**I put out chapter 74 less than a day after chapter 73, so you probably didn't get a second alert if you are following this story. If you haven't read "74 - Afternoon Delight", then go back and check it out first.**

WARNING: Some Strong Language . . .

"I can't believe you came in tonight," Randi commented as she sat in the dressing room and watched Elle adding last touches to her makeup. "You sounded like shit over the phone."

Elle met her friend's gaze in the mirror. "I feel better," she shrugged.

Randi got up and stood next to her. The differences in their height and build was only a thin slice of all the things that separated them physically. Randi was taller by three inches and was willowy and graceful, even when the music wasn't playing. Her short dark hair was worn in an asymmetrical, chin-length bob and her skin was a pale porcelain crème that made Elle feel dusky in comparison. In fact, the elegant singer made most women appear dumpy and clumsy when standing next to her.

In Elle's case, the clumsy part was real, but the rest was just . . . different.

Randi's large eyes were a startling sky blue surrounding by lush, black lashes that most people mistook for artificial. The red lipstick she favored, while fabulous on her, made Elle look trampy. The only thing they had in common besides their love of music was their sense of style and their sense of humor. These two could laugh at anything, and usually did; often garnering sour looks from others who had never managed to remove the sticks up their butts.

"Well, I have to admit, you look great," the taller woman admitted. "Dick seems to bring out the best in you, I think."

Elle smiled knowingly.

"But . . ." Randi tapped a red-tipped nail against her chin, "there is something else about you tonight."

Elle glanced back at herself; curious as to what the other woman was talking about. Her hair was teased and swept to one side into a low ponytail that lay in large curls on her bare shoulder. Her pale aquamarine gown draped from the opposite shoulder and resembled nothing more than something the queen of the ocean might wear; a modern interpretation of the Greco-Roman style. It had rhinestone brooches that gathered the chiffon at her bustline and again low at her hip before flowing down to her ankles in transparent layers.

Elle tugged at the top of her gown. It felt tighter than usual. She shouldn't have eaten two helpings of the chicken cacciatore before coming tonight. She felt bloated. She hoped that wasn't the start of her nausea returning. It probably hadn't been a good idea to have had tomato sauce after being sick either.

She sighed. Too late now . . .

"I don't know what you're talking about," Elle shook her head.

Randi frowned and walked around her.

Elle rolled her eyes. "Are you trying to make me nervous?"

"Nooo . . ." Randi drew the word out as she considered the shorter, curvier woman in front of her.

"This is ridiculous," Elle ignored her friend as she finished up by putting on a pair of rhinestone earrings. "If I don't have something stuck in my teeth, then quit staring at me!"

Randi laughed. "Sorry," she said, grinning. "It's not a bad thing, though . . ."

Elle stepped back and ran her eyes over her person one last time. Her gaze flicked back at her friend. "Seriously," she muttered. "I feel fat standing next to you! Eat some meat, girl!"

Randi laughed again and then suddenly gasped. She knew what it was . . .

"Elle, are you . . ."

A knock on the door interrupted Randi's question.

When no one called out, Brian Donovan, the restaurant/club owner, peeked in.

"Elle," he said. "You're on in two. Get your butt in gear, woman!"

Elle's eyes snapped to the clock. "Oh no! How did I let you distract me for so long?"

With a faraway smile on her face, Randi watched the other woman pick up her skirt and run out the door.

She has no idea . . . Randi smirked. This was going to be so much fun!

Hugh entered the club with Hendricks while Edward parked the car. The bouncer had called over his radio for backup because it was obvious that the men weren't here for the show. They were here on a mission. They were here to bring Miss Arabella home.

He didn't doubt they would be successful this time. Watching her discover her independence had been like watching a flower bloom. If he could, Hugh would prefer that they left her here, where she was happy, but it wasn't possible. In the end, it wouldn't even be right, even if he would have been doing her a favor.

He hated this! Hated it! But he and Edward were the best chance she had at getting through this. They and Grayson . . . He wondered if the man was here. She would need him, but Hugh realized that Tuesday wasn't a day the younger man usually came to watch her sing. The chances that Grayson would be where Hugh wanted him to be were slender, at best.

The owner of the restaurant/club met them in the lobby.

"Gentlemen," he intercepted them. "What can I do for you?"

Hugh told him. We're here for Miss Hamilton."

"I'm sorry, but she's in the middle of the show," Brian told them.

That wouldn't to stop them, however. She was needed.

"The show's over," Hugh told him.

Red Robin landed on the rooftop behind his brother. Nightwing didn't know he was coming, but, unlike the Red Hood, Tim knew that he wouldn't react to another mask in his territory with violence.

Gotham was slow tonight. An unusual occurrence that would normally send Tim home to study for his next college exam, but finals were over two weeks ago, and he had nothing to distract him. Batman and Robin had Gotham covered.

But Bludhaven . . . Bludhaven was like a virus! Nightwing was bound to have his hands full over here, Tim thought. He wouldn't balk at Tim's offer. In fact, Red Robin was positive that Nightwing would welcome having the company!

"Far from home, Red Robin," Nightwing greeted him without turning around.

Red Robin hadn't made any noise landing on the roof. He was sure of that. Nightwing was just that good. Only Nightwing and the Batman would have noticed his arrival. He didn't know about the Red Hood, but Tim was positive that he could have gotten the slip on the demon brat, had he wanted to.

"Slow night," he said by way of explanation. "Thought you might like the company."

Nightwing still hadn't look away from his quarry, but his lips curved up in a smile. "You're always welcome, little brother," he told the younger man.

"So, what are we looking at," Red Robin asked; settling down to business.

"Remember Angelopoulos?"

"That Greek mobster from two years ago that was trying to get a foothold in Gotham?" Yeah, Red Robin remembered him.

"Looks like he's back, and he's settling for Bludhaven, instead," Nightwing flicked his lenses, telescoping to view the scene at a closer angle.

Tim took a closer look himself, but didn't recognize either of the four men below. "How do you know it's the Dark Angel," referring to the Greek in question by his underworld nickname.

"Rumors mostly," Nightwing admitted. "I did a little research and was able to pull up a photograph of a man entering the U.S. a couple of months ago that resembled Angelopoulos using that facial recognition software you developed. Neither the FBI nor Interpol caught it, but you did," Nightwing praised him.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Red Robin's face. Yes!

While Dick was far more generous with his compliments than Bruce, his sincerity made each one a highly-valued commodity nevertheless.

"What is it this time," Red Robin asked.

"Looks as if he's graduated from moving illegals arms up to cargo of the human variety," Nightwing's smile slid away, leaving behind a deadly grim expression.

"You're kidding? Human trafficking?"

"And whispers of organ harvesting on the black market." Nightwing grimaced. "Apparently there isn't anything too low for this guy."

Red Robin watched a while longer in silence. "So, what are we doing? Is this surveillance only, or are we breaking a few heads tonight?"

"I'm searching for information," Dick told him. "And I'm not picky about how we go about getting it."

"Good," Red Robin cracked his knuckles and pulled out his bo-staff. With a flick of his wrist, the weapon extended to its full length. "I'm in the mood for a little exercise."

Nightwing pulled out his grapple; taking aim at the tall building across the street. "Hard and fast, Red Robin," he snarled. "Hit 'em hard and fast, but leave the guy in the suit for me."

They dove off of the building toward the targets below.

While Red Robin handled two of the men for him, Nightwing kicked one of his off of his feet and into the building several feet behind him. He grunted as he slammed first into the stone wall and then again when he toppled into a bundle of trash cans. The sound was loud on the semi-deserted streets.

Out of his periphery, Nightwing saw his target run. The coward didn't bother trying to shoot them. When he acknowledged that the first man wouldn't be getting up without help anytime soon, Nightwing turned his attention toward Angel's man; running after him.

As he neared his target, Nightwing shot another grapple into the next building and hit recoil. Immediately, he was propelled upward. He grabbed the guy by the back of his jacket and lifted him off of his feet.

He was no lightweight, but the reason Dick was in the gym five out of seven days a week. The tiny motor of the grapnel gun whined in protest at the extra weight being pulled upward at its top speed. Nightwing caught a whiff of something burning. It didn't matter, however, as they reached the upper levels of the taller building.

Seventeen stories up, Nightwing grunted as he used his momentum to flip the man in his grip up and into the air above him.

Angel's man was quick to realize when he had stopped being pulled and began a free fall. He screamed as he caught sight of the sidewalk far below in the midst of his tumble. Before he dropped a few feet, however, Nightwing had caught him again by his ankle this time. In seconds, the crimefighter flew atop the building's roofline and tossed his burden onto the tar and gravel surface.

"Time to talk, Mitchell," Nightwing growled.

Randolph Mitchell was Angelopoulos' first lieutenant and right-hand man. When he had learned that the contraband being smuggled into and out of Bludhaven, and likely Gotham City as well, were people; Nightwing didn't waste his time with the lower level punks. He went straight for upper management.

He also wasn't above a little Batman-style intimidation . . . with a little Nightwing flourish, of course.

Mitchell rolled onto his back, and was scooting away from the crazy man who had swiped him right off of the street in front of three of his men. His right hand was buried in his jacket, searching for his gun.

Behind his mask, Nightwing raised an eyebrow. Why did they always try defiance first? The man was white as a sheet, sweating bullets, and shaking like a leaf . . . When he couldn't think of any more clichés to describe him, Nightwing descended on the man like the predator he was.

The revolver had barely cleared its holster when Nightwing kicked the weapon out of Mitchell's hand and sent it clattering across the roof. No more wasting time. For every minute that passed was another woman or child that was taken from their lives and families. He punched Mitchell in the face.

The man shook his head like a dog, and sneered at him.

"That the best you got?" Mitchell laughed. "I didn't get to where I am by stooling. Especially not from a measly love tap!"

Nightwing smiled . . . but it wasn't his nice one.

"I was hoping you would prove to be stubborn," the crimefighter growled as he smacked the older man's fist away. "But as I don't have all night . . ."

Nightwing grabbed the man's shirt and hauled him over to the edge. Mitchell's eyes widened and he scrabbled for purchase, but there was nothing up here to hang on to. His hands clamped onto Nightwing's wrists.

"Ah, ah," Nightwing warned. "You might not want to do that at the moment."

Mitchell rolled his eyes down and saw that, once more, he was dangling over the sidewalk.

"What's with you costumed bastards and heights," Mitchell choked out. His feet kicked the open air. "Damn you!"

"Since you can look forward to many an evening just like this one, you might consider easing up on the pasta and bread sticks and choosing the salad bar instead," Nightwing suggested; grunting for effect.

Mitchell gasped for breath and managed what might have been a chuckle around the wad of linen at his neck. "Meaning . . . that you . . . have . . . no intention . . . of killing me." He grinned. "Meaning . . . I don't . . . have to . . . talk."

Nightwing bared his teeth. "Meaning . . . I don't think you are so stupid as to be willing to die over a little information."

"Yeah . . . well . . . fuck . . . you," Mitchell sneered. His face was turning beet red, but he didn't appear impressed with Nightwing's chosen method of intimidation. "I . . . ain't . . . scared . . . of . . . some . . . spandexed . . . freak!"

And that was the problem. Angelopoulos was well known for his brutality and thirst for vengeance against any perceived wrong. He was a killer, and that was when he was being merciful. You really didn't want to live if you got on his bad side. Apparently there were a lot of things that were considered worse than death.

Elle was in the middle of her song when she spotted Brian making his way toward the stage with another man in tow . . . An awfully familiar man.

Hendricks.

Elle's eyes widened and her song faltered.

The fact that it was her father's bodyguard was telling. Song forgotten, Elle's eyes swept the back of the room for a man in a wheelchair, but there were none fitting the description. She glanced back at Hendricks and felt her heart begin to pound. The grimness of his face told her the rest of the story even as her heart denied it.

She had planned to go up to Chicago after the New Year; just a few days away. She had just spoken to her father yesterday. He has sounded weak, but in good spirits. He had sounded fine.

It was too soon! It was too soon . . .

A hand on her shoulder startled her, and Elle looked over at Randi. It wasn't until the other performer had taken the microphone out of her hand and turned it off, that Elle realized that she had been saying that last thought out loud for the audience to hear. It's too soon . . .

She turned away from her friend's sympathetic expression just in time to see Brian holding his hand out to her to help her off of the stage. Frightened, but otherwise, numb, Elle took the proffered hand and moved down the steps. Hendricks was waiting for her at the bottom.

The question was ripped out of her. She didn't want to ask it; she didn't want to know. Knowledge made it real. Ignorance meant she could still be wrong.

"Where's Poppa? Why aren't you with Poppa?"

Hendricks didn't answer her; just laid a hand on her back to lead her out of the club. Elle flinched, despite herself. Brian caught her arm. It was probably a good thing as she felt herself shaking.

As they neared the lobby area, Elle asked Hendricks again. "Why aren't you with my father?"

Hugh stepped forward. "I'm so sorry, Bella."

Tears sprung to her eyes. "Don't say that!"

Hendricks couldn't meet her eyes. He stared at the floor as he finally answered her. "Cedric Hamilton passed this evening at ten fifteen. We flew down to get you. The company jet is waiting at the Bludhaven Municipal Airport."

Her knees went weak and Hugh helped her to a bench.

"Noooo . . ." she moaned softly, covering her face with her hands.

In her head, however, she was screaming.

The scream came out of nowhere; startling him and making his grip falter. Mitchell gasped in disbelief as he fell. Precious seconds were used as Nightwing glanced around him, searching for the impossible on the roof.

She can't possibly be here! She was supposed to be singing tonight . . .

Another scream rent the air, drawing his attention back to Mitchell.

Damn! How did that happen?

Nightwing yanked his grapnel gun back out; shooting it even as he aimed. The hook shot down rapidly wrapping itself around one of Mitchell's legs, and Nightwing braced himself as he yanked the line tight and pulled - Hard!

The second scream wasn't one of fear, but one of pain as the abrupt stop of Mitchell's aborted fall dislocated the man's knee. Grunting with the effort it took to hold the two hundred pound man, Nightwing managed to hit recoil and then allowed the grapnel gun to do the work of hauling his fat ass back up the side of the building and over the edge of the roof.

Red Robin joined him on the roof in time to help drag Mitchell a safe distance from the edge.

"What the hell happened," Tim asked softly. "You nearly lost him!"

Nightwing's answer was interrupted by Mitchell's sudden change of heart as the weeping man began giving up every bit of information he had on Angelopoulos' organization. Information on their human trafficking and organ harvesting; information on their drug deals, including their contacts; information on their runs of illegal weapons and ordinance; gambling; prostitution; money laundering; the protection racket . . . More than Nightwing had been after.

Red Robin looked over at his brother; impressed. "Crude, but damned effective," he said of what he mistakenly believed was a tactic to make Mitchell sing.

But Nightwing's mind was elsewhere. The scream that he had heard that had made him drop the man had been Elle's voice. Another quick glance around confirmed what he had realized earlier . . . Elle wasn't here. The sound had been in his head . . .

She was in trouble. Something was wrong . . . He had to go!

Grateful that Tim had chosen tonight to visit him, Nightwing slapped him on the shoulder. "Record that. Take notes, especially on the dates and times of shipment for the human cargo. Contact the police!"

"Wait," Red Robin called after him even as he turned on the camera in his mask. "Where are you going?"

"I've got trouble," was all there was time for as Nightwing disappeared over the side of the building. He shot out a line in the direction of his bike.

He had to find Elle!

REACTIONS?

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Btw, Erobos Angelopoulos is a villain I created for another Batman/Nightwing story. You might recognize the name (It is unique! Erobos means "Dark" in Greek.). He can be found in "Six Bullets For Christmas".