Chapter 16: Locks and Lockdowns
Wayne Manor, Kane County, Twelve Thirty-Nine AM, January 1990
Dick stumbled up the stairs from the Batmobile's turnstile, collapsing at Alfred's feet in front of the computer system.
"Do I have to walk all the way upstairs to sleep? I can do it here.."
"If you want to smell awful tomorrow morning and have serious back problems, I suppose you may, Master Richard. Now get up."
Wayne Manor, Kane County, Six Forty-Nine AM
"Master Richard, you must get up!" exclaimed Alfred for what could have been the first time or the tenth, Dick had no clue, his face shoved in to the pillow, trying to compensate for the removal of his covers, "My lord, Dick, I know it wasn't your fault that you stayed up past one in the morning, but that doesn't change the fact that you need to go to school today. Maybe you ought to consider not going on patrol tonight, so you can finally get a good night's rest.
"N-no," said Dick, still lulling into sleep, "I'm going on patrol tonight."
"Have you gotten a good night's sleep in a week, Master Dick?"
"Yes, Alfred, I have. I feel fine, just a bit more sleep-"
"If you're late for school, you don't leave the cave this evening. I do think that's a fair rule, don't you?"
"Fine," grumbled Dick, rolling out of bed.
"Excellent. Wear warm clothes, it's forecasted to snow today. I have Chia seed and egg for breakfast downstairs. You can make your lunch too, if you don't want another cucumber sandwich."
Brentwood Academy, Uptown Gotham, Seven Fifty-One AM
Dick got out of the Rolls Royce without a lunchbox, but with his khakis pockets filled with cash. He'd try his luck with a school burger.
He walked down the long concrete sidewalk, freshly shoveled, with snow on the grass. He was slightly later than usual, and as such his friends weren't there, but Dick wasn't in the mood to get angry. The chilled air only woke him up skin-deep. He decided he'd use the elevator to get upstairs, maybe nap on the way up.
Today, it seemed everybody wanted to take the elevator. There was a line in front of it, nearly wrapping around the way to the wide stairway that it was to the left of. Perhaps those in line had used Dick's same logic. He did some quick calculations, and concluded that the trek up the stairway would leave him more time to sleep in the classroom than having to be awake in the slow moving line would. He was irritated when he saw students getting out on the second floor elevator. That felt wasteful.
Dick made it upstairs fine, and went into his homeroom class. The bell rang right as he crossed the threshold.
"Almost late there, Dick," smiled Mrs. Flynn. How could she be so awake? As he sat down and yawned, she asked, "Long night, huh?"
"Wh-wha, yeah," Dick sat up, and stretched his back with a pop that made the whole class turn around. Amazing how much difference an hour of sleep could make."Yeah- I uh, stayed up watching the news."
To his surprise, Dick's lie had quite a lot of truth to it, as the class exploded into discussion. He knew Batman and Robin got on the news often, but he hadn't ever heard it discussed like this.
"I saw Robin talking to Vicki Vale."
"Do you think Robin Is Batman's son, or is he like a little brother, or a friend?"
"No way someone like Batman has a brother or a son."
"Are you sure Batman's human?"
"Did you see what they did at GCPD!"
"Yeah, but that stuff from the club- did you see all those guys they killed? That was wicked!"
"Dude, Batman doesn't kill."
"Robin's gotta be our age, right?"
"He's kinda cute."
Dick wanted to contribute, and the fame sure was enjoyable, even if they didn't know it was him, but he was just so tired. Everyone was clearly having fun though, and the teacher seemed to have given up hope of controlling the students. Eventually, though, he couldn't resist.
"Guys," he said in a loud voice, one Haly taught him at the circus, one that could always grab everyone's attention, "How long do you think it'll take for Robin to die?"
"What?"
"Y-yeah, what the hell?"
"I mean," continued Dick, "He's just a little kid right? And Gotham's a rough town."
"Oh, come on, you aren't even from here!"
"Batman hasn't died after like almost three years of doing crazy stuff, why would Robin?"
Dick defended himself, "Well, Batman's a grown man- if he's even human- but Robin's just a little kid, what can he do?"
"Little kid? He's probably older than us- look at all his muscles!"
Dick looked at his shirt to make sure it hid his physique.
"He's smaller, that just means he's harder to shoot."
"Yeah!"
"But it also means that if he's hit once, he's dead. It's not like you need to aim if you have a machine gun."
Dick was enjoying the discussion, though he wasn't sure how he would if he had ever actually been shot. The closest there was was that time in the graveyard, as far as he knew. What a nice memory. But this one might be fonder, all the class talking about him.
Except for one, Dick noticed. While not everyone was talking in the big group in the back middle, pretty much everyone was talking. Except for this one girl, sitting in the corner closest to the teacher's desk. She was pretty to Dick (but he'd never say that, of course,) with a round face and brown hair in twin french braids. Her eyes were blue, and could be nice, if they weren't glaring angrily at everyone. Dick had always found her pretty, but never had the nerve to talk to her.
He got up, trying to remember names. As he slipped out of the circle of students unnoticed, he remembered.
"Hey, you're Bethany, right? Or, just Beth."
She looked shocked that he came over here, and for a second her nostrils flared, then she put on a calmer expression. "Just Beth. And you're Dick Grayson, right? Popular new kid."
"I mean, I guess," he shrugged, deciding to show humility around her hostility, "better than 'the circus kid'," he put his hands in his pockets, "But you know, you're pretty popular yourself. And pretty rich- I mean, everyone here is, but.." Dick chose his words carefully, but was less worried about Beth's feelings than their effect on how much his curiosity would be satisfied, "Is there something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," she maintained, "I just don't wanna talk."
Dick was saved by the bell- or rather, saved by the alarm.
"Students," came the secretary's voice, in a tone foreign to the one common in morning announcements, "there have been several terroristic threats across the city, and the principal has decided to have all of you moved into the old gym building. Stay safe and do NOT step off the sidewalk. Your parents have been notified. Stay safe."
As the announcement went on, murmurs slowly grew. When the loudspeaker went bzt, indicating the end of said announcement, the class erupted.
"Quiet! QUIET!" yelled Mrs. Flynn, finally deciding the situation dire enough to warrant uncharacteristic exclamation. The class returned to all but silence, and soon the hushed whispers stopped. "We're going, line up outside."
As they left the door, she counted off every student. None were absent, thank God. She then got in front of all of them and walked diagonally across the corner of the hallways, then down it until she reached the stairs, and descended down them, several other classes alongside them.
On floor one, they went to their right, passing the elevator and the empty administrative office to exit out a side door, now tightly packed together to avoid being lost in the huge number of students. Once outside, the volume increased as students wondered amongst themselves what the terrorist threats where, who had issued them, and who the targets were. All they knew was that this was stressful- usually, new things, especially ones that just took away from Class time, were fun. But these kids were Gothamites, and they knew real danger. They were afraid.
"I bet it's the guy who broke out of jail last night," Dick heard several students say or agree with. They were right, he was sure, but at this point he didn't see what difference it made.
The students were soon all corralled into the old gym building, a brown brick square that had equally drab and angular insides, and was mostly used by underclassmen and JV teams, but it was also used in emergency drills because it was very sturdy, retrofitted into a fallout shelter in the early 1950's.
Inside the gym, there were the old red bleachers, where the students had the option to sit on. Dick lied down and took a much-needed rest.
He blurrily saw, in occasional bits of awakeness, the students gather around the wide gym, and eventually get rowdy over lack of things to do. Eventually, the tall carts with TVs strapped on top of them were wheeled in and put up against the bleachers. Dick didn't really register this until Kevin shook him awake.
"Hey, dude," said Kev, "They're showing the news footage, wanna see it?"
The four TVs were in the corners of the gym, and alternated between stations covering the current panic- except for one, which had a recording of the Gotham Gazette's news from last night outside the Perigrinator Club, moments before Robin got on. The kids who looked panic seemed to calm at the sight of the now infamous news report.
Vicki Vale was speaking, "Just now, the police have breached the club, and we're getting reports that there are several casualties- now, remember, listeners, casualties just means people injured to the point of needing assistance until their recovery, NOT people who have died," the camera panned out to show the whole club, it's smashed in windows, and the flickering purple lights.
It became a boring report about numbers and expenses- one no kid, even Dick, was too interested in.
That was, until the people started coming out, and, amid the frenzy of reporters asking the traumatized victims (assuming none were actual mobsters), a boy, clad in red, green and yellow, rushed out to jump on top of a police car to give his statement.
"Greetings Gotham! Please, don't bother these people, they've been through a lot!"
Cameras clicked and lights flashed, and the question in everyone's lips was 'who are you?'
"I'm Robin- Batman's new sidekick, and the Boy Wonder! I'm here to promise you- the city of Gotham, uh City! Will be safe with us! The Dynamic Duo is here to help- so don't let any, any terrorists or criminals put fear in you-" he pointed right at the camera, "because we're gonna stop you. No more scare tactics! We're sick of it, and of you, so give up!" he pointed right at the camera, "Because you will lose. Any questions?"
Before Vicki could recompose herself enough to try and interview the boy, Batman- Batman!- stepped out of the shadows. "Robin," he growled, "We're leaving."
The kids in the gym gasped right alongside the reporters in the recording, who asked many variations of "Batman! What do you have to say about _ ?"
Dick watched himself backflip off the car, walk alongside Batman, and climb into the batmobile, speeding off.
His blood heated as he watched himself. Over the heads of his classmates, huddled around the TV, Dick saw his performance while standing on the bleachers. Oh, God, what?! How could I do that? How could I act so... so... goofy? That was so dumb. My costume- my voice! It's not the circus out there! He became increasingly self-conscious as footage kept rolling, his face going redder every time a new blurry photo of 'Robin' showed up. Ah, jeez.
The only other person, he noticed, who wasn't around the TVs or talking to some other group of friends was Bethany, it seemed. The boy's mind went astray. What motivated that? Why was she so antisocial? Why did it matter-.
The teachers rewound the tapes so the students could watch it again. Dick rewound his mind, getting it back into gear, fixing his anxiety like a computer- no, a detective.
Step one- ask questions. Who, What, When, Why, How. For everything or for the tiniest details (whoa- was religion just really large scale detective work? Jesus was a convicted- wait, mom wouldn't like me thinking about that).
Step one A- determine what your scale was. Looks like I'm making my own rules. The Dick Grayson Scale of Detective Work. My scale for this mission is citywide- who threatened us? Why? Do they have anything to do with Mad Hatter?
Dick paused when he realized he was just doing normal Step One, but soon returned to thinking, begrudgingly accepting that he could do little more- until he came up with what could hardly be considered deductive reasoning to his problem, but still a solution.
What Dick decided he needed was a phone- one he could contact Bruce on. Rubber soles squeaking on the floor in the gym's cacophony until he got to the hallway. Not a single person was watching him- but they were still all their, and all wanting phones.
Dick mentally chided himself- of course the other kids would all want phones, and, worse, the teachers were listening in to what they said. They were trying to hide it, to look away, but their ears perked and their eyes would dart at the blocky phones. A few shot glances at Dick.
If he was following orders, he'd be fine with this minor obstacle, but, alone, with no one to control him, he felt mad. Mad that all these people were here, mad that he couldn't just talk to Bruce in this stressful time, and mad that these dumb kids didn't even seem to notice how they were being watched.
Dick swallowed that, for all the reasons that he should have. This is why I'm a sidekick, he thought without any disdain. He didn't love the way he was, but he by no means hated himself. He just was, and that was okay, right?
No way to get those phones- but that's only 3 athletic offices. There are others down the hall, right? There's the pools and the weight room and the tennis courts and then the building's main office- wait is that down this hall... he shook his head, ignoring distractions, either way, all I have to do is just.. walk.. past. There's a bathroom right there at the hall.. if I get out using the other exit, I could sneak and get to a phone before anyone notices..
His messy thought process brought him to a sound conclusion- but there were still distractions.
How do I know there won't be people on the other side?
What if the doors aren't a type of lock I can pick?
How long before I'm reported missing.
In his obsession with the fine details of his plan, Dick realized he was pacing in the hall, and was beginning to finally gather attention.
"Heh- I'm just nervous, that's all.." he said, walking past the school security officer to get into the bathroom, which thankfully lacked a line.
Not thankfully was the fact that it was crowded- several boys were using the bathroom, and still others were just sitting, on the sink counters, by the gym lockers, anywhere, talking. This place seemed to be a hideaway.
Dick took a deep breath- if I could have made up my mind, I would've come here sooner and not been in this mess..
But still, I got myself in here, and I'll get myself out. He looked around at the familiar faces. He was still a new kid here, with a reputation he had to build.
The mission comes first.
Dick walked out of the bathroom and asked the security guard a question he hoped nobody knew he asked- "How many kids are supposed to be in there?"
"What?"
"Don't they have, like, rules about how many kids go to the bathroom at once in a lockdown? Because there are a ton of kids there."
"Oh sh- shoooot, what?" He pulled out his walkie talkie, "Hey Larry, you on the other end?"
A muffled response came.
"Okay, we're gonna have to check in on the boys-"
Another muffled response.
"Alright, Come in on your end-" the officer stepped past Dick and into the bathroom.
"Okay kids, we don't need a party going on in here-" said the guard to the surprised students as the other guard rounded the corner. They said more as they rounded the kids up, but Dick tuned them out- no more wishy-washy-ness. Without thinking and without trying, he slipped past stalls and lockers and showers and sinks and halls, until finally he walked out of the old locker room and into the hallway, totally alone.
Home free! Now all there was left was to go and get the phone. Dick ran quietly looking inside office windows to see phones that looked old enough to not have recording hardware. He found one soon- the Triathlete coach, Mr. Brown.
Next were the lockpicks, cleverly hidden, among other trinkets, in the sole of his shoe. He slipped it off, took what he needed, and put it back down effortlessly.
screeeeech
Dick stopped dead- the rubber of his shoe squeaked against the floor. Not good.
He looked all around, but there was no one there- he hoped.
Recollecting his nerve, Dick put in the lockpick and the pin to hold it into place, clicking each cylinder into place.
Three.
Two.
One.
Click
Dick breathed. He was in, once again-
Dick held his breath again as someone grabbed his shoulder.
"What do you think you're doing here, kid?"
Dick's wide eyed face turned to see a tall man in a guard's uniform with a black goatee. He panicked- but just for a second
"You had me worried there," exhaled the boy, "Bruce."
The man smiled, shaking his head. "What are you doing here, Dick?"
"Trying to talk to you! On the phone, that is."
Bruce started walking. Dick followed. "So what were you going to say, chum?" he said in a slightly condemning manner.
"Nothing, nothing Bruce-"
"Officer"
"Officer. Just that your fake goatee looks dumb."
"I can report you to the school, you know, Dick."
"With what, your fake guard pass?"
"Where in the middle of a terrorist emergency, now is not the time for jokes."
"Yeah, I know- I was just checking in, seeing if you knew anything at all, and if I could- you know- help."
They turned the corner to the hallway filled with kids in line, "I'm doing fine, Dick. I have the suit in the back and am going to patrol the surrounding blocks in a minute. I came here to make sure you were safe- and didn't do anything dumb."
"What would I do?"
"Sneak out, mostly. I didn't want the school's staff to have to look for you. Which is why I didn't call."
A teacher came up to Bruce, asking "Where did you find this student?"
"A bathroom door broke, he ran out for help," lied Bruce through his teeth, "It was just a screw- popped right back in. No worries."
She nodded, walking off.
"So, Bruce- my job is just to sit here."
"Exactly."
"And that's all of why you're here?"
Bruce shook his head, "How could you tell?" he questioned, looking off, "This is the most prestigious private school in the city. How many mob bosses do you think have family who go here? How many of them donate to this place?"
Dick paused to think, "And you're okay with me going here?"
"I went here, Dick. Besides, I make sure to beat every mobster in donations every year."
Dick nodded.
"Anything else, before I go?" The man turned to Dick.
"Yeah, actually- that girl, over there-" he pointed to the bleachers- "Beth. Do you know anything about her? Why she acts so... weird, whenever we talk about Batman and Robin?"
Bruce stared at her for a second. "Yes, I do," he said, looking back to Dick, "She's one of the ones I was talking about. That's Bethany Thorne, and her uncle, and the sole reason she can afford tuition to this school, is Rupert Thorne."