The Further Adventures of Batman (35 page)

So here I was on my solo night job. I’d come in the Batmobile, but had sent it back to the Batcave; I didn’t want our catman to spot it in the area. The directional computer took it back without any problem—like sending a good horse home to the stable.

Now I was on the hunt, hugging the tree shadows along Forest Avenue, using the InfraBatscope to scan the buildings for possible Tomcat activity. A full spring moon was riding above Gotham City, painting rooftops and sidewalks with glimmering sliver. A lovely night for action.

I was glad to be out here under the sky on a hunt instead of being stuck in Washington the way Batman was. Despite all the years of crook-catching the thrill of the hunt had never diminished. On a night like this my blood raced and my whole body was on alert—every muscle tensed and ready for combat. For a true crimefighter, what else was there to live for?

That was when I saw him—the Tomcat, clawing his way up a vine toward the roof of a mansion, a big Victorian structure set well back from the street and almost buried in trees.

I muttered “Gotcha!”—heading for the mansion’s black iron fence. I was up and over, sprinting for the tall side of the house rising ahead of me like a white iceberg under the moon. I moved over the grass, shadow-quick, without sound, and he had no idea I was coming for him.

I scrambled up to the roof, reaching it just in time to spot Mr. Tomcat crouched next to a skylight, trying to jimmy the lock with a crowbar. He was a tall string-bean of a guy, all in black, sporting a black stovepipe hat and black leather gloves—and he had a sharp, beaked profile that reminded me of the Penguin. Apparently he figured nobody was home since he sure wasn’t trying to be subtle about getting inside.

I padded across the roof, smiling, sure of the game. Bagging this particular feline was going to be a cinch.

I was wrong. When I was just two feet away from him he whipped up his head, let out a venomous cat hiss, and lunged at me with the heavy crowbar—which wouldn’t have given me any trouble if my right foot hadn’t snagged on a loose shingle, throwing me off balance.

The Tomcat’s crowbar slammed into me across the chest, and I went crashing, head first, through the glass skylight. I felt myself falling through space. Then, a big crash, and darkness.

Pitch-black darkness.

What I saw next was a delicate white face floating above me—the face of a beautiful young woman with round, dark, startled eyes like the eyes of a fawn in the forest.

“Hello,” she said in a voice as soft as her eyes. “Does your body flesh hurt?”

An odd question. “My . . . body flesh?” Things were coming into focus around me. I was in a large bedroom, her bedroom most likely, since it was all pink and flouncy. And the young lady was also in pink, the kind of wide-skirted lacy Victorian dress you’d wear to a costume ball.

I tried to sit up. “Ouch!” I groaned, clutching my side. “It does hurt.”

Which is when I realized I was wearing white silk pajamas. My cape and mask and clothes were gone! This was serious, since no one in Gotham City was ever supposed to see Robin without his mask. Batman was going to be plenty sore at me for this!

“Who are you?” I asked the girl.

“Sue-Ellen,” she said softly.

“Sue-Ellen who?”

She flushed. “I don’t have a last name. Sometimes I don’t even feel like a real person. I mean, real people have last names—and Father has never told me what mine is.”

“It would be the same as his,” I pointed out.

“But I don’t know that either. I just call him Father.” She blinked at me. “What’s
your
name?”

“I’m . . . I’m not authorized to reveal my true identity”

Her eyes were wide. “Are you with the FBI?”

“No. But I do fight crime.”

“Is that why you were wearing a mask?” She had long blond hair framing the oval of her face; the moonlight from the window made it shine like a halo.

I adjusted the pillow, sitting up straight. “Haven’t you seen my picture in the papers?”

“I don’t ever see newspapers. Or magazines either. Father won’t allow them in the house.”

She’d caught me in full costume—and Robin had been on TV plenty of times. “You must have seen me on television?”

“We don’t have television here,” she said. Then she smiled for the first time and she was radiant. I was stunned by her pale beauty.

This surreal conversation was getting nowhere; it was time to end it. “I must leave now,” I told her. “How long have I been here?”

“About ten hours. But you can’t leave. Nobody ever leaves this house but Father. And he’s away now. Far, far away.”

“No, really,” I said, “I must go. Just get me the clothes I had on when you found me.”

She shook her head. “I want you to stay here with me. You’re the first flesh person I’ve ever known, except for Father.”

“Look, Sue-Ellen,” I said, sliding my legs over the edge of the bed. “I really appreciate what you’ve done for me—fixing up my rib and all—but I have to leave immediately” I stood up. “Even if I have to walk out of here in a pair of silk pajamas.”

“Gork will stop you,” she declared. “I told him that you should stay.” And she snapped her fingers.

A huge seven-footer appeared in the bedroom door. He had a flat gray face and eyes without pupils and wore a seamless gray uniform. He looked strong—but I was sure I could handle him.

“I’ll have to clobber your big pal if he gets in my way” I told the girl. “Tell him to move back from the door.”

“Gork is my friend. He does what I ask. He won’t allow you to leave.”

I was in no mood to argue the point. I just lowered my head and charged. Hitting him was like slamming into a brick wall. And trying to punch him was hopeless. My blows had no effect.

Then Gork put his hands on me. Like two steel meat hooks.

“Don’t hurt him, Gork,” said Sue-Ellen. “Just put him back in bed.”

The big lug did that. And he tucked me in like a three-year-old. All without changing expression.

“You can go now,” the girl told him.

He shambled out of the room.

“He’s not human, is he?”

“Of course not,” she said. “No one in this house is human, except for me. And Father—when he’s home.”

“What
is
Gork?”

“Mostly, he’s made of metal. When I was very young Father got interested in the science of robotics. He’s quite brilliant, and has many interests. He began to experiment with metal people. Robots. That’s what Gork is—and he’s identical to a dozen others that Father had constructed to take care of me. But Gork is the only one I really like.” She moved very close, leaning over the bed. “May I touch your face?”

“Uh . . . sure, I guess so.”

She reached out with tentative fingers to explore the planes of my face.

“It’s warm—just like mine. The robots have cold faces, like wet fish.” She gave me one of her radiant smiles. “I’m a flesh person, too. Just like you are.”

This whole situation was totally bizarre; I couldn’t figure it out.

“I need to talk to a friend,” I told her. “Could I use your phone?”

“We don’t have any phones here. Father says they’d just distract me—that I’d use them to try to call other flesh people.” She giggled. “But that’s silly because I don’t know anyone but you and you’re right here. I don’t have to call you.”

I looked at her intently. “Is it true . . . that I’m . . . the first boy you’ve ever met?”

“I said so, and I never lie.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“Here. In this house. The robots taught me.”

“You mean . . . you’ve never been to an outside school?”

“I’ve never been to an outside anything,” she declared. “I’ve just been here, in Father’s house. For my whole life.”

I was shocked. “Are you saying your father has kept you prisoner?”

“Prisoner?” She frowned at the word. “No . . . I’m not a prisoner . . . I’m Daddy’s girl. This is where he wants me to be—where he brought me as a tiny baby after Mother and Father quit living together.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“I don’t know. I never saw her again. Anyhow, after she left, Father told me I was ‘too precious’ to have the world ‘pollute’ me. He said he’d keep me here, always, safe from the ‘harshness’ of the world, that he didn’t want me ‘tarnished.’ Father uses words like that all the time. He’s a lot smarter than me.”

“Did you ever get to play with other children?”

“Oh, no—never. Father had robot children made for me to play with. I never saw any real ones. I just grew up here—with the robots.” She brightened. “I’ve even learned to make robots myself now. I’m very good at it, too.”

“Who
is
your father?” I was angry at what the man had done to his daughter. “Tell me
who
he is.”

“I’ve told you, I don’t
know
his name. He’s just . . . Father.”

I walked over to her dresser. “You must have a picture of him . . . a photo. I want to see his face.”

“He doesn’t like pictures. There aren’t any.”

“What does he do for a living? How does he earn the money for all this?”

“He works in the circus. As a clown. I guess he always has. That’s where he is right now, with a circus, way off in Washington. You know, the D.C. place.”

“Yes, that’s where my friend is now—the one I need to contact.”

She nodded. “Then maybe Father will see your friend there.”

Something was very wrong. I sensed it—a rushing chill inside me, a prickly feeling that this crazy father of hers was a threat to Batman. I had no evidence to back it up, just a gut hunch. But it was strong.

I
had
to find out what was happening in Washington.

“When you found me,” I said urgently to Sue-Ellen. “After I’d fallen through the skylight . . . I was wearing a wrist chron.”

She looked confused.

“Like a watch,” I said. “Where is it?”

“The robots took it away with your other clothing.”

“I
need
it, Sue-Ellen! Badly.”

“All right, I’ll have Gork fetch it.”

And she did. The big gray robot handed it to me, then shambled out again.

The Batchron was a communication device, featuring a mini-TV. I punched in the coordinates, and the face of a worried-looking newscaster flashed to life on the tiny screen. He was speaking with gravity: “. . . and the shocking attempt on the President’s life was averted by Gotham City’s Caped Crusader in a daring action when Batman suddenly appeared at the circus, throwing himself directly in the path of the killer clown, and managing to wrest a lethal dart-weapon from his grasp. Had just one of the deadly venom-coated darts struck the President he would have died instantly. In the subsequent melee the killer escaped from the circus tent, but Batman was unhurt . . .”

I switched it off. Sue-Ellen and I were staring at each other. “That clown . . . on the newscast,” she said. “They only showed him from the back—but I’m
sure
it’s Father.”

“Then your father attempted to assassinate the President of the United States.”

“I’m sorry,” murmured Sue-Ellen softly, head down. “That’s very wrong, isn’t it?”

“Very,” I said.

“I wonder why he’d do a thing like that,” the girl said. “But then . . . he’s not a very nice man. I have tried to love him, but I just can’t. Gork has been much kinder to me than Father.”

I was beginning to suspect a terrible truth about Sue-Ellen’s father. But I needed to have her verify it.

“Describe him to me,” I asked. “What does your father look like?”

“If you mean his features, I’m not sure. I mean, not really. He’s always in his clown makeup. I’ve never seen him without it.”

I nodded. “And what about his hair? What color is it?” My voice was intense.

“It’s green,” she said. “An ugly green color . . . and he always wears red on his lips.”

I was right. Sue-Ellen’s father was our old enemy, the Clown Prince of Crime himself . . .

“Surprise!” An oily voice from the doorway.

I looked up—and he was there, with his demonic smile distorting that dead-white face, the face of total evil.

“Joker!” I glared at him. Sue-Ellen drew back, as if from a snake. He ignored her, his eyes blazing into mine.

“Ah . . . it’s Dick Grayson,” he said slowly. “A known friend to Batman and Robin.”

“And proud of it,” I said tightly.

“Well, it seems your friend foiled me again,” said the Joker. “I intend to make him pay for what he did to me in Washington!”

We were face-to-face at the bed. His breath was foul, like rotten meat. “You’re big at making empty threats, Joker,” I told him. “But when the chips are down you always lose. Batman and Robin have defeated you time and again—and one of these days they’ll put you permanently out of business.”

“Never! My brain far surpasses the range of normal men.”

“At least we both agree on that,” I told him. “You’re anything but normal.”

During this entire exchange, from the moment her father had appeared in the room, Sue-Ellen had been silent, intent on the play of words between us. Now she spoke firmly, her small chin raised in defiance.

“Father, you are being very unkind. This is my first flesh friend and I don’t like the mean way you’ve been talking to him. I think you should apologize.”