Author's note: I get nervous making people wait! I wanted to post more at once, but since some of you are a little anxious, I can offer this much. Hope it's enough for now.
(You know--no matter how much I slave over this--it's never good enough. You readers deserve better. Maybe someday... sigh. Thanks for sticking with me in this.)
*********
Music from the antique jukebox reverbrated hollowly in the empty spaces of 'Howard's Place'. After many evenings noting the same lack of customer base, Terry finally queried Howard,
"What's going on Howie? You lose your touch with making those fancy sandwiches of yours?"
"You just had one." Howie replied glumly as he approached Terry's table. "Does it taste like I've lost my culinary abilities?"
"Not according to my taste buds. Near perfection as always."
"Thanks. I needed to hear that."
"So where is everybody?"
"The Jokerz. They're scaring business away. You know this used to be some of their territory before Batman came around. Guess they've decided to reclaim some of it since he isn't here anymore. If it keeps up much longer, I... I'll probably have to give it up. Can't pay the bills without income and no income without customers."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Terry said, a measure of guilt tingeing his words. Jokerz again. The second time in one day. Why had he never realized the subtle impact his alter-ego had on society before now? Keeping the gangs of Jokerz in check had been routine for Batman. No big deal. Kinda like sweeping the floor often enough to keep the dirt from piling up and becoming an ugly nuisance. Never considered his actions could make or break a business or keep children from getting the innocence scared out of them.
"Hey," Howard replied with a grin while filling Terry's glass from the bottle he had brought from the bar. "It's not your fault. My Dad said it'd be risky in this part of town. I figured it'd be worth a chance and he agreed to lend me the money, so I guess he thought it might work out too. I'll just owe him a bigger debt." He chuckled self-consciously. "I'm still paying off for damage on the house and the cred bill for Synthia."
Terry smiled, remembering the party Howie had given during high school without his parent's knowledge. "That was a real disaster wasn't it?"
Howie grinned wide, tipped his head back and shook it. "Too bad you weren't there to see it Terry. Man -- it was almost worth it to watch Batman in action. A way schway sight to see!"
Terry gave a weak laugh and nodded. Howard turned serious.
"I wonder what happened to him?"
"Who?"
"Batman. I mean, it's really weird not knowing. After all this time it's almost like he was just a -- collective figment of everyone's imagination. Except that -- things are changing now that he's disappeared. So I guess that means -- he was real." Howard barked a short laugh. "Weird."
Terry hid his grimace behind the glass of alcohol lifted to his lips. At that moment he noticed a couple enter Howard's establishment. First reaction after surprise was to duck his head slightly and slouch back in his chair. Howard noticed the newcomers at the same time.
"Hey--that looks like Max. And who's that with her? Terry--" He stared in confusion at the other man's exaggerated posture. "What are you doing?'
"Hiding."
"From Max?" Howard grinned, humor giving way to disbelief when he realized Terry was serious.
"Don't tell her I'm here."
"Why? I thought you two were working together."
"Tolerating each other is more like it. It's a long story."
"But--"
"Just--go to her before she sees you over here, okay?"
Puzzled, Howard complied, "Well... okay," and moved to greet his newly arrived customers. Terry halted him momentarily.
"Leave the bottle."
Howard frowned and gave his head a disapproving shake, but said nothing as he took a step back to set the bottle on the table. Through hooded eyes, Terry watched his progress as he welcomed Max and Whitfield and led them to a table on the other side of the room.
The evening progressed and Terry was gratified to see the bar was more crowded than it had been for the last two weeks. Howard had created a life for himself that seemed to suit him. He wanted his friend to succeed here.
From his secluded corner, Terry continued to slowly lower the level of alcohol in the bottle while watching Max and her 'friend' interact. They maintained the actions of two people who were comfortable and familiar with each other. The way they dipped their heads, faces almost touching when listening to what the other was saying. The way they would touch each other and smile and gaze at each other and... kiss.
Terry thrust himself from his chair, unable to bear the sight any longer, yet too weak to stop watching. The scenery spun for a moment. He grabbed for the unfinished bottle of booze and headed for the exit, not even pausing for Howard who was hurrying to intercept him. He needed to get some fresh air before he exploded.
He let his feet carry him without conscious thought. They eventually brought him to a greenspace. The little park from the other day where he lost his chance to gain the primitive satisfaction of beating up a bunch of two-legged rats that existed in Gotham called Jokerz.
The park was empty. The late hour and cold, steady drizzle of spring rain keeping anyone with sense away. At the moment Terry didn't qualify. He plunked himself down on a wet bench and casually continued to down the contents of the bottle. Buttocks numbing from the cold, wet surface, Terry got up and began meandering around the playground. One hand chased droplets of water from equipment supports while the other kept tipping the almost empty bottle to his mouth.
Skewed inspiration, courtesy of the chemical reaction of absorbed alcohol, had him suddenly jumping on a nearby seesaw trying to balance awkwardly on its pivot point. Laughing stupidly, his feet finally slipped completely on the wet surface and he fell to the damp ground. He picked himself up, still chuckling, and went to the climbing bars, their metal surfaces shining with a dull brightness from the streetlights. Not wanting to let go of the bottle he did one-armed pull-ups for awhile then swung his legs up to hook around a convenient bar and hung upside down until dizziness and the pounding in his head compelled him to change position.
Sitting cross-legged beneath the bars he tipped the bottle high to get the last drop, immediately feeling a sense of loss knowing it was gone. He consoled himself with the thought that he could easily get more.
Sounds of distant motorcycles penetrated his drunken stupor. Terry roused his curiosity and began to glance around. Unable to get a good view of anything from where he was he stumbled to a stand, hitting his head on a low bar in the process. With a mumbled curse and rub at the sore spot he staggered away from the apparatus.
The sounds came louder now and he saw the dots of uneven headlights coming down the roadway towards the park. High-pitched hoots and deep-voiced shouts became clear. Terry smiled knowing this could only mean one thing. Jokerz! Time for some major butt-whopping!
Empty bottle still in hand he walked unsteadily, but assuredly towards a probable intercept point--- just in case they didn't know he was waiting here. With seconds to spare, he was standing in the middle of the road. There were startled shouts as the lead bikes suddenly realized some idiot was standing right in their path. They swerved around him, but to Terry's major disappointment, kept on going. In desperation he raised a middle finger in the universal gesture of insult. Well, he wasn't sure about it being universal, but it should certainly get the desired reaction in Gotham.
He offered the gesture to each biker as they passed and shouted the only thing he could think of at the moment. "Your mothers wear army boots!"
All nine riders gazed at Terry suspiciously and twisted heads to share puzzled looks with each other while detouring within inches around his relaxed figure. Not even the substantial spray from their bike tires stirring puddles of water all over this fool seemed to phase him. Was this some kind of setup?
In a minute they were out of sight and a throughly soaked Terry stood dejected in the suddenly quiet street. Droplets of water continued running from his soaked hair down his bearded face. He let his raised hand drop and lifted the other in hopes of getting one more swig from the empty bottle. Nothing. With a roar of frustrated anger he flung the bottle in the direction of the disappeared bikers.
"Cowards!"
A distant tinkle of shattered glass gave him no satisfaction either. The sudden blare of a car horn made him whirl in surprise. He lifted arms to shield his eyes from the blinding headlights as the vehicle swerved around him.
"Jerk." he mumbled to the retreating machine and compelled by survival instinct, began a stumbling walk off the roadway. Time to drown his sorrows in another drink or two, except he'd have to get it somewhere besides Howard's Place. If he saw Max with that guy again, he might do something he'd regret. Funny... why did he think he was hearing her voice all of a sudden?
There was another screech of tires, a brief honk and distant awareness that something big had just gone by him before someone grabbed his arm and began pulling him swiftly towards the safety of the curb. Then there was the sound of Max's tirade in his ear.
"Terrence McGinnis! What the hell do you think you're doing?! You don't even have the brains God gave an ostrich! If you weren't so completely wasted I'd... I'd really give you a piece of my mind!"
Terry smiled as she jerked him onto the park lawn and shoved his wavering form up against the light post. She cared! She still cared... about him. And she was so beautiful, anger bringing high color to her face and alluring essence to those huge eyes.
He was about to attempt saying something out loud to that effect when sight of Whitfield behind her made him clamp his mouth shut. His mood went from ecstatic to morose in moments. He shrugged off her steadying hands and said angrily,
"What're you doing here?"
"Keeping you from getting yourself killed apparently."
"None of your business if that's what I wanna do."
"Howard was worried about you--and I can see why." Max stated, hands on hips, looking at him with disgust. "What would Bruce say if he saw you like this?"
"My life... not his... or yours. Just... leave me alone." He shoved off from the lightpost and staggered away, destination: anywhere where Max and her 'friend' weren't. It wasn't long before a dull roar in his ears made him stop and question its source. Was he drunk enough to be hallucinating or was there something...
The answer came in the form of Jokerz surrounding him, doing a set of intricate manuevers around him with their bikes, getting close enough that he had to dance a little to keep from being hit.
Excitement, anger and wild anticipation drove alcohol's effects into the background as he readied to take on the gang he thought had run away.
Muscles flexed. Mind sifted through years of fighting experience to formulate a plan for taking them all down. In moments he was following through with actions.
***************************
(You know--no matter how much I slave over this--it's never good enough. You readers deserve better. Maybe someday... sigh. Thanks for sticking with me in this.)
*********
Music from the antique jukebox reverbrated hollowly in the empty spaces of 'Howard's Place'. After many evenings noting the same lack of customer base, Terry finally queried Howard,
"What's going on Howie? You lose your touch with making those fancy sandwiches of yours?"
"You just had one." Howie replied glumly as he approached Terry's table. "Does it taste like I've lost my culinary abilities?"
"Not according to my taste buds. Near perfection as always."
"Thanks. I needed to hear that."
"So where is everybody?"
"The Jokerz. They're scaring business away. You know this used to be some of their territory before Batman came around. Guess they've decided to reclaim some of it since he isn't here anymore. If it keeps up much longer, I... I'll probably have to give it up. Can't pay the bills without income and no income without customers."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Terry said, a measure of guilt tingeing his words. Jokerz again. The second time in one day. Why had he never realized the subtle impact his alter-ego had on society before now? Keeping the gangs of Jokerz in check had been routine for Batman. No big deal. Kinda like sweeping the floor often enough to keep the dirt from piling up and becoming an ugly nuisance. Never considered his actions could make or break a business or keep children from getting the innocence scared out of them.
"Hey," Howard replied with a grin while filling Terry's glass from the bottle he had brought from the bar. "It's not your fault. My Dad said it'd be risky in this part of town. I figured it'd be worth a chance and he agreed to lend me the money, so I guess he thought it might work out too. I'll just owe him a bigger debt." He chuckled self-consciously. "I'm still paying off for damage on the house and the cred bill for Synthia."
Terry smiled, remembering the party Howie had given during high school without his parent's knowledge. "That was a real disaster wasn't it?"
Howie grinned wide, tipped his head back and shook it. "Too bad you weren't there to see it Terry. Man -- it was almost worth it to watch Batman in action. A way schway sight to see!"
Terry gave a weak laugh and nodded. Howard turned serious.
"I wonder what happened to him?"
"Who?"
"Batman. I mean, it's really weird not knowing. After all this time it's almost like he was just a -- collective figment of everyone's imagination. Except that -- things are changing now that he's disappeared. So I guess that means -- he was real." Howard barked a short laugh. "Weird."
Terry hid his grimace behind the glass of alcohol lifted to his lips. At that moment he noticed a couple enter Howard's establishment. First reaction after surprise was to duck his head slightly and slouch back in his chair. Howard noticed the newcomers at the same time.
"Hey--that looks like Max. And who's that with her? Terry--" He stared in confusion at the other man's exaggerated posture. "What are you doing?'
"Hiding."
"From Max?" Howard grinned, humor giving way to disbelief when he realized Terry was serious.
"Don't tell her I'm here."
"Why? I thought you two were working together."
"Tolerating each other is more like it. It's a long story."
"But--"
"Just--go to her before she sees you over here, okay?"
Puzzled, Howard complied, "Well... okay," and moved to greet his newly arrived customers. Terry halted him momentarily.
"Leave the bottle."
Howard frowned and gave his head a disapproving shake, but said nothing as he took a step back to set the bottle on the table. Through hooded eyes, Terry watched his progress as he welcomed Max and Whitfield and led them to a table on the other side of the room.
The evening progressed and Terry was gratified to see the bar was more crowded than it had been for the last two weeks. Howard had created a life for himself that seemed to suit him. He wanted his friend to succeed here.
From his secluded corner, Terry continued to slowly lower the level of alcohol in the bottle while watching Max and her 'friend' interact. They maintained the actions of two people who were comfortable and familiar with each other. The way they dipped their heads, faces almost touching when listening to what the other was saying. The way they would touch each other and smile and gaze at each other and... kiss.
Terry thrust himself from his chair, unable to bear the sight any longer, yet too weak to stop watching. The scenery spun for a moment. He grabbed for the unfinished bottle of booze and headed for the exit, not even pausing for Howard who was hurrying to intercept him. He needed to get some fresh air before he exploded.
He let his feet carry him without conscious thought. They eventually brought him to a greenspace. The little park from the other day where he lost his chance to gain the primitive satisfaction of beating up a bunch of two-legged rats that existed in Gotham called Jokerz.
The park was empty. The late hour and cold, steady drizzle of spring rain keeping anyone with sense away. At the moment Terry didn't qualify. He plunked himself down on a wet bench and casually continued to down the contents of the bottle. Buttocks numbing from the cold, wet surface, Terry got up and began meandering around the playground. One hand chased droplets of water from equipment supports while the other kept tipping the almost empty bottle to his mouth.
Skewed inspiration, courtesy of the chemical reaction of absorbed alcohol, had him suddenly jumping on a nearby seesaw trying to balance awkwardly on its pivot point. Laughing stupidly, his feet finally slipped completely on the wet surface and he fell to the damp ground. He picked himself up, still chuckling, and went to the climbing bars, their metal surfaces shining with a dull brightness from the streetlights. Not wanting to let go of the bottle he did one-armed pull-ups for awhile then swung his legs up to hook around a convenient bar and hung upside down until dizziness and the pounding in his head compelled him to change position.
Sitting cross-legged beneath the bars he tipped the bottle high to get the last drop, immediately feeling a sense of loss knowing it was gone. He consoled himself with the thought that he could easily get more.
Sounds of distant motorcycles penetrated his drunken stupor. Terry roused his curiosity and began to glance around. Unable to get a good view of anything from where he was he stumbled to a stand, hitting his head on a low bar in the process. With a mumbled curse and rub at the sore spot he staggered away from the apparatus.
The sounds came louder now and he saw the dots of uneven headlights coming down the roadway towards the park. High-pitched hoots and deep-voiced shouts became clear. Terry smiled knowing this could only mean one thing. Jokerz! Time for some major butt-whopping!
Empty bottle still in hand he walked unsteadily, but assuredly towards a probable intercept point--- just in case they didn't know he was waiting here. With seconds to spare, he was standing in the middle of the road. There were startled shouts as the lead bikes suddenly realized some idiot was standing right in their path. They swerved around him, but to Terry's major disappointment, kept on going. In desperation he raised a middle finger in the universal gesture of insult. Well, he wasn't sure about it being universal, but it should certainly get the desired reaction in Gotham.
He offered the gesture to each biker as they passed and shouted the only thing he could think of at the moment. "Your mothers wear army boots!"
All nine riders gazed at Terry suspiciously and twisted heads to share puzzled looks with each other while detouring within inches around his relaxed figure. Not even the substantial spray from their bike tires stirring puddles of water all over this fool seemed to phase him. Was this some kind of setup?
In a minute they were out of sight and a throughly soaked Terry stood dejected in the suddenly quiet street. Droplets of water continued running from his soaked hair down his bearded face. He let his raised hand drop and lifted the other in hopes of getting one more swig from the empty bottle. Nothing. With a roar of frustrated anger he flung the bottle in the direction of the disappeared bikers.
"Cowards!"
A distant tinkle of shattered glass gave him no satisfaction either. The sudden blare of a car horn made him whirl in surprise. He lifted arms to shield his eyes from the blinding headlights as the vehicle swerved around him.
"Jerk." he mumbled to the retreating machine and compelled by survival instinct, began a stumbling walk off the roadway. Time to drown his sorrows in another drink or two, except he'd have to get it somewhere besides Howard's Place. If he saw Max with that guy again, he might do something he'd regret. Funny... why did he think he was hearing her voice all of a sudden?
There was another screech of tires, a brief honk and distant awareness that something big had just gone by him before someone grabbed his arm and began pulling him swiftly towards the safety of the curb. Then there was the sound of Max's tirade in his ear.
"Terrence McGinnis! What the hell do you think you're doing?! You don't even have the brains God gave an ostrich! If you weren't so completely wasted I'd... I'd really give you a piece of my mind!"
Terry smiled as she jerked him onto the park lawn and shoved his wavering form up against the light post. She cared! She still cared... about him. And she was so beautiful, anger bringing high color to her face and alluring essence to those huge eyes.
He was about to attempt saying something out loud to that effect when sight of Whitfield behind her made him clamp his mouth shut. His mood went from ecstatic to morose in moments. He shrugged off her steadying hands and said angrily,
"What're you doing here?"
"Keeping you from getting yourself killed apparently."
"None of your business if that's what I wanna do."
"Howard was worried about you--and I can see why." Max stated, hands on hips, looking at him with disgust. "What would Bruce say if he saw you like this?"
"My life... not his... or yours. Just... leave me alone." He shoved off from the lightpost and staggered away, destination: anywhere where Max and her 'friend' weren't. It wasn't long before a dull roar in his ears made him stop and question its source. Was he drunk enough to be hallucinating or was there something...
The answer came in the form of Jokerz surrounding him, doing a set of intricate manuevers around him with their bikes, getting close enough that he had to dance a little to keep from being hit.
Excitement, anger and wild anticipation drove alcohol's effects into the background as he readied to take on the gang he thought had run away.
Muscles flexed. Mind sifted through years of fighting experience to formulate a plan for taking them all down. In moments he was following through with actions.
***************************