Nightwing #31--Riddle of the Sphinx Part 2

Richard Grayson sat before the large bank of monitors, bleary-eyed as he held his head in his hands. One more time, he read over the reports that Tim and Alfred had managed to gather on the various people with connections to the Tutankhamen exhibit up in New York City—from which it would soon depart, and in Gotham, where it would soon arrive. He gave a hefty sigh and finally leaned back in the chair. He blinked as he stared at the screens, and then blinked again. When his eyes opened next, Alfred was next to him, and something in the air smelled delicious. His stomach rumbled and the butler gave him a bemused look.

“Your breakfast is cold, Master Dick,” Alfred stated as Dick stared at him.

“When did you bring it down? It's not time for breakfast yet, is it?” Dick looked around as his sluggish brain struggled to orient itself. His eyes popped open when he caught the time on the display panel next to the central keyboard. “Oh. Um... so, what's for lunch?”

“How droll,” Alfred answered with a slight smirk. “Get upstairs, Master Dick. There is a large, comfortable bed waiting for you. Then we'll talk about lunch.”

Dick chuckled as he snatched up the toast off the tray, and stood, stretched and let the kinks in his body crackle in response. “Right. I hope you thanked Tim for me this morning. He did great with the computer checks.

“He'll be delighted. He seemed disappointed that he failed to locate the digital equivalent of a smoking gun for you. Did you find anything useful in the files?” Alfred followed Dick upstairs and into the mansion.

“Well, my prime suspects were the McElroys. They didn't seem to pan out, but I almost wonder if the younger son, Geoff, might be my Nightwing,” Dick answered with a grin.

“Oh? That would seem... fortuitous. In regard to your seeking out your would-be replacement, I mean.”

“Yeah, I guess. On the other hand, former captain of the gymnastics team in college, right age and build, and most important, he's been paying a lot of his friends back on a lot of loans.”

“I don't quite follow, sir,” Alfred replied as he gathered the discarded apparel left in Dick's wake once they entered the bedroom.

“His friends have all been buying different kinds of survival gear for him,” Dick called out from the bathroom, where he washed his face vigorously, and stared at the stubble he'd need to shave off that night. “High-quality stuff. Cutting edge, in some cases. At least, that's what it looks like, considering the list of debits and credits to their various accounts and cards. A little from one person, a little more from another. Never enough to make his buddies suspicious, but one look at his bank accounts tells me he had the money to just buy all this stuff outright. The family's not hurting for money, even if they're not quite the Waynes.” He walked back into the bedroom, and tossed a damp towel over his shoulder. Alfred caught it deftly, even as he rolled his eyes upwards.

“I see, sir. So he's doing on a smaller scale what we've long done for our own crusade. Quite clever.”

“'Our crusade'?” Dick teased his old friend. He slipped into the bed and yawned long and hard. “Oh wow. This feels too good.”

“You have a business meeting with Mr. Fox at corporate headquarters at two this afternoon. I'll see if we can't move it back an hour. Sleep well, Master Dick.” Alfred walked to the door and then paused. “And excellent detective work.” The door clicked in Alfred's wake, but Richard Grayson was already beyond hearing it.

Theodore “Tanker” Hardy whistled a jaunty tune as he strolled away from the rundown diner. He spun his keys on a thick, callused finger and had a pleased look on his face. Decent grub and a promising job always left him in a good, whistling mood, he reflected, as he walked toward the parking lot and his truck cab.

The whistling stopped suddenly, and the keys spun off his finger as he stared up at the shadow that loomed off the top of his cab. The ears, the wings, the blank, hollow eyes, they all made Tanker stop short, as ice water filled his shoes.

“Tell me about your job, Tanker,” Batman growled as he stared down at the hapless thug.

“Oh geez, I mean, ya gotta believe me, I got no idea what yer--”

Batman perched along the edge of the cab's roof and growled now. Dick fought back the grin that wanted to leak out when he saw the big tough trucker almost sink to his knees, but that would have killed the effect, and so he managed to suppress it.

“It's some chick, she wants an ace driver, and I am, and that's all!”

“The woman's name, Tanker?”

“Um, uh, it's...um...”

“Quit stalling, Tanker! You can make a legit living from trucking... if your legs work.” Dick tensed up, prepared to make the intimidation more physical, but fairly sure it wouldn't be necessary.

“I can't think! I mean, she's hot! That's what I remember most! That and that I need ta have my cab ready ta go by tomorrow, noon. She had a great rack, and legs, man, these legs... Does she really need a name?”

Batman sighed inwardly as he leaped down to the ground and loomed over the trucker. “Yes. She does, Tanker.”

Tanker's eyes were wide and Dick could practically see the limited brain behind them racing for information. “Terri! Yeah, that was it, Terri something. That's all I remember—the first name—honest, Bats.” He gulped and stepped back. “Batman.” He grabbed his keys from the ground and stepped back again. “Sir?”

“Nice breasts, great legs. Can you describe anything more useful, Tanker?”

“Brown hair, short. Yeah, short brown hair, um... maybe blue eyes? Not all that tall, she was maybe... er, this high?” He held his hand up to just below his own chin. “Good shape. I mean, great shape, but she was in good shape, ya know?”

“Where do you bring your truck tomorrow, Tanker? If you were to actually make the meeting,” Batman asked as he held his position.

“To the old King-Vallee Truck Company,” Tanker answered quickly. “The operation's meeting up there. I don't know for what yet, I just know that Terri chick is picking up more help for something.”

Batman nodded at the information. “Get out of town, Tanker. Just go.” Dick stepped off to one side, fired his grappling line into the air, and lifted up into the late evening shadows.

Tanker, to his credit, raced for his cab, brought the motor roaring to life and sped from Gotham by the most direct route he could find.

“A to B. A to B,” Alfred said as he tapped lightly on his earpiece from ingrained habit.

“B here. What do you have, A?”

“First things first, sir. How was your meeting?”

“I have my shadow with me now,” Batman replied. “He seems willing to go with the program for now. We'll have to see how it goes.”

“Understood. Our little bird has pinned down the identity of your mystery woman based off of the rather salacious description provided,” Alfred stated as he looked up at the central monitor that lit up the Batcave. “A Miss Terri Eckhart. Noted member of the Gotham criminal sub-culture. Properly lengthy record of petty crimes, most often working as an assistant for other, more visionary criminals.”

“Sounds like our target,” Batman answered after a brief moment of silence. “No, I'm not talking to you.”

“B?”

“Talking to my shadow,” Dick answered. “Do we have an address?”

“316 Victor Avenue, apartment 32,” Alfred read off the file.

“I'm on my way, B out.”

“Where are we?” Nightwing asked as they dropped down onto a rooftop in a middle-class area of Gotham, lined with brown and red brick apartment buildings, of varying ages, but possessing an almost uniform look of depression and exhaustion.

“Victor Street, near the intersection with Dozier Boulevard. Don't often have to come here anymore, it's gotten very quiet over the years, but occasionally there's trouble,” Batman answered quietly as he crept to the edge of the building and slipped binoculars from his belt.

“You okay? Your voice lost its edge,” Nightwing noted as he walked up until he stood next to the Caped Crusader. “Something to worry about?”

Dick winced inwardly as he stared across the street. “No. Fine.” The growl returned to his voice, while as the young man wished he could grab a drink of water for his throat. “That window, three floors up and second from the right, is the apartment of our would-be “queen”. She's been recruiting muscle and other talent for a job tomorrow, most likely for King Tut. We're going to find out.”

Nightwing's smile grew wide with excitement and anticipation. “Glad to hear it. I want to get that freak, and I've had no luck with my investigation earlier.”

“Oh?” Dick half-turned his head to the new vigilante.

“Yeah. Visited Brighton up in New York earlier today. I thought maybe the inside man might be from his department, but he just got all huffy at the notion. He really seemed to think that it had to be the Gotham U people. Said all museum and exhibit crews had been on the job for too long to be trying something now.”

“True. It has to be the university. Astute man,” Batman replied as he turned to look at his partner, who looked quite startled by the comment.

“I know them! It can't be... I mean, I checked them all out closely! If only I could have gotten those files, but I couldn't get Brighton to spill anything, he just wasn't afraid of me.” The vigilante slapped one fist into the palm of his other hand in frustration as Batman narrowed his eyes.

“Not afraid of Nightwing.”

“Right. Me.”

“You can't be Nightwing, remember? We talked about that. So don't associate yourself with the mask, or it's just going to be that much harder to let it go when the time comes.” Dick winced inwardly again as he thought of how accurate those words would be if said into a mirror.

“But...” The man paused and shook his head, brow furrowed, eyes closed tight. “Right. Right. I know. You're right.”

Dick raised his hand to his earpiece. “B to A. Come in.”

The neophyte Nightwing stared up, watching his mentor talk to the mysterious Letter, and wondering who it might be. Wondering if maybe, he might be let into the circle closely enough to learn.

“Check into the medical history of the McElroy family,” Batman said in a concerned tone that made his partner stare. “Especially psychiatric. I'm getting a bad feeling about something.”

“McElroys? Albert? You think Albert could be involved?” Nightwing almost yelled. He hastily added, “Or Geoff... rey? Certainly not the father, he doesn't come close to the...”

Batman put his hand out to stop the vigilante's rambling. “I know it's not William. And I'm nearly positive it's not Geoff. Right?” He folded his arms across his chest.

“Right. So let's go check out this apartment,” Geoffrey Columbus McElroy suggested in a muted tone. “While you wait for this… 'A' to find your answers?”

Batman pivoted, and fired his grapple, launched himself out into the sky and swung to the target window. Moments later, both crime-fighters had entered the apartment and begun their search. The dwelling was simply furnished: five well-lived-in rooms, which at first provided no answers.

“Terri Eckhart's apartment,” Batman confirmed as he checked through the woman's bills.

“I know this woman,” Nightwing whispered as he stared at a picture that showed her with several friends at an amusement park.

Batman stepped up quietly, and peered over Nightwing's shoulder. “She's not Terri. I know her as Sherry. Sherry Watts. She's dating m...Albert. Albert McElroy.”

Batman put a hand on Geoff's shoulder for a moment. Then he returned to investigating the apartment. “She's keeping it very quiet here. No sign of a double life, or any criminal activity,” Batman replied. “Except for the different names you're aware of.”

As the pair retreated to the window, they both noticed a car pull up to the curb, and their target step out briefly. Nightwing tensed, and prepared to leap, but Batman put his arm up to block him. “No. Wait. This works out nearly as well.” With that, he casually flipped a batarang behind him to strike a light switch. As the light flared suddenly behind him, he filled the window and spread the cape out.

The reaction he got was exactly the one as he wanted. Terri Eckhart saw the bat-shaped shadow fall over the street and stared up at the Dark Knight staring down at her. With a cry of fright, she recovered her senses and dove back into the car, and hurriedly screeched away, unaware of the tracer, which Batman fired onto the back bumper.

“She's headed to her King. We can follow, and put an end to this.” Then Batman straightened his head up and cupped his earpiece. “Right. Got it. Thanks, A. Give the little bird a cookie.”

“Learned the big McElroy secret?” Nightwing drawled in a disdainful voice.

“Yes. A tendency of the family to develop a kind of dissociative fugue,” Batman answered as he stared at his partner. “In other words, without medication, they have a tendency to take on the identities of other people. People they feel strongly about. Right... Geoff?”

Nightwing flinched at the sound of his name. Then he nodded glumly. “I'm on my meds. I'm fine,” he added tersely. “Don't look at me like that!”

“But your brother?”

“He likes being Pharaoh. As a child, he'd play Ancient Egypt games the way other kids would play knights, or ‘Cowboys and Indians’.” Nightwing sighed softly. “He'd play it too much. He'd slip into that game and not come out of it. At least, that's what I found out from Mom. It took a lot of wheedling on my part, too. Mom and Dad, they never want to talk about it. Honestly, I thought my medication was for blood pressure until about five, maybe six, years back, when I asked my new doctor about it. That's when I talked to Mom.”

“We have a car to follow,” Batman said as he aimed his grapple gun and fired into the night. “Come on, then. Let's see if we can round your brother up before it's too late for him.”

“You did good, considering the circumstances.”

Geoffrey Columbus McElroy stared up at the Dark Knight and huddled in his jacket. It hid the costume he wore, for now, and he turned to look back up at the departing police cars and ambulance. “I'm glad Dad will be okay.”

“Your brother will get the best help available,” Batman stated as he took a step back from the younger McElroy.

“He's going to end up in Arkham. I know what that means,” Geoff replied bitterly. “I'm not Nightwing, not much of a partner, and I've supplied you a new freak for the city.”

“Albert's problems are not your fault. He's still got hope. He's not yet beyond recovery.”

“You almost sound like Nightwing, saying that. At least, that's how I've always imagined him talking, to the Titans or to... you know, whoever’s around. When a case ends.” Geoff turned back to Batman. “I can't even imagine doing this anymore.” He handed the Nightwing mask over. “I have to take care of my family. Dad's hurt, and Mom... Mom's going to be a basket case over this.”

Batman took the mask and slid it into a pouch. “Maybe it's for the best. Even though he seems to be all energy and optimism, even Nightwing has to have a goal, a… purpose to his activities. You can't live this life without it. And being someone else is not a good enough focus.”

“I never want to be Nightwing again. Never. Geoff's more than enough for me.” He turned and started to walk to his father's car. “Thanks for everything, Batman.” He reached the door and never looked back. He knew full well that he was already alone.