****************
Chapter 16 - Grant�s Gym

The modestly-named Grant�s Gym in Central City was like every other gym Bruce had ever set foot in. It was small, dingy, airless, and the fitness equipment qualified as antiques. A thin layer of dust hovered in the air. The acrid scent of sweat assaulted one at the glass doors leading to the Astroturf-lined reception and office area where an ancient blue-haired crone offered memberships starting at a thousand dollars a month. An Atari computer rested on the scarred surface of her desk and the secretary made no effort to collect sign-up dues or new memberships. The entire operation looked shady. That was the point. Ted had no patience for those who wanted to box in order to lose a few inches off their waistlines or quicken their reflexes. Only people hungry for what he offered were fed.

Bruce shrugged his duffle bag off his shoulder and began doing warm-up stretches. He was wearing ragged, mismatched sweats and sported freshly dyed hair and a fake goatee. The torn sleeves of his sweatshirt emphasized his heavily muscled arms and he set his face in a cold, remote grimace. Bruce knew he looked like any other thug out for the workout of his life under the former heavyweight champion of the world. Ted wouldn�t recognize him unless they sparred together.

The grunts of pain and exertion, the dull thud of bone connecting with bare flesh, that overwhelming odor of stale sweat and willpower� Bruce closed his eyes, thinking of the first time he�d walked into one of Grant�s gyms. It had been late winter in Toronto and the gym had been a sweltering oven compared to the bitter wind blowing off Lake Ontario. Ted kept the place hot to make his guys sweat, he�d explained, skeptical of the skinny fifteen year-old who�d offered any amount of money to train with the greatest boxer in the world. Ted had relented, moved more by the naked determination in Bruce�s eyes than the blank check the Wayne heir had offered. He�d pushed Bruce hard, forcing him to bulk up and live, breath and eat boxing. His time in Canada had been brief: Bruce had only allotted a year for Western fighting methods before beginning his studies of the Eastern martial arts in Japan. Working with Ted had made him tough, fast and able to throw a shattering right-hook. He had learned finesse in Asia, but Bruce had first learned skill in Grant�s Gym.

Ted Grant, a bulky, thickly-built man with a ruddy complexion and a crew-cut stood at the west end of the room, leaning against the ropes running around the Olympic-sized ring. A huge man was sparing in the ring with a heavily-padded partner. Bruce watched as he landed a series of lightening-quick blows on the man�s headgear, keeping his elbow up, conscious of his footwork. He even remembered to protect his lower torso from a surprise shot to the kidney.

�He looks good,� Bruce said, wandering closer to the ring. He injected a slight East Indian cadence into his voice, knowing that with his dark hair, contacts and makeup he passed for a mixed-blood Hindi.

�He should. It�s taken him long enough to learn to watch his left foot. He lets it slide out too far. Sacrifices balance for power. That�ll get him in trouble someday,� Ted predicted, his ageless face frowning at the thought. Bruce knew Ted had fought in World War II, Korea and Vietnam and didn�t look a day over fifty. Wildcat was a metahuman who�d extended his long life with a mixture of mysticism and scientific advances not available to the general public. Bruce had never asked him how old he was and in return he�d never asked Bruce why a spoiled rich kid from Gotham wanted to dominate in the ring.

�Mind if I�?� Bruce requested. Ted turned and looked him over with a trained fighter�s evaluative glance. There was no flare of recognition in his eyes and Bruce knew the disguise had worked.

�Guess you could hold your own,� Ted nodded, gesturing for one of his staff to fetch a set of gloves and a mouthguard. �What�s your name?�

�Avinash,� Bruce replied, picking a Hindi name popular in southern India. Ted�s mouth twitched.

�Invincible, huh? Better hope so,� he said, holding the ropes apart for Bruce to step in. Bruce popped the mouth guard in between his teeth and held out his hands for one of Grant�s staff to tie the gloves on. Once the lashings were secure, Bruce knocked his gloves together and turned to face his opponent.

The man was big, mean and at least a decade younger than Bruce. He was in the prime of his life and had been in constant training for what Bruce estimated to be a solid four years. He didn�t have a chance.

They began to spar, the man dancing around Bruce on the balls of his feet, jabbing experimentally. Bruce deflected each soft blow easily, memorizing each move. They cut a wide circle, staying near the ropes, stepping forward occasionally to test each other with a soft punch before backing off.

�Cut the sissy crap!� Ted recommended. Bruce�s opponent complied, smiling to display a broken canine beneath the white film of the mouth guard. Bruce eyed him dully, itching for a fight. He moved forward and pulled back his right arm. The man dodged to avoid the punch and Bruce caught him on the side of the head with a surprise left hook. The man blinked, shook his head and leveled a blistering series of blows at Bruce�s midsection. Bruce moved back, keeping his stomach and abdomen protected, not feeling his opponent�s fists. He pounded away at the man�s head, knowing that his opponent�s ears were probably ringing. The man lost control of his footwork, following the pattern Bruce chose to set as he went in for the attack. Rather than help him by moving backwards into the ropes, Bruce stepped lightly to the side. The man stumbled forward, swiveled and launched a blow at Bruce�s head. Bruce ducked, threw a punch at the man�s jaw, and the man went down.

The gym was silent. The other boxers and staff members stood, slack-jawed, as the shinning light of their fight club slumped to the floor. Only Ted seemed unsurprised. He opened the ropes for Bruce to step through and patted him on the back.

�Nice to see you again, Bruce,� Grant smiled.

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

They went upstairs to Ted�s office, a total contrast to the dirty gym below. This room was clean, spacious, tastefully decorated and comfortable. Grant tossed Bruce a towel and gestured towards the couch. �Take a seat, bask in the glow of victory,� he suggested. Bruce remained standing, throwing the towel around his shoulders. He hadn�t even broken a sweat in the fight with the young hopeful.

�It�s been a while,� Ted said, going to a mini-fridge by his desk and removing two bottles of purified water. He tossed one to Bruce, who caught it easily. �Went Indian, huh? I went up against a Hindi fighter back in �51. Took his licks better than any I�ve seen since. Shook my hand afterwards. Nice fella.�

Bruce drank deeply from the bottle of water, replacing the cap with a sharp twist. He wasn�t in the mood for a story about Ted Grant�s conquests in the ring. He�d had his fill of them at fifteen. �I came to see you about a man named George Flannery.�

Ted paused in mid-swallow, the bottle of water poised on his lips. He set the water down and wiped his mouth. �Now there�s a name I haven�t heard in a long time. How�s George doing?�

�He�s dead,� Bruce told him bluntly. �Murdered.�

�You know who killed him?� Ted asked, his eyes hard and cold. Bruce didn�t respond, waiting for Ted to go on. Ted sighed, knowing Bruce wasn�t likely to part with information he wasn�t initially inclined to give.

�We served in Vietnam together,� Ted told him. �He was just a stupid kid back then: I didn�t think he�d last a week. So I took him under my wing, showed him how to survive in that hellhole. He worked his way up through the ranks, made Captain his second tour.�

�He was a detective?�

�Yeah,� Ted replied, settling in behind the battered desk in his office. �Joined the Gotham force after we pulled out in �75. I opened up a gym there in �86. We reconnected, started working together.�

�Doing what?�

�The good work,� Ted said cryptically, taking another sip of water. �Saving lives. He was working the East End in those days, Vice mostly. Pulled a lot of young hookers out of dumpsters. You weren�t in Gotham back then, Bruce. Probably don�t have any idea how bad it was. Things changed when you arrived, and Gordon. But back then��

Ted trailed off, the young, haunted faces filling the sex district in Gotham swimming before him. �There was a place down in Gotham Square�lots of video arcades, stuff like that. Kids would hang out there, young boys mostly. They�d play the games, hang out, work the cars. Their pimps would set �em up with dates and in return they�d get money to play pinball. A couple quarters in exchange for their innocence. You could see how dead they were by their eyes,� Ted told him, blinking hard. �You ever work a case down there?�

Bruce shook his head. �It�s different now. I did some tidying up down there. Gordon�s men did the rest.�

�Well, the way it was�things like that killed Flannery. He just�� Ted paused. �He hated to see kids getting chewed up by life. He had three little girls. Used to say that he couldn�t look �em in the eyes unless he did something to make the world better for them. I didn�t blame him. What are we supposed to tell our children about this world, huh?�

Bruce didn�t have an answer.

Grant continued as though it didn�t matter. �We worked a system with the underage hookers in the Bowery. When they got beaten up or OD�d and got a room at Gotham General, Flannery would flash his badge and hand them my phone number. I�d train them, teach them how to fight. We saved a few girls like that. George thought we made a mistake with one, however.�

�Selina,� Bruce supplied. Ted nodded.

�She took to the training like a duck to water. Best I ever taught, present company included. The way she moved�for some it�s innate ability, for others the drive gets them through it. She is the single finest natural athlete I ever met, with ability and determination to spare. I thought she was a meta, back in those days.

�Then she became just another Gotham freak. Nothing could stop her. She got more and more violent. Went after cops, criminals, a certain pointy-eared superhero� It didn�t seem to matter to her which side of the line people were on. Everyone was an enemy to her. George couldn�t handle it. He felt responsible for her, kept saying that we�d unleashed this�this thing on Gotham. He started drinking and his wife left him. Took the kids. He lost interest in the good work and I moved away. We didn�t keep in touch.�

�You never heard from him again?� Bruce asked.

Ted shook his head slowly. �I heard a few things. George was still drinking heavily, picking fights in bars. His daughter, his youngest, got into some trouble with drugs. She ran away a few years ago, ended up on the streets. George was desperate to find her, but she never turned up. Then Catwoman went after Gordon��

Ted paused, twisting the bottle between his large hands. �Look, I know Selina�s changed. Hell, I just saw her a couple months ago and she seemed to be doing great. More peaceful. But three years ago�who knows? Last Flannery heard she was dead, killed in some explosion in the Bowery. He called me up, drunk, talking crazy. Said she was after him. Said she was a ghost. I don�t think Selina even remembered who he was.�

�You never asked her about him?�

Ted looked at him directly, eyes narrowed. �I never ask Selina about the past. Do you?�

Bruce didn�t reply. Ted broke the uneasy silence between them with a harsh chuckle. �You looked good in there. Remembered some of the things I taught you. Picked up a few new tricks, too. And you seemed to enjoy it more.�

�What?�

�The violence,� Ted replied, the warmth and humor in his tone not reaching his eyes. �I kept track of you, all these years. That stuff with the murder��

Bruce kept his posture relaxed. �What�s your point?�

�I�m just saying that people get accused of things they didn�t do all the time. Way of the world. Plenty probably thought you were guilty when Fairchild�s body turned up in Wayne Manor, all beaten to hell. I thought it was possible, when I heard. But Bruce,� he said, leaning forward, �just because I doubted you doesn�t mean I went out and started making accusations. I just thought I�d ask you, if I ever saw you. But I wasn�t gonna go behind your back with a shovel and start digging up the past.�

Bruce nodded, picking up his bag. �Point taken, Ted.� He opened the door and missed Ted�s sardonic grin.

�Still a few things to learn, I see� Grant smiled, looking over his appointment schedule.

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

Bruce left the heat of Grant�s Gym behind, forsaking the club for the crisp, cold air of the street outside. It was already dark in Central City. He didn�t doubt that somewhere, between heartbeats, the Flash was hard at work, preventing disasters as they occurred. Bruce leaned up against the brick wall at his back, slumping to camouflage his size and build. He�d be mistaken for another hopeful seeking Grant�s tutelage, one that had a long way to go between flyweight and heavyweight.

The stars above the city were bright and clearer than in Gotham, unobscured by centuries of industrial pollution and the mists of the East River. The added starlight made the streets of the city seem even more alien to him and the ache began to build inside. It was the same ache he�d endured every night he was away from Gotham, traveling the world in search of useful skills and training. Ten years of heartache: that was the legacy of his youth, and at that time he had just only begun his long acquaintance with tragedy. Now this business with Selina�

He sighed in the cold air, his breath a white cloud. There had been no answers here, only difficult questions. Ted was perhaps the only living person who could shed light on Selina�s past, and if he was unwilling to condemn her-

The cell phone in the pocket of his trousers chirped and he opened it with a flick of his risk. �Avinash,� he greeted pleasantly in his best imitation of a Bengali accent, in case anyone was listening.

Barbara�s voice responded on the other end. She spoke slowly and Bruce found himself analyzing the patterns of her voice before actually hearing her words. �Selina�s been hit. Huntress went after her.�

The world slowed to a crawl. People passing by on the street, the sounds and smells of Central City all faded and somewhere, Bruce heard two gunshots echo through the concrete jungle around him.

�Is she�� he asked numbly.

�She�s stable,� Oracle told him. Bruce closed his eyes. The world could move again.

�But Leslie�s worried. You should come home.�