hush and Penguin sought feasts, she knew that he would not do so now. That was only a minor setback. She could wait. Eventually, someone would let their guard down and they would lead her to her quarry. She could afford to be patient. Prolonging the chase would make her victory all the sweeter.
Dick was sitting at his desk at 10:15 the next morning and trying not to yawn when his phone rang. He picked up on the second ring. "Grayson here."
Sal's voice was a bit too controlled. "Your system may have detected something. Parking garage Level Three. Taking Elevator B up to the fiftieth. Or so he thinks. We're diverting to Pick-up B."
Two floors down from the Building Security office. His sleepiness faded. "I'm on my way," he said. "How long to intercept?"
"We've cut car velocity fifty per cent and set the overrides to bypass any summons en route. Seven minutes on my mark...now."
Dick nodded to himself. That was time enough to grab his escrima and a few gadgets he kept locked in his desk for easy access, even if a change to costume was out of the question. "Got it. See you there."
A team of security guards was already waiting for the elevator when Dick strode briskly out of the stairwell. He'd decided against running. The guards were likely to be nervous about facing an unknown intruder and the last thing he wanted to do was risk spooking them by approaching in a rush.
"What do we have, Sal?" he asked, as he reached them.
"We aren't sure," Sal admitted. "But there are three levels of jamming fields cloaking it, whatever it is."
Dick's eyebrows shot up. "That kind of shielding doesn't come cheap."
"No," Fiorini shook his head. "No, it doesn't. It could be a prank. Some bright, bored, rich kid with too much time on their hands, and a talent for electronics, trying to see if they can break in, give us a scare, and get out."
"You're talking about the way some hackers operate," Dick nodded. "Some of them don't actually want information; they want the thrill of knowing they broke into the Pentagon and didn't get caught."
"Exactly. At least," Sal said, "I'll be overjoyed if that's what we have. Because I don't like some of the alternatives."
Dick nodded again. A terrorist, a mercenary... one of the costumed villains... he could name half a dozen possibilities without trying and none of them were particularly appealing.
"Fifteen seconds," one of the guards announced.
They waited tensely. The doors parted to reveal an empty elevator car.
"Stay back," Dick snapped as two of the guards stepped forward. "It could be a trap."
"Do as he says," Sal confirmed.
Dick nodded his thanks and took a cautious step into the car. Nothing appeared disturbed. There was no carpet, which meant that nothing could be concealed under it. The floor was terrazzo—a single sheet with no cracks. Something was off, though. He frowned, trying to determine what was setting his subconscious on edge. The air. It smelled slightly stale—and it shouldn't. The ventilation system at PMWE should have kept fresh air circulating. Was there a malfunction or...? He looked up. One of the ceiling panels was dented. The intruder must have knocked it with something to get out of the car, then shoved it back into place. "He's in the shaft," he called over his shoulder. He reached into his pocket for the grapnel he'd grabbed on his way out of his office. "I'm going after him."
"Anything we can do?" Sal asked.
"You can try watching the elevator doors on the upper floors, if you have the personnel to spare for it," Dick said dubiously, "but since he's got a head start, I'd check the security cameras first."
"We've got 'em. I'll give the orders," Sal acknowledged. "Good luck up there."
"Thanks." He looked at the hatch and frowned. "On second thought, I'll be right back. I think I need to grab something before I pop that top."
Dick made sure that he wasn't standing directly under the elevator roof hatch when he angled the hat rack he'd hastily fetched from a nearby office upwards to push it open. The hatch fell back with a bang. Almost instantly, there came an answering gun-shot and a neat, dime-sized hole appeared in the terrazzo floor. He glanced over his shoulder to Sal. "Okay," he said. "Change of plans. He's definitely still in the shaft, but I'm not poking my head up there if he's armed and my bulletproof suit's at the dry cleaners." One of the security guards snickered and he smiled and gave a slight bow before his face went serious once more. "Can we keep him in there?"
"We're going to try," the security chief said grimly.
"Refresh my memory," Dick said in an undertone. "Do we use smoke detectors or heat detectors?"
"Heat."
Dick smiled. "Finally, some good news. Do we know how high up he is?"
Sal consulted his tablet. "Infra-red has him about five feet above the car."
That made sense. Going by the size of the impact hole in the floor, the shooter hadn't been too far away. He pulled an egg-shaped device out of his pocket. "As soon as I'm out, close these doors," he ordered."
"Five second delay," Sal warned.
He'd almost forgotten. "No worries. I'll allow for it," he smiled, arming a timer. Now to make sure that the intruder wouldn't be able to just kick the hatch closed again. He reached into his pocket once more and extracted a grappling gun. He fired it, snagging its hook on the edge of the hatch opening. Another bullet hit the floor, but he'd been expecting that. He pulled the cable taut and tied it to the hand rail that ran the perimeter of the car walls. Then he lobbed the smoke grenade gently and stepped out of the car. "Now."
Five seconds later, the doors closed. They waited. It was another ten seconds before they heard the first coughs. "Get ready to turn on the sprinklers," Dick told Sal.
"From what you asked before," Sal replied, "I thought you didn't want them."
"Not until the smoke had a chance to take the fight out of our intruder," Dick explained, "but he's in an enclosed place and we don't want to kill the guy."
One of the guards had been listening to the exchange. "And you fired your grappling gun...?"
"If he'd closed the hatch in time, he could have stopped the smoke from climbing the shaft," Dick smiled. "Tightening the line makes the grappling hook dig in deeper so it's harder to dislodge. He can try," he added darkly, "but I think the smoke will get to him first." He made eye contact with the guard and his smile broadened. "Remember, I need that thing to hold tight when I'm swinging ninety stories up. The last thing I want is some wiseacre pulling it out while I'm in midair."
"Yeah, I can see why," the guard gulped.
Dick checked at his watch. "Give it a few minutes," he murmured. The guards talked softly among themselves as the seconds seemed to stretch into eternity. Finally, Dick looked up. "Okay," He looked around. "Anyone here have paramedic training?"
Three of the security guards raised their hands.
"Good. If you haven't got a first aid kit with you, now's the time to run and get one." He turned back to Sal.
"Sal," he directed, "Turn on the sprinklers in the shaft. I'd let them run two minutes. Then get the doors open and let's see who we're dealing with." He sighed. "If it turns out that I just smoked the Avon lady, I'll buy one of everything in her catalog to make it up to her."
Bruce poured hot water over the peppermint teabag and passed the cup to Dick. Alfred wouldn't have approved, he thought with a twinge of sadness. He would have brewed it with loose mint leaves in a tea ball and there would have been a strict procedure to be followed unswervingly. However, if brewing tea was an art, for the life of him, Bruce couldn't see why it required scientific precision when neither he nor Dick could tell the difference. "I presume," he said with heavy irony, "that you didn't have to buy any Avon products."
Dick grinned. "No, but I shouldn't have told Babs. She loves some of their skincare stuff." His smile faded. "I ran some ID checks on his weaponry. Serial number on the gun matched a dealer in Metropolis. That tied in with his driver's license. I..." he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "You remember that time when you walked in on the Teen Titans, right when I was doing a decent impression of you?"
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "No."
"Oh." He opened his mouth to go on. "Well—"
"It was a terrible impression." Bruce tried to keep a straight face, but a twitch of his lips betrayed him and Dick guffawed.
"Well Roy and Wally didn't think so. However," he said, sobering, "let's say you're right. In that case, I think we can safely state that I've improved a lot. I had a few friendly words with the guy before we turned him over to the cops." His face went flat. "Intergang is involved. I don't know if they were behind the original bomb scare, but this guy figured he'd come in to my place of business and ideally," he coughed, "well, not so ideally for me... He was hoping to take me by surprise while I was in civvies and shoot me. If he couldn't, he figured killing a bunch of innocent bystanders at WE would be a kick in the teeth to both of us, sort of like a red cape to a bull."
"Bulls are colorblind."
"Fine. Superman's cape to you, if you see it in Gotham when you weren't expecting it." He almost laughed again at Bruce's expression. He did laugh again when Bruce nodded in acknowledgment. "Anyway, he figured if he didn't kill me today, I'd be rattled enough to be reckless and even if he were dead or in custody, I'd be easier pickings for the rest of Intergang. I got his statement on CD. Not sure if it'll stand up in court, but I turned it over when the cops showed up." He sighed. "Just another dull day at the office. How's the academy treating you?"
Bruce made a face. "With a mix of indifference and hostility," he admitted. "It's... manageable."
"Yeah. Still stinks, though. I know when they close ranks on you it can get rough." He sighed. "You just couldn't let it go with Jandt, could you? Anymore than you could let the Joker get the death penalty for the one murder he actually hadn't committed."
Bruce frowned. "I did what I deemed necessary to ensure justice."
"Yeah. I know. How's the gun handling going?"
Bruce's expression soured further. "It's getting better. I'm still trying to tell myself that's a good thing."
"Another thing I can relate to." Dick shook his head empathetically. "If it helps you knowing this, I never actually had to fire mine, though if I'd stayed with the BPD, it probably would have happened eventually. It's not like it's all in a day's work or anything, thankfully," he added. "Not even in Bludhaven."
"I know." He smiled. "I know the East End burglaries were giving you headaches. You must have been relieved to close the file."
Dick nodded. "I've got something else to keep me on my toes, though. I'm pretty sure someone's been shadowing me. I checked with Tim and Raven and it's not a Titans' stealth training exercise, though that would have been nice."
"Not to mention necessary," Bruce said seriously. "You might want to suggest it. For now..." he sighed. "I don't need to tell you to be careful anymore, do I?"
Dick grinned. "Not really, but it's still nice to hear you care."
It's nice to know that you finally realize it and don't automatically assume that I doubt your field capabilities. Bruce smiled. "Well. Be careful, then."
"Hang in there."
Helena wouldn't eat. Selina had tried coaxing her with puddings, canned fruit, applesauce, and microwaveable macaroni and cheese. To no avail. She'd fished raisins and other dried fruit out of the trail mix. To no avail. After an hour at the table, the only thing that she'd deigned to down was a sippy cup of apple juice. When Selina persisted, Helena fussed and whined. "No eat," she mumbled. "Nap."
Both of Selina's eyebrows shot up. "You... you actually want to nap?" she asked incredulously. "Are you feeling all right?" She put a hand to her daughter's forehead. "You're not, are you?" she answered her own question, amusement giving way to concern. "Okay." She lifted Helena down from the stool. "Let's get you checked out," she said, carrying her daughter to the medical area. "I think you're running a fever."
Five minutes later, she was on the comm-link. "I know that 102.4 isn't necessarily serious," she was saying, "but I'd feel better if I could take her to a doctor to get her checked out."
Barbara nodded sympathetically. "How's her skin tone?"
Selina smiled. "Normal. Thankfully. I should have guessed something was up when she wasn't getting into mischief," she admitted. "She's napping now. I read her one of her storybooks and she was still filling in the blanks if I paused too long before finishing the sentences."
"So she's alert," Barbara smiled back. "Is she breathing normally?"
"Oh, yes." She sighed. "I just feel like I ought to be doing something, even if I'm pretty sure that a doctor would just tell me to leave it alone and she'll be fine."
"I hear you," Barbara nodded. "Well, I guess you've probably looked up the same information I'm checking now, as far as which symptoms spell danger and which ones aren't really that serious."
"She's been sick before," Selina smiled. "Not often, thankfully, but yeah, I've got the checklist. I know she's probably going to be fine. Until she is, though..."
"I'll tell you what," Barbara smiled back. "How about I ask Bruce to fix up a care package from the manor? Some of Helena's favorite toys, a few changes of clothes for both of you... I'll add some homemade soups—none of that just-add-water, high-salt stuff that Alfred would have had a fit about, had he known Bruce was stockpiling it." She frowned. "Come to think of it, are you just eating his emergency rations?"
Selina nodded. "Dick was planning to bring some fresh stuff by last night, but he radioed ahead to say that he thought he was being followed and didn't want to risk it."
"Yeah, he mentioned." Barbara sighed. "He really felt bad about it."
"I know, but he would have felt worse if he'd led someone straight to us." Her smile turned fierce. "I would have made sure he felt worse."
"Well, I hope you wouldn't dent him too badly. He's still got his uses."
"Oh?" Selina asked wickedly. "Care to share some details?"
"Are you sure you want to know?"
Selina laughed. "Maybe I'll leave it to the imagination. Reality can be deadly dull sometimes."
"But not always," Barbara replied mischievously. "So... would you like that care package? I'll figure out how to get it to you."
"If you can pull that off," Selina grinned, "I'll be so grateful I'll drop the other subject." She shook her head. "In future, if you're going to banter about your love life, I'd recommend keeping the Oracle mask up. Your face is practically the same color as your hair, right now."
Barbara sighed. "I was afraid of that..."
Cass was struggling with a math practice test when Barbara called. "How's it going?"
Cass paused the audio. "Easier," she admitted. "Hearing instead of reading. Except with math. I can do some in my head, but others I have to see and it's so slow..." She shook her head. "I know. Payyyyyyyyyyyy-tience," she drew the word out with an eyeroll. "Prrrrrrrrractice. A scribe to write down my answers. But I still need to... solve!"
Barbara nodded. "Do you understand the questions?"
"Yes."
"And you're getting the right answers?"
"Yes," Cass admitted, "but so... slow! When I do the audio practice tests, it keeps asking," she mimicked the slow, friendly voice with the careful enunciation, 'Are you there?' 'Do you need to hear the question again?' 'To hear this question in Spanish, say: Spanish.'" She groaned. "I know I'm slow. It doesn't have to... to..."
"Rub it in?" Barbara asked sympathetically.
"Yes." She reached for a cup of mint green tea and inhaled the fragrance before she took a sip.
On the vid-screen, Barbara tilted her head to one side. "Mind if I ask a question?"
Cass took another sip. "No."
"When the audio prompts you, does it interrupt your concentration?"
She nearly slammed the cup down. "Yes!"
"So it takes you longer to answer the question than it would if the audio didn't prompt you, because you have to find your train of thought again?"
Cass frowned and wondered why Barbara was stating the obvious. "Yes."
"Well," Barbara ventured, "since part of the reason you're doing these practice tests is to see how long it takes you, so the test center knows how much extra time you'll need... you might want to consider pausing the audio while you work out the answer."
Cass frowned. "It's not... cheating?"
"Just note the time that you start the test and the time you end. If it takes you three hours to write a two-hour test with no interruptions and you know the material well enough to pass, then it's not cheating. It's removing a distraction." Something must have shown in Cass's expression, because Barbara continued, "Look. This isn't some... street fight, where you don't get to chose your conditions and you prepare by having the combat simulator throw more and more curve balls into the mix. Um... that means—"
"I know what that means," Cass interrupted testily.
"Good. My point is that they're trying to make the testing as fair as possible. They aren't going to be piping in loud music or baking bread across the hall from the testing room with both doors open. They aren't going to show a movie while you're figuring out the questions. They want you to be focused on the test. Right now, you need the audio to tell you the questions, but keeping it on is hurting your focus. Besides," she grinned, "when you have a scribe during the real test, he or she isn't going to interrupt you every two minutes with 'I'm waiiiiiiiiiiting...'"
Cass laughed. "Okay. I'll try. Still feels... like cheating."
"Yeah, again, that's because whenever you train for anything else, you keep trying to make things harder. For this... you don't need to. You really don't."
"Yeah."
"Now that we've got that out of the way," Barbara said, "I need a favor if you're free later."
Cass considered. "Can be. What?"
Barbara smiled sadly. "I spoke with Selina a little while ago. Helena's running a fever and they're both kind of down. It's probably not serious," she hastened to add, "but Bruce is going to get a few things together for them after he comes home from the academy later and I'll add some things and we'll figure out how to get it to Selina. Anyway, can you pick up Bruce's package from the manor and bring it to me before you start patrol tonight? I'll handle things from there." She made a face. "Wish Bruce had put JLA transporters in some of the other caves and hidey-holes. It would make the logistics so much easier."
Cass nodded. "But... he didn't. So..." she nodded. "Okay. Tell me when or tell Bruce call and tell me when. I'll go."
Barbara's smile grew wider. "Thanks."
Bruce greeted Cass at the door with a large knapsack and a canvas shopping bag. "I hope this is enough," he said wearily.
Cass peered into the shopping bag. "Good," she smiled. "No cans."
A brief answering smile flitted across Bruce's face. "The safe-houses have sufficient," he said. "I believe that Barbara is sending some cooked food. I..." he looked away, "I haven't had time. And..."
"And you cook like I read," Cass nodded. "Slow or... trouble."
The smile was back and stayed longer this time. "Exactly." He waited as Cass slipped the knapsack onto her shoulders. "There are some clothes in there for both of them."
Cass nodded again. "Toys? Books?"
Bruce shook his head. "It's a good idea, but it was hard enough packing the essentials. Perhaps next time."
Cass frowned. "Bruce... you have no... toys in safe house. For Helena... boring."
"Point," Bruce nodded. "Wait here."
He returned a moment later with a lidded plastic pail of interlocking building blocks and two picture books. "I don't think you should take more than this," he said. "Especially since I don't know how much Barbara is sending."
Cass nodded. "Okay. How are classes?"
Bruce's eyebrows shot up. "Small talk, Cassandra?" he murmured.
She gave him a small half-smile. "Curious."
"I suppose they're progressing."
"Good."
The bus stopped several yards away from the manor's front gate. On most days, Cass paid scant attention to the scenery as she rode along. Today, though, as the bus passed through Bristol's main shopping district, she scanned the street with interest. When the bus passed a store with a window display that made her hopeful, she pressed the bell to signal a stop request and disembarked when the bus pulled up to the curb.
She retraced her route and smiled when she found that she had been right. It was a toy store. Bruce meant well, but Cass didn't think he'd mind if she picked up a small surprise for Helena herself. Perhaps something soft and comfortable to sleep with...
Red Claw didn't know the identity of the young woman with the East Asian features. She'd been monitoring Wayne Manor at intervals over the last five days. She'd start by standing at the bus stop at Mountain View and Ryan Road. Then, after several minutes, she'd begin to walk uphill, past the manor, to Webb Avenue—the stop before. She knew the schedule and tried to time it so that she would be about halfway between the two stops when the bus would arrive at Webb. Then she'd turn and jog past the manor again, looking as though she was trying to run back to Ryan. She'd miss the bus, wait at Ryan a few minutes more, and then repeat the exercise. In this way, she got a good idea of the comings and goings at the manor during daylight hours.
She'd been surprised when the young woman who'd gotten off at Ryan had walked briskly up Mountain View and approached the manor gates. They'd opened before she rang the intercom and closed a moment later. After a moment, Red Claw smiled, turned her reversible spring coat inside out, raised the hood, and used contact lenses to turn her brown eyes to blue. Then she settled back to wait.
The young woman was back before the next bus arrived and she was carrying a knapsack, shopping bag, and bucket that she hadn't had with her before her visit to the manor. Red Claw fought down a wave of excitement. It wasn't necessarily the break that she'd been hoping for, but it appeared promising.
When the woman disembarked, Red Claw followed a careful distance behind. When she entered a toy store, Red Claw smiled. All she needed to do was stay out of sight, and there was an excellent chance that she'd be on Catwoman's doorstep before another day passed.