For Goodness' Sake
Being an assistant, a glorified secretary, had been the right move for Cassandra. She had ditched the mail room and was tossed into the fire by Lucius Fox. A couple scandals later and she felt she had done a good job.
At the very least, she was kept in the assistant role, but unfortunately not for Lucius. Karen had to come back from maternity leave and resumed her role, which meant Cassandra had to be moved somewhere else. Stephen still had a death grip on her father's assistant position, so she had been transferred to a manager lower in the company. That's right, not another executive, but a manager. Apparently the man had shown he was worthy of having an assistant and she was his reward.
The differences between Rob and Lucius were night and day.
Eh hem, she meant Mr. Swanson. Apparently she wasn't worthy to call him Rob.
Lucius was a very smart man. He knew his way around a boardroom and could be quite ruthless when called upon. Swanson was a buffoon in comparison. Admittingly, it wasn't a fair comparison since there was only one person that could compare to Lucius.
That was the only consideration she was willing to give the man. Swanson was pompous and self-important. He firmly believed he was on the fast track to reach the upper echelon of Wayne Enterprises. Now, there were quite a few people that believed that of themselves and good for them.
However, it was the managerial styles she found to be the biggest source of friction. Lucius had given her time and patience to figure out her duties and praised her when she did well, correcting her when need be, and gave her the space to learn. Swanson was a micromanager, damn near breathing over her shoulder to get things done. He seemed to believe that every task could be done in five minutes flat, no exception. If she wasn't done in that time frame, he would give her an exasperated look, and then proceed to prove that he was right.
He wasn't, for the record.
Even now, Cassandra could see the sympathetic looks she received from the other employees. She had learned through them that Swanson had run off three assistants prior to her, so that wasn't a great track record.
What had possessed her father and Lucius to appoint her to him?
Faintly, she felt this was another mail room challenge, a job that would get her foot in the door, but ultimately leave her irritated and unfulfilled. The problem was that she had done the same job for a different person and knew she could be successful, so that compounded her growing frustration.
"Kane," the intercom on her desk crackled to life. Cassandra stared at it for a moment, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Casually, she reached out and pressed the button to respond.
"Yes, Mr. Swanson."
"I need you to gather everything we have on the Parsons job. Then I need you to organize it in chronological order from birth to termination. I want the hard copies on my desk by lunch and no later."
"Understood, Sir."
Turning to her computer, Cassandra began typing on the keyboard to find out what she could about this Parsons job. Knowing her luck, it would be several files and Swanson wanted one in particular. Talk about getting set up to fail.
And she was right. A number of Parsons files appeared on her screen. Normally she would have asked which one her boss wanted specifically, but she had learned quickly that she was expected to be a mind reader. So, she was going to go the malicious compliance route here and get every file printed up and organized as she had been instructed. It would take longer than five minutes, but she could have it done by the lunch time deadline.
The girl sighed. Faintly, she wondered what her father was doing. It had to be more stimulating than this.
A set of blueprints rested on Bruce's desk. Each one had been made from the footage he had obtained at Selina's power plant site, only they were on white paper rather than blue. He and Lucius poured over the designs, the two men standing as they leaned over the desk, their hands pressed onto the wooden furniture.
"If I'm not mistaken, the proposed generators seemed small," Lucius observed as he picked up the topmost blueprint and brought it closer to his face. This left Bruce to look at the next one, though he kept an eye on his right hand man. "For a place that is supposed to generate electricity for a growing city, that seems counterintuitive."
"Perhaps because they're going to store quite a bit of the power." Bruce picked up the blueprint he was looking at and showed it to Lucius, who glanced at it. "They're building pretty large storage units, more than the generators present. Any idea as to what sort of generators they're planning on using?"
The older man shook his head. "Nothing detailed in the blueprint, I'm afraid. Logically, the generators would be efficient to create enough energy that requires more storage space. The problem is that no such generator exists. Every machine loses energy in some form or fashion, heat being one such loss. You'll never save one hundred percent of the energy generated."
"Not to mention how it's transferred from the generator to the storage batteries," Bruce agreed. "Factor in distance and that's just another variable that ensures less than one hundred percent creation and storage."
"So then you would make larger generators that generated more power with the expectation of loss." Lucius shook his head. "And here's another thing."
At this, he pointed at the blueprint Bruce held, causing the younger man to look. "Notice the current symbols. The directionality of it is strange. From the generators to the batteries, it goes in the correct direction; but look at the current flow that should lead out of the plant. They're the same symbols."
Bruce studied what his colleague pointed out and he found that was right. For all intents and purposes, the power flow went to the batteries and not out, save for a few outlets. Was that an error? Or was that on purpose?
"What does that mean?" he eventually asked.
"Well, assuming it's not an error," it seemed Lucius had the same thought as he had, "then this power plant they're building is sucking up power rather than delivering it."
"So it'll take power away from Gotham?"
"That's what it appears to be, yes."
Bruce frowned. Something about that sounded familiar, like he had heard of such a thing before.
"It looks like one; sounds like one; but it doesn't operate like one does. Instead of generating power, it looks like it sucks it up and stores it."
That was where he had heard it! When he had been trapped in Riddler's maze, Catwoman had made mention of Max Shreck wanting to build a power plant that stored rather than generated power. Now he was looking at a blueprint for such a power plant.
His eyes narrowed.
"Lucius, when I was trapped in Riddler's maze, I spoke to Catwoman, who mentioned that Max Shreck was attempting to build a power plant that sucked up power and stored it rather than made it," he said.
Lucius immediately realized what he was getting at. "You mean, these could be Shreck's plans?"
"It fits, doesn't it? I was never able to find Shreck's blueprints, either because he kept them in a place I couldn't find, or they were gone." The dark-haired man waved the blueprint back and forth a couple times for emphasis. "Assuming they were gone, it's possible they were stolen and these are the stolen prints."
"And Selina Kyle got her hands on them," Lucius surmised. "Or was the source of the theft."
Bruce lowered the blueprint he held back to his desk, then began pacing. He was missing some puzzle pieces here, but he felt they were onto something. "We don't know for certain how Selina got her hands on these blueprints. What we do know is that she had a dislike for Shreck, so I doubt she's working for him in disguise to get him what he wants. We also know that Catwoman was aware of these plans. With her background as a thief, she very well could have taken them. From Catwoman, they ended up in Selina's hands."
"Any ideas how that happened?" Lucius asked.
Bruce continued to pace, going back and forth from one side of his office to the other. "One, Catwoman sold the stolen prints, Selina ending up being the ultimate buyer. Two, Selina hired Catwoman to steal them for her." He paused. "That's all I can come up with off the top of my head."
"Either way, it links the two women together," Lucius pointed out. "And the only way we can be certain is to get the information out of them."
Bruce slowed to a stop in his pacing. "It seems I'm going to have to pay each woman a visit," he mused.
"To get the answers we need, I'm sure you're right. How will you go about doing that, though?"
"By asking the cat's owner on how to find her."
There was a pit in her stomach, one that gnawed incessantly. It got her anxious, restless, and altogether just irritable.
It sucked so much.
They shouldn't have gone to Arkham. Stephanie had said it as they left; Batgirl had voiced her opposition to it immediately before going. But no, Harper had been so dead set on confronting that question mark asshole, so certain he was the one behind that museum heist, and what did she have to show for it?
Oh, nothing much. Nothing much as long as she didn't consider that the prick knew who she was.
She had been banking so hard on the fact the Riddler thought she was Stephanie. He had always called her Ms. Brown, so she thought she was safe. It was stupid of her not to even think that he would look her up for confirmation. That was strike one. Then he had somehow gotten internet access and found her on Stephanie's field trip, further confirming that she wasn't Stephanie Brown. Strike two.
What had once been a stroke of luck moment was now a curse.
And what did she have as assurance that the prick wouldn't go around exposing her? Some obscure trivia question that Stephanie knew about. She faintly recalled the name Odysseus, but that must have been from one of her classes she didn't care for. Literature didn't pay the bills, not like electricity and copper wiring did.
Now it hung over her head, an axe waiting to fall whenever that asshole felt like it. She hated that feeling. She absolutely hated it.
Now, she couldn't really become the vigilante, the hero she wanted to become. After restarting the Batclan and actually getting some success under her belt, she felt that one day, who knows, she could be seen in the same regard as Batman, or the Birds of Prey. People would be happy to see Bluebird, criminals would fear her, and she would be making this positive impact with her mere presence alone.
That wasn't possible now. So long as she stayed relatively unknown, she wouldn't have her identity exposed. The moment she hit it big, no doubt the Riddler would see that as the most opportune time to knock her down, hurting her in a way that would be devastating. She was trapped.
And the worst thing was Cullen. He didn't realize the size of the monster sitting on his back, just as it was sitting on hers. The moment "Harper Row is Bluebird" hit the streets, all of those punks and bullies would come knocking on their door and Cullen would be the one to suffer. She couldn't live with herself if her brother got hurt.
Unfortunately, she didn't think moving across the continent would help them out either.
As she lumbered down the hallway of her apartment complex, hands shoved into her pockets, Harper wondered what she could do, what could be done to fix this. Killing the Riddler would fix everything, but there was that no-killing rule she had to abide by. What about a lobotomy? Would that work? Maybe even electroshock therapy?
Hell, she could definitely do that electroshock therapy on her own. She certainly had the equipment for it.
Maybe…maybe she needed to lean on her fellow Batclan members. Maybe Cassandra could do something; she had mentioned something about establishing an alibi or something. Hell, maybe they should let the big man himself know. Batman would be unhappy that they went to Arkham and it would be justified. But, he wouldn't want to see them hurt either.
At least she hoped so.
Reaching the door to her apartment, she grabbed the doorknob and turned it, opening the door and entering her home. She closed the door and then locked it. She paused. They were going to have to start locking the door now, even when one of them was home. They should have been doing that anyways and had done so for a long time. Thing was, they had weapons to defend themselves now and she always did like testing them out on people who thought they could rob them.
"Cullen, I'm home!" she called out as she tramped through their apartment. One of the curtains was open, allowing in a lot of sunlight, so the apartment lights were off. It helped to save on the electric bill.
She could hear sounds coming out of Cullen's room, though he hadn't answered her. That was annoying. "Cullen!" she called out again, heading for his room. She pushed open the ajar door, her annoyance growing. "You gonna—"
She immediately stopped. Cullen had always kept his room clean, but right now it was covered in discarded clothes. And standing in front of the closet, where all of those clothes should have been, was a short runt with dark hair.
Immediately, the blue-haired girl had her handheld taser in hand. Oh, this kid chose the wrong time to try and rob—
And that thought died just as quickly as she thought it, in part because the runt then turned and she immediately recognized who it was. "What the hell are you doing, S.O.B.?" she demanded.
Damian, Cassandra's…half-brother? Stepbrother? Definitely unwanted brother. Well, he was holding up a couple of shirts, eyeing them carefully before he tossed one to join the others that were laying haphazardly on the floor. He spared her a glance out of the corner of his eye before he returned his attention back to her brother's closet. "Good day to you too, Bluebird," he greeted her absently as he continued his search.
"Seriously, what the hell are you doing in my brother's closet?" the blue-haired girl pressed, holding her taser at her side.
"I am in need of a guise to go undercover," he told her as he found a black shirt. He looked it over before he turned around and held it in front of him. "Tell me honestly, does this make me look like a lowlife?"
"No, your face does. That shirt just makes me want to punch you really hard," she growled.
"Then it is perfect." Damian spun around and pulled out a pair of blue jeans. "I thank you for your honesty," he continued, oblivious or blatantly ignoring the glare Harper was sending his way. "I need to know what makes for a proper poor person's outfit."
Poor person's outfit? It took a moment for Harper to recall that Damian had mentioned something about going undercover just eight seconds ago. And he wanted to look poor from the sounds of it…and suddenly now she knew why he was in her brother's room, tearing apart his closet.
It was pretty hard to argue about the poor part.
Almost absently, Damian paused and then pulled out a black jacket. "I believe this will improve my look as well." He then walked over to her brother's bed and laid the clothes on it, then marched right over to Harper. He raised his hands up and pushed her backwards until she was out of her brother's room. "This will only take a moment and I could certainly use your honest feedback with the effect," he said right before he shut the door in her face.
Harper just blinked at the door.
What…what the hell had just happened?
Gordon knew better than to show up to the precinct unannounced. The department was always busy, people coming and going, sometimes in uniform and sometimes not. The phones were always ringing, dispatch was sending officers out to the various scenes of crimes or disturbances, Major Crimes inevitably followed suit, so just showing up was more of a pain for you.
The former commissioner turned private investigator had called ahead and arranged a meet up first. He still had contacts in the department, some that were not opposed to speaking with him. Naturally, they were the usual suspects.
On a certain street, during a certain time of day, food trucks would attempt to park next to the precinct itself, offering lunch to any and all hungry officers whether they were in uniform or plainclothes. Legally speaking, they weren't suppose to be there, but traditionally it was ignored. Lunch was lunch, after all.
Grinders and calzones were what were on the menu today, and Gordon willingly purchased a couple of them.
"I swear you're taking one of my ma's advice," Bullock remarked as he accepted a grinder and took a large bite out of it. Sloppy chewing followed, along with another comment. "My stomach appreciates it, honest. So what's the skivvy?"
Gordon took his time with his own, and waited until he himself swallowed before speaking up. "A new case. Thought I could gather some info first before figuring out how I'm going to tackle it. Usual stuff, but a couple names came up that brought back memories."
"Shoot, who're these blasts from the past?" the lieutenant inquired. They were practically leaning up against the precinct itself, the brick wall digging into the coated backs of the two men.
"Remember Rhino?" The former commissioner looked straight ahead, watching the traffic along the sidewalk. Most of it was gathered around the food trucks, lines forming and moving as orders were given and delivered on.
"Rhino? Hmm, this tall, face only a mother could love, and built like a tank?" The appropriate hand gestures accompanied each description.
"You fired a shotgun next to his head. Became more cooperative after that," Gordon reminded.
"That…is a long list, Commish. But yeah, rocks for brains, and with the way he does use his head. What about him?"
Gordon held back a chuckle. His former right-hand man was trigger happy with a shotgun, it didn't matter who was on the wrong end of it. Regardless, it had never failed to allow the lieutenant to assert control over a situation. That that wasn't enough of a reminder hinted at how often it had been an occurrence.
"The man has been flashing some cash around. We both know he's not the type for clean living. Seems like he and his pal Callahan might have found a new employer. I'm not too sure about Callahan, but those two are thick as thieves. Where you find one, you find the other."
"If that don't stink, I don't know what does." Another bite from the grinder was taken. Gordon remained quiet and took a smaller bite from his own. Sometimes you had to let a man think and get his facts together. "Think I might've saw something on Callahan a couple months ago but I'd have to check. I think he was let out of the can back then. Dumbass himself, but he's smarter than his buddy."
Which was a low bar right there. People most known for being muscle needed someone to give them direction, and it was easier to do that when you gave them incentive.
"Not the sharpest tools in the shed, but they have given us trouble before. I'm just hoping that whatever it is this time, it won't lead to more broken bones." Another bite, some chewing, swallow. "Can you check in on them, see what we have on file for them since Callahan's release? More importantly, if something can give me a lead on where either of them might be staying. Hell, find one, find the other, right?"
"And you know better than to try and be a hero, right Jim?" Bullock was looking at him. "You ain't in charge anymore, even if you'll always be the Commish to me. You find either of them, there's a good chance you'll get hurt."
"Which is why I still have your number. I know not to get too close, even if I do get too deep. I won't approach without someone with a badge nearby." Bullock tended to be that badge and they both knew it. "Quite frankly, Rhino would tear my head off before I could even get my gun out. I can keep my distance until I find something solid, and then let you know when."
What something solid might be might have another source other than him, but it was more acceptable coming from the former commissioner both in the eyes of the D.A.'s office and various legal servants. His friend understood this and was more than willing to allow him to be the one to turn in anything incriminating.
"In the meantime," Gordon continued, "while you see what you can find out for me, I'll check in on the parole officer. It's Wells, right?"
"After every stint. You still remember him, huh?"
"It's hard not to. Pretty much the only other person Rhino would listen to other than you. Rumor has it that Wells also took your mother's advice, except it was with coffee. Even if it isn't Wells, he can point me in the right direction. Parole is still in the same place, right?"
Bullock snorted. "I haven't heard anything different."
So that would be where he headed next. "It's good seeing you again, Harvey. Hopefully next time won't include business. It's still the same bar, right?"
"Rook says I need to cut back. I'd argue 'bout that but…Chomper really didn't like how I got back the other night." Bullock looked a bit sheepish, and Gordon found himself frowning. Chomper?
"And who is Chomper?"
"Right. New stray. Showed up, decided my place was his place, been roomies ever since," the lieutenant answered.
A new cat. He was aware that Bullock had a soft spot for cats. Had several in his apartment which was why sometimes he had cat hair falling off of him while in the office. If he wasn't an officer, Bullock would be a male cat lady.
"Hopefully Chomper's not giving you too much difficulty. He is…fixed, right?" Many of Bullock's cats were female, and adding a male cat to that…
"That's the main reason he's unhappy with me. Punched me in the eye a couple months ago, the little bastard." Another bite, and Bullock was nearly done with his lunch. "Still have some red in my eye. If he weren't so cute, I'd have thrown him out. But yeah, I'll see what the file says about Rhino and Mugsy. Shouldn't take too long."
"Thanks." A little gratitude went a long way, even with old friends. He'd wait for Bullock to finish up, then it would be to pay a visit to Eric Wells at the parole offices.
If there was a trail to find, then he was going to find it.
It had taken more time than Damian had wanted, but finally his searching had born fruit. To think that he had only needed to return to one of the scenes of the crime. The very basketball court that Spoiler and Bluebird had come across the results of one of the assaults was where his target was located, and now he could not take his eyes off of him.
The court was currently in use, many bodies of youths using it, but there was one that was distant from the rest. Sitting on a bench in a plaid-colored jacket that seemed too big for him was the orphan, Colin. He was hugging a backpack to himself, legs kicking up and down much like a child would.
He was making this too easy, keeping himself apart from the rest. Isolated, alone, and…hmm, hard to approach. A second look revealed that it would be easy to sneak up on him. The boy had a clear view of everything in front of him. The bench itself had enough distance from the chainlink fence that coming from that direction was not possible either. To get to him would mean making his way across the court and the other youths.
Well, Damian was sure he would be able to blend in. The clothing he had appropriated from Bluebird's domicile were loose on him, in particular the blue-colored pants and the black jacket. The ends of the sleeves were threatening to swallow up his hands. At least the white shirt he wore under the jacket fit.
The only thing that would make him stand out was that he was cleaner and more well-groomed than this lot. The best he could do was to ruffle up his hair from its combed state.
The only approach now was to walk over there and see what he could learn. Perhaps he could lure him away somehow, somewhere more private preferably. That would mean striking up a conversation which did not seem to be too much of a problem to do.
Straightening his shoulders, he stalked his way onto the court, green eyes zeroed onto his destination. With sure footsteps, he drew closer and closer, making out more details about his suspect.
Completely relaxed and secure in his environment, a dopey smile on his face, the impression that he was in his own head, these details and more were observed by a keen assassin's eye. He had not known what to expect, yet somehow he felt…underwhelmed. For the first time, he considered whether he was correct in questioning this orphan.
Reflecting on it, all he had to go on was a nun he had followed to a certain door. The door belonged to a room in which this particular orphan slept. This orphan had a brief encounter with his father, and himself. None of that really connected back to the assaulter. When you got to the basics, he was taking a gamble that may or may not pay off.
Those thoughts had his sure stride becoming uncertain. Then he came to a stop and stood there, feeling an emotion that he didn't know he could feel and thus had no word for it. It made him uncomfortable and he didn't like it.
How was he suppose to be doing this again? What would Father do? He should have followed after and observed him. A lost opportunity. Mother's lessons were not as concerned with deception unless it was to isolate. Mother often remarked on how he needed to work on that. At the time he hadn't seen the point.
It was taken out of his hands when the redhead boy noticed him, his dopey smile widening. "Hi!"
Damian had to blink, center himself into the present moment, and then, "Uh…hi."
The orphan…Colin, took it in stride. "I haven't seen you around."
The true heir to his Father's mantle swallowed. "I am…new here."
"Oh." The redheaded boy nodded his head. There was a slight crease in the forehead, a small wrinkle, but what it meant, Damian did not know. "Are…you…here to play too?"
There wasn't as much confidence there, and Damian seemed to relax to it. "Don't know. I…don't know anyone here. I heard some people got hurt here. Do you know who did it?"
There, that was a straightforward question. Already he could feel his confidence growing. This came with his posture straightening up.
Colin shrugged. "I didn't see it, but from what I heard, it was Leonard who got beaten up. Deserved it too. He's not a nice guy."
Someone else was expressing confidence. "Who's Leonard?"
"Bully. Likes to show up and bully people. I don't like those people. Really likes to pick on whoever he can when he's not doing other things. He likes to sell grass. That's what people say, but I can get grass off the ground so why would anyone want to buy any?"
Grass, a colloquialism for marijuana. This Colin didn't seem so sharp. What Damian ended up saying was, "Sounds like he does deserve it."
"I know!" He had heard that people could chirp but never knew it was possible until now. "I heard this big guy showed up out of nowhere and beat him up. Leonard's in the hospital now. Him and a bunch of others. It's getting nicer out here."
When the predators were being taken off the street, then yes, it would make it nicer. "So, you think whoever beat this Leonard up is a good guy?"
"He has to be!" Colin exclaimed, voice rising. "He's just doing something good! Making it safer out here, like Batman. No one needs to be afraid of him!"
Damian wasn't expecting that kind of reaction. The mention of his father, though… "You think he's like Batman?" He did not hold back on his skepticism.
"I met Batman, so I would think so," Colin stated.
He knew that Colin had met his father. However, he couldn't just agree, right? So he would need to challenge the boy and see what would happen. "You met Batman?"
Pale blue eyes were wide, normal for a child, but the way they seemed to lose a little of their light implied…something. Suddenly, all of the excitement was gone and the boy was calming down. Oh, so that was what the implication was. It seemed his skepticism had been the wrong approach.
"People like to make fun of me. It used to bother me, but not anymore. If you're going to make fun of me, just do it." Arms clad in a loose-fitting plaid hoodie hugged the backpack tighter.
If the information in his father's file on this orphan was true, the bullying and violence that ensued were true statements, confirmed just now. Father had noted a marked decline in violent behavior after the abduction and Venom injection. It appeared this was a manifestation of this.
Damian was not a stranger to taunts and the like. Growing up under his mother's tutelage, he had practiced them to himself and would test them while he himself was being tested. Mother did caution him about using them, however. It was clear to see taunts would not lead to a favorable outcome in this moment.
He had to search for the words first, and while they made him grimace internally, he spoke them nonetheless. "I think Batman's cool."
"You're just saying that," Colin refuted him.
He was being doubted, and about his father no less? "I'm not," he declared heatedly. "My—Batman is the greatest hero to have ever lived. I've me—always wanted to meet him. You say that you met him? How cool was he?"
Colin was looking up at him in surprise. "Well…" Ah, did he not think that he would find someone who would not judge him for his meeting? "He's…he was scary when I first saw him, but he was awesome, especially when he saved me. I was kidnapped and he came to save me. How awesome is that?"
Hesitancy was still there, as if the boy was testing him out. Damian had been through more than his fair share of tests so he was more than ready to face this one. "Awesome. How'd you get kidnapped? Who did it? It has to be one of the big ones, right?" He already knew who it was, but he was pretending not to know, right? Colin would not expect him to know. "Did he beat him up? Did you see it?"
The red-headed orphan was squirming in his seat on the bench. "It's…it's something I don't like to talk about, and…and you wouldn't believe me if I told you everything."
"But I want to hear it," Damian pressed. This was gaining the boy's confidence, just another step to get more information out of him. Unlike with the Usurper, he needed to be more gentle here. Colin was responding to gentleness so there was something to it.
Perhaps he needed to add something more to this, something that the orphan would not be able to resist. Well, the clothing was too loose on him, and he doubted that the boy was adequately fed. Would food be the way to reaching his goal?
It was not a well known fact—it had surprised him when he learned of it—but one of the pockets on his father's utility belt did not possess any weapon or gadget in it. It held currency, something that he only witnessed once when on patrol. He suspected his father manufactured the situation in some way, or took an opportunity with one, but he had slipped out several bills and used them for a purchase. It had been a couple months ago when the temperature was dropping, and the capital had been given to a child to purchase hot chocolate.
He still didn't understand why. Father explained that sometimes violence was not needed and that something small could change the course of a person's life. He was hoping the generosity would stay with his chosen, and that it too would be passed along.
Regardless, Damian had brought with him some currency as well. Perhaps enough to bribe this orphan.
"Would you like to get something to eat? My father gave me some—" what was the word regular people used? Oh yes, "—cash and told me to get something for myself."
Colin titled his head to a side. "This isn't some kind of…trap is it?"
Why would he ever—oh right. Being lured away with the promise of something nice and sweet, that was how some kidnappers operated.
Reaching into a pocket—wrong pocket, how about—wrong one again—where the hell had he put it? It better not be in the utility belt…that he was wearing to hold up his pants and was hidden by the brim of the white shirt. He was still wearing it. Alright, just tilt the body a little like this, make it look like he was digging into his pants' pocket and—
Withdrawing several dollar bills, he held them out proudly. "I have the cash right here!"
Blue eyes blinked slowly. "Is that a hundred?"
What, was there something wrong with that? Looking at the most visible bill, the number 100 was inked clearly onto the rag paper. "Gave me too much?"
"Maybe the wrong wad," Colin giggled. "You can get a lot with that. Don't show it around. Someone might want to take it from you."
They could try.
"Do you want to get anything?" Best to try again and resolve any further misunderstandings.
The orphan looked thoughtful before giving an answer. "Can I pick?"
