Batman

I’m really starting to wonder if I’ve made a big mistake.

It’s not that everyone isn’t nice or anything – really, they’ve all been pretty friendly under the circumstances. They all say hello when I pass them in the hall and stuff. It’s just – it’s not what I expected.

“Renee, are we ready to move on that Isley sighting?” I hear Detective Crispus Allen’s baritone voice yell at his partner, who is pretending she doesn’t hear him while she takes notes from a phone call. She’s got a hand over her free ear trying to block out background noise, just so she can hear the call.

I almost bump into Marcus Driver as I turn the corner. He’s carrying a cup of coffee, and pulls back just at the last minute to avoid a collision. “Jeez!” he yells.

“Sorry, Marcus.” I apologize as best I can. He’s already moved on, turning past me. “I didn’t see—..” I give up the ghost in mid-sentence. He’s not listening.

“Don’t sweat him, Rook.” Romy Chandler’s been watching the exchange and gives me a reassuring grin. “He’s just stressed; that’s all.”

“It’s okay.” I try to blow it off like it’s no big deal. Don’t want to seem too insecure on my third day on the job. “We’re all a little frazzled, I guess.”

“Renee!!” Allen is becoming agitated.

Romy laughs. “Just be glad it’s Bullock’s day off. Seriously, Ben, everything going all right?”

Romy’s cute. I like her. My shoulders slouch a little as I talk. “It’s okay. I’m feeling a little useless, to tell you the truth. I feel like all I do is fetch coffee for everyone.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Gordon’s usually a little better with organization than he’s been lately. These breakouts have got everyone on edge, I bet.” She grins, and lowers her voice. “Besides, we’re putting Officer Enark on permanent coffee duty.”

I chuckle involuntarily. Officer Enark probably has a first name, but I don’t know it. He started a few days before me, and he’s already gotten a reputation as the department weirdo. He’s a long, thin, lanky guy with nerdy-looking glasses, and he doesn’t socialize very much. Every time I see him, he’s getting coffee for someone. ‘course it’s not that funny – that’s usually what I’m doing, too.

Maybe I should back up. My name is Benjamin Redd. My friends call me Ben or Benny. I’m one of the newest officers on the G.C.P.D. I’m not a total rookie, despite my nickname. I’ve actually been out of Academy for about two years, during which time I’ve served on the Finger County PD. Recently Finger merged with the Bludhaven PD, and my job was one of the casualties of the merger. I’ve been trying to hook on with the GCPD ever since, but only lately struck gold.

Well, sort of. A few weeks back, there were major breakouts at Arkham Asylum, Blackgate Prison, and Ravencroft Penitentiary in Bludhaven. Several high-profile, which is to say “costumed” villains escaped. Probably the two biggest names were Jonathan Crane, a.k.a. the Scarecrow, and Pamela Isley, a.k.a. Poison Ivy, both late of Arkham. Besides those two, a bunch of lesser lights got freed. G.C.P.D. in particular has been working around the clock to recapture them, and it’s created a man-hour crunch. So they got the authority to hire some additional cops, at least on a temp basis. Lucky me, I was one of the guys hired. So was Enark, I think, and there are three or four others.

Problem is, no one’s taken the time to give us any direction. We’re just kind of floating around the squadroom, attending to odds and ends. Commissioner Gordon is practically a legend for me; even growing up in Bludhaven all I ever heard about was how wonderful he is. But I’ve got to say, so far – he’s not impressing me all that much. I realize he’s got a lot on his plate, but it seems things wouldn’t be nearly so bad if we were a little better organized.

“Renee!! Dammit, get off the phone!!”

Montoya finally puts down the phone, exasperated, but doesn’t cradle the receiver. “Goddammit Cris, I’m busy!! The Isley sighting was in Finger County, you idiot!! It’s out of our jurisdiction!”

Allen looks puzzled, then looks quizzically at a sheet of paper in his hand. “Hhhh.” he finally says. “So it is. How’d I miss that one?” He tosses the paper aside, disgusted with himself. “Damn, I’ve got to get some rest.”

Detective Projnow walks by at just that moment, and pats Allen on the back. “No chance of that, Cris.” she teases.

“Shoot and hellfire.” he replies. “Guess it’s another night of caffeine-induced craziness. Renee, Romy, Rook… you guys want anything.”

Montoya shoes him away, lost again in her phone call. I shake my head. “Don’t drink the stuff” says Romy as Allen strides away.

He’s just gotten out of the room when we get the call.

Comic books always bored me as a kid. No matter how outlandish they were, they always seemed to pale in comparison to reality. Bludhaven was pretty mundane, some would even say trashy. But Gotham was only about a half hour away, forty-five minutes at the most, and it was like a science-fiction fantasy come true.

It seemed like every week we’d hear about it on the news – some costumed villain had come up with some grandiose scheme. Thing is, these guys (and sometimes gals) were about the worst planners on Earth. They came up with absurd schemes that had absolutely no chance of ever succeeding. I remember one time Mr. Freeze threatened to freeze the entire state into a block of ice if the city didn’t pay him ten million dollars. I mean, come on – a block of ice? How is that even a credible threat? If he killed everybody, what would he do next? Sit on a giant iceberg by himself?

Of course, that wasn’t really the point. It was the theater of it all that was important. That’s what it was all about. Freeze and his kind were showmen, and their escapades were the greatest show on Earth. Nothing in a comic book could ever top them.

My mom didn’t see it that way, though. She never set foot in Gotham, and to her the whole spectacle was beyond sordid. Do you know she actually forbade me to watch the evening news? I can still hear her. “Benjamin, you’re not to watch this tripe anymore.”

“But Mom,” I’d plead. “It’s the news. I’m just keeping up with current events.”

“This,” she’d wave her arm at the TV as it flickered off. “This isn’t current events. These people are horrible. It’s just sensationalism. A week from now no one will even remember what Mr. Frostie was doing.”

“Freeze.”

“What?”

“Freeze. His name is Mister Freeze, not Mister Frostie.”

“His REAL name isn’t Mister Freeze, either, smart-aleck. Now that’s the end of this discussion – no more of these costumed menaces on TV.”

Of course she knew that wasn’t really that. I’d be in there watching again the first time she turned her back. This was larger-than-life theater. This was life in the Big City, and I couldn’t turn it off if I wanted to.”

Even with the personnel overflow, we’re short-staffed. Doesn’t make any sense, I know, but that’s the way it is. Remember what I said about organization?

Gordon’s strapping on a bulletproof vest. Romy had told me he hardly ever goes out to crime scenes himself anymore. He used to, back in the day, but now he delegates most of that responsibility. Awhile back he took a bullet in the leg, too, and that’s slowed him down a bit. Yet here he is, big as day, strapping on Kevlar in the middle of his office while the rest of us watch.

“OK. Here’s the 411. We’ve got a potential hostage situation at Kendorf and Bain. Some nut with a gun is holed up in a museum. We estimate as many as fifteen hostages. No confirmed fatalities, but witnesses heard a shot inside. A patrol car is on the scene, and we’re rolling out Uncton, but we need backup.” Uncton is the squad’s premier hostage negotiator. “Everyone strap on a vest and get a rifle. I mean everyone.”

“Everyone” is pretty scant at the moment. Allen and Montoya are here, along with Romy, Driver, Enark and myself. I guess that’s why Gordon’s leaping into the thick of things himself.

There’s little banter as we all suit up. Driver is still wearing his perpetual scowl. Montoya and Allen are all business, acting like they’ve done this a million times before. Enark looks weird, as always. He’s kind of shaking a little. Oddly enough, so is Gordon. I see his hand tremble, just briefly, while he’s attaching the vest. Age? Nerves? Too much caffeine? Romy’s the most calm of all of us. She just goes about her business, as if she’s making a sandwich.

The ride over is brief and loud, our sirens blazing. A crowd has, predictably, gathered outside the Moldoff Museum at Kendorf and Bain. A second patrol car has joined the original responders, and they’re doing their best to cordon off the witnesses.

Gordon’s out of his car as soon as it stops moving, striding purposefully toward the front of the line. Seeing his approach, a tall blonde woman with a bullhorn turns and walks toward him. She extends an arm as he gets closer. “Commissioner? I’m Marilyn Uncton. We’ve met once before.”

Gordon seems annoyed for some reason. “I remember. I am the Commissioner.”

Uncton looks confused for a second, then snaps back into action. “Right. Well, just to give you a briefing..”

He interrupts her. “Have we confirmed any fatalities?”

“No. Someone heard a shot, but that’s all.”

“How many hostages?”

“Rough estimate – ten or eleven. Could be as high as twenty, though.”

“TWENTY? They said fifteen on the phone.”

“We’re really not sure. I’m trying to establish a dialogue with the perp.”

“It’s just one.”

“Pretty sure. Not absolutely certain, but pretty sure. I asked him to call us.” As if on cue, a portable phone set up near the front of the line rings. Uncton beats Gordon to the phone – barely – and answers: “This is Marilyn Uncton. With whom am I speaking?”

The man’s voice on the other end is panicked. “I’m not giving my name right now, Miss Uncton. It’s too far gone for that.”

Uncton’s response is totally cool. “Okay. That’s fine. You don’t have to give your name right now. But I would like to talk to you. We’ve got ourselves a situation here, and we need to work our way out of it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

“Sorry. Look, I need to know how many people are in there with you, and whether anyone is hurt.”

“I gotta go. I’ll call back.” Uncton starts to protest, but the line goes dead. Gordon’s snarl is almost audible.

Before he can speak, Romy’s cry alerts us. “Hey!” She’s pointing over beside the building. “I thought I saw something. Is Batman here?”

Driver’s clearly disgusted at the thought. “Ah shit.” is all he can muster. Even having only been here a few days, I have gathered that Driver doesn’t care much for Batman.

The only one who doesn’t respond is Gordon. He’s still focused on Uncton. Personally I’m finding it very hard to focus. Batman…

“Do you believe all that Batman stuff?” The question had been mocking, delivered in a condescending tone. But Freagan was my partner, so I let it slide.

“Look Eddie,” I said as I cleaned my pistol, even though it had never been fired. “How can you not believe Batman is real? The guy’s been seen in public about eight million times. He’s been on TV more times than I can count. He’s been a member of the JLA, for crying out loud. How on Earth can you not believe in him?”

“I dunno.” Eddie replied. We’d only been partners on the Finger County PD for a week, but we were quickly developing a rapport. “Just seems kind of far-fetched to me is all.”

“Far-fetched?” I wasn’t angry, but I heard my tone rising as if I was. “Eddie, you believe in Superman, right? Wonder Woman? Green frickin’ Lantern?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“All those guys are more far-fetched than Batman. Superman’s an alien, Wonder Woman’s an Amazon, Green Lantern has a magical ring. Batman’s just a dude, like you and me. He’s so much more believable than any of those other folks.”

“See Benny, that’s where you’re wrong.” Eddie flashed that condescending smile again as he shut his locker. “I can accept Superman flying around doing his thing because I know he’s an alien. Yeah, it’s science fiction-y, but once upon a time so was the moon landing. Bullets bounce off Superman’s chest? Sure, no problem. He’s an alien. It may be far out, but it makes sense.

Batman, on the other hand, makes no sense because he’s supposed to be an ordinary dude. You say he’s like you and me? Okay – when we get done here, let’s go out and swing around from a few rooftops, and see if we don’t end up dead. You know and I know we’d be street pizza in ten seconds. And so would anyone else.

Dude, all the stuff Batman’s supposed to have done over the years – it couldn’t be done by an ordinary person like you and me. Batman’s like the magic bullet that’s supposed to have killed Kennedy. You know the one that twisted about twenty different ways and defied pretty much all the laws of physics? Believing in Batman is like believing in that bullet. You’ve gotta be really gullible to buy it.”

I pondered his words for awhile, knowing he was making sense, but feeling something nagging at me. He looked at me pointedly. “So – you still wanna believe in Batman?”

“Yeah,” I finally said. “I like believing in Batman.”

“Commissioner, I need to know it if Batman’s here.” Uncton’s voice snaps me from my reverie.

Gordon looks at her for a long moment before responding. “Why?”

Uncton’s getting frustrated with the Commissioner, I can tell. “Because he’s a wild card. His presence here is something I can’t control or account for. I’m trying to develop a rapport with our perp in there. I may have to make assurances to him at some point, and I can’t do that if there’s a chance Batman’s going in with guns blazing any second.”

“Batman doesn’t carry a gun.” My own voice surprises me. Gordon and Uncton both turn to look at me, then quickly resume their staring match.

“Fine.” Uncton bites. “It’s a figure of speech. You know I’m right, Commissioner. Is Batman here?”

Gordon has been silent for five long seconds when Uncton’s phone rings again. She glares at Gordon as she picks it up and quickly places the caller on speakerphone. “Hello? This is Uncton.”

The panicky voice is a little calmer now. “Okay, okay. I’ve been doing some thinking. I want to talk.”

“Allright.” Uncton’s cool demeanor has returned. It’s no surprise she’d become a negotiator, she seems so good under stress. With ice water like that in her veins, she’s a natural for either hostage negotiation or the bomb squad. “Are you ready to tell me who you are?”

“I don’t think so. But I can tell you that there are twelve people in here with me, and they are all unharmed except one. I.. uh.. the guard got shot in the arm. He’s still alive, but he’s hurt.”

Uncton grimaces, knowing that a man is probably bleeding to death inside the building. Yet she presses on as we listen. “Our first priority needs to be to get him to safety.”

“That may be your first priority. It’s not mine. I don’t want him to die, but that’s not the first order of business.” The panicked demeanor from before is almost totally gone now. “First order of business, is, I want to walk out of here.”

“That’s not likely to happen. I’m sure you know that. But I can tell you this – if someone in there dies, there’s no way you will walk out of there. So what we need to figure out is, how can we resolve this situation without anyone dying?”

“How about this?” The voice has suddenly taken a meaner edge. “If you don’t let me walk out of here, I’m going to kill everyone in the museum. Those are my terms.”

When I was in college I took a psychology course, and I had some very brief hostage negotiation training at the Academy. Even though my education on this point is limited, I know, and I’m sure Uncton now knows, that we’re dealing with a psycho. Killing everyone in the museum is a suicide move. It’s Mr. Freeze and his giant iceberg all over again, and anyone thinking rationally would quickly realize that. This guy is a psycho, and that makes Uncton’s job that much harder.

Still, she presses on. “Let’s back up a minute. What you’re saying to me is that you want to escape. Why, if all you want to do is get out of there, did you take hostages to begin with?”

There is a long pause, and I worry that he’s hung up again. Then his voice returns, but the panic is there, just past the periphery. “I didn’t really mean to do it. I was just looking at the exhibits. But I got really tired of being laughed at. They were all making fun of me.”

“Who was making fun of you?”

“Who do you think? The other people in the museum. I had to make them be quiet.” If we needed any more confirmation that this guy’s off his rocker, we’ve got it. He continues. “Look. Look.” His voice is getting quicker again. “Is Batman here? Have they sent Batman after me yet?”

Uncton glares at Gordon, who is surprisingly stoic. “I don’t think so, but you know, Batman doesn’t work for us. We don’t always know where he is. Wouldn’t you rather deal with us than with him?”

“Wouldn’t you rather just do something else?” My mom had been in the nursing home for five years, but she hadn’t lost her spunk. Her mind was as sharp as ever.

“I don’t think so, Mom.” I replied, seated across from her in the nursing home chair. “This is just a temporary setback.”

“I think it’s a sign.” she said knowingly.

“It’s not a sign.” I said. “I told you, Finger County PD got consolidated with Bludhaven. I was one of the newest hires, so my job got cut. I’ll catch on somewhere else; there’s always a shortage of cops.”

“You mean except when the departments get consolidated.”

“Right.”

“Listen, Benjamin, I’m proud of you. I know you’re doing something you believe in, and that’s great. Just please be careful, especially if you’re heading up toward Gotham. Life in the big city isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be, you know.”

Gordon is conferring with Allen, Montoya, Driver, and Romy. I’m not sure where Enark got to, and they’re mostly ignoring me. “We’ve got to rush the place” argues Driver. “This guy’s a nut; anyone can see it. He’s going to shoot everyone in there.”

“Sir, I’ve got to agree with Marcus.” Montoya chimes in. “Uncton’s not going to able to negotiate with someone who’s irrational. He’s just one guy. If he’s telling the truth about how he got in there, he’s not going to able to withstand a full assault. He can’t monitor us approaching the building, even.”

“Of course,” Allen adds. “He could be lying about how he got in there. He might be baiting us.”

Gordon considers all of this for a moment. Uncton’s still talking to the psycho. Finally he nods, almost imperceptibly. “Tactical. Go.”

Suddenly Uncton’s waving at us frantically, trying to get our attention without making noise. She makes the pen motion, and I hand her a pad. She writes: He’s on the phone with someone else. “Dammit!” says Allen. “Didn’t we tap the phone lines? How do we not know this?” It hasn’t been the best day of work for the G.C.P.D.

It’s clear at this point that the psycho is up to something; the question is what. Tactical is scrambling into place, but now we have to question the accuracy of the rest of our intelligence, since most of it came from the psycho.

Tactical’s just getting ready to storm the place when we hear the motor, a car engine louder than it should be. We turn to see a brown Corvette tearing towards us, seemingly picking up speed. Guns extend from either window, and shots ring out. The crowd screams, as a riot ensues.

I’m still in the process of spinning around toward the car when I feel the sting in my side. I’m wearing a vest, of course, but my sides are unprotected. The impact knocks me to the ground; I smack my head hard on the pavement. I worry that I’m going to black out. Dimly I hear shots being fired near me, but the sounds are muffled. I hear Gordon yell “Go!” to Tactical, but I can’t see what’s happening.

The world goes cold.

Romy has my head in her lap. At least I think it’s Romy; it’s hard to tell. Everything is spinning except her. I try to say her name, but no sound comes out. She’s upset. She’s talking, but it’s hard to make out the words. “—right. Just h-- elp on th--.”

It occurs to me that I should be hurting a lot, but for some reason I’m not. My head feels light. I think Romy may be crying. Dimly now I hear sirens. Are they police or ambulance? I’m not sure. “-guy inside ha--- --ccomplices. --- ested them all.”

I finally manage to make a sound. “Is Batman here?” Sounds dumb, I know, but it’s all I could think of.

Romy chuckles through her sobs. “—on’t think so. You’ll hav-- see him s-- -ther time.”

It takes me a minute to respond. “s’ok.” I finally manage. “I can wait.” Life in the big city. You just never know what to expect.

The End...

Check out Detective Comics #8 to see the fallout from this issue unfold.

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