The author acknowledges that names, concepts, and images of
many characters that may be used here and ALL related characters
may be owned by other individuals and/or companies and that said
owners retain complete rights to said characters. These concepts
are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong
desire to peer into the potential these characters have in a
combined setting.
This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here
are the intellectual property of the author.
*****************************************************
GOTHAM KNIGHTS
Preparations, Part 3
Written by -- Ali
Email -- SEricAli1@aol.com
Edited by: Jason Tippitt & Tommy Hancock
*****************************************************
INTERLUDE
PIER 47, GOTHAM BAY, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 11, 1938...
He stared at the hand for a long time. It moved slightly,
bobbing as if it had a life of its' own, keeping time to the
rhythm of the ocean waves. He watched it, trying to remember why
this all seemed so familiar but it was already a fading wisp of
memory, no more than a dream that vanishes with first fingertips
of dawn.
He knew there was something odd about the whole situation,
something he couldn't place his finger on exactly, but
instinctively he knew the whole thing wasn't what one would
consider normal. He reflected upon the scene and regarded it as
curious. He stood on the dark sand, heard the roar of the ocean
in his ears and stared into the dark blue expanse around him. As
the man continued to stare at and dwell upon the hand, he finally
realized what was so out of place here. He was not supposed to be
standing here staring at the hand that protruded from the barrel,
after all the hand was his own and by all rights he should be
attached to it by being inside the barrel itself.
He approached the barrel and reached over to remove the lid.
Just as his fingers were about to touch the surface of the wooden
lid he stopped. He had already observed the nailed top of the
barrel and the hard gray substance that could only be quick
setting cement, and he knew the only thing left within would be a
corpse. As Jim Corrigan came to that conclusion, the idea of
standing beneath the waters Gotham Bay made sense.
Like a shot, a memory came to him. A face Corrigan didn't
see, but nonetheless knew all too well appeared in the hazy
landscape of his mind. The flowing brunette hair, the sparkling
brown eyes, the rose petal soft lips all rushed to the fore front
of Jim Corrigan's memory and with sudden abruptness his mind was
clear and he spoke one word:
"Clarice..."
And with that one word came a rush of memory.
Clarice was Corrigan's fiancŽ. Tonight was to be the
official announcement of their engagement and they had chosen to
walk to the country club that Clarice's father had reserved for
the engagement party. Corrigan remembered how the romantic walk
was interrupted by an ambush from four vicious gangsters, the
violent beating that followed rendered him senseless. Corrigan
awoke to find himself face-to-face an old adversary, Gat Benson.
Clarice was tied in a chair opposite his own and her scared
expression brought a wave of fear to Corrigan's own heart, he'd
always managed to keep his life as a cop away from the life he and
Clarice shared, he sure as hell didn't want her to fall victim to
a revenge plot meant for him alone. Benson paraded around the
room taunting Corrigan, promising a slow torture and bloody end
for the red headed detective. It wasn't until Benson stroked
Clarice's neck and ran his finger from her throat to her cleavage
with a wolfish, lustful grin that Corrigan acted.
Corrigan had been testing the strength of his bonds and
realized that the chair itself was fairly weak. With some effort,
he managed to break free of the rickety, rotting wooden chair;
ropes slid away from his limbs and fell to the floor. Snatching
up part of the chair frame, Corrigan smashed one of Benson's hired
guns savagely across the face. As the man's head snapped around
from the blow, Corrigan felt as if he had exacted some measure of
payment for the beating received earlier. Corrigan whirled about
and landed a solid blow on a second gangster before the man could
draw a bead on him with his pistol. Corrigan felt a wave of
satisfaction pass through him as he heard the howl of pain that
erupted from the man as he fell to the floor. Corrigan's
instincts as a cop and a street fighter saved him from having his
skull smashed in by a flailing blackjack that cruised over his
left ear as he ducked low. While crouched the fearsome detective
snapped off a hearty kick to sappper's groin that yielded another
satisfying yowl of pain for Corrigan's efforts, albeit in a
slightly higher octave than the one the crook normally used.
Corrigan was allowing himself a moment of self
congratulation when he heard the click of a gun breach and found
himself staring into the smug face of Gat Benson. Benson could
afford a certain level of smugness, he held a revolver on Corrigan
and another on the unconscious form of Clarice who had fainted
during the fight and remained helplessly tied to her chair.
"I just wanted you to think you were going to win hard guy."
Benson said with triumphant glee. He pushed back a lock of
Clarice's hair with the tip of the revolver in his left hand. "I
just wanted you to think you had a chance to save this pretty
pigeon before I dust you."
"If you harm her Benson, if you even touch her, I'll get
you." Corrigan hissed through clenched teeth. "Even if I have to
come back from the grave to do it, I WILL get you." Corrigan knew
it was an empty threat, Benson had him dead to rights and there
was no way the cop could cross the distance between them before he
was brought down by the thug's bullets.
Benson knew that Corrigan couldn't make it either, he smiled
calmly at the detective and knelt closer to Clarice, keeping his
gun level on enraged cop's heart. "Sure you will tough guy. But
right now you're too far away to do nothing but watch." Benson
put the second gun on the floor and reached slowly for the
helpless girl's blouse. "And if you stay put Jimmy, I'll show you
how a real man should treat goods like this."
Corrigan didn't even think. Blind rage and frustration had
him leaping across the room uttering a horrible cry. Benson was
unaffected as he smiled and took careful aim. "Fine hard guy, you
die quick instead of slow." Benson snapped off six shots, each
one tearing into Corrigan's chest and stomach. Corrigan fell to
the floor with a wet thud but he wasn't quite dead. Benson knelt
over the dying man's prone form. "How's that feel hard guy? Was
she worth those bullets in your gut? I hope so because I want you
to die knowing that she and I are going to get REAL cozy. I'm
going to do things to her you wouldn't believe Jimmy, and I'm
going to keep on doing them until she gets to like it! Might even
share her with the boys when they come to, after all they should
get a bonus for bringing her to me in the first place. I want
that to be your last thought Jimmy boy, I want you to think of the
most horrible stuff a guy can do to a dame and then multiply that
by five. You won't be able to do a damn thing about it, unless
you really plan to come back from the dead like you promised." he
leaned in even closer to Corrigan's face and hissed, "Whaddya
think about that Jimmy?"
Benson's answer came in the form a heavy sock to the jaw, as
Corrigan's strength finally ebbed.
"Still a hard guy to the end." Benson was almost solemn as
he rubbed his jaw and stood over the cop. "No last words to
remember you by? Nothing else from the soon to be late Jim
Corrigan?"
"Go to hell..." Corrigan spat between ragged gasps.
Benson had taken time to reload his revolver and emptied the
gun into Corrigan's body. The smell of gunpowder hung heavy in
the room and the form stopped moving. "You go first." Benson
sneered.
The next thing Corrigan knew he was standing at the bottom
of Gotham Bay staring at his own hand protruding from a barrel
full of cement.
"I'm dead?" Corrigan said to no one in particular. A
slender fish swam towards Corrigan as if in response to his query.
It came at him, eye level, swimming along rapidly and totally
oblivious to the detective's presence at all. Corrigan braced
himself, sure that this was all some kind of very odd dream when
the fish - -
The fish swam right through him!
Suddenly a bright column of light and sudden sense of peace
enveloped the still confused detective and everything that
Corrigan had experienced seemed to melt away. When the light
faded, the figure no longer stood before the barrel that slowly
sank into the sandy seabed, he had disappeared completely.
Whatever it was Jim Corrigan had become, he had begun a journey
that would lead him to his destiny.
And the hand continued to float below the waves unnoticed...
*****************************************************
SEVEN: AFTERSHOCKS
ADAMS HEIGHTS, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 19, 1938, DUSK...
She sat there alone in an apartment that was all too quiet
now. Over a week ago Dinah Drake was in this same room, talking
and laughing with her father; not thinking for a moment that it
would be the last time that they would be together. Many of
Richard Drake's friends and colleagues had come to pay their
respects, all of them saying if she needed anything at all to call
upon them.
She needed her father back, and she didn't know anyone who
could deliver that particular wish.
On that first night after her father died, the mysterious
man in the mask and cape paid her a visit and asked her questions
about the phone call that came to her home, what cases her father
had been working on and then he promised to avenge Richard Drake's
death and bring in the people responsible for killing him. At
that time Dinah didn't care. She was numb, still in shock over
her loss gave less than a damn what anyone was promising her.
What the masked man said next caught Dinah completely off
guard.
"I know what it's like to lose somebody that close Miss
Drake. It's half the reason I wear the mask and do what I do.
Don't let anger and memory consume you Miss Drake, mourn your
father and then do your best to honor his memory by living your
life to the fullest."
She was still seeing the man in black through tear-stained
eyes, but she saw something familiar in the earnestness of his
manner. It was something she couldn't quite place, but she took it
as a response to this man's concern for her well being. Dinah
asked, "Why are you telling me all of this?"
Dinah saw the dark figure's shoulders droop a little beneath
his inky cloak and she heard a quiet sigh before he answered. "I
know what it's like to have your life ruled by one thought, one
wish, one need for closure and justice. I don't want you to go
through the darkness that I have in order to know what I've
learned. Life is far more precious than vengeance Miss Drake,
never forget that."
Dinah remembered her father saying the same thing, but for
all of his belief in life and the law, Richard Drake still wound
up dead; killed by some faceless coward who had no regard for the
life that her father or the man in black held so dear. Maybe
vengeance wasn't the best way to bring an end to this pain in her
heart, but right now it was the only demand her heart had left and
she decided that her life could not move on until she satisfied
that demand. If the masked man's presence had done anything for
Dinah, it helped her decide what form her revenge should take.
She fixed the velvety black mask over her eyes and covered
her dark tresses under a blonde wig. She rose from her chair and
walked over to the full length mirror on the closet door. The
woman who looked back at Dinah from the mirror was a stranger who
radiated the proper air of mystery and seduction. She was clothed
in a dark blue bolero jacket, a black silk choker on her neck,
Even without the mask, Dinah doubted that anyone she knew would
realize her true identity on a cursory glance. Staring at the
fish net stockings that sheathed her shapely legs and the belted
blue silk leotard she wore, Dinah was fairly certain little
attention would be given to her face in the first place. Black
leather gloves were pulled over slender hands and short heeled
blue pirate boots completed the outfit.
Dinah Drake smiled proudly at her new alter ego's
reflection. Dinah knew her father would have a fit if he could
see her dressed like this right now. The thought brought back all
of the painful memories of her loss and her face became a mask of
stone cold grimness. "I'll get them Daddy, and I'll make them pay
for what they've done." Dinah headed to the hallway and after
making sure the hall was clear, she made her way to the fire
escape. In the alley below was her father's old motorcycle
gassed, oiled and ready to ride. As she straddled the motorbike,
Dinah Drake wondered if she would cross the path of the mysterious
man in black once more. Would he work with her or against her?
It didn't matter, Dinah thought to herself, she was going to have
her revenge and heaven help the person who got in her way.
Dinah let all of those thoughts go as the motorcycle roared
to life and she took off into the night. Dinah thought back to
the one possible lead she had, the phone call that her father had
gotten. He mentioned a raid on Fat Tony Zucco, so Dinah had one
of two avenues immediately open to her, either the killer who set
up her father was employed by Zucco or he worked for Zucco's chief
rival, Boss Maroni. Dinah decided to gamble on it being Zucco
who was known by the officers serving on the police force for
pulling such antics than the more subtle Maroni. Even armed with
this bit of insight didn't help Dinah too much, she still had to
find some kind of proof, which meant she had to find the bomber.
Thanks to walking the beat with her father over the years,
she already had an idea as to where she should start her search.
****************
The patrons of Murray's Bar and Grill were an unsavory lot.
Many of the underworld's hired guns and established muscle kept
the place profitable by serving as something more than the central
watering hole, but it was also a place prepared for some of the
hazards that came with the clientele. The building had two inch
thick steel covered beneath a sheath of cheap plywood. Though the
windows were barred, there were "safety latches" that flipped free
quickly in case of an unexpected police raid. In the cellar there
was a short hidden passage that allowed a man a quick run to a
nearby utility tunnel. From that tunnel was an access ladder that
ended in a safe house near a generally crowded, busy subway
station. Even if a felon were being chased, he'd find some
measure of safety by quickly losing himself in the crowd. An
overhead skylight had no ladders or easy entry into the bar
without some kind of rope, but if a raiding team came crashing in,
they'd probably be dead by the time they hit the floor with the
amount of heat Murray's customers carried as a general rule.
As such, the men and women who frequented Murray's grew
comfortable with the somewhat elaborate measures. In was a known
fact that the police had yet to stage an effective raid on the
place and capture their intended quarry. So no one was expecting
anything out of the ordinary to happen in this, their safe haven.
The evening was like many others at the popular underworld
hangout, liquor flowed freely and the music was loud and hot. Men
trying to prove that they were bigger and better than the other
men in the room played games of cards or threw darts, some betting
their entire bankrolls at times on the luck of the draw or a roll
of the dice.
Overpainted women with dead eyes danced with half drunk
thugs for a dime and for those with even more lettuce to plant,
the women provided services far more intimate in heavily perfumed,
dimly lit rooms with well oiled bedsprings. Murray himself
watched over the whole scene and calculated his profits for the
evening. Somewhere in the back of his head Murray also subtracted
the protection money he paid out to the Maroni Family and Fat Tony
Zucco's boys and was still left with a pretty tidy sum. Adding
the girls to his operation was really starting to pay off, and
doing his bookkeeping in his head left no paper trail for the cops
or the mobs.
Murray was beginning to show his prosperity in his fancy new
clothes and expensive jewelry. His establishment's quick exits
also elevated his status with his clientele's bosses to such a
degree that they were thinking of bankrolling Murray to set up
places like his bar all over Gotham. Murray knew once he set up
his chain of shops, he could write his own ticket onto the gravy
train. he was a proven commodity to Gotham's underworld and he
was about to reap all of the benefits of what he had sown for the
last fifteen years.
The evening took a sudden and unexpected turn for the worse
when the lights went out. A crash of glass overhead had all eyes
snapping upwards, guns were out and at the ready for whatever
followed. Unfortunately for the triggermen in the crowd the only
thing that followed were six small capsules. Everyone watched as
the capsules hit some of the chips on the poker table that Eel
O'Brien and his boys had been using for their game. A small cough
came from the capsules as they struck the plastic chips and the
room quickly filled with a thick gray smoke.
Shouts of confusion filled the room, several guns fired
blindly into the air and into the crowd. In the darkness and
smoke, fear began to take hold of the assembled criminals and it
squeezed heartily at their collective hearts. The lights suddenly
returned to life and revealed in the center of the room fear
manifested in a physical form. Shrouded in a black cape and cowl
he was an impressive figure. To many in the room he was
considered a myth, some bit of fiction made up to distract the
criminal population of Gotham. To others he had to be something
superhuman to have made such a swift impact on the criminal
classes, still others assumed that there was a small army of men
who wore the same costume and fought the seemingly unceasing
battle against crime. No matter what these hardened thugs
thought, they all knew who stood before them.
"It's the Batman!"
The masked man seemed to move in slow motion through the
crowded room of thugs. In comparison, his opponents were
lightning quick as they reached for their guns, knives and
blackjacks. Bullets flew, knives flashed and blackjacks whistled
through the air, all with the intention of striking down the man
in black, but somehow the Batman managed to avoid every weapon
marshaled against him with almost casual grace. A gloved fist
smashed into one man's face, another man crumpled to the floor
screaming in agony as he clutched a clearly broken wrist that once
held a knife. With a wide sweep of his arm, the Batman let
several black metal bat shaped blades fly. Some of the tiny bats
embedded themselves deep into the shooting arms of some of the
assembled criminals, others lodged themselves into gun barrels or
bit the tops of fleshy hands that held knives, sticks and
blackjacks. Men who were so hardened that they could kill as
easily as cross the street, whimpered like babies in the face of
the silent masked man's attack.
Realizing how unstoppable the cloaked vigilante appeared to
be, many of the criminals quit the field of battle and ran for
doors and windows that lead out of the dive. The fear factor
increased a notch as they realized that the windows and doors were
sealed off everywhere. The door to the cellar, the back door, the
barred windows with the special latches that allowed these felons
to make a quick exit at the first sign of the law; none of them
would yield, none offered a much needed escape from the Batman.
At first, disbelief spread like a cold breeze among the crowd and
then more guns, more knives, and more sweat appeared around the
room as the criminals realized the only way out of their current
predicament was through a force of nature in a flowing black cape.
One huge brute, looking much braver than he felt, shouted
out at the Batman, "Are you nuts? There's no way you can take us
all on now that you're trapped in here with us!" The gathered
crooks began to realize that they had numbers over the Batman, an
advantage that brought new hope to their desperate situation.
Murmurs of agreement began to trickle through the crowd like the
waters of a babbling brook and within moments, the group surged
forward, eager to bring down the Dark Knight.
"Yeah!"
"Get him!"
"He can't stop us all!"
"He's trapped in here with us!"
The four men who were closest to the costumed crimebuster
were tough customers, rough hands and huge muscles used to
snapping bones and busting skulls rushed towards the Batman, ready
to do their worst. The other thugs cheered them on, anticipating
the carnage to come.
The Batman stood at the door, rigid and unmoving. To the
bloodthirsty crowd, it appeared as if he had given up and resigned
himself to his fate. The closest thug, a massive Irishman named
McCormick, leaped with the intention of tackling the vigilante,
all of the crooks who dealt with McCormick knew that once a man
was pinned under the big man, nothing short of an act of God would
move him.
Unfortunately for McCormick, this wasn't any ordinary man.
No one realized the Batman had moved until they heard the
sound of a gloved fist striking flesh and bone and saw McCormick's
body boomerang away from the masked man and slam into two of the
three other men that were also rushing in. The last member of
that first wave that had approached the Batman had the presence of
mind to withdraw back into the safety of the crowd as his fellow
killers fell to the floor in a tangle. Beyond the slight stirring
of his cape, the Batman did not appear to have moved from his
original position.
If this weren't enough to unnerve the roomful of rogues, the
Batman said in a voice as cold as death itself, "I want the people
who killed Richard Drake. I know Zucco's involved, but I want the
man who planted the bomb in Drake's car. I will get my answers
gentlemen, even if I have to put the lot of you in the hospital.
Make it easy on yourselves, give me Zucco's trouble boys and save
yourselves a world of pain."
Indecision jumped from one cruel face to the next as each
person in the room weighed his next move. The Batman decided to
fuel to the flame of fear he was fanning and added, "I would
suggest that someone in here start talking because contrary to
popular belief, YOU are trapped in here with ME." And then the
Batman did something quite unexpected that made the men in the
room realize how true those words were.
He smiled. The Batman smiled as if he were a shark in a
pool of minnows. The Batman smiled as if the fight were already
over. He smiled as if he had already thrown every punch and saw
the end result of every action. The Batman smiled as if he had
fought the battle...
...And he had won it hands down.
Unfortunately for the Dark Knight, he hadn't taken into
account the sudden and somewhat abrupt debut of Dinah Drake's
newly assumed masked persona as she came crashing in through the
skylight overhead.
*****************************************************
INTERLUDE
?????????????
Jim Corrigan stood in the light and waited. He didn't know
how long he had stood there waiting for something to happen, but
he didn't mind much. In his ears he heard the whispers of so many
lost loved ones, his father and mother, his cousin Pete who was
killed in the war a couple of years ago, the numerous brother
officers that he called friend, and people who he knew were
related to his cases over the years as victims or survivors
grateful for his help in bringing those who had wronged them to
justice.
The chorus of voices was unlike anything that Corrigan had
ever heard in his lifetime. There was peace here, a peace he had
desired for so long in his service to justice but never found.
There was always so much more evil than he expected so much more
he felt he could do.
"JAMES CORRIGAN."
The chorus fell silent as the thunderclap that called out
Corrigan's name reverberated across the vast expanse. Corrigan
searched far and wide for a person to go with the voice, but he
stood alone in the light.
"Who's there? Who are you?" Corrigan asked. His own voice
sounded so small and far away in his ears but if this were his
first audience with God he wanted to be sure he had the right guy.
"I AM, JAMES CORRIGAN, THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH." The thunder
replied. "YOU WERE TAKEN FROM LIFE BY VIOLENCE AND EVIL, AND
THOUGH YOU MAY CLAIM ETERNAL REST, I WOULD LIKE TO OFFER YOU AN
ALTERNATIVE."
"An alternative? There's some kind of alternative to the
afterlife?"
"IN YOUR PARTICULAR CASE, JAMES CORRIGAN, YES. YOU HAVE
UNFINISHED BUSINESS, A PROMISE TO KEEP."
"The only promise I made before I was killed was one that
can't be kept." Corrigan answered sorrowfully. "Benson beat me
and put enough lead in me to make sure I wouldn't come back to
bother him." Corrigan sighed, "I failed Clarice and myself,
nothing can change that."
"I CAN CHANGE IT, JAMES CORRIGAN. I CAN GIVE YOU THE CHANCE
TO FULFILL YOUR PROMISE TO AVENGE THE EVIL DONE TO YOU AND TO
PREVENT EVIL FROM OVERWHELMING OTHERS, BUT THERE IS A PRICE."
" You're offering me the chance to save Clarice and get Gat
Benson? I'd go to hell and back if that's what it took."
"YOU MAY HAVE TO DO JUST THAT, JAMES CORRIGAN. I WILL
RETURN YOU TO THE LIVING TO AVENGE YOURSELF AND THE WOMAN YOU LOVE
IF YOU WILL BECOME ONE OF MY AGENTS ON EARTH." came the thundering
reply.
"That sounds too simple, what's the catch?" Corrigan asked
in a wary tone of voice.
"YOU WILL NEVER KNOW THE ETERNAL SLEEP OF DEATH. YOU WILL
BE AN EARTHBOUND SPECTRE; AN UNAGING, UNRELENTING FORCE FOR GOOD."
"And all it costs me is the peace that I've longed for all
of my life." Corrigan stated flatly. "You want me to toss away
paradise to become a ghost detective."
"YOU HAVE A CHOICE, JAMES CORRIGAN."
Corrigan looked down at his ghostly hands and shook his head
slowly, "No, Mister Voice, I don't have a choice in the matter at
all. If it saves Clarice, then I'm in." Corrigan felt himself
being ripped away from the light, he felt himself spiraling back
into the world he once knew.
"And paradise be damned."
With those final words, Corrigan's world suddenly slipped
from the blinding light into obsidian darkness.
*****************************************************
EIGHT: "YOU CAN'T LIVE WITH THEM..."
MURRAY'S BAR & GRILL, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 19, 1938...
"Hell and damnation!",
The Batman hissed the oath quietly through clenched teeth.
The Dark Knight thought he had compensated for every contingency
when he was preparing for his assault on this particular den of
thieves. He had managed to learn enough about the building's
layout to seal off every possible exit using heavy chains and
padlocks to soldering the safety latches on the barred windows so
they offered no hope of escape. All of the Batman's careful
planning, all of the preparation he had put into insuring that
these hardened thugs would be quivering lumps of jelly by the time
he had gotten around to grilling them about Richard Drake's murder
had been ruined by the slender young woman who came crashing
through the skylight above.
The Batman was no fool, he knew the blonde vision who landed
on her feet like a cat was in all likelihood Dinah Drake. Batman
recognized the look on her face, the obsession and grief that was
once held in his own heart had taken root on the girl's admirably
disguised features. Beneath his cowl, Bruce Wayne's brow creased
with concern. He knew from personal experience that being too
focused, too driven could be as detrimental as not being driven
enough. As much as he regretted the headstrong young woman's
blundering into this situation, the Batman had already begun to
adapt as the gathered criminals regained a little bit of their
lost confidence.
"Look", shouted someone in the crowd, "it's a dame!"
"And wotta dame!", shouted another, "Look at the gams on
that canary!"
Another added, "Grab her, she's gotta be the Batman's
partner!"
"I'd grab her, bo, even if she wasn't!", said still another
man lustily. The last speaker stood at the best possible point of
attack, he was closest to masked girl, but out of reach of the
Batman. The big man's beefy hands reached out hungrily for the
girl with more than restraint in mind. "C'mere and sing for
poppa, canary.", he said through dingy, yellowed teeth.
Dinah was silent and still as the thug closed in. As quick
as a flash of lightning her hand knifed out, harshly jabbing the
bruiser's throat and drawing a choked gurgle from the surprised
thug. Dinah didn't stay still after that, she dove over the
gasping mountain of muscle, grabbing his shirt at the shoulders.
She jerked hard, using her momentum to help her pull the stunned
man over her head as she landed. The floor shook when the thug's
body smashed into it, and he lay senseless before the crouching
masked woman who stood up straight and said, "Fresh. Next time
keep your hands to yourself."
The crowd was stunned back into silence and uncertainty as
the masked blonde crossed the room and stood at the Batman's side.
She looked at the masked man impassively and said, "Sorry, I
didn't mean to interrupt."
The Batman stared the woman for a moment before he returned
his attention to the bar's patrons. "As I was saying people, I
want the person, or people who planted the bomb in Richard Drake's
car, or the person who set Drake up. If I don't hear something in
the next thirty seconds, my associate's going to pick out a new
dance partner." The woman at the Batman's side started slightly
but the only person who noticed was the Batman himself. Since the
masked woman had already proven herself a dangerous element to the
people in the room, Batman decided to milk it for what it was
worth. "And if that doesn't work, gentlemen, it'll be MY turn to
pick a playmate."
Almost immediately, a weasel faced man started shouting,
"Hey, wait a second! You can't bust up the joint and harass us
like this! We've got rights y'know!"
The Batman's arm swept back and something flew across the
room in a black blur, smacked the little man hard in the face and
returned back to the Batman's hand in the space of three
heartbeats. "We're not the police", Batman said as the small man
fell to the floor holding his nose, "and the only rights you have
now are the ones I'm giving you." Batman folded the bat shaped
boomerang that he had thrown and placed it somewhere in the inky
blackness of his cloak. "Now I believe you boys were about to
share some information with us."
"It... it was Benson, Gat Benson." replied an elderly,
somber faced gambler by the name of Manelli. "They say he set the
whole thing up and even managed to dust another one of Gordon's
boys, Jim Corrigan."
Batman nodded, the papers had been filled with the story of
the missing hero detective and his bride-to-be. The mystery was
one that the Batman felt was related and if he could find Drake's
killers, he'd most certainly lay hands upon the person responsible
for Corrigan's disappearance. "What else?" prompted the Batman,
"What's Zucco and Benson's game, why did they have to kill these
men?"
"I dunno Batman.", Manelli answered. "Some say Zucco
thought he could make Gordon ease off his mob by letting Benson
punch Drake and Corrigan's tickets. Others say he was trying open
up Gotham for other crooks with the hope that they would cause
problems for the Maronis." The sad faced man shook his head
slowly as he talked. "Either way, it didn't work, Gordon's boys
have been leaning heavy on the mobs, and the rest of us. Maroni
got tired of the heat and put the word out on Zucco and his boys;
fifty G's for any of the Zucco gang found inside the city limits
and a cool hundred for anyone who gets Zucco or Benson dead or
alive."
"You talk too much Manelli." growled Eel O'Brien, an oily
looking, dark haired man who sat opposite the old gambler.
"Nobody likes a stoolie."
"Shaddup Eel!" Manelli shouted. "Corrigan may have been a
hard nosed bastard, but Rick Drake always did right by me and a
lot of the rest of us. He had class, even in a bust he treated
mugs like me with respect. Zucco didn't have to burn him and have
every bull in Gotham out for our blood!" Other people in the bar
grumbled their agreement to Manelli's statement and with a proper
expression of humiliation, Eel O'Brien shut his mouth and nursed
his beer.
"Word is that Zucco's pulled out of Gotham and gone back to
the sticks to squeeze money out of traveling shows that are
passing through." Manelli continued. "Benson's supposed to still
be in Gotham, laying low."
"Still in Gotham?" echoed the Batman. "Why? I would think
that Gotham would be the last place Benson would want to stay."
"Well he's got some inside help." Manelli answered. "They
say Benson's got a couple of bulls under his thumb and they keep
him one step ahead of the blues and the thugs."
The Batman asked no more questions, he turned on his heel
and with a flutter of his dark cloak began to walk for the door.
Over his shoulder he heard the masked blonde woman say, "Why did
you talk Manelli? Why tell us all of this?" Batman stopped, he
wanted to hear the answer himself.
"Well it's like this lady," Manelli answered. "besides
having to tangle with you and your boyfriend there, I'm an old
timer and there are things we respected in the old days. Rick had
a little girl who used to walk the beat with him. Cute as a
button she was, and he loved her somethin' awful. Well I've got a
daughter myself, Emmy, and once she took sick and needed an
operation, so I took a break in job with some punks who had been
pulling off a bunch of them without gettin' caught. They said
that we'd make a quick haul on some easy money. Well Rick Drake
and Harvey Harris took us down with that kid sidekick of theirs."
The Batman remembered that night well, it was the night he
was officially taken under Harvey Harris' wing as his partner.
Bruce had managed to see the pattern in the way the crooks
operated, that had been overlooked by the police. Harris and
Drake took him along for the raid and arrest.
"I didn't know what I was gonna do!" Manelli continued.
"Emmy needed that operation and I got pinched as a two time loser.
This would've been the long stretch for me if it hadn't been for
Drake. He got me off with a minor charge when he realized I
hadn't been in with the gang on all the other jobs. I did a
couple of weeks in the cooler for the robbery, but when I got out
my Emmy was all better; Drake made sure of that and even kept her
at his place with his kid."
Dinah thought she had recognized the old man, Emmy Manelli
still kept in touch with the Drakes and had taken to calling
Richard Drake "Uncle Rick". Dinah still remembered her childhood
playmate fondly, but had only met Emmy's father once over fifteen
years ago. The man that sat at the table wore the same grateful
expression on his face that he had when Dinah first met him.
"I owe him miss, if you get Zucco and Benson before one of
us does, then I've paid Rick back for what he did for me."
Manelli smiled at her. "In the old days, miss, we'd have never
killed a guy like that and any mug who does deserves whatever he
gets. Rick Drake was a prince of guy, miss, he deserved better."
"Coming?" The Batman said coolly over his shoulder. Dinah
Drake turned to follow the masked man and managed to keep the
tears from falling until she was out of sight of the men and women
of Murray's Bar and Grill.
Outside, Dinah managed to compose herself by remembering the
purpose for her being out in a mask, wig and fishnets in the first
place. The murder of her father had to be avenged, but it was
still moving to hear and see the regard Richard Drake held even
from those who were on the opposite side of the law. She wasn't
prepared for that and it caught her off guard almost as much as
the mysterious masked man who walked ahead of her and had referred
to her as his "associate". He didn't seem to display any type of
emotion even when something as unexpected as her barging into his
investigation happened. Attempting to follow his example, Dinah
wiped away the last of her tears. As luck would have it, she
managed to accomplish this before the Batman turned to address
her.
"That was a reckless move young lady, you could've gotten
yourself killed." The Batman said. His form seemed to be one
continuos black shadow, blending easily in gloom of dimly lit
streets.
"I stopped worrying when I saw you in there." Dinah smiled
and extended her gloved right hand, "You must be the Batman that's
been making news all over the place for the past few days."
The shadowy figure did not take the hand offered to him.
"Don't change the subject." snapped the Batman coldly, "What are
you doing here?"
"The same thing you are." Dinah responded as she crossed
her arms. "I'm looking for the murderers of Richard Drake."
"Your help's appreciated but unnecessary. I'll find out who
killed Drake."
For a moment Dinah was stunned. She didn't expect the Dark
Knight to welcome her into this situation as a full partner or
anything, but to be so casually dismissed hit Dinah right in her
Drake pride. Her eyes narrowed into thin slits behind her mask
and Dinah's face flushed crimson as anger took hold. "It took you
a bloody week to get around to checking out Murray's! Hell it was
my very first stop!" The masked woman stabbed a finger into the
Batman's broad chest, "You won't even find the cape on your back
at this rate without my help!"
"If you're quite finished..." Batman began to turn away
which only served to push Dinah's anger up a notch.
"I'm far from finished you pointy eared bastard!" Dinah
screamed at the Batman's back. "You can't just walk away from me
and think I'm going to go crawl under a rock! If you're not going
to let me help, I'll crack this case without the talents of the
high and mighty Batman!"
The masked man stopped and turned slowly. His dark form
towered over the slender woman as he stared intently into her
eyes. "What leads can you turn up that I can't?"
"Oh so you DO need me!" Dinah said triumphantly, "I know
this town in ways you can't possibly be aware of, you may get to
same solution that I do, but you'll always be a step behind Mister
Masked Man!" As if to punctuate her statement Dinah turned on her
heel and headed for the alley where her motorcycle was parked.
She mentally began to review Gotham's list of demolition experts
involved in the underworld. Dinah didn't have to tolerate the
Batman's attitude and she'd show him that by beating him to the
punch. She smiled, satisfied with the position she'd taken.
The smile faded as soon as the Batman said, "I just thought
I'd save you some needless legwork while you chased dead ends and
useless clues."
Dinah stopped short, "I beg your pardon?"
The Batman's voice remained even as he answered the masked
woman's question. "Well your next move will be to interview any
of Gotham's known criminal demolition experts. You'll figure that
one or more of these men were hired by Zucco or Benson to pull the
job. If you can get one of these people to admit that they were
indeed involved in the killing of Drake then maybe that person
could be... 'persuaded' to make that fact known to Gordon who
would then have enough to bring in Zucco and Benson and send them
on a one way trip to the death house."
Dinah was stunned. The Batman had outlined her entire plan
of action in an almost scholarly fashion. The dark clad woman
stared into the shadowy face of the masked man, she couldn't see
the expression he wore in the murky semi-darkness, but she was
fairly certain that it a smug one.
The Batman saw he had gotten the young woman's undivided
attention and he continued speaking, his voice still having the
tone of an instructor at the police academy giving a lecture on
the basics of detection. "I've already followed that particular
thread and turned up nothing but dead ends."
"Maybe you didn't check up on all possible angles," Dinah
countered, "There must be dozens of places you haven't looked yet.
Places you wouldn't even dream of looking. After all Gotham's a
big city, there are more than enough places for one killer to
hide."
"You don't understand miss," The Batman responded, "I've
searched this city from Park Row to Little China; from midtown to
Spanish Newton; from Adam's Heights to the Cowan District and
every known criminal blaster from Explosive Earl Andrews to Luke
Kung to Dynamite Danny Zamboni has left Gotham for parts unknown.
Every bombsman from the heavy hitters to the small time cracksman
were removed from Gotham's underworld scene hours after Drake's
death. I just thought I'd save you the trip, as a courtesy."
Dinah realized that masked man mentioned parts of the city
SHE wouldn't have considered herself. She was tempted to ask who
among Park Row's elite would be involved in something like blowing
up buildings or cracking safes, but she thought better of it and
instead said, "Okay they've left Gotham, we can still track them
down. What about..."
"Midway City? Zenith? Empire City? New York?" The Batman
rattled off the list of nearby major cities in the tri-state area
as if he were giving Dinah a choice of places from a map for a
trip. "There isn't a sign of them anywhere in a major or minor
city, town, junction or borough that hasn't been investigated by
either myself or Gordon in the last week."
"I noticed you didn't mention Metropolis, didn't you check
there?" Dinah asked quietly, she suspected that the Batman had
avoided that city because of her own costumed protectors.
A near imperceptible nod of the masked man's head preceded
his spoken answer, "Despite the presence of the so-called
'Metropolis Marvels' I did manage to find out that none of
Gotham's missing blasters were there. If they are nearby,
someone's made absolutely certain that they won't be turned up
anytime in the near future."
"There's no way Zucco or Benson could have made that
happen.", Dinah responded, "They don't have that kind of power."
"The Maroni's are probably involved as well.", Batman said.
"By removing the local bombers, Gordon's attention will be fully
focused on finding Zucco and Benson."
"Eliminating their only competition either in a court of law
or by a bullet from an overzealous policeman." Dinah said,
finishing Batman's thought.
"Exactly."
"Then the only way to see justice done is to find Benson and
Zucco before Gordon and hope that one will rat on the other?"
Dinah's concern was evident, both men were hardened murderers, it
would take more than the threat of jail to make one sell out the
other. Looking at the man before her, Dinah knew if anyone stood
a chance making such a thing happen, it was the Batman.
"I realize you don't want me involved in this," Dinah said
pensively, "but I have to do this, I have to find Zucco and
Benson, I have to try to bring them in. It doesn't matter what
you want me to do, I have to pursue them. If that means we're at
odds the next time we meet, then so be it, but I won't be kept out
of this." Dinah turned to go, this time with a purposeful stride
and manner that lent strength to the seriousness of her words.
The Batman's voice crept up behind her once more. "Fine.
If you're going to persist in this we may as well work together so
that I can make sure you don't get in over your head."
"I can handle myself." Dinah said with stern certainty.
"Of course you can." Batman said apologetically, "I didn't
mean to offend you, miss. I'm well aware of your ability." Dinah
mentally frowned up at that statement, did the Batman figure out
who she was? The masked man's voice snapped Dinah's thoughts away
from the concern of being found out. "So, young lady, what am I
to call you? If we're going to be working together 'hey you'
seems to be a name that won't necessarily strike fear in the
hearts of criminals. Bat-Girl maybe?"
"I don't think so." Dinah said defiantly. "We may be
working together, but I'm my own woman." The masked woman's brow
creased in thought for a moment. "The criminals underestimated me
because of my gender, I think I'll leave fear to you and take
advantage of that fact. They called me 'canary', so I think I'll
go with that." Dinah noted the Batman's slight cringe at her
choice in names. "Hey don't knock it, at least it flies."
"I suppose. I'm just wondering if you'll be changing your
costume to something... more colorful. I don't believe there's
such a thing as a black canary."
"There is now." Dinah said with the hint of a smile. "So
how do I find you when I need you? It's not like you're in the
phone book under 'B'".
The Batman turned and started to recede into the shadows.
"Don't worry Canary, when the time comes, I'll find you."
"Okay...", Dinah said with some uncertainty in her voice.
The Batman's last statement troubled her and brought back to the
forefront of her thoughts the suspicion that Batman was fully
aware of the true identity of his new partner. "Just a couple
more questions before you leave."
"Certainly", answered the Batman from somewhere in the
darkness.
"If you knew that Gotham's criminal bombers were no longer
in town why the raid on Murray's?"
"Appearances must be kept up, Canary. I want the police to
think that I'm...", there was a slight pause in the darkness,
"WE'RE not any farther along than they are." Dinah noted with
appreciation the Batman's amendment to include her as a part of
his overall plan. "The goal is to help the police, not replace
them or hamper their investigation. They won't accept us if we
show them up at every turn. What we know is not as important as
what they think we know." The Batman paused a moment before
saying, "You said you had a couple of questions."
"Do I get to find out who you really are?"
Silence followed Dinah's question.
"Batman?" Dinah tried to find the faint outline where she
thought the Dark Knight was standing, but she couldn't. Seconds
ticked off before Dinah realized that the Batman had slipped away.
In the distance, maybe a block over or closer, Dinah heard
the growl of a car engine. As it rounded the corner, headlights
illuminated the area, revealing that Dinah was indeed quite alone.
As the sleek black coupe shot past her, Dinah was fairly certain
her new partner was behind the wheel.
"Okay," Dinah said to the shadows that returned to the
street around her, "I'll take that as a 'no'."
And as she watched the coupe speed off into night washed
street, Dinah Drake was left with her thoughts and the growing
shadows of the night.
*****************************************************
INTERLUDE
FINGER ALLEY, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 19, 1938
She waited in the darkness wishing that the torture the
waiting brought to her heart and mind would end. No one had
touched her since the night she and Jim were taken prisoner. Well
almost no one, she remembered rough hands fondling her, trying to
take off her clothes and for a moment she feared the worst, but
the man Jim called Gat had stopped the man who tried to force
himself upon her.
"Stop that you mug!", she remembered hearing somewhere
beyond the dull darkness of her blindfold that pushed her stinging
tears back into her eyes. "She's our insurance if the cops come
after us! I don't want her touched!"
"But boss, you said we could...", the complaint was cut off
with a loud slap and the sound of a body falling into either boxes
or padded flooring.
"Nats!", came Benson's gruff voice. "With her boyfriend
dead, this little honey's the only thing we've got left to bargain
with! We stand a better chance of gettin' out of this wit' a
whole skin if she's jake when we return her. Now you mugs get her
some grub an' somebody get my plant on the phone, it's time to
find out how close Gordon's gettin'!"
The door closed quietly and the girl could only hear muffled
voices on the other side. Benson's last statements were enough to
let her know that Jim wouldn't be coming to her rescue. Clarice
knew now that her beloved Jim Corrigan was dead, probably murdered
by those monsters in the other room. Her heart filled with cold
despair as she realized her only hope had died before he had a
chance to save her.
****************
Gat Benson was nervous. He'd been nervous since he and the
boys had tossed Corrigan's stiffening corpse off the pier at
Gotham Bay. Everything had backfired, Gordon came on even
stronger than ever, the heat went up on Maroni as well as Zucco
and in the end Benson was left on his own, abandoned by his former
employer, Fat Tony Zucco. Even though he sat in a plush suite of
rooms in an old rooming house he often used for a hide out, Benson
found himself listening for the sirens of police cars or worse
still, some hard guy who tumbled on him looking to collect the
bounty the Maroni mob had on his head.
For Benson it didn't matter how it turned out. He was a
scrapper, a survivor, he knew the score and how to play the game.
Plus he had something even Fat Tony didn't have, his boy on the
inside; his plant in Jim Gordon's detective squad. Despite the
outcome, his boy had paid off well. The info Benson had gotten
had led to the dusting of two of Gordon's best men. He didn't
really have much against Richard Drake, that guy was more or less
a necessary hit given the fact his little girl pretty much shut
down Zucco's trap and gambling operation to boot, but Corrigan was
a pleasure to kill. Benson had his inside guy to thank for the
whole thing, but right now he needed his plant to deliver once
more and help the killer and his gangsters get out of Gotham.
"I don't care how tight Gordon's got this burg, there's
gotta be a way to get out of here!" Zucco said angrily. The
speaker on the other side said something that only added to
Benson's frustration and anger. "Well you've got to have some
kind of pull, you're on the damned squad!" Another pause while
Benson listened intently to the person on the other end of the
receiver. "And that's why I didn't tell you where I bumped
Corrigan, if you led the bulls there, they might connect us up!
You're only valuable to me as long as Gordon doesn't suspect you!"
Benson's excited tone faded as his caller said something a bit
more to the killer's liking. "Right we could try that, a phony
bust with an 'unexpected' escape might work!" Benson's caller
interrupted Benson's gloating for a moment with another comment.
"No, if you get the right guys for the detail, no one else has to
get killed."
Another short interruption caused Benson's craggy face to
wrinkle up with concern. "Hey you're not losing your nerve are
you?" Another pause with Benson's caller taking on an animated
tone that could almost be heard beyond the phone's earpiece.
"Okay, okay! I know some of these mugs are your pals, I got the
punk I wanted when I got Jimmy Corrigan! My only wish is that 'ol
Jimmy were still around so I could kill him again. Call me when
you've made the arrangements."
Softly, almost too softly to be heard, a whisper came to
Benson's ears. "Be careful what you wish for tough guy."
Benson was still holding the phone receiver in his hand. At
first he stared at it thinking his caller had spoken once more.
But he had heard the line click off and go dead, he knew that the
voice hadn't come from there. Slamming the receiver into the
cradle, Benson whirled around looking to see who spoke. The
gunmen who had been with Benson since the murder of Corrigan were
playing cards across the room, they stopped when they saw the
killer's startled reaction.
"What is it boss?" asked a heavyset, thick lipped thug.
Benson was still looking around the room, confusion clouding
his face. "Did you boys hear somethin'?"
"Not a thing boss. You heard somethin'?"
"I don't know Luko." Benson answered cautiously. "Still I
think I want you boys to take a look outside, just to be sure."
"Sure boss, no problem." The men rose from their chairs,
armed themselves with a couple of handguns and then stalked out of
the room trying not to look concerned at the fact that their boss
may be on the verge of cracking up.
"They should be able to handle any punk that might be out
there." Benson said aloud for no particular reason.
"And it gives us a little time alone before they come back,
Gat. It gives us time to settle old scores and to find out just
how much you're going to have to pay the piper." The soft whisper
tickled Benson's ears, the voice was a familiar one somehow, but
Benson hadn't placed it yet.
Benson twirled as if he had been spun by an unseen hand. He
looked all over the room and couldn't find the source of the
voice. "Where are you?!" Benson shouted. "Show yourself you
mug, c'mon out and let's face off man to man!" Benson whipped out
one of his guns, waiting to see who his mysterious intruder was
and plug him before he could become a problem.
"Now what are you going to do with the gun big man, kill
me?" Benson was beyond panicked at this point. Wild eyed he
continued to search in vain for some sign of a speaker. "Now
that's going to be kind of tough Gat, don't you think?"
The voice had suddenly taken on a stronger quality, it felt
more "solid", more real in his ears now. He whirled once more.
"Besides Gat, you've already tried that one and it didn't
work." Benson's eyes fell upon the familiar face and form of a
man he thought was dead. A man he thought he had killed just a
few days ago. Benson found himself face-to-face with Jim Corrigan
who was looking awfully good for a man who had something in the
neighborhood of twelve slugs in his chest and stomach when Benson
last saw him.
Benson blinked his eyes in disbelief, "I'm dreamin' this!
You're dead!"
"I'm a fast healer Gat." Corrigan said, smiling broadly, "I
got better."
Benson's head shook violently, his hands trembled so badly
that the gun he held was nearly a vibrating blur.
"Nonononononono! Th-this is some kind of trick, one of the boys
havin' some fun with me! Y-y-y-you're some kinda fake tryin' to
scare me!"
"Oh I'm no fake Gat, but you have every reason to be
afraid.", Corrigan said quietly. "Now about my promise to you
about Clarice..."
"Hey I never touched her Corrigan! I didn't lay a hand on
her at all! I don't know how you lived through all that lead, but
your girl's fine!" Benson wailed like a baby with his hands up in
protest. "I can prove it, she's in the next room!"
"Gat, tell me when we last saw each other, where were we?"
Corrigan asked calmly.
"W-what?" stammered the mobsman, "Whaddaya talkin' about?"
"Oh come on Gat, you KILLED me there for crying out loud!
It can't be that hard to recall, I remember it!" Corrigan paused
with an expression on his face that showed how much he was
enjoying this whole situation. Benson's confusion to Corrigan's
appearance among the living relatively unscathed was increased by
his line of questioning.
Corrigan's voice broke into Benson's dizzying confusion,
"Maybe you've just killed so many men that you tend to forget
where or how you've killed them." Corrigan smiled a calm, yet
maddening smile at Benson as if he were in possession of some
incredibly obvious secret that Benson had yet to tumble on. "I
can understand that.", Corrigan stated, still smiling. "Let me
see if I can help you out some. We were out on the docks, I wore
this tux, you wore a bad suit and at least two pistols. You
threatened my girl while I was lying on the floor with a bunch of
holes in me, bleeding all over the floor. You remember yet? When
you moved Clarice from the docks to this place you had to lift her
at the very least and to lift her, you had to touch her."
"That ain't the same thing!", Benson protested.
"I don't recall being specific as to what kind of touching
had to be involved, Gat, old boy." Corrigan said smugly.
"But the boys...", Benson began.
"...were following your orders." Corrigan finished. "Which
is pretty much the same thing to me."
"You can't be Corrigan! If you were still alive, half of
the Gotham PD would have been on your heels or I'd be dead!" Gat
brought his gun up and took careful aim at the man calling himself
Jim Corrigan. "Whoever the hell you are, you ain't takin' me down
without a fight!" Benson tried to sound unafraid, but failed
miserably. Corrigan seemed unaffected by the introduction of a
gun into the situation, in fact it appeared as if Corrigan's smile
grew a little wider at Benson's agitation.
"Oh my brother officers will be along soon enough Gat. I
just wanted this moment to be between us. I wanted to watch you
squirm like the rat you are before I dealt with you." Corrigan
rose from his where he sat and started to walk towards Benson.
"See when two guys have something as intimate as death between
them, something as crass as a straight out killing would be too
merciful. Besides a promise is a promise Gat, and as I said, it's
time to pay the piper."
"I killed you once," Benson cried shrilly, "I can do it
again!" Benson could've sworn that Corrigan's eyes had begun glow
with a spectral light. The gunman blinked his eyes, thinking his
fear was making him see things, but the glow continued to grow in
intensity.
"I've decided that I'm not going to kill you after all,"
Corrigan said quietly, "but you'll wish I had when I'm done with
you. As to killing me again I don't think that'll work."
The air had grown thick around the mobster and Gat felt as
if the room were spinning madly out of control. Something strange
was happening, he could feel it. Still Benson had the presence of
mind to ask Corrigan one more question. "What do you mean killing
you won't work?"
Corrigan smiled at the mobster one last time. "Well Gat I
never said I was alive in the first place, did I?"
Corrigan's words hit home and Gat Benson knew what he was
dealing with at last. Somehow Jim Corrigan had managed to come
back from the grave and make good on his promise. Somehow the man
who was a relentless opponent in life was even more formidable in
death. Benson knew now that he didn't face a man of flesh and
bone, a man who could be killed with a gun or knife; he faced a
spirit, a spectre who came from beyond the grave to make certain
that Benson pay for the crimes of a lifetime.
Gat Benson's last rational memory as his world grew dark
around him was the sound of a scream in his ears. A scream of
someone or something facing the ultimate horror of ultimate
suffering.
As the world slipped away from him, Gat Benson realized that
the voice that unleashed the scream roaring in his ears, a scream
that chilled his soul to the very core came from his own lips.
And Gat Benson's world faded to black.
*****************************************************
NINE: "...YOU CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT THEM..."
THE BATCAVE, DECEMBER 20, 1938...
The Batman wearily exited the coupe after parking it for
tomorrow's travels. Despite the rumors that were in circulation
about the tireless crusade of the Batman, Bruce Wayne felt as if
he could sleep for weeks. Wayne removed his cowl and cape and
began to strip off his costume. Part of his agreement with Alfred
had been that the Batman costume remained in the cave, both men
agreed that it would've been awkward trying to explain why Bruce
Wayne fancied running around his manor home dressed like giant
bat. With Batman's growing reputation, any slip could compromise
all of Wayne's work, something Bruce wasn't ready to do for a
while. As he headed for the shower in the cave's living quarters,
Bruce was quietly distracted by the thought of Dinah Drake and
wondering if he had made the right decision by allowing her to
take part in his crusade.
As the hot water streamed into the shower stall, hung his
yellow "utility belt" on the hook where Alfred had left out his
fresh costume and noticed that Alfred had also laid out a pair of
black trousers, slippers and the red silk smoking jacket that
belonged to Bruce's father.
A twinge of grief passed through Bruce as he thought about
his parents again, but it was quickly replaced by the love he knew
they shared as a family and what it was that love which sent him
out into Gotham's mean streets as the Batman. He never wanted
anyone to suffer the same way he did after that cowardly criminal
took their lives in a bungled robbery.
As he stepped into the shower, Bruce thought about his own
legacy. Would the only thing left of his family be the Batman?
Sure the handsome young millionaire was engaged to Julie Madison,
a beauty who was rapidly becoming one of the brightest young stars
to ever grace the Broadway stage, but they hadn't seen each other
for several months. Julie was what Bruce needed in college, a
friend who became a sweetheart; but could she be content as a wife
when the roles of the stage called to her with almost as much
passion as the role of the Batman called to him? Bruce knew the
question had to be resolved soon enough, but oddly enough the
answer he hoped to find in the revitalizing spray of the shower
eluded him. Bruce's thoughts danced between the beautiful and
refined Julie Madison and the lovely, rough and tumble Dinah Drake
and he found himself more than little captivated by the way the
latter had grown into a woman of such strong character.
With a sigh, Bruce turned off the water, toweled himself dry
and then dressed. Bruce's mindset had changed from the dreamy
state it was in to one that began to consider the logistics of
bringing Dinah into the fold as a full partner. For the time
being, Bruce decided not to reveal his double life to Dinah. He
knew this would require some kind of signal to inform Alfred to
remain out of sight during any visits to the cave as well as
whatever safeguards are necessary to keep the girl from
recognizing the lay of the land as Bruce Wayne's property. As
Bruce mounted the stairs, he wondered just what Alfred's reaction
would be to the woman who now called herself the Black Canary as
his partner.
Bruce checked the peephole drilled into wall frame at the
top of the stairwell, making sure that the study was not occupied
by any unexpected visitors. Satisfied that the room was empty,
Bruce stepped into the book lined room and strolled over to the
desk where a sheaf of papers regarding various aspects of projects
funded by the Wayne fortune awaited him. As if he had been at the
desk the entire evening, Bruce casually picked up the house phone
which buzzed over an intercom to several receiver boxes around the
massive mansion and spoke.
"Alfred, could I get a cup of coffee brought up to me? I'm
just about done with my papers." Bruce quietly settled the
receiver back into the cradle and smiled to himself, the pantomime
with the house phone was another idea of Alfred's to insure that
if someone were in the house that he was unaware of, that it would
appear as if he had been home in the study with orders that he was
not to be disturbed. So far it hadn't been a ploy that was
needed, but it became the standard "signal" to let Alfred know
that he was back in the mansion. If nothing else the routine
served to keep Bruce and Alfred in the habit of protecting the
secret of the Batman.
Bruce continued to read over his papers and after about five
minutes or so he heard the knob start to turn and the door opened
to admit Alfred who carried a tray with a copper coffee kettle,
small silver bowls containing cream and sugar and a china cup.
"Your coffee Master Bruce."
Bruce looked up from his paper work. "Thanks Alfred. Wait
until I tell you about what happened tonight! I..."
"Sir," Alfred softly said with rigid British civility,
"maybe we can 'talk shop' at some other time, we have a guest that
may not understand the nature of your nocturnal pursuits."
"A guest?" Bruce said growing suddenly tense. "When did
they, show up? Why didn't you tell me? Who is it?"
Alfred continued to set up the coffee service, he had moved
close enough to Bruce to continue talking in a hushed whisper.
"Arrived while you were in the cave, tried to warn you over the
intercom, but you didn't respond."
Bruce chided himself for being so absorbed while he was in
the shower. He had switched off the intercom in that part of the
cave out of force of habit, Bruce often did the same thing in the
manor. "Sorry Alfred."
"Not to worry sir, I simply said you were in the study and
didn't want to be disturbed. Our company quite understood, given
the lateness of the hour."
"You still haven't told me who, Alfred."
"Unless my ears have failed me sir, you're about to see for
yourself.", whispered the older man.
Bruce was aware of the clicking of heels in the hall
outside, they stopped outside of the half opened door just before
it flung open to reveal a stunning brunette wrapped in a gorgeous
fur coat. It was obvious she had just gotten in from a long
journey from the sleep weary look on her face. The sleepy
expression evaporated as soon as the young woman laid eyes on
Bruce. She glided across the room and threw arms around Bruce's
neck while placing a passionate kiss on his lips. Alfred
discreetly removed himself from the room, leaving the young couple
alone in the study.
"Julie?" Bruce said as the kiss came to an end. "What are
you doing here?"
The dark haired woman frowned slightly at Bruce's response.
"Well that's a fine 'how do you do', Bruce! I'd thought you'd be
happy to see me!"
"Well of course I'm happy to see you sweetheart, but I
thought your show was still running for another two weeks. I
guess I just didn't expect to see you before that."
Julie Madison's smile radiated so brightly that the room
seemed to light up a little brighter. "That's why they call it a
surprise, silly!" Julie's hand affectionately stroked the back of
Bruce's neck. "Actually the show closed because our leading man
and his stand in both caught the flu. Rather than risk the show
to further problems down the road, we closed production for the
holidays. We hadn't spent any time together in a while so I
hopped on the first train to Gotham and here I am!"
A slight cough turned the couple's attention from one
another to the half opened door. The shadow of Alfred's profile
lingered outside the door.
"Yes Alfred, what is it?", Bruce said, his arms still around
Julie's waist.
"Sorry to interrupt sir, I just wanted Miss Madison to know
that I've set her luggage up in the guest rooms on the East Wing
of the house."
"Luggage?", Bruce said with a questioning glance at Julie.
"Well I'm not due back in New York for two weeks, so I hoped
we could spend the holidays together." Julie said with a
questioning glance of her own at Bruce. "I mean that is all right
isn't it, Bruce?"
Bruce's face pasted on a hasty smile as he answered Julie's
question. "Of course it's all right Julie. It's kind of late to
be searching for a hotel room anyway. In the morning..."
"I guess Alfred didn't have a chance to tell you.", Julie
said with growing unease at Bruce's odd behavior. "Everything in
Gotham worth staying in is booked for the upcoming Winter Carnival
at the Gotham County Fairgrounds. I thought I could stay here, I
mean we are still engaged aren't we?" Julie's eyes searched for
some hint of why Bruce was acting so strangely, she was relieved
however to see a smile come to his face.
"I can't think of a better place for you to stay sweetheart.
I'm just worried about Gotham's scandal mongers. I mean you come
here on the spur of the moment to my house and practically move in
under cover of darkness, someone may get the wrong impression."
Bruce's tone of voice was apologetic and his explanation a
plausible one, Julie quietly let go of her fears and smiled back
at Bruce.
"Is that what all this fuss is about? I don't remember your
being so concerned over a scandal that night we skinny-dipped in
the college's swimming pool." Julie quipped.
"I also wasn't one of Gotham's leading citizens then my
dear. Besides the sight of you that night was worth the two week
suspension." Bruce said smiling.
"Well you needn't worry about your reputation Bruce, Alfred
already took that into consideration, I'll be moving into the
guest house tomorrow by the stables. That should keep the press
and the gossips satisfied and I'll still get be with you day and
night for the next two weeks! Isn't that wonderful?" Julie
pulled close to Bruce and hugged him tight.
"Yes Julie, it will be." Bruce answered with a expression
far less enthusiastic than the sound of his voice Julie's ear.
*****************************************************
INTERLUDE
HALY'S CIRCUS OF THRILLS, GOTHAM FAIRGROUNDS, DECEMBER 20, 1938
Joe "Pop" Haly watched the young man and woman hurtling high
overhead. John and Mary Grayson, two-thirds of the moderately
famous family of aerialists known as "The Flying Graysons", were
rehearsing for tomorrow night's show which was part of Gotham's
annual Winter Carnival. They were Haly's star attraction not just
because grace and skill of the death defying duo that soared above
him, but because of their son who waited for his turn on the
platform, Dick Grayson.
Grayson had become something of a child celebrity over the
past few years. His exploits on the high wire began as early as
six years old when he wowed the crowd with skills that only the
most accomplished gymnast would have after years of training. On
top of that he was a bight child who excelled at his
correspondence studies to such a degree that at the ripe old age
of thirteen, he was already thinking about which colleges he
wanted to attend and most colleges were trying to find ways to get
him into their student body when that day finally arrived.
Dick's life as an aerialist was made all the more glamorous
by his charm and good looks. Dick's parents prided themselves on
the way they raised their son and despite the nomadic lifestyle
family led, Dick seemed to be fairly well adjusted and likable.
Girls swooned over his smooth, almost movie star like features;
which were developing, day by day, into an almost exact replica of
his father's dashing good looks. Dick's flashing blue eyes and
ever present smile made him the role model of young men and the
heartthrob of teen and preteen girls wherever the circus traveled.
Still for all his skills in the air and his intelligence and
looks away from the spotlight, Dick was still just a kid. He'd
have preferred playing Robin Hood over some of the intense
training required to maintain his athletic ability. He admired
men like Flash Gordon, Indiana Jones or Charles Lindbergh; men who
had lived lives far more adventurous than the one he lived, men
who inspired the playing of little boys who wanted to be heroic.
Dick was one of those kids who had put those days of pretend
behind him when he hit his first official "teenage year" a few
months ago, but he still carried within his the desire to live
life like one of those legendary adventurers. Dick lived his
entire life around the unusual, what so many others would consider
extraordinary about circus life, Dick accepted as commonplace.
All that was left for the young man to dream about was the
fantastic and Pop had seen enough of Dick's spirit and drive to
know that whatever he chose to do with his life, he was going to
be someone special.
Pop Haly watched as the young man caught the bar of the
trapeze and swung out to his father. Though he had seen the
Graysons perform this trick dozens of times, Haly always found
himself on the edge of his seat, hoping that this would not be one
of those times where the family's remarkable reflexes would not
fail. Dick had reached the apex of his swing and he released his
grip on the bar, across the tent, Dick's father mirrored his son's
maneuver almost to the second. The two appeared to be on a
collision course, both spinning through the air with their knees
tucked to their chests, seemingly oblivious to one another. At
the last possible moment, both men straightened out, the elder
Grayson flying below the younger one with less than three inches
of air separating them as they continued on to catch the trapeze
bars that appeared to be waiting on them before they could begin
the return trip to the platforms.
Pop cheered and hollered like any rube that would've been in
the stands, so did many of the other performers who had stopped
what they were doing to watch the Grayson's routine. Rutledge,
the circus ringmaster, cried through the megaphone he held,
"Ladies and Gentlemen, let's hear another 'round of applause for
the FLY-ing GRAAAYSOONS!"
The yells of the assembled performers greeted the Graysons
as they bowed from their respective platforms. Pop Haly ambled
back to his trailer grinning like a kid, tomorrow's show was going
to be one hell of an opening night, he could feel it. His smile
faded as he approached his trailer and saw a stranger waiting
outside. He had hoped that this wasn't what he thought it was,
but the cruelty on the man's face had already answered his
unspoken suspicions.
"Something I can do for you pal?", Haly said warily.
The man grinned at Haly and tipped his worn cowboy hat up so
that he could look Pop in the eye. "Mister Zucco sends his
regards Pop."
"Damn." Haly answered hoarsely.
*****************************************************
To be concluded...