Batman: Revenge Chapters 24 - 25

BATMAN: REVENGE

                                                                                   

Chapter 24

   



The crowd clapped enthusiastically as Sid Lancer announced that the evening's donations now totaled one million three hundred and sixty three thousand dollars. The numbers flashed on the big board behind him. "And now,” he continued, "Thanks to the hard work of a lot of people over at Channel six and the fine people of the American Diabetes Association, we have a very special presentation for you. And, oh yes, by the way, don't go away, because right after this presentation we will have the judges decisions on the five finalists for best costume, and remember, one of those five will win that beautiful new Lexus!" The spotlight on Sid Lancer was extinguished and the huge screen behind him lit up with the familiar red, American Diabetes Association Logo, but the voice everyone heard as the presentation began was not the voice of the dapper local weatherman.

      Confusion and concern were pasted across the faces of Sid Lancer and members of the A. D .A., as the mystery voice proclaimed, "Good evening ladies and gentlemen and thank you for joining us tonight. Diabetes is a disease that afflicts the lives of millions of people and leads to incredible losses of productivity in the business sector and catastrophic losses to individuals and families across this country and around the world. Blindness, kidney failure, heart disease, blood sugar fluctuations which cause everything from coma and disorientation to extreme mood swings are just a few of the problems diabetics and their loved ones must attempt to cope with, not to mention the rising costs of health care. Ultimately, and most sadly, all of these problems can and do lead, in many cases, to premature loss of life, which is why you are here tonight having a good time, donating your dollars to further the research which will, in time, and we sincerely hope it is sooner, rather than later, lead us to the eradication of this blight upon humanity, which steals life's simple pleasures, such as eating a piece of cake, or candy, from both young and old, black, brown, yellow and white, every religion, every political party affiliation...yes, even Republicans.



      Those of you who have not yet encountered this insipid, life threatening atrocity, first hand, may yet find yourselves faced with it at sometime in your future. You may have to draw blood from a finger two or three times a day and then try to guess how much insulin is the right amount to counteract the sugar that will enter your blood as a result of what you have eaten. If you guess wrong, you can go into insulin shock, or cause damage to your eyes or organs from high blood sugar levels. If you have to exercise more than usual for some reason, it affects your blood sugar levels. If you can't exercise for some reason, it affects your blood sugar levels. You find yourself being forced to play Russian roulette with an insulin syringe virtually every day of your life."



    The message, while impressive and seemingly well received by the audience, was not being presented in a way that the A.D.A. had envisioned or approved. Dan Paxton, the head of the local A. D. A. chapter, stood helplessly transfixed, looking at the screen, wondering what had happened to the wonderful presentation Sid Lancer, and the channel six public affairs crew had prepared, listening in shock to these totally unexpected and unauthorized words. They much preferred a positive message, encouraging diabetics to control their disease through sensible eating habits and achievable exercise goals, rather than the gloom and doom scare tactics of this presentation. They all wondered, who was responsible for this? They didn't have to wonder long.

    On the screen a man appeared dressed as a doctor, with a surgical mask covering most of his face. He spoke of diabetic retinopathy, which attacked the vision of diabetics by clouding the vitreous gel of the eye with blood. The blood came from leaking vessels that grew in proliferation for no apparent cause and then, with no adequate support structure, the vessels would sag and burst. If too much blood leaked into the gel of the eye, it would not simply reabsorb, leading to the need for a Vitrectomy, in which the eye would be drained and then refilled with a synthetic gel solution. This, unfortunately, could lead to scarring that would cause tearing and buckling of the retina, which again results in loss of vision.

    The man with the surgical mask asked the ultimate question, "Rather than undergoing countless medical procedures, wouldn't it be preferable to simply stop the cellular decay which attacks the pancreas and causes diabetes to begin with? If there were some way to keep people that have already contracted the disease from ever getting worse, wouldn't that be great? How much have we donated already this evening, hoping to make some small amount of progress in our battle against just one of the many diseases that lie in wait for us? What if you never again had to worry about contracting a disease or even a common cold? What would that be worth to you? How much have you spent on medicine and health care over your lifetime? Imagine now, never spending one more cent on health issues. No more need for fighting with insurance companies and HMO's. We could eliminate the growing need for socialized healthcare, altogether. Imagine never again having to go to the funeral of a family member or dear friend? What if death itself was removed from your future, as well as the future of everyone you loved? Friends, what would that be worth to you?"

    At this point the man behind the surgical mask had the absolute attention of every person throughout Wayne Manor. Nobody knew if he was serious, or if this was someone's idea of a very sick joke, but they were paying attention to every single word. "What would it be worth, to never age, to never feel the tug of time, the pain of arthritis, to never have to slow down? Wouldn't that be amazing? Wouldn't you be willing to give almost anything for the ultimate gift, the one thing that man has wanted since time began? And what would you think of someone who had discovered a way to bring this wonderful gift to you? I'm not talking about a cure for cancer, or diabetes, or multiple sclerosis, or muscular dystrophy here people. I'm talking about more than all of that. I'm talking about immortality. That's right people, immortality. The ability to go on forever. I'm talking about the ability to exist without food or water or oxygen, for as long as you might want to. I'm saying you could walk right through a germ warfare explosion and never so much as cough one time. Let's say you get mugged and shot right in the head. Well okay, you might have a headache for a short while, but you would get over it and you wouldn't suffer any long term brain damage. What would you say about an individual that could offer this to you? What would that person have to be?

      Assuming of course that what we are talking about is real, what would that person have to be, to be able to offer you immortality? In my book, folks, plain and simple, he would have to be a God. Wouldn't you agree? Who else could offer life everlasting? Who else can end pain and sickness, and suffering? Only a God, only a real, true God." The image of the doctor faded and was replaced with that of a peaceful river in front of an old, white, country church topped by a steeple and cross, bathed in heavenly sunlight. A choir began singing, "Shall we Gather at the River..."

    The voice began again, over the choir, "Skepticism is normal my friends. It's healthy. It keeps us from running off and doing impulsive, stupid, things. I know if I were you I would want some kind of proof that such a person exists and such a breakthrough has occurred. I wouldn't pay one red cent based on what ifs and maybes. But, what if I could show you someone risen from the dead, that had been buried, not for three days, but for fourteen years, that walks among us this very day? What if he was offering eternal life, here on this earth, without having to die and go to some mythical place you just have to believe in?"

      Now, a pale figure, clothed in a white, hooded robe, appeared on the screen, emerging from the front doors of the old church, walking along the side of the river towards the camera, being followed by heavenly sunbeams and by hundreds of people, who followed closely behind, with their arms outstretched in an effort to touch him. "What if I could show you someone, walking among us today who fell twenty stories to an asphalt road and made a three inch deep impression in the road with his body? His head was smashed like a hard boiled egg. How could that person have survived? The answer, obviously, is that he couldn't without a miracle. There must have been some kind of divine intervention that has enabled this man to continue walking among us. That's the reason I wanted to speak to you tonight, folks. That kind of divine intervention is now available to you and to your loved ones at a very affordable price."



    Of course, by now, Bruce knew who this man behind the mask was. His muscles tensed and ached for action. He clenched and unclenched his fists with the frustration of the situation, but what could he do? This was merely an elaborate presentation on a DVD, which may contain information that could somehow lead to his arrest. The best thing to do was to just let it play out and see what would be said. Right now, Bruce was more worried about what might be happening below, in the Bat cave.

    The roar of the motorcycle, although still distant, was becoming louder as Dick raced through the tunnel. BATGIRL remained crouched behind the Batmobile, out of sight from Jamal and Benny who had drawn their 45's and waited for the appearance of whoever was coming. Seeing that they were turned completely away from her, focusing their attention on the tunnel entrance, BATGIRL slid silently along the side of the Batmobile, attempting to get close enough to Jamal to effectively launch another Bat bolo. She quickly saw, however, that she wouldn't be able to get close enough without getting out in the open and exposing herself to the intruders and their guns. Still, she just couldn't let Dick ride into a potentially fatal ambush. She waited until the roar of the motorcycle engine indicated it would be only moments before Dick burst into view, and sprinted close enough to Jamal to be able to successfully launch her second Bat bolo. She rared back and flung it with all of her might, watching as it spun towards the Jamaican and his head full of dreadlocks. It connected with a double thud and Jamal fell like a stone to the floor of the Bat cave.

    Benny shouted, as he spied BATGIRL, "There you are, you bitch!" He squeezed off two quick shots in her direction, as she somersaulted forward, doing her best to make herself a very illusive target. She heard the whistle of one of the bullets, which narrowly missed her head as she slid on the dirt floor, and turned, intending to race back to the cover of the Batmobile. That's when she felt the searing burn of Benny's third shot, burrowing through her left thigh, tearing a nasty hole slightly more than one inch in diameter. The explosion of pain paralyzed her momentarily as she lay on the ground, gasping. She looked down, seeing a torrent of blood escaping from the gaping wound and grabbed for her thigh, while Benny took careful aim at his fallen adversary, preparing to put her out of her misery. Fighting to remain conscious, she looked up, helplessly, into his narrowed eyes as he took three, slow, deliberate steps forward, holding the 45 out in front of him. He looked down at her and laughed coldly, saying, "Sorry you won't be around to appreciate our work. I'm sure you would have gotten a real bang out of it." Just as he was going to squeeze the trigger, the roar of an engine caused him to look up, his eyes widened as he realized in that last split second that he had walked directly into the path of Dick, on the motorcycle, flying out of the tunnel entrance. The crunch of metal against bone and the distance the body was thrown left little doubt about whether Benny would be getting back up or not. He lay in a crumpled heap with one of his legs bent at an unnatural angle underneath him. Dick laid the sliding cycle down, expertly, and ran to BATGIRL's assistance. She was evidently going into shock, as her blue eyes rolled back and she began to shake, unable to respond when he asked her to try to keep pressure on her thigh where the blood continued to spill out at an alarming rate. He picked her up and carried her to the side of the Batmobile. He reached behind the driver's seat and grabbed the medical emergency kit, which included tape and compression bandages. He quickly took her boots off, cut the pants leg open to above the wound, wrapped her leg and carefully lowered her, as she moaned weakly, into the passenger's seat. He buckled her in, raced around to the other side, hopped into the driver's seat and started the powerful engine. He shifted the transmission into drive and jammed his foot down on the accelerator .

      In the Grand Ballroom the figure in the white, hooded robe approached the camera and asked, "Who, you may be wondering, can we thank for this wonderful gift? Where, you may ask, can I get in line for this miracle? We'1l get to that, but first, I want to let you know that this same person who is offering you immortality has been persecuted and hounded by someone many of you hold in high regard. Blinded by his quest to avenge his parents deaths, many years ago, he was the one responsible for sending your new savior to a grave for fourteen long years. As a true God, it is my duty to punish the sinners that have transgressed against me. The miracle of immortality that I bring to you would have been offered years earlier if it were not for the wicked deeds of the masked man you know as BATMAN!" The hooded figure spread his arms wide and asked, "How many of you have lost loved ones during the past fourteen years? You can thank BATMAN for those unnecessary deaths. How many people do you think have died from disease or injury over the past fourteen years in Gotham City alone, not to mention the entire country? Certainly far more have needlessly died than the 9,000 deaths attributed to the poor, misunderstood man who was simply fighting back, trying to defend himself. This man, they called the JOKER, was feared, hunted, tracked down and murdered. There was no trial by a jury of his peers. He never got to tell his side of the story. Yet today he returns, and as a way to atone for his sins, if you must insist on seeing them as such, he comes to you offering a one time only, fifty per cent discount on the most desired thing in the history of mankind, immortality."

    Now the hood, which had cast a shadow over the face of the speaker, was pulled back and the camera zoomed in for a close up of the wide grin, etched on the bone white face. "Sing hallelujah, brothers and sisters, Baptism into the Church of Life Everlasting can be yours for a meager donation of only one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Tickets may be purchased at Axis Chemicals, and will be redeemable when our temple is completed, the building of which will be funded solely through your kind donations. Obviously this offer is for a limited time and is subject to change without advance notification, but enough of the legal disclaimers, let's move on with the punishment of the sinners, which I alluded to moments ago. While I humbly and completely forgive the people of Gotham City for their part in the atrocities carried out against me, I do hereby sentence BATMAN and everyone and everything he holds dear to be wiped from the face of this earth." Again, spreading his arms wide in a benevolent gesture, the JOKER continued, "However, being a just and loving God, I will accept the confessions of those who feel burdened by their guilt. And I will extend to them the opportunity for life everlasting through Baptism in the waters of immortality, although not at the previously advertised discounted price. Hey folks, we got a business to run and we can't just give this stuff away to everybody, especially those who have been against us from the start. Now, for those of you who intend to take advantage of our special offer, I suggest you leave Wayne Manor immediately. I'd hate to see you killed before you can obtain immortality. Bombs will begin to explode in three minutes. Thank you for your attention and have a nice evening. Happy Halloween!" He waved goodbye and the rest of the actors behind him on the screen all joined in and waved with him. One big, happy family, united for the good of all mankind. How touching.

    The screen went dark, and everyone stood around and stared at each other, not knowing what to say or what to think about what they had just seen. Then the panic began to set in, as people realized explosions could begin at any time. As people screamed while racing for the exits, Bruce grabbed Vicki and took her to the kitchen, giving her strict instructions to stay there, near the back door. He looked at Andre, and said, "Take care of her for me, Andre, she means the world to me."

    Andre replied, as the floor beneath them began to shake, "I will defend her with my very life monsieur. You can count on me."

    The first of the explosions occurred in the marina and near the base of the cliff that led upwards to the main part of the Bat cave. The Bat sub sank quickly, and the two, beautiful, black, speed boats were reduced to planks and splinters. Moments later, the cliff that supported the computerized media console and the parking and maintenance area for the Batmobile began to crumble. The media console erupted in a blinding flash, sending shards of glass, plastic and twisted metal in all directions, while, at the same time, the C-4 packet, which had been placed under the Batmobile, but which now lay out in the open, detonated. Jamal and Charlie, who had been knocked out by BATGIRL's bolos, had never regained consciousness and never knew what hit them. Benny had already died as a result of the massive injuries sustained when he was hit by the motorcycle. Thousands of bats scattered towards the cave exits as the walls that had been their home for countless generations began to disintegrate, falling down into the lake below, obliterating what was left of the marina.

    Harley Quinn and the JOKER sat calmly in the back of the Impala, each with a glass of champagne, relishing the fact that everything seemed to be going as planned. Harley offered a piece of toast with caviar to the JOKER, who took it and commented, "Truly, the only thing that tastes better than Beluga Caviar and champagne is revenge. In the words of the late Jackie Gleason, ‘How sweet it is’.”

    The sound of groaning and cracking timbers could clearly be heard over the screaming and shouting of the fleeing guests attempting to squeeze through the exits, as the structural foundation of Wayne Manor began to sag, due to the crumbling of the Bat cave far below it. Bruce, Richards and the rest of the Wayne Manor staff, along with all of the FBI agents, were doing their best to keep what threatened to become a human stampede, as orderly as possible. No more than three hundred people remained now in the Grand Ballroom as Carl Grissom, Jr. grabbed one of the judges by the lapels on his jacket and shouted, "What about the award for best costume, when will they name the finalists?"

    "Who gives a shit?" the judge screamed back, obviously scared to death, struggling to reach the exit. Grissom released him and cursed violently. Why couldn't they have waited until eleven to set off the damned bombs? Damn, he wanted to win that contest! He picked up a chair and threw it through one of the many ten foot tall windows that afforded a marvelous view of the beautifully lit and decorated Wayne Manor grounds from inside the ballroom. He used the legs of another chair to clear away the remnants of glass hanging in the window, threw the chair down, and stepped out through the window onto the lawn outside. He was immediately knocked off of his feet by a huge blast out on the grounds, closely followed by two more. When he regained consciousness a few minutes later and cleared the cobwebs from his head, the first thing that ran through his mind was, "Those were C-4 packets that were supposed to explode in the casino area. Somebody found them and threw them back here, but how could they have known about them and found them? Nobody saw us plant this stuff. The JOKER needs to know about this, right now!" He jumped up, and with his ears still ringing and his head pulsating with pain, ran around the perimeter of the Grand Ballroom towards the back of Wayne Manor looking for the black Impala where he hoped he would find Harley and the JOKER still waiting for him.

    Back inside, Cody, Tina and Sparky had walked past Andre and Vicki without a word. They had opened the back door and walked out, but instead of getting into either the van or the Impala, they sat down on the back patio lawn chairs and waited. What it was that they were waiting for was just about to happen in the kitchen.

    Emille walked into the kitchen carrying a cheesecake, finding Andre and Vicki sitting at the old table. "Thanks for nothing," he bellowed, "it seems your security measures were not adequate to protect thees broken down musty old fort. All of zee hard work zee American Diabetes Association people put in was for nothing. And zee same holds true for my people. All of zee time and preparation has been a complete waste. Zee guests barely had time to touch zee pastries zat we prepared, such as zee strawberry cheesecake I have here."

    Andre was in no mood to put up with Emille and replied by saying "Well, I guess zere will be less cases of food poisoning at zee hospital tonight zan I had previously imagined. You have already been, in my opinion, overpaid for your services, so get out of here with your complaints and bad food, and don't come back."

    Vicki cringed as she saw the look in Emille's eyes, there was no doubt that a fight was about to break out. Emille reared back and tossed the cheesecake at Andre, who ducked, but heard the wet smack behind him against the wall. He turned and looked at the mess sliding down the side of the wall and then turned back to face Emille who had reached up and grabbed a large stainless steel meat cleaver, which hung from a mounted wall shelf, along with soup ladles, egg beaters and a number of other kitchen utensils. "I have had enough of your insults, you buffoon," he yelled, as he rushed Andre, brandishing the meat cleaver high in the air with his right hand. Vicki screamed and ran over near the back door, getting out of the way of the madman who slashed wildly at Andre with the extremely dangerous weapon. Andre carefully positioned himself on the opposite end of the table from Emille, which kept him just out of the reach of the shining, highly polished cleaver. As they jockeyed around the table, with Emille trying desperately to close the distance between the two, Andre reached into a drawer behind him and grabbed a long, two pronged serving fork. Emille laughed and threw the cleaver at Andre. It glinted in the light as it spun, end over end, like an Indian's tomahawk towards it's target. Andre lurched to his right at the last moment and the cleaver grazed the top of his left ear, slicing it off cleanly, drawing immediate rivulets of blood, which flowed, warm and wet, down the side of Andre's face, looking much worse than it actually was. In truth, because of the finely sharpened edge and the adrenaline which pumped freely through Andre's veins, the wound had caused more surprise than pain. He instinctively placed his left hand up to his injured ear and was surprised to see, when he drew it back, that it was completely red. Revulsion and anger registered in his voice as he reverted to his native tongue, "Vous bastard, regard ce que vous avez fait!"

      Emille smiled as he reached up to the same wall mounted shelf he had snatched the cleaver from and selected a long, steel, two pronged serving fork, similar to the one Andre now held. He held it out in front of him, made several slicing motions through the air with it and said, "Je vous pense regarderai mieux de cette facon. Je ne termine pas encore vous. Defendez-vous!"

    Andre assumed the classic, in line, fencing position, left hand on hip, right arm with weapon extended in front of him. With calm resolve in his voice, he said, "En guard."

    Emille lunged forward with his serving fork, stabbing directly at Andre's chest. Andre deftly parried the attack, knocking Emille's weapon to the right and attempted a counter attack, stabbing directly towards the Quinn Catering Chef’s neck.

    His thrust was pushed off to the left, as Emille displayed the quick reflexes of one who was familiar with sword play. "I see you are not without some training," Emille said, "I am glad. Zere is no joy in keeling a man who cannot defend heemself." He turned to Vicki and said, "I weesh to inform you, my lady, zat zis ees not a duel to first blood. Zis ees a duel to zee death."

    Before Andre and Emille could resume their duel, an earsplitting blast occurred on the second floor of the mansion, just above the casino, the force of which threw everyone in the vicinity to the floor. A number of the strong timbers, which had provided support for the upper levels of the building were ripped apart, sending fragmented, burning wooden projectiles in all directions, injuring a number of guests, who were still trying to reach the front door and further diminishing the structural integrity of the building. Without the support of the now destroyed, massive wooden beams, an unholy chorus of popping joints and rivets began, joined by the unearthly creaking and hissing of overly stressed, burning, bending and cracking rafters, which reverberated loudly throughout the upper two levels of Wayne Manor and threatened to tumble down upon those who had not yet managed to reach the exits.

    One story below, the initial explosions continued to trigger incremental damage to the foundation that Wayne Manor rested upon. The floor beneath the Weapons arsenal, weightlifting, dressing and wardrobe areas began to sag and give way, since the support below it was gone. Piece by piece, slowly at first, but then with increasing frequency, small sections broke away and fell the long distance into the lake below. It wasn't long before the small sections graduated into larger ones. With nothing below to support it any longer, the Sauna, whirlpool and shower area simply dropped, floor and all, bouncing, twisting and splintering against the remaining outer walls of what had been the Bat cave. The entire arsenal, stocked with state of the art weaponry, much of it still in the research and development stage, worth millions upon millions of dollars fell along with the wardrobe area, containing all of the current Bat costumes as well as those that had been replaced and archived due to recent enhancements. With each subsequent collapse, the whole mansion shook as the trauma was transmitted throughout the expansive network of steel and wooden girders and struts, fighting valiantly to maintain the necessary balance and support to keep Wayne Manor from falling into the abyss that was relentlessly forming below.



    Having regained their feet, Emille and Andre resumed their personal life and death struggle, thrusting, stabbing, attacking and counter attacking with the long, two pronged serving forks, as Vicki cowered in the corner near the back door. Andre lunged forward, narrowly missing the right arm of Emille, who turned a chair over and kicked it in Andre's direction. Andre caught his heel on the chair, as he attempted to leap over it, dropping his weapon and momentarily losing his balance. Emille pounced on him as quickly as a tiger on a stumbling antelope, shouting "Now you are mine! Now you weel pay for your insolence." With his left hand he grabbed Andre by the throat and bent him back over the top of a cabinet counter, while he  prepared to drive the fork deeply into Andre's chest. With both hands Andre grabbed Emille's hand that gripped the fork and pushed back with all of his strength. Emille saw that he could not maintain the hold on Andre's throat and at the same time overcome the strength of both of Andre's arms on the hand in which he held his weapon. He released the grip on Andre's throat and moved quickly to put the full force of both of his arms and body into the pushing of the lethal fork into his prey. As the two struggled they slid towards the end of the counter top, near the wall, Emille concentrating totally on driving the long fork into Andre, and Andre doing his best to push back and keep that from happening while trying to think of something he could do to turn the tide of this battle.

    Vicki had been wracking her brains as the duel raged on, desperately trying to figure out what she could do to help Andre, when all of a sudden she remembered earlier in the day there had been an FBI agent stationed just outside the back door. She opened the door to summon him and saw instead the Quinn Catering crew lounging in the lawn chairs. Vicki screamed, "Help me, please. You gotta help me! Andre and your boss are trying to kill each other! We have to pull them apart! Come quickly, please!"

    Cody turned, looked at Sparky and said, "How easy can it get?" They both got up and walked towards Vicki, who was now literally hopping up and down with nervous anticipation, hoping that they might help to avoid this tragedy. Instead, they grabbed her and threw her into the back of the Quinn Catering Van. Vicki struggled mightily, but the cloth placed over her mouth had been soaked in something which quickly rendered her unconscious. she fell next to agent Appleby and was tied up immediately. Sparky, Tina, and Cody jumped into the front of the van and drove off slowly, so as not to attract attention. The JOKER and Harley clinked their champagne glasses together in celebration and waited for Emille.

    Andre saw Vicki open the door and walk out. He wanted to stop her, but was more than a little preoccupied at the moment as he stared at the long, sharpened prongs, which Emille was attempting to bury in his chest. With muscles and veins bulging, both of the rivals panted and literally shook with the effort they exerted, as the battle began to resemble a deadly variation on arm wrestling. The prongs would inch ever so slightly nearer to Andre and then would slowly be repelled again as he pushed back, knowing his life depended on it. Andre was aware that his only chance for survival was to somehow obtain a weapon with which to stop this madman, but how could he find a weapon while he was bent backward over this counter, trying just to keep those prongs from plunging into him?

    "You know zat you are doomed," Emille said to Andre, their faces less than six inches apart as he grunted with the force he was applying to the serving fork. Andre could smell his foes foul breath as he continued, "Doomed to die in a keetchen that ees antiquated, undersized and poorly organized. You have even let your employer's fiancee be kidnapped. She weel not be coming back through zat door. He put his trust een you, and you have let heem down. Eef you were not so disgusting, yourself, I would pity you."

    Andre squinted with discomfort and sheer hate, as the sweat, which poured from his forehead and temples, burned his eyes. He grimaced and replied, "My keetchen may not have zee latest oven and refrigerator, and may not be as large as I might sometimes weesh, but to say eet ees poorly organized would be far from zee truth. Let me show you what I mean." He brought his right knee upward with as much force as he could, scoring a direct and crushing blow to Emille's testicles. As Emille's strength was instantly sapped by the surprise, pain, and accompanying nausea, Andre was finally able to push his attacker and the pronged fork away with his right hand, while reaching back with his left hand and opening the last drawer at the end of the counter, which had been behind him. In that drawer he kept his metal shish ka bob skewers, one of which he grabbed now, without even needing to look. They were exactly were he knew they would be. Without hesitation he swung the long skewer with all of his remaining strength toward Emille, who now leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, desperately attempting to recuperate from the devastating impact to his groin. He looked up in time to see the skewer approaching and attempted to dodge it, but he was too late, the Coup De Main had been delivered. The slender shaft pierced the jugular vein, continuing with incredible force, completely through his neck, ending up deeply lodged in a stud behind the wall where he had stood, pinning him there, sputtering and coughing, with his eyes bulging in terror, pain and disbelief.

    "Don't tell me my keetchen is poorly organized," Andre said to the dying chef. "I know where everything ees. I have to go now. You are bleeding rather badly, but eef you promise not to make too much of a mess, you can hang around for as long as you like." He headed for the door with a great sense of satisfaction, but not relief, because he was extremely worried about what had happened to Vicki. He paid no further attention to the choking, gurgling noises behind him, which were the last sounds Emille would ever make.

    As soon as the JOKER saw Andre walk out the back door he knew Emille would not be coming. He slipped his clown mask back on and without a hint of worry in his voice, either for the missing member of the team or for the fact that something had indeed gone wrong, he tapped Marty Mitchell on the shoulder and said, "Let's go Marty, it seems as if we won't be needing to wait for Emille, after all." Marty had learned not to ask questions, even though he also wondered about Carl. He just did as he was told, putting the car in gear and following the driveway around to the front of Wayne Manor, where over a thousand people milled about waiting for their transportation to arrive.

    FBI agent Cobbs approached the car, and Marty stopped, holding his badge out for inspection. Agent Cobbs looked the badge over quickly, gave Marty a cursory glance and shined his flashlight into the car to see who else was riding with Marty. He immediately recognized Harley and said, "Quite a mess tonight Ms. Quinn, I hope your crew all got out okay." Harley thanked him for his concern and he walked alongside the Impala for ten or fifteen yards before motioning them on, through the front gates.

    Feeling dizzy and nauseated, Carl Grissom, Jr. reached the back of the Mansion where the van and the Impala should have been parked, only to find that they were already gone. He reached up and lifted off the Attila the Hun, Wolf's head, which he had so hoped would win him first prize in the costume competition. He threw it down on the gravel. His head throbbed as he screamed, "You couldn't wait for me? Damn it, you son of a bitch, you couldn't wait for me?"

    That's when the rain began. The wind had been blowing harder and harder as the night progressed, and the temperature had begun to drop rapidly, but now there was a tremendous flash of lightening and a crash of thunder that literally shook the ground, and the sky just opened up. It poured buckets, ice cold buckets of rain, and Grissom stood there getting soaked for several minutes, feeling as if each fat, cold drop that pelted him was a personal insult, before he looked up into the flashing skies, shook his fist and screamed, "shiiiiit." He repeated the expletive a number of times before picking up the wolf’s head, which was now soaked, perhaps beyond saving, and began trudging, head down in dejection and disgust, along the gravel driveway towards the front of the mansion.

      Ambulances began to arrive, to transport the injured to Gotham Memorial. Inside Wayne manor, Bruce was busy with the FBI agents and his staff, helping to move those who could be moved, just outside the front door, under the awning, where the paramedics could get to them quickly.     

      Chris Tucker hit some high notes normally associated with opera singers while being moved outside, as he squealed in pain after having been hit in the shoulder by a large, flying, piece of wood with jagged edges. Jackie Chan, Charlie Sheen, and Denise Richards hovered nearby, doing their best to keep him calm. Tucker said, "I told y'all we shouldn't have been in the Casino area, man. I wanted to watch one of the movies, I think they had Rush Hour! We should'a been in there for that!"

    Hundreds of guests still remained inside, along with several news reporting crews, evidently preferring the chances of the building collapsing on them to the prospect of running around outside with the lightening flashing in the howling wind and driving, freezing rain. Staying inside almost proved to be a fatal choice for several of the guests, as another blast of thunder shook the entire mansion, or what was left of it, further loosening one of the massive timbers that had earlier become partially dislodged from the ceiling beams when the explosion occurred. The huge piece of wood tumbled from above and freakishly wedged itself into a corner, trapping, but fortunately not injuring, three of Hollywood's best known action stars. Stephen Segal, Claude Van Damme and Arnold Shwarzenegger called out for help, after being unable to find a way to escape from their colossal wooden prison. Danny Devito was the first on the scene, along with a reporter from one of the many newspapers covering the evening's Grand Suarez. Danny, who was still having a great time in his incredible Hulk costume, saw that the three stars were uninjured and decided to have some fun. Although trapped, Arnold and his wife, who had been standing nearby and narrowly missed being hit when the giant piece of wood fell, were soon both in tears, they were laughing so hard as Danny flexed his muscles, and grunted, "Danny save!" He turned to the reporter and said, "Look, sport, we probably ain't gonna be able to budge this thing, but let's give it a try for the cameras. If we do get it moving, just try not to let it fall on us!"

    The reporter, dressed in a plain gray suit, pushed his plain, black glasses, which continually seemed to slip, back up on the bridge of his nose and nervously replied, "Yes sir, Mr. Devito, I’ll try."

    Danny turned, grinned and waived at the camera crews f1lming behind him. Again, he flexed his muscles and said, "Okay, guy, let's give it a shot!" He roared, a marvelous primeval roar, doing his best Hulk impression as the gigantic timber made scraping noises in the corner of the wall where it was wedged and actually began to move. It broke free of the area where it seemed to be stuck and rose slowly, as Danny continued to roar and grunt. Under his breath, so the camera crews couldn't hear him, he said, "Holy shit, man, this thing ain't so heavy after all! Is this thing made of painted paper mache?" They laid the massive piece of lumber down and the three stars who had been trapped, laughed and hugged Danny and slapped him on his hairy, green, painted back. Danny couldn't believe it himself. The reporters from the camera crews that had filmed the whole thing came running up, wondering how he had done it. He seemed almost embarrassed, as he told them he guessed it must have been the adrenaline and, of course, he was a lot stronger than most people would think. Also, he pointed out, there was a lot to be said for having a low center of gravity .He turned to speak to the reporter that had helped him lift the log, in order to share the glory of the moment, but he was gone. Well, Danny figured, the guy seemed to be the timid type that would be scared to death of a microphone and a camera crew, and besides, there were a lot of things going on, a lot of stories to cover this evening. The guy probably had more important things to do than stand around answering questions about how they could have moved such a big log.

      Bruce was as puzzled as the rest of the people that had witnessed what became known as, "Danny's miracle," but he didn't have long to be able to ponder what had happened. Andre came running up to him and frantically said, "Master Bruce, you must come weeth me. Something horrible has happened!"

    "Yeah, this whole night has been horrible, Andre," Bruce replied, "but what specifically are you referring to?" Before Andre could answer, Prince walked by, with part of his entourage.     

      The diminutive entertainer offered his sincere condolences, saying, "Wayne, my man,  I'm so sorry about what happened to your place here this evening. I'm sure you understand that I feel compelled to retract my purchase offer. No hard feelings though, I hope?" He extended his hand to shake and Bruce shook it.

      "No," Bruce replied, "I understand completely. I really appreciate the great performance you put on and I'm so sorry it was cut short."

    "Well, these are hard times," Prince said, "and we have to deal with them, baby. Look me up when you get it together and want to finish this gig." Bruce turned to Andre again as Prince struted out the front door to where his limousine awaited.

    "Andre, what are you talking about?" Bruce asked, “I know there was trouble in the cave, Dick went to help out and I haven't heard from Barbara or Dick since then. Is that what you're talking about?"

    Andre was insistent, "Come with me, Master Wayne, eet ees about Miss Vale." This got Bruce's attention, and he immediately went with Andre to the kitchen. The grotesque sight of  the dead Quinn Catering chef pinned to the wall, supported by the shish-ka-bob skewer through the neck greeted Bruce and stopped him in his tracks as his mind struggled to accept the bizarre scene in a room that had, for so many years, evoked nothing but feelings of comfort and the happiest of memories.

    At first, "What happened?" was all that Bruce could ask. His eyes ran down the limp form of the dead chef, from the neck to the large pool of dark, thickening blood on the floor, and then back to Andre.

    "He attacked me weeth a meat cleaver ," Andre explained, pointing to the floor, where the meat clever now lay, and then pointing to his ear where the blood had finally stopped flowing, having clotted in a crusty maroon glob. “When we had zee disagreement earlier he had said eet was not over, but I theenk hees main reason for attacking me, was so zey could geet to Vicki. She went out zee back door to geet help and never came back. I went out after her, as queekly as I could, but she was gone and so was zee Quinn Catering van."

    "The fact that the van was gone may, or may not be a coincidence," Bruce replied, "but for right now, it's all we have to go on. After I call Dick, let's get one of the FBI agents and the local police back here. You can give them your story and they can start gathering evidence."

    Richards walked into the kitchen at that moment, and looked as if he might pass out due to the shock of what he saw. Trembling terribly, he dragged a chair out from the table in the center of the kitchen and fell into it. Andre got him a glass of water, and after a large gulp Richards set the glass down, saying, "I had hoped the events of the evening could get no worse. Yet it seems that they have, indeed." Still trembling, but not as badly, he again raised the glass to his lips and took another sip of the water.

    Bruce dialed Dick on his cell phone and was relieved when Dick answered after two rings. "Dick, where are you," Bruce asked, "what happened in the cave?"

    "Bruce, Barbara's in bad shape. We're at the emergency room at Gotham Memorial. She was shot in the thigh trying to stop three intruders. She lost a lot of blood and the hole in her leg is nasty. They're doing surgery right now." Dick's voice was strained, revealing the tension and the helplessness he felt. "Hey," he added, "she didn't look good, man. She was pale and unable to respond at all. I'm really worried."

      Bruce asked, "Did you have the emergency alternate identity card and medical coverage information to give to the hospital?"

    "Yes," Dick replied, "thank goodness Barbara had it on her, in her utility belt." "How did you explain the costume?" Bruce asked.

    "That was easy. I left the leather pants on her, but I got her out of the boots, mask, and the top part of her outfit with the Bat insignia. She had a black tank top on, under her Kevlar vest, which went pretty good with the black leather pants. Anyway, tonight was the costume party, at Wayne Manor. I just told them we were both there, and that she was dressed as some weird villain. They didn't seem suspicious about that at all."

      "How did you explain the Batmobile?" Bruce wondered, "I assume that's how you got there."

    "Well, I parked it pretty far out on the parking lot, and carried Barbara in from there. Nobody asked me about it, at least not yet anyway. I put the shields up as a precaution."

    "Did anybody ask how she got shot?" Bruce asked.

    "Yes," Dick answered, "and I told them it might have been terrorists, and that there were FBI agents and police all over the place. I also told them I didn't want to wait for the ambulance to get there because I didn't know how long it would be before it got there, so that's why I brought her in."

    "Well, that sounds pretty convincing, but I'm sure someone, somewhere, will get suspicious if you stick around there long enough. I think your best bet is to come back here and let Richards take one of our other cars back to the hospital. Hurry back, Dick, I'm going to need your help and I'll need the Batmobile as soon as you can get it to me."

    "Why?" Dick asked, "Is something happening that I don't know about?"

    "The JOKER bombed Wayne Manor and kidnapped Vicki. Andre killed one of their crew. We've got to try to find her, Dick. There's no telling what they will do to her."

    "I'm on my way," Dick said, and hung up.

    Bruce flipped the phone closed, and turned to Richards. "Are you okay to drive down to Gotham Memorial? Barbara's been shot in the thigh and is in surgery."

    Richards looked up from the table and replied, "I'll just gather up a few things she may need and go right away, sir."

    "Looks like it's going to be a long night for all of us. I'd better get downstairs, get changed and see what kind of damage was done down there. Dick didn't mention anything specific about damage down there, but I felt the floor shake earlier as if something was happening below us. Andre, hold off for a few more minutes on getting the FBI and Police back here. Would you keep an eye out for anyone coming this way, while I slide this panel back and go down in the elevator?"

    Andre stood in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the rest of Wayne Manor, while Bruce flipped the switch that slid the elevator's concealing panel back. The polished aluminum doors came into view, and Bruce pushed the button to open them. They slid open, and as he stepped in, he said, "Don't forget to close the panel, when the elevator doors close. I don't want to have the FBI, or local police, asking questions about where this thing goes and why we didn't let them know about it earlier."

    He stepped back, and the aluminum doors closed in front of him. He pushed the button for the level that contained the wardrobe area and waited, noticing that the elevator's descent was not as stable as it was supposed to be. He would have that checked out tomorrow. Instead of stopping smoothly, the elevator jerked and swung slightly for a moment. Then the doors opened, revealing a sight that was, at first, impossible to comprehend. Bruce pushed the button to hold the elevator doors open. The few spotlights that remained working in the cave provided just enough illumination to confirm there no longer was a wardrobe area. There was no weapons arsenal. There were no weightlifting machines. The sauna, whirlpool and shower areas no longer existed. The spiral staircase and the Batpole were gone. Further below, the parking and maintenance area for the Batmobile and the computerized media and communications console were as gone as if they had never existed. The only thing left below the main floors of Wayne Manor seemed to be the elevator shaft, which now led to nowhere. Looking down into the dark cavern, Bruce could not actually see, but did hear the waters of the lake far below. Looking up, Bruce's jaw dropped in awe, as he marveled at a strange and wonderful sight. In the dim light, he could make out a network of crisscrossed timbers, virtually whole trees and scrap metal, tied, welded and wedged together to form a kind of odd, pieced together, emergency foundation, supporting what was left of Wayne Manor's main floor. It was painfully obvious that without this miraculous, seemingly spur of the moment construction job, the entire mansion would have collapsed, killing virtually everyone in it. How could this have happened? Bruce knew of just one person with the amazing abilities that this piece of work would have demanded, and it wasn't Danny Devito.

    He pushed the button which allowed the elevator doors to close once again, which they did, and then pushed the button to return to the kitchen. The elevator jerked upward and stopped, jerked again and swayed slightly before jerking upward violently, almost knocking Bruce off his feet. As the elevator began to ascend, it was accompanied by the high pitched whine of metal scraping against metal, or cable, somewhere above him. Bruce was more than a little relieved when he finally set foot in the kitchen once again. He sat down at the table, pointed to the elevator and said to Andre, "Let's shut that panel and keep it closed for a while. After what I just went through, I think we need to forget it was ever there. Also, let's get the police in here now, Andre. I'm getting tired of looking at your dead guy."



                                                                        BATMAN: REVENGE

                                                                                Chapter 25

    At the City of Tomorrow, FBI agent Thomas Appleby felt sick to his stomach and had the headache from hell, as he began to awaken. He was no longer in the back of the Quinn Catering van. Instead, although he remained tightly bound by nylon cord, he lay on a cot, in a dimly lit room, filled with mirrors. He listened carefully to the voices that emanated from another room, perhaps on the far end of some hallway that led to the room in which he lay. "Tomorrow about noon would be a good time to cut in," the first voice said, "The ladies here on the east coast will just be getting done watching All My Children. Hey, wouldn't Erica Kane look good with green hair?"

    A second voice added, "It would be perfect for Opal, with all the wild stuff she wears."

    A third voice, coming from the person who must have been in charge, interrupted by saying, "Am I hearing this right? Are there grown men in this room talking about the soap operas on TV, as if they know what's going on? Please excuse me for a moment, I think I'm going to be sick! Now, boys, forget about your soap operas for a minute and pay attention. We'll interrupt the satellite signal at noon and that's when we'll make our FBI agent a star. The first baptism into the Church of Forever, followed by irrefutable proof that the holy waters do, indeed, provide immortality. Now, boys, I don't want any mistakes for our premiere. Is the baptismal tank ready?"

    "Yes lover," a female voice answered, "the chemicals are properly mixed and are already in the tank. It's four feet deep, as you requested."

    The man in charge asked, "How do you know you have the right mix? Did you test it?"

    "We caught a squirrel," the female explained, "and held it under for two minutes. Then, after it turned white with a cute little touch of green, we took it out and ran over it with Marty's Impala three times. I mean we flattened that little sucker. After only three minutes it got up and ran away."

    "Well," the boss mused, "I hope our squirrelly agent fairs as well, tomorrow."

    Appleby didn't like what he was hearing. He began to look around to familiarize himself with his surroundings. Everywhere he looked he saw mirrors, mirrors in all shapes and sizes that reflected distorted images of everything in sight. But there was one thing he saw now, across the room from him, other than mirrors. It was a woman, lying either asleep or unconscious on a cot similar to the one he found himself on. A beautiful blonde woman in a blue, Cinderella costume. She must, also, have been abducted from the Wayne Manor benefit.

    The voices from down the hallway caught Appleby's attention again as he heard the female say, "The cross is rigged to lower whoever is strapped onto it, right down into the holy waters. It's activated by a big industrial on-off switch, which is on a support pole right next to the tank. It's all pretty dramatic stuff, what with the ethereal lighting, the mural with the doves and the sound track of choirs singing hymns. There's a lot of preachers out there that are going to be real jealous of this setup, JOKER."

    Appleby froze. JOKER? Did she just say, JOKER? Oh, my God! Then it was all true. He had come back from the dead. He had somehow become immortal. And tomorrow they were going to kill a certain FBI agent on nationwide TV and try to bring him back to life, just like they had done with that squirrel they were talking about! But he wasn't a squirrel, for God's sake. They couldn't possibly do that to a human being, could they? Not on TV! How was he going to get out of this? Were they really going to run over him; flatten him like that squirrel? He struggled furiously with the nylon cord, but got nowhere. He tried again, to no avail. Whoever had tied these knots knew what they were doing.  He couldn't give up, though. He had to keep trying. He wondered what time it was. How much time did he have left? He had to know.

    He called out to his captors, "Hey, somebody. Can somebody hear me?"

    From down the hall he heard the female voice say, "Uh oh, the squirrel's awake.”

    Then he heard the voice of the JOKER, "Let's go see him, after all he is going to be our very first convert on nationwide television. We need to treat him with respect." Appleby heard Footsteps coming down the hall towards him and then the click of a light switch, accompanied by what momentarily seemed to be intense light, but as his eyes quickly adjusted he realized it was just that he had been in the dark for so long that made the light seem so bright. Standing before him, Appleby saw the man who had been responsible for over 9,000 deaths in and around Gotham city .His constant, wide, fixed grin, still allowed emotions and feelings to be exhibited on his face, and curiosity was what Appleby saw now, etched on the face of this resurrected murderer. "How may we be of service, agent Appleby?" the JOKER asked.

    Appleby asked, "What time is it?"

    The JOKER pulled a chain that disappeared into a slit in his pants made for a pocket watch and pulled out a beautiful, gold, antique timepiece. He popped it open, and said, "In twenty seven seconds, it will be two seventeen in the morning. Are you thirsty? Need to go to the bathroom? Did you have a nightmare?” He bent lower and asked, “Want Daddy to read you a story?" The JOKER waited to see what response Appleby would have.

    "A trip to the restroom would be appreciated," Appleby answered, "and yes, I could use something to drink."

    "Boys, let's make some adjustments to agent Appleby's bonds, unless one of you

wants to pull his peter out of his pants for him and point it in the pot. Now, Appleby, you understand we can't completely untie your hands and if you want to do a number two, it's going to be kind'a tough to get one of these candy stripers to wipe your butt for you. Oh, yes, and if you were to try to escape, we would have no recourse other than to kill you, which, by the way, is the exact opposite of what we have planned for you."

    A moan came from the other side of the room, which attracted the JOKER's attention immediately. "He put a finger up to his lips and said, "Shhhh, you boys take Appleby to the restroom and get him a coke, caffeine free of course, we don't want to keep him up all night. Big day tomorrow!"

    The JOKER literally flew to the side of the cot where Vicki lay. He kneeled down and looked, with a look that could not be confused with anything other than adoration, at the woman he had fallen for, literally, many years ago. He petted her bare shoulder and smoothed her hair away from her eyes. "There, there, my darling, everything is going to be all right," he said. "You have nothing to be afraid of."

    "Oh, brother," Harley said, shaking her head in disgust, "would you put your tongue back in your mouth, you're gonna drool all over her. Quit making a fool of yourself JOKER, she'll never care for you, not like I do and you know it."

    The JOKER looked up at Harley, knowing that he needed her complete cooperation over the next few days, and replied, "I know she'll never be like you Harley. Your backgrounds are too different. Ms. Vale came from a well to do, highly educated family. She had all the advantages, while you have risen to the top on your own. Your mother was a waitress in a biker bar that loved reading romance novels, and your father was killed three hours after you were born, riding his Harley Davidson, while he was toasting the birth of his baby girl. You were riding motorcycles by the time you were twelve. Then you met me when you were just sixteen. You and I have always loved things that are dangerous. Maybe that explains why I'm attracted to her. You see, to me you're the safe one that I can count on and she's the one that's actually dangerous. She already got me killed, once! But, don't be jealous turtledove, after all, you're going to be my High Priestess for all eternity."

    “High Priestess of what?” Harley demanded, “If you go and get yourself captured then what has this all been for? I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I’ve followed your business plan to the letter. I was the one who made sure Kolasinski didn’t take out your brain before they buried you and I was there at your funeral, to make sure there weren’t any slip ups, that everything went just the way we had it planned.” The JOKER turned and began to walk away, not wanting to listen to what he knew was the truth. Harley followed him back into his office, raising her voice as she went. “Listen to me, God damn it! I was just eighteen years old when you fucked up the first time…”

    “Harley, please,” The Joker implored, “you’re going to wake her up.”

    “God forbid we wake up sleeping beauty,” she bellowed, with a sarcastic edge in her voice, “how could I be so callous, so insensitive? I'm so ashamed! Don’t you turn away from me again, I’m not finished with you! You hear me out! I’ve done a pretty outstanding job with you gone. I’ve invested a lot of time and effort into this thing; I’m thirty two, now. For fourteen years I’ve been the brains and the boss of this organization. It’s been my determination and my negotiating skill that has held this thing together and I sure as hell don’t want you to just throw it all away because you’re still goo-goo eyed over that ditzy blond! She’s not just dangerous, she’s as lethal as the sodium flouroacetate you slipped into the Commissioner’s drink!”

    With his back to her, the JOKER contemplated reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out the derringer that could shut her up. It didn’t matter that she was right. What mattered was that he was a God and God’s didn’t have to put up with lectures from mortals. He reminded himself again that he needed her cooperation, and decided to let her little attack go unpunished. After all, to err was human, to forgive was divine. “What can I say Harley?” he asked, “Right or wrong, I’m drawn to her.”     

    "Yeah, well, knock yourself out, lover," Harley warned, "she'll be the death of you yet...again." She walked back to his office, muttering under her breath as she went and laid down on the bed to watch TV and fall asleep, while he returned to kneel and gaze lovingly into the face of Vicki Vale.

    Transfixed by the beauty before him, yet cognizant of the danger she represented, he whispered, "Like a moth to the flame." 

Batman: Revenge Chapters 26, 27, 28  (18+) Batgirl's injury and Bruce's hunt for Vicki #1481135 by George R. Lasher