100YoP Chapter Eight "I'm just a hard-working patriot..." (Patreon)

Detective Harvey Bullock walked through the doors of Butcher's Shop and  pretended not to notice the way the owner's hand twitched for the weapon  behind the bar before he forced himself to calm down, greeting him with  a nod. It was still early in the day, so business hadn't begun yet. All  the stools were on the tables or over the bar, which had been waxed,  and there was a black trashbag full of dust next to the back entrance.

"Hey, Mr. Daniels," Bullock said, pulling down a stool and sitting on it. "How's business?"

"Boomin'," the Butcher of Crime Alley replied, all casual. "What'chu here for?"

"Got questions for your cook back there. That his famous chili I smell in the air?"

"Already left. Gon' take it to the homeless shelter down the street," Butcher said. "He'll be back in a while."

"Well, I can wait," Bullock said genially. "Could'ya get me a beer?"

"Motherfucker, it is two in the goddamn afternoon," Butcher snorted,  "Anyone else asked me for a drink at this hour I'd point them to the  A.A. building next door."

"Anyone else? So what do I get?"

"Seein' how long you've known my boy? A drink on the house," Butcher  said, pulling a glass from under the bar and going to the fridge for a  bottle. He came back and gave a generous pour, "Heaven knows I  understand what a pain in the ass he is."

Bullock chuckled, raising his glass a bit in a toast. Butcher mirrored  the gesture with the bottle, and drank straight from the bottle.

After a moment of tranquil silence, Butcher asked, "Hey, you ever hear 'bout No-Heart Andre?"

"The guy that got his heart pulled out and replaced by Pyg? What about him?"

"He actually used to own this building," Butcher said, with a bit of  pride. "No shit, left it to me on his will. Somethin' 'bout a solid I  did him couple years back."

"Damn," Bullock gave the dive bar an appreciative look, seeing it with new eyes. "So here's where it happened?"

"I mean, there were bloodstains on the floor, but that could've been anything."

"Huh," Bullock looked at him. "I actually worked on the case that gave ol' Andre those ten years in Blackgate."

Butcher raised his eyebrows, impressed, "Somethin' 'bout dope, right?"

"Conspiration to sell heroin, yeah," Bullock pulled a cigar, then  offered another to Butcher, who took it. "One of my toughest cases."

"Not surprised, ol' Andre was as paranoid as they came," Butcher  chuckled, leaning in as Bullock offered a light form his zippo, "Had to  make a reservation three weeks in advance and give a password just so he could ask me a favour."

Bullock snorted, "Hey, 'least you got the building out of it."

"True that, you right."

They made small talk for a bit longer, before the door opened and the young man they'd been waiting for came in.

Usually, Sam was a fairly handsome kid. Today he looked, not to put too  fine a point on it, like he'd tried to fuck a woodchipper bareback.  Almost every bit of visible skin on his body had bruises, and most of  his face did as well. There was a cut on his forehead that crossed an  older horizontal scar that went all along the side of his head, his nose  was in a splint and his knuckles had new cuts on them.

"Bullock, nice seein' ya, man. You know there's an A.A. buildin' next door if you're feeling the need to drink so early, right?"

"See that?" Butcher said, "Doesn't even realize what a pain in the ass he is."

"I resent that, I put a lot of effort into it." Sam said, taking off his  blue hoodie and showing that the bruises did, in fact, trail up to his  shoulders and a big one on the side of his neck. He had a bit of a limp.  "You think I was born this fuckin' annoying?"

"I still don't believe you were ever born," Harvey said. "I think you just popped up tiny and annoying from some mouth of hell."

"... fool, just 'cause you right don't mean you should say it," Sam said, putting on an apron and acting all offended.

Harvey chuckled and drank, while Sam waved off an offer of the bottle by Butcher.

"Well, I'll leave you two to your talk," Butcher said, "I'mma clean the kitchen."

"Oh, don't bother, I'll do it in a sec," Sam offered, but Butcher waved him off and went to the back.

Sam sat there and waited. Harvey loved it when the kid pulled this shit,  using police tactics against him. Waiting for the other to get  impatient and talk, not offering information until you knew how much the  other knew. For someone with such a pathological, barely-controlled  need to be the smartest in the room in every talk, it was an amazing  show of self-control

"So, how've you been, Sammy?" Bullock asked, puffing on his cigar. "Still in the tourism industry?"

Sam chuckled, "Nah, changed careers."

Bullock raised an eyebrow, "Aw, and left your civic duty behind?"

It was a reference to the third or fourth time they'd met.

Sam had been caught handing something to one of those dumbass rich kids  that came from Metropolist to watch some real-life criminals and feel  good about how connected they were to the community, and Bullock had  handled the interrogation because so far he was one of two cops that Sam  actually said anything but 'lawyer' to. Upon interrogation, Sam  affirmed that he was in fact selling directions and a home-made alfajor, and should be talked to more respectfully as he was a part of the all-important tourism industry of Gotham.

Bullock had been too busy laughing at the balls on the kid to ask further questions, so they had to bring Jim in.

"Hey, Butcher's Shop is an important local club, lots of tourists come  here." Sam gestured around. "You know me, Harvey. I'm just a  hard-working patriot, trying to keep tourism fun for our guests."

Harvey smiled, "Sammy, I doubt you could sing the entire anthem."

"You might have a point there, lemme check," Sam turned to look back and  shouted, "Butchie! Is our national anthem the one that goes 'oh  Canada'?"

"No!" The Butcher replied from the kitchen, "That's Canada's theme song!"

Sam turned back around. "Ah, see, I thought there was somethin' off there. Looks like you caught me, boss."

Harvey laughed, "Ah, man. I missed this, Sammy. Almost glad I'm definitely going to see you more often."

Sam frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Right, I almost forgot," Harvey smiled, "I had to ask, y'hear anything about Penguin?"

"Only things I know about the man are that he dresses like a dickhead and hates unions," Sam shrugged, crossing his arms.

"Well, ol' Cobblepot got robbed recently. I'm guessing you don't know anything?"

"Nope."

"Yeah, well despite the innocence I'm sure has found its way to your possesion, you're our primary suspect."

"No shit?" Sam asked.

"Hm, so I thought I should save you some time and tell you that your  buddy is still alive and Penguin is calling the rest of the crew out.  Something about killing her as soon as next morning?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, then he stilled for a second and his eyes narrowed, "Where's your partner, Bullock?"

"Oh, nowhere special," Bullock grinned, "Bus to Metropolis."

Sam's hand twitched in the direction of Bullock's throat for a second,  but he paused, and frowned at Bullock. "Bluff. She's outisde."

"Correct," Harvey smiled. "Y'know I'm gonna catch you, right kid?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Detective."

"Right," Harvey sat up and put out his cigar on the recently-cleaned bar. "Take care, kid."

"You too, man."

Harvey left the building.

He smiled when he barely heard a distant, whispered cuss.

{[X]}​

"Samuel Andrés Reyes," Batman said, gesturing at a picture of his face on the BatComputer*'s main screen. "Suspected  to have been a criminal since as young as nine years old. No actual  charges have ever stuck to him, but he is suspected of Conspiracy To  Distribute Narcotics, Distribution of Illegal Narcotics, Illegal  Gambling, multiple charges of Homicide of varying degrees, Possession of  Illegal Firearms, countless Assault and Battery charges, something  Gordon decided to label as 'Rectal Assault with a Mannequin Leg', and at  least one charge of Arson."

* (To this day, he regreted the decision to give everything a goofy name  so it would be slightly easier on a nine-year-old Dick.**)
** (Everyone thought Dick had started it, and he never did anything  against that assumption, but he liked to tease Batman for it in  private.)

Nightwing whistled, "Anything else? Did he ever rob a bank?"

"He was suspected to once, but according to associates of his, he was out sick that day."

"... okay then," Tim said, "So what do we actually know of him?"

"He was a low-level gangster since a young age, described by his  peers as 'promising' and 'cold-blooded'. Rumored to have commited  multiple hits and been considered a favourite by some of his immediate  superiors. He was considered a competent fighter, efficient and  reliable."

Cassandra, adding anything to the conversation since she got back from  his apartment, signed, [Not that good fighting. Better than most, but a  lot worse than us. Tough, though. Stubborn. Quick.]

They were all signing as they spoke, except for Cass, who was saying  about one in three of the words she signed, a little slower than her  hands moved. It was something they'd all agreed to do, to help her get  used to verbal communication.

"Fits what I saw," Batman said. "He managed to incapacitate us  mostly through using his powers. He seemed to have some kind of combat  prediction, at first I thought it was like Batgirl's, but he doesn't  seem to know what move he should make. Maybe short-range precog.  He fought like a normal person of middling skill, probably unused to his  powers, which might confirm he got them during Luthor's auction."

"Good improviser," Nightwing noted, gesturing at the cast his hand was in. "Used the enviroment and us to his advantage."

"Don't remind me," Tim grumbled. "I think he was hurt, though? His hands were shaking, he wasn't shooting where he looked."

[That lightning hurts his hands. Tore open. Small bone fractures.] Cass frowned, [Not sure if from before or after me.]

"Yikes, make that very stubborn," Nightwing winced. "I've punched with  hairline fractures in my hand before. What's the plan if we fight him?"

"Try to control the enviroment," Batman decided. "Sneaking  seems useless against him, so don't bother. Still, overwhelming traps  may be enough to catch or slow him down. I believe any of us could  eventually win if we take special care against his electric shock,  especially if Infrared works against his invisibility. Alternatively, he  seems to care a lot about his crew. Consider targetting them to  distract him. Further ideas?"

"... maybe negotation?" Tim suggested, "When Cass and I were at his place, he seemed... civil."

[Cooked,] Cass signed. [Good at it.]

"Well, I wouldn't know that part, would I?" muttered Tim.

She pulled off her mask so he could see her roll her eyes at him. He poked his tongue out at her. She returned the gesture.

"Did he mention anything important?" Batman cut in, making them both pay attention at him.

"A-ah, yeah, he said he liked to keep tabs on where Firefly was..." Tim said.

The debriefing continued for a while, until Batman felt they gathered a  reasonable amount of information. As soon as he decided it and before he  could actually say it, Cassandra rushed off up the stairs. Batman’s  eyes followed Cassandra on her way up the stairs as he wrote out the  rest of the file on the 'Spider Crew'.

“Worried ‘bout her?” Nightwing—Dick now, he was removing his mask—asked  him. “You should check up on her, she seemed to like Spider. You have  some... experience with the situation. I’ll finish the file.”

Batman thought about it for a moment, looking at the screen while he  finished the pargraph. Once that was done, Bruce conceded the point,  stood up and touched Dick’s shoulder to express appreciation. His  eldest, used to his mannerisms, accepted the gesture with a smile. He  was probably going to call Barbara, but Bruce was never bothered by  their relationship.

Barely bothering to remove the cowl on the way, Bruce went up the stairs  to the manor, then up to Cassandra’s room, as she’d chosen the attic  for her place in the manor. Some of the old family albums and holiday  decorations were still there, pushed against the wall by Cassandra’s  territory, not marked by decorations due to its spartan nature, but  rather by the places that had been dusted by Cassandra’s morning and  evening training, footstep by footstep, motion by motion.

Bruce announced himself with a knock, and found Cassandra still in her  suit like he was, laying on her bed and staring at her mask. Some of her  bruises were still there, but her cuts were mostly patched up, tended  to by unusual but skilled hands. The part of Bruce that never stopped  being Batman added a few points to his estimation of Reyes' first-aid  skills.

[Hey, dad,] she signed, dropping her mask on her chest.

[Hey, dear,] he replied. [I thought you might want to talk.]

[And D-C-I-K told you to actually talk to me?] she signed, her dyslexia butchering the spelling a little.

He hesitated, then nodded. Cass snorted slightly, then went back to  staring at her mask. Still, she curled her legs and gave him space to  sit.

Bruce did, then sat and waited for her to speak. The early years, after  adopting Dick, he’d been a bit alarmed by how many interrogation tactics  applied to being a parent. Nowadays, he was just thankful that some of  his training was applicable to his family outside from those times where  they got brainwashed into being evil for some reason or another.

After a moment, Cass sat up, dropping her mask between them as she  hugged one leg to her chest. She didn’t look at him, but she dropped her  leg and started to sign, [I don’t know what I wanted.]

Bruce didn’t answer, aside from turning his body towards her.

She thought about it, then continued, [When he helped me after the  explosion, I thought he was just some person doing bad things because of  the people around him. Like I was. And when he flirted with me in the  alley, despite knowing who I was, I thought I’d get to have something  normal.]

[Normal?] Bruce asked.

[B-R-B-A and brothers had civilian partners, and it went wrong because  they couldn’t connect because mission. They had hero partners, and it  went wrong because they were just the mission.] She made a bit of an  awkward face, [I thought he was the middle ground. Knew both sides, knew  sign language, seemed to understand my problem, wasn’t scared, wasn’t  bad. But he is bad.]

[It’s not wrong to not want to see the bad in someone,] Bruce signed, [To want them to be good just because you like them.]

[You think I don’t know that?] Cass signed angrily. [You think I don’t want that for my other dad? It’s different from that.]

[Then what?]

[I’m-] she stopped, then did it again with the resigned air of a  confession, [I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed I can’t have one normal  thing. Or that I can’t find out what it’s like to be kissed. I’m  disappointed I can’t have his cooking again, even if it wasn’t as good  as grandfather’s. Because he’s bad. And I can’t just let a bad person  hurt people. So I have to stop him.]

Bruce hesitated for a moment, then slowly signed, [I don’t think he’s that bad. I think he’s a misguided young man.]

[But he hurt people.]

[So have all of us.]

Cass frowned, and pointed at the Bat on her chest. [This means we don't  kill. Ever. I killed, and I will never make it right. That person will  never breathe, never laugh, never cry again. I tore away everything he  could ever be. And I will never make that right. But I was forced to do  it. You said he probably wasn't forced to do every single one.]

Shit, he had. [Some of the cases looked like self defense.]

[And the ones that didn't?]

He couldn't answer.

[Doesn’t change it,] she decided. [Have to stop him. Always going to be this way.]

Cassandra's steadfast grip on her moral code was one of the things Bruce  could most relate to with her. When both had their lives so deeply  altered by the ending of others, they felt the importance of such rules  was much higher than some of their peers. But if Cass was to be a  guardian of Gotham, she would need to understand a little nuance, and  that she shouldn't copy Bruce's work/life balance. And for that to  happen...

Ah, hell, he was gonna have to talk about his love life. [You know Cat Woman?]

[The thief that always escapes you?] She asked, with a frown. [B-A-B-R talked to me about her. Sneaky.]

[Yes, well...] Bruce cleared his throat on habit, as if he’d been  talking, [She and I have been, in the past and most likely in the  future, been romantically linked.]

Cass’ jaw dropped dramatically, and she leaned forward with wide eyes, [REALLY?]

[You really never noticed?] Bruce asked, a little embarassed. [I would have thought that with your ability-]

[I thought that was just attraction neither of you acted on,] she explained. [You mean you’ve actually kissed?]

-warm skin on skin, her breath against his lips, her legs over his, warm under blanket, safe, calm, fun, so fun-

Yeah, no. Cass didn’t need to know the details. As far as Bruce was  concerned, the longer he didn’t talk about sex with Cassandra the  better. [Yes. We have kissed.]

[But she steals!] Cass pointed out.

[From people that have more than they need,] Bruce signed, deciding not  to mention that his civilian identity was one of those people, the  period of time where she set up traps with tigers and lions before  Arkham helped her quit that habit. [Compared to others, she’s... mostly  harmless. Has been known to help. Has been good.]

[So she isn't bad?]

[Not exactly. She’s... wrong,] Bruce signed, a little unsure whether  that was the right word, [And I always hope to help her do the right  thing.]

Cass frowned in thought, tilting her head down, then looked up at him  timidly, [Could that happen with Spider? He helped me a few times, and  I’m not sure if he did it just because he likes me.]

... I’m encouraging my daughter to date a bad boy so she can change him. I’m the worst father in the world.

[That’s for you to decide,] Bruce decided, effectively wussing out from  actually saying it. [But if he's less than you think of him, please  don’t let him hurt you.]

[He couldn’t possibly.] Cass smiled. [I’m stronger.]

[I didn’t mean in a fight.]

[I know.]

Well, maybe she’d be alright.