Disclaimers: See the first part.

Summary: Taxi's and gunmen really don't mix.

For Char, for being such a great beta and ironing out all my quirks.
Thanks too to Cyllwen, Jenihenpen, Melethiel and Flame Guardian. (Sorry about the gun mix-up, but it was based on what a friend of the family told me about weapons... I wouldn't know anything about guns otherwise.)

CALL OF DUTY
High Noon

Part Two
The Approach

I heard the laugh clearly from where I was diving for the ground with almost everyone around me. The ground was definitely the safer place to be at the moment; no way was I going to literally stand out when the crazy idiot was this close to me, even if I was fairly sure he hadn't seen me...yet.

The street was still for a moment. Actually, it was still only because I was enjoying the sudden, short silence that comes immediately after a gunshot while everyone else was probably approaching shock. Of course, the screaming and movement started up again about one second later. At least no one around me seemed to be grasping bloody limbs or anything.

Hell, maybe I was lucky (for once) and the shot had gone over all our heads.

Careful not to overtly move my head, I peeked over the mass of bodies to see what was happening. The gunman was now facing away so that I was seeing his profile, still pointing his gun into the crowd. I still couldn't really hear anything from him, but I already knew he'd be laughing that crazy laugh again and I really didn't need to hear that anyway.

And then he fired again into the crowd, this time to my right, and started running...down the sidewalk, on the other side of the street, but still in my direction. Which of course sent everyone else running again. Struggling to hold my place on the sidewalk, I glanced around quickly, hunting for some reason (other than me) for him to be heading my way.

I realised why right away when I saw the taxi rink about fifty metres away from him; he had probably spotted the sign advertising it and thought he'd spotted a quick-getaway opportunity. Problem was that he didn't yet know I was also near the taxi-rink, and he also didn't know what I was capable of.

Guess I'd just have to enlighten him the hard way.

Seeing the taxi-rink also gave me a few ideas as well. A few metres on my left, on the sidewalk, was a bus stop, where the Blüdhaven City Council had been so kind to provide a bench for their citizens to sit on while they waited for a bus on the off-chance it was actually on schedule. Of course, I wasn't interested in the bench so much as I was looking at the shelter itself, constructed around the bench to shield people from the weather...and in particular the heavily opaque perspex sides that were commonly used to put up advertising posters. There's no way, even with Blüdhaven's crime rate, that the perspex was going to be bullet-proof – no way the City Council was that generous – but it would still be a useful cover to hide behind. I hoped.

Not that I normally advocate cowering behind something. Not only does it massively go against my grain, but it would also be adding to BPD's rep as a bunch of useless cowardly criminals, and that wasn't exactly a label I wanted applied to Yours Truly. But it was either wait behind the shelter or reveal myself a lot earlier than would probably be healthy.

By the time I was behind the shelter, the gunman had covered about ten metres, which meant of course that he was also fit...or that I was taking longer to think than I should've been. But it's always best to overestimate your opponents, so I think I'll go with the first option.

Of course, his progress was helped along by the fact that he was still waving the gun around and using it to make people move out of his way. Not that the public wasn't used to people running down the city streets with a gun in their hand – this is, after all, Blüdhaven we're talking about – but the manic glint in his eyes and the psychotic expression on his face was enough to get even the most hardened Blüdhaven citizen moving out of his path.

Now that he was running pretty much towards me and I could fully see his features, I finally realised why I'd immediately hated that stupid laugh of his. The gunman was known on the streets simply as Diablo, a Latino thug who was also the occasional henchman of the Joker – which was probably why he had the laugh down pat. I didn't know if he had a history of psychotic episodes, but he was certainly lucid enough – and smart enough – not to appear in Batman's radar long enough to be caught. That is, until now, when he'd planted himself smack-bang in the middle of my radar. What he was doing in my city was beyond me, but he wouldn't be here for much longer if I had anything to say about it.

So I got behind the shelter and waited. And waited. And waited. The time it took him to cross the forty metres to get to the taxi rink had to be longest five seconds of my life. And that time-frame meant Diablo was fit, but not that fit. The world record for 100 m is just under nine-point-five seconds and he would've run it in about twelve and a half seconds, if I had my maths right.

By the time he got near to the rink, the number of taxies present had dwindled from ten to three – seven had either taken passengers and peeled out of here, or had seen him coming and took off without waiting for a passenger. The three that were left either hadn't seen him, or were just too stupid and foolish to realise their danger. I really hoped it wasn't the latter.

Two of the taxies took off when the Latino was still about five metres away from the rink, finally realising their danger and deciding that they'd be better off elsewhere. The lone taxi that remained kept on starting and immediately stalling, like the driver was also trying to get away but kept forgetting which pedal was which and thus kept flooring the brake. Either that or kangaroo juice had just been put in its fuel tank.

Even without being able to see the license plate of the taxi, I already knew who drove it. Old Willy Jacknife – and I'll swear on a Bible that that's his real name – was a legend in Blüdhaven. He's won the Blüdhaven's Worst Taxi Driver award for about ten years in row, and he's a serious contender for the national award too. Gets all nervous whenever he gets a passenger and what driving knowledge he possesses slips through his sweaty palms and goes right out the window. But driving a taxi is all Willy can do to earn a living, so those of us who end up in his taxi just endure the ride and leave him an extra big tip to keep him off the streets for a while.

Still, Willy's taxi was the only one there, so there's no prizes for guessing which one Diablo picked. That just showed he wasn't a Havenite, because otherwise he would've just kept walking – it probably would've been faster and cheaper, not to mention safer.

I pulled out from behind the perspex shelter as soon as the gunman had thrown himself into the car. Making sure to keep down, I moved out onto the road and between two cars parked by the sidewalk. Perfect cover for the moment while I waited to see what happened.

Lucky for me, Willy was still having trouble with his driving, and his shocking nerves obviously weren't helped by having a gun stuck in his face courtesy of ol' Diablo. The car crawled up the street, almost standing on its nose within twenty metres more times than I have digits to count. It was obvious Diablo wasn't happy with Willy's abilities, or his stammering English. I could see the gesturing from here. The two gunshots were a bit harder to pick out, but they were definitely there.

While I waited for the taxi, I took another look around and assessed my chances of crossing the street. I realised right away that the hard part wasn't going to be intercepting the taxi. I wasn't going to have to worry about getting hit when I crossed; the street was practically free of traffic, even if was lunch-hour. One of the BPD's roving patrols had probably radioed the situation in so that roadblocks could be set up to keep the public out. Besides, Willy wasn't driving very fast anyway. No sir, the trouble was going to be keeping Diablo oblivious enough to my presence that I wouldn't get shot on the way over. And then there was going to be getting into the car and disarming the idiot without me or the driver getting hurt by a bullet in an enclosed space...let alone protecting all the curious and perverted that were gathering to watch what happened next.

And all that would've been a walk in the park for Nightwing if it was midnight and this was just another criminal on the run. I'd swing onto the roof, smash a window, and grab poor Willy while shooting out another jumpline. Once he was safe, I'd come back for the taxi – having already placed a WingTrace on it – and use the Rooftop Express to follow the nutcase and take him down.

But it's not so easy for Officer Grayson on his lunchbreak, especially with snipers probably starting to get themselves set up all around us on the rooftops. There was no way I could pull off my usual moves, even if I wasn't sure how long until the snipers would all be in place. There were simply too many people around who might see and not enough shadows to cover my moves.

Right. Let's see what you can do, Grayson. There was nothing for it. I'd just have to 'wing it (all puns aside) and hope I kept the profile as low as I could.

Said determination of course lasted about two seconds, just long enough for Willy to open the taxi door and fling himself out. Problem: he'd just got the taxi into the right gear and was doing about 30 kph. Other problem: one Diablo hanging out the taxi, yelling obscenities and levelling his Bristol at ol' Willy. The only good thing that happened next was that the car promptly stalled without its driver, throwing the gunman off-balance enough to make the shot go wild.

Willy...

Stop it. No time. Move! There was no time for consideration, no time for thinking. I had to move, before I lost my chance.

But first things first.

Even before Willy had hit the road, I was running back, back onto the sidewalk and grabbing the sleeve of the closest person to me. Some curious businessman, or a voyeur wanting a show. I couldn't care less. "Hey! Do you know first-aid?"

He looked at me askance. "Say what?"

I shook my head, mentally cursing the insensibilities of the moment. I don't have time for this! "Do you know first aid?" I pressed, invoking a shadow of the Bat to get a response. "Quickly!"

He nodded, hurriedly, finally understanding my intent. "Yes."

"Then go help the driver," I ordered in the same tone as before, and gave the man a helpful push in the right direction. Charges of police brutality be damned. Someone had to make sure Willy was okay while I took care of the psycho in the taxi.

I didn't even hang around to see if the bystander did as I told him. I was off, back between the cars and crouching in yet another anxious wait. The taxi had yet to get to me. The new driver had had to clamber into the front-seat, restart the stalled engine, and put the thing in gear before he'd been able to get going – that was why I'd allowed myself the small delay of securing first-aid for Willy. That should also mean there'd be too much on Diablo's plate for him to notice me right away, especially if I stayed down until the door was level with me.

And then the bonnet of the taxi appeared in front of me.

C'mon, c'mon. Any second now...

Luck, it first seemed, was with me.

First off, ol' Diablo was busy trying to release the stuck park-brake. Despite his best efforts, the engine was revving like there'd be no tomorrow and not much of today either but the car was barely moving. And he'd also forgot to close the door Willy had escaped out of...the very same door I was aiming to use. It also told me that no matter how good a thug he was, he couldn't think logistically and thus would never be more than just another thug.

Finally, just when I though I could wait no longer, the open door appeared at the end of the gap between the two cars. I immediately launched myself out of my crouch, propelling myself forward with as much speed as I could muster through the three running steps between us. It was only those three steps between him and me, between the criminal and the law, between his escape and my salvation.

Three lousy steps.

Plenty of time, it turned out, for everything to go to hell.

TBC...