A/N Well, I've been wasting a few hours of my young life catching up on the older Batman movies, and I have to say that Begins absolutely blows them all out of the water. And WHY must every love interest in Bruce Wayne's life be SO UNBELIEVABLY ANNOYING! It was interesting to watch Batman Forever and discover Warner Brothers' version of Robin's origins. Substantially different from mine!
Updates will occur about every five days until I go back to school. Then they will happen once a week (hopefully).
Disclaimer I would like to thank the creators of Batman & Co. for letting me play with their characters. I would also like to thank the makers of Scooby Doo (kings of using abandoned amusement parks as criminal hideouts).
Chapter One
How many miles to Babylon?
Three score and ten.
Can I get
there by candlelight?
Aye, and back again.
If your feet are
nimble and light,
You'll get there by candlelight.
Traditional Nursery Rhyme
December 2 – Four months since Richard Grayson moved to Wayne Manor
Bruce Wayne tossed his keys to the valet and ran up the steps. "Hello, Alfred."
"Good afternoon, Master Wayne. How was the board meeting?" Alfred rescued the suit coat before it hit the floor.
"Same as always." Bruce tugged viciously at his tie. "Jeffers argued with everything Fox said, Fredericks still thinks I'm going to burn Wayne Tower to the ground, and we broke for lunch early." He snapped his fingers, "That reminds me, there was something different today."
"And what was that, sir?"
"I tried the rye instead of the twelve grain with my salami and ricotta."
"Well, that's good news. How can the company help but leap into the corporate lead when its owner exhibits such dash and innovation?" Alfred collected the tie and the shoes and stood waiting for the socks.
"My thoughts exactly." Bruce wiggled his toes gratefully. "Is Dick home?"
"Yes, sir. He returned from his luncheon with Miss Dawes an hour ago. Miss Dawes said that Master Dick wished to speak with you when you arrived home."
"Ah…Rachel told you?"
"Yes, sir."
Bruce lifted his eyebrows. "Okaaay. Where is he?"
"In the pool."
Entering the enormous glass room which doubled as pool and conservatory, Bruce found his ward sitting on the edge of the water, splashing his feet.
"Hey," Bruce greeted, sitting down cross-legged beside the eight-year-old boy. "Alfred said Rachel said you wanted to talk to me."
"Yeah." Dick ceased kicking and picked absorbedly at a scab on his knee. When he had worked the edge of it loose so that it could flap back and forth he continued, "Me and Rachel saw my mom today."
What?
"Where she's buried."
Oh. Bruce clasped his hands. "So…how was it?"
Dick forcefully wiggled the loose scab. "It was her idea."
"I…see."
"She bought flowers and everything. But she was kind of upset when we got there."
Uh oh. "Why?"
"Well, it was in the cement-ary for people who don't have much money. So Rachel said I should talk to you about it. I don't know why." The boy ripped the scab off, revealing the shiny, pink flesh beneath it.
Bruce felt a sharp stab of guilt. It was true, he should have done something about Robyn Grayson's grave. "I suppose she thought your mom deserved to be in a nicer place. What do you think?"
Dick kicked furiously, splashing his orange flame swim trunks. "She always said, it didn't matter where we were as long as we were together. Well, I guess it doesn't matter now, either." Without waiting for Bruce's reply, he flung himself into the water, swimming as hard as he could for the deep end.
Bruce sat watching, the cold, helpless feeling swirling around his stomach. Great, now what? Rachel apparently wanted him to push the subject, but Bruce's own inclination was to give the kid his space. What am I supposed to do? A copper disk caught his eye, and he picked up the abandoned penny, probably an escapee from Dick's pockets. Heads I try to talk to him, tails I leave him alone. He tossed the coin in the air and let it fall to the concrete. It hit the ground rolling and disappeared into the overflow drain.
Well, that was helpful.
------
The woman huddled as close to the car door as her seatbelt would allow, her fingers white-knuckled as they clenched together in her lap. A dark bruise decorated her cheek and a trail of blood had dried between her lip and chin, souvenirs of her collision with the dashboard before she'd gotten the seatbelt fastened. Her terrified gaze wavered between the flashing scenery and the silhouette of her companion.
He sat calmly behind the wheel, betraying no sign of anxiety or excitement as the speedometer crept past one hundred. Even the glaringly red grin splashed across his pale face seemed oddly emotionless. The waning winter sunlight caused the synthetic fibers of his wig to burn with green fire and cast his weird shadow across the terrified passenger.
The red Ferrari swung around a tight curve, wheels screaming, and the woman let out a muffled shriek. The driver cast her a quick glance, scanned the road ahead, and stomped on the brake. The car skidded to a stop, slamming the woman against her shoulder strap. The only sounds in the sudden silence were muffled sobs and two clicks as the driver undid his own seatbelt and then hers.
The garish mouth parted. "Ah, my dear…" He peered at her gold nametag. "…Marcia, am I imagining things, or do you really not approve of my driving?"
She bit her lip and managed to stifle her sobs, looking away out the window at the iron bridge rail and the winter-dead landscape.
He sighed heavily. "Very well. Let it not be said I held a lady against her will." He looked at her expectantly, but she remained frozen and silent. "Now what could you be waiting for? Oh yes, of course, how thoughtless of me." He walked around the car and opened her door. "The Joker is always a gentleman. Allow me to help you out…" He seized her arm and jerked her from the vehicle, dragging her across the pavement. "…and over."
The icy air was split by Marcia's scream as she was thrown over the bridge rail.
"Always a gentleman," he muttered as he turned away. Then he hesitated. "What's this? No more screaming…but no splash." Walking back to the railing he peered down to discover Marcia clinging to a cable. The Joker gripped the gun in his pocket, but after a moment's thought, withdrew his empty hand.
"All in all, my dear," he called down, "I think it would be a rather good joke to leave you there. The police…" Here he paused and cocked his head to the sound of distant sirens. "The police, engrossed in their hot pursuit, will speed past, deaf to any pleas you might be making. Your best hope would be a passing river vessel but…" He shook his head at the rushing water full of spinning ice chunks. "…it's really not the season. Still," he added cheerfully, "I wouldn't give up all hope. Wouldn't it be delightful if the joke were on me after all?"
The sirens grew louder, and he crossed back to the car. The Ferrari sped down the road with the speedometer again wavering above ninety-five. Twenty miles later, the Joker screeched to another stop near a bridge. Tossing a garbage bag from the backseat onto the snowy ground, he walked around the back and set his shoulder against the red metal. It took only one shove to send the sleek vehicle over the steep bank to careen down the icy hillside and smash against a bridge support with a satisfying explosion.
Picking up the bag, the Joker walked across the bridge, reaching the other side just as a modest black sedan approached from the other direction. "You're late," the Joker snapped as he climbed in the passenger's door.
"Sorry," the driver apologized, executing a neat U-turn on the empty road to return the way he had come. "There's construction work up on I-65, and you said not to draw attention…"
"I know what I said," the Joker interrupted, exchanging the fluorescent wig for a ski cap and pulling a black pea coat over his purple suit. "It doesn't matter, I was held up myself. Teller from the bank got noisy."
"You kill her?" the driver asked interestedly.
"Possibly," the Joker said in a bored tone, and found he didn't care.
The rest of the thirty minute drive was made in silence, until the car pulled up behind the Pine Hills amusement park, closed for the winter. The Joker jerked his thumb at the garbage bag in the back. "Run it through the usual channels."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," the driver muttered. A black gloved hand shot out and squeezed the top of his throat. He felt his jawbone shift as he fought for air.
"If you drop so much as a single bill…"
"I know," the driver wheezed desperately.
"One mistake, Mikey. That's all you get. Most people call me generous." The Joker swung out of the car and strode away.
Mikey waited until his employer was safely out of sight before patting his jaw tenderly. "Never thought picking up a dozen donuts could get a guy in so much trouble."
The Joker made his way around the back fence of Pine Hills, taking care to walk along the set of snowmobile tracks that surrounded the place. The watchman looked for lights and kids, not footprints, but it wasn't caution that killed the cat.
He came to the back gate and pulled out his key. Should the watchman ever try to enter the grounds, he would discover his own padlock had been replaced, but usually a look, or at most a tug, convinced him that all was secure. Locking the gate behind him, the Joker made his way through the deepening darkness, past the looming skeleton of the rollercoaster, to the funhouse.
A carnival was perhaps not the wisest choice of hideout for a criminal who dressed as a clown, but perhaps it was the extra element of risk that attracted him. He flicked on his flashlight and made his way through the twisting corridors until he came to the heart of the place – a round room lined with the usual distorted mirrors. Ignoring the reflections that flashed past in his light, he followed the wall until he came to a pile of items which definitely did not belong in the funhouse. A nylon sleeping bag, two strong camping lanterns, a water bottle, canned food, a stack of dog-eared notebooks, and a large makeup kit were neatly arranged in a semi-circle against the wall.
He sat cross legged in the middle of these signs of habitation and turned on the lights. The room flooded with light, blinding beams bouncing to infinity off the mirrors. The Joker picked up a rag and a bottle of makeup remover and began to rub, observing his own movements faithfully reflected in the one true mirror. The white and red disappeared to reveal skin almost as pasty as the paint that had covered it and networked with miniscule scars. Two larger scars ran from each cheekbone to the corners of his mouth, drawing his lips into a permanent, smiling grimace. A lock of greenish gray hair fell over his colorless eyes, and he pushed it away impatiently, still staring intently at his reflection.
And here I am, paint stripped away, the merest shadow of myself. Like this place. Take away the lights, the music, the smell of gastronomical indulgence, and what remains? Empty, idle potential.
In fury, he snatched up the lantern and rammed its heavy base against the mirror, shattering his sneering face a thousand times. "Amuse myself you tell me!" he shrieked, voice ricocheting through the empty room. "And how can I do that, my dear benefactor, when the police are so pathetically easy to outmaneuver, and the citizens tremble in their beds? Boredom! Boredom is the true plague of the world, the scourge of the race." He fell silent, panting and trembling. When he spoke again it was a low mutter, directed at the broken mirror. "No, there's only one place I can amuse myself. And the time is right, no matter what he says. I will return to Gotham."
------
He sat as usual, enthroned by black leather, watching with contemptuous amusement the man before him.
"For a week now I have been kept in this…" Carlos Morales' face twisted with distaste as he gestured helplessly. "And this is the first time I have so much as glimpsed your face. Do you not think I deserve a little more consideration?"
"Consideration? My dear man…" He wore a wounded expression as he continued, "Have you not been treated with every courtesy? Have I not given you the sanctuary you pled for?"
"Sanctuary, yes. But you call this…water and rags existence…courtesy?"
"You live in the same fashion I do myself. With this exception, of course." He gestured expansively at their surroundings.
"It was not what I expected," Morales muttered.
"If you are dissatisfied, I can always provide a ticket out of the country."
"No." Morales dismissed this idea with an abrupt hand gesture. "I wish to see the end. And if it cannot be done in comfort…" He shrugged. "Así es la vida. But have you made the contact?"
"Oh, yes."
"And she will serve our purpose?"
"Admirably."
Drawing a satisfied breath, Morales leaned back in his chair. "That is something. And I would have something more."
His expression was one of gentle inquiry. "Yes?"
"A name. Come, we have worked to our mutual benefit for many years. Tell me what I should call you."
The pale man behind the desk placed his clasped hands beneath his chin. "You may call me…Mr. Gatsby."
To be continued…
Notes to Reviewers (in alphaBATical order)
CassandraD: If you really want the answers to your questions, I'm afraid you're going to have to keep reading! (Isn't that like…the most annoying response in the world?)
Dot: Oh good, I'm glad you liked the intrigue in the prologue, that it wasn't too abstract to hold people's interest.
Gewher: The prologue was supposed to be mysterious and a little confusing. The section about the Spanish people is part of a story that will be filled in later. And there should be plenty of Bruce/Dick as opposed to Batman/Robin, since Dick isn't anywhere close to becoming a sidekick yet.
Goatsong: Thanks! Your screen name intrigues me, what made you pick it?
IcyWaters: I will say that your hunch about drug money was spot on. (Not terribly original of me, I admit.) The connection to Gotham began to be explained in this chapter, but it's rather complicated (you should see my character diagram!), so if you want the full explanation you'll just have to…keep reading! (I love saying that…I would probably have made a good puppet tyrant.) And thank you for your review to the last chapter of Nestling. It was extremely helpful.
Katie: Thanks for the encouragement! I hope you'll be happy with "where this goes"!
L Moonshade: Thank you, thank you, and I hope you won't be disappointed! bites nails nervously This story is a bit more challenging than the last one.
Nightshade0020: Yes, well, I'm rather fond of quail eggs, so I did happen to have some uneaten chicken ones… Er. Do you think I have a small obsession with breakfast?
Ouatic-7: I think Molly will reappear, but not until much later in the story. She came as a bit of a surprise to me, because she more or less invented herself.
Pun: Edge of your seat, huh? Well, much as I hope to keep you there, please don't fall off and hurt yourself!
Starpossum: So glad to see you back! What did you name yourself after? Does your name have any connection to Starfire from Teen Titans?
WolfDaughter: Oh yeah, foreshadowing rocks. I just hope all the pieces fit together like I think they will when I get to the end!