Hero's Blood
Chapter Seven
Thomas was at work when the call came in. He'd only recently opened his practice, thinking that the winter months would be a good time, given the decrease in crime.
"Dr. Wayne, there's a call for you." His assistant said through the office door.
"I'll take it on my office extension, Emily, thank you."
He picked up the receiver and cradled it on his shoulder as he continued his paperwork.
"This is Dr. Thomas Wayne."
"Doctor Wayne. this is Gertrude Ellingson, do you remember me?"
"Of course I do, Ms. Ellingson. I spoke with you when I left Joan and Johnny Napier in your care at the Mercy Street Children's Home. How are they, by the way?"
"That's why I'm calling, sir. you see, we'd been meaning to call you sooner, given your interest in the children, but we had assumed that she had just run away of her own free will. it happens so often."
Thomas stopped what he was doing and his voice changed its timbre oh- so-slightly, becoming something a bit closer to the harsh voice of the Gray Ghost.
"What's happened, tell me."
"Little Joan just wasn't happy, we thought. We sent word to the police, thinking they might be able to find her, but they never did. But then when Johnny went missing too."
She related to him how Joan and Johnny Napier had both gone missing in the last week, and how the police didn't seem to be able to do anything, or that they seemed to have more important things to worry about than two runaway children. She thought that maybe he'd be able to influence the police to try harder. They were such small children, she said, verging on tears.
"I'll do whatever is in my power, Ms. Ellingson, I assure you. Please, call me if anything else happens."
He snatched his overcoat from the coat rack as he strode from the office, offhandedly informing Emily that any more appointments would have to be rescheduled. His car was already waiting for him at the curb as he left the building, Winifred at the wheel.
"Police headquarters, please, Winifred. And as quickly as you can."
The towering architecture of Gotham was evidenced, better than most places, in Gotham's Police headquarters, a fifty-story edifice that bespoke man's technical brilliance and the all-too-apparent self-aggrandizing image that the department had bestowed upon itself. He was barely inside before meeting with the first signs of incompetence and resistance.
"I'm sorry, sir, but something like this really should go through social services."
"Officer, I would ask you to understand the seriousness of this. There are two small children lost, perhaps abducted, on these streets right now. The temperature outside is approximately five degrees below zero, and neither of them is older than ten. What more do you need to know?"
"Well, you could start with why I should care."
The quiet fury boiled within Thomas Wayne as he glared at the smug face of the officer. He kept it in check, however, as he leaned over the desk and growled.
"Some day, a man like you will get what is due him." The officer's face paled a bit at the intensity in Thomas' eyes. "You had better hope I am able to find those children." Turning, he stalked away, his fury eased only slightly by the knowledge that he had slipped a powerful laxative into the officer's coffee. The man would not be having a pleasant day. Clearly, though the police were going to be of no help. Gotham's organized crime might be in hiding for the winter, but The Gray Ghost was going to have his work cut out for him anyway.
That night, he stood in the alleyway that passed behind the Gotham Garden Theater, dressed in his "working" clothes. Somewhere, he knew, there must be a clue. A box office clerk had seen a boy matching Johnny's description dart into this alley, and that was the last trace of the boy that he had been able to locate. Few eyes besides those of a trained physician would have noticed the speck of red near a trashcan that stood near the backstage door. Careful to make as little noise as possible, he slipped closer and retrieved the scarf. A quick sniff revealed that he had, indeed met with foul play. It didn't take a doctor to recognize the telltale odor of chloroform. That still gave him no clues to whom had taken the boy. Casting his gaze around, his eyes settled on a small piece of rubber in the center of the alley. He picked it up with a pair of tweezers and tucked it into his cloak for examination. After a few more minutes, he realized that there was little else for him to find, so he climbed behind the wheel of The Car and drove off.
Back in the warehouse, Thomas put the rubber under a microscope and smiled a bit. It was what he'd hoped for, his first lead. This particular tire had been made using a special process that had only just recently been patented by a company operating right in Gotham. He recognized it because he had ordered the Car's tires from that same manufacturer. The tires were designed to have an unusually high level of traction at high speeds, which let the car using them corner exceptionally well, and reduced the chances of "peeling out", which drew notice from anyone nearby. He used them for the same reasons he guessed the driver of this car had. Their superb traction and silence lent themselves to a quick and quiet getaway, a necessity for a vigilante.
"Or someone wanting to get away with a small child without being noticed."
The tires were expensive, and there were few people who knew about them as yet, since the firm had decided to limit themselves to a small clientele. That meant two things. One, that there would be a record of who had purchased these tires and, two, that whoever had purchased them had access to funds.
"It looks like the bears are out of hibernation. Time to go hunting."
Chapter Seven
Thomas was at work when the call came in. He'd only recently opened his practice, thinking that the winter months would be a good time, given the decrease in crime.
"Dr. Wayne, there's a call for you." His assistant said through the office door.
"I'll take it on my office extension, Emily, thank you."
He picked up the receiver and cradled it on his shoulder as he continued his paperwork.
"This is Dr. Thomas Wayne."
"Doctor Wayne. this is Gertrude Ellingson, do you remember me?"
"Of course I do, Ms. Ellingson. I spoke with you when I left Joan and Johnny Napier in your care at the Mercy Street Children's Home. How are they, by the way?"
"That's why I'm calling, sir. you see, we'd been meaning to call you sooner, given your interest in the children, but we had assumed that she had just run away of her own free will. it happens so often."
Thomas stopped what he was doing and his voice changed its timbre oh- so-slightly, becoming something a bit closer to the harsh voice of the Gray Ghost.
"What's happened, tell me."
"Little Joan just wasn't happy, we thought. We sent word to the police, thinking they might be able to find her, but they never did. But then when Johnny went missing too."
She related to him how Joan and Johnny Napier had both gone missing in the last week, and how the police didn't seem to be able to do anything, or that they seemed to have more important things to worry about than two runaway children. She thought that maybe he'd be able to influence the police to try harder. They were such small children, she said, verging on tears.
"I'll do whatever is in my power, Ms. Ellingson, I assure you. Please, call me if anything else happens."
He snatched his overcoat from the coat rack as he strode from the office, offhandedly informing Emily that any more appointments would have to be rescheduled. His car was already waiting for him at the curb as he left the building, Winifred at the wheel.
"Police headquarters, please, Winifred. And as quickly as you can."
The towering architecture of Gotham was evidenced, better than most places, in Gotham's Police headquarters, a fifty-story edifice that bespoke man's technical brilliance and the all-too-apparent self-aggrandizing image that the department had bestowed upon itself. He was barely inside before meeting with the first signs of incompetence and resistance.
"I'm sorry, sir, but something like this really should go through social services."
"Officer, I would ask you to understand the seriousness of this. There are two small children lost, perhaps abducted, on these streets right now. The temperature outside is approximately five degrees below zero, and neither of them is older than ten. What more do you need to know?"
"Well, you could start with why I should care."
The quiet fury boiled within Thomas Wayne as he glared at the smug face of the officer. He kept it in check, however, as he leaned over the desk and growled.
"Some day, a man like you will get what is due him." The officer's face paled a bit at the intensity in Thomas' eyes. "You had better hope I am able to find those children." Turning, he stalked away, his fury eased only slightly by the knowledge that he had slipped a powerful laxative into the officer's coffee. The man would not be having a pleasant day. Clearly, though the police were going to be of no help. Gotham's organized crime might be in hiding for the winter, but The Gray Ghost was going to have his work cut out for him anyway.
That night, he stood in the alleyway that passed behind the Gotham Garden Theater, dressed in his "working" clothes. Somewhere, he knew, there must be a clue. A box office clerk had seen a boy matching Johnny's description dart into this alley, and that was the last trace of the boy that he had been able to locate. Few eyes besides those of a trained physician would have noticed the speck of red near a trashcan that stood near the backstage door. Careful to make as little noise as possible, he slipped closer and retrieved the scarf. A quick sniff revealed that he had, indeed met with foul play. It didn't take a doctor to recognize the telltale odor of chloroform. That still gave him no clues to whom had taken the boy. Casting his gaze around, his eyes settled on a small piece of rubber in the center of the alley. He picked it up with a pair of tweezers and tucked it into his cloak for examination. After a few more minutes, he realized that there was little else for him to find, so he climbed behind the wheel of The Car and drove off.
Back in the warehouse, Thomas put the rubber under a microscope and smiled a bit. It was what he'd hoped for, his first lead. This particular tire had been made using a special process that had only just recently been patented by a company operating right in Gotham. He recognized it because he had ordered the Car's tires from that same manufacturer. The tires were designed to have an unusually high level of traction at high speeds, which let the car using them corner exceptionally well, and reduced the chances of "peeling out", which drew notice from anyone nearby. He used them for the same reasons he guessed the driver of this car had. Their superb traction and silence lent themselves to a quick and quiet getaway, a necessity for a vigilante.
"Or someone wanting to get away with a small child without being noticed."
The tires were expensive, and there were few people who knew about them as yet, since the firm had decided to limit themselves to a small clientele. That meant two things. One, that there would be a record of who had purchased these tires and, two, that whoever had purchased them had access to funds.
"It looks like the bears are out of hibernation. Time to go hunting."