Meet Sam Wayne, Part 14
By: C. Leuch
CJ had to hide a smile as he watched his father’s golf ball hook to the left almost immediately off the tee. Clark gave a frustrated groan and turned away, looking questioningly at CJ, who watched the ball fall into the woods a dozen or so feet from the fairway.
“You don’t want to know,” CJ said, answering Clark’s unasked question.
“That’s four holes in a row,” Randy said with a shake of the head.
“This is why I stopped doing the charity golf outings – you know, the pro-ams and stuff like that. People started to get the distinct impression that my alter-ego wasn’t as flawless as they thought.” Clark cringed slightly and handed his driver to CJ.
“I imagine all the rescuing and life-saving would take away from any time you had to practice golf,” Randy said.
“That’s what I said,” Clark answered, gesturing toward Randy and flashing him a smile. CJ was still amazed at how well his father-in-law was handling the situation, how he seemed absolutely unfazed by being surrounded by superheroes. His wife hadn’t been quite as comfortable, and CJ had noticed more than once during the drive to the golf course that she seemed to be looking a little too closely at CJ and his folks. He suspected that was part of the reason that she had convinced Lois and Jenny to stick around the clubhouse with her while the men played golf, although CJ had hoped that she would spend some time with them and work past her fears. There was always time for that later, he supposed, and the evening was only just beginning.
Bruce slowly walked up to the box and planted his tee, placing the ball on top. “Well, your ball might be in the woods, but it’s still about a hundred feet closer to the hole that us mere mortals can get,” he said. Bruce knew as well as anyone that Superman had feet of clay, and he certainly wasn’t shy about letting him know it. CJ got the sneaking suspicion that Clark respected Bruce for that, like he respected the same qualities in Lois. Too many people considered Superman to be the nearest thing on Earth to a God, and it was people like Bruce and Lois that helped him keep his sense of perspective. Though, CJ thought with a quirk of the eyebrow, Clark’s golf score spoke volumes about the hero’s fallibility all by itself.
“Hey, I’m half mortal and I can hit it that far,” CJ said, bringing amused glances from Randy and Clark, and a mild scowl from Bruce. CJ just smiled in return, knowing full well that Bruce was immune to his charms, but not caring.
Bruce squared up to the ball, held his position for a second, then swung back and hit it. The ball sailed arrow-straight through the air, landing in the middle of the fairway about halfway to the hole. Almost as soon as the ball hit the ground, CJ’s cell phone began to ring. He looked crookedly at it, wondering who could possibly be calling him, especially since most of his contacts were at the country club. He quickly realized that at least one person was absent. Laura was still on surveillance, he remembered as the goosebumps began to rise on his arm. If she was calling him, that could only mean….
He immediately scrambled to dig the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?” he said, trying not to let the excitement creep into his voice.
“It’s starting,” Laura simply said.
For a moment CJ couldn’t speak, and he was aware that his companions were looking at him curiously. He probably looked as dazed as he felt, he realized, inwardly cursing his absolute lack of any type of poker face. Given his tendency to wear his emotions on his sleeves, it was probably better to get it out of his system now, instead of when he actually got a chance to meet the bad guys. A raspy rush of air was the only sound he could make when he finally thought to talk again, and he had to clear his throat before he could form any words. “Are you sure?” he finally asked, mentally pushing the excitement away.
“Oh yeah,” Laura answered. “I might be a little new at this, but I know a bomb when I see it.”
“A bomb?” CJ asked quickly, and his companions collectively raised their eyebrows. Before waiting for Laura to affirm what she had said, he shook his head once and continued. “I’ll be there as quick as I can. In the meantime, don’t stop them from placing it. If they try to leave, don’t let them. Got it?”
“Got it,” Laura answered, and as soon as the words were uttered, CJ ended the call and flipped his phone shut. For a moment, there was silence on the green as Randy, Bruce, and Clark looked in anticipation at CJ.
“I’m sorry everyone but I need to get going,” CJ said after a long second. The giddiness that had overtaken him when Laura had first called was slowly being replaced by raw determination. Now that the game was on and a factory was about to be bombed, his reaction was all that stood between Gotham City and an unimaginable disaster.
“Work beckons?” Bruce asked, and CJ nodded.
“I’ve spent so much time preparing for this moment, and now it’s here,” he answered as he placed the driver into its bag, then turned back toward his companions. “The guys that crashed the airplane I was on are finally going to face justice.”
Randy, who had been unflinchingly optimistic since the afternoon’s revelation, frowned and looked downward. The subject of the investigation hadn’t come up that afternoon, although it wasn’t because of malice or a desire to hold some secrets back. CJ just hadn’t been sure how to breach the topic. At some point in time, he would tell Randy the whole story, but for the time being it appeared that Randy could glean enough information from the statement to understand what was happening. As he trained his eyes toward CJ, a certain hardness seemed to overtake his expression. “Give them hell,” he said, his voice anything but light and cheerful.
CJ smiled a humorless smile and stood tall. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he answered with a nod. He locked eyes with Randy for a moment, then turned toward his dad. “Could you give me a lift?” he asked.
Clark looked over his shoulder toward the stand of trees that his ball was currently lost in, then looked back toward CJ. “Of course,” he said, nodding toward the woods. CJ looked between Bruce and Randy, then raised his hand, said goodbye, and started toward the trees a step behind his father. “I’ll be back eventually,” Clark said over his shoulder toward the two remaining members of their foursome. “In the meantime, I know Lois is itching to play a few holes.”
As soon as they were fully engulfed in shadow, Clark spun into his suit, grabbed CJ by the waist, and took off into the air. Judging by their flight path, CJ obviously didn’t need to tell him where to go. “Poor guys won’t know what hit them if Mom joins the group,” CJ said.
“She could teach the pros a thing or two about golf,” Clark said with a small smile. “Having her take over for one of us is probably our only chance of winning.”
“Then I’ll be sure to fight crime at least as long as it takes to finish out the round,” CJ said, eliciting a chuckle from his father. They were rapidly approaching Wayne manor, its limestone façade imposing even from high in the air. Before they could reach it, though, Clark dove down toward the rock outcroppings not too far from the house, slowing down as he found the entrance to the cave. A second later, they were on the ground, and CJ was on the move.
He reached up to unbutton his shirt as he strode toward the big computer in the middle of the cave. As soon as he reached it, he hit a few keys, and a dozen rectangular images popped up on the giant screen. “What’s that?” Clark asked from behind him.
“Surveillance,” CJ said, training his gaze on each window for a few seconds before moving onto the next. He smiled as he saw something odd but expected in more than one of the rectangles. “I know you’ve been following the investigation by the various federal agencies into the crash of my plane, so I imagine you’re aware of some of the discoveries they’ve made since you found that bomb detonator.” CJ glanced over his shoulder and saw his dad nodding lightly, apparently recognizing the anomaly onscreen and sensing where the conversation was going.
The NTSB was still trying to piece the airplane together and definitively determine the cause of the crash, but they were now heavily leaning toward declaring it an act of terrorism. Since the detonator had been found, indicating a potential crime, the FBI had also gotten involved and it tended to keep a tighter lid on its investigations than most other federal agencies that had been on the case thus far. Superheroes had a little more pull with the FBI than the average citizen, but not much, and the information that Clark and Jon had been able to procure from it consisted mainly of rumors and general theories. Clark had been the first to tell CJ of the problems that the FBI found with the airport video surveillance cameras, and the fact that any incriminating activity that had happened had been obscured or lost. CJ had no doubt that the missing data was not an accident, and had finessed some of Bruce’s longtime connections within the bureau to get more specific details about just how and when the picture was distorted. It had taken a little bit of his own ingenuity to work out the finer points of what had happened, but the information had proven to be very useful in his own investigation.
CJ turned back toward the screen and pointed to an odd rectangle, which showed a series of almost white, fairly shapeless blobs. “What I managed to figure out that the feds haven’t yet is that the perpetrators were smart enough to devise a way to trick the airport camera system into thinking that the light levels had changed, that it was the middle of the night even in full daylight. It caused the cameras to overexpose the picture, and all but the most general part of the image to be lost. The picture from the airport cameras looked remarkably like these.”
“Clever idea,” Clark said.
CJ raised his eyebrows, glanced at his dad again, then looked back toward the screen, pointing to a different area. “I can be clever, too. The factory where Simon Armstrong worked was the obvious target for a future attack, so I patched the feed from the in-house monitors into the system here, although I was pretty sure what would happen to them if my suspects ever made their move. These other images come from a separate system I had installed, one that operates differently and is well-hidden. Everything recorded by my system will be clear as day.”
“And it’s working well,” Clark said, now standing next to CJ. He squinted as he looked at one of the pictures, then pointed toward the screen and looked at CJ in alarm. “You do know that they’re placing….”
“A bomb?” CJ said with a half-smile. “I was hoping they would. Committing a felony can get someone into a lot of trouble, especially if it’s caught on tape.” He glanced at the computer monitor again, then started toward quickly the changing area, tugging at his shirt to untuck it from his pants. “Now I just have to stop them before the damn thing goes off.”
“So, do you need me to take you there, too?” Clark asked, but CJ shook his head before disappearing into the oversized closet. This battle would be a defining moment in the new Batman’s career, and he was going to go into it without having to rely on superpowered relatives for transportation. CJ would do this himself. Besides, he had a stop to make after saving the day.
CJ was aware that he was being less than gentle with his expensive clothing as he pulled it off, throwing it haphazardly into a corner in his haste to get dressed. “You don’t need to stick around for my sake, Dad,” CJ said as he pulled a suit off the rack and quickly stepped into it. “I’m sure you understand, it’s just that….”
“This is your moment,” Clark said, his voice odd. CJ paused for a second and looked through the wall, smiling slightly as he watched his dad glance around the cave, then look at the computer monitor and sigh. Clark’s expression seemed almost sad, but proud, too. As if he felt CJ’s gaze upon him, Clark looked toward the closet, through the wall, and smiled. “Good luck, kiddo,” he said with a smile, and was gone.
It was hard to tap into the intensity he had held a few moments earlier, but CJ forced himself to start moving again. He could dwell on that brief moment later, but for now he had a job to do, and fast. It only took a minute to finish dressing, and as soon as he was done, he strode across the cave toward his desk, picking up a large stack of paper and other evidence before continuing toward the car. Tonight, in short order, he was going to arrest some criminals, disarm a bomb, and plead his case to the police commissioner. It was a hard day’s work by anyone’s measure, but he couldn’t wait to get started.
---
Clark hovered high above Gotham City as CJ wound his way through the Saturday afternoon traffic toward the Wayne Enterprises plastics plant, cringing at times at the apparently reckless driving. He knew that he had told Bruce and Randy that he would return to the golf course, but Clark found himself unwilling to immediately go back, especially when one of the pivotal moments in CJ’s young career as a superhero was imminent. He had observed many defining events in his children’s lives – important concerts, big games, ceremonies – knowing that his presence was important to them, that they wanted him there to witness their achievements and be proud of them. This was just another of those moments, even if it didn’t quite fit the mold of the other events. He was sure that CJ wouldn’t object to his presence, just as he was sure Bruce and Randy wouldn’t begrudge his absence because of it.
Clark had to admit that another reason he wanted to stick around and watch the action was to see the outcome of CJ’s investigation. Once the data had begun to come together, he had tried to limit himself to an outside role in the case. His only contribution had been information from the NTSB that had been given to Superman and the Daily Planet, and he had let CJ, and to a lesser extent Jon, be the ones to interpret it as it related to their investigation against the ARB. It had been somewhat of a surprise to see everything develop as solidly as it had, but given the genes that the two boys shared, and their lifelong exposure to the typical Lane and Kent investigation, he had supposed that success was to be expected. Lois, certainly, hadn’t been in the least bit shocked that CJ’s ambitious theory had panned out, although that wasn’t to say that she was anything less than proud that it had. Bruce, on the other hand….
Since CJ had moved to Gotham City, Clark and Bruce had had regular, clandestine meetings at various locations around town, one of which had helped to spur the now infamous rutabaga incident. Outwardly, Bruce had stayed out of CJ’s way throughout the course of the investigation. He didn’t offer criticism, constructive or otherwise, he didn’t snoop, he didn’t get in CJ’s way or even so much as show his face in the cave, and he didn’t give guidance, not that any had been asked. Privately, though, he had followed every development, no matter how minor, tracking the research CJ had done and listening in on conversations that had been made on Wayne property. In his meetings with Clark, Bruce hadn’t been shy about offering his opinions on where things were going, often grousing about mistakes or missed opportunities, frequently expecting unrealistic outcomes from simple situations. Clark had just told him to be patient, which he knew was akin to asking a fireman to be patient while a blaze raged in front of him. They had both seen their fair share of successful investigations, but somehow, being on the outside led Bruce to expectations that even he probably couldn’t fulfill in his prime.
Even after all the grousing, though, Clark knew that Bruce wanted CJ to succeed. It was just as hard for Bruce to step back from Batman, to deny himself active involvement in a big investigation and watch from the sidelines as someone else controlled the action. The frustration and the relative slowness of the investigation aside, Bruce couldn’t deny that the transition had paid off. Since CJ had taken over, Batman was a household name again, crime was steadily falling in Gotham City, and there was a general buzz around town, which only served to make the situation more painful for Bruce, not that he would ever admit it. He had been oddly subdued as the case had finally come together, although Clark knew him well enough to see that he, too, was impressed with what CJ had done. Once everything was finished, he probably wouldn’t give CJ so much as a pat on the back, but Clark figured that CJ would recognize Bruce’s subtle approval for what it was, just like he always had.
Clark blinked and forced himself to pay attention to the action below as CJ’s car began to make its way to an industrial portion of town. In a matter of minutes, CJ arrived at a large factory near the bay, parking his car out of the obvious line of sight from the roadway, intending to enter the building as stealthily as was possible under the full afternoon sun. Across the street from the factory was a tall, older warehouse, one that looked like it had seen better times. The building itself was unremarkable, except for the two figures atop the roof. Laura, clad entirely in black with her hair pulled back and a mask on her face, was perched on the edge of the building closest to the factory, looking anxiously inside, apparently tracking the perpetrators as they placed their bombs. Next to her was an older man in black and navy, a pair of binoculars in his hands, although he wasn’t using them at the moment. He appeared frustrated as he looked between Laura and the factory, possibly waiting for updates.
Clark frowned. It wasn’t unexpected to see Laura in spandex; he knew that she was doing surveillance for CJ, and he figured she would play sidekick to CJ’s Batman even before CJ groveled to him about a week after Laura’s arrival in Gotham, asking permission for just such a thing. Clark trusted CJ to take care of her and keep her out of trouble. The father in him, though, inherently didn’t trust strange men alone on isolated rooftops with his teenaged daughter, even if there wasn’t anything happening. The desire to land on the roof and play chaperone was overwhelming, but he had faith that Laura would put her companion in his place if anything funny happened. All the same, he decided that it would probably be best to make his presence known.
He touched down on the roof several feet from the two, drawing the attention of Laura and the strangely familiar man beside her. Immediately, Laura’s expression lit up, although after a moment she seemed to realize that they were in a somewhat unique situation, facing each other for the first time as costumed heroes with an audience. “Daddy!” she said, her voice excited yet tentative at the same time. Clark smiled despite himself, momentarily ignoring her companion.
“Sweetheart,” Clark said with a nod as he approached her. Her outfit was very familiar, a fact that he would normally exploit for a little humor. With a bystander, though, the humor would have to take a backseat. “What name are you using these days? Or should I just refer to you as…?” He gestured toward her outfit, a hand-me-down from Diane.
“Shadow Woman? I think she retired.” Laura placed a hand on her hips and shifted her weight to one leg. “You can call me Robin,” she said, cocking her eyebrow and pointing to a small, maroon R that had been pinned to the upper front corner of the outfit. “This,” she said, motioning toward the man next to her, “is one of my predecessors.”
Clark turned to look at the man, and quickly realized why he had seemed so familiar. He was the same Robin that Clark had met at least a quarter century earlier, although the youth had been chased from his features. The former Robin now looked like a man who was angry at the world, someone who viewed situations with a cynical eye. It was a shame, Clark thought, especially remembering the exuberance that he had had in his younger days.
“It’s a pleasure, sir,” the man said, holding out his hand, which Clark promptly shook. At the words, the man’s expression changed into one that was almost pleasant.
“It’s been a long time,” Clark replied. Before he had any chance to comment on what the years had done, he heard the sound of door latch clicking from the factory across the street. The sound seemed to reverberate in the massive factory main floor, and as Clark turned his attention to the scene, he immediately knew that the suspects had heard the sound, too. CJ had entered through a back door, and had been cautious enough the close it without a sound, but he hadn’t accounted for the reengagement of the lock mechanism. It was obvious that CJ recognized his mistake, but he didn’t seem to realize its impact.
Both Clark and Laura exhaled loudly as Ross and Armstrong, who had been in the process of leaving, turned back toward the factory floor and split up to find the source of the sound. “What?” the former Robin asked.
“Rookie error,” Clark said. “Just made his job a lot harder.” CJ cringed as he stood in front of the door, looked around for a moment, then straightened up and strode confidently across the middle of the space. Ross had made his way toward a ladder, and was ascending toward the catwalks. Armstrong had procured a gun somehow, and was using the shadows cast by the large machinery to conceal himself, waiting to ambush the unsuspecting hero.
“Stealth has never been his style in anything,” Laura commented. “Neither has subtlety. Look at that – he’s practically daring them to take a shot at him.”
Clark bobbed is head in agreement. “There’s something to be said for boldness. But those machines around him are made of alloys containing lead,” Clark said. “He’s never going to be able to be able to see those guys before they get to him.” The only reason Clark could follow the movements of the suspects was because of the angle he was watching from.
“Not that they could hurt…oooh,” Laura said, cringing. Armstrong jumped out from behind a piece of machinery and caught CJ off guard, knocking him sideways. The gun was raised and pointed toward CJ, but before the trigger could be pulled, CJ made a quick move and grabbed it by the barrel, wresting it away and crushing it as Armstrong looked on in shock.
“All the same, maybe you should go help,” Clark said to Laura. She looked at him with an expression that was surprised at best, fearful at worst. He smiled, attempting to ease her fears. “You are the sidekick, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but don’t sidekicks usually suffer horrible fates in situations like these? Aren’t we generally the sacrificial lambs?”
“You said it yourself: it’s not like anything can hurt you.” At Laura’s appraising nod, Clark turned back toward the factory. “Besides, there’s a bomb in there with ten minutes to go until it explodes.”
Inside the factory, Armstrong stared at the twisted piece of metal that his gun had become. A second later, CJ’s fist came up and connected with his jaw, and Armstrong crumpled into a lifeless form on the ground. Before CJ could make a move to secure him, a shot rang out from high on the catwalks. CJ cupped his hand over the bullet as it impacted with his chest, ensuring that the shot wouldn’t ricochet and damage any of the sensitive equipment around him. In a quick motion, he pulverized the bullet and dropped the powdery remains on the ground, looked toward Ross, then through the wall at the roof where Clark, Laura, and Dick were standing. “Ten minutes? Why do bad guys always insist on cutting things so close?”
“Martyrs are heroes in their world, I’m sure,” Clark said with a shrug, then nodded toward Laura. “Ten minutes will go a lot more slowly if you have a little help….”
“Fine, fine. Jeez is this the same guy who wanted to keep his little baby out of the line of fire until she’s old enough to run for president?” As CJ spoke, another shot was fired. This time he reached out and nonchalantly plucked the bullet from the air.
Clark only responded by crossing his arms across his chest. CJ’s eyes twinkled for a moment, then he looked away and was on the move, winding between machinery toward the nearest ladder. Clark nudged Laura, who was smiling triumphantly. “Go on,” Clark said to her.
“Thank you, Daddy,” Laura said. She leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then was gone. Beside Clark, the former Robin was laughing gently.
At Clark’s curious glance, Nightwing shook his head. “Sorry, I laugh to keep from gaping, I guess. It’s just, well, watching your brood communicate is a very different experience.”
Clark nodded and gave a half smile. “Talking through walls? It certainly cuts down on the cell phone bills.” He watched Laura approach the unconscious Armstrong and reach for the rope from her utility belt, then he turned toward the former Robin. “So what do you call yourself these days, Dick?”
A surprised expression flashed across Dick’s face at the use of his real name, but only for a moment. Even back when Dick had been Bruce’s ward, Superman and Batman had been very much aware of who the other was behind the mask. Clark’s knowledge had allowed him to extrapolate the identity of Robin, although he doubted that Robin had similar knowledge about Superman. Even though Bruce and Clark hadn’t exactly been friends back in those days, discretion and mutual respect kept the identity of the other safe, in Bruce’s case even from his sidekick. Given Dick’s apparent participation in CJ’s investigation, and his presence on the roof, Clark assumed that the playing field was finally even between the two of them.
“I go by Nightwing,” he said with a nod. “Not exactly a household name, but I didn’t get into this business for the press.” He put an emphasis on the final word and gave Clark a knowing glance, leaving no doubt as to his knowledge of Superman’s alter ego.
Clark raised his eyebrows, then gestured toward the factory, where CJ had reached the catwalks, and was appraising the best way to confront a retreating Ross. “So how did you get roped into this investigation?” he asked. “The rest of us were pulled in by association.”
Nightwing shrugged and looked away, he demeanor almost timid. “Curiosity,” he said. “A new man was under the mantle of the bat, and I wanted to know who. I made the mistake of underestimating him….”
Clark smiled. “I think that makes two of us,” he said, then shook his head. Beside him, Nightwing seemed to relax, a small smile finding its way onto his face. “Everyone believes that their kid is going to grow up and do something great, but after the accident, I began to wonder if maybe that spark that made him who he was would flicker out. My son could’ve just as easily have been a stand-up comedian as a rocket scientist, but even someone with all the intelligence and talent in the world would have had a very hard time filling Bruce Wayne’s shoes. He always believed he could do it, though, and maybe his untimely death helped him to embrace his role as Batman in a way that he wouldn’t have otherwise.”
Nightwing nodded. “He definitely succeeded, admirably so. I wouldn’t characterize myself as someone who is easily impressed, but it’s hard not to be after watching this come together,” he said, then gave an almost haunted smile. “Gotham finally has a hero it can be proud of.”
Clark frowned lightly at the words despite their praise. There was something in Dick’s voice, a subtle undertone, that told him there was more behind what he said than he was letting on, and Clark suspected that he knew what. When Dick had left Batman’s side to pursue his own superhero career all those years ago, Clark knew that the separation hadn’t been amicable. Every sidekick has to grow up at some point to become his own man, but that hadn’t been the driving force behind Nightwing’s creation, judging by the shiner that Bruce sported immediately after the two parted ways. The fact that Nightwing had never been seen together with Batman spoke volumes, as did the fact that, in all the difficult, mutual investigations that Superman and Batman had done together, Nightwing had never been invited to offer assistance, even if it was sorely needed.
Dick raised his binoculars and looked toward the factory. Ross had descended to the floor, and CJ was floating soundlessly above the scaffolding toward his position, bracing himself to jump down when he had an opportunity, which came after only a few seconds. CJ didn’t even try to break his fall as he hurtled to the ground, landing gracefully next to Ross and felling him with a punch before Ross even knew what was happening.
“Bruce talks about you,” Clark said softly, his eyes not leaving the scene in front of him. He knew by the rustle of clothing and sharp intake of breath that Dick was looking at him, possibly incredulous, possibly angry. Clark didn’t want to force a reconciliation that Dick didn’t want, but he also hated to bear witness to a grudge, especially when the grudge was based on hurt feelings and half-truths. A little knowledge was power, and Dick deserved to know that he wasn’t forgotten by his former mentor.
“We’ve met once a week since CJ came to town, and used to meet every few months before that,” Clark continued. “We’d talk about this and that, the past and the future, the state of the world. Every now and then your name would pop up in connection with a wrong that was righted or a crime that was solved. It was almost as if he kept an eye out for you, not that he’d ever admit that.”
Inside the factory, Laura was immediately at CJ’s side. “I’ll tie him up. Get the bomb,” she said, pointing toward the far side of the main room and a large vat of chemicals. CJ nodded and immediately started toward the device, striding quickly across the floor.
“I’m just another headline on the news of the day, that’s all,” Nightwing said.
The corner of Clark’s mouth turned up as he looked toward Dick. “So is the latest celebrity plastic surgery fad, but somehow that never entered the conversation.”
Dick didn’t even smile at the joke. He looked down at his binoculars and sighed, then looked toward the factory again. “The old man never cared about me. After three decades, I don’t know why anything would’ve changed.”
“People change,” Clark said. Bruce was the poster boy for that statement, especially since he had begun to face his own mortality. “I also think it’s safe to say that not everyone shows their affection in the same way. Bruce will never be the type of person to tell you that you’ve done a good job, at least not in so many words, but asking you to help him on the next job means that he appreciates the work you do.”
“Maybe,” Dick said, his voice small.
“And I’m not saying that I agree with that philosophy, but I can disagree with a friend and still respect him.” Inside the factory, CJ had reached the bomb, but was unsure of how to defuse it. In the absence of any other course of action, CJ picked the bomb up, wrapped himself around it, and began dislocating wires. “It takes a special kind of man to take in someone like my son, someone who literally had no life, and not only entrust him with his fortune, but also with the identity that he had spent so much time and effort to establish.”
The bomb went off with a dull thud. CJ winced slightly as he took the full force of the explosion, although he didn’t appear any worse for the wear as he stood and waved the smoke away. “Bruce knows a good kid when he seems him,” Nightwing said.
“He always has.” Clark glanced toward Nightwing, who now appeared to be staring off into the distance. As Clark turned back toward the factory, CJ looked at him and held up the charred remains of the bomb trigger, an exact match to the one Clark found at the bottom of the ocean. With a large grin, Clark gave him a thumbs up sign, knowing that it above anything else would help to seal the case against Ross and Armstrong.
Now that the mission was accomplished, Clark figured it was probably time to head back to the golf course. It also meant that it was time to finish up his conversation with Nightwing. As he turned toward the former Robin, he sighed, realizing that their discussion had become somewhat one-sided and heavy-handed. That was not the impression he liked to leave, especially with a professional acquaintance. “I apologize for sounding…preachy,” Clark said, garnering the attention of his companion. “It’s just that you two were each other’s family for a while, and I hate to see something like that broken apart by misunderstanding and pride.” He glanced toward the factory, where CJ had made his way to Laura and the unconscious thugs. “Family is too important for that.”
Nightwing gave a hint of a smile, apparently understanding where Clark’s sensitivity on the subject came from. “Especially when you don’t have other family,” he said, a hint of sadness in his voice. Clark didn’t know what Dick Grayson had done with his private life in the years since leaving Bruce Wayne’s guardianship, but he suspected that Dick didn’t have anyone to confide in, any family to go home to. Dick was probably a lot more like Bruce that he wanted to admit, married to idealism and a vendetta, and too stubborn to put aside old disagreements and reunite with the one person who shared his experiences.
After a moment, Clark took a step away from the edge of the building. “If you feel like renewing any old acquaintances, I happen to know that the Waynes will be hosting some old friends at Juliani’s tonight, around 8 o’clock.” At Nightwing’s surprised look, Clark smiled. “It was nice to see you again,” he said, then took off into the air, headed toward the golf course. He hadn’t been gone too long, and was probably in for another dozen holes of sliced tee shots and bogeys. Like a lot of things in life, though, golf was more about the company than about winning, a point of view that he had yet to convince his wife to hold. Until then, Superman would continue to be less than super on the links, which didn’t bother him at all.
***
CJ utilized the growing evening shadows to conceal himself as he silently entered the office of the Police Commissioner of Gotham City. The room itself was large and cluttered, case files stacked haphazardly on most of the flat surfaces, books stuffed into the overfilled bookcases. The mess made stealth somewhat difficult, but CJ’s meager flight abilities were useful in navigating without being heard. On the far side of the room, the commissioner sat hunched over his massive desk, staring blankly out the large window at the city that stretched out beyond it. For a moment, CJ surveyed the scene and collected his thoughts, although the speech that he was about to make had been memorized long ago and could be recited by rote. Maybe too much thinking could complicate things, he decided after a second. Thought tended to lead to doubt and nervousness, and neither would do him or the investigation any good.
“Commissioner,” he said, his voice raspy and low. Startled, the commissioner turned toward him, although the surprise in his features quickly faded as CJ stepped forward into the light.
“Batman,” the Commissioner said with a nod. “It’s been a long time.”
CJ ignored the urge to engage in small talk, knowing that his alter ego wasn’t known for being personable and engaging. Instead, he stepped forward and dropped a stack of documents on the commissioner’s desk. “Two men attempted to blow up the Wayne Enterprises Plastics plant today,” he said. “They were unsuccessful this time, but this was not their first use of explosives.” He gestured toward the stack of papers. “A couple of months ago, these same men planted a bomb on Metro Air Flight 329 bound for Gotham City from Metropolis.”
“I remember that crash,” the commissioner said as he reached for the papers. “I thought it was still considered an accident.”
“Those documents will prove that it was not. A few weeks ago, Superman discovered a bomb detonator on the ocean floor along the airplane’s flight path.” CJ dropped a charred circuit board on the commissioner’s desk next to the papers. “I think you will find it identical to this one from the Wayne factory.” CJ proceeded to tell the complete story of the suspects dangling from the catwalks inside the factory, what their beliefs were, and how their political ideals lead them to gradually more aggressive attacks in city after city, culminating in their attempt to bomb the Wayne factory and cause major damage to the city via the chemicals that would be released as a result.
“Homegrown terrorists. It makes me sick,” the commissioner said with a shake of the head.
CJ crossed his arms across his chest. “These men deserve to spend the rests of their lives behind bars. I trust your office will make sure that it happens, and so do the friends and family of everyone that these men have harmed.” With that, CJ took a step back and turned around, intending to leave the office.
“Batman?” the commissioner said, causing CJ to stop. “You aren’t the same man who used to visit my office, are you?”
CJ sighed and turned back toward the commissioner. “Times change; the baton gets passed and a new generation takes over. You aren’t the same man who was commissioner when the Batman first started visiting this office, either.”
The commissioner smiled slightly and shook his head. “No, I’m not. I just hoped nothing has happened to your predecessor, that’s all.”
“He’s fine,” CJ said, letting a little bit of the disguise fall away from his voice. “Age limits everyone, though, and heroes are no different.”
“No, I suppose not.” There was a moment of awkward silence before the phone on the commissioner’s desk began to ring. “Thanks for your help,” he said to CJ with a nod. “Let’s hope this is the beginning of a successful partnership.”
CJ responded only with a smile, then left the office as silently as he had entered. Behind him, he could hear the commissioner pick up the phone. “Yes?” he said, his voice betraying a mild amount of shock, no doubt from the smile that the infamously brooding hero gave him.
“Sir, there’s a situation at a Wayne Enterprises factory in the industrial district,” the voice on the other end said. CJ’s smile widened as he tuned out the conversation and walked away. The wheels were in motion now, the case against Ross and Armstrong building, and it was only a matter of time before the two faced justice.
Finally, after all the hard work, after all the late nights, undercover work, and worry, it was over.
