Part Two
The damage to his bike was bad enough that it would have to go back to the shop for some serious sanding, filling and repainting. It would be at least a week before it would be drivable again, meaning that Dick was forced to use one of the other twenty-three vehicles at his disposal.
He was, understandably, in a rare bad mood the next morning at breakfast.
"I can't believe it. Seriously. This is just...it's really annoying."
"I think you'll find, Master Richard, that the damage isn't permanent and that the repairs will be quick and, unless I miss my guess, completely undetectable when finished. Now, scrambled, poached or eggs Benedict?"
"Nothing, thanks, Alf. Just some coffee, I'm meeting some people at the brunch in an hour. " He shook his head "..Sorry, you're right but it's still—y'know."
"I do, indeed. No one enjoys being victimized. Have you any idea whether the vandalism was random or aimed at you in particular?"
"No. 'Probably just some as...jerk." There hadn't been any prints and he'd looked last night; the damage could have been done by almost anyone and, frankly, wasn't worth the time to track down unless there was a repeat.
The conversation was interrupted by hammering and the sound of trucks being moved into the back yard, there to deliver the tables and chairs and god knew what else for the big dinner tonight. Dick was used to big catered affairs but this seemed a bit over the top for a simple high school reunion, then, considering the neighborhood, it wasn't all that out of line.
He was glad someone had sponsored the thing otherwise the price of admission would have a whole lot higher than the one hundred and fifty they'd charged everyone. Idly, he wondered who'd kicked in the several tens of thousands extra it looked like the thing was costing, didn't really care and mentally shrugged. Whatever. Evidently the reunion was more important to someone than it was to him.
"Bruce still asleep?"
"The Master is long gone, declaring that he'd rather 'downstairs' than be subjected to the disruption of his home. I suspect that he'll make himself scarce for the next day or so."
"Figures. I'm going to the brunch, 'later." Leaving Alfred, as always, to cope with the workmen.
Dick took his Dad's Harley the short two miles to Island Beach, the site of the brunch cookout, pulling into the lot a civilized half hour late and parking as close to the main areas as possible to keep half an eye on the beloved old bike. The beach, a private one located in Brixton and closed to anyone lacking the needed (and expensive) parking permit would be politely asked to move along, thank you.
"Nice bike, Grayson, old, isn't it?"
"Hey Benson, yeah, it was my dad's, a 62'." Dave Benson, captain of the football team, National Honor Society and general BMOC back in the day.
"Sweet; you fix it up or did you have it done?"
"No, no one touches this thing but me." He stowed then helmet on the seat, tying it down with a bungee cord. "'You still ride?"
"When I can, sure. 'You want to do some road tripping one of these days?"
"'Sounds good, sure. So, who's here?"
"Pretty much the ones you'd expect; the in crowd, the jocks—or most of them, no nerds, no losers that I've see so far. C'mon, get yourself a brew and socialize."
There was a decent crowd, maybe fifty or so with more arriving by the minute; singles, couples, a few young kids tagging along as well as a few older and younger class siblings and the odd parent or two. The sky was clear, it was a warm day and the grills were fired up and a pick up beach volleyball game was starting a little way down the sand.
This should be fun.
Jackie and Emily, Dick's old crush and someone's sister, had brought beach chairs with them, wanting a place to retreat to, should the whim arise. The old class, well most of them were—okay, but there were always the ones no one would be caught dead with. You know the ones, the kids who sat alone at lunch or ate in the AVA room or always walked around with their shoe laces untied or had zits.
Every class, every school has their share losers and dweebs, even exclusive private ones.
It wasn't that the girls were snobs, not really. Honestly, they weren't, they just wanted to have a good time with their friends and maybe make a few new ones, if they were lucky.
"Dick, over here!"
He turned towards the girls and gave a small wave in acknowledgment but stayed where he was. John Baldwick was there and Peter Mueller, a couple of his old friends from when he was on the school paper, along with the old student editor, Amy Fischer. Hands were shaken, hugs exchanged and the stories about silly, funny and memorable high school moments started.
Half sitting on one of the picnic tables, cold beer in hand, Dick finally allowed himself to really enjoy the whole reunion experience, when you forget that you couldn't stand someone and just let the years roll away, remembering the good times; making a few up if need be and forgetting the taunts and angst integral with being a teenager.
"You went to Hudson, right? 'Serious party school, Grayson, I'm betting even you could get laid there, am I right?"
"Unlike you, Benson."
"Bite me."
"Hey, Dick, you working for Bruce now?"
He shook his head. "'Working down in the Haven."
"Get outta town, you in the Haven? Doing what?"
"I'm a cop."
A pause then the small group at the table started laughing. "Good one, Grayson."
Smiling, he pulled out his wallet, opened it to the gold badge with 'Bludhaven Police Department number 7648' below the city seal.
The silence was immediate and awkward. "Holy crap; you're serious?"
"I went through the Academy and got my assignment about two years ago."
"You're kidding, right?"
Dick gave the skeptic a look which answered the question; no, he wasn't kidding.
"So, you're like a cop on the beat, wear a uniform and the whole bit?"
"Yep, the whole nine yards."
"Bustin' heads?"
"Only if they need it."
"No, really."
"That's really, I'm a cop. 'Just got promoted to Sergeant, in fact."
"...Sergeant Grayson?—holy crap. I mean, you're not lying? Man, I didn't see that one coming I figured you'd end up in some cushy job working at WE and live the good life."
"My life is pretty good, Jim, I like what I do."
"That's—good."
Whatever they all seemed to think he was doing, if anyone actually had given it any thought, it was the reality. The atmosphere was getting to heavy, almost hitting depressed or sad or something, it was time to lighten things up. "Okay, so who's up for volleyball?"
The weird tension broken, the group moved down the beach to the single net set up in the sand, the classmates already playing gladly making room for the newcomers. Dick noticed a few sideways looks, half caught a few comments letting him know what he already assumed, that his career choice, at least the one he could talk about, was as far from the accepted norm in this crowd as he could get. It didn't matter, not to him, anyway and he wasn't all that surprised. Kids in Brixton were supposed to go to some decent college, get a job with dad's law firm or work the stock market, maybe spend their inheritances and live the good life. Police work in the field was a bit too blue collar, akin to joining the army to this crowd; there wasn't anything wrong with it, of course, it just wasn't something their kind did. It was a bit too—well, you know, a bit too gritty.
Screw 'em.
The volleyball game went on for close to an hour, the young men were mostly in decent shape, especially Dick, of course, and they vied to impress one another with their digs, dives and saves. Finally, the sun getting too high and hot to be comfortable with a semi-strenuous workout, a break was called at fourteen points for both sides with both teams sprinting across the sand to the warm lake.
Leaving the splashing behind, Dick opted for relaxing in the warm water and finally chatting as Emily, Chad's sister swam over to where he was floating on his back, letting the water hold him up with minimal effort.
"I think you're brave to become a cop; don't listen to them."
"I don't."
"No, really, I think it's wonderful that you're doing something that matters; most of those guys think a tough day is having the stock market go down a hundred points."
"For a lot of people that's more important than what I do."
"A lot of people are idiots."
He smiled, wondering if she meant it or if she was just trying to come on to him. Normally his mind didn't go there, but there was something almost premeditated in the way she'd swum out to him and then started laying on the compliments. "Being a cop isn't what a lot of people seem to think it is, it's a job. I like it, I think it's important but it's a lot more paperwork than cops and robbers." He started moving closer to shore, finally standing waist high in the water." Emily stood next to him, both of them facing the crowd on the beach.
"I know that. No, I do; my grandfather was a mounted officer for the NYPD back in the forties. I know what you guys go through and your family, to. It's, well, it's a hard job to do right and I think you're probably pretty good at it."
"Why?"
"Why do I think you're good?" He nodded, curious about whether she was sincere or just blowing smoke. "Because you're smart and you had bad things happen to you, so you understand."
"Excuse me?"
She paused for a moment, choosing her words. "I remember when you first arrived, when you were the new kid in class. People talked—you know—about your parents and Bruce adopting you or whatever he did."
"Oh, that. It's okay. I guess that had something to do with my decision, sure; it pretty much had to, didn't it?" He glanced down the beach. "C'mon, the food's ready, 'you hungry?"
"Is it just me or does Dick seem more mature than the rest of the morons?"
"Yeah, well I think he's matured just fine, thank you."
"Well, yeah."
"Wasn't he voted 'Best Butt'? I'd say his title is safe."
"Y'think?"
"Girls, stop. I mean it, he's always been a nice guy but now he seems like he's an adult instead of the rest of the guys who are playing at being adults."
Jackie shook her head, "Face it Em, you had a case for him in sixth grade and you still have a case for him." She sipped her diet iced tea. "But you could do a whole lot worse. What were you two talking about out in the water?"
"Nothing, I was just telling him about my grandfather."
"Your grandfather the cop? Subtle, much?"
The group of young women laughed, Emily's crush on Dick Grayson had been common knowledge all through school and he'd probably heard the rumors himself but, damn, he was as close to movie-star handsome as you could get, was rich as Midas and even had a social conscience. It didn't get much better than that.
Later, around five in the afternoon the sun was headed past sun burn potential and the party was packing up so they could shower, change and regroup over at Wayne Manor for the big dinner, complete with two bands.
Dick unhooked the cord holding his helmet to the seat and, "Motherfucker—goddammit." The leather seat was slashed into pieces.
TBC