Batman: Revenge Chapters 19 - 23

                                                                     

Chapter 19

        As usual, Bruce got up before the sun rose over the lake. He forced  himself to leave Vicki’s side and headed for the bathroom. As he brushed his teeth he thought about having a steak for breakfast and then decided against it because he felt a little discomfort recently when biting down on one of his lower left molars - the one with the crown. He didn’t like going to the dentist, or, to be truthful, he almost preferred knee surgery. He knew the pain could be an indication of the need for a root canal. Just the words, root canal, made him flinch.
      Doing his best to encourage false hope, he reminded himself that the pain wasn’t constant, but he admitted that could be due to the fact that he took 800 milligrams of ibuprofen, twice daily to keep the inflammation in his oft-injured knee from flaring up. Well, he thought, with the problems I’m likely to run into over the next day or two, I might get lucky and get the tooth knocked out. On second thought, I‘ll be lucky if that‘s all that happens to me.
      He reached up and pushed the power button on the small, Sony, flat-screen television mounted above, and slightly to the right, of the sink where he shaved. Sid Lancer, the dapper, mustachioed, channel 6 morning weatherman, dressed in an orange blazer and clown’s makeup in honor of Halloween, predicted evening thunderstorms for the Gotham City area, to be followed by much colder weather over the next couple of days. A chance of snow was mentioned for Saturday, the day of the Commissioner’s funeral. 
    Temperatures tonight were expected to drop into the upper twenties with a high tomorrow near forty. Bruce turned on the hot water and prepared to shave while he continued to listen to the morning news. “A little early for snow,” he mumbled, while he splashed hot water on his face. As he reached for the shaving cream the news announcer said something about a missing female police officer named Wilkinson and then Bruce caught the name of Captain Benjamin Archer. That got his attention.
      “...was pronounced dead upon arrival, at Gotham Memorial Hospital last night. The veteran of over forty years on the force, considered a front runner among the candidates to replace the late, James W. Gordon as Police Commissioner, suffered a seizure or attack of some kind while visiting the Arkham Asylum on official police business. Word is expected as soon as today from the county coroner’s office as to the actual cause of death.           
      Meanwhile, funeral services for Gordon will be held at ten Saturday morning at the old Eternal Rest Cemetery, near downtown. In other news, the annual Wayne Manor Benefit is tonight, with the proceeds going towards the American Diabetes Association.” A picture of Wayne Manor appeared on the screen as the newscaster continued, “Celebrities from all over the nation have been arriving in Gotham City for the event, which will feature entertainment by The Brian Setzer Orchestra and Prince.”

~      ~      ~

     
      At the abandoned City of Tomorrow, amusement park, the Joker spoke back to the TV announcer, “Brian Setzer and Prince? Bruce is going all out this year! I may have to delay our planned interruption until after Prince’s performance. I like that boy’s music, but as soon as he’s through, Boom!” He fired his derringer into the TV set to punctuate his intentions. The resulting noise summoned Harley, who peered through the half opened door. Through the smoke, she saw sparks and a small fire and knew exactly what happened.
    “Goddamnit!” she shouted, “That’s the second plasma TV that you’ve destroyed in a week!” Storming in with her hands on her hips she yelled, "Those things were over $15,000.00 each! From now on you get TV’s from Wal-Mart with unrecognizable Japanese names. I can go down there right now and buy a dozen. You can just line them up against the wall and use them for target practice! God Damn you son-of-a-mother-…” She stormed out, uttering an impressive string of obscenities.
      The Joker shrugged his shoulders, sat down, picked up the clown mask he would wear later that evening and spoke to it. “Geez, I’m glad I didn’t tell her she looks fat in her costume. I could’ve been in some real trouble!”
                                                 

  ~      ~      ~

   
      Bruce finished shaving and held his razor under the stream of hot water before shaking it and placing it back in the drawer where he kept it, along with his brush, comb, tweezers, nose hair trimmer, finger nail clippers and Q-tips. He pushed his intercom button to alert Andre to his breakfast order. “I’m eating good today, Andre. I believe I’ll have some melon, bacon, eggs and biscuits, and fresh squeezed orange juice. Make sure everyone has a good breakfast. Hopefully we won’t need a lot of reserve energy tonight, but if we do need it I want to be sure we have it."
      He decided not to shower until he had had a chance to work out in the weight room with Dick and Barbara. It wasn’t easy to force yourself to exercise alone day after day. It would be nice to have a little company in the weight room for a change.
      He walked out of the bathroom and crossed the floor, back to the bed where Vicki lay, curled up. He stood there for a moment watching her sleep, so thankful that she was here and that he was lucky enough to be the man she loved. He bent over, kissed her on the cheek and said, “Time to wake up, sleepyhead. Andre is making a big breakfast for everyone.”
      Vicki turned her head towards him, stretched and without ever opening her eyes, mumbled, “You go have enough breakfast for both of us. I’ll stay here and sleep enough for both of us, okay?” She pulled the covers back up over her head, intent on sleeping a little longer.

~      ~      ~

     
      Wearing a pink, terry cloth robe and pig slippers with cute little pig snouts, Barbara arrived first at the breakfast table. She grabbed a couple of golden biscuits and split them open. She began to butter the halves as Andre walked in and greeted her.
      “Good morning mademoiselle, I trust you slept well?”
    “Very well, Andre, thank you. Could you fix a cheese and mushroom omelet for me this morning?”
    “Eet would be my pleasure,” Andre answered, as he set a large plate filled with bacon onto the table, “Would you like some fresh fruit, or perhaps some juice, while you wait?”
    “No,” Barbara yawned, “not this morning, thanks, but I‘ll take some coffee.” Andre poured her a nice, hot cup, which she immediately took a sip of and said, “Ummm, that’s good.”
      Dick walked in next, wearing a gray T-shirt and red leisure shorts. He resisted the temptation to say something about Barbara’s slippers and her being the first pig to the trough. His jaw still ached and his head was still sore from last night’s shenanigans. He was glad he was in such good shape because Barbara had chased him for a good twenty minutes before she began to tire. If she had caught him while she was still angry, and not too winded, she would have been a formidable foe, especially considering he really couldn‘t throw punches in return. He had hit women before, but only when they were criminals intent on doing him, or innocent citizens, harm.
      “Coffee for you, zis morning, Mr. Grayson?” Andre asked.
      “Yes, please,” Dick answered, “and I would love a breakfast steak with eggs, if it’s on the menu. Make that steak medium well, please.” Andre said he had a petite, bacon wrapped filet that would be just perfect, and that he would get right to work on it. Dick reached across the table to grab a piece of bacon, but before he could reach it Barbara took the whole plate and placed three or four strips on her own plate before returning the bacon to the center of the table. Dick looked at her, shocked, and said, “Isn’t that cannibalism?”
      Barbara grabbed a biscuit off her plate and fired it at Dick, who caught it in midair, right in front of his face. He began buttering one of the halves and
casually said, “Morning Barbara, how are you doing?”
      “Just fine Dick. How’s the head?”
      “Hurts a little,” he answered, “but I deserved it.”
      “Want some jam?” Barbara asked, as she held out the jar of Smucker’s seedless blackberry jam. Dick took it and slathered a generous amount onto his biscuit.
        Bruce and Vicki came in together, wearing matching robes. The one she wore obviously belonged to Bruce. Under it she had on a black, Star Trek nightshirt. “I’m glad I have these socks on my feet,” she said, “or I’d be freezing.”
      Bruce looked alert and upbeat, while Vicki’s hair was a mess. She looked like she had just woke up. Andre poured coffee for both of them, which Vicki grabbed immediately, and set a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice down in front of Bruce.
      Vicki asked for eggs, bacon and toast. “Do you have any seven grain bread for the toast?” she asked. Andre assured her that he did. A second chef had joined Andre in the kitchen now in an effort to expedite the serving of breakfast and to begin final preparations for the benefit, which although it was being catered was still being closely watched by the Wayne Manor staff for the purpose of quality control as well as for added security measures.
        Bruce asked Barbara how she slept and she replied, “Like a Log.”
        Bruce turned and looked across the table to Dick, and asked, “How’s the jaw?”
        Dick replied by waving his hand in the air, as if dismissing the subject and saying they had already covered that. Barbara quickly corrected him, saying “No, Dick, I asked earlier how your head was. Is your jaw still hurting too?”
        Dick nodded and said, “Yeah, it hurts a little, too, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
        Barbara smiled, a smug little smile that showed she was politely enjoying Dick’s discomfort. She added, “I have some Tylenol in my purse, if you need some.”
      After breakfast, Bruce asked everyone to join him at the large formal dining table. It was all Dick could do to repress the urge to make an oinking noise when Barbara brought one last biscuit with her to the big table. A large blueprint of Wayne Manor was rolled out on the long table that plainly showed all levels of the house and the underground areas.
      Bruce began by saying, “First of all, I want to thank you Barbara, and Dick, for coming in to help us out, and to be at the Commissioner’s funeral tomorrow.”
    Dick interrupted Bruce, asking “Hey, where’s the commissioner’s daughter and her husband?” Bruce reminded Dick that it wasn’t even six thirty in the morning yet and he figured Elizabeth and Jim were probably still asleep. “They were supposed to go out to some steak house with Warden Borg last night, but I saw something on the news this morning that may have messed that up for them. Captain Archer died last night. He became ill at Arkham Asylum, so it’s possible that Borg would have been tied up with that event, but I can‘t be sure. Richards might know. I guess he would have been the one to let them in last night. I’ll find out later, I suppose. Now I want everyone to notice that these blueprints have been color coded to denote each individuals designated area.
      Barbara, your area is the gold colored area, here,” he pointed, “you will be stationed in the cave. We can‘t have anyone getting down there. You’ll also be responsible for guarding the access to the marina down below and the floor above, which is of course where the exercise, wardrobe and weapons areas are.
      My area is colored blue, as you see here. Since I have to be greeting the guests, I’ll be responsible for the main entry area and the ballroom. Vicki, your job is to stay as close to me as possible. If Dick or Barbara need help and I have to leave, then go stay in the kitchen with Andre.”
    Vicki raised one eyebrow and asked, “How have I been doing over the past four days? Close enough for you?”
      Bruce cleared his throat and looked around the room at the amused faces of his friends, before saying with a little smirk, “For the most part, yes.”
      Andre raised a large two pronged fork and reiterated the fact that he would skewer anyone who so much as looked suspicious. “Do not worry, Master Wayne,” he said, “Andre will defend your future wife!” He said “En guard,” and made several fencing moves with the fork. He looked like he knew how to use that skewer.
      “Andre, your area is colored white, in honor of your spotless kitchen, and of course you will be in charge of the kitchen and the back door, as we discussed last night. You must also keep an eye on the elevator door that leads from the kitchen down to the lower levels. If anyone so much as tries to enter the elevator you let us know right away. And Dick you have the green area, which is the casino, second, and third floor. We have motion sensors in all unauthorized areas that will immediately activate our pocket alarms. If you, Barbara, are patrolling in the cave and your alarm indicates an intruder in the wardrobe area, then Dick will also join you ASAP and I will cover both the main area and the upstairs. If Dick gets a signal that the second or third floors have an unauthorized entry, then Barbara, you should stay in your area. Don’t leave your area under any circumstance. I'll give Dick some help if he needs it."
    Dick asked, “What about the FBI and local police?”
    “They have their own agenda,” Bruce replied, “and we have ours. Hopefully, we won’t require their assistance and they won’t need ours. I hope you understand the potential severity of our situation. There is a virtually immortal lunatic on the loose, who is, no doubt, intent on doing harm to all of us and possibly our guests this evening. We have to be prepared for practically anything. I know I can count on all of you to do your best. I need to be at the county morgue this morning to see Dr. Slaughter, so let‘s get moving. I need to find out what killed Captain Archer.”
    Barbara popped the last bite of the biscuit she had brought from the kitchen into her mouth and smiled at Dick, daring him to say something derogatory. Dick smiled back and surprised Barbara by saying, “Hey, it really is good to see you again. I wish you and your husband would come to Chicago for a day or two to do some boating or play some golf, or whatever. Once we get past this competition thing we have, we usually have a pretty good time together, you know.”
    Barbara stood up as the meeting began to break up and said, “Dick, you’re the one with the competition thing and frankly I don‘t know why. You’re obviously in better shape than I am. You’re bigger, stronger and faster. The only areas in which I can say that I am your equal, or superior, are intelligence and maturity. But you’re right, when we aren’t fighting we have a great time together and I’ll try to find some time to come see you in Chicago. Maybe we can get over there this spring.” She gave him a hug and headed off to have the last minute alterations done on her Batgirl costume.
                                                                  ~      ~      ~
      At the City of Tomorrow, the rising sun cast an orange glow onto the clouds, which formed an eerie backdrop for the dark, twisted, skeletons of the abandoned thrill rides. Their rusted, bent, and broken, metal and wooden bones drooped and jutted out at all kinds of odd angles. Cracked and faded vinyl seats in multi colored passenger compartments that once carried screaming, laughing, patrons of the park were now home to families of possums, skunks, cats, stray dogs, rats, raccoons and squirrels.
      Across the street from the park’s entrance this morning were two vehicles, a  black, four door, 1994 Chevy Impala SS, with overly wide Goodyear tires, which belonged to Marty “Race” Mitchell and a silver, 2002, four door, Mercedes  S 55, which belonged to Carl Grissom, Jr. The 1994 Chevy, which had been heavily modified for speed and handling would be used in the “job” tonight at Wayne Manor. “Race” was fond of saying it was fast enough to qualify at Daytona if he were given 48 hours to tweak a few minor details.
    Harley sounded excited as she puffed on a cigarette and exclaimed, “They won’t be expecting us to come up from the marina, below!” The whole gang was there in the park manager’s office making sure they had all the details just right. “They will probably have someone in the cave or patrolling in one of the lower levels of the house, but they will be expecting us to work our way down from above, rather than working our way up from below! We’ll have already placed the explosives in the cave by the time they realize we’re there. For those of you working in Wayne Manor, once you have the C-4 in it’s position leave the house through the back door. If anyone asks where you are going, tell them you’re bringing in more shrimp from the van. Just put the C-4 where it needs to be and get out. Don’t wait. If you want to spend the rest of your life in jail then wait all the time you want, but if you’d rather be spending time on the Riviera, spending the money from this little job, then get your ass out of there! The first four out of the house ride with “Race” in the black Impala. Remember, he‘s never been caught, that‘s why he‘s working for us!”
      “Race raised his hand for emphasis, gave the thumbs-up sign and added “That’s right, I’ve never been caught, on or off the track! No arrests, no convictions, not so much as a parking ticket!”
    Cody Turner laughed and said, “You must have been on the turtle circuit, because I never heard your name listed as a winner at any NASCAR event. I doubt that you ever so much as qualified. C‘mon, you were just a water boy in the pits, weren‘t you? Or were you just one of the drunk, sunburned rednecks in the stands?”
    “Race was stunned. He was every bit of six feet four inches tall, and weighed somewhere around 285. How could this sawed off little shrimp say something like that right here in front of everybody? Turner was no more than Five and a half feet tall, if that, and right now he was about to be killed. “Race” launched himself across the table and grabbed Cody by the arm of his jacket as he twisted to try to get out of the way. Turner pulled himself free of the jacket, picked up a metal folding chair and slammed it down on “Race.” Race was out cold, draped across the table, still holding the jacket as Cody raised the chair again and was about to bring it crashing down a second time when the Joker stepped in and said, “I think it would be a good idea if we leave “Race” with the ability to drive and see straight for tonight, don‘t you agree Cody? This isn‘t the WWF, you know.” “Race” moaned and began to come around as the Joker said, “Harley, get some bandages or something for Speedy's head, would you?”
    Panting, Turner stood, holding the chair high above him, considering the consequences of letting “Race” have it one more time. Then he put the chair down and looked around. The rest of the crew broke into applause.
    Carl Grissom, Jr. laughed and asked “Who wants to go get some breakfast?”
                                                             

  ~      ~      ~

    The universal weight machine clanked loudly, as Bruce finished his last set of bench presses and let the weight drop. Dick whistled at the 400 pound load and said, “Not bad for an old fart.”
    On the other side of the machine Barbara sat up and wiped the sweat from her face as she recovered from her set of leg curls. “Remind me why I’m doing this,” she asked.
    “So the tailor won’t have to put a curly tail on your costume,” came the reply on the other side of the machine, from Dick.
    Barbara jumped up, shouting, “That’s it!” as Bruce shook his head, and said “Oh, no, here we go again.” A chase commenced, around the exercise equipment and then up the spiral staircase that lead to the main floor of Wayne Manor, while Dick laughed and Barbara screamed at him. They disappeared from sight, scrambling up the stairs at a dead run.
      Dick knew he was in trouble this time. He had to make it out the back door, to the sprawling grounds, where he could use his speed and conditioning to once again put some distance between him and this dangerous, overly sensitive, female. If he stayed inside the mansion, as big as it was, she could potentially cut him off in a smaller room and then Katy bar the door! As he reached the top of the stairs, he could hear her huffing and puffing, but still very close behind. He made a bee-line for the kitchen, stretching his arms out in front of him as he neared his goal, to shove the back door open. There was just one thing wrong with his plan this morning, the back door was locked. He crashed into it and collapsed, knocked senseless by the collision.  Barbara’s fury had pushed her way past the point of being able to control her anger this time. She saw Dick go down as he crashed into the door, but rather than backing off, she prepared to deliver a kick to his butt that would really teach him a lesson. His ass was going to be bruised for a long time.
      As she brought her right leg forward she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye, which was big and white. It smashed into her right side and knocked her to the floor. She looked up in amazement, wondering what the hell it could have been. It was Andre. He looked down at her, his tall white chef’s hat cocked at a crazy angle over the side of his face. With sincere concern on his face he wagged his finger at her, saying, “No, no, no. You cannot do thees in my kitchen. Somebody could be hurt. You must go outside eef you weesh to play rough.”
    The doorbell gonged at exactly eight o’clock as the companies contracted to perform services pertaining to the benefit began to arrive. Gotham Gardening, hired to assist the Wayne Manor staff with last minute landscaping & decoration of the grounds was the first to arrive. Richards, who had been up since five making sure he had everything in order, handed a map of the grounds that pinpointed each required task to the owner of the landscaping company, Hikaru Yamaguchi. Yamaguchi bowed in the traditional Japanese manner, and looked the list over with a critical eye.
    “This not what we discussed,” he said, “this more than what we talk about, more work than what you pay for. Check not cover this. You pay three hundred more, or we go. Pay now. Go get check.” He waived Richards away as if he were shooing away a fly.
    Richards smiled and bowed as he pulled a small digital recorder from his jacket’s inner breast pocket. He held it up for Mr. Yamaguchi to see and pressed a button marked “play.” What followed was a recording of the original conversation between Richards and Yamaguchi when the landscaping services were being discussed. Each item was discussed in detail, including how much was to be paid for each task. A final figure, which included materials and labor, was clearly agreed upon. Richards smiled again and hit the “stop” button. He politely asked, “Isn’t the amount that the check is made out for the very same as what we agreed upon?”
    Yamaguchi was not smiling. He pointed at Richards and said, “You no say you record. You dishonor me. Why you record? You make me rook bad!”
    Most people would have blasted Yamaguchi, but the thought never entered Richards mind. He bowed again and apologized. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Yamaguchi. I did not intend to dishonor you in any way. I am not as young as I used to be and frequently have trouble remembering things. Recording business conversations is a way for me to be sure I have said and done exactly what I intended to do. I hope you will forgive an old man for this. Now, if you don’t mind, I believe you have a great deal of work to do and I see another gentleman walking up behind you whom, I believe, would like to have a word with me. Please let me know if I may be of further assistance.”
    Yamaguchi bowed stiffly, turned and began walking back up the driveway to his truck where his landscaping crew awaited. As he approached his truck, he saw a young, black man, dressed in a black suit and dark glasses coming towards him. As he passed the young man, he said, “Rooks rike party start now. Nice costume. You Will Smith, right? Men in Brack, very funny!”
    Not Will Smith, the man in black frowned and turned his head slightly towards Yamaguchi, but did not respond and continued past him towards Richards. As he reached the door, he removed a thin leather identification packet, flipped it open, revealing a badge, closed it again and said, “I’m agent Cobbs, F.B.I., are you the butler?”
    Richards sighed and said, “I am in charge of the staff here at Wayne Manor, sir. You may refer to me as a manservant, butler, or whatever you prefer, but may I trouble you to show me your credentials again? I just don’t see as well as I once did. I mean no disrespect, but I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that one can’t be too careful these days.”
    Cobbs impatiently reached into his jacket pocket once again and handed the slim leather I. D. packet to Richards, who slowly and carefully examined the badge and the legal identification, complete with photo and thumbprint.
      As he handed the badge back, satisfied that it seemed to be genuine, Richards said, “All seems to be in order here, Master Cobbs. How may we be of service?”
    Cobbs stuck the I.D. back into his jacket and replied, “I’ve been ordered to do a preparatory search of Wayne Manor, pursuant to determining primary observation and defense positions within the residence. We need to be familiar with the layout of the structure from a strategic point of view in case of trouble this evening.”
    Richards nodded and said, “I believe that is an excellent idea, sir. If you would be so kind as to wait for just a moment, I will return to give you a guided tour and will answer any questions you might have. I need to make sure that someone is stationed at the front door to handle the arriving contractors for the benefit this evening.” Richards didn’t give the agent time to reply as he shut the front door in his face and walked briskly back to the kitchen. Muttering to himself, “I should have done this earlier,” he pushed a button activating a sliding panel which closed off and completely hid the elevator entrance. The panel perfectly matched the rest of the kitchen walls.
      After asking Andre to watch the front door while he conducted a tour for agent Cobbs he pushed another button, which activated the closing off of the spiral staircase that lead down, from the main floor to the secret areas of Wayne Manor. A large panel, matching the hardwood floors slid out, and locked into place, completely covering the existence of the stairs below. Richards opened a closet door, and threw down a large, expensive looking, round Persian rug to cover any imperfections in the alignment of the floor’s wood grain. That done, he returned to the front door, apologizing profusely to agent Cobbs for the time he had been away. “I got tied up on the phone momentarily and couldn’t find anyone to watch the front door until Andre, here, kindly volunteered to help out. Andre please buzz me if there are any emergencies.” Andre smiled at Cobbs, who nodded, curtly, in return.
    With that Richards began the tour, while below, in the Bat cave, flashing red lights alerted Bruce, Barbara and Dick that both the elevator and spiral staircase had been closed off. This meant the only useable exit for the time would be from the cave entrance that the Batmobile used, which was exactly the way they had been planning to leave.  Dick, now decked out in his sleek, midnight blue Nightwing costume, had been promised that he could drive the Batmobile and was “hot” to do so.
      Barbara wanted to ride one of the Batcycles, which were currently, for security purposes during the benefit, being kept down here, away from the potentially prying eyes of the public and press. Barbara’s Batgirl costume had only required minor alterations  and even Dick had been impressed with how good she looked in it.  Bruce winced as Dick said, “Kermit would be jealous Ms. Piggie!” Barbara reached out to grab Dick, but he spun away and took one very fast step, face first, right into the Batpole. Barbara just fell over laughing, as Dick looked up from the floor, his right cheek was swollen from his collision with the locked kitchen door earlier that morning, and now his left cheek was reddened, as well.
    Barbara, who was still laughing, actually helped him up and suggested, “You should get some ice on that cheek right away or people are going to think you‘re Chipmunk Man!” She added, “Bruce, at the rate these inanimate objects are beating him up, you might want to rethink allowing him to drive the Batmobile. Don’t you have a bicycle with training wheels, or a tricycle for him to drive?”
    “Barbara,” Dick called out weakly, rubbing his newly injured cheek.
    “Yes, Dick?” she replied.
    “Could I have that Tylenol, now?”
      A chaotic morning at Wayne Manor, the members of the Brian Setzer orchestra milled about the kitchen, bothering Andre and his staff, looking for something to eat. Then Prince demanded to speak to Bruce, who of course was not at home, about whether Wayne Manor might be for sale.
    Excitedly wrapping his arms about himself, Prince remarked, “I could do so much with this place. It‘s so cold, dark and mysterious.” During the tour of the mansion that Richards dutifully conducted for both bands, Prince threw a fit when he saw the large stage, which had been lavishly decorated in the ballroom for the Brian Setzer orchestra. He threatened to take his equipment and leave unless additional decorations were devoted to the area where he would perform. Setzer splashed gasoline on the growing fire when he poked a finger into Prince’s chest and told him to simmer down. Quite naturally, the opposite occurred. Voices began to rise, but before the whole thing escalated into a brawl between the bands and their leaders, Richards artfully steered Prince to a quiet area and agreed to erect additional accoutrements in the vicinity of the casino’s stage and promised to arrange a private meeting with Master Wayne so that Prince could inform the owner of his interest in purchasing Wayne Manor. Richards knew that Bruce had no intention of selling, but for now it was a way of getting Prince’s mind off of the perceived snub of his band. Richards added how grateful he was to Prince, for generously allowing them the opportunity to address the obvious oversight in the decorating of the Casino stage. Prince regained his composure and shook Richards’ hand saying, “Well, after all, it is all for a good cause now, isn’t it?”
    Not accustomed to sitting in the passenger seat of the Batmobile, Batman looked nervously into the side view mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of Batgirl motoring behind them on one of the Batcycles as Nightwing slid the vehicle sideways at over 75 miles per hour, turning onto the road that would take them to the freeway. Dick was in heaven as he shouted out, “Woooowheeee, this baby sure handles, and the acceleration is fantastic! This is much faster than the old Batmobile!” Batman watched helplessly as the speedometer moved upwards past 130, then 140.
    “Errr, could we keep it under a hundred-fifty, please,” Batman asked, “I have kind of an agreement with the local gendarmes. I won’t do over one-fifty unless it’s a life-or-death emergency.”
    With the speedometer right at one-fifty, Nightwing shouted, “I feel an emergency coming on!” He slammed his foot down on the pedal and Batgirl disappeared behind them as the speed reached 185, yet the lack of wind noise and stability of the vehicle remained the same as if they were in a passenger car doing seventy. Finally, just before Batman was going to say something, Nightwing eased off on the gas pedal and brought the speed back down to a modest ninety. In the rear view mirror Batgirl appeared once again,  bent as far forward and as low as possible, reducing the amount of wind resistance and reaching the maximum speed possible for this particular cycle, which was one hundred and thirty miles per hour. As she pulled up alongside the Batmobile she straightened up on the cycle and hit the com button to speak to the occupants of the Batmobile.
    “Hey, where’s the fire you guys? What are you trying to prove?” she asked.
    “Sorry. Didn’t mean to leave you like that,” Nightwing answered, “but I just had to see what this baby could do. Know what I mean?”
    “Yeah, I guess,” Batgirl shot back, “I was doing one thirty and you just left me like I was standing still! Let‘s trade!”
    Nightwing turned to Batman and asked, “Do I have to? You know what they say about female drivers and remember, she‘s blonde!”
    “Yes, you have to,” Batman answered, “and what’s more, you get to ride with her. I’ll take the Batcycle. Pull over.” 
    Nightwing hit the com button on the dash and said, “We’re pulling over here, but Batman said he wouldn’t stay in the car with a blonde, female driver, so he’s taking the cycle!”
      Somewhat annoyed, Batman punched the com button again and said, “That’s not true, Batgirl, Nightwing is full of hot air, I never said any such thing! But I am taking the cycle. I figured you’d enjoy taking Nightwing for a ride.”
    When they all came to a stop Batgirl jumped off the Batcycle, while Batman and Nightwing stepped out of the Batmobile. Batman proceeded to the Batcycle, while Nightwing went around to the passenger side of the Batmobile and stepped back in. Batgirl hopped into the driver’s seat and grinned at Nightwing; the kind of grin that said, I’m gonna have some fun and while I’m at it I’m gonna make you sweat!
    Batman straddled the Batcycle and hit the com button as the Batmobile canopy began to close. “Batgirl, you take it easy, now. We still have a big evening ahead.”
    Batgirl said, “Roger, big guy, no problemo,” and slammed her foot down on the throttle. The blue flame from the turbo jet engine coursed from the exhaust vent as the Batmobile rocketed away. Batman shook his head, twisted the throttle and took off after them in a vain attempt to stay close. Over the intercom Batman heard Nightwing screaming, “He said not to do over 150 and you’re doing nearly 200! We’re getting too close to the city! Slow down, there’s a car, slow down! I’m too young to die!”
    This was followed closely by Batgirl laughing and saying, “No you’re not!”
    After the relative quiet of the Batmobile’s cockpit and the feeling that you were never traveling as fast as you actually were, the Batcycle was quite a contrast. As the white lines of the road became a white blur beneath him, Batman was glad he had had the presence of mind to remove his cape before he got on. The last thing he needed right now was the turbulence and pull of that cape as he tore down the road at, my God, 120 miles per hour! How did he get up to 120 that quickly? And, if he was going 120 and had lost sight of the Batmobile, then how fast were they really going? He mashed the com button and said, “All right you guys,  where are you?”
    Batgirl's voice came back, “We’re already at the county morgue waiting for you, slowpoke. The tone of her voice was thick with sarcasm as she asked, “Do you think you can make it here by lunch?”
    Batman pulled up beside the Batmobile less than three minutes later and pushed the button that activated the electrical, anti theft device, which would deliver a mild shock to anyone touching the cycle without the proper vocal frequency patterns. If someone were wearing an insulated suit and gloves they would still have to contend with the wheels and steering locking up until an authorized voice gave the proper command. As Batman took his cape out of the small luggage compartment and reattached it, he noticed Batgirl and Nightwing leaning against the wall of the building, trying to look as if they had been there for hours.
    “Don’t give me that,” Batman said, “You barely had time to make it to that wall before I pulled up.”
      They both followed him up the steps and into the building. As they entered the elevator that would take them up to Dr. Slaughter’s office, Batgirl looked at
Nightwing and asked, “Feeling better? You were looking a little green there for a few minutes. It would have been a shame if you’d  barfed on the Batmobile‘s floormats.”
    As the elevator door opened Batman led the trio down the hall, past the amazed stares of those that worked in the building. They had seen Batman before, from time to time, but had never seen Nightwing and it had been several years since Batgirl had been seen in Gotham City. The door to Dr. Slaughter’s office was open and he was at his desk going over the toxicology report from the lab. He looked up and saw the caped crusader and his companions.
    “Please, come in Batman,” he put the report down and motioned with his hand for them to enter. “I’m Dr. Melvin Slaughter,” he said, as he rose from his desk and extended his hand for Batgirl to shake before Batman had a chance to introduce either of his companions. “You must be Batgirl. I’ve seen you on TV, but I’ve never before had the pleasure of meeting you in person. May I say how much I appreciate the work you have done here in Gotham City, but where have you been recently?”
    Batgirl shook the doctor’s hand and smiled. “Oh, I’ve been busy, rest assured of that, Doctor. I’ve just been busy doing something else, but I wanted to help Batman while this Joker issue is taking place.” She turned and pointed to Nightwing, “If you are familiar with the latest news out of Chicago, then you may already be familiar with this fellow.”
    Dr. Slaughter extended his hand again and said, “I have close friends in Chicago. They’ve mentioned you several times and I’ve seen you on CNN, as well. Are you here for the same reasons as Batgirl?”
    Nightwing replied, “I’m just here to lend a hand if needed. It’s a pleasure to meet you Dr. Slaughter.”
    The Doctor asked them all to be seated and then said, “We have a second death due to a very lethal poison. The same poison killed Captain Archer, last night, that had been used to kill Commissioner Gordon. The difference in this case is that this time the poison was not ingested, but rather entered the body through the skin. This may not have been a planned murder. It is altogether possible that the victim intended to use this poison in someone’s food or drink and accidentally got the poison on himself in the process.  The coyote population in Wyoming and a few other northwestern states had at one time gotten so bad that this poison was used to kill them off in great numbers. Just one tiny droplet on the skin is enough to kill an animal or a human, but this stuff was outlawed due to the potential of water contamination or cross contamination by birds or other animals eating the flesh of the poisoned victims. If a poisoned animal fell into a small stream, other animals drinking near there, downstream, could also be killed. After all the research that’s been done, and the potential legal problems connected with this chemical, I can‘t imagine where you would find anyone who would be making, storing, or selling this lethal toxin. My God, what a horrible way to die.”
    A shocking possibility crossed Batman's mind and he asked, “What if a small amount were flushed down a drain, could the city’s water supply be poisoned?
    Dr. Slaughter considered the question for a moment and replied, “It would depend on what you consider to be a small portion, Batman. A very small amount, such as could be carried in a small vial, or bottle, would not be a major threat, but as much as several gallons could indeed pose a real threat. Do you feel we might have a reason to suspect such an amount may already be in our sewer system? Should I alert the proper authorities?”
    Batman looked down at the floor, tapped his gloved fingers on the desk for a moment and said, “No, not yet anyway. I think  this was a case of someone trying to kill someone else before they could finish some important research, but let’s keep a close eye on emergency room reports over the next day or two so that we can act quickly if we see any suspicious deaths being reported. You’ve been a great deal of help to us over the past few days, Dr. Slaughter, thanks again.” Batman gratefully shook hands with the doctor, followed by Nightwing and Batgirl. Then all three turned to leave.
    “Oh, Batman,” the doctor called out, just before the trio of crime fighters reached the door.
    Batman turned and asked, “Yes, Dr. Slaughter, what is it?”
    “I’ll be at the Wayne Foundation Benefit tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever is behind all of this is there tonight. I’m sure you’ve considered that possibility. Do you think it will be safe to go?”
    “Well, I think there will be about fifteen or more FBI agents in attendance, not to mention our local police force and, of course the three of us will be keeping an eye on things, so I think you can feel safe in coming tonight.  Do you have a costume picked out?” Batman asked.
    “As a matter of fact,” the doctor puffed his chest out and proclaimed, “I will be going as a fireman. I’m borrowing the uniform and helmet of a friend who works as a firefighter and I can’t think of a more heroic figure to portray.”
    “You’ll get no argument from me on that point,” Batman agreed. “I hope you have a wonderful evening.” With that he turned and headed out the door behind Batgirl and Nightwing. Walking down the hallway Batman said, “We have a lot of people counting on us tonight.”
    Nightwing and Batgirl both agreed heartily and as they entered the elevator to go back down to the main floor NIGHTWING added, “I don’t feel good about Batgirl being downstairs tonight, let me switch with her.”
    Batgirl’s eyes widened noticeably. Surprised by the comment, she raised a hand to object and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, Batman asked, “Why, what makes you think she should be upstairs?”
        “I’m not sure," Nightwing answered. I guess it’s because if there is trouble down there, it would take us longer to get to her than it would take to get upstairs, especially with the stairs and elevator shut down.”
      Batgirl seemed touched, and said, “Why, Nightwing, how sweet, but you really don’t have to worry about me. Besides, the only way anyone could get to me tonight is to climb the sheer cliff that leads up from the marina, and that‘s a hell of a climb. I’ll be bored stiff while you boys are up there listening to Brian Setzer and Prince.”
    Nightwing said, “Let’s hope you’re right,” as the elevator doors opened and they exited into the main hallway that would take them back outside. Along with the customary stares from everyone they passed, a good old-fashioned wolf whistle, which obviously pleased BATGIRL and had her grinning, was heard clearly behind them just before they pushed through the revolving door. As they all emerged into the bright sunshine outside she nudged NIGHTWING in the ribs and said, “See?”
      Nightwing knew better, but just couldn‘t stop himself as he said, “That wolf must have thought he saw one of the three little pigs!” He took off and ran down the steps to the Batmobile, which refused to open, awaiting either the click of the remote key, which was still in Batgirl’s possession, or a properly authorized voice to activate the opening of the canopy. He looked helplessly at Batman, who stood on the steps laughing, as Batgirl came slowly, deliberately down the steps after him. “Help me Batman, please,” Nightwing begged. “At least throw me the keys to the Batcycle!”
    “I’ll tell you what, Nightwing,” Batman replied, still standing at the top of the stairs with his hands on his hips, “I think you should ride back with Batgirl in the Batmobile. I know how you love speed, so Batgirl, be sure you give him a nice ride. Make it fast and furious, if you know what I mean, but safe too.”
    “Oh no," Nightwing begged. "Please, please don’t make me ride back with her! That’s not fair. Once was enough! She‘s liable to hit the eject button while we‘re doing two hundred!”
    Batgirl clicked the remote access key and the Batmobile’s canopy slid back. She smiled a wicked smile at Nightwing, and said, “Sir, your chariot awaits you.” She climbed in and patted the seat next to her. “C’mon, don‘t be afraid,” she said, “It’ll be fun!” She giggled and turned the ignition, pressed down on the accelerator and gunned the powerful engine a couple of times while Nightwing climbed in, over the edge, as reluctant as a man on his way to the gallows. He clicked his seatbelt and looked at Batgirl. “I’m really sorry, really, really I am.” She had never seen him more sincere.

                                     

BATMAN: REVENGE

                                                                 

Chapter 20

      Inside the glistening white Quinn Coffee and Catering shop at the corner of Reagan and Rockefeller, everything was ready by noon. The “Closed for Today Only,” sign Emille had posted at the front door had kept the number of interruptions from regular patrons to a minimum. He had overseen the preparation of the entire menu and had made sure that the presentation of the hors d’oeuvres would be as spectacular as their flavor. Bruce Segelski was getting hungry and was looking over the selection, but was not finding anything to his liking. He wrinkled his nose, “No pigs in a blanket? The Czech people call them sausage kolaches, but they have another name for it too, that my grandmother use to use; Oh, what was it?” Straining to recall the name he raised his hands to either side of his head and pressed with his fingertips on his temples. Hey I remember! I think it was something like, klovasnicki! you know, the little weenies inside a baby croissant. You can use Bisquick to make them, too.” He looked up, and Emille was staring at him with evident disgust.
    “You do not serve weenies to deegnitaries and celebrities, you imbecile! Next, I suppose you’ll be asking me where zee cheeps and onion dip are! Who sent you to help? Where ees Harley?”
    Undaunted by Emille’s displeasure, Bruce answered, “Lawrence and I were sent here by the Boss. He said for us to help out in any way possible and judging from the stuff I see here, you could have used some help in figuring out what to serve.” He pointed at some  fresh brie and asked, “Is that some kind of cheese? Where’s the cheddar? You should’a fixed some Velveeta and Rotel tomatoes. Everybody likes that and it‘s less expensive than all of this crap.”
    Lawrence came walking up at that time, made an awful face, and said, “Oh, no, tell me that’s not what I’m seeing. You’re going to serve them salty fish eggs, oh excuse me, Emille, I mean caviar. That stuff wouldn’t even taste good with ketchup on it and ketchup can usually fix anything! Thank God there’s no escargot! Well, it’s a good thing your buddy Sammy ain’t here to see this, it would have killed him. He used to say you could cook, you know.”
    Emille looked up to the sky and screamed, “Sacre Bleau, you are keeling me! Get out of my sight you fools. Do not speak zat way about Beluga Caviar! Go find a Seven Eleven, why don’t you and choke on a nasty hot dog!”
    “Hey, that’s not a bad idea,” said Bruce. “C’mon Lawrence, I’ll buy you a dog and a Coke and then we can knock down some Ding Dongs for dessert.”
    “Yeah, Bruce,” Lawrence agreed, “We know what good food is!”
      “Hey wait for us,” Cody Turner yelled, as he and his girlfriend Tina trotted towards Bruce and Lawrence, “They won’t let us touch the shrimp or the pastry and we can’t eat this other crap.” 
    They all walked off together, as Emille cursed a blue streak and waived his arms about in total frustration, making stabbing motions in the air. He yelled out to them, as they were about to turn the corner. “You eediots, don’t you know what zey use een making American hot dogs? Zey are feelthy! How can you eat zat feelth? Do you hear me?” They didn’t, they had turned the corner and could already taste the mustard and pickle relish.
    Andy “Sparky” Anderson tapped Emille on the shoulder, interrupting the chef’s thoughts of disgusting, insect infested, pig and cow lips, intestines and genitalia being ground up and used in the creation of a treat enjoyed by millions of people every day.
    Emille turned and asked, “What ees eet Sparky?”
    “Everything is finished. The detonators have all been connected and The C-4 is all tightly wrapped in plastic. We buried it in the bottom of the ice chests as you suggested. There’s no way a bomb sniffing dog could detect this stuff. Man, there’s plenty of shrimp packed in those chests and those suckers are huge! Can’t we all have a shrimp cocktail before we go? I’m gettin’ kinda hungry!”
    Emille turned and looked back at the corner around which Turner, Johnson, Bruce and Lawrence had disappeared. He nodded his head in approval and said, “Eet would be a fair punishment for zose buffoons to miss out on zee finest shreemp cocktails possible while zey are dining on zose nasty hot dogs, eh? Why not? Go get Race, Boom, Jamal and Cave Man and has anyone seen Harley? We will enjoy ourselves and zen tell zem all about eet when zey geet back.” Emille walked back inside the bakery and told his employees that his friends were going to have a little lunch before they go out to Wayne Manor. He asked them to slice up one of the chocolate marble cheesecakes for dessert and to prepare a fresh pot of the rich, Hawaiian coffee.
    A black stretch limo drove up as Emille walked back outside. Harley stepped out, followed by the Joker. He had put on flesh colored makeup to disguise his easily recognizable white face and wore an orange, Gotham Gargoyles baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes, and sunglasses to further hide his face. He had gone so far as to wear brown Italian driving gloves to cover his hands and a wig to cover his green hair, which would certainly attract attention, especially if he were seen by one of the local boys in blue. His shimmering green silk shirt contrasted impressively with the expensively tailored gold colored slacks he wore as he strode confidently up to where Emille stood.
    “Boss, you look great,” Emille exclaimed, gaping at the transformation.
    “Thanks Emille,” the Joker replied, “but I didn’t come here to get your opinion on how I look today. I came here to make sure everything is moving smoothly and going as we have planned. I hope I don’t need to remind you I’ve waited over 14 years for this day to arrive. Please tell me we are running on time.”
    “We are,” Emille assured, “as a matter of fact, all preparations have been feenished and we were going to celebrate zee moment with a shreemp cocktail, some fine french bread, fresh and hot out of zee oven, and some of my incomparable cheesecake. Eet may be quite a while before some of us have zee opportunity to eat again and we want to be sure no one ees weakened, or at less zan zeir best because of hunger, especially our climbers. Would you care to join us monsieur?” Emille walked to a table on the patio, covered by a red and green umbrella and pulled out a chair, inviting the Joker to sit.
    The Joker turned to Harley and politely inquired, “My dear, would you be inclined to dine at this time with these hooligans, or would you prefer to eat somewhere else?”
    Harley smiled and said, “Kind sir, methinks I would very much enjoy a fresh, jumbo shrimp cocktail and a piece of cheesecake. And, by the way, you do look simply smashing in that outfit.”
      The Joker looked up at the sky and complained, “Why do people waste my time telling me what I already know?” Harley and Emille looked at each other and shook their heads, speaking no words, but nonetheless communicating they both felt they were in the presence of the most vain individual on the planet. The Joker sat down, looked around and said, “What does a man have to do to get waited on around here?”
    At Wayne Manor sound checks were in progress for the Brian Setzer Orchestra. Richards stood next to a man everyone called “Zing,” who was in charge of balancing the volumes and making each instrument sound the way it should. “The science of acoustics is an art all to itself,” he said to Richards. Someone on the stage picked up a bass guitar and began playing it loudly. “Take a bass guitar, for instance, if the proper techniques aren’t used, it just comes through sounding indistinct and muddy. If you don’t have enough treble, or high end, you won’t be able to hear each note clearly, but you can’t take away all of the bass, or it won’t have the punch and bottom that you need to give it that full, deep sound you expect. Each venue has its own sound personality, which presents challenges I have to overcome...”
    All of this was going over Richards head, who admittedly had a difficult time carrying a tune in a bucket. He enjoyed music, especially big band style, which Brian Setzer played a great deal of, but he didn’t bother himself with things like the science of acoustics. Still, he appreciated watching a professional at work and this man who stood at the sound console undoubtedly was a consummate professional.
    After the Brian Setzer sound check was finished Prince started up in the Casino. It was the same, somewhat irritating, sequence. Instruments, being played individually, slowly, one note at a time, then two instruments at a time and then the whole band would join in all together for a few bars. Then it would all start over again, keyboard players hitting low notes, then high notes, horn players doing their scales and drummers banging away incessantly. For Richards it became too much to bear and he sought refuge from the noise in the kitchen.
    Andre looked up from the table and said “I theenk thees is zee worst it has ever been.” Richards sat down and agreed.
    “It’s the additional security that’s driving me crazy,” Richards added.
    “Andre asked, “Would you like to know how many agents have been through my keetchen? Zey look in zee drawers, in zee refrigerator, in zee cabinets, under zee table, I theenk zey will look up my keester next! If one more agent asks me where zee back door leads, I swear I will tell zem eet leads to Hell, why don‘t you open eet and go zere!”
      Richards smiled, leaned over, and sympathetically patted Andre on the back.
    At about one thirty that afternoon the DVD intended to be used for the American Diabetes Association presentation at 10 o’clock that night was slipped into the DVD player for a quick test run. The Runco projection system lit up the eighteen feet tall, thirty two foot wide screen  and displayed a sharp, clear  image of the red ADA logo with the words, “Cure, Care and Commitment,” underneath. An announcer’s voice, none other than the popular channel 6 weatherman, Sid Lancer, boomed impressively from the speaker array on stage, wishing everyone a happy Halloween and welcoming all those in attendance to the 14th annual Wayne Manor Benefit.
      The image of Lancer appeared now, under the logo, looking a bit like the old film screen star, David Niven, with his trademark pencil thin mustache and thinning, wavy, jet black hair, combed straight back. He was encouraging everyone to have a wonderful time and to make some generous donations. The red logo faded and was replaced with an old sepia-colored photograph of a brick building with a group of people standing out front, pointing to an ADA banner over the door. Lancer stated that the association had been founded in 1940, and now conducted programs in all fifty states, as well as the District of Columbia, reaching over eight hundred communities.
      “Last year,” the channel 6 weatherman continued, “nearly thirty million dollars was appropriated to the ADA Research Programs, which support basic and clinical research aimed at preventing, treating and curing diabetes.” The screen now showed a team of white coated research scientists, hard at work, while Lancer stated, “The research programs cover everything from Islet cell biology and transplantation techniques, to studies in education and behavioral issues...”
    As the trial run of the impressive DVD presentation ended at Wayne Manor, Marty “Race” Mitchell pulled up at the Quinn Coffee and Catering shop. He gunned the finely tuned engine of his highly polished, black, Impala Super Sport, before turning the ignition off and swinging the door open. He walked up to where Harley and the Joker sat, enjoying Emille’s chocolate marble cheesecake and coffee. “I’m ready to go, sir. If this were the Daytona 500, I wouldn’t bet against this car tonight. Care to go for a little spin with me?”
    The Joker put his fork down and looked up from his cheesecake. He turned back toward Harley and asked, “What about you, Harley? You’re the one that really loves dangerous speeds. I still have some things I would like to address with our climbers, but feel free to accompany Mr. Mitchell for a little time trial if you like.” Harley got up and walked over to the Chevy, put her hand out and asked “Race” for the keys.
    “I’m sorry, Harley,” Race said, surprised and somewhat nonplussed by the request, “I don’t let anyone, other than me, drive this dragon.”
    “Well,” Harley replied, arching her eyebrows, “that’s probably a wise policy most of the time, but I feel very naughty today. I’ve been wanting to look under your hood, big guy. I want to see the size of your engine. Maybe it’s the job tonight that has me excited, but I want to do something nasty. Of course, if you wouldn‘t feel comfortable...” A twisted laugh came from behind them. The Joker was obviously delighted with the torture Harley was putting “Race” through.
    “Race” melted, as he envisioned all kinds of carnal fun with this very attractive and seductive vixen. He turned and looked at the JOKER, to make sure he wasn’t treading on dangerous ground. The last thing he needed to do was to piss off the Joker. But no, the Joker gave him a go ahead wave of the hand, a grin and a nod of approval, so he handed her the keys. She smiled suggestively, took the keys and immediately dug the edge of the ignition key right into the side of the door, raking it along the side of the car, leaving a very noticeable, long, deep scar, while the stunned owner began to tremble with rage.
    “There, now that’s nasty,” Harley said, as she admired her work and flipped the keys back to Race. She walked back to the table where the Joker sat, giggling, calmly picked up her fork and cut another bite of cheesecake. She looked up at “Race” who walked up to the table and said, “Yes, something I can do for you?”
    “How could you do that?” Race asked. The pain he felt was clearly heard in his voice and abundantly visible upon his face as he fought to retain control of his emotions.
      In a tone as cold as ice, Harley replied, “Give me the keys again and I’ll show you.”
    “Race” turned away, knowing there was nothing he could do and walked back to his car, mumbling and running a finger along the wicked gash in it’s side, while the Joker chuckled and said, “Harley, I can’t imagine what possessed you to do that. That was uncalled for and downright mean spirited. Why, it was almost as bad as something I would do. It’s the little things like this that remind me that we were meant for each other.” He glanced at his watch and exclaimed, “My, my look at the time! We need to go get changed for the party.”
      The Joker looked around and raised his voice, “As for the rest of you; this is the big one! Whatever I promised you before, you can just double it!  And Race...” Race looked up sorrowfully from his scarred side panel, “I’ll buy you two new cars, any kind you want, any price, any color. You all know your jobs, the money is itching to be transferred to the bank accounts we set up for you. Just don’t let me down tonight!” There were cheers and clapping. Even Race joined in. He had already forgotten the keying incident, trying to make up his mind as to what kinds of cars he would ask for.
    As they stepped into the waiting limo, Harley asked the JOKER, “What got into you? What’s with this burst of positive RAH-RAH leadership? Where’s the intimidation?”
    The Joker turned to Harley and replied, “Some, or maybe most of those men will be caught or killed tonight. I just want to be sure they blow up Wayne Manor and kidnap Vicki Vale as planned before they meet their demise. Oh, they still fear me, my dear, but now they will try even harder, thinking that the pot at the end of the rainbow just got bigger.”
    Harley turned and looked back through the rear window of the limo at the crew, loading the ice chests into the Quinn Catering Van. “Race” waved as they drove away. “What are you going to do for those that live? Are you going to pay them double?” she Asked.
      “I may not pay them at all, depending on how things turn out,” the Joker replied. “What are they going to do, kill me? Sammy tried that, and look at how that worked out for him.  I‘m immortal, darling, don’t forget that. Soon, you will be, as well.”

                                                   

BATMAN: REVENGE

                                                                     

Chapter 21

    Back at the City of Tomorrow, the Joker hummed a merry tune as he dressed in front of a full length mirror, admiring what he saw. His hair was still just as green and full, and his white face with the unnaturally red lips framing the widely stretched, partially frozen mouth, was the same as it had been fourteen years ago. Aging was something that Gods didn’t have to worry about. Sure, he had died when he fell into that vat of toxic chemicals, but so what? He shrugged and spoke to his reflection, “You can’t let a little thing like that hold you back,” and began to hum again. After the twenty story fall from the top of  the old Gotham Cathedral, followed by fourteen years of no food and no oxygen he was undeniably immortal and could not be killed again. But if that was true, what was this research that was being done by the loony in the Arkham Asylum? He stopped humming. A chemical reaction had made him what he was today. Was it possible that a different kind of chemical mixture could be devised to destroy him, or were the fools simply grasping at straws? Somewhere deep down in his evil mind, he knew there was a way, somehow, to stop him. What could it be? Could this “Sicko” at Arkham figure it out? Unlikely, to say the least, but one couldn’t be too careful, which was
why he had made additional arrangements this evening for another “dirty” cop to kill Edward Nygma.
    The Warden would be at the Wayne Manor Benefit tonight. As a matter of fact, the majority of the Gotham police force would be there, but thanks to the public’s constant refusal to raise taxes and upgrade the pay of their protectors, many police men and women were forced to work a second job. The long hours for little pay left public servants vulnerable to the lure of illegal off duty activity and the money it could bring. The Joker had dangled $50,000 under the nose of a young man who actually worked part time as a security guard at the Asylum to supplement his meager earnings on the force. The young man was a hard worker from a poor but honest family who longed for a better life. He dreamed of going back to college someday and becoming a rich and powerful businessman who would attract beautiful women. Women like Dr. Chase Meridian, whom he admired. He had actually asked the Dr. to go out with him, but had been turned down and although she had tried to do it nicely, he had gotten the message.
      Beautiful, intelligent women didn’t go out with losers like him. Well, Tim Bagwell wasn’t going to stay a loser forever. He would actually be doing the citizens of Gotham a favor. He believed in the motto, “Protect and Serve,” and had seen, firsthand, the beginnings of the reemergence of the Riddler. It was obvious that if somebody didn’t do something soon the Riddler would be back with an axe to grind, and Gotham City could ill afford to have another dangerous villain on the loose. Yes indeed, killing Edward Nygma is something that somebody was inevitably going to have to do, so why not get $50,000 for doing it?
    At that very moment, Edward Nygma was in the laboratory that had been set up for his research project. With a pencil he scribbled his equations onto the pages of the notebook which held the answers to the riddle he had been asked to solve. He now knew how to create the formula that would reanimate the maturation process of the cells, which previously had undergone a radical chemical infusion and refused to mature and die. The physical delivery of the liquid, in amounts that would be sufficient to stop a being made up of these mutated molecules, could be achieved by a high pressure spray from a fireman’s hose. He was certain that the formula was not harmful to normal cellular structures, based on tests he had initiated with lab mice. He got up and walked over to the sink where a little white mouse swam about in circles, in a florescent, pink liquid.
    “Still doing okay, little guy?” Edward asked. He reached down and picked the mouse up by it’s tail, holding it at eye  level. The mouse squeaked and clawed at the air as Edward watched. Behind Edward, the door to the lab opened quietly, and Tim Bagwell stepped in, unnoticed. As Edward focused his attention on the mouse, Bagwell observed the once dangerous criminal, looking for further signs of his alter ego.
    “Riddle me this,” Edward said to the mouse, and was immediately interrupted by Bagwell, who asked, “What did you say, Edward?”
    Edward spun around, still dangling the mouse by it’s tail, surprised to find someone else in the room. Tension as thick as molasses coated his voice as he said, “Hello Tim, how are you this afternoon?”
    Tim nodded and replied, “Just fine Edward, just fine. Would you mind repeating what you were said a moment ago?”
    The mouse began to squeak even louder and increased its struggling. Edward walked over to its cage, opened the door, placed the mouse inside and then closed the door. The mouse proceeded to jump up on its revolving wheel, which began to spin as it ran. Edward had an odd look on his face as he turned back to Tim, and said, “When you are not free, you fly into a rage, perform for your master, then back to your cage. The cage is not freedom, but at least you’re alone, thinking what you might do if you ever got home.”
    Tim stared Edward right in the eye, and said, “What the hell is that crap supposed to mean, Edward? Are you bucking for the title, Poet Laureate of Arkham Asylum?”
    Edward shook his head, as if coming out of a trance and replied, “I don’t exactly know Tim, I just wondered what Mr. Mouse might be thinking.”
    “If he could think, which he can’t,” Tim asserted, “He’d be thinking that you should quit swinging him around by his tail and making him swim in those chemicals. If God had intended mice to swim, he'd have given them webbed feet, or fins.”
    Edward put his hands on his hips and said, “Well nobody gave me any ducks or fish to work with. I have to make do with what I’ve got. And If I get a little too attached to my mouse and talk to it too much to suit you, then as Steve Martin would say, 'well excuuuuse me!'”
    Tim responded with, “Whatever,” and left the room, more convinced than ever that he was going to be doing the right thing when he rid the world of the Riddler, once and for all. As he walked down the hallway he went over his plan. He would do it tonight while Edward was asleep, just before the end of his shift, at ten. Edward was always the first up in the mornings, rising at five as a general rule, and was usually the first one to conk out in the evenings; never awake after nine thirty. Tim would kill Edward and then come back to the lab and take the notebook which contained his research. He was to deliver it, tomorrow, to the guy named Carl, who had contacted him and offered him the chance to make a lot of money and do the city a big favor at the same time. No, wait. It would be better if he got the notebook first, and then put it in his car. Then he could go back up to Edward’s cell as if he was doing his normal end of shift bed check. Yeah, that’s the ticket. And when he got to Edward’s cell, it looked like their was nobody in the bed, so he would open the door, and that’s when Edward would attack him, screaming that the Riddler had returned to wreak havoc on the city. Yeah, that sounds good. As soon as Edward was dead, he would sound the alarm and the other guards would come running. Man, he might even get some kind of reward from the Asylum, or a promotion. He stepped into the men’s room to take a quick leak, and as he relieved himself he imagined The Gotham Globe running a front page story about him with big headlines and a big picture. He put his “nightstick” back in his pants, zipped up his fly and walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He practiced his TV smile in front of the mirror. He had hated those braces
when he was a fourteen year old boy, but he sure had a great smile now.
      After his appearances on numerous TV and radio talk shows, he would once again ask Dr. Meridian for a date. At least now he would be able to afford a really nice car to take her somewhere and anywhere they went people would recognize him. Any restaurant they went to would probably give them a free meal! He could see it now, the manager of the establishment would welcome him and people would come up while they ate, asking for autographs. Now that would be cool! He had never signed autographs before, that would impress her, for sure. Maybe he should sit down at his desk for a while and practice signing his name, really fancy. After their date, she would invite him into her house. She would probably ask him to spend the night. She wouldn’t say no to a hero. She couldn’t possibly resist the man that saved Gotham City from the Riddler!
    At two fifteen, Richards answered the door for what seemed to be the hundredth time today and was relieved to see the Quinn catering crew had arrived. A man in a white jacket, upon which Quinn Catering was emblazoned in red embroidery, stood at the entry way and asked in a French accent, “Are you zee man een charge? I am Emille Chevre, weeth Quinn Catering. We have a lot to unload. Ees zere a back entrance, perhaps?”
    Out on the driveway, four FBI agents and two bomb sniffing dogs were going over the catering van with a fine tooth comb. “Sparky”, Cody, and Tina were all asked to step away from the van while it was being inspected. Two of the agents produced metal detecting scanners, which were moved up and down the bodies of the caterers. As Emille walked up they scanned him as well. Naturally, they were all requested to produce identification and they waited patiently while criminal background checks were run on each of them. Tina turned to Cody and said, “It’s all just like we were told it would be, it’s kind of exciting isn’t it?” Cody told her to be quiet and concentrate on doing her job.
    Moments later, one of the agents walked up and said, “Okay, you’re all cleared to enter the house. The guy named Richards said you should pull the van around to the back and bring the food and tables and whatever else you have, in through the kitchen. Just follow the driveway around back please, there will be an agent posted there named Appleby. We have told him to expect you.” He handed each one of them a tag with a clip and told them to wear it, attached to their collars or shirt pockets, for the entire time that they were on the premises,. Emille looked at his tag, which listed the date, his name and underneath it the statement, “Clearance approved,” with the FBI seal at the bottom. Emille climbed up into the van and started it, while the others piled in and sat down for the short ride to the back of the mansion. One of the agents walked up to the van just before Emille placed the transmission into drive. “Mr Chevre?” the agent asked, “be sure to let us know if you see anything out of the ordinary tonight. There is a chance that someone may try to start some trouble here tonight. If trouble is occurring, I recommend that you and your staff exit the building as quickly as possible, don’t try to apprehend the trouble maker. Have a good evening, sir.”
    Emille thanked the agent and followed the driveway around to the back of Wayne Manor, where agent Appleby waited by the back door that led into the kitchen. He approached the van as it came to a halt and asked to see each individual’s clearance tag. Everyone got out and complied with agent Appleby’s request. Once he was satisfied with what he saw, he knocked on the back door and Andre opened it, asking the crew to come in and get started.
    Emille was the first to enter. Andre extended his arm to shake hands, but Emille was looking around the cozy kitchen with a look of confusion, mixed with consternation on his face, and either did not see the extended hand or chose to ignore it as he walked by. “Surely thees ees not zee keetchen,” he said, “thees looks more like a museum, or maybe some kind of a crude storeroom zat ees used een emergencies.”
    Andre corrected Emille, saying, “No, thees ees zee keetchen. Eet was beelt een 1951, when Thomas Wayne and his wife moved in. Zey wanted a warm, cozy, place for zee family to have breakfast in zee mornings and snacks in zee evenings. Zee refrigerator and zee oven are not original to zee house, but are around 20 years old, now.
    Emille curled his lip in disapproval and said, “Whoever ees zee chef een thees house has either got a tightwad for a boss, or zey are eediots to keep such antiquated appliances.” He turned and faced Andre, and asked, “What ees eet zat you do here, monsieur, may I ask?”
    With chin up,  Andre replied, “I am zee master chef,” again he extended his hand in a gesture of welcome, although by now he wasn‘t feeling very hospitable towards this rude visitor.
    Emille shook hands with Andre this time, shook his head and said, “You poor man, I am so sorry for you. Thees ees a nightmare for you, no doubt.” As Andre began to fight to control his growing dislike for this man, Emille reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his business card and handed it to Andre. “I am always looking for unfortunate people like yourself to work at zee coffee shop. I could offer much better working conditions than what you are forced to put up weeth here. Please call me on Monday. By zee way what ees zat smell? Has something recently been burned een thees keetchen?”
    Andre replied, “Master Wayne had a leetle accident several days ago with a loaf of bread. Eet was not a major catastrophe.”
    Emille sniffed the air and again curled his lip. “Eet smells horrible, I would be so embarrassed if I were you. Eef I were zee chef here, I would have thees area fumigated and scrubbed down to get rid of zee odor. I hope thees area ees nowhere near where my tables will be set up. I would not want potential customers of my shop to think I was so incompetent I could not bake a loaf of bread. Could you please escort me to the area where we can set things up, now? We would like to geet started. Besides, I can barely stand zee odor.” He turned to Cody, Tina, and Sparky, who were standing just inside the door and said, “Hold your noses everybody and follow me through zee stinky keetchen to zee area where we will be stationed.”
    Andre’s anger grew with each step he took as he led the Quinn catering crew towards the area where the gamblers would gather for refreshments.  While Emille followed closely behind, he made a number of derogatory comments about the furniture, the artwork on the walls and the overall dreariness of the entire place. Under his breath Andre cursed the haughty leader of this group, but resisted the temptation to confront him here, inside Wayne Manor, especially when there was so much that needed to be done before the guests began to arrive. After this was over, he would speak with Master Wayne about the attitude of Emille and would see to it that they never again availed themselves of  Quinn Catering services.
    “Here we are,” Andre said as they arrived at the designated area, “you can set several tables in this area, along the wall, and...”
    “Oh good heavens, no, no, no,” Emille began to argue, “Thees weel never do! Are you crazy? Eet ees much too cramped. After seeing and smelling your keetchen I should have known not to trust where you were going to ask us to set up!”
    Andre edged closer to his boiling point as he replied, “Monsieur, thees ees where zee tables have been set up for zee past 13 annual events. Zee tables have always been here and zey are going to be here again zis year. Eef you are displeased, I am sorry, but you weel just have to do zee best you can. We have never had any complaints about zee area being too crowded.”
    Emille stomped his foot and exclaimed, “Eet ees eemposseeble! Zere ees not enough room for all zat we have brought! Where do you expect zee ice sculptures to go, eh? You think they will fit een here? I don’t theenk so! What are you trying to do to us? Thees is going to be like trying to park a bus in zee compact parking space.”
    Andre asked Emille to calm down for just a moment and said, “Mr. Chevre, only half of what you have brought ees for thees area. Zee ice sculptures are expected to go een zee grand ballroom, along weeth zee other half of zee hors d’oeuvres.”
    Emille looked surprised for a split second and then said, “All thees time you have been deleeberately playing weeth me? Making me think we weel be stuck in a leetle cracker box area? Why do you do thees to me? Please, do not waste any more of our time. Eef you have another area for us, show eet to me!”
    Andre proceeded towards the Grand Ballroom, pushing the double doors open and holding one side to allow the four members of the catering crew to enter. Andre spread his arms wide, looked around and said, “Thees should provide plenty of space for your delicacies, no?”
    Emille looked at the vast area and grudgingly said, “Thees will do.” He turned to his crew, clapped his hands together twice, and said, “Let’s geet beesy!” Then he turned back to Andre and said, “You should have told me about this additional space. Why did you not send me an e-mail or a fax, weeth zee information? That was not very professional of you. If you worked for me, I would teach you to keep your customer, or your hired help well informed, een advance.” He walked past Andre and headed back to the van with Sparky to bring in the first of the ice chests. As he reached the back door, he walked up to agent Appleby who was still at his post. “Monsieur,” he began, “We have ice sculptures being prepared that cannot be delivered until around five thees afternoon, so we will have to take zee van back to zee catering shop and zen return. We also have another employee, a Meester Marty Mitchell, who will be arriving around six, with several fondue pots and some utensils zat we will need. Ees zat going to pose a problem?”
    Agent Appleby said, “No sir, that shouldn’t be a problem.” He lifted a clipboard and began writing on it, “I’m adding that to the expected departures and arrivals now sir, you say the other employee is a Marty Mitchell?”
    “Zat ees correct,” Emille answered, “he will be driving a black, 1994, Chevy Impala, four door. He ees a beeg guy, very tall and heavy set. Pardon moiré, Can you help us weeth thees ice chest?” Emille grunted as he and Sparky lifted the chest filled with shrimp, ice and C-4, “mon deau, eet ees not easy for two men to lift!” Agent Appleby rushed forward to lend a hand and the three of them staggered towards the door. Appleby held the door open for them as they came into the kitchen and set the chest down on the old, but still sturdy, table. Emille was breathing heavily as he said, “I weel breeng you a beeg shreemp cocktail once we have our tables set up. Zank you for your assistance, agent Appleby.”


                                             

BATMAN: REVENGE

                                                                   

Chapter 22

    Around three thirty that afternoon, far below Wayne Manor, at the edge of the lake, three figures thrashed about in the high weeds and brush, looking for something that they knew was there, but was proving extremely difficult to locate. A black man with a  dreadlocks hairdo and a Jamaican accent said, “Well, Caveman, we’ve been searchin’ for an hour and a half now. Would you be sayin’ we’re gettin’ any closer, mon?”
    “Get off my back Jamal, we’ll find the entrance to this friggin’ cave and we’ll find it within the next thirty minutes, or my name ain‘t Charlie Carter.”
    Jamal laughed and said, “Ya mon, you better hope we find it or your name is going to be da late Charlie Carter. The JOKER won’t be puttin’ up wit no excuses, don’t ya know? He ain‘t like some drill sergeant back in da marines dat will have ya doin‘ pushups till dawn for punishment. He‘ll kill ya mon, and laugh when he‘s done it!”
    The third member of the trio, Benny “Boom” Anderson, yelled out “Shut up you two, I hear something! Get down before we‘re spotted, it could be an FBI sweep! Listen to that! It sounds like a motorcycle and a jet!” As they watched, not far from the water’s edge, crouched down from behind some bushes, they saw the Batmobile, followed by the Batcycle, which was being ridden by Batman, himself!
    “Jamal cried out, “Dey’re goin’ too fast mon, dey’re goin’ to crash right into...”
    The Batmobile disappeared right into the side of the hill, looking like the earth had just swallowed it up. BATMAN followed closely behind at what had to be over 80 miles an hour. He never slowed down as he just disappeared into the side of the hill, like a ghost through a door.
    “Did you see that?” Benny “Boom” Anderson cried out. “Damn! Son of a Bitch! I never seen nothing like that in my whole life!” He jumped up and began running towards the spot where they saw the vehicles disappear. Jamal and Charlie took off after him. All three arrived at the spot, huffing and puffing. Jamal was bent over, with his hands on his knees for support, as Benny said, “That’s what you get for smokin’ all that Ghanji, or whatever you call it.”
    “Don’t matter what they call it,” Charlie asserted. “It’s wacky tobacky, that’s what it is and don’t let him tell you no different. Makes your eyes red and messes with your head! But I swear after what I just saw, I think I must’a been smokin’ something. It was right here,” he pointed to the side of the hill, no more than six feet in front of him. “The tire tracks lead straight into the side of the hill. Unreal!”
    “It’s got to be some kind of holographic image,” Benny said. “Once you get through it, you’re in the cave! Let’s go!” Benny headed straight for the side of the hill, but Jamal grabbed him by the arm after just two steps.
    “Think about what you’re doin’ mon,” he said. “BATMAN is a smart cookie and one of da richest men in America. You don’t really tink he would have dis fancy holographic ting, and den nuttin beyond it, now do ya? He’s probably got lasers and machine guns and trap doors and who knows what beyond dis fake front. Now if you’ve made your mind up to just go waltzin’ in dere, at least sit down right now and sign someting dat says me and Charlie get your share, because, mon, you gonna be one dead motha-fucka.”
    Benny thought it over for a moment and said, “That’s some good thinkin’ there, Jamal. Maybe we ought to throw something in there and see what happens.”
    Charlie added his thoughts, “Yeah, Benny, you could’a been walking into the world’s largest Vegomatic. You could’a been sliced and diced before you could think twice! Let‘s find a big tree limb, or a rock, or something.”
    After only a couple of minutes, Benny found a good size tree limb and said, “Okay boys, hang on to your hats, there may be fireworks when I throw this thing!” He tossed it directly at the spot where the Batmobile and the Batcycle disappeared. The tree limb hurtled towards it’s target, and then was gone. Unseen, but not unheard, directly in front of them, the branch banged against something hard and fell to the ground with a scraping sound and a thump.
    Charlie was the first to speak. “So what do you think happened to it?”
    Jamal answered with his opinion, “I’m not sure, mon, but I ain’t gonna be no guinea pig. It ain’t Jamal who is gonna run troo dis hologram into hell.”
    Benny said, “I thought you were a couple of tough guys, but listen to you! A couple of wussies, that’s what you are, both of you, a couple of damn wussies!”
      Jamal defended himself and Charlie, by saying, “Yeah, well, okay brave warrior, just sit right down and sign away your share and go runnin’ head first into dat ting, and I’ll be writin’ to your widow, tellin’ her how brave you were and all like dat. I wouldn‘t be surprised if the Batman had some kind of voodoo poison arrows ready to shoot anyone who comes troo dat ting without some kind of entry code.”
    “I won’t have no damn widow, I ain’t married,” Benny shot back.
    Jamal laughed again and said, “No surprise dere, who would have ya, mon? Now run along. Get your fool head chopped off, and let da BATMAN use it for a bowlin‘ ball or someting.”
    Charlie said, “Now hold on a minute, you two, let’s draw straws on this deal, or flip coins, or figure out who goes first in some civilized way.”
    Jamal countered with, “Ain’t nothin’ civilized about a man’s head rollin’ on da ground, while his body’s staggerin’ around wonderin’ who turned out da lights, mon. You two go ahead and be civilized and dead. I‘ll just be an uncivilized live wussy.”
    All this talk about voodoo arrows and heads rollin’ was beginning to get to Benny, but somebody had to go through that holograph thing or they would all be killed by the Joker, for sure. Benny got his courage up again and said, “I’m gonna do it, but you guys come right after me, you hear? If I go through there first, you better be right behind me. I don’t want to be layin’ there with some voodoo poison arrow in my ass, and nobody around to pull it out!”
    “Just don’t ask me to suck the poison out, mon,” Jamal cracked, “Like the old joke goes, if you got an arrow in your ass, you gonna die for sure mon.”
    Benny turned around, summoning up all of his courage to take a run at the side of the hill. Beads of sweat began to pop out on his forehead even though the skies had clouded up and the weather was quickly turning cooler. He had faced death before, once while climbing the side of Devil’s Mountain in Wyoming, he had slipped and dangled by his safety rope, which proceeded to begin to work it’s way loose. A fellow climber had reached him and hooked him up to his own safety rope just before that spike had popped free. He still remembered that spike falling past him, tumbling downward as he would have done. He pushed the thought out of his mind and said, “Well shit, what’s gonn’a happen is gonn’a happen.”
    Charlie grabbed him this time, just as he began that fateful first step. Benny cried out, caught totally by surprise, “Aargh! What the hell are you tryin’ to do to me you son of a bitch? I just got my courage all screwed up to do this thing, and I’m concentrating like a mother and my pulse is pounding and then you reach out and grab me! I’ll die of a heart attack if you do that again!”
    “I’m sorry man,” Charlie said, “but I was just thinking there’s got to be another way in, there just has to be! We know the BATMAN has boats. I know those boats are docked at some hidden marina, right around here. Let‘s look for that first before we do the voodoo arrow thing!”
    Jamal chimed in, “Yah mon, now you’re talkin’ some sense mon.
    One hour later, they had still not found the marina and their heavy backpacks, filled with climbing paraphernalia, weren’t getting any lighter. Getting frustrated and tired, Benny said, “If you assholes hadn’t talked me out of it, we’d probably be in the cave right now halfway up to where we need to be. Instead, we’re still wandering around the shoreline...”
    “Hey, look at dat,” Jamal shouted and pointed toward the sky, back near the base of the hill. It was a swarm of bats, swirling and flapping their way out of a cave, from what must have been an unguarded entrance! The three ran towards the point as fast as they could, fearing that all of the bats would fly away or reenter the cave before they could pinpoint the precise spot of the opening. They got there in plenty of time, but found that the opening was so small none of them could squeeze into it with their backpacks on.
      “Okay, no problem,” Charlie said, as he slung his backpack to the ground and pulled out his rope. “I don’t know how far of a drop we’re talking about here, but if we can get one of us inside, then maybe we can see something. It can’t be too far down on the inside, because we are fairly near the level of the lake right now. I’d say maybe 15 or 20 feet, tops. Besides it’s almost five and we’ve got to get moving! He grabbed a flashlight out of his pack and started squeezing, feet first, into the narrow opening, while Jamal and Benny held on to the rope. Charlie’s head disappeared into the opening and then reappeared long enough for him to say, “Hey guys?”
    “What is it mon?” Jamal asked.
    “Don’t let go,” Charlie said with a grin and disappeared again. He had only been out of sight a second or two, when Jamal and Benny heard him holler, “Oh shit, oh my God!”
      Benny stuck his head in the hole and yelled, “What’s wrong? Should we pull you up?”
    “This place stinks to high heaven,” Charlie called back. “This entire area is covered in guano and the walls are as slick as, well, they’re as slick as bat shit!”
    “Can you see anything,” Benny asked?
    “I can see I should’a let you go through that hologram thing. No, wait, I see some lights across the way! That’s it, that’s it, we found it!”
    “Found what?” Benny shouted back.
    “The Marina, it’s the Marina!”
    Benny turned to Jamal, who had his head cocked to one side, trying to hear what Charlie was saying, but wasn’t having much luck. “What’d he say, mon?” Jamal asked.
    “Benny answered, “He sees the Marina, man!” They shook hands and stood up, relieved, slinging off their backpacks so they could squeeze through the opening and began to discuss how the last man would get down when they realized neither one of them was holding the rope any longer.
    On their way back to Wayne Manor, after picking up the ice sculpture, Emille, Cody, Sparky and Tina were marveling at how easy it had been to plant the C-4 packs that had been hidden in the ice chests. In all, they had strategically planted six packets, which contained enough explosive power to bring the top floor of Wayne Manor down upon everyone in attendance. As soon as Prince ended his first set, which was expected to be about ten o’clock, the DVD with the American Diabetes Association presentation was to be seen and then Sparky was going to set off the bombs.
      Originally the DVD was going to be shown around eight, right before the start of the Brian Setzer part of the show, but it was determined too many people would arrive fashionably late and would, no doubt, miss the presentation if it were shown that early, so the plans had been changed. It had all been so easy. Emille started an argument with Andre and attracted attention, while Tina and Cody went upstairs and planted several packets of C-4. Misdirection was the name of the game. It was the same thing that magicians do, they draw your attention here, to this hand, while they actually hold the object of the trick in the other hand.
    “You know, I really don’t like zat Andre,” Emille said as they neared Wayne Manor once again. “Before zee night ees over, I hope he ees squashed like a leetle bug under my beeg shoe. Good reeddance to heem and hees smelly keetchen. He could never have worked for me.”
    FBI agents met the van as soon as it turned into the driveway at Wayne Manor. Everybody in the van got out, showed their clearance tags and allowed the agents to do their body scans with the detectors once again. Agent Appleby was once again happy to play doorman as they wheeled the two huge ice sculptures, one of a Halloween pumpkin  and the other of a hissing cat with it’s back arched high, into the house through the kitchen entrance. Appleby said, “Hey guys, if you need any more help, just let me know, and thanks for that shrimp cocktail earlier, it was great!”
    Emille chuckled, as they rolled the table with the impressive Jack-O-Lantern ice sculpture towards the Grand Ballroom, and said to Sparky, “Wait till zey see zee DVD we sweetched with zee one from zee Diabetes Association.” While passing the opened front door where Richards and agent Cobb stood admiring the scene, Emille caught a quick glimpse of a distant growing line of limos waiting at the front gates, which would not open until six. Six o’clock was now less than twenty minutes away.
    Mr. Yamaguchi and his landscapers had been busy since early in the morning, manicuring and decorating the grounds. They had finally finished the long list of objectives that Richards had given them, leaving the grounds of Wayne Manor extravagantly, yet tastefully, transformed into something that would rival a theme park. A double row of unusually large pumpkins now encircled each tree base, while the tree branches were adorned with metallic, orange and black streamers, which would shine and sparkle as the wind, which continued to increase, moved them into and out of the carefully planned and aimed spot lighting. Amazingly realistic animatronic figures of witches stirring potions in large black cauldrons were positioned near the front door, while less detailed, mechanized, ghouls and goblins, farther out on the lawn, were busy rising up out of coffins and graves. Over the front door of the mansion a huge banner  with the red American Diabetes Association logo welcomed everyone to the 14th annual Wayne Manor Benefit Costume Ball. 
    Andre carefully inspected the tables that Quinn Catering had set up and looked over the hors d’ oeuvres with Elizabeth and Jim Hurley who had just come downstairs from their room dressed as Han Solo and Princess Lea from Star Wars. Jumbo shrimp, crab, ham, chicken, turkey, caviar, smoked salmon, roast beef, it was all there, accompanied by a large assortment of dips and sauces, which were appropriately labeled, as well as crackers, melba toast, toasted French bread slices, and two or three kinds of homemade sandwich style breads. Andre had to admit he was a little surprised at the artistic layout and presentation, replete with a large cornucopia from which fresh fruit poured on one side, while the ice sculptured cat guarded the meats and seafood on the other end. He picked up one of the shrimp and dipped it into the cocktail sauce as Emille walked up and slapped him on the back.
    “Beautiful ees eet not?” Emille asked. Have you ever seen such a beautiful display?”
    “I must say, eet ees a work of art,” Andre admitted and then popped the shrimp into his mouth. The look on his face changed as he chewed and began to resemble that of an average eight year old being forced to eat spinach or artichoke hearts. Completely forgetting his manners, he blurted out, “C’est repugnant! You call zat a cocktail sauce? “Where deed you learn to make eet, een zee Army? Eet has far too much horseradish! You would have been better off going to Kroger’s and getting eet from zere salad dressing and sauces isle, next to zee Heinze catsup!”
    Emille was not about to put up with such an insult and he lunged for Andre, more intent on inflicting pain than in forcing an apology. Andre was light on his feet, however, and side stepped the attack gracefully, ready to counter with a good right hand, but as he drew it back he was grabbed by Commissioner Gordon’s son-in-law, Jim Hurly, who held him tightly while Richards spoke in a hoarse whisper through tightly clenched teeth. “Have you lost your mind, Andre? You know there is no fighting allowed in Wayne Manor! Master Wayne will be furious!”
    Cody and Sparky had grabbed Emille and told him to quiet down before he got them all thrown out. He broke free from their grip momentarily and drove a right hand to Andre’s midsection while Andre was still being restrained by Jim Hurly. “Insult my creations, weel you? Ceci non plus de, stupide,” Emille shouted as he was grabbed again and dragged away by his cohorts in crime.
    Andre was furious over being sucker punched and yelled at Emille while he strained to break free of Hurly’s surprisingly strong grip, “Vous cuisinier d’aliments de preparation rapide!”
    As Andre began to regain his composure, Richards asked him, “What was that all about, and what was it you yelled at Mr. Chevre as they were dragging him away?”
    “I told heem hees cocktail sauce was disgusting,” Andre answered, “and zen I called heem a fast food cook. I am ashamed of myself for losing my teemper, do you theenk I weel be fired?”
    Richards sighed and replied, “If you had taken the first swing, I would imagine you might have been, but thankfully you did not. I will recommend no more than a verbal reprimand since you have not behaved in such an unbecoming manner previously. By the way, what was it that he said to you in French?”
    Andre said, “He said zees wasn’t over, and then he called me stupid.”
    Agent Cobbs walked up from behind, tapped Richards on the shoulder and announced, “It’s six o’clock, sir, time to open the gates. I have a man stationed at the front door with your guest list. As you requested, we will notify you if we have any arrivals  that are not on the list.”
    “My goodness, is it really six already?” Richards wondered out loud. “Well, let’s open the gates, and yes agent Cobbs, we can’t be sure that everyone that should have received an invitation, did in  fact get one, so don’t turn anyone away, without first checking with me, please. I’ll try to remain in this general vicinity for the majority of the evening.”
    Limos filled with important local citizens and world renowned celebrities as well as news crews in vans, representing every TV station in the area, began moving through the gates and along the driveway toward the mansion. Photographers and camera men hopped out of their vehicles and ran to get good pictures of the decorations and the animatronic figures. The first limo that pulled up to the front door was a long white Lincoln Stretch from which none other than Jerry Fontaine, the Public Affairs Director and Sid Lancer, the Weatherman for channel six, stepped forth.
      Jerry was wearing a Star Trek costume and had the pointed ears of a Vulcan, while Sid had come as a swash buckling buccaneer, perhaps Jean Lafitte, who was considered both a hero and a villain at various times in his life. With his pencil thin mustache he somewhat resembled Errol Flynn. Jerry spread his fingers in the traditional Vulcan greeting and said the obligatory, “Live long and prosper,” as he presented his invitation to the agent at the front door who was responsible for the final screening of those attending that night. The agent was all business and wouldn’t have cared if Jerry had said “May the force be with you,” or “Shazaam,” just as long as whatever he said didn’t sound threatening in any way.
    Sid Lancer was his usual effervescent self, shouting out a number of phrases that a pirate might use, such as “Shiver me timbers,” and “Avast matey,” followed occasionally by a hearty rendition of the old tune, “Sixteen men on a dead men‘s chest, yo ho, ho, and a bottle of rum!” His sword was carefully inspected at the front door to be sure that it was plastic and not the real McCoy. A camera crew from channel six followed Sid around, posing him in various areas for what would be used later as publicity photos on billboards and commercials.
    Jerry and Sid were followed by Danny Devito as the Hulk. He arrived painted green, with torn, purple slacks and green sandals, roaring and grunting like a madman, saying things like, “Danny smash!” Everybody laughed hysterically, including Danny, at his comedic impersonation of the comic book hero, especially when he flexed his muscles.
      Sylvester Stallone arrived in boxing trunks and a sweatshirt, amid thunderous cheers as everybody’s hero, Rocky Balboa. When the reporters of Entertainment Tonight asked him why he had chosen Balboa, rather than any of the other characters from his storied career, he said, “Yo, listen to da people. Wha’ do ya think, huh?” Then he wandered off, in the direction of the casino area yelling “Yo, Adrian, let’s gamble!”
    The Terminator, himself, was the next interview for the Entertainment Tonight crew. Arnold, of course said, “I told you I’d be back! Look for zee latest Terminator film your video store, coming out right after Thanksgiving!” He waived to the cameras and then headed off toward the casino games with his lovely wife, Maria Shriver, who was dressed as Wonder Woman.
    Richards was pleased that everything seemed to be going as smoothly as he had hoped for, but was beginning to get a bit nervous at the absence of  Master Wayne, Barbara and Dick. He was about to page them when he looked up and saw Bruce, Dick and Vicki coming down the stairs. As they reached the bottom of the stairs Richards walked up to Bruce, who was dressed in a tuxedo with no mask, and said, “I’m relieved to see you sir, has there been a problem I am not aware of?”
    “We had to attend to some unexpected business at Arkham Asylum, but everything is under control and going well so far. Barbara is in the Bat cave and Dick will be headed up to the third floor shortly, after he has a chance to grab a bite and look the crowd over. ”
      Vicki walked up and slipped her arm through Bruce’s and said “Hi big boy, wanna go for a ride in my pumpkin carriage?”
    Bruce turned to her, gave her a quick kiss and then turned back to Richards. “She makes a great Cinderella, doesn’t she?”
    “Indeed she does, Master Wayne. Indeed, she does.”
    As they walked towards the front door in order to greet arriving guests, Vicki said, “I thought you were never going to get back, but I had a really nice visit with Elizabeth and Jim. They’re so nice. Did you know that they have a little boy?”
    Bruce answered, “Yes, Commissioner Gordon talked about him all the time.”
    Laughter errupted near the front door as Bruce and Vicki were just walking up. The bright lights of the Entertainment Tonight TV crew were trained on a diminutive figure wearing red boots, a baggy blue costume and a red cape. It was Woody Allen, who had come as Superman. He kept saying “Up, up and away,” and would give a little hop, and then would look around, bewildered, wondering why he was still on the ground. Even agent Cobbs had a tough time keeping a straight face and the laughter from those in the area continued and grew louder as he said, “I’m faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than a speeding locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound!” He put his hands on his hips and struck a heroic pose as the flashes of every photographer in the area illuminated his ridiculously mousy frame. Then he stuck his arms out in front of him as if he were flying and headed in the direction of the casino area. Don Rickles came as George Washington. Rodney Dangerfield came as Maximus, the hero, from the motion picture, Gladiator. Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan arrived together, as themselves, promoting a fourth Rush Hour film. Rick Moranis reprised his Spaceballs role as a Darth Vader type of character, again complaining as he did in the film about not being able to breath in his mask, which covered over half of his body. Antonio Banderas was a big hit in his Zorro costume and his wife, Melanie Griffith, who stayed right by his side, made a beautiful Queen Marie Antoinette, before the beheading of course, although with her extremely revealing, low cut costume, most of the men looking at her weren‘t concentrating on her head and her fabulous coiffure.
    Celebrity after celebrity arrived, until by seven thirty Wayne Manor and the sprawling grounds around it, was packed with at least one big name star from every box  office smash over the past five years. Along with the Celebrities, the invited business men and women of the Gotham area were arriving en masse, but to much less fanfare as would be expected. For instance, nobody seemed to notice when Harley Quinn arrived in her Jester’s costume with her date, a tall man in an elegant black tuxedo, wearing a Bozo the clown mask. As they approached the front door the FBI agent that was taking the invitations and checking identifications asked them to wait just a moment.  He asked her if she was the Harley Quinn that owned Quinn Catering, the company with the van parked in the back. Harley said she was, and asked if there was any kind of problem that she had not been made aware of. “Oh, no,” the agent replied, I just wanted to let you know how impressed we all are with the quality of the food and the professional demeanor of your staff. We’re looking forward to hiring your company for our annual awards banquet next month.”
      Harley thanked the agent for his compliments, took the hand of her escort and walked right past him. The agent never even thought to ask for her dates identification. Of course, if he had, he would have been given a perfect I.D. that would have checked out okay. The Joker was mad, he was insane without a doubt, but he was a brilliant madman, who had had 14 years to plan his revenge and he wasn’t about to let something as easy to fake as a clean I.D. with no prior arrests be his downfall this evening.
    Carl Grissom, Jr. arrived via taxi shortly before eight, looking very impressive in his Atilla the Hun costume. Carl asked the agent if he knew what time the judging would be held for best costume. He wanted to know if the Lexus parked near the entryway was the one that was being given away, or was it just there for advertisement. The agent handed Carl’s drivers’ license back to him and said, “I don’t have any answers for you sir, but I’m sure someone inside will. I’m afraid you’ll have to check your sword with me, we can’t allow any real weapons inside. Have a nice time.” Grissom cursed under his breath at the loss of his sword and made his way to the Grand Ballroom, arriving just in time to hear a drum roll, while a man in a buccaneer’s costume stood in the center of the stage where Brian Setzer and his orchestra would be performing in just a few minutes.
    “Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I’m Sid Lancer, with Channel 6, and I want to welcome all of you from Gotham City and across the country to the 14th annual Wayne Manor Benefit, which, this year is hoping to make the largest contribution ever to the American Diabetes Association. I have been informed that our attendance this evening is over three thousand, which explains why we are so crowded and, by far, eclipses any previous gatherings here at Wayne Manor. I want you to know that we have a number of judges passing among you tonight, looking for finalists in the best costume competition. If you have not yet registered for that, you need to do so at the table over here, on my left. The winner is going to drive away a brand new Lexus, tonight, donated by Gotham City Lexus, or, of course the winner could donate the car to an auction to be held tomorrow at noon benefiting the A.D.A., at the Gotham City Lexus showroom. I want to, on behalf of the American Diabetes Association, thank all of you for your donations as you entered the Grand Ballroom tonight for our very special concert. The early estimate that I have been given is that we have already raised over $367,000.00, and that does not include any receipts from the casino area so far, so lets have a big round of applause, as we seem to be well on our way to having a lot of fun and raising several million dollars tonight!”
    Spotlights ran back and forth over the crowd in the darkened ballroom as everyone cheered and vigorously applauded in response to the already sizeable amount raised and the good time that they were having. Once the noise had died down a little, Sid Lancer stepped back up to the microphone and said, “Right now, ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce a man who really needs no introduction to music lovers around the world. You loved him with the Stray Cats and you’ve enjoyed his blend of big band and classic rock and roll over his past four albums. Let’s really hear it for Brian Setzer and
his Orchestra!”
      Sid turned to his right and began to applaud along with everyone else in the grand ballroom as the members of the orchestra came onstage and took
their seats behind the lime green, monogrammed music stands that held their sheet music. Then another wave of applause rocked the ballroom as Brian Setzer, himself, ran out onto the stage, dressed in a candy apple red suit with a cream colored silk shirt and scarf and shook hands with Sid, who waved one last time to the crowd and then turned and left the stage. Now, Brian Setzer walked up to the microphone, pulled it free from it’s stand and addressed the excited crowd.
    With a hint of an English accent, he said, “Good evening Gothamites and enemies of Diabetes from around the world. Tonight is a night of celebration because we are going to take a big step tonight in stopping one of the fastest growing diseases in the world! Before the boys and I get started this evening, I’d like to see to it that the man responsible for putting this thing together gets a little recognition. Let’s have a big thank you, with as much applause as you can muster, for Gotham’s favorite son, Bruce Wayne!” Again, the crowd eagerly showed it’s appreciation with an extraordinary round of applause for the effort that had obviously been put forth to make this a special event.
      One of the searching spotlights found Bruce and Vicki,  who was by his side, at the very front of the ballroom near the center of the stage, waving in acknowledgement of the crowds appreciation. That spotlight stayed on Bruce as Brian Setzer continued, “Our first song this evening is “Since I don’t have You,” and we are going to play it especially for Bruce and the beautiful Vicki Vale, who will be the first couple on the dance floor tonight. Please allow them to have the floor to themselves, at least until we reach the guitar solo near the middle of the song because this is a very special moment for them. Bruce told me just a short while ago, that Vicki recently said yes to becoming his bride and ending his reign as the most eligible bachelor in Gotham City! Isn’t that great? I told you we had a lot to celebrate tonight!” He turned to the band and said, “Okay boys, let’s go. One, two, one, two, three, four...”
    The crowd applauded and whistled as Bruce held Vicki tenderly in his arms and began to dance, while the large mirror ball overhead sent cascading dots of light tumbling throughout the great room. It was like something out of a Disney movie as Vicki  in her beautiful Cinderella costume danced with her Prince Charming.
    Midway through the song, as soon as other couples began to invade the dance floor, Vicki felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Doctor Chase Meridian, dressed in buckskin as an Indian Princess, complete with headband and feather, who said, “I’m so happy for you both, my dear, may I cut in, briefly?”
    Vicki thanked Chase for her kind words and then turned and looked quizzically at Bruce, who shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’ll save the next dance for you, sweetheart.”
    Chase put her arms out and Bruce politely began to dance with her. She wasted little time before saying, “Well, that was quick.”
    Bruce looked bewildered, as he asked, “What was quick?”
    Chase looked annoyed and said, “One minute you’re undressing me in your backyard and the next you announce your engagement to some woman you haven’t seen in fourteen years. What is that all about, Bruce? I thought we had something special, or was that just wishful thinking on my part? I thought we‘d be making love tonight and instead I‘m congratulating you and your fiancée, the photographer.”
    Bruce began to defend his actions by saying, “Well, first, I wasn’t undressing you, you took your own...”
    Bruce’s attention was diverted momentarily as he spied Vicki, walking towards the refreshments table, being approached by a man in a black tuxedo.
    He turned his head back to face Chase and said, “Chase I like you a lot, and I think you are a very sexy and intelligent woman, but I don’t love you. I’ve been in love with Vicki ever since...”
    Bruce was interrupted, as someone tapped Chase’s shoulder and asked her, “May I cut in?” Chase turned around with a surprised look on her face as she encountered a thin woman in a skin tight, black cat costume, which also covered most of her face. 
    “We just got started,” Chase complained.
    “I know, so had Bruce and his fiancee, but that didn’t seem to stop you, and besides, this is just the first dance of the evening so you’ll still have a lot of chances to dance with Mr. Wayne, if the future Mrs. Wayne doesn’t deck you, but I really need to talk with him right now.” The intensity in the eyes of the woman in the black cat costume clearly indicated she wasn’t about to take no for an answer.
    Chase turned back to Bruce, shook her finger at him and said, “I still want to talk to you,” and then walked away.
    Bruce knew who this new dance partner was, as he looked closely at the face in front of him, even though it was largely concealed by the mask. As they began to dance, he said, “Selena, what in the world are you doing wearing that costume? Do you want to be arrested? The entire building is crawling with police and FBI agents.”
    The shapely lady replied, “I gave them my identification. Selena Kyle is not wanted for anything and this is just another costume at a costume party. Anybody could have made it. Besides, this is a women’s lib thing. There just aren’t enough recognizable female villains these days and you never know, I thought I just might win that Lexus.
    Bruce said, “Okay, so what do you need to talk to me about?”
    Selena smiled, and said, “Don’t be so impatient, Bruce.” She traced his chest with one of her claws while she spoke and they danced, “ I came here tonight for a special reason, and when they announced that you were engaged I also wanted to congratulate you, but something else important is going on that you need to know first. You have a problem here tonight. A big problem. I smell explosives, Bruce.”
    “That can’t be,” Bruce answered, looking around instinctively. “The FBI and the local police went over this entire house with their bomb sniffing dogs and detectors. They would have found something if there was something to find and I also checked everything out this morning before they got here.”
    “What if the explosives were brought in after the dogs left?” Selena asked.
    “Okay, let’s say you’re right,” Bruce agreed for the moment, “Can you find the stuff, and get rid of it without causing a panic?”
    “Don’t know; maybe,” Selena answered, “Too much perfume and cologne and food muddying up the scent.” She sniffed the air and said, “I didn’t notice anything in here, but back in the Casino area I smelled something. Bruce, there’s something else we have to discuss. Do you remember the last time we danced together?”
    Bruce let his thoughts drift back to that evening, years earlier and said yes, “You were incredibly beautiful and I was very attracted to you, Selena. If things were different...”
    She stopped him by putting her clawed finger lightly against his lips and saying, “I know, Bruce, and I was extremely attracted to you. Then, when the Penguin died, you thought I was dead, too, and later when you found me, we were both so happy to see each other that, well, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what happened,  we forgot all about our differences, and I’ve never had any regrets about it, but that’s why I need to talk to you. Sometimes when we act impulsively there are consequences that follow us for a lifetime...”
      The crowd gathered in the Grand Ballroom began to applaud again as the
orchestra was playing the last notes of “Since I Don’t Have You. ” Bruce was only half listening to Selena now as he looked around for Vicki again and failed to see her this time. His mind flashed back to the scene moments earlier, as he remembered the man in the tuxedo. He said, “Selena, I’ve got to go! See if you can find whatever it was you said you smelled, and hurry! We can finish this conversation later, I hope!”
      He hurried to the area where he had last seen Vicki and looked around, desperately trying to locate her. Maybe she had simply gone to the restroom. He began to head in that direction when he spotted her out on the dance floor. As the Brian Setzer Orchestra began their second song of the evening, “A Town without Pity,” she was beginning to dance with the man in the tuxedo. 
    “Where did you get that beautiful Eduardian tuxedo?” Vicki asked the man with the face of Bozo the Clown. “And which of my photographs did you say you want to talk about?”
    The man behind the mask answered, “The tux is just a little thing my tailor whipped up for me. do you like it?”
    “It’s certainly one of a kind,” Vicki replied.
    “As am I, my dear, and I think it only fair to say that you and your photography fit that category as well. What about the photographs you took of the sick, being tended to in Gotham Memorial Hospital? Is there a chance any of those might be for sale to a collector, such as myself? ”
    Vicki was horror stricken, and asked, “Why would you want something as morbid as that?”
    “Call it an obsession, but health care has always interested me. The pain and suffering of the dying, balanced by the kindness and genuine concern of the caregivers. The canvass of life is never complete without the brushstrokes of death.” Out of the corner of his eye, the art collector with the mask of Bozo the Clown saw Bruce coming towards him. He stepped back and brought Vicki’s hand to the lips of his mask and said, “I must leave you now, but I really enjoyed the opportunity to dance with you, again. I’ll be in touch.”
    He walked away briskly in the opposite direction from which Bruce approached, leaving Vicki wondering what he meant by saying he really enjoyed the opportunity to dance with her again. She had never danced with him before, had she?
    Bruce walked up and said, “I was looking all over for you, I thought we were going to have the next dance?” He put his arms out and once again they began to dance.
    Vicki countered with, “I thought we were going to have the first one, too. I gave up, when I saw you dancing with Ms. Kitty out there, although that was a pretty good costume she had. I was standing by the punch bowl when a Mr. Reipan walked up and said he was a big fan of my work, and asked me to dance.”
    Bruce nodded, and said, “Ms. Kitty was an old friend who at one time worked for the late Max Shrek, and did you say the clown with the tuxedo is a big fan of your work? What did you say his name was?”
    “He said his name was Reipan, and he even spelled it out, R-E-I-P-A-N,” Vicki replied, “he said he was very interested in health care related photography. He asked if I had any pictures for sale that I had taken years ago at Gotham Memorial. And he said he  enjoyed dancing with me again, as if we had danced together at some time in the past. Weird, huh?”
    Bruce felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned to see Warden Borg in his fireman’s costume, complete with helmet, “How are you doing this evening Warden?” Bruce asked, “Having a good time?”
    “Yes indeed, Bruce. This is the best benefit you’ve ever put on.”
      Bruce smiled and said, “Oh Warden, you say that every year.”
    “But this year,” the Warden asserted, “you have something very special that is different from past years.”
    “And what might that be?” Bruce asked.
      The Warden held his hands out to Vicki and said, “This fire fighter would very much appreciate it if he could have the remainder of this dance, Cinderella.”
    Bruce headed for the punch bowl, picked up a cup and was about to fill it, when a voice with a French accent said, “Allow me monsieur.”
    The man with the French accent introduced himself as Emille Chevre, the Master Chef for Quinn Catering. As he handed Bruce the cup, which had now been filled, Emille said, “Eet ees an honor to do zee catering at zee most famous mansion in zee area. I hope you will invite us back next year.”
    Bruce smiled, raised his cup as if toasting Emille, and asked, “Even though we have antiquated appliances, kept here for over 20 years by a boss who must be a tightwad?”
    Emille’s smile dissolved as he heard his own words come back to haunt him. He put down the punch bowl ladle and walked out, leaving only Sparky to attend to the Grand Ballroom, while Tina and Cody worked in the Casino. 
    Standing near the punch bowl, Bruce watched Vicki and the Warden  dancing gracefully near the center of the dance floor. He sighed, knowing he would be lucky, this night, if he ever got one complete dance with his fiancee. He turned and picked up the ladle again and was about to pour a second cup for himself, when Brad Wolicek walked up and stuck out his hand to shake. Bruce put his cup and the ladle down, and shook hands, saying, “I believe you have me at a disadvantage, sir. I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Bruce Wayne and you are...?
    “Brad Wolicek, with Wolicek Talent Agency. I was referred to this party tonight by BATMAN. He arrived shortly after I had been mugged early this week while I was checking on some rental properties on the lower east side of town with my wife and two daughters. Along with the police he pursued the thieves and wound up in a battle, during which two of the thieves were shot. Needless to say, it was quite an experience. Speaking of quite an experience, I really must compliment you Mr. Wayne...”
    “Please, call me Bruce.”
    “Okay, Bruce, as I was saying, I really must compliment you on the great job you’ve done putting this benefit together. Not only am I impressed, but my clients that are here tonight have already thanked me for getting them in. Everyone seems to be having a great time.”
    Bruce looked around and asked, “Did you bring your wife this evening, or are you just here with your clients?” 
    “My wife, Amanda, is at home with the girls. It’s my oldest daughter’s birthday today, and she’s having a slumber party for a few of her friends. I took the day off and spent most of it with her, so I don’t feel too guilty about being out tonight.”
    “Well good for you,” Bruce said, “Spending time with your family is something you just can’t put a price on. Time goes by so fast. I’m hoping to have a family soon.”
    “Yes, that‘s right,” Wolicek said, “I heard the announcement about your engagement, and what a lovely lady. That’s her out there in the Cinderella costume isn’t it?”
    “That’s her,” Bruce replied. “Who’s that she’s with now, isn’t that...”
    Wolicek said, “Wouldn’t you know? That’s one of my clients, Val Kilmer. He came as Doc Holiday tonight. You’d better keep an eye on her tonight, Bruce, she’s attracting men like ants to a picnic.”
    “Yeah, well, I don’t have to worry about Kilmer,” Bruce said, “I hear he’s a real Saint.”
    “Very good, Bruce,” Wolicek chuckled, “I like your sense of humor. Oh, before you go, here comes another of my clients, who has probably already made quite a contribution in the Casino area tonight. George Clooney, I’d like you to meet Bruce Wayne, our host for this evening.” Clooney was dressed in a prisoner’s striped outfit, complete with a ball and chain, like the one he wore in “Brother, Where Art Thou?” He was about six inches taller than Bruce.
    “Pleasure to meet you, Bruce,” Clooney said, as he shook hands. This is some party tonight! Good food too, except the horseradish in the cocktail sauce is a little much!”
    “George, thanks for coming. Hey stick around,” Bruce quipped, “the weatherman says we may be in for a perfect storm, before the night’s over.” Clooney winced. Bruce smiled and shook his head, “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Do me a favor , if you would. See the lady out there in the Cinderella costume?”
    Clooney looked out towards the middle of the dance floor, where Vicki was waltzing with Val Kilmer to the Brian Setzer version of “Sleepwalk.” Clooney turned back towards Bruce and said, “That’s one pretty lady, Mr. Wayne. You’re a lucky man.”
    “Well, she’s a big fan of yours,” Bruce asserted, “would you go pull Doc Holiday off of her and tell her I sent you?”
    “I think I can do that,” Clooney answered and added, “Great party, Bruce. It was a pleasure to meet you.” He walked out towards Vicki, to do as Bruce had requested, and passed Tom Cruise, dressed in a Navy white, dress uniform, dancing with Chase Meridian. Wolicek pointed and commented, “Now they make an attractive couple, don’t they?”
    Bruce agreed that they did, and said Chase had attracted more than “A Few Good Men,” but added, trying to please her might be, “Mission Impossible.”
    Wolicek patted Bruce on the back, handed him one of his business cards, which Bruce tucked away in his coat pocket, and said, “Thanks again Bruce, if I can be of any help in the future with things like these benefits let me know. My guys love to get good press for going out and having a good time.” He headed off towards the Casino as Bruce continued to count the stars in the Grand Ballroom that seemingly rivaled the number in the sky on a clear night over Gotham City. There was Christian bale and Michael Cane and Liam Neeson. He glanced at his watch, and noted that time was moving very quickly, it was already nine o’clock and there hadn’t been any trouble yet. He so very much hoped it would stay that way, although he worried about Selena’s words of caution.
      In the casino area, the roulette wheel and crap tables were doing a booming business. Harley Quinn, in her red and black Jester’s outfit was having a run of good luck and was having a wonderful time. “Give me another winner,” she yelled, as she shook the dice and held them up to her tuxedoed companion, who then blew his “lucky breath” on them. She let the ivory dice fly and as they ricocheted of the backboard and came tumbling back towards her, the crowd roared as she once again made her point. She turned to the JOKER and said, “It’s our lucky night, lover!” She cashed out, quitting as a significant winner and suggested they go to the old lady reading futures with
the Tarot cards.
    “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Let’s see what happens,” Harley pleaded.
    The Joker reluctantly agreed to do it, saying, “Fun, doubtful. Interesting, quite possibly.” He sat down in front of the old woman, who was dressed as a gypsy, and it didn’t look like it was a costume. Whoever had found her and hired her for this event had hit the jackpot if they were looking for the genuine article. She accepted the one hundred dollar donation and studied his face with her one good eye. The other looked to be useless, blinded and clouded by a cataract for many years. Seemingly staring right through the clowns mask before she even began to lay the cards down, she warned the JOKER in a crackling, raspy, voice that she did not control, and would accept no responsibility for the outcome, nor would she be accountable for the actions her clients took based on the results of the reading, which could be uplifting, or might be quite unsettling.
    “Over 500 years ago,” she began, “my ancestors in Northern Italy started to use these cards to help them better understand the world around them and the forces that shape our actions.” She laid a card down and studied it. “The first card explains your present existence, which is heavily influenced by your past life. It reaches out, as if from the grave, and shapes the actions you have planned for the future. You are consumed with a burning desire to avenge yourself against those that you feel have wronged you.”
      Harley looked stunned, as she turned and looked at the JOKER, who’s eyes, which had at first revealed boredom, were now filled with intense interest in this old Gypsy fortune teller. She took the next card and placed it on the left of the first. “This card deals with your past. You felt you were always the leader, you simply let others think they controlled things, until you were ready.  You took charge over those who were once in charge of you. I see much of your past was filled with deceit and desperation, then something happened that changed you forever, followed by pain and a long period of
solitude and darkness.” She gasped and cleared her grossly phlegm filled throat as she turned the third card over, which bore the likeness of the grim reaper. She slowly looked up from the card, again fixing her unsettling stare on the JOKER. Her unseeing eye seemed to be burning right through the clown mask as her long, bony finger, gnarled by arthritis and tipped with a hideously yellowed, cracked and curled fingernail, pointed back down, tapping the picture on the card of a hooded skeleton holding a sickle aloft, perched upon a horse. She croaked, in a voice straight out of a hellish nightmare, “The soon to be realized outcome of future influences, according to the Tarot, does not bode well for you, sir.”
    The JOKER turned and looked at Harley and then back at the old woman. “What does that mean, old woman? What does that mean?”
    The old woman cringed, knowing she was not saying what this strange and possibly dangerously violent man wanted to hear. “To change your destiny, as foretold by the Tarot, you must not pursue the actions that you currently have planned.”
    An urge to overturn the table and choke the life out of this old hag welled up in the Joker. He banged his fist down and said, “You better reshuffle those cards and tell me a different story!”
    Harley urged the Joker to forget about this toothless old gypsy, who probably just soiled her Depends undergarment. “Let’s get up, and go back to the craps tables, baby. I never should have asked you to do this. Bad idea, on my part, c’mon.”
    The Joker pulled away from Harley, who tugged on his arm and he threw a one hundred dollar bill on the table as he said, “This one ain’t for charity, sister, now let’s reshuffle those cards and have a happy ending this time!”
    The Joker grabbed the cards and shuffled them to his own satisfaction before handing them back to the Gypsy. In his previous life, as Jack Napier, he had been a hard man to beat at the poker table and knew more card tricks than many magicians. He was shocked when the first card, taken from the top of the deck, was the very same first card that the old woman had produced during the first reading. Before she could draw the second card he stopped her, saying “Sorry Granny, but it’s my future, so I think I’ll draw the cards. You
just interpret what they mean”
      His confidence had returned and he turned to Harley, giving her a wink to let her know this whole thing was a lot of foolishness and wasn’t getting under his skin at all. “Let’s see, I think I’ll take the next one from the middle of the deck,” he said, with a chuckle. But his chuckle stopped abruptly, as the card he drew was the exact same card as was drawn second, previously. He stared at the card, as if his staring could change what he saw. Then he turned again to Harley, sounding a bit less jocular than before, and said, “What are the odds on that happening, huh?” He focused on the card again for a moment, and said, “If I could do this in Vegas, I’d be banned from the casinos.”
          Harley said, “Forget about the third card, lover. We don’t need to see it. Screw the card, screw the old hag. Let’s go back to the craps tables.”
        The Joker got up from his chair and stood there looking from the deck of cards to the old woman and then back to the cards. He chuckled again. “Quite a coincidence, dearie, but let’s see what we get when we look at the bottom card.” He reached down and flipped the entire deck over, so that the bottom card was now face up, and there it was, the grim reaper!
        The Joker turned as if to walk away, and then turned back just as quickly. He sat down in front of the Gypsy and said, “What you don’t understand, is that I can’t die. The grim reaper came for me a long time ago.” He saw that the Gypsy was terrified of him and had no idea what he was talking about. He realized, as the shock of seeing that third card began to wear off, that there was no sense in wasting his time here.
        Again, he rose from the chair, but before he walked away he spoke one last time to the Gypsy. “You see, I’m not like the average guy that sits down in front of you. I’m not governed by the forces that control mortal men. Existence after death is a wild card that you don’t have in your deck.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out his trademark card, which he handed to her, saying, “What you need, is a Joker!” 

~      ~      ~ 

     
        Far below, in the Bat cave, three men approached the end of what had been an arduous  climb. They had planted packets of C-4 on the hulls of two boats, and a submarine in the marina, and in three different areas, on the sides of the sheer cliff they had scaled. “That’s one of the slickest walls I ever climbed,” Charlie complained. “There were a couple of  times I thought I was in some real trouble.”                         
        “Ya, mon,” Jamal agreed, “Now da ting we got ta do is get outta here. As soon as I catch my breath, somebody point me to da door.” Charlie reached over and smacked Jamal on the back, nearly knocking him off the ledge where he was perched with his legs dangling down.     
    “What da hell was dat for?” Jamal asked, wide eyed, after recovering his balance and a portion of his composure.
    “Remember me saying, don’t drop me?” Charlie reminded him, “That’s what that was for, you stupid son of a bitch! I could’a been killed!”
      Benny chimed in at that point, “Oh bullshit, Charlie. You didn’t fall more than 10 feet, and it was into the water, which we had to be in anyway to get to the boats.”
    “That ain’t the point, Benny, and you know it,” Charlie argued. “What if it had been a hundred feet?”
    “Well then, you’d probably be dead or unconscious and we wouldn’t have to listen to your shit. But it was only ten feet, so we ain‘t too concerned.”
    Jamal stood up, looked around at the immense cave, and whistled. His whistle echoed hollowly, accompanied by the squeaks of a few bats awakened by the shrill sound. “Look at dat, mon,” Jamal pointed at the Batmobile, “We got ta be sure an blow dat ting up. And dat computer console ting wit da monitors overhead. Dat’s got ta go, mon.” He walked over to the computer console, took off his back pack and took out another packet of C-4. He tore several strips of black electrical tape off a roll and secured the C-4 under the console. While he was doing that Benny set a packet on the ground, directly underneath the Batmobile.
    “It’s a damn shame to have to blow this thing up, you know,” Benny lamented. “This thing took out the F-27. It’s the most sophisticated automobile ever made. Makes James Bond’s cars look like something you’d get back in high school for driver’s ed. They say it can do over 250 miles an hour.”
    “What’s up with you?” Charlie asked. “Are you doing an article for Road and Track magazine?”     
    One level above them, in the weightlifting area, Batgirl saw a red, blinking signal on her portable security link that meant there was an unauthorized entry in the Bat cave. "Not good," she said, wondering what she would encounter when she slid down the Bat pole. She knew Bruce and Dick would both be getting the same signal, but would be unable to reach her quickly because of the closing down of the elevator and the spiral staircase. Their only
method of entry would be through the camouflaged tunnel at the base of the hill. She figured Bruce would stay upstairs, but that Dick would be on his way.     
      She was right. On the third floor, Dick had been busy, keeping an eye on the crowd below. He had a clear view of the casino area and had noticed Harley Quinn and her date evidently having somekind of problem with the fortuneteller, but then they had walked away and everything seemed okay. That had been the closest thing to trouble tonight, other than Andre and the Quinn Catering Chef scuffling for a moment. Prince and his band had begun playing, but now the flashing red dot indicated an unauthorized entry in the Bat cave and it was going to take him a while to get there. He ran down the stairs, flew past Andre in the kitchen and burst out the back door, which thankfully wasn't locked this time. He saw the Quinn Catering Van parked just outside the kitchen door, but didn't see the FBI agent who was supposed to be stationed there. As he ran towards the garage area he wondered where the
agent could have been.

~      ~      ~

   
      Bound, gagged and drugged, agent Appleby lay helpless in the back of the van, while Emille listened to Dick's racing footsteps recede until he was sure it was safe to open the Back of the van and step out. He grabbed two more packs of C-4, these were the last two, and put them in his jacket. He started to head for the kitchen door and then decided not to risk an encounter with Andre, so he walked around to the front of the mansion. He looked at
his watch. It showed nine-thirty.
    Dick jumped on the motorcycle that had been parked in the garage for this very set of circumstances. He gunned it and peeled out, heading for the outer gates.
    BATGIRL leaped for the pole and did the famous fireman's slide, spiraling down from the weightlifting room to the Bat cave. As the room below came into view, she saw three figures dressed in black, fortunately looking away from where she made her silent landing. She stayed low to the ground and hid behind the Batmobile as she listened and began to make a plan of attack.
    Benny asked, "What time you got, Charlie, how long before we can get out of here?"
    Charlie replied, "If everything is done, then we can go ahead and leave. Setzer should be through upstairs, Prince should be in progress. The Video is supposed to start at ten and shouldn't last more than 10 minutes."
    "So how we gonna be gettin' outta here?" Jamal wondered. "We gonna be goin' out da side of  da hill troo dat hologram ting, where da Batmobile comes out, or do we go back down the side of this cliff?"
    Charlie didn't need to give that one any thought. He answered, "Knowing that the bombs are going to start exploding in about 20 minutes, do you want to be hanging on the side of  that cliff when that happens, or would you rather. .."
    His words were cut short by the whooshing noise of something spinning through the air and then the thud of several heavy balls, from an expertly thrown Bat bolo, banging against his head. He fell where he had stood, unconscious, never realizing what had hit him.
    Jamal, who was near the point of the cliff where they had first climbed over the edge, looked around and ran up to Charlie when he heard him hit the dirt. Squatting down low, while looking everywhere for signs of their attacker, he shouted to Benny who had sought cover behind the big chair at the computer console. "What da hell happened to him, mon? One minute he was talkin’ and den he gets hit wit whatever dis ting is supposed to be." He held it up so Benny could get a look at it.
    "That's a bolo,” Benny said. “One of them South American things that spins around through the air and then snags you and knocks the crap out of you.”
      Benny yelled out to their assailant, "Hey, whoever is in this cave with us, come out so we can see you. We don't want to have to shoot nobody, but we will. I got a big .45, and it makes big, nasty holes in people.” BATGIRL remained silent, not wanting to give up her location and knowing that Dick would be on his way by now.

~      ~      ~

   
      Meanwhile, upstairs, Prince was just finishing his first set. "I want to thank everyone for their warm response and generosity tonight and I hope you'll rejoin me for the second set, which will begin right after the costume judging and the special presentation by the American Diabetes Association in the Grand Ballroom. I've been told officially we have 3,547 guests here tonight and have already raised over one million dollars! We're stampin' it out tonight, baby! Keep the party going!" Most of the throng began to make their way back towards the Grand Ballroom, although a sizable number, either feeling that they had no chance at winning the costume prize, or not caring to see the A.D.A. presentation on the big screen, stayed in the Casino and continued to "donate" heavily. There were plenty of flat plasma monitors that had been placed throughout Wayne Manor so that the A.D.A. presentation could be seen from virtually anywhere, including the restrooms. The theatre rooms were emptying as well, having finished their first runs of the evening.
      Leaving the Sports Emporium, Robert Redford, Kevin Costner, Yogi Berra, Keanu Reaves, Mark McGuire, and John Elway discussed the merits of "The Natural," and the wonderful collection of sports collectibles they had just enjoyed.


                                                 

          Chapter 23

    Miles away from the benefit, at Arkham Asylum, Tim Bagwell walked as quietly as possible down the long, dimly lit hallway that led to the research lab. Bagwell winced at the echoing of each of his own footsteps, which would go unnoticed during the noise of the busy workday, but now, with all but a handful of the staff gone for the evening, it seemed as if each footstep cried out that this man was up to no good and should be stopped before he did whatever he intended. The sound of the keys jingling as he took them from his pocket and sorted through them made him glance up and down the hall to see if anyone was on their way to investigate the cause of the racket. As he found the key and inserted it into the lock, the profound feelings of guilt swelled within him, threatening one last time to make him stop. The things he could do with the money. The difference it could make in his life. The consequences if caught. 
      If found out, his current life would be over. His life would be altered forever, although in a distinctly different way, if his crime went undetected. If he turned the key and opened this door nothing would ever be the same.
      He removed the key from the lock, squinted at it, briefly holding it in front of his eyes, and then placed the keys back in his pocket. He turned away from the door and reached up to wipe beads of sweat from his forehead as he headed slowly back down the hallway, in the direction from which he came. His breathing, which had become shallow and rapid, returned to normal. The butterflies in his stomach began to calm down. How could he have ever considered throwing away the ideals he believed in and had stood for all of his life? He was neither a thief nor a murderer. He protected and defended the people and laws of Gotham City.
    The echoing of his footsteps no longer bothered him. His pace quickened. He would finish his rounds and go home knowing he had done the right thing. He may not have gained fifty thousand dollars to play with, and he might never win the admiration, or love, of a beautiful, intelligent Doctor named Chase Meridian, but he knew if he had yielded to the temptation of becoming a hired killer and thief, then he would truly be a loser, a loser who would never again be able to relax. He would always feel hunted. His skin would crawl every time he saw or heard a police car. He was not a loser, no sir. He was a winner and proud of it.
      As he entered the corridor that would take him past the inmates cells for his nightly bed check routine, he wondered if that guy named Carl would come after him. He would report the attempted bribe tomorrow morning at the precinct headquarters. Perhaps, for his own safety they would put a tail on him for a day or two, but in any event he would need to be extremely vigilant for some time. He could do that, though, no problem, because he was a winner, a really good cop who had resisted an offer that a lot of others could not have turned down.
    Before he reached Edward's cell he looked in on five other inmates. He peered through the square shatter-proof windows set into the steel doors that locked automatically every night at nine-thirty. Those inmates whose minds still allowed them to focus well enough to read were frequently seen at this time of night, still awake, flipping through pages while sitting in their beds, or metal chairs, which were bolted to the floor to prevent their use as a weapon.
      All seemed to be in order this evening until he reached Edward's cell. No lights on. Not unusual. Edward frequently fell asleep by nine. But tonight the covers on the bed had been tossed over the side, cascading onto the floor. Edward was nowhere to be seen as Tim scanned the darkened room and decided he should go in to get a better look. He drew his billy club from his belt, unlocked the door and stepped in, slowly, carefully, trying to see everything around him.
      He called out softly, "Edward, where are you? It's Tim." He listened closely for the sound of breathing, or anything, but heard nothing beyond his own breath, which had again become rapid and shallow. Where could he be?
      The answer came swiftly, as two strong hands grabbed him around the ankles and pulled his feet out from under him. Tim came crashing down so quickly that he had no time to get an arm up to break his fall. His head bounced off the floor and the dark room got even darker. Edward had been hiding under the bed, concealed by the bedcovers tossed over the side. Through a fog Tim heard Edward's voice and saw a vague shape looming above him.
    The silhouetted figure spoke up. "Thought you'd kill me for cash, did ya? Thought you'd steal my research and kill me and then get the girl. Well, at least that was bold. Then what happened? Got cold feet, did ya? Couldn't do it, huh? Don't try to convince me that you came to your senses and decided to do the right thing."
    As Tim began to regather his wits, the surprise of Edward knowing of his plans began to dawn on him. "Edward?" Tim asked, "How could you know that stuff? I never told anyone."
    "Edward didn't know anything, Tim," came the answer. "But there's someone else in this room that reads your mind like a book, and it's a short story at best. A rather boring, short story about a guy too scared to act, too cowardly to do anything, right or wrong. That's why you're not here to try to kill me tonight. You don't have the guts."
    "What are you talking about, Edward?" Tim demanded, "who else is in this room with us? Who can read minds?"
      In the room, a small reading lamp clicked on, faintly illuminating the face staring down at him. "Tim let me tell you who in this room can read minds. I can. The Riddler can read anyone's mind. All I have to do is get close enough."
    "No way," Tim challenged his captor, "The Riddler could only read minds with the help of the machine that you invented. He couldn't do it without the machine!"
    "Evolution, my dear boy. My mind simply made the jump. I found a way to do this little mind reading trick and a few other things without prosthetics. And please, stop referring to the Riddler as he, and to Edward as if that were me. We are one and the same. I am the Riddler." Edward bowed, backed up a couple of steps, and motioned for Tim to get to his feet. Tim struggled up and stood before Edward, planning to use his night stick, but Edward told him, "I'd hate to make you use that thing against yourself, Tim. I could make you beat yourself senseless, but that wouldn't take long, now, would it, seeing as how you 're over half way there already? I think the best thing for you to do, Tim, would be to slip out of those security clothes and let me wear them right out of here. You can take a little snooze here in my room until they find you in the morning. By that time I'll be long gone."
      Tim felt his own fingers at the buttons on his shirt, unbuttoning them easily, even though he was consciously fighting each move of his hands. He couldn't believe his eyes, as he slipped out of the shirt and held it out to Edward. This was followed by the unbuckling of his belt and unzipping of his fly, before he stepped out of his uniform pants and again held them out to be taken.
      Fatigue swept over Tim as Edward said, "You'll be a little confused in the morning, because you'll have no idea how you got here, or how I got out. Other than that, you'll awaken feeling relaxed, refreshed and good about who you are.” Melodramatically, Edward mimicked Tim, “A protector and defender of the people of Gotham City."
      Tim lay down as if in a trance, and although he fought it with all his might, he fell asleep within seconds. As Edward tenderly tucked him in, he smoothed Tim's hair across his forehead the way a loving father might do with a young son. Tthen he turned and stared at the door.
      He would take Tim's car and drive until he could find a place where he would be safe. Alone to grow and work on the new abilities he had discovered, alone to think of ways and reasons to use these new skills. He would want to be alone for a long time, but not forever. The day would come when he would use these talents for purposes as yet undetermined. Maybe he would become a crime fighting hero, like Batman, only better. Oh, how the people of Gotham City loved their caped crusader. Wouldn't it be wonderful to be loved in that way? He deserved to be loved like that.
      Hadn't he already taken the first step, by doing all of that cellular research for the Wayne Foundation? He had personally handed the research results to Bruce Wayne earlier that day. It would have been so easy for him to just blurt out what he knew, as soon as Wayne got close enough. "Hi Batman, good luck in using this against the Joker," but he hadn't done it. He admired Batman and his dedication to fighting crime. Wouldn't Batman, or any crime fighter, like to be able to read the minds of the criminals he pursued? What an advantage it would give him.
      Yes, he could be a great crime fighter, or maybe he would go in an altogether different direction. Maybe he would use his powers to help him amass a huge fortune through slightly less than conventional methods. Good or Evil? Which direction should he take? How could he decide when so much hung in the balance? The decision would determine his future as well as the futures of those he might serve, or deceive. His old pal in crime, Two Face, would have offered a simple solution. Flip a coin. Maybe he would when the time came. But when that day would come remained to be seen.
      Before leaving, he wrote a short note on the notepad he found in Tim's jacket. He tore the yellow page out and folded it carefully, placing it under one corner of the pillow where Tim 's head lay. On the back of the note it said, "To Dr. Meridian." On the inside it read, "Couldn't leave without saying goodbye. Thanks for everything. See you again, some day." He signed it, "Warm regards, Edward."
      He opened the door and peered into the empty hallway. The door closed behind him with a click. He strolled casually to freedom, escaping without even once being stopped or questioned. At the security gate, once he got close enough, he effortlessly controlled the mind of the guard on duty, making him believe Tim drove the car, leaving at the end of his shift.
      Once past the gate and on the road, he smiled at how easy it had been, and how simple he knew it all would be in the future. Lightening flashed, forking across the sky in the distance as a large storm approached. Driving west, away from Gotham City, the illuminated clock on the dash showed ten p.m.

Batman: Revenge Chapters 24 - 25  (18+) The Joker kidnaps Vicki Vale #1481123 by George R. Lasher