"Who's our VIP, Oracle?" Red Robin asked.
"Lark, Penguin's 'cauffeur', is in one of the rooms. I'm trying to find out which one from Leslie but she's a little busy at the moment."
Dick looks to Tim, "That strikes Penguin off our list."
"Any word on who the armed men are working for?"
"Negative," Oracle answered, "I'll tell you if I find anything else… who's the kid in the bunker?" She asked.
"A friend. She's clean." Tim replied annoyed.
"I don't like funerals, Tim." Barbara said dryly.
"We're here," Batman announced quickly. Dick wasn't ready for another argument. Barbara and Tim had been cold with each other since Tim got back. No one really knows what's going on between them; but Dick thinks Barbara knows something about Tim's time away from Gotham—something Tim hasn't told Dick about.
"I've checked the building. You've got one man covering each floor, two men on the main floor making sure no one leaves. The remaining five make up the search party." Oracle informed them, "They're spread throughout the building."
Batman and Red Robin jumped out of the Batmobile and immediately swung to the top of the clinic.
"Let's take 'em down," Batman smiled, "I'll take the first floor, you take second and we'll meet on the third."
Red Robin nodded and flew into the second story window.
…
"Where did Grayson and Drake go?" Damian entered the bunker.
"Signal was lit," Myriam explained, "Situation at the East End Clinic."
The boy clicked his tongue and walked towards the training area.
"I'm sorry to hear about your dad," Myriam said quickly and solemnly.
"Don't be," He replied coldly, "We didn't know each other well enough for me to care." He paused, "However, my condolences for your brother's passing. Drake spoke very highly of him."
"Thank you," Myriam stared at the ten-year old as he walked away and tried to understand how someone so small could be so angry and so… logical. He didn't care because he wouldn't miss Mr. Wayne. How can you miss someone who was never truly apart of your life? She envied the boy. All she did was care.
The Batmobile re-entered the bunker and Batman and Red Robin jumped out onto the chrome floor.
"What happened?" Myriam asked anxiously, still looking at Damian from her peripheral.
"Penguin is either an idiot or he's not the one manipulating the chess board." Red Robin removed his cowl and started typing something on the computer.
"You two keep working this," Batman said, "Robin, let's go on patrol."
"Finally!" The kid said with suppressed excitement.
Batman and Robin left the bunker, leaving Myriam and Tim.
"Figure anything else out?" Tim asked curiously.
"The computer's complicated, but I found something interesting." Myriam pressed a button on the keyboard that displayed various news articles and photos on the monitor, "Have you heard of Pizza Ciro?"
Tim cocked an eyebrow and shook his head, "Shoot, have you eaten anything?" He asked embarrassingly, "We can grab some food or go up to the penthouse and make something or—"
Myriam laughed, "Tim, don't worry. Mr. Pennyworth brought me a sandwich." She assured him, "Pizza Ciro is a new restaurant that opened up on Front and Kane Street." She zoomed in on an article on the bottom left of the monitor, "'The Apple Does Fall Far From The Tree,'" She read the headline, "Mario Falcone just opened up a pizzeria."
"Falcone? That family's been gone for over five years." Tim remembered, "So, Mario's opened up a restaurant—what makes you think it's connected?" Tim asks curiously.
"Have you ever seen The Godfather?"
Tim shakes his head.
"Seriously?" Myriam says in disappointment, "Well, Michael Corleone, after his father Don Corleone died, wanted to make his family's empire legit so he started investing in casinos in Vegas, right? And the spotlight was on the casinos; but at the same time he was still whacking people like Moe Greene—an enemy- and the other New York dons."
Tim grinned, "Mario's putting the spotlight on the legitimate Pizzeria while he's actually killing off rival gangs." Tim summarized.
"More specifically, he's manipulating the other gangs to kill each other off."
"Keeping his hands clean," Tim adds.
"Exactly," Myriam zipped up her sweater, "Let's go bring him in."
Tim laughed and Myriam looked at him confused, "Oh, you're serious?" he stopped chuckling. "Uh, Myr, that's not how this works."
"Then enlighten me," Myriam replied in annoyance.
"Well," Tim rubbed at his temples, "First, we need to gather evidence to give to the police,"
"So let's go 'gather evidence!'" Myriam motioned to the motorcycles
"Let me re-phrase, I need to gather evidence."
"Wait, what?"
"Like I said before, you're not trained for this. It's too much of a risk." Tim tried to explain.
"Scared I'm going to botch up the entire operation, Tim?" She was offended.
"No." Tim answered, "It's a little bit more complica—"
"Cut the bullshit, Tim." Myriam crossed her arms, "You think I'd screw it all up. This guy is the reason my brother was killed! I want justice. I'm not going to screw this up."
He could see her shoulders shake but her face remained angry, "Myr," Tim embraced her in his arms, "It has nothing to do with you. I—I've changed. I'm not careful like I used to be. I've done things while I was gone that…" He took a deep breath, "I'd get you killed." He finally admitted.
He stood a head taller than her. He was always tall, although still shorter than Dick, and it was how he was able to hide his physique. Tim was remembered as a tall kid. He wasn't lanky and he definitely wasn't seen as strong. But Myr remembered how she was always able to rest her head on his chest when he'd hold her. She could hear his heart beat and even if it was a high-stress moment, his heart was always beating steadily. She now realized that he must have been trained to control his heart rate. But right now, his heartbeat was scattered, his muscles tense, and his back hunched.
She took a step back, "Tim," She cupped his face in her hands, "I don't appreciate you damsel-in-distressing me; but, if you ever need to talk about anything, you know I'm here for you."
"Thanks, Myr." He smiled, "Listen, it's late. You have school tomorrow. Let me drive you home?"
She nodded, "Sure."
…
"Where were you yesterday?" Zoanne startled Myriam at her locker.
"Oh my god, Zo. Give me a heart attack, why don't you."
"Sorry," Zoanne said half-apologetically, "We waited for you for like an hour. Where were you? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm so sorry I missed the study group. I just," THINK, MYR! "I just looked at all the chapters I missed and got really overwhelmed." She lied.
"I'm sure if you talk to Mr. Peters he'll let you write the test another time."
"Yeah, maybe." Myriam replied uninterested.
"Have you decided where you're going, yet?" Zoanne asked as they walked to AP Calculus.
"Going for what?" Myriam sat in her desk.
"College, genius." Zoanne answered matter-of-factly, "We have to accept by next week."
"Oh, I haven't really thought of it much." Myriam was not lying. Since Adam died, she hadn't thought of where she wanted to go. She had offers from Harvard, Yale, and Princeton. She worked hard, studied more than partied, and had her heart set on a business degree. She could choose whichever school she wanted. "Where are you going?"
"Well—" Zoanne spoke and Myriam zoned out. All she could think about was Mario Falcone and how her brother's death was on his hands. And she couldn't do anything about it. All she could think about was Adam's bright smile that he only showed when he scored a goal or on Myriam's birthday, his smelly feet that always stunk up the house, and his funny stories about stupid stuff he and his team would do. Myriam felt her throat close up and her heart began to race as thoughts of those things that she loved and hated about her brother.
"Listen, Zo," Myriam interrupts, "I need to go home. Can you tell Mr. Peters that I'll bring a doctors note tomorrow. I'm really not feeling well."
Zoanne tilts her head and looks at Myr, "You good?"
Myriam takes a deep breath, "Yeah, yeah… I don't know. I just, I need more time."
"Of course," Zo replied empathetically, "I'll talk to Mr. Peters. Don't worry." She hugged Myriam good-bye and walked to class.
….
"Mr. Wayne does not have an appointment with you; therefore you cannot see him right now." Tim overheard Theresa, his secretary hiss, from his office.
Curiously, he peaked out of his office to see what had caused his cool-tempered, 60-year old administrator to hiss. "ˆShit" he muttered when he saw two Wayne Enterprises security officers surround Myriam.
"Get off me!" Myriam yelled angrily at the two men in bulletproof vests.
"Ma'am, we need you to leave." One man said sternly and Tim could see him grab his taser from his belt.
Shit. He muttered again and stepped out of his office and slow-clapped.
"Mister Wayne?" Theresa looked at the young CEO with a raised eyebrow.
"Well done, Theresa. Andrew," He turned to the security guard, "Taser may have been a little dangerous. We could've had a lawsuit on our hands."
Everyone in the room was in utter confusion.
"This is my friend Myriam. I've asked her to help me test our security system. Specifically, our non-computerized security." Myriam mouthed a 'what' to Tim, "I wanted to make sure I was safe." He ignored her, "Theresa, Andrew, Tyrone, all three of you performed mediocre. But, we need to see why Myriam was able to get up to this floor without a pass."
"I'll see right to that, Mister Wayne." Theresa replied trying not to scream at Tim for the scare he had caused.
"Myriam, come in." Tim welcomed her into his office. "I think your performance deserves a coffee, at least."
Myriam cautiously entered Tim's office. Tim could feel the steam build up in her and so, took his sweet time closing the door.
"Stop stalling and shut the damn door," Myriam hissed quietly.
Tim finally closed the door and turned to Myriam, "Don't yell. Try to speak in code." He managed to whisper and tipped his head in the direction of Theresa's desk.
Myriam nodded.
"Aren't you supposed to be in school right now?"
"I signed myself out. I needed to talk to you about tonight." She paused to think of how to say what she wanted to say 'in code.' "Can you hang out tonight? There's a new pizza place I want to check out. Reviews say it's pizza the Godfather would be proud of."
Tim processed what she said, "I can't tonight. I'm helping Dick with a project."
"I'll just try it by myself, then." Myriam said harshly and widened her eyes at Tim. It was a threat.
"Absolutely not!" Tim yells by accident and sees Theresa's head swing around to try to look through Tim's office's frosted windows, "I… I would appreciate if you waited for me to go try the pizza. You know how much I love pizza."
"Well, unfortunately, the world doesn't revolve around you and what you want, Tim. I'll go scope out the place and we can go back together another time."
Tim takes a deep breath, "God dammit, Myr." He finally barked quietly, "No. You're not leaving my sight tonight. I hope you brought something to do because for the next three hours, you're going to be sitting in this office. After that, you're coming with me to Wayne Towers and you're not leaving until I say so."
Myr squinted at Tim, "You can't do that." She crossed her arms.
"I'm not going to let you get yourself killed." He whispered very quietly that Myriam could barely hear him.
Tim had never seen a face as angry as Myriam's in that moment. Her nostrils flared, her eyebrows furrowed, and her flat palms folded into fists. Tim, instinctively, prepared himself for a fight—verbally or physically, he wasn't sure yet. But Myriam took a deep breath and smoothed her index finger along the bags under her eyes. "Tim," she finally spoke after a tense 90 seconds, "What happened to you?" She was genuinely concerned but her tone came off as angry.
Tim looked away as if her question had slapped him in the face, "I have to go to a meeting. Let Theresa know if you need anything." He grabbed his tablet from his desk and left.