Chapter Ten: A Little Evil
The restaurant was nothing too fancy. A standard chain restaurant with a slightly more upmarket "diner chic" aesthetic, varnished wooden bar-tops and tables, green-tinted windows for a friendly mood in the evening, bright ceiling lights shining down.
Barbara sat uncomfortably in a booth seat, waiting for Ray to arrive, Patricia sat opposite her. This was the first time in a year she'd really been properly out in public, and the occasional stares and glances that were shot her way were a little...uncomfortable. It was hard not to imagine everyone judging her, and finding her worthless or repulsive because of her facial disfigurements and anorexic body.
She focused on the menus in front of her. At least it wasn't a clear plastic sheet, but a proper velvet booklet. There was a lot of very rich and fancy stuff. Her impulse was to buy the most fancy sounding thing on the menu, but the truth was that she did not have control over her finances. Her stepmother and Patricia were joint trustees of her money until she turned eighteen, and only then could she access not only her own account but the small fortune her father had left her in his will.
It had mostly passed her by, she had still been recovering in Arkham, but the reading of the will had apparently surprised quite a number of people in the family. Her father had left almost everything he owned to her, his only daughter, with only a smattering of other dispensations given to favoured charities and organisations for the support of Police widows.
Which technically included Barbara's step-mother, but Janet had been estranged for a few months now, seeing the inheritance division as a snub, and was avoiding Barbara. It was a little unfair, she supposed, and if she really wanted she could probably reach out now and rekindle the friendship the two had managed to forge while Jim had been busy with police work.
Barbara's mother, on the other hand...that was a far more complicated relationship.
"What will you two be having, please?" Asked the waiter, a shy young man who looked to be going through college. Barbara offered him one of her thin, weak smiles, and she was a little hurt that he seemed to blanch at that, though he didn't turn away.
"I'll have a roast chicken sandwich, and a glass of diet coke." She said lamely, her plans to dine on something grandiose forgotten. She'd like to keep this food in her stomach for once, and she didn't want to interrupt her opportunity with Ray by rushing to the toilet because she'd gotten too adventurous and ordered seafood or something.
Patricia ordered some Enchiladas and a glass of wine, and the waiter quickly disappeared.
"I'm sure he'll arrive soon." Patricia offered. "He's probably late because of police work."
Barbara nodded. She'd expected as much. Her head throbbed as it swirled with thoughts. She'd thought this over a thousand times, covering every angle she could think of. She wanted in on his case. She would explain to him carefully her abilities to help, how she could use the computer and contacts to find out things that he couldn't... It all sounded insane in her mind, and reminded her of her fantasies as a child of being a kid side-kick to her father as he went around detecting things.
"It's very kind of you to come with me to the restaurant like this." Barbara said, keenly aware of her promise to try and engage with her carer, even when her mind was on other things. Patricia seemed to want more from her, so she'd make the effort, even if she was already planning ways of subverting her carer's authority, and engaging in other personal activities.
"You've been making progress in your physical and mental therapy. And in truth, I enjoy Detective Wills company." Patricia smiled with good humour. "Not really my type, but he has a good heart."
"The group therapy is useless. Half the participants are incapable of participation, and the rest seem like they don't want to get better." Barbara said with frustration, idly rolling sauce packets over and over in her fingers. She'd developed a habit of compulsive fidgeting when bored or irritated. A side effect of having very little to do whilst cooped up at home, she supposed.
"Dr Whistler seems to think you're doing well. I'm told she wants to see you more for single sessions?"
Barbara looked surprised. Her impression was that the therapist found Barbara's presence in the usually placid group disruptive. Perhaps she had misjudged the doctor. She remembered their reactions, and the comment about her being a "positive influence." She also remembered the newcomer, Selena Kyle. The fire that would propell her on her new course.
"Probably just wants to pick my brain for a paper she's writing or something." she said absent-mindedly, without real sourness. The arrival of drinks, in the form of her soda and Patricia's wine, brought a lull to the conversation, as they sipped their drinks and looked around. It was difficult for her to conceal her impatience, and the carer seemed quite sanguine about everything.
"How's physical therapy?" Patricia asked after a while.
"It's going well. I've started on the running machines again, and I'm not doing too badly."
"Just be careful you don't strain yourself. You're still very thin and prone to muscle fatigue. It wasn't too long ago I had to help you out of the bath."
Barbara made a disgusted face at the memory. She hated being reminded of how weak she'd been, how weak she still was. But they'd come to a sort of arrangement, and Patricia for her part was trying to give Barbara more opportunities to do things on her own. The trouble was, Barbara was still having difficulty making the most of those opportunities, and she'd taken care to conceal how often she had to stop and pause for breath.
"What do you do when you aren't looking after me, anyway?" Barbara asked, finally driven by boredom to be more curious about her nurse.
"Oh? Well, not much I suppose. Sleep, go home, feed my cats, watch the hockey, fill in forms, report every so often to the Mental Health Board, the usual stuff." Patricia said, caught slightly off-guard.
"Anyone else in your life? Husband? Family?" Barbara pressed.
"Well, no. My family..." She hesitated. "Let's just say I can empathise somewhat with your family situation. I'm single right now, not that that's any of your business, young lady."
Barbara tried to put on her best innocent face, and failed.
The carer was about to retort when Raymond finally arrived, looking out of breath and somewhat exhausted.
"Sorry I'm late, ladies, you know how it is..." He quickly took off his hat and jacket, spreading them on the back of the chair, facing the two of them. He looked somewhat healthier than when she'd seen him last. Evidently his time-off had done him some good. She wondered idly about his parallel recovery with hers. Perhaps his words, which he'd probably forgotten by now, about them being partners had had more truth in them than the old gum-shoe realised.
She found herself returning to her memories of her childhood enthusiasm for being a Detective like her father. It wasn't hard to imagine herself following in those foot-steps, officially or otherwise. She couldn't see herself having much time for the rules and regulations of the GCPD. Being a Private Investigator on the other hand...
"Ah you two already ordered? Ah I'll just have a burger and fries. It's good to see you again Babs, you're starting to get a bit of weight back on those bones eh?" He joked, his words interrupting her reverie.
She smiled at him, and unlike the waiter he didn't flinch at all. She began to talk, really talk with him. It seemed easier, somehow, to engage with the detective. Even if she couldn't really express the full truth behind her thoughts and ambitions, she felt she could relate to his work, to what she presumed was his motivation, his drive. She really did imagine herself, in some way, as his partner in crime.
"You enjoy those DVDs you borrowed? I told you, TV has some amazing crime serials these days." Barbara said excitedly.
"Hah, they still get a lot wrong. We don't have fancy technology, and the politics is asinine without being so melodramatic." He retorted, amused at her curiosity and interest in his line of work.
"Think that's bad? The way TV depicts mental illness these days, and hospitals in general..." Patricia joined in, shaking her head. "Arkham's no daycare, but its hardly this American Gothic creaky place full of lobotomies. Eesh."
The table became lively, and one glass of wine became several, and even Ray allowed himself a bottle or two of beer.
Despite the nurse's claims that Ray wasn't her type, she seemed to enjoy flirting with the Detective, who took it in good humour, despite being at least twenty years older than the nurse.
After a while, she really started to open up, and Barbara smiled as Patricia began telling a particularly ribald story about being a teenager at a hockey match.
"Gretzky swerved across the ice, ready to deliver the final blow to the Kings! I got so excited I started whooping and hollering, and tore my shirt off and threw it down at the Habs from the stands!" Patricia said excitedly, clearly a little tipsy from her wine. She blushed furiously as she realised what she'd just said.
Ray seemed to be blushing also, and Barbara could well understand that the Detective was imagining the somewhat homely African-Canadian nurse in a new light.
Content to fade into the background a bit, Barbara found herself enjoying her meal. The food was a lot better, but so was the company. She hadn't realised till now just how much she had missed the solid, happy banter of friends and family.
Recovering from her somewhat embarrassing and slightly inappropriate anecdote, Patricia quickly changed subjects.
"Yes well. What did you do in your youth, Ray?" she asked.
"Well, I've been a detective for a long time." he admitted, chewing thoughtfully.
"Before that, I guess I was kinda nerdish and quiet. Biggest hobby was models. Putting things together. Little planes and things." he snorts, clearly amused and embarrassed by his past self.
After a little more of this, Patricia excused herself from the table to visit the bathroom.
"I'll be back in a few minutes. Do you want to come, Barbara?"
"No, I'm fine right now. You go sober- I mean, freshen up." She'd teased, a little surprised at her own ability and instinct to lighten up.
Apparently good food and good conversation had really effected her. She'd almost forgotten her purpose in coming to this restaurant to meet with Ray tonight.
With Patricia gone from the table and Ray eyeing the dregs of his beer, she knew this was her chance. She quickly sidled up to him, producing some creased pages she'd concealed in her make-up bag.
"Ray, can I have a moment of your time please?"
"Sure, uh...what's this?"
"This is everything I've been able to find on the Prospero company, disgruntled employees and anyone with interest in the Oil Rig. I've also appended some-"
"Whoah, whoah. Am I hearing right? You've been researching...Babs, did you look at my case notes?" he said, confusion turning to concern and a hint of anger.
She put the pages she'd been waving around down, embarrassed.
"I may have snuck a peek at them-"
"Barbara. You know you're not supposed to do that. I know your father taught you better than that."
His voice was low, cold anger and disappointment.
She flushed, but pressed on.
"Look, I know what I did was wrong and that you probably have every right to lecture me, but I absolutely can help! You've been having a lot of trouble right? My dad would always complain about being stone-walled at the GCPD-"
"Barbara. Stop this. You're...you're ill, for god's sake. Even if you weren't, you're only sixteen!" his voice raised a little, obviously alarmed.
"Ray. Detective Wills. I need to help. I'm sick of sitting around doing nothing, bored or vulnerable,a parcel passed from carer to carer. My own family left me, Ray. I need this. I need to show I'm not just some damn victim to be pitied, if only to myself." She spoke pleadingly, needing him to trust her, to go along with this.
He looked at her frowning, his mild inebriation not blunting his instincts. "This is something you don't want Patricia knowing about isn't it?"
Barbara swallowed. "I just...I want to be normal again, Ray. Enjoying what Patricia and you enjoyed. A normal life. A life with meaning. I can't wait, Ray. If anything, the only way I will ever get better is if I do take things into my own hands. I know I'm not ready for the physical stuff, and god knows if I ever will be, but I do have a brain, and I want to make it work again."
"Barbara-"
"Ray. You said to me a few weeks ago that if you were my partner, you'd tell me to go out there and raise some hell. Your words meant a lot to me, Ray. I appreciate what you have done for me, what no one asked you to do, but you did it anyway. Maybe you just did it because my Dad was your boss, but I don't think so." She reached out, holding his hand, holding his gaze earnestly, needing him to do this, determined to persuade him. She could not afford to fail here.
"You and Pat have talked about me attending University some day, but lets be realistic. I don't even have a GED. I can barely walk to the end of the block right now. It could be years before I'm ready for anything like that, well into my twenties. If I have to endure all of that...I want to be doing something meaningful with my time, Ray. The sooner the better. Read these notes over. I promise I can find more, get you answers in ways even the GCPD or your sources can't."
Ray sat back, regarding her with analytical eyes for a long time. Finally, he expelled a breath.
"Barbara. I trust you. I know you're probably not telling me the whole truth here but..." He took the crumpled notes, and stuffed them in his jacket pocket.
"Damned If I haven't done worse for Jim's sake." He smiled. "All right, I'll call you back in a few days. If...and only if...any of this pans out, I might consider you as a sort of unofficial consultant." He raised a finger in warning.
"But don't you dare get caught doing anything illegal. I may be old but I wasn't born yesterday. You've been hanging around online with hackers haven't you?" he sighed. "Jim should be having this conversation, not me." He looked at his empty beer bottle.
"I really want another of these right now."
She smiled back at him warmly, a wave of relief spreading across her. But a part deep within her felt a thousand times more awful. She'd pressured this man into giving her what she wanted, and she knew she didn't have the time to tell him the full truth. Even if she did, though, she knew that she couldn't reveal that she was a hacker too, and had some sources she was pretty sure were deeply involved in some very shady circles.
She opened her mouth to say more, but she noticed Patricia was returning, and she closed it, breathing a silent sigh of relief that she had at least gotten this done while she was away.
Ray smiled, his eyes telling her that he would keep this a secret, at least for now.
The evening continued at a slightly more sedate pace, and to her surprise Barbara found she had stomach enough for a little dessert, which put her in an even better mood, while Ray and Patricia continued a friendly, though less overtly flirtatious, conversation.
After a while, things began to wrap up. Barbara made as to get up, and Patricia rose too.
"Well this has been a tiring evening. I'm so glad I got to talk with you again, Ray. Please, I'm sure Patricia won't mind if you visit us more regularly." Barbara said smoothly. Encouraging her two guardians to hook up might not be a great idea, especially if the idea was for her to have one conceal something for her from the other, but a girlish part of her still found the idea oddly appealing and childishly romantic.
Patricia gave her a dark look, and this time Barbara managed to convincingly fake looking innocent.
"I'd be honoured. I've let the work rule my schedule too much. I'd be happy to check on you two again." He grinned, defusing the situation, and gave Patricia a cheeky wink. She rolled her eyes.
"Young lady. We will have words about this later." Patricia said in a mock-threatening manner.
"Detective. Have a safe journey back. I'm sure we will meet again." Despite her words, Patricia's tone was clear. It seemed her plan had begun to work.
All in all, she thought to herself as they left the restaurant, it had been an excellent night. She'd accomplished everything she wanted to. She should be ecstatic. But somehow, deep within, she felt queasy. Was it the food? No. She'd manipulated her friends, and all so she could play detective and vigilante on her computer.
She should be more patient. This was a risky path, and fool-hardy even if she wasn't still recovering. Yet... she felt herself becoming more and more sure this was the right thing to do. The world hadn't stopped while Barbara had.
Selena's arrival had reminded her of that. Every day there were potentially new victims like her being created, by criminals like the Joker. She couldn't just sit by any longer. She had to take control of her own destiny.
This was the best way she could think of of doing it. And, anyway, she thought, it would sure show that arrogant ass-hole Bruce Wayne a thing or two.
Harv Bullock put a rag to his mouth, trying vainly to block out the wretched smell. The warehouse was cold now, its doors flung wide open, police officers and a gaggle of forensics techs having entered and cleared the way.
But even with the cold air, it couldn't hide the smell. The cold temperatures were helping slow the rot, but they weren't stopping it completely.
He knelt down by a body, one that had looked like it had been torn in half. Little numbered yellow signs were scattered around. This guy had emptied a whole clip's worth of machine-gun ammunition around the warehouse. This crime scene was a mess.
"This the Judge's work?" A CSI asked nervously. It seemed Harv's code-name for this vigilante had gotten around. No one would doubt him now that someone was stacking up the bodies.
"Absolutely." Harv said grimly.
"We're trying to get a trace on where all these illegal fire-arms came from. It seems this was probably a stopoff point for the hardware, but where it would go next or where it was coming from, we're not really sure yet."
Harv grunted non-committally. "I don't really care. Let ATF worry about Black Mask's guns. I'm more concerned with who or what could fucking do -this-." Harv gestured to the bloody carnage around him. Despite being frighteningly well armed, the thugs had been murdered with a ferocity that made even Bullock's stomach churn.
"Any sign of The Mask himself?" He asked vainly. If one of Gotham's kingpins had been murdered tonight, he thought, this would only be the start of the carnage.
"No. We found some kind of escape tunnel that leads down into the sewers. We didn't follow it all the way along but it probably connects to the main run-offs down by the docks."
Harv looked around, mentally picturing the fight in his head, counting bullet shots and seconds and imagining trajectories. This guy couldn't have avoided all of the bullets, even if he'd been an eagle or a cat or something. Which means he was wearing some serious heavy duty armour of some kind. Ex-Black Ops? Someone with access to military-grade tech? It was a disturbing possibility.
Harv knew of at least one way a vigilante could get their hands on stuff that good. He'd had suspicions about who the Dark Knight had been, back in the day. But those suspicions were blown out of the water by this. If the Dark Knight had been who he'd thought it might be, they'd -never- in a million years have behaved like this. Of that Harv was certain.
No, this Judge was definitely a new player. Someone who seemed to enjoy getting their hands dirty.
"Any metal fragments you've found? Vibranium. I want all these casings and bits of metal crap everywhere examined pronto by the materials lab. We're looking for Vibranium."
Whatever this ass-hole's MO was, Harv knew, it couldn't be allowed to continue. Killing bent cops and tearing up thugs was one thing, but who knew where it would end? Anyone this crazy had to be stopped on principle alone.
Looking at the broken fragments of a crushed M240 light machine gun, he mentally amended his previous thought.
Assuming anyone this crazy could be stopped.