Kyer does not own anything but the plot and the blame for how it turns out.
Chapter 5
"He's going to do what?"
There were the sounds of a fight in the background. Undoubtedly, Nightwing was getting in some real fun in before he had to endure Bruce's stuffy gala.
The elder kids got all the breaks.
Tim sighed into his cell phone, wishing he was there beating up megalomaniacs too rather than helping Alfred with last minute preparations. He had to admit that he'd hoped Alfred would have relented enough to at least let the speedster take care of the little things in a few nanoseconds--stuff that was taking them a whole half hour to do. No such luck, though, as the past few days had made Pennysworth paranoid.
Well, who could blame Alfred?
"I'll quote him again, but this is the last time: 'Serve and protect. Like those guys on Hawaii 5-O 'cause they were cool and the babes were hot."
"He's more like Maxwell Smart," Dick grunted in response to a fist connecting with a rib.
"You realize that I have no idea what either one of you golden oldies are referring to?" Tim complained. Nightwing ignored him, too engrossed in his own mutterings as he tackled down the last would-be jewelry thief to explain baby boomer tv shows.
"Oh hell. I should have known Wally'd take this manservant thing way too seriously."
"You think? Again, I am compelled to remind you that I"m the innocent kid in all of this. Enticing him here was your idea."
"Okay, okay...my bad. But we're not doomed yet. All you have to do is use some Bat Knock-Out Gas and keep him tied up until the party's over."
"That's a no go. I tried it already."
"You did?"
"Same pointy-eared mentor as you had....so, yes, did."
"Let me guess...."
"'Wing, please, we're talking about a man with only half a brain this side of normal--I don't have all day for you to pick the correct off-the-wall answer," Drake huffed. "He took a whiff of what I told him was room freshener....fell asleep for all of one second...then woke and told me that Febreeze did a better job at hiding room odors and offered to get some and show me. Then he did--the entire mansion. Never even slowed at your old stuff in order to gag first....though I think I caught some really fast swear words."
There was a pause from over the phone.
"Damn speedsters and their hyper metabolisms."
"Maybe so...but I got to admit even your old Bat Cave locker smells April fresh."
"Well, never mind. I'll see what I can do to keep A Perfect Storm from erupting once I get there. These guys are definitely out cold so the former ward of Bruce Wayne should be arriving at the party within thirty minutes or so."
"Should I call Oracle and get you the calculations for success on that secondary mission, oh, Wise Predecessor?"
"Don't you dare! Let me enjoy the illusion for a bit longer."
"Alfred, I trust that everything is prepared for tonight's torment?" Bruce asked as his manservant helped him with his jacket and selecting a matching tie. His question was laced with not a little sarcasm. If it weren't for the need of Bruce Wayne to appear utterly unlikely as a possible candidate for being the Batman in people's eyes, he'd happily do all his charity work by internet accounts.
Batman saved people. That didn't necessarily equate to wishing to be surrounded by boozing idiots.
"I believe the Iron Maiden may need another coat of polish and The Rack is showing termite damage....but otherwise everything is in order, Master Bruce. The caterers are setting up as we speak. There is one thing....I'm afraid the orchestra is running later than expected. They are a substitute as the regular company made a calendar error and were booked for a royal engagement overseas. I am most regretful for this oversight, Master Bruce. When the regulars return I shall be delivering a most stern letter to their management about the keeping of proper records."
"I'm sure the substitute band will be fine," Bruce nodded as he adjusted his cuffs. "Never known you to fail at anything yet."
For a split second, the manservant let a faraway look remain in his eye as he whispered. "Well, you know what they say...there is always a first time."
Naturally, Bruce caught the remark. He gave his butler and lifetime friend a concerned look. "Alfred?"
His manservant smiled a bit dolefully. "Nothing, Master Bruce. It has simply been a long day. The party will be the talk of the media, I'm sure." He held up a dark tie in his right hand, mouth slightly quirked in an expression of quiet amusement. "Might I suggest the navy, sir? Unless you are feeling more daring and wish to go with the bow tie?" His other hand offered up darker piece of fabric. One that made his employer's eyes narrow in disdain.
"Very funny, Alfred."
"Ah...navy it is, then."
In answer, Wayne grabbed the navy one and started to put it on. "I wish you'd toss that ridiculous thing."
"With all due respect, Master Bruce...not a chance in Hell, sir."
Bruce inwardly shook his head. The black faux-leather bow tie had been one of the many inappropriate holiday gifts given to him by Flash over the year. This particular one was from last Halloween when he'd been talked into holding a party in the cave for the League Founders. The item had been carefully molded and sewn into the form of his signature Bat Symbol. Wally had zipped off before he could refuse it...being The Fastest Man Alive, he'd undoubtedly seen the scowl forming on the recipient's face before it had already begun and wisely decided to call it an early night. Alfred had berated him when he'd made to throw it away, so later on he'd misplaced it in the kitchen refuge bin--at a Chinese restaurant five miles away. Obviously, Alfred wanted to keep it in order to tweak him with it on occasions such as this.
All right, the tie was kind of cute in an artsy-craftsy sort of way. Plus seeing Wonder Woman fall right off of her Founder's chair from laughing too hard while Superman tried to stifle his own guffaws by subtly cramming a corner of his cape into his mouth...well, it was a good thing he kept a spy camera on hand for memorable events like that; but he'd made it stridently clear to a crestfallen Flash as well as the rest of the group when they next met up that Batman was neither frivolous nor willing to take even a 'harmless' risk with his secret identity by wearing gag gifts.
Besides...the bat was cheerfully winking via some battery-operated mechanism.
How Alfred had gotten hold of the thing was still a mystery. Probably Clark; damn him and his x-ray vision.
Bruce sniffed the air. Something had been tingling against his olfactory senses for the past half hour. "Alfred, cut down on the room fresheners....place is starting to smell like a flower shop." He sneezed. Alfred handed him a handkerchief.
"God bless you, sir."
'So far so good. No sign of Batz or Alfred. No alarms had gone off as soon as he'd snuck out his bedroom window. (Well, the one did, but he'd totally dismantled it before it was able to make a sound.) He was going to pull this off and prove he wasn't a hopeless klutz or his name wasn't.....um,' Wally checked out his faked name badge, "Bartholomew East."
The start of the party saw the dark-haired and bespectacled Wally West in the kitchens with the rest of the hired help, watching the master cook selecting which trays were to be taken out to the main ballroom. The aromas of all the exotic fare was making him woozy, but Wally was strong. Lantern wasn't the only one with willpower. Besides, he'd pigged out earlier. Everything was going to work out just dandy.
Five minutes later he was walking out of the kitchens while balancing two platters of food to serve to the guests, a suave smile on his face.
Doing great!
Another five seconds: He was balancing two platters of food that smelled scrumptious, a determined glint in his eye.
Doing good.
Two seconds more: He was hungry.
Doing....fine.
Really hungry.
Burp.
He was standing outside the kitchens staring forlornly at two platters with residual crumbs littering their shiny surface.
Damn. He was the master of his stomach--not it's slave. Where there was a will there was a way!
Back in to the kitchens. This time he'd use a touch of super speed to get it right.
He was holding a platter of food he'd snuck past the cooks that did not look scrumptious (or even truly edible when it came right down to it.)
He was flawlessly incognito as a hot young guy in a dapper suit about to be serving debatable munchies to hot babes.
This is going to be a blast.
He entered the ballroom with a grin.
He exited the ballroom with a wide-eyed look of horror.
'Dear God in Heaven Above!' Wally internally moaned as he leaned back against the nearest wall. He risked another peek into the room, but the scene was the same:
Old people. Stuffy expressions on faces. Elevator music played solely upon acoustic instruments. Staid decorations probably kept in storage since Roosevelt was President.
The first one.
Yep, the whole thing had the tag 'Old Fogeys' just plastered everywhere. Was this supposed to be a party or a Retirement Home Time-Share Presentation?
'This is...going to be as boring as monitor duty.'
"I should have known that Bruce wouldn't know how to throw a decent party to save his social life."
"Hey you!"
Gah! Caught. Alfred was surely going to have a cow over this. Not just any cow either, but one of those shaggy kind with the really long and sharp horns--also hooves. But those were bred in Scotland..did Alfred have contacts in Scotland? Probably. He'd raised Bruce so the man must have more contacts than 007---he certainly held a license to kill one Wally West.
A harried looking man with large eyes and bigger jowls was aiming straight for him with a purposeful stride that bode ill for his target.
FBI? CIA? Federal Marshal? Unknown Bat Security come to arrest him for breaking and entering?
Oh hell--what have I gotten myself into? If only your brain was as surefooted as your feet, Wally! Be cool! Be suave. Act like you belong here while edging for the window and escape. Clark might take him in. Or Diana if he looked pathetic enough and promised not to stray from the couch. No windows. Crap! Maybe if I dissemble? Lie like a rug! No! Bat people can smell lies like carnivorous piranha smell blood and would go into a feeding frenzy just like in the Discovery Channel where they'd stripped a bovine in milliseconds because the little nippers were the fastest fishies alive! Think! How did the Amazon dudes get past the piranha? Distract Piranha Man with a food sacrifice that wasn't Wally West! Nothing distracts speedsters better than offering them food!
He thrust out a platter.
"Foreign fish babies on cardboard crackers!"
Piranha Man gave him the fish eye, slowly opening his mouth to undoubtedly display his arsenal of deadly teeth.
"Uh...I meant...try some imported Beluga Caviar on Rye?"
Dear God his brain was already disassociating itself from it's coming demise just like they said the gazelle does right before the lion pounces.
"You!" the burly man grabbed his lapel and glanced at his name badge "East...can you sing?"
"No way! I am not a stoolie!" 'Wait...This guy doesn't look like manor security even if he does look like a piranha. Was there manor security? I mean, what with Batman being right there living in-house what other security did...'
"Look, mister, can you sing or not?"
"Well, y-yeah, but I'm only here to serve food--" Wally again held aloft his platter, nose wrinkling at the smell of it, "or whatever this stuff is."
Piranha Man dug into his pocket and produced a wallet with identification. 'Piranha Man' was not typed on it. "I'm Harold Hassex, the manager for the band." Stanley--my vocalist--came down with vodka poisoning at a stag and nobody else here can hold even a half-way decent tune." He made a face at the caviar. "That looks disgusting."
"Vodka poisoning? Is that as bad as Onion Pizza halitosis?" Wally asked, half disappointed that this was not 'Piranha Man' after all or something else more exciting than Bruce's gala....also because he was still stuck with all of these fish egg things.
"Just as bad."
"Man, that's tough."
John had given him hell for passing out in the Green Lantern's Watchtower room after indulging in a binge of Xtra Onion topping pizzas. Wally had apologized by cleaning out the apartment air using his arms as turbo fans....which had driven the smell right into the vicinity of...well, the entire outside hallway. Which had just happened to be where Superman and Batman had been passing through at that moment. Superman, naturally--the lucky stiff with all the neat-o powers except for really running fast (and was that fair?) Superman---had been immune to all weapons of mass destruction not glowing green. Batman? Well, it seemed the Dark Terror of the Night was as subject to the ruinous effect of onions as any regular mortal.
Amazingly enough, he had no onion fume repellent in that bat belt of his. Apparently, even Batman's Wally-instigated-disaster preparatory skill had it's limits.
Of course, Wonder Woman had happened by next, taken a quickie stock of the situation, and immediately threatened everyone with violence for making Batman cry like Batman was John and Di had suddenly sprouted wings or something...until she'd spotted him that is. (So much for due process and trials. It was more like innocent until proven Wally and--never mind Superman---was that fair?) The direness of her snarls had lasted for all of five seconds before she realized....Batman was crying. (Signifying that Wally wasn't always the slowest one of the League when it came to processing an uptake.) Well, everyone knew that Batman actually crying was a flat impossibility so Wally guessed she was in her rights to have taken so long to register that fact and to look dumbfounded at the sight. Which had started a discussion about the stupidity of ordering and eating onion pizzas in an enclosed space and onions as legitimate biological weapons--sort of culinary hand grenades---which should be banned by the United Nations. All of which would have been fine if Wally hadn't also been trying to evade Batarangs at the same time as participating in the discourse.
To give Bruce his due, he had an amazing sense of aim even when half blinded by water-logged white eye lenses.
(Truly the man's alter ego was well named.)
The upshot to all of this was that the pain had necessitated Wally needing a few strong drinks---purely for medicinal purposes---because batarangs hurt like nobody's business even if that ear antennae had possibly saved his life. Plus, severe tinnitus should be considered enough to get you off of monitor duty because how were you supposed to concentrate on anything if your ear was still ringing with sympathetic vibrations and he got that he wasn't a Lantern with a fancy ring so it wasn't like he was totally incapacitated, but still.
So, yeah, vodka poisoning was something he could find it in his heart to empathize with.
Hassex looked pained. "Stanley never was good around free liquor. Unfortunately, he was the only union singer I could get for tonight. So I need someone with even a modicum of talent." He pointedly eyed Wally. The speedster gulped.
Where was Timmy the Wonder Boy who was supposed to be running interference for him? He couldn't get up on stage. What if Alfred or Bruce saw him?
"Look, Mr...." he glanced at Wally's i.d. badge, "Mr. Barry East. None of the rest of this lot Wayne hired can sing a lick. You say you can. You want to ruin Mr. Wayne's party? He could blacklist us. Everybody could lose their jobs and we got families. Little kids. You want that those little kids should end up in cardboard condos?"
"Well, no," Wally gulped, "but I'm not exactly union..."
The man stared at him for a moment, produced a form, signed it and passed Wally a slip of paper that looked like an Honorary Union Member I.O.U. "You are now."
"But--?"
"Kids in Cardboard Condos."
Sheesh, you can put a monkey suit on a superhero, but underneath was still all the colorful get-ups and savior complexes sublimely attracting trouble. So much for keeping a low profile.
"It's just a few songs, Mr. East. That should hold us until dinner when I think I can get a relief singer in--or this crowd gets drunk enough not to care either way and riot on you by throwing..." he glanced at the platter, "whatever that stuff is."
"Okay." First order of business--spike the punch bowls. "Just so you know, I've never sung professionally."
"Most of the attendees here look half deaf anyway. Look, if you can sing simple things like a decent Moon River we're saved."
"No problem." Moon what?
A/N: I'm re-reading my trade book Race Against Time: Wally World segment and...Wally does claim one of his talents as making balloon animals. Must have remembered that subconsciously since it's been a year since read that book.