-3-
The police database had the make and model of the stolen car, thanks to Joshua. He'd been more than willing to give that information up, even if it hadn't involved cutting a deal with the DA’s office for the charges he, himself was facing. He'd been willing to take whatever payback he could get. Nightwing smiled, feeling a little bit more like his old self.
The first question was whether they had ditched the car; if they had, that would complicate things. But Nightwing was no less determined. Also, he had a suspicion that they hadn't; that they were counting on cautious driving to save them. Overconfidence was a weakness he was hoping he could exploit. Also, if they did ditch the car, someone might notice that, as well.
It was a good gamble; the cops could only look at so many cars, and it was easy for one vehicle to get lost in a crowd. But Nightwing had the time and energy to focus on that one vehicle. It was one of the advantages to what he did; he'd learned that lesson from Bruce a long time ago.
He kept one ear to the police scanner bands anyway; using every resource available was another lesson he had long since learned. But at the moment at least, the cops had nothing. The local highway patrol was concerned with a fender bender that had turned ugly when the two drivers had gotten out of their cars and started beating each other up. Any other time, Nightwing would have been happy to swing in with a graceful kick and a witty quip, but saving the woman and child was his first concern.
Then, success: he saw the amber flash of the Saturn, the open moon roof, and yes, there was the licence plate! They had stayed on the Interstate, as he had thought they would. It was deep into the night now; only a few other cars on the road, as they crossed the Pennsylvania-Maryland border. Nightwing briefly considered tipping off the highway patrol, then rejected the notion. He would handle this himself.
He could put up a light and siren and force them to pull over; he had pulled that particular trick twice before, in fact. But he knew they would just run if he did. And he wasn't prepared to let them get away.
So he quietly took a tracer from his belt. He loaded it into a miniature canon, which was built into his handle-bars and launched it at the car. It connected with the trunk and began pinging softly. Even if they got away from him, they would have to abandon the car to completely shake him off.
He took out a modified, heavy-duty grappling gun and fired it at their rear bumper. It connected with a violent clang that they couldn't possibly have missed.
Sure enough, the car sped up and began to lurch wildly, but Nightwing hung on like grim death. Maybe he could panic them into running out of gas...
The back window shattered and bullets started zipping towards him. He ducked and dived. He wanted to hurl a "flash-bang" grenade into the car, but he’d risked hurting the child. Already, he could hear the little boy crying.
Another man--even Batman--might have decided at that point that he had made a rash or foolish move. Nightwing never considered the idea. Instead, he jammed on the brakes. He almost flew off his bike, but managed to hang on.
The Saturn was standard, it's engine not devised for speed. Nightwing's motorcycle, on the other hand, had most definitely been designed for high performance and endurance. Still, the Saturn had superior mass and weight. Slowed to a mere twenty miles an hour, it continued to grind forward. Of course, by keeping his grip on the grappling gun, Nightwing was giving those inside the Saturn a clearer shot at him.
He ducked and dodged the bullets with increasingly greater difficulty. He knew they were trying to kill him, but they would also be satisfied with forcing him off his bike, thus enabling them to speed away.
But then he saw something that froze his blood.
His eyesight, through the night-vision lenses in his mask, was sharp as ever, and in the muzzle-flash from one of the guns firing at him, he saw the shooter's face. Angry, with teeth gritted in a death mask.
A woman's face!
Michelle wasn’t a kidnap victim, she was a willing participant. Which almost certainly meant that it was she who had shot her husband and taken the child. He cursed himself for not putting the clues together faster. He had been focused on Bobby's rap sheet; it had never occurred to him that Michelle might be part of the game, too. Granted, he had found out by following the trail anyway, but he should have considered all possibilities.
His anger flared, then cooled. He still dared not risk the child, but there were other means at his disposal.
Taking one hand off the handlebars and dodging yet another string of bullets, he flicked his wrist. A nightarang slipped into his hand. He knew his craft. There was no worry of the nightarang hitting the child.
He aimed carefully, and threw... and the nightarang connected with Michelle's hand. She shouted in pain and anger, as the gun skittered over the trunk and bounced off the tarmac. The gun did not fire, as Nightwing had worried it might; but even if it had, there had been no risk to the child.
There was one shooter left. The muzzle flashes revealed Bobby's merciless face. That left his unidentified associate as the wheelman. Nightwing could try the nightarang trick again, but Bobby might anticipate it. He also considered using one with a rope attached, to wrap Bobby up, but that presented similar problems. That left him with two options: first, he could simply wait for Bobby to run out of ammo. He dismissed the thought even as another bullet zipped past his head; sooner or later Bobby would actually hit him. The other option was a grandiose, acrobatic, theatrical risk. He would only get one chance at it, and it would have to work.
But it was most assuredly his style.
Grinning a daredevil grin once more, Nightwing kicked in the bike's cruise control. Motorcycles normally had no such thing, but of course, his was a heavily-modified vehicle. The Saturn regained some speed, but he had anticipated that when he’d engaged the cruise control, and he was ready for it.
He slid into an awkward crouch on the saddle, even as another bullet burned past his costumed left bicep. He waited, feeling the wind, testing the speed of the vehicle ahead of him, for Bobby to pause to reload.
Then he jumped forward. It was not his most graceful move ever, but he was more interested in making the jump than making it look good. Usually he could do both at once, but not this time. Nevertheless, he thought his parents would probably be pleased.
Certainly, Bobby was impressed by it. His eyes widened in shock as Nightwing collided with him head-first. The impact knocked Bobby back into the back seat. Nightwing held on to the rear window frame for dear life.
Michelle was shocked too, but within seconds she had recovered, and lurched toward him, raking at his face with her long fingernails, trying for his eyes. His mask would've protected him anyway, but the last thing he wanted was for her to keep him busy while Bobby recovered... or, barring that, for her to simply to knock him off the trunk of the car.
A calculated left-hand chop to her neck cost him some of his equilibrium. One booted foot flailed dangerously close to the speeding roadway. Nor was it as successful a strike as he’d hoped, she was only dazed, and she quickly came at him again. This time, a solid left-handed punch connected with her forehead, and she was down for the count.
Bobby was starting to recover in earnest, now. Bleeding from the nose, eyes unfocused, he nevertheless had recovered his gun and was trying to aim it. In one fluid motion, Nightwing leveraged his body into the back seat, and his right boot kicked Bobby in the side of the head. That was it for him, too.
Nightwing loomed over the wheelman's shoulder. "Pull over, Jeeves," he advised, as though the man were a chauffeur.
The wheelman wanted to fight, but he was in no position to. And with the other two out, there was no point in even trying for his gun. Unhappily, he pulled over and killed the engine.
"Good boy," Nightwing praised him, then slammed his face into the wheel. The horn honked once, muted. The wheelman groaned. He wasn’t quite unconscious, but with an even worse nosebleed than Bobby, he wasn't going to be putting up any kind of fight.
Nightwing looked over at the passenger seat and frowned. Little baby Tom was properly secured in a child safety seat, crying but clearly unharmed. This both relieved and puzzled him; given her conduct, Michelle didn't exactly seem like a caring mother.
Nightwing could more or less call this one wrapped up, but there was one thing troubling him still.
