What's up, fellow Batman fans! I'm back and going to finish Bats Of A Leather! Sorry for the long delay. I did my masters degree, and I wrote and published a novel called Death Before Dishonor (by Kenny Hyman in case you want to check it out), both of which took up a lot of my writing juice. But, now it's time to get back to this Batman stuff - my first love. Let's get it!
8:57 AM Nightwing. Three weeks after the incident.
It was a typical Tuesday morning at the Wayne Enterprises headquarters.
The CEO, Lucius Fox, had called me in to meet with a consultant from a computer hardware manufacturer, called TechTree, based out of Switzerland to discuss a joint venture between Wayne Enterprises and TechTree. Bruce had installed me as his spokesperson and poster-child, saying that Dick Grayson was who everyone wanted to be—so duty called. I was the pleasant face of the Wayne family while he played the part of illusive playboy.
I was really unsure whether I should have felt honored or downright used.
I made every effort not to get up from my desk. I was sore from attacking a group associated with the mob only a couple hours earlier. I pretended to be hungover. I wore my yellow tie loose, the top button of my white collar undone, my sleeves rolled up two cuffs, and my black suit jacket thrown over a chair in the corner. To complete the look, I put gel in my hair to give it volume, but I didn't tidy it.
The consultant was rambling about something or other, but I was paying little attention. I feigned concern by keeping my eyes on him. Then the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID; it was my executive assistant. I put my index finger in the air stopping the consultant, and I answered it.
"Mr. Grayson?" she said in her raspy voice.
"Yes?" I said trying to sound alive.
"Mr. Wayne is here…" she said with her voice dropping an octave, "with an army…" it dropped one more time, "of women."
"Sounds about right," I replied indignantly.
Why was he awake? He said that he was going to sleep until at least noon. What was he up to?
"Improperly dressed women, I might add," my assistant finished finally.
"He's a paradigm-breaker, Shannon," I said pressing the thumb and index finger of my left hand into the bridge of my nose. "See him in."
Bruce was glowing when he came in, wearing a $500 pair of shades, a custom designed black overcoat with silver buttons on top of a white collared shirt and an electric blue tie, grey slacks, and his favorite chocolate brown dress shoes.
"Dick! Lucius!"
And, he was being loud—little regard for my pounding head. At least he left the entourage in the waiting area to keep Shannon company—she wasn't pleased, I'm sure. Not that that mattered to Bruce, he didn't care for Shannon.
"Bruce," I nodded, my eyes were suspicious.
"Mr. Wayne," Lucius said cordially, half turning in his chair. "Odd seeing you awake at this hour. Early rising today?"
"Are you kidding, Lucius? We haven't even slept yet. We were all on our way to the after-party for the after-party."
Since we had company, I tried to rein Bruce in before he got out of hand. "Bruce—"
But he was already out of hand.
He asked, "Who's your friend?"
"This is Donal Rolfson," I said, presenting him with a hand and then falling back into my chair. "He's the financial consultant for TechTree, an innovative Swiss computer hardware company. He's here—"
Bruce waved a hand in the air. "Dick, you're using big words again."
"Right." I pursed my lips. Bruce was playing 'dumb rich–guy' today; he was definitely up to something.
Lucius shot me a look. He had the same feeling I did. "Mr. Rolfson, this is Mr. Grayson's adoptive father and the owner of Wayne Enterprises, Bruce Wayne."
The consultant hopped to his feet and spoke in his heavy accent, "It's a real pleasure, Mr. Wayne. We at TechTree are really looking forward to doing business with your firm, sir."
"Sure, whatever," Bruce said, towering over the man. "Just make sure it keeps depositing money in my account, so I can keep depositing it on the bodies of the best strippers Brazil has to offer." Bruce's smile widened. "I love Brazil. I just can't spend enough money.
"You know what, Dick, I never actually looked out of the windows at the skyline," Bruce said, pushing his way over to the window to my right. "This would be an excellent place to have a party. I mean, the office is big enough."
The consultant looked at me awkwardly. Surely, he had heard the media accounts of Bruce Wayne, but I'm sure it was something entirely different to behold in person, especially since you were likely to see a completely different Bruce Wayne than the tabloids expressed. Of course, you could meet a completely different Bruce Wayne from night-to-night.
"Hey, Dick," he said, spinning around with his cell phone in his hand, "you've got to see the photos from last night. Every one of these girls were naked. Wow."
Correction: He was being 'douche-bag' Bruce today.
He walked back to my desk and lowered the phone in front of my face. My mouth became a thin line.
"I know!" Bruce said excitedly. "Amazing, huh?"
Lucius was giving the we-should-probably-leave eye. I nodded agreeably. "You gentlemen wouldn't mind giving us a moment, would you?"
Bruce laughed, waving the phone. "Oh, we're going to need more than a moment to go through all these pictures."
"Mr. Rolfson, if you would please come with me." Lucius stood to his feet, and the consultant followed. "We'll go get some coffee while Mr. Wayne and Mr. Grayson take a moment for family time. Can I interest you in a Peruvian blend?"
The consultant looked up at Bruce who was at least a full head taller. "It was a pleasure, Mr. Wayne."
"It's all mine, Donnie." He replied, following the men to the door. "Hey Lucius, you should introduce yourself to one of my lady-friends named Luscious. Your names are so similar that she may just give it up on the first date." Bruce winked.
"No thank you, Mr. Wayne. I'm still happily married."
"Married and happy don't belong in the same sentence, Lucius," Bruce said fiendishly and shut the door behind them. He turned, and it was as if he was, all of a sudden, a different person. His face was a thunderstorm, and his eyes were polar. His outfit suddenly didn't agree with his demeanor. Bruce had become the person that I recognized.
"You want to explain this?" he demanded, raising his phone in the air from across the room.
"You spying on me now?" I asked, sounding a little betrayed. It wasn't nude pictures that he showed me—that was just a cover to clear the room, hence 'douche-bag' Bruce. What he showed me was an email chain between me and the teenager that saved his life.
"Why are you communicating with the Drake-boy?"
"I didn't know that I wasn't allowed, Bruce."
The muscles in his jaw flexed. "Why is Nightwing communicating with him?"
"You already know the answer. You read the emails."
"We discussed this in the past. No one else is getting involved. But, here you are communicating with the boy. Did you not listen when we discussed this?"
"No, I listened."
"You just don't care," Bruce retorted, approaching the desk again from the door.
"No—I don't agree."
"I never asked you if you agreed."
"This kid is remarkable, Bruce. He's got the heart of a lion. We'd be stupid not to consider it."
"I'd be stupid to consider it all."
"He could help us.
Bruce's face wrinkled. "I don't need help."
"So, it's just you now?"
"It always has been," he deadpanned.
I shifted in my seat, becoming visibly frustrated. "Then what am I?"
"A force-multiplier." His face was stone.
"A force-multiplier?"
"I didn't stutter."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I was trying in earnest not to raise my voice, and Bruce didn't say anything in return. "Is Barbara a force-multiplier too? How about Jason—was he a force-multiplier?"
"No," he said deliberately, his eyes focusing hard and looking deep into me. "They are cautionary tales. They are proof that I'm the only one who can walk this path."
"Oh, stop," I aspirated, choking the air between us with my hands as if the air were solid, "with that self-righteous mumbo-jumbo."
"It's my path to walk—" he started again, but I leaped in to cut him off.
"I've walked this path every day since you revealed to me that you were…," I paused realizing that I was starting to get loud. "Since you revealed to me that you were Batman. I've been walking this path since I was sixteen. I've been walking this path since I became Robin when I was seventeen. I committed myself to this path, even more, when I became Nightwing. You can't just deny the sacrifices I've made. I've walked this path for nearly five years. I've walked this path to avenge my parents' death and fight corruption just like you. And, you want to call me a mere force-multiplier?" I flicked the air with my hand. "Get out of here with that nonsense. I don't believe that."
Bruce's face hadn't changed, it was still stone. "You don't have to believe it; you just need to do what I tell you."
"Uh-uh. That's not how this game gets played anymore. I don't play by your rules. I'm your teammate, not your minion. If you got a problem with something I'm doing—fine. But don't think you're going to tell me what I am and not going to do."
"You either do what I say or your out."
"Are you threatening me?"
"I don't make threats…"
"Unlike the rest of Gotham, I'm not scared of you, Bruce. So, you can't intimidate me into falling into line like a good little soldier. I've made up my mind already, and the Drake-kid will be perfect. That's one more fighter striking from the shadows."
"I don't need another one."
"We fight better as a team, Bruce. We cover more ground. We're more effective. And by we, I don't mean you and I—just we in general. So, Robin needs to bring the fight to Gotham again. We need R's spray-painted on the walls of alleys again. That's Drake…"
"If I find out that you make contact with him again, Nightwing—"
"Too late. I've already started indoctrinating him much the same way I had started indoctrinating Babs."
Creases began to fill his face like fissures in stone. I actually made Bruce angry. I hadn't made him angry in years. Usually, it was me that would get angry because he'd flat out ignore me during debates.
Not this time, this time I won the anger game.
"In fact, I made arrangements for Tim to attend an acrobatics workshop in Cyprus over his summer break. He'll need it if I intend to have him base-jumping by next fall." I suppressed the urge to smile; I didn't want Bruce to think that I was deliberately trying to spite him. "Conveniently, you have a friend there that can work on his fighting ability."
"You have no idea what type of person you're speaking of or what she's capable of."
"That's why you should go talk to her. Might do you some good to get a little quality social interaction—bimbos and bats notwithstanding. Besides, we can make a move against that plug that the councilman has there. Since your friend is connected to it…two birds with one stone."
"Don't push me, Nightwing."
"To make this move or to accept Drake as Robin?"
His were as cold as gun-metal.
"Drake's capable of being Robin, I can feel it in my bones." I patted my heart with my hand. "And, I know you can too, you just don't want to admit it. The issue here isn't whether he's capable, it's whether you're going to admit he deserves the opportunity to try. Some of us are destined for causes bigger than ourselves. Don't deny him that. This is what he wants—he just doesn't know it yet."
"I said no."
"The law tells you that you can't be Batman because vigilantism is illegal. Do you listen?"."
"Don't push me, Nightwing."
"Drake's capable of being Robin, I can feel it in my bones." I patted my heart with my hand. "And, I know you can too, you just don't want to admit it. The issue here isn't whether he's capable, it's whether you're going to admit he deserves the opportunity to try. Some of us are destined for causes bigger than ourselves. Don't deny him that. This is what he wants—he just doesn't know it yet."
"I said no."
"The law tells you that you can't be Batman because vigilantism is illegal. Do you listen?"