Inspector Dudley Soames awoke with a start. He thought he heard something, but when he looked around his living room, he found nothing out of the ordinary. The room was still bathed with the glow from his television set and his scotch still sat next to a pack of cigarettes on the small table beside his leather recliner. By this point, the ice melted down completely.

Soames drew one of the few remaining cigarettes from the crumpled plastic and placed it between his lips. Before he could light it, he felt something hard tap on his shoulder and he jumped.

“Evening Soames, did I wake you?”

The inspector allowed himself to relax once he saw the man who stood in his apartment. “The mayor’s mansion better have some bloody good security. I’m getting just a wee bit fed up with all these uninvited guests dropping by.”

“Something’s not right,” said Nightwing.

“Yeah, it’s called ‘breaking and entering,’” said Soames.

“Not that. The venom patches… they weren’t real venom patches.”

Soames rubbed his eyes. “What are you blathering on about?”

“I stopped a shipment of venom patches and I found out something interesting about them,” said Nightwing. “These weren’t like the ones in the last shipment. No trace of venom. These ones were composed of steroids.”

“So someone’s trying to fuck with the addicts, that’s all,” said Soames. “Maybe the venom train has run out and now the supplier is just doing his part to ensure there’s still product on the streets.”

“No, that doesn’t fit. If the supplier were just trying to pass off these as venom patches, he would have overloaded them with steroids. But even the steroids in the patches were in a small dosage,” said Nightwing. “There’s something else going on here.”

Soames smiled. “Ah Blane, you clever bastard.”

Nightwing raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“There’s a new crime lord in town, a man by the name of Giuseppe. Trying to take over Desmond’s business. The venom patches seemed to be a way for him to sneak into Blüdhaven under Desmond’s radar.”

“What’s that have to do with Blane?”

“I trust you heard about the attempt on Desmond’s life?”

Nightwing nodded.

“Turns out that Prometheus, the assassin sent after Desmond, was working for Giuseppe. Except the problem is, Prometheus is listed as incarcerated,” said Soames. “It would take someone with connections to make a prisoner disappear like that. So I did some digging. Cisco Blane of the FBI is behind this.”

“Blane’s corrupt, working with Giuseppe,” said Nightwing.

“You’re forgetting about the Miller Lite version of the patches.”

A look of realization came over Nightwing’s face. “The FBI is funding Giuseppe…”

Soames grinned and pointed at the vigilante. “Bingo. The FBI is trying a new tactic to take down Desmond, and that involves bringing in their own crime lord.”

	A Knight in Blüdhaven... "CITY AT WAR" Part Three
Nightwing #15 - May, Year Five	by Dino Pollard

“We’re coming close to the end of the road,” said Giuseppe. “The Royal Flush Gang is already poised to strike and soon we’ll have proof that Redhorn’s on Desmond’s payroll.”

“I’ve gotta hand it to you, you sure know how to play the game,” said Cisco Blane.

“Not that difficult, just took a good bit of ingenuity,” said Giuseppe. “If you want to fight crime, you have to play by their rules. That’s what we’ve done and Desmond is going down, his empire crumbling with it.”

Blane and Giuseppe ducked for cover as the window shattered. When they looked up to see the source, an escrima stick lay on the ground. A black and blue blur streaked into the room, knocking Blane off his feet and quickly cornering Giuseppe, holding a second escrima stick against the man’s throat.

“I thought I pieced everything together, but it looks like I was a little off,” said Nightwing. “I thought this was all Blane’s plan for taking down Desmond, until I finally got a look at you, ‘Giuseppe.’ Now I know this is exactly the kind of trick that would appeal to a guy like you, isn’t it, Jesse?”

Giuseppe smiled and threw his head back, slamming it against Nightwing’s nose. He got loose from the vigilante’s grip. Before Nightwing could make another move, Giuseppe seemed to step on thin air as leverage while he used his foot to kick Nightwing in the jaw. There was the sound of a gun cocking and Nightwing turned to see Blane, on his feet once more, his weapon aimed at the former Boy Wonder.

“Don’t. Move,” said Blane. “I don’t care who you are, I’m not about to let you jeopardize this whole operation.”

“You did it, didn’t you, Jesse?” asked Nightwing, still looking at Giuseppe. “Giovanni Giuseppe, that was one of your aliases. I heard you were working with the FBI, but I had no idea you were doing something like this. It makes sense, though. I can see how this would appeal to a Trickster.”

The Trickster smiled. “I see you recognize me, Nightwing,” he said.

“What are you doing?” asked Blane. “Don’t tell him anything!”

“Doesn’t work that way, Blane,” said the Trickster. “I’m running this show, I make the rules. And I think we could use Nightwing’s help on this one.”

“What makes you think I’d help you?” asked Nightwing.

“Because you want Desmond gone as much as we do,” said the Trickster. “And you know that in a town like Blüdhaven, if Desmond goes down, someone’s going to replace him. Who better than someone you can keep tabs on?”

“The devil you know…” said Nightwing.

“That’s right,” said the Trickster. “We have a bit of a coup planned to depose Blockbuster. The Royal Flush Gang and Freddie Minh’s people are ready to strike.”

“You need a way to get at Blockbuster, and I think I have that,” said Nightwing.

“Well?” asked the King of Spades. He sat beside the other three Kings. The fifth king in the room wore a brown suit and a bowler hat. He carried a walking stick with a clock on top and the round glasses he wore were miniature clocks as well.

He was not part of the Royal Flush Gang. Rather, William Tockman was in the employ of the Trickster. He looked down at his pocket watch, nodded, and snapped the watch shut before depositing it in his jacket pocket.

“Not quite time just yet,” he said. “But do not fret, my fellow kings. The Clock King has no intention of making you late.”

“Your boss promises a lot,” said the King of Hearts. “If he does not deliver, the Royal Flush Gang will not be pleased.”

“He will deliver promptly,” said the Clock King. “And you shall all get your fair quarter of the markets once Desmond’s time is up.”

A sleek, black motorcycle moved with remarkable silence through the streets of Blüdhaven. The rider hunched over on the bike, a helmet protecting him and keeping his head hidden. He sped towards a small warehouse near the harbor.

As he approached, he pressed a switch on the bike’s handle. The garage door opened. The bike passed through the open door, slowing down before screeching to a stop. Nightwing removed his helmet, looking around the warehouse. The Huntress sat near the computer terminal, arms crossed.

“Are you done speeding around town yet?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Nightwing. “Oracle online?”

“Been waiting patiently,” said the Huntress. She motioned to the large monitor, which showcased the digital “mask” Oracle used to identify herself. “I’m not as patient.”

“You reading me, Oracle?” asked Nightwing.

“Yes.”

“Got everything ready to go?”

“Yes, but I just want to go on record as saying I think this is a bad idea.”

“Duly noted,” said Nightwing. “Too bad it’s not your call.”

“It is my call whether or not to help you out, though.”

“Sure, but if you refuse to help me, then I’m just gonna go at it alone. And without you backing me up, there’s a chance this could all go south if things don’t play out,” said Nightwing. “I need a contingency plan. And for that, I need your help.”

“Sometimes you can be a real pain in the ass.”

“So I’m told,” said Nightwing, glancing at the Huntress. “What about you? You know your part in all this?”

She nodded.

“Good, so we’ve got all our bases covered.”

“Unless the Trickster betrays us,” said the Huntress.

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” said Nightwing. He walked away from the Huntress, pulling off his top as he did. “But right now, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“That ain’t my problem! If I.A.’s breathin’ down yer neck, that’s your problem! I got enough crap t’ deal with! So you can just fuck off!”

Chief Francis Redhorn slammed the phone receiver down on the cradle. He grunted loudly and began to rub his temples. “What a friggin’ day… What the hell else can happen?”

As if on cue, he heard a knock on his door. “Who the hell is it?!” he screamed.

The door opened and Soames stood in the entrance. “A bit uppity, I see. I could come back later, if you like.”

“The hell do you want, Soames?” asked Redhorn. He stood and walked over to the window. He peeked through the horizontal blinds. “Bad enough I gotta look at yer ugly mug every time I glance out my window.”

“Fancy the billboard, eh?” asked Soames with a grin. He walked into the office and made himself at home, sitting in Redhorn’s chair and perching his feet on the Chief’s desk. “I thought it was a nice touch.”

“What makes you think you’re winnin’ that election?” asked Redhorn. “Some I.A. convictions an’ that’s all you need?”

“Actually, I have a feeling only one will matter,” said Soames.

“Oh yeah? An’ who’s that?”

Soames grinned. “Yours.”

Redhorn turned to Soames in a threatening manner. “You wanna run that by me again?”

“Quite simple, Frankie baby,” said Soames, lighting a cigarette. “I’m placing you under arrest.”

“On what charge?” asked Redhorn.

“Aiding and abetting, for starters,” said Soames. “I know you’re on Desmond’s payroll.”

“And how are you gonna prove that?” asked Redhorn.

“You let me worry about that,” said Soames. “Meanwhile, I’d appreciate it if you come along quietly.”

“Like hell I will!” Redhorn lunged forward and pulled Soames from the chair by his shirt. He slammed the inspector against the wall and drew his gun, holding it beneath Soames’ chin. Dudley only began to laugh.

“Somethin’ funny, Soames? ‘Cause I ain’t laughin’.”

“Actually yeah, something’s very funny,” said Soames. “You see Frankie, I didn’t come alone.”

A figure crashed through the window. A woman with long, black hair and dressed in a skimpy, spandex outfit complete with a purple cape and mask. She held a crossbow in her hand and aimed it at Redhorn.

“Drop the gun or this arrow goes through your neck,” said the Huntress.

“Expect me t’ believe that?” asked Redhorn with a chuckle. “I know you hero types. Not like you to kil—ACK!”

The arrow flew from the crossbow, grazing Redhorn’s neck as it moved past. The Huntress reloaded and took aim again.

“I’m not Nightwing,” she said. “Don’t push me.”

“It’s over, Redhorn,” said Soames. “So why don’t you lower the gun and let me arrest you?”

Redhorn kept his eyes on the Huntress as he slowly released his grip on Soames. Dudley quickly pulled away and drew his own gun, pistol-whipping Redhorn with it and knocking him to the ground.

“I think I have it covered from here, love. Thanks for your help.” He took out his handcuffs and used them to restrain Redhorn’s hands behind his back. “Might want to leave now, dear. Before the boys in blue show up.”

Roland Desmond, also known as Blockbuster, sat in the rear of a large, Hummer limousine as it traveled through the streets of the city he deemed his own property.

“Things are becoming strained, Mr. Boone,” said Desmond. “There are many unsavory elements out there. The latest attempt on my life is proof of that.”

“Relax, I took care of Prometheus, Boss,” said the assassin named Shrike. “Don’t worry about him anymore.”

“Nevertheless, something is coming and we must be prepared for the worst,” said Desmond. “Difficult to know who to trust.”

The limo suddenly swerved without warning before it screeched to a stop. Once Desmond allowed himself a moment to compose, he looked at Shrike. “See what happened.”

Shrike nodded and opened the door. The moment he did, he was pulled from the car and thrown to the pavement. He looked up and then called out to Desmond. “Hey Boss… think you might wanna see this…”

Blockbuster stepped out of the limo. “What are you—” His eyes widened when he saw fifty-two costumed criminals on hovering playing cards floating before him. Each of them was dressed like a card in a deck. And standing at the fore was a man Desmond had written off as useless.

“You shouldn’t have turned down my offer, Roland,” said the Clock King.

“Shrike, you need to—ARGH!”

Desmond’s words died in his throat as the blade from Shrike’s arm-mounted tonfa fired, striking Desmond in the gut. Shrike was on him instantly, battering Desmond with a pair of escrima sticks.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Desmond.

“It’s like you said, Desmond…” He pulled off the brown and gold mask and dropped it at his feet. Desmond was shocked to see the face of the man who had been working for him for months.

“You can’t trust anyone,” said Nightwing.

“You…” growled Desmond.

“I replaced the real Shrike months ago, been posing as him ever since,” said Nightwing.

“I’ll kill you!” he roared.

“I wouldn’t try anything if I were you,” said Nightwing.

“I could kill this Royal Flush Gang,” said Desmond.

“And what about your mother?” asked Nightwing.

“You wouldn’t…”

“Cut her off? You bet I would,” said Nightwing. He narrowed his eyes behind his domino mask. “This game is over, Desmond. Your assets have been frozen and unless I report in, your mother loses that cushy retirement home.”

Desmond raised his arms and put his hands behind his head. He glared at Nightwing. “I will kill you for this.”

“Sure you will,” said Nightwing.

One Month Later

Soames stood on the roof of the Blüdhaven Police Department, standing by a large spotlight, smoking a cigarette. Thanks to the design on it, it beamed a signal into the night, a signal in the shape of Nightwing’s domino mask.

“Didn’t expect to see this,” came Nightwing’s voice from the shadows. “What do you want, Soames?”

“I assume you’ve seen the results?” asked Soames. “I prefer to be addressed as ‘Mr. Mayor.’”

“Soames, that will never happen,” said Nightwing. “We worked together this time, but don’t think things are going to stay that way. I know you’re every bit as corrupt as Desmond and Redhorn and I won’t rest until the rest of the world knows it, too.”

“A man can’t change, hero?” asked Soames.

“It’s not you,” said Nightwing. “Sooner or later, you’ll slip up. And I’ll be there.”

“And what of Mr. James Jesse? You really think he’s on the path of the straight and narrow?”

“I’ll deal with the Trickster if he crosses the line, too,” said Nightwing. “You have to understand something, Soames. Blüdhaven is my town. And I won’t let it go back to the way it was.”

Nightwing leapt off the roof, firing a jumpline and swinging from it. Soames watched him go and flicked his cigarette over the edge.

“Is it? We’ll just have to see about that, hero.”

When the hood came off Detective Amy Rohrbach’s head, she looked around the room furiously and could barely see anything. Her captors stood behind her and she was tied to a chair.

“What the hell is this all about?” she asked. “Where am I?”

The door opened and a tall, well-built man pushed an old woman in a wheelchair into the room, face to face with Amy. “Good evening, Detective,” she said.

“Who are you?” asked Amy.

“You made an arrangement with my son before he was apprehended. Now, I have chosen to repair the damage done to his organization. And you are going to help me.”

“You’re… Desmond’s mother?” asked Amy.

“I am,” she said. “And you are now working for me, Detective Rohrbach.”

TAKING FLIGHT

Some of you may know, some of you may not. But this is my final issue of Nightwing. It’s been a fun fifteen issues but all good things must come to an end. Curt gave me a chance to write one of my favorite characters and I thank him for that, as well as Steve Crosby for his work on Batman and the great way it set things up for me.

As far as me, I may be leaving Nightwing, but I’m not done at JLU. I have ideas for some other titles, and Steve and I have begun talking about potentially working on something together. So stay tuned.

Dino Pollard
October 11, 2007