~Five~
Silence.
It descended at once, like a malevolent fairy crashing the christening of a fairy princess. All at once, the voices on the other side of the door had vanished, as if by magic, and were replaced by a sudden, ominous, all-encompassing silence.
Silence. Batman's jaw twitched as he concentrated his focus on the now-closed door. He didn't like it - not a bit.
"Are they gone?"
Terry jumped, then relaxed when Max put her hand on his shoulder. He was quiet for some seconds, attempting to pick up any noises outside the door.
"Doubtful," he said finally. "It's quiet, but the cars haven't moved. They might be walking around somewhere."
"What was ~that~ about?" Max spoke in a guarded whisper near his ear. "Somehow, I don't think the demolition crew would get ~this~ early a start."
"Your understatements are so cute." Terry adjusted the long-range auditory sensors on his cowl. Still nothing. "I didn't that great a look at 'em, but they were dressed too nice to be bums."
"Not cops, not homeless, not workers . . . then who?" Max tugged at her cowl. "What kind of person would be here at this time of night? Er . . . besides two people dressed as oversize bats. But we're out of our minds. We don't count."
"Dunno." Batman frowned deeply, still keeping his eyes trained on the front door. "But as soon as I find out, I'll let you know. Let's go."
"What? What?! Hey!" Max glared at him. "No ~way~ we can leave now. It's just getting exciting!"
"Exactly my point." He took her arm. "Which is why I'm taking you home."
"You can't do this Ter," she whispered fiercely. "I'm your right-hand girl. We're partners, remember? We're in this together."
"Max, this isn't game anymore," he shot back. "I'm getting a bad feeling about this. Now, there's gotta be a back door to this place. . ." He glanced around the dark space.
"You can't be serious. First off, if whoever that was out there is up to no good, they'll be able to do their thing and be halfway to Metropolis by the time you take me home and come back," Max argued. "Second, we don't even know what's going on . . . it could just be plainclothes cops checking to see that this place isn't turning into the Gotham Arms for the homeless. Either way, taking me out of here isn't the answer."
"Then what is -" Terry began, when the front doors banged open suddenly, the moonlight flooding into the dark room. He barely had time to push Max behind the desk and crouch down before six or seven men rushed in, fanning across the front of the warehouse, their footsteps loud and precise in the darkness. Batman glanced over at Max - she hunkered down in the shadow of the desk, but he could still see the subtle gleam of her costume.
Terry held his breath as the footfalls drew toward the rear of the warehouse. He carefully stuck his head around the desk, taking in the intruders in a swift glance. The men were tall, beefy, and dressed in dark colors. Each of them had blasters - rapid fire, high-gauge, he noted -- but none of them looked familiar. ~Run-of-the-mill thugs. ~Armed~ run-of-the-mill thugs.~ The Bat sighed inwardly. ~Beautiful.~
"All right, quiet." A low, almost gentle voice issued forth, and all movement ceased. "We don't have much time."
"Wait a minute. I don't like it, Sam."
Terry frowned at the new voice. It was tremulous, deeper than the first voice, but much less self-assured. "I tell ya, there were lights on in here. They were shining through the cracks in the doors."
Batman cursed inwardly for not picking up the incandescent bars that were now lying just inches from where the gang was standing. He took comfort, however, in the knowledge that he alone could turn the lights on and off, and that even if the bars were found, odds were the men would dismiss them as junk - the warehouse was filled with it, after all.
~Or maybe not.~ Terry glanced around the building's lower area once more. ~Don't think a group of guys with blasters would bust into an old warehouse just for kicks.~ He moved closer to the crowd.
"There's no lights here, Don. Tim, you see any lights?" The low voice asked.
"Naw, boss. I don't see no lights."
"See, Don? We don't see no lights. Pretty dark in here, in fact. Donnie, how'd you ever manage to move around? Sid, Tim get the lamps."
There were more footsteps as the two men scrambled to comply. "Tel, what's the matter? Your face is all screwed up like someone pissed in your fizz."
Terry's eyes narrowed as a man stepped forward from the group and engaged the cool-voiced individual in conversation. It was still a little too dark for Terry to get an accurate image of the men. The infrared lenses in his cowl, though, were able to pick up the heat signatures on the men in the warehouse. Four or five stood around in a loose circle and were soon joined by the two who had been dispatched to get lamps. Those two ran back into the warehouse, carrying rounded, old-style portable lanterns. When lit, the lamps covered the lower level in a brassy, almost yellow glow, bathing the broken down furniture in the room in its oily golden light.
"Ah, that's better. Now, we got a job to do, boys. So let's get to it, huh? Donnie, you ready to go?"
"S-Sure thing, Sam."
Terry tiptoed forward, taking cover behind a lengthy sofa. The new light in the room allowing him to get a decent look at the "visitors." There were four or five hard-faced, muscle-bound goons, many of them looking somewhat uneasy and more than a little tired. In their midst was a shorter, thin man, who was casting furtive, desperate glances all around the place. ~None of them seem to want to be here, but ~that~ guy is ~definitely~ not having any fun.~ Terry thought to himself, regarding the squirming man with interest. They all had faces that would seem right at home in a GCPD felon database, but none seemed familiar. Terry then turned his attention to the two who stood apart. One was tall and built. Batman noticed that this man, unlike his companions, stood straight up, his hand loosely on the gun at his side. The person to whom he was speaking was shorter, paler, somewhat leaner, and wirier. The two were turned sideways, so Batman could only view the men's faces in profile. But then the thinner man turned his face toward the light, addressing the group in a low voice. Terry recoiled when the golden glare illuminated a constellation of rust-colored scabs over the man's jaw and lips. Terry stifled a groan. He wasn't sure who the others were, but that crusty face was unmistakable -- Sam "Sandlips" Stephens was in the house, and that was never a good thing.
"I-I got the stuff locked, y'know . . . uh . . . y'know, can't be too careful." Don said, edging away from the crowd. "I'll get the key, and then, uh, y'know, I'll get the stuff."
"You do that, Don," Sandlips said softly. "Sid'll help you." He nodded to one of the toughs, who stepped forward immediately. "Not that we don't' ~trust~ ya, or anything, but like you said: you can never be too careful - especially where ice is concerned."
Don nodded, and he and Sid moved to a part of the room in which a cluster of old furniture sat. "I keep the key in a little lock box in a little place in the floor under this chiffarobe," he said, pointing to a looming cherrywood chest. "Takes a while to get it out, but hey - all in the same of security, right?" He forced a laugh, which died quickly under the intense stares of his companions. "Er . . . this is heavy," he grunted, pressing a shoulder against the heavy object. "Tough . . . to . . . move." Sid joined him in his efforts, and as the two men pushed, the legs of the chest scraped noisily across the floor.
Batman took advantage of the screeching noise of the chest being moved and the rising conversation of the gang to sidle even closer to the action, but was brought up short by a slight, tapping sound behind him. The hair on the back of his neck raised when he realized what it was -- the subtle click of Max's heels. Soundlessly, he whirled around. The pink-haired girl was bent low, as was he, and was doing her best to trail him quietly. Shaking his head violently, he mouthed "No!" and waved for her to get back. She glowered at him, shook her head, and came closer. Terry wrestled with the urge to scream. Max's stubbornness could very well get them killed. But then, he couldn't be very sure if she understood the potential danger they were in.
"Stay back," he said in a staccato whisper. " Bad guys. ~Bad.~ Have ~guns.~" He held up his hand, extending his forefinger and thumb until his hand resembled that of a firearm. But Max shook her head, moving steadily closer until she was at his side again.
"Max, are you nuts?!" he whispered fiercely in her ear when she got near enough. "I told you to stay back there!"
"What, and let you get the best view?" She nudged him over to clear a little more space. "Besides, my whole left side was exposed behind that desk. If they'd looked back there once, they would have gotten an eyeful of patent leather. Who are these guys anyway?"
"It's Sandlips Stephens and his gang," he muttered reluctantly. "There're worse thugs in the city, but Stephens is big-time enough."
"What would they be doing here?" she asked, peering over his shoulder.
"Nothing good." His eyes narrowed. "I heard Stephens say something about "ice" - thee was a big holdup at Salem Jewels last week. Cops had a lead on the perps, but couldn't find them or the diamonds. Looks like maybe ~we~ found both."
"All right, we've moved it far enough," Don said, wiping his brow. "See that little square of dust right there?"
Stephens moved closer, inspecting the spot. "Yeah. So?"
"Well, there's the key." The thinner man was breathing hard. "Right under there."
"Well, good for you, Don." Stephens fixed him with a hard stare. "Get it."
Don paled, wavered, but nodded curtly, and bent down. Batman could see that Don was being narrowly watched by Sandlips, and that two of Stephens' men had their blasters half out of their holsters. ~They don't trust this Don guy.~ Batman realized with a start. ~But if he's with the gang . . . why wouldn't they? He's one of their own, right?~ He set his scanners to magnify Don's face. The man's pale, milksop, blond looks weren't registering, and that gave Terry pause. ~Could he be undercover for the GCPD? Dammit . . . what if his cover's been blown?~
"Here it is," Don said at last, straightening up. He held up a gray, antique-looking key. "This is the key to the drawer. Jewels are right there where I said they were."
"Oh, I don't doubt they are, Donnie boy. But this is ~your~ show," Sandlips grinned tightly, and Batman couldn't help but notice Don's shudder at Stephens' smile. "You just take Sid along with ya. Those were a lot of diamonds we grabbed . . . too much for one person to carry."
"All right. Come on, then." Don cocked his head toward the back of the warehouse, and the two men trooped back, coming closer and closer to where Terry and Max stooped low. Batman held his breath as the two men passed their current hiding place and headed straight for the desk in the far-most reaches of the warehouse - the desk behind which Max had been hiding just moments before. ~She ~knew~ not to stay there . . .~ Terry shook his head and allowed himself a brief smile. ~Damn. Maybe I ~should~ bring her out with me.~ He glanced over his shoulder, and saw the girl smiling at him triumphantly. He acknowledged her prescience with a short nod, and turned back to the desk where Don and Sid were fiddling around.
"This old lock's kinda rusty," Don grunted, seeming to have a bit of trouble turning the key. "You gotta jiggle it a little, and - hey." His head jerked up suddenly. "What was that?"
Batman froze when Don's eyes swept over the discarded sofa behind which he and Max hid. The thug's gaze soon went elsewhere, though, and Terry breathed a little easier.
"What was what?" Sid sounded impatient. "You hearing things now?"
"Naw, I just . . ." Don looked around again. "Just this old place is weird, that's all. It's just . . . weird."
"Uh-huh. Hurry it up, willya?" Sid yawned. "I don't wanna be out here all night. My kid's got school tomorrow."
There was a loud clicking sound then, and Don sighed. "Here it is. Told ya you have to jiggle it a little." He bent down, thrusting his hands into a compartment of the desk, and drew out a large red-velvet bag. "Here they are," he said softly, almost reverently. "Here they are, Sam," he called to the front of the room.
"All right. Bring 'em here. Let's have a look-see."
Don hustled back to the middle of the room, the velvet pouch clutched tightly in his hands. "They're-they're all here, Sam. All of 'em. Honest. I'd never cheat ya. I couldn't do that. I was just keeping 'em safe, is all. Just 'til the heat got off. And then -"
"We heard it already, Don." Sandlips cut in with a slight frown, taking the bag from the stammering man. "No need to go over it again. Tim, get up here and take a look."
One of the gang -- a tall, dark-haired man wearing a jeweler's glass -- stepped forward. Opening the bag, he withdrew a huge, sparkling diamond and held it up, slowly turning it around in his hand. He raised it to eye level and studied it through the glass. Putting it back with a nod, he took out two smaller jewels and inspected those in the same way.
"This is it," Tim said, nodding. "I can tell by the cut. Salem's the only who does the marquise cut in the diagonal pattern." He removed the eyepiece. "These are the gems, Sam."
"Good. And they're all here?"
Tim peered into the bag. "Looks like it. I'd need a scale to make absolute sure, but looks like they're all here."
"Excellent." The scabby mouth curved into a smile. "Whew! Is that ever a load off my mind."
Batman's eyes were drawn to three members of the group who had turned twitchy and restless all of a sudden. He saw hands touching blasters, and a procession of men moving to the front door and taking up defensive stances at the entrance. ~Almost as if . . . almost as if their blocking the way out . . .~ Batman thought with a frown, an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
"So, we done, Sam?" Sid asked. "We can go now?"
"Almost, Sid-boy." Sandlips was still smiling his grim smile. "Now Don . . . there's a few things ~we~ need to discuss . . ."
Don stepped back, squirming under Sandlips' gaze. "Huh? Er . . . I don't understand, boss. We came here for the ice, right? Well, we got the ice. What more do we have to talk about?"
"Plenty." The smile dropped off Stephens' face. "See, Don . . . I don't like your face. Never did. I took you in as a favor to Tel, there." He nodded toward Marvanne, who had stood silent through the whole exchange. "And it woulda been fine if you'd just kept your nose clean and listened to directions. But no. You had to be a smart-ass -"
"N-no, Sam." Don was shaking. "N-no, I wasn't-"
"Shut up, Donnie." Sandlips said quietly. "I'm talking now."
"B-But you don't understand. All I was trying to do was help. All I wanted -"
"Don, I said shut up . . ."
"They had us on tape." Don was blubbering now. "They had us on the ~vid.~ We coulda-"
"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Sandlips' voice caromed loud and terrible around the warehouse. "Just . . . shut . . .~up~ . . . now."
Don immediately fell silent. No one moved.
"Thank you," Stephens said with a nod. "Now, as I was saying - I never liked you, Donnie. What you did was stupid, yes. And dangerous, too. But more than that - what you did when you took these jewels from me was very . . . ~very~ disrespectful." Sandlips glared at the shaking man. "And I don't tolerate disrespect."
Batman watched as several members of the gang moved forward, hemming him in. In the next moment, he saw a gun being slowly, carefully drawn out of a holster. Terry's mouth went dry as he realized what was happening.
"Max, I gotta go," he whispered urgently. "Things are about to get real ugly, real fast. Now get behind this chair and ~stay~ here."
"But-"
"No time to argue," he shot back. "I'm serious, Max. Stay. Hide behind this sofa like your life depends on it. Cause trust me -" He glanced at the front of the warehouse. "-It does."
He waited only to see her nod in compliance, and then he turned his camouflage option on. He stealthily made his way to the front of the warehouse to the center of the action.
"Now, Donnie, you brought this on yourself," Sandlips said with a solemn shake of his head. "And, as Telly could probably tell ya, there's two types of people I can't deal with: fools and ingrates. You, Donnie, are both. So . . ."
"No . . .no, I wasn't . . . Sam, I swear . . ." Don backed up as the gang advanced upon him. "Please . . . ~please~ don't do this . . ."
"Sorry, Don. But you know the rules." Sandlips nodded to Sid, who brought out a shiny, platinum autoblaster. "I didn't make 'em up. I just follow 'em."
"Please . . . please . . . no . . ." Don was crying. He turned his streaming face to Marvanne, who was standing stone-faced at Sandlips' side.
"Telly . . . please . . . you're my friend! Please don't let them do this to me!"
The words tugged at Telly's heartstrings, but he forced himself to shake his head. "Sorry, Don . . . but Sam's right. You brought this on yourself."
Don gasped as Sid disengaged the safety on the blaster. "No! No! You can't ~do~ this!" He threw up his hands. "All the diamonds are there! I showed you, with no tricks! Sam, we had a deal!"
"Sorry, Don." Sandlips shrugged, as Sid leveled the gun at Don's head. "But the deal's off."
A black streak accompanied the voice, and Sandlips whirled in surprise at a cry of pain from Sid. The blaster skipped across the floor.
"Couldn't have said it better myself." Batman shimmered into view, stooping low to grab the gun.
"Holy -" Sandlips, oblivious to Don now, staggered back in surprise at the sight of the hero. "What the hell-"
The Bat looked around at the gang, all of whom - Don included - were frozen in shock for a moment. "Sorry to interrupt . . . but I've got this ~thing~ against killing a guy in cold blood. Maybe it's just me. Or maybe not." He advanced menacingly toward Marvanne. "But either way, nobody's brains are gonna get splattered tonight, Stephens."
"You misunderstand, Bats." Stephens, who had maintained his composure somewhat, spoke coldly. "Somebody's brains ~are~ gonna get splattered tonight - yours. Boys, slag him!" Guns came up simultaneously, all trained on the Bat.
"Hoo boy. I can never have an easy night," Terry muttered a split second before they opened fire. He dodged the bullets expertly, flipping out of the way of the fire. Sweeping low, he kicked one man's legs right from under him and dropped another with a punch to the gut. ~Gotta draw 'em out, hopefully out of the building,~ he thought to himself as he dodged a punch from one, an elbow from another. ~Away from the guy they're trying to slag - other than me, that is --~ He rocketed up to the ceiling, pursued by the gunfire.
"Don't let him get away!" Sandlips shouted. "There he is! Up there! Tim, you got a clear shot!"
~Don't believe it, Tim.~ Batman thought with a shake of his head. Going back into camo mode, he smiled to himself as the gunfire stopped abruptly.
"Hey . . . where the hell did he go? I saw him against the ceiling a minute ago . . ."
Stephens' head whipped around. "Sneaky little rat . . . spread out. He's still in here somewhere . . . he . . . hey!" Sandlips spun around to see Don making a run for the door. "Oh, no you don't -" Sandlips brought his arm up and fired, but the gun was knocked off its target by a disc-like object. Terry, who was readying to throw a Batarang at the same moment, was brought up short. ~What the heck was that?~
"Hey! What the hell?" Sandlips looked around in a rage. Don glanced round for a few moments before recovering his wits and taking to his heels out the door. The gang lord ignored his fleeing prey, however, and picked up the object that hit his hand. It appeared to be a slightly larger and heavier version of a standard vid-disc. "Where the hell did this come from? Where the fuck is this clown?"
"Not ~him,~ boss ~She~ threw it."
Terry gasped as three men dragged Max into view from behind the sofa. The girl was struggling against the toughs, but the musclemen were keeping her at bay.
"Let go off me. Let me go, now," she grunted as they pulled her forward. "I'm warning you . . ."
"Oh shit . . ." Terry muttered. "Max!"
"She threw that thing atcha, Sam. She tried to hide back behind that chair back there, but we saw her, grabbed her," one of her captors said.
"Well, well. So we got another costumed freak." He motioned for them to bring her closer. Sam looked the black-clad figure up and down, his gaze stopping at her chest. "This one's got a nice rack, at least." He smiled suddenly, and Max shivered as he pressed his gun against her belly. "And I thought this town was dull . . ."
~*~
Silence.
It descended at once, like a malevolent fairy crashing the christening of a fairy princess. All at once, the voices on the other side of the door had vanished, as if by magic, and were replaced by a sudden, ominous, all-encompassing silence.
Silence. Batman's jaw twitched as he concentrated his focus on the now-closed door. He didn't like it - not a bit.
"Are they gone?"
Terry jumped, then relaxed when Max put her hand on his shoulder. He was quiet for some seconds, attempting to pick up any noises outside the door.
"Doubtful," he said finally. "It's quiet, but the cars haven't moved. They might be walking around somewhere."
"What was ~that~ about?" Max spoke in a guarded whisper near his ear. "Somehow, I don't think the demolition crew would get ~this~ early a start."
"Your understatements are so cute." Terry adjusted the long-range auditory sensors on his cowl. Still nothing. "I didn't that great a look at 'em, but they were dressed too nice to be bums."
"Not cops, not homeless, not workers . . . then who?" Max tugged at her cowl. "What kind of person would be here at this time of night? Er . . . besides two people dressed as oversize bats. But we're out of our minds. We don't count."
"Dunno." Batman frowned deeply, still keeping his eyes trained on the front door. "But as soon as I find out, I'll let you know. Let's go."
"What? What?! Hey!" Max glared at him. "No ~way~ we can leave now. It's just getting exciting!"
"Exactly my point." He took her arm. "Which is why I'm taking you home."
"You can't do this Ter," she whispered fiercely. "I'm your right-hand girl. We're partners, remember? We're in this together."
"Max, this isn't game anymore," he shot back. "I'm getting a bad feeling about this. Now, there's gotta be a back door to this place. . ." He glanced around the dark space.
"You can't be serious. First off, if whoever that was out there is up to no good, they'll be able to do their thing and be halfway to Metropolis by the time you take me home and come back," Max argued. "Second, we don't even know what's going on . . . it could just be plainclothes cops checking to see that this place isn't turning into the Gotham Arms for the homeless. Either way, taking me out of here isn't the answer."
"Then what is -" Terry began, when the front doors banged open suddenly, the moonlight flooding into the dark room. He barely had time to push Max behind the desk and crouch down before six or seven men rushed in, fanning across the front of the warehouse, their footsteps loud and precise in the darkness. Batman glanced over at Max - she hunkered down in the shadow of the desk, but he could still see the subtle gleam of her costume.
Terry held his breath as the footfalls drew toward the rear of the warehouse. He carefully stuck his head around the desk, taking in the intruders in a swift glance. The men were tall, beefy, and dressed in dark colors. Each of them had blasters - rapid fire, high-gauge, he noted -- but none of them looked familiar. ~Run-of-the-mill thugs. ~Armed~ run-of-the-mill thugs.~ The Bat sighed inwardly. ~Beautiful.~
"All right, quiet." A low, almost gentle voice issued forth, and all movement ceased. "We don't have much time."
"Wait a minute. I don't like it, Sam."
Terry frowned at the new voice. It was tremulous, deeper than the first voice, but much less self-assured. "I tell ya, there were lights on in here. They were shining through the cracks in the doors."
Batman cursed inwardly for not picking up the incandescent bars that were now lying just inches from where the gang was standing. He took comfort, however, in the knowledge that he alone could turn the lights on and off, and that even if the bars were found, odds were the men would dismiss them as junk - the warehouse was filled with it, after all.
~Or maybe not.~ Terry glanced around the building's lower area once more. ~Don't think a group of guys with blasters would bust into an old warehouse just for kicks.~ He moved closer to the crowd.
"There's no lights here, Don. Tim, you see any lights?" The low voice asked.
"Naw, boss. I don't see no lights."
"See, Don? We don't see no lights. Pretty dark in here, in fact. Donnie, how'd you ever manage to move around? Sid, Tim get the lamps."
There were more footsteps as the two men scrambled to comply. "Tel, what's the matter? Your face is all screwed up like someone pissed in your fizz."
Terry's eyes narrowed as a man stepped forward from the group and engaged the cool-voiced individual in conversation. It was still a little too dark for Terry to get an accurate image of the men. The infrared lenses in his cowl, though, were able to pick up the heat signatures on the men in the warehouse. Four or five stood around in a loose circle and were soon joined by the two who had been dispatched to get lamps. Those two ran back into the warehouse, carrying rounded, old-style portable lanterns. When lit, the lamps covered the lower level in a brassy, almost yellow glow, bathing the broken down furniture in the room in its oily golden light.
"Ah, that's better. Now, we got a job to do, boys. So let's get to it, huh? Donnie, you ready to go?"
"S-Sure thing, Sam."
Terry tiptoed forward, taking cover behind a lengthy sofa. The new light in the room allowing him to get a decent look at the "visitors." There were four or five hard-faced, muscle-bound goons, many of them looking somewhat uneasy and more than a little tired. In their midst was a shorter, thin man, who was casting furtive, desperate glances all around the place. ~None of them seem to want to be here, but ~that~ guy is ~definitely~ not having any fun.~ Terry thought to himself, regarding the squirming man with interest. They all had faces that would seem right at home in a GCPD felon database, but none seemed familiar. Terry then turned his attention to the two who stood apart. One was tall and built. Batman noticed that this man, unlike his companions, stood straight up, his hand loosely on the gun at his side. The person to whom he was speaking was shorter, paler, somewhat leaner, and wirier. The two were turned sideways, so Batman could only view the men's faces in profile. But then the thinner man turned his face toward the light, addressing the group in a low voice. Terry recoiled when the golden glare illuminated a constellation of rust-colored scabs over the man's jaw and lips. Terry stifled a groan. He wasn't sure who the others were, but that crusty face was unmistakable -- Sam "Sandlips" Stephens was in the house, and that was never a good thing.
"I-I got the stuff locked, y'know . . . uh . . . y'know, can't be too careful." Don said, edging away from the crowd. "I'll get the key, and then, uh, y'know, I'll get the stuff."
"You do that, Don," Sandlips said softly. "Sid'll help you." He nodded to one of the toughs, who stepped forward immediately. "Not that we don't' ~trust~ ya, or anything, but like you said: you can never be too careful - especially where ice is concerned."
Don nodded, and he and Sid moved to a part of the room in which a cluster of old furniture sat. "I keep the key in a little lock box in a little place in the floor under this chiffarobe," he said, pointing to a looming cherrywood chest. "Takes a while to get it out, but hey - all in the same of security, right?" He forced a laugh, which died quickly under the intense stares of his companions. "Er . . . this is heavy," he grunted, pressing a shoulder against the heavy object. "Tough . . . to . . . move." Sid joined him in his efforts, and as the two men pushed, the legs of the chest scraped noisily across the floor.
Batman took advantage of the screeching noise of the chest being moved and the rising conversation of the gang to sidle even closer to the action, but was brought up short by a slight, tapping sound behind him. The hair on the back of his neck raised when he realized what it was -- the subtle click of Max's heels. Soundlessly, he whirled around. The pink-haired girl was bent low, as was he, and was doing her best to trail him quietly. Shaking his head violently, he mouthed "No!" and waved for her to get back. She glowered at him, shook her head, and came closer. Terry wrestled with the urge to scream. Max's stubbornness could very well get them killed. But then, he couldn't be very sure if she understood the potential danger they were in.
"Stay back," he said in a staccato whisper. " Bad guys. ~Bad.~ Have ~guns.~" He held up his hand, extending his forefinger and thumb until his hand resembled that of a firearm. But Max shook her head, moving steadily closer until she was at his side again.
"Max, are you nuts?!" he whispered fiercely in her ear when she got near enough. "I told you to stay back there!"
"What, and let you get the best view?" She nudged him over to clear a little more space. "Besides, my whole left side was exposed behind that desk. If they'd looked back there once, they would have gotten an eyeful of patent leather. Who are these guys anyway?"
"It's Sandlips Stephens and his gang," he muttered reluctantly. "There're worse thugs in the city, but Stephens is big-time enough."
"What would they be doing here?" she asked, peering over his shoulder.
"Nothing good." His eyes narrowed. "I heard Stephens say something about "ice" - thee was a big holdup at Salem Jewels last week. Cops had a lead on the perps, but couldn't find them or the diamonds. Looks like maybe ~we~ found both."
"All right, we've moved it far enough," Don said, wiping his brow. "See that little square of dust right there?"
Stephens moved closer, inspecting the spot. "Yeah. So?"
"Well, there's the key." The thinner man was breathing hard. "Right under there."
"Well, good for you, Don." Stephens fixed him with a hard stare. "Get it."
Don paled, wavered, but nodded curtly, and bent down. Batman could see that Don was being narrowly watched by Sandlips, and that two of Stephens' men had their blasters half out of their holsters. ~They don't trust this Don guy.~ Batman realized with a start. ~But if he's with the gang . . . why wouldn't they? He's one of their own, right?~ He set his scanners to magnify Don's face. The man's pale, milksop, blond looks weren't registering, and that gave Terry pause. ~Could he be undercover for the GCPD? Dammit . . . what if his cover's been blown?~
"Here it is," Don said at last, straightening up. He held up a gray, antique-looking key. "This is the key to the drawer. Jewels are right there where I said they were."
"Oh, I don't doubt they are, Donnie boy. But this is ~your~ show," Sandlips grinned tightly, and Batman couldn't help but notice Don's shudder at Stephens' smile. "You just take Sid along with ya. Those were a lot of diamonds we grabbed . . . too much for one person to carry."
"All right. Come on, then." Don cocked his head toward the back of the warehouse, and the two men trooped back, coming closer and closer to where Terry and Max stooped low. Batman held his breath as the two men passed their current hiding place and headed straight for the desk in the far-most reaches of the warehouse - the desk behind which Max had been hiding just moments before. ~She ~knew~ not to stay there . . .~ Terry shook his head and allowed himself a brief smile. ~Damn. Maybe I ~should~ bring her out with me.~ He glanced over his shoulder, and saw the girl smiling at him triumphantly. He acknowledged her prescience with a short nod, and turned back to the desk where Don and Sid were fiddling around.
"This old lock's kinda rusty," Don grunted, seeming to have a bit of trouble turning the key. "You gotta jiggle it a little, and - hey." His head jerked up suddenly. "What was that?"
Batman froze when Don's eyes swept over the discarded sofa behind which he and Max hid. The thug's gaze soon went elsewhere, though, and Terry breathed a little easier.
"What was what?" Sid sounded impatient. "You hearing things now?"
"Naw, I just . . ." Don looked around again. "Just this old place is weird, that's all. It's just . . . weird."
"Uh-huh. Hurry it up, willya?" Sid yawned. "I don't wanna be out here all night. My kid's got school tomorrow."
There was a loud clicking sound then, and Don sighed. "Here it is. Told ya you have to jiggle it a little." He bent down, thrusting his hands into a compartment of the desk, and drew out a large red-velvet bag. "Here they are," he said softly, almost reverently. "Here they are, Sam," he called to the front of the room.
"All right. Bring 'em here. Let's have a look-see."
Don hustled back to the middle of the room, the velvet pouch clutched tightly in his hands. "They're-they're all here, Sam. All of 'em. Honest. I'd never cheat ya. I couldn't do that. I was just keeping 'em safe, is all. Just 'til the heat got off. And then -"
"We heard it already, Don." Sandlips cut in with a slight frown, taking the bag from the stammering man. "No need to go over it again. Tim, get up here and take a look."
One of the gang -- a tall, dark-haired man wearing a jeweler's glass -- stepped forward. Opening the bag, he withdrew a huge, sparkling diamond and held it up, slowly turning it around in his hand. He raised it to eye level and studied it through the glass. Putting it back with a nod, he took out two smaller jewels and inspected those in the same way.
"This is it," Tim said, nodding. "I can tell by the cut. Salem's the only who does the marquise cut in the diagonal pattern." He removed the eyepiece. "These are the gems, Sam."
"Good. And they're all here?"
Tim peered into the bag. "Looks like it. I'd need a scale to make absolute sure, but looks like they're all here."
"Excellent." The scabby mouth curved into a smile. "Whew! Is that ever a load off my mind."
Batman's eyes were drawn to three members of the group who had turned twitchy and restless all of a sudden. He saw hands touching blasters, and a procession of men moving to the front door and taking up defensive stances at the entrance. ~Almost as if . . . almost as if their blocking the way out . . .~ Batman thought with a frown, an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
"So, we done, Sam?" Sid asked. "We can go now?"
"Almost, Sid-boy." Sandlips was still smiling his grim smile. "Now Don . . . there's a few things ~we~ need to discuss . . ."
Don stepped back, squirming under Sandlips' gaze. "Huh? Er . . . I don't understand, boss. We came here for the ice, right? Well, we got the ice. What more do we have to talk about?"
"Plenty." The smile dropped off Stephens' face. "See, Don . . . I don't like your face. Never did. I took you in as a favor to Tel, there." He nodded toward Marvanne, who had stood silent through the whole exchange. "And it woulda been fine if you'd just kept your nose clean and listened to directions. But no. You had to be a smart-ass -"
"N-no, Sam." Don was shaking. "N-no, I wasn't-"
"Shut up, Donnie." Sandlips said quietly. "I'm talking now."
"B-But you don't understand. All I was trying to do was help. All I wanted -"
"Don, I said shut up . . ."
"They had us on tape." Don was blubbering now. "They had us on the ~vid.~ We coulda-"
"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Sandlips' voice caromed loud and terrible around the warehouse. "Just . . . shut . . .~up~ . . . now."
Don immediately fell silent. No one moved.
"Thank you," Stephens said with a nod. "Now, as I was saying - I never liked you, Donnie. What you did was stupid, yes. And dangerous, too. But more than that - what you did when you took these jewels from me was very . . . ~very~ disrespectful." Sandlips glared at the shaking man. "And I don't tolerate disrespect."
Batman watched as several members of the gang moved forward, hemming him in. In the next moment, he saw a gun being slowly, carefully drawn out of a holster. Terry's mouth went dry as he realized what was happening.
"Max, I gotta go," he whispered urgently. "Things are about to get real ugly, real fast. Now get behind this chair and ~stay~ here."
"But-"
"No time to argue," he shot back. "I'm serious, Max. Stay. Hide behind this sofa like your life depends on it. Cause trust me -" He glanced at the front of the warehouse. "-It does."
He waited only to see her nod in compliance, and then he turned his camouflage option on. He stealthily made his way to the front of the warehouse to the center of the action.
"Now, Donnie, you brought this on yourself," Sandlips said with a solemn shake of his head. "And, as Telly could probably tell ya, there's two types of people I can't deal with: fools and ingrates. You, Donnie, are both. So . . ."
"No . . .no, I wasn't . . . Sam, I swear . . ." Don backed up as the gang advanced upon him. "Please . . . ~please~ don't do this . . ."
"Sorry, Don. But you know the rules." Sandlips nodded to Sid, who brought out a shiny, platinum autoblaster. "I didn't make 'em up. I just follow 'em."
"Please . . . please . . . no . . ." Don was crying. He turned his streaming face to Marvanne, who was standing stone-faced at Sandlips' side.
"Telly . . . please . . . you're my friend! Please don't let them do this to me!"
The words tugged at Telly's heartstrings, but he forced himself to shake his head. "Sorry, Don . . . but Sam's right. You brought this on yourself."
Don gasped as Sid disengaged the safety on the blaster. "No! No! You can't ~do~ this!" He threw up his hands. "All the diamonds are there! I showed you, with no tricks! Sam, we had a deal!"
"Sorry, Don." Sandlips shrugged, as Sid leveled the gun at Don's head. "But the deal's off."
A black streak accompanied the voice, and Sandlips whirled in surprise at a cry of pain from Sid. The blaster skipped across the floor.
"Couldn't have said it better myself." Batman shimmered into view, stooping low to grab the gun.
"Holy -" Sandlips, oblivious to Don now, staggered back in surprise at the sight of the hero. "What the hell-"
The Bat looked around at the gang, all of whom - Don included - were frozen in shock for a moment. "Sorry to interrupt . . . but I've got this ~thing~ against killing a guy in cold blood. Maybe it's just me. Or maybe not." He advanced menacingly toward Marvanne. "But either way, nobody's brains are gonna get splattered tonight, Stephens."
"You misunderstand, Bats." Stephens, who had maintained his composure somewhat, spoke coldly. "Somebody's brains ~are~ gonna get splattered tonight - yours. Boys, slag him!" Guns came up simultaneously, all trained on the Bat.
"Hoo boy. I can never have an easy night," Terry muttered a split second before they opened fire. He dodged the bullets expertly, flipping out of the way of the fire. Sweeping low, he kicked one man's legs right from under him and dropped another with a punch to the gut. ~Gotta draw 'em out, hopefully out of the building,~ he thought to himself as he dodged a punch from one, an elbow from another. ~Away from the guy they're trying to slag - other than me, that is --~ He rocketed up to the ceiling, pursued by the gunfire.
"Don't let him get away!" Sandlips shouted. "There he is! Up there! Tim, you got a clear shot!"
~Don't believe it, Tim.~ Batman thought with a shake of his head. Going back into camo mode, he smiled to himself as the gunfire stopped abruptly.
"Hey . . . where the hell did he go? I saw him against the ceiling a minute ago . . ."
Stephens' head whipped around. "Sneaky little rat . . . spread out. He's still in here somewhere . . . he . . . hey!" Sandlips spun around to see Don making a run for the door. "Oh, no you don't -" Sandlips brought his arm up and fired, but the gun was knocked off its target by a disc-like object. Terry, who was readying to throw a Batarang at the same moment, was brought up short. ~What the heck was that?~
"Hey! What the hell?" Sandlips looked around in a rage. Don glanced round for a few moments before recovering his wits and taking to his heels out the door. The gang lord ignored his fleeing prey, however, and picked up the object that hit his hand. It appeared to be a slightly larger and heavier version of a standard vid-disc. "Where the hell did this come from? Where the fuck is this clown?"
"Not ~him,~ boss ~She~ threw it."
Terry gasped as three men dragged Max into view from behind the sofa. The girl was struggling against the toughs, but the musclemen were keeping her at bay.
"Let go off me. Let me go, now," she grunted as they pulled her forward. "I'm warning you . . ."
"Oh shit . . ." Terry muttered. "Max!"
"She threw that thing atcha, Sam. She tried to hide back behind that chair back there, but we saw her, grabbed her," one of her captors said.
"Well, well. So we got another costumed freak." He motioned for them to bring her closer. Sam looked the black-clad figure up and down, his gaze stopping at her chest. "This one's got a nice rack, at least." He smiled suddenly, and Max shivered as he pressed his gun against her belly. "And I thought this town was dull . . ."
~*~
