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Issue #5

"Partners in crime"

By D. Golightly

 

"No, I'm sorry, Mr. Ivory," Dick Grayson said through the crack of his open door. "I don't have a cup of sugar to lend you. In fact, I should be asking you for sugar."

"That's okay, son," replied Mr. Ivory. The elderly man had to be close to seventy years of age, but this was Dick's first encounter with the man so he couldn't be sure. "Strange though.ya rented this place a couple months ago but this is the first time I done seen ya. Never even seen ya move things in."

"I work late so I must have moved some things in while you were sleeping."

"Uh huh," Mr. Ivory said, craning his neck to see over Dick and into the apartment.

"I think my water is boiling so I'll see you around, Mr. Ivory. Nice to meet you."

"Uh huh," the elderly man replied, his eyes still trying to push into the apartment even as Dick closed the door.

Sheesh , Dick thought, even my neighbors when I still had an apartment in Bludhaven weren't that nosy.

Dick strolled back across the apartment to the kitchen, which really was completely empty. The only objects in the domicile were a refrigerator, an electric stove, and a small cot he had been sleeping on for the last two nights.

He still hadn't patched things up with his wife, Barbara. When he had broken in to Checkmate to deliver Bruce Wayne a personal message, he hadn't counted on also finding out that Babs was secretly the White Queen of the cloak-and-dagger operation. He felt like she had betrayed his trust. She fully knew how he had disagreed with Bruce concerning Checkmate. It was like she didn't care.

In all honesty, it bothered Dick a lot more that Barbara felt like she needed to lie to him. He loved her and he would have understood, regardless of his disagreements with Bruce. Why would she keep secrets from him? What happened to the sanctity of marriage?

"What happened to surviving as a bachelor?" he said aloud to no one. His water had boiled over the pot and now there wasn't enough to cook the spaghetti he was hoping to have for dinner.

Like his nosy neighbor had realized, Dick and Barbara hadn't gotten around to stocking up the apartment with very much. Their real place was the Nest, located atop the Grissom Bridge . It was their base of operations as well as their personal home. The apartment he was in now was something the two of them had set up with the city for tax purposes. It might look strange if Dick and Barbara Grayson lived in Gotham City but had no place of actual, legal residence.

From the window in the kitchen, Dick could see the top of the Grissom Bridge . It wasn't very far. A person could hop a cab and make it there in just less than five minutes. Babs was there, probably wondering when she would hear from her husband.

Dick sighed. He wanted to call her but he didn't know what to say. He really felt she didn't trust him, but he supposed that she felt the same way about what he was doing to her right now. When he left the Checkmate base the night before last, he had just come straight here and fallen asleep. Last night he didn't even bother to hop any rooftops.

"My problems seem to be piling up," Dick said as he caught a glimpse of the morning's newspaper.

The top article was about Prometheus' recent impersonation of Batman and his capture by a mysterious vigilante. The 'mysterious vigilante' was Dick, of course, in his Nightwing persona. It had been one of the roughest battles of his life, but he had come out on top. The article speculated that since the real Batman hadn't been seen in Gotham for over a year, in addition to the lack of Batman's calling cards, that Prometheus had been captured by some new masked person trying to make a name for themselves.

The article had various quotes from the higher-ups in the GCPD condemning this 'mysterious vigilante.' Things in the law enforcement political structure had changed in the last year and the atmosphere wasn't as friendly to unidentified masked individuals as it once had been. Dick doubted he would be able to just swing in to the Commissioner's office and talk things over.

No, it wouldn't be that easy at all. During his tenure with the Titans, Dick had found a certain amount of comfort in the public spotlight. He didn't want to bask in it but he wasn't afraid of it either. It was one of the things that had separated him from his mentor. However, this current situation posed a problem. He would have to handle things differently.

Flipping through the rest of the paper, Dick stumbled across a small advertisement that may have given him just the answer he was looking for.

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"I don't care how much money you throw at me," an assertive female voice said into a telephone receiver, "my services don't include lap dances!"

She slammed the phone back into its cradle with such force that the person on the other end probably felt the shockwave. She had been called a lot of things in her day but she would be damned if she ever let anyone get away with calling her a hooker.

Renee Montoya sat in her small office by herself, going over her accounting books. Business had been relatively slow recently, although that was to be expected. Gotham City may be dark, corrupt, and riddled with crime but the life of a private investigator still had its off days.off weeks, in all honesty.

Renee brushed a wisp of dark hair out of her eyes and reached for the paper cup that was half-filled with stale coffee. The late nights had proved more than once to be home to several walk-in cases so she didn't mind the long hours. Killing time by balancing her books, however, may not have been the most positive way to spend the evening.

"Officer Montoya," said a low, manly voice.

Renee was taken by surprise. After all, her door was closed and she was the sole occupant of the eighteen by twenty-six office. Even when caught off-guard, however, Renee Montoya had been through enough to keep her emotions in check when it counted.

The voice had come from the window, so she placed her hand on the revolver resting underneath the desk and pivoted her neck to the opening. Crouching in the small frame was one of Gotham 's "protectors" that she had run into several times over the years. This guy was one she actually trusted.to a degree.

"Nightwing," she said. "Is this how you try and show off for the ladies?"

"No," he replied. "I know my charms wouldn't work on you anyway. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"I'm between cases, as they say. What do you need?"

"I saw your ad in the paper today," Nightwing said, stepping down from the windowsill. "You're a PI now?"

"Out on my own, beating the streets. It's not 'Officer Montoya' anymore. That road hasn't been traveled for almost a year. About the same time your pointy-eared friend took off, I imagine."

"Since you're in between your cases now, I could use your help."

"I'm not wearing tights," Renee smirked.

"Not what I had in mind," Nightwing smiled back. "I'm also not interested in butting heads with the big wigs in the GCPD. Since I'm back in town and Batman isn't, I think it would be better if I refrained from any glory at the moment."

"Like the mess I read in today's paper about Prometheus?"

"Exactly. I also need a contact in the streets. Someone who can get information for me easier from local gangs."

"Why? Something going down?"

"I'm not sure yet," Nightwing said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think Penguin is setting up shop in Gotham again and I need information from the foot soldiers. Flushing out the little fish so I can try and nab the big one hasn't been as easy as I thought. As I understand it, when Penguin left Bludhaven he was bankrupt and alone. Recently, there's evidence that he is anything but."

"What kind of evidence?"

"Cobblepot lost everything in Bludhaven but he just bought an entire building downtown and he paid cash. Also, small time gangs are suddenly in the business of extorting money. A bit too complex for street thugs if you ask me."

"You think someone is pulling their strings," Renee added. "Sounds pretty circumstantial to me. I doubt a judge would issue a warrant because some nut in his long johns has a hunch."

"That's where you come in," Nightwing said. "I don't trust anyone on the force right now and I don't have the time to build up a viable relationship. The last time I did that the guy ended up getting his neck broken."

"Did you at least pay for his funeral?"

"Hardly. He came back with a pair of tommy guns. Getting your head twisted back one hundred and eighty degrees isn't as fatal as it used to be."

"So what do you want me to do exactly? Harvey Bullock is my partner here still and I'm not so sure he would be ecstatic over getting involved with this." Renee sipped at her stale coffee once more, making a face as the cold liquid worked its way down her throat. That was the last time she let Harvey brew any java. "You know how he is about you types."

"Bullock, huh?" Nightwing asked. His head tilted slightly, as if he were contemplating something. "Might want to keep him in the dark then. At least for now. I need you to go check out Penguin's old cronies while I gather enough evidence for you to solicit a warrant. The bad guys have slipped through the legal cracks too many times in the past. Being captured by vigilantes doesn't hold up in court too well so we need to do this so it's an airtight conviction."

"If Penguin is actually committing a crime you mean," Renee chimed in. "You don't know for sure yet."

"No," Nightwing said, smiling. "But with the two of us looking into it, we'll know soon enough."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Like most of the rooftops in Gotham , this one was covered in pebbles. Nightwing wasn't quite sure why the owners wanted the gravel there but he suspected it had something to do with keeping the birds away, or maybe stopping rainwater from building up in one spot. Whatever the reason, Nightwing hated it. Even with the sound-dampening boots he wore it was almost impossible to move silently across the stones. They shifted underneath his feet, giving away audible signs of his presence.

Should have scouted the area better before I came over , Nightwing thought.

Montoya was on her way to connecting with some of Cobblepot's old lieutenants while Nightwing had decided to see what he could dig up at the Penguin's recently purchased building. It was small by comparison, as the surrounding buildings dwarfed it in both size and stature. Once used to house plastics such as ice cube trays and dispensers, the Penguin had since moved in large shipments that weren't showing up on anyone's records. If Nightwing hadn't seen a cargo truck pull up to the loading dock with the license plates removed he might not have believed it himself.

The funny thing was that Penguin had filed the paperwork to begin a new club called "Icetopia" with this address on the forms. From what Nightwing could see, this was definitely not the hottest spot in town to hit the dance floor. It was possible that Cobblepot may not have gotten enough of the club set up to open yet, but it was far more likely that he filed the paperwork to keep the IRS off his back.

Maybe he's planning on laundering money through the fake club , Nightwing thought as he crept to the roof's edge. Bring the money in, wash it through the tax system as a business owner, and then take the money out. Not too shabby.

Whatever was going on, part of it was happening right now. Two men had hopped out of the cab and moved to the back of the truck. They were out of Nightwing's view but he heard the large door slide open and the truck was bobbing slightly from the weight of the men boarding it. If he wanted to catch them red-handed, it was now or never.

Nightwing slipped over the edge and fell the handful of feet to a terrace where he took aim with his grappler. The black handheld device was jam-packed with a few dozen yards of high-composite cable, which was quickly unraveled when Nightwing pressed the button to fire the mechanism at his target. The tinted claw at the end of the line silently sprung out and sailed through the night, lodging itself into the corner of the building neighboring Cobblepot's. Yanking the line taut, Nightwing stepped off of the terrace and flew across the street with practiced grace.

There was no sound beneath his feet this time as he dropped down onto the top of the cargo truck. Creeping toward the back, he could see the tops of the men's heads as they briskly moved in and out of the truck, moving whatever was inside.

"Evening, boys!" Nightwing proclaimed from the edge of the truck. "Let me guess: one of you lost a bet and now you have to help the other guy move into his girlfriend's place. I hope the couch can fit up the stairwell."

"What the hell?" one of the men wearing a red baseball hat said.

"Ah, crap!" yelled the other one. "It's one of those bat guys!"

Before the conversation could go any further the hatless man threw whatever bulky thing he had been carrying right at Nightwing. The throw was haphazard at best, given the awkward size of the object, and Nightwing sidestepped it easily. It flew through the air beside him and landed a few feet back along the truck's roof. Nightwing glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see that the man had thrown a cheap plastic chair at him.

"Mind telling me why you guys have a truck full of lawn furniture?" Nightwing asked.

The man in the red hat answered by pulling out a butterfly knife, waving it around in front of his face like he had obviously been practicing. Likewise, his friend yanked out a small revolver that had been wedged into the front of his pants and aimed it at the vigilante.

Nightwing instinctively dove for the back end of the truck, gripping the lip tightly in his hands and flipping over the edge. His right foot connected with the handgun, knocking it out of his opponent's hand and eliciting a colorful, four-letter word. The red hat lunged forward with his knife in a poor attempt at slicing Nightwing open but the vigilante was too fast for him. Ducking under his arm, Nightwing forced his shoulder into the man's abdomen and lifted him up into the air. Nightwing rushed into the wall on the dock with the red hat man hoisted onto his shoulder and the resulting impact knocked the crook out cold.

Nightwing turned just in time to see one of the plastic chairs swing straight for his head, guided by the hands of the other assailant. The black and blue of Nightwing's uniform blurred in the light of the street lamp as he rolled out of harm's way, but the man followed him down the dock, swinging wildly.

Leaning back, Nightwing waited for the man to come close enough to sweep his legs out from under him. The man angled the chair high and Nightwing took advantage of his offset balance, spinning down to the concrete and slapping the man's legs out with his own. He fell flat on his back and the chair bounced harmlessly to the ground. He immediately tried to sit up but found his ascension stopped short by the heel of Nightwing's left boot.

"Where's Penguin?" Nightwing demanded as he dug his boot into the crook's neck.

"Right here, dear boy," a warbled voice remarked from behind him. It was undoubtedly the voice of Oswald Cobblepot, the master criminal known as the Penguin. Nightwing turned his attention to the short man, ready for anything. The Penguin stood just inside the building, one of his signature umbrellas twirling in his flipper-like hand. His posture was only hampered by the physical deformities he had been cursed with. On the outside the Penguin looked like a tiny specimen one might search for in a traveling circus. On the inside, however, Cobblepot considered himself an aristocratic career criminal. "Would you be kind enough to remove your combat boot from Daniel's neck?"

Nightwing complied but kept one eye on the man he had easily taken down. Daniel scrambled back up the dock and went to see how his partner was doing. The air seemed stale now as the tension had grown considerably in the last few moments. Nightwing stayed on guard, carefully monitoring his surroundings for any traps yet to be sprung.

"I do believe this is what the police refer to as trespassing," the Penguin said. "You're not welcome here. I won't suffer an infestation of bats before my grand opening."

"You're broke," Nightwing commented. "There's no way you could possibly have enough legal tender to use as start-up capital. Where did you get the money, Cobblepot? You've been making an awful lot of shipments lately. What are you shipping?"

"Supplies for my new nightclub, as you can plainly see," the Penguin answered with a devilish smirk on his face. "You will find there is nothing illegal occurring here at all, except of course for your presence. Leave before I call the authorities."

"Since when does a high-class roller such as yourself use plastic chairs in his nightclub?" Nightwing shot back. Things weren't adding up how he expected tonight. "What sort of clientele will Icetopia be aimed at I wonder? Times must be tough for you to be slumming it like this, Penguin."

The Penguin's face showed his obvious contempt at Nightwing's comments. "Beginning a legitimate business venture always has certain complications. I am not and never will be slumming it as you say. You overstayed your welcome before you even arrived, rodent. Leave."

Nightwing knew he wouldn't get any further tonight. Penguin, while being a stuck-up stuffed shirt, was also correct when he said Nightwing was trespassing. If he stayed any longer or tried to force his way into the complex without any proof the courts would drop the case before it even began. Even career criminals have rights. He would have to get proof and then have Montoya secure a warrant.

"Fine," Nightwing said as he stepped back into the truck. He gripped one of the plastic chairs tightly and pressed a special trigger hidden in the palm of his glove. "Nice chairs, by the way. I think my Aunt Sophia had ones just like them on her patio."

Leaving the scowl on the Penguin's face behind him, Nightwing bounded off the wall of the building and back onto the top of the truck. He ran to the front and leapt up to catch a hanging bar from the neighboring fire escape, making his way to the roof in an impressive acrobatic display.

He continued hopping terraces and ventilation shafts without slowing down until he reached the end of the block. He paused when he caught site of the Grissom Bridge , basking silently in the moonlight. Traffic moved swiftly across the base of the bridge like it always did, but the top was what held his attention. It was there his wife sat, waiting and wondering.

He felt like a selfish idiot. He loved his wife more than anyone else on the planet and he turned his back on her in a brief flash of anger. Vaulting over another air vent, Nightwing headed for the Grissom Bridge . It was time to go home and see his wife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I thought you left all that macho bullshit back in the cave," Barbara Grayson yelled at her husband. "We aren't the same person, Dick! We are going to have a difference of opinion!"

Nightwing had shed his uniform once again so that he could speak with his wife as Dick Grayson. Sensors had shown him entering their lair from the bottom of the main support beam that sunk into the river. Instead of greeting him like she normally did upon returning she let out all the built up frustration she had gathered over the last day and a half. A woman scorned, as the cliché goes.

"Bruce's new mission in life has left Gotham vulnerable," Dick defended. " Gotham needs a Batman. It will always need a Batman. He left the city behind when he took charge of Checkmate and he apparently took you with him."

"He didn't leave the city behind, Dick. He left it to you . He trusts you. That's not fair to put that kind of weight on him. You, of all people! And don't you dare say to me that I've excluded Gotham from my work because you know damn well that's not true."

"Why didn't you tell me you were the White Queen now?"

Barbara, known the world over as the information broker Oracle, was at a loss for words. It was the one thing she couldn't justify to her husband. For months she had been operating behind his back and helping Bruce Wayne in his global mission, something Dick strongly disagreed with. As the White Queen she largely coordinated Checkmate's efforts in the field all over the world. By having access to the near infinite resources of Checkmate she had helped bring down numerous Society operations, but all that seemed frivolous now. She was having trouble looking Dick in the eye and that disturbed her more than the actual debate.

"I'm sorry for that," she said softly. "When Bruce came to me I was inspired. It's so hard doing what we do outside of the law. We try to bring criminals to justice but six months after we apprehend them they're right out on the street again. The courts don't recognize vigilantes, Dick. We're a short-term solution when you boil it down. Checkmate has recognized authority which means when they bust Clay face he stays in jail."

"You should have told me," Dick reiterated. "I would have been on your side and supported you. I just.don't agree with it."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. They had known each other for years but this was the first time they had really gone through a disagreement such as this one. Marriage, no matter how long the people have been involved, changes a relationship.

"I checked out Penguin's new digs tonight," Dick said to finally break the silence.

"Yeah? Any leads?"

"He's definitely up to something but I have no idea what. He was unloading a truck full of lawn furniture when I caught up with him about an hour ago."

"Lawn furniture?" Barbara asked. "For one of Penguin's nightclubs? That doesn't make sense."

"I thought so, too," Dick replied as he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and green, no bigger than a speck of dirt. "That's why I scraped off a piece from one of the chairs. Feel like running some tests on it?"

She wheeled across the room to him and took the tiny shard of plastic from his hand. As her fingers closed around the plastic he placed his other hand on top of hers and looked down into her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I've been acting like an idiot lately. I'm sorry for everything." Dick kneeled down on one knee so he was level with Barbara, keeping her hands grasped in his own. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she responded. "Even if you're a thickheaded guy."

Dick leaned in and kissed his wife, the previous anger and frustration melting away as their lips pressed together. Even though marriage changes any relationship it also strengthens the bond between one another. Forgiveness and understanding were two virtues that the couple believed in wholeheartedly.

"Can you run those tests for me, Wheelchair Wonder?" Dick chided as the kiss ended.

"Only because you have a cute butt," she teased him. Pulling away as Dick stood up, Barbara wheeled over to the workbench and flipped the switch to power up her equipment. "What am I looking for?"

"The chemical makeup I guess," Dick answered. "If I can find enough evidence to nail Penguin, Montoya will be able to acquire an arrest warrant and get the police over there."

"Renee Montoya?"

Dick nodded. "She's a private investigator now along with Bullock. Like you were just saying, vigilante justice is a short-term solution. I figured if I'm going to be back in Gotham full-time I needed friends on the right side of the law. Since your father doesn't have as much pull in the police department as he used to I thought Montoya would be a good friend to have on my side."

"If I wasn't already aware of her lifestyle I might actually be jealous," Barbara teased again. One of the analyzers beside her chirped as the results flashed across the screen, drawing her attention back to the work at hand. "Hmm.looks like your plastic chairs are a composite of silicone and heroin."

"I thought as much," Dick said as his brow crinkled while he put the pieces together. "Cobblepot is broke and he isn't the kind of guy who can stand it. Bludhaven was decimated so he cut his losses and moved back into Gotham since Batman hasn't been spotted in a year. He thinks it's safe to start up his operations again and what better way to acquire a quick buck than to corner the market in heroin? He must have some way of extracting the drug from the chairs so he can get it on the streets."

"Melting it down would be easy enough," Barbara added. "Once in a liquid form I bet a centrifuge would separate the chemicals perfectly. Package it up, find some foot soldiers to hit the streets, and you're in business."

"That would explain how the normally smalltime street gangs have been getting organized lately. I bet Penguin is using them to distribute. Great," he said sarcastically. "Just what we needed. A new drug lord in Gotham ."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tiny, dim office was completely empty except for an old desk, a phone, and a single light resting at the edge of the desk. Oswald Cobblepot sat behind the desk in a chair one of his men had found in the back alley, complete with stains and squeaky wheel. These were definitely not the conditions he was accustomed to.

"I don't care what rumors you've heard!" Penguin warbled into the phone. "You'll get your money! Just get to Gotham as fast as you can. I have special need of your services immediately. The Bat is still hiding but his protégé has recently made an appearance at my new establishment. I cannot afford an inconvenience such as him at this juncture. Remove my problem and your financial considerations will be met accordingly. I'll expect to see you along with the others tomorrow night. Do not disappoint me."

Penguin slammed the phone into its cradle with as much strength as his deformed hand could muster. He was afraid that the rumors floating through the underworld would damage his reputation to the point where his fellow criminals would not longer consider him worthy of their attention. Mercenaries may go to the highest dollar but they were sometimes fickle about the jobs they chose.

"Everything all right, boss?" asked Daniel. The bruise Nightwing had given him earlier was turning a dark shade of blue as he held an ice pack up against it.

"Our hired enforcers will be here tomorrow evening," Penguin answered. "They shall see to it that the Batman's trained puppy will be of no further trouble to me. Once his head is gracefully skewered on a spear I'll have a god's grasp on the drug trade in Gotham City and this squalor will be left behind me where it belongs."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Writer's Nest

Looks like Nightwing is in for a bit of trouble. Who did Penguin hire to take down our hero? More than one mercenary, I'll tell you that right now (including a brand new villain)!

After setting some things up with Mike Hintze, the EiC of DC Infinity, Renee Montoya makes her OYL appearance in this issue. I think it's great that a character created specifically for the cartoon Batman series has become so popular among fans. Now if we can just get Marvel to tweak Firestar a little I'll really be impressed. Montoya will come to have an important role in Nightwing's life as you'll see in the coming arcs.

See you next month for more roofhopping action!

-D. Golightly

9/2/06