Gotham City was screeching. The motorcycle angled as it made the turn, hot on the trail of a speeding car. Several blocks behind, a building stood with its face shattered, the valuable contents seized. Ahead, a light went to red, but still the car was going. Through the intersection it went, missed by oncoming traffic. The motorcycle would not have been so lucky, and so the driver jumped it.

    The dark cape of Batman trailed behind as the motorcycle sailed over a diesel truck. Through the slits of her mask, Cassandra Cain observed the fleeing car as it made a second turn. The motorcycle rolled onto the ground and angled again, speeding beneath a second diesel truck as it made the tight turn. Expertly, Cassandra righted the motorcycle and continued the chase.

    Three more blocks, and at the intersection there came a large van Cassandra couldn’t avoid. She had seen it coming from the left, so fast it should have gone past the spot as she approached. But suddenly it braked and Cassandra barreled headlong into the van. The motorcycle flipped, throwing Cassandra off and over the van at such a speed that most people would have become a smear on the pavement.

    But faster than most people could move, Batman fired a grappler. It bit into the side of a building and the line went taut. Batman then swung with one hand into the air, away from the concrete and cars that had been fast approaching. With her other hand batarangs were hurled at the van. Tires were punctured, and the van crashed into a lamppost. Batman finished her swing, angled for the windows in the van’s rear doors. Her slight frame crashed through the small opening and against the two men in the back of the van. A third man was in the driver’s seat, slumped against the steering wheel.

    “Aagh! It’s the goddamned-” Batman shut up one the men by smashing his face against the side. The other was silenced before he could speak, with a well-placed kick below his sternum. With the immediate opponents down, Batman checked on the driver. Beneath the cowl her eyes widened. The unconscious man was identical to the man Batman had just been pursuing!

    Sirens gave away the approach of police. Batman had to forego investigation for escape. The other car would be long gone by now. Outside, Batman saw that the motorcycle was a hopeless wreck. A device pressed on her utility belt activated the self-destruct, rendering all vital parts useless. Batman then made her escape by grapple, escaping sight just as the police arrived.

Batman

The Dark Knight Detective.....

BATMAN

Two Halves of a Whole

Batman #27
January, Year Five

Brought to you by Stephen Crosby
 

Alfred Pennyworth, loyal manservant to the Wayne family estate, entered the cave beneath Wayne Manor to find dinner untouched. Cassandra remained, where he had left her hours ago, at the massive super-computers that aided Batman’s war on crime. She was becoming more and more like Master Bruce every day, Alfred thought to himself before saying with his typical British dry wit, “I take it stir-fry is not to you preference, Ms. Cain.”

    Cassandra gave the plate a brief glance, as though seeing it for the first time, before returning to her research. Faces and news clippings were flashing across the computer screens each second.

    “Ah, still trying to unearth the identity of your twin thieves. If you allow me?” Alfred put his hands to the secondary keyboard. Several of the screens responded. “With one in custody, it is possible the police have done the job for you. Here we are.” The identical faces of two men appeared on the screens. “We have Cato and Nero Viscanneus, aliases Remus and Romulus. Oh dear, they appear to be wanted in Italy.”

    But Cassandra was well ahead in her reading. Born Siamese at the head but separated, which explained the bald spots. One, Nero, had been in a coma ever since however, with very little brain activity. After the Gene Bomb that went off some years ago, he then awoke and embarked on a life of crime with his brother. Powers if any were unknown, but given the time Cassandra suspected a metagene. Batman recalled the van’s timing in cutting her off, and had a theory.

    “Ms. Cain, if I may please call your attention to the late hour.” Alfred was getting at reading her. “One of these men is now in custody. Surely the other can wait? After all, tomorrow will be a busy day at work.”

    Cassandra heard her butler’s words and knew that he was right. There wasn’t anything else she could do that night. She moved away from the computer and looked toward the garage, where a new motorcycle was in the beginning stages of assembly.

    “Harold will make it a priority tomorrow,” Alfred said, referring to the mute hunchback who worked in the cave as a mechanic. He’d picked up the place of uneaten food. “Would you like me to prepare something before you turn in?”

    But Cassandra shook her head no. she would eat in the morning, before work.


Boredom was the one word that best described Cassandra’s time at the Gotham City School for Hearing-Impaired Women. Days spent there were filled with tedious office work, a far cry from the nights of excitement. Apparently, it was a job no one else wanted, as the late administrator’s replacement was slow in coming. That left Cassandra in charge, and she hated being in charge.

    The reason Alfred dropped her off four blocks away was because Cassandra enjoyed the walk. Most neighborhoods in Gotham City were dangerous, this one particularly so. Cassandra often hoped she would be attacked. Start the day with some excitement.

    A noise followed by laughter caught Cassandra’s attention. It came from an alley halfway up the block, the sound of fabric tearing and the cry of a pained animal. Or of a young deaf woman, Cassandra decided and quickened her pace. The weak were easily and often exploited in Gotham. At reaching the alley, Cassandra’s fears were confirmed. A young woman she recognized as a student was being assaulted by two men.

    Cassandra moved silently on the unsuspecting criminals and struck swiftly. A quick jab at the back of one man’s neck, where the skull met the spine, and suddenly his body was wracked with paralysis. The other was quick to notice the attack, and turned into Cassandra’s vicious roundhouse kick to his face. Two of his teeth went flying, and they wouldn’t land until seconds after he struck the ground.

    Lying amid the trashcans in the alley, the frightened young woman struggled to suppress her tears as she held torn clothing together. Not torn enough, Cassandra noted with relief. Stepping forward, she offered the young woman her hand and, known as a trusting authority at the school, it was accepted. Cassandra helped the student to her feet, and half-carried her into the building, where better qualified people could help with the trauma.

    As for Cassandra, not only was she no longer bored, she had an idea of how to help pass the time.


Two detectives of the GCPD Major Crimes Unit walked into the empty hospital room. Just outside, the bloodstain that had marked a fellow officer’s final resting place was being cleaned. Of the room itself there was no sign of a struggle, nor would any have been expected. This hadn’t been an abduction, but a break-out from police custody.

    “Crime scene’s been through the place,” Detective Procjnow thought aloud. “Picked up some fibers, dirt from shoes, could give us a lead on their hideout.”

    “In five days when CSU gets around to telling us,” Detective Burke replied. “You know I saw one of those assholes trying to question a nurse? It’ll serve that tech right if he decided to check out the lead himself and got shot in the-”

    Procjnow cut him off. “What we need to know is how they found the right room. There were eight other patients under protection. Somebody had to have talked.”

    “A phone check turned up nothing,” Burke told his partner. “Well, a doctor putting a hit on his wife, another doctor getting blackmailed, an orderly selling non-viable organs, and no less than three nurses with serious drug problems. The contacts are all being looked at, but so far no connection to this crew.”

    Procjnow had walked up to the window. She needed to open the blinds to look out. “It’s a long shot, but if somebody had opened these blinds at some point…Jameson could have told us if anybody had been in the room.”

    “And for all we know he could have been in on this.” Burke was itching to get out and have a cigarette. “Dammit, we likely won’t know anything until we ask those skels themselves.”

    “We’d better get out there and find them then,” Procjnow said. The two detectives walked out of the room, through the doorway that had a room number over it on both sides.


The grass was damp beneath Tim Drake’s feet. It had rained earlier that evening. A short distance away he heard machinery at work. A soft ground was ideal for digging graves. The plot Tim visited had been dug on a cold day, when the ground had been nearly frozen. Stephanie Brown, the headstone read simply, with a pair of dates below the name. On either side were the graves of her parents, both dead the same day. Not the only set of its kind in the cemetery. Criminal parent kills spouse, children, ends up dead in any number of ways. In Gotham City, a very common story.

    Tim didn’t look at the grave of Arthur Brown, the late criminal Cluemaster. He’d been Stephanie’s father, murderer, and the man Tim had gotten away with killing. Bruce had helped with the cover-up, included with his eternal disapproval. It wasn’t something Tim begrudged his former mentor.

    “I’ve tried to stop thinking about what happened,” Tim said to the grave. “But I find myself reexamining every angle. My dad, friends, they can all tell something’s wrong, try to talk to me. Something like this though, I would used to talk with you about.”

    The noise from the distant back-hoe was especially loud just then, intruding on the moment. “Sorry about this,” Tim apologized to Stephanie’s grave. “It’s hard to find a good time, when nobody is here visiting or getting…buried.”

    Every day Tim Drake, also known as Robin the Boy Wonder, would read the paper. Keeping up on events was one of many things the Batman had taught him. In a split second Tim recalled obituaries for the past few days. Someone always dies in Gotham, but city-paid burials were in another cemetery. Nobody respectable had died in the last two days, and no new funerals were scheduled until next week. A sudden scraping sound confirmed what Tim Drake suspected; a body was being dug up.

    Robin moved to investigate. He stepped carefully, aware that he could be mistaken, or an exhumation could be going on. But sight of the activity dashed all doubts. Men in black garb kept watch, so obscured that Robin wouldn’t have seen them if he wasn’t so well-trained. A large, industrial machine that couldn’t have been city-owned was at work. Standing near it was a woman Robin recognized, and that placed the men in black. What do Talia al Ghul and the League of Assassins want with that grave, Robin wondered to himself.

    There was no time to ponder the question, as Robin caught a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye. In street clothes he was far more conspicuous, and an agent of the League of Assassins had spotted him. The dark shape moved silently, not crying out to alert the others as most common thugs would have. There was the chance he could take Robin unawares, and if not an exchange of blows would draw attention. This case was the latter, as Robin blocked a kick and closed to jab for the throat. The jab was blocked, but Robin had intended that for a distraction anyway. At the same time his leg had gone up and kicked down like a sledgehammer on the assassin’s knee.

    “Nngh.” There was that cry. Robin spun quickly, throwing ‘R’ shaped shurikens at where he’d last seen the other assassins. One coming at him ducked in response, and again Robin pulled the leg move. Along with driving the man’s head into the dirt it had the benefit of launching Robin up into the air over his other attackers.

    Something akin to a mosquito bit into Robin’s neck just then. Thoughts in his mind fuzzed, and in mid-air the leap went bad. Robin crashed to the ground hard, just missing a headstone and surrounded by the League of Assassins. Their leader approached slowly, putting the blowgun back into the pouch she’d removed it from.

    “The Boy Detective is every bit as unpredictable as his mentor,” Talia said aloud for Robin’s fading ears. “Fortunately, I have a special insight into the mind of my betrothed.” To the subordinates she commanded, “Remove the casket and confirm the contents.”

    “And him?” one of them dared to ask. “All our work at misdirection-”

    “That was for the authorities,” Talia replied. “I never intended to fool The Detective or his Boy, but in current climate their suggestions will go unheard. Leave him. And as for further misdirection…”

    “Heh..hehehehahahahaha!”

    While Talia’s voice was trailing off, the assassin who had dared to question her started to laugh. With a face twisted into a sinister, horrified smile, the man tried reaching for his contemporaries, but was avoided and pushed. At Talia’s feet he collapsed in hysterical laughter, his body twisting into painful contortions. Talia stepped over the dying man on her way to the open grave. Assassins tasked to dig moved out of her view, terror of their faces of what she may do.

    They first thing Talia felt as she looked into the empty casket was annoyance. “Take it with us.” It would need to be checked if there was ever a body in there. Either way, feelers would need to be sent out into Gotham, searched for signs of his activities. There may have been truth to the misdirections after all.

    Almost twenty minutes later, well after the League of Assassins had made their exits, Robin awoke to a dead body and an empty grave. For the dead body he didn’t spare a second glance, the empty grave’s headstone his eyes never left. A little message that didn’t mean anything because that one-word name was all that people would pay attention to.


It took three nights for Batman to find the information she needed. She was on the Bat-Cycle, racing through the streets of Gotham towards the docks, hoping that three nights had not been too long. Three nights of visiting bars, brothels, drug dens, casinos and every other hangout for Gotham City’s undesirables, trying to get answers on the Roman Twins. Acquiring information was difficult when you cannot say the questions, but Batman had managed it. Three nights of bloodied knuckles and broken bones, and she was now speeding for the docks.

    As she approached the high walls, Batman activated the boosters. A powerful burst of speed in the rear wheel shifted the front up, and Batman jumped the wall with inches to spare. Landing was trickier, but Batman maintained control over the ‘cycle and roared between large shipping containers. No doubt many contained stolen or illegal goods, but Batman couldn’t deal with everything at random. Later, Oracle could be contacted, records checked and deals averted. Then again the next day, and the next, each requiring hours of work…

    It was all too big, Batman decided. She had to focus on one thing at a time. The things authorities couldn’t or wouldn’t she’d handle as best she could. Until the Batman returned, she would have to be enough.

    Slowing the Bat-Cycle to a stop between several containers, Batman pulled out small binoculars. There was a variation of the cowl with special lenses, but it didn’t fit her properly and the different lenses would shift and at the wrong time that would be unfortunate. She scanned at the boats, and saw the one Batman had been told about. It, they, were still in Gotham, but not for long. Batman revved the motor, and sped off after the departing ship.

    As she neared the edge of the dock, Batman hit the booster. She jumped again, over the water, and onto the boat. Control could have been maintained, but Batman leapt off the ‘cycle instead. It smashed against barrels, knocking them over. Batman ran for the shadows, awaiting the investigation.

    “What was that?”

    “Check around!”

    “What the hell is this?”

    Sure enough, they were all over the area in seconds. Twins Remus and Romulus, and over a dozen thugs-for-hire. A ship this large would require a large crew for loading and managing, so Batman suspected there would be more. Those would be dealt with later. The ones in front of her, Batman decided as she fingered her belt, would be dealt with immediately.

    “Everyone fan out! Now!”

    In the darkness of a silent night, a flash-bang grenade could be devastating. For long seconds men were left blind and deaf, as vulnerable as tiny children. Batman had to use the time well and she did, jumping amidst the throng with fists and feet flying. She’d had lots of practice fighting crowds, those past three nights.

    In less than a minute only two remained, the twins she’d come for. They had spread apart, on either side of Batman. Neither armed, but Batman could see from the stance they knew how to fight.

    “We were leaving.”

    A lie. Batman knew there was no “we.”

    “You could have allowed it.”

    “But you’re here.”

    “So we’ll kill you.”

    Batman moved a split-second before they did. She could see what they were doing, what they were about to do. The same person fighting with two bodies. It had something to do with the Gene Bomb, she knew. Somehow the brains shared a link, and perhaps with enough time Harold could make a device to disrupt that link, or perhaps the Batman. But it was the present, and there was only Batman.

    She delivered a kick to the savate style, smashing above the knee like a sledgehammer. One hurt, with the other coming from behind. Batman jabbed with her right elbow, then fully extended it so that her hand snapped against her opponent’s groin. He doubled over in response, and Batman’s left elbow was there to smash against his temple. The move was part of a spin that ended with Batman’s heel catching the first one in the chin. Both fell, with Batman standing over them, triumphant.

    Now for the others.


Somebody else was in the cave. Batman knew this the moment she entered. Not Alfred or Harold, but not an enemy either. Batman parked the Bat-Cycle and approached the computer array, where Tim Drake in his Robin costume was hard at work. He didn’t turn as Batman came near, able to see her faint reflection off the monitor.

    “Would you please take the cowl off?”

    Batman complied. Cassandra Cain walked up next to Robin and stopped. Her eyes were fixed on the monitor, aware of the face displayed but knew it was a low priority. Somebody to be watched for, but not to be overly concerned about. Cassandra gave Robin a questioning look.

    “You’re aware of Talia al Ghul and the League of Assassins. They were digging up his grave. I suspect they’re behind other disappearances. It’s something we’ll need to look into. But this one is now a priority.”

    Robin pressed a button, and the image displayed on the screen was one Robin had taken hours ago. The empty grave, with the tombstone and its name clearly shown.

    “The Joker wasn’t where he’s supposed to be.”

Next Issue:    Bruce Wayne goes to Africa and encounters a hero trying to make other heroes, including…a Batman?

Story © 2009 Steve Crosby and may not be reproduced without permission.