Detective Renee Montoya was not one of those people.
The only resentment she felt over the case that was keeping her here at her desk late into the night was that she wasn't making much ground on how to solve it. If there WAS anything to solve--it could just have been a freak occurrence,after all.
She sighed, pushed herself away from her desk a bit, and stood. Stretching her arms a little after such a long period of inactivity, Renee decided to get herself a cup of coffee. She wasn't going to get anything done if she wasn't alert, after all. Hm... maybe she'd just snag the whole pot, actually; it wasn't like there were many others around at this time of night.
It was unnerving, reflected the detective as she made her way to the lounge, how quiet this department was at night. The night shift for the Gotham City Police Department used a different section of the building for the most part, allowing the occasional late workers like Detective Montoya to continue whatever they needed to finish in peace. This peace, of course, was not something that came during the day. The department was, each day, a mad-house of officers, reports, and general organized chaos for the official protectors of the city. That was the unnerving thing about this time of night here, really: the contrast.
"You still here, Montoya," came a tough, familiar voice as Renee was retrieving the coffee pot she'd been after. She looked up, not that she needed to. That voice could only belong to one person--her usual partner, Harvey Bullock.
Usual... but not right now. Apparently, Harvey had some personal business to take care of regarding a past collar who had recently been released on good behavior. Good behavior which had, of course, ceased the moment he'd gotten back on the streets to resume pushing drugs. The Commissioner had approved his request to work solo on this, and given Detective Montoya her current assignment to investigate in the meantime.
"Still here," Renee answered, glancing over at Harvey to favor him with a tired, but sincere, smile. "Hate to just leave a case till tomorrow without getting something done on it."
"Yeah, sounds like you, alright," the older detective said, moving over to an unfinished box of donuts left on a table. "Aw, man, some jerk took all the frosted ones! Lousy back-stabbin' gluttons."
"So, have any luck, Harv?" Renee asked, turning to go back to her desk.
"Nahhh, guy's bein' more careful this time around," came the answer. "I'll get'im though, no problem. Just gotta have some time, is all. Now I'm just gettin' a snack before I head home. How about you, Montoya, you gettin' anywhere with that thing the Commish' handed ya?"
"Afraid not," she replied, letting the smallest hint of frustration into her otherwise cheerful tone. "But like you said, just some time is needed, that's all. I'm going back to work on it now. You take care, Harv."
"Yeah, you too," the man said, turning around. His face softened a bit from the typical tough, angry expression that typically adorned it. "Hey, Montoya, I'm sorry about... you know. This."
"Don't worry about it, Harvy," she responded, waving his apology aside, "I know there are some things you need to do alone. Just don't get yourself killed out there, alright?"
"Yeah. Thanks. You be careful too, Montoya."
Sipping her coffee and feeling herself already becoming revitalized, Renee made her way back though the quiet and gloom-filled office to her desk, sat down, and stared at the papers before her under the light of her desk lamp.
For about two seconds, before noticing a silhouette on her reports of someone sneaking up on her. Someone with pointed ears.
Most people, even most police, would have been startled at the very least. Detective Montoya, however, was not only a cop not easily startled, but had also been working on the street long enough to know that as she swiveled her chair to see her visitor, she would be greeted with the sight of a friend.
"Batman, what can I do for you--oh, I'm sorry. What can I do for you, Batgirl?" Renee asked, finding her visitor to be a different caped crusader than she'd expected.
"Commissioner Gordon says he's assigned you to the recent rash of
disappearances," Batgirl began. "We could use your help, Detective
Montoya."
Of Badges and Batarangs
Hentai-Dye Lemon Ranger White
Jolt Lemon Ranger Blue
Started: January 27th, 2005
Finished: May, 2005
Legal Disclaimer: These characters are not our own, we make no claim on them, so please don't send the lawyers after us.
That would certainly have gotten Montoya's attention if Batgirl's sudden appearence hadn't. "What can I help you with?" There was a hint of geniune surprise in her voice, despite the fact that the police and the 'bat crew,' as some members of the GPD had taken to calling them, had worked together before.
"I was thinking that we could compare lists, for starters," Batgirl said, reaching into her belt and pulling out a sheet of paper. "This is a list of missing people that I've compiled. Perhaps if we compare them, we might be able to find a pattern."
Taking the list, Montoya consulted it against her own, slowly and meticulously reviewing the list of names. "Any particular reason why you're here and not Batman?" she asked. She glanced up. "No offence, just curious."
"Justice League business," Batgirl said with a smile that spoke of her having explained this before. "And yes, I'm not very keen on his leaving Gotham every other week either."
Montoya smiled and nodded her agreement before going back to the lists... and stopped. The smile dropped from her face, replaced by a frown as she noted one name on Batgirl's list that wasn't on her own. She checked, and then double checked again, just to be sure.
"Something caught your eye?" came Batgirl's voice.
"Yeah. Stan Turner." Montoya returned the list to Batgirl, her face looking troubled despite her best efforts to hide it.
"Old...friend?" came the carefully worded guess of Montoya's guest.
"Old partner... ex-partner." Montoya was doing her best not to give too much away. "My first, actually. But he was crooked, taking bribes from Rupert Thorne for looking the other way." Her mouth was set in a grim line, and she trained her eyes on her own list, wondering why he hadn't appeared on her list in the first place.
"I'm sorry," Batgirl replied.
Montoya waved it aside. "Not your fault he went bad. It happens." The udertone in her voice told all whom were listening that despite the truth of that statement, it was nevertheless undesireable. "I had heard he had gotten out on early parole, but... never really thought more of it."
"Think you can lead me around his old haunts? We might be able to find something."
"Is that an invitation?" asked Montoya.
"It's certainly not a rejection," said Batgirl. "You'll be able to provide insight I can't."
Montoya glanced at her watch; 8:30 PM. "Why not? Night's still young. Lets go... meet you downstairs?" She got up to get her jacket.
"Sure, I'll bring the car around."
"Car?" But when Montoya turned back to her, Batgirl was gone. "Huh... just like him."
Being driven around in the Batmobile was certainly an experience that Montoya wasn't going to forget anytime soon. On one hand, there was the familiar feeling of working with someone out to do Justice, and then on the other, she felt like a rookie cop out on their first patrol; it was all completely strange and alien. Dozens of various switches, buttons, dials, and other controls surrounded her, adding to (if not creating it in the first place) the foreign feel to her current surroundings.
So, to pass the time, she turned to her temporary partner. "What time did Turner go missing?"
"Reported yesterday morning; could have been any time in the past week, though," Batgirl replied, expertly guiding the Batmobile through the streets of Gotham at a good speed. "No one was paying much attention to him immediately after he got out of jail. For all we know, someone could have been waiting for him the same day."
"Could have been some of Rupert's old gang, wanting to pay him back for being found out." Montoya looked down at the list. "But I don't recall any of these names being connected with his. In fact, I think only a few of these belonged to Rupert. The rest are...well, random."
"That's what I've noticed too. And what's more, a significant number of them have next to no one in terms of families or friends." Batgirl turned back to her, silently asking for directions.
"Two more blocks, then turn right," Montoya provided. "I was able to check my list before you came, and most of the people on it are small time, repeat offenders."
"Strange."
The two said nothing more, each lost in their own private thoughts until they reached their destination: Stan Turner's old apartment.
Getting out, Montoya turned to Batgirl, and nodded up to the top of the five story building. "Stairs or grappling hook?"
"I'll stick with the grappling hook, thanks," said Batgirl, hauling said device out and firing it up. "You want a ride?"
Montoya paused a moment before she shrugged. "Sure, why not?" Not quite sure how else to go about it, Montoya grabbed ahold of the gun of the grappling hook as Batgirl slipped an arm about her waist and, with the click of a button, they were zooming up onto the roof.
"Know where I could buy one of those?" Montoya joked idly as they entered through the rooftop entrance and took the stairs down to fifth floor.
"Sorry, members only merchandise," came the reply before they reached the apartment.
Taking out her gun, Montoya tried the door and found it locked. Almost immediately, Batgirl was there with a pick in hand, and had both the knob and deadlock undone. She glanced up at the cop.
"Better than knocking down the door," Montoya said before entering. With her gun taking the lead, she sweeped the apartment; one bedroom, and one bathroom with a combination living room and kitchen, before turning on the light.
The place was sparsely furnished, and there was a box marked Stan Turner laying on the coffee table. Montoya approached it while Batgirl knelt down, examining the carpet.
"Looks like the only ones who have been here have been the moving men, and only long enough to drop off the box," she said. Montoya glanced back at her. "I don't see any other footprints here."
Montoya turned back to the box and opened it up. Inside were a number of pictures and even some small momentos of his past carear. On the top, though, was a picture frame, and when she flipped it over, she saw herself, minus eight years, standing beside her former partner in front of their cop car. They were both smiling, hands on hips as the sun shined on them...
"Find something?" Batgirl asked.
Montoya looked the picture over a few moments more before slapping it back down. "Nothing but old memories." She sighed. "There's nothing here that's going to lead us to him. We might as well call it a night, start tomorrow when we're fresh..." She threw a glance at her companion. "Well, fresh for me. You've probably just started."
"I'd like to ask you a few questions before you call it a night," Batgirl said. "Know of anywhere else he might have frequented?"
For a moment Montoya was relieved; that certainly hadn't been the question she was expecting, not that she would have answered it if she could. "There were one or two pubs of his that he really liked before he was sentenced to jail; they're in Southern Gotham. They're called..." She frowned, thinking. "The Blue Oyster and... Apollo 44."
"How about family and friends?"
Montoya kept her gaze level despite the discomfort she was feeling. This was hitting far too close to home than she liked, and it was only a matter of time before her companion asked about their past. "If he had any, he didn't tell me about them, and the only other people that I knew he knew were those he was in cahoots with; contacts and the like. And I believe most of them are still in jail. I can arrange a meeting with some of them tomorrow, see what I can dig up..."
"That sounds like a plan." Batgirl paused a moment. "Everything alright?"
"Yeah, fine." She yawned and rubbed at her eyes. "Any way we can set up a time and place to meet tomorrow? If I don't get some sleep now, I'm not going to be any good."
Batgirl was silent a moment before she spoke next. "How about your desk, tomorrow night?"
"Better make it the roof. I'll bring whatever info I find."
"Right... want a ride home?"
Montoya managed a laugh. "The GPD, actually. Got my own car there."
"Man, I really hate it when he goes away like this," Tim complained, in a tone that made Barbara half suspect he was doing so as much for himself to hear as anyone else. Her companion sat in his Robin costume a few feet to her side, leaning back in his seat with hands behind head. "All the really weird stuff always seems to happen when he's out of town."
"Mmhm," Barbara grunted, not paying much attention. Tim had a habit of making this complaining speech with little variation each time Batman was needed by the Justice League, and Barbara had more important things to concentrate on at the moment. "Tim, did you find anything while you were investigating?"
"Not really," the boy replied. One of his virtues that easily outweighed his habit to chatter a bit too much was that he could instantly put aside whatever he had been thinking of and concentrate on the matter at hand with his full attention."Checked the backgrounds of the list, including the others you sent me from the Batmobile. The only thing of any real interest I've found is that they've either been convicted to some time behind bars, or they're on the payroll somehow of some big names."
"Hmm," Barbara murmured, staring hard at the screen of Batman's prized computer system. Over two dozen names adorned its screen, and of all of them, only one was any definite lead to investigate.
"It's like Gotham can sense when he's not around," Tim continued, picking up where he'd left off. "The nuts who want a shot at him specifically keep quiet till he's back, but everything else just breaks loose, and we two have to go and fix it all."
"We three," Barbara corrected without thinking much on it. "Dick helps out."
"Not the same," Tim countered as usual, twirling himself around slowly as he sat."He does his own thing, we do ours."
Barbara didn't bother answering (partly because Tim did have a point) as she continued to browse the backgrounds of the missing persons list, searching for a pattern. Location, age, race, gender, employers, anything...but no matter how she looked at it, there just wasn't a pattern there that she could discern. No link beyond a nearly universal link to crime.
Well, at least she did have a potential lead in Stan Turner. Tomorrow night's investigations with Detective Montoya could provide some insight, at least.
"You know what's the worst part, though?" Tim droned on. Barbara rolled her eyes from behind her mask. It always came to this. "He never brings me along! Uh, us. I meant to say us. He never brings us along! He gets to rub elbows with every great hero on the planet, plus Green Arrow, and he never once lets us come along to meet them! Completely unfair."
Detective Montoya... Barbara regretted having to involve her in this. As a general rule, Batman and his companions tried to deal with their investigations and battles completely without help from others, even when it was offered. It was, frankly, a good policy. No matter how well-trained, experience, and skilled Montoya or Bullock or any other police officer or civilian might have been, they were in over their heads when they tried to deal with many of the foes that Batman and his allies typically dealt with. The last thing Barbara Gordon wanted was to see a brave soul like Renee Montoya get hurt or killed because she'd been working with Batgirl.
Like the idea or not, though, she didn't have much choice. For tomorrow night at least, and perhaps longer, Batgirl and Detective Montoya would be partners in this investigation.
Hm... speaking of which, Batgirl decided to do a little research while Tim went on, having stopped his spinning with his back to the screen. Stan Turner... ah, here was an article cross-referenced for both his and Montoya's names. A quick read while Tim, blissfully unaware that she had her attention somewhere else, explained the various benefits his presence could have for the League revealed a great deal about why Montoya had seemed tense and reluctant earlier that night when Barbara had begun questioning her.
The article described the events of a trial for Stan Turner in which he was tried and convicted for accepting bribes from certain high-ranking criminals. The reason it had been publicized, however, was that Turner had tried to pin his partner, a rookie officer by the name of Renee Montoya, for the crime. He was ultimately proven to be the true perpetrator, but it was obvious to Barbara that it must have been a rough time for Renee, particularly considering how savage Gotham City's press could be when they got attached to a story. A quick click brought up a record for Turner's prison time, and confirmed that he had finished serving his time a week back.
Interesting... good thing Barbara had had the sense to stop probing when she noticed Montoya's discomfort with the questions' subject. No need to force her to dredge up the past if it could be avoided, after all. Barbara's time with Bruce had taught her the wisdom of that, to be sure. If Renee reached a point where she felt comfortable enough to tell Barbara the details, that would be fine. If not, she still knew what she needed to.
"Hey. Hey, hello? You okay? You seem preoccupied," Tim said, interrupting Barbara's train of thought. He ceased his spinning and watched her with a sharp, curious gaze.
"It's nothing. Just planning out our next move," she answered, meeting Robin's masked gaze with a stare of her own.
After a moment, Tim shrugged and looked at the screen."So those goons really think that we're doing this?"
Batgirl frowned, remembering the events of the previous night. Her discovery of a simple mugging case, the quick and effortless battle with the would-be muggers... and then them pleading with her not to kill them "like the others."
"Well, if those two were telling the truth, it seems so. Ever since their friends have been just disappearing suddenly, crooks are starting to think that we've lost it and are just killing them off now."
"The thing is," Barbara continued, "I've checked with my father, and I'm pretty sure that whatever's happening to these people, it's not just a case of serial killings. There's been no bodies found, no reported discoveries of blood that matches these people anywhere... if they ARE being killed, then whoever's doing it must be just disintegrating them on the spot for there to be so little a trail with so many people."
"So what do you think?" Tim asked. "Kidnappings?"
"Short of something supernatural-related (which we can't entirely rule out, I guess, but we haven't gotten any calls from Zatanna or Etrigan lately), yeah, I'd bet my money on kidnappings."
"Which, of course, doesn't answer any of the other big questions," the younger hero observed."Like who. And how. And why. In fact, all it does is add the question of where. As in, where would the kidnapper be keeping everyone?"
Barbara shrugged and leaned back a bit in her seat."Guess that's what we've got to find out for ourselves. But not tonight. We should go make one more sweep of the city, then call it a night. We'll come back to this later, once I've had a chance to further my investigation with Detective Montoya."
Tim nodded, and the two rose out of their seats and walked to the Batmobile.
"Seriously, though," Tim interjected, refusing to let his griping die without one last installment,"it's just not fair at all. They let Bruce up there but not us? We're a team! We should all get to go hang out with Superman and Green Lantern and all the rest! They're just a bunch of elitists. Well, I'm going to go make my own superhero club, then! With Blackjack! And hookers! Okay, forget the Blackjack. And the club."
Barbara ceased starting the car and stared.
"What? It's from Futurama," the boy said defensively.
"I think I need to tell Alfred how to set up those parental controls on the TV," she replied, focusing once again on turning the vehicle on. The engine roared to life, and the caped crime-fighters were on their way.
Another day of investigation had drawn to a close and, irritatingly enough, there had not been a single lead to be found. For most of the day, Montoya had been visiting the local prison and interviewing those inmates whom had worked for Rupert Thorne, and they had all been clueless as to the rash of disappearances.
Leaning back in her office chair, Montoya glanced up at the clock on the wall, noting the late hour, and rubbed her forehead. She was frustrated, but not by the lack of finding any leads, that was for sure; it was Stan.
Somewhere, he was probably being held against his will after serving his time and for all she knew, he could be dead. That should not have bothered her as much as it did, considering all that he had put her through. In fact, wouldn't most people have just moved on?
Right, like she was most people.
At least her current partner was more reliable than her last; no way would there be any double crosses in the Bat crew.
And hey, she got to ride up on the grapple hook, something she hadn't done in a good long time. The thought of it brought back nostalgic memories of a time when she had followed a clue down and saved Batman from a group of thugs. Well, to be honest, Batman had seemed to actually have the situation under control himself, but still, as Montoya had said, it had been a team effort. There were perks to being a cop, after all.
"You look like someone who's found something."
Montoya's smile faded and she sat up, turning in her chair to fix Batgirl with a slight frown. "Sorry, no. Just remembering old times..." She waved to the list on her desk. "I went and visited a number of Thorne's men in prison, and they haven't a clue about what's going on. Or, if they do, they're not speaking up."
"I went looking for some leads last night, and found nothing as well." Batgirl waved away a seat that Montoya offered her, opting to remain standing. "Best thing we have so far is to see what we can dig up at Stan's old haunts."
Montoya gritted her teeth, but nodded. "Good enough." She threw Batgirl a wry smile. "You driving again?"
"Of course."
Once more Montoya found herself within the confines of the batmobile, a place she suspected she was going to find very familiar in the coming days. Regardless, she still wasn't going to touch anything. Glancing over at Batgirl, she wondered just how long she had taken to learn how to handle everything in the car, or if she ever stood a chance of driving the car herself.
Her glance didn't go unnoticed though. "What's up?"
Surpressing a laugh, Montoya smiled instead. "Just wondering if I could ever drive this thing."
"No, sorry. The boss dosen't like others touching his ride," Batgirl replied with a smile as she twisted the wheel, bringing the car hard about and down a well used alley. "We should be near the bar, Apollo 44, right?"
Montoya nodded. "Yes. There are a few regulars there that might have seen something...maybe someone tagging along without Stan's notice..." She drifted off into silence, a hand held to her chin thoughtfully.
Stan... yeah, not the best example of partnership, but he still didn't deserve to be held illegally and against his will, not after having done his time. But still...
Inwardly, it was damned hard not to wish him ill will, nor was she completely comfortable with his being fine and dandy. Maybe that was it, she was feeling guilty over the whole ordeal... which was stupid. How could it be her fault when he had set her up in the first place?
She glanced over from the corner of her eye at Batgirl, wondering what kind of guilt she had to deal with dealing with the kind of people, when there the sounds of gunfire caught her attention. Just around the corner, the pair came across an all too familiar scene; a pair of masked crooks exiting a store, weapons and loot in hand. There was a third criminal as well sitting behind the wheel of a car, engine revving high as the crooks got in.
"Guess we'll have to put that on hold," said Montoya, her hand reaching out on automatic before coming up short. "Where is the radio here?"
"No time. I'll draw their fire, you go inside, check on the people," Batgirl said, drawing the car to a screeching halt across from the store.
Almost instantly, the criminals opened fire, the bullets bouncing harmlessly off the armor of the Batmobile and making Montoya flinch despite herself. The car tore off and the door opened up, allowing Montoya enough time to hop out before it took off in hot pursuit. With gun drawn and in hand, she rushed to the store, staying low as she entered, and was fortunately rewarded with the sight of the scared, but uninjured store owner cowering on the floor behind the cash register.
"It's alright, sir. Gotham PD," she said, holstering the gun and giving him a hand.
The store owner took it and shakily got to his feet. "Yes... but... they got away scott-free!"
As though in reply, there came the sound of tires screeching and a car coming to a sudden halt.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that, sir," Montoya replied.
"Not a problem?" Montoya asked after the Batmobile pulled over to a stop in front of the store.
"Hardly," Batgirl replied as the detective climbed in. "Just take out the tires and the fight gets taken out of them, most of the time. And then..."
She never got to finish that sentence before the sound of yelling and cries for help reached their ears. Montoya took one glance at Batgirl before she jumped in and strapped herself in.
"And right where you left them too, wasn't it," she said. Both were making the same mental assessment of the situation.
"Yeah, looks like we just may have unintentionally set out bait for our guy," Batgirl said, gunning the engine hard even as she twisted the wheel just as hard. "Not the way I would have wanted it."
"Same here..." Montoya left the rest unspoken, knowing that Batgirl was thinking the same as she; at how good an opportunity this was to cut to the chase and get ahold of their man and solve the case.
She held on tight as Batgirl hit the gas and sent them zooming down the street. The traffic was light this late at night in this part of Gotham, but still the time spent racing back to where Batgirl had left the criminals to await arrest seemed dreadfully long,
But even with the Batmobile's speed, the duo were too late, arriving just in time to see the tail lights of a plain old van taking a hard turn just up the street, its tires screeching.
"No doubt, that's our guy." Montoya held onto the chair, feeling the tight turn that Batgirl took push her to one side. "Simple plain van, no license plates... guess we won't be tracking him through insurance."
"And no other distinguishing marks at all. The thing could have been picked up at a junkyard for how it looks. Well, on the bright side, that probably rules out this being one of the typical Arkham bunch. They tend to love customizing all their vehicles," the costumed woman added.
Batgirl brought the batmobile closer to the van, only to have it twist away from her, crossing over into the oncoming traffic. With traffic getting heavier, it took all of her concentration to avoid the slew of vehicles that the van's headlong path was sending her way. "This is bad... he's definitely no amateur, and if he gets into heavier traffic, it'll give him the cover he'd need to get away..."
"Right...":Montoya looked about, again feeling that helpless feeling as she gazed over all the unknown buttons and switches. "You have a...a tracker here or that tire busting thing? Where is that?"
"Can't use it here now." And Montoya looked up to see the van suddenly pulling hard to the right, sending several vehicles practically scurrying for cover, and entering the ramp for the bridge. "Especially not here."
Montoya bit her lip, wondering just what she could do as they pulled onto the
bridge with the van just barely edging out ahead of them. It was all she could
do to simply hold on and have trust in her new partner's driving ability.
Besides. she was a bit wary about hitting anything, even the arm rests, in
anger, for fear it might activate an ejection system, if the car had them.
And it probably did.
Before either Montoya or Batgirl could think of a solution, the van suddenly gained a boost in speed, but at the cost of stability. Already top-heavy, the increased speed twisted it from one side to the other, where it smashed into the side of a car, and started a chain reaction of collisions. Much to Montoya's irritation, the van stabilized from its hit and drove on, leaving behind it twisting, crashing vehicles that blocked their path and forced Batgirl to bring the Batmobile to a screeching halt.
Montoya gritted her teeth with frustration, calculated the odds of activating something, and slammed her fist on the arm rest. "He got away!"
"In the meantime, we'd best make sure no one's hurt," said Batgirl, opening the door. "I'll radio the ambulance and fire department."
"Right." Montoya got out, and immediately set to work, checking on those people in the crashed cars. Another night and another failure to get any real clues as to the kidnapper's identity.
As Montoya helped an elderly man out of his vehicle, she was vaguely comforted by the fact that she was working with one of the best of the city's crimefighters, and that now, at least, they knew just what the kidnapper was using to get around.
Barbara sighed in annoyance as she got out of the Batmobile, the noise being swallowed within the legendary Batcave's great caverns and canyons. She hadn't allowed herself to show it earlier, but their prey's escape was just as annoying to her as it was to her partner. Probably moreso, because Barbara knew it shouldn't have happened. The guy (or girl) had gotten lucky, regardless of their skill. Any other time, that chase would have been hers. If it hadn't been for that unlucky collision...
But, that was how things were sometimes. Neither she nor any of her colleagues had any real place to complain about luck. Not when their lives so often hinged upon its whims. If the price to pay for the occasional unlikely turn of events that kept her and Batman, Robin, and Nightwing alive at times was to let the same fortune be bestowed on their foes occasionally, then she would pay it gracefully.
"You're back later than anticipated, Miss Gordon," came a familiar, warmly proper voice from the dark gloom of the cave. Barbara looked over to see Alfred's dimly-lit figure approaching through the shadows, carrying a serving tray laden holding food and drink for her. "Held up by traffic, I imagine?"
"How'd you guess?" she answered wryly, walking over to the computer station and
taking a seat by Tim. Of course, the accident hadn't been the only thing to keep
her. Once she and Detective Montoya had finished helping those who needed it,
and determined that the van hadn't left any discernable trail to follow, they'd
continued the investigation as planned before the incident. That avenue had been
just as rewarding as the chase, however--none of the patrons of Apollo 44 had
seen Stan any time recently--and there was only one who even remembered who he
was. It HAD been several years, after all. From there, it had become too late
to keep going--both had to be up for work at the police department the next day,
after all.
"No guess," Tim answered. "They were talking about the chase a little while ago on the news. Just how could you let some junky old van get away from you, anyway?"
Barbara narrowed her eyes. "They got a lucky break."
"Uh-huh. Right. So, was there any trouble with the aftermath? They said it was a pretty big pile-up."
Barbara shook her head. "No, not really. Montoya was a lot of help."
How true that was. Barbara had to admit, she'd been impressed with how fast and diligently Montoya had gotten to work. Most cops on the force would have wasted time with disappointment and complaints over the van's getaway and neglect giving the citizens what aid they might need. To quite a lot of the GCPD, their work was about getting the collar, not keeping the public safe. It was a fact that was constantly presented to Barbara, since she worked during the day with these police officers, and something that caused her father and Internal Affairs more than one headache. Seeing Montoya quickly put her personal diasappointment aside to do her duty was refreshing to Barbara, and increased her already high sense of respect for the woman.
"That's good," Tim remarked as Barbara accepted a cup of tea from Alfred. "I did a quick errand on my rounds tonight and got something you might be interested in."
He reached over and gave her a sheet of paper. Barbara studied it and frowned. It was a list of names--by now a very familiar list. But down at the bottom...
"You found more missing people? How?"
Tim sat back and laid his head in his arms, a smug expression on his masked face. "I paid a little visit to our old friend Rupert Thorne. He's missing a few more of his guys than have been reported. He wasn't too happy about helping out, but he wants an end to this as much as anybody, so--"
"You went to Rupert Thorne's home alone?" Barbara cut in sharply.
"Huh? Uh, yeah," Tim answered, his expression faltering for a moment. "And let me tell you, he's got some pretty big help hired on, too. Maybe he's feeling a little more concerned about this whole thing than he's--"
"Don't you EVER do that again!" Barbara angrily interrupted. "Rupert Thorne is the most dangerous leader of organized crime in this entire city. He keeps dozens of armed guards at his home at all times, and they're told to shoot us on sight!"
"Oh, come on," Tim answered, his joking tone a bit shaky, "Those guys are just goons; they're not any real problem."
"One of their bullets is all it takes, Tim. You're not invincible, and you're not perfect. That van I was chasing tonight? It got away because it got lucky. Criminals get lucky sometimes. What happens if the next time it's a lucky shot?"
"I was just trying to help," Tim answered sullenly.
Barbara's voice went from furious to a gentle explanation now. "When I or Bruce or even Dick are with you, we can look out for you the way you look out for us. We can make sure that if you make a mistake, you'll live to learn from it. But when you're alone, we aren't there to do that, Tim. The reason that Bruce and I let you patrol by yourself sometimes is that we trust that you won't take needless risks like this."
"...alright, alright," Tim reluctantly answered. Barbara knew that his scowl was not genuine, but rather a way to cover sheepish embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."
"Apology accepted, but all the same I think it's best that you tag along with me tomorrow night so I can keep an eye on you."
Tim scowled at having to give up the freedom of lone patrolling for a night, but made no verbal protest.
Tomorrow...Barbara glanced again at the list Tim had given her. It wasn't much, but for now, it might be all they had to go on.
Prison had not been a pleasant experience for Stan Turner. While he was a police officer, he'd never really thought to make any friends with the prison security the way he'd attempted to form lasting and, more importantly, useful bonds with peers in public protection. For all the good those had done him, but still, they'd at least delayed Internal Affairs for a few months.
However, as bad as prison had been, Stan would give anything to be there instead of here.
Miserably, he surveyed his surroundings. They hadn't gotten any better in the 5 minutes since he last looked. He was still trapped in a small cell with steel bars blocking the only exit. No bed, barely enough space to walk a full step, and a constant very acrid smell to the air which even days of incarceration here hadn't gotten him completely used to. A lamp hanging in the middle of the room where Stan's prison was located provided a dim light to view what was outside his cell. It wasn't any more interesting--he just seemed to be located in a long corridor with built-in prisons like his own lining its sides. Much further down, there was a constant racket of people yelling to be freed, so he at least knew he wasn't alone, wherever he was.
Although, if it meant getting away from the jailor, being alone would have been just fine.
Speaking of which, Stan's ears picked up the heavy steps of him now. The man felt a chill of fear as the steps grew louder, as well as another constant sound--likely he was dragging whatever the fruits of his nightly hunt were with him.
After a moment, the large man, dragging along an unconscious trio of masked men who looked every bit the small-time crooks they likely were, came into view. Most people would show visible strain at hauling 3 grown men behind them for any length of time, but not this one. He was a huge man, bulky with the shoulders of an ox. Such a task for him was barely worth the grunt he made as he tossed all three of them into the prison across the hall from Stan's own cell. Stan couldn't help but feel a little sympathy for the men, whoever they might have been--it was cramped enough in his own cell as it was without having to share it with 2 others.
The jailer slammed the door shut, and then turned around to focus ever-furious eyes upon Stan. The former cop cringed at the sight before him. A wide, tall man stood before him, clad head to toe in a form-fitting suit. It was, for the most part, metallid blue, but had 2 thick black bands on the outer sides of the legs that ran from the torso straight down to the large, black wide boots on his feet. The chest area, rather than a solid color, had several black stripes going down it, uniformly spaced from one another--remniscient of the bars on a prison door, of course. The shoulder area on each side was a solid black, eerily making the arms seem completely independant from the rest of him in the gloom and shadows. A chain with links nearly as large as the man's huge hands ran across his waist as a belt would-- whether it actually functioned as one in some way or if it was for show alone, Stan couldn't really guess. A similar chain with slightly smaller links ran down the sides of his arms from the shoulders to the tops of his black-gloved hands. Finally, a very tight black mask enveloped his head, with but a horizontal opening for his eyes in it, not even an opening for his mouth. The fact that this mask came down to be tucked within the rest of his attire meant that the only part of this man visible were his eyes.
And they weren't pleasant to look at. As the kidnapper fixed them upon Stan, he could swear he could literally see madness raging in a tempest of anger within them.
"Well, Mr. Turner, are you becoming more settled with your new living arrangements?" a smug, deep voice escaped from the fabric mask. "I see you've learned not to touch the bars, at least."
Stan looked down at his hands, red and tender from the intense scratching he'd inflicted upon them when he found out the bars he had been gripping were coated in an itching powder or solution of some sort.
"Please, Mr. Lock-Up, let me out of here!" Stan begged. Social dignity be damned; he was frightened and he wanted to be out of here!
"Shut up!" the captor roared, slamming a covered fist against the bars of Stan's cell. "You miserable, craven coward, crawling like the despicable vermin you are! The others I have here are twisted deviants threatening society, but you, Mr. Turner, YOU are by far the sickest and most dangerously disruptive element here of all!"
Lock-Up grabbed bars with both hands in rage. His grip tightened and tightened as his arms tensed, almost as though he were trying to tear the bars right off. For once, Stan felt immense relief for the barrier.
"Your kind makes me sick," Lock-Up continued, his tone now an enraged hiss more than anything. "My guts are twisting into knots just from the SIGHT of scum like you! You false police officers, empty shells of humanity who tarnish a badge the moment you touch it, you who falsely swear in a deadpan voice to uphold society, then turn around and feel your first true glee as the filthy money of criminals crosses your indecent palms...you're FAR worse lying filth than these other small fools I've got!"
"B-But I, I served jail time for that," Stan tried to reason, voice shaking almost as much as he himself was. He couldn't tear his gaze from those malicious violent eyes; eyes in which Stan could see hundreds of torments, deaths, pains, and sufferings enwrap him. "I s-served the sentence and--"
"SILENCE!" Lock-Up roared. "You think a few measly years in that pathetically soft and weak little henhouse is justice? There are people who live regular lives in this city that are worse off! Never mind what those incompetent weaklings in court say--I'LL decide what justice you deserve. You ought to be thankful that I don't beat you until your skin matches my suit!"
"It-It wasn't me that did it!" Stan cried out desperately, grasping for any way to reason with this madman. "I was innocent all along!"
"Oh?" Lock-Up replied, a deadly amusement suddenly replacing the fury that had laced his tone moments before. "And just how do you figure that, Mr. Turner?"
Stan was fully aware that he had his jailer's undivided attention, even if it was doubting, for a brief moment, and that this was probably going to be his only opportunity to say something, anything, that could get him out of here.
Unfortunately, some people aren't very creative, and Stan was one of them. The first idea that popped into his head was the same one that had several years before during a similar situation.
"My old partner, Renee Montoya! She's the one you want! I was framed!"
Lock-Up didn't immediately scream an interruption, so Stan poured words from his mouth in a sea of desperation. "You said yourself the courts aren't perfect- they made a mistake, they sent the wrong person! She covered her tracks too well, and framed me instead! It was a setup!"
"Hmmm," Lock-Up grunted to himself, lifting a fist from the bars to stroke his conceiled chin thoughtfully. "You're probably lying, but it's true that trials in Gotham are little more than a circus, incapable of carrying out their purpose. It could be that you're innocent as you say...or maybe you and her are BOTH guilty and just trying to shunt the blame from one to another...but I certainly can't let her go free to continue poisoning this city. Tomorrow night, I will remedy this situation!"
With that, he turned and began striding away. "Hey!" Stan called after him. "What about me? Let me out!"
An infernal chuckle was his answer. "As I said, I can't be sure it isn't just you lying to me, Mr. Turner. Since I won't be able to tell if it's you or Ms. Montoya who's guilty, I'll just have to keep you both until I've deemed that the corrupt one's had their proper punishment. I'm sure you'll both enjoy the company."
Stan groaned as he heard his captor's footseps recede as he left. Not the result he'd been hoping for. Now not only was he still a hostage of this lunatic, but he'd also soon have a very displeased former partner to deal with.
Jolt!'s Notes: Upon joining, I made it my goal to write at least one co-op fanfic with each of the Lemon Rangers, with the sole exceptions being Shaz, because he's an artist only, Voidstar and Hiel, since they seemed to have disapeared entirely, and, with great great regret, Izcel.
That leaves me to write something with Mads, as I have started on this with no one else but a great fan of the DC animated series than Hentai Dye. This guy is just absolutely great to brainstorm with, and it's just awesome how long we can do just that, thinking of and working and tinkering with whatever pops into our heads. At first, we honestly, and quite naively, thought we could do this thing in one chapter, but now it looks as though it's going to be a series in its own right, which I have no problems with. Fanfiction concerned Western super heros is something I haven't done at all, and I'm looking forward to the challenge as well as working with Hentai Dye.
That and the guy has been suppling me with a good chunk of encodes from his resources.
Hentai-Dye: Hi, all, Hentai-Dye here. So, uh, Jolt or Big-Wired or whatever he calls himself informs me that for joint fics, you, like, put in author's notes at the end of the chapters. This is a new concept to me, since, I dunno, I just don't usually use them. So, um, hi. Writing a joint fic has been more fun than I would have thought. Hell, I thought it'd be tougher than a solo fic, but it actually turns out that only having to do half of the usual workload is EASIER. Go figure. Uh...so...keep reading? I'm not sure how I'm supposed to end an author's note, actually. I guess if I were Batman I would just wait until you looked away for a second and then slip out silently so that when you turned around, I'd be gone and you'd say some mildly humorous one-liner, like Commissioner Gordan does. Or something. So...go do that now. Look away...now. Great.