BLUDMONEY
By
Scott D. Halfacre
*********************************************************************
Legal crap: Have no cash, earning none, don't own characters… leave me alone.
*********************************************************************
CHAPTER SIX
*********************************************************************
I've been in this room before, although never this side of the table.
"So you stole a cruiser?" Detective Conroy asked for the umpteenth time.
I only sigh in response as I stare at my hands.
Her blood.
Pooh counted on me many times before, but never for anything like this. She counted on me and now she's dead. She's the second woman to die in as many weeks that counted on me.
Doe killed the other about a week and a few days ago. Her I had no feelings for and it felt like watching your own child die.
Now multiply that by some number that some scientist is working on cause it doesn't exist yet and you MIGHT begin to understand how I feel at this moment.
"I'll ask again… so you then stole the cruiser?"
I look up at Conroy and he doesn't look as dumb as he sounds to me right now. The guy is in his early forties his curly blond hair is thinning heavily and has formed a widow's peak. His face carries the lines of a man that has seen a lot in his time.
"How can I steal something that no one owns?" The smart-ass answer comes out before I knew it.
There you go letting your feelings control your mouth again.
"The damn city owns" Conroy starts while leaning down on the table with his knuckles.
"And I work for it!" I slam my left fist down on the table once again before I can control it.
~One~
~The only way is one~
~I feel angry I feel helpless~
~Want to change the world~
~I feel violent I feel alone~
~Don't try and change my mind~
~I feel angry I feel helpless~
~Want to change the world~
~I feel violent I feel alone~
~Don't try and change my mind~
The words to that song that I was paying little attention to in the boat seemed to have sunk in. It's funny how a song can grow to mean something to you as you grow as a person. I may never be able to hear that song again without thinking of tonight.
"Grayson, we aren't trying to bust you for it. I would have done the same--" Detective Greene says kindly only to be cut off by Conroy.
"He's a friggen Rookie! We can't have them running the show." I take it back. He doesn't sound dumb. He is dumb.
"Let me ask you detective, did you notice anything about the body?" I stand up and lean forward like he is, so we are nose to nose now.
"You mean aside from you being found holding the victim, with her blood all over you?" Conroy asks with a smirk that makes me want to wipe it off for him.
"How about you Greene?" I ask without looking away from Conroy's eyes.
"There was too much blood for you to have done it after you stole the cruiser."
"Yeah, but he isn't even supposed to be in Bludhaven! How do we know he didn't--" Conroy's eyes look down on me somehow. Which should be impossible; I'm a good five inches taller than he is.
"This wasn't a crime of passion. Get the damn photos and I'll show you." With that I sit back down in the chair satisfied that I've made my point.
They both stare at each other for a good ten seconds not saying anything. Then they both go to walk out of the interrogation room without saying a word to me.
"Oh one more thing Conroy. This isn't a 'show'. It's called being a detective, you might want to look into it. Seeing as what you've been handed is a badge and not a doughnut."
*********************************************************************
"We never suspected you for murder Grayson, but you will have to be reprimanded for your actions." Chief Redhorn tells me from behind his much too spacious for a cop desk.
"Have you notified her family sir?" I ignore his point; I'm only worried about her parents at this time.
"No, I thought you may have wanted to do it." Redhorn surprised me with that one and it must have shown. "It's a tough thing though. I can send someone el--"
"No sir." I manage to choke back my tears. "I need to do it."
Chief just smiles at me. He's holding something back.
"What?"
"Grayson, you've surprised me many times before, but how did you come to that conclusion you shared with Greene and Conroy?"
The murder was brutal, something right out of the movies. I've seen a lot of things in my time. I've seen the strange, the demented, the scary, the sick, the perverted, the unexplainable and everything else under the sun. Yet I have never seen one that took them all and rolled them into one murder, with care. That's the thing that makes this one stand out; aside from the obvious I mean.
"The killer wanted you guys to think it was a random thing. That this was an attack against the whole female race or something. That's what Conroy saw." My voice seems distant to myself. I'm in a trance and the whole scene is playing in my mind like a movie that I want to walk out on only to discover I have no body.
"Right. That's what everyone took it as." Chief Redhorn shared.
"Yeah. Well it wasn't an act of brutality." I slowly raise my eyes to meet his. He doesn't believe me. "This was an act of love."
His look shows what he's thinking. The same thing I have been since I found her.
The sick bastard.
"What do you mean?" Chief leans forward in his chair and places his elbows on the desk and his hands beneath his chin like his head got to heavy for his neck all of the sudden.
I stand and walk over to the pictures on his wall. "Have you ever loved someone?"
I hear the creak of his chair and my eyes go to his reflection off the glass of one picture. The picture shows him as a rookie.
"Yes." He says after leaning back in his chair.
"So have I. This was an act of someone that cared for the victim." I look down at my shoes as I say it, I feel so bad that Pooh had to wait till it got to this point before she'd call on me.
"But how did--"
"Hesitation marks." I say not looking up from the dried blood on my shoes. "You can see where the killer hesitated with the blade. And it grew into something…" My voice trails off.
"What?" Redhorn prods me.
I turn to face him and step forward to his desk glaring in his eyes. "It grew into something viscous."
"The way I have it figured is Pooh called--" I start.
"Who?" Redhorn cuts me off after writing down some notes of what I have said.
"The victim. Johanna, I knew her as Pooh." The distance in my voice returns as I try and fight off the movie again.
"Miss Michaels?" Redhorn says jotting down further.
"Yeah, she called me while I was in Gotham. I figure she got in trouble with someone that cared for her and was running from him." I need to talk to Erin; she was Pooh's best friend.
"And she came to you?"
"It's in the statement." I say standing up. "Am I done here now?"
"You know we can't have you on the case."
"Well, I'm not officially back for another week right?" I start to head out the door without waiting for an answer.
"Grayson, don't let me catch you near this case." He says at my back as I reach for the doorknob.
Exhaust every lead you have.
I open the door.
"Don't worry about it. I'm going back to Gotham." I close the door behind me.
*********************************************************************
CHAPTER SEVEN
*********************************************************************
The bitter end.
I check my watch; I can't believe it's only been an hour since I left the station where Redhorn warned me off this case. I know that someone with a personal stake in a case should be removed. But Pooh called me for a reason and called me on my promise to her. My word. My bond. My oath. All that I am tells me that I am here till the bitter end.
I've been walking now for only a half-hour and I find myself at Pooh's parent's home. I've been standing here for a bit. I've kept tabs on her since we quit talking those many years ago. Her parents moved here to Bludhaven when she got a job here. Her parents were retired and wanted to be close to their only daughter. Now they will be alone here in Bludhaven.
I stopped at my apartment building took a shower and quickly grabbed different clothes at Clancy's. She was kind and said the police would be done with my apartment by tomorrow. They'd have it all clean by the time I got back from Gotham. That's when I told her the news. "I'm staying." I had said. She and I had a quick conversation and she understood from my eyes that I was serious.
Now here I am about to tell two people that have devoted their life to their only child that they will never see her again. It's almost noon and their world is about to be ripped from them.
I can't do this.
Yes.
I knock lightly.
You can.
I can hear the television from inside; it's blasting some game show. I turn my back to the door. I've no clue what to say, or how to say it.
How do you tell someone that his or her life has lost all meaning and you now need to find a new one?
"Can I help you?" A female voice says from behind me.
I turn to see the door cracked a bit with a small gold chain keeping it locked. I can tell from her eyes that it's Mrs. Michaels; she has the same eyes her daughter has.
I smile at her; or at least I try to.
"Is that you… Oh gosh! It is you! Little Richie Grayson!" She's pulled the door as far as the chain would allow it. "How have you been?"
"I've seen better days."
"One second dear, let me get this chain--" The door closes and cuts off her voice but the meaning was clear.
"Johanna is going to be sore she missed you." She smiles and holds her arms out for a hug. "She's been talking about you for a week now, isn't that something!"
That is something all right.
When it rains it pours.
I have to lean down to hug her, either I have grown a lot since I have seen her parents or they are shrinking. "Is Mr. Michaels here also?"
I would hate to have to do this more than once, or for that matter give this burden to Mrs. Michaels to carry.
"Richie." She smiles. "My husband passed on about a year and a half ago."
Just when you thought it was safe to put your feet firmly on the ground.
"I… I'm sorry." I can practically feel my face lose its color.
This woman now has no one.
I know what this will feel like; it's a pain I don't wish on anyone.
"It's okay Richie." She reaches up and rubs my head. "You need a hair cut, your hair never used to be this long."
I start to cry.
"Richie?" Her eyes meet mine.
She knows, tell her.
"I have something to tell you…"
*********************************************************************
CHAPTER EIGHT
*********************************************************************
Pooh.
Bitter end.
Pooh's mother said she had mentioned me a week ago. Pooh wanted to find me at that time, but she never told her mom I was a cop in Bludhaven. She kept things from her mom. That much is apparent.
This is all Chief wanted me to do, notify the family, but how can I walk away now?
I can't.
I won't.
Someone killed Pooh. Even though she was no longer in my life, my world was just a little brighter, knowing she was alive and well. I'm now in a downward spiral with a little less light.
The killer snuffed Pooh's 'light' from me.
He will pay for what he's done.
Dearly.
*********************************************************************
I got some info from Mrs. Michaels – can I still call her that? – And I've been following it up.
Every lead.
Pooh and Erin live with each other and work together, at least they did. Erin should have some info concerning Pooh. Erin and I never really saw what Pooh saw in the other. But that's what friendships are for I suppose. Baffle the hell out of everyone else within reaching distance.
Erin works at a building technically on Columbian soil. A diplomatic building erected on American soil, but Columbia owns it and therefore the soil around it. The five big guys that threw me out on my ass made sure I understood that. I came in wanting to see Erin and was asked for what purpose.
I mentioned Johanna Michaels and twenty seconds later I am being escorted out of the building in a very rude way. I was told I could be arrested and charged with trespassing if I was to return.
The trick there is, don't get caught.
*********************************************************************
It's raining heavily and the streets below are congested with cars heading home after work. From up here on top of a building in Central Business District the rain hits me first, yet it feels just as dirty as had I collected it from the sewer. I'm wearing the same clothes I had on when I gave Pooh's Mom the bad news, which may have something to do with the 'sewage feeling'. I also have on my Nightwing mask.
I got online and managed to dig up the make and license plate number of her car. I marked the roof with a spray that will show up like neon with a slight adjustment to my lenses on my mask. She's just left the building and is headed Northwest to Highway 61.
I need to beat her there.
There is an elevated railroad that moves along the same direction, but it's a little further South from here. If I book it, I can just make the 5:15. Then it's nothing but a hop, skip and jump away from Highway 61 and her onramp.
*********************************************************************
I'm standing on the side of the street flagging down her car. The mask is in my right front pants pocket and I'm soaked. With my wet hair hanging in my face and no sleep for the past thirty-odd hours I must look like crap.
It's no wonder she doesn't slow down. I step out in front of her car; she isn't moving too fast so I don't expect her to hit me. The car screeches to a halt on the slippery pavement.
Fifteen feet shy of where I expected.
Thanks to training for years, and a little luck, I manage to get away with only a cut above my right eye. I struck the pavement hard and I guess I didn't manage to clear the car as I thought I'd be able to. I leapt but the car tripped my foot mid-air and I landed awkwardly.
Cars have come to a stop around us. Everyone is interested in watching the show.
She comes out of the car arms flailing like she was on fire, screaming at me, calling me words that even Marines would dare say. A bald Spanish guy in his late teens finds this real funny and isn't afraid to show it.
Spanish?
Make that Columbian. I recognize him from the building; he's one of the five. I doubt she even knows she's being followed.
"Erin." I manage to grunt out while getting up. My left ankle feels like it may be sprained.
She steps back and starts to move to her car without looking back. I think hearing her name made her realize something.
Fear.
"Wait! It's me!" I run after her. "Grayson!" I scream as she slams the door and puts the vehicle in drive.
It goes nowhere; her foot is still on the brake. I can see her head lower to the steering wheel. But she makes no further movement. I walk around to the passenger side and get in.
"You shouldn't be here." Erin says not looking up at me.
I can feel blood running down my forehead.
"If they find out you're here…" Her voice trails into silence.
The cars behind us start honking. Glance behind us and I can see the Columbian version of Gallager is on a cell phone.
"Excuse me a sec." I step out of the car with a wicked grin.
As I get out I can see baldie is already second-guessing himself.
I step around to his side of the car as he reaches up and locks his door. There's something in his eyes.
Fear.
I'm losing it.
I don't even remember what comes from my mouth. The window shatters beneath the heel of my left foot from the power of a sidekick. I catch the guy with a right hook with all my power behind it immediately following the kick. The guy is out for the count. I take his keys and throw them towards a grate and watch the rain take them into the sewer. Then make sure his cell follows it.
Cops.
I can hear the sirens coming. I'll give the cops here in Bludhaven one thing over Gotham. They have a quicker response time, probably due to the fact that they are never truly 'on the job'. They are always 'on the make' here in Bludhaven.
Turning I still see Erin with her head down and the brake lights are on. The rain is coming down harder than I can remember it ever fall before. I can't see fifteen feet in front of me, but I can hear them.
I need to get out of here.
I climb back into Erin's car.
Drive.
Erin and I have some things to discuss.
"Drive."
*********************************************************************
CHAPTER NINE
*********************************************************************
Silence.
She's been staring at the same cup of coffee for the past thirty minutes, not saying a word. No crying, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching or any other thing Nyquil says it can cure. Nothing. Erin is just staring at her cup of Joe.
"Hey!" I snap my fingers in between her face and the cup.
"What?" Her voice is so lost; I'm amazed she found what little bit she did.
"I tell you your best friend is murdered and this is the reaction I get?" I sit back, satisfied that maybe now that I have tried for the third time to get her to speak; perhaps she'll do so.
"How am I supposed to act?" Erin still doesn't look away from the mug.
"Say something for Pete's sake, people will think I kidnapped you." I need her to open up.
"Didn't you?" She looks up at me.
Bingo!
I hardly ever leave myself open for an attack, if I can help it, but this time I did it on purpose. "Erin, I tried to see you today. I got tossed out on my ass."
"And?" She looks at me like she ordered it to be done.
"And?! I ask for you, mention Johanna and then get tossed out on my rear and you think--"
"Look at yourself Dick. Even when I knew you, you never looked this bad. What are you undercover? It's no wonder they threw you out." She may have a point.
"Erin." I smile at her; it doesn't feel up to its usual wattage. "They told you didn't they?"
"They?" She looks back down at her coffee.
"Dammit!" I slap my hand on the table and the waitress looks our way. I shake my head at her and then look out the window; the one with the words 'Heavenly Haven'. The rain hasn't let up at all.
"Who did it?" I ask her, not even paying attention to her reflection off of the glass.
"I don't know." Her voice cracks a bit.
I make it a point to blow out all of my air in the noisiest way possible. It doesn't make me feel better, but maybe it will show how angry I am.
"You are so childish," Then again there's always that angle. "I have no clue what Pooh ever saw in you."
"Don't, call her that." That was a name I had given her, or rather she gave to me to call her. It's the only thing I have left.
"Sorry." Erin returns to the lost voice again, instead this time she's staring at me instead of the cup.
I glance back out the window.
Pooh.
"I'm taking the killer down, with or without your help." I stare as hard as I can at her. Let her feel my raw emotions. Let her see the hate in my eyes.
"I don't want to end up like Johanna."
I find it hard to believe anyone could do what he or she did to Pooh again. I find it hard to believe someone did Pooh that way. It was graphic, violent work that was enjoyed.
"I can't make any more promises." I seem to be breaking promises left and right.
"Your vocabulary has expanded." Her lips try a smile.
"What?" I'm annoyed and she isn't helping by smiling like that.
"Your vocabulary," Erin starts looking back down at her cup while stirring the coffee absentmindedly with a spoon. "Since when does the great Dick Grayson say 'can't'?"
"I never claimed to be 'great' Erin." It comes from my lips like a sigh. Is this how she sees me, some self-centered--
"Not you." She's still stirring the coffee.
For once my smile feels real. "Pooh?"
"Yeah." She said dropping the spoon on the table causing splatters of coffee on the tabletop.
Yes the smile is genuine. Pooh may have had a point at one time. 'Can't' wasn't a word I would have said before. But everyone I seem to be making promises to these days seems to wind up dead, or at the very least hurt.
"I'll do what I can for you." I lean forward and cross my arms on the table.
"Dick… what can you do?" She makes my name sound like a curse word, and doesn't wait for an answer. "Nothing."
She finally starts to drink her coffee. "Ugh, this is cold. I hate cold coffee."
The coffee has sat there, untouched for about forty-five minutes; Of course it's cold.
"I'm a cop--" I start.
"In Bludhaven." She stares into my eyes.
Bludhaven is the most corrupt town I've seen. It makes Gotham look like a candy store.
No matter what I think of her, she has a point.
*********************************************************************