ANTHEM - The Bat and The Ferret

[pauljmsn]

ANTHEM
The Bat and The Ferret

By Paul E. Jamison[/center]

At the moment, Les was thinking about the disagreements he’d had with his parents about his choice of college.

He’d known that they’d be upset, so he’d approached it gradually. He’d started off by announcing that he wanted to go to University in the States. His parents hadn’t liked that, which was understandable; they kept up with the news. Mom had suggested that perhaps he might consider a local university, like the University of Toronto or York, so he could be in the city and could still stay at home. Dad had pointed out that if he wanted to move out on his own, the University of Winnipeg was good. But Les had replied that he’d looked into all of those institutions, and they didn’t quite have what he was aiming for, but universities in the States had some interesting curricula, and that he’d made up his mind to go south.

The discussion had so far been quire reasonable. But then Les said which university in the States that he’d decided on, and his parents almost lost it.

Mom ran into their bedroom, and Dad said he was nuts. Les pointed out that Gotham City University had a terrific Liberal Arts program that he thought was just what he wanted. Dad replied that Gotham City had one of the highest crime rates in the United States, which was saying a lot, and that there were a large numbers of lunatics running around in weird costumes, and, what, was he suicidal? Les countered with, oh, come on, no place could be that bad, the news media always exaggerated things, and besides, he’d heard that bad things rarely happened on the University campus. Dad then said that, look, if he really wanted to go to the States for an education, the University of Metropolis seemed to be a fine institution, and Metropolis was a nice, clean city with nice, clean, tall buildings, a lot better place to live than Gotham. Les replied that Metropolis had just as many people in costumes running around, and to add to that, pieces of those tall buildings tended to get broken off quite often, and pedestrians were always running the risk of getting hit by falling masonry. But Dad said that at least Metropolis had someone flying around who’d catch the falling masonry before anyone got hurt. After that the discussion had gotten acrimonious.

The disagreement was never completely resolved, and when Les had left Toronto for Gotham City, his parents both had given him that look. They promised that they’d keep in touch with him, and they did. Whenever someone like the Scarecrow or Two-Face had gone on a rampage, Les was sure to find about a dozen messages on his answering machine or to receive a phone call in the wee hours of the morning. After two years, his parents had relaxed a bit; they didn’t leave quite as many messages, nor did they call quite so late at night; even then it might just be Dad asking how a villain calling himself Clock King could ever be taken seriously.

Right now, Les was remembering those arguments vividly. He wanted to tell his parents that he was very wrong about his choice of university and that he wanted so very much to be back in Toronto. He also wanted to tell them – over and over again – that he loved them.

Les was tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse in Gotham City, and he was almost certain that he wouldn’t get out of there alive. The scrawny man standing in front of him – the man with the Smile – wouldn’t let him.

Les had heard of him, of course, and he’d heard that the man was crazy. He’d always thought that the white skin and green hair were some sort of makeup. But, face to face, Les could see that it wasn’t makeup – the skin and hair color were all too real. The smile was real, too, but it was too big and too wide to be considered natural. The teeth were dazzlingly white, like a happy shark that used the best whitener in the world. And the eyes – the man’s mind was twisted in ways that went beyond the mere word “crazy”. Les had heard that Gotham University’s Psychology Department had entire shelves devoted to graduate theses about this man, and he could believe it.

The madman’s eyes were mesmerizing, and Les was doing his best not to get lost in them. Focusing on the bizarre sandwich that he was holding in his hand wasn’t much better.

That remarkably controlled voice said, “Now, Lester, my boy, I’m sure you’re starving by now, so why not pig out on Uncle Joker’s Good Old hero sandwich?” He waved it around. “Now doesn’t that look just scrumptious?”

It looked horrible. The submarine sandwich was a foot long roll, stuffed with several kinds of meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato and the usual other ingredients. What made this one grotesque were the model airplane parts. Sticking out of either side were miniature wings; a propeller stuck out from one end and a horizontal and vertical tail was on the other. Stuck to the top was the “birdcage”-type canopy of a World War II fighter. The whole concoction – wings, prop, tail, canopy, bread, meat and other ingredients – had been painted Aluminum Silver. If the paint wouldn’t poison him, he’d choke to death.

Les’ heart was pounding. He shook his head and muttered, “No – No – It’ll kill me –”

“What, this, after all that cafeteria food you’ve been living on?” The Joker looked disappointed. “And I went to so much trouble with this.” He admired the sandwich. “I must have used about four tubes of model cement putting it together. The diced peppers kept falling out.”

The Joker turned to the thug standing next to him. “Al, I think our friend Lester doesn’t want to eat. You’ll have to help him hold his mouth open.”

The thug smiled in a not-nice way and said, “Sure thing, Joker.” He flexed his hands.

“That’s good. Les, like it or not, you’re gonna –” He giggled. “– wolf this hero down –”

The Joker frowned. “Hold on a moment.” He examined the bizarre sandwich more closely. He paid special attention to the canopy. “This doesn’t look right. Al!”

Al was leaning over Les. “Yeah, boss?”

The Joker turned the silvery sandwich over in his hands. “I threw the model box in that trash can over there. Dig it out and bring it to me, will you?”

Al shrugged. “Okay, boss, whatever you say.” The thug ambled over to the large trash can nearby and rummaged around in it. He soon straightened up, holding a flat box, and brought it over. “Here ya go.”

“Thank you.” The Joker took the box and looked at the picture on the front. His eyebrows shot up. “What the –? This is a Curtiss Helldiver! No wonder it doesn’t look right! I wanted a Douglas Dauntless! What happened?” He stood there, a box in one hand and a silver sandwich in the other, lost in thought.

Then he rolled his eyes. “Oh, I know what it was! I saw the Dauntless in the model shop and it was right next to the Helldiver! I turned around to say something to you, Al, while I was reaching for the model I wanted, and I grabbed the wrong box!” He slapped the box against his forehead. “I didn’t pay the least attention at the checkout counter – and I didn’t even notice it when I put this together!” The Joker shook his head and chuckled. “Dumb, dumb, dumb mistake! And I’ve got no one to blame but myself!”

Al said, “Well, you could still cram it down his throat. It won’t make any difference, will it?”

“Actually, yes, it does. For this to have any meaning, it has to be a Douglas Dauntless.” The Joker looked at Les, and he actually seemed genuinely apologetic. “Look, I really feel bad about this, pal. Here I went to all the trouble of kidnapping you from the University and bringing you out here, and it all turns out for nothing.” He looked over the submarine sandwich. “Ahh, the heck with this schtick. I’m starting too early, anyway.”

The Joker turned around and tossed the winged sandwich away. Surprisingly, it was able to glide through the air and drop in the trash can.

The Joker turned back. “I’ll tell you what, Lester. Why don’t we just forget the whole thing? I’ll take you back to your dorm, you go your way, I’ll go mine, and we put this screw-up behind us. How’s that sound?”

Les couldn’t answer. He just gaped at the Joker. So did Al.

Al spluttered, “But – you just gonna let him go?!”

The Joker shrugged. “Well, I think it’s only fair.”

“But – but he’s seen us! He can identify us!”

“Oh, yes, and I’ve worked for so long to keep my nice, normal face off of the police blotter.”

The irony didn’t quite escape the hired goon. “But he can identify me!”

The Joker looked thoughtful. “Actually, that’s a good point.” He looked at Les. “Oh, well, it’s nothing a little gas won’t cure.”

Al looked relieved. “Oh, the Joker Gas, huh, boss?”

The Joker rummaged through his jacket pocket. “Yes, that gas, my dear Al.” He brought out a bright yellow plastic flower and attached it to his lapel. He smiled an evil smile and said to Les, “Now, my boy, in case you haven’t been keeping up on the newspapers, this little gadget dispenses a chemical of my own invention. It’s formulated to put a laugh in one’s voice and a smile on one’s face. Uncle Joker gives it a lifetime guarantee.”

Al chuckled. “Heh. Lifetime guarantee, yeah.”

The Joker smiled even wider and held the plastic flower out. He then pointed it sideways, and the flower sprayed a cloud of green gas in Al’s face.

For a brief moment, Al’s face was wide with shock. Then he began to hack and cough loudly. Al stared at the Joker, but he was unable to say anything.

The Joker said, “I’m running this show, fella-me-lad, and when I say that someone dies or lives, I mean that they die or live.”

He grinned. “Besides, lackeys are a dime or dozen in this town, but the world needs as many college graduates as it can get.”

Al continued to cough and hack, but he began to chuckle as well. He then began to laugh.

“Oh, now, you’re being too kind. I didn’t think it was that funny.”

Al had stopped coughing, and he was roaring now with laughter. There was no laughter in his eyes – only desperation. The building echoed with his laugh. He was holding his stomach and gasping for breath, but he couldn’t stop laughing. Soon he fell to his knees, wheezing as much as he was laughing. Finally he fell on his back, and his laughter began to get weaker, his heels kicking against the concrete floor. The laughing faded and the kicking slowed down. Finally all he could do was chuckle and twitch, and he eventually fell quiet.

The Joker looked down at Al’s face. The thug’s mouth was now stretched back and his teeth clenched tightly in a hideous mockery of a smile. The eyes were bugged out and staring at nothing in this world. The Joker’s smile wasn’t any less hideous. “Oh, well, leave with a smile, I always say.”

He turned around. “Okay, now, Lester – Lester?”

Les was slumped forward, as much as his bonds would allow, and his head hung down. The Joker knelt down and waved his hand in front of the student’s face.

“Lester? Yoo-hoo – you in there?” No response.

The Joker sighed. “Figures. You meet someone that you can finally have an intelligent conversation with, you let them live, and they up and faint on you. Oh, well.” He stood up, walked over to the trash can and dropped in the model box. He then came back to Les and began untying him.

“Right. Gotta get you back to the dorm before curfew.” He picked up Les’ unconscious body and draped it over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Stepping over Al’s mortal remains, the Joker headed for the door with his burden.

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 1

Most of the time Murphy was neatly dressed; the Sable ferret always kept his red serge tunic and campaign hat neat and clean. This evening, though, he had taken particular care with his appearance, and he was dressed to the Nines. He’d brushed his campaign hat until the felt shimmered. The red serge tunic was his best, with shiny brass buttons, a clean black collar and a white cord draped over one shoulder. He’d taken the time to make sure the lanyard on his hat was hanging down just so and that his Sam Browne belt was adjusted properly. He was even carrying his miniature revolver in the holster. Given that he did not like guns and rarely carried one, this was a special occasion indeed.

Murphy was in a cheerful mood as he walked down the street in the early evening. A Dark-Eyed White ferret was close by his side – very close by his side.

Murphy said, “You know, Sammy, I wasn’t really sure how much I’d like Gotham City, but this is a nice place. I’m quite impressed at the efforts they’ve made to cater to the ferret community. I’ve seen several human businesses with ferret-sized facilities, like our hotel, and there are some ferret-exclusive businesses as well. We ought to patronize as many of them as we can while we’re here.”

Sammy was not wearing his prayer shawl this evening; he’d decided that it wasn’t appropriate for a reception. He’d been contented with cleaning up his black yarmulke with the red trim. He seemed nervous as he walked along beside his friend.

“That’s true, Murphy, that’s very true. I noticed that there’s a local taxi company for ferrets. I think you ought to call them up on your cellphone and use their services some time.” He looked over his shoulder. “Like, say, right now.”

Murphy waved a paw in the air. “Oh, now, this isn’t a bad night for a walk. A bit cloudy, but that’s par for the course for Gotham weather, I understand. It’s only 14 blocks between the hotel and the Iceberg Lounge.”

“It’s 17 blocks – I checked it on MapQuest – but that’s not the problem. I would’ve preferred taking some other street besides this one.”

“Why? We’re taking the most direct route to the Club. What do you mean?”

Sammy looked around. There were several humans walking along the street – or rather, shuffling – and several more were sitting on stoops and in doorways, and it looked like they were settling down for the night; some were simply standing around in groups or leaning against the dark brick walls. There were unshaven men dressed in ragged old clothing, young men dressed in loose jackets and saggy jeans and young ladies dressed in garish and skimpy skirts, tank tops and high heels.

Murphy and Sammy were sharing the street with hookers, pimps, petty thieves and generic homeless folk. Sammy was certain that they’d walked directly by a drug deal going down. The humans had given the ferrets hostile or indifferent stares, but mostly they just stared in bewilderment; Sammy figured that the humans’ confusion over talking ferrets had kept him and Murphy from being attacked so far.

Murphy smiled and waved at a man sitting in a doorway. The man was wearing a filthy trench coat, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved or cut his hair in months. He didn’t wave back at Murphy. He just clutched his bottle closer and stared.

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’?” Do you know what this street is?”

“Yes, of course, this is Park Row. Nice name for a street.”

“But that’s just the name on the map! Nobody calls it that! This is Crime Alley, Murphy! It’s probably the most dangerous neighborhood in Gotham City, and that’s saying a lot! Don’t you realize that we’re taking a big risk walking through here?”

“Hookay, thash it!” Murphy and Sammy looked back. The old wino in the doorway was standing now. “Thash it, I’m throo! When I shee animalsh wearing closhe and walking down the shtreet – and therr shpeaking – I’ve had enough of the boozhe! I’m shwearing off the shtuff, right now!” He tossed the bottle across the street, where it shattered against the opposite wall, and staggered away. “Wheresh zat A-A plashe? I’m takin’ the plezhe!”

Murphy said, “Oh, come on now, Sammy. This street just has a bad reputation, that’s all. I know that it used to be that way years ago, but things have changed.”

“Oh, they have?” A gang of young hoodlums shouted something at them from across the street, but he did his best to ignore them. “It doesn’t look like that to me!” They stepped around some trash piled against the wall.

“Hello, gentlemen!” The two ferrets had come up next to a trash barrel. There was a fire blazing away in the barrel, and two scruffy-looking men were standing next to it, warming their hands. One of them looked down at Murphy and grunted something that might have been a return greeting; the other ignored them.

“Look, Murphy –”

“Hey, there, ferret! What would a Mountie be doing all the way down here in Gotham? What, Canada get too boring? Or you here for the hockey game tomorrow night?”

The young chicana who had spoken was leaning against the side of a building ahead of Murphy and Sammy. She was dressed in an extremely short skirt of red vinyl, a black velvet jacket over a neon-pink bustier, black fishnet stockings and black leather high-heeled boots. She was wearing altogether too much makeup.

And Murphy actually stopped to talk with her!

“Hello, Ma’am! I’m here as part of the security detail for a traveling exhibit of Inuit scrimshaw. It opens tomorrow at the Gotham Museum of Natural History and will be in town for a week. The carvings are done in whalebone and walrus tusks, and they’re quite interesting. I’d suggest dropping in some time.”

“What, me? Go to a museum?!” The young lady laughed. “Here’s some advice, Mountie. I think you’re way off course. The Natural History Museum is about eight blocks that way.” She pointed south. “You’re headed in the wrong direction.”

“Oh, no! My friend and I are going to the Iceberg Lounge tonight. The city is holding a private reception to mark the arrival of the exhibit. The Canadians accompanying the exhibit will be there, as well as many prominent Gothamites. I – um – assume that you weren’t invited.”

The chicana shrugged. “I guess my invitation got lost in the mail.”

“That must be it – Hey!” Sammy had grabbed Murphy’s arm and was pulling him down the street.

Sammy snorted. “I cannot believe you sometimes, Murphy! Only you would stop to talk with a streetwalker! A human streetwalker, at that! Mister, I wonder about you!”

“Aw, I’m sure she’s a nice girl, once you get to know her.” Sammy rolled his eyes, but said nothing more. The two walked quietly along the street, sidestepping drunks and trash.

Of all things, Sammy did not expect to see two long-stemmed red roses, lying right in the middle of the sidewalk. Walking by, Sammy could see that the roses were fresh; somebody had evidently placed them there earlier that night. Sammy wondered what reason anyone would have for leaving flowers in the middle of this run-down street. Whatever it was, it had to be special; everybody gave the roses a wide berth.

Murphy stopped by a street light. It stood in stark contrast to the gloom and squalor of the rest of the street. The pole’s surface was chromium steel, and it almost gleamed in the twilight. The pole stood straight and tall, flaring out at the top to form the light.

“Now, Sammy, you talked about how bad this street used to be –”

“And still is!”

“Now I have to disagree with that, friend. Providing proper lighting for this street has done a lot to reduce crime. And that is where this –” Murphy tapped the light pole. “– has come in. The latest in lighting technology, developed by Wayne Enterprises. Made out of strong steel. Surfaced with a special polymer compound that resists the application of spray paint, so graffiti is not a problem. The light at the top is fronted with shatterproof glass. All in all, as vandalproof as modern science can make it. The city of Toronto is negotiating with Wayne Enterprises to buy some of these, and Constable Fraser told me that Chicago was interested, too.” The two ferrets walked on.

Murphy and Sammy reached a side street and began to cross. Sammy stopped and said, “Uh… Murphy?” He pointed down the side street.

It was dark, much darker than the main street. There was another of the modern street lights a few yards from the corner, but the light wasn’t shining. The glass at the top had been smashed, and the pieces lay on the sidewalk.

Murphy said, “Oh, dear.”

Sammy shook his head. “Murph, I’m not the cynical type, but I’m thinking that labeling something as vandalproof will only attract smarter vandals.”

The gloomy side street was deserted, except for an elderly woman, toddling along and pushing a grocery cart crammed with plastic trash bags. Ahead of her was the inky blackness of a small alleyway off the side street.

Sammy said, “Now, I don’t like walking down this street, but that side street – I definitely do not want to be –”

The elderly lady disappeared into the alley, and it looked like she didn’t go willingly. She screamed, and her grocery cart was knocked over.

“Stay here!” Murphy was running down the alley in a flash.

“Murphy! You crazy weasel! What are you doing?!” Sammy watched in horror as Murphy’s red tunic vanished into the alley.

Sammy heard a shout and looked back along the main street. The two bums had left their trash-can bonfire and were running toward him. The chicana hooker was following behind them, but she couldn’t run too fast in those high heels.

Sammy was turned away from the side street and didn’t notice the black shadow that seemed to fly down from above and melt into the darkness of the alleyway.

Sammy didn’t know what to do. Murphy could leap and punch well, so he was able to hold his own in a fight with a human. But there was no way of knowing how many humans he was facing in the dark. Murphy might need help. But Sammy wasn’t a fighter…

Sammy finally began to run down the side street. It sounded like quite a fight already. Sammy could hear grunts and howls and the soft thunk of fists. They all sounded human – nothing like the high-pitched voice of a ferret.

Just as Sammy reached the corner of the alley, a scrawny human, dressed in a t-shirt and faded jeans, came rushing out. The ferret and human stopped and stared at each other.

The human looked down at Sammy for a second, and then grinned. It wasn’t a nice grin. The mugger held up his right hand; he was holding a gun, and he pointed it at Sammy.

Sammy held up his paws. The mugger giggled and said, “Gonna blow you away, rat.”

Sammy could feel his heart rising in his throat, but it hadn’t gotten far before he noticed that the mugger was holding the gun in an odd way. He was pinching the trigger between his thumb and forefinger. The ferret then realized that the human had to hold the gun that way, because the gun was small.

Sammy felt himself relax. He said, “You lifted that gun off my friend, didn’t you?”

“Blow you away with your buddy’s piece!” The mugger giggled and pulled the trigger.

It was just as Sammy had figured. As long as he’d lived in the States, Murphy still hadn’t gotten a gun permit. He never carried a loaded gun. Sure enough, the hammer made a loud snap on an empty chamber. The look on the perp’s face was priceless.

Alas, Sammy had only a brief moment to enjoy the sight, before something small and black zipped out of the alley and smacked into the side of the human’s head. The mugger looked surprised, then scowled down at Sammy like it was all his fault. The human’s joints seemed to loosen up, and he sank to the ground.

Something fell into Sammy’s upraised paws, and he brought it down to look. The object must have been what had hit the human. He couldn’t quite make out what it was at first. It looked like it might be a boomerang made of some sort of hard plastic, but it wasn’t like any he’d seen before. The leading edge was normal enough, but the trailing edge was scalloped in a most peculiar way. It was almost like the wings of a –

A husky voice said, “Excuse me, but that’s mine. May I have it back?” A black-gloved human hand was reaching down from above.

Sammy held up the odd boomerang up and said, “Yes, certainly, sir. Here you gaaaahhhh…”

Sammy stared up at the human. He’d seen the costume before many times – scalloped black cape, cowl with those remarkably long ears, the black suit with the body armor and that peculiar yellow symbol on the chest. It was always popular among Trick-or-Treating children, human and ferret, at Halloween, and there was always at least one adult – more likely two or three – wearing a copy at any masquerade that Sammy had ever attended. Once, he’d even stumbled across an online photo of a very interesting variation when he’d accidentally been routed to a human fetish site. But there was only one original outfit, and this human was wearing it.

“Thank you.” Batman knelt down and took the batarang from Sammy’s numb paws. He straightened up and said, “I go through so many of these. It’s nice to actually get one back.” Sammy looked up at him – looked into those eyes – and all he could do was squeak.

“Hey!”

The spell was broken, and Sammy looked around. The two bums had turned the corner and were running down the dark side street. They both had guns. Uh-oh.

One of them pulled something shiny out of his filthy coat; it turned out to be, of all things, a badge. “Gotham PD! What’s going on here?”

“Oh… um, hi there.” Sammy was relieved; the Cavalry had just come over the horizon. “My friend and I were walking along when we heard a scream.” He turned back around and pointed. “It came from that alley right –”

The elderly lady stumbled out of the alley, blubbering and crying. On her shoulder was Murphy.

“There, there, ma’am. You’re fine. Nobody’s going to hurt you now. – Officers, besides that fellow lying on the sidewalk, there are three others stretched out in the alley back there. I’m afraid that they’ll be out of touch with reality for awhile. You’ll need someone to carry them.”

“We’ll worry about that.” One of the cops moved past Murphy and the lady to look in the alley, while the other took out a walkie-talkie and snapped out, “HQ, this is Forrester, we’ve got four unconscious perps; might be the guys we were looking for. Requesting backup to sweep up the pieces. Yeah, we’ll wait, thank you. Out.” He put the walkie-talkie away and said, “Something the matter?”

Sammy was looking around for something. He glanced up and down the street. He then searched overhead, and he even eyed a storm drain across the street. “He was here! He was right here, right in front of me. It was – he was –” He finally shook his head. “Ahh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

The cop smiled, ever so slightly. “Actually, I probably would.”

----------------------------

Two hours later, a police car pulled up in front of a brightly-lit, modern nightclub, and two ferrets climbed out.

Before he closed the door, Murphy smiled and said, “Thank you very much for the ride, Officer Olsen, Officer Johnson. Chic, we look forward to tasting your wife’s cooking when we can get some spare time, thank you for the invite. See you guys later.” As the patrol car drove away, Murphy and Sammy turned toward the club entrance.

Ordinarily Sammy would have also given his thanks, but at the moment he was somewhat distracted. “I can’t believe it! Max is going to go nuts when he hears that we met him!”

“Who do you mean?”

“You know, Murphy – him! The Caped Crusader, the Dark Knight, the World’s Greatest Detective! Batman!!”

Murphy’s reply was distinctly cool. “I know who you’re talking about.”

Sammy looked at him. “Okay, Murph, what’s bothering you?”

Murphy hesitated before replying. “Sammy, the Batman is a vigilante. I don’t approve of vigilantism. He brought down those muggers, but it was a dangerous situation. The Gotham City Police Department is quite capable of handling criminals, and it’s not a good idea for civilians to interfere.”

Sammy looked at his friend thoughtfully. “All right. I can see your point. But a Canadian mounted policeferret doesn’t have jurisdiction here, does he? When you whaled on those muggers, technically you were a vigilante yourself; and how many times have you taken the law into your own paws in Wichita? And when we first met in Canada, I went along with you on a case, and I was a vigilante!”

“That’s different.”

Sammy raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How?”

Murphy paused. “I’ll get back to you on that one.”

Sammy chuckled and shook his head. “Look, Murph, Gotham City is notorious for its high crime rate. The people with Gotham PD are the best there are, but they still probably have a lot on their plates. I’m guessing that they appreciate all the help they can get. And from what I heard, this vigilante is very good at what he does.”

The two ferrets walked to the entrance, but they were stopped when a mountain in a well-fitted tuxedo stepped in front of them. The mountain rumbled, “The business entrance is in the back of the building, but we ain’t hiring doormen right now, especially rats!”

Another mountain came up behind the first one and slapped it on the back of its head. “You dummy, this ain’t a doorman, he’s a Mountie! He’s here for the reception! And besides, these ain’t rats, they’re ferrets!” He looked down at them. “Sorry about Sean here, he’s a bit slow at times.” He smiled. “Hiya, Constable. It’s been awhile, huh?”

Murphy looked more closely, and his eyes widened. “Bill? Bill! This is a surprise! The last I’d heard of you, you were working with the Frank Zuko organization up in Chicago!”

“Yeah, well, you and Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio made things uncomfortable for Zuko’s mob.”

“Um, yes, I guess we did. Sorry.”

Bill waved a meaty hand. “Ah, no hard feelings. You were doing your job. Besides, when his sister died, Zuko kinda lost a lot of his get-up-and-go. He wasn’t as good at running things as he used to be. Anyway, I could see which way the wind was blowing, so I quit and came down to Gotham to hook up with the Penguin’s boys. The pay’s decent. Penguin’s insurance plan isn’t as good as Zuko’s, but the pension plan is a lot better.”

Murphy shook his head. “Bill, please don’t take offense at this, but it’s a bit strange to hear about organized crime offering pensions and insurance. Not that Mr. Cobblepot is still involved in crime, mind you.”

“No offense taken.” Bill sighed and got a faraway look in his eyes. “Yeah, Murphy, I see what you mean. Things have changed a lot. It’s not like it was in the old days. Maybe it’s better now, maybe not. I got job security, but… it’s just not the same.” He shrugged. “Okay. You guys got your passes? They’re buggy about security tonight, what with the ivory piece on display.”

“Yes, here you go.” Murphy handed over his Staff badge and Sammy his Guest pass. Bill looked at them closely before he smiled and handed them back.

“You’ll find the cloakroom to your left just inside. The other Mounties have been checking their hats. Enjoy the evening, guys.” Murphy and Sammy thanked him and entered the Iceberg Lounge.

Bill and Sean stationed themselves back on either side of the entrance. After a few seconds, Sean said, “Not everything’s changed. I’ve heard that Two-Face doesn’t offer his people any insurance at all!”

Bill shrugged. “Probably just as well. How would you like your deductible set by the toss of a coin?”

“Good point.”


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 2

The Iceberg Lounge was one of the hottest nightclubs in Gotham. The interior décor had been referred to in The New Yorker as “Iceberg Chic”. The Lounge’s owner, Oswald Cobblepot, had hired one of the country’s best muralists to paint the walls to resemble an arctic landscape. The dance floor was shaped like the deck of a ship, and the surface was as white as the driven snow. The tables looked like they’d been carved from blocks of solid ice, but they were light enough to be moved easily out of the way if necessary. Some large artificial icicles hung from the ceiling.

The most prominent feature of the Lounge was the large pool in the center of the room. In the center was a simulated ice island. This was the home for about a dozen penguins. They spent the evening sliding down built-in ramps, snacking on fish and jumping into the water. Occasionally they studied the two-legs across the water, but the penguins would soon tire of trying to figure them out and would move on to other things.

It looked like about one hundred people were there for the reception; many of the tables had been moved aside to make room for the attendees to mill about and form the usual little discussion groups. On the far side of the penguin pool was a string quintet, imported from Canada for the occasion, playing some unobtrusive background music. The quintet’s backdrop was a large, white rectangle, which looked like it was supposed to represent part of a glacier wall and wasn’t doing too good a job of it. Still, for the most part, the Lounge was quite tastefully decorated.

Murphy and Sammy walked over to the pool and watched the penguins. One of the younger birds came over and stared at the two ferrets. They looked a lot more interesting than the human types.

Sammy nudged his friend with his elbow. “Hey, Murph, do you see anyone over there that you know?”

“No, I don’t, Sammy, and you ought to know better. The penguin’s habitat is exclusively in the Southern Hemisphere. There aren’t any in the Arctic region and certainly none in Canada. I’m sure there are reasons for this –”

“Murphy?”

“Yes?”

“Lighten up.”

“If you say so.”

Ferret and penguin continued to gaze at each other.

Sammy said, “Those guys over there don’t look like they’re doing too bad.”

Murphy nodded. “It looks like a good setup for them. Plenty of room, they look well-fed, they don’t look bored. I’ve read that Mr. Cobblepot cares very much about the welfare of wild birds. He contributes heavily to several wildlife funds, and he’d certainly see that these fellows get the best of care.”

“An interesting by-product of having a bird gimmick for your crime career.”

“Well, now, it’s been years since Mr. Cobblepot has committed any crimes as the Penguin. Or so I understand.”

“So you understand. That’s another point about our vigilante friend. Gotham City isn’t just home to a lot of criminals. It’s home to a lot of strange criminals. Mr. Cobblepot may be Penguin no more, but there are still a lot of others out there like him, and plenty of those have schticks that are a lot loonier than birds or even umbrellas.

“Murph, Max has put me onto some articles about the Batman. There are quite a few humans out there that blame him for Gotham’s proliferation of supervillains. But some people – and I might agree with them – think that it’s the other way around. The bad guys created him.

“Gotham City PD does what it can, like I said before, but maybe they need someone like the Batman to deal with these costumed baddies.”

Several other penguins had gathered together on the island to watch the ferrets. It was almost like they could understand what Sammy was saying. Murphy finally said, “There might be something to what you’re saying.” He looked at Sammy. “But that doesn’t mean that I approve of his methods.”

“I know, Murph. But, like it or not, there are other costumed types like him out there, and more and more are showing up all the time, in the US and all over the world. Didn’t I read somewhere that Canada has a superhero now?”

Murphy sighed. “Yes, we do. Some character in an awful green and yellow suit; he operates primarily in Calgary. From what the RCMP can figure out, he’s strong and has some limited flying ability.”

“What’s he called?”

“Captain Rude.”

Sammy blinked. “Actually, for a Canadian superhero, there’s a weird sort of logic to that.”

“Constable Murphy!!”

Sammy was a kind-hearted soul, but he couldn’t help thinking less-than-flattering thoughts about some people. Right now, he was thinking about Inspector Margaret Thatcher as a Milt Caniff-ish villainess, maybe named The Dragon Lady.

Constable Fraser had told Sammy once that Inspector Thatcher, before she’d joined the RCMP and been put in charge of the Canadian Consulate in Chicago, had spent time in Paris as a model, and he could believe it. Her dark-blue gown was quite stylish, if he was any sort of judge of human clothing, and she wore it elegantly tonight. But Thatcher had been placed in charge of Security for the Inuit exhibition, and she was stalking over to Murphy now most definitely in that capacity. Constable Murphy snapped rigidly to attention, and Sammy resisted the urge to step in front of him as a shield.

Murphy saluted. “Sir!”

Thatcher came up and glowered at the ferret. “Constable Murphy, if I recall correctly, you were told – you were ordered – to arrive here precisely at 7:00 PM. It is now 9:12 PM, and just now I find you walking in the front door. I presume you have an explanation for being over two hours late? Let me guess – you stopped to escort an old lady across a busy street? Or did you offer some last-minute help to a young boy whose science project was due tomorrow?”

“No, sir. My friend and I were at the police station for the last two hours.”

This threw Inspector Thatcher. “Police station?”

“Yes, sir. A mugging occurred while we were walking here. The perpetrators were stopped, and we had to accompany the arresting officers to the station to fill out paperwork. The police were kind enough to give us a ride here.”

“…Oh.”

Murphy removed his gun from the holster and unsnapped the badge from his tunic. “Sir, I am requesting that I be relieved of duty. Here is my badge and weapon.”

Thatcher blinked. “What –? Why?”

“Because in the course of the altercation, one of the muggers removed my gun from its holster and used it to threaten a civilian. I should not have let that happen. I was derelict in my duty. I am willing to accept disciplinary action.”

Inspector Thatcher did not move to take the gun and badge. “Your gun wasn’t loaded, was it?”

“No, sir. I don’t have the proper permit to carry a loaded weapon in the United States.”

“Well, why don’t you get one!?”

“I’ve done fine so far without it, sir. As I’ve said –”

“Yes, yes, yes. I’ve heard it before. You feel that a person can become too dependent on a gun.” Inspector Thatcher tried to wave something away. “Keep your badge and your gun, Constable. You will not be relieved of duty.”

“Sir?”

“You heard what I said!” Thatcher rolled her eyes. “You, Murphy, are almost as aggravating to work with as Constable Fraser. If it weren’t so obviously impossible, I’d swear that you two were twins.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve just compared you to Benton Fraser. You’re taking that as a compliment, aren’t you?”

“Well… to be honest, yes, sir.”

Inspector Thatcher looked down at the ferret for a few seconds. She then said, “All right, so you ended up fighting some muggers. At least tell me that you gave a good accounting for yourself.”

“I tried my best, sir.”

“I can vouch for that, Inspector.” A middle-aged man with prematurely white hair and a mustache came up at this point. “I just got off the phone with my undercover team. They were very impressed with your constable’s fighting ability.”

Murphy said, “Well, I had some help.”

“I’m sure you did.” The man knelt down. “Police Commissioner James Gordon. You’re Constable Murphy, I believe.”

They shook hand and paw. “Yes, I am. I’m pleased to meet you, Commissioner. This is my friend, Rabbi Sammy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Rabbi. Murphy, I can hardly believe what my officers told me. Are you really strong enough to take on a human in a fair fight?”

“Yes, sir. Sammy and I are members of the species Mustela sapiens. On average, we can leap from a standing position to a height of six feet, and we can deliver a punch equivalent in force to that of a full-grown Homo sapiens. And it helps that I work out regularly.”

“I see. I’ve been considering hiring some ferrets for the police force, and I’ll keep this in mind. You helped us out a lot tonight. We’d had trouble with muggers for some time in Crime Alley, and we’d planted the undercover team to try and catch them. The team wants me to convey their thanks to you.”

“Tell the three of them that they’re welcome. And tell the young lady that I really do recommend visiting the exhibit after it opens tomorrow.”

“Young lady?”

“Yes, the chicana posing as a streetwalker.”

Commissioner Gordon raised his eyebrows. “So, you spotted Montoya as a plant, did you? It wasn’t the shoes that gave her away, was it? She’d been worried about getting that part right.”

“No, no, the getup was convincing. But for a hooker, she was very knowledgeable. Right away, she identified me as a ferret and as a Mountie from Canada. I’ve lost count of the number of times that someone higher up on the social scale than she supposedly was would call me a rat dressed as a doorman. Besides that, she knew precisely how far away the Gotham City Museum of Natural History was from our location. I was mildly surprised at the time that someone in her profession would know about such things. Then, when the two bums revealed that they were undercover police, I figured that she must have been, too.”

Gordon chuckled. “Very well reasoned, Constable. I’ll tell Montoya next time to be a little stupider.”

“Jim! Good to see that you could make it!” Another man came up to the little group and shook the Commissioner’s hand. He was tall, well-built and, by human standards, quite handsome. He wore a tuxedo of deceptively simple cut, the sort of clothing that required fitting by a very expensive tailor. “Introduce me to your friends!”

“Certainly! Bruce, I’d like you to meet Inspector Margaret Thatcher and Constable Murphy of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Folks, this is one of Gotham’s leading citizens, Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce Wayne took Inspector Thatcher’s hand in his own. “Pleased to meet you, Inspector. I am pleased with your security measures for the exhibit. I would like to discuss them in more detail some time.” He smiled. “Say – over dinner?”

Thatcher returned the smile with one that wasn’t quite cold enough to freeze water, and said, “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Wayne. I regret that I have a prior engagement to accompany Commissioner Gordon to tomorrow’s hockey game. Otherwise, I’ll be busy the rest of the week. I will consider your offer, though.” Her eyes said, “Not on your life, Mr. Rich Playboy Slacker!”

Murphy’s nostrils flared ever so slightly as Bruce Wayne bent down to grasp his paw; no one else noticed. He smiled and said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Wayne. I want to thank you for underwriting the scrimshaw exhibition for its stay here in Gotham City.”

“Well, I’ve always appreciated folk art, and I feel that supporting the cultural health of Gotham City to be important. The ivory carvings I’ve seen so far have been exquisite. I might consider acquiring some and donating them permanently to the Museum. If the artists are interested in selling, of course.”

“Actually, they might be. The Inuit community in Canada could always use the extra income. Mr. Wayne, let me introduce you my friend, Rabbi Sammy.”

“I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Wayne.” They shook hand and paw. “I wanted to extend my sincere thanks to you for all that you’ve done for the ferret community here in Gotham.”

Wayne smiled and started to make an offhand gesture, but Sammy interrupted him. “I’ll have none of that false modesty, sir!” He pointed a finger at the human. “Bruce Wayne, I know your secret!”

The millionaire looked at the ferret oddly. “And that is –?”

“I’ve done some research, sir. I know about the Wayne Foundation’s generous loan program for ferret-friendly and ferret-owned businesses. You’re also funding special programs to build ferret housing and ferret access to human buildings; I like the designs for small stairways and even elevators that I’m seeing around here.

“Right now the City government is considering an amendment to the Anti-Discrimination laws to include Mustela sapiens. I’ve no proof, but somebody is providing funds for a public campaign for that amendment. I’ve seen some ugly things in other big cities, Mr. Wayne. There are so many businesses in Wichita and Chicago that post signs saying ‘No ferrets served here’; I can tell you that that hurts. I’ve seen those signs in Gotham, but only a very few and I’m told there are fewer every day. Of the many cities I’ve visited in the past few years, I’d say that Gotham City is one of the leaders in accepting my species as equals. And you, Mr. Wayne, have contributed a lot to that.”

Sammy paused for a second, and continued in a softer voice. “I have a friend here in Gotham named Joachim, the Rabbi of a local ferret synagogue. You know the one – someone set fire to it a few months ago and burned it down. Fortunately, no one died. I am sorry, sir, to bring this up. You told Joachim that you wanted to remain anonymous, but he was so grateful. You contributed so much to his congregation – material, labor and construction equipment – so that they were able to build a new temple within weeks; indeed, I think you contributed almost everything. As a ferret, and as a child of Abraham, that means so much to me.

“Bruce Wayne, I said that I know your secret. You may look and act rich and lazy, but you care about others and you do what you can to help them. Sir, I am proud to meet you.”

Wayne had the grace to look embarrassed as the small group of humans applauded Sammy’s words. He finally said, “Thank you, Rabbi. I do feel strongly about discrimination. I don’t make a fuss about it, though.

“Personally, I feel that Mustela sapiens has much to offer the human race, and I think we ought to work together as much as we can. In fact, Wayne Enterprises has contacted the Skippys to see about collaborating on some scientific and engineering projects. They say that they’re thinking about it, but they haven’t given us a definite answer yet.”

Sammy grinned. “That’s actually a good sign. Normally, if the Skippys want to say no, they won’t hesitate, and they can be… rude about it. They’ve been known to hand out ferret raspberries over the phone right and left. I’ll talk with the Head Skippy when we get back to Kansas.”

The reception went on. People drifted from one conversation to another. Murphy and Sammy met several humans, some nice and some not so much. At one point Sammy got into a discussion with some older businessman’s trophy wife. It was mildly irritating as she squealed over how cute he was and insisted on patting him on the yarmulke, but when she turned to her husband and demanded that he buy her a talking ferret of her very own, Sammy had to turn and walk away before he said something he would have regretted.

Sammy calmed down, but he continued over to the display case in the center of the dance floor. He’d wanted to see it anyway, and now was a good time. The display stand had been designed with ferrets in mind, with a small ramp winding around from floor level. Since he and Murphy were the only ferrets at the reception, it was a nice touch.

He reached the top of the ramp and looked at the ivory carving in the glass case. It was one of the scrimshaw pieces from the Inuit exhibit that was due to open the next day. It had been put on display here especially for the reception.

Sammy studied the sculpture closely. It depicted an Inuit hunter standing in an open boat on a choppy sea, about to spear an impossibly large fish jumping out of the water. Murphy had said that it had been carved from a walrus tusk. Sammy tried to picture the shape of the original tusk, but it wasn’t easy; the tusk had to have been twisted in bizarre angles. In addition, the artist had worked the natural discoloration of the tusk into his piece, using it to suggest even more waviness in the water than there was. The detail was remarkable; Sammy could see the determination in the miniature hunter’s features.

“It is quite an exquisite piece, isn’t it?”

Sammy turned to the human beside him and said, “Yes, it is. I –”

It seemed to be Sammy’s day to meet Gotham City’s more colorful inhabitants.

The nose was the first thing you noticed. It was long and narrow and didn’t quite come to a point; Sammy could see that it would remind someone of a bird’s beak. The man was short and rotund; his hair was black and slicked back to a widow’s peak. Sammy had read that this man had been teased unmercifully as a schoolboy, and he felt sympathy for the young human child of then.

The human was wearing a tuxedo and a monocle, and he wore them well. It was no wonder; he’d had years to get formal dress down to a fine art.

Sammy held out his paw. “Pleased to meet you, sir. You must be Mr. Oswald Cobblepot.”

Cobblepot smiled. “Is it that obvious? And you’re Rabbi Sammy.” They shook hand and paw. “I hope that you’re enjoying the Iceberg.”

Sammy replied, “Oh, yes. It’s quite a fine place. If I’m ever in Gotham again, I’ll be sure to dine here – if you do kosher, that is.”

“We certainly do, and we’ve started catering to ferrets. I’ll tell you what – the next time you’re here, get word to me and I’ll comp you a meal.”

“Thank you very much, sir.” Sammy looked back at the display case. “It is, indeed, a marvelous work. I was admiring the emotion that the artist put into the hunter’s face.” He looked closer. “Now that’s interesting; he’s made it to look like the hunter is looking off to one side. – Well, I’ll be!”

Cobblepot leaned forward. “What? What do you see?”

“Look there – in the water off to one side. He’s put in the outline of another fish! It looks like it’s coming up from just below the surface.”

The human squinted through his monocle. “You’re right. Now that’s attention to detail!”

“I couldn’t even begin to guess at how much this is worth.” Sammy looked around the nightclub. “The security for this get-together has to be pretty tight.”

Cobblepot nodded. “Very tight, I can assure you. Gotham PD and the RCMP have a strong presence here this evening, as you know. I also have some private security of my own circulating around the room. Believe me, no one is going to steal this if I have anything to say about it!”

Sammy couldn’t resist making a slight dig. He smiled and said, “It probably helps that this carving doesn’t have a bird motif.”

Cobblepot softly replied, “Probably.” Then he grinned. “It’s not a cat motif, either; that helps even more.”

“Good point. Well, I’m no expert, but it sounds like this carving is well guarded. Nobody’s going to steal it tonight.”

“Oh, no. They’d be crazy to try.”

There was an element of irony in those words, although it was some time before anything happened. Sammy and Cobblepot chatted amiably for a few minutes. They discussed the chances of the Gotham Blades winning the hockey game against the Toronto Maple Leafs the next night. Sammy had to allow that he didn’t know much about hockey; he never did go to games back in Wichita. That led to talking about Sammy’s synagogue back home. Sammy was in the middle of the latest amusing story about Old Abraham, the oldest member of his congregation, when things began to explode.

The white surface of the string quintet’s glacier-wall was blown away at three places – the upper left and lower right corners and directly in the center. A large letter J was revealed in each corner. In the center, in the shape of a fleur-de-lis, was a stylized jester’s face with a bizarre toothy grin.

Cobblepot and Sammy crouched down by the display case. The human whispered, “Joker…” After that his comments were unrepeatable.

The icicles hanging from the ceiling exploded next, showering confetti and streamers down on the crowd below, who were running around and screaming their heads off by now. A large banner, strung between two balloons, floated down: HOW MANY CANADIANS DOES IT TAKE TO CHANGE A LIGHT BULB?

A second banner floated down a few seconds later: NONE – THEY’RE TOO BUSY CHEWING WHALE BLUBBER!

The fleur-de-lis jester’s head separated from the white wall and fell to the floor beneath. Most of the quintet ran away, but one violinist stood rooted to the spot and stared up as the heavy shield fell right on top of him. Sammy was sure that he’d been killed instantly.

The nightclub was chaos. Commissioner Gordon was barking orders into his cellphone. Security guards and policemen were rushing around trying to regain some sort of order among the panicking attendees. Inspector Thatcher was rushing by and stopped at the display case. She snapped at the human and ferret, “You two – see that nobody steals that carving!”

Cobblepot wrapped his squat little arms around the case as best he could. “Let someone try, madam – this is going nowhere!” She ran off.

Cobblepot looked up at Sammy. The ferret was sprawled over the top of the display case now. The human said, “It’s in my best interest to protect this. If it’s stolen while it’s in my club, I’ll become the prime suspect. I really don’t want anything like that at this stage of my life.”

Sammy replied, “I can understand that, sir. Me, I’m protecting this on general principles.”

Constable Murphy was doing his best to calm the humans down, but he was looking around at the same time. He soon noticed something unusual.

Bruce Wayne was nowhere to be seen.


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 3

“There’s some weasel-sized bagels in the box on the table, Rabbi. Help yourself. That bakery does pretty good.”

“Thank you kindly, Detective.” Sammy opened the box and found about eight miniature bagels and containers of lox and cream cheese. He loaded up half of a bagel and took a nibble.

It was delicious, and Sammy took a bigger bite. Detective Bullock may be a fat slob, but he evidently knew his bagels.

Sammy sat down and looked around the room. Because of his friendship with Murphy, he’d been in more police station break rooms than most Rabbis, from Niagara Falls to Chicago to Wichita and down in Oklahoma City. He didn’t think of himself as an expert, but he was beginning to see a pattern.

The room was a mess. The waste basket in the corner was overflowing with pizza and donut boxes, and from the smell Sammy thought there were overripe coffee grounds somewhere in there. The table he was sitting on was actually an old metal desk. There were a couple of old desk chairs, one missing an arm, nearby, and an old filing cabinet was in the corner. Detective Bullock was pouring coffee from a carafe on a large, somewhat battered coffeemaker. Break rooms were where obsolete office furniture went to die.

A small television was sitting on top of the filing cabinet. It was on, but the sound was muted. Sammy could never understand why humans left TVs running with the sound off, then more or less ignored them. He’d asked Skippy’s opinion, but she just shrugged her shoulders and said it was beyond her; there were mysteries even the Skippys couldn’t solve.

Sammy watched the silent television. It was a news program or a special bulletin of some sort. A very serious anchorperson was reading something, and a graphic of a jester’s head was projected on to the screen beside her. The subject matter was obvious; definitely a special bulletin.

“Detective, do the local stations always interrupt when a supervillain does something? I’d think that would happen a lot in this city.”

Bullock shook some creamer into his cup. “Depends.” He took a stirrer and swirled it around in the cup while he looked at the TV. “Used to be, they’d do it all the time. But I guess the novelty wore off, and most of the baddies don’t get a peep on the news anymore. I nabbed the Calendar Man –”

“Calendar Man?!”

“Yeah, pathetic, isn’t it? Anyway, I nabbed him a couple of years ago and the TV news didn’t say a word, and I’m not sure the newspaper did more than a paragraph or two on a back page. I can tell you, the public’s apathy ate him up inside. It’s bad enough fighting the costumed creeps, but I’ll tell you it’s not much better when they cry on your shoulder.

“On the other hand, some of ‘em, like that guy –” He pointed at the jester head on the TV screen. “Just about anything he does makes the news. People can’t get enough of him. Kinda scary in a way.”

“I can imagine. Has anyone thought of creating a TV channel just for superheroes and villains?”

Bullock took a sip from his cup and made a face. “You’d’ve come here a couple of months later, you would’ve caught the premiere of Gotham Cable’s new Super Channel – 24 hours devoted exclusively to people in costumes. If it goes over well, they’ll offer it nationally.”

“Um.” Sammy couldn’t think of anything else to say.

The jester graphic disappeared and was replaced by a photo of some sort of institutional building. It didn’t look like a very inviting place at all.

Bullock picked up the remote from the desk. “Looks like they’ve sent someone to Arkham. Never fails – when one of these loonies does something, the TV people send a reporter to the nuthouse.” He unmuted the sound just as the picture switched to a young lady talking into a microphone in front of a pair of forbidding wrought iron gates.

“– Gleeson live in front of Arkham Asylum. The administrators of Arkham have, at this time, no comment on the latest outrage of the so-called ‘Clown Prince of Crime’. However, one of the asylum inmates, Edward Nigma, aka the Riddler, has requested the opportunity to make an official statement to the press. We are waiting – hold on, they’re leading Nigma out now.”

The camera moved around to focus on the gloomy front doors beyond the gate. The doors swung open and a tall, thin man, dressed in a smock and bathrobe covered with all sorts of punctuation marks, was led out by two uniformed attendants. The Riddler walked forward until he stood just on the opposite side of the gates. As bright lights and flashes illuminated him, he did not look happy. Sammy noticed that the only punctuation missing from his clothing was a question mark; some sort of therapy, maybe.

Finally, Nigma spoke.

“Riddle me this – what’s got green hair, white skin, is black and blue all over, and floats face-down in the river?” He waited one beat and then almost shouted. “I’ll tell you what – some lunatic who steals my riddle schtick!!”

His handlers did not restrain him as Nigma waved his arms around. “I’M the King of Riddles in this benighted town! What’s worse, that riddle he used tonight was lousy! I wouldn’t sully my name with some bomb like that!”

He pointed a finger at the camera. “This message is for Gordon and the Batman. You guys get that clown! Get him and lock him up in the deepest dungeon you can find and throw away the key this time! Because if you don’t, I’ll track him down myself and teach him about the evils of stealing other people’s material!”

The Riddler solemnly bowed and turned around to walk to the front doors.

Bullock whistled. “Okay, that guy is really serious!”

Sammy asked, “How can you tell?”

“He quit using riddles.”

Sammy thought about this for a moment, and then said, “Gvalt.”

“My sentiments exactly.” Bullock tossed his stirrer at the trash can; it bounced off of a pizza box and landed on the floor. “What say we go back to the Commish’s office? That’s where the action is.”

Sammy slathered lox and cream cheese on another bagel. “Sounds fine to me. I’ll take one of these to Murphy.” He jumped off of the desk and followed the detective out the door.

The action at the moment was just outside Commissioner Gordon’s office and looked like a staring contest between him and Inspector Thatcher. Murphy was sitting on a desk nearby, and everyone else was trying to make as little noise as possible. Sammy climbed on the desk and passed a bagel to Murphy, who smiled thanks and began munching on it.

Inspector Thatcher began to speak in that deceptively low voice that Sammy had learned to dread. “You know, Commissioner, Lt. Welsh back in Chicago has spoken highly of you and your police force in the past. I admit that I had reservations, considering that you seem to rely on a costumed vigilante to do a lot of your work for you. But Welsh had worked with you while you were on the force in Chicago and considered you an excellent policeman, and he said that you’d be able to supply good security for this exhibition.

“But what happens, before the exhibition even opens? Some freak in clown makeup crashes a reception and manages to kill one of my countrymen! I find that… disappointing. Maybe I should have discussed security issues with your pet bat!”

Murphy muttered, “Ouch.”

Commissioner Gordon didn’t even flinch. He looked into Inspector Thatcher’s eyes for a few seconds, and then spoke softly.

“Let me begin, Inspector, by saying that the Batman is nobody’s pet. He’s no more my ‘pet’ than Constable Murphy is your pet ferret. No offense intended, Constable.”

“None taken. Sir.”

“The Batman does what he does, and I doubt if there’s much that we could do to stop him. We couldn’t control him here in Gotham City, and I’m certain that the RCMP wouldn’t be any more successful if he were based in Toronto. Or Chicago.”

Sammy whispered to Murphy, “Ouch, indeed.”

Thatcher inhaled ever so slightly, but said nothing.

“The people I have working for me are some of the best on any police force in the country, but there is a lot to do here in Gotham, and we’re stretched to our limits trying to keep a lid on things. Yes, the Batman is a vigilante – and technically, I’d say that as long as they’re in the States, so are Constables Murphy and Benton Fraser – but he’s on our side. I have no problems admitting that I appreciate the help we’re getting.

“And don’t forget this – the Joker is a genius. No matter how tight security is, that madman will find a way to breach it if he wants to get in bad enough. Gotham PD did its best with the reception this evening – as well as the RCMP did, I may add – but it just wasn’t enough.”

Gordon leaned closer to Thatcher. “One more thing, Inspector. That is not makeup. The Joker’s skin and hair really are those colors.”

After a few moments, Inspector Thatcher said, “That was very unprofessional of me, Commissioner Gordon. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted. Okay, people, I know we’ve had an APB out on the Joker for months, but step up the search. Use informants, special TV bulletins, psychics, smoke signals if that will help. Let’s find that lunatic pronto!”

As the detectives and uniformed officers began to file out or get on the phones, Inspector Thatcher said, “Constable!”

“Sir!” Murphy was sitting on the edge of the desk eating his bagel, and he seemed to transition to standing at full attention simultaneously, without wasting any time with pulling his legs up and rising to his feet. It was like he had some sort of personal transporter. Sammy wondered what he’d done with the bagel.

“I’ll be heading back to my hotel in a few minutes. Go to the Museum and check the other artifacts. Make certain that nothing has been stolen.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Murphy saluted and jumped down to the floor. He was taking out his cell phone as Sammy jumped down to follow him.

Thatcher said, “Rabbi, do you really need to accompany the Constable?”

As he headed out the door, Sammy replied, with all seriousness, “Hey, us vigilantes gotta stick together!”

Thatcher’s only reaction was to stare after the ferrets; a cop at a nearby desk began to choke. Commissioner Gordon cleared his throat and said, “Er, if you’ll excuse me for a few moments, Inspector, I’m going up on the roof.”

Thatcher’s voice was unreadable as she turned and asked, “Why in the world do you need to go up on the roof?”

Gordon shrugged and said casually, “Oh, I like to go up there on my own once in awhile. It gives me a chance to think.”

--------------------------------------------

Murphy and Sammy only had to wait five minutes before a small car marked MUS TEL CAB SERVICE pulled up in front of the police station. The ferret driver leaned out the window and cheerfully said, “Hi, gents! My name is Louie! Where would you like to –” He stopped and looked at the uniform. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be… You are! Constable Murphy! I’ve seen your face in the papers!” He grinned wide. “Man, is it ever an honor to have you in my cab! Climb on in!”

Sammy and an embarrassed Murphy got in back. Sammy leaned forward and said, “Could you take us to the Museum of Natural History?”

“Sure thing! Anywhere you want to go!” He looked over his shoulder. “This happen to have anything to do with the brouhaha at the Iceberg earlier?”

Murphy replied, “I’m sorry, Louie, but I probably shouldn’t discuss that.”

“Yeah, sure, I understand. Gotta be confidential. No problem, you gotta be good at keeping secrets in my business.” Just before he pulled away, Louie looked up to the sky. “Oh, boy, it looks like the police are calling out the big guns tonight. Not surprising, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?” Murphy and Sammy looked out of the window.

From somewhere nearby, a searchlight was projecting a circle of light on to the base of the overcast above. In the center of the circle was the silhouette of a winged bat.

-------------------------

Commissioner Gordon stood by the edge of the roof and looked down at the street below. He could just barely see the miniature taxicab as it pulled away and headed for the Museum. There were a few human cars on the street, and the tiny car was expertly weaving between and behind them. The ferret taxi service had been operating for three months, and he’d yet to hear of a single one of them becoming involved in an accident, especially with a larger car.

The beam from the Bat-Signal next to the Commissioner stabbed into the night sky. He probably wouldn’t have long to wait.

There were times when Gordon was sure that he’d heard some sound – maybe the rustle of cloth or the breath of wind. But that was possibly wishful thinking. Most of the time he heard nothing. He didn’t startle as often anymore when the figure appeared or the voice sounded. Tonight he took a gamble and spoke to apparently no one around him.

“Constable Murphy has all the traits of a fine law enforcement officer.”

From behind, the voice replied. “That’s true. He’s clever and has a good sense of justice. And I saw firsthand how good a fighter he is. He laid out a mugger with one punch.”

Gordon nodded. “I could sure use some ferrets on the force like him. He lives in the States already; once I get the chance, I’m considering offering him a position.”

Batman stepped forward to stand beside him. “You can try, Jim, but I don’t think it will do you any good. Constable Murphy is RCMP through and through. That’s more than a lot of human Mounties can say.”

Gordon looked at the Batman. There seemed to be some slight modifications to the costume, though Gordon couldn’t put his finger on anything definite. That wasn’t surprising. Batman would change his outfit from time to time and rarely offered an explanation. The set of the chin, though, and the hooded eyes – they never changed.

Gordon said, “The Joker wasn’t after the carving, was he?”

“I don’t believe so. He didn’t try to steal it. He accomplished what he set out to do – he created chaos and mayhem in the Lounge tonight. And someone happened to die because of it.”

Gordon sighed. He missed his pipe; it had given him something to do with his hands. “In April we find some two-bit hood gassed to death with Joker venom, and we don’t hear a thing from that clown for six months, until now. Surely he has something on his mind other than mere anarchy!”

“Jim, you and I know that the Joker always has a reason for what he does. The logic he applies to his schemes is twisted, but it’s logic nonetheless. We don’t have enough data yet to figure out what he’s up to.”

“And we can only hope that we get that data before he does even more damage.”

“We do the best we can, Commissioner. I’m going to start tracking down some leads.”

“We’ll do the same from our end. May I hope that you’ll share whatever you find?” But Commissioner Gordon knew that by then he was talking to nobody.

---------------------------

Murphy and Sammy climbed out of the cab in front of the Museum of Natural History. Murphy leaned over and said, “Thank you very much for getting us here so soon, Louie. Now will you please accept a tip? I’m sure that a taxi driver’s salary can’t be that much.”

Louie smiled. “Hey, it’s worth it just to have the great Constable Murphy in my cab! My kits will love hearing about it when I tell them!”

Murphy sighed. “All right. I suppose I should be grateful that I was able to talk you into accepting the fare as it is.”

“Hey, no sweat. Feel free to call Mus Tel Taxi Service while you’re here in Gotham! We’ve always got at least three cabs cruising the streets 24 hours a day! Later, gents!” The miniature car drove off and the two ferrets climbed up the steps.

“You know, Sammy, you could have taken the cab back to the hotel. Didn’t you say that you’d promised Max a phone call after the reception?”

“Yes, I did. But I haven’t seen the exhibit yet, and I’d like to before it opens tomorrow. I’ll try calling Max later. When he’s on the Orbiter, he prefers to skew his sleep cycle around. If he’s in bed already, I’ll leave a message and get back to him tomorrow.”

The Gotham City Museum of Natural History was one of the few old buildings that had survived the earthquake’s devastation and subsequent rebuilding of the city in the early 90’s. It had been designed by the pre-Civil War architect Cyrus Pinkney in the overwrought Gothic Revival style that he had favored. It was no surprise that the Museum was on the National Register of Historic Buildings; that didn’t make it any less dark and gloomy.

Sammy held the door open for his friend. “Who did you say was guarding the exhibit, Murph?”

“A human Constable named Visit. You’ve met him.”

“Oh, yes. A bit evangelistic, but a nice fellow. Say, Murphy, is it supposed to be this dark?”

“Most of the lights are turned off after hours, but there should be more than this.” He raised his voice. “Hey, Visit, you around anywhere?”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s strange. He wouldn’t leave his post. Visit! Let’s look around.”

A few minutes later they found Visit stretched out on his back.

Murphy quietly said, “You know, Sammy, there’s speculation that the RCMP chose the color red for the uniform because that’s what the British Army used at the time. The British chose red so that a wounded soldier’s blood would blend in and not be noticeable to the enemy.”

Sammy looked at the strange object. It was a steel ball with about a dozen spikes, but the spikes weren’t uniformly distributed around the sphere. They were clustered closely together in one area on the surface, pointing more or less in one direction. The spikes must have been sharp, but he couldn’t tell since the ends were imbedded in Constable Visit’s chest.

“It’s a good idea, Murph, but I don’t think it works.”

-------------------------

Inspector Thatcher walked briskly toward the parking lot. She wasn’t in a good mood. She’d just gotten back to her room and was preparing to get into bed when Constable Murphy had called to inform her of yet another death, this time one of their own. Now she was heading for her car to drive over to the Museum and take charge of the crime scene. Murphy had said that he didn’t notice any ivory carvings missing, but she wanted to make sure of that herself. Constable Murphy had a reputation for being a good officer, but she didn’t trust good reputations, not after working with Benton Fraser for so long; never mind how well Constable Fraser lived up to his reputation.

She walked alongside a long, blank brick wall. The bricks were dark, dirty and stained with graffiti, just like the rest of this dreary town. She’d not wanted this assignment, but the government in Ottawa had been insistent that she take charge, and there hadn’t been room for argument. A dirty town with petty thieves and costumed lunatics near the bottom of the food chain and shallow, pretty people near the top, like the fop Bruce Wayne. So he salved his conscience with charity work. She knew his type. He – YAHHHHHH!!!

Her mind took a moment to register the fact that she was now sailing through the air with someone’s arm wrapped around her waist. Somewhere behind her, she heard the thump of an almost irresistible force hitting an almost immovable object.

Then she was on the ground again, and she noticed that the arm around her was garbed completely in black. Whoever it was loosened his grip, and she turned to look into the face –

It was covered in a black cowl. With ears. Long, pointy ears. Only the eyes and the chin were visible. Hard eyes. No, serious eyes. Strong chin.

The Batman said, “Are you okay?”

It took a few seconds of working her jaw, but she stammered, “Uh. Yes. I’m. Fine. Just. Uh. What. What. –”

He was looking over at the brick wall. Right where she’d been a few seconds ago.

Something was dangling at the end of a cable that came down from above. She thought of a small wrecking ball, but the shape was wrong. There were three teardrop shaped… things, weights maybe – joined together at the points, to make a triangle. A cylinder was also joined to the three points. It was all painted green.

A clover. It looked something like a green clover. A big clover.

There was a deep dent in the brick wall where the object had swung down and hit it. A big heavy clover.

The Batman said, “I happened to be passing by when I saw someone on the roof toss this over. I’m sure it was meant to hit you. I apologize for not giving a warning, but there wasn’t time.”

“Oh.” She stared at him. “Oh! No problem! I’m… I appreciate – appreciate it.” She stared at the damaged wall. If she’d still been there… If someone hadn’t come along and moved her…

“Uh. Thank you. Thank you very –” She looked around, but she was alone. She stood and looked up into the cloudy night sky, but she knew he was long gone. Still she stood there and looked.


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 4

The gray light of dawn was in the east when the miniature taxicab pulled up in front of the hotel. Murphy got out and spent a few moments dickering over money. He finally persuaded the driver to accept the tip and turned away.

It had been a long night, what with Visit’s murder and the attack on Inspector Thatcher. He’d helped Gotham PD as much as he could at the Museum and at Thatcher’s hotel. She was still shaken when he finally left her – no surprise – but she had to turn in to try and get some sleep before the hockey game tonight.

Oh, well, at least Sammy got some sleep. On the way to Thatcher’s hotel, the cab had dropped him off at theirs. Murphy hoped he could get into their room without waking his friend.

Andy Williams started singing “Canadian Sunset” from somewhere around Murphy’s hip. He sighed; he wished that he hadn’t let Max choose his ringtone.

Murphy pulled out his cellphone and answered. “Hello?”

“Murphy! This is Max!”

Murphy could hear the faint chuff of the Orbiter’s air conditioning in the background. “Hey, Max! What’s going on? How’s Zero-G treating you?”

“Murphy, is Sammy all right? He’d promised to call last night, but I haven’t heard anything from him!”

“Well… It turned out to be a late night. He probably felt like going straight to bed.”

“But he said that he’d leave a message if he got in too late. It’s not like Sammy to go back on a promise like that. Is something wrong?”

A hand of ice closed around Murphy’s heart.

“Murphy?”

Murphy said, “Yes, Max. I think something’s very wrong. I’ll get back to you.” He shut off the phone and rushed up the hotel steps.

Their room was dark when Murphy pushed open the door. “Sammy? Sammy, are you here?” He turned on the light.

Murphy let out a faint hiss as he noticed the black skullcap lying on the floor. He walked over to pick it up and numbly looked it over. No blood, no evidence of violence.

Beneath Sammy’s yarmulke, there was a piece of paper. Murphy picked it up and dropped the yarmulke when he saw the fleur-de-lis jester’s face on one side. Something was written on the other side.

OKAY, CONSTABLE, IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR KOSHER FRIEND AGAIN, KEEP YOUR NOSE OUT OF THIS CAPER.
DON’T’CHA JUST LOVE CRIME CLICHÉS LIKE THESE?

J

For a brief period after that, Murphy’s mind seemed to go elsewhere. The next he was aware of his surroundings, he was stalking down the street about a block from the hotel. He still held the note in his paw.

A skinny young man with a stubbly beard stared at Murphy as he walked by. Abruptly the man said, “My girl wants a fur coat!”

Murphy paid no attention and continued on. The man stumbled after him. When he caught up, he walked beside Murphy and repeated, more insistently, “My girl wants a fur coat!”

Murphy didn’t break stride or turn his head. He only said, “Not now.”

“I’m gonna give my girl a fur coat.” The man pulled out a switchblade. “I’m gonna give her yours!” He reached down and grabbed the ferret.

Murphy had had no choice but to respond. But a few seconds later, he felt some regret about it. If nothing else, he regretted what it meant for the other pedestrians. It was certainly inconvenient for them to have to walk around a man sitting in the middle of the sidewalk. It had to be irritating to listen to the man scream and blubber because of his two dislocated thumbs; you could hear him from blocks away.

On the other hand, that little bit of action had served to clear Murphy’s mind. He stopped and began to think rationally about what he ought to do.

Despite what the note said, he had to find Sammy. He could do nothing else but assume that his friend was still alive; Murphy couldn’t dare to think otherwise.

But Murphy was a stranger in Gotham City. He hadn’t the faintest idea where to start looking. He had to have help finding the Joker.

There was one person in this city that could help him.

Murphy pulled out his cellphone and called Mus Tel Cabs. The person to help him obviously didn’t have a telephone number listed in the directory, but Murphy knew where he lived.

-------------------------------

At first glance, there was no evidence in the news about the Joker’s activities in the past few months. But Bruce Wayne was sure that the clues were there. He just had to dig for them. He sat down before the Computer and began searching.

Two teenagers had found the thug with the Joker grin in an old warehouse in mid-April; he’d been dead for about a week. The logical time frame to start searching was around then. Wayne entered the words “Joker” and “clown” in his search engine and sorted through the hits in the major news sources by date. A few newspaper stories covered the discovery of the body, and there had been a circus that came to town a few weeks later; but nothing else significant. He expanded the search to include more obscure sources.

There was a promising result in the Gotham City University student newspaper. The Talon had a special section devoted to weird local news, and the item in question was printed only two days after the estimated time of death. It involved a report filed with the campus police of two students meeting a “strange man in clown makeup”, who was carrying some sort of stuffed dummy.

Wayne read the article. The two students had been heading back to their fraternity after a late night at the library when a man, with what looked like a body slung over his shoulder, walked up to them. He’d stopped to say hello – “He seemed very polite” – and asked them for directions to William Finger Memorial Dormitory. The students had asked about the body, but the man had laughed about that and had said it was just a dummy that he was going to use for a prank. The students could see his clown makeup, so they’d believed him. They had given the clown directions to the dorm, and he had cheerfully thanked them and gone on his way.

Wayne did a further search in the Talon but there was no further mention of any prank. It had to have been the Joker, and the body he’d been carrying had to have been a real one. A further search, however, turned up no reports of a murder or unnatural death on the Gotham U campus. Perhaps the person had only been unconscious.

Bruce Wayne thought for a few moments. The Gotham U connection was worth pursuing. He then typed in “Canada” and “Canadian”, coupled with “William Finger”, and searched further in the Talon.

Nothing. Then, on a whim, he typed in “Canuck” and searched again.

He got a hit in the Classified section of the Talon, the very next day after the weird news report.

WAS IT SOMETHING WE SAID?
LES, WE’RE REALLY SORRY THAT YOU’D UP AND GO BACK HOME LIKE THIS ON SUCH SHORT NOTICE, THROWING AWAY YOUR CAREER AND ALL THAT. BUT IT’S UP TO YOU.
WE’LL MISS YOU.
SHINE ON, YOU CRAZY CANUCK DIAMOND!
YOUR FRIENDS AT BILL FINGER.

So, it seemed that a Canadian named Les, a resident of William Finger Dormitory, had dropped out of Gotham University on very short notice and returned home shortly after the Joker was seen on campus, carrying an unconscious body and searching for that same dorm. Not a coincidence.

Bruce Wayne hacked into the University records and searched with the clues that he had.

In April, a Liberal Arts student from Toronto named Les Neilsen had abruptly dropped out of all of his classes and returned home. A note appended to his records recorded the puzzlement of his advisor over this action, as his grades were consistently excellent and as he was well-liked by his classmates and his teachers. Neilsen had given no reason for dropping out.

Wayne decided that he needed to talk to Les Neilsen.

---------------

The mansion was a formidable combination of Gothic and castellated architecture; it looked like a veritable fortress, which was not surprising. The miniature taxi pulled up in front of the gate.

“Here y’are, Constable, Stately Wayne Manor. Are you sure Mr. Wayne will see you?”

“I’ll make sure he does, Alex. Wait for me, will you? This won’t take long.” Murphy got out and walked over to the gatehouse.

Inside the gatehouse was a red button beneath a sign: PLEASE RING. Murphy hopped up and pressed the button.

Near the ceiling, a security camera began to move. It panned around the interior of the gatehouse. It stopped, hesitated and panned around again.

“I’m down here!”

The camera swung down and finally pointed right at Murphy. A voice with a smooth British accent issued from a speaker. “Ah, Constable Murphy, I presume. What may I do for you, Constable?”

“I need to talk to Bruce Wayne. It’s urgent; a friend of mine is in danger.”

“Master Bruce did get in rather late last night. I’m not so sure that I should disturb him.”

Murphy replied impatiently. “I’m not here to talk with Bruce Wayne the millionaire playboy. I want to see him in his other capacity.”

“What other capacity would that be?”

“As the Crusader.”

There was silence. If the security camera could have cocked its head thoughtfully, it would have.

The gate began to swing open and the voice said, “Please come up to the front door, Constable.”

“Thank you kindly.” Murphy waved at Alex and trotted up the driveway.

When Murphy got up to the massive front door, it was opened by an older man. As he was dressed in a very proper suit and tie and was wearing the expression of someone who would be nonplused by nothing, certainly not by a talking ferret, Murphy figured that he was the butler.

The butler said, “Do come in, Constable. I talked to Master Bruce and he said that he would receive you in his work room. Come this way.”

They walked down the entryway and entered an immense room that had to be the den. It was tastefully decorated, with several paintings and a welcome lack of mounted animal heads on the walls. Murphy glanced at the paintings. The Rembrandt over there was a well-done copy; Wayne probably knew that. The Vermeer, on the other paw, was definitely an original.

There was a huge fireplace, big enough to easily hold a human table for two. Above it was the largest painting in the room, a portrait of a handsome human couple. He could tell that it was an original by the most famous portraitist of a previous generation. Murphy looked at this painting closer. He could see something of a family resemblance.

He said, “Are those Mr. Wayne’s parents?”

The butler turned his head and replied, “Thomas and Martha Wayne, yes. In a way, Master Bruce is a part of it, too; while it was being painted, the Mistress discovered that she was three months along. If you’ll come this way, Constable.”

They ended up in a smaller dining room. “Smaller” was relative; the dining table and the twelve chairs around it were massive but did not crowd the room. By the opposite wall was a large grandfather’s clock; the butler walked around the table to stand in front of the clock.

Murphy paid no attention to what the butler did to the clock; that was only polite. Something clicked, and the grandfather’s clock swung away from the wall. Behind it was a passageway large enough for a full-grown human.

“If you don’t mind, Constable, I will go ahead and announce you to the Master. Please watch the steps.” The butler began to walk down a flight of stairs.

-----------------------------------

There had been much speculation among law enforcement agencies about what this place looked like. The RCMP and the Canadian Bureau of Investigation both had special teams that had drawn up theoretical floor plans, based on thinking, guesswork and no physical clues whatsoever. Murphy had seen both floor plans and had refrained from pointing out that they didn’t match each other too closely. Now he was in the Batcave, and Murphy could see that neither plan was anything like the real thing.

There was an extensive series of caverns beneath Wayne Manor. Everywhere Murphy could see stalactites and stalagmites, columns and curtains, galleries and sheets of flowstone; somewhere he could hear the faint roar of an underground river. There seemed to be some sort of movement overhead. Murphy looked up and saw hundreds of balls of fur covering the ceiling. This really was a batcave.

Off to the left of the staircase was a section apparently devoted to trophies and memorabilia. The largest of these was a full-size Tyrannosaurus Rex and – of all things – a twenty-foot-tall replica of a Lincoln-head penny; there had to be a story behind that one. There were glass cases nearby, holding a variety of items, plus two costumes that Murphy knew had been Robin’s and Batgirl’s. Beyond these were about a dozen variations on the Batman outfit, stored in their own glass-front alcoves.

In the center of the cavern was a turntable at the end of a ramp. On the turntable was the Batmobile – sleek, powerful, dark. Murphy could see a complete machine shop beyond, and there were areas given over to a gymnasium and a chemical laboratory, next to what Murphy recognized as a cutting-edge forensics lab.

On a rock ledge to the left of the staircase was the most impressive computer system Murphy had ever seen. It looked to be comparable to the ones used by most national security agencies; it was possible that this setup surpassed all of those. The central keypad was covered with several human-sized trackballs and hundreds of buttons; Murphy couldn’t begin to guess what they were all used for. Above this were three giant monitors, each ten feet wide and six feet high. Behind the setup were several rows of what had to be mainframe cabinets. If they knew about it, the Skippys would love to get their paws on this setup.

Sitting in front of the computer was Bruce Wayne.

The butler stated, in his imperturbable way, “Constable Murphy, sir.”

Wayne replied, “Thank you, Alfred. Please stay here.” He looked at the ferret. This was not the human Murphy had met at last night’s party; this was the real Bruce Wayne. “Constable, what can I do for you?”

Murphy stepped forward. “I apologize for disturbing you, sir, but this is urgent. My friend Sammy has been kidnapped by the Joker. I need your help in finding him.” He took the note out of his pocket and held it out. “The Joker left this in our hotel room. I thought – I wasn’t sure…”

Wayne took the note and studied it for a few moments. He finally said, “Your friend is still alive. I can assure you of that.”

Murphy closed his eyes, and he whispered, “Thank you.”

Wayne continued, “The Joker has a colossal ego. If he’d wanted to kill Sammy, he wouldn’t have deceived you about it. You would have found your friend’s body in your hotel room; it would not have looked pleasant.”

“I know. I’ve seen photos.”

“There is one reason that the Joker kidnapped Sammy, and it is not what he says in the note. He’s using your friend as bait. He knows that you’ll want to come to the rescue.”

“He’s right.”

Bruce Wayne leaned forward and looked at Murphy. “I do not recommend it. The Joker is more dangerous than any other criminal that you’re ever faced, Constable. He is certain to have murder on that twisted mind of his.”

Murphy looked steadily into Bruce Wayne’s eyes. “Tell me, sir. How would you handle the situation? If the Joker was holding one of your associates hostage, would you go after him?”

“Yes, I would, and I have. I have, however, much experience fighting that madman; you do not.”

“There had to be a first time for you.”

Wayne nodded. “There was, and I was fortunate to survive.

“I could hunt for your friend for you, but that will have to wait; Sammy is in no immediate danger. This kidnapping must be a part of the Joker’s overall scheme. I’m still uncertain of what that scheme is, though. All I can say for certain is that it does not involve theft of the Inuit carvings.”

“I’ve figured that out myself.”

“I’m not surprised. I’ll shortly be flying up to Canada to ask some questions of a former Gotham University student. The body of a small-time hood named Al Ritz was found in an abandoned building seven months ago; his mouth was stretched wide in the rictus that results from Joker Venom. I would have investigated his death myself, but I was out of the country at that time. Two days after Ritz was killed, this student dropped out of Gotham U and immediately left for Toronto. I have a hunch that there is a connection.”

“It might be a coincidence.”

“It might. But this student had been doing very well at Gotham, and he didn’t even wait for the semester to end.

“Constable Murphy, I want to help you find your friend, but I have to make this trip up north. If you will only wait a few hours, we can at least go together.”

“Thank you. But you do have to pursue your lead. And I will not wait.”

Wayne sighed. “I realize that. But I had to try. Do you even know where to look, though?”

“No, I don’t. That’s why I came here. I have no clues to go on.”

“Perhaps you do. The Joker would have left you with something.” Wayne looked at the note. “That last sentence is curious.”

“’Don’t’cha just love crime clichés like these?’ It did strike me as odd. Holding someone hostage isn’t that much of a cliché.”

“That’s not what I meant. The Joker is quite precise in his language. If it had just been the one cliché, he would have used the word ‘this’ instead of ‘these’?”

“That’s right. Does he mean more than one cliché, then?”

“I’m certain of it. He just doesn’t spell it out in this note. He wants you to guess what it is.” Bruce Wayne steepled his fingertips and thought for a few moments. Finally he said, “Tell me, Constable, what is the hoariest, most overdone chestnut in crime fiction?”

Murphy shook his head.

Wayne continued, “Think about a detective or policeman saying something about the criminal always returning to the scene of the crime.”

Murphy shook his head. “That one is just terrible. It never did make a lick of sense to me. Nobody uses that in mystery stories anymore!” He cocked his head. “Could that be it? Could the Joker be referring to a return to the scene of a previous crime? The scene of what crime?”

“I think he means the death of Al Ritz.” Wayne turned to the computer and brought up a file. “The warehouse where Ritz was found belonged at one time to Theodore Healy Theatrical Supplies.” He wrote something down on a piece of paper and held it up. “This is the address.”

Murphy held out his paw.

Bruce Wayne didn’t move. “Murphy, I never got around to looking over the warehouse because I was so busy. I should have. There’s no telling what you’d find there. I’m asking you again to wait. It’s possible that you’ll be killed.”

“I know. But I have to do this.” Murphy’s voice softened. “Please.”

“Very well.” Wayne held the paper out, and Murphy took it. “Before you go, Constable, I must ask: How did you figure it out?”

Murphy put the paper in his pocket and tapped the side of his snout. “Scent, sir. I recognized it on you at the reception.’

Wayne raised his eyebrows. “Really? Whenever I go out on patrol I always wear special cologne that eliminates my perspiration odor. Apparently it wasn’t enough.”

“Oh, your cologne worked just fine – for you. The muggers weren’t wearing that sort, though. One in particular seemed to think that a heavy scent is better than a subtle one to attract human females. I smelled his particular cologne on you when we were formally introduced. Then I reflected that the Batman would require a hefty financial base to support his activities, so it made sense that he is a millionaire who is, if I may say so, obviously in good physical shape.”

“Ah. I’ll see about reformulating the cologne. I’ll leave you with this, then, Constable – be very careful.”

“Thank you, sir, for everything. And I hope you find out something in Canada.” He turned for the stairs.

Wayne stood up. “Alfred, please show the Constable to the front door. And then prepare the Wing for takeoff.”


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 5

The Theodore Healy Theatrical Supplies warehouse wasn’t much different than a dozen other abandoned buildings in Gotham City’s industrial district. The lot was overgrown with weeds and tall grass. The building needed repainting, and many of the windows had been broken by vandals, those that hadn’t already been boarded over.

The small cab pulled up in front of the entrance, and Murphy got out. The driver leaned over and said, “You sure you’ll be alright, Constable? This place doesn’t look too safe.”

Murphy held out some money and replied, “I’m sure, Elaine, and I thank you for your concern.”

“Well, I don’t like it here. I wish I could stick around, but I’ve got another fare to pick up. I’m sorry, Murphy.”

“No, no, you’re right to go on. You’ve got a couple of kids to support and you need the money. I’ll call Mus Tel when I need a pickup. I’ll probably have someone with me.”

After the car drove away, Murphy turned to the entrance. The doors had been padlocked, but the locks had been smashed long ago, and he quickly found a way inside.

There were a few crumbling wooden crates near one wall, but the building was mostly empty, with a single drum nearby; a trash can, perhaps. No people, no Sammy. The floor was covered in dirt and dust.

Except for a small piece of wood in the middle of the floor. The dust had been disturbed around it recently, and the wood itself was relatively clean.

Murphy walked over and picked the piece of wood up. It was oddly curved, and he couldn’t quite figure out what it was for.

It smelled kind of strange, too. Murphy held it under his snout and sniffed at it.

No, nothing there. It didn’t seem much of a clue to –

Clue to what? Murphy found it hard to focus.

His mind was quickly filling with cotton. And it seemed like he was far away as he watched the walls drop down and the ceiling came into view and the whole world got softer and fluffier…

-------------------------------

Les stopped in front of his dorm room and fumbled with the keys. It hadn’t been the best of days. The semester was almost over and there was still trouble with transferring his course work over to Toronto University. He’d been having problems with the schoolwork in any case, and his parents had been fussing at him about what was wrong. He still wasn’t ready to talk to them – or to anyone else – about that.

He unlocked the door and stepped into the room. He dumped his books down and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. Terrific.

Les carefully made his way over to where his desk was, more or less, and managed to find the desk lamp. At least that worked.

When the desk lamp came on, he saw the figure in black standing right in front of him.

Les shrieked and frantically backed up. He ran into the bed and sat abruptly down. He recognized the costume; that didn’t help much.

“Please – no – don’t make me – don’t make me go back there! Leave me alone!”

The Batman talked in a soothing voice. “Please relax, Mr. Neilsen. I’m not here to hurt you or take you anywhere. I just want to ask you some questions.”

Les made pushing motions with his hands. “No! No! Go away! No questions!”

“Who was it? Was it the Joker?”

It was all Les could do to keep from whimpering when he heard that name.

“Please, Mr. Neilsen! This is important. People have died in the last two days. Others have been threatened. I want to stop him before other people get killed! I need your help. Will you help me?”

Les sat still and said nothing for several seconds. Finally he worked up his courage. “What – what do you want to know?”

“Tell me what happened. What did the Joker do?”

“He –” A lump formed in his throat and Les had to swallow it. “He – he wanted to kill me. He was gonna force a sandwich down my throat. He said I’d have to wolf it down.”

“A sandwich?”

“Yeah. A hero sandwich. You know – meat and other stuff on a long roll? It was a big thing. It would’ve choked me to death. If it didn’t poison me.”

“Was it poisoned?”

“Yeah, kinda. He piled the sandwich with lots of stuff, and he glued it all together with model cement and painted it with silver paint.”

“Model cement, you say?”

“Yeah! And that wasn’t all! He took parts from a model airplane kit and glued it to the sandwich!” For some reason, Les had to suppress a giggle. “He put the prop on front, the wings on the side and the tail on the back. And on top he put the canopy. It was a World War II fighter, I think. It looked… weird.”

“And he was going to kill you by forcing that down your throat.” Les nodded. “But he didn’t.”

“No. No, he changed his mind.”

“Did he say why?”

“Yeah, yeah! He said it was the wrong airplane!” Suddenly, it was so much easier to talk about it. “I guess he must’ve picked up the wrong model kit in the store! As soon as he said that, he changed his mind about everything. Said he was starting too early, anyway. He tossed the – the sandwich in the trash and said he was gonna let me go! Just like that!”

The Batman nodded. “Just like that. Yes. Did he happen to say what the right airplane would be?”

“Yeah… He’d wanted a Douglas Something. Douglas Dentist? There wasn’t a plane named that, was there?”

“No, there wasn’t. Can you try and remember?”

Les thought for a few seconds. “It was Douglas Something. It wasn’t Dentist, but it was something like that.” He shook is head. “No, no. I can’t remember exactly what it was. I’m sorry.” Les almost felt like he was a child again, after he’d been caught breaking something.

The Batman nodded. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve done your best.”

“Uh, huh. Does it help any?”

“It might. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Neilsen. I won’t bother you any more.”

Les looked down at his lap. It felt better now, after he’d talked about it and gotten things off of his chest. After only a couple of seconds, he looked up. “You’re wel –”

But he was alone.

------------------------------------

“So, this is where my brother got his?”

Murphy had regained consciousness, and he was immediately alert. It felt like his arms and legs were tied to a chair. He carefully moved and discovered that another ferret was tied back-to-back with him. It had to be Sammy.

Murphy kept his head hanging down and his eyes shut. But he listened.

“Oh, yes, Jimmy. He ended up stretched out right there. It… um… doesn’t bother you any, does it?”

“Nah, Mr. Joker. Al and I never got on very well. If he did something stupid, it’s not my lookout.”

“Ah, family affection. It just gets you, right here.” The chuckle was anything but reassuring. “So now, you get his job. How does it feel to be second-in-command to the greatest criminal mastermind in Gotham City?”

“It’s fine by me, Joker. I’m good at giving orders. The boys will do anything I tell them!”

“Including your little brother, Harry?”

“Especially Harry! Al and I had him under our thumbs since we were little kids.”

“Good, good. Just remember who gives you your orders.”

“Anything you say, Joker! You’re the boss!”

“That’s my boy. So, tell me, Jimmy, are things okay for you in the organization? Is there anything you want?”

“Oh, no, Joker! Everything’s fine!!”

There was a pause and a faint sigh. “You know, sometimes a reputation can get in someone’s way. Listen, Jimmy, I’m really, seriously asking you, because I do want to know. Is there anything, anything, that you want?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly. I know it’s hard to believe, but I get this way sometimes.”

“Well…” There was a slight pause. “What I really want, someday, is to get a ride in the car.”

“The car?”

“Yeah, your fancy car. The one with your face on the front and the funny top.”

“What –? Do you mean the Jokermobile? With the teardrop-shaped canopy and all that?!”

“Yeah! Yeah! That one! I love that thing!”

“Well, I’ll be… I haven’t used that car in years! I have to say that I’m flabbergasted. I’ll level with you, Jimmy. That car looks impressive, but I got fed up with it real fast. Do you know who designed it?”

“I always thought you did.”

“Well, yes. And I learned a hard lesson. Criminal masterminds don’t necessarily make for good car designers. I came up with a design that I liked a lot – all streamlined, fast, with my lovely mug on the front – but one of my gang at the time had the nerve to point out some design flaws. He got gassed for his opinions, and it’s one of the few instances that I actually regret doing that. He was actually right.”

The Joker sighed. “There are some… issues of practicality with that tub. I didn’t bother to even put a gas cap on it, can you believe it? We had to install a little door in the side to get anywhere near the gas line, and it looks terrible. And it’s a major gas-gulper, come to that; I was reduced to knocking over convenience stores just to get to the fuel pumps. Oh, it’s fast, but it steers like a sick hippo.

“And when you come right down to it, there’s no room for passengers! Or much room for loot, which is not what a criminal wants in a vehicle. Jimmy, the Jokermobile is not one of my proudest accomplishments.

“Still… You really like it that much?”

“Yeah! I think it’s the coolest car in the world! Lots better than the Batmobile!”

“Why, Jimmy, I am truly touched.” There was a tremor in the Joker’s voice. “You know, I think I’ll really like having you working with me.”

“Aww… Thanks, boss. So, how much longer before we do for these critters? There are things you wanna do, right?”

“Yes, yes, we’re watching the clock. I’m just waiting for the white one to wake up; he’s a Rabbi, did you know that? His friend in the red jacket is already awake; he’s just playing possum.”

From behind Murphy, Sammy mumbled, “Wstfgl…”

“Ah, the Rabbi’s coming around. You can sit up now, Constable.”

Murphy opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed were a pair of gaudy purple sneakers with bright red laces, untied with the ends splayed out on the concrete floor. Murphy raised his head, looking up the dark blue pants and jacket, until the face came into view.

Murphy had seen RCMP photos of the chalk-white skin and the green hair, the grotesque grin. The photos could not convey the madness behind the eyes.

Sammy said, “My arm hurts. It’s sore. What happened?”

The Joker said, “So, Constable, how’s by you? What’s on your mind?”

Murphy muttered, “Untied shoelaces are so last season.”

The Joker threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, but, Constable, I don’t follow trends! I make them!” He plucked at his red and green striped necktie; it did unpleasant things to Murphy’s vision. “Why, do you know, whenever I’m seen with a new tie or a scarf, I can guarantee you that within a week, everyone is wearing one just like it in the Gotham discos! What’s that tell you about human nature?”

Murphy wasn’t listening. He was looking at the small table sitting in front of him. Sitting on the table was a vase, holding a single red rose; the flower was only inches from his snout.

The Joker said, “Ah, you noticed the little gift I have for you. I hope you like red.”

Murphy looked at the human. “It’s plastic.”

The Joker shrugged. “Well, it was hard to find the proper thing at the last minute. It still looks nice, and it’ll last you the rest of your life.”

Sammy tried to move around, but he and Murphy were tied tight. Sammy looked over his shoulder. “What? An artificial flower? What’s that for?”

The Joker leaned forward and tapped the vase. “Well, this is the important part, here. Not very big, but it’s big enough to hold a really neat surprise.” He giggled.

Murphy didn’t laugh. “Gas.”

“It certainly is, Constable. My, you’re a smart one! I’ll set the timer here, and you’ll get a whiff of some stuff that will take your cares away and bring laughter to your drab, wretched life.” The Joker laughed again. Then he stopped and looked at the thug standing next to him.

“Well?”

Jimmy said, “Well what, boss?”

“Aren’t you going to make the joke? You know the one – about ‘you’ll just die laughing’. Everybody makes it.”

The thug shrugged. “Nah. I’m not much on telling jokes, boss. It doesn’t sound like a very good one, either.”

The Joker smiled. “Oh, I do very much like working with you, Jimmy. Anyway, Constable, you get the idea. There’s not much gas in the flower, but I figure it’s enough for a ferret. Now, there’s nothing I’d like better than to stick around and watch the fun, but we’ve things to see and people to do.” He reached over and flipped a switch on the vase, and something started ticking. “After awhile, then – even I don’t know exactly how long – this little beauty will start spraying. I recommend taking a deep breath to get the maximum effect. Oh, and everything’s bolted down – your chairs, the table, the vase – so don’t bother trying to knock things over.”

Sammy stared at the human. “You – you’re insane!”

The Joker shook his head. “Now is that any way for a nice Jewish boy to talk? Your Mama will be so unhappy with you!”

“But – but why? Why do this?”

“You said it yourself just now, Rabbi. I’m insane. Jimmy, is everything ready?”

“Yeah, boss! The two panel trucks are all painted up like you wanted!”

“Excellent! Let’s go then!” And the two humans headed for the door, the tips of the Joker’s shoelaces clattering on the concrete floor.

Just before the two humans left, the Joker said, “The Jokermobile? No kidding?”

After the door shut, Sammy turned around and frantically asked, “Murphy, we can’t move and we can’t reach the table! What’re we gonna do?”

“Keep calm, friend. These – umph! – ropes are tied pretty tight. We might get free in time, but that’s time we don’t have.” He looked at the ticking flower vase in front of him. “The bolts on these chairs aren’t so tight – okay, on my mark we start rocking sideways. Hard. Okay, now!”

The two ferrets rocked from side to side. They couldn’t move much at first, but soon the chair legs started to move. Then there was a snap.

“Hey! One of the bolts broke on my chair!”

“Good! One of mine is about to! Keep rocking!” Soon there was another snap.

“Okay! Back and forth for awhile!” The two ferrets rocked in another direction, then went back to side-by-side. Another bolt broke, then another.

Soon there was only one bolt left intact. And it was proving stubborn.

“Drat! There’s always one!”

“Keep rocking, Sammy!” But as try as they might, the final bolt wouldn’t break. All the two ferrets could do was pivot their chairs around. Soon they were turned sideways to the table. Sammy looked at the plastic rose. So close…

The ticking stopped.

There was only one thing he could do. Sammy sighed deeply, emptying his lungs.

“Sammy, what are you –”

When the gas started to puff out, Sammy leaned as close as he could to the fake flower and began to bo-bo in his breath.

“Sammy! NO!!”

Sammy held his mouth open, pulling in the strange-smelling gas. He felt like he couldn’t breathe in anymore, but it was still coming. He kept sucking in and sucking in, until he was sure his lungs would burst. But he still managed to take in more, until the rose finally stopped hissing.

And it wasn’t enough.

Behind him, Murphy began to chuckle. Then he laughed and he laughed even louder. Soon Murphy was gleefully howling to the rafters, rocking back on forth and stomping his feet on the floor.

Sammy emptied his lungs and hung his head. He’d failed. He’d tried to save his friend and had failed. Sammy could feel the tears trickle down his nose. There was nothing he could do except wait for that dreadful, final moment.

But the moment never came. Murphy kept laughing, and soon the laughter died down. Mostly he was giggling now. He said, “Oh, my, I’m afraid I might throw up if this keeps up.”

Sammy held up his head and whispered, “Murphy?”

“That’s my name!” Murphy laughed again. “Don’t wear it out!”

Sammy tried to twist around. “But – but you’re still alive?”

Murphy stopped laughing. “Yes. I am. You didn’t inhale all of the gas, but what got to me wasn’t enough to be lethal. But that raises an interesting question: Why are you still alive?”

Sammy was startled. He’d been so intent on saving his friend that it hadn’t occurred to him. “Um… I don’t know. I don’t feel like laughing. Maybe I’m immune to it or something.”

“Possible. But not our priority now. We’ve gotta get out of this.”

“The ropes feel looser now, I think.”

“They do. Apparently my thrashing around there helped a bit. Let’s see…” Murphy twisted around and moved his arms and legs. He finally managed to wriggle one arm loose.

“Eureka!” Murphy giggled a couple of times as he worked at the knots. Soon they were both free and working out the kinks in their limbs.

Sammy looked at Murphy. “Thank you for coming to rescue me.”

Murphy nodded. “Well… You just now managed to save my life. So, thank you for that.” The two ferrets hugged one another.

Murphy broke the clinch and looked around. “Now then, I say we start hunting. The Joker gassed one of his henchmen here in April, and there may still be some clues.”

“I don’t see much of anything. Maybe there’s something in the trash.”

“Good thinking.” The two ferrets trotted over to the barrel and climbed up the sides.

“Ow.”

“Are you all right, Sammy?”

“Not too bad. My shoulder’s just sore - “Gvalt! What is that?”

“Looks to me like a hypodermic needle.”

“I didn’t mean the hypo! I meant that – that thing under it!”

“Oh. That’s evidently a shriveled-up old submarine sandwich. Pretty well preserved, actually.”

“Yes, but I don’t see very many submarine sandwiches with wings and a cockpit!”

“Okay, that’s a good straight line, but I can’t think of a funny comeback. The airplane parts must have come from that model kit box. C’mon, let’s dig it out.” Murphy and Sammy climbed into the trash can. “Be careful of the hypo.”

Soon the strange sandwich and the kit box were laid out on the concrete floor. Sammy said, “Okay, now what?”

Before Murphy could reply, Andy Williams started warbling. Murphy opened his cellphone. “Hello? Oh, hello. Do I even need to ask how you got this number?”

The Batman replied, “I have my sources, Constable. Did you find your friend?”

“Yes, thank heavens. You were right – it was a trap. The Joker trussed the both of us up and tried to gas us. I didn’t get enough to kill me, although I’ll likely have – HAHAHAHA!!! – flashbacks. Sammy inhaled most of it, but apparently he’s immune to it.”

“Perhaps it’s possible, but it’s unlikely. Joker Venom is very potent. One would have to be immunized ahead of time.”

Murphy thought for a few seconds, then turned to Sammy. “Did you say your arm hurts?”

“Huh? Yeah, it does.” Sammy rubbed his upper arm. “Right here. I thought they’d squeezed too hard while I was out.”

Murphy returned to his cellphone. “That’s it. The Joker inoculated Sammy before I got there. We found a hypo in the trash can.” Sammy’s eyes bugged open.

The Batman said, “That’s the most likely explanation.”

“We found something weirder in the trash. Believe it or not, somebody combined a submarine sandwich with parts from a model airplane.”

“I believe it, Constable. I just talked with the former Gotham student up in Toronto. The Joker kidnapped him back in April and was going to force-feed him that sandwich. For some reason that maniac changed his mind and let the young man go. The Joker must have thrown the sandwich away and it’s been in that trashcan ever since.”

Murphy’s phone made a chirping noise. “d**n! My battery’s about to run dry! Look, we’ve got to get together and compare notes on this.”

“Agreed. I’m flying across the Border now; I ought to reach Gotham in an hour. There’s a small grass airstrip on the North edge of town. I’ll give you directions and we can meet there.”

Murphy’s phone had just enough juice left for him to call Mus Tel Taxicabs; he was exchanging thank-yous when the battery died. He put his phone back and said, “Right, our ride will get here in a few minutes. We’ll take these along. You handle the box and I’ll carry the sandwich; I just hope they can fit in the cab.”

Sammy picked up the box. “Uh, Murph? Do I understand right? Did that loony immunize me before he set all this up? Why would he do that?”

Murphy balanced the sub on his shoulder and walked for the entrance. “Evidently he didn’t really want to kill both of us. Just me.”


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 6

The grass airstrip was long enough to handle a Cessna single-prop job and maybe a twin-prop, but not much longer. The airfield had no control tower nor was it marked by any lights. There were two closed hangars and a small office building to one side, but no other facilities. It was like so many other grass strips scattered across the Midwest.

The sun had just set and the sky was darkening when the small taxicab pulled into the entrance. What with Murphy, Sammy and the kit box, there wasn’t much room in the back seat; the airplane-sandwich had been tied to the roof.

After he’d helped Murphy unlimber the sandwich, Louie looked around the dark airstrip. “Look, are you guys sure you’re supposed to meet somebody here? I don’t mind waiting around if you want.”

Murphy was trying to call someone on his cellphone and having no luck. “Oh, no, I’m sure he’ll be here. Don’t worry about it; we can get a ride back.”

Louie looked at the two other ferrets, looked at the most peculiar sandwich he’d ever seen and shook his head. “Okay, you’re the customers. I’ve seen some weird things working Gotham, but this…” He got back in his cab.

Murphy leaned over and said, “Look, this sandwich is big. Will you please at least take some extra money for hauling that?”

Louie rolled his eyes. “No, no and no! It’s been a pleasure doing business with you two – not to mention an honor. I’ll be dining out on this for weeks!”

After the cab left, Sammy pointed at the office; there was a human moving around inside. “Is that him, Murph?”

Murphy shook his head. “I don’t think so. He’d have come out by now. No, he’s flying in from Toronto, and –” He pointed up at the sky. “I think that’s him now.”

Sammy couldn’t see anything in the sky at first, but then he noticed something dark slicing through the dusk. It lined up beside the airfield and he could vaguely make out the shape. It looked somewhat like a cross between a bat, except that the wings weren’t moving, and the old F-117 stealth fighter.

The black craft turned around and lined up on the grass strip. Now Sammy could see what had to be the landing light. He said, “As stealthy as he made that thing, you’d think he wouldn’t have needed a light to land.”

“I think the landing light is for our benefit, Sammy.”

“Ah.”

Sammy couldn’t be sure if the sound he was hearing was the hum of the aircraft’s engines or the whisper of the wind. One thing for sure, the aircraft was coming in so fast that it would need a lot longer runway than this.

Then, as the plane passed over the airstrip, it seemed to stop in midair, and it settled down gently to the grass.

V/STOL technology. Of course. The Skippys were making great strides along those lines, but they’d still be impressed by this.

The canopy popped open and the Batman jumped out and strode over to them. “What have you got?”

Murphy held up the bizarre sandwich. Batman took it and looked it over closely. “This jibes with what the student in Toronto told me. He said that the Joker told him to wolf this down. But then, apparently the Joker had used the wrong airplane to make it and abandoned the whole thing. And he let the student go.

“May I see the box?” Sammy handed it over. The Batman looked at the box art. “H’m. A Curtiss Helldiver. It would help to know what the Joker thought the right airplane would be.”

Murphy said, “Didn’t he tell the student what it was?”

“He did, but the student didn’t get it clearly. He thought it was something like a Douglas Dentist.”

“That couldn’t be right, though you never know with airplane names. It must have been something similar to ‘Dentist’.”

Batman nodded. “Must be. It shouldn’t be hard to figure it out.”

Sammy piped up. “Hey, I’ve read a little about World War II aviation. Not much but… I seem to remember that there was a plane called the ‘Dauntless’. Could that be it?”

“The Douglas Dauntless. Yes, that has to be it.”

Murphy was muttering. “A hero sandwich… with Dauntless airplane parts…” He had The Look on his face. Sammy had seen The Look many times before. The Look meant that Murphy had made a breakthrough.

Murphy looked at the Batman. “That’s it! The Joker wanted that student to ‘Wolf the Dauntless Hero’! That has to be it!”

A similar Look came into the Batman’s eyes. “Yes… I’m beginning to see…”

Sammy said, “Well, I’m not! Can somebody fill me in?”

Murphy was starting to get excited. “’Wolfe, the dauntless hero came’. It’s the second line of The Maple Leaf Forever – some people consider that song to be the unofficial Canadian national anthem!”

Sammy looked at the other two. “Are you serious? This madman would actually base a crime spree on a song? And then stop the whole thing just because he got a detail wrong?”

The Batman simply said, “Yes.” Sammy felt a chill down his spine.

Murphy was pacing back and forth. He shook his head. “No… no… he hasn’t stopped it. He just started over at a different point.”

The Batman said, “Explain that, Constable.”

Murphy said, “The pattern’s there. I can see it. He’s just using a different verse now! It’s later in the song –”

“Yes. The student mentioned that he said he’d started too early. I thought it meant that the Joker wanted to wait awhile longer.”

“That wasn’t it, though. He meant that he started too early in the song. The important bit is later on. And frankly, I can’t see how some of the verses between could be translated into crimes.

“He began again at last night’s reception. It looked like chaos, pure and simple, and the Canadian musician got killed when that jester’s head came off the wall and fell on him. That was not an accident. The Joker meant for someone to die. And the weapon of choice was shaped like a fleur-de-lis. That’s a stylized design of a lily.”

The Batman said, “The murder of the constable at the Museum. He was killed with a steel ball with spikes…”

“Yes, yes! But the spikes were all bunched on one side of the ball! It was supposed to look like a thistle! It wasn’t a very good likeness, but you do what you can, I suppose.”

“And the steel clover-shaped object that almost killed Inspector Thatcher! It was painted green to make it a shamrock!”

“And he tried to kill me with gas coming from a rose!”

“’The Lily, Thistle, Shamrock, Rose’ – yes, it fits.”

Sammy spoke up. “So why did he immunize me? Why go to that trouble to keep me alive?”

The Batman replied, “It must be because you’re American. The Joker was – is – targeting Canadians.”

Murphy said softly, “Oh, my God. The next verse!”

Batman said, “’And the Maple Leaf Forever’, do you mean?”

“Yes.” Murphy and the Batman looked at each other for a second. Murphy said, “The hockey game.”

Batman began running for one of the hangars. He was punching buttons on his belt as he shouted, “Gotham Square Garden, as fast as we can get there!” Murphy and Sammy ran after him.

The hangar door began to open and from inside came the spooling-up whine of a turbine engine. Two headlights flashed on and Sammy saw the fierce, clean lines of the Batmobile. There was more to this small airfield than met the eye.

Murphy said, “What about the Batwing?”

Batman gestured at the office. “He’ll come out and put it away after we’ve left. Rabbi, I would strongly recommend that you stay here. I can guarantee that this will get violent.”

Sammy replied, “Oh, no, I’ve come this far! I’m not staying behind and you can’t make me!”

Murphy said, “He’s right. I’ve found that out.”

“All right, I guess I can’t stop you any more than I could stop your friend.” The Batmobile’s canopy came open and he jumped in. “I don’t have seats small enough for you, but there’s a mesh pocket on the side that you’ll fit in. Get in.”

Murphy and Sammy settled into the pocket and the Batmobile roared out of the hangar and was soon speeding down the road to the City. Sammy almost felt like he was back on the Orion rocketing into space.

Sammy asked, “I got lost in the logic back there. You two have figured out something that I didn’t. What’s going to happen?”

Batman replied, “’The Lily, Thistle, Shamrock, Rose’ – that’s one of the verses in the song we’re talking about; the Joker was basing this round of murders and attempted murders on that verse. The next verse refers to ‘The Maple Leaf Forever’. That maniac is going to make his move at the hockey game. The Gotham Blades –”

Murphy said, “– versus the Toronto Maple Leafs. Sammy, the Joker is going to try and kill the Canadian hockey team.”

-------------------------------

Inspector Thatcher was dressed in a bright green gown tonight. She sat down in the box seat and looked over the Gotham Square Garden arena. It was several minutes before the hockey game and a couple of Zambonis were smoothing the ice down. Across the way, the Maple leafs were sitting on the Visiting Team’s benches, chatting and examining their sticks.

“This looks to be a fine venue for a game, Commissioner.” About thirty feet above the center of the ice was an electronic scoreboard, with countdown clocks and screens for the teams’ scores on each of the four sides. Suspended from the arena ceiling, at roughly the same level, were a lot of catwalks and large platforms for servicing the overhead lights; a couple of narrow walkways connected to the scoreboard.

Commissioner Gordon sat down in the box beside her. “Oh, it’s fine, but the Garden is old. The city is in the process of renovating it, when funding permits. Up until a few months ago they were using old auto tires as cushions along the arena walls. They’ve replaced them, but that’s all they’ve done for now.”

“I see. Still, it’s not a bad-looking place.”

“Inspector! Commissioner!” A short, roundish man with a beak-like nose entered the next box and sat down. “It’s good to see you at the game this evening! How is the investigation coming, if I may ask?”

Gordon nodded his head in greeting. “Good evening, Mr. Cobblepot. My people are still going over the different crime scenes now, and we’re trying to find what leads we can. It’s far too early for us to have made any progress, so there’s not much we can say.”

Thatcher said, “It’s the same for us in the RCMP. The opening of the Exhibit has been postponed for at least two days. We’ve stepped up security at the Museum, and I’m leaving the investigation to the local police.” She sighed. “Mind you, I have one constable who’s probably doing his own sleuthing. I can’t stop him any more than I could one of my men back in Chicago. I haven’t heard from Constable Murphy since early this morning. I hope he’s just sleeping late.”

Gordon said, “There’s really not much I or Inspector Thatcher can do ourselves right now. So, we decided to attend the game as planned and try to relax.”

Cobblepot nodded. “I see, I see. You’re right; it is too early yet for any leads. And it’s a good idea to relax; that’s why I’m here myself this evening.” He looked serious. “All I ask, as a businessman, is that sooner or later you catch that madman.”

Gordon replied, “I assure that we will do our best.”

Thatcher looked thoughtfully at the little man. She finally said, “I’ve wanted to ask you about some things, Mr. Cobblepot. I’ve hesitated, because it would involve your, um, previous mode of employment. I don’t want to stir up any bad memories.”

Cobblepot smiled. “Oh, don’t worry about offending me, Inspector. I don’t deny my criminal past; what’s done is done. Ask away.”

“Very well. Gotham City has had more than its share of, if you’ll pardon the expression, costumed supervillains. From what I’ve read, there have been attempts by these to band together as a team, by themselves and with other supervillains in this country.”

“Something like a negative version of the Justice League, you mean? Yes, that’s been tried here.”

“That’s what I thought. So I would logically assume that some of this city’s villains know each other and have worked together. And yet you seem quite enthusiastic about the importance of the Joker being captured. You yourself have gone straight, I know, but is there no sympathy for an old colleague? Forgive the clichéd line, but is there no honor among thieves?”

Commissioner Gordon was leaning forward and listening.

Cobblepot looked thoughtful. “An interesting question, Inspector Thatcher. Yes, the costumed baddies here in Gotham have tried working together in a group – more than once, in fact – and I was in a few of those groups.”

He leaned back in his box. “But you must understand something. It takes a special type of person to put on a costume or adopt a gimmick to commit crimes. Among other things, it takes someone with a tremendous ego. It’s almost mandatory.” He smiled. “I won’t deny that I was such a person back in the old days. Still have a big ego, if I do say so myself. And whenever you get a group of big egos together, there’s bound to be friction. Superheroes don’t seem to have egos quite that big, so a group like the Justice League works well together… more or less. But a group of supervillains, with supervillainous egos, has the seeds of destruction built into it. Supervillain groups have appeared since the early 30’s, and they never last long.

“Having said that, there have been some villains that I’ve gotten along with fairly well. I genuinely like Killer Moth – a very genial man once you get to know him. The two of us still enjoy our regular game of checkers. But even the best of friends in the supercriminal fraternity always fall out.” He shrugged.

“But… I’ve been around some supervillains over the years that I have not liked at all. Some are vicious and mean, and some are just plain crazy. I don’t know who’s crazier, the Joker or Two-Face, but they both make me very nervous. The Joker is insane, frighteningly so, and he’s a loner because of it. Nobody wants to work beside him. He’s as likely to turn on you as watch your back, and he’ll do it just because he thinks it’s funny. How can you trust someone like that?”

“I see your point.”

“That’s probably part of the reason that I went straight; I was fed up with the company I was keeping. If I had been located in Central City it might have been different; I would likely have been part of the Flash’s Rogues Gallery. Now there’s a group that knows how to throw a party, if nothing else!”

Inspector Thatcher was finding the conversation fascinating; all Chicago had was small-time mob bosses. “You said it was part of the reason you gave up crime. Was there something else?”

“Yes, there was, Madam. Commissioner, I would prefer if part of this discussion could be thought of as… theoretical.”

Gordon was interested, too, so he readily nodded. “Theoretical it is.”

“Thank you, sir. Now then… For awhile I enjoyed the notoriety of being a costumed criminal – the ego thing, you see. But eventually I just became tired of it. I’ve already mentioned the less-than-stellar company I kept. Besides that, no matter what I did or how well I planned, I always seemed to lose. And, to be honest, I was fed up to here with those damned trick umbrellas!

“I’d had enough. So I decided to quit, and I established the most popular nightclub in Gotham, open and aboveboard; I didn’t bribe even one building inspector. And – theoretically – I figured I could make some money on the side as a fence.”

Gordon raised his eyebrows slightly, but said nothing.

“And – theoretically – I fenced only high-quality items, and – theoretically – I gained a reputation in the Gotham underworld as being scrupulously fair and able to get top dollar for the merchandise. In a way it was more difficult and more challenging than the old supervillain thing. Theoretically.

“But there came the time – tell me, Commissioner, do you remember when the Goose Egg Nugget was stolen three years ago in Gotham?”

Gordon replied, “The gold nugget that belongs to that multibillionaire in Calisota? Yes! It was on loan to the Natural History Museum and a thief stole it. It was ‘Fingers’ Finnegan, if I recall.”

“Well, he’s known better as ‘Butterfingers’ Finnegan these days. I know for a fact that he hates that nickname, but it’s no one’s fault but his own.”

“I remember that we tracked him down in less than twenty-four hours after the robbery.”

“That’s true, and I’ve always felt that the police would have caught him a lot sooner than that if most of the Force weren’t attending a function the night of the crime. Remember the Policemen’s Ball that year?”

“Why, that’s right! The robbery occurred the same night as the Ball!” Gordon snapped his fingers and pointed at Cobblepot. “And the Ball was held at the Iceberg Lounge!”

Cobblepot nodded. “Indeed. And a very successful affair it was for everyone involved.” He waved his hand. “Oh, let’s drop the theoretically pretense. That night, right in the middle of the Ball, guess who showed up at my back door to transact a little clandestine business with a very large chunk of gold?”

Gordon and Thatcher stared at him. The Commissioner finally said, “Are you telling me that Finnegan wanted to unload the largest gold nugget in the world, in a nightclub that was full of policemen?”

“Believe me, whether he likes it or not, ‘Butterfingers’ Finnegan has worked hard to earn his moniker.”

Thatcher said, “But it would have been impossible to fence as valuable an object as that! You must have refused!”

“Oh, I won’t say it would be impossible, just very, very difficult. Even if I didn’t have hundreds of policemen in the next room. So, yes, I smiled, patted him on the back and sent the poor sap packing. It wasn’t hard for Gotham’s Finest to track him down the next day.”

Gordon said, “We found him in a cheap hotel room. The arresting officers said he had the Nugget sitting on the dresser and he was miserable. And that incident was what convinced you to go straight?”

“Actually, it was a few days later, when I was figuring out the returns my nightclub made on the Policemen’s Ball. Quite a healthy profit, Commissioner; I’d appreciate it if you folks came back sometime. And, at the same time, I sat down and figured what I could have gotten if I had fenced the Goose Egg Nugget. As I say, it would have been difficult, but not impossible. I took into account getting the best possible price from a prospective collector I know in Scotland and gouging ‘Butterfingers’ for every penny I could get.

“Folks, I made more money hosting the Policemen’s Ball than I would ever have made fencing that chunk of gold.”

Inspector Thatcher couldn’t help but chuckle. “You mean you came out ahead with an honest task over a dishonest one.”

Cobblepot scratched his head. “Yeah, damnedest thing! I thought about that some. I figured that I’d passed some sort of turning point. Since then – no fencing, no shady deals. Even with complying with the latest safety and antipollution standards, the Iceberg is still making a tidy sum. So, here I am, an honest businessman.”

Thatcher smiled. “Quite a story. So, have you found out how the Joker managed to get into your nightclub?”

The little man sighed. “Not the details, but I have my suspicions. We do have top-grade security, but I figure it was an inside job. We recently hired some new employees, and I find today that some of them haven’t shown up for work and hadn’t given valid home addresses. I swear, you just can’t get good help these days – excuse me, Commissioner, but is something wrong?”

Gordon quit coughing and replied, “Oh, no, no, just something caught in my throat.”


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 7

Ziggy Zig (or, as his dumb mother insisted on calling him, Jerome) was sitting down and leaning against the back wall of the Gotham Square Garden, a few yards from the service entrance; the door was partway open for some reason, but he paid no attention to that. Zig didn’t care about hockey; in his wildly uninformed opinion, any sport involving men wearing ice skates had to be too wimpy to take seriously.

Zig’s attention was focused on the cars in the rear parking lot. He was checking out those that he could see from where he was sitting and trying to figure out which ones were worthwhile for jacking. There was a closed-circuit camera on the back wall, but he wasn’t worried about that; the little red light had been off and the camera hadn’t moved for weeks. He didn’t worry about the car alarms, either; nobody paid attention to those in this town.

The big problem was deciding which cars were worth the trouble. Lots of people had removable stereos nowadays, but not everyone. There was a puke-green truck right nearby marked CARNEY AND BROWN, PLUMBERS in red letters; that might have some stuff worth money. The other puke-green truck marked MITCHELL AND PETRILLO, ELECTRICIANS ought to be a better bet for valuable stuff. Trucks like those don’t have alarms, either.

Wait a few more minutes, a few more cars might come in, then start shopping. He heard one pulling into the lot right now. Funny-sounding engine…

It was pure black and looked like it was going 100 miles an hour when it was standing still. And it pulled into an empty space right in front of Zig. When the top opened and he got out, Zig’s brain slipped its clutch and began grinding its mental gears.

Batman came over to the young man and bent down. He said, “Watch the car.”

Zig tried to reply, “Yessir!” but it came out “Gibber, gibber.”

“See that nobody touches it!” The Bat strode toward the door. He was followed by two little furry creatures. The white one smiled at Zig and said, “Good evening.”

“Gibber, gibber.”

Murphy pointed at the two green panel trucks. “Those have to be what the Joker and his men used to get here.”

Sammy said, “How can you tell, Murph?”

“Something about the names.”

A shoe was wedging the rear entrance open; rather, the ankle of the foot wearing the shoe was doing the wedging. The Batman said, “This must be how the Joker and his men got in.” He opened the door further, and he and the two ferrets went through.

Zig took his guard duty seriously. Whenever anyone suspicious came close to the Batmobile, or any other car in the lot, for that matter, he would jump up, wave his arms and scream incoherently until they left. Unfortunately, he was still doing that when the real car owners showed up, and later with Building Security and eventually with the paramedics.

--------------------------------

Sammy knelt over the janitor’s body. He looked up and said, “He’s fine, just knocked out.”

“Good.” The Batman looked around the area near the rear entrance. This was a storage area; crates and old bleacher seats were stacked nearby.

Murphy said, “I don’t hear much of anything around here.”

“I don’t believe that the Joker would be on ground level. He’d want to get a clear shot at the hockey team. I’m thinking of the walkways on the upper level.”

“Hey! Over there!” Sammy pointed at a nearby stairway. It was surrounded at the ground level with a chain-link fence. The gate marked TO UPPER LEVELS AND OVERHEAD LIGHTS had been pried open.

Murphy said, “Good call, Sammy! We’ll go that way, too. Sir, after you – What is that?!”

Batman had unclipped an odd-looking gun from his belt and was aiming it directly over his head. He pulled the trigger, and a grappling hook shot upward, trailing a cable behind. Somewhere above, the grappler closed on something with a clunk. Batman pressed a second trigger, and the cable swiftly pulled him up.

Sammy and Murphy stared after him. Sammy finally said, “We have got to talk to the Skippys about this guy’s toys!”

“We’re gonna have to follow him the hard way. C’mon!” The two ferrets began climbing the stairs.

--------------------

Sammy definitely did not like running around that maze of platforms and catwalks. There were plenty of fluorescent lights around, but they had shields above them to direct the light downward; this level was dark and gloomy. The flooring was steel cut in a non-skid diamond mesh pattern, which was hard on little ferret feet. There were handrails around the walkways and platforms, but these looked almost worthless. He had no idea where he was going, nor what he would do when he got there. Almost immediately he’d lost contact with Murphy.

Where was Murphy?

Nearby a human started howling in pain and shouting. “My thumbs! You broke my thumbs, you little rat!”

Ah, that must be Murphy now.

---------------------------------

Mort couldn’t believe his luck. A few weeks ago he was just another petty crook robbing convenience stores, pointing his .357 Magnum at the clerks and getting a kick out of them wetting their pants. Then he’d hooked up with the Joker’s gang, and now here he was with his piece out and pointing straight at the Bat-freak! He was gonna be famous in Gotham from now on. He was gonna be known as the criminal that had offed the Batman!

The Bat wasn’t moving; he just stared at Mort. Paralyzed with fear, yeah. Right between the eyes, Mort was gonna put one right between those eyes. Blow the back of that mask right off. But not yet. First he wanted to see the Bat whimper and beg for mercy. Mort took a couple of steps forward and brought his gun closer.

Mort got closer with his gun than he’d anticipated. The store clerks always pulled back; but the Bat didn’t move a muscle. If Mort hadn’t stopped, the barrel of the Magnum would have bumped the freak’s nose.

Then the Bat spoke.

“Go ahead… make my day.”

Try as he might, Mort couldn’t parse this as begging for mercy.

--------------------------

“Oh, quit crying, you big baby! I didn’t break them; they’re just dislocated!”

Murphy ran off. Judging from the sizes of the two panel trucks, the Joker probably only brought along a dozen thugs, maybe less. He’d just made sure there was one less. He wondered how Sammy and the Batman were doing.

Directly ahead, a human went “Oof!, and something came flying through the air. Murphy looked up to see a .357 Magnum sail directly over his head. He turned around and watched as it went over the railing and landed on the shield above a bank of lights. The gun skidded along the flat surface and came to a stop right at the edge, where it stayed, delicately balanced.

Two down now. Murphy ran on.

---------------------------------

Sammy turned a corner and found himself facing a human. He was a tough-looking specimen, with a shaved head and tattoos up and down arms that bulged with ropy muscles. The thug looked down at him and scowled. He snarled, “Where do you think you’re going, rat?”

Sammy was normally quite understanding about this sort of misrepresentation; it happened all the time. But this time he shot back, “I’m not a rat!” and made his paws into two little fists.

The thug threw his head back and laughed. Then he said, “Ooh, aren’t you the scary one? Wanna poke me one, huh?” He leaned forward and stuck his chin out. “C’mon, I’ll give you a shot.” He pointed. “Right here.”

Sammy crouched down, then leaped up and swung a fist. It connected with the human’s chin with a thwack!

The human chuckled. “Do it again.”

Sammy leaped again, and there was another thwack!

“Again.” Thwack!

“Again!” Thwack!

“Again!” Thwack!

The human stood up, his arms akimbo, and grinned from ear to ear. “Now let that be a lesson to you, rat!” He was still grinning as he went down to his knees.

Sammy had to backpedal to get out of the way as the human fell forward on his face. He lay there, his fists still on his hips.

Sammy said, “Thank you for the lesson, sir.” He jumped on the human’s head, ran down his back, jumped off the tokhes and ran on.

---------------------------------------------

Sammy was soon running by a storage area with piles of – of all things – old car tires. What were tires doing in this place?

He turned a corner and there ahead of him was Murphy. The other ferret waved at him and held a finger to his lips. Sammy came up to him and Murphy pointed down.

On a large platform about six feet below was the Batman, and he was completely surrounded by eight rough-looking men – the Joker’s goons. Directly below the ferrets was Jimmy, who’d been with the Joker at the warehouse. The Batman crouched down and was constantly turning around to keep an eye on everyone.

Sammy knew that the Batman was good against narrow odds, but was he this good? Sammy looked at Murphy and whispered, “We gotta help him! What can we do?”

Murphy looked at the pile of tires behind them and softly replied, “I’ve got an idea.”

Jimmy Ritz and his guys had the Bat-freak trapped and he knew it. All Jimmy had to do was give the word –

But Jimmy was quickly distracted. A tire dropping down over your head and pinning your arms to your sides tends to break your train of thought. It also makes it hard to balance. Jimmy fell down, hard, and the platform shook with his kicking and flopping around. The other humans looked at him and then looked up at the walkway above. Murphy and Sammy smiled and waved.

Batman shouted to them, “Find the Joker!” and returned to watching the thugs. The two ferrets ran off.

---------------------------

The vibrations from Jimmy Ritz’s fall and subsequent kicks may have been transmitted to the nearby structure, or it may have been a stray breeze from the air conditioning; one could never be sure. Whatever, the delicate balance of the .357 Magnum at the edge of the light shield was disturbed just enough that it fell off and dropped to the ice thirty feet below.

---------------------------------

With his brother down, Harry Ritz figured that he must be in charge. Okay. There were still seven of them against the freak in the black suit. They could end this fast.

“Get this thing offa me!”

Harry looked at his brother, who was trying to sit up now. Jimmy Ritz had not just been bragging when he’d told the Joker that Harry would do anything he was told. Harry knew that taking the Bat out was important, but his big brother had just given him an order. This confused him, and he hesitated.

That proved to be a major mistake.

-------------------------------------------

Murphy looked over his shoulder and said to Sammy, “We’ll split up here! I’ll go this way!” Sammy watched him run down a walkway.

Sammy stood where he was; he felt way out of his depth. He wanted to be wearing his Grandpapa’s yarmulke again and sitting in his nice cozy office back at the temple. What was he doing here? Costumed superheroes – criminals – murders. And now he was supposed to hunt for one of the most dangerous, most evil humans he’d ever come across. Only a few hours ago, the Joker had tried to kill Murphy!

Sammy’s eyes narrowed to slits and his ears lay flat against his head. He watched as Murphy turned a corner and disappeared.

He had tried to kill my best friend.

There is a common emotional reaction among ferrets, sentient or otherwise. But Sammy, gentle soul that he was, would show this particular reaction only five times in his entire life. This was one of those times.

He curled his lips back from his teeth, and he hissed.

Sammy turned and ran off down another walkway.

------------------------------

It was just five minutes before the game that something fell from the overhead lights and landed on the arena floor.

Gordon groaned. “Terrific. Now they’ll have to use the Zambonis again. This place needs some serious refurbishing!”

One of the assistant referees was obviously angry as he walked over to whatever-it-was. When he got there, however, he just stood and stared down at it.

Inspector Thatcher said, “What is that thing?”

Cobblepot leaned forward and squinted. “This old bird’s still got pretty good eyes, so let me see –” He leaned back. “Uh-oh.”

The assistant ref picked up the object with his thumb and forefinger and began walking with it – at arm’s length like he was afraid it would explode – to where they were sitting.

Thatcher gasped, “That’s a – gun?!”

Cobblepot looked up to the lights. “It’s him. It has to be. He’s up there!”

Commissioner Gordon was already up and heading for the aisle. He was barking into his cellphone. “Montoya! Bullock! Get a SWAT team to Gotham Square Garden! The Joker’s here!”

Inspector Thatcher jumped up and followed him. Behind her, Cobblepot said, “The Bat’s probably up there, too. Good thing.”

Thatcher could not have said why, but she silently agreed.


To be concluded...

[pauljmsn]

Part 8

There seemed to be a commotion below. Sammy leaned over the railing and looked down. The arena floor was starting to fill with people, and the two teams were milling around their benches; everyone seemed upset about something. Then Sammy noticed the arrhythmic tapping from somewhere ahead of him.

He couldn’t figure what it was at first, but then he had an idea and ran forward.

He came upon a platform, and saw someone in a purple suit walking across to a narrow walkway leading out to a big boxy thing; that had to be the electronic scoreboard. The tips of the human’s red shoelaces were tapping at the diamond-mesh flooring.

There were some smaller boxes attached to the top of the scoreboard that didn’t look like they belonged there. Sammy looked down again and realized that the Canadian team was almost directly below the scoreboard. That was it. That was what the human was planning.

Sammy stepped out on the platform and shouted something very un-Rabbi-like. “Hey, Emmett Kelly!”

The Joker stopped and looked over his shoulder. He said thoughtfully, “You wouldn’t believe the number of times that I’ve been called Ronald McDonald or Bozo the Clown. Frankly I’m so thoroughly sick of it that I will not touch a Big Mac. And the only reason WGN in Chicago hasn’t been firebombed by now is that they quit broadcasting that… clown’s TV show years ago.”

The Joker smiled. It may even have been a sincere smile; it was so hard to tell. “But you… You actually called me something original! I’m very flattered. Granted, Emmett Kelly didn’t smile, but the effort is appreciated. Thank you so much.”

Sammy pointed a finger at him and said, “That’s a bomb on the scoreboard, isn’t it? Some kind of shaped charge? You set it off and the force of the explosion and any shrapnel will travel in only one direction. That’s how you plan to kill the Maple Leafs!”

“Why, that’s right! Takes a clever ferret to be a Rabbi, evidently. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some murders to commit.” He turned back and continued on to the walkway.

Sammy followed him. “Uh-uh! No way, two-legs! This stops right here!”

The Joker sighed and turned around. “Listen, weasel –” A small furry fist slammed into his chin.

The human immediately went cross-eyed and staggered backwards onto the catwalk. He came up against the railing, and Sammy was horrified to see it give way.

The Joker managed to grab the walkway as he fell and dangled there, far above the arena floor.

He looked down below him and then looked up at the ferret. “Uh… help?”

Sammy knew that this human couldn’t be trusted. But the Rabbi was not a murderer. He walked forward and grasped the Joker’s sleeves and pulled; the human climbed back on the walkway.

Sammy wasn’t naïve. So he wasn’t the least bit surprised when one of the sneakers came flying up, aimed directly at his head. Sammy managed to avoid the shoe, but he hadn’t allowed for the shoelaces. One tip caught him on the side of the head. The ferret tumbled across the walkway and over the opposite edge.

Sammy had neglected to trim his nails, especially the ones on his front paws, and he silently said a prayer of thanks as they caught in the mesh of the flooring. He hung there, so far above the cold, hard ice, and he didn’t dare look down. So he looked up and saw the human looking back at him.

The Joker said, “You know, you really did save my life just now, and I do thank you for it. Now it would be the coldest sort of ingrate who’d take advantage of you now and kick you off.”

Then he smiled that horrible smile. “And guess what kind of person I am?” He drew one foot back.

“Joker!”

The human and the dangling ferret looked along the walkway.

Sammy had heard all sorts of wild rumors about the man – he was some sort of flying creature unknown to science; he was an angel; he was a demon; he was from another planet. Most people said that he was certainly a superhuman. Sammy figured he was just a human that was a bit more intense than most. Now, he saw the Batman standing on the platform in the gloomy light, black as the night. Sammy could understand where all the rumors came from. In a way, there was some truth to all of them.

The Joker smiled. “Well, hello, Batsy. I figured you’d show up sooner or later. So, how’s it been with you?” Sammy began scrambling back up on the walkway.

Batman strode forward. “Give it up, Joker, you’ve lost. This latest bit of madness is over.”

The Joker drawled, “Oh, now, I wouldn’t say that. The way I sees it, Bats, is if’n I give this here fuzzbutt a kick, you’ll have two choices. You either save his furry little hide before he hits the ice and becomes frozen ferret pizza, or you stop me from reaching the bomb and making things go boom-boom.”

A high-pitched voice said, “Actually, I don’t think you have that option any more.”

The Joker looked around and saw a ferret dressed in a by-now dirty red jacket sitting on top of the scoreboard. Murphy held up a pawful of wires. “These are important for running this infernal engine, aren’t they?”

The Joker turned back to scowl at the Batman. “Have I ever told you that I hate it when you do team-ups like this?”

He shrugged, “Oh, well, I guess the only reason I have to kick the kosher weasel off now is just pure spite.” He smiled. “I can live with that. You’ll probably save him in the nick of time, but still…” He began to pull his foot back.

The foot jerked to a stop.

“Whoa-whoa-WHOA!!!” Sammy ran along the walkway as the Joker waved his arms around, trying to keep his balance on the other foot. He lost the battle and came crashing down on his stomach.

The Joker looked around and tried to lift his feet. The shoelaces had been tied to the diamond mesh.

He looked at Sammy – just out of reach – and grumbled. “That one’s so old that I don’t even use it anymore.”

Batman walked over to him and said, “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Can’t argue with that, drat it.”

Murphy jumped off of the scoreboard and walked over to Sammy. He put his arm on his friend’s shoulder and said, “Good knotwork. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You know, you don’t look the same without your campaign hat.”

“You’re lucky! At least Chuckles the Clown here left your yarmulke back at the hotel room! My headgear he steps on at the warehouse! It’s a good thing I brought a spare along.”

The Joker looked thoughtful. “H’mm. Chuckles the Clown. That’s not bad, either.”

“Okay, freeze! – oh.”

The platform at the end of the walkway was swarming with humans carrying heavy weaponry and wearing helmets and Kevlar vests. The one in charge looked over the tableau on the walkway and lowered his rifle. He said, “Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised. Stand down, people, our job’s been done for us!”

The Batman raised his grapple gun over his head and pulled the trigger. The grappler connected with the ceiling and he was pulled upward toward the skylight.

Sammy watched him soar away, the scalloped black cape billowing behind him like a set of wings.

---------------------

Twenty minutes later, Commissioner James Gordon and Inspector Margaret Thatcher were standing in the parking lot behind the arena. The paramedics had already led a strange young man away and they were waiting now for people to come out the back entrance.

First out came Murphy and Sammy. The two ferrets walked over to Gordon and Thatcher, and Murphy immediately came to attention and saluted the Inspector; if he’d been wearing shoes, the heels would have clicked together.

“Sir! A bomb threat against the Canadian hockey team was discovered and has been neutralized! The perpetrators have been arrested and are being taken away now!”

About a dozen not-so-tough-looking-now thugs were being led out in handcuffs to waiting paddy wagons. Some looked like they weren’t quite fully conscious yet. One particular character with a shaved head and arms dark with tattoos looked at Sammy as he walked by and cringed.

Inspector Thatcher looked down at Murphy, who was still saluting. She returned the salute and said, “At ease, Constable.”

Murphy lowered his arm and looked down at his red tunic. “Sir, I apologize for the state of my uniform. It was unavoidable.”

“I can imagine.” She nodded. “Good work, Constable.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Thatcher looked up. There was one more person being led out the door. He was trussed up in a strait jacket and was being led to a special wagon all of his own.

She whispered, “You…”

Commissioner Gordon put his hand on her shoulder, “Margaret, don’t.” She shook his hand off and walked over to stand in front of the Joker.

She stared at him for a few seconds. She finally said, “Why? Why did you do all of this? People were killed or almost killed. You were going to set off an explosion. I want to know – I want to understand. Why?”

The Joker stared back at her. His expression was unreadable. He finally said, “I had money riding on the game.”

“WHAT?!”

“I wanted to make sure that the home team won.”

Thatcher shook her head. “You’re telling me that you were going to kill the Canadian Maple Leafs because you had a bet on the opposing team?”

He shrugged. “Sure. I figured the Blades could use the help.”

“But –” Alice must have felt like this in Wonderland. “But – didn’t it occur to you that the game would be canceled if one team was incapacitated?”

The Joker blinked and said, “Oh. Oopsie.” He smiled that chilling smile. “Well, that’s one on me.”

The madman was led away. Gordon came up to Thatcher and said, “I could have told you not to go there.”

-------------------------

Two days later, in the early afternoon, the activity in the Gotham City Natural History Museum was comparable to a group of chickens running around after a mass beheading. People were checking and rechecking display cases and explanatory signs. Security was being reviewed and re-reviewed, after which it was reviewed just once more and once more after that. Inspector Thatcher was the head headless chicken, fielding questions and contingency plans.

“Inspector!”

Thatcher turned around and tried not to roll her eyes as she saw the handsome, smartly dressed millionaire stroll up to her. She managed to smile instead.

“Mister Wayne. What a pleasure to see you again. I have to remind you that this exhibit won’t be open to the public until tomorrow.”

“I realize that. However, an exception was made in my case.” He smiled. “One of the perks for being an underwriter.”

“Yes. Well. As long as you don’t get in our way. If you do, I will be forced to show you the door.”

“Oh, I promise not to cause any trouble. I hope recent events won’t impact attendance adversely.”

“Well… It depends on how you define ‘adversely’.”

He frowned. “Surely they’re not planning on cutting the exhibit short.”

“Oh, far from it, Mr. Wayne. Our stay in Gotham has been extended!” She threw up her hands. “There have been so many calls to the Museum from the public that they asked us to hold it over an extra week!”

“Ah. After all that’s happened, people’s curiosity has been aroused. Well, it means more revenue to the Museum, of course, so that’s to the good.” He looked at her. “Isn’t it?”

This time she did roll her eyes. “It means that the traveling schedule for the exhibit has to be drastically reworked. We’ll be late getting to the next city. After that – this might mean extended stays in other cities when we get national coverage over the events here!”

She shook her head. “And it’s meant more work for us. We’re getting more attention here, all right – some of it from the other costumed freaks in Gotham. The Joker didn’t care about the scrimshaw carvings, but others want to steal them now. We even got some blasted puzzle sent to us from some character who calls himself the Cluemaster! We’re looking at his clue now, but it’s so simple that a 5th grader can solve it.”

“Sir!”

Murphy, his red uniform and campaign hat gleaming, walked up to the two humans. Thatcher looked down at the ferret. She did not seem pleased.

“And where might you have been, Constable, if I’m not being too nosy?”

“I was at the Gotham City Public Library, sir. I was doing some research.”

“Really. Research, is it? You do know you have duties here, Constable?” Her voice rose as she pointed to her wristwatch. “Do you realize that as of now you’re –” She looked at her watch. “You’re –”

She looked at Murphy. “Actually, you’re half an hour early.”

“Very well, sir. Is there anything I can do around here, sir?”

“Well –”

Bruce Wayne spoke up. “Excuse me, Inspector, but I am interested in learning about these carvings. I’d like to browse around, and it would be nice if someone could accompany me and answer any questions I have. If you could spare the Constable here, I’d appreciate it.”

The look on Thatcher’s face was that of someone thinking killing-two-birds-with-one-stone thoughts, and she quickly said, “Why, that would be just fine! Constable Murphy, please go with Mr. Wayne! And, take your time.”

“Thank you, Inspector! Oh, and I wouldn’t worry very much about this Cluemaster fellow. From what I’ve heard, he’s not one of Gotham’s more formidable criminals. Are you ready, Constable?”

Murphy climbed up to Bruce Wayne’s shoulder and they moved away.

As soon as they were by themselves, Wayne said, “I wasn’t giving the Inspector any idle reassurances just now. The Cluemaster really isn’t someone to take seriously. Jim Gordon once referred to him as a ‘bargain-basement Riddler’, and that’s a fairly accurate assessment. Gordon’s people can handle him just fine.”

Murphy asked, “What about the Riddler himself? He was really angry with the Joker for using a riddle in the nightclub attack. Won’t he come after the Cluemaster someday for leaving clues?”

Wayne chuckled. “Actually, the Riddler doesn’t take him seriously, either. I brought the Cluemaster up after I’d apprehended Mr. Nigma once, and we both had a good laugh about it.”

“I see. One of those, then. Still, there will be others interested in the ivory carvings.”

“True. But I’ll keep an eye out as long as you’re here in Gotham.”

“I don’t doubt that you will.”

Wayne looked at the ferret on his shoulder. “Constable, you have to understand that I’m fighting a war.”

“I know, Mr. Wayne, and I believe that I understand why. I went to the public library today and read your entry in the Gotham City Who’s Who. It said that your parents died when you were eight, but didn’t give any details; it was enough, however, to give me dates so that I could search through the contemporary newspapers on microfiche.” He looked at the man. “You were there in Crime Alley when your parents were murdered.” It was not a question.

Bruce Wayne only nodded.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m a law enforcement officer. I don’t approve of vigilantes. But sometimes you have to do what you feel is right. My father was a Mountie, too, and he was killed in the line of duty. You and I have much in common, sir. In a way, we’re both fighting in the same war. Maybe someday, with our efforts, the war will come to an end.”

“I dearly hope so. Constable Murphy, I am deeply honored to have met you.”

“And I am deeply honored to have met you, Bruce Wayne.”

The human and ferret looked at each other and nodded.

They were quiet for a few minutes while Wayne strolled around the display cases. He finally asked, “So, Constable, what’s the next city on the exhibit itinerary?”

“Metropolis. I’m looking forward to that.”

Wayne smiled. “I believe we have a mutual friend who lives there. If you have any trouble, I’m sure he’ll be glad to help.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve called him already, and he said he would. But if we run into a situation where we’ll need his help, it’ll probably be a lulu!”

“Hey, guys!”

Wayne and Murphy looked around and saw Sammy running up to them. He was wearing his black yarmulke with the red trim and his prayer shawl.

“Hello, Rabbi! It’s nice to see you again!”

“Thank you, sir! Do you mind if I join you?”

“Certainly! There’s room up here for one more!” Sammy climbed up Bruce Wayne and settled on his other shoulder.

Murphy looked over at his friend. “Whoo, Rabs, aren’t you all gussied up! What’s the special occasion that calls for unpacking the shawl?”

Sammy shook his head and muttered, “’Rabs’…” He spoke up. “I attended a special gathering at Joachim’s synagogue this morning and met his congregation. I was especially interested in meeting a young ferret couple and their family. They had a special story to tell me.”

Sammy’s voice turned soft. “It turns out that at the time of the arson, the mother and two of her children were actually in the temple when it was torched. The fire spread so quickly that by the time that they realized what was happening, she and her little ones were trapped. And then a hero came – a human in a black costume – and rescued all of them from the burning building.

“When the police arrived, they found the arsonists nearby and were able to arrest them. The only trouble the police had was waking them up to take them away.

“The two kits told the police that an angel flew in on black wings to save their lives, and then stopped the bad humans. Those little ones will never forget about their black angel.

“It’s one thing to contribute to the rebuilding of a synagogue that was destroyed by evil. To risk the flames to save trapped innocents – well, that’s really special.”

Sammy paused and looked at Bruce Wayne. “Sir, I can never thank you enough for your actions that night.”

Murphy and Wayne looked at him.

Sammy tapped the side of his snout. “Hey, Murph, you’re not the only one with a good sniffer!”

THE END

All characters are fictional; any resemblance between these characters and real people, living or dead, is unintentional.

The characters Murphy, Sammy, Max, Skippy, Skippy, Skippy, Skippy, etc., are copyright 2008 by Paul E. Jamison.

Batman, Bruce Wayne, Gotham City, The Joker, The Penguin, The Riddler, Commissioner James Gordon, etc., etc., etc., are copyright DC Comics. I still figure that I’ll get in trouble if they find out about this.

Inspector Margaret Thatcher and Benton Fraser are copyright Alliance Atlantis Communications Corp.

Calisota and the Goose Egg Nugget are most likely copyright the Walt Disney Company.

Tokhes (Yiddish) – Bottom, to put it politely


In memory of Heath Ledger. You look like a great Joker.

For Bill Finger. You never got half the credit you deserved.