SUMMARY: The marriage of Lana and Lex is over, as Lex's bond with Bruce strengthens. Lana is quietly starting up her Isis Foundation. While Bruce Wayne frolics into the night with starlets and supermodels at decadent parties in the tony salons and drawing rooms of Gotham's elite, Clark and friends must overcome a brewing conspiracy during the months after Alfred's death: a death that Chloe refuses to accept as fact. It remains to be seen if there are ulterior motives behind the butler's demise. These stories follow the events of my previous short story: "Nightshade".
The relentless mob wars in Gotham have a devastating impact on someone close to Bruce; will Lex's alliance with Gotham kingpin Tony Zucco provoke Zucco's underworld enemies? Bruce is on the verge of his destiny in the shadows, while Lex is establishing his own ruthless legacy. Old friends and foes return, as the fallout of their rivalry ripples around the world.
Events begin shortly after the Season 7 premiere.
Prologue: "A Grand Entrance"
Clark nervously adjusted the bow tie of his tuxedo. The black-tie affair at the Gotham City Museum of Antiquities had attracted the Gotham elite, including several city councillors, celebrity trial lawyer Harvey Dent and a handful of New England senators. The priceless artifacts and paintings throughout the Wayne Foundation Great Hall – spanning at least 2,500 years of human history – added to the regal atmosphere. Some of Bruce's friends and political allies did not accept Lex Luthor into their exclusive circles, but LuthorCorp.'s wealth and influence forced them to at least acknowledge and respect his friendship with Bruce.
Chloe, who seemed rather under-dressed for the event in a charcoal grey blazer, cream blouse and skirt, studied the illustrious crowd. She pointed at the rail-thin man at the bar who was draining his glass of rye while chatting up the buxom bartender. "See that man, Clark? That's Councillor Hamilton Hill, Gotham City's budget chief. Some say he's going to resign to make a run for the mayor's office next year. You can just feel the money and influence hanging over this room –"
"— like smog?" Clark quipped. "I've been to dozens of Wayne Foundation galas over the years, and every time I feel like I don't belong. These people make more money in a month than my family could make in a year working on the farm. It's not my world, it never has been." He nervously glanced at his watch. Bruce said he would arrive at the charity fundraising gala by 7 p.m. It was now ten minutes to eight. The Wayne Foundation planned to raise $10 million tonight for the Mayor's Charity Fund. He fidgeted with the keys in his pockets again.
"Go out and mingle, Clark," Chloe said, ignoring his cynicism. "I'm here on the Planet's payroll to cover Wayne Enterprises' proposed bullet train between Gotham City and Metropolis, but you have the hottest invite this side of Gotham Harbour! Think of it as your chance to mix it up with New England's high society. Dare to dream! One of them could be your next boss." Before Clark could protest, Chloe left him to interview a city staffer.
He reluctantly approached the bar. "One cola, please," Clark said. "I mean, a cola on the rocks. Straight up." The fair-haired bartender heard him, but she was busy fending off the lecherous advances of Councillor Hill. Clark presumed that the councillor was in his early-to-mid forties.
"Excuse me, Mr. Hill," the bartender said. "but I have a customer in line. One cola, you said. Would that be on the rocks, Mr. -?"
"Kent," Clark said. The last name caught Hamilton's attention. The councillor was skinny and dyed his hair dark brown to hide the speckles of grey. Clark winced at the strong scent of rye from the councillor's breath.
"You wouldn't happen to be related to Kansas senate candidate Jonathan Kent?" Hamilton said, as he motioned for a refill.
"Yes, I'm his son," Clark said curtly. He didn't know this councillor, but he concluded that he didn't like him. He wanted to end the discussion quickly.
"It's too bad about what happened to him, on his victory night no less," Hamilton said, "but I hear your mother is making quite the impression on Capitol Hill with the Ways and Means Committee. Her star is rising on the Potomac, no doubt." He tucked his hand in his blazer, pulled out a business card and handed it to Clark. "Give this to your mother. Who knows, you may have just met the next mayor of Gotham City." He polished off his last drink and teetered uneasily towards the men's restroom.
Clark glanced at the card and shoved it into a pocket. He had been accustomed to politicians and lobbyists who wanted to curry favour with U.S. Senator Martha Kent (and his mother had a box full of cards in her Georgetown condo to prove it). He studied an ancient Mayan spear on the wood-panelled wall and lost himself in his own thoughts. Lana's divorce with Lex was finalized and she now lived at the farm. He should be happy, but he felt that there was still a void between them. He assumed that Lana still needed time to recover from her bitter divorce with Lex and adjust to her new circumstances. With the exception of the Daily Planet, most of Metropolis' chattering class sided with Lex Luthor. The gossip hacks portrayed Lana as a manipulative gold-digger. Lana preferred to remain in Smallville because the paparazzi always hounded her in Metropolis.
"Clark?" a voice asked. Clark turned around and saw Lex, dressed in a designer tuxedo with silver bowtie and matching silver cufflinks.
Clark nodded politely, even though he loathed the thought of making small talk with his former friend. "This gala is for a good cause, Lex," Clark declared. "Let's try to be civil tonight for Bruce's sake. But don't expect me to enjoy being in the same room with you."
Lex crunched on a caviar-laden wafer in his left hand. He let Clark wait – uncomfortably – for him to finish his snack. "I see you've been taking classes in wit from Chloe Sullivan, Clark. If that wasn't a backhanded attempt at civil discourse, I don't know what is! You've known Bruce for what, six years? You forget that I've known Bruce Wayne much longer than you have. I stood by him when the schoolyard kids taunted him about the salacious tales printed in my father's tabloids. I'm here to help Bruce in any way possible. So, yes, Clark, we can be civil today. For the sake of Bruce … and Alfred – or have you forgotten that Bruce's only father figure died mysteriously in Eastern Europe this summer? Somehow, I suspect you know more about the events surrounding his demise than I do. Alfred was an honourable and caring man. He was also my friend, however tense our relationship had become lately. Don't ever presume to doubt that."
Lex thought of the times when Alfred would invite Lex to attend baseball games at Gotham Stadium, when Lionel couldn't spare the time to visit him at the boarding school on Thanksgiving. He missed Alfred, but he wouldn't give Clark the satisfaction of seeing him upset. He buried the thought and stormed away.
"Lex, I didn't mean to -" Clark said, but Lex had already disappeared among the tuxedos and gowns of the crowd. A middle-aged couple – the silver-haired woman draped in furs, the man in an exquisite tuxedo – glared disapprovingly at Lex.
"If you ask me," the woman snorted, "the Wayne brand hasn't been the same since Thomas and Martha were killed. Bruce just isn't leadership material. It's Lucius Fox who's keeping the family firm afloat! And now he's hanging out with that Metropolis princeling, Lex. Lionel was born poor. He's one of them." Her last word dripped with contempt.
"That's what happens when you give riff-raff money and privilege," her husband replied. "They squander it. Bruce and Lex: they're two peas in a pod."
"Bruce is nothing like Lex," Clark insisted. The couple smirked smugly. Clark was a commoner in their eyes and they wilfully ignored his presence.
The crowd let out a gasp and fell silent, as someone flung open the double brass-lined doors of the Great Hall. Lex strolled towards the centre aisle and extended his hand to the guest of honour and his two statuesque female companions.
"Bruce, the party's already started," Lex said quietly. Bruce stumbled uneasily on the waxed floors, but one of his companions – the blonde – held his arm up.
"Lex, please allow me to introduce Ashley … Ashley –" Bruce said, stuttering. Lex could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I'm Miss United States, Brucie!" the blue-eyed blonde giggled. "I'm the Queen of America!" Her sequined baby blue gown was slit up to her waist, revealing a scandalous amount of leg. She swayed awkwardly in her stiletto heels and raised a champagne glass to Lex. Lex returned the toast and smiled nervously at the crowd.
Chloe returned to Clark's side. "Wow," she said. "It looks like Bruce started the party ahead of everyone else! And wasn't his blonde snuggle-bunny dethroned last week for her less-than-regal photos on the Internet?"
"I am Natalya," the brunette declared to Lex, "I believe we are already acquainted." She wrinkled her nose in disapproval at the deposed beauty queen on Bruce's left arm. Her black gown was more tasteful, despite a plunging neckline that demanded attention.
"How could I forget?" Lex grinned politely, unsure what to make of Bruce's inebriated condition. "We met in Prague, did we not? You were the exhibit curator for Napoleonic artefacts at the National Museum." Natalya's eyes lit up, and Lex entertained the notion that he might not spend a lonely night in Gotham City after all.
"Maybe Bruce shouldn't make a speech in his, umm, condition," Clark whispered in Lex's ear.
"The Wayne Foundation means to raise millions for the mayor's charities," Lex replied. "It would be impolite for the host to skip out on his own party. It would reflect poorly on his family's name, but I guess you wouldn't understand, since you of all people are quick to judge and slow to forgive when others falter. Excuse us." Lex held Bruce's other arm and steered him away from the ravenous gossip columnists and photographers who had begun to circle Gotham's playboy billionaire. They quickly assembled behind a screen of museum security personnel and approached the hall's podium.
"He's been like this since Alfred was killed," Clark said to Chloe. He couldn't believe that Wayne Manor's butler had died in a horrible plane crash. The newspapers had claimed that it was an accident. Lex is right, he thought, I do know more about the events surrounding Alfred's death than I've led him to believe.
Chloe thought of her friend, the butler and freelance spy who had raised Bruce since childhood. Alfred would never say it, but he did care for him like a son. And he made the ultimate sacrifice for him, Chloe frowned. She felt adrift since she heard about the apparent demise of Alfred's crack company of paratroopers in Belarus. The Checkmate conspiracy was an emerging threat, and its followers had surely targeted Alfred's team. Four soldiers had been listed as casualties, but the NATO report alleged that their remains were beyond recognition. He can't be dead, Chloe believed, because his body was never identified. The feedback from the podium's microphone turned her attention back to the gala.
"Bruce Wayne would like you all to know how grateful he is for giving your time and energy to this worthwhile cause," Lex Luthor ad-libbed, while Natalya and Ashley struggled to keep Bruce on his feet. The audience applauded, but their focus was on the Gotham playboy and his attractive entourage. "I'm certain that the poor and disenfranchised of Gotham City will be blessed by your generosity. And now, Bruce has a few words before we return to the festivities."
Bruce held onto the sides of the podium, cleared his throat and grinned. "On behalf of Luthor Manor – I mean, Wayne Manor …" He turned to Lex. "I'm a Wayne, aren't I?" He clumsily patted Lex on his head and held onto the podium to keep steady." On behalf of Wayne Manor, I'd like to say … from the bottom of my heart … that this party is just swell. It's like, totally, a great party. Lots of sugar daddies and gold-diggers in this crowd, I'm sure."
"Bruce, that's enough," Lex said firmly.
Bruce waved him off and returned to the podium. "Many of you claim to be friends of my father and mother, but I know many of you were the first to devour those tabloid tales about my parents when they were killed. Please, pat yourselves on the back for being the cream of Gotham's elite. Drinks are on me." Bruce then lost his footing and slumped behind the platform, as dozens of camera bulbs flashed. The fundraiser had become a public relations disaster. Bruce's riotous late night escapades in Gotham City's salons and night clubs – accompanied by numerous starlets and supermodels – had become weekly headline fodder for the city's notorious gossip rags.
The snooty middle-aged couple beside Clark shook their heads. "He's a disgrace to the Wayne name," the fur-draped woman said. "He's no Thomas Wayne," huffed another bejewelled woman. Clark angrily brushed past them. He thought he heard Chloe calling out to him, but he was only interested in getting out of this party. Outside the museum, he undid his bow tie and shoved it into a side pocket. He frowned as Lex, Bruce and their entourage stumbled towards the valet parking. Lex and his curator friend were already getting frisky when they stepped into the LuthorCorp. limo. It appeared that Bruce and the dethroned beauty queen were also in an amorous mood.
An imposing figure, with copper hair and a thick moustache, sighed beside him. "It's a shame, really," he said. The man quietly cleaned the lens of his glasses with a handkerchief.
"He's taking Alfred's death pretty hard," Clark said. He saw the man shake his head again. "I know Bruce," he continued defensively. "What you saw in there - that isn't him."
"You know Bruce? Then we have something in common, son," the burly man replied. "I was familiar with the Wayne family back in those days – before the dark times. Before the mob, the corrupt cops and political cronies dragged Gotham City into the gutter. The old city could have been something to be proud of – if Thomas …" His voice trailed off. "I was just a cop walking my beat when I got the call. Bruce was kneeling beside his parents' bodies. I was there … when they died …" The man turned away, as he relived the tragedy of that terrible, infamous night.
"I'm Clark Kent," Clark said as he extended his hand to the stranger. "And you are …?"
"James Gordon," the man answered, shaking Clark's hand. "Most people call me Jim. I'm a lieutenant in the homicide squad of GCPD. I'm a good cop, at least I try to be. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still honest folks here in Gotham. Someone's got to keep this town safe for those of us who aren't in Tony Zucco or Councillor Hill's monied pockets. And now Lex Luthor's got his tentacles around Bruce, God help us all …" The cop's pager went off.
"It's my captain," Gordon said. "Clark Kent, eh? I saw your father's speech here during his campaign for Senate. He seemed like a good man. A decent man, like Thomas Wayne."
"He would have been proud to be compared to Bruce's father," Clark said. "And yes, I believe you're right, Lieutenant Gordon." The cop was already descending the museum's front stairs.
"What was that?" Gordon called out.
"That there are still honest people in Gotham City," Clark said.
Around the corner, Bruce held Ashley the beauty queen by her waist and approached a metallic silver Escalade SUV. When the door opened, the driver waved a $20 bill at Ashley and pointed at the yellow Gotham Taxi cab behind them.
"That's your ride home there, princess," the driver said abruptly, with the rim of his chauffeur's cap shadowing his face. "I suggest that you take it and take a hike. The party's over."
Bruce dropped his drunken act immediately. "Sorry, Ashley, it wouldn't have worked between us." He gave the girl a peck on her cheek and briskly stepped into the Escalade, which zoomed away.
"But Brucie …" Ashley sighed, but it was no use. She had become yet another broken heart in Bruce Wayne's long string of brief relationships.
"Nice hat, Ollie," Bruce said, once the Escalade ventured into the downtown traffic.
Oliver Queen tossed the chauffeur's cap onto the seat beside him. "You think they'll buy that flaky, Gotham playboy socialite routine back there? That's a high-risk tactic. Not sure I would've played my cards that way."
"I expect that they will lap it up," Bruce replied. "Those stuck-up, monied hens and roosters have had a poor opinion of me since I was a child. I can't disappoint them, right?" Bruce tapped away on his laptop computer, launching a window displaying a digital map of suspected Checkmate installations around the globe.
"And have you told Clark about Alfred?" Oliver asked. An awkward pause hung over them for a minute that seemed more like a hour. "Well?"
"Clark claims that he no longer has faith in Lex," Bruce stated. Clark and Lex were enemies, but Bruce clung to the faint hope that Clark was right about Lex's 'goodness'. "I can't tell if Clark is being honest with me – or hiding something." Oliver said nothing, which only fuelled Bruce's suspicions about Clark Kent, his friendship with Lex and the peculiar incidents in Lowell County since 2002.
"Come on, Bruce," Oliver said. "Alfred was always close to the Kents. Lois and Lana are fond of him, and Chloe adores the guy. They have a right to know that he's alive."
"I only found out last week, remember?" Bruce said, glaring at Oliver from the rear view mirror.
"Right," Oliver said. "The details surrounding Alfred's 'resurrection' are still fuzzy. Something about false identities, safe houses in Switzerland, etc. etc. All under your nose. You still holding a grudge against Alfred for all that?"
"I refused to speak to him for three days," Bruce confirmed quietly.
"Ooh, three days," Oliver snickered sarcastically. "I was sure you were going to hold out for five days, maybe a whole week. Good thing I didn't have any money riding on it."
Bruce's ice-cold demeanour evaporated, the Wayne smile had lit up and he chuckled. "You can be quite the jerk, Ollie Queen. I'll tell Clark and others about Alfred – at the appropriate time. How could I stay mad at Alfred? He's all I've got."
The SUV soon approached the hill on which stately Wayne Manor stood. Bruce regarded its imposing granite walls, Gothic spires and haunting gargoyles as strangely comforting. This house always represented the best that Gotham City could become. He intended to fight for that hope, whatever the cost. And I always will, Bruce thought.
"Operation: Concord is online. Our assets are now in play." Ollie said. "I'll have an update tomorrow at 0900 hours, London Time. I'm glad you and the butler finally showed up to the party."
"Very funny, Ollie," Bruce scoffed. "My Monopoly money is providing your party favours: shell companies, discreet offshore accounts, hardware, transportation and no questions asked. Just don't max out my credit cards while you're at it."
Part II to follow ...