CHAPTER 54:
"The Bait & Switch"
Walking through the hall of the lengthy Galley on the Main Level of Wayne Manor, the Ballroom was their final destination. It was where a large culmination of the party guests were being held by Riddler's men, as it was more easily securable.
Two men escorted Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon.
As Dick Grayson couldn't walk under his own power, one of the men with Barbara Gordon, carried him, both talking an arm over their shoulders, dragging Dick between them. The other, the gunman, stayed alert, and a few steps back, following them.
"This guy's a lot heavier than I thought he'd be," the man, carrying Dick, said. He was a little thinner than the man holding the rifle, about fifty pounds lighter. The man with the rifle was more muscular, and when it came to hauling Dick through the gallery, it was he that dictated instructions, seemingly because he held the weapon.
"What's he made of…lead?"
"Pipe down, you dolt," the other said. "We only have a little ways to go."
Suddenly, Barbara tripped, and both she and the other man carrying Dick, fell to the floor in a heap. Dick dropped like a stone onto the other man, and the man let off a small Oof! when he became winded.
The man with the gun cocked the weapon, then grabbed Barbara, and said, "If that was some sort of stall tactic, it didn't work, sweetheart. There's no one around to save you or your battered boyfriend. He's out for the count and will be for a long time."
The other man pushed Dick off him and got to one knee. "That guy, Jake Handles, the one with Riddler…he really beat this guy to within an inch of his life, didn't he? He's going to need some serious medical help after all this."
"The Wayne family butler has in-depth medical training," Barbara said. "His name is Alfred. He's an older, English gentleman…"
The gunman spoke up. "I know him. Sorry, but he's out for the count. He was one of the first we hit with the knock out gas when we took over this place. All the hired help are all locked up in the Servant's Scullery, minus the knives, of course. Anything that could be used as a weapon was removed. They can bake a cake, they just can't slice off a piece. Pick him up and get moving! Any medical attention can be rendered in the Ballroom. Those guests in the den, where you were, will be moved there soon enough."
Suddenly, a soft thumping was heard from a staircase leading to the upper level near the beginning of the Gallery hall. No other noises masked the sound, so it could be heard clearly. They all turned and looked. Moments later, a black cat came bounding down, and came to stand on the hardwood when it reached the bottom. Then it turned and looked at them.
"Alfred!" Barbara cried.
"Alfred?" the gunman said. "But I thought that that was the butler's name?"
Alfred's eyes turned wild, as if he was seeing a terrible injustice befalling one of his family, and suddenly ran towards them, like cats do, not in a line, but in a catatonic zigzag, using his claws to dig deep into the wooden flooring for traction, and then leapt at the man who was on one knee, latching onto his face, and sinking his fangs deep, biting his nose.
The man cried out in pain, and shouted, "Get it off! Get it off!" grabbing at Alfred, trying to pry the cat off. Alfred clawed at the sides of his face as well, ripping skin, and generating streams of blood.
Barbara then took the opportunity, and used the distraction in her favour. She got to her feet and delivered a high kick to the gunman and knocked the rifle of his hands. She then performed a roundhouse kick to his head and knocked him out cold.
Alfred Pennyworth, the cat, for whom Damian paid homage to by naming a stray cat he found after the Wayne butler, continued to fight like a true Wayne. Barbara stood over the pair for a moment enjoying the humorous cat versus man battle taking place. The man begged for Alfred to stop. Alfred kept scratching, clawing, and biting, as if his life depended on it. When it came to protecting their masters and its family members—especially those they liked—pets could be very protective and vicious.
After a few more moments, Barbara decided it was enough, and gave the man a quick karate chop to the back of the neck, and laid him out. Alfred dropped with the man as he felt backwards. After the man was down, Alfred backed off his face, and then sat on the unconscious man's chest. He had an unusual personality and Alfred fit in perfectly within the Wayne household.
The cat cocked his head up and looked at Barbara, his tail waving behind in a happy way.
"Good boy, Alfred," Barbara said. "I'll be sure to tell Damian to give you an extra helping of fishcake and catnap when this is all over." The cat meowed pleased. She then looked down at Dick. "And I think someone deserves an Oscar for Best Performance."
Chuckling came from Dick Grayson laying on his stomach, face first on the floor. He then turned over, and suddenly his appearance changed, and Arkells emerged, without a mark to his face, completely unscathed of injury, and no lingering blood. The entire affair of his beating had been a trick. "I think I deserve more than an Oscar. Wait. What's more prestigious than an Oscar?"
"Believability in one's performing arts," came a mysterious voice. Like a phantom of the night, Nightwing materialized into existence, using an adaptation of Spyral's cloaking technology.
When Bruce had Dick infiltrate Spyral after his secret identity has been revealed to the Rogues, suspecting nefarious dealings, such as murders and assassins of prominent politicians and the like, and other questionable things, by the organization, Dick brought back some high-tech with him after Spyral fell. One of which was Refractive Cloaking Technology, which used a method of mirror magic to cloak a person from sight using the surrounding environment to hide. Spyral used something similar to hide their faces from people. This, instead, did the same job, but for the entire body. Nightwing had been watching everything, but was invisible.
Jake Handles, obviously, used something similar, unlike his photo-kinetic technology, to infiltrate, and takeover the Manor.
Alfred jumped when he saw Nightwing appear like a ghost and bolted down the hallway frightened. He scurried around a corner.
Nightwing opened his mouth, wanting to alleviate the cat's fears, but it was too late. He knew he'd get it for that. Cats were notorious for hiding for days when they didn't want to be seen and to dish out payback when a person least expected it.
Alfred Pennyworth, the cat, knew Dick Grayson was Nightwing, but his sudden appearance just frightened the poor thing.
Arkells got to his feet, and Barbara went over and hugged her husband-to-be. "Better watch yourself, Dick," she said. "When he comes to his senses, and realize that it was you who scared him, Alfred will on the warpath."
"I know. He can be friendly, but he can also be one vicious pussy. Where's Jason and Roy?"
"Roy took Jason to one of the Guest Suits on the upper floor to sleep off the booze," Barbara explained. She said that Alfred had told her. "But that was over an hour ago. No one has seen either of them since."
"Fine," Dick said. "Arkells, disguise yourself as one of Riddler's marauders and go check up on Roy and Jason." Dick picked up the gunman's weapon. "I don't like using guns, even when I was with Spyral, but take it for dramatic effect." He passed it to Arkells.
Nightwing looked behind him. The Ballroom doors were closed, then back. "Where's Riddler? And Jake? I still can't believe Jake's alive, but I knew something was up when he smiled just before dropping into that crevasse on Treasure Island. Escaping in a one-man submarine is just like him. I heard everything when he told you in the Den when he was beating on you, Arkells. I wanted to stop him, the effect of the blood coming out of you was so real, I really thought Jake was hurting you, but I held myself back."
"I know, I could be an actor," Arkells boasted.
Nightwing smiled. "You looked exactly like me; scary," he said. "When we concocted this little scheme of you being me after I was first struck—the old bait and switch—I didn't know it would work. You came running down the hall a split second after Riddler's man hit me and then clocked Riddler's man out." Dick felt his left cheek, a bruise was beginning to emerge. It smart when touched. "Lucky, that second guy came, so we could implement the plan. Just don't pretend to me without my permission, okay?"
Arkells smirked. "Don't worry, it's not like I'm going to take over your identity, be a new Nightwing, or anything like that. But just imagine if a woman chose to take up your mantle, say, like Barbara here? How would you feel about that?"
"That would never happen," Barbara said. "No one would believe I was Nightwing. For one thing, I have breasts."
"Good," Dick said, with a pursed smirk. "And that idea is ludicrous. The last thing we need is another me running around confusing people. I already had that issue with Jason, dressing like Nightwing. He even went so far as to build his physique like mine at the time. He went a little crazy, beating people up, soiling my reputation. We straight things out. But he almost killed me in the process."
"Does Jason take any medication for his mental issues?" Arkells asked.
"We all hope so," suddenly came another voice. "If not, I'd like to shove a few Valium down his throat."
They all whipped around, and saw Damian coming down the hall from the open Ballroom double doors. He yawned, and stretched his arms. In the background, he saw the guests stirring with Riddler's men out cold on the floor.
When Damian approached, he said, "That stuff they sprayed everyone with was wicked, but I managed to fake being unconscious until I knew what was truly going on. But, I guess some of that stuff got on my clothes." He yawned again. "I managed to take them all out. The Ballroom is clear. The Mayor and Commissioner Gordon are fine. So, where do we start? Who's ass do we kick?" He punched a fist into a palm. "I was watching things out here through a slit in the doors. I didn't want to get involved or that guy with the gun would start shooting. Was that Alfred running away? You scared him, didn't you, Grayson? You're going to get it later."
"Yup, I know. He's just like you when it comes to payback: vicious and unrelenting," Nightwing said with a thin smirk.
"Better buy him a whole load of cat treats, or a cat tree to climb, or something really special to get back in his good graces, or you'll be sorry." Damian said it not as a suggestion, but more like instructions to follow.
"Oh, I will," Dick said, "or they'll be a nice little present waiting for me on my pillow, or someplace in my clothes, or shoes, in retribution. He's a lot like you, only you don't hunt mice when you're on patrol. Or, maybe you do? You are a bird of prey."
Dick smirked, but Damian gave him an incredulous look.
Dick continued: "When you first brought him home, I kept finding dead mice every where I went, every time I visited the Manor, even one in my bed when I stay here. You didn't give him a name at first, so I didn't know what to call him. Until you did, I kept calling him Foncé Chevalier, or Noir. Not sure if he liked that? He kept swiping his paws at me, or leaping at my stomach, and bouncing off."
Barbara chuckled, Arkells smirked.
"Cute," Arkells said. "Foncé Chevalier—Dark Knight, and Noir—Blacky. Both French."
"Clever, eh?" Dick said. "I once called Bruce 'Blacky'', but he didn't speak to me for three days after."
"Alfred probably didn't understand what you were saying, Grayson. So, of course he'd do weird stuff like that," Damian explained. "I thought about calling him Blacky, but it didn't suit him, despite being a black cat. Besides, giving you things are tribute. Cats do that to offer gratitude to those they like or to gander attention from others. It's a sign of respect, and it's also a sign of Look at what I've done for you, praise me! He probably thought you didn't like him because you kept calling him weird names in a language he didn't understand, so he kept giving you things, wishing for a better one. But, if you ever piss off a temperamental cat, you'll see a whole different sign of them, and you'll find something nasty in your bed, worse than a dead rodent. I ticked Alfred off once and I regretted it. I crawled into bed one night and found something warm and moist under my sheets. Let's just say, it wasn't jello."
Barbara made a disgusting face.
Arkells said, "I wasn't sure why at the time and I kept thinking about it in later years. I never got around to asking you if I thought it was true, I didn't interact with the cat much. But now I get it, and why you named the cat after Alfred. Alfred—our Alfred—could get nasty at times when you piss him off. He head-butt Superman once, didn't he? When he was powerless and acting dejected?"
"I think I was told that?" NIghtwing said.
"Although, I don't remember ever finding what you found in my bed, Damian. But Alfred would give me some extra chores to do around the house if I ticked him off. So, in truth, he and the cat are very much alike, in certain respects."
"Yup, that's our Alfred for you," Dick agreed. He noticed something, looked at Barbara's left hand. "Um, Barb…Where's your ring?"
Barbara looked at her hand. She sighed, absent-mindedly. "On the dresser in our room," she said. "I took it off just before we—um… Then you were suddenly assaulted by Riddler's man. I wasn't able to retrieve it with all the chaos. Sorry…"
He smiled kindly. "Okay, I'll go get it. But back to the task at hand. Arkells, how many men do you think Riddler brought?"
"Minus these two bozos, I'd say twenty, eighteen more, maybe. Then we have Handles and Riddler."
"That's my count, as well," Dick said. "Although, I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that something's not quite right. Anyone seen Bruce around?" Barbara and Arkells had been together in the Den and Damian had been in the Ballroom with the rest of the guests, but Bruce wasn't with either of the groups. "I haven't checked the Batcave yet. I'll do that. But I don't see Bruce abandoning his guests…" Dick and Barbara shared a glance. They had split the party to be alone. "The fundraisers were important to him."
Damian saw some of the guests peaking their heads out of the Ballroom. "Ah—thank-you for saving us, Nightwing!" Damian said, loud enough for the guests to hear. This gave everyone the chance to grow aware that they were being watched. "That nasty Riddler and his men have the rest of the fundraiser guests stored elsewhere in the Manor." He chose each word wisely.
Barbara knew none of the guests had seen how they were rescued, they only knew now Nightwing was here. And assuming he was here, then Batman was somewhere, too.
"Yes," Nightwing said back audibly. "The Bat Signal was seen in the clouds, cast by Gotham's finest, and the police informed us via a tip from someone here that trouble was brewing. That is why we—Batman and I—are here. We happened to be in the area, too. Thank you for your assistance. You are a credit to the fair citizens of Gotham, young Damian Wayne."
Nightwing ruffled Damian's hair as if to thank a little kid.
Damian gave him the stink-eye. His back was turned to the Ballroom. And he muttered, "Watch it, Grayson, or you'll find something nasty in your bed from me next time."
Barbara hid a small smirk behind a strategically placed hand as if to suddenly cough.
Then Dick relayed some brief instructions to everyone quietly. Damian and Barbara were to stay here and look after the guests, while Arkells searched for Jason and Roy. Erstwhile, Nightwing would search for Bruce.
Before Nightwing left, he tied up Riddler's men with what he could find, wire from lamps in the galley hall, placing them in a storage room, and securing the door. He wondered if he should give the man who was attacked by Alfred medical attention for his face, but then thought he would be fine and left him as is. The blood was already dry.
As Damian and Barbara filed into the Ballroom, distracting everyone, Arkells then made his departure, and altered his form, by morphing into one of Riddler's incapacitated men, the muscular one, and struck out in search for the two missing Outlaws.
To be continued...
