Nightwing #22--To Catch a Night Thief

He crept silently. His heart beat quickly, and he worked on controlling his breathing as he made his way through the tall, stately trees.

A moment later he reached a door, and, glancing around surreptitiously, produced a well-used lock pick. A few seconds later he had the door open, and he slipped through it, closing it behind him.

Once inside he paused to carefully survey the room. He hoped that the house’s occupant would be in bed, as he ran up the stairs. The deep carpet muffled his footsteps. Once upstairs, he peeked through the doors.

One of the bedrooms had men’s clothing strewn about, and the blankets on the bed were half on the floor. A half-filled suitcase lay open on a chair.

I’m too late.

As he pulled into a parking space, the driver worked to calm himself. Eyeing the building he was next to furtively, he grabbed a hat from the seat next to him. Stepping out of the car, he walked briskly to the building, tugging the hat over his hair as he did.

Inside, he looked around. People milled about, but no one looked at him.

He let out a sigh of relief, then walked on, heading for a rack of clothes. He’d come to the supermart, hoping to buy something to further disguise himself.

Anton browsed the mens’ clothing aisle, then headed for hair dye. He found a deep brown and looked at the back of it.

He frowned. He’d never dyed his hair before, and the directions on the back were confusing... Did he need to buy any bleach or anything else to go with the dye? Not wanting to run the risk of getting recognized, he hesitated to ask a store employee.

After a moment of indecision, he tossed the dye in his cart. Picking up a few other items, he went to the front of the store. He kept his head down as the cashier rang up his groceries, looking studiously at the gum selection.

Two minutes later, the cashier was done. Anton started to carelessly toss a bill at the woman, then hesitated. Glancing at the little screen in from of him, he counted out the amount and handed it to the woman. Then he walked away.

As he put the stuff in his car, he wondered how much longer he’d have to count his pennies. Before he’d been arrested, he had always just written a huge check, or counted out a large sum of cash without a second thought.

Before Nightwing had interfered.

Anton pushed the cart away from his vehicle and hopped in his car. He drove up to the motel he was staying in, and headed straight for his room. Pulling the hair dye out of the plastic shopping bag, he looked at it apprehensively and walked over to the bathroom sink…

An hour later he surveyed himself in the mirror, marveling at the change.

It doesn’t look too bad, he thought with satisfaction. The cops’ll never find me. Won’t even suspect me until Nightwing’s dead. Then everyone will know that I, Night-Thief, am Nocturna’s champion, not that teenage Casanova Nightwing.

An hour later Nightwing was carefully examining the kitchen. He had no idea what Natalia and Anton had had in there before, but he hoped to gain a clue anyway.

Examining the cabinets, he found that there was virtually no non-perishable food within.

No coffee, no sugar, no peanut butter…

He opened more cabinets.

No napkins, no paper towels, no paper plates…

When he opened the fridge, he found a half-gallon of milk and a dozen eggs.

He must have bought just enough to last for the time he was here. Then he cleaned out all the stuff that wouldn’t go bad anytime soon.

He straightened, closed the fridge door and tugged at his suit’s sleeves absently.

I doubt he would have taken all that junk on a plane… he wouldn’t have gone on the bus or train with it…

He left the house. There was nothing else for him there. Hopping on his ‘cycle, Nightwing headed home.

Dick tried different car rental agencies all over Gotham without success. After he’d struck out at the last place on his list, he stopped at a café for lunch.

Sipping his iced tea, he suddenly put it down on the table and groaned, drawing glances from other customers.

Stupid! Of course he couldn’t rent a car… He doesn’t have any ID! Not unless he thinks that no one would notice if he signed as Anton Knight.

Dick tossed a bill on the table.

And from what I’ve heard, he hasn’t been in touch with any of his underworld ‘friends’ lately, so I doubt he’s got forged I.D.

He started up his cycle and headed off down the road, glancing idly at the shops as he passed them.

Well, he’d want to disguise himself some way, unless he’s a complete idiot, he thought.

Dick tried several barber shops and wig salons, but soon learned that it was hopeless. He tried the supermarket, although he knew that the chances of his finding a cashier in that huge store who remembered a blond man were slim.

The store manager was eager to help, though even less optimistic than Dick.

“Ask around, but…” the manager shrugged, “I doubt that anyone’s going to remember him.”

Dick did try. He thought he must have asked every employee in the store until he finally came to a teenaged cashier. Producing a photo he’d found after hacking into the Department of Corrections, he asked the girl about Anton.

“Oh! Yeah, I remember that guy. He was kinda moody, and kept staring at the candy while I was ringing up his groceries.” She rolled her eyes.

Dick smiled encouragingly. “What kind of groceries?”

The girl fiddled with her bracelet. “Um, the regular stuff… you know… toothpaste, bread, shaving cream, a tooth brush…”

Dick wrote the list down in his book. “Was there anything that wasn’t as regular? Camping equipment, maybe?”

The girl thought for a moment. “I don’t know…” she began slowly. Dick’s heart sank.

There goes another lead, he thought glumly.

“I know he bought hair dye, and some floss, and…”

“Hair dye?” Dick asked eagerly, his pencil stopping mid-letter.

“Yeah. It was brown. I remember because I was like, Omigosh, he wants to dye that? I mean, his hair was a totally awesome blond…” She giggled.

Dick smiled. “He didn’t say where he was going, by any chance?”

The girl shook her head. “Nope. He didn’t say a word. All he did was like take a bill from his wallet and start to hand it to me and leave. Then he changed his mind, I guess, because he turned back and counted out his change.” She shrugged. “Sorry, but I don’t remember anything else.”

“You’ve been a great help,” Dick said. “Thank you.”

As he left the store, he thought, Yes! Finally, a lead.

Well, he sobered as he fired up his cycle, not much of a lead. But at least it’s a clue.

He left the parking lot. “Let’s see,” he muttered to himself. “All my work this morning checking out the car rentals probably went down the tube. He still could have rented a car, but he most likely doesn’t have any ID.” As he swerved around a car, he thought, and without ID, he couldn’t have hopped a plane. I’ll bet he’s still in town somewhere waiting for Nocturna.

He sighed. Here we go again…

Dick walked into the motel and smiled at the clerk.

“Hello, I’m Richard Grayson. I’m an investigator for....” He went through his well-rehearsed lines.

“Hmmm.…” The clerk mulled over Dick’s questions, studying the Anton photo Dick had given him intently.

“He’s got brown hair now, I think. He would have registered here recently… like since Night-Thief’s jail break.” Dick supplied.

“Actually… yes, we did have a man registered here that fits that description.”

“You do?” Dick asked excitedly.

“Did.” The clerk emphasized.

“Oh.” Dick said disappointedly. “Well, has his room been cleaned yet?”

The man shook his head. “No.”

Dick was almost afraid to ask. “Can I search it?”

The clerk hesitated only for a moment. “All right.”

They went down the hall, the clerk leading the way. He stopped in front of a door and pulled a key ring from his pocket. He unlocked the door, pushed it open and stepped in. Dick followed on his heels.

“Here you go.” The clerk said.

Dick wasted no time. “Thanks,” he said, heading for the bathroom.

He quickly located the trashcan. And on top of all the trash…

“Yes!”

“You found something?” The clerk asked from the doorway.

“Maybe.” Dick replied.

He took a plastic bag out of his pocket and grabbed a pencil, sticking it into the top of the opened dye box. Carefully, he dropped the box into a large Ziploc bag.

“There.”

The clerk looked intently at the dye box in the bag. “This is important?”

“Yeah.” Dick said, distracted. “Don’t touch anything.”

The clerk carefully kept his hands at his sides as he watched Dick make a systematic search of the room. Dick surveyed the glass on the mirror critically.

“Don’t touch,” he repeated as he left the room. Going over to his motorcycle, he found the fingerprinting kit he’d brought along, hoping that he’d get to use it.

“Hmm,” he said, back in the bathroom. He chose a powder color and gently dusted the fingerprints on the mirror with a fine-haired paintbrush. He snapped a few pictures of the prints, put some tape over it and carefully lifted the prints. Walking around the bedroom, he followed the same procedure to lift other prints from other places, including the phone, dresser, and television. At last he straightened, satisfied. After thanking the clerk he left for his apartment, anxious to test the prints.

Dick swerved, shook his head, and opened his eyes wide, trying hard to stay awake and focus on the road. Not wanting to risk an accident, he dejectedly took the next exit and found a quiet hotel to spend the night at. He’d hoped to drive at least most of the way through to New York, but what with driving all day and the long nights he’d had lately…

He yawned loudly as he climbed into bed. He set the alarm on his cell phone to wake him up at 5:00 a.m. as he wanted to get to town early enough to search for Night-Thief in the morning. Also, he hoped to analyze the fingerprints he’d taken from the hotel room’s bathroom mirror and the hair dye box he’d found. He had a pretty good idea of what the analysis would show, though.

Hopefully, Dick thought as he closed his eyes, he’d have better luck in New York than he’d had in Gotham.