Batman 1 - Batman

by CRAIG SHAW GARDNER

Vicki didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.

  “Let me tell you what I’ve got in mind, sweetie,” the Joker began in a voice like velvet. “I was in the bathtub one day when I realized why I was destined for greatness. You know how concerned most people are about appearances. This is pretty, that is not?” He shook his head. “Well, that’s all over for me. In crime, the passions ripen fully.” His voice started to rise, as if here, at last, was something he really believed in. “Now I do what others only dream of. I do art, until somebody dies!”

  He raised both his hands in a gesture of triumph. “See? I’m the world’s first fully functioning homicidal artist!”

  Vicki had had enough of this madman. She glared at him.

  “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “I want my face on the one-dollar bill!” he exclaimed, the fervor still there.

  Vicki leaned back in her chair. “Good goal. I take it you’re joking?”

  The Joker howled with sudden fury. He pointed at his face. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  But instantly the Joker smiled at her again, the sudden anger suddenly over. “Look,” he said, the velvet tones reasserting themselves, “we mustn’t mistake ourselves for regular people. We’re artists! For instance, let me challenge you with a little piece I did.” He glanced at one of his men. “Bob, will you bring in Alicia?”

  The lackey scurried away as the Joker turned back to Vicki.

  “You’ll make a pictorial record of my work,” he insisted. “You’ll be with me in the avant garde.”

  Vicki realized that, if she weren’t so afraid, she might find the Joker fascinating. He was completely mad, and at the same time, completely sincere.

  A woman’s voice spoke behind her.

  “Jack?”

  Vicki turned around. The Joker’s henchman was leading a woman dressed in white, wearing a porcelain doll’s mask. The woman didn’t seem to be very steady on her feet, and her guide had to spend as much time ensuring she kept her balance as urging her forward.

  “You said I could watch you improve the paintings,” the newcomer said. Her voice was slow and unsteady, as if slurred from alcohol or drugs.

  The Joker rolled his eyes. “Uh-oh. I’m in trouble now!”

  Vicki couldn’t help herself—it was the newshound in her. Even though she was afraid of the answer, she asked what was on her mind.

  “Why is she wearing a mask?”

  “Well, she’s just a sketch really,” the Joker replied humbly. “Alicia! Come here, have a seat. Show the lady why you wear the mask.”

  Another henchman pulled up a chair, and Alicia sat. She started to remove the mask. Her drugged fingers moving slowly.

  “You see, Miss Vale,” the Joker continued, “Alicia’s been made over in line with my new philosophy. Now, like me, she’s a living work of art.”

  Alicia took off the mask.

  Oh, God.

  Vicki lurched out of her seat. She couldn’t help herself. The chair fell with a crash as she stumbled away.

  “I’m no Picasso,” the Joker continued, as modest as before. “You like it?”

  Vicki threw a second chair in the Joker’s path. Like it? She couldn’t look back at Alicia, no matter how much she tried. The left side was perfectly normal, a model’s face. But the right side—skin melted into muscle, which in turn eroded away to scar tissue and bone. How long had it taken the Joker to destroy Alicia’s face so completely?

  The Joker grinned at her, that crazy, sincere grin. What could she say to him? How could she get out of here?

  “Uh—it’s great,” she managed. “But what can I do for you? I—”

  The Joker spread his hands wide.

  “A little song,” he suggested tunefully.

  His feet tapped across the floor.

  “A little dance,” he added cheerfully. He mimed placing something large and round on a pole.

  “And Batman’s head upon a lance,” he concluded brightly. “Tell me what you know about—”

  His hands turned into a pair of bat wings.

  Vicki shook her head. “I don’t know anything about Batman.”

  “Really?” the Joker replied indifferently, as if this had been the answer he was expecting all along. He wiggled his eyebrows. “Well, then, what do you think about a little ‘you’ and ‘me’?”

  This was impossible! There was no way to humor someone like the Joker.

  “I think you’re insane!” she spat back, half rising from her chair.

  “I am? And I thought I was a Pisces!” He spread his hands wide in a gesture of supplication as he stood. “C’mon. Let’s make up.” He walked around the table toward her. “Here’s a flower.”

  One of his hands encircled a large, purple boutonniere on his lapel while his other hand reached into his coat pocket. The bulb was large and shiny. It looked as if it might be made of plastic. There was nothing natural about that flower.

  “No!” Vicki screamed. She jumped aside, almost toppling the table, as a jet of clear liquid sprayed from the center of the purple bloom. A pillar behind her smoked and sizzled where the liquid hit. It was acid!

  The Joker grinned at her. He took another step in her direction, as if she would certainly accept the flower, now that she knew its true purpose. He was going to kill her—or worse, make her into something like Alicia. Vicki backed away. She bumped into a waiter’s cart. The Joker walked toward her.

  She had to keep him away from her. She needed a weapon. She grabbed a water pitcher from the cart and threw it at the Joker.

  The pitcher missed, but it drenched the Joker with water.

  “No!” He shrieked as his hands covered his face. “No!”

  He bent over double. The tan was coming off on his fingers, revealing the bone-white skin beneath.

  “I’m melting!” He fell to his knees.

  “I’m melting!” He writhed on the floor. “Oh, God, I’m melting!”

  Vicki was so frightened that it took her a minute to realize the Joker was quoting the Wicked Witch of the West.

  “Help me!” the Joker croaked, staggering back.

  Had she really hurt him? Despite herself, she took a step forward.

  He leapt forward abruptly.

  “Boo!” he screamed.

  He was on top of her. She couldn’t get away. All she could see was the purple flower, and that big, big grin.

  Something shattered overhead.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Everything was perfect until that noise, the Joker thought.

  He looked up. Something had come through the skylight, that same dark something that was dropping to the floor.

  No, the Joker corrected himself. It wasn’t just any old something. It was the Batman.

  He landed only half a dozen feet away. He pointed his fist at the Joker. There was something attached to the bat guy’s wrist.

  Was Batman going to shoot the Joker? He was too young to die. The Joker considered running, but Batman would nail him before he took a step. Mother of Mercy! Was this the end of little Rico?

  The Batman fired.

  The projectile split in two, each half embedding itself into the walls past the balcony on either side of the Joker. The Joker realized there were wires attached to each of the spikes, and another wire leading from the Batman to his skylight entranceway.

  The Batman grabbed Vicki and swung out along the escape wires he had created for himself, plunging off the balcony and straight through an arched doorway marked “Exit.”

  It took the Joker a second to recover.

  “Those toys!” he exclaimed at last. “Where does he get those wonderful toys?” He looked around at his boys. They seemed every bit as flabbergasted as he was.

  “Well, don’t just stand there!” he yelled. “Go and ask him!”

  They went. The Joker sighed. Did he have to think of everything around here?

  It took Vicki a moment to realize she had been rescued. Batman had put his arm around her,
and, a second later, they were off the balcony and out into Gotham Square. He let her go as they landed, and pointed to a side alley. She ran the way he pointed as he lobbed a small disc into the entranceway behind them. A second later, the foyer was filled with smoke.

  “Get in the car!” Batman yelled behind her.

  The car? Vicki looked at all the cars parked along one side of the alley.

  “Which car?” she asked.

  She saw it a moment later.

  “Oh,” she added. There were a lot of cars here, but there was only one jet-black, supersleek sports car with customized bat hubcaps.

  The hood slid forward with a barely discernible whir, revealing what looked more like twin cockpits than driver’s and passenger’s sides. Vicki climbed into the passenger cockpit. “Ignition!” Batman ordered.

  The entire dashboard lit with a dozen different dials and indicators. A small light on the left-hand side flashed “Voiceprint OK.” There was some sort of control board between the seats as well, full of lights and buttons and toggle switches.

  “Ignition,” a computerized voice replied.

  The engines revved as Batman vaulted into the other side. The doors lowered to seal them both inside as Batman instructed Vicki to put on her seat belt.

  The car squealed down the alleyway, straight toward the doorway they had so recently left—a doorway now full of choking goons.

  The goons scattered as the Batman’s car roared from the alley. Vicki glanced in the rearview mirror. The Joker’s henchmen were climbing into a van and a pair of cars.

  She noticed a flashing light to her right. She realized it was a turn signal. She glanced at the glowing speedometer. The car took the corner at fifty miles an hour.

  They turned into the heart of Gotham City. Vicki realized with a shock that, despite all that had happened, it was still only early evening—barely after sunset. The streets were full of cars, the sidewalks and crosswalks full of pedestrians. She saw people running as the van behind them careened over a curb.

  Batman pushed his car even faster. Vicki saw the blinking right-turn signal a second time. But they must be going ninety by now. Even a car as aerodynamically designed as this couldn’t turn at that speed!

  Batman flipped one of the many switches on the control panel between them. A line rocketed from Vicki’s side of the car, a line with a spike on the end that embedded itself into a brick wall beyond the sidewalk. The car swung around the corner on the end of the line. Batman flicked another switch, and the line dropped away. They were still doing ninety.

  “Damn!” Batman yelled.

  They were in a blind alley. The road ended a hundred yards ahead. He jammed on the brakes as he pressed another button on the panel.

  As the wheels beneath slammed to a halt, the body of the Batman’s car lifted up and rotated 180 degrees, so that it was facing the other way.

  Batman pressed the accelerator, and they were on their way again, out of the alley, headed toward Gotham Square. There were orange blinking lights ahead of them—some sort of night construction crew, Vicki realized, working overtime to get the reviewing stands ready in time for Mayor Borg’s beloved parade. A gigantic crane was backing down the street into the intersection, blocking both lanes. And they were headed straight for it!

  Batman gunned the engine, swerving to the left. There still wasn’t enough room. He pumped the brakes as they careened toward the sidewalk. They stopped, inches away from a lamppost.

  Pedestrians and construction workers ran toward them, curious about the commotion. Vicki glanced out the back window. The van and the other two cars were gaining on them! She glanced over at the Batman. There must be some way they could get out of here.

  “Couldn’t we—” she began.

  He shook his head. “Too many people.” He pressed another button, and the doors whirred open. “Come on!” he yelled as he leapt from his seat.

  “Shields!” he ordered as soon as she was out as well.

  “Shields,” the computer voice replied.

  Dark steel plates quickly clanged into place over the cockpit, the wheels, the exhaust system, like nothing so much as an impenetrable black cocoon.

  Vicki didn’t have time to watch any more. The Batman was already leading her at a run into the construction site. She heard police sirens behind her. Good, she thought. Maybe the cops can slow down the Joker’s goons. She didn’t for a second think the police had a chance of catching the Batman.

  They crossed the construction in less than a minute and turned down another street at a run, dodging openmouthed pedestrians.

  An all-too-familiar car pulled out of a side street. Vicki recognized four of the Joker’s men riding inside. The goon in the driver’s seat picked up a walkie-talkie and said something into it. The car turned toward them.

  Batman and Vicki ran the other way. A store window exploded in front of them as the goons opened fire. Vicki dove behind a parked car as the goons’ car squealed around the corner.

  A little girl, maybe five or six years old, dressed in a ragged, hand-me-down coat, was busily walking her doll around the corner. She was so lost in her playacting that she didn’t even seem to notice the bullets and running feet.

  She looked up as Batman approached. Wide-eyed, she lifted her doll up so that the masked man could get a better look.

  “Is it Halloween?” she asked.

  Batman smiled, motioning for Vicki to follow him into an alley. She ran toward him. Her heart sank as she heard the squeal of tires behind her. The Joker’s men were back for more.

  They drove by the alley, not able to stop in time. But this alley was a dead end too, and this time they had no supercar to save them.

  Batman looked up. Vicki followed his gaze. There was a catwalk, but it was five stories up.

  Batman looked back at Vicki, the eyeholes in his mask two pools of darkness. “How much do you weigh?” he snapped.

  Vicki was a little startled. Even in this day and age, a woman didn’t expect that sort of question.

  “Uh”—she stumbled—“a hundred and eight?”

  He cocked his head a bit to one side, as if performing some quick mental calculations. The bad guys’ car squealed back to the mouth of the alley, this time in reverse. They stopped the car in the alley mouth, blocking the exit. The goons piled out of the car.

  Vicki looked back at Batman. He was holding some kind of bat-shaped spear gun attached to a thin nylon rope. He shot the projectile aloft. It caught on the catwalk.

  He grabbed Vicki around the waist.

  “Hang on!”

  He flicked something at his belt. Vicki and Batman shot upward, almost as if they were fish being reeled in. A bullet whizzed angrily by her ear. They went up one story, two. But their flight was slowing.

  On the third floor up, they stopped. Vicki realized whatever mechanism was reeling them in must not be able to take their combined weight. Vicki felt a mixture of guilt and panic. They were sitting ducks up here. Should she have told Batman how much she really weighed?

  Batman twisted around. Vicki looked down and screamed. The goons all had their heavy artillery pointed at the two of them, but the bad guys were taking their time now, waiting for the twisting and turning up there to stop so they could easily kill both of them.

  “Whatever happens,” Batman whispered hoarsely, “don’t let go!”

  He detached something from around his waist and hooked it over Vicki’s belt.

  That’s when he let go.

  Vicki skyrocketed upward, shrieking as she went. She saw Batman beneath her, cape billowing as he fell the two stories to the pavement. She cried out again as her back slammed against the catwalk. But the rope bounced her up and down a bit, and she realized nothing was broken.

  There was a crash beneath her. She looked down to see that Batman had landed in the middle of a pile of garbage cans. The goons rushed over to him. He smashed a pair of them into a wall before he was even on his feet. But a third had found a lead pipe in the
rubbish. He smashed it into the back of the Batman’s skull.

  Batman fell.

  The thugs circled closer. Vicki felt so helpless up here. The rope had stopped its bouncing. She pulled herself onto the catwalk, then over onto the roof. But she didn’t have a gun. What could she do?

  Through all this, she had managed to keep her camera bag. Maybe, somehow, there was something inside that could help.

  She looked down as she unzipped the case.

  The lead goon fired two shots, point blank, at the yellow-and-black insignia on Batman’s chest. The body jerked.

  Vicki leaned over the edge. Was she too late?

  The goons stopped.

  “No blood,” one of them said.

  “Jesus,” another one answered. “Who is it? Check his wallet.”

  “Wait a minute,” a third interrupted. He crouched down beside the body and poked at Batman’s costume.

  “What is it?” the last thug asked.

  “Some kind of body armor or something,” the kneeling man replied.

  “He’s human after all,” the man who had shot him said, courage back in his voice. “Take the mask off.”

  Body armor? Vicki realized that must mean he was still alive. And she had thought of a way to distract the thugs, and maybe get an exclusive for the Gotham Globe as well.

  They pulled off his mask, but his face was still in shadows.

  “Get out of the way!” their leader yelled. “I can’t see him.”

  That’s when Vicki set off the flashgun.

  The goons were startled, disoriented.

  “Goddammit!” one of them yelled. “It’s the girl!”

  A bullet kerranged off the cement ledge three inches from her face. She flashed the strobe again, this time taking a photo as well. She knew she was exposing herself, but she had to get this.

  All the thugs raised their guns and fired at once.

  The flashes stopped overhead.

  “Did you get her?” a voice asked.

  “I think so,” a second answered. “Wax him.”

  Batman opened his eyes as the four gunmen aimed their weapons at him. His right hand snaked up to grab the coat of the nearest one, spinning him around into the gunfire of the other three.