I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.
Rated PG-13 : violence, language, sexuality, some mature concepts.
Reviews are greatly appreciated.
It was dark, only a few scattered lights here and there. They heard sounds, footsteps and voices seeming to echo in that vast, gray space. Shadowy objects surrounded them; towering shelves, unattended counters.
"Come on. Stay out of sight."
They crept forward, through the corridors formed by racks of empty clothing that seemed almost to be menacingly alive.
"They're in there." It was only a whisper, breathed into his ear.
He felt a chill of fear as he saw it, as they started for it. An opening into the dark, a narrow corridor lined with small doors. Dressing rooms. It was lit with the wavering, moving glow of flashlights, like a swarm of giant fireflies. Silently they took their places on either side of the doorway. He looked at Batwoman, barely able to see her face in the dark. She nodded.
Then they were in, the forms of three men appearing before them, the sound of startled curses as he tackled one, bringing him down. Batwoman was taking care of another with a kick and a flashing blow to the back of the neck. The third came at him, took a couple of inept swings, and smacked into the wall with a simple throw. He and Batwoman exchanged a glance. She smiled. Easy.
Sudden light, catching them by surprise. A man dashed out of one of the dressing rooms, a face from a nightmare of white skin, red lips, and green hair. A beam from the flashlight he held caught Nightwing's eyes, blinding him with a burst of brightness. He stepped backwards, tripping over a chair. There was a gleam of metal as the flashlight came at his face, smashing into his head. Pain, his vision blurring as he saw Batwoman jump past and struggle with the Joker. She was trying to protect him, but there was another man, grabbing her from behind, and one of the thieves they had just taken out was up again, and pulling his gun.
He got up somehow, grabbed the man with the pistol, twisted it out of his hand, but the Joker had a gun too. Batwoman was struggling with him, back-kicking the man behind her, but the Joker was too fast and too strong; there was a flash as bright as the sun, a roar of noise, Kathy's body jerking and toppling to the floor, her face with a look of frozen surprise... Another flash as he blinked at her in horror, something hitting him in the chest. He fell, and stared up at the tall, green-haired monster standing over him as he aimed and fired again, laughing all the time...
"No..." It was only a gasp, as he floundered out of the dream and found himself in bed, clutching at the blankets, trembling in nightmare terror.
Dick blinked into the dimness of the room, and then reached for the lamp on the closest night table. The light hurt his eyes for a moment, but it helped to dispel the dream. He waited, hoping he hadn't made enough noise to wake Bruce or Alfred. Apparently not. Only silence came from outside the door.
Of course, Bruce probably wasn't home. Dick checked his clock. Two-thirty in the morning. Bruce was probably still out as Batman, or as Matches Malone, trying to pick up the Joker's trail. Seemed like he was rarely home. Not that they didn't spend time together, but... even when he was there, it was obvious that a large part of his mind was out on the streets of Gotham, tracking down his archenemy.
And doing it alone... Dick pushed back the covers and got up. It had been more than two weeks he had been living here. It had been enough time for him to get most of his strength back. Maybe it was time to start helping out, too.
In the Batcave fifteen minutes later, he stopped and looked around, realizing he had no idea how to give that help. The computer... that was the obvious first step. Check Batman's case notes. See if he could figure anything out, if there was anything he could do. Maybe even go undercover again in his old identity as Robbie, Anthony Zucco's sometime hired hand. Some of his old underworld acquaintances might remember him.
It took less than a minute for him to log on and locate the file. Naturally, it was the most recently modified. From the looks of things, this was the only thing Batman had been working on. Dick began to read. Standard notes. Descriptions of the Joker's first two robberies and Batman's confrontation with him. A chillingly impersonal account of the third robbery, including Batwoman's death and Nightwing's injury. A summary of what little they had learned from the Joker's men. Patrols. Questioning of various crooks and stool pigeons. Visits to underworld hangouts as Matches... Nothing. Nothing solid, nothing he could turn into a clue.
Disappointed, Dick started over again. If only he could make some contribution that would help put the Joker away, maybe that would help. Maybe then he could stop dreaming. Maybe the tension he could always sense in Bruce would ease. Maybe things could go back to something at least close to the way they had been...
"What are you doing?"
Dick jumped at the sound of the voice, the tone of barely leashed anger as startling as its unexpectedness. Turning, he saw a man stepping off the bottom of the stairway leading up, a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and unattractive features, dressed in a threadbare jacket and stained, sagging jeans.
"Bruce!" he exclaimed. "Man, don't sneak up on me like that."
"I asked you what you're doing."
"Going over your file on the Joker."
"Why?"
"Thought maybe I could help."
Bruce reached around him and closed the program on the computer. "I don't want you going through my files." His voice was quieter, but still angry.
"Why? I always did before. It was your idea."
Bruce turned away from him. He reached up to pull off the wig, revealing his own black hair, and moved to the desk and mirror he used for disguises. Sitting, he began to remove his makeup. "It's different now," he answered after a few moments. "You're in no condition to get involved in this case."
"Being one of the victims, I think I'm already involved. I want to get him as much as you do. And my condition is fine. I've started working out again. Got most of my strength back. We could start our training again any time you're ready."
"No."
"What do you mean, 'no'?"
Bruce glanced at him, his eyes sliding away again almost nervously. "I don't want to take any chances. You're going to stay here and rest for another week until you're fully recovered. Then you're going home, and back to your job at Wayne Enterprises."
"Bruce, I want to help on this case. Please, this means a lot to me."
"You're too emotionally involved."
"I can handle it. It's not going to hurt me to at least see your notes and talk about it."
"Well..." He was hesitating. "You've seen the notes already."
"You've been out as Matches tonight. Did you find out anything?"
"No." Bruce was on his feet again, his face back to normal, shedding Matches' old, cheap clothes for a shirt and slacks. "I must have talked to a dozen assorted hoods and punks. Nobody knows anything, except that the rest of the Joker's gang seems to have deserted him." His mouth turned in a humorless smile. "Seems they think Batman has it in for him, more than usual. They're afraid."
With good reason, Dick thought privately. "If you could find any of them, maybe they'd know where you can find the Joker."
"I asked around. Nobody's saying much. Both the Joker and I have them scared. One guy mentioned that two of the gang are still in town. Ray and Joey. No last name or address, but I'll track them down."
"Ray and Joey..." Dick looked up eagerly. "I knew a Ray and Joey from my Robbie days. Brothers."
"Yes, he said they were brothers." Bruce's eyes had sharpened with interest. "Do you know their last name?"
"Yeah. Malek. Joey lived way downtown, I think on Carmine Street or somewhere around there."
"Should be enough for me to find him."
"Yeah. Damn, wish I could ask Barbara. She's great at finding out stuff."
"Don't even think about it. She'd get suspicious."
"I know. Don't worry."
"Good." Bruce was standing over him again. "You should go to bed. Shouldn't be up in the middle of the night."
A little reluctantly, Dick got up. "Okay. You coming?"
"No." Bruce was already taking his seat at the computer. "I'm going to follow up on the lead you gave me."
"Can I help?"
"No. Get some sleep."
Disappointed but resigned, Dick turned away. He had a foot on the first step of the staircase when Bruce's voice came again from behind him, softly, sounding distracted and distant, but the words still made him smile. "Thanks, Dick."
Maybe it had helped. Dick woke again after a dreamless sleep to find sunlight streaming in his window, the room midday warm instead of morning cool. He checked the clock. Lunchtime. His stomach concurred with a growl.
He was bent with his head in the refrigerator, trying to decide between leftovers and a sandwich, when Alfred's voice came from behind him.
"Glad to see you're finally up, Master Richard."
Dick straightened. "That's the second time today someone's sneaked up on me. I must be slipping."
"You simply don't expect an attack here, so you're not on your guard."
"Bruce says to always expect an attack, no matter where you are."
Alfred held a chair at the small kitchen table for him, smiling slightly. "Sounds like an unpleasant way to live. Just sit down and allow me to get something for you."
"I don't want to be any trouble..."
The butler silenced him with a glance. "Nonsense, I'll have your lunch ready in a few minutes." He began to remove an alarming amount of food from the refrigerator.
Dick did as he was told and sat, watching the preparations. He and Alfred had spent a lot of time together in the last couple of weeks, especially with Bruce gone so much, and their relationship had become closer. That had turned out to be one of the redeeming qualities of his time as an invalid. Dick found himself looking up to the older man, both respecting and liking him. As for how Alfred felt about it... at some point Dick had graduated from 'Mr. Grayson' to 'Master Richard'.
"Master Bruce told me you were up during the night. Was there a problem? Are you having pain?"
"No, nothing like that." Dick saw his inquiring glance and shrugged uncomfortably. "Just a dream. Been having them lately."
"No wonder, after what you've been through."
"I guess." He picked up a salt shaker and pretended to examine it.
"Was it about - the incident?"
Incident. Made it sound so small and insignificant. "Yeah."
"Would it help to talk about it?" Alfred set a plate in front of him, and took the unusual step of sitting down. "As you said yourself, these things must be faced before you can move on."
"You sure you weren't a shrink once, too?"
"I have been many things," Alfred said loftily. "But a 'shrink' is not one of them. However, I have observed Master Bruce for quite a few years, and been in a few - situations - myself. I know how these things are."
"Situations, huh? Like what?"
"Some other time, perhaps." Alfred watched as Dick picked up his fork and started in. "Have you spoken with Miss Gordon recently?" he asked after a few moments, changing the subject, to Dick's relief.
"Yeah, a couple of times since I've been here." Dick sighed. Just something else that was going wrong. "The last couple times I talked to her, she sounded a little funny. Kept asking about my uncle; where he's been, why I never mentioned him before. And she asked for an address. Said she wants to send a card. I had to make something up."
"At least you won't have to put her off much longer. Soon, you'll be going home." Alfred was staring down at the table, not looking happy at the prospect.
"What's the matter?"
"It's probably not my place to discuss Master Bruce's personal affairs..."
"But you'll do it anyway. What is it?"
"He's changed since it happened. And not for the better. More driven. He spends most of his waking time as Batman, or in one of his disguises. He's obsessed with finding the Joker."
"I guess that's his way of dealing with it. And I can't blame him for working hard. If he'd let me I'd be there with him."
"That first day - Christmas, after you were out of danger and he finally came home - he walked into the living room. Just looked at the tree. Picked up the gift he had gotten for Miss Kathy. And then he threw it against the wall, tore the tree down, smashed the other gifts. You should have seen him. It was quite - frightening."
"Wow. I can't imagine Bruce losing it like that."
"Anger is an old friend to Master Bruce, it allows him to deal with other emotions - or rather, not to deal with them. He has a streak of - of violence in him. Undoubtedly it's part of what enables him to do his job so well. I've rarely seen it. And never like this."
They were quiet, as Dick thought back to nights of watching Batman in action, the fights that they had shared. Batman had never gone too far. But once in a while, Dick had seen something in his face, a glint of satisfaction when he hit someone... If anyone knew him well, it was Alfred. Maybe he was right.
"After that, he was - silent," the butler went on. "Hardly speaks to me anymore. He makes an effort around you, to be more... human. You seem to bring out the best in him, as Miss Kathy did."
Slightly embarrassed, but pleased, Dick shrugged. "If you say so, I guess. But he's not exactly saying much to me either. And he doesn't want me to help him find the Joker."
"I just hope he will go back to his old self soon. Before he does anything he might regret."
"I'm sure he will. And I'm sure he has everything under control."
Control. Don't lose control. Not until he tells me what I want to know.
Batman closed in on the trembling man facing him, slowly, not raising a fist, not shouting, not even touching him. Just a cold stare, watching the sweat break out on his pale, ratty face. It had taken hours of waiting, here in the dingy apartment he had broken into on Carmine Street, after he had found Joe Malek's last known address. Hours of silent waiting, thinking, remembering. Wondering if this man had seen Kathy die, if he had been there when Dick was shot and left for dead. Feeling the anger build, more intense now that his goal was in sight. Now that he might find out where the Joker was hiding. And finally, Malek had shown up, only minutes ago.
"Where is he?"
"What... who?"
"You know who I mean. You know who I want."
"I don't know where he is!"
"You must know something. Places he's used. Where he likes to hang out. Tell me."
"He'll kill me!"
"And if you don't tell..." Batman allowed the corner of his mouth to lift.
Malek gulped, his eyes widening. "I can't!"
With a motion almost too fast to see, Batman had his throat in his grip. He squeezed, not too hard, watching Malek's mouth open soundlessly. "Yes, you can," he said mildly. He pushed, banging the other man's head against the wall. Surprisingly, the punk showed some fight, yanking at Batman's wrist, kicking out, and managing to twist free. As he turned to run, Batman reached around him, pulled his arm behind his back, and pushed him hard into the wall. Just for emphasis, he got a handful of hair and smacked Malek's head into the wall again while twisting his arm just short of breaking it.
"Ow! Okay, okay! I'll tell you!"
"Good. Where is he?"
"He moves around a lot... Got a new hideout by now..."
Wordlessly, Batman twisted the arm harder.
"Stop it! Okay! I know he uses the old Marquis theater, out in the 'burbs. It's been shut down for a couple of years. Heard he goes there at night."
"If you're lying, I promise I'll find you. And when I do..."
"I'm not lying! That's where he is!"
Batman relaxed his grip just a little. But there was one more question he had to ask. "Were you with him when he robbed Bach's?"
Now a deeper panic seemed to come into Malek's voice as it almost squeaked in response. "Bach's?"
"Yes. You remember. Big department store downtown. Where Batwoman was murdered, and Nightwing almost died."
"I didn't do it!"
"Of course not. Were you there?"
"It was the Joker! I couldn't stop him! He shot them, both of them!"
Batman's voice dropped into a silky murmur. "And I'm sure you tried really hard to stop him."
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I got nothing to do with the Joker anymore! Please, let me go!"
How easy it would be to make sure this whining piece of shit never hurt anyone again... Just a twist of the neck, a blow to the right spot, only a moment of time... It would feel so good to crush him, and watch the life drain from his worthless body. He moved his fingers to the other man's neck and heard a whimper of fear...
What am I thinking? Feeling slightly sickened, Batman let go and stepped back. In another moment he was out, away from that dirty little place, swiftly sliding down a line to where he had left the Batmobile. Deliberately, he turned his mind away from what he had been so tempted to do moments ago. All that mattered was that he was closer now. Almost there. Just a few preparations, and he would be ready to face the Joker.
TBC...