JMJ

Chapter Two

Thrill and Tingles

"I still can't believe you're entertaining the idea," said Pierce. "Remember the Penguin."

"Of course, I remember," retorted Ronnie. "It was your idea."

"Remember that Worry Men carver."

"To be fair, he was mind-controlled by the Mad Hatter," said Ronnie. "Everyone who reads the common paper knows that."

"And that makes it better? Really, Ronnie. Think about this reasonably. This Harley Quinzel, or whatever she calls herself, had you at gunpoint before. She kidnapped you on her first day out of actually being released from that lax institution. I still can't understand for the life of me why you dropped the charges. It probably would have kept her in Arkham a lot longer."

"Pierce," said Ronnie sharply as she turned around.

They were in the Vreeland's luxurious home. The autumn leaves outside the window were red, orange, and golden to the most pristine from some of the most well-nurtured trees in Gotham. It was just cool enough outside to have the antique and well-kept fireplace crackling low just for the sake of it.

Ronnie thought of a lot of haughty things she could say to Pierce. Some of them were not becoming of her good grooming either, but in all the uncharitable things she could say, she knew that none of them would make her anything more than a hypocrite. That was because anything she could accuse him of, she could easily accuse herself of. She rolled her eyes with a huff. Then digressed.

"Don't you ever get sick of being the jewels behind the case?" asked Ronnie, leaning back against a leisurely daybed.

She glanced out the window only briefly as though to make her point about that glass case.

"Oh, now you're a philosopher too, are you?" said Pierce.

"I mean it," Ronnie insisted. "Of course, I remember how many times we've been violated by psychopaths, and of course, I remember just as equally how many times we had to be rescued like a sack of jewels to be returned to the estate, and Pierce—! I think you're just as tired of it as I am."

"What about all the charities you fund," said Pierce glancing at his nails absently. "After all, you just had a great success with that one for abandoned children in Gotham this August. I think you're justified."

"But do we really fund these things for the charity or just to show off?"

"Does it matter? You still raised more money than the goal," said Pierce.

"It matters to me," said Veronica. "And you know, I have been thinking really hard about all this. Daddy fought and so should I."

"Ronnie…"

"I know someone in Gotham is funding Batman," said Ronnie. "There's no way he can have all those things he does without a patron of some kind. Maybe more than one. Several! And I'm kept out of that loop."

"Then give money to the police department with the purpose of helping to fund Batman," said Pierce.

"They won't do that," said Veronica sternly. "I'm going to really do something right for once. I'm going to help Batman by helping one of his old enemies help him, and also by helping someone whose life was on the wrong side of the tracks in a way that you can't possibly understand."

"Neither can you, dear," replied Pierce, "and be thankful you can't."

"She'll go crazy again if she can't do something worthwhile to make up for her past," Veronica went on, "You can't change my mind."

"You're father might."

Ronnie made a most pitiful face even if there was a sense of, "you wouldn't dare" flickering like fire behind her ever-lively emerald eyes. It was more the pitiful look than the fire that got to Pierce, though. He knew she was only a silly child, but he could not quite bring himself to tattle on her. He never could with his little cousin.

He sighed.

He remembered that in the past he had almost always agreed with her. Not only that, but in the past more than half of the ideas had been his. In a way, he had taught her to be this way.

This was just too confusing.

"Oh!" he groaned.

He would let it be for now.

"Thanks, Pierce, I knew I could trust you!"

Veronica hugged him.

Their conversation ended just in time too, because a servant came in at the moment to announce the arrival of "Miss Quinzel."

"I have this feeling that I just can't shake," muttered Pierce after Veronica told the servant to lead her up.

He knew his cousin could hear him, even if she was pretending not to.

"That we're just going to have Batman save us again anyway and therefore inconveniencing him more instead of less… not mention crossing the line of our station…"

He sniffed and crossed his arms, sticking his little pug nose in the air as he closed his eyes importantly.

He was too much of a pampered little boy to fear the worst even by accident— that Batman would not be there to save them as a sort of safety net. Veronica was very little better in this regard. She welcomed Harley like they were two preteen girls planning a bake sale in the presence of an old fuddy-duddy nanny.

"No one said that Batman was sane himself," grumbled Pierce in such an unbecoming manner that no one would have understood it even if they were listening.

#

"Harley!" cried Veronica. "I'm so glad you're here.

"Hey, Ronnie V," said Harley, and she smirked at Pierce. "Hey, Cuz."

She could not help but tease. Honestly, he was growing on her a tad even if he was a complete fop. That was what gave him his charm— well, at least that was what made him amusing, anyway.

His good-breeding forced him to at least acknowledge her with a curt nod.

"Okay! So you may not know this, but I took a couple classes on fashion design in school," said Veronica leading Harley to a table worth more than Harley's apartment, "and I took the liberty of designing some possible outfits for you."

She took out some beautiful cardstock worth more each than the pen that scribbled on them. Harley had to admit that Veronica's drawings were not bad. Not bad at all. The outfits, however, despite having a fun sort of flare just were not going to work.

"Uh, kid, how am I supposed to do a ninja-style back flip with a roundhouse kick in mid swoop wearing a pencil skirt?" asked Harley.

"Well, different outfits could be for different occasions," Veronica offered.

Harley laughed. "First thing about rooftop-living, Ronnie, you always need legroom for a quick escape. I like this hood, though."

She pointed to another of the sketches.

"Nice concealing cowl."

"Oh, you like it!" said Ronnie. "I wasn't sure if you'd like something that kind of echoed your old costume or not with the ears sort of coming out like jester pompoms."

Pierce continued to sigh and to roll his eyes and take a step or two away to glower out the window at the wind's work with the trees. It seemed just as irritated as he was the way it was pulling leaves out of the trees as with nervous energy.

"No, I like it!" Harley insisted. "It's just a little nod, but not too obvious. You're good, but you mind if I take a pen?"

"Be my guest!" said Ronnie offering her one immediately.

"Just one quick side thing, though," said Harley as she sketched.

"What's that?" asked Ronnie.

"If we're gunna do this with Cuz, we gotta make him take a vow of silence."

"Veronica already made me promise," retorted Pierce, glancing haughtily her way.

"Oh, good!" said Harley and she stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth as she concentrated on her additions to Ronnie's design beneath that lovely cowl.

"Oh, very nice! Looks comfortable too. Like the vest," said Ronnie.

"Thank you," said Harley.

She tapped her chin with the pen. "I think I'll call myself… Lunabat!"

"Hmph! That's about right," said Pierce.

"Glad you think so," said Harley wryly back.

Ronnie clasped her hands together. "Oh, I'm getting tingles already! This is the best idea I ever had. I sure wish I could go with you!"

Pierce opened his mouth to protest, but Ronnie shook her head.

"Don't worry. I'll manage the thrill from a distance."

Pierce thus nodded with approval.

Harley eyed him, but only because she thought she sensed a bit of the tingles in his eyes too. It was amusing to think of him in a different dimension wearing some dapper costume with matching tights soaring through the night with a whip and a sword like the Scarlet Pimpernel. Harley almost laughed. Despite his concerns, despite his fears, Harley felt that the real reason Pierce was putting up with this was that he was just as eager to start this secret even if he would never be the type to truly join outright.

Harley closed her eyes and shook her head.

#

"They're just getting more whacked by the night!" snapped Detective Harvey Bullock smacking a picture of the very same Lunabat caught on camera for the front page of the papers. "At least she actually admits she's a fruitcake with a name like 'Lunabat'."

It was few weeks later at police headquarters, and Lunabat had definitely made her mark. She may not have stopped any major crimes, but with all her flash, her style, her glib, and the fact that she was just another crime-fighter with the bat-theme had her noticed soon enough.

"And here we are on the rooftop again paging that original fruit bat to help with this kidnapping thing, and—"

Bullock lifted his head up at Commissioner Gordon through the heavy, late-autumn fog. He hardly felt the damp chill. In fact, he rather preferred it. He hated getting hot in his deep trench coat on steamy Gotham summer evenings. It would have been a perfect night for his work. Real police work. Unfortunately, clammy foggy nights in the city made people think more of Batman than anything else.

Where had the days gone when hardboiled detective work reigned supreme before the costume party? But Bullock was not in the least bit surprised to see that the commissioner was not even looking at him. He seemed more preoccupied with his watch at the moment as a sort of indication that he did not want to hear about it.

Everyone at GCPD knew all that could be known about Lunabat at the moment, and now they were in the middle of a serious crime for which she could definitely wait. The daughter of a visiting senator to Gotham had been missing for more than five days. The week was coming up soon, and Commissioner Gordon was at wit's end about it. Of course, for the poor girl's sake, but also for the out-of-state disapproval upon Gotham City and how bad this would make the Gotham City law enforcement look to the entire nation. The entire world.

People might start questioning everything that Commissioner Gordon had built up to fight crime in Gotham City. Not for the first time either. Just the thought of someone forcibly removing the commissioner when he was doing all he could— more than most people would— made Bullock bristle.

As much as Bullock hated to admit it, as much as it made him bristle all the more even at the moment as he crunched the paper in his hands, he knew that it was more than just some castle in the sky that made the Commissioner feel so strongly about Batman being on their side. It was more than friendship. Jim Gordon was a gentle, obliging soul at times, but when it came to his work, he was as tough as they got. Maybe tougher than Bullock himself deep down. That was one of the things Bullock admired about him, but then, of course, that was what had also made Bullock so frustrated with the fact that the commissioner was right about Batman being one of the biggest helps in this war for Gotham City. There was no denying he was their secret weapon, the knight of the castle like some fairytale.

Oh, did Bullock hate fairytales!

Urban fairytales were even worse than Grimm in his opinion. At least, in some fake medieval past was where such over the top idiocy belonged.

Yet, here he was living one, shadowed behind the Bat-Signal even if it was not lit up this time. This meeting was a planned one.

He was not surprised either that as he glanced towards a sudden gust of wind on this otherwise still, stifling night, who should land in flight upon it, but the fruit bat himself with his tagalong bird-boy sidekick in green ballet tights— at least the boy had never burst into song like the songbird of his namesake.

When Robin gave him a funny smile for glancing his way too long, Bullock rolled his eyes and growled low in no actual words like the big old mastiff that never liked a certain of his master's guests but had learned to accept it.

"Commissioner," said Batman, his cape wrapped around him like the Phantom of the Opera's opera coat.

"Have you found out anything?" asked Gordon.

"Only this…" said Batman holding up a sheet of paper with a letter signed in splotchy letters.

"'Nat Brainerd'," read Bullock and he snorted. "Nothing new. We already know the senator's old rival was lurking around the premises the night of the kidnapping."

"But did you know that he was framed?" asked Robin innocently.

"He'd still be in custody if we'd had anything on him," retorted Bullock. "We know it wasn't him. It was an obvious frame job even if we have him still on watch just in case. Who we can't find is Xander Frith the most likely guy for the frame job."

"Frith wasn't anywhere near Gotham when this happened," said Batman.

Commissioner Gordon glanced briefly at Bullock, and Bullock allowed the Commissioner a chance to speak even if reluctantly.

"Then who was it, and what does it have to do with the letter?" asked Commissioner Gordon. "That's the same letter we had, and we already examined it to death."

"Which you took without permission again," grumbled Bullock crossing his arms after shoving his newspaper in his pocket where it still half stuck out.

"He had my permission," said Gordon. "If you don't have anything to add to this discussion then please—"

Bullock held up his hand and turned away with a shrug of compliance and stuck one of his signature toothpicks into his mouth absently— a strange habit that had resulted from his form of quitting smoke. It had only been a comment once a few years back from the commissioner that had finally gotten Bullock to do it too. He had not given up any other of his bad habits, which were more than plentiful, but there was no one else on all the planet that had that kind of power over Bullock and sometimes without warning.

But Batman… he was almost enough to make Bullock start the habit up again.

"The ink of this pen is not a normal ink," said Batman.

Bullock had to bite his tongue to keep from asking, What, you mean, it's a magical ink that turns the signature into a different one? But even if he had not already agreed to keep quiet while Commissioner Gordon continued his talk with Batman, even he thought that retort not good enough to bark out loud. So he simply continued glowering like the old guard dog he was if a guard dog took on human form. He lowered his head just enough so that his fedora had a line over his eyes like one long shadowy eyebrow.

Batman explained how the ink was a sort no longer on the market. He also explained a couple of other facts that combined pointed to some lesser kook or other. He was one that they had on file, but also one not quite kooky enough to wear a costume or wind up in Arkham. Sometimes, those were the cleverest of the kooks. They knew how to hide their gimmicks and follow them with more seamless grace like back in the old days when detectives hunted such people with equal grace without some costumed bump in the night to screw things up.

Bullock glanced only briefly on that bump in the night only to have himself briefly caught in his line of vision, but it was only briefly.

It did not take Sherlock Holmes to know that Batman's mask-veiled eyes had just lifted from the newspaper sticking out of his pocket and the top half of the crinkled photo of Lunabat printed on it.

"Gas-Lamp Wicker was last seen on in the south end of the docks."

Oh, so the Bat was being open for sharing the fight with them, huh? Or was he just admitting that this was one of those times that he needed more than overgrown Christopher Robin to stop them all?

"So this is just about a simple ransom?" asked Commissioner Gordon.

"Then where's the ransom demands?" demanded Bullock.

"Ask the senator himself," said Batman ominously.

"And the girl?" asked Bullock.

"She's already downstairs," said Batman.

Commissioner Gordon smiled.

"Here's a question for you, Bats," said Bullock lightly as Batman turned to leave. "Where's the sign-up booth for your little bat club?"

Batman stopped only briefly and purposely looked down at the newspaper in Bullock's pocket again. Then he swooped with away with angst.

"Don't worry, Detective," grinned Robin. "We wouldn't sign up anyone like that with your nerves."

And with that last word of cocky parting, he followed quickly after his fearless leader where they disappeared into the fog.

"You bring it upon yourself sometimes," said Gordon not without some amused sympathy behind his serious tone.

It was the half-sympathy that made Bullock groan.

"So, I guess we have an appointment at the south docks," said Gordon with a shrug.

"Yeah, well, call me when we gotta a new doctor," Bullock muttered brushing past him for the stairs. "I'm feeling numb with tingles with an overdose from this one already."