8. Old Friends

"Finally caught the sonuva bitch on camera, and this time, he's showing his true colors," Gordon had barely stepped one foot into the GCPD before Bullock rounded a corner and held out a file to him.

"Come on, Bullock, I haven't even gotten coffee yet," Gordon took the file—defiantly labeled 'the Ghost'—and opened it up. "Stealing the Tigress Diamond," he frowned a little, "doesn't seem like his MO."

"Come on, Jim, have a little faith," Harvey scoffed. "I have video evidence of him standing by the empty case. We found one of his devices on the camera system and have a lowering crane on the roof. He used an advanced device to cut into the glass of the case and skylight. Perfect crime. Idiot just got caught when the security came back on."

"Or it's someone else," Gordon suggested.

"No one else is on the tape!" Bullock argued.

"Your forgetting that there was a crane on the roof and a regular roped grappling hook on the ground," Gordon snapped shut the file and handed it back to the detective, "but our vigilante in black uses an air-powered grappling hook to get on rooftops."

"So, what are you sayin'," Bullock grumbled.

"I'm saying that the perp is someone not caught on camera," Gordon shrugged. Bullock was excited. Gordon didn't want to step on his moment, but he needed to set the record straight.

"So, you're saying that the real perp is someone with some advanced technology, who steals expensive artifacts, has not been caught on tape, and cuts perfect circular holes in glass." Harvey started to realize what Gordon was getting at as he kept talking.

"Who does that sound like?" Gordon questioned with a bit of a smile. "Or, do you need a whip at the scene for proof?"

Harvey sighed, "Yeah, I'll get on it. Stop smiling," He then turned to the floor. "Harper! Put out a BOLO for Selina Kyle. She's at it again! We'll go hit up some of her old hideouts once we get a warrant!"

"Thank you, Harvey," Gordon disappeared into his office.

Selina found herself in the early morning going to a place that she had often gone to sort out her thoughts. The graveyard felt surprisingly fresh due to the soft, early morning summer breeze. It was a place that she had visited many times, mostly during the first few months after Bruce had left. She, now dressed out of her uniform and into more civilian clothing, was standing in front of a lone grave. The epitaph, Tabitha "Tigress" Galavan: Fierce Friend and Dedicated Ally, was inscribed on the stone slab.

"Oh Tabby, I've got a lot of problems to sort out today," she shook her head.

Her main problem came to mind, and she scoffed.

Bruce was the vigilante. That made too much sense. It was so believable that it felt like a smack her between her eyes. She didn't doubt it for a second. This persona, vigilante, dark figure, Batman, whatever the hell he wanted to call it, was his new scheme to impact Gotham. It was his new identity, his secret. He would probably even believe it was the true him or something. He had made that clear with his entrance onto the Gotham stage. He had been here, back, for months before he officially appeared as Bruce Wayne. Why hadn't he talked to her?

What had happened to him? The sympathy in the question made her sick. Why should she care? Bruce always had one dumb reason or another to keep her at arm's length. He had some plan or "deep" brooding reason he couldn't just do normal things and be an ordinary person. It was completely in character for what he was doing. She didn't know why she bothered to care. It wasn't like Bruce was a young boy or teenager anymore, and it wasn't like he hadn't done crazy things before. It just seemed strange that he didn't even contact her; he was hiding.

Why?

"Selina," she turned as she heard a voice. She had to take a moment as she was surprised to find Barbara Kean standing there. Kean had certainly reigned herself in over the past couple of years. With how many probational rules the woman was under, she had to push away her more self-destructive tendencies. She was wearing more modest clothing than in her club owning days and her hair was now a bright, stark red. Behind her, she escorted a young girl, Barbara Lee; Selina internal smiled—only Barbara would name her child after herself.

"Barbara," Selina nodded as the other woman approached. "Good to see you."

"Good to see you too," Barbara spoke with such a calm and gentle tone that it seemed rather alien. She turned to her daughter and asked, "You remember Selina, right?"

Barbara Lee scanned her face and nodded slowly. Selina was glad the young girl remembered her from their sparse meetings years ago. She often mused about the tossing and turning it would cause Gordon if he knew his daughter was talking to a wanted woman.

Selina smiled a bit, "I remember when you were only yay high," she held her hand up at an arbitrary point. "You've grown a lot." She almost groaned at how disjointed the sentence felt coming out of her mouth. She suddenly felt old.

Barbara Lee gave Selina a strange look, "You know I'm, like, ten, right? You don't have to talk to me like that."

"Er—right," Selina should have known that the apple didn't fall too far from the tree. She knew kids were often smarter than they appeared, but she still held the stereotype that the kids who weren't on the street were completely innocent. Barbara Lee was proving to have wits and attitude abound.

"Barbie," Barbara Kean turned to the younger. "You can go wait in the car if you want. I'm going to talk to Selina, alright?"

"Yeah," Barbara Lee nodded quickly. She then looked between the two like there was something suspicious going on and continued, "I think I'll do that." She left her mother's side and headed back towards the road.

Neither of them spoke as Barbara sidled up next to Selina and gazed down at the grave of their fallen ally. They stood there for a moment as if somehow communing with her spirit. Despite everything that had happened to them, Selina still felt that sense of comradery with Tabitha and Barbara. Even though at their worst Tabby could be stubbornly difficult and Barbara a complete nutjob, she had enjoyed her time with them. When the profits got good, they got real good. When they were at their best and Selina at her most naïve, she would have called them her sisters in crime. It was never to be. Tabby died, and Barbara became domesticated—though that was probably for the best. It was just Selina alone, just like it had been in the beginning.

Finally, Barbara spoke, "I'm assuming it isn't a coincidence that the Tigress Diamond disappeared, and you are here now at Tabby's grave."

Selina shrugged, "I figured if it was going to be my last score in Gotham, it should be in her namesake."

"Mind if I see?" Barbara asked curiously.

"Don't have it on hand; my partner has it if he didn't mess up."

"He? Partner?" Barbara asked teasingly—perhaps she had finally gotten over Bruce.

"Yeah, don't get any ideas," Selina smiled a bit. "He's barely thirteen. I thought I could give him a chance at helping me out. He's actually rather resourceful."

"So, you're inducting children into the criminal lifestyle?" Barbara mockingly gasped. "If I were a better citizen, I'd inform a police officer."

"If you were a better citizen, we wouldn't be talking. Besides, he broke into my place. If anything, I saved him. He's been good though. His reward is my apartment when I'm gone."

Barbara's face became slightly saddened, "So, you're skipping town again?"

Selina had to pause. She had thought she would. Originally, she had planned to slap the apartment keys into the kid's hands, turn tail, and be off somewhere forgetting about her troubles. It didn't seem possible anymore. There was that attraction that sucked her back into Gotham's problems yet again. Every time she thought she was done with the smog-filled skies and barren cityscape, it pulled her right back in with some idiotic feeling of home or loyalty. How she wished she could just release herself from whatever responsibilities she felt and just leave; she knew that was never going to happen. The city just wouldn't let her.

"Yeah, maybe, I'm not sure anymore."

"Boy problems?" Barbara asked almost with a sense of knowing.

"Is it ever anything else?" Selina sighed.

"Yes, thirteen-year-olds are annoying," Barbara joked.

"I wish it was that simple," She shook her head. "Let's just say that I learned something about him—the guy—that I didn't expect."

She lifted an eyebrow, "A bad thing?"

"I'm not sure."

"Then," the redhead tilted her head to the side, "some sort of darkness."

"Yeah, something like that," Selina answered quickly.

"Well, Kat, take it from me," Barbara shrugged, "a little darkness is good for a man. It helps them in whatever field he's working, and it's fascinating to watch him work. But it's not safe for the people around him; they only get damaged. They're collateral. To you, he's going to seem like the one most interestingly complicated people on the planet, someone who you couldn't dare to live without. When you get too close, you're going to be hurt worse than anything else."

It almost shocked Selina how well-versed she seemed in the subject, "Yeah, but I don't think I can let him get away that easy."

"I'm not saying that," Barbara shook her head with a smile, "part of the fun is the pursuit."

Selina spat in anger, "I'm not pursuing him. I just want answers."

"Why he left and all that," Barbara said. "I'd want answers too."

Selina blinked, she hadn't been using his name on purpose, but Barbara seemed to see right through it.

"But," Barbara drew out the word, "are you sure that's all you want?"

Was it? Could she really let him go finally after all they had been through? She wanted to say "hell yeah" and walk away from him. Again, it was like the city; she couldn't. She couldn't walk away, but Bruce did. He left her after one of the most traumatic years in her life, at a time when she thought that she had finally, finally reached the light at the end of the tunnel. He had walked away without a second thought. Why should she do any less?

"Yeah," She huffed. "I want answers, and that's it."

There had again been radio silence after Bruce engaged the thieves on the roof of the museum. There were a good five minutes of silence; then the alarm in the museum went off again. For a moment, there was a bit of concern, but when Alfred went to contact him, he was met with a sharp, "I'm fine."

Bruce refused to talk about the incident. He had entered the cave with a brusquer than usual attitude and brushed by Alfred. The butler had seen the distress and was able to immediately pinpoint the tension. It was Selina; he had gotten that much out of him. It hadn't taken a genius-level intellect for Alfred to figure out the rest. Obviously, the break-in had been one of Ms. Kyle's nightly exploits.

Despite their differences in the past, Alfred had come to miss the little minx. She always had a presence about her that kept Bruce and himself grounded in reality. She had talked to him shortly after Bruce had left, but he hadn't seen her in almost nine years. Then, it was just her in the news. The cat burglar: of course, she has never been caught, not even on camera, but her signature was evident. So evident, that the police eventually ended up running her out of town. It was obvious that they would eventually cross paths again, but Alfred had hoped it wouldn't be on a rooftop. Alfred decided to allow the Wayne heir a bit of time to brood.

However, once the evening came again, Alfred checked up Bruce. When he entered the cave, he expected him to be awake and was not disappointed as he found him. However, Alfred had also assumed that he would be steeped in his work or at his computer frantically searching articles with Selina in them. Instead, the butler was pleasantly surprised to find him sitting on the training pad out of costume and simply meditating. However, that didn't mean there wasn't any work taking place. The computer was on, and there was a map of Gotham's streets on the screen. On one street, there was a red dot, but it wasn't moving.

"One of the trackers?" Alfred asked.

"Yes," Bruce cracked open an eye.

"Doesn't seem like their doin' much." Alfred set down the tea tray he had been carrying. "Are you sure it wasn't simply found and discarded?"

"It's a possibility, but I don't think that's the case." Bruce stood and approached the computer. "The street is popular with the homeless. It's more likely that someone stopped to sleep."

"I'm assuming this is from last night's brawl at the museum. Did you tag her?"

Bruce was silent as he took a cup of tea. He gave Alfred the "drop it" vibe.

"So, what are we to do with Ms. Kyle?" Perhaps it was because Bruce was purposefully avoiding the subject, but Alfred wanted to know what would become of Bruce's former friend.

There was a long pause before Bruce spoke, "I'm not sure, Alfred."

"Understandable," Alfred nodded, "but, if you're going to face her again, it may be better to do so out of tactical armor."

Bruce was silent again, "I don't know, maybe it's for the best if we don't meet again. She knows who I am."

"I didn't think the disguise would hold up to her scrutiny, but I don't see why that's any reason not to go talk to her."

"She's infuriated, Alfred. You should have seen the way she fought me when she knew. I'm the last person she would want to see right now," Bruce shook his head.

"Well, yes, so it would seem," Alfred agreed. "I got that notion over one of her many talks with me. She was absolutely furious. If anything, she angry because she felt you never gave her closure—the letter wasn't a sufficient goodbye. In all honesty, while I know why you had to go, you couldn't have picked a worse time in her life to simply leave. She needs some form of closure."

"It would just take time away from the things I need to focus on," Bruce reverted to an old argument. "There's no reason to complicate things now. Gotham is a priority. I know I can't let her get away with theft. So, I'll simply stick to the law right now: no emotional input."

"I understand your reasoning," Alfred sighed, "but let's entertain the reality for when you're going to encounter her again. Your mind will be cluttered, whether you like it or not, and she'll get away. Soon someone will take notice how one particular thief seems to elude your grasp. They'll either think you're accomplices or, worse, someone will realize your relationship and use it against you. That seems more complicated than simply talking and sorting things out. Maybe you can even persuade her out of her lifestyle and the diamond. If you keep putting it off and act like there was nothing between you, she will only resent you for it."

The computer pinged and they both looked up to see the dot moving down the street. Alfred turned to make a comment but noticed that Bruce had disappeared. In a second, he had his tactical gear on and was ready for another night on patrol.

"Where are you going now?" Alfred asked.

He pulled the cowl over his head, "I have to go follow up on a lead."

It hadn't taken long for Ed to find Oswald's base of operation. He had gotten to Gotham quickly by using a preplanned escape route, calling in a few favors, and flashing some green. He was experiencing irritability from his twelve-hour-difference-jetlag as he made his way to the streets of Gotham. After that, he had simply opened a newspaper. Oswald was never one for hiding. As Ed approached the neon sign, he couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine—possibly from a bad memory.

The Iceberg Lounge didn't sit where the Sirens club used to be—probably because Kean now owned the building and would never in a hundred years sell to Oswald—and was now situated promptly in the Bowery. He took a moment to analyze the architecture of the building. It was an amalgamation of Neogothic architecture with a hint of classic Bowery modernity and maybe a bit of Deco influence in the patterns of the inside wall as visible from the outside. It was highlighted by the unmissable, gaudy neon sign which presented the name of the lounge in all its glaring glory.

As he approached, a buzzing question pushed its way to the forefront of his mind.

Why did he find himself at Oswald's door yet again?

Well, if he were being entirely honest, it was to see an old friend. He hadn't seen Oswald in years; he hadn't even talked to him since swearing an oath of brotherhood with the man. Now he was curious about how his friend had changed. Prison could change a man. Ed knew that better than most. However, there was more than simple fraternization that drove his want for a meeting. Money was on the agenda. Funds were a hard thing to accrue. Edward knew that when something grabbed his attention the money tended to fly from his fingers as he pursued his new interest. That was often why he found himself doing small jobs while he was abroad. Oswald was no stranger to large sums of cash, especially the millions that he stored in a Swiss bank. Despite the recent interferences from the "Bat", Oswald was still one of the richest men in Gotham. Best try him before some random ruffians or draw attention to himself by robbing a bank.

He sighed, shoved his hands into his green suit pockets, and walked towards door. He didn't even bother knocking, instead, pushing the door's handle. He was surprised when it gave way and opened up to the grand entrance of the club, which had a large staircase leading to the second floor. The door closed behind him, and he realized the two ape-men-in-suits behind him.

"Mr. Cobblepot's been waiting for you," One of them grunted in a typical Gotham accent, an almost nostalgic sound.

Edward bypassed the typical "how" question. Oswald knew everything, of course. The bodyguard gestured to the grand staircase, and Edward followed with his eyes. There, at the top of the stairs, stood a man he hadn't seen in years.

Oswald appeared in his usual, ostentatious attire with the new addition of a top hat, perhaps to make the man seem taller. He was obviously going for a classier look and had a monocle over his "bad eye." The monocle hid the fact that the glass eye didn't focus on anything. He was a lot rounder than the stick figure Ed was used to seeing—perhaps a factor of age and slowing metabolism. (Were they really that old?) In contrast, Edward felt like he hadn't changed at all. Edward started to smile as he saw his old friend.

"Prison food must have been better than at Arkham," Edward attempted to joke. He suddenly reeled back as he caught the incensed look on the other man's face.

"I have not received one phone call," Oswald said immediately as he hobbled down the stairs towards Ed. "Not one note, not one letter, not a postcard, not a telegram, or—God forbid—some beatboxers with a riddle. Now, you just waltz in and dare to think that you can be in the presence of Gotham's most notorious crime lord?"

"Hello, Oswald," Ed nodded knowing the long-winded rant was his way of welcoming him back. He then went on to explain, "Mail was tight at the asylum. They always assumed I would use some sort of code to alert compatriots of mine."

"And after your daring escape?" Oswald was demanding, like a mother who was confronting a teenager that had been out past curfew. "I didn't hear from you after that either. Not a single peep!" He slammed his fist on the railing.

"I didn't want the authorities to suddenly become suspicious of you," Ed almost felt guilty excusing it. "If they found you conspiring with an escaped convict, it might have messed with your 'good behavior streak.'"

"As if you didn't know that I could bribe my way into their good graces," Oswald sneered. "Please, give me more excuses, Ed."

Ed brought his eyebrows together as he watched crime lord come to a stop in front of him, "What's this really about, Oswald?"

Oswald ground his teeth before questioning slowly, "Why did you leave? I thought we were destined to stay in this city; we made a pact, became brothers." He sounded almost choked up.

Ed shrugged, "After the thirteenth petition to get me in the electric chair for what happened at Haven, I decided I needed to leave for a while. There were mysteries to be solved elsewhere. It had nothing to do with anything else or you. I'm hoping to stay for a long tim—"

Suddenly, Ed was wrapped in an ironclad hug. He let out a sigh. Oswald and his emotions. For a moment there was a flicker of fear that the embrace was purely for closing the distance; he almost anticipated a cold dagger to be shoved in his back. There was none. Ed stiffly patted his back.

"It's good to see you too, Oswald," Ed said, and the shorter man let go.

"Likewise," He seemed to have a new, forgiving, friendly air about him. He then turned, made a gesture, and escorted Ed up the stairs. "So, what new mystery brings you? You're not one for sentimentality."

Ed nodded his head forward, right to business. Oswald was guarding himself, "Well, today I will allow some sentiment." Oswald looked back a little surprised, but Ed went on. "However, personal desire is not the only reason I came here today." Ed pulled out the folded-up newspaper from his coat pocket and handed it to Oswald. "I've heard that you've been dealing with a bat infestation."

"Understatement of the century!" Oswald growled. "It seems he's dead set on ruining me!"

The Penguin noted the edits that Ed had done. They were childish. There were multiple circles around the word "Batman" which was replaced with the words "idiot" "fraud" among other name-calling insulting his intelligence. Oswald rolled his eyes as he stumbled upon the phrase, "World's greatest detective?"

"So, you don't like being upstaged," Oswald finally understood why he came back.

"Upstaged?" A flicker of annoyance entered the Riddler's eye. "Only in the public mind! Only in their fragile collective consciousness am I even comparable to that brutish vigilante." Ed threw his hands up into the air.

They came to the VIP section of the empty lounge. A doorman opened the door with a quick address to both of them. They both took seats in plush, crimson loveseats across from each other with a glass table dividing them. Oswald snapped and the doorman disappeared out of the room.

"So," Oswald sat forward in his seat. "What are you planning exactly?"

Edward took a similar position as he sat up, "Nothing that will interfere with your business, I assure you."

Oswald scrutinized him for a moment, "Let me decide whether it will interfere. You just talk."

"I'm planning a duel of sorts. One of wit, cunning, and intellectual riddle solving!" Edward practically announced.

"A duel?" The Penguin scoffed. "Forgive me, Ed, but you're not the most physically intimidating person I know. What's stopping him from simply learning of your location and punching you square in the face? He has a tendency for figuring out where to find all of my hidden weapons caches."

"Well, that's part of it. If he is to prove that he is an intellectually superior detective, he's going to have to deduce that we're even having a duel. Hell, he'd have to figure out I'm even here."

"Sounds interesting," Oswald said with a hint of confusion. Subtlety was never Ed's style, and diverging from it now meant that he had bigger plans.

"It's a race against the clock: The Batman vs. The Riddler! I have until he figures out what I'm doing and where I am, and he has until I reveal him for the fraud he is. I'm going to reason who he is behind the mask, and I'm not going to have to even come face to face to do it."

Oswald paused, "Where did that idea come from? Why do you care who he is?"

"Well, under the theatrics, fear, and costume, he's just a man—an unusually lucky man—but just a man. I figure, once I learn who he is, I'll be able to reveal him to be a true intellectual fraud, someone no one need fear." He waved his hand. "After I reveal him, it'll be just a matter of hours before we or someone else takes him out."

"We?" Oswald raised an eyebrow at the suggestion.

"Well, I thought that we could do this jointly. And. . ." Ed hissed as he inhaled, "I need funding."

"You want me to fund you?" Oswald scoffed and seemed a bit disappointed. "Why would I fund you for something I could do? I could figure out who he is."

"If you could do it, you already would have."

"It's a work in progress," Oswald countered flatly.

"Really," Ed looked at him skeptically. "How do you plan on learning his identity exactly?"

"I'll kill him, then pull off that mask," Oswald waved it off. "That is if I can still recognize him with all the bullets in him. Identity is secondary; I'll kill him either way."

Edward sighed, "That's exactly the kind of brutish thinking that brought me here in the first place."

"This 'brutish thinking' has gotten me far, Ed," He gestured to their lavish surroundings. "Things don't always have to be needlessly complicated."

"Yes, but it seems you've met your match in the violence department," Edward reasoned. "You send guys after him, he beats them up, rinse and repeat. You need to challenge him mentally."

"I'll send him a crossword puzzle," the Penguin snapped.

"You know what I mean. You can't just take him on physically; he has proven time and again to have unprecedented endurance and vigilance. You need to outwit him, and I'm your best shot. You know that."

Oswald made a face. Edward knew he was right; Oswald knew it too. The man in green couldn't decide whether Oswald was seriously weighing his options or fighting a grudge as he often did.

The Penguin finally spoke, "How would you go about figuring out his 'identity'?"

"Psychological profiling," Ed nodded. "Just take the basic facts we know about him, add them up, and BAM, you have your Batman."

"That will take a lot of time and resources. What if I end up filling him with holes before you got anywhere close to figuring him out? Then, everything I gave to you would be a waste, and," Oswald leaned in, "you know I hate wasteful redundancies."

Edward sighed; Oswald wanted something, "Fine, a wager then."

Oswald's eyebrow raised past his monocle, obviously intrigued, "What's your wager?"

Ed thought for a moment, it didn't take long to figure out the only thing Oswald could want, "If you win," he paused for a moment and seriously considered what he was saying, "I'll work for you again just like in the old days."

"Alright," there was a hint of a smile, "and what do you want if you win?"

"Bragging rights and his cowl mounted on my wall and," he shifted his shoulders a bit, "five hundred thousand for my fee."

Oswald sat back for a moment. He closed his eyes. A grumble came from his mouth as he mulled over everything. The doorman reentered the room and swiftly placed down two glasses of red wine. Edward sat on the edge of the loveseat as he tried to gain any insight on what Oswald was thinking. Finally, Oswald opened his eyes and looked at Ed.

"Let me take him on in the arena of the mind," Edward implored one last time.

There was a pensive pause, then a smile spread across Oswald's face, "Alright then. I'll take your wager." The Penguin then grabbed the glass in front of him and held it aloft. "I propose a toast to the downfall of our enemy."

The Riddler followed suit as he grabbed his glass and grinned, "I second that."

Both of them clinked their glasses together, "Down with the Bat!"

Jason made his way down the street as the night started to settle in Gotham sky. After sleeping the lighter part of the day away on a hobo's bed, he found himself wandering the streets until he found the place he was looking. Jason hissed as he walked with a slight limp through the streets. He had definitely ripped something in his knee on that ill-planned landing. He hoped it wasn't going to be permanent; the last thing he needed was a bird-related nickname like the Penguin.

Escape plan G was not his favorite plan. It was the one he had hoped they wouldn't have to use.

Plan G (plan "Go-away") called for Jason to spend a couple of days on the street. Selina was a bit paranoid about Jason leading someone back to the hideout. She wanted to make sure he wasn't tailed. It was particularly stressed that he wait for a few days before coming back; Selina threatened to take the diamond, burn down the apartment, and relocate if he came back too early. Of course, Selina didn't trust Jason to keep a diamond on hand while spending time in the Narrows. She had a plan to get her hands on it without having their paths cross in the meantime.

Well, that was if Selina wasn't captured by the vigilante. His only hope that she hadn't been was that the newspapers didn't mention any burglar arrest. Then again that was a misleading notion. What if he took her for a personal interrogation? No police, no arrests, no evidence, it was enough to make Jason shiver. As much as he admired the vigilante, Jason wasn't so sure what methods the vigilante would use to distribute whatever justice he held as gospel.

Jason went down the alley that Selina had described to him. He looked for the crudely cutout brick in the wall just a little under the eyeline of an average adult. When he found the outlined brick, he pulled out his pocket knife and stuck it in the crevice. He jimmied out the hollowed brick and glanced around for someone watching. When he decided there was no one, he slipped the diamond out of his pocket and into the brick. Then he pressed the brick back into place so that the line was barely visible. Satisfied with his work, Jason quickly vacated the area.

Limping down the street, Jason thought of a new place to live for the next couple of days. There was a group of homeless people that hung around under the interstate. Another option was the group of kids who lived in an old Falcone warehouse. He just needed to pick one to blend into for a couple of days. For once, he couldn't live on his own. Great, he'd have to deal with people too.

After turning a few blocks, he got a sudden feeling like he was being watched. He put his head down instinctually. The feeling came from behind him. He entertained the thought that he could have had a tail. The thought sent a shock through him. He couldn't run; his knee was preventing him from moving faster than a stagger. A scenario played in his head. He imagined being pinned down by a group of mobsters. Maybe they saw him putting the diamond in the wall and wanted to know how he got it. Would they torture him for the information?

He shook it off. Imagining such things wasn't going to help at the moment. He needed to keep his cool and not overreact. If they gave chase, he wouldn't make it. Maybe he could lose them by turning a corner and limping as fast as he could until he reached somewhere to hide, but the turn in the street was a ways off. As the silence persisted, he heard a low almost inaudible sound. The low ambient growl, like the hum of an engine, seemed to follow him. He didn't want to turn around. He felt like turning around would alert whatever was trailing him.

He just needed to go a little more: almost there.

Suddenly, the sound stopped.

He wanted to turn around again and confirm that whatever had been following him had left. Then he felt it. There was a presence behind him. It was walking in step with him so he couldn't hear the difference in their footsteps. It was only a couple of feet away.

Jason couldn't deal with the stress anymore. Someone was right behind him; he wasn't going to take an attack from the back. He felt the need to face whatever was behind him. Maybe he could even scare off if he acted tough enough.

He swallowed, gritted his teeth, and spun around, "What the hell do you—" he stopped as he realized who was behind him. "Oh," he breathed, "hi again."

Jason was yanked off his feet.

So, I looked at the last time I updated and realized it was over a month ago. Time went by so fast that I didn't even realize it. Some serious IRL stuff happened-school, job, family stuff-and I completely did not have enough time to write.

Thank you for all comments, follows, and favorites; they really help! Thank you for reading!