The Inevitable Return of Hackenslash Jones
(Featuring Alfred, the Battling Butler)
Batman, Robin, Alfred and all related characters are copyright DC Comics. Everything and everybody else are my own creation.
Chapter 1: Trouble in the Kitchen
It's a stark November night that sweeps the Gotham City outskirts when one of its native sons is finally released from its most fetid bosom, Blackgate Penitentiary. It had been an excruciating stay for the now former denizen of Blackgate's cold interior, one compounded by the perfect view of Gotham City's gritty translucence offered through his cell window. During the day other inmates would laugh at his luck, being placed within sight of his home, their snide comments eating away at his resolve. And yet at night these selfsame inmates sat in their own cells and wondered, "How could he stand it?" Any normal human being forced to sleep in a dank pit of despair, while simultaneously staring at the center of his universe night in and night out, would surely be driven stark-raving mad. And Gotham is a rare breed of city, one renowned for its inherent ability to breed insanity…
The cell view was not only limited to Gotham's spiked skyline, for it also provided a perfect view of the shack. A single room, all wood unit within a stone's throw of his cell that strangely affected him more than all the catcalls of his fellow inmates combined. The shack sat there mocking him every night. Oh, he always knew perfectly well that it's an inanimate structure devoid of life, and yet he felt an unwavering hatred build within him towards this object. To him it was a simple matter of logic, for you see, in his cell he was a trapped felon subject to repeated mocking and ridicule. Meanwhile the shack, that forsaken shack, got to bask in its freedom a stone's throw from the fence. That smug, arrogant shack!
But he was now a free man on the outside…
He takes a quick glance behind him to see that the guard has gone before sprinting towards the object of his anger, and with a single, Herculean effort topples the entire wooden structure with a flying drop kick. He lands with a thud on the damp earth, smearing his State donated clothes in a swath of dark, pungent mud. He doesn't care. Rising up he surveys the damage and sneers, "One down…"
"Hey boss!" a voice calls. He turns and sees a familiar, pudgy faced man lope his way towards him. Benny, through it all he has remained the only true blue, one-hundred and ten percent loyal member of his crew. Such devotion is truly rare, so naturally our former inmate found it necessary to exploit it.
"Hi Benny," he replies as Benny stretches a flabby arm around his boss.
"It's good to see you on the outside again," Benny retorts with a slight grin while quickly surveying the pile of wood that was once a shack, "but, geez… uhm, we'd better get you indoors! You could catch your death of cold, especially on a night like this, covered in that crap…"
"Crap?" the boss mutters.
"Yeah, uh," Benny stutters, his voice going softer, "the shack, you see?"
The boss shakes his head, not liking the direction of this conversation.
"The shack, boss, the city's got a bunch of them along this route. They've been here ages. It was all part of the clean-up, you see? Folks taking long drives have always been going in the woods, except around here, you know, folks feel weird going near a prison, so they put up these shacks..."
The boss suddenly doesn't like the taste of the saliva he's accumulated at the back of his throat and promptly spits it out.
"Don't worry boss!" Benny continues. "I've got the car parked around the corner. We'll get you back home and cleaned up in no time! You'll be good as new, you'll see!"
An awkward silence follows until they are safely on the road. The odor from the boss' misadventure promptly permeates itself throughout the vehicle, forcing Benny to crack open a couple of windows. Unfortunately this allows the November chill to enter, adding to the dampness as the material covering the boss seeps itself through his clothes, causing a slight shiver. Benny looks at his boss who's staring out the window.
"So," Benny starts with a warm smile, "uhm, what's the plan now boss?"
The boss continues to stare as he replies in a sullen voice, "I'm going to kill the Batman."
…
If you ever choose to follow a single creature of the night long enough, chances are it will eventually lead you to a place of fantastic proportions. On leathery wings this creature steers you through a small opening and into a cavern deep within the bowels of this earth. An exquisite construct etched by millennia of erosion, its damp interior home to the creature's brethren. Each member of the throng is shrieking in delight at the ceremonial evening rapture, for it is at this moment each night several great floodlights hum to life, disturbing the day's rest, and the creatures resound in unison. Bats, hundreds of them, paying tribute to their largest brother.
Outlined by the lights, the Batman's shadow takes a life of its own, dwarfing all other objects in the cave. He pauses and looks at the chaos his entrance has brought and smiles. The primordial dance above is nothing short of exhilarating, as always.
He continues towards his sleek, black armored car. It's exterior lined with reinforced fins giving it a menacing appearance. Before entering he gives a curt nod to the young man seated on a supped up motorcycle. The lad, dressed in brightly colored togs, a direct contrast to Batman's own macabre appearance, nods back.
Powerful engines come to life and soon both vehicles are travelling down a hidden passageway within the cave to the outside world.
"Comm check Robin," Batman's voice grates through the radio receiver embedded in his cowl.
"Check," Robin replies, "where do you want to begin?"
Batman's quick mind goes through several lines of thought before deciding on the best alternative. He then decides to test Robin anyway, "Guess."
Robin nods, "The Jewels of Opar. You really think someone's dumb enough to try for them?"
Batman allows a sly smile to creep across his face, "I KNOW someone is dumb enough."
"Of course," Robin winces. Stupid question. Ah well, since he's already started, Robin may as well continue the roll, "Say Bruce, do you think we could take a slight detour on the way? I'm starving!"
The smile on Batman's face is quickly replaced by a frown. Bruce Wayne thinks back to earlier that evening. Alfred, loyal butler to his family from before his birth, had prepared a repast fit for a king, in appearance anyway. Upon closer inspection (and several trial taste tests) it was discovered the entire meal was ruined. Too much salt in one dish, odd seasonings in another, and a fetid stew that reeked like Gotham sewers. Despite his wanting to speak frankly, he just couldn't tell proud, stubborn Alfred the truth, so he and Tim Drake begged off several excuses to don their fighting togs and retreat into Gotham's underbelly. It was either that or suffer bellyaches of their own.
It's been nearly a week since the attack on the Wayne Enterprises corporate headquarters. The Joker had planted gas bombs of his own deadly trademarked Laughing Gas throughout the building. He'd hoped to cripple the company, opening the way for his own dummy corporation to attempt a takeover – the city would have been his. The Batman had managed to prevent a catastrophe, except for one bomb that released its toxic cloud in the penthouse office. Alfred was present and would have died if Robin hadn't reached him in time. Thankfully the effects of the gas gradually wore off, until only Alfred's sense of taste and smell have been left strangely perturbed. Hopefully they will recover as well, but in the meantime…
"Burgers?" Robin's voice crackles over Batman's cowl radio.
"Burgers," Batman replies, gnashing his teeth, "and then I REALLY need to punch somebody."
…
Back in the opulent Wayne Manor, Alfred, staunch butler to the Wayne family and confidant of Batman and Robin, stares at a table of barely touched offerings. His brow furrows as he begins the arduous task of clearing the table.
"What could be wrong?" he wonders, his thin moustache curved around a dour frown. He stacks several plates and takes a delicate whiff of the still steaming aroma, "It smells perfectly fine to me."
Returning for more plates Alfred notes the stew. Taking a small spoon he gingerly takes a sampling and savors the morsel across his tongue. Satisfied, he swallows, "It tastes perfectly fine. What could it be?"
His mind returns to the harrowing experience at the penthouse office. He shrugs. The event has passed, he is now perfectly fit. Besides, even if his senses were still affected, his body would give some warning of a diminished culinary skill. Yet his gastric tract has been unaltered, and after all, didn't he just eat what Master Bruce ate? If his cooking is affecting the Batman, surely it would affect a lowly butler as well?
Yes, it must be something else.
As he rinses dishes Alfred notes the pile of discarded food in the rubbish bin. His mind begins to wander through the repertoire of cuisine at his disposal and an idea forms. It's all the same. Foie gras, cucumber sandwiches with deviled eggs, roast pheasant and so on. All exquisite and sumptuous dishes, yet after years of the same fare, perhaps the Masters simply yearn for a change of pace. Perhaps something more rustic is in order?
A cheerful grin crosses Alfred's face as he places the final dish away. He straightens his thinning hair and heads for bed. He'll start in the morning with an unoriginal serving of bacon and eggs, and then he'll head to market for even simpler fair.
"Bacon and eggs," he grins, "bloody marvelous."
…
It's quite remarkable what a shower and fresh change of clothes can do for a man. Stepping from the steam filled bathroom he appears like a modern wraith. Arms covered in tattoos, a physique built on prison labor, and eyes that could burn through even the most hardened soul. Only his once flowing locks have been trimmed to prison standards, but they'll grow back. Donning the slacks and shirt provided by Benny, he then steps into the spacious living room. He smiles. It's incredible that Benny could afford such an apartment.
"Geez boss, you look like a million bucks!" Benny yelps. "I told ya things would look better after you've been cleaned up."
"Yeah," the boss mutters as he sits on a couch once fit for royalty, "this place is amazing Benny. What've you been doing since I got busted? You become a doctor or something?"
Benny's eyes seem to recoil slightly at the question before he manages a meek, "Nah."
"What then?" the boss asks.
"I been using the money," Benny whispers.
"The money?"
"The heist money," Benny replies even quieter.
"My heist money?" the boss retorts angrily. "The money that I stole? The thefts that got the Batman on my tail and sent me up the river the first time? That money?"
"Yeah," Benny whispers, "but I done good by you boss. I kept it safe, the cops couldn't find it and that got you out of stir quicker since they didn't have enough evidence. And isn't it better to get out of stir with a nice place like this than some dive, huh? Ain't I done good?"
The boss' eyes harden, "How much is left?"
Benny looks down, "I don't know, couple of thousand I guess. Enough for a while, anyway."
"Couple of thousand?" the boss acknowledges. He takes a long, hard look at Benny, "Do you at least have the package?"
Benny gives a cowardly nod and rises, all the while muttering, "I think I done good. People what's the problem anyway. I didn't nab him, Batman did. I done all the legwork too. Been waiting too. I don't know."
Benny moves across the floor, moves a painting aside that's been hiding a safe, opens the safe and removes a long wooden box. He sets it before the boss who licks his lips in anticipation. The boss opens the golden clasps and deftly raises the lid. He stares at his prize for a moment before reaching in and slowly bringing out a single, thin blade sword. With a malicious glint in his eye the boss looks at Benny and asks, "Do you know why I'm called Hackenslash Jones, Benny?"
Benny pauses his mutterings to reply, in a most serious fashion, "Uhm, because you were a lousy hockey player boss?"
Jones blinks once in disbelief and pauses, trying to comprehend the response and the proper reply. He could run the blade through Benny's skull right then and there, but it ultimately would be a fruitless gesture. The task ahead requires two pairs of hands and he could always take care of Benny after Batman. Jones gently sets the sword aside, a final image of Batman's head impaled on its shaft flashing through his mind before he turns his attention to the documents scattered in the wooden box. He takes the topmost sheet and scans it quickly. He rises, "Get your coat Benny, we're going hunting."
"Aw come on boss!" Benny protests. "You just got out of Blackgate. Don't you want to take it easy for a while. You've got a nice set up here!"
"I've got the Batman's address on this piece of paper. The Batman's relentless Benny," Jones sneers, "and so am I. Get up."
…