A/N Hooray! I have officially survived the totally insane month of February! My life forecast for March looks slightly more calm (although I wouldn't bet the farm on it).
Disclaimer I do not like green eggs and ham! I do not like them, Sam-I-Am!
Acknowledgement To Emilie Loring, who began my introduction to the art of banter.
Chapter 19
There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord. She is never sad but when she sleeps, and not ever sad then, for I have heard my daughter say she hath often dreamt of unhappiness and waked herself with laughing.
- Much Ado About Nothing
"We should go," he rasped, taking a firm hold on her arm.
She winced and pulled away. "Thanks, but the police are downstairs. I'm sure they'll give me a lift."
"Those aren't the police."
The shooting downstairs suddenly stopped, and a masculine voice bellowed, "Where's the woman?"
Cecilia hobbled (her ankles were very stiff) to the edge of the walk and snatched up her purse. "Pardon me if I seem reluctant, but the last time I met you, you bashed me over the head. I think I'll take the police, thanks."
Footsteps were pounding up the metal steps.
"I'm afraid you don't have that choice," he growled, and the next moment his iron arm had wrapped around her waist and they were shooting through the air.
They came to a stop dangling beneath a metal support beam only three feet below the roof. His arm pressed cruelly against her bruised ribs, and Cecilia felt herself growing dizzy from pain and lack of air. Her purse slipped from her fingers. Below them, a surprised shout rang out. "She's gone!"
More shouting ensued, but Cecilia didn't pay attention to it because at that moment, the Batman hit some sort of release on his gun while simultaneously kicking the beam above them. They swung toward the wall in an inverted arc that landed them precisely in front of a small, open window. Batman hooked the edge with his foot, then shoved her onto the sill. "Stay quiet," he hissed, before shoving himself off.
Peering down, Cecilia could make out several figures swarming across the catwalk, including one whose brilliant hair identified him as the Joker. He looks awfully free for someone who just got busted by the police.
She was still squinting down when the back shadow fell like a guided missile. The shouting was replaced with screams as a whirling blackness seemed to be three places at once, even from her aerial view. There was an explosion, a billowing cloud of smoke, and something whizzed past her head and clattered against the beam above her. Next moment, the Bat was sailing up out of the smoke. There wasn't room for both of them on the sill, but he took care of the problem by gripping her forearm and shoving her out ahead of him. He teetered momentarily, then maneuvered his gun arm out of the window, and they were jerked toward the roof.
The snow on the flat roof had been blown into icy, crusted drifts. Batman let go of her and she fell to her hands and knees, elbow deep in snow. "You may have just dislocated my shoulder."
"Stop exaggerating," he grunted. "And stay here," he added before disappearing back over the edge.
"I pity your mother," she muttered, painfully pushing herself up. The wind, naturally, was sharp and icy. She shivered and buttoned up her coat, then hiked up her skirt and moved the gun to her coat pocket. "Now, how do I get off this roof?"
To her delight, five minutes of stumbling around the perimeter of the roof revealed some sort of emergency access ladder at the back of the warehouse that led all the way to the ground. It was ice coated, and she nearly fell several times on the way down. Finally at the bottom, she repressed the desire to kiss the ground in gratitude and cautiously headed away from the building. The streets appeared empty, but she was two blocks away before she allowed herself to relax a little and not cling quite so tightly to the shadows.
She passed a lone figure slumped in a doorway, strung out on whatever garbage he could get his hands on in drug-deprived Gotham, the only other person stupid enough to be out on a night like this. As she passed, he gave a shrieking squeal of terror and shrank back. She wondered what exactly about her unthreatening self had frightened him, but when she was grabbed from behind and thrust into an alley, she decided she hadn't been the inspiration for his hallucination.
"I thought I told you to stay put."
Both hands shoved deep in her pockets, the left curled around the butt of her gun, she glared up at the mask. "Right. I'm going to sit in a snow drift on the roof because some megalomaniac in a cape tells me to."
"If you have any desire to make it home unharmed, you will do exactly as I tell you. I may not always feel so inclined to come to the rescue."
"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," muttered Cecilia.
"And when I suggested you might not make it home unharmed, I wasn't thinking only of the bad guys."
"You're threatening me? How reassuring."
He simply towered over her in menacing silence, and she found that a staring contest with a couple of gleaming eyeholes was unbelievably unnerving. Cecilia shrugged in defeat. "Lead on, O winged one."
They ran for what felt like forever through a maze of back streets and alleys, she always half a step behind, his grip on her wrist painfully hard. As they ran, she began to catch glimpses of shadowy movement; apparently, the winter night streets weren't as deserted as she had thought.
At last they swung into an alley that led nowhere. Cecilia collapsed against the dingy concrete wall, gasping, as the Batman unhooked his grappling gun and pointed it upward. There was an empty click. He flipped the instrument over in his hand, a rueful tinge to his shadowed mouth.
Cecilia pushed herself upright. "What's wrong?"
He shoved the gun back in his belt. "Out of gas."
"Well, isn't that too bad?" a voice sneered behind them.
Cecilia jerked around and found that the open end of the alley had filled with a dozen young men in black jackets and shaved heads. The one who had spoken stepped forward. "Hello, Batman."
From his accent and the shape of his features, Cecilia thought that he was probably Vietnamese.
The Batman stepped in front of her. "What do you want?"
"You've been walking all over this city like you own it, Batman. But you're on Tiger Eye turf now, and you forgot to pay for your club membership."
As he spoke, he and Batman had been slowly approaching each other. Cecilia was never quite certain who moved first, but suddenly the entire alley erupted in a whirlwind of shouts, fists, and switchblades. She could see nothing clearly, but the walls rang with cries and thuds and the occasional bone-chilling snap. She set her back firmly against the wall and pulled her gun out of her pocket.
A minute later, the noise abruptly ceased. The Batman stood upright amid half a dozen moaning figures. The rest had escaped out the mouth of the alley. Batman bent and hauled the leader to his feet. "If you had any sense, kid, you'd find a new club."
One of the figures behind them stirred. The silhouette of a hand and gun slowly rose. When the shot rang out, Batman swung around, throwing the gang leader against the wall. The Dark Knight stared for a moment at the bleeding figure on the ground, then looked at Cecilia, whose arms were still extended rigidly before her.
She sighed and dropped the Beretta to her side. "Excuse my interference, but I'm not certain how bulletproof you are."
"Anything but a straight shot." He dropped to his knees beside her victim.
She approached slowly. "Is he dead?"
"No. Hit high on the right shoulder."
She brushed a shaking hand across her eyes. "Thank God."
He examined her for a silent moment before rising his feet. "Where did you get the gun?"
"It's mine," she answered, dropping the weapon back into her pocket. "Legal and licensed, don't worry."
"Why didn't they take it from you?"
"They never searched me. I…" She broke off and shrugged. During her first few minutes at the warehouse, she had thought that she had detected a certain consternation, as if she were not quite what they had expected.
The Batman stepped aside and muttered into his wrist. Cecilia supposed he had some sort of communicator. A moment later, he turned back to her and held out an imperious hand. "Come on."
"What about…" She gestured to the prostrate gang members, some of whom were beginning to stir and moan.
"The police are on their way."
"Excellent. I think I'll wait here for them."
"They'll have enough to deal with without you," he snapped, and seized her wrist.
"The fun just never stops," she gasped, breaking into a sprint to keep her arm from being wrenched out of its socket.
- - - - - -
Alfred set two cups of steaming coffee on the kitchen table. Personally, he would have preferred tea, but he wasn't convinced that all of the champagne had gone on Audrey Williams' outside. She might need something to help her focus.
"How can I help you, Miss Williams?"
The girl's tone was tense. "I need some advice, and I…I didn't know where else to come."
Alfred felt a surge of pity. What sort of life did the girl lead that she had to come to a relative stranger for help?
"I will do my best, Miss Williams."
She wrapped her hands around her coffee mug and said without preamble, "My father has been kidnapped."
Alfred frowned in alarm. "When?"
"Nearly a week ago. There was an attack, a car bombing. His chauffeur was killed. The next morning he left for work and disappeared. That evening we…my mother and I…got a phone call. The man said that if we didn't do exactly what he said, he'd kill daddy." Her voice broke on the last word, and she paused to regain control. "He said that we had to make it took like da… my father had gone overseas on a business trip and that we weren't to call the police or tell anyone."
"Was there no ransom demand?"
She shook her head.
"And has the kidnaper contacted you since then?"
She shook her head again. "I…I couldn't take it anymore. I tried to jump into the harbor. I guess you saw it in the paper." She bent her head, ashamed.
"Yes," he said gently.
"And then the Batman was there." She met his eyes wonderingly. "It was like a sign – a miracle. And I thought that maybe there was something I could do to help my father." She closed her eyes and slumped in her chair. "I wish I could find him…Batman. I think he would help me."
"Miss Williams, you need to call the police."
Her eyes flew open, and she sat up in alarm. "But he said he'd kill my father!"
"By following his orders you play right into his hands. It may be that the police already have some clue that could lead us to Mr. Williams."
Her face was filled with anguished doubt.
Alfred reached over and gently touched her small, cold hand. "Miss Williams, you have trusted me enough to tell me your story. Will you not trust me enough to take my advice?"
Her hand clenched beneath his. She nodded.
Alfred crossed to the counter and picked up the phone. "Good evening, is Lieutenant Gordon at home? This is Alfred Pennyworth at Wayne Manor. I'm afraid it's urgent."
- - - - - -
When they finally reached the nondescript, black car, Cecilia was ready to weep with relief. Her legs were trembling, and every ragged breath of freezing air was like a burning knife through her chest. Not to mention that her shoes, although thankfully flat, were not made for running.
She shut her door and automatically fastened her seatbelt. The Batman slipped in through the driver's door, and his looming presence seemed to take up more than his fair share of the front seat. Cecilia shrank back against her door and tried to quiet her breathing.
"What did the Joker want with you?"
She shivered. "Could you at least turn on the heat?"
Somewhat to her surprise, he started the engine and flipped the appropriate switch on the dashboard. "What did he want?" the Batman repeated as he drove slowly down the street.
She gratefully held her hands in front of a vent. "To kill me, or so he said."
"If that was all he wanted, he would have done it long before I got there."
She dropped her hands to her lap and noticed that breathing wasn't quite as painful as it had been. "I'm not so certain. The man is a consummate sadist. But he also wanted information."
"What about?"
She hesitated, aware that he was getting everything his own way, but she was too weary to think up a clever evasion. "My work." He had saved her life. "I'm investigating Bruce Wayne. But I'm sure you already know that."
"Did he ask about the boy?"
"Yes."
Was it her imagination or did the black-gloved hands tighten on the wheel?
"What did you tell him?"
"About Richard? Nothing. I did offer a few opinions on the Joker's qualifications as a villain." She smiled faintly. "I think I made him lose his temper."
"You're good at that."
She lifted her eyebrows in faint surprise. "That's a personal remark, considering the brevity of our acquaintance."
"It's not exactly a hidden talent."
"At least I make an impression."
He suddenly slammed on the breaks. "This is your stop."
Cecilia looked out at the deserted but well-lit street. "Where are we?"
"A block from Park Avenue. You do know how to take a taxi?"
She released her seatbelt. "Can you lend me twenty bucks?" He gave her another one of those inscrutable stares. She shrugged. "I lost my purse."
"Open the glove compartment."
She did, and a stack of bills as thick as a Harlequin novel tumbled into her lap. "So this is where you keep the spare change." She pinched the alligator clip and freed a twenty. "Thanks for the lift."
As soon as she shut the door behind her, the car sped away down the street. Cecilia watched it until it disappeared, shrugged, shivered, and went in pursuit of a taxi.
To Be Continued…
A/N Responses to reviews for the last chapter can be found by clicking on my bio and going to my homepage.