A/N One week, to the day! This, at least, is one summer resolution that's off to a good start. (Ok, ok, so I procrastinated until 11 o'clock last night.)
Congratulations to graymouse, Starpossum, Kykimolyr, ladidah, Simply Myself, and especially Gewher (who got it first), for correctly identifying Dick's magic words as Raven's mantra from Teen Titans. (For those of you who don't know, Teen Titans is a cartoon about a group of teenaged super heroes led by…you guessed it…Robin.) As your prize, each of you appears, in one form or another, in this chapter. Also, congratulations to Estel Kenobi, who answer, I unfortunately did not receive in time to write her into the chapter.
Disclaimer I don't think I want to take responsibility for this chapter, which did not turn out the way I had envisioned it. It, along with all other things Batman, belongs to DC Comics.
Acknowledgment B.C., by Johnny Hart
Chapter 25
"Big money! Big money!"
- Wheel of Fortune contestant mantra
"You're probably wondering why I've called you all here." Gatsby folded his hands on top of his desk and smiled at his own humor.
There were no answering smiles from across the desk. Morales maintained his usual hauteur, using his position on the far left to observe the men sitting on both sides of the desk. Next to him, Earle shifted uncomfortably, sullen-faced. Henry Judas, looking as if he would like to be anywhere but here, huddled in his chair, his eyes flickering nervously from Gatsby to the man on the far right of the row. As he examined this last man, Gatsby's smile deepened. The Joker grimaced back, exaggerating the unnatural curve of his mouth.
"We are here, first of all, to honor our fallen comrade, Andrew Williams. You all know now that his body has been identified by the police. Andy was an integral part of this operation, and no one regrets more than I do that it became necessary for him to leave us."
They all heard what he left unspoken. Make certain it does not become necessary for you to leave us.
"Secondly," Gatsby continued, "I wanted to make certain that everyone has a precise understanding of the situation. We are gathered here to acknowledge each other as we have never before done, because if we hang, we will certainly all hang together." He paused, in case someone felt cocky enough to respond. No one did. "Then let's move on. Tonight, there are to be no mistakes."
- - - - - -
Bruce stopped next to yet another sculpture of a swan. Although the ice art competition had occasionally been in danger of becoming a little drippy beneath the pale winter sunshine, the sculptures faced no such hazard this year. With wind chill at four degrees Fahrenheit, and a thickly overcast sky, winter fair attendees were in danger of becoming frozen figures themselves. Bruce, despite his layers, shivered, and glanced in amazement at Dick, who was trying to bend his neck at the same incredible angle in which the swan's was posed and was apparently completely impervious to the cold. In Bruce's opinion, the only good thing about the situation was that Somerville was more miserable than he was. Bundled so thickly she could barely move, the social worker had wordlessly trudged after them for the past two hours, supposedly observing them, although Bruce wondered how she could observe anything through the narrow eye slit between her scarf and her hat.
Dick, tired of trying to imitate the swan and frankly bored with the whole exhibit, looked up at Bruce. "Can we go?"
Bruce glanced at his watch. "Yeah, we'd better. Only fifteen minutes until they start drawing for the raffle prizes."
They made their way against the wind toward the giant show building that dominated the center of the state fairgrounds. Inside, it was crowded but wonderfully warm. Dick immediately started to unwind his scarf and unzip his coat. Somerville left her attire as it was. Bruce did too, more to keep from being recognized than because he was still cold. The carnival was basically one big fundraiser, and he didn't have time to get nabbed by a million good causes before he was due in the arena.
Unfortunately, Dick had already wandered over to one of the tables that lined the entryway and was staring at a large sign that read "Possums Are More Than Road Kill."
The woman behind the table smiled at Dick, but pitched her voice to carry to Bruce. "Did you know that this state's possum population is in grave danger of being eliminated, thanks to the massive amounts of air and water pollution released by Gotham? Not to mention that this state ranks first in the nation for reckless driving, and…"
"Do you take cash?" Bruce interrupted, deciding it was the fastest way out.
The woman blinked. "Yes, of course," she said a little dazedly. Apparently, the possums didn't usually inspire such hasty generosity. Bruce hauled out his wallet and handed over a couple of bills. The woman smiled hugely and produced a vaguely possum-like stuffed animal which she handed to Dick. Attached to its ear was a star shaped tag that read, Star Possum Protector.
"Thank you, sir, thank you very much!" she called after them, as Bruce took a firm grip on Dick's hand and hurried through the crowd. They made it to the arena without further incident and went in through the VIP entrance.
"Ah, Mr. Wayne, there you are!" A relieved woman in a gray suit bustled up to them. "We've reserved seats for you just over there. When it's time for the drawing, we'll announce you, and you just go up. Not too complicated. And Mr. Wayne, let's keep things simple and moving fast." She hurried away before Bruce had a chance to respond.
"Olivia Fairfax," he offered to Somerville as they headed toward their front row seats. "She's the chairwoman of the fundraising committee for the children's hospital. Good friend of Alfred's."
They were seated in the very front row of the bleachers, along with a number of distinguished looking people in business attire. Bruce wondered if he was supposed to have dressed up, but supposed Alfred would have seen to it that he would have if he needed to.
They had just gotten settled with Dick between Bruce and Somerville, when a screeching peal of laughter came from behind them, and two clowns capered down the stairs. One had on the traditional fluorescent wig, heavy makeup, and baggy suit with pompom buttons. The other had on a full body costume of a gray mouse, and over that had put brightly striped pants with suspenders. The mouse carried a balloon pump, and every few steps she would pause and blow up a balloon which she handed to her buddy to tie and twist into an animal shape. All the way down the steps, little kids could be seen waving dogs, giraffes, parrots, and other inflatable wildlife.
The moment the clowns came into view, Bruce felt his ward shrink against him. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder, trying to convey encouragement. Dick was hiding his expression by staring at the floor, but when two gigantic pink tennis shoes appeared in his line of vision, he jumped beneath Bruce's hand.
"A leetle doggy for the leetle boy, yes?" the clown asked in a very fake Italian accent, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Peepasqueak! A balloon!" The mouse immediately capped the pump with a blue rubber tube and began pumping frantically. Less than a minute full of balloon squeaks later, a bright blue Wiener dog had morphed in the clown's hands. He extended it toward Dick, who remained motionless. "Don't worry, he doesn't a-bite," he said, then glanced questioningly at Bruce.
Bruce shrugged slightly and kept his eyes on his ward, who sat rigidly on the bench. Finally, he stretched out a hand and caught the dog by the end farthest from the clown's fingers.
"That's-a good-a dog for a good-a boy," the clown said approvingly before moving on.
Dick sat very still, holding his balloon with the tips of his fingers. At last he peeked up at Bruce, his face white.
Bruce smiled slightly. "Good job," he mouthed.
Dick sat up straighter and took a firmer hold on his balloon.
"And now," a voice boomed over the loudspeaker, "the moment you've all been looking forward to. We are about to draw the winning numbers for the Snowy Spectacular Sweepstakes, all proceeds of which go to support Gotham's own children's hospital. And helping us to find the lucky winners tonight is Mr. Bruce Wayne. Give it up for Bruce, folks!"
The arena filled with applause, cheers, and a few catcalls as Bruce jogged to the center of the ring. He smiled and waved, as an assistant pinned a lapel mike onto his coat.
The voice continued, "And helping Bruce give away our great prizes, the hottest model in America, who is proud to call Gotham her hometown, Miss Kykimolyr Kannakiri!"
The audience again erupted with cheers and whistles as the supermodel, sporting the sequined latest in high fashion winter wear, joined Bruce in the middle of the ring. He helped her pin on her mike, smiling with lazy charm. "Awfully nice of you to join me, Kyki…Ky…Can I call you Kim?"
She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "You can call me anything you want to, Bruce."
More whistling from the audience.
They gave away computers, flat screen TVs, $500 gift certificates to Gladelands, a year's worth of frozen pizzas, and cruise tickets. Finally Olivia Fairfax announced, "And, the moment you've really all been waiting for, the drawing for our grand prize. Bruce, if you would?"
Bruce plunged his arm into the gigantic Santa hat and made a big show of rummaging around in the tickets while Kim slipped to the back of the arena. At last he grasped a piece of cardboard and held it up. "Number 6027!"
A piercing scream erupted from the top row of bleachers, and it continued as a girl, waving a ticket over head, raced down the steps. The shrill shrieking stopped only when, completely out of breath, she skidded to a stop in front of Bruce.
He double checked the number on her ticket. "Number 6027, congratulations!" The girl pressed her hands over her mouth to repress a squeal. "What's your name?"
She lowered her hands. "Gewher."
Not certain he'd heard right, Bruce decided against trying to repeat it. "And you know what you've won?"
"I WON THE CAR!" she screeched and threw her arms around his neck.
"Yes," he gasped, patting her on the back, "you certainly did. And look!" He removed himself from her stranglehold and pointed to where Kim was driving a deep red Corvette into the arena. "There it is!" Gewher shrieked and took off running. Bruce slipped over to his seat. "Let's get out of here."
Somerville helped Dick pick up the various pieces of his winter gear that lay strewn on and under the seats, and then they made a beeline for the exit. They were almost out of the building when a most unwelcome voice accosted them.
"Have your holiday spirits improved, Mr. Wayne?" The reporter from the mall planted herself firmly in their path.
Bruce didn't even bother trying to be courteous. "Excuse us," he muttered, and shoved past.
"Well, la-di-dah," she sneered, hurrying after them. "Too good to talk with the press are we?"
"The press, no. You, yes."
"That wouldn't be because you're in some kind of trouble you wouldn't want me to find out about, would it? Say, a custody battle?"
Don't even think about it, Bruce warned himself as delightful images of the reporter dangling from the high metal beams of the building flashed through his mind. He tightened his hold on Dick's hand and continued to shove toward the exit.
"And who are you?" the reporter demanded behind him.
Bruce came to an abrupt stop. Somerville. The two current least favorite women in his life were standing toe to toe, neither looking ready to budge.
"I," said Somerville deliberately, "am Richard's nanny."
"And do you have any comment on why Mr. Wayne seems so reluctant to give any comment?"
"Yes, of course. Excessive media attention is unhealthy for a child of Richard's age. If you continue in this manner, you will likely find yourself facing charges of harassment. Actually," Somerville paused, looking thoughtful, "there was a similar case in California two years ago. The journalist in question is now serving jail time. Do enjoy the fair." She smiled and swept on. Bruce and Richard hurried after her.
"Bruce, what does la-di-dah mean?" Dick asked breathlessly, as they approached the parking lot.
"It's what you say when you think someone is acting snobbish or fake."
"Oh. Were you being fake?"
"Nope," Bruce responded, clicking open the locks as they approached the car. "In that case, I was being simply myself." And Somerville was being simply hers. I never thought I'd be grateful for that.
To Be Continued…
A/N Somehow, this chapter ended being a lot of filler. I apologize for that. Next chapter, I will not be procrastinating until the last minute. :-) Wait…it's due to my beta tomorrow. Drat.
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