~Two~


"He's not lying. He said he'd take us there himself, and show us."

Telly Marvanne, part-time bodyguard and full-time hit man, paced around the spacious penthouse suite of the Gotham Arms. Periodically, the burly man would pat his left hip, as if to reassure himself that Bertha -- his super-charged blaster -- was still in his possession. Looking around at the weary faces of the others in the room, Marvanne knew he was among friends, but in the shadowy universe of the criminal "underworld," you couldn't let your guard down -- ever. "Don's got the whole stash just sitting there waiting for us."

"It better be." A raspy voice cut through the tension in the room, and four heads swiveled toward the window. A thin figure leaned casually against the windowpane, long, dark hair falling into his face. Sam "Sandlips" Stephens was in a contemplative mood, and any one who knew him knew that was a bad sign. "Every last piece of ice had better be in that box . . . and trust me, I ~know~ how much we lifted."

"Don's not jerking us around." Marvanne spoke with confidence of a man who had serious firepower close at hand. "He just wanted to stash it 'til the heat was off. . . he wasn't trying anything, Sam. He's not stupid."

"Your opinion." Sandlips threw his head back, exposing a fine-boned face with small, dark eyes, a sharp nose and thin, pale, scabby lips. Sam had some kind of condition, Marvanne knew, that left him with crusty brown sores on his chin and lips . . . made him look less like the criminal overlord he was than like a skinny teen with a bad case of acne. But his eyes . . . it was the eyes that gave him away. They were dark, shrewd and full of malice - like rat's eyes. God help the person who found himself under the direct gaze of those cruel eyes, because a stern look from Sandlips Stephens usually meant one thing: a death sentence.

"Don never should have moved the jewels from the hideout in the first place." Stephens moved from the window. "And where he's got them now is about the stupidest hiding spot I've ever heard of. He might as well've put 'em in the dumpster." Four heads nodded in agreement. "I knew I should've never trusted the little bastard."

Marvanne frowned, but only a little. He had to walk a fine line with Sandlips if he had any hope of getting his good buddy Don off the hook for snagging the gang's haul from Salem Jewels, biggest jewelry store in the city. But Marvanne had lied: Don ~was~ stupid. He'd been stupid enough to try to steal from Sandlips Stephens. He'd been stupid enough to get discovered, and now Don was stupid enough to believe that Sandlips would spare his life if he just led him to the stolen gems.

Don was very, ~very~ stupid, and Marvanne knew it. The gangster cursed himself for a fool, too. He'd been the one to bring Don into the fold, and now Don's stupidity was ~his~ problem -- a problem he knew Sandlips would want to solve with a gun. Telly stifled a sigh. This was no kind of life to lead, he knew that, but yet, it was all he really had.

"I say we go over tonight," a youngish thug with a neat goatee piped up from the corner. "He probably knows we're onto him . . .he might go over there tonight and try to grab 'em and go."

Sandlips shook his head. "I've got Sid and Tim watching him. Bastard won't be able to take a leak without one of 'em on his ass. No . . . he's so hot to show us the jewels, we'll let ~him~ show us . . . tomorrow night." He perched on the king-size bed in the middle of the room. "I don't trust him. Whole thing could be a trap, so I want him ~with~ us when we go. It's more honest that way . . . don't'cha think, Tel?"

Marvanne nodded slowly, he knew a trap when he heard one, but he had to watch out for his own neck, too. "But he's got nothing to hide, Sam. I'm with Joe -- we should go over tonight, you're so worried about the stuff. Don just wanted to go with us as a sign a good faith and all. But we ~know~ where it is-"

"Uh-uh, we ~don't~ know." Stephens jabbed a bony finger in the air. "It'll be easier for all of us if the guy who put the stuff there in the first place leads us to it. And if Don's as smart as you say, he'll want to make all of this as easy for me as possible. Right?"

"Right." Marvanne's heart sank. Don was as good as gone He could look into Sandlips' beady eyes and see that the gangster had made his mind up. Marvanne could only hope that he would not be called upon to pull the trigger. Don was like a brother to him . . . a buddy from way back. You couldn't buy that kind of friendship they had - not cheaply, anyway. But then, Don had screwed it all up by trying to be a wise guy. Marvanne's expression hardened. Idiot brought him on himself, really. And after all he'd tried to do for the kid, he'd turn his back and endanger the whole gang. Stupid, stupid, ~stupid.~

"When do we go?"

"Tomorrow night. Late." Sandlips looked around at the rest of his crew. "Old Town gets deserted after midnight. We'll go in between twelve-thirty and two. In, out, and done. Shouldn't take more than five minutes . . . ~if~ the gems are where Donnie says they are."

"We'll be able to get into the building, right, Sam?" A tall, sad-eyed man spoke from the table. "I mean, all those old factories are fallin' apart . . . we ain't gonna get clocked by fallin' bricks are we?"

"Don't worry, Trey. Place is getting all spruced up for the renovation," Stephens replied. "Besides, we're only going in for five, ten minutes tops . . . we'll take care of a little business, and split." He gave Marvanne a meaningful look, and the beefy man's blood ran cold. He knew what "a little business" meant. They were going to kill Donnie right there and then, in dilapidated Old Town, leaving him to rot among the garbage the sagging old factories.

"Everybody's set on the plan, right? We go into the building Don says he hid the jewels in, we find 'em, we're out." Sandlips flung his hair out of his eyes again. "We're all gonna be there, and I want all of you on your guard. Be ready for trouble." He directed this last statement at Marvanne. "That all right with you, Tel?"

Telly nodded slowly, patting Bertha reassuringly. "It's always all right, Sam. I'll be ready."

******

"Problem, McGinnis?" The image of a somber Bruce Wayne filled the Batmobile's vidlink screen. "You seem distracted tonight."

"Uh . . . no." Batman executed a neat turn around the sky-grazing offices of FoxTeca. "Just, um, a little anxious, I guess. Got some . . . studying to do for uh . . .a big test coming up." He glanced at the chronometer on the dashboard. Seven minutes to one. He accelerated, climbing higher and steering the car in the direction of Gotham Square. "An important test. I've gotta pass it, or . . . well . . . I just have to pass it. You know how it is."

"School is important." Wayne nodded. "I'm glad to see you're getting more serious about it. Guess this trend of quiet nights comes at a good time."

"That's for sure." Terry began bringing the Batmobile down as Gotham Square came into view. "But I don't expect it to last long."

"It never does. Send the car back when you get home. Wayne out."

The vidlink winked off, and Terry grinned in relief, reveling in the silence. So the old man didn't suspect a thing. Excellent. Things were going, so far, according to plan. He turned on the Batmobile's camouflage option as the car got closer to the ground.
Landing near a clump of trees, he punched the coordinates of the Batcave into the vehicle's auto-nav, and, jumping out, pressed the controls on his belt to send the car back to the "garage." It lifted and streaked off, fast as light, toward the outskirts of Gotham. Batman watched it go, his UV lenses able to discern the "invisible" car as it headed homeward. He sighed as it truly vanished from view . . . so that was done. Now he had to find Max and get going.

He walked quietly through the deserted square, acutely aware of his surroundings. By day, Gotham Square was an attractive gathering spot for tourists, school kids, vendors and lunching businesspeople. It was an airy, wide-open space ringed with trees and grass, near the west side of Gotham River and almost in the dead center of the city. Its fountain - which featured jets of water holding a large steel ball aloft - was the centerpiece of the Square, and in daylight hours, people swarmed the area around the fountain, snapping pictures, buying souvenirs from the numerous vendors, and just generally enjoying life.

At night, though, like most places in Gotham, that all changed. The Square was all but deserted, no "law-abiding" citizen wanting to be caught after hours in a place that was known as the stomping ground of groups like the Jokerz and the T's. Thanks to vigilant police patrols, and even more vigilant Batman patrols, those gangs had moved their headquarters "elsewhere," but the Square was still not the safest place to be after dark.

He reached the fountain, quickly scanning the area for Max. Terry circled the fountain, water droplets occasionally hitting his suit. No sign of Max.

"Max?" he called softly. "Max? You here?"

There was no response, and Terry began to worry. He glanced up at the looming Clock Tower as it tolled the hour. It was one o'clock on the dot, and no sign of the pink-haired girl.

"Max?" he looked around the quiet square. There was a vagrant sleeping on a bench nearby, but he seemed to be the only other person in the area. "Where could she be?" he wondered aloud. "Not like her to be late."

"I'm not." A slightly out-of-breath voice came from behind him. "I had to lay low for a second . . .people were walking by. If they'd seen me, I really would have had to answer some questions."

"Finally." He whirled around, relieved. "I was getting ner-"

Terry's voice left him as Max stepped from the shadows and into the light emanating from the lights around the fountain. "-vous."

Terry's eyes widened, and he rocked on heels, slightly, stunned as he took in the sight of her. His mouth worked soundlessly for awhile, his eyes getting larger and wider with every step she took. He finally found his voice. "Uh . . . um . . ..whoa."

His knees buckled, and he supported himself against the edge of the fountain. Max was dressed from head to toe in a sleek black bodysuit, the material of which was shinier and much more . . . clingy . . . than he thought was physically possible. The suit lovingly hugged every curve -- from her graceful, well-toned calves to her slender waist, to her . . .

Beneath the cowl, Terry's face grew hot enough to melt as he found himself staring at a blood-red Bat symbol, slightly smaller than his own, curving outward with the swell of her breasts. He forced his eyes to look somewhere - anywhere -- else. He noticed that she wore black, fingerless gloves that stopped at her elbows, and that something that looked like a ~dog~ collar circled her neck. A dog collar with little pockets. Terry puzzled at that for a moment, before turning his eyes to her face. She wore a mask - it was a half-mask that concealed her uniquely colored hair. It was much like the mask the old Batgirl wore, leaving only the lower half her face and her huge, dark eyes visible. The cowl's ears were slightly longer than the old Batgirl's, but much shorter than those of Terry's mask.

"Max . . . what . . . um . . . what . . ." He fumbled his words, making a conscious effort to keep his eyes fixed on Max's face. The temptation to glance down was too strong, however, and he gave in. That's when he noticed the boots. They were shiny and the color of midnight, the heels high and spindly enough to put a man's eye out. "Um . . . ~where~."

"Not, ~Max,~" she chided. "Batgirl."

"Max, there was no Batgirl in this." He sneaked another look downward, amazed at how the suit made her legs look even longer and shapelier than usual. "Robin, yes, Batgirl, no."

"Robin, Batgirl, What's the big difference?"

Terry glanced at her Bat symbol again, looking away with a blush. "You have no idea. Look, where did you even get . . uh . . . this outfit?"

"I ~made~ it," she replied. "Got a few ideas from some vidclips of the old Batgirl in action, modified it to look more like your suit - you know, cape-less, and everything -- added a couple of personalized touches -"

"What's with the collar?"

"It's ~not~ a collar." Her hand stole up to her neck in a self-conscious reaction. "You have a utility ~belt~, a Batgirl of the future would have a utility ~choker.~ Crime-fighting makes a fashion statement. And it's less bulky, too."

"What can you possibly put in there that would be useful?" he asked. "It's way too small."

"You'd be surprised. Besides, good things come in small packages, right?"

He decided that under the circumstances, it would be best to ignore that remark. "You weren't actually expecting to wear this anywhere . . . were you?"

"I certainly was." She moved toward him, and he stood transfixed, grateful that the cowl was concealing his expression and the line of drool snaking from his mouth. "I made it to wear to Jurgen and Blade's Halloween party -- but ~somebody~ got called in to stop a robbery and needed me to escort a certain little brother to the Halloween Haunt-Out at Rhino's. So . . . what do you think?"

She did a neat pirouette, and Terry eyes bulged as she twirled around. The suit plunged low in the back, exposing an expanse of satiny, mahogany skin. "It's not as schway as yours, with all the bells and whistles, but it's a look."

"Can't argue there." Batman allowed himself another glance at her shapely silhouette. He thought improbably of Dana Tan, his beautiful girlfriend, who, unfortunately, was angry with him ~again~, for breaking yet another date to go to "work." He tried to imagine the shorter, Asian girl in the suit, but it didn't take him long to realize the impact wouldn't be the same. Dana was lovely, but there were curves, and then there were ~curves~. The suit definitely worked best for someone in the latter category - and Max more than fit the bill.

"Hey, you okay?" The dark eyes scanned the masked face in concern. "You've barely moved."

"Fine. I'm . . . fine." He took a deep breath, forcing his attention back to the task at hand. "It's, um, kind of hot out here. You ready to go?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," she affirmed, looking around. "Where'd you stash the car?"

"Sent it back," he replied. "Didn't want to keep it out too late and get Wayne suspicious."

"But Old Town's nearly 20 miles from here." She stared at him. "How are we supposed to get there? Walk? Take the train? Dressed like ~this~?"

"Hey . . . that'd be one way to get on the news," he said with a grin. "But this mission's all about stealth . . . so that's how we go. We fly." Terry snaked his arm around her, drawing her close. Their nearness made his head swim, and he was at a loss for a moment as to a safe place to put his hands. "Um . . . I think maybe you should hold on to me."

"Good thing I'm not afraid of heights." Max wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing tight against his side. Terry's heart pounded painfully, and he forced himself not think of how . . .interesting . . . she felt up against him in that manner. ~Come on, McGinnis,~ he marshaled his thoughts. ~This is Max. . . your best friend. Stop thinking about this like . . . like it's more than that. It's just a costume . . . that's all . . . just a suit that's gonna come off at the end of the night.~ He gulped, a fleeting image of Max taking off the suit invading his musings. ~Okay, let's rephrase that thought . . .~

"I thought you said you were hot." Her voice was close to his ear. "You're shivering. I can feel it through the suit."

"It's . . . uh . . . nothing." He swallowed hard, wondering how he managed to get himself in such situations. "But we'd better get going. You ready?"

"Ready." She sounded excited. "Let's jet. . . partner."

Batman smiled slightly as his wings sprang out and into place. He felt Max subtly tighten her grip around his middle, and he fired his jets, propelling them both upward into the starry night.

*****