Batman The Dark Knight Theme // Hans Zimmer

"You're my eyes while I'm gone, Kid. So keep them wide open." I offer a final reminder to The Kid over the phone before I board my flight.

"Not sure I'm ready for the big show but I'll do my best."

"You got this. You'll be fine." I tell myself as much as I'm telling him. He better be fine, or it'll be my ass.

"I'm still scratching my head at what could be bigger than guarding Ms. Royce on tour. Must be the president or something to be calling you away like that."

"Or something." Something like a rat in a trap I set. Once I realized how close Ross is to Colleen, nothing could have kept me from flying out here and confronting him myself. I lied to myself that I didn't need to for about ten minutes but then I pulled my shit together and booked a flight.

Five hours from now, I'll be casing the bastard. Maybe then my blood pressure will go down.

***

I wasted zero time once I landed, grabbing a car and tracking down Ross's location.

Why am I not surprised to find him in a bar? Half of his rap sheet consists of bar brawls. I might be an asshole for hoping he gets into one tonight so I have cause to get him arrested, but I couldn't give less of a shit. Everyone would be safer with this guy behind bars.

The street is dark and quiet except for the occasional shout heard in the distance. The bar is surrounded by mostly industrial buildings. It's literally called The Dive, appropriately enough. A few homeless tents are set up behind dumpsters down the street and trash has built up in some of the corners. Not a cheery environment calling to tourists, that's for sure. Ross was drawn here for some other reason than visiting the lights of Hollywood. I can't even see them from here.

Colleen's voice echoes in my head telling me Ross isn't that bad. And maybe he's not, but he certainly isn't good. I refuse to feel bad about wanting him incarcerated. With a rap sheet like his, he should be.

I sit in my rental car across the street from the bar in the back corner of a parking lot. The light from the streetlamp doesn't reach this far. I'm cased in darkness, the perfect cover for surveillance. The place doesn't have any windows facing my direction, likely none at all in this type of setting—the owners would be dealing with broken glass weekly—so I watch the bouncer for a tell. As long as he's stationed at the door, not looking tense, it's a good indication there isn't any drama inside.

I forgot how fucking boring surveillance is.

An hour goes by with no indication from the bouncer that I should investigate inside. But I'm not sitting on my ass all night waiting, either. I text Frank that I'm having potatoes for dinner, our code that I'm sitting like a lump doing recon.

Frank: are your potatoes hot?

He asks if my mark is in sight.

Me: warm to the touch.

I tell him no, but he is in the vicinity

Frank: any veggies with your meal? Stay healthy.

Frank wonders if I have back up and to stay out of trouble.

Me: no, but I do have a nice slab of meat.

I tell him I'm good.

I don't have backup, but this guy isn't going to ambush me, so I'm not worried. It's good protocol for your team to know your location, however. And Frank is the one who's got the intel so he's the one I notify. Should have done it sooner, but better late than never.

Frank signs off with a middle finger emoji, something out of pocket for him. He's so damn buttoned up he doesn't show me much emotion. I take the flagrant emoji as a sign of brotherly affection and send one in return.

Another hour goes by with nothing interesting to report. And I'm done. I decide I'm making contact. He doesn't know me. I don't need to hide. I pocket my phone and lock up the car before crossing the street after convincing myself it's a good idea to go inside.

"ID," the bouncer demands, standing up as I approach him. He's a big guy, bulked up as most bouncers are, especially in neighborhoods like this. But I'm bigger by at least a few inches. Plus, I'm trained to take a guy like him down.

I pull out my real ID, no need for a cover on this job. In fact, I want Ross to know exactly who I am and why I'm here. By the end of the night, I'll make sure he's aware of both.

The bouncer nods and hands my ID back. I debate whether to bring the guy in on my purpose for being here. Sometimes having site security in your back pocket is an advantage. But I get a feeling from this run-down area it wouldn't be advantageous. I'm sure this bar is subject to frequent police activity. I'm not getting a helpful vibe from the bouncer, so I decide against it.

I enter the place, a wide-open space with a long bar on the back wall, an empty stage to the right with a dance floor in the middle and plenty of four-seater tables spread around. It's reasonably dark inside, still light enough to see around the space without being too bright for the vibes. Or too bright to see how dingy and gross the place is. The fact my shoes are sticking to the floor as I walk in tells me enough.

I walk past the minimal crowd—it's a weeknight but I'm sure this is typical—and make my way to the bar. Ross is from out of town. He came in here alone, more than likely. Loners tend to ride the stools and jaw with the bartenders. I pass a glance over the ten or so people sitting along the polished wooden bar before landing on the guy at the end. I can't see his face, yet, but he's got the right look and build.

I grab a spot at the opposite end and check out the rest of the bar behind me. No one else in here catches my eye as a potential suspect. I've seen Ross's mugshots, plural, but never him in person. However, I'm pretty sure he's the guy I spotted at the end. Since the bartender is focused on that side of the room, I decide to use his proximity to my advantage. There's an open stool closer to my mark so I move to it slowly.

When I sit down, the unconfirmed Ross still has his back to me, so I lean across the bar and call for the bartender.

"Any good local recommendations?" I ask when he asks for my order.

The guy scoffs. "Does this look like a place that carries local craft brews?"

"Noted." I expected his answer but making conversation might bring my bar mate's attention my way. I glance at the draft handles and pick one. "Give me a pint of the amber."

"Got it."

I watch as the bartender fills my glass keeping my body forward. My effort pays off when I sense my mark turning my way.

"I'm out. That amber sounds good. Grab me one of those, will ya Joe?" he says.

"Sure thing, Ross."

Bingo.

I take a long draw of the beer when its placed in front of me. Ross does the same. I glance at him after putting down the glass.

"Not bad."

He nods. "Yup."

I hold off asking anything more to draw him out. In this setting it would come off as a red flag to a guy like him. Instead, I lean over the bar and tap my fingers against my glass, take another long draw and repeat.

"You from around here?" Ross asks. Expelling kinetic energy against my glass put him on edge so he had to break tension by asking me a question, a psychological trick I learned from Frank.

I nod. It's actually true in this case. I live about ten minutes away although I haven't been home in a long ass while.

"You?" I return the question.

"Visiting a friend."

That answer hits me in the gut, because I know which friend he's referring to and she isn't expecting a visit.

"How long you in town for?"

He pauses for a minute before answering, putting on the show of thinking it over. "Undetermined," he says after a few seconds.

Again, I don't like his answer. Something comes off as sinister in the little display he made.

"What's the determining factor?" He's making the small talk, so I feed into it as expected. It's working to my advantage, however.

He leans in closer, glancing at me as though I'm conspiring with him. I lean in as a show of my interest.

"I've got a good feeling about this friend."

He says friend as though it's a euphemism for something dirty. I grip my glass so I don't knock him out.

"Oh, yeah? How good?" My stomach lurches as I ask.

He nods slowly. "Real good." He huffs. "It's been a long time coming, but I'm here to stake a claim." Now he leans back, comfortable with me and what he's sharing. No clue how hard I'm working to not shove him off the barstool and stomp on his face.

"She moved out here to have her little adventure. She wanted to see what the big scary world was like. But it's time for us to settle down. I'm pretty sure she's about done out here. Time to go back home and start our future."

I clench my jaw instead of calling him out on his bullshit. I can't give myself away before I have all the intel.

"You gonna tell her like it is, huh?" This is a test. I already heard how unglued from reality he is with that little speech. Now I'm looking for a confession of ill intent. And once I get that...I won't hold back any longer.

Ross nods at my statement. "She's hard headed. I'm sure it'll take some convincing." He looks at me, leering. A look of complete and utter perversion comes over him. "I'm good at convincing."

That's the last thing I hear. The last conscious thought I have is fuck you. I don't say a word. I don't even remember making the decision to act. But act is what happens next.

I cuff him around the neck so fast he didn't have a chance to move out of my reach. I twist my body around his, pulling him off his stool and down onto the sticky floor. My arm pulls his head into my chest so he's probably struggling for air. I should release the hold enough for him to breathe but I can't bring myself to do it. He's mumbling something but the words are lost in the fabric of my shirt. I continue holding him down, my knee in his side and the rest of my weight on the rest of him.

"Leave her the fuck alone." I growl in his ear. "Don't go near her. Don't breathe on her. Don't even think about her."

Before I can do any more damage or make any more declarations, two beefy arms grab me around the shoulders and pull. Because I'm not on my feet, the effort works to yank me off Ross's body. Someone else drags Ross away from me.

"None of that shit in here," the guy holding me back shouts. If I put any energy into breaking loose, I could. But I allow him to hold me because I know what's going on in my head and I know I'll end up killing Ross if I follow through with my thoughts.

"What the fuck!" Ross shouts. "Who the hell are you to tell me what to do with my girl."

And that was enough to shove my dark thoughts into real action. I pull away from the beefy arms of who is likely the bouncer and grab onto Ross's face. I get right up into that ugly mug and tell him exactly who I am.

"I'll be your worst fucking nightmare if you get anywhere close to her."

That's the last thing I get out before the cops swarm the place, taking both of us down and dragging us away.

Ahhh! Clinton took him doooooooown. I will be absolutely honest, I did not have this scene on my radar until last week. Once Frank told me that Ross was in L.A. (yeah, me. I didn't know it until I wrote it) I knew that Clinton needed to hop on a plane. I knew he'd confront him, but that this wasn't the end of the story. So hang on to your hats, its about to get wild!

I HAD TO USE THE BATMAN THEME! Clinton is like the ultimate hot vigilante so the theme was a must. 

https://youtu.be/w1B3Mgklfd0

See ya next week!