In the Frosty Air

The Sedan was as low as Chip was willing to bring himself. By today's standards, it would be considered vintage, and his father was practically perfectionistic with the upkeep of all of their vehicles. So while it ran like a dream, he would have preferred the Lamborghini instead, but that might stand out in these neighborhoods.

The Shreck heir drove slowly down these streets, mindful of any ice. Black ice was especially important to look out for. Tires crunched and grinded up snow and ice crystals, condensation spilling out of the tail pipe in a fog.

With a hand on the wheel, Chip kept his eyes sharp, looking for a sign, any sign. Just what it was, he didn't know, but it was supposedly in this area. Dark buildings expressed no life in them, windows dark. Probably because of the bombings last night. There was a little bit of a thrill there, knowing that you were partially responsible for this, that you were a cause if not the cause.

Sun was lowering so it would be dark soon. This little errand needed to be taken care of and quickly. He didn't want to be out in this part of the city when it turned dark. Who knows what could happen?

Coming to an intersection, he was tempted to run the stop sign, but he obeyed it. It would at least give the young man a few seconds to look around before continuing his excursion. Plus, obeying the traffic laws did a lot to keep you from being noticed by cops. It was always the little things that got you caught.

Exceeding the recommended three seconds for the stop, Chip took his foot off the brake to continue moving when he heard a knock on the passenger side window. It was startling, and he felt a spike of anxiety and he whipped his head to a side. A man was there, leaning so that his face was visible through the window.

There were two prominent teeth that the man had, ones that Chip recognized. It gave the impression that this man looked like a rat, and weren't one of the goons their local crazy was using looked like that?

The rat man gestured for him to take a right, and head that way. Chip turned on his blinker then made the right turn, heading down the intersecting street. There was more snow starting to creep onto the road and he left tire tracks in his wake as he drove down it. Up ahead, again to his right was another man, this one much plainer. He looked like he was waiting and with no one else to see, Chip pulled over and parked.

This man started walking before he could get out, heading for what looked like an alley. Now if this wasn't looking for trouble. Still, the younger Shreck unbuckled his seat belt, pulled the keys out of the ignition, then opened the driver's door to get out. He only lingered long enough to snag a thick, manilla envelope.

Closing the car door and locking the vehicle, Chip followed after the man, the rat man strolling his way in his direction, angled towards the same alley. With confidence, the man of wealth entered, making sure not to grimace at the grime and trash. You would think they'd tried to keep the city a little cleaner.

Waiting for him was the man, the normal man. Not the rat one, obviously, or the tank though he might be lurking about. Perhaps making sure no one interrupted?

"Boss would like to tell you he's no one's errand boy," the normal thug said, speaking plainly and with a slight accent. New York, maybe? No, not thick enough.

"We're partners, aren't we?" Chip jested back. "Don't partners send a little back and forth, help out and all?"

"Not when the old man is demanding a meeting and threatening to hold the pay up," the thug retorted, his hands still in the pockets of his coat. There might be a gun in one of those pockets and it could be drawn out in a second.

In response, just as the rat goon was entering the alley, Chip held up the manilla envelope and held it to the thug. "Does this look like we're holding up?"

The normal-looking henchman snagged the envelope and opened it. Lifting the flap, eyes turned greedy once they got a look at the contents. Chip wasn't surprised because that was the look he was looking for.

"We think that now is a good time to really step up," the businessman continued as if he wasn't dealing with riffraff. "Last night was good, but you can step it up, right?"

The normal goon looked up from the envelope. "That's for the Boss to decide."

"You're right." There was no sense in trying to beat that dead horse so another tact it was. "But your Boss isn't going to be satisfied with chump change, right? There's something about getting your name spread all over the town. Gotta do something even bigger."

"How's millions chump change?" the rat man asked, finally arriving within arm distance.

Chip looked back and replied, "I deal with billions. Millions I can get in a day." Back to the normal-looking man, "But you don't just need money. You need cred. Can't get far on the street without it. We just happen to have an idea to run by your boss. He can always decide to say no, so what's the harm in pitching it?"

The two small time criminals shared a look with one another, the normal-looking henchman a bit more expressive than the rat-looking one. It was the regular-looking guy who spoke next. "It can't hurt to hear it out."

A good foot in the door, just as Dad recommended. There was curiosity, but now he had to make that interest. There might be some traction after that, and if the crazy got on board…

So he began laying out the plan. Oh did he have their attention now. Such a plan sounded like something neither of them had considered before. That was why they were still small time. No ambition, but after being taken under Dad's wing, that could change. Not that there was any plan to keep any of them around to make that a permanent thing.

None of them noticed that someone was watching them, having found a little niche to lurk in and watch. Sound wasn't carrying far so this was only visual. Still, for the not quite retired Jim Gordon, the sight he saw was worth more than a thousand words.

The wind blew across the face of the building. It caught Batman's cape and pulled at it, causing it to ripple.

It also pulled at the suit of Chris Ward as he dangled upside down in the air.

It hadn't been that difficult to track the man down. He stuck to Calabrese territory, so it hadn't taken long to find him. Snatching him up had been child's play and now here they were, the dark-clad man crouched on the ledge on the side of a building, gargoyle's on either side of him, and the mob lawyer doing his best not to look freaked out. Ward was keeping his stoic facade up, even if he was fifteen stories in the air.

Neither of them had said a word as of yet. Ward wasn't panicking, keeping his cool. Batman just let the moment linger, content to eye the man up and down. He had no weapons on him, no way to fight back. He also knew if he tried anything, it was a long way down. The cable wrapped around his ankles was held in the vigilante's hand, so he had control.

Eventually, Batman was ready to start the interrogation. "Why are the Calabreses' interested in building a power plant?"

Ward just stared at him. It was clear he was going to refuse to talk. "You stole those blueprints from Max Shreck," he continued, not the least bit deterred. "You used Catwoman to get them. I want to know how you came to know about them."

Again, the lawyer didn't speak. It was smart, honestly. However, it was an obstacle and one that Batman would break. "You think silence will save you," he remarked. "And you're not wrong to try it. I imagine your role as a lawyer told you that the police are against you, always trying to make a case against you, and the worst thing you can do is talk to them. There's just one problem with that though."

Batman leaned his face closer to the man. "I'm not the police and I don't have to restrain myself."

He then let go of the cable. Immediately, Ward dropped out of sight, a startled cry ringing out as he fell several floors down. He grabbed the line, feeling it burn against his palm through his glove due to the friction, but eventually it stopped. The vigilante then pulled on the cable, going hand-over-hand until he pulled Ward back up. He then tied the line around the head of the gargoyle next to him, then returned his attention back to the lawyer.

"So, ready to talk?"

"I won't say anything to you," Ward replied, his first mistake. "What you're doing is akin to torture."

"I imagine what you've seen from the low-level men in the Calabrese Crime Family can be considered torture. Unlike them, I don't even have to touch you and I won't."

"Then you won't get what you want."

Batman just pulled out a pocket knife, flicking out the blade. He held it between the two of them, making certain Ward saw it. Then he moved the knife to the cable, the part that extended out from the man's legs. He pressed the edge of the blade against it, then deliberately cut into it. He didn't cut through the cable completely, but he left a big enough gash into it that one could see strand after strand of the cable break with each passing second.

"You just felt five floors," Batman then said. "The rope around your legs is damaged and your own body weight is fraying each strand until it completely snaps. There's not a lot of rope I can grab when that happens, so you'll be experiencing the full fifteen floors. Unfortunately for you, this is my last grapple line, so if you fall, I won't be able to stop you."

"You wouldn't," Ward responded.

"Wouldn't I?"

"You don't kill people. Everyone knows that."

Batman then stood up. "I don't," he acknowledged. "But I'm also getting word that there's a robbery two blocks away. Innocent people could be hurt. Between protecting them and saving you, I'd choose them. So you can either risk me leaving you and hoping the line doesn't snap while I'm gone, or you can tell me what I want to know now and end this."

"I'm not liable to say anything due to lawyer-client privilege."

Batman stood up and turned to his right. He stepped away, making his way around the gargoyle he had tied the grapple line to and kept walking.

It wasn't until he reached the corner that he heard Ward cry out, "Wait!"

Batman stopped and turned his head. "You can't leave!" the man shouted.

"I can and am. Like you said, you can't speak due to legal ethics. Why waste any more of my time?"

"But I'll fall!"

"I don't see how that's my problem." Abruptly, he turned to leave again.

"Don't! Don't go!" There was a sigh. "Just…what do you want to know?"

The vigilante turned back around to face the dangling lawyer. He didn't walk back, not yet at least. He needed the man to feel as if his safety wasn't a concern. "Why do the Calabreses' want to build Max Shreck's power plant?"

"You should know that answer. That power plant will ensure the family makes more money than it could ever dream. Racketeering just pays the bills, but it doesn't make one wealthy."

He took a step closer. "How did they get their hands on the blueprints?"

"Ms. Kyle brought it with her. She had to sell the family on it, but they agreed to it when Rex Calabrese backed her."

Batman's eyes narrowed, taking another step closer. "What's Kyle's connection to the Lion?"

Ward gulped, a couple more strands of the cable snapping, causing his body to shake. "She's his estranged daughter."

His…daughter? The vigilante felt as if he had been punched in the face by Superman. Selina was Rex's daughter? He took a couple more steps, closing in on the gargoyle. "Explain," he demanded.

"It's not that difficult. The Lion got some women pregnant back in the day and one of them turned out to be Ms. Kyle's mother. He ignored her existence until a few years ago. He had tasked me with getting her into the family. She resisted at first, but then seemed to change her mind. That's when she took over and announced her plan to build that power plant."

So it was all her idea. The Calabreses were incidental to the power plant's construction, just a means to an end. He recalled the look of anger on Selina's face when he had mentioned her being connected to Shreck. He had been right then, but wrong in what sort of relationship it was. By now, Batman moved around the gargoyle and crouched down in front of Ward. "What does Kyle have against Shreck?"

"I honestly don't know. She's been so focused on getting this done; she's mentioned stealing Shreck's legacy a number of times. It's something personal as far as I can tell."

Normally, Batman didn't take such vague answers, but in this case he was certain Ward was being honest. He wasn't some crime-hardened thug, sworn to secrecy with violence; he was a lawyer bought and paid for. Still, he had more answers in him than he may even know.

"And the Calabreses are all for this plan of hers?" he questioned.

"Not really. But when someone snaps a whip in front of your face the first time you meet them, that tends to get people's attention. I'm not for this vendetta she has against some old businessman, but she's played the game well. She's let most of her opposition destroy itself, so now she only has people that support her in key positions."

So she played the family politics well. She also knew how to use a whip apparently, which wasn't something your average person knew. That was a puzzle piece, he just didn't know how it fit into the larger picture yet.

"Is that all you wanted to know?" Ward suddenly asked, a hint of concern in his voice. Glancing to the rope, more strands had broken until only a few were left. There wasn't much time left.

"What can you tell me about the botched meeting with the Triads?" he then asked.

A confused look appeared on his face. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Your men were ambushed during a meet. I want to know what you know about it."

"Probably as much as you do. A few of our meets had been hit, same M.O."

"Meaning?"

"Everyone present at the meeting being dead, the merchandise and money stolen."

"Similar to the Egyptian getting robbed."

'Perhaps."

"Does your family have any idea who's behind it?"

"Unfortunately, no. However, it's not possible for so many meetings to be hit, not like this. There have been rumors of a possible mole in the family."

A mole? It didn't need to be said how a crime family would view such a possibility. It also didn't need to be said if the mole was known. If they were, they would have been dealt with by now.

Batman was also certain that he had exhausted this source up as he had no further questions. "I think we're done here," he said, just a moment before the cable finally snapped, and Ward suddenly dropped out of sight. His scream rang out as he fell.

Pulling out his grapple gun, Batman calmly took aim, and then fired it after the falling man. The grapple claw caught the man a few stories down, but he allowed more of the cable to come out of the grapple gun. It wasn't until the man was a few floors away from the ground that he began to slow it down, eventually stopping Ward perhaps a foot or so from the ground. Then he disengaged the grapple, leaving the man to collapse onto the pavement, and retracting the grapple line back.

Once the cable was back within the grapple gun, Batman stood up and left. He needed to figure out what he learned about Selina and how it fit into his picture of her. Then there was the possible mole; if they were ever found out, they were as good as dead. If he wanted to prevent that, he needed to find them first.

The door to the BatCave opened, the hinges squealing like usual. They hadn't been the same since those Titan kids stormed the place. Stephanie was chalking it up to a bad repair job.

The whole trip here had the blonde girl in her head. She couldn't get that clue out of her head, and unfortunately she hadn't made much headway either. Hans, party, a killing, what was the answer?

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds had been part of pop culture, admittingly decades ago, but perhaps this was a similar thing? That was one possibility she had come up with, but unfortunately, she wasn't familiar with this side of pop culture. Where was her dad and his trivia games?

The door squealed shut, Stephanie and Harper heading for the staircase that led up to the second level and the supercomputer. Perhaps BatComputer would have been more appropriate? It was something to discuss with Cassandra whenever she got here.

However, as they reached the second level, they found they weren't alone.

Sitting in the chair in front of the pending-BatComputer was Damian. He had a sour look on his face as he seemed to stare at the computer screen. He only spared them a glance, grunted, and returned to whatever he was looking at.

"Picking through anyone else's closets behind their back?" Harper immediately called out as she stormed towards the boy. "What, nothing fit you this time? Or not your style? Stephanie, what's the in thing for preadolescent punks these days?"

"Harper," Stephanie groaned. Someone was still upset about the other day, it seemed.

"I compensated you," Damian grunted his reply.

"And left a huge mess behind, which I had to clean up! What, don't you know how to clean up your messes?"

"Apparently you cleaned it up, so I don't see any issue."

Harper growled. "Uncool, even for you. You want to go through my apartment, you better ask first. You don't see me going through your crap for clothes."

Damian snorted, which only riled Harper up more. "False equivalent; you wouldn't go through my things. Nothing would fit you."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"If your feminine hips are any indication—"

"Uncalled for," Stephanie interjected, mostly because she could see where this was going. Someone was going to be murdered and she would naturally be the one to clean it up. This pissing contest was over as far as she was concerned because they all literally had better things to do. "If neither of you can say anything nice, don't say anything at all."

"Who's side are you on?" Harper demanded, sending a glare her way.

"The side that ends this pettiness," she replied evenly. She then turned her attention to Damian. "What are you even doing here anyways?"

"I came here with you, blondie," Harper answered.

"...I was asking Damian, not you."

"Oh, that makes more sense."

Damian just rolled his eyes. "I was researching my own case. I nearly have the culprit."

Huh? Seriously? Stephanie eyed the boy up and down and felt some doubt. For someone as prideful as the dark-haired boy, you would have thought he'd be more happy about that. No doubt he would rub that fact in their faces, taunting them with it. Instead, he looked as if he had swallowed a lemon.

"Then why haven't you brought him in?" Harper demanded.

Instead of answering her, Damian suddenly asked, "If a child had been kidnapped, would you go save them?"

Identical strange looks appeared on Stephanie and Harper's faces. They didn't even need to look at each other. "Well, yeah," the blue-haired girl responded. "Of course, we would."

"Even if my father wasn't around to do it?"

"Yeah, we would. What kind of questions are these?"

Damian turned the chair to face the girls. "Even if he wasn't Batman? You two wouldn't be out there fighting without him being Batman, correct?"

This time, the two girls did share a look with each other. "Probably not," Stephanie admitted. "I know when I first started, it was because I wanted to show…certain vigilantes they weren't doing a good job."

"I might not have made my arsenal without meeting Batman," Harper added. "But if I ran into a stolen kid, I think I would help them get away."

"Why are you asking this?" Stephanie questioned. "Where is this coming from?"

Damian looked away. "I have…confronted my primary suspect and he asked me if I was doing this for the right reasons. He claims the people he assaults deserve the punishment they received; that they are abusers and bullies and he marks them so that everyone knows."

Stephanie blinked her eyes. They had another budding vigilante? Was that what this Abuse case was about? She felt she needed to look into the backgrounds of the assault victims to make certain this was the case, but assuming it was, then this person was like them.

Naturally, it was Harper that answered him by snorting. "Of course, you aren't doing this for the right reasons. Everyone knows that."

The boy scowled at the blue-haired girl. "Explain yourself," he growled.

Harper didn't back down from the tone. "Every other word you say is about how you are Batman's true heir, or you're his kid. It's only how you deserve to be Batman when he hangs up his cowl. Not once have you ever said you wanted to help people. I got into this because I wanted to be ready for the next time Batman called out for help. That eventually came to me wanting to better my neighborhood. And say what you want about Steph, but she at least had good intentions. Not everyone is made to do this life and if the wrong person tries to break up a mugging, they could get hurt or killed, along with the person they're trying to help. Those are decent reasons to do this."

"I'm still helping people," Damian defended.

"That's a byproduct, not a result. Face it, you wouldn't be wearing that costume if Batman wasn't your dad. I know I would be doing this if anyone else was Batman because his example inspires that."

That caused the boy to fall silent, mulling this over. "Now, if you would get your butt up, we need to use the computer," Harper said.

That had been the wrong thing to say. "I'm still using it," Damian snapped.

"Doesn't look that way to me. You were literally just staring at the screen."

"I was thinking of my next step."

"Is that next step coming in the next two minutes? Otherwise, get out of the way."

His eyes narrowed. "You only have this computer because of my father. You will wait your turn until I am finished."

"No, we're not." Harper took a threatening step towards the boy. "We have too much going on to listen to your whims. I got some psychopath that knows who I am and I've got to find a way to make sure he doesn't speak. My tolerance for your shit is way down my priority list."

"That sounds like your problem, not mine," Damian shot back.

"It's going to be your problem in two seconds if you don't get out of my way."

"You don't have the power, woman."

Suddenly, Cassandra glided right by Stephanie, startling her. When the hell had she gotten here? How had she gotten here without alerting all of them? The dark-haired girl went right up to Harper and placed a hand on her shoulder, causing the blue-haired girl to jerk her head around to look at her. Incredibly, she seemed to relax, backing down.

In response, Damian straightened up in the chair, scowling at the new arrival. "Usurper."

Cassandra stood in front of him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Jerkface."

The two stared at each other, one scowling, the other impassive. Seconds ticked by with the two of them in their silent staring match.

"You're in my chair," Cassandra eventually said.

"It's my chair," Damian growled back. "I am currently sitting in it."

Cassandra leaned forward, her hands coming to rest on the armrests of the chair. "Then get out of it."

"And if I say no?"

Without saying a word, the dark-haired girl just pushed against the chair. Because of the wheels, the chair went rolling backwards and away from the computer, a surprised look appearing on Damian's face. Blatantly ignoring him now, Cassandra stepped in front of the computer and looked up at the screen. She only spared a few moments looking at what Damian had been working on before she minimized it and opened up a new window.

"You better not have shut down my work!" Damian roared as he threw himself out of the chair, causing it to roll further away until it struck the wall.

"I just minimized it," Cassandra brushed off. She even opened it again to show her words to be true, then minimized it again. "Now, you can either wait your turn, or you can help us on the Cluemaster case. Your decision."

Damian just crossed his arms over his chest, continuing to glare daggers at his older step-sister.

And he was going to stay that way too, because that seemed to be his default setting. Now, normally Stephanie would position herself next to Cassandra, but with the boy with anger issues there, she opted to stay where she was. She didn't need that negativity in her life.

Old men were like stubborn children, they could never get out of their own way and always thought they were right even in front of the shitload of proof against. No wonder women wore the pants.

Collapsing into the softest chair money could buy, Selina was tempted to put her feet up, but settled instead on the personal attention of Isis who took the chance to make her lap her bed. Reflexively, Selina began to pet the feline, the only true friend she still had left in this world.

She was starting to feel it. Feeling bone tired, mentally exhausted, and getting sick of all the games that came with placating egos and politics…which weren't those the same thing? At this point, it was practically a mantra she was telling herself that in the end it would all be worth it. Max's precious legacy would forever be out of his hands, his reputation as one of Gotham's elites decimated when it came time to paying the bills for being a scummy asshole, and then that was when things would get good.

Stealing someone's future, who would have thought it would be so difficult?

This was for Lola. That girl had not deserved what had happened to her. If Selina tried hard enough, she could convince herself that Lola was urging her to continue, keep pressing on, you were so close. Just a little bit more. Just a little bit more. You can do this. You can win. Just a little bit more and then it would be over.

The second that power plant turned on, that would be the moment the finish line was crossed. Perhaps Batman would be irritated that she handed the mob the means of controlling the city, but his lack of anything was all she needed to know that he would not be helpful. Oh yes, she had saved his life, nothing too fancy. Following Isis' example, she had put the little rendezvous the Bat had wanted on her terms.

Spur of the moment, really, and of course he had to get in over his own head. Just had to get himself that much closer to death. Seriously, what did he see in these people? Hadn't he already given enough to them? What, was everything not enough?

Nevertheless…she could never resist the tall, dark, and brooding type. Call it a bad habit.

Damn it, when did things get so complicated? It wasn't always like this. Sure, not having the kind of money she had now was a mood killer. Needing quick cash was the second reason she had gotten into burglary in the first place. Food, shelter, and the nice things in life all came with a price, but doing minimum wage, nine-to-five had never been something she was interested in.

The thrill. That was the first reason. Finding that perfect item, didn't matter what it was, learning about what protected it, breaking into the place it called home, navigating all of that security, whatever it may be, and finally claiming it for her own followed by any kind of escape that took her fancy. That was what made life interesting.

But no, no, an aging mobster had wanted her for bigger and better things. The old bastard hadn't the decency to stick around and make sure everything went to plan. Yes, thanks a lot Daddy Rex, you just couldn't resist starting a riot you couldn't control. Was it so hard to keep your head down in prison? Why try to lord in it if it only put a target on your back?

Rex Calabrese's death had only made this game of mob politics all that much harder. Too many were loyal to him and not her, and without his backing, these small minded gangsters were itching to get out from under her authority. This wasn't their golden age anymore, why didn't they understand that?

Hell, it wasn't her golden age anymore. Not since Max murdered Lola. The thrill had stopped motivating her a long time ago.

But why couldn't it again? Once she gave this crime family a reliable and steady source of cash, as well as a massive way to launder all its other ill-gotten gains, what was there to do? Continue with the Gotham version of Game of Thrones? Please, she'd save them all the trouble to killing herself if that was what life had to offer.

Politics was boring, where was the fun? The running, the stealing, the escaping? Hell, that damn maze was looking preferable right now.

Isis' meow broke through, and the Calabrese kingpin realized she had committed the grave sin of neglecting her cattish companion. Someone had been enjoying the attention until it had stopped, and since she wasn't done yet, Isis was going to make her dissatisfaction known.

Stroking resumed, but those luminous eyes that Isis had remained on her. Selina was tempted to speak, have a one-sided conversation, but the feline had a way of talking without using any sound or words. A nice blob of black on her lap stared at her, challenging, daring her human to stop with the stroking.

You know what? Why not do something challenging? Something fun? Get out and stretch, and get the old suit back on. Designer clothing had its moments, but there was always something classy about tight, black leather. And when you were dolled up in leather, you went out for shits and giggles, having the time of your life.

Yes, tonight called for a girl's night out. But just going out for fresh air wasn't a good enough reason for that. Luckily, there was something she had in mind. A little trinket, one that had caught her eye some time ago, but she had never been able to pursue because Chris was determined to be a stoic party pooper and keep her in line, probably on the late Daddy Rex's order.

It was a good thing that she had given the lawyer something to do. That meant she had some free time to use for that night out.

Turning strokes into scratches, Selina aimed for Isis' chin and permission was granted. "How's about you and I relive the glory days, just us?" the cat burglar at heart asked rhetorically.

A rumbling purr was her answer, and Selina decided to take that as a yes.