A/N Rats, it's after midnight. Oh well:
Happy late birthday to you!
Happy late birthday to you!
Happy late birthday
CHRISTIAN BALE!
Happy late birthday to you!
Yes, I am a fangirl. It's a sad, sad fact of life.
And in other news…Apparently, I totally misjudged the difficulty of the hidden quotes in the last chapter. CONGRATULATIONS to IcyWaters who was the only person to correctly identify one. As our grand prize winner, and in the time honored tradition of the Adam West Batman show, she will be featured in a cameo in an upcoming chapter! If you're curious, all three quotes are identified at the end of this chapter.
Disclaimer I may not own Batman, but I can still wish him a Happy (if belated) Birthday!
Acknowledgement For my sister, who regrets that she was not christened Bubbles.
Chapter 16
There comes a time in every man's life when he must take his father's advice. I shall go to bed at once.
An Ideal Husband
"We don't know for certain, but we think this is the car she'll be driving." Gatsby pushed a digital photo across the desk. "We'll let you know when she leaves. Intercept her, find out what she knows, and kill her. Leave her for the Bat to find. Any questions?"
The lurid mouth in the bleached face twisted its mocking smile. "No, my lord. Your chattel is, as always, ready to do your will."
Gatsby slowly folded his slender hands on top of the desk. "I am going to remind you one last time that the only reason you can even sit in that chair is because I willed it. I gave you a smile of gratitude. You would do well to live up to it, or you may find that my use for you has come to an end."
An expression of fury contorted the already freakish face, but the Joker remained silent as he rose and flourished a bow. After he had gone, Gatsby continued to stare thoughtfully at the now empty chair. In the golden days of the American trapper, they say a beaver would gnaw off it's own foot before allowing itself to remain caught in a trap. A soft knock interrupted his reverie. "Come in."
The door opened and Carlos Morales walked into the room. "Señor Gatsby, I apologize for disturbing you."
"Not at all. I trust your stay remains comfortable?"
"Yes, thank you. But you will forgive me if I complain of a little boredom."
"For your own safety, your options for entertainment must remain limited."
"Yes, I am flattered by your concern. But I understand your smiling protégée has an interesting errand tonight."
"Routine, really."
"I was hoping I might accompany him. It would interest me to see how these things are done in…what is the phrase… 'the American way.'"
"Far be it from me to stand in the way of international cooperation. But I must warn you that he might object."
Morales smiled. "When one performs, one always wishes for an audience."
Gatsby steepled tapering fingers beneath his chin. "Very true."
- - - - - -
Alfred was dusting the piano in his shirtsleeves – a sure sign of agitation. The thought of Bruce darting around the darker corners of Gotham with both a cape and a fever was causing him decided pangs of anxiety, and he was up long past his usual hour to retire for the first half of his night. (He was always up in the small hours of the morning to see that Bruce got safely to bed. They had installed a series of sensors along the way to and at the waterfall entrance to the caverns, not only to guard against the faint chance of an intruder, but so that Alfred would know when the Bat himself flew home. "After all, sir, you could bleed to death down there before I even started to wonder where you were.")
When the screaming began, Alfred froze, then realized there was only one person in the mansion who could be making such a noise. Catching up a heavy silver candlestick, he ran out into the corridor and up the stairs at a speed worthy of a man half his age.
Dick was sitting bolt upright in bed, his eyes staring at some invisible horror, his open mouth vibrating with chilling noise. The threat could obviously not be coshed with a blunt object. Alfred dropped the candlestick and grabbed the boy's shoulders. "Master Dick, wake up!"
It took repeated shaking and calling, but at last the shriek stopped and the glazed dream eyes snapped into focus. The alert boy took one look at Alfred and dissolved into sobs.
"There, there, young master, it was just a dream. It's all over now," the elderly man crooned repeated as Dick's tears soaked the side of his shirt.
Eventually the boy's sobs subsided into hiccupping breaths. "Where's Bruce?"
Alfred sighed. "I'm afraid he's gone out."
Dick kept his head pressed the butler's side, but lifted a sleeve to wipe his nose. "I can't find my blanket. I looked and looked."
Wondering whether the missing blanket had been part of the dream, Alfred gently pulled away from the boy and began through the covers. When no blanket appeared, he got down on his knees and checked beneath the bed, then investigated the closet, but with no luck. "Extraordinarily odd," he said, frowning and kneeling by the bed. "Did you take it out of your room?"
Dick hiccupped and shook his head.
"Then it must have been accidentally sent with the sheets," Alfred said firmly, even though the upstairs maid had always been very careful to put only sheets in the laundry bags. "It will be back first thing in the morning. How about a cup of tea?"
Dick's sobs showed signs of starting up again, but he put out his hand and let the butler pull him off the bed. They walked out into the hall, and Dick gave a happy shriek. "There it is!" Folded into a neat square, the tattered blanket lay on the floor next to the bedroom door. It had certainly not been there when Dick had been put to bed.
"Extraordinarily odd," Alfred said again.
- - - - - -
"What do you mean she's not here?" Bruce demanded.
"This morning she said she was going to mass, and I haven't heard from her since."
"Naturally. The one time she's actually wanted she disappears. Just…call me when she gets back. I'm going to go and look for that fortune teller."
The peddler's mall was crowded and noisy with Sunday afternoon shoppers. Half an hour's brisk striding through the creaking aisles failed to locate the gypsy, but a few casually put questions (and the purchase of an expensive piece of junk), elicited the information that a fortune teller was usually to be found near the café.
He found the café, but "Miss Molly," or at least, Miss Molly in her distinctive costume, was nowhere to be seen. Bruce sauntered up to the lunch counter and ordered a cup of coffee. His hoarse voice earned him a look of sympathy from the proprietress, and he tried out one of his more persuasive smiles. "I hate being sick. Wish I could find someone to predict when this cold will be over."
The smile proved effective. The proprietress, middle-aged though she was, flushed. "You're just a day too late. Used to be a professional right around the corner there, but she's moved on. Said she'd have better luck elsewhere."
Bruce wanted to send his coffee cup smashing against her pristine counter top. Instead he smiled his thanks and turned toward one of the tables.
"I realize this sounds like a line," his unwitting informant called after him. "But have I seen you before."
He shrugged. "Who knows? It's a small world." He sat down and stared glumly at his mug until an abandoned copy of yesterday's newspaper caught his eye.
BATMAN SAVES GOTHAM SOCIALITE
This morning, at approximately 3 AM, Gotham received yet another errand of mercy from its mysterious caped crusader. Miss Audrey Williams (22), daughter of Gladelands Corporation vice president Andrew Williams, hurled herself from the Shore Walk. According to her escort, Mr. David Riley (24), Williams had
Bruce stopped reading. That was Bubbles? The pale, shaken girl on the Walk had borne very little resemblance to the image of a saucy party girl he associated Audrey "Bubbles" Williams. Before he could scan the rest of the article, his phone rang. Pulling it out of his pocket, he checked the number and lifted it to his ear. "Is Somerville back?"
"No, sir. But I can tell you where you'll be able to find her this evening. Mr. Judas just called. Apparently, he wants Miss Somerville to attend the Gotham Holiday Charity Ball this evening and help represent the Hearts and Homes association."
"Am I going to the Gotham whatsit Ball?"
"You have a ticket, sir, yes."
"And we certainly wouldn't want to put an added strain on the environment by driving two cars for two people who have the same destination."
"That was my thought, sir."
"Thank you, Alfred."
"You're welcome, Master Wayne. I'll have your suit ready."
- - - - - -
"It was kind of you to give me a ride, Mr. Wayne. I should have hated driving in this weather." Somerville cast a disapproving glance out the window, as if the heavens had conspired to sleet particularly for her annoyance.
"Typical weather for this time of year, I'm afraid." Bruce, hands shoved inside his coat pockets, slouched in his seat across from her. "But I think you mentioned you came from a warmer climate?"
"Columbia."
It really was. Bruce had had his uninvited guest discreetly, but thoroughly, checked out. But the results of the investigation had proved, much to his frustration, that she was exactly what she claimed to be. He had eyewitness reports of her work at the orphanage in Bogotá. "Miss Somerville, do you mind if I ask you something?"
"Not at all, Mr. Wayne."
"Why didn't you tell me you ran into an old friend of the Graysons yesterday?"
"In the upset over the reporters, I suppose it slipped my mind."
Bruce smiled blandly. "Naturally. But, I was wondering, since we know so little about Dick's past, whether you would mind telling me what happened? As the boy's guardian, I feel responsible for gathering as much information about his history as I can."
"A very commendable notion. I, of course, have no objection. The woman's name was Molly Mercer. She claims to have worked in the same circus as Robyn and Charles Grayson."
"I don't suppose she mentioned what circus?"
"It was owned by a man named Haley. She also told me how Charles Grayson died."
"In front of Dick?" he asked, concern flashing through his careless mask.
"No." Her face expressed distaste. "Richard was occupied with the woman's cat. According to Mercer, Charles was killed in a trapeze accident. After his death, Robyn disappeared. By chance, Mercer ran into her several years later here in Gotham, which is why Richard knew her. They were infrequently in contact until Robyn's death."
Bruce hid his excitement as the social worker continued, "Mercer seemed to indicate that she suspected Charles' death wasn't an accident. Do you suppose it might have, in any way, been connected to his work for Wayne Enterprises?"
With the way Earle eliminated those records? You bet it was. Aloud he said, "It's possible."
The limo glided to a stop beneath the covered entryway of the Gotham Tipton. Exquisitely uniformed valets pulled open the doors. Bruce smiled politely. "Enjoy your evening, Miss Somerville."
He wasn't at all sorry to watch her hurry away in search of Henry Judas. Not only would Bruce Wayne never have been caught dead with a woman who was wearing a dress she probably inherited from her great-grandmother, but he didn't need anyone poking needles at him while he was trying to navigate Gotham society. Despite the months of practice, he still wasn't used to the playboy thing. It took conscious effort to walk into a room and remember not to say anything intelligent, to toe the line between indifference and rudeness, to always, whatever happened, smile, smile, smile with the charming idiocy the tabloids had made notorious. The role was occasionally amusing and sometimes challenging, but it was always tiring.
He worked his way around the edge of the room, smiling and nodding, gently testing the waters. They were, as usual, mixed. Although there were plenty of people willing to rub elbows with Bruce Wayne and his billions, there were many, particularly among the older crowd who had know his parents, whose recognition of him was at best cool and at worst non-existent. At this event, with a guest list limited only by who could afford a ticket, both Wayne fawners and haters abounded.
"Bruce!" A pencil-thin redhead in what looked skin tight snakeskin attached herself to his arm. "Isn't this just the most deadly party ever?"
He smiled at her vaguely familiar face. "Do I know you?"
"Of course, you idiot. The Crawfords party, remember?" She tugged impatiently on his arm, pulling him toward a salon that opened off the main ballroom. "Come on, all the fun's over there. This is the den of the old cats." She swept the room with a pretended look of terror. "I've risked my life to rescue you, so come on." He passively allowed her to pull him into the smaller room and into a clique in the corner. "Look who I found," she chirped.
A blond headed man raised his glass in greeting. "Bruce, old man, we missed you on the slopes today."
Bruce shrugged and made the most of his remaining hoarseness. "Caught a cold. Doctor forbids the great outdoors." He recognized most of the people in the circle – they belonged to a set that played hard, drove fast, and never went to bed before 4 in the morning or got up before 2 in the afternoon. Guess I fit right in.
"Wayne, just the man I've been looking for." An overly friendly hand clapped his shoulder and spun him enthusiastically around. "Great new deal in plastics. You're going to be interested."
He smiled. "Yeah?"
"Let me tell you about it." The hand on Bruce's shoulder tightened and tried to pull him away form the group.
Bruce resisted. "I just own the company. I leave the running of it to better men. Have your people call my people and they'll talk, ok?" He smiled, shrugged off the entrepreneur's hand, and returned his attention to the redhead, who was staring in pretended shock across the room. "Bubbles is living up to her name tonight. She must be half smashed already."
Bruce followed her gaze and saw Audrey Williams slumped against he wall, draining the last of champagne. She looked nearly as pale as she had that night on the Walk.
"I hear Gladelands isn't doing so well," his self-appointed rescuer continued. "If I was about to lose my money, I suppose I would throw myself over the edge too. Poverty is so barbaric. Or even worse, the middle class. Can you imagine?" She laughed, as if she'd made some terribly clever joke.
Suddenly unbearably weary, Bruce slipped away from the group and headed toward the hotel's most advertised feature – its "winter garden," a gigantic conservatory complete with labyrinthine paths and bubbling fountains. He drew a relieved breath as he entered the moist and fragrant air. Old-fashioned lampposts lined the paths, and he moved silently through the dim light, trying to shake the party gossip from his memory. Evenings like this one made it difficult to remember why he hadn't taken Ducard up on his offer.
He was standing by a fountain, plotting what to do with the new information on Charles Grayson, when the click of heels and the overwhelming scent of Chanel No. 9 assaulted him from behind.
To Be Continued…
Wow, it's kind of like…a cliffhanger! I didn't plan it that way, it's just that I'm too tired to write anymore. I haven't even proofread, which I'm certain y'all noticed. And I need a shower. Seriously.
Responses to reviews from last chapter will be up on Wednesday. Tomorrow, I launch my career as the school paper's new copy editor, and am not foreseeing enough time even for much neglected homework. Wish me luck!
REVEALED! The not-so-obvious quotes from last chapter in order of appearance:
"What weighs six ounces, sits in a tree, and is very dangerous? A sparrow with a machine gun!"
From Batman: The Movie starring Adam West and Burt Ward (This was the one IcyWaters found)
"A technicality that will shortly be remedied."
From The Princess Bride (Spoken by Humperdinck when he comes into the bedroom and finds Wesley telling Buttercup she's not married because she didn't say "I do.")
"What – The curtains?"
From Monty Python and the Holy Grail (The king, waving his arm dramatically at the window, says to Herbert/Alice "Someday son, all this will be yours." And his not-so-brilliant son replies…)
If you have not seen any of these absolutely hilarious movies, your education is severely deficient! Watch them immediately! (Except in the case of Monty Python, which I think is actually funnier when read. Multiple copies of the screenplay can be found online.)