Batman

PREVIOUSLY: Hudson Pyle attempts to create a heroic career for himself garbed as The Cavalier. His bumbling attempts end in capture by the Batman. Consigned to a jail cell, Pyle is approached by a stranger offering another chance at fame – by way of reality television.

Mayor Daniel Dickerson is destroyed during a scandal with the Russian mafia. Wayne Enterprises CEO Lucius Fox announces his candidacy to fill the vacant seat.

Batman launches an ongoing investigation into the identity of a high-class thief called the Crimesmith. Batgirl is distracted from the investigation by her fascination with the recently-returned-from-seeming-death Nocturna.

Three Months Ago

Molly Cartwright felt her head go light as she watched the colorful piñata sway under the children’s vicious assault. The pink elephant’s structural integrity wavered as it withstood one shot, then another, than another from the wooden sticks. Smiling, she scanned away from the pounding to her son Jeffrey, furiously swinging his stick above his head in a desperate attempt to strike the killing blow. She hoped he wouldn’t accidentally strike one of the other eleven children who had assembled in the park for his ninth birthday party. “Jeffrey,” she called out to him. “Watch where you’re swinging that thing!”

Paying his worrying mother no attention, Jeffrey redoubled his efforts. Although he was a short, slender boy, Jeffrey lacked nothing in strength, and routinely held his own in sporting events against much larger, and sometimes, older children. He wasn’t the best-adjusted child, but he’d at least made enough friends to assemble a respectable gathering for a birthday party, even if Molly’d had to get three children of her friends at work to fill out the crowd.

Finally, the battered piñata could take no more. Jeffrey landed a savage blow, splintering the piñata and causing candy to spill everywhere. The torn piñata swung back on the line tying it to the tree as its contents spilled over the ground. The assault immediately forgotten, the children dived onto the ground to retrieve the various toys, some remembering to discard their wooden sticks first. A mad scramble ensued, and Molly held her breath, hoping the melee wouldn’t degenerate into fisticuffs. Cries of mine, gimme, and random peals of laughter filled the air as the children played. Molly leaned back against a nearby park bench, taking it in.

“I need to get out of this heat.” Molly turned at the sound of the familiar, withered voice to face her sixty-eight year old mother Ava. Ava Cartwright held a hand over her face to block out the sun, squinting in disinterest at the scramble. When Molly didn’t immediately answer her complaint, she renewed it. “I need to get out of the heat. It’s really hot out here, don’t you think?”

The kids’ cries were a din over which Molly had to reply, as they identified the various trinkets they’d uncovered. “Too hot? Mom, it’s only sixty-seven degrees. If it wasn’t a sunny day, it’d be cold.”

“Look at me. I’m sweating.” Ava replied.

“You’re not sweating.” Molly checked just to be sure, and verified that Ava was not, in fact, sweating. “Come on, hang in there, Mom. We’re just going to open presents, and then you can head back to the South Pole or wherever it is that you think isn’t too hot.”

Ava muttered something under her breath. “What’s that?” Molly asked, leaning in closer, a note of irritation in her voice. Ava started to reply, but was cut off by Jeffrey approaching.

“Mom, can I have another soda? m’thirsty.”

“Probably because it’s so hot out here.” muttered Ava.

Molly glared at her briefly, then reached over into the cooler on the bench, and handed an icy can of DC Cola to her son. “Here you go, Jeff. You want me to open it?”

Jeffrey took the can away from her. “No thanks, Mom. I got it.” He turned to walk away.

Molly swiveled back toward her complaining mother. “You know, Mom, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little..”

The POP! she heard next would stay with her for the rest of her life. She would hear it non-stop for the next six weeks, and in her dreams forever. And then there was the scream, the first of many.

Now

The lawyer’s office was plush, but not ornate. It was tastefully decorated, but not particularly classy. For one thing, there were too many ornaments and knick-knacks cluttering the space. Some decoration in an office was a good thing, of course, but decorators often seemed to forget that space projected power. A big office was the office of a powerful person; a small office reminded people of a kiosk in a strip mall.

Molly fidgeted nervously with the torn tissue in her hand as she spoke. The faux leather chair was making her legs sweat, and she struggled to pay attention as the bespectacled man on the opposite side of the desk spoke to her.

“-was just asking if there was any change.” he was saying.

Molly nodded, then hesitated. “Well- I mean, it’s not really change, I guess. Just a continuation. But Jeffrey is improving. The doctors are pleased with his progress.”

“I’ve exchanged phone calls with Dr. Brashear’s office, but we haven’t spoken recently. I understand he completed an evaluation in the last few days?”

Again Molly nodded. “He feels like Jeffrey will be a good candidate for plastic surgery. He says he can’t remove the scarring, but he thinks he can make it less prominent. It’ll always be,” she twisted the tissue and fought back a tear, “visible, but maybe not from a.. from a distance.”

“Any word on the prosthetic eye?”

“He’s been fitted, but it hasn’t arrived yet. No guarantees that it will work with his body, or anything like that. It’s still wait-and-see.”
G. Lee Williams, Attorney at Law, regarded Molly from across the desk. He hadn’t known her before the accident, but he couldn’t imagine she had been the same before as she appeared now. Her entire posture was slumped. There were large gray spots under both eyes, the sign of someone not sleeping well. Under the circumstances, he understood. Williams was what some people would refer to as a “shyster”. He didn’t have a terrific legal reputation, and usually fancied himself more a businessman than a lawyer. His philosophy was to gain referrals to his office in bulk, do very little work on the files, and then settle for as much as he could. Although he advertised himself as a trial lawyer, Williams had only tried four cases in his thirteen years of practice, and was very rarely in court.

His situation had much more to do with a lack of enthusiasm than a lack of ability. In his first few years, he’d been very devoted to his practice, and to his clients. Increasingly, however, he’d felt his clients relied on him for much more than legal advice. Increasingly, he felt he was being asked to fix their lives, to take them away from their problems. Day after day of poring through the minutiae of peoples’ run-down lives burned him out. These days he mostly went through the motions, servicing his clients in a practical and competent manner, but never really connecting with them, or investing anything of himself in their cases.

But this case was different. Molly Cartwright and her poor son Jeffrey were different. These were good people. This was a cause he could get behind. Williams would do everything in his power to help these people.

“The reason I asked you to come in today,” he said, “was to formulate our.. uh.. battle plan, so to speak. I don’t suppose you’ve talked to any experts, or have a background in science?” Molly shook her head. “Well, I’m going to run through all this with you. I apologize if I’m telling you things you already know. I don’t mean to talk down to you, but I need to make sure you understand exactly what we’re dealing with here, okay?”

Molly nodded, clutching the tissue tighter, and Williams proceeded. “Okay. As you know, virtually all sodas and soft drinks are carbonated. It’s what gives them that biting taste on your tongue. In order for the drinks to maintain that carbonation, they have to be stored in an extremely volatile state. You’ve seen what happens to a Zesti if you leave it out, right? It goes flat. In order to avoid that, carbonated drinks are stored in highly pressurized packages. The pop you hear when you open a can, or when you take the lid off of a bottle, is the sound of the pressure being released.

“Although we think of this as commonplace, it is actually a very delicate process. It’s not as easy as just pouring the soda into the can and sealing it up. The pressure inside the can has to be just right. Have you ever left a Zesti in the freezer? If you leave it there too long, the pressure gets.. well, out of whack, and the can explodes. Same thing if you’ve ever dropped one – you can’t open it for awhile without it foaming up and bubbling over.

“Similarly, if a soda isn’t packaged properly, if it isn’t bottled or canned just right, it’s dangerous. Under just the right conditions, the can or bottle or what-have-you can explode.

“Based on their analysis of Jeffrey’s DC can, the experts we have retained have concluded that it was packaged improperly. I don’t really pretend to understand exactly how the physics work, but our experts believe- have concluded that the manufacturer of the soda, and the can, were negligent in its design, manufacture, and/or assembly. They bel- have concluded that such negligence led to the can exploding when Jeffrey attempted to open it, and conversely led to his injuries.

“I believe we should file suit against the manufacturer, distributor, wholesaler, and ultimate vendor of the soda that harmed Jeffrey. The last three are really just there for show, just to cover our bases and make sure we’ve named everyone who could potentially be liable. The manufacturer will be the target defendant.”

“Who is the manufacturer?” Molly asked.

“They’re a company called Drighton Ltd.”

“I’ve never heard of them.”

“You’ve probably heard of their parent company. Wayne Enterprises.”

It had been a quiet night until he saw the signal shining in the night sky. Batman had spent the last few nights enjoying a brief respite from the crime that seemed to plague Gotham City, using the time to continue work into his investigation of the Crimesmith’s spree. Unfortunately, his efforts had been largely fruitless, and the Crimesmith’s identity remained a mystery. As he was prone to do, Batman had developed “Cave Fever”, and needed a night on the town to work out the kinks in his system.

Upon spotting the signal, Batman tossed his grapnel into the wind and swung into the cool night, toward police headquarters.

Commissioner James Gordon stood on the rooftop, his trademark trenchcoat wrapped tightly around him, staring into space and waiting for The Batman’s arrival. “Glad you made it.” he said as Batman landed stealthily behind him. Batman was momentarily taken aback by his inability to sneak up on Gordon, but chalked it up to experience. After more than a decade of working together, Gordon was beginning to anticipate Batman’s moves.

“You flashed the signal. What’s up?”

Gordon shut the signal off before responding. Sometimes he liked to leave the signal on while they conversed. It just seemed more dramatic. But he wasn’t feeling all that dramatic on this night. “Just wanted to chat with you for a minute.”

“Chat?” Batman seemed to withdraw into the shadows. He wasn’t big on chatting.

“Sorry. Poor choice of words. I need to talk to you.”

“About?”

“Have you seen the TV ads for Gotham Idol?”

Batman rarely had time to watch television, and when he did he ignored the commercials. “Sorry.”

“Then you don’t know what it is?” Batman’s silence answered the question. “Don’t you ever just get a bag of pork rinds and a beer and..”

“Jim.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “OK. Gotham Idol is the latest ‘reality’ television show. You’ve heard of these things, I suppose. They put real – or at least allegedly real – people into various situations and let the audience play voyeur while the situation works itself out. It started with Survivor, where they had people on an island, and then moved onto pseudo-dating shows. Anyway, they’re popular, and they’re cheap to produce, so more and more of them have come out in the last few years.

“Gotham Idol is the latest. They’re getting five people, and putting them in four shows over four weeks. They’re in a competition. Each week one contestant will be voted out by the fans, and whoever’s left standing at the end will be named the ‘Gotham Idol’. Whoever wins gets a prize or something to that effect.”

“This is very interesting, Jim, but..”

“Hang on, you didn’t get the catch. The contestants – are villains. Costumed villains. Folks you’ve dealt with at some time or another. The show is a supervillain contest.”

“Who?” Batman’s face hardened behind his mask. Awhile back he’d asked Alfred to discontinue monitoring television for news items like this. He’d have to resume the practice.

“From what I can tell,” Gordon answered. “The show features Phil Cobb – you know him as the Signalman, of course. Also the Ratcatcher, Mortimer Kadaver, the Snowman, and Lady Clayface.” He muttered under his breath. “I didn’t even know the Snowman was still alive.”

Batman’s disgust was immediately evident. “They’re criminals, all of them. Ratcatcher and Snowman are killers.”

“Apparently,” replied Gordon, shaking his head, “All of them are out of jail and have served their sentences. There are no charges pending against any of them, and the network – it’s Fox, of course – claims they’ve all reformed.”

“This has got to be part of some scheme. The five of them working together?”

“With all due respect, that’d be quite an alliance, don’t you think?”

Batman nodded his head reluctantly. “Probably. It seems unlikely they could get along with each other.”

“I think the producers are counting on that. They’ve recruited a pretty diverse mix. Two non-powered cons, two metahumans, and Kadaver – who I don’t believe has any powers but is a certifiable nutcase.”

“When does this show debut?”

“Next Tuesday.”

“Is there any way to stop it? An injunction?”

“There’s no law against poor taste. Oh, and there’s one other item. The host of the show is also an acquaintance of yours. Hudson Pyle. The Cavalier.”

The hits just kept on coming. “Who’s producing this – trash?”

“The guy’s name is Keith Harris. He’s with some outfit called MSG Studios, over- ..” Gordon realized he was talking to himself, and hoped Batman wouldn’t do anything rash. Sometimes an affront to common decency was even worse than a murder spree, or so it seemed.

Shannon Harris saw the intruder in the bedroom well before her slumbering husband Keith. Her scream woke him up, though. Keith bolted upright, faced with The Batman’s shadow looming over the bed.

“Keith Harris.” Batman’s tone was menacing.

Keith fumbled on the nightstand for his glasses and put them on, even though he still couldn’t see anything in the dark. “Is that a statement or a question?” Shannon was regaining her composure. He’d told her Batman might show up at some point.

“I want production of this villain reality show stopped – now.” barked the shadow.

Keith smirked. “Your opinion is noted. And overruled.”

“This is trash. You are sensationalizing criminal behavior, casting these people as role models.”

“I- we- are doing no such thing. None of the contestants on the show – and by the way, none of them are engaged in any criminal behavior anymore – are being presented as role models. They are contestants – characters, if you will – on the show. They will behave as they will behave, and the audience can judge that behavior as it sees fit.”

“It’s a popularity contest for criminals.”

Keith showed none of the unease most people displayed in Batman’s presence. “So?”

“None of them deserve popularity.”

“Says who? You? This isn’t new, Batman – assuming that’s who you are. Did you know The Scarecrow has a best-selling book out there? That Kite-Man did a Little Caesar’s commercial last year? Hell, Captain Stingaree had a role in a feature film. These guys aren’t just criminals, Batman – they’re personalities. Gotham has them like no place else in the world; it’s what we’re identified with. (Well, other than plagues and earthquakes.) It’d be foolish not to examine that.

“You can’t waltz into my bedroom in the middle of the night, and just expect to bully me or my bosses into doing what you want. It doesn’t work that way. I figured you’d be by, and maybe I even understand where you’re coming from, but it’s not your decision. It’s not.”

Silence filled the air for more than twenty seconds. Batman’s rage was palpable. Shannon looked around nervously, wondering if she should break the silence.

Finally Batman did it, his cape swinging around as he left. “I’ll be watching, Harris. If one con steps out of line, I’ll take them all down – and you with them.” Without another sound, he was gone. Shannon heard Keith exhale loudly, and she followed suit.

The Next Afternoon

Politics had always bored Bruce Wayne. People were constantly trying to pigeonhole him into either a liberal or conservative camp. Conservatives figured he must be one of them, because he had a lot of money. Liberals figured he must be one of them, because he spent so much time giving that money away. The truth was, both camps were wrong. Bruce just disliked politics altogether.

So he was bored by the Mayoral debate at which he was an honored guest. The string of public appearances he was making on Lucius Fox’s behalf was really starting to wear thin.

Lucius was finishing an answer about the city’s trash crisis. “- work with city officials to try and make the process more efficient. I’ve undertaken only a cursory analysis of last year’s budget, so it’s hard to comment, but if there is room for expansion there, that’s certainly something that would be high on my agenda. I would like for Gotham to have a cleaner look than it does now, and that means fewer garbage bags piled on the streets.” Bruce tried not to drift back into his rage over the Gotham Idol show. It had taken him hours to calm down, and he didn’t want to show anger during the public appearance.

The moderator, a skinny white man named Timothy Epting, grinned in an accommodating manner, and proceeded to address his next question to Lucius’ opponent. “Mr. Conley, Gotham has known it’s share of misfortune over the years. Our poor public image once resulting in the entire city being shut down, and recent events surrounding Mayor Dickerson have arguably contributed to this poor reputation. How would you, as Mayor, work to improve that situation?”

Kelen Conley adjusted his tie slightly before answering. At fifty-three, Conley had been involved in Gotham politics for decades, but was only now getting serious consideration as a mayoral candidate. Within the last few years, he had converted to the local branch of Lex Luthor’s Freedom Party. He appeared polished before the cameras as he replied. “Well, let me say first that I absolutely agree with your premise. Gotham has a horrible reputation, absolutely horrible. When people think of this city, they don’t think of all the wonderful opportunities we have to offer – they think of plagues and costumed supervillains.

“The federal government once decided this city was so bad that it shouldn’t be allowed to continue, that it should be shut down completely. Eventually the government realized its mistake and re-opened the city. But what did we do? Did we seize on that opportunity to create a new Gotham, better and more respected than its predecessor? No, we went with the same old same old. We put a man in office who was as corrupt as any mayor in our history, and once again that corruption exploded in scandal. Now we have to face the nation with a mayor accused of murder.

“The fact is, Gotham needs a change. We need to break away from the political establishment. My opponent,” he gestured at Lucius, a move which visibly annoyed Lucius. “My opponent is the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Wayne Enterprises is like any corporation – it has its good mixed with its bad. But it is as establishment as establishment gets. Wayne Enterprises is deeply rooted in this city’s status quo, the status quo that needs to change. Mr. Fox represents the status quo. I represent a new direction.”

The moderator had barely finished thanking Conley when Lucius piped in. “With all due respect to my esteemed opponent,” Lucius couldn’t resist dropping a hint of sarcasm with the word ‘esteemed’. “I vehemently disagree with the suggestion that I am somehow the establishment. I have absolutely no political past. Other than a brief trial run previously, I have never sought political office. Unlike my opponent, I wasn’t around when all the decisions of the past were-..”

“Oh come now, Mr. Fox.” Conley cut him off. “Do you really expect the people of Gotham to believe that Wayne Enterprises doesn’t run this city?”

Now Bruce’s interest was piqued, and he had taken a strong dislike to Conley.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Conley.” replied Lucius. “But that’s just paranoia talking.”

“Is it? Do you deny Wayne’s partnership with the Sionis-..”

The moderator interrupted. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I believe we’re out of time. Each candidate will be allowed a two minute closing statement. We’ll begin with Mr. Fox.”

Lucius managed to keep his anger in check, and the closing statements of both parties were rehearsed, inoffensive, and bland. Again, Conley’s message resonated, as he tied Lucius to Wayne Enterprises and the nebulous “establishment” against which he was campaigning.

The candidates left the stage, and Bruce followed. Lucius looked deflated by the time he reached his makeshift locker-room. Bruce put on his non-threatening grin. “I thought that went pretty well, Lucius.” he said, patting his friend’s shoulder.

Lucius grinned weakly. “I don’t know, Bruce. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. Conley plays the game so much better than I do. Did you hear him talk about your ‘partnership’ with Sionis? Talk about mischaracterization. But it’s not technically a lie. That’s what these guys do. Technically, they don’t lie, but they sell you a bill of goods.”

Bruce was about to offer reassuring words when the media approached. There were at least ten reporters, all clamoring for Lucius’ attention – or Bruce’s.

“Mr. Fox, what is your position on Sionis Corporation?”

“Mr. Fox, do you think the United States should establish diplomatic relations with Bialya?”

“Mr. Fox, do you think-?..”

Bruce raised a hand. “One at a time, please.” His presence calmed the crowd. “I’m sure Mr. Fox will be happy to address any questions you may have, but you’ll have to present them in an orderly fashion.”

Instantly several hands went up, and Bruce felt like a third-grade teacher. Lucius stepped forward, ready to resume control and address the questions. He pointed to a gentleman in the front row who didn’t appear to be holding a camera. “I’ll take you first, Mr.?”

The man stepped forward and handed Lucius an envelope. “You can call me Roy.” Quizzically, Lucius opened the envelope, and a set of papers slid out. Lucius read the caption on the first page in horror: Nancy Cartwright, individually and as Guardian ad Litem of Jeffrey Cartwright, a minor, versus Wayne Enterprises, Inc. d/b/a Drighton Ltd. et al.

“A lawsuit?” Lucius’ voice was a whisper.

“Roy” turned and walked away. “And you can consider yourself served.” he muttered as he disappeared into the crowd. Flashbulbs popped as Lucius scanned the Complaint.

To Be Continued...

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