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Chapter Three - Dick

Dick Grayson was having a terrible day. Patrol hadn�t gone well. Two domestic assaults and a drunken brawl had left a bad taste in his mouth. Life as a police officer was rewarding, usually, but lacked the sense of unfettered accomplishment he�d known as a vigilante. As Robin and later Nightwing, he�d been able to swoop in, save the day and consider it a job well done.

Things were different now that he wore a badge. It was less about saving people than filing paperwork and playing the political game. Dick felt as though he spent most of his time protecting his place on the force amid corruption and apathy. He understood now why Bruce had chosen to fight crime as Batman rather than as a crusading district attorney or Commissioner of Police. Less red tape. Still, in a small way, Dick felt it was the only time in Bruce�s life that he�d chosen the easier path.

Dick was waiting outside a strip club to brace an informant, leaning casually against his patrol car, trying to give the right impression when the informant finally showed. He wanted to appear casual and still convey the full weight of the law; slouching against the cruiser seemed to be the right thing to do. The door of the club opened, belching a thick cloud of smoke and the stench of cigars. It wasn�t his guy.

He watched the old derelict stumble out into the evening air, shielding his eyes against the dying light of the sun. Dick yawned, hoping that after his shift he could sneak home and sleep for a few hours before donning his Nightwing apparel. Sal, the informant, was now very late and Dick felt his patience beginning to ebb.

�Psst,� a voice beckoned from a nearby alley.

�Dammit, Sal,� Dick cursed. �It�s isn�t a top secret meet. Cut out the Deep Throat stuff and get over here.�

�I don�t know you, son,� a deep, resonant voice replied, �but the name�s not Sal. Folks around here call me the Prophet, and I have some information you�ll be needing.�

Dick inclined his head towards the sound of the voice, but failed to locate even the dim outline of a body in the darkness of the alley. �You said you didn�t know who I was,� Dick replied. �Why would I be interested in your information?�

�Because you follow the path of the righteous,� the voice replied, as if explaining something to a very small child. �The Oracle pointed you out to me.�

Dick frowned, wondering if this was some silly game Barbara had cooked up. He wasn�t really in the mood. �Why don�t you come out of those shadows and we�ll talk,� Dick suggested.

�We are all in the shadows, son,� the voice replied. �But if it�ll make you feel any better��

Dick tensed, ready to defend himself if the stranger in the alley was dangerous or violent. His hands never strayed to the gun holstered at his side. Dick knew he would never fire his weapon, no matter what the circumstances. He watched, surprised, as a small bundle of rags and filth emerged from the alley. The Prophet was a small black man of indiscriminate age who was perched, legless, on a wheeled board. Bits of cloth were wrapped around his knuckles and the Prophet pushed himself forward with his hands until he stopped at Dick�s feet.

�You have some information for me?� Dick asked the little man.

�Some advice, my son,� the Prophet corrected, warm brown eyes shining beneath a cloud of wrinkles and a scraggly gray beard. �Go into the mouth of the devil and you will be purified in battle with him.�

�Have you been drinking, sir?� Dick asked, pulling out his logbook. �Can you give me your address?�

The Prophet smiled and shook his head slowly, matted locks of hair falling over his forehead. �You lack faith, my son. But be patient. Trust in the Prophet. More will come to you. An angel, and a child whose blood is black and tainted.�

Dick nodded, folding his logbook and replacing it in one of the Velcro-sealed pockets on his jacket. He decided Sal was never going to show. �Prophet,� he talked slowly, calmly. �Come with me. I�ll get you fixed up at the Cypress Mission for the night, okay? You can clean up, get some hot food��

The little man pushed himself closer, the wheels of his board grating against the pavement with a sharp, hollow sound. �Trust the child,� he whispered. �She will lead you to salvation.�

The door to the strip club banged open again, and a cheaply-dressed, potbellied man with a broken nose and forcep marks on his forehead stumbled out, more than half drunk. �Dickey!� he cried, launching himself forward and then catching himself before he could perform a faceplant. Dick cursed softly, wondering why the one reliable informant he�d located in Bludhaven was a hopeless drunk. He turned back to speak with the Prophet but the little man had already vanished into the darkness of the alley. Dick shrugged, turning back to Sal. It was going to be a very long day.

************

Later that evening as Nightwing patrolled the streets of Bludhaven, Dick found himself mulling over the bizarre encounter with the Prophet. He�d spent too much of his youth locked in combat with supernatural forces, aliens and immortal megalomaniacs to doubt the existence of the paranormal. The strange little transient had sent up a red flag of warning and he resolved to ask Barbara if she could find anything in the Oracle�s database about the mysterious little man.

Nightwing moved easily over the rooftops of Bludhaven. The burg was half the size of Gotham and Dick knew the small city intimately. Taking a leaf from Bruce�s book, he�d memorized the blueprints of the entire downtown core. He knew every sewer access point, the layout of every tenement and seedy motel. The small evening crowds of commuters and tourists had thinned from the downtown streets. By ten o�clock Bludhaven was a ghost town, decent people having surrendered the city to the other half of the night: the human predators and their prey.

The killing fields in Gotham were found among the East End crack houses and ghettos. In Bludhaven, man hunted man in Desolation Row, Bludhaven�s version of the Bowery but a step closer to hell. The buildings were packed tightly together, creating a dark warren of alleyways and narrow streets. Prostitutes lined the sidewalks of the Row, junkies filled the gutters, and the entire section of the city stank of deep-running pain and stale desperation. The working girls on 2^nd Avenue were offering their wares and Nightwing paused on a rooftop to monitor as the women bargained with potential customers from the trash-lined sidewalks, screaming obscenities when rejected or laughing shrilly in clustered groups as cars crawled by.

The johns spoke to the girls from rusted heaps which spat exhaust into the cold night air. The high-rollers, clients who drove luxury cars and wore tailored suits, went to the massage parlors and specialty clubs in Gotham. The girls who ended up in Bludhaven were low-rent, too old or stoned to work the Gotham scene.

It was freezing and so the crowd lining the sidewalks was a little smaller than usual. Dick found a quiet, dark cornice and crouched in the shadows, watching the transactions playing out below. He caught sight of a young girl moving among the junkies on Vincent Street. She stopped every few feet, bending down to speak to a spaced-out heroine addict or a resting call-girl, sometimes joking with them, sometimes taking a borrowed drag on their cigarette, always comfortable. Instincts honed in early adolescence kicked in, and Dick began to shadow her.

She came to a stop outside the burned-out shell of what had once been a needle-exchange clinic. In this neighborhood, business had been booming, but the clinic had been forced to close due to protests staged by the small, vocal religious community in Bludhaven. Funding had dried up and now the building did other business: prostitutes often completed sales there. So did the heroine and smack dealers.

The girl lingered outside the bombed-out shell of the building, looking for an address. She definitely wasn�t local, although she knew the scene. She checked the faded address scrawled in white spray-paint on the side of the building once more, shrugged her narrow shoulders, and moved on. Dick fought back a yawn, ready to call it quits. He�d planned to make the drive up to Gotham that night, check in on Barbara and ask for information regarding the Prophet. He made it halfway down the block before a scream split the night and Dick charged back down the street, scanning for trouble.

Vincent Street was deserted. The working girls and dealers had cleared out when the scream had sounded. Dick knew the Bludhaven PD wouldn�t respond immediately even if someone had called it in. Heart racing, he checked side streets and alleys, hoping the girl would scream again so he would know where to look. A second later, he caught the faint sounds of a scuffle down a tiny pathway cut between two buildings. Dick raced towards the noise and as the passage broadened, he slipped two short wooden staffs out of pouches sewn into the material of his leggings. Dick�s fingers curled around the short Escrima sticks with the ease of long familiarity, his muscles tense and ready for action. He rounded the final bend in the passageway, breathing properly, energy flooding into his being, lending him strength and power.

Two men were advancing on the young girl he�d seen earlier. They were thugs, muscle-men for hire, lacking a true fighter�s centeredness and precision of movement. Dick calculated the distance he had to close before he could attack, not wanting to jeopardize the girl�s safety. Moving soundlessly, he came within a yard of the taller man before some movement in the girl�s eyes alerted him to Nightwing�s apperance. The thug swiveled, his deep-set eyes narrowing as he let out a roar of anger. Dick leapt out of the way, hearing rather than witnessing the larger man�s pratfall into a stack of garbage cans. He turned his attention to the other man, who had shown some initiative by grabbing the girl in a vise-like grip.

�One step closer,� the heavy warned, �and I�ll snap her neck.�

Dick threw up his hands, keeping hold of the Escrima sticks. �Hey, I was just out for a stroll, minding my own business. Your friend is the one who wanted to get rough.�

The heavily-muscled thug, an easy three hundred pounds and none of it brain, frowned. �I thought all you costume freaks got off on helping little girls like this,� he said, tightening his grip around the girl�s throat until she winced and cried out in pain. Dick kept his eyes on the man�s wide, fat face.

�I just don�t like to see people getting roughed up in Bludhaven. It�s bad for the tourist industry,� he said lightly, deciding this had gone on long enough. Dick tossed his Escrima sticks behind his head, distracting the man as he jumped, caught hold of a rusted fire escape ladder and somersaulted in the air. He�d misjudged the heavy�s coordination and speed slightly; the man reached up with surprisingly-quick reflexes and snagged Dick�s foot, still holding tightly to the girl. Dick kicked himself loose just as the girl surprised them both by driving her elbow into the man�s solar plexus. As he grunted and doubled over, she brought her knee up and the sound of cracking bone echoed along the walls of the small alley.

The man cried out in pain and threw the girl aside before Dick landed in front of him, kicking him hard in the jaw, driving the blow with the force of his own falling body. The man went down hard, his chin smacking the sidewalk with a dull crack. If Dick�s kick hadn�t shattered his jaw, the fall to the pavement had finished the job.

�He�ll be pretty sore in the morning,� Dick predicted, turning his attention towards the girl. She�d stumbled into the corner of the building when the thug had pushed her aside. Now she sat on the ground with a slightly dazed expression. �You okay?� Dick asked, resting a gloved hand on the girl�s shoulder. She flinched and retreated, hunching her back and curling her knees up against her chest. �I�m not going to hurt you,� he promised, moving slowly and carefully, giving her space.

She raised her eyes to his, and he could feel the fear coming off of her in waves. She hadn�t made a sound throughout the encounter with the two thugs, but when faced with his Nightwing visage, she froze and seemed even more terrified now that the ordeal was over. Dick had only ever experienced this kind of reaction when he�d worn the Bat costume. His Nightwing costume was designed for utility, not to strike fear into the hearts of the cowardly, the superstitious or the terrified victims of random street crime.

The girl swallowed, her wide, panicked eyes scanning for an escape route. Dick rose from his crouching position, backing up. �You haven�t done anything wrong,� he told her. �I�m not here to arrest you. I just want to make sure you can get home okay.�

The shock of the attack was wearing off. The girl seemed to be registering his softly-spoken words. She raised china-blue eyes to his face, biting her lip in pain. �I think my arm is broken,� she whispered. Dick glanced at the limb hanging lifelessly at her side, guessing she�d probably dislocated it.

�Can I take a look?� he asked and after another mad glance around the dark side street, the girl accepted her options and nodded in assent. Dick stepped closer and she flinched but kept control as he gently probed her shoulder and upper arm. She was delicately built, her features pretty and child-like. Only her eyes indicated that she was close to his own age. Her hair was a mass of wild pink and red streaks cut in a daring, close-cropped style Dick associated with West Coast punk rockers.

She inhaled sharply in pain and Dick released her arm. �It�s not broken,� he confirmed, �but it is dislocated. It needs to be reset. I can take you to the free clinic on Gracey Street��

She shook her head wildly, terror flooding back into her face. �No. No hospitals, no clinics. Do it here, or not at all.�

Dick shook his head. �It�ll hurt��

�I can handle it,� she breathed, jaw set in determination. �Believe me, I�ve been through worse.�

�Well, I�m not going to do it here,� Dick told her, using his best imitation of Bruce�s my-way-or-the-highway voice. �I have a safe house not far from here. I use it when I get hurt and can�t make it home. Okay?�

She watched him for a moment, weighing the pain she was fighting against her innate distrust of men in masks. �Okay,� she agreed softly.

Dick tried to help her along as they walked the twelve blocks to his safe-house but she shrugged off his assistance, trudging slowly on shaky legs, cradling her arm.

�You�re not from around here, are you?� Dick asked conversationally, hoping to distract her from memorizing the route to the small apartment on Morrison Street where he kept medical supplies, a spare costume and emergency food and cash. In the last six years, the entire Bat family had come under attack from disasters both man-made and natural. Bruce now insisted that everyone within the �inner circle� - Tim, Cassandra, Barbara, Dick, even Leslie and Alfred - had to maintain a secret satellite residence stocked for any emergency. Dick smiled to himself. Sometimes Bruce�s paranoia paid off.

The girl responded hesitantly. �I�m from Gotham,� she offered.

�I can spot a Gotham girl anywhere,� Dick boasted, keeping his tone light and bouncy. �You handled yourself pretty well back there. Had any professional training?�

�Just enough to get hurt instead of killed,� she replied, frowning. �Is it much further?�

�Couple blocks,� he said breezily. �You realize that once you�ve seen my secret lair, I�ll have to relocate. You�re going to cause me a lot of trouble: I�ll have to cancel my lease, find a new place that�ll take pets, get some guys to help me move�� He checked the girl�s expression. She�d relaxed, slightly, and seemed less focused on the pain.

�Are all the vigilantes in Bludhaven as�funny as you?�

�Don�t complain,� Nightwing cautioned. �At least I don�t charge for the comedy. Here we are,� he announced, bringing them to a stop outside a nondescript apartment building. �Wait here,� he told her. �Try not to beat up any self-important thugs till I get back, okay?�

She nodded, and he left her to scale the side of the building, unlock the window of the right floor and tumble inside. Dick went downstairs and let her into the sleeping building. She followed him up two flights of stairs and entered the small apartment cautiously. It was clear Dick didn�t live here. The small set of rooms were barren, stocked with pieces of utilitarian, nondescript furniture in various shades of white. A medical bed occupied the center of the room, wheeled trays stocked with medication, surgical equipment and rolls of pristine bandages an arm�s length away.

There was a small, inexpensive chemistry set up at the north end of the room, as well as a sparse, functional gym. The apartment was a much smaller version of Dick�s real residence on Parkthorne Avenue, a building which he owned and maintained under an alias. Even this small haven couldn�t be traced to Dick Grayson or his costumed personae. Nightwing rarely used this set of rooms. He had never brought anyone here before, but Dick wasn�t the sort of person to balk at new experiences.

He guided the girl to the medical bed and she sank down gratefully, letting out a long sigh of relief.

�I�ll get you something for the pain in a sec. I have to reset that shoulder,� Dick told her, grabbing a towel and heating some water on a hotplate. She watched his movements through narrowed eyes, still afraid but curious too.

Dick saw her questioning expression and smiled. �First rule of triage,� he explained as he finished in the kitchenette. �Clean and inspect the area, then prepare to operate.�

�Done this often?� she asked, looking around the apartment.

�Too often. I�ll have to cut your sleeve off. I don�t want you to try to wiggle out of that jacket.�

The girl nodded and Dick crouched at her side, slitting the jacket�s sleeve in a straight, easily-repairable line along the seam. Her arm was small and white, the shoulder badly bruised and discolored. Kneeling closer so his head wouldn�t block the light, Dick probed the arm once again, worried he�d missed something. Turning her arm over, he identified with sad experience the track marks in her arm. Small, white scars running the length and width of her skin betrayed a nasty heroine addiction. The lack of blue veins in her snow-white skin, discoloration of the arm around injection points and her old, sad eyes were all tell-tale indicators. The girl was perhaps twenty: Dick guessed she�d been using for at least half of her life.

�You must see this kind of thing a lot,� she said in the suddenly quiet room. �Young girl, easy target, walks down the wrong street�guys like you must hate girls like me.�

�Huh?� Dick asked, bringing his head up.

�Victims,� she said simply, shrugging. �I guess you wouldn�t have a job without us, but don�t you get tired of saving the day?�

Dick shook his head. �We don�t save everyone,� he said quietly. �And guys like me are glad to help out. People should look after one another.� Dick finished cutting her sleeve. He checked her shoulder bone again, noting other small scars and a bullet wound in the shoulder that was less than a year old. This girl had clearly been through hell.

�When did this happen?� he asked about the circular scar on her shoulder where some surgeon had dug a 9mm bullet out of her skin.

�Last year,� she told him. �Two cops.�

Dick�s eyebrows shot up in surprise. �The police did this to you? Why?�

She shrugged. �It�s what they do. I walked in on the wrong deal, that�s all,� she told him, her voice chill.

Dick nodded, not really wanting to pursue the subject with her. She was distracted and seemed to be gathering the nerve to ask him something. Dick waited patiently, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. They always asked, sooner or later.

�Do you know him?� she asked quietly as Dick handed her a thick strip of leather.

�Who?�

�The Batman.� The question was asked in a hushed whisper of reverence and fear and Dick guessed immediately that the girl was from the East End. They spoke of Batman differently in the diamond district and in Bristol. She had to be native to Bruce�s hunting grounds, the place where they said the name of the Bat with awe and fear.

�People say you�re his son,� she challenged quietly, interrupting his train of thought.

�Do they?� Dick asked lightly, gripping her arm firmly. �Put the strap in your mouth and don�t be afraid to bite down. This is really going to hurt.� She nodded numbly, and he felt it was safe to continue. �I�ll have to pull and push on your arm, so you�ll have to try and provide some resistance. It�ll be over quickly,� Dick promised.

She clenched her eyes shut and put the leather strap in her mouth. Dick stood, placing his heel on the apex of her shoulder, pushing against the bone with his boot as he provided slow, steady pressure on the muscle joint. It was over in a few seconds, the bone popping back into place easily. Dick had been through the same procedure himself too many times to count and knew the pain vanished once the joint was back in place. The girl choked back a sob, tears threatening from beneath the corners of her eyes.

�Thanks,� she said, her voice rough.

Dick handed her a few over-the-counter painkillers, but she refused. �I can�t. I�m in recovery. No drugs, not even codeine.�

Dick hesitated for a moment. She was trying to kick heroine. His respect for her grew and he patted her gently on the shoulder. �Do you want to rest for a few hours, until daylight? I can give you a rail pass to Gotham, if you�re headed back in that direction.�

�I can�t leave Bludhaven,� she told him, laying down on the hospital bed. �I�m looking for someone. Actually, a lot of someones. The masked guy in Gotham is pretty good at finding people. Think you could help me?�

�I�ll do what I can,� Dick told her, rolling a bandage into a temporary sling for her sore arm. He helped her sit up briefly while he arranged the sling around her shoulder.

�Girls have been disappearing off the streets in Gotham,� she said quietly. �East End runaways, mostly. Street girls, not the working kind. The youngest I�ve heard about is nine, the oldest about twenty-four.�

Dick nodded. That kind of thing wasn�t rare in Gotham, despite the presence of no less than four masked vigilantes working the city. Bruce might not be aware of the situation, but Helena or Oracle would know something. He�d get the team on it right away. Dick was confident the missing girls (if they really were missing) would be found by the end of the week.

�Why do you think they�ve been vanishing?� he asked her. �And what makes you think they�d be in Bludhaven?�

She shrugged. �A friend of mine is a PI based in Gotham. He ran identity checks against the missing girls and FBI files. These girls haven�t been reported to the FBI database. No one would miss them if they disappeared from the streets. We think it�s the same old thing, someone preying on easy victims.�

�We?� Dick asked.

The girl�s face closed up. �I work with some friends. We thought it�d be a good idea if I came down here and checked to see if something similar was going on.�

�Is it?� he asked, worried that people had been disappearing from the Bludhaven streets without his knowledge.

�I was just about to find out when those guys jumped me.�

Dick finished clearing up the medical supplies, thinking. He found a piece of paper and scribbled an address on the back. �I have to head back out on patrol, but I have a friend I think might be able to help you. A cop. He�ll meet you in two days at this address.�

The direction scribbled on the card was a favorite diner of the Bludhaven PD. Dick planned to be there, in his police uniform, and see what he could accomplish as a legitimate officer of the law. He knew gaining the girl�s trust would be a problem, given how she felt about the police, but Dick knew that he could accomplish more if he worked the streets in an official capacity before resorting to the Nightwing costume. �We�ll figure this out,� Dick promised. �Now, do you want to call those friends of yours in Gotham and let them know what�s going on?�

She blanched and shook her head. �I�ll call them later.� The girl lowered her head and bit her lip, summoning courage. �My name is Holly Robinson.�

Dick smiled broadly, shaking her undamaged right hand. �Nice to meet you, Holly,� he said and turned to leave. �Sleep for a few hours, okay? You�ve had a rough night. Just lock up when you�re done.�

�Are you sure you can trust me?� Holly asked him. Dick grinned at her.

�I have good instincts about people,� he told her. �Mostly.�