Day Seven
"Something I can help you with, Superman?"
"Tell me about Desdemona."
"I'm sorry. Who?" Looking up from her desk, Mercy faintly smiled at the Man of Steel who stood just inside the sweeping windows of Luthor's top-floor office reception area.
"You know who."
"It's all right, Mercy, answer the man's questions," Lex Luthor murmured cheerfully from the door of his office. "I heard this morning that she's wanted for murder… If there's anything we can do to help you bring her in, Superman, you need only ask."
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" his gaze remained on Mercy, ignoring Luthor.
"If it truly is a set up, Superman, and you find out who did it… Tell me. I'd like to send them flowers."
"You had nothing to do with it."
"Nor did I, before you ask," Luthor piped in. "Now. If you're quite through harassing my secretary, I need some copies…"
Frowning more, Superman stepped back out the window.
"Good afternoon, sir. You have a package for Mister Wayne?"
The young delivery driver glanced down at the box and then looked back up to the well dressed Englishman standing in the doorway. "Uh. No sir. Package for an Alfred Pennyworth… Is this the right address?"
His brow raised in slight surprise, Alfred signed for the package, carrying the small, heavy parcel inside. There was no return address, and the date on the identification sticker indicated it had been shipped this morning from a store downtown. There was a small card taped to the box. Peeling it off, he opened it.
If you could find someplace to stash these for a while, Alfred, I'd appreciate it. M.
Frowning further, he opened the box. In retrospect, the contents – a belt and pair of silvery bracelets – did not surprise him. The butler made his way downstairs. "Ah… Master Bruce? I do believe Miss Desdemona has done something drastic."
James Gordon waved reflexively at the officers and secretaries he passed on his way into his small office, a half-empty cup of gas station coffee in one hand, a collection of folders tucked under the other arm.
"Another sleepless night, eh, chief?" one of the younger officers commented with a grin.
"Don't make me promote you, Mahoney," he retorted groggily, stepping into his still-dark office. Dropping the folders onto his desk next to his coffee, he moved to the window, twisting open the blinds. When he turned around, he was startled to find a masked woman sitting there, watching him.
"Hello, Commissioner Gordon," she murmured, reaching up to tug off her mask. "My name is Desdemona. And I'm here to turn myself in."