Batman: Revenge Chapters 29 - 32

BATMAN:REVENGE

Chapter 29

    James had returned from his hotel room by the time the nurse woke Barbara up at five-thirty Sunday morning. Vital signs needed to be documented and they were going to give her a  sedative to help keep her calm and dull the pain as they moved her injured leg and placed her on the gurney before wheeling her away to the operating room.
      This surgery was intended to repair a portion of the damage done to her circulatory system when the .45 caliber bullet had ripped through her thigh. The danger was that if adequate circulation was not soon restored to the lower part of Barbara’s leg, it would necessitate amputation. Subsequent surgeries, perhaps as many as five, would be required to further restore vascular health and attempt to repair the extensive muscular damage.
    On the phone the previous night, Barbara’s Doctor had informed her that the combination of surgeries and rehabilitation in the weeks and months ahead would be arduous and painful. He said he could not lay out an exact itinerary for her recovery or for the  surgeries, due to variables such as healing time and the possible need to repeat procedures when results were deemed less than successful. He assured her there would be times when she would feel like just giving up and he warned her of the very real potential of addiction to painkillers. When he began to illustrate that point by telling the story of Brett Favre, the courageous Green Bay Packer quarterback who overcame
painkiller addiction, he was impressed that Barbara seemed to know more about athletes becoming addicted than he would have expected. He did not, of course, realize that he was speaking to the wife of a future NFL, Hall of Fame, quarterback.   
    As the valium, or whatever it was that they had given her, began to take affect, Barbara began to whistle, and although James, who was somewhat embarrassed by her actions, and her nurse did everything they could think of to get her to stop, she continued. James even tried gently putting his hand over her mouth, which just caused her to start humming even louder than she had been whistling. When he removed his hand, she stopped humming, said “Thank you, James,” and then resumed her whistling.
      The tune she merrily whistled as they rolled her gurney down the halls was John Phillip Souza’s, Stars and Stripes Forever, which was fine on the fourth of July, at a picnic or fireworks display, but at six in the morning in a hospital it wasn’t exactly appropriate. Well, appropriate or not she continued to belt it out with gusto, all the way down in the elevator and in the waiting area, before they wheeled her into the operating room. The only way they finally stopped her was when Dr. Nguyen began the sodium pentathol drip, which quickly rendered her unconscious.
      Dr. Nguyen looked around the room at the relieved eyes of the Doctors and nurses, whose smiles were concealed behind their surgical masks, and commented, “Sometimes, use of anesthesia is merciful to more than just the patient.” 
      By six o’clock Bruce and Dick had already been back to Wayne Manor for several hours. They had, once again, searched the city looking for suspicious characters or clues that might lead them to the Joker’s hideout, only this time, they had worn their costumes under street clothes and they had conducted the search in Bruce’s red Pontiac GTO in an effort to avoid scaring off those who would hide if they saw the Batmobile coming. Bruce sat at the old table in the kitchen, munched on a toasted English muffin, with orange marmalade, and looked over at the wall upon which Emille had been impaled. “You know,” he said, speaking to Andre, “that wall seems a little bare, now.”
    Andre reached up to his ear and lightly ran his fingers over the bandage. “That bastard! Imagine how I felt, monsieur Wayne, I was bent over backwards trying to keep heem from running me through weeth zee fork, when Vicki just walked out zee back door. She would still be weeth us eef she had just stayed inside, but she thought zee FBI agent was out back and she went to get help. I feel so bad. I promised to protect her weeth my life…”
    Bruce interrupted, saying, “And you almost lost it trying to protect her, Andre. As I remember, you said you would skewer anyone who tried to harm her, and by God, you did!”
    Richards walked in and said, “Barbara is back in surgery, again. James just called me. He said if we want to go by there later, she should be able to have a short visit around eight or nine tonight.”
    Dick asked, “What are they doing this time?”
    Richards answered, “James said something about arterial rerouting or reconstruction, intended to increase blood flow to the lower part of her leg. It’s pretty critical, actually. If they can’t increase the circulation to the lower leg…”
    “Yeah, yeah, we get the picture,” Dick said. He stared down at the table. “Shit!”
    Bruce popped the last of his English muffin into his mouth and said, “yeah, that about sums it up. I need to get by there tonight. Richards, Andre, would you like to go with me?”
    They both said they would, and Dick added, “Well, I’m going too, if it’s okay with you guys?”
    “I’m sorry, Dick,” Bruce got up from the table and put a hand on Dick’s shoulder, “I just naturally assumed you were going, I didn’t mean to exclude you. Let’s go get the Sunday paper, it should be out front by now.”
      Dick walked with Bruce out the front door, along the drive, towards the front gates. The gravel crunched under their feet as they enjoyed the chilly morning air. A formation of geese flew far overhead, honking their way south. Dick saw the paper and trotted to where it lay. He bent over and picked it up, slid the plastic covering off and opened up the Gotham Globe. There on the front page was Danny Devito, posing next to the Lexus that he won for having the best costume at the benefit. “That guy is something else, you know?” Dick commented. “It says here, he turned right around and signed the car over to the American Diabetes Association to give away in a raffle. Now that’s what they should be calling “Danny’s Miracle, not that stupid thing with the log.”
      Bruce glanced at the picture and said, “You know the person that really lifted that log is the same person that kept this mansion from crumbling and disappearing into the lake.
    “Tell me it wasn’t Devito,” Dick pleaded, looking puzzled.
    “No, not Devito, please!” Bruce replied. “I went over the guest list and found a couple of reporters in the press and media relations section who were here representing The Daily Bugle in Metropolis. I think one of those reporters was the one who helped Danny lift that log.”
    Dick looked stunned, “You mean to tell me that geeky reporter? No, come on, man, was that really him?”   
    Bruce had a wry smile on his face, as he shook his head in affirmation, “Great Caesar’s Ghost, Dick, I really thought you would have figured it out sooner.”
    Andre and Richards didn't have a clue as to why Bruce and Dick were laughing so hard as they came back in with the paper, and they also had no clue that Superman had paid them a visit on the night of the benefit. It would remain a secret between Dick and Bruce about which they would chuckle for many years to come.
    Andre asked, “Hey, what are you finding so funny? Tell us. We could use a good laugh.”
    Bruce tossed the paper on the table and said, “Danny Devito. He sure looks funny in that Hulk costume.”
    Picking up the paper and looking at the picture on the front page, Andre said, “I can’t believe he won the award for best costume. I thought zat guy with zee Wolf’s head should have won.”
      Dick said, “Yeah, he had the best costume, by far.

~    ~    ~

   
      A little later in the day, Carl Grissom, Jr. went out to pick up breakfast at McDonalds for everyone at The City of Tomorrow and while he was out he bought a Sunday Newspaper. He saw Devito on the front page and read the article, which stated, “According to the judges, an unidentified man, wearing a Wolf’s head, was unanimously thought to have the best costume, but failed to show up on Saturday and was ruled ineligible to win, thus giving the prize to the runner up, Devito.
    After they had all eaten and the various sections of the newspaper had been handed out, Lawrence asked Carl, “Hey, did you know that part of the front page was torn out of this paper? Why would you buy one that has part of the front page missing?”
    Carl’s answer was, “Blow me, Lawrence. Next time you get the food and the paper. Just be glad the Funnies aren’t missing. That’s the only section you understand, anyway.”
    Lawrence didn’t appreciate being spoken to like that, and Carl did it all too frequently.
    Vicki noticed the friction that seemed to be building up. Carl didn’t like Lawrence and she had seen Harley rubbing her chin and shooting the finger at Lawrence when he asked her for the Funnies. Maybe driving a wedge between these people wasn’t going to be so tough after all. Carl and Harley were rebellious, but Lawrence was like a rock. If there were only some way to eliminate him. She got up from her bed, since she had been unshackled to allow her to eat, and announced her desire to be escorted to the ladies room. She said, “Carl, would you escort me this time?” He looked up, surprised to hear his name. He hadn’t been paying attention and wasn’t sure what she had asked.
    “Say what, Cinderella?” he asked.
      Vicki repeated herself, “Carl, would you escort me to the restroom this time?”
    “Why me?” Carl wondered. “Lawrence has two legs and has been doing just fine following you around, or how about Harley? You two can go in the bathroom and talk about girlie secret shit. Girls like going in pairs. Go on now, leave me alone.”
    “I’ve bothered Lawrence enough,” Vicki said, “and I don’t think Harley likes me very much, so I’m asking you, Carl.”
    From the corner of the room, Harley looked over, put her hands on her hips and said, “Now after all the trouble I’ve gone to organizing the neighborhood welcome wagon and everything, what on earth makes you think I don’t like you, Vicki? Is it something I said; Like, go to Hell bitch, or what?”
    Carl got up, headed for the hall and said, “Come on, move your ass.”
    Vicki smiled and curtsied, “Finally, a gentleman emerges to escort the fair maiden.”
      Proceeding down the hall, Vicki lowered her voice and asked Carl if the Joker knew Lawrence had been trying to abuse her. Carl stopped, and said “What?”
    “You heard me Carl. He’s been trying to abuse me every time he thinks no one is looking. I’m getting tired of being felt up and pinched. Now the question is, if I go to the Joker with this, what do you think he’ll do?
    “If he believes you, he’ll kill him,” Carl answered.
    “Really, after all the time Lawrence has been with him?” she asked.
    “Like I said,” Carl reiterated, “if he believes you, and that’s a big if; he’ll kill him.”
    Vicki nodded, turned, and disappeared into the ladies room while Carl stood there, waiting, contemplating the pros and cons of getting rid of dimwit. When Vicki came back out of the restroom Carl said, “I’ll keep an eye on him, don’t worry. Let’s keep this to ourselves for now.”
    “I don’t know if I can,” Vicki replied. “But I wanted you to know what was going on, because I think you’re the only one here with any real sense.”
    Vicki had just sat back down on her bed when Appleby began to wake up. “Hey, Ms. Vale,” he said, “are you okay? His speech was slow and slightly slurred, but sounded a little better than it had last night. “What day is it?” he asked? “Is it Monday yet?”
    “No, it isn’t. It’s Sunday. Now you just take it easy and don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay,” Vicki lied, partially to boost her own courage.
    “Oh, I’m not worried Ms. Vale, not about me. They won’t kill me. I’ll be around forever. Someday I’ll end up in a million test tubes and then they’ll pour me out onto a table and I’ll grow back together again while all the scientists watch. I’ll be all white and green and good as new.”
    Vicki shuddered, because she thought he could be right. She didn’t know what to say. She felt an odd relief when he rolled over and mumbled again, as he fell back asleep, “All white… and green… and good as…”

~    ~      ~

   
      Bruce picked up the phone and once again dialed the offices of Wayne Research and Development. Instead of Jones answering this time, it was a young lady named Denise Ferguson. She said Jones was out on the back lot with the fire chief, running tests on the high pressure, mass delivery, of the cellular accelerator formula. She said, “We’ve got two fire trucks filled with 600 gallons of the formula, which is vacuum sealed in an air tight, collapsible, rubber compound container. We also have two backpack models that can deliver up to 20 gallons each. With the vacuum sealing, we’re confident the formula will retain it’s potency, sir.”
      From the Joker’s office a blood curdling scream rang out, followed by the all too familiar sound of his derringer destroying another television. Harley jumped up and ran into the room to see what had upset him.
      As Harley opened the door and peered in through the curling smoke from the TV, she saw the Joker holding the sides of his head with both hands as if in terrible pain, yelling, “Incompetence, incompetence, why must I continually have to put up with incompetence?” Seeing Harley, he said, “We may have to move our plans up a bit, thanks to Lawrence.”
    “Why,” Harley asked, “What happened?”
      A dark look came over his face as he explained, “Some damn kid found a dog last night, not far from here, carrying the severed hand of a certain missing female police officer. Now it’s all over the local TV channels. I guess Lawrence didn’t wrap the body up properly and the little varmint got in and made a meal out of our dead Charlie’s Angel. Now the search for Miss Vicki, and my ass, is going to become focused on this side of town! I’ll wager that Bat Daddy and Bird Boy are already jumping in the Batmobile!”
    “Hey,” Harley tried to calm him down, “let’s not overreact. It’s not like there was a note in the severed hand with our address on it.”
    “I don’t know, Harley,” the Joker replied, rubbing his chin, in thought, “maybe we ought to go ahead and tape the show after all.”
    Harley pointed out, “We can’t get the show on the air until noon on Monday, anyway.” That’s when the computer hackers we hired are set to break in on the DirecTV and Dish Network satellite signals. And besides, you know you wanted to do it live.”
    The Joker began to simmer down and got up from his desk. He walked over to where Harley stood and put his arm around her. “That’s my little Priestess,” he said. “Why don’t you go put on that High Priestess costume we had made for our religious ceremonies. You know the one, with the big, plumed headdress. I like the way that one looks on you.”
    Harley smiled a tantalizingly seductive smile, reached out and tickled the bottom of The Joker’s chin with the long red nail of her index finger and asked, “Lover, are you sure you don’t want me to just put on the headdress, and wear nothing else?”
    The raised eyebrows, the gleam in his ghoulish green eyes and the look on his face confirmed that he would like that very much.
    A knock on the partially opened door interrupted their impromptu plans, as Lawrence looked in and said, “Did I hear my name being mentioned?”
    The dark look on The Joker’s face reappeared, as he turned and beheld the cause of his consternation. “Yes Lawrence, you did hear your name being mentioned. It seems that you may not have wrapped the body of that female police officer as well as we might have wished. During her one night stay in the dumpster, before you hauled her out to the lake, some mongrel evidently chewed off one of her hands. Well, the little scamp was found with his tasty tidbit and now the police have identified the hand’s fingerprints as being those of our own feisty, high heeled visitor. In short, Lawrence, you may have pointed the long arm of the law in our direction.”
    Lawrence didn’t know what to say, so he did what came most natural, which was to say nothing. He just stood there waiting to be yelled at, punished, or dismissed.
    “What have you got to say for yourself, Lawrence?” the Boss demanded.
      Forced to respond, Lawrence did so, nervously, “I thought… I thought I wrapped her up good. I can’t figure… I don’t see how no dog could’a got in there. It ain’t the first time I wrapped a body, you know.”
    The Joker reached into his jacket and ran his hand over the double shot derringer in the breast pocket. He asked, “Lawrence, do you remember Bob?”
    Lawrence asked, “You mean the Bob who used to be your number one guy?”
    “Yes,” the Joker answered calmly, as he spoke in a tone that would be used when explaining something to a small child. “Lawrence, do you remember what happened to Bob when he failed to tell me that Batman had a jet that could steal all of my balloons filled with that wonderful, green, lethal gas I paid so much for?”
    Lawrence didn’t answer. He just stood there.
    The Joker continued, “It was the night we held the big parade with all the floats, and we played that song by Prince, you remember, don’t you? It was called “Trust.” I threw a lot of money to the people of Gotham City, lined up along the streets.”
    Lawrence still didn’t say a word. He waited for whatever was going to happen.
    Vicki chose that moment to add one more charge against Lawrence. Although it was already open, allowing everyone that was interested to hear what was going on, she knocked on the office door, looked in and said, “Excuse me, Joker, could I see you for a minute, please? I have something important, on my mind that I think you need to know.”
    Normally the Joker would have dropped everything and would have rushed to Vicki’s side in an attempt to gain her affection, but he was busy now with serious matters and did not want to be interrupted. He asked, “Is it a real emergency? Can’t you see I’m busy at the moment, Princess?”
    “It does have something to do with what you’re discussing right now,” she replied.“You really need to hear this.”
    Exasperated with the interruption, the Joker walked to the door and briskly escorted her halfway down the hall. Lowering his voice, he said, “This had better be good, sweetie pie. I’m dealing with a humdinger of a problem in there.”
    Vicki mustered up her courage and stared the pale villain straight in the eye. “Lawrence has been trying to abuse me,” she said. That got his attention, like a puritanical preacher who just spied a streaker at an outdoor prayer meeting, the Joker’s eyes initially widened and then narrowed to tiny slits. He grabbed Vicki by the elbow and ushered her further down the hall, near the women’s restroom, away from where they could easily be heard.
    “Tell me what you mean when you say Lawrence has been trying to abuse you,”
    “I mean, whenever he escorts me to the lady’s room, he tries to cop a feel and he pinches my butt. Once he pushed me up against the wall and pressed himself against me until I told him I would scream. I just felt like you needed to know, especially if you care for me the way you say you do. Or is that just an act?” She pouted, theatrically.
      The Joker pulled her to him and gasped, “It’s not an act and you know it. I’m drawn to you by some irresistible force even I don’t understand. Although I know you’re as dangerous as a basket full of cobras, I’d die for you. I’ve done it before. Now tell me, did he really try to abuse you, or is this just your way of trying to turn us against each other?” His eyes bore into her with a hypnotic intensity surpassing anything Vicki had ever experienced.
    “Look at these bruises,” Vicki said, pulling up the sleeves of her lacy, blue Cinderella gown and pointing to her upper arms. “He did that to me,” she lied, knowing it had occurred when she was abducted from the Wayne Manor grounds as she went to find help for Andre. She pulled the gown down, provocatively, from her left shoulder, far enough to expose another bruise, the worst of them all, saying “That one really hurts, and modesty prevents me from showing you some of the others.”
    The Joker appeared to be  mortified. He looked at Vicki and said, “He will be punished, and I promise he will not lay another hand on you. Now go back to your bed and stay there.”
    She headed back towards her bed; sure that she had eliminated her biggest obstacle and the Joker’s most loyal follower, while The Joker stormed back to his office. He slammed the door as he entered, looked around the room wildly and asked Harley, “Where’s Lawrence? Where’d he go?”
    Harley pointed to the broadcast studio.
    From that direction came the sound of a large splash as something big evidently fell into the vat. The Joker and Harley looked at each other and ran to the door, expecting to see that the cross had toppled forward, perhaps sabotaged by an angry Lawrence, and had collapsed into the Holy Waters, but instead they found that the white cross still stood perfectly upright, while Lawrence was nowhere to be seen. As they walked forward and peered into the cloudy liquid to investigate what it was that had fallen into it, a big, white hand on the end of a muscular white arm shot straight up from the middle. What had once been the long sleeve of a shirt was now almost completely dissolved by the high acid content of the chemicals and had been reduced to not much more than a few tattered remnants of fabric. The dripping fingers on the hand spread out wide, exposing green fingernails, and then clenched into a tight fist, before sliding slowly downward and disappearing again into the murky green chemicals.
      The scene resembled a classic drowning. The victim desperately trying to fight his way back to the surface to get air, but falling just short and descending once again. Twice more, with more than a minute’s interval  between each appearance, the hand shot up out of the water, only to submerge again, each time getting nearer to the side of the vat. The fourth and final time the hand emerged from the water, it reached the outer edge and latched onto the top of the baptismal vat’s rim. It hung there for a moment and was soon followed by a second bleached hand, reaching up and grasping the metal rim, clinging to it with what seemed to be incredible effort. Finally, the two white arms
trembled as they attempted to pull the rest of what had been Lawrence out of the lethal, yet life extending liquid. A thin mop of green hair covered the white head that slowly rose above the rim. A nasty coughing spasm shook the entire body of the new immortal, threatening to make him lose his balance and tumble back into the pool, but slowly the coughing began to subside as the chemically reengineered lungs began to adjust to the atmosphere around them. Lawrence blinked his bloodshot, yellowed eyes to clear the sting of the Holy Waters from them, and his now unnaturally red lips slowly curled into a sly smile.
    “Now I’m like you, boss,” were the first words that gurgled out of Lawrence’s mouth. He spat out remnants of the murky green fluid and said, “Now I can work for you, forever, and if I should do something wrong, I won’t have to worry about ending up like your number one guy, Bob...dead.”
    Annoyed, the Joker tapped his foot on the gray cement floor and answered, “Perhaps, Lawrence, on a molecular level you and I share similarities, but that doesn’t change anything as far as the pecking order around here goes. I want you to understand it’s still me, then Harley, then Carl. You do what we tell you to do; understood?”
    Lawrence nodded, grinned a grin that showed how proud he was to have figured out what would have inevitably happened. It wasn’t very often that Lawrence’s powers of deductive reasoning enabled him to come up with the right answer, but this time they had. Now the boss wouldn’t shoot him because there would be no point in it. He couldn’t die even if he was shot. He grinned again and confidently began to climb out of the vat.
      One leg was over the vat’s edge when the Joker pulled his derringer out of his breast pocket and fired two shots into this suddenly cocky little pest. Lawrence’s face registered surprise and pain as he clutched his chest and fell back into the vat with a splash.
    The Joker was having a great time. He pointed and howled with his trademark lunatic laughter as Lawrence flailed about in the Holy Waters. When he regained his composure, he stood up, teetered to the left and almost fell again. Then, once he had his balance, he waded back to the edge of the vat and began to climb out again. The JOKER pulled a second firearm from a shoulder holster under his jacket, a much larger weapon than his two-shot derringer, said, “This one’s for Vicki,” and pulled the trigger three times. The impact drove Lawrence back into the vat, yet again, with a splash that rivaled one that might be made by a killer whale at Water World.
    Harley patted the JOKER on the back as he collapsed to his knees laughing hysterically, and said, "Okay, okay, that’s enough now, I think you’ve had your fun. Let him get out.”
    Lawrence’s face no longer registered the same amount of surprise as he rose from the Holy Waters. He seemed to quickly be adjusting to the idea that he couldn’t be killed and also to the fact that just because he was no longer mortal that didn’t mean the Joker would curtail his inclination towards cruelty. The original shocked expression had been replaced by one that said, “Okay, how many more times are we going to do this? When are you going to let me get out of this vat and get back to work?”
    The JOKER raised his gun again, but Harley stepped up and pushed the barrel back down towards the ground. “Save it for BATMAN,” she suggested.
    This time Lawrence was allowed to climb out of the vat. Virtually all of his clothing had now been dissolved, as only pure, organic fabrics, such as 100% cotton and wool fibers avoided destruction by the mysterious chemicals, for some reason fabrics containing any synthetic materials were dissolved. The JOKER walked up to Lawrence and said, “You look good in white, Lawrence. Now go get some clothes on, and don’t you ever go near Vicki Vale again!”
    Lawrence didn’t try to plead his innocence. It wouldn’t do any good. No matter how strongly he felt about proclaiming his innocence, it would be like trying to get a judge to believe he was really only doing 37, in a 30 mph zone, when the cop who issued a speeding ticket said the radar showed 45. The judge would take the word of the policeman every time. And if he was foolish enough to lose his temper he would be fined for contempt of court, or here, in the JOKER’s court, shot repeatedly. In this case the JOKER was the judge, Vicki was the policeman, and her word was as good as gold. Guilty until proven guiltier, that was the way things worked in most traffic courts across the country, as well as in this case. Lawrence was just glad he had jumped into the vat when he did or he would be dead by now. It was the only way he avoided the capitol punishment this hangin’ judge would have imposed. He went to get some clothes on, wondering if he owned anything that would go well with his new hair color. He stopped off at the men’s room, and while he relieved himself he contemplated his organ’s new paint job and the green foliage that surrounded it. He thought, “This is going to take some getting used to.”
    Less than a mile away, NIGHTWING and BATMAN had stopped at an abandoned parking garage, which had at one time been owned by Carl Grissom, Sr. They had investigated the premises and had found nothing. Even though it was Sunday they had contacted Dr. Melvin Slaughter and had asked him if he had heard anything about the tests conducted on the bullets that had been removed from the dead female officer’s body.
    “Preliminary results indicated it might have been the late Chief Archer’s gun that fired those bullets, BATMAN. That hasn’t been officially confirmed, but that’s what I heard from the lab,” Slaughter said. “Pretty hard to believe, huh?”
    “Unexpected, that’s for sure,” BATMAN replied. “This opens up a whole new can of worms. Sorry to bother you on Sunday, Doctor. I really appreciate your help.”
    “Why should you be sorry to bother me, BATMAN? The city never hesitated over the past 25 years. It comes with the job, and I asked for the job, so whom do I have to blame, but myself? I’m sure you have asked yourself, many times, if it is all worth it, when you wanted some privacy and wished you didn’t have to be bothered.”
    “Doctor, you don’t know how right you are,” BATMAN answered, “but like you, I brought this on myself.  Nobody came to me and asked me to become BATMAN.”
    “Well, we should both have our heads examined,” Dr. Slaughter asserted.
    “I hope you get to enjoy the rest of the day, Doctor Slaughter, and thanks again.” BATMAN hung up, turned to NIGHTWING, and said, “You’ll never guess who may have shot that missing female officer…”

BATMAN: REVENGE

Chapter 30


    At Gotham Memorial Hospital, Robert Churchill, the Doctor that had just finished the

surgery on Barbara’s leg, shook his head as he was scrubbing up before going out to

speak to the family. He had seen a lot of gunshot wounds during his fifteen years as a

surgeon, but he wasn’t sure if he had ever seen one .45 caliber bullet do more damage

without actually having hit a bone. The surgery he had just performed would improve

circulation to the injured leg, hopefully to the point that amputation would no longer be a

likely possibility, but the chance of ever being able to run or walk without assistance of

a brace or cane was extremely slim and he knew the road ahead for this young woman

was going to be extremely difficult, especially since she had a young child to take care of.

He dried his hands and headed out to the spacious visitor’s waiting room. As he came

upon the practically full area, all of the visiting family’s eyes turned towards him,

wondering if he was the Doctor bringing news of their loved one who had undergone

surgery that day. He called out, “Nicholson, who is here for Nicholson?”

    James raised his hand, and said, “We are,” referring to himself, Richards, and Andre.

    Dr, Churchill walked up and sat down in an empty chair next to Richards. He looked

around and said, “Barbara is doing just fine. She came through the surgery really well,

and is in recovery. She’ll be in there for about another hour and then we’ll move her back

to her room. Which one of you is Mr. Nicholson?” James raised his hand, and Dr.

Churchill focused his attention on him. “Mr. Nicholson, your wife has sustained a

very serious injury, which will necessitate at least three or four more surgeries. I want to

be sure you understand that her prognosis is good overall, but as far as her ambulatory

abilities are concerned, she faces some major challenges. She may never again, even with

intensive rehabilitation over the next year or two, walk without the aid of a cane or a

brace. Are you in a position to be able to bring in help for her, in taking care of the

youngster she spoke of last night on the phone?”   

    James nodded, yes. He was shaken by the harsh reality of the situation. He had held

out hope that the doctor would come out and say that the wound wasn’t as bad as first

thought and that Barbara would be up and around in a few months, providing she took

her rehab seriously. Now, he saw that was not to be the case.

    James hung his head as Doctor Churchill continued. Andre patted James on the back

from time to time in a display of emotional support while Richards took copious notes,

being sure that James did not have to rely on is memory if he had questions regarding

important topics that the doctor had addressed. It was times like this that could block out

virtually all of your short term memory, you could see the doctor’s lips moving, but

couldn’t recall ten minutes later what had been said, yet years later you might be able to

recall virtually every detail of the same conversation. Richards knew James was used to

thinking while under pressure, but his profession, although highly paid, was nonetheless,

just a game. This, most decidedly, was not. As Dr. Churchill rose to leave, he looked

down at the huge hand that enveloped his and took a closer look at James’s face. “Mr.

Nicholson,” he wondered, “has anyone ever told you that you look a lot like the

quarterback for the Giants?”

    “Yeah, I get that a lot,” James replied.

    “Well,” the Doctor stated, “they say everybody has a twin.” He handed James his

business card, smiled encouragingly, said, “Good luck,” turned, and walked away in

the direction from which he had come.

    Around three thirty, Barbara was wheeled back into her room. Fortunately, she was

still only barely conscious and was not fully aware of being moved from the gurney to

her hospital bed. The pain she would have experienced while her leg was once again

placed upon a plastic support and then elevated via a system of ropes and pulleys would

have been excruciating. A weak moan escaped her lips at one point, which was the only

sound she would make for the next three hours.

    James, Richards, and Andre played cards and told stories about football, Barbara,

little Alfred and Barbara’s Uncle, whom little Alfred had been named after. In the

background, the TV stayed on, giving occasional updates on the continued search for

the JOKER.

    At six thirty, the story about Captain Archer’s gun being the one that killed Sheryl

Wilkinson was released. As the TV news reporter invited viewers to stay tuned to

channel six for the latest developments, Barbara began to stir, making soft, barely

audible, whimpering noises.

    James got up from his chair and put his hand on her forehead. She seemed cool, and

her skin was not clammy. He reached down, took the hand which was not hooked up to

the I.V., and squeezed it gently, saying, “Barbara, I’m here for you honey. Do you need

anything? Barbara, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you hear me baby.” He waited,

and was pleased when he felt a weak, but discernible, tightening of her hand on his. He

turned and smiled at Richards and Andre, saying, “She squeezed my hand, she’s starting

to come around.” He pulled his chair nearer to the head of the bed and whispered into his

wife’s ear. “The Doctor said you did real good, sweetheart. He said you’re going to be

just fine. They were able to increase the circulation in your leg and everything is looking

good so far.” Barbara moaned again and mumbled something James couldn’t understand.

“What did you say, honey?” he asked, “I didn’t quite get that.”

    Barbara opened her eyes and squinted, even though the lights were dimmed. She

spoke again, more clearly this time, “Where’s little Alfred?” she asked.

    They had already discussed this last night, but James figured she just didn’t remember

right now and told her he had left the baby with his parents and had arranged for the

Nanny to go by to help out each day during Barbara’s hospital stay. “Little Alfred’s

with Grandma and grandpa, he’s just fine. Can I get you anything, honey? How do you

feel?”

      Her speech was slow and still slightly hard to understand as she whispered, “Not so

good, I’m a little sick at my stomach.”

    “Do you want me to call a nurse?” James asked.

      Barbara thought about it for a minute and said, “No, not yet.” She took a deep breath,

exhaled, and asked, “Is there any ice water?”

    “Sure, honey, right here.” James picked up the green container of ice water with the

flexible plastic straw protruding from the top and held it to Barbara’s lips. She sucked a

few sips down and released the straw from her mouth.

    “Okay,” she said. “I need to pee.”

    James bent down and found a bedpan stored in the night stand on the side of the bed

where her I.V. pole stood. Turning back towards Richards and Andre, James shrugged,

and asked, “Guys, could you go for a cup of coffee, or something?” They both got up,

saying they would return in ten minutes.

    In the snack bar, Andre set his piping hot, cup of coffee down on the plain, round,

Formica table, watched the steam rise for a moment, and commented, “She looks good,

no?”

    Richards agreed, saying, “For all she’s been through, yes, but you heard the

Doctor, she has a long way to go. Three or four more surgeries, it just breaks my heart.”

    “She ees going to have eet rough,” Andre added. “How ees she going to keep up

weeth leettle Alfred, now? Zee son of an athlete ees bound to be an active boy and he

weel not sit steell, just because hees mother has a bad leg.” After finishing their coffee,

they threw their cups into the trash and headed back to the elevator which would take

them upstairs. It was seven fifteen as they reached the fourth floor and walked back into

the world of beeping heart monitors and whooshing respirators.

    They saw the privacy curtain was pulled back, as they approached Barbara’s area and

saw that Bruce and Dick had arrived while they were gone. Dick had brought a chocolate

chip, Otis Spunkmeyer muffin for Barbara, in case she might get hungry for a snack after

the downstairs café had shut down. “I couldn’t remember if you liked the banana nut, or

the chocolate chip best,” he said, “I hope you enjoy it, once you get your appetite back.”

    Barbara was obviously touched, and said, “That’s sweet, Dick, thanks. I’m sure it will

taste good with a cup of coffee, later.” Her speech wasn’t as slow now, and her powers

of observation had obviously improved, as she looked at Bruce and noticed that his eyes

were damp. She asked him if he was okay. This was his first visit to see Barbara since she

had been shot and he was having a tough time seeing her lying there. Just as he had

unjustly blamed himself for the death of his parents, he felt as if he were to blame for the

difficulties her family would now face as she went through the surgeries and the lengthy

rehabilitation process.

    A tear began to make its way down his cheek as he said, “Barbara, I’m so very…”

    Barbara interrupted him, raising her free hand and waving away his attempt at an

apology. “Don’t you start that with me, Bruce Wayne,” she said, “we all know what can

happen when we suit up. I came down here because I wanted to come. I didn’t want to

be left out. I still wanted to be part of the team. If there is an apology due, then it should

be me apologizing. I may not have been at my best because of my time away, and that

could have caused someone else to get hurt. I have a responsibility…”

    “Bullshit, Barbara!” Dick interrupted, “You were spectacular! I’ve never met a

woman who could run me ragged the way you could. There aren’t many men that could

do it. What happened to you was just bad luck. It wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t Bruce’s

fault. It was just bad luck.

    Bruce wiped his eyes, and said, “I know you have access to a large number of fine

Doctors through your husband’s insurance, but naturally I want you to know that any

procedures that your insurance may balk at covering, I will take care of. And, I will pay

for any Doctor, anywhere, you might need, that, for one reason or another isn’t in your

group. Barbara…” he began to choke up as more tears welled up, glistening in the

corners of his eyes, threatening to spill out onto his cheeks. He paused, and began again,

saying, “Barbara, you are most definitely a part of this team. You always will be, until

you decide differently.” The tears spilled out now, and he reached for the tissue box to

dab at them. He wasn’t the only one whose eyes had sprung a leak, as he was followed to

the tissue box by Andre, Richards, Dick and finally James.

    Bruce and James were in the middle of a hug, when Barbara exclaimed, “My God,”

men are so emotional! Look at you guys; I won’t have any Kleenex left! I get charged for

those you know,” she kidded, trying to lighten the mood.

    What she had said, worked, as each of the men looked at each other, with their tear

streaked faces and began to laugh. Here they were, a tough old guy who ran a tight ship

as the head of Wayne Manor’s wait staff,  a sports icon and two famous crime fighters,

joined by a chef who had just shoved a shish-ka-bob skewer through someone’s neck.

They were, collectively, such a pitiful sight right now that it was laughable. Their

laughter was interrupted by a nurse, who pulled the privacy curtain back and scolded

them, saying “This isn’t some nightclub where you can whoop it up, to your hearts

content, you know. If you can’t keep the noise down, I’ll have to ask you to leave.” She

jerked the curtain closed, indignantly, and left, leaving everyone with a surprised and

embarrassed look on their faces.

    Now Barbara began to chuckle, but whatever painkillers she had been given were

evidently beginning to wear off, as it began to hurt when she laughed. A hurt that

started in her leg, but seemed to make it’s way through her entire nervous system. She

reached up, with her free hand and pulled on her husband’s sleeve. “James, would you

ask the nurses to bring me something for pain, it’s starting to creep up on me, and I can

tell we need to head it off before it gets out of hand.” James pulled the curtain back, and

went out to the circular counter where the nurses congregated.

    Bruce knew it was time for them to leave so that Barbara could relax and let the pain

medication work. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Gotta go,” he said.

    “Wait, you can’t leave yet, Barbara objected, “I meant to tell you something when you

first came in, but I almost forgot. I heard something while I was in the cave, which might

be important.”

    “Oh really?” Bruce exclaimed, “And what did you hear?”

    “There were three guys, Benny, Charlie and Jamal. They were all mercenaries being

paid, I guess, by you know who.” Barbara looked around and lowered her voice,

remembering that the walls separating the patients rooms were nothing more than

sheets. I heard one of them say something about them living in an apartment complex

called Sunset, or something like that. One of them said something like, and I can’t

remember exactly, but I think it was, goodbye Sunset apartments, hello Riviera. Maybe

you should see if there is such a place in Gotham City.”

    James returned now, followed by the nurse that had scolded them earlier. As Dick

passed by her, he said, “Hey, Nurse Ratched, You be sure and take good care of our

friend.” The look she gave him was one an old schoolteacher, running short on patience,

would give a troublesome teenager. She tapped her foot, impatiently, while in her right

hand she waived a large hypodermic needle around, waiting for all of them to leave. 

    As he was leaving, Bruce turned back and said, “We’ll check it out Barbara. Thanks

for the tip.”

    As soon as they got back to Wayne Manor, Bruce and Dick slipped off the street

clothes they wore over their crime fighting gear and hopped back into the Batmobile.

BATMAN pulled up all of the listed apartment complexes in Gotham City and found

three apartment complexes with names that contained the word sunset. There was Sunset

Beach, at 1400 Island Lane, as well as a Sunset Lake, located at 27300 Lake Drive, and

another that was just called Sunset, on the corner of Washington and Lincoln Avenue.

The next problem, would be to find an apartment manager, tonight, that knew they had a

Jamal, Benny, or a Charlie.

    As they drove towards the nearest of the three complexes, NIGHTWING said, “It

would be asking too much to have them all live in the same complex, much less the same

apartment.”

    BATMAN replied, “Actually, we’ll be lucky if we can even find an apartment

manager to talk with tonight.” As BATMAN drove, NIGHTWING was busy on the

Batmobile’s computer, merging the phone company’s listings for everyone in Gotham

City with a first name of Jamal, Benjamin, Ben, Benny, Charles, Charlie, or Chuck that

had an address matching one of the three possible complexes. BATMAN commented to

NIGHTWING, “No way we’ll be lucky enough to get a listing for a Jamal.”

    “I don’t know, BATMAN, I feel lucky tonight. I think we will. Winner gets to drive.”

The computer ended its search and Dick said, with a hint of disappointment in his voice,

“You win, there’s no Jamal, but there is a Benjamin Anderson and a Charlie Carter, that

have apartments at 3100 Washington.”

    “Bingo,” BATMAN said enthusiastically, flipping his turn indicator up and preparing

to turn left, towards Washington.

    “But before you head in that direction,” Dick cautioned, “there’s a Ben Wilson and a

Charles Jackson on Lake Drive, as well as a Chuck Simpson and a Benny Douglas on

Island Lane.”

    “So it Looks like we’re back where we started,” BATMAN said, as he deactivated the

turn indicator. NIGHTWING picked up the phone and manually dialed the phone

number for the apartment manager at the Sunset Lake complex. An answering machine

asked him to leave a message or drop by during regular business hours Monday through

Friday ten until five, it continued, saying, “if you are calling concerning a maintenance

issue, please contact the answering service at 555-2877.”

    NIGHTWING spoke when the recorder started, saying, “This is a message

concerning a police matter of extreme urgency. Your local authorities need your

cooperation, please pick up the phone if you are in.” There was a pause, during which

nobody picked up the phone, so Nightwing hung up and dialed the answering service

number. The young lady who answered was of no help. She said she could contact

maintenance, but the leasing agent, Bryan Johnson, would not be available until Monday

morning at ten. “Well that’s just great,” NIGHTWING complained after he hung up.

    BATMAN chuckled as he took a quick glance at the disgruntled look on his old

partner’s face. “With all of our sophisticated equipment you would think we could reach

people when we needed to,” he said. “Did you include the cell phones in your computer

search?” BATMAN asked.

    “No,” NIGHTWING responded, “I didn’t know you had access to local cell phone

numbers.”

    “Local and nationwide,” BATMAN said. “All companies. Go back to the same search

you did earlier, but instead of stopping when you scroll down to residential, look a little

further down and you’ll see wireless phone numbers listed. Click on that.”

    NIGHTWING did as BATMAN had suggested and a minute later was saying, “Hey,

here’s a Jamal Marley, and his address is listed as 3100 Washington, apartment 1104.

That’s got to be the place; it had a Charlie and a Benjamin!"


BATMAN: REVENGE

Chapter 31

    Vicki screamed when she saw it. It was like something out of a nightmare, but this

was real. It was a ghost. It had to be! She had heard gunshots shortly after she had told

the JOKER that Lawrence had been trying to abuse her. She had been sure that he was

dead, yet there, in the dimly lit doorway that led to the JOKER’s office, stood a large,

white apparition. It just stood there without moving, staring at her. The accusing eyes,

piercing green pupils surrounded by a sickly yellowish white, cut through the shadows in

a way that made Vicki fear for her life. She had killed him, as surely as if she had pulled

the trigger and now this eerie anathema would surely take her life after inflicting

unimaginable, unbearable pain beyond belief.

    The pale demon began to move, slowly, deliberately, down the hall towards her.

Appleby was asleep, or drugged to the point that he might as well be and besides, he was

still chained to his bed. Vicki stood and began to back up, attempting to keep her

distance from this obviously bloodthirsty zombie from hell. She tripped and fell

backwards as she neared the locked and barred, front door. When her head thumped

against the door she literally saw stars, as tiny points of light appeared before her eyes,

and everything began to spin. In her confused state she imagined herself looking up at

Gort, the huge, indestructible metal robot with the power to destroy the earth, from the

classic, 1951 sci-fi movie, “The Day the Earth Stood Still.” She started to scream, but

remembered that wouldn’t do any good. The monster towered directly above her now,

silently gazing down on the only human being that could stop the annihilation of the

entire world. The visor on Gort’s helmet was sliding open. In a few seconds, after his

laser beam had disintegrated her, he would reduce the planet earth to nothing more than a

burned out cinder. Desperately her mind raced to remember the Martian phrase Klatu had

given her. What was it? The exposed slot from which the death ray would shoot glowed

ominously, time had run out, and then she remembered, “Gort, Klatu berada nikto.” She

mumbled it at first, unsure of whether she had said it right, but then she repeated it more

clearly, with the confident manner of a true heroine “Klatu berada nikto…”

    “Are you okay, Ms. Vale?” Lawrence asked. “You hit your head pretty hard. Do you

need any help to get up?” A massive white hand on the end of a muscular arm reached

out to Vicki, and she screamed again. Although she realized now it wasn’t Gort standing

above her, she was still certain that she was in grave danger.

    Still on the floor, she squirmed away from the hand, shaking with fear, as two shots

rang out. She could hear the breath being knocked out of her pallid attacker, as the 

impact of the bullets knocked him forward and slammed him into the door, face first. His

knees buckled and he gradually collapsed, sliding down the length of the door, coming to

a rest next to Vicki. During a final convulsive fit that shook his entire body, one of his

arms fell away from his chest and landed on her leg. The all too familiar smell of

formaldehyde, either real or imagined, she wasn’t sure which, filled her nostrils. As she

felt herself slipping away, she thought she heard the agitated voice of the JOKER

shouting, “Damn it, Lawrence, I told you to leave her alone!” 

    When she came to she was back on her bed. Her eyes fluttered open and as the blurry

images above her began to sharpen and come into focus she saw the JOKER staring

down at her with a concerned look on his twisted face. Her look of revulsion before she

had regained enough of her senses to hide her true feelings led the JOKER to say,

“Lawrence, judging by sleeping beauty’s face I must need a Tic Tac.” Lawrence  peered

over the JOKER’s shoulder looking equally concerned.

    Vicki shrank back from the vision, saying, “My God, he’s alive!”

      The JOKER turned and looked at Lawrence, shook his head disapprovingly and

turned back to Vicki. He said, “In a manner of speaking, yes, he’s alive. You see,

unbeknownst to you, Lawrence had recently committed a grievous error, and after your

informative report on his behavior, fearing the wrath of our human relations department,

he made a bold decision to join me as an immortal, rather than Commissioner Gordon as

a corpse. Get used to the look, sugar,” he said, as he picked up and patted her hand, “it’ll

be the fashion rage by this fall. From Gucci to Calvin Klein, white will be where it’s at.

By the way, I had one of the boys pick up some nice minestrone soup, salad and bread

sticks for you, from Dimaggio’s. I used to really enjoy dining there when food was

something I couldn’t live without. Just let us know when you’re ready to eat.” After the

shock she had just encountered, Vicki had no idea when, if ever,  she might regain her

appetite.


    The Batmobile pulled up outside the Sunset apartment complex at about eight forty

five. BATMAN and NIGHTWING hopped out and gave the command for the shields to

appear. This wasn’t the best of neighborhoods and although theft would be virtually

impossible due to the locking transmission, steering, and canopy,  vandalism could still

occur, necessitating the shields. Apartment 1104 was downstairs and as the dark knight

and his companion approached the door they noticed that it was open. An incredibly loud

combination of reggae and rap music was blaring from inside and a large black woman,

wearing an orange tank top, with far too tight, lime green, peddle pusher pants and green

high heels was singing about as far off key as was humanly possible. Completely

unaware of the visitors standing at the front door, she was sweating profusely as she

danced, shook and gyrated with the beat. The impressive sweat stains soaking through

her tank top and the rear of her peddle pushers prompted Nightwing to turn to

BATMAN, and yell, “She must have been part of Bob Marley and the Whales,”

      BATMAN corrected NIGHTWING, saying, “I think that’s Wailers, isn’t it?”

    “Not in her case,” NIGHTWING answered with a grin. His grin evaporated as the

woman turned around, saw both of them standing in her doorway, and screamed a scream

as terrifying as any that either crime fighter had ever heard. It was a long and high

pitched scream that would have made the civil defense sirens of the fifties and sixties

envious. She bent over, pulled off one of her shoes, and hurled it at NIGHTWING, who

ducked just in time to avoid being nailed in the face. Batman held out his arms, palms

out, towards the frightened woman and shouted, We aren’t here to harm you! Everything

is all right! We were just looking for Jamal.”

    “Yeah, and who ain’t?” she asked. He walked out da doe Friday mornin’ and he ain’t

been back since. Dat worthless piece of …” suddenly her mouth stopped flapping and fell

open as stared at the pair with comically wide eyes. Assuming a quizzically

pissed off expression, she shouted, “Who da hell are you? Ain’t it a little late for

Halloween?”

    “I’m BATMAN and this is NIGHTWING, and I assure you, ma’am we were just…”

    “Uh-huh, and I’m Wonder Woman. Lookie here, I don’t give a shit what kinky punk

ass, gay boy, games you all be playin’. I heard yo ass da fust time. What you want Jamal

fo? What’d he do?”

    BATMAN shook his head and said, “We aren’t saying he did anything. But we need

to talk to him, or his friends, Charlie and Benny.”

    “Fuck dem, and fuck you, you weird ass mother fucker. I don’t know where dey be,

or what dey be doin’. I tried lookin’ for Jamal at deir crib, but dey ain’t dere. I don’t

know where da fuck dey be. Jamal said he was gonna be back late Friday and den we

was supposed to go on a vacation to da Riviera, wherever da fuck dat is.”

    NIGHTWING asked, “Would you happen to remember their apartment number?

    “I think it’s 802,” she said, “but I ain’t to sho. I don’t be goin’ over dere too often.

Dey usually comes over here.”

    “Well thanks for your help Ms…. I didn’t catch your name,” BATMAN said.

    “Dat’s ‘cause I didn’t throw it. All I threw was my shoe and I’m ‘bout to throw the

udder one if you don’t get yo ass out of here.” Her cell phone rang just as she was

removing her other shoe. Brandishing the shoe in her left hand, she jiggled over to the

table, which was cluttered with several days worth of the Gotham Globe, leftover pizza

over which a swarm of flies danced, a half eaten bowl of cereal and an old banana skin

that had turned a disgusting brown and black. She rummaged around, looking under the

newspapers for the phone until she found it, flipped it open and said, “Dis’s Shamika,

who’s dis?

    NIGHTWING leaned over to BATMAN, and said, “I’ve seen her somewhere before,

possibly Seaworld. Shamika and Shamu, hmmm, must be related.”

    The woman who called herself Shamika took the phone away from her ear for a

moment, looked at BATMAN and NIGHTWING and said, “I know I’m not still seeing

yo freaky asses in my crib. Now get da fuck outt’a here, befo I have to hurtchoo.” She

reached for her shoe, which she had placed on a half eaten slice of pizza.

    NIGHTWING bowed and said, “It’s been a pleasure.” He followed BATMAN quickly

out the door as the other shoe sailed by. As soon as they turned the corner, on their way

to the other apartment, NIGHTWING said, “I think I’m in love.”

    BATMAN said, “Yeah, I knew it. I figured you’d want to go back there, later tonight.

I saw the way you were looking at her. She was really hot for you too, you know.”

      Eagerly NIGHTWING asked, “Yeah, how could you tell?”

    “The sweat stains,” BATMAN replied.

    “Right.” NIGHTWING nodded, “You’re not jealous, are you?”

    “Maybe, a little,” BATMAN responded, “but once I get Vicki back I’ll be okay.”

    They rounded another corner and found the building with the apartments numbered

in the 800’s. Number 802 was downstairs on the corner. BATMAN knocked and waited

a few minutes before knocking again. There was no sound coming from inside and the

lights seemed to be turned off. BATMAN knocked one more time and then asked

NIGHTWING for his cell phone.

    “Who you calling?” the former boy wonder asked.

    “Gott’a get a warrant,” BATMAN replied as he dialed.

    “Get it later,” NIGHTWING said, as he took a locksmith’s tool out of his utility belt

and began to insert it into the keyhole, “nobody’s home, anyway.”

    The Judge that BATMAN was attempting to reach answered his phone at that

moment and promised to fax a copy of the warrant as soon as possible. BATMAN gave

him the number of the Batmobile’s fax and was about to tell NIGHTWING to go ahead,

but when he looked up, after flipping the phone closed, the door was already opened.

    As he stepped inside the apartment, BATMAN lectured his young counterpart, “That

can get you in some real trouble, NIGHTWING, you should always try to get the warrant

first, and then if it’s too slow in coming, you can make a decision based on urgency, but

you’re just asking for trouble if you don’t try going through the proper channels first.

You don’t want the important people in the legal system thinking of you as a loose

cannon.” BATMAN walked in and closed the door behind him.

    NIGHTWING was flipping through the pages of a Florida vacation brochure on a

table. “You can spank me later,” he said, “right now let’s see if we can’t find something

to help us.” BATMAN went over to an old, plaid couch that sat in front of a small TV.

On the nightstand next to it, a TV Guide lay opened to Friday’s schedule. After

finding nothing of use there, he ventured into one of the two bedrooms. After having

been in the apartment that Shamika lived in, this was like walking into a different world.

Everything was clean and neat. The bed was made, and a desk against the wall

contained a checkbook, belonging to a Charles Carter, and a one way plane ticket to

Paris, which was for a flight that had been scheduled to leave earlier today from

Gotham International. Inside the single, desk drawer, he found a green, spiral notebook,

and flipped it open. BATMAN’s gaze froze on the first page, as he saw a fair drawing of

a clown’s face, with a sidewalk and street lamps in front of it. There seemed to be a

turnstile in the mouth, as if it were the entrance to some attraction. The artist had used a

ball point pen and had written underneath the picture in big capitol letters, “THE CITY

OF TOMORROW.” This was the break BATMAN had so desperately hoped to find. He

called out, “I’ve got something here! Come take a look at this!” But instead of seeing

NIGHTWING coming through the bedroom door, BATMAN heard a loud crash, which

came from the living room. He dropped the notebook and ran out to see NIGHTWING

wrestling with a big, Brown haired guy wearing driving gloves who had a gun in his

right hand. NIGHTWING had grabbed the man’s right arm and was doing his best to

disarm him.

    NIGHTWING shouted as the struggle continued, “BATMAN, there was a girl here,

too! She took off running!” BATMAN ran to the door and looked out, trying to locate

her. He heard the sound of someone running in the parking lot, around the corner, and

then the sound of a car door, opening and slamming shut. With his cape fluttering

behind him like a flag in a stiff wind, he sprinted for the parking lot, determined to get

there before the girl could get away. He heard an engine start up, saw the headlights

being turned on, and ran full speed for the lime green and black Honda Civic with a

spoiler on the back that began to back up. The distance between BATMAN and his

target had narrowed dramatically, but he was afraid he wasn’t going to make it, as the

Honda shot forward now, less than 20 feet in front of the caped crusader. BATMAN was

right, he was too far away, but coming to his aid was another driver in the parking lot,

who backed up his big Chevy Suburban, nonchalantly, without looking, directly into the

path of the quickly accelerating Honda. The Honda’s driver stood on the brakes in vain,

smashing into the Suburban’s left rear panel. In her haste, she had forgotten to buckle her

seatbelt and found herself hurled, headfirst, into the windshield, the impact lessened,

somewhat, thanks to the deployment of the steering wheel's airbag. BATMAN quickly

found out that the driver of the Suburban was an off duty cop, named Mike Flanigan.

Flanigan was one of the cops involved in the recent shoot out on the rooftops, when Brad

Wolicek and his family had been robbed. He called the ambulance, as well as police

headquarters, when they discovered the woman who had just run into him was

unconscious. It wasn’t long before a squad car pulled up, followed shortly by the arrival

of the ambulance. Tina Johnson woke up in the back of the ambulance with blurred

vision and  a horrendous headache, in police custody. Before she became aware of her

surroundings, she mumbled deliriously. She said she had to warn everyone at the park

about BATMAN.

    BATMAN began to wonder as the ambulance pulled away, what had happened with

NIGHTWING and that big guy with the gloves. He went back to the apartment and was

shocked to find the big guy gone and NIGHTWING laying on the living room floor.

After verifying that he was breathing okay, he grabbed the cell phone off of

NIGHTWING’s utility belt and was in the process of dialing for another ambulance

when his partner began to awaken.

    BATMAN kneeled down and asked, “Have you been shot?”

    As he sat up, NIGHTWING rubbed the back of his head, grimmaced, and said “No,

but that’s only because I’m lucky. I probably should be dead. I wrestled the gun away

from the guy, we both get up off the floor, and then he smiled and said, “Yo, tear

‘em up,” as if someone was behind me. I told him that was the oldest trick in the book,

and that I wasn’t about to turn around and look behind me so he could pull a knife on

me, or jump me and start our little wrestling match all over again. Well, that’s when I got

clobbered from behind. There really was someone behind me.” NIGHTWING winced, as

he rubbed the swollen knot.

    BATMAN said, “C’mon, let’s get you checked out. With a head injury, you never

know if you’re okay, or not. Although with you, I’m not sure how they’ll be able to tell.”

Before they left the apartment BATMAN went back to the room where he had found the

spiral notebook and the checkbook with the plane ticket. They were gone, but it didn’t

matter; now he knew what he needed to know.

    On the way to the hospital, after dropping off the Batmobile at Wayne Manor and

pulling street clothes over his costume, Bruce told Dick what he had seen, and said he

was going to go out there to look around while Dick was at the hospital. Dick had, of

course, had to completely remove his costume on the outside chance that he could be

admitted to the hospital. Bruce promised he wouldn’t try to break in until they could do

it together with the cellular acceleration formula that Edward had come up with. Dick

convinced him that rather than snooping around the JOKER’s hideout, it would make

more sense to go to the Wayne research labs and make sure everything was ready to go,

including the two fire trucks, their drivers and the crew needed to man the high pressure

hoses. 

    At the research labs, Bruce Wayne was informed of a potentially major setback that

had taken place. Denise Ferguson, who looked like it had been quite a while since she

had slept, hung her head in frustration as she said, “The cellular acceleration formula ages

the rubber compound so quickly that it begins to form cracks and loses it’s vacuum.

When that occurs the formula loses it’s potency. We’re at an impasse.”

    Bruce looked around at the lab and the people in it. They were all looking to him for

leadership, for a reason to feel like they could still pull this thing off. He asked Denise,

“Have you tried a second cell to catch the leakage from the first?”

    “She replied, “No, but if we do that it will dramatically cut the liquid volume that we

can carry. The backpacks were carrying 20 gallons, if we put a cell within a cell, the

additional rubber compound will cut you down to about 12 gallons. Will that be enough

to accomplish our objectives?”

    Bruce scratched his ear and thought about it for a moment before saying, “I guess

it’ll have to be. What about the fire trucks, will they still be able to carry over 150

gallons each?”

    “Denise looked at her clipboard and touched the tip of the pencil she held to her lips.

“We should be able to carry a little more than that, I think, certainly no less,” she

estimated.

    “Great,” Bruce said, “Please get Fire Chief Pounds on the phone for me, and wait

until I call before you fill the backpacks and the big trucks; but be ready, the call could

come at any time. It could be as soon as an hour or two from right now.”

    “We’ll be ready,” Denise assured and walked off in the direction of a large group of

workers waiting nearby. Whatever she said to them as they huddled together obviously

lifted their spirits as they shouted encouragement to each other and slapped each other on

the back. The challenge of being asked to accomplish a lot in a limited amount of time

was something they relished. This was why they worked as research scientists for the

Wayne Foundation. Well, this and the fact that they were paid twice what they might

receive elsewhere.

    When Bruce got back to the hospital Dick was ready to go. The Doctor’s had

diagnosed him as having received a mild concussion and warned him to avoid further

blows to the head, which could lead to far more severe consequences, including swelling

of the brain.

    Bruce asked Dick, “Did you tell them you’ve been accused of being swell-headed

for years?”

    “Yeah, something like that, but they didn’t laugh,” Dick replied. “Let’s get back to

Wayne Manor and get changed. You know the one thing I regret about tonight Bruce?”

    “What?” Bruce asked.

    Dick sighed, a heavy sigh, hung his head and said, “Shamika, I may not be able to

get back there tonight, and I know she’s waiting for me.”

    Bruce reached out and patted Dick on the shoulder.


BATMAN: REVENGE

Chapter 31


    Cody Turner and Marty Mitchell burst into the JOKER’s office, both talking so fast,

and at the same time, that they were virtually impossible to understand. “Boys, boys,

boys,” the JOKER pleaded, “could we possibly slow down a little, and speak one at a

time? I can tell you have something important to say, and I want to be sure to understand

what it is.”

    Marty pointed to Cody, and said, “You tell him.”

    Cody stepped forward and said, “Tina and I went to see if Jamal, Charlie, and Benny

had shown up at their apartments. Marty followed us there. Well, guess who’s in

Charlie’s place when Marty got there? BATMAN and his buddy! BATMAN took off

after Tina, who tried to get away to come back here and warn everyone, but she had a

wreck in the parking lot and got caught. Marty tried to shoot the other guy, but he

wrestled his gun away from him. Just when Marty thought he was done for, I showed

up and whacked Birdman, or whatever his name is, over the head with a tire iron. Then

we came straight back here.”

    The JOKER didn’t like what he had just heard and sat down behind his desk to

consider his options. Lawrence, Harley, Carl, Cody and Marty all stood there waiting to

see what the JOKER would say. What he said was not what they wanted to hear.

    “Get out of here,” he roared. “How can anyone think with all those faces looking at

him? This isn’t some game show, you know? I’ve got some decisions to make and I

don’t need an audience to help me, by shouting out suggestions, or yelling out, ‘good

answer,’ when I come to a conclusion.”

    Marty was the first one out, followed by Cody and Carl. Lawrence tried to leave,

but stayed behind at Harley’s insistence. She asked the JOKER, “Please, if you get

upset, don’t shoot the god-damned TV sets, shoot Lawrence, instead. He’s self repairing,

the TV’s aren’t.”

    Lawrence looked at Harley with a hurt look on his face, and said, “Thanks, Harley.

Thanks a whole lot.”

    You could see on the JOKER’s face that he liked the idea. He said, “Harley, you

can go, but Lawrence, stick around, I may need you.” Harley headed for the door, blew a

kiss to the JOKER and waved to Lawrence.

    In the hall, Harley met up with Vicki who was on her way to the restroom with Carl

trailing behind her. “So what’s up,” Vicki asked?

    “Right, cupcake,” Harley said, as she squeezed by Vicki in the hall, “like, I’m going

to keep you up to date on the latest news. I don’t think so.”

    Coming out of the restroom, Vicki asked Carl, “Do you know what’s going on,

Carl?”

    Carl looked down at the floor and said, “Hey, I’m usually the last to know anything,

around here. I’m the Rodney Dangerfield of the group.”

    Vicki continued to butter up Carl, saying, “Oh, I think you’re respected far more than

you think, Carl. I think the JOKER sees you as a leader, who’s strong enough do a good

job, without having to have his ass kissed all the time. After all, you are going to be the

High Priest, right?” Vicki continued, “Don’t you appreciate that, in the people you

manage, Carl? You hang on to and reward the  people that make you look good and, if

the bold ones make too many bad decisions you can deal with that, too.”   

    “You know, Vicki,” Carl said, “You’ve got a pretty good head on your shoulders.”

    “Thanks Carl,” Vicki beamed as she walked back to her bed. She was winning his

trust, but she knew time was running out.

    “So, Lawrence,” the JOKER asked, “how long do you think it will be before Bat brain

figures out our location?”

    Lawrence shrugged and answered the JOKER’s question with a question of his

own, “How should I know? Marty and Cody were the ones that were at Charlie’s place,

and so was Tina, but she got caught.”

    The JOKER pushed his chair back from his desk and turned towards Lawrence. “I

figure he’ll be on his way here within a couple of hours. Tina will definitely spill the

beans and since the flying mouse was at Charlie’s place, he must have found a

connection between me and our cave climbers. Yes, Lawrence, there’s a good chance he

found something that will point him towards us. Lawrence, I want you to go turn on the

intruder defense system. Activate the exterior motion sensors, defense systems and mine

field so we can receive a little warning, and the uninvited guests will receive a surprise

when they begin to arrive.”

    Lawrence got up from the chair he had been sitting in and walked over to the wall on

the opposite side of the room, where he opened a metal door panel, revealing a row of

nine switches, similar in appearance to a fuse box. Each switch was labeled with it’s

appropriate function.

(1.)          Exterior Motion Sensors
(2.)          Exterior Defense System
(3.)          Interior Motion Sensors
(4.)          Interior Defense System
(5.)          Chemical Temperature Regulator
(6.)          Chemical Mix Regulator
(7.)          Steel Door & Window Panels
(8.)          Mine field
(9.)          Gas filters


    “Want me to activate the door and window reinforcements while I’m here?”

Lawrence asked.

    “Might as well, and check the alternate power generators while you’re at it,” the

JOKER replied.

    Lawrence flipped four switches, and the hum of massive amounts of electric energy

was plainly heard, followed by a chorus of heavy metallic clanks as two inch thick, steel

panels slid into their designated positions, reinforcing the doors and windows 

throughout the compound. Three 18 inch, flat panel monitors with alternating views of

the air space above and the compound’s grounds lowered from hidden storage panels in

the ceiling to within comfortable viewing distance of the desk where the JOKER sat.

As many as ten different views revealed areas protected by motion activated machine

guns and rocket launchers, as well as the locations of the roughly 500 mines buried just

under the surface, surrounding the entire complex. To say that the City of Tomorrow was

well fortified would be a gross understatement. The JOKER was positive that his

automated system could hold off virtually any attack until after the worldwide broadcast

had taken place, at noon, tomorrow. After that, even if he were taken into custody, public

demand would provide his defense, as people worldwide would cry out for the

immediate availability of immortality, as well as clemency for the one who offered it.

There was no way people would be willing to wait for the usual government safety

testing and red tape.

    Lawrence came back into the room and said, “Everything’s working fine and we

have enough fuel for the backup generators to last two days.”

    “Lawrence, the JOKER said, “I’ve come to the conclusion that we need to relax.

We’ve done everything possible to make sure that our live infomercial goes the way we

want it to go. We have a critically important hostage in Vicki Vale. We have a test

subject in agent Appleby, and now we have you, as well. We have a formidable defense

system. We have a product that does what we say it will do and, of course, we won’t say

anything about it’s side effects.”

    “Side effects,” Lawrence asked? He hadn’t been told anything about any side effects.

    The JOKER glanced away from the three monitors to where Lawrence stood and

asked, “How are you feeling, Lawrence, I mean since you went for your little swim in our

pool?” He looked back up at the monitors again while he waited for Lawrence’s answer.

    “I feel fine,” Lawrence said, “No problems at all.”

    “Have you felt run down, or sleepy?” the JOKER inquired.

      Lawrence shook his head to indicate that he had not, and said, “No.”

    “Have you experienced excessive thirst or hunger?” the JOKER persisted.

      After thinking about it for a moment, Lawrence realized for the first time and said it

in a tone that underscored his amazement, “I haven’t been hungry or thirsty at all.”

    “Lawrence, just so you’ll know, I’m going to tell you, you won’t get hungry, ever

again, and you won’t get thirsty either. Oh, you can eat or drink for the sheer joy of it,

and your kidneys and bowels will work if they have something to filter or digest,

but you will never again feel like you have to eat or drink. Let me ask you another

question Lawrence, were you planning a family?”

    “No,” Lawrence replied, mildly surprised at the question.

    “Well, good,” came the JOKER’s reply, because once you’ve bathed in the Holy

Waters, birth control is no longer a concern. Oh, arousal will still occur and you will be

able to give and receive all of the pleasurable feelings that intimacy can provide, you

just won’t be capable of fathering a child. How do you feel about that?” the JOKER

asked.

    “Who’s gonn’a want me now, anyway?” Lawrence asked.

    “Lawrence, Lawrence, Lawrence, have you been paying attention, son? The world is

going to be a whiter place to live. White and green will be the sexiest colors in the world!

And Procol Harum will have a big hit once again with the re-release of the hit song,

‘Whiter Shade of Pale!’ All right, never mind, I know you probably don’t remember that

one, but trust me, it will be big again. What I’m saying is that as one of the first to join

the new order, you will be one of the most desired men in the world! And the good news

is, you will be able to perform up to the ladies expectations, as often as you or they

require and you won’t have to take a nap to recharge your batteries! You’ll be Lawrence

the love machine!

    Lawrence blinked as he tried to imagine the scenario the JOKER had just painted.

“Really,” he asked, “a love machine?” He began to smile, and nodded with approval at

the idea.

    Back at Wayne Manor, Richards had waited patiently for the right moment to break

some bad news to his employer. “Master Wayne,” he began, “do you remember me

telling you the insurance adjusters had wanted to see the structural damage, below the

mansion’s main floors, before they would submit a claim?”

    “Yes, what happened?” Bruce asked.

    “Well, after they practically had a heart attack after taking a look below, they left the

mansion and instructed me to do the same. They said the entire structure could fall into

the lake at any moment. Sir,” Richards paused, cleared his throat and looked

uncomfortable as he said, “they have condemned Wayne Manor.”

    “So, are you saying we should cancel the party for three thousand this coming

weekend, or what?” Dick joked, inappropriately. Nobody smiled.

    Bruce got up from his chair, understanding how important this issue was to Richards,

and said, “Dick, you don’t live here anymore, so this may not have as much impact on

you as it does on those of us who still make this place our home.” He walked around to

sit on the corner of the table, near Richards, and placed his hand on the head servant’s

shoulder, smiling as he said, “Old friend, I want to make sure you know that whether this

house exists, or not, will not determine whether you, or the staff that we’ve assembled,

continues to be employed by the Wayne Foundation. If this house is leveled we can build

a new one and create all new memories. We have so much to look forward to if only we

can get Vicki back and stop the JOKER. I feel like tomorrow offers the opportunity I’ve

waited for since I was twelve. The guilt associated with the death of my parents that

motivated me to become what I am, and the bad decision I made fourteen years ago

concerning my relationship with Vicki, are burdens that can be lifted once and for all if

we’re successful. I say let’s get four solid hours of rest and then we attack. That should

give the research lab guys the time to finish the necessary improvements.

    Appreciating Bruce’s words of support, Richards patted his employer’s knee and said,

“It’s a shame we have to go back to the Hotel to get some rest. I’m not saying the hotel

isn’t a fine establishment, mind you, but I much prefer my own bed as I am sure you do,

as well, master Wayne. However, after having seen the damage below, I think the

adjusters were right, we’re probably crazy to be here right now.” 

    It was close to midnight as Bruce closed his eyes. Richards was certainly right, this

wasn’t nearly as comfortable as his bed. But without Vicki in it, no bed would ever seem

quite right again. He had wondered if he would be able to sleep tonight, but he felt good

about the fact that one way or the other this was all going to be over in a relatively short

amount of time. As he drifted off, rather than being tormented by a nightmare he was

visited by the warm memory of  playing hide and go seek on a snowy winter’s night

when he had been only ten years old. Times hadn’t always been grim at Wayne Manor.

He vividly recalled the hiss and crackle of the giant logs and the cheerful light coming

from the huge fireplace downstairs, illuminating the happy faces of his father, mother,

and Alfred. Seeming as real as if he were back there right now, he could hear the sound

of laughter and a young boy’s hurried footsteps racing down the long, carpeted hallways.

Ghosts of good times past at Wayne Manor; gone but not forgotten.