Bound to be Something Astonishing
Stephen Anselm
Summary: The unanticipated connections we make sometimes turn out to be the most important, for reasons we can't always know at the time. Question/Other.
Disclaimer: Standard disavowal of ownership of all nonoriginal material, especially that of DC. And also some other sources..
Historian's note: JLU continuity, with hat-tips to Q's history in print; mid-season five.
Note: I sprint-wrote this in one sitting because I fell for a remarkably refreshing character relationship I read yesterday, and I thought that it could survive a transplant into different soil. Besides, if I didn't write this now, I wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else.
What a bloody awful day.
She knew the bastard had done it. She'd known on the second day of the investigation that he'd done it. The Commish knew it. Everybody knew it. He practically admitted it when he'd voluntarily come down to the station because "he had nothing to hide, and enormous respect for the police". Only the fact she knew he was goading her into doing something stupid so that Gordon would have no choice but to suspend her kept her from finding out how his smirk would look with fewer teeth. Even at that it was a close call.
But the main witness had suddenly refused to talk to them, and was moving his family out of the state, and the flunky who'd agreed to turn State's evidence mysteriously couldn't be found any more. The rest was circumstantial at best, and inadmissible at worst. To his credit, the assistant D.A. was almost as angry as she was: but he couldn't justify the resources to bring the indictment forward when he knew it'd be thrown out at the first summary judgment motion for lack of evidence. He already had a backlog of criminals he could actually put in prison, and didn't have time to spend on lost causes.
She understood. Sometimes the bad guys win. Not the first time, wouldn't be the last. Didn't mean she had to like it.
At least the rain had died down; now it wasn't much more than a gentle mist-drizzle that you left you covered with sprinkles but not actually wet.
Just another day in the paradise of Gotham, she thought to herself. So she'd head home, grab a shower, and head to the bar. There were a couple of ways she knew to forget, at least for a while, and tonight she'd try for all of them. Unhealthy, and ultimately unsatisfying? Sure. But it beat the alternative.
She was a few hundred feet past Stauffer and 81st when the voice from the alley spoke.
"Officer Renee Montoya," it said.
Midway through "Renee" she'd started moving. Roll into the narrow alley – they usually expected you to run, so get in close instead – and draw her gun from the standard crouch position. There was only a heartbeat's pause after the final "-ya" before she looked across at th--
He had no face.
She jumped away and backed up until she was against the other side of the alley. Adrenalin and nameless fear blurred the edges of her vision, but she was trained enough not to take the gun off him. She'd shot at things with the wrong number of arms and legs and eyes before. No way she was going to let a moderate dose of the creepy bring her down.
For his part, he hadn't moved. He stood there, arms in front and palms sideways so she could see his hands were empty.
He was surprisingly well-dressed. Looked like something out of a colourized movie from the forties, where the video editors were lazy and only had a small palette to work with. Blue coat, blue jacket, blue hat. Black tie. Nice shoes, Montefiore maybe.
And no freakin' face.
"Officer Montoya?" he said. "You won't need the gun."
"Some faceless Dick Tracy wannabe says my name from an alley? Damn straight I need a gun on him, and I'm going to keep it there until I figure out what the hell is going on."
He didn't seem to mind. "Fair enough. Can I drop my hands now?"
"Slowly, and keep them away from the pockets."
He did so.
"Who are you?"
"That would be the Question."
"This some Who's-on-First routine, or is that really what you call yourself?"
"You don't seem to be in the mood for comedy. Let's go with the second."
"You white hat or black?"
"I work with the Justice League. Your call."
"So why don't I know you, then?"
"Either stupidity or ignorance. Hopefully it's ignorance: that I can fix."
"Bright move," she said. "Insult the woman with the gun. No wonder you're not more famous. You're definitely not a local boy, though. Where's home?"
"Hub City. We're smaller, cleaner, friendlier, and unlike you we don't suffer from overcast skies nine months of the year. If Gotham is New York by night, and Metropolis is New York by day, then we're Baltimore by early evening. Drop by sometime."
"Thanks for the advice. So what brings you to these parts? And it better be an answer I like. I've already had to keep myself from killing a man once today."
"My health. I came for the waters."
She shook her head. "You came to Gotham for the water? River's so full of algae you can walk across. Our fish have three eyes. Try again."
He shrugged. "I was misinformed."
That sounded vaguely familiar. It took her a moment to place the reference, and her shoulders sagged in disbelief.
"You have got to be kidding me."
"Always go with the classics."
She'd been a cop for a long time on the meanest streets in America, and you didn't live that long by having bad instincts. And after the first shock had worn off, hers had gone completely dormant: she wasn't picking up any threat vibes at all from this guy, this 'Question', and in the same way she could tell that slimy Kasper had been lying she was pretty sure he was telling the truth about being in the League.. and the world owed the League a lot.
Made of quirk, yes. An immediate danger? She didn't think so.
She sighed, relaxed her stance, and returned her gun to its holster. "There are simpler ways to get a woman's attention, you know. Ways less likely to get you shot."
"What can I say? I'm old-fashioned, and the unexpected meeting in the shadows is a standby."
"I can tell from your taste in movies." She pushed herself away from the wall. "Follow me."
She walked down the alley, Question behind her, until she came to one of the fire escapes. She sat down on the first level. The metal grate was muddy and wet, and was probably leaving gridded stains on her pants, but she didn't care: she always crashed after the fight-or-flight endorphins died down. She was exhausted, and if she wasn't going to be struggling for her life, why should she have to stand while she recovered?
"Do you mind if I ask something? I will anyway."
"Not at all, then."
"That some kind of mask, or do you really have no face?"
"Mask," he said.
"Why does it have to cover the whole thing? Are you that, umm," she said, and stopped.
She could somehow tell he was scowling. Clearly a sore point.
"The real question is, why doesn't everyone's mask cover the whole face? Say you're a superhero with an unforgettable pointed orange beard, Montoya. Do you go traipsing around in a mask which only covers near your eyes, and leaves your most recognizable facial feature obvious to everyone, friend and foe alike?"
Two minutes ago she'd had a gun pointed at this man, wondering if she'd have to fire at him, and now he was giving her curmudgeonly rants as if they'd known each other twenty years.
The truly weird thing was how comfortable it felt.
"I'm guessing you want me to say no," she said.
"The whole purpose of a disguise is to conceal. How am I the only one who sees this? The bearded man I'm referring to is an idiot."
She had to admit, Question had a point. "You might be right."
He nodded. "Of course I am. You wouldn't believe some of the disguises people get away with, though. I know a man who doesn't even bother with one: he just puts on a pair of glasses."
"Glasses? How's that work? They some kind of magic glasses?"
"Not as far as I can tell."
"Fancy Justice League supertech from the future? He a telepath or something?"
"No, and I don't think so.. besides, telepathy wouldn't explain why no one else recognizes him in photographs."
"Hmm."
"He just puts on a pair of glasses, and no one can recognize him. Oh, and he stutters."
"For real? And that works?"
"So it would seem. I don't understand it either."
"I know the drill, no names, I know.. but have I heard of him?"
"Oh, definitely."
"Huh."
They stayed there for a while, with her on the escape and him leaning against the alley wall, and listened to the rain drip down the side of the building. Every now and again several drops would join together, fall off one of the higher levels of the fire escape, and splash into one of the half-dozen small pools on the ground.
Montoya gradually settled down, and she wondered if Question had kept the conversation light on purpose, to relax her.
It had mostly worked.
"So," she said. "You gonna tell me what this is about before I fall asleep?"
"I'm going to do you a favour," he said.
"Great," she said, unimpressed. "Costumed men making back-alley offers to Gotham PD never ends up badly. Internal Affairs can't get enough business, that the problem you're trying to solve? Justice League to the rescue!"
"You can turn it down if you want." He reached into his jacket and took out a thick folder, which he offered to her. "Have a look."
She accepted it, not entirely easily, and opened the package.
Montoya drew a quick breath. "This--"
"Yes."
Bank records. Internal memos. She flipped through the pages. Eyes-only paperwork with the big, arrogant "Kasper Industries" label right on the top. And, finally: meeting schedules for the next three weeks, with some very unsavoury characters listed that they'd known he was involved with but couldn't prove.
"Most of this isn't admissible, I'm afraid. But it should give you probable cause to bug some of the meetings. That's the downside of having your secret conversations in third-party locations: anyone who gets there first can set up recording devices you won't find. He'll trip on his own paranoia."
She allowed herself to feel a bit of hope they'd be able to bring Kasper down after all.
Not too much hope: just enough to remember the taste of it.
It tasted unfamiliar. It tasted good.
"But why? What're you doing dealing with Gotham criminals? Don't you have your own work closer to home?"
"Ah. Keep reading."
She turned a few more pages, and skimmed a very juicy organizational structure chart, when she noticed a fuzzy photocopy of a sheet titled "Expansion Plans".
Jaynestown. Samuelson. North Hornbrook.
Hub City.
"That," he said, and there was an icy tone in his voice she was glad wasn't aimed at her, "would be a breach of my jurisdiction."
She carefully folded the package back up, and swung her legs beneath her.
"Why me?" she asked.
"Three reasons," he said. "First, you're one of the good ones. You fight the good fight, even when you hate it. When there's an easy out, and they deserve it, you don't take it. Gordon trusts you, and he's incorruptible, and that's enough for me."
"Second, you've worked with Batman before, on several occasions, so the whole masked-hero scenario isn't going to unnerve you too much. And he doesn't do repeat business with fools, which is a recommendation of its own."
"I guess," she said. "But heads up, gumshoe: even though I've grown to admire the guy some, I think the Bat's a total nutjob."
"That's the third reason."
She tilted her head.
"Some people get too caught up in hero worship when they cross paths with the masked-American community," he said. "Nothing good comes from that. The fans get sloppy and the masks start believing their own PR. You've seen enough not to suffer from it."
She looked across at him. "That seems like a whole lot of reasons for a single exchange. Are you figuring this is more than a one-time deal?"
"I suppose that depends. I want Kasper kept out of the Hub, and one way or another I'll see that happen. You can have the first shot at him. After that's dealt with?"
"I guess it's up to you," he said. "Ask around, if you like. Of the locals-- Black Canary knows me. As does Batman, though good luck getting him to answer the phone."
"And Canary will vouch for you?"
"Honestly? I have absolutely no idea what she'll say. But she knows me. We fought together once."
"Really? Against anybody I'd know?"
"Well.. it's more like we fought.. together."
"You mean you fought Black Canary? This is your reference?" she asked. "A fellow Justice Leaguer you fought?"
"I'm not from around here. I don't know that many people. In any case, there were mitigating circumstances," he said. "And it was more like I was up against Green Arrow. Canary was busy with her own fight."
"How is that supposed to make me feel better? Why were you fighting Green Arrow?! Who won?"
"The important thing," Question explained, a little defensively, "is that in the end we faced the real enemy together, and all's well that ends well, no?"
She nodded, and jumped off the escape. "Tell you what: I'll think about it."
"Good enough. I'm in no hurry."
Obviously there was going to be no trip to the bar tonight; she needed to think and to sleep and then maybe to sleep some more. And now that she knew they had a chance to win this one, she might even sleep well.
"Question?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you for this. Very much." She offered her hand.
He shook it. "You're welcome, Montoya. I'm glad I could help."
"By the way," he asked, "'gumshoe'?"
"I thought you were going for the old-school style. Seemed appropriate."
"Gumshoe," he repeated, astonished. "I don't think I've heard anyone say that in years."
"Shut up. I was trying to be nice. And are those shoes Montefiore?"
"Good eye."
She stopped him suddenly with a hand to his chest, and lowered her voice. "I should warn you up front. Is giving me this folder your idea of the dinner-and-a-movie part of an evening? Is this an investment for later? I know it's almost tradition between masks and cops. But as grateful as I am, it's really not going to happen."
"Seriously." She met where his eyes would be with hers. "Highly unlikely."
"I know. And trust me: the reason you're thinking of is minor compared to the reason I'm thinking of."
"I kind of doubt that," she said. "Mine's pretty good."
She could hear the wry grin. "My reason only has two settings, violent-happy and violent-angry. My reason would have me so full of arrows that I'd be dead before I hit the ground."
She smiled. "Arrows? So it's the girl on the bike in the black-and-purple?"
"That's the one. Which is a large part of the reason I'm in Gotham more often these days, and in need of someone like you."
"I've met her a couple of times. Why didn't you offer Huntress as your reference, then?"
"You'd have found out about the conflict of interest. I think you're smart enough to give grudging respect more credit than praise from my.."
She waited for him to come up with a word and then laughed. "It's okay. 'Girlfriend' sounds like you're in high school and 'partner' sounds like you're playing tennis or selling real estate or something. 'Lover' sounds like you're cheating on someone else with her.. you going to marry her? 'Wife' is pretty simple."
"How did my giving you data on one of Gotham's criminals become about whether or not I plan to propose?"
He rubbed his blank forehead. "See, this is why I mentioned Black Canary instead. Much less troublesome, and it won't keep me up at night staring at the ceiling, which is always a bad idea for me. Don't ask why."
"I'm sorry I asked. Well, look.. you evidently know how to find me. How am I supposed to contact you if I have to? Shine a giant question mark into the sky and hope for the best?"
"I think that would annoy Batman a great deal."
"I'm game if you are."
This time there was no doubt about it: he was smiling. Funny how much he could convey even wearing the mask.
"Don't tempt me. I'm sure we'll come up with something. Renee, I think this is the beg--"
"Don't, Question. You quote Casablanca one more time, and we're through before we start."
"Understood."
They reached the end of the alley. "Do you really think this could work?" she asked.
"Well, I can't tell till I've seen you over a distance of ground. You've got a touch of class, but I don't know how far you can go."
She frowned, irritated. "Scratch the Casablanca rule. Now all Bogart movies are out."
"You know enough to catch the cites, and yet you don't appreciate them? How'd that happen? This could be a problem."
"An ex of mine loved everything filmed before 1950."
"So?"
"I said ex, didn't I? You do the math."
"Point taken. Until next time, then. Good luck with Kasper; I'll be in touch."
He walked back down into the alley, away from her, and she had a sudden thought. She supposed he'd earned that much, the fool, and so she searched her memory until she found something that would fit.
She sighed.
"Question?"
He stopped walking. She reached into her wallet for one of her police cards, and held it out for him.
"'If you can use me again sometime, call this number.'"
It took him a few seconds, but then he turned around and reached for the card. "'Day and night?'"
"'Uh, night's better'," she quoted. "'I work during the day'."
"Now that's my girl," said the Question, and vanished into the darkness.