until i’m in my grave - ch. 19
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Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Jason shudders awake, hands fisted in the thin sheet pooled around him. He draws in one painful breath, feels the air rattle in his chest, and lets it out slowly. Golden light filters through the slats of the shutters, and his chest in profile casts a long shadow against the scratched linoleum. He’s covered with a thin layer of sweat and with the muggy humidity of a Gotham summer, it’s more than a little bit uncomfortable. The room is filled with a heavy silence. He pushes himself up and takes another shower.
Talia doesn’t pick up when he calls and he doesn’t bother to leave a message. He grabs a spare jacket and helmet and heads out instead, stopping by a street cart near the Sprong Bridge for some food. The vendor eyes the knot of scar tissue on the back of his hand as Jason passes over a wad of bills but in the end, she just pulls the bill of her Gotham Knights cap lower and says nothing. Jason sits on the edge of a rooftop and watches the light of the Cape Carmine lighthouse sweep across the bay as he scarfs down his third chili dog. By the time he’s done two more, the sky is streaked with orange and red. The wail of sirens sounds out from somewhere behind him.
Jason shoves his head into his helmet and goes looking for trouble.
He finds it in the form of one Timothy Jackson Drake, two hours later. The other vigilante is in the middle of the Bowery, responding to a distress call made by a GCPD unit on patrol. Jason watches from a distance, catching a brief flash of red as Red Robin glides over to the empty cruiser and crouches down to inspect the ground below it. He ignores the brief curl of anger and bypasses the gravel lot entirely, heading towards the likeliest place the missing blue boys might be: Crown Point.
Crown Point is to the Bowery what Crime Alley is to the East End. It’s filthy and worn, filled with crumbling buildings and the rubble of one failed renewal project after the other. The people in Crown Point are wary and distrustful, trapped by the steep price of living anywhere else in Gotham.
This time of night, the streets are desolate, flickering street lamps kept company by the occasional car that speeds past. The eerie silence of the district is broken only by the muted chatter that spills out of one of its many pubs. A dog barks, hidden somewhere amongst the tall brush. The Bowery somehow manages to be an industrial small town in the middle of Gotham Harbor; the ninth wonder of Gotham City.
Jason skirts around the edges of the residential zone, making a beeline towards the river. There, nestled amidst the shipping containers and industrial clutter is the old wharf from Gotham's bygone silver age. When Miller Harbour became Gotham's preferred port, the Bowery lost one of its main sources of traffic, pushing the district further into depression. Now, though the vast majority of factories that line this part of the bay are still in use, there's an air of neglect that lingers. Jason doesn't bother inspecting each one individually, heading towards the edge of the sprawling complexes. Even from a distance he can tell that there’s a light on in the lower level and, as he nears, he can hear voices from inside.
“-tell us what we need to know and we'll let you go,” someone snarls.
Jason rolls his eyes as he slips in through a broken window on the second floor. Sometimes, he thinks, it's as if these guys are all reading from the same melodramatic script.
The elevator shaft has been stripped bare, likely out of disuse. He hops over the 'CAUTION’ tape and leverages himself down into the floor below. The beams running along the ceiling offer a vantage point of the assembly floor so, like many times before, he crouches down in the shadows and scans the room.
There, in the corner of the floor, stand four men. They're heavy set, with the typical wide shoulders and lumbering frame that seem to be required by the job description. No visible weaponry aside from the machine gun that two of them have slung across their chests and the rifle that the one talking has pointed at the men of the hour. Two of Gotham's finest are trussed up and sitting on plastic folding chairs.
“Don't tell them shit!” One of them snaps, glaring at her fellow detainee.
“What the fuck does it matter, huh?” He responds. “Gordon's gone and Atkins will never be able to do as much good as he did. I'm not gonna stick my neck out just to save his.”
“So you're just going to rat us out,” the female officer snarls, voice rising in disbelief. “Is that how it is? God, I knew you were a pig, Nate, but I didn't think you were scum too.”
“It’s always the same with you guys, isn't it?” Nate retorts, shoulders hiking up to his ears as his face turns red. “Doesn’t matter how long I’ve been your partner, just because I wasn't in No Man's Land, all of a sudden I'm not a true Gothamite or what fucking ever. Well, I'm sick of it, okay? And I'm sick of you trying to pretend that this city isn't going to pieces, like it hasn't been going to pieces for the past fucking thirty years. I'm sick of this fucking city and I'm sick of being a target just because some wacko dressed up in an out of season Halloween costume and his goons want to prove a point to who even knows who, as if Fields wasn’t bad enough-”
At this, one of the aforementioned goons coughs. “Hey, hey, hey,” he says, jabbing the rifle against Nate’s chest. “I think that's enough out of you.”
Nate, surprisingly, shuts up.
“Look,” Goon With A Rifle says, “we don't want to be caught up in this either. So just fucking tell us what you wanted with the bossman and we'll be on our merry way. We'll only shoot you twice even. It'll be quick, just 'pop pop’.” He taps the nozzle of the rifle against Nate’s head twice demonstratively.
“Won't feel anything,” Goon With A Machine Gun #1 adds helpfully. “You'll be dead.”
“Think that's the point, Rick” a third Goon grunts. He shifts and Jason moves closer to see- yeah, he's got a pistol strapped to his left leg.
The last goon, the one with the other machine gun, stays silent, gaze heavy on the two captives.
“We don't even know who your bossman is!” Nate says, with no small amount of hysteria. “Romy wanted to follow up on a lead for the ”
“Oh, yeah?” Leftie says. “And why were you two esteemed officers stopping right in the middle of that particular car lot, huh? Didn’t think you’d get any calls about illegal parking.”
“That's none of your business,” Romy grinds out.
“As fascinating as this is,” Jason comments drily, dropping down on top of Goon 4. “We're going to have to end this comedy sketch here.”
Goon 4 lets out a startled yell as he crumples with a spectacular crunch. Theher three whirl around with an impressive reaction time but Jason's already diving behind some equipment nearby.
Two shots and Leftie goes down. Rick shoots with no particular aim, shells clattering to the floor as he waves the machine gun wildly.
“You even know how to use that thing?” Jason remarks, rolling his eyes underneath his mask. Roll to get better cover, wait three seconds then squeeze-
A spray of bullets later, Rick is down too, blood already pooling on the factory floor.
Goon 1 looks ashen as he stumbles closer to his two hostages. “Don't come any closer or I'll shoot!” His voice wavers, much of his earlier bravado gone like the wind.
“Do you honestly think I give a rat's ass about GCPD officers?” Jason snorts.
That throws Goon 1 for a loop. “You're one of them vigilantes aren't you?” He stammers. “Batman's group.”
“Batman doesn't kill,” Jason smirks. Pop pop ; it's just as quick as Goon 1 had said it would be.
Jason walks over to Goon 4, who's only now stirring with a low moan. He prods the man with the toe of his boot and hums to himself a little as he brings the barrel of his gun up-
“Wait!”
It's Romy, surprisingly, that's the source of the outburst. Jason turns to still-trussed-up officers with a twist to his lips and a spread of his arms; with the helmet on, he’s taken to being a bit more dramatic with his body language. “What?” He asks, frustrated. “Don’t tell me you want me to spare his life.”
“Let us take him into custody,” she demands, raising her chin a little to look at him properly. “There’s no one with any claim over the Bowery - or there shouldn't be. If there’s someone new trying to make this their territory, that’s GCPD business.”
“Are you crazy, Romy?” her partner asks. “We don’t negotiate with these guys, you know that.”
“I’m a little tired of hearing your voice, Nate,” Jason says flatly.
Nate splutters, turning red.
“Look, officer. Officers. I don’t fucking care. You want this low-life breathing, you can take care of him yourselves. Here, I’ll even make sure that he won’t run off until someone comes by to get you free.”
Jason pivots and shoots Goon 4 in the kneecap. He howls, abruptly conscious, and Jason kicks him in the side to shut him up. The hulking man whimpers, clutching his leg as tears start trickling down the side of his face.
“Hey!” Both officers lurch forward in their chairs. Jason rolls his eyes. You try to do someone a favour…
He lets himself out through the front door.
