Considering I've already trampled the copyrights of Marvel and Fox Broadcasting, here's a little vignette to take a shot at DC.  This takes place after the events of the last two issues of CATWOMAN and is just a little character piece for your amusement.  May I say that Moench is taking these characters to some very interesting places and I hope to

see more.  Selina Kyle, Moreland McShane, and Timothy Drake belong to DC - this is just a little non-profit homage, I swear.

 

Gotham: Reviewing the Situation

by Alexandra Nigro

 

~oo00oo~

 

He hadn't wanted the assignment.

 

Moreland McShane had been a top-notch marine, and was earning a reputation as an even better detective. The Major Crimes Unit was a plum assignment in any major urban area, but in Gotham City is was the veritable borderline between the general populace and the ever-present sewage of psychotics and mobsters that Gotham seemed to attract. Police work had been the natural choice for McShane after his final tour of duty in the Persian Gulf. He had made it to Master Sergeant, attached to Intelligence, and was highly respected for his focused, methodical pursuit of information. It was almost inevitable that McShane would immerse himself in a city where the obituaries were often as entertaining as the comic pages. And now he was responsible for profiling a cat burglar.

 

He hadn't wanted the assignment.

 

McShane was used to the respect of his comrades - how much respect could he garner chasing a daredevil thief in a purple body-stocking? But the request had come from Jim Gordon himself and McShane couldn't refuse. Gordon had given him the last remaining file on the so-called "Catwoman", a collection of suppositions, drawings, and newspaper

clippings that survived the mysterious deleting of her computer records by federal  authorities. But McShane hadn't begun his investigation in earnest until he found the small slip of paper at the back of the pile. In small, precise cursive, the note held a terse warning for the ex-marine that caught his interest:

 

"The cat has claws."

 

McShane had found her old lair and stood poised to recover the one treasure she had never fenced: an ancient Egyptian dollhouse made from solid gold. But he had fallen to a viciously accurate whip, and was left beaten and humiliated, nursing two deep scratches on either side of his face. She had meant to taunt him, throw his arrogance in his face. She had, but she had also focused his desire for the hunt.

 

Now he wanted this assignment.

 

~oo00oo~

 

Selina Kyle was bored. That in itself rated an alert to the Justice League, but fresh from a bitter defeat in her latest caper, Selina was feeling especially dangerous.

 

"Everybody out of my way." The leggy brunette waded through her horde of purring cats to stride into her state-of-the-art kitchen. She snorted in derision; Selina rarely cooked and the Martha Stewart-worthy showpiece ended up more often as a storage room for cat food. She absent-minded purred herself a glass of Chablis from the fridge and stared at

the gym bag on the kitchen counter. Selina had stalked her prey well. Charmed by her good looks and simpering "new-to-the-city" act, the detective had tried to impress her by

regaling her with the juicy tidbits from his latest case. It had flattered and amused her, more so than ever because of his obvious frustration with Gotham City's most notorious

thief.

 

"Damn. Damn. DAMN."

 

Who had gotten suckered? She had convinced him to allow her to transcribe his microtapes, thrilled with the prospect of drawing the game a little closer. But the tapes had given her a nasty surprise. The police lieutenant was intelligent, insightful, and focused. His initial recordings made some accurate, if unwelcome, observations into her character and motivations. She had erred by being too bold - this one would require

careful handling.

 

"Screw it. I beat him once, I'll beat him as many times as it takes." Was her boredom making her careless? Or were these uncharacteristic second thoughts preventing her from truly enjoying the subtleties of this perverse situation? "No, I need this. It's been too damn long since I've had a decent challenge." Her career this past year had been strange to say the least - captured by the feds, she had been forced to do their dirty work until their own soiled secrets had provided her with an out. Not that the arrangement didn't leave lasting benefits – her criminal record had been wiped from every law enforcement database in the country. Selina took a deep sip of her wine.

 

"I've had the luck of a thousand Irishman."

 

She survived the Clench that had decimated the dark city and managed to rebuild her financial empire to the point that she could retire in perfect luxury for the rest of her life. But wasn't that just the problem?

 

"Now what?" She hissed in frustration.

 

Selina had survived and endured in this insane city primarily because of her smarts. One of the few criminals known to have tangled with the Batman and survived to tell the tale outside of prison memoirs, she was young, rich, and free. Wasn't that enough?

 

Cats darted frantically in all directions as the glass shattered above a sparkling gold dollhouse perched over the fireplace.

 

"I want everything."

 

~oo00oo~

 

Moreland McShane turned his battered Chevy onto Castro Street to take one more pass at the Gotham Museum of Ancient History. He didn't expect to see her, the Catwoman had long ago abandoned cat-themed heists so the touring exhibit of the Chinese jade panthers wasn't a likely target. Still, Gordon had pulled him from every case but this one and McShane felt honor-bound to justify his place on the payroll. Night was a strange and dangerous time in Gotham, the wackos that held a permanent spot in the newspaper headlines often masked the small-time hoodlums that ran wild in almost every

neighbourhood. Dead is dead, mused McShane. Who cared if you died with a grin or a bullet in the brain?

 

He parked his car halfway into the handicapped zone and stuffed his service revolver into the waistband of his jeans. Despite the best efforts of Gotham's neo-classicist  architecture to block out even the most trivial aspects of the natural world, on a clear night a man might get a whiff of the ocean beyond the stench of Blackgate Sound. McShane preferred the sunlight, but even he had to admit there was something coldly

beautiful about Gotham at night. The sudden shattering of glass from the alley entrance of the museum pumped adrenaline through his veins. The Catwoman wouldn't be so

obvious, but that didn't mean McShane didn't welcome the chance to get some of his own back against the Gotham Underworld. The noises got stranger as he approached at a dead run, loud thumps and unmuffled curses. McShane had to leap to avoid a large body as it skidded past him in a limp tangle.

 

Ripping his revolver from his waistband, McShane fell into a classic crouch. "Freeze! Pol......" His world went to Technicolor as something long and solid whistled through the air and connected with his right brow. He dove to the right, cradleling his gun to his stomach and somehow managed to end back up on the balls of his feet. McShane re-aimed at the swift-moving figure and choked out a warning despite the vicious ringing

in his head. "Gotham Police! Drop your weapon!"

 

The alleyway became grimly silent. McShane could make out the forms of several men, all unconscious behind his attacker.

 

"Whoops." The voice was an even tenor, hardly the threatening growl McShane had expected. A wiry figure walked forward slowly into the streetlight and McShane got his second shock of the night. The boy was dressed in an unlikely get-up of red, green, and yellow - sporting a green mask with faintly glowing lenses that McShane recalled from his time in the service. The teenager - he couldn't have been more than fifteen - caused his quarterstaff to compact and slipped it into his belt. Spreading his gloved hands wide, he smiled with a look McShane could only describe as sheepish. "Honest mistake, officer. No hard feelings?"

 

McShane lowered his revolver with disgusted snort. He had heard about Gotham's unofficial crime-fighters in the tabloids and around the locker-room. It was even rumoured that some sheriff's deputy up at County got occasional tips from "a little bird". But if this punk was responsible for the motionless forms around him, he was a hell of a lot more than some stoolie.

 

"You bet there's hard feelings kid. I'm going to have a bruise the size of an ostrich's egg tomorrow morning. With a get-up like that, I'm not sure if I should drag your sorry butt down to the precinct or up to Arkham. They call you Robin?"

 

The kid seemed to remember where he was and stepped back slightly out of the neon light. "That's right. Although I usually don't go around beating members of Gotham's Finest - even if they do get in my way. Do I get a name, or do you go down in my diary as Officer Jarhead Buzzcut?"

 

McShane suppressed a grin. Any kid who got the drop on a Marine deserved a little bit of bragging rights. "Detective Moreland McShane. I heard glass shatter and came to investigate."

 

"Amateurs. Two of them were stoned out of their minds. You can have the collar though."

 

"Thanks a bunch," responded McShane wryly. "But I'm after bigger game."

 

McShane could sense that the kid was grinning, even in the half-darkness of the alley. "I think she already found you. Those are an impressive set of scars, Detective. Make sure you get a tetanus shot."

 

The boy's obvious familiarity with him and his case caused him to tense. "You read the article in the paper about the Catwoman?"

 

"I do more than read. There was a week in August I wore turtlenecks - whip marks around the neck can raise some unwelcome questions."

 

McShane gave out a low whistle in sympathy, but his Intelligence training sensed a valuable information source. "What do you know about her?"

 

"She's not somebody you mess lightly with."

 

McShane touched his scar gently. "I gathered that. But I was looking for more specific information. There's no evidence remaining from her criminal file. Hell, she doesn't really have a criminal file."

 

Robin shifted his weight. "I'm sure the commissioner kept something around."

 

There was an information leak here. So the rumours about Gordon's midnight buddy were true. "You never know what a guy can find in the bottom of a file drawer. If you don't mind that none of it is admissible in court."

 

"You after a conviction, Detective?"

 

"Nothing less."

 

"If you don't wait too long, you're sporting plenty of ammo for an assault charge."

 

The February chill blew harder off the harbour, and McShane found himself yearning for his strange companion's thick cape. "I deserved it. I was cocky and careless - she did me a favour by taking me down. I never make the same mistake twice. What I need to know is what you or any other flying creature around here might have to add to my investigation."

 

"I don't speak for any other 'flying creature'."

 

"Not even the Batman?"

 

"Especially not for him. And this isn't a subject he's all that forthcoming on, even for him."

 

"I'm glad I'm not the only guy to have taken the business end of her whip - or those eyes."

 

Silence from the alley. Perhaps he had hit a nerve? McShane moved in closer to see his only company were the Robin's unconscious victims. "Damn it." Well, the night wasn't a total waste, and a good detective could always use a few more busts. McShane tilted his head up a yelled at the rooftops. "Didn't your mother teach you to pick up after yourself?" He had already cuffed the first body when the light reply rang back down.

 

"There's a $750 fine for parking in a handicapped zone, Detective. I'll call it in for you."

 

McShane snorted. Birds and Bats and Cats. This city was out of control.

 

-fin-

--

**Alexandra Nigro**