A Meeting With Mr. Murphy

"Mr. Murphy?" said the receptionist, "Dr. Kane will see you now."

Commodore Murphy stretched his legs and stood up in the visitor's lounge of Kane Industries. As he walked by, worker drones in cubicles snapped the teen billionaire's picture with their smartphones, already prepped to load the pictures onto every social media platform on the planet. The girls admired his good looks, his short blond hair, his fashionable clothes; the men admired his money and his daring. However, Commodore was NOT in a good mood; and that was due to the other teen billionaire who had requested this meeting on his turf.

The last time Commodore saw Dr. Joseph Kane, the latter was a twerpy, scrawny, sickly runt who was recovering from being shot by one of the crazies in Gotham. Then he went away and now he's returned an athletic man about town. And worse, he was now supporting the Teen Titans in the media and gifting them an insurance policy. Given that Commodore's Green Team were already the Teen Titans' financial backers, this pissed Commodore off. Commodore never liked Joseph; he felt this kid was way too smart for his own good.

Commodore entered a well appointed office with books lining shelves, various souvenirs from Joseph's travels, a large desk with a high powered computer with a massive leather chair behind it and two comfortable armchairs before it, pictures, degrees, and a huge window that looked out over Rockefeller Center. Joseph Kane was looking out the window, his back to Commodore. He was wearing an excellent suit, not the latest fashion but well cut. Despite his designer duds, something about Joseph Kane being even a minor fashion plate made Commodore seethe.

"Ah, Commodore," Joseph turned. Commodore noticed he wasn't wearing his glasses anymore; he heard Kane got himself laser eye treatment during his travels. "Please, sit." He motioned to one of the armchairs. Commodore sat down, he noticed the desk had a pile of folders on it. Joseph sat opposite him, "So, why did you come to see me? Obviously its not for a loan."

I could buy and sell you, runt, thought Commodore. "I want you to back off supporting the Teen Titans."

"Aren't you being a bit territorial? I thought you would have the foresight of having an insurance policy."

"I can more than afford...."

"Paying for the repairs out of your own pocket helps YOUR image, not theirs."

"They don't complain. Besides, they are immensely popular amongst the young people."

"'The young people'? Aren't we sounding older than we are. You aren't 21 yet, "64", your 64 trillion dollar payday is not for another couple years. Until then, your nickname is nothing more than an 80s computer."

"Is there more to your joke?"

Joseph raised an eyebrow. "You never heard of the Commodore 64?"

"Every time I look in a mirror."

Joseph rubbed his temples. God, is Commodore that much of an idiot? "No, I'm referring to one of the best selling computers of the 1980s. But that is not the reason why I asked you to come here."

"You want to buy me out."

"Oooo, so close. No, I want to buy IN. Right now you are making them into a complete caricature of what they could be."

"They have done good work."

"And made you incredibly popular. You hitched your chariot to their star; and its become a millstone."

"Technology doesn't interest me unless its cutting edge, Joseph, cut to the point."

"Point is, you use them so your own social media presence increases. You are a whore, Commodore."

"A WHAT?!"

"You heard me. You are a whore in the way Paris Hilton is, always needing to be the center of attention, and throwing around enough money to do it. Instead of putting your money to good use, you put it into tech that might not be useful to anyone. You used it to weaponize your little gang of glamorous people with more money than sense. You care more about being in the tabloids than the people starving in Africa."

"And what would you bring to this operation?"

"Respectability, for one."

Commodore stood up. "If you're going to keep insulting me, you can forget it, little man."

Joseph smirked, there was venom behind it. "And its that kind of behavior that would make it all the worst for you when I call for the Teen Titans to be seperated from your organization."

"And you'd step in."

"Let's see, who has the respect of most New Yorkers, the media...oh right, me."

"I didn't know you could be so mercenary."

"Only when I have to be and its for the common good."

"They aren't 'common', Joseph; and they aren't yours to buy."

"Nor yours to sell. However, I know from my media contacts that lately you and the Titans have not been seeing eye to eye. It seems that they are no longer comfortable with all the attention you send them."

"First I heard of it."

"Or you choose to ignore it. Like you choose to ignore the fact your supposed girlfriend, actress Cecilia Sunbeam, likes to spend her nights with your best friend, oil heir JP Houston." Joseph noticed Commodore's eye twinge. Got ya. "It seems the cukold must keep up appearances, or his Q rating plummets like his investment in Kord Industries' failed air cannon experiment." Joseph opened a file. "It seems an enterprising photog snapped them having dinner at Peter Luger's, dancing at a club in Greenpoint, and then them in flagrante delecto in a loft apartment owned by Ms. Sunbeam in Brooklyn Heights. I managed to get them away from him."

"So, it's blackmail then."

"Please, give me some credit; I'm devious, not criminal. No, in exchange for me buying into the Titans' support apparatus, either in part or in full, you get the photos and get to do with them what you like. Leak them to the tabloids in a fit of pique, confront the couple, burn the photos and negatives...they're yours. Hell, they're yours even if you say no."

Joseph passed the folder over, Commodore looked at him. "Why are you doing this, Joseph?"

"Because Commodore, while I highly dislike you, I felt like you needed help confronting the truth, and confronting those who supposedly care about you the most. I think they do; but this little farce of yours must end for everyone's sake. Including the Titans; because trust me, they would have been dragged into the mess if the paparazzi released them."

Commodore thought for a second. "Five million, if you can afford it."

"Drop in the bucket. I'll make it 10...and throw in a bit of property for a base."

"Huh?"

"They need to be independent of a backer eventually, Commodore; and my grandfather owns an island in the harbor. Nothing much, just an old research station. However, it would be away from the boroughs, though quick enough to access it by boat or flight, and we can arrange a new base to be built, I have a suggestion or two...."

A couple hours later, Commodore left, a check in his pocket, the file tucked under his arm, and a flashdrive containing blue prints in his suit pocket. Joseph chuckled to himself, it was far too easy, and it was barely a dip into his own accounts. He began to plan out his patrol for the evening...and then he paused. He activated his comm.

"Miss Tessbacher?"

"Yes, Doctor Kane?"

"If a Mister Draper calls in the next couple weeks, make sure he comes by."

"Yes sir."

Joseph smiled. He leaned back in his chair. He has been engaged in a battle of wits with Red Robin, aka Tim Drake, for a few weeks ever since their paths crossed during Psimon's escapade. Your move, Bird Boy.