Author's Note:

Dear readers, it is bittersweet to say, but I've finished writing Batman 1939: Three's Company.

However, the final chapter was so long that I've decided to split it into three chapters. This is the beginning of the end. The middle will be posted in two days, on Friday the 25th, and the true finale with be posted two days after that, on Sunday the 27th.

If you like my writing, all future projects will be shared through my new website: fredwattswrites -dot- com. Subscribe to get the inside scoop on the latest updates.

As a final goodbye, I will be sharing details on my next novel in this thread following the last chapter.


Batman 1939: Three's Company

Chapter 21: Ships Dock

Gotham City.

When the flash faded, Batman and Catwoman found themselves under a flickering street lamp. Dark buildings rose in all directions, glittering with a million city lights. Ever grander towers loomed in the distance like sequoias in a forest of pines, while trails of smoke covered half the stars. The neon maze welcomed them with a car horn symphony, and the breeze from an alley smelled of trash and dogs. They were home.

Catwoman took a deep breath and stretched. She hadn't realized how trapped she felt in Shadowcrest. Here she was uncaged. She let out the happy grunt of a good stretch.

Batman faced ahead with a vacant stare. Giovanni's parting words echoed in his mind.

Catwoman stretched again. "Alright. That could have been a lot worse."

Batman felt nothing. Her voice was a dissonant tune in a deafening echo chamber.

"Hey." Catwoman nudged his arm. He offered no response, so she nudged him again. "Hey!" Then she shoved him.

Batman fell. His cheek hit the cold metal of a manhole cover, snapping him back into the world. He rose to his knees and rubbed his face.

Catwoman crouched beside him. "What happened?"

Batman took deep breaths. He wouldn't say he found the city air invigorating, but it helped calibrate his senses. This was the real world.

"Giovanni, he-" Batman paused.

"What?" she asked.

Batman closed his eyes. He forced himself to be calm. In this artificial calm, he could scrutinize Giovanni's words without the distraction of feelings. He decided there was no immediate threat and compartmentalized the memory for later.

"Nothing. I was confused. I've lost a lot of blood."

Catwoman shrugged. "Business as usual then." She slipped an arm across his back and helped him stand. "Up and at 'em."

With Catwoman's help Batman slowly rose to his feet. Some pedestrians passed, giving them odd looks.

"Nothing to see here, folks," said Catwoman, "He slipped and landed in tomato sauce."

Batman strained to take a step. His knee wobbled, and Catwoman briefly bore his weight until he found his footing.

She huffed. "If you think I'm going to drag you, you are sorely mistaken."

He snorted like a bull. "Use both arms."

"My arm is in a sling, dummy."

"Your arm is fine. Your sling is a prop, probably to hold contraband."

"How'd you guess?"

"When Sindella's ants attacked, you had no trouble using both hands to protect your face. Meanwhile, your sling hung like it still carried weight."

"You noticed."

"I'm Batman."

Catwoman dropped him. By then he had recovered enough to continue on his own. He staggered another few steps for practice.

"Look." Catwoman pointed across the road. "I know this street."

Batman looked. At the end of the block, a large truck had just pulled away from the curb. Behind it, they saw the bright sign of a corner diner, the Hughes Diner and Café.

They stood for a moment, reminiscing.

"Let's go in," said Catwoman. "The owner's a good guy. He won't give us any trouble."

Batman made a deeply skeptical noise. He took extraordinary pains to avoid being seen in public. On the other hand, he wasn't strong enough for covert travel - riding atop trains or moving through the sewers. Even if he could reach a car, he doubted he had the dexterity to drive. Perhaps he could enter the establishment just to call for support. But that had its own risks.

Batman was about to enter a deeper layer of planning when Catwoman snapped her fingers in his face. "Hey! Less thinking, more walking." She took his hand and led him to cross the street. "You don't want to be caught outside, do you?"

She was right. Even in Gotham City, wandering around in a mask and bloody clothes made the neighbors nervous. He would be lucky if he was only arrested. Perhaps his mind was more dulled from blood loss than he assumed. Still, he asked, "Are you sure you trust this place?"

"It's fine. Besides," she yawned, "I'm dead on my feet here. I need to sit before I start drooling on your shoes."

They reached the end of the block. Catwoman pulled open the door to the Hughes. Like most corner diners, it was unpretentious and cozy. The air smelled like bacon grease and lemon meringue. A lively band played "Chattanooga Choo Choo" on the scratchy radio.

The proprietor, Mister John Quigley, was a big, cheerful man, and he looked dapper in his apron and white paper hat. He was talking with a patron at the counter but nearly fainted when he saw the pair who walked through the door.

He raised his hands. "Easy! We only got a little in the register."

Catwoman rolled her eyes. She ripped her mask over her head and shook her dark hair out. "Johnny, it's me."

John's jaw dropped. "Selina? Holy smokes, you nearly gave me a heart attack. What are you doing in that getup?"

"Costume party."

"Geez, now that's a shiner. And what happened to your arm?"

"Toothbrush accident."

John looked at Batman. "And who's he?"

"Met him at the costume party."

"Is that blood on him?"

"Different toothbrush accident."

The patron at the counter, an old milkman in coveralls, had a ham sandwich in front of his open mouth and hadn't moved a muscle since they entered.

Catwoman approached the man as she reached into her satchel. "Private party tonight, buddy. Do you mind?" She took his sandwich and replaced it with a gold bar.

The man looked at the gold bar, confused it was not a sandwich. When he realized what it was, he jumped from his stool and stumbled out of the door, clutching the treasure to his chest.

"Hey!" said John, "That was a customer!"

Catwoman dropped the sandwich on a plate then tossed John a stack of banknotes. "My friend and I need a minute alone, Johnny. Can I treat you to a coffee around the corner."

"What? I make coffee."

"Please? It's been a rough night."

He looked at the banknotes and scratched his head. "Is this money Swiss?"

"John!"

John threw up his hands. "Okay, okay. Twist my arm, why don't you. I'll close up to get some air. How's that?"

"You're a dear, Johnny."

"Yeah, yeah." John Quigley turned off the coffee burner, took off his apron and paper hat, and grabbed his coat and fedora from the coat rack. "Take care, 'Lina." He flipped the "Open for Business!" sign on the door while giving Batman another look. Batman was swaying and gazing at the floor.

John patted his shoulder. "Not for nothing, pal, but maybe go easy on the martinis next time?"

Batman slowly looked at him. John shrugged and left, locking the door behind him.

Catwoman leaned far over the counter and grabbed two bottles of soda out of an ice cooler. She placed them on the sandwich plate and carried them to a booth, dropping into one of the plush seats. Catwoman beckoned to Batman and patted the seat beside her. Batman stumbled over and sat across from her. Catwoman wrinkled her nose at him. You're no fun. She pulled the sling off her arm and tossed it on the table. There was a shape hiding in the loose folds.

Batman let his belt slide off his shoulder onto the chairback. He looked at the shape concealed in the sling and said, "You wanted us to leave together. Was there something you wanted to tell me?"

She gently kicked his shin. "First of all, relax. We deserve it."

Catwoman took a soda bottle in each hand and struck their caps against the edge of the table, popping off both at once. She took a long sip of hers and placed one in front of Batman.

She smacked her lips. "Don't tell me you aren't thirsty."

Batman stiffly opened and shut his hands, trying to grasp the bottle without tipping it.

"You silly man," said Catwoman. "Take the gloves off." She took off one of her own gloves and dropped it on the table.

"It's fine," muttered Batman.

She watched while he struggled and balanced her bottle on one finger. "I'm amazed you do anything in those big mitts."

"It's fine," he repeated, finally grasping the bottle. He lifted it, but it slipped from his grip and bounced off the table. Catwoman snatched the bottle before it hit the floor and placed it in front of him. He looked at the bottle and frowned.

Catwoman yawned, loud and long. "It's not a big deal. I've seen your hands before, remember?"

Batman had a reason for not shedding his gloves, beyond respecting the powerful image of his suit. Sindella's spell hadn't only made him weak, it made his skin distractingly sensitive, like every inch was rubbed raw. He didn't want to see his hands because he was scared of what he might find. And whatever he found, he didn't want an audience.

Catwoman took a bite of the sandwich and washed it down with soda. "I could get you a straw," she suggested.

Batman had a relentlessly rational streak, and it warned him he was being stubborn. He knew it was safe for him to show some vulnerability in front of Catwoman; she'd proven that often enough. Without a word, he stuck a glove under his armpit and tried to remove his hand. This took several tries of increasing effort. Finally, his forearm whipped free and smacked a napkin dispenser across the room. The dispenser narrowly missed Catwoman. Instead of being upset, she snorted and laughed at him, then she winced as soda went up her nose.

Batman ignored her and looked at his uncovered hand. He had to convince himself it was his hand. He recognized the shape of it, but his skin was as soft and pink as an infant. His knuckles were smooth divots, not the bony hills he knew. His veins and tendons were delicate. He decided it wasn't an injured hand; quite the opposite: it was a hand that had never been hurt.

Batman forced himself past shock. His dexterity had steadily improved since he woke from the spell. He might recover. But recover to what? Time would tell.

He stopped inspecting his hand and dislodged the other glove. No point in inviting attention. The second glove slipped off more smoothly than the first. Now barehanded, he found it was easier to grasp the soda and took a sip.

"There you go," said Catwoman, "I was afraid I'd have to bottle feed you." He was unamused, but she still snickered the way sleepy people do when they're tired enough to laugh at their own jokes.

"Thank you for the drink." said Batman. "What did you want to discuss?"

She pointed at him. "Why is your voice different when you talk to me?"

"That's what you wanted to discuss?"

"No. But why? You growl at everyone else."

Batman stared at her. Catwoman thought she had earned the silent treatment, but he finally answered, "Because I have nothing to prove to you."

"I can't tell if that's a compliment or an insult. You have a talent for riddles, John." Catwoman rubbed her eyes. "Do you like being called John? Seems fair, seeing as how you know my name. You're lucky it is John."

"Lucky?"

"Sure. If your mom went with Horatio or Melvin or, I don't know, Egbert, someone might find you. You'd be the only big bad Egbert in the city."

"I suppose."

She folded her hands behind her head and laid her feet on the chair beside him. "You know what would really be fair?"

"What?"

"If you told me your last name."

"No."

"John No. I like it. Has a certain mystique."

"Catwoman."

"John Catwoman." She shook her head. "Doesn't have the same ring." She tried to see the reflection of her face in her bottle. "How's my eye?"

"The bruise looks superficial. Was it a weapon?"

"Just a fist. Sindella and I got off on the wrong foot. Accurate first impression, come to think of it."

"Apply a cold compress. If you have vision problems, see a doctor. It may mean a concussion or skull fracture."

Catwoman laid the cold bottle across her eye. "How's that?"

"Inefficient."

"Pff."

"Catwoman, what did you want to discuss?"

She lowered her feet and hands and looked at him with a sudden clarity. "Batman. John. You did right by me tonight. You walked through that spooky doorway. You fought wizards. A giant bat yelled at you. You were a tree. I got you hurt."

"You're not responsible for-"

"You're sweet. Shut up. I got you hurt. And you know what? I was incredibly mad at you for tonight. And I still kind of am."

Batman struggled to guess the point of this conversation. She was as confusing as his blood loss. But Catwoman grew more earnest as she talked.

"And I know you were angry at me too. I'm not here to argue all that. I just need to know one thing."

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

Batman studied Catwoman, still failing to see inside her head. She looked back expectantly.

"Well?" asked Catwoman. "It's not calculus. You'd've answered by now if it were calculus."

"Trust you to do what?"

"Wow." Catwoman sank into her chair, disappointed. "There's my answer."

"Trust you to do what, Catwoman?"

She scoffed and pulled at a strand of hair. "Catwoman. It's funny, the nicknames aren't as fun with the mask off."

Batman learned forward impatiently. "Trust you to do what?"

She looked away. "I'm worried."

"Of what?"

"I'm worried about magic. I'm worried about the people who do magic. Every single one of them is nuts, and now we're involved in their-" She waved her hand indistinctly, "Whatever they do."

"Go on."

"Every story they tell turns into Hamlet: they're all crazy by the middle and dead in the end. Remember how a mage learns magic? They make trades with demons. That's a recipe for disaster. The more deranged they are, the more dangerous they get. And then they spend all their free time settling grudges. It's like someone shipped a crate of Tommy guns into Arkham Asylum."

"You don't have to convince me magic is dangerous."

"I spend my life thumbing my nose at dangerous people. I can hide from people. But I don't know how to hide from magic."

"No."

"No. So let's count the magic nutters who hate us. Faust is an animal, the brothers are cut-rate thugs, and Sindella's a match in a powder keg factory."

Batman recalled that Catwoman had gone out of her way to antagonize each of these people. Instead of mentioning this, he said, "I'm not certain they're all hostile. Even if they are, we have some assurances. Faust is the obvious threat, but Sindella seems powerful and motivated enough to keep him captive. That's presuming he's not in a shallow grave already."

Catwoman muttered, "Don't get my hopes up," and took a drink.

"As for Abdiel and Zachary, neither can open a door. I don't know how the Zataras' will treat them, but even if they recover their bodies and start settling scores, both Faust and Sindella have done them far more harm than we have. I don't think we're a priority."

"This sounds like a lot of maybes. And Sindella's still out there."

"She is, and I don't know enough to trust this custom of parley, but I suspect we have at least one insurance against her."

"What?" asked Catwoman.

"Sindella cares about Zatanna, and hurting us would make Zatanna upset." Batman preempted Catwoman's response with a hand. "I know that didn't stop her from attacking you, but that was before Zatanna acted assertive. I think Zatanna's show of force impressed Sindella. I doubt Sindella will defy her again without a good reason."

"So it comes down to Zatanna. Funny thought."

"Why?"

"Because-" Catwoman started to yawn. The yawn changed in pitch as she leaned sideways. Her eyes fluttered. "Because she-" The yawn continued. She grabbed the table to stop from falling over.

"Catwoman, let's call it a night."

"No." Her lidded eyes locked on his. "I'm going to tell you something because you, of all people, might be cold-bloodedly impartial enough to take it at face value." She furrowed her brow and muttered, "Bloodedly? Bloodily?" Bloodyididly?"

"I'm listening."

"Let's talk about your old friends. Giovanni scares me. More than the brothers. Maybe more than Sindella. Remember I said everyone magic is nuts? He seems sane. And it sounds like he's one of the most prolific killers alive. How many felons in Blackgate can claim more than, say, ten murders?"

"Very few."

"Well, you read his diary. How many bodies are on his tally sheet? Fifteen? Thirty?"

"A lot."

"It's terrifying. And let's not forget, he was killing wizards. Who knows what he's capable of? He might be a bigger paranoid obsessive than you. And I'm saying this as someone who very much wanted to kill some wizards tonight. If his tide of murder is too much for me, I don't know how you tolerate it."

Batman heard the echoed memory of Giovanni's parting words. His face hardened. "I agree, Giovanni's history is very troubling. I'll need to reflect on what I've learned before I judge him. However, I'm virtually certain he means us no harm."

"Not yet."

"Why would that change?"

"I don't know. He's in a crazy world with crazy people. Who knows what makes him tick? Maybe it'll be his daughter."

Batman went still. After a moment, he responded gently. "What do you mean?"

"Like I said, everyone magic is nuts. They're all lunatics. And Zatanna? She's going to be a mage."

"We don't know that."

"Oh, please. I love the girl, but she's already acting the part. Sure, she's all strawberries and gumdrops most of the evening, then when the cards are down, she threatens to free Faust to put the squeeze on her own mother. I don't think she was bluffing."

"But-"

"She was this close to cutting Faust loose. It worked out, but that was two scoops of crazy. I have a wild side, but I wouldn't have thought to do that in a million years.

"Catwoman."

"I feel bad for Zatanna. Her whole life has been a slap in the face. But imagine that she learns magic and wants to get even? And imagine what goulash will be left of her conscience after a few demonic contracts. Or if her mom gets back in her life. Mommy Sindella seems unstable even by mage standards, and you can't tell me that sort of thing doesn't run in the family. Zatanna's a timebomb."

"Zatanna made a desperate move in a daunting situation. That doesn't make her a timebomb. Besides, what does that have to do with us?"

"Because we're involved now. I've seen this sort of family before." Catwoman's expression turned dark, and she snarled out her words. "They don't send you Christmas cards and leave you alone. Sooner or later you'll find yourself on the wrong end of someone's nervous breakdown. The family picks sides and lashes out at you, whether you had it coming or not."

"But we're not involved. We may never see them again."

"Oh, sweetie." Catwoman pitied Batman with a shake of her head. "You dunce."

"What?"

Catwoman pointed at him. "Zatanna will reach out to you. Soon, I bet."

"Why?" asked Batman.

Catwoman shrugged. "Maybe she's scared and lonely, and you remind her of a time when she wasn't."

"I spent the whole night lying to her."

"She'll rationalize that."

"We were children. I knew her for a season. That's hardly a foundation of trust."

Catwoman rested her chin in her palm and shook her head again. "This may surprise you, but sometimes a few moments from your childhood can shape the rest of your life."

Batman frowned and said nothing.

Catwoman yawned. "And I was there with you, so I'll get pulled into the drama once you knock over the hornets' nest. I guarantee it."

"Then what do you propose?" asked Batman.

"Well, you can't avoid her, that makes it worse." Catwoman nestled her head in her arms and closed her eyes.

Batman watched, expecting more information. "Catwoman." When she didn't move, he raised his voice. "Catwoman!"

Catwoman twitched and stirred, blinking lazily. "You never gave me a card."

"What?"

"You gave Zatanna a card. You never gave me a card"

"Do you need me to protect you?"

"No."

"Then you don't need it. I don't make social calls."

Catwoman yawned. "Surprise of the century."

"Were you going to make a suggestion?"

"Yes. I think our only chance is to figure out magic so we can get ahead of it. That worked tonight, more or less."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"Well," Catwoman stretched out the word, as if to soften a blow. "I have absolute faith in you figuring out anything you put your mind to, but I thought I'd give you a head start."

Catwoman reached across the table and unfolded her sling. Hidden inside was a book with a blue leather cover and gold engraving: Little Mage's First Primer, Volume One.

Batman scowled. "You're going to give that back."

"Sure," said Catwoman sarcastically. "What's their street address?"

Batman took a deep breath. "You said the owners of that book are violent and temperamental. You made that exhaustively clear. And you robbed them?"

"It was a calculated risk." She pointed at him. "And you can't tell her."

"I'm not going to be complicit in your theft."

"Yes you are, not unless you want me turned into a lamppost. And they might get you too if they're feeling moody."

"Catwoman-"

"I'll hold the book. If they have some magic bloodhound that can track it down, then I'll take the fall."

"It's not about the retribution."

"Do you really think this was the last bunch of evil magic people in the world? Wouldn't you like to be prepared next time?"

Batman remembered that the last magical person he met was a Nazi who subverted the government and helped start a war. He looked annoyed but said nothing.

"Hey, you might be right about Zatanna," said Catwoman, "She may not even want to learn magic. In that case, she doesn't need the book. And she has plenty of other books if she does."

Batman remained silent.

Catwoman took this as consent and considered a plan. "Let's go our separate ways for a month. No contact. If I'm not a lamppost by then, we'll get back together to figure out how to avoid being mage chow."

"Where?"

"How about where we had our little planning session last time. That art school."

"In a month?"

"Thirty days from now. A quarter till midnight."

"And in the meantime?"

"Well, you mentioned at the Lisbon that you'd seen magic before. Any threads you could pull there?"

"Maybe," he said.

The clock above the door chimed the hour.

At the second chime, Batman took notice. At the third, he was curious. At the fourth, he was suspicious. With every chime after, his expression grew more alarmed. There were twelve chimes. The clock had struck midnight.

Batman panicked. "How long were we at Shadowcrest?"

Catwoman was resting her head again. "Do I look like a clock? Why don't you know?"

"I was unconscious several times." Batman took shallow breaths and leaned over, laying his arms on the table. "It had to have been hours."

"Calm down." Catwoman's annoyance was quickly changing to concern. "Why does it matter?"

"Inconsistencies. The time-" He blew air through his mouth.

"Hey! What's wrong?"

"Time passed more slowly in Shadowcrest than in our world. It's an anomaly in spacetime."

"Okay. And?"

Batman swallowed. His voice had lost its edge. "That's disconcerting."

Catwoman yawned and patted his hand.

Batman flinched. He looked at his hand. For that briefest moment, Selina's touch had filled him with such warmth and comfort, such uncomplicated closeness, that he feared he had been electrocuted.

His old hands had been gloved in calluses and scars and burns, the skin tortured into leather. 'Diminished tactility' he called it. He had not felt another human's touch in years. Not like that. Not until Selina.

Batman stared at his hand, mesmerized.

When he finally looked up, Catwoman was asleep.

Batman pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled away and stood at the counter. He had so many nerves that he couldn't think straight. He tried to meditate. He couldn't quite relax under the circumstances, but he came close.

With no distractions, he realized his suit felt loose. The normally tight fabric was baggy around his torso and arms and thighs. Curious, he ran a hand across his chest. It was a few inches narrower than before. He felt his biceps and triceps and found them smaller as well. As a lifelong athlete, Batman had an intimate sense of his physique, so this change was extremely disturbing. He nearly fell into another panic.

Soon a key rustled in the door. John Quigley entered and took off his coat and hat. He saw Batman leaning on the counter and Catwoman sleeping in a booth.

"Uh, you folks done what you need?" he asked.

"We're done," said Batman. "May I use your phone?"

"Sure."

Batman moved the handset under his arm and lifted his hands to the dial. His fingers trembled, but with one hand steadying the other, he slowly dialed a number. It rang twelve times before the call was picked up.

Batman wrestled the handset to his ear. "Check beta-alpha-tau. Yes. Yes. Run Protocol Dust-7. No. Yes. Thank you." He hung up. Batman had a thought and turned to John. "Do you know the number for a taxi service?"

"Yeah, but please," John reached for the handset. "Let me make the call. Watching you dial is giving me arthritis."

"Thanks. Have them come in twenty minutes."

Batman plodded back to the booth. Catwoman slept with her head in her arms. He let himself watch her for a few moments. He could see her nose and lips move slightly with each breath, and he smiled as a loose hair near her mouth blew back and forth. He folded the sling to hide the stolen book.

Taking his eyes away, the Dark Knight focused all his grit and ingenuity on buckling his belt. It took two minutes. Putting his gloves back on was marginally easier. He watched Catwoman sleep a little longer, then he forced his legs to turn and take a seat at the counter.

John was tidying up. "Can I get you anything?" he asked.

Batman considered ordering a coffee but knew he would spill it. "No thanks."

"Uh-huh."

They shared the silence for a few minutes. Batman had a thought and asked, "How long is your shift?"

"Another four hours."

"May I ask a favor?"

"Can't hurt to ask."

"Selina needs to rest. Please keep your shop closed while she's sleeping. If she's still asleep by the end of your shift, then call her a cab, help her in, and pay her fee. I'll make this well worth your trouble."

"I can do that. But your money's no good with me. Selina's a friend. Besides, I think she already paid my rent for next year." He pulled the strange banknotes out of his pocket and scratched his head. "At least I hope these are worth something. I'm not even sure how to turn funny money into cash."

Batman was irritated by this undoubtedly stolen currency, but he answered calmly. "The exchange rate is about two dollars per franc. You can convert them at an airport or a large bank. The banks have lower fees."

"Two for one, huh?" John did some mental math and thumbed his stack. "Thanks!

Batman nodded. They waited in companionable silence until his taxi arrived. Batman stole one final look at Catwoman as he plodded out the door. The taxi idled at the curb. He gripped the door handle with both hands, yanked it open, and crumpled inside.

The driver looked back over his shoulder. "Yo, what'll it be?"

"Boyle Auxiliary Coal Plant," said Batman.

The driver squinted at him and rubbed his gums. "Wait a minute. Are you Batman?"

"Yes."

"Hey, you sent my son to the hoosegow! He won't be out for ten years."

"And?"

"He was a no-good twerp. This ride's on the house."

"Thanks."

The driver faced foward and began to drive. "Hey, don't you have a cape? I heard you had a cape."

"I lost it."

"Sheesh, no one's safe in this economy."