“So that was it?”
Tim asked indignantly. “By the time Batman showed up, there was
nothing for him to do?”
“Just hose them
down,” Dick answered, taking a muffin from the dining room table.
“Well that
bites.”
“Tell me about
it,” Selina said, entering the dining room and going straight to the
sideboard. She poured coffee, added milk, sat, sipped, and looked
as put out as any cat who had its designated naptime interrupted.
The demeanor remained for several sips, and then, at last, she gave
a little shake and was her usual self.
“So, what are you
guys doing here at this ungodly hour?” she asked. “Official
breakfast meeting, or just poking around for news?”
“Poking,” Tim
said. “BG and I missed all the fun last night. Trouble with one of
the Triads.”
“Not me,” Dick
said through a mouthful of muffin. “Bruce asked me to come by
early. Something about taking his early patrol tonight.”
“Probably both
patrols,” Selina guessed. “He’s going to Seattle as soon as Wayne
One is ready. It’ll take the whole day. Maybe more.”
“The place he
mentioned last night? The Meadow…” Dick asked.
“Meadowlark
Institute, yeah.”
Dick turned to
Tim and explained:
“In the history
of jurisprudence, pretty much the one thing that Harvey Dent,
Two-Face, Batman, and Catwoman can all agree on is that
Arkham is not the place for Harvey to be right now.”
“Well, sure. Psych 101,” Tim said. “It’s where Two-Face was always sent when he
was caught, right? So sending him back there would just reinforce
the idea that Face is back. Familiar people, place, situations…”
“The other rogues
wouldn’t exactly help, either,” Selina added. “They missed
Two-Face. They’d be happy he’s back and treat him like the prodigal
rogue returned. An out of state facility is definitely better. And
Bruce has a lot of pull with this particular one.”
“A generous grant
from the Wayne Foundation,” Tim grinned, pulling out the oft-quoted
phrase.
“More like ten
generous grants,” she said. “Apparently, he’s been keeping an eye
on them for years. They do good work.”
“How’s that going
to work legally?” Dick asked. “I mean, Harvey tried to kill that
guy.”
“And he’s
surrendering voluntarily,” Selina explained, checking her watch.
“Probably walking into the Gainsly precinct as we speak. Harvey’s
side is really very conventional that way. That simple, in-the-box,
policeman’s mentality.”
“Hey,” Dick
exclaimed with mock offense.
“Zing,” Tim
laughed.
As always, Selina
ignored the crimefighter’s outraged sensibilities and went on as if
she’d never been interrupted.
“Once we pried
Face and Ivy apart last night, Batman broached the subject and
Harvey flipped the coin. First time, it came up scarred, and he
agreed to ‘two out of three.’ Two flips later, we had an
agreement. He’d turn himself in as long as he goes somewhere other
than Arkham. Bruce says the D.A. won’t oppose it, and Judge
Bradshaw will go along with the recommended sentence. Everyone at
the courthouse wants this one to go away.”
“Which just
leaves his scars,” Tim noted. “What’s the deal there? I’m guessing
no more hocus pocus.”
Dick and Selina
exchanged looks.
“You do it,” she
urged. “You can do the voice. I can’t get that low.”
“Yeah, but you do
the glare and the scowl much better.”
“Pfft,” she
exclaimed. Then she cleared her throat and massaged her brow with
her fingertips, getting into character. When she pulled her hands
away, her eyes and jaw were set in a portentously grim Bat-scowl.
“If this
regrettable episode has taught us anything,” she declared with
I’m-Batman finality, “it is the fallacy of magic and the magical
quick fix. Natural law is natural law. It can’t be broken without
dire consequences.”
Dick and Tim both
laughed, and Selina waited before continuing in her own voice and
manner:
“Jason may have
meant well, but—”
“But a man nearly
died as a result,” a deep voice interrupted. “Vernon Fields was
almost killed, and Harvey has to face the reality that he’s the one
who nearly killed him. That’s going to be a painful, uphill
struggle. All because of a superficial, cosmetic band-aid called
‘magic’ slapped onto a deep-rooted psychological problem.
“When Harvey is
ready inside, I will certainly pay for the plastic surgery to
restore his outside. The proper way, the natural way. It takes
longer, and it may not be perfect, but that time and those
imperfections are exactly what the mind needs. That, along with the
proper counseling provided by regular, non-magic healers who
understand from experience what the mind goes through during a
process of this kind.”
“When
Harvey is ready,” Dick quoted. “Don’t you mean if?”
“No, he means
‘when,’” Selina chimed in. “Bruce believes in Harvey Dent.”
“You sound like
you don’t,” Dick observed shrewdly.
“I just got my
stitches removed where he stuck a double-bladed knife in my arm,”
Selina said with an air of offended feline dignity. “I didn’t get
to scratch any payback out of Two-Face. I didn’t get to scratch up
Ivy. I had to be unspeakably nice to Oswald. And I—mm-mm-MMPH.”
Bruce had clamped
a hand over her mouth, mid-complaint, and now he spoke for her,
apologetically.
“She’s had a bad
week. She’ll believe in Harvey Dent tomorrow, as soon as we get her
fur unruffled.
ICEBERG LOUNGE
O. Cobblepot, Proprietor
GRAND REOPENING GALA EVENT
Batman grimaced
as he noted the sign on the last swing of his late patrol. First,
it was a simple “Coming Soon.” Then, it was “Reopening Soon.”
Then, a “Grand Reopening,” and now, a “REOPENING GALA EVENT!” By
the time the doors finally did open for business, Oswald would
probably have a brass band, a red carpet, searchlights, and penguin
balloons on the scale of the Macy’s parade hovering over the
building.
That revolting
mental picture haunted him as he slid into the Batmobile and started
for home.
He should be
relieved, really. The return of the Iceberg meant the end of Vault
and the end of Selina’s stint as “Gatta Corleone.” When all was
said and done, it had been a preposterous episode: Batman, the
scourge of criminals everywhere, sharing his home and his bed with
the woman half the Gotham underworld viewed as their queen. It was
absolutely ridiculous. And even if she felt somewhat
vindicated after all that Gotham Post nonsense, he at least should
be glad it was over.
The Iceberg
Lounge, O. Cobblepot, Proprietor. It was the one status quo he
should be happy to see return. Penguin was trouble; there was no
doubt about that. But even that nefarious bird was preferable to
these lingering… he couldn’t even call them “doubts,” not about
Selina.
And he certainly
couldn’t call them suspicions. Selina had justified his trust in a
thousand ways since he’d revealed his identity. What they had now,
what they’d been through together, it went beyond trust and beyond
intimacy, they were practically…
So why did he
keep seeing it? The little looks, the body language, the trill in
her voice. She was up to something. For weeks now.
His dreams had
returned to normal. He was sleeping through the night. There was
no hint of insomniatic symptoms, delusions, or paranoia. So why did
it still seem like she was up to something? The little looks, the
body language, the trill in her voice when she said his name, the
way she’d been hovering by his workstation that day after he’d
changed his password, the way she—
His thought cut
off abruptly as he pulled into the cave and saw a dark shape up
ahead where no shape should be. He hit the brakes, causing a harsh
squeal to echo off the cavern walls, disrupting the bats and
provoking a chorus of fearsome squeaking in return.
Batman ignored
them as he got out of the car. He was long used to the bats in all
of their moods. He was not used to surprises, not in his Batcave.
He walked up to the shape—now recognizable as much more than a
shape—taking up a full space in the Batmobile hangar. The space
reserved for the car currently in use.
Batman stared at
it for a full ten seconds, trying to process the sight…
Then he glanced
back at the Batmobile behind him for comparison…
And, once again,
at the sight in front of him…
It was… He
glanced back and glanced forward again… It was… it was…
It was a
Batmobile, all right, but… beyond that, it was…
Better.
It used the Belz
variation on the Williams headlights and hood, and the Barbato wave
over the wheel mounts to minimize wind resistance. It used the
Avery grill and rear design around the thrusters… The Mitchell… The
Effler… The Oshira… All the patents he had tagged over the last year
to incorporate into the next Batmobile… How was this possible? Did
it come through a time warp?
Another
possibility dropped like an anvil into his gut: What if… what if at
some point in his paranoid insomniac loopiness, he had actually
ordered a new car and didn’t remember doing it?
It didn’t seem
possible that he could have been that far gone. It was only
diminished REM cycles manifesting in a few fanciful suspicions about
Alfred and Selina…
Alfred and
Selina.
Selina and
Alfred.
As if in answer,
three moments with Selina flashed through his mind with crystal
clarity: A Catwoman on a rooftop long ago: “I don’t want to
help, but I might be helpful…” Selina in bed only a few months
ago reminding him of that night: “When I gave you a heads up on
that warehouse full of mob cash…” Followed by “Would you have
an aneurysm if the Foundation got an anonymous donation for, say,
$800,000?”
“SELINA!” he
bellowed.
..:: VOXRec
initialized, ::.. the car said in a mechanized monotone.
..:: Specify name for this voiceprint, or delete and start
again.::..
Bruce closed his
eyes and shook his head, forcing down a whirlwind of conflicting
emotion.
“Initialize
voiceprint Batman. Make primary,” he said wearily. “Download VOX
command menu from main computer. Purge all preinstalled menus and
defaults.”
..:: Confirm
deletion of unplayed message ‘Meow’::..
“…”
..:: Download
complete. Confirm deletion of unplayed message ‘Meow’::..
“Negative. Play
message.”
..:: Hey,
Handsome,::.. the car emitted in a familiar, sexy drawl.
..:: I’m sure being the world’s greatest detective and all, you’ve
figured out that it was Alfred who gave me the heads up on that
little town in Emilia-Romagna halfway between Bologna and Modena
where they make nothing but casks for balsamic vinegar and really
hot cars.
..:: Consider
this a parting gift from the only Gotham crime boss who liked to see
you show up in the blue because it brings out your eyes. Also the
only one you’re going to thank with a foot rub. Meow, Gatta
Corleone.::..
© 2008
NEXT:
Some nights, you get to swing across the city on a silken batline,
pose on rooftops like an ever-present Angel of Justice,
and pummel bad guys to the pavement with a satisfying thump…
Other times, you have to sit
and exercise the little gray cells.
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