Bruce was in the gym when Tim arrived.
He was finishing up a practice scenario with three of the automated dummies, having floored two of them already. The third approached, and ducked as its motion sensor eyes saw Bruce's fist flying towards it. As it ducked, Bruce drove his knee up into its metal skull, then hit the dummy with a strong uppercut; it fell to the ground and laid still. Bruce stood over it and nodded, then walked off the mat to the control console.
Bruce typed in several commands, and the dummies stood and lined up at the edge of the mat. He accessed the programming module and began typing furiously. Tim entered the gym, his Robin costume wrapped up in its cape and secured beneath Tim's arm. Bruce acknowledged his partner with a nod, then continued with his typing. "Still haven't got them working right?"
Bruce shook his head. "There are certain problems that just can't be solved with current problems. Their fighting is precise, their reflexes are almost up to human standards, but their thinking--if you could call it that--is still one dimensional. They can only analyze one problem at a time; while a dummy is dodging my fist, he can't anticipate my knee smashing into his face the next instant."
Tim shrugged and walked onto the practice mat. "You'll figure it out. So, why'd you ask me to show up so early tonight?"
Bruce continued to look at the computer screen and type as he spoke. "What did you tell your father before you left?"
Tim drew in a breath. "Well, tonight's the dance at school, so I just told Dad that's where I was headed. I parked my van just up the street from your driveway and then walked back here."
Bruce nodded. "Good," he said, "Because that's where you're going tonight."
Tim stared at Bruce with an empty, slack-jawed expression. "What? I . . . I don't understand."
"It's not that complex. Robin isn't going out tonight; you're going to the dance at school."
Tim looked at Bruce incredulously, a look of disbelief in his eyes. "You're not letting me go out tonight?"
"You've been under a lot of stress these past few days, Tim. I want you to unwind tonight, just . . . be a kid for once."
"But I'm not a kid," Tim pleaded, "I'm Robin. I can't afford to take a day off, especially after what's been happening."
"No, because of what's been happening. You might be Robin, but first and foremost, you're Tim Drake, teenager and high school student."
"But--"
"No buts, Tim. You're a fifteen year-old boy, and you have a chance that Dick and I never had; a chance to lead at least a partially normal life. You chose to be Robin, I had no choice in my life; it was handed to me. You have what I never had at your age, a father, a life, real friends. A girlfriend. Now, I think the dance starts at eight, so get going."
Tim stood still for a moment, and Bruce looked at him for the first time. "Gotham City can survive one night without Robin. I'm pretty certain of that."
Tim slowly backed off the mat and turned around. "I'll go," he said hesitantly to Bruce. "But, I'm taking the costume with me." Tim held out his Robin costume.
Bruce nodded. "Fine. You'd better change. . . . Only about twenty minutes to go."
13142 Mountain Drive, 7:46 p.m.
Sister Lilhy walked into the living room, where Jean-Paul sat already. She started to sit next to him on the couch, then changed her mind and took a seat on the chair beside the couch. Jean-Paul stared at the television, acknowledging Lilhy's presence only with a look and a barely noticeable nod. Lilhy cleared her throat shyly, but Jean-Paul still did not acknowledge her.
"You are not meditating," she observed.
"No," Jean-Paul answered, "I am not."
Lilhy looked at the TV. "What are you watching?"
Jean-Paul inhaled deeply. "It's called Jeopardy. A quiz show. Brian says there used to be many game shows on television, but now there aren't but a few."
Lilhy nodded, trying to seem interested. "We didn't have television in the Order's Cathedral."
Jean-Paul nodded. "Yes, I know." He exhaled, his chest falling. Settled into the couch, he returned his full attention to Jeopardy.
"Do you plan to go to Gotham City tonight? As Azrael?"
Jean-Paul nodded. "Yes, in a few hours."
"Why wait so long?"
"The Batman rarely is seen before eleven o'clock."
"But, you are not the Batman . . . not any longer."
Jean-Paul squinted towards the TV, although not really looking at it any longer. "I was never the Batman. And, I will not go out until close to eleven; this is how things are done."
Lilhy looked plainly at Jean-Paul for several minutes, watching him as he watched TV. "Between now and eleven," she began to ask, "what do you plan to--"
"When Jeopardy is off, I will go outside to practice."
"But you have the System in your mind, Jean-Paul; there is no need for you to practice."
"The System is Azrael; I practice for Jean-Paul Valley. Besides, I . . . enjoy it."
Lilhy nodded, then stood and left.
"What is 'Switzerland,'" Jean-Paul said to the television.
Gotham Heights High School Main Gymnasium, 8:02 p.m.
Tim's van came to a stop in front of the school, and he sat there reluctantly for several minutes. He slid his hand between the buttons of his shirt, feeling the kevlar of his Robin tunic beneath. He had worn the costume beneath normal clothes before, but never beneath a suit, never to a dance, never around his friends. When his clock read 8:06 p.m., Tim opened the door and left his van.
Walking towards the gym entrance, Tim heard the voice of Hudson. Tim's friend smiled, raising his eyebrows and approaching from the side of the gym. "Tim, man! I was hoping you'd be here!" Tim waved, and Hudson walked up and patted him on the shoulder. "Ariana's inside with Erica and a couple of their friends."
Tim looked at Hudson with surprise. "Erica? Are you two here . . . you know . . .?"
Hudson shook his head regretfully. "Nope, 'fraid not. I might ask her to dance though . . . if I get enough of that spiked punch in me." The two friends shared a laugh and started for the gym. Inside, the gym floor was covered with people; it seemed as if the whole school was in attendance; an unusually large turnout for the Winter Dance. Clear at the other end of the gym, a local band played, although they were barely noticeable, the lazy melodies floating practically unheard over the crowd, hardly any of which was dancing.
Tim scanned the crowd quickly, and having found no trace of Ariana, accompanied Hudson to the nearest punch bowl. Tim poured a cupful and handed it to his friend. "Here," he said as he presented the punch, "you'd better get started if you want to dance with Erica by the end of the night!"
Hudson smiled wryly and took the punch, emptying the cup in a single gulp and refilling it immediately. Before taking a drink, Hudson grinned and looked inside his jacket. Chuckling lightly, he buttoned his jacket in the front. "Nope, flask's still full . . . must be someone else's liquor."
Tim laughed once weakly. "Well, it's either pretty good booze, or pretty bad, depending on your perspective." Hudson smiled again and took a light sip from his new cup of punch.
"Hey," he said, touching Tim's arm, "There's Ari over there." Hudson pointed to a point near the middle of the gym floor. Ariana was standing in a circle that included Erica, and several of her other friends. Tim also noticed a blonde standing there, with her back to him so he couldn't see her face. The blonde turned around; it was Stephanie Brown.
Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown were not friends, but Stephanie had an alter-ego: the Spoiler. The Spoiler and Robin had worked together in the past, but mostly tried to steer clear of each other. Afterall, Spoiler was a vigilante in the truest sense of the word, and Batman most definitely did not approve of her activities.
But, what was she doing here? Tim was thinking. He grabbed a cup, filled it with punch, and took a sip. She doesn't even go to Gotham Heights, Tim said silently to himself, And, how does she know Ariana? Tim froze momentarily as Stephanie began moving towards the punch bowl. He looked over at Hudson, who was smiling with mischief in his eyes. "Check out the blonde, Tim! She's got a nice little bod on her, huh?" Tim was completely silent, and began an attempt at moving inconspicuously to the other end of the table. "Oh, right, I forgot," Hudson said, "You're . . . spoken for." Hudson finished off his punch. "No prob; more for me."
Tim reached the edge of the table, then took a step forward and lost himself in the crowd. Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown had never come face to face, but Spoiler had gotten pretty close to Robin, and if Stephanie ever had a chance to get a fairly good look at Tim, she would almost certainly recognize him. Once he was near the middle of the gym, Tim starting searching for Ariana.
He spotted her and Erica chatting as they walked towards a punch bowl located against the other wall of the gym. Tim tried not to step on anyone as he moved to meet them. "Ari!" he called. She turned and spotted him, smiling brightly. She waved.
"Hey!" she said, kissing him as he walked up beside her, putting his arm around her. He greeted her in much the same way, looking silently in her eyes for a moment. "What?" she asked.
"I'm glad to see you," Tim answered. "Wanna dance?"
Ariana glanced at the dance floor. "Maybe later, okay? How about the third slow one from now? Sound good?"
Tim nodded, looking at her the whole time. "Sounds perfect. So, what have you been doing for the last . . ." Tim looked at his watch. " . . . Eight minutes?"
"I got here a little bit before eight. I guess Erica, the girls, and me have been just talking since then."
"The girls?"
Ariana nodded. "Yep. You know, Erica, Kelly, oh, and Steph."
"Steph," Tim stated flatly. "She doesn't go to school here, does she? How did you meet her, anyway, Ari?"
Ariana looked at Tim with a strange expression. "She's my friend. What does it matter?"
Tim stammered for a second. "Well, I mean . . . I just haven't seen you two talking before tonight, and I was wondering who your new friend was."
Ariana looked quietly at the floor. "We met after Karl Ranck's funeral, Tim. She was there late when I showed up after everyone was gone to lay some flowers on his grave. We got to talking; she knew some of the guys who were in the gang that killed Karl. We . . . we cried together awhile."
Tim looked at Ariana sadly. "Sorry," he said, embracing her around the shoulders, "I didn't want to upset you."
"No, that's all right." Ariana wiped her watering eyes with her left index finger. "I'm fine."
Tim embraced her tight against him for an instant, then relaxed and let his arm drop back down to his side. Ariana wiped her eyes a final time, cleared her throat, and squared her shoulders. "So," she said in a buoyant voice that only sounded slightly artificial, "Why were you late? I thought you would be here before I was."
Tim took a deep breath and looked around the gym again. "I dunno . . . I guess I'm just in a dumpy mood, you know? I mean, with everything happening lately . . . the bombing in the city." Ariana nodded understandingly. "Got me thinking about . . . some stuff."
Ariana nodded again. "Yeah," she said, her voice low. She looked at the floor for an instant, then looked back up at Tim, smiling brightly. "I think I want something to drink," she said thoughtfully. "I think Steph went over by the punch bowl. Come-on."
Ariana tugged gently at Tim's arm; he carefully removed her hand, holding it between his thumb and the tips of his fingers. "You go ahead; I'm going to see if I can find Ives somewhere around here. He said he'd be here." Ariana looked at Tim, her lips pouting. Tim smiled shamefully. "I'll catch up to you, Ari, okay?"
Ariana took several steps backwards away from Tim and reluctantly let go of his hand. "Okay," she said, turned, and walked off to find her new friend at the punch bowl. Tim smiled at her until she was lost in the crowd, then ran his hand through his hair, which was already slightly wet with perspiration.
13142 Mountain Drive, 9:03 p.m.
Jean-Paul packed his Azrael gear into the trunk of the red Chevrolet coupe, then walked around to the driver's side door. Lilhy approached him from the front door of the house. "It isn't eleven o'clock, yet, Jean-Paul," she said flatly.
Jean-Paul climbed in behind the wheel and began methodically fastening his seat-belt, adjusting his seat and mirrors, securing his key into the ignition. He rolled down the window and looked out at Lilhy, who now stood right next to the car. "I was growing . . . restless." He turned and looked out the windshield at the night sky. "It's dark; I'm going out. I expect I'll have the city to myself for awhile."
Lilhy simply nodded her head. "Well . . . I'll see you when you return."
Jean-Paul began to roll up the window and looked back at her. "Yes," he began, "you will." He started the car and pulled out of the driveway.
Lilhy waited until the car was out of sight before going back inside.
Beneath Wayne Manor, 9:10 p.m.
Alfred stepped off the elevator carrying a silver tray of tea, and a crock of hot soup. He could hear Bruce in the gym, running on the treadmill. Bruce normally ran at least twenty miles a day on the treadmill, sometimes more, depending on how busy he was with other matters. His daily regimen also included two-thousand squats, the same number of sit-ups, push ups, and chin-ups, several hours of aerobic exercise. Strength training was a rather minor aspect of the Batman's training schedule; Bruce only devoted four days a week to it, spending most of his time on conditioning and maintaining his tremendous stamina.
Alfred entered the gym, sat the tray down on a steel table near the door, and approached the treadmill silently. He cleared his throat, even though he knew that Bruce had been aware of his presence since the butler stepped off the elevator. Bruce continued to run, but turned his head quickly towards Alfred. "I'll have the soup in about twenty minutes," he said, not a hint of exhaustion in his voice.
Alfred nodded. "Very well, sir. What will you be doing to occupy yourself between now and eleven this evening, sir?"
Bruce shrugged. "I don't have to wait for Tim tonight . . . I might go out early."
Alfred seemed shocked. "Really? That isn't exactly conforming to your normal schedule."
Bruce shrugged again, picking up the pace slightly as he entered his thirteenth mile. "Well . . . Batman can't always stick to a rigid schedule. As long as it's dark . . ." Bruce exhaled fully, then drew in a full breath. "I can't afford to be predictable."
"Of course not," Alfred said. "You know where the microwave is, sir, on the extremely unlikely chance of your soup being allowed to sit until it grows cold."
Bruce continued his run, increasing his speed every two miles or so. When he was done, he left the gym, rode the elevator up to the main plateau of the cave, and walked towards the vault.
Gotham Heights High School, 9:31 p.m.
Tim had managed to avoid Ariana for the last hour and a half, mostly by watching her and staying on the opposite side of the gym, not talking to anyone. He would have left a long time ago, but kept hoping that Stephanie Brown would leave first, since Tim had absolutely nowhere to go. Tim watched from across the floor as Stephanie left Ariana, walking towards the bathroom. Once she was out of sight, Tim moved in beside Ari, putting his arm around her.
"Where have you been?" she asked suspiciously.
Tim shrugged, smiling mischievously. "Just . . . mingling. Talking to friends. You?"
Ari sighed and looked into Tim's eyes. "Tim, if you have a problem with Stephanie, I wish you'd tell me. I mean, is she an old girlfriend?"
Tim's eyes widened. "No!" He took a breath and slowed down, taking Ariana by the shoulders. "No, no, no. Nothing like that, Ari . . . it's just that, I didn't want to get in the way, that's all." Tim actually thought for a second that his excuse would work.
"Come-on, Tim," Ariana answered back, folding her arms and raising one eyebrow. "You hang around me and Erica all the time."
Tim drew in a breath through his teeth, scratching the back of his neck. "Well . . . you and Stephanie are new friends . . . and I didn't want to . . . halt the growth of your relationship." Tim suddenly wished that he didn't have so much respect for his girlfriend's intelligence, he could use some more confidence right about now.
"Tim, if you're going to lie to my face, you can just go home right now. I already have a ride home."
Tim looked frustratedly to the floor, sighing heavily. "Look, Ari, it's just that . . ." Trying to think of something to say, Tim happened to look up at the door, and saw Peter Devorak walked into the gym. Tim's jaw dropped open; Peter Devorak was better known to most as the anti-Robin, Raven. Immediately, Tim took Ariana by the shoulders and pulled her towards the edge of the dance floor. She resisted, pulling away from him.
"Let go, Tim." She stepped away and started for the exit.
"Ariana! Where are you going?"
"I'm calling home; getting a ride out of here. Good-bye, Tim."
Tim started after her, then stopped. What was he going to do? As he saw it, there were only two options: go after Ariana and try, perhaps in vain, to salvage his relationship with her; or remain here and play whatever game Raven had in mind. It was a harder choice then Tim expected; he watched Ariana go, and made his decision. He didn't follow her.
Peter Devorak was standing idly by the punch bowl, looking around, not focusing on anything in particular. Tim shoved his hands in his pockets and approached Peter. When Peter spotted Tim, he smiled and stepped to the side as his former friend approached. "Peter," Tim greeted him, trying to sound as cordial as possible.
Peter continued to smile, and Tim forced himself to smile back.
Somewhere in Downtown Gotham City, 9:39 p.m.
Azrael stepped out of the air and onto the roof of one of hundreds of nameless apartment buildings that lined the streets of Gotham. All around him was the night of the city, within every building slept its denizens. As Azrael strode across the roof of the building, he could almost feel the presence of the city's ten million inhabitants, their souls coursing through him.
On the street below, two men parted ways. Although Azrael didn't recognize them, Batman did. The dark knight had been perched on a ledge across the street from Azrael, listening to the final few minutes of the conversation between the two men. One of them was Garfield Lynns, the Firefly. The other, while not recognized personally by Batman, wore a white tuxedo. The conversation was cryptic, no names were used, no locations, no dates, no times were given; both men were professionals.
The conversation had been over before either Batman or Azrael had arrived; when Lynns left it would have been of no use to follow him. The white tuxedo wearer, however, was a much different circumstance. Batman had witnessed the fall of Black Mask firsthand, but still had no idea who specifically was behind it. Following this man would no doubt prove helpful in determining this. Keeping one eye on Azrael, Batman dropped from the roof to an adjacent alley.
Jean-Paul Valley's eyes were drawn sharply closed like that of a hawk's beneath the mask and hood of Azrael, watching both Batman and the wearer of the white suit as they went through their motions. The white tuxedo looked behind him in the direction of the Batman, then began to jog quickly down the sidewalk; it was obvious to Azrael that Batman had been spotted.
Batman returned to the rooftops and began to follow, but by then Azrael was already in motion. Azrael fired a grapnel from the top of his gauntlet, and when it found rest several buildings away, he stepped off the building and back into the air, gliding at the end of the cord. When he passed the grapnel, he triggered its release and it began to recede back into the gauntlet. Azrael continued his glide for nearly a full block, then brought his legs up to his chest and shifted in mid-air, straightening out and dropping towards the sidewalk.
Batman was beginning a move to the roof of a building across the street when Azrael began his descent. Seeing no other alternative, Batman pulled a batarang from the back of his utility belt, clipped a length of cord to it, and flung it towards the white tuxedo wearer. The batarang led the cord around the ankle of the white tux wearer, and Batman pulled the cord taut, tripping him to the sidewalk.
Azrael touched the ground just in front of the fallen white tux. A razor-sharp blade extended from the top of his right gauntlet, and he severed the cord trailing away from the man's ankles. Looking up, Azrael nodded quickly in thanks to the approaching Batman, then flung the white tuxedo wearer over his shoulder, and fired a grapnel from his gauntlet up towards the rooftop of a building up ahead.
Azrael was on the roof and moving quickly towards a point out of sight when Batman fired his own grapnel and reached a rooftop several buildings behind.
A police station was only two blocks to the east.
Gotham Heights High School, 9:46 p.m.
Tim had been carrying on the most forced, artificial small-talk of his life, with the person who was as close as he had ever come to having a mortal enemy. "Nice seeing you, again, Tim," Peter finally said.
"Wish I could say the same," Tim responded, the smile melting from his face. He took a step towards Peter. "Just what do you think you're doing here, Pete?" Peter looked at Tim as if he had no idea what was being said. Tim stared silently at Peter for nearly a full minute. "Do you have any idea what will happen to you if you're recognized?"
Peter chuckled pompously. "Who will recognize me, exactly? Do you know how long it's been since they put my mug shot on the eleven o'clock news? I was in Blackgate long enough so that I'm bonified old news."
Tim raised an eyebrow and leaned towards Peter. "Do you know how long it's been since someone escaped from death row at Blackgate? I'll give you a little hint; you're the only one I can remember."
"Your point?"
"Don't let that big head swell much more, Pete. If you think cops in this town are taking you lightly, you'd better take another look at that."
Peter shrugged, looking around the room. "What's the big deal about little old me?"
Tim had been waiting to be asked that question. "You murdered your own parents, Peter."
Peter nodded, as if he recognized what Tim was talking about, but wasn't really affected by it. He eyed the door. "I noticed Ariana leaving as I was coming in."
Tim clenched his teeth suddenly, his eyes seemed to flare with sudden anger. "I'm sure that was just coincidence," he said with quiet fire.
"Meaning?"
"Other than me, Ariana is the only other person in this room who actually gave a damn about you when you went to school here. She could identify you blindfolded, Peter, from across the room." Peter's look grew distant, and he nodded as he surveyed the room slowly. Tim put his hand firmly on Peter's shoulder and turned him so that they faced each other directly. "Why did you come here?"
Peter Devorak shrugged, pushing his lower lip out. "I guess I missed you, Tim. You know . . . the old times."
"You mean before you became a psychopath?" Tim shot back immediately.
Peter opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, having to force himself to hold back. "By the way, say 'Hi' to Two-Face when you see him again."
Peter's fist clenched tight, and he looked around the gym sharply. "I think I need some fresh air."
Tim and Peter both started for separate exits. As he stepped outside, Tim began unbuttoning his shirt, and felt his Robin tunic beneath.
Gotham City Police Department, 97th Precinct, 9:51 p.m.
The white tuxedo wearer was inside being questioned by three detectives whom Batman knew only by their badge numbers. They would find out nothing; the tuxedo wearer was too much of a professional to spill his guts to anyone restrained by a badge. Azrael had dropped the thug just inside the door of the police station and had never been seen. Even Batman was impressed by his stealthiness.
As the avenging angel stepped onto the rooftop of the police station, Batman was waiting for him. "That man could have been my link to something very large, and very dangerous, Jean-Paul. You did the wrong thing."
Azrael turned towards the shadows that hid much of the roof's edge, but couldn't seen Batman firsthand. "You confuse me, Batman," Azrael said. "When I took things too far under the guise of your identity--when I killed Abattoir and allowed Graham Etchinson to die--you reprimanded me angrily. Now, I follow accepted procedures in the apprehension of a criminal, and you do the same thing."
Batman stepped out of the shadows and into the pale illumination of the moon. "That man works for whoever has taken over for Black Mask; he could have--would have--told me who exactly my enemy is. Now, he'll have a lawyer beside him inside of an hour, and no one will get anything from him. Whoever these men are, they're very good--it could be awhile before I get another chance like the one I had."
Azrael looked down at the roof. "You wished to interrogate him."
Batman nodded. "Next time you see me following someone, Azrael, don't do me any favors. We're not partners; I'm not even comfortable with you operating in my city. If you want to be Azrael, then do it, just don't interfere with me ever again." Batman stopped and looked at the other man, who was standing tall and straight several feet from him. "I don't want to, but if you don't watch yourself, I can make things very difficult for you."
Azrael said nothing, simply turned and fired a grapnel and cord from his gauntlet, then glided off on the night.
To Batman, Gotham City had never seemed so crowded.
Gotham Heights High School, 9:55 p.m.
This time, Tim was playing it smart.
He pulled off his jacket as he stepped outside, and walked into the shadow of the school, removing his outer layer of clothing to reveal his Robin costume. Before venturing out to find Raven, he activated the communications circuitry in the buckle of his utility belt and sent a message out to every police scanner within twenty miles telling of the situation. "I'm doing it right, this time."
The first time Robin and Raven had met in combat, Robin had seriously underestimated him, having already faced him earlier when Raven called himself Pan and easily beating him. That first time when Robin met Raven, Raven had not arrived alone, but with twenty or so thugs under the command of Two-Face. Only with the help of Batman, Nightwing, and--eventually--the police, did Robin make it back to the Batcave alive.
Robin stepped away from the shadow of the building, looking all around him. The sun had been down for hours, but the lights surrounding the school maintained a brightness level that didn't require Robin to turn on the nightvision lenses in his mask. Looking around him, there was no sign of Raven; this wasn't surprising, since they had exited the dance from opposite sides of the building.
Hearing the sound of boots against gravel, Robin spun around just in time to see Raven diving at him from the high roof of the gymnasium. Dropping to the ground an instant before Raven flew into him, Robin grabbed his adversary by the shoulders, planted his feet in his stomach, and flipped Raven over behind him. Both costumed teenagers rolled over and scrambled to their feet, assuming fighting positions.
Robin stepped forward and attacked, thrusting his fist forward with the force of his entire body behind it. To Robin's surprise, Raven easily sidestepped the blow, tripping Robin to the ground. Robin landed on his hands, rolled forward and somersaulted straight away from Raven, landing twelve feet opposite his opponent. "I take it you've been paying Two-Face visits at Arkham?" Robin inquired dryly as he began to approach his adversary again.
Raven raised his fists in front of him and walked in Robin's direction. "Maybe I just get better with age."
"Or maybe you've been hardened by prison life." It didn't matter to Robin; he was just buying time, plotting strategy; it was obvious that he had underestimated Raven once again. Robin moved in to attack, had one of his punches blocked, another dodged, and then had the move reversed on him when he tried to trip his opponent to the ground. Robin hit the ground hard, and looked up in amazement; Raven had learned a great deal since the last time they met.
Robin waited until Raven approached, was almost on top of him, then brought his foot up behind his enemy and kicked Raven hard in the back of the knee. The darkly costumed teen fell towards Robin, and Batman's partner rolled clear, standing. "Must be that costume; I liked your Pan outfit better."
Raven did a push-up and sprang to his feet. "I don't know," he said, smiling and showing his teeth wickedly, "I'd think you would like this outfit better; you did wear it for awhile before me."
Robin began circling Raven, who matched his motions exactly. "The costume should have stayed at the bottom of Breakrock where I threw it." Robin inhaled deep, then moved forward. Raven's left leg shot out, and Robin sidestepped the attack, catching the leg and throwing Raven hard to the ground.
Take it slow, Robin thought as he watched Raven stand, wait for him, fight him one move at a time. Robin stood ready as Raven approached. He faked a punch, and took Raven's arm as he went to block the anticipated move. Robin brought his opponent's arm hard over his knee, almost smashing the elbow, then flipped him over his shoulder and pinned him to the ground, pressing his boot at the base of Raven's neck.
"That's it, Pete," Robin informed his opponent. Raven shrugged, then reached up and pulled the mask from his face. Robin's jaw dropped open when he realized that the face of his opponent was one that he did not recognize; he hadn't been fighting Peter Devorak at all, he must have switched after leaving the dance. Moaning with frustration, Robin stepped down hard on the costumed stranger's chest, then stalked away to find his suit laying in the shadows.
He heard sirens, the police had arrived.
Avian Paradise Casino, 11:27 p.m.
Oswald Cobblepot sat with his feet propped up on his desk, boring another hole through the blotter and into the wood writing surface with a letteropener. In front of him, a man named Victor Treznic stood, dressed in a white tuxedo. His lawyer had just left.
"I trust they treated you well at the ninety-seventh," Cobblepot said. "If not, I can arrange a change of staff." Cobblepot smiled. "I have that kind of power."
Treznic nodded, grinning along with the Penguin. "So, what's the deal? I mean, am I . . . on the payroll?"
"Yes, I think you are. I have someone recruiting some more men to wear nice clothes for me; he's in the south now. I suppose that makes you my first official employee. At least in this particular business branch." Cobblepot brought his feet down behind the desk and leaned forward on the desk. He assumed a more serious mood. "I trust everything went well with Mister Lynns?"
Treznic nodded again, an all-business expression on his face. "I gave him that phone number you gave me, told him to call you sometime tomorrow. I think you can count Firefly as another permanent employee."
Oswald nodded. "Yes, I suppose he'll be the first."
Treznic gave Cobblepot an confused expression. He grinned once, but that expression faded. "What do you . . . I mean, I thought . . ."
The Penguin stood and nodded over and over again. "Yes, yes, I know. You got me Firefly, and I truly appreciate that. There is a problem, however, my friend; you were caught." The Penguin pulled a derringer from his vest pocket and lowered its sight down in front of Treznic's head. "I simply can't allow that kind of negligence in my employees." The Penguin fired the gun, and Treznic hit the floor a dead man.
Groverton entered the room and stood in the doorway as he always did. Cobblepot pocketed the small gun. "What a waste of a perfectly good lawyer, not to mention the tuxedo." Cobblepot started back behind his desk. "Good thing the penthouse is soundproofed, eh, Groverton?"
The secretary nodded in agreement. "Indeed, sir. I will see to the body of Mister . . ."
Cobblepot sat down behind his desk and looked at his assistant. "Oh . . . Mister Treznic. And, please, remove him from my sight at your earliest convenience."
The Penguin propped his feet back up on his desk and picked up his letteropener. Closing his fist around the handle, he dug it into the blotter.