Summary: A young thief learns the meaning of Christmas.
Disclaimer: Batman is 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 January 2003
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Like Father, Like Son
By Syl Francis
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The snow began at midmorning and by late evening the usually bleak Gotham skyline lay embraced in solemn stillness. High above the city, a familiar grim figure stood a lonely watch. About to fire a jumpline, he paused at a sudden clearing in the night sky, startled by the brief appearance of a single, bright star.
Feeling a thrill of hope wash over him, the Dark Knight's normally stern countenance softened momentarily. He recalled Nightwing's earlier transmission. His former partner and adopted son would be busy that entire night, tracking an arms shipment...
"Don't worry, Bruce. I'll be home in time for breakfast," Dick's reassuring voice said. "But I gotta work tonight. This is Bludhaven after all, partner. The crooks here don't believe in taking Christmas Eve off."
"And I suppose that the ones here in Gotham City do?" Batman replied.
"You mean you haven't scared them all off, yet?" Nightwing teased. "And here I thought that the Legend of the Bat was enough to keep everybody from being 'naughty' over there."
"Are you two quite done, yet?" Oracle's annoyed voice broke in. She was greeted with surprised silence. "That's better. Remember...Dad expects us all at two o'clock sharp for cocktails. So, you'd both better get a good night's sleep, 'cause I'll kill whichever one yawns first!"
"Um...I think I've gotta go," Nightwing said hastily. "Nightwing out!"
"Batman out," Batman quickly echoed.
"Oh, brother," Oracle griped. "Like father, like son!"
...The Dark Knight's lips twitched slightly at the memory. His eyes turned back up to the star gleaming overhead and waved at the city below. "And don't worry. I'll make sure they can all sleep in heavenly peace tonight." Abruptly, his jaw tightened. "Even if I have to find every mook in town who's planning something naughty."
****
"'s truth--!" The alcohol-slurred voice muttered insistently. "He sees, Tony! He knows--!"
"That's your drink talkin', Eddie." Tony rolled his eyes in exasperation. Another man, unshaven and generally seedy in appearance, spoke up.
"He's right, man! I gotta fren' who knows a guy who--!"
"--Who knows another guy who's seen the Bat," Tony interrupted. "I've heard it all before, Bert."
A third man, meticulous in manner and dress--tweed jacket (slightly frayed at the cuffs and well-worn at the elbows), waistcoat, pocket watch, and cravat--sat up straight in drunken importance. He pointed meaningfully at the ceiling and opened his mouth as if to speak. Tony beat him to the punch. "Shaddup, Perfesser! You ain't had a booze-free thought in 30 years!"
The Professor, as his drinking companions called him, lifted his weak chin in a sign of wounded dignity. "I assure you, young man, that I am not quite so think as you drunk I am!"
Eddie and Bert sniggered in approval at their mild-mannered friend's words. "Here, here!" "You said it, Perfesser!"
Tony rolled his eyes, glowering across the table at his intoxicated pals. "Why do I bother with you guys?" he muttered. Frustrated, he stood up abruptly and crossed over to the bar. "Hey, Mike! Gimme another brewskey!" The bartender nodded without bothering to look up and poured him a liter mug of beer. With a single flick of his wrist, Mike slid the mug across the gleaming bar, straight into Tony's waiting hand. Tony took a long draught, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and then sauntered back to his table.
Tony immediately took up where he'd left off. In fact, the other table occupants didn't seem to notice that he'd ever left.
"Everybody knows somebody who knows somebody else who claims to know someone who's seen the Bat!" Tony declared. "Yadda, yadda, yadda! Funny thing is...I ain't never met nobody who's actually seen the Bat!" His boozed-up buddies blinked blearily back at him through bloodshot eyes.
Shaking his head in disgust, Tony grabbed his coat and gloves and leaned in close. He spoke intensely. "Now, like I told you guys. I got me a job tonight. That church down the street--St. Bartholomew's--took in a bundle from that fundraiser today, and I'm meanin' to help myself to it."
Tony made a move to stand, but Eddie suddenly clutched at his sleeve. "A-a church? Y-You're hittin' a church--?! On Christmas Eve!?" he hissed. "Are you crazy!?" Giving his young friend a look that was part fright, part alcohol-induced desperation, Eddie pleaded, "I'm tellin' you, Tony...He sees--! He knows--!"
"Yeah, man...'s like I said," Bert added. "I gotta fren' who--"
"Knows what, Eddie?" Tony asked impatiently, ignoring Bert's interruption. "What does the big, bad Bat know? Can you tell me that much?" Eddie suddenly looked down at his drink and mumbled something. Bert nodded in pious agreement. The Professor stared blankly.
"I didn't quite catch that, Eddie," Tony said disdainfully. "Sounded something like, 'He sees you when you're sleeping, and he knows when you're awake.'"
He guffawed loudly, causing several drunken glares to turn in his direction. The dark look he gave them in turn caused them to just as quickly return to their drinks.
About to turn back to his conversation, Tony spotted one lone drunk out of the corner of his eye, sitting hunched over a three-quarters empty bottle of cheap rye. Apparently, the man hadn't looked away fast enough to satisfy Tony. Slovenly and unshaven, he also probably hadn't seen the inside of a shower in several weeks. Tony grimaced in disgust, thinking that the drunk was little better than a tramp.
"What'chu lookin' at, ya bum?" Tony demanded.
In response, the vagabond's bloodshot eyes seemed to slowly focus on Tony, and not speaking, he deliberately struck a lone match and held it in front of him, studying the flame with fascination until it burned out. Without pause, he struck another.
His brains are probably fried, Tony surmised. Shaking his head in revulsion, Tony turned back to his table companions. "Sounds to me like the Bat's a lot like jolly ol' Saint Nick--another fairytale!"
Shrugging off Eddie's hand, which was still holding his sleeve, Tony gave a short laugh and stalked out of McSurley's Bar. Eddie and Bert followed him with their eyes until he disappeared into the icy, December night. Giving his head a sudden shake as if waking up from a deep sleep, the Professor solemnly picked up his drink and saluted no one in particular.
"'To be clever enough to get a great deal of money, one must be stupid enough to want it,'" the Professor intoned. As an afterthought, he added, "G.K. Chesterton."
"You can say that again, Perfesser," Bert agreed. About to take a sip from his drink, he was surprised to find that his glass was empty. Sighing, he placed it back on the table and poured himself another.
"Man, that Tony better watch out," Eddie whined.
Bert shrugged philosophically. "We tried to warn him, didn't we, fellas?" The other two nodded in pious agreement, and then exhaling noisily stared unseeing for several moments. "Y'know something?" Bert asked thoughtfully. "That Tony sure gets to be more and more like his ol' man, don't he?"
"Yeah, he sure is," Eddie agreed. Shivering suddenly, he picked up his drink with shaking hands and downed it in a single gulp.
"Yes...like father, like son," the Professor said, and added, "a rat through and through--the both of them!" He reached for the bottle and unsteadily poured another round of drinks, sloshing most of the whiskey onto the table. Toasting his two friends, he threw his head back and drank the contents of his glass without spilling anything further. The others followed suit.
Gazing regretfully into his empty glass, Eddie mumbled nervously. "I hear the Bat don't like nobody messin' with no church in his town."
****
Another set of cold eyes watched surreptitiously as Tony left the bar. Striking yet another match, he waited until it burned out completely, and then casually tossed the useless stump into an ashtray, overflowing with burnt out matchsticks. He threw a few coins on the bar, and still hunched over, stood to go.
****
Tony crouched in the shadows of St. Bartholomew's. He worked steadily, his half-frozen fingers shivering in the cold. Unbidden, his friends' warnings rang in his head. Annoyed, Tony sang under his breath, "You better watch out, you better not cry--! Bah! Humbug!"
Of course, if Tony had been smart enough to look up, as well as, over his shoulder, he might have been stopped by a terrifying glimpse of a man-sized bat directly above him.
Instead, he grinned in triumph as he felt the rusted padlock on the maintenance entrance give way. Carefully, he opened the door and slid inside. Immediately, Tony found himself shrouded in pitch-blackness, and long-suppressed childhood memories of him running and hiding in the dark flashed before him. Fighting down a momentary panic, Tony took out a mini-penlight and shone its tiny beam across the utility room until it fell on another door.
--You better not pout; I'm telling you why...the big, bad Bat is coming to town! Tony smirked as he silently sing-songed the altered childhood jingle. Thinking about the money waiting for him in the rectory safe, Tony felt inclined to almost believe in Santa Claus. If all that dough weren't meant for me, then jolly ol' St. Nick wouldn't have put it here where I can get my hands on it. Nodding in satisfaction, Tony reached for the doorknob and quietly turned it.
****
The dark silhouette flitted noiselessly among the ancient church's crumbling eaves, ignoring the dangerous, icy footing. Occasionally, his heavy cape was caught by the stiff wind and billowed around him. Finding a hidden entrance near the old belfry, he paused momentarily to survey the lone intruder down below.
Batman waited until the last possible moment to give his quarry a chance to change his mind, only to shake his head at the burglar's amateurish actions.
"They never learn."
****
"Hey, fellas, look at the time!" Eddie said, pointing at his watch. "It's almost eleven o'clock!"
"Thank you so much for the information," the Professor replied dryly. "Any other profound announcements?"
Eddie shrugged sheepishly. "I just figgered we could...uh...y'know...go to midnight Mass or somethin'."
At his words, his companions stared at him. "Mass?" Bert repeated. "What're you talkin' about, Eddie? I haven't stepped inside a church since my old man's funeral!"
"And I fear, Old Chap," the Professor added, "that I don't believe in organized religion of any sort. You could say that like Gore Vidal I'm a 'born again atheist.'"
Eddie rolled his eyes. "I don't mean go to midnight Mass to worship or anything like that," he explained patiently. "I mean to catch the fireworks."
"Fireworks?" Bert echoed. He shook his head. "Now I know that I don't know what you're talkin' about!"
"Tony, you morons!" Eddie reminded them in a low voice. "Ain't you dummies even interested in finding out what happened to him tonight? I mean, if he ran into--" He paused and looked around, suddenly jittery. His voice dropped even lower. "--the Bat?"
Bert and the Professor exchanged nervous looks. Swallowing, Bert shook his head in an emphatic 'no'!
The Professor mirrored him exactly. "Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Eddie," he said quietly. "Before Johnny Walker became my constant companion, I'd made a career of indulging my curiosity and seeking out new knowledge. I'm afraid that it only got me in hot water with...let us say, some of Gotham's less savory characters."
"That's 'cause you was blackmailin' most of them unsavory characters, Perfesser," Bert reminded him. "With that 'new knowledge' you was seekin' out."
"True," the Professor admitted with a philosophical shrug. "Thank goodness for safety deposit boxes." At Bert and Eddie's look, he explained. "I made it a point to keep some information safely locked away that could prove extremely damaging to a few well-placed gentlepersons. And in case of my unfortunate and untimely demise--"
"The information would somehow find its way into the D.A.'s hands," Eddie finished.
"Correct," the Professor said. "My friends, you see before you a life that hangs by the merest thread. One false move and--" He made a slashing motion across his throat and shrugged. Picking up his drink, he downed the remainder and stood a bit wobbly. Tucking a half-filled bottle of Johnny Walker under his coat, he patted it tenderly. "Therefore, gentlemen, whenever I feel an urgent pique to satisfy my curiosity over the nefarious doings of Gotham's Underworld, I take a very long, very deep swig of my friend here." He paused and smiled ruefully. "At the very least, he's a great cure for a sore throat."
"Sore throat?" Eddie asked.
"The kind you get when there's a knife stuck in it." With that, the Professor turned to go. Stopping at the door, he grinned and waved goodbye. "Oh, and Happy Winter Solstice!"
"Whatsa 'Winter Solstice'?" Bert asked after the Professor walked out of the bar.
"Never mind that," Eddie urged impatiently. "You comin' or ain'tcha?" Reluctantly, Bert nodded. Smiling giddily, Eddie got up and quickly put on his coat, gloves, and hat. "This is gonna be great, Bert," he said excitedly. "I haven't been to a midnight Mass since Ma dragged me to one when I was a kid. She thought I was turning into a juvenile delinquent and that the Church was my only hope of salvation."
"Did you a lot of good," Bert muttered sarcastically. "You've been in Blackgate more times than out--"
"Oh, yeah? And I seem to remember you being in the cell right next to mine!" Eddie shot back.
"Sure--twice! But you've been in stir twice as many times as me," Bert reminded him.
"How many times do I gotta tell ya, Bert?" Eddie protested. "I was framed them times!"
"And I oughta have my head examined," Bert grumbled, following his friend out the door.
****
Tony rubbed his hands excitedly. He'd successfully found his way to the rectory office and now stood directly over the safe. Smirking, he quickly analyzed it--a Mosby Floor Model 15. It was rated for less than 10 minutes, which was little better than a locked desk. Tony removed the leather carryall from around his shoulder and got down on his knees.
Laying out his burglary tools, the young man quickly got to work. Tony's father, Tony Sr., had been one of the best safecrackers in the business and had passed on his trade to his son. As he worked, Tony recalled his father. Tony Sr. had died in prison ten years ago, shortly after Tony's eleventh birthday.
Tony, himself, was the one who'd ratted him to the cops.
Tony paused, changing tools, refusing to let a momentary guilt wash over him. His father might have taught him a trade, but at what cost? Beatings almost every other night--not just of Tony, but of his mother, too. Everybody hated his father's guts--even his closest friends knew that Tony Sr. could easily turn against them at any time.
How many times had Eddie, Bert, and the Professor offered Tony a safe haven from yet another of his drunken father's rages? And he couldn't even count the many times he'd run away and hid here at St. Bartholomew's. How often had his mother, her face discolored by another beating, found him curled up in one of the back pews?
Finally, Tony couldn't take it any more and called the cops. In his heart, Tony knew that if he hadn't, he would have taken a gun and shot his own father.
****
The doors of St. Bartholomew opened to the devout and those who simply needed to get out of the cold at 11:00 pm. As the crowds trickled in by ones and twos, they were greeted by the subdued lighting cast by hundreds of votive candles, the scent of years of burning incense, and a small nativity scene set slightly off the right of the altar.
Eddie and Bert walked in through a side entrance and slipped into a side pew. Glancing at Bert who was kneeling next to him, Eddie suddenly jabbed him in the ribs.
"Ouch--!" Bert hissed. "What you do that for?"
"This ain't no bank, you moron! This a church!" Eddie muttered. "Stop lookin' like you're here to case the joint."
"Awright, awright!" Bert grumbled. "But, man...did you get a load of them dishes up there?" He pointed at the altar with his chin. "Whatcha wanna bet they're pure 24 karat gold?"
"Actually, they're only 18 karat," a voice from behind them intoned quietly. "But the precious stones they're decorated with will no doubt bring a pretty penny--"
"Huh--?" Surprised, Bert and Eddie spun around.
"Perfesser!" Eddie yelled out without thinking. At the sudden glares from those around him, he instantly ducked his head down, feigning fervent prayer. "What are you doin' here?" he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
"I confess to a certain piqued interest in young Tony's success...or lack thereof." The Professor shrugged. "I'm afraid that my curiosity will undoubtedly be the death of me yet."
"You'n me both, Perfesser," Bert muttered. "You'n me both."
****
Tony ran a forearm across his eyes. Whether he'd shot his father or simply turned him into the police, which resulted in his dying in prison, Tony felt that he would've been responsible for his father's death. And now all I have of the Ol' Man is his burglary tools and a larcenous trade.
Tony thought of the many times he'd sought sanctuary here in this very church. Father John had always been kind and understanding, never asking questions he knew Tony wouldn't answer. Tony thought of the maintenance entrance he'd broken in through. How many times had he used that very entrance to slip inside the great church in order to hide from his father?
And now I'm here to bite the very hand that fed me, he thought. He shook his head in self-disgust. Now wasn't the time to get hit by a sudden attack of conscience. I need the dough to get out of this lousy town! To start a new life. Maybe even head to Metropolis.
He tossed the tool he was holding back in its case, and suddenly standing began to pace. You're turning into a bigger rat than the Ol' Man, Tony! What was it that Eddie said once? 'If you hadn't turned him, Kid, there was a long line of wiseguys waitin' to give him a long drink in the Gotham River.'
So, what does that have to do with me? Tony demanded.
Like father, like son.
Tony stopped pacing. He stared down at the set of burglary tools that were neatly laid out. Shrugging, he knelt back down and just as carefully replaced them inside the carryall. Then, without another word, slung it over his shoulder and left the office.
****
High up in the deep shadows of the rectory office's vaulted ceiling, the Dark Knight raised a single eyebrow. He'd observed the young burglar's sure, quick movements, and felt impressed at the young man's obvious professionalism in spite of his earlier disdain at what Batman had considered nothing more than a punk. Not knowing why Tony had changed his mind at the last minute, he decided to trail him.
****
As the crowd of devout celebrants filed out in slow procession following the short service, the three men lingered behind.
"Well, I say that them dishes is callin' my name," Bert finally said. "What do you guys think?"
"I think that it's sometimes better to give, than to receive."
All three men whirled as one towards the sound of the voice. His usual smirk in place, Tony stepped out of the shadows. The three older men rushed to him.
"Tony, what happened?" Eddie asked sotto voce. "Did you finish the job?"
Tony studied the three men for a long time. For the first time in his life, he finally realized what they meant to him. Each in his own way had been more of a father to him that his own had ever been. They had offered him protection whenever he'd needed it, and like Father John--no questions asked.
Moreover, Tony now understood that he'd continuously taken from them, never once giving back anything in kind. Smiling, Tony startled them by hugging them each in turn, first Eddie, then Bert, and finally the Professor.
"Come on back with me to McSurley's, and I'll tell you what happened over a beer." As they headed out of St. Bartholomew's, Tony continued, "But first off...before you even ask--No! I didn't see no Bat! Not even a pigeon. As for the 'job'...I'm through. From here on, little Tony walks the straight and narrow...!" At his words, the others clapped him happily on the back and shoulders.
Watching from above, the Dark Knight's lips twitched in a half-smile as the young, would-be burglar nonchalantly tossed his carryall in the first garbage can he and his companions passed.
And as the snow began to fall quietly on the sleeping city, Gotham rested in silent stillness.
****
The End