Heart of Wood

The tree's branches sway

The leaves ripple in the wind

The trunk sits quite still

--Derrick Charles

Wood is light and strong--softwoods are 16 times less dense than steel and 5 times less dense than concrete. As a result of wood's strength-to-weight ratio, buildings made of wood can weigh an eighth as much as similar buildings made of brick or concrete.

***

I ain't immune to romance. The charms of the fairer sex ain't lost on me. In my line of work, you don't meet stand-up dames every day, but that doesn't mean that I don't think how nice it might be to have a gun moll watchin' my back. When the most eligible chick you've meet in the past three years is the bat- chick, well...

We was pullin' a job down by the docks last Wednesday night. Little-known fact: Gotham's boys in blue got their hands full with hump-day revelers come Wednesdays. DUIs, DWIs, public nudity, general lewdness, they got no reason to bust up my little operations then. I've pulled some great jobs on Wednesday night. That particular night, me and the boys were nosin' in on some of Rupert Thorne's action. I try not to lock horns with Thorne straight on, at least not until the organization gets bigger. No sense biting off more than you can chew. We just take a job here and there. Thorne's got deep pockets; he can eat it.

Someone musta got wind of our plans I guess, 'cause before you can say "Jim Gordon," bat-chick and bird-boy are all over us like a cheap suit. I winged him in the shoulder with the Tommy gun, but he just kept coming. Then she looks over and sees the blood and I know she wants to stop right then and fix him up okay and I say to Dummy, "I didn't know bat-chick was sweet on him." He says something back that I don't catch, except for the "Mr. Scarface" part. He's gotten real good at pronouncin' it ever since I clocked him one for forgettin' it.

So then the only thing to do is shoot him for real. I figure I get him, I take them both down. As much of a pain in the ass as she is, the bat-chick is a real stand up babe. She won't abandon her man for the small-time like me an' Dummy. Meanwhile, the boys had beat a hasty retreat. Ya just can't keep thugs around when the bat-guys show up.

Anyways, so bird-boy's up and running and I let him get real close before I decked him one real good and he went down like he was filled with lead or somethin'. From where I was standin' the shoulder looks real bad, all dark and bloody. I figure he don't have long till he passes out from the blood alone. I shot him in the thigh for good measure.

I ain't no killer. In certain circumstances, yeah. If it'd been the Batman I'd have helped him with his dirt nap no problem, but the kid? He was young an' like I said I ain't immune to romance. If he and the bat-chick were sweet on each other who was I to stand in their way? Killing Robin ain't no feat. Killing Batgirl ain't no feat. But maybe them alive and together that's some kinda miracle.

He yelled to beat the band when I shot him. "You ain't dyin', ya big baby," I snarled. He sucked a breath in through his teeth and glared at me. "I could still kill ya."

"Come on, Mr. Scarface. We better be going." I hated to admit it, but Dummy was right.

But I misjudged the bat-chick. I guess I always figgered she was more chick than bat. She came after me, harder than if I hadn't shot bird-boy. Dummy went down and took me with him. My chin bounced into the concrete and I blacked out for awhile. I heard handcuffs snap.

"You okay, Robin?" she asked. Her voice was a little shaky.

"Yeah." He was tired, dog tired and I think she was too; either way she yanked me to my feet.

"Hospital?"

"Nah."

"Pizza?"

Like the man says: it ain't what they said, just how they said it. I resolved to get myself a right hand gal, just as soon as that shylock, Reggie sprung me from the slammer.

fin.