Whiskers
eyed Dick Grayson with all the malice of a cat whose favorite cushion is being
bent out of shape by an inconsiderate two-foot.
This particular two-foot had done it before, squashed the favorite
cushion, but at least then he did so smelling of cavern and cut grass.
Now he smelled like wet paint and plaster.
Whiskers delicate nose twitched at the grim realization that by the time
two-foot pillow-squasher left, the favorite cushion too would smell like wet
paint.
And did two-foot Selina-cat do anything to
discourage this? No, she’d lifted
Whiskers into her lap where he could get a good look at the desecration, she
stroked his fur consolingly, but she did not stop it.
Indeed, she seemed to be thinking. There
was a very particular kind of thinking whenever she picked him up and stroked
his fur this way. It usually meant
the purple leather would be removed from under the bed for a time.
Nutmeg
would be upset about that. But
Whiskers didn’t care so much. Under
the bed was Nutmeg’s war room. Whiskers’s
domain was the terrace, the planter Bat-Bruce disturbed when he was two-foot in
boots, and that cushion.
“I
can’t pay you anything approaching what Bruce did for the Wayne Enterprises
job,” Dick said. “In fact, with all the start-up costs, Selina, I don’t
know if I can pay you anything at all, for a while at least.”
“That’s
okay, Dick,” she answered, “your credit’s good.
You’re starting up a new business, high ticket private investigation
and security; that’s hardware, contacts, office space. You think I
don’t appreciate what you must be shelling out to get this off the ground in a
city like Gotham? And I know you
won’t take money from Bruce, so you must be doing it on loans.
I completely understand what you must be going through.
What I don’t understand is why you want me?”
“You’re
the best.”
“Where
exactly did you guys get the idea that I respond to flattery, tell me that?
No, never mind,
tell me this instead: why don’t you ask your wife?
I mean, Richard, if it was security for a physical plant as well as the
computer system, you’d be right. I
am the best. But just the
computers, Dick, you’re married to the best.
You’ve got Oracle waking up next to you every morning.
You don’t think she can’t find the holes in your system better than
Catwoman?”
“You
cracked Bruce’s system. Barbara
never did that.”
“I
doubt she’s tried. Look, I’m not
complaining that you can’t pay me up front because money is tight.
I am simply asking: if money is so tight, why don’t you use the better
no-cost solution right at your fingertips?”
Dick
sighed. This wasn’t the first
time he’d tried to maneuver Selina around a conversation and failed.
One last-ditch attempt to change the subject:
“What
if, instead of owing you a fee, I made you a partner.
How would that be?”
“Reowrl,”
Whiskers spat aggressively as Selina—or rather, as Catwoman—tugged the fur
at the back of his neck. It was so
clearly a response to Dick’s statement, it was almost as if Catwoman herself
had reowled, challenging him. In an
instant, her whole manner was different: firm, focused, and no-nonsense.
“Richard, I don’t work for people who try and jerk me making the
offer,” the voice took him right back to that rooftop when he was ten years
old. This
wasn’t Bruce’s girlfriend Selina anymore; this was Catwoman, and she was losing
patience. “Why—won’t—you—ask—Barbara?”
“For
the same reason I won’t take money from Bruce,” Dick answered honestly, “I
don’t want to be indebted—to either of them—not on this.
If it was a partnership, her and me against the world, I would.
But Selina, this is her town almost as much as Bruce’s.
And I want to establish my own presence here without a handout from
either of them. Okay?”
She
eyed him, appraisingly.
“There’s
more you’re not telling me,” she said finally, “Don’t bother denying it,
Richard, I can see there is. And if
it was just the two of us, Dick and Selina, talking, I’d say I won’t ask
because it’s none of my business. But
it’s not just the two of us. You
are hiring Catwoman. In fact, you offered a partnership—and that means
it is my business, whatever you’re not saying.
If it involves Batman, if it involves Oracle, if it involves Nightwing
even. So ‘fess up, kiddo.
What’s the rest of the story?”
Dick
looked up at her, looked down at the cat, down at his own lap, then back up at
her. It wasn’t exactly like
Barbara or Bruce: Tell me because I
say so. Selina did at least give a
better reason than ‘because I say so.’
With her, it was a legitimate proposition, quid pro quo:
If you want Catwoman’s help, there will have to be full disclosure.
He made himself comfortable in the chair—destroying Whiskers’s hopes
that the cushion would ever recover—and began a more detailed explanation…
He’d
lucked out in virtually his first week back in Gotham, when a small committee
from Barbara’s condo association called to welcome him to the building.
One of them, Brian Everwood, was a city councilman. He stayed after
the others had left. Everwood was
well-informed about Bludhaven, its civic issues, its law enforcement woes, and
he even referenced details of Dick’s own achievements on the Bludhaven Force
that could only be the result of genuine interest - or research.
After more than an hour of fascinating conversation, Everwood asked,
point blank, if Dick would be joining the Gotham Police Force. On learning he
wouldn’t (“too much baggage, Barbara’s father being the ex-commissioner
and all”) Everwood had smiled, handed Dick his card, and invited him to lunch at the
Barrister’s Club. As Bruce Wayne’s son, Dick was no stranger to the
corridors of power. The private
clubs & the executive suites did not dazzle him as they might an ordinary
street cop looking for a new line of work.
But Dick was not insensible to the fact that Everwood was trying to
impress him, and that attention was both unexpected and gratifying.
“Of
course, Gotham City,” Everwood (please, call me Brian!) enthused, “is a very
different proposition than a metrop like Bludhaven.
The corporate presence here, the wealth it represents, it’s staggering.
Look at WishStar. Why, they’ve accomplished more in a year, restoring
buildings and cleaning up Gotham Plaza, than City Hall could in a decade.
And as for Batman—”
“It’s
just cosmetic, Brian,” Dick felt compelled to point out, “Gotham Plaza, all
the crime is still there, and all the sleaze. It’s just moved a few
blocks to the left.”
“I
know that Dick, may I call you Dick? I’m
not naïve, Dick. But the patches of a clean Gotham that have been created are
good for the city. Tourists feel
safe—in fact, tourists are safe. Don’t
you realize what that means? Why,
the boon that creates, not just in the dollars they bring in but the boost for
the city’s image! They go home and tell people it’s a good place.
You can’t put a price tag on that, on what WishStar has given us.”
Selina
looked curiously at Dick, who paused in his story.
“Could
we possibly fast forward past the paid advertisement for WishStar, ‘a
family-friendly SuperCorp with a heart as big as their bank account,’ and get
on with your new line of work.”
Dick
looked embarrassed and summarized the rest of the lunch:
Councilman Everwood suggested the need for savvy, informed,
well-connected security and investigation services to serve the growing
corporate presence in Gotham. Consultants
like Foster & Forsythe had their niche, and so did low-level investigators
like Slam Bradley…
Dick paused to enjoy Selina’s reaction. He’d
dropped that name specifically, knowing her distaste for that particular PI, who
she described (rightly enough) as a bottomfeeder.
But the fact was, Everwood too had used Bradley as an example of the kind
of investigator whose outdated methods and underclass trappings did not fit the
needs of the new Gotham and her emerging corporate clients.
It
seemed the perfect answer to a question Dick had only started to ask himself: his place, his day-job,
and Nightwing’s inside track in Gotham
City.
The
very next night, Nightwing had found Nathan. Nathan
was a snitch, but not an ordinary snitch. A
good snitch. A very good snitch.
He knew the penny ante stuff they all did, the mob and the street
gangs, but he knew uptown too: not just that some museum exhibit might make an
interesting target for this criminal or that one, but what corporate sponsors
were underwriting the exhibit, who carried the insurance, and so on. He even had Iceberg
gossip: Sly finally got his dream date with Roxy Rocket; the disillusionment
was swift and painful…
“You’re
kidding!” Selina interrupted, Catwoman’s down-to-business mask dissolving in
an instant into the reveling-in-gossip face. “I hadn’t heard a word about
that.”
Dick
failed to supply more details, but smiled, as if dangling bait. “Then I guess
my informant’s as good as I think he is,” he grinned.
“He
have any more to offer besides gossip of either the Iceberg or Wall Street
Journal variety?” Selina asked, the business face returning.
“History,”
Dick said. “Did you know
Larraby Chemicals main factory was the old Ace Chemical Plant where Joker had
his… accident?”
Selina
shook her head. “It was a long
time ago,” she said.
“Yeah.
It’s way before my time. But
I remember asking Bruce about it once. We were on a case, and I thought it’d
be a likely Joker target.”
Selina
waved him off. “I do know this one, from the clown’s own mouth,” she
sighed. “Joker doesn’t blame
the physical plant. He blames
Batman. He blames his astrologer—dead now, by the way.
And also he blames Mr. Whipple.” Dick
looked blank, so Selina explained, “from the Charmin ads.”
Dick
rolled his eyes. Then finished his
story.
“So
anyway, I was in this quandary about what to do with myself being back in
Gotham, and within two days, all the pieces fell into place: Brian Everwood,
Nathan, Grayson Associates. Actually,
my first thought was Grayson & Grayson, but Barbara’s been so difficult
about anything work related. I
finally worked it out, I think: See, with the Titans, I led a team.
And before that, I was Bruce’s partner.
For all his dictatorial personality, Batman is part of a team: in the JLA,
and he led the Outsiders, and he leads ‘Team Bat’ for lack of a better word.
Barbara’s never done that. She’s
more of a dispatcher. She’s
traffic control: go here now. And
she’s triage: This is the priority, take care of this one, then that one, then
that. She doesn’t know what it is
to lead; she directs. And it seems
like, since we’ve been back, whenever our personal relationship bled onto
Oracle turf, that aspect of her character emerged.
Well Selina, I can deal with that in the field.
As Nightwing, it’s a total asset to me.
But if Grayson Associates is going to be my business and part of
Nightwing’s operations here, then I’m going to be calling the shots.
I’m not going to have ‘the wife’ ordering me around like the hired
help…. So now you know. That’s why I
came to you. That’s why I want
you handling this—for money or a share of the operation—and not her.”
“Okay,”
Selina agreed. “I don’t believe
I’m doing this, but I’ll just get rusty if I don’t keep my hand in, I
guess. When do I start?”
“As
soon as you want,” Dick said, handing her a business card, which Whiskers
promptly snatched from his hand. “I
settled into the office at that address yesterday,” Dick said, watching
Whiskers chew his business card into a small, wet wad, “paint’ll be dry
tomorrow. Meantime, you can log in
from here with…the access codes I had written on the back of that card—does that cat not like me or something?”
“I
swear,” Selina laughed, retrieving the card and trying to see if the ink on
the back was still legible, “you’re worse than Bruce.”
“I
swear,” Selina sighed quietly, twiddling her fork in her salad, “You’re
worse than Dick.”
It had
been going on for four courses. There
had been six DEMON agents at some curio shop in Chinatown;
now there were five.
Through
the soup: were six, now five.
Why?
“He killed one,” Selina guessed.
“Now about this new job I’ve been offered…”
“In the past,” Bruce bulldozed over her, ruining her plan to tease him with
her news,
“if he killed one, a new one came in and replaced him.
So why not this time?”
And
through the fish: men are cycled in
and out, but there are always six. What
happened to the last one that he wasn’t replaced?
“Weren’t you going to tell me about the meeting with Tim?” Selina asked,
trying to change the subject. “He was onto something about Scarecrow—those CEOs?”
“It doesn’t make sense. Even
Ra’s al Ghul has turnover, but in the past, when he’s lost a man, he’s
always replaced him. They came and went, the faces changed, the short one left,
the goatee came in - but there were always six.”
With
the roast:
“Look, I know you didn’t have henchman, but imagine you did.
If you always had six, why suddenly change to five?” She started to speak but he cut her off:
“And it can’t be to cut costs; funds are never an issue with Ra’s.”
“Because I used to be psychotically obsessive, but now I got therapy,” she
answered tensely. “I don’t
know.”
“Neither do I,” Bruce growled,
“That’s what
bothers me.”
And
now with the salad: Bruce took six grapes from the centerpiece, arranged them in a row above his plate, took one
away, and stared at the empty space.
And this, Selina couldn’t help but reflect, is the crimefighting
genius that kept me from the VanDeegan Emeralds?
“Couldn’t Ra’s just change his mind?” she speculated.
“To my knowledge, he’s never changed his mind in 1200 years. Why start now?”
Dessert
would have been more of the same if Dick hadn’t arrived, eager for Grayson
Associates to make its first intelligence contribution to the crime-fighting
crusade in Gotham.
“A
lead already?” Bruce and Selina asked in unison.
Dick
did a doubletake.
“It is so
creepy when you guys do that,” he said.
“Must
be an emergency if it couldn’t wait for patrol,” Bruce said, checking his
watch. They’d be in the city in
costume within the hour. If it
couldn’t wait that long, he wondered why Dick did didn’t simply telephone.
“Not
an emergency, exactly,” Dick said, unable to hide his intense excitement, “I
didn’t bring it to Batman or to the cave, because this lead concerns Bruce
Wayne.” Finally! Finally,
Dick’s hour had come. He was
finally measuring up to, and possibly even surpassing, Bruce. “Seems the
Joker wants to kill you. At the old
Ace factory.”
“WHAT?”
Selina reacted first, and louder, “WHY?”
“Never
ask ‘why’ with Joker,” Bruce said calmly.
“But
Jack adores you,” she objected, “which is a big, creepy WHY all by itself,
by the way. Now, all of a sudden he
wants you dead, and no WHY? Six
grapes down to five, and we were obsessing on why through four courses.”
Dick
looked back and forth like it was a tennis match.
“Ra’s
is predictable,” Bruce explained
carefully, “Joker is insane.
You can’t predict what he’ll do or why.”
“It
looks like Dick can,” Selina observed. Dick
beamed as she turned to him and asked, “Where’d you say this is going down?”
“The
old Ace plant. Now Larraby
Chemicals,” Dick answered proudly. “My
contact supplied blueprints.”
“Already
got’em,” Bruce said dismissively.
“Old
plans,” Dick shot back, producing a long documents tube, “not since the
renovations when Larraby took over.”
Bruce
growled.
Batman
stood on the roof of the former Ace Chemical Plant, watching the paddy wagon
taking Harley Quinn back to Arkham disappear into the stream of traffic.
The ambulance was still being loaded.
There was the stretcher carrying Joker…cuffs stained with blood and
Green Dye #4.
The
OraCom buzzed in his earpiece under the cowl, and he heard Oracle’s patient,
but insistent, request for confirmation of the police chatter she was picking
up: Joker and Harley apprehended.
No civilian casualties. Minimal
property damage, but fire trucks dispatched to sign off before the plant
could reopen. All those chemicals—it could have been serious.
Batman didn’t respond.
Yes, it could have been serious. Joker
wanting to kill Bruce Wayne at the Ace Factory?
Insane. Insanity was a given
with the Joker, but still. In the
privacy of his own mind he voiced the “Why” he would not with Dick and
Selina. Then he reprimanded himself
just as he had them. There was no
“Why” with Joker. In a week, the
madman wouldn’t know himself.
::BOSS!
REPORT IN, WOULD YOU?:: Oracle’s answer-me-now tone.
It was one sound, Clark once confided, that made the Man-of-Steel jolt.
..::
Here,
Oracle. Report confirmed.
Joker’s in custody. Quinn’s
in custody. Situation contained.
No casualties::..
::Mind
telling me why you didn’t answer the first two times I asked then?:: The relief
in her anger was palpable. Of
course, Batman kicked himself, “no civilian casualties” could have meant
anything. With Joker, she would
naturally assume the worst.
..::Preoccupied::.. he answered, in the terse I’m-Batman/Don’t-Question tone that silenced
everyone but Selina.
Then he
thought the better of it. Barbara was
pissed because he’d scared her.
..::I
was preoccupied,::.. he explained, ..::going over the battle, Oracle, I didn’t hear you.
It was almost too easy. The
heads-up from Dick, the blueprints, they hadn’t had time to set the Bruce Wayne
trap, let alone prepare for unexpected company from Batman.::..
::
Well, good deal. Calling it a night,
then? :: Oracle answered simply.
Some
things she still viewed with Batgirl simplicity.
Battle lost or battle won.
It was too early to “call it a night.”
Besides,
Batman couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something.
A link in a chain that wasn’t a chain.
Or a piece that didn’t fit the puzzle because the puzzle, not the piece,
was wrong…
Disgusted at the thought he sounded like Riddler, Batman slapped the OraCom
control.
::
Yeah, boss? ::
Maybe
what he needed, Batman decided, was to get back to basics.
An old-fashioned scrap and scratch might be just the thing.
Clear his mind, and let him think this through.
..::
Is
Selina on the channel ? ::.. he asked abruptly.
:: Not
tonight. She’s doing a job for
Dick. ::
..:: You
mean, for Nightwing?::..
:: I
mean what I said. You wouldn’t hear
of her coming along to the chemical plant, so Dick has her casing this big
corporate complex. Revamping their
security and Grayson Associates is putting in a bid.::
..::She’s not on the channel when I need her because she’s DOING A JOB FOR DICK!::..
::
Hey, Bossman, stand down. Change the tone and maybe I won’t tell her you had a
hissy that she wasn’t at your beck ‘n call after you left her out on the
Joker bust. ::
This
was outrageous. What had gotten
into the girl? “Change the tone
and maybe I won’t tell her you had a hissy?” That was a very different thing from getting a little testy because he’d
missed a check-in.
..::What complex is she casing?::.. Batman asked through clenched teeth.
::I’m
not at liberty to say,:: came the unbelievable reply ::Guess you’ll have to use
those detective skills we’ve heard so much of.
Oracle out.::
Batman
stared at the OraCom control in disbelief.
But the mystery of Oracle’s mood swings would have to wait.
To pursue it now would be to let her distract him from finding Selina—and on the off chance that that’s exactly what it was supposed to do - “estrogen
solidarity” and all that - he
wasn’t going to let them get away with it.
The
initial attempt to break into Grayson Associates’ computer system met with a
brazenly personal message:
You CAN’T be serious.
We haven’t been online for 48 hours and you’re already scratching at the backdoor?
If you ask Dick nicely, he might just tell you what you want to
know. Or you could ask me.
You could try to kiss it out of me like you used to, or maybe…
He
didn’t read further. He realized
what she’d done. The relay from
the Batcomputer to the Batmobile used a unique data pulse that prevented anyone
from tracing the signal in either direction.
She was using that pulse as an identifying signature to block login and
send back this saucy little taunt. That
meant however he was going to break into this network—and he would
break into this network—it couldn’t be from a Batcave workstation or the
Batmobile field unit. Damn her.
Well,
he thought, Come at it from the other side then: If
Catwoman was approaching this like any other job, she’d investigate before
going to the site in costume. He
let himself into her apartment and examined her personal computer.
As he skimmed the day’s browser history, he felt Whiskers sniffing his
boots expectantly.
“Sorry, fella,” he offered, patting the cat’s head although his eyes never left the
computer screen, “unexpected visit tonight.
I’ll bring you some next time.”
There
it was—in the history. In the
last two days, Selina had visited the websites of WishStar, Chantal Klee and
KeeNeCo. The latter two were, respectively, the architect and contractor
that renovated WishStar’s midtown
complex, taken over from a failing publishing empire.
Batman
lifted the cat onto the desk and chucked his chin.
“Don’t tell her how I found out,” he instructed, “testosterone
solidarity.”
To be continued…
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