Disclaimer: See the first chapter/part of this work. That disclaimer applies to this chapter/part.
Coffee
by Jack Velvet
"Mr. Wayne!" exclaimed Tara. "Will it be your usual today?"
"Add four dozen muffins to go," Bruce replied.
It was the end of yet another week of Crane watching, and Bruce quite literally didn't have time to stop and chat with him. This morning he had an important meeting that he actually couldn't be asleep for, and afterward he had to catch up with Lucius to talk about computers before the man flew to New York on business. Even stopping to get muffins was a risk, but he needed a real excuse for being late. Telling the board that Batman had one hell of a night wouldn't exactly work, at least not in his favor. The media would love it—especially that Summer Gleason—if anyone took such an excuse seriously.
Alfred was also waiting outside.
"And a cup of your house blend," he ordered for the loyal butler, despite the man's love of tea, "with one cream."
A loud sigh. Lucy's shoulders dropped as she yelled into the back kitchen, "Better make some more muffins, guys. Some guy just came in and bought everything."
"Luce!" Tara scolded as she did.
"What?" Lucy replied. "Am I lying?"
"He's not some guy!" Tara turned back toward the person of her affection, and asked, "Do you need help carrying this to..." Tara looked beyond Bruce. "...Your car?"
"If you'd really like to," Bruce flirted back. "Maybe both of you could help?" The man considered how Lucy's proportional curves would look in one of those skimpy-clingy numbers they wear at the Academy Awards. Maybe I should ask Lucy to the gala.
But Lucy vanished from his mind. He'd passed Jonathan on the way in. Why am I doing this in front of him?
"Of course!" Tara tapped Lucy after completing the transaction. "Come on! Help me box these up."
Lucy's eyes hit the ceiling. "I really should've stayed in school," she muttered, grabbing a sheet of wax paper and stuffing leafy and leafless muffins into the box Tara cradled.
"You should have too, Bruce."
"Hmm?" Bruce asked.
"Tch, nothing," Lucy replied. She secretly adored the attention.
"You could do good with the Wayne name. Instead you use it as a cover for your violence."
Not again. Not here! "Just mix them up," Bruce instructed them.
"What does it look like we're doing?" Lucy asked.
"Luce!"
Crane chuckled in the corner, amused by the three of them. Bruce caught him, coloring Jon's face with a light rose hue, and gave the man a wave. Jon returned to his coffee and the paper.
"Can't have an heir to the Wayne fortune if you're off playing Batman, let alone running around with some man."
The words were too hateful to be his parents. Were they his own? It didn't matter, he needed to be here. It was becoming more and more clear to him that Crane might not actually be involved in this. Meanwhile, Croc was gaining notoriety in the underworld and more robberies were being committed. Crane was his only lead. He wasn't going to stop watching him until he figured out what the connection was, even if Crane wasn't directly involved.
"All set!" Tara announced.
"Thank you ladies," Bruce answered.
...
Bruce arrived at the office twenty minutes after leaving the café, his blame placed solely on the traffic; it wasn't normally so backed up past 8:45. Immediately, he set the muffins on the meeting table and said, "Thought I'd pick up some breakfast for everyone."
"Any later and it would've been lunch," sneered Lawrence, the board's oldest member, who was the first to nab a muffin and the only person who would've eaten lunch at nine-thirty. After a large bite, he motioned to the man across from him, and said, "Bruce Wayne, this is Maury Beardsley, a representative from ChemChem. Maury, Bruce."
"Nice to meet you." The two men shook hands.
Lawrence had enough. "Can we move on?"
"Let's," Bruce said, taking a seat. A large presentation packet sat before him. Everyone had one, and they were all open to a specific page.
Lucius leaned over and whispered, "Page 4."
Bruce nodded and turned to said page. "This is a list of all the chemicals ChemChem produces?"
"Every one of them," said Maury. "You'll see that we not only manufacture some compounds on-site, we ship them out to other pharmaceutical companies worldwide."
"If you'll look at page 36, figure 2a," Lawrence began, muffin crumbs clinging to the corners of his mouth, "you'll see that the chemicals are manufactured at a relatively low cost."
Maury jumped in. "If you're wondering about mark-up, turn to page 38, figures 4a and 4b—"
"Very fair to the buyers, and profitable for ChemChem," Lawrence said.
"Looks like a rip-off," stated Bruce.
The other members of the board looked to Maury for an answer, remaining quiet about their stance. Lucius hid a smile.
"Yes, but Mr. Wayne, if you do the math, you'll see that the prices per unit even out when considering tax and shipping rates and—"
"And I see that you're incorporated in Delaware." Bruce didn't look up from the packet. "What page is the math on?"
Maury hesitated. "I don't know, Mr. Wayne."
"So it's not in here?"
"If it's not, it must have been missed. We'll gladly fax over a copy—"
"And page 74 shows that you're capable of manufacturing this...what is it, a brand? 'Vitatrol X'? You can manufacture this compound on-site. Yet not only are you forcing the Brick Chemicals Company in Pennsylvania—a small, local company—to sell you Vitatrol X instead of the individual components, you've forced them to sell it to you below the cost of the combined components."
Maury adjusted his tie. "Well, it would be unethical for us to advise others on how to run their business..."
Bruce unwrapped a muffin. "I said forced. You've eaten up their other business clients, either by buying them out or stealing their business, and they're left with just you, all alone, to keep money coming in. You've preyed upon their desperation to stay afloat and then what? You'll buy them when they're in danger of bankruptcy?"
"It's called capitalism, Wayne," Lawrence scolded.
Bruce leaned back in his chair and took a bite. "Can't be. I always thought capitalism had a sense of honor and fair game."
"The only fair is laissez-faire. The world ain't puppies and fairies, kid," said Lawrence.
"But," Lucius interjected, "the company should at least make an effort to pretend that it is."
"Mr. Fox is right," said another member. "We have an image to think of."
"Please, I implore you," pleaded Maury. "Turn to page 43—"
"And besides," Bruce laughed. "What about the name? I mean, 'ChemChem'? Doesn't that remind anyone of anything?"
A member at the far end of the table shouted, "Fen-phen!"
"Good point, Mr. Wayne," echoed another.
"Yeah, image and advertising is everything," remarked a third.
Bruce shrugged. "All in favor of..." He picked up the packet. "Whatever this is?"
Lawrence's hand rose. Maury's did too, in a terrible effort to gain the board's favor.
"And those in favor of saying screw it?" Bruce asked.
Everyone else's hand raised.
"Looks like it's decided." Bruce stood from his chair and grabbed the packet. "Muffin for the road, Maury?"
"No, I..."
"They're good muffins."
"No." Maury packed his briefcase. "Thank you for your time."
The room emptied. Lucius strode next to Bruce on their way out.
"It lacked tact," the older man said, "but you're starting to remind everyone about that brain of yours."
"I know a few years have passed, but people still remember my family's name on the side of that machine that tore up the Narrows."
"And your efforts to focus more on the science of building society rather than destroying it should be applauded."
Bruce smiled. "You're the brains of the operation."
"And you could be the heart." The men entered an empty elevator. "Did the inoculation take?"
"The auditory hallucinations are still there." So is the urge to touch Jon's lips.
"Any triggers?" Lucius followed up.
Crane. "Inner thought."
"Now I'm no psychiatrist, but is it possible that this might just be a result of some...say, repressed feelings?"
Guilty. "It's only really been the voices of my parents," Bruce told him, wondering if Lucius was suggesting something else. The older man often spoke as if he knew more than he was letting on; the young Wayne thought that this was just the wisdom that came with age, and wondered if Batman would reach this stage before Bruce.
"Maybe you should see a doctor."
Already am; he's the problem. "You have a point."
"The software is ready for you whenever you want to sit down and do some recordings." Lucius leaned over in a parental manner. "You do have time in that busy schedule of yours to do so, don't you?"
A twinge of a smile graced Bruce's lips at the implication. He was hoping that he wouldn't be needed until night time. "In my office or down in Archives?"
"Which place do you think is more secure?"
Archives. The elevator doors opened. "Thanks Lucius. Have a safe trip."
"Thanks, Bruce. Go easy on yourself, got it?" Lucius jested, stepping out. "What with the...spelunking and all."
"I'll try."
...
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
8:50.
Bruce turned over, nailing his knee on a cushioned object.
What the heck is that? He rubbed the place of contact. No pain.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Damn it," he cursed, sitting straight up. He'd fallen asleep on the couch in his office. Bruce picked up his cell, the source of the incessant beeping, and took notice of the time. It was 8:51. This has been going off for twenty-one minutes?
Initially, Bruce intended to take a quick nap and wake up far before the alarm went off. It'd been a long day; by the time he made it through all of the meetings, "sign here, Sir" paper-work, and vocal recordings, it was 7:30.
"Idiot," he muttered to himself.
His cell rang.
"Wayne," he answered.
"Master Bruce." It was Alfred. "A bit late, are we?"
"I fell asleep in my office."
"Something you should be doing at home. During normal hours."
"Point taken."
"In one ear and out the other. Been driving about the block for half an hour now. Care to come down and join me?"
"Yeah, I'll be right there." He hung up.
Bruce's extremely pregnant secretary was still at her desk when he exited the office.
"'Bout time," she said. "Did you fall asleep again? I heard an alarm going off through the door."
"Yeah," he said, collecting their coats from the hanger beside her desk. "What are you still doing here?"
"I'm here as long as you are."
He draped her coat over her shoulders. "Don't be ridiculous, Allie. I'd hate to have your water break while I'm sleeping."
"Then don't stay so late," she smiled.
They walked toward the elevator. "Where'd you park?"
"I took the train today," she answered. "And Terry's been downstairs for about 40 minutes. I'll be fine."
The elevator opened and they entered. "He has? Sorry about that."
"Don't worry. We're used to it."
"Ouch," Bruce said. "What do I owe you two, a free date at a four-star? How about a nanny while you're on leave?"
Allie laughed. "Seriously, Mr. Wayne. Don't worry about it. You're too good to us already."
They reached the lobby. Bruce waved to her husband, who waved back, then glanced through the entrance doors at Alfred, who was waiting outside. "Take care, Allie."
"Night, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce smiled and left. A cold breeze hit his face, urging him faster into the idling car.
"So I'll meet ya down on Third," said a passing man. "Boss ain't gonna be there. He's got more...important things to attend to."
Boss? Cold as he was, Bruce hesitated before crossing the sidewalk. He recognized the man as Ax, one of Croc's look-outs during the convenience store heist.
"Hey! Watch it buddy!" the man exclaimed. His phone fell to the ground, knocked there "mistakenly" by Bruce Wayne.
"Sorry, really," Bruce apologized, picking up the phone. According to Ax's caller ID, he was talking to Sid the Squid.
"Here," Bruce said, passing the cell back. "Really, I'm sorry. I'll buy you a new one."
"Whatever, pussy-ass punk," Ax said, swiping the phone and holding it to his ear. "Yo, sorry 'bout that. Some rich-ass bitch wasn't lookin' where he was goin'." He walked away then, not forgetting to sneer at Bruce's car as he did.
"Sorry, Alfred," Bruce apologized as he sat down.
"I took the liberty of packing your things, sir." He gestured at the gym bag beside Bruce. "Part of me must have known you'd be late. Where is it that I might take you tonight?"
"Any suspicious areas down on Third that you can think of?"
"Caught a bite, did you?"
"Think so."
"Nowhere this car could take you without looking conspicuous, Master Wayne. Perhaps the corner of Seventh and West Harbor?"
"That'll work," Bruce agreed.
...
The place stank of fish and urine. It was starting to rain that part-snow-part-ice-part-water crap that definitely meant slippery sidewalks and black ice the next morning, but all of the water in the world couldn't wash away the stink that festered on Carol and Third.
Ax always hated the area. And now Squid was missing.
"Squid? Yo Squid!"
"Damn it, Ax!" Sid cursed under his chilled breath, a curse that was responded to by the harsh shock of his back hitting brick.
"Where's Croc?" Batman asked again. Though only steps away from Ax, their location was hidden by the unwelcoming shadows of the alley next to Hayden's Fish Market.
"I...I don't know!"
"Remember!" Batman hissed.
"Sid? Sid?" Ax paced nervously in the glow of the street light. The precipitation fell harder.
"I—Ax is lookin' for me!" Sid explained.
"I can think of creative ways for him to find you."
"I—uh..."
"Sid the Squid. Ax. These are names I can forget to tell Croc when I find him, provided I can do it the easy way."
"No! No!" Sid's brows raised high with worry. "He'll kill us! Both of us!"
"Not my problem," Batman said, letting go but not stepping back. He could tell that Sid was the type to scare easily. There was no need to seriously rough him up, as long as Sid didn't know that Batman knew that.
"Okay! Okay!" Sid broke. "He's got a big meeting at the hideout."
"With who?"
"I dunno! I dunno! I swear! He don't tell us nothin'!"
"You forgot some key details," Batman reminded him, pushing him against the wall again.
"Sid?" Ax's sloshing footsteps became more frantic.
"Ted's Deli and Butcher, on Fifth, I swear! It's a room in the back! That's all I know!"
Same old story with criminals. "And tonight's job?"
"ChemChem...gotta pick up some crates and bring 'em back."
"That's what you were doing," Batman corrected him, wrapping cable ties around Sid's wrists.
"No! You can't!" Sid shouted louder now. "Help! Help!"
"Sid?"
Batman knocked Sid unconscious and hid, awaiting the arrival of Ax. The man's body slumped into a cold puddle, soaking his clothes.
"Damn it!" Ax cursed, coming upon the scene. "Sid! Get up, damn it!" He kicked Sid in the leg once, twice, and then a third time.
The fourth time he found himself pressed against the ground, hands strapped together behind his back. The next thing he knew, he and Sid were in a police car, on their way to jail.
...
Bruce hardly heard Jon call his name when he walked into Le Café close to noon that Saturday. He had no idea how he'd actually made it there, nor why he mechanically woke up and dressed as if he were heading into the office. The brisk cold did nothing to perk up his senses; he was on auto-pilot and auto-pilot for him didn't require much energy to operate.
"The first time I actually greet you first and you completely ignore me." Jon shook his head as he erased a wrong letter from the Saturday puzzle. "Should've known."
"Sorry. Hi Jon."
Jon nudged the chair across from him out with his foot. It was the first time he willingly invited the man to sit with him. The richer smiled, bashful and aware of what actually dragged him out of bed this morning.
"Late night at the..." Jon said, hanging onto the word as he gazed into Bruce's eyes, "...office?"
Bruce let out a hint of laughter at the insinuation. There was something about the intensity of Jon's stare and the curves of his lips that made Bruce forget about the pain, bitterness, and corruption amok in Gotham City. It was either that or the toxin. "You could say that."
"Well, you weren't the only one," Jon informed him.
Bruce hoped that Jon wasn't donning the patchy burlap sack again. "Oh really?" he replied, a flirtatious inflection masking his concern (but also partially flirting). "I didn't know you were such a...night-owl."
"I'm afraid you have me mixed up with someone else. I was referring to...this." Jon flipped his paper over.
"Another robbery?" Bruce knew better.
"The Batman. He seems to have finally caught on to—" Jon stopped; he didn't want to scare Bruce away with his criminal past. "To the stories the papers have been printing."
"Maybe they'll stop soon."
"Hopefully," Jon said honestly. "That's good news for you, isn't it? Seeing as your company decided not to deal with ChemChem."
"Scanning the pages for my name, are we?"
"What else would I have to return your torment with?" Jon quipped. He folded up the page and passed it over the table to Bruce. "Seems that they made mention of your little party next weekend." He pointed a finger at the precise line he referenced. "Funny how the stories are right next to each other."
"Well, what would a charity event in Gotham be like if it wasn't overshadowed by a string of robberies?" Bruce joked.
Jon grasped the statement. "I knew it. You aren't as in the dark about current events as you make yourself out to be."
"You've got me. Is that why you invited me over here today?"
"Partially," Jon said, stirring his coffee, nonchalant. "But partially because you were bound to sit here anyway."
"I barely realized you were here this morning." That's right Bruce, just drive him away by insulting him. Real smart.
"Which is why my third reason for beckoning you over here is justified."
"Beckoning?"
"Yes, beckoning." Jon moistened his lips with his tongue, a subconscious motion that was so quick that it might have gone unnoticed. It didn't. "Don't you want to know what it was?"
Bruce couldn't care less; he was so close to Jon that he could smell him without the funk of Arkham and the grim reality of Batman in the way. It was faint but delightful.
"Sure," he replied, his smile never fading. This crush was becoming uncontrollable. Will-power was something he nor Batman could afford to lack.
"To delay you from ordering." Jon sat back in the chair as if he had just put Bruce's king in check.
"It seems you have succeeded," Bruce admitted, standing without losing his gaze.
"It seems I have."
Bruce shook his head and made his way toward the counter, where he placed his usual order with Tara. Lucy stood beside her, looking disinterested per her usual routine. Her other act was annoyed.
"So, how's your boyfriend?" Lucy prodded.
Bruce's eyebrows dipped toward his nose. "My who?"
"Jonny Newspaper?" she retorted.
"He's not my boyfriend," Bruce denied, hoping that his strict physical and mental training was not failing in its duty to conceal a blush. "But if you're asking about Jon, he seems to be his usual self."
"Yeah, okay," Lucy said. "I believe you."
"Um, Mr. Wayne?" Tara interjected. "Will this be for here or to go today?"
"I was thinking of staying—"
"He'll take it to go," Jon interrupted from across the room.
"Um...?" Tara was confused.
"To go," Bruce answered, shaking his head as he glanced at Jon. The hot little bastard was smirking.
"Prove it," Lucy challenged, referring to her recent accusation of Jon and Bruce being together. Unfortunately for her, Bruce already planned for such an occasion.
"Go to the gala with me."
"The what?" That caught her off-guard. Tara's shoulders sank as she stirred Bruce's drink.
"I'm hosting this thing at this hotel I bought to raise money for education."
"Couldn't you have just given the money you used to buy the hotel to some school district?"
She had a point. "I bought it a couple of years ago."
"Aren't I a bit young for you?" The young woman felt a bit nervous now. She'd never been asked out to a fancy party before, and certainly never thought it would be Bruce Wayne who'd be the first to ask her.
"I'm not that old," Bruce laughed.
"Luce!" Tara hissed, urging Lucy to join her on the side. She whispered to her, "You can't pass up an opportunity like this! It's only like five or six years! Who cares!"
"You're the one with the crush on him," Lucy reminded her.
"Shh! I don't want him to know!"
"It's not like you make it a secret! Besides, I don't even have a dress."
"Do you want one?" Bruce offered.
Flabbergasted was look Lucy's face was not used to. It was hard to be the snarky, all-knowing witch when someone pressed her princess button. Someone she secretly decided was attractive, not creepy, and wouldn't mind a date with. "Um..."
"Sorry," Bruce apologized, "was that too weird?"
"Luce!" Tara smacked her hard on the arm. Words escaped Lucy. Tara filled in. "No! She would really love one of those nice designer ones! You know, the kind you only wear once and everyone on the red carpet is envious of? I could help her out."
"Well I wouldn't want him there to buy it," Lucy told Tara.
Bruce jumped in. "Of course not, I'd send my assistant."
"A female assistant?" Lucy asked.
"A female assistant." A wide grin. The answer was "yes."
"I guess so..."
Bruce pulled out his cell-phone and began dialing. He wondered if Jon was listening, but it didn't appear so. "Hey," he said once the phone connected, "I need you to buy a friend of mine a dress for the gala. No, it'll be my personal account, I'll send Alfred to drive you two around and pay. Here, talk to her." Bruce handed Lucy the phone.
"Um, hello?" she said. "Lucy. I'm working then." She nodded. "That's when I get out. Le Café, uptown? Okay, thanks. Bye." She passed the phone back like hot-potato.
"Thanks, see you Monday." Bruce hung up. "It's a date then?"
"Well I don't know about—ow!" Lucy rubbed the sore spot on her arm. "Damn it, Tara!"
"She can't wait, Mr. Wayne!" Tara finished for her friend. "Oh, and here's your order. Thanks for stopping by!"
"Of course." Bruce took his order and nodded. "Ladies." He shot a look at Jon. "Jonny Newspaper."