Batman: City of Crime #4 (of 5)

He’s standing right in front of me, like a shard of the night itself given form.

I try to pull Camel from the pack in my pocket. My hands tremble like the walls of Jericho and I drop my smoke. The wind steals it and tosses it down into the alley bellow.

“Aw, crap.”

“Fynn. Pay attention.” Batman’s voice penetrates the howl the wind like the ring of a hammer on anvil. Like Gustav Holst’s “War” rises from his throat every time he speaks.

“Huh? Yeah, sorry. Lost my smoke,” I said. Truth told this guy scares me more than Maddox and Frank the Tank combined. Not that I’m going to show it. I steady my hands enough to get a Camel to my lips and light it. Heaven in a stick. “What did you say?”

“This story you’re working on. There’s more going on here than you think.”

A couple of drags and my nerves settle a bit and I take in the dark knight. Or try to. Batman sticks to the shadows and I never get a clear look at him. I take a half step forward, he melts a little deeper into the blackness. He even slinks back from the moonlight when it breaks through the clouds, as if by instinct.

He’s like a living shadow. I can’t tell if he’s one those Dudley Do-Rights in tights like that Boy Scout in Metropolis or that guy with the ring in green Danceskins over in Coast City. That might be a cape draped over Batman’s body. But for the life of me they look like wings. Leathery bat wings.
Then there are the horns rising out of his head and those blank, milky eyes. No irises. No pupils. Just a featureless blank. Almost like he has cataracts. Pretty sure he can see me well enough though.

The Batman. Real as the nose on my face.

Go figure.

“No kidding, Bats,” I say, trying to keep my voice from breaking. “I’m guessing Maddox is a serial killer along with having bad breath.”

“Could be Maddox. Could be someone else.”

“And that would be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Great. Not that I’m not grateful you stopped me from eating one of Max’s slugs, but that ain’t exactly helpful.”

Batman’s shadow shifts slightly and a thin plastic file folder slides across the roof, stopping at my feet.

“You’ll find news stories going back 15 years in that file,” Batman says.

I pick it up and quickly flip through the files, turning my back to the wind. Batman’s weatherproofed all the pages. Maybe the guy’s got OCD.

“Gotham. Metropolis. Paris. What is this?” I say, reading one headline after another. Ritual murders. All victims strangled to death. All missing their hands. The word DEVI always scrawled in their blood. “Athens. Central City…. Jesus. This guy gets around.”

“Interpol places Maddox in almost all those cities at the time of the murders, but he is always cleared as a suspect,” Batman says, drawing his wings around him like a cloak.

“So he’s either the killer or working with someone else?”

“Or for someone else. Interpol has no positive ID on the killer, just a pseudonym. ‘The Wrath.’”

“Catchy.”

One story, out of New Deli, suggests the killings appeared to be based around the murders committed the Thugee, an extinct cult in India. Local authorities dismissed the theory as wild speculation. I probably would have too. But then, up until 10 minutes ago, I ranked the Batman up with there with the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, or Ra's Al Ghul. Shows what I know.

My nerves have calmed down enough for me to feel the hot twist in my gut again.

“Why come to me? If half the stories I hear about you are true, you’d be hunting this Wrath guy down.”

“I’m busy.” The way he says it makes me believe Batman doesn’t like being questioned. “Maddox’s your best suspect.”

“You’re too busy for an international serial killer?”

“The Joker escaped Arkham last night. He’s my priority. You’ll have to do this yourself.”

I light another camel and take a long drag. The wind’s dying down and I blow a few smoke rings toward Batman. They dissipate in his face, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Yeah well excuse me, fella, but that isn’t exactly comforting. Following Maddox around isn’t exactly high on my list of priorities. Or did you did miss the maximum beat down he put on me before you broke his arm in two places?”

“Three.”

“What?”

“I broke his arm in three places.” It could just be a trick of the moonlight peaking through the clouds, but I could swear I almost saw a smile on Dracula’s face for moment. This guy must be a blast at parties.

“Uh, right…ok, three places. Anyway, what’s to stop him from trying again? Never mind if that nut bag is our serial killer…”

“My associate has been assigned to help you if you need it.”

“Your associate?” I ask. “Who the hell is that? The Wolfman? Imhotep, maybe?”

The clouds drape over the moon and we’re standing in total darkness. I can still make out the Batman’s creepy blank eyeballs for a moment, and then he vanishes. Right in front my eyes he vanishes.

“He’ll be in touch,” Batman’s voice says.

And I’m alone on the roof.

I’ve never needed a drink so badly in my life.

I’ve been so busy taking notes while talking to Constantine that I didn’t notice it until now. The flashing icon on my computer screen. I’ve got a new instant message.

I click it, and a window pops open.

WofK: Hello, my Little Friend. I see you have been admiring my Work.

I stare at it the message for a full minute. WofK. Not a user I know. But then those geeks in composing like to play games on computers, especially Larry. That’s what happens when you never met a girl you didn’t have to blow up.

MFYNN: Is that you Larry? I’m busy.

WofK: Oh, I am not Larry, Little Friend. Following my Work is what got you in that alley. It was only by the grace of your winged friend that you still live.

Aw, crap. It’s Maddox. The ugly bastard is trying to freak me out. He’s probably got the paper under surveillance. “WofK” must mean the Wrath of Kali. Figures. These morons all need a name these days.

MFYNN: Cute Max. How’s the arm?

WofK: Max? Yes. You refer to Detective Maddox. You believe I am he. Perhaps you are not quite as clever as I thought, little friend. Perhaps this will help.

NOTICE: WofK is sending file [glow=red,2,300]Maddox.jpg[/glow]
Click [glow=red,2,300]HERE[/glow] to accept.

I click my mouse and pray for the best. No one is listening. Either that, or the answer is no.

“Holy, Christ….”

The image that pops up is a photo of Maddox. Tied to a wooden pole. His throat has been slit. His head is titled back and his eyes are wide open. In terror. He was alive when the photo was taken. The remains of a sling hang off his shoulder. This happened not long after Batman dropped the hammer on him.

Blood has poured out down his neck and onto his naked chest. Written in the blood, obviously scrawled by someone’s finger, is a string of nonsense words and numbers that read: Dempsey (page not found)-327 ).

My instant messenger flashes again. The Wrath has sent me another message.

WofK: I trust, my Little Friend, that I have your attention now.

MFYNN: Yes.

WofK: Poor Max. He was a useful pawn for so many years. But in the end, he was more concerned over his own pathetic life than ensure the continuance of the Great Work. Do you know that he wanted out, the Bat frightened him so? Can you imagine? But the Work must continue. So little Max was sent away. But not to see Her. That is only an honour for the Chosen. Max was not Chosen.

I’m starting to get that hot twist in my stomach again. That and a serious case of willies. The Wrath has been watching me. How else would he know I was here at my computer?

MFYNN: What do you want?

WofK: Many have attempted to understand the Great Work. A few have come close. But they were Chosen and cannot speak. But now I think it is time for the world to understand my Work. Understand my genius. Understand what I do for them.

WofK: You are selected, but not Chosen, my Little Friend. You will tell the world of the Great Work. You will tell the world about me. About the Wrath of Kali.

MFYNN: You want me to write more stories?

WofK: Oh yes. It is time the Work came to the World. Time the world truly feared Her. And as an indication of my good faith I have a secret to tell you. Do you want to know, Little Friend?

What choice do I have here? I’ve only got a whore’s chance in church it’s not something worse than my worse nightmare. But what choice do I have?

MFYNN: Tell me.

WofK: I knew I had selected wisely. You began following me when you discovered that the lovely Nancy Hartigan had traveled to meet Her. Nancy’s sister was persistent. Followed me relentlessly. Much like you have, Little Friend.

Tess. Tess Hartigan. Gone missing shortly after Nancy vanished nearly a month ago. I just assumed she was dead too.

MFYNN: Have you killed Tess too?

WofK: She is Chosen, but not Sent. In order that the world will know of the Great Work, you and she have an important role to play. Tess Hartigan lives. Or at least she does for now. You must reach her in time. This is your test.

WofK: Max will tell you where to find her, Little Friend.

NOTICE: WofK has logged out.

And he’s gone. Like he wasn’t even there. Gone.

Thirty minutes later, I’m in a clean suit and in an old warehouse 10 miles from the Gazette that’s filled with more dust than a coal mine. Lucille is waiting.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Vicki says.

I light a Camel and blow two smoke rings in the air before walking into the blackness of the warehouse. Moonlight pouring in through the window lets me find my way. Find my way to her.

And there she is. Where she always is. Wrapped under a silk sheet. Waiting. Like a Siren that leads sailors to the rocks with her song, Lucille calls to me.

I yank the sheet back with a single movement of my arm and toss it aside, revealing every last make-you-beg-she’s-so-sexy inch of Lucille.

“Hey, baby,” I say, dropping my smoke and crushing it under my boot. I run my hand along her skin. She feels just the way I remember.

“Oh, brother.” Vale says. “Gimmie a brake already, will ya?”

Lucille. My jet-black, 1968 Dodge Charger. Haven’t taken her out in nearly four years. Not since that accident that earned me a DUI charge. I was so drunk I nearly hit an old lady walking her dog. I did hit that parked cop car. Took me weeks to repair Lucille. And since then she’s waiting here for me.

“Ok, lets go,” I say, lighting another smoke and slide into the drivers seat. I turn the ignition and Lucille roars to life. Like a lioness on the prowl.

“Where are we going?.” Vicki pours herself into the passenger seat. No matter what she says, she digs the car. She doesn’t like it when I’m driving.

“Dempsey’s gym”

“Your old….Dempesy-77? Oh, but this killer is clever.”

“Yup.”

We pull out of the warehouse into the parking lot. It’ll take 45 minutes to get to the gym in light traffic. But I’m driving. We’ll be there 20.

BAM!

I’m about to hit the gas when the body lands on the hood. Vicki screams like teenager in a horror flick. The kid standing on the hood is maybe five and half feet tall. Wrapped in a dark crimson hood and cloak. All I can see, peering out from inside the hood, are pair of blank, white eyes.

Just like Batman’s.

He pulls the cloak back, revealing a dark red and green body suit. Some kind of next-gen body armor. Over his heart is a golden letter R on a black oval.

“You Fynn?” he says with a snicker he doesn’t bother to hide.

I stick my head out of the window and toss my smoke away.

“Get off the hood!”

“You look like a Fynn,” the kid says, hopping down. He steps up to the window. Even up close it’s hard to see his face under that hood. Just those eyes stand out. “Bats sent me.”

“Gee, I’m shocked.”

“Oh, a smart guy. Bats said you were smart guy. So you got a lead on this Wrath dude?”

“Yeah…”

The kid laughs. A young laugh. Real young. He can’t be older than 15.

“Figured by the way you two rushed out of your office,” he says. “Nice wheels.”

“Thanks,” I say, getting out of the car. The kid barely comes up to my chest. “You coming for the ride?”

“Hell, yah. I was getting bored tailing you anyway,” he says, bouncing into Lucille’s back seat. “I always love a good game!”

I slip back into the driver’s seat, and give Lucille some gas.

“This isn’t any game, kiddo,” I say.

“Aw, Mickey, sure it is. All life’s a game,” he says. “By the way, you can call me Redwing.”

“Right.”

Lucille tears down the parkway with a snarl. One way or the other, we’re in for one wild night.



To be concluded...