I Saw, She Saw

Part Seven - Conclusion

“I can't believe this! How, in the name of God, could you let something like this happen?”

“It just happened, okay? I'm dealing with it. I'll take care of it.”

“I have the JLA keeping track of the media to see if anything shows up there and I've asked Clark to see if there's anything he can do. You talk to Brittney and see if she's heard anything or if she can somehow just get the memory card back.” Bruce was as enraged as Dick—or Alfred, for that matter—had even seen him. He was riding that fine line between white fury when he was frighteningly calm and red-faced with fury. He was keeping himself under control, but it was a close thing. “Now would be good.”

Dick drove over to the Wilson's house, Christine opening the door when he walked up. “You and Britt have a fight, I take it? She's up in her room crying, you might want to wait till she stops and comes down herself.”

“I'll go up, if that;'s all right with you.”

“'You're funeral.”

Ignoring Christine, Dick knocked on Britt's door, letting himself in. She was sitting on the bed, crying, a couple of used Kleenex's close by and a framed picture of the two of them on her bed stand. He couldn't remember it being taken, but it was a candid in what looked like her back yard.

“I'm so sorry. I am, I'm really sorry.”

Of course she was, but this was...a mess. “Batman's never been this angry, not since I've known him, he's insisting on bringing in help to contain this immediately.”

She looked at him, damply. “Who?”

“He was talking about the JLA.”

“And they'll blame you, won't they? For letting me, you know—they'll say it's your fault.”

He didn't have to say anything, of course they would. It was his fault and they'd be right to ream him out, clip his wings, refuse to work with him—whatever. This was on his shoulders, period. “Would talking to your father help? Would he listen, be reasonable?”

“He needs money.”

Dick had money but the thing about blackmailers was that it never ended. You gave them a million dollars and next year they want two million. There was no winning.

“Would scaring him work?”

She just shrugged, giving up, depressed and knowing that Dick—Robin—would blame her for everything, and be right about it, too. This was all her fault. If anything happened to his career, if the Justice League got involved and Batman had to shoulder some of the blame because Robin was his sidekick...it was all her fault. All of it.

“I'm going over there, to his place, see what I can do.” Dick was determined and he wasn't going to let this go. He couldn't. He had to resolve this, one way or another.

“I'll come with you.” He started to protest but she went on. “I know my way around his apartment, I know his car and if there's a problem I might be able to talk us out of it somehow. Besides, he's supposed to be at work now, I can help you.” He started to protest. “Please?... Please?”

“C'mon.” He didn't bother to change and slid behind the wheel his civilian jeans and a button-down shirt; Alfred's idea of informal-wear.

They drove straight over to the garden apartment a couple of miles over the Brixton border, located directly behind a strip mall. Brittney went directly to the building marked 'H' on the side and rang the bell for the upstairs apartment in the middle section. The place smelled of old garbage, used cat litter and stale beer. The walls needed painting, the landscaping, such as it was, largely failed to survive the last summer's drought and the balconies held cheap outdoor furniture from Wal-mart and towels thrown over the railings. It was the kind of place you either tried to move out of fast or knew you probably never would.

Part of Dick felt sorry for Brittney, embarrassed for her but he got over it quickly, like several months ago.

She pressed the bell for 'H-5' and waited. Nothing. She pressed the intercom button which Dick would reasonably sure wouldn't work. Nothing. “Follow me.”

They went up the stairs, the overhead light out, Britt singled out a key from her keyring and, knocking before she tried it, finally opened the door.

“Daddy?”

Nothing.

“Daddy? It's me, are you here? I have a friend with me.”

The place smelled rancid, old booze, old food, dirty clothes. The shades were drawn but they could see the mess in the dim light.

Alcoholic was an understatement. The kitchen counter was covered in bottles, mostly whiskey and mostly empty. Empty bottles and take out food containers; evidently Daddy liked Chinese food, either that or it was close and cheap.

A tour of the place, all two rooms, proved they were alone. “Start looking.”

Dick started in the bedroom then moved through the apartment checking all the obvious hiding places, under the bed, in the closet, stuffed in clothes, cub-boards, in the fridge, the freezer, in the old black and white TV. They went through every drawer, every overflowing garbage can, every pile of dirty laundry. They looked through every piece of furniture, under every cushion, under every chair, end table, the couch. In the medicine chest, behind the toilet, in the hamper, they looked everywhere something the size of a large deck of cards could be.

“'Find anything?”

Brittney shook her head. “No, nothing.”

“Could it be in his car or in his locker at work or something like that?”

“He doesn't have a car and I'm pretty sure that he's still out of work after the last time he was fired.”

Dick was close to the end of his rope with this. Anything could have happened; the camera could already be in the hands of any media agency on the planet. It could be in a pawn shop, it could be at the bottom of the river, it could be in his hip pocket, it could be sitting on a table in McDonald's. It could be—anywhere.

They'd found nothing. Well, nothing anyone would want.

Maybe it was time to call in Clark, see if he could do anything.

Maybe he'd get lucky.

Back in the car, Dick closed his door, Brittney sitting beside him, and stared out the windshield. This was it, he'd taken a chance, trusted someone and it was about to blow up not just in his face but would take down Batman. Bruce Wayne, famous billionaire philandering idiot would be revealed as a facade. The cover they'd used for so long was gone. They would have to relocate if they wanted to have any chance of normal lives outside the spandex.

Dick would be forced to change schools, his plans for college were out the window.

They'd need new identities, a new home, Bruce would have to give up the Manor, his family's home going back however long it had been or beef up the security to beyond the ridiculous.

And Alfred, Alfred would be besieged; he'd have to change as well, maybe go back to England, maybe stay with Bruce (God, he had to stay with Bruce, he had to.).

Dick would change his name, get himself a new identity. Yes, of course they had a plan in place in case they ever needed to disappear, hey had back up plans for everything; Bruce was anal that way. Meanwhile, Dick could fake records, apply to other colleges or, screw it, he could go back to the circus with a new name. Sure people might recognize him, circus people might but a lot of carnies had things they didn't want known and it was a closed world where privacy was respected and not too closely questioned. He'd be eighteen soon, he'd be fine, He could make his own money, that wouldn't be a problem.

Maybe he could even go through with that idea he had about retiring Robin and inventing a new identity for himself, a more mature one with a new costume. There was always that idea he had about joining a regular police force, a corrupt one where he could work from the inside to clean things up. Okay, he'd probably have to go through an academy and start out like any other rookie, at least on the surface, but he'd always thought that would work, could make a difference.

He could look at this as an opportunity, Sure he could, this was like a silver lining that he could use to make lemonade and all that.

Jesus.

This was exactly the nightmare Bruce thought would be the outcome.

He'd said and said again that Dick shouldn't trust Brittney, that he should get the camera, get the memory card any way he could, do what he had to and forget about being nice, forget about the whole pretending to be her boyfriend garbage.

He'd been right, right from the start and Dick knew it but he'd been stubborn, insisting that he knew what he was doing, that he could handle this, that everything would turn out fine.

The voice in his head was so loud that he didn't notice that, in fact, they'd been sitting in complete silence for ten long minutes.

“I—I have to tell you...”

“What?” His voice as quiet, defeated.

“I—it's, I mean...” She trailed off, stopped by his profiled expression.

He didn't even bother looking over at her, what was the point? So she could apologize, say how sorry she was? It didn't matter, it was his own fault for being so easy on her, for not taking the camera and stomping it under his heel when he could.

Suddenly, “Dick, there he is.” She was pointing to a nondescript man walking in their direction across the parking lot. He was carrying a small bag of what looked like groceries, his collar turned up and without a jacket against the cool weather. Not noticing the two teens in the car, he went straight to his apartment, disappearing inside.

“Come on.” He was all business, all Robin, every instinct alert and ready for anything.

They rang the bell. “Daddy? It's me, Brittney.”

He opened the door with a smile on his unshaven face. “Sweetheart! I didn't expect you today—come in, come in. Who's this, your boyfriend? You come in, too.” He wrapped his arms around her, “I missed you something fierce, you have no idea.”

They went in, pretending to ignore the mess and the new bottles on the kitchen counter. “So, you were in the area, 'decided to drop in?”

Dick was quietly analyzing the man, average height, brownish hair, slightly too long, gray eyes, old, ill-fitting jeans and a button down shirt that probably dated back to when he had a job. He looked like what he was, used up, defeated and down on his luck. He looked desperate but he didn't look like he'd know where to fence or sell something like the pictures he was supposed to have. Maybe he had friends, maybe he could ask around, maybe he had old contacts from his former life but as he stood now? No.

“We were just wondering if you might have picked up Brittney's phone the other day. It has some pictures on it she took we'd hate to lose and can't seem to find it.”

“Phone?” He stopped to think, his mind probably a bit foggy, his hand scratching his neck. He emptied his pockets on the counter, it wasn't there. “Uh, no, no phone. 'Sorry, sweetheart. Pictures of you and your new boyfriend here? You kids meet in school, over at Brix?”

“Dick's just a friend, Daddy but I'd really hate to lose it. Are you sure you didn't pick it up by mistake or when I left it or something?”

He thought again, it seemed to take all of his concentration. “No, sorry, not here.” The phone rang behind him, “Hello?...I know that...You'll get it as soon as I have it, you know I'm good for it, Jimmy...Next week, I promise and you know my word's good. I'll bring it over to you myself, Tuesday morning—set the clock by me.”

Dick and Brittney exchanged a look; they'd already searched the apartment, he didn't have it on him, they weren't getting anywhere here. “Daddy, we have to get going but I'll call you in a couple of days, we'll go out for Chinese food, okay? That's your favorite, my treat, I insist. Monday night, I'll pick you up.” She kissed his cheek goodbye, his expression as he looked at Dick, tragic.

Back out in the car Dick lapsed back into his introspective mood. On the way back to Brixton he didn't speak, and Brittney watched him as he drove. She knew he was turning things over, mulling, thinking, putting things together.

Instead of taking her home, Dick drove to Wayne Manor, pulling around back and helping Brittney out of the low car. 'Walk with me.” Not touching, they headed down the wooded path to the small, private lake, stopping wen they got to the dock and sitting on the cushioned bench. She was intimidated by his demeanor, silent, serious and focused on her. She wasn't frightened but she knew this was the end of the line.

“There are no pictures, are there?”

Busted.

She looked at the water. “I thought there were, I had the camera, I saw you change, I focused on you, had you in the viewfinder. There should have been pictures.”

“No power or don't you know how to use a camera phone?”

“I forgot to charge it, it was dead.” Her eyes were still on the lake. “How long have you known?”

“Since the second week. I figured that if you had some shots of me you'd have at least printed some out even if you just kept them for yourself. Barring that, you would have downloaded them somewhere—to your computer, to a disk, something. I checked you home, friends, school, everywhere I could think of and there isn't anything.”

She didn't even try to deny it, he was, after all, Robin. “Why did you play along, then?”

“Curiosity. I wanted to see how far you were going to keep this playing.”

“But—you were so upset...”

“I'm a good actor.”

Unbelievably, she seemed to be getting a little angry. “You tricked me!”

He turned his head to look at her. “Excuse me?”

“Why didn't you just tell me that you knew there weren't any pictures, why did you string me along all this time—why, was I the cheap entertainment or something?”

“I knew you weren't a threat and...” He paused, not sure if he wanted to tell her the truth.

“And what? You and the rest of the Titans or the Justice League or Batman or some other big-shot hero friend of yours could laugh at me and what a loser I am?”

He almost smiled, which seemed to push her over into humiliated fury. “You were laughing at me—I thought that you were a nice guy but you're like all then other boys in school—a jerk. You strung me along, pretended you really liked me and it was just so you could keep this big joke going. Batman must have loved it, he's supposed to be the big player and you had me going for months, pretending you really liked me, even if was just a little bit but—you're just another bastard like all the boys around here.”

“Brittney, stop.”

“No, I, you—you could have put a stop to this back in September, you could have but you didn't, you kept coming over and being nice and going to movies with me, kept being nice to my mother and—I was wrong, I know I was but—you prick!”

“Brittney. Stop.” It was the bat voice. She stopped. “Okay, when I realized that there weren't any pictures I was pretty angry and I wanted to get back at you. I wanted to make sure that you, you know, I wanted to get even so I kept seeing you to find out what I could do to make...”

“To make sure I paid for lying to you? Congratulations—you met my screwed up father, saw how messed up my mother is and how much she hates me and you made sure that she'll laugh her ass off when she finds out that you dumped me—and don't think she won't think that's the funniest thing to happen all year. 'Happy?”

He leaned back against the cushions, his arms resting lightly across the back of the chair. “I do like you, Britt. I wouldn't have wasted my time with this if I didn't. If all I wanted was to embarrass you all I had to do was call any one of a dozen reporters who owe me favors and they would have written articles that would have ruined you.”

She wiped a tear away, trying to avoid him seeing. “So, why didn't you?”

“I just told you, I like you and I don't believe in being cruel just for the sake of being cruel.”

“Sure.”

“Have I ever been mean to you, or have you ever seen me be intentionally cruel to anyone?”

No, she hadn't.

“I liked being able to be myself with someone I don't work with. Do you have any idea how rare that is for me? I have friends, but they're all 'in the business'. I like being able to just be myself—I can't very often. When I'm Robin I'm me but I'm also this character and when I'm Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne's ward it's another character; does that make any sense?”

“Well, sure but why didn't you just tell me that you knew there weren't any pictures? I know who you are, we could have been friends.”

“I guess I needed to make sure I could trust you and I let it ride—Bruce was on my case about finding the pictures, the JLA was freaked, everyone though I'd really been careless—well, okay, I was—and they thought I'd really messed up. I needed to be sure and then I was enjoying not having to hide that I think I was afraid to say anything.”

“Because without the blackmail there was no reason for us to be together.”

“Something like that.” He moved his arms and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “We both know we aren't passionately in love or any of that, but we were working as friends, right?”

“Without any games?”

“Without games.”

“But I still know who you are, and Bruce, too.”

“Yeah, you do. Is this a problem?”

“No.”

He appraised her answer. “Good.” Standing up, he started off the dock. “C'mon.”

They were almost back to the house when she stopped. “What would happen if it became a problem? What would you do?”

He smiled but he looked more like Bruce; it didn't reach his eyes. “That would be a mistake.”

She knew him well enough to never put it to the test.


9/16/09

 

Return to I Saw, She Saw