Friendly Fire
Tonight
“Doctor? We have an injured BPD officer on his way in.”
The ER doctor on duty was in the midst of sewing up a kid’s gashed knee, victim
of a bike skidding on a gravel driveway. “Put it on speaker.”
The radio report from the ambulance came from overhead. “Male, twenty-three,
three bullet wounds, two superficial, one in the left arm, one in the right leg,
both went through, minor damage. Third bullet is to the upper left chest
quadrant. Bullet is still in victim. BP 100 over 60 and dropping. Patient is
unconscious. Shock. Probable internal bleeding.
“ETA?”
“Three minutes.”
Last Week
“I think this is a stupid idea, man—you get busted and you’re screwed big time.”
“Ain’t happenin’.”
“It could.”
“Nobody likes a snitch. No body.”
“Yeah, well you end up with a body and there’s gonna be hell to pay.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever. C’mon, you in or not?” He paused for effect, “Because of
you ain’t after this , then we’re gonna hafta talk about things, my nervous
friend.”
The smaller man didn’t like this—it was dangerous and dumb and he hated
dangerous more than anything, especially when he was the one who was looking to
take the fall. But now he knew what they wanted to do and they knew he knew so
that meant that he had no choice so… “I guess…”
“Good. Now pay attention…”
Six Months Ago
Dick Grayson knew something was up; any idiot would know that with both eyes
closed and his ears stuffed with cotton. The thing he didn’t know was what
specifically was going on and that was the key. He’d thought things were going
better at work—he’d just gotten a promotion, in fact and he had the sergeant’s
stripes to prove it.
He’d made sergeant at twenty-three, and he was pretty sure that was a record for
the BPD. He was the youngest cop to manage it that he knew of, anyway. In
practice what it meant was a little more money, that he had less time to work
cases and about ten times more paperwork to do, plus he had the resentment of
the thirty-five year old cops who were still pounding a beat and getting passed
over year after year.
Sure, he knew there was resentment building up—no forty-year-old wants to take
orders from someone half their age, but—hell, suck it up.
But Dick was a long way from naïve. He knew he needed to watch his back.
Three Weeks Ago
“Just be careful, Dick. I know you can take care of yourself but this is
something different for you so, please…Alfred worries, okay? Take it easy for
his sake, will you?”
“Sure, you know me, I’m always careful.” He smiled, making light the way he did
when something was important and he knew people were worried about him,
especially when Bruce pretended that he was just protecting Alf. “So, dinner
next week?”
“Meet me after the Board meeting on Thursday, we can try that new French place
that just opened.”
“’New French place? C’mon, Bruce—Harrigan’s for steak.”
Bruce pretended annoyance, though he was hoping Dick would pick up on the game.
Of course he’d rather have a steak instead of a soufflé. “You have any idea how
much cholesterol there is in one of those damn things?”
“Not like a damn soufflé, right? Add in the butter on the potato and the beer
along with the piece of dead cow and we’ll be lucky to survive the meal.”
“Fine, Harrigan’s and try to make it on time for once.” Dick gave a half
laugh/smile and nodded as he headed for the door. “And I was serious about being
careful; you know I don’t like you working undercover without any backup down
there. Bad odds.”
Dick gave him one of his ‘I realize you’re worried and I wish you’d drop it’
looks. “I’ll be fine; no one thinks I’m there to clean out the crap and as far
as anyone knows I’m just some wet behind the ears rookie.”
“Who made sergeant in record time and is getting a rep as a sharp cop who’s
cleaning up your precinct. I mean it; you watch your back and don’t be too proud
to call in the Titans or the JLA if you need them.”
Two Years Ago
“I don’t give a rat’s ass who your daddy is, junior. You work with me, you do
what I say—you got that?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I hear you.”
“And you pull any coming in late shit because your social life is more important
to you than your job, you’ll be outta her so fast your rich little head will
spin. Questions?”
“Just who drives?”
“Me. Always. Get in, shut up and don’t annoy me.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Don’t smart mouth me, kid.” There was something about the new kid which rubbed
Amy Rohrbach wrong and it bothered her—sure, he was a rich kid who’d bought his
badge, but it was more than that. Why the hell would a kid like him want to be a
damn cop? Didn’t make sense.
“No, Ma’am.”
Tonight
“The ambulance with the cop is here.”
“We’re getting calls from the media and the Mayor wants to come in.”
“Deal with it.”
They had examining cubicle number seven prepped and ready for the cop when he
was wheeled in on the gurney, three more cops following at a run and two police
cruisers parked outside followed by four police motorcycles roaring up. The
parking area looking like a nightclub with flashing red and blue lights, police
radios crackling indecipherably.
“BP?”
“90 over 55 and dropping. Pulse 125.”
“Start saline and get x-ray down here now. Who’s on call for surgery tonight?”
“Bill Albanese, he’s on his way. OR number two is being prepped.”
The senior nurse, Diane was there, doing her job. She’d been an ER nurse for
over twenty years and she hated when cops were brought in, almost as much as she
hated when kids were here and you knew there was no way they were going to make
it. “He’s just a baby.”
Ashley, one of the other nurses too a second to look at his face as she cut his
uniform off him. “They said twenty-three.”
Diane just shook her head. “A baby.”
Two Weeks Ago
“I’m telling you, Dick, I’ve heard things and you need to be careful.”
“I’m always careful, Amy, you know me.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.” She poured some milk into her coffee. “I’m
serious. Wear your vest, okay?”
He passed on the box of donuts for an apple and a bottled water. “I do wear the
vest, and I always watch my back, okay?” He turned on the smile but this time
she wasn’t buying.
“Bullshit, Dick—some of the boys are pretty pissed that you jumped to sergeant
ahead of them and you’re getting a rep as a Boy Scout—not a good thing around
here. You’re making trouble for yourself, kid.”
He knew that and he also knew that there was a contract being negotiated for
taking him down. His files had been rifled and both his car and his bike had
been vandalized in the precinct lot. On one hand that sucked but on the other it
meant he was getting close and had them running scared. “Don’t worry about me,
Amy. I know what I’m doing.”
She shook her head. “I hope so, but I doubt it.”
Last Month
Two cops talking.
“So we’re agreed?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. No problem.”
They both jumped when a rat pushed over an empty beer bottle, causing the thing
to shatter to loudly in the tight alley.
“And make sure no one can tie us to…”
“No shit, okay? Like I was going to sign a note and leave it—I ain’t dumb,
y’know.”
“I’ll believe that when this thing is finished.”
Two and a Half Years Ago
“I still don’t understand why, in the name of God you wanted to do this—and to
do it this way. Unbelievable.”
Dick didn’t bother to answer. He knew Bruce didn’t get it and wasn’t surprised
but a simple ‘well done’ or ‘call me if you need some help’ would have been a
nice change.
“Incredible—do you have any idea the danger you’re putting yourself into with
this hair-brained scheme? And the chances of it succeeding are, well, not
terrific. I wish you’d talked this over with me before you went ahead with…”
Alfred walked in with his usual psychic timing.
“Master Dick, if I may say how terribly proud I am of you at this moment. You
have chosen a difficult course for yourself but I’ve every confidence in you and
know you’ll continue to make all of us proud.” Alfred put a warm hand on Dick’s
shoulder. They were in a nondescript reception hall immediately after BPD’s
latest police graduation. Dick was one of seventy-three new officers and he’d be
getting his assignment later that day. It didn’t matter where he ended up; the
entire force was corrupt and his goal was to clean out the rot from the inside.
Bruce thought he was making a mistake and had voiced his opinion since the day
he found out Dick had passed the application process.
Tonight
“He’s stopped breathing.”
“Bag him.”
Sixteen Years Ago
It was rehearsal. They were between the matinee and the evening performance and
John Grayson wanted to go through the quad a few more times but, “John, please,
he’s too young for this. I think we should wait a year or two. Please.”
“He’ll be fine, Mary—won’t you, Dick? You know what to do; first get the height
which will give you the speed. Wait for the peak and start your tuck as you let
go of the bar. Make sure the tuck is a s tight as you can make it. Spin, spin,
spin, spin and straighten out and I’ll be there to catch you. You’ve got all the
pieces, now we just have to put them together. Okay? Let’s try it.”
Dick waited till he had the needed height, not looking at the sawdust fifty feet
below the apex of his swing. At the moment of weightlessness he let go of the
bar, pulled his legs up and grabbed his knees, letting the spin begin and
pushing it through, almost too fast to count the rotations. His innate sense of
spatial perception let him know when he was done and he straightened out to feel
the instant slap of his father’s hands on his wrists, holding him in a vise grip
until his feet were safely back on the platform. He heard the sound of thin
applause coming from the rest of the cast and the roustabouts below.
The quad—he’d done the quad!
Last Night
“He’s supposed to be on that coke bust down at the docks tomorrow night. It’s
perfect.”
“I don’t know…”
“Excuse me? You getting cold feet?”
“It ain’t that, it’s just that he’s a sergeant and he’s a good guy. I don’t see
why we can’t just scare him or let him in for a few bucks so he’ll shut up. I
don’t see why we have to off him.”
“Fifteen years in a fucking jail cell sound like a good enough reason?”
“I dunno, Jake, I’m getting a bad feeling about this…”
“He’s suspicious, I’m sure of it and so that means that he’s gonna go talk to
someone; maybe the captain, maybe the papers, maybe his rich daddy—you wanna
deal with that?”
“No, but why do we hafta kill him? I mean…”
“You in or you out? Cause if you’re out I wanna know about it right now,
Chickenshit.” It was a clear threat and Billy didn’t do well with threats.
“Yeah, Jake, I’m in. You know I’m in.”
“Good, cause you were makin’ me kinda nervous and I hate that—and you change
your mind, you’ll take the fall, you hear me?”
“Yeah, sure. I hear you.”
“We’re gonna be workin’ with him—the Captain made sure of that so it should be
easy enough…”
This Afternoon
“Hey Sarge, you wanna get a brew when we get outta here?”
Dick looked up from his paperwork and glanced at his watch. 4:30. The shift
ended in an hour and then he was going to get a quick dinner and prep for the
bust down by the docks. Word was that a shipment of over nine hundred kilos of
high-grade cocaine was expected and the plan was to stop it and make a bunch
o‘busts. Timetable on that was about seven-thirty. Three hours from now.
None of the other cops were supposed to know and he’d be working as Sergeant
Grayson tonight instead of Nightwing. Grayson would be in the standard
gear—helmet, bulletproof vest and would be armed (not that he’d ever used his
gun in the line of duty).
He knew a few of the dirtier cops in the precinct were involved and so he hoped
to nab them as well—he’d been doing his homework on this for a couple of months
and the evidence was almost locked up. All he needed was tonight and they’d be
in cells with cases so tight even a Bludhaven cop would be hard pressed to let
them go. Add to that the fact that both Jimmy Olsen and Clark had promised him
high profile articles with follow ups to make sure t didn’t get swept under the
official rug and things would be good.
He’d been making drug busts since he was ten years old. This wasn’t anything new
and he knew what to watch out for.
He’d be fine.
“Thanks, Steve but I think I’d better catch up on this backlog; another time,
okay?”
“Sure, no problem.”
Fourteen Years Ago
“C’mon, Dick, think. You’ve just entered the warehouse. It’s pitch dark.
You don’t hear anything, but you saw three men go in ten minutes before you.
What do you conclude?”
“That they’re hiding?”
“Think.”
He tried, he really did. The men went into the building and now they weren’t
there so that meant…they were hiding or they’d left or they were in a section he
didn’t know about. Maybe they’d figured out that Batman and Robin were on to
them and had set them up. Maybe it meant they were waiting to spring some kind
of a trap on them right this minute.
“What you do? What are your options?”
“Um, leave?”
Batman waited for something else.
“Turn on the lights so we can see them?”
“And then they’d see us as well.”
Uh, yeah. Wait for back up? Call the cops? Or…of course, you nitwit—“Use the
heat scanner and look for body images.”
“Good. And then?”
“Find out what weapons they may have by using the night goggles, disarm them and
then take them down.”
The Bat almost smiled. “Now you’re thinking.”
Tonight
“Wayne residence.”
“This is Captain Nelson from the BPD. Is Mr. Wayne available?”
Alfred went cold; his voice remained as detached as ever. “I’m afraid he’s
unable to come to the phone at the moment, may I give him a message?”
“Are you a relative?”
“No, I’m not. Might I ask the reason for your call?”
“I’m afraid I need to speak to a family member of Sergeant Grayson’s. Would you
please have him call this number as soon as he gets your message?”
Ten minutes later, call made, Bruce and Alfred were on their way to Rabe
Memorial in the heart of Bludhaven.
Dick was on his way to surgery to remove a bullet lodged close to his heart. He
had internal damage and massive blood loss.
“Why the hell wasn’t he wearing his vest?”
“The officers with him said that he was, sir.”
Five Years Ago
“Alfred, did Dick call this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir, he informed me that he regrets that he won’t make it down this
weekend but perhaps next week.”
“Why? I thought it was all planned.”
Alfred allowed himself a small smile. “I believe it involves a young woman named
‘Lori’.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Indeed.”
“Did he say what they’d be doing that’s so important?”
“Neither of us discussed the details of their plans, no.”
Bruce actually smiled, “Hey, that’s great, good for him—a chip off the old
block.”
“Let us sincerely hope not.”
This Morning
“Dick, I’m getting a bad vibe about this—I think they’re on to you. I wish you’d
wait for more back up or that you’d at least pick your own men to be with you.”
She stood in front of him in the back hallway, blocking his escape. “In fact,
I’ll go.”
“No, you won’t. You have Kevin’s birthday tonight and you know you’ll never let
me forget it if you miss it just to cover my back.”
He was stubborn and she suspected he’d done stuff like this before but still—it
was so dangerous and he didn’t seem to understand the lengths the others would
go to stop him if they thought he was about to blow the whistle.
“Don’t be a damn martyr, all that gets you is dead, Dick.”
He smiled, laughed. “God, you’ve really been watching way the hell to many soap
operas.” His smile softened. “I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe some of your friends—you know, your friends could help tonight.”
“My friends have their own business to attend to. Not to worry, okay?
I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Count on it.” At least she hoped so. She knew, well, she suspected what he was
doing and moreover, she suspected who he was at night. She had mixed feelings
but he was making a difference and—Jesus—Bludhaven all the help it could get.
Two Years Ago
“So what d’ya make a year, my man? Forty thou? Fifty? You have a house your wife
is proud of? You drivin’ a car which ain’t gonna crap out on you every time it
rains? How about your kids—three, ain’t it? So you think you’re gonna be able to
send ‘em to some fancy college so they can get their asses outta the Haven and
have a real life? You play ball with me and you can, my friend.”
“The higher ups are watching. Get caught and…”
“You get caught and you know what happens? Nuthin’ happens, that’s what
happens.”
Jake caught the drift but, “You mean the Commish is on the take? Shit—I never
woulda thought…I mean he always seemed so straight arrow.”
“He knows where his bread is buttered. Now, you wanna play ball wit us or you
wanna keep living on credit and waitin’ for retirement in twenty years?”
Jake hesitated. He wasn’t a crooked cop. He wasn’t as crooked as most of the
guys, anyway but this was so damn much money. He could take Mary on a cruise
this winter and the kids could go someplace better than City College. Hell, he
might even get that new hunting rifle he was eyeballin’… “Yeah, okay. Sure.” He
rubbed his hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the dirt. “Yeah, I’ll do
it.”
“I knew you were a smart one, my man. You won’t be sorry.”
Jake had his doubts.
Tonight
“You mean that cop is Bruce Wayne’s son? Ohmigod.”
“He isn’t to be disturbed, is that understood? I’ll deal with him personally.”
The head of the hospital had offered his own office to Mr. Wayne so that the
press or gawkers wouldn’t bother him while he waited for news about his son. The
initial reports were that the two bullets to his limbs were minor but the one
lodged in his chest was potentially fatal if the thing shifted. It was close to
his sternum and if he moved the wrong way the kid could seize up with instant
cardiac arrest.
He took a breath before knocking on his office door. Rich or poor, parents all
reacted the same when this kind of thing happened. They waited. They prayed if
that was their inclination. They asked how this could have happened. They begged
for reassurance that their relative would be all right, that the doctors were
the best for the job, that everything would go well and by morning they’d see
their loved one sitting up eating a good meal and chafing to get back to work.
In fact, it sounded like the kid could go either way. Three gunshot wounds; two
minor and the third—not so much. A bullet to the chest, near the heart and with
enough blood loss to rattle anyone’s cage.
Wayne was sitting in his leather chair behind his desk, turned towards the
window and staring out, obviously seeing nothing. The old man—the kid’s
grandfather? Whatever; he was on the couch, sitting as though he was in a
straight-backed chair and doing his best to keep his composure. Neither spoke or
acknowledged him.
“May I get you anything? Coffee? Would you like some food brought in?”
Wayne didn’t move, the old man answered. “No, thank you. Is there any word yet?”
The director shook his head. “As soon as we know anything you’ll be informed.”
He turned to leave them alone but paused. “I’ve had the switchboard hold your
calls but we’ve heard from the mayor of Gotham and Commissioner Gordon. I
believe they both said they’d were on their way. If you’d rather not be
disturbed, I understand.”
“You’re very kind, thank you.”
And if they managed to save Wayne’s kid then maybe there’d be a new wing for
this dump on Wayne’s grateful dime.
Four Days Ago
“You know I have more faith in you than just about anyone on this planet, but I
think you’re being a little foolhardy about this, Dick. At least let me know
when the raid is going to happen so either I or some other member of the League
can keep an eye on things.”
They were sitting on top of the Gotham State Building, Nightwing and Superman.
“C’mon, Clark. You know I can handle myself—you’re not going all neurotic on me,
are you?”
“Hardly likely, but anything happens to you I’ll have to deal with Bruce and
that wouldn’t be pretty.”
Dick laughed at that. “Bull, you know you’ve got him whipped, Mr. Superman,
sir.”
And Clark also knew the risks Dick was taking here in Bludhaven, risks even
Bruce didn’t know about. “You’ve been fingered.”
“I know that. It’s not like it’s the first time or anything. Hell, Joker was out
to get me from the time I was twelve. If I can survive him, I can survive a
bunch of frigging drug importers and dirty cops.” He pulled out a jumpline.
“C’mon, let’s fly.”
“I’m serious about this—you can’t do this by yourself, you need backup you can
count on.”
Dick sighed in some exasperation. You think the Bat’s stubborn? Try Superman.
Cripes, what was he, a rookie, f’chrissake? “Fine. You want to watch, watch, but
don’t butt in unless there’s a reason—deal?”
Clark knew it was as much as he’d get from the young man and he planed on
keeping an eye on the operation, anyway. “Deal.”
Superman took off; saying something about Lois having dinner ready and Dick
smiled at the thought of Superman being this whipped. Well, whatever.
And he needed backup like he needed another hole in his head.
Tonight
“I want to know who shot him, Alfred.”
“A drug dealer shot him, sir.”
“I don’t believe that any more than you do.”
Six weeks Ago
“I’m telling you, Jake, I’m not sure about this. Grayson’s a decent guy; it
don’t feel right.”
“So you’re gonna chicken out, that what you’re sayin’?”
“No, no—it’s just that, you know. It just don’t feel right, that’s all.”
“Okay, Billy. You like the guy? Good for you, but I’ve been tellin’ you all
along; we go down, you’ll go down farther and faster and longer than anyone. You
got that?”
“C’mon, Jake, you know you can count on me. You know that, right?”
“Damn well better be able to, is all I’m sayin’”
Yesterday
“It’s tomorrow, Bruce. The bust; it’s tomorrow night and I’ll be fine. Cripes,
will you lay off? To listen to you, you’d think I’d never run a drug bust
before. In fact, you’re sounding like an old lady so go for a run, call the
bimbo of the week, get laid and relax, will you, for the love of God?”
“Dick, this isn’t funny. This gang is a bad one and…”
“And I have Clark watching my back and the Titans and the JLA on speed dial.
Chill, will you?”
I’m concerned…”
“Bruce…” His voice was losing it’s patience. “Someday we’ll laugh about this.”
There was some noise in the background. “Roy’s here, we’re catching a flick.
Later.”
“Dick, wait a second…” But he’d already hung up.
This afternoon
“Shit, Jake—you can’t do that. I mean…shit.”
Jake didn’t say anything, didn’t bother to look up, just kept replacing the
kevlar lining in Sergeant Grayson’s vest with some heavy, folded upholstery
fabric he’d found in a dumpster over in the fashion district. If no one looked
too closely the vest was the same it was yesterday or last week. Same covering.
Same closings, same weight, same heft.
The only difference was that now it would have the bullet stopping power of
cotton fabric.
Twelve Years Ago
“Hurts, does it?”
“…It’s okay.”
They were down in the cave after patrol. Robin had taken a fall from a fire
escape and twisted his leg pretty badly. There was some blood but the real
damage seemed to be a sprain and possibly some pulled tendons or ligaments.
“You weren’t careful, Dick. You’re not careful, you can get hurt.”
The kid looked like he wanted to snap out some piece of sarcasm but changed
mid-stream and just nodded. “I know.”
“Let Alfred take a look at that; he’ll know what to do for it and take it easy
for a couple of days. You’ll be as good as new.”
Robin nodded again. “It won’t happen again.”
Bruce smiled to himself as he walked up the long staircase to the Manor. Dick
was probably wrong and it would happen again, but he knew the youngster would do
everything he could to prevent it. Next time he’d be more prepared.
Later Tonight
The hospital director knocked on his office door again. “Mr. Wayne? Your son is
out of surgery and the doctors have removed the bullet. He’s not out of danger
yet, but this is a good sign.”
“I’d like to see him.”
“He’s being readied to move to recovery and you’ll have to wait until he’s moved
to a room…well, all right. I think it will be fine this one time so long as you
don’t do anything to disturb him. And you have to understand that he’s still
under anesthesia and has suffered major trauma.”
Wayne nodded and was lead to Recovery by the director, avoiding the crowd of
concerned police, reporters and politicians.
Dick had oxygen tubes in his nose, IV’s in his hand and throat tube in place. He
wasn’t moving.
The nurse came over. “He’s breathing under his own power and his signs are
strong. It’s still early, but so far it’s encouraging.”
“Where are the surgeons? I’d like to speak with them if I may.”
The surgeon left the desk where he was filling out paperwork when he saw Wayne
and came over to where the man was watching Dick’s shallow breathing.
“I think he’ll make it, so long as we avoid infection, pneumonia and a few other
problems. It will be a while, but I sure he’ll have good care. It was a clear
reference to Bruce’s wealth and connections. Bruce didn’t care. He gently pulled
Wayne aside and into the now quiet OR. “This is between you and me, Mr. Wayne,
but I think you should see this.” He uncovered a cart filled with used surgical
instruments, dirty sponges, gloves, pieces of gauze. Under a bloody disposable
drape were the remains of Dick’s bullet proof vest. Covered in blood, the doctor
handed it to Bruce. “If I were you, if he were my son, I’d want to find out
everything I can about this.”
A Month Later
The internal police findings exonerated the officers on the drug raid,
maintaining that while the shooting was regrettable, it was an accident and no
one was to be held responsible or disciplined. Blame, if blame there must be,
was put simply on the chaos of the situation itself and the confusion of the
raid.
Sergeant Grayson performed his job admirably and with courage. He was
recommended for two citations and it was hoped that BPD would have the good
fortune of attracting more officers of his caliber.
On other fronts the bullet which was removed from his chest was misplaced by the
evidence officer but a thorough search would be conducted.
His bullet proof vest was never recovered from the hospital.
Ten Years Ago
“I told you, Bruce—I told you! I can still turn the quad—even with my added
height and weight. I can still do it!”
Bruce smiled at Dick, seeing the boy’s pride in his own heritage and the
knowledge that he hadn’t lost everything when his parents were killed.
Six Weeks Later
Officer William Demarest died of what appeared to be a massive heart attack late
one night while walking his dog.
By standers said they’d found him collapsed on the sidewalk with the yellow lab
standing over him. He seemed frightened and it was assumed that he may have been
the victim of a mugging attempt.
BPD officer Jacob Cohen was killed in a one-car accident after an evening of
drinking with friends in a local bar.
Sergeant Richard Grayson continued on medical leave but was expected to return
to light duty within a few weeks.
For his own safety and over his objections, he was quietly transferred to a
different precinct.
5/30/08
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