Batman no mans land, p.38
Batman: No Man's Land, page 38
“Bruce, fine, thanks. We’re all fine. They’re staying in New York for the season. Didn’t want them moving back to Gotham until everything was official.”
“Of course, of course. Got to take care of your family. So, what’s this about?” He gestured at the couch, then half fell, half flopped into the empty armchair opposite it.
Lucius sat, opening the case and removing a sheaf of papers. “You remember when you called me from Nice?”
“Nice?”
“In France, Bruce.”
“Right, yeah! That was Cissy, I think. Alfred?”
“Master Bruce?”
“Nice. Was I with Cissy or Missy or… who was that?”
Alfred curled his lip slightly. “Who can remember?” he said. “Mr. Fox, would you like a cup of tea?”
“Thank you, Alfred.”
“And I’d like some hot chocolate,” Bruce said. “With sprinkles. And the little marshmallows, this time.”
“Very good, sir,” Alfred said, tightly, and moved into the kitchen.
Lucius pushed the papers at Bruce, who took them with some hesitation, as if they might require his thought. “You told me someone was buying Gotham real estate, remember?”
“Did I?” Bruce said, looking attentively at Lucius and not the papers in his hand.
“Bruce,” Lucius said patiently. “Take a look at what I just handed you, would you please?”
Bruce shrugged and began flipping through the papers. What he saw gave him great satisfaction, and he took pains to keep that from showing on his face, instead showing Lucius only idle interest, then confusion, then boredom. After all, he was looking at nothing but legal documents, what looked to be deeds and titles. And after all, Bruce Wayne could hardly be counted on to notice that there were two copies of each document, one from the Library of Congress—courtesy of Oracle, of course—and the other a forgery of the same, saying that Lex Luthor, or LexCorp, or one of LexCorp’s subsidiaries, was, in fact, the owner of the same land.
“Well?” Lucius asked.
Bruce furrowed his brow, then looked toward the kitchen. “What’s taking Alfred so long? Alfred?”
“Yes, Master Bruce?”
“What’s taking so long.”
“I’m melting the chocolate as we speak, sir.”
“Good.”
“Bruce,” Lucius said again, harder. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s a lot of paper, Lucius. I don’t know what you’re trying to show me, I’m sorry, I’m… I’m missing it, I guess.”
“What you’re holding are copies of the official deeds to various properties in Gotham.”
Bruce’s eyes lit up. “Oh! So…”
The light faded.
“You’re also holding duplicates, claiming that those same properties are now owned by LexCorp in one fashion or another.”
Bruce looked at him blankly.
Lucius sighed. “What that means, Bruce, is that Luthor has been buying up Gotham real estate. Except I did some checking, and it turns out that he never paid anyone any money for the land. Yet he has all of these deeds that say he’s the sole owner.”
“Well, where did the other ones come from? The real ones?” Bruce looked alarmed. “I heard that all the records were destroyed sometime during the year, that someone burnt them all up!”
“That’s right. But I found copies that had been filed with the federal government before No Man’s Land began. Somehow Luthor neglected to look for those; either he didn’t think about it or he didn’t find them. Because with what I’ve got, we can prove he’s committing fraud.”
Alfred returned from the kitchen with a tray, offering Lucius a cup of tea. He gave Bruce his hot chocolate in a mug that said, I ATE THE WORM IN TIJUANA. Bruce took the mug in both hands and sipped, and then had to hide his surprise; Alfred had honestly melted chocolate to prepare the drink
“So, what do we do now, Lucius?” Bruce asked, wiping the hot cocoa mustache with the back of his hand.
“We confront Luthor.”
“We?” Bruce looked alarmed.
“Don’t worry, Bruce,” Lucius said with a sigh. “I’ll do all the talking.”
* * * * *
Luthor received Bruce and Lucius in his luxury hut, offering them seats. His bodyguard, Mercy, stayed in the room by the door. She was watching them carefully and Bruce could tell she knew what she was looking for, and so he leered at her legs for a couple of minutes while the three men exchanged pleasantries. The woman ignored him, which was the result Bruce wanted.
“Now, then, gentlemen,” Luthor said. “What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until morning?”
“If I may, Bruce?” Lucius asked.
“By all means,” Bruce said, sneaking another gaze at Mercy’s legs.
“We were updating our records this past week in preparation for Wayne Enterprise’s return to Gotham,” Lucius said. “And we came across some incongruities.”
“Incongruities?” Luthor’s brow creased slightly. “Of what sort, Lucius?”
“I was hoping you could answer that, actually.”
Lucius removed the papers once more from his bag, sliding them across the table to Luthor. Luthor went through the pile quickly at first, flipping the sheets, one after another, and then he slowed abruptly and went back, and Bruce saw the man’s brow crease again, this time more profoundly.
Bruce cracked his knuckles noisily, and Lucius shot him a dirty look. He stopped.
Luthor took almost twenty minutes, going through the whole stack in silence. From outside, Bruce could hear the sounds of people working, the odd break of an engine starting or stopping nearby.
Finally, Luthor said, “Indeed.”
“I’m not certain what to make of them,” Lucius said. “If they’re accurate, it implies that your interest in rebuilding Gotham is less than philanthropic, to use the media’s term. I’d hate to think that were the case, Lex.”
Luthor’s face was blank, but Bruce could see the wheels spinning beneath the bald head, the darkness filling the man’s gaze. “These could all be a fraud,” Luthor said. “Someone planted these in an attempt to make me look bad.”
“Most likely. But I did some checking, trying to make sense of the matter, you understand, and best as I can tell, none of those titles has actually traded hands. So the options are that either someone is, indeed, trying to make you look like a villain …”
“Please, go on,” Luthor said, darkly.
Lucius shook his head. “I’d hate to even speak it, Lex. It’s really incomprehensible to me that the other could be true.”
“That I would have forged these titles?”
“You would?” Bruce asked, shocked.
Luthor gave him a look that would have made the Batman proud.
“Of course he wouldn’t,” Lucius said quickly. “Bruce, think, please. Mr. Luthor is the richest man in the world. He doesn’t need to steal land when he can buy it. The only plausible explanation here is that someone is trying to slander him.”
Luthor nodded, then forced a smile into place. “I want to thank you for bringing this to my attention, Lucius. I’ll have my people look into it immediately. I’d hate for the media to hear even the slightest whisper of this.”
“They won’t be hearing anything from us, Lex,” Lucius assured him.
“Do you mind if I keep hold of these?” Luthor indicated the papers with a gesture. “Might give my people a lead.”
“Go ahead.” Lucius got to his feet “I’ve got copies if you need more.”
“Do you?”
“Several,” Lucius said. “Just in case. Bruce?”
Bruce got up, grinning. “Nice place you got here, Lex,” he said.
“Glad you like it,” Luthor said tightly. “Mercy, please show them out.”
Mercy moved to the door, opening it.
“Thanks for seeing us,” Lucius said.
Luthor didn’t respond, but Bruce thought Mercy looked mighty angry as he passed her on the way out. Before she could shut the door, though, he turned and stuck his head back in, looking at her with his most charming grin.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got a date for New Year’s?” he asked her.
“I’d rather dance alone, barefoot, on broken glass, than dance with you, Mr. Wayne,” she answered sweetly.
Then she shut the door in his face.
He almost hurt himself trying to keep from laughing.
* * * * *
When Bruce returned to Luthor’s hut later that night, he returned as the Batman. Once again, he roused Luthor from his sleep.
“I told you this was my city,” Batman whispered, holding his hand over Luthor’s mouth and keeping him pinned to the bed. “You press any claim to any property in Gotham, I’ll make certain the documents Lucius Fox found go straight to the press. I will make certain your reputation is destroyed. Do you understand?”
Luthor nodded, his eyes shouting hatred.
“I want you out of my town by New Year’s Day,” the Batman said.
He checked to see that Mercy was still unconscious in her chair. She was.
Then the Batman left like a bad dream.
FORTY-SEVEN
“GIVE ME THE KNIFE,” DICK SAID.
“Absolutely not. Sit down.”
“How many times do I have to say this. I’ll carve, you sit.”
“Certainly not. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“Give me the knife.”
“I reiterate, absolutely not.”
Dick Grayson reached for the carving knife, and Alfred deftly moved it away. Dick tried to reach around the butler’s body, and Alfred gently elbowed him in the gut.
Leslie Thompkins laughed, looking the length of the table, past where Cassandra was seated, to the head, at Bruce Wayne. Somehow, Alfred had managed to put together a substantial spread, two bottles of wine, a fresh loaf of bread, a fresh salad, mashed potatoes with gravy, even stuffing. The crystal of the glassware shimmered in the apartment light.
“Do they do this every year?” Leslie asked.
“Every year?” Bruce said, and there was a hint of a smile on his face. “They do this every meal.”
“Master Dick,” Alfred said, sternly. “If you do not sit down right this minute there will be no supper for you.”
“If I don’t get to carve I don’t want to eat,” Dick said, again reaching for the knife.
Alfred once more fended him off, attempting to cut the bird.
“Thanks for joining us,” Bruce said to Cassandra. “I’m glad you came.”
She nodded, then said, “Stop.”
Alfred and Dick froze. Leslie covered her mouth in surprise.
Cassandra grinned, reached across the table, and took the carving knife. Then she set about cutting the bird.
* * * * *
Andrew DeFilippis left Central just before dark on Christmas Eve; he was exhausted but the closer he got to his temporary home in TriCorner, the closer he got to his bride-to-be and their little boy, the faster he found himself going. He’d even managed to score some presents for their first Christmas together, and though they weren’t anything fancy, he hoped they’d bring joy. He’d finally found a ring for Chris, and he was already imagining the look on her face when he gave it to her, the way her eyes smiled suddenly, with lovely crow’s feet, and her cheeks turned pink. Their son had inherited that smile, and it had given him more joy in the last couple months than he’d ever thought he’d feel, especially in the No Man’s Land.
For Justin, he’d found a teddy bear, soft and clean, and as big as the three-month-old himself.
DeFilippis reached the house and stepped inside, calling, “Chris?”
No answer.
He frowned and moved forward down the darkened hall, feeling for the switch. Power had been returned to TriCorner earlier that week, and with it had come electric heat, and the temperature change from the outside had him sweating inside his jacket. His fingers found the switch and the lights came on, and he looked into the living room and didn’t see any signs of Chris or Justin.
Maybe with Montoya, he thought, but he called her name again. “Chris?”
There was a soft sound from the kitchen, like something banging against a cabinet.
Andy felt the fear clambering up his spine suddenly, and he drew his gun and put his back to the wall, making for the corner and the kitchen. The lights were off in the room.
He peeked around the corner.
Chris was on the floor, in a pool of blood, a huge gash opened on her forehead. He said her name once more, this time without realizing he’d done so, and then was on his knees and at her side, putting his arms around her and praying that she was still breathing, that her heart was still beating. He tried to lift her up, and she made a noise of pain, and when he pulled his hands back they were covered with her blood. He could feel the torn fabric of her shirt at her back, the rough edges of her skin where Chris had taken a knife.
He screamed for someone to help him, pushing hair away from her face, saying, “Chris, Chris, oh, God, don’t leave, don’t do this …”
Her eyes opened and her mouth moved and he couldn’t understand what she was saying, had to put his ear by her lips. Then he heard the whisper.
“Justin…”
Then Bullock was there, and Montoya, and then Bullock left, shouting for more help, for someone to find a medic, saying they needed to transport wounded, that there was an officer down. Montoya crouched, began checking Chris’s wounds, using her own shirt as a bandage, trying to stop the bleeding.
Andy just sat there on the floor, watching as the woman who had made No Man’s Land worth surviving seemed to fade away before his eyes.
* * * * *
This has to be the worst Christmas dinner of my life, Huntress thought. And I’ve had some awful ones.
But nothing beats this one, nothing
She looked across the gymnasium, where the tables had been set up in rows, the eighty-plus men, women, and children still in the Strong Men sector all seated opposite one another, eating overcooked turkey in silence. If there was joy to be found, she couldn’t see proof of it on a single face.
At the head table, Pettit ate in silence, flanked by Anderson on one side, Foley on the other. While almost everyone else looked down at their meals, Pettit kept his head up, glaring at the people spread out before him. Of his fourteen Strong Men, eight were present at the meal. The remaining six were on guard duty outside, each wearing a silly Santa’s cap that Pettit had handed them earlier in the evening.
God alone knew where he’d found those.
At least no one had tried to sing any carols.
I can’t do this much longer, she thought. I can’t stand this much longer.
She looked across the head table, saw that Foley had looked up from his plate just enough to meet her gaze. His expression was sympathetic, and she remembered that he had family somewhere outside of Gotham, and that just made her mood worse. Foley should be with his family. He shouldn’t be alone.
Alone. Dammit, but she hated how alone she felt at that moment.
The radio on Anderson’s waist crackled, and though the volume was low, the sound carried through the gym, echoing.
“… four repeat, post four, I’ve got a visual. I’ve got a visual, someone’s out there. . .”
Everyone in the room stopped eating, every family turning their attention to the head table.
“… Joker …”
Huntress felt her insides freeze.
The effect throughout the room was immediate, and universal, the horror covering each face as if the people were caught in a crashing wave.
“… post six Joker attacking post …”
And then the moment passed, and the panic hit, and all of a sudden every family was rising from the tables, parents grabbing for their children, and the noise started, voices beating against one another. Everyone began moving for the exits, and Huntress headed quickly to the closest set of doors, the main doors, her mind racing.
If the Joker was outside, she couldn’t let these people leave. If the Joker was outside, he’d kill every last one of them.
Pettit was shouting orders to the men at the tables. “I didn’t say this meal was finished!” he was screaming. “Nobody leaves until I say they can go! Nobody! Block the doors!”
His men were running to block the exits, their weapons already slung. The crowd was backing away again, massing in the center. One of the babies started wailing, and then another one, and Huntress saw couples clutching one another for comfort and safety.
Pettit’s men began locking the doors, barricading every set but for the main entrance, where Huntress stood.
“Don’t panic!” she shouted. “Everyone! Stay calm!”
They seemed to be listening to her, and then there was a burst of gunfire from outside and people screamed and ducked instinctively. Huntress turned to see Foley had made it to her side, Pettit coming right behind. There was nothing coming over the radios from outside.
There was another brief silence, and Pettit opened his mouth to give an order, and then they all heard Joker shouting from outside the gymnasium.
“ ‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the digs, not a creature was stirring, not even the PIGS!!” Joker cackled madly, then made loud oinking noises. “Hey, Billy! You in there? Pig pig pig pig!!!”
Pettit’s face flushed almost crimson. “Anderson!” he shouted. “Get second squad up here, now!”
“Yes, sir,” Anderson said, then turned to gather the men.
“What the hell are you doing?” Huntress demanded, blocking the door with her body. “If you go out there he’ll kill you.”
“Get out of my way, Huntress,” Pettit growled. “It’s time someone put that lunatic down once and for all.”
“Dammit, Pettit! Can’t you see that’s just what Joker wants you to do? He’s trying to draw you out!”
“He’s challenging my control, making me look like a fool in front of my people. No one does that to me, princess. No one. Got it?” He spun to find Anderson again. “We ready?”
“Yes, sir,” Anderson snapped, adjusting his grip on the M16 in his hands.
