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Authors: Martin H. Greenberg

The Further Adventures of Batman (2 page)

BOOK: The Further Adventures of Batman
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Bruce Wayne came to an immediate decision. He darted out into the street. Cars screeched, and slewed out of his way. Picking his way across the wide boulevard like a fleet, broken-field runner, Wayne made it to the curb, pushed with unaccustomed brusqueness past a group of gabbling society women, and entered the lobby.

It was like stepping into another world. Outside was the modern-day rush and squalor of Gotham City. Inside, his feet sank into the deep-piled Isfahani rug made especially for the New Era. Overhead the central vault of the ceiling arched upward. Chandeliers, suspended from slender stainless steel threads, glittered with cut glass and blazed with light. The tall windows of the lobby were made of stained glass, giving the place a resemblance to a church for the worship of success.

Surveying the scene, Bruce noticed many men in long flowing Arab robes and headdresses. Some of the women were attired in the heavy veils of those where a form of purdah is still practiced. Scattered here and there were bellboys, smart in their Coldstream Guards uniforms.

Nowhere was there anyone who bore the least resemblance to the grinning figure Bruce had seen only seconds ago.

Bruce hesitated a moment, then went up to the front desk. An assistant manager, a large dignified-looking man in full evening dress with muttonchop sideburns and a bald, gleaming skull, asked if he could be of service.

Bruce described the man he sought.

The assistant manager pursed his lips in an imitation of thoughtfulness.

“No such person of that description has entered here, sir. Not now or ever.”

“He might have sneaked in without being noticed,” Bruce suggested.

“Oh, I think not, sir,” the assistant manager said. He smiled a supercilious smile. “A person of the description you gave us could hardly go unnoticed in a place like the New Era. Green hair and bottle-green coat you said? No sir, not in the New Era.”

Bruce felt like a fool. The man was eyeing him as though he were drunk or crazy. Bruce knew very well he was not drunk. As for crazy . . . Well, that was one of the things he was going to Dr. Waltham to find out about.

6:15
P.M.
Dr. Waltham looked at his watch. Batman was late for his appointment. Waltham had been the Dark Knight’s physician for many years. Never before had Batman been this late.

Waltham was ready to close up. The physician went to draw the blinds. He heard a low laugh behind him and turned.

“Sorry I’m late,” Batman said. “I ran into somebody I thought I knew. Hope you hadn’t given up on me.”

“No problem, Batman,” Dr. Waltham said, peering at the tall cloaked man with the black mask. As usual, Batman appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Waltham had come to expect it—as well as you can expect the unexpected. “Anybody I know?”

“No longer.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Nothing, Doc. Shall we get on with the examination?”

It was the time for Bruce Wayne’s yearly physical. In his role as Batman, he required absolute physical conditioning of himself. He worked to his own exercise program, and spent hours each week honing his skills in the martial arts. Although he was always in perfect condition, he knew that ailments and conditions could sneak up on you. Hence this yearly physical with his old family friend, Edwin Waltham, one of the top physicians in Gotham City. Waltham was an independently wealthy man who maintained his office and apartment on Starcross Boulevard, one of the best locations in the city. Waltham was small and corpulent, with a head of curly gray hair, a face flushed from good living, and small alert eyes that, behind round glasses, glinted with intelligence. Clever though he was, however, it had never occurred to him that his old friend Batman was the same person as his father’s friend, Bruce Wayne.

“You’re in great shape, Batman, as usual,” Waltham said at the conclusion of the examination as Batman adjusted his tunic. “You’ve got a heart like a steam locomotive. You’d have to, for some of the things you do.”

Batman nodded, frowning slightly. Waltham, who had been his parents’ physician, was like most of the people in Gotham City and knew him only as Batman, scourge of criminals and of evildoers everywhere. The doctor was always eager to hear about Batman’s cases. There was no harm in it, but there was no need for it, either. Bruce Wayne handled the Batman portion of his life like a state secret.

As he expected, Waltham asked, “Are you working on anything now, Batman?”

“No, I’m still taking it easy.”

“I haven’t seen you with Vera recently.” He was referring to Vera St. Clair, a pretty society woman whom Batman had been seen with.

“She’s in Rio. For the Carnival.”

“Lucky her! You should have gone yourself, Batman.”

“I considered it.” Batman didn’t know how to tell it to Waltham, but a sort of lethargy had invaded his senses in the last few months. It had begun about the time he began having the hallucinations.

He didn’t want to talk about that, but it was one of the reasons he had come to see the doctor.

Seeing him hesitate, Waltham asked, “What is it, Batman?”

Batman decided to take the plunge. “Doc, I’ve begun seeing things.”

The doctor maintained his professional aplomb, but concern glinted from his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

The tall, grim-faced masked man described his recent hallucinations. He had had them three times now in as many months. They were usually fleeting, no more than a glimpse of some old enemy from the past, now long defeated and safely buried.

Most recently it had been the Joker. Dead, but Bruce had seen him entering the lobby of the New Era Hotel.

Dr. Waltham considered his words carefully. “Batman, I’ve given you the best physical money can buy. There is nothing wrong with you physically.”

“But mentally?”

“I would almost stake my life on your being the sanest man I know.”

“Almost?”

“Just a way of speaking. Have you had any unusual concerns on your mind recently?”

Batman shook his head. He couldn’t tell Waltham that he had been thinking a lot about the past recently. About friends he had once known, now dead. Robin, Bat Woman, Bat Girl . . . And dead enemies, too—the Joker, the Riddler, the Penguin. All of them, friends and foes alike, were his family, those who shared his deeds back when the world was younger.

He was older now. Still perfectly fit, a unique physical specimen. But older.

“No, no particular concerns.”

Waltham took off his glasses and wiped them carefully. Before putting them back on he looked at Batman, his eyes a soft, unfocused myopic blue. “Tell me about the most recent.”

“On my way here, I thought I saw the Joker.”

“Somebody in the crowd, perhaps, a superficial resemblance . . .”

“No, it was him. I followed him into the New Era Hotel. But he wasn’t there. The manager said that no such person had entered.”

“A few hallucinations don’t matter much,” Dr. Waltham said. “You’ve been through some of the most difficult and terrible experiences known to man. A little psychomotor activity would not be unexpected. But tell me . . . is there any chance the Joker is still alive?”

“None whatsoever.”

“I don’t know the details of his demise, but I would remind you that the Joker escaped from many situations where death seemed certain. Why not this time?”

“I’m sure he’s dead,” he said.

“Well then, I don’t know how to advise you,” Dr. Waltham said. “The best thing would be for you to go down to Rio and join Vera. You need to get away, take your mind off these concerns.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Batman said. “I’ll think about it.”

“Some tea, sir?” asked Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne’s butler. “It’s the special Darjeeling that you like so well.”

“Not right now,” Bruce said. He had been going over crime reports at the antique table that served him as a desk. There were priceless antiques throughout the big, gracious old mansion that was situated on a landscaped knoll within view of Gotham City.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir, before I retire?” Alfred asked.

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Bruce said. He had been brooding all evening about the events of the day and his visit to Dr. Waltham. Now he had decided to do something. “I want you to pack a suitcase for me immediately.”

“Certainly, sir,” Alfred said, and his grave expression brightened. “I’ll pack your lightweight shorts, sir, and your new tropical suits. Perhaps a mask and snorkel? They say there’s good underwater swimming there.”

“I beg your pardon, Alfred?”

“In Rio de Janeiro, sir. I assume that is your destination. To join Miss Vera for the Carnival. And if you’ll excuse my saying so, it’s just what you need, sir. A change, and a little amusement in your life. You have been rather on the gloomy side of late, sir, if you’ll permit the observation.”

Bruce smiled. “I’m touched by your concern, Alfred, but I’m afraid you’ve jumped to an erroneous conclusion. I will need no carnival costume where I’m going.”

“I apologize for my incorrect assumption, sir. Might I ask where you’re going?”

“The New Era Hotel, here in Gotham City.”

“Indeed, sir?” Alfred’s aplomb was unshakeable. Bruce could have told him he was going to the North Pole and the faithful servant would merely have inquired if he should pack ice skates.

“I’ll need about half a dozen evening suits, and some casual clothing for daytime wear, and the usual shirts and socks.”

“A wardrobe such as you describe is already packed and ready to go, Master Wayne. I packed the Charlie Morrison wardrobe for you, sir.”

“Alfred, you anticipate well.”

“Yes, sir. One thing I didn’t know, sir. Will you require the Batman Suit?”

Bruce looked up sharply. Somehow he hadn’t considered taking the Batman Suit. He hadn’t quite brought himself to the point of considering that there were at least two interpretations of his hallucinations. One, that he was going crazy. Two, that someone was planning something clever and criminal and was trying to put a scare into him.

“Yes, pack the Batman Suit,” Bruce said. “And put in the small leather bag marked OPS 12. And one of the standard utility belts.”

“At once, sir,” said Alfred. He didn’t bother to mention that he had also packed those things in expectation of just such a trip. You don’t stay Batman’s batman for long if you can’t anticipate his needs.

Despite all the advantages of his Batman persona, there were a few disadvantages, too. For surprising hoodlums and criminals, the shock value of Batman was great. But for everyday use, it was too noticeable. When it was necessary for him to go somewhere, it was often an advantage to go looking like an ordinary citizen. But there were problems to going as Bruce Wayne, and then suddenly appearing later as Batman. Someone might find it a little more than coincidence that Bruce was around whenever Batman appeared.

Because of this, Bruce had adopted several other personas, to be used when occasion demanded it. The most recent of these, whom he called Charlie Morrison, had been invaluable when Bruce had gone to Europe to detect and foil a counterfeiting ring operating in several cities of northern Europe. Bruce remembered how Commissioner Gordon himself had congratulated him at the end of the case when they met in the mayor’s office in Hamburg. Gordon might have suspected that Charlie Morrison was Batman; but that was all right. He was supposed to think that. It helped keep suspicions off Bruce Wayne, the progenitor of both personas.

BOOK: The Further Adventures of Batman
8.42Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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