BLUDMONEY
By
Scott D. Halfacre
Legal crap: have nada, own nada… leave me alone.
PS: If you don't know this stuff by now, why read this?
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CHAPTER TEN
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I bought Erin lunch at the "Heavenly Haven." Don't know where it got its name; the food's greasy and the service blows. But at least during the two hours we were together, I was able to drag some information out of her.
According to Erin, Pooh was dating a guy she had kept a secret, even from her. Erin also seemed afraid of ending up like Pooh and also of her job. She didn't tell me that in words; she didn't have to.
There's fear in her eyes.
She was afraid at having been seen with me. The Columbian Gallager saw us together. Now I have the extra duty of trying to watch her back along with my own. Great.
I had her drop me off at my apartment building. The cops are done with the place; it's clean and tidy. I can smell the antiseptic from out in the hallway. But I know what happened here. Not the specifics, but I still know.
I clean myself up a little and tend to the cut above my right eye. I start checking out everything I can on the computer about Pooh's work and her background. I really don't find much; I need to hack into the police records. And since I'm not much of a hacker--
I have my Nightwing outfit on in a matter of seconds and am on my way.
B.P.D.
Bludhaven Police Department.
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According to the clock on the wall of Captain Addad's office, it was a quarter till nine when I got in his office. I've been at this for an hour and a half and have finally pulled up something interesting.
Pregnant.
Pooh was two month's pregnant.
They have other things down here also. Mostly stuff I already knew before the autopsy. The hesitation marks, which means – more than likely – it was someone that knew her. Her time of death was around four am; making me just a little too slow to have saved her. That seems to be the case more and more these days.
But the pregnancy thing I didn't know. How could I?
They've already put the case in a "holding pattern," waiting for more information. I don't need more; I have enough as it is.
But before I go I need a couple small items.
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I'm sitting on the roof of the building I was at before, the one across from the place where Erin works. Most of the lights are out, and aside from the few people that decided to stay and work late, the place is empty. I have my penlight and I'm going over the documents that it took me an hour to dig up.
It's now midnight, and the next day is just beginning, I absently rub my chin and realize I haven't shaved recently; the gruff of my beard is evident. I also haven't slept in the past thirty-odd hours, yet I'm not tired in the least.
One of the documents I "borrowed," are the autopsy results. Another that I have is the police report about Pooh. Her life basically, and its all right here in a thin manila envelope, marked "Michaels, Johanna P."
Pooh deserved better than this.
The pictures of the autopsy and the crime scene are not as bad as what I see every time I close my eyes, which doesn't mean that the pictures aren't gruesome. According to the pictures the scene was made to look like an act of random violence, malicious and ill prepared. Designed to look like it was an act in the moment, which it wasn't. Any detective worth his salt can tell that. The only thing I couldn't have known was that she was pregnant.
But just cause I had no clue, I doubt Erin had no inklings. I doubt she's been lying to me, but I get the feeling she hasn't told me everything either. I stand and tuck the papers and light into an empty compartment in my left boot.
She's afraid of something from her work. She was being followed earlier today by one of the goons that tossed me out when I was dressed as Dick.
It's time.
Let's see them try it now.
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Lavender.
It's faint but the power of it overwhelms my senses. The memories of time spent with her, the parades, the parties, the vacations, and the time alone.
Pooh.
This is her office. Even if her name weren't on the door, I'd still be able to tell by the décor and the smell. She has turned her office into a home away from home. Nothing looks like it was disturbed. Pictures adorn one wall, directly across from the windows. Family and friends smiling and Pooh looking as pretty as ever.
And a picture of us.
Emotions.
It's the last picture we ever took together, one of those old time photograph places they have at fairs. She was dressed as O'Hara and I as Butler. She still had that amazing smile in the other photos as she does this one.
Emotions cloud judgment.
I pull it off the wall and walk toward the window to get a better look.
The memory of that day was all but forgotten. It's the day we decided to call it quits, three days before graduation. This moment was captured probably only an hour before we broke up.
Funny how the smallest of time seems insignificant till after the fact.
Had I been a little quicker she'd be alive.
Had I been in Bludhaven she'd be alive.
Work to do.
Isn't there always?
Sounds.
There's always work that needs to be done. The more you do, the more there is; It's a never-ending cycle. One hour changed my life before and again. One hour changed her life, and stopped it.
Pay attention Dick, you're here to work.
I didn't realize I was crying. But the tear that just hit the glass on the photo I'm looking at tells me I am. Either that or God has figured how to make it rain inside, even though he couldn't save my parents, Babs and now Pooh.
She's only the latest person in my life to get hurt. There will be more. There will be others. And there's nothing I can do. Why do--
Dick!
The door flies open with the force of a charging rhino.
I turn my head slowly towards the sound. The door is off the hinges and lying on the floor, beneath two massive boots. Which are attached to a very large man. Behind him are at least two others, one I recognize from my earlier excursion here.
Only this time…
They're armed.
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
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There are times when one's fear takes control of their body.
You aren't as fast as you want to be. Sometimes even to the point of being frozen like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming pickup. You aren't able to move, act, or even speak.
Yes, there are times like that.
This isn't one of them.
Emotions cloud judgment.
I don't even notice my jaw is clenched so tight till one of those massive boots caves in my stomach. Air is forced out of my lungs, but no noise escapes.
"Mátele!" I hear the big guy say as he pulls back his boot from the cavity that was my stomach.
As he steps back I can see the other two enter the room and the one closest raises his gun. Even if I didn't know some Spanish, it was obvious what the word meant. "Kill him!"
I kick the fallen door just as the two step on it, causing them to lose their balance, even if only for a moment. A moment is all I need.
In the enclosed space of this office I'm not as effective as I could be.
Excuses.
I seem to be full of them these days.
I throw my feet in the air and catch the gunman in the chest with my right boot as I flip to my feet. Right hand shoots out to grab the gun as it falls from his hand. It lands neatly in my grasp. I've been trained to use one similar to this.
Not by me.
He's right, not at a time like this.
"Mierda!" The now gun-less gunman shouts as he falls backwards. I didn't kick him hard enough to cause him to fall backwards like he did. I wonder why he--
The sights, I have them set on him; He's falling back in fear. I throw the gun and take out the light in the ceiling they turned on upon entering and flick on my nightvision.
I now have an advantage.
The muzzle flashes brightly in the room as the other gunman fires blindly where I was. The automatic he has, got eight shots off before I could get close to him. I strike him from behind with an Escrima Stick I pulled with my right hand. He collapses a little slower than he should have; I tried to nail a nerve cluster in his back. I must have been off a bit; I feel a bit off.
Move.
Without thinking I bring up the stick and block an unseen blow. The power of it throws me sideways into a wall. With power like that it has to be the rhino that knocked down the door.
Spinning to face him I can taste the copper of blood in my mouth from his earlier kick; it causes me to smile.
"You're on private property Gringo." Rhino says to me.
I wipe at the corner of my mouth with my left hand and end up striking myself in the lip with something, which amuses the hell out of Rhino.
He's laughing as he comes closer, I look at my left hand. I still have the framed picture gripped tightly. I can't believe I never let it go.
Rhino lunges at me with a grapple. I throw my Escrima Stick down at the ground between his feet causing it to bounce back up and nail him in a nerve cluster; one every boy learns about on his own. Even the Bat never had to teach me about that one.
"Private property?" I grin as I plant my left heel against his right temple, in a sweeping kick with enough force to knock him out.
Sometimes "Old School" is still the most effective.
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I don't have much time, I figure two minutes tops before the cavalry arrives.
I pick up my stick from the ground and walk over to the pictures again. With my nightvision on I can make out what looks like where a picture hung.
The dust on that spot makes up my mind for me. It had been there a while, and now it just mysteriously is gone? It's not the one I have in my hand; it's bigger. I glance at the others one last time. Nothing makes sense; nothing jumps out at me. There's nothing here.
Yet.
Right. Nothing here… yet.
Phone.
This is one of those times when the pure genius of it all makes me smile.
I can hear what sounds like chains coming down the hallway, the cavalry.
I grab a picture of a company picnic off the wall and walk over toward Pooh's desk. I rip the shirt off Rhino and create a makeshift bag out of the material. In it I drop the two pictures and her Rolodex too. Rip the phone out of the wall and break the window to the office with it. The sirens reach me through the air coming in from the window.
A shot rings out and strikes the windowsill.
"Freeze!" I can hear from behind me, but I didn't listen.
"I thought you were supposed to shout that before you started shooting!" I shout over my shoulder. Out the window in one quick leap and fire a swing line off my left arm.
I'll have to figure this all out later.
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Sleep isn't your enemy.
Oh yeah, I'm going to take that from you! It took Doe and a building to collapse on you to take you out of commission for just a small rest. Since when do you take breaks when there's work to be done?!
I wonder if the silence means I made a point?
I enter my apartment building and head straight for a shower, dropping the "bag" on the kitchen table. I don't turn on any lights as I'm here. Just in case Redhorn has some people watching the place, I don't need him to know I'm back.
The water is cascading down my back as I lean against the wall. It's hot enough to scald a child. It didn't take any time at all to fill the room with steam. I don't have enough room for a hot tub, so this has to do. The pain in my stomach is still there and my leg is still sore.
I feel drained and my mind wanders as I daydream. Just about how things should have been, how they are and what I've been doing to stop them. I've been awake now for a good 48 hours and I can feel the weight pulling down on me, slowing me down.
When plans fail… improvise.
Well, at least I know I didn't chase it away.
Mail.
I never thought about that. I've been here for over a day and never checked my mail. I'm out of the shower and racing down the stairs in a robe. I get there and realize I left my keys upstairs, run back up this time, to see that in my previous haste I left my door open and the water running. On the way back down I close the door. If Pooh had been trying to reach me she may have left something in my mail.
Empty.
"Dammit!" I punch the door to my mailbox closed, leaving a small dent.
I head back to my shower and possibly to get some sleep. I get back upstairs and drop the keys back on the table, go into the kitchen and get out one of the frozen burritos I seem to always have plenty of. I start the microwave oven and head back to my shower.
As I enter the bathroom I can't help but see the message left for me.
"Hand it over, or your next." Is clearly visible in the mirror now thanks to the steam.
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CHAPTER TWELVE
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Shattered.
I'm staring into the sink, hands trembling on either side, supporting my weight. The water is running in a clockwise motion, almost hypnotic the way the blood is mixing with the water. Causing a swirling effect on my eyes; might as well join the rest of me.
Spiraling downward and uncontrollable. Worst of all, I can feel it, but am powerless to stop it.
My breath is ragged and labored. I've been trying to control it for a period of time now, not sure how long. I glance up at the mirror and see a hundred eyes filled with pain staring back at me.
My eyes.
The mirror is now truly a mirror of my life, shattered and imperfect. No longer glossy and clean, it's stained by the blood of my hands, and shattered from the force of my anger.
Truly, this is a mirror of my life.
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I finished my shower and threw on a pair of cut off sweats. I went to the burrito, but it was cold by the time I finished in the bathroom, so I threw it out. I have some tape above my right eye, and the same white medical tape encompasses my hands. I can feel the tape stretch as I make a fist, which stings like the dickens.
I'm sitting on the futon in my living room, going over everything that's happened the past couple days. My mind is swirling like the water was. My brain, like the blood, trying to cling to something, only to be washed away by the water.
It's still storming and it's almost light outside, glancing at the clock on my wall I can see it's almost seven in the morning. I still haven't been able to bring myself to sleep. I don't even remember what day it is specifically, not till I decide to go to my door and get my paper do I see it's Friday.
Sit at the kitchen table and eat an apple while I read the news. There's mention of her funeral and the viewing, but none of foul play. My name is left out also… someone is pulling strings.
I need to go to this funeral.
Our work is never done.
The makeshift bag from last night rests in the center of the table.
To hell with that! It might never be done but I'm going to that funeral.
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I found time to shave, although I left a forming goatee, and actually ironed out a black suit I have had for a few years. I'm standing in the corner of the church, far away from everything. I'm unsure of what to do, what to say.
What can I say?
Pooh's mother hasn't shown yet, but the place is filling quickly. I have on a pair of shades and have a non-photo blue pencil in my left hand, which is bandaged slightly less than my right. In the right I hold the picture I took from her office, I circle everyone that shows and make further notes on the photo next to the people I circle.
So much for my break, here I am taking notes.
Exhaust every lead.
The viewing has just started but almost every person in this picture is circled. I'm not exactly undercover here, but hopefully I look different. I don't feel much different, but the added goatee, nice suit and being clean might cause people that saw me a day ago not to recognize me.
I have so many notes scribbled down that it's getting hard to make out the picture still. Three people haven't showed yet, I recognize one of them.
Gallager.
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I waited for an hour after the ceremony was over.
Nobody.
None of the three showed up, but at least I have one I can lean on. He was part of the strong-arm team that "helped" me leave the building the first time, and also the one that was following Erin.
Erin.
She definitely knows more than she's saying.
Also in the message on the mirror what could "It" mean?
Who got Pooh pregnant?
And who signed their soul away when they killed her.
There seems to be one place where I can get some answers.
Time to shine some light on the situation.
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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Patience is a virtue.
I don't have the time.
You can never be too prepared.
I've done enough prepping.
Never underestimate them.
As the old saying goes. "Screw me once, shame on me. Screw me twice--"
"There ya go, that'll be twenty-two fifty sir."
The voice breaks me from my thoughts. "What?"
I look up from the floorboard of the cab, with my sunglasses still on, the cabby is in a darkly tinted world. It reminds me of my world; except mine is dark, it just appears light.
The cabby smiles at me. "I know you have had a bad day and all--"
He's wearing a Gotham Knights ballcap that hides what looks to be a full head of white hair. In fact the cab is filled with Gotham Knights memorabilia, a flag hangs in the window, a small bat from the mirror, the seats are covered in Knights towels, and he's even tuned into some radio station that talks all sports, all day. He's black and heavy set, reminds me of a cross between Lucius Fox and Morgan Freeman.
"How would you know about--" I stopped myself shy of asking how he knew about my bad day. It hit me as he was grinning at the question. He picked me up outside the graveyard. It doesn't take Matlock to put that together.
I start to reach for my wallet. "Twenty-five?"
"Twenty-two fifty." He said giving me the same smile I assume he gave his grandkids.
"Hey, how much for the ball cap?" I smirk as I look in my wallet.
"What's that sir?" His smile is just as strong but his eyes have that questioning look.
"The ballcap? How much?" I hold up my wallet and give it a little shake.
"It's old, you wouldn't want this old thing." He pulls the hat off his head and looks at it; I was right about his hair.
"Sure I do." I hold out a hundred-dollar bill.
"Sir?!" He exclaims. "It isn't worth that."
"Tell ya what? I'll just borrow it for a bit, you wait at the corner for me. Pick me up and I'll give it back." I smile and hold out the bill.
"You're nuts." He holds out the cap.
"Awww, you shouldn't be so quick to judge… Jones." I said after searching the windshield for his license.
"J. B. Jones" it said.
I swipe up the hat from his hand and get out of the cab. Put the hat on and tuck my hair into it as much as I can.
"Jones?" I say leaning into the window with the bill in my left hand.
"Yes sir?" He says smiling and reaching for the money.
"Ten minutes." I let him take the bill and can see he's not really paying attention to my voice.
"Ten minutes." He says oddly.
"Ten. Then pull back up, and wait another five. If I take longer than that… a meeting took longer than I thought," I smile and stand up straight, "and I'll catch another cab."
"No problem! I'll wait right over there." He shouts to my back as I had turned to go in.
"Jones?" I say spinning on my right heel.
"Yes sir?"
"Stop with the "sir" shit. I've had a bad day." I smile thinly at him.
"Yes sir…" He smirks fully realizing he said it again.
I glance at my watch. I have till 2:30 till I must be out here to meet him. I spin back towards the building and sigh.
When plans fail… improvise.
"Jones?" I say still looking at the Columbian Embassy.
"Still here." I hear his deep rumble of a voice.
Never bring a gun to a knife fight.
I can feel my smile brighten.
"How much for the bat?"
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