Chapter Eleven

Investigations

Thanks to the holidays, there was no need for Lois to return immediately to work when she returned to Metropolis. To avoid explaining to Perry how she'd gotten hurt, Lois decided to stay at her apartment to recover. She'd already planned to take a few days for her stay in Smallville and saw no reason to change that when the timing was so opportune. Besides, there was plenty for her to do even if she'd promised Clark she'd take it easy.  Despite his concerns for her wellbeing, both of them knew that the current situation with Valerie needed immediate action.

Of course what that action could be was another question entirely.

Bruce had promised to help but he was distracted by the welfare of his young charge and Lois didn’t want to impose on this time any more than she had to. Besides, he already done more than enough by sending Diana to the farm when he had. Lois shuddered to think what would have happened if the Amazon hadn't arrived. Kara would have been spirited away to that alien world and both she and Martha would be most likely dead. There had been no way to help Valerie when she'd been taken and the thought of the same thing happening to Kara was more than Lois could stand. Valerie had turned into a monster although there was a part of Lois that wasn’t ready to believe she was an irredeemable one.

The billowing drapes riding a sudden gust of wind through the balcony doors told Lois that Clark was back. Immediately snapping her laptop lid close, she fumbled for the remote and hastily switched on the television before lying back on the sofa, feigning rest and recuperation before he stepped into the apartment. C been insistent that she get some rest even though Lois felt by now, he really ought to know better. Still, she didn't want to hear the complaining so it was better to play the part.

Clark zipped through the balcony doors faster than the eye could see, mostly to avoid being seen by anyone outside before the building. Still in the suit, he saw Lois on the sofa, pretending to watch Oprah and rolled his eyes, perfectly aware of what she had been doing prior to his return.

“Give it up Lane,” he scowled as he joined her on the sofa. “You know I have X-ray vision right? I can see before I even get through the doors.”

Lois made a face at him and stuck out her tongue in retaliation.

“Oh very mature,” Clark shook his head before leaning forward to plant a quick kiss on her lips before pulling back again. “How you doing?”

“I'm okay really,” she assured him, aware that his worry for her had largely to do with her fragile, human self. Clark often took too much responsibility for any injury she sustained believing he had failed in some way to protect by being unable to prevent it. Reaching for his hand, she ran a thumb over his knuckle in affection and saw his earlier ire wanning. “Besides you know me. When I have ever been able to sit around and do nothing?”

She had him there, Clark decided conceding defeat. Lois was a bundle of energy that sometimes left Clark with his Kryptonian physiology, in the dust. Then again, she had been that way since he met her. Clark had lost count of how many weird escapades she’d dragged him into, even before they were paired up as partners at the Daily Planet. Of course when he was in Smallville, she'd driven him crazy with her antics while these days, he wondered how he didn’t adore her from the start.

It always made him smile to remember that when she'd been giving him the speech about saving for a bike, it was she who ended being his Harley.

“Okay so assuming that you've been working all morning,” Clark declared getting to his feet to make her lunch because knowing Lois, she'd forget to eat or would end up calling for some unhealthy takeaway. “What did you find out?”

Glad to give up the facade, Lois grinned and reached for her laptop again, “Not much about three super powered psycho fembots unfortunately but I did look into DeSaad Corporation.  You know it’s become a telecommunications company since we exposed the human experimentation they were conducting seven year ago.”

Clark was aware that DeSaad was back in business but he also knew that Bruce would have kept close eye on the company following its collapse after Valerie was taken. However due to his five year absence, he couldn’t say that he was completely up to date on its recent status. “You think they might be still connected to Valerie and those aliens?” He asked from the kitchen as he heated two slices of bread with a burst of heat vision.

“I don't know,” Lois replied with a frown, unhappy that she couldn't see the connection using the only resource available to her at the moment. She needed to be out there, talking to contacts, checking sources, and really investigating to get at the truth. One could only Google so much. “I mean the company was struggling for years after Valerie and then a last few years ago, they got bought out by a corporate raider named Grace Good. Since then, Good’s taken them into the smart phone market and put them back in the Fortune 500 lists again.”

Clark was aware of the name in passing as he stepped out of the kitchen, carrying Lois' meal of eggs and toast. “What do we know about her?”

Lois sat up a little straighter at the aroma of hot coffee and could help but chuckle at the sight of Superman in her living room, serving her lunch.

“Not much,” she said as she made room for the tray he was putting on her lap. “Grace went to Vassar, spent most of the Noughties as corporate raider who was famous for buying and breaking up failing companies. She amassed a sizeable fortune doing it so when she came aboard DeSaad; it was assumed she was going to break it up. Instead, she restructured the company and put their remaining capital into smart phones. It paid off.”

“Really,” Clark poured her a cup of coffee and sat next to her again. It seemed too convenient but then again, the woman could simply be very good at what she did. It definitely bore more investigation.  “Since you're not going to get any rest, how about you try and find out what you can about her. I mean the information that's not in some annual company report.”

“Aye, aye captain,” she offered him a salute. “You should talk to Bruce see what he’s got on them. Also, find out if he's heard from Diana. I'd like to know how Mrs Kent and Kara are doing.”

“Yeah I'll check in with him,” Clark agreed. Truth be told, they had been in close contact. Diana's last report to Bruce had revealed that his mom was healing well and Diana was helping Kara master some of her abilities. Clark felt guilty about being teach her himself. After all, she was his cousin. Still he suspected Diana had the temperament to be a good teacher and Kara might relate to a friend better than family, for instruction.

“I gotta go,” he leaned forward and kissed her again. “I'll be back this evening. What do you want for dinner?”

“Ooh Szechuan!” Lois exclaimed excitedly because when Clark got Chinese takeaway, he didn't get it from Chinatown but from downtown Shanghai. Hey there had to be some perks to dating the man of steel.

“Okay,” he laughed. “The usual then. Call me if you need anything.”

“Don't worry,” she winked at him. “I'll turn on the Bat signal.”

Clark gave her a look, “very funny.”

**********

Bruce had returned to Haly's Circus twice since the murder of the Flying Graysons.

The first occasion was to examine the crime scene after the media frenzy had died down. Gordon had given him access to the crime scene before it was catalogued and cleared away by forensic technicians. Truth be told, Bruce would have conducted his own investigation whether or not Gordon paved the way. Prior to his alliance with the Commissioner, Bruce had often intruded on crime scenes to conduct his own forensic analysis but he had to admit it was easier to do when he didn't have to avoid a bunch of cops.

The second time was only recent, when he had followed Dick here after the boy had left the manor to return to the scene of his parents' death. The child had tried to understand why his parents had died and had thought seeing the place where they had fallen might give him answers. Unfortunately it had not. However, Dick had come away from the encounter knowing that the Batman was on the trail of his parents’ murder.  Bruce believed it had helped.

Tonight, Bruce's visit to the circus had little to do with the crime scene and more to do with its owner, C.C Haly. It hadn't taken much deduction for Bruce to reach the conclusion that the death of the Graysons had little to do with them and everything to do with where they had died. From what Bruce had been able to learn about the family, Jonathan and Mary had been good upstanding people who took pains to raise their son with all the opportunities that they were able to provide. They were loved by those who knew them and had no reason to earn the hatred that provoked their callous murder.

This meant that their deaths were a warning to someone else.

Normally he'd keep the place under surveillance, infiltrating the performers’ ranks by wearing one of his many guises but time was of the essence. It wouldn’t be long before Gordon gave them permission to leave Gotham and with the grim cloud of tragedy hanging over the circus, he suspected they would not hesitate to put this city behind them. Once that happened, potential witnesses could scatter to the four winds and Bruce would never get the answers he needed. He knew in his gut that if he didn’t solve this before they left town, he may never solve the crime at all and he was determined to solve for Dick’s sake.

*******

Charles Carnegie Haly poured himself another drink from the half empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the Formica top table bolted to the floor of the his aging campervan. Raising the glass to his lips, he sipped the amber liquid, taking comfort in the burn that ran down his gullet as his eyes brushed over the once colourful posters adorning the walls of the motor home. He was working himself into a good drunk and knew that it would take only another glass or two before he passed out for the night. It was the best possible outcome after too many sleepless nights of late.

Like other performers in the circus, Haly’s nights were filled with nightmares of Jon and Mary, tumbling to the sawdust, their lives ending with a sickly splatter of shattered bone and muscle. They’d been watching the performance, riveted as always, watching them in awe and wonder before it all went wrong and all he could remember was the shock and horror. Even now, the memory of it made him wince, leaving his throat dry and causing his heart shrivelling in his chest. It was almost hard to breathe.

It shouldn’t have happened, not to them, not in front of Dick.

Sixty-five years in the business and he’d never seen an accident like this. He’d always tried to be better than most, treated his performers like family and like any good father, he made sure they were safe. The deaths of his favourite children had broken his heart and would likely follow him into death. He knew it would never the same again, the experience had poisoned the joy the circus had brought to his life, souring it forever.

He let out a shudder of anguish and drained the glass quickly, suddenly deciding that the drunk wasn’t coming fast enough. He wanted to drink until he was passed out or numb, he no longer cared which came first. Reaching for the bottle, Haly wanted to chase the last swallow with another when suddenly the lights inside the camper went dark and he was sitting in pitch dark. He froze in mid-reach, lowering his hand cautiously as a single thought crossed his mind.

They’ve come back.

Something moved across the floor of the motor home like wraith in haunt. He didn’t know where the dark shape had originated, only aware that it was slowly approaching him. Haly opened his mouth to speak but was incapable of making a sound. Suddenly a beam of light pouring through the window caught the odd shape emblem on the figure’s chest. It was the angular shape of a bat. The intruder paused a few feet away from the table and Haly saw a cowled figure, shrouded in a long dark cloak spoke with a voice that sounded like brittle glass.

“Jonathan and Mary Grayson were killed to send a message to you.”

The words hung in the air for a few seconds and Haly almost opened his mouth to protest but as it sunk in; he fell silent again because despite the delivery, it was the truth. He couldn’t deny it no matter how much he wished otherwise.

“Who were they?”  The dark shape demanded with finality, sounding as if it were a foregone conclusion with no need for Haly’s confirmation, where his answer was merely formality.

“I don’t know,” Haly muttered weakly, guilt driving the lie. “I don’t.” He insisted, trying to convince himself more than the thing waiting for an answer in the shadows.

Silence followed for a few seconds before the intruder spoke again. “Dick deserves the truth.”

Haly’s shoulders sagged as if the words were a thousand pound weight that had just landed on him. It drove the wind of any protest or argument out of him and made the words die in his throat. He couldn't fight the truth of that simple utterance and he knew he owed it to the dear friends who had died to tell this creature anything he wanted. Justice demanded no less.

“I didn't think they were serious,” he confessed at last, feeling his voice becoming strangled with emotion. His breath escaped him in ragged pants like the revelation was sapping his will. "I swear I didn't think they'd hurt anyone."

The Batman showed no reaction to the man's tortured statement or offer any words of sympathy. That was not what he was about. He spoke for the victims and ensured they received justice even in death. The wreckage left by the crime was not his to attend.

He waited in silence for Haly to compose himself and continue his dark tale.

“They came to me the night before the show.  Two men who looked like something of a bad mob movie. They even spoke like they were putting on a show."

"What did they want?" the Batman asked although he had a good idea.

"Money," Haly said bitterly. "They said that with all the celebrities attending the gala performance I should have fat ticket sales. They wanted 60 percent. They said it was the price of doing business in Gotham." In the shadowy light of the campervan, Haly's expression crumpled with grief. "I thought it was a joke! I wasn't afraid. I didn't take them seriously. God help me, I didn’t take them seriously....” His words descended into anguished sobs.

"Did they give you their names?”

The question stopped Haly’s tears and he raised his head to stare at the stranger with blue eyes that had become darker of late. “Not intentionally. They didn't use names when they were speaking to me but I heard one of them when they were leaving.” The  visual of the two men appeared in his mind, one who was all muscle and said little except an obligatory grunt here and there while the other, with the slick back hair and the expensive suit, smiled like a hyena and did all the talking.

“I heard one of them call the other Tony."

******

Tony Zucco.

The Batman knew him well. Anthony Zucco was one of Sal Maroni's chief lieutenants in Gotham, a thug who was a lot smarter than he looked. Zucco had risen in the ranks of Gotham’s underworld during power struggle following the arrest of Carmine Falcone.  Zucco's speciality was extortion and had almost bled parts of Gotham's Little Italy dry until Gordon became commissioner and adopted a zero tolerance policy towards the crime.  Before that, those who didn’t pay would live to regret it. Zucco never went after them directly but it was always a loved one that got hurt or killed.  He was not only vindictive but also an egotistical son of a bitch.

He liked the notoriety.

Bruce could only imagine what fury Haly had unknowingly provoked by not taking Zucco seriously. Zucco didn’t take slight to his ego well and the message to Haly, written in Jonathan and Mary Grayson's blood, was a display of power, to show Haly who he was dealing with. It was very much in keeping with Zucco's modus operandi.

The Batman was determined to see Zucco enjoy all the notoriety he could wish for when he dragged the mobster to the Courthouse steps.

******

The Batman watched the strip joint called the Sin Kitty Club from the shadows of an old margarine billboard perched atop a dilapidated building across the street.

Bruce had taken down Carmine Falcone during his first year as Batman. Falcone had held Gotham in a death grip for decades and had done so by bribing everyone from judges to beat cops to ensure his supremacy.  His sudden removal had resulted in a power vacuum that sparked bloody violence through the underworld as numerous factions jockeyed for position. After gang warfare had left countless dead, Sal Maroni, a former Falcone lieutenant had emerged to take his master’s place and with him was a new cabal of hungry, vicious gangsters, all vying  to be his chief lieutenant.

Tony Zucco was one of these.

Bruce was convinced that extorting coin from Haly's circus on the night of its big showy, extravaganza with all of Gotham's luminaries, was Zucco’s bid to top the list of contenders. It was certainly not the action Sal Maroni would have condoned. Maroni was nowhere as bold as Falcone and preferred to keep his shady dealings out of public view.  When Thomas and Martha Wayne had been gunned down years before, public outrage had led to an awareness of the criminal cancer in the city.  While Jonathan and Mary Grayson did not possess the profile of his parents, the result could be the same.  Shock like that had a tendency to shake people out of their complacency.

Still, it infuriated Bruce to think that Dick's parents were murdered because one man had decided to impress his boss.

Maroni owned the Sin Kitty Club and was known to conduct his business from the premises. If Bruce wanted to find Zucco, this was the best place to do it. He was preparing to spend the next few hours keeping the club under surveillance when he felt his cape flutter around his ankles, a tell tale sign he had a visitor.

Still staring at club frontage with its gaudy neon pink lettering and cartoonish image of a cat lying in a cocktail glass, he did not look over his shoulder when he spoke.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce asked coldly. “I'm working.”

How did he do that? Clark grumbled inwardly as he descended onto the grimy roof after scanning Gotham’s roof top for the last hour. He supposed he could have called but if Bruce was working, the man would not appreciate having to answer his cell phone.

Nevertheless, Bruce’s frosty reception made Clark think twice about seeking him out tonight. It wasn’t unusual for Clark to drop in on Bruce when he was working and while the Batman always seemed aloof, Clark knew his visits were welcomed. Tonight however, his manner was all business.

”I'm sorry to bother you," Clark apologised immediately. "I just came to ask you something.”

“This is not a good time,” Bruce retorted curtly without looking back at Clark and continued to his vigil over the Sin Kitty Club.

Only years of friendship gave Clark the courage to ignore Bruce's abrupt dismissal. Bruce had a tendency to keep things bottled up, unleashing it on the deserving criminals of Gotham. However, Bruce was his friend and the loyalty they gave each other would not allow him to withdraw, even when Bruce was at his most obdurate. Something was bothering his friend and he wasn't going anywhere until he knew what that was.

"What's going on?” Clark asked again, avoiding the use of Bruce's name. They never addressed each other directly when they were talking to each other in the open.  “You know I won't go until you tell me.”

Bruce grunted a muffled curse under his breath. His best friend could be the biggest pain in the ass sometimes even if he was one of the few people who was unafraid to call Bruce out on his behaviour.  Bruce attributed Clark’s stubbornness to his Kansas upbringing which could be a real nuisance to someone as solitary as he. However, he also knew that having a friend like Clark was what kept him grounded when it was easier to give in to rage and disconnection.

“The mobster who killed Dick's family is down there,” Bruce replied finally, nodding in the direction of the restaurant.

“Oh,” Clark exclaimed quietly, understanding the situation entirely now. “Are you going to bring him in?”

“Not yet,” Bruce's words dripped with venom. “But I will.”

“Can I help?” Clark offered, forgetting Kara and their current predicament for the moment. This was important to Bruce and so it was important to him too.

Bruce's shoulders relaxed slightly and when he spoke again, the edge to his voice was no longer as sharp and without even hearing him say it, Clark knew Bruce was touched by the offer. “I can handle it myself,” he said looking over his shoulder for the first time. “But thank you.”

“Anytime you need me, I’m there,” Clark reiterated.

“I know,” Bruce replied with a nod.

“Alright,” Clark said deciding to shelve the question about DeSaad for now. “I'll leave you to your surveillance.”

“You came here for a reason,” Bruce stated turning to face Clark before the man of steel flew off. “What did you need?”

Clark hesitated but Bruce's tone was now friendlier than it had been a moment ago. “Lois has been looking into DeSaad Corporation. It’s under new management but she's wondering if there's any reason to think it could still have the same affiliations as Michael Canto.”

“It’s possible,” Bruce had considered the possibility by his investigations into to the company had gotten side-tracked after his encounter with Dick at the circus. “It’s easy enough for anyone to fake their credentials if they had knowledge and the resources. Michael Canto certainly did. I'll look into Grace Good when I get back to the cave.”

“Thank you,” Clark said appreciating the effort, aware that Bruce was more focussed on getting justice for his new ward. "How is he doing?”

“Not good but...” Bruce started to say and then needed a moment to articulate what he wanted to say because it was never easy for him to talk about the emotional subjects. “He's got heart. He wants me to find the killers so they don't hurt anyone again.  It took me years to be able to get to the point where I could see past revenge and this kid; he gets it better than I ever did.”

Clark heard the affection and pride in Bruce's voice and knew that it was unlikely that Bruce would ever relinquished his guardianship of young Dick Grayson. The boy was not only a kindred spirit but he connected with the implacable man that was Bruce Wayne far deeper than anyone had ever managed to so. Even more so than Chloe, Dian or even Clark himself. Dick was someone he understood, someone he could help because he had suffered the same anguish.

However, the difference between Bruce and Dick's process of healing was blatantly obvious to everyone, but the world's greatest detective.

“That's because you're there for him Bruce. You and Alfred.  You were there to pick up the pieces straight away because you understand what he's going through. Sometimes just that makes all the difference. You and Alfred being there has made it better for him, not necessarily easier but still better.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say to that and Clark took his silence as a signal to leave.  When confronted with an emotion he found to difficult to cope with, Bruce found it simpler to withdraw.

Saying it out loud was harder than trying to bring Zucco to justice.

*******

It was just before dawn when Bruce finally drove back to the manor.

Zucco had made an appearance and Bruce followed him for the next few hours, filing away the man’s nocturnal habits and where he’d call home. Tomorrow, Bruce would begin a more invasive surveillance effort. Zucco would be able to take a piss without Bruce knowing about it. He wanted to ensure that whatever information he gathered would hold up in court and he might need Gordon to achieve that end.

Driving through the darkened woods that made up part of the Wayne Estate, Bruce took the familiar path to the cave, thinking that he might catch a few hours sleep before he had to deal with the day’s efforts. Having Dick in the house meant he couldn’t emerge from his bedroom in the mid afternoon as if he were continuing his playboy lifestyle, not when he wanted to be Dick’s permanent guardian.

The boy hadn’t made the decision yet and Bruce had no desire to pressure him.  At the moment, he was just grateful to be able to keep Dick out of foster care.

The tumbler rumbled through the cascade concealing the cave from the outside world with a burst of acceleration.  The car which was a bridging vehicle was able to traverse the drop between the water and the ledge with ease, landing on the shelf of rock with its usual clumsy grace. The headlights illuminated the darkened cave most likely annoying the several thousand bats that lived within in. However, Bruce had a suspicion that they had grown accustomed to sharing the cave with him since they no longer swarmed as much as they used to when the vehicle arrived.

After securing the vehicle, Bruce made walked down the ramp that led to the series of metal platforms he had constructed throughout the cave, connected by more walkways and ramps. He built the framework to match the interior of the cave, so he didn’t have to bring down heavy drilling equipment to make more space. The final platform led to the mechanical elevator that would take him to the south west wing of the manor. Two centuries ago, these very caves had helped runaway slaves to their freedom.

Upon stepping off the ramp that led him away from the car, he stripped down to his underclothes, leaving the suit along with the boots on a pile for Alfred to deal with in the morning. Slipping on the robe he left on a workbench for this purpose, Bruce ran his fingers through his hair and decided he needed a shower before bed. Reaching the elevator, he stepped inside and noted its creak as it ascended.

Going to have to fix that, he thought to himself. The last thing he needed was for Dick to hear creaking noises coming from nowhere in a big, gothic manor. That will make a kid sleep better.

The minute he walked into the east wing of the manor where his bedroom and that of Dick’s was located, Bruce felt something was wrong.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly had set alarm bells off in his head but instinct had saved his life on numerous occasions so he no longer questioned it. Nothing seemed immediately out of place as he walked down the hallway adorned by ornate sculptures and priceless artworks. The manor appeared as it always did, pristine under Alfred's expert care. It was only when he turned the corner did he feel his breath catch in his lungs.

Slumped against the doorway to Dick's room, was Alfred Pennyworth. His head hung limply forward while his arms rested on either side of him while his legs were stretched out in front of him. The front of his usually impeccably starched butler's white shirt was stained crimson. If it were not for the blood, Alfred might have resembled a wino who had fallen asleep drunk in someone’s doorway on a cold night.

"ALFRED!"

Bruce was running before he had even cried out, skidding to his knees when he reached the older man. For one who was never overcome by a situation, Bruce’s heart was pounding like a drum in his chest. The very idea of Alfred being dead was more than he could dare entertain. He crushed the thought mercilessly in his mind, refusing to give it any thought. He couldn’t. If he succumb to the possibility of losing Alfred, he’d shut down and be of no use to anyone. He loved this old man more than he loved anyone in the world and the thought he could be dead....

"Master Bruce....." Alfred's head jerked up at Bruce’s touch. “What did I say about running in these halls...”

Bruce let out a short laugh that was half relief and half anguish. “You’re going to be alright, I’m going to get you help.” He said trying to check the older man’s wound without hurting him any more than he had to. He could see the cut through Alfred’s shirt, the wounds were deep and the blood in his shirt and in the carpet below the man told Bruce he had lost a lot of blood. Unfortunately, Bruce couldn’t tell if any vital organs were also damaged. This was too much for him to deal with. Alfred needed a hospital and soon. “Just rest Alfred,” he clutching Alfred’s stained hand, “I’m going to get you help.”

"Master Bruce," Alfred croaked refusing to sit still, not until he told Bruce what he needed to. "I couldn't  stop them. They took Master Dick..."

Dick. In his panic at seeing Alfred, Bruce had forgotten about Dick.

"What?" Bruce exclaimed before jumping to his feet and rushing through the door to the boy’s room.

The struggle that left Alfred so grievously injured was immediately apparent when he stepped into the room. A  window had been smashed, the pattern of glass indicating the intruders had come from the outside of the house. Glass fragments covered the floor beneath the window sill. They’d crossed the floor towards Dick’s bed, upending the side table, probably in the struggle to get the boy out of it. The vase and irises it contained was smashed against the rug and then crushed underfoot in the struggle. The bound copy of Treasure Island which the boy been reading was splayed open next to the bed with the sheets pulled off the mattress.

They’d dragged him out of his bed.

As he studied the room, his blood turned cold at the message they’d left for him.

‘GIVE US THE GIRL OR  WE WILL RETURN THE BOY  IN PIECES.’

TO BE CONTINUED