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Broken Mirror (1/5)
A Justice League Unlimited Story
by BillA1
Copyright August 2007
Rating: (PG-13)
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CHAPTER ONE
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I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises
All lies and jest,
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest.
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(Wayne Enterprises - The next day)
The last week had been an emotional train wreck for Bruce. He'd liked Hawkgirl as a teammate and was more upset by her betrayal than he let on. He'd learned early on to keep his circle of trust to as few people as possible, but over the years Bruce had widened that circle to include the six members of the Justice League. Now that one of them had betrayed him, he sadly realized that one day the others could as well.
Betrayal. If his life could be reduced to a single word, 'betrayal' would probably be it. There were stories in the press, all the time, about how the emotionally scarred billionaire playboy would never settle down with one woman because his mother was violently taken from him at a young age when he was coming to grips with his natural feelings for her. Therefore, according to the press, Bruce Wayne used women, but never trusted them to stay with him. It was all psycho-babble, but it was out there in the tabloids and circulating in the legitimate press. He pretended it didn't bother him, but it did because he knew there might be some truth to it. And now, yet another woman had betrayed him and not just him, but his company as well.
Wayne Enterprises had invested heavily in the Thanagarian shield generator backed by the promised financial support from the World Security Council. After the shield generator was destroyed by the Justice League, the World Security Council balked at paying Wayne Enterprises for supplying materials for what turned out to be a wormhole generator. Wayne lawyers were confident they would ultimately prevail in civil court, but it could take years to collect and Bruce knew in the final analysis he would get pennies on the dollar in this losing venture.
As he opened the door to his private office, a welcome feeling of relief washed over him. It was good to get back to the office and out of the manor. The other members of the League had dispersed back to their homes, but the noise of the construction crews rebuilding his mansion had driven him to distraction. On top of that, Kent had approached him about rebuilding the Watchtower. It was something that Bruce wanted to do, but he knew this time around there'd be no way to hide the construction expense. Maybe he should pitch the idea of an internationally financed Watchtower to Lucius Fox.
Yes, that was it. He'd ask Lucius to be the front man in marketing a need for an International Justice League. And maybe a newly funded project would halt his company's financial bleeding.
He sighed loudly. Hawkgirl and the other Thanagarians had cost him a fortune, but at least he had the satisfaction of voting her out of the League, even through his side lost that argument.
He'd just sat down at his desk when his secretary, Dana Blessing, buzzed him on the intercom. "Mr. Wayne, your banker is on line four."
Bruce flipped the switch on the intercom to answer. "Thank you, Dana." He picked up the phone. "Hi, Harvey."
"Good morning, Bruce."
Harvey Midas, his personal banker for almost twenty years, sounded very solemn. Bruce sensed Harvey had paused as if trying to find the right words to say and Bruce immediately had a bad feeling about the call.
"I hate to bother you with this," Harvey continued. "After all, I've read the paper over the last couple of days, so I know that your company took a beating with the Thanagarian invasion thing and I don't want it to seem like I'm piling on, but I got the strangest phone call a couple of minutes ago."
Bruce didn't try to hide his exasperation. "Go on, Harvey. Spit it out."
"Bruce, I just took a call from a Frank Jefferson, of the Jefferson Funeral Home in Metropolis, and he wanted to know if you'd honor a check for $15,000 written ten years ago to a Kimberly Ventris? I told him we didn't have an obligation to pay on a check after -"
Bruce cut Harvey off. "Pay the check, Harvey. You say it was a funeral home? Did Jefferson say who died?"
"A Helen Ventris," Harvey answered. He paused before adding, "Bruce, are you sure about this? After all, you have no real obligation to honor a check after so long a period."
"Treat it as if it were a savings account and pay the going rate of accrued interest on the amount."
"What??? Bruce...is this blackmail?"
For a moment, Bruce smiled at what was apparently real concern by his old friend. He was sure Harvey thought the billionaire playboy was trying to buy his way out of another jam with some woman who knew she was the one to make Bruce Wayne whole. Bruce shook his head knowing Harvey couldn't see his smirk. Nothing could be further from the truth as he recalled his -- or rather Batman's -- first meeting with young Kimberly Ventris, who was regularly visited by her imaginary playmate, 'MoJo.'
MoJo, however, was really Kimberly's father, an ex-convict named Lloyd. Upon his release from prison, Ventris discovered that his ex-wife, Helen, has gone to court to cut off all visitation rights to his young daughter Kimberly. While working as a janitor for the late optics researcher, Doctor Abner Carrows, Lloyd discovered that the doctor had invented a plastic that became invisible when electrified. Lloyd stole the plastic and fashioned an invisibility suit that he used to visit Kimberly as 'MoJo.' When Lloyd used the suit to start robbing jewelry stores, Batman stopped him.
"I knew Kimberly Ventris' father," Bruce answered, "and tried to help out a couple of years ago. Not blackmail, just goodwill. Humor me, Harvey. Pay the check. We'll talk and laugh about it over lunch someday. Now, I have to go. I'll talk to you later."
Bruce hung up the phone and pressed the intercom button.
"Yes, Mr. Wayne?" Dana answered.
"Dana, call the airport and have my private jet ready to leave this afternoon for Metropolis."
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Bruce looked out the passenger window of his private jet as it made its final approach to Metropolis airport. He could still recall the sound of disappointment in Alfred's voice when he told him to pack an overnight bag for him and that he was leaving for Metropolis that afternoon - alone. Bruce knew that Alfred would realize that it was best that he stay at the manor to supervise the repairs and make sure the construction crews didn't wander into inappropriate areas on the grounds. As for Gotham, Bruce figured his junior partners could handle the city for one night on their own.
After his plane landed, Bruce took a cab to the Metropolis Hilton-Ritz and had dinner alone in his room. He found a phonebook in the night table and located the address of the Jefferson Funeral Home. After a restless and mostly sleepless night, he showered, ate breakfast in his room and called the hotel concierge to get him a limo and driver for the day.
As Bruce's limo pulled up in front of the funeral home, a wave of nervousness washed over him. He took a deep breath. He hated funerals and funeral homes. He leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder, "I'll be about ten minutes." He didn't wait for the chauffeur to acknowledge the comment as he stepped smartly out of the limo and entered the funeral home.
He'd barely closed the door behind him, when a short, squat, older man in a dark blue suit approached him.
"Good morning, sir. My name is Frank Jefferson. How may I serve you?" the man said in a voice so smooth and drawn out that Bruce couldn't help but smile. Bruce noted that the man didn't offer to shake hands, but instead kept his hands behind his back.
"Good morning, Mister Jefferson," Bruce said offering his hand anyway and flashing a polished grin. "Actually, you were the one I was looking for. My name is Bruce Wayne."
Jefferson's face lit up like an old roman candle and he grabbed Bruce's hand and shook it vigorously. "Mister Wayne! I am so pleased that you honored the check, but I certainly didn't expect you to pay me a visit." He paused, realizing he was still shaking Bruce's hand. He stopped, sheepishly withdrew his hand and smiled. "I'm honored to meet you. How may I be of service to the Wayne household?"
Bruce suppressed a smile. "I'm pleased to meet you," he said, "But I'm not in need of your services at the moment, but I'll certainly take your business card."
Jefferson fumbled as he got a card out of his pocket and gave it to Bruce. Bruce gave the card a cursory look and put it in his coat breast pocket as he said, "Thank you." He paused. "What can you tell about the young woman who presented the check?"
The smile left Jefferson's face, along with the drawl as he spoke. "She was young, in her early to mid-twenties, and very pretty. Apparently, she lost her mother during the invasion, killed by those dirty hawks." He paused, apparently catching Bruce's frown. "That's what she called them," he quickly amended. He swallowed hard. "The check is still okay, isn't it?"
Bruce took a deep breath. "The check is fine. Did the young lady say where she was staying?"
Jefferson shook his head. "She gave me an address, but when I called the number to share with her that you honored the check, the phone was disconnected."
Bruce nodded. "I see. May I have her address?"
Jefferson hesitated before answering, "I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I can get into a lot of trouble for violating her privacy."
Bruce's eyes narrowed. "I understand," he said, pausing a moment before clearing his throat. "Helen Ventris was a friend of mine. Judging by the amount of the check she must have had a very expensive funeral. I'd like to see your price list."
Jefferson looked away, nervously fumbling with his hands before clearing his throat. "You know, Mister Wayne, we're both businessmen. Let me extend you a professional courtesy and get that address for you. I'll only be a moment." Without waiting for Bruce to respond, Jefferson turned and walked, then hustled down the hall to a corner office. He returned a minute later and offered Bruce a card.
Bruce examined the card, noting the address on it and slipped it in his coat pocket.
Jefferson shrugged his shoulders. "I suspect she's not there anymore. It's just a wild guess, but the phone is disconnected."
Bruce reached into his coat breast pocket and took out Jefferson's business card. He handed it back and said to the stunned Jefferson: "Thank you, but I don't think I'll be needing your services after all."
With Jefferson's mouth agape, Bruce turned and walked out the door toward his waiting limousine.
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(A year later)
Hotel bars were all the same, Emile Dorian thought: overpriced small drinks and stale popcorn. The tavern, located on the first floor of the hotel, was empty and gaudy. There was a shiny "disco" ball suspended from the ceiling, slowly rotating in the center of the room bathing the orange colored walls of the lounge with bright bits of reflected light. It was like watching paint dry, but not quite as entertaining.
The bartender was cute, but she made it clear she wasn't going to make small talk with him just because they were the only two in the place. She pretended to be busy washing glasses that probably hadn't been used in a month. Occasionally, she'd look over in his direction, at his drink - not him, Dorian noted.
About two more sips of his whiskey sour he decided and then he'd be ready to leave. He tried to recall something his father had told him when he was younger about men who drink alone. He shook his head trying to get the thought to gel. He couldn't remember exactly what his dad had said, but it had something to do with drinking alone indicating failure and women don't talk to failures if they can help it. He sighed. No, that wasn't it, but it would explain the bartender putting him on 'ignore.' He took another sip of his drink.
Five hundred dollars. That's how much money he had to his name. He'd been out of prison for two days. Actually, he'd been released five years early at the request of some big, heavy-set woman who wanted to recruit him because of his work with animal mutagens. She seemed to know all about his run in with Batman and Catwoman, but it was his creation of Tygrus that interested her the most.
He'd had a final interview in his hotel room with her just an hour ago and was given an address to report to in the morning. The woman who interviewed him talked about things that he confessed he'd missed while he was in jail. When she spoke of Superman going rogue or the Thanagarian invasion of a year ago, he had no frame of reference for them. But she offered him the position anyway.
He looked down at his drink. After another swallow of whiskey, he'd return to his room, pack his meager belongings and begin his new life as a scientist for something called: 'Project Cadmus.'
He was about to leave when the bartender put another whiskey sour in front of him. He didn't hide his confusion. "I didn't order..."
The bartender cut him off as she pointed to a woman sitting at the end of the bar. "Compliments of the lady," she said.
Lady? He didn't see anyone come in or notice the bartender take an order. Dorian looked down at the drink then over to the end of the bar. Seated there was a pretty young woman with long blonde hair and a pair of sunglasses perched on the top of her head. Her black blouse was so sheer that he could see that she was wearing a black bra that seemed to straining not to bust open. He smiled and nodded his head in a 'thank you.'
The woman stood, picked up her glass and then sat down on the bar stool next to Dorian. His smile widened. She wore blue jeans and despite her stiletto high heels, she couldn't have been more than five-foot-six.
"Good evening, Doctor Dorian", she said as she fluttered her blue eyes at him.
Dorian's inner radar went off. He nodded in her direction as he said softly, "Evening. I'm afraid you have me at disadvantage. You seem to know me, but I don't seem to recall your name. Do I know you?"
She smiled. "That could be because we've not met before, Doctor. My name is Kimberly Ventris and I'm going to be your lab assistant." She paused and slid her stool a little closer to Dorian's. "At least, I want to be. I'm a big fan of your work and can't wait to get started...can't wait to help you."
Dorian frowned, took a sip of the drink and then stood. He made a show of letting her know he was looking her over and liking what he saw. "Oh. I see. You want to be my assistant, huh?" He paused. "Perhaps, my special assistant?" he said placing emphasize on the word 'special.'
"Just so you don't get the wrong idea, doc," she continued looking him in the eyes as the smile fell off her face. "I graduated cum laude from the University of Gotham with a degree in genetic engineering. I've worked with Professor Emil Hamilton on various special projects as his assistant for three years. You'll find out more about those special projects tomorrow, but I want you to know: I am qualified to be your assistant."
Dorian moved back to the bar counter and took a swallow the drink she'd bought him. He held it for a moment and then set it back on the counter. "Well, thank you for the drink, but I'm afraid I don't have a job to offer you at the moment, but if, as you say, we'll be working together, I'll look you up after I check out your credentials." He smiled at her, but she didn't return it. "If you'll excuse me," he said as he turned and started to walk away.
She called out behind him, "Doctor Dorian, I want to help you. They had no right to put you in prison because of your work. You have a great mind and the work you did in DNA modification has tremendous potential. Let me help you."
He stopped and turned around as she said softly and slowly, "Please."
He looked at her and laughed, startling her. "I didn't fall off the truck yesterday, sweetheart. I don't know what your game is, but I don't like it. Good night, Miss Ventris."
Dorian had taken two steps when a blond haired man stepped in front of him blocking his exit. "Hi, Doctor," the man said. Dorian turned around to look at the Ventris woman then back at the man.
"Doctor Dorian," she said. "This is Dennis Cuvier. He has been assigned as your assistant." She nodded her head as she added, "For real."
Dennis grabbed Dorian's hand and shook it. "Pleasure to meet you, sir," he said.
Dorian withdrew his hand in disgust. "I can't say the same if you are part of whatever game Miss Ventris is playing." His eyes narrowed as they locked on Cuvier. "Explain the meaning of this."
"It's not a game, Doctor. We wanted to see you before you officially started work tomorrow. They're going to want you to work on altering the DNA of felines to adapt them to humans. Kimmy and I think that focus is too narrow and should include other species."
"Hmmm," Dorian said. "Go on." The prospect of expanding the DNA alteration and augmentation program beyond felines was very intriguing.
"Not here," Kimberly said, as she flashed a room key and headed for the exit. "My room!"
Dorian got the distinct impression as he watched her wiggle by, that Miss Ventris had no intention of putting him on 'ignore' anytime soon, especially tonight.
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To be continued
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