Discovering Batman -- Finding Bruce Wayne

DISCLAIMER- I do not own the Janet Evanovich Characters.

Chapter One

My name is Clara Bells. I know. My parents are cruel, right? I'm in my mid twenties (okay, late twenties) and never had the chance to live the life I wanted. I went to an ivy league school, studied my ass off and majored in sociology and criminal psychology. I got my masters degree in child welfare services and am a certified social worker and now I work out of Miami for the Department of Child Welfare and Social Services. If that didn't fill my day, as a hobby I also got my CPA. What can I say? I like kids and numbers.

As a kid I dreamed of finding Mr. Right, being swept off my feet and having a boat load of kids. Now, not only do I make a ridiculous sum of money, but I live in a well to do pristine apartment with a fancy sports car and a plant. No Family. No House. No Dog. My cases usually take up so much of my time that I find it hard to commit to much of a social life.

I was handed a case by the court judges a month back on a twelve year old girl who'd lost her mother and stepfather in a car accident. Her mother's side of the family were all dead and her step-father's family wanted nothing to do with her. They said the poor girl was trouble and to hand her off to her father. He lived in New Jersey, Trenton to be specific. Or at least he was the last time they'd heard from him. I had to pile through years of the girl's medical charts, school reports, and pubic records to finally locate his Jersey address. He had a Miami address, too -- however it appears that he never got around to actually building himself a house since the address led me to a vacant lot. Julie was no help. She didn't want to live with her father. The poor girl was still in shock over her drastic and sudden life change and the only information I managed to extract from her is that she hadn't seen or heard from her father in over a year. This was for her own protection. Yeah Right, I snorted. Sounds like a dead beat dad to me.

But despite the lack of physical evidence that Julie's father existed, I was assigned the task of insuring that Julie was reunited with her father by the Miami courts. Her mother even mentioned in her diaries and wills that if something should happen to her, that her ex-husband would care for Julie. Hence I was given temporary guardianship of Julie until her father could be located.

So here I am sitting in coach on this over-crowded airline. I absolutely hate flying and absolutely insisted that Julie trade me seats for the window.

"If you hate flying so much, why do you want the window?" she sassed..

"Because, Julie-" teenagers. "If the plane crashes I want to know when we're going to hit."

Julianna Carlita Manoso. All but twelve years old and already she knows everything. I've spent three days with this child and she's undermined and sassed me every chance she can get. I try to be kind to her, reminding myself of circumstances present but she just doesn't let up. She is so hard to read. She can freeze her face into stone and you don't know if she's happy, sad, angry, or perplexed. You can read my emotions like a book. I sometimes can catch the twitch of a smile on the corners of her lips, but other than that -- yeesh!

Julie was only twelve, but astonishingly beautiful. She kept her dark brown hair long and it curled naturally in ringlets. Her skin was a perfect olive tone and her bright big eyes were amber in color. She spoke fluent Spanish, although neither her mother or step-father ever used any first hand. I'd seen photos of her mother throughout her file. She was a beautiful woman but not stunning like Julie. Her heritage had to come from her father, because Rachel was Caucasian with strait, brown hair and green eyes. Most of our researchers are pretty thorough when it comes to the background of a new case. In Julie's case, I was taking her to live with a man that barely existed on paper.

I had to go back thirteen years to find information on Carlos Manoso with his enlistment into the Army. Another two before that to find out his first name wasn't Carlos, but Ricardo on his high school diploma. My private investigator came back and said he was now thirty-three, owned and managed a security company called RangeMan in Trenton with various satellite offices strewn about the East Coast. He gave me contact numbers for RangeMan and suggested I use that as my lead because it was the only thing I had. Other than that, Carlos Manoso didn't exist. Taking his advise, I contacted RangeMan offices in Miami requesting to talk to Carlos Manoso.

"Ma'am, there's no one that works here by that name."

"What?" I laughed. "Who signs your paycheck?"

"The bank of course," she stated simply. "Our salaries are directly wired to our accounts."

I sighed exasperatedly. "I work for the Department of Child Welfare. My information states that RangeMan is a Security Company…"

"Yes Ma'am we are." she interrupted.

Silence.

"Good." I filled in. "RangeMan is managed by a Carlos Manoso."

"There is no one here by that name, Ma'am."

"You've said that. I'm telling you what public record reads for the State of Florida. Carlos Manoso is listed as owner and management."

"You want to speak to the manager? We don't really have titles like that here. We're a team at RangeMan."

I was so frustrated. I pictured a young beach blonde filing her nails behind the phone.

"Do you have a boss?" I asked her.

"Oh, yes ma'am. I do."

"Who is your boss' boss?"

"Oh there's only one boss at RangeMan."

"Can I speak to him?"

"Oh Sure." she said. "He doesn't have an office here but he checks his voicemails."

"He doesn't work in the office?" Now I was just pushing her for more information.

"No ma'am. He works out of our main office in New Jersey. He rarely comes to Miami. In fact, its our goal for him to not ever have to come. Him coming usually means there's a problem. And you don't want to be near the boss when there's a problem."

"And why is that?" I asked.

"He can get pretty scary."

"I see." I said. "Well, please take a message for your boss that I need to get in touch with Carlos Manoso in regards to his daughter."

"Um… " Now she sounded confused. "The boss' name is Ranger. And he doesn't have a daughter."

"His name is Ranger? First or last?"

"I'm not sure." she said. "No one knows that much about him."

The lowering of the landing gear jolted me back into the present. The most terrifying part of flying is that last second before you touch ground. Its just one more opportunity for karma to slap you in the face. When we finally stopped, I'd realized that I was gripping Julie's arm.

"Its okay," I told her. "We've landed." I patted her arm where the white spots of where my fingers had grasped still showed.

"Duh," she snapped. She stood up and yanked her bag out of the overhead and rushed onto the tarmac. I took a minute to gather my breath before I followed after her.

Julie sulked throughout the entire airport ordeal. When we boarded she whined all through baggage check. She sassed the homeland security officer for making her take off her slides and walk barefoot on the cold, concrete floor. She fidgeted the whole time we were on the plane, and now in the airport she exploded on the way to baggage claim.

"I HATE TRENTON!" she screamed. I think the whole airport stopped to stare at us.

She ran up to the rotating conveyer belt and began throwing her luggage off it into the aisles. Bag after Bag. I sure hope her father can cover the cost of flying her bags up, they were numerous.

"Julie, please." I begged. "Try to keep an open mind. I'm sure there is as much to do in New Jersey as in Miami."

"There's NOTHING in this town!" she screamed. Again, more stares.

"You're father's in this town," I reminded her. "And he's your family now." The crowd around us started to thin and disperse.

Julie stared at me with one of her expressionless faces, and I thought I saw the twitch of a smirk in the corner of her mouth. She paused a long moment, sizing up the conversation.

"Yeah, well" she said. "You'll see."

Perplexed by her comment, I flagged down an airport taxi to take us to her father. I gave the driver the address, we loaded our luggage and set out into the night.

I can see why Julie was having difficulty adjusting to her new town. Miami was glorious, lots of people and beaches. She lived a well to do life just as I had in Miami. And not to mention the endless sun! It was October. And while Miami was still warm the night air in Trenton was a dreary, moonless, and chilly.

We weaved through the streets of town, passing dilapidated buildings, old houses, unkempt businesses. Trenton was more of an industrial town. Most of the residents probably never left. With so little to offer, Trenton couldn't prepare today's youth for the struggles of adulthood. You either got a scholarship and left or married and stayed. Most either lived the simple life working hard to earn their money or they hardly worked, succumbing to a life of crime. In fact, I heard one of the more successful businesses in Trenton were the bail bondsmen.

Julie was silent the entire ride over. She stared out her window, still wearing her emotionless expression. I flipped through her file quietly beside her, preparing myself for the task at hand. Had her father even the slightest clue that his ex-wife and her husband were dead? Would I have to tell him that, too? Relive that nightmare for Julie in front of him?

Twenty minutes later I felt the car pull to a stop.

"Miss?" The driver asked. "What was that address again?"

Again I gave it to him.

"I think there is a mistake. This is it."

What did he say? A mistake? "This is it? We're here?" I asked.

Julie bounded out of the car and stood by the roadside. I got out and walked beside her, staring in disbelief. "You're sure this is it?" I asked again.

"Yes, Ma'am." was his reply.

At first my ears didn't register the sound. But surely enough, I looked over to see Julie laughing uproariously, holding her stomach and doubled over as if in pain, she laughed and she laughed and she laughed. Composing her self, she stood and gave me a 200 watt smile. "I told you there was nothing here for me." she said. And with that, she began laughing again, as I turned my face to stare in astonishment at what my labors of research beheld me --

I screamed in frustration at the sight of a vacant lot.