Teen Titans Fan Fiction ❯ Heroes ❯ Hello to the Night ( Chapter 8 )

Blowfish: I'm here! Oh yeah, HOO-HAH! I feel good! WHY?! `Cause my bro's in town and I finally got that @#%$#@$%?!?@#?!@#$$?@$#!! collage done! AND I got my Coldplay CD back! I intend to use a song from it in an upcoming chapter.

 

Chimpy: Sweet.

 

Blowfish: Very much so. I got SO many reviews! I LOVE YOU GUYS!!! (leaps forward to hug readers)

 

Readers: (take one GIANT step backwards, causing Blowfish to fall flat on her face)

 

Blowfish: …Okay, sorry. Too much love.

 

Blacklight52: Yeah, I thought it was only fitting. I mean, they've known each other long enough. It's logical.

 

Chimpy: Considering you were in a state of cookie-induced RobStar hysteria.

 

Blowfish: (shifty eyes) …I only had five. I CAN QUIT ANYTIME I WANT! (eats cookie)

 

Blacklight52: I never flush good BBRae! After this chapter, they will have a lot of angsty romance going on, though.

 

Grumbumble: I have no idea how the Snoopy boxers idea came to me. I just started making a little list, I guess: “Top Ten Things No Self-respecting 19-year-old Wants on His Underwear”. Go figure. Like most great ideas, it came to me with lots of caffeine and a sugar high. I was originally going to have Dick be pissed off, but then I realized he would be the last of the team to play the hypocrite, so I had him both ways. There will be a more fluff and mystery feeling to this chap.

 

TTJLFan: Triple review? Ahh, the unsung advantages of anonymous reviewing. I've actually been debating about the RobStar wedding. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have it, but there's another idea I had… Don't worry, like I've been saying, you'll see things flare up between Rae and Gar soon.

 

Taiba: IT'S OFFICIAL! I HAVE A FANGIRL! XD But please, don't worship me, I'm a pipsqueak compared to some other authors on here.

 

Kevin (Blowfish's friend): POTATOES? WHERE?!

 

Blowfish: Eeeaaasyyy, man.

 

Wrongful Vanity: Hmm. Must tone fluff down a just a bit.

 

Exiled-Knight: Glad you liked it, I try to keep at least some of it light, and the rest of it serious. And because of the enormous demand, this shall be…THE NIGHTWING CHAPTER! Almost non-stop action with everybody's favorite midnight crusader (not Batman), and equally tantalizing mystery and romance for his alter-ego, Dick Grayson! I sound like a comic-book title page!

 

The Gemini Sage: Yep, angst is good. And so is Raven (huggles Raven).

 

Raven: Get the hell away from me.

 

The Gemini Sage: Yeah, I put the fight with Terry and Raven in there for fun (I threw in Adrian for good measure), and it seemed to please. DON'T DIE! THEN YOU CAN'T UPDATE YOUR STORY!!! AND THEN WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO FOR A LIFE?! XD

 

Meditation: Glad you like it; yeah, that seems to be everyone's favorite line of this story.

 

Catty Engles: Beauty and the Beast tours off Broadway? Shows how much I know about show business! And Starfire? Yeah, I thought to myself “You know, I can't see Starfire still being that naïve in ten years.” So I made her a little wittier to make her seem more grown-up. I also thought that her and Dick would the type of couple that just like to mess around; kind of like a somewhat less goofy version of my brother and his girlfriend (who I swear is the COOLEST person on the planet)—they aren't sappy or annoying, they're real, in a funny sort of way. And on what you said about Raven: I find the most difficult yet fun part of this story is trying to keep everyone in character. Over the time period I'm saying has passed, lots of changes have taken place, so I have to restrain myself from toying around with the characters' personalities too much. It would be easy to make Raven the most happy-go-lucky person in the world with her unrestrained emotions, but then she wouldn't be…Raven.

 

Gecko Osco: Ack, 72 Supreme Court cases?! That's brutal. Hope you got through it all right. That much homework tends to scar me for life.

 

Jays Arravan: Glad you liked the apartment scene; its only real purpose was to make people laugh. Ooh, I love how you people keep catching on. You and fierytopaz (in his/her last review) are really on the right track with the Gar/Rae BBRae issue. And I remember reading about how Raven crashed that wedding (Titanstower.com). Poor Starfire. And like I said, I DO have this other idea…

 

K9: Yep. Now if Rob had the guts to do it in the show… Cyborg/Vic will get a lot of face time in upcoming chapters, so you'll see how things go.

 

rae1112: I'm not sure what you mean, but “hi” to you too. Hope you're enjoying this fic.

 

fierytopaz: Yeah, I'd like to think that most people on here are genuine, ya know? I agree that we all are friends of a sort, even if we don't know what the other looks like. Dropping reviews and responses is a nice sort of thing that I love about this system. COOKIES?! GIMME! (snatches cookies) Thanks, it's nice to know that you're willing to wait. I've had a lot of crap on my plate lately, and I'm pining for winter break so I can get some REAL typing done. MAN, I gotta say, you really do get this story in every sense. You were absolutely right: Rae isn't really there anymore, only Raven, and poor Gar and Vic are having trouble wrapping their heads around it. And don't worry, I'm working on a very sinister way to incorporate Anton into the story…mwahahahaha. Heh, you're right on RobStar: Predictable and cliché. And yet, we are drawn to it—heck, it's the only pairing I won't waver on! But I was hoping even non-RobStar-fanatics would like this, so I tried to make it as romantic as I could (without, of course, crossing that oh-so-thin line into Pukeville). I can't believe people don't like your long reviews! I mean, who doesn't like this much praise/analysis? That's very asinine of them, calling you a “chatty thing”. Don't listen to them, they don't deserve your time OR reviews.

 

Rose: Hope you like this update! A nun? Would you stay in a convent or teach at a school and strike fear into small children? You get paid less, but you can hit them! XD Jk, my mom went to Catholic school, and we think nun jokes like that are kind of funny.

 

Starfire fan 09: Heh, I think RobStar fans are eating this up.

 

Chimpy: Uhh…DUH! THEY'RE FREAKING ENGAGED!!!

 

Starfire fan 09: As for developments with Nightwing and Starfire, you'll just have to see. And interestingly enough, Nightstar is actually the name of their daughter in an alternate universe version of the comics.

 

Lauren1972: Glad you like everything. Are you a writer? If so, is that why you're looking for pointers? Just let me think of some first, and I'll post `em next chap if you want.

 

GrYfFiNdOr4eVeR98: Can do, should do, will do!

 

deathknight sora: Glad you like the BBRae-ness. You know where I live? (shifty eyes) Creepiness.

 

Disclaimer: Yep, I don't own it. Never have, never will. That is, until my plan for world domination succeeds! MWAHAHAHAHA!!!

 

“talking” `thinking' Tamaranian

 

Blowfish: You asked for it, and you can't say I didn't give it to you! A Nightwing-action-packed chapter of “Heroes”!

 

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It was the happiest of times.

 

Nightwing could feel the cool snap of the night air against him as he sped forward on his motorcycle. He loved the bike like he had once loved the R-Cycle; he even affectionately dubbed it the Night-Cycle, in memory of his younger days. It was long, sleek, and jet black with his trademark (a blue bird) printed on the front plate.

 

`Johnny Rancid would've killed for this thing,' Nightwing thought, old memories drifting into his mind. `Come to think of it, so would Vic.'

 

The machine was loaded with a complete arsenal of criminal-foiling weapons, including all the classics: Oil slicks, spiked wheels, grappling hooks, etc. There were also a few new adjustments: Concussion blasters, auto-pilot, and an electromagnetic disruptor (he had never found a use for this, but he enjoyed being able to say he had one). It also was fitted out with turbo drive and tracking system, courtesy of Earl Cooper, Bruce's old mechanic for the Batmobile. Cooper was old, but he could still crank out cars and bikes from the shop like nobody's business.

 

And on top of the pleasantries of tonight's ride, one fact was still foremost in his mind: He was engaged, in his opinion, to the most wonderful woman on Earth. He threw his head back and let a whoop, drawing odd looks from other drivers on the road. He grinned through his helmet and waved to them, and accelerated onto the next street.

 

Needless to say, the other people were quite stunned. They had driven on the same roads as the famed hero, and they knew this was not normal. Nightwing did not throw his head back. Nightwing did not whoop. And Nightwing most certainly did not wave. They simply shook their heads a bit and turned their focus back to the road.

 

Nightwing was, for once, enjoying his night patrols. Heck, he would probably beat up any criminals he found with a smile on his face. Nothing could dampen his high spirits. Suddenly, a large, green truck swerved dangerously around the corner at a ridiculous speed, showing no signs of slowing down. Several police cars came around the corner behind it. A box flew out of the open back of the truck, spilling a strange chemical everywhere. The police avoided it as best they could, and one leaned outside the window trying to shoot the tires of the fleeing vehicle.

 

Nightwing grinned, unusually excited. There would be no heist tonight. These guys were going down. He got alongside of the back of the truck and threw a tracker on it. He then set up the Night-Cycle's auto-pilot to follow it. With that, he fired his grappling hook, latching onto the side of it. Using all of his strength and momentum, he swung around to the inside of the truck, where there were two rather surprised people waiting for him.

 

“'Scuse me, gentlemen,” he said conversationally. “I don't think it's very nice to dump chemical on the police. I mean, think of all those hard hours they put in, all those donuts they buy—for the sole purpose of protecting this fair city and benefiting the baked goods industry! Shame on you, trying to mess up all their hard work.”

 

One of them, who couldn't have been older than 17, stepped back. “Holy crap, it's Nightwing!” The other, older man sighed and raised his Uzi.

 

“No shit it's Nightwing, stupid. This is Gotham City! You can't pull a goddamn heist without this bastard getting in the way!” he yelled, firing off a few rounds, all of which Nightwing managed to dodge in the enclosed space. He sent a spinning kick to the man's head, rendering him unconscious. The boy attempted to fire his own weapon, but in one swift motion, the agile vigilante had taken the gun and was standing over him. He thought it a good time to quote on of his mentor's more memorable lines.

 

“Children and guns do not mix.”

 

Though the boy found it hardly appropriate to call him a child, he said nothing. He was in deep, deep trouble. Nightwing put his face close to the boy's face.

 

“Who set this up?”

 

“W-what?”

 

“The heist. Who wants these chemicals?”

 

The boy was dead silent.

 

“You've got until the count of ten—that's when I really get angry.”

 

The boy's lip quivered, but he kept his mouth shut.

 

“One…two…nine…”

 

“Alright! I'll talk, I'll talk! JUST PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!”

 

“There's a good fellow!” said Nightwing, slapping the terrified teen on the back. “Now, who wanted to steal these chemicals?”

 

“I-I'm not sure...I'm just hired muscle, really.” Nightwing raised an eyebrow at the skinny adolescent.

 

“…I take it there wasn't much competition for this job.”

 

“Well, not so much muscle as knowing how to fire a gun. But I'll be honest—I have no idea who's the real head honcho. I just know what I overheard.”

 

“Eavesdropping? Ambitious little mobster, aren't ya?”

 

“Doesn't matter now. Anyway, I just heard a few things, but I think it'll be useful.”

 

“The sooner you start talking, the sooner I leave.”

 

“…Ahh…gotcha,” he said, a hint of fear in his voice. “Well, I heard the name Macaque a lot.”

 

“Macaque?”

 

“Yeah, they kept saying `Macaque's gotta take tech class soon.'”

 

“Tech class… Anything else?”

 

“Uhh…yeah. They also said, `Boss is keepin' an eye on his pets.'”

 

“Pets?”

 

“Yeah, they said, `Boss's birds keep causin' trouble.'” Nightwing paused. Then, it hit him.

 

`Birds…!'

 

“Kid! Where can I find this `Macaque' character?”

 

“N-not sure…but I know that the place we were supposed to take this stuff was the pier—Pier 28, I think.”

 

“Thanks. Gotta go.”

 

“Hey! You won't tell the others that I snitched, will ya?”

 

“Nope. Your only worries are the police—and your parents, of course.”

 

“Ha…oh boy…”

 

“Yeah. Good luck with that. I gotta go take care of your driver,” Nightwing said, swinging out the window. A few minutes, the truck stopped, and the young man found himself handcuffed.

 

Nightwing was urgently driving across Gotham, knowing that something foul was transpiring. He knew animals and criminals well. He knew a macaque was a monkey, and in mob slang, a monkey is someone whose specialty is breaking and entering. Tech class, he deduced, meant some sort of technology lab. There were several in Gotham, but one other sprang to mind.

 

Jump City Science and Technical Facilities.

 

Nightwing pulled out his cell phone and chose Vic's cell phone number from the speed-dial. There were two rings followed by a voice.

 

“Victor Stone here.”

 

“Hello, Mr. Stone.”

 

“Who is this?”

 

“That's not important,” he said. He hated to conceal his identity from his best friend, but it was for his own good. “What's important is that you listen closely.”

 

“Oh yeah? Well I—“

 

“Are you still at the facilities? Is there anyone with you?”

 

“Yes to both. But I was just about to—“

 

“Stay there. Whoever's there with you, make them stay too. If you hear anything, anything unusual call the police immediately.”

 

“Is this a threat?”

 

“On the contrary, Mr. Stone. I may have just saved your life.”

 

“Who—“ Nightwing hung up, feeling decidedly calmer. If worst came to worst, Vic could take on this Macaque guy himself—he was plenty strong, after all.

 

But there was a much more pressing matter now on the costumed hero's mind. The other thing the boy had said: “The boss's birds keep causin' trouble.” If he was right, this could be much more serious than he had thought.

 

`I just hope they meant something else,' he thought, stopping the motorcycle. He had arrived at the pier. He turned on the alarm for the N-Cycle and left it. Walking for a while, he finally found Pier 28, and the warehouse next to it. He fired his grappling hook and climbed up to the roof. There was a window, which he promptly opened. He lowered himself cautiously and silently onto a pile of crates. There was a small, collapsible table in the middle of the warehouse with four people sitting around it, apparently playing cards. There were a few other people scattered about the warehouse, keeping watch or perhaps enjoying a cigarette. Nightwing turned his attention to the four people at the table.

 

“…when Macaque'll be back.” Nightwing heard one of them say. He tapped the side of his mask, and his vision instantly became filtered with green, clearing the dark. Another tap, and he had zoomed in on the table.

 

“Who knows when that little ass will get back,” the burly one said. “Macaque's such a bastard, he'll probably go out and buy himself somethin' before he gets back.” He lay two cards down, drew two more, and leaned back, his muscles shifting beneath his tight black shirt. The thin, purple-shirted man across from him grinned feistily.

 

“That shirt makes you look so sexy, Ton,” he said, fingering a card in his hand. “Ton” groaned.

 

“For the last damn time Miguel, don't call me Ton. It's Tony.” He turned to the others. “We need to hire another gay guy to keep him preoccupied.”

 

“Oh Ton, you do care!” Miguel joked.

 

“Would you two shut the hell up?!” the one to Miguel's left said, looking perplexed. The snake tattoo over his eye twisted with his frustrated expression. Nightwing's eyes really widened at this guy. He was covered from head to toe in two things: tattoos and guns.

 

“Aww, is Monty ready to fold?” said a bony man in glasses.

 

“No!” Monty yelled, looking embarrassed. “I just…their talking is pissing me off, that's all!”

 

“Throwing off your chi, Monty-boy?”

 

“Don't be a so mean, Ingemund,” Miguel said cheerfully, fingering his cards again.

 

“It's Ingo, goddammit!”

 

“That's it,” Tony said. “Show your hands.” Monty and Ingo turned up their hands. “Full house.”

 

“Dead hand,” Monty grumbled.

 

“Straight flush,” Ingo said triumphantly. “Beat that!”

 

“Mmmm…” Miguel muttered. He turned up his hand. “Royal flush! Oh yeah! BEAT YO ASSES!”

 

Ingo swore vehemently while Monty and Tony gave Miguel a pat on the back—and all of their cash. Just then, a voice came from behind the darkness.

 

“Deal me in, boys?”

 

The four criminals spun to face Nightwing, who was very casually leaning against a pile of crates. Tony looked around.

 

“Why aren't the guys coming?!” he yelled angrily.

 

“Ahh, I got bored of your game, so I took them out while the hands were being shown. Who won?” Miguel stepped forward, still grinning.

 

“I did.”

 

“Oh really? Good man! Now, the first one to get this one gets a prize. But remember, the sentence must be in the form of a question,” he said, smiling and cracking his knuckles. “The answer is: The guy you're working for. Now…go!” There was a long pause. “Don't jump all at once, now.”

 

“Ooh, wait, I know!” Tony said. “Who is…I'm Gonna Fucking Kill You?”

 

“Ya know, that wasn't quite the answer I was looking fo—OOF!” Nightwing was sent flying across the warehouse by Tony's blow. There was a large crash, and the pile of crates buried him.

 

Tony dusted off his hands. “Well, that was ea—“ A blue and silver disk flew into him and exploded into light, leaving all of them momentarily blind. In that moment, of course, all but one of them was knocked unconscious by a flurry of punches and kicks. Miguel groaned and rolled over, and felt himself being grabbed by the collar of his purple shirt.

 

“I'm not playing around anymore,” Nightwing growled. “You guys have really ruined my good mood.”

 

“Heh…like I'm sorry about that,” sputtered Miguel. Nightwing paused.

 

“What, no dumb stunt, like reaching for your gun?”

 

“I'm not stupid.”

 

“Glad to hear it. Now, for the last time: Who are you working for?!”

“I don't know his name. We just call him Boss. In the great sea of this ring, these other guys,” he said, gesturing to his companions. “are like minnows. They answer to the salmon, who answer to the dolphins, who answer to the sharks. I am a shark.”

 

“I'll bet your mother is very proud.”

 

Miguel looked angry, but he didn't lose his composure. “I answer to a lot of fish too. But Boss…Boss is like the whale. He fears nothing.” Nightwing smiled a deadly smile.

 

“I find most `fearless' people I meet find something to fear very quickly.”

 

“Ahhh, you're a tough guy. Tough guys are trouble to Boss.”

 

“I'm a bird causin' trouble, eh?” he growled. Miguel chuckled.

 

“Yeah, that's you. You and your buddy in Jump…just a robin and a raven causin' trouble.”

 

Nightwing's eyes were like dinner plates. He could feel a sudden rage surge through his body, and he delivered as powerful a punch as he could to Miguel's jaw, knocking him out. He dropped the mobster, a new sense of desperation sweeping over him.

 

Whoever this “Boss” was, he knew that he had been Robin.

 

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Dick hung up his costume, heaving a sigh. He quietly made his way over to his bed, where his fiancée lay soundly asleep. Star had moved in a few days ago, and was exhausted from unpacking her things. (A/N: Needless to say, a bit of time has passed since last chapter—I'd say about two weeks.) He smiled and climbed into bed. Somehow, her presence was enough to calm his nerves about this Boss case. He planted a small kiss on her head.

 

“Love you,” he whispered. In a few minutes, he was asleep.

 

The next morning, Dick was greeted by a rather insistent poking in the shoulder. He grunted and rolled over, but the poking didn't stop. A familiar giggle rang in his ears.

 

“Star…too…early…” he grunted.

 

“Diiiick…it's your day ooooofff… Oh, get up, you great shnorkarf!” she laughed. Dick groaned.

 

“What…ugh…time is it?”

 

“Nine.”

 

“Nine?!” he yelled bolting up and jumping out of bed. “AAAAHHH! I'M SO SCRE—“ he sentence was cut off by Star's hand on his mouth.

 

“Dick…I know this may be a difficult concept for you to grasp, but please, stay with me. Day…off. You…no…late. There…no…work…today.”

 

“…Oh. Sorry.”

 

Star giggled. “Go out and get the paper, will you?”

 

Dick got dressed, went outside to a newsstand, and bought a paper. He observed the headline: “Raven Nabs Mobsters and Police Suspicions”. He sighed dejectedly. Cops cracked down on him, too, and it was really annoying. All him and Raven wanted to do was help. On his way back up to his apartment, Dick read the rest of the article. Apparently, there had been a lot of mob activity in Jump City as well. He paused.

 

Could it be the same people that he'd dealt with last night?

 

Dick went into his kitchen, where Star was already brewing some coffee. She poured him a cup and took the art page from the paper. The two sat in a thick silence for a few minutes.

 

“So, how was your patrol last night?”

 

Dick made an annoyed noise. Star had a killer intuition.

 

“Are you going to tell me what's wrong?” she asked.

 

Dick put the paper down so that Star could see the headline. “Raven and I have a problem.”

 

Star laughed. “What, she stealing your paper space? I guess she's such big news that even Gotham is talking. I suppose being a daytime hero has its perks.”

 

“It's…it's not that,” he said angrily. Now his fiancée had stopped laughing and was looking very concerned.

 

“Dick…?”

 

“I…I tracked down some mobsters last night. They weren't that bad or anything, but…they said they work for a guy…they just call him `Boss'. He…he knows that I…that I was Robin.” Star's hand went to her mouth.

 

“Dick!”

 

“Yeah…” he said, flipping through the pages. “Nothing about it in here, but Jump's Tech Facilities were almost robbed last night. I guess it isn't really Gotham news…or maybe that guy didn't go at all.”

 

Star's eyes widened. “But…you don't think they know about Vic—!”

 

“No, I think that was just coincidence, but…I've…I've got a bad feeling, Star, a really bad feeling. I think this Boss guy is watching me and Raven. I…I don't know why, though. Maybe we're just muscling in on his turf, messing around with his plans, ya know? But like I said, I've got this feeling…” Star put her hand on his shoulder.

 

“Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll work out. But you need to contact Rae. Now.” Dick nodded and picked up the phone.

 

“My thoughts exactly.”

 

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Rae reclined in her chair, outstretching her arms and yawning. Karen was munching on her energy bar looking somewhat dissatisfied, and typing on her laptop. Terry was in the chair next to her, reading the paper.

 

“That's Raven's somethin' else, eh?” he said. Karen's eyes darted up from her screen.

 

“Mmm.”

 

“You wrote this, right Karen?”

 

“Mmm. Didn't have much to go on, though. Chick didn't exactly leave a statement. Just knew that the guys we found were wanted by the police for mob activities. And good ol' Raven nabbed `em. The cops ain't too happy with her.”

 

“Why not? She's catching people, isn't she? The crime rate hasn't been this low in years! And she's only been here for about three weeks! That's amazing!”

 

“She's making them look bad. And on top of that, Morris, the police chief, doesn't trust her. He's been on the force since the Titans were in their prime, and he still doesn't like them.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“He, among many other people, is not a fan of vigilante justice.”

 

“So? Who has it hurt?”

 

“Need I remind you of the North Bridge Incident?”

 

Terry turned to Rae for support, only to find her running her fingers through her hair, looking uncomfortable. Before he could ask her what was wrong, there was the sound of police sirens coming through the window of the office.

 

“Gotta go,” Rae said hurriedly.

 

“What's your rush?” Karen asked. “I was just getting my debate face on!”

 

“Just remembered something important I need to do.”

 

“Now?”

 

“Now.” And with that, Rae dashed out of the office. Karen looked pouty and Terry sighed.

 

“Something,” Karen said quietly. “is up.”

 

“Whaddya mean?” Terry asked.

 

“Rae. She's not…acting right. She seems wound up tighter than a spring these days. Like she's just waitin' for something to happen. And she keeps jumping up and leaving for no reason—except for `family stuff' or `important things' that she `just remembered'.”

 

“Maybe you're right,” Terry said thoughtfully. “I mean, she's always really tired or on a complete caffeine rush.” John stuck his head in the office.

 

“Yeah, she's been at the coffee pot three times today. Sorry,” he added. “I couldn't help overhearing.”

 

“Nah, s'okay. I guess we're all a bit worried.”

“You're tellin' me. Rae ain't right, I can tell ya that. I've been working with her for longer than anyone else here. She's had stress problems before, especially when Connery cracks down the way he's doin', but she's never been quite this weird.”

 

“Yeah, but maybe we are blowing this out of proportion. I mean, what if she really does have some family problems going on right now?”

 

John's eyebrow shot up. “Family problems?”

 

“Yeah. She's said she's got `family stuff' like, five times.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah,” Karen said. “Why?”

 

“Rae doesn't have any family. I asked her once. She says her parents are long dead, and she doesn't have any relatives that she knows of.”

 

“What?”

 

“Weird she would say that she had family stuff. Anyway, if I don't get this story to Connery, he's gonna fry me. Seeya.” John scurried in the direction of Connery's office.

 

“Why would she lie?” Karen whispered.

 

“I don't know,” Terry said. “But I think it's time we did some investigation of our own.”

 

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Raven took a long, deep breath after wrapping a steel bar around the getaway car of a pair of fleeing bank robbers.

 

“You think these guys would learn,” she muttered, lifting off the ground and flying away. Suddenly, her cell phone rang. She took it from her boot (she kept it hidden there for emergencies) and answered it.

 

“Rae Roth speaking.”

 

“Hey there, Rae. It's Dick. Busy?”

 

Raven chuckled, landing on a roof. “You caught me at a very opportune time, actually.”

 

“Yeah…did you catch that movie yesterday, on TV?”

 

“Which one?”

 

“Code of Honor.”

 

Raven's breathing caught, causing her to cough a bit. Was it possible that Dick was implying…? “Oh. The one right before Remember the Titans?” She waited.

 

“Yeah, that one.”

 

Now Raven was really interested. Back in the old days, the Titans had a special “T-code”, as they called it. If they were working dangerous cases that required them to lay low or go under cover, and needed to talk on the phone, they would use the code to talk strategy while sounding like they were just making small-talk. “Code of Honor” followed by “Remember the Titans” was the signal that the code was in use. No one had ever cracked it.

 

“Yeah, I saw it. Watch anything else?”

 

“This really good wrestling match was on.”

 

Raven was wracking her brain, trying to get Dick's message. It had, after all, been a long time since she had used the code. She finally remembered that any mention of a wrestling or boxing match was referring to a mission or battle.

 

“Yeah? Who was in it?”

 

“Well, there was this really good guy called `The Crusher'.”

 

Raven paused. Crusher was their word for mobster. But Dick wouldn't be concerned enough to call her unless there was something up in Jump as well. Maybe it had something to do with those guys she'd caught last night. “I've heard of him. In fact…I think I may have been watching the same match. Who was his opponent again?”

 

“I think his name was `Birdman'. Real weird guy, dressed in all red and black”

 

Raven's heart skipped a few beats. Any mention of birds followed by a color indicated her or Robin. Black was her code color, and red was Robin's. “Black…and red?”

 

“Yeah. And red.”

 

“So…this guy has some crazy fetish for birds?”

 

“I guess. I mean, he really beat Crusher. The match was completely under his control.”

 

“Uh huh.” Raven could only guess that this meant that whoever this guy was, he knew about Nightwing and Robin's connection, and their connection to her. And that he had a firm grip on the mob.

 

Not a good combination.

 

“So,” Raven continued. “Are you gonna follow this `Birdman' guy in the matches?”

 

“I think I just might.”

 

“I think I will too. I take it he does fights in Gotham?”

 

“Yeah, but I can watch those. You just keep an eye on Jump's wrestling circuit, yeah?”

 

“Count on it.” And she hung up, sighing. “It's gonna be a loooong week…”

 

Dick hung up, feeling only a bit better. At least now Raven knew to watch her back. He turned to Star, who was quietly sipping her coffee and now leafing through the coffee. She met his eyes.

 

“Are you worried?” she asked softly.

 

“I'm always worried,” he muttered. “I've got an entire city on my shoulders.”

 

“Sometimes you treat it like it's the whole world.”

 

“Yeah, but you and Rae and the others—Vic and Gar, and everyone else—you guys are my world.” Star stood up and wrapped her arms around him, but it comforted him very little. “I wish I was sure I could protect it,” he whispered.

 

That night, Nightwing was squatting on his favorite gargoyle, wondering where to go from here. It wasn't as if he had any leads, and he couldn't just wait for Boss to strike again. He needed help. He needed information. He needed answers.

 

He needed a snitch.

 

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Lawrence Dupont slammed his hand down on the bar, and the bartender slid down another drink. He drank it a little slower, realizing that this was his eighteenth beer. He paused and looked around, realizing that his designated driver, Paul, was nowhere to be found. Neither was the very slutty-looking woman he had been drinking with earlier.

 

“Lucky bastard,” Lawrence muttered, taking another sip from his glass.

 

“Enjoying your drink, Dupont?” Chills shot up Lawrence's spine. He knew that voice all to well.

 

“I-I been keepin' my nose clean, Nightwing.”

 

“Yeah, but not sober. You ain't planning on driving, are you?”

 

“I doubt I'll be goin' in a…in a car at all,” he slurred. “I think Paulie took off with a…with a hooker or somethin'.”

 

“Heh, that's bad luck.”

“Yeah…hey, whaddya want? `Cause my friend's the one with a damn…damn hooker.”

 

“C'mon, Laurie, what do I ever want?”

 

“In…information. And you…hic…usually drag me home.”

 

“Just bein' a good citizen. But I'm really more in it for info tonight.”

 

“Ahh…I'm not drunk off my ass anyway. Whaddya wanna know?”

 

“Boss. He's a new mob leader. Where can I find some of his guys? And I'm not talkin' small-fries, Laurie. I need the big fish.”

 

“Ummm…wait…it's comin' to me…”

“You are so drunk off your ass.”

“Am…am not! I remember now. There are some guys…I heard the other day…some of Boss's big guys, goin' for a…for a time in the red light district.”

 

“Hmm. Thanks Laurie, I'll get someone to pick you up. At the rate you're going, you'll set the new record in this bar for getting wasted.”

 

“Ahh…screw you, Bird-man…ugh.” Lawrence passed out on the bar, and Nightwing chuckled.

 

“Too late. Call a cab for him, eh Phil?”

 

“You betcha, N-Wing,” the bartender said. Nightwing had saved his life once, and all the man asked was help doing good for others. `That's some kind of guy…' Phil thought, picking up the phone.

 

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Nightwing sighed. Most of his snitches were reliable, but he still didn't feel very secure taking direction from a dipsomaniac with an attitude. But he had no choice. Lawrence's ears were his only guide at this point. He leapt across the buildings, running like lightning. He smelled the distant odor of cigarette smoke and vomit. And jumping over a group of skimpily-dressed women, he knew he had reached his destination.

 

Gotham City's red light district.

 

Nightwing slipped through the shadows and into a noisy brothel. Staying in the dark, he tuned his ears past the loud talking and shrieking, hearing a conversation between a large, muscle-bound man and a woman sitting on his lap.

 

“…the mob?” the woman said, sounding impressed. “I think mobsters are very sexy…”

 

The man grinned. “Yeah, Boss is givin' us the night off.”

 

“Hope you're having fun,” said Nightwing, stepping forward. “'cause it's about to get a little less enjoyable.”

 

“Oh really?” The man chuckled. “Can you spell `set-up'?”

 

At the man's words, all of the doors of the building opened, revealing gun-toting men, waiters, hookers—even the piano player pulled out an M-16. And to all of this, Nightwing could only utter one word.

 

“Shit.”

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Blowfish: HA! You all thought you would see a big showdown, didn't you? Well, I say again, HA! NOT THIS CHAPTER! CLIFFIE! IN YO FACES! Anyway, I hope you guys aren't too pissed. I just HAD to do that. You'll see what happens to poor Nightwing next chapter, along with lots of other fun little plot developments. Seeya!