A/N: Wow, it's an update. Sorry it took so long. The story is winding down now, so get those reviews in while you can. Thanks for everyone whose hung in with this story. I appreciate it.
~Six~
One false move, and it's all over. Instantly. Painfully.
And there won't be a damn thing I can do . . .
With a sinking heart, and those words looping through his brain, Terry opened his eyes, hoping against hope that he'd see something different when he looked down. Nope, it hadn't changed – Sandlips Stephens and his cronies were still in the warehouse, Max was still in the grip of one of the goons. A very large, lethal-looking automatic weapon was still nestled against her stomach. Stephens' finger was still on the trigger.
Move, and they'll shoot. Don't move . . . and they'll shoot. Terry bit down on his lip until he tasted blood.
He knew he didn't have time to consider all the ways the situation could have been avoided. He didn't have the luxury of running through all the scenarios that would have safeguarded them both. There wasn't opportunity to assign blame or to chastise himself for getting Max involved in his personal quest. He just had to figure a way to get her out of it.
The Bat crouched low, craning forward off his high perch, keeping his eye trained on Max. Sandlips and his people were crowded around her, and all of them had their weapons drawn, which meant no end of bad news. Even if he did manage to take out a few of the men, there was still a very good chance that the thugs would shoot Max before he'd be able to get to her. Then again, if he didn't do anything, Sandlips' people would hurt her anyway. His heart pounded in his ears and he silently closer, the only thing keeping him anchored to the catwalk were the magnets embedded in his heels.
Calm. Just stay calm. Think. He swallowed hard, never taking his eyes off Max. Think. I have to do something. She's depending on me.
He was aware that he was depending on her, as well. Terry knew the caliber of men they were dealing with: dirt-dumb, but not entirely brain-dead. They obviously thought they were dealing with the female version of him – Max certainly was keeping a superhero-like cool about it all, she was shaking a little, but was more or less composed. There was an off-chance, then, that the gang – out of fear, suspicion, or some sort of misguided respect – would not act unless and until they thought they'd have to. Terry wasn't sure if they knew he was still in the building; their uncertainty about that could prove very useful later.
But first things first – getting Max out of the line of fire, literally and figuratively.
Barely moving his head, Terry took in the lower level in a glance, looking for possible escape routes, weaknesses in the building's makeup, things that could be used as weapons or as a decent diversion. Anything that could help him.
His gaze stopped on three rectangular objects scattered around the goons' feet. Tapping his cowl, he magnified the items and recognized them as the incandescent bars he'd taken out earlier to light the warehouse. A slow smile spread across the masked face.
Bingo.
The grin vanished, and what passed for a thoughtful expression took its place. Timing was going to be absolutely essential in this for this to work at all. He had very little margin for error . . . and there was the off chance that it wouldn't work at all –
He shook the thought away. It would work. It would have to. Max was counting on him.
Fully alert, his senses keen, and his body held taut as a bowstring, he watched and waited . . . ready to spring when the time was right . . .
***
Telly Marvanne was quickly losing his patience with the whole situation.
The muscleman had a sixth sense about certain things, and that night, his "sense" was telling him that something was going to go wrong. At first he thought maybe the problem would be that Don had lied about the location of the jewels. That fear had been blown out of the water when the diamonds had been recovered. Then Marvanne thought that perhaps something would go wrong with the hit, that maybe Don would manage to squeeze off a shot and kill one of the gang before being gunned down himself.
Now Marvanne stood in the middle of the deserted warehouse with Sandlips and the rest of the gang, and was conscious that the only thing that had gone right in the whole operation was the recovery of the jewels. Don had escaped – and Telly figured his old friend would be on the first train out of Gotham; the Batman had shown up to crash the party and had nearly taken Marvanne's head off with one of those pointy things he'd thrown; and now this.
This was a woman – a very interestingly dressed woman – who was being held by two of Stephens' bodyguards. No one knew who she was or where she'd come from or that she was even in the warehouse until she hit Sandlips' hand. Marvanne wasn't too nuts about the mask, but the boots in particular were a very nice touch. The symbol on her costume seemed to indicate that she'd been working with the Bat, but he was nowhere to be found. Marvanne wondered if Batman had taken off after Don, perhaps, and left his lady friend to handle the rest of the gang. The beefy man shook his head slowly – it was like his pop had always said, "Never leave a woman to do a man's job." This girl had kept Sandlips from slagging Don, true, but it seemed that would be the last good deed of her life. Stephens was watching his captive with a predatory smile, using his blaster to trace circles on the girl's leather-clad belly.
And therein lay the reason for Marvanne's impatience – he knew they had to slag the girl – they couldn't, of course, have any witnesses, and it would send a pretty clear message to the Bat that Sandlips Stephens was not one to be trifled with. But what Telly could not understand was why Stephens hadn't pulled the trigger already. There had been enough "excitement" that night and Telly just wanted to go home, put his gun in its usual place under his pillow, and figure out what he was gonna buy with his share of the diamond haul.
But no. Sandlips was taking his time. The gang lord was more than likely still smarting from his thwarted attempt to kill Don, and would only be assuaged by dragging out his killing of the girl. Marvanne could see it in those feverish eyes. Marvanne felt a pang of sympathy – after Sandlips got done with her, he was sure she'd wish they'd just dispatched her with a bullet to the head. It would be much more merciful – and much less messy.
"So . . . what's your name, sweetheart?" Sandlips' voice dripped with poison-tinged honey, his shark-like smile more ghastly in the lamplight.
"Check the nametag." The voice carried clear and strong across the old warehouse. Marvanne grunted slightly. She was young, by the looks of it, but the steady voice and the calm demeanor was impressive. Very impressive. And very suspicious . . . a huge semi-automatic weapon was poking into her guts, and yet she didn't seem to be overly worried. Telly glanced around, but saw nothing.
"Oh, I'm looking all right. So you're Batty's girl, huh?" Stephens' voice was slightly teasing. "Where's he been hiding you? How come we've never seen you out before?"
Slight shrug. "You haven't been looking."
Sandlips shook his head, laughing quietly. "Oh, I don't think so. A girl like you? I'd notice. So . . . do you know who I am?"
"Sure. Sandlips." She looked him square in the eye, her gaze dropping to his crusty lips and chin. She shivered. "I never forget a face. Unfortunately."
Everyone in the gang knew better than to laugh. The one thing Stephens was the most self-conscious about was his condition, and anyone who referred to it in the vaguest of terms could count on their life-expectancy rate to drop significantly. Marvanne's breath hitched when he saw the gang leader's face harden and his eyes narrow. For a brief moment, he thought the girl was done for, but then:
"You hit me." Stephens held up his left-hand briefly, and Marvanne saw a small cut there, a small trickle of blood running down his thumb. "I was just about to take care of a little business – nothing to do with you or your batty boyfriend -- and you hit me." He took a menacing step forward. "Now tell me . . . I wasn't hurtin' you. Sticking that cute little nose in our business wasn't the smartest thing, babe."
"You were about to shoot that – that guy," she answered, fists clenched at her sides. "You heard Te-. . ." She stopped short. "Um, you heard Batman – you weren't gonna get away with killing him."
Sandlips sighed dramatically, pushing back a few greasy strands of hair from his forehead.
"That guy is a thief, sweets. He's pushed old ladies in the street and stolen their purses. He's cut throats. He's beat up pregnant women and stolen the necklaces and rings right off their bodies. He's trash, babe. Not fit to live among normal people. And now you let him get away."
"He'll get caught . . . and if he's as bad as you say, he'll get what's coming to him. In jail," she replied.
Sandlips barked out a laugh. "Dream on, babe. I trained the dreg myself. Police won't get him. He'll spread his filth around somewhere else, terrorize some other people. Kill some more innocents. All 'cause you didn't let me put him in a dumpster where he belongs." Stephens tilted forward until his face was nearly touching the shiny material of the girl's mask. "What kinda superhero are you?"
She seemed about to speak when one of the men holding her shifted impatiently. Telly looked over at them with a frown. Now what?
"Boss, let's take her outside, huh?" The one called Tim patted his hip. "I think Batbrain's gonna be back soon, and what if he brings the cops, huh? The pigs're all over this place like fungus."
Stephens' eyes flicked to the muscled goon. "Tim. My friend. You're nervous? Trying to rush me?"
Tim went noticeably pale. "N-no, Sam. Nothing like that. I'm just saying –"
"Good. 'Cause the Bat and the cops don't dictate what I do and when I do it. Ever." Sandlips stared at Tim until the beefy man had the good sense to look away. "But I think we've wasted enough time in this dump." He glanced around the warehouse, distaste evident in his expression. "It's time to finish up."
Sandlips turned to back to his captive with a ghastly smile. "Gotta say goodbye now, sweets. Shame we gotta part on such a . . . bad note, but well, there's hazards in your job just like there are in mine, huh?" He rested a hand on a smooth, dark cheek, ignoring the girl's shudder of revulsion. He trailed his fingers upward, hooking his finger tips underneath the edge of the cowl. Paused. Smiled again.
"I bet your face is just as pretty as the rest of you." His eyes flickered down then up. "Isn't it?" He smiled wider when he got no reply. "Maybe I should have a peek?" He lifted the cowl slightly, exposing more of the mocha skin . . . the nose was uncovered, then the cheekbones. Stephens' eyes registered approval.
Marvanne watched the proceedings with interest; the girl was getting decidedly more nervous the closer she was to being unmasked. Then –
"No." Sandlips stopped and tugged the mask back in place. "I think I'll leave it to my imagination. Less guilt that way." Stephens nodded to his men. "The alleyway'll do. Make it quick."
Tim and his partner acknowledged their boss' words with a smile and began dragging Max toward the front door. She writhed against their grip in what was proving to be a futile attempt at escape.
"Let go of me you freaks!" She thrashed between them. "You have no idea who you're messing with –"
"Yeah, sure babe," Tim chuckled. "You like bats, huh? Well, I got one you can try on for size. A nice, big one." He grabbed his crotch lewdly. "How about that?"
Marvanne turned away in disgust at the men's crude laughter. He just hoped that whatever they planned on doing with the girl they'd do it quick. The moldy old building was giving him the creeps. It was in the middle of nowhere, and so dark and sinister. And he couldn't get over the feeling that he was being watched . . .
***
Terry's throat had tightened when Stephens was lifting Max's cowl, but he nearly stopped breathing when he saw the two toughs dragging her away and heard what that one dreg had said to her . . .
Don't worry, Max. I'm here. His eyes went steely. And you're right. They don't have a clue who they're messing with.
They were gonna find out, though. The hard way.
The Bat was thankful that Max was making it difficult for her captors to drag her off – it gave him a little time he needed to get in position. Aware that time was definitely of the essence, he teetered on the beam, leaning far forward, his wings snapping into place with a subdued click. Satisfied that everything was about as ready as it was going to be, Terry pressed a button on his belt and waited two seconds before sailing soundlessly off the beam.
***
"What the . . ."
A crackling sound drew Marvanne's attention, and he looked up sharply, eyes widening as three or four glass-like tubes on the floor began to glow white-hot, flooding the whole building with light.
"What the heck is that?" Stephens snapped, glaring down at the little bars. The two men at the door stopped and turned around, their hold on Max loosening slightly as they stared slack jawed at the unexpected source of light which grew brighter and hotter and brighter still . . . the bars began to smoke and sizzle.
"Hey . . . hey! What the hell's going on?" Sandlips backed slowly away from the light, drawing his gun. "What are these things? Who –"
A popping sound was heard as one by one, the glowing bars exploded. It was much like the gentle explosion of a standard firecracker, but the noise was magnified in the nearly empty room, and the thugs, startled, hit the deck. Max's captors, concerned for their own safety followed suit, and in their fear relaxed their hold on the girl. She wriggled away then, making a break for the door. Tim, recovering his equilibrium a little, raised his shooting arm, the blaster trained on the girl's leather-clad back. Fired . . .
"Hey!" Max gasped as she found herself swept forcefully off her feet, out of the way of the line of fire. Some unseen force propelled her forward, then upward. She was flying . . . soaring high above the fray . . . going high . . . higher. Warm familiar arms cradled her close.
"Terry." Her whisper was replete with relief. "What the hell kept you?"
"Missed you, too. Batgirl." The Bat shimmered out of camo mode, stunning the gang of men on the ground who'd recovered from the diversion Terry had engineered and were gaping upward at the flying pair.
"What did you do?" she asked winding her arms around his neck. "Were those bombs or something?"
"I overloaded the lights we used earlier – made 'em overheat and explode. Nice sound, huh? There goes the mood lighting." Batman said with a sigh as the warehouse was again blanketed in dimness. "We might need that flashlight of yours after all. But – slagit."
The gunfire had begun again, and this time the men had two targets instead of the one. The Bat was aware that he could go into camo mode again, but to do that would be to totally expose Max. He held her tighter against his chest, his Kevlar-clad body a shield between the girl and the bullets.
"Hang on," he said shortly as he did his best to zigzag through the gunfire. The men on the ground were giving chase. Withdrawing a few smoke pellets from his belt, Batman threw them down, smiling when the smoke billowed up, covering the room in a gray, impenetrable haze. The shooting stopped abruptly, and the gang was caught short, putting their hands to their mouths to smother coughs.
"What the . . . I can't see!"
Much more coughing was heard. "Dammit, Trey! You just stepped on my foot!"
"What . . . what happened? How'd it get so dark? Boss is that you?"
"Get of my goddamn foot, Trey!"
Batman smiled at the tangle of confused voices. That should hold 'em a minute. Terry was aware that he needed to get Max someplace relatively safe and face the men head-on. That was their only chance of getting out of there relatively unscathed.
Reaching the very back of the warehouse, he stashed Max behind a huge filing cabinet in a shadowy corner. The area was relatively obscured from the rest of the building, and there was a lot of junk around the area. Perfect.
"You'll be okay here." Batman said, looking around. The gunfire had ceased, and all was eerily quiet at the front of the building. Sandlips and his men were still around, but their voices and footsteps were muffled, faraway almost.
"Now don't move," he whispered sternly. "I mean it this time. Don't care what happens – stay put. Okay?"
"They were gonna splatter that guy's brains all over this place," she murmured in explanation. "I didn't see you. I didn't think you saw Sandlips and the gun. . ." She gave him a rueful look. "I didn't think. Period. I guess that's the problem, huh?"
"No. You didn't think. You acted. Even though I told you not to, and even though you could have been killed. But you saved that dreg's life. Whoever he was." Batman sighed, giving Max's shoulder a quick squeeze. "But that's enough of the Batgirl stunts for tonight. I'll take it from here."
Terry glanced over his shoulder, extended his fingertip mics. "Huh. They're close to the door. Sounds like they might be leaving."
"Maybe they've had enough fun," she said. "Or maybe they're gonna try to find that guy . . . and finish what they started."
"Could be." His eyes narrowed. "Well, I'm not gonna let them go without giving 'em a decent goodbye." The Bat stood, glancing over his shoulder at Max. "I'll be back, Max. Just keep your head down and stay out of sight."
The masked hero hadn't gone two steps before he heard it. A low sound, gruff and incisive, rang through his head like a death knell. Terry's blood froze in his veins.
McGinnis. It's Wayne. What are you doing still suited up at this hour? And why is Maxine with you?
Slagit. Slagitslagitslagit. "Bruce . . . uh . . . what are you doing up?" He hid behind a file cabinet, sweat pooling at the small of his back. This cannot be happening. He overrode the off switch. Slagit! No. Nonono. "Uhm . . ."
I asked a question, Terry. What's going on? There was a pause. A long one. And I must be hearing things. I could have sworn you said something about a 'Batgirl.'
~TBC~
