Donnie Zimmerman had been a criminal pretty much since he was a kid.
Passing bad checks, theft, armed robbery, grand theft auto, assault,
carrying and dealing drugs; everything you'd expect from a guy with no
backbone raised in Bludhaven. Never spent even an hour in prison, so there
was never any incentive to go straight. Donnie never appreciated anything,
even Francine, the beautiful young women he'd married 6 years earlier after
she became pregnant.
Daisy Marie Zimmerman was a gorgeous baby girl, but fatherhood wouldn't change Donnie much, either. He graduated to drug dealing to support his family and his growing heroin habit. His nefarious lifestyle carried the family along for a couple of years, until late one October afternoon. Francine got off early from her shift at the diner, picked Daisy up from daycare, and came home to find Donnie passed out on the couch. She thought he was napping, and thought nothing of leaving their infant daughter in the family room with him for a minute while she changed.
Just for a minute.
Of course, Donnie wasn't asleep. He'd just done three lines and keeled over in a drugged stupor. Francine didn't see the baggie of brownish powder lying between the couch and the coffee table. Daisy did.
Donnie still doesn't remember the drive to the hospital, and likely never will. He does remember the shame he felt carrying his beautiful little girl into the ER and reporting a massive drug overdose. He remembers the 3 weeks she spent on a ventilator in the PICU, and the two weeks after that, off the vent, still suffering from withdrawal before she was allowed to come home. It was the moment he lay Daisy down in her bedroom at home that Donnie realized he'd been sober for 38 days.
And now it was 38 months sober. He gave himself one week to sell off his stash to pay off his supplier, and he'd been on the straight and narrow ever since. It took three years of struggling before he landed a good job at the Bludhaven morgue. He tried not to think of the irony in being a law- abiding employee of the city, tried not to feel guilty for living in a house paid for with drug money, and for never being caught.
Donnie Zimmerman learned many hard lessons on his own, without ever being forced. His only encounters with the police had ended with back-alley payoffs. No one asked questions the day he almost poisoned his daughter to death, and he'd luckily never run into the likes of Batman or that creepy Nightwing guy that showed up in Bludhaven not so long ago...
So imagine Donnie's surprise when he was quite literally enveloped by a bat- shaped shadow, thrown effortlessly to the ground, then lifted and pinned to a hard stone wall in the coroner's lab. He felt the pressure of sharp, cold steel to his throat as he peered into the shining white eyes of his assailant. Donnie heard that The Batman was the stuff of nightmares, but that was wrong...way wrong. Batman is the stuff of psychotic episodes, Donnie reasoned, because no sane mind could conceive of something this menacing and lethal.
"Simon Hadley. You're going to retrieve Simon Hadley's body from the morgue and bring it here. You won't say a word to anyone. Do as I say and you won't be harmed," The Bat said in a chilling whisper. He then lowered the batarang from Donnie's throat and released him.
Donnie nodded, spun on his heel, and walked from the room. He returned five minutes later, wheeling in a loaded gurney covered with a white sheet. Donnie then handed Batman a folder. "A copy of the coroner's report."
"Thank you. Now go home."
Donnie shook his head. "I got a wife and kid to support. Can't just walk off the job," he said as he took a step toward Batman. "Hit me. I can take it, and God knows I deserve it."
And even though he expected it, Donnie Zimmerman never saw the punch coming. He would wake hours later with a broken jaw, a good excuse for his boss, and feeling as though he'd taken a small step toward atoning for his sins.
Batman didn't give the man a second thought. On another night he may have protested or used less violent means to render the man unconscious. Not now. Not tonight.
Batman checked the toe tag then removed the sheet from the body. He opened the coroner's report, which had not changed at all from the one Troia had given him earlier. He began to inspect the man's wounds methodically, from head to toe. It took him almost an hour to reach his conclusion.
Hadley was killed by an expert martial artist. The blunt contact wounds were consistent with fists, feet, and blunt weapons. The rough estimate of the size of the fists and feet matched those of a man fitting Nightwing's build, and the weapons could very easily have been escrima sticks...Nightwing's current weapons of choice.
Hadley was beaten severely before the killing blow was delivered, a sharp twist of the head that broke his neck. The technique used was one very familiar to Batman, and therefore equally familiar to his former protégé. All of the physical evidence led to one inevitable conclusion...
Nightwing wasn't even remotely involved in the attack that killed Simon Hadley.
To a layperson, the term "master martial artist" may refer to a supremely skilled combatant. In practice, however, a master is someone who has achieved a complete understanding of a particular form of combat. There are many thousands of people that fit that description. That number can be reduced when you factor in those that have mastered multiple forms of martial combat, and down to the select few that have perfected the use of most fighting disciplines.
And then there are people like Nightwing. Nightwing has mastered countless forms of combat, honed them into a unique style all his own, and blends it with his natural physical and intellectual gifts to become something that quite simply defies description. There are perhaps a dozen people in the known world with that level of skill. So to Batman and Nightwing, a "master martial artist" is little more than an amateur combatant.
The person that killed Hadley was a master of an obscure form of Aikido. Like Jujitsu and similar disciplines, it does not require a lot of movement. While Nightwing has mastered a laundry list of defensive disciplines, he never preferred them, and rarely, if ever, used them offensively. Nightwing is an acrobat, first and foremost. He always preferred the more aggressive and mobile arts, like Judo, Kung Fu, and Capoera. In short, even if Nightwing was capable of murder, this was not how his victim would appear afterwards.
The assault was also exclusively frontal. The killer was always within the victim's forward line of sight. Also not Nightwing's style. The wound placement suggested Hadley's attacker kept coming forward while beating Hadley, forcing him backward, which brought Batman to the final fact that exonerated his former partner...
There were very few defensive wounds on Hadley's hands and arms. His assailant beat him way beyond his ability to defend himself.
No matter the situation, no matter the circumstances, no matter the degree of evil or the severity of the crime involved, Batman was certain that Nightwing could never viciously attack a defenseless, unarmed, and likely unconscious opponent. And he would never kill, not if there was even the slightest possibility of another option. He had the chance with Anthony Zucco, the man that killed his parents. Dick Grayson walked away then, and there was no reason to believe he wouldn't do the same now.
Batman was absolutely certain that Nightwing didn't kill Simon Hadley...
But at that moment, looking down at the man that killed a young Bruce Wayne's parents in that alley so many years before, Batman was equally certain that had the case been his to solve, Hadley would still be dead...and the blood would surely be on his hands.
Alfred's words echoed in his mind, "...he did this to stop you from slipping even further away from the man you once were."
And as The Dark Knight climbed through the laboratory window, he finally understood. And with that clarity of thought, his mission changed.
Dick Grayson walked with a slight limp down Seaside Drive in the heart of downtown Bludhaven. As it was after 3am, most of the legitimate storefronts had been closed for quite a while, but a long row of bodegas, adult video stores, bars, and strip joints still teemed with life, only adding to the fetid stench of filth and corruption in the air.
He saw his prey on the corner of Seaside and Twelfth Avenue, making no secret of the fact that they were open for business. Six members of the Ghost Dragons, all the drugs you want, first come, first serve.
Dick sighed inwardly as he continued to close the distance between them. This little sect of the Dragons came into Bludhaven after the quake. A couple dozen in all, but these six controlled the drug trade along Seaside Strip. Bludhaven wasn't exactly hurting for gang activity of its own when Gotham was shut down, and Dick was prepared for the influx of new gangs and mob influences. But the Ghost Dragons were a headache he definitely didn't need. Indirectly linked to King Snake's organization, the Dragons were very dedicated, and a good portion of them were rather impressively trained as assassins. Long thorns in the sides of Batman and Robin, Nightwing hoped he'd be rid of their presence when Gotham reopened its borders. That obviously wasn't to be, and with everything else going on of late, he hadn't had a chance to shut them down. Nightwing didn't make them a priority.
That proved to be a fatal mistake.
The six gang members were very aware of his presence as he approached them, but didn't flinch. Dick cursed himself for that. His lack of attention to his health and physical appearance lately had an undesirable affect on the streets of Bludhaven. Having lost a bit too much weight, suffering still from malnutrition, unshaven for over a day, Dick Grayson looked like a junkie. Without his uniform and mask, he was just a potential customer for these pushers.
As he came within about twenty feet of the Dragons, Dick broke into a sprint, heading straight for the guy with the backpack slung over his shoulder. Caught off guard by his sudden action, the Ghost Dragons were unable to prevent Dick from pulling the backpack free from the young man's grasp and making a mad dash toward the waterfront with their drug stash in tow.
They gave chase immediately, shouting curses and threats at Dick in two languages as they ran. Dick allowed them to stay close as a few city blocks turned into a half mile and he reached the seaside piers. Were he actually trying to elude them, Dick would have taken the high ground. No one without a metagene could keep up with him on the rooftops. But Dick Grayson had something else in mind as he instead ran underneath the long row of piers that covered the industrial shoreline. The undersides of the piers were completely unlit. The total darkness wouldn't be much of a crutch for his pursuers, but there was only one man on Earth more at home than Nightwing in this degree of dank blackness.
With a few quick movements in mid-stride, Dick Grayson made the change from thieving citizen to heroic wraith. The Dragons fell back on their training, slowing their pace as they heard the footfalls of their prey cease. They fanned out into a wide arc as they stalked forward, bringing the full ability of their senses to bare.
"You can't run all night, coward. No one steals from us and fades away. Give it up and we'll kill you quick. Last night's thief wouldn't give it up. He died real slow."
As they began to feel as though they'd lost their prey, the darkness around them suddenly grew eyes. There, only a few feet in front of them, emerged the telling glow of starlight lenses. They all stopped dead in their tracks in disbelief, and readied themselves for battle. But how could this man be so close and not disturb the breeze around them? How could one move so silently? And why didn't he seem to breathe?
Nightwing stood stock still, letting the element of surprise slip from his grasp. The darkness was the only advantage he allowed himself. Six well trained gang assassins versus an exhausted and malnourished vigilante.
Nightwing felt sorry for them.
The Ghost Dragons moved to surround him, forcing him into action. He closed his eyes, fading once again into the blackness as he crouched quickly and spun, sweeping out with his right leg. He knocked two opponents to the ground then immediately sprang straight upward, catching a handhold on a wooden support beam above him. He hung there silently, listening to the controlled sounds of confusion below him.
"He's moved away. Spread out," whispered one of the Dragons.
And as soon as his mouth closed, strong arms grabbed him from behind, expertly closing his windpipe and quieting his ability to shout for help. Within a few seconds, Nightwing was easing the first Ghost Dragon to the ground, unconscious.
"One down, who's next?" Nightwing said coldly. He then moved quickly away.
Two Dragons moved to the location of their attacker's voice, finding only their fallen comrade. Nightwing was on them at once, closing the distance with four lightning-quick handsprings, and lashed out at each with a foot as he landed. Both blows landed squarely, allowing him to make quick work of his two opponents as he regained his balance.
"That's three," he said, using The Voice.
He knew the Dragons didn't have it in them to run. Their twisted sense of honor demanded they finish the battle, win or lose. His remaining opponents moved to confront him. Nightwing closed his eyes and unleashed his escrima sticks as the Ghost Dragons aligned and moved closer.
The one in the middle spoke. "Ah, Nightwing. I've heard of you," he said as he stopped his approach, motioning for his friends to follow suit. "You've chosen an unwise battle, dark one. Dispatching three unworthy Dragons through trickery is one thing, but we three ARE worthy. Surrender now and leave us."
Nightwing gave a quick nod and turned to walk away. Then, faster than the eye could follow, he spun and threw, catching the two silent Dragons full in the face with an escrima stick each. The verbose Dragon looked to each side of him, then back to Nightwing with an unmistakable look of fear. They were both out cold. Nightwing tossed him a pair of Batcuffs.
"Put...those...on," he said flatly, once again using The Voice.
A look of frustration and anger took hold of the young Dragon's countenance as he reluctantly complied with the order. He knelt on the ground in front of him, prepared to accept his fate.
Nightwing moved forward and retrieved one of his escrima sticks, then stepped behind his last conscious enemy to fetch the other. The young Dragon began to rise to attack Nightwing, then thought better of it. Nightwing turned back to him and sheathed his escrima sticks. He quickly lowered his right arm, striking the young man with a backhand to the temple, knocking him out.
"That was for even considering it," Nightwing said to the newly fallen form.
"I take it these were the murderers from last night," came a deep voice from behind him.
Nightwing turned and nodded to the shadows. "Yes." He bound the young men tightly with a decel line, then used his tie-wraps to cuff them together, wrist-to-ankle. "This'll hold them for a while."
"I've contacted the BPD. They'll be here shortly. We should go."
Nightwing followed his onetime mentor out from under the piers, then they both took to the sky, setting down on a nearby rooftop to await the authorities.
A deafening silence hung between them for several long minutes.
"I'm sorry, Bruce," Nightwing said quietly.
Batman shifted his weight, and replied without meeting his son's gaze. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I was angry...at first. Very angry. Logical a reaction as it may have been, it was mostly due to the appearance of your involvement in Hadley's death. Once I found that you had nothing to do with it, I understood."
Nightwing shook his head. "I had everything to do with it, Bruce. I drove him underground. Took away any chance he had to get out of Bludhaven while I put together the case..."
"As I've done many times. It's what you were taught," Batman interrupted.
"No. I could have locked him up any number of times. I wanted him to go down for murdering your parents. The others didn't matter to me. He had to stay put until I had him dead to rights. That meant shutting down his bank accounts, robbing him of his cash and passport, and finally putting the word on the street that he was going to turn state's on Infantino," Nightwing confessed, hanging his head slightly.
Batman looked over at him. "Again, nothing we haven't done before. I'm not saying you were right. I'm saying I understand."
"It doesn't matter that you understand, Bruce! When the DA moved up Infantino's indictment, he contracted every street hitter to nail Hadley. When I found out, I hit the street to track him down. It didn't take long, but the word was out. Hadley was desperate. He needed money to get out of Bludhaven..."
"And he thought taking off a street dealer would be a quick score. He assumed the Ghost Dragons were just another low-rent Asian gang," Batman added. "The robbery went bad and they killed him. It's not your fault, Dick."
Nightwing looked up at his adoptive father and removed his mask. "No, Bruce. It IS my fault. I was there."
"What?" Batman asked incredulously.
"I was there. They'd already beaten him pretty badly when I got there, but he was still alive. I froze. Batarang in one hand, decel launcher in the other. I just froze. It felt like forever, but it was probably just a few seconds."
"Dick..."
"I never could have killed him. Never. But I couldn't save his life, either. I was right there, Bruce. His life was in my hands and I froze," Dick said flatly, a tear making its way down his cheek.
Batman took a step toward his son. "Dick...I...it's not your fault," he said forlornly.
Dick managed a slight chuckle. "Gee, sound convincing, why don't you?" He shook his head sharply, pounding his fist on the building's ledge. "Dammit, Bruce! The whole point in handling it myself was so this wouldn't happen. I was scared of what you might do...what you might become. And it turns out I just should have come to you as soon as I found out."
Batman quickly closed the distance between them and grabbed Dick's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You did the right thing, Dick. I...I've given a lot of thought to what might have been...and...and I'm glad you did what you did. It's the whole reason there's a Nightwing today. The only reason I kept you on as Robin after the Zucco case was that you chose justice over vengeance. It wasn't that I admired your maturity and heart, Dick. You made the choice that I knew I couldn't. I needed you there to remind me of what's right."
Dick's eyes betrayed his disbelief. "You never would have crossed the line. You didn't need me for that."
Bruce held his son's gaze, assuring his sincerity. "Perhaps not with Zucco or any of the others we faced over the years. But this... Looking in your eyes right now, Dick, I can't say that I wouldn't have killed Hadley. I was at the morgue tonight. Seeing his face brought it all back. I'm glad he's dead. Whether I would have killed him or not, seeing him lying there brought me a sickening sense of comfort.
"Don't argue this with me, Dick. You said you were afraid of what I might do, and I'm saying you were absolutely justified in feeling that way. Case closed." Batman looked down and watched the BPD van pull away with the Ghost Dragons inside. "Let's head back to the Cave, Nightwing. We're done here," he said as he reached for his launcher.
Dick was silent for a long moment. "No, we have to head to my place. As much as I hate to say it, this isn't over."
"What do you mean?" Batman asked, turning back to face his partner.
"Getting those Dragons into custody wraps up Hadley's murder, but Hadley's death just complicates my investigation."
"Your case file leaves very few loose ends, and none of them are pertinent now that Hadley is dead, Nightwing."
"Yeah, you're right. The Simon Hadley case is closed. But the Wayne murders are still unsolved," Nightwing said, his face full of regret.
"Say it," Batman growled through clenched teeth.
"I don't think the motive was robbery, Bruce. I have reason to believe that your parents were Hadley's first contract. Someone hired him to kill Thomas and Martha Wayne."
End Chapter 4
Daisy Marie Zimmerman was a gorgeous baby girl, but fatherhood wouldn't change Donnie much, either. He graduated to drug dealing to support his family and his growing heroin habit. His nefarious lifestyle carried the family along for a couple of years, until late one October afternoon. Francine got off early from her shift at the diner, picked Daisy up from daycare, and came home to find Donnie passed out on the couch. She thought he was napping, and thought nothing of leaving their infant daughter in the family room with him for a minute while she changed.
Just for a minute.
Of course, Donnie wasn't asleep. He'd just done three lines and keeled over in a drugged stupor. Francine didn't see the baggie of brownish powder lying between the couch and the coffee table. Daisy did.
Donnie still doesn't remember the drive to the hospital, and likely never will. He does remember the shame he felt carrying his beautiful little girl into the ER and reporting a massive drug overdose. He remembers the 3 weeks she spent on a ventilator in the PICU, and the two weeks after that, off the vent, still suffering from withdrawal before she was allowed to come home. It was the moment he lay Daisy down in her bedroom at home that Donnie realized he'd been sober for 38 days.
And now it was 38 months sober. He gave himself one week to sell off his stash to pay off his supplier, and he'd been on the straight and narrow ever since. It took three years of struggling before he landed a good job at the Bludhaven morgue. He tried not to think of the irony in being a law- abiding employee of the city, tried not to feel guilty for living in a house paid for with drug money, and for never being caught.
Donnie Zimmerman learned many hard lessons on his own, without ever being forced. His only encounters with the police had ended with back-alley payoffs. No one asked questions the day he almost poisoned his daughter to death, and he'd luckily never run into the likes of Batman or that creepy Nightwing guy that showed up in Bludhaven not so long ago...
So imagine Donnie's surprise when he was quite literally enveloped by a bat- shaped shadow, thrown effortlessly to the ground, then lifted and pinned to a hard stone wall in the coroner's lab. He felt the pressure of sharp, cold steel to his throat as he peered into the shining white eyes of his assailant. Donnie heard that The Batman was the stuff of nightmares, but that was wrong...way wrong. Batman is the stuff of psychotic episodes, Donnie reasoned, because no sane mind could conceive of something this menacing and lethal.
"Simon Hadley. You're going to retrieve Simon Hadley's body from the morgue and bring it here. You won't say a word to anyone. Do as I say and you won't be harmed," The Bat said in a chilling whisper. He then lowered the batarang from Donnie's throat and released him.
Donnie nodded, spun on his heel, and walked from the room. He returned five minutes later, wheeling in a loaded gurney covered with a white sheet. Donnie then handed Batman a folder. "A copy of the coroner's report."
"Thank you. Now go home."
Donnie shook his head. "I got a wife and kid to support. Can't just walk off the job," he said as he took a step toward Batman. "Hit me. I can take it, and God knows I deserve it."
And even though he expected it, Donnie Zimmerman never saw the punch coming. He would wake hours later with a broken jaw, a good excuse for his boss, and feeling as though he'd taken a small step toward atoning for his sins.
Batman didn't give the man a second thought. On another night he may have protested or used less violent means to render the man unconscious. Not now. Not tonight.
Batman checked the toe tag then removed the sheet from the body. He opened the coroner's report, which had not changed at all from the one Troia had given him earlier. He began to inspect the man's wounds methodically, from head to toe. It took him almost an hour to reach his conclusion.
Hadley was killed by an expert martial artist. The blunt contact wounds were consistent with fists, feet, and blunt weapons. The rough estimate of the size of the fists and feet matched those of a man fitting Nightwing's build, and the weapons could very easily have been escrima sticks...Nightwing's current weapons of choice.
Hadley was beaten severely before the killing blow was delivered, a sharp twist of the head that broke his neck. The technique used was one very familiar to Batman, and therefore equally familiar to his former protégé. All of the physical evidence led to one inevitable conclusion...
Nightwing wasn't even remotely involved in the attack that killed Simon Hadley.
To a layperson, the term "master martial artist" may refer to a supremely skilled combatant. In practice, however, a master is someone who has achieved a complete understanding of a particular form of combat. There are many thousands of people that fit that description. That number can be reduced when you factor in those that have mastered multiple forms of martial combat, and down to the select few that have perfected the use of most fighting disciplines.
And then there are people like Nightwing. Nightwing has mastered countless forms of combat, honed them into a unique style all his own, and blends it with his natural physical and intellectual gifts to become something that quite simply defies description. There are perhaps a dozen people in the known world with that level of skill. So to Batman and Nightwing, a "master martial artist" is little more than an amateur combatant.
The person that killed Hadley was a master of an obscure form of Aikido. Like Jujitsu and similar disciplines, it does not require a lot of movement. While Nightwing has mastered a laundry list of defensive disciplines, he never preferred them, and rarely, if ever, used them offensively. Nightwing is an acrobat, first and foremost. He always preferred the more aggressive and mobile arts, like Judo, Kung Fu, and Capoera. In short, even if Nightwing was capable of murder, this was not how his victim would appear afterwards.
The assault was also exclusively frontal. The killer was always within the victim's forward line of sight. Also not Nightwing's style. The wound placement suggested Hadley's attacker kept coming forward while beating Hadley, forcing him backward, which brought Batman to the final fact that exonerated his former partner...
There were very few defensive wounds on Hadley's hands and arms. His assailant beat him way beyond his ability to defend himself.
No matter the situation, no matter the circumstances, no matter the degree of evil or the severity of the crime involved, Batman was certain that Nightwing could never viciously attack a defenseless, unarmed, and likely unconscious opponent. And he would never kill, not if there was even the slightest possibility of another option. He had the chance with Anthony Zucco, the man that killed his parents. Dick Grayson walked away then, and there was no reason to believe he wouldn't do the same now.
Batman was absolutely certain that Nightwing didn't kill Simon Hadley...
But at that moment, looking down at the man that killed a young Bruce Wayne's parents in that alley so many years before, Batman was equally certain that had the case been his to solve, Hadley would still be dead...and the blood would surely be on his hands.
Alfred's words echoed in his mind, "...he did this to stop you from slipping even further away from the man you once were."
And as The Dark Knight climbed through the laboratory window, he finally understood. And with that clarity of thought, his mission changed.
Dick Grayson walked with a slight limp down Seaside Drive in the heart of downtown Bludhaven. As it was after 3am, most of the legitimate storefronts had been closed for quite a while, but a long row of bodegas, adult video stores, bars, and strip joints still teemed with life, only adding to the fetid stench of filth and corruption in the air.
He saw his prey on the corner of Seaside and Twelfth Avenue, making no secret of the fact that they were open for business. Six members of the Ghost Dragons, all the drugs you want, first come, first serve.
Dick sighed inwardly as he continued to close the distance between them. This little sect of the Dragons came into Bludhaven after the quake. A couple dozen in all, but these six controlled the drug trade along Seaside Strip. Bludhaven wasn't exactly hurting for gang activity of its own when Gotham was shut down, and Dick was prepared for the influx of new gangs and mob influences. But the Ghost Dragons were a headache he definitely didn't need. Indirectly linked to King Snake's organization, the Dragons were very dedicated, and a good portion of them were rather impressively trained as assassins. Long thorns in the sides of Batman and Robin, Nightwing hoped he'd be rid of their presence when Gotham reopened its borders. That obviously wasn't to be, and with everything else going on of late, he hadn't had a chance to shut them down. Nightwing didn't make them a priority.
That proved to be a fatal mistake.
The six gang members were very aware of his presence as he approached them, but didn't flinch. Dick cursed himself for that. His lack of attention to his health and physical appearance lately had an undesirable affect on the streets of Bludhaven. Having lost a bit too much weight, suffering still from malnutrition, unshaven for over a day, Dick Grayson looked like a junkie. Without his uniform and mask, he was just a potential customer for these pushers.
As he came within about twenty feet of the Dragons, Dick broke into a sprint, heading straight for the guy with the backpack slung over his shoulder. Caught off guard by his sudden action, the Ghost Dragons were unable to prevent Dick from pulling the backpack free from the young man's grasp and making a mad dash toward the waterfront with their drug stash in tow.
They gave chase immediately, shouting curses and threats at Dick in two languages as they ran. Dick allowed them to stay close as a few city blocks turned into a half mile and he reached the seaside piers. Were he actually trying to elude them, Dick would have taken the high ground. No one without a metagene could keep up with him on the rooftops. But Dick Grayson had something else in mind as he instead ran underneath the long row of piers that covered the industrial shoreline. The undersides of the piers were completely unlit. The total darkness wouldn't be much of a crutch for his pursuers, but there was only one man on Earth more at home than Nightwing in this degree of dank blackness.
With a few quick movements in mid-stride, Dick Grayson made the change from thieving citizen to heroic wraith. The Dragons fell back on their training, slowing their pace as they heard the footfalls of their prey cease. They fanned out into a wide arc as they stalked forward, bringing the full ability of their senses to bare.
"You can't run all night, coward. No one steals from us and fades away. Give it up and we'll kill you quick. Last night's thief wouldn't give it up. He died real slow."
As they began to feel as though they'd lost their prey, the darkness around them suddenly grew eyes. There, only a few feet in front of them, emerged the telling glow of starlight lenses. They all stopped dead in their tracks in disbelief, and readied themselves for battle. But how could this man be so close and not disturb the breeze around them? How could one move so silently? And why didn't he seem to breathe?
Nightwing stood stock still, letting the element of surprise slip from his grasp. The darkness was the only advantage he allowed himself. Six well trained gang assassins versus an exhausted and malnourished vigilante.
Nightwing felt sorry for them.
The Ghost Dragons moved to surround him, forcing him into action. He closed his eyes, fading once again into the blackness as he crouched quickly and spun, sweeping out with his right leg. He knocked two opponents to the ground then immediately sprang straight upward, catching a handhold on a wooden support beam above him. He hung there silently, listening to the controlled sounds of confusion below him.
"He's moved away. Spread out," whispered one of the Dragons.
And as soon as his mouth closed, strong arms grabbed him from behind, expertly closing his windpipe and quieting his ability to shout for help. Within a few seconds, Nightwing was easing the first Ghost Dragon to the ground, unconscious.
"One down, who's next?" Nightwing said coldly. He then moved quickly away.
Two Dragons moved to the location of their attacker's voice, finding only their fallen comrade. Nightwing was on them at once, closing the distance with four lightning-quick handsprings, and lashed out at each with a foot as he landed. Both blows landed squarely, allowing him to make quick work of his two opponents as he regained his balance.
"That's three," he said, using The Voice.
He knew the Dragons didn't have it in them to run. Their twisted sense of honor demanded they finish the battle, win or lose. His remaining opponents moved to confront him. Nightwing closed his eyes and unleashed his escrima sticks as the Ghost Dragons aligned and moved closer.
The one in the middle spoke. "Ah, Nightwing. I've heard of you," he said as he stopped his approach, motioning for his friends to follow suit. "You've chosen an unwise battle, dark one. Dispatching three unworthy Dragons through trickery is one thing, but we three ARE worthy. Surrender now and leave us."
Nightwing gave a quick nod and turned to walk away. Then, faster than the eye could follow, he spun and threw, catching the two silent Dragons full in the face with an escrima stick each. The verbose Dragon looked to each side of him, then back to Nightwing with an unmistakable look of fear. They were both out cold. Nightwing tossed him a pair of Batcuffs.
"Put...those...on," he said flatly, once again using The Voice.
A look of frustration and anger took hold of the young Dragon's countenance as he reluctantly complied with the order. He knelt on the ground in front of him, prepared to accept his fate.
Nightwing moved forward and retrieved one of his escrima sticks, then stepped behind his last conscious enemy to fetch the other. The young Dragon began to rise to attack Nightwing, then thought better of it. Nightwing turned back to him and sheathed his escrima sticks. He quickly lowered his right arm, striking the young man with a backhand to the temple, knocking him out.
"That was for even considering it," Nightwing said to the newly fallen form.
"I take it these were the murderers from last night," came a deep voice from behind him.
Nightwing turned and nodded to the shadows. "Yes." He bound the young men tightly with a decel line, then used his tie-wraps to cuff them together, wrist-to-ankle. "This'll hold them for a while."
"I've contacted the BPD. They'll be here shortly. We should go."
Nightwing followed his onetime mentor out from under the piers, then they both took to the sky, setting down on a nearby rooftop to await the authorities.
A deafening silence hung between them for several long minutes.
"I'm sorry, Bruce," Nightwing said quietly.
Batman shifted his weight, and replied without meeting his son's gaze. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I was angry...at first. Very angry. Logical a reaction as it may have been, it was mostly due to the appearance of your involvement in Hadley's death. Once I found that you had nothing to do with it, I understood."
Nightwing shook his head. "I had everything to do with it, Bruce. I drove him underground. Took away any chance he had to get out of Bludhaven while I put together the case..."
"As I've done many times. It's what you were taught," Batman interrupted.
"No. I could have locked him up any number of times. I wanted him to go down for murdering your parents. The others didn't matter to me. He had to stay put until I had him dead to rights. That meant shutting down his bank accounts, robbing him of his cash and passport, and finally putting the word on the street that he was going to turn state's on Infantino," Nightwing confessed, hanging his head slightly.
Batman looked over at him. "Again, nothing we haven't done before. I'm not saying you were right. I'm saying I understand."
"It doesn't matter that you understand, Bruce! When the DA moved up Infantino's indictment, he contracted every street hitter to nail Hadley. When I found out, I hit the street to track him down. It didn't take long, but the word was out. Hadley was desperate. He needed money to get out of Bludhaven..."
"And he thought taking off a street dealer would be a quick score. He assumed the Ghost Dragons were just another low-rent Asian gang," Batman added. "The robbery went bad and they killed him. It's not your fault, Dick."
Nightwing looked up at his adoptive father and removed his mask. "No, Bruce. It IS my fault. I was there."
"What?" Batman asked incredulously.
"I was there. They'd already beaten him pretty badly when I got there, but he was still alive. I froze. Batarang in one hand, decel launcher in the other. I just froze. It felt like forever, but it was probably just a few seconds."
"Dick..."
"I never could have killed him. Never. But I couldn't save his life, either. I was right there, Bruce. His life was in my hands and I froze," Dick said flatly, a tear making its way down his cheek.
Batman took a step toward his son. "Dick...I...it's not your fault," he said forlornly.
Dick managed a slight chuckle. "Gee, sound convincing, why don't you?" He shook his head sharply, pounding his fist on the building's ledge. "Dammit, Bruce! The whole point in handling it myself was so this wouldn't happen. I was scared of what you might do...what you might become. And it turns out I just should have come to you as soon as I found out."
Batman quickly closed the distance between them and grabbed Dick's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You did the right thing, Dick. I...I've given a lot of thought to what might have been...and...and I'm glad you did what you did. It's the whole reason there's a Nightwing today. The only reason I kept you on as Robin after the Zucco case was that you chose justice over vengeance. It wasn't that I admired your maturity and heart, Dick. You made the choice that I knew I couldn't. I needed you there to remind me of what's right."
Dick's eyes betrayed his disbelief. "You never would have crossed the line. You didn't need me for that."
Bruce held his son's gaze, assuring his sincerity. "Perhaps not with Zucco or any of the others we faced over the years. But this... Looking in your eyes right now, Dick, I can't say that I wouldn't have killed Hadley. I was at the morgue tonight. Seeing his face brought it all back. I'm glad he's dead. Whether I would have killed him or not, seeing him lying there brought me a sickening sense of comfort.
"Don't argue this with me, Dick. You said you were afraid of what I might do, and I'm saying you were absolutely justified in feeling that way. Case closed." Batman looked down and watched the BPD van pull away with the Ghost Dragons inside. "Let's head back to the Cave, Nightwing. We're done here," he said as he reached for his launcher.
Dick was silent for a long moment. "No, we have to head to my place. As much as I hate to say it, this isn't over."
"What do you mean?" Batman asked, turning back to face his partner.
"Getting those Dragons into custody wraps up Hadley's murder, but Hadley's death just complicates my investigation."
"Your case file leaves very few loose ends, and none of them are pertinent now that Hadley is dead, Nightwing."
"Yeah, you're right. The Simon Hadley case is closed. But the Wayne murders are still unsolved," Nightwing said, his face full of regret.
"Say it," Batman growled through clenched teeth.
"I don't think the motive was robbery, Bruce. I have reason to believe that your parents were Hadley's first contract. Someone hired him to kill Thomas and Martha Wayne."
End Chapter 4