To Play the Fool

Chapter Thirty-Seven

"Hi Ms. Harkness, my name is Vicki Vale. I'm with the Gotham City Chronicle."

I flipped over a stack of the city library's newspapers. "Uh huh."

"I was wondering if we could sit down for an interview. I wanted to ask you about your experiences with Tex and Batman."

These papers were from three and a half years ago, completely disorganized, and I had finally found the month that I wanted: the period right during the Joker attacks. In particular, I had just stumbled upon the Gotham City Chronicle, or the Chrony as several people had informed me it was informally called. I wasn't interested in the content as much as I was the names.

"Ms. Harkness?"

I shifted a fraction of my attention back to my phone call. "Sorry. You caught me in the middle of a research project."

"Should I call back later?"

"Eh, no. I only picked up the phone on accident. You're unlikely to even reach me later."

"Could we set up a time for me to come over?"

Time? I barely had time to fit in my extracurricular research what with my overtime at Wayne Enterprises and studying for class. "I'm not really interested in doing an interview at this time. Goodbye Ms. Vale." I hung up on her, just as I had all the other enterprising journalists that wanted a stab at my angle on everything happening in Gotham.

Most of what the papers printed, I already knew or had gleaned from the internet. However, since most of the information I wanted was not found in the free part of the online archives, I had to go find the papers themselves. I also had a hunch that there may be a few controversial articles that were taken off the online versions of the newspapers. So, I dug through the newsprint.

These articles had the same re-used quotes from the authorities, the same evidence, the same witnesses, all of them re-packaged and re-worded day after day, year after year. The Joker was a terrorist, the Joker was caught by the SWAT team, the Batman killed some cops, and Harvey Dent was murdered by the Dark Knight. One straightforward story with no confusion, like it had been fed to the media and then never questioned. Not once did these journalists question the information they were handed, nor was there any attempt to remain unbiased. I spotted several unattributed quotes (clearly from the police) attempting to sway public opinion against Batman. They did a spectacular job.

Except one article stood out to me. By all intents and purposes, it shouldn't have. It was a small, hidden in the back of the local section a month after Dent's death. Entitled, "Did Batman Do It?" it re-examined every bit of evidence the police had presented and found it lacking. In fact, it made the claim that maybe Batman wasn't to blame. The next day, the editor printed a redaction notice and an apology for the nature of the article. Finally, an journalist doing their job, by the name of … Victoria Vale.

I grumbled as I found her number and called her back.

"Vicki Vale speaking."

"Ms. Vale, this is Jenny Harkness. It appears that I was premature in rejecting your interview."

I heard some papers shuffling as she sat up in surprise. "So you'll do it? When can I meet with you?"

"As soon as possible. However, I have two conditions. One, we don't talk about Mr. Wayne." I really didn't feel like being part of a society story.

"Done." She didn't want to write one.

"Second, I have some questions of my own about an article you wrote a little over three years ago. One that may have gotten you in trouble."

"The Batman one?" She sounded confused at my request.

"That's the one. I assume you kept your notes. I'm at the city library right now, so could I just meet you at your office?"

"Sure. That would be perfect."

I put away the stacks of newspapers and left the library a messier place than when I found it. Ten minutes later, I crossed a fairly deserted main street and passed through the glass doors of a tan brick and mortar building still standing from the forties. From the looks of the exterior, the last time there was any repair work done, it was in the eighties. Maybe. The receptionist sitting at a nearly antique oak desk was trying to answer three phone lines at once and keep everyone going to their proper place. "Excuse me?"

"One minute please," he automatically replied. Well okay. I gave him some time as he sorted out his tangled mess of phones. Eventually the ringing gave him a break. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Victoria Vale's office."

"Fourth floor, room 4012."

I took a cramped and creaking elevator up to a news floor practically screaming with the sounds of stories being made and confirmed; editors shouting at their reporters, designers discussing inches of ad space, two people having an argument over grammar. There were rows of computers filling the hall with printers at each end. Paper and toner were all over the place, with red pens coming down on them furiously, driven by copy staff on deadline. I spotted a few liquor bottles not very carefully hidden behind monitors and in briefcases. Definitely the copy room.

The hall to my left took me away from the action. I stepped out of the way of a few reporters rushing to catch interviews at a couple different crime scenes while they were getting what information they could on their cell phones. 4012. I knocked twice on the open door. Vale, who was on her phone at her desk, waved me in. Compared to the rest of the Chronicle's offices, her room was immaculate despite the piles of binders in the bookshelves around the tiny room. I sat down in the little wooden chair that had a broken top bar while she finished her call.

"Is Pamela Isley considered dangerous?" she typed up her interviewee's response on her severely outdated desktop computer with her office phone held to her ear by her shoulder. "What about the rest of the Leaves of Three? Any leads on them?"

Vickie Vale was no nonsense. She wore the type of office-wear I wish I could - athletic flats, jeans, sweater – and had her dark blonde hair in a high ponytail. Her hands showed several pen lines from taking notes and missing the paper. A few of the notes ended up on her wrist. Behind her on the wall, were her credentials and a few framed awards, most notably a Neiman Fellowship in 2010, a National Journalism Award and a Joe Petrosino Prize, both for Investigative Reporting in 2012.

"I'm sorry that took so long," she said, setting the phone down in its cradle. "How are you doing, Jenny?"

"Just fine. This story you're working on, is it about the Mad Hatter or my sister?"

"Both, but it's more about you."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm news?"

"You've been involved with every major crime in Gotham in the past four months. That's either an amazing coincidence – "

"Or I need a new sister."

"She gets you into that much trouble, does she?"

"Jackie has never asked me to get involved with anything. If I can help her, I do, but she would prefer if I stayed as far away from Batman as possible."

"I see." She took a voice recorder out of her desk drawer, turned it on, and set it on top of a stack of papers. "Why don't we start from the beginning?"

"The Penguin?"

"I'm thinking more along the lines of 2012, when Jackie first went missing."

Thirty-Six Chapters of Exposition later ...

Three and a half years, and I had managed to stay out of the news media's clutches. Until now, when I was willing to sell my soul for a few sources that might not pan out. It took Ms. Vale a little over an hour to pull my entire life's story out of me, and that is no easy task especially when there is so much I can't talk about because of the court cases still open.

"What do you think of Batman?"

That question caught me unaware. "In general?"

"In person. How does he strike you?"

"He's … big. Larger than life. I can see how he's imposing to most people, but I wasn't scared of him. Maybe I'm just arrogant, but I'm pretty sure I can ruin him before he can hurt me. If it ever came to that. I've always had this feeling that he wants to protect me. To protect all of us. That's why I can't understand why he murdered Harvey Dent and all those cops and mobsters."

Ms. Vale pursed her lips for a moment, then turned off the recorder. "Do you think he actually did it?"

"Batman doesn't use guns. But everyone he killed was shot except for Harvey. I don't have enough proof that he did it apart from a confession from Commissioner Gordon. But I also have no idea who else could have done it."

"I think I can help you with the first part." She scoped out the hallway for a moment before unlocking one of her desk's bottom drawers. Then, from a hidden bottom, she pulled out three DVDs in white envelopes. "You can't tell anyone I have these. This is interrogation footage of the Joker, conspicuously missing the sound; this one is the surviving security footage from Gotham General Hospital; and this is data from when SWAT was attacked by Batman and captured the Joker."

I took them from her hand and slipped them into my purse. "Let me guess. You 'borrowed' them from the Police Department and forgot to give them back."

"Actually, I made copies. And I keep having to make more copies and keep them in fireproof safes because Batman keeps stealing them."

Why does that ring a bell? Makes sense that he has no concept of personal space. "How do you know it was him?"

"Because we had a chat and he told me to quit sticking my nose where it didn't belong. He rescued me from a mugging a couple months after Dent was killed. Then he told me that I should quit digging for something that wasn't there. Now, I don't know about you, but when Batman tells you that there's nothing to find, you know that there's gotta be something there. I kept digging, and I noticed my notes kept getting 'misplaced.'"

"Did you find something, though?"

"Sort of. I did some math, and something didn't add up. Commissioner Gordon took charge of the SWAT team going in to rescue the hostages from the hospital, but he left suddenly, and Lieutenant Chang took over. Soon afterward, Gordon called in the police again to 250 52nd street because his family was being held hostage. He never said who was involved. This was before Batman had taken care of the Joker. There's no way Batman could have kidnapped Commissioner Gordon's family."

"Then what was Harvey Dent doing there?"

"Exactly my question. Furthermore, the gun that killed Batman's other victims was found with Dent's body, but with no prints."

"But Dent wasn't shot. He fell off the building."

"Or he was pushed." Vicki stole another glance towards the hallway, but found no listening ears. "I don't think Batman killed anyone. All of the cops that were killed had ties to Sal Maroni and the mob."

"The police said Batman killed them because they were dirty," I argued, playing Devil's Advocate.

"Think about it, though. Gordon was just barely starting to clean up his crew. The image of the police force is changing to something better, something Gotham can be proud of, and he finds he has dirty cops. How is the Dent Act supposed to get passed if the GCPD can't even keep their crew free from organized crime? So, the GCPD gets rid of the evidence, and Dent catches them. Dent has to be killed quickly. They probably tried to make it look like a suicide, killing him in the same place his girlfriend was murdered. But then Batman got involved and they had to have a fall-guy."

"I don't know," I interrupted. "A convoluted conspiracy theory over a masked vigilante that routinely beats criminals to a bloody pulp who lost control? That's a little too much to swallow. Besides, why would Batman keep insisting he killed them? I think it's slightly more simple than that." I stood up and shook her hand. "Thank you for the information. I'll see if there are more alibis for Batman and get back to you with what I find."

She gave me a smile in return. "It was good to meet you, Jenny. Good luck."

When I opened the door to Imogen's apartment, a giant black wasp flew right at my face, forcing me to duck. The thing darted away from my face and buzzed back around the living room into Jackie's hands. "Oops. Sorry."

"Is that ..." I grabbed the machine out of her hands. It somewhat resembled a wasp from its shape, with a small cockpit and a bigger rear engine that had a jet engine forming its stinger. The wings were small outer rockets that helped to stabilize the whole thing. The whole thing was no bigger than a small cat. "This is Bruce's VTOL aircraft."

She gave me a grin that begged me to forgive her. "I may or may not have taken an accidental peek through your bag the last time you were at the restaurant with Mr. Wayne. And then improved on the design."

"Define accidental." The wasp lifted out of my hands and flew around my head a couple times. I batted it away. "Quit it."

"I'm not controlling it." She grabbed it out of the air. "I put my left hand's AI in it. Didn't want to build a remote control."

"Did you build this from scrap metal?"

"Completely." She nodded resolutely.

"How many times did you break into Wayne Enterprises?"

"Just the once, and it was before he bailed me out, so I feel kind of bad about it now." She switched the wasp off and the room instantly felt noisier. Somehow, her little machine was dampening all sound around it. "I just needed to borrow a teeny tiny bit of uranium."

"You put a nuclear reactor in that thing?"

"Oh, please." She looked disgusted for a moment. "I made a tokamak."

"I'm not entirely sure how that works as you don't need uranium to make a tokamak, but you are giving that back to Bruce before you can be charged for copyright infringement or corporate espionage. Excuse me." I brushed past her and went to my room.

As soon as I opened the door, I saw the floor. Which should not have been possible because I left my entire room wallpapered and carpeted with my research and notes. My room wasn't just tidy. It was perfectly free of papers of all kinds except for one. Next to my window – my open window – was a short note pinned to the wall by a batarang. I tore it off.

Jenny,
This investigation needs to stop before things get ugly. I am a murderer. Leave it at that.
-B.

"Jackie!" I roared. "Get Batman on the line right now!"

She raced into my room only to be taken aback by how clean it was. "Whoa. Did Mrs. Hudson stop by?"

"Tell him if he doesn't bring me back my research by the end of the day, I will strangle him in his sleep."

"What's the point? Don't you have it all memorized anyway?"

I punched her in the arm. "It's the principle of the matter. Call him!"

"It doesn't work like that. If either of us try to contact each other, the police will take Batman in. Well, they'll try. They're not very good at it."

"Do I look like I care?" I snapped.

"Jackie, Jenny!" Imogen called before poked her head through my door. "Quit yelling. The neighbors are complaining. Also, you need to see this right now."

She took us back to the living room where a special news bulletin was playing on TV. The broadcast showed a giant red nuclear symbol behind its anchor along with two scrolling bars of text on the top and bottom of the screen, filling us in on the details. They informed us that the police wanted everyone to remain indoors for at least the next twenty-four hours.

"Energy Solutions Co. has reported the theft of at least six tons of radioactive waste that were en route to a disposal site in Montana," said anchorman Steve Richards. "Environmental terrorist group Leaves of Three, led by Gotham native Pamela Isley, has claimed responsibility for the theft. Going by codename Poison Ivy, Isley released this message to Channel Five News."

The station put up a copy of Poison Ivy's letter. Her script was neat and precise, and it even had a letterhead decorated with her initials surrounded by ivy. "Gotham City," Richards read from the letter, "your time of decadence and destruction has come to an end. The toll you take on the ecosystem is far too much for it to bear. Better to let one city burn than let the rest of the planet follow suit. The Leaves of Three have constructed six dirty bombs and placed them around Gotham at the worst offenders. This is Gotham's last warning to change their ways."

"Looks like I won't be back for a couple days," Jackie muttered.

"The police are treating this as a terrorist threat," Richards continued. "All citizens are advised to remain indoors until the radioactive waste can be found."

"And cue running for the streets," Imogen finished for the anchorman as she turned off the TV. "No one's going to stay put. The National Guard should be evacuating the city."

"Might spook the terrorists and they set off the bombs," Jackie said, frowning. "If there is a blast, it's best to be inside. Preferably in a basement."

"I'll do you one better," I said. "Imogen, would you like to go visit my boyfriend?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea. I would prefer it if you stayed put."

"I want to get as far away from the city as I can," Imogen said.

"I'm with her," I agreed. "Bruce's mansion is probably the safest place we could be." Besides, I need to see if he has a safe that Batman can't crack. Hopefully my DVDs would be safe there.

Jackie shook her head, but she wasn't going to argue with us. "Then call me when you get there. And maybe also a couple times along the way." Her hands were twisting themselves into knots.

"Something bothering you?"

"How do you make a dirty bomb?"

I shrugged. "Bit of radioactive material, a bit of explosives, and kaboom. You've got a bomb that can scare people, but doesn't actually cause long-term damage. It's more of a disruption, really, because people think of it as a mini-nuclear explosive and panic, and if it actually does go off, it has to get cleaned up."

"Then why are we running?" Imogen asked.

"Like I said: people panic. I don't feel like sticking around for a repeat of the Riddler's Blackout."

"So no chemicals required?" Jackie continued.

"Not really. Why?"

"The Leaves of Three have been stealing various chemicals for weeks. I thought they might pull some sort of big move like this, but that it would be a chemical attack. Now they just pull a dirty bomb out of nowhere? I don't like it."

"Talk to Batman. I'm not the weapons expert. Imogen, let's get going."

Jackie armored up in record time. I had barely finished up a short phone call to Alfred asking permission to come over, when she gave me a hug goodbye. She squeezed hard and held onto me for a long time. "I love you Jenny."

"No one's going to kill us. We'll be fine," I said. "Promise not to get shot?"

It took her a moment to answer. "I'll do my best."

Jackie put on her helmet and climbed out the window, and Imogen and I got in her car and left her apartment behind.