Little Bird

Chapter 1

It was hot. Dog days of summer, go find shade, a pool or air conditioning hot. It was possible to smell the fields of corn, oats and weeds growing and baking in the fields surrounding the little town of Traer.

So what the hell was he doing, walking and dodging amongst tent lines, cages, props and trailers, smelling sawdust, animals, peanuts and cotton candy?

The man sighed and answered his own question as he moved out of an elephant's spraying arc. He was hunting for answers to the questions that he had been asking for the last ten years.

Questions, he firmly believed, that could change history and how the world perceives itself.

The tall, determined man strode on, following the directions he'd been given to find the trailer of his latest lead. He paid little attention to the performers and roustabouts that gawked or gave him measuring looks. He was too close to a possible answer.

Moving easily around a group of contortionists working on some complicated human knot, he finally reached the headquarters trailer for Haly's circus. He stepped up, knocked and entered a cloud of obnoxious cigar smoke confined by a small, hot room. Sweat immediately started running down his back.

Pop Haly, the small, heavyset man behind the desk looked up, the remnants of a Cuban cigar clamped firmly in the corner of his mouth. His yellowed, button down shirt soaked with the sweat that also gleamed in beads on his balding head. With the browning shades of the old battered silver trailer drawn, the room was dark, lit only by what light spilled through the tears and rips in the shades and an old desk lamp. To the visitor, the room seemed a near perfect imitation of hell's reception area, but Haly was comfortable in his environment. Looking at his visitor, he leaned back, pulled the stogie and tapped it off into an overflowing ashtray.

"I can offer you two hundred a week. You'll have to get some sort of costume, a suit just won't work. We'll set you up between the bearded lady and the dog boy. If you need a place to crash, I think Ralph has space. His partner hooked up with the horse trainer."

The man looked at the owner of the circus in surprise. He hadn't been looking for a job, but, under the circumstances, he probably shouldn't be surprised.

"I'm looking for John and Mary Grayson. I understand that they are one of your aerial acts? I'd like to speak with them for a few minutes."

Gray eyes shuttered immediately at the mention of the Graysons. The stogie went back into the corner of Haly's mouth as he looked down and became embroiled in the papers on his desk.

"Sorry, can't help you. Have a nice day."

Haly appeared to become oblivious to the man still standing in the trailer.

Until a fist came down in the middle of his desk, causing papers to scatter and a hairline crack to form in the old formica of the desk.

"Look! I know they work for you! I've got playbills with them prominently displayed!"

The tone of voice became cajoling.

"I'm not the cops or the INS or anyone in authority. It isn't worth my life to be even seen with someone in authority. I just want to talk to them, ask a few questions. Just a few questions about gypsies. The Romany."

Haly looked back up at the man who had just broken his desk, eyeing the man's face. Or lack there of.

The man had no face. It wasn't burned, or scared, or horribly mutilated. It just wasn't there. There were slight indentations where the eyes should be, a protuberance where the nose should be. It was flat and still in the general vicinity of the mouth and where lips should be moving as the man asked his questions. The non-face was shadowed by the fedora he wore, but could not hide his lack of features.

"Everything okay boss?"

Haly looked around his visitor to the man standing in the door way. Inigo was watching, calculating, ready to throw a knife to protect his secrets. Protect all of their secrets. Haly saw the empty sheath on Inigo's arm. He felt a pang of regret. It was always empty.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Go get the contortionists ready to show me their new act, would ya?"

Haly waved the man off. He looked up at his visitor.

"You can't talk to the Graysons."

The faceless man looked from where the dark, swarthy individual had stood back to Pop Haly. For some reason, the idea that he had just missed death by inches was very prominent in his thoughts. His thoughts were brought back abruptly by Haly's statement.

"Why?"

"'Cause they're dead."

The words hit like physical blows.

"Dead?"

Haly nodded his head. He looked older for a moment, as if secrets and burdens weighed heavily on his frame. He took a deep pull on the cigar, the tip glowing like a red beacon in the twilight of the trailer.

"About four years ago, during an evening performance. One of the trapeze lines snapped just after Jon caught Mary. Jon might have survived if had let go of Mary and grabbed the other line. But he didn't and they dropped."

"The line snapped? Only one?"

"Yeah. It was ruled as an accident. A fluke. Case closed."

"But isn't that a little, well, odd? Wouldn't ropes for a trapeze have similar wear?"

Haly looked up at the man through a haze of smoke, wondering what the death of two small time aerialists could mean to him. He went to take another pull on his cigar and found nothing but ash. Like the taste in his mouth the day the Graysons died.

"You would think so, especially for a man as careful about his ropes as Jon Grayson."

Opening a drawer Haly rooted around until he found his box of cigars. Opening it, he was dismayed to find only one left. Shrugging, he pulled it out, clipped it and lit up.

"But that's what the authorities said. The end."

The tall man looked down at Haly. Something wasn't quite right….

"You don't believe it. You disagree with the verdict of the police. Why?"

Haly was becoming irritated with the man on the other side of his desk. Endless questions for people who don't like questions. At the same time, he felt the need to explain. No one else had ever asked, ever cared.

"Of course I don't believe it! It's because it's a load of hokum. We found the little throwing star thing in the center pole as we were taking down the tent. Inigo," Haly waved a hand in the direction of the swarthy man who had been in the door, "found some threads in the teeth of the thing. It looked like it came from Jon's ropes." Pop Haly shook his head. "It was a damn shame they way he and Mary died."

The stranger was beside himself with shock.

"You, you had proof that it was murder and didn't take it to the police?!?"

Haly looked up sharply at the man.

"Of course we couldn't take it to the police! We weren't that stupid. And who ever threw that little slice of death knew it too. There wouldn't have been evidence otherwise. We were lucky to be able to slip away when we did! Do you know how difficult it is to make a circus disappear? Quietly? I have too many people dependent on this little three ring act to stand idle while bright lights are shown into our closets. I had more secrets than just the Grayson's to keep." The next words seemed mumbled and lost in the smoky haze. "Haly's has too many secrets as it is. I'm just sorry we couldn't get the boy before we left."

The man barely heard the words, but latched on to them with the tenacity of a badger.

"Boy? There was a boy? What boy?"

Haly looked up in surprise.

"Their son, Dick. That must be an old playbill if it didn't have him on it. The kid drew as many spectators as several other acts combined. Only eight year old on the planet that could throw a quad."

Haly could still feel the remnants of pride, see the smiles on the Jon and Mary's faces the first time Dick had completed the quad successfully. He eyed the stranger in front of his desk, standing rigidly. It was time to end this interview.

The stranger couldn't believe it. A son! An heir! The legacy still lived! His attention snapped back to the hear and now and the dubious look that Haly was giving him.

"The boy. Where is he now? Tell me!"

Haly looked at the man, then stood up abruptly.

"Metropolis. Now, get out. I've answered too many of your damn questions. You don't work for me which makes you a mark. Marks aren't welcome behind the main tent. It's time for you to leave."

He knew he had out stayed his welcome. But just a few more questions, he was so close!

"Wait! Where in Metropolis? Who is he with? Is he still using his real name?"

Mr. Haly had had enough.

"Inigo! Josua! Get in here! Mr….. Questions needs to leave now.

The swarthy man reappeared, armed with several knives. With him was a man who was too big to fit through the door of the trailer. Not that that impeded his actions. He reached through the door way, grabbed the man who asked too many questions and hauled him outside.

The giant tossed the man next to the dirt road, toward the town of Traer and away from the circus. Inigo threw his hat into his chest with pinpoint accuracy. He looked at the man sitting in the settling dust.

"It is time for you to leave. Do not bother Haly's circus again or it will not be a hat I am throwing at your chest."

With this final threat, the knife-thrower and the strongman headed back to the circus.

The man sat for a moment in the dirt, then picked himself up, dusting himself off and settling his clothes. He turned and started walking back towards the small farming community. He'd actually driven out to the circus encampment, but he had no wish to test the swarthy man's threat. He'd finally recognized him. He was Inigo Booth, a man wanted for murder.

Pulling out a handkerchief, the man dumped the contents of a bottle on it and began to blot his face.

It was tempting to call the cops and shine a light on Haly's little operation. Watching the cockroaches scurry and hearing the skeletons in closets rattling would be vastly amusing.

The man began to peel the skin off of his face.

However, the last thing he needed was anyone asking too many questions about him either. And he was sure Haly would talk about his questioning visitor long and loudly.

Vic Sage increased his pace towards Traer. It was time for The Question to disappear from the breadbasket of America. It looked as if his next stop was going to be sight seeing in Metropolis.

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

Haly stood outside his trailer, a pensive look on his face as he chewed on the stub of his cigar.

His two bouncers walked up and stopped in front of him.

"He's gone boss, headed back into town. Don't think we'll see him again."

Haly rubbed his chin, then took the cigar and tapped the ash off the end.

"No, probably not."

Lost for a moment in thought, Haly's eyes sharpened on the two mismatched men in front of him.

"Spread the word boys. We're striking and leaving tonight. I want to be on the road west by midnight."

The two disparate companions were surprised.

"But Pops, the guys gone, headed for Metropolis. We ain't ever gonna see him again!"

Haly looked at Inigo, glad the man was on his side, realizing that he was safer with others to plan for him.

"I know Inigo, but once he finds that Dick isn't in Metropolis, I don't want him coming back and asking more questions. I'd rather he find an empty corn field."

He patted the man on the back.

"Pack 'er up!"

The men left standing in front of the trailer looked at each other and shrugged.

Josua shook his head.

"He's the boss!"

Both men turned and headed off to begin the process of the circus disappearing into the night.

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

Finally. Everything had fallen into place. The Car was parked in exactly the right place. He couldn't have positioned it better if he were driving. The big guy he'd persuaded to help him was cooling his jets and not being overly argumentative about it. The contingency plan was set and waiting. All he needed now was The Bat.

Batman swooped down on his decel cable towards his car. The evening had been much more profitable than he had first anticipated. Instead of a smuggler's warehouse, he'd found a drug lab. Batman's hand went briefly to his belt, reassuring himself that the camera with the memory stick was still there. The information it held was invaluable. He'd been able to get pictures of the Lithuanian ambassador murdering scientists. Also on the stick were the notes, formulae and processing procedure for a new drug that was just starting to hit the streets. The scientific name was 80% consonants with the vowels in all the wrong places. On the street, the drug was being called Enhance.

Batman landed lightly next to his sleek black car, operating his remote to disable the security system. Just as he popped the locks, he heard a young, childish scream. Turning, there was a small boy who could be no more than six or seven, barreling right for him. The kid was not watching where he was going, but running from the large, heavy man that was chasing behind him roaring at him in anger.

"Get back here you ungrateful little shit! Get back here or so help me I'll whale the tar out of you and you'll wish you'd never been born! Get back here!"

The man's words seemed to spur the frightened child into greater speeds, causing him to crash directly into Batman's waist, staggering him back a half step. The boy clutched at Batman's waist, he voice high and terrified.

"Joey! Joey! Don't let him get me! He'll kill me! Honest! I didn't do nuthin! I didn't Joey!"

At this point, Batman saw two bright blue eyes look up at who he was clutching, saw a tag of blonde hair, before the eyes widened in further terror and the child let out an almighty curdling shriek.

"YOU"RE NOT JOEY!"

The little boy back pedaled and swung around Batman, keeping the tall, looming figure under observation. Both looked up at the large man's imprecations, both having forgotten him in the moment of their collision.

"Get back here boy! Don't make me come after you!"

The child blanched and continued running down the alley, screaming for Joey.

Batman stepped into the path of the on coming man, making him stop in his tracks. The low gravelly voice was laced with menace and the hint of violence.

"What do you want with that boy?"

The large man stopped in his tracks, staring at the cowled figure before him. The kid hadn't said anything about dealing with The Bat.

"Nothing. Nothing. Really. The kid, he…"

Just as the man started to pour out his entire life's story, the both heard loud noises coming down the alley, Loud noises made by loud young men set upon causing mayhem and violence.

Batman refocused on this new threat. The Narrowz Madmen.

A gang of toughs came up the street towards where Batman and the other man were standing. Most were clad in leather and biker paraphernalia and all of them had weapons; chains, knives, crowbars, even a few guns were being brandished. Every aggressive stance they took shouted that they were looking for a fight.

The man standing next to Batman started backing away from both sources of violence.

" I ain't got nothin' to do with this. The kid paid my twenty bucks to chase him, that's it. He didn't say anything about Bats or Madmen or nuthin'. I'm outta here."

With that, the man turned tail and ran back in the direction he had come from.

Neither Batman nor the Madmen paid him any mind. The posturing was almost done and the fight was about to begin.

Batman felt confident against these thugs. He had the training, the nerve and the mindset to take them on. He'd only been doing this for about half a year, but in that time frame, the crime of Gotham had lessened. He was making a difference. A smirk crossed his face for a moment. He also had better toys.

Batman's hand moved down to his belt to palm two smoke capsules and a high decibel noise maker. Taking away sight and hearing would make this gang a walk in the park. Batman's hand encountered his waist.

Briefly looking down while still keeping an eye on the dangerous men approaching him, Batman realized that his utility belt was gone.

Wide blue eyes, a tag of hair underneath an indeterminate cap. Terror and apprehension in a young face before tearing down the alley. The kid had lifted his belt. The little shit.

Batman's attention was brought back to the present with a painful jolt to his ribs. One of the Madmen had gotten in close enough to take a swing at him with a crowbar. Thankfully, the Kevlar and ceramic plates held up. He'd only have a cracked rib. He grabbed the crowbar and yanked, pulling the tough closer and planted a fist in his face.

The fight was on.

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

The boy clutched his prize to his chest as he watched the fight from his perch high up on the building. As soon as he heard the Madmen coming down the street, he dove into the shadows and went for height. He didn't want to miss this battle. The Madmen said they could do it and he would be an unbiased witness. He'd spread the word that the Narrowz Madmen had taken on The Bat.

He had been nervous that the plan wouldn't work. That the guy he hired would back out or take the money and run. That the Madmen wouldn't come at his signal, letting him twist in the wind. His heart had been going a mile a minute. But he'd gotten it. He'd been surprised that the belt had turned a bright yellow when he was running down the alley with it. He'd immediately put it under his shirt. Bright colors and shadows just don't mix.

The fight was over. Batman had taken on several of the gang and knocked them into unconsciousness, but there were just too many of them. With a leg sweep to give himself maneuvering room, he'd backed to his car, gotten in and taken off. He hadn't done anything fancy, just driven off. The Car was known for having all sorts of gadgets and weapons on it. He eyed the belt in his hands. Maybe the remote for The Car was in the belt? It really hadn't been bright yellow before but that was a mystery he could figure out at his leisure. Right now, it was time to leave before someone spotted him.

Dick Grayson hopped up to the roof and wound his way among the tenements of the Narrows. He was heading for one of his hidey-holes to examine his prize in private.

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

The entire warehouse was in shambles. The lab equipment, fragile at best, now resembled broken tinker toys and shattered crystal, randomly scattered by an uncaring hand. The computers were hulking masses of burnt silicon and plastic, their priceless information reduced to random ones and zeros, useless and irretrievable. The one time Enhance factory was now an abattoir of equipment and machinery; of blood and bodies.

Viktoras Kaldowski's temper was shorter than usual. As he surveyed the warehouse, he came dangerously close to exploding. The operation represented a great deal of money and his reputation was at stake. He could see the profits from this venture bleeding away, just like the blood from the scientists that had died that evening.

He regretted killing them now. Not for the loss of life, but for the loss of information. Other than the now useless computers, the eggheads had been the only ones who had the formulary of Enhance. The drug that was going to put him at the top of the food chain and make the world sit up and take notice of his country.

Glancing over at the two men standing guard over a table, Viktoras grimaced. The stack of royal blue cakes seemed woefully small now, rather than the hefty opening profits it had represented at the start of the evening. That pile was going to diminish rapidly as well. He had to send several samples back to try and reverse engineer the processing and the components. Part of it would have to be sold flat out to cover the costs of the night's debacle. Some needed to be kept in reserve for his… retainers. That left a very small pile indeed to be placed against future endeavors.

There was nothing for it however.

Looking around once more, Viktoras did not see the broken equipment or carnage, instead he saw the man responsible for the state of his warehouse. The Batman.

Viktoras Kaldowski turned to his men.

"Get this place cleaned out. There is to be no trace that we were ever here in two hours. Get our two success stories in here to give you a hand. We're moving this operation into The Narrowz. We have a Bat to catch."

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

The Batman returned to The Cave, ready to chew iron and spit nails. Parking the car, he quickly got out, hooked the car up to the computer and changed its security algorithms. The last thing he needed was for it to go on a joy ride - without him. But it was a distinct possibility since the key to the car had been in his belt. Along with the rest of the evidence he had gathered that night.

The Batman heaved a sigh of disgust at how badly his night had ended, especially since it had started out so well. It would have been unqualified success, one might say.

Following a trail of information and drugs, the Batman had made his way to a warehouse in the harbor district. He had gotten there in time to catch the Lithuanian ambassador shooting several men on film. Moving quietly and carefully, he had gained access to their main computer terminal and been able to upload all of their files regarding the new drug Enhance that was just starting to hit the streets. The amount of information was substantial and the Batman was fairly certain that he had found the originating lab.

Setting off a bomb to destroy the computers and all other copies of the data had ruined any chance that the Batman may have had to leave undetected. But he couldn't allow the information to remain in the hands of these criminals. It would have been similar to leaving the atom bomb in the hands of the Nazis.

He'd gotten a nice work out wrecking the warehouse and taking out the thugs that worked for Viktoras Kaldowski. He had been about to take Kaldowski on when two metas had joined the fray, tossing around power and light like confetti.

He'd retreated then, still secure in the knowledge that he had crippled the Lithuanian ambassador's burgeoning business and would put paid to the business entirely within the week. That is, until a gang had decided to try and take him on and he found his belt missing. It had to have been lifted by the little kid that had run into him. He hadn't even been able to go after the kid as the gang had been in his face and wanting to test their prowess.

Without that information, the Lithuanian operation was crippled, but still in business. It was crucial that he get that memory stick back. Which meant finding the kid.

The Cave had been quiet for over an hour when Alfred made his way down the steps. From the screeching of tires and the destructive noises that had followed when the Batman had first returned, Alfred was fairly sure that something had gone wrong during the night's endeavors. He had decided to allow Master Bruce some time to calm his temper.

Upon his entrance to the cave, a very strange sight was laid out before him. Seated on a stool, dressed in sweats, Bruce Wayne had his night uniform laid out on a forensics table, dusting it.

An eyebrow reached towards Alfred's receding hairline.

"Master Bruce, is there a reason you are dusting your own clothing?"

Bruce looked up for a moment at the man who had been his friend and confidant for most of his life, then went back to work on his costume.

"I need a set of prints."

Alfred's other eyebrow joined the first.

"From your own clothing?"

Bruce Wayne felt a dull heat start creeping up his neck and over his face. How could he have let a kid take his belt?

"I really don't want to talk about it."

Alfred shook his head. Obviously, there was much more going on than he was privy to at the moment. He would have to get the details later when Master Bruce was feeling less defensive.

"Of course, but I do believe this is taking practice just a bit too far."

With this final comment, Alfred left to check on other matters, leaving the master of Wayne Manor to his own devices.

Bruce Wayne watched Alfred leave even as he started lifting prints from the suit. He would have to explain to him later. His advice had always been valuable to Bruce and only with his cooperation and help had the Batman become a reality.

Feeding the information into the computer, Wayne waited patiently for the results. The results came back close to what he expected. Several of the sets belonged to members of a gang, the Narrowz Madmen, who had rap sheets as long as his car. Several were too smudged to be identified with any accuracy and a few, including the smallest ones from around his waist, were unknown.

With a deep sigh, Wayne began shutting down the Cave for the day. It had been too much to hope for an identity to be attached to those small prints. Now, he'd just have to find the little prick the hard way.

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

A small slim shadow slipped between the two closely placed concrete stanchions. Moving like a whisper in the dark, it flitted down into the bowels of the subway station. Twisting, turning, clambering through access hatches, crawl spaces and climbing over the occasional flak fan, the shadow moved into the oldest areas of the station. Here, amidst equipment and mechanical rooms that had been abandoned due to obsolescence or just too hard to get to, a light turned on in a small, life safety fan room.

Dick was home.

He really liked this particular hidey-hole. He had 'nests' all over the Narrowz and a few even further out, but none seemed quite as secure as this one. For starters, this one was so far into the building that it never got cold, even when it was pulling in air in the middle of winter. The hose bibs were never shut off for fear of freezing and, best of all, the electricity was still on.

Moving confidently into the room, happy to be safe if just for awhile, Dick moved around the space, making sure everything was where he had left it. He'd gotten chased down into this part of the station over a year ago by a mark who had decided to get his wallet back and beat up the perpetrator. Dick felt chagrined that the guy had even caught on, but in his flight from his pursuer, he'd discovered this underground world and the maze of it passages. It had saved his butt more than once.

Flopping down on the pile of blankets and clothes that served him as a bed, Dick slipped off his tennis shoes and the ballet slippers underneath, happily wiggling his toes. Removing several jackets, each just a little smaller than the last, Dick finally pulled out his triumph of the evening, the belt from the Bat man!

Grabbing some water and jerky, Dick munched his dinner while looking over the belt. It really was bright yellow! But it hadn't been a moment ago… putting his hand on the belt, Dick watched the color on the belt slowly changed to the same flesh tone as his hand. Cool.

Forgetting about the food, Dick started investigating and pulling apart his prize.

A couple of hours later, he was amazed at the amount of stuff this guy carried around. And all of it dinky!

Everything either folded up or was just really small. His batarangs folder over on hinges, snapping out to rigid lines, the rappelling hook thing folded in on itself to no larger than a bulky pen before snapping out to its full size. There were tiny ball bearings; each with a bat stamped on it, as well as little bat shaped thingy's with electronics on the back. There was even a bat credit card. Dick wondered who in Gotham would take the thing, but figured he had to gas that monster car somewhere.

Guess pay at the pump was convenient for everyone.

Dick also found several items that looked like they could be plugged into a computer. He'd have to figure those out later. Some of the items he left completely alone. He'd followed the Batman around figuring out his routs for several months. During that time, the Bat had pulled out items from his belt that had exploded, deployed gas that made people choke, released a liquid that acted like acid, or gave off an electrical charge. He had no intentions of getting himself fried, burned or blown up. If he couldn't figure out its basic functions with simple observation, it went into a pile that he had designated dangerous.

This was the best lift that Dick had ever made. Thinking about what he was going to do with his haul, he slowly began modifying the belt itself for his own use. He liked its chameleon property of blending and thought it would be a nice addition to his own belt of tools.

Slowly, ideas began to unfurl to Dick as to what to do with the Bat's stuff.

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