This story is inspired by the "Birds of Prey Virtual Season." All characters are Copyright (c) 2403 DC Comics.
Chapter Three: Dick Grayson Private Investigations
Dick ran downstairs, flipping the light-switch near the bottom of the stairwell as he passed. He paused for a moment and gazed around the office to see that all was in its place. It was just as he left it.
Like the apartment upstairs, the P.I. office was bare bones; there was a bookcase made of dark brown hardwood, filled with law books, encyclopedias, reference books, and the like. Two tall potted ferns stood on either side of the bookcase, like deciduous sentinels. Against the same wall was a small desk and chair, a computer with modem sat atop it. The computer was deceptively out-dated; it was there for looks, but was wired directly into the Aerie's mainframe. There were two client chairs against the opposite wall. Above them hung Dick's Private Investigator Certificate and Police Academy Diploma. Various pictures were hung next to those, all framed under glass, like the documents; photos of Dick at his Police Academy graduation, one of him shaking hands with Bruce Wayne (just to impress certain clients), and pictures of Dick when he was still on the Bludhaven PD (to impress other clients). A lonely coat rack stood close to the office entrance. Also along the wall was a door to the client restroom.
Towards the back of the office, near the stairwell, was Dick's desk, a large wooden desk, scuffed by use and years. Mounted to the ceiling above the desk was a working ceiling fan, nearly useless with the building's central air, but a design point nonetheless. In front of the desk was a single client chair, cushier than the other two, and newer. Opposite that on the other side of the desk was Dick's own chair, cushioned as well, but the rest hardwood construction, with a swivel base that came straight down, then branched into four supports, a wheel on each. There was a rack of three hooks mounted on the wall behind the chair; one hook sat empty, the next held Dick's fedora, rarely worn, yet part of the private eye fantasy that Dick wanted to maintain.
The final hook held Dick's gun; an old .45 Beretta in a worn leather, belt holster. It was issued to Dick when he joined the police force, and though he knew his job required it, he always had detested the weapon. Bruce's parents were killed by a man with a gun, and in a way, it had ended the life of young Bruce Wayne as well; the Batman was born then, as a fire of vengeance in the heart of an eight-year-old. Dick once made the mistake of pulling the gun on Batman when he mistook him for an intruder in his apartment. He only had the weapon drawn to keep up appearances, but regretted the decision immediately. He had the barrel of the weapon plugged long ago, rendering it inoperative, but useful to reassure clients.
Along the same wall behind the desk was a liquor cabinet, with glass doors encasing the bottles inside. This was once again a part of the image; Dick didn't drink, so the bottles were empties filled with water, and watered down tea. A file cabinet made up the rest of the wall. Most of Dick's case files were stored electronically on the Aerie's mainframe, but like most of the office, the cabinet was all about appearances.
The door buzzer droned again, like an angry bee, a different sound all together than the tone that sounded upstairs. Dick threw the Pixie Stick case onto the desk. He then headed to the door and unlocked it, flipping the "open" sign around in the process.
At the top of the stairs leading from the sidewalk stood Lucy Scrawnhart. She was dressed much different from what Dick had seen the night before; her makeup was toned down and she wore a bandage on her right cheek from where T-Cool had slapped her, the edges of the purple welt slightly visible around the gauze. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and cleaner than the previous evening.
Her eyes were brighter as well; much nearer the blue they once must have been when she was innocent. Rings under her eyes and the slightly pained look she wore told of the hangover she must have been experiencing after a night of drunken revelry.
She wore a plain purple button-up blouse, long sleeved. A pair of jeans adorned her shapely legs, tight, perhaps too tight against her thighs. Working clothes, thought Dick. She wore an old pair of brown leather cowboy boots on her feet, the tops hidden by the jean cuffs. She smelled vaguely of perfume, rose-scented perhaps, a smell not at all uninviting to Dick. Barbara used to wear a similar fragrance. Lucy clutched a small brown leather purse between her hands, the strap hanging down, touching the concrete of the top step. Between the index and thumb of her right hand she clutched Dick's P.I. business card, the laminated one given to her by Nightwing the night before.
"May I help you?" asked Dick, feigning ignorance of the reason for her presence.
Lucy looked at her feet unsure, then back up to Dick, her eyes meeting his. Showered and rested from the tribulations of the night before, Dick could see the stunning beauty that was once there, and was taken by it, against his better judgment. Dick had been single by choice since he and Barbara had split. Sure he dated, but they usually were one night affairs, never intimate, never physical. Dick's heart was once so dedicated to Barbara that he could never fathom ever being with anyone else. He had also made a promise to himself long ago never get involved with clients.
"I..." Lucy trailed off. She looked back down to the card, then held it up to Dick, their eyes connecting once again. "Someone last night gave this card to me, and told me to see this man."
Dick took the card, and looked at it, as if trying to recognize it.
"Yep, it's one of mine," he finally replied, handing the card back to Lucy. "What can I do for you, miss --?"
"Lulu," replied Lucy after a beat. Dick cocked his head to the side.
"Lulu? As in the comic book character Little Lulu?" he asked.
"Uh..." trailed Lucy again. Dick smiled.
"C'mon in. Tell me why you've come."
Dick ushered Lucy inside, closing the door behind. Lucy walked cautiously in, surveying the room, while keeping her back hunched. Like a scared animal, thought Dick. He showed Lucy to the client chair in front of his desk, and then sat in his own. Lucy sat in the chair, cautiously looking around again, still clutching her purse tight between her two hands, Dick's card still in her right. Dick waited a moment, placed an elbow on the edge of the desk, and then rested his chin in his palm. He looked thoughtfully at Lucy a beat, and then spoke.
"Lulu," he began, "why don't you tell me where you got my card."
Lucy's eyes met with Dick's once more, and he saw focus again take hold. She frowned briefly, then placed the card on the table and stared at it.
"God, I don't know if it was all a dream or not," she said, shaking her head, frowning again. Tears began to form in her eyes. She cupped her nose and mouth with her hands, her breath shuddering. "Christ, it was more like a nightmare." Lucy began to sob softly. Dick opened up a desk drawer and pulled out a box of tissues, and walked around the other side of the desk to her. He half-sat on the top of the desk, one foot touching the floor, the other a foot or so above it pressed to the vertical surface. Dick took a single tissue from the package and handed it to Lucy, then placed the box on the desk. Lucy dabbed under her eyes with the tissue, attempting to stem the flow of the tears.
"Shhh," whispered Dick calmly. "Take a moment, then tell me everything." Lucy breathed in, trying to reign in her emotions. She exhaled long, then looked up to Dick again, her eyes red from the tears.
"Okay..." Lucy whispered. She related the story of last night to Dick, from leaving the bar, to meeting up with T-Cool, to the stranger showing up. Dick knew most of the story, but listened along to maintain his identity.
Dick had become an expert liar over the years. The job demanded it. Sometimes even friends and loved ones would be lied to, to hide his other identity, and sometimes for their own safety. Lucy would never be able to connect Nightwing and Dick; Dick used a lower voice when he spoke as Nightwing. It was a raspy baritone similar to Batman's, but slightly higher. Dick always wore baggy clothing, slightly too large for him, to hide his strong and muscular frame. He slicked his hair back when Nightwing, but parted it on the side when Dick. Between that and the mask covering most of the upper half of his face, it was hard to see the similarities between he and the black-clad vigilante.
Lucy finally finished her tale, ending on the overnight hospital stay for observation. She was released a couple of hours ago, and then went back to her place to change and shower. She took another half hour before finally getting up the courage to locate Dick's office.
Lucy stopped and sighed. Dick sat and pondered for a moment what she had said, Lucy sitting in silence, the shaking in her breathing now gone. Lucy looked up, eyeing the liquor cabinet.
"May I?" she asked, getting to her feet, as she placed her purse on the desk. A few items fell out of the open top of the purse and spread on the desk. Dick turned to pile them up to shove back into her purse, as Lucy made a beeline for the liquor cabinet.
"Whoa, wait, you might wanna-" Dick started.
"Thanks," said Lucy absently, as she opened the glass doors of the cabinet. She took a shot glass from the display and a bottle of Scotch.
"Wouldn't you like a bottle of Coke or a Mountain Dew or something-" began Dick. Lucy removed the top of the bottle, placed it aside, and poured some of the translucent brownish liquid into the glass. She took a swig before Dick could stop her. She held it in her mouth for a second, her eyes growing wide. Lucy spat it out forcefully a moment later, misting the bottles in a brownish spray. Dick bit his lip.
"Holy crap!" shouted Lucy, wiping her mouth, her face bunched up in disgust. "What the hell is that stuff?"
Dick ran a hand through his hair timidly.
"The Scotch?" he started. "Oh, probably a tea, coffee, and water blend." He walked over in front of the cabinet, taking the glass from Lucy and placing it inside the display, "Scotch" still in the bottom of it. He closed the glass doors, and showed Lucy back to her seat.
"It's all for show, the bottles in there." Dick said, handing Lucy another tissue for her mouth. "I don't drink," he said, taking his seat behind the desk again. He had a mini-fridge built into one of the bottom drawers of his desk. Dick slid it open and pulled out a bottle of Coke, and handed it to Lucy. She took it and unscrewed the top quickly. She drank a large mouthful and swallowed.
"Thanks," she said wiping her mouth again. She turned her attention to the spilt contents of her purse. She looked up to Dick as she began to place items back in her bag. Dick took a nip of water from the bottle he had taken out of the fridge-drawer for himself. He made eye contact with Lucy again, her blue eyes the brightest they had been yet.
"You're an odd one, aren't you, Dick Grayson, the Private... Dick," she coyly smiled. Ah, gawd, thought Dick, not the 'Dick Grayson, Private Dick' jabs again. He had heard them a million times before. I really have to get my business cards to read 'Richard John Grayson, Private Investigator.' She is smiling, though, thought Dick, admiring her rosy lips, so there is that. Dick returned her smile.
"Odd?" Dick grinned. "Lulu, if you only knew." Lucy smiled wider. Dick placed his bottle on the desk and stood.
"Now about your case," he began.
"It's not my case," Lucy interjected. "I was just told to come here by the Masked Marvel."
"Nightwing," Dick stated. No harm in telling her that, he thought. I did say Nightwing trusted Dick Grayson.
"What?"
"Nightwing," Dick said again, turning toward his picture wall, admiring his P.I. license for no particular reason. "That's what he calls himself."
"Nightwing then," said Lucy, shifting in her chair slightly. "This isn't my case, and I certainly am not paying you for anything. I was just told by this Nightwing to come here and tell you how the gangs are run, though I'm not sure why." She looked down at her legs. "God, if they knew I was talking to anyone who used to be a cop --"
"They?" questioned Dick, turning back towards Lucy. "Who's 'they?'" Lucy looked up to Dick again.
"The gang lords, hell, any of the gang members," she stated. "The more powerful lords might have some of the Bludhaven PD in the palm of their hand, but it doesn't mean they like snitches."
Dick walked over to Lucy with his hands in his pockets, and leaned a hip against the desk.
"Nightwing and I have a history," he began. "We owe each-other favors. Since I was on the Bludhaven police force, I've wanted to take down all the organized crime in this city. Yeah sure, a rookie cop fantasy, but one that I've kept even 'till now. Through my interaction with Nightwing, I've learned more and more about the power structure of crime in the city, and with his help, I've been able to knock some of that structure to the ground. Nightwing can't be everywhere at once, so I play eyes and ears for him at times. He sent you to me because he thinks you know something that can help us, and I think I know where he was going with that."
Dick crouched down by Lucy, and met her eyes. The scent of roses was strong now, and Dick fought to ignore it.
"Lulu, what do you do for a living?" he asked softly. It was an answer he already knew, but part of the game nevertheless. Lucy remained silent, looking blankly into Dick's eyes. He went on.
"You're a prostitute, aren't you?"
Lucy frowned slightly and nodded.
"Yes," she said in a near-inaudible whisper.
"Who is your man Lulu? Who's your pimp?"
Lucy was quiet again. She looked as if she might cry. Dick continued.
"Is it C-Dogg?"
A single tear ran down Lucy's cheek. Lucy nodded slightly again. Dick put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"He's an informant of Nightwing's, and Nightwing has lost contact with him. Lulu, where is C-Dogg?"
At that, Lucy's face scrunched up, more tears escaping her eyes. She stood with a start, leaving Dick crouched.
"I... I can't do this," she sobbed. She picked up her purse and walked towards the door. Dick got up and started after her. Lucy opened the door and descended the stairs to the sidewalk quickly, Dick close behind. Lucy reached the corner and tried to flag down a cab. Dick grabbed her by a shoulder and turned her around.
"You can trust me," he stated. Lucy shook her head.
"No, you don't understand, " she cried. "They'll kill me. I can't do this!" Lucy broke away and waved at a cab again, calling out. The yellow cab slowed and pulled to the curb. Lucy opened the back door and got in. Dick grabbed the top of the door to prevent her from shutting it.
"Please Lulu, I can get you protection, I can --"
"No you CAN'T!" she shouted through her tears. She wiped her face with her hand, brushing some of the wet drops away. The cab driver turned and looked at Dick.
"I don't know what's goin' on here buddy," he stated "but the lady is tellin' you to scram, so why don't you --"
"You're right, you don't know what's going on," Dick stated glaring at him. Dick turned back to Lucy. "Please Lulu..."
"I'm sorry Mr. Grayson," said Lucy sadly. "I'm sorry I wasted your time." She pulled the door closed. Dick frowned, but made no attempt to stop her. Lucy turned to the driver and nodded, and the cab pulled away from the curb. Dick watched it take a right at the next intersection and disappear.
"Dammit," stated Dick, staring toward the corner where the cab turned. Dick ran a hand through his hair in frustration. I'll have to locate her on my own, he thought. Someone like Lucy in the paranoid state that she was in wouldn't necessarily have a home address on record anywhere. He'd have to search through the net, and pound the pavement.
Dick was about to turn to go back into the office, when he heard an engine start and rev into motion. He looked towards the sound and saw a black Chevy Suburban start down the street quickly. The vehicle's windows were tinted near black, and the car had temporary tags. It screeched around the corner where Lucy's cab had disappeared moments earlier. Dick could hear as the vehicle sped down that street.
Oh, damn, Dick thought. I have to get to her now.
He ran back towards the office.