2012-08-12 Bat to the Bone Part 2

Midtown - Central Business District - GBC CEO's Office
The entire top floor of the building is devoted to the CEO, his personal assistant, and his secretary. The elevator opens into the central area where the secretary's desk monitors all arrivals. Of the two offices, the largest belongs to Alan Scott, owner and CEO of GBC. It's styled and equipped with the latest in hi-tech office equipment and furniture. The desk has a virtual keyboard as part of its surface and the monitor rises upward as needed. Giant screens are built into the walls behind panels that slide up to reveal them with the touch of a button. In one corner, a staircase leads to the private helipad on the roof.
Lightning crackles intermittently as rain drops plop against the windows of Alan Scott's office. It was a hot summer night that was cooled by the rain. The investigation into Jenningson continues, and the young Darkwing is tying up some loose ends.
Alan, working alone, will notice nothing in the room with him the first time lightning illuminates it. Nor the second time. But on the third time there's a figure in the corner. It stands short and is covered in a dark robe of some sort. Pale white ovals peer at Scott from the shadows. "...Jenningson..." is all that the figure says to announce himself.
A hand reaches for a drawer as Alan glances up and over at the voice. "Jenningson?" he repeats. Why does that name sound familiar. Oh. "Is that you?" He looks a bit short if the height of those eyes mean anything.
"...Jenningson..." The voice is heavily tinted with an arabic accent and the words are spit from a young man. No older than 20 certainly. "...he attempted to end your life....Dont...bother reaching for your gun. If I wanted you dead, you'd already be so. I'm here to give you the information you wanted. What you couldn't get...You'll tell me why he wants you dead and where I can find him..."
The accent certainly reveals its not Jenningson and the guy does have a point. And Alan certainly remembers a third person at the car taking out criminals in the shadows. "You're saying Jenningson was the one who hired them? So why haven't you gone to the cops?" He also doesn't bother going for the gun, instead sliding his chair back a bit and swiveling to face Darkwing better.
"...do I look like a cop...?" Darkwing responds. "Where can I find Jenningson?" Alan's vantage point changes to give more information about the young man. He's clearly wearing a hood and underneath a cloak of somesort. He stands about five and a half feet. It's difficult to tell exactly how old he is, but he looks rather young.
Alan studies the figure a moment then shakes his head. "Definitely not a cop, no. And while I"m glad to know who was behind it" or who the kid says is behind it "I'm not going to give you his address. Assuming he even still lives there. I'll tell the police myself that I suspect him and why and they can look into it."
"...as you wish..." Darkwing says, still motionless. "...but I remind you that the Gotham police force is not noted for its adherence to protocol or high organizational character. Good luck with that..."
"You have a point." Alan concedes. "Which means I should probably bribe them to do their job." He does know how Gotham works. "But lets say I do give you his address. Are you planning to kill him? And why are you helping me, anyway?"
"...justice..." the young man responds vaguely. "...I am no executioner Alan Scott. When I am done with him, even the villainous, warped, and scabied hell hole of the Gotham Police Department will not be able to refute his guilt...If you are water, and a rock is in your path, it may slow you down...but it will not stop you."
"So he'll be alive. But will he be whole?" Alan asks. "And uninjured? I realize violence is the norm here in Gotham but I don't approve of beating confessions out of people." Which is perhaps the luxury of the rich, even those born to this city.
"...you've mistaken me for a fortune teller, Alan Scott. He will come willingly, or he will come unwillingly. It makes no difference....Give me the information I need..." Darkwing's voice grows tense. "...and not his address. I've been there. He has not returned..."
You've mistaken me for a fortune teller." Alan counters, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. Okay, more than a hint. "If he's not there, how would I know where he is? If he's trying to kill me, he certainly didn't let me know in advance where to reach him."
"...you have information on him. You know him..." Darkwing takes a step forward. "...you protect the intrests of a man trying to kill you. Honorable? Nay. Foolish. I only hope I reach him before he finally gets to you..."
"Look..." Calling him kid would probably not go over well. "What do you want me to call you? Alan asks. Whatever it is, I'm not protecting him. He may have been on the board but we didn't socialize. I certainly don't know him well enough to predict where he would be now."
"...I am the Darkwing..." the young man says simply. "...If you see anything strange, I want you to call this number and leave a message..." A piece of folded paper floats through the night and lands upon Alan's desk. When he can see it, it looks like a folded ninja star, like a kid would make.
"Darkwing." Right. Alan picks up the paper shuriken and unfolds it till he can read the number. "All right. I'll do that." Though he's also going to try to direct the cops toward Jenningson, of course. "Tell me, Darkwing. Is there a... favorite charity or something you'd like me to make a donation to?"
"Jynn Kisaragi runs a community center in a bad neighborhood. Why?" Darkwing seems defensive as he asks. He's reaching beneath his robes for something, but his feet stay still.
"And how large a donation would you think is appropriate?" Alan asks, now reaching for a different drawer. This is Gotham after all. "Who should I make it out to? Cash?"
Darkwing tilts his head, "I'm not following you, Alan Scott." Pause. "What is this..."
Alan just looks at Darkwing a moment then drops his hand as he shakes his head. "Never mind." So the kid's not looking for protection money or a payoff. How novel. Though he'll make a donation to the community center anyway.
Darkwing moves quickly and smashes some smoke bombs at his feet, shrouding himself in obfuscation. There's a quick sound made from the leather as he begins to move.
"You could have just used the door." Alan says to what is perhaps a now empty room. There might be a hint of amusement in his voice but he refrains from laughing.
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