Toby Jones didn't ask much of life. A place to sleep that wasn't too cold and wet, a belly that, if not full, at least wasn't too empty, and a little scotch to ease his mind of an evening. In return, he was willing to let the rest of the world do whatever the hell it wanted. If he had been a reflective man, this lifestyle might have bothered him, but fortunately for him, he wasn't a reflective man, so he was content.
He was just settling in for the night behind a dilapidated warehouse, staring at the moon shining on Gotham river about a hundred feet off, and swigging from his bottle.
"Hey, old man. You ruining the view there." Toby turned his shaggy gray head to look behind him, and stared up at a lanky, pimply teenager, dressed in expensive-looking clothes and backed up by two others like him, one short and skinny, one tall and fat. The leader had a can of gasoline in one hand, and a Zippo lighter in the other.
"Oh hell. Don't want no trouble. Don't want no-"
"Shut your hairy face, old man. Hold him down, guys." The other two moved to obey. Toby tried to bolt, but age and scotch slowed him down too much. They got him by wrists and ankles, and held him down, stretched out full-length on the ground, while the first one began dousing him with gas.
"You an eyesore man. Be more attractive if you was a streetlight, think so?" He flicked the lighter open. Toby sobbed incoherently.
The flame was lit and coming close to Toby's face when something small and black sailed out of nowhere, and sent the stil-lit Zippo fying. Batarang, that's what it is, Toby thought. That's what they call those things, which means that...
Like a bat out of hell, the huge man-shaped shadow came out of the sky with big fluttering wings behind him, spike-crowned face masked with dark fabric, the exposed lower half set in a snarl. Batman threw a kick that landed squarely on the leader's solar plexus, sending him down. The other two ran, but he threw another batarang, this one trailing a thin rope that wrapped around the two kids and jerked them to the ground. Behind the vigilante, the leader stood up, pulled a switchblade from the pocket of his designer jeans, and lunged for the black-caped back. Batman caught the wrist and twisted, sending the knife flying and creating a loud cracking sound that Toby could hear clearly even in his present distrought state. The kid was hurled through the air, landing in a puddle of spilled gas. He tried to stand, but tripped over the gas can that lay on its side. He tumbled forward, landing right on top of the still-burning lighter.
There was an impressive whooshing sound as his hair and the back of his shirt sprang to light, and a scream of terror like the bleating of a sheep. Batman grabbed him by the belt and hauled him, running, towards the river, throwing him in. The flames were quenched before much damage was done to the boy, although his hair was half gone, and his expensive clothing was a total loss. Batman fished him out and tied him up, along with his friends. He left them hanging from the roof of the warehouse, dangling like a pinata, without the festive trimmings.
Batman turned to Toby. "The police will be here soon. Once you tell them what they want to hear, go to this address," he handed a card to the bum, "and you'll get a free meal, a bed, and a bath. Just show them this card."
"Good deal." Toby turned to inspect the dangling firebugs. "Hey, thanks for the-" there was nothing but darkness behind him.
"-save." He finished lamely. Further ruminating on his part was cut off by the flashing of police lights. Oh well. It was pretty warm in police stations, and they weren't too rude to you if you weren't the one being arrested.
He was just settling in for the night behind a dilapidated warehouse, staring at the moon shining on Gotham river about a hundred feet off, and swigging from his bottle.
"Hey, old man. You ruining the view there." Toby turned his shaggy gray head to look behind him, and stared up at a lanky, pimply teenager, dressed in expensive-looking clothes and backed up by two others like him, one short and skinny, one tall and fat. The leader had a can of gasoline in one hand, and a Zippo lighter in the other.
"Oh hell. Don't want no trouble. Don't want no-"
"Shut your hairy face, old man. Hold him down, guys." The other two moved to obey. Toby tried to bolt, but age and scotch slowed him down too much. They got him by wrists and ankles, and held him down, stretched out full-length on the ground, while the first one began dousing him with gas.
"You an eyesore man. Be more attractive if you was a streetlight, think so?" He flicked the lighter open. Toby sobbed incoherently.
The flame was lit and coming close to Toby's face when something small and black sailed out of nowhere, and sent the stil-lit Zippo fying. Batarang, that's what it is, Toby thought. That's what they call those things, which means that...
Like a bat out of hell, the huge man-shaped shadow came out of the sky with big fluttering wings behind him, spike-crowned face masked with dark fabric, the exposed lower half set in a snarl. Batman threw a kick that landed squarely on the leader's solar plexus, sending him down. The other two ran, but he threw another batarang, this one trailing a thin rope that wrapped around the two kids and jerked them to the ground. Behind the vigilante, the leader stood up, pulled a switchblade from the pocket of his designer jeans, and lunged for the black-caped back. Batman caught the wrist and twisted, sending the knife flying and creating a loud cracking sound that Toby could hear clearly even in his present distrought state. The kid was hurled through the air, landing in a puddle of spilled gas. He tried to stand, but tripped over the gas can that lay on its side. He tumbled forward, landing right on top of the still-burning lighter.
There was an impressive whooshing sound as his hair and the back of his shirt sprang to light, and a scream of terror like the bleating of a sheep. Batman grabbed him by the belt and hauled him, running, towards the river, throwing him in. The flames were quenched before much damage was done to the boy, although his hair was half gone, and his expensive clothing was a total loss. Batman fished him out and tied him up, along with his friends. He left them hanging from the roof of the warehouse, dangling like a pinata, without the festive trimmings.
Batman turned to Toby. "The police will be here soon. Once you tell them what they want to hear, go to this address," he handed a card to the bum, "and you'll get a free meal, a bed, and a bath. Just show them this card."
"Good deal." Toby turned to inspect the dangling firebugs. "Hey, thanks for the-" there was nothing but darkness behind him.
"-save." He finished lamely. Further ruminating on his part was cut off by the flashing of police lights. Oh well. It was pretty warm in police stations, and they weren't too rude to you if you weren't the one being arrested.