A/N: I do not own The Batman, Batman: the Animated Series, DC Batman or anything of the sort in any way, shape, or form. WARNING: This fanfiction contains the following-Language, violence, mild canon-crossing elements, alternating first-person-view narratives, severe fancharacter/OCxCanon/OCxOC use. If you do not wish to be subjected to any of that, this is not the fanfic for you. NOTE: This fanfiction is a companion to my other "The Batman" fanfic, "Twisted Souls." I highly recommend you read both fanfics as they will connect and overlap in some places and events. Finally, all fancharacters used (including my own) are credited back to their creators in the copies of the "Cry Wolf" chapters that are in my deviantArt gallery, as these chapters were uploaded there first. (If you don't know my dA username, it's Yoruhoshi.) R&R please!
Chapter 14: Out Of the Fire and Into A Boat
[Jeanette's POV:]
If there was one good thing about Killer Croc, it was at least that he could be a gentleman when he cared to; I was willing to grant him that much. While he sent his three thugs out to "fetch" something, he insisted that I would be better off accompanying him for more reasons than one. I was a touch nervous and not completely willing to believe that statement, but I wasn't exactly in a position to argue with a seven-foot, two-hundred-fifty pound saurian. So I went along with his direction, and found myself, astonishingly enough, right back at the library.
"What are we doing here?" I asked, confused.
"Waitin' for y'all to close for the night." He replied, shifting his weight so we might better be concealed in our hiding spot. Really, it was ridiculous! Me, skulking around outside the library, waiting to break in like some criminal.
"Ya got a key?" He asked abruptly, and in surprise, I looked up at him and nodded, holding up my keyring. "Good. I'd rather nobody know about our visit; gotta keep it as clean as possible."
"What exactly are you wanting from the library?" I demanded.
"Information." He replied.
I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Surely if he wanted some sort of information he could steal it by hacking into computers. Of course, he shook his head at that suggestion.
"Hackin' ain't my strong point. Same goes for mah boys. 'Sides, some thangs you only get from readin'. And I don't exactly get the luxury of walkin' into no library wheneveh I want to do that." He explained, and I conceded the point quickly. We didn't have long to wait before the last of my coworkers filed out of the door and Chantelle locked up. A few minutes later, and everyone had cleared from the parking lot, nominating the perfect moment for us to leave our cover and head to the doors. I fumbled with the keys for only a few minutes, and then we slipped inside, where Croc took a second to pause, lift his head high, and sniff like a dog.
"Smells like paypuh. Old paypuh."
"Well, I'm not sure what else you were expecting. After all, this is a library."
"First time I been in one since this happened." He stated, twitching the end of his long tail.
"Fair enough, sir. Now, I can't help you unless you tell me what it is you're looking for." I responded with a pointed sniff, adjusting my glasses. I suppose I couldn't help myself; the moment I set foot in my library, I sort of fell into my role here. Croc fixed a yellow eye on me, and I waited for a few seconds while he seemed to struggle with whether or not to answer.
"Don't you laugh."
"I can hardly make light of my job."
"I need information on werewolves."
I raised my eyebrows. Was he being serious? Did he actually expect me to fall for that?
"Werewolves." I tested the word out, and he nodded sharply.
"It's important."
"Why, is there a lycanthrope running about Gotham that we mundane people are unaware of?" I challenged, crossing my arms. He fixed me with that golden stare and abruptly, I realized he wasn't spouting utter nonsense; he was being completely sincere with me. I uncrossed my arms and dropped my irritation quickly, feeling incredibly foolish, something I've never quite grown used to.
"Oh…" I murmured, "I-I'm sorry."
"Like I said, it's important."
"R-right." I conceded to him again and flicked a light switch, heading toward the larger atrium and glancing only briefly up at the Dewey Decimal signs on the sides of the bookcases before I found the aisle I wanted. "Supernatural topics. I assume you prefer to look up the vast majority of lycanthropic lore?"
Of course he would nod! Now really, in all honesty, I knew that my library was bound to carry a copy of at least one sort of book that looked into lycanthropy seriously, but I was nonetheless a bit stunned when I perused the shelves and found one regardless. I pulled the volume off the shelf and flipped it open to glance at some pages, just to confirm that it was indeed what we were looking for. Thankfully it appeared to be legitimate, if a tad older, and out of curiosity, I opened to the back cover, to check the records in it.
Odd, I thought when I saw the list of stamped dates; The last time this book was checked out was nearly thirteen years ago. And to a G. Montaine. How strange.
"Well?" Croc asked, sounding a tad impatient.
"I do believe I've found it," I answered, holding the book out for him, but he made no move to take it.
"Got anythin' in it 'bout how werewolves are affected by silvuh?"
"I'll…check." I said testily, frowning up at those yellow eyes. I was far from pleased that he made no effort to look on his own, but perhaps saying so wasn't a smart idea. I returned my attention to the book and turned to its index, scanning for some mention of silver, half-hoping I would not find a listed number, but to my annoyance, luck was with us. There it was, on page eighty-six. The pages crinkled and rustled as they flipped and turned beneath my fingers, and finally I stopped on the right spot, holding the book a little higher for Croc to examine. He leaned his massive head closer, yellow eyes flickering slightly as he read.
"Well? Find what you were looking for?" I prompted, and his expression steadily darkened.
"Mebbe a bit more than what I wanted t'know." He growled. "That lab coat's a liar, an' he's gon' pay for it. You gotta map of Gotham bay layin' around?"
"Better yet: we have one hanging up in the break room," I said dryly, "I'll be right back."
I pushed the book into his webbed hands and dashed to the break room, flicking on the lights and searching the walls for the right map. It only took a moment to find, but as I reached to unpin it from the wall, I paused. What in the world was I doing? Why was I even helping this…well, man, for lack of a better word? He was a wanted criminal, a rogue! For pity's sake, he had tried to flood the city before! What any sensible woman would do, would be to take this opportunity to escape somehow and alert the police as to what was happening. And I was a sensible woman, wasn't I?
Apparently not, I said to myself with a grimace as I pulled the thumbtacks from the corners of the map and took it off the wall. For a moment, I considered folding it and using it to bargain, then shook my head and rushed back to where Croc was waiting, still scanning the pages of the lycanthropy book and frowning. His amber eyes flicked up as I approached, and he nodded at the map in silent approval.
"That it?" He asked, and when I nodded back, he surprised me by adding, "Thank ya."
"You're going to return the map, I trust?" I did my best to keep my voice as neutral as possible, hoping he wouldn't know I was testing him. His only response was to give me a noncommittal shrug.
"If I remember it," he answered, "'Course…ya could come along, chere. I could use ya help."
"I'm not going to help you commit any sort of—"
"Slow down, bookworm. This ain't about pullin' no heists or robbin' no banks or that kinda thang."
I wanted to correct his grammar, point out the use and abuse of double negatives, but instead what I said was, "Then pray tell, what is this insanity about?"
"Helpin' a…friend. A real close friend. I think she's been kidnapped, and I ain't gonna just stand by and let somethin' happen t' her." He replied, and I felt something inside me soften. This woman, whoever she was, sounded like she was more to Killer Croc than just a 'friend,' and the level of utter sincerity behind the words he spoke tugged at the heartstrings of my inner romantic. I chewed my lip for a moment, caught in indecision between the logical choice and the compassionate one, and finally I gave in.
"Very well," the words came out of my mouth in a sigh, "I'll do what I can to help, but I make no guarantees. What do we have to do?"
He smiled at me, perhaps in approval, baring a mouth full of glossy white fangs.
"We're gonna do whatcha see all the time in the movies."
"That tells me next to absolutely nothing."
"Just follow me and I'll show ya."
I grimaced again; nothing good could possibly come of "just following" Killer Croc. Still, I said I would help, and I honor my commitments. I rolled up the map, unsure what else to do, and took the book on lycanthropes back when he handed it to me. If anyone noticed its absence later, I would just say that I took it out, which was true enough. After all, I wanted a look at what Croc had seen on page eighty-six, concerning the silver. The more I knew before we got too deep into this mess—whatever it was—the better off I was sure I would be. I ushered him out the doors first, then locked up behind us, feeling my heart pound in a mix of panic and exhilaration. It went against every single personal standard I held myself to, doing something like this, and yet…it was somehow exciting at the same time.
Maybe I really was starting to go crazy.
I turned and gave him a solid thump on the arm with the book to get his attention.
"So where to, O Scaly One?"
He shot me a dry look and pointed at the map in my hand.
"The docks at the bay?"
"Yyyeeppp."
"This only begins to sound shadier and shadier with every passing moment."
"Doncha worry ya head, chere. You'll see what we doin' soon enough."
And with great reluctance, I allowed a dangerous criminal lead me through what seemed to be a network maze of Gotham's back alleys. Small wonder so many of these 'supervillains' managed to escape Gotham P.D. with ease, given the way all these streets connected to one another somehow. Before long, I started to lag behind, unable to keep up with Croc's unnatural speed. He doubled back for a me a few times, waited for me to catch up with waning patience, and finally, he hauled me off my feet and into the air. I yelled a number of protests before he sat me on his massive shoulders, and then I just sat, dumbstruck and clinging for dear life as he ran and jumped at top speed. The only complete thought I was able to form after that was the question of whether or not this was anything similar to riding an ill-trained horse, and I barely managed to pick out any familiar landmarks before they were whipped out of my sight. But finally, finally we made it to the dockyard, where Killer Croc slowed to a halt and deposited me on the ground as gently as he could.
"Ya okay?"
"W-well, considering I can barely k-keep my balance and I p-probably resemble a staggering d-drunk, I suppose I could be worse." I answered. I don't think I was entirely aware of what I was saying, but it sounded right.
"Good!" He grunted in approval. "C'mon, we almost to the boat."
"Boat?" I repeated. Had I heard him correctly?
"Yep. We gonna sail out and save the damsel in distress from the bad guy. Like in the movies."
"But...but...you're talking about a figurative boat, right? This is just a metaphor, there's no real boat involved, is there Croc? ...Croc?"
But he was already moving again and getting ahead of me, so I had to trot on unsteady feet to keep up. Every step we both took set the dockboards creaking and groaning, drowning out the sound of the water further below, and I wondered if Croc came here often for the atmosphere. Crocidilian mutant or not, something about him struck me as a seafaring sort of man. Or maybe that Cajun accent was just adding to my dizziness. We rounded a corner and walked along a good stretch of the boardwalk until we actually came to the spot where boats of varying size and build were tied off, waiting for their owners to return.
"Don' worry," Croc said at once, looking back at me over a shoulder, "We ain't touchin' non o' these."
"Oh." I breathed a sigh of relief. "Good."
"That's our ride." He declared, pointing, and I looked to feel my heart and stomach sink down to my feet. It was a barge or a ferry or something of the like, approaching the docks from out of the dusk's gloom, manned by the same three thugs Croc had had with him at my house.
"Lord have mercy, the boat is real." I croaked.
"Didja think I was kiddin'?" He demanded.
"I had hoped you were kidding."
The boat (which I had decided to think of as a ferry,) pulled up close enough that one of the thugs threw a couple of mooring lines over the side that Croc caught and quickly tied off. Another of them lowered a plank of some kind so we could come aboard, though I guessed that was mostly for my benefit; Croc easily could have made it onto the ferry in a single leap.
"Ready to go, Boss Croc!" The dark-haired man called.
"Mighty nice work, boys!" He called back, and before I could think of a coherent protest, he prodded me in the back and marched me onboard. "I wantcha t' be respectful now, fellas. We've got us a lady onboard."
I attempted a weak smile, and all three of the men looked from me to each other, to Croc.
"But boss," one protested, "We thought you just needed her to get the map and a book."
"Sometimes," he growled, "We need brains t' balance out the team, and this little lady's got more than the three of ya put together."
I wish I could have glowed with pride and made a remark to back up the statement, but I was still stuck on the fact that I was, indeed, on a boat. And once Croc pulled the lines back in and lifted the plank, I was undeniably trapped on said boat. I suppressed a groan and sank to the deck.
What am I getting myself into?
A/N: I believe I forgot to mention before that Jeanette hates boats. Unlike her younger cousin Catriona, Jeanette is not hydrophobic; she just hates the rocking sensation of boats.