Ultimate 'Haven #5: The Curious Case of... Pt. 2

[The Wonderful Wachter]

Last Time in the pages of Ultimate ‘Haven
Star City wins! Star City Wins!

Wait, you want to know what else happened? Fiiiine.

Mayor Mitchell Hundred joins ‘Haven’s own mayor for a friendly game of FOOOOOOTBALL that you might have heard of before. You know, the SUPERBOWL. As our heroes spend time with friends and family watching this friendly game between the Comets and the Sharks, our villainous foes take the opportunity to cause a little bit of trouble. The Royal Flush Gang (here on referred to as RFG in future notices) launches an attack on, well, no one. They accomplished nothing. The Great Machine was there. Who needs our heroes?

Ah, but it was all a clever misdirect by the Haven’s very own, very infamous, living legend and sometimes vigilante The Red Hood (ignore the shape of his helmet, at least it’s red). As the smoke clears and Redbird and Batwoman arrive late to the party as usual, the billionaire (he wishes) Lincoln March, candidate for the next mayoral election, had vanished like one of David Blane’s cheap tricks. All that remained of him was….

Was…

A wild card?

WTF?

Oh… And some kid got kidnapped…. Or rather batnapped given his father.

No laughs?

;_;

Dictated but not read
-Arthur Brown, Master of Clues.

PS: And in Outlaws Bat-Girl, Kate found out that a crooked cop, Inspector Arnot had something to do with said kidnapping

Ultimate ‘Haven #5
The Curious Case of Aaron Langstrom Pt. 2
Big Boys Don’t Cry

This new bow is amazing! I can even hit people with it! Other night, I managed to choke a guy with the string. Makes me take back all the bad things I said about Daddy Warbucks and Olivia de Havilland. Well… not everything. The trick arrows WERE stupid and pointless. When I shoot someone, I want them to bleed.

Somewhere Dark and Dank,
(Presumably)Blüdhaven

The dripping of water with its unrelenting intent to break the monotonous silence finally forced Lincoln March to regain consciousness. His eyes opened and his first reaction was that he didn’t like it. The place was dark and dank and he did not personally enjoy being tied to a chair unless he so happened to pay for it. He did not pay for this. His second reaction, which happened the fraction of a fraction of a second after the first, was that maybe he did pay for this after all.

March struggled and squirmed. He squealed into his gag and cried as tears of terror dripped down the inseam of his perfectly tailored pants. This was a nightmare. What he saw was a nightmare. A nightmare he had tried his best to forget these past few years ever since… ever since…

Ever since the Red Hood had vanished.

Now, it wasn’t the Red Hood as he remembered but March knew. He knew it was the one. The same one.

“Ah, you’re awake,” there was a comical sniffing following the statement, “and I smell that you recall who I am despite my rather pitiful appearance.” The Red Hood lazily let his gun just swing about as he indicated himself. “The tux, it was mothballed for so long, you know? Have to get a new one and I tell you what, I’m not looking forward to the dry cleaning. Don’t even get me started on the cape…”

The Red Hood laughed, a resonating barrel of a laugh that bounced only slightly off the ceramic red mask he wore to conceal his features. This was a street hood. All in leathers and jeans and an actual hood pulled up over his head. No tricks. No gimmicks. March could almost sense the true threat under the hood that his deranged madman possessed.

“Can’t find the wand,” Hood almost danced closer to his captive, “I think I used it in foreplay. Shoved it… Well, you remember where I like to shove it.” He was nearly upon March now. “But I still have the gun, you like the gun?” the gun in question was waved before March’s bound features. “All shiny and crimson.”

Blam!

The silent scream of March lasted only long enough for him to realize he hadn’t been shot. Hood had held the gun right up to his ear and fired it at nothing in particular. The smoking barrel was terrifying in its non-lethality. His ear was ringing. His head felt as if a nine hundred pound man had sat on it.

“We’re going to have a nice chat, you and me, just like old times,” Hood pressed the side of barrel right below his ear, the heat excruciating, pain more so. “I hear you’ve profited since I last saw you. Inner circle of the Court or so I’ve been clued into.”

March nodded.

“Fantastic… Let’s talk about the Gallows…”

Elliot Academy
Blüdhaven

The thrump of the arrow hitting its target rebounded up to Jason from where he sat watching – not stalking – the beautiful and lovely dark goddess that was Helena Bertinelli. It was his free block. He got two of those a week to focus on what he was good at, his clubs, or rather his usual remedial activities as he should have been doing right this moment. It also happened to be the time he usually spent climbing the outside of the school even without being dared to. Elliot Academy was all about grooming the next generation of go-getters from Jersey, New York, and even other countries to be the best they could be whether they were athletes, the next CEO of fortune five hundreds, or even actors.

Mama Elliot had been all about preparing for the future before the Court of Owls killed her.

Or so Artie said.

And so it was that everyone got their own free blocks with their own private tutors. Which made it strange for Helena to be here, all alone, firing arrows from that quiver hanging from her oh so sexy hips. She was the only one at the archery range. She had been the only one at the range the other times he had checked. Cute, brooding, loner type. He could relate.

Another arrow, another bullseye. Girl was good. He watched how her shoulder blades moved beneath the slinky straps of her purple tank top. Watched how she breathed so evenly. Saw when she just, simply, let go and the arrow would fly. Perfect.

Beautiful.

“How long you gonna play voyeur?” she called out as she reached for her next arrow.

“You knew I was here?”

Without so much as looking, she fired the arrow, not at the target. Nowhere near the target. It flew, whistling through the air, and buried itself in his head.

Technically, his shadow’s head. Curse the sun. This is why all the best crime fighting was done at night!

Jason dropped down the ten or so feet from the roof, remembering at last second to not land like a hero. It was Helena’s turn to watch him. She seemed to take almost as much glee in it as he had what with her hand all confident on her bow and hip arched ever so. Made his having to screw up the landing just a bit so that he’d stumble all the more difficult.

“What are you skipping?”

“Nothin’.” He answered, wiping his pants clean.

“You really shouldn’t lie to a woman when she has a sharp, pointy object within arm’s reach.”

“I’m, uh, supposed to be in the auditorium.”

“You? The play?” she tilted her head to give him a more appraising look. “You do have that whole Kenickie aura about you.”

She thought he was worthy of Kenickie? Jason had to admit to himself, secretly so that he couldn’t make fun of himself later on, that it made him blush. It wasn’t like he tried to be the bad boy. Just the way things happened. Sadly to say, that wasn’t his role.

“Nah. That’s a senior’s.”

“Zuko?”

“No…”

“Roger? You look like you could enjoy some pantsing.”

“…No.”

“Sonny? Doody?”

“Why do you know the names of all the Greasers?”

“Oh my god…” her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, entirely ignoring his question. “You’re that geek character aren’t you?” she nearly dropped her bow as she began laughing.

“I was Doody but I kept skipping…” the boy tried to explain.

The remaining arrows in her quiver clacked together as her shaking giggles ran its course through her body and with a mixture of lust and embarrassment, Jason’s eyes couldn’t help but to notice how her necklace bounced just so over the curve of her breast. This was not going how he intended. This was not how he visualized befriending the daughter of the Bertnelli Crime Family.

With nothing left to do than to wait for her shits and giggles to run its course, Jason stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked sullen. He could do sullen. He did it quite well. It was playing the geek that was gonna be the hard part when, if, he ever showed up to his required rehearsals.

“Okay… Okay… I’m good.”

She did look good.

“Doody, huh? That mean you can sing?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on sing something for me.”

“No.”

“Please?” She batted those long eyelashes of hers at him. “We’re all alone.”

They were alone. She had a point there. And if this was more than just simple teasing…

“What song?”

“The Alma Mater.”

He gave her a look.

“Okay, Doody, Those Magic Changes.”

She really knew her Grease. “It misses something without the guitar and backup.”

“Fiiiine. Hmm. Serenade me, Teen Angel.”

There was a unfamiliar expression on Helena’s face when he first opened his mouth and those dulcet tones came out. The way she looked at him, really looked at him, now was as if he wasn’t what she expected. He was different. Not what he appeared. It was nearly enough to choke him off in mid note.

“ ♫♪♪♫ Your story sad to tell,
A teenage ne'er do well,
Most mixed up non-delinquent on the block!
Your future's so unclear now,
What's left of your career now?
Can't even get a trade in on your smile♫♪♪♫“

Then Helena did something completely surprising. She joined in. Her voice, that of well… a cliché but it was angelic to Jason.

“ ♫♪♪♫ La, la la la…♫♪♪♫“

This moment, this beautiful moment, could have gone on. Jason wanted it to more than anything. But as Wildcat liked to tell him, heroes don’t get romance. They don’t get dates. Their foreplay was bashing in skulls with an attractive assassin of the opposite sex that sometimes wanted to kill you.

When it was his time to come in, Jason didn’t. He was looking at his phone, blood draining from his face. The emergency Bat-wave. The only signal that could interrupt him at school and meant he had to find a way to get out no matter what.

Helena watched him closely, eyes still with those unfathomable glimmers to them.

“I…” He was so good with excuses. None were coming to mind. “Gotta go.”

Heroes don’t get the girl, no matter what the books and films tell you, son.

When Jason had vanished from her view and Helena was on her own once more, she stooped to pick up the arrow she had shot into the ground earlier. She held it gently. She spoke gently. “Like the show?”

Stephanie Brown stepped out from behind the equipment lockers all righteous fury on her face. “Leave Jason alone.”

“Jealous?”

“As if.” She stalked closer to Helena, not scared of the bigger and arguably tougher girl. “I know you’ve heard the rumors. He’s not a criminal. Not anymore. And he doesn’t need the influence of someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Someone who gets driven to school by a paid killer because her father bit off more than he could chew,” answered the other without preamble.

Helena’s fingers closed so tight around her bow, her knuckles began to whiten. “And if I don’t, Blondie?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

For the span of a breath, Helena truly believed her. It seemed this school had more than its fair share of students with hidden talents. Especially the ones that didn’t look like it.

Abandoned Safehouse
Blüdhaven

One of the best things about the Haven – or worst depending on your point view – was no one cared if you screamed. Unless it was the middle of the night. At night, the neighbors would scream back to tell you to put on a gag. It was horrible. It was despicable. It was true.

Inspector Arnot found himself learning just how true as he screamed and screamed and nobody bothered to listen. The garage blackened on the edge of vision despite it being a sunny afternoon outside. The pain, the pain was too much. He couldn’t cry, couldn’t speak through his hoarse throat. All he could do was silently beg in his head for it to stop.

It didn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. The monster in black… the devil come to make him pay for his sins.

Batwoman slammed his car door shut on his leg once more. She never spoke. She never asked him a question. His car had been turned into a weapon against him; the steering wheel to bash his head into, the lighter to burn him, seatbelt to choke him, and the door… the door to smash. His baby, his pride, betrayed him to a world of pain.

And so he confessed. He didn’t know what he confessed to. Not always. Confessed to things he had did and hadn’t. He wanted the pain to stop. Lincoln March’s disappearance? He was behind that. Definitely. The bunny girl, he’d paid her off too. Even slept with Lunchmeat’s daughter. He did everything for the Desmonds, the DESMONDS he screamed.

The pain just kept coming.

“The… the boy,” he gasped, “deaf..”

The pain didn’t stop but it did hesitate. He followed through with it, taking the slower pace as a hint. He said how he hired ex-Gotham cops and paid them to take the boy.

Arnot was dragged out of the car, his left leg dragging limply behind him. The pale white face of death carried him, him a full grown man, like he was nothing. She propped him against the trunk. He couldn’t even begin to try to run away now. His vision swam once more but he was able to make out the wrench in her gloved hand.

She gripped his wrist tightly.

“No, no, nonononono.”

She swung it down, smashing fingers with a loud bang against metal. And then she did it to his other hand, a hand she had already taken care of earlier. Arnot knew vengeance enough to know why she did it. Fun.

His knees… he fell to them when she let go of him. Dimly he heard the trunk pop open. The Inspector knew what was coming next. His body dropped limply inside it. For the first time since she had kidnapped him, he felt a moment of joy. It was over. Batwoman still would not speak. Those white eyes judged him guilty of so much. A small sphere was tossed into the trunk alongside him.

Slam!

The screaming was over. The screaming was over.

The screaming had only begun.

Blüdhaven Police Department
Blüdhaven

His leg wouldn’t stop tapping. Jake sat at his all too cluttered desk glancing between the TV in the corner of the room and the picture from the owner box crime scene of a revolver and a playing card, all that remained of the missing man, on his monitor. His body still… his leg tapping. The news focused on the disappearance of Lincoln March and the RFG’s attack on the Superbowl. It was all about the heroics of the Great Machine and plights of the rich. Absolutely nothing on a kidnapped boy.

The media didn’t care. Not when there were bigger stories out there than a deaf child stolen from his bed in the middle of the night. This city… these people… this country. Why did he bother trying to help people?

“Settle down, Kane,” his partner advised him from across the desk looking every bit like the type of cop Jake despised. “That d—“

Charlie wouldn’t have shut up faster had Jake pointed a gun right between his eyes.

“— lady-friend of your daughter is probably on the case. It’s Gotham’s problem, not the Haven’s.”

Jake wanted to point out the obvious, the obvious that any officer of the law understood and cared about outside the sister cities, on the first forty-eight hours. Explain how it was the more important case than one most likely dealing with ransom… Nevermind that no demands had been made just yet. He was about to do such a thing when the door to the department burst open.

Built like a bull and red-faced after running the gamut of press thronged outside, Chief Redhorn was in no mood to be bothered. Good thing Jake was in no mood to care.

“Chief!” He called out.

“Arnot,” answered Redhorn to the unspoken question, “he’s overseeing the case.”

Arnot had already told him to stay out of it when he arrived this morning in a fury. Too close. He was family but rest assure that the very best men were helping search for little Aaron. Jake wouldn’t trust the best men to have his back in a food fight.

Kicking himself out from his desk just as Charlie’s phone rang, Jake stormed through the room to the Inspectors personal corner office a hall away. He banged on the door and let himself in without waiting for an enter. What he saw was unexpected to say the least.

A storm had raged through Arnot’s usually spotless office. There’d been a struggle. All this was noticed but it wasn’t what made his hand go for his sidearm.

A boy in bright red and a cape stood going through Arnot’s things.

“Hi…” Redbird greeted lamely with a wave of his hand.

Before Jake could make a move, he made the greatest mistake when dealing with a vigilante in Blüdhaven. He turned his head as Charlie called out to him about a lead on the March disappearance. When he turned back, the boy was gone.

Abandoned Safehouse
Blüdhaven

Jason had never wanted a car or a motorcycle or any sort of vehicle more than he did when he finally arrived at the safehouse located in the Haven’s suburbs as dusk began to fall over the city. If Artie’s tipster was wrong… Jason didn’t know what he’d do. Too tired to think that far ahead. Too frustrated at being a step behind Kate’s one woman rampage.

It was an unassuming house in the middle of unassuming houses, close enough to the bustle of Haven for the neighbors to still keep to themselves with the aid of privacy fences and hedges, far enough away so that people had yards to keep. Or not keep in the case of the overgrown greenery safehouse. Relying on his old B&E skills, Jason was about to slip in through a window when a banging from the garage caught his attention.

Banging and a weird sort of screeching sound.

Redbird tried sliding the garage door up and to his amazement, it moved. He saw the car, Arnot’s nice red mustang, and then he saw the dent on the trunk with a wrench atop of it. The sounds were coming from the trunk. He had an inkling on what he’d find when he finally jimmied it open.

Arnot lay curled up, disfigured fingers clawing at his ears. A strange orb screeched at his feet, a low piercing note that could have done far more damage had Kate wanted it to. The man’s one good leg kicked at it. And kicked at it, trying to stop the noise, no matter what.

Instinctively, Jason fumbled for the sphere, searching for an off switch. Kate was better than that. She wouldn’t leave an off switch. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the wrench and dropped the sonic screamer to the garage’s concrete floor. He smashed it from where it rolled and then he smashed it again. Smashed the damn thing until it could screech no more.

He let the wrench fall with a clatter and checked on Arnot. The man looked bad. Real bad. Jason needed to get him to a hospital quick but…

“Where’d she go!?” he shouted.

Arnot sobbed.

Damn. Of course he wouldn’t be able to hear Jason. Redbird grabbed the man’s head and to give him a good view of his exaggerated mouth movements. “Where…Did… She…Go!”

Arnot sobbed even harder.

Sighing, Jason helped him out of the trunk, propping him up on the bumper so the man could kinda stand, kinda slouch. He turned his back on the Inspector, looking for clues. Something. He had to get answers. In the end, he was left with asking for help.

He tapped his earpiece. “Dead end. Found Arnot but B-W left him in no state to tell his story. He’s been in a trunk with a Canary Crier for god knows how long.”

”Ouch… that is going to leave damage… have you tried writing?”

“Broke his fingers. By the time I figure out a system, we’ll be behind even m—“

CLUNK!”

Jason spun around, batarang in hand to find Arnot clutching his broken fingers, the wrench fallen nearby. The bastard was trying to attack him from behind. He would have too… would have had that blood red playing card not buried itself in the back of the cop’s hand. Jason followed the card back to its origin.

A red hooded man stood watching Jason from the edge of the driveway. He offered the boy a lazy salute. “Keep the card, kid.”

“Where’s March!?” Jason roared, readying his stance.

“You got bigger worries,” Red Hood answered.

“I’m looking at my biggest one.”

“No, look at the sky.” As if Jason would fall for the oldest trick in the book. “I suggest you try following that if you want to find Batwoman.”

Against his better judgment, Redbird glanced towards the heavens. There, in the smog filled sunset, something was coming from the direction of Gotham. Something on leather wings.