A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta! Reference is made to Nightwing Vol. 2 #93 and the subsequent Mobbed Up TPB. "Wrestle with the Devil" written by Jim Steinman and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Performed by the original London cast on the Whistle Down the Wind album (Verve, 1999).
He's there in the reflections on the river skimming by
He's there in the clouds as they blacken the sky
He's there in your bedroom, He can crawl into your dreams
He's anything he wants to be, but he's never what he seems
He's there in the foreboding, you feel in your bones
He's there in the graveyard, chipping names on the stones
He's there in your memories, turning good times into bad
He's there in the future, that you wish you never had
No matter what you do, he's coming after you
So wrestle with the devil
—Jim Steinman, Andrew Lloyd Webber "Wrestle with the Devil"
Chapter 45—Forboding
Time seemed to slow down as Batman assessed the situation. Two men behind him. Two more flanking Inzerillo. All of them brandishing Glocks. From the way they were standing, Batman doubted that they had any real fighting skills. They could probably throw—or take—a punch or two, but they didn't have much beyond brute strength. And the guns, of course. Inzerillo might or might not be packing something, but everything Batman knew about body language told him that the mobster would be unlikely to draw his weapon unless he believed that his own life was in danger. He smiled.
He raised his hands calmly and sighed in resignation. "I tried," he said sadly. Then he pressed his thumbs into the palms of his gloves, releasing two batarangs into his hands. They were small—only three inches wide—but razor sharp. He flung them at the two guards flanking Inzerillo, then whirled to face the others, and discharged two more. His aim was true; the 'rangs sank into his attacker's hands, causing the men to cry out and drop the guns.
Batman leaped to the attack, reflecting that it had been a good idea to modify the gauntlets of the original Bat-suit to create the spring-release system for the mini-'rangs. If he'd tried for the larger ones in his belt, the gunmen would likely have opened fire before he could have reached them. Instead, the fight was over, nearly before it had started.
When the four bodyguards were subdued and lying on the ground in various states of consciousness, Batman turned and regarded a suddenly nervous Inzerillo. "I guess," he said softly, "I would be better served forming an alliance elsewhere." He noted that the mob boss was sweating and nonchalantly extracted a handkerchief from a belt compartment. "Here." He dropped it on the desk.
"Um... Batman," Inzerillo almost managed to control his stammer, "on second thought, maybe we could—"
"Yeah, we could, Enrico," Batman admitted. "But you know what they say about how your first instincts are usually your best ones."
"Well, let's just say that my first instinct was to take you up on the offer, but then I had second thoughts."
Batman smiled. "I didn't mean your instincts, Enrico. I had a suspicion you might pull something like this when I came in. I decided to give you a chance. But see, I've got another suspicion. One that says that, right now? You'll agree to anything and at the first opportunity, you'll stick a knife in my back. I think I'm going with that instinct." His smile widened. "And a different alliance. But, hey. You don't give me any trouble and I'll show you the same courtesy." He spun on his heel and strode toward the door, voluminous cape swirling behind him.
As he turned the knob, Inzerillo shouted, "Someone shoot the Bat!"
Batman sighed. "And there's that double-cross I was talking about. Guess I was wrong about the knife part, though." He whipped his cape in front of him, using the Kevlar to shield his face from the gunfire. "...And the back part," he added as an afterthought.
He sent a batarang flying toward the light switch, plunging the warehouse into darkness. At the same time, he flipped the switch on the wall by the door, doing the same for the inner office.
In the darkness, Enrico Inzerillo winced as he heard more thuds, grunts, and cries of pain. When someone managed to turn the lights back on, Batman had vanished.
Barbara was in her office, her hands flying from one keyboard to the next, when she heard the telltale scrape of a grappling hook catching the cornice above her open window. A moment later, Batman landed on her sill and slid inside.
"Scratch Inzerillo," he announced with a sigh. "Better yet, get one of Selina's furry friends to do it. Preferably one residing in a wildlife preserve."
Barbara rolled toward him, her concerned expression rapidly giving way to a sympathetic smile. "Could've gone better, huh, Current Bat Wonder?"
He pulled off the cowl and mopped his forehead with his sleeve. "You could say that," he admitted. He filled her in briefly on his evening.
"But you're okay?" Barbara demanded when he was done.
"Yeah," Dick said with a tired smile. "I just hope the next family I talk to is a bit more ready to listen. Otherwise, it starts to become a joke." He made a face. "I start to become a joke. Or worse."
Barbara took a deep breath. "I know it's a sore spot, but whatever happened to the Tevis family?"
Dick shook his head emphatically. "No way in hell."
"Okay, it was just a thought." She frowned. "How did you manage to get away from them anyway? I mean, nobody ever leaves the mob, once they're in."
Dick's eyebrows shot up. "You seriously don't know?"
"Hey," Barbara snapped defensively. "I was dealing—we were dealing with a lot of other stuff at the time. You know, Bruce getting arrested, Hush, Black Mask, Akins... Us starting over... I guess, by the time things settled down, I kind of forgot about it."
"I kind of wish you were still forgetting," Dick admitted. "Heaven knows I've tried. Bottom line? I took advantage of Huntress's connections. She and the Outsiders paid a call on the Tevis clan and... strongly suggested that they pretend that those couple of months I spent with them never happened. They never gave me the details and, having all of that 'stuff' you just mentioned on my plate, I didn't probe too deeply. Though I suspect that Huntress may have referenced her own family connections for added clout. All I know for sure is that they pulled out of Gotham completely after that. I think Helena said something about Detroit... I'm not sure. Anyway, they're not around and I wouldn't contact them if they were."
"Okay," Barbara relented. "Just trying to cover all the angles." She shook her head. "Seriously? I'd talk to Bruce. Well, I'd talk to Huntress; we're colleagues. But she's with Dinah in Monaco this week and I'm guessing you don't think this can wait until she gets back."
Dick considered. "Maybe it can, but I'd rather not risk it." He smiled. "I was hoping not to bug Bruce when he's dealing with the Academy, but you're right. I'll stop by the manor tomorrow after work."
"You're lucky Inzerillo's people weren't using Teflon-coated bullets," Bruce snapped, worry and relief manifesting as anger in his voice.
Some years earlier, Dick might have bristled at the tone. Now, he only flashed a crooked smile and massaged his lower ribs absently. "Babs said the same thing last night," he admitted, "when I took off the suit and got a look at the bruises." Even bullets of the non-armor-piercing variety packed a wallop—something they both knew all too well.
Bruce sucked in a breath and then let it out with a sigh. "I always knew there was a reason I liked Barbara," he said.
Dick let out a startled chuckle. He couldn't remember the last time Bruce had tried to crack a joke.
"What?" Bruce demanded, one eyebrow quirking upward. "It was a simple statement of fact."
"I know," Dick said, grinning. It was a simple statement of fact... but Bruce's expression had been a touch too innocent, his voice a tinge too mild, when he'd uttered it. And both face and tone had been just a trifle more so, when he'd reacted to Dick's response.
Abruptly, Bruce spun away, but not before Dick caught a quick answering smile on his mentor's lips. When he spoke again, though, his voice was serious. "You might want to try Bressi."
"Tough Tony?" Dick queried. "I've thought about him. He's mid-level, so I wasn't sure if I ought to approach him directly; not right at the beginning, anyway."
"We rescued his children," Bruce said. "Jean-Paul. When he was filling in for me after Bane broke my back."
Dick considered. "The way I heard it," he said, shaking his head, "Jean-Paul almost got them killed in the crossfire when he attacked too soon."
Bruce nodded. "I'm not saying that Bressi owes us, or that Jean-Paul wasn't reckless. However, Bane was using those children as leverage to force Bressi into line. When the dust cleared, the kids were alive and back with their father. And since then, Bressi seems to have steered clear of the sort of activities that we take the greatest interest in… quashing. He's not obligated to us, but he might be grateful."
"Grateful enough to listen, anyway," Dick nodded. "Thanks for the tip. I'll follow up." He gestured toward Bruce's monitor, which was displaying a page of text with the Gotham City Police Academy logo in the upper left corner. "How's that coming along?"
"The material?" Bruce asked. "I'm learning it. However, the subject matter pertains to crime scene management. We start that module on Monday." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I know the instructor; I've encountered him several times, though the last was years ago. At our first meeting, he took me to task over various procedural errors I made when I arrived at one such scene before the GCPD did." At Dick's incredulous look, he sighed. "I was still learning my way at the time," he admitted. "Thinking back, he had a point."
"Great," Dick muttered. "So, he's got it in for you and he'll probably spend the whole course dissecting your past performance."
"I can handle it," Bruce rejoined sharply. Then, in an undertone, "I just wish I didn't have to."
"I hear you."
"Cadet Wayne."
Bruce rose to his feet and stood at attention as Sgt. Yumiat's eyes bore down on him. "Sir!" he acknowledged.
"What is the single most important duty of an initial responding officer upon arriving at a crime scene?"
Bruce kept his face impassive. "Sir, the officer must be observant when approaching, entering, or exiting the scene."
Yumiat nodded curtly. "Your manual, which you were required to read before today's class, outlines six key points pertinent to that duty. List them."
"Sir, yes, sir." By now, the acknowledgement was virtually a reflex. "First, the officer must note or log dispatch information. Second, the officer must make note of all people or vehicles leaving the crime scene. Third..."
"So you did learn something after fifteen-odd years," Yumiat remarked when Bruce was finished and Bruce was hard-pressed to tell if the sergeant's drawl was sarcastic or sincere.
"I would hope so, Sir," he returned.
From Yumiat's frown, he was having the same issue with Bruce's reply. Abruptly, his eyes lit on another cadet. "Cadet Lerner. Outline the three safety procedures that the initial responding officer must follow."
The Juvenile Laws module was the final academic course of the day, followed by Firearms Training and the physical conditioning drills. Five minutes before the end of class, Sgt. Podlaski made an announcement.
"One evening next week, you will each have the chance to ride along with a seasoned officer on patrol. Although it's not compulsory, we do strongly encourage you to take advantage of this opportunity. It'll give you an occasion to see how the skills we've been imparting to you play out in the field." The sergeant smiled thinly. "You probably won't participate in any action, but there's a pretty good chance you'll get to see it. Those of you who are interested," Podlaski indicated a pile of forms on his desk, "fill out one of these and hand it back to me by tomorrow. Note that due dates for assignments and tests are not normally extended; contact the individual instructors for any exceptions." His expression didn't flicker as he continued, "I'm not granting any without a damned good reason; you want the experience, you figure out how to fit it into your evening."
He looked around the room, noting the stricken expressions. "Think of it as career prep: no matter how busy your shift is, no matter how exhausted you are, unless there's a valid medical reason—and by 'valid', I'm talking coma, emergency surgery, or otherwise at death's door—you get your reports written and your paperwork in. Maybe your supervisor will be a soft touch and give you more time, but I doubt it. Those who do are generally those who don't last long. Questions?"
There were none.
Bruce considered. Next week—like every week—he had several assignments due and one scheduled test. There would probably be several pop quizzes as well. There would be papers to grade, probably some other administrative work, as well. And it wasn't as though he didn't know what kind of 'action' he was likely to see. It would probably be another exercise in frustration, because he wouldn't be able to charge in and deal with the situation as effectively as he knew how. Still, something made him take one of the forms on Podlaski's desk. He'd check his study schedule for next week when he got home. If he could manage to clear two nights' work in one, he might even return the form.
"It's been nearly forty-eight hours since I spoke to Inzerillo," Batman rasped. "I'm going to assume that what we discussed has already become common knowledge in your circles and you know why I'm here."
Anthony 'Tough Tony' Bressi set his ledger down slowly on his desk, careful not to make any sudden moves. "Enrico's boys talk a bit more than they should," he returned. "Word has it you're looking to cut a deal." He laced his fingers together and flexed them. The expression on his face was mild, even somewhat pensive. "I'll hear what you have to say."
Batman took a deep breath. "Mannheim's action has thrown a major monkey wrench into the status quo. It's caused you some damage. You're looking to strike back. Meanwhile, Intergang is lying low. The situation's tense. All it takes is one person to get spooked or trigger-happy or decide to settle an old score..."
"Or one rumor that a member of Intergang has come to town," Bressi added, nodding slowly. "I know. Can you stop this?"
Batman regarded him silently for a long moment. Then he exhaled. "I don't know. I hurt them in Metropolis. I'm not sure if that's going to be enough to keep them from coming here. I don't know whether the other Metropolis families will retaliate if a contingent from Gotham shows up to deal with Intergang, or whether they'll stay out of it and quietly carve up whatever's left when the dust clears. Not that there's any guarantee of much being left, what with Superman back in action. At this point, I'm just interested in helping to keep things quiet here. Last time... you know how it went. Families were targeted. Kids were killed in the crossfire. I know you don't want that happening again any more than I do. So."
"So..." Bressi echoed. "So, we have a problem. See, I know you, Batman. Oh, maybe not you personally, but I don't think you're much different from the first guy to wear that suit. Not in this regard. Here's the thing. My nephew Minas was in Metropolis at that meeting when Intergang opened fire. Coroner's report says he died almost instantly. He lost his wife to cancer three years ago. Now he's gone. That makes his two kids orphans. Luka's fifteen, Clara's twelve. They're living with me now. And every night, when I come home, they're awake and they've only got one question for me: did we find them? The guys that did this. And every night, I have to tell 'em 'Not yet'. Last night, Luka asked me to send him to Metropolis and let him do some looking. No, Batman. I'm not stupid enough to do it. But I know why he's asking." His gaze was direct. "If you're the man most people think you are under that mask, I suspect you do, too. If I'm right about that, then I'm also right to guess that you probably remember what it was like for you each day, knowing that the guy who took away your people was walking around free. Seemingly untouchable. Well, Batman, you got your closure when Zucco got sent away. Is it so wrong that those kids don't?"
"My 'closure' didn't involve murder." He'd only thought it had at the time.
"This wouldn't be murder," Bressi said quietly. "It would be justice. Maybe not your brand of it, but I suspect a jury of my peers would see it different. Still," his shoulders seemed to slump and for a moment, Bressi didn't appear tough, so much as he did tired. "I'm willing to accept your condition. I won't kill the bastards responsible." His voice hardened. "So long as you don't interfere with what I make them live through." Batman opened his mouth to speak, but Bressi held up a hand. "You agree to that and we have a deal," he said. "My way, we can do 'em quick and relatively painless like they did Minas, or we can give them some physical scars to mirror the emotional ones they inflicted on Luka and Clara and a bunch of other kids in this city. Physical scars are usually a lot less serious than emotional ones, Batman. Think about it. Either way, those scumbags are getting off easier than they deserve. But if you want them to live, then I want them to suffer."
Batman was already shaking his head. "I can't. I'm truly sorry about your nephew. About his children. But I can't agree to what you're asking."
"That's a knee-jerk reaction," Bressi said. "Take a day or two to consider it. Really think it through. You're right about one thing: you do need inside help to keep a lid on this. I'm willing..." His voice trailed off and he smiled a trifle sheepishly. "There. I admitted it. I'm willing," he held up a hand, "but I need to know that I can go home, look Luka and Clara in the eye, and say 'Yes. We got 'em and they've paid in full.' And tell me the truth, Batman. Don't you occasionally come down a bit harder when you're taking on some slime that really deserves it? How is what I'm asking any different?" He pushed back his chair, rose to his feet, and extended his hand toward the masked vigilante. After a moment, when Batman didn't take it, he shrugged and came out from behind his desk. "I'll see you to the door."
Because Tim had rented an apartment in Old Gotham, he seldom had the Teen Titans' current base of operations to himself. Michael, Virgil, Eddie, Rose, and M'Gann all lived there and, while Cassie was living in the dorms at Barr College, the school was located a scant twenty minutes drive from their headquarters. If she flew, she could be there even faster. So, he wasn't at all surprised to arrive at their base and find everyone there ahead of him.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, as he slid into the only vacant chair at the table.
"You're not," Cassie grinned. "We're all early."
"Actually," M'Gann laughed, "you are, too. The meeting was called for ten minutes from now." She frowned. "I do think that this is the latest you've ever been early, though."
Tim scowled in exaggerated annoyance. "Next time we have a meeting during rush hour, I'll take the subway. I think it'll be faster. Okay, if we're all here, let's call this meeting to order. Any objections?"
When there were none, Cassie sat up a bit straighter and cleared her throat. "Okay, what's the first order of business?"
Rose raised her hand and began speaking immediately. "The mobs," she stated, as though it was obvious. "Everyone's so tense right now, I think if someone drops a garbage can lid on the pavement, anyone carrying a gun within earshot is going to draw and fire."
"I know," Tim admitted. "Batman's trying to see if he can nip things in the bud, but if he can't, I think we can expect another meeting, this time one that he calls. Might not be a bad idea to start brainstorming, in case he asks for suggestions."
Static was frowning. "Gang wars are bad enough," he said. "Do I want to know what a mob war's gonna be like?"
"Nobody who went through the last one wants it to happen again," Tim replied. "Not us and not the Families. Trouble is, too many of those guys think that a gun is the best solution to most of their problems. Fire one at the wrong time and they'll decide it's the only one."
"Maybe," Michael said hesitantly, "we should see if Batman—Mr. Wayne, I mean—could set up some training simulations so we know what we're up against."
"Yeah," Eddie agreed. "It might help. Of course," he added, "the commissioner might want him to train the cops first."
"She might," Tim said, "but after what happened in the first mob war, I don't think the rest of the brass will go for it. Not now."
Eddie frowned. "What happened in the—?"
"Maybe," Cassie cut him off, "we could work with the cadets again. I mean, I know we're on the same side, but there are some similar factors in play: they outnumber us, they use guns..."
"If things really get out of hand," M'Gann ventured, "do you think the cadets will get called on to bolster the regular police's ranks?"
Tim shook his head. "Doubtful. I'm pretty sure GCPD will leave them alone. The only way the cadets would be part of it would be if the academy were attacked while classes are in session."
"Of course," Virgil said, "if the mobsters want to take out the original Batman, that's exactly where they'll go to look for him."
"Nobody could be that stupid and be in charge of one of the Families," Rose snapped decisively.
"Wait," Eddie said. "What if it's someone being smart?"
"What?" Rose demanded.
"We're forgetting something," Eddie said. "This war... it's not natural. I mean, it wouldn't be happening if not for Intergang. Well, everyone knows that Batman's a master at strategy. So... what happens if, while the Gotham mobsters fight among themselves, Intergang comes in and attacks the Academy?"
"Batman would—" Michael started to speak.
"With the right tools and equipment, Batman can fight an army single-handedly," Eddie agreed. "But at the Academy, who says he'll have them? It's not like he's got batarangs or grappling lines or explosives on him. And we know how he feels about the one weapon they've got a lot of up there: guns. Plus, the manor's got better security than the Academy. If Intergang makes it onto the Academy grounds and... I dunno, bombs one of the buildings, they could get him, either with the blast or the debris."
"And then we get distracted," Virgil nodded. "Because, while the cops are looking for us to help them in the city, even if we split our forces, we're going to be thinking about the suburbs. And if we split our forces, it might not be enough..."
Tim held up his hands. "I'm going to talk to Batman," he said. "Both of them. If you're right, they need to be aware. Even if you're wrong, a few more contingency plans won't hurt."
"And maybe we should drill with the cadets," Cassie added. "Just in case they get involved."
"You mean, just in case Jeffie-poo is single," Rose drawled.
"Shut up!" Cassie laughed, smacking the air in front of Rose's face.
But Rose couldn't help noticing that her teammate's ears had turned a particularly dark shade of pink.
"Any idea what the extra security is doing here?" Norton asked, glancing back over his shoulder at the officer who had been standing by the key-card scanner at the entrance to the building.
Bruce sighed. "They're being thorough. I'm assuming you've been keeping up with current events."
"Haven't had time," Norton admitted. "It's all I can do to keep on top of the course work."
"Ah." Bruce explained briefly about Intergang's recent actions and the impact to the Gotham mobs. When he was done, he realized that several of his classmates had paused to listen.
"Wait," Brenner said. "But we're nowhere near the downtown core. Do they seriously think we're in danger here?" Bruce waited. After a moment, Brenner's face flushed. "Oh. Oh, sheesh."
"For what it's worth," Bruce said, "I think the precautions are more for show. If Intergang does mean to strike here, the extra security won't help matters. I think it would just add to the casualties, and I suspect that Commissioner Sawyer is thinking along those same lines. However, if she takes no precautions and something were to happen, there would be an outcry."
"So basically, she's risking more lives for what amounts to CYA," Laramie nearly spat the words out.
Bruce nodded. "That's my impression anyway. I've been wrong before, though."
Maleev cleared his throat. "Maybe we should have some more training with the Titans," he said. "From what I read some time back, Intergang has some weird alien tech. If we can't get our hands on that, then maybe squaring off against metas is the next best thing."
"Yeah, Jeff," Laramie snorted. "And maybe you want to find out if Goldilocks thinks you're just right."
"That's not it at all," Maleev protested as several cadets snickered. "Seriously. Wonder Girl's hot and all. And she's smart and into sports, but she's not my type."
"You're into sports," Kotsopoulos pointed out.
"Not my type," Maleev repeated. "Besides, a girl like that? She's got to be taken. Isn't she?" He turned to Bruce. "Wait. Back up. Is she even legal?"
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "She's twenty," he supplied. "And I have far more important things to attend to than a college student's love life. If you're curious about your chances," he shrugged, even as he struggled to keep a straight face, "ask her." To his mind, Jeffrey Maleev was protesting far too much.
They had only a few more minutes to get to class and Bruce and the others quickened their pace. Maleev trailed behind. "Ask her?" he repeated, as his classmates disappeared around the corner. "How?"
Barbara had been asleep by the time Dick made it back from patrol and she was in deep conference with the Birds when he left for work the next morning. It wasn't until supper that he finally had the opportunity to tell her about his meeting with Bressi.
"Tell me you're not considering—" Barbara gasped.
"—Making Luka Bressi the next Robin? No." Barbara glared at him. Dick gazed back, straight-faced. They regarded each other in silence for nearly a full minute. Then Dick's lips twitched and a guffaw forced its way past them. After a moment, Barbara giggled.
"You... you almost had me going for a minute," she exclaimed. "I mean, I know you wouldn't but..."
Dick sobered. "But you doubted for a second. Because a mobster took out my parents and, to hear Tony say it, Luka's hurting the same way I was, and for the same reason. Don't worry. If you think for one instant that I'd want to have to explain to Bressi about the bruises and broken bones that his great nephew is likely to come home with as Robin... I'm trying to get the guy on my side, not give him a reason to become a real thorn in it."
Barbara nodded. "So..."
Dick reached for the jar of parmesan cheese and shook it over his pasta. His expression turned vague for a moment as he continued to shake it until the mound of spaghetti carbonara in his bowl resembled a snow-capped mountain. Then he blinked and set the bottle down on the table. "Oops."
"You okay?"
Dick smiled quickly. "Yeah. I've been going over it and... much as I hate to say it, I see Bressi's point. Take the mob out of the equation. Let's just say that I'm tracking down a murderer who left two kids orphaned. What Bressi's asking me to let him do is... more or less what Bruce would actually have done."
"Bruce."
Dick sighed. "I don't usually get angry enough to inflict that kind of damage. Of course, there have been exceptions."
"You're not still beating yourself up over Hush, I hope."
"Not exactly," Dick said slowly. "I think that, if someone else had done it, I would have given them a fist bump. It's not so much that he didn't deserve it; it's that I don't like being the person who did it, if that makes sense." He shook his head. "Not that there's much I can do about it now."
He reached for the pepper mill and scattered a couple of twists of crushed red pepper over the parmesan. "Getting back to Bressi. From his standpoint, he's being more than reasonable. Surprisingly so. It tells me he really wants this alliance. I'm thinking that maybe I should go along with it." He held up a hand as Barbara opened her mouth. "No. Hear me out. If I'm the one who gets to dish out the payback, I know how to inflict pain—lots of it—without killing or crippling. I'm not sure I really need to worry about handling hitmen with kid gloves. I'll hurt them, but no worse than Bruce would have done after what they did."
"And if Bressi turns you down?"
Dick sighed. "I don't know. I was thinking of insisting that I supervise whatever punishment Bressi's boys hand out and step in if it looks like it's getting out of hand." He shook his head. "Except, you know how that's going to look if someone catches it on video: me standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the mob. Maybe..." His voice hardened. "No. No maybes. I promise Bressi that I make the guys responsible for the killings pay. That's not a problem; I was going to do it anyhow. And maybe I'll hit them a leetle harder than I would have before that talk with Bressi made me realize that the creeps didn't just kill a bunch of mobsters; they ruined a lot of families. Families with a small 'f', I mean. I make it clear to Bressi: he leaves that part of it to me or I move on to the next name on the list. If the next name turns me down, I tell Roy to bring in the Outsiders, you bring in the Birds, and we get the Titans on standby. I need Bressi to be thinking that he needs me more than I need him, but I also want to be sure that if it comes right down to it, I don't need him, period."
He took a deep breath. "I also need to let Sawyer know the situation. She's not going to like it, but she'll like being out of the loop a lot less."
"True," Barbara admitted, "on both counts." Her expression, already serious, grew somber. "You know if this backfires, there's likely to be a repeat of what Akins did after the last mob war, right?"
Dick nodded, exhaling noisily. "That's exactly why I want Sawyer in the loop. The more she knows, the less likely she is to order me shot on sight."
"You hope," Barbara replied, but there was a hint of a smile in her voice.
Dick nodded. "Always."
Bruce received confirmation of his Ride-Along acceptance by email on Wednesday evening. He blinked as he read the name of the officer he'd been paired with. For a moment, a smile flashed on his face. The smile vanished as, unbidden, memories of his time in Arkham surfaced. The gibes, the indifference, the therapists who had seemed like interrogators at the time, and all the time alone with the memories of his past juxtaposed against the reality of his present. He hadn't felt like Batman in Arkham. He had barely felt like Bruce. At times, he suppressed an involuntary shudder, he had barely felt like a person.
Next Thursday, he would be riding with Officer Kyle Robbins, the first person who—apart from his family and, maybe, Alex—had made him feel human.
Covering two nights' worth of coursework in one had just become a bargain.
"Well?" Barbara asked when Dick slid into her office, tired but relatively unhurt. Not completely unhurt, though, she thought as she noted the long slash in the Bat-suit's sleeve and the oozing cut below. "Hang on. I'll get the kit."
So saying, she rolled over to a cabinet under one of her monitors, opened it, and pulled out a green plastic case adorned with a red cross.
"It's not serious," Dick murmured. "It's long, not deep."
"Yeah, and you've been swinging around in a major pollution center, exposing it to all kinds of nasty germs." She tore open a sterile alcohol pad. "And yes, this is going to sting."
"Go ahead, Babs," Dick flashed her a smile. "Hurt the one you love."
"So much for my promise to stop doing that," she muttered. Then she added briskly, "Roll up your sleeve. And don't think I didn't notice that you haven't answered my question."
"Well." Dick started to sigh, but then drew in his breath with a hiss when the alcohol pad touched his cut. "Well, neither Bressi nor Sawyer are happy, so I'm probably doing something right. Let's just say that I hope those goons put up a fight so I'll have an excuse to let loose. I... do not want to pound someone who's trying to surrender into hamburger."
"I don't blame you," Barbara breathed.
"And if Tony wasn't asking me... telling me... to take them down hard, I probably would do it on my own initiative. But the fact that he's basically got me in a position where if I don't do it, he will..." He shook his head. "I've been trying to put those days when I was acting as mob hitman out of my mind. I guess they're coming back to me. I was seriously not in a good place then."
Barbara covered his hand with her free one. After a moment, he squeezed it.
"I know I'm rationalizing, but one way or another, those Intergang hitmen are going down painfully. If I don't administer the beat-down, Bressi will, and he'll do it harder. And the injuries will probably be permanent. I can do it in a way that's painful but won't cause long-term damage." He made a face. "I could almost let myself believe I'm doing them a favor."
"Almost."
"Yeah, well. They're murderers. I don't really want to do them any favors but..." He closed his eyes. "Okay. You know what happened with Blockbuster, right? Catalina told me to get out of the way. I did. She shot him."
Barbara nodded, but she was frowning. "Why are you bringing that up now?"
"Because I messed up big time," Dick replied. "But then, I got another chance. When Detective Chandler pulled the gun on Hush, it was practically déjà vu. And that time... I did what I should have done the first time. It doesn't change what happened with Blockbuster. It doesn't retroactively make what I did then okay. But it..." he gave her a sad smile. "It sort of proved to me that I wasn't over the moral event horizon."
Barbara smiled back, but then she frowned. "Wait. You seriously thought that you might have been?"
"I went and joined the mob, Babs. You don't do that when you think you're still on the side of angels. There were some things that I did—things that were expected of me—that I'm not proud of. Back then, I was already drowning in shame and self-pity. I was mostly numb." He closed his eyes. "If you're wondering, I didn't kill anyone. Even stopped a couple of hits. But I was positive that the road I was headed down made it just a matter of time. And now," he shook his head, "I think I need proof that all of that garbage is out of my system. That I can work with Bressi because it's going to help keep things stable, but that, even if it means going back to wade in that cesspool, I can do it without attracting anything that won't wash off. Maybe it's stupid and I should just leave well enough alone, but I have to do this. I have to know. For me."
Barbara squeezed his hand again. "All right," she said finally. "Do what you need to. But remember that you aren't alone and this isn't your only option. If things get hairy, there are alternatives."
"I know." He smiled. "If it helps, Sawyer's about as enthusiastic about the prospect as you are. And she's made it clear that if Bressi's people cross certain lines, I either bring them in or I can expect to be sharing a cell with them. And since she does know where I live..."
"Yeah." She finished winding a gauze bandage around his arm. "Okay. Tomorrow, you go make nice with Bressi and I'll go siphon off some funds from Thorne's Cayman Island account so I can afford to keep the lights on in here for another month."
Dick chuckled. "It used to be so much easier to be the good guys." He bent down to kiss her. "I'll see you downstairs."
Two nights later, it was a pale and nervous Enrico Inzerillo who stumbled into the Iceberg Lounge to request an audience with the Penguin. When he was ushered into Cobblepot's back office, he sank heavily into the chair offered and gripped the armrest tightly.
"Brandy?" Cobblepot inquired solicitously.
Inzerillo shook his head. "The Bat cut a deal with Bressi."
Cobblepot lifted a piece of grilled swordfish bruschetta to his lips and took a delicate bite. The toasted bread crumbled in his hand, leaving the fish hanging partially out of his mouth and his fingers dripping vinaigrette. He sucked in the fish and wiped his hands fastidiously on a linen napkin. "Do go on," he said, through a mouthful of swordfish.
Inzerillo did his best not to let his disgust show. "Bressi's got Panessa and Beretti on-side already and it looks like he might get the Bertinellis to fall in."
Cobblepot shrugged. "You did turn him down. Evidently, he found another. Why tell me this?"
"Because with the Bat backing him up, Bressi's now in a position to make a real play for my holdings," Inzerillo blurted. "Especially with the other families joining him. My sister married into the Mandragoras."
"And Stefano Mandragora ordered the death of Franco Bertinelli. Yes, I can see why his surviving family members might be a bit nervous that the remaining Bertinellis' star might be on the rise." He stroked his chin with oily fingers. "Interesting. I appreciate your passing this news on to me. I'd heard it earlier, of course, but I do hope you'll be comfortable enough to come to me with other tips from time to time—"
"I want in!" Inzerillo snapped.
Cobblepot frowned. "It seems to me as though you had that opportunity and chose not to avail yourself," he said.
"No, not with the Bat. With you."
Cobblepot feigned astonishment. "With me, my good sir? I tend to steer clear of the sort of circles your family travels in."
"But you can protect me. Look. It's not just the Bertinellis. Bressi's had his eye on my territory for a long time. With the Bat working for him and the other families falling in behind him, I need you. I need your help. In exchange I'll give you twenty-fi... no, wait. Thirty-five percent of any profits my people take in and you supply me with the people and armaments to keep Bressi from taking what's mine."
Cobblepot smiled. "Tempting," he lied, "but I think not. As I said, I don't move in your circles. I'm merely a businessman and the deal you're attempting to make strikes me as being rather bad for business. Much," he added icily, "like sparking off the war Batman came to you initially to try to prevent. Now leave. Before I have you thrown out."
Inzerillo leaped up angrily. "How dare you?" He demanded. "Do you have any idea who I am?"
Deliberately, Cobblepot picked up another piece of bruschetta. "Of course," he said, taking a bite. This time he waited until he'd swallowed before continuing. "You're a man whose good fortune has carried you to the pinnacle of success and allowed you to believe that you were unsinkable. The designers of the Titanic made similar assumptions, to their detriment." He pressed a button beneath his desk. "Good day."
In response to the silent alarm, two burly men entered at a rush. Taking a gesture from Cobblepot as their cue, they clamped heavy hands around Inzerillo's arms and bore him, blustering, from the office.
Cobblepot frowned after them. Inzerillo had been desperate and desperate men were dangerous. He opened his laptop with a sigh. He detested email, but at times, it was the only avenue of communication open to him. He started to compose a new message.
Officer Kyle Robbins glanced at the man in the squad car next to him. "Any questions so far?" he asked.
Bruce shook his head. "No, sir."
Robbins chuckled. "I guess it's a new perspective for you, taking in the city this way. Any stray observations?"
Bruce allowed himself a faint smile. "Nothing worth sharing at this time, sir."
"Well, maybe later," Robbins allowed. The radio crackled to life.
Car 18, we have a report of an armed robbery at 9415 Neville. Please respond.
Without sparing Bruce a second glance, Robbins picked up his receiver. "This is Car 18. Message received. You're aware I have a guest with me?"
Affirmative 18. You are the closest vehicle. Proceed with all due haste.
Bruce knew that police radio codes were in the process of being phased out. They were learning them at the Academy only because many seasoned officers still used them unthinkingly. Part of him wondered if covering the material wasn't just going to guarantee its continuation. Even so, when Robbins replied with a '10-4', Bruce didn't need to pause to think about its meaning. The officer turned to him with a smile. "Looks like you're going to get to see some action after all."