Case File 2738 Epilogue: Gone Missing

Part Three

“So has anyone found out where Selina is now?”

“We’re looking but it’s likely she’s still in Asia.”

“But she could have had some of her flunkies steal…”

“She could, but it’s doubtful. You know she prefers to do her own work.”

Dick nodded, yes; she always was a hands on kind of woman. “What about Talia? I mean, I know you still have a thing for her, but I never trusted the bitch—and with pretty good reason.”

“Talia wouldn’t do this kind of thing; too base for her. She’d have more refinement than a blatant theft and a half-assed ransom note.” Bruce was still staring at the monitor, not that there was anything new there.

I still don’t think we can just rule them out so easily. It’s not like we’ve never had run-ins with them and either one of them has motive and the abilities to…”

“It wasn’t one of them. Drop it.”

Dick glanced over, surprised by the vehemence of the retort and wondering what brought it on. It could be something as simple as Bruce being a little defensive about his old girlfriends being suspects, a comment on his choice of companionship or something along those lines. Or not. He wasn’t ready to cross these two off his list quite yet. They both had the motives and the know-how to pull something like this off, whether Bruce wanted to admit or not. “What are you reading there?”

Bruce turned the monitor so that Dick could see it as well. His journal again. Shit. It was an entry from last February.

I guess I’ve always been a little jealous of Wally and I know how weird that sounds, but it’s true. Most people would find it a more natural fit for me to have some issues with Roy but I never envied him the way I did—still do—envy Wally. He has something I’ve always wanted and I don’t know if he’s even aware of what he’s got. Maybe that’s one of the reasons he wears it so lightly, the confidence of a stable family—a home he knows will always be there with people he loves who love him back. When we were kids I used to love spending a weekend there so I could pretend that it were my parents waiting for me to come down for breakfast or to come home from the movies. I used to really love how his mother would tell me to put on a jacket or wash my hands. And now he has Linda and the twins. Part of me doesn’t believe it will ever happen to me—yeah, I know, like a bad song on AM radio—but part of me would give my right arm to have it

I know; dumb ass kids stuff, but then Bruce and Alfred—well meaning though they may have been—were never too much into the whole warm and fuzzy thing. It’s just the way they are.

It is what it is.

“You still feel this way or were you just navel gazing?”

The tone and the sarcasm pissed Dick off, inappropriate as it may have been to not be focusing on Alfred right at that moment. “Fuck off, Bruce.”

 

* * *
 

This was way more the hell than I’d bargained for and that was no lie.

I take on new patients all the time and when the kid walked in, recommended by one of the top members of the local society and the son of Mister Bruce Wayne, no less (meaning I could jack up his fees), well things were looking pretty good. A spoiled rich kid who wanted to talk about how hard his life was and how no one understood him? Piece of cake, a walk in the park.

But then…it turned out, at least it looked at first like the kid had a serious case of he crazies, to use a non-medical term.

He thought he was a costumed super hero.

Okay, that happens. You get these amazing people (well, most of them are people, anyway, I’m not sure what category to put the space aliens in—but I digress) who have abilities and powers far beyond those of mortal men and all of that. Who wouldn’t like to be able to fly? Who wouldn’t get a charge of having fan clubs and women throwing themselves at you? What’s not to like about having the respect of the entire world and to be actually known by the title of ‘hero’? Your face is on the cover of every magazine. You can walk into any party, restaurant, anything and you’re not intruding, you’re the belle of the ball.

You’re officially a good guy. You’re a role model. You’re young (it sure isn’t a middle-aged profession), have a bod anyone would kill for, you can write your own ticket anywhere you want.

Sure, it didn’t take Freud to see how this is one of the most common fantasies making the rounds.

So the kid thought he was Nightwing, no less. One of the most highly rated heroes working—known as a lady-killer, respected by every police and law enforcement agency on the planet. Personal friend of Superman, occasional partner of Batman.

It turns out he’s really a cop in Bludhaven—a slumming rich kid or a rich kid (used to be poor kid, adopted by a rich man) with a guilt complex at his unexpected elevated station in life and he takes it too far into la-la land. Happens all the time.

Except, it turns out the kid isn’t a loon; he’s telling the truth and man, did it take a long time for that to sink in.

The kid isn’t nuts. He really, honest to shit is Nightwing. He used to be Robin. He’s one of the best detectives on the planet, raised and trained by Batman. Founded the Teen Titans, lead the Justice League for a while and really did all that stuff they write about him in the NY Times and the Gotham Times and Newsweek and People and everywhere else.

He really is smart and built and probably one of the best looking young men it’s ever been my pleasure to have in my presence.

And he feels the need to talk to someone about things in his life. Okay, after I accept that he’s the real deal I sit back and listen and I’m amazed that he’s as sane as he is.

A child performer almost from birth, orphaned, lost in the CPS, effectively disowned by his family, taken in by Bruce Wayne who turns out to be Batman and then—then—he gets the training to be Robin. Leads the Titans and on and on. No wonder he’d like to get some perspective.

The longer he spent time with me, the more I came to actually like the guy. I mean, he’s nice. He’s charming; he’s self-effacing and modest. He’s a damn hero.

It didn’t occur to me what a steaming pile it would turn into. Okay, maybe I was being naïve, but cripes—my life just doesn’t usually veer towards blackmail and threats.

It just doesn’t.

 

* * *
 

Oracle was doing everything she could to help with the current situation but she was limited since the hard drives had apparently been removed from Dick’s computer and so her hands were tied as far as that went. She was frustrated and furious by turns. How the hell could he have been so frigging stupid as to actually write everything down? On a laptop? Had she taught him nothing??? He knew better. He’d been trained by Batman. He’d worked with the entire Justice League, f’chrissake.

Idiot.

Jerk.

She was actually shaking her head in disbelief at what was going on. Poor Alfred. God knew what was going on with him at this point—dead? Injured? Drugged? Shipped out of the country?

And part of her felt the worst for Dick. Yes, of course he knew better but for him to flaunt every security convention they all lived their lives by, to talk to a complete stranger about the innermost secret, personal and professional parts of his life? How close to the edge did he have to be to seek that kind of help? And the worst part was that none of his closest friends seemed to have noticed a thing.

Sighing and unreasonably furious at the fact that her coffee had gone cold she glared as Clark’s face appeared on the main monitor. She practically snapped “Yes?”

He was almost taken aback for a fraction of a second but went on as if he’d noticed nothing. They were all too good at that. “There’s been a break. Can you see this?” He held up a photo, 8 X 10 and black and white. It was Alfred, looking disheveled and holding a copy of that morning’s Gotham Times. He didn’t seem to be seriously hurt, though he was clearly in some discomfort.

“Where and when did that come in?”

“Five minutes ago. It was found in the lobby of the Daily Planet, left in a plain brown envelope on the main reception desk. We’re checking the security tapes, but so far nothing other than a woman in a winter coat with a scarf over her head and part of her face, along with dark glasses. It’s being analyzed but so far it’s pretty generic.”

“Do Dick and Bruce know?”

“I contacted them first, they’re analyzing the tapes now.”

“Any word yet?”

Clark looked off camera, obviously he was with the former Dynamic Duo. Turning back to Barbara he answered, “Yes.”

“And?” Twenty questions, is that what we’re playing?

“And they have a tentative ID. They’re running a check now. We should have some hard information within an hour.”

“Selina or Talia?”

“Neither.”


TBC

4/22/08

 

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