Post by wedemboyz on Apr 20, 2019 4:30:54 GMT
Dark Knights #8: Black Casebook
*
Gotham, Night
Alone it stands out atop the roofs of even the highest buildings of Gotham; its iridescent glow lighting up the night sky, shifting from a stark yellow contrasting against the grey night sky, to a green, sinking into the clouds, becoming one with the night. It watches down on Gotham, it keeps her safe. When Gothamites look up, they don’t see a light in the sky; they see fear, they see hope, they see promise, they see failure—they see the Bat.
Gordon stands on the rooftop, the collar of his mud brown coat popped up to shield his face from the roaring winds, but more importantly, to shield his cigarette from the roaring winds. He takes a long, slow drag, and closes his eyes. One of these days, when he opens them, Batman will be standing in front of him once more. Until that day, he comes up here every night to keep fear in criminals’ hearts.
“Commissioner?” A low, gravelly voice calls out to Gordon, cutting its way across the long, narrow rooftop through the winds. As Gordon opens his eyes, he sees a slim figure wearing tight black spandex; two blue stripes form up his arms, falling back down and connecting in a “V” on his chest, the point touching his naval. His medium-length black hair floats in the wind, his eyes covered with a black mask.
“You know, you never used to disguise your voice around me, why is that?” Gordon asks, taking another drag from his cigarette. Nightwing’s eyes widen in surprise—who does Gordon think he is?
“I’m not sure what you mean, Commissioner,” Nightwing says, maintaining the same gravelly tone he took the first time. Gordon slowly walks towards him, sizing up the situation, making sure Nightwing is a friendly.
“Listen, I’ve been working with you guys for ten years. Don’t you think I’d recognize Robin when I see him?”
“I’m sorry, I think you’ve got something con—”
“Cut the shit,” Gordon says, throwing his cigarette butt on concrete ground. “This is the fifth time we’ve talked, I know that you used to be Robin, Nightwing,” Nightwing coughs into his hand, clearing his throat.
“Fine,” Nightwing says, a sideways grin on his mouth. “I was never good at that voice like Batman was.”
“Was?” Gordon asks, an eyebrow raised. Nightwing jumps down from the ledge and takes a seat.
“Gordon, you know as well as we do that he hasn’t been seen in almost two months. We’re doing everything we can, but we haven’t found him yet.”
“Is that so?” Gordon asks, his question met with an ever so slight nod from Nightwing. “You know what he would be doing right now?”
“What?”
“He’d be huntin’ down every lead. Every single lead, until he found you. In fact, I’ve seen him do it. He doesn’t stand here, he doesn’t come to me for a shoulder to cry on. He gets his shit together, asks for my help where it’s needed, and figures it out.”
Nightwing looks up, taken aback, his eyes wide. Gordon stands there staring at him, his body unwavering in the face of the roaring winds. Nightwing stands up and shakes his head as raindrops start falling. He locks eyes with Gordon, and in that moment Gordon smiles, his first smile when dealing with Nightwing. They both nod their heads at each other before Nightwing turns around, jumps to the edge, and flings himself towards the street.
His body hangs in the air, suspended in the wind, his heart pounding in his ears. He does this ten times a night, minimum, and he’s done in hundreds—no, thousands—of times, and every time is different, every time fear boils up inside of him. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and reaches to his side for his grapple. His eyes snap open, he twists his body around and fires the grapple a crane suspended in the air and disappears.
*
“Full house!” Jimmy yells, laughing in Harold’s face as he gobbles up the cash on the table, his drink spilling drops out of his hand. “Told ya that ah neva lose, Harry.”
“Man, shut the fuck up ‘fore knock your teeth out,” Harold screams, springing from his chair, his fist rearing for a fight. The other three men in the massive, empty warehouse grow quiet as they wait for fireworks.
“Calm down, will ya? I just teezin’ ya,” Jimmy quickly stuffs the cash in his suitcase and zips it up, grinning in disbelief at the thousands he just won. As he stares at the case full of money, his grin wide, his eyes dancing with dollar signs, he hears a loud drip in his scotch glass. Inquisitively, he looks down at the glass he set on the table as both he and Harold stand confused, looking at the strange red dot that landed his cup. The two slowly turn their glance upwards as they see two glowing white eyes staring down at them, and just below those two frightening eyes, a shiny golden crown.
“What the—”
“Ketchup kat-burglery!!” The Condiment Man screams, flinging his body from the rafters, landings squarely on the table, sending the glass of ketchup-scotch flying. He aims his gun and Jimmy, presses the red button on his belt, and releases a red bomb from his condiment-dispenser shaped gun. The bomb impacts jimmy in the chest and explodes, creating a hailstorm of ketchup and sending Jimmy flying. Condiment King turns his gun to Harold and unleashes another red bomb. As the other three men stand to give chase, Condiment King unleashes a storm of red bombs. He grabs the suitcase full of cash and makes a mad dash for the open warehouse door, disappearing into the night. Dazed and confused, Jimmy and Harold stand up and look after where the Condiment King once stood.
“Being part of the Two-Face gang used to mean something in this town,” Harold says with a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping down.
“We ain’t really no Two-Face gang no more. Two-Face got ‘imself finga’d,” Jimmy sighs deeply too. Suddenly, a silhouette emerges from around the corner of the warehouse, the light of the moon casting shadows on his face, all that’s visible is his large, muscular frame. Jimmy, Harold, and the others pull guns, aiming them and the hulking shadow.
“Now, now, nobody needs to hurt, da?” Says a thickly covered Eastern European voice. From behind the European emerges another two shadows, each with long-rifles. Then behind them, another two emerge. Then another two. Then another two.
“Who da fuck are ya?” Jimmy asks, setting his gun by his side.
“Deese boys call me da Soviet,” the Soviet says, shrugging his shoulders, emerging from the shadows to revealing a pressed golden suit, slicked back brown hair, and a smile full of evil. “I got a proposition for you.”
*
Gotham, Day
The large mahogany desk sits parallel with the sprawling window to its back. Bookcases with every type of information you could ever want line the two side walls, and front wall lays barren. A grey couch sits up against that wall. The only other furniture in the room is the large, throne-like black desk chair.
“We really need an interior designer,” Dick quips, his half-cocked smile aimed at a serious, never-wavering Luscious Fox.
“Bruce Wayne was a bit of a…minimalist, Dick.”
“That seems to be an understatement,” Dick takes a seat in the throne, scratching his head, dusting off his keyboard and powering his computer on. “When was the last Bruce was even in this office?”
“He was more of a work from home kind of CEO,” Luscious says with a smile. “As the new CEO of Wayne Enterprises, we’ve taken the liberty to hire new legal council for you. Shall I call her in?”
“I thought CEOs normally had a secretary that scheduled meetings for them. Aren’t you the head of R&D?”
“I am, but unfortunately Bruce never hired himself a secretary. Please feel free to do so at your earliest convenience.” Luscious nods and ducks out of the room.
Dick takes a deep breath, his eyes scouring the bookshelves, lined with medicinal journals, newspaper catalogues, binders with monthly reports, biographies of famous athletes, everything Bruce needed to sharpen his mind. As his computer finally boots up, Dick finds himself staring at a sentence no Fortune 500 CEO should ever find himself staring at: “Your computer is updating. This may take a while. Please do not turn off or reset your computer.”
“Holy Tech Department…” Dick exclaims, laying his head down on his desk for a moment.
“Computer problems, Mr. Grayson?” A soft voice calls down to him. As Grayson’s eyes flip open and look up, he sees the impeccable body of one Catalina Flores, Esq, standing in front of him, her black eyes burrowing into his soul. He quickly stands from his chair and reaches to shake her hand.
“You must be my legal counsel, Mrs. Flores,” Dick says, a nervous smile on his face as he comes to the realization that her orange paint-suit and perfectly straightened black hair stands in deep contrast to his wrinkled black t-shirt and stained blue jeans.
“Miss Flores, but you can call me Cat. You’ve heard of me?” She asks, looking around for somewhere to sit. Dick, awkwardly, walks around to the other side of his desk and waves her to follow.
“Come on, let’s walk and talk,” Dick pushes open the door, and the two of them stroll out into the hallway. “My guardian, Bruce, worked pretty closely with the PD and DA’s office, I’m a big fan of what you were able to do.”
“Yeah, cleaning up after Harvey Dent is no easy task, but my brother and I did our best,” Cat says, opening up a manila file in her hands and scanning the contents of it. “One of reasons Luscious hired me was because you’re rather inexperienced in a setting like this, and he wanted to make sure you were following all of the bylaws. As of right now, do you have any questions?” Suddenly, Dick stops in his tracks, his hand to his chin and his resting on his other arm.
“Ya know, I’ve not actually had a chance to take a look at those,” Dick says, met with a heavy sigh for Cat. With an awkward smile, he continues. “Can you give me a quick what-to-do-on-day-one run-through?”
“Of course, Mr. Grayson.”
“You can call me Dick.”
“Okay, Dick, since there have only been a handful of CEOs, I’ve never seen this in action, but the bylaws state that the new CEO must have a public press conference to announce their vision for the future of Wayne Enterprises within a week. What’s you vision?” Cat asks, but Dick’s eyes are glued to his buzzing phone.
Babs: Dick, need your help, think I’ve got something.
Dick: Now? Can it wait till later I’m…at work.
Babs: At work? Since when do you work?
Dick: Today’s my first day taking over Wayne Enterprises.
Babs: You own the company, just excuse yourself.
Dick: I can do that?
Babs: Bruce could.
Dick looks up at Cat. “Am I allowed to excuse myself?” Cat looks taken aback, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open just a little.
“Excuse me?”
“No, excuse me. Am I allowed to just…leave? Like, is there a rule against it?”
“I…I don’t think so,” Cat says in astonishment. “I mean, I’ve not seen a rule about it.”
“Cool, I’ll talk to you later!” Dick says, darting off down the hallway. Cat, standing in anger, turns around and returns to her office.
*
Dick bursts through the front door of Oracle’s uptown apartment to see her eyes glued to her monitors. She’s almost always sitting there, rolled up to her L-shaped desk, her five monitors and two towers humming away, soft K-pop or Eminem running in background. Dick rushes up to her and encases her in a massive hug, that she quickly pushes off. She pushes her glasses back up and blows her hair out of her way.
“Shut the door, Dick,” she says before turning back to her monitors, screens of code running past her. Dick crosses the room the shut the door.
“So, what did you find?” He asks, going into the kitchen and pouring himself a cup of coffee from the Keurig carafe sitting on the warmer.
“For the past few weeks I’ve been looking through some old case files when I ran across a mention of a ‘Black Casebook’.”
“’Black Casebook?’” Dick asks as he sips on his coffee, wincing at the pain of the hot liquid.
“Yeah, I’d never heard of it either. But then I kept digging and I found two more mentions,” Barbara continues, finally turning her gaze from the monitors to Dick. “The craziest thing is, I’d read all three of these case files before, hell, I was Batgirl for two of ‘em.”
“What cases?”
“The first one was the Chemical Syndicate. Bruce’s first big case.”
“And his first fight against the Joker. Glad that one came before me,” Dick crosses to sit on the pale brown couch, crossing his right leg over his left.
“Right, the second was when Joker escaped Arkham and went after Jason. And the third was when he went after me and my father.”
“Those three reports I’ve read a thousand times.”
“Me too,” Barbara rolls herself over to her kitchen to grab her own cup of coffee. “But when reading these files, I think Bruce was keeping a book of these bigger cases and hiding some of the details about them from us.”
“This coming from you?” Dick asks, his eyebrow raised in confusion.
“Yeah, why?”
"No reason, I’ve just been saying that he keeps secrets for years and you’ve been calling me crazy,” Dick relaxes back into the couch, a wide smirk on his face.
“Oh, shut up,” Barbara exclaims, setting her fresh cup of coffee in her lap and rolling back over to the living room. “The point is, how did Joker escape after he killed Jason?”
“What do you mean, he distracted Bruce and fled through the window,” Dick sits up, setting his mug on the table and looking concerned.
“Except, Bruce never detailed that in the case report. That’s something we’d always assumed, something he’d told us even, but it isn’t in the report. The report just…ends, before the Joker can escape.”
“So where do you think he went?”
“I’ve got no clue, but that casebook has to be somewhere in the Batcave, right?”
“So, what you’re saying is,” Dick stands up, his eyes focused out the window. “Bruce has been lying to us for years, about everything, and all of his lies are written down neatly in a Black Casebook?”
“No, what I’m saying is maybe this Black Casebook has details that could help lead us to where he is. And I think you’re the only one that can find it.”
-To Be Continued-
*
Gotham, Night
Alone it stands out atop the roofs of even the highest buildings of Gotham; its iridescent glow lighting up the night sky, shifting from a stark yellow contrasting against the grey night sky, to a green, sinking into the clouds, becoming one with the night. It watches down on Gotham, it keeps her safe. When Gothamites look up, they don’t see a light in the sky; they see fear, they see hope, they see promise, they see failure—they see the Bat.
Gordon stands on the rooftop, the collar of his mud brown coat popped up to shield his face from the roaring winds, but more importantly, to shield his cigarette from the roaring winds. He takes a long, slow drag, and closes his eyes. One of these days, when he opens them, Batman will be standing in front of him once more. Until that day, he comes up here every night to keep fear in criminals’ hearts.
“Commissioner?” A low, gravelly voice calls out to Gordon, cutting its way across the long, narrow rooftop through the winds. As Gordon opens his eyes, he sees a slim figure wearing tight black spandex; two blue stripes form up his arms, falling back down and connecting in a “V” on his chest, the point touching his naval. His medium-length black hair floats in the wind, his eyes covered with a black mask.
“You know, you never used to disguise your voice around me, why is that?” Gordon asks, taking another drag from his cigarette. Nightwing’s eyes widen in surprise—who does Gordon think he is?
“I’m not sure what you mean, Commissioner,” Nightwing says, maintaining the same gravelly tone he took the first time. Gordon slowly walks towards him, sizing up the situation, making sure Nightwing is a friendly.
“Listen, I’ve been working with you guys for ten years. Don’t you think I’d recognize Robin when I see him?”
“I’m sorry, I think you’ve got something con—”
“Cut the shit,” Gordon says, throwing his cigarette butt on concrete ground. “This is the fifth time we’ve talked, I know that you used to be Robin, Nightwing,” Nightwing coughs into his hand, clearing his throat.
“Fine,” Nightwing says, a sideways grin on his mouth. “I was never good at that voice like Batman was.”
“Was?” Gordon asks, an eyebrow raised. Nightwing jumps down from the ledge and takes a seat.
“Gordon, you know as well as we do that he hasn’t been seen in almost two months. We’re doing everything we can, but we haven’t found him yet.”
“Is that so?” Gordon asks, his question met with an ever so slight nod from Nightwing. “You know what he would be doing right now?”
“What?”
“He’d be huntin’ down every lead. Every single lead, until he found you. In fact, I’ve seen him do it. He doesn’t stand here, he doesn’t come to me for a shoulder to cry on. He gets his shit together, asks for my help where it’s needed, and figures it out.”
Nightwing looks up, taken aback, his eyes wide. Gordon stands there staring at him, his body unwavering in the face of the roaring winds. Nightwing stands up and shakes his head as raindrops start falling. He locks eyes with Gordon, and in that moment Gordon smiles, his first smile when dealing with Nightwing. They both nod their heads at each other before Nightwing turns around, jumps to the edge, and flings himself towards the street.
His body hangs in the air, suspended in the wind, his heart pounding in his ears. He does this ten times a night, minimum, and he’s done in hundreds—no, thousands—of times, and every time is different, every time fear boils up inside of him. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and reaches to his side for his grapple. His eyes snap open, he twists his body around and fires the grapple a crane suspended in the air and disappears.
*
“Full house!” Jimmy yells, laughing in Harold’s face as he gobbles up the cash on the table, his drink spilling drops out of his hand. “Told ya that ah neva lose, Harry.”
“Man, shut the fuck up ‘fore knock your teeth out,” Harold screams, springing from his chair, his fist rearing for a fight. The other three men in the massive, empty warehouse grow quiet as they wait for fireworks.
“Calm down, will ya? I just teezin’ ya,” Jimmy quickly stuffs the cash in his suitcase and zips it up, grinning in disbelief at the thousands he just won. As he stares at the case full of money, his grin wide, his eyes dancing with dollar signs, he hears a loud drip in his scotch glass. Inquisitively, he looks down at the glass he set on the table as both he and Harold stand confused, looking at the strange red dot that landed his cup. The two slowly turn their glance upwards as they see two glowing white eyes staring down at them, and just below those two frightening eyes, a shiny golden crown.
“What the—”
“Ketchup kat-burglery!!” The Condiment Man screams, flinging his body from the rafters, landings squarely on the table, sending the glass of ketchup-scotch flying. He aims his gun and Jimmy, presses the red button on his belt, and releases a red bomb from his condiment-dispenser shaped gun. The bomb impacts jimmy in the chest and explodes, creating a hailstorm of ketchup and sending Jimmy flying. Condiment King turns his gun to Harold and unleashes another red bomb. As the other three men stand to give chase, Condiment King unleashes a storm of red bombs. He grabs the suitcase full of cash and makes a mad dash for the open warehouse door, disappearing into the night. Dazed and confused, Jimmy and Harold stand up and look after where the Condiment King once stood.
“Being part of the Two-Face gang used to mean something in this town,” Harold says with a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping down.
“We ain’t really no Two-Face gang no more. Two-Face got ‘imself finga’d,” Jimmy sighs deeply too. Suddenly, a silhouette emerges from around the corner of the warehouse, the light of the moon casting shadows on his face, all that’s visible is his large, muscular frame. Jimmy, Harold, and the others pull guns, aiming them and the hulking shadow.
“Now, now, nobody needs to hurt, da?” Says a thickly covered Eastern European voice. From behind the European emerges another two shadows, each with long-rifles. Then behind them, another two emerge. Then another two. Then another two.
“Who da fuck are ya?” Jimmy asks, setting his gun by his side.
“Deese boys call me da Soviet,” the Soviet says, shrugging his shoulders, emerging from the shadows to revealing a pressed golden suit, slicked back brown hair, and a smile full of evil. “I got a proposition for you.”
*
Gotham, Day
The large mahogany desk sits parallel with the sprawling window to its back. Bookcases with every type of information you could ever want line the two side walls, and front wall lays barren. A grey couch sits up against that wall. The only other furniture in the room is the large, throne-like black desk chair.
“We really need an interior designer,” Dick quips, his half-cocked smile aimed at a serious, never-wavering Luscious Fox.
“Bruce Wayne was a bit of a…minimalist, Dick.”
“That seems to be an understatement,” Dick takes a seat in the throne, scratching his head, dusting off his keyboard and powering his computer on. “When was the last Bruce was even in this office?”
“He was more of a work from home kind of CEO,” Luscious says with a smile. “As the new CEO of Wayne Enterprises, we’ve taken the liberty to hire new legal council for you. Shall I call her in?”
“I thought CEOs normally had a secretary that scheduled meetings for them. Aren’t you the head of R&D?”
“I am, but unfortunately Bruce never hired himself a secretary. Please feel free to do so at your earliest convenience.” Luscious nods and ducks out of the room.
Dick takes a deep breath, his eyes scouring the bookshelves, lined with medicinal journals, newspaper catalogues, binders with monthly reports, biographies of famous athletes, everything Bruce needed to sharpen his mind. As his computer finally boots up, Dick finds himself staring at a sentence no Fortune 500 CEO should ever find himself staring at: “Your computer is updating. This may take a while. Please do not turn off or reset your computer.”
“Holy Tech Department…” Dick exclaims, laying his head down on his desk for a moment.
“Computer problems, Mr. Grayson?” A soft voice calls down to him. As Grayson’s eyes flip open and look up, he sees the impeccable body of one Catalina Flores, Esq, standing in front of him, her black eyes burrowing into his soul. He quickly stands from his chair and reaches to shake her hand.
“You must be my legal counsel, Mrs. Flores,” Dick says, a nervous smile on his face as he comes to the realization that her orange paint-suit and perfectly straightened black hair stands in deep contrast to his wrinkled black t-shirt and stained blue jeans.
“Miss Flores, but you can call me Cat. You’ve heard of me?” She asks, looking around for somewhere to sit. Dick, awkwardly, walks around to the other side of his desk and waves her to follow.
“Come on, let’s walk and talk,” Dick pushes open the door, and the two of them stroll out into the hallway. “My guardian, Bruce, worked pretty closely with the PD and DA’s office, I’m a big fan of what you were able to do.”
“Yeah, cleaning up after Harvey Dent is no easy task, but my brother and I did our best,” Cat says, opening up a manila file in her hands and scanning the contents of it. “One of reasons Luscious hired me was because you’re rather inexperienced in a setting like this, and he wanted to make sure you were following all of the bylaws. As of right now, do you have any questions?” Suddenly, Dick stops in his tracks, his hand to his chin and his resting on his other arm.
“Ya know, I’ve not actually had a chance to take a look at those,” Dick says, met with a heavy sigh for Cat. With an awkward smile, he continues. “Can you give me a quick what-to-do-on-day-one run-through?”
“Of course, Mr. Grayson.”
“You can call me Dick.”
“Okay, Dick, since there have only been a handful of CEOs, I’ve never seen this in action, but the bylaws state that the new CEO must have a public press conference to announce their vision for the future of Wayne Enterprises within a week. What’s you vision?” Cat asks, but Dick’s eyes are glued to his buzzing phone.
Babs: Dick, need your help, think I’ve got something.
Dick: Now? Can it wait till later I’m…at work.
Babs: At work? Since when do you work?
Dick: Today’s my first day taking over Wayne Enterprises.
Babs: You own the company, just excuse yourself.
Dick: I can do that?
Babs: Bruce could.
Dick looks up at Cat. “Am I allowed to excuse myself?” Cat looks taken aback, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open just a little.
“Excuse me?”
“No, excuse me. Am I allowed to just…leave? Like, is there a rule against it?”
“I…I don’t think so,” Cat says in astonishment. “I mean, I’ve not seen a rule about it.”
“Cool, I’ll talk to you later!” Dick says, darting off down the hallway. Cat, standing in anger, turns around and returns to her office.
*
Dick bursts through the front door of Oracle’s uptown apartment to see her eyes glued to her monitors. She’s almost always sitting there, rolled up to her L-shaped desk, her five monitors and two towers humming away, soft K-pop or Eminem running in background. Dick rushes up to her and encases her in a massive hug, that she quickly pushes off. She pushes her glasses back up and blows her hair out of her way.
“Shut the door, Dick,” she says before turning back to her monitors, screens of code running past her. Dick crosses the room the shut the door.
“So, what did you find?” He asks, going into the kitchen and pouring himself a cup of coffee from the Keurig carafe sitting on the warmer.
“For the past few weeks I’ve been looking through some old case files when I ran across a mention of a ‘Black Casebook’.”
“’Black Casebook?’” Dick asks as he sips on his coffee, wincing at the pain of the hot liquid.
“Yeah, I’d never heard of it either. But then I kept digging and I found two more mentions,” Barbara continues, finally turning her gaze from the monitors to Dick. “The craziest thing is, I’d read all three of these case files before, hell, I was Batgirl for two of ‘em.”
“What cases?”
“The first one was the Chemical Syndicate. Bruce’s first big case.”
“And his first fight against the Joker. Glad that one came before me,” Dick crosses to sit on the pale brown couch, crossing his right leg over his left.
“Right, the second was when Joker escaped Arkham and went after Jason. And the third was when he went after me and my father.”
“Those three reports I’ve read a thousand times.”
“Me too,” Barbara rolls herself over to her kitchen to grab her own cup of coffee. “But when reading these files, I think Bruce was keeping a book of these bigger cases and hiding some of the details about them from us.”
“This coming from you?” Dick asks, his eyebrow raised in confusion.
“Yeah, why?”
"No reason, I’ve just been saying that he keeps secrets for years and you’ve been calling me crazy,” Dick relaxes back into the couch, a wide smirk on his face.
“Oh, shut up,” Barbara exclaims, setting her fresh cup of coffee in her lap and rolling back over to the living room. “The point is, how did Joker escape after he killed Jason?”
“What do you mean, he distracted Bruce and fled through the window,” Dick sits up, setting his mug on the table and looking concerned.
“Except, Bruce never detailed that in the case report. That’s something we’d always assumed, something he’d told us even, but it isn’t in the report. The report just…ends, before the Joker can escape.”
“So where do you think he went?”
“I’ve got no clue, but that casebook has to be somewhere in the Batcave, right?”
“So, what you’re saying is,” Dick stands up, his eyes focused out the window. “Bruce has been lying to us for years, about everything, and all of his lies are written down neatly in a Black Casebook?”
“No, what I’m saying is maybe this Black Casebook has details that could help lead us to where he is. And I think you’re the only one that can find it.”
-To Be Continued-