Olivia Benson, Alex Cabot and all other characters from Law & Order: Special Victims Unit are owned by Dick Wolf and NBC/Universal.
The character of Batman was created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger. Batman/Bruce Wayne, Batgirl/Barbra Gordon, Robin/Dick Grayson, and all over Batman characters are owned by DC Comics.
Superman, Supergirl, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Green Lantern, Hawkman and Hawkgirl, as well as the Justice League, are all owned by DC Comics.
I'm not making any money off of this story. It's just a fanfic written for kicks and giggles.
Note: In this story, Olivia and Alex are lovers. If you don't like that sort of thing, then consider yourself warned. Also, while there's no cursing, sex scenes or gore, be warned that this story gets very dark. Now take my hand and come with me down the narrow trail...
Batman & Benson 3
Chapter One
Bernard Romano turned his collar up against the chilly rain that came pouring down from the night skies. He would rather be hanging out with the guys, watching the game at the local pub; or he'd rather be home, watching TV with his girlfriend and her daughter--hell, Bernie would even rather be at work…he'd really rather be anyplace but here right now.
But he didn't have any choice.
That had been the story of his life for the past two weeks; ever since this rat bastard had first introduced himself to Bernie with a phone call right out of the blue one night. "You don't know me," the deep-voiced man had said, "but I know you, Bernie, and I know what you did. And unless you want everybody in your life to know what you did, then you'd better listen to what I have to say very closely."
That phone call was the beginning of the private hell of Bernard Romano--who, in a previous life, had been involved in a bank robbery in Phoenix, Arizona. Because the robbery had been violent, because an elderly woman--a bank teller--had been pistol-whipped, the police had been especially gung-ho in tracking them all down. Bernie wound up serving twenty years in prison. Once he did his time and got released, he'd changed his name and moved here to Gotham City, hoping to start a new life--one that did not involve crime.
He would have been very happy just to keep his head down and get by on his meager salary from his job as a janitor at the Showcase Square mall, but then he met Ellen. And after meeting her, Bernie realized that he never truly knew what happiness was until now. Ellen worked as a clerk in the Yours Truly cosmetics store, and from the moment they first met, Bernie knew that she was the one. She had a little girl, Darleen, who was five. Darleen's dad was in the state pen for attempted robbery of a gas station. Ellen only spoke bad things about her ex-husband, calling him a gutless loser for turning to a life of crime, and she never wanted anything more to do with him.
Bernie never told her about his criminal past out of shame at first, and when he realized how much Ellen hated her ex-husband for the crime he committed, Bernie couldn't bring himself to tell her now because of fear…he was afraid that Ellen would reject him, as well. Bernie would do anything to prevent that. And so when this rat bastard called from out of nowhere, blackmailing him, Bernie had no choice but to do whatever he wanted. Bernie wasn't proud of some of the things he'd been forced to do, but if it meant keeping his perfect life with Ellen intact, then he would do anything.
Bernie arrived at the broken down old tenement. Stepping inside, the squalid place looked to be a haven for rats and other vermin--but at least it was warm and offered shelter from the freezing rain.
He took a few steps into the darkness, shaking off the cold, when he was abruptly startled by a light that came on at the far end of the room. It was an elegant floor lamp, and it illuminated the front half of a cushioned chair.
There was a man seated in the chair. Bernie could not see his face, but he saw the man's legs, which were clad in dark slacks, his feet in simple black loafers.
"Hello, Bernie," the deep-voiced man said. "So good to see you."
'It's him!' Bernie thought, the anger rising within him. At last he was finally face to face with this blackmailing slug. Bernie noticed something else, something odd. There was a strange flash that emitted from the darkness. It was as if something caught the reflection of the light, but only for a spilt second.
"I did what you asked," Bernie said. "Ok? I mean, I don't know what the hell that little errand was about--and I don't really want to know. But we're done, right?"
"Sure, Bernie, sure," the deep-voiced man said with a dry chuckle. "We're done…for tonight."
"What the hell do you mean?" Bernie asked, feeling a growing coldness from within his stomach. "I thought, once I--"
"Make no mistake, my friend, only I decide when you're done," the shadowy man told him. "And this little ride of ours is just beginning. Stick around, Bernie, meet the others."
Before Bernie could even ask about what he meant, several other men entered the room. Their jackets were also slick from the chilly autumn rain. One of the men angrily glared at Bernie and said, "Are you him?"
"Over here, Stevens," the deep-voiced man said. There was that annoying flash of light from the darkness again. Bernie noticed that the shadowy man abruptly caught something with his hand. When he flipped it up again, Bernie saw the flash once more, and realized what it was.
'A coin,' he thought. 'He's flipping a coin in his hand.'
"Stevens, Peterson, Jamison, did you all do what I asked?" the deep-voiced man said.
The three men nodded in unison, all looking uneasy, and Bernie wondered what the rat bastard in the chair had on them. 'Were they being blackmailed into working for this son of a bitch, too?'
"Very good. Boys, meet Bernie. He's going to be my major-domo, my right hand man, so to speak."
"Your right hand man for what?" Bernie asked, growing angry. "What the hell are you planning here? I didn't sign on for anything beyond--"
The shadowy figure leaned forward in the chair and said, "Hey Bernie, how's Ellen and her little girl--what's her name? Oh yes, little Darleen. How are they doing, Bernie? They in good health? Do you wish for them to remain that way?"
Bernie became flooded with rage when he realized what this son of a bitch was doing, what he was insinuating. "You stay away from them! You hear me?!"
"Should I kill the both of them? Or just Ellen?" the shadowy man mused. "Heads, I kill just the mother; tails, I off them both."
He flipped the coin up in the air and expertly caught it with one gloved hand. When he revealed the coin, Bernie saw that the heads side was badly scratched up.
"Looks like I'll just be killing Ellen," the deep-voiced man said, as he emitted a guttural laughter that sent chills up Bernie's back. "We'll save sweet little Darleen for another day, shall we?"
Stevens leaned forward to Bernie and whispered, "Look, he's got stuff on all of us here. He can harm our families, too. So just do what he wants and don't rock the boat, ok?"
"Ok, ok," Bernie quickly said, holding his hands up in surrender to the shadowy man. "I-I'm sorry, all right? I'll do whatever you want, just leave Ellen and Darleen alone, please."
"That's more like it, Bernie," the shadowy man said, sitting back in his chair. "Are you now ready to take on the job of your life?"
"What job?" Bernie asked.
"The job of vengeance, my good Bernie; sweet, everlasting vengeance. Are you ready for it?"
Bernie let out a defeated, weary sigh as he reluctantly nodded. "Whatever you say...Mr. Janus."
B&B
The following morning, Inspector Olivia Benson, commanding the Special Victim's Unit of the Gotham City Police force, strode out into the squad room.
Technically, it was her squad room--and yet, after over a year of being the commander of the GCPD SVU, it was still hard for Olivia to get used to the idea that she was now in charge.
She stood quietly for a few moments and watched the good-natured banter and joking that flew between her detectives. The gist of the fun centered around partners Andrea and Michael, who were squabbling over which of them took the last doughnut on the coffee table. They reminded her of the days when she and Elliot, her old partner from the NYPD SVU, would good-naturedly banter back and forth. As she watched them, Olivia realized that a part of her hated to be the one to break up this entertaining scene, yet she had no choice, because duty called.
'Now I know how Cragen felt whenever he broke bad news to us.' Olivia grimly thought, reflecting on a past that now felt as if it were a thousand years ago.
Taking a deep breath, she said, in her best authoritative voice: "May I have your attention, please?"
All of Olivia's detectives immediately quieted down and gave her their full attention.
"We have an Amber alert," Olivia announced. "Simone Weatherly, age 15, has been reported missing. She never showed up for school today. And when uniforms back-tracked her route to school, they found her school bag had been left discarded on the sidewalk of East Nash street, about a block from her house. I've already got uniforms searching the area for her. Andrea and Mike: I want you to head to Simone's home and talk with her parents. Joe and Phil, head to the school, and see what you can do there."
As the squad room flew into full alert, Olivia went back into her office and called the uniformed commander on the scene, Sergeant Damon Menisci, and informed him that Andrea and Mike were on the way to take over the investigation. Menisci told her that, so far, they haven't found the missing girl--nor have they uncovered any leads.
'Damn it,' Olivia thought, as she hung up the phone. 'This isn't looking good….' She glanced down at the school photo of Simone. The girl smiled back at her in a cheerfully confident manner. Clad in her school uniform, Simone was a dark-haired young beauty with green eyes that radiated a singular intelligence.
'Where are you, honey?' Olivia wondered. 'Are you safe? Are you being held against your will? Christ, I hope you're all right!'
Linda Preston, Olivia's aide, appeared in the doorway, looking sheepish. "Sorry to disturb you, boss. But you've got visitors. They're feds."
Olivia let out a weary sigh. The last thing she wanted was to be diverted from Simone's case. "They here on official business?"
"Yeah, but one of them says she knows you." Linda frowned. "She has a weird name, too. It's Samantha Spade. Sam Spade? Like in that Humphrey Bogart movie?"
A slow smile spread across Olivia's face. "Yeah, I do know her. We caught Harlequin together. Send them in, please, Linda."
The smile never left her face as Olivia sat behind her desk and waited for Sam. Other than a few phone calls and emails, they haven't actually seen each other since the wild time they shared last year, when the Riddler and the Joker decided to cause mayhem at the same time the police convention was in town.
However, once she saw Samantha Spade, Olivia's smile vanished. Special Agent Samantha Spade of the FBI's Missing Person's Squad was just as beautiful as Olivia remembered her, with kind, compassionate eyes set within a narrow face that was framed by long blond hair. But she now appeared very exhausted and haggard, as if something had been grinding on her.
Instead of Jack Malone, Sam was with a younger man with sandy brown hair--he also had a drained expression on his face.
Despite her fatigued state, Sam's face lit up at the sight of Olivia. "Hey Liv," she said, smiling.
"Hey, Sam," Olivia replied, coming around the desk to give her a hug. "Long time, no see."
"This is my partner, Martin Fitzgerald," Sam said, introducing the man who was with her. "Martin, this is the legendary Liv."
"I've heard so much about you," Martin said, shaking hands with Olivia. "I almost feel as if I know you, Inspector Benson."
"If you really know me, then you should call me Liv," she said. She gestured for the both of them to take a seat. "If you don't mind my saying so, you guys look like you've been through hell."
"That about sums it up," Sam said grimly. "We've been tracking somebody across the country for the past few days; he's a real scumbag, Liv. He's our prime suspect for a series of rape-murders in several states."
"His name is Donovan Hartford," Martin added. "He's thirty five, single, and very wealthy."
"He's got an army of lawyers, whom we've been fighting tooth and nail for the past few days," Sam interjected.
"Hartford," Olivia said, as a cold, clammy feeling erupted from within her.
"You know him?" Sam asked hopefully.
"No, never heard of him, personally. But I know the family. The Hartfords are old money. Their ancestors were a part of Gotham City when it was first incorporated into a village, well over three hundred years ago."
"We knew he had family here in Gotham City," Sam said. "We figured, thanks to the heat we've been putting on him, that Donovan had come home to roost. You know, to rest and keep his head down."
Olivia's eyes grew wide when she saw the school photo of the missing Simone Weatherly on her desk. "He may not be keeping his head down…."
"What do you mean?" Martin asked.
Olivia held up the picture of Simone. "This is Simone Weatherly, age 15. She's been reported missing just now."
Both Sam and Martin gave each other an alarmed look. "We prevented him from grabbing a woman--a college student--in Boston a few days ago," Sam said. "We couldn't prove it was Hartford; the woman never saw her would-be abductor's face, but we just knew it was him!"
"He might still have the urge, and feeling frustrated, grabs the first girl he sees in Gotham City," Olivia said with a sigh.
"Or it could just be a coincidence," Martin offered.
After a moment of silence, Sam glanced up at Olivia and said, "I don't believe in coincidences."
Olivia grimly nodded in agreement. "Neither do I. Excuse me, I've gotta make some phone calls."
B&B
Alfred Pennyworth let out a heavy sigh when he glanced into the guest suite and saw that its occupant wasn't present. When Alfred checked the bedroom, he noted that the bed had not been slept in at all.
'Where could he be?' Alfred wondered, as he strode out of the suite. 'I do hope he has not stayed up all night again.'
Alfred paused in his stride when a voice asked, "How is he this morning?"
The elderly man glanced up the staircase and saw Bruce Wayne standing at the top. "He's not in his guest quarters, Master Bruce," Alfred replied. "And I don't believe he went to bed at all last night--speaking of which, shouldn't you be doing the same? You've only just come home from your 'nocturnal activities' a few hours ago."
"I know, but I was worried about him," Bruce replied, as he descended the stairs. "Now it appears I have good cause."
"I'll search the east wing, Master Bruce," Alfred said. "If you would be so kind to search the--"
When he glanced out the windows, Bruce abruptly held up a hand. "Wait, Alfred. There he is. In the garden, by the fountain."
Alfred felt his heart sink when he saw the boy sitting by the side of the fountain, staring forlornly into the water. "Oh, dear…the poor lad."
"Was I like that?" Bruce asked quietly. "After my parents were--"
He trailed off, unable to give voice to the private pain that he suffered all those years ago--the very same pain which sparked the birth of an avenging alter-ego who now prowled the night.
"The pain he's feeling is universal, Master Bruce," Alfred replied.
"No thanks to me." Bruce shook his head in disgust. "I was right there, and yet I did nothing. I simply watched them die, just like everybody else in that damned circus tent."
"You can't blame yourself for what happened to the boy's family," Alfred gently told him. "And you've done so much for him since then."
"It's not enough," Bruce said firmly. "It's never enough. I shouldn't have taken that night off, Alfred. I should have been on patrol as usual."
"Should have, could have," Alfred muttered, shaking his head. "Don't do this to yourself, Master Bruce. The past is the past, and we must focus on the present, on the here and now. And right now, that boy looks like he needs someone to talk to."
Alfred started to walk outside, until Bruce stopped him. "Let me, Alfred. Why don't you rustle up some breakfast for us?"
The old man smiled. "Very good, Master Bruce."
B&B
Richard Grayson Jr. stared at the rippling water, at the fancy patterns that spread across the pond--and yet all he could see in his mind's eye were three bodies, falling through the air until they landed with a sickening thud on the ground.
Richard could still hear Timothy's voice ringing in his ears. "You can try telling everybody to call you Richard," his little brother had taunted him on the platform high above the crowds. "But, to me, you'll always be a Dick! Dick Grayson…that'll be your name as far as I'm concerned. Dick, Dickie, Tricky Dick Grayson!"
Richard, who had recently turned seventeen and wanted to change his name to something more mature than 'Dick', quickly grew tired of his eleven year old brother's constant taunting. He had grabbed the younger boy by the collar and muttered, "When this set's over, I'm taking you behind the elephant cage and beating the stuffing out of you, you little punk!"
"Boys, knock it off!" their father had said. "This is a hard set coming up, and you both need to stay focused!"
Timothy gave Richard one last smug look as he took hold of his trapeze. He waited until their mother had swung out from the opposite platform, and then Timothy and their father had swung out together side by side. And then, within an instant, all of them were abruptly gone.
Richard's part in the act called for him to wait several seconds before joining the rest of his family in mid-air--and in retrospect, that was what saved his life.
He remembered letting out a scream--he had shouted something, but Richard couldn't remember what it was. All he could remember was the horrible sight of his mother, father and little brother all plunging to their deaths right before him. Even though the trapezes gave way, the safety net should have saved them--but it didn't. Once his family hit the net, it also came loose, and they continued their fall uninterrupted.
As he stared at their lifeless bodies from atop the platform in shock, all Richard wanted was to be with his family, even in death. And so he jumped from the platform…only to be caught by Lazlo The Strongman, who had quickly climbed up to the platform to prevent the very thing that Richard had tried to do.
Lazlo brought the devastated Richard down, and when he ran up to his family's shattered bodies, Richard collapsed into a sobbing wreck. He kept crying, until he felt a man's hand gently touch his shoulder. He had glanced up through tear-filled eyes and saw Bruce Wayne for the first time. Rachel Dawes stood next to him.
That was when Richard also saw Olivia Benson for the first time. She began ordering people to clear the ring. "I don't care if they're with the frigging circus," she shouted to somebody. "Get everybody out of here, now!"
What happened next was all a haze to Richard. Although the circus tent had been crowded with people for that evening's performance, in Richard's memory, it had been empty, devoid of life--which might as well been the case, since he had lost the three people who had meant the most to him in one fell swoop.
He recalled, at one point, a uniformed police officer reaching out to grab him--only to be brushed away by a hand.
"He's coming home with us," Bruce Wayne said firmly.
For the last two weeks, Richard lived with Bruce Wayne and Rachel Dawes at their luxurious mansion. Bruce paid for his family's funeral, and everyone treated Richard like a prince, giving him whatever he wanted or needed. He noted, not without some irony, that everyone called him Richard.
And yet all he truly wanted was to hear his little brother Timothy call him Dick again. But his little brother, as well as his mother and father, were all gone forever.
That last thought caused the tears to well up in his eyes again. He felt a presence next to him, and when Richard glanced up, he saw Bruce Wayne standing there.
"I can't stop crying," Richard said, as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to…."
"No, don't," Bruce said gently. "Never apologize for crying, Richard. After what you've been through these past few weeks, you have more than enough cause for tears."
Richard glanced down at the ground. "Alfred tells me you lost your parents when you were a kid, too."
"I did," Bruce replied. There appeared to be a haunted look in his eyes. "I was much younger than you are, but, believe me, I know what you're going through right now."
"Is that why you took me in? Helped me?"
Bruce nodded. "I wish I could have done more."
"Believe me, you've been a big help, I really appreciate it," Richard said sincerely. He glanced at the pond uneasily, not sure how to say what he wanted to say next. He decided he might as well spit it out. "I've heard that my family's deaths might not have been an accident. They were saying on the news that the trapezes, as well as the safety net, were weakened by having been pre-cut. Somebody deliberately wanted them to fall to their deaths! Is this true?"
"There's an investigation underway," Bruce said carefully.
"If it turns out that they've been murdered," Richard said, as a seething rage filled his very soul, "I'll hunt the son of a bitch down myself and kill him!"
Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's leave it to the police, Richard. I know the two detectives who're investigating the case personally, and they're very good. If anybody can get to the bottom of this, they will."
"Yeah, you're right," Richard said with a sigh. "Hey, uh, I was just wondering if you would call me Dick from now on. It was…it was what my little brother called me…."
"Of course, Dick," Bruce replied. "C'mon, Alfred's making breakfast for us."
As Dick Grayson strode into Wayne Manor with Bruce, he hoped these cops investigating his family's death were as good as they were supposed to be.
'Because if I can't get satisfaction through the legal system, then I may have to go and get some justice on my own,' he thought darkly.
B&B
"Hey, Montoya, you ever think about running away to join the circus?"
"No," she muttered, gazing out the window of their unmarked patrol car with a bored look. "Because every time I'm out with you, Harvey, I feel like I'm in the circus anyway."
Harvey Bullock started laughing, which caused his massive belly to wiggle under his doughnut-stained shirt and tie. Then his laughter abruptly halted when he gave her a sideward look of suspicion. "That was a joke, wasn't it? I mean, you ain't trying to insinuate something here, are ya?"
Montoya muttered a few curses in Spanish under her breath. "Yes, Harvey, I'm joking with you," she replied, her voice tight with tension.
"What's the matter with you today?" Bullock asked. "You're very edgy…more so than usual."
"It's this place," Montoya said, gesturing at the empty circus grounds around them. "There's nothing more depressing to me than a closed-down circus. And what's even more depressing is that there might be a murderer here."
"I don't agree with you on that," Bullock muttered.
"How can you say that?!" Montoya said, stunned. "The forensics made it very clear--"
"That acrobat family was murdered, I'm not arguing that," Harvey said, cutting her off. "It's just that I think the killer is an old friend of ours: Rupert Thorne."
"Why would Boss Thorne want these acrobats killed?" Montoya skeptically asked.
"It's not that he wanted them killed personally," Bullock told her. "But that Thorne was using their deaths to send a message. Which is, nothing happens in Gotham City without him getting his 'taste'."
That gave Montoya pause. "You thinking the circus refused to pay off Thorne for operating in Gotham City, and so Thorne struck back by having the Graysons killed?"
"I know it, Renee."
"Yeah, but can you prove it, Harvey?"
"That's what we're gonna find out," Bullock said. He gestured at a man who walked up to the recreational vehicle they had been staking out. "There he is now. C'mon, let's see what falls out when we shake this tree."
"Harold Grantee?" Montoya called to the man as they got out of the car. "You Harold Grantee, the owner/operator of this circus?"
"Yes, I am," he warily said. He had one hand on the door knob of the RV. "Who are you?"
Montoya and Bullock flashed their badges at him. "Gotham City PD," Montoya replied. "We'd like a word with you."
"I've said everything that I'm going to say to the police," Grantee wearily said.
"Yeah, well, now you're gonna talk to us," Harvey persisted.
Grantee shook his head. "You know, it's not enough that you people have effectively put me out of business by--"
Grantee never finished his complaint, thanks to the gun shot that sliced through the late morning air. He slid down the side of the RV, already dead, leaving a trail of blood on the wall of the vehicle.
Bullock and Montoya instinctively pulled out their handguns and sought cover behind a metal drum. Montoya quickly called in the shooting on the police radio, while Bullock tried to see where the shot could have come from. Until, realizing something, Bullock abruptly stood up and casually walked out from behind the drum.
"Harvey, what are you doing?!" Montoya cried in a panic. "Get back behind cover! We still got a shooter out there!"
"No we don't. Not anymore." Bullock gestured at Grantee's dead body and added, "The bastard got who he was gunning for, so he's long gone, now."
"It was a hit to keep him from talking to us," Montoya said, as she slowly stood up and stared at Grantee. "Looks like you were right, Harvey. Thorne is behind all this."
"Yeah," Bullock muttered. "But we still can't prove squat!"
B&B
"C'mon ladies," Rupert Thorne called to the trio of women by the edge of the pool, "I ain't paying you to just look pretty. Do something!"
One of the bikini-clad women stood up from her lounge chair and stared petulantly at him. "Whadidya wanna us ta do, Mister Thorne?"
Thorne grimaced. Ruby was a gorgeous young woman who looked spectacular in a bikini--which was why Thorne paid her to frolic in his indoor pool--but her voice…dear God, her voice was like listening to nails scratching a blackboard. Thorne could see why she was an exotic dancer in his strip tease joint, because she had the body for it; yet, amazingly, the kid actually had aspirations to be an actress.
"Do me a favor, Ruby, and don't quit your day job, huh?" Thorne told her.
"What?" Ruby screeched. "Whadidya mean, Mister Thorne?"
Candace Leopold strode into the vast room where Thorne's indoor pool was. It was located in the west wing of his mansion, covered over by a glass dome.
"Sorry to disturb you, Boss Thorne," Candace said, holding up a phone. "But you have a call."
"Thanks Candy," Thorne said, taking the phone from her. "Yeah?"
"A-ok," a male voice told him--then he abruptly hung up.
Thorne smiled broadly as he switched of the phone and handed it back to Candace. "Marvelous, just marvelous…."
"Good news, I take it, Boss Thorne?" Candace asked.
"You can say that, Candy, my girl," Thorne replied, smiling. "A loose end has just been tied up for me. Now there's nothing connecting us to the circus hit."
"Love it when a plan comes together," Candace said, as she took the phone from her boss and left the room.
"Mister Thorne!" Ruby screeched. "Ya still didn't say whadoya wanna us ta do!"
Just then, Angela leapt up from her lounge chair and shoved Ruby into the pool. This caused Thorne to start laughing uproariously.
Not to be outdone, Star, the third woman in the paid pool party team, suddenly got to her feet and tried to shove Angela into the pool. Yet Angela turned about and tried to fight at the last second--only to lose her footing, causing both women to fall into the water at the same time.
"Nice, very nice," Thorne said with approval, as he watched the trio of bikini-clad women splash around in the water. He took out a cigar and lit it, savoring the taste--as well as the eye candy in the pool before him. "Ah, yes, it's good to be back…."
B&B
"First off, I'd like to thank you for coming in today, Mr. Hartford," Assistant District Attorney Alex Cabot said.
Donovan Hartford, who sat on the opposite side of the interrogation table, waved his hand. "My family has a long and proud history of helping the police here in Gotham City, Ms. Cabot."
"Within reason, of course," Fred Saracen, Hartford's attorney, added. "May I ask why you called for a meeting with my client?"
Despite the fact that that little dig was meant to rattle her, Alex glanced casually down at the file she had spread out on the table. She took the brief time to figure out her strategy. 'They're already on guard, so I might as well go for the throat and see what happens….'
"We have an Amber alert," she said, removing her glasses. "A fifteen year old girl by the name of Simone Weatherly has been abducted while on her way to school this morning."
Alex glanced up and stared hard at Hartford--yet if he was guilty of the girl's disappearance, he was an expert at hiding it.
"Once again, Ms. Cabot," Saracen said, sounding bored, "why did you call my client to this meeting?"
"Well, whenever a child is abducted, we usually round up all the scumbags whom we think might have something to do with it," Alex cheerfully said. "And your client was at the very top of our scumbag list!"
That was when Alex saw it; the crack in Hartford's calm mask lasted only a split second, but it was enough to show that she had rattled him momentarily.
"Oh, this is simply outrageous!" Saracen yelled. "Do you have any idea who my client is?"
"The FBI's prime suspect in a series of rape/murders that took place all across the country," Alex shot back. "Thus making him our prime suspect in this case, as well."
"The FBI have launched a witch hunt against my client," Saracen told her. "Two of their agents, Samantha Spade and Martin Fitzgerald, have personally persecuted my client, who is completely innocent of whatever frame job they're trying to pull on him."
"Be that as it may, I still need to know the whereabouts of Mr. Hartford this morning," Alex said.
"No, you do not," Saracen replied, as he got up from his seat. "Come, Donovan. There's no need for us to be here."
Hartford got up with his attorney--then he paused to stare longingly at Alex. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Cabot," he said politely. "I do hope we can meet again some time."
"Donovan, come on," Saracen said, as he quickly shepherded his client out the door.
A chill ran up Alex's spine as she watched the men leave the room. Hartford shot her one more look over his shoulder. It was a smug expression, one that told her that he was effectively out of her reach.
'Dear God, he might as well have admitted to killing all those women,' she thought. As Alex got up, she glanced at the mirror behind her. No doubt Olivia--who was on the other side--will be fuming.
After collecting her personal things, Alex entered the adjoining room. Her boss, District Attorney Rachel Dawes was there, along with agents Spade and Fitzgerald, Commissioner Gordon…and Olivia, whom--as Alex had correctly guessed--was indeed very angry.
"That son of a bitch!" Olivia snarled. "Did you see that? Did you see the way he looked at Alex!"
"Liv, c'mon, take it easy," Gordon soothed her. "You know how these psychos love to play their little mind games."
When she saw Alex, Olivia's mood changed from anger to concern. "Hey, you ok?"
"Yes, I'm fine," Alex told her, smiling. "Relax, Liv, I've faced worse than that before."
But Olivia, still livid, shook her head. "That smug son of a bitch…."
"Now you see what we've been dealing with," Sam Spade said with disgust. "Hartford's always been playing that game with us--while always stopping just short of admitting guilt."
Alex turned to Rachel and said, "Sorry. I didn't get much, not with Saracen sitting there, biting my head off."
"Not your fault, Alex; it was a fishing expedition," Rachel said. "We've got nothing legally, but whatever doubt I had before that Hartford's involved in Simone Weatherly's abduction has just been erased now."
Gordon had been talking on a phone for the past minute. He hung up. "I've got Mr. Hartford under police surveillance, starting right now. The Hartford family may not like that--but screw 'em, a little girl's life is at stake here."
Martin Fitzgerald grabbed his jacket. "If you don't mind, Commissioner, we'd like to ride along on the surveillance, maybe offer whatever advice we can."
"Be my guest," Gordon told him. "The more people we've got breathing down his neck, the more of a chance Hartford will slip up."
After Spade and Fitzgerald left the room, Gordon closed the door and turned to face the women. "Well, I don't know how you ladies feel, but I'm calling him in on this."
"Yes," Rachel said, without hesitation. "We need all the help we can get. As you stated before, Jim, a little girl's life is at stake here."
Alex glanced at her watch. "It's still daylight; a little early to use the Bat-signal…."
Rachel looked as if she wanted to say she would call him, since she was practically living with the Batman's alter-ego these days. Yet she reluctantly kept quiet in order to preserve the Batman's true identity--as well as her relationship with Bruce--from Gordon.
"Leave it to me," Olivia spoke up. "I'll get in touch with him."
'Batman's buddy,' Alex thought, with a slight smile.
B&B
Stevens glanced over the area once more. Then he nodded. "Looks good."
"Then let's do it," Jamison said.
The men got out of the car and entered the warehouse through a broken window on the side. The warehouse was located in an industrial park, with no prying eyes around--yet they still waited until it was dark, just to be on the safe side.
They entered the warehouse through an office that was empty. Stevens had sized up the office and suggested they start the fire here, where there was plenty of paper.
"Nah," Jamison said. "Mr. Janus wanted us to start the fire in the warehouse itself. He wanted to make sure that the merchandise itself went up."
"What's the merchandise, anyway?" Stevens asked, as he frowned at the piles of cardboard boxes.
"Who the hell knows, and who the hell cares," Jamison muttered. "Let's just get the job done so we can go home."
"Wait, you hear that?" Stevens asked. "I thought I heard a sound…."
Jamison was about to tell him to knock it off until he heard the noise, as well. Pulling out their guns, Jamison and Stevens warily went down a corridor in-between the boxes. When Stevens grabbed his arm, Jamison glanced up to see a shadowy figure standing on top of a pile of boxes.
The figure threw out its arms, spreading out a cape in the shape of a bat behind it.
"It's him!" Stevens cried in sheer terror. "It's the Batman!"
Yet Jamison thought there was something wrong about this whole situation. "Is it me, or does he look a little…short to you?"
"Put down your weapons, now!" the figure ordered, as it stepped out of the shadows. "Or else!"
But Jamison was amazed that the voice that came from this figure had sounded very young, and female. And when he finally saw this intruder in the light, he saw why.
It was a girl, who looked barely fifteen, dressed in a Batman costume, albeit one that was cut to fit her petite figure. The costume was all black, save for the boots, gloves, belt, the back of the cape, and the bat-insignia on her chest, which were yellow.
Her bat mask covered her entire head, except for the bottom of her face, and an opening in the back that permitted her long red hair to flow out onto her neck and shoulders.
Jamison and Stevens exchanged a stunned look.
Then they both burst into laughter.
"Who the hell are you supposed to be, Batman's kid?" Stevens said, still laughing.
"Batkid," Jamison said, and they both started laughing even harder.
"This is your last warning!" the girl warned them, her voice unsteady.
"Yeah, we'll take it into consideration, Batkid," Jamison muttered, as he gave the boxes she stood on a hard kick.
The girl--Batgirl, Jamison guessed she was called--lost her balance and fell from the top of the boxes. However, she still managed to gracefully land on the floor with a roll of her body that would put most gymnasts to shame. She deftly got to her feet--
--and began running away from them.
B&B
'This was a very bad idea….' Barbra Gordon thought, as she frantically ran down the isles between the boxes. Having recently finished her costume, she had went on the prowl this evening to break in her new duds, as well as to get a lead on where Catwoman might strike next. The super burglar had been last seen in and around these warehouses in the industrial park, and Barbara had been hoping to catch her in the act--but instead she ran into these guys.
"Yoo-hoo, Batgirl!" one of the men called. "Come back, we won't bite!"
'It's Batwoman!' Barbra angrily thought, as she paused by a column to catch her breath. 'I don't get this, these guys are usually peeing their pants the moment they first see Batman--but I don't scare them at all! What gives?!'
"Batgirl!" the man called again. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"
The man sounded like he was close, so Barbra quickly darted the other way down the isle--until she ran smack dab into his accomplice, who blocked her way. "I got her, Stevens!" he called to his buddy.
The other man appeared, blocking the only other way out of the isle. He reached out the grab her, until Barbara gave him a good kick in the side, which caused him to back off.
"Oh, Batgirl likes to play rough," the other man said, smiling. "That's fine. Because we like to play rough, too."
'Oh my God,' Barbra thought, as she watched the men approach her in sheer terror. She knew she couldn't very well fight the both of them off, and they gave her no option to escape. 'Oh, no, please….'
"My, my, my…." a sultry female voice called out from the darkness. "Such big, brave men picking on a little girl…."
The men stopped their advance on Barbra and nervously glanced all around them. "Who said that?!" one of them demanded.
She emerged from the darkness at one end of the isle, her soft-soled boots silent on the concrete. Clad in a gray and black costume that hugged her slender form, she strode towards them in a carefree manner as her hand pulled on the whip that was wrapped around her waist, and--with an expert flick of her wrist--uncoiled it from her body like a live snake. Her mask was that of a cat, complete with little cat ears, and the very way she moved was almost feline in description.
"You boys like to play rough?" she asked, in that same deep, sultry voice. "Then why don't you try playing rough with a real woman?"
When one of the men raised his gun at her, Catwoman--and there was no doubt in Barbra's mind as to who this was--flicked the whip, which cracked loudly. The man yelled in pain as the gun fell from his hand. Catwoman flicked her whip once more, knocking the gun from the hand of his accomplice.
Then she kicked the first man in the stomach, which caused him to drop to the floor. The second man tried to turn and run away, but Catwoman flicked her whip once more. The man let out a gagging sound as the end of the whip wrapped around his neck. Catwoman pulled him back towards her, where she punched him flat across the face. Once he hit the floor, she kicked him in the face, instantly knocking him unconscious.
A stunned Barbara had stood watching all of this with her mouth hanging open. She had heard of Catwoman, but this was the first time Barbra had ever seen her in action.
Catwoman glanced at her, as if noticing Barbra for the first time, and her eyes were a piercing blue.
"And what are you supposed to be?" Catwoman sardonically asked. "Bat-Mite?"
Barbra's eyes grew wide with rage. "It's Batwoman!"
"It looks more like Batgirl to me," Catwoman muttered derisively. "I didn't know Batman was developing a franchise."
Barbara just glared at her in frustration. "You're coming with me."
"That's gratitude for you," Catwoman replied. She casually wrapped her whip around her waist as she began to walk away. "Go home, Bat-Mite. Go surf the net, or play with your i-Pod, or whatever adorable little girls like you do."
"Listen you--" Barbara said, as she started to go after her.
She stopped dead in her tracks when Catwoman raised a hand at her. Her hand had razor-sharp claws on the end of each finger. "If you want to play with kitty, then you better be prepared to get scratched, Bat-Mite."
Barbra remained where she was, feeling very humiliated and angry, as Catwoman slinked off into the darkness. Once she heard the distant sirens, Barbra realized that she also had to leave.
'I'll get her,' Barbra swore, as she broke into a run, 'one way or another, I will bring Catwoman to justice!'
B&B
'Fools,' Donovan Hartford thought, as he entered his playroom. Those FBI agents, Spade and Fitzgerald, were complete and utter fools--as were the police here in Gotham City. Donovan knew all too well that he was being followed; it was so blisteringly obvious from all the people in the street, trying hard not to be noticed by him--yet who kept updating his movements into concealed radios.
'Oh, they thought they were so smart, didn't they?' he thought, as he took off his jacket and placed it on a metal hook in the room. Donovan turned on the bare bulb that hung from the ceiling and was pleased to see that his little playroom--a complete torture dungeon--was exactly as he had left it. It was hidden in the belfry of an old church that his construction business was currently renovating. Normally, he didn't like to play this close to home, but he had been feeling very antsy lately, and little Simone was just too tasty a morsel for him to pass up.
It had been all too easy for Donovan to shake off his dogged little army of law enforcement agents. Once he made the sudden turn into the alley, he ducked into the cellar of the abandoned store and just kept running. The cellar ran for several blocks underground, and even when he hit the streets again, Donovan had dumped his jacket, changing his description as much as possible, as he continued taking alleyways and back roads all the way here. He even entered the old church through the side entrance, avoiding any witnesses in the front. Oh yes, he thought of everything.
Donovan smiled when he saw the dusty old cross on the wall. It reminded him of his grandmother, who was the only member of his family who had any suspicions about Donovan's little predilections. While on her death bed, the old woman had pleaded with him to convert to Christianity.
"It's not too late, Donny," she had said. "Give your love to Christ, and He will save you!"
But Donovan, who at that time had already killed three women, merely laughed at his grandmother. The stupid old bitch never understood that he was a predator, and--as such--he took pleasure in the hunt for young flesh. But since his latest kill will take place in an old church, Donovan supposed he should dedicate it to that old geezer.
'Speaking of kills,' Donovan thought, as he gazed at a section of the room that was curtained off. 'Let's get to it!'
"Hope you're awake, Simone," Donovan called in a sing-song voice, "because playtime is about to begin!"
Yet when he pulled the curtain to the side, Donovan was startled to see that the chair in which he had tied Simone Weatherly was now empty. He glanced over and saw the now untied girl standing against the wall, watching him with such an intensity that it actually made Donavan uneasy.
"Oh, man," she whispered to him. "Are you gonna get it…."
Before that remark could even sink in, something out of the corner of Donovan's eye had caught his attention.
One of the shadows had begun to move.
Donovan watched, stunned, as it drew itself up close towards him in a monstrous shape, with great, sweeping wings and a pair of pointed ears on the top of its head.
Donovan was struck across the face with a blow so powerful, so potent, that all he could do was helplessly careen towards the floor. He landed with a grunt, then rolled over and saw the monster loom over him, as if coming in for the kill.
"Jesus...sweet Jesus," Donovan said in a panic, "save me!"
The shadowy thing reached down and hauled Donovan up by the throat. Then it leaned towards him and, in an inhuman, blood-curdling whisper, said: "Your God has forsaken you. You're all mine, now."
"NO!" Donovan started to scream, just before he was slugged in the mouth once again. This time the blow sent him straight through a plate glass window.
B&B
He was good, Batman had to give him that. He had managed to shake off the best that the Gotham City Police Department had to throw at him, which included detectives from the Special Victims Unit, who were all personally led by Olivia herself. He even managed to shake off the determined duo of Spade and Fitzgerald, the FBI agents who made it their sworn duty to stop him. He was indeed very good.
But Batman was better.
It didn't hurt that he already knew where Hartford was headed. Having done some research into holdings of the Hartford family earlier in the day, Batman had discovered that Hartford's construction firm was busy working on this old church. And he realized that this monster would be just perverted enough to use it for his latest kill.
And now look at him. Having been flung through the plate glass window, Hartford was crawling around on his hands and knees on the ledge outside. It began to rain, and the driving downpour made this little weasel appear even more pathetic than he already was.
Batman glanced at Simone. "Stay here. This won't take long."
"Sure," she readily replied. For somebody who had been trussed up all day, she looked none worse for the wear.
'Tough kid,' Batman thought with admiration. The Dark Knight stepped out on the ledge and discovered that Hartford was now kneeling with his head staring up into the rain, babbling something about his grandmother.
"Please, God," he babbled on, "please accept your humble servant into your divine kingdom…."
Batman was infuriated. After slaughtering God knows how many women all across the country, now this son of a bitch was going to get religion?! The sheer audacity of this bastard was staggering!
Batman grabbed Hartford by the neck and hauled him up with one arm, which caused the man to start choking. But Batman didn't care.
"Don't you dare," Batman snarled. "Don't you DARE beg God for mercy now. Did you ever show any of your previous victims any mercy, you stinking bastard?!"
Yet Hartford, now clearly out of his mind with fear, kept right on praying. He even began to sing a few hymns.
Batman realized that he was now inadvertently holding Hartford over the ledge of the church. There was a thirty story drop right underneath him. It would be so easy to….
...for Batman to just….
'Go ahead,' a dark voice whispered within Batman's head. 'He's slime, anyway. You would do the world a favor by killing him. And all it will take is for you to just release him. Let him fall….'
"Yes," Batman murmured, as he felt his grip on the still-babbling Hartford loosen. "Just drop him…."
To Be Continued...