If someone were foolish enough to waste their time and money writing
a tourist brochure for Gotham City, they would describe tonight
as, "a typical night in this unusual city." That would
be a kind way of saying Gotham makes Seattle look festive and
tropical. And that's on the good days.
The dark haired man strides down the streets, paying attention
to the constant shadows. It occurs to him that his whole life,
he has been in some shadow or another. His thoughts turn down
familiar, painful alleyways in his mind. The woman by his side
does not know that he has quite forgotten she exists, not that
she cares. She is enjoying the sound of her voice, the way her
reflection looks in the shop windows they pass.
She considers how fabulous a couple they make. He is tall, powerful,
filling out his brown silk suit in all the right places. He doesn't
walk, he strides. His piercing blue eyes take in the whole landscape.
He would make excellent breeding stock, her shallow mind decides.
She is busy redecorating their little French hide-away and naming
their third child when he abruptly stops, and slowly starts pushing
her behind him. Reality takes hold of her at the sight of four
men coming towards them. They laugh, making crude remarks about
her, her dress, and the inability of her new potential husband
to give her what she really wants.
The man in the brown silk suit says nothing. He has trained for
moments like these. He is ready. He takes a careful step back
and sideways, next to the streetlight, cutting off two avenues
of attack. His mind calculates, whirs with the speed of a tiger.
His date wonders why she is being shoved into the lamppost, and
why, oh, why won't somebody do something, things like this don't
happen to you when you are pretty!
Mugger Number One leaps forward with a knife. The Man in Brown
catches his arms and prepares to flip him when Mugger Number Two
kicks him in the ribs. Mugger Number Three smashes the back of
his legs with a baseball bat as Number Four grabs the woman. The
Man in Brown has a chance to reflect that his friends Pat and
Charlie down at Dave's Karate World and Coffee Shop don't give
him this much trouble in their sparring sessions as another fist
smashes into his face. Lying on the pavement, Bill Lebowski sees
cute little stars, and small, shiny, balls rolling towards him?
The street erupts in smoke, and then things get...confused. A
shadow is moving in the smoke. A shadow that flows and swoops,
and the muggers can't seem to stand up after it rushes by them.
Mugger Number Two joins him on the pavement, then Number Three.
The Man in the now torn Brown suit hears Mugger Number One land
in some trash cans several feet away.
A scream makes him turn his head. The shadow pauses, then makes
a small "paf" noise and flies towards the sound. Crawling
forward, Bill sees Mugger Number Four's head bounce off a parked
car and a huge black thing looming over his as yet unrealized
wife. He panics, struggling to his feet as he musters his courage
and lunges forward. Actually he makes it to his knees when the
pavement rushes up to meet him again. The future Ms. Lebowski
rushes to Bill's side, then watches the sexiest man she has ever
seen fly off into the night. Bill decides not to renew his membership
at Dave's.
The Batman lands on a nearby rooftop to check on the couple. Gotham's
Finest should be by momentarily to collect the would-be-muggers
and take statements from the "happy" couple. He watches
them. The woman helps the man to his feet, continues helping as
the man faints again. She stays with him though. "An attractive
couple," he can hear Bruce Wayne say. Batman snorts. Just
the sort of thing Bruce would say. Clark would probably agree
with him too. Grimacing, Batman flings himself off the roof, fires
a line and starts his night.
Harvey Bullock has once again decided that Commissioner Gordon's
office is the coldest place in the precinct. At least one window
always seems to be open. And too often for Bullock's comfort,
a leather clad Nutjob could be found crouched there. Or suddenly
standing right next to it.
That Batman had saved his life on numerous occasions was a fact.
It was also a fact that he had saved the city, the whole world
and even little old ladies crossing the street time and again.
These facts did little to outweigh the solid concrete reality
to Bullock that he was a Leather Clad A-Number One Nutjob. The
women seemed to like it though. In fact, Montoya had confided
to him once that…well that was before. Time to get down to business.
"Crane is headed back to Arkham, again." Jim Gordon
sighs. "At least we can keep an eye on him, and get the heads
up when he escapes."
The Nutjob in the window only nods his head.
"We haven't had any success trying to weed out information
on the Scarecrow's backers. All we know is that they have access
to a lot of money, sophisticated technology, and are very good
at covering their trail. "
Bullock clears his throat. "It's as if some guys in big overcoats
come up to Crane and go, 'here take this stuff and go kill some
people. Have a nice day!' Then they beam themselves up to the
mothership."
The black cloud that hangs over Nutjob grows blacker somehow.
"In other, less dramatic news, gang activity is up on the
west side," Gordon continues. "Drug trafficking is down
around the docks. And you have another admirer."
Nutjob raises an eyebrow. How does he do that in a mask, Harvey
wonders?
Gordon enjoys himself. "It seems word on the street is Little
Tony Paquizzo has put a two million dollar reward for your head
delivered to him on a silver platter. Only one and a half million
if it's in a box." Little Tony was a sick, sick man.
"I thought I'd be worth more to him after shutting down his
crystal meth factory last week." The expression on the Nutjob's
face would have some men running for cover. Bullock recognized
it as Batman's weak excuse for a smile. Come to think of it, Batman
smiling would send some men running for cover. Lousy Freak Nutjob.
Gordon is all business again. "I need you to take a look
at the Abernathy file. It's a missing persons, possible murder,
case, and we need a new angle on it." Nutjob takes the file,
then it disappears into his own personal shadows.
"Other than that, it's a pretty quiet night. Me and the Commish
should be able to handle it." Bullock says, turning to spit
out yet another toothpick into the trash.
"There's no such thing as a quiet night…"
Harvey Bullock glares at the empty window where Batman had been.
Lousy Leather Loving Freak Nutjob.
Paf!
The grappling line connects with the flagpole with a practiced
ease as Batman swings through the night. He doesn't want to think.
He wants to clear his mind, lose himself in the night air, in
the "flight" of the bat.
He doesn't want his thoughts to return to how easily Crane had
manipulated him.
Paf! Clink! Whoosh!
He doesn't want to think that his enemies, after all these years,
might know him as well as he knows them. That they might have
an edge over him.
Paf! Clink! Whoosh!
He doesn't want his thoughts to flash to Jason Todd
(he was a good soldier)
and his torn body and the Joker's laughter.
Paf!
The Batman had missed the ledge. This was troubling to him on
a variety of levels. First it was annoying, especially in the
light of a few other missed throws in the recent past. Second,
he was sixty feet in the air at the height of his last swing,
and would be headed down very fast very soon. Thirdly, and most
important, he hated to miss.
Batman grabbed his backup grappler and fired it off while the
other rewound. He stopped his fall by gracelessly smacking the
side of the building. It did not improve his mood. What was wrong
with him? Wallowing in self-pity, that was his problem. He was
letting his problems get to him; they were distracting him, giving
him these blasted headaches.
Standing on top of the roof, Batman focused his mind, returned
to his center, his steel and barbed wire wrapped version of calm.
A flicker of light caught his attention. A brief swipe of faint
yellow light from the window of a closed factory. He was in motion
and preparing with a whirl of his cape.
Batman marveled at the stupidity of some jewelers. He assumed
they must be new in town. Why else would they have stored a crate
of precious stones, necklaces, and other pretty baubles in a warehouse,
in Gotham City? And they even marked the crate "fragile,
handle with care." They almost deserved to get robbed. Almost.
The token security guard was an unmoving heap on the floor. Gotham
Security Workers had unionized in the last few years. They had
asked for a large increase in base pay, plus hazard pay for any
job after dark. Batman smiled, they also had an awesome dental
package, courtesy of Mr. Bruce Wayne, the largest backer of the
GSW union. It looked like this guy would need it.
Eight goons for one crate of goods. Two lookouts, neither of which
were looking anywhere near him. One guy barking orders and telling
them to be quiet. That left five guys to lift it onto the truck.
The Dark Knight's grinned turned cold. This would be too easy.
Leaping through the skylight, Batman prepared to work off some
tension.
Alfred turned at the sound of the Batcycle rumbling in. Batman
leaped from the seat, looking refreshed.
"A quiet night, sir?"
"There's no such thing as a quiet night, Alfred. You should
know that by now."
"Ah. A night more along the lines of an NYPD Blue episode?"
Alfred quipped; taking the cowl that had just been tossed casually
to the floor.
"Hopefully without Dennis Franz's naked butt. That I can
live without." Tim Drake descended the long staircase from
the Mansion. "Now that babe from "The Practice",
that's another story."
Alfred arched an eyebrow. "You've been spending time with
Superboy again, haven't you?"
Tim looked guilty and a little frustrated. "Well, Impulse
was really the one who pointed it out the other…"
Batman rescued his protégé. "Here. Take a look
at this file from Gordon. Do you notice anything?"
Robin poured over the reports.
Alfred handed Batman a plate of sandwiches. "Headache again,
Master Bruce?"
"No, I'm fine." Batman growled as he munched on a sandwich
and turned to the massive computer screens.
"Of course you are, sir. That's why you have vigorously rubbed
your eyes twice since you came in here and the exact same reason
you are squinting at the screen now."
Batman looked startled. What's more, he stopped squinting.
"I wasn't squin…"
"Of course you weren't, sir."
"I'm just letting my feelings get the best of me," Batman
rehearsed. "That's why I have these headaches. And if I was
squinting, it's because you have some of the lights off in the
cave."
Robin looked up. "No, it's just as dark and brooding as it
ever is in here."
Batman glowered. "Notice anything about that case?"
Robin, recovering from the impact of Batman's gaze, cleared his
throat. "Just the fact that even though the gardener is the
main suspect and everyone has an alibi, I think the father did
it."
Batman relaxed a fraction of a bit. "Why?"
"Well, the gardener went on Jenny Jones to expose his secret
crush on the victim. She shot him down in front of America. Add
to that his list of priors and the police found his Alcoholics
Anonymous pin smashed up beside a bottle of Ripple at the crime
scene, I'd sure point the finger at him. But it's too obvious.
The family had been in financial trouble for quite awhile, and
the Father had taken out a fresh life insurance policy a few months
ago. Now only a few weeks after the disappearance the family wants
to declare the girl dead and they are making plans to "get
away from it all" in Paraguay? No way."
Batman smiles. "I'm betting that's Gordon's take as well.
He wants us to poke some holes in those alibis. Hit the computer;
see what you can dig up. Keep me informed. I'm going back out."
Batman grabs his cowl and heads towards the Batcycle.
"Master Bruce, sir?"
Batman pauses. "Yes, Alfred?"
"Perhaps you should let Leslie Tompkins take a look at you,
sir. Just in case it's more than rampant emotion."
Bruce Wayne looks back at his faithful friend. "I'll see
her before the morning," he says. Then Batman seals his helmet
and roars out into the night.
The night was pretty quiet. Compared to other nights at least,
Batman thought. No giant bombs in the shape of teddy bears, zeppelin
full of nerve gas, nor another attempt to do something sinister
to the water supply.
Only your average crime, ruining the lives of only one or two
people at a time, instead of hundreds. Just as deadly, just as
hurtful. Batman remembered another "quiet night," a
night that started so wonderfully and ended in a pool of popcorn,
pearls and blood.
A muffled scream broke the nightly ritual of ripping old wounds
open. In the alley below, Johnny "lizard lips" Jordan
was going for the gold.
Johnny had hit upon hard times since the Jokers gang had been
busted up, then Scarecrow's, then Riddler's, then Joker's again,
then…he lost count. The point was he was used to being hit and
smashed by Batman. When you are in a group of goons dressed as
something stupid, Batman hits you really hard one time, then you
get to lie down till the cops take you away. Alone, trying to
snatch a ladies purse and jewelry, Batman keeps hitting you until
you really are unconscious. For the third time tonight, Johnny
wished for the good old days.
Batman crouched in the treetop, ignoring the cold air and colder
winds, focused on his target, waiting for the right moment. It
occurred to him that he had been ignoring the cold for a long
time now. His knees reminded him that he had remained motionless,
completely invisible to prying eyes for quite awhile too. And
his head hurt. And his eyes ached from staring through the mini-binoculars.
To Batman, complaints liked this always seemed to have Bruce Wayne's
voice. Bruce annoyed him. He wished he would go away. Batman kept
him around as a useful tool, and for a bit of nostalgia. That
was being too honest, time to concentrate on the case at hand.
Batman waited outside of a plush mansion. The uniformed policeman
sat in his squad car; the plainclothes detective was down the
street in his SUV. Both were there at Gordon's request. This was
the Abernathy Compound, the "victims" of a recent kidnapping.
The Father kept looking out the window to make sure that the decoy
cop in the squad car wasn't paying attention. He never saw the
detective down the street, the one he should've been watching.
No one spotted Batman in the tree on the front lawn.
From there Batman could see most of the rooms in the front of
the house. The "concerned" family was gleefully tossing
back martini's, drinks with little umbrella's and Zima. Batman
quietly took pictures. A laser beam pointing at various windows
listened in on the conversations. Nothing interesting yet, only
discussions on how much to pack, and whether sunscreen with spf
15 was really better then spf 30.
"I've got it!" Robin's voice crackled in Batman's ear.
"Mr. Abernathy has been avoiding his home telephone, thinking
it's bugged. Not a paranoid action in and of itself, since his
phone really is bugged. But he's been using his cell phone thinking
it's safer. He needs to watch 20/20 more, they just had a story
on how easy it is to listen in on…"
"The point, Robin?" Batman quit rubbing his eyes. Again.
"Mr. Abernathy has his daughter stashed at a Motel on the
other side of town. They will rendezvous in Paraguay in a few
days, after they have the payout on the life insurance. I have
the whole thing recorded. Do you want me to send it to Gordon?
Please say, 'yes,' because I already did."
"Good work. Make sure Gordon knows where she is. He can handle
it from here."
"Consider it done."
"And then go home. You have a test this morning in school.
Things are quiet in the city tonight, get some rest."
"I thought there was no such thing as a quiet night!"
Robin quipped, then quickly hung up. Batman smiled/grimaced.
"Time to bite the bullet and go see her," Bruce told
him.
Batman sighed. He hated it when Bruce was right.
"I don't often get referrals from Leslie Tompkins. She is
a fine looking woman though. We went out once." Dr. David
stopped the exam for a minute, obviously well down memory lane.
"Uh, Doc? Can we concentrate on me for a second?" Bruce
Wayne asked. "It's still pretty early for me."
"Ah yes, the famous Mr. Wayne and his late night partying.
Sorry to get you up at the crack of noon," the doctor joked.
Batman was tired of him already.
"It's good work if you can find it!" Bruce joked right
back. "So, how are my eyes?"
Dr. David paused. "Well, Bruce, time catches up with all
of us. And it's perfectly normal for a man your age, especially
nowadays with everybody staring at computer screens all of the
time."
"What are you saying?" Batman asked.
The Doctor looked startled. "Mr. Wayne, there's nothing to
get upset at. Your eyes are getting weaker. It happens to all
of us. But with corrective glasses or contacts, you'll be fine!"
"But, isn't there anything you can do? Shoot lasers in my
eyes, something?" Bruce asked. Batman wanted to grab him
and shake him.
"Mr. Wayne, Bruce, there is nothing to be done. Your are
getting older. It happens to everybody. This is your prescription.
It should get rid of your headaches. It's not the end of the world.
Trust me."
Bruce Wayne pulled the corners of his mouth up into what he hoped
looked like a smile. "Thanks Doc. I appreciate all of the
help." Batman resisted the impulse to dangle the good doctor
out of the window.
Walking out of the office, Bruce managed to fumble his coat off
of the rack and head towards the door.
"Oh, Mr. Wayne, if you see Leslie again, tell her Peter says
hello!"
Slam!
Next Issue: The spotlight shifts to Gotham's most dishevled detective,
Harvey Bulloch.
|
