I’m not an unreasonable man. She says she’s fastidious. She says it’s a cat quality. She once lost a cat inside it. I offered to help her get it
organized. What did she say: “Why bother?” Why bother.
Kitten, you can’t find anything in it.
What’s the point in keeping stuff if you can’t lay your hands on it
without rummaging for half an hour and losing a cat in all the clutter? “It’s not a trophy room,” she
says, “it’s a storage closet.” “And what’s
THAT supposed to
mean?” “Never mind.” “Selina, I’m not an unreasonable
man…” “Pfffffffffft.” “…if there’s something I’m
not understanding, explain it to me.” “I just don’t feel the need to
have my old junk filed clockwise around the room in chronological order.” ::brrzzzz::
The intercom
interrupted. “Yes, Alfred?” ::Sir, Ms. Barbara is on the line.
I fear she sounds somewhat agitated.::
Dick’s face was bruised, swollen,
and blood seeped through the bandages that ran from his cheek down to his
collarbone. “That’s a cut?” Selina was
aghast, “Richard, this is serious; that could’ve opened your carotid
artery.” “I don’t need
to be grandma’d right
now. Okay, Selina?” “GRANDMA’D!” she exclaimed
before Bruce pulled her away from the bed.
Dick looked grateful. Talking was painful, but what he had to say to Bruce and Selina—and to his wife—couldn’t wait. When he spoke, he addressed the room generally, but seemed to be speaking more to Bruce. “The one-night-a-week plan isn’t working. Before the wedding, Nightwing spending one night in Gotham and the rest of the time in Bludhaven made sense. Gotham has a fulltime protector. But trying to work it the other way: living in Gotham, checking in at ‘Haven once a week, it’s not enough. Every time I go back, it’s six days worse. Blockbuster chose Bludhaven to be the seat of his criminal empire because it didn’t have a hero. I worked too long and too hard to stop him, to clean up the corruption there; I can’t turn my back on it now.” “Dick,” Barbara pleaded, “I
can’t leave Gotham. You can’t
ask me to do that.” “Then I won’t,” her husband
replied simply, “but I won’t leave ‘Haven the way it is, either, under
Blockbuster’s thumb. We’ve got
to end him.” The only response was from Bruce;
Dick understood the grunt to be approval. “I couldn’t stop him before, not
alone,” Dick said in reply, still addressing Bruce more than the others.
“But I have three advantages
now he knows nothing of: Oracle, Batman, and Catwoman.”
“Okay, now I’m feeling insulted,”
Robin complained. “I’m not
invited to participate in the Battle of Bludhaven.
Fine. I accept that. I’ll stay in Gotham and mind the store while you’re all
away. No worries.
No egos here like on some teams. I
accept my assignment. But you’ve
got to rub it in by having me run the projector for your briefing!” “Robin, Tim, Bro!” Nightwing
pleaded, “I need this. This is
Blockbuster. This is the big one.
If it were a briefing at Titans Tower, I’d be golden.
But it’s not. It’s in
the cave. It’s in his cave, and he’s made a hundred little
tweaks to the system since my day. If
I go in there without you, I’m going to hook up my laptop to the big screen,
I’ll launch my slideshow, and it will crash the system. And there goes my
credibility right there. Goodbye
forever to my chance of running this thing.” “Alright,” Robin
sighed, knowing he
was beaten. “I guess I can be
there for half an hour and click a mouse for you.”
The next day, Tim Drake drove out to
Wayne Manor after school. Instead
of going straight to the cave, he walked the long way around the house, to the
kitchen door. He knocked and
entered. “Hey, Alf,” he called as he went
through to the elevator entrance in the butler’s pantry, “Going downstairs.” Alfred Pennyworth knew his duty. Tim was the only Robin that didn’t live at Wayne Manor in
his civilian identity, but Bruce still wanted him to treat the house as his
home. And Tim had always done so. He didn’t need to check in the way he had just done. The only reason for Tim not to let himself in the front door
and go straight through the grandfather clock passage to the cave was to pass by
Alfred and make his presence known. And
the only reason to do that, Alfred knew, was to get fed.
Mrs. Drake was on another health food kick. Alfred prepared a plate of
sandwiches and brought them to the cave in time to see Tim, already changed into
Robin, helping Nightwing move a long conference table into the main chamber. “There,” Nightwing declared with
a satisfied grin, “now everybody will have a clear view of the overheads. Robin, you can sit there and run the slides off the laptop.
Now where are those binders?”
Catwoman took her seat in the
Batcave. She took one look at the
glossy black binder before her - with a Nightwing emblem emblazoned on the cover
- and drove a claw into her palm to fight back the smile. Without turning her head, she stole a
glance at Batman, staring down at an identical binder placed in front of his
chair. ˜˜Don’t say it,˜˜ he signed. ˜˜Just don’t say it.˜˜
˜˜Chip off the old block,˜˜ she signed back. ˜˜Stop it.˜˜ ˜˜It’s cute.˜˜ ˜˜I mean it. Stop.˜˜ “Shall we start then,” ‘Wing began, and the projection screen lowered
silently
down. A Nightwing symbol
appeared on the giant monitor that loomed over the cave. Barbara, on the other side of Batman’s chair, sitting before a third black binder, voiced the comment Catwoman would not.
“Nice logo, Sweetums.” ‘Wing glowered at her. “Shall we start?” he repeated. “Un film di Nightwing,”
his wife sang out. “Says the gal who normally comes to meetings dressed as a hologram,” ‘Wing shot back in Dick’s voice. “And this is the crack team that
kept me from the Katz Collection,” Catwoman muttered. “That, and a henchman who
couldn’t keep his mouth shut after a couple boilermakers,” Batman noted
under his breath. “Leon was a fence, not a
henchman,” she corrected. “I’ll say, glass jaw.” “Alfred,” Robin hit the
intercom, “are there any chicken strips left?
It looks like I’ll be here for a while.”
After the snack arrived, Dick
removed his mask and rubbed his eyelids. “Bludhaven
briefing, take two,”
he said. “A lot of alliteration from
nervous Nightwing,” Barbara chided. “Here we go again,” Robin
mumbled. Batman cleared his throat, “Can
we get started here?” Just like Batman did, Nightwing
cleared his throat before speaking, “Uh, yes. Yes, I think we’re all set
now. You ready, Robin?” “Sure thing,
Bro,”
answered a too-cheery voice. “Blockbuster is Roland
Desmond,”
‘Wing began. Nightwing paused, looking at the others in the room, trying to
judge their level of interest. A third slide
came up, showing the same
man’s face on the body of a behemoth. It
had a huge balding head, but long grayish-blonde hair flowed from the back, down past the shoulders. “WHOA,” Tim exclaimed.
“What happened?” “Experimental steroids.
In prison. Roland is now 8
feet tall, weighs 825 pounds, and fights like something out of Lord of the
Rings.” “That’s not even human,” Tim
winced. “Bullseye,” Barbara said, “Ten
points to the Boy Wonder.” “The human heart
Roland was born with
couldn’t accommodate his new body. Somehow,
he got himself a transplant… from Gorilla City.
Physically, it’s his only weakness that I know of.” Batman stifled a yawn. “Ok, we get the picture,” Selina
put in. “He’s a velociraptor in
a good suit. What else has he got
going for him?” “Smarts,” ‘Wing answered.
“The first Blockbuster, his brother, was a muscle-bound ox.
Not Roland. Roland is a
genius. In addition to his sheer
physical bulk, we’ve got to contend with, in my opinion, an unmatched criminal
intellect.” Batman spoke up, “Yes, yes, he
ousted Bludhaven crime boss, Angel Marin, and was able to fend off Black Mask’s
minions to keep a stranglehold on Bludhaven. Right, Wing?” A clearly flustered Nightwing looked down and shuffled his notes. “Uh… uh… yes, of course, that’s
right.” Batman spun his hand around a few
times as an indication to speed up the briefing. “Uh, Blockbuster operates a
highly sophisticated criminal enterprise in Bludhaven. The largest of its kind,
in fact,” Wing said as if he were reading from a script. “Old news,” a bored voice
rang out. “Hey! Who the hell is running
this briefing anyway?” Dick shouted. “Apparently, you are,”
Batman replied. “So tell me something I don’t know.” Shuffling his notes again, Wing
said, “Okay, okay, I will.” He looked up to Robin to change to the
next slide. Nightwing looked up and saw everyone in the room was staring at him. He continued. “Originally, this gang
developed as a traditional street gang.
Their main desire was to protect their neighborhoods or turfs. Occasionally, they would do battle with rival gangs from other neighborhoods. During these battles, they developed a reputation for violence and brutality. That reputation is still with them today.” Feeling more confident, Nightwing
said, “Their criminal activity entails…” “Narcotics,”
Batman cut in, “drive-by shootings, intimidation, graffiti, burglaries and
related thefts.” Flustered once more, Wing could only
say, “Uh, uh… that’s correct.” “Of
course it’s correct. I’m
Batman.” The room erupted into laughter. The
only one that wasn’t laughing, other than Batman of course, was Nightwing. Trying to regain control of his briefing, Nightwing ignored the laughter and continued. “And he’s got the
cops in his pocket. From Police
Chief Francis Alexander Redhorn—slide—on down.” Robin sobered quickly and clicked
for the next slide. A publicity
shot came up that was obviously from a City press kit: a middle-aged man in
uniform, brown hair, built like a football player, a cigar clenched in one hand
as he stood behind his desk, leaning over a tidy stack of papers and files. “And this photo is trying to make
him look good,” Nightwing remarked sourly. “That’s good to know,”
Catwoman noted. “He’s greedy. If he’s taking fifty percent, he’s not that smart.
That’s your weakness number two right there.” Nightwing met her eye.
“We’ll talk later,” he said with a smile. Batman grunted.
Catwoman gave a pleased
purr. “Don’t be territorial, Dark Knight; it’s unattractive.” “Actually,” Wing said with a
strange twinkle, “a little marking of territory is going to be crucial to
making this work. Robin, next
slide.” The next image that came up looked
altered. “That is Dudley
Soames.
Used to be called Deadly Soames before he upgraded to the more colorful
handle: Torque.” “It looks like his head is on
backwards,” Robin observed. “It is.
Soames was the dirtiest cop around, and also one of Blockbuster’s
lieutenants. Played all sides
against the middle. Even gave me
info on Blockbuster’s operations for a while.
Roland found out, twisted his head 180-degrees.
Soames blames me as much as Blockbuster. Wants revenge on both of us.
That’s the key to him. Weakness
number three.” Batman grunted
again. “Summing up any time soon?” “To end Blockbuster, we’re
looking at a three-tiered operation: One:
find him. Two: physically
taking him down. And three: neutralizing the corruption in the force. Otherwise,
he’s free as soon as we take him in.” To be continued…
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