Summary: Catwoman plays a dangerous game of payback with an old enemy, and Dicky Grayson is inadvertently caught in crossfire.
Note: Thanks to Sandra and Alexandra for the beta-help.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome!
Copyright: March 2003
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PaybackBy Syl Francis
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Friday, March 21//5:00pm
GCAir Flight 1720, Nonstop Miami-to-Gotham City
On approach: Archie Goodwin International Airport, Gotham City
****
"Are we almost there, Alfred?"
The proper English gentleman in the seat next to the dark-haired boy looked up from the latest copy of Newsday, but did not roll his eyes. That would have demonstrated improper behavior, and Alfred Pennyworth was first and foremost a gentleman's gentleman. Lately, though, he'd begun to see himself more often as a highly paid 'nanny.'
Turning towards his young charge, he allowed himself a mental sigh. It must be the age, he decided. Master Bruce had exhibited the same childish impatience on long trips. He checked his watch. 5:00 p.m. Their flight was scheduled to land in Gotham City's Archie Goodwin International Airport in twenty minutes.
Of course, in all fairness to Dick, the weather had been unusually bad during the flight, making it terribly long and bumpy, with several 'airbag' moments. Alfred was almost certain that the poor woman in the seat behind them had to have lost ten pounds at the very least. She'd thrown up almost steadily for the past two hours.
Even Dick, who had a stomach as close to concrete as any Alfred had ever encountered, had begun to turn just a little green around the gills. Was it any wonder that the poor boy was just a bit anxious?
"Yes, Master Dick," Alfred replied with infinite patience. "We are almost there. Only twenty minutes to go."
"D'you think Bruce is gonna meet us?" Dick asked hopefully. "He said he had something real special planned."
"I am afraid that Master Bruce will not be able to meet us at the airport," Alfred replied urbanely. "He informed me last night that he had some last minute business to attend to and would meet us at the Manor as soon as possible."
"Aw, gee..." Dick said disappointedly. He'd been looking forward to showing Bruce the birthday gifts that Pop Haly and his circus family had given him.
"Now, now," Alfred said with mild reprimand. "None of that glum lip. You will have plenty of time to show Master Bruce your ill-gotten gains."
Dick looked up quickly at the familiar teasing tone in Alfred's voice. Seeing a smile in his eyes, the boy responded in kind.
"Master Bruce promises to meet us at home no later than eight tonight."
"I can hardly wait to show him the carvings of Pop Haly, Simba, Elinore, and Bernardo." The names Dick rattled off belonged to his circus family. Pop Haly was the owner/manager of Haly's Circus. Simba was the star of the lion act. Bernardo, the bear, had been a part of the troupe since before Dick was born. And Elinore, the elephant, had been Dick's closest friend when he was growing up in Haly's circus as part of a family of aerialists known as the Flying Graysons.
"I wish we could've stayed longer, Alfred," Dick said a bit wistfully. "I really miss them."
"There will be other visits to the circus, Master Dick."
"I know..." Dick murmured sadly. He dropped his chin in his hand.
Alfred instantly placed a single finger underneath Dick's chin and raised it. "I believe we've already discussed the 'no glumness allowed' rule for today, haven't we?"
"Yes, sir..." Dick mumbled. He wasn't exactly the picture of chipperness that Alfred expected on a boy's tenth birthday. Still the plans that Master Bruce had for lad later that evening would certainly raise his spirits. Alfred went back to the news magazine he'd been reading. This time he almost did roll his eyes.
The latest hot singer was featured in a two-page layout, wearing next-to-nothing. The caption underneath read, "Ginny Still a Virgin at 16!" Turning the page, Alfred decided to forego the article.
He stopped at the next headlines: "Quracan Rebels Shoot Down Jetliner." Reading further, he saw that somehow an extremist terrorist group operating out of Qurac had obtained shoulder-fired missile launchers. Before they were caught in late-night raid, the terrorists had threatened to shoot down any airliner either on take-off or landing at Qurac International Airport.
"My word," he muttered. "Not exactly what one wishes to read while on a plane."
"What was that, Alfred?" Dicky asked.
"Nothing, Master Dick," Alfred said quickly. And then added reassuringly, "We're almost home."
"Okay," Dicky said with a shrug, going back to his handheld electronic game.
As Alfred read a little further, he learned that Quracan government officials believed that the missile launchers were just one phase in a complex international smuggling ring involving drugs, money laundering, and illegal weapons trade. According to an unnamed source, the Quracan government was fully cooperating with the U.S.
Shaking his head, Alfred decided that he'd enough of world events and turned back to 'Ginny, the 16-year-old virgin.'
Less than half an hour later, the flight attendant announced that they were coming in for a landing and requested that all tray tables and seats be returned to their upright positions. Within minutes, the plane was taxiing to its gate, and soon after that, it came to a complete stop.
As soon as Dick felt the plane jerk to a stop, he jumped up on the aisle seat and opened the overhead compartment. Unexpectedly, the contents, which had apparently been jostled during the flight, came tumbling down on his head. Surprised, Dick lost his footing and fell backward, landing between the seats, buried under the small bags.
"Master Dick!" Alfred called out in concern. "Are you hurt, young sir?"
"Uh...I don't think so." Dick's small voice sounded unsure.
"Hey, kid! What d'you think you're doing?" a male voice growled. Dick, who was on the floor wedged between the seats and still trapped underneath the carry-on luggage, couldn't make out the speaker from his awkward position. All he could see was a forest of adult-sized legs.
"Excuse me, please," Alfred interrupted. "I must get to my young master--"
"That's not my problem, pally!" the angry voice retorted. "Where's my bag?" Not waiting for an answer, he muttered, "Here it is." A few moments later, a pair of dark gray legs moved off, and Dick suddenly felt a pair of gentle hands helping him up.
"Is he all right?" a feminine voice asked. By then Dick was sitting back on the aisle seat.
"Excuse me, I'm trying to get through," another passenger said. Alfred immediately moved aside to make room for the rest of the deplaning passengers. A young flight attendant hovered worriedly next to Alfred who was busy fussing over Dick.
"I'm okay, Alfred," Dick protested. "Honest." Straightening, Alfred nodded at the flight attendant.
"I believe that young Master Dick will survive," he said drolly. Without thinking, Dick rolled his eyes to the amusement of the flight attendant. She reached over and ruffled his hair.
"Well, I for one am happy to hear that," she said. "It isn't often that we get such a handsome passenger as you." Winking at Dick and giving Alfred a smile, she excused herself.
"Time to go, Master Dick." As he spoke, Alfred handed Dick his small, carry-on bag. Dick took it and headed towards the front exit, hurrying several steps ahead of Alfred. No longer confined to an airline seat, Dick's natural exuberance could not be contained. He'd be seeing Bruce in another few hours, and if Alfred didn't suddenly decide that Dick was too tired after their long flight, then maybe he might be allowed to go out on patrol later that night. At the thought of going on patrol with Batman, Dick quickly made his way to the luggage return carousel, only to be forced to wait impatiently along with the other passengers for their bags.
A beautiful young woman with long, dark hair stood directly across the carousel from Dick. She wore a long, black overcoat and dark glasses. Dick couldn't help but think that the attractive lady was vaguely familiar. Abruptly, she caught his eye and smiled at him. Knowing he'd been staring, Dick felt his cheeks flush and immediately looked down. When he looked back up again, she was gone.
Shrugging, he put her out of his mind and waited restlessly for Alfred to finish collecting all of their bags. As soon as they had everything, they lugged their bags to the curb outside.
"Master Dick, while I go collect the car, I wish you to remain here with the luggage."
"Okay, Alfred," Dick agreed.
"And Master Dick?"
"Yeah?"
"I needn't remind you not to talk to strangers?"
"Aw, come on, Alfred!" Dick protested. "It's not like I'm just some little kid or anything."
"Forgive me, young sir," Alfred said with gentle irony. "How could I forget?" He placed his hand lightly on Dick's shoulder, unmindful of the boy's cross looks. "I shall be back shortly." Dick nodded, and jamming his hands into his jacket pockets, sat down on the largest of the suitcases.
From his vantage point, Dick watched the comings and goings of Gotham's citizens. People in a hurry to leave. People in a hurry to arrive. He saw young couples taking a moment longer than necessary to kiss goodbye ("Yuck!" he muttered ducking his head.), and families laughing and hugging in reunion. He saw a boy about his own age run into the arms of his father, and laugh happily at being lifted high in the air.
Dick thought of Bruce. He didn't blame Bruce for being unexpectedly busy, or that he tended to forget about birthdays and other unimportant things like that. It was just that sometimes he wished...
His eyes traveled longingly back to the boy and his father. Before they were swallowed by the crowds, Dick saw the father place his hand warmly on his son's shoulder. Unbidden, Dick thought of his own father and mother, and of how happy they'd been together.
His Dad would never have forgotten his birthday, Dick realized; however, as soon as the thought manifested itself, Dick tried to squelch it, experiencing a sudden stab of guilt.
A honking horn brought him back to the present. A taxi pulled up to the curb almost directly in front of him. "Hey, kid! How about moving out of the way?" a rough voice demanded. Dick instantly stood up to do as requested, but didn't get out of the way quickly enough. A heavy mass suddenly slammed into him from behind, sending him sprawling. The back of his head struck the pavement, causing him to see stars temporarily.
"Hey, kid! Watch it!" a menacing growl warned. It sounded like the same angry voice he'd heard back onboard the plane.
"Master Dick! Are you all right?"
Dick felt several hands helping him up. He looked up through unfocused eyes. A sharp-faced man, wearing a Fedora slung low over his forehead, was glaring down at him. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, Dick noted the ugly scar on the man's right cheek and the mean eyes that were glowering at him.
"Whadaya think you're doing? You almost got us killed there, kid!" The dark stranger gave Dick a closer look. "Hey, ain't you the same kid from the plane? The one who caused all that ruckus? What are you, some kinda troublemaker, or something?
Shaking his head and not knowing what else to say, Dick apologized. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to--"
"Yeah, well...just watch it, okay?" The sharp-faced man looked around in a sudden panic. "Hey! Where's my bag? Listen, you little punk, if this is some kinda con or somethin'--?"
"What--?" Dick could only stare back in confusion. "I--?"
But the man had stopped paying attention to him. Instead, his eyes fell on a small, dark leather carryall, and with a look of triumph, he grabbed it.
Yanking the taxi door open, he gave Dick a final glare. "Okay, pally...We'll just call it square this time." His expression turned menacing. "But I'd better not run into you again, got it?" With that, he got into the cab and slammed the door. Almost immediately, the car sped away, nearly running down a pair of pedestrians.
"Gosh, Alfred, I didn't mean to cause any trouble, honest," Dick said, feeling suddenly tired. The bump on his head hadn't helped matters any. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache.
"Of course, you did not, Master Dick," Alfred soothed. Shaking his head at the taxi as it disappeared into the airport traffic, he added, "Some people are just ill-mannered. Let us go home, young sir."
As Alfred started the car, Dick caught sight of the beautiful, dark-haired young woman signaling a taxi. He watched as she hurried through the densely packed airport crowds, moving with an almost catlike fluid grace. As the taxi driver loaded her luggage in the trunk, Dick observed that she shook her head when the driver offered to stow a small carry-on bag as well. Dick watched as the driver opened the door for her, and as she slid into the back seat, still holding onto the carryall.
Blinking eyes that were inexplicably growing heavier by the minute, Dick tried unsuccessfully to clear the cobwebs in his brain. There was something about her, he thought. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. His thoughts jumbled in confusion, Dick's eyes grew too heavy to stay open, and eventually the junior detective lost the battle.
By the time Alfred negotiated the Bentley out of the airport and onto the highway, Dick was fast asleep.
****
Friday, March 21//5:45pm
The Trigate Motel
Tricorner neighborhood, Gotham City
****
Joey slammed the door on the face of the hotel manager without tipping first. "Buzz off, ya bum!" he growled. "You're lucky I'm even stayin' in this fleabag motel." Tossing the room key on the cheap nightstand, Joey hurriedly pulled the small, black leather case to him.
"After today, Joey Messina will only stay in the very best. First class all the way!" Fingers trembling, he fiddled awkwardly with the bag's small combination lock. As soon as he ran through the combination, he tried to open it. The hasp held. Frowning, he tried again.
The lock still didn't budge.
"Come on, come on...!" he intoned nervously. Wracking his brains, Joey worked through the combination in his head: left 8--right 25--left 56. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Easy, pal," he muttered to himself. "Just take it nice'n easy." Sitting down on the sagging mattress, Joey took a deep breath and tried again.
Nothing happened.
Joey felt a surge of rage begin to consume him. He agitatedly rifled through one of the suitcases, ran his hands along the false bottom, and applied pressure at just the right points. Instantly, the bottom popped open, exposing a small arsenal: three different caliber handguns, one disassembled rifle with sniper scope, a few throwing stars, and several knives of varying sizes. He grabbed one with a particularly deadly edge.
Holding it carefully, he admired how the light played on the blade's lustrous surface. He became aware of his own eyes glaring back at him from the mirror-like finish.
"Okay, it's up to you, pal," he murmured, addressing the knife. "If someone's playin' some kinda con, he'll wish he was never born."
With a violent eruption, Joey sliced the leather bag open and hurriedly tossed out its contents. "Underwear," he muttered. "Shaving cream...toothbrush...T-shirts..." He stopped, surveying the discarded contents. He carefully checked the clothing tags and finally sat back without clear understanding. All of his personal effects were there. Slowly, his labored breathing returned to normal.
"It's all here," he said, disbelievingly. Then why had the combination lock not opened, he wondered? "Musta dialed it wrong, I guess," he admitted with a shrug. "Yeah, that musta been what happened." Nodding to himself, Joey nervously reached for the ruined bag again. With slow, shaky fingers, he ran his hands along the bottom and pressed down on the outer edges.
The false bottom opened smoothly and cleanly, just like it always did. Joey closed his eyes in utter relief. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for since the plane had landed. Joey lifted the bottom of the carryall, and stared in blank confusion.
Slowly, as realization dawned in his eyes, he felt the same all-consuming fury that had taken a hold of him earlier. The hidden compartment was empty, except for a neatly handwritten note.
"You should know by now that while the Cat's in town, the Rats should keep a really close watch on their cheese."
Joey's head felt as if it were about to explode. Catwoman!!?? How had she found him? How?
"ARRRGGGHHH!!!!!" Joey let out a roar that was more animal than human. In a blind fury, he drove his knife over and over into the empty bag, shredding it into useless bits of leather, imagining his knife plunging repeatedly into Selina Kyle's breast. Half-crazed, he picked up and smashed anything that wasn't nailed down, utterly wrecking the room.
Unfortunately for the hotel manager, he picked this particular moment to walk in on Joey. Shocked by the scene of destruction before him, he opened his mouth to yell, but before he could get any words out, Joey hurled the knife at him. It was thrown with such force that it became impaled up to the hilt in the manager's Adam's apple. Thus, his words of protest literally died in his throat.
****
Friday, March 21/6:00pm
Kattuz Luxury Apartments
Overlooking: Grant Park, Gotham City
****
Selina luxuriated in the hot, fragrant bath water. It had been a long day. No, it had been a long week, she amended. Trailing that loser, Joey Messina, had not been her idea of a fun vacation. Still, she'd had her reasons--two million of them, she thought with a smile. And currently, they were waiting patiently for her in the bedroom--two million dollars worth of uncut diamonds--guarded by her favorite tabby, Sasha, a full-grown Bengal tiger.
She smiled at her reflection in the mirror and laughed. It was more of a purring sound from deep in her throat. Reaching next to her, she closed her fingers delicately around a long-stemmed wineglass.
"Here's to Joey Messina and his pack of rats," she said holding up the glass in a mock toast. "I hope they all rot in hell." With that, she tipped her head back and drank down the contents in a single gulp. Taking a deep, self-satisfied breath, Selina stood and stepped out of the tub. She wrapped a large, soft towel around herself and headed towards the bedroom.
She stopped at the door and waited for Sasha to acknowledge her presence. She walked slowly towards the giant cat, her hand held out in familiar greeting. "Hello, Sasha," she crooned softly, while gently stroking his large head. Sasha responded instantly to her touch, his loud purr rumbling forth from his throat, filling the room with its contented sound. "That's a good boy, Sasha."
As if by magic, one of Sasha's favorite cat toys materialized in Selina's hand, a stuffed Batman. There were also a stuffed Penguin, Joker, Two-Face, and Riddler--all the Gotham rats who seemed hell-bent on getting in her way. Giving the stuffed Batman a slight squeeze, she tossed it to the corner of the room and waited patiently until Sasha pounced on it. She smiled affectionately as her giant tabby swatted the stuffed toy across the room.
"Maybe one day, Sasha...I'll let you play with the real thing." Recalling the first time Batman had held her pinned down to the rooftop of a building, Selina's face softened. She remembered his closeness, the almost electric charge that had passed them. She'd felt herself respond to him, and from his expression, she was sure that he'd felt it, too. Their faces had been mere inches apart. Their lips so close as to be almost touching. Almost...
****
[8 Months prior]
Saturday, August 25//2:15am
Rooftop, Gotham City Gem Exchange
****
A high-pitched childish voice suddenly interrupted them. "You got 'im, Batman! I knew you would!" They were jerked back to reality rather abruptly. Batman's bemused expression immediately hardened.
"Let's go!" he'd ordered, pulling her roughly to her feet. Selina scowled at the memory, remembering his painful grip. "Robin! Did you tie the others securely?" Batman asked.
"Uh-huh! But one of 'em got away, Batman!"
"That's okay," Batman said, holding up a leather case. "We got the loot." He tossed it to Robin. "Check it out. Make sure it's all there."
But Robin wasn't paying any attention to him, he was staring uncertainly at her. "You're a girl--!?" The boy looked amazed.
"I'm glad one of you noticed, at least," Catwoman said sardonically. Batman twisted her arm in warning. "Owww! Hey, watch it, you big bully!"
Robin's eyes widened behind his mask. "Batman...I thought we weren't s'posed to hurt girls?"
The Catwoman laughed a deep-throated chuckle at the boy's comments. "You tell him, kid!" she'd said. Immediately Batman twisted her arm just a bit more. She gasped in pain. Gritting her teeth, she hissed, "You'll regret this, you big jerk!"
Ignoring her, Batman spoke in a cold, commanding voice. "Robin, I want you to go back and make sure that the rest of the gang is tied securely. Then I want you to call the GCPD and keep watch until they arrive."
"But I thought you wanted me to check the loot?" Robin protested.
"Don't worry. I'll see to that," Batman reassured him.
"My, my," Catwoman murmured suggestively. "Aren't we clever. You get rid of Robin so that you and I can--" She stopped and grinned up him, her green eyes gleaming wickedly. "--well...you know."
"Batman, what's she talking about?" Robin asked.
"Robin, I gave you an order."
"That's right, little Robin," Catwoman echoed tauntingly. "Scram, so that the grownups can play--"
The next thing she knew, she was wearing a pair of Bat-shaped handcuffs. A wave of anger washed through her at the thought of being shackled, but Catwoman managed to tamp it down. Instead, she cocked a single eyebrow at Batman. "Ooh...handcuffs. How kinky," she murmured. Taking a step forward until their bodies were touching, she added huskily, "I have a whip..."
"Batman...?" Robin began. "I don't understand--?"
"Robin, I gave you an order! Go! Now!" Robin stared at Batman hurt by his harsh tone. Slowly, he nodded and returned the bag containing the stolen gems to Batman, then turned on his heels looking glum. Batman watched him go for a brief moment, and then opened the bag. He raised a single eyebrow in surprise.
The gems had been replaced by ordinary rocks. He whirled on her angry at being fooled so completely. "Where are they?" He yelled. "What did you do with gems!?"
It was Catwoman's turn to be surprised. Her eyes widened at the sight of the rocks in the bag. Joey, she thought. The dirty rat had double-crossed her! He'd taken the gems and left her and the others to take the fall. She glared defiantly at the Dark Knight. "I don't what you're talking about! I'm the one with the handcuffs, remember?"
Batman took a threatening step towards her, glowering dangerously from underneath the cowl. "The one who got away," he growled. "I want a name. Where can I find him?"
"The Catwoman never rats--!" she hissed. "--especially those who double-cross her! Those I take care of myself."
"I said I want a name," Batman repeated menacingly. He was holding her wrists painfully hard, hurting her. Catwoman flinched slightly, then raised her chin in defiance.
"Or what?" she sneered derisively. "Are you going to beat it out of me? And what about Junior over there? You've already hurt him once tonight. What will he think of his hero--" She practically spat out the word. "--if he sees him acting less than heroic?" Hesitating slightly, Batman glanced over to where Robin was standing guard in the shadows.
The next instant, she turned the tables. With Batman worried about Robin's exposure to her 'wicked ways'--Selina grinned at the memory; it was almost too sweet, really--she'd picked the handcuffs and waited for her opportunity.
With Batman momentarily distracted by the boy's anguish, Catwoman took advantage of it, slipping from his grasp. Knowing that she didn't stand a chance against the two of them, she sprinted to the roof's edge and leaped...
****
Friday, March 21/6:30pm
Kattuz Luxury Apartments
Overlooking: Grant Park, Gotham City
****
A low growl brought her back. Sasha held the toy Batman firmly between his teeth and was shaking it to the point where some of the stuffing was falling out. Smiling, Selina stretched out on the bed. "I know exactly how you feel."
She sat up and pulled the black bag to her. It was time to check out the day's take.
She calmly donned one of her 'working gloves'--a black leather glove with retractable razor sharp claws--and eyed the combination lock with narrowed eyes. With quick, surgical precision, Selina cut a lengthwise incision along the leather exterior. Smiling eagerly, she enlarged the opening and exposed the bag's contents.
One by one, Selina removed the items. As she did so, a feeling of dismay began to settle in the pit of her stomach. The bag contained a child-sized t-shirt, a pair of Superman pajamas, two pairs of Green Lantern Underoos, and a pair of Batman socks. "No accounting for taste," she murmured at this last item.
Knowing the futility of it, she continued searching through the contents, until she reached the bottom. There, she found an antique wooden box with a carefully detailed and old-fashioned, circus wagon train carved in bas-relief on the lid. She ran her fingers gently over the carvings, amazed at its craftsmanship.
She wondered how much she could get for it at a pawn shop, and just as quickly discarded the idea, feeling just a little bit chagrinned by her own greed. Lifting the lid open, she discovered more wooden carvings inside, individually encased in velvet. The small figurines were carved with the same superior artistry as the box: a circus ringmaster, an elephant, a bear, and--Selina smiled--a lion.
Reclining on the bed, Selina's smile dissolved. Obviously, back on the plane, when she believed she'd made the switch with Joey, she'd actually grabbed the wrong bag. She thought back to that particular moment on the plane...
Seated two rows behind Joey, she'd waited for the right moment to make the switch during the flight; however, the moment never came. As they taxied to their gate, she knew that she had only a few seconds to make the switch; therefore, as soon as the plane came to a complete stop, she jumped up and hurried to the overhead compartment.
Just as she was about to reach it, a small boy beat her to it. He opened the bin, and the next moment, all the items stowed in it came crashing down on top of him. She recalled Joey reaching for the leather bag first and the feeling of relief she'd felt when he'd grabbed the duplicate bag she'd planted in the storage compartment.
Earlier that week, she'd broken into Joey's hotel room and gone through his things. She'd found his leather case and discovered the false bottom. Of course, the diamonds weren't there at the time. Joey might be a louse and a rat, but he wasn't entirely stupid.
Still, he'd double-crossed her on the gem heist over eight months ago, and it had taken Selina that long to carefully plan her payback. She knew that Joey was working on pulling yet another big-time fraud. Selina had to shake her head in reluctant admiration over his plan. It was ambitious in scope, and had just the right amount of subtle irony that appealed to her own sense of humor: When you swindle the swindlers, the cops aren't going to be called.
Of course, the perp still had to contend with the displeasure of whoever the mark happened to be. Which in Joey's case, it was none other than the local Gotham City crime boss, Rupert Thorne. In the months that had followed her little falling out with Joey, the louse had moved on to what he obviously considered bigger and better things. He had finagled a spot in Rupert Thorne's mob as a bagman...
Now, he had devised a dangerous scheme to steal two million dollars worth of uncut diamonds that Thorne had arranged to smuggle into the country through Miami, where he maintained one of his legitimate shipping and importing businesses. Moreover, Joey planned to snatch the diamonds right from under the mob boss's nose.
Selina wondered whom Joey had targeted as the fall guy. The rat would never plan such an elaborate scheme without first making sure that the fallout wouldn't land on his head. At the thought, Selina closed and covered her eyes and gave herself a mental kick.
I guess the note I left him wasn't one of my smartest ideas.
Sighing, Selina remembered how she had carefully inventoried all the items in Joey's leather carry-on bag, down to the size and make of his underwear. (That was something she didn't want to do again any time soon!) She had even duplicated the bag's false bottom, and just to ensure that Joey knew exactly who had double-crossed him, she'd left him a note.
She bit her lower lip.
"Now the rat will probably finger me to Thorne, and the big goon and his boys will come gunning for me." She sighed. "And I don't even have the diamonds." Picking up the wooden lion figure, Selina held it carefully between her thumb and forefinger and admired its detail. Musing aloud, she wondered, "And just who, my little friend, do you happen to belong to?" At a sudden idea, she gently replaced the wooden lion into the box, and then turned her attention back to the small carryall.
She unzipped the inside pockets and ran her fingers meticulously through each. At last, she found it, an identification tag stored securely inside its own zippered pocket. Taking out the credit-card sized ID tag, Selina scanned the information:
Richard J. Grayson
Wayne Manor
Gotham City
A Cheshire cat smile played on her lips. "Pay dirt!"
****
Friday, March 21//7:30pm
Thorne Towers
Overlooking: Miller Harbor, Gotham City
****
Thorne's henchmen looked at each other first, and then turned their cold eyes at the new bagman, Joey Messina. He'd reported in a few minutes before with some cockamamie story that involved the Catwoman making off with the diamonds.
Rupert Thorne hadn't exactly taken Joey at his words. At the moment, two of Thorne's enforcers held the errant bagman firmly between them, while another held a 9mm handgun just as firmly between Joey's wide, frightened eyes.
"Just say the word, Mr. Thorne," a quiet voice spoke. Joey spotted a well-dressed, pleasant-faced young man, a particularly vicious henchman that went by the street name of 'the Barber.' The old-fashioned straight razor the young man held up for Joey's benefit told the story. The joke on the street was that the Barber always left his 'customers' with a 'very close shave.' "It would be a pleasure to take care of this double-crosser for you, Boss."
"She pulled a switch, I tell ya!" Joey pleaded, nervously eying the gleaming razor. The Barber's icy-blue eyes didn't flinch or leave Joey's face. "I swear I'm tellin' the truth!"
"Why should we believe you, Bagman?" another henchman growled. Joey wracked his brains to remember the thug's name, but it wouldn't come to him. It didn't matter. Joey knew that he was yet another of Thorne's street enforcers.
"Look, I can prove it!" Joey insisted. "I swear on my mother's grave, Mr. Thorne. I'm tellin' you the truth."
"It's your own grave you should be worryin' about," still another thug muttered.
Joey looked around, desperately trying to find some support from any of them. Just one friendly face. All he found were stony looks. Seeing his life slipping from his grasp, Joey spoke rapidly, stumbling over his words. "I tell you, the Cat did it! I got proof! In my pocket! I swear!"
Thorne glared at him for a long second and finally nodded. "Check it out." Immediately, the goon who had been holding the gun between Joey's eyes holstered his weapon and started patting him down. A moment later, he pulled out a folded piece of paper from Joey's pocket. The bagman let out a sigh of relief and was rewarded with a solid punch to the stomach.
"Oooof--!" he grunted.
"It ain't time for you to relax, Joey," the goon taunted. "We ain't done with you, yet." With that he punched Joey several more times in the gut, until he was doubled over in excruciating pain, struggling to breathe.
"That's enough, Mick," Thorne ordered. "Let's see what you've got." Mick nodded and took a step back at his boss's words. About to turn away, he whirled round once more and laid yet another solid blow into Joey's middle. "I said that's enough!" Thorne yelled.
"Sure, boss," Mick said smugly. He slapped Joey lightly on the cheek. "No hard feelin's, eh, Joey? You know how it is once you get started. It's like eatin' potato chips...you can't stop after only one." Grinning at his own joke, Mick handed Thorne the piece of paper.
Thorne read it through once, and then read it through again. He glared at Joey. "How do I know this is on the level? How do I know Catwoman really wrote this? How do I know that you haven't double-crossed me and stashed the diamonds yourself?"
"I-I swear it's the God's truth--!" Joey stammered.
"You wouldn't know the truth if it came gift wrapped," Thorne retorted in disgust. "Get 'im outta here!" He jabbed his forefinger in the air, pointing at his best hit men. "Mick! Eraser! I want you guys to take care of this scumbag--now!"
"Gotcha, Boss!" Mick gave Joey a broad grin.
"Consider him fish food, Boss!" Eraser added. Both hitmen grabbed Joey roughly by the arms and started to head out, when a chilling voice stopped them.
"I wouldn't be so hasty, Mr. Thorne." All eyes turned towards the speaker, the Barber. He kept his eyes downcast, concentrating on his straight razor. Feeling the tension in the room mount, he raised his eyes slowly, until he held Thorne's. "If Joey took the diamonds as you suggest, then having him 'taken care of' will mean that you'll probably never see the stones again."
"It wasn't me...please...!" Joey pleaded. Barber ignored him.
"May I see that note?" Barber asked. Nodding, Thorne passed it to Mick, who walked it to Barber. As he turned the flimsy note over in his hands, he calmly took out a pipe and deliberately lit it. He nodded occasionally, murmuring, "Um-hmmm..." He gave Joey a long measuring look, then turned to Thorne with a small wave of the piece of paper. "This is either an original, or an excellent forgery of Catwoman's handwriting."
"What do you know about it, Barber?" Mick demanded.
"Shut up, Mick!" Thorne shouted, and then repeated, "What do you know about it, Barber?"
"You hired me to make it my business to know, Mr. Thorne. I studied the Catwoman's M.O. She likes to steal from other crooks, because she knows that it is unlikely the theft will go reported."
"What's your point?" Thorne asked impatiently.
"She likes to leave little calling cards like this after a job." Barber held Thorne's eyes calmly. On the other hand, Thorne's demeanor went from impatient to explosive.
"That's it! I want her dead!" Thorne walked up to Mick and Eraser. "I want you two clowns to find her hideout and stake it out! If she takes so much as takes a single step outside, you ice her, y'hear? Ice her good!" Barber's quiet voice stopped them.
"That may still not be such a good idea, Mr. Thorne," Barber said softly. "The Catwoman isn't just some dame off the street. She's what the local DA is calling a 'super criminal-mastermind.' She's even given the Bat the slip a time or two."
"Yeah...? So--?" Thorne began. The Barber held his hand up for indulgence. The others watched in awe at the young killer's unprecedented familiarity with their boss. Casually flipping the razor closed, he hid it in his inside jacket pocket. Reaching for a silver-tipped cane, he stood and walked around the table, showing a pronounced limp. Finally, he stopped in front of Joey. He glanced at the prisoner and gave him a once over. Sneering slightly, he turned and faced Thorne.
"The Catwoman's reputation doesn't come entirely because of her looks." At his words, some of the others leered in obscene appreciation.
Mick ran his fingers down the length of his pistol. "I'd like to get my hands on her and show her a thing or two--!"
"That's enough!" Thorne shouted. "We don't have time for games! Barber, if you got something to say, then say it! We're wastin' time."
The Barber turned his icy glare on Joey. "The Catwoman doesn't plan her heists on a whim, Mr. Thorne. She plans them very carefully. Then she executes them with military precision. She usually works alone, but every now then she has been known to take on a partner. She's even recruited a whole gang for a particular job." He paused and held Joey's eyes. "Isn't that true, Joey?" he asked.
"What?" Joey seemed to snap out of a daze. He'd only been paying half-attention to the Barber, as the pain coming from his midsection was currently taking up most of his waking consciousness. "I didn't get that," he muttered.
"I said that sometimes the Catwoman has been known to take on a partner," the Barber repeated.
"Huh--?" Joey was beginning to break out in a sweat. "H-How should I know?"
"Word on the street is that eight months ago, you double-crossed the Cat, and now she's out for payback. Isn't that so, Joey?"
Joey looked around in a panic. "W-Well, what if it is? I-I didn't have nothing to do with her snatching the diamonds. I did my part on the square! I went to Miami and did the pick up just like I was told to. Then I got on a flight back to Gotham--again, just like I was supposed to. I don't know how or when the Cat did it. I never even laid eyes on her! The first I knew about the switch was when I checked the bag back at my hotel room."
"Your hotel room?" the Barber echoed.
"Yeah."
"Joey, why didn't you report here to Thorne Towers as soon as you arrived in town?" Joey opened his mouth as if to answer, but the Barber beat him to it. "I'll tell you why. So that you could make your own switch in the privacy of your hotel room."
"No! That's not true!"
"You've worked with her in the past, Joey," the Barber continued. "You knew about her propensity to leave calling cards behind after a heist." He took a step closer to Joey. "What did you do, Joey? Did you write that note and plant it on yourself?"
"Are you out of your mind?" Joey squealed. "That sounds like a plot out of a comic book!"
"Oh, yeah? Then why would Catwoman suddenly steal the diamonds, Joey? She's operated out of Gotham City for a few years now, and she's never tried to horn in on any of Mr. Thorne's action. So why now, Joey?" He didn't wait for Joey to answer. "I'll tell you why, Joey. It's because it wasn't Catwoman who stole the diamonds. You did it yourself and stashed them away some place."
"No! That ain't so! I swear!" Joey babbled. "Look, it's true that I did pull a double-cross on her once. And that maybe she's out for payback. But I swear that it wasn't me who took those diamonds, Mr. Thorne. She did it, and now she's trying to put the finger on me." Thorne looked like he might actually be starting to believe him. "It's true! She's doing it 'cause when I am-scrayed with the entire loot from the heist we worked together, she ended up taking the fall."
Joey laughed a little nervously. "She had to keep a real low-profile for a few months on account of Batman. That gave me the time to move on to other things."
"Like join my operation," Thorne stated. "Weasel your way into my good graces. Earn my trust." Joey nodded somewhat reluctantly.
"Yes, sir...something like that."
"Barber, what do you suggest we do with this mug?" Thorne asked.
"I suggest we use him, Mr. Thorne. You know...pick his brains. He's worked with the Catwoman before. He might know what she'd do next. Where she'd hide the loot until things cool down."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Thorne!" Joey agreed with pathetic eagerness. "I could do that. I worked with her for almost three months--practically lived with her. I got to know almost everything about her--even her favorite late night pizza delivery joint."
Nodding, Thorne took the Barber aside to momentarily speak with him in private. "Barber, I want you find the Cat and get her to tell you where she's stashed the rocks."
"Don't worry, Boss," the Barber said. "I'll only cut her a little at time until she squeals." He grinned, an expression completely devoid of any humanity.
Thorne felt a chill shoot down his back at the sight. There was a rumor that the Barber had been a member of the US Army Special Forces during Desert Storm, but had been court-martialed and dishonorably discharged for torturing several Iraqi POWs under his care. Thorne heard that he'd actually skinned them alive. Shuddering, Thorne added, "Once she squeals, I want you to keep on cutting until she can't steal from me ever again!"
"You got it, Boss."
Nodding, Thorne slapped him lightly on the arm. "Oh, and Barber. When you're done with Catwoman, I want you to do the same thing to Joey." He shook his head regretfully. "Anybody that brings that kind of heat on the organization, don't deserve to live and breathe the same air we do." He stopped, his whole body trembling with emotion. "That boy wormed his way into our hearts and our trust, and now look at how he's paid us back."
The Barber nodded in understanding and limped back to Joey. Eyeing the two goons that still held him fast between them, he signaled that they release him. Not ready to take his orders, both men looked towards Thorne for confirmation that they should indeed release Joey. Anxious to see them leave, Thorne made 'shooing' motions, indicating he wanted them gone.
Within minutes, Thorne's executive conference room was empty except for him. He sat alone in pensive silence, ruminating over how different things were now in Gotham City than when he first started running numbers.
That had been back in the old southeast part of town, a place rampant with speakeasies, prostitutes, and drug dealers. It had all seemed so much simpler then. A guy who was willing to work and follow orders could go far. He, himself, had started at the bottom, running errands for anyone who was willing to pay him at first.
Then he moved up to numbers running and protection, only to be suddenly shut down by a glory-seeking cop named Gordon and a crusading District Attorney, Harvey Dent. Dent--that creep had it in for Thorne almost from the start, working night and day it seemed to shut him down at every opportunity.
Thorne grinned suddenly, a wicked gleam in his eye. "But we showed him, didn't we?" he murmured. Thorne had arranged for the attack on Harvey Dent by a little weasel named Tony Zucco who used acid as his weapon of choice. The attack on Dent happened during the trial, and Dent was never the same again.
At the thought of the aftermath of the Harvey Dent hit, Thorne scowled. Unfortunately, the acid attack had the unforeseen consequence of giving birth to that psycho criminal mastermind known as 'Two Face.' And ever since then, the crazies had been moving into Gotham City and Thorne's turf. Frustrated, he pounded his fist into his open palm.
Thorne used to be the most feared crime boss on the East Coast, but now, with weirdoes like the Joker and Two-Face running around, horning in all over Gotham City, taking on some of the best talent in the business for their own gangs, Thorne's empire was slowly being eroded. In addition, having Batman around to put heat on his operation wasn't helping any.
Catwoman heisting his diamonds was the last straw. Three years, he fumed! For three solid years he'd carefully planned and executed the whole operation himself, ironed out all the problems, and finally carried it through to what should have been a successful conclusion.
He thought of all the marks he'd called in to smuggle one ton of pure cocaine into the country. It took him close to nine months to distribute it to suppliers and dealers all around the country. He thought of the intricacies involved in money laundering, of the many overseas bank accounts and phony business fronts that the funds were filtered through.
Finally, Thorne thought about the shadowy figures he'd dealt with in order to purchase shoulder-mounted missile launchers. It had taken three separate purchases in three different locations spread across three different states, but Thorne had finally succeeded in purchasing nine missile launchers and three-times as many missiles.
As soon as he put them up for sale to the highest bidder, he'd been inundated by offers. A group operating out of Qurac offered the most intriguing bid: six million dollars in uncut diamonds, to be paid in three equal installments--almost six times the amount that he'd paid for them from the arms dealer. This last batch had been the final payment.
Thorne needed those diamonds to finance a move to another town--Bludhaven, maybe. Or Keystone City. Some place where the mob still held sway over crooked politicians, and the police department might still have a few rotten apples that could be bought for a song. Some place where the crazies and super-powered weirdoes hadn't as yet gained a foothold.
"Someplace away from here..."
****
Friday, March 21/8:00pm
Wayne Manor
Gotham City
****
Dicky stirred in his sleep, the soothing strains of music tickling his subconscious. He could feel the first faint stirrings of wakefulness, and fought against them, immersing himself in the distant sounds of laughter and voices shouting, "Happy Birthday, Dicky!"
He waved happily at the circus performers and other well-wishers as he passed by them on the way to the Big Top. Pop Haly and Elinore each hugged him in greeting, while Simba the lion and Bernardo the bear paid the Birthday boy a special tribute. With their trainers standing proudly by, the animals bowed before Dicky in homage as he passed by their cages. Giggling in delight, Dicky ran on to the main circus tent.
After the bright spring day outside, the boy's eyes had to first adjust to the relative gloom of the tent's interior. Almost immediately, he spotted his parents standing arm in arm in center ring, bowing to the thunderous applause around them. Smiling, they waved at him to join them. Needing no further encouragement, he ran into his mother's arms, relishing in the warmth of her embrace. The next instant, he was being lifted by his father's strong arms a pair of broad shoulders.
"Happy Birthday, son," his father called.
"Happy Birthday, little Robin," his mother said with a smile. Grinning from ear to ear, Dick felt as if he wanted to take the moment, put it in a box, tie it with a ribbon, and store it in his heart. He had never felt happier in his entire life than he did at this second.
The next instant, he was standing alone on the abandoned fairgrounds, surrounded by a shroud-like fog.
"Mom? Dad? Where are you? I can't see you!" he cried. "Please...Mom...Dad! Come back! I didn't mean to do it! I promise to be good. I promise--!"
"Dick...Dick...!" The insistent voice worked its way into his consciousness. "Dick, wake up, son--"
"Mom...Dad...?" Dick sat up in bed, looking around wildly. "Where--?" He was back in his own room in Wayne Manor.
"Dick, it's all right." Bruce sat down on the side of the bed and reached for him. Dick wanted to be left alone and tried half-heartedly to fend him off. "You were having a bad dream, son," Bruce said quietly. "It was just a dream..."
At Bruce's words, Dick felt completely spent. He leaned into his guardian's embrace, allowing him to hold him for a moment. "Just a dream," Dick whispered. He buried his face in Bruce's chest. "They're gone," he sobbed. "Really gone..." Dick felt Bruce's arms tighten protectively around him.
"They're never really gone, son," Bruce said quietly. "Not as long as we keep them in our hearts. Do you understand?" Dick shook his head. "I'm not sure that I can really explain it myself," Bruce admitted. "Alfred's much better at this. He's the one who told me in the first place."
"Alfred?" Dick asked.
"Uh-huh."
"What did he say?"
Bruce shrugged slightly. "It was a long time ago, Dick. I'd almost forgotten about the whole thing until this very moment." Bruce held him quietly for a while, recalling his then-guardian's words. His face softening in a half-smile, he looked down at Dick.
"I remember how sad I was that my parents were no longer with me. Thinking that they were gone forever," Bruce said quietly.
"That's how I feel all the time," Dick responded, his voice low.
"But I was wrong to feel that way, Dick, and so are you," Bruce insisted.
"Huh? I don't understand." Dick looked up at his guardian. His emotions were warring with confusion over Bruce's cryptic words, but openly trusting that this man never spoke anything less than the truth to him.
"Don't you see, Dick? Physically my mother and father are gone--just like your Mom and Dad. But in here--" He paused, pointing at his chest. "--in my heart they're still alive. Just like your Mom and Dad are still alive in your heart." At Dick's perplexed expression, Bruce tried again. "Dick, what's in our hearts are all our memories of everyone we've ever loved. Our memories are what keep our loved ones alive for us."
Dick nodded slowly, beginning to understand.
"But sometimes it's awfully hard to remember." Looking down, Dick spoke in a small voice. "Like, sometimes I can't even remember how my mom sounded in the morning when she woke me up. Or even how my dad's hands felt around my wrists when he caught me."
"The best way to remember, Dick, is to talk to others about them," Bruce said. "Son, any time you feel like it, I'm here to listen."
"Honest?"
"Honest."
"Cross your heart?"
"Cross my heart."
"Alfred, too?"
"Yes, Master Dick. Alfred, too." They both turned at the urbane voice behind them. "Master Bruce, Master Dick, it's eight o'clock. Your guests will be arriving soon, sirs."
"Guests?" Dick asked.
"Don't tell me you forgot about your birthday already, chum?" Bruce teased.
"You remembered?" Dick threw himself happily at Bruce and hugged him hard around the neck.
"Happy Birthday, Dick."
"Sir, the musicians have finished setting up, as have the caterers. I myself must head back downstairs to ensure that the temporary staff does not abscond with the silver."
Dick giggled at Alfred's comments, showing no signs of the earlier storm clouds. Bruce ruffled the boy's dark hair. "You do that, Alfred," he said with a smile. As Alfred turned to leave, Dick suddenly remembered his overnight case.
"Alfred! Wait! I want to show Bruce what Pop Haly and the others gave me for my birthday. Did you put my stuff away?"
"I'm afraid that I have not had the opportunity to unpack as yet. I placed the luggage in the downstairs storage closet for later. And I'm afraid, young sir, that you do not have time to go rummaging through luggage at the moment--"
"Aw, gee," Dick muttered.
"--As your guests will be here soon!" At that moment, the doorbell rang. "Speaking of which--?" Leaving the rest hanging, Alfred moved unhurriedly to answer the front door.
As soon as Alfred left, Bruce stood, and in an unusual display of playfulness, he picked Dick up and twirled him to the floor. Patting him on the bottom, he added, "Now, hurry up and get dressed, kiddo. We have some serious partying to do tonight!" Happily, Dick rushed to do as told.
****
Friday, March 21/9:55pm
Outside Wayne Manor
Gotham City
****
The party inside had been going steadily for almost two hours. The happy sounds of children's laughter mingled oddly with the soft, soothing strains of a string quartet. Catwoman was perched on the sturdy limb of a giant oak, the lone sentinel on the mansion's immaculate, park-like grounds. She checked her watch and frowned. It was almost 10:00pm.
Catwoman had been casing the mansion for almost an hour. At first, she had been surprised that all the cars parked out on circular drive were there for a child's birthday party--At Wayne Manor, she wondered? I thought Bruce Wayne only threw wild orgies and conducted virgin sacrifices.
Of course, like everyone else in Gotham, she'd heard that Wayne had been granted custody of a young boy sometime in the previous year, following the tragic deaths of the boy's parents.
Then nothing: No articles, no pictures, no TV news reports. A complete news blackout. The story had been buried before it ever had a chance to take life. Then, again like everyone else in Gotham, she'd promptly forgotten about it.
With these extraneous thoughts flashing in the back of her mind, Catwoman aimed her binoculars through a pair of drawn curtains and adjusted her earpiece. Earlier that evening, she'd planted a micro-transceiver on the outside windowpane. Within minutes, she shifted her leather carryall into a more comfortable position on her shoulder, and balancing perfectly on the tree limb leaned over slightly to better see and hear.
She watched as an adult--Capt. Gordon of the GCPD--blindfolded a small child. Smiling, Gordon handed the dark-haired boy what looked like a donkey's tail, and then spun him round three times. When he was released, the little boy stumbled uncertainly in the wrong direction.
"Dicky, you're so cold, you're freezing!" several children teased. Dicky changed directions and proceeded, still a bit unsure.
"That's it! You're getting warm!" the youngsters shouted gleefully.
"Dicky, you're hot! Hot!" They cried out in excited anticipation.
Catwoman watched as 'Dicky' followed his friend's shouts of encouragement and hesitantly pinned the tail on the donkey's nose. This resulted in the other children breaking out in uproarious laughter. As the boy removed his blindfold, they were pointing and shouting in ridicule at his expense.
Catwoman grimaced at the children's 'good-hearted' teasing. "That's why some animals eat their young," she muttered and shrugged. Ah, well, not my problem. She watched with just a twinge of empathy as Dicky, after an initial stricken look, joined his friends in self-deprecating laughter. "That's it, kid," she said in approval. "Don't ever let 'em see it hurts--no matter what."
Unconsciously, she thought back to her own painful childhood, and the cruel taunts of the other tenement children. Cries of 'fatty' and 'ugly' followed her on her long, lonely trek to school. As did, 'Your mama's a drunk and a whore!' and 'Your daddy's nothing but a stinkin' convict!'
To Catwoman's surprise, an older girl ran up to Dicky and hugged him playfully. As she did so, the rest of the children gathered round him, slapping him on the back.
"Way to go, Dicky," a little girl said shyly.
"That was awesome, Dicky!" the older girl exclaimed.
"Yeah, even if you pinned the tail on the donkey's wrong end!" a boy needled. The children broke into yet another bout of amused laughter. This time, Dicky joined them readily.
"And how about you, Timmy?" Dicky retorted. "You almost pinned the tail on Alfred!"
Over the children's roars, Timmy managed to come back with, "Yeah, but at least, it was on the right end!" With that Dicky and Timmy collapsed on each other in helpless laughter, holding onto one another to remain standing.
It was getting late, Catwoman realized. Glancing at her watch she saw that it was past ten already. "Don't these kids have bedtimes?" she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Someone oughtta call Child Protective Services."
Gordon, meanwhile, had dragged a large sack over to the boy, and with great fanfare, held it open for him. Dicky eagerly closed his eyes, reached in, and pulled out a prize. Whatever he got, it seemed to please him, because his small face lit in a bright smile. At that moment, something else caught his attention, because the boy separated himself from the crowd of kids, and running off shouted, "Bruce! Lookit what I won!"
The next instant, Bruce Wayne, carrying the small boy in his arms, appeared at the window. Giving Dicky a brief hug, he lowered him to the floor and shook hands with Gordon. Dicky waved at the older girl Catwoman had noticed earlier. "Babs! Lookit what I won! It's so cool! A Superman action figure!"
Catwoman watched as 'Babs' took the prize and dutifully admired it. From Catwoman's vantage point, the girl appeared rather plain. She had large unflattering glasses that kept slipping down her petite nose, and bright carrot-orange hair worn in unattractive braids. Still, even from this distance, Catwoman could see that Dicky was completely smitten by the older girl. In the shadows, Catwoman allowed herself a small smile.
The mournful wail of an approaching siren caught her attention. Instantly, Catwoman dropped lightly to the ground and melted into the night. As she moved, the jubilant voices coming from inside, began to recede. She came across a large van parked outside the delivery entrance with a sign on either side proclaiming, 'Dinner at Eight Caterers: Leave the cooking to us!'
An idea suddenly formulating, she checked the rear-end and found the van doors unlocked. "How careless," she murmured in mock disapproval. She climbed in and quickly cased it. Smiling, Catwoman found what she was looking for, a black and white server's uniform. She shoved it into her carryall, and satisfied, emerged from the back of the truck and again slipped into the shadows that surrounded Wayne Manor.
A few minutes later, she found a set of glass double doors. She tried them. Locked.
Shrugging, Catwoman unsheathed her right claws, and placing the long, knife-like nails against the glass doors, she turned her hand in a circular motion. Stopping, she gently pulled her hand straight back, a small circular piece of glass caught firmly in her claws.
****
End of Part 1