A Different Game: Part 1 b:
"Mr. Grayson, Bruce Wayne was murdered last night," Jacobs coldly stated.
Tim's eyes grew wide and he plopped down on the sofa. Dick simply stared at the Detective. His mouth open. His heart started beating rapidly in his chest, the pounding resonating in his ears. Finally, he found his voice, "What?"
"Bruce Wayne was murdered in his home last night. But you knew that already, didn't you?"
Dick eyed the Detective as if he had two heads. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Tim stood up and walked behind Dick. Dick's growing anger was obvious. Tim felt nervous. Things were terribly wrong. He knew that. As Robin he was trained to deal with terrible situations, but, at the moment, the world felt off kilter for him and Tim wasn't sure what to do. It was this uncertainty that drew him closer to Dick. They were saying Bruce was dead. They were wrong. They didn't know Bruce.
A uniformed officer walked over to the detective from Dick's kitchen, another evidence bag in hand. Jacobs looked at the object in the bag. It was a bloody piece of white cloth with embroidered letters "BTW". Detective Jacobs had seen enough. He looked Dick squarely in the eyes. "Richard Grayson," then looking down at Tim, "Timothy Drake, you're both under arrest for the murder of Bruce Wayne." As he said this, the uniformed officers approached them, pulling their handcuffs from their belts.
"Dick?"
Dick's left arm instinctively went protectively in front of Tim while his right hand was outstretched in front of him. "Wait!"
"Take them," Jacobs said.
"Dick!" Tim said, panic beginning to creep into his voice. Dick noticed how very much Tim sounded his age right now.
"Wait! Please, a minute," Dick said, as he continued maneuvering around the room, always keeping himself between Tim and the officers.
"A minute," Jacobs relented.
Dick turned to face Tim. Tim's face was pale. He looked imploringly at Dick. Dick then placed his hands on the young boy's shoulders.
"Bruce can't be dead. He can't be," Tim started saying the same phrase over and over.
"I know."
"And why would they think we'd kill Bruce?"
"I don't know. But Tim, everything will be all right. Just breath deeply, everything WILL be all right. You trust me?"
Tim nodded his head: yes.
"Bruce is not dead. This is a mistake. We've got to go with the cops for now, but once we get everything straightened out, they'll know they made a mistake and we'll come home. Okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, Dick, okay."
"Just don't say anything to them without me or a lawyer present, understand?"
"Okay Dick. I gotcha," Tim said, then he took a deep breath, braced himself for what was to come.
Dick smiled slightly at Tim. This was all a mistake. Bruce was not dead. This was a mistake. It had to be. This couldn't be real. Dick took a deep breath as well, then together they turned to face the police officers.
The uniformed officers took them by their arms, handcuffing them as the detectives started reading them their rights. Then they were led from Dick's apartment to the police cars waiting to take them to Gotham City. The uniformed officers holding the two prisoners stood waiting for the detectives to finish conversing.
Jacobs spoke to the Bludhaven detective, "You can put them both in my car, I'll handle the transport to Gotham."
"You sure you don't need any further assistance?"
"No thanks." Jacobs replied.
Bridget Clancy was walking up the street, medical texts in hand. Her eyes grew large when she saw Dick Grayson standing handcuffed before their apartment building. What was happening?
"Dick? What's going on?" she said running up to him.
"Clancy, whatever you hear, we did NOT do it," Dick responded. His blue eyes looked imploringly at her.
"Put them in the car," Jacobs ordered, then, walking past Clancy, "I wouldn't listen to them, ma'am."
Clancy stood there on the street and watched the police cars pull away from the curb and drive away.
***********************************************************************
Tim looked to Dick as they sat, handcuffed, in the back seat of Detective Jacobs unmarked car, then looked straight ahead into the wire mesh separating the front and back seats of the car. Separating the detective from his prisoners. Tim sighed. His head was spinning. He had been trained for any situation ... any situation but this one. He didn't know what to do.
Dick turned toward Tim with worry in his eyes. He was sure Bruce was not dead, but why did the Gotham City Police Department think he was? And why did they think he and Tim were responsible? Arrested for Bruce's murder. This was insane. His first priority was Tim, he had to take care of Tim.
Tim turned back toward Dick, their eyes meeting. Tim tried to smile, but found he couldn't.
"I know how your feel," Dick said softly, "but it'll be okay."
"I just don't understand Dick?"
Dick cut his eyes toward the detective who drove the car. He could see his eyes watching them through the rear-view mirror. With his head, he nodded to Tim, indicating that Jacobs was listening.
Tim felt a stinging in his eyes. God, how could his own body betray him like this? He quickly closed his eyes and threw his head backwards against the car's back seat.
Dick watched Tim. He wished he could comfort him. With his hands cuffed behind him, he couldn't touch Tim, and with Jacobs listening to them, he couldn't talk to him. This situation was insane.
"Everything will be all right Tim," Dick said, trying to comfort his "little brother" without really saying anything that Jacobs could hear.
"Don't believe him kid," Jacobs interjected, "listening to him is what's got you where you are today."
Dick glared at Jacobs through the wire mesh. It was a very good thing for the detective that Dick was currently handcuffed.
"What are you talking about?" Tim asked angrily.
"Tim," Dick began.
"We know he talked you into helping him kill Wayne. You didn't have a motive other than helping Grayson. Right?"
"You're crazy," Tim shouted.
"Confession's good for the soul, son," Jacobs replied, "and it might help us to go easier on you."
"Leave him alone," Dick growled.
"He brought you into this mess kid. Don't let him talk you into staying in it. Turn on Grayson, we'll go easier on you."
Dick reached up and kicked the back of Jacobs's seat. Hard. The sound of Jacobs laughter echoed in his head, only infuriating Dick further.
"I don't wanna talk to you," Tim replied. "I'm not going to talk to you, not now or ever."
"Whatever. We've got enough on you to take you both down."
"Don't worry about him Tim. He's full of shit. He's got nothing on us because we haven't done anything."
"I know," Tim said softly as he fidgeted in his seat.
"You okay?" Dick asked.
"Yeah. Handcuff's are tight."
"I know they are. I'm sorry."
"He can't be dead."
"I know," Dick whispered.
***********************************************************************
As Detective Jacobs's car approached Gotham City Police Headquarters, Dick saw the gathered multitude of reporters.
"Just great," he said to himself. "Jacobs, what's with all the press?"
"Don't worry Grayson, they're not here about you. Yet. Commissioner Aiken's calling a press conference. He's going to announce that Wayne was murdered and that suspects are in custody. He's not going to name you two. Not now."
Tim closed his eyes and leaned over so that his head touched Dick's arm. Dick wished he could comfort the boy. He watched as the car moved into the prisoner loading area, past the steel mesh wire fencing and into the building. Jacobs stopped the car, getting out and opening the rear doors.
"Get out," he said roughly. As they exited the car, he grabbed them each by an arm and pushed them toward the door labeled prisoner entrance. Dick and Tim were processed into the system: photographed for mug shots, fingerprinted, strip searched and dressed in prisoner orange jumpsuits. They went through the motions until it was time for their phone call. They were lead to a small room with a phone.
"You've each got ten minutes," a guard said as he handcuffed their left hands to the base of the phone cubical.
"Who do I call?" Dick whispered to himself. Bruce was his logical choice, but they claimed Bruce was dead. Babs? But she was out of town, in Chicago with her father. Dick had talked her into taking the weekend off, to spending some quality time with her Dad. He had told her nothing would go wrong. How wrong he had been. "I could try her cell phone," he said aloud as he dialed the number.
"Hello," he heard her voice, so cheerful and happy, come over the line.
"Babs, it's me."
"Hey Boy Wonder, what can I do for you?" Babs asked.
"I'm in trouble."
Her mood changed as she heard the tone of his voice, "What's wrong? What do you need?"
"I'm...I'm in jail. We've been arrested." His words were greeted with silence. "Babs?"
"Arrested? Oh my God. For what? Do they know...? We? We who?"
"No, not that," he said with a sigh, "We: me and Tim. They've arrested us for murder."
"Murder?" Babs said quietly. "Have you called Bruce? Dick, you've got to call Bruce."
"They say Bruce is dead. That's who we're suppose to have murdered."
"What! Bruce is ... I don't believe it," Babs felt her head pounding. With her free hand, she removed her glasses and rubbed her nose. She had to think. "Where are you two?"
"Gotham Central lock-up."
"I'll call the Wayne lawyers, don't worry, we'll take care of everything. How's Tim?"
Dick looked at Tim who tried to smile, "He's okay, under the circumstances."
"And you?"
"The same. Babs, Bruce can't be dead. He is not dead. I won't believe it, I can't."
"I know. Dick, I'll try to find Alfred."
"Thanks. Hey, I ... I gotta go. My time's about up. Tim's got to use the phone now."
"Dick, I," she hesitated. She had held him off for so long, had asked for time, but her feelings were always there. He needed to know, he needed to know now, "I love you."
He closed his eyes at the words he had longed to hear, "Yeah. You too, Babs. Bye." He sighed again and he hung up the phone. Then he looked to Tim, "You're turn kiddo. Are you going to call your dad?"
Tim looked at Dick. He was hesitant in his reply, then he said, "Yeah. Without Bruce, who else am I gonna call? Besides, he's got to know. He's going to know. It'll be better if he first hears it from me."
"Yeah."
Tim picked up the telephone receiver. Hesitating just a moment, he dialed the number. His mind still reeling from the events, he wondered how to tell his father. Thankfully, another voice answered the phone, giving Tim a few extra moments to sum up the courage he needed. "Dana, it's Tim, I need Dad."
"Sure honey," Dana replied, "is anything wrong?"
"Yeah. I need Dad, Dana."
At the strain in his voice, Dana motioned to her husband to quickly come to the phone. Silently, she mouthed to him that it was Tim on the phone. Jack Drake came onto the line, "Tim, what's wrong?"
"Dad, I," Tim started and he caught his voice cracking just a bit, "I'm in trouble. Big trouble. I...I...I'm in jail."
"What! You're in jail! For what? Tim, what have you done now?" Jack Drake responded, anger in his voice. His son had tried his patience these last few years, running away for months on end, going out of the country, re-entering Gotham when the federal government had declared it a No Man's Land. Now he'd been arrested! Jack had hoped sending Tim to Brentwood would stop him from going wild and from getting into trouble. Stop him from becoming one of those troubled teens always into some problem or another. Jack Drake felt like a failure. He hadn't stopped Tim at all.
"No. Dad. Dad, please don't be mad. I haven't done anything. It's a mistake. Dad, please. You gotta come help me."
"Tim, where are you and what have you been arrested for?"
"I'm at Gotham police headquarters right now They brought us in from Bludhaven."
"Us? Bludhaven?" Jack Drake shook his head as he continued to listen to his sixteen year old son. Tim was going to have a lot of explaining to do when he got home.
"We, Dick and me, we've been charged with...with..." Tim found himself choking on the word. He looked to Dick for support. Dick laid his free hand on Tim's shoulder. "Murder. They charged us with murder. But we didn't kill Bruce. Dick and I wouldn't do that Dad. Dad, I want to come home."
Jack Drake felt his legs grow weak under him. Steadying himself against the wall, he slowly asked Tim, "Did you say you've been charged with murder?"
"Yes," Tim weakly acknowledged to his father.
"Dick?" Jack Drake asked, "Dick Grayson? Wait a minute, you said Bruce. Do you mean Bruce Wayne?"
"Yes. They think we killed Bruce. But we didn't. He's Dick's father. And you know how I feel about Bruce," Tim said. In reality, he knew his father really did not know exactly how Tim felt about Bruce, but he did know that Tim idolized Bruce.
"Where's Grayson?" Jack asked. He felt his anger rising moment by moment. What the hell was a 24 year old doing with a 16 year old? And why was Tim with Dick in Bludhaven rather than at Brentwood where he belonged? Where he should have been. Where he would not have gotten into this trouble had he been there.
"He's right here. They're letting us make our one phone call."
"Tim, listen to me. This is important. You have a habit of NOT listening to me. But this time, please, do what I tell you to. Do not say anything to anyone until I get there. I'll call our lawyer and we'll come see you."
Tim closed his eyes in regret. He hated hurting his father. Jack Drake may not have been the perfect father, but Tim knew that his dad loved him. "I won't say anything Dad. Dick told me the same thing. He's here. He's taking care of me." Tim meant for these words to comfort his father.
They did not.
"Put him on the phone," Jack responded coldly.
Tim's eyebrow shot up in a quizzical look, then he stretched out the phone to Dick, "He wants to talk to you, can you?"
Dick turned and saw the guards weren't watching, and he took the phone. "Mr. Drake?"
"You little sonovabitch! Look at what you've dragged my boy into!"
"Whoa, Mr. Drake, I haven't dragged Tim into anything. Look, this is all a mistake. You heard Tim, we DIDN'T do anything."
"If anything happens to my boy, Grayson..."
"Look, I'm taking care of him, and I'm going to continue to. You just need to get a lawyer and get him bail so he can go home. Here's Tim, his time's almost up."
"I'm sorry Dad, I really am. But we didn't do this. But I'm sorry, for, well, a lot of things. Just come get me soon please, I want to go home.."
"I'm on my way son," Jack said as he tried to calm his voice. He could hear the fear in Tim's voice. The fear he could tell Tim desperately wanted to hide from him.
Dick also heard the fear in Tim's voice. He closed his eyes as he silently prayed to wake up from this nightmare.
The guards came into the room, removing the handcuffs, as they saw the phone calls were finished. As Dick and Tim were led from the room, two gray-clad officers approached Detective Jacobs. Dick recognized their uniforms. His eyes widened at the realization. He hadn't even thought of this. They were obviously here for Tim.
"Detective Jacobs," asked one of the guards, "we're from JDC. You have a prisoner for us?"
"Tim Drake, right here," Jacobs said as he pointed at Tim.
"Drake, you come with us," the guard stated.
"Wha...what?" Tim looked at Dick, his eyes wide. He wanted to stay with Dick. Well, he really wanted to go home, but while he was here, the only comfort he had was being with his "older brother". He looked at Dick, whose ashen face and closed eyes, only heightened Tim's panic. "What's going on?"
"Tim, you're going to have to go with them. You can't stay with me," Dick said calmly.
"Why?"
"Because of your age."
"But, but...that means we aren't going to be able to stay together."
"Yeah. They're going to send you to JDC."
"That's where you were," Tim said.
Detective Jacobs ears perked up at this. Grayson had been in Juvenile Detention. That's something worth investigating further.
"Yeah," Dick responded. "Look, it's not the best in the world, but it's better than jail."
"It is jail! Kid jail. Same thing."
"Not exactly," Dick said in a calm voice. "Look, your dad'll be here soon. Don't worry about anything." As Dick finished saying the words, Gotham's newest prosecutor Peter Reynolds walked into the room. Dick recognized him from his election campaign. Bruce had been a big supporter of Reynolds. Oh God, Dick thought, Bruce HAD BEEN a big supporter of Reynolds.
"Jacobs," Reynolds said, "Is this Drake?" he asked pointing to Tim.
"Yes."
Dick watched as Reynolds handed some white sheets of paper to Jacobs, "Serve him with these before he goes to JDC."
Jacobs took the papers and promptly handed them to Tim. Tim looked down at the documents without understanding what he read.
"What is it Tim?" Dick asked. He tried to approach, but the guards blocked his way.
"I don't know."
"What's it say at the very top?" Dick asked. He was no lawyer, but he had learned a few things at the police academy.
"A motion to transfer to Superior Court and to treat Juvenile as an adult," Tim said reading the top of the first page and then moving to the second page he continued, "Motion for Rule 24 Conference."
Dick felt like he had been hit in the gut. He turned to Reynolds, "Rule 24 conference. For him? He's just a kid! He's only sixteen years old!"
"If he can commit murder with you Grayson, he can be treated just like you," Reynolds replied walking over to Dick. "So you know what a Rule 24 conference is. Good, because we've scheduled yours for Monday."
"We haven't done anything. Why are you doing this to --"
"To you? Is that what you're going to ask? Bruce Wayne was a friend of mine," Reynolds replied angrily. "He was a good guy who deserved better than this. He did not deserve to have the little street urchin he adopted murder him for his money."
Dick could see Reynolds was truly upset. He could tell he genuinely liked Bruce. That kept Dick from being angry with the man. If they could just see they were making a mistake about Tim and him. Dick's head was spinning. So much was happening so fast. Too fast.
"Dick, what's this mean?"
Dick turned and looked into Tim's innocent young eyes. God, how did he tell him this? But he had to, he couldn't let him find out from someone else. "Tim, if they win the first motion you'll be tried with me rather than in juvenile court and you'll be transferred back here to the adult jail, if you're not already out on bond," Dick said knowing the likelihood of that happening now was slim to none. "Rule 24 means the State's going to ask the Court to make our cases death penalty cases."
Tim listened to Dick. But he knew he couldn't be hearing him right, "Death penalty cases? Do you mean that they'd be ..."
"Asking for the death penalty as punishment." Dick finished Tim's sentence.
"No," Tim said weakly as the realization of this situation really hit him. He started for Dick, but the guards grabbed him. Dick tore his arm away from the guard holding him and went to Tim, pushing the guards out of his way. Tim clutched to Dick as he whispered, "No. Dick, this is crazy. We've got to get out of here."
To be continued
"Mr. Grayson, Bruce Wayne was murdered last night," Jacobs coldly stated.
Tim's eyes grew wide and he plopped down on the sofa. Dick simply stared at the Detective. His mouth open. His heart started beating rapidly in his chest, the pounding resonating in his ears. Finally, he found his voice, "What?"
"Bruce Wayne was murdered in his home last night. But you knew that already, didn't you?"
Dick eyed the Detective as if he had two heads. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Tim stood up and walked behind Dick. Dick's growing anger was obvious. Tim felt nervous. Things were terribly wrong. He knew that. As Robin he was trained to deal with terrible situations, but, at the moment, the world felt off kilter for him and Tim wasn't sure what to do. It was this uncertainty that drew him closer to Dick. They were saying Bruce was dead. They were wrong. They didn't know Bruce.
A uniformed officer walked over to the detective from Dick's kitchen, another evidence bag in hand. Jacobs looked at the object in the bag. It was a bloody piece of white cloth with embroidered letters "BTW". Detective Jacobs had seen enough. He looked Dick squarely in the eyes. "Richard Grayson," then looking down at Tim, "Timothy Drake, you're both under arrest for the murder of Bruce Wayne." As he said this, the uniformed officers approached them, pulling their handcuffs from their belts.
"Dick?"
Dick's left arm instinctively went protectively in front of Tim while his right hand was outstretched in front of him. "Wait!"
"Take them," Jacobs said.
"Dick!" Tim said, panic beginning to creep into his voice. Dick noticed how very much Tim sounded his age right now.
"Wait! Please, a minute," Dick said, as he continued maneuvering around the room, always keeping himself between Tim and the officers.
"A minute," Jacobs relented.
Dick turned to face Tim. Tim's face was pale. He looked imploringly at Dick. Dick then placed his hands on the young boy's shoulders.
"Bruce can't be dead. He can't be," Tim started saying the same phrase over and over.
"I know."
"And why would they think we'd kill Bruce?"
"I don't know. But Tim, everything will be all right. Just breath deeply, everything WILL be all right. You trust me?"
Tim nodded his head: yes.
"Bruce is not dead. This is a mistake. We've got to go with the cops for now, but once we get everything straightened out, they'll know they made a mistake and we'll come home. Okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, Dick, okay."
"Just don't say anything to them without me or a lawyer present, understand?"
"Okay Dick. I gotcha," Tim said, then he took a deep breath, braced himself for what was to come.
Dick smiled slightly at Tim. This was all a mistake. Bruce was not dead. This was a mistake. It had to be. This couldn't be real. Dick took a deep breath as well, then together they turned to face the police officers.
The uniformed officers took them by their arms, handcuffing them as the detectives started reading them their rights. Then they were led from Dick's apartment to the police cars waiting to take them to Gotham City. The uniformed officers holding the two prisoners stood waiting for the detectives to finish conversing.
Jacobs spoke to the Bludhaven detective, "You can put them both in my car, I'll handle the transport to Gotham."
"You sure you don't need any further assistance?"
"No thanks." Jacobs replied.
Bridget Clancy was walking up the street, medical texts in hand. Her eyes grew large when she saw Dick Grayson standing handcuffed before their apartment building. What was happening?
"Dick? What's going on?" she said running up to him.
"Clancy, whatever you hear, we did NOT do it," Dick responded. His blue eyes looked imploringly at her.
"Put them in the car," Jacobs ordered, then, walking past Clancy, "I wouldn't listen to them, ma'am."
Clancy stood there on the street and watched the police cars pull away from the curb and drive away.
***********************************************************************
Tim looked to Dick as they sat, handcuffed, in the back seat of Detective Jacobs unmarked car, then looked straight ahead into the wire mesh separating the front and back seats of the car. Separating the detective from his prisoners. Tim sighed. His head was spinning. He had been trained for any situation ... any situation but this one. He didn't know what to do.
Dick turned toward Tim with worry in his eyes. He was sure Bruce was not dead, but why did the Gotham City Police Department think he was? And why did they think he and Tim were responsible? Arrested for Bruce's murder. This was insane. His first priority was Tim, he had to take care of Tim.
Tim turned back toward Dick, their eyes meeting. Tim tried to smile, but found he couldn't.
"I know how your feel," Dick said softly, "but it'll be okay."
"I just don't understand Dick?"
Dick cut his eyes toward the detective who drove the car. He could see his eyes watching them through the rear-view mirror. With his head, he nodded to Tim, indicating that Jacobs was listening.
Tim felt a stinging in his eyes. God, how could his own body betray him like this? He quickly closed his eyes and threw his head backwards against the car's back seat.
Dick watched Tim. He wished he could comfort him. With his hands cuffed behind him, he couldn't touch Tim, and with Jacobs listening to them, he couldn't talk to him. This situation was insane.
"Everything will be all right Tim," Dick said, trying to comfort his "little brother" without really saying anything that Jacobs could hear.
"Don't believe him kid," Jacobs interjected, "listening to him is what's got you where you are today."
Dick glared at Jacobs through the wire mesh. It was a very good thing for the detective that Dick was currently handcuffed.
"What are you talking about?" Tim asked angrily.
"Tim," Dick began.
"We know he talked you into helping him kill Wayne. You didn't have a motive other than helping Grayson. Right?"
"You're crazy," Tim shouted.
"Confession's good for the soul, son," Jacobs replied, "and it might help us to go easier on you."
"Leave him alone," Dick growled.
"He brought you into this mess kid. Don't let him talk you into staying in it. Turn on Grayson, we'll go easier on you."
Dick reached up and kicked the back of Jacobs's seat. Hard. The sound of Jacobs laughter echoed in his head, only infuriating Dick further.
"I don't wanna talk to you," Tim replied. "I'm not going to talk to you, not now or ever."
"Whatever. We've got enough on you to take you both down."
"Don't worry about him Tim. He's full of shit. He's got nothing on us because we haven't done anything."
"I know," Tim said softly as he fidgeted in his seat.
"You okay?" Dick asked.
"Yeah. Handcuff's are tight."
"I know they are. I'm sorry."
"He can't be dead."
"I know," Dick whispered.
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As Detective Jacobs's car approached Gotham City Police Headquarters, Dick saw the gathered multitude of reporters.
"Just great," he said to himself. "Jacobs, what's with all the press?"
"Don't worry Grayson, they're not here about you. Yet. Commissioner Aiken's calling a press conference. He's going to announce that Wayne was murdered and that suspects are in custody. He's not going to name you two. Not now."
Tim closed his eyes and leaned over so that his head touched Dick's arm. Dick wished he could comfort the boy. He watched as the car moved into the prisoner loading area, past the steel mesh wire fencing and into the building. Jacobs stopped the car, getting out and opening the rear doors.
"Get out," he said roughly. As they exited the car, he grabbed them each by an arm and pushed them toward the door labeled prisoner entrance. Dick and Tim were processed into the system: photographed for mug shots, fingerprinted, strip searched and dressed in prisoner orange jumpsuits. They went through the motions until it was time for their phone call. They were lead to a small room with a phone.
"You've each got ten minutes," a guard said as he handcuffed their left hands to the base of the phone cubical.
"Who do I call?" Dick whispered to himself. Bruce was his logical choice, but they claimed Bruce was dead. Babs? But she was out of town, in Chicago with her father. Dick had talked her into taking the weekend off, to spending some quality time with her Dad. He had told her nothing would go wrong. How wrong he had been. "I could try her cell phone," he said aloud as he dialed the number.
"Hello," he heard her voice, so cheerful and happy, come over the line.
"Babs, it's me."
"Hey Boy Wonder, what can I do for you?" Babs asked.
"I'm in trouble."
Her mood changed as she heard the tone of his voice, "What's wrong? What do you need?"
"I'm...I'm in jail. We've been arrested." His words were greeted with silence. "Babs?"
"Arrested? Oh my God. For what? Do they know...? We? We who?"
"No, not that," he said with a sigh, "We: me and Tim. They've arrested us for murder."
"Murder?" Babs said quietly. "Have you called Bruce? Dick, you've got to call Bruce."
"They say Bruce is dead. That's who we're suppose to have murdered."
"What! Bruce is ... I don't believe it," Babs felt her head pounding. With her free hand, she removed her glasses and rubbed her nose. She had to think. "Where are you two?"
"Gotham Central lock-up."
"I'll call the Wayne lawyers, don't worry, we'll take care of everything. How's Tim?"
Dick looked at Tim who tried to smile, "He's okay, under the circumstances."
"And you?"
"The same. Babs, Bruce can't be dead. He is not dead. I won't believe it, I can't."
"I know. Dick, I'll try to find Alfred."
"Thanks. Hey, I ... I gotta go. My time's about up. Tim's got to use the phone now."
"Dick, I," she hesitated. She had held him off for so long, had asked for time, but her feelings were always there. He needed to know, he needed to know now, "I love you."
He closed his eyes at the words he had longed to hear, "Yeah. You too, Babs. Bye." He sighed again and he hung up the phone. Then he looked to Tim, "You're turn kiddo. Are you going to call your dad?"
Tim looked at Dick. He was hesitant in his reply, then he said, "Yeah. Without Bruce, who else am I gonna call? Besides, he's got to know. He's going to know. It'll be better if he first hears it from me."
"Yeah."
Tim picked up the telephone receiver. Hesitating just a moment, he dialed the number. His mind still reeling from the events, he wondered how to tell his father. Thankfully, another voice answered the phone, giving Tim a few extra moments to sum up the courage he needed. "Dana, it's Tim, I need Dad."
"Sure honey," Dana replied, "is anything wrong?"
"Yeah. I need Dad, Dana."
At the strain in his voice, Dana motioned to her husband to quickly come to the phone. Silently, she mouthed to him that it was Tim on the phone. Jack Drake came onto the line, "Tim, what's wrong?"
"Dad, I," Tim started and he caught his voice cracking just a bit, "I'm in trouble. Big trouble. I...I...I'm in jail."
"What! You're in jail! For what? Tim, what have you done now?" Jack Drake responded, anger in his voice. His son had tried his patience these last few years, running away for months on end, going out of the country, re-entering Gotham when the federal government had declared it a No Man's Land. Now he'd been arrested! Jack had hoped sending Tim to Brentwood would stop him from going wild and from getting into trouble. Stop him from becoming one of those troubled teens always into some problem or another. Jack Drake felt like a failure. He hadn't stopped Tim at all.
"No. Dad. Dad, please don't be mad. I haven't done anything. It's a mistake. Dad, please. You gotta come help me."
"Tim, where are you and what have you been arrested for?"
"I'm at Gotham police headquarters right now They brought us in from Bludhaven."
"Us? Bludhaven?" Jack Drake shook his head as he continued to listen to his sixteen year old son. Tim was going to have a lot of explaining to do when he got home.
"We, Dick and me, we've been charged with...with..." Tim found himself choking on the word. He looked to Dick for support. Dick laid his free hand on Tim's shoulder. "Murder. They charged us with murder. But we didn't kill Bruce. Dick and I wouldn't do that Dad. Dad, I want to come home."
Jack Drake felt his legs grow weak under him. Steadying himself against the wall, he slowly asked Tim, "Did you say you've been charged with murder?"
"Yes," Tim weakly acknowledged to his father.
"Dick?" Jack Drake asked, "Dick Grayson? Wait a minute, you said Bruce. Do you mean Bruce Wayne?"
"Yes. They think we killed Bruce. But we didn't. He's Dick's father. And you know how I feel about Bruce," Tim said. In reality, he knew his father really did not know exactly how Tim felt about Bruce, but he did know that Tim idolized Bruce.
"Where's Grayson?" Jack asked. He felt his anger rising moment by moment. What the hell was a 24 year old doing with a 16 year old? And why was Tim with Dick in Bludhaven rather than at Brentwood where he belonged? Where he should have been. Where he would not have gotten into this trouble had he been there.
"He's right here. They're letting us make our one phone call."
"Tim, listen to me. This is important. You have a habit of NOT listening to me. But this time, please, do what I tell you to. Do not say anything to anyone until I get there. I'll call our lawyer and we'll come see you."
Tim closed his eyes in regret. He hated hurting his father. Jack Drake may not have been the perfect father, but Tim knew that his dad loved him. "I won't say anything Dad. Dick told me the same thing. He's here. He's taking care of me." Tim meant for these words to comfort his father.
They did not.
"Put him on the phone," Jack responded coldly.
Tim's eyebrow shot up in a quizzical look, then he stretched out the phone to Dick, "He wants to talk to you, can you?"
Dick turned and saw the guards weren't watching, and he took the phone. "Mr. Drake?"
"You little sonovabitch! Look at what you've dragged my boy into!"
"Whoa, Mr. Drake, I haven't dragged Tim into anything. Look, this is all a mistake. You heard Tim, we DIDN'T do anything."
"If anything happens to my boy, Grayson..."
"Look, I'm taking care of him, and I'm going to continue to. You just need to get a lawyer and get him bail so he can go home. Here's Tim, his time's almost up."
"I'm sorry Dad, I really am. But we didn't do this. But I'm sorry, for, well, a lot of things. Just come get me soon please, I want to go home.."
"I'm on my way son," Jack said as he tried to calm his voice. He could hear the fear in Tim's voice. The fear he could tell Tim desperately wanted to hide from him.
Dick also heard the fear in Tim's voice. He closed his eyes as he silently prayed to wake up from this nightmare.
The guards came into the room, removing the handcuffs, as they saw the phone calls were finished. As Dick and Tim were led from the room, two gray-clad officers approached Detective Jacobs. Dick recognized their uniforms. His eyes widened at the realization. He hadn't even thought of this. They were obviously here for Tim.
"Detective Jacobs," asked one of the guards, "we're from JDC. You have a prisoner for us?"
"Tim Drake, right here," Jacobs said as he pointed at Tim.
"Drake, you come with us," the guard stated.
"Wha...what?" Tim looked at Dick, his eyes wide. He wanted to stay with Dick. Well, he really wanted to go home, but while he was here, the only comfort he had was being with his "older brother". He looked at Dick, whose ashen face and closed eyes, only heightened Tim's panic. "What's going on?"
"Tim, you're going to have to go with them. You can't stay with me," Dick said calmly.
"Why?"
"Because of your age."
"But, but...that means we aren't going to be able to stay together."
"Yeah. They're going to send you to JDC."
"That's where you were," Tim said.
Detective Jacobs ears perked up at this. Grayson had been in Juvenile Detention. That's something worth investigating further.
"Yeah," Dick responded. "Look, it's not the best in the world, but it's better than jail."
"It is jail! Kid jail. Same thing."
"Not exactly," Dick said in a calm voice. "Look, your dad'll be here soon. Don't worry about anything." As Dick finished saying the words, Gotham's newest prosecutor Peter Reynolds walked into the room. Dick recognized him from his election campaign. Bruce had been a big supporter of Reynolds. Oh God, Dick thought, Bruce HAD BEEN a big supporter of Reynolds.
"Jacobs," Reynolds said, "Is this Drake?" he asked pointing to Tim.
"Yes."
Dick watched as Reynolds handed some white sheets of paper to Jacobs, "Serve him with these before he goes to JDC."
Jacobs took the papers and promptly handed them to Tim. Tim looked down at the documents without understanding what he read.
"What is it Tim?" Dick asked. He tried to approach, but the guards blocked his way.
"I don't know."
"What's it say at the very top?" Dick asked. He was no lawyer, but he had learned a few things at the police academy.
"A motion to transfer to Superior Court and to treat Juvenile as an adult," Tim said reading the top of the first page and then moving to the second page he continued, "Motion for Rule 24 Conference."
Dick felt like he had been hit in the gut. He turned to Reynolds, "Rule 24 conference. For him? He's just a kid! He's only sixteen years old!"
"If he can commit murder with you Grayson, he can be treated just like you," Reynolds replied walking over to Dick. "So you know what a Rule 24 conference is. Good, because we've scheduled yours for Monday."
"We haven't done anything. Why are you doing this to --"
"To you? Is that what you're going to ask? Bruce Wayne was a friend of mine," Reynolds replied angrily. "He was a good guy who deserved better than this. He did not deserve to have the little street urchin he adopted murder him for his money."
Dick could see Reynolds was truly upset. He could tell he genuinely liked Bruce. That kept Dick from being angry with the man. If they could just see they were making a mistake about Tim and him. Dick's head was spinning. So much was happening so fast. Too fast.
"Dick, what's this mean?"
Dick turned and looked into Tim's innocent young eyes. God, how did he tell him this? But he had to, he couldn't let him find out from someone else. "Tim, if they win the first motion you'll be tried with me rather than in juvenile court and you'll be transferred back here to the adult jail, if you're not already out on bond," Dick said knowing the likelihood of that happening now was slim to none. "Rule 24 means the State's going to ask the Court to make our cases death penalty cases."
Tim listened to Dick. But he knew he couldn't be hearing him right, "Death penalty cases? Do you mean that they'd be ..."
"Asking for the death penalty as punishment." Dick finished Tim's sentence.
"No," Tim said weakly as the realization of this situation really hit him. He started for Dick, but the guards grabbed him. Dick tore his arm away from the guard holding him and went to Tim, pushing the guards out of his way. Tim clutched to Dick as he whispered, "No. Dick, this is crazy. We've got to get out of here."
To be continued
