Cuckoo Bird 5

Tim spent a while laying back and thinking about the life that he was living. It was kind of bizarre, wasn’t it? It was so different from what he had been doing before at elementary school. 

But it was clearly his life. Tim fit into this routine like a missing puzzle piece. He already had the skills that big Tim did. He took a moment to feel proud that he was managing big Tim’s real job. He could all but feel the phantom touch of his Dad ruffling his hair. Holy cow, Tim was a businessman! That was so cool. Did he have suits and ties somewhere? He made a mental note to check, excited. This was just so freaking cool. 

On the other hand, it wasn’t his life yet. Maybe he should tell somebody. But who? He didn't exactly have a contact list saying things like ‘call this person if you are 9 years old.’

Probably the best thing to do was to make sure everyone was happy with him. If he did everything that everybody wanted, there would be no issues. Big Tim knew everything that he did about this life, so of course he would eventually get back to take over his life again. Probably he’d think that Tim had done a really good job as custodian of their adult life. Then Tim could go back home with accomplishments, and get a really good head start on crime fighting and corporate life. He was learning a lot. It was kind of like interning with himself.

So, Tim finished his experiment for Miss Fox and sent her his report. The groceries arrived while he was finishing up. After he put it away, he made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and ate it one-handed while he looked up the address that Jason had told him about. 

“That's pretty far away,” Tim mused. Some grape jelly dropped onto the keyboard. He swiped it up with his sleeve. He was a little less careful about the apartment now that he knew it was Big Tim’s place and not someone important or mean. 

Huh.

Tim paused mid contemplation. Speaking of important people, where was Mom? (And also Dad.) He turned his head around looking for the most recent post card. He usually kept that on the fridge.

Apparently, Big Tim had lost the habit. The dig post card tacked to the fridge was years old. Tim took it down and read it anyway, smiling at Mom’s handwriting. It was neat and precise, just like her. 

He felt better. He'd figure it out later. Tim put a pin on the thought and went back to focusing on his- on Jason's request. He squirmed in his chair while he thought it through.

The address was in a residential neighborhood, the kind with separate houses and not apartment complexes. The suspect himself lived in a duplex. The other half of the duplex was registered to a retiree who Tim didn't find any digital trail of, other than that her Social security checks were being cashed and her bills were paid on time. Oh, neat, she had been part of Gotham’s historical recreation society. She seemed kinda cool.

She had crazy huge electric bills, though. Tim frowned at that. He wasn't absolutely sure. But he thought that most people didn't have electric bills in excess of $600 monthly. How was she even affording that off of her Social security income? 

“Maybe the neighbor killed her and is using her apartment for nefarious purposes,” Tim reasoned aloud. “He's chasing her check and concealing the death. Maybe he uses her apartment to store his industrial sausage making machine.” 

It was a bit of a reach but it seemed a little more likely than his follow-up idea: her hobby was running every appliance in her house at the same time for all the hours that she was awake.

Focus, Tim! How was he going to surveil this place?

It wasn’t like there were any nice big buildings with dramatic awnings and gargoyles to creep around. It was suburbia. 

Tim spun around on his chair miserably, hands on his head to help him think.

Were there any abandoned homes in the area that he could use as a viewpoint? He checked on that. No. No, there weren’t. Dangit. He looked up everyone who lived in the neighborhood, wondering if there might be like, a family on vacation or someone whose second floor was unoccupied. He didn’t see anything useful like that. There were just a bunch of families with little kids.

He spun faster. Maybe the centrifugal force would somehow jar his brain awake.

“There’s nothing for it,” Tim decided ruefully. “I have to go undercover as a child.”

He put on the light up sneakers that he had ordered, washed his face, and made sure he had enough money for the bus. Then he set off on an adventure with a little notepad in his pocket. When he got to the apartment lobby he realized that he probably should have brought Big Tim’s phone, but oh well. It was too far now.

He took three buses and walked twenty minutes. He arrived in the right neighborhood in the early evening, around 5 pm. He looked for rogue groups of playing kids to join in. He’d do whatever game they were playing, then subtly interrogate them.

Unfortunately, it seemed like everyone was inside eating dinner. Tim frowned at one window. He could see a table being set.

Weird.

Alright, new plan. The old lady neighbor was probably dead, so he could just sneak into her half of the duplex, find a place to hide, and observe whatever sick and twisted stuff Jason’s bad guy did. Then he could tell Jason about it later, and he would like Tim. It was perfect!

He tried the backdoor. It was locked. Tim skulked around the house and tried windows until he found one that was open. He had to scramble a bit to climb up the siding to get into the house but he managed it. He hit the floor with a tumble.

“I have a mace!” said a female voice. “I am prepared to use it upon you!”

Tim rolled over to see the retiree. “Oh,” he said. “Hello.” He was a little disappointed that he was wrong about her being dead, though of course it’s always nice when someone isn’t murdered.

Mrs. Henderson yanked open a cupboard door and withdrew her mace off a special holder thing. She pointed it at him steadily over her walker.

“Whoa,” said Tim. “That’s really cool. That’s Gothic, right?”

It was a shiny silver color and had a four-sided design. It was maybe a foot and a half long. It looked very neat. He itched to touch it personally.

She looked at her mace. “...I believe so,” she said. “Get out of my home!”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Tim said, deliberately not agreeing. He sat up and crossed his legs. “I didn’t realize that you lived here.”

Mrs. Henderson slowly lowered her Gothic mace, which was probably a replica of one from Western Europe and weighed about 2 kilograms. “...Did you mean to go next door?” she said, sounding more confused and less hostile. 

“Yeah, I got mixed up,” Tim lied like a champion. “I accidentally locked myself out and no one is home.”

Although that really wouldn’t be true for much longer. Hm. Maybe Tim should have waited until tomorrow to come by. Mr. Orange would know that Tim wasn’t a relative. What was he going to say about that?