by Greg Cox
Selecting a Batarang from his belt, he flung it at the Talon, who deftly evaded the weapon. It missed him by inches as it spun off into the night. A mocking laugh escaped the assassin’s hood.
“You’re slipping, Dark Knight,” the Talon said. Batman could practically hear the sneer, despite the other man’s hood. His tone and body language conveyed the arrogance of youth. A new Talon, eager to prove himself against the Owls’ greatest foe? The Talon spun around to face his pursuer, shifting Claire in front of him to serve as a human shield. The razor-sharp metal talons on his gauntlet grazed her neck. “Now go back to your cave before I’m forced to cut this young lady’s throat.”
Was he bluffing? Batman wasn’t sure. If the Owls wanted Claire dead, the Talon could have killed her back in the apartment. He wouldn’t have abducted her unless they needed her alive for some reason. Yet did he dare call the bluff?
“What do you want with her anyway?” he challenged, buying time. “And what you done with Joanna Lee?”
“Nothing… yet,” the Talon said. “Rest assured, however, she will not escape the judgment of the Court. She may run, she may hide, but none can escape—”
His words were cut off as the Batarang circled around to strike him in the back, slicing through his body armor to embed itself deeply in his flesh. More than an ordinary throwing weapon, this boomerang also delivered a powerful electric jolt. The startled Talon stiffened in shock, his limbs jerking spasmodically.
“There’s a reason I call it a Batarang,” Batman taunted. “Should have watched your back.”
The jolt was strong enough to bring down Killer Croc, but it only staggered the Talon. Batman had been afraid of that, having dealt with his ilk before. Talons used a serum that relied heavily on the unique properties of electrum. It heightened natural healing abilities to a preternatural degree. The electrum suffused every cell of his body, meaning a Talon could be hurt, even killed, but seldom stayed that way for long. Despite the high-voltage shock to his system, this Talon was healing almost as fast as the built-in taser was frying his nerve endings.
Convulsing but still not falling, the Talon nevertheless lost his grip on Claire, throwing her forcefully to one side. She hit the roof hard, grunted, and began rolling down the slope toward the edge—and the forty-foot drop beyond. Panic showed in her eyes as her bound hands and feet kicked and scratched at the old-fashioned slate shingles in a frantic attempt to slow her descent. A muffled scream slipped past her gag as she hit the gutter at the bottom of the slope—and went flying over the edge toward the sidewalk below.
Batman dove after her without hesitation. Forgetting the Talon for the moment, he propelled himself off the roof, counting on his momentum to intercept the falling woman as she arced over the front steps of the building. Their bodies collided and he grabbed onto her waist with one arm while firing his grapnel gun at the upper reaches of a sturdy maple tree.
“I’ve got you,” Batman said. “Hang tight.”
A mechanized winch yanked them upward and out over the street. Horns honked and brakes squealed as they swung across two lanes of traffic before touching down on the sidewalk opposite the multi-story building they had just departed so precipitously. He held Claire upright, feeling her tremble, as his eyes sought out the Talon, employing telescopic lenses to find their enemy gazing down on them from several stories above.
His body still jerking erratically, the Talon nonetheless managed to reach behind him and wrench the sparking Batarang from his back. He flung the missile back at Batman—or perhaps Claire— with astonishing force and speed. Batman barely had time to thrust his right fist in front of Claire’s throat, blocking the weapon with the protective steel scallops on his glove. It slammed into his gauntlet with considerable impact. Fresh blood—the Talon’s blood—wetted the sharpened tip.
Better his than hers, he thought. Seems he wasn’t bluffing after all. Or perhaps the Talon preferred Claire dead than in Batman’s custody. Because he feared what she might reveal?
Police sirens wailed in the distance, drawing closer. A news chopper approached the neighborhood, the whirr of its rotors competing with the blaring sirens. His rescue mission had not gone unnoticed. Already a crowd was gathering on the sidewalk to see what was happening. Gawking bystanders whipped out their phones to capture the scene for posterity and social media.
This was apparently too public for the Talon, who retreated from sight, vanishing from the edge of the rooftop. Batman frowned at his escape, wishing he could pursue the assassin, but he couldn’t abandon Claire. Justice for Morse, and who knew how many others, would have to wait.
Later, Batman promised himself. That Talon hasn’t seen the last of me.
He used the sharpened tip of the Batarang to slice through the zip-ties that bound her. For Claire’s sake, it was probably just as well that the Talon had retreated, instead of prolonging the conflict. He deftly removed the gag, and she gasped as the cloth came away. Propping her up as she tottered unsteadily, he eyed the growing crowd of bystanders as well as the copter that hovered above the neighborhood. A police blimp was also gliding toward the scene.
“We need to talk,” he said. “Away from here.”
The vehicle sped through the city, its camouflage mode engaged as it headed north toward Midtown, away from the University District. A holographic projection concealed the vehicle’s true nature, the better to evade the eyes of the Owls or anyone else. With the Talon still at large, it was better not to take any chances with his precious cargo.
“Oh, God,” Claire said from the passenger seat. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
Her apartment no longer safe, and their presence on the street attracting too much attention, Batman had opted to hustle Claire to the most immediate refuge—the Batmobile. The customized vehicle had been built to repel or evade most any attack. It was sturdier than an armored truck and considerably faster and more versatile. It was a tank that handled like a sports car, and just the place for Claire at the moment.
“How are you holding up?” he asked. He was anxious to question her, but understood that she had just endured a frightening, potentially traumatic ordeal. Unlike Batman, she’d be unaccustomed to encountering master assassins or flying off rooftops.
“Honestly?” she replied. “I’m not sure why I’m not in hysterics, or curled up in a fetal position.” She shuddered at the memory of her narrow escape, tugging fitfully on the seatbelt that buckled her in. “Maybe it’s still sinking in… or maybe I’m distracted by the fact that I’m riding through town with the freaking Batman… no offense.”
“None taken.”
As he expertly navigated the late-night traffic, he inspected his passenger. Claire Nesko was noticeably less hip and artsy in appearance than her missing roommate, with light-brown hair cut in a simple, low-maintenance do. Dressed for comfort, rather than style, she didn’t have any obvious makeup, jewelry, or body art.
In advance of their meeting, Batman had learned that Claire was a twenty-four-year-old anthropology student with family in Coast City. She had no criminal record, aside from a few traffic tickets, and blogged occasionally on the subject of classic screwball comedies. Apart from her connection to Joanna Lee, there was no obvious reason for the Talon to target her. He was impressed by how well she was holding it together, all things considered.
“Who… who was that man?” she demanded. “The one who attacked me?”
He debated how much to tell her at this juncture, and decided that she didn’t need just yet to hear about Morse’s grisly incineration, let alone the Court’s long history of covert killings, kidnappings, and extortion. She had enough to process at present.
“He calls himself a Talon.”
“Like in the old nursery rhyme?”
Batman nodded. “But he’s no boogeyman. Trust me on that.”
“You’d know, I guess.” Her hand went to her neck, as if to assure herself that it was still in one piece. “I suppose I’m lucky I still hav
e my head.”
And that you haven’t been crucified or reduced to ash, Batman thought, but he didn’t say it. “I suspect he was after what’s inside your head. He wanted information from you, one way or another.”
“About what,” she asked, then it seemed to dawn on her. “About Joanna? And her disappearance?”
“That’s what we need to talk to about.”
Pulling into a Midtown parking garage not far from Wayne Tower, he drove to an upper level where an inconspicuous spot was permanently marked “RESERVED.” A blind spot, as far as the garage’s security cameras were concerned, which offered a strategic view of both the entrance and exit to this level. Batman backed the car into the spot, positioning it to peel out in a hurry if necessary. Polarized windows kept any light from escaping the interior, so the car would appear dark and empty from the outside. The doors and windows were soundproof, as well, guaranteeing their privacy.
“We can speak safely here,” Batman said, “then we’ll find a more secure location for you elsewhere.” He couldn’t take her back to the cave or the manor, for obvious reasons, so he would have to arrange with Gordon to place her in a GCPD safe house. “I apologize for questioning you so soon after your ordeal, but time may be of the essence… especially where Joanna is concerned.”
“I understand.” Claire wasted no time unbuckling her seatbelt, perhaps in reaction to having been restrained by the Talon. “What do you need to know?”
“Tell me about Joanna, and as much as you can about her disappearance.” He had reviewed the official reports, skimpy as they were, but wanted to hear from Claire directly.
“All right.” She settled back into the car seat and took a deep breath before answering. “Two nights ago, Joanna never came home, which wasn’t like her. She’d been putting in long hours at the campus library, working on her thesis—but she wasn’t responding to my calls and texts, and nobody seemed to have seen her for a while. So I started getting seriously worried.
“I tried contacting campus security, then the regular police, but they pretty much blew me off.” Her tone turned sarcastic. “College girl doesn’t come home for a couple days? Big deal. She was probably just off with some guy, right?”
Gordon won’t like hearing that, Batman thought.
“Was she seeing anybody?”
“She has a boyfriend, sure. His name is Dennis Lewton. He was the first person I called, but he said he hadn’t seen or heard from her for days. Which makes no sense. I mean, it’s not like they were engaged or whatever, but they were semi-serious these days, kinda. Hard to believe that she’d just ghost him like that.”
“Was he worried about her?”
“Honestly? Not as much as you’d expect.” She sounded more puzzled than indignant. “If anything, he kept trying to calm me down, tell me not to worry, that Joanna was bound to be in touch eventually. It was weird.”
As far as Batman knew, Lewton hadn’t filed a missing-person report, despite his girlfriend’s sudden disappearance. Was there a reason he wasn’t concerned about her safety? He would need to talk to Lewton, and soon.
“Do you know of anyone who might want to harm Joanna?”
“Besides that… that Talon?” Claire shook her head. “No way. She’s a great person and easy to get along with. We’ve been friends for years, ever since we met at a campus mixer back when we were sophomores. I can’t think of any reason why somebody would come after her, let alone that freak from the rooftop.” She looked anxiously at him. “You don’t think he took her, do you? Like he tried to take me?”
“I was afraid of that at first,” Batman replied, “but the way the Talon was talking, it sounds as though he’s still hunting for Joanna. She may be in hiding.”
“She will not escape the judgment of the Court,” the Talon had said, revealing perhaps more than he intended. “She may run, she may hide, but none can escape…”
“So you think she may be okay?” Claire seized on the possibility as though it were a lifeline. “Just lying low somewhere?”
“Possibly,” Batman said. “I suspect that the Talon wanted to question you regarding Joanna’s whereabouts, or perhaps even use you as a hostage to lure her out of hiding. The Talon may have also wanted to find out how much you know about… the people he works for.”
“The Court of Owls,” she whispered, echoing what the Talon had said. “They’re real, too?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And they’re after Joanna?”
“So it appears.”
Batman recalled again the bright, enthusiastic young grad student who had impressed Bruce Wayne not so long ago. He needed to find her before the Talon did. Smart as she was, she wouldn’t stand a chance against one of the Court’s master assassins.
“This is insane!” Claire protested. “Why would this Court of Owls be interested in Joanna in the first place? Her and me, we’re just ordinary people!”
Batman had suspicions beginning to form, but wanted to hear more.
“Before she disappeared,” he asked, “was she acting strangely at all? As though she was worried, or fearful?”
“Not at all,” Claire said. “If anything, she was all excited about her work, which she seemed to think was going well. She was psyched to get going on it every morning.”
Sounds like Joanna, Batman thought. “Tell me about her work. What was she researching?”
Claire gave him a puzzled look. “What could that have to do with anything?”
“That’s what I need to ascertain,” Batman said. “I have reason to believe that her disappearance may have something to do with her studies. Anything you can tell me about her work may help me find out why the Talon is after her.”
“If you say so,” Claire said, sounding unconvinced. She took a deep breath. “Okay, even though we were—are—roommates, I don’t claim to know everything there is to know about what Joanna was studying. Art history isn’t my field, and I have my own classes, so I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to her research. I like to think I got the gist of it, though.”
“Which was?”
“Joanna was writing her thesis about some old-time sculptor named Percy Wright, who was supposed to have been quite the big deal back in the day.”
Batman recognized the name. Wright had, indeed, been a notable sculptor in the early part of the twentieth century, and a celebrated son of Gotham City. His work could still be found in various public and private collections throughout the city, including a few endowed by the Wayne Foundation.
“I’ve heard of him,” Batman said. As far as he knew, Wright’s life and work had been well documented and extensively critiqued over the years. “I assume Joanna had some new approach to the topic?”
“Yep,” Claire said. “She was focused on this one particular model, Lydia somebody, that Wright used over and over again. She was his ‘muse’ or something and, according to Joanna, you can still find her face and body immortalized all over Gotham— on monuments, fountains, old buildings, you name it. Joanna used to point her out to me sometimes, when we were out and about downtown, not that I was always listening. Did I mention that art isn’t really my thing?
“Anyway, get this—apparently the real Lydia vanished at some point. It was a whole big mystery way back when, and Joanna believed that Percy Wright never got over her. In fact, she had this theory that Wright hid clues about what happened to her in lots of his statues.” Claire shrugged. “Sounded kind of far-fetched to me, but Joanna was convinced that she was onto something.”
“Before she disappeared too,” Batman observed.
Claire’s face fell. “Funny. I never made that connection before.” She looked anxiously at him. “But that’s gotta to be a coincidence, right? All that stuff with Percy Wright and Lydia was like a hundred years ago. It can’t have anything to do with today.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Batman said. The Talon’s words came back to him again, about secrets hidden right in front of Batman’s eye
s.
The Court of Owls dated back to Percy Wright’s time and then some. Could they have been responsible for this Lydia’s disappearance, long ago? Certainly she wouldn’t have been the first person to be erased by the Owls for their own enigmatic reasons. Perhaps Joanna had unearthed some long-forgotten secret that the Court preferred to keep buried.
As a working theory, it seemed to fit the facts of the case. Presumably the Talon had interrogated Morse and searched his office to find just how much the unlucky professor already knew about Joanna’s discoveries. Likewise with Claire’s abduction, although the Talon may have also hoped that Claire could help him track down her roommate.
So much for that plan, Batman thought. It was unlikely, however, that the Talon would give up after one try. As long as the Owls suspected that she knew too much about Joanna’s work and location, Claire was in danger. He feared they would not stop until they silenced anyone with whom Joanna might have shared her work, which meant that anyone close to Joanna might be in mortal jeopardy.
“The boyfriend,” he said. “Do you have his contact information?”
“Not to hand,” Claire said. “Believe it or not, that ‘Talon’ didn’t let me get my phone before tying me up and dragging me out the window.” She eyed Batman quizzically. “Why do you ask?”
“Just playing it safe.” The wireless headset in his cowl allowed him to subvocally access the computer mainframe back at the cave. Within moments, he had located an address and phone number for a Dennis Lewton who was roughly the right age to be Joanna’s boyfriend. He called up the man’s driver’s license photo on a monitor built into the vehicle’s dashboard. The photo depicted a good-looking young man of Eurasian descent.
“Is this him?”
“How… how did you just do that?” she sputtered. “Find him so quickly, I mean?”
“Never mind that. This is the right Dennis Lewton?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“Good.” He tried to call via the headset, but got a recorded message instead:
“Yo, Dennis here. If you’re looking for me, leave a message. If you’re not looking for me, what are you doing with my digits anyway? And if this is a solicitation call, go drink a gallon of Joker Juice, loser!”
