Ever hear the joke, “the only good lawyer is a dead lawyer”?

It’s officially no longer funny.

Jessica Metzer. Late twenties, fresh out of law school. And now, she’s dead.

Her body was found in a dumpster. Mouth sewn shut, throat slit and the words primum non nocere carved into her naked chest. It’s the exact same way Charles Whitman’s body was found. Like Metzer, he was a lawyer as well.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. The voice belonged to Helena Bertinelli, or the Huntress as she called herself when in costume. To say the two of us share a past would probably be something of an understatement. She used to operate in Gotham City, before she was nearly crippled. But now, she’s up and about once more. And she’s come to my city because, in her own words, she missed me.

Naturally, the time she picks for a visit is when I’m in a relationship.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“In case you weren’t aware, there’s a killer on the streets,” said the Huntress. “This is victim number two. I don’t want it to climb to three.”

“Well, you’re quite the tenacious one,” I said.

“You know all about that, don’t you ‘Ricky’?” she responded and I could feel her smile on my back.

“Y’know this really isn’t the time or the place for us to have this conversation,” I said, turning towards her.

“Settle down, Boy Wonder,” she said. “I just thought I’d let you know what I found out.”

“Which is?” I asked.

“Metzer and Whitman, they were working on a case together,” she said. “A malpractice lawsuit against a Doctor Albert Goldman. Their client’s name was Patrick Ingles.”

“Primum non nocere is a term taught in medical school,” I said. “It’s Latin for ‘first do no harm.’”

“This killer has a problem with malpractice lawsuits.”

“Yeah, and I imagine this one especially,” I said. I stood and ran to the other edge of the building.

“Where are you going?” asked the Huntress.

“Find Ingles, make sure he’s protected,” I said.

“And what about you?”

“I’m going to go have a chat with Dr. Goldman,” I said. “If he’s not behind this himself, then chances are he may have an idea of who it is.”

I leapt from the building and shot out a jumpline. Once I released it, I twisted in the air and landed on another rooftop. The second I did, I activated the communicator in my earpiece. “Nightwing to Oracle, you read?”

“I’m online.”

“Perfect,” I said. “I need the address of a Dr. Albert Goldman. Think you can get that for me?”

“Sure, what’s it for?”

“It looks like he’s a suspect in these murders,” I said. “I just had a run-in with the Huntress and she gave me some valuable information. It’s over a malpractice lawsuit.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, but it’s a lead, which is at least something more than what I’ve been going on so far. And also, I want you to get the address of a Patrick Ingles. He’s the plaintiff in the lawsuit and that leads me to believe he’s also the next victim.”

	A Knight in Blüdhaven... "HUSH" Part Three
Nightwing #12 - February, Year Five	by Dino Pollard

Mr. Giuseppe stood beside William Tockman as an unmarked black van pulled into the warehouse. Special Agent Cisco Blane emerged from the driver’s side and he opened the back doors of the car. Seated inside with both arms and legs held in restraints, was a blindfolded man with shaggy, white hair and a beard.

“You’re sure about this?” asked Blane.

“Of course I’m sure,” said Giuseppe. “Trust me, Blane. He’ll be a great addition to our ranks.”

“You do realize you’re pushing you’re luck, right?” asked Blane.

“No, all will be well, you’ll see,” said Giuseppe.

Blane sighed and pulled the prisoner from the van. He then tossed Giuseppe the keys to the restraints. “You got the package?”

“It arrived this morning, thank you,” said Giuseppe.

“Good, then I’ll get outta here and let the three of you get to know each other,” said Blane. He closed the back doors and climbed into the driver’s seat before driving off.

“William?” asked Giuseppe.

The Clock King held a small remote in his hand and once the van was gone, he pressed the button and the garage door closed. Giuseppe pulled the blindfold off the prisoner.

“About time,” he said. He looked at Tockman and Giuseppe. “Now who the hell are you two?”

“This is William Tockman, you probably know him as the Clock King,” said Giuseppe. “As for me, you can just call me Giuseppe.”

“Funny, you don’t look like a Giuseppe,” said the prisoner.

“We have a little job for you, Prometheus,” said Giuseppe. “Have you ever heard of Roland Desmond?”

“Yeah, Blockbuster,” said Prometheus.

“I want him dead,” said Giuseppe. “And you’re the man to do that.”

“Why me?” asked Prometheus.

“Your technology provides you with the skills to best Desmond in combat. Plus, you can dispatch his bodyguard as well and you have the means to get into Desmond’s home undetected.”

“What’s in it for me?” asked Prometheus. “And why would the FBI agree to this?”

“Let me worry about the FBI,” said Giuseppe. “As for what you get out of it, I promise you that you’ll be well-compensated.”

“I don’t need money,” said Prometheus.

“We have your equipment, too,” said Tockman.

“That’s a start,” said Prometheus. “But what else?”

“Name your price, my friend,” said Giuseppe.

The weather was a bit stormy when Dr. Albert Goldman came home from the bar around midnight. He locked the door behind him and shook the water off his hat before he took off his coat and hung it on a rack. His hand reached for the light switch, but when he flicked it up, nothing happened.

Goldman looked at it in confusion and tried several times flipping it on and off, hoping to get the light to work. It wasn’t any use. He sighed and turned away from the switch, letting his eyes get accustomed to the darkness enough so he could move through his house.

That’s when there was a flash of lightning. And that’s when he got a glimpse of me standing in front of his stairwell. He screamed and jumped back.

“Welcome home, Dr. Goldman,” I said.

“W-who the hell are you?” he asked. “What do you want?”

“Nightwing,” I said. He tried to back away but I lunged forward and gripped him tightly by his shirt. I pulled him towards me and slammed him against the wall. “And what I want is answers.”

“P-please don’t hurt me, I didn’t do anything! I swear!”

“Charles Whitman! Jessica Metzer! Do those names sound familiar to you?”

“I-I-“

“Let me refresh your memory,” I said. “They’re the lawyers representing Patrick Ingles in his malpractice lawsuit against you. And they’re both dead, killed in a pretty gruesome fashion with a phrase taught to medical students carved in their chests.”

“Wh-what?” he asked.

“Was it you who killed them, or did you just pay someone to do it?” I asked.

“I didn’t kill anyone!” he cried out.

“Was Ingles next on the list, or was it just the lawyers? Put the fear of God into Ingles?”

He started to plead with me. When the lightning flashed I could see the fear in his tear-filled eyes. If there’s one thing I learned in all my years of crimefighting, it’s how to spot a killer. And right now, Goldman doesn’t look like the type of person who could kill a man, or even order someone killed.

“I swear… I have no idea what you’re talking about… I didn’t kill anyone. Please, you have to believe me!”

I allowed Goldman to slip from my grasp. He collapsed on the floor and began sobbing. Way to go, Grayson. You just made a mistake and now, you’ve scared this poor guy half to death.

The Huntress moved stealthily across the rooftops of Blüdhaven, keeping a close eye on her “prey” for the night—Patrick Ingles. She resented the fact that Nightwing had ordered her to follow Ingles to ensure he was protected while he went after the suspected killer.

She felt unwelcome in the ‘Haven, just as the Batman had made her feel unwelcome in Gotham. If there was one thing Helena had counted on, it was that Nightwing would at least treat her with a bit more respect given their history together.

Of course, what had she really expected? She had been the one to blow him off after she was injured. It was her decision to leave Gotham and crimefighting behind. And now, she shows up, back in costume, in his city no less. Perfect way to come off as an indecisive ex-girlfriend.

Whatever the case, she had planned to earn back Nightwing’s trust. Even if that meant playing second fiddle to him for a while. It would not be permanent, she told herself.

Ingles walked up to an apartment tenement and let himself in the front door. The Huntress had his apartment number already and deduced its location from the outside. She dropped down to the fire escape to find his window open.

The Huntress drew her crossbow and climbed through the window. Unless Ingles had a habit of keeping his windows open, she had a bad feeling about this. She figured she would simply stay in the shadows until she had a better understanding of the situation.

Unfortunately, the Huntress never got a chance to put her plan into action. Something hard struck the back of her head and she went down. A man with bandages covering his face and dressed in a trench coat and surgical latex gloves stood over her, holding a baton in his hand. His attention turned from the fallen heroine to the front door when he heard the lock turn.

Instantly, he moved closer to the door. As Ingles opened the door, the man called Hush hid behind it. Ingles switched the light on and limped inside his apartment, using a cane to help him walk. The first thing he noticed was the unconscious form of a young costumed woman with black hair lying on his floor.

“What the hell…?”

Hush slammed the door and Ingles jumped, turning in surprise to view the intruder.

“Wh-who are you?” asked Ingles.

“A whole is that which has beginning, middle and end,” said Hush. “Whitman was beginning, Metzer middle, and now, Mr. Ingles, you shall be end.”

“My lawyers? That was you?” asked Ingles.

Hush nodded. He advanced upon Ingles, who swung his cane at the killer. “Stay away!” said Ingles. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Hush grabbed the cane and pulled it away. “Malpractice lawsuit, smearing the name of a good man. That is what you did.”

“He butchered my knee!” said Ingles, trying hard not to lean on his bad leg.

“He tried to help you, and this is the thanks you give.” Hush raised the cane and brought it down upon Ingles’ head. The injured man fell to the ground and Hush straddled Ingles’ chest. He reached inside his coat and pulled out his sewing kit.

“Wh-what are you doing?” asked Ingles.

“Hush.” He removed the threaded needle. But before he could lean forward to begin his operation, something struck his hand and caused him to drop it. Hush watched as the object, a black blur to him, ricocheted off his hand and flew back to the waiting palm of the owner.

“How about you let him go and we can step outside?” asked Nightwing.

“Hmph, the vigilante,” said Hush. “He who is unable to live in society, or who has no need because he is sufficient for himself, must be either beast or god.”

“What’s that make you, Aristotle?” asked Nightwing.

“I am beast, I freely admit that,” said Hush. He stood from Ingles body. “But what are you?”

“I’m here to stop maniacs like you,” said Nightwing.

“You know what’s crazy?” Hush stuffed his hands inside his pockets. “Crazy is watching a doctor’s career ruined because some scumbag slapped him with a malpractice lawsuit. These are good men and women who have been ruined by cases like these, regardless of the outcome. I have no desire to watch another doctor reduced to a cautionary tale because of men like Ingles looking to make some quick cash.”

“And whether or not Goldman’s guilty doesn’t mean a damn thing to you, does it?” asked Nightwing.

“He tried, which is more than most would do,” said Hush. A gunshot rang out from the gun he kept in his pocket. Nightwing jumped on the table that separated the two, avoiding the bullet, and sprung towards the killer.

Hush pulled the gun from the pocket and tried to get a clear shot, but the vigilante was too close. His other hand drew a scalpel and he used it to slash Nightwing’s face, leaving a cut on one of his cheeks. Hush coiled his legs and kicked forward, pushing the former Boy Wonder off. He leapt to his feet and pointed the gun at Nightwing’s head.

“Don’t take this personally,” he said. “After all, nature does nothing uselessl—ARGH!“

A small arrow had struck Hush’s hand, forcing him to drop the gun. He looked at the Huntress and saw she was back on her feet, crossbow aimed at him. She fired a pair of arrows, one striking each shoulder. She moved closer to him and Nightwing saw her shift her arm. he could tell that the next arrow was aimed at Hush’s head.

“Huntress,” he said. “Enough.”

Rather than arguing the point, she simply slammed the butt of the crossbow against Hush’s head, knocking him unconscious.

A few nights later, the Huntress sat perched on a rooftop, staring out at the full moon. She seemed deep in thought, so much that she hadn’t even noticed my approach.

“Y’know, you could get yourself killed that way,” I said.

She offered me a sly smile. “Assuming you actually got the drop on me.”

“Anything you say.”

“Any news on Hush?” she asked.

“Yeah, I spoke to Oracle,” I said. “Thomas Elliot, successful plastic surgeon. Or at least he was before this.”

“And his malpractice obsession?” asked Huntress.

“His record was clean, nothing but compliments from every patient he worked on. Plus Goldman says he never heard of Elliot,” I said. “Assuming that’s true, maybe he was just an admirer of Goldman’s. Or maybe he just hated seeing doctors get their name ruined.”

“Mmm, perhaps,” said Huntress.

“What are you gonna do?” I asked.

She looked down. “I haven’t decided. You seem to have a handle on things here. And it looks like you have a nice life for yourself. I wouldn’t want to step on your toes.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, Blüdhaven can be pretty bad. I might be able to use the help.”

She looked at me with curiosity in her eyes. “Are you serious? If I hadn’t screwed up the other night, you wouldn’t have had to save me.”

“Not like you didn’t return the favor,” I said. “Besides, I screwed up with Goldman. Things are pretty hectic over here and I might end up making more mistakes. Couldn’t hurt to have an extra set of eyes watching the city.”

“In that case, I think I’ll stay,” she said.

“Good, I—“ I heard a beeping in my ear, indicating Oracle was trying to contact me through the earpiece I wore. “Nightwing.”

“Are you watching it?” asked Oracle.

“Watching what? What’s going on?” I asked.

“A new candidate just entered Blüdhaven’s mayoral race.”

“So what?” I asked. It’s not like mayoral elections had much effect on me. Did it really matter who was running for office in this city?

“Dick, it’s Soames.”

I was wrong, it did matter.