#19: Feline Persuasion, Pt 2 (McIntyre / Cermak)

Bruce slept thinly for the rest of the night, haunted by both his sore ribs and Catwoman's face.

He knew there was more to this than there first seemed, and that Catwoman's role in it was far from over.

He was a rationalist of the first order, but he also believed in intuition, and the remainder of his sleep was filled with unspoken, dreamless dread.

Bruce woke late the next day, and got up slowly. His ribs were healing nicely, but he did not want to press them too much before he went out that evening.

"Breakfast, sir," Alfred said, with no trace of irony. He laid out a tray with eggs, toast, and an extra large helping of hash browns.

"Thank you," Bruce replied, and did not argue about the portions. He ate slowly but steadily, determined to eat it all and not miss the taste. Alfred had given him tea instead of coffee on this particular occasion; he washed that down without argument as well.

Alfred watched him, eyebrow raised and lips pursed. "You're usually not this appreciative of what I put before you," he said.

Bruce nodded. "After last night's events I feel like taking it a bit slow today."

Alfred's other eyebrow joined the first. "Sir, you do actually mean to tell me you have learned caution?"

Bruce smiled thinly at that, spreading egg yolk over the hash browns. "Or maybe I'm just getting old." They shared a quiet laugh over that, then Bruce turned serious. "No, this whole business with Gotham First troubles me seriously. Anti-hero campaigns are nothing new. But the timing is all wrong. It's like someone has gone out of their way to stir up anti-costume sentiment, beyond the normal rise and fall of such things in public opinion."

"You suspect criminal involvement?"

"Not typical involvement, that's for certain. This seems equally directed at villains as well as heroes. Mind you, I know there's certain people in the DEO and the Pentagon that would agree with that view. But somehow this doesn't seem like their doing. Doesn't feel right."

Finishing off his toast, he took his tea cup downstairs.

Joshua Freeman, the leader of Gotham First, looked out the window. Bringing binoculars up before his eyes, he scanned the nearest rooftop.

"She's not here yet," he noticed with some surprise. "Must be waiting for nightfall. Are the men in position?"

"Yeah," his sandy-haired lieutenant agreed. "Maybe we should get out of sight, too?"

Freeman shook his head. "Not me, yet. This is supposed to look like a normal night in for me. But you should go with the men, sure. But I suppose I should stop looking for her, lest she see me with the binoculars in hand." Reluctantly, he put them away. "I'll come down once it's dark."

"What if the Bat comes?" The lieutenant asked.

Freeman smiled. "I'm hoping he will. We're being paid a lot of money to take him out, and after McReady wounded him last night, he should be vulnerable. Go on now."

The sandy-haired man left to join the others. Freeman clucked his tongue in distaste. No wonder the costumes had the upper hand for so long, when so many normal people didn't bother to think for themselves. Personally, Freeman didn't really hate the costumes as a whole; his enmity lay elsewhere. But he was being paid well to take them out, which would finance his own ultimate goals. And some of the costumes were worthy of his hate, oh yes; and the fact that the rest coddled them was reason enough to take the rest down, even without his recompensation.

Before they killed the Catwoman, he hoped to interrogate her; her methods as a thief would be good to know. Perhaps they could use her in other ways, as well.

As for the Bat...well....while he would like nothing better than to torture and interrogate that one, Freeman doubted they could hold him. He would simply be killed. The only thing to be wary of was not to go for a head-shot; they would, at least know who the Bat really was after it was over.

That information alone would be priceless.

The sun was down. Darkness had come.

Catwoman landed on the penthouse roof, claws causing the glass skylight to fracture. Frowning thoughtfully, she got out her glass cutter and got to work.

Hiding in the shadows, clinging to the wall of the building two floors down, Batman watched and waited. He could not act too soon, or the enemy would know they'd spied the trap. If he waited too long, they might kill her.

But she finished cutting a hole in the skylight and dropped out of his sight.

He climbed up and peered over the edge of the penthouse's small outer balcony. Inside it was dark, but there was no activity. The trap had not yet been sprung. He hoped she was ready.

They had no way to know what exact form the trap would take, of course. This group, whatever else it was, was specifically set up to take them out; this would be no simple ambush. They had discussed several possibilities, and he had done his best to prepare her for each of them.

Then suddenly, there were two distinct thuds, and green smoke began to fill the penthouse.

Gas.

Fortunately that had been one of the plans they had discussed.

Hurriedly, Batman took his mask and rebreather from his utility belt and hoped Catwoman was fast enough to use the rebreather he had given her before the gas overwhelmed her.

As he vaulted over the balcony he saw it was so; she had already opened the doors to allow more ventilation. She rolled out of the apartment, eyes shut; she knew well enough that her goggles were not snug enough to keep the gas out.

He helped her to the side; they hunched down, and waited. He half-expected her to make some flirtatious remark; but she was focusing on staying alive, at the moment.

As the gas began to clear, there was a confused shout from below, and then gunmen came pounding up the stairs and into the apartment, wearing gas masks and wielding machine guns. Seeing no unconscious forms, they slowly began to approach the open doors.

"They've sprung the trap, you idiots!" a voice bellowed. "Fire!"

The thugs unleashed their bullets in a killer volley. Batman threw his cape over Catwoman and they lay prone.

Catwoman took off the rebreather and gasped, "Not as romantic as I hoped."

Batman didn't answer, but squeezed her hand.

The gas had mostly cleared by this point. Batman was more worried about the bullets that made it over the edge of the balcony, falling over the city like rain. A falling bullet could still kill a person. But there was no way he could control that risk.

So many things he couldn't control these days.

At last, the storm of bullets slackened. The thugs began to reload.

"Now," he whispered.

As he threw back his cloak, she sprang into action, charging for the doors, cat o nine tails whistling in the darkened apartment. He was right behind her, slamming a shoulder into one thug and then leaping towards another, left foot first. That one went down.

He felt more than saw Catwoman backing up towards him, and bent over. She back flipped, rolling across his caped back and planting her feet in a thug on the opposite side. He, in turn, straightened up and threw a batarang at the thug she'd been backing away from, who had almost succeeded in reloading his weapon. The batarang connected with the thug's head, and he went down.

Another thug knocked Catwoman's cat o nine tails away; she responded by kicking him where it would do the most good. Batman picked it up and cracked it at the legs of a thug who had tried to run; that one went down screaming. The one Catwoman had kicked was in no shape to scream.

He handed her the weapon back, and she smiled her thanks; they turned to face another gunman, a sandy haired man. This one had pulled a revolver from his belt. As he started firing, Batman went high and Catwoman went low. Their combined impacts sent the man smashing through one of the penthouse windows, to lay sprawling senseless on the balcony.

They turned again to leap as one at one of the remaining thugs. It unnerved Batman how well they were coordinating their moves, without planning or discussion. True, they had discussed certain possibilities beforehand, but not actual combat strategy. It hadn't been this way since the early days with Robin...so, so long ago now. Of course, been partnered with Catwoman stirred different feelings in him entirely. This unnerved him more than he could have said.

At last it was quiet, and the last thug was down.

"Door?" Catwoman asked, pointing the one that led into the building proper.

Batman shook his head. "Remember, they came from below."

They found the stairwell easily enough, an open trap door.

"Give it up, Freeman!" Batman called down in his grimmest voice. "Your men are down. We saw your trap coming from a mile away."

There was a crack in response, and Batman ducked back; the shot didn't sound like anything he had ever heard before. The bullet, or whatever it was, slammed into the ceiling, making a tiny hole. Needle-like, almost surgical in it's precision. Batman scowled.

"That," came a hard, assured voice from below, "Is my answer. I have a gas-powered nail gun down here, Batman. Diamond-tipped nails. It'll punch through whatever kind of body armor you have. And I doubt your girlfriend has any such protection. I've got the advantage. You try to come down here and you will die, I promise you."

"So we sit here and wait?" Catwoman countered. "For what? Nobody's coming to rescue you."

"All I need do is call the cops. They'll be most interested to come after you for breaking and entering. Or, if they're in your pocket as I think they are, my lawyer will have a field day with the corruption of the Gotham PD. I'll walk, and your buddies in blue will be ousted and replaced with people like me, who understand what justice is."

"If your reasoning weren't so flimsy and pathetic," Catwoman said, "I'd laugh."

"And besides which, we need not wait for you to try it," Batman added. "Your own strategy cuts both ways." He took a gas grenade from his belt and dropped it down the stairwell. "You tried to gas us, after all."

"You think I don't have a mask?" Freeman shouted back.

"Try making your call while wearing it. Try seeing us through the gas while we come for you." Batman flipped his cape over the stairwell opening. Freeman took the bait and fired. Just as advertised, the nails punched through the cape's ballistic armor. But of course, Batman had not been fool enough to stand directly over the stairwell, and the needles flew upwards to join the other in the ceiling.

Freeman began to choke, gag, and splutter.

"He said he had a mask?" Catwoman frowned.

"By wasting time shooting at me, he didn't get it on in time," Batman said.

"Clever, Batsy," she said.

"I try," he said, without much humor.

Catwoman drew the jade cat statuette out of the safe with practiced ease, but at Batman's advice handled it gingerly. She slowly turned it over, to find a small black plastic packet taped into the bottom. Wires could be seen sticking out of it.

"Bomb," said Batman. "I suspected as much. They wanted to take us out at all costs."

Catwoman pouted, but handed the statuette over without argument. Gingerly, Batman set it down and got to work. It was a simple device, with a timer that had activated once Catwoman had removed it from the safe. Batman defused it with little more than three minutes remaining.

They went out to the balcony together. "I'll call the police," Batman said. "You could have run while I was defusing the bomb, you know."

"Hey, I can't steal it, so you can't really come after me for it, can you? Besides, I helped you with all this."

"I helped you also, by warning you of the danger. And there's still the ring, too."

"Hey, I saved your butt on that one, didn't I?"

"That doesn't make it right."

"Are you sure that's your only reason?" she pouted and drew close.

"You may not believe it, but I am seeing someone," Batman replied.

"That doesn't mean you're not interested in me, now does it?" She drew closer still, and gently raked one claw down his Bat-symbol. "I bet I can compete with your mystery woman any day."

"Just return the ring, Catwoman."

Instead of answering, she embraced him, leaned up and kissed him gently. Slowly, she drew away, looking at him. "Let me go, Bats. Maybe you can really catch me...some other night."

She leaped away, and Batman—reluctantly—let her go.

He wondered what Vickie would say, if she had known.

He contacted the police, then swung away from the penthouse in his turn, down to the Batmobile. For all that they had gained here, he knew they still had no real answers. The financier, the mastermind, had covered their tracks really well. The longer Batman thought about it, the more certain Batman was that the whole case had been in some way tied to the slowly rising crime in Gotham. He just didn't know how.

For all that they had won a victory here, there were still far too many unanswered questions.

But it was as much Catwoman as those questions that occupied his mind as he drove away.