All claims are DC. Please enjoy. Reviews humbly appreciated.
Batman 1939: The Dangers of Being Cold
Chapter 3: Détente
Gotham City was a tough place to live. Walls were thin, rent was high, it smelled near the mills, and the weather gave Londoners depression. New buildings tended to cut corners after the Housing Commission went on strike - little details like fire escapes and termite nests. But the real millstone around the neck of the city was the people, that great rancid melting pot. A resident tended to grow edgy after the sixth or seventh mugging. Funnily enough, the brochures choose to advertise the city's diversity; they said a visitor could find just about any kind of person within twenty blocks if they looked hard enough. Unlike a lot of bombast farted out by the Board of Tourism, the locals agreed.
Indeed, a traveler with a keen eye for the streets could find all sorts of rare treasures of humanity. Outside Lowenbaum Department Store was a beggar who tried to convince passersby that he was an exiled Spanish prince. In the Narrows was a mother from Missouri who fed her ten kids by jumping in front of fancy cars to win negligence lawsuits. On 110st Street lived a respected dentist from Mumbai with constant bruises for having a funny accent and dark skin. In a Charlotte Grove high-rise lived a malpractice lawyer who got his kicks by hitting poor people with his car. And somewhere around Little Bucharest was an exiled Spanish prince.
So yes, you could find any kind of person in Gotham if you looked hard enough.
The unspoken corollary? They could also find you.
Of course, the deep end of this bell-curve, the concrete proof that you really could find anyone if you were dumb enough to try, was the Gotham celebrity criminal. Anyone could wear a silly hat and act out a shtick. Anyone could rob a bank. But very few could do both, and almost no one could do both repeatedly. That was the key. Outsiders assumed the sinister breed was famous for spectacle and panache, but what really set them apart was survival.
Of course, no regular Joe knew how the city's famed felons kept waking up on the friendly side of the dirt. Who could explain the astonishing longevity of a group whose insurance premiums rivaled the gross income of Denmark?
This ignorance didn't stop anyone from guessing, of course, though most of the theories would embarrass a tabloid editor. In truth, their trick was mundane (as opposed to their tricks, which were lurid and ridiculous). To start with, the costume set possessed an enormous lifetime supply of luck. They all had exceptional cunning. Keen street smarts were vital, but a robust immune system surely helped; you couldn't wait in the hospital all season for your bones to knit. They all had a natural intimidation factor, the gift to freeze a crowd with a sneer. Some said it was in the eyes, some in the way they walked. Finally, and perhaps the most vitally of all, each possessed phenomenal instincts.
It was because of those great instincts that Catwoman was leaping into a back-flip the moment the old door began to move. She landed in a crouch atop an ugly marble bust of Andrew Jackson, claws out and eyes trained on the entrance.
The door opened and Batman walked through. He stepped inside and looked up at her, not commenting on her obvious attack stance.
He waited.
She glared back, curiosity and confusion slowly eroding her pulsing battle-rage.
A gust of wind rattled the windows.
She remembered that a staring contest with Batman was like trying to out-wait a glacier. She would have to make the first move. Claws still out, Catwoman gently cleared her throat and spoke across the room. "Hi."
He nodded a micrometer. She wouldn't have noticed in the dark except that those ears made every head motion pretty obvious. "Catwoman."
Not the friendliest greeting, but his first words tended to be accusations, so she took it as an olive branch. She hopped off the bust and took a few steps forward. "You know, I've never seen you come through a front door." She stopped five paces away, retracted the claws, and crossed her arms. "So I guess this isn't a trap."
He frowned in what seemed like sincere confusion and swiftly looked around the room.
"You think I asked you here because of the close confines."
She nodded. "And the lack of nice handholds."
"The single entrance-"
"-and the raised windows." they both added simultaneously.
He paused and gave a grunt of agreement. "A misunderstanding."
"I'm disappointed." She tossed the crumpled note he gave her at the coffee shop. It bounced off his chest and he caught it. "If anyone's had practice explaining themselves in eight words, it's you."
Batman's eyes hardened at the implied jest, but he said nothing. Catwoman fiercely debated asking if there was any significance in bringing her to the one place he ever managed to corner her (as much as she hated to admit that out loud) and instead let her go, and also what the hell that meant, the cryptic jerk.
She took a subtle tack. "I don't suppose you picked this place for the fond memories."
He paused a moment. "The message had to be discreet. We both knew this site; it was least likely to be interrupted. That's all."
So he was just smart at picking meetings ... unless he was lying. She covered her scrutiny with a quip. "Or maybe you just picked a low number in case I lost count."
He looked at her impassively. "I have full confidence in your ability to count."
Catwoman rolled her eyes; it had sounded funnier in her head. Whatever, if this was still some absurdly-elaborate trap, she would deal with it. She turned and walked into the middle of the brightest beam of moonlight and gestured for him to follow, which Batman slowly did. They faced each other, now both easily visible.
"Let's try this again." She laid a hand over her mouth in fake astonishment. "My, if it isn't my favorite caped busybody. Did you ask me here to waltz a little? Maybe chat about the weather? How's your Christmas shopping?"
"I'm here to make a request."
"Seeing as how you've done nothing but try to make my life easier, why not?" She relished opening a few buckets of sarcasm. "What kind of favor are you looking for?"
"I came to negotiate the employment of your expertise for an illegal operation."
Catwoman cocked an eyebrow. "Do what?"
Batman frowned and repeated himself in a lower voice, "I requested your attention tonight because I wish to discuss the requisition of your particular ... skill set."
She grinned sardonically and tilted her head in mock confusion. "Pardon?"
Batman muttered again, so low that he was inaudible.
Catwoman leaned forward and cupped an ear, "Sorry, not used to hearing more than three syllables out of you."
Batman closed his eyes and breathed in a wintry dose of humility. He reluctantly enunciated, "Catwoman, there's a task I can't do alone. It's vital. I need your help."
Catwoman's mouth dropped in surprise, eyes expanding in luminous amusement. Then her gape lifted into a too-wide smile, a schoolgirl hearing the year's most scandalous gossip.
Batman forced his jaw shut so hard his teeth ground. Catwoman's satisfaction was annoying; he fiercely hated admitting weakness, especially to her ... insofar as she was a context of the criminal element, of course.
He held his tongue because the businessman in him recognized an opportunity. His biggest hurdle tonight would be crossing their gulf of mistrust, but she was smiling at him. In mockery, granted, but still a smile. If he didn't do anything stupid, he may have just found his bridge.
"So you need my help, huh? You must awfully desperate." Catwoman keep grinning but her tone was cautious, investigative.
His instinct said to get mean and righteous; that's how he usually motivated people. But the actor in him knew Catwoman had seen his Personification of Vengeance shtick (as she might call it) far to often. He had to go past his comfort zone. Of course, Batman's comfort zone rivaled the circumference of the Milky Way, so when the answer came, he found it both terrifying and terribly simple: it was time to be polite.
He stepped forward and looked deep into her eyes. "Catwoman, I do need your help ... please."
Inches away from each other, there was a moment of silence.
Then she whistled. "Wow."
He couldn't tell if it was awe or mockery.
Batman kept the apprehension out of his tone. "Well?"
"I'm flattered, Batman," She cupped his chin affectionately, "but you'll forgive a girl if past encounters make her a touch suspicious."
He stepped back and turned to the windows. "Than let me prove my sincerity. If the issue is money, you'll be handsomely paid."
"Well, you do know handsome, but I'm self-employed. Haven't taken a commission job in six months ..."
She walked a causal circle around him like she was judging a new car. When she reached his side, Catwoman leaned on his shoulder, plucked a gem out of her satchel, and held it up to the moonlight so they could both see.
"…and I doubt you can offer the kind of scratch I make anyway. Take this little prize. Do you have any idea how much a Suleiman emerald's worth?"
Batman resisted the urge to push her away or comment on the blatant larceny. "You're holding the Belgrade stone, smallest of the original Suleiman quartet but the only one that Napoleon the Third's niece didn't cut her initials into. It's about nine hundred dollars with your usual gem fence. Wait a month and you might ransom it back to the museum for a thousand and a quarter."
"Of course you do." Catwoman rolled her eyes and put away the gem. "Dare I ask how you keep learning about my fences?"
He ignored the question and faced her again. "Help me and I can offer one and a half thousand for one night's work: no caped busybodies in your way, payment in cash."
He couldn't tell whether it was the "caped busybodies" or "payment in cash", but as he spoke her features lit up with sudden interest.
"Well, well. Fifteen hundred, huh? Been pickin' pockets off all those gangsters you beat up?" She paced away and tapped her lips, a bargainer's glint in her eye. "Alright, let's assume you can get the money, what's the pitch? Saving kittens from trees?"
He gave a dry look. She guessed it was the closest he got to a smile and called it a win. "No. Do you actually think I do that?"
"When you're not chasing after me that is, but I suppose everybody needs a hobby."
"I don't have hobbies."
"That's sad. What's the gig?"
"It's well-suited to your habits, though the environment's very different from your usual targets."
"You didn't answer my question, Batman."
"Fine."
Batman held out a dim photograph of a heavy door handle. There was a combination padlock on the latch constraining the handle and a large deadbolt above it.
"Here's the crux of the job. Can you open this?"
Catwoman took the photo and pulled a very small flashlight from inside her sleeve. Batman started to describe the picture, but Catwoman held out a finger and shushed him. He frowned but stopped talking.
She squinted at it for a brief moment, then turned off her light and nodded. "Yes, I can open this."
"How quickly?"
"Am I standing or hanging inverted?"
"Standing."
"Is there a lot of noise near the door?"
"Typical for a wilderness area. Wind. Footsteps. Possibly engines running nearby."
"Hmm. The padlock's the real challenge. I might crack the combination in about thirty-five seconds. Fifty at most. Depends."
"And the deadbolt?"
"Pff, this deadbolt's easy: five-pin, basic catalog model. Under seven seconds, no problem. Under four if it's not rusted."
"Seven seconds? Implausible."
"Implausible is you never tripping over that cape. Keep in mind, I play with bank safes. I can handle little deadbolt locks in my sleep," she poked him in the chest, "Now, assuming that's fast enough for you, where's your fifteen hundred dollar door?"
"I'd like to explain the story first."
"Oh?"
"You deserve to understand the ... gravity of the situation." He noticed the puzzled look on her face. "Problem?"
"Well, that's surprisingly thoughtful for an employer in this line of work."
He gave a modest head-tilt. "Fair warning, it may be unsettling."
"I'm a big girl, Batman. What's the story?"
He coughed primly into his fist. Batman's dark baritone suddenly turned less harsh. She noted that he almost sounded like a person, richer and using more full sentences. Catwoman wondered if this was how he normally talked when he wasn't yelling at psychopaths or splendid cat burglars.
"Since early November, I've been aware of an extensive ring of corpse thieves working in Gotham. They've stayed mostly unnoticed by targeting the unidentified deceased. The city morgues process an average of three unclaimed bodies a day, and this rate triples in winter. Their victims, usually the homeless, die with no will or relatives. The thieves have been entering the morgues with fake identities and taking these unclaimed cadavers soon after they're found, usually within a day of their arrival and cursory autopsy."
Catwoman gave a look of concern and disgust. "Why didn't you shut this group down in November?"
He frowned. "I've been busy."
She looked at him incredulously. "Really? Too busy for corpse thieves?"
"Yes." he said stiffly.
"Corpse thieves!"
"There are other considerations for-"
"You've been running after pickpockets for a month when somebody's stealing bodies?"
He gave her a meaningful glare, "I respect the dead, but I protect the living. Bodies or not, the streets are desperate. Neighbors are mugging each other for food and propane! But I guess that variety of petty crime is beneath your interest."
"Hold on, I didn't mean to-"
He raised his voice over her. "I've seen stickups over children's gifts! Vagrants are fighting to the death tonight over warm places to sleep. Half the cops won't leave their cars if it drops below twenty. The road crews are in the pocket-"
Catwoman held up her hands and yelled, "Stop! Alright! Fine, far be it from me to question your almighty priorities," she pointed a finger at him, "but unless you want me to walk away right now, don't you dare talk to me like I'm some heartless-" Batman almost added "thief" but kept his mouth shut. "-some heartless, privileged hedonist."
They eyed each other with bitter intensity. Under his cape, Batman thumbed the edge of a flash pellet. Catwoman discretely palmed the handle of her whip. It felt like old times.
But this time, neither moved. The wind rattled the windows.
Idiot, Bataman berated himself, provoked with one irrelevant criticism. This was why he didn't seek allies. Now the night was ruined. A shame, but he had other contingencies without her; they just happened to be a lot more dangerous. He would have called this a disappointment but frankly it lasted longer than he had expected. Regardless, it was time to disengage. Ready to counter her inevitable strike, he idly considered an escape route.
But seconds passed and the attack didn't come. This was so amazing that Batman stopped his tactical planning and actually looked at her. Catwoman was clearly upset, a mix of wounded pride and ... dejection? Whatever it was, it wasn't hostility. She hadn't issued a threat, just a demand for respect. He only heard a threat because he was so used to hearing them.
Batman muttered internally. So they were both acting out of habit. Were they just a pair of maladjusted pubescents?
Surely his city was doomed.
He let out a breath and stood down. Recalling every lesson he knew on acting contrite (there weren't many), Batman stared at the floor. "I don't think of you as privileged. Or a hedonist. And I wouldn't have come here if I thought you were heartless."
She stared at him, forceful but undecided, a loose stick-shift hovering between third and neutral. Finally, she nodded. "I guess I accept your apology. I was just a little surprised grave-robbing was a problem these days," she shrugged, "or this century."
Catwoman tried to play it cool, but Batman could see what had stayed her hand. There was interest in her face; she was eager to hear the rest of the story.
Catwoman leaned against an easel and moved an errant lock of hair from over her shoulder. "So you've been too busy to stop the body snatchers. What's changed?"
"They've escalated. Three nights ago, a homeless couple: Wendell and Alice Dupree, were smothered in their sleep behind the 8th Street Train Station at roughly eleven o'clock. According to the coroner's report, the bodies were discovered by an anonymous bystander within ten minutes of their death. They were processed at the morgue less than half an hour later and the bodies disappeared shortly after midnight." He paused and looked her in the eye. "The odds of a corpse being found so quickly after death are slim-"
"-But the reaction time of the city is unprecedented. The coroners were in on it. It was staged."
Batman nodded. "I already knew morgue technicians had to be passively complicit, but this suggests a larger conspiracy. The prior thefts occurred long after their respective cadavers were discovered, suggesting the thieves didn't know of the deaths until the morgue reported them. In other words, crimes of opportunity."
"Like vultures."
He nodded again. "But the thieves somehow knew just when the Duprees would arrive; the murders were either performed or paid for by the thieves themselves."
"Then go rough up some morgue technicians, find the thieves, dangle them over a building, and leave them for the cops."
"It's not that simple."
"Why?"
"I haven't been the only one aware of these thefts. Other morgue employees have tried to involve the authorities, but every investigation gets stonewalled. Several of the whistle-blowers have been fired. Someone exceptionally powerful is protecting these conspirators. If I harass the drones at the bottom, the leader will see me coming and hide or retaliate. I need to destroy the program from the top."
"Do you have any idea who that powerful someone is?"
"Perhaps. Once I heard about the murders, I found evidence that the thieves carried the two cadavers away in a refrigerated truck that left the city heading northwest."
"Then they could be anywhere."
"Fortunately, a Gotham Turnpike operator fifty-nine miles upstate remembered seeing an ice truck pass through early the following morning. He said the truck was memorable because the driver tried to avoid paying the toll, claiming 'military business' and showing War Department papers."
"The War Department? Why does the Army want fresh corpses so bad they're willing to kill Americans to get them?"
"I don't know." He paused and then spoke very carefully. "The possibilities are deeply troubling."
"Isn't this just another corruption case? You've taken on the government before."
"I've stopped bureaucrats and petty officials. Military law is different. There's no telling how far up the chain of command this murder was approved, let alone what officer runs the program. The Army's been mobilizing since July. Catwoman, Washington has granted certain projects ... remarkable autonomy." She spied in his stony visage about one-fifth of what most people called dismay. "I can't begin to speculate what these conspirators are capable of."
A mouse ran across the floor and disappeared into the wall. She gave him a strange, uncomfortable look. It almost seemed like sympathy. He frowned. Was she worried about him? No, he decided, Batman never evoked sympathy. He must have misread her expression. She was simply concerned for her own safety. Such a massive abuse of authority might hurt anyone.
Again, Catwoman couldn't hear his internal monologue and broke the silence. "I think I'm starting to see where I come into this. The only Army property in that direction is Fort Morrison."
"Yes."
"You plan on visiting?"
"I went last evening."
"And that's where the door is?"
Batman nodded gravely. "The base was exceptionally well guarded."
"It's a military garrison."
"Even by the standards of an active Army site. Trust me."
"Okay. What did you find?"
"Our truck from the morgue. It was parked at a long brick building in the rear of the site. One story, no windows. Unfortunately, the building had very secure entrances. Guard checkpoints. ID passes. Floodlights."
"I get the idea. How'd you take a photo this close then?"
"The building had three doors: the main personnel door in the front, guarded and frequently used; a garage door on the side, rarely needed but also guarded; and a third door in the back," he pointed at the photo, "Locked but unmanned."
"No one posted nearby?"
"Out of all static lines of sight."
Catwoman nearly purred. "Very nice."
"Even then, picking the lock and cracking the combination would have taken me at least two minutes, long enough for the patrols to find me."
"Two minutes? That's pretty amateur."
"As you said, I usually don't use the door."
"Then you realized what you were up again against and left to find me?"
"No. Then I spent yesterday attempting to disguise myself as a corpse, but I realized acting dead convincingly during an autopsy would take weeks of preparation."
She laughed lightly.
"What's funny?"
"Your joke about the…oh. Really?"
He looked at her deadpan.
She waved away the comment. "Forget it. Go on."
"I realized my only sound options required a partner, a practiced infiltrator who can bypass the locks faster than I can. Someone who can take care of herself in dangerous situations. Someone with skills in-"
"If you don't quit now, I just might blush. I don't suppose you've considered writing a letter to General Marshall instead? Maybe send a telegram to Roosevelt? Who has the power to stop it?"
"Depends on who's behind it. The President, certainly. The congressional military committees. Certain flag officers. Possibly a federal judge. In any case, I'd need damning proof from deep inside that building: photographs of the bodies or copies of incriminating orders. That should compel a real investigation no matter who ordered it. If it's protected all the way to the top, then we take it to the people. I know newspaper editors that might risk printing it. But that's worst case scenario. I'd rather not involve any innocents. I won't let good people get hurt for this."
She took a defiant stance with her hands on her hips. "So instead you call me."
Batman mentally slapped himself. "Catwoman, I'm…I'm sorry. That was a poor choice of words."
"Oh, your words are just fine. First 'please', now 'sorry'. I guess your mother's proud she raised you right."
For half a blink, Batman grimaced and looked past her. This reaction was so minor and brief that Catwoman barely noticed it. She could have sworn that, for a moment, her favorite human Maoi statue had looked vulnerable. But how could that be?
That would mean ... had she hurt his feelings?
More importantly: he had feelings?
No. She must have imagined it. Batman was just staring away to find clues or something, probably going through calculus proofs until she calmed down.
Still, no point in being a jerk; that was his job.
Catwoman sighed and dropped the pose.
"I get it, we're not innocents when we put on the masks," she smiled, "me especially."
Batman was wise enough to keep quiet, even if he really, really agreed. He gave a non-committal head-tilt. She began to pace around him again.
"So, to reiterate: you want my help breaking into a very tightly-defended building in Fort Morrison, a superbly well-defended military instillation that Batman himself found too hot to handle? And if I'm caught, assuming I'm not shot to pieces in the process, I would be tried for high treason and thrown into the deepest, dirtiest hole they can find."
"Essentially."
"I guess it's my patriotic duty then. But I want double: three grand," she gave a grin and a wink, "and let's say twenty percent up front."
She was joking about the up-front payment, of course. Even if the Bat carried money around (and why would he?), there was no way he had that much on hand. Three thousand was nearly double what most locals made in a year.
He looked at her impassively. Right, no sense of humor. "I was just kidd-"
"Done."
Batman pulled out a roll of bills. To her utter astonishment, he began to count benjamins into her hand.
"Meet sundown. Two days. Rodger's Repair Shop, it's a condemned building on the Turnpike just north of town."
Catwoman was busy starring at the crisp six hundred bucks in her hands. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Sundown. You do know I was joking about the twenty percent, right?"
"Be rested. Bring every tool you feel comfortable using. We can discuss a detailed plan then."
"Do you always carry this much green around?"
"Depends."
"On the sudden need to buy a house?"
Batman turned to leave. "Two days. Sundown."
