Chapter 2
Bruce walked down the long, upstairs hall leading to his bedroom. He was now wearing a pair of blue jeans and a towel around his neck. His hair was still wet and falling down into his face from the shower he'd just taken.
Alfred Pennyworth came up a flight of stairs behind him.
"Sir, can I assume that you're lessons with Mr. Larson are finally over for good?" He said with a parental concern in his voice.
"That's right, now we need to find someone that can fine tune what he taught me." Bruce put on a smile and turned back to look at his friend and helper. "Wouldn't you rather me know how to handle myself?"
Alfred looked at the young man and just blinked a few times. "Sir, with all due respect, there is a great difference between learning how to take care of yourself and killing yourself."
"Alfred," he brought the towel up and started to dry off is hair as he spoke, "I'm not doing anything that's more dangerous than just walking down the street." He pointed in some far off direction.
"In any case, Harvey called for you while you were practicing." He turned back around and went back down the stairs.
"Thank you, Alfred", Bruce shouted down the stairs.
He then turned around and started to jog down the hall. His bare feet slapping against the cold wooden floors. He turned into the third room on the right, his room, and made his way over to the red telephone that sat on his night stand. Speed dial number 3 brought up his good friend Harvey Dent.
After several rings, Harvey answered his cell phone.
"Hello?"
"Harvey, it's Bruce. You called?"
"Hey there, Brucey. How you doing?"
"A little worn out, you?" Bruce stood up and walked over to a mirror he had hanging on the wall. He looked at several new bruises that had developed on his forearms and one large one under his left pectoral muscle.
"Same. Went to that crazy party last night. Why didn't you show up?"
Bruce thought back to the events the night before. Hanging out in an alleyway, dressed as a homeless person just didn't sound like the kind of answer that Harvey would except.
"I had this girl called me and I went out there instead. You understand."
"Brucey, you hound. What do you say you come out with me tonight. Me and this girl are going to go to this big dinner event and I'm sure I can get her to bring a friend. What do you say?"
Sitting there for a moment, Bruce thought about it.
"Sure, I'm in. What time?"
Chloe plugged her cell phone charger into the wall and dialed the Gotham Gazette, her new job.
The phone rang a few times before the receptionist answered. They exchanged some words and some information before she hung up the phone.
"Gotham City's Annual Police Officer and Fire Fighter Ball. Yes, thank you."
Her first assignment was right there in her hands.
"Here's to good first impressions." She looked at the paper a few more times before turning back to the briefcase. "I hope I have something nice enough to wear."
Opening up the briefcase and going through her things, she pulled out a red, short dress.
"This'll do."
She sat the dress down on the bed and pulled out some matching shoes and a makeup bag to go with it.
After getting dressed she looked at her watch and realized that she had an hour to kill.
"Call Clark? Don't call Clark? Call Clark? Don't call…"
Bruce walked into his garage and flicked the lights one. They came one on by one down the long row, revealing car after car, bike after bike. The one closest to him was his 1972 corvette with black exterior and a blue leather interior. This was his most driven car, but not nearly his favorite.
He walked past this one, down a few rows and to the right where only one car stood. There was a car cover over it, and he pulled it off to reveal his work in progress.
Purchased at the State Fair, he was looking at a concept car from last year. The "would-be" Lincoln Futura. The car looked like a throw back design that favored cars from the sixties and seventies. Two small fins edged up in the rear, connecting to the rear lights. In the front, the car extended, making it look ferocious. The car was jet black with a thin red line running from the headlights to the back of the fins. The interior was also black and leather, with many read-outs and gauges on the dash.
Bruce looked at his project with a smile. No one knew about his car except for Alfred, who sometimes would aid him in his repairs and modifications.
Bruce walked around to the back of the car, running his fingertips over the smooth paint job. Getting to the back he looked at his latest addition to the car. He'd drilled a hole in both tailpipes and put a sparkplug there. The sparkplug had a wire running from it to the dash where there were to switches. After allowing for an excess of gas fumes to be released from the pipes, all he'd have to do was flip the switches and push down on the accelerator to get two, nice flames to shoot out the back.
"Hey, baby." He looked at the car for a moment longer before turning back and heading for the corvette. He took a set of keys off a ring that hung on the wall next to it, got in, and started her up. With a push of a button a large garage door opened at the end of the room and he pulled out.
"No, I'm with the Gotham Gazette."
A man stood in Chloe's way. She stood in her dress, hair done, earrings hanging, freezing outside.
"You don't have a pass, I can't let you in." The large man showed no emotion as he stood in her way. "No pass, no way."
"Look, the paper was supposed to call you and put my name on that list. Now, if you would please just ask your supervisor--"
"Lady, you don't seem to get what I'm telling you." He took a step closer to her, making her step back. "You ain't getting in tonight. Enough said."
Chloe stood there for a moment, looking that the man in the eyes, and decided that a clever quip would only cause her more grief.
"Sorry to bother you then."
She turned around and walked past dozens of laughing, dressed up people as they made their way towards the door. She could hear the bouncer letting people in behind her.
"Mr. Grubbs, right this way."
She got all the way to the curb, ready to hail a cab, when she changed her mind.
"There's got to be another way in there." She told herself. "And if there is anyone that can find it, it's me."
She started to walk down the sidewalk until she was out of the bouncers view and then started to cross the grass towards the building again.
Bruce pulled up to the curb where a valet was waiting for me. Next to the valet was Harvey and two girls that were dressed to the nines. The one with blonde hair had her arm around Harvey, and the red-head was looking at the car, biting her lip.
"Hey Harvey", Bruce said as he got out of the car. "Sorry I'm late."
"It's no problem big guy. We've only been freezing our butts off for the past ten minutes or so. You ready to go in?"
"Do I look ready?" Bruce looked himself up and down. A black suit with a gray shirt on under it and a black tie on that.
"Well, you could learn to add some color to the wardrobe, but I'm not choosey. How about you Nikki? Are you choosey?"
All eyes to the red-head. "I think you look good, Bruce." She said in a bouncy voice.
"Thank you." He walked over to her and held his arm out so she could take it. "Shall we?"
"We're going to be going in the back so we don't have to worry about the press snapping some pictures of the richest college student in Gotham."
"Thanks Harv."
They started to make their way down the side walk and down another path that led them to the back of the building where a set of green double doors were, but that's not the only thing that was there. A blonde girl in a red dress was crouched at the door, focusing on the lock. As the group got closer they realized that she was trying to pick it.
"Hey!" Harvey yelled. "What are you doing?"
The girl jumped, obviously startled and turned around, hiding something behind her back.
The group got closer and Bruce noticed that this girl was young, and pretty at that.
"Are you trying to break in?" Harvey demanded with a stern voice.
"Oh, I was just--"
"You were just what?"
"I was just trying to find the entrance." She laughed a bit. "I have a horrible sense of direction. Could you point me in the right direction?"
"What's your name?" Bruce asked her.
"I'm Chloe Sullivan, and I'm supposed to be doing a piece here for the Gotham Gazette."
"Oh great! A reporter." Harvey said. "Sorry Bruce, I tried."
"Bruce? As in Bruce Wayne?" She looked at him for second or two.
Bruce shook his head.
"Wow, you're one of the people I'm supposed to be getting quotes from."
"I bet." He said.
"Well would you mind?" She started to rummage through her bag, looking for her pad and pen.
"Yes," he said "I would."
She stopped and looked back at him.
"But, if you promise that you wont write anything about me in your paper, I'll let you in there to do as much damage as you want to everyone else."
"Bruce--" Harvey started.
"And this is a life long deal. From now until the day you die, you must give me your word that you wont ever write about me."
She blinked a few times and then put on a smile. "I think I can handle that."
