Tonnage

An Olive Branch. Of Sorts.

>>

Late Saturday afternoon, Tom hears somebody knock lightly on the beam that holds up the 'door' flap for the tent.

“Hey Tom, you in there? It's Jerry. You got something in the mail for the yard.”

“Hold on a second, just getting done washing up.” The rest of his statement is muttered, but Jerry can hear it easily enough. “Going to need to figure out a bathtub or something.”

The flap moves after about five minutes and Tom peers out wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Sorry for the wait, Jerry.” His face reddens in embarrassment. “It's a pain to... Reach places.”

Jerry sidesteps that particular social blunder with a smirk and passes over the letter. “No worries, Tommy.” He looks thoughtful for a moment, then shrugs. “I'm actually from Montana, originally. And back home growing up we'd use new drinking troughs for cattle as small swimming holes in the summer sometimes. They aren't too expensive and I'd imagine it'd be easy for the crew to reinforce since they tend to be made out of metal, assuming they don't just make something similar from scratch. Think that might work? Not tough to put a little burner on it to heat the water either, if that matters to you.”

It doesn't, really. So many things have changed for him so fast that he somehow never noticed that he hasn't bothered to bathe in hot water for a month. Instead just scrubbing down daily with cloths and from a washbasin.

Makes him wonder what a hot tub would feel like. Though he'd have to have one custom-made to find out. He sighs from his thoughts but nods to Jerry. “Thanks, I'll ask Lou if we can get that done somewhere. It'd be nice.”

His thoughts now move to the letter in question. It's interesting in that the return address simply says 'Gotham' on it. Other than that, it is a fairly typical letter that has his name and the address on it.

His fingers are far too big these days to open this without either using a letter opener or risking mangling whatever is in there. So he grabs a pocket knife off the workbench, flicks out the blade, and slits it up the side dumping the contents. Smoothing it out on the table, he flips on the reading lamp there and peruses the thing.

>>

Thomas Wierzowski,

You, I have to admit, were not something I planned for. My men have made it back to me with your demand.

For what it may be worth to you, Croc was most likely simply cutting through your precious garbage heap. Given what I now understand about how you operate, I can only assume he did something that threatened somebody where you could see it.

I won't apologize for this. It is your job, young man, to make it known to the rest where you are headquartered at if you don't want company and are in the open.

Shame on you.

Additionally, be advised that Mr. Jones is still quite upset with you. So that will be interesting when he next sees freedom.

I am, for now, willing to offer autonomy for your shit pile and the surrounding area for two blocks in all directions. I have told my men that if they see you around town, they are to stop their activities and report to me immediately. Assuming that you are true to your 'not patrolling' stance, this should be enough to keep the peace for now. I have a demand, however.

The Red Hood is becoming a thorn in my side that I can not allow to have advantages in the area that I do not. So, as long as he and his men are also not allowed to use your patch for business, I won't make a fuss over the last week or so and call it a learning experience for my men.

If I find that you have betrayed this, I'll have your precious garbage heap firebombed into a flat, charred, wasteland and start over. It is more attention than is prudent, you understand.

But it is very easy to do, should the need arise.

Welcome to Gotham, young Rogue. When you find your feet and want to make some cash, let me know. I can use somebody with talents like yours.

Thank you for your attention,
Black Mask.

>>

Tom stares at this for a good few minutes. Finally, deciding that this is just a bit over his pay grade, he slips on his overbuilt sandals and makes his way to the office to use a phone. He really needs to replace his cell at some point. Tomorrow, maybe? Thanks to Robin and his pay stacking up he has a couple of grand now.

Anyway, somebody gave him a card recently whose job is to do this kind of thing and Tom is more than happy to pass the buck.

“This is Gordon, What is it?”

Tom's voice rumbles hesitantly through the phone.

“Mr Gordon? This is Tom.”

Gordon's voice both lightens some and gets more serious at the same time. No, Tom has no idea how this sorcery was achieved. “Tom! Good to hear from you, Kid. Call me Jim. Have you been having problems?”

Tom offers a half-grin to the phone, being somewhat put at ease by the man's response.

“I'm honestly not sure. I guess it depends on how serious the threat of firebombing my home is. Got a letter from Black Mask today after a run-in with his goons last night.”

Tom can almost feel the frustration as Jim rubs his face with the hand not holding the phone. “Run-ins with organized crime are generally something you report at the time, Tom. Do not wait until the local crime boss threatens you. Can you give me the details?”

Tom does, mincing a bit around why he and Robin were in the same place at the same time, and hiding behind how close it was to his place. Then he reads the letter he received.
Jim is nodding as he listens.

“We'd wondered at the crime scene what happened to that door. We usually only see damage like that in the city when Grundy or Croc go on a tear. Had some people worried here. Grundy is like a wasp. It's bad if he's in the room, but it's worse if you don't know where he is in the room. True of most of these lunatics, really.”

He pauses for a few seconds, and Tom is about to speak again when Gordon continues.

“Tom, I need to see that letter so we can run forensics on it. But it is very likely that you are being watched right now. Black Mask will want to know what your response to this is, and a cruiser showing up will probably cause problems for you. The easiest but least secure method would be for you to mail it to me. The other option I can think of would be quicker and completely secure but has the possibility of being dangerous for you. I can contact Batman with the light and ask that he or one of his collect it. They'll most likely run their own tests on it before I get it, but that isn't a bad thing either. Are you willing?”

Thinking about the fact that he'll be seeing Robin on Monday anyway, that doesn't really seem like 'upping' the danger much to Tom.

“Sure, that works.” There is a short pause. “Is there anything you need me to do, sir?”

Jim smiles into the phone. If all Gotham residents were as willing to work with him as this kid, he could clean up the streets in a month or less.

“Just try to stay out of trouble, Tom. Black Mask might have been the first, but he probably won't be the last person in this town who tries to use you for illegal purposes. If you ever have questions, day or night, just call. I am happy to help you stay on the right side of the law, okay?”

Tom nods, a habit that he needs to break when he's on a damn phone he thinks wryly as he responds.
“Sure thing... Jim. I can do that, and thanks.”

There is a short chuckle on the other end of the line. “Tom, you thank me every time you restore my faith in humanity and metas alike, and you do it on a regular basis these days. Instead, how about I thank you for being somebody decent in an indecent place?”

“If... If you say so Jim.”

“I do. Take care of yourself, Tom, and plan on a late night. I can't promise when they'll show up. If anything goes wrong, give me a call back.”

>>

“You want me to what?”

Jim can't help the slight smirk that crosses his face. He knows this is Bruce. He knows the first and last names of pretty much everybody involved in his hobby here in Gotham. But even still, he just used the Bat summoning light as a way to get a courier.

Sometimes, even his job can have its chuckle-worthy moments.

“Tom got a threatening letter from Black Mask, and once it is in my hands it'll get tested and handled by maybe a dozen people before you can get your hands on it.” He shrugs. “It seems that Tom has thrown down the gauntlet and declared his patch off-limits, and this is the first counteroffer. Frankly, I figured you'd want to know anyway and it's a hell of a lot safer for the kid if you or one of yours sneaks in than if I send in a cruiser.”

Batman's lips compress into a thin line. “He did what?”

Gordon can't hide the smirk. “He drew a line in the sand, and because it's him, it's being honored for now.” The smirk fades as he lowers his eyes. “But it won't last, and I'd rather we had a plan for when it fails.”

Batman nods thoughtfully for a moment. “You should also know, Commissioner, that analysis is being done on the movements of Penguin's men. We don't know yet what exactly is going on with him, but based on current activities we believe it involves a shipment to the docks of some kind of weapons.”

Gordon's levity drops like a stone, and when he looks up, Batman is gone.

He sighs. “Typical.”

>>

Tom is settling in to read the next book on the list his uncle gave him. A collection of short stories by some guy named Ellison, when the flap to his tent is pulled aside and a small woman steps in. She's the one in black and orange.

“Orphan?”

She nods.

“So I guess you're here for the letter?”

She nods again, though her eyes are riveted to the cover of the book he is reading and the whites are visible all the way around even with the mask on.

He'd left the letter on his workbench, and he points at it so she knows. “Thanks for this. I wasn't sure how to get it to the authorities without Black Mask taking offense, you know?”

She pads over silently. Picks it up, quickly reads it, and slips it into a larger pouch on her belt after putting it back in the envelope which is also there. Then she motions for the book he is holding. He hands it over, fairly confused. She scans it, at least with her eyes but possibly with a camera as well. Then she hands it back, offers a short bow, and slips back out into the night. Never having made a sound.

Tom sits back to read a story that turns out to be the most apocalyptic thing he's ever even heard of. A horrific tale of torture and abuse. Of hopelessness, manipulation, and suicidal thoughts and feelings.

He settles in to read:
'I Have No Mouth, And I Must Scream.'

>>

The morning meeting, mandatory for all at Wayne Manor, is a bit of a zoo come eight o'clock when Nightwing arrives. Bruce nods to his first adopted son as he takes in the room.

Alfred is just stepping into the dining area pushing a cart covered in tea, coffee, and little breakfast pastries made to perfection.

Stephanie, or Spoiler to those in the know, is currently in a glaring competition with Tim Drake, also known as Red Robin, for reasons that involved the person who was holding the TV remote last night after patrolling.

Jason, or Red Hood, is across the room on a lounge chair with his booted feet on a stool as he drinks his coffee from a thermos, but is pleased to take some pastries from Alfred when the cart comes by.

Cassandra, or Orphan in the field, is sitting at the table reading something on a tablet while she absently sips her tea.

Damian, or Robin, is seated next to Bruce and seems distracted by something while Barbara, or Oracle, is actually on site for a change. Her wheelchair cozied up to Bruce's other side as she indulges in the efforts of Alfred in a kitchen.

And finally Duke, or Signal if you prefer, is also at the table drinking a glass of milk to go with his pastries.

Bruce speaks up when Nightwing makes it. “Thanks for coming, Dick, everybody. We may be having a problem with Thomas Wierzowski and we should decide what to do about it soon before things get out of control.”

Damian's eyes widen just slightly, and he turns to his father. “What problems? I had believed that he was staying on the right side of the law.”

Bruce slowly nods, giving his youngest a curious look before turning back to the rest. “To the best of my knowledge, he is.” He pulls out his phone and presses the screen a few times. After that, everybody's phone goes off within a few seconds. “After a confrontation last night that was as near as I can tell with the information I have the result of Tom checking out the area where Robin's loan sharks were trying to collect, Tom received this in the mail. I've checked it. Standard paper, standard ink. The stamp was moistened with a sponge that is sold commercially everywhere using water that had been distilled. The only fingerprints on the letter are Tom's and the envelope went through at least a dozen hands getting to him. He contacted Jim, who contacted me, and Cassandra was good enough to pick it up last night. Tim offering backup in the area. After you have read it, we'll discuss it.”

Hood is the first to speak. “I don't have anything in that area anyway, there aren't enough people around the scrapyard to be worth bothering to keep an eye on daily and it's on the edge of the alley anyway. Besides, the security at the yard are armed and not the sort to go down easy, even before Tom.” He looks up, annoyed. “But my area is pretty well known, and I'm sure the bastard knows it. Either he is trying to stop any possible expansion on my part, or there is something else going on.”

Dick Grayson speaks up next. “I don't know if this has anything to do with your letter here. But in Bludhaven, a quartet of Black Mask thugs and enforcers were recently found dead in a warehouse by the docks. That might not be so unusual, but aside from the holes that went through them and the wall leading to the ocean, there were no other signs as to how. No powder residue and no lead left in their system after whatever killed them passed through. Definitely a projectile of some kind though, two of them had shattered bones.”

Steph muses out loud as she listens and reads. “I wonder if it has anything to do with the new weapons that Penguin is supposed to be getting?”

Bruce nods, grimacing slightly. “That is my thought as well, but if true it would mean that Penguin is beginning to operate more openly outside of Gotham.”

Barbara speaks up after giving Damian a look. “What does all this mean for Tom?”

Tim smirks around a cup of coffee that he is sucking down like it's the elixir of life itself. “Going to guess a bunch of surveillance to start. Even if it's a lie though... Tom really just said 'No' and they are going to honor it? At all?”

A sly grin passes across Damian's face. “He is impressive. I can see the need for the local crooks to be wary of him.”

The entire room becomes silent as all eyes meet his own. Even Oracle's, but she is smirking with an eyebrow raised.

Jason, who stopped with his thermos mere centimeters from his lips, is the first to speak. “What do you know?”

Barbara is beaming out a smile now, and not bothering to hide it. This cements the suspicion of everyone else there, as there isn't a single person in the room aside from maybe Alfred who hasn't kept a secret through her at one point or another.

Deciding that since he can't hide it he may as well take pride in it, he answers the question. “In my efforts to better myself in my art, I have engaged his services as a sparring partner for five hundred dollars an evening. Friday was the first night we had done so, and he intimidated and drove off the thugs while I was attempting to stop the blood loss of their victim.”

Bruce sighs. “And the door that he tore down and crushed?”

“Done because when we moved in to respond, I went by way of the roof while he went through the building. While I was out of sight the gunshot happened. He used it as a very successful distraction.”

Jason has an eyebrow raised, the white streak in his hair seeming to catch the light a bit more when he grins. “Is he any good?”

Damian shakes his head. “No. His martial skills are abhorrent, for all that his potential is plainly visible to all. But in three hours, I was unable to do anything significant to him. His instincts, size, and the fact that for all that he isn't fast, he is far quicker than you'd expect, work against a person. He never touched me. But I never even managed to bother him. It might be worth mentioning that he was quite concerned with hurting me, and so may not have been fighting to his full potential.” He glares around the table as if daring anybody else to say they could do better.

Dick is shaking his head. “Baby bird, that was reckless. He's a strength-based meta. A new one, even. You could have been badly hurt.”

Bruce shakes his head. “In uniform, and for sparring, I can allow it. The protection your suit offers should mitigate any mistakes. As long as you tell people what you are doing.” He pauses, considering. “Damian is correct, it is a good opportunity to test yourself against a meta, but be careful. And Robin...” His eyes narrow. “It is still Crime Alley, even if it is on the edge. If you continue this you will take a second along with you. I don't want any of you in there alone, not right now. Understood?”

Damian grits his teeth as every other person there aside from Bruce and Alfred gets a grin on their face.

Bruce sighs.

Alfred gets a worried look on his face for a moment as he mentally catalogs their current stores of medical supplies.

>>

Author's Note:
Yeah. Keeping secrets in the Bat-Family has got to be an unholy pain in the ass.