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Chicken
"How much?"
"What do you like to do?"
"I'd like to do you, pretty-boy." He was a beauty; slender but strong, dark hair and even with the light from a street lamp, astonishingly blue eyes, no more than fifteen or so—he was a walking wet dream.
"Two hundred and you pay for a room if that's your thing."
"Get in."
"You got the money?"
"I'm not going to cheat you, pretty-boy, it's right here." He held up a couple of bills so the boy could see them.
The boy was wearing a worn pair of tight jeans, ripped in all the right places and a white tee shirt that looked about two sizes too small, every muscle and angle of his body was on display. He was just standing there on a street corner in the dock district of Gotham, cruising for a 'date' for the night's pay. He was well built and didn't look like he'd been around all that long—after a while the boys on the street all developed a hard look, a cynicism this kid didn't seem to have. The kid was probably just starting in the business—could have been a runaway from the usual troubled home—just what the man was looking for.
Walking a couple of feet closer to the car the kid pulled his hand out of his pocket. Looking like he was about to open the car door; there was a police badge in the standard leather wallet.
"You're under arrest for solicitation of a minor. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney…" The man's face went white; this was a whole lot more shit that he had bargained for; his foot shifted off the brake pedal.
"Don't even think about it." Seeing the kid—the damn cop—glance at a blue sedan fifty feet away, the man turned the ignition off.
The young cop glanced into the SUV the fifty-something year old john was driving. There was kids sports equipment on back seat and a briefcase on the passenger seat. He was wearing a business suit and tie and looked like anyone you'd see at a kid's suburban hockey game on any Saturday.
The back up officers got out of their parked car and took the man into custody while Robin went back to work. They had been told that he was just a young looking cop from another precinct across town and did this sort of thing all the time because of he didn't look his age. They even actually believed that he was twenty-one
It was nine o'clock on a Wednesday night and he had to be quitting soon; he had homework to finish and then Batman would want to start the regular patrol.
He thought his ward was spending his evenings at rehearsal for his school play.
"How did it go tonight?"
"Hmm? Oh, fine, no problem."
"You said you were having trouble with the monologue in the second act—you nail that yet?"
"Yeah, sure. No problem."
"Then let's go; I heard that Joker might have some plans this week…"
Two days later Robin was at the Tower, hanging with his friends after a fairly routine assignment. They'd been asked to make their presence known during the baseball playoffs on the other side of the city as there had been a rumor of possible teenaged gang activity, but it hadn't happened and now it was Friday night, movie night, and they were kicking back.
"I can't believe you still haven't told him, Grayson—he finds out and your ass is gonna be such complete grass…Pass me another slice of pepperoni, will you?"
"I've already told you, he's not going to find out, Harper. There's no reason for him to deal with this and as long as I don't do anything really stupid, it'll be fine."
Donna sat down between the two of them, probably intentionally. "But I don't see why you have to keep it such a big secret from Bruce, Robbie, I really don't. It's not like he doesn't know about vice busts or anything."
Robin took another drink from his soda. "He has this major thing about vice and kids—the whole pedophile thing really just makes him nuts. I think he's afraid someone will go too far with me and I'll be hurt or traumatized or something. Every time Commissioner Gordon asks him about it he gets really pissed."
"Like if someone got a handful of your goodies you'd be messed up for life or something?" Roy was looking at him harder than the bad joke seemed to warrant.
"Something like that, but they don't get too close usually. I'm just on a sidewalk and they talk to me from their car. It's really not a big deal."
Garth was sitting across the room, reading, separate from the group, as usual. "It's illegal for an adult to have sex with a minor here?"
"Below sixteen or so, depending on what state you're in, yeah—it isn't in Atlantis?" Something else they'd never thought to ask Garth—he and Tula had been together since they were about thirteen and no one seemed to care, so maybe things were different there.
His answer was a little distracted. "…Oh, yes, of course." He stopped for a moment, seemingly finished but then added; "I suppose that it's simply that our life expectancy isn't as long as on the surface, but the age is younger—it's illegal below the age of eleven. After that, so long as it's consensual it's all right."
Roy looked up at that. "You're life expectancy is shorter than ours?"
They'd had this conversation before, about how Garth seemed older than he was because, relatively speaking, he was older than the others were with decades less time to look forward to. The others just looked at Roy since he didn't always pay attention all that well. Anyone who had a reason to care knew that the Altans usually didn't make it much past forty—and they only lasted that long if they were lucky. Robin was the one to break the awkward silence. "Roy—when you get a chance? Buy yourself a clue."
Wally got back from wherever he'd run off to a few minutes before. "So how come the Bat has a problem with you doing this? I mean, if he hates the scum, wouldn't he want you to help stop them?"
"In theory, yeah, but in practice I think he's…"
"Protecting your virtue, young Dick or vice versa?"
"Fuck off, Roy."
Donna seemed more upset by the conversation that Dick would have thought—after all, they did things like this all the time. All right, maybe they didn't do things exactly like this, but they did things that were dangerous every day, practically. "But if one of these men ever, I mean, what if you were cornered or something—you could be…I mean they could…" She couldn't even say it.
"I never go anywhere with any of them, I have police back up right there and you don't really think some scummy guy could really do anything to me that I didn't want, do you?"
"But…"
"It's not a problem, Donna." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I promise."
About three weeks later Bruce and Dick were eating dinner in the small dining room, the one that could only comfortably seat twelve, when Bruce looked over at Dick. This was unusual in and of itself. Most of the time their meals were pretty silent affairs with Bruce either reading the Wall Street Journal or on the phone. "When's that play you're in? Isn't that opening pretty soon now?"
"It's on the twelfth and the thirteenth." There was no play. Dick knew those were dates Bruce was scheduled to be in Europe for meetings with the Wayne VP's for various holdings.
The look Bruce gave him made it clear to Dick that he suspected something wasn't kosher with this. "…That's a shame. I'll be out of the country then."
"Oh…I hadn't realized those were the dates." Dick knew he was a poor liar when he was in front of Bruce. "Maybe someone could tape it or something."
"Yes, maybe." He took a bite of his chicken. "What was the title again? It's slipped my mind."
"Our Town." It was the first thing Dick thought of.
Bruce just nodded and Dick knew he was busted. He would check—that's what he would do and he'd learn that there was no play.
"Do you have a rehearsal this evening?"
"No, not tonight, but I was going over to Tom's to work on a science lab together."
"Tom?"
"My lab partner."
"Where does he live?"
"Near the school. I was just going to take the moped and it shouldn't take too long—maybe a couple of hours or something."
"Do you think you'll be back for patrol tonight or should I plan on going alone?" Bruce was purposely seeing if he'd screw up his story.
"I'll be back by ten, if you can wait till then."
"Shouldn't be a problem."
Dick nodded. "Good, I'll see you then." He was so busted. He was tempted to call the vice guys and let them know that he couldn't make it for a few days, maybe for a couple of weeks, but he knew that would mess them up with no advance warning. Hell—there was no choice; he had to do his thing tonight with the perverts and deal with Bruce when he got back, there was nothing else he could do. They'd been working towards a big bust of a major pimp with a whole stable of boys for almost a month and if they just walked away now…no, he had no choice. "I'll be back in a few hours, Bruce. I'll call if we get delayed, okay?"
"Yes, please do."
He was dressed for the evening's work in loose jeans half way down his butt and another tight tee shirt—sleeveless this time, hands nonchalantly in his pockets and leaning against a lamp post like a chicken on display. This time he wasn't trolling for johns; this time he was expecting bigger fish. He'd been making a point of 'working' in the areas Karl sent his boys and his being there was cutting into business. He'd either be threatened, offered a job or both.
He didn't have long to wait.
A black Mercedes Kompressor pulled up to the curb about five feet away, the window came down and a thirty-something clean-cut executive type looked him up and down then spoke without preamble. "I understand you're the new kid in town—you have friends you work with or do you solo?"
"I work for myself—why? You wanna buy stock in the merchandise?"
"We may be able to do business. Get in."
"What kind of business?"
"The kind that makes money."
"You got any?" He shifted his weight to its best advantage.
The man smiled. "You know who I am?"
Of course he did. The man's name was Karl James. He had a couple of different stables of young boys, all of them minors—one stable was high end, catering to business types, visiting out of town executives and the locals who could afford his prices. His second string were mainly first stringer boys who'd been hard used and no longer fit the image—they spent the remainder of their working lives on the streets. Dick had spent a while that afternoon going over the man's record and memorizing his mug shot. "Someone looking for some fun?"
"C'mon, kid, I'll buy you a free dinner—you look like you could use it."
Dick opened the passenger door and slid in. "Nice car but, y'know—you really don't have to do the whole date/seduction scene; I'm pretty much a sure thing."
"How much you make in a night?—if you don't mind my asking."
Dick knew where this was going, he'd play along. Besides, he knew the back ups were following a block or two behind in case the scum tried anything—not that he'd need the help. "Depends, you know—couple hundred, maybe five or six on a good night."
"That's a decent night's pay—you do anything g stupid with it? You do any drugs?"
"Me? Shit, I'm smarter than that. I quit six months ago."
"Where're your parents? You got family?"
Dick just shrugged in a non-answer.
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen."
They were driving south towards the center of the city. "You look like a nice kid—you get yourself some decent cloths, clean yourself up a little, you could make yourself some real money."
"Like what?"
"A grand a night, minimum."
"For what—a couple of blow jobs?"
They pulled up to one of the better restaurants in the city; a valet took the car, a doorman let them in with a smile and a salute. The restaurant was expensive but understated, exclusive but not the kind of place to make anyone uncomfortable. They were shown to a good table as soon as the Matre'd saw them, Karl welcomed by name.
"Why don't you let me order for you—sorry, you didn't tell me your name." See if the kid would let him take the lead or if he had to be in charge, not a desirable trait in his line of work.
"John."
"I'm Karl. Alright, Johnny—London Broil, baked potato, salad to start and a glass of coke sound good to you?"
"If the steak is medium rare, it sounds okay."
Karl gave the order then sat back and regarded the kid in front of him—he had a body you'd have expected on someone at least five years older than this kid admitted to being, though he could be lying about his age. He was good looking in an almost too pretty way with striking eyes the customers would pay through the nose for and an air of intelligence about him, a sense of self-possession that was a little disconcerting when you came down to it. The kid might not be a malleable as he'd originally hoped. So—he'd see about that. Maybe a little in house training would provide the needed attitude adjustment.
Left alone by the waiter, Karl started to feel the kid out. "So how long you been in this line of work, John?"
Their drinks were placed in front of them. They waited until they could speak in private.
"A year, a year and a half—something like that."
Karl nodded. "Where you been living? You from around here?" Not likely.
"Westchester, up north. One of the towns up there."
"Aren't your parents looking for you?" He gave a half shrug, who knew, who cared—parents, screw 'em. The kid was being cagey, skirting around things, not giving real answers.
"You didn't tell me, where have you been staying?"
"With friends."
"You know, if you play your cards right I might be able to find you a place of your own, maybe with a couple of kids your own age—a nice place, clean, good part of town and with all the amenities."
"Why would you want to do something like that?" Their salads arrived; the kid started eating as soon as his plate hit the table. He was probably hungry.
"Because I think we might be able to do business together. What do you say if I offered you that nice place to live, a decent income and the chance to get yourself off the streets and into some nice warm hotel rooms instead of the back seats of cars and alleys? Plus you'd meet a higher class of people. Interested?"
"A room in a dorm? Pass." He practically sneered as he answered.
"That's not quite what we're talking here, Johnny—We're talking about a duplex in one of the best buildings in the city. You get your own room and there are three other working boys your own age for you to hang out with—nice kids, just like you. You get state of the art liquid TV's, the kitchen's stocked; hell, you even get a cleaning lady once a week."
"I get this for a few butt fucks?"
"...There's a little more to it than that. You get to party with some seriously well-known people, both men and women—people you've seen in the magazines, in the movies. Sometimes they'll ask you up to their hotel room, sometimes they'll want to take you on a vacation to the islands or someplace. You go along and just make sure they have a nice time." He smiled. "You know how to do that, don't you?"
"Maybe—what's your percentage?"
"50-50, thousand dollar minimum per date and you'll have at least one date a night."
"60-40, my favor." The boy was finished with his salad and starting on the bread. "That's to start, after a month, after you see what I can do, it changes to 70-30, my favor—and you'll still make money."
"You got balls, kid, but 55-45 your way is as much as I'll go."
The boy stood up. "In that case, thanks for the salad." The waiter blocked his way, carrying a tray with their dinners.
Karl took advantage of the boy's inability to walk out right at that moment. "Hey, hey, don't be hasty, there. We can talk about this. Sit back down, eat your dinner—smells pretty good from here, Johnny."
A surly look and the boy had regained his seat, the waiter gave them their meals and left. "Look—Karl—I don't need your hand out here. I make decent money on my own and you haven't given me one good reason why I should throw in with you other than that I'd get to hand over half my paycheck to you in exchange for a shared apartment. Screw that."
"Well, then I'll explain some facts of the business to you, boy. You throw in with me and I'll see to it that pretty face of yours stays looking pretty. You join my stable and those oh-so-blue eyes will keep being able to see. You don't piss me off and I'll make sure that hot little ass of yours doesn't end up in a hospital or a dumpster—you follow me, sonny? I'm being nice to you here because you have potential." He spoke nonchalantly, calmly while he cut his steak and buttered his potato. "And since you're being a little unappreciative, we'll start out with the split being 60-40. My way."
Dick looked at the man. He was serious. "You don't mind if I take a day or two to think about this, do you?"
"What kind of businessman would I be if I tried to rush anything? You make up your mind and let me know tomorrow. Fair?"
"Sure." He wasn't all that interested in the food and he needed to be going—Bruce expected him back at the cave by ten at the latest. "You know? I think better after I've put in a good night's work. Later—and thanks for the steak."
He left the restaurant, walked a block north and found the unmarked car with his back up around the corner. "You get all that?" He pulled the tiny microphone out from under his shirt.
"Clear as a bell, my man—you played that gentleman like a violin. That should be enough to nail him—you want to be here when we pull him in?"
"Thanks but no need, Jimmy. I've gotta be going, all right? I'll check in tomorrow in case you need anything else about this, okay?"
"Sure—can we drop you anywhere?"
"Thanks, I'm good. Later."
The car pulled away and Dick started to walk to a parking lot where he could use his phone in private. He'd rather just get back on his own without having to explain anything to the cops and…
He heard the scrape of a shoe on the sidewalk right behind him, but the hit came so fast he couldn't get out of the way in time. Something hard slammed him across the back and ribs and another blow caught the back of his knees as he fell hard.
When he came to he was alone and had been dragged behind one of the cars in the lot. A fuzzy look at his watch told him he'd only been out about ten minutes and he knew it was a hint from Karl about thinking too long or the wrong way about his offer.
Checking himself, he knew he wasn't really hurt, just warned.
Fine.
The cops had the tapes from tonight, they had a couple of Karl's boys who said they'd testify and he'd add his own eyewitness report. The man would be stopped.
An hour and a half later he had finished a shower and was about to change into costume for the night when Bruce eyed him.
"Where were you? You missed dinner."
"I was working on a project with a couple of friends."
"…What did you do to your back?" He had a towel around his waist and no shirt. "That's a nasty bruise."
"Oh—it's nothing. I just screwed up in gym—slid into a base and hit something on the way. It's fine."
"You going to be able to patrol tonight? I'm expecting some trouble over at the docks again."
"I'm there."
Bruce didn't say anything, but Dick knew he didn't believe a word of it.
The next day Dick—Robin—called into the station house he'd been working with to bust Karl James and learned that someone had messed up, they were really sorry and embarrassed, but the audio tape they'd made was ruined when someone spilled a can of coke on it.
Cripes.
Could he possibly, would he be willing to try again? Maybe tonight?
This wasn't going to be easy with Bruce already suspicious, but he'd do what he could to put this slime away. He'd be there at seven to get wired, but this would have to be the last night for this case if it was possible. He was getting flak at his home precinct and…
No, tonight would nail it, no problem.
By quarter to eight he was back on a street corner, waiting. People were walking back and forth; there was a good deal of foot traffic tonight.
"Hey, how much for an hour?" The night was beginning.
"What do you want to do for an hour?"
"As much as we can. Fifty enough?"
Fifty? Yeah, right—what did he look like—K-Mart? Dick was insulted.
"That might get you ten minutes if you weren't a skank."
"Full of yourself, aren't you?"
"So long as I'm not full of you."
The tires squealed as he peeled out. No loss, he'd been pretty gross, anyway.
Ten minutes later Karl pulled up in a Lincoln SUV. Talk about your stupid car. He stopped, a large goon got out of the back to join in and help the two who were passing by right on time on the sidewalk. They grabbed Dick's arms and held him while the third one gave the boy a couple of pretty good punches in the stomach. No one on the sidewalk gave more the briefest of glances as they kept going. Yes, he could have taken them all, but not without Karl figuring out who he was and he was supposed to be undercover, right? If it became a real problem, his backups were just on the corner watching.
"You were talking to a couple of guys who looked a hell of a lot like cops to me, Johnny—they wouldn't have been two of our fine law enforcement officers, would they? And that wouldn't make you a narc, would it?" Dick was hit again and thinking, 'Excuse me, wasn't I supposed to have back up for stuff like this'? "You wouldn't be working for the cops, would you, because I'd hate to think you were trying to set me up after I made you a really good offer. I'd hate to think that, Johnny." Another hit. "Have you had a chance to think about the chance I'm giving you?" Hit. "Hmm?"
Dick nodded. "It sounds like a real good offer, Karl."
"And would you like to work for me?"
"I would." He sounded a little feeble by this point, but then he probably didn't have much air left in him.
"That's what I like to hear. You come with me now and we'll get you all cleaned up and settled in, alright, Johnny? We both know damaged merchandise doesn't sell. C'mon, in you go."
Uh, back up? Well, screw it—time to get himself out of trouble here before these jerks started to really believe they had him. He was just about to throw the first roundhouse when…
He heard something on the other side of the SUV, thank God.
"Let him go."
The Bat. Not what Dick was hoping for here.
The goons froze, looking nervously at Karl who gave no reaction. "Were you interested in a date, Batman? I always sort of wondered what was going on under the cowl—like pretty boys, do you?"
"Let him go." The goons complied, the back up finally made an appearance, arresting everyone except Robin and the Bat and keeping Dick from having to reveal his other identity to the cops. The formalities were handled quickly with more back up units called. Robin handed over the body mic and said he'd be in tomorrow to make his statement and finish up the paperwork. The bad guys, including Karl were taken in, leaving Dick alone with Bruce. They walked to where he'd left the Batmobile, Bruce actually finding a secluded spot for it.
"Get in."
There was no point in arguing. Dick did as he was told; his stomach where he'd been hit was hurting. A headache was starting that was going to be bad and he had that feeling in the back of his mind that was radiating down into his neck and shoulders telling him he'd made a mistake and wasn't going to walk away from this one easily, if at all.
The drive back to the cave was done in silence that was strained even by the Bat's standards.
When they pulled into the usual parking spot Bruce got out of the car stalking off to the shower, still saying nothing.
Going up to his own room, Dick passed Alfred on the way, just shaking his head at the questioning look the old man gave him.
Dick stripped and showered the filth away from the evening's work, changed into his regular jeans and tee and did his homework. All the while he trying to not think about what Bruce would have to say about his working a series of cases without telling him and then compounding the lie of omission by not saying it was a child prostitution ring.
The dinner tray Alfred brought up was untouched.
Finally around midnight he couldn't stand it any longer so went looking, finding Bruce in the study going over the checkbook.
"Bruce?"
"Yes?" He looked up, his face giving nothing away.
"I should have told you, I know that, but this was the last night—I'm finished with that now. I told the vice guys I wouldn't do any more busts like that."
Bruce nodded, eyes back on the account balance.
Dick hesitated. "Why did this kind of case bother you so much? I do dangerous things all the time and this isn't so different than…"
"Yes, it is."
"How?" He sat perched on the arm of the leather couch, close to the desk.
"Because it's personal."
"Bruce…?"
He put down the pen and looked at his ward. "Because if there's a mistake or something goes wrong the injury wouldn't be just a broken bone or even a bullet; it would be a personal violation of the grossest kind."
"Like if I was raped?"
"Yes." He closed the checkbook. "And I don't know what I'd do if something like that happened to you."
Even though Dick suspected as much, hearing Bruce actually say it took him aback. "You mean it wasn't just that I didn't tell you about working a case solo?"
"It's the type of case I'd prefer you stayed away from in the future—as a favor to me and to Alfred as well."
Well, sure he understood but; "I'm good at working vice, Bruce. I can draw the pimps and then they're stopped, at least for a while. It helps the other kids who are on the streets."
Bruce took a breath. "I know that, but I'd still like it if you removed yourself from those cases."
"But…"
"Dick—I couldn't deal with it if something like—that—happened to you. Stop as a favor to me, please."
If it was that important. Nothing would have really happened to him, but if Bruce was that upset about it, well…"Alright. I promise I won't work vice anymore…at least not as a juvenile"
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
"Thank you, that's something anyway. Now, if you don't have any objections, I suggest you hit your bed. I remember something about midterms starting in the morning."
A few weeks later he was back at the Tower, it was another Friday night and they were sitting around trying to decide which movie to watch. After some decision was made, Garth looked over from his usual slightly removed seat and asked Dick if he was still doing those cases Bruce would be unhappy about if he found out.
"I stopped working them, at least for now."
"So how did he find out?" Despite what everyone seemed to think, Garth was a long way from stupid.
"He happened upon a bust I was working on." He caught the expression on Garth's face. "All right, he was probably tailing me."
Roy grabbed the piece of pizza Dick was about to eat out of his hand. "So what did the big bad Bat do, Dickie? Ground you? No more Batcave until you learn your place in the pecking order? Take the keys for the Batmobile?"
"Bite me, Harper." He took the pizza back just before Roy got it to his mouth. "Nothing happened; he asked me to stop and I said I would."
"You are so completely whipped, Grayson—like totally whipped."
"Roy, please…" Donna gave him a look that seemed to actually make a difference. Of course they were dating again, so she could withhold…"She took his hand and practically force marched him back to the kitchen.
"So that's the end of it?" Garth had gone quiet, even quieter than usual. Something was bothering him.
"Pretty much. Bruce was worried about me because of the type of crime it was, that's all. He was just trying to protect me." They could hear Donna talking to Roy in the next room, sounding angry. Another Friday night, another one of their arguments. "What? You look like you want to say something."
Garth's quiet voice again, "It's just—you know someone loves you, that's all. You're really lucky."
Sometimes Garth surprised him—he didn't talk all that much. Usually you had to drag things out of him, but when he did decide to say something, Dick had learned it was generally something worth listening to.
He half breathed out a smile. "I know."
1/9/05
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