BATMAN: The New Continuity

"Thought you were pretty smart, didn't you, my friend?" Black Mask said. "I've heard stories about your disguises, and I must say that, after seeing the real thing," he turned to look at Edward "Hard-Knox" Yardley, sitting in the chair directly in front of Bruce, "you're not very convincing. Much too big a man to pass for Mr. Yardley. Perhaps your young partner would've been better suited to play this particular role, eh?"

Bruce's cover was blown, it was no use to carry on the charade any longer. When he spoke to Black Mask, it was as Batman. "Believe it or not, Black Mask, I'm wanting to help you." Batman's voice had been unwavering. "We both know that your organization is falling apart. Weller left, your businesses are being hit one after another, even your pimps are skipping out on you."

It was impossible to see any of the large man's face from behind the dark mask, but it was plain to see that Batman's statement had touched on a sensitive spot. "You meddling coward. You dare try and enter into my place of business and disrupt my work? You are arrogant, and troublesome, but no problem to me." Black Mask took in a deep breath, and spoke in a deeply pompous tone of voice. "I knew about your plan all along. One of my operatives saw Mr. Yardley at the airport, and followed him to his meeting with you. I had a man in the trunk of his car the entire time. When we confronted Mr. Yardley, he told us everything, and when we got the phone call from a man claiming to be Hard-Knox Yardley, it all came together. You see, no one does anything in this city without my knowledge."

Bruce cocked an eyebrow, turned his head to the side. "No one?"

Black Mask crossed his arms across his wide chest. "Did you have anyone particular in mind?"

"Who is it? Who's trying to take . . ." Bruce looked around at the darkened room as if it were a metaphor for Black Mask's entire criminal empire. " . . . all of this from you?"

Black Mask walked quickly to stand over Bruce, who sat motionless in the chair. "That was your entire reason for coming here, I suspect. And you now believe me so stupid? You actually think I am going to divulge the name of one enemy to another?" Black Mask made a dismissive sound, waved his hand as if to brush Bruce away from him, and walked back. "I think you've been wearing that cowl of yours too tight." Black Mask touched Hard-Knox Yardley on the shoulder and the man stood from the chair to make room for the boss. Black Mask sat down, planting his elbow on the armrest and resting his concealed face on the palm of that, his left, arm. "In case you're wondering, you would've got the job. I've hired the real Mr. Yardley to perform certain functions for me."

"It certainly is gratifying," Bruce said in a low voice. "So, what now?" he said, managing to make the question sound more like a demand.

"I suppose you think I'm enough of an idiot to have devised some elaborate trap for you to escape from, subsequently bringing the police down upon me. But, Batman, my mask is black, not white, and it is crafted from fine porcelain, not my own acid-tarnished flesh. In other words, I am not the Joker, and I have no interest in watching you snatch your own wretched life from my jaws. You will remain seated where you are, and once I am outside of this building, the good men holding guns in your directions will discharge their weapons. The end." Black Mask stood from the chair, tipped his hat to Bruce, and walked with Hard-Knox Yardley towards the back of the room.

Bruce estimated he had only a very few seconds before Black Mask was sufficiently absent from the would-be crime scene, then the shooting would start. He wasn't wearing bullet-proofed clothes, and hadn't taken the risk of bringing any of his arsenal of weapons along with him. He could only think of one thing to do to save his life. "Wait!! Don't shoot yet!!" he screamed out, tears rolling down his cheeks, his voice wet with fear. "Please! I can't die yet! I can't, I can't, I can't . . ."

The gunmen, who had all positioned themselves behind and to the sides of him, began to walk closer, fingers still on the triggers of their various weapons. They were looking at each other, unsure what to do. It was the opportunity Bruce was looking for, the only one he was likely to get. In one swift motion, he brought his feet up to the chair and sprang forward into the air, rolling behind the chair in which Black Mask had sat. Gunshots went off in a spray of pops and bangs, and Bruce ducked down behind the back of the chair. Then he heard something else.

It had sounded like metal hitting the ground. He heard the sound again and realized that it was the sound of guns being dropped. He heard the sound again and again several times until the gunfire stopped. He also realized that, just before the sound had first started, the gunfire had changed, gone from rapid, uneven discharges of semi-automatic weapons to the even, rhythmic sound of machine gun spray. The gunfire had ceased entirely, and Bruce slowly looked around the back of the chair.

Five men dressed in white tuxedos with black shirts stood in front of the door Bruce had been brought in through. All five held machine guns, barrels now pointed towards the ceiling. "Come out. Now," one of the men commanded. Bruce stood, his hands raised above his head. The man pointed his gun at Bruce and said, "Put down your hands. We know who you are."

"Oh really?" Bruce asked, turning his head and looking at the five through the corner of his eye. "And, who might I be?"

The man who had done all the talking for the five so far sounded as if the question was one he was tired of answering. "You're the Batman. Now get the fuck out of here. He isn't ready for you yet."

Bruce's facial muscles tightened. His mouth became a flat line. Even though he was wearing make-up and a facial prostethis on his chin, it was still the expression he wore as the Batman. "Who might 'He' be?"

The man in the white tux repeated his last statement. "He isn't ready for you yet. Now go."

Bruce wasn't going to go so easily. "Why didn't you kill Black Mask?"

"Leave."

"Why didn't you kill me?"

The second white tuxedo in from the right fired a single round from his gun. The bullet grazed Bruce's upper thigh. "You can still walk," the one in the middle said, "Go."

Bruce didn't think they would kill him, but certainly wasn't going to take that chance. He backed slowly away, then turned and left the same way Black Mask had.

Beneath Wayne Manor, 8:12 p.m.

Alfred put the finishing touches on Bruce's bandages, then stood. "I know it's extremly futile for me to say this, but you did lose some blood, Master Bruce, " the butler said. "It would be best if you rested for a time."

Bruce stood from the table. "Sorry, old friend. I can't afford to take any time off now. Even though I saw five of them kill a what must have been a dozen of Black Mask's men, I'm no closer to finding out who's behind it all."

Alfred sighed, and walked with Bruce over to the large computer console. "I anticipated this response and called up a list of descriptions of the victims. I am doubtful of how helpful it will be, however. I looked over it myself and found little of major interest." Bruce sat down in front of the computer and read over the list of victims:

Reginald Carpenter, age 33. Found wearing a werewolf mask.

Frank Lilton, age 29. Found wearing a black ski mask.

Burt Green, age 31. Found wearing a hockey goalie mask.

Fred Ford, age 37. Found wearing a mask of President Richard Nixon.

"I know," Dick said, walking up to stand behind Bruce's chair in front of the massive computer, "When I first saw Fatal Attraction I didn't like that scene either. I've gotten used to it since then, though."

Bruce looked at Dick as if he hadn't even heard the remark. "The Rabbit," he repeated. "He wasn't on the victims list. He wasn't killed." Bruce's eyes darted from side to side as his mind raced for an explanation. "He was there. He was one of the mask men who picked me up. The other two, Nixon and the werewolf were killed."

Dick walked over to Alfred, who was brushing dust from the limestone pedestal that rose up to a flat top from the cave floor. "I hate it when I walk into the middle of a discussion, you know, Alfred?"

Alfred smacked his lips and continued to dust. "I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, Master Dick. I shall see you later, I trust." With that, Alfred returned to the mansion.

Dick returned to his spot behind Bruce, who was still buried in the process of deduction. Swiveling the chair around, he looked up at Dick, confident in his answer. "The Rabbit was there when they brought me in. I remember hearing four sets of feet going up those stairs. But, one was behind me. That must've been the Rabbit. So, he never actually went inside. He knew what was going to happen." Bruce nodded at Dick, who simply nodded back. "The Rabbit knew."

Dick stepped to the side as Bruce stood and walked straight back towards the vault where he kept his Batman suits. "I don't suppose you'd feel like watching the basketball game tonight?" Dick asked, already knowing the answer. After several moments of silence, Dick nodded. "Didn't think so." He heard the vault open and walked several steps forward. "By the way, I had a little run-in with Jean-Paul Valley last night . . . or, this morning. It was after midnight. This morning."

"Oh?" came the answer, echoing out from inside the vault. Bruce had been paying attention that time.

"He was decked out in his full glory. He was Azrael."

Bruce was silent for a moment; Dick imagined he was pulling on his kevlar tunic. "He didn't do anything . . ."

"Oh, no," Dick assured Bruce. "He actually saved the lives of two homeless people, then got sore at me for helping him out. I got him calmed down, though."

"What do you mean by 'sore?'"

"Well, he was taking on five guys, one of them pulled a gun, and there were two innocent people who could have easily been shot. I intervened, sort of persuaded the guy to drop the gun. Az got a little peeved. He even brought out the flaming sword."

Dick heard the vault door slam shut and lock. Batman emerged from behind the stone wall, pulling on his left glove. "He's still using the sword?" Batman sounded concerned.

"He didn't actually use it, not that I saw. He is still using the shurikens, though."

Batman nodded. "I'm not sure if they were built into the gauntlets of his original Azrael costume. He must've added that feature. After his stint as my replacement, I suppose he developed a taste for using them."

"I didn't see him use them on anyone, although he did shoot one at me to knock that guy's gun out of my hand." Dick's tone of voice changed slightly. "You don't think he'll start to be a problem again, do you?"

Batman took in a deep breath. "I certainly hope not," was his non-answer. "I have more than enough to deal with right now."

"If you need some help tonight, I brought my costume with me."

Batman nodded and started for the Batmobile. "I'll be waiting." Dick disappeared up the stairs and reappeared as Nightwing several minutes later. Joining Batman in the Batmobile, he asked, "So, where's Robin tonight?"

"He's taking the Redbird into the city," Batman answered. "He'll meet us sometime after midnight, that should give him enough time for his father and his girlfriend to get to sleep."

"Tim's dad has a girlfriend?" Nightwing asked incredulously.

Batman slid the black car's roof canopy shut. "Her name is Dana. She and Tim's father met at the health club where he goes for physical therapy three times a week. According to Tim, Jack and she are getting pretty serious, but Tim tells me he isn't planning on calling her mom right away. If she marries his father, that is."

"He doesn't like her?"

Batman fired up the car's turbine engine. "Oh, no. I think he likes her fine." The Batmobile roared to life and Batman piloted it out of the cave towards Gotham City, where darkness had just settled.

Jean-Paul Valley sat on the edge of the couch, his hands clasped between his knees.

"Has he been like this all day?" asked Sister Lilhy. Brian Brian ran a hand through his brown hair and looked at the young woman.

"Since I've been awake. He hasn't moved, and I had to look carefully at first to see whether or not he was even breathing."

Jean-Paul was still half dressed in his Azrael costume, the hood and gauntlets were removed and lain beside him on the couch. He stared blankly at something straight ahead that neither Sister Lilhy or Brian could see. "You don't think he has reverted back to his . . . primitive mind state?" Lilhy asked, referring to the period of approximately one week ago when Jean-Paul discovered his roots as Azrael involved his growth in a test-tube from both human and animal DNA. The shock that he was not fully human drove him into a state of mind where he did not talk, and on occassion ate raw meat. He still functioned as Azrael, but without the intelligence of Jean-Paul Valley to aide him, he was simply a mindless soldier with nothing to fight for, or against.

"No," Brian said, scratching his chin thoughtfully; he needed to shave. "I don't think he's gone back to his state of one week's past. Remember, he might have been animalistic towards the beginning, but he was never catatonic. No, I think he may be engaged in some manner of mind exercise. Meditation."

"Meditation is one of the practices of the Order," Lilhy observed. "But, during my life at the Ice Cathedral I never witnessed any of the other Brothers and Sisters employing meditation of this kind. He just stares, silently."

Jean-Paul blinked, and Brian saw it. "Did you see that, Lilhy? He blinked his eyes!" Brian knelt down in front of Jean-Paul and put his hands firmly on the young man's shoulders. "Can you hear me, Jean-Paul? It's me, Brian, your favorite pseudo-psychotherapist." Jean-Paul blinked once again and looked at Brian.

"Hello, Brian," he said drowsily. "How long was I in trance?"

Brian looked at Lilhy, and she responded with a confused shrug. "Tr . . .trance? Trance? Exactly what were you doing, Jean-Paul? You've been like that for . . . well, since I first woke up this morning."

"I had some thinking to do, that's all. I didn't want any interruptions, so I slipped into trance." Jean-Paul saw the confused look on Lilhy. "It is not something taught at the Order, Lilhy. I learned it from B--" Jean-Paul stopped for a moment; he was about to say Bruce Wayne. "Batman," he finished, "I learned the technique from Batman."

Lilhy and Brian exchanged glances. "Well," Brian moved ahead, "what was it that occupied your thoughts these last . . . oh, twelve hours or so?"

"Last night, I went to the city as Azrael. I felt the need to apply my skills. I put a stop to several acts of violence, saved several lives. But then Nightwing interfered. He interfered in one of my matters last night, and even though I now see that he may have assisted me in saving innocent life, I became very angry with him last night. I drew my sword against him."

Brian shook his head uncertainly. "You didn't use it?"

"No. He managed to make me see his reasons for interfering. But, if he had not been there . . . there were two innocents in that alley . . . the Batman would not have allowed that to happen. He wouldn't have needed assistance."

Brian sat down beside Jean-Paul on the couch, slapping the younger man's knee lightly in a gesture of friendship. "That Nightwing fellow just wounded your pride, that's all. You thought you could handle it, and he thought otherwise, and it hurt you that someone questioned your judgement."

"But, I see now that he was right to do what he did. If he hadn't, the innocents could have been hurt."

"That's true. That's certainly true. But, you've got to remember that Batman is by no means perfect either. I'm sure he's had his pride injured before, his ego bruised."

Jean-Paul shook his head in strong disagreement. "You're wrong, Brian. As the Batman, he is free of such human weaknesses as pride and ego. I know, I felt a part of it when I wore the costume." Jean-Paul looked at the floor as he spoke his next few words, "He is the greatest warrior alive."

Brian lowered his head slightly to look in the young man's bowed face. "What makes you say that?"

Jean-Paul looked at Brian as if the answer were as obvious as Azrael would be at a dinner party. "He defeated me," he said simply. Brian stood, nodding to himself. Jean-Paul wasn't being pompous; as far as he knew, he was being honest. Until he met Batman, Azrael had never been bested decisively in battle. Not many men could make a claim like that, not even the Batman himself, Brian imagined.

Brian scratched his chin, his fingers rubbing against his rough whiskers. "Well, my young friend," Brian said as he stood, "I believe I'm going to have a shave. Don't want the ladies to think I've something to hide!" Brian patted Jean-Paul on the shoulder and walked upstairs one step at a time.

The One-Armed Man Tavern, Gotham City Waterfront, 9:02 p.m.

Another day, another couple hundred dollars thought Jason Geritine as he stuffed a roll of bills into his breast pocket and trotted down the front steps of the bar. Normally a die-hard loyal poker player, Geritine had allowed himself to be talked into a game of nine-ball with two visiting punks from Metropolis. Good thing too, as he had made nearly three hundred more than on a normal night at the bar. He was actually a pretty good pool player, he would have to remind himself to buy a cue of his own between now and his visit to the One-Armed Man next week.

Before his right foot could touch the ground, Geritine felt something grip the back of his jacket collar and pull him up away from the ground. The seat of his pants scraped against the ledge of the roof, and he fell on his tailend, whoever had grabbed him still behind him. Jason stood, brushed himself off and spun around angrily to see who had done this to him. "Listen, you son of a--" he began as he turned. " . . . Whoa . . . aw, Christ it's you!" he said to Batman, who was a full five inches taller than Geritine, and who was now staring down at him, cold and silent.

Jason Geritine tried to back up, but found that he was already teetering on the edge of the roof. He just stood silent, not brave enough to even look at the face of the other man. "You were saying?" the Batman said in a low, compassionless voice. Geritine opened and closed his mouth almost involuntarily as his vocal chords refused to behave themselves. He stood here before the towering form of the Batman, physically unable to speak.

Finally, Batman took two steps back, and Geritine fell forward to his knees. "Get up," Batman ordered with absolute authority. Geritine obeyed, scampering to his feet like a trained and frightened circus animal. "You keep unsavory company, Geritine," the Batman said with a tone that suggested he was leading into something. "You hang out with some people who are known for having big mouths, Jason. I want to know what they tell you."

Jason Geritine started thinking big. No way, you costumed Bat-bastard! he imagined himself saying. His fantasy continued, You'll have to find another snitch! Jason Geritine tried to look unwaveringly into Batman's eyes, but couldn't see them through the opaque shields that made the man's eyes appear to be cold white slits in the front of his cowl. "Um . . ." was all he said.

All at once the Batman lurched forward and grabbed Geritine by the front of his shirt. He drug the struggling man across to the other side of the roof and held him out away from the ledge, holding him only by the front of Geritine's shirt. "Calm down and listen," Batman demanded. This order was harder to follow than the last, but Geritine did his best. "The Rabbit, where is he?" Geritine was holding onto Batman's arm with both hands, and couldn't help looking down at the ground that seemed so far below. It was only a one-story building, so the fall would most likely break his legs, not kill him, depending on how the Batman dropped him. "The Rabbit, Geritine!" Batman insisted, his voice becoming more of a growl.

"I . . . I got no idea who the fuck you're talkin' about! Jesus! Let me down!"

"The Rabbit, Geritine! Black Mask's right arm, you know what I'm talking about!"

"Jesus!!! Lemme down!!"

"I want him, Jason! Where is he?!"

"Let me go!! For God's sake!! Jesus Christ!! Lemme go!!!"

"Hurry up, Geritine!! My arm's getting tired!"

Jason Geritine's mind was racing; what the hell was Batman talking about? He couldn't think. What was he screaming about? The Rabbit! Jason realized. He knew who that was! Looking down at the ground that was so very far below, Geritine took several quick deep breaths. "The Rabbit!!" Geritine yelled out. "I know the Rabbit!"

"Where is he?!!" Batman demanded, his mouth curled into an enraged grimace.

"He meets other Falsefacers at some bar downtown!"

"Which one?!"

"The Lucky Shot on Hamilton Street!! That's all I know!"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive! Now let me go before I piss myself!!"

Batman pulled Geritine back onto the roof, throwing him onto the gravel surface, where he laid like a broken toy. "Behave yourself," Batman said before stepping off the edge of the roof. Geritine thought of going over to the edge to look for the Batman, but decided against it.

Better that he's gone.

Nightwing was back at the Batmobile before Batman returned. He watched as his former partner and mentor entered the car, removed the security lock-out, and piloted the vehicle out of the alleyway in which it was parked. "So," Nightwing began, "you had that guy pretty freaked out back there, didn't you?"

Batman kept his eyes on the road. "You were watching?"

"Sure! When I was Robin, I used to love it when you'd get some mafia guy to spill his guts--and, at times, his lunch--because you had him so jittery!"

"I suppose it would be easy for me to take some cathartic pleasure from it."

Nightwing nodded in agreement. "You don't, do you?"

"Absolutely not. You know that I never allow myself to go over the limits I set." Batman was silent for a moment. "I try, at least. Sometimes it just gets to be too much, that's all." Batman looked at the man who used to sit next to him as Robin. "Why do you ask?"

Nightwing opened his mouth to speak, then stopped and said nothing. "It's just that . . .," he began again, "I think that Azrael could get to enjoy it, that's all."

"What do you mean? He might not have given much thought to killing Graham Etchinson, but he didn't seem to relish it either."

"When I saw him last night, when I interfered, I got the feeling that he thought I was stealing something from him, you know? Like he was a cop and I had screwed up his bust or something."

"After he left being my replacement behind, Jean-Paul Valley suffered a profound loss of confidence, in both his abilities and his sanity. As far as the confidence aspect of it, you can certainly relate." Nightwing shot his partner a sudden stare when he said that. Batman mentally kicked himself. "I didn't mean to--"

"No prob," Nightwing interrupted, holding up his hand. "Hey, your reputation is built on terror, not tact. No problem. Besides, I'm cool on all that now. I mean, pardon me for saying so, but the very fact that I'm sitting next to you in the car says something about how I'm needed more than I ever used to think." Nightwing looked out the tinted windows at the buildings as they ran past the car in the opposite direction. "I'm cool on the whole confidence thing. What I'm saying is, it's no longer a sensitive subject."

Batman nodded once. "Message received."

Nightwing let silence continue for several seconds before speaking again. "You really think the Rabbit'll talk?"

Batman cocked his head slightly away from Nightwing and shrugged his shoulders just slightly. "I'd put my cowl up that the Rabbit walked me up to those stairs, then left. And, we know that he wasn't among the victims found, although I suppose the men in the white tuxxes could have taken him with them, but there was no evidence of that. Of course, the Rabbit could never have really left; maybe he was one of the gunmen."

Sighing loudly, Nightwing waved his hand. "Maybe you ought to slow down a little, take things a step at a time?"

"Right; I'm overanalyzing."

"This Black Mask thing is starting to get to you, isn't it?"

"I know what you're suggesting. I'm just fine."

"What am I suggesting? I'm just saying--"

"I'm not getting tired again, Nightwing. The fatigue is gone, it's been gone for months. Mentally, intellectually, lately even physically, this recent turn of events has tested me. But, I've been tested in ways like that for the last ten years. Now, let's find the Rabbit."

Nightwing sat back in the seat. "Maybe then we can cut his foot off for good luck. We just may need some."

The place was called The Lucky Shot because it was founded after the close of World War II by former city eight-ball champion Joey "Gotham Fats" Carruthers, a veteran of the conflict. The place lasted about three years before it was bought out by William O'Lorton, a member of Gotham's infamous Dirty Sharks, called so because of their predisposition to a dishonest game of billiards. Ever since then, the place had been a hangout for the mob, although the police never paid it much mind, since there was never more than one gang occupying the place at any one time, and even then only minor players in the big picture of the Gotham gang scene.

Until recently, that is. Batman and Nightwing were crouched on the fire escape of a building across from the front of the bar. Inside were three masked men sitting at a table in the center of the room. None of the three had their backs to the window. The Rabbit sat directly facing the window, sipping what looked like a glass of brandy through the talk-slit in his mask. The two men sitting with him at the table also wore masks. One was a stocky looking individual wearing an old-fashioned looking black masquerade mask. Across from him was a smaller man wearing a black leather mask, the zipper across the mouth pulled open to allow him to drink from the mug of beer in front of him.

Batman and Nightwing watched silently as the trio drank their drinks and talked for several minutes. Batman used a sonic microphone to record their conversation, but they talked of nothing important. Nearly one half hour after Batman and Nightwing first arrived, the Rabbit stood and began walking away from the other two masked men. "Going to be late for my appointment," the microphone heard him say.

Batman watched the Rabbit climb into his car and drive off, then he and Nightwing started for the Batmobile. "Kind of interested in seeing who that appointment's with," Nightwing said as he climbed into the car beside Batman.

"I plan on finding out," Batman said as he slid the roof canopy shut and drove off after the Rabbit's car.

The Rabbit drove to an abandonned street just outside the factory district, still in the shadow of God's Cathedral of Cast Iron. Batman parked the Batmobile down the street from the Rabbit's car and deployed an infrared camera and amplifying microphone from the front of the Batmobile. He and Nightwing watched and listened to complete silence for several minutes. The red-tinted image of the infrared camera (necessary to see clearly in the twilight hours) showed continuously the Rabbit sitting in his car, doing nothing. Not even the radio was on.

A tall, skinny, almost sickly looking man dressed only in a bathrobe came walking towards the Rabbit's car from inside the apartment building the Rabbit was parked directly in front of. "What's going on?" asked the Rabbit. "Why the hell do we have to meet here?"

The thin man leaned into the passenger window of the car and spoke in a frail voice. He was an old man. "The big man don't like to be seen with people the likes of you. 'Sides, we can't be having any loose ends."

"Loose ends?" the Rabbit asked incredulously. "A loose end? That's what your boss thinks of me? Make sure you tell him what's going to happen to me if Mr. Black finds out about my hand in all this shit with the white tuxedoes and--"

The thin old man held up a frail old hand. "Black Mask will find out about this, plastic head. But, it won't be any your problem." The old man reached into the front pocket of his robe and pulled out a small two-shot derringer pistol. He shot both rounds into the Rabbit's head, then tossed the gun into the car and walked calmly back inside the building.

Batman slid open the roof canopy, and he and Nightwing rushed out. "Check on the Rabbit," Batman ordered. Nightwing went to the driver's side of the Rabbit's car, while Batman ran up the steps and inside the old apartment building.

The apartment building was completely dark. Batman removed a small flashlight from his belt and shined it straight ahead. The building should have been condemned; the floor was covered with fallen ceiling, and the stairs leading to the upper levels were crumbling, missing as many as three steps in a row, and sporting broken and splintered handrails. Stepping cautiously, Batman moved forward. His third step forward fell on a loose board, collapsing the plank and setting off a chain reaction that caved in much of the floor, revealing the basement below, walled in cobwebs. Seeing no alternative, Batman dropped down below the crumbling first floor, landing in a dirt basement. What was left of the ceiling was little more than six feet tall, and the entire place hung with cobwebs. Batman saw shapes scurrying around, both on the webs and on the floor.

The dirt floor of the basement was packed down as hard and flat as cement, so looking for footprints was futile. But, shining his light in different directions, Batman examined the area in front of him, and discovered something: there was a path running through the cobwebs. Someone had run through them. Batman followed the path to its end, where he found a window just large enough for a man to fit through, pulled tightly shut, apparently by a length of rope that was visible attached to the outside of the window.

Nightwing had left the car, and was kneeling on the edge of the hole in the floor, shining a light of his own down into the basement. He spotted Batman making his way back from within the wall of cobwebs. Nightwing gave him a hand back up, and Batman brushed himself off. "The Rabbit?" he asked immediately, looking from Nightwing to the car.

Nightwing shook his head. "Nothing. Poor bastard's head was divided between the front and side windows. What about you? Find anything in that basement, other than lil' critters?"

It was Batman's turn to shake his head. "No one, although I found how they escaped. They ran through the cobwebs and crawled out a small window at the back of the basement."

"Must have had a car waiting," Nightwing said, "Might be impossible to find him."

The two men started back for the Batmobile. "I'll call the police, let them know the location of the body. Then we can work on I. D.ing the old man who shot the Rabbit."

Nightwing laughed pessimistically. "That'll sure be a trick."

Batman climbed into the Batmobile, Nightwing following. "It could be difficult," Batman admitted. "All I have is the recording; the video probably won't give me much more than a general description. I can run a voice print on the audio, though."

Nightwing buckled his seat belt. "Well, it's a long shot, but if anyone can pull it off, you can."

Batman looked at his partner with curiosity. "Oh?" he asked with trepidation.

"Sure," Nightwing said, trying to repress a grin, "I mean, you're the world's greatest detective."

"Of course," Batman said dryly as he set the Batmobile's radio to a cellular phone band and dialed a police number. Nightwing waited silently while Batman reported the location and circumstances of the Rabbit's body to the person on the other end of the phone. When he had hung up, Nightwing said, "Still about an hour before you said we'd be meeting Robin. What're we gonna do between now and then?"

Batman pulled out onto the street and shifted the Batmobile into silent-running mode. "I was hoping that when we hook up with Robin, the three of us could split up and wring some information out of about half a dozen snitches who might know something. Until then, I guess we could take a standard patrol. It's been awhile since the two of us did that."

Nightwing nodded, as if the offer were only agreeable to him. "I suppose that would be acceptable," said, then smiled in spite of himself. "And you're right, it has been awhile."

"Let's say standard downtown patrol then? Starting from the plaza? That one usually takes a little less than an hour, on an average night."

"Then again, this hasn't exactly been an average night," Nightwing observed.

Batman nodded in agreement. He and Nightwing began their patrol, a ritual they once carried on together every night. Batman couldn't help but think of the man Nightwing was now in terms of the boy he once was. He knew that in the days ahead, he would have to depend more on that man, as well as on Robin . . . and especially on himself.

NEXT: "Misunderstandings"