Broken Mirror -- A Justice League Story by BillA1
Copyright August 2007
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Broken Mirror (1/5)
A Justice League Unlimited Story
by BillA1
Copyright August 2007
Rating: (PG-13)
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Disclaimer: The characters Batman, Green Lantern, Hawkgirl, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Superman & Flash and their respective secret identities are all owned by DC Comics. The character names Talon and Static are owned by Milestone Comics. This story is intended for my own pleasure and is not for profit. It has been posted to this site for others to read. Places and characters not own by DC or Milestone are my own creation. This story is based on characters from the animated Justice League Unlimited series episode: Destroyer written by Dwayne McDuffie; the Batman: The Animated Series episodes: Tyger, Tyger by Michael Reaves & Randy Rogel and See No Evil by Martin Pasko. The Boxer was by Paul Simon. A huge shout out of thanks to xffan2000 for her beta on this story. However, any mistakes she missed are mine.
Synopsis: Batman and Shayera discover that Winston Churchill was right: Nothing is more costly, nothing is more sterile, than vengeance.
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PROLOGUE
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(5 P.M. - Two days after the Thanagarian invasion withdraws from Earth)
In the end it all boiled down to two things: death and taxes. People pay taxes and people die. They were the constants of life. Frank Jefferson learned early that there wasn't a lot of money to be made being a tax collector, but a smart business man could make a very decent living in the death business, that is, the funeral business.
Frank had learned his trade from his mother, a pleasant faced, but sour-dispositioned woman, who'd inherited the Jefferson Funeral Home and Crematorium from her father. Now it was up to Frank to continue to operate the family business in the lower west side of Metropolis.
Thanks to the Thanagarians, business had been very good recently, particularly in the last couple of days. But now that the Thanagarian armada had withdrawn, Frank felt business had probably reached its peak and would taper off to routine.
There was an odor in the crematorium that Frank never got use to. Before walking over to the sink, Frank briefly watched Sam, his crematorium operator, scoop the ashes and place them in a ceramic urn. Looking in the mirror over the sink, he straightened his tie, then took out a pair of white gloves from his coat pocket. He wet the palm of the left glove, put it on and then put on the dry right glove.
He turned around in time to see Sam wiping the urn with a damp cloth.
"Here's your package," Sam said as he handed Frank the container. Frank looked down at the ceramic urn he'd been handed and carefully turned it so that the floral decoration would be what his customer would see first. He wet his lips and flattened his expression into one that conveyed the solemnest that was expected. It was a well-practiced expression, one he'd done a hundred times before. He took a deep breath, turned and walked through the double doors that led into the chapel.
She was seated in the first pew, clearly lost in her thoughts as the sound of organ music invaded the quiet. She was a young woman and because of the absence of anyone by her side, Frank suspected that she was now alone in the world. He realized early on in his professional life that he would never meet people at their happiest in this business. His was the business of death and very few are happy when death calls for their loved ones.
She didn't have any money. He sensed that right away when they first met at the morgue to claim the body and yet she didn't ask for his help or any additional consideration as she planned a simple inexpensive service.
Morticians and prostitutes get their money up front his mother had told him when he took over the business. Yet he didn't ask the woman for any payment in advance and now regretted that. He wished he could have been more charitable, but he had a business to run and staff and expenses to pay. Still, he'd cut his fees substantially because he felt sorry for her.
As Frank approached her seat, the organ music stopped on cue and he cleared his throat. She stood as he came abreast of her. The veil she wore didn't hide the tears streaming from her blue eyes. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders providing the only contrast to the all black outfit she wore. In his most practiced and soothing voice, he said, "Miss Ventris, again let me express my sorrow on the loss of your mother."
"Thank you," she said softly as she reached into her purse, retrieved a tissue, dabbed each eye once with it and put it back in her purse.
"Here are your mother's remains," Frank said as he presented the urn to her.
"Thank you," she sniffled.
Frank, however, didn't let go of the urn when she reached for it, the single wet glove enabling him to keep a firm grip on the container. He cleared his throat again. "There is never a good time to bring this up, but there is still a small balance due for our services."
Miss Ventris frowned and removed her hands from the container. "I know," she said as she reached into her purse and gave Frank a slip of paper that appeared to be a check. As Frank took the paper, she took the urn from his grasp. "I believe this will cover it," she said with a tinge of anger in her voice. "I've endorsed the check. Use the balance to pay for the funerals of some of the others who died because of those dirty hawks."
Frank looked at the paper in his hand. It was a check payable to the Ventris woman, but made out for five times the amount she owed. Frank wet his lips again. "Miss Ventris, this is a very generous thing you've offered to do. Of course, I'll have to call the bank in the morning to make sure the check is still good."
"You do that," Miss Ventris said with an air of distain in her voice. "I've never known a check drawn on Wayne Financial Services and signed by Bruce Wayne himself to be bad. You have my phone number. Call me if you run into problems." She turned and walked out of the chapel.
Frank started to follow her, but thought better of it. He looked at the check again. Maybe it was forgery, on the other hand, it might not be and he could have been wrong about the amount of money she had. It was then that he noticed the date on the check and he swallowed hard. He would deposit the check in the morning and hope they'd honor a ten-year-old bank draft.