A/A/N I am so irritated! I had this chapter finished Monday evening, but the site wouldn't let me upload the document! Thankfully, if you're reading this, it means I finally got it up.

A/N Many apologies for the delay! My roommate's bridal shower, which I was coordinating, was last Thursday (and it went amazingly well considering I'd never thrown a formal party before), and there were various other aspects of real life kicking me in the teeth (including a test in Medieval Literature today). And in fair warning, I have to say that I'm not certain when the next chapter will be up. Probably not until after March 1st which is when the second draft of my screenplay is due. Alas.

A Small Explanatory Note: Lisa's (a.k.a. IcyWaters) cameo appears in this chapter. I modeled it after the old Adam West show, which contained a highly structured cameo appearance in each episode. Batman would be climbing up a wall, and a famous person would stick their head out of a window and exchange a few lines with the Caped Crusader, usually something having nothing at all to do with the plot.

Disclaimer

There was a young college age writer

Who told of a Ninja-bat fighter.

Though she increased his fame

She did not claim his name.

She was certainly no plagiarizer.

Acknowledgment To my friend Aaron, whose static electricity machine provided us with delightful hours of tingling terror.

Chapter 18

Surely what a man does when he is taken off his guard is the best evidence for what sort of man he is..."

Mere Christianity

"I have to stop driving borrowed cars," Cecilia muttered, straining uselessly at the duct tape that bound her hands behind her and around a steel support beam. It was an awkward position, and although she'd been in it for only ten minutes, her arms were well on their way to being severely cramped.

She had been fewer than five minutes from the hotel when three dark sedans forced her to the side of the road. Before she could do more than ferociously rear end the car ahead of her, her door was wrenched open and a masked man forced her out of the car, duct taped her wrists and her mouth, and thrust her into the back of one of their own cars.

Half an hour later, she'd been manhandled into a warehouse full of crates, carted up a frighteningly narrow flight of metal stairs to a catwalk, and bound hand and foot to the steel post. She could feel the barrel of her Beretta digging into her where it was strapped to her thigh, but at the moment it might as well be back in her bedroom at the Manor. There was nothing to be done. She pushed herself on tiptoe to relieve the strain on her arms and waited.

- - - - - -

"Hey, Boss." A distinctly nervous Mikey opened the warehouse door for two men in long, dark coats.

"Ah, good evening." The Joker swept in ahead of his companion. "Things went according to plan with the car?"

"They got the car, yeah," Mikey replied, shutting the door.

"And the woman is secured as I instructed?"

Mikey cleared his throat. "The woman from the car is taped up like you said."

The Joker nodded in a pleased manner and headed toward the stairs, but his companion held up a hand. "A moment, my friend, this person seems hesitant," his smooth but slightly accented voice cautioned.

The Joker looked at his henchman, and one darkly drawn eye brow jiggled impatiently.

Mikey cleared his throat again and shifted his weight. "It was the right car, sir, I'm sure of that. And there was a lady inside. Only…I'm not sure it was the right one. This dame…she don't look like a party crasher, if you know what I mean. And there's this." He held out a plain, black purse.

The Joker took the bag and pulled out a wallet. He flipped it open and stared at the driver's license framed in the clear plastic pocket. "Cecilia Somerville." Beside him, Morales drew a quick breath. The Joker slowly folded the wallet and tucked it back into the purse. "You're quite right, Mikey, the woman upstairs is not the woman I told you to procure for me."

"It was the right car, Boss, I swear…"

"Oh, I'm sure it was. Mistakes happen. They aren't anyone's fault." The Joker's voice was calm and even, and Mikey's shoulders relaxed.

"I did just what you told me."

"I seem to remember once telling you that one mistake was all you were allowed. And Mikey, you've already made yours."

The man's face flooded with fear, and he tried to run. Before he was two steps away, the Joker had placed three shots in the hapless henchman's back.

Morales stared passively at the fallen body and its spreading pool of scarlet. "You are, I take it, acquainted with Cecilia Somerville?"

The Joker's mouth twisted bitterly. "I have the honor of the lady's acquaintance."

Sudden, intense emotion flooded Morales' face. "Then you can guess how delightful to me is the thought of finding her in our power."

"What? Lay a finger on the darling of our intrepid leader's heart? Your life would be worth no more than his, my Spanish friend." The Joker indicated Mikey's body.

Morales looked over at him, irritation flickering across his face. "Columbian."

"What?"

"I come from Columbia, not Spain. The two are worlds apart."

"I beg your pardon. Would you by any chance have a Columbian solution to our problem?"

"Yes," Morales replied in self-satisfied tone. "I believe I can see how to turn the situation to our advantage."

- - - - - -

Cecilia thought she might actually be making some headway on the tape. There was a rough spot on the post, and judicious rubbing produced the satisfying sound of ripping fibers. But before she had worked through much more than the edge, footsteps clanged on the metal stairs, and she immediately drew her face into a pinched, scared look.

The Joker, in full costume, appeared, a leather bag and her purse grasped in his hand. He casually dropped both bags to the floor and approached her, his gloved hands clasped before him.

"Miss Somerville, how nice to see you again."

"What do you want from me?" she begged, her voice cracking on a sob.

"My dear, it's not that I don't appreciate the effort. As a theatrical artist myself, I have the greatest admiration for your talent. But it's simply a wasted performance. Let's speak as one professional to another, hmm?"

Her expression never faltered. "I don't know what you mean. Please…please don't hurt me."

"What can I say to convince you? Ah! At the risk of sounding like a B-grade villain, I shall venture to tell you that…I know what you did last summer. In Columbia. Such a shame about the little girl."

Cecilia's face froze.

"You begin to take me seriously. Tell me, were you honestly remorseful, or is killing children simply part of the job description?"

Her face was expressionless, her voice cold and clear. "What do you want?"

"Everything you know about Richard Grayson."

"Why?"

"It shouldn't make any difference to you."

She lifted an eyebrow. "I suppose that means you're going to kill me. Hardly an inducement to open my mouth."

"Never underestimate a comedian's powers of persuasion." He bent and opened his bag. "I'm certain that by now you've learned of the little sobriquet with which the media has gifted me. It is based primarily upon my appearance, but still, I find a whimsical amusement in creating little ways to live up to it." He pulled a pair of scissors out of the bag and walked over to her. "Have you ever heard that laughter is a miracle worker?" he asked, as he unbuttoned her coat and pulled at her dress fabric. "In fact," he continued, snipping a slit across her stomach, "I find that it's more effective than almost anything else I've tried. It's so marvelously tidy. Almost never any unpleasant mess afterward." He again rummaged in his bag and pulled out a handful of slim wires and a roll of black electrical tape. "The idea is quite simple." There were six white nodes on the ends of the wires, and he taped three to either side of her stomach. "I create an electrical circuit which passes through your stomach muscles, causing them to convulse in much the same manner that tickling does." He stepped back and held up a black, joystick-like control. "Consider this first bit a complimentary sample." He pressed the button on the top of the stick.

She lunged forward and convulsed against her bonds, screaming in short, high bursts like laughter. After fifteen seconds, he released the button. She rested her head against the post and breathed in ragged gasps.

"Amusing little toy isn't it? Almost enough to make you split your sides."

Cecilia's breath came more evenly. She grinned, a mirthless grimace full of teeth. "That was fun, baby, can we do it again?"

Before she could draw another breath, he hit the button, and this time the current ran for a full minute. When it was over, she threw up, twisting her head in a futile attempt to spew the liquid to the side.

"Now, Miss Somerville, I think we might be ready to talk."

- - - - - -

Batman left the car on a quiet side street and set out on foot. It was a slim chance that the conversation he had overheard two nights ago had anything to do with Somerville's appearance, but when a retrace of her probable route from the hotel had produced no sign of her, he was left with few options.

Most of his ramblings the night before had been to locate buildings fitting the specifications of that whispered conversation. Footwork and computer research had yielded over ten locations – enough to take him the rest of the night. The first three – two warehouses and a condemned McDonald's – yielded no results. He was working his way up a wall for a rooftop shortcut when a voice halted his progress.

"Excuse me!"

He looked over to see a woman sticking her head out of a window.

"Wow, I can't believe I caught you! I'm Lisa…Lisa Waters. You don't know me, but I've been following your career through the Internet, and I have to say that you've been slipping a little. For an enigmatic symbol of unflinching justice who's supposed to turn fear against those who prey on the fearful, you could really stand to kick it up a notch."

Batman thought about it and decided she was right. "Thanks. I'll work on it."

"No problem." Lisa disappeared back inside her window, and the Bat continued on his route to the roof.

It was only a few minutes later when he stumbled across the policemen. At least, he assumed some of them were policemen. One man was swapping his uniform jacket for another guy's flannel shirt, and his companion was dangling the keys to the cruiser and demanding cash up front. Batman waited silently above, memorizing the faces. Gordon would know how to deal with cops who lent out their uniforms, and Batman didn't want to haul them in himself. He was more interested in where the rented cruiser was going.

Both the slick streets and the fact that the car didn't have far to go made it easy for him to keep up, slipping through the shadows several stories above the street. The car pulled around the corner of a large warehouse, and Batman used his cable to swing over to the roof. He was still curious about the purpose of the borrowed outfits, but he was a lot more interested in a woman's screams that echoed faintly from inside the building. Dropping over the edge of the roof, he began to look for a way in.

- - - - - -

She was having trouble catching her breath. It hurt to pull in air, but she managed to talk anyway. "How long have you been in the funny business?"

His tone was casual and conversational. "About six years. It was a one-time job, but I liked the costume so much I kept it." The Joker peered at his victim with a gleam of real interest in his eyes. "You're really not afraid of me, are you?"

She shook her head and smiled faintly. "Sorry. Fear is…among the worst of the human experiences, and you're…not nearly evil enough to merit it."

The Joker clucked his tongue. "I think I have been gravely insulted. Tell me, why am I such a minor evil?"

"You deal in raw pain. And you're mad. Quite mad. There's nothing very…terrifying about that." Cecilia took a shuddering breath and rested her head against the post, her eyes closed.

"Then I suppose there's no point in continuing with this." The Joker gripped the wires and ruthlessly ripped them away. "Tell me, since you seem to have things so neatly worked out, what would I have to do to earn my 'really evil' badge?"

"Don't you know?" she murmured, not opening her eyes. "True evil is always…beautiful."

The glove did little to soften the edge of his hand as it smashed against her head. "You must be a little mad yourself, Miss Somerville. Have you forgotten that I'm going to kill you?"

"Slipped my mind," she muttered dazedly.

Footsteps clanged on the steps, and a thin, pale man holding a box appeared. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, and the Joker swung around. "What is it?"

"The…what you requested, sir." The man held out his box.

"Ah, yes." The Joker snatched the box and his flunky nervously backed away.

"You claim, my dear Miss Somerville, that you do not fear me. I must admit that I can never resist a challenge." He came closer and she could hear scrabbling and scratching sounds inside the box. The Joker leered at her. "You look a little pale, my dear."

His hand moved to the lid, but before he could lift it, there was an explosion of sound from downstairs.

"POLICE!"

Instead of alarm, a look of supreme irritation crossed the Joker's painted face. He set the box down and darted for the stairs. The moment he was out of sight, Cecilia began frantically sawing her wrists against the rough spot on the post, staring fixedly at the box on the floor.

Her first knowledge of the shadowy figure behind her was the cool edge of metal against her wrist, and then her hands swinging free. She gasped with pain as the muscles in her severely cramped arms began to throb. A moment later, she heard the tape around her ankles ripping and felt it pull viciously at her nylons. Her liberator stepped in front of her.

It was the Batman.

To Be Continued…

A/N Responses to reviews are up on my homepage!