Case File 2738 Epilogue: Gone Missing
Part Two
Author's Note: Thanks to my little
gear head son for the computer info…don’t mess with the lad. Trust me on this
one. Computer Boy has powers we can’t even comprehend.
* * *
“So do you want the good news or the bad
news?”
Dick gave her a tired look; the day was not going well at all. “…The good?”
“There isn’t any. Okay, you had your lap top stolen and while you were a clever
boots to triple password protect it, you really should have asked me or Tim
first.”
Cripes. “Because…?”
“Because I tried to go in and wipe it for you but it seems that whoever took the
computer already removed the hard drive.”
“Meaning?” Meaning he was screwed.
“Meaning, my little dumpling, that if the bad guys know what they’re doing, or
if they have a smart teenager next door who knows what they’re doing, they can
get anything they want off your hard drive as easy as putting a CD in and
hitting ‘open’.” She saw the blank look on Dick’s face. “Have you ever heard of
BIOS? No? Okay, pay attention. It’s the part of the computer, a little bitty
chip which reads DOS…Disk Operating System, like Windows XP or something like
that. Basically—I’ll use small words for you, Boy Wonder—it bypasses any
password. You could have your hard drive pass worded up the wazoo and it
wouldn’t matter. You take the HD out of your computer, plug it in and the second
machine will read it like it was a music disk or a floppy.”
The horror of the situation was clear. His entire computer, all his therapy
sessions, his personal journal, his case research, his personal
photos—everything was free for the taking. Jesus.
“Any word on Alfred?”
Dick shook his head. Nothing other than the note this morning asking for a
billion dollars in two days or else.
“Any thoughts on who did this?”
He picked up his jacket, ready to leave. Obviously it was planned and not just
some random theft—both his computer and the shrink’s notes stolen the same day?
Y’think?
“Look, Dick—I’m not saying that someone did manage to get into your hard drive.
Maybe they just got what they needed from the shrink’s notes.”
Dick shook his head. “Big help.”
* * *
Batman questioned the doctor, this time with the help of both Superman and
Wonder Woman, none of them in a good mood. The poor man insisted that he had no
idea and while he realized that Mr. Grayson was the target of the theft—that it
wasn’t random, he had no idea who the thief could be.
Next they asked if he had known that Mr. Grayson had been keeping his own
version of the sessions and had continued after the sessions had been
terminated. He denied knowing anything about that, even though Dick said that he
was the one who suggested it in the first place.
With all the information now potentially flying free, the list of people who
would have reason to want to get their hands on it was growing by the minute.
Everyone from the Bat Family’s known enemies to anyone who had contact with the
JLA to anyone who might have a reason to want to damage the psychologist himself
through having him discredited.
Meanwhile, Dick and Bruce were close to distraught about Alfred and what might
be happening to him. Captive by God knew who, enduring God knew what and under
God knew what conditions. Finally Clark took Bruce by the arm and told him to
get a hold of himself or he’d be no use to anyone, not the League nor Alfred if
he didn’t calm down and focus.
Back at the Batcave, he found Dick on the main computer. Looking over his
shoulder he was slightly surprised to see what appeared to be the contents of
his therapy journal. “You made a back up?”
“Of course I did.”
“So we know exactly what we’re dealing with? ‘Could be helpful.”
“Which is why I’m going over it. Here, check this.” There was an entry from
about six months ago; “I shouldn’t have told the shrink about Roy’s addiction
problems. I know this is going to come back and I could see on his face that he
didn’t really believe me when I told him I’ve played around a little with some
pot and went to my share of keggers in school, but never did anything hard. I
even told him I was the one who got Roy into rehab, both times, but he seems to
think it was guilt that made me do it. He even asked some pretty pointed
questions about where all the drugs we bust end up and I know he didn’t believe
me when I told him that it ends up in evidence lockers. Shit.”
“You tried pot?”
“I was in college. Sure I tried it. Haven’t you?” Dick saw the look. “Of course,
your body is a temple. Stupid me.”
From two months further back: “I told him about that crush I had on Donna
back when we were kids and he seems to think it’s incestuous. Hell, yes it is!
She’s my sister, f’God’s sake. I couldn’t nail her—it would be totally wrong.
Besides, Roy staked that claim when we were fourteen.”
Three months further: “I know Bruce is disappointed in my choices. He doesn’t
get why I’m a cop on the beat in ‘Haven. He thinks it’s a waste of my time, a
waste of my training and nothing I can do will make him understand that it’s
important to me—not just to do this but to do it on my own terms. Crap…he’s been
disappointed in me since I dropped out of Hudson. I knew it then and I know
nothing’s changed. He wanted the whole nine yards, the Harvard MBA, the corner
office, the frigging Saville Row suits lined up in the closet but I can’t do
that. I just frigging can’t. It would kill me. I just wish to fuck he’d listen
to me about this, but he just turns all Bat and then it’s a waste of breath.”
Bruce paused. “You really feel this way?”
“Well, yeah.”
Bruce stopped, looked at the entry again, rereading it. “When this is over,
we’ll talk about it again.”
Dick nodded. “I’d like that; if you really listen to me.”
He was about to say something but changed his mind at the last second. “All
right.”
* * *
“Batman? We have a lead.”
“Go ahead Oracle.”
“A two white teens, approximate ages 15 or 16, were seen running from Dick’s car
when it was broken into. We have security pictures of them from a bank on the
corner and we’ve made tentative ID’s based on the film. I’ll send it to your
computers.”
They were generic kids, punks, the kind of kids who got a charge out of scaring
little old ladies. Wearing too big jeans falling down and hoodies with the hoods
pulled up. The tentative ID’s came up with their arrest sheets. These were not
nice boys; these were thugs in training.
“Okay, who’s going to pick them up?”
“I believe that Clark is already on it and expects to have them in a few
minutes. You want to meet him down at the Zee?”
“We’re on our way.”
* * *
They were our basic punks; angry, surly, low-life losers. Clark, Bruce and Dick
had seen hundreds like them. They were cliches and ones they were used to
dealing with.
Three well-known heroes took the wind out of their sails quickly enough though
and they were happy to talk, especially since ‘The asshole stiffed us.’
“Which asshole would that be, boys?” Nightwing was playing good cop tonight.
“You let us know and maybe we could put in a good word for you. I mean if you’re
not lying to us.”
“Or we could just take you in and let you sit in a cell for a few weeks. Your
choice.” Superman wasn’t playing nice tonight.
“You know—the bitch who paid us to trash that car. ‘Said we should take whatever
we wanted but to hand over the computer—that pissed me off. My kid brother needs
one for school, y’know?”
“Clearly you’re a good family man. You want to tell us who you made this deal
with?”
“I dunno—no name. Just some woman, high class. Nice dresser. She was a dog but
she had ton of money on her back, you can tell, y’know?”
“And where might we find this dog?” Dick was still being nice. For now.
“We get off if we tell you, right? That was the deal.”
“Well, we said that we’d put in a good word for you and that’s about the best
you’re gonna get, boys. ‘Not to be negative, but I’ve seen your rap sheets and
they ain’t pretty.”
“How did she get in contact with you?” When Superman asks a question, punks tend
to answer.
“In the park. She came up to us. I swear she did. Asked us if we were interested
in some easy money.” The lead punk was scared, trying to hide it though he was.
This was the major leagues now and he knew he could be sent up for a long time
if he played this wrong.
“You sure that you don’t know anything more than that, boys?” Nightwing seemed
so solicitous, concerned about them. The kids knew it was bullshit and all he
wanted was information. ‘Didn’t matter; these guys held the keys and all the
cards. Screw it.
“She gave me her cell number.” He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a creased,
dirty piece of paper and handed it over.
Nightwing smiled at them. “Thank you, boys. You’ve been very helpful. Get home
safe now, y’hear?”
“That’s it?”
“What else did you want?”
They were being let go. They were ahead of the game. This was fine.
TBC
4/21/08
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