Part Eight
The last few years had been rough. Batman and Robin seemed to be estranged for some reason and Robin, the character of Robin was now filled by a different kid. In fact it seemed like the costume had been filled with more than one newbie over the past few years with varying degrees of success. The original kid had to have grown up by now and there was some dispute about what happened to him; retired? Killed? Change of career? Change of alias? The rumors filled the blogs and tabloids without either denial or verification from anyone who knew the truth.
Jeff kept up with the hero community as well as he could through the legal outlets that were easily available to him, the news-magazines, the nightly newscasts, the internet. He also did what he could to keep track of Dick Grayson; not always an easy thing to do since he was still shielded behind the Wayne security barriers. He tried writing to the boy a few times, but his letters were returned unopened and he wondered if that was just Wayne's standard procedure or whether it was a conscious effort to keep him at arm's distance. But he did the best he could and had enough ego to wonder of Dick ever gave him a thought as the years went by, though he never heard from the boy, now a young man.
And in those years he never once told anyone his suspicions about who wore the masks, their real names nor where they lived.
One night he was up late (he still suffered from insomnia now and then), just surfing the web looking for any new updates. Michelle, his current live-in, was a fellow oceanographer who would be reassigned in a few months, neatly ending a relationship which was starting to bore them both. But for now...
"Jeff, come back to bed."
"In a minute."
"You always say that."
"I always mean it." He'd just found a mention of an Officer Richard Grayson, BPD, injured in the line of duty a couple of days before.
He looked further; Officer Richard Grayson, 23, and new to the local force, was shot while preventing teenaged gang members from robbing a local bodega after brutalizing Juan and Rosalie Gonzales, both 75. The popular couple have owned and run the neighborhood establishment for twenty-five years. Officer Grayson is expected to make a full recovery in time to receive an award for heroism for his part in stopping the attempted robbery.
There were no pictures but it had to be him. It had to be. He tried to verify that this was 'the' Richard Grayson, the former ward of Bruce Wayne but had no success. Maybe they were still estranged. Maybe Dick finally got tired of being second banana, maybe he got tired of having a price on his head. Maybe he just grew up, who knew?
Anyway, so Dick grew up to be a cop—it almost seemed preordained when you thought about it since it would give him the perfect excuse to see what was going on before any public announcements and allow him to work unknown from the inside. And let's not forget that his parents were murdered, right? He had every reason to go in that direction, Batman or no Batman.
Wayne had to either be incredibly pissed or incredibly proud. Or both.
"Jeff?"
"In a minute."
Exasperated sight. "At least you didn't say you were coming."
* * *
A year later and it was a normal Christmas with the family, if your family was named Tabor. Mom was drunk, Dad was with his girlfriend, Nance (his older sister) was fighting with the father of her two year old, Jason (the middle child, Jeff's big brother) was on probation again for his fifth DWI without a license and Jeff was wishing to hell that he was somewhere in the middle of an ocean somewhere.
Just putting the fun in dysfunction yet again.
After the dry turkey, the lumpy mashed potatoes and the still frozen peas they were sitting around the tree with their burnt pre-made apple pie and opening presents. Jase handed Jeff a wrapped box he knew wold contain a red turtlenecked sweater because his mother always gave him a red turtlenecked sweater.
Taking his dirty plate into the kitchen Jeff watched Jason opening another beer. "Don;t you think you've had enough tonight?"
"Screw you, baby brother; I'm just enjoying the Christmas spirit in my own, my own, you know, my own humble way."
"You working now? You're hanging in Bludhaven now, right? You still looking for a job?"
"Yeah, whatever. I'm waiting for, I'm waiting for a ..." He railed off, forgetting his train of thought for a moment before finding it again. "A management position."
"'Should be any minute."
"Yeah well, Doctor, how's about you goin' and fucking yourself, huh?" Jeff just shook his head, another year of status quo. Jason, already more than three sheets to the wind answered the ringing phone
"Yeah, he's always a pain in the ass, self righteous bastard."... "Yeah, I'm there."... "Twenty minutes? Fuck, yeah I'm sober as a damn priest."... "Okay, ten minutes. 'Later." He grabbed his old jacket from the rack of hooks by the door. "'Got somethin' to do, see you in the mornin' if you're here."
"Where are you going?"
"'Work to do."
"What work?"
"Nothin' that concerns you, Baby Bro, you just get yourself some beauty sleep, y'hear?"
Jeff didn't like this, not even a little. "I'll drive you, you're drunk."
"'Ain't drunk, screw yourself."
"I don't drive, you're not goin'."
Even as drunk as he was that Jeff meant it. "Sure, fine, you might learn somethin'."
Jason, trashed and not the brightest bulb on the tree on a sober day directed Jeff to the Band-shell in Melville Park. They drove by slowly as Jeff gave the several cars and group of maybe a dozen low-lifes seemed to conduct business out of a couple of car trunks. Though he'd never seen a drug buy, especially a large scale one, he'd have bet the ranch that this was what was going on.
"'These your friends?"
Jason nodded. "We do business sometimes."
"You're into drugs now?"
"Shit, no—I'm smarter than that. (Jeff wold have debated but saw no point.) This is a set-up, y'know, set the trap and catch a rat or a mouse or somethin'." He was giggling a little. Jesus, he was really drunk..
"Who are you trying to catch?"
"'Jus someone."
Jeff saw four cop cars coming towards the park, no sirens and no blinking lights. They stopped, blocking the street and causing the group to turn their way. It was the lead-up to the shoot out at the OK Corral.
"Bingo! The asshole's here!"
Jeff looked over at Jason, he was grinning like a kid who'd just won a new bike. Shit, the trap was to lure the cops, probably so these idiots could deal without any interference. Jerks. Then, oh crap, looking closer he saw one of the cops getting out of the second squad car, there were sergeant's stripes on the sleeve of his uniform jacket and he seemed to be in charge. The man was almost a block away but he was sure; it was Dick Grayson. It had to be him, the build, the way he carried himself—it was him and he was walking into a trap.
Instantly, without real thought or plan he gunned the car, revved the engine and aimed the machine directly for the group of men waiting to kill the police.
The car rammed through the non-barrier of low hedges without slowing, headed directly for the men by the drug cars. Disbelieving then running for their lives as they realized that the car wasn't going to stop he drove straight through the other side of the park at sixty miles an hour, circling around to where they'd entered through the now missing bushes and saw the chaos of cops, drug dealers and patrons hoping to make a buy. More police cars arrived within seconds—they must have been waiting in the wings—and the dark park was flooded with light from head lights, search light and helicopters overhead.
Neither stopping nor slowing, Jeff peeled away while the police were busy with the bust. The news the next day would report no injuries when a dozen and a half drug dealers were apprehended in the park during the middle of one of the largest buys in the city's history. The ease of the arrests were credited to a unknown driver who distracted the dealers then disappeared. A reward was being offered for anyone who had information of the owner of a dark blue Toyota with Gotham plates.
Jason slept off his drunk with no memory of his Christmas drive with Jeff who left the next day for three months research off Australia.
He said nothing to anyone about what happened, though he redoubled his Internet surfing to following the careers of both Sergeant Grayson and Nightwing.
He now knew what he could do.
TBC