Batman: Lost to the Night--Part X

“I’m Alright” written by Angelo, Larry Gottlies, and Kim Richey. Recorded by Terri Clark on her How I Feel CD (Mercury Nashville, 1998).

“I know I should have contacted you sooner,” Dick began, as the asylum door swung shut behind them. A gust of wind blew his hair back, and he pulled his gloves on quickly.

“That’s right,” Rae snapped. “You should have.” She finished fastening the buttons on her coat as they walked down the gravel path to the parking lot. “I can’t prepare any sort of a case for his release if you’re going to withhold the tools I need to mount a credible argument. Damn it, Dick! Why didn’t you let me know he was alert again?”

Dick winced. “Truth?” He asked. “Old habits die hard. I’m so used to not involving outsi…” he corrected himself. “People like y…” That wasn’t much better. “Look. Bruce drummed it into me at an early age: anything that might have to do with Batman, even in the most peripheral way, does not get discussed outside the …caped contingent.” That still sounded lame.

Rae gave him a hard stare. “Since when do YOU wear a cape, Nightwing?” She demanded. “Never mind. I don’t need to hear the wrong answer to that question. Let’s make it simple. If you want my help to get him out, you talk to me. It doesn’t matter if I’m wearing a business suit, jeans and a sweatshirt, or Mary Marvel’s minidress. Keep me in the loop or find yourself another lawyer.”

“Got it.” Dick nodded. “Can we set up a time to meet this week, then?”

“That would be a good start,” she agreed. “I’ll try to clear a block of time on my schedule. If he’s come this far along…”

“He might be ready for that hearing now?” Dick felt his heart leap.

But Rae was shaking her head. “He could have been,” she frowned, “if he hadn’t taken that little jaunt a few hours ago. That’s why you should have told me he was coherent again. I could have met with him sooner, maybe given him a better idea of where he stood. Now… now there’s no judge who’d approve his release immediately following an escape attempt. Even if Arkham certified him cured today, it would take months before there’d be a chance at getting a hearing to go in his favor.”

She stared at him. “Tell me you didn’t know he was planning this.”

“I didn’t.” Dick shook his head. “Two… no, three days ago, now, he asked me to break him out. He told me he couldn’t do it on his own. I turned him down,” he slumped. “I swear, I didn’t think he’d try to escape without my help. He wouldn’t have asked me in the first place if he’d thought then that he could…”

“Dick.” He’d almost forgotten that Gordon was following behind them. “You can’t second-guess yourself. You did the right thing.”

“Absolutely,” Rae agreed. “I hate to think of the headaches I’d have if I needed to defend both of you.”

She strode purposefully toward a green Lexus. Hand on the hood, she stopped. “One more thing. I can’t stress how important this is. If you find something out, and you suspect that it might hurt our case, tell me. Surprises are all well and good, but they have their place, and that place is not in a courtroom when it’s the petitioner springing them.” She smiled then. “If we do it, that’s different.”

That earned her a chuckle from both men.

“Well,” she said, “good night, gentlemen. Dick, call me later. I’ll be in my office before eight,” she raised her eyes skyward, “pulling everything I’ve got to make sure that eleven-thirty session lasts three hours and still requires a follow-up.”

Dick nodded. “Thank you for that. I mean it.”

Rae inserted her car key into the lock and smiled. “I pride myself on being thorough. Call me.”

They waited until she’d gotten in and shut the door behind her before both proceeded to their own vehicles.

Barbara stared at the screen for a full minute before she replied. Was he involved in this too? Angrily she began to type:

I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again. I suppose I should have guessed you’d be connected with Calculator somehow.

The reply was virtually instantaneous:

Sorry, wrong employer. I’m currently a consultant for Cobblepot Limited.

Oh, lovely. Wait…

That’s not the same thing?

This time the response was longer.

Not since Kuttler made the mistake of engaging Mr. Cobblepot’s services, and then reneging on his agreement. I’m sure that you can appreciate that such a thing simply can’t be done without certain repercussions. I’ve been hired as an expert in determining what repercussions might be deemed most appropriate. And I’ve been authorized to extend an offer to you.

Oracle read the message in disbelief. What kind of game was Penguin playing now?

Are you aware of my group affiliations? She typed back. Rough translation: “are you flipping kidding me?”

Oh yes, the reply came. Don’t worry. He’s not asking you to do anything that is likely to offend your moral sensibilities. My employer wishes to neutralize Kuttler as a threat to his empire. He is willing to offer you a chance to be rid of the nuisance as well…

A key turned in the front door lock, startling her. She recognized the familiar tread on the wooden floor. “Hi, Babs, I’m back!” Dick called.

“In here,” she shouted. “You need to have a look at this.”

As he entered the den, Barbara drew his attention to the rest of the message displayed on her laptop.

Following are the names and locations of Kuttler’s three closest living relatives. My employer would prefer not to involve them in this matter, but some of his people might be a bit over-eager. It’s not always easy for him to restrain them. Cobblepot believes that he might be able to hold them off for two days, perhaps three. After that, their corporate loyalty and wounded pride could lead them to act contrary to his personal wishes. My employer feels that it’s best for everyone concerned if you were to take over the arrangements for safeguarding Mr. Kuttler’s next of kin.

“Wait,” Dick broke off, confused. “Penguin wants to protect the family of someone who double-crossed him so badly that he’s asking you to help him?”

“Keep reading,” Barbara instructed, scrolling downward. “The next bit concerns you.”

Naturally, with your assumption of responsibility for his family’s continued wellbeing, it would then be in the Calculator’s best interests not to back you into a corner.

Below that, Barbara had typed:

Interesting. Now, what does your boss get out of this?

Dick chuckled. “That was blunt.”

“Penguin has more angles to him than a set of RPG dice. And he doesn’t have an altruistic bone in his body. Soooo…”

Dick’s eyebrows shot up as he read the next part:

Keep your associates out of the Iceberg lounge. Especially Batman. His presence is bad for business.

“Oh, I can just imagine.” He grinned. “And here I was only recently thinking I might have goofed a few months back when I told Ozzie I’d be around more.”

Barbara typed another question:

What about Calculator?

The reply was swift.

He’s not one of your people. He’s not an unfortunate innocent. He’s not your concern. Don’t try to change that circumstance.

Barbara frowned. “I don’t like this part. Not at all.”

Dick reached for a chair. “I don’t either. So…”

Her frown deepened. All at once she smiled. “I think I got it. I won’t be helping him, not exactly… but when I let him know that I’m hiding his family, I’m also going to tell him who made me aware of their existence. Kuttler’s not stupid. He’ll recognize a warning when he hears it. That should be enough.”

Dick nodded his approval. “Sounds like a plan.” He straddled the chair. “As far as Penguin’s demand goes, if I shut down the Iceberg, the Gotham underworld would only have to find other places to meet—harder to infiltrate places. I think the old status quo might’ve been working just fine.” He squeezed her arm. “Tell them you’ll talk to me and do your best but you don’t know if that’ll be good enough. Ask if they can check back with you in twenty-four hours, and tell Penguin to do his best to keep his goons back.” He leaned forward conspirationally. “I’ll pay Ozzie a visit tomorrow night, and let him know how lucky he is that you were able to convince me. Oh, and that if I hear that one of those people you’re going to protect suffers so much as a paper cut, he’d better not have any of his associates in the vicinity.”

Barbara grinned back. “I thought you’d say that,” she replied.

Dick watched as she typed in her response and sent it. "How are you going to track down Kuttler?"

Barbara clicked on one of the tabs at the bottom of her screen. "One of those relatives has an online address book. And lousy security. He should be asking his cousin for pointers."

She smiled with satisfaction as she fired off her reply. “Done.”

Acknowledgement came a moment later, along with a warning not to stall for too much time.

She brought up a new window. “Now, for Calculator.”

Rae Greene wasn’t sure what to expect when the guards admitted her to Bruce’s cell later that day. She’d barely had time to speak with the man earlier. Bruce leaped up as the door swung shut behind her.

“I appreciate your coming down here today, Rae,” he said with a smile.

She smiled back. Bruce seemed to be acting much the way he had on the day that he had asked her to draw up the papers to formally name Dick Grayson as his son and heir. Then, he’d been very much the image of the affable playboy portrayed in the media, and yet, lurking below the surface, she’d caught a glimpse of iron purpose. Now, the façade was thinner, almost threadbare—something old and comfortable, pulled on hastily in a vain effort to conceal his inner turmoil.

“My pleasure,” she replied. She didn’t have much patience for the playboy image. “Shall we get down to business?”

Bruce nodded. “I’m sorry that there’s only one chair,” he gestured to the seat riveted to the desk by an iron bar. “You’re welcome to it. Or, if you’d rather the bed, we could switch…”

She took the chair. “This is fine. Bruce, I…”

He interrupted her. “Normally, I’d offer you a cup of coffee, but circumstances being what they are, well…” The insipid grin was back in full force. It almost made her teeth ache in frustration.

“Bruce…”

His smile fell away. He seemed to sink further into the mattress. “I really botched things, didn’t I?” He said. He raised his head. His eyes sought hers. “Alright. Tell me.”

“Straight up?” Rae asked. “Fine. Yes. You screwed up any chance you might have had of getting out of here before Christmas. Judges don’t look favorably on recent escape attempts when they’re determining whether to approve a release.”

“I see.” Bruce slumped. “Well. That’s honest.”

“Up to a point,” Rae said. “There are facts, and then there are ways to spin them. And, to be candid, Bruce? I don’t know whether I’d have been pushing for a hearing next month even if you hadn’t broken out yesterday.” She smiled then. “I don’t typically go into a courtroom expecting to lose. When I file the petition for your hearing, it’s going to be when I know we can win it.”

Bruce lifted his head. “How long?”

“Anywhere from three to six months.” She forced herself to add, “minimum.”

His hand gripped the trundle at the foot of his cot, knuckles whitening around the smooth, curved metal bar. “I’ve been in… custody, for almost seventeen months, Rae,” he said, keeping his voice steady with supreme effort. “The only way I’ve lasted as long as I have was by… withdrawing. That’s over, now. But if you’re asking me to stick out another six months or more…” he shook his head. “It’s a lot to ask.”

Rae sighed. “It’s not in me to sugarcoat the facts,” she said. “If you can’t work within the system, you aren’t going to get out of here. You’re the only one who can decide if it’s worth it. And if you do, when you do, I’ll be waiting to set the process in motion. But I’m not about to start those wheels turning if I believe that we’re going to lose.”

“You know,” Bruce ventured somewhat testily, “I’ve triumphed over near-insurmountable odds before.”

If the lawyer was irritated, she didn’t show it. “That’s excellent,” she stated. “Let’s see you do it again.” She spread her hands. “By all means, progress faster. Prove me wrong. Work with Dr. Arkham until your regular shrink gets back here. If you can convince him you’re improving, believe me, the judge will be a piece of cake.” She sighed. “Circumstances put you here. You can get yourself out.” A smile came and went. “You proved that last night. But if you want to get out and stay out,” she shook her head. “No shortcuts. You didn’t get your martial arts black belts through some Sally Struthers correspondence course. You’re not going to get your release papers in a Cracker Jack box. Work within the system and I will back you.”

Her expression hardened. “Pull another stunt like you did last night, and I withdraw from your case and you can find yourself another lawyer. If you need names, I’ll be glad to furnish you with a list of contacts.”

Bruce eyebrows shot up. He nodded his comprehension.

Rae smiled again. “I’m not about to mollycoddle,” she said bluntly. “This won’t be easy. We’re both going to have to go over every possible detail, every scrap of information. It’s not going to be fun.” She extended her hand. “But if you’re prepared to work for this, I’m prepared to work with you.”

Bruce clasped her hand firmly. “Let’s get started.”

Jeremiah Arkham sat at the desk and gestured to Bruce to lie down.

“Actually,” Bruce said as he stretched out, “I find I concentrate better when I’m sitting up.”

Arkham said nothing. Bruce heard his pen scratching, though. A moment later, rustling pages told him that Arkham was probably reviewing his notes. Bruce closed his eyes. He’d been up later than usual last night, and it was starting to show.

“Well?” Arkham asked, startling him.

Bruce’s eyes sprang open. “Well,” he repeated.

“Are you prepared to cooperate, now?”

Bruce clenched his teeth. Slowly he drew a deep breath. “I’m prepared to do what I need to in order to get discharged,” he said.

“If you think that you can manipulate me…”

Oh, I know I can. But that’s not the point.

Aloud he said, “Those weren’t my thoughts.”

“Oh really? What were your thoughts, then?”

Bruce smiled then. “I was thinking,” he said, “about the months I’ve spent here. There’s been a progression, I believe.” He rolled onto his side. “I’ve gone from not caring where I was, to wanting to be here…”

Jeremiah coughed. “You… wanted to be here?”

“Would you prefer, ‘believed I deserved it’? I suppose that would also be an accurate way to put it.” He continued. “So, I think… that I should be grateful to you, Dr. Arkham,” Bruce put on his most bland social expression. “Without your help, I don’t know whether I’d truly care whether I stayed or left. Thank you.”

He stole a sidelong glance at Jeremiah’s expression and forced himself not to laugh. His thoughts took him back to an encounter at Pier 2, on a December 24th, several years ago...

Cassandra Cain was beginning to wish that she had never gone with Barbara to Ivytown, never met with Dr. McLeod, never obtained the bag of letters, which she now carried with her at all times.

“Batgirl,” Oracle buzzed in her cowl-radio, “You need to get to the corner of Sprang and Tucker. Break-in in progress at Korman Pharmacy.”

Cass fired off a grapnel. “Going now,” she said. Please, let Barbara leave it at that, she thought fervently. Please don’t let her ask—

“What letter does ‘Tucker’ start with?”

The line sailed cleanly through the air to loop around a fire escape banister. For one moment, it seemed to hang there, looking for all the world like the letter ‘p’ (P. Plastic). Cass groaned. “Tucker,” she repeated, as she retracted the line and felt her feet leave the ground. “Tuh-tuh-tuh…” Mentally, she reviewed the contents of the bag. Not G (gold). Not D (damask), although that was closer. No… she knew this one. Tuh-toh-tih-tih… “Tin!” She shouted. “T!” She rested her feet briefly on the fire escape, then leapt to the rooftop, landing in a somersault. Springing upright, she got a running start and jumped to the next building.

“Excellent!” Barbara exclaimed. “What letter does it end with?”

For a moment, confusion reigned. Then, confidently she replied “umber. U.”

Silence. “Try again, Batgirl,” Oracle said.

What? But… “U,” she repeated. “Tuck-ur. It’s a ‘u’. It has to be a ‘u’!” She was approaching the edge of the rooftop again. The next one was a story lower. Cass gripped the safety railing, pulled up into a handstand, and somersaulted down, using her momentum and grappling line to carry her across the gap.

“Tuckerrrrrrrr…” Oracle said, making it sound like a growl.

Cass felt like growling herself. “Can’t hear, Oracle,” she snapped. “Static.” She turned off her comlink. The last thing she needed going into a fight was a distraction. She could see her quarry below her.

In a move reminiscent of the man who had given her a new purpose years ago, she lowered herself to a second-story balcony, and then sprang lightly down, letting her cape slow her velocity.

As soon as the would-be burglars spotted her blocking the drugstore entrance, they dropped the pharmaceuticals. One of them raised his hands high.

Yarn. Y. Cass blinked. With his arms uplifted like that, the young man did look a bit like a ‘y’ but…

The other three came at her in a rush, and there was no more time to wonder. She glided among them, swift as steel and nearly as deadly, tossing the thugs almost nonchalantly, over the counter, down the aisle, and against the wall. They were in no mood to resist as she secured them, moments later, for the police.

Outside the pharmacy, she paused, remembering. She glanced up at the sign on the corner. Under her mask, she frowned. She did recognize that one. She closed her eyes and tried to remember… the letter was wrapped in coarse fibers, thin like her grappling line, but rough to the touch. She did know it.

Turning her radio back on, she reported, “Robbers stopped. Going back to patrol.”

“Nice work,” Oracle replied. “Things are quiet right at the moment. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Yes,” Batgirl replied. “Oracle?” She smiled. “R.” Rope. And she hadn’t needed to look at the letters in the bag at all, this time.

“Hey.”

Startled, Bruce looked up from the case file. “Barbara?” He asked in disbelief. The five days were up today, he knew, but he hadn’t expected anyone to come by this early. Bruce got up and walked rapidly back to the window. “Barbara! This is…” he broke off. “It’s… good to see you.”

Barbara pressed her hand against the screen. “I’ve been stuck in the patients’ waiting room for an hour; they wouldn’t let me downstairs until now,” she laughed. “Dick’s coming later, of course, and Daddy’ll probably be here before too long, but…” she broke off. “I should have come before this,” she admitted.

Bruce shook his head. “I can’t imagine that you would be comfortable visiting me… here,” he said.

“It’s not like I have to roll past his cell on my way down here,” she pointed out. “Look, you have your demons, I have mine. I just decided it was time to stop… letting them win.”

Bruce pressed his palm to hers. “That’s not as easy as it sounds.”

She conceded the point. “I feel like someone’s dragging their fingernails against a blackboard,” she admitted. “How do you stand it? Seriously.”

“When a situation is unavoidable,” Bruce said slowly, “it must be endured.”

Barbara nodded. “I understand,” she said, patting the arm of her wheelchair. “I still don’t know how you do it, though.”

“Yes, you do,” Bruce countered, his gaze locking on her fingers, that still gripped the armrest.

She gave him the slightest of nods. “Maybe.”

Bruce shook his head. “No. Not ‘maybe’. You… adjusted to your circumstances.” He closed his eyes. “I withdrew from mine.”

“So did I, at first,” Barbara reminded him.

His lips twitched. “Therapy,” he stated. He considered—and rejected—the possibility that she’d steered the conversation in this direction. He’d managed to control the flow of this particular dialogue all on his own.

“I never thanked you for footing the bill.” She frowned, and continued in a harsher voice, “And don’t you dare say it wasn’t anything—it was!”

Silence. After a few minutes, Barbara wondered whether she should leave. “What were you reading,” she ventured, “before I came?”

Automatically, his eyes flicked toward the desk. “Cold case files,” he said. “Detective Montoya brings them—but then, you know that.”

She was too smart to play dumb. “Yeah. I just wasn’t sure if that’s what you were doing this morning.” A thought occurred to her. “Is it okay I’m here? I’m not keeping you away from your work?” As Bruce started to reply, she added, “And no, I’m not looking for a graceful way out, unless that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t what he wanted. And yet, he needed to get back to the Nilsen case. Something didn’t gel—and it felt like he was overlooking the obvious. Maybe… He shook his head. For five days, he’d wanted to see somebody besides Jeremiah and the silent hulking attendants who delivered his food and clothing with neither greeting nor farewell, and who might have been automatons for all their reaction on the occasions that he’d attempted to thank them for their service.

He hesitated. “Stay if you’d like,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t have much to say… but if you don’t mind quiet…”

Barbara’s relief was palpable. “Small talk’s never been my strong point, either.”

Bruce smiled at that. “I understand.” He crossed back to the desk. Instead of sitting down, though, he retrieved the file and made his way back to the bed. “Barbara, on second thought… may I go over some of the elements of this case with you? I think I might need another perspective.”

She grinned back, pleased but surprised. The great and mighty Batman is actually asking for help? Not demanding, but asking? Unbelievable. She held out her hands, palms up, a little more than shoulder-distance apart. “Hit me.”

It seemed like no time at all when Dick appeared. “Babs said you seemed to be doing okay,” he said. His smile dropped. “Are you?”

Bruce moved over to the bed. “All things considered, yes.” His eyes narrowed. “Patrick Morgan Wayne Enterprises?”

Dick sighed. “The board of directors was worried about the impact to the company when Akins outed you to the media. The name change helped. Lucius and I were hoping that we could unofficially switch back at some point down the road.” He shook his head. “I probably would have mentioned it to you at some point, back when the changeover happened, but you were… out of it. And later, I didn’t know how to bring it up. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

Bruce was shaking his head. “I’d figured it was probably something like that,” he said. “You don’t have a thing to be sorry about.”

His palm was against the screen. Dick covered it with his own. There’d been a time when Bruce’s hand had dwarfed his. Now, they were both of a size.

Bruce continued. “I should never have placed you in that position. I had no—”

“You had every right to ask,” Dick countered. “I knew things weren’t going well for you the last couple of weeks. I wanted to help, but I didn’t want to…”

“…to end up as my jailer,” Bruce nodded. “I couldn’t see that at the time.” He looked away. His voice dropped almost to a whisper. “And then, when you didn’t come by the next night, I-I wondered if I’d finally pushed you away—”

He broke off. Dick was tapping softly on the wall. His eyes widened. “No wonder. Is everything—?”

Dick nodded. “It is, now. But it looked bad for a little while. Babs doesn’t panic often, but given the circumstances…” He let his voice trail off.

“I understand.” His eyes locked on Dick’s. “It was the right decision. Each time.”

The younger man raised an eyebrow. “You know, there was a point when I would have given anything to hear you say that.” As he uttered the words, he realized with some surprise, that such was no longer the case. Bruce’s acknowledgement meant—and probably always would mean—a great deal to him. Somewhere along the line, though, ‘impressing Bruce’ had become a perquisite, rather than an end in itself. “Even so,” he added, “I shouldn’t have turned you down flat like that. I should have explained better…”

“I wouldn’t have listened,” Bruce admitted.

They shared a smile.

“Alright,” Bruce said, a moment later. “I think it’s time you told me the rest of it. What have I missed in the last year and a half?”