Issue 6: "The Great Unknown, Pt.6: Rolling With...

Yeah, they say your soul is growing, but
Sometimes I feel like throwing something

But oh, that’s the way it is
You gotta roll with the punches
That’s the way it goes
You gotta bend when the wind blows

You live you learn
You crash and burn
It’s hit or miss

Annie Roboff, Holly Lamar, “That’s the Way”

“What in the hell were you thinking, Ollie?” Dinah kept her voice low, which made its intensity all the more frightening. “If this is how you treat your friends…”

“I didn’t know if Barbara realized that he’s not the kid she’s been thinking of,” Green Arrow said defensively. “To hear her talk about it, this was all some sort of schoolboy crush. Dick’s not a schoolboy anymore. I wanted to be sure she knew what she was dealing with.”

Dinah’s expression hardened. “And this was your business, how, exactly?”

“Pretty Bird, she’s a team-mate. And Dick’s a friend. You think I want either of them hurt?”

Right then and there, Dinah Laurel Lance forgot that they were inside a hospital. “You did this because you didn’t want them HURT?!?” she shouted. She clamped one hand around Ollie’s neck in a vise-like grip and directed him to the floor-to-ceiling window that faced out on the parking lot. Neither could hear the conversation, but the facial expressions and gestures of the two youngsters spoke volumes. As Dick walked away, his expression mingling anger and pain with disgust, Dinah tightened her hold. “It’s a GOOD thing you were on the ball,” she said. “Otherwise, I might be worried that they’d be UPSET if the facts came out.”

She released him with a shove that nearly sent him crashing into the window. “You know something, Ollie?” She asked with deceptive calm. “You can be a real idiot, sometimes. Like when you’re breathing.”

For the first time, she noticed the two security guards edging closer. “Sorry, guys,” she said. “I didn’t mean to cause a disturbance.”

One of the guards found his voice. “Be that as it may, Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

Dinah shrugged. “I think I’m just about finished, here anyway. Have a nice day, fellows.”

With feigned nonchalance, she walked up to the double doors. They parted at her approach, and she exited to the parking lot.

Ollie watched her go.

Back at Ollie’s, Dick stood uncertainly in the middle of the guest bedroom. He wasn’t angry anymore. Not at Green Arrow, not at Babs nor at Roy nor even at himself. But he didn’t feel comfortable staying under Ollie’s roof any longer. Since he’d barely unpacked, it didn’t take him long to gather his things together. He was nearly at the front door when he heard voices coming from the other room.

“It’s like pulling teeth.” The voice was vaguely familiar. It took him a moment to recognise it as belonging to the man he’d met the night before… ‘Vigilante’, Ollie had called him.

“But you got through to him, right, Chase?” Ollie.

“I tried,” Vigilante said in a disgusted tone. “I told him that he had to talk to the feds. He said Scarapelli would kill him. I pointed out that his life was already on the line and he just started shaking and saying he didn’t know what to do, over and over… I thought he was going to wet himself.”

“Where is he, now?”

“Still at the house. Huntress is keeping an eye on things.”

Dick caught the bewilderment in Ollie’s tone. “The mob isn’t going to try anything until those forty-eight hours are up. He doesn’t need a bodyguard.”

“No,” Vigilante agreed angrily. “He needs a keeper. He’s got this crazy idea that if he goes to Scarapelli and apologises, Tony will be so impressed that he’ll wipe out the debt or give him more time.”

Dick shook his head in amazement as Ollie snorted derisively.

“Scarapelli’ll shoot him the instant he shows his face. Is he serious?”

“He’s scared. Anyway, I’m going to drive into LA and talk with some of my contacts at the FBI. I think we can both agree going to the police here in Vegas would be a mistake.”

Dick was getting tired of eavesdropping. Shouldering his knapsack, he knocked on the wall by the doorway. Both men turned to look at him.

“I thought I should head off,” he said. “Thanks for everything, Mr. Queen.” Well, maybe not quite everything.

The formal address was not lost on Ollie. “What’s with this ‘Mr. Queen’ garbage,” he asked. “I told you, my friends call me ‘Ollie’. Or ‘GA’, depending.”

Dick chose not to answer the question. Right at the moment, he didn’t know how he felt about Ollie. He supposed he should be grateful to him for clueing him in to the truth. But then why do I feel like I’m going to take a swing at him if I stick around much longer? “If I leave now, I can probably make Loma Linda before dark.”

Ollie frowned. “I thought Barbara was going with you.”

Dick shook his head. “After what happened earlier, I think it’s best that I just--”

“What? Pull a disappearing act?” He sighed and turned back to the other man as he placed a restraining hand on Dick’s arm.

“Good luck in LA, Chase,” he said. “Fill me in once you get back.”

He watched the other man go, and then turned back to Dick. “Have a seat.”

Dick blinked. Any hint of flippancy was gone from Ollie’s voice. His eyes were deadly serious. It wasn’t quite the ‘bat-glare’, but it was close enough to impress the younger man, even if it didn’t exactly intimidate him.

Automatically he lowered himself to one of the kitchen chairs and sat, waiting.

Ollie faced him, then spun about, walked several paces away, and then doubled back. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and turned around again. He repeated this exercise several times before throwing up his hands and sitting down opposite Dick.

“Somehow,” he said with some irritation, “I didn’t think cutting and running would be your solution. That’s something I would’ve expected of the Bat, not you.”

Dick half-rose angrily. Ollie held up a hand. “You’re hurting, kid. I get that. But somehow, I always took you for someone who worked through your pain.” He smiled then, but there was no mirth in it. “Look, kid, to put it bluntly, you never had any say in who she--”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Dick cut him off. “I don’t care that she wasn’t going out with me, it’s…” He broke off, as he realised just whom he was talking to.

“It’s that she was dating Roy,” Ollie stated.

Dick was silent.

“Well, that’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?” He snapped. He drew a deep breath and released it with a sigh. “Look. It’s not quite what you’re thinking between those two. Since, this technically isn’t my business, let’s just say that, at the time that they were… together, Roy was going through a rough patch. Barbara tried to help, but it didn’t take long for her to know that she was in over her head.” He smiled mockingly. “So, she talked him into coming to me for help. Made perfect sense, wouldn’t you agree? I was, after all, the only father figure he had. And, well…”

He got up abruptly and resumed his pacing. “I always thought Bruce was too tough on you, kid, ya know? He never let you have a minute to yourself, was always on your case; G-d forbid you let your grades slip… I was sure you were going to…” he caught himself. “Well. Never mind that. I always told Roy he could come to me if he got into trouble. What’d the Bat tell you? ‘Get into trouble and I’ll use my connections to make sure the judge throws the book at you?’”

Dick opened his mouth to protest. Ollie waved him to silence.

“Doesn’t matter. When Roy did come to me, like he should have, I reacted that way. I shut him out of my life, NOT the way Bruce did with you—yes, I know about that. Barbara told me about why she left Gotham. I don’t blame her. I can imagine he pulled the same thing with you or close enough. Anyway, I threw Roy out because I couldn’t cope with his problems. Barbara stuck with him because the person who should have had faith in him… didn’t. They did date. Briefly. But her… relationship with him wasn’t as… romantic as you probably thought it was, based on what you overheard.” He took his seat again, not meeting Dick’s eyes.

“Look,” he said abruptly. “Stick around for now. Huntress needs some relief. You can fill in for her at Morton’s. I wasn’t lying to Chase, before. I really don’t think the family has anything to worry about until Scarapelli’s 48 hours are up. But, I believe that we’ve just established that I can mess up now and again.”

For one instant, Ollie’s trademark devil-may-care grin lit up his face. “And when I do, I do royally. In case this is one of those times, I’m sending Barbara out with you.” He waved a hand to cut off Dick’s protest. “You two have trained together, fought together… My people, we’re still working on that level of cohesiveness. I’m going to tell Barbara the same thing. Bottom line, I promised Morton protection. Whatever you think of me, right now, however you feel about Barbara…”

Dick held up a hand. “Stop, Ollie,” he said. “Right now, I don’t want to hear it. You think I don’t know what you’re going to say next? Morton and his family have nothing to do with how I feel about you or Barbara right now. She and I do work well together, or at least we did the last time we went out as a team. And yes, Morton does need protection, so count me in. If Barbara is also willing, fine. But the instant Vigilante gets back, I’m gone.”

Ollie smiled. “Wouldn’t expect anything different from you, kid,” he said as calmly as though the previous conversation hadn’t taken place. It wasn’t until he held out his hand for Dick to shake, and Dick took it, that the younger man realized how sweaty GA’s palm was.

By the time Claire had managed to pack a suitcase with the essentials for one adult and two children, and filled a large grocery bag with ready-to-eat food, Barbara had managed to remove the child’s car seat from Claire’s car and secure it within Zatanna’s red Chevrolet Malibu. She looked wistfully around the garage, her eye falling on her bike. She loved that motorcycle. But there was no way that she could take another adult and two children--one still a baby--on the thing. And if she were to try, it would only attract too much attention from other motorists. The car was a loan, and one she had hoped not to have to use. Batgirl tested the car seat straps a final time to ensure that they were secure.

The door that connected the garage to the rest of the house opened. Tyler walked forward, carefully holding his brother, Gavin. Claire followed behind with the suitcase. Once it was stowed in the trunk, she took Gavin and settled him into the car seat.

“We…” she looked at Batgirl nervously. “We’re not coming back here. Ever.” It was not a question.

Batgirl shook her head slightly. “I doubt it.”

“Get in, Tyler,” Claire said automatically. She turned back to Barbara. “It’s only things,” she said. “I know that. We’ll start over fresh somewhere. The children will adjust. Of course they will. I just… I just…”

No! Don’t break down on me now! I can face the Royal Flush gang. I can face Joker. Please don’t make me face a woman on the verge of hysteria when we’ve got to leave right this second! “Ma’am?”

“Mommy?” Tyler leaned forward anxiously. “You okay?”

Claire turned back, startled. When she spoke, though, her voice was almost normal again. “Put your seatbelt on, Tyler. Attaboy. I’m coming in on the other side.”

Batgirl shut the door behind her. Then she took up her seat behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. The power locks engaged automatically. In the rear-view mirror, she saw mother and son hold hands across the car seat. She couldn’t tell who was reassuring whom.

“Okay,” she said as she turned on the ignition. “Once we get on the highway, I’m going to go as fast as I can without getting a ticket.” She looked back and grinned. “So just pretend this is the bumper-cars at Adventuredome, only we’re going to try not to hit the other drivers, alright?”

Tyler goggled at her. “Superheroes go to Adventuredome?”

Superhero? Batgirl felt her face flushing. Me? Oh, come on. She laughed as they pulled out of the driveway. I hope he’s right. The good guys are always supposed to win, aren’t they?

“This way, Sir.” The petite Asian girl ushered Morton into a windowless office with red plush carpeting. Heavy tapestries adorned the walls from ceiling to floor, making the room feel stuffy and confining. Morton fought claustrophobia as he wondered why Scarapelli had things set up that way.

The mobster laced his fingers together and sat, resting his wrists on the edge of his desk. “Alright, Lionel,” he said. “I’m listening.”

Morton froze.

“Do you have my money, Lionel?” Scarapelli asked, after a moment. He didn’t sound angry. To anyone else in earshot, it would have sounded like a polite inquiry.

Morton slowly shook his head. “I can get it,” he whispered. “But I need more time.”

Scarapelli nodded sagely. “Of course you do, Lionel. After all,” he added, “it took you more than forty-eight hours to steal it from me. I suppose it might have been unfair for me to have set such an unreasonable deadline.” His tone hardened. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Morton gulped. “You… you’re a fair man, Mr. Scarapelli. Always.”

“And honorable?”

“Yessir.”

“Meaning that if I give my word, you know that you can rely on it. So, if I were to tell you that you could have another month, you’d know that you’d be safe until then, correct?”

Morton nodded eagerly, but he felt his shoulders tense. Something seemed to be wrong, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “That’s right.”

“Because I’m a man of my word.”

“Right!”

“And if I were to break my word, I’d lose face.”

“Exactly!”

Scarapelli shook his head soberly. “And you see, Lionel, that’s the crux of the problem.” His tone hardened. “Because I’ve given you forty-eight hours. And I’ve outlined the consequences if you didn’t meet my conditions. And I’m a man of my word.”

Morton staggered. “My… my family,” he began feebly.

Scarapelli shook his head. “That’s a bad business,” he said sympathetically. “You messed up. It shouldn’t have gotten them involved.

“Jade,” he called to the girl standing behind Morton, “Would you call Nick Miglione in here?”

She withdrew without a word. A moment later she returned, with Miglione in tow.

Scarapelli regarded the newcomer with some dismay. “Buckwheat, Nicky? For the whole family? How old’s your youngest, Lionel?”

Morton swallowed. “Eigh-eighteen months.”

The mobster’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Eighteen months,” he repeated. “What kind of monster are you trying to turn me into, Nicky? You think I’d want to do that to a baby?

“That other kid of yours… he’s ten now, right? Plays soccer with my nephew? What’s his name… Tyrone?”

“Tyler.”

Scarapelli nodded. “That’s right.” His voice lowered an octave. “Nicky… I don’t like killing KIDS!” He crooked a finger at Jade, who stood unobtrusively by the door. An instant later, a shot rang out and Nick fell heavily to the floor, red blood almost a precise match for the shade of the carpet.

Morton realized a moment later why Scarapelli had the wall-hangings: they made the small room virtually soundproof. He looked at Nick lying there and felt like he was going to be sick.

Scarapelli took no notice. “Regrettably, Lionel, Nick was representing me when he made that statement. I can’t go back on it, even though I didn’t actually say it. It would hurt my reputation, you understand me?”

Lionel sank to his knees. “Then… it’s over. My coming here… did nothing.” He raised his eyes. “Did it?”

Scarapelli sighed. “I’m sorry. Truly. But since you saved us the trouble of tracking you down…

“I’ll spare you having to watch it being done to your wife and kids. We’ll do you first. Jade. Deal with him. Don’t drag it out any longer than you have to,” he added. “And get him out of here before you start…”

That was as far as he got before someone kicked open the door behind the tapestry, hurtling into the hanging rug with enough force to dislodge it from its moorings.

Jade didn’t hesitate. She raised her gun and began firing.

He was a dead man. He’d already taken two shots to the helmet, and his ears were ringing as the metal reverberated…

…as the metal reverberated

…reverberated

As in… the bullets were bouncing off. Kevlar suit, bullet-proof helmet… Nightwing didn’t have time to sigh his relief, or thank Bruce for that unexpected surprise, but he permitted himself a smile as he cast a nightarang in the direction of the shooter. She dodged the first but stepped into the path of the second and third. She dropped the gun with a cry and clapped a hand to her bleeding wrist. Nightwing’s eyes narrowed.

What kind of shooter wears green press-on nails?

The young woman dropped to a fighting stance, one arm back, the other extended before her. With a snarl, she launched herself at him.

With reflexes honed by years of practice, Nightwing crouched, and leaped forward, causing his assailant to overreach herself. She landed in a forward roll and sprang up, eyes flashing.

She’s good. My luck.

Nightwing rose to his feet, and stood poised, waiting. She feinted, he dodged, and she delivered a high kick to his solar plexus.

Really good.

He fell, rolled onto his elbows and kicked behind him. He was rewarded by a grunt as his boot connected. Nightwing regained his footing, in time to sidestep as she came toward him again.

He grabbed her arm, and she slashed the fingernails of her free hand against his chest. The upper layer of the fabric gave way, but the layers of weave below still held together.

Razor-sharp nails, meet shank-resistant Kevlar.

He pinned her other wrist, and hoisted her several inches off the ground. She kicked ineffectively, but continued to struggle.

Finally, she managed to plow an elbow into his ribcage. As he gasped for breath, she broke free, and swiped again at the costume. Another slash appeared in the pectoral region. Like the first, it did not penetrate clear through to the skin beneath.

Nightwing had had enough. Whoever this young woman was, she was clearly no amateur, and in that case… the kid gloves were off. He launched himself spinning into the air, and delivered two rapid kicks to the side of her head. She reeled, half stunned. He abandoned the capoeira-style fighting, shifting instead to the punches, throws, and undercuts of agni kempo.

The blend of Brazilian and Russian martial arts seemed to stymie the young woman. She continued her attack, but now she was on the defensive. Her countermoves became more desperate, her techniques more erratic, until finally, Nightwing was able to get in past her guard to apply a suffocation hold. The woman went limp in his arms, but he maintained his grip a moment longer. From what he’d seen, she wasn’t above playing possum. When he released her, however, she slumped to the ground, breathing shallowly. He secured her wrists and ankles with plastic ties.

For the first time, Nightwing realized that Scarapelli must have left during the fight. He thought for a moment. Then he took a nightarang in hand and used its sharp edge to scratch: ‘They are under my protection, now. Do not attempt to find them’ into the teakwood desk. He hesitated. Then he shrugged his shoulders and carved a stylized emblem, similar to the symbol he wore on his uniform, directly below the message.

He looked behind him. Morton was sitting against the wall, a dumbfounded expression on his face. “You okay?”

Morton nodded shakily.

Nightwing extended a hand. “Then let’s go meet up with your family.”

Adrian and the Mortons left for Los Angeles before sunrise the next morning.

After a hasty breakfast, Dick and Barbara prepared to leave for Loma Linda. He’d told her that it wasn’t necessary for her to come along unless she wanted to. Her reply had been that she would only turn back if he didn’t want her company.

“You’re going like that?” She asked incredulously, as she took in the frayed jeans, dingy white t-shirt, and tacky sports jacket. “C’mon, Matches wouldn’t be caught dead in that coat!”

“All part of the disguise, Doll,” Dick said. The New Jersey accent felt more natural this time. “Nightwing and daylight don’t exactly mix, see? And I don’t really want my real name getting out.”

“So you’re…” Barbara tried not to laugh. “Robbie Malone?”

“S’right, Doll. What’s so funny?” He smirked. There was another advantage to this persona: ‘Robbie’ didn’t have any past relationship with Barbara. Somehow, slipping into this role made it easier for him to work with her: if there was no reason for Robbie Malone to feel hurt or uncomfortable in her presence, then, in the interest of maintaining his cover, he could banish those emotions.

Barbara grinned back. “You. We’d better get a move on.”

He nodded and sauntered to the door.

“Oh, Robbie?” She called.

He turned to face her.

“Call me ‘Doll’ again,” she said seriously, although her smile never wavered, “and you’ll be the one crying ‘mama’.”