The Secret Star by BILLA1
Copyright July 2004, September 2005
Disclaimer: The characters Batman, Green Lantern, Hawkgirl, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Superman, Flash & their respective secret identities are all owned by DC Comics. This story is intended for my own pleasure and is not for profit. It has been posted to this site for others to read. Places and characters not own by DC Comics are my own creation. This story is based on characters from Batman: The Animated Series. Thanks to Merlin Missy for her beta on this story.
A/N: This story was inspired by a paragraph on page 5 of Tales of the Dark Knight (Batman's first fifty years: 1939-1989) by Mark Cotta Vaz.
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The Secret Star 1/3
Rating: (PG-13)
Synopsis: Batman thinks he has a new enemy – Commissioner Gordon. This story occurs during Batman: The Animated Series.
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Chapter One - "When they send for you, you go in alive, you come out dead and it's your best friend that does it." – Lefty (Donnie Brasco - 1997)
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(Gotham City - Tuesday Night)
Parker Jones had decided that there were two types of people in the world. There were those who had to use public transportation and those who wanted to use it. On cool nights like this, he wished that he was in the latter group rather than the former.
Almost every night for the last ten years, he'd caught the 8:20 bus to the Beetlewalk Mall where he worked as a security guard. "Minimum effort for minimum wage" he often said to anyone who would listen. But he knew that one day his life would change because they had told him so.
He wasn't a bad looking man. For years, people had told him that he looked a little like Val Kilmer and ten years ago, he may have borne a slight resemblance to the actor. Lately, he hadn't been able to see the resemblance and just said "thank you" if someone else pointed it out. "You know who you look like? You look like that actor guy." "Really? No one has said that to me before. Thanks."
The only real joy during his daily wait for the bus occurred on Tuesday nights. On that night, he got to share a ten minute wait at the bus stop and a twenty minute ride with Carol Johnson. Tonight he would try to be early and hoped that she would be too.
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Carol Johnson was a single, middle aged accountant who dressed to stereotype. She wore glasses which did not compliment her face and kept her red hair wrapped tightly in a bun atop her head. Carol chose to wear old and dated clothing designed to fend off potential suitors, not attract them. When she was younger, a series of failed relationships convinced her that she was destined to be a loser in the game of love, so Carol decided not to play anymore. She'd settled for living a solitary life and while friendly to all, she no longer sought companionship with anyone.
In the beginning, Carol disliked Parker's attempts to engage her in conversation. But she was slightly amused when he mentioned that some people thought he had a resemblance to a Hollywood actor. In hindsight, it was an obvious attempt on his part to wear down her defenses, but it worked and she'd mentally agreed to help him turn his monologue of conversation with her into a dialogue. Now, she found herself looking forward to spending time with him at the bus stop.
On this night, as was their custom, they sat together on the bench under the glass enclosure, waiting for the bus. He was in his security guard uniform and jacket and she wore a cloth coat and scarf. She made sure to keep her purse and papers between them, signaling to the world that they were friendly, but not intimate.
"So I'm watching the Gotham Knights play. I mean, no wonder they have a losing record. Get this; the Knights are on their own fifteen yard line, leading by three. It's fourth and four and they go for it. They go for it! Can you believe that?"
Carol smiled and stole a glance at her watch before looking back at Parker. He'd been talking almost endlessly for three or four minutes about the local football team. She might have enjoyed this discussion better if she liked football, but she didn't and he didn't seem to notice.
"No, I can't believe it," she said softly. Maybe I'll get to change the subject on the bus.
Parker threw his hands in the air in frustration. "I couldn't either. They don't punt. So what happens? That idiot quarterback, Brian Rogers tries a pass. Can you believe it?"
Carol looked down the street, staring into the headlights of the oncoming traffic hoping to see the bus as Parker continued. "He doesn't hand it off. No, he throws the ball and it's intercepted and run back for a touchdown. What an idiot? I mean, no wonder they're losing. Who in the world -"
- POW -
Carol jumped, even as she recognized the backfire from another poorly tuned car. There were lots of older, badly maintained cars in this part of town. Parker had stopped talking, but now was making a wheezing sound as if he couldn't breathe.
She turned back to look at him and saw a pained, stunned expression on his face.
"Parker, are you…"
A dark red stain grew larger in the middle of his clean uniform shirt as he slumped over her bag and papers onto her shoulder.
Carol screamed.
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(Wednesday Mid-Morning)
Gordon burst into his office.
Without glancing at his receptionist, Jim yelled, "Get the Mayor on the phone – NOW!" And without waiting for her to acknowledge his request, he rushed into his inner office and slammed the door behind him.
He banged his briefcase on his desk, took off his trenchcoat and tossed it across the room and onto the sofa against the side wall. His office was large and dark, even during mid-day. As a rule, he kept the window blinds closed most of the time, lighting his office with desk lamps, but not today. He needed to look out on the city, needed to remind himself of why for over twenty years he had made sacrifices; why he'd asked others like Jones to make sacrifices as well. He opened the blinds and looked out the large bay window of his tenth floor office. The view from the window gave him a sense of isolation as he looked out on the cityscape below. How he longed for the days of being a beat cop and the personal interaction with his fellow citizens. Now he was reduced to pushing papers and working with people he didn't like or respect, like the Mayor.
"A good plan going bad," he muttered to himself.
His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of his receptionist over the intercom speaker.
"Commissioner, I have the Mayor's office on line three." Her voice sounded weak.
Dammit. He'd been angry, but there was no need to take it out on her. He flipped the switch on the intercom, "Thanks, Betty. Sorry about snapping at you earlier. Just having a bad day, I guess."
He flipped the switch again, not waiting for Betty to acknowledge his apology, sat down at his desk and picked up the phone and punched in line three.
"Gordon here," he said. The operator at the other end of the line said, "Commissioner, the Mayor will be with you in a minute."
About fifteen seconds later, Mayor Hamilton Hill spoke, "Hill here."
Gordon's tone was contemptuous. He had no respect for Mayor Hill and he wasn't afraid to show it.
"Mayor, Parker Jones was killed last night."
There was silence at the other end of the phone. Gordon yelled, "Mayor, did you hear what I said? Parker Jones was killed last night!"
Hill stammered, "I heard you…how many is that?"
"That's three of the five in the last thirty days. They're being picked off one by one."
"Well, we'll give the two survivors around-the-clock police protection."
Idiot. Gordon was livid. He stood, pounding his fist on the desk. "Police protection? For how long? I'm short-handed as it is now. I can't afford to take officers off the street for this."
"Gordon. Do you think this is Batman's doing?"
Gordon was silent and sat down. That thought had crossed his mind earlier this morning when he'd read the initial report. He inhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair. "Mayor, I dunno. Jones died from a large caliber rifle shot. That's not Batman's style. The others had …er…accidents that certainly could have been his work. But I don't even know if he knows about the Secret Star."
"Well, find out, man! The Secret Star was your idea. Fix this problem or fix Batman."
The click at the other end of the phone was quiet but spoke volumes nonetheless.
Gordon silently cursed Hill and mumbled, "Fool" aloud. Yes, the Secret Star had been his idea and it was a good one. Gotham needed it five years ago and they still need it.
Gordon let out a deep sigh and flipped the switch on the intercom. "Betty, call my daughter, Barbara, and tell her I'll be home late tonight."
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(Wednesday – 11 PM)
The bat-signal had been lit for fifteen minutes. The huge spotlight, located on the roof of the Police Department headquarters' building, put the silhouette of the winged bat against the dark, cloudy sky. The responsibility for operating and maintaining the bat-signal fell to Sergeant Hainer, who was assigned the job when Gordon decided years earlier that a light in the window would be the best way to contact Batman whenever he was needed. Under Hainer's expert operation, the signal could be seen from all parts of the sprawling city.
Gordon was anxious and paced the roof as he and the sergeant waited for Batman. It was cold and breezy. He thought about fastening his trenchcoat, but didn't. Suddenly, from the shadows, a voice called out to the police commissioner.
"What have you got, Jim?"
I hate it when he does that. Gordon nodded to Sergeant Hainer who turned off the spotlight and left the roof via the rooftop entrance, leaving Gordon alone with the man in the shadows.
When he was sure that it was just the two of them on the rooftop, Gordon approached and the Dark Knight flowed into sight.
"Glad you could make it," Gordon said, "We need to talk." I need to talk to you.
Batman's eyes narrowed, his cape wrapping around his body in the slight breeze. "Go on."
Gordon slowly put his hands in his trouser pockets, fully aware that every movement was being watched intently. He tried to keep his expression flat, but he knew his face would give away that he was unhappy with what he had to say, with what he had to do.
"What do you know about the Secret Star?" Gordon asked, not sure he really wanted the answer.
Batman's voice was low and measured, "I know Parker Jones was a member. I know the paper reported he was sitting at a bus stop with some unidentified woman when he was murdered last night. I know other members of the organization have been killed in the last month. And I know the Secret Star is funded off the books."
Gordon frowned. The fact that Batman knew so much about the organization troubled him more than the fact that he knew who the members were. Maybe he does know something. Maybe he is responsible. No! Get that thought out of your head now.
Gordon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his pipe and tobacco. He slowly went through the actions of putting the tobacco in his pipe, tamping it down and then lighting it. Batman's expression did not change as he watched his friend go through this deliberate process.
Gordon puffed on his pipe twice. "Then you know the Secret Star is about protecting Gotham. It's not about replacing you."
Batman's eyes remained fixed on Gordon. "I never said it was about replacing me. It is, as you implied, an insurance policy for Gotham."
Gordon looked away, sensing that the story of the Secret Star was about to become more hurtful to his old friend than it needed to be. "Look," Gordon said meeting Batman's eyes. "Humor me and let me tell you about the Secret Star in my own way."
Batman remained silent.
That stare. God, I hate it when he stares like that. Gordon walked toward the edge of the roof. Batman kept pace with him, two steps behind.
Gordon looked out over the dark and bustling city of Gotham, keeping his back to Batman. "Five years ago, the Mayor and I realized that you take risks for this city everyday, but one day you might meet a bullet you can't dodge and this city will be lost. You're right; funding has been hidden in the city budget for the last five years to train five handpicked men to pick up your cape, your mantle if you will, should you fall. Now, within the last thirty days three of the five have died from, let's say, unnatural causes."
Gordon took the pipe out of his mouth with his right hand and transferred it to his left. He turned to face Batman, looked him in the eyes as he said, "Care to add anything to this?"
Batman's stare turned icy. "I had nothing to do with their deaths, if that's your question." There was contempt and bitterness in his response as he added, "And I don't know who did."
Gordon exhaled; he didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. He put the pipe back in his right hand.
Batman turned his back to Gordon and said in a low, angry voice, "Jim, I spotted your snipers before I arrived. I take it your puffing on your pipe with your left hand would have been their signal to open fire. I don't appreciate this, Jim. After all I've done for you and this city; I don't appreciate this at all."
Gordon placed his hand on Batman's shoulder, but the masked man moved away. Gordon dropped his hand to his side and said softly, "Look my friend, I couldn't take any chances. There are some who think you're responsible for the killings. I know it won't make you feel any better, but I never really thought you had anything to do with this mess."
He reached in the inside pocket of his trenchcoat and took out a diskette. "Here," he said, offering the disk to Batman. "I need your help to solve this quietly and quickly. This is the file on the Secret Star."
Batman took the disk, placed it in his belt and walked back toward the bat-signal, as the night breeze lifted his cape in the wind. Gordon followed. Batman, looking over his shoulder back toward Gordon, said, "I'll check it out."
As he walked past the bat-signal, Batman turned on the light and pointed it above Gordon's head. When Gordon reached the spotlight, he turned the light off.
But the Batman was gone.
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(Early Thursday Morning – 2 AM)
Bruce collapsed wearily in his seat in front of the large computer display in the Batcave. Bright lights in different locations on the massive computer array flashed on and off as it silently communicated with other computer systems in the world.
Supervillains and the common criminals had not hurt Bruce the way Gordon's confirmation of the Secret Star did. For years, Bruce had avenged the death of his parents in the only way he knew how. His parents were taken away from him by the night and he'd sharpened himself mentally and physically to become the master of the darkness; vowing never again would he allow the night to steal from him or anyone else.
But the Secret Star could take the night away from him. This government sanctioned threat to his ability to avenge meant that at some point the small legal tolerance he had been given could be taken from him by city officials who would decide, perhaps by secret ballot, who should be "their" Batman.
Vengeance, he thought. What a word. It could not be spoken with a smile. Vengeance and justice were not the same. Bruce Wayne still needed vengeance. Parker Jones needed justice. Batman would have to find a way to provide both.
"Tea, Master Bruce?" Alfred said, interrupting his thoughts. Alfred moved just as silently in the cave and in the mansion above as Batman did on the streets.
Alfred set the tray containing the tea service on a table next to the computer console. He poured a cup of tea and handed the cup to Bruce.
"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce said as he took the cup. He took a sip of the tea and then set the cup down on the console. He interlaced his fingers and raised his locked hands to his lips.
"There are two of them left, Alfred." Bruce said staring straight ahead. "They even suspect me of killing the other three."
Alfred picked up the tray from the table and tucked it under his arm. "Master Bruce, if I were looking for someone who had something to gain with the destruction of the Secret Star, you would be first on my list." He paused before adding, "Followed by Master Dick."
Bruce turned in his chair and smiled, "I would be on the top of my list, too." Followed by Dick.
He turned his attention back to the files on display on the view screen. He had the names, addresses and photographs of the two surviving members of the Secret Star. One was Steve Malone, an attorney, and the other was Roger Wood, a store manager for a large video rental chain store. Bruce silently studied the files of all five Star members, occasionally taking a sip of his tea as he read.
Alfred cleared his throat, setting the tray down on the console. "If I may venture a thought, Master Bruce. Is it possible that the former District Attorney, Harvey Dent, may have been aware of the Secret Star and have some involvement with this?"
"Two-Face?" Bruce shook his head. "I thought about him at first, but there's nothing in the files to suggest that Harvey even knew of the existence of the Secret Star when he was the D.A. Besides he's been locked up in Arkham for three months and it's not his M.O. If Harvey was going to kill someone, he would want to see the fear in their eyes up close and personal, have them witness the coin toss. Jones was killed with a sniper rifle from a distance - not his style."
Bruce sighed. "Gordon is assuming that the Star has been found out and is being destroyed by somebody outside. Alfred, I'm just not convinced of that." He paused. "Not yet," he added.
He suddenly sat up and turned to older man. "Just suppose the Secret Star isn't being destroyed at all, but someone inside is reorganizing it to fulfill its original purpose."
"The purpose of replacing you?" Alfred asked. "My word! Master Bruce, that would mean that there would be one more murder before the killer focuses his attention on you." Alfred was silent as he picked up the tray again.
Bruce stood up and was quiet for a moment before he said, "No. It makes more sense for me to be the next victim. That way, fingers don't point to the killer directly because there will still be two members left. With me gone the Star will take over and create a Batman. And after I'm gone, it doesn't matter which Star member becomes the new Batman, there will still be one more death regardless. There can only be one Star member left at the end, only one, and that one is the killer or hired the killer."
Removing his cowl, Bruce walked up the stairs into the mansion. Sleep was what he needed now. After he slept, he could put things into perspective, he could think of a plan, he could prepare. He turned back to look at Alfred. "Will you get Dick on the phone for me, please?"
Alfred nodded.
As the older man followed him up the steps, through the clock door, Bruce thought to himself, Tonight, I'll pay the Secret Star members a visit and meet the men who would be Batman.