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[sub]"Mary Jane's Last Dance" | Chapter 2 | [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr0rdCL4Ymk]Post Theme[/url]
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[b]GOTHAM CITY POLICE HEADQUARTERS[/b]
Lower East End
[i]January 2, 1968[/i]

[indent][color=silver]It was known as Five Points. 

The intersection at which Old Gotham, Midtown, Brideshead, Burnley, and the Bowlery all converged, before opening up to an under-developed section of the city that was slowly collapsing under the weight of its own filth and corruption. The gateway to the East End, the Narrows, Crime Alley, and many other storied attractions that somehow managed to avoid mention in the papers or the radio.

To listen to the news or the politicians, there wasn’t a crime problem in Gotham. If that were true, then maybe America was more fucked up than Dick had ever thought. Because it seemed like he and Bruce had a lot in common, and they weren’t the only ones.

A cop was stretching police tape to cordon off an area of Washington Street, while his partner was tracing the outline of a body into the street with a piece of chalk. 

Welcome to 1968. Not even a full day into it, and here was the first murder of the New Year.

Overhead, a shadowy figure bounded between the high rises. Alfred had made good on his promise, sneaking Dick’s costume into the glove box before they’d brought Luke home. The Wayne family car would be too conspicuous in this part of town, but in front of Wayne Tower? Nothing new there. So Alfred had passed the suit over for Dick to change in the back, allowing the boy to slip out into the adjacent alleyway.

Five Corners wasn’t a long hike through the city blocks, except Dick was racing the clock on this one. He had to get back to Wayne Tower before his bedtime, or else Alfred might never let him out on a school night again.

The GCPD building was old construction. Dated back to well before Dick was born. It used a gas-fired heating system that was problematic at best. Some parts of the building were cold, others were hot. In the latter case, this was often resolved by cracking a window.

And, fortunately, the file clerk’s office was one of the stuffy ones. It was something that Mister Bruce had pointed out that Dick really hadn’t understood until now.

He got the sense that Bruce came in this way a good bit. The detailed illustrations in the Bat-Cave were proving to be remarkably accurate, right down to when shift changes happened or where particular file cabinets were located.

Most officers drew their cases at the start of their shift, then returned them at the end. The file clerk was busiest at those times, taking a break mid-shift when no one was pulling from the file room. 

The Boy Wonder had slipped into the file room. From his utility belt, he had a small, red lens flashlight in one hand and a Minox spy camera in the other. Except, it didn’t seem like he was going to need the camera. 

Missing persons, kidnappings, abductions, open cases, closed cases, homicides... no matter where he looked, there was no file on a Shelia Jones. He’d even thumbed through the Jones’ with a middle initial S in case Shelia was a middle name, but still nothing.

Maybe the case file was active and someone had pulled it? No, the file index should still have listed it. The file clerk would have annotated who had pulled the file. 

If the file clerk was doing his job. All things being unequal, this was the GCPD. A half ass job was a half better than the usual.

“Bullock, its that dame over at Burnside.” 

“Aw, [i]fuck Christ[/i]. Again?”

Pocketing the camera back into its pouch on his belt, Dick slipped over by the door. Voices traveled in from where a door was open to the section across the hall. A bunch of desks filled with folders and a telephone.

“Want me to just get rid of her?”

“[i]Fucking bleeding heart on the rag,[/i]” the second voice -- Bullock? -- complained, before the man loudly answered, “I got it.”

Brushing the edge of his glove back, the boy wonder briefly flashed the red light onto the face of the watch he wore. Mister Bruce had told him to wear it upside down, so the face was pressed up against the underside of his wrist. That was so it wasn’t as likely to catch the light and give away their position.

The file clerk would be returning from his break in the next minute or so. And Dick’s window of time to get back to Alfred was narrowing as well.

“It’s Bullock, got another one for me?” 

His back to the wall, the Boy Wonder mulled over the impasse he’d reached. Nothing in the Mad Hatter files had mentioned a missing girl by the name of Shelia Jones. Nothing in the general GCPD files mentioned a missing girl by that name either. So why the ad in the paper?

Should he try to find who placed it? 

“Yeah, uh huh, I’ll log it in the file room.”

Whoever this Bullock detective was, he was off the phone now. “Yeah, I’ll log it all right.” 

Dick started to slip over to the window, when he heard the first voice ask,

“Another 10-65?”

The Boy Wonder froze there, his head risking a glance back at the door that was just slightly ajar. Bruce had drilled the more common police radio codes into Dick’s head. He still did. He’d add a new one and then quiz Dick when they managed to both be at the breakfast or dinner table together.

10-65 was the police code for a missing person.

Through the gap, he could see a trash bin pushed up against a desk. A crumpled piece of paper hit the rim and bounced in. “Another waste of time is what it is,” the voice of the man identified as Bullock answered. There was a pause, then “Clancy, cover for me. I’ll be in the can for a bit.”[/color][/indent]

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Q7mw6r6.png[/img][/center]
[indent][color=silver]Bounding from off the rooftop, the lithe acrobat rebounded off the side a building, landed on the railing of a fire escape, vaulted onto a closed dumpster, then backflipped neatly to the alleyway. He clung to the shadows for a moment, peering out at the street, before he ducked and ran for the back of the familiar car that was parked there in front of Wayne Tower.

No sooner had he slipped into the back seat then Alfred had folded his newspaper and started to pull away from the curb. 

Removing his cape, the boy let it fall into the floorboard before he reached up to remove the mask. [color=#ffd700]“Mister Pennyworth?”[/color]

The butler’s eyes briefly connected with Dick’s in the rear view mirror. [color=#ffffff]“Yes, Master Richard?”[/color]

[color=#ffd700]“Telephone numbers have area codes, right?”[/color]

Dick hadn’t grown up in a single place. They’d always been on the road. So, it probably sounded like a stupid question.

[color=#ffffff]“That is correct.”[/color]

[color=#ffd700]“Do cities have different area codes?”[/color]

Alfred was pulling out into the main road. [color=#ffffff]“Large ones do, yes,”[/color] the man offered, adjusting the rear view as he moved into the flow of Gotham’s traffic.

[color=#ffd700]“Large like Gotham?”[/color]

[color=#ffffff]“What’s the question, lad?”[/color]

Reaching into his utility belt, the boy dug out the scrap of newspaper that he’d clipped from the day’s paper. Unfolding the personal ad he’d noted earlier, Dick waited until Alfred had pulled up to a red light, then popped over the back of the front bench sheet to show him the number at the bottom of the advertisement. [color=#ffd700]“This number. Is it from Burnside?”[/color]

The man took his eyes off the road for a moment, giving the paper a cursory glance. [color=#ffffff]“That area code would cover Burnside,”[/color] Alfred affirmed, glancing forward again.

As the car started rolling forward again, Dick flopped back into the rear seat with a sigh.

[color=#ffffff]“What seems to be the problem?”[/color]

[color=#ffd700]“You mean other than the heat not doin’ its job?”[/color] Dick uttered, staring up at the ceiling of the car.

[color=#ffffff]“Other than the [i]policemen[/i] not doing [i]their[/i] job, yes,”[/color] Alfred echoed, prompting Dick to raise his head to stick his tongue out at the back of the butler’s head.

Dick just seemed to melt, sinking down so that his legs were down in the floorboard as his head rolled back against the seat cushion. [color=#ffd700]“There wasn’t a file for Shelia Jones,”[/color] he said. Which was a problem. Because Dick had no idea how he was supposed to investigate the case of a missing girl he knew nothing about. [color=#ffd700]“And while I was in there, I overhead a detective take a call from the Burnside Precinct. It was a 10-65, but he just threw his notes into trash after he hung up the call.”[/color]

[color=#ffffff]“My word,”[/color] Alfred said. 

The man just continued driving, as the car lapsed into silence while the two voyaged from out of the middle of the city toward Bristol.

[color=#ffffff]“Well, enough Robin for this evening.”[/color] Alfred offered finally, breaking the silence. [color=#ffffff]“Luckily, I have dinner prepared for when we return home.”[/color]

Dick’s head popped back up the next second. Resting his chin on the back of the front seat bench, the boy side-eyed the butler as he asked, [color=#ffd700]“What’s for dinner?”[/color]

[color=#ffffff]“[i]Vichyssoise.[/i]”[/color]

Dick just blinked. [color=#ffd700]“What?”[/color]

Was that even a real word?[/color][/indent][/hider]