Chapter 12

He should have been enjoying himself more, Sir Edmund Dorrance reflected. But he was not.

That insane weakling Hugo Strange had actually succeeded. He had come to King Snake with a request for funding. He had a scheme, he said, that would render Batman useless as a crime fighter. He was convinced that he could successfully implant a suggestion in Batman's mind. A suggestion, Strange claimed, that could be activated by the use of a specific code word. It would cause Batman to halt any attempt to apprehend the speaker.

Strange had a reputation in the Gotham underworld for being a crackpot and a pervert, but it was also conceded that he had a knack for exploiting the human mind. There was a chance Strange might succeed. Eventually he chose to underwrite the mad doctor's plan.

Dorrance could admit that Strange had also successfully appealed to his vanity. With the disappearance of the Penguin and the ineffective leadership of his replacement Poison Ivy, King Snake had become the head of the pre-eminent criminal organization in Gotham. He was also the only man Strange could approach whose financial resources were so great that he wouldn't even feel the pinch from Strange's request.

King Snake didn't respond to flattery, but he did respond to the truth. It had pleased him that his new status had not gone unnoticed, and so he cut Strange a check. If nothing came of it . . . well, as the doctor said, he wouldn't feel the pinch.

Surprisingly, the money had been well-spent. Strange had returned with a smile and a word – "flehmen". The following night, one of Dorrance's Ghost Dragons committed a minor and very clumsy robbery. The Bat noticed, the Bat attacked – and with a single word, the Bat withdrew. In the few nights since, the Ghost Dragons had been hitting targets all over Gotham, and in every case where Batman appeared, "flehmen" was a success every time.

And Dorrance was the only criminal in Gotham with this knowledge. With that kind of advantage, he could almost guarantee that the Ghost Dragons would spread through Gotham in the months to come, swallowing up all its competition and putting the city in a stranglehold. It was, without a doubt, a tremendous coup.

But Dorrance couldn't enjoy it. Well, to be honest, he had been enjoying himself, but all that ended . . . not long after he entered Jenna's and took his seat by the wall.

There were two reasons for this. One was that the waitstaff was dishonoring his Ghost Dragons. A Ghost Dragon always paid his debts in full. Crime was just another form of business. In business you paid your creditors in a timely manner, or you failed. He expected his "employees" to do the same. Not paying meant you were untrustworthy, unreliable, or impoverished. None of these were the images Dorrance wanted his Ghost Dragons to convey.

When several Dragons had attempted to pay their monthly tab earlier tonight, however, they were rebuffed. Their money was no good in Jenna's, they had been told. "It's company policy," the manager had said, which Dorrance thought a very odd statement. What kind of company would have a policy of refusing payment? The Dragons didn't care about any of that, they just wanted to satisfy their honor. But the fools here didn't seem to get that.

While this in and of itself was a nuisance, there was a larger problem. Dorrance might have been blind, but that didn't prevent him from sensing things around him. What he sensed was a subtle shift by the other club patrons. The ones who weren't criminals, to be specific.

When the Iceberg Lounge was still in business, ordinary Gothamites or tourists sometimes visited. They didn't come for the food or the liquor or the décor, of course. They came to look at people like him. They came for the dark, voyeuristic thrill of being close to dangerous felons and deranged psychopaths. But they did so at their own risk. The Iceberg had always been a somewhat lawless establishment, and the Rogues held the balance of power. So law-abiding citizens knew that they were inviting injury or death by coming.

Therefore it was to be expected that Jenna's would be something similar, and it was. Lately, however, there was something different. It was something in the way people talked, in the way people invaded his personal space.

Mainly it was something missing - fear. King Snake suspected that many customers had forgotten to be afraid of Jenna's more notorious visitors – and that the club itself had encouraged this. Familiarity bred contempt, and the longer these young, upwardly mobile immortals were in close quarters with the worst menaces in Gotham without incident, the more relaxed they'd get. He could hear the subtle hint of condescension in their voices. It was as if they'd concluded that these psychopaths and ganglords weren't that scary after all.

And since Jenna's was obviously catering to these people, by the way their numbers grew every night, it wanted them to come, spend their money, and see the tamed criminals.

Was King Snake to ignore this affrontery for a few free drinks?

Dorrance stood up. "Let's go," he told the nearest Dragons. "If they won't take our money, well - I think I've become too big for this establishment anyway."

From the talk around him, King Snake didn't think any one even noticed them leave. That convinced him not to return again.

He'd just have to find somewhere else for his Dragons to entertain themselves. Once more it was a pity that Poison Ivy had driven the Iceberg into the ground.

_____________________________

Poison Ivy had spent much of her adult life disputing the belief that she was insane. She was just fully committed to a cause that nobody else understood. To the small minds and callous hearts of the world, plants were merely a resource to be exploited. Because she contradicted that selfish, narrow-minded view, she was deemed insane.

Still, if you believed in the popular definition of insanity as doing something over and over again and expecting a different result, then Ivy supposed she was insane.

Why else did she open the Rydbergii Lounge night after night to sparse crowds, letting it hemorrhage cash and drain the profits from her black market operations?

Why else had she driven herself to Arkham every week only to see Harley wilt and droop like a rose without sunlight or water?

It was always the same. Neither made her happy. Why did she persist in the belief that it would?

Maybe she needed a therapist.

"Ms. Isley?"

Ivy looked up from her desk. By now she didn't spend much time on the floor any longer. Even she had to acknowledge that her customers, for some unfathomable reason, didn't like talking to her. "Yes, Raven?" she asked wearily.

"There's someone at the bar you're going to want to see," the hostess said nervously. "There was no way to stop him from coming in."

"Who, Batman?"

"No, it's - it's Matt Hagen, Ms. Isley."

Ivy's head snapped up. Lately she'd found that her temper had become wildly unpredictable. Certain things that would have infuriated her a year ago were now shrugged off, while other things still set her off instantly. This, apparently, was one of the latter examples. "Clayface has dared to show himself in MY club?!"

Raven backed away.

Storming out of her office, Ivy headed for the bar with a full head of steam. She didn't notice how empty the establishment was because she didn't care about the people who weren't there. Just the person who was.

"Hagen," she snarled, seeing the massive, slovenly bulk at HER bar.

"Pammy," he murmured without turning around.

"You will leave now if the walls themselves have to come alive and throw you out!"

"Really, Pammy? Is that what you want the twenty people in here to see? You throwing a paying customer out for no reason?" Clayface chuckled. "You run a business like that, I can see why it's empty."

Ivy approached him and jabbed a finger into his soft mass. "I don't care if the entire block sees!" she hissed at him. "I will not allow you to sit there and pretend to drink when you're only here to mock me and take pleasure in my problems!"

Clayface finally faced her, even if it just meant his back becoming his front by virtue of the eyes and mouth that appeared there. "Women always think they're mind readers, don't they?" he asked, outraging her further. "Actually, I have reasons to be here besides witnessing your humiliation."

"You have to the count of three," Ivy growled.

"Barkeep, I'd like to open a tab."

"One."

"A round of drinks for everyone! Here, this oughta cover it."

"T - " Ivy stopped as Clayface tossed a stack of bills her way. "This is ten thousand dollars," she said blankly.

"That tab I mentioned? Put that on it. I expect to be coming here a lot in the future."

Ivy scowled at him. "So that's your game?" she asked bitterly. "You think I'm so desperate for ten grand in cash that I'll let you come in here every night and 'witness my humiliation'."

Clayface smiled. "No, I don't think you're that desperate. But if I paid you ten grand every month? Yeah, I think you're desperate enough for that."

Her pride rebelled.

Well, it was more like a minor peasant uprising. It was brutally smashed by her need for additional cash flow.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, staving off the unpleasant moment where she would have to (temporarily) put aside her longstanding grudge.

"Let me tell you a little story," Clayface told her. "I was sitting in a bar in Metropolis when I heard the news that the Iceberg Lounge in Gotham was reopening under new management. When I heard the new management was you, I figured that was it. You blacklisted me from Gotham, and any hope I had of returning to this city was gone if you were running the Iceberg from now on. Just more traveling back and forth between places like Metropolis and Star City and Keystone."

Ivy glared at him. Yes, Clayface forever the wandering exile, that would have been very nice.

"And then later," he went on, "I find out that you're running this place into the ground."

"I do not appreciate this story," Ivy snapped.

"So I think to myself, 'This is an opportunity. If all the other Rogues are drinking somewhere else because they don't want to deal with Pammy's shit on a nightly basis, I have the opening I need to return to Gotham.'."

"Yes, I'm glad this has worked out so well for you."

Clayface looked at her consideringly. "It could work out for you too, you know."

"Excuse me?" Ivy said.

"Well, come on, I can amuse myself at your expense, but that's only a short-term solution. The Lounge shuts down, you go back to being the most disturbed woman in Gotham, the status quo returns, and I'm out again," Clayface reasoned. "But if I helped you keep this place open, you'd HAVE to bury the hatchet with me for good."

Ivy sneered at him. "Oh, so now you're here to save me. Thank Gaia a man has come to do what a woman possibly couldn't."

"Catwoman could," Clayface replied casually.

That shut her up.

"Look, everyone in Gotham knows that you don't get along with me any better than you do the Joker. If word gets out that I'm drinking here instead of that Jenna's place everyone else is going to, you think some people might say, 'Hey, if it's safe for him, maybe it's safe for us too'?"

Ivy pondered what he was saying for a moment. "What exactly are you offering me?" she asked finally.

"Wow, Pammy. That's the most reasonable tone you've ever used with me."

"Hagen."

"Right, right. I give you ten thousand a month until this place is in the black again. I figure by that time, I can drink here for free for the rest of the century. I'll socialize, I won't start fights, I'll let the tourists see the former film star and current mudman. You treat me right. I'm not asking to be friends, but you can stop looking at me and talking to me like I'm the lowest form of life on the planet. And next time Harley arranges one of those Rogue Karaoke nights, I get an invitation," Clayface told her.

She felt a pang as she wondered if Harley would ever be doing that again. "It's - not a bad offer," she admitted. Better than what she expected at first. Still . . . "I'll take it on one condition."

"What?" he asked suspiciously.

When she'd finished speaking, Clayface looked at her for a few seconds. Then he smiled. "And here I thought you were just going to give me a lot of petty orders to satisfy your pride. Common sense from you, Pammy? I think you've learned from when I saw you last."

Ivy smiled tightly and clutched her money harder.

___________________________

Eddie made a "tsk, tsk" sound at the mirror while he straightened his tie. He'd always known King Snake was blind, but was he deaf as well? It was the only way Eddie could imagine why the Ghost Dragons leader would ever have gone into business with a complete nimrod like Hugo Strange – because he could neither see nor hear the demented old fart.

And the plan! Brainwashing Batman in a fucking day spa? King Snake had demeaned himself just by associating his name with such a cliché! Frankly, the Bat had done the gang leader a favor by throwing him in jail along with his cronies. On the outside King Snake would have had to deal with the looks and remarks (well, maybe not the looks, he was blind) of his betters.

"Betters" meaning people like himself . . . or Selina.

Eddie frowned. Where was she anyway? As appalling as the notion of a Hugo Strange day spa was, the crackpot scheme had happened to coincide in a lucky way with an event he was very much interested in. The MOMA was exhibiting the latest sculpture by James Sanborn, the man behind the giant code sculpture outside CIA headquarters. It was a puzzle physically larger than himself, and it was priceless. What better target could there be?

Unfortunately, Batman would see it that way too. There'd be no point even leaving the letter at the signal, because the hero would already know where Eddie would be.

One answer, Eddie had deduced, was a party to be held at the MOMA. If Batman was going to be at the museum one way or another, let him be out of costume and in the guise of Bruce Wayne. That would buy him some time, but not enough. It was only part of the answer. He'd need a distraction too.

That distraction could have been Selina. He'd had a notion to point her towards Strange's attempt to rewire Bruce's brain, and let the fur fly. Bruce would have been too busy with her to worry about him. Eddie's idea had encountered two formidable obstacles, however, and he'd abandoned it. The simple reason was that she was out of town, and he didn't know where she'd went. This was not exactly something you could put into motion over the phone.

The larger problem was that he realized Selina would not appreciate it when she found out later. His friend's wrath was troubling enough. Coupled with the knowledge that he had betrayed her by sleeping with the "spawn" Selina loathed so much, the Riddler was feeling much too guilty to mess with her head.

Eddie sighed. Talia. It was bad enough that she was high on Selina's list of least favorite people. But also because of Talia, he'd learned that Selina was dating Batman, something he had been much happier not knowing. He blamed her for the discovery, since he never would have begun to suspect Bruce Wayne was Batman if she hadn't let something slip. It would have been so much easier if the evening with Talia had been a total disaster.

He was forced to admit, however, that even now, he couldn't look back on the night as a complete loss. Talia would never have made a suitable girlfriend, but just for the one night, she could have been worse. She could have been a lot worse, in fact – she could have been one of those groupies of his. Why did he only attract the idiots?

Of course Doris, he reminded himself, had been the furthest thing from an idiot. She was also the furthest thing from Talia, and frankly that was the main reason why Talia would never have worked for him. She could never have measured up to Doris. He wasn't sure anybody could. And he sighed again.

As for his professional life, Eddie was unfortunately forced to conclude that the MOMA party wouldn't work as a time for a heist. He'd have to show up another night after hours with a crew of heavy lifters, and hope for the best. At least the presence of other individuals would force Batman to remain "Batman". Thinking of him as "Batman" was frightening. Thinking of him as "Bruce" or "Selina's boyfriend" was an utter nightmare. The two of them would have to remain in their assigned roles, if Eddie had any hope of continuing to face his rival in their battle of wits. Any slim, weak, faint whisper of a hope.

For now, he'd crash the party anyway. A little personal reconnaissance never hurt anybody. And he'd look good doing it. Who knew? A party at the MOMA might be just the thing to draw Selina back.

___________________________________________

It had been a long, long week, but as Talia huddled in the back seat of a disgusting taxicab that she couldn't even afford, she reflected that it would all be worth it in an hour or two.

Talia had allowed herself to be escorted to Gr'oriBr'di after arriving in Gotham. There had definitely been something interesting about the man, and in other circumstances she might have enjoyed seducing him with her wiles. Now, however, any thought of that had been completely ruined. She might tell herself she was pursuing Gr'oriBr'di for her own reasons, but she would still be following her father's orders. This she could no longer bring herself to do.

At the conclusion of their brief meeting, Talia had done something quite shocking. She had lied to one of her father's lieutenants. Even worse, her lie was that her father had orders for Gr'oriBr'di to turn over to her whatever funds he had available. She had misused her father's power for her own ends.

Well, if that wasn't an act of rebellion, she didn't know what was.

Gr'oriBr'di only had a mere few thousand dollars, unfortunately. Talia had settled for this puny amount and left "on a mission of her own". She allowed him to think that it was a mission from her father. If Gr'oriBr'di only knew what her father's mission was, he would have loved to think that was what she was doing.

Instead, Talia took refuge in a miserable hostel where her father would never think to look for her, a "Holiday Inn".

Since then, Talia had tried to clear her mind by indulging in those things she found relaxing. Five days of good food and spa treatment, though, had failed to produce the desired result. She could not think of an appropriate protector to attach herself to. Oh, of course, she could target any of a hundred millionaires in the city and make him hers with ease, but they could not protect her from the might of her father. Besides, she would not let herself be viewed as some common gold-digger.

The millionaire she did want, well, that was different. For him she would even let herself be viewed as some kind of whore.

But who else was there? Who else could offer her the money and power she needed? Who else in this dirty city was respected?

She still didn't know, and the money had almost run out. Increasingly nervous, Talia had sneaked into the fringes of Chinatown, the stalls and open-air markets where men dealt in obviously stolen goods, in order to learn if there were any rumors concerning DEMON. Perhaps a search for a beautiful young woman of good breeding?

Instead she'd learned something more distressing. Her Beloved had been behaving erratically for the past week, allowing ordinary thieves to escape! The rest of the rumors had been jumbled – typical superstitious Chinese, they spoke of dragons and ghosts and snakes, and no one could agree on whether Beloved was alive or dead. But everyone agreed that some kind of day spa was involved.

Talia had gone to this day spa only a half-hour before to investigate, but there she had an unpleasant encounter with an impostor dressed as Beloved. And like Beloved, he had an unhealthy fixation on cats! "Noblest creatures on earth", ha!

She had an epiphany at that moment. The Cat-slut had used sorcery on Beloved to make him enamored of cats. But the spell had gone awry somehow, and now anyone who wore the costume of the Bat was similarly affected!

It had been the proof she needed. She had left the spell-addled fool behind, hailed the nearest taxi, and ordered the driver to take her to the Gotham Museum of Modern Art. The Wayne Foundation was holding a function that evening, according to a half-dozen advertisements she'd seen at the Holiday Inn. Beloved had to be there. Once she revealed the Hell-cat's perfidy, Beloved would realize her worth, banish the bitch, pay Talia's fare, and then take her to live with him at his manor – no, his castle!

And she would be princess to his prince, just like she'd imagined as a girl, all those many, many years ago.

_____________________________________

It had been a long week, but as Bruce made his way to the bar, he knew none of it would matter any more once Selina made her first appearance.

While Arthur had interrupted their weekend getaway, he wasn't so rude as to ask Selina to return to Atlantis with him that very minute. He simply requested that she visit him at the first opportunity. Selina had little firsthand experience with Aquaman, so after Arthur had left, she asked him where the Atlantean king rated on the scale of "super-schmuckery".

Bruce hadn't risen to the bait, and told her that Arthur was one of the most sensible members of the League, with a low tolerance for bullshit or arrogance.

"So better than Diana?" Selina had teased.

"Much better," Bruce had said dryly.

The weekend jaunt had ended on schedule, and Bruce reflected that the most enjoyable part was that he was able to enjoy it, instead of fixating on the time away from Gotham and obsessing over the crimes he'd failed to prevent. He was under no illusions that Gotham had magically become a safe place, but Bruce suddenly found he could live his life without worrying that his city was six inches from the precipice.

Afterwards, however, a quite curious Selina had changed into her costume and left for Atlantis, by way of the teleporter pads in the Batcave and the Watchtower. He had watched her go, wondering darkly what Arthur wanted her to steal.

Her departure had come at a welcome time, as it turned out. Bruce Wayne had been lured in an unsubtle manner to an obvious trap at a brand-new day spa. The perpetrators thought that they'd successfully implanted Bruce with a code word that would cause him to call off pursuit if uttered. The fact that they tried to use their knowledge of Bruce's secret identity meant it had to be Hugo Strange.

Bruce corrected himself. Theoretically it could have been Riddler, he realized now, but it had been obvious for several reasons that it was Hugo. The use of hypnosis was a Strange hallmark, and a Rogue of Nygma's standing would never have stooped to such an obvious ploy. Still, Bruce would have to keep in mind that even though the Riddler would never reveal the secret, Nygma was still capable of using that secret against him.

At any rate, Bruce had let Strange think that the plan had worked. Hugo didn't have the kind of financial resources needed to make this scheme happen, and Bruce needed to find out who his backer was. As only Ghost Dragons used the code word, it quickly became clear that King Snake was his man. It was an unpleasant discovery. A year ago King Snake couldn't have afforded to bankroll someone like Strange. While it was a clear sign that Penguin's empire had declined since Ivy took over, his competitors had moved faster than Bruce would have liked.

Dorrance was paying more than he bargained for now, though. Strange was in Arkham, the day spa was shut down, and King Snake had joined the Ghost Dragons who thought they'd escaped in Blackgate. It had been a successful operation for Bruce, even if the act of temporarily letting those Dragons go had been distasteful.

And while he had felt Selina's absence, he suspected she would not have taken Strange's plan well. Considering how angry she'd been when Strange tried something similar with Nygma, she would have been positively furious about this, and she probably would have insisted on a large role in the investigation. While Bruce always appreciated her help, he didn't think it would be a good idea if Selina went off to shove something up Strange's nose.

So the crisis was averted, and Selina had notified Alfred she would be returning to Gotham that night. She was probably on the way to the MOMA this very moment. Still, Bruce wouldn't completely relax until she was with him.

He felt a feminine hand touch him on the arm, and he turned, half-expecting Selina's plane had landed early. So it was with an appalled start that he realized Talia al-Ghul was clutching his sleeve.

"Beloved, I had to come," she whispered dramatically. "I have discovered terrible, horrible news! It could not wait another moment, you have to be told! Tonight I – "

"You're wrinkling the Dolce & Gabbana," he growled.

Talia let go of his arm, suddenly struck mute. Bruce in turn grabbed her arm and dragged her towards a more secluded part of the museum. Normally he enjoyed spending time with her as much as he did a sharp stick in the eye, but there was something he wanted to say to her.

"Beloved," Talia repeated before he could speak. "I heard of your recent troubles today, and when I went to this day spa to investigate, I encountered this – this impostor dressed as you! And he was spouting some nonsense about how cats are the noblest animals on earth, and – "

"I'll look into it," Bruce interrupted. Her story jibed with reports he'd received of a man dressed as Batman in Times Square, but if he really was at the spa, then he must have been connected to Hugo. And judging by what Talia heard him say, Bruce could hazard a guess that it was Tom Blake. That would certainly explain the use of "flehmen" as the code word.

"But don't you see?" she pleaded. "The Cat-bitch has used some kind of black magic! It causes anyone wearing your costume to become completely enamored of cats!"

This latest bit of idiocy made him massage the bridge of his nose, but that wasn't important for the moment, though. "Tell me, Talia," Bruce hissed in his best Bat-gravel, seeing no one else around. "What made you tell the Riddler about Batman's true identity?"

Talia looked shocked, and then indignant, but in between there was a flash of guilt in her eyes. "I never told him such a thing!"

"So you never talked to him?"

There was that poorly-disguised guilt again. "I talked to him, yes, but I didn't – " Talia said. Then she stopped, and her eyes widened in an expression he'd never seen on her face. Apparently she'd gotten an idea. "That little louse! He and the Cat are the two most odious creatures in this city!"

"I think she just paid you a compliment, Eddie."

Bruce and Talia both turned to see Selina standing there, looking absolutely stunning – and Nygma next to her. Bruce had a sudden moment of irrational jealousy that Nygma had seen her before he had. But the Riddler didn't even seem to notice him, as he stared warily at Talia.

Talia, however, looked at Nygma with pure rage. "You sneaking, lying filth! Foul vermin!"

"Where'd you learn all your insults, the fourteenth century?" Nygma replied, becoming defensive.

"You used me!" Talia retorted. "It was never about being properly apologetic for the way you behaved towards me. You were merely trying to pump me for information!"

"Yeah, well, nice that you finally figured that out," Riddler said.

"Um," Selina said, "Eddie, why don't Bruce and I go and let you and the spawn – "

"You're not even sorry!" Talia snarled. "You were the one person that day who didn't treat me like garbage, and all along you were treating me like your pawn!"

"Honey, lesser intellects like you shouldn't even be allowed on the chessboard!"

Selina had slipped over to Bruce's side. "If we sneak off now, I don't think they'll notice," she murmured.

By now Bruce had had more than enough of people who knew his secret, and who he really wished didn't. "I'm glad you're back," he whispered, "but I'll save that for when we're alone."

"You scrawny twerp!"

"A-DIRE-HA airhead!"

"And you weren't even that good!"

Bruce and Selina both froze in place. He must have misheard her, or misinterpreted her . . .

"Oh yeah?" Riddler shot back. He darted forward, grabbed her by the shoulders, and kissed her fiercely.

Bruce was so startled, he didn't even turn to look at Selina, although he felt certain she was just as astonished as he was.

Talia and Nygma broke away from each other for a few moments, and then resumed their passionate kissing.

Revolted, Bruce looked at Selina and saw shock giving way to horror. "Eddie, what the fuck?" she asked.

The two lovebirds stopped for a second time, and looked at Bruce and Selina. Bruce again saw the guilt on her face, and realized that was why she had looked guilty earlier. It wasn't that she told, it was that she had slept with another man.

And now that the shock had worn off, Bruce had the happy thought that Talia might be out of his hair once and for all.

"Er, well 'Lina – " Eddie stammered. He glanced at Talia, then grabbed her wrist and ran off, dragging her away with him. "I'll call you later!"

"Eddie? Oh no, you don't go running off without – "

"Let him go," Bruce said. "You can work it out another day."

Selina looked disgusted. "But Bruce, Eddie and the demonspawn? He can do better!"

Bruce grudgingly admitted she might be very slightly right. "It wouldn't be his first mistake," he pointed out. "All I know is you've been gone for days, and – "

"HANDS UP, EVERYONE!" Bruce heard from another part of the museum. "PREPARE TO HAVE YOUR VALUABLES PURLOINED BY THE KING OF CATS!"

Oh, for God's sake.

To be continued . . .