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Post by capeandcowl on Apr 10, 2007 0:04:10 GMT -5
 BatmanIssue Eighteen: " Feline Persuasion, Part One" Written by Jay McIntyre Cover by Craig Cermak Edited by Grant LaFleche |
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Post by capeandcowl on Apr 10, 2007 0:04:42 GMT -5
The Wilkerson ring was relatively unimportant, as diamond rings go. A small diamond on a golden band. Brilliant sparks reflected from the timeless jewel, and the gold ring itself glowed softly. But to collectors and enthusiasts, it was important only because the woman who originally wore it was once a Countess.
An obscure fact known only to trivia buffs was that the eccentric Countess willed the ring to one of her cats after death, and the purebred Persian wore the ring on a silver chain around it's neck for the rest of it's days.
This bit of trivia made it of interest and importance to one particular person.
Catwoman hung by a harness over the display case, having rappelled down from the ceiling in a way that would remind an observer of some of the more outrageous spy films. The defensive laser network in the Aparo Museum was standard, and guarded much more valuable things than this ring. But the specific pattern of the beams meant that Catwoman had to contort most awkwardly to get at her prize.
She'd cased the joint the day before, and by now knew everything she needed to know about this particular job. Her heart beat steadily as she considered her prize, gleaming below her, waiting for her skilled hands to removed it. One of the things she prided herself on was staying calm and focused during her work.
Then there was the matter of the motion sensors around the display case itself. Not pressure sensors; those could be easily dealt with. Nor was it a matter of cutting the power; that also triggered alarms, these days. As ever it was an arms race of sorts, between the haves and the want-to-haves.
But Catwoman was one of the best at defeating such countermeasures. And with her success in the field, she could afford to get a hold of the tools she needed for any situation.
She extracted the slim black piece of plastic from her belt and held it out, pressing a button. The lights on the black box blinked red, then green. Satisfied, she finally got out her cutting tools and started on the display case itself. She did not dismount; the floor sensors were still active.
She licked her lips and cut a small hole in the top, little wider than her hand. She reached in and gingerly removed the diamond ring, thankful there were no further security measures.
She was just considering rappelling up to the roof, when she heard gunfire outside.
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Post by capeandcowl on Apr 10, 2007 0:05:46 GMT -5
Catwoman could have just decided it was none of her business, climbed back up, and gotten away. But a gunfight in the rich part of town would almost certainly bring the Bat. And he would go for the rooftop first. Granted, walking right out into the conflict would be dangerous too. But it would be the last place anyone would expect her to go. And besides, from the number of shots she was hearing, this was a full blown gangland gunfight. Why here, in front of the museum?
She was curious.
This left only one real consideration; how to get to the front door without tripping any of the various alarms.
She put her tools away and slipped her climbing claws on. She did not hurry or panic; then she would only make a mistake, and take longer. The beating of her heart didn't even accelerate. Fear of being caught was not something that made her heart race.
Catwoman's years of training made her limber enough to arch upwards and dig her claws into the wall. The gymnastics required were actually the easy part. The more difficult part was pulling her legs over, still attached to the rappelling gear. She couldn't just leave it hanging for the cops to find. Not only would it be a loss she's have to replace, but some smart mouth in the GCPD crime lab—or more likely the Bat—would be able to trace her from it. Granted, she had a paper trail of more than a dozen false identities, and by the time anyone got close she would've been able to leave town, but even so. She didn't know who had started that crime lab tv show, but she wanted to personally hunt them down and introduce them to her cat of nine tails.
It took a moment—and some effort—to free herself from the gear. Another moment to detach the line from the ceiling. She had to hold it just right so that the line zipped back into it rather than clattering to the floor.
She stuffed it in her backpack—learning how to wear one fully loaded and still move gracefully had been another thing learned through long, patient training—and slipped on her foot spikes. She was frustrated and irritated now, but still her heart beat in steady, calm rhythm.
Along the wall she clambered sideways. More crablike than catlike. It lacked her usual grace. Now she was severely annoyed. But still her heart beat steady.
The front door itself was no challenge to her. And security cameras? That was one of the things the costume was for. The police knew her as Catwoman, of course. It was her true identity she wanted to protect.
But there was also the matter of the bullets flying outside. Boys and their toys; she shook her head. She was more worried about a stray shot from one of those wiseguy losers, rather than a bullet actually aimed at her.
She slipped out the front door, ducked low and rolled behind one of the Doric columns outside the Aparo Museum.
She peered around the column, then immediately ducked back as a bullet was fired. On her side of the street were actual organized crime goons; she couldn't tell what family, with all the chaos on that end of things lately. On the other side were what seemed to be some street gang or other.
Then she frowned. Given the amount of time it had taken her to get out here, they all should've run out of bullets by now. How were they packing so much ammo?
At that point the expected finally happened. There was the whickering sound of a batarang, and one of the mafia guys went down. The others looked up. She didn't; she waited to see him crash amongst them with brutal grace.
The Batman.
Now[/b] her heart raced.
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Post by capeandcowl on Apr 10, 2007 0:08:16 GMT -5
He was leaping over and through the toughs with his usual ease; a flurry of punches and kicks. He was across the street in seconds, somersaulting off the roof of a passing car to plant both feet in a gang-banger's chest, ignoring their erratically fired shots like rain.
As he smashed in faces and threw crooks like ragdolls, she notice that one of the wise guys on her side of the street was slowly getting to his knees, reaching for his gun.
Batman could probably handle it, but since she was here anyway.....she swung her cat o nine tails and connected with the goon's face. He screamed and went down, holding his face, rolling around in pain.
Batman glanced in her direction but did not break the rythym of his combat, continuing to show himself to be better than ten men in a way that the blue boy of Metropolis could never do. Because he was real. Like her. Trained and experienced. Not born lucky.
Though Catwoman was reasonably sure, with all his cars and gadgets, that he was certainly rich. And that was just fine by her. There was that whole quaint concept of justice he had going on, but of course nobody was perfect.
He stalked over to her, irisless eyes glaring out of his human shadow. Used to his intimidation techniques by now, she just planted her hands on her hips, raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Hi Bats. Did you miss me?"
Batman, of course, was used to her flirtatious patter. He probably enjoyed it. Catwoman liked to think so, anyway. "Your pulchritude, as ever, is welcome," he said. "Your criminal activity is not."
Pulchritude? Beauty? Had he actually just paid her a compliment? Wonders would never cease. She pouted. "C'mon Batsy, not all of us can be like you. Some of us have to earn a living."
"Earn," he said dryly. Was he actually smiling?
Compliments and humor. He was improving, she had to admit to herself. Out loud, she said, "Yes, earn. It's dangerous, doing what I do. And spare me the morality lecture, what you do every night is assault and battery."
Rather than argue the point, he shrugged and looked out over the bodies. "It's been busier than usual. Criminal activity has increased since the Black Mask situation, rather than decreased, which is odd. I don't suppose you've seen anything?"
She shrugged. "Nothing you don't already know, I'm sure. Things have been crazy lately, yeah. Keep waiting for it to simmer down but it doesn't. Actually that's part of why I came out the front door, to see the fireworks. I knew you'd be along."
This time he did not smile. Apparently, the fun was over. "The ring, Catwoman."
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Post by capeandcowl on Apr 10, 2007 0:11:36 GMT -5
She didn't ask how he knew. He always knew. It was part of what he did. He's The Batman after all.
"Not likely," she answered. She cracked her cat of nine tails at his feet. He didn't even flinch, of course. She turned to run, and fired her grappling gun.
She knew he was following. She half-expected to feel him crash into her back, but he didn't. She looped up and onto the rooftop and began her run. He was hot on her heels; she put on more speed. Perhaps he enjoyed the chase, as she did. Or maybe he just wanted the exercise.
The moon was out tonight, and that made the whole thing almost poetic. There were few clouds in the sky, allowing most of the stars to shine, where they were not obscured by the city lights. It was almost romantic; too bad the Bat didn't feel the same way. Or maybe he did....
But she didn't have time to reflect on it. As she leapt to her third rooftop, there was the distinctive crack of a rifle. She heard Batman grunt behind her. Landing on the rooftop, she turned, to see that Batman was down.
He was down!
Someone had shot him!
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Post by capeandcowl on Apr 10, 2007 0:13:52 GMT -5
She swung back over, staring in disbelief.
"Batman! My God!"
He was on his knees, head down. "I'm all right," he hissed in pain. "Kevlar in my suit. Broken rib, probably."
Another shot buzzed over their heads.
"Is there...anything I can do?"
"Yes.....get him!"
Another shot ricocheted off the roof between them. Turning in the direction of the shot, she swung into action. She couldn't see him yet, but by the angle of the shots there was only one roof he could be on.
Catwoman was nervous; she couldn't dodge bullets even when she saw them coming, not like Batman could. Another shot was fired; she saw the flash of the muzzle....and the bullet burned across the outside of her right boot.
Now she was angry. She came up over him as he was reloading. Camouflage jacket and face paint.....probably fancied himself as a professional. He gaped in surprise, but was smart enough to drop the gun and begin to draw a knife. She was faster; her boots connected with his face as he was drawing his blade.
His nose crunched and he screamed; definitely not a professional. But she didn't care. She lashed him once, twice, three times....
Batman would need to question him, yes. Catwoman hissed in frustration. She didn't have a rope to tie him up; that was the Bat's department. But the amount of pain he was in, he wasn't going anywhere. Tying him up with her cat o nine tails was not an option, either.
So she took his own blade—a wicked Bowie knife—out of it's sheath and stabbed him in the leg. "You stay down. Try to run, and I'll rip you to shreds, understand?!?"
He made sobbingly affirmative noises, and she went back to Batman.
The Dark Knight was already standing, holding his side, face even more grim than usual. "He's not going anywhere," she assured him. "Can you...handle it from here?"
He simply nodded.
"You'll be all right?"
"I've had worse. But...thank you."
"You're welcome Batsy," she said, somewhat relieved. "That's my cue to exit then. We can have fun another night, perhaps, when paramilitary idiots don't crash the party." She swung away. He made a half-hearted grab for her, but she knew he wouldn't follow.
He had bigger fish to fry.
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Post by capeandcowl on Apr 10, 2007 0:18:16 GMT -5
Quite an active evening, sir," Alfred commented dryly.
Bruce winced as Alfred taped up his ribs. "If Catwoman hadn't been there, he would've gotten away....or finished me off as I lay on the rooftop." Times like this, he really missed Dick. Though he did not say so aloud, he was sure Alfred could sense the unspoken sentiment.
"Is that why you allowed her to abscond with the ring?"
Bruce grimaced. "That, and the fact that there's always another night for her. This is more...pressing. More urgent."
"Yes, an attempt on your life is indeed worthy of your attention," Alfred agreed. "What of the sniper, then? I trust you questioned him with your usual....intensity?"
"There was hardly a need. Catwoman had already done a fine job on him. Joshua McReady. Member of the True Revolution militia group, out in Colorado."
"Bit out of his normal playground then, wasn't he?"
"He was specially brought in." Bruce frowned thoughtfully. "Apparently a new anti-costume group has sprung up in Gotham, the last month or so. They really 'hate the freaks' as McReady put it. They're apparently called 'Gotham First,' and want people to take a stand against all heroes and villains. He was paid handsomely by them to shoot the first costume he saw, so they must have rich backing. He'd been on that rooftop for three nights, waiting for a target. I handed him over to the police afterwards, of course, but I doubt they'll find out anything else."
He held up the bullet, that he had pried from his body armor. "Armor-piercing round, designed to go through a bullet proof vest. Only the special modifications to my suit stopped it. And even then"-- he took a painful breath--"it was a near thing."
"Against heroes as much as villains? That's odd, with the invasion still fresh in everyone's memory," Alfred said.
"There's always been some people who resent all costumed activity," Batman said. "But you're right, it is odd that it should spike now."
"Hate is not logical," Alfred pointed out.
"Indeed not. But the timing strikes me as more than a coincidence, what with the increasing gang violence."
"You think there's a connection?"
"Either that or someone's taking advantage of the escalated crime rate for their own ends. I'll look into this new hate group tomorrow." Bruce headed up the stairs into the Manor.
Alfred watched until Bruce was gone, then sighed and shook his head. "Revenge is also not logical, yet it consumes your life, Master Bruce."
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Post by capeandcowl on Apr 10, 2007 0:30:25 GMT -5
Back at her own feline-filled apartment, Selina slipped her boots off. The grazing shot had not seriously hurt her, of course, but her foot was sore and her pride was stung.
She stroked a Siamese/Persian cross absently as she took stock of her situation. She still had the ring; she had gotten away with it right under Batman's nose, and at the same time saved his bacon. Not a bad night's work, all things considered. She grinned.
On top of that, she knew where her next prize waited. A very nice prize indeed. Things were looking up!
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Post by capeandcowl on Apr 10, 2007 0:30:54 GMT -5
Bruce dreamed.
He was dancing with Vickie Vale at some society function or other. Classic ballroom dancing really wasn't his style. Nor Vickie's, come to that. Yet the both did it perfectly, which was one of the reasons he knew it was a dream. And that was all right. It was a good dream; not one about his parents coming back to haunt him or of all his enemies swarming him at once. Nor of poor Jim Gordon laying in a hospital bed. It made a nice change.
The theme was some old classical number he half remembered. Berlioz? He couldn't be sure.
Round and round they went.
"You're so gallant, Bruce," Vicki said.
"I have my moments," he agreed, smiling.
"May I cut in?" a new, more sensual voice asked. Vickie looked surprised, and then sadly stepped aside.
Catwoman took her place, wearing what looked to be a masquerade ball version of her normal costume.
"I.....did not expect to see you here," Bruce said, slightly discomfited. He looked around, but Vickie had disappeared. He felt a slight surge of panic, and forgot for a moment that he was dreaming; had Catwoman uncovered his identity?
"Don't worry, I'll keep your secret," Catwoman promised, running one long fingernail down his cheek. "I've some of my own to keep, after all. And I don't want to expose you. I have...other intentions."
"Why am I not reassured?" he asked grimly.
She just laughed.
The dream shifted slightly, and they were dancing a tango instead. It seemed more natural, more comfortable. That alone was worrying.
As she arched backwards and he bent over her, she grinned up at him. "Answer me one question though, would you?" Catwoman asked him.
"What is that?" he said.
"Would you rather be with that silly little reporter.....or me?"
"You're a criminal," he answered.
"That's not an answer," she countered.
"I....." he found he couldn't answer.
The dance ended, but she did not break contact, arms still around him. "The great Batman, trapped by indecision? Let me see if I can't help you make up your mind......" she kissed him.
Bruce woke up in a cold sweat.
He was, he realized now, as worried by his dream as he was by the sniper.
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Post by capeandcowl on Apr 10, 2007 0:39:44 GMT -5
Even later that night, but still some hours before dawn, a meeting was occurring in a penthouse apartment on the outskirts of town.
"The Bat got McReady. Apparently him at that cat-thief are working together," said a sandy-haired man. He was thin, wearing a business suit perhaps half a size too big for him. He smoked, nervously; his third cigarette in the last half hour.
The other man bore the cigarette smoke patiently. He was taller, more muscular, and balding, with a goatee and mustache of iron gray. He wore a black turtleneck and matching trousers. "Of course they are," this man said. "All the costumes are in it together. Their battles are just for show, or maybe for pride amongst their own little society. But we're going to bring them down. All of them, down."
"How we gonna do that if they've already taken down our best gun?" the sandy haired man wanted to know.
"McReady was merely one weapon in our arsenal. There are others. I've something else in mind that will draw in the cat-thief; and the Bat will show to either stop her or rescue her. We'll take two birds with one stone. And this is just the beginning."
"You're so sure," said the sandy-haired man.
"Patience, my friend. Time is on our side, not theirs. I've made preparations. Now, go get the men together. I want to set the trap; I've a feeling it won't be long before we see those two again. And this time, we'll be ready for them."
The sandy-haired man left without another word. The balding man sat back in his chair and smiled to himself.
The Batman and the cat-thief would only be the first, he knew. They would work their way up the chain from there, to all their super powered friends. Even that big blue boy scout in Metropolis. Oh yes, they all had weaknesses. And his contacts either knew those weaknesses or could find them out. He had not been boasting when he'd told his accomplice that time was on their side.
The costumed freaks would never know what hit them. It really was just like old times. Chuckling to himself, he opened a bottle of brandy.
"Soon, you freaks," he promised. "Very, very soon."
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Post by capeandcowl on Apr 11, 2007 14:41:52 GMT -5
To be concluded in Batman 19.
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Post by mockingbird on Jul 28, 2011 11:09:43 GMT -5
To let us know what you think of this issue, please visit the letters page here!
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