~Four~
"Get on the turnpike. We're on a schedule here, Tel."
Wordlessly, Telly Marvanne maneuvered the van across three lanes of traffic, ignoring the screeching brakes, surprised expressions and angry horns of the drivers who were inconvienced - and nearly killed - by his action. Taking the overpass that led to the Tri Gate Expressway, he glanced in the rear-view mirror, half-expecting to see the blinking lights of the of the ever-present highway patrolmen - they always seemed to be around when he was at his most reckless. Not this time, though. The only car anywhere near the black van was a doddering red number crawling along at about 10 miles under the speed limit. Telly nudged the gas, and the vehicle hummed along, the streetlights on the side of the road whizzing by like shooting stars.
"Good. Take this to the Simley exit. You know the way." Sandlips Stephens relaxed in the middle row of seats. "This day's been rough, and I'm slagged. I want to get this over with soon as possible." His eyes darted to a pasty-faced, sad-eyed man who was flanked by two very muscular men. "Right, Don? Won't it be good to get this all done?"
"S-S-Sure, Sam." Marvanne flinched at the fear in Don's voice. ~He knows,~ Marvanne thought with a shudder. ~He knows he's gonna get slagged.~
Telly's stomach dropped, and he felt a pang of guilt. Don was dumb, yeah, but he was just a kid, and kids make mistakes. Granted, Don's had been a big one, but was it worth killing him over? He glanced at Sandlips' reflection in the car's mirror. The gang lord's eyes were half closed, and a small smile flittered across his scabby mouth. He looked bored, but Marvanne knew better. Sandlips was having a grand old time playing with Don - he spoke to him nicely, was courteous, and even offered him a cigarette from his special stash. Don took the cigarette with a stilted smile and trembling fingers. Marvanne noticed Don had a blaster on him, but when push came to shove, it wouldn't do him much good. Joe and Tim, the two men flanking Don, were good shots. Sandlips was pretty quick on the draw. And he, Marvanne, was both. So Sandlips' letting Don keep his piece on him was like giving a starving man a bag of pretzels - useless, and yet another way Stephens could demonstrate that he had the upper hand.
"How much longer, Tel?"
"Another half-hour, tops," Marvanne replied gruffly. "We're lucky -- traffic's usually not this light."
"Guess nobody feels like going to Old Town this time of night." Sandlips lit a cigarette, the blaze of light from the match briefly illuminating the dark car. "Good. We'll have plenty of privacy. The others are gonna meet us there."
Marvanne noticed that Don stiffened at this. "Uh . . . you know, Sam . . . I, um . . . I . . ." Don faltered, and Marvanne could almost hear the man choking back tears. "I . . ."
"Yeah, Don?" Sandlips turned to him with a slight smile. "What is it?"
"Just that . . . um . . . I'm glad, you know, that we're all going together." Don took a deep, shaky breath. "You know, because I'd never want you guys to think I'm, you know, snowing you, so I'm glad you . . . uh . . . trust me enough to . . um . . you know, take me with you. I mean, you all could've split with the stuff without um . . . even saying anything to me, but you didn't . . and I, um, appreciate that. I really do, Sam."
Sandlips gazed at Don for a moment - a long moment -- still smiling his strange little half-grin. "Yeah, well, I'm just that kind of guy. But you're wrong, Don -- we couldn't have grabbed the stuff without you . . . ~you~ were the one who hid the stuff in the first place. ~You~ were the only one who knew where ~our~ stuff was. So you see, we couldn't have done any of this without you, Don," Sandlips gave him a friendly slap on the knee. "~You~ made all this possible."
"Uh . . . yeah. You know, Sam, I-I-I wanted to say something about that." Beads of sweat dotted Don's forehead. "I mean, when I uh, ~relocated~ the jewels, it was because the fuzz was onto us. I mean, they had Sid and Tim on the surveillance vid. I didn't tell you that I, um, relocated the rocks, 'cause it was only gonna be a temporary move. I don't think I really explained that part." He laughed . . . it was short, hard laugh. The chuckle of a man in despair. "We all gotta look out for each other, you know?"
Stephens took a long drag on his cigarette. "I appreciate the explanation, Don. I do. Thank you for that."
"It's just that, you know, I'm just sorry I didn't say anything before . . . could've avoided this whole misunderstanding -"
"Hey, hey, hey. Don, don't apologize." Sandlips gave him another slap on the knee. "It's done. Isn't that right, guys?" he looked around at the rest of the gang. "Isn't that right?"
The two musclemen nodded. Sandlips, pleased, turned to Marvanne. "Tel . . . it's done, right?"
Marvanne paused a few moments before answering. "Yeah, Sam. It's done."
"It's done," Sandlips repeated thoughtfully, regarding Don again. "It's done, my friend. So don't give it a second thought."
Marvanne glanced in the mirror again at Don. He'd gone deathly pale, and looked as if he were about to faint. Telly turned his eyes back to the road. Sandlips was not quite right: it was ~not~ done - yet. But it would be very, very soon.
****
The inside of the deserted warehouse was surprisingly cool, completely silent, and, save for slices of moonlight filtering in through the wooden planks on the windows, dark as a tomb. The sour smell of mildew permeated the entire room, though it wasn't so overpowering as to be unbearable. The air was filled with dust, though, and that ~was~ a potential problem. Batman looked up at the ceiling, and saw that the wooden beams overhead were pretty well intact -- almost ~too~ intact for a building that had been closed nearly 40 years. But the dust was definitely coming from above. He set his
cowl to do a particle scan, and was slightly relieved when the air molecules tested negative for asbestos or other airborne dangers. Still, there was something about the building that didn't sit well with him. He glanced upward again with a grimace. "Well . . . it's clean, at least."
"You consider this clean? I'd hate to see your room." Max gripped his arm with both hands as they snaked through the level. "It's like walking through mud in here."
"I know." His eyes narrowed. "The boards over the windows are cutting out a lot of the light from outside. We'll have to improvise."
"Ummm . . . okay. I think I might have a flashlight in here." She rummaged around in her utility choker. "Hmmm . . . not this one . . . nope . . . no . . . uhhh . . . aha!"
Terry heard a subtle snap, and then a glowing oval of light hit the far wall, swinging slowly around and momentarily illuminating objects in the room. "There we go. Better, no?"
"Nice try, but I have something else in mind." He plucked the gadget from her hands, studying the long, slender cylindrical device curiously. "How could this fit in ~this?~" His fingers brushed the apparatus around her neck.
"It's collapsible, can fold down to the size of a vid-disk." She snatched it back. "Don't tell me you want to do this in the dark. Even the original Batman had some light to work by."
"The place was filed with smoke." Batman moved to the middle of the room, stooping low. "Visibility was probably pretty bad. But he had his UV lenses, so he probably was able to see pretty okay."
"All right . . . so what are we going to do?"
"You'll see in a minute." Terry removed several rectangular objects from a compartment in his belt, arranging them in a wide circle. "Maybe this is cheating a little, but . . ."
He stood and stepped back, pressing a button on his belt. The tubes sparked a little before glowing hot and white, suffusing the room with a gentle light. "There. Portable mood lighting."
"Impressive." Max blinked rapidly, her eyes adjusting to the brightness. "But looking at the place now, I think it looked better with the lights off."
"No kidding." Terry took in their surroundings with an inquisitive eye. Piles of broken-down chairs and tables littered nearly the entire lower level, and discarded wood beams and bedposts stood propped up against the walls. In the rear of the building, Terry could make out the bulky forms of writing desks and china cabinets, all in varying states of disrepair.
"It's kind of sad," she said as they made their way around the debris. "This stuff could have been worth something if someone had kept it up. Why do you think they'd leave all this inventory here? Even if they sold it for way below market value, it would have turned more of a profit than leaving it to sit and rot."
"Beats me." He ran an exploratory hand over a nearby table, grimacing as his fingers sank into a coating of dust at least three inches deep. "Maybe nobody wanted it. It's all pretty old-fashioned, by the looks of it - the kind of stuff Wayne would drool over. Come to think of it," he said, stopping near a dusty love seat. "That chair looks kind of familiar. I think Wayne might have one just like it in his study - complete with mold."
He leaned close, to inspect the fabric. "It would sort of make sense, huh? He did own the place once-" he stopped abruptly as an object next to the chair caught his eye. "What the . . ." he stooped for a closer look.
"What is it?" Max gazed over his shoulder as he bent low and straightened up again holding a crumpled piece of paper. "More junk?"
"It's a Frank-O's wrapper." He held out the white-and-blue paper to her. "The mustard on the wrapper's dry - but barely. And there's bits of onions on here that look relatively fresh." His jaw set hard. "Someone's been here. Like in the past day or two."
"But who?" She glanced instinctively over her shoulder. "The only people who hang anywhere near here are the workers involved with the revitalization project. Could it have been them?"
"Doubtful. ~Look~ at this place." His eyes swept the space. "It's a mess. If people had been here cleaning up, ~why~ does it still look like an earthquake hit it?"
"Good point. It was probably a bum or something. Liberty Park's not far from here, and compared to the other places around here, it's not a bad place to sleep."
"Could be." Terry was lost in thought a moment. While the former furniture factory was in slightly better shape than its neighboring structures, it was still pretty dirty and old. But beside that, the factory didn't particularly look like ~anyone~ had slept there. The relics wore a coating of grime, and none looked as if they'd been disturbed at all. But for the wrapper, the building looked as if it hadn't seen any company since it closed. Terry glanced at the doorway. Someone had pried loose the boards over the doorway. Someone had been in the factory - that was certain. But if the person who'd been in there wasn't there to clean it or sleep in it, ~what~ had the person been doing there?"
"We'd better get started." Terry tucked the wrapper into a spare section of his utility belt. "We've got school tomorrow, you know."
"Glad someone remembered that," she said as they walked over to the doorway. "I'm ready when you are . . . Batman."
"All right. Here we are, the hideout of Two-Face." Terry's voice deepened somewhat. "He's inside somewhere . . . and we sneak into the place." He curled low toward the ground, creeping soundlessly along the floor. "This is a factory, so there's probably all sorts of equipment and boxes to hide behind, so we find something, and -"
"Hold it. Back up. I don't think we're starting the right way."
"What?" Batman relaxed his stance, and stood up, amazed to see that Max had not moved from the doorway. "What are you talking about?"
"Ter, you've cut into enough gang deals to know that even the small-time guys have lookouts - with guns -- posted at the door." She folded her arms. "And Two-Face was about as big-time as they got in those days. He probably had a whole infantry crammed in the doorway, around the building, at the alley . . . Batman and Rob - er, we just can't ~walk~ in here."
He mulled that a moment. "Fine. We take the guards out, ~then~ come in. How about ~that~?"
"Great . . . and then everybody on the inside knows someone's on to them"
"Not if we're quiet - and quick," he spoke in an exaggerated whisper. "I can knock a man out in five seconds."
"Big deal. ~I~ can do it in three."
He recoiled in surprise. "~Three?~ Are you kidding?"
"Okay, well maybe I am. But the point is, there were a bunch of guys inside here doing a lot of dirt, and on each side of the building, there are armed guards. The way to go in a case like that would to be to use the element of surprise." Max took a few steps into the building. "I think that big guy and the bird ~dropped~ in on Two-Face and his goons. Literally."
She looked up at the ceiling. Terry followed her gaze, resisting the urge to laugh.
"Max. . .you're kidding right? You think they busted through the roof?"
"Or a skylight. Every factory had one. Probably even this one did, before it got closed down."
" ~That's~ some surprise, all right. While they're falling oh, 40 or 50 ~feet,~ Dent and his friends could have recovered enough to take off - or start shooting."
"Not if they came down shooting first." Max shook her head rapidly at his thunderstruck look. "I don't mean with ~guns~. I mean shooting the little gadgets. The Batarangs and the . . . um . . . what are the little wrap-around cords called again?"
"Bolas."
"Right. Those. By the time Two-Face knew what was going on, it was over." She smiled. "Now how are you gonna do all that from the door? And we're talking about two of the greatest heroes in this city's history . . . they come in to make an arrest, they do it in ~style~."
"Hmmm." Batman was studying the upper limit of the building, noticing something that the darkness had concealed from even his supercharged lenses - a very narrow catwalk that spanning the front and rear walls. "Maybe . . ." A sly grin lit his face as he got an idea. "Maybe. We could try it."
"Uh . . what?" She stared at him. "How? The skylight in this place has all sorts of wood over it . . . besides, I don't think my suit can withstand glass. Hell, I don't think it can stand up to a strong wind."
"Well, we don't have to go completely wild. This is just a reenactment, after all. Stay put for a second."
"Have to use my flight capability for this one." He spread his wings and rocketed upward, landing neatly on the skyway. "Want to see how strong this thing is," he called down to her. Batman put his full weight on the slim bridge. It stood firm beneath his feet, staying put even as he stomped and jumped up and down upon it. He went down almost on all fours, studying the construction closely.
"Is everything all right up there?" Her voice echoed through the building. "What are you doing?"
He stopped jumping, and leaped from the bridge, using his wings to float gently down to the lower level. "I think it's solid enough. Let's go."
"Solid enough for what?" She looked perplexed. "~Where~ are we going?"
"~Up.~" He pulled her to him, and fired his rockets, impelling them upward. Landing on the sturdy platform, Max wriggled from his arms and gaped at how tiny the discarded furniture looked from their new perch. "Um . . . what are you planning?"
"We're going to do this your way." Batman latched one end of a bungee cord to a clasp on his utility belt and the other to a hook on the footbridge's railing. Tugging hard, and satisfied that the cord was secure, he turned to Max. "Well? You ready to make a Batman-and-Robin-worthy entrance?"
Suddenly, she understood what he was doing, and she turned to him with an astonished glare. "Are you ~insane?~ This place is coming apart at the seams . . . what you want to do could bring the whole place down on our heads!"
"Max, it's all right. I scanned the thing for integrity breaches. It's solid. We're okay."
"Well, what if the cord breaks? You've got your mask on too tight if you think I'm going to go for this. Get me down from here!"
"Would love to, but we're the old-time Batman, and, er, sidekick, from now on. And there's only one way down." He took in her rigid posture, and noticed the way she continued to look down, her hands gripping the railing. "We're ~not~ going to bring the place down. This thing isn't even connected to the central beam of the place - the thing that keeps this baby standing. It looks like it was put in ~after~ the place was built, in fact."
Max flinched as he moved to put his arms around her. "Max - Batgirl -" He noticed how smoothly the title slipped off his tongue, and marveled at that a moment before continuing. "We're partners. We've gotta trust each other. And, you've gotta know I'd never try something like this unless I thought it was safe for both of us. If something goes wrong - if it breaks - I'll have you. I've got my wings still. I won't let you fall."
He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt her relax in his arms. "You with me?"
She looked over at him, her eyes serious. "I believe you. But I'm thinking this was a ~much~ better theory when I was standing down ~there~."
He chuckled softly. "Been there. Every idea seems good in theory. But when you put it in ~practice~ . . ."
"Yeah . . . just like everything seems scarier in the dark."
"Right . . . but if you think about it, there are some things that work really well in the dark."
She gave him a sharp glance. " Like ~what~?"
"Um . . ." His face blazed. "Um . . . like watching movies and vids and stuff." He cleared his throat unnecessarily, waiting for his blush to abate. "Ready to go?"
Max hesitated a moment. "You, my friend, are so much in my debt for this."
"Hey . . . it's ~your~ idea."
"Fine, blame this on ~me.~"
They hopped together on the handrail. Max turned her back to him, stiffening as he placed his arms around her middle, drawing her firmly against his body. "Hey . . . is that a Batarang poking me in the back or are you just ~extremely~ happy to see me?"
"Max!"
"A ~joke~. Just a little levity to get my mind off that we're about to do something completely crazeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
She screamed as they jumped from the bridge, freefalling feet first through the dim, musty air. The pair plummeted so quickly that their surroundings became a shapeless mash of shadow and light. Terry had a death grip on her, but Max continued to yell in terror, her shrieks bouncing around the factory as they continued to fall. She saw the ground approaching at a dizzying rate of speed, and she could feel herself beginning to slip out of consciousness from utter fear. Her thoughts were a jumble and she squeezed her eyes closed. ~Ohmigod. Ohmigod. We're going to die, we're going to die, we're going to --~
A violent jerking motion took her breath away and caused a fleeting, but sharp, pain at her rib cage as the cord caught and held taut. They weren't falling anymore, she realized dimly, but they were still ~moving~, bouncing slightly as the cable began to lose the tension it had built up in sustaining the initial impact. They dangled in mid-air, swaying back and forth in an almost leisurely manner. Max fearfully opened her eyes one at a time, nearly fainting with horror when she saw how close they were to the ground - fewer than two feet. If the cord hadn't caught when it did . . .
He lowered her lightly to the ground before unhooking himself and landing nimbly beside her. "You were right," he said, slightly out of breath. "That entrance ~definitely~ has more style than coming through the door."
Terry's eyes swung her way, widening slightly when he noticed how pale the coffee-colored skin looked. ~It's gotta be a trick of the light.~ He peered anxiously into her face. "Max, you okay?"
She didn't answer, her eyes riveted to some point in the distance. "Max? Max, come on, say something. . . ~do~ something."
Another moment passed, and Terry was just beginning to speak again when Max spun around, her fist connecting hard with his shoulder. He stumbled back, stunned.
"~Not~ exactly the response I wanted. What was ~that~ for?" He rubbed his shoulder. "We're alive, aren't we?"
"Yeah, and that's good, because once we get out of here, I'm going to kill you."
His smile was fleeting. Good. She was all right. "All right, ~now~ we're in. Two-Face's goons are coming at us from all over," he crouched into a fighting stance. "They're keeping us busy while Dent runs around and starts setting the place on fire -"
"Wait - Two-Face set his own ~hideout~ on fire? I know he was nuts, but . . ."
"Dent was obsessed with things in twos," he explained. "All his plans had to have ~two~ distinct parts. He knew Batman was the only person who could haul him in, so he was probably expecting him. So part one of the plan was to keep Batman and Robin occupied. Part two, set the place on fire so he could get rid of all evidence of the stuff he smuggled into Gotham."
"How long would all that take?"
"There were at least two dozen mobsters in on the take with him. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes."
"For Two-Face to torch the building?"
"No . . . for Batman to get rid of the thugs." Terry pictured a hard-nosed bandit standing right in front of him, and took a swing at the air. "It took Dent a lot less time to set the building on fire . . . he had a couple of cans of gas and a whole lot of matches."
"And this all happened in a gun factory? It's a wonder the place didn't blow sky high."
"There were a few explosions, but nothing major, or yeah, Wayne would have been fried. Anyway, so we're fighting about ten or fifteen minutes. Or ~I~ am, anyway. You go down early on into the fight. Somebody beans you with a two-by-four -"
"Ouch."
"Yeah." Terry halted as moment as a flickering on the opposite wall drew his attention. Max's shadow, he realized, turning to watch in a sort of dreamy fascination as she feigned battling a group of imaginary foes. His eyebrow rose as she exhibited some of her fancier moves - moves he'd never seen her try before.
~Has she been practicing?~ He watched her swing, executing a neat set of uppercuts and jabs. She kicked high, her legs slicing through the air in graceful, powerful arcs. Her boots flashed in the half-light, the spiky heels looking even more lethal in the dimness.
"So," Max, not noticing his watching her, continued her shadow kickboxing. "How long . . . until I . . get unconscious?"
"In actuality, probably another ten minutes," he replied. "But we'll do the express version. Another minute or two, and then you go down."
She nodded, slowing her movements. "Before I forget . . . there was one thing I wanted to ask you about before you drop me off at home. Remind me when we get out of here."
"Well, you've got another minute of consciousness left," he said. "If it's something quick, I can answer it now."
"It's quick. It's a yes or no. Well, it should be anyway."
"Then shoot. As long is it's not about o-chem . . ."
"No, it's about Dana."
"Uh . . . Dana?" Now that was a fine curveball she'd thrown. "What about her?"
Max swiveled around, regarding him with eyes that were bright, inquisitive and something else Terry couldn't quite read.
"There's a rumor going around that you two broke up." She paused. "I wanted to know -- is it true?"
He jerked back, startled. "~What~? Where did you hear ~that~?"
She shrugged. "Nowhere in particular. So you guys are okay still?"
"Are we ever really okay?" he sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping forward. "We were supposed to go to a concert last weekend, but Mad Stan had other plans - and his involved grenades and a very nasty plasma bomb." Terry scowled. "I had to split. Dana really hasn't talked to me much since then. Did . . . Dana say something to you?"
"No," Max replied. "Jackie Wallace IM'd me in English yesterday to ask if ~I'd~ heard the news. I asked her where ~she'd~ heard it, and she told me Chelsea had talked to Missy who got a buzz from Jennifer who said that Tina swore she heard ~you~ say something to Randall about it in your Study of Cultures class."
"Huh?" His brows knit in confusion. "I don't even ~talk~ to Randall. And I had to cut Cultures yesterday because a couple of guys were trying to break into Second National."
"I figured it was bogus. But I wasn't sure, because I hadn't seen you two together in a while. Now I know why." She turned away again. "I'm knocked out now, right?"
"What?" It took him a moment to realize that she'd switched back into Batgirl mode. His mind, however, was still on the brief exchange. He bit his lip hard as myriad thoughts swirled through his mind, making it impossible for him to concentrate on the assignment.
"Say the word, and I'm down." Max's voice sounded slightly farther away, and Terry realized that he had forgotten that Robin, in the original scenario, had been a good distance away from Batman when he'd been rendered insensible. Max had remembered, though, and she'd positioned herself accordingly. Terry smiled - good to know ~one~ of them had their head still in the game.
"Max, wait." He walked over to where she stood, several feet from their starting position. "Before we finish this up . . . can I ask you something?"
"Right this second?" She cocked her head slightly. "I thought you wanted to be in, out and done. Can't we grab some coffee or something later and talk?"
"We could . . . but it's on my mind ~now~ and -"
"All right." She held up a hand. "Say no more. Who needs sleep anyway?"
"~Now~ you sound like Batgirl."
"What?"
"Um . . . an inside joke." He grinned slightly, but his expression quickly became more serious. "Max . . . you're my friend right?"
"Right . . ."
"And, if I asked you to give me an honest answer about something I've been thinking about, you would . . . right?"
"When have I ever ~not~ told you exactly what I thought?"
"I know, but this is, well . . ." He hesitated a moment, clasping and unclasping his hands. "It's just . . . well, do you think I'm being selfish?"
"Selfish? What do you mean?" she looked baffled. "Selfish how?"
"With Dana," he stared at the ground, tracing designs in the coating of dust on the floor with the toe of his boot. "We haven't had a date this month that I haven't had to run out on. She's getting sick of it. I keep thinking that she's going to dump me any day now, and a part of me thinks that'd be a good thing." He paused. "But there's another part of me that doesn't want to give her up . . . and I keep thinking to myself that it'll get better. That maybe I'll have cleaned this city up so much that there won't be that much crime, no emergencies the GCPD can't handle . . . and then Dana and I will be able to have a ~real~ relationship."
Terry glanced at Max's face, which was still beneath her cowl. "But I don't kid myself. If that day ~ever~ comes, which is doubtful, but if it ~does~, it won't be any time soon. And in the meantime, I'll still have to run out on dates and come up with more lame excuses. And that's not fair to her. Is it?"
Max's lips twitched slightly. "Ummmm . . . you want me to answer that as ~your~ friend, as ~Dana's~ friend, as your confidante or as a pseudo-Batgirl?"
He placed his hands on her shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. "I want you to answer as ~Max~. What do ~you~ think?"
"I know," she squared her shoulders and held his look. "You really want to know ~my~ opinion? ~Mine~?"
"Yours," he nodded. "Don't hold back. I need you to be totally real with me. You're one of the few people I can count on to do that."
"All right. But if you really want ~my~ opinion, I'm going to have to be me for a moment." With that, she removed the cowl in one smooth movement. The light from the glowing bars highlighted the dark skin, casting a silvery glow on the gently mussed pink hair. Her eyes were grave and solemn, but her shapely lips quirked into a subtle grin as she followed his gaze over her face and to her hair.
"I have 'cowl-head' don't I?" Max ran a hand over her cropped locks. "How do ~you~ deal with it?"
"Gel." He smiled and reached out to smooth down a cowlick she'd missed. "It looks good on you though."
"Hmmmm . . ." She exhaled slowly. "It'd be nice to sit down for minute. These boots are murder. Your rockets ain't nothin' next to these heels."
"I believe it." He scanned the room for a less-dusty place where they could relax without attracting too much dirt. "Seems to be less grimy the farther back you go."
He motioned to the back of the warehouse, and they trooped to the far recesses of the place, the light from the incandescent tubes growing fainter the farther back they went.
"They say they're going to make these factories into swanked-out town homes and condos during the renovation," Max said as they walked. "What does Wayne think about that?"
"He's not happy about it changing so much, but at least Old Town got the historical designation he wanted. I think he's gonna buy up a block or two here and spend money to restore it to what it ~used~ to be - hey . . ." He stopped as they reached the extreme rear of the level and were met with a bulky object covered in a tarp-like shroud. "What's this?"
"I don't know. Sort of looks like . . . a body." Her eyes widened. "Oh wow . . . do you think-"
" I don't think so." He shook his head. "Whatever it is, it's inanimate . . . and always has been."
"How do you ~know~ that?" she asked, smirking when he tapped his cowl. "Don't tell me that thing gives you X-Ray vision."
"No, not exactly. That'd be nice though." He smiled wistfully. "But for one thing, if it were something dead under there, this place would smell a lot worse than it does."
"Fine, then let's find out what it is." Max stepped forward, but Batman grabbed her arm, forestalling her.
"Wait. Just because it's not a body doesn't mean it's not trouble. Could be a bomb for all we know." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Get in back of me and be ready to run if there's trouble."
He approached the object cautiously, taking hold of an edge of the covering, and doing a silent count to three, he whipped the mantle off with the flourish of magician, revealing . . . a large, slightly chipped, but serviceable, roll-top desk. Terry gave the desk a once-over. It was mahogany-tinged and stately looking, though it teetered uncertainly when he nudged it. He looked down and noticed that its shakiness was due to one of its legs being shorter that the other, but otherwise, it looked to be in good shape.
"Hmph," Max grumbled. "A rundown, spooky place like this, and the only suspicious-looking thing in it turns out to be an old piece of furniture. How boring."
"But why is this covered?" He wondered aloud. "Every other thing in here was left out in the open, but not this one."
"It looks nice." Her fingertips played along the smooth surface. "Maybe whoever was in here last saw this, liked it, and decided to keep it protected until he comes back for it."
"It would have had to have been the person who was in here last." Batman nodded. He lifted the heavy covering. "This blanket is made of Sartaine: newest fabric on the market - repels all liquids, and it doesn't stain. Wayne Tech got the patent earlier this year."
He let it drop again, a puzzled look flitting across his face. "Sartaine isn't cheap, and this desk is already old and kinda worn out. Why go through the trouble of keeping it safe? That doesn't seem normal."
"Of course it isn't," Max hopped up on the writing table, swaying a bit when the desk tipped. "But this is Gotham. Nothing's ever 'normal.'"
"Guess not," He gingerly perched next to her, evening out the weight on the desk, which held the piece of furniture steady. "So . . . you were saying? About me and Dana?" He moved to face her. "Do you think I'm being a total twip about this?"
"Well . . . maybe." She was silent a moment. "But not because I think you're doing anything wrong."
"Huh?" Confusion was evident in his voice. "What do you mean? ~I'm~ the bad guy here . . . ~I'm~ the one who keeps leaving ~her~, who keeps making excuses to ~her~, who can't ever be there for ~her~. ~Everything~ I'm doing is wrong."
"As far as Dana's concerned, yeah, maybe you're right." Max nodded slowly. "But as far as everybody else in this entire city goes, what you're doing is one of the most right, noblest things in the world." She looked at him, her head titled slightly to one side. "Ter, it's hard for me to hear you call yourself 'selfish' when I know that you are out there putting your life on the line every single night. You've got a family who's depending on you, you've got friends, you've got Dana, but none of that stops you from putting on that suit and going out to protect this city and everyone in it. That's about as unselfish as it gets."
"But . . . Dana can't know that," he said softly. "I mean, I appreciate what you're saying, but Dana ~can't~ know."
"I try to remind myself that she doesn't know every time she comes complaining to me that you broke a date, or that you're not home when she calls." She looked thoughtful. "But it's hard. It's hard to listen to that when I know that you're out somewhere maybe getting pounded on by a bunch of Jokerz or guys with blasters, or any of the other weirdoes out there. It's hard, sometimes, being your friend ~and~ Dana's." She sighed deeply. "I try to see both sides of the argument, but it's hard for me to get on her side."
"Because you know I'm Batman."
"No . . . because you're a hero." She placed a hand over his. "And because I know that you ~are~ there for her, when it counts. ~You~ saved her from the Rat kid. ~You~ got her out of Hill High during that whole Willy Watt thing."
"~Batman~ did all that, Max. Terry McGinnis was out slagging off somewhere - at least as far as Dana knows."
"It was ~you,~ Ter. ~You~ saved her." Max's voice was hard. "You ~are~ Batman, McGinnis. In or out of the suit . . . you're ~still~ Batman. And without you, a lot of people -- Dana, me, Nelson, Mr. Wayne, just to name a few -- would have been dead several times over."
They were quiet in the semi-darkness for a while. "Thanks," he said finally, his voice soft. "You know, Max . . . you know me so well. I wonder if we'd be this in sync if . . .if we were . . . together." He paused a moment before uttering the final word, his face blazing underneath his mask.
"Together?" She shot him a sideways glance. "You mean like . . .~dating?~"
He nodded. "You know what I do. You support me. I wouldn't have to worry about what you'd think if I had to run out in the middle of a movie or dinner." His gaze slid over to her. "I mean, thinking about it rationally, it'd make a lot of sense, don't you think? Or would you get tired of me, too?"
Max hopped down from the desk, brushing specks of dust from her costume. "Um . . . I think we probably should get on with this. Leslie's probably wondering where I am, and these boots are starting to chafe, and . . ."
"Hey, hold it." He jumped down, too. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No . . . it's just that . . ." She hesitated a moment, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "This is probably not something we should be discussing now . . . or ever, really."
"Why not?" he demanded, standing in front of her. "We're just talking. It's like debate. And besides, you keep saying that things would be better between Dana and me if I just told her that I'm Batman. Well, if that's true, then it would make sense that having a relationship with someone who already knows that I'm Batman would be even easier. Right?"
"Easier," she repeated faintly. "Yeah . . . maybe easier for ~you.~"
"Easier for the both of us," Terry said. "I wouldn't have to worry about making excuses to you and you'd always know what I'd be doing."
"Exactly. I would. And ~that's~ the problem."
"Huh? What do you mean?" He looked puzzled.
Max sighed in exasperation. "Terry, any time we're together and Wayne calls you up, I think that it's exciting and all for, like, a few minutes, but when you go, I start to get really worried. I've seen the types of dregs you've had to deal with." Her voice carried a slight edge. "And I know that the suit is top-notch and the car is top-notch and so are you, but I see the bruises on your face. I see the casts. I see the splints. Hell, with the thing with Zander and Kobra, you had ~four~ freaking cracked ribs and a concussion."
"A mild one."
"Whatever. Anyway, when you're jetting around doing the hero thing, I think it's cool and all, but sometimes I wonder if this'll be the night that something goes wrong with the suit . . . or if you'll be on the business end of a blaster, and not have any Batarangs left. . . or if something else will go wrong and I'll . . . never see you again." She swallowed hard, looking away from him. "Terry, if we were together, it'd be a thousand times worse. I'd be in a state of panic all the time, ~always~ wondering where you are and if you're going to get out of it this time. If I were in love with you, I'd be constantly punching up the commlink, keeping you occupied with stupid gossip and meaningless stuff just so I'd have some peace of mind and know that you were all right. I'd want you to take me with you all the time, everywhere. . . I'd want to be in on ~everything.~ So tell me again how that'd be ~easier.~"
"Max, you do all that ~now,~" he said with a grin. "So what does that mean?"
She didn't move for quite a while. "What do you ~think~ it means?"
His smile disappeared as he realized what he'd just said, and what ~she'd~ just said. Terry stared through amazed eyes at the pink-haired girl. She was still not looking at him, but he could tell that she knew that he'd picked up on the meaning of her words. Her back was stiff, and she seemed poised to fly away. All kinds of thoughts blurred Terry's mind, but he knew he had to proceed slowly.
"Max." His voice was soft as he approached her. "Max, I . . ."
She flinched when he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Terry, shouldn't I be unconscious now?"
The building. The old Batman. The fire. Thoughts of those events had fled his mind. "Max, why didn't you say something before?"
"So, should I be over there," she said, indicating a spot in the corner of the far wall. "Or somewhere more toward the center of the room?"
"Max, come on . . . answer me." He spun her to face him. "We need to talk about this."
"I'm not Max right now." Her eyes flashed angrily. "I'm Batgirl."
"No, you're not. You're Max." He peeled off his cowl, revealing serious, piercing blue eyes. "And I'm Terry. And we're here together, and I want to know if you're saying to me what I think you're saying to me, and if you are, why didn't you tell me something before?"
Max remained silent.
"You can't just say something like that and let it drop. I mean . . . has it ever occurred to you that . . . I might . . . be thinking . . .uh . . . along those lines?"
She looked at him then, her lower lip trembling. "No. It never did."
"No?" He stared. "Why not?"
"Because I'm ~me,~ Ter," she burst out angrily. "I'm ~Max.~ I'm the ~friend~. I'm not glamorous, I'm not beautiful, I'm not anything that would catch ~your~ eye. I have pink hair, for chrissakes, I live for pizza and vid-games . . . I don't wear dresses. I'm everything Dana ~isn't.~ And you're breaking your neck worrying about how you can stay with her! So no, I never thought you might be interested in me. Go figure, huh?"
He was stuck dumb for a moment, looking at her. The large, dark eyes were glassy. Her body was tense, and her jaw clenched tight.
Terry shook his head. "You're wrong," he said softly. "You are beautiful. And never once have I ever thought of you as the female version of Matt."
"You're just saying that because of the suit." A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
He glanced down. "Yeah, the suit's incredible . . . but it's more than that." Terry placed a hand on her cheek, his fingertips gently stroking the chocolate skin. "It's a lot more than that."
Terry held her gaze for a beat, before some unknown force propelled him forward. His eyes closed a split second before his mouth swept hers. What began as a glancing brush quickly deepened into something much more passionate, their lips caressing and parting in a frenzied, passionate dance. Max's arms clasped themselves around his neck, and Terry sighed inwardly as he felt her relax against his body, and his arms circled her waist, drawing her closer. He marveled at the range of thoughts going through his mind . . . that her suit was a made of a material that slipped nicely over his own costume . . . that kissing Max reminded him of the first time he'd put on the Batsuit and soared over Gotham. It had been scary, exhilarating, and slightly stomach churning, but nothing in his life had ever felt so right, so natural.
But then kiss ended, and Terry found himself jolted back to reality as he stood pressed against the desk, Max having pushed him firmly away.
"Max? What's . . . what's wrong?" he asked breathlessly, his lips buzzing delightfully. "Was I holding you too tight . . . hurting you?"
"No." Her voice was thick with emotion. "But what we were just doing . . . it's hurting Dana. We can't do this, Terry."
"But . . ." He struggled to get his thoughts together. "Max . . . I . . . we . . ."
"Terry, look. Yes, okay? Yes, I've thought about being your girlfriend. Maybe I am a little crazy about you," she said in a near-whisper. "I've always wondered what it might be like . . . and if that kiss is any indication, it'd probably be really, really, good."
"I'll say," he muttered faintly, his heart thudding hard.
"~But~ you're with Dana," she continued. "And even if you weren't, I think that we're probably better off as friends. Especially, you know, under the circumstances . . . I don't want to ruin what we have now."
Something seemed wrong in her reasoning, he knew, but he couldn't think straight just yet. The memory of how her plush, supple lips felt beneath his own was still running through his mind, and he flushed, struggling hard to keep himself from pulling her to him again.
"Terry?" She stared at him in concern. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to yell. I just got a little carried away. I never meant to -"
Her words were cut off by the squeal of tires coming from directly outside the building. Terry's mind snapped into focus as more cars were heard coming to a stop outside, and the yellow beams from the headlights leaked through the slats in the windows and door, clashing with the light emanating from the fluorescent bars in the middle of the room.
"What's going on?" Max glanced around. "I didn't hear anything . . . what are the cops doing here?"
"Not cops." Terry pulled on his cowl and motioned for Max to do the same. He dragged her behind the large desk and crouched low, pressing a button on his belt to kill the lights from the glowing tubes. "Cops would have had their sirens on," he whispered.
Car doors opened and slammed shut, and a tangle of voices grew louder and more distinct as footsteps approached the building.
"Who then?" she started to ask, but he waved her into silence as the front door squealed on its hinges, allowing a perfect crescent of light to enter the murky space. Batman held his breath for three beats as he strained forward, attempting to get a glance at the shadowy figure just on the other side of the door.
A head appeared in the doorway and swiveled around quickly, withdrawing before Terry had a chance to fix his lenses on the figure. A moment or two passed in which Batman could hear Max's soft breathing and two or three people speaking in hushed tones near the entrance. Careful not to make a sound, he shifted his weight and extended two fingers in the direction of the voices, tuning in the microphones on the tips of his gloves. The mics' amplification feature had little effect, however. There was a sudden burst of noise on the next street over, and what words and snatches of conversation he was able to pick up were distorted by the other sounds.
The door slammed shut then, but Batman could still hear whispered conversation on the other side of the door. Whoever it was wasn't going anywhere any time soon, it seemed. Terry shook his head grimly. Just when he thought the night couldn't get ~more~ interesting . . .
****
"Get on the turnpike. We're on a schedule here, Tel."
Wordlessly, Telly Marvanne maneuvered the van across three lanes of traffic, ignoring the screeching brakes, surprised expressions and angry horns of the drivers who were inconvienced - and nearly killed - by his action. Taking the overpass that led to the Tri Gate Expressway, he glanced in the rear-view mirror, half-expecting to see the blinking lights of the of the ever-present highway patrolmen - they always seemed to be around when he was at his most reckless. Not this time, though. The only car anywhere near the black van was a doddering red number crawling along at about 10 miles under the speed limit. Telly nudged the gas, and the vehicle hummed along, the streetlights on the side of the road whizzing by like shooting stars.
"Good. Take this to the Simley exit. You know the way." Sandlips Stephens relaxed in the middle row of seats. "This day's been rough, and I'm slagged. I want to get this over with soon as possible." His eyes darted to a pasty-faced, sad-eyed man who was flanked by two very muscular men. "Right, Don? Won't it be good to get this all done?"
"S-S-Sure, Sam." Marvanne flinched at the fear in Don's voice. ~He knows,~ Marvanne thought with a shudder. ~He knows he's gonna get slagged.~
Telly's stomach dropped, and he felt a pang of guilt. Don was dumb, yeah, but he was just a kid, and kids make mistakes. Granted, Don's had been a big one, but was it worth killing him over? He glanced at Sandlips' reflection in the car's mirror. The gang lord's eyes were half closed, and a small smile flittered across his scabby mouth. He looked bored, but Marvanne knew better. Sandlips was having a grand old time playing with Don - he spoke to him nicely, was courteous, and even offered him a cigarette from his special stash. Don took the cigarette with a stilted smile and trembling fingers. Marvanne noticed Don had a blaster on him, but when push came to shove, it wouldn't do him much good. Joe and Tim, the two men flanking Don, were good shots. Sandlips was pretty quick on the draw. And he, Marvanne, was both. So Sandlips' letting Don keep his piece on him was like giving a starving man a bag of pretzels - useless, and yet another way Stephens could demonstrate that he had the upper hand.
"How much longer, Tel?"
"Another half-hour, tops," Marvanne replied gruffly. "We're lucky -- traffic's usually not this light."
"Guess nobody feels like going to Old Town this time of night." Sandlips lit a cigarette, the blaze of light from the match briefly illuminating the dark car. "Good. We'll have plenty of privacy. The others are gonna meet us there."
Marvanne noticed that Don stiffened at this. "Uh . . . you know, Sam . . . I, um . . . I . . ." Don faltered, and Marvanne could almost hear the man choking back tears. "I . . ."
"Yeah, Don?" Sandlips turned to him with a slight smile. "What is it?"
"Just that . . . um . . . I'm glad, you know, that we're all going together." Don took a deep, shaky breath. "You know, because I'd never want you guys to think I'm, you know, snowing you, so I'm glad you . . . uh . . . trust me enough to . . um . . you know, take me with you. I mean, you all could've split with the stuff without um . . . even saying anything to me, but you didn't . . and I, um, appreciate that. I really do, Sam."
Sandlips gazed at Don for a moment - a long moment -- still smiling his strange little half-grin. "Yeah, well, I'm just that kind of guy. But you're wrong, Don -- we couldn't have grabbed the stuff without you . . . ~you~ were the one who hid the stuff in the first place. ~You~ were the only one who knew where ~our~ stuff was. So you see, we couldn't have done any of this without you, Don," Sandlips gave him a friendly slap on the knee. "~You~ made all this possible."
"Uh . . . yeah. You know, Sam, I-I-I wanted to say something about that." Beads of sweat dotted Don's forehead. "I mean, when I uh, ~relocated~ the jewels, it was because the fuzz was onto us. I mean, they had Sid and Tim on the surveillance vid. I didn't tell you that I, um, relocated the rocks, 'cause it was only gonna be a temporary move. I don't think I really explained that part." He laughed . . . it was short, hard laugh. The chuckle of a man in despair. "We all gotta look out for each other, you know?"
Stephens took a long drag on his cigarette. "I appreciate the explanation, Don. I do. Thank you for that."
"It's just that, you know, I'm just sorry I didn't say anything before . . . could've avoided this whole misunderstanding -"
"Hey, hey, hey. Don, don't apologize." Sandlips gave him another slap on the knee. "It's done. Isn't that right, guys?" he looked around at the rest of the gang. "Isn't that right?"
The two musclemen nodded. Sandlips, pleased, turned to Marvanne. "Tel . . . it's done, right?"
Marvanne paused a few moments before answering. "Yeah, Sam. It's done."
"It's done," Sandlips repeated thoughtfully, regarding Don again. "It's done, my friend. So don't give it a second thought."
Marvanne glanced in the mirror again at Don. He'd gone deathly pale, and looked as if he were about to faint. Telly turned his eyes back to the road. Sandlips was not quite right: it was ~not~ done - yet. But it would be very, very soon.
****
The inside of the deserted warehouse was surprisingly cool, completely silent, and, save for slices of moonlight filtering in through the wooden planks on the windows, dark as a tomb. The sour smell of mildew permeated the entire room, though it wasn't so overpowering as to be unbearable. The air was filled with dust, though, and that ~was~ a potential problem. Batman looked up at the ceiling, and saw that the wooden beams overhead were pretty well intact -- almost ~too~ intact for a building that had been closed nearly 40 years. But the dust was definitely coming from above. He set his
cowl to do a particle scan, and was slightly relieved when the air molecules tested negative for asbestos or other airborne dangers. Still, there was something about the building that didn't sit well with him. He glanced upward again with a grimace. "Well . . . it's clean, at least."
"You consider this clean? I'd hate to see your room." Max gripped his arm with both hands as they snaked through the level. "It's like walking through mud in here."
"I know." His eyes narrowed. "The boards over the windows are cutting out a lot of the light from outside. We'll have to improvise."
"Ummm . . . okay. I think I might have a flashlight in here." She rummaged around in her utility choker. "Hmmm . . . not this one . . . nope . . . no . . . uhhh . . . aha!"
Terry heard a subtle snap, and then a glowing oval of light hit the far wall, swinging slowly around and momentarily illuminating objects in the room. "There we go. Better, no?"
"Nice try, but I have something else in mind." He plucked the gadget from her hands, studying the long, slender cylindrical device curiously. "How could this fit in ~this?~" His fingers brushed the apparatus around her neck.
"It's collapsible, can fold down to the size of a vid-disk." She snatched it back. "Don't tell me you want to do this in the dark. Even the original Batman had some light to work by."
"The place was filed with smoke." Batman moved to the middle of the room, stooping low. "Visibility was probably pretty bad. But he had his UV lenses, so he probably was able to see pretty okay."
"All right . . . so what are we going to do?"
"You'll see in a minute." Terry removed several rectangular objects from a compartment in his belt, arranging them in a wide circle. "Maybe this is cheating a little, but . . ."
He stood and stepped back, pressing a button on his belt. The tubes sparked a little before glowing hot and white, suffusing the room with a gentle light. "There. Portable mood lighting."
"Impressive." Max blinked rapidly, her eyes adjusting to the brightness. "But looking at the place now, I think it looked better with the lights off."
"No kidding." Terry took in their surroundings with an inquisitive eye. Piles of broken-down chairs and tables littered nearly the entire lower level, and discarded wood beams and bedposts stood propped up against the walls. In the rear of the building, Terry could make out the bulky forms of writing desks and china cabinets, all in varying states of disrepair.
"It's kind of sad," she said as they made their way around the debris. "This stuff could have been worth something if someone had kept it up. Why do you think they'd leave all this inventory here? Even if they sold it for way below market value, it would have turned more of a profit than leaving it to sit and rot."
"Beats me." He ran an exploratory hand over a nearby table, grimacing as his fingers sank into a coating of dust at least three inches deep. "Maybe nobody wanted it. It's all pretty old-fashioned, by the looks of it - the kind of stuff Wayne would drool over. Come to think of it," he said, stopping near a dusty love seat. "That chair looks kind of familiar. I think Wayne might have one just like it in his study - complete with mold."
He leaned close, to inspect the fabric. "It would sort of make sense, huh? He did own the place once-" he stopped abruptly as an object next to the chair caught his eye. "What the . . ." he stooped for a closer look.
"What is it?" Max gazed over his shoulder as he bent low and straightened up again holding a crumpled piece of paper. "More junk?"
"It's a Frank-O's wrapper." He held out the white-and-blue paper to her. "The mustard on the wrapper's dry - but barely. And there's bits of onions on here that look relatively fresh." His jaw set hard. "Someone's been here. Like in the past day or two."
"But who?" She glanced instinctively over her shoulder. "The only people who hang anywhere near here are the workers involved with the revitalization project. Could it have been them?"
"Doubtful. ~Look~ at this place." His eyes swept the space. "It's a mess. If people had been here cleaning up, ~why~ does it still look like an earthquake hit it?"
"Good point. It was probably a bum or something. Liberty Park's not far from here, and compared to the other places around here, it's not a bad place to sleep."
"Could be." Terry was lost in thought a moment. While the former furniture factory was in slightly better shape than its neighboring structures, it was still pretty dirty and old. But beside that, the factory didn't particularly look like ~anyone~ had slept there. The relics wore a coating of grime, and none looked as if they'd been disturbed at all. But for the wrapper, the building looked as if it hadn't seen any company since it closed. Terry glanced at the doorway. Someone had pried loose the boards over the doorway. Someone had been in the factory - that was certain. But if the person who'd been in there wasn't there to clean it or sleep in it, ~what~ had the person been doing there?"
"We'd better get started." Terry tucked the wrapper into a spare section of his utility belt. "We've got school tomorrow, you know."
"Glad someone remembered that," she said as they walked over to the doorway. "I'm ready when you are . . . Batman."
"All right. Here we are, the hideout of Two-Face." Terry's voice deepened somewhat. "He's inside somewhere . . . and we sneak into the place." He curled low toward the ground, creeping soundlessly along the floor. "This is a factory, so there's probably all sorts of equipment and boxes to hide behind, so we find something, and -"
"Hold it. Back up. I don't think we're starting the right way."
"What?" Batman relaxed his stance, and stood up, amazed to see that Max had not moved from the doorway. "What are you talking about?"
"Ter, you've cut into enough gang deals to know that even the small-time guys have lookouts - with guns -- posted at the door." She folded her arms. "And Two-Face was about as big-time as they got in those days. He probably had a whole infantry crammed in the doorway, around the building, at the alley . . . Batman and Rob - er, we just can't ~walk~ in here."
He mulled that a moment. "Fine. We take the guards out, ~then~ come in. How about ~that~?"
"Great . . . and then everybody on the inside knows someone's on to them"
"Not if we're quiet - and quick," he spoke in an exaggerated whisper. "I can knock a man out in five seconds."
"Big deal. ~I~ can do it in three."
He recoiled in surprise. "~Three?~ Are you kidding?"
"Okay, well maybe I am. But the point is, there were a bunch of guys inside here doing a lot of dirt, and on each side of the building, there are armed guards. The way to go in a case like that would to be to use the element of surprise." Max took a few steps into the building. "I think that big guy and the bird ~dropped~ in on Two-Face and his goons. Literally."
She looked up at the ceiling. Terry followed her gaze, resisting the urge to laugh.
"Max. . .you're kidding right? You think they busted through the roof?"
"Or a skylight. Every factory had one. Probably even this one did, before it got closed down."
" ~That's~ some surprise, all right. While they're falling oh, 40 or 50 ~feet,~ Dent and his friends could have recovered enough to take off - or start shooting."
"Not if they came down shooting first." Max shook her head rapidly at his thunderstruck look. "I don't mean with ~guns~. I mean shooting the little gadgets. The Batarangs and the . . . um . . . what are the little wrap-around cords called again?"
"Bolas."
"Right. Those. By the time Two-Face knew what was going on, it was over." She smiled. "Now how are you gonna do all that from the door? And we're talking about two of the greatest heroes in this city's history . . . they come in to make an arrest, they do it in ~style~."
"Hmmm." Batman was studying the upper limit of the building, noticing something that the darkness had concealed from even his supercharged lenses - a very narrow catwalk that spanning the front and rear walls. "Maybe . . ." A sly grin lit his face as he got an idea. "Maybe. We could try it."
"Uh . . what?" She stared at him. "How? The skylight in this place has all sorts of wood over it . . . besides, I don't think my suit can withstand glass. Hell, I don't think it can stand up to a strong wind."
"Well, we don't have to go completely wild. This is just a reenactment, after all. Stay put for a second."
"Have to use my flight capability for this one." He spread his wings and rocketed upward, landing neatly on the skyway. "Want to see how strong this thing is," he called down to her. Batman put his full weight on the slim bridge. It stood firm beneath his feet, staying put even as he stomped and jumped up and down upon it. He went down almost on all fours, studying the construction closely.
"Is everything all right up there?" Her voice echoed through the building. "What are you doing?"
He stopped jumping, and leaped from the bridge, using his wings to float gently down to the lower level. "I think it's solid enough. Let's go."
"Solid enough for what?" She looked perplexed. "~Where~ are we going?"
"~Up.~" He pulled her to him, and fired his rockets, impelling them upward. Landing on the sturdy platform, Max wriggled from his arms and gaped at how tiny the discarded furniture looked from their new perch. "Um . . . what are you planning?"
"We're going to do this your way." Batman latched one end of a bungee cord to a clasp on his utility belt and the other to a hook on the footbridge's railing. Tugging hard, and satisfied that the cord was secure, he turned to Max. "Well? You ready to make a Batman-and-Robin-worthy entrance?"
Suddenly, she understood what he was doing, and she turned to him with an astonished glare. "Are you ~insane?~ This place is coming apart at the seams . . . what you want to do could bring the whole place down on our heads!"
"Max, it's all right. I scanned the thing for integrity breaches. It's solid. We're okay."
"Well, what if the cord breaks? You've got your mask on too tight if you think I'm going to go for this. Get me down from here!"
"Would love to, but we're the old-time Batman, and, er, sidekick, from now on. And there's only one way down." He took in her rigid posture, and noticed the way she continued to look down, her hands gripping the railing. "We're ~not~ going to bring the place down. This thing isn't even connected to the central beam of the place - the thing that keeps this baby standing. It looks like it was put in ~after~ the place was built, in fact."
Max flinched as he moved to put his arms around her. "Max - Batgirl -" He noticed how smoothly the title slipped off his tongue, and marveled at that a moment before continuing. "We're partners. We've gotta trust each other. And, you've gotta know I'd never try something like this unless I thought it was safe for both of us. If something goes wrong - if it breaks - I'll have you. I've got my wings still. I won't let you fall."
He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt her relax in his arms. "You with me?"
She looked over at him, her eyes serious. "I believe you. But I'm thinking this was a ~much~ better theory when I was standing down ~there~."
He chuckled softly. "Been there. Every idea seems good in theory. But when you put it in ~practice~ . . ."
"Yeah . . . just like everything seems scarier in the dark."
"Right . . . but if you think about it, there are some things that work really well in the dark."
She gave him a sharp glance. " Like ~what~?"
"Um . . ." His face blazed. "Um . . . like watching movies and vids and stuff." He cleared his throat unnecessarily, waiting for his blush to abate. "Ready to go?"
Max hesitated a moment. "You, my friend, are so much in my debt for this."
"Hey . . . it's ~your~ idea."
"Fine, blame this on ~me.~"
They hopped together on the handrail. Max turned her back to him, stiffening as he placed his arms around her middle, drawing her firmly against his body. "Hey . . . is that a Batarang poking me in the back or are you just ~extremely~ happy to see me?"
"Max!"
"A ~joke~. Just a little levity to get my mind off that we're about to do something completely crazeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
She screamed as they jumped from the bridge, freefalling feet first through the dim, musty air. The pair plummeted so quickly that their surroundings became a shapeless mash of shadow and light. Terry had a death grip on her, but Max continued to yell in terror, her shrieks bouncing around the factory as they continued to fall. She saw the ground approaching at a dizzying rate of speed, and she could feel herself beginning to slip out of consciousness from utter fear. Her thoughts were a jumble and she squeezed her eyes closed. ~Ohmigod. Ohmigod. We're going to die, we're going to die, we're going to --~
A violent jerking motion took her breath away and caused a fleeting, but sharp, pain at her rib cage as the cord caught and held taut. They weren't falling anymore, she realized dimly, but they were still ~moving~, bouncing slightly as the cable began to lose the tension it had built up in sustaining the initial impact. They dangled in mid-air, swaying back and forth in an almost leisurely manner. Max fearfully opened her eyes one at a time, nearly fainting with horror when she saw how close they were to the ground - fewer than two feet. If the cord hadn't caught when it did . . .
He lowered her lightly to the ground before unhooking himself and landing nimbly beside her. "You were right," he said, slightly out of breath. "That entrance ~definitely~ has more style than coming through the door."
Terry's eyes swung her way, widening slightly when he noticed how pale the coffee-colored skin looked. ~It's gotta be a trick of the light.~ He peered anxiously into her face. "Max, you okay?"
She didn't answer, her eyes riveted to some point in the distance. "Max? Max, come on, say something. . . ~do~ something."
Another moment passed, and Terry was just beginning to speak again when Max spun around, her fist connecting hard with his shoulder. He stumbled back, stunned.
"~Not~ exactly the response I wanted. What was ~that~ for?" He rubbed his shoulder. "We're alive, aren't we?"
"Yeah, and that's good, because once we get out of here, I'm going to kill you."
His smile was fleeting. Good. She was all right. "All right, ~now~ we're in. Two-Face's goons are coming at us from all over," he crouched into a fighting stance. "They're keeping us busy while Dent runs around and starts setting the place on fire -"
"Wait - Two-Face set his own ~hideout~ on fire? I know he was nuts, but . . ."
"Dent was obsessed with things in twos," he explained. "All his plans had to have ~two~ distinct parts. He knew Batman was the only person who could haul him in, so he was probably expecting him. So part one of the plan was to keep Batman and Robin occupied. Part two, set the place on fire so he could get rid of all evidence of the stuff he smuggled into Gotham."
"How long would all that take?"
"There were at least two dozen mobsters in on the take with him. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes."
"For Two-Face to torch the building?"
"No . . . for Batman to get rid of the thugs." Terry pictured a hard-nosed bandit standing right in front of him, and took a swing at the air. "It took Dent a lot less time to set the building on fire . . . he had a couple of cans of gas and a whole lot of matches."
"And this all happened in a gun factory? It's a wonder the place didn't blow sky high."
"There were a few explosions, but nothing major, or yeah, Wayne would have been fried. Anyway, so we're fighting about ten or fifteen minutes. Or ~I~ am, anyway. You go down early on into the fight. Somebody beans you with a two-by-four -"
"Ouch."
"Yeah." Terry halted as moment as a flickering on the opposite wall drew his attention. Max's shadow, he realized, turning to watch in a sort of dreamy fascination as she feigned battling a group of imaginary foes. His eyebrow rose as she exhibited some of her fancier moves - moves he'd never seen her try before.
~Has she been practicing?~ He watched her swing, executing a neat set of uppercuts and jabs. She kicked high, her legs slicing through the air in graceful, powerful arcs. Her boots flashed in the half-light, the spiky heels looking even more lethal in the dimness.
"So," Max, not noticing his watching her, continued her shadow kickboxing. "How long . . . until I . . get unconscious?"
"In actuality, probably another ten minutes," he replied. "But we'll do the express version. Another minute or two, and then you go down."
She nodded, slowing her movements. "Before I forget . . . there was one thing I wanted to ask you about before you drop me off at home. Remind me when we get out of here."
"Well, you've got another minute of consciousness left," he said. "If it's something quick, I can answer it now."
"It's quick. It's a yes or no. Well, it should be anyway."
"Then shoot. As long is it's not about o-chem . . ."
"No, it's about Dana."
"Uh . . . Dana?" Now that was a fine curveball she'd thrown. "What about her?"
Max swiveled around, regarding him with eyes that were bright, inquisitive and something else Terry couldn't quite read.
"There's a rumor going around that you two broke up." She paused. "I wanted to know -- is it true?"
He jerked back, startled. "~What~? Where did you hear ~that~?"
She shrugged. "Nowhere in particular. So you guys are okay still?"
"Are we ever really okay?" he sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping forward. "We were supposed to go to a concert last weekend, but Mad Stan had other plans - and his involved grenades and a very nasty plasma bomb." Terry scowled. "I had to split. Dana really hasn't talked to me much since then. Did . . . Dana say something to you?"
"No," Max replied. "Jackie Wallace IM'd me in English yesterday to ask if ~I'd~ heard the news. I asked her where ~she'd~ heard it, and she told me Chelsea had talked to Missy who got a buzz from Jennifer who said that Tina swore she heard ~you~ say something to Randall about it in your Study of Cultures class."
"Huh?" His brows knit in confusion. "I don't even ~talk~ to Randall. And I had to cut Cultures yesterday because a couple of guys were trying to break into Second National."
"I figured it was bogus. But I wasn't sure, because I hadn't seen you two together in a while. Now I know why." She turned away again. "I'm knocked out now, right?"
"What?" It took him a moment to realize that she'd switched back into Batgirl mode. His mind, however, was still on the brief exchange. He bit his lip hard as myriad thoughts swirled through his mind, making it impossible for him to concentrate on the assignment.
"Say the word, and I'm down." Max's voice sounded slightly farther away, and Terry realized that he had forgotten that Robin, in the original scenario, had been a good distance away from Batman when he'd been rendered insensible. Max had remembered, though, and she'd positioned herself accordingly. Terry smiled - good to know ~one~ of them had their head still in the game.
"Max, wait." He walked over to where she stood, several feet from their starting position. "Before we finish this up . . . can I ask you something?"
"Right this second?" She cocked her head slightly. "I thought you wanted to be in, out and done. Can't we grab some coffee or something later and talk?"
"We could . . . but it's on my mind ~now~ and -"
"All right." She held up a hand. "Say no more. Who needs sleep anyway?"
"~Now~ you sound like Batgirl."
"What?"
"Um . . . an inside joke." He grinned slightly, but his expression quickly became more serious. "Max . . . you're my friend right?"
"Right . . ."
"And, if I asked you to give me an honest answer about something I've been thinking about, you would . . . right?"
"When have I ever ~not~ told you exactly what I thought?"
"I know, but this is, well . . ." He hesitated a moment, clasping and unclasping his hands. "It's just . . . well, do you think I'm being selfish?"
"Selfish? What do you mean?" she looked baffled. "Selfish how?"
"With Dana," he stared at the ground, tracing designs in the coating of dust on the floor with the toe of his boot. "We haven't had a date this month that I haven't had to run out on. She's getting sick of it. I keep thinking that she's going to dump me any day now, and a part of me thinks that'd be a good thing." He paused. "But there's another part of me that doesn't want to give her up . . . and I keep thinking to myself that it'll get better. That maybe I'll have cleaned this city up so much that there won't be that much crime, no emergencies the GCPD can't handle . . . and then Dana and I will be able to have a ~real~ relationship."
Terry glanced at Max's face, which was still beneath her cowl. "But I don't kid myself. If that day ~ever~ comes, which is doubtful, but if it ~does~, it won't be any time soon. And in the meantime, I'll still have to run out on dates and come up with more lame excuses. And that's not fair to her. Is it?"
Max's lips twitched slightly. "Ummmm . . . you want me to answer that as ~your~ friend, as ~Dana's~ friend, as your confidante or as a pseudo-Batgirl?"
He placed his hands on her shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. "I want you to answer as ~Max~. What do ~you~ think?"
"I know," she squared her shoulders and held his look. "You really want to know ~my~ opinion? ~Mine~?"
"Yours," he nodded. "Don't hold back. I need you to be totally real with me. You're one of the few people I can count on to do that."
"All right. But if you really want ~my~ opinion, I'm going to have to be me for a moment." With that, she removed the cowl in one smooth movement. The light from the glowing bars highlighted the dark skin, casting a silvery glow on the gently mussed pink hair. Her eyes were grave and solemn, but her shapely lips quirked into a subtle grin as she followed his gaze over her face and to her hair.
"I have 'cowl-head' don't I?" Max ran a hand over her cropped locks. "How do ~you~ deal with it?"
"Gel." He smiled and reached out to smooth down a cowlick she'd missed. "It looks good on you though."
"Hmmmm . . ." She exhaled slowly. "It'd be nice to sit down for minute. These boots are murder. Your rockets ain't nothin' next to these heels."
"I believe it." He scanned the room for a less-dusty place where they could relax without attracting too much dirt. "Seems to be less grimy the farther back you go."
He motioned to the back of the warehouse, and they trooped to the far recesses of the place, the light from the incandescent tubes growing fainter the farther back they went.
"They say they're going to make these factories into swanked-out town homes and condos during the renovation," Max said as they walked. "What does Wayne think about that?"
"He's not happy about it changing so much, but at least Old Town got the historical designation he wanted. I think he's gonna buy up a block or two here and spend money to restore it to what it ~used~ to be - hey . . ." He stopped as they reached the extreme rear of the level and were met with a bulky object covered in a tarp-like shroud. "What's this?"
"I don't know. Sort of looks like . . . a body." Her eyes widened. "Oh wow . . . do you think-"
" I don't think so." He shook his head. "Whatever it is, it's inanimate . . . and always has been."
"How do you ~know~ that?" she asked, smirking when he tapped his cowl. "Don't tell me that thing gives you X-Ray vision."
"No, not exactly. That'd be nice though." He smiled wistfully. "But for one thing, if it were something dead under there, this place would smell a lot worse than it does."
"Fine, then let's find out what it is." Max stepped forward, but Batman grabbed her arm, forestalling her.
"Wait. Just because it's not a body doesn't mean it's not trouble. Could be a bomb for all we know." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Get in back of me and be ready to run if there's trouble."
He approached the object cautiously, taking hold of an edge of the covering, and doing a silent count to three, he whipped the mantle off with the flourish of magician, revealing . . . a large, slightly chipped, but serviceable, roll-top desk. Terry gave the desk a once-over. It was mahogany-tinged and stately looking, though it teetered uncertainly when he nudged it. He looked down and noticed that its shakiness was due to one of its legs being shorter that the other, but otherwise, it looked to be in good shape.
"Hmph," Max grumbled. "A rundown, spooky place like this, and the only suspicious-looking thing in it turns out to be an old piece of furniture. How boring."
"But why is this covered?" He wondered aloud. "Every other thing in here was left out in the open, but not this one."
"It looks nice." Her fingertips played along the smooth surface. "Maybe whoever was in here last saw this, liked it, and decided to keep it protected until he comes back for it."
"It would have had to have been the person who was in here last." Batman nodded. He lifted the heavy covering. "This blanket is made of Sartaine: newest fabric on the market - repels all liquids, and it doesn't stain. Wayne Tech got the patent earlier this year."
He let it drop again, a puzzled look flitting across his face. "Sartaine isn't cheap, and this desk is already old and kinda worn out. Why go through the trouble of keeping it safe? That doesn't seem normal."
"Of course it isn't," Max hopped up on the writing table, swaying a bit when the desk tipped. "But this is Gotham. Nothing's ever 'normal.'"
"Guess not," He gingerly perched next to her, evening out the weight on the desk, which held the piece of furniture steady. "So . . . you were saying? About me and Dana?" He moved to face her. "Do you think I'm being a total twip about this?"
"Well . . . maybe." She was silent a moment. "But not because I think you're doing anything wrong."
"Huh?" Confusion was evident in his voice. "What do you mean? ~I'm~ the bad guy here . . . ~I'm~ the one who keeps leaving ~her~, who keeps making excuses to ~her~, who can't ever be there for ~her~. ~Everything~ I'm doing is wrong."
"As far as Dana's concerned, yeah, maybe you're right." Max nodded slowly. "But as far as everybody else in this entire city goes, what you're doing is one of the most right, noblest things in the world." She looked at him, her head titled slightly to one side. "Ter, it's hard for me to hear you call yourself 'selfish' when I know that you are out there putting your life on the line every single night. You've got a family who's depending on you, you've got friends, you've got Dana, but none of that stops you from putting on that suit and going out to protect this city and everyone in it. That's about as unselfish as it gets."
"But . . . Dana can't know that," he said softly. "I mean, I appreciate what you're saying, but Dana ~can't~ know."
"I try to remind myself that she doesn't know every time she comes complaining to me that you broke a date, or that you're not home when she calls." She looked thoughtful. "But it's hard. It's hard to listen to that when I know that you're out somewhere maybe getting pounded on by a bunch of Jokerz or guys with blasters, or any of the other weirdoes out there. It's hard, sometimes, being your friend ~and~ Dana's." She sighed deeply. "I try to see both sides of the argument, but it's hard for me to get on her side."
"Because you know I'm Batman."
"No . . . because you're a hero." She placed a hand over his. "And because I know that you ~are~ there for her, when it counts. ~You~ saved her from the Rat kid. ~You~ got her out of Hill High during that whole Willy Watt thing."
"~Batman~ did all that, Max. Terry McGinnis was out slagging off somewhere - at least as far as Dana knows."
"It was ~you,~ Ter. ~You~ saved her." Max's voice was hard. "You ~are~ Batman, McGinnis. In or out of the suit . . . you're ~still~ Batman. And without you, a lot of people -- Dana, me, Nelson, Mr. Wayne, just to name a few -- would have been dead several times over."
They were quiet in the semi-darkness for a while. "Thanks," he said finally, his voice soft. "You know, Max . . . you know me so well. I wonder if we'd be this in sync if . . .if we were . . . together." He paused a moment before uttering the final word, his face blazing underneath his mask.
"Together?" She shot him a sideways glance. "You mean like . . .~dating?~"
He nodded. "You know what I do. You support me. I wouldn't have to worry about what you'd think if I had to run out in the middle of a movie or dinner." His gaze slid over to her. "I mean, thinking about it rationally, it'd make a lot of sense, don't you think? Or would you get tired of me, too?"
Max hopped down from the desk, brushing specks of dust from her costume. "Um . . . I think we probably should get on with this. Leslie's probably wondering where I am, and these boots are starting to chafe, and . . ."
"Hey, hold it." He jumped down, too. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No . . . it's just that . . ." She hesitated a moment, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "This is probably not something we should be discussing now . . . or ever, really."
"Why not?" he demanded, standing in front of her. "We're just talking. It's like debate. And besides, you keep saying that things would be better between Dana and me if I just told her that I'm Batman. Well, if that's true, then it would make sense that having a relationship with someone who already knows that I'm Batman would be even easier. Right?"
"Easier," she repeated faintly. "Yeah . . . maybe easier for ~you.~"
"Easier for the both of us," Terry said. "I wouldn't have to worry about making excuses to you and you'd always know what I'd be doing."
"Exactly. I would. And ~that's~ the problem."
"Huh? What do you mean?" He looked puzzled.
Max sighed in exasperation. "Terry, any time we're together and Wayne calls you up, I think that it's exciting and all for, like, a few minutes, but when you go, I start to get really worried. I've seen the types of dregs you've had to deal with." Her voice carried a slight edge. "And I know that the suit is top-notch and the car is top-notch and so are you, but I see the bruises on your face. I see the casts. I see the splints. Hell, with the thing with Zander and Kobra, you had ~four~ freaking cracked ribs and a concussion."
"A mild one."
"Whatever. Anyway, when you're jetting around doing the hero thing, I think it's cool and all, but sometimes I wonder if this'll be the night that something goes wrong with the suit . . . or if you'll be on the business end of a blaster, and not have any Batarangs left. . . or if something else will go wrong and I'll . . . never see you again." She swallowed hard, looking away from him. "Terry, if we were together, it'd be a thousand times worse. I'd be in a state of panic all the time, ~always~ wondering where you are and if you're going to get out of it this time. If I were in love with you, I'd be constantly punching up the commlink, keeping you occupied with stupid gossip and meaningless stuff just so I'd have some peace of mind and know that you were all right. I'd want you to take me with you all the time, everywhere. . . I'd want to be in on ~everything.~ So tell me again how that'd be ~easier.~"
"Max, you do all that ~now,~" he said with a grin. "So what does that mean?"
She didn't move for quite a while. "What do you ~think~ it means?"
His smile disappeared as he realized what he'd just said, and what ~she'd~ just said. Terry stared through amazed eyes at the pink-haired girl. She was still not looking at him, but he could tell that she knew that he'd picked up on the meaning of her words. Her back was stiff, and she seemed poised to fly away. All kinds of thoughts blurred Terry's mind, but he knew he had to proceed slowly.
"Max." His voice was soft as he approached her. "Max, I . . ."
She flinched when he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Terry, shouldn't I be unconscious now?"
The building. The old Batman. The fire. Thoughts of those events had fled his mind. "Max, why didn't you say something before?"
"So, should I be over there," she said, indicating a spot in the corner of the far wall. "Or somewhere more toward the center of the room?"
"Max, come on . . . answer me." He spun her to face him. "We need to talk about this."
"I'm not Max right now." Her eyes flashed angrily. "I'm Batgirl."
"No, you're not. You're Max." He peeled off his cowl, revealing serious, piercing blue eyes. "And I'm Terry. And we're here together, and I want to know if you're saying to me what I think you're saying to me, and if you are, why didn't you tell me something before?"
Max remained silent.
"You can't just say something like that and let it drop. I mean . . . has it ever occurred to you that . . . I might . . . be thinking . . .uh . . . along those lines?"
She looked at him then, her lower lip trembling. "No. It never did."
"No?" He stared. "Why not?"
"Because I'm ~me,~ Ter," she burst out angrily. "I'm ~Max.~ I'm the ~friend~. I'm not glamorous, I'm not beautiful, I'm not anything that would catch ~your~ eye. I have pink hair, for chrissakes, I live for pizza and vid-games . . . I don't wear dresses. I'm everything Dana ~isn't.~ And you're breaking your neck worrying about how you can stay with her! So no, I never thought you might be interested in me. Go figure, huh?"
He was stuck dumb for a moment, looking at her. The large, dark eyes were glassy. Her body was tense, and her jaw clenched tight.
Terry shook his head. "You're wrong," he said softly. "You are beautiful. And never once have I ever thought of you as the female version of Matt."
"You're just saying that because of the suit." A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
He glanced down. "Yeah, the suit's incredible . . . but it's more than that." Terry placed a hand on her cheek, his fingertips gently stroking the chocolate skin. "It's a lot more than that."
Terry held her gaze for a beat, before some unknown force propelled him forward. His eyes closed a split second before his mouth swept hers. What began as a glancing brush quickly deepened into something much more passionate, their lips caressing and parting in a frenzied, passionate dance. Max's arms clasped themselves around his neck, and Terry sighed inwardly as he felt her relax against his body, and his arms circled her waist, drawing her closer. He marveled at the range of thoughts going through his mind . . . that her suit was a made of a material that slipped nicely over his own costume . . . that kissing Max reminded him of the first time he'd put on the Batsuit and soared over Gotham. It had been scary, exhilarating, and slightly stomach churning, but nothing in his life had ever felt so right, so natural.
But then kiss ended, and Terry found himself jolted back to reality as he stood pressed against the desk, Max having pushed him firmly away.
"Max? What's . . . what's wrong?" he asked breathlessly, his lips buzzing delightfully. "Was I holding you too tight . . . hurting you?"
"No." Her voice was thick with emotion. "But what we were just doing . . . it's hurting Dana. We can't do this, Terry."
"But . . ." He struggled to get his thoughts together. "Max . . . I . . . we . . ."
"Terry, look. Yes, okay? Yes, I've thought about being your girlfriend. Maybe I am a little crazy about you," she said in a near-whisper. "I've always wondered what it might be like . . . and if that kiss is any indication, it'd probably be really, really, good."
"I'll say," he muttered faintly, his heart thudding hard.
"~But~ you're with Dana," she continued. "And even if you weren't, I think that we're probably better off as friends. Especially, you know, under the circumstances . . . I don't want to ruin what we have now."
Something seemed wrong in her reasoning, he knew, but he couldn't think straight just yet. The memory of how her plush, supple lips felt beneath his own was still running through his mind, and he flushed, struggling hard to keep himself from pulling her to him again.
"Terry?" She stared at him in concern. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to yell. I just got a little carried away. I never meant to -"
Her words were cut off by the squeal of tires coming from directly outside the building. Terry's mind snapped into focus as more cars were heard coming to a stop outside, and the yellow beams from the headlights leaked through the slats in the windows and door, clashing with the light emanating from the fluorescent bars in the middle of the room.
"What's going on?" Max glanced around. "I didn't hear anything . . . what are the cops doing here?"
"Not cops." Terry pulled on his cowl and motioned for Max to do the same. He dragged her behind the large desk and crouched low, pressing a button on his belt to kill the lights from the glowing tubes. "Cops would have had their sirens on," he whispered.
Car doors opened and slammed shut, and a tangle of voices grew louder and more distinct as footsteps approached the building.
"Who then?" she started to ask, but he waved her into silence as the front door squealed on its hinges, allowing a perfect crescent of light to enter the murky space. Batman held his breath for three beats as he strained forward, attempting to get a glance at the shadowy figure just on the other side of the door.
A head appeared in the doorway and swiveled around quickly, withdrawing before Terry had a chance to fix his lenses on the figure. A moment or two passed in which Batman could hear Max's soft breathing and two or three people speaking in hushed tones near the entrance. Careful not to make a sound, he shifted his weight and extended two fingers in the direction of the voices, tuning in the microphones on the tips of his gloves. The mics' amplification feature had little effect, however. There was a sudden burst of noise on the next street over, and what words and snatches of conversation he was able to pick up were distorted by the other sounds.
The door slammed shut then, but Batman could still hear whispered conversation on the other side of the door. Whoever it was wasn't going anywhere any time soon, it seemed. Terry shook his head grimly. Just when he thought the night couldn't get ~more~ interesting . . .
****
