Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. I also don't own Superman. I could claim to own Liss, but she would probably beat me up for saying so.
I would like to say thank you to everyone who reads my stories. Your reviews mean a lot to me, and even though I may not thank you personally, still, thank you. And those of you who read but don't review, thank you, too. You make life worth living and stories worth writing.
This is the final chapter in the original Notebooks series (The Purple Notebook, The Wide-Ruled Notebook, and The New Purple Notebook being the first three installments.) I do hope you have enjoyed it so far, and will enjoy what is to come.
The Black Notebook
Or
My Own Way
My name is Melissa, but no one calls me that. I was once called Liss, but that is gone as well. I now have many names, the best-known of which is "Flapper," but most people only say "F—" because that's as far as they get before I kill them.
Well, no. But it sounds cool.
Actually, I haven't killed many people. I'm more for stealing. I steal only from those who can afford to lose it, and only if it's a challenge. And most of the profits I don't immediately use to go charity. Hooray for me, I'm just like Robin Hood.
I used to live in Gotham City, but so many people I used to know kept spotting me, I decided to make my headquarters in Metropolis. Maybe that wasn't the best idea, but I'm new at this. I've only been a criminal for a couple of years. Anyway, I move around a lot. I have little houses all over Europe, one in Japan, one in southern China, and a palace in Calcutta. I have an apartment in Metropolis, which is where I am right now.
Superman is cooler than I used to think. I am glad I haven't gone up against him yet because I really doubt that I could beat him. I have been training, though, and I think I could take Batman. (Well, maybe if he was drunk or something.)
I used to have a bunch of followers, but they've been disbanded. This chick flies solo. (Hee hee hee.)
--
I'm starting up the journals again because it helps me focus. I'm going to have to focus because I'm about to pull a tough job. Biggest emerald in the world. (In Calcutta they call me Esmeralda.)
Win or lose I want the world to know who I am.
--
I wish that I could change the world. I'm doing the best I can. I rob those who can afford the loss and I give what I don't need to people who do. The only people I've killed were murderers themselves (I've even almost gotten caught rather than take the easy way out and kill the cops.) I've driven God knows how many less clement criminals out of the business. Is clement the right word? (Aw, hell, I promised I wouldn't interrupt myself.)
I have no illusions about being a hero. I know if I'm caught I'll go to prison or maybe an asylum, though I don't feel crazy to me.
I guess I just want you to know that I'm not all bad?
--
Here I am in my skintight black leather. The museum closes in an hour. I've been practicing all afternoon. My hands are a little shaky. Have to work on that. Got a little pain in my knee. If I don't put too much weight on it I should be all right. An aspirin would help, but it would slow me down. Wish I knew if I was going to go up against anyone tonight.
Getting a little crampy. If this was a normal job, I would put it off or just give up altogether, but this is the biggest emerald in the world. It's a matter of pride.
--
I went in an hour after closing. I watched the movements of the night guards for a while until I knew their patterns. Then I slipped past the alarms, all Mission Impossible. (No theme music.) I was slipping the jewel (beautiful) into my little knapsack when I heard the sound of a guard outside. As he shone his flashlight into the room, I hit behind a statue. (It's hard to stay in that position for even a minute. How must Venus feel after two thousand years.) My weight was on my bad knee, but I managed not to wobble. The light stopped on the emerald's empty display case, and I thought I was caught. Then I heard two voices speaking casually, and the light moved on.
Big sigh of relief. I slipped out the window and was about to climb down my little rope when I heard it.
The Man of Steel, coming right for me. Scared the hell out of me, too. I let go of the rope to land on my feet and take off running, maybe hide in the bushes. Well, I landed on my feet but then my knee gave out and I fell flat on my face. (Mortifying.) I dropped the jewel a little way away. Superman landed in front of me just as I managed to stand up.
"Are you all right?" he asked, as if he actually cared about me. (He has a sexy voice, you know, but he's a little beefy for my tastes.) I nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. "I'm going to have to stop you."
"You can have the emerald back," I said, pointing at my little black bag on the ground. He looked like he thought it was a trick. "No, really. I've lost, so I don't deserve the prize. I know when I'm outnumbered."
"I have to bring you in, too." I smiled at that.
"You know, I've never been caught. It's a matter of honour; I'll fight you for this one." After I had a half a second to think about it, I added, "Go easy on me, though. My knee hurts."
He agreed, which was very nice of him.
I'm proud to say I drew first blood (symbolically, that is—he doesn't bleed, per se.) But he drew all the rest.
He fought me on the ground instead of flying—his version of going easy. Made me think of Batman with fond memories.
I knew if I was going to do any damage it would have to come fast, before he got a good measure of my abilities. I came at him moving slower than normal, then at the last second I sped up to my fullest. I threw a punch, jumped, kicked, spun and kicked again. It was beautiful, but that second kick killed me. My goddamn knee again. After that I didn't have a chance.
Broken hand, broken nose, knee twisted all to hell, and – ahem – I don't be able to sit straight for a while.
And I did all this to myself. He hardly laid a hand on me. I guess now I know why they call him the Man of Steel. My hand...
I was lying there on the ground, bleeding from my nose and my split lip (it got my mask all nasty but it looked very romantic. By which I mean the literary style, not rip off your clothes and roll around in rose petals.) I looked up at him with that little smudge of dirt in the corner of his mouth, the only mark on him, and I just wanted to get up and slap him. Of course I couldn't with a broken hand, wounded knee, and whatever else wrong from when I fell flat on my ass. (If you can't laugh at yourself, someone else will.)
"Give up?" he asked, and I wanted to hit him even more.
Since I couldn't, I just said, "No, sir." (I can call him "sir," the guy must be in his thirties at least.)
"Do you really want to die just because I beat you? It wasn't a fair fight."
"Who wants to die?" I said. "But I've never been caught. It's a matter of honour." He seemed a little surprised and a little impressed.
"Then I guess I have no choice." He picked up my bag with the emerald inside. "Since you already gave back the jewel, I'll let you off with a warning. On one condition. Let me know who you really are." He reached for my mask. Reflexively, I put my hands in front of my face. Then, reluctantly, I put them down. He has X-Ray Vision. Asking my permission was only a form of courtesy.
He's very gentle for a man so beefy, so very strong. It still hurt like hell when he hit my nose. I didn't make a move, but I'm guessing he knew. He lifted off my mask, took a good look at my face, and pulled it back down again.
"Do you have a name?" he asked me.
"You know what they call me." (Now there's the old fighting spirit.)
"Yes, but what did your mother call you?" I smiled at that.
"My mother called me darling."
"All right, Darling," he said, flying my little bag up to the window. When he got back, I was gone.
Superman fought me. It must have been a slow week.