I'm gonna start responding to reviews. That will go for my Spider-Man story too, when I start publishing it regularly. Also, for those who haven't noticed, all of the last 4 chapters have taken place on a specific calendar date (Winter Wonderland was on December 22, 1989, Half Past New Years and Dynamic Duo were on January 15, 1990, Sensation of 1990 was on January 19) I'd like to know if anyone feels strongly about how ambiguous I keep the date. I personally prefer unspecific dates.
Also, I'll specifically request advice for how to write Batman's detective skill, which I try to incorporate.
Chapter Fourteen: Purple Lights
Apartment 325, Terrio Heights, Amusement Mile, Gotham, Seven Oh-Six PM
"Is anything here?" asked Batman, sitting on the totally blackened roof, hidden in the oppressive blackness of the building behind it, contrasted by the snippet of the neon lights from the Amusement Mile Ferris Wheel behind that.
"Yes, Batman. A collection of empty envelopes under the floorboards- no return address, or any address. Or dates." replied Robin, crouching over the long, rectangular home he had opened.
"Contents?"
'Nothing. Hmmm..." He flicked on a small flashlight, "This one got wet, I'm looking at it... Hey! Green stain!"
"Meaning?" asked Batman to his apprentice.
"There was green paper or something- maybe money- in this one. A few others have greenish wet spots, so unless they really like green sticky notes, these had money. Presumably in all of them, since there seems to be no difference between them."
"Good job.."
Robin shuffled through more papers, "He seems to have forgotten to take this note out. It says 'Same place, keep doing what your doing, -Lewis'."
"So he's using the pseudonym he used when working for Zucco."
"Seems so, boss. I guess we're done here, right?"
"Yes. Take the envelopes for analysis and pull out. Good work, Boy Wonder."
That was new.
The Perigrinator's Club, Gotham Village, North Gotham, Seven Twenty-Nine PM, January 1990
Not five blocks, or six weeks, from the ruins of his former Nightclub, with the help of either illegally hidden money, mob assistance, or, most likely, both, Ronald Edwards had moved into a new residence, a neon-gothic monstrosity perched on a corner above the market roundabout in the affluent Gotham Village, which, despite the lack of poverty, still had as much crime in it as the darkest, dampest, dirtiest alleyways of Park Row. If it was a hub for criminal activity, as practically every Gotham Nightclub was, it certaintly wasn't ashamed of it, like My Alibi or the Tobacconist were- it's sign was purple and piercing, its doorway shielded in all ways but visibly by stark granite ionic pillars, supporting the round office where Edwards was come out of to meet his new guests on the new club's opening night.
Every night in preparation, several people would drop by, only to be shooed away. Edwards was spooked, by what he didn't know. Nor did Batman- to their knowledge. As far as anyone who knew him was concerned, Matches Malone was just another mysterious morally grey Gotham barhopper. Little did the construction company know that every night, Malone did an employee check on their men, and found that every night with an electrical wiring consultant, the same man happened to drop all other jobs and assist the Perigrinator's club- all seemingly without Edwards' knowledge. Of course, Batman and Robin had already solved all of this as much as they could have right now.
So now, Batman was no more- now stood Matches, waiting in a line for the new and improved Peregrinator- the master over the Peregrine, as if the fire in Edward's old club was done with his approval. But Bruce didn't bother himself with this as he approached the doorman- a tall man, his same height, 6'2", but, looking over him, it was clear his musculature was mainly cosmetic, and that he wasn't ready for a fight. No worries for the disguised vigilante.
"Name?" he asked.
"M. Malone," he said, stretching out the 'O' in his fake New Jersey accent, showing his fake driver's licence.
"Hmm.. Aight, you're awn da list, 'ave a nice night."
Malone walked in calmly, chin up and eyes confident, pressing a button in his earpiece, talking to Dick, who was costumed as Robin, hiding in the ceiling, "I'm in."
"I see, 'Matches'. So, what exactly am I supposed to be doing?"
"Looking for anyone suspicious, first of all, especially Tetch or Lynns. They-"
"Attacked the last club, I know."
Matches said nothing, walking through the room. It was wide, with most of the club being on two floors centered around a center triumvirate of a two-story bar, a round stage, and, in the middle, a checkered dance floor. He sat at the bar and ordered one champagne, non-alcoholic. Occasionally, as he looked up to the rafters, obscured by the hideous purple lights, and could see a slight yellow glint from the R on Robins chest or the inside of his cape or the white slits of his eyes.
After a bit, Ronald Edwards walked onto the stage in his signature cream-white suit and pressed salmon shirt, looking cool and regal above the deep, beaming lights of the club. He didn't even shine a spotlight onto himself- he made do with the simple stage lighting, and, being in the Gotham club scene for thirty years, he did it with professionalism and poise. He gave a colorfully-worded thanks to all his sponsors and patrons. Bruce, however, tuned him out, scanning the crowd. In the second floor, a private area, Carmine Falcone sat and smoked along half a dozen mobsters, calling a truce for one night only.
"I see him, Batman,"
"Matches,"
"Yes, Matches," continued Robin, "I see him. He's right there."
"Which one," breathed Matches.
"Falcone. The big boss. And I think I see Zucco there too. And the one with the mole is Thorne, right?"
"tt"
"Yeah.. They're all there. We could take them out. Like that. Lickity-split. It'd be easy."
"Do you think I haven't tried that? I went in, figurative guns a-blazing, beating up the biggest Crime bosses in the city, and dropped them off at the GCPD. And what did that do?"
"Nothing," Robin sighed, repeating Bruce's axiom, "Fists get pleasure, deduction get results."
"Exactly, and have you figured out how to break into Edwards' office yet?" asked Matches.
"No..." muttered Robin.
"That's fine. Patience is a virtue.."
"Best learned in the heart of a child."
Dick's heart was ready for action. But his head told him to stay put, so he listened.
Eight Twenty-Two PM
An hour had passed, and the crowd had become quite a bit larger, and far drunker. Matches probably had the healthiest meal here of anyone, save Robin, who had been slipped some bacon-wrapped morsels by his sympathetic mentor, against the wishes of their health regimen. The two munched on the savory snacks outside the door to the roof of the club, a chair backed against the door. Matches had his foot against a radiator, sunglasses still on at night, while Robin crouched on top of it, the boy's feet equal with the young man's shoulders.
"This is good," said Robin, only his white eyes really visible in the smoggy blackness of Gotham's rooftops.
"Indeed. You're doing well, kid." said Bruce- he had dropped Matches' accent.
"Don't.. don't call me kid, please, Bruce."
"Why not?"
"I.. I was 'kid' at Haly's. And I'm happy still being the Boy Wonder, but.. I can't keep everything. It's not right, Bruce."
"I get it, Dick. I get it."
They sat and ate.
"You know, after my parents' deaths, Alfred's dad worked with his son as my tudor. Always called me 'Old Chum'. It was funny, the old man seemed so much younger at heart than Alfred did."
"Well, Alfred's an old soul, as my mom would say."
"I know. God bless 'im."
They finished eating. Bruce removed the chair from the door to go back down, and Dick stood up to go back into the ceiling.
Before he went back in, Bruce heard his sidekick say something back, "Hey- Bruce?"
"What is it, Dick?"
"I like that. Old Chum." The boy's bright smile shone through the January night.
"You got it, Chum."
Eight Thirty PM
Dick could see it from his rafters. The L-shape of a gun sticking out from the pocket of one of Zucco's goons' guns. This overweight bastard, wasting his life serving that even bigger bastard. Dick could have taken the gun easily, kicked the guy's butt, and killed Zucco like that. L'appel du vide.
He wouldn't, of course. Not only because he'd probably be shot by someone else, or because Zucco's place would just be filled by someone else, or even because Batman would be so mad, but because it wasn't the right thing to do. Dick had come to realize this, not just because of Bruce's teaching, but because of his parents', which he had forgotten. Death didn't just come for some Flying Graysons- it very nearly took Dick in, making him as rotten as this city he now had to call home.
But 'had to call home' felt wrong. This was his home now. Bruce didn't just replace his parents, he saved him from something worse. His parents raised him, and his time at the orphanage taught him pain. Bruce was the natural continuation of his life. He wasn't going to replace anything, but make something new. Something better.
And, while he was dressed in a brightly colored costumes spying on mobsters from the rafters of a lavish nightclub, he felt like he was being better. His parents would be proud. And this city- those men down below, who keep it the monster it is- will have lost. The boy wonder wouldn't have it any other way.
Dick stretched and continued his patrol. Falcone and Zucco and their ilk weren't the only unsavory characters he had to keep his masked eyes on.
Nine PM
Dick loved being Robin, but sometimes stakeouts like this, especially above all the ignorant partygoers, was unbearably boring. He had ID'd nealy everyone in the club and even went out to record license plates, and after that he even started noting who interracted with who, recording it using the light reflected off the sleek tables to see a little notebook he brought along just in case.
That was boring when he did it, and now he had nothing to do.
And he hated those damn lights.
Nine Ten PM
Dick began playing over-the-phone tic-tac-toe with Alfred.
Nine Fifteen PM
"Robin," patched in Matches, "Robin, are you there?"
Oh, Crap, how long has he been calling me?! "Yes, Bruce?" Play it cool, "Uh, I mean, Bat- Mat-ches… what is it, Matches?" So much for that.
Matches let out a sharp exhale, which could have been a sigh or a chuckle. Maybe Robin could have figured it out if he was using his normal voice, but Matches' thick north Jersey accent impression bled over to his expressions. Perhaps it was for the better. Robin didn't really want to know.
"There's some.. Suspicious characters outside. Take a look?"
"On it boss," came the boy's reply. Quick and simple. No further instructions came.
This was when Dick realized something that didn't entirely comfort him- he was afraid of Batman- or Bruce, of Matches, of whatever. As he climbed stealthily through the ventilation shaft, purple glow shining through the vents, the thought about this. Of course, Bruce didn't want him to be afraid- or so it seemed. Dick certainly trusted Bruce more than he trusted anyone he knew (although, after about a week of investigating Gotham's mob, even with Batman not letting him deal with all the 'grown-up' stuff, Dick had learned how untrustworthy people really are).
Did Bruce know Dick was afraid? It seemed likely, he dressed specifically to scare people, after all. But he had always acted the same around the boy. For someone who was such an excellent liar, Bruce could be impeccably consistent. And he didn't get mad at Dick for wanting to go out with him every night, even though the boy was such a novice. He even accepted Dick's costume choice, acknowledging that Robin shouldn't be a creature of the night.
He's doing this because he doesn't want me to turn out like him. Because he wants me to be better, thought Dick, and maybe even because he can learn from me… the boy wonder felt sympathy. Alfred always talked about how bright he always was, especially in Bruce's darkness. Now on the roof, the boy wonder looked at his outfit. Bright. Like a circus performer's
"We do what we do because we want people to see that they can be good- that they can be the best. And if you think you're the best, you should work to make everyone else better than you. You're fearless, Dickie, and I love you for that. Everyone else will too, because those people, they may be hurt, or going through a rough time, or not wanting to be here, but when we go out there, they see how good life can really be. Be that hope, Dick." His mother's words rang back to him. She wasn't great at pep talks, but he'd never forget that speech.
Dick's whole life had been about helping others, even more than Bruce's was. That thought didn't comfort him as much as he hoped it would, but it was more than good enough. If Dick needed Bruce, then Batman needed Robin.
And so, Robin, the Boy Wonder, peered down at the alley, ready for anything.
There were suspicious characters, all right. More than a few some had black duffel bags, which certainly didn't house anything nice, and a few had remotes and had exposed heads, but most were wearing hats. And masks- rabbits, pigs, mice.
Tetch, thought Robin, he's back. Some might have been terrified- after all, Hatter had reach of influence that was largely unknown (and the extent of which was wholly unknown), and had been more than willing to carry out violent attacks for his own ends, but all the boy wonder could think was finally.
Retreating out of their line of sight back up to the safety of the rooftop, Robin turned on his communicator, relaying the message, "Hey- uh, Matches, I have a code, uh, one-five in the back alley, about seven or eight of them, all armed, look like Tetch's"
"What's the point of code if you're gonna just say what's happening?" asked Bruce, back to his normal voice. He didn't sound mad, but it still hurt Dick, knowing he could've done better.
"I.. I'm sorry,"
"Don't be," came a response. As he walked towards the upstairs exit, Bruce didn't even think that the young, hopeful boy could be conflicted, "I'm coming up. Get the batsuit from the car."
Dick jumped down to the alley on the other side, even deeper in the stone and steel maze that made up many of Gotham's back alleys. In them, under a midnight-grey-brown tarp, was the hidden car- the Batmobile. Dick went to the car's back, where, on either side of the jet engine, were insulated trunks. In the left one, the one thankfully not against the wall (as was the case a few nights ago, that was embarrassing), was a dark grey-blue duffel bag, one similar in color to the Batsuit's cape and chestplate, which it held inside. Dick grabbed it, scaled the fire escape, and tossed the bag on the ground. Up there already was Bruce, already undressed in the cold air.
"How can you handle that?" asked Robin, his breath forming clouds.
Bruce, now down to his athletic undershirt and thermal pants, just shrugged, giving a slight grin. He then opened the bag and took out his suit. He put on the pants first, and then fastened them in place by putting on his shirt, which had trunks attached, which also served as extra groin protection. He pulled his arms through the sleeves and tightened the seams using a clever system of elastic on the armor of his chest, which he then hid by fastening it to the sides of the dark grey cloth of his torso. He put on the boots and the gloves as a normal person would, and then fastened his cape to the chest and shoulder armor pads. Finally, he put on the cowl, made of cloth somewhat stiffened by state-of-the-art armor padding between its layers.
The dark grays and blues of the costume blended into the January night sky, except for the gold Bat-symbol.
"Ready?" asked Batman.
"Ready," said Robin. The sidekick smiled while his mentor scowled, both showing in their own ways that they were ready for a fight.
They dropped in the intersection of the alley where the Batmobile was and the alley where the thugs were, and wordlessly snook up on a fat one with a bald head and a remote as he got out of the back of a grey-green van.
Batman took out his knees from under him, and pulled the man back with his head choked under the Bat's arm, but the thug was stronger than he seemed. He pressed something in his pocket which caused all the thugs phones to ring. Another fat, bald one turned around.
"The Bat has arrived!," he yelled, "Show him our Surprise!"
The first bald one got out of the headlock and pressed a button on his controller, but before he could do anything else, Robin tripped him.
"What the- so the Bat does have a kid-" both Robin and Batman punched him in the jaw, knocking him off his feet and into the back of the van, out cold. Then came the machine guns.
The Dynamic Duo ducked into the back of the van, easily avoiding any of the panicked gunfire. "Ah," sighed Robin, "so much for stealth." He shrugged, not minding the firefight?
"The bald one was rhyming... just like Tetch did." Muttered Batman.
"Yeah, like we didn't need more of a reason to think they were working together," responded Robin, who noticed the men were trying to get in through the front of the van. Looking out the bullet-shattered windshield, he could see the second bald man. Throwing a few smoke pellets, he began to go up into the front seats, now clear of gunfire, "Hey, Batman, can you get the gun goons?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Nice," grinned the boy, kick-flipping through the windshield onto the hood of the van, "You took Tweedledee, I'll take Tweedle-dum," he flew at his foe.
"Hey, how do you know our na-" Tweedledum's sentence was cut off short by Robin's green boot. The boy wonder got a few blows in, but the man's fat and muscle (but definitely more fat) absorbed them. He pulled a switchblade. Robin had to think harder.
All around him, Batman was fighting all the gunmen, easily juggling multiple opponents. Safely out of their way, Robin ran around, climbing on dumpsters and the van, dodging Tweedledum's charges like a small matador, tiring him out. Eventually, the tireless boy climbed onto the dumpster with one lid open, standing on top to wait for the exhausted man try and get him. When he came up, Robin climbed up to an air conditioner unit on the window of the next building, elegantly swinging his leg up to meet his fingers holding onto the top of the white rusted box. Following him up, Tweedledum stood on top of the bucking black plastic lid of dumpster, grinning like a madman, thinking he'd ended Batman's sidekick's career shortly.
Robin smiled even wider. He swiftly got down, got his hand, and used it to spin-kick Tweedledum in the back of the skull, knocking him off balance. He then bounced off of his bald head, flipped to another dumpster, and then rocketed off of that, elbowing the man in the small of the back, shoving him into the open dumpster, smacking his forehead into the green metal rim, knocking him out. Just to be safe, Dick flipped up to the open lid of the dumpster, landing precariously on its end. His weight tipped the lid, and so he jumped off before it slammed shut on top of the defeated goon.
Just then, Batman finished slamming a mind-controlled thug's tophatted head into the opposite wall, letting him collapse among the other defeated goons.
"Jeez, Batman, you're a lot better at this than I am." Marvelled Robin, this being his biggest fight yet.
"Well, you did take out their leader," said Batman with a hint of what? Pride? Humor? Both? "And a big part of it is just that I scare them, and the second guess yourself. Scaring criminals is my job."
Dick nodded, knowing his bright colors and equally bright visage were meant to calm the victims of crimes, not fight the perpetrators. "After all, both jobs are needed to help the people, right?"
"No need to ask rhetorical questions, chum. Now, we're going in," Batman rushed through the bullet-ridden glass side door of the club, entering the mess of screaming and gunshots.
Robin ran through right behind his mentor, crouching at the end of the small, dark hallway, right before the purple lights could shine on their boots.
"I count sixteen men, six with controllers, eight mind controlled," muttered Batman.
Robin wordlessly jumped on the right wall, then up on the left, then into the ceiling, climbing around to get a better view, "Found four more by the front, one controller, three hat dudes," he said over the comm. The room finally grew quiet- the initial violence was over. Their goal didn't seem to be mass death, as the vast majority of people were alive, if in mortal terror. The attackers, however, seemed fine, and weren't going to just stop. Now was the vigilante's time to move, as the gunmen seemed to be scoping out the club before they made their next move. Dick too scoped out the location, his vantage point in the ceiling now much less boring, "Also there's some in the back- five hats, one controller."
"Distract," replied Batman, "then help," the Dark Knight had no time for complex sentences. An eleven year old boy, Dick was happy this of course.
Robin dropped electric pellets onto the guns of the four by the front, magnetically attaching and sabotaging them, and then took another one, set its voltage to max, and threw it at the stage lights. They sparked and went out, allowing Batman to slip into the shadows on the floor, along with causing all the gunmen to stare at the sparking part of the ceiling. Robin sunk futher back into the rafters, now scoping out the dozens of civilians. There were multiple bullet-wounded people bleeding badly on the floor. Robin hoped they were all alive, and wished them a speedy recovery. He tried not to let it get to his young mind.
He and Batman kept to the shadows. Every so often, one would cut some wires (Dick unplugged them, mindful of property damage) to get the thugs even more in the dark, until the whole room was pitch black, and they began using flashlights, making their positions very obvious. Dick was having a great time.
Every minute or so, Dick heard the thud of a man's head hitting the floor as Batman took him out. At a similar rate, he helped people sneak behind the couches to find a safe place away from the action, but none saw that he was a costumed vigilante.
Suddenly, a shout came, "LIGHTS ON ME, I'VE CORNERED THE BAT!"
Neither Batman nor Robin panicked. Accepting that they had lost stealth, they'd rely on confusion. Batman threw a smoke bomb down, and ducked from ensuing gunfire. Dick saw a group of people huddled behind a couch dangerously close to the bar, which was glasses that would hurt if broken. He too threw down smoke bombs, three in front of the couch, and got down among the people as bullets flew above them.
"It's Batman!" squealed a panicked middle-aged woman, scooting back, "get away from us!"
"What the hell?" asked a few others.
"That's not Batman," said a graying man, "who the hell are you? How old are you?"
"I'm Robin!" said the boy, his cheer contrasting their shock and fear, "I'm getting you out, come on!"
On their hands and knees, bullets still flying, the small group went behind the bar, avoiding broken glass, to the group by the other couches Robin and amassed.
"Wait, the person who brought us hear was this kid?!" Asked a young man who he helped earlier.
"Yes, I'm Robin!"
"Robin who?"
"The- the Boy Wonder! Now, come one, to the kitchens. The cops should be here by now!"
"I trust him, for what it's worth," breathed the middle-aged woman from earlier.
"Why? He could just be insane- I mean see what he's wearing?"
"I'm sure Batman never got this kinda crap," said Dick as he crawled off, most people following. Soon, the naysayers came too.
The kitchen lights were still white and blinding, and it seemed the cooks had all ran off. Yelling thugs could be heard.
"Dammit! God fucking Dammit, we should've waited for them to get Lynns-" his spiel was cut off by a fist.
Once the fighting and gunshots begin to die down as Batman took more and more out, the people, about ten in number, stood up.
Suddenly, two men in hats burst in, led by a man with a controller. All had machine guns.
"Well well, hostages. Boys, guard," he said, pressing what was apparently the 'guard' command for the simpleton goons.
Robin ran up to punch the one in charge, but it seemed his blow wasn't strong enough. This guy was huge, muscular, and seemed far more finessed than Tweedledum. "Y-you have a very strong jaw, sir," chuckled Robin as he caressed his gloved wrist.
The boss laughed as he pointed a rifle at Robin's forehead.
This had all gone downhill so fast, but Robin tried to hide his fear. The man just kept laughing.
"The Bat's kid, huh? Two years, I never knew he had one of those. Can't wait to kill you. Then him. And then-"
A zip sound went through the air, and the man winced as the grapple gun cut into his side. Most of it, however, was lodged in his thick jacket. Batman had come to the rescue.
"Do not threaten Robin," growled Batman, stomping on the man's face.
Robin quickly threw two shock pellets, one at each man's hat. They disarmed the mind control devices, but not their programming. They didn't stay mindless killing machines though, as Batman soon slammed one to the ground, and Robin jumped up onto the counter to kick the other in his masked face.
Standing on the counter, Robin brushed off his palms. The police could be heard entering the front door.
Batman stood back up. He had cuts and bullet holes in his outfit, but he was mostly fine. Robin, however, was untouched. "Good work, partner," the Bat said, causing the boy to smile.
"Robin.. the boy wonder.." marveled a man as he got up from the floor. The others followed suit. One took out an expensive camera and took a photo of the beaming sidekick. A few others did the same.
"Come on, Robin," said Batman, returning to his gruff tone, "No need to showboat. They're safe, we have to leave now."
They turned around and left.
"Wait," said a young woman, following them to the kitchens back door, "I- Thank you."
The other people nodded in agreement, "Thank you, Batman and Robin."