Title: The Spirit and the Flesh (3/??)
Author: Allaine
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention. And if you have a problem with women who love each other, then this story is not for you. Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.
Rating: R Spoilers: I strongly recommend you read "Wrath", "It's Just Allergies", "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", and "Perfect Opportunity" first.
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.
Summary: Six months later, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn have finally returned to Gotham. Unfortunately, so has a legendary killer, one who preys on the guilty.
_______________________________
Chapter 3
"I agree, daughter, it is truly appalling," Ra's al-Ghul assured Talia over the secure phone line.
She wiped away a tear. "What can she offer him? What possible advantage can she bring him that I cannot? How is it he suddenly doesn't care if the woman he's sleeping with is a criminal, but he chooses _her_?"
"Perhaps she has sworn off stealing," her father cunningly suggested. "You know how the detective has long relished the thought of making a so-called honest woman out of you."
"If that is the case," Talia sniffed, "then their relationship is thankfully doomed. Thieves like her live on the thrill. She will not stop until her withered limbs no longer permit her to."
"Indeed," he mused. "You know," he added idly, "I could always add her name to the Phantasm's list."
Talia would be lying - something she was very good at, by the way - if she said the idea had not occurred to her. "Thank you, father, but no," she answered. "If she dies now, my beloved will see her as being taken from him, and he will mourn her memory the way he mourns his parents. Better to let the relationship take its natural course, and when he sees her for the gutter trash she is in a month or two, he will come to me!"
She paused and craned her head. "You will have to excuse me, father," she went on, "but now that you mention the Phantasm, Ms. Beaumont is finally stirring. I must see to her."
"It was a good decision of you to have that man killed," Ra's told her. "For one of my servants to disregard our orders because he feels slighted - Man, thy name is Ego," he said piously.
"Woman, thy name is Unworthy of Ruling When I Die," Talia ungenerously thought to herself, but she didn't say that, and in fact mentally chastised herself for thinking such a thing.
If only he would grant her that, though!
"The doctors say she will not suffer any lasting medical consequences," she said. "She should be ready to proceed within a day or two."
"Good," he replied. "And maybe I could see if there is some small, harmless manner in which Miss Kyle could be caused some vexation?" he suggested in the teasing way of a father offering his daughter a new trinket.
"That might be nice," Talia admitted. "Thank you father, and good-bye."
When she arrived at Andrea's bedside, she noticed with satisfaction that the redness had faded slightly. Talia poured a glass of water and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the other woman to come to her senses.
"Unhhh . . ." Andrea muttered through cracked lips, putting a hand to her forehead.
"Here, drink," Talia said in a tone that was light and yet brooked no dissent. She moved the cup toward Andrea's mouth, and she drank some of the water. "I'm told you tried to escape."
Andrea's eyes focused on her, and her gaze hardened. "You would have tried too," she said harshly, "after getting jolted by . . ." She lowered her hand and felt her neck, as if to confirm the collar was gone.
"I removed it when I returned," Talia told her. "I needed to check your injuries. The man with you was also injured, you know."
Andrea smiled bitterly. "You taught me too well," she replied. "I struck him with the heel of my palm. I think I may have broken his nose. Did I?"
"I do not know," Talia said easily. "I had him executed."
"You what?"
"You are the reason we are here," she pointed out. "For one of my lackeys to torture you in that manner because you insulted him was completely unacceptable."
She offered the cup again, but Andrea surprised her by pushing the cup away with such force that she spilled half the contents onto the floor. "He was a sadistic bastard," Andrea whispered, "but at least he was honest. You're like the witch in Hansel & Gretel. You're just fattening me up so you can use me."
Talia regarded her impassively. Andrea did not know that she was to be killed if she failed in her mission, but she was no fool, and Talia wondered if she had guessed it yet. But who was she to care? Andrea was right. She was a tool, nothing more. "If you feel unappreciated, I could leave you with Batman. He loved you once, and I'm sure he'll be more than happy to see you again, Phantasm."
She looked away.
"Maybe I should just put the collar back on, if you are going to be more difficult now," Talia added.
Andrea's head swiveled back, and now Talia could see the fear in her eyes. Saheed had taught her to fear the restraint, like Pavlov and his dogs. "Please, no," Andrea said, although Talia guessed that it galled her to say it.
This young woman was no dog, and Talia was momentarily ashamed to have frightened her so spitefully. "Don't worry," Talia told her, even though it made more sense to hold the threat of the collar always in reserve. "I destroyed the necklace after I took it off."
"You did?" Andrea asked suspiciously. "Why?"
Talia shrugged her shoulders. "I was offended by what he did to you," she said. "You shouldn't have been punished for asserting the fire that, I confess, I have been trying to reawaken in you. After he was taken away, I took my anger out on the collar as well. The sight of it . . . it repulsed me."
Andrea was silent for a moment. "Thank you," she finally said.
Considering she'd accused Talia a minute ago of caring about her welfare only so she could be sent into battle, her gratitude was a surprise, but it pleased her. "You're welcome," she replied. "But if you try to escape, I will notify Batman, and when he finds out you have evaded justice all this time, he will stalk you down to the ends of the earth."
She looked downcast now. "How is he?" she asked.
Talia scowled. "He has taken a woman into his bed," she told her.
"What, and you walked in on . . ." Andrea laughed quietly. "But he's always cultivated the image of the playboy. Why does that surprise you?"
"It was not just any woman," Talia growled. "It was Selina Kyle."
Andrea looked blankly at her for a moment. "Talia, as I told you, I haven't followed news in Gotham in several years. Who is she?"
"You may have heard of her as Catwoman?"
Obviously she had, for she gasped. "The burglar?"
"The same," Talia said grimly. "She has enspelled him, but it cannot last."
"Well," Andrea said. "I suppose you had better kill these people, then. What better way to say 'I love you' to a man in a relationship with some else, than to murder a group of people whom he has never killed, despite plenty of opportunities and justification?"
Talia's eyes narrowed. "No, I suppose _you_ had better," she replied.
Andrea closed her eyes. "I don't have to think about that for a day or two, right?"
"No, I suppose not."
"Then there's a silver lining in nearly being electrocuted, isn't it?"
Talia chuckled as she left. To maintain one's sense of humor in the face of calamity showed strength of character.
Once she was gone, Andrea dropped her face into her hands and wept.
________________________
"He's utterly insane!" the Phantasm said several nights later as she looked down through the skylight at the men in the warehouse below.
"Need I remind you," Talia responded calmly, "that this is a common thread that runs among your targets?"
The Phantasm looked self-consciously at the gleaming hook attached to one hand upon hearing the word "targets". Andrea Beaumont did not exist now. She was merely the mind behind the mask of the Phantasm.
"The Ventriloquist is dangerous only because, even as the dummy channels his voice, it also channels his gift for daring heists," Talia reminded her with the tone of a college professor. "Often simple and straightforward, yes, but does the bull need to be complicated? It merely lowers its horns, charges, and destroys all."
"He's a scrawny little man," the Phantasm said, having heard this more than once. "Why would they follow him? Why not just take the money and kill him?"
"Scarface commands a certain degree of respect, oddly," Talia explained, sounding amused. "Also, he's much less likely to get his men killed, not like some other criminals. Like the Joker," she added.
The Phantasm clenched a fist at the sound of the name. Perhaps if she were permitted to strike him first, it would be easier, because she still loathed the man. The Demon's Head, however, had concluded that it would be wisest to start with a relatively easy target. "Some of your future victims," Talia had told her, "are dangerous even without men. Killer Croc, for example, or Bane. Without his men, Scarface is virtually helpless. Take his men out, and he is yours."
"Are you ready?" Talia asked quietly.
Rising, the Phantasm regarded the other woman, her fine figure showcased in a trim black catsuit. Against the moon, she was ravishing. Otherwise, she would be perfectly hidden in the shadows, undetectable to (almost) all.
Even the rifle she carried, telescope sight attached, seemed to inhale the light with its matte black finish. The Phantasm looked at the weapon and wondered not for the first time if her choices were kill the Rogues, or go to jail.
"I wouldn't want you to try and escape," Talia added, noting the way her skull's-eyes strayed toward the rifle. "I did choose not to order another collar made, after all."
"Why kill me?" the Phantasm asked. "I thought Batman would find me anyway."
Talia only offered a Mona Lisa smile in response.
The Phantasm turned away. She wasn't too worried about this first mission. True, it had been years, and the fire that had driven her to murder those Mob figures was not there now. But the costume was a virtual replica of the one she'd destroyed, plus a few changes. The modifications that increased her strength by 75%, for example, and the electrified gauntlet on her other hand.
Plus, if the serrated hook didn't scare them, there was that titanium lightweight staff, compressed to one-third its full length, she wore under her cape on her back . . .
And Scarface only had three men. They had guns, true, but bullets had long ago stopped worrying the Phantasm.
"Wish me luck," the Phantasm said.
"Good luck," Talia answered. Her tone was now completely serious.
A few moments later, she was alone. "Breath-taking," Talia murmured.
____________________
"You sure you didn't hear nothin'?"
"N-no, Mister Scarface. It was just the rats, probably."
"Rats?!" Scarface barked, smacking the Ventriloquist. "I hate rats! I thought I told you to get rid of 'em! Rats, with their tiny little teeth that tear atcha . . . gurrowing into things . . ." Scarface trailed off, evidently having had a bad experience or two with rats. Being a two-foot-tall dummy made of wood and cloth probably had something to do with it.
"We did, Mister Scarface," Arnold Wesker said nervously. "But they come back. They're always out there, sir."
"Gah," Scarface muttered. "What'm I paying you mooks for? Don't come gack until I see some godies of rats with gullets in 'em, capisce?"
Two of the three men sitting around muttered and got to their feet. "Why do we work for this guy again?" one of them whispered to the other.
"For one thing, he doesn't make us wear costumes and facepaint," the other one pointed out.
"Dirty little rodents," Scarface grumbled. "Sneakin' around like gats. That's what they is, gats widdout wings, and I hate gats even more than I hate rats."
"How about worms?"
The Ventriloquist leapt to his feet. "Who said that?" Scarface said, looking around. He glanced at Arnold. "You playing a prank on me, dummy?"
"N-n-no, sir!"
The next thing they saw was one of Scarface's men being flung out of the shadows and onto the floor. He twitched briefly and then lay still.
Scarface pulled his miniature gun out. The bullets it fired were quite life-sized, however. "Speakin' of gats," he growled. "Come on out, Gatman, and I'll letcha die quick."
A gray finger pointed out of the shadows in another part of the building. "Like rats, worms crawl on the ground in the mud and the filth," the sepulchrous voice went on.
"There!" Scarface said, pointing where the finger had briefly appeared. His remaining henchman fired several times in that direction, but there was no answering cry, no sound of someone hitting the floor. There were only a few faint wisps of smoke.
"When I find you, Gatman, I'm gonna fill you with so many holes, they'll make you into cheese!"
"You think I'm Batman?"
Scarface's last man was suddenly struck from behind in the knee, then jolted through the air and onto his stomach by a powerful blast of electricity.
"Dummy, stop shakin' me!" Scarface warned the Ventriloquist, whose arm was shaking with fright.
"S-sorry, sir."
"I suppose you haven't heard of me. I was before your time, after all. You're just a rookie, an amateur."
"Gullshit!" Scarface yelled, firing in the direction he thought the voice had come from. "You're talkin' to Scarface, and ain't nogody getter than me!"
"Uh, Mister Scarface?"
"What?!"
He pointed down with his free hand, and Scarface looked down. There was smoke blowing past the Ventriloquist's feet, and it was coming from behind them.
"Turn around!"
Arnold did, but as soon as he did, the doll was torn from his hands. "Mister Scarface!"
"Dummy, you idiot!" Scarface said, although it seemed even more ludicrous coming from a dummy whose mouth hung slack.
The ire of his "boss" was something the Ventriloquist dreaded immensely, but he was forgotten as Arnold stared at the owner of the hand that had taken the doll.
"I," the voice said, "am the Phantasm."
Scarface was rendered mute by Arnold's gibbering at the sight of the wicked-looking hook that rested inches below his chin. And when the Phantasm once more activated the electricity in its right glove, Scarface caught fire, and his burning remains were allowed to fall to the floor.
"No, Mister Scarface!" the Ventriloquist screamed, the horror breaking the lock on his throat.
"It's over," the Phantasm told him. "Your worm of an 'employer' never need fear rats ever again. He slithers no more."
"It's not over."
The Phantasm's head jerked slightly. Talia's cool voice came in via a microphone in her mask. She had not been aware of its existence.
"The Scarface doll has been destroyed many times, Phantasm," Talia said, "and every time, Mr. Wesker has built him anew. It doesn't matter if you kill the dummy. You must also kill the man."
The Phantasm grabbed the Ventriloquist by the shirt but did not zap him. Instead the hook pressed so closely to the man's chin that beads of blood appeared and dripped down the blade. "You must die now," it said uncertainly.
"Please, it wasn't me," the Ventriloquist begged. "I just worked for the man, everything was his idea. Please don't kill me!"
This man, Andrea realized, was completely mad. On some level, he must have known that the dummy was only that, a doll operated with levers. But to him, the doll was a life altogether, and he himself was its slave.
Allowing one's demons to run one's life - there was a definition of madness, if there was one.
It was also truly pathetic. The Phantasm was Andrea, but Andrea was not the Phantasm, and she could not kill this small, sad, miserable little man. Through the doll, Arnold Wesker had respect, but he'd never feel it.
Conscious of the enormity of what she was doing, the Phantasm sighed and, taking the weapon away from his throat, clubbed him over the head with its heavy base. He fell like a sack of flour and did not stir.
"I hope you're sparing him the pain of death, Phantasm," Talia said dangerously.
"I won't kill him," Andrea said calmly. "I won't kill anyone. That's what makes us different, I guess."
Talia snarled from her vantagepoint and looked through her sights. The Phantasm wasn't even trying to get away. Well, if she hoped that by not resisting, she would go to prison instead of being killed, she was wrong. Her father had left strict instructions. She would kill Andrea, and then as a little present to her traitorous, unworthy beloved, she would kill the Ventriloquist as well. Then he would realize how much he had to be grateful for her love!
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
Then her phone rang.
"Shit!" Talia hissed.
"What?" the Phantasm asked. Even now, she was still there!
"Nothing," Talia said, having forgotten to turn the microphone on. She did so now, and answered the phone. "Hello?" she asked breathlessly.
"Talia?"
"Father?! Is this line secure?"
"Of course," he replied, sounding faintly offended that she had even suggested he would use a line that wasn't secure. "How goes it?"
"We are on our first mission, father," she said, unwilling to say the Phantasm had failed. It was her responsibility, and she would make this a success if she had to march down there, shove the gun into Andrea's back, and demand her to kill him. Then, at least, she could say the first mission had been a success. "What is it?"
"Ah. Well, I have an addition to make to your list, daughter. When the Ventriloquist is dead, you are to make these next two names your next targets."
"Understood . . . you didn't add Catwoman, did you?"
"You said not to," he reminded her.
"Good, just checking," she said. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd ignored her advice. "Who?"
"Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn."
Talia started. "But they're not even in Gotham!"
"Not true. The press got wind of it a few days ago. I would have thought you heard."
"No," she admitted ruefully. "With the Phantasm's injuries, I thought it prudent to focus on her training twice as much."
"Well, they have pulled a number of low-profile pranks in the city, nothing life-threatening. Still, it must be a ruse to fool the police before they try something bigger. And they are longtime enemies of the Detective."
"They almost worked for us, you remember," Talia told him. "In fact, you told me to offer Poison Ivy a job once more six months later, and it's about that time now."
"I don't want her any more," Ra's said coldly. "Finish them both."
Talia frowned. Miss Isley had said some very rude, presumptuous things the last time they met. This would be a just return of the favor.
"And the Ventriloquist?" he added.
She looked. The room was exactly the way it had been a minute before. "The Ventriloquist," she finally said, "has been neutralized." Talia wasn't about to let this mission flounder before it had started, not after the Phantasm had divided and conquered Scarface and his men so brilliantly. She permitted herself to feel pride in her student's work. She would be very sorry if Andrea failed to kill her target the next time and Talia had to shoot her.
"Excellent," he said. "You should have the women's location when you return to the base of operations. Good night, daughter."
"Good night, father."
She turned the radio back on. "Congratulations, Phantasm."
"Would you stop calling me that?!"
"If you are to kill tomorrow night, it may be easier if you think of yourself as the Phantasm, not as Andrea Beaumont."
"Tomorrow? But I didn't kill him tonight!"
Talia almost pulled the trigger on the sad little man then, but she decided not to. Word of the Phantasm would leak out, and that might be a problem, but it would also frighten the Rogues, and fearful men did stupid things.
Also, better to let her think she would live if she failed a second time. If she shot the Ventriloquist, Andrea would know a gun had in fact been trained on her the whole time.
"You are to be given another chance," Talia said. "Maybe then you will be used to it."
"Never," the Phantasm swore.
"Be that as it may, we will return tomorrow night. And then you _will_ kill Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, or I will do it for you."
Andrea paused. "I've heard of Ivy, she's a rabid eco-terrorist. But who the hell is Harley Quinn?"
Talia smiled wickedly. "Well, until a few months ago, she was the sidekick, devoted admirer, and lover of the Joker."
"She was WHO?!"
To be continued . . .
Author: Allaine
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention. And if you have a problem with women who love each other, then this story is not for you. Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.
Rating: R Spoilers: I strongly recommend you read "Wrath", "It's Just Allergies", "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", and "Perfect Opportunity" first.
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.
Summary: Six months later, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn have finally returned to Gotham. Unfortunately, so has a legendary killer, one who preys on the guilty.
_______________________________
Chapter 3
"I agree, daughter, it is truly appalling," Ra's al-Ghul assured Talia over the secure phone line.
She wiped away a tear. "What can she offer him? What possible advantage can she bring him that I cannot? How is it he suddenly doesn't care if the woman he's sleeping with is a criminal, but he chooses _her_?"
"Perhaps she has sworn off stealing," her father cunningly suggested. "You know how the detective has long relished the thought of making a so-called honest woman out of you."
"If that is the case," Talia sniffed, "then their relationship is thankfully doomed. Thieves like her live on the thrill. She will not stop until her withered limbs no longer permit her to."
"Indeed," he mused. "You know," he added idly, "I could always add her name to the Phantasm's list."
Talia would be lying - something she was very good at, by the way - if she said the idea had not occurred to her. "Thank you, father, but no," she answered. "If she dies now, my beloved will see her as being taken from him, and he will mourn her memory the way he mourns his parents. Better to let the relationship take its natural course, and when he sees her for the gutter trash she is in a month or two, he will come to me!"
She paused and craned her head. "You will have to excuse me, father," she went on, "but now that you mention the Phantasm, Ms. Beaumont is finally stirring. I must see to her."
"It was a good decision of you to have that man killed," Ra's told her. "For one of my servants to disregard our orders because he feels slighted - Man, thy name is Ego," he said piously.
"Woman, thy name is Unworthy of Ruling When I Die," Talia ungenerously thought to herself, but she didn't say that, and in fact mentally chastised herself for thinking such a thing.
If only he would grant her that, though!
"The doctors say she will not suffer any lasting medical consequences," she said. "She should be ready to proceed within a day or two."
"Good," he replied. "And maybe I could see if there is some small, harmless manner in which Miss Kyle could be caused some vexation?" he suggested in the teasing way of a father offering his daughter a new trinket.
"That might be nice," Talia admitted. "Thank you father, and good-bye."
When she arrived at Andrea's bedside, she noticed with satisfaction that the redness had faded slightly. Talia poured a glass of water and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the other woman to come to her senses.
"Unhhh . . ." Andrea muttered through cracked lips, putting a hand to her forehead.
"Here, drink," Talia said in a tone that was light and yet brooked no dissent. She moved the cup toward Andrea's mouth, and she drank some of the water. "I'm told you tried to escape."
Andrea's eyes focused on her, and her gaze hardened. "You would have tried too," she said harshly, "after getting jolted by . . ." She lowered her hand and felt her neck, as if to confirm the collar was gone.
"I removed it when I returned," Talia told her. "I needed to check your injuries. The man with you was also injured, you know."
Andrea smiled bitterly. "You taught me too well," she replied. "I struck him with the heel of my palm. I think I may have broken his nose. Did I?"
"I do not know," Talia said easily. "I had him executed."
"You what?"
"You are the reason we are here," she pointed out. "For one of my lackeys to torture you in that manner because you insulted him was completely unacceptable."
She offered the cup again, but Andrea surprised her by pushing the cup away with such force that she spilled half the contents onto the floor. "He was a sadistic bastard," Andrea whispered, "but at least he was honest. You're like the witch in Hansel & Gretel. You're just fattening me up so you can use me."
Talia regarded her impassively. Andrea did not know that she was to be killed if she failed in her mission, but she was no fool, and Talia wondered if she had guessed it yet. But who was she to care? Andrea was right. She was a tool, nothing more. "If you feel unappreciated, I could leave you with Batman. He loved you once, and I'm sure he'll be more than happy to see you again, Phantasm."
She looked away.
"Maybe I should just put the collar back on, if you are going to be more difficult now," Talia added.
Andrea's head swiveled back, and now Talia could see the fear in her eyes. Saheed had taught her to fear the restraint, like Pavlov and his dogs. "Please, no," Andrea said, although Talia guessed that it galled her to say it.
This young woman was no dog, and Talia was momentarily ashamed to have frightened her so spitefully. "Don't worry," Talia told her, even though it made more sense to hold the threat of the collar always in reserve. "I destroyed the necklace after I took it off."
"You did?" Andrea asked suspiciously. "Why?"
Talia shrugged her shoulders. "I was offended by what he did to you," she said. "You shouldn't have been punished for asserting the fire that, I confess, I have been trying to reawaken in you. After he was taken away, I took my anger out on the collar as well. The sight of it . . . it repulsed me."
Andrea was silent for a moment. "Thank you," she finally said.
Considering she'd accused Talia a minute ago of caring about her welfare only so she could be sent into battle, her gratitude was a surprise, but it pleased her. "You're welcome," she replied. "But if you try to escape, I will notify Batman, and when he finds out you have evaded justice all this time, he will stalk you down to the ends of the earth."
She looked downcast now. "How is he?" she asked.
Talia scowled. "He has taken a woman into his bed," she told her.
"What, and you walked in on . . ." Andrea laughed quietly. "But he's always cultivated the image of the playboy. Why does that surprise you?"
"It was not just any woman," Talia growled. "It was Selina Kyle."
Andrea looked blankly at her for a moment. "Talia, as I told you, I haven't followed news in Gotham in several years. Who is she?"
"You may have heard of her as Catwoman?"
Obviously she had, for she gasped. "The burglar?"
"The same," Talia said grimly. "She has enspelled him, but it cannot last."
"Well," Andrea said. "I suppose you had better kill these people, then. What better way to say 'I love you' to a man in a relationship with some else, than to murder a group of people whom he has never killed, despite plenty of opportunities and justification?"
Talia's eyes narrowed. "No, I suppose _you_ had better," she replied.
Andrea closed her eyes. "I don't have to think about that for a day or two, right?"
"No, I suppose not."
"Then there's a silver lining in nearly being electrocuted, isn't it?"
Talia chuckled as she left. To maintain one's sense of humor in the face of calamity showed strength of character.
Once she was gone, Andrea dropped her face into her hands and wept.
________________________
"He's utterly insane!" the Phantasm said several nights later as she looked down through the skylight at the men in the warehouse below.
"Need I remind you," Talia responded calmly, "that this is a common thread that runs among your targets?"
The Phantasm looked self-consciously at the gleaming hook attached to one hand upon hearing the word "targets". Andrea Beaumont did not exist now. She was merely the mind behind the mask of the Phantasm.
"The Ventriloquist is dangerous only because, even as the dummy channels his voice, it also channels his gift for daring heists," Talia reminded her with the tone of a college professor. "Often simple and straightforward, yes, but does the bull need to be complicated? It merely lowers its horns, charges, and destroys all."
"He's a scrawny little man," the Phantasm said, having heard this more than once. "Why would they follow him? Why not just take the money and kill him?"
"Scarface commands a certain degree of respect, oddly," Talia explained, sounding amused. "Also, he's much less likely to get his men killed, not like some other criminals. Like the Joker," she added.
The Phantasm clenched a fist at the sound of the name. Perhaps if she were permitted to strike him first, it would be easier, because she still loathed the man. The Demon's Head, however, had concluded that it would be wisest to start with a relatively easy target. "Some of your future victims," Talia had told her, "are dangerous even without men. Killer Croc, for example, or Bane. Without his men, Scarface is virtually helpless. Take his men out, and he is yours."
"Are you ready?" Talia asked quietly.
Rising, the Phantasm regarded the other woman, her fine figure showcased in a trim black catsuit. Against the moon, she was ravishing. Otherwise, she would be perfectly hidden in the shadows, undetectable to (almost) all.
Even the rifle she carried, telescope sight attached, seemed to inhale the light with its matte black finish. The Phantasm looked at the weapon and wondered not for the first time if her choices were kill the Rogues, or go to jail.
"I wouldn't want you to try and escape," Talia added, noting the way her skull's-eyes strayed toward the rifle. "I did choose not to order another collar made, after all."
"Why kill me?" the Phantasm asked. "I thought Batman would find me anyway."
Talia only offered a Mona Lisa smile in response.
The Phantasm turned away. She wasn't too worried about this first mission. True, it had been years, and the fire that had driven her to murder those Mob figures was not there now. But the costume was a virtual replica of the one she'd destroyed, plus a few changes. The modifications that increased her strength by 75%, for example, and the electrified gauntlet on her other hand.
Plus, if the serrated hook didn't scare them, there was that titanium lightweight staff, compressed to one-third its full length, she wore under her cape on her back . . .
And Scarface only had three men. They had guns, true, but bullets had long ago stopped worrying the Phantasm.
"Wish me luck," the Phantasm said.
"Good luck," Talia answered. Her tone was now completely serious.
A few moments later, she was alone. "Breath-taking," Talia murmured.
____________________
"You sure you didn't hear nothin'?"
"N-no, Mister Scarface. It was just the rats, probably."
"Rats?!" Scarface barked, smacking the Ventriloquist. "I hate rats! I thought I told you to get rid of 'em! Rats, with their tiny little teeth that tear atcha . . . gurrowing into things . . ." Scarface trailed off, evidently having had a bad experience or two with rats. Being a two-foot-tall dummy made of wood and cloth probably had something to do with it.
"We did, Mister Scarface," Arnold Wesker said nervously. "But they come back. They're always out there, sir."
"Gah," Scarface muttered. "What'm I paying you mooks for? Don't come gack until I see some godies of rats with gullets in 'em, capisce?"
Two of the three men sitting around muttered and got to their feet. "Why do we work for this guy again?" one of them whispered to the other.
"For one thing, he doesn't make us wear costumes and facepaint," the other one pointed out.
"Dirty little rodents," Scarface grumbled. "Sneakin' around like gats. That's what they is, gats widdout wings, and I hate gats even more than I hate rats."
"How about worms?"
The Ventriloquist leapt to his feet. "Who said that?" Scarface said, looking around. He glanced at Arnold. "You playing a prank on me, dummy?"
"N-n-no, sir!"
The next thing they saw was one of Scarface's men being flung out of the shadows and onto the floor. He twitched briefly and then lay still.
Scarface pulled his miniature gun out. The bullets it fired were quite life-sized, however. "Speakin' of gats," he growled. "Come on out, Gatman, and I'll letcha die quick."
A gray finger pointed out of the shadows in another part of the building. "Like rats, worms crawl on the ground in the mud and the filth," the sepulchrous voice went on.
"There!" Scarface said, pointing where the finger had briefly appeared. His remaining henchman fired several times in that direction, but there was no answering cry, no sound of someone hitting the floor. There were only a few faint wisps of smoke.
"When I find you, Gatman, I'm gonna fill you with so many holes, they'll make you into cheese!"
"You think I'm Batman?"
Scarface's last man was suddenly struck from behind in the knee, then jolted through the air and onto his stomach by a powerful blast of electricity.
"Dummy, stop shakin' me!" Scarface warned the Ventriloquist, whose arm was shaking with fright.
"S-sorry, sir."
"I suppose you haven't heard of me. I was before your time, after all. You're just a rookie, an amateur."
"Gullshit!" Scarface yelled, firing in the direction he thought the voice had come from. "You're talkin' to Scarface, and ain't nogody getter than me!"
"Uh, Mister Scarface?"
"What?!"
He pointed down with his free hand, and Scarface looked down. There was smoke blowing past the Ventriloquist's feet, and it was coming from behind them.
"Turn around!"
Arnold did, but as soon as he did, the doll was torn from his hands. "Mister Scarface!"
"Dummy, you idiot!" Scarface said, although it seemed even more ludicrous coming from a dummy whose mouth hung slack.
The ire of his "boss" was something the Ventriloquist dreaded immensely, but he was forgotten as Arnold stared at the owner of the hand that had taken the doll.
"I," the voice said, "am the Phantasm."
Scarface was rendered mute by Arnold's gibbering at the sight of the wicked-looking hook that rested inches below his chin. And when the Phantasm once more activated the electricity in its right glove, Scarface caught fire, and his burning remains were allowed to fall to the floor.
"No, Mister Scarface!" the Ventriloquist screamed, the horror breaking the lock on his throat.
"It's over," the Phantasm told him. "Your worm of an 'employer' never need fear rats ever again. He slithers no more."
"It's not over."
The Phantasm's head jerked slightly. Talia's cool voice came in via a microphone in her mask. She had not been aware of its existence.
"The Scarface doll has been destroyed many times, Phantasm," Talia said, "and every time, Mr. Wesker has built him anew. It doesn't matter if you kill the dummy. You must also kill the man."
The Phantasm grabbed the Ventriloquist by the shirt but did not zap him. Instead the hook pressed so closely to the man's chin that beads of blood appeared and dripped down the blade. "You must die now," it said uncertainly.
"Please, it wasn't me," the Ventriloquist begged. "I just worked for the man, everything was his idea. Please don't kill me!"
This man, Andrea realized, was completely mad. On some level, he must have known that the dummy was only that, a doll operated with levers. But to him, the doll was a life altogether, and he himself was its slave.
Allowing one's demons to run one's life - there was a definition of madness, if there was one.
It was also truly pathetic. The Phantasm was Andrea, but Andrea was not the Phantasm, and she could not kill this small, sad, miserable little man. Through the doll, Arnold Wesker had respect, but he'd never feel it.
Conscious of the enormity of what she was doing, the Phantasm sighed and, taking the weapon away from his throat, clubbed him over the head with its heavy base. He fell like a sack of flour and did not stir.
"I hope you're sparing him the pain of death, Phantasm," Talia said dangerously.
"I won't kill him," Andrea said calmly. "I won't kill anyone. That's what makes us different, I guess."
Talia snarled from her vantagepoint and looked through her sights. The Phantasm wasn't even trying to get away. Well, if she hoped that by not resisting, she would go to prison instead of being killed, she was wrong. Her father had left strict instructions. She would kill Andrea, and then as a little present to her traitorous, unworthy beloved, she would kill the Ventriloquist as well. Then he would realize how much he had to be grateful for her love!
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
Then her phone rang.
"Shit!" Talia hissed.
"What?" the Phantasm asked. Even now, she was still there!
"Nothing," Talia said, having forgotten to turn the microphone on. She did so now, and answered the phone. "Hello?" she asked breathlessly.
"Talia?"
"Father?! Is this line secure?"
"Of course," he replied, sounding faintly offended that she had even suggested he would use a line that wasn't secure. "How goes it?"
"We are on our first mission, father," she said, unwilling to say the Phantasm had failed. It was her responsibility, and she would make this a success if she had to march down there, shove the gun into Andrea's back, and demand her to kill him. Then, at least, she could say the first mission had been a success. "What is it?"
"Ah. Well, I have an addition to make to your list, daughter. When the Ventriloquist is dead, you are to make these next two names your next targets."
"Understood . . . you didn't add Catwoman, did you?"
"You said not to," he reminded her.
"Good, just checking," she said. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd ignored her advice. "Who?"
"Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn."
Talia started. "But they're not even in Gotham!"
"Not true. The press got wind of it a few days ago. I would have thought you heard."
"No," she admitted ruefully. "With the Phantasm's injuries, I thought it prudent to focus on her training twice as much."
"Well, they have pulled a number of low-profile pranks in the city, nothing life-threatening. Still, it must be a ruse to fool the police before they try something bigger. And they are longtime enemies of the Detective."
"They almost worked for us, you remember," Talia told him. "In fact, you told me to offer Poison Ivy a job once more six months later, and it's about that time now."
"I don't want her any more," Ra's said coldly. "Finish them both."
Talia frowned. Miss Isley had said some very rude, presumptuous things the last time they met. This would be a just return of the favor.
"And the Ventriloquist?" he added.
She looked. The room was exactly the way it had been a minute before. "The Ventriloquist," she finally said, "has been neutralized." Talia wasn't about to let this mission flounder before it had started, not after the Phantasm had divided and conquered Scarface and his men so brilliantly. She permitted herself to feel pride in her student's work. She would be very sorry if Andrea failed to kill her target the next time and Talia had to shoot her.
"Excellent," he said. "You should have the women's location when you return to the base of operations. Good night, daughter."
"Good night, father."
She turned the radio back on. "Congratulations, Phantasm."
"Would you stop calling me that?!"
"If you are to kill tomorrow night, it may be easier if you think of yourself as the Phantasm, not as Andrea Beaumont."
"Tomorrow? But I didn't kill him tonight!"
Talia almost pulled the trigger on the sad little man then, but she decided not to. Word of the Phantasm would leak out, and that might be a problem, but it would also frighten the Rogues, and fearful men did stupid things.
Also, better to let her think she would live if she failed a second time. If she shot the Ventriloquist, Andrea would know a gun had in fact been trained on her the whole time.
"You are to be given another chance," Talia said. "Maybe then you will be used to it."
"Never," the Phantasm swore.
"Be that as it may, we will return tomorrow night. And then you _will_ kill Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, or I will do it for you."
Andrea paused. "I've heard of Ivy, she's a rabid eco-terrorist. But who the hell is Harley Quinn?"
Talia smiled wickedly. "Well, until a few months ago, she was the sidekick, devoted admirer, and lover of the Joker."
"She was WHO?!"
To be continued . . .