A mansion on the outskirts of Gotham City:
"You told me the kid would stay in the center!"
"Bruce Wayne is a very influential man."
"He saw me, we had a frigging conversation!"
"I doubt he remembers you, a lot has happened since then."
"Look at me, you moron! Do I look forgettable?!"
Jeff Sanderson gave Tony Zucco a once-over, then shook his head. The black hair with distinct white stripes over each ear, the sharp angles of his cheekbones paired with his thick neck, the flabby stomach that caused him to have to readjust his pants every time he moved. No, Tony Zucco was not easily forgettable.
"What do you want me to do about it?!" Jeff demanded, exasperation in his voice. "Grayson's not my problem anymore, Wayne asked for Pete personally!"
"The kid is my problem, which makes him your problem," Tony growled menacingly. "He saw my face, he heard my voice, I threatened to kill him! And now he's free as a robin, just waiting for a chance to identify me."
"Tony," Jeff said placatingly, "he's nine, and he's scared. He watched his parents fall to their death, then he got the crap beaten out of him for a week, and now he lives in a big lonely house with a busy millionaire and a 'prim and proper' butler. The boy probably hasn't said more than two words to anyone, much less a police officer."
"Batman," Zucco snapped, "will find a way to get him to talk."
"Grayson doesn't even know who Batman is! I talked to Ron the day after I put the kid in the detention center. His nephew was in the cell next to Grayson, and apparently they had a good chat. Ron told me that the kid had never even heard of Batman."
"That doesn't mean Batman doesn't know about him. Batman is not going to take me down because of some kid. Find a way to bring him to me and I'll take care of the rest."
"I don't have access to him anymore. There's nothing I can do."
"Social workers make house visits, so go to Wayne's house."
"Tony, you don't get it. Pete is the kid's case manager. I. Don't. Have. Access."
"Then find a way to get access, or you'll take the kid's place in the harbor."
Jeff glared into Zucco's beady eyes. He didn't doubt the man's words, but he had no way of getting to Dick Grayson.
"What do you want me to do, Tony, kidnap him?! I'm not going to jail for you."
"Not you personally, but I'm sure you can find someone to do the job."
"Not someone cheap," Jeff grumbled.
"He's a frigging kid, it shouldn't be that hard!"
"A kid who lives in Wayne Manor! Have you seen the security at that place?! Cameras, sound sensors, probably lasers, who knows what else! Maybe even landmines!"
"Don't be a moron," Zucco retorted. "Wayne doesn't have landmines strewn across his front lawn. I'll give you the dough if you can find someone competent enough to get it done quickly and quietly."
"How much?"
"It's my freedom we're talking about, Sanderson!" Tony responded sharply. "Start at a hundred thousand."
Jeff gaped at him for a moment. One hundred thousand dollars to kidnap a nine-year-old who probably didn't even remember meeting the mobster. An idea began forming in his mind, and he internally chuckled at the thought.
"Okay, I'll put out some feelers."
"Do more than just 'put out feelers', Sanderson! I want this done immediately. As in yesterday! I want the kid in my possession in two days, or it's you I'm carving up and tossing into the harbor."
"Two days?! I have to find a guy first! And then what about planning time, and prep work, and whatever else he has to do? Wayne Manor is like a fort!"
"Fine, four days. One day to hire someone, one day for him to gather intel and plan, one day to get whatever supplies he needs, and one day to do it. Four days, Jeff, or it's lights out for you."
Tony Zucco flicked his hand toward the door. Jeff Sanderson took the hint and strode quickly out of the room.
Haskins Hall:
Daniel and Molly were just sitting down to eat dinner when the doorbell rang. A few moments later, the visitor was brought to the dining room by the butler.
"Ronald James Marshalls, where have you been for the last month?" Molly demanded.
Ron grinned and joined them at the table.
"Been busy," he said with a shrug of his shoulders.
Busy healing from a meeting with Batman.
He kept that thought to himself. His sister didn't need to know that he had taken a beatdown from a vigilante at a place where he was supposed to be in charge.
"How's my Sam?" Molly asked with a sigh.
"He's fine, Mollykins. I keep an eye out for him and I keep him out of trouble."
"Has his attitude changed at all?" Daniel asked, not bothering to hide his disdain for his brother-in-law.
"Daniel, he's our son," Molly whispered.
"I'm aware of that, Molly," the man retorted. "He's also the boy that got skunk drunk and attempted to rob a grocery store using a banana as a weapon. Followed by a fight with the kid who is supposed to be his best friend, which turned into a ten-person brawl."
"He's getting better," Ron replied, trying to avoid the lecture he could hear coming from the man of the house. "Sam's not been in a fight for a couple of weeks now."
"Oh, good," Molly replied, clasping her hands together. "So he'll be out soon?"
"Um…"
Ron didn't know what to tell his sister. Should he tell her that Sam was under investigation for organizing and leading a fight club? Probably not. Should he tell her that the warden, after finding out the results of that investigation, would most likely want to keep Sam until he was eighteen? Probably not that, either.
"I, uh, don't really have any knowledge about when kids are let out. It's just my job to keep them in."
Molly sighed and picked up her fork.
"Well, let's eat and we can talk about this later."
The men grunted in agreement as they dug in.
Three nights later:
The gala was at Wayne Manor this time. Bruce had decided that Dick would be more comfortable at home than at a stranger's house. And Bruce could keep a better eye on all of the guests since he would know exactly where everyone was most of the time. He also wasn't going to allow Dick out of his sight. This party was going to go much better than the last one.
Mingling was over and everyone was seated in anticipation of a three-course meal. The waiters were bustling around, setting plates of steaming food in front of each guest. Bruce was feeling good – Dick had talked to people and was now sitting directly next to him with excitement on his young face. And then the lights went out.
Bruce jumped to his feet and almost raced away to become Batman. But then he felt a small, trembling hand grasp his wrist, and he slowly sat back down. Pulling the boy onto his lap, the man wrapped his arms around the skinny torso and whispered that it was going to be okay. Commissioner Gordon was there, and the man was very competent. Dick didn't know what 'competent' meant, but he felt secure in Bruce's tight grip.
Ladies were squealing and men were demanding that the lights be turned back on, but Bruce decided to wait it out. It was an unfortunate decision, he discovered, when the lights were turned on and he saw the entire catering staff surrounding the guests. Every exit was blocked and every waiter had a gun.
"Go under the table, kiddo," Bruce whispered as he slowly slid Dick off his lap.
Dick did as he was told, tucking himself into a small ball and moving as close to the center as possible. He was completely covered by the long, cream-colored tablecloth.
"What is the meaning of this?" Bruce demanded as he stood up.
"I'd be very careful if I were you, Wayne," one of the men said, leveling his gun at the millionaire's chest.
"You do know that one of my guests is the commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department."
It was a comment, intended to invoke at least a little bit of surprise and inject a small shot of nervousness into the thieves' brains. But it didn't.
"Of course, but cell phone service has been disabled. Even Wayne Manor has a weakness."
Bruce made a mental note to work on the Manor's radio-wave-blocking-Bat-blocker when this was over.
"What do you want?"
"What every thief wants. Do I really need to run down the list? Jewels, wallets, anything expensive, precious valuables, etc. Ladies and gentlemen, all contributions will now be accepted."
The obvious leader of the group grinned as his fellow thieves began walking around with open burlap sacks. Bruce saw an opportunity when a man approached his table.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Wayne," the leader warned. "Clenching your hands into fists is an obvious tell. Besides, you don't want us to start shooting the place up, right? That would really be bad publicity, wouldn't it?"
Bruce internally berated himself for failing to notice the man's professionalism. He relaxed his hands and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. Dropping it, and his watch, into the sack, he slowly sat down.
It took several minutes for the thieves to collect everything, and when they were done they surrounded the group of socialites again.
"Now, I need everyone to stand up and go over by the west wall. If you don't know your directions, it's the one with all the windows," the leader said condescendingly.
It's easy to be condescending when you're the one with the gun.
Bruce grumbled to himself as he and all of his guests stood up and began moving.
Please stay under the table.
The millionaire was pretty sure that the men had probably forgotten about Dick. They were focused on the jewels and wallets and other shiny things. He was hoping that they were all going to back out the east doors and sprint to their getaway cars or vans or whatever they had brought with them. And that's what they began to do. Except for the leader and one other man.
"Mr. Wayne," the leader said reprovingly, "I said all of your precious valuables. Or, is this one not precious enough?"
The man was at Bruce's table, and the millionaire sucked in a breath of fear. Maybe the guy saw a bracelet, or chain, or some other bauble. His hopes were dashed when the leader flipped up the tablecloth.
"Don't even think…" Bruce began, anger shooting through the words.
He was immediately interrupted by the sight of a gun pointing straight at Dick's temple. The other man knelt down and easily pulled the small boy out from his hiding place. Gathering him into his arms, the thief began backing away toward the east doors.
"Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Wayne, honored guests," the leader chuckled, his gun still aimed at Dick's head. "We most definitely got what we came for, and more. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
The men turned and ran out the open door. Bruce immediately sprinted after them, but their head start and numbers advantage proved to be too much. He arrived outside just in time to see a dark-colored van racing down the long driveway, its red taillights fading away as it turned the corner.
Bruce turned around and was greeted by the sight of Commissioner Gordon.
"I used your hall phone, and I mobilized everyone," the older man stated quickly. "Can you give me a description of any vehicle?"
"Dark color, panel van, and that's it," Bruce answered, frustration in his voice.
Fear was flooding his veins, and he needed to be Batman. He needed everyone to leave so he could look at Bat-cameras and hack into city cameras and find his…ward. Why had his first thought been 'son'?
Shaking the question away, he raced back into the Manor. Alfred was standing just inside the door, attempting to retain his proper butler manner. But his face was pale and his wrinkled hands were trembling slightly.
"Bruce," Commissioner Gordon had followed the millionaire back into the house, "I need to question everyone. This is going to be a long night, I'm afraid."
Every moment spent watching the commissioner talking to every single person meant another moment for the kidnappers to take Dick farther away. But there was no way to become Batman when thirty-three socialites were milling around and waiting to be questioned by the commissioner of the police department!
Commissioner Gordon was directing everyone back into the dining room, and he motioned for Bruce to join them. The millionaire hesitated, but Alfred's firm grip on his shoulder convinced Bruce to follow everyone else. A frustrated Batman yelled at Bruce to shake his butler's hand off and race to the study, but both the hero and the millionaire knew that his identity would immediately be compromised.
Never give up on me and I will never give up on you.
The promise he had made to Dick in the Batcave flashed through his mind. Bruce took a deep breath and strode back to his chair in the dining room.
I will find you, kiddo.
A mansion on the outskirts of Gotham City:
Dick had been knocked unconscious when his head had hit the side of the van when he had been roughly tossed inside. He was still in that state when he was picked up and delivered to the living room currently occupied by one Tony Zucco.
"Put him on the other couch and leave," the mobster commanded. "Except you."
He pointed at the leader, who shrugged and settled himself on an empty chair right next to the couch where Dick was now lying.
"What happened?" Tony demanded.
"Joey got a little rough when he put the kid in the van," the other man responded with another shrug. "You got my money?"
"Sanderson told me he gave it to you yesterday," Zucco growled.
"Then he lied. I don't have my money, you don't get the kid."
"Scotty!" Tony yelled.
A tall, skinny, white-haired man rushed into the room.
"Open the safe and get a hundred. Then send Davis out to find Sanderson. Nobody crosses Tony Zucco and gets away with it."
Scotty bobbed his head once then rushed out as quickly as he had entered.
"Safe's upstairs, so we have a few minutes," Tony explained. "Were you followed?"
"We were gone before anyone even came outside. Black and whites probably didn't even know about us until fifteen minutes later, when cell service was turned back on. Easy as pie, probably the easiest job I've ever done. What makes this kid worth a hundred thou?"
"He met me."
That was all the explanation the other man needed, so he merely nodded in response.
Scotty suddenly appeared, holding a black duffle bag. Zucco motioned to the guy on the chair, and the man tossed the duffle bag in that direction. The thief caught it, opened it, quickly figured out the stacks of bills, then closed it and nodded again.
"Wake him up," Tony commanded.
"He'll do that on his own in an hour or two," the other man replied, anger in his tone.
Tony Zucco was powerful, but the leader of the gang of thieves was not easily intimidated. He was also a professional, and had dealt with many mobsters of higher standing than this fat enforcer.
"You don't want to talk to him before he dies?"
Zucco sounded surprised. He always made sure the people who crossed him knew what was happening before it happened. Which meant they always had a conversation, which Tony thought the leader of the gang would want to do.
"Are you kidding?"
Tony shook his head, and the thief began laughing. This mob minion was an idiot.
"You're going to kill him, so why would I want to talk to him? It's not like he's going to be around to identify me."
The man stood up and walked out the door. Five seconds later, Tony heard the front door click open then slam shut. Dick stirred at the sound, and Zucco began the hard job of getting his large frame off the couch. He needed to be ready for their conversation.
Five hours later – the Batcave:
Four and a half hours. That's how long it had taken for the commissioner to question everyone, and for everyone to get out of the house. Four and a half hours of head start that the kidnappers had received because Bruce couldn't get to the Batcave.
Batman had been staring at camera screens for the last thirty minutes, but he was getting nowhere. The van had just…disappeared. He had no leads, no place to start, and no ideas of where anybody would want to take Dick.
"Sir, if I may…" Alfred paused politely.
Batman tore his attention away from the Bat-camera Viewing Machine and gave his butler a quick nod.
"Who would want or need Dick Grayson out of the way, sir?"
"Ron. Jeff Sanderson. Victoria Valentia, the warden's secretary, Sam, anyone in the detention center except Tank and Marcus. Any criminal looking for an easy ransom."
"Very true, Master Batman. However, who would have the resources to hire a group of people to kidnap a nine-year-old orphan?"
"How do you know they were hired? They could just be a random group of thieves and kidnappers."
"A 'random' group that just happened to replace the entire catering staff on the night of your party, sir?"
Batman thought about that for a moment, then ran a weary hand down his face.
"I don't know, Alfred, just tell me if you have an idea."
"That's all it is, sir, merely an idea. But Master Dick has both seen and spoken to a very rich man who probably had a hand in killing the young master's parents. Sir."
"Tony Zucco?"
"Again, sir, it is merely an idea."
"No, Alfred, you're a genius! Zucco needs Dick out of the way and has plenty of resources to get it done. And they're going to take Dick straight to him, Tony will want to do it himself, to finish the job. The last of The Flying Graysons…"
"Please do not finish that sentence, Master Batman. Please just go find Master Dick."
Batman was already at the Well-Known Criminals File.
"Time to convince Falcone to tell me where Zucco is hiding out," he murmured as he began flipping through a manila folder.