The Emperor's Talon
Chapter 15: The Masks of High Society
"Master Bruce," Alfred scolded, "what kind of example are you setting for Master Richard?"
Growling, Bruce straightened his bowtie and smoothed his blazer. "I can't stand these things," he grumbled.
"Tardiness is not only unbecoming, it is extremely rude, sir. I will not allow your habit of being- as you say- 'fashionably late', to infect the young master." Alfred grabbed the cufflinks and clipped them onto Bruce's sleeves. "You'll have to tend to your hair in the speeder."
"Dick," shouted Bruce, "we've got to get going. But if you're running behind from training, I'll wait."
Alfred shot Bruce a death glare even more potent than Batman's. Bruce almost shrunk into himself. Fortunately for him, Dick walked into the room dressed smartly in his Armani suit and assuaged Alfred's rising wrath.
"Well at least someone around here respects good manners." Alfred shot a sideways look at Bruce, "now into the Bentley; chop, chop."
"This is a suicide mission, isn't it?" whispered Dick as he tried to get comfortable with the stiff suit.
"You have no idea," Bruce answered.
Alfred ignored them.
Crime Alley, Apartment 66:
One of the things that made Deathstroke one of the very best bounty hunters in the galaxy was that he never left anything to chance. He monitored everything even past what some would consider the scope of his mission. He could smell connections between his case and seeming outside events and people.
In this case, he had remembered reading about Richard Wayne, Bruce Wayne's adopted son. At the time, he had filed the article away in the back of his mind because his hunter's instincts had told him there was some connection between Richard and the Talon. Wayne was more tricky than people gave him credit for- if Slade's suspicions were correct- and he had gone public with the boy while all of Gotham was looking for Talon (the kid's alter-ego). Slade had nothing more than the striking physical similarities between Talon and Richard and the convenient timing to feed his obsessive hunches on the case, but he wasn't known for letting go of any leads no matter how intangible they appeared.
He had monitored Bruce and Richard since arriving in Gotham. Conveniently, they were going to the Grandfield ball tonight in the heart of Gotham city. Slade would be there too. And if there was a connection between Richard and the Talon, he would uncover it. He always did.
Slade looked at his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror of the apartment he and Boba had so ruthlessly commandeered. The light fixture above flickered intermittently and the mirror was covered with finger prints and splattered polka dots of toothpaste. Slade wrinkled his forehead a little at the contrast between his expensive suit and the dingy refresher. Unrefined settings notwithstanding, he was convinced he looked the part of a snotty member of Gotham's high society.
"All you need now is a diamond encrusted eye patch," mocked Boba leaning into the bathroom doorframe.
"Perhaps you would clean up well yourself, if you ever opted to shower," responded Slade evenly.
Boba resisted the sudden impulse to smell himself and verify the accuracy of Deathstroke's jab. Instead, he settled for folding his arms across his chest. "Pass. High society fops aren't my thing."
"Posh braggards though they may be, the elite of Gotham know much and have very loose lips where threats and alcohol are concerned."
Boba waved a dismissive hand. "You enjoy your evening of hoity-toity flamboyancy, old man. I'm Batman watching tonight."
Slade pushed past his associate and prepared for his grand entrance into high society.
The Grandfield Gothamite Social Ball:
Violins, harps, and a Mon-calamari piano played lightly eddying music on a raised dais at the back of the grand ballroom. Seven huge crystal chandeliers hung from brass rings on the ceiling, filling the atmosphere with bright golden light. Open glass doors lead out onto a balcony where spring air from a midnight blue sky cooled the entire room.
Mrs. Grandfield, an elderly woman with violet hair bedecked with diamonds, floated between her guests like a butterfly. "Oh Bruce!" she cried from across the room. The old woman left her guests and made a beeline for Bruce and Dick, "I am so glad you could make it!"
Bruce took her hand and kissed it. "Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Grandfield. Your balls are always the most entertaining in Gotham."
"Oh Bruce," she laughed, "how many times must I tell you to call me Debra?"
"I'll try to remember," Bruce promised. "Debra, may I present my…son...Richard."
Dick bowed a little at the waist. "It's an honor Mrs. Grandfield." He gave her a winning smile as he had seen Bruce do a moment ago.
Debra Grandfield beamed. "Richard, you are so adorable! How old are you deary?"
"Not yet 13, mam," Dick answered.
"Oh delightful!" she exclaimed, "Commissioner Gordon brought his daughter Barbra with him tonight. She's a lovely young girl; not too much older than you, in fact. I'm sure you two will get along splendidly!"
Dick smiled politely again. "I'd love to meet her."
"Ah, and I'd love a brandy and a rousing conversation with Jim," Bruce butted in.
"Well, I saw Jim Gordon over by the fondue table just a minute ago." Debra pointed in the general direction of the refreshment tables. "Mind yourself, Bruce. I'll expect one dance for old time's sake."
"Sure thing," Bruce promised as he strode over in the direction of Jim Gordon.
The police commissioner was engaged in hushed conversation with Governor Vox and Storm Trooper Captain Dane. Bruce slowed his pace and grabbed a few hors d'oeuvres from a passing waiter. He angled himself into the perfect position to inconspicuously listen in on their conversation. Dick, being as perceptive as he was, caught on to what Bruce was doing and pretended to make light small talk with his guardian to divert any attention from them.
"The Talon and the Batman beat the snot out of a squad of my troopers last night," Captain Dane was saying, "they broke into the Willis Todd crime scene."
"How could one man and a boy take out a whole squad of Imperial troops?" demanded Governor Vox. His voice was barely contained. "Darth Vader was very specific that the Talon and Batman are to be dealt with immediately!"
"I know!" snapped Captain Dane.
"Gordon, work on civilian cooperation. We need these two apprehended," Vox restated the obvious.
Gordon set his drink aside. "I can't garner public support against Batman. The people think he's some kind of hero. If I neglect civic cases to pursue the Bat, Gotham citizens will turn on us."
"Just do it, Gordon," growled Vox, "your job is on the line. Darth Vader's agents will be in Gotham soon- if they aren't here already- and we are to give them our full support."
Slade Wilson stepped out of the air-taxi and straightened his lapel. He strode confidently into the Grandfield ball room. With his one good eye, he scanned the occupants of the room. Governor Vox and Captain Dane were there with the civilian police commissioner; idiots the lot of them. Near those three persons of interest, stood Bruce Wayne chatting with non-other than Slade's target for the evening. The bounty hunter grinned but didn't make a move towards the Wayne's.
Rather than showing his hand directly, he smoothly began to mingle with the other guests. Slade remained within range of Richard and Bruce, while he made small talk with two fabulously dressed women. He didn't think much of their prattling conversation, but the incessant chatter made it possible for him to blend into the crowd.
Using his brass beer mug as a mirror, Slade watched Richard talking animatedly to his guardian about something. Bruce either wasn't paying attention or just didn't care about what the kid was saying. He looked like any other 12 year-old boy Slade had ever seen, but Deathstroke knew as well as anyone not to judge a book by its cover.
Bruce waited until Governor Vox and Captain Dane had walked off before breaking free from his eves-dropping posture. He turned slightly in order to watch them leave. One glance down at Dick revealed that the boy hadn't missed a word. His face, while contemplative, was very obviously edging towards a smirk; no doubt he was pleased with himself for having beaten so many Storm Troopers to a pulp. Bruce rolled his eyes. He put a hand on Dick's shoulder and steered him towards Gordon.
"Bruce!" exclaimed the Commissioner. "Thank the Force for some good company!"
"Hello, Jim," laughed Bruce, "you remember Dick, don't you?"
"Of course! It's good to see you again young man."
"Likewise, commissioner," beamed Dick. They shook hands.
"There's someone I'd like you to meet," said Gordon. He called over his shoulder, "Barbra!...Barb! Come over here!"
A moment later, a Barbra Gordon came striding into view. Dick was instantly mesmerized by her. Her curly red hair was pinned into a lazy bun on the back of her head with ivory rose pins. Even for a young girl, she looked elegant and refined in a simple violet dress. Dick hadn't thought much of glasses until now, but on her, they looked classy-cute. However, what he liked most about this girl was her brilliant smile and the plate she carried heaped unabashedly high with cakes and chocolates.
"Barb!" cried Gordon, "you don't need that much sugar."
"Come on, daddy; I have to get through the evening somehow," Barbra argued.
Gordon rolled his eyes and Bruce laughed. "Honey, I'd like you to meet Bruce's adopted son, Richard."
Barbra smiled at Dick and held out a hand. "Hi! I'm Barbra, but dad calls me Barb."
"I'm Richard, but mostly, I go by Dick." He took her hand and shook it.
"Cake?" Barbra held out her plate of confectionary masterpieces.
Dick took a small one off the top. "Thanks."
"No problem. It's going to be so much better now that I'm not by myself with all the grown-ups."
"I take it small talk with people mostly interested in gossip, business, and politics isn't really your thing," laughed Dick.
Barbra made a face. "Goodness no!"
In agreement on that much, the two began to talk in earnest about the things they liked to do or the places they'd been. Dick hadn't grown up with other children and found all of Barbra's stories about school and her ballet classes captivating. He couldn't tell her much about his own life for obvious reasons, but that was perfectly fine because Barbra could easily carry on the conversation alone.
From across the room, Slade Wilson watched as Richard Wayne walked away from his guardian and Commissioner Gordon with a young girl somewhere around his own age. How cute. They were bonding over how much they detested social functions such as this ball. Well, Slade could sympathize with the children there, these things were rather tedious.
Now was his chance to move. He began working his way towards the two kids. A few more steps, and he was a step ahead of Barbra. While the young girl wasn't paying him any mind, Slade deliberately tripped a waiter carrying a flaming pie right beside her.
The unfortunate waiter lost his balance completely and fell sideways into Barbra. His arms flailed in a fruitless attempt to break his fall and the flaming pie was thrown into the air. Slade watched intently as the events of the next few seconds unfolded. Dick launched reflexively into action. He grabbed Barbra even as she fell with one arm and swung her out of the way of the waiter and the falling pie. With the other hand, he caught the flaming pie a split second before it fell on the waiter's face. Had he not, the poor man would have lit up like a human torch as the flames caught on the alcohol pooling around his fallen form.
Slade stepped forward clapping. His orchestrated mishap had revealed that Richard Wayne possessed faster than human reflexes if nothing else. The kid was still supporting Barbra around the waist with one arm and holding the pie with the other. The three unfortunate victims of Slade's experiment remained stunned motionless for another second. Slade's suspicions were rising. It was the feeling he got as a hunter when he was hot on the trail of his prey.
"Good reflexes, kid," he congratulated.
Dick glared at him. He shoved the flaming pie into Slade's hand while he pulled the waiter back to his feet.
"How'd you learn to move so fast?" Slade pressed.
"Idiots who don't watch where they are going give me plenty of practice," answered Richard evenly.
Slade snorted. The kid was feisty. Adorable really. "Are you sure you didn't learn them from the Empire? Or maybe the Court of Owls?"
Panic flickered across Dick's face for a fraction of a second. But Slade caught it. "You're babbling about legends; myths really."
"Perhaps I am," laughed Slade. He knew he controlled the tension in the air and he reveled in the power. "You'll have to educate me some time."
"That I will. I'm sure you could use a lesson in manners," Dick almost growled.
"Ah yes," Slade agreed, "my apologies sir. And to you, young miss. I suppose I have had a bit much to drink." He pushed his way back through the crowd that had gathered around the accident. He had left Dick in quite the spot. While most of the conversation had been cryptic and quietly spoken before the crowd gathered, he was sure the kid was feeling desperate and terrified. That was exactly what he had been hoping for. He'd just spooked the boy. Now Richard's head wasn't in the game. Now he would make mistakes.
"We're all fine," Barbra assured their audience. "Isn't this a party?"
The adults laughed and went back to their drinking, gossiping, and dancing.
"You ok?" asked Barbra.
"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" Dick answered.
"Something that man said seems to have you worried."
"It's nothing. It's just the adrenaline leaving my body." He laughed. "I couldn't bear the sight of your dress going up in flames; even if it would have made a good story afterwards."
Barbra laughed again. Her eyes glittered like emeralds in the light of the crystal chandeliers as she watched the older men and women on the dance floor. Unlike Dick, she could appreciate the flowing gowns as ladies glided on the arms of their men; the hems of their dresses kissing the polished floor only to be swept up once again like kites in the wind.
"Let's dance," she suggested bouncing a little on her toes.
Dick looked dubious at best. "But…I don't know how."
"That's ok," Barbra encouraged grabbing his hand, "I'll lead." She dragged him out onto the dance floor.
"I don't know about this." Dick's eyes darted around looking at the other elegant couples.
"It's easy. I'll count it out at first, so you can follow the music. Ready?" She didn't wait for him to so much as nod in agreement. She took his hand in hers and put the other on the small of his back. "Now you put your hand on my shoulder," she instructed.
"But…"
Barbra grabbed his wrist and put his hand on her shoulder. They started to move. Dick was stiff at first; neither Darth Vader nor Batman had given any consideration to the fact that their "apprentice", for lack of a better term, would ever need to learn how to dance. He kept having to look down to make sure he wasn't stepping on Barbra's foot. It was embarrassing. But fortunately for Dick, he was a fast learner; and half way through the dance they were gliding over the floor almost as well as the grownups.
After a few more minutes, Dick stopped. "We're doing it wrong," he pointed out.
"No, we aren't," Barbra protested, "you're learning better than I thought you would."
"We're doing it wrong," he repeated. Dick stepped back and bowed a little at the waist. "May I have this dance?"
Barbra laughed. "Of course, you dork!"
Dick offered his hand with a cocky grin on his lips and explosive laughter in his eyes. Barbra took the offered hand and they began to dance once more. No more counting. No more ridged steps. They moved like sprites through a forest in high summer; laughing, joking, and then stepping on each other's toes when they became giddy. Finally, they were just gripping each other's wrists for dear life and spinning as fast as they dared before flinging themselves into the chairs against the back wall.
Jim Gordon laughed as he watched them and meandered over towards Bruce. "Kid's a chip off the old block, eh?"
Bruce grinned. "Why? Because he can't dance so he has to let the lady lead?"
"Well, there's that," Gordon laughed. "But I meant that he's charming. Watch that you teach him right or he'll be a handful as a teenager."
Bruce's smile faltered a little. Teenager? What was he going to do with Dick then? He honestly hadn't thought that far ahead. It was the first time he really considered raising a child, raising Dick Grayson, and not simply training a partner crime fighter. But he recovered from his momentary shock in time to give Gordon a light smile. "Likewise. Barbra's a hand full already. Weren't you watching? She dragged him onto the floor."
"I suppose I must have words with her." Gordon rolled his eyes sarcastically.
"Ah yes. We must sit them down and tell them no fraternizing until they're 50," joked Bruce.
A deep laugh. "I'll drink to that." They grabbed glasses of Noobian wine from a passing waiter. "Barbra's going to Gotham Middle School. You enrolled Dick anywhere yet?"
Bruce shook his head. "Ah, no…it hadn't crossed my mind."
"Oh Bruce," Gordon sounded long suffering, "you gotta put the kid in school. It'll be good for him, and it'll probably make things easier on Alfred too."
"I'll look into it. Excuse me for a moment, Jim."
Bruce strode over to their hostess. He had seen the incident with the pie. The man who had appeared to be pressuring Dick for something looked familiar. Bruce's detective mind was working a mile a minute, but he wasn't coming up with any names he could match to the face. It was like having an itch he couldn't quite scratch.
"Bruce! Have you come for your dance?" asked Mrs. Grandfield.
"I have indeed. Debra, will you do me the honor?" Bruce bowed.
They walked out onto the dance floor. As they danced, Bruce asked, "who is the man with the eye patch?"
Mrs. Grandfield looked indifferent. "I'm not sure. I didn't invite him. I think one of my girls brought him along as a plus one; they love to try to show each other up by bringing the most interesting dates."
"I see," said Bruce. While he didn't have a name, he did have a substantial clue. He might be once step closer to figuring out who was after Batman and Robin.
Apartment 66, Crime Alley:
Boba Fett was reclining in the monitor chair with a takeout order of Big Belly Burger when Slade returned from the evening's excursion. "How did it go, old man? Get anything useful out of those stuck-up Gothamites?"
"Nothing so relevant as I had hoped," answered Slade, "Governor Vox and the Storm Trooper Captain were there. They are completely incompetent; so, it looks like we're on our own."
"Well don't feel too bad. Even you can't be right all the time," said Boba, trying to rub salt into the perceived wound of Slade's apparent failure of an evening.
"I never said any one man is infallible, "Slade pointed out. "Testing and retesting are the only way we will know that we have all of our facts straight. Rely on yourself, but test yourself. You cannot take any lead for granted, nor can you afford to turn one away."
Boba sneered. "You're not going to save face with a lecture. Not tonight."
Slade ignored him. He walked into the bedroom and began pulling off his suit jacket. There was no way in the Galaxy he was going to tell his associate what he had really learned. Richard Grayson-Wayne, the Talon, was his.
Author's Note: To those whom it may concern, (mostly just two people, lol) I'm going into midterm and project season, so this will be the last chapter for a while. I hope you are all enjoying the story. Thanks for your time.