Wicked – Chapter 11

By Christopher W. Blaine

DISCLAIMER: All of the characters and events portrayed in this work of fan fiction are ©2004 by DC Comics Inc. and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. This original work of fiction is ©2004 by Christopher W. Blaine.

Bruce took a final look at his room and then moved the strap for his bag higher up on his shoulder. He then turned to his door and opened it, looking out in the hallway. Ever since the incident where he had knocked down the guard, the security agents had been giving him a little more leeway. That had been their first mistake.

For days Bruce had wondered how he was going to get around them, but then their own need to not "cross his boundaries" had provided the answer. Instead of being stationed on the second story as the original plan had been, they were standing at the bottom of the stairs. That meant the direct route to the front door was cut off, but that was only one way.

Satisfied that he was basically alone on this floor, he closed the door and locked it. As a final precaution, he retrieved the heavy wooden chair at his desk and propped it against the door. That would hold back any attempts to break down his door. They might suspect he had escaped, but they would need to waste time getting in to verify that fact. It would buy him several precious seconds.

He then walked over to his window and opened it. They had not put an alarm in here only because Bruce had been adamant that nothing was going to touch the window that overlooked the family cemetery. Again, his power of persuasion worked well to his advantage even though he found manipulating people to be troubling. He assumed that it was a necessary evil in order to get his mission done. What was it his father had used to say about breaking eggs and an omelet?

He shrugged and pushed the window open. His plan called for him to shimmy down several drainage pipes to the ground. He had about fifteen minutes to get out of range of the cameras. They were set up to automatically come on in late afternoon while physical security handled the day shift. However, Bruce had observed that around this time every day, the guard that was positioned under his window liked to head around the corner, out of the way, to have a cigarette.

He sniffed the air and was rewarded with the pungent scent of burning tobacco.

Less than a minute later he was on the ground and scurrying along the side of the building, avoiding the cameras that he had mentally mapped out. It was an electronic gauntlet, but he was more than up to the challenge. Midway through the maze he jumped and tried to do a front roll as he had been taught, but came down hard on his shoulder and back. Laying on the ground, he stared up at the clouds, willing himself not to cry out in pain.

After a few seconds he started to move. It hurt to do so, but he realized very quickly that he had not done anything permanent. Slowly he got up, telling himself that he needed to get moving and that the pain wasn't that bad. After all, she had been through worse, hadn't he?

Within five minutes he was beyond the cameras that had been installed. Again, fate was with him as the work crews that were supposed to place cameras in the woods of the estate had quit halfway through the job over a labor dispute with management. Bruce didn't understand the specifics, but he made a promise to ensure that he paid his employees well enough that they would not leave a job unfinished once he was on charge!

Ted Grant, dressed in his Wildcat costume, watched as Bruce ran past the tree he sat in. He smiled beneath his mask, trying to imagine the thoughts going through the young man's mind. He was sure that he felt the rush of victory, never realizing that he was being led down a path that Ted had set up. The particular guard, the set-up of the cameras, even the fake workman strike; it was all part of a massive disinformation campaign.

True enough, Wayne Manor needed better security. A middle-aged butler simply was not enough to protect a millionaire child, no matter how dedicated that butler was. Ted admired Alfred, but was also dismayed by his inability to see that he was taking the boy down the wrong path. That, however, was not the concern tonight.

From the very beginning, Ted had observed young Bruce Wayne and had become convinced that the boy's determination was going to allow him to succeed against any defense. So Ted decided to do what all great military men did and set up the best defense possible by creating a good offense.

Bruce was following Ted's path; he was the rat in the maze looking for the cheese. He would never get off of the estate grounds. Instead the big, bad Wildcat would drop down and scare some sense into the boy.

Ted just hoped he didn't soil his pants.

It was one thing to face off against grown adults; it was another thing to confront a real live super-hero.

Sure of himself, Ted started to climb down from the tree. He would let Bruce get far enough away from the manor so that when he did get caught, his screams of anger would not upset Alfred terribly.

Later, Ted would reflect on how he had made the first mistake of being a super-hero: arrogance. He had assumed that Bruce's age was proportional to his determination. The entire time he had been on the job, he had simply assumed that Alfred simply wasn't man enough to handle a scrapping young boy. It wasn't the butler's fault; Alfred was an all right Joe and all, but he wasn't the fatherly type.

And Bruce really did need a father. Some kids were able to grow up without a dad and do relatively okay; of course, they normally became mommas boys. But what happened to the kids who lost both parents. In the old days, they got shipped off to the orphanage where they attend the School of Hard Knocks. Nowadays, if you had the loot, you got to be raised by your servants. Ted supposed it was an enviable position, training your boss.

They began to approach a small dirt path that Ted had found a few days before. It looked like something that had once been used and he imagined Thomas Wayne had jogged out here. The man had definitely been gifted with a physique and as a doctor he had known that exercise was key to healthy living. Ted wondered if Bruce ever bothered to run the path, hoping to maybe find a footprint or sign of some sort that told that his father had passed through at one time?

Sticking to the trees, Ted watched as Bruce took the path further into the woods. At one point, the path came within 50 feet of a service road. Alfred had explained that last year, Bruce had arranged for a taxi to pick him up there, though the butler had never let on he knew about it. Ted figured that Bruce's young mind would cause him to follow the path of least resistance, like water, and if the trick had worked out once, then it would work out again.

Ted decided to flank the boy, moving to the right and into the woods, trying to be as quiet as his namesake. He was stalking him a rabbit, he told himself, and he was reminded of the old cartoons with the hunter that said his "R" sounds with a "W". Despite himself, he gave a little chuckle as he fondly recalled some of the more funny cartoons.

Climbing up a small embankment, he stepped onto the service road about twenty yards from where he expected Bruce to come out. Immediately he knew something was wrong. There was no taxi waiting.

"That little sonuvabitch," he cursed. "He changed his plan..."

Quickly he went over the layout of the property even as he jogged down the road a little further, ensuring that there was nothing hidden along the roadside. A quick search revealed nothing, so he popped back into the woods and called out Bruce's name. There was no response, but then he had not really expected any. He hoped that knowing he was being followed would deflate the boy's morale and send him shuffling back to the manor.

No such luck he told himself.

He started running down the path again, cursing himself mentally. Bruce must have somehow figured that Alfred had found out about the taxi, but he had kept his mouth shut. The boy could keep a secret; it was always the quiet ones you had to look out for!

He yelled for the heir to the Wayne Fortune again and all he got was a "ha ha" from the distance. The kid was in good shape and probably could sprint faster than Ted could run, which meant he was a good quarter mile ahead of the hero. Ted had stamina, though; Bruce could not run as long a Ted could and if there was no car, then there was no escape.

The sound of a two-stroke engine being fired up sent a hot flash up Ted's spine. He suddenly remembered that there was a small shack out here that held...dirtbikes! "Damn it! The kid learned how to ride one this year!" Breathing hard, he doubled the pace of his run, his costumed feet slapping against the hard dirt. "I'm going to kill him!" he promised himself, the veritable carrot in front of the donkey to keep him going.

His ears told him he was losing the fight as the bike's engine revved and then started to get further away. Bruce changed gears effortlessly, a loud, obnoxious testimony to his ability to adapt. Thirty seconds later, Ted arrived at the shack to find one of the doors flung open and a an empty bike rack. He scanned the area and saw his salvation. He hopped onto the three-wheel ATV and turned the ignition key. He tried to start it, but realized it was out of gas.

"Ahhhhhhh!" he screamed, shaking his fist in the air. Then a thought popped into his head. He got off and went into the shack and soon let out a cheer of victory. A full can of gas was inside next to some tree-trimming equipment and he made quick use of it.

Bruce had a five-minute head start, but Ted could make up for that of he rode like a madman. He hated the three-wheeled ATV's as they were more dangerous and to be honest, he wasn't all that good on them. Regardless, he twisted the throttle and burst out of the woods, jumping over the access road and landing hard on the other side.

He managed to keep control of the vehicle even as his eyes tried to pick out Bruce's fading figure against the rapidly darkening horizon. He saw him, stopped at a red light. The kid was good enough to out race him and obey the traffic laws!

For the next fifteen minutes they played cat and mouse, Bruce maintaining his quarter mile lead on Ted as they approached the city. Finally, he saw the boy pull into a fast food restaurant and park his bike near the back. Ted put his in an alleyway and took the keys with him. In costume, he could not make his way towards the eatery without drawing a huge crowd. If he took off his costume, then he'd get arrested for walking around in his "real" Wildcat outfit. "Meow, meow," he joked as he peaked around the corner.

He observed the people in the restaurant and wished it wasn't so crowded, but it was around dinner time. If Bruce held to his schedule, he would have to be at Crime Alley within the next hour and a half to "celebrate" his parents deaths.

"Hey, man, got any spare change?" a voice said behind him.

"No."

"Give me your damn spare change!"

Ted slowly turned around to see a gaunt man with long greasy hair holding a pocket knife. The man took a good look at his costume and swallowed hard. "I'm gonna get my ass kicked, ain't I?"

"Run away," Ted said, switching into Wildcat mode. "Or I'm going to introduce you to Mr. Fist," he said, holding up his left one.

The junkie knew he was outmatched, dropped the knife and ran. Wildcat smirked and then turned back to give his attention to Bruce. As he did so, a small, skinny kid walked up to him. He began to wonder if he had not picked the busiest alleyway in Gotham City. "Hi, Mister," the kid said. "What ya doin'?"

Wildcat inhaled deeply and tried to sound nice; the truth was that he just didn't have the time. "Super-hero business, can't talk about it."

"Is that your three-wheeler, Mister Bobcat?"

He looked at the boy and determined he was no older than perhaps nine. What was he doing out here by himself? What was wrong with parents today? "It's Wildcat and yes, it is. Go away."

"My name is Jack. Jack Napier. You said you're Wildcat? I've never seen a blue cat before. It's kind of funny," he said with a laugh that sounded eerie and hollow.

"Yeah, my partner is a giant pink rabbit..."

"Do you know Black Canary? She's not black..."

"Kid, really, I'm busy..."

Jack continued to ramble on and Wildcat phased him out for the moment as he scanned the area. The bike was still in its parking spot with a couple of young toughs eyeing it. No doubt it was going to be stolen and there was nothing he could really do about it. What he needed was a belt to hold a walkie-talkie...a utility belt...

"You want to hear a knock knock joke?"

"No!" Wildcat barked. Jack's face turned pale and he turned and ran away, screaming like a girl. Wildcat did not feel bad about it; the kid had been annoying. He hoped that he would never deal with him ever again.

Returning his attention to the scene, he picked out a bus stop just down the street. There were two teenage girls and a boy with long blond hair waiting for the next bus. He looked back to the fast food restaurant just as the bus passed.

He switched back to the bus stop and zeroed in on the kid with long hair. It was Bruce! Wearing a wig and another jacket, but definitely him. He must have put on the disguise in the restroom, but he was not adept enough to change his body posture. He still stood with his chest out, haughty and proud, unwilling to ask for help from anyone. Wildcat watched him get on the bus and then turned to look for a new ride.

Bruce thought the wig itched, but it seemed to have worked. He didn't see the three-wheeler and he doubted that Ted Grant would risk getting arrested by riding it within the city limits on the streets. He was on his way, once again victorious. He found himself a seat, avoiding eye contact with anyone. He didn't want to strike up a conversation.

Two seats behind him, the eyes of Wicked focused on the back of his blond head, depraved thoughts stirring within his mind.