Time for a Change
By Les Bonser
This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.
No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.
Chapter 2
Gotham City
To the average Gotham City resident who reads the daily newspaper or watches the evening news, the Batman was an enigma. Rarely photographed, he was, depending upon your views, either a courageous vigilante, the city's savior, a royal pain in the butt to the police, or a psychopathic maniac no better than the costumed criminals he supposedly hunted down.
In reality, the Batman viewed himself as a detective, plain and simple. The cape and costume were simply tools. Although he trained himself in the many forms of self-defense, he took special pride in the fact that his mind had gotten him out of more tight spots than his brawn.
What few people realized was detective work was generally boring. It involved hours of research, endlessly following leads that often went nowhere.
To help his research, Batman had access to an array of equipment that would be the envy of any police department in the world. It was just one of the advantages to being a billionaire. As Bruce Wayne, playboy industrialist and heir to one of the largest family fortunes in the world, he had money and owned several computer, munitions, and industrial companies.
The sub-basements of his mansion and the caverns under the mansion were full of computers and various forms of analytical equipment. The computers were connected, by circuitous telecommunication routes that were untraceable, to every major crime and general purpose database in the country and to many overseas. Moreover, what the Batman could not acquire, Wayne Enterprises or one of its subsidiary companies could.
He had everything from microscopes to microprocessors at his disposal, but sometimes Batman found the best source of information was simply to read the morning paper.
Take this morning's Gotham Gazette, for example. Alfred had pointed out the article to him after his morning nap. Bruce Wayne had awoke at promptly 9:00 a.m. As was his habit, he took a quick shower and then went down to the kitchen. There, Alfred had prepared the morning's breakfast, as always. Along with the oatmeal, protein drink, vitamin supplements, and orange juice were copies of all the major east coast newspapers. Wayne Manor received everything a major businessman of Bruce Wayne's caliber would need: the Metropolis Daily Planet, the Boston Globe, the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the two Gotham papers, the Gazette and the Herald.
Most mornings, as he had this morning, Alfred took the liberty of previewing the newspapers and arranging them in the order of importance for the day. Sometimes, the news of the Joker's latest escape would warrant Batman's attention first. Other mornings, a business article for Bruce Wayne might be first on the list. This morning, it was the former that caught the manservant's attention.
A string of unsolved robberies was the primary headline. The mayor was calling for the police to do something. Batman had been following the cases, but so far had turned up no leads of his own. So far, the thefts had no common thread, no themes were indicated which pointed to any of the costumed criminals that he so often tangled with. Without a theme to the crimes, the string of possible candidates was considerable. If only there were some clear MO to help narrow down the suspects.
Bruce read the article and several editorials related to it quickly. He was unable to glean any additional information that might prove helpful from the story. It was simply a rehash of the last week's worth of stories and was obviously written by a reporter intent only on police bashing.
He laid the paper down to concentrate on finishing his breakfast. The previous night had been largely uneventful, but he had spent a long time tracking down him informants and seemed to be particularly hungry this morning.
"Might I suggest you view the entertainment section, sir," Alfred said as he removed Bruce's empty bowl and replaced it with another.
"The entertainment section?" Bruce questioned, spoon hovering over the steaming oatmeal.
"Why yes, sir," Alfred said. He spoke in the quiet and refined manner of the British, although he had lived in the United States most of this adult life. "There are some extraordinary museum exhibits in town at present. You might like to visit one."
Bruce picked up the top paper, the Gotham Gazette, and flipped to the entertainment section. He started with the beginning of the section and quickly read each article and looked at each advertisement. On page 4 of the section, he spotted what Alfred had obviously intended him to see. The Gotham Metropolitan Museum of Fine Art was hosting an exclusive showing of rare gemstones. Several of the gems would be auctioned off next week in New York, with the profits going to the Princess Diana Charities. The event here in Gotham City was a fund raising party that evening. The perfect social event for Bruce Wayne to keep up appearances.
"You received the invitation Monday," Alfred informed him. "Shall I extend your regrets, sir?"
Bruce finished reading the article. It mentioned the exhibit of the "Lion's Soul," a seldom displayed cat's eye gem, along with a number of other priceless stones. "No, Alfred. I think I could use a night on the town."
The previous night's efforts tracking down and questioning his informants had yielded nothing. But a most tempting lead presented itself this morning in the last sentence of a small article buried in the middle of the morning paper.
Bruce smiled and nodded as his date for the evening, Candi Darling, continued talking about the new movie role she had landed. He quietly sipped his tonic water and occasionally took hors d'oeuvres from the trays being passed around. The actress clung to his arm and several times patted him on the behind. He pretended to enjoy the attention; not that his image was that of a wall flower.
Numerous other guests to the fund-raiser stopped by, casually making the social comments required at such functions. Various men and women stopped by to talk with Bruce and Candi. Most of the men simply wanted to see what new beauty Bruce showed up with, but some were genuine business colleagues or other acquaintances. The endless mingling and small talk was typical for this sort of function. Everyone in the room had paid $5,000 to eat expensive caviar and drink champagne amidst the sparkling jewels of the museum's latest exhibits.
"I'm prettier than she is," Candi exclaimed.
"Prettier than who?" Bruce asked.
"That woman you were ogling. Really! Aren't I enough for you?"
Bruce smiled. He hadn't been ogling the woman. He had been studying the way she moved, trying to match her body language to Selina Kyle's. Selina Kyle, also known as the Catwoman, was Gotham's most notorious burglars. He was certain that the recent string of thefts was simply the prelude to the big heist. The "Lion's Soul" was just the sort of thing Catwoman could not resist. So far, he hadn't seen anyone that could have been her, in or out of disguise.
"Maybe you want to try a three-way, Brucie?" Candi said, with a sly wink.
Bruce patted the paunch of his stomach and laughed. "I'm too out of shape for that sort of a workout."
The tuxedo he wore was purchased in London from one of the world's most exclusive tailors. This particular tailor was known for his sensitivity to his client's privacy. Bruce had discretely requested that the tuxedo be made slightly too big. It was not an unusual request these days. Many of the tailor's clients were rich and famous, ranging from Middle Eastern sheiks to Japanese tycoons. With the current state of the world, it was often a wise precaution for jet-setting billionaires to wear a bullet-proof vest under their clothes.
Bruce wasn't wearing body armor, but rather padding that Alfred had added to the tuxedo jacket. He couldn't be too careful about exposing his secret. It just didn't fit the playboy role to be built like an Olympic-level athlete. Bruce used the padding to make himself look like the typical soft executive; too much time for parties, not enough for exercise.
The rest of the evening was largely uneventful. Bruce laughed at all the right times and pretended to listen intently to everything. He played the role of womanizer to the hilt, eyeing every woman that walked by. But he saw none that could have been Catwoman.
By the end of the evening, he had memorized each of the gems on display, as well has the layout of the room and the extent of the security. He easily spotted the "hidden" cameras and motion sensors.
Two hours after the party broke up and the museum closed, Batman stood on the roof of the museum's east wing. He was intently watching the weak spot in the museum's security system. On the roof of the museum's entrance hall was a maintenance door that allowed workers access to the window washing scaffolding. The door was no doubt locked, but he knew that Catwoman was an expert at picking almost any type of lock. She could easily climb up the side of the building and enter through the largely unattended door. Batman had studied the building from all angles and that was the most logical way in.
He hid beside the air conditioning system, his black cape covering him. He blended into the darkness of the moon-less night like a wisp of smoke. He held a small pair of night vision goggles to his eyes and routinely scanned the area. Intent on watching for someone to enter the museum, he was caught unaware when the roof door opened and someone left.
Damn, he thought to himself, she must have entered somewhere else or secreted herself inside prior to the building closing. He watched from his safe perch as Catwoman peered over the edge of the building and looked around. The security guards made rounds inside the museum every half hour and would pass the front entrance any moment. Batman quickly glanced to the front of the museum and checked. The large glass windows afforded the entire entry hall an open view. The security guard was just passing through the entry hall from the east wing, headed for the west wing. From her vantage point, Catwoman could see his shadow float across the floor and up the opposite wall.
She waited several minutes before she decided it was safe. The guard could always come back. She had gotten this far and didn't want to mess up a good deal. The "Lion's Soul" was considered priceless, but would probably bring $5 million on the black market. She could live in comfort for several years on that sort of money.
When she decided the time was right, Catwoman tied a thin rope to a vent pipe and quickly lowered herself down to the sidewalk below. Once again, she looked around. She saw no one.
She moved quickly, but silently, along the edge of the building. She moved around the east wing of the museum and headed for the alley. From there she could climb up a fire escape and across the rooftops to safety.
Just as she reached the entrance to the alley, she sensed more than saw the movement in front of her. Batman landed in front of her. He blocked her access to the fire escape and her escape. She didn't wait for him say or do anything, she simply struck out.
First, she swiped her clawed fingertips at his face. He blocked the move and the claws only scraped across the Kevlar forearm guard of his left gauntlet. She next tried a roundhouse kick to the kidney and then followed with a throat jab. Batman easily feinted both moves, but the movement allowed Catwoman to change positions relative to the fire escape. If she made just the right move, she could squeeze past him and would reach the fire escape. Whether she could out climb him was another thing.
She smiled at him. "Hello, lover," she said, her voice a throaty purr. "Fancy meeting you here."
"There's nothing fancy about it. I knew you couldn't pass up the 'Lion's Soul'," Batman said. He moved toward her as he talked. "You're just too predictable."
"Predict this, asshole," she said, driving the steel-tipped heel of her boot into his right kneecap. She didn't wait to see the reaction; she turned and jumped for the fire escape.
Batman tried to ignore the blazing pain in his right knee. The kick had caught him right under the kneecap, on the thick band of tendon leading down to his shin. Limping, he moved after her. He jumped to reach the bottom rung of the fire escape. Catwoman was already several rungs beyond his reach. The climb up was agony, but he pushed on, baring the bulk of his weight on his uninjured leg. Just before Catwoman reached the top of the ladder, Batman made one last desperate grab for one of her ankles. If she got over the top of the ladder, he would probably lose her.
Instead of grabbing her ankles, his gloved hand managed only to catch the tail of her costume. He pulled hard on the tail, hoping it would throw her off enough to give him the second chance he needed to catch one of her ankles. She grunted at the effort to hold on. Momentarily, the two were held in place. Batman pulling, Catwoman clinging with both hands to the guide rails of the fire escape.
With a rip, the tail came off. With a gapping hole in the seat of her costume, Catwoman vaulted over the top of the ladder. Batman had pulled hard on the tail and lost his step when the resistance disappeared. The foot of this good leg slipped off the rung and he involuntarily put all of this weight on the injured knee. Under his cowl, he broke out in a sweat from the pain. He momentarily saw spots before his eyes.
The Catwoman ran across the roof, fearful that Batman was right behind her. She waited for the tackle. The last time they had met on the rooftops, he had brought her down with a flying tackle worthy of any NFL linebacker. She had fallen with most of his weight and all of her own on her hip. It had been black and blue for almost two weeks.
She reached the edge of the roof and started down the fire escape on the opposite side of the building. She noticed a cold shiver up her back. She didn't hear him coming after her. Had he fallen when the tail of her costume came off in his hand? she wondered. A momentary flash of regret passed through her thoughts as she reached the ground. Catwoman ran up the alley and across a nearly deserted street. She continued up the alley. She didn't hear any footsteps behind her. Batman could be very quiet when he wanted, but running full out like this it was hard to be quiet. She risked a look over her shoulder. There was no one following her.
She ran another several blocks and then slowed down slightly. It was just beginning to rain. Catwoman hated the rain. Selina liked to curl up on the couch with her pets around her and read a good book when it rained. She didn't like to go out in it. The rain felt cold on her back. She reached around and felt her lower back. She felt bare skin. The seam up the back of her costume was split open.
He pulled off my tail, she thought. The bastard pulled off my tail! She was aware that he had grabbed her on the ladder, but due to the choking fear she experienced at being chased, it only now began to sink in. Her costume was ruined!
She decided that Batman was no longer following her. She was out of breath and needed a rest. Selina decided to duck behind a dumpster and rest. She stopped and took one look back. Still no one. She tried to pull a dumpster out from the wall. It budged only a little bit, but it was enough. She slid behind it and crouched behind it. The overhang of the building sheltered her from the rain. Selina pulled off the costume's cowl with the pointed cat ears. She stared at the cowl as she thought. I'll rest and then head home when the rain let up, she thought to herself.
The knee still hurt like hell, but Batman continued. He moved along the top of the buildings parallel to the alley. He could hear Catwoman's footsteps ring out as she ran up the alleyway. The narrow sides of the alley caused her footsteps to echo as the sound rose up to roof level.
He almost lost sight of her. She was a fast runner, but he doubted that she was in anything near his level of condition. She would tire eventually and he'd catch her. Even with a sore knee, Batman could out pace her over the longer distance. He halted for a few seconds. He looked up the alley to where the sounds were coming from. The footsteps slowed and finally stopped. She must be resting, he thought.
Batman moved along the rooftop. The next time he looked, he caught only a brief glimpse of something light near a dumpster about half a block up the alley. He didn't know what to make of it. Catwoman's costume was mostly dark purple, not as dark as his own cape, but still, she blended into the dark almost as much as he did. He stopped and lowered himself to the ground with a length of rope. He didn't rappel down the side of the building like he normally did. He gave his knee a brief respite by lowering himself down the rope hand over hand.
He cautiously approached the dumpster. Bracing himself with his good leg, he jerked the heavy trash container back from the wall. Catwoman looked up in surprise. He was the one that moved quickly this time. With his knee hurting, he wasn't in any mood to be gentle. He caught her arm and pulled her roughly to her feet. He twisted the arm behind her and stepped close to her. He held her close to him so that she couldn't get any purchase and try to kick him.
Catwoman was yelling at him as she stomped downward at the instep of his feet. He pulled up on her arm and she stopped, giving him several last struggling kicks. The steel plate embedded across the top of his boot prevented her from doing any damage this time.
She eventually relaxed to take the pressure off her arm. He relaxed the hold slightly to reach for the quick-cuffs he had in his belt. Batman wrapped one end of the quick-cuffs around her wrist and then grabbed for her other arm. She swung it wide, but he gripped her shoulder and slid his hand down her arm until he had hold of her free wrist. He placed the quick cuffs over the other wrist and pulled them tight.
At this point, it appeared that she gave up. She stopped struggling and stood quiet. A police siren pierced the night as a patrol car pulled into the far end of the alley.
"They broke up the party," she said. She wiggled her butt into his groin. He stepped back and held her shoulder firmly in one hand. She stopped the seductive movement of her hips as the patrol car stopped in front of the dumpster.
"We heard the silent alarm from the museum," one of the police officers said, as she got out of the passenger side of the patrol car. "I thought you might be involved, Batman."
"Officer Montoya," he said in terse greeting. The female cop nodded in return.
The other police officer got out from the driver's side. Batman didn't recognize the young rookie. He was a tall, slender man with a bright red moustache. A thatch of unruly red hair threatened to escape from under his policeman's hat. His name badge read "Barron."
"I believe you'll find the missing jewels in here," Batman said as he handed Catwoman over to Officer Montoya and her satchel to the rookie.
Batman noticed now that the back of Catwoman's costume was almost completely gone. When the tail had come off, the seam up the back of the costume had come apart. Catwoman's back from shoulder blades to buttocks was exposed. He noted that her underwear had a floral pattern. He realized that her bare skin was the lightness that he spotted. He might never have spotted her and she would have gotten away, but for the large rip in her catsuit.
The rookie cop noticed too. He stepped forward, eyeing Catwoman from head to toe. His glance lingered on her exposed backside. Selina's black hair was wet from perspiration and was getting wetter from the rain. "So this is the infamous Catwoman," Officer Barron said. "Well, a little pussy never hurt anyone."
The rookie started to laugh at his innuendo when he caught Batman's stare. The look in the caped man's eyes was enough to freeze the rookie's soul. He noticed that his partner was looking at him also, a scorn across her face. The only one who didn't react was Selina. She stood quiet with her head hung low.
"Get me something to cover her with," Montoya snapped. Officer Barron reluctantly rushed to the car and returned a few seconds later with a standard issue yellow police rain slicker.
Officer Montoya draped the rain coat over Catwoman's shoulders, and lead her to the back of the patrol car. Selina allowed herself to be pushed into the seat. Just before turned to leave, Batman stood for a moment to look at Catwoman. She looked up, out the window of the police car. The defeat in her eyes was a marked contrast to the fire and spirit that was in them during their fight. In the reflected red and blue of the patrol car's flashing lights, the master cat burglar looked more like a stray kitten caught out in the rain.
The entrance to the cave was hidden in a thicket of trees and bushes, far from the main road to the mansion. Sophisticated electronic sensors and video cameras worthy of any military installation guarded the entrance.
In the car, Batman pressed an unmarked button on the dash and the bushes parted. Behind the cover of the bushes, a steel door slide open. He drove into the darkness and the door slide shut behind him. The tunnel to the main part of the caverns was about a quarter of a mile. As he slowed down, Batman reached up with one gloved hand and pulled back the cowl. Bruce Wayne's face appeared from under the mask.
Parking the car next to its exact duplicate, Bruce emerged from the sleek black automobile. To the untrained eye, it was simply an expensive, sports car. The dark windshield and diplomatic license plates told the official observer that the person driving the car wanted privacy. Under their unassuming exteriors, the two cars were extraordinary machines. Bruce had hand-assembled the pair from only the best materials.
The caverns stretched for miles under the limestone bedrock. A much younger Bruce had discovered them while having the mansion remodeled. The largest portion of the cave lay directly below the west wing of the mansion. When he had decided to pursue his nighttime career, he decided to expand his operations into the quiet darkness of the cave. He then took his name and identify from the winged mammals he found living there.
Using foreign labor that he had recruited secretly, he had parts of the cave walled off into working space. At first glance, a visitor might think they had walked into the typical, high-tech office building, albeit an austere one. There was a large computer room with raised floor, offices for himself and Alfred, even a guest suite. The large indoor swimming pool was next to a gymnasium that even Arnold Schwarzenegger would be proud of. The library was small; most of the reference materials were digitized and indexed in the computer system. Computer terminals dotted the offices, the library and even the machine shop and garage. Portable "pocket PCs" were scattered throughout the cave, linked to the main computer system by radio modems.
To reach the mansion, a person had to pass through a short corridor. At each end of the corridor was a locked steel security door, each with its own combination. Alfred was the only other person to have knowledge of the combinations that opened the doors.
Bruce walked slowly down the main hallway, limping ever so slightly from the sore knee. He stopped in his office to check his computer systems. The large desk was covered with file folders and computer printouts. Computer floppy disks were stacked in neat piles next to each computer. Alfred had obvious straightened up today.
He checked first one system, then the next. On the desk were several different makes of computers, both personal computers and mini- computer workstations. The Power Macintosh had finished plotting the newest crime maps of Gotham that he had started before heading out for the night. The WayneTech PC-clone indicated that Bruce Wayne had several new e-mail messages. These had been routed from his office at Wayne Enterprises to his PC upstairs in the mansion. The mansion's internal computer system, a WayneTech minicomputer file server, relayed them to the downstairs office. The several Unix workstations were momentarily idle, as were the various mainframe systems elsewhere in the cave.
He next stopped in the dressing room next to the office. There, he stored his work costume and equipment. With a weary sigh, he unfastened the cape and laid the cape and cowl on the dressing table. As he undressed, he talked. The microphone on the wall intercom captured his debriefing. Alfred would later transcribe it into the computerized journal.
The cape might seem unwieldy, but actually served a useful purpose. The cape was made of a light-weight Kevlar fabric. It was light enough to catch the slightest breeze or movement. With the voluminous cape swirling around him, his true outline was disguised. More times than he could remember, he had been shot at, but usually the bullet missed him. The shooter never really knew where his body was under the cape. In tense moments, criminals tended to act first and think second. Most of the time they aimed for the first thing that caught their attention, the moving cape.
The cowl was slightly padded. This served two purposes. First, it was some small amount of protection. Second, it disguised the shape of his head. The long ears on the cowl made Batman look even taller than he was, which tended to have an intimidating effect.
Under the cape, Bruce wore a dark gray bodysuit, also of light-weight Kevlar. It was light enough to not impede his movement, but heavy enough to blunt the scrapes and cuts that usually resulted in his climbing about on fire escapes and rooftops. When he had first started his nighttime adventures, he had made the suit out of leather. He reasoned that bikers wore leather pants and jackets to prevent scrapes and cuts in the event of a spill. But, the heavy leather proved to be too hot most the time.
The bat insignia on his chest had a purpose also. It was intentionally meant as a target. It tended to the first thing his opponents saw, thus it was the what they aimed at. Underneath the insignia, there was a chest plate of heavy Kevlar composite that would stop almost any bullet. If he was going to take a bullet, Bruce would rather have it hit his heavily armored chest than his unprotected head.
The gauntlets he wore over his hands reached almost all the way to the elbow and had solid Kevlar composite along the outside of the forearm. This was useful for blocking blows and ramming doors. The rest of each gauntlet, with the exception of the palms, was heavy black leather. The palms were a lighter leather, suitable for fine finger movements. A patch of fine chain mail protected his palms from such things as knife blades. The chain mail was the same as the protective metal gloves butchers and packing plant workers wore. A molded, high-strength plastic knuckle guard completed each gauntlet.
A self-winding Swiss chronometer rested in a molded compartment in the left gauntlet. A velco flap allowed the face of the chronometer to be exposed when Batman needed to know what time it was. Otherwise, it remained hidden so that the glint of light off the watch crystal wouldn't give away his position.
A remote microphone for his radio was in a similar compartment in the right gauntlet.
As he removed the gauntlets, Bruce noticed the scratches on the left one. The scratches were from Catwoman's claws. Better the armored forearm guard than my face, he thought.
His boots were of similar construction. They had Kevlar composite shin guards and steel toe and instep protection. The thick rubber soles were reinforced with steel plates. The tops of the boots reached up to the thickest part of his calves, providing excellent support for his ankles.
He unbuckled the heavy leather belt and laid it out on the table. It had a number of compartments, each a different size. He quickly took stock of the contents of the many compartments and replaced the missing items from the supply cabinet above the table. Just as a police officer would clean his or her gun immediately after using it, Batman restocked the supplies in his belt and the various pockets of his bodysuit.
The belt contained a miniature two-way radio that supported complex encryption codes and could control most of the systems in the car by remote control, a electronic compass with GPS and digital map of Gotham, a number of plastic quick-cuffs, a set of lock picks and assorted wires and clips for bypassing out alarm systems, several concentrated food bars, a personal first aid kit, a supply of painkillers and stimulants, a "Leatherman"-type multi-tool with knife, saw, various tool blades, and pliers/wirecutter, and a flashlight.
One compartment contained a supply of various small and large denomination money. He had both American and foreign money. He sometimes used the money to buy emergency supplies and to pay for information from street informants. He also had a couple gold and platinum coins and bars--some of the people he dealt with preferred hard currency. And he never knew when a JLA mission might take him outside the US.
The last compartment of the belt contained a miniaturized pair of night-vision goggles.
A holster that hung from the belt contained a spring loaded cable launcher with grappling hook.
Small compartments in the arms and legs of the body suit contained small bat-shaped throwing stars and various smoke and stick bombs.
He replaced the batteries in the electronic devices and examined each device for signs of wear or damage. Anything that wasn't perfect was replaced. Batman couldn't take a chance with something that might break; his life and those of the people he protected depended upon the flawless function of each device.
The re-supply work complete, he removed the black shorts that he wore. They were also made of a Kevlar fabric to protect his groin area. He next unfastened the bottoms of the bodysuit from the top and pulled each off. Under the bodysuit, he wore a back brace, similar to the weight lifting belts body builders wore. Lastly, he removed the jock strap and metal cup he wore.
Completely undressed, he throw the sweat-soaked clothes into the hamper and hung the remaining items up in the closets that surrounded the dressing table. There were already several of each item hanging in the closets. Bruce was not the type of person to rely on only one of anything.
Although he often dressed in a hurry, he always tried to undress at a leisurely pace. It allowed him time to think about the night's events and take stock of his equipment and his physical condition. The routine had become almost a ritual.
The next part of the routine was to take a long, hot shower and do some gentle limbering exercises. His big workout would come after breakfast. When he had time, he also tried to fit in a quick, warm-up workout before hitting the streets at night.
For now, he was showered and relaxed. He slipped into a bathrobe with the Wayne family crest on the breast and headed upstairs. He would have a light snack and drink several glasses of water to replenish the fluids he'd lost through his exertions. This morning he made it to his bedroom just as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon. He closed the thick velvet curtains and retired to the bed. As usual, he was asleep almost instantly.
Officers Montoya and Barron headed back to precinct headquarters with Selina Kyle, Catwoman, in the back of their cruiser. Montoya turned around to look at the master cat burglar.
Catwoman was slumped down in the back seat of the police cruiser, her hands handcuffed behind her. She sensed rather than saw the female police officer turn around. Right now, Selina was playing possum.
"You okay?" Montoya asked. Although she tried to keep her attitude professional, the cop couldn't help feeling sorry for the other woman. Catwoman had looked so pitiful, wet and with a large and embarrassing tear in her costume, when they had taken possession of the suspect from the Batman.
Montoya had seen the Batman take down drug-crazed male criminals nearly twice his size; she knew that he was more than a match for a woman who was merely a cat burglar.
"You okay?" she asked again. Catwoman didn't answer.
"Something wrong?" Officer Barron asked.
"I don't think so," Montoya answered. The police officer turned a little more and watched their prisoner closer for a few minutes.
As Barron turned the cruiser from South Main onto Broadway, Montoya watched as their prisoner slide across the seat from the centrifugal force of the turn.
"Pull over," Montoya said.
"What?"
"I think she's unconscious," Montoya said.
"She's just acting," Barron said.
"Maybe," Mallory responded. "Maybe she bumped her head or something. Batman can be pretty rough sometimes."
"Okay, okay," the rookie cop said. Barron pulled up to the curb and stopped the cruiser.
"Be careful," he said.
"I will," Montoya answered as she opened her door and got out of the cruiser. She opened the back door and looked in on their prisoner.
"Come on, sit up," she ordered the seemingly unconscious woman.
No response.
"Catwoman. Ms. Kyle," Montoya ordered, "Please sit up."
Still no response.
Montoya leaned in to shake the other woman. Before she could react, Selina Kyle kicked Montoya across the face. Montoya's head jerked backward from the kick and hit the door frame of the cruiser.
"Oh, shit," Barron said, scrambling to unbuckle his seat belt. By the time he got out of the car and pulled his gun, Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, was gone. He assumed that she had run down the alley, and started to run around the car to pursue her.
"Ohhh," Montoya moaned, as she lay on the ground beside the parked cruiser.
Officer Barron hesitated for a moment, worried about his partner. By the time he turned back to the alley, Catwoman was gone.