ROBIN and all related characters, names and indicia are TM & © DC Comics 2004. Story by Chuck Dixon, novella adaptation by Ice Spectre.
Rated PG
"TRIUMPH OVER TRAGEDY" - Good Doggie
"During this morning's rush hour, the traffic lights went crazy and we had gridlock and fender benders all over town. Release orders came down for a few dozen prisoners being held over for trial in city lock-up. Most of them were let out before the error was discovered. Phones are ringing all over town. When you pick up, you get a tape loop of The Joker laughing. Power to hospitals had been cut. The homeless shelters are filling. The police are at half strength. On top of that, we have a major storm system looking to dump two feet of snow on us in the next forty-eight hours. I've called the governor for help, and we're going to declare Gotham City a disaster area."
There was nothing Commissioner Gordon could say to Mayor Hill's announcement. After all, what could they do? They were powerless. Completely powerless.
It's time I started acting and stopped re-acting. I'm supposed to be a detective.
I'm on top of that four-story apartment building above Osgood Pellinger's house. It's already started to snow. Pellinger's house has been dark since that night, when The Joker nabbed him right under my nose. I might have missed something. Something that might lead me to Pellinger and The Joker.
I swing down to the front walk and climb through the yellow "crime scene" tape into the house. Furniture is covered with white sheets, boxes are packed and left in the hall. A layer of dust covers everything downstairs. It's like no one's lived here for years. Dr. Pellinger's office is on the second floor. I climb the steps. The upstairs looks lived in enough. Pellinger sure is a packrat for books, they're stacked up everywhere, no bookshelves are empty, and there's more of them stacked along the walls and in the corners.
His bedroom is just a desk, a cot, and more books. Nice old place like this, and he stayed in just a few rooms. A lonely man who lived only through his work. I don't see anything here that tells me who Osgood Pellinger is.
Three hours of searching and I don't find anything here that helps me. Pretty lame idea of mine.
Wait. What's this?
There's a shoebox on a high shelf in his closet. It's wrapped round with half a dozen rubber bands. I take the box down and pull off the rubber bands. It's full of photos and a dog collar. The collar is red and says "Pixie". The photos are all of a kid and a dog. The kid could be Pellinger. It certainly looks like him. The back of the photo has writing on it. Let's see, it says, "Ozzie and Pixie, summer house, '61". This could be something. But I have no idea what. Hm. I'll just take one of these with me. He'll never miss it.
"Clear this area! I want a one-block perimeter! NOW! Use those trucks to block the streets!" the bomb squad leader called from the top of City Hall's steps. People dressed in black and wearing helmets rushed around carrying out his orders.
Men poured into the building and civilians poured out. "Clear this floor! This is not a drill! We need this floor evacuated NOW!" cried one of the men into a megaphone.
"Which way to the Mayor's office?" another man demanded of a nervous- looking clerk who was pushed aside in the hallway.
"Thuh- thuh- that way," the clerk pointed, trembling.
"Mister Mayor, where's the gizmo?" the squad leader called to the Mayor who was standing outside his office.
"On my secretary's desk. It came with the morning mail."
Hill's secretary stood next to him, a young blonde woman in her mid-twenties, looking a little shaken, but only a little. Hill had that nerves-of-steel look on his face.
"Fletch! Set up a perimeter! I'm on one-oh. You're slack man, Ricci."
"Yo!" Ricci yelled and got behind the leader. Fletch jogged back down the hall.
"We thought it looked suspicious," Hill explained as the men scrutinized the brown cardboard box wrapped in twine and addressed in black permanent marker as "To Hizzoner".
"You did the right thing, sir. But maybe you'd better get to someplace safe," Ricci was backing Hill down the hall.
"There's no place in Gotham like that, son," Hill said. He would stand outside the door, but would not leave the vicinity. He shooed his secretary down the hall past Perimeter Man Fletch.
"Okay," the leader whispered, delicately as if not to set the bomb off with loud words, "let's see what we got here..."
He carefully slit one of the pieces of twine.
The box burst open with a loud popping sound.
"WHOA!"
The squad leader and Ricci fell backwards away from the box.
It was a jack-in-the-box with a Joker-like head on top. The head was bouncing on a spring and it had a hand that held a rolled up piece of paper in it. I bounced slightly and innocently. Everyone else was silent. No one had breathed yet.
"Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy..." Ricci muttered, still trying to regain the strength in his legs.
Squad leader was up and crawling back towards the box. Stupid trick.
"Now what?" Hill had reentered his office upon hearing the yells. He pulled the paper from the jack-in-the-box's hand. It was a Christmas Wish List from The Joker. "My aching butt."
You'd think the Commissioner would keep a closer eye on us with our tendency to appear and disappear, but he knows I won't leave until I have all the information I came for. His back is to me, he's sitting at his desk riffling through papers.
"He's made his demands clear. He wants the cash loaded into a tractor trailer. A red one. He want the truck's radio turned to a frequency he'll communicate to us later."
He stands and turns to face me. I'm here, listening.
"He says if his directions aren't followed to the letter, his next prank will kill hundreds."
"And he wants Batman to be driving the truck," that's the main issue I'm concerned about here. How can I provide Batman?
"That, too. The Joker wants a billion dollars and a face-to-face with Batman. Neither one is possible."
"He knows that." I watch Gordon pace over to the window and stare out.
"This snow would be beautiful if not for all the trouble it's causing us."
"I think I might have a way of finding out where The Joker's hidden cold room is. But we have to draw him out. We'll use the cash and Batman as a lure. Your men will raid the hideout and I'll face The Joker." Face him and then what? Get killed? Yeah, probably. But with any luck, I can take The Joker with me.
"I can't place the fate of this entire city in the hands of an adolescent."
Ouch!
"Besides, you've only narrowly escaped death at the hands of The Joker twice now. He'll be expecting you this time."
Hey!
"If Batman were here--"
"He's not! You know, he didn't pick my name out of a hat for this job! I earned it! I'm not going to be the next Robin to fall victim to The Joker!" I wish I felt as brave as those words sound. But his words were painful. I'm doing all that I can. I can't sit by and wait for Gotham to die because I'm helpless without Batman. I can't. I've got to save this city.
It's not even that Gordon's looking out for me, really. He's just afraid I'm some dumb kid and I'll foul it up. Got to prove him wrong.
Right now, I've got to go home. I'm exhausted and grouchy. I've got to sleep and think of a way to get Batman to deliver a billion dollars to The Joker. In a red truck.