Franks, Fists, and Felons

[The Spirit]

Undercover reporter. How many times had I used that lie? None. Doesn't work when you're wearing a mask, and it sure wasn't working for me, now. But since the kid hadn't raised the alarm, and didn't appear afraid of one of Bats' vampirelings, I was willing to grant him a slide, in order to figure the truth out later. Tennagers are rubbish at keeping secrets. I know, I used to be one.

Then Batgirl keeps talking. And talking. And talking and talking and talking, before she starts fiddling with some new Q-gadget or the like. Personally I'm on the Amazo side of the mobile phone platform; Q-OS is too restrictive, I feel, and the accessories are all overpriced. Whatever it is, it's clear she has no idea what she's doing, and it's time for the adult to handle things.

My blue-gloved finger reaches in and carefully depresses the button, clicking the device back off. "If you don't know how to use it, you don't know the many ways it could go wrong," I whisper. "Let's put that away, shall we? Let's go with tried and true."

I've got her distracted with the device, so it's easy enough to reach behind myself and snag an old, dusty mug off of the small table behind me. Popping it up into my hand, I leave the youngsters guessing as I sidle silently over toward where I can hear muffled voices. Sneaky peeks into an adjoining office revealed it to be empty, and so I placed the mug cup-side to the wall, and pressed my ear against the base. It was a trick likely older than Bojack, but it hadn't failed me yet. If they're smart, the two kids will follow my lead. But they're teenagers, nobody ever said they came in "smart."

[Connor Kent]

"Yeah? What's the blog called? I've got a friend who writes a similar one."

"Gotham Crime Blog."

Connor didn't afford the World's Perkiest Detective a second glance as he answered. It was a verbal shrug. Whoever said a lie needed to be complicated anyway? Besides, she was already playing with some cute little Batgirl device that was actually shaped like a bat. He shook his head, and turned away, wearing an incredulous grin. One step was as far as he got before the Spirit swooped into play and resumed his uncommon double-act with the mini vigilante. By the time he was listening to the bottom of a glass, Connor found himself wondering how this Spirit guy ever managed to get dressed in the morning.

"Hey, genius," he said, arms folded, "That's the wrong room."

Without another word, he turned, and vanished around a corner.

[Batgirl]

Steph snatched back her listening device, and glanced at the Spirit with her best 'I knew that' look on her face when Connor told her they were listening to the wrong room.
"My device would pick up their voices anyway." She said proudly, giving his stupid glass one final triumphant look, before hurrying after Connor.

"So, Gotham Crime Blog sounds more like a blog written by, y'know, a crime enthusiast. Like, if I made 'Steph's Shoe Blog', you'd assume it was 'cause I was passionate about shoes, right? Not because I wanted to stop all shoes." She went on, because shutting up was a foreign concept to Steph. "Uh, I mean, if my name was 'Steph' that is. Which it totally isn't." She added quickly, realising what she just said. "That was just an example." She added in the typically over-guilty way of talking too much to cover a lie. Not that doing so was any different from Steph normally.

"So, what room is it then? Care to point it out? Then my gadget can do the listening and we can leave the cups on the table where they belong." She asked, still triumphant over how much better her bat mic was compared to the Spirit just lifting up a glass.

[Barbara Gordon]

"Steph." Barbara's voice spoke quietly in Batgirl's ear. "Did you steal the suit and run out to the Narrows even though I said you weren't ready yet and you weren't allowed to do anything without me?"

[The Spirit]

Of course it was the wrong room; it was a practical demonstration of an old-school sleuthing technique. Not like I'd show them how to do it on the correct room, right off; this pair clearly needed practice. Too quick with the glass and you tap the wall, alerting whoever was on the other side. Practice makes perfect. Practice practice practice. It's practically a four-letter word to teenagers, these days.

Something else I've practiced is never being the target, among a group. If these two wanted to go ahead, sure, I'd let them, just meant that if we encounter some no-goodnik with a piece, they take a bullet before me. Youth before beauty, and all that, blah blah blah.

At last the black-haired kid stops, indicating to the correct room, and I flip my glass over in my hand. It's a deft catch, like I'd expect anything else. Placing it to the wall, I listen for real, this time. Little miss vampire can use all her fancy toys: a good, old-fashioned highball will never run out of batteries when you need it most.