Issue #17

FDC presents "Knight off"

by Clay & Cliff Arceneaux

Uncle BahB’s Custom Jewelry Store

“It was the craziest thing Officer!  They came in, all dressed up for a night on the town.  It was close to closing, but I figured one more customer trying to impress his girl couldn’t hurt.  Then I noticed the crowbar she was carrying, and the tire iron and cloth sack he had.  They kept smiling at me with this blank expression as they smashed the display cases and took whatever they wanted.”

Lt. Bullock looked at his notes again, not wanting to see what he had written there.  He cleared his throat, braced himself, and asked, “All the while, repeating what phrase again?” 

“They kept saying, over and over, ‘I laughed, I cried, it was much better than Cats.  I will see it again and again.’  It gave me the creeps!” 

Bullock wanted to spit. 

“Mr. Bob…”

“BahB.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Bahamel Brovin.  Everyone calls me BahB for short.” 

Bullock looked at the man.  A normal person would wonder, perhaps even ask, what nationality a name like Bahamel Brovin was.  Bullock had learned that little brown men had odd names, and really didn’t care past that. 

“So, Bob…”

“Yes?” BahB said, pleased the officer had taken the time to get his name right.

“This couple walked in, dressed to the nines, steals all of your stuff while repeating the same thing over and over, and then jumps into their high priced mid-sized sedan and speeds off.  Is that right?”

“Yes sir, Officer Bullock.  It was very strange.  Not quite as strange as the time the Joker broke into my store to steal things, but close.” 

“Yeah, I read about that one on my way over.  Some sort of poodle thing.” 

“That was very strange.  I was just lucky it was early in the Joker’s career, back when he stole money just to steal money.  Then there was the Riddler, but he was mostly annoying.  Then there was the time…”

Meanwhile back at stately Wayne Manor: (always wanted to say that)

Bruce Wayne sat in an overstuffed chair in the manor’s darkened library, staring moodily at the room’s large fireplace and the shadows dancing across his parents’ portrait above it. Alone in the massive house, Bruce allows his gaze to flow out the window to watch the last remnants of sunlight fade from the evening sky. The beauty does not penetrate his dark thoughts. Though clad in a black turtleneck and slacks instead of his costume, Batman’s frustration at the coming nightfall was evident.

“Hope I’m not interrupting a good brood. No, wait, I hope I am.” A young man clad in jeans and a Gotham U sweatshirt strolled into the room, a leather jacket and motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm.

“What do you want, Dick?” Bruce replied in his best I-am-Batman-fear-me tone.

“A little British bird told me I should pay you a visit.” Dick Grayson, probably the one man on earth that voice has no effect on, slid into the chair opposite his mentor.  “You look horrible, Bruce.”

“I should be out there, not sitting here waiting on…”

“Waiting for a set of no-glare, shatter-proof, prescription, night-vision ready lens for your cowl.” Dick finished. “Heard the contacts wouldn’t stay put during your workouts.” Bruce did not reply. “Bruce, I have to admit, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy on you, but you’re taking even harder than I thought. It’s just a pair of glasses. Thousands, millions of people have to wear them. This doesn’t mean you have to give up the being Batman.”

“Other people aren’t me. They haven’t spent a lifetime perusing mental and physical perfect only to…”

“Age?” Dick interrupted. “Survive our lifestyle for over twelve years? It’s not something to be upset about. But that’s not what’s bothering you is it?”

“Are you here just to needle me all evening? Because I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“No, I’m here to see why you’re still here.” Dick asked pointedly.

Food Court, Gotham Mall.

Wiping some mustard from his mouth with his sleeve, Bullock took another long look at his notes. He hated stupid crimes like this. It was nights like this Harvey missed the mobbed up, totally corrupt, couldn’t trust anybody days of his first years on the force. Sure, the department was lousy with graft and everybody had “the” as a middle name, but at least those kinds of crimes he could understand. He read “Bahb’s” account again. It read like bad comedy. Bad comedy… something about that phrase tugged at the detective’s memory. Anyway, ever since the Bat-freak showed up it’s been wall-to-wall weirdoes. Instead of real police work, he was sitting in the food court of the Gotham Center Mall, choking down some Frank ‘N Fuuter jumbo sausage chilidogs, and playing guess-the-ghoul to see which nut-job they were facing this time. Bullock had narrowed his list of suspects to the hat freak, the straw guy, and that new pink-haired chick. (Since there were no jokes, riddles, birds, cats, twos, plants, masks, or cold involved) Now burlap-boy was back in Arkham, the pink-punk was locked up in the Slab. That left Mr. Hat, except the smiley crooks weren’t wearing hats. That meant we were either talkin’ an out-of-towner or someone new. Neither possibility was particularly appealing. Still there was something about this case…

What Bullock could not know was that a level below him at that same mall a group of patrons stood before a bank of televisions in an electronics store window watching a hockey game. Well, he knew the game was on; in fact he was planning to head down there and check the score before he left. But what he did not know that commercial was running during the game, a commercial for a new one man show currently playing at a local theater. The commercial promised patrons the most electrifying, spell binding experience they’d ever had. Of the 6 or 7 people there, only one had seen the actual show. The commercial brought back fond memories of the experience. He could not help but smile… smile a very strange smile.

“I laughed, I cried, it was much better than Cats.  I will see it again and again.”

Before anyone could reply, the smiling man turned and wandered further into the mall. Within moments, he was seen smiling in front of the Casual Brilliance Jewelry Store, which as coincidence would have it, was across from the food court. The smile never left the man’s face as he picked up a mall trashcan and pushed his way into the jewelry store.

One of the patrons the smiling man pushed past was a well-dressed gentleman’s gentleman who was only here to get his pocket watch repaired. He was quite used to rude lay folk not apologizing when they bump into you, but he realized this wasn’t simply standard suburban incivility when he saw his “assailant” lifting a trash receptacle up and bring it smashing down on the display glass.

Bullock heard the smashing of the glass from across the mall. Stuffing his last dog into his mouth and his notes into his coat, the rotund cop charged toward the gathering crowd in front of the Casual Brilliance Jewelry store. He had every intention yelling, “Stop, Police!” as he broke through the crowd and saw smiling-man stuffing his pockets with jewelry. Unfortunately all he managed was “Swah, Oiee!” through his mouthful of pork-by-product. Still it was enough to get the smiling vandal’s attention. Okay, maybe the brandished six-shooter helped.

With a slight tilt of his head, the man replied, “I laughed, I cried, it was much better than Cats.  I will see it again and again.” and flung the trashcan at the disheveled detective.

Maybe it was the smiling man’s blank expression or the casual manner in which the perp threw the trashcan, but Harvey was caught very much by surprise. His attempt to duck only left him unbalanced enough that when the can did bounce off his shoulder it was enough to send Bullock flat on his back. He lost sight of the perp as he struggled to his feet, but he knew he heard someone with a snooty accent yell, “Pardon me, sir!” from somewhere near smilin’ jack. By the time Harvey got to his feet, the perp was just standing in the middle of the store, dripping wet and no longer smiling. He looked more confused than anyone else as to what was happening. Standing near the no-longer-smiling man was an overdressed gentleman with a smug look on his face.

“Okay, nobody move. You, you don’t remember nothin’ do you?” The would-be thief simply stared in utter confusion from the jewelry in his pockets to the angry police officer and nodded slightly in agreement. “Thought so. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was downstairs, watching the game. There was a commercial for that matinee my wife and I saw this afternoon. Next thing I know, I’m standing here.”

“Commercial, huh?” Bullock waves to the arriving mall security. “Okay, boys, take somewhere nice and quiet, I’ll finish grilling ‘em later. You, English, you the guy that snapped him out of it?”

“Yes, sir.” The gentleman straightened his jacket, trying to hide his general disgust at Bullock in general. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth, not ‘English’.”

“Yeah, whatever. How did you…?” A flash of color from the food court caught Bullock’s eye. “Wait a minute…” Bullock looked again. “You see that, English?”

Alfred fought the urge to correct the Lieutenant again, and let his gaze follow to where Bullock was pointing. “My word. It looks like a tacky caped man running into the mall’s service corridor.”

“That’s what I thought.” Bullock grabbed Alfred and charged off after the caped man. “Come on, English, I might need you to de-whammy somebody else.”

Wayne Manor

“Nigma is in jail and I’m in no mood for riddles, Dick.” Bruce sank deeper into his chair to let the shadows from the fire play more across his face.

“I know you can’t go out as Batman tonight, and I’m sure you’ve already burned a hole in the monitors staring at the open cases trying to find something useful to do.” Dick half smiled at Bruce’s further attempt to intimidate him. “Having finished all that, I want to know why you’re just sitting in a dark library sulking?”

“What are you driving at tonight?”

“Bruce, when’s the last time you went on a date?”

“Last Thursday, Dinner and dancing at the Carlisle.”

“Let me rephrase that, when’s the last time you went on a date because you were actually interested in a woman, not because it is periodically necessary to maintain Bruce Wayne’s ‘playboy’ image? Don’t glare at me like I’m twelve. Answer the question.”

“This is beside the point.” Bruce growled.

“Is it? Let me try another one: Why didn’t you call Jim or Lucius to meet you for some drinks when you discovered you had the night off? Or Ollie? He’s not dead anymore. Or Clark, or even me? Why did you decide to sit here instead of enjoying yourself without the cape and cowl for a change?”

“You mean as ‘Bruce’? I don’t know how to break this to you, but he’s been a façade for years now. Batman has been the reality since before you were born. I am ‘Bruce’ because I have to be and it’s occasionally useful role to play.”

“You’re actually trying to convince yourself that’s true too. That’s sad, Bruce, that really is. Because I know you, better than almost anyone in the world and I don’t believe that for a second. Neither does Alfred. He’s been worried about you too, you know.”

“I can’t help your mutual fantasies. For all intent and purposes, Bruce Wayne died in that alley with his parents.”

“Oh please, save the blasted melodrama for bit will ya? You raised me remember?  I know you, the real you, and there’s more than just your “creature of the night” routine. You used to drop the Bat-act when we got home, remember? We’d sit back, relax, and maybe watch some TV or something. But mostly we’d laugh together, usually at how ridiculous some of our foes are when you think about it. I can’t remember the last time I heard you laugh.”

“They’re murderous criminals, not much to laugh at.”

“Bruce, we’ve spent the evening dodging exploding rubber ducks being fires from an umbrella at the hands of a little fat man who literally squawks when he gets excited. Or do you remember the time first time Nigma tried using a question mark gun and he knocked himself out with the recoil? Or the first time we saw the Killer Moth, in that bright pink costume, and the green and orange stripes? >snort< With those little orange wings?”

“>heh< The yellow accents did make the outfit. I kept hoping we’d find out he was color blind.” Bruce smiled, almost involuntarily at the memory.

“Nooooo. Just really, really tacky.” Dick began to laugh.

““The Batman of Crime”!” A laugh escapes from Wayne’s lips. “Handing out little Moth signal flashlights. My God, he was such a loser.”

“Do you remember the night we argued all night about who had the lamer rip-off, the Mothmobile or the Catmobile?”

“Still say Blake is much more pathetic. I mean, he had cat-a-rangs, and was proud of that.”

The two men begin to laugh uncontrollably; a good hearty warm laugh. A sound not heard in those halls for many months.

Food Court, Gotham Mall. A few short minutes ago

Keith Sherwood was innocently enjoying a Turtle Mocha at “I can’t believe it’s not Starbucks” coffee stand across from Casual Brilliance.  He was in his full costume for the evening’s performance, partly to promote the show, partly because he truly loved to dress up.  The crisp lines of his black formal tuxedo, the shiny flare of his orange silk cape, oh he loved it so. So much better than his old psychedelic patchwork tights. Seeing the commotion, Keith realized what was happening. It was wonderful! He was actually getting people to pay him to get them to commit crimes for him! He finally had this villain thing down. The thought to flee did not cross his mind while he gazed upon the mayhem he had inspired. Until of course the whole thing went south.

Curses, foiled again!He swept his cape with overly dramatic flair and ran off before anyone becomes suspicious. Or so he thought.

Gotham Mall, Now

“So exactly what are we doing, Lieutenant?” Alfred had quit fighting against Bullock’s pull as they enter the mall’s long service corridor.

“We’re chasing Spellbinder down this hallway.” Harvey panted as they reached a ‘T’ intersection in the hallway. “Now shuddup an help me listen for him.”

“To the right I believe.” Alfred followed the sound of running shoes. “I thought the current holder of that title was a woman?”

“The pink chick is still tucked away in the slab.” Bullock growled as he resumed his chase.

“But I thought the first Spellbinder was dead.” The Wayne butler tried to pretend he didn’t know much more about Gotham’s more bizarre criminal element than the lieutenant. 

“How… how long… you been… in this town… English?” Bullock struggled from the breath to talk as they ran. “These jerks… never… ever… stay dead.”

Unfortunately this was a fact that Alfred was all too familiar with. And the use of hypnosis in the commission of a crime certainly fit what he remembered of Spellbinder. “And we know we’re chasing Spellbinder because…?”

“Only regular… mind control guy… not locked-up.” Bullock spit out.

“Perhaps, Lieutenant, we should call for backup before proceeding.”

“No time. Don’t want… freak… get away.”

“Surely the Batman…”

Harvey glared at the butler.

Alfred shook his head as they reached the doors at the end of the corridor. It was strange twisted logic, but certainly a plausible piece of deductive reasoning on Bullock’s part. Alfred dabbed some slight perspiration from his brow as he waited for the wheezing detective to try and catch his breath. Bullock looked even more disheveled than usual. He leaned heavily against the wall as he checked his gun and tried not to loose his hotdogs.

Wayne Manor

“Thank you.” Dick said wiping the tears from his eyes as the moment passed. “This is what I mean, Bruce. You need to let that side of you out more. You need to let yourself be human. Batman can keep everyone and everything at arms length. But Bruce is more vulnerable, isn’t he? You’ve been sinking deeper and deeper into yourself since… well since Dr. Kinsolving* was…”

“Reduced to a childlike mind. The price of my mobility.” The Batman’s stern expression snapped back across Bruce Wayne’s face as he rose from his seat to face the windows.

(*Dr. Shondra Kinsolving healed Bruce’s back injury after his loss to Bane years ago, but her mind was destroyed in that same advernture. It’s complicated. Go track down Knight’s Quest: The Search for details.)

“And the last woman you let into your heart.” Dick went to stand beside him. “You can’t live like this, Bruce. You keep going the way you are and you’re going to wind up a bitter old man, alone in this giant house with some vicious dog for company. Shondra wouldn’t have wanted that for you. Neither would Jason… or your parents. You’re living in fear of being hurt again; to the point you cut yourself off from the world and hide behind your mask. That ain’t healthy, man. And if it takes your eyesight fading a bit to help you see that, then so be it.”

“Dick, I… I’ll think about it.” Bruce turned to face his “son”, clearly uncomfortable in the moment, but trying to let his defenses down. “And… thanks for stopping by.”

“No problem. Slow night in Bludhaven anyway.”

“You hungry? I’m sure Alfred left something for dinner.” Bruce placed his arm around his former ward’s shoulder as they made their way to the kitchen.  “If it’s a slow night, I’m surprised you’re not out on a date yourself. But I guess that would mean picking a red-head wouldn’t it.”

“No jokes from you in months and this is the subject you decide to start on?”

“Fathers often live vicariously through their sons. I figured you have enough girl trouble for both of us.”

“Gee thanks, Dad.”

Gotham Mall

Alfred and Bullock burst out of the double doors, to find the parking lot is empty.  Really empty. 

“Lieutenant, I believe there should be an alleyway leading off in that direction that has apparently disappeared.” Alfred pointed to a blank wall.

“How did you notice? You don’t look like the mallrat type.”

“I come to this mall every so often to get my watch serviced.”

“Why don’t you get another watch that works.”

“**tsk**  Americans.  It is a family heirloom.” Alfred strained to maintain his composure. “The alleyway should be right there.”

As they advance towards it, the wall started to crack and split, forming arms and a head and feet.  It breathed fire and started moving towards them.  Bullock fired a few rounds at it, and the bullets bounced harmlessly off.

Chuckling Spellbinder advanced from between the beast’s legs. 

Bullock took aim at him, but Spellbinder commands him to stop.  Bullock does.

“Congratulations, gentlemen.” Spellbinder applauded the now motionless men. “Well played, well played indeed. Who are you? FBI?  Special investigations?  MI6?  Surely the Brit is with Scotland Yard?

“No, I’m a gentleman’s gentleman.”

“Ah! A jilted butler and a vengeful cop stumble across my bold scheme, track me down, and at last have come to make me pay for my crimes!”

“No, not really.  I was grabbin’ some chow.”

“…And I was just getting a watch fixed.”

“We saw someone dressed like an idiot running from the scene of a crime.”

“So the detective hastily suggested that we follow you…”

“…Because this is Gotham, and criminals dress stupid here.  Now put your hands where I can see them.”

“No, I have a better idea.  It will be child’s play to place you both completely in my power, so I think it’s time to dispose of you both.  The brit obviously has advanced mental prowess in order to see through my illusions and awaken my dupes.”

“Actually I simply tossed a beverage into his face.” Alfred replied flatly. “A ‘Cherry Cola Squishee’ I believe.”

“You wasted a Cherry Cola Squishee on that guy?” Bullock sounded hurt.

“I took it from an onlooker. I meant no disrespect to the beverage.”

Spellbinder grimaced.  “Nonetheless, once I bring my full power to bear you will both be as helpless as newborn babes.”  Maniacal laughter followed.

Bullock spat.

“I hate it when they do that.”

“Yes, Quite.”  Alfred started to wind his watch.

Spellbinder flared his cloak up and back.  His utter delight in his skills, in his triumphant return to crime, and his ability to wear brightly colored silk capes in public were obvious.  He had been in hiding after the mostly successful attempt at his life.  His painful recovery had given him new strength of mind, new command of his abilities, and a chance at a new wardrobe. 

“I’ll show them, I’ll show all of them!”

“Who? And who are you talkin’ to?”  Bullock was so very tired of this fruitcake.  His heart was still racing from the unaccustomed exercise, and his stomach was reminding him that it was still full of chilidogs, for now anyway. 

Spellbinder stared.  He was talking out loud again.  Dr. Nick had spoken to him about that, and they were making progress!  He would show them, he would show all of them

“You dare to mock me, constable?  I’ll make you pay for that.  Our English playmate is crafty beyond measure, while you are as dumb as a sack full of hammers.  Quake in fear, fat boy.  I shall hypnotize you in to emptying your gun into the Butler, but you shall save one bullet for yourself.  Pray to your god while you still have your mind.”  Maniacal laughter followed.

While Alfred and Bullock stood there, Spellbinder turned to face Bullock.  Raising his hands, Spellbinder’s fingers started to undulate as he started to chant, alternating between a high pitch and a low pitch. 

Alfred indeed stared at Spellbinder.  Rather than hypnotized, he was amazed that the criminal had survived this long.  It was not hard to imagine a line of people around the block waiting to take this guy out. 

Bullock stood under Spellbinder’s onslaught.  Rather than being hypnotized, his temper was rising…rising…. 

“I do not have time for this CRAP!”  Bullock shouted as he leveled his revolver at the master criminal and squeezed off a few rounds into Spellbinder’s shoulder. 

Spellbinder scrambled to his knees.  He was grabbing his shoulder, screaming.  “You shot me!  I’ve been shot!  Again!  Everything is getting black, again!  I hate that!  Oh god, the blood, my clothes!”  The master hypnotist passed out and landed square on his nose. 

“My, that looked painful.”

“Nowhere near as painful as that outfit. Jerk. I hate it when they make me run.”

Next Issue: Our next Bat-epic "Hunting the Cat" begins.