(Present)
A few nights later across town at the 13th precinct, Det. Blake was trying hard to keep his own secrets.
"Damage control, Blake!" Shouted chief Rojas.
"This is Gotham City for hell's sake. We've got enough freaks and vigilantes as it is. We can do without new ones."
"You can't blame Catwoman without hard proof," John professionally argued.
"No hard proof? Spilled milk, cat puns, and whip marks. Who else could it be?"
"But look at all her cases before. She leaves the crime scenes so clean you couldn't tell if a ghost had been there. And additionally, we have Cheetah, and Tygris. And even Catman damn it. This isn't Catwoman's m.o. She hits public facilities, not homes."
"Maybe she got bored, Blake. I don't know. What've we got on the missing foot?" Rojas moved on.
"Nothin yet. Put out a word on the street, got computer guys searchin through black market websites. Nothin on the foot yet, but we ran her financials. Last thing she bought was an anklet, from the Trieste jewelers."
"Now why does that name ring a bell, Det. Blake?" Rojas turned to Blake, expecting the answer everyone knew.
John resignedly sighed. "It was robbed by Catwoman last night."
"It was robbed by Catwoman last night." Rojas reiterated to prove his point. "And this morning, a customer of that same store is killed by cat puns. That my detective, is hard proof, and probable cause. Get a warrant, Blake."
"But there's no prior connection between the victim and Catwoman."
"Are you defending the culprit, Detective?" Rojas stressed on his title, meant to bring justice to victims.
"No, I'm saying let's not jump to conclusions. What if this is a set up? What if it's a copycat?"
"If she's innocent, she shouldn't resist arrest."
"Batman couldn't arrest her."
Rojas burned.
"BATMAN is not a cop! He's a vigilante with no jurisdiction to arrest. That's yours. I gave you an order, Blake. Go do it!"
"I object your order. You're only tagging Catwoman as an easy way out. My job isn't to arrest, my job is to find out who did what and why. And then make a justified arrest."
"Is this a case of interest for you, Blake? Are you protecting Catwoman?"
"No, I'm protecting myself from making a false arrest."
"Either you arrest her, or I'll have someone else do it. But if you're not on this case Blake, you're off this team."
Blake smiled and took his badge off his belt, tossing it on the long conference table.
"It's been a crime working with you," John spoke over his shoulder as he left the room.
Outside, he got the same respectful nods and fistbumps as yesterday, and nobody asked when he picked up the two things out of his locker and sped off on his bike. Logically, not many places in Gotham were open at this late hour, but there was always a Big Belly burger around a corner.
It wasn't the healthiest, but it was comfort food, something he needed much of at the moment. The parking lot was sparse, and John conveniently parked the bike in front of the entrance. The sleeping patrons didn't wake when the doorbell announced his entry, and those awake wasted only a second to register if he was friend or foe.
John chose a single booth near the entrance, in case he had to jump out with a second's notice. As he waited for his burger meal, he thought of his next life plans. He had no job, which he was planning on leaving anyway, but now he had no money.
He didn't want to be that bum boyfriend who crashed out in his girlfriend's pad, especially since his girlfriend worked at the same office as him.
He could make a point to tell Bruce Wayne how he'd lost his job over Catwoman, Bruce would've owed him. But for all the things Bruce had done for him without asking, even protecting Selina didn't balance the scales. John sighed a stressed breath and reclined in the silence of the diner...
...which was broken by clashes of overturned furniture and angry voices of the cooks and waiters. John sat up with another sigh and swung an arm behind him, grabbing the thief's sleeve and used the momentum to push himself out of the booth. The angry voices were now directed at him.
"What do you think you're doin harborin a thief?!"
"Det. Blake. GCPD." John flashed his jacket back fast enough for the waiter to register his belt buckle as a police badge.
"I'm taking care of it," he emphasized his point by slamming the kid into the seat he just got out of.
"That kid stole $8 worth of stuff," the waiter was edgy, eager to get his hands on the kid.
John took out the change he'd gotten back from his own meal and shoved it in the waiter's apron pocket.
"Keep the change," he smiled and went around to the other side of the booth, not letting the waiter talk back.
John found the kid digging into the fries on his tray.
"Sure please. Help yourself." He said sarcastically and folded his arms as he sat back. It was an inherited move from spending too much time in the Bat cave.
"What's your name?"
"Ain't tellin you."
"I'm a police detective."
"No you're not," the kid spoke with a mouth full.
"How do you know?"
"You didn't have a badge on your belt. Ain't none in your wallet either." The kid tossed John's wallet across the table.
"What else you got under that hood of yours?" John asked as he carefully pocketed his wallet back in his jacket.
"Stuff," he gave a short reply and took a sip of the drink John had ordered.
"You a pick pocket?"
"I'm whatever I need to be to survive Gotham."
"Where's mom and dad?"
"Mom's drunk, dad's out on the docks."
John sighed and leaned over the table.
"You need help. I can take you to a good place."
"I don't trust you worth shit."
"Well how about I tell you my real name, nobody else knows. Not even my girlfriend."
"Whatever." The kid said with more interest in the remaining fries.
"My name's Richard Grayson. Friends call me Dick."
The kid snorted. "Some friends."
"What do yours call you?"
"Ain't got none."
"No name?"
"No friends, detective." The kid retorted.
"Great. I'm gonna take you somewhere you can make some."
"You can't kidnap me!"
"I'm not. Look, I'm gonna take you to the foster home I grew up in. I know some people there still. They'll take care of you. And you'll find some friends too."
"I don't need no friends."
"Let me tell you something about Gotham city. Lone, you got the chances of a circus goldfish, believe me, I know plenty how long they live. But with at least one friend, you can double those odds. So finish that food, and we're going on a bike ride."
"Your girlfriend not waiting up on you?"
"She's still at work. I'll leave her a voicemail."
"If I don't like that place, I'm gone."
"Deal. But you're staying a week,"
"Whatever. I'm done." The kid pushed the tray over to John and the ex detective took it over to the trash, ignoring the dead gazes from the diner workers.
The kid was waiting leaning on the bike when John got out, and he shook his head at the boy's impatience. He'd gotten used to impatient people.
"You get the helmet," John shoved the gear to the kid and swung the bike.
"Blue's not my style."
"Got that loud and clear, Red. You're not gettin on without the helmet."
Red made a credit to his 12 year old age by a groan and rolled eyes, but slammed the blue helmet on and jumped on the bike.
"You're a Detective you said, right?" Red screamed over the wind as they travelled.
"Yeah..."
"You ever meet him?"
Red didn't say the name, but John knew exactly who he meant. He smirked against the wind, knowing just exactly how he was going to keep the kid in check.
🏍
Yes, Red is exactly who you think he is.