Gotham Knights, Book One: Preparations

by Ali2

Written for YesterYear in 1998, Gotham Knights follows the adventures of Batman in 1938 and the other heroes who joined him in his crusade against the underworld... The prelude was written by Tony Wilson and is used with permission from the author.

5. Gotham Knights: Preparations, Epilogue -...

PROLOGUE: GOTHAM GREYHOUND BUS TERMINAL, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 22,
1938...

The bus pulled in slowly. The two men who got off first took a
look around the station and the snow covered city beyond. One
stared at it in awe and wonder, as if his mind were photographing
the whole thing for use at some later date. His friend seemed to
take everything in and after analyzing it to his satisfaction,
seemed to file it away.

"So this is Gotham City?" One man said to the other, "You're sure
that this is the place?"

"According to the rumors I've heard in the last few days." The
other answered. "This is where he's spotted the most."

"How long do we have?" the first man asked.

"Only a few days to track him down and get him if we can," the
second man pulled his coat tighter over his lanky frame, "if we
can't, there'll be hell to pay."

"Get the Batman." The first man said shaking his head, "I still
can't believe we're going to do this."

"So who do we start with?" The first man asked.

The second man pulled out a notebook and flipped through a couple
of pages, "Here it is, the guy's name is Wayne, Bruce Wayne."

*****************************************************

WAYNE MANOR, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938...

"What do you mean you're leaving?!" Bruce Wayne simply stared,
dumbfounded at what he was hearing.

"I have to Bruce, this just isn't working between us," Julie
Madison tried to look Bruce in the eye, but it was just too
painful. Despite her sorrow, she managed to fine a weak smile for
the man she once loved and thought she would marry, now a stranger
who seemed to care more about his business than he did her. "It's
not you, Bruce. It's-- I don't know exactly what it is yet, but
we've lost something and I don't know if we can get it back."

"I see," Bruce said flatly, his voice devoid of any emotion, his
face unreadable in the bleak cold light of the dawn. Julie said
something else but the only thing Bruce wanted her to do was to
go, he wanted her to leave and let him alone to decide if he was
hurt or not over the fact she was gone. Bruce's attention snapped
back into the real world as Julie finished speaking.

"So, I hope we can at least be friends, Bruce."

"Of course we can, Julie. We shall always be friends, no matter
what happens between us," Bruce heard himself answering as if he
were an observer outside of the entire conversation. "You can feel
free to stay in the guest house for a few more days if you aren't
able to find rooms in Gotham."

"Uh, no, Bruce. I-- I've already made arrangements to stay with a
friend of mine in town." Julie said hesitantly. For a moment, the
detective in Bruce sized up the woman who stood before him. Though
she was doing her best to appear natural, her body language was
all wrong. Bruce realized that she was hiding something from him,
something so big that it was making Julie leave him.

Bruce's mind automatically began to run through the options, he
began to review what he already knew about Julie and apply it to
his analysis as he searched for a rhyme or reason for her sudden
decision to end their relationship. Bruce realized that he was
thinking of Julie as he would a suspect in a crime. He mentally
shook himself out of the role of detective, making a silent
promise to keep the Batman out of his personal affairs regardless
of the cost.

As Bruce and Julie tried to find something else to say, both were
saved from further discomfort by a soft tapping at the study door.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred said from the other side of the door.
"Sir, it's about time we were off to the city if you plan to keep
your appointment."

"Ah, yes," Bruce said almost thankful for the interruption, "I'd
nearly forgotten, Alfred, thank you. Get the car ready, I'll be
down in a minute."

"Very good, sir," Alfred replied. "Will Miss Madison be joining
us?"

Bruce looked at Julie's face to find tears welling up in her eyes.
He stepped from behind his desk and put his arms around her.
Julie buried her head into Bruce's chest and sobbed quietly. "No,
Alfred," Bruce said solemnly, "Miss Madison will not."

*****************************************************

GOTHAM KNIGHTS

"The Sincerest Form of Flattery"

Written by Ali

email: SEricAli1@aol.com

*****************************************************

ONE: "DETECTIVE'S COMMENTS"

POLICE HEADQUARTERS, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938...

James Gordon made his way past the rows of desks sitting in front
of his office. Activity was fairly light as most of the boys were
out following up various leads about a sudden massing of criminal
forces struggling to control what was left of Fat Tony Zucco's
criminal enterprises. Luckily, the various challengers were
pretty sloppy which made the collars fairly easy and the charges
things that would stick.

There were a few unsolved cases out there like who killed Gat
Benson, the identity of the thief who pulled the Terrance Temple
job, attempting to locate some guy who was smuggling penicillin
and other drugs from Gotham's hospitals to a European black market
and of course, trying to find a way to get the goods on men like
the Penguin and Boss Maroni. The general cases that turned up on
most police blotters between murders at the circus and the masked
men who solved them.

The only men in the office to take any new calls were Frank Merkel
and Harvey Bullock, who were busy playing cards when he walked in.
His secretary, Midge, was just returning from lunch and hanging
her coat in the closet out in the waiting area. The two
detectives looked up as Gordon entered and hastily threw the cards
down on the desk, in a lousy attempt to look like they were being
productive. Gordon shot them a look that let them know they
weren't successful.

"Any calls or visitors?" Gordon asked as he passed by.

"Not a one, Jim," Merkel answered. "It's deader than my wife's
last boyfriend around here."

Gordon grimaced at Merkel's attempt at humor, "Work on your
material, Frank. You guys were here the whole time right?"

"We were out for about five minutes, boss," Bullock replied.
"Just long enough to get some coffee."

As Gordon pushed into his office, he was surprised to find the
couch occupied by two men, one was tall, kind of gangly, and his
long fingers hung loosely between his knees. He started as Gordon
opened the door, but managed to fit a sleepy smile in place of his
surprised expression. His companion was shorter, stocky and was
not as disturbed by Gordon's entrance. He started to stand but
was pinned to his seat by Gordon's lightning speed as a gun
appeared in his hand out of thin air.

"Who are you two monkeys?" Gordon growled as he closed the office
door.

"Uh-- I- I'm Robert, this here's my pal, Willie," the taller man
said haltingly. "We wanted to talk to you. When we came in, no
one was here so we let ourselves in."

"That's an easy way to get ventilated, kid," Gordon said
holstering his gun.

Gordon had to admit he was impressed with the way the two young
men had managed to get past his men and his secretary and gain
access to his office. In fact if he wasn't so annoyed by the
intrusion, he'd have considered signing them up for the force. As
it was, Gordon had enough on his mind trying to track down any
lead that would reveal the identity of the possible leak in his
department. Gordon hadn't slept soundly in the days since the
Batman's visit, he still couldn't believe that one of his boys
would sell him, or the squad down the river.

For a moment, he thought these two young men were a part of the
plan to infiltrate and hinder his department, his family as it
were, but these men were barely out of high school. They were too
young, too fresh faced, too ill at ease to be finger men or
trigger men, Gordon quickly dismissed them as potential wise guys
and wondered just what their game was as he stared at them over
the small mountain of paperwork he had generated in his
investigations.

"Okay boys," Gordon said wearily, "you've got two minutes to hold
my complete attention before I have Bullock and Merkel toss you
back out into the street."

Both men looked a little startled by Gordon's bluntness, but
endeavored to push ahead anyway. Robert spoke first, "We'll be
quick then, sir. We're here about the masked man that's been
spotted around Gotham lately."

"Who, the Green Lantern?" Gordon asked, knowing that the famed
Emerald Gladiator was not the masked man in question here.

"No, sir, the new guy, the one they call the Batman."

"What?" Gordon had to be sure this gangly kid wasn't trying to
play some joke on him. With all of the uncertainty and suspicion
that Gordon was already grappling with, the last thing he needed
was a pair of idiots trying to make a name for themselves as the
hunters of masked vigilantes. "Why the hell are you interested in
the Batman?"

"Well who isn't?" Willie asked. "Since the reporters got hold of
the stories those circus folks were telling, he's all that's been
in the news. So naturally, folks are curious about whether or not
he and his little blonde helper are real."

Gordon smiled a tired smile as understanding dawned on him, "I get
it, you mugs are the press digging around for a story."

"Well we are interested in doing some stories about the Batman,"
Robert began, "but you've got us all wrong..."

"No," Gordon said with no change in his expression, "I think we
understand each other perfectly. And like I told your fellow
snoops, the department's official position on the Batman and any
possible associates is as follows: vigilantes will not be
tolerated in this town, his actions are by definition illegal and
it is the department's job to bring him in. That, gentlemen, is
the official statement that the mayor and the commissioner have
issued and what I am bound to carry out."

"What about unofficially?" Willie asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Gordon said in response.

"You're quoting the official position, so you either disagree with
it and have your point of view, or you're just a guy so used to
following orders that you don't think for yourself any more." The
young man crossed his legs and smiled politely at Gordon, "You
don't strike me as a dumb cop biding his time until he can
retire."

Gordon's smile changed slightly from tired politeness to a genuine
respect for Willie's observation skills. "Okay, boy, this one's
just for you. My unofficial, off the record, 'if I see one word
of this in print, I'll haul your asses in and throw away the key'
opinion is: IF there's a Batman out there, he's got the crooks in
this town scared stiff and looking over their shoulders. I, for
one, am glad to have some guy out there making my job a little bit
easier and doing some good for this city."

"But aren't you afraid he'll show up the boys on the force with
his costume and gadgets?" Willie asked. "I mean, people may not
think you guys are very effective if you've got a mysteryman in a
cape mixing into police business."

Gordon's smile didn't fade as he hit the intercom button, "Madge?"

From the other end came a woman's voice, "Yes Lieutenant?"

"Send Merkel and Bullock in here," Gordon said evenly, "someone
left my office door open and a couple of flies got in while I was
out."

"Right, sir," came Madge's reply, "they're already on their way."

The door to Gordon's cramped office burst open as Bullock and
Merkel rushed in. The commotion disturbed a few papers on
Gordon's desk and caused some of the police notices pinned to the
bulletin board to flap in the gust of air created by the door
swinging open so suddenly.

"These your flies, boss?" Bullock asked with a fierce gleam in his
eye.

Gordon nodded quietly, "Don't swat them Harvey, just turn them
loose outside where they won't annoy me."

"Right, boss," Bullock said snatching one of the men off of
Gordon's couch.

"Hey wait a second!" Robert said in protest as Merkel grabbed him.
"What do you think you're doing?"

"Showing you how effective the boys on the force can be," Gordon
answered as he returned to his paperwork, "Good day, gents."

Bullock and Merkel hauled the pair out of the office before they
could say another word.

****************

Outside of the station house, Robert looked at Willie as the pair
picked themselves up off of the pavement where they had been
roughly deposited by the burly detectives.
"I guess that went well," Robert said in disgust.

"Actually it did," Willie answered with a slight smile.

"What are you talking about?" Robert said, his voice gaining
volume as he spoke. "HE THREW US OUT!!!"

"Not before telling us something important," Willie said
confidently, "he knows about the Batman and he supports him
despite orders to the contrary."

"So what does that mean?" Robert asked, dropping his tone of voice
to something more reasonable. "You think HE'S Batman?"

"No, I've checked into it, when Richard Drake got bumped off, he
was one of the guys on his way over to his apartment in response
to an anonymous tip." Drake's daughter said Batman was leaving as
Gordon's boys pulled up," Willie smoothed the front of his jacket
and checked the final result. "No Gordon's not the Batman, that's
for sure."

"Well who's next on our list?" Robert asked.

"The same guy we tried to reach when we got to town," Willie said
fishing through his pockets. He found a nickel and started
looking for a phone booth, "C'mon, let's make another call to
Bruce Wayne."

*****************************************************

TWO: "CATWOMAN IN RED"

IVORY TOWERS, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938

"TA-DAH!!!" Selina stepped from behind the curtain with a
flourish. She was dressed in a crimson silk gown that hugged her
like an old lover, with matching short red silk gloves with a
pearl bracelet on her right wrist. She was a vision in red except
for one thing, a mask that resembled a huge cat's head covered her
entire face, its mottled brown fur providing a sharp contrast to
the smooth, trim body it was attached to.

"Well what do you think?" Selina said waiting for a reaction from
her guest. Her voice was a little muffled to Harry's ears, it
sounded as if she were trying to talk through a wad of thick
cotton. Harry, used to all sorts of oddities, didn't show a
visible reaction one way or the other.

"What am I supposed to think?" Harry Lime asked as he quietly
sipped at his tea. "I'm tempted to turn loose a mouse to see if
you'll pounce on it."

"Very funny," Selina said as she removed her mask and shook out
her gorgeous mane of silken, jet black hair. "This is all for the
next job I'm going to pull." Selina tossed the mask on the desk,
sending Isis scampering off to the end of the desk, arching her
back and hissing. Selina smiled to hold back her laughter.
"Thanks for your support, Isis."

"Well you've got to admit, it's not necessarily a pretty face, my
dear", Harry said smiling amiably. "As to this 'next job' what
are you planning on, stealing a big collar and sand for a
litterbox?"

"You might say that, Harry," Selina said with a smile. "I'm going
after some trinkets and baubles at the Mayor's annual masquerade
party."

Harry's expression changed as he stared at his protege. "The one
held at the Penguin Club? Ambitious," Harry said, visibly
impressed. "I've heard that event was by invitation only."

Selina reached under the cat mask and lifted a cream colored
envelope from her desk. She tossed it to Harry almost as an
afterthought, "I'm pretty certain this will get me in."

Harry opened the envelope and read the enclosed card intently.
"Who, pray tell, is Nicole Howard?"

"An alias that contributed a great deal of money to the mayor's
re-election campaign fund for next year."

"And the address?" Harry asked as he handed the envelope back to
Selina. "I've noted it's not to this place or your old home at
Temple's estate."

"The address is to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town,
out by Wayne Manor," Selina said with a slight smile.

"I see," Harry said thoughtfully. "Well what about Bruce Wayne?"

"What about him?" Selina said a little lost by Harry's sudden
change of subject.

"Well he's reasonably well off, unattached, and filthy rich. He'd
probably be an easy mark for those green eyes of yours, why not
just marry for money?"

"I don't intend to get married again any time soon, Harry," Selina
said sourly. "And if I do ever remarry, it'll be for all the
right reasons, not for the sake of being a kept woman."

For a moment Selina seemed to grow sad. Her first criminal
escapade was the robbery of her ex-husband's home. It was the one
time that she let her emotions overwhelm her judgement in the
years that she had known Terrance and the result was that she
nearly beat him to death. His death a few weeks later due to
unrelated natural causes didn't make her feel any better. She felt
that if she hadn't hurt him in the first place, he'd probably
still be alive.

Still the thrill, the power of those moments were a lure too
strong for the young woman to resist. Selina had found a release
in the thrill of the moment, a sense of adventure in planning a
job and being bold enough to pull it off. This escapade would
definitely be far more exciting than the last one and, Selina
promised herself, far less deadly as well.

"Sorry, my dear," Harry said with an air of forced apology, "I am
an insensitive cad, aren't I?" Satisfied with his quite proper
reaction, Harry smiled one of those Cheshire Cat smiles of his,
and lit a cigarette. "Still, dear girl, why even go through all
of this trouble? You could rob the majority of these people in
your sleep one house at a time, and never get caught." Harry
leaned forward, appearing completely interested for the first time
since he came over to visit with his friend and pupil. "Why put
yourself at such a risk publicly by robbing the most prominent man
in town, during a high profile event in a city swarming with cops
and masked vigilantes dressed like some giant cat-woman?" Harry
blew a slim stream of smoke between his lips, "It's not like you
need the money since you've reclaimed your stolen inheritance."

"Why for the best reason in the world, Harry dear," Selina cooed
softly as she picked up the cat mask from the desk. "No one's
ever done it before."

Harry smashed out his stub, "Well my dear, I'm afraid I'll miss
your debut as a cat-woman, I'm leaving for Europe the day after
Christmas so I'll finally leave you in peace."

"What's the game, Harry?" Selina asked with an arched eyebrow. "I
doubt that this is for the sake of aiding the Allied powers in the
war against that little paperhanger in Germany."

"My dear," Harry said with a dismissive wave as if he were trying
to clear away some lingering remnant of smoke from his cigarette,
"there is money to be made from this little conflict if one is
willing to take a few chances. I won't be going for any extended
period of time, I just want to see to an investment I've made in a
charitable medical service that helps refugees in Central Europe."

Selina shook her head in disbelief, "You don't expect me to
believe that you intend to help the poor and needy with food and
medicine. That's not exactly your style."

"Well until recently," Harry said with a smile, "I wouldn't have
expected you to be running around plotting spectacular crimes in a
cat mask and yet here you are."

"I suppose you're right," Selina said as she stepped into her
kitchen. The clicking of her heels tapped out a rhythmic serenade
as she searched for something out of Harry's field of vision. "I
suppose there is still room in life for a few surprises and the
unexpected."

"Well don't fool yourself, honey," Harry said with a bit of a
smirk, "there are services we offer that aren't exactly according
to Hoyle, but necessary nonetheless. And of course, the extra
risk engenders a certain 'consideration' for our efforts to make
certain that those services aren't interrupted. There's still
time for me to arrange a passport for you, Selina, would you like
to come along?"

"Afraid not, Mister Lime," Selina said as she re-entered the room.
In her hand, she carried a bottle of champagne and a pair of
glasses. "See, my dear, my debt to you is paid in full and I'm a
girl who's not going to tempt fate if I can avoid it."

"Well if you insist, Selina, but I must say this is unexpected,"
Harry said with a bit of seriousness in his voice. "I thought you
would jump at the chance to share an adventure into the unknown."

Selina poured Harry a glass of champagne and then poured a drink
for herself, "Well since you won't be here for the New Year, I
suppose we should share a toast now."

"Seems fair, my dear," Harry said as he graciously accepted the
glass. "What shall we drink to?"

"We'll drink to the unexpected, Harry, what else?" Selina replied
with a smile as she touched the rim of her glass to Harry's.

*****************************************************

THREE: "THE NEW TEEN TITAN"

WAYNE MANOR, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938, DUSK...

The manor was empty when they returned, Julie had managed to pack
her bags and leave in the few hours Bruce and Alfred had been
away. Bruce's heart still felt hollow and empty, he still didn't
know what he felt inside, but he was glad for the results of the
day in other ways as he heard Alfred coming into the hallway with
Wayne's guests.

"Wow! Look at this place!" Bruce heard a commotion in the hallway
and the voice of one of his guests shouting with the wonder of
youth at the grandness of his family home. The hall's bigger than
most of the houses we've played!"

"Dicky, boy," came the voice of another member of the guest party,
"calm down and quit doing handsprings on Mister Wayne's carpet!"

"I still have my doubts about this," came a female voice from the
foyer just before the hallway. "Of course Mister Wayne has the
means to do what he proposes but there's more to this than--"

"Miss Briggs," Alfred's voice could be heard now and Bruce knew
all too well the deftly masked irritation in his tone. The woman
from the county orphanage had been voicing her doubts and
displeasure since the group had left the courthouse. It was
obvious that her opinion of Bruce Wayne's lifestyle was not a
favorable one and that his winning the court case this morning was
due to his influence in the city as opposed to what was in the
best interest of her charge. "Mister Wayne has managed to
maintain a multi-million dollar empire, donate thousands of
dollars to charity, survive the depression that plagued this
country over the last decade and even manages to pay me on a
regular basis. I would think that his ability to be a responsible
adult has been proven in fact as well as the courtrooms."

"Anyone can buy a judge or pay off the hired help for a
testimonial, Mister Pennyworth," Emily Briggs responded coolly as
the pair entered the room.

Alfred's facial expression was a superb effort in concealing his
exasperation at the woman's bluntness. Instead of his usual
working clothes, Alfred wore an off the rack brown suit that he
altered himself with the skill of a seasoned tailor. The outfit
was tastefully rounded out with a crisply starched white shirt, a
pair of walnut brown shoes and a neat brown tie that matched the
shade of his shoes.

Miss Briggs' style of dress was as bland and businesslike as her
manner, a drab gray business suit with an ill fitting skirt and a
too loose jacket that gave her shoulders a deceptive broadness.
Her mouse brown hair was tightly bound into a bun which looked
like it wouldn't move even in a hurricane. Her flat heeled, black
patent leather shoes were both functional and comfortable looking,
but only added to the drab harshness that the woman seemed to
radiate, not to mention conjuring up images of the stereotypical
prison matron. Bruce had allowed that thought to cross his mind
several times over the last few hours and found himself fighting
the urge to chuckle over the comparison. As Bruce looked at his
old friend and the woman who was assigned by the court to complete
the day's business, he noted that the two looked as if they were
engaged in some subtle battle of wills, each trying to protect
their particular charge from the unknown.

Bruce wondered if he was making the right decision himself as Dick
Grayson bounded into the living room with a near flawless flip
that carried him between the incredibly tight space that separated
Alfred and Briggs, and landed with a grace and skill that Bruce
still found uncanny in the middle of the room. Dick's inclusion
into Bruce's equation was an unexpected one, but since the night
he accidentally discovered that Bruce was secretly the Batman, it
became necessary to keep him close to hand. Briggs was right to a
certain degree, Bruce's status as one of Gotham's favorite sons
did grease the wheels of the system quite a bit, albeit without
any effort on his part. Bruce's request to become Dick Grayson's
legal guardian was possibly one of the fastest to be granted in
the history of the city and he wasn't going to complain about the
advantages of his station when it can be used to help his private
crusade against Gotham's underworld.

Bruce's train of thought was interrupted by the entrance of a
frantic "Pop" Haly trailing behind the young man, "Dicky! This
ain't the high wire, stop it before you break something!" Unlike
the other adults in the room, Haly was dressed in a well worn
sport coat and a pair of off the rack slacks. He mopped his wide
brow dotted with perspiration from his efforts to calm dick down
and his fear that Bruce may suddenly decide that stately Wayne
Manor may not be the place to raise a circus orphan. "Sorry,
Mister Wayne," Haly said apologetically. "Dick's a very active
boy."

"Yes, Mister Wayne," Briggs said as if Haly had dropped some kind
of cue for her to follow up on, "How do you suppose you'll deal
with keeping such an active child from getting bored? What kind
of friends will he have? What about his education, Mister Wayne?
It's too late for him to enroll in school, what is he to do until
the next semester, wander aimlessly around your home until you
remember he has needs that must be attended to?" Briggs' voice
rose a notch for each question she posed to the young millionaire.
She fired one query after the next as if peppering Wayne with
words would make him see the futility of what he was undertaking.

Bruce however took the whole interrogation in stride and waited
for the ranting to come to an end before he spoke, "Miss Briggs,"
Bruce began with a yawn, his voice and manner falling comfortably
into the role of the bored playboy politely tolerating one of the
common folk, "Alfred will be more than happy to show you the house
and surrounding grounds which includes a modest gym, an archery
range, stables, a well stocked library and--" Bruce allowed an
exaggerated expression of concentration to cross his face before
looking up at Alfred in mock helplessness as he asked, "I forget
Alfred, old fellow, do we have two or three swimming pools?"

"Four, sir," Alfred answered dryly. "That is if you're counting
the one out by the guest house."

Bruce smiled at his butler as if his answer were a major
revelation on Dick's future in Wayne Manor and continued, "Ah,
thank you, Alfred. As I was saying FOUR swimming pools! There's
a wealth of variety to keep the young man's body and mind
sufficiently occupied until he can begin going to school at the
beginning of the year. I'm sure that he will make friends in time
once he gets among children his own age, he seems to be a very
personable and charismatic young man."

"You can't be serious!" Briggs said in utter disbelief. "you're
dismissing the boy as if he were a puppy or something, Mister
Wayne! This young man has been through a horrible ordeal in the
last few days, you can't possibly begin to understand--"

Without taking his eyes off of the young woman, Bruce said,
"Alfred, take Mister Haly and Dick upstairs. I'd like a moment
alone with Miss Briggs and I'm sure Dick would like to settle in
and show Mister Haly around the house."

"Er yes--," Alfred said with a slight cough, "As you wish, sir."
Alfred's facial expression was as placid as a lake on a quiet
afternoon, but his eyes showed a hint of worry over what would
transpire in their absence. Miss Briggs didn't realize it, but
she had managed to tread right into the core of Bruce Wayne's
heartache, the painful loss that eventually drove a young boy to
create the masked identity of the Batman when he grew up. Alfred
knew as he led Dick and Haly out of the room that it wasn't Bruce
Wayne who needed to understand the situation, it was Emily Briggs.

As the sounds of footfalls receded down the corridor, Emily Briggs
took a defensive stance, as if she were prepared to go to blows
with Bruce if that's what it took to settle the matter. "Mister
Wayne, I know what you're going to say, and--"

"Would you care to step outside, Miss Briggs?" Bruce asked
politely, his eyes had not moved from the moment that Briggs had
first dished out a verbal barrage meant to change Bruce's mind.

"I beg your pardon?" Briggs asked, slightly confused.

"I was just curious as to whether or not you'd like to step
outside for a breath of fresh air," Bruce answered innocently,
"the room seemed a little stuffy to me. It may be cold outside
but the change of atmosphere might do us both a world of good."

"I'm afraid that attempts at being charming will not change my
mind, Mister Wayne," Briggs said with her hands on her hips. "Dick
Grayson's welfare is a serious matter, not easily solved by some
rich man's whim."

"Was I being charming?" Bruce replied nonchalantly. "And here I
was assuming I was just trying to be a polite host."

"Mister Wayne, you haven't heard a word I've said have you?"
Briggs asked in a tone registering her growing frustration with
the man's cavalier attitude.

"Quite the contrary, Miss Briggs," Bruce answered with a sigh. "I
have heard EVERY word you've said since we left the orphanage to
the courtroom and from the courts to my home. I have not only
heard every word you've said, you've repeated them so often that I
can probably quote you verbatim." Bruce's expression changed from
feigned disinterest to genuine earnestness. "I've chosen to keep
quiet out of respect for your opinion and your obvious concern for
Dick's well being, but enough is enough! I will not have my
intentions, my home and the memory of my parents disrespected
because you have a problem with rich people, Miss Briggs."

"Mister Wayne, you--"

"I what, Miss Briggs?" Bruce said cutting the young woman's words
off before she could get started. "I'm too insulated by my wealth
to understand the needs of a young boy who lost his parents? I
beg to differ, Miss Briggs. If anyone's keenly aware of exactly
what Dick's going through, it's me."

"Oh, please, Mister Wayne," Briggs snorted with a dismissive wave,
"Dick's pain can't be washed away by sudden wealth as you did with
your parents."

For the space of a second, Bruce's control slipped and he allowed
himself to get angry. Just as quickly, he reigned in the words
and emotions that would've erupted unchecked from a lesser man.
"I'll forget you said that and presume that you're attempting to
rattle me into relinquishing my guardianship of the boy. Still
just so the record's clear, Miss Briggs, my parents were gunned
down before my eyes by a senseless act of violence, needlessly
murdered by some petty criminal who was too cowardly to act
without the security of a gun. I loved my parents, Miss Briggs.
I loved them more than life itself and there isn't a day that goes
by where I don't wish that I had them back in my life. Let's make
one thing clear, if I knew that sacrificing my fortune and the
life of luxury I've lived because of it could bring them back to
life, it would be a small price to pay.

"I remember the well intentioned county people who tried to do
what was in my best interests, how they fought to send me into
foster homes and adoption agencies in order to restore a 'normal'
family to my life. In essence, to bury my parents in memory as
well as in body and fact. I was fortunate to have Alfred ready to
bear the responsibility of being my guardian, saving me from the
fate that 'helpful' people, like you, were ready to ship me off
to. You have no idea what's best for Dick, if you did, you'd back
off and give me the chance to make his burden a little easier to
bear by helping him through this."

"B-but the kind of lifestyle you have--" Briggs began with a hint
of uncertainty in her voice.

"Is more fiction than fact, I can assure you," Bruce interjected.
"the scandalmongers paint my private and public life with far more
exciting and provocative strokes from their brushes than what is
actually true. I'm actually a very boring man than the Bruce
Wayne who occasionally dominates the gossip columns. However I
give my assurances that if you're worried about any conflict or
danger Dick may face while in my care, I can promise you that
danger will be shared by me and I'll move heaven and Earth to
assure his well being."

Bruce stopped and pinned Briggs with his steel blue eyes once more
and added, "That is, of course, if you're willing give me the
opportunity."

Briggs stared thoughtfully at Bruce for a moment, his stare didn't
waver as she weighed his words. The staring contest came to an
end as Briggs shifted her weight from one foot to the next and
then stared at her shoes as if inspecting them for some sign of
dust. Finally, she looked up and smiled nervously at Bruce,
"okay, Mister Wayne, we'll try it your way for now."

Bruce could hear the uncertainty in the woman's voice as she
spoke, but he smiled back at her reassuringly. "You won't regret
this, Miss Briggs."

"Of that I'm certain, Mister Wayne," Briggs said confidently,
"because if I see even a hint of improper behavior--"

"I expect nothing less than you and Batman himself to show me the
error of my ways," Bruce said with a more relaxed smile as the
tension drained from the moment. "You know I've just noticed
something about you, Miss Briggs."

Briggs suddenly became aware that Bruce's gaze had changed from
piercing to appraising, which brought a slight blush to her
cheeks. "What would that be, Mister Wayne?"

"When you smile, Miss Briggs, you're quite a looker," Bruce
answered with a charming smile.

****************

A few hours later, after Wayne's guests had said their good-byes
to Dick Grayson, that Alfred and Bruce, who was dressed in his
Batman costume stood waiting in the dark recesses of the Batcave.

"Is he just about ready, Alfred?" Bruce asked slightly annoyed.
"There's a lot he'll have to learn and the sooner we get started,
the better."

"Patience, sir," Alfred answered with a huff in his voice, "I'm
sure there will be felons aplenty waiting to be beat within an
inch of their lives."

"Alfred..." Bruce said with something that resembled a groan in
his voice.

"Sorry, sir," Alfred said apologetically, "after all if you're
very lucky some aspiring future crime boss will kill you both
before Miss Briggs discovers what you and young Master Dick are up
to at night."

"It really is for the best, Alfred," Bruce said disregarding his
friend's comment as he pulled his cowl over his head. The dark
hood dropped into place, replacing the handsome features of Bruce
Wayne with the fearsome visage of the Batman.

"As you say, sir."

"Just remember, Alfred," said a voice from the rear of the cave,
"that I asked for this."

The voice made both men look up as Dick Grayson stepped out from
behind the dressing area and into the light. Dick's infectious
smile was in place as always, but the young man was dressed in a
brightly colored costume, a definite contrast to his guardian's
uniform. A black domino mask covered the boy's eyes, a short
yellow cape was draped over his shoulders, a bright red vest with
yellow leather straps running down the chest like a train track,
covered a green T-shirt whose short sleeves could be seen above
the matching green gloves he wore. The remainder of his outfit
consisted of green trunks and matching slip on shoes that bore a
passing resemblance to elfin footwear. The red vest was belted by
what looked like a simple black leather belt, but concealed in the
back were various pockets that contained equipment similar to the
Batman's arsenal. The one change that Dick made in the uniform
from the original concept that Bruce had in mind was a simple
yellow "R" in a jet black circle on the left flap of the red vest.

"So am I presentable enough to be seen with the Batman?" Dick
asked with a wide smile.

Batman pointed to the emblem on Dick's chest, "What's this for?"

Before Dick could answer, Alfred chimed in, "I certainly hope it's
for something other that 'Richard'. Unless you intend to be like
that Captain America fellow and call your boy sidekick something
like 'Ricky'."

Without missing a beat, Dick looked up at Batman, "He's not too
keen on me doing this is he?"

"He's pretty stubborn, but he'll adjust to the concept," Batman
answered with an expression that may have been bordering on a
smile. "So what's the 'R' for?"

"Something my mom used to call me," Dick said with a faraway look
on his face. "I'm calling myself Robin."

Batman nodded his assent to the boy's chosen name and headed for
the car. "Well hop in, Robin, school is now in session."

As the shadowy coupe sped off into the growing dark of the night,
a line running to the mansion above began to ring on the table.
Alfred walked over to it and answered, "Wayne residence... No,
Master Bruce has stepped out for the evening. No sir, I'm not
certain when he shall return, may I take a message?" Alfred
managed to complete the somewhat difficult task of dragging a pad
of paper from where Bruce had left it to the edge of the desk
where Alfred had originally placed it.

"Yes sir, I got the first name, 'Robert', if you could be so kind
as to repeat the last name and your number..." Alfred scribbled
the requested information on the pad quickly before asking, "And
the nature of your business?" Alfred nearly dropped the phone as
the caller stated his business, "Er... Let me be certain that
I've gotten this correctly, this regards the Batman..."

*****************************************************

FOUR: "BIRDS OF PREY"

THE PENGUIN CLUB, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938

Oswald Cobblepot had managed to finally put the few nights of jail
time out of his memory. If he were a vengeful man, he may have
attempted to pull some strings to get back at James Gordon for
following Bruce's suggestion, but as much as he hated to admit it,
the time served only increased his status in the criminal
community. He was known as the man who would keep his secrets, no
matter what happened; a reputation that had already netted him
information from some very wealthy fencesitters who held secrets
and information that would fetch a pretty penny from the right
people. He was mentally counting his potential profit to keep his
mind off of the particularly bad comedian who was auditioning for
the last open slot for the Mayor's New Year's bash.

"...but the dog in the gorilla suit has to go!" said the long
faced comedian with the obligatory rim shot from the house band's
drummer. Seeing no one was laughing, the young man sheepishly
grabbed his straw boater and cocked it onto his head. "Uh, Mister
Cobblepot, I guess that finishes my bit. When will I find out
about the job?"

"I still have a few more acts to review before I can make a final
decision," Cobblepot said as amiably as he could manage. "I'll
have one of my people call you if you've made it."

The comedian swept his straw hat from his head and turned
nervously in his hands, "M-Mister Cobblepot, is it possible that I
can audition for another part if this doesn't work out? Maybe as
the M.C. or something? I really need to get this job."

"So does everyone else who's shown up today, young man," Cobblepot
said irritably. He didn't want to take the chance that the
comedian was as bad at straight lines as he was at funny ones. "I
understand what an opportunity it would be to be featured in this
show, but I have to be fair to the other people waiting--"

"I don't care about the other people!" the comedian said with a
bit more anger than he intended to use in his voice. "My wife's--
"

"Gonna to be a widow if you don't walk out of here right now,
skinny."

The comedian spun to see one of the club's bouncers heading his
way. As he approached, he cracked the knuckles of his brick-like
fists, letting the comedian know just how serious he was about
hurting the skinny comedian if he didn't leave.

"Okay, okay," the comedian said in dejected defeat, "I didn't mean
to get so upset, Mister Cobblepot. I'm going."

"Cedric," Cobblepot said to the bruiser who was standing by the
comedian, "make sure our funny friend here finds the way out
safely."

Cedric smiled at his boss as he guided the shaking comedian off
the stage towards the nearest exit, "Sure thing, Mister Cobblepot.
He's as safe as houses."

After the bouncer and his charge had left, Cobblepot sauntered
with that odd waddle walk of his towards the polished white doors
of his private office, "If I'm needed, I'll be catching up on some
paperwork in the office."

A beautiful young woman in a silver and black waitress uniform
spoke to the little man as he started for the door, "Mister
Cobblepot, what about the other acts?"

"Hmmm? What other acts Wren?" the man known as the Penguin said
in a dreamlike way.

"The ones you told that stiff with the corny jokes about," Wren
said with a growing look of confusion coming to her exquisite
features.

"Why, Wren, my dear," Cobblepot said with a thoughtful grin,
"there are no other acts. Can't you tell when I'm joking?" With
a slight chuckle, Cobblepot turned on his heel and waddled into
his office, closing the door behind himself.

****************

Cobblepot was still chuckling when he waddled over to a recess in
the wall and leaned against it hard. the little man's weight
depressed a lever and a section of the wall slid away to reveal a
hidden safe. Grunting with a bit of effort, Cobblepot managed to
stoop over so that he could manipulate the combination. After a
few spins of the large dial, Cobblepot pulled on the gleaming
steel handle and, with a little effort, managed to wrench open the
heavy leaden door. A quick search of the neatly filed folders and
Cobblepot emerged with his prize. He straightened up, huffing and
puffing, and started to close the safe door.

"Not so fast, Penguin."

The woman's voice caught the beak-nosed man off guard. at first
he thought it was Wren, using her pass key for some emergency, but
as he turned, Cobblepot realized that whoever this masked blonde
was, she had obviously entered from somewhere other than the door.

"Well, miss, if you're here to audition for the show as a
magician, you're hired," Cobblepot said trying to sound
nonchalant. He had managed to pull it off pretty well until a
nervous twitter escaped his lips.

"Actually, I'm here to conduct business of a different nature,"
the masked woman said casually. "I'm looking for some
information."

"What kind of information could a struggling nightclub owner like
I, have for a masked woman who has an inclination for breaking and
entering, illegally, I might add; into my office?" Cobblepot had
managed to edge over to one of the planters as he spoke, behind it
was a hidden call switch that would notify his people that he was
in trouble. The bouncers and security guards would surely break
down the doors, but Cobblepot was certain he could have the damage
repaired before tomorrow's private Christmas party for the Van
Dorns.

As he leaned against the planter, attempting to look like it was a
natural action on his part, his attempt was stopped cold by a
sudden sound of metal cleaving air, and the surprising appearance
of three black metal birds stuck deep into the wall just above his
fingers.

"I'd be very still if I were you, Mister Cobblepot," the young
woman said as she drew forth another handful of the deadly bladed
birds. "That was your only warning. Now as to my question..."

Cobblepot straightened up and reassessed the intruder in his
office with a new interest. She looked like some kind of showgirl
in her leotard and fishnet stockings, but the mask was a definite
wrinkle that identified her as one of the new masked vigilantes
that had started to make their presence felt in Gotham. Cobblepot
had taken the recent tales about these people as the half drunk
ravings of some of the lower criminal classes or circus folk
looking to get some free publicity by claiming they saw such
masked people during the whole Zucco affair from a few days ago,
but now here was one of them in the flesh. What did she know
about him? Cobblepot regretted not paying more attention to the
rumors and stories, he despised being unprepared.

Unfortunately, it was a condition Cobblepot would have to adjust
to, she had taken the squat man unawares and had the advantage of
being a definite unknown quantity to get whatever she was after
from him. It was a position that Cobblepot would not experience
again, if he could help it. The little man made a quiet promise
that he would discover everything there was to know about these
masked heroes operating in his city. And if necessary, make
provisions to remove them.

"What would you like to know, young lady?"

"Jim Gordon's detective squad has a snitch to the underworld,
someone who's fingered at least three attempted hits on his boys,"
the masked woman said. "I want to know who it is."

Cobblepot's eyes widened so much that his trademark monocle popped
loose from its perch over his left eye. "Why is this person so
important to you?"

"I'm asking the questions," the woman replied coldly. "The
reasons why I'm asking are none of your concern."

"Sorry," Cobblepot said with a measure of genuine apology in his
voice, "I forgot myself. I suppose one can't help but be curious
when someone like you drops in out of the blue, looking for
crooked policemen." The little man brushed away some invisible
speck of dust from his shoulder before focusing his attention on
the masked woman once more. "I'm afraid I don't know, miss. At
best, all I've heard is a rumor or two that someone on the squad
had been playing ball with Zucco, but the person's name has been
conspicuously absent from any reports I've received recently."

"I know your reputation, Penguin, so I know I can trust that to be
the truth," the woman answered. "I may check with you from time
to time to see if there's any new information on this person."

"I see," Cobblepot said apprehensively, "and I'm supposed to just
allow you to intrude upon me for free information?"

"Consider it your civic duty, Penguin," the blonde woman said as
she moved towards the thick velvet drapes by the windows.
Cobblepot noticed that they stirred ever so slightly, giving him
an answer to the woman's means of entry. "Besides," she added
with a smile, "the sooner I get what I want, the sooner I'm out of
your hair."

"Then I'll endeavor to finish this transaction with all due
haste," Cobblepot said with a smile of his own. "And who should I
be looking for when I do have an answer to your query?"

"Don't worry, Mister Cobblepot," the woman said with a shadowy
smile, "I'll contact you."

Cobblepot fumed silently, the woman was practically out of the
window and he hadn't managed to pull one useful bit of information
from her. The pudgy man's mind raced through what little he did
know and recalled something from the articles on Zucco's death
buried under the purple prose of the Gotham Gazette's star
reporters. "I see you're traveling alone, my dear, where's your--
" Cobblepot let the question hang in the air for a minute,"--I
want to say 'companion', but I believe he's your boss, isn't he?"

The masked blonde's eyes narrowed as she looked back across the
richly colored Oriental rug that separated the distance between
them like a chasm. For an instant, Cobblepot wasn't sure if the
change of expression was due to suspicion or anger, but he was
certain that she was as surprised as he was by what happened next;
she answered his question.

"The Batman and I are partners, Penguin," the woman said
carefully, as if she were weighing the significance of each word
before speaking them, "but rest assured that the Black Canary is
her own woman." She pointed an accusing finger at Cobblepot,
"Don't try to play games with me, I'm on a very short fuse as it
is. Find me the mole in Gordon's office." Before Cobblepot could
say anything else, the Black Canary was out of the window with
nothing more than the flapping of the drapes to mark her passing
and the steel bird shape razors as proof that she had ever been
there in the first place.

Cobblepot stood there for a moment, as if she would look back in
to see if he was staying put as he was ordered to do. Ordered.
The very thought that he was being ordered around by anyone
brought a wave of anger and revulsion to the core of Cobblepot's
being. The anger seemed to bubble up to the surface of the beak
nosed club owner's face, making a monstrous mask of malice,
nothing like the cherubic face that Cobblepot wore in public. He
spun and angrily ripped the blades from his wall and let them fly
from his hand. The blades whizzed across the room and embedded
themselves in the forehead of a polar bear rug that hung on the
wall by the door. The rug was given to Cobblepot when the club
opened as some sort of novelty gift. All three blades hit in a
near perfect triangle with an accuracy that could not be chalked
up to chance.

"I'll show you who's playing games," Cobblepot said, his voice
seething with venom as he dug the blades out of the bear's head.
"Nobody's going to walk over Oswald Cobblepot and get away with
it. Not Jim Gordon, not Bruce Wayne and especially not some tramp
in a mask and her bat caped boyfriend."

Cobblepot ripped the phone from its cradle and started dialing,
his temperament had reached some measure of calm by the time the
call was put through, his voice was even as he said, "Wren, I want
the word out on the street, I want to find out who the mole is in
James Gordon's detective squad and I want to know if anyone knows
anything about the Black Canary and the Batman, including who they
are behind those masks."

He paused a moment as Wren said something in response. His
features contorted into a mask of anger as he shouted, "I don't
want to hear about how no one knows who the Batman is, someone
knows something!" Cobblepot calmed himself as quickly as he had
lost his temper, "I apologize Wren, give our usual people some
incentive here, double my standard 'finder's fee' for the snitch
on Gordon's team, triple for pertinent information on the
vigilantes and a cool million to anyone who can bring me their
real names."

Another pause passed for the little man as Wren stammered
something to her employer. Cobblepot smiled with satisfaction as
he lit a fresh cigarette and jammed it into the holder, "That's
right, my dear, one million dollars upon verification of the
information. Now get cracking, Wren, time is of the essence."

"I'll find your turncoat for you, Black Canary," Cobblepot said to
himself as Wren rang off. "After all, every good trap needs some
kind of bait to draw in the prey," Cobblepot hung up the receiver
and studied the small metal bird in his hand for a moment and then
casually flicked his wrist, hitting the bear between the eyes with
ease. "It's time to remind these upstarts who holds the reins of
power in this town," Cobblepot puffed contentedly on his cigarette
and lined up his next throw with the second black bird razor.

*****************************************************

FIVE: "THE BRAVE AND THE BOLD"

MURRAYÕS BAR & GRILL, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938...

"I'm telling you he was at least eight feet tall, with fangs that
were covered in blood!"

Willie and Robert sat and listened to the rubbery faced felon in
the badly tailored black pinstripe suit. Eel O'Brien was
recounting his version of the events surrounding Batman's visit to
Murray's, and though the young men were dubious about the story
they were hearing, O'Brien was one of the few patrons willing to
discuss the matter at all. The others in the bar seemed almost
afraid to broach the subject at all, some even claimed that the
Batman was some kind of mystical creature who would know that
people were seeking him out and that he would find them himself.

Harvey Dent shook his head sadly as he listened to O'Brien's
rantings and took a sip of his beer. The handsome young District
Attorney had disguised himself in shabby clothes and several days
of beard. His features were covered with an oily, substance that
made his skin look a little darker and subtly affected his
appearance enough to give any one who may recognize him pause.
Dent had decided that he couldn't afford to trust anyone in his
quest to bring down the Maroni crime family, the Batman had
brought his reliance on Jim Gordon to an end when he revealed
there was a mole in the dedicated cop's own elite squad. Two days
ago, dent adopted this second face to mask his movements in the
underworld while he looked for some kind of lead to the Maronis.

Dent had used Apollo, his old nickname from his high school and
college days as a surname and Joey, as a nondescript enough first
name. His cover was simple enough, with the assistance of some
planted records in the department's known criminal files, Dent, as
Joey "the Face" Apollo, was a con man who could also stand in as a
decent wheel man and occasional muscle. The manufactured records
had Apollo as a two-time loser recently released from Ryker's
Island out near Metropolis. If anyone bothered to investigate,
Apollo's "history" would stand up enough to convince any doubters
that he was genuine. Still despite the preparations, Dent was not
able to make any inroads to establishing himself as a criminal
worthy of the Maroni family's interest.

"Yer in my stool."

Dent looked over his shoulder at the mule faced thug who spoke.
The man was tall, broad and muscular, his face bore obvious
souvenirs from other fights he'd been in over the years including
an unmistakably huge cauliflower ear. He wore a green and red
striped shirt that was at least two sizes too small, but fairly
serviceable if one didn't count the rather noticeable hole just
below his left shoulder blade. From shoulder to chest, the man's
upper torso was shaped like a V, he was probably able to dish out
a world of punishment with the cable like corded muscles in his
arms. A gap toothed, tabacco stained smile greeted Dent as their
eyes met and the bruiser flexed brick like fingers at the end of
his concrete pillar arms.

For some reason, this didn't seem to bother Dent who was
definitely the smaller man between the two of them, in fact he
smiled back as he said, "I don't see your name here, friend."

Dent was turning back to his beer, when he felt the thug's paw on
his shoulder. "Look, sonny," the massive wall of muscle said with
a growing growl in his voice, "why don't ya get off my stool and
run along home to your mama before I have to get tough?"

Dent turned halfway in his stool and said, "What was that about my
mother, friend?"

The bigger man smiled a little wider with the knowledge that he
had struck a nerve, "I said after I got up off of your mother, she
told me to make sure and tell you to get on home." The man's
knuckles popped loudly as he cracked them, "Now you wanna make
somethin' out of that, sonny?"

Dent's response was to reach into his pocket and produce a coin, a
silver dollar to be exact, which he twirled between his fingers.
"Tell you what tough guy, I'll be fair, tails I move out of the
chair, heads I don't."

"An' what if I don't like the fact that it's heads?"

"Then you're free to try and move me," Dent said with an odd grin.
Before the thug could comment, Dent had tossed the coin high into
the air. Besides the thug, several onlookers who had been
attracted by the exchange, watched as the coin spiraled high into
the rafters.

The only person not absorbed by the flight of the coin was Dent
himself, who promptly snatched a heavy bottle of gin from over the
counter and swung it with all of his force at the side of the
thug's head. The explosion of glass was rapidly drowned out by
the horrific screaming of the bigger man who now clutched at his
lacerated face which was streaming with blood that ran freely past
his fingers. Before the injured bruiser could recover, Dent had
jumped off of the stool and snatched it up like a club. Dent
slammed the stool into the man's stomach, knocking the wind from
him and dropping him towards the floor. as the man fell, Dent
raised the stool and brought it down hard, evoking a whimper of
pain from the prone felon. Dent kicked the thug in the cut up
side of his face, before bringing the stool down three more times,
after the third swing, the stool came apart in Dent's still
trembling fingers.

Dent looked down at the battered form that had been threatening
him only a few seconds before and spat on him. "Nobody talks
about my mother," Dent said flatly as he sent another kick off to
the man's face. "Especially not some loser who ain't had any
since it had him." Another wave of disgust passed over Dent's
face as he threw the remains of the stool on bloody figure, "By
the way, the stool's all yours, I hope it was worth it."

Dent started to walk for the door. He knew that he may have just
put his head in a noose with such a savage attack, but if he
backed down, others would've tried to harass him and he'd probably
never get a line on Maroni. Still as he headed for the door, Dent
was prepared to face retaliation from any of the criminal's
friends that may feel the need to avenge the man. Dent scanned
the faces among the crowd, looking for some sign of a threat from
among them, but what he found instead was surprise and maybe a
sense of awe. Dent's hand had touched the knob of the front door
when a hand tapped his shoulder. Dent whirled, fists clenched,
prepared for anything.

What was facing him as he turned was a smiling, dark haired man
wearing a light tan suit. In his hand, was Dent's coin.

"Whoa! Easy there, friend!" the man said raising his hands to
show he wasn't a threat, "I just wanted to give you back your
coin."

Dent's posture relaxed a little as he accepted it. "Thanks, I'd
forgotten about it in all of the excitement."

"My pleasure, bo," the man smiled and extended a hand, "Pleased to
meet'cha, name's Gamboni, Gino Gamboni." Dent marveled at his
luck, Gamboni was one of Maroni's top lieutenants. He started out
as a leg breaker for the Maronis but managed to climb through the
ranks to become one of Maroni's most trusted soldiers. Dent was
aware that Gamboni still hung out in the circles he came from,
that's what made him so popular in the organization, but he was
unaware that Gamboni actually frequented places like Murray's
during his leisure time.

"Likewise, Mister Gamboni, I'm Joey Apollo," Dent replied as he
shook Gamboni's hand.

Gamboni let out a rolling laugh, "Hey, kid, you start calling me
'Mister Gamboni' and I start looking for my father. I answer to
Gambino, Gino or sir." He released Dent's hand and put on his
hat, "Only my closest pals can get away with calling me, Gambi."

"Well you're an important man, sir," Dent said trying his best not
to choke on the word "sir" as he said it aloud. "We've even heard
of you and the Maroni family over in Metropolis."

"Well it's nice to know a man's rep travels, kid," Gamboni
answered, genuinely pleased. Dent knew that he had found his
opportunity to work his way into the Maroni gang, playing on
Gamboni's vanity seemed to be working as well, the gangster opened
the door for Dent saying, "Take a walk with me kid, I wanna talk
to you in private."

"About what?" Dent asked in a wary tone.

Gamboni slapped Dent's shoulder and roared another laugh, "I like
you, kid. You've got moxie!" Gamboni's genial spirit quieted
down to something more businesslike as they stepped onto the dimly
lit, snow covered street. "Well since, you've beat the holy hell
out of "Mammoth" McCoy back there, I need someone to watch my back
as my bodyguard. You've just been elected seeing you created a
vacancy by caving in the poor sucker's brains!"

Dent's posture became defensive once again, "Hey I didn't know he
was--"

"Nix!" Gamboni said cutting off Dent's remark. "It was the guy's
first might on the job and he blows it by getting his ass handed
to him by a guy who swings a mean bottle of gin! The only person
who'll be upset is his sister." Gamboni placed a friendly hand on
Dent's shoulder, "Better I find out what he's made of now instead
of later. Besides, I like the way you handled yourself, you think
quick on your feet."

"I learned to do that pretty early in life," Dent said. "If you
don't, you won't survive."

"Yeah," Gamboni said in agreement, "Ain't it the truth? Still
what was the bit with the coin?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You told Mammoth it would be a heads or tails thing, but this is
one of them trick coins, it's got two heads! You stacked the
deck, knowing you'd have to fight Mammoth?"

Dent smiled now, "I knew I could beat him if it came down to a
fight. It's never stacking the deck when you're betting on a sure
thing, sir."

Gamboni laughed once again, the sound booming and echoing off of
the walls of nearby buildings. Gamboni clapped Dent's back
heartily, "Yes sir, I like how you handle yourself, kid. Oh and
you can quit calling me 'sir', you just moved up in the ranks.
Call me Gino."

"Anything you say, Gino," Dent answered as the pair reached
Gamboni's car and Dent opened the door for "Joey Apollo's" new
employer, who would also serve as the first rung in Dent's climb
to bring down Maroni himself.

*****************************************************

SIX: "THE BATMAN'S FAMILY"

CRIME ALLEY, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 23, 1938.

"That's the spot," the Batman said pointing down at the grimy,
thin strip of concrete that ran behind the remains of a boarded up
movie theatre. "That's where my parents died."

Robin crouched down and looked into the shadows of the alley as if
he would see the bodies of the Waynes unmoved from the spot where
they fell. "Did you see what happened to them?" Robin asked
solemnly, "Did they ever catch the man who did it?"

"My father was prominent enough to warrant the proper amount of
attention for a time, but after a while, the memory of the crime
faded from the public's eye and was eventually forgotten by the
police," the Batman answered, his voice steady despite the obvious
strain his coming here caused him. "I'm the only one who hasn't
forgotten, the only one who still looks for the man who stole my
parents from me."

Robin nodded his understanding, uncertain of what to say next. He
and the Batman stood at the ledge that overlooked the alley for a
little while longer. Robin eventually straightened up and looked
at his new mentor, "So what are we doing here?"

"Just a history lesson, Robin," the Batman said without moving or
looking in Robin's direction. "Just a chance to show you what
kind of darkness inhabits the hearts of criminals, to show you the
things they're willing to do to satisfy the hunger of the
blackness that eats away at their souls.

"You and I are orphans, Robin. Criminals took away my childhood
and left me alone in this world. The mad act of one man set me on
the path that led to the Batman," the Batman turned and placed a
strong hand on Robin's shoulder. "It doesn't have to be that way
for you, there's still time to walk away from this and lead a
relatively normal life with another family instead of one as
lonely as mine as has been."

"I've lived in a circus all my life," Robin said with a bright
smile, "this IS a normal life for me. I guess that means you're
wrong twice in one night."

"How so?" the Batman asked as a breeze swept across the roof and
billowed inside the Dark Knight's cape.

"Well your idea of what I consider 'normal' and about how my life
behind this mask is going to be a lonely one," Robin said. The
boy's brow was knitted in concentration for half a second before
he added, "In fact, you're wrong on three counts, your life hasn't
been as lonely as you think either."

"You mean Alfred?" Batman said, his voice showing a general
interest in the young man's train of thought.

"Sort of," Robin answered. "I mean sure, you've always had Alfred
and he's been like a dad to you, but I meant your own parents.
They've always been with you and stay with you even now. Your
dedication to honoring their memories has saved you from becoming
the bored rich guy you only pretend to be."

"I suppose you've got a point," Batman conceded, "but I'd probably
have been better off as the rich playboy than as a mysteryman."

"If you weren't here, who would've been there for me when my
parents were killed? Who would've stopped Zucco? Who would've
convinced Pop Haly to tell the police everything about the
protection rackets? You probably saved more people from the thugs
as Batman, than Bruce Wayne would've with a check."

"That's all true, I suppose," Batman answered after a momentary
pause. "Still I've failed as often as I appear to have succeeded.
What about the people I couldn't save, Robin? What comfort does
that give to people like Richard Drake, or your parents who lost
their lives in the course of my stopping Zucco?"

"You did everything you could, Batman," Robin replied. "There was
no way for you to know what Cowboy was going to do to shake up
Pop. Drake was set up by one of his own, there was no way to plan
for that and no way to warn him any sooner than you tried to do
once you knew. You can't stop every crime, but you can stop some
on your own, others may be prevented simply because no one knows
when you may come after them.

The Batman is needed in Gotham," Robin said with a certainty that
belied his age. "Even with all of your fancy tricks and gadgets,
you're still a man. A man who might inspire other men to take a
stand and do what's right when no one else can."

The Batman said nothing, but Robin knew he was weighing the words
that the young man had said to him. After a time Robin felt
compelled to say something else, "You've inspired me to join you
and that means that you aren't as alone as you think. You've got
me now and I've got you, in a way that makes me your new family;
it makes us each other's family, Batman."

Batman still said nothing and Robin thought for a moment that
maybe the Batman could be right after all. Maybe the man had
lived his life under such a dark cloud that he may not be capable
of allowing anyone else beyond the barriers he spent a lifetime
erecting.

Robin was about to say something else when the Batman stiffened
and pointed down at the street below. "Something's happening
below," Batman said peering into the gloom of the shadow soaked
street.

"What? Where?" Robin asked as he tried to see what the Batman was
pointing at. When he was in the circus, Robin prided himself on
being able to notice a bad throw and adjusting to make sure that
whatever trick was being performed went off without a hitch. The
young man was amazed that he couldn't detect the movements of the
men Batman spotted until they passed under a streetlamp a few
seconds later.

For a moment, two men passed below the lamp in an animated
conversation. Robin began to edge towards the end of the roof,
ready to move when Batman gave the word.

"No," Batman said softly as he placed a hand on the boy's
shoulder, "not them."

Robin relaxed and continued to watch the street. He saw something
move in the shadows, something he could've sworn wasn't there
before. Robin inclined his head in the direction of the movement
and pointed. "Over there?"

"Yes," Batman answered, "very good. Now, how many?"

"There's more than one?" Robin's surprise was apparent.

"Yes, five."

"Five?" Robin repeated with a twinge of doubt. "Are you sure? I
mean, how do you know?"

Batman cocked his head slightly to the left, "Canary, keep an eye
on him."

"The Canary's here?" Robin asked, whirling around trying to see
where the blonde crimebuster was for Batman to have noticed her.

"Behind the stairwell door, she's been here about two minutes,"
Batman answered as he threw a line which caught on the building
across the alley.

"How in the hell do you do that?" the Black Canary said as she
stepped from behind the door and into Robin's field of vision.

"Keep an eye on Robin, he's not ready for this just yet," Batman
said, ignoring the question. "I can take care of this." The
Batman dove off of the roof and into the night.

The Canary joined Robin at the end of the roof and watched the
Batman's form melt into the shadows of the street below. Robin
looked over at the masked woman, "We're not going to help him
out?"

"You and I both know, he doesn't need the help," the Canary said
as she kept watching. "I guess running off with the circus wasn't
an option for you."

"If you're talking about the costume and the name," Robin
answered, "this seemed to be a bigger challenge than returning to
the high wire."

"You're right," the Canary said with a nod. "He's a difficult man
to deal with, very secretive."

"How much did you hear?" Robin asked returning to his vigil of the
shadows.

"What do you mean?" the Canary asked with a hint of protest in her
voice.

"You're trying to pump me for information," Robin replied matter-
of-factly. "You want to know something. Something Batman hasn't
shared with you. So, how much did you hear?"

"Apparently not enough," the Canary said with a huff. "You'll do
okay by him, you boys are two of a kind." The Canary took out a
thin cord from a pouch on the side of her belt, attached was a
hook that was similar in design as the Batman's grappling hook.
"You have one of these?"

Robin smiled at the gorgeous gangbuster. "Yep! I thought you said
he could handle himself," the young man said pulling out his own
hook and cord.

The Canary made her throw and tested her line once it caught. She
returned the boy's smile, "He's all the family I have too." She
took hold of her line and swung off into space. Robin followed
with the memory of a cheering crowd playing in his ears.

****************

"I'm telling you, we're not going to find him, he just doesn't
exist!" Willie said angrily as he stormed down the street.

Robert was nearly running to keep up with his friend, "Willie!"
Robert pleaded, "Calm down! Hell, slow down! Where do you think
you're going?!"

"Back to the hotel to pack and then I'm headed back to New York!"
Willie said slowing his pace enough for Robert to catch up with
him. "We could make up something that matches the wild stories
we've been hearing!"

"Okay so Gordon's not talking, Wayne's impossible to find, but
that's no reason to give up on this!" Robert said as the harsh
glare of a streetlamp interrupted the gloom of this neighborhood
that was once the playground of high society. "We're close to
something big, I can feel it!"

"Yer right, pal," a voice said as the pair stepped back into the
gloomy shadows of the evening. Yer close to this big knife, bo.
Now hand over yer wallets and cash and we'll be on our way."

Willie and Robert looked around and saw several big men step into
the street, two from the rear and three cutting off the any
possible escape route ahead of them. The men were huge and rough
looking. While Willie and Robert were able to hold their own in a
scrap, these men were obviously veteran thugs, hardened criminals
who wanted their victims to surrender without a fight, but were
willing to break a few heads if someone was unwise enough to put
up a fight. On some occasions it didn't matter either way, the
thugs stole from their victims after beating them within an inch
of their lives, showing any possible competition that moving in on
this part of town was definitely out of the question.

"You boys made a mistake," Chandler "Bing" Cherry, the group's
leader, said brandishing his huge knife. "You came through our
town without our permission, so you owe us toll." Bing grinned
gleefully, "Boys take up a collection."

The men moved in, not giving Wille and Robert a chance to get
their bearings or make a plan. The thugs were going to force a
fight, it had been too long since the Bat came to town and the
cops began to crack down on them. The pickings had been slim
lately, Boss Zucco's death the other day and the discovery of the
mutilated bodies of Gat Benson and his boys this morning had sent
a shock through the underworld. All bets were off now as thugs
with aspirations and men with the muscle to keep them there began
to eat away at what remained of Zucco's fallen empire.

These five men fancied themselves the next wave of heavy hitting
leg breakers to rule in Gotham's new criminal hierarchy. They
were slick, young and prepared. They operated with a plan and
didn't take on anything they couldn't handle with their fists,
their knives or their guns. They even adopted a colorful tag name
for themselves, one that had managed to stick with the mobsters
that employed them on occasion, the Crime Alley Choir Boys. Not
that any of these men had ever seen the inside of a church in the
last half dozen years or so, but it sounded right so they ran with
it.

Jackie "Bloody" Reddrick always enjoyed his work. He was
considered the most ruthless bruiser in the Choir Boys, a man who
knew how to hurt people and took great pleasure in administering
pain to his victims. Reddrick had sized up the young man in his
path and knew that this kid would go down without too much effort
on his part. Sooner or later, Reddrick mused to himself, he'd
have to find someone who would at least be a challenge in a fight.

A massive fist curled and cocked back, ready to deliver a bone
shattering blow to Robert's face. Yet to Reddrick's surprise, his
fist was not able to move, something had taken hold of it and
refused to let go. The brute turned to see what had stopped him
from tearing Robert's head clean off. Reddrick found himself
facing the Batman, who stood there holding onto the bigger man's
arm as if it were the simplest thing in the world to keep
Reddrick's fist at bay.

"You still have time to run away," the Batman said with a bit of a
growl. Reddrick ignored the warning and started to swing his
other hand around to swat down the costumed manhunter. That's
when the Batman squeezed the big man's wrist. The amount of
pressure applied appeared to be slight, but the loud, wet snap
followed by ReddrickÕs howl of pain told a different tale. As
Reddrick sank to his knees, clutching his now useless right arm,
the Batman stepped over him saying, "What I just did to you can be
fixed by a doctor, if you move from this spot, I'll break your arm
in such a way that no doctor in this part of the world will be
able to set it successfully. The pain alone will last you a
lifetime and nothing short of amputation will relieve it."

Saul "Slugger" Wilkins ripped his revolver from the holster hidden
by his jacket but couldn't get off a shot before a black steel
throwing dart sunk deep into his hand, forcing the shooter to drop
his weapon. Wilkins tore out the dart and was reaching for his
fallen pistol when a second dart bit into his neck. An odd
expression came to the gunman's face before he fell beside his gun
with a dreamy smile on his face. His partner "Red" Ross Geller,
rushed to the side of the fallen crook and tried to rouse him.
Wilkins didn't make any movement other than his eyelids fluttering
shut.

"What did you do to him?" Geller screamed. "You killed him you
nut!" Ross started to reach for Wilkins' gun still lying in the
street.

"Your friend isn't dead," Batman answered with steel in his voice.
"I used a mild, but fast acting, opiate of my own invention to put
your friend into a very deep sleep. Unfortunately, I only treated
the two darts which means if you reach for that gun, I'll have to
use methods that are far more physical on you."

"Oh-pee-eight?" Geller repeated with a bit of uncertainty in his
voice, "I don't know what that is, but--" Geller snatched up the
gun, "you're going to un oh-pee-eight him or I'm going to put so
many holes in you, that I'll be able to drive a truck through
you!"

"You'll try," the Batman replied unmoving.

Before either man could move, a youthful voice rang out, "He can't
un-opiate him! The dope's doped, you dope!"

A flash of red, green and yellow somersaulted over the Batman's
right shoulder, cartwheeled a few feet out of the Dark Knight's
reach and stopped in a crouch long enough to take on the form of
the Batman's new partner, Robin. The boy was a whirl of motion as
his right hand darted behind his cape and the returned with all
the speed of a pitcher tossing a fast ball across the plate. A
dull thud and a yelp of pain came from Geller's lips before he
fell heavily to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The tapping
of metal striking concrete revealed Robin's weapon, a small steel
pellet, and in the boy's hand was the leather sling he used to
send the small sphere on its way with sniper like accuracy. He
had already loaded a second steel ball and stood next to his
partner.

"You can take a break if you'd like, boss," the Boy Wonder said
cheerfully as he twirled the leather strap in his hand. "I can
take these mugs."

"Sure you can kid," said a decidedly female voice and this time, a
whirl of midnight blue and gold shot over Batman's left shoulder
with a brilliant backflip and landed with a less spectacular
flourish than Robin's. However, the Black Canary did manage to
equal Robin's accuracy as she threw a handful of her bird shaped
throwing darts at Joey "the Trigger" Tribiani, pinning him to a
wall before he could bring his own cannon to bear on anyone. She
sauntered up the still confused triggerman and blew him a kiss.
"I like a man who can't run away." The Canary spun on her heel
and brought a solid roundhouse kick to Tribiani's jaw, snapping
his head back hard enough that when it hit the wall, the thug was
knocked out cold.

"I guess that leaves the guy with the knife," Robin said, turning
his whirling strap in Bing's direction.

"Well he could still surrender," the Canary said with a new
handful of bird darts between her fingers. The light of the
streetlamp caught on the edges of the blades and were cut into
glinting sparks as the Canary waited to see what the last crook
would do.

"Hey he didn't give those guys a choice!" Robin said jerking a
thumb at the pair of still stunned tourists.

Batman almost smiled, his partners were doing an old trick that
Harvey Harris used to employ something humorously referred to as
"good cop/bad cop" by the police and the underworld. Generally,
crooks expected such a ploy and fought it realizing that no cop
was going to really do anything seriously against the rules
because a good lawyer would be able to fight it. The ploy took on
a whole new dimension when it appeared as if a gang of masked
lunatics were going to really beat your brains out.

"Seems like you have a choice to make, friend," Batman said with
as much ice as he could muster in his voice. "Make a smart one."

The knife clattered to the ground loudly. Within a few minutes
later, Bing was tied up along with the rest of his crew. "The
police will be here soon, gentlemen," Batman said as he checked
the knots Robin had used to secure the gang. "It would be to your
advantage to tell them what happened and then return to your hotel
as quickly as possible. Some of these streets aren't safe this
late in the evening."

"These birds are trussed up for delivery," Robin said with a
bright smile. The boy inclined his head towards the Black Canary,
"No offense."

"Hey, you're the one calling himself Robin."

"Hey wait a minute!" Robert said as the trio started to depart,
"We've been looking all over town for you! My friend and I want
to ask you guys a few questions."

"Reporters?" the Canary said with a raised eyebrow. "We saved a
couple of reporters?"

"No, we're not reporters," Willie began, "we're--"

"It doesn't matter gentlemen," the Batman said cutting the young
man off, "we don't submit to interviews. Have a good evening."
With that the three costumed figures melted back into the shadows
that they came from, leaving Wille and Robert alone and amazed
with the captured gang.

"I TOLD you he was real!" Robert said with a hint of triumph in
his voice.

"For all the good it does us," Willie replied sullenly. "We're
still no closer to finding out about him than we were when we
started."

"There's still Bruce Wayne," Robert said with a hint of optimism.
"That's the only angle we've got left."

"Yeah, I guess so," Willie said with far less enthusiasm. "That's
if we ever catch up to him."

"We'll get him," Robert answered with a smile, "he's got to be at
home sooner or later."

*****************************************************

SEVEN: "NO MORE FUN"

POLICE HEADQUARTERS, DECEMBER 24, 1938, DAWN...

"Book this guy, Bill," James Corrigan said as he roughly shoved
"Tiny Feet" Liefeld into a chair. The thug was one of the crash
and burn types that cropped up often in the underworld. A kid
with big ideas but not enough follow through to gain any
supporters in the criminal classes or to be a threat to anyone
outside of them. This was Liefeld's third or fourth fall since he
came on the scene in Gotham, Corrigan regarded the man as someone
with very little style and even less substance.

"I was framed I tell ya!" Liefeld hollered as he tried to rise
from the seat. "Corrigan's trying to railroad me! I wanna see a
lawyer!"

Corrigan shoved the kid back into the chair, "If you don't shut
your yap, I'm gonna show you what being railroaded is all about by
dropping you under a moving train."

"Good Lord, man!" Sergeant Bill Randall exclaimed as Jim Corrigan
turned towards the desk, "Don't you ever take the day off?"

"I was trying to," Corrigan said with half a smile coming to his
face, "when Dillinger here tried to stick me up."

"You'd think he'd remember you after that bust in '36," Randall
replied with a laugh. Looking over at the baby faced crook
Randall asked, "What is it with you, Tiny Feet, you miss jail food
that much?"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!!!" Liefeld roared.

"Quit your crying," Corrigan said irritably. "If your feet
weren't so bloody small, you'd have shot yourself in the toe when
I snatched that gun from you!"

"You're kidding, right?" Randall inquired.

"Wish I where," Corrigan answered. "I'm headed out to the automat
to grab a bit to eat when I spot the kid about to draw on me, so I
spin, pull my weapon and tell him to freeze. The kid must've
gotten rattled or something, the next thing I know, there's a shot
bouncing off of the sidewalk, less than an inch from his big toe."
Corrigan turned to the kid, "Count yourself lucky, Tiny Feet, you
might have wound up with a name change like 'Shot Myself In the
Feet like An Idiot' Liefeld."

"Sez you, copper!" Liefeld whined, "I had the drop on you, you
just got lucky!"

"That sounds like a confession," Corrigan said.

"In front of witnesses no less," Randall agreed with a chuckle
while shaking his head. "You said you have a weapon too?"

Corrigan smiled, "Do I ever, get a load of this." the red headed
detective reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a small
gun. He slid it across the counter to Randall and waited for the
officer to examine it.

Randall looked up at Corrigan, re-examined the gun and looked up
once more with an expression of complete disbelief etched into his
features.

"He held you up with a pellet gun?" Randall said out loud. The
other officers that had gathered around howled their laughter as
the little crook seemed to shrink further into the seat. Randall
looked at the kid, "What were going to do, kid, PRETEND you killed
him? The worst thing you could've done was bruise somebody with
one of these!" Randall managed to get some measure of control
over his laughter and say to Corrigan, "You want to press charges,
Jim?"

Corrigan was looking at a wall covered with reports and bulletins
when Randall asked the question. For a moment, Randall thought
that Corrigan wasn't looking at the wall, so much as he was
looking through it. Corrigan must've heard Randall though, "I'll
let you know, Bill. Right now, lock him up and I'll decide when I
file my report. I need to get back to my day off."

"You got it, Jim," Randall said nodding to an officer who stepped
around the desk and led Liefeld downstairs to the booking room.
"Try not to get killed out there if you can avoid it."

"That should be pretty easy," Corrigan said with a grin, "after
all it's Christmas Eve." With that, Corrigan hurried through the
doors of the precinct house and rushed into the street. He looked
around for a moment, looking for the person he thought he saw from
inside the building. Not seeing anyone he recognized, Corrigan
began to briskly stride down the street. He rounded the corner
and found himself face to face with, his fiancŽe Clarice Winston.

"Hello, Jim."

"Clarice," Corrigan said, stopping up short. "How have you been?"

The young woman's eyes narrowed as she studied his face. She
studied the eyes of the man she loved, trying to decide what to
say next. "I suppose I could ask you the same thing, I haven't
seen you since--" ClariceÕs voice trailed off with a quiver, "Did
I do something to you, Jim? Is there some reason why you're
avoiding me?"

"I've been busy," Corrigan said apologetically to the young woman.
He knew it wasn't much of an answer, but he was at a loss over
what he should say too. Corrigan had avoided Clarice for a number
of reasons, he felt it was his fault that she was almost killed by
his enemies, his fault that she was nearly violated in other ways
that would've made death a kindness, his fault that he couldn't
protect her. Still even more importantly than that, he was dead,
a ghost of the man that Clarice loved; and though he still loved
Clarice, was it fair to her to live a lie, to live as if he were
still alive? With no easy answer, Corrigan dived into his work,
the one constant that seemed to stay with him regardless of how he
existed.

Rousting criminals was one thing, maintaining an active love life
was quite another. Corrigan was hoping to have more time to
decide what to do, more time to figure out where Clarice fit into
his life now that he wasn't alive. Now, it seemed as if he had
run out of time. He knew Clarice too well, she wanted some
answers and wasn't prepared to leave until she got something other
than "I've been busy" as a reason for his recent behavior. Taking
a deep breath, Jim began to search around for a reasonable
response that could get him out of this uncomfortable situation.

Unfortunately, the answer was an elusive one.

"Clarice, baby, I--"

"No, Jim," Clarice said cutting the detective off with a wave of
her hand, "Don't try to tell me this is because you couldn't
protect me or something equally patronizing, I don't want to hear
it, because I already know that is only part of the reason."

"Okay," Jim said with a bit of surrender to his voice, "no
patronizing."

"Don't try to pacify me either, by agreeing so quickly," Clarice
said crossing her arms. "Even when you think you let me down,
you'd at least talk about it to me, you'd tell me something. You
haven't called or stopped by to check on me since you rescued me
from Gat Benson's hideout. You've never kept any secrets from me-
-" Clarice wiped away a tear that started to fall down her cheek.
"--That it until now."

"I'm not keeping anything at all from you, baby," Corrigan
protested. "There's nothing that happened that you didn't see
happen."

"He said he shot you, Jim," Clarice said looking away. "He said
he shot you at point blank range, twelve times. He said that he
didn't miss at all."

"Benson was lying, honey," Jim answered desperately. "He said it
to scare you, to make you think there was no one coming to rescue
you. If he shot me so many times there's no way I could be
standing here talking to you, sweetheart, no way at all."

"No, Jim," Clarice said sternly. "Benson was sure, he wasn't
lying. You taught me how to spot someone in a lie, remember?"

Jim hadn't forgotten, it was the one time he was glad that there
were confidence men in the world, he may have never met Clarice if
it weren't for one trying to blackmail her father. "He just
thought he got me, honey," Corrigan said as confidently as
possible, "I just fooled him, that's all."

"You said you could always tell when someone lied by their eyes,
their body language, how they answer when you catch them in a
lie," Clarice said as she stared Corrigan in the eye. He turned
away slightly from the young woman's gaze, "You're lying to me
now, Jim. Something did happen back at the pier, something you're
not telling me."

"Like what?" Corrigan asked before he almost immediately regretted
posing the question in the first place. It was almost as if the
debutante had been waiting for Corrigan to say that one thing.

"Like how you managed to survive," Clarice answered quietly, "how
did you walk away from that whole thing without so much as a
scratch."

Corrigan made a decision, one that he hated himself for, but found
necessary to keep his secret. He allowed his face to cloud with
indignation and anger as he spoke, "Clarice, I don't have the time
or the energy for this. You're right, something did happen out
there at the pier. I realized I let myself get soft, I lost my
edge and it nearly got you and me killed. After I found you, I
realized that if we got married, the day would come when someone
else would take advantage of that weakness."

Clarice was stunned, "So now I'm a liability to you? I'm a
weakness to be exploited?" Clarice's tears came freely now and
she didn't bother to wipe them away as they fell, "Well you won't
have to worry about that any more, Jim, we're through!" Clarice
punctuated her statement by slapping Jim soundly. "Damn you, Jim!
Goddamn you!" The girl rushed away sobbing, leaving Corrigan to
wonder if he did the right thing. Leaving Jim to wonder if his
one anchor to his emotions hadn't been cast away. Leaving him to
wonder if Clarice's words may have cost more than their love
affair, had it cost him his soul too?

Clarice had managed to compose herself by the time she reached her
car. As she slid behind the wheel, she searched for her car keys
in her handbag and pulled out an ivory colored business card. The
card belonged to a man who was making a name for himself as a man
who could see the future, read minds and talk to the ghosts of
dead loved ones. He was known by one name only, the Swami.

The Swami was going to be a guest of her father's when he came to
Gotham to do some seminars. Maybe Clarice could get the man to
confirm something that she thought might be true, that Jim
Corrigan was dead and the man who walked the earth in his place
was either an impostor or her beloved Jim's spectre, unable to go
to his final reward. If it's the former, she'd see the man
brought to justice; if it's the latter--

Clarice promised herself to find a way to bring Jim that final
peace he deserved, the peace he had to have sacrificed in order to
save her life.

*****************************************************

EIGHT: "BRUCE WAYNE AND THE OUTSIDERS"

WAYNE MANOR, DECEMBER 25, 1938...

The cab pulled up the wide drive and deposited Robert and Willie
at the front door of Wayne Manor. Despite the common knowledge of
Wayne's wealth, the two men were impressed by the vastness of the
well manicured grounds, the pristine way the manor house had been
preserved, the tastefulness of how the whole place looked; Wayne
was not into flashy gaudiness, his home was rather a quiet
testament to the wealth he held.

The stairs leading to the door were guarded on either side by two
huge marble lions, "Great touch," Robert said as he scribbled
something into a small book he carried with him. Willie looked at
his partner with a smile and rang the bell. The pair only had to
wait a few moments before Wayne's English butler answered the
door. Willie presented his card and the butler ushered the pair
inside.

"Mister Wayne is in the living room, gentlemen," the butler said
dryly, "just go right in, he's expecting you."

The pair entered quietly enough and found Bruce Wayne sitting by a
roaring fire. The house seemed to be decorated for the holidays
in great haste. Everything from the Christmas tree, to the
unopened gifts under the tree, to the stockings and trim looked
too fresh, too new, Wayne seemed to be taking it all in as if this
weren't the normal decor for the place during the holidays. It
was as if it had been a long time since the house had been dressed
up for a celebration of any kind. Wayne seemed to come to himself
as the two entered, he smiled amiably and crossed over to his
guests, shaking their hands in turn as they introduced themselves
to the young millionaire.

"Welcome, gentlemen," Wayne said with a vapid grin, "and a Merry
Christmas to you both!"

"Thanks, Mister Wayne," Willie said returning Wayne's hearty
handshake. "Hopefully we won't take up too much of your time."

"I appreciate that, gentlemen," Wayne replied, "I'm expecting my
ward back in a few hours, he's visiting some friends at the Winter
Carnival. We'll be opening gifts when he gets back. Please, take
a seat and tell me what I can do for you."

"Well, Mister Wayne," Robert began, "hopefully your butler told
why we wanted to talk to you."

Wayne leaned forward and seemed to stifle a yawn, "Something about
the Batman, I believe he said. Though why someone would want to
see me about a man who runs around in leather and tights beating
up on criminals is beyond me."

A cough rang out from Wayne's butler as he entered the room with a
tray of sandwiches and coffee. "I thought our guests may want
some refreshments," the Englishman said gently setting down the
tray on the table. "The sandwiches are a favorite of Master
Bruce's, baloney, I believe is the name of the meat in question."

"That will be all Alfred," Wayne said flatly.

"Very good, sir," Alfred said dryly, as he withdrew from the room.

As the doors closed, Wayne returned his attention to his guests,
for a moment, Robert thought that a flash of recognition passed
upon Wayne's face, but it disappeared as quickly as it arrived.
"Now gentlemen, what's this about the Batman?"

"Well, Mister Wayne," Robert said, "it's like this, we'd like you
to be the Batman."

"I beg your pardon?" Wayne said, surprised. "You're asking me to
dress up in a costume and pretend to be this vigilante?"

Willie laughed nervously, "No, no, Mister Wayne. We're doing some
stories involving the Batman and we're supposing that he would
secretly be somebody with a lot of money, someone who has the time
to do what he does without being concerned about where his next
cape is coming from." Willie spread his hands as if to emphasize
the amount of money, the Batman would have available. "You're one
of the few people we've considered to be Batman's alter ego for
the sake of our stories."

Wayne seemed to consider the request as something humorous. An
odd smile came to his face as he mulled it over, it was a smile
that prompted Robert to say, "I know it sounds a little
outrageous, Mister Wayne, making a connection like you being the
Batman, but--"

"Outrageous?" Wayne echoed, "How so?"

"You have to forgive Robert, Mister Wayne," Willie said quickly,
hoping to avoid having Wayne feel insulted, "he's the visual one
between the two of us. What he meant was, the likelihood of you
being Batman is pretty slim. You've got the money, but you're
just not the type to go running around town in some fancy
longjohns and a cape."

"Not the type?" Wayne echoed again. "Whatever gave you that
idea?"

"Well you may have had an interest in crime once upon a time, but
everyone knows that you're just a man about town, a high society
swell," Willie said. "Don't get me wrong, Mister Wayne, we've got
nothing against society swells, just you don't mix in police
matters like you did back in college. I mean there are other more
obvious guys like Dick Benson, Lamont Cranston, Richard Wentworth,
Harvey Dent or even guys like Brit Reid or Paul Kirk, but you,
you're the last guy someone would think of as the man behind
Batman."

"And this is a good thing?" Wayne asked genuinely interested.

"Oh sure, Mister Wayne," Willie said enthusiastically, "besides
lending your name to the character, think of all the positive
press it can bring you and Gotham as a whole. You'll give the
Batman a name and a face that other folks can relate to. The
public hardly knows Batman, but everybody's heard of Bruce Wayne!"

Robert leaned forward in his chair, "So how about it, Mister
Wayne? Can we count you in?"

Wayne picked up a cup of coffee from the tray and looked over in
the direction of his guests, "Sure boys, I'm in. Just make sure
you add some disclaimer that everything in the books are fictional
and I'm not really the Batman and I'll be fine with it." Wayne
smiled pleasantly at the two young men, who were surprised and
overjoyed at his decision.

"S-sure thing, Mister Wayne," Robert said with a smile. "I'll
call the publisher in the morning and have him get our legal
people right on it. It shouldn't be a problem though."

"Well I'd appreciate it, fellas," Wayne said with another winning
smile. "The last thing I need is to be bothered by a bunch crooks
who think I'm the Batman. I've got enough problems of my own."
Wayne raised his cup to his guests and said, "To the Batman,
gentlemen, may our association be a long and happy one."

"To the Batman!" Robert and Willie said heartily as the three men
brought their glasses together.

*****************************************************

EPILOGUE: GOTHAM GREYHOUND BUS TERMINAL, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 27,
1938...

The small group gathered around the station, waiting for the bus
to New York to arrive. Robert and Willie waited among the crowd,
still smiles with a photostat of their agreement with Bruce Wayne
in their bags. Robert had been working on some drawings of a
young boy who was sitting at a table writing.

"So are you glad you came?" Robert said not looking up from his
sketch, "We got what we came for and got to see the Batman in
action."

"We can't use everything we saw here though." Willie answered.
"I mean the kid's something we might be able to work in, but
Batman working with a girl might not fly if she's not his
girlfriend or something."

"Well what about the High?" Robert asked. "I hear he works with a
woman sometimes."

"That's Jerry and Joe's problem," Willie answered, "not ours."

"We got the Batman." Robert said shaking his head, "I still can't
believe we got Wayne's cooperation too, it's going to be one heck
of a funny book."

"Are you sure kids want to read about the Batman?" Willie asked
with mock uncertainty.

"Let's find out," Robert said putting his pad away. He crossed
the room over to the boy who was writing at the table. "Hey,
kid."

The boy looked up from his page at Robert, "You talkin' to me,
Mister?"

Robert nodded, "Yeah kid, I want to ask you a question, it's worth
a buck to me if you can help me and friend settle something."

"A whole dollar?!" the boy said with wide eyes, "that's ten
Startling Stories!"

"That's right, kid," Robert said. "So how about it? You wanna
help us out?"

"Sure!" the boy exclaimed with a wide grin at his impending
fortune.

"If there were a funny book about the Batman, would you buy it?"

"You bet!" the boy answered enthusiastically. "Batman's tops in
my book!"

"What if he had a kid sidekick?" Willie asked.

"You mean like Cap and Bucky?" the boy inquired, "Gee, that would
be the best!"

"What about if he had a girl with him?" Robert said. "Not some
girl he had to rescue, but a girl in his cases."

"Aw girls are okay for savin' and stuff, even as one of the bad
guys, but I don't know if he should run around with a girl. I
mean the Shadow doesn't have girl for a partner."

"The public has spoken," Robert said with a smile.

"I suppose he has," Willie said in agreement.

"Hey," the boy said interrupting the banter between the two
partners, "are you guys doing a Batman funny book?"

"You better believe it kid, you're meeting the guys who are be
bringing you Batman before the end of next year," Robert announced
proudly. "I'm Robert Kane, this here's my pal Willie Finger. I'm
drawing, he's writing."

"Gee that's great!" the boy answered. "Hey maybe I can write a
story when I get older."

"Anything's possible kid," Willie answered, "here's that dollar."
Willie handed the boy a crisp bill and watched him smile brightly.

"Here, kid," Robert added, handing the boy a bill of his own,
"your help was worth the two bucks."

"Gee thanks fellas!" The boy looked up at the pair, "Now I can
get some Sandman's too!"

"Tell you what kid," Robert said, "give us you're name and when
the book comes out, we'll send you a free copy."

The speaker blared that the bus to New York had arrived and was
boarding. Willie pulled out his notebook and flipped through a
couple of pages, "You'd better make it quick kid, that's our ride.
Now what's the name?"

"Tony," the boy said with a bright smile, "Tony Wilson."

The two men ruffled Tony's hair, "All right Tony, you've got a
Batman funny book when we put it out, just write your address
here." The boy complied as the pair collected their bags. Tony
followed the pair out to the bus and watched them board it.

"Take care of yourself, kid!" Robert said as he stepped through
the door.

"Yeah, kid," Willie added, "keep up the writing and someday you
might get a shot at a story or two yourself."

As the bus pulled out of the station and headed off to its
destination, Tony went back into the diner and started writing
again.

"Someday," the boy said earnestly looking at the horizon that the
bus was starting to fade into, "I'll make good on that, folks are
going to read my stories too." The boy looked back at the page
and let his imagination run free across it as he gave his
daydreams form with his written words.

-- Here Endth the Story --

*****************************************************

KNIGHTMAIL:

Send your comments to SEricAli1@aol.com be sure to put
"Knightmail" in the subject line...

The story behind the story, I'd meant to do this last year as a
tribute to the late Bob Kane when news of his passing was made
public. I wanted my tribute to the man who created Batman to be
something more than a few lines about what a wonderful guy he must
have been, I couldn't say that, I'd never met Bob Kane much less
gotten to know him through anything other than his creation,
Batman. So instead of talking about the man I never as if I knew
him, I decided instead to have him meet up with his creation and
be inspired in a "life imitating art" way. The little I did know
about Kane told of his inspiration about the Batman from a film
called the Bat as well as some other elements of characters like
the Shadow. It also seemed fair to touch on the various titles
that Batman the character inspired, hence the chapter titles being
variations on the titles of the many series that have prominently
featured the character (The only exceptions being the Catwoman,
Black Canary and the Spectre).

"The Sincerest Form Of Flattery" is, I hope, exactly what I
intended it to be, a celebration of Bob Kane, the often unsung
Bill Finger and their creation, the Batman. The cameo list on
this one is pretty extensive, but for the most part, the only one
I'm interested in at the moment is the last one, Tony Wilson.
Just like Batman would not have been possible without Bob Kane and
Bill Finger's contribution, Gotham Knights would not have been
possible without Tony's inspired first issue which basically
fueled my own work on the title back when YesterYear was running.
My direct thanks to Tony for giving me a great starting point and
my gratitude to Mister Kane and Mister Finger for creating a
character with such staying power. I'd like to also thank those
of you who stopped by and read GK and all the other YY titles,
it's folks like you that made what we did so much fun...

The back issues from the last reboot are still up at the site so
wing by and read 'em again!

Later - Ali

"If I weren't rich, I could've been a great man..."

Orson Welles as Charles Foster Kane in "Citizen Kane"...