Batman: Revenge - Chapter three

Batman: Revenge

Chapter 3

No more than three minutes and ten miles had passed, when his cell phone alerted Batman to an incoming call. After checking the phone number and name of the caller flashing on the lower left portion of his windshield. he gave the verbal command, “Answer phone," and followed that with, “Hello, Commissioner Gordon. What’s the latest?” 

“Batman, it's started already. Three thugs with green hair and white, painted faces just robbed a well-to-do family on the lower-east side of town. One unit is on the scene and backups are in route. Evidently, they roughed up the man and stole his wallet. They also took the wife’s purse, wedding ring and diamond earrings. They could be the three that were released just last week.”

“I’m on my way, commissioner. I should be there in less than 4 minutes.” Batman accessed the crime report satellite tracking map system, which pinpointed the exact location of the police unit that arrived first on the scene. In less than four minutes Batman parked the Batmobile against a curb and sprinted across the street to where the policeman questioned the shaken family. The investigating officer turned to greet the Dark Knight.

“Batman, I’m detective Hunter. We‘ve met before.”

“Good thing you got here so fast, detective," Batman replied. "You were in the area when the call came in?”

"That’s right. The victim is a Mr. Wolicek. He received a blow to the face, but he's declining medical treatment. His wife and children weren’t physically harmed.”

“May I speak to the family, detective Hunter?”

“Sure, I’ve finished my questioning. Our main concern, now,  is to see if we can cut off the escape of the suspects, if they're still in the area.” In the distance the sound of sirens rose. More than one squad car would arrive, soon.

Batman walked over to Mr. Wolicek, in the middle of consoling his frightened wife and daughters. “Now, girls, everything is okay. Look, Batman is here.” The man, whose right cheek appeared red and swollen, turned and extended his hand to shake, “Hello Batman, I’m Brad Wolicek. This is my wife, Amanda and my two daughters, Brittany and Belinda.”

“Well,” said Batman, “I'm glad to see you ladies are all okay.”

One of the two Wolicek girls looked to be between 8 and 10 years old, the other, between 12 or 13. The eldest spoke first. “There were three goons, Batman! They jumped my Dad when we passed that building, over there. They had white faces and green hair, just like the Joker. They said they worked for him and would spray us with bad chemicals if Dad didn’t give them his money. Two of them held him and the third one belted my Dad right in the face!”

Then the younger girl chimed in, “Yeah, right in the face! Dad woulda beat the crap out of ‘em if they hadn’t taken us by surprise! He works out, you know! He even knows Karate!”

Batman turned to Mr. Wolicek and said, “Sir, I’m sure you already gave a description to detective Hunter, but if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to think for just a moment. Did the thieves say or do anything that seemed odd, or out of place. Did they say anything that might give us a clue as to where they were going?”

“Now that you mention it, as they ran off, in that direction,” he pointed south, “one of them said something like, they should send the grave robbers a thank you note, because everyone's too scared to put up a fight. I'd have fought them, Batman, but not with them holding that can of hairspray and pointing it at my wife. I couldn’t take the chance.”

Batman nodded. “Do you remember the brand of hairspray? Did you mention that to detective Hunter?”

“The can had been painted green and white, so I couldn’t identify the brand of hairspray. I really don't know what it contained. They just called it lethal.”

Two blocks south, as Wolicek finished his sentence, three patrol cars came roaring around the corner; lights flashing and sirens whooping and wailing. They screeched to a halt in the middle of the street and six policemen jumped out to search for the muggers.

“Thanks again Mr. Wolicek and,” Batman turned and faced Mrs. Wolicek and her two daughters. “Thank you Mrs. Wolicek and Belinda and Brittany. You were very helpful. Would you ladies please allow me to escort you back to your car?”

They accepted his offer and said they parked their car two blocks to the north, in an all-day parking garage. As they walked, Batman asked Mr. Wolicek what he and his family were doing on this side of town. Mr. Wolicek said that he owned an old apartment building, one block to the east and had come here to meet a plumber who he had contracted to do some maintenance work for several of his tenants. After that, the whole family planned to see the new Star Trek film at the Gotham Multiplex, and then they were going out for dinner. Mr. Wolicek gave Batman his business card, which read,

WOLICEK TALENT & ADVERTISING AGENCY
REACH FOR THE STARS
WITH THE PEOPLE THAT REPRESENT THE STARS
421 E. Gotham Ave, Suite 780 555-7827

Upon reaching Wolicek’s silver, four-door Jaguar, Batman politely asked, “Who do you represent? Anyone I might know?”

“Wolicek smiled. “Sure, Val Kilmer and George Clooney are our two best known names. We have others who you would recognize if you saw them.”

Batman bid them all a good day, turned and walked quickly back to the Batmobile. As he walked, he heard the two girls arguing, “I’m Batgirl and I’m helping Batman find the crooks!”

“No you’re not, I’m Batgirl, and you are a crook, and I’m taking you to jail!”

“You are not!”

“Am too!”

“Are not!”

“Am too!”

“Are not!”

“MOM...!”

As he reached the Batmobile, Batman gave the verbal command, “Open.” The cowling slid forward. With his cape gathered about him, he prepared to hop in, but stopped when he heard gunfire. He whirled about to see detective Hunter several blocks to the south, firing at a figure on the top of a three-story warehouse.

Evidently, the police had cornered the thieves who mugged the Wolicek family. One of the criminals panicked and opened fire on one of the officers. They were trying to make it to the fire escape that lead down the side of the faded, red brick wall. Hunter prevented them from being able to reach that ladder.

Batman briefly considered using the Bat-Grappler. Fired into a wall, it could pull Batman up the side of a building, via a special, high-strength nylon cord, to the point he needed to reach. In this case, however, the crumbling condition of the aging building’s exterior gave Batman reason to believe that the Bat Grappler should be left on his belt and a more conventional means of climbing the wall would have to be utilized.

Batman yelled, “Detective Hunter, cover me while I go up the fire escape!” He didn’t wait for Hunter’s answer as he sprinted back across the road to the side of the warehouse, leaped on top of a trash can and then to the bottom rung of the fire escape ladder. He vaulted upwards and climbed quickly while Hunter laid down a protective line of fire near the top the warehouse. Other shots rang out from above as a fierce battle ensued with the thugs on the roof.

Batman climbed over the edge in a flash and came up behind one of the three. They were cornered and squatting down behind a storage bin. As Batman grabbed the nearest hoodlum, the other two turned and realized their situation had gone from bad to worse, with Batman on one side and the police on the other.

The Dark Knight held the squirming criminal in a vise grip and warned the others to lay down their guns while they were still alive and able to do so. Rather than laying their guns down, they opened fire on Batman. Their aim was good. They would have hit him right in the chest had their accomplice not been in front of the caped crusader. He took three slugs as Batman stood behind him. The thief fell in a limp heap. At the same time one of the remaining two was struck by police fire and fell forward on his face, leaving just one frightened thug. Batman called to the police to hold their fire and again ordered the criminal to lay down his weapon. This time his command was obeyed.

The quivering felon began to beg. “We only stole a wallet, a purse and some jewelry. We didn’t want to kill anybody! I wasn‘t the one who started shooting. Eddie shot first. He was a two time loser and said he wouldn't go back again.” He sobbed.

“I guess he was right. He isn‘t going back to jail.” Batman’s voice turned cold and demanding. “Who are you working for?”

“Working for? Man, we aren’t working for anybody. We just thought people would throw us their money if they thought we were the Joker’s gang! We saw on TV where his body had been robbed and we just thought they would throw us their money, man! Easy pickin‘s you know? They were just supposed to be scared enough to throw us their money!”

“Yeah,” said one of the officers, “well, now you’re going to be thrown in jail, after you receive a fair trial of course; and your friends are dead. You have the right to remain silent; I‘m sure your buddies will. Anything that you say can and will be held against . . .”

Batman headed back over the edge of the building, down the fire escape and vaulted to the street with his black cape fluttering. He hit the ground and gazed northward in the direction where he left the Wolicek family. He was glad to find the Jaguar was nowhere to be seen. He thought about how the key to this quick apprehension had been cellular communications. Cellular phones were so common now that any victim, in any location, would likely notify police immediately of a crime.

These criminals weren't the sharpest knives in the drawer and had failed to take that into consideration as they loitered nearby, counting their loot. When detective Hunter arrived less than 4 minutes after the mugging and then Batman and the other policemen arrived within 4 or 5 more minutes, the celebration over their “easy pickin’s” ended abruptly and panic set in.

Of course, the new age of communications used by those intent on breaking the law gave them abilities that they did not have until recently, which meant crime fighters now had to be smarter than ever and had to stay up with the latest advancements in weapons, communications and surveillance. Batman had no trouble staying up with the technology side of crime fighting, in fact it was likely that no person, group, or country had anything that he didn't have or knew about.

The only problem Batman had these days was time creeping up on him. He was thirty-two when he fought the Joker, but that was fourteen years and four major surgeries ago. In 1990 he had recovered from surgery on a torn anterior cruciate ligament in his left leg, injured while chasing a burglar across a field and catching his foot in a rabbit hole. Then he tore a rotator cuff in his right shoulder during a rough parachute landing in 1995, which also required surgery. In 1998, he broke his left hand while using the Bat Grappler and fell 10 stories to what could have been the end of his crime fighting career, if not his life. The surgeon said it was touch and go, but after intense rehabilitation, the full strength in that hand finally returned. His most recent injury was a gunshot wound to his right thigh in 2001. Although a small caliber weapon had been used, extensive muscular damage had occurred, which again landed him in the operating room.

He used to laugh at Alfred when he said his bones were predicting a storm, or that a cold front approached. Now he understood how Alfred felt. Through the use of Ibuprofen and a rigorous stretching and exercise routine each day, followed by deep tissue massages and whirlpool baths, he had maintained his agility and stamina, for the most part. But, there were moments when he knew time was beginning to drag him down. He didn’t so much mind being dragged down, but he didn’t relish the idea of having to grow old alone. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to share his wealth with him after he. . . retired?

He had never even thought of it before. But just now, he had! For the first time he actually thought about coming to the end of his days as Batman and simply living as Bruce Wayne.

Once again in the Batmobile, Batman headed for the home of Dr. Melvin Slaughter in hopes of gaining additional insight into the strange aspects of the coroner’s report on the Joker’s body from 13 years ago. On the way, he called back to Wayne Manor.

Richards answered on the second ring. “Yes, Master Wayne? How may I be of service?”

“Ah, Richards, would you add a Brad Wolicek to the guest list for the upcoming benefit ball? I’m sending a copy of his business address. Please see to it that he receives an invitation and include his wife, Amanda. Have we got the roulette wheels and blackjack tables?”

“Yes sir, Master Wayne. We have also secured Brian Setzer and the artist formerly known as Prince, now known as Prince, again, for the evening’s musical entertainment. Quinn Catering submitted their menu suggestions earlier this week. Have you looked them over? They requested that we advise them of any revisions by at least one week before the event, which means we should have responded by last Friday. Halloween is almost upon us, sir.”

Batman chuckled as he replied, “We've always managed to offend someone with what we serve and do at these benefits, but they seem to get over it when it comes time for the Wayne Foundation to write checks to their favorite causes. Just make sure there is plenty of everything. We want people to know we feel good about the economy and are optimistic about the chances of a cure for diabetes in the not too distant future. If we’re cheap then they will be, too. The American Diabetes Association deserves our full and enthusiastic support. By the way, I'm considering going as Spiderman this year. What do you think, Richards?”

“Richards knew his employer was having some fun and answered by saying, “That would be a bit of a stretch for you wouldn’t it sir? Masquerading as a super hero? Rather unbelievable if you ask me.”

“Must be the kid in me,” Batman said. “Guess I’ll never grow up. Thanks for your efforts Richards, let‘s make this the best benefit we’ve ever put on!”

“You can count on me sir. Is there anything in particular that you would like for dinner tonight? And along those lines, at what time would you anticipate arriving?”

“How about some of that jerk chicken we had yesterday, cut up in a salad with cucumbers, onions, tomatoes, mango, mandarin oranges and pineapple. The strawberry vinaigrette dressing would go well with that, but let me put it on when I get there, please. Oh yes, have a half loaf of French bread ready to pop into the oven and Paradise tropical decaf iced tea to drink. I should be in by around nine.”

“Very good sir, drive safely and have a productive day. Good bye.” Richards was a very good employee, but nobody could replace the void left by Alfred’s death. No time to dwell on that, Batman sighed, he had arrived at the home of Dr. Melvin Slaughter.

Batman pulled into the short driveway and hopped out of the Batmobile. Walking up to the front door of the two-story, gray brick townhouse he wondered what kind of reception he would get. Sometimes people were virtually scared to death to be visited by Batman. Other times, although less often, they acted as if it were their next-door neighbor dropping by to chat. Batman rang the doorbell and waited.

This amounted to one of those times when passers by would sometimes stop and look in awe-stricken disbelief at the caped figure. They would gawk and point, and every once in a while a brave soul would approach him. They would usually start out by asking if he were really Batman. Years ago he would always say yes, but now he sometimes gave in to the temptation of saying “No, I’m a singing telegram birthday entertainer. They wanted someone to dress up like Batman. How does my costume look?”

The door opened, and a tall, slender, man with a dramatically receding hairline and a graying beard stood in the doorway. He squinted, looking intently at Batman as if trying to decide if this was the real McCoy or an impersonator.

Batman spoke up, “Would you be Dr. Melvin Slaughter?”

Slaughter answered in a naturally hoarse voice, saying, “Yes, and I know who you are, Batman. What brings you here, a case that you're currently working on?”

“Yes, sir. May I come in for few minutes, Dr. Slaughter?” Batman inquired. "I'm in need of your expertise on a case I’m investigating, but it's  not a current case. It’s from fourteen years ago. It‘s about your report on the body of the Joker.”

Dr. Slaughter nodded and beckoned the Dark Knight inside. “Please, be seated Batman, I had wondered if you would ever inquire about that unusual report. Let me tell you this, I stand by what I wrote. It was the strangest thing I have ever experienced, and believe me, I have seen some pretty bizarre things during my years as county coroner. I'm due to retire in just six months and I could write a book that would put Stephen King to shame.”

“If you need an agent to represent you, I just met a fellow by the name of Brad Wolicek who seems to have some pretty well known clients and seems to be a pretty nice guy,” Batman suggested. Now, about that report Dr. Slaughter, is there anything that you did not initially write into it, that you have considered worthy of mention in the ensuing years?”

“Most definitely,” came the reply. “On the third day after Mr. Napier fell to his death, we turned the body over to the mortician for Eternal Rest Cemetery. It was the last time that I saw the body, and without question the contusions and the bruising of the skin were healing, or at least were not as noticeable as when he was first brought in. The ribs, chest cavity and lungs had been totally crushed when I first examined him, but as he was leaving, I heard the mortician say they would need to crush and drain the lungs right away, because he was beginning to fill up with air and fluid. Those lungs were flattened when I first examined him. There shouldn't have been a need to do that again.”

“Anything else?” asked Batman, as he stood up.

“Yes, one other thing. He smelled funny, as if he had already been filled with formaldehyde or some kind of a preservative. I took some tissue samples and found that they were saturated with some kind of chemical preservative - not one with which I am familiar. I do know this, though. The toxicity levels that I measured would've killed any man long before he fell from that helicopter. I don’t understand how he could have been alive when you were fighting him in the bell tower at the top of the old Gotham Cathedral church. Did he show symptoms of having been poisoned? Was he having trouble breathing?”

“On the contrary, Doctor.” Batman replied. “He seemed much stronger than your average man. I would imagine those tissue samples have been disposed of long ago?”

“No, they're still in my lab, in cold storage, although let me assure you that they don't need to be kept frozen. Those samples simply won't decompose.
They’re as fresh as they were fourteen years ago. Cellular activity has never ceased, although it doesn’t resemble the normal activity of living tissues. Now you tell me, how can that be?”

“I don’t know, doctor. But I'd very much like to have one of those samples for testing. Could that be arranged?”

“Yes, of course. If you'd like to come by tomorrow morning I’ll be glad to give you one. I get in the office around seven.”

“Thanks very much, doctor. I know you must be curious as to why I’ve developed an interest in this case again after all of these years. Well, I just don’t like loose ends. When Napier’s grave was robbed I went through some old files and ran across your report. You never know, after studying those samples we may find that whatever is preserving that tissue may benefit all of mankind in some way.”

The doctor shook his head affirmatively, “Wouldn’t that be spectacular, the Joker accidentally leaving something for us that might be used, or remembered, in a positive way? I always felt that those samples might come in handy someday.”

Batman put out a gloved hand for the doctor to shake, and as he started to leave, asked, “Do you, by any chance, know Bruce Wayne?”

“The richest man in Gotham City? Not socially, but yes, I have met him,” answered the doctor. “Why?”

“The annual Wayne Foundation Halloween Costume benefit is coming up next week. This year the charity is the American Diabetes Association. It’s a most worthy cause. I hope you’re able to go and make a contribution. If you haven’t received an invitation call Bruce and tell him I recommended you. He’ll be glad to see you there. Have a nice evening, doctor.”

As Batman walked out, two young boys were riding by on their bicycles and saw the Batmobile. The first of the two riders came to a dead stop to better inspect the vehicle. The second never noticed that the first had stopped because the beautiful machine parked in the driveway commanded his full attention. The clatter of bicycles tumbling was the next sound heard, along with the surprised cries of the boys who found themselves on the pavement looking up into the face of a very amused crime fighter.

“Oh my gosh, it’s him!” cried a skinny, sandy haired boy who couldn’t have been older than ten. The other boy, about the same age, with black hair and more than a little overweight, was too shocked to speak. His mouth kept moving, trying to get words out, but he wasn’t able to make a sound. perhaps the old myth that Batman drank blood filled his mind as he waited for this crime fighting monster to speak, or attack.

“Would you boys like to take a closer look at the Batmobile?” asked Batman.

They stared at each other in wide-eyed disbelief for another five seconds before the sandy haired one spoke up. “Yes, sir, could we touch it?”

“I think I could allow that. Would you like to sit in it, as well?”

Their eyes got big again and they were once again unable to speak until the chubby, black haired boy said, “Wow!” They ran towards the unique vehicle as if they were dying of thirst and it was an oasis in the desert. They put their noses up to the bulletproof glass and peered into the cockpit.

“Look at all the cool stuff!” said the skinny kid.

Batman walked up behind them and uttered the verbal command for the canopy to open. It slid forward with a soft mechanical whirring noise. Batman reached around the waist of the portly youngster and with a grunt hoisted him over the side and into the passenger seat. He then proceeded around to the sandy haired boy and lifted him over the side, depositing him behind the wheel. Once again they were both overcome and just stared at each other. Then in unison they said, “Wow!”

Soon they found the ability to speak again and began firing questions at the caped crusader.

“How fast will it go?”

“Which switch is for the rockets?”

“Have you ever crashed it?”

“Is it bullet proof?”

“Can you call all of our friends and tell them we’re in your car?”

Batman said no, he wasn’t going to call all of their friends, which obviously disappointed both of them. “But I can take a picture of you, so that you can show them,” he said.

“All right!” they both exclaimed, as Batman reached behind the passenger seat and grabbed a digital camera.

“Smile,” he said. The flash illuminated their beaming faces. He pulled out the memory stick, inserted it into the dashboard of the Batmobile and pressed a button when the picture appeared on the 15-inch screen that slid up from the console. In another 20 seconds the two glossy, 5 by 7 inch photos were ready. Batman signed both pictures with the inscription “To my fellow crime fighter,” and then asked their names. The chubby, black haired boy was named Oscar. The skinny, sandy haired youngster was Kenny. They looked at the autographed pictures as if they were more valuable than gold.

Batman helped them out of the Batmobile, told them to be careful going home, and then climbed in. He started the engine, gunning it a couple of times to the delight of Kenny and Oscar, and drove slowly until he exited the neighborhood.

As he drove he asked himself why he had been so nice. Children usually made him feel uncomfortable. Where was his old dark side? Would he become, as he aged, something like a department store Santa? Drop the kids off with jolly old Batman while you shop at Macy’s?

Under the dark mask he scowled, but when he thought about how cute the two Wolicek girls were, he smiled again. Briefly, he wondered why he considered them to be anything other than loud, obnoxious, time-consuming nuisances. Before Alfred’s death he would almost certainly have felt that way, but now he even went so far as to consider what it would be like to have a family. Strangely, the idea appealed to him at that moment.

Batman: Revenge - Chapter Four  (18+) A Visit to Arkham Asylum #1467997 by George R. Lasher

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