Disclaimer: See the first chapter/part of this work. That disclaimer applies to this chapter/part.
IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:
All prior chapters have been edited and revamped. I've expanded upon several scenes and included key elements that I didn't realize I had initially forgotten. If you are one of the many who have this story on alert, you may want to revisit the prior chapters before reading this one.
I've also tried my best to work around FFN's crazy idea of eliminating chapter breaks. They should all be back where they should be.
Many thanks for all your reviews, faves, and alerts! If you haven't reviewed yet, I would love to hear what you think. Thank you!
Coffee
by Jack Velvet
Out of the two-hundred something socialites at the gala, only five of them would openly admit to hating it. One of these people was Lucy. She certainly stole the show, though. Being on the arm of Bruce Wayne was one thing (a thing she particularly hated because it was ever-so anti-feminista), but being young, beautiful, and unafraid of attitude got her a few less-than-amused comments and a fair amount of attention.
She was freaking stunning.
"Sorry about these...guys," Bruce said. "The old men come from a different time."
"That's no excuse," she retorted.
"It isn't an excuse, just an explanation. Who cares about them anyway?"
"Bar time," she said, gunning for the round set-up somewhat centered near the back of the behemoth ballroom.
"Can't argue with that," Bruce shrugged, feeling a bit thirsty. He planned on refraining from alcohol, just in case.
"Hey," Lucy stopped, tapping on his arm. "Is that Jonny Newspaper?"
What? Bruce looked at the profile of the man sitting at the bar. "I think it is." Absent-minded, he walked a bit brisker. Good thing he had Lucy there to think for him.
"You gonna ask him to dance, or something?"
"What?" Bruce smiled.
"You're intent on getting over there pretty fast." Lucy slapped aside the hand of a man who reached out to touch her. She found weaving in and out of a crowd of predominantly waspy men to be rather difficult in slinky high-heels. She longed for a pair of flats.
"I had no idea he would be here. I just want to stop and say hi."
"He's obviously trying to hide."
Bruce turned to her and winked. "Even better."
"Why do the two of you torture each other so?"
"That's just what we do."
"I better not lose two customers over this..." she muttered.
"I could buy the café," Bruce offered. Almost there. She's right though. It looks like he doesn't want to be seen.
"Please don't," she whined.
"Hey, Mr. Newspaper," Bruce greeted from behind the man.
Jon didn't bother to turn around. "I was clearly trying to hide."
"You knew I would be here."
"I am here for a friend. A friend that is not you." Crane spun around on the stool. "I would strongly advise against taking that as meaning you and I are friends. We are not."
Bruce offered a seat to Lucy, and then sat between her and Crane. "Or else?"
"Or else I'll have my friend poison you."
"Your friend—"
"What'll it be?" a young thirty-is-the-new-twenty woman asked them.
"Anything," Lucy said. "Anything that makes nightmares go away."
"I'm sure he'll catch sight of a model and leave you soon enough," Jon ridiculed.
The bartender smiled and looked at Bruce. "Mr. Wayne?"
"Will you laugh if I ask you to hold the alcohol?"
"Of course not. Sparkling juice?"
"Sure. Anything. Surprise me."
"Of course," the woman smiled, mixing Lucy's drink first.
"Jenny, this is that annoying guy I told you about," Jon introduced, smile somewhat forced.
"You didn't have to come, Jon," she muttered.
"You two know each other?" Bruce asked the woman.
Crane spoke first. "None of your—"
Jenny answered more politely. "We went to college together." She handed off the drink she made to Lucy, and began pouring Bruce's. "Became good friends."
I should ask Alfred to research her. Get a last name from the employment records. Jennifer is too common. "You're not going to poison me, are you?" Bruce joked, taking the glass from her.
"Don't listen to Jon," she waved her hand.
"Easier said than done." He flashed Crane his signature grin, and for a moment, he thought that Crane wanted to smile back.
Lucy snatched a fancy, jumbo shrimp from a passing silver platter. "This I could get used to," she remarked. Downing a bite, she added, "But only if I didn't have to deal with that creeper over there."
"What creeper?" Bruce leaned in.
Lucy pointed her elegant, painted fingernails toward the man that had been trying to play grab-ass with her all night. "That one."
"Gilbert Gillespie," Jon laughed.
"You're rich too?"
"He's..." Jenny defended. "Jon didn't..."
"I'm not part of this world," Jon told her. "I just interacted with it frequently."
"How many people have recognized you?" Lucy asked.
"None, actually," Jon answered. "Gillespie might, if he's still sober."
Bruce let out a laugh, almost choking on the bubbly drink he'd been served.
Jon didn't let that smile out of his peripheral sight. He had to pretend that he was paying attention to Lucy. "I was too...lowly for these people."
"You're lucky," Jenny stated. Only Lucy didn't know the depth of that remark.
But she wasn't paying attention anymore. A suspicious woman caught her eye. It wasn't that she was particularly paranoid about these sorts of parties in Gotham. She just couldn't forget that these sorts of things tended to happen at parties in Gotham.
"Hey, what's up with her?" she whispered to Bruce.
Bruce looked in the direction Lucy was pointing, but didn't see anyone. "Who?"
"She's gone."
"What was she doing?"
"I dunno. I can't explain it. Her posture, I think. It was confident, but not fake. It seemed..."
"Her posture?" This concerned Bruce. Most people don't realize what it is about a person's body language that makes them feel uncomfortable.
"I'm not crazy," she defended.
"Didn't say you were." Batman clicked on. Get them out of here. Hide Crane. He might be involved. Maybe not. "Jenny, you said it was?" he asked the bartender. "Why don't you take a break?"
"Mr. Wayne, I can't—"
"I'm technically your boss, right? I don't just hold the deed to this place. Take a five. Maybe you can help me give these two a tour?"
Though Bruce's worry was well controlled, Jon connected Lucy's concern to his sudden change in behavior. He knew that it wasn't the first time one of these parties—especially one of Bruce's parties— had been interrupted by the underbelly.
"Sure..." Jenny accepted. Apron removed and tucked neatly beneath the bar, she tapped the counter to notify the other bartenders of her absence. They let her go without incident; socialites tipped really well (except Gilbert), and that meant more money for them.
"This way," Bruce gestured, looking over their heads to scan the room. A few men gave each other signals through the crowd. Damn it. On edge, Bruce waited as Jenny walked around the counter.
Inconspicuous, they pushed through the patrons and entered a hallway. Few people were there. Bruce politely nodded to them, suggesting they step outside for some fresh air or a smoke break, depending on the person he passed. Once the group turned a corner, he asked, "Do you have lipstick?"
"Me?" Lucy asked.
"Yes."
"Lipstick in this...whatever the hell this glittery little purse is?"
"Yes."
"It's customary for tour guides to talk about the sites, Mr. Wayne," Jon mocked from the back of the group.
"This is the hallway," Bruce stated, flat. He returned to Lucy with an outstretched palm and demanded, "Hand it to me please. I need it." The more back-up plans, the better.
"You want my lipstick?"
Bruce watched for the slightest of shadows around the next turn, which was still several yards away. He picked up his pace, and said, "Please. Just give it to me."
The small stick smacked into his hand. "Fine."
Bruce stopped at a maintenance closet. "Do you have access to this, Jenny?" The intersecting hallway darkened briefly.
"Yeah." She pulled out her keys to prove it.
"I need you to open it."
Jon continued his charade. "Ah yes. The stunning 'glass cleaner' portion of the tour."
Jenny unlocked the door and flicked on the light, and Bruce motioned them inside, waiting for the last of them to enter before stepping inside and closing the door. He twirled the lipstick up and said, "You all need to stay here."
"You better not have herpes or whatever that cold-sore thing is," she sneered.
Bruce put a smudge of the lipstick on his finger. "Don't worry," he said, twisting and capping it. He handed it back to her and smeared the rouge onto his collar. "It's fine."
"First a man, now lipstick. Delightful, Bruce. What a disappointment you are."
"Why are you locking us in here?" Jen asked.
"Just stay here."
"Oh no," Lucy expressed. "You really do think that something is about to happen, don't you? That's why you said those things to those people in the hallway..."
Bruce ruffled his hair a bit. "I'm not sure. I'm going to go out there and check on the other guests."
"And the lipstick?" Jon questioned. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious.
"I can pretend the three of you aren't in here." Bruce grabbed the door-knob. "Keep the light off. Be quiet."
Exiting the room, he immediately stumbled into one of the men he'd seen give a signal earlier.
"Watch it," the man warned.
"Sorry," Bruce said, fixing his collar. "Hey, do you happen to know what gets lipstick out of clothes?"
"Aside from laundry detergent?"
Good. "Ah...I was looking for a quick fix in there."
The man laughed. "That's not from your date, is it."
Bruce shrugged. "Got me."
"Nah man, sorry about that. Hey, you wouldn't happen to have seen a...doctor around here, would you?"
"No," Bruce replied.
"No one was in there with you?"
"No. Pretty tiny in there too." Slender nose, sunken cheekbones.
"Right, right."
"You need a doctor? Buddy with too much to drink?"
"Ah, no," the man corrected. "A certain doctor."
"I saw a few doctor-types out front smoking."
"Smoking, eh? Funny how many docs smoke."
"Yeah, tell me about it. Hypocrites."
"Right."
Just then, another man exited a door across the way. "Jay said he saw 'im at the bar."
The first man looked at his cohort and then back at Bruce. "Guess I'm heading to the bar. Good luck with that lipstick, man."
"Thanks. Think I'll follow. Maybe I can try some alcohol."
As he re-entered the ballroom, he studied the motions of the thugs he'd spoken to. He never saw the woman, but he counted at least eight men that were involved in this plot. They must be looking for Crane.
And it was about to get ugly.
A shot rang out from a balcony overlooking the gala. The men he'd followed had pulled nylons over their heads. Bruce sidled behind the counter, slowly putting his hands up. The crowd gasped and let out screams. Some cursed.
"Now," a man announced from the balcony, "we're gonna make this simple. We ain't even gonna rob ya. We're just looking for one man. A doctor." He aimed his gun down. "We ain't gonna hurt ya unless you do something stupid. I just need everyone with a fancy PhD to line up right in of the bar. Come on, guys and gals. Step forward."
Doctors of all types stepped to the front, forming almost three rows. Two men kept their guns trained on them. The man on the balcony nodded to another man on the floor, who pulled out a picture to compare to the line-up.
Aside from the thugs, it seemed that only Bruce was able to see the picture clearly. It was Jonathan Crane's mug-shot (and he found it oddly flattering for a mug-shot). I need to do something, he thought. I was supposed to have another minute before this happened. His eyes drifted upward to the grandiose, vaulted ceiling. I guess I'll have to make that minute.
His eyes passed several glasses, a few taps, and Jenny's apron before he found what he was looking for: the silent alarm. A huddling bartender caught him looking, and his eyes pleaded with Bruce not to do a thing. The young, scared man was certain the criminals would make due with their threat and kill them both.
Bruce couldn't take that chance. There was still a mystery woman about that could be looking for Crane. He studied as many of them as he could, watching for any nuance in their posture, eyes, or feet. None of the women seemed out of place.
"Come on, come on now," the apparent leader urged. "I know you're here. Just get in front now and everything will be alright." Not a person stirred. The leader was getting aggravated. "Fine. I will just shoot one of them for each minute you don't come forward."
"Wait," Bruce said. The bartender below whined. "Let's be reasonable."
The leader motioned below, and now Bruce had a gun aimed at him. "Richie-Rich has something to say."
"Maybe the guy left," Bruce suggested. He searched the floor with his foot, hoping that his movement wouldn't be noticed.
"Oh no, he hasn't left. He's just hiding here, waiting like a coward while we spill your blood."
Got it. Bruce's toe flicked up an small cover on the ground, revealing a button instead of an outlet. He pressed it, then said, "Let's do this peacefully. No need to start killing."
"Shut up!" his assigned thug shouted, raising his gun to intimidate.
"Wait wait," the leader commanded. "Sounds like Bruce Wayne wants to give us a large sum of money."
Bruce held back a smile. A large sum of something was certainly on its way, but it wasn't money.
...
The smell in the closet was an amalgam of cleaner, old-mop mildew, and women's perfume. Gunfire was heard beyond the door.
"Oh my gosh..." Lucy uttered. Jenny huddled close and held her hand.
"Shh," Jon whispered.
"Oh shut up," Jenny scolded with a hush.
You're right, Jon conceded. This is because of me.
...
"It's the bat!" a man shouted.
"Get outta here!" the leader shouted, firing more shots into the air. A murdered mammal fell to the ground, hitting a man's shoulder.
Screams of fear and confusion echoed throughout the room. A mass of brown and black bats poured out of previously-closed vents. The swarm created a chaos that the masked criminals desperately wanted to escape from. It gave Bruce the chance to pull the silent alarm.
"Out, out!" the leader yelled. A bat grazed his arm. "Come on, get outta here!"
Another shot fired. Bruce wondered if his plan actually put more people in danger. I need something better. The police were on the way. Sure, the criminals might escape, but at least people wouldn't have been methodically executed. The hostage situation was over.
The screams continued. Bruce tried hard to keep sight of all the men, but it wasn't easy with the haze of frenzied bats in his vision. As the shots ceased, so did the screams. The timer on Bruce's bat-bringer was almost up.
It took several moments, but most of the bats attempted to retreat. Patrons slowly stood to their feet.
"Stay calm, everyone. The police should be here shortly. They're going to need your statements."
"Some party, Bruce," a doctor from the front line sneered.
"Little guano never hurt anyone," he replied. He looked to the scared bartender at his side, and asked, "Hey, wasn't there another girl here?"
"Yeah...Jen. Where is she?"
"Stay here," Bruce instructed. "I'll find her. Can you make sure no one leaves?"
"Uhh...I guess..."
"Great."
It was time to get the others.
The walls between the ballroom and the closet did little to quiet the din of the terrified, spoiled brats. Bruce cursed to himself as he realized that the gunshots were all the more audible. He knew Crane could probably handle it, but Lucy? What about Jenny?
He rapped on the door to the closet. No one responded. Good. He knocked again, and announced, "It's Bruce. It's okay now."
The door opened a sliver, and Lucy, bold as she was, poked her head out. "We heard shots."
"It was fine. Batman showed up...of course now we have a bit of a rodent problem..."
"So they've been caught?" Lucy asked.
Bruce exhaled. I'll have to give a description to the sketch artist, and run the image through my computers. Should check surveillance. "I'm not sure about that," he lied. "But I know that they're gone. You'll have to stay and tell the police what you saw...maybe tell them about that woman?"
Lucy opened the door fully. Jenny was relieved, but Crane (for obvious reasons) was not.
"Did they come to rob everyone?" Jenny asked, holding onto Jon's arm.
"No, they were just looking for someone...some doctor," Bruce explained.
"Did they say who?" Jon inquired.
"No. They just lined people up and compared them to a picture."
"Did you happen to see the picture?" Lucy followed up with.
"No," Bruce lied again. "I don't think anyone but the bad guys did."
"So they were mistaken." Crane adjusted his tux.
"Seems so," Bruce agreed, watching the nearly flawless performance of the man before him. "We should go back. Sooner we give our statements, the better."
"And then what?" Lucy asked.
"Then I can drive everyone home."
...
The first response team immediately called in more squad cars, and Commissioner Jim Gordon tagged along. As soon as the words "they were looking for some doctor" slipped from an officer's lips, Jim wanted to be involved. Batman had addressed a connection between the chemical robberies and Crane's formula earlier in the week. He didn't want another Narrows incident.
When he got to the scene and saw Crane, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to question him himself. He'd wanted to talk to him after Batman's lead, but didn't know where to look. So he took two officers and sectioned off Crane's little group of four; he would personally take each and every one of their statements.
Lucy and Bruce were the only ones who could give accurate descriptions, so they were spoken to first. Jenny's statement was next. Crane's was last. Jim knew that his would take the longest.
"Why is he talking to Jonny Newspaper so long?" Lucy asked. Jenny remained silent, killing time by cleaning the bar.
"He said he used to know some of these people," Bruce offered. "Maybe Jim is just covering all of his bases."
"Jim?" Lucy stopped him. "Jim being the commissioner?"
"Yeah, sorry. Commissioner Gordon."
Jon's discomfort was rising with each word that fell from the good commissioner's lips.
"So your acquaintances are unaware of who you are?"
"Are we done here?"
"Answer the question, Crane."
"I honestly don't know."
"Would you like me to ask them?"
Lips curling, Crane stepped to the side, showing said acquaintances his back. "One is a friend from college. She knows who I am, but she's not involved."
"Any idea why these men would be looking for you?"
"Your answer is as good as mine, Gordon."
"Look, Crane," Jim said, pulling out a card. "I don't like it, but we may have to work together on this one. You call this number if this happens again."
"You know that won't be possible if they get me."
"Then I need to know your current address. I can send some squad cars to—"
"Oh, your facilities aren't equipped with a directory?"
Jim shook his head. "Crane, don't play games. I'm trying to help. You're off our grid and you know it."
"It's a leaky grid, Gordon."
"Fine. We'll talk later." Jim patted him on the shoulder, much to Crane's disgust. "Come on," he directed the officers near him, "let's get more of these statements." Looking at Bruce's group, he said, "You're good to go. I'd advise you to let Officer Barnes escort you to the exit."
...
Good thing I drove the one with the backseat, Bruce thought, unlocking the luxury car. "Now who lives where?" He looked at Jon and Jenny in the backseat. "I'm guessing you're pretty close to Le Café, Jon? Jenny? Lucy?"
"Me too," Lucy said. "Right near it. You can drop me off at the store."
"No way, honey," Jenny said. "You shouldn't be walking alone. Just play it safe tonight."
"Ugh..."
"She's right," Bruce told her.
"I live in that building on the corner. The tan one."
Bruce nodded. "I know it. Jenny?"
"Richwood," Jenny answered. "By the park, but before the houses get all nice."
"You have a driveway?" Lucy asked her.
"Yeah. It's a bitch when it snows. I don't even have a car."
"Jon?" Bruce asked.
Jon licked his lips. "Watson."
"Wow," Lucy exclaimed as Bruce started the car. "That street's tiny."
"It is," Crane swallowed.
"Looks like you're last, Jon," Bruce informed him. "Off to the park we go."
...
Watson was indeed a tiny connection street with a total of eight small apartment buildings, and off-street parking on one side of the road. Bruce guessed that each building had six units at most, with the shorter ones having only three.
Jon directed Bruce toward one of those short buildings. Its green facade was peeling and faded; it hadn't seen a lot of love from the landlord lately, a rather depressing site for Uptown. Watson wasn't a road that could be seen from a main route, so it wasn't important for anyone to immediately address.
Bruce put the car in park just outside, and remarked, "Hell of a night."
Jon was still in the backseat. "No different than any other night in this city."
"In this world. Gotham isn't so bad."
"It is," Jon corrected, hand hesitant on the handle. "You surprised me."
Bruce turned around. "I surprised you?"
"You acted quickly. I expected you to stay in there with us."
"What can I say," Bruce shrugged. "Instinct, I guess."
"Well-planned instinct. I heard what you told those men. You diverted them from searching the closet."
Don't forget, Bruce. This man knows the art of manipulation. "Yeah, well I didn't know what they wanted. I just thought you guys should be safe."
"I'm avoiding saying thank you."
"I know. It's nothing. Just get some sleep."
"You drive better than I've heard."
"Thanks?"
"Good night," Jon finally said, stepping out of the car.
Bruce waited until Jon made it inside, and then a little after that, just in case someone was waiting for him in his apartment. A warm light on the third and final floor popped on. Jon's silhouette grew in the window. The man peered through the curtains at Bruce. The richer waved, earning an eye-roll, then drove away, eager to put on the Batsuit and scan tonight's police chatter.
He'd stop the relentless gang going after Crane. After Jon. After...he swore it wasn't personal.
His parents insisted otherwise.