Chapter Text
Blüdhaven, Nightwing
The vigilante jumped down the alley he had heard a commotion come from about 5 minutes prior. Silence surrounded him, that couldn’t be a good sign. The streets of Gotham were never quiet, especially not at night. A silhouette sat on a trash bin a couple of steps away from the raven haired man. The shadows of the city made it impossible to see anything clearly, but the orange glow of a cigarette lit up the alley at least a little bit.
The man took two silent steps closer. The figure didn’t move, nor did they make a sound.
Weird.
Another step made clear that the silhouette was a man.
“Sir?” His voice was barely loud enough to be heard.
Still no movement. Still no sound. Still no sign of life.
Finally he was close enough to see the unknown man’s face. He had to take a step back.
“Oracle,” Nightwing pressed his earpiece, “we have another body.”
He took another step towards the body to have a closer look.
Blood dripped down the man’s throat, leaking from the deep cut on his neck. A lit cigarette neatly placed between the victims lips made it seem as if the culprit had taken their time. But the most notable thing about this body was the red number 3 written on the man’s forehead.
***
Pictures of 3 different victims lit up the computer screen. Dick Grayson leaned closer; handpalms pressed against Barbara Gordon’s bureau. His eyes scanned over the men, and the similar ways their bodies were found. All had a singular clean cut through their throat, a couple of bruises and a big red number written on their forehead. “These men were all killed this month.” Babrbara explained. “All the same exact way: a slit throat and a number written on their forehead.”
His eyebrows furrowed as he fixed his posture. “Which means we have a dead end.”
Barbara’s mouth opened ready to argue, but closed it right after and took a couple of seconds to think.
“A dead end doesn’t exist, as long as you keep looking for a new path to follow.”
A minute went by in silence. “Do you know who he was last seen with?” Dick gestured to the body he had
found last night: Duncan Dean. The redhead shook her head once again. “No, but he frequented a bar in Gotham.”
“Gotham?” His voice sounded confused. “What was he doing all the way back in Blüdhaven?”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
Gotham, Dick Grayson
“What are you doing here?”
“Jason” I respond without turning to look at my brother.
The taller boy sits down on the bar stool beside me.
“You go to a bar and don’t ask me to come with you,” Jason presses his palm against his chest and tilts his head, “you offend me.” His blue eyes mixed with an unnatural green fall on mine. His eyebrow slowly raises as he leans a little closer to me. I roll my eyes and turn my head slightly towards my brother. “You’re on a mission, aren’t you?”
I don’t reply and only give the man a look he knows well. A groan falls from his lips.
“I get it, Mr. Responsible, no fun during work.”
“Oh, don’t shoot me.”
Before Jason can bite back the barista walks up to us. Her red hair is tied up in a loose ponytail with her bangs framing her freckled face. “Hi, what can I get you today?”
“A Coke please…” My eyes fall on the name-tag on her right breast. “Kristine.”
The barista’s eyes narrow and her eyebrows quirk up. Less than a second later her eyes fall on the boy beside me. Jason sits up a little and leans his elbow on the bar.
“Give me a beer.”
I stop Kristine with a hand gesture and turn to face my younger brother. “No.”
“What?” Jason gives the barista a look of confusion.
“I said no.” I repeat as sternly as I can. “No alcohol for you on my watch.”
“I’m 21?”
“No you’re not.”
“I am tho.”
“21 is too young anyways.”
“I think dying and getting resurrected is old enough.”
That took me by surprise.
Jason smiles at the barista who had to witness our banter. “What do you think; did death make me old enough?”
“I’ll get you a beer.” She walks away.
A groan leaves my lips. “She definitely thinks we’re insane.”
“That’s because we are, Dickie.” Jason smirks.
“You really had to use the ‘remember when I died’ card, huh Jay?”
The other shrugs his shoulders as if to say ‘why not’.
My eyes scan the room, looking for a reliable source. The bar isn’t as crowded as I had expected. A couple drunk teenagers are scattered across the room, but the most notable people are the rugged men sitting in the booth farthest removed from the entrance.
“Who are we looking at?” Jason’s voice enters my ears.
We’re once again interrupted by the barista placing our drinks in front of us. “I wouldn’t stare if I were you.” I turn my head to fully look at the woman, Kristine.
“Why not?” Jason speaks up first.
She takes a cloth and starts wiping the counter top even though it isn’t dirty. She’s trying not to gain their attention. “They're not the nicest bunch, you know.” She only looks up for a second before she continues scrubbing at nonexistent dirt. “It’s better not to gain their interest, unless you wanna end up dead.” Kristine wiped a strand of red hair out of her face.
“If they’re so dangerous why hasn’t anyone done anything?”
“Can’t lock them up without evidence.”
I pluck the photo of Duncan Dean out of my wallet with a couple dollar bills, making it look like I was paying for our drinks. Jason takes a long sip from his glass and I slightly shake my head. “Do you recognize this man?”
Kristine took a minute to take the dollar bills together with the picture from the counter and made it look like she was counting the money. “Duncan, comes here daily; now that I think about it I haven’t seen him yet.”
“What do you know about him?”
Jason grabs my full glass of Coke, reaches for a straw behind the counter and starts sipping from my drink. His eyes focus on the barista and I.
“Hung out with those guys most of the time, wouldn’t surprise me if he’s dead.” She nods her head towards the group of men in the booth.
“How come?”
“He’s usually chill and collected, but last week he seemed stressed, like he was being watched.”
“Did he have any enemies you know of?”
Kristine’s eyes dance across the room. “Look, I don’t know that much, but I know someone who might.” She rips a piece of paper from her small notebook and hurriedly writes something on it. “Go to this club, you’ll find Rosie there.” She slips the note and picture into my hand and leaves to help another customer.
“That was something.” Jason’s voice sounds after we walk out of the bar. “What is this mission even about?”
I lean against my parked car and hand him the photographs of the crime scene. His nose scrunches up at the sight. “These are the worst types.”
A car rushes past us, nearly hitting a girl crossing the street. I take a step towards the direction of girl, but stop as a young woman with dark curls pulls her back just in time.
I hum confused, not getting what he’s saying.
He pushes himself against my car beside me and points at the photos. “You see how there’s not a droplet of blood anywhere except on the body?”
My head bows in acknowledgement. Obviously I had noticed this. “I’m not blind, you know.” I smirk at the taller boy; teasing him.
“You sure ‘bout that?” He raises a brow.
My eyes fall on the woman and girl –now entangled in an embrace– once again. The curly haired woman
softly rubs the teen girl’s back. The girl isn’t hurt it seems.
“Whoever did this took their time.” Jason continues, claiming my attention with his words. “It wouldn’t surprise me if these aren’t the real crime scenes.”
“What if they wanted these bodies to be found?” I wonder out loud.
“Then they did a great job, cause this is worse than insane.” His white streak falls in front of his blue-green eyes. “It’s intentional.”
***
My eyes look up at the bright red sign above the entrance to the club: Crimson Lounge.
Red.
The whole club is drenched in crimson red light. I can barely see any other colors, the red’s too intense. A large stage with a slender woman dressed in nothing but fur covering her most private areas twirled around the pole in the middle. Two smaller stages stood on each side of the large one.
I make my way over to the bar and casually lean against it. Rosie, I have to find Rosie, but how? This club is filled to the brink. Isn’t it illegal to have this many people in one room? It’s still Gotham, though. I lean closer to a man near me.
“You come here often?”
He raised a brow then nodded. “You?”
“My first time, a friend told me ‘bout this place.”
The man stretches his drink towards me, “You want some, man?”
I wave my hand, telling him to keep it. The man sways a bit and plops down on the bar stool beside me. His elbows tud against the counter top and his cheek lands on his fist. Dazed eyes connect with my concentrated blue ones. Low chatter mixed with a hum of music set the mood for this club and obviously some –for example this man– endeavored it completely. Softly I nudge his shoulder.
“I’m actually looking for someone.”
His eyebrow quirks, and his head tilts up. He’s curious to hear more.
“Rosie–”
“I see what you’re like, I should've seen it comin” He interrupts with a laugh. A finger points between my eyes, they cross for just a second or two. My heart picks up speed.
“Yeah?” I smirk and relax my shoulders with confidence.
“You’re confident, you know what you like and I respect that.”
I show the man my brightest smile, trying to charm him into telling me more. “That means you know Rosie?”
“Everyone knows Rosie,” He waves his hand around and gestures at the dancers and their audience, “,I’m surprised you don’t.”
“Dude, I just wanna know where she is.” I'm starting to get annoyed. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked the first person I saw near me. This is why I don’t come to these type of places.
“Patience…” He cackles and I have to keep from wincing at the sight of drool falling from his lips. “You could just book a private session with her, you know.” After the man finally explains how booking a private session works I get hope of actually getting a new clue.
Finally I’m led towards the private room where I’m told to wait until she’s ready to come out.
Led-lights paint the room blue, a couch pushed against the wall closest to the door I enter through and a small round stage in the center. I take my place on the couch and wait…
One… Two… Three… Fo– Music streams out of the speakers. Another five seconds and a door on the side opens, in walks a beautiful woman with thick curls cascading down her back. My eyes unintentionally trail her body up and down. They start at the heels that could be used as weapons, trail up her legs towards the cotton hiding her womanhood, up to her covered breast and end on her face. Her facial features are sharp and intriguing; almost siren-like. Her walk, calculated and confident like she knows her worth. She doesn’t even pay attention to me, not a glance, and walks towards the pole in the middle of the room.
Wait, is she… dancing?
This is a club, you idiot. I hold myself back from smashing my head against the wall and just look at her. What am I supposed to do? What do people do in a club? God, I should’ve just stalked her and followed her home. That way I wouldn't have ended up in this situation.
Finally she locks her gaze on me.
“You’re new here.” Her voice is that of a siren, I'm sure. Sharp, but in a way that lures you in. Her voice– no, all of her– demands attention.
Before I know it she stands right in front of me with her hands softly kneading my shoulders. “Don’t be so shy; you can talk.” Her smile is mischievous as she sits down on my lap.
I clear my throat before I speak up, “I actually needed to talk to you.”
She hums softly, asking me to continue with a single look. “Yesterday the body of Duncan Dean was found–”
“Dead?” She furrowed her eyebrows in something unrecognizable. It’s definitely not sadness, but something else. I nod my head, “I’ve heard that you should know more about him.”
Her green eyes give me a warning glare, then they drift off to the right behind me. Slowly I follow her sight. My gaze immediately falls back on her after spotting the camera.
I feel her hips moving against my lap, but still my hands stay by my side. "At least act like you're enjoying what you paid for.” Her fingers wrap around my wrists and guide them on her hips. The room is still that same blue tint, the music is still playing, but the tight feeling of my pants is new. There goes being respectful. “I’m sorry ‘bout that.” I let my eyes fall down to my crotch.
“Don’t be,” she smiles again, “it’s a sign I’m doing my job right.”
“When I thought about talking with you I didn’t imagine this.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be.”
“Here I thought you were a shy guy.” She winks at me, while one of her hands trails down my arm.
“I’m a great performer.”
A chuckle leaves her mouth and with a soft smile still on her face she leans down to my ear.
“I wanna talk to you, but not here.” She whispers as her voice grows more serious. “If you haven’t realized yet, this place isn’t the most legal.”
She is so close to me that I can smell her perfume. It is a sweet smell, something you wouldn’t immediately expect from a woman like her.
“Where can I talk to you, if not here?”
“My shift is done in less than an hour, meet me outside of the backdoor and I’ll talk.”