#13: Too Many Santas Will Kill You (HoM / Tupper)

Lacey Park Department Store:

The shadows speak. “What have we got?”

“Good God man…” Gordon spins around, hand on holster, his eyes wide. “I wish you’d stop doing that! You’re going to surprise the life out of me one of these days… Besides, isn’t it quite early… Late for you? The sun will soon be up…”

“Sorry. I have time. But really, what have we got?”

“Little and nothing, Batman…” James Gordon shakes his head and paces the crime scene. “Goods stolen, sign of a forced entry, but forensics don’t have anything yet, and we’re just going over an inventory to discover what’s been taken…”

“Any ideas?”

“It’s Christmas time…” Gordon smiles as he turns away from the shadows, gazing over the shop floor. “Could have been the Grinch…”

“We’d be so lucky. I’ll be in touch.” The shadows fall silent, and then that is all.

Gordon nods slowly, not bothering to turn around, knowing that his old friend has vanished once more. “You say that now…”

Below Wayne Manor, the ‘Bat Cave’, a night later:

Bruce Wayne should be at a party or function right now, celebrating something, celebrating someone, but no, “the mission” is his priority. He types away at his computer, his cape and cowl hanging loosely over the chair, his grey uniform on, covered by a purple dressing gown.

“How festive of you, sir…” Alfred Pennyworth smiles sarcastically, and pulls the cowl out from Bruce’s back, but it doesn’t interrupt his flow of thoughts. “What is it that we are currently researching?”

“Lacey’s was broken into five hours ago. They were able to get something out of the stock whilst the night watchman was distracted elsewhere.” Bruce types something more, and then turns to Alfred. “Anything the matter?”

“No sir…” Alfred smiles slightly. “Any idea what was stolen?”

“That’s just it, Alfred… I just found out.” Bruce’s eyes darken. “Twelve Santa costumes.” He leans back. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I fear that my night will be filled once more.”

Alfred takes the cowl and places it over a mannequin head in the costume compartment to his right and then turns back to his employer. “But that has never bothered you, has it Master Bruce?”

Bruce turns back to the computer and continues typing. “I was supposed to see Vicki. And Dick might be coming up from New York.”

“Hmm. Well. Dick will understand, and I assume that Vicki will too.” Alfred begins to walk up the long stairwell to the Manor when he turns back to the man he raised since he was eight. “But remember what Victor said…”

“Hrm.” Bruce stands. “What’s the time?”

“I think you know the time, sir… But to take a guess… Time for patrol?”

Bruce smiles and nods. “You might be right.”

Gotham Central:

“It’s been quiet for a few months.” Gordon looks out across the buildings of Gotham, the snow falling, his lapels brought up across his face, his fedora covering his head. “Since Zsasz escaped, crime has been at a record low for two months. No Arkham escapes. That Firefly incident, sure, but apart from that…” He shivers, the cold getting to him.

“You found what had been stolen?” Batman steps out of the shadows, his cape flapping around him.

“I assume you did too? Santa costumes. Beards and all.” Gordon rubs his hands together. “Aren’t you cold?”

Batman feels a small smile grow across his lips, and then shakes his head. “Insulation. Twelve costumes. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.”

“Right.” Gordon is about to say more when his radio buzzes to life, voices whispering in his headphone. “Wait…”

Batman places his fingers to his ear and then his eyes widen. “What…”

Gordon looks up, his own eyes wide. “Did you… Did you get that?”

Batman nods as he takes out a grapnel. “A man. In a Santa costume. In Wayne Plaza. With a bomb.”

“See you there…” Gordon hurries into the stairwell as Batman leaps off the building, and heads to the crime in progress.

The man spins around as Batman crouches meters in front of him.

“Tengu…!Your accent is Middle Eastern. You have enough plastic explosive on your body to destroy this entire building and a half dozen around it.” He stands slowly. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“I want Wayne. I want Wayne here. If he does not come, I kill his people. There has not been enough time for the building to be fully evacuated, we both know that hundreds will die. Including you if Wayne does not come.”

His hand tenses over the trigger, and Batman shakes his head, a hand on his belt, a button pressed of his own. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am, Detective…”

Bruce’s eyes widen. Detective? “You’re one of the League.”

“You would be correct. But this quarrel is not with you. It is with this Wayne man. The Mistress has plans for youuuuu…” The man suddenly slumps over, his hand becoming weak, his muscles like jelly, and he falls to the ground, drool falling down his mouth.

Batman reacts like lightning, grabbing the man’s hand and making sure the detonator doesn’t trigger. “Your ‘Mistress’, whoever she is, would be disappointed. Act without thought, fight without word. You are a failure.” He presses another button on his belt and the extreme muscle relaxant stops spreading. He puts his fingers to his cowl and speaks once more. “Gordon, this situation is contained, and I have a lead on who might have the stolen goods. You might want to get the bomb squad over here though.” He examines the man’s bomb and then grimaces. “Who is ‘The Mistress’… And where is Ra’s Al Ghul?”

A mystery. An urban myth. A supposed immortal… If only that were true. He was just as any other man… And died just the same. But that’s not a story for now. For later.

Below Wayne Manor, the ‘Bat Cave’:

“Good Lord…” Alfred looks around the cave, bathed in darkness. The main generator powering the house and the cave, separate from the city grid, found deep below the cave floor, it’s been disconnected. Impossible, unless it was by someone… Inside. Alfred grabs a pair of night vision lenses not yet placed inside a cowl and puts them to his eyes, and then looks around. There was nothing. Perfect silence. Silence is not something you expect in a cave full of bats. Hundreds of bats. It would take five minutes for the generator to reboot without a voice identification print from him or one of the residents of the house, Bruce or maybe Dick… He scrambles to his side, moving with an awkward grace, making sure he doesn’t knock anything over or make any extra sound, and then finds what he’s looking for.

“Only one of us were treated to the truth…”

A voice from the darkness emerges, quiet, yet clear.

“Only one of us deemed worthy of the secret…”

There it is again, but this time, not from the same place.

“The Detective…”

Alfred’s eyes widen, and then places the object in his hand beneath his armpit.

“And Bruce Wayne. The same man. And all that protects his secrets… His fortress… Is a small man? An old, feeble man?”

“I always thought I was quite tall, sir.” Alfred pulls the trigger, and a stream of ice blasts out of the nuzzle of the gun, hitting the man behind him hard and sending him flying into the cave wall. He turns and smiles slightly as he sees the man frozen to the wall. “But when one’s own ward speaks from the shadows on a regular basis, you get a handle on where one would have to be for it to work.” The lights in the cave buzz back to life, and the line to the Batman’s cowl activates once more. “Sorry about that sir, I was not fast enough locking down the grounds, but fear not, all is in hand.”

“Alfred… Are you alright? What’s happened? I’m on my way…”

“No need, sir. Just an offensive little man with too many big ideas. He’ll be here when you get back I suppose, then we can decide on what to do with him.” He pats the Freeze-Gun and nods to the man who’s frozen to the wall. “Merry Christmas, old chap.”

Gotham Central:

Sarah Essen sits at her desk and scribbles a number on her Sudoku. She bits the end of the pencil and thinks for a moment. Two? No. Wrong.

“Ess!”

She spins around as Merkel enters her office.

“The lights up on the roof, and Jim’s at a crime scene with Bullock!” He cocks the shotgun in his hand.

“That doesn’t seem right now, does it?” Sarah takes her pistol from her desk draw and checks the clip. “Come on.” She enters the floor and begins to bark orders. “Petite, you’re with me, we might have an intruder on the roof! Get your men ready for back up but we move now!”

Petite smiles and kicks his assault rifle from the floor into his hand. “It’ll be my pleasure ma’am…” He turns to an officer behind him and the man runs off. “Let’s move.”

The city:

The city seems to sense his worry. It doesn’t make it easier for him, it’s just as gothic, just as crazy, just as dark. He looks to the sky and sees the signal in the sky. Strange. He checks the motion sensor on his utility belt and his brow furrows. No motion on the roof. Gordon is never still. His coat flaps. He paces. No… This is wrong. He throws the grapnel out and swings across the chasm of buildings, and rolls across the rooftop overlooking Gotham Central. Nothing but the light of the signal.

He presses a button on his cowl and the view magnifies. He sees the door leading to the roof opening slightly, a flicker of red. Essen. He activates his police band radio. “Detective Essen… Don’t move.” He sees the door stop moving. “There’s someone on the roof. Someone out of your league.” Bad pun. It’s like the old days with Dick. “I’ll handle it.” The door slowly closes, and then a sound behind him alerts him to another presence.

A katana blade slams into the ledge beside Batman, nearly into his head but he rolls to the side and kicks up, taking the man by surprise and causing the blade to fly out of his hand. Batman swiftly grabs a batarang from his utility belt and throws it hard, catching the man’s sword hand and gouging through his palm. “Hk.” He slams his hand down hard at Batman’s shoulder, attempting to dislocate it, but the caped crusader rolls with it, twists the man’s wrist and kicks him hard in the head, causing him to collapse to the ground. “Hnt…”

Batman drags the man up by his lapels, and yanks the white beard away from his face. “Why are you here? Who is ‘the Mistress’?”

“Hrm… Ah… Uh…” The man bites down hard, there’s a loud crack, and the man goes limp in Batman’s grip.

“Poison pill!” The man goes limp in his arms, and Batman turns as a loud bang fills his ears. “Dammit!” He turns to the police roof and his eyes widen. Petite!

Wayne Manor:

“Haiee!” A man flies from the trees above and strikes Nightwing in the back, but the young hero rolls across the ground, taking his weapons from his back and rising them up. “The younger one. The sidekick!” The man dressed as Santa shakes his head. “The Mistress never mentioned his presence!”

“How rude, talking about me as if I’m not here…” He spins his weapons around in his hands and smiles. “Beides, your Mistress…” Dick dives at the man, striking his collar bone and then the side of his face, causing him to buckle, and then hits him hard in the elbow and knee, causing the assassin to grit his teeth in pain. “Is out of the loop! It’s not SIDEKICK…” He punches the man in the face, sending him flying back. “It’s PARTNER!” Dick’s eyes open wide as he’s about to knock them an out, as the man raises his hand, catching his final blow in his palm.

“My Mistress… Is all.”

Dick uses his other hand to chop the man’s wrist, and then kicks the man hard, staggering him once more.

“Whatever.” Dick throws his weapon at the man’s face, breaking his nose and sending blood spraying down his white beard. The man groans and collapses to the ground. “Not so tough…” He handcuffs the man and then turns around, to see a man breathing directly in his face. “But surprisingly quiet. Holy Halitosis, Batman!” He knees the man hard in the crotch, and then kicks him across the side of his face, knocking him out. “But God, could you be any cornier…? What’s with the costumes?”

“We could ask the same of you…” A man stands at the front door of Wayne Manor, and shakes his head. “Playing dress-up like you do.” He tears off his beard and throws it to the side. “The League trains to fight whatever the weather. Whatever the conditions. We know no weakness.”

“I could argue that.” Dick motions to the fallen men, a twinkle in his eye.

“Weak. They shall be punished.” The man unbuttons the red jacket and removes it, revealing a well muscled physique and a long snake tattoo wrapping around his arm. “But you… The Mistress shall thank me for this.” He dives at Nightwing, only for a loud noise to strike them all.

“AAAAAIEEEE!” The man falls short, his body smouldering.

“And I’d thank you to vacate the premises. Trespassers… It’s usually the paparazzi…” Alfred smiles, a tazer in his had. “Sir must stop leaving these things around, don’t you think Master Dick?”

“Am I glad to see you… But no time for hellos, how are yous, there’s still one of these guys running around.”

“Good point.” Alfred pulls his trusty blunderbuss from the inside of the Manor outside, and then loads it. “Time for some hunting, I’d say…”

Christmas Night, Wayne Manor, in the cave below:

Dick sips hot chocolate and looks over his adopted father’s shoulder as he works on the computer underneath the house. “Took care of the wall decoration then, and the trespassers?” He motions to the spot where the man was frozen to the cavern wall.

“They woke up in Gotham hospital. They knew nothing but their mission… And J’onn couldn’t pluck an image out of their minds of her… So we’ve got nothing.” Bruce grunts. “And with a little more help from J’onn means that whenever they think of Bruce Wayne, Gotham or anything connected to me…” His voice trails off. “They’ll be uncomfortable, for sure.”

“Whose idea was that?”

“Hal’s.” He shakes his head. “I had to call the Justice League in on this. A vendetta against Batman is one thing, but against Bruce Wayne, and KNOWING his secret? That could jeopardise the team…”

“So you mind wiped them? Isn’t that a bit… Unethical?”

“Hmm.” Bruce grimaces again. “I would do anything to protect you, Alfred, or anyone. If knowledge of my identity was something that someone could use against me, then I have to make sure no one knows.” He looks around. “It was a unanimous vote from the League though, not my sole decision. And we have the ability to make sure nothing like that ever happens.

Dick takes another sip. “Anything else about the men who came after you then?”

“Hrm.” Bruce types something into the keyboard and a photo is dragged onto the screen. “Four Santa costumes found in Gordon’s office.”

“Four?” Dick shakes his head. “Alfred and I searched the grounds thoroughly, there was nothing, no one… Shouldn’t there be five… If twelve were stolen?”

“You’d think so, Dick…” Bruce shakes his head. “Nothing about this case makes sense, but we do know one thing…”

“That being?”

“The League of Assassins is back.” Bruce leans on his hands and grimaces. “And that means nothing good for Gotham, especially if whoever is running the organization is sending people after Bruce Wayne, and not me…”

“Why would anyone come after you, though? What has Bruce Wayne, what have YOU, ever done to the League of Assassins?”

Bruce’s eyes darken. “I…”

“Mistress Vale has arrived, Master Bruce.” Alfred’s voice comes out loud and clearly through the intercom, and that causes Dick to smile.

“So, this Vicki Vale character, eh?”

Bruce puts his hand up. “Don’t.” He shivers. “I had enough of that from Vic last week.”

“Did he tell you about how he called me?” Dick laughs. “That guy…” Dick’s laugh fades. “That guy thinks outside the box.” His memories hearken back to the No Man’s Land. To the zombies. To what Vic did. “Really out there.” He changes the subject. “Let’s go up and say hi to Vicki.”