Ron was sitting on a chair in the cafeteria, wincing every time another guard touched the tender spot on the back of his head.
"Sorry, but I gotta clean off the blood before I can cover it up. How'd you get this anyway?"
Not wanting to admit his defeat at the hands of a nurse, Ron replied, "Slipped."
Shaking his head, the other guard let the simple answer go. Ron was, after all, the head guard, and it wasn't the younger man's job to ask for more details.
"There you go," he said as he finished taping a small piece of gauze over the injury. "Anything else you need?"
Ron gingerly touched his ribs, but decided he could let them heal on their own. Nobody needed to know he had lost a fight, two if you counted the confrontation with Marcus.
The other guard didn't miss the soft hiss of pain that flew out of Ron's mouth as his hand moved to his torso. But, again, he let it go. If Ron didn't want to say anything, he wasn't going to ask about it.
He began cleaning the table and putting the medical supplies away.
"Tank was too busy for you?" the younger man asked conversationally. "Heard there's been a lot of fights lately."
Without answering, Ron stood up and walked away.
"Or was it Tank that got ahold of you?" he muttered when Ron was out of earshot.
Eleven o'clock that night:
Marcus was ready to leave. He signed his name on the time sheet, said goodbye to the guard at the registration desk, and turned around. At the same time, Batman strode into the lobby.
"Security check," the hero growled, not giving either guard a chance to say anything.
"Um, it's not on the calendar," the guard behind the desk said timidly.
Marcus glanced at the man with a look of incredulity before resting his gaze on Batman.
"This place has been needing a checkup for a while," Marcus stated. "Feel free to talk to anyone you want for however long you want."
"But, Ron…"
"Is currently off-duty and probably asleep in the basement," Marcus interrupted. "All of his cronies – I'm sorry, fellow 'guards' – are probably with him. As the highest-ranking guard still awake, I'm giving Batman permission, although he doesn't really need it."
"You don't know…"
"Luke, I know the routine of almost every guard in this place. You've been here for two months, you know practically nothing. So just shut your mouth and let Batman do what he needs to do. For starters, give him a badge."
"I can't just give a random person a badge!" Luke exclaimed. "A visitor pass, yeah, but not a badge!"
"Batman is not a 'random person'," Marcus practically snarled. "Give him a badge."
"Ron won't like it," Luke warned as he punched a few buttons on the machine next to him.
"Blame it on me. Ron and I have some things to chat about anyway."
Batman internally chuckled, doubting that their future conversation was going to have a lot of talking. The hero was glad he had met Marcus, and glad the man was good at his job. Marcus was going to get high marks if Batman decided to send a report to the warden. And it was more than obvious that the guard could handle himself.
Luke gave something to Marcus, who handed it to Batman. It was a security badge with almost complete clearance.
"Only the head guard has complete clearance," Marcus explained. "We don't have the capability to give that to anyone. Would if I could."
Batman accepted the badge with a short nod. When he was done with this place, Marcus would either be the head guard or on his way to a better job somewhere else. Because Batman was going to convince Ron and his buddies to leave, or he was going to shut the detention center down. Warden Wiskin was either going to thank him for taking out the trash or hate him for putting him out of a job.
"I can stay and show you around, if you want," Marcus offered.
"I can find my way around," Batman responded gruffly.
With a nod, Marcus turned toward the door.
"Guards sleep here?" the Caped Crusader suddenly inquired.
Marcus stopped, waiting for Luke to answer. The latter guard just shrugged, and the former turned back with a sigh.
"Most of us, no," he replied. "A handful, most of them on floors four and five, for some reason decide to stay. Basement has a few beds and other necessities, and they usually go down there around ten. Probably playing cards, or figuring out how to make kids' lives as miserable as possible, or some other stupid thing," Marcus finished angrily.
"Floors four and five…"
"Teenagers," Luke interrupted, earning himself a Bat-glare.
"Good place to start," Marcus advised. "That's where we have the most trouble. Thing is, Ron's got a nephew on the fourth floor, and the kid pretty much runs the place. Not scared of anything, thinks nobody can touch him because his uncle is the head guard."
"That does sound like a good place to start," Batman responded with another nod. "Thank you for your help."
"You sure you don't want me to stay?"
"I can find my way around," the hero repeated.
This time it was Marcus who nodded again.
"Good luck," he said, then turned around and left.
"You…" Luke began, but Batman was already gone.
Sam was awakened by the sound of metal bars clanging against each other. He groggily opened his eyes, wondering why he hadn't heard the bell.
"Get up," a rough voice growled.
The teenager realized why he hadn't heard the bell: it was still dark, it wasn't time for breakfast. But, somehow, Batman was standing at the entrance to his cell. He was swathed in shadows, making his appearance even more intimidating than it already was to the fifteen-year-old.
"What, uh, why are you here?" Sam asked.
"Security check. Get. Up."
Sam sat up and slowly made his way to standing. Nervously, he began shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was not used to not being in control, and the anticipation of the unknown was making him uneasy.
"You're in charge of the fight club."
It was a comment, and Sam realized that Batman had no doubt that it was a fact. He remained silent, not wanting to antagonize the man.
"How many kids have been severely injured because of your little club?"
"You, uh, you got the wrong guy," Sam answered, biting his lip in order to stop the trembling.
"I don't like liars," Batman stated, folding his arms across his chest. "Do you want to try again?"
"No?" Sam replied weakly.
Batman moved so quickly that Sam didn't have time to react. The teenager was suddenly facing the wall with his arms behind his back. His wrists were smashed together in one of Batman's fists, and two seconds later the front of his torso was being shoved against the wall.
"Talk," Batman commanded, grabbing a clump of the boy's hair and turning his head to the left.
"A'out wha?" Sam mumbled through the half of his mouth that wasn't kissing the cold wall.
"Why do you make kids fight and call it a 'game'? Let's start with that one."
"I don' know wha…"
"Don't lie to me," Batman warned.
Pulling Sam's head away from the wall, Batman gently slammed it against the cement. It was hard enough to give him a headache, but not hard enough to knock him out. Alfred was not going to be happy with him but, Batman rationalized, at least he wasn't beating the kid to a pulp.
"A'use," Sam tried to yell. "He'p!"
Batman chuckled darkly.
"You would know what abuse is, you do it every day. This," Batman gently repeated his earlier action, "is not abuse. It's a reminder that you should tell the truth, and tell me everything."
"I don' do anyt'ing," Sam tried to retort.
"What happened to Chuck?" Batman snarled.
Releasing the teenager's wrists, the hero whirled him around so his back was against the wall. He put one large hand on either side of Sam's face, and waited.
Sam's eyes widened in fear when he saw the Bat-glare. His thoughts began running in circles, but one jumped to the forefront of his mind.
"Grayson did it!" he exclaimed. "New kid, something Grayson. Wanted to prove himself so he picked a fight with Chuck! The kid killed my best friend!"
"That's the story you're going with?!" Batman asked incredulously.
"Not a story, it's true," Sam mumbled.
"Tell me about Grayson," the Caped Crusader demanded.
"New kid, came in a week or so ago, killed someone in the circus so they put him up here. He's like ten or something, but he can fight like his life depends on it."
"Really," Batman commented, leaning down so his face was two inches away from that of Sam. "Is that why he has a broken nose, and broken ribs, and a broken wrist, and a fractured leg, and a concussion?"
"We're, um, not talking about the same person. I don't know anybody like that."
"Should we take a trip to the infirmary? You look a little pale."
Stop toying with him.
Alfred's voice raced through his mind, but Batman ignored it. He was enjoying watching the teenager squirm in fear.
"No, uh, I'm okay," the boy replied.
And then he did something stupid. Something so idiotic that Batman nearly burst out laughing. Sam's arms were free, so he clenched his hands and shoved the resulting fists into the stomach of the Caped Crusader. Batman didn't even flinch, so Sam tried again. This time, however, the hero grabbed the teenager's arms, lifted him up, and tossed him onto the bed.
Sam's head hit the bars of his cell, and he saw double for a moment.
"You gonna re…uh…regret that," the teenager stuttered. "D'you know who my unkie is? You in biiiiiiiig trouble."
"I'm going to go have a chat with your uncle," Batman snapped. "We'll talk again later."
Leaving that dark promise hanging in the air, the Caped Crusader strode out the cell door. Slamming it shut, he used his badge to lock it. Then, he headed for the basement.
The basement – 30 minutes later:
Batman was annoyed. The way to the basement had a few twists and turns, and the Caped Crusader's excellent sense of direction had failed him twice. But then he heard voices, and saw a light at the end of the hallway he had just entered.
This is going to be fun.
The door was half-closed, and Batman suddenly couldn't decide whether to listen or just burst through. Maybe he could get some incriminating evidence if he listened, but the hero really wanted to take Ron down and ask questions later. What he heard stopped him in his tracks.
"Kid still thinks he killed Chuck."
"Dude, kid wasn't even in the yard! Why'd Sam do that?"
"Have you seen how he acts now? He worships Sammy, does anything Sammy tells him, won't even eat unless given permission! Last couple of days he's lost three fights on purpose to prove his loyalty and to show he was sorry for killing Chuck."
Batman didn't recognize any of the three voices, but the only guard he had ever met – besides the ones who checked Bruce Wayne in and out – was Marcus. The hero's hands were in tight fists, his jaw was clenched, and his blood was boiling with fury. But, for some reason that he didn't understand, he decided to wait.
"Sammy's been careful. Grayson's lost every fight, bad enough that he's too scared to tell anyone about it."
"Nobody's said or done anything?!"
The voice had a tinge of disbelief skirting through it, as if it was the first time the man was hearing about it.
"Marcus," the first voice snarled. "And Tank."
"Yeah, Tank's been yelling at people again. And Wayne's been here three or four times, wanting to talk to the kid every time. Sammy and me, we made sure Grayson won't talk to anyone, especially Wayne."
Batman was relatively sure that the last voice belonged to Ron. What other guard would call the teenager 'Sammy'? He thought about bursting through the door, but then he heard something he would never forget.
"Wanna know what really happened?"
"With what?"
"Chucky-boy."
"He got in a fight and died, didn't he? Open and shut."
"Nope. Chuck was getting on Sammy's nerves. Always getting mad if the kid he was fighting didn't go down right away. Sammy was getting worried that Chucky-boy might try to take over the yard. Kid was too dumb to do that, but Sammy wanted security."
"Did you…?"
"Heck no, I'm not stupid! Those three boys got in a violent fight. Might've helped them along a little bit, but I didn't kill them."
"How?!"
"Quick little snap to the head with this bad boy on the way to Tank. Other two weren't supposed to die, but I guess the fight was a little more violent than I thought. But I got evidence against Grayson if anybody ever decides to examine the bodies."
"You killed an inmate and framed a kid?!" one of the voices whisper-yelled.
"No, Grayson killed him. Took some blood from Grayson when he was lying on the floor and smeared it all over Chucky's head. Might've mixed with his, but there's of enough of Grayson's to show he did it. Nobody's gonna doubt it – his word against mine and I'm the head guard. 'Sides, he thinks he did it anyway."
The Caped Crusader didn't want to hear anymore. He had enough to put Ron away for life, and he was tired of listening to the man. Slamming his left hand on the door, Batman shoved it all the way open and strode into the room.
All three guards jumped to their feet. Two backed away, but one stood his ground, nightstick in hand.
"What're you doing here?" the man asked, trying to keep his tone cordial.
"Ron."
It was a comment, not a question, so Ron nodded.
"Head guard Ron."
The man nodded again.
"Security check."
"Is that on the calendar? I don't remember…"
"Surprise," Batman said sharply. "I need to talk to Ron," he stated, glancing at the two other guards.
"Sure, okay, yeah, of course," the other two guards agreed, quickly making their way to the wide open door.
"Close the door," Batman growled over his shoulder, and the door slammed shut.
Ron licked his lips nervously and tightened his grip on the nightstick.
"How can I help you, Batman?"
"You have a fight club, and your nephew runs it."
"The kids play a game, and sometimes someone gets hurt, but it's not a fight club," Ron denied.
"I've heard the rules of this 'game'. It's a fight club."
Ron had nothing to say. Batman was right – they both knew it – and Ron couldn't think of a way around the statement.
"What is so special about Dick Grayson?" the hero asked after almost a minute of silence. "What does Sam want with him?"
Ron shook his head and replied, "I don't like what you're implying. Grayson is Sammy's friend, that's all. Kid looks up to him, wants to be like him, doesn't want to leave his side."
"I imagine that is getting annoying for Sam," Batman said sarcastically.
"So, what about this security check?" Ron asked nervously, attempting to steer the conversation in a safer direction.
"I'm doing it right now," Batman growled. "Sam will back off, you will move Dick Grayson to the second floor, and you will not allow Sam to have any contact with him."
"I'm the head guard," Ron snapped. "I decide who goes where and what inmates are allowed to interact and…"
He was interrupted by Batman's fist flying toward his face. It was a quick uppercut, one that Ron hadn't even seen coming, and he stumbled. The man's feet hooked themselves together, tripping him, and he landed flat on his back.
"Breathe, idiot," Batman snarled, knowing that the wind had been knocked out of the other man.
"I will tell you one more time. Until Dick Grayson is removed from this place, he will be on the second floor. Neither you nor Sam will have any more contact with him. That is not a request."
Ron carefully made his way up to his feet. This was the third time in less than three days that he had been laid out, and he was fed up with it. However, he chose the wrong man to retaliate against – he would have had more luck against Marcus or Tank.
The man swung his nightstick as hard as he could, aiming for Batman's head. The Caped Crusader lifted his arm, easily blocking the blow, and threw a powerful jab at the side of Ron's head. It snapped the guard's chin over his shoulder, but he was able to grasp Batman's arm and stay on his feet, although he was already swaying and seeing double.
"I wonder if you can handle as many injuries as your nephew's little minions have given Dick," Batman mused.
Grabbing Ron's other wrist, Batman twisted it sharply and was rewarded with a loud 'crack' and a cry of pain.
"That's one," he stated nonchalantly. "You have at least a mild concussion by now, so I might let you get away with that."
Whipping the man around, Batman shoved him forward until his head smacked against the wall.
"That's two. Bruce Wayne has been very informative. How lucky for you that he has been visiting young Dick Grayson."
Swinging Ron around to face him again, Batman threw a small jab into each of the guard's eyes.
"Three and four. From the way your nose looks, I think you've already been given number five. One more. For now."
His voice was matter-of-fact, and the guard wanted to cry from both the pain and the fear of the unknown.
"Pl…ple…pl's stooooop," Ron mumbled.
"Did Sam give that option to Dick? Did you try to stop any of it when he was getting the CRAP BEAT OUT OF HIM?!" Batman finally exploded. "He missed his parents' funeral because of your nephew!"
"No, San'sn, soooosh wok'r. No' Sssssssammy flat."
"Sanderson played a part, don't worry your idiotic little brain about what he has coming to him. But 'Sammy' stood there and watched while Dick got the CRAP beat out of him!"
He punctuated the thunderous words with another uppercut. Letting go of the man, he allowed Ron to stumble back and hit the wall. The guard slid to the ground, a pile of flesh not three feet away from the imposing form of the Caped Crusader.
"Sam. Will. Not. See. The. Boy. Again."
With that, Batman whirled around and stalked out the door. The other two guards were standing just outside, and they quickly looked the other way as Batman strode by.
"Take care of him or don't, I have nothing more to say to any of you," the hero snapped, not stopping the length of his stride.
He was out of sight two minutes later, and both guards sighed in relief. They turned toward the door and slowly walked inside. Batman had been loud and had sounded furious. So, the fact that Ron was unconscious against the far wall was not at all surprising.
"How much do you think he heard?" the shorter of the two asked.
"Enough for this," the other man answered, motioning toward their fallen colleague.
"Yeah, but he was talking about Grayson more than Chuck. Why does he care about that kid?"
"No idea. Let's just clean this mess up. Think he wants to go see Tank?" the taller guard asked with a smirk.
"Dude, nobody wants to see Tank, not the way he is right now, anyway. Heard he's been storming around the place, angry as a hornet."
"All you gotta do is take kids to him when they're injured. Don't wait, just take them. Gotta stay on Tank's good side in case something like this," he motioned to Ron again, "happens to you."
"Yeah," the shorter guard responded quietly, surveying the scene with a tint of fear in his eyes. "Stay on everyone's good side."
The other man laughed.
"That's impossible. There are too many sides here for you to stay on all the good ones. Come on, let's clean him up."