Summary: Catwoman plays a dangerous game of payback with an old enemy, and Dicky 
Grayson is inadvertently caught in crossfire.

Note: Thanks to Sandra and Princess for the beta-help.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is 
an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback 
is welcome!

Copyright: March 2003

**** 

Payback
By Syl Francis

****

Friday, March 21//5:00pm
GCAir Flight 1720, Nonstop Miami-to-Gotham City
On approach: Archie Goodwin International Airport, Gotham City

****

"Are we almost there, Alfred?"

The proper English gentleman in the seat next to the dark-haired boy looked up 
from the latest copy of Newsday, but did not roll his eyes. That would have 
demonstrated improper behavior, and Alfred Pennyworth was first and foremost a 
gentleman's gentleman. Lately, though, he'd begun to see himself more often as a 
highly paid 'nanny.' 

Turning towards his young charge, he allowed himself a mental sigh. It must be 
the age, he decided. Master Bruce had exhibited the same childish impatience on 
long trips. He checked his watch. 5:00 p.m. Their flight was scheduled to land 
in Gotham City's Archie Goodwin International Airport in twenty minutes.

Of course, in all fairness to Dick, the weather had been unusually bad during 
the flight, making it terribly long and bumpy, with several 'airbag' moments. 
Alfred was almost certain that the poor woman in the seat behind them had to 
have lost ten pounds at the very least. She'd thrown up almost steadily for the 
past two hours.

Even Dick, who had a stomach as close to concrete as any Alfred had ever 
encountered, had begun to turn just a little green around the gills. Was it any 
wonder that the poor boy was just a bit anxious?

"Yes, Master Dick," Alfred replied with infinite patience. "We are almost there. 
Only twenty minutes to go."

"D'you think Bruce is gonna meet us?" Dick asked hopefully. "He said he had 
something real special planned."

"I am afraid that Master Bruce will not be able to meet us at the airport," 
Alfred replied urbanely. "He informed me last night that he had some last minute 
business to attend to and would meet us at the Manor as soon as possible."

"Aw, gee..." Dick said disappointedly. He'd been looking forward to showing 
Bruce the birthday gifts that Pop Haly and his circus family had given him.

"Now, now," Alfred said with mild reprimand. "None of that glum lip. You will 
have plenty of time to show Master Bruce your ill-gotten gains."

Dick looked up quickly at the familiar teasing tone in Alfred's voice. Seeing a 
smile in his eyes, the boy responded in kind.

"Master Bruce promises to meet us at home no later than eight tonight."

"I can hardly wait to show him the carvings of Pop Haly, Simba, Elinore, and 
Bernardo." The names Dick rattled off belonged to his circus family. Pop Haly 
was the owner/manager of Haly's Circus. Simba was the star of the lion act. 
Bernardo, the bear, had been a part of the troupe since before Dick was born. 
And Elinore, the elephant, had been Dick's closest friend when he was growing up 
in Haly's circus as part of a family of aerialists known as the Flying Graysons. 

"I wish we could've stayed longer, Alfred," Dick said a bit wistfully. "I really 
miss them."

"There will be other visits to the circus, Master Dick."

"I know..." Dick murmured sadly. He dropped his chin in his hand.

Alfred instantly placed a single finger underneath Dick's chin and raised it. "I 
believe we've already discussed the 'no glumness allowed' rule for today, 
haven't we?"

"Yes, sir..." Dick mumbled. He wasn't exactly the picture of chipperness that 
Alfred expected on a boy's tenth birthday. Still the plans that Master Bruce had 
for lad later that evening would certainly raise his spirits. Alfred went back 
to the news magazine he'd been reading. This time he almost did roll his eyes.

The latest hot singer was featured in a two-page layout, wearing next-to-
nothing. The caption underneath read, "Ginny Still a Virgin at 16!" Turning the 
page, Alfred decided to forego the article. 

He stopped at the next headlines: "Quracan Rebels Shoot Down Jetliner." Reading 
further, he saw that somehow an extremist terrorist group operating out of Qurac 
had obtained shoulder-fired missile launchers. Before they were caught in late-
night raid, the terrorists had threatened to shoot down any airliner either on 
take-off or landing at Qurac International Airport.

"My word," he muttered. "Not exactly what one wishes to read while on a plane."

"What was that, Alfred?" Dicky asked.

"Nothing, Master Dick," Alfred said quickly. And then added reassuringly, "We're 
almost home."

"Okay," Dicky said with a shrug, going back to his handheld electronic game.

As Alfred read a little further, he learned that Quracan government officials 
believed that the missile launchers were just one phase in a complex 
international smuggling ring involving drugs, money laundering, and illegal 
weapons trade. According to an unnamed source, the Quracan government was fully 
cooperating with the U.S.

Shaking his head, Alfred decided that he'd enough of world events and turned 
back to 'Ginny, the 16-year-old virgin.' 

Less than half an hour later, the flight attendant announced that they were 
coming in for a landing and requested that all tray tables and seats be returned 
to their upright positions. Within minutes, the plane was taxiing to its gate, 
and soon after that, it came to a complete stop.

As soon as Dick felt the plane jerk to a stop, he jumped up on the aisle seat 
and opened the overhead compartment. Unexpectedly, the contents, which had 
apparently been jostled during the flight, came tumbling down on his head. 
Surprised, Dick lost his footing and fell backward, landing between the seats, 
buried under the small bags.

"Master Dick!" Alfred called out in concern. "Are you hurt, young sir?"

"Uh...I don't think so." Dick's small voice sounded unsure.

"Hey, kid! What d'you think you're doing?" a male voice growled. Dick, who was 
on the floor wedged between the seats and still trapped underneath the carry-on 
luggage, couldn't make out the speaker from his awkward position. All he could 
see was a forest of adult-sized legs. 

"Excuse me, please," Alfred interrupted. "I must get to my young master--"

"That's not my problem, pally!" the angry voice retorted. "Where's my bag?" Not 
waiting for an answer, he muttered, "Here it is." A few moments later, a pair of 
dark gray legs moved off, and Dick suddenly felt a pair of gentle hands helping 
him up.

"Is he all right?" a feminine voice asked. By then Dick was sitting back on the 
aisle seat.

"Excuse me, I'm trying to get through," another passenger said. Alfred 
immediately moved aside to make room for the rest of the deplaning passengers. A 
young flight attendant hovered worriedly next to Alfred who was busy fussing 
over Dick.

"I'm okay, Alfred," Dick protested. "Honest." Straightening, Alfred nodded at 
the flight attendant.

"I believe that young Master Dick will survive," he said drolly. Without 
thinking, Dick rolled his eyes to the amusement of the flight attendant. She 
reached over and ruffled his hair.

"Well, I for one am happy to hear that," she said. "It isn't often that we get 
such a handsome passenger as you." Winking at Dick and giving Alfred a smile, 
she excused herself. 

"Time to go, Master Dick." As he spoke, Alfred handed Dick his small, carry-on 
bag. Dick took it and headed towards the front exit, hurrying several steps 
ahead of Alfred. No longer confined to an airline seat, Dick's natural 
exuberance could not be contained. He'd be seeing Bruce in another few hours, 
and if Alfred didn't suddenly decide that Dick was too tired after their long 
flight, then maybe he might be allowed to go out on patrol later that night. At 
the thought of going on patrol with Batman, Dick quickly made his way to the 
luggage return carousel, only to be forced to wait impatiently along with the 
other passengers for their bags.

A beautiful young woman with long, dark hair stood directly across the carousel 
from Dick. She wore a long, black overcoat and dark glasses. Dick couldn't help 
but think that the attractive lady was vaguely familiar. Abruptly, she caught 
his eye and smiled at him. Knowing he'd been staring, Dick felt his cheeks flush 
and immediately looked down. When he looked back up again, she was gone.

Shrugging, he put her out of his mind and waited restlessly for Alfred to finish 
collecting all of their bags. As soon as they had everything, they lugged their 
bags to the curb outside.

"Master Dick, while I go collect the car, I wish you to remain here with the 
luggage."

"Okay, Alfred," Dick agreed.

"And Master Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"I needn't remind you not to talk to strangers?"

"Aw, come on, Alfred!" Dick protested. "It's not like I'm just some little kid 
or anything."

"Forgive me, young sir," Alfred said with gentle irony. "How could I forget?" He 
placed his hand lightly on Dick's shoulder, unmindful of the boy's cross looks. 
"I shall be back shortly." Dick nodded, and jamming his hands into his jacket 
pockets, sat down on the largest of the suitcases. 

>From his vantage point, Dick watched the comings and goings of Gotham's 
citizens. People in a hurry to leave. People in a hurry to arrive. He saw young 
couples taking a moment longer than necessary to kiss goodbye ("Yuck!" he 
muttered ducking his head.), and families laughing and hugging in reunion. He 
saw a boy about his own age run into the arms of his father, and laugh happily 
at being lifted high in the air.

Dick thought of Bruce. He didn't blame Bruce for being unexpectedly busy, or 
that he tended to forget about birthdays and other unimportant things like that. 
It was just that sometimes he wished...

His eyes traveled longingly back to the boy and his father. Before they were 
swallowed by the crowds, Dick saw the father place his hand warmly on his son's 
shoulder. Unbidden, Dick thought of his own father and mother, and of how happy 
they'd been together. 

His Dad would never have forgotten his birthday, Dick realized; however, as soon 
as the thought manifested itself, Dick tried to squelch it, experiencing a 
sudden stab of guilt.

A honking horn brought him back to the present. A taxi pulled up to the curb 
almost directly in front of him. "Hey, kid! How about moving out of the way?" a 
rough voice demanded. Dick instantly stood up to do as requested, but didn't get 
out of the way quickly enough. A heavy mass suddenly slammed into him from 
behind, sending him sprawling. The back of his head struck the pavement, causing 
him to see stars temporarily.

"Hey, kid! Watch it!" a menacing growl warned. It sounded like the same angry 
voice he'd heard back onboard the plane. 

"Master Dick! Are you all right?"

Dick felt several hands helping him up. He looked up through unfocused eyes. A 
sharp-faced man, wearing a Fedora slung low over his forehead, was glaring down 
at him. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, Dick noted the ugly scar on the 
man's right cheek and the mean eyes that were glowering at him.

"Whadaya think you're doing? You almost got us killed there, kid!" The dark 
stranger gave Dick a closer look. "Hey, ain't you the same kid from the plane? 
The one who caused all that ruckus? What are you, some kinda troublemaker, or 
something?

Shaking his head and not knowing what else to say, Dick apologized. "I'm sorry, 
sir. I didn't mean to--"

"Yeah, well...just watch it, okay?" The sharp-faced man looked around in a 
sudden panic. "Hey! Where's my bag? Listen, you little punk, if this is some 
kinda con or somethin'--?"

"What--?" Dick could only stare back in confusion. "I--?"

But the man had stopped paying attention to him. Instead, his eyes fell on a 
small, dark leather carryall, and with a look of triumph, he grabbed it.

Yanking the taxi door open, he gave Dick a final glare. "Okay, pally...We'll 
just call it square this time." His expression turned menacing. "But I'd better 
not run into you again, got it?" With that, he got into the cab and slammed the 
door. Almost immediately, the car sped away, nearly running down a pair of 
pedestrians.

"Gosh, Alfred, I didn't mean to cause any trouble, honest," Dick said, feeling 
suddenly tired. The bump on his head hadn't helped matters any. He could already 
feel the beginnings of a headache.

"Of course, you did not, Master Dick," Alfred soothed. Shaking his head at the 
taxi as it disappeared into the airport traffic, he added, "Some people are just 
ill-mannered. Let us go home, young sir."

As Alfred started the car, Dick caught sight of the beautiful, dark-haired young 
woman signaling a taxi. He watched as she hurried through the densely packed 
airport crowds, moving with an almost catlike fluid grace.  As the taxi driver 
loaded her luggage in the trunk, Dick observed that she shook her head when the 
driver offered to stow a small carry-on bag as well. Dick watched as the driver 
opened the door for her, and as she slid into the back seat, still holding onto 
the carryall. 

Blinking eyes that were inexplicably growing heavier by the minute, Dick tried 
unsuccessfully to clear the cobwebs in his brain. There was something about her, 
he thought. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. His thoughts jumbled 
in confusion, Dick's eyes grew too heavy to stay open, and eventually the junior 
detective lost the battle. 

By the time Alfred negotiated the Bentley out of the airport and onto the 
highway, Dick was fast asleep.

****

Friday, March 21//5:45pm
The Trigate Motel
Tricorner neighborhood, Gotham City

****

Joey slammed the door on the face of the hotel manager without tipping first. 
"Buzz off, ya bum!" he growled. "You're lucky I'm even stayin' in this fleabag 
motel." Tossing the room key on the cheap nightstand, Joey hurriedly pulled the 
small, black leather case to him. 

"After today, Joey Messina will only stay in the very best. First class all the 
way!" Fingers trembling, he fiddled awkwardly with the bag's small combination 
lock. As soon as he ran through the combination, he tried to open it. The hasp 
held. Frowning, he tried again.

The lock still didn't budge.

"Come on, come on...!" he intoned nervously. Wracking his brains, Joey worked 
through the combination in his head: left 8--right 25--left 56. He wiped his 
forehead with his sleeve. "Easy, pal," he muttered to himself. "Just take it 
nice'n easy." Sitting down on the sagging mattress, Joey took a deep breath and 
tried again. 

Nothing happened. 

Joey felt a surge of rage begin to consume him. He agitatedly rifled through one 
of the suitcases, ran his hands along the false bottom, and applied pressure at 
just the right points. Instantly, the bottom popped open, exposing a small 
arsenal: three different caliber handguns, one disassembled rifle with sniper 
scope, a few throwing stars, and several knives of varying sizes. He grabbed one 
with a particularly deadly edge.

Holding it carefully, he admired how the light played on the blade's lustrous 
surface. He became aware of his own eyes glaring back at him from the mirror-
like finish. 

"Okay, it's up to you, pal," he murmured, addressing the knife. "If someone's 
playin' some kinda con, he'll wish he was never born."

With a violent eruption, Joey sliced the leather bag open and hurriedly tossed 
out its contents. "Underwear," he muttered. "Shaving cream...toothbrush...T-
shirts..." He stopped, surveying the discarded contents. He carefully checked 
the clothing tags and finally sat back without clear understanding. All of his 
personal effects were there. Slowly, his labored breathing returned to normal.

"It's all here," he said, disbelievingly. Then why had the combination lock not 
opened, he wondered? "Musta dialed it wrong, I guess," he admitted with a shrug. 
"Yeah, that musta been what happened." Nodding to himself, Joey nervously 
reached for the ruined bag again. With slow, shaky fingers, he ran his hands 
along the bottom and pressed down on the outer edges.

The false bottom opened smoothly and cleanly, just like it always did. Joey 
closed his eyes in utter relief. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for 
since the plane had landed. Joey lifted the bottom of the carryall, and stared 
in blank confusion.

Slowly, as realization dawned in his eyes, he felt the same all-consuming fury 
that had taken a hold of him earlier. The hidden compartment was empty, except 
for a neatly handwritten note.

"You should know by now that while the Cat's in town, the Rats should keep a 
really close watch on their cheese."

Joey's head felt as if it were about to explode. Catwoman!!?? How had she found 
him? How?

"ARRRGGGHHH!!!!!" Joey let out a roar that was more animal than human. In a 
blind fury, he drove his knife over and over into the empty bag, shredding it 
into useless bits of leather, imagining his knife plunging repeatedly into 
Selina Kyle's breast. Half-crazed, he picked up and smashed anything that wasn't 
nailed down, utterly wrecking the room.

Unfortunately for the hotel manager, he picked this particular moment to walk in 
on Joey. Shocked by the scene of destruction before him, he opened his mouth to 
yell, but before he could get any words out, Joey hurled the knife at him. It 
was thrown with such force that it became impaled up to the hilt in the 
manager's Adam's apple. Thus, his words of protest literally died in his throat.

****

Friday, March 21/6:00pm
Kattuz Luxury Apartments
Overlooking: Grant Park, Gotham City

****

Selina luxuriated in the hot, fragrant bath water. It had been a long day. No, 
it had been a long week, she amended. Trailing that loser, Joey Messina, had not 
been her idea of a fun vacation. Still, she'd had her reasons--two million of 
them, she thought with a smile. And currently, they were waiting patiently for 
her in the bedroom--two million dollars worth of uncut diamonds--guarded by her 
favorite tabby, Sasha, a full-grown Bengal tiger.

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror and laughed. It was more of a purring 
sound from deep in her throat. Reaching next to her, she closed her fingers 
delicately around a long-stemmed wineglass.

"Here's to Joey Messina and his pack of rats," she said holding up the glass in 
a mock toast. "I hope they all rot in hell." With that, she tipped her head back 
and drank down the contents in a single gulp. Taking a deep, self-satisfied 
breath, Selina stood and stepped out of the tub. She wrapped a large, soft towel 
around herself and headed towards the bedroom.

She stopped at the door and waited for Sasha to acknowledge her presence. She 
walked slowly towards the giant cat, her hand held out in familiar greeting. 
"Hello, Sasha," she crooned softly, while gently stroking his large head. Sasha 
responded instantly to her touch, his loud purr rumbling forth from his throat, 
filling the room with its contented sound. "That's a good boy, Sasha." 

As if by magic, one of Sasha's favorite cat toys materialized in Selina's hand, 
a stuffed Batman. There were also a stuffed Penguin, Joker, Two-Face, and 
Riddler--all the Gotham rats who seemed hell-bent on getting in her way. Giving 
the stuffed Batman a slight squeeze, she tossed it to the corner of the room and 
waited patiently until Sasha pounced on it. She smiled affectionately as her 
giant tabby swatted the stuffed toy across the room. 

"Maybe one day, Sasha...I'll let you play with the real thing." Recalling the 
first time Batman had held her pinned down to the rooftop of a building, 
Selina's face softened. She remembered his closeness, the almost electric charge 
that had passed them. She'd felt herself respond to him, and from his 
expression, she was sure that he'd felt it, too. Their faces had been mere 
inches apart. Their lips so close as to be almost touching. Almost...

****

[8 Months prior] 
Saturday, August 25//2:15am
Rooftop, Gotham City Gem Exchange

****

A high-pitched childish voice suddenly interrupted them. "You got 'im, Batman! I 
knew you would!" They were jerked back to reality rather abruptly. Batman's 
bemused expression immediately hardened. 

"Let's go!" he'd ordered, pulling her roughly to her feet. Selina scowled at the 
memory, remembering his painful grip. "Robin! Did you tie the others securely?" 
Batman asked.

"Uh-huh! But one of 'em got away, Batman!"

"That's okay," Batman said, holding up a leather case. "We got the loot." He 
tossed it to Robin. "Check it out. Make sure it's all there." 

But Robin wasn't paying any attention to him, he was staring uncertainly at her. 
"You're a girl--!?" The boy looked amazed. 

"I'm glad one of you noticed, at least," Catwoman said sardonically. Batman 
twisted her arm in warning. "Owww! Hey, watch it, you big bully!" 

Robin's eyes widened behind his mask. "Batman...I thought we weren't s'posed to 
hurt girls?" 

The Catwoman laughed a deep-throated chuckle at the boy's comments. "You tell 
him, kid!" she'd said. Immediately Batman twisted her arm just a bit more. She 
gasped in pain. Gritting her teeth, she hissed, "You'll regret this, you big 
jerk!"

Ignoring her, Batman spoke in a cold, commanding voice. "Robin, I want you to go 
back and make sure that the rest of the gang is tied securely. Then I want you 
to call the GCPD and keep watch until they arrive."

"But I thought you wanted me to check the loot?" Robin protested.

"Don't worry. I'll see to that," Batman reassured him. 

"My, my," Catwoman murmured suggestively. "Aren't we clever. You get rid of 
Robin so that you and I can--" She stopped and grinned up him, her green eyes 
gleaming wickedly. "--well...you know."

"Batman, what's she talking about?" Robin asked.

"Robin, I gave you an order."

"That's right, little Robin," Catwoman echoed tauntingly. "Scram, so that the 
grownups can play--"

The next thing she knew, she was wearing a pair of Bat-shaped handcuffs. A wave 
of anger washed through her at the thought of being shackled, but Catwoman 
managed to tamp it down. Instead, she cocked a single eyebrow at Batman. 
"Ooh...handcuffs. How kinky," she murmured. Taking a step forward until their 
bodies were touching, she added huskily, "I have a whip..." 

"Batman...?" Robin began. "I don't understand--?"

"Robin, I gave you an order! Go! Now!" Robin stared at Batman hurt by his harsh 
tone. Slowly, he nodded and returned the bag containing the stolen gems to 
Batman, then turned on his heels looking glum. Batman watched him go for a brief 
moment, and then opened the bag. He raised a single eyebrow in surprise.

The gems had been replaced by ordinary rocks. He whirled on her angry at being 
fooled so completely. "Where are they?" He yelled. "What did you do with gems!?"

It was Catwoman's turn to be surprised. Her eyes widened at the sight of the 
rocks in the bag. Joey, she thought. The dirty rat had double-crossed her! He'd 
taken the gems and left her and the others to take the fall. She glared 
defiantly at the Dark Knight. "I don't what you're talking about! I'm the one 
with the handcuffs, remember?" 

Batman took a threatening step towards her, glowering dangerously from 
underneath the cowl. "The one who got away," he growled. "I want a name. Where 
can I find him?"

"The Catwoman never rats--!" she hissed. "--especially those who double-cross 
her! Those I take care of myself."

"I said I want a name," Batman repeated menacingly. He was holding her wrists 
painfully hard, hurting her. Catwoman flinched slightly, then raised her chin in 
defiance.

"Or what?" she sneered derisively. "Are you going to beat it out of me? And what 
about Junior over there? You've already hurt him once tonight. What will he 
think of his hero--" She practically spat out the word. "--if he sees him acting 
less than heroic?" Hesitating slightly, Batman glanced over to where Robin was 
standing guard in the shadows.

The next instant, she turned the tables. With Batman worried about Robin's 
exposure to her 'wicked ways'--Selina grinned at the memory; it was almost too 
sweet, really--she'd picked the handcuffs and waited for her opportunity. 

With Batman momentarily distracted by the boy's anguish, Catwoman took advantage 
of it, slipping from his grasp. Knowing that she didn't stand a chance against 
the two of them, she sprinted to the roof's edge and leaped...

****

Friday, March 21/6:30pm
Kattuz Luxury Apartments
Overlooking: Grant Park, Gotham City

****

A low growl brought her back. Sasha held the toy Batman firmly between his teeth 
and was shaking it to the point where some of the stuffing was falling out. 
Smiling, Selina stretched out on the bed. "I know exactly how you feel."

She sat up and pulled the black bag to her. It was time to check out the day's 
take.

She calmly donned one of her 'working gloves'--a black leather glove with 
retractable razor sharp claws--and eyed the combination lock with narrowed eyes. 
With quick, surgical precision, Selina cut a lengthwise incision along the 
leather exterior. Smiling eagerly, she enlarged the opening and exposed the 
bag's contents.

One by one, Selina removed the items. As she did so, a feeling of dismay began 
to settle in the pit of her stomach. The bag contained a child-sized t-shirt, a 
pair of Superman pajamas, two pairs of Green Lantern Underoos, and a pair of 
Batman socks. "No accounting for taste," she murmured at this last item. 

Knowing the futility of it, she continued searching through the contents, until 
she reached the bottom. There, she found an antique wooden box with a carefully 
detailed and old-fashioned, circus wagon train carved in bas-relief on the lid. 
She ran her fingers gently over the carvings, amazed at its craftsmanship. 

She wondered how much she could get for it at a pawn shop, and just as quickly 
discarded the idea, feeling just a little bit chagrinned by her own greed. 
Lifting the lid open, she discovered more wooden carvings inside, individually 
encased in velvet. The small figurines were carved with the same superior 
artistry as the box: a circus ringmaster, an elephant, a bear, and--Selina 
smiled--a lion.

Reclining on the bed, Selina's smile dissolved. Obviously, back on the plane, 
when she believed she'd made the switch with Joey, she'd actually grabbed the 
wrong bag. She thought back to that particular moment on the plane... 

Seated two rows behind Joey, she'd waited for the right moment to make the 
switch during the flight; however, the moment never came. As they taxied to 
their gate, she knew that she had only a few seconds to make the switch; 
therefore, as soon as the plane came to a complete stop, she jumped up and 
hurried to the overhead compartment. 

Just as she was about to reach it, a small boy beat her to it. He opened the 
bin, and the next moment, all the items stowed in it came crashing down on top 
of him. She recalled Joey reaching for the leather bag first and the feeling of 
relief she'd felt when he'd grabbed the duplicate bag she'd planted in the 
storage compartment. 

Earlier that week, she'd broken into Joey's hotel room and gone through his 
things. She'd found his leather case and discovered the false bottom. Of course, 
the diamonds weren't there at the time. Joey might be a louse and a rat, but he 
wasn't entirely stupid.

Still, he'd double-crossed her on the gem heist over eight months ago, and it 
had taken Selina that long to carefully plan her payback. She knew that Joey was 
working on pulling yet another big-time fraud. Selina had to shake her head in 
reluctant admiration over his plan. It was ambitious in scope, and had just the 
right amount of subtle irony that appealed to her own sense of humor: When you 
swindle the swindlers, the cops aren't going to be called. 

Of course, the perp still had to contend with the displeasure of whoever the 
mark happened to be. Which in Joey's case, it was none other than the local 
Gotham City crime boss, Rupert Thorne. In the months that had followed her 
little falling out with Joey, the louse had moved on to what he obviously 
considered bigger and better things. He had finagled a spot in Rupert Thorne's 
mob as a bagman...

Now, he had devised a dangerous scheme to steal two million dollars worth of 
uncut diamonds that Thorne had arranged to smuggle into the country through 
Miami, where he maintained one of his legitimate shipping and importing 
businesses. Moreover, Joey planned to snatch the diamonds right from under the 
mob boss's nose. 

Selina wondered whom Joey had targeted as the fall guy. The rat would never plan 
such an elaborate scheme without first making sure that the fallout wouldn't 
land on his head. At the thought, Selina closed and covered her eyes and gave 
herself a mental kick. 

I guess the note I left him wasn't one of my smartest ideas.

Sighing, Selina remembered how she had carefully inventoried all the items in 
Joey's leather carry-on bag, down to the size and make of his underwear. (That 
was something she didn't want to do again any time soon!) She had even 
duplicated the bag's false bottom, and just to ensure that Joey knew exactly who 
had double-crossed him, she'd left him a note.

She bit her lower lip. 

"Now the rat will probably finger me to Thorne, and the big goon and his boys 
will come gunning for me." She sighed. "And I don't even have the diamonds." 
Picking up the wooden lion figure, Selina held it carefully between her thumb 
and forefinger and admired its detail. Musing aloud, she wondered, "And just 
who, my little friend, do you happen to belong to?" At a sudden idea, she gently 
replaced the wooden lion into the box, and then turned her attention back to the 
small carryall.

She unzipped the inside pockets and ran her fingers meticulously through each. 
At last, she found it, an identification tag stored securely inside its own 
zippered pocket. Taking out the credit-card sized ID tag, Selina scanned the 
information:

Richard J. Grayson
Wayne Manor
Gotham City

A Cheshire cat smile played on her lips. "Pay dirt!"

****

Friday, March 21//7:30pm
Thorne Towers
Overlooking: Miller Harbor, Gotham City

****

Thorne's henchmen looked at each other first, and then turned their cold eyes at 
the new bagman, Joey Messina. He'd reported in a few minutes before with some 
cockamamie story that involved the Catwoman making off with the diamonds. 

Rupert Thorne hadn't exactly taken Joey at his words. At the moment, two of 
Thorne's enforcers held the errant bagman firmly between them, while another 
held a 9mm handgun just as firmly between Joey's wide, frightened eyes.

"Just say the word, Mr. Thorne," a quiet voice spoke. Joey spotted a well-
dressed, pleasant-faced young man, a particularly vicious henchman that went by 
the street name of 'the Barber.' The old-fashioned straight razor the young man 
held up for Joey's benefit told the story. The joke on the street was that the 
Barber always left his 'customers' with a 'very close shave.' "It would be a 
pleasure to take care of this double-crosser for you, Boss." 

"She pulled a switch, I tell ya!" Joey pleaded, nervously eying the gleaming 
razor. The Barber's icy-blue eyes didn't flinch or leave Joey's face. "I swear 
I'm tellin' the truth!"

"Why should we believe you, Bagman?" another henchman growled. Joey wracked his 
brains to remember the thug's name, but it wouldn't come to him. It didn't 
matter. Joey knew that he was yet another of Thorne's street enforcers.

"Look, I can prove it!" Joey insisted. "I swear on my mother's grave, Mr. 
Thorne. I'm tellin' you the truth." 

"It's your own grave you should be worryin' about," still another thug muttered. 

Joey looked around, desperately trying to find some support from any of them. 
Just one friendly face. All he found were stony looks. Seeing his life slipping 
from his grasp, Joey spoke rapidly, stumbling over his words. "I tell you, the 
Cat did it! I got proof! In my pocket! I swear!"

Thorne glared at him for a long second and finally nodded. "Check it out." 
Immediately, the goon who had been holding the gun between Joey's eyes holstered 
his weapon and started patting him down. A moment later, he pulled out a folded 
piece of paper from Joey's pocket. The bagman let out a sigh of relief and was 
rewarded with a solid punch to the stomach.

"Oooof--!" he grunted.

"It ain't time for you to relax, Joey," the goon taunted. "We ain't done with 
you, yet." With that he punched Joey several more times in the gut, until he was 
doubled over in excruciating pain, struggling to breathe.

"That's enough, Mick," Thorne ordered. "Let's see what you've got." Mick nodded 
and took a step back at his boss's words. About to turn away, he whirled round 
once more and laid yet another solid blow into Joey's middle. "I said that's 
enough!" Thorne yelled.

"Sure, boss," Mick said smugly. He slapped Joey lightly on the cheek. "No hard 
feelin's, eh, Joey? You know how it is once you get started. It's like eatin' 
potato chips...you can't stop after only one." Grinning at his own joke, Mick 
handed Thorne the piece of paper. 

Thorne read it through once, and then read it through again. He glared at Joey. 
"How do I know this is on the level? How do I know Catwoman really wrote this? 
How do I know that you haven't double-crossed me and stashed the diamonds 
yourself?"

"I-I swear it's the God's truth--!" Joey stammered.

"You wouldn't know the truth if it came gift wrapped," Thorne retorted in 
disgust. "Get 'im outta here!" He jabbed his forefinger in the air, pointing at 
his best hit men. "Mick! Eraser! I want you guys to take care of this scumbag--
now!"

"Gotcha, Boss!" Mick gave Joey a broad grin.

"Consider him fish food, Boss!" Eraser added. Both hitmen grabbed Joey roughly 
by the arms and started to head out, when a chilling voice stopped them.

"I wouldn't be so hasty, Mr. Thorne." All eyes turned towards the speaker, the 
Barber. He kept his eyes downcast, concentrating on his straight razor. Feeling 
the tension in the room mount, he raised his eyes slowly, until he held 
Thorne's. "If Joey took the diamonds as you suggest, then having him 'taken care 
of' will mean that you'll probably never see the stones again."

"It wasn't me...please...!" Joey pleaded. Barber ignored him.

"May I see that note?" Barber asked. Nodding, Thorne passed it to Mick, who 
walked it to Barber. As he turned the flimsy note over in his hands, he calmly 
took out a pipe and deliberately lit it. He nodded occasionally, murmuring, "Um-
hmmm..." He gave Joey a long measuring look, then turned to Thorne with a small 
wave of the piece of paper. "This is either an original, or an excellent forgery 
of Catwoman's handwriting."

"What do you know about it, Barber?" Mick demanded.

"Shut up, Mick!" Thorne shouted, and then repeated, "What do you know about it, 
Barber?"

"You hired me to make it my business to know, Mr. Thorne. I studied the 
Catwoman's M.O. She likes to steal from other crooks, because she knows that it 
is unlikely the theft will go reported."

"What's your point?" Thorne asked impatiently.

"She likes to leave little calling cards like this after a job." Barber held 
Thorne's eyes calmly. On the other hand, Thorne's demeanor went from impatient 
to explosive. 

"That's it! I want her dead!" Thorne walked up to Mick and Eraser. "I want you 
two clowns to find her hideout and stake it out! If she takes so much as takes a 
single step outside, you ice her, y'hear? Ice her good!" Barber's quiet voice 
stopped them.

"That may still not be such a good idea, Mr. Thorne," Barber said softly. "The 
Catwoman isn't just some dame off the street. She's what the local DA is calling 
a 'super criminal-mastermind.' She's even given the Bat the slip a time or two." 

"Yeah...? So--?" Thorne began. The Barber held his hand up for indulgence. The 
others watched in awe at the young killer's unprecedented familiarity with their 
boss. Casually flipping the razor closed, he hid it in his inside jacket pocket. 
Reaching for a silver-tipped cane, he stood and walked around the table, showing 
a pronounced limp. Finally, he stopped in front of Joey. He glanced at the 
prisoner and gave him a once over. Sneering slightly, he turned and faced 
Thorne.

"The Catwoman's reputation doesn't come entirely because of her looks." At his 
words, some of the others leered in obscene appreciation.

Mick ran his fingers down the length of his pistol. "I'd like to get my hands on 
her and show her a thing or two--!"

"That's enough!" Thorne shouted. "We don't have time for games! Barber, if you 
got something to say, then say it! We're wastin' time."

The Barber turned his icy glare on Joey. "The Catwoman doesn't plan her heists 
on a whim, Mr. Thorne. She plans them very carefully. Then she executes them 
with military precision. She usually works alone, but every now then she has 
been known to take on a partner. She's even recruited a whole gang for a 
particular job." He paused and held Joey's eyes. "Isn't that true, Joey?" he 
asked.

"What?" Joey seemed to snap out of a daze. He'd only been paying half-attention 
to the Barber, as the pain coming from his midsection was currently taking up 
most of his waking consciousness. "I didn't get that," he muttered.

"I said that sometimes the Catwoman has been known to take on a partner," the 
Barber repeated.

"Huh--?" Joey was beginning to break out in a sweat. "H-How should I know?"

"Word on the street is that eight months ago, you double-crossed the Cat, and 
now she's out for payback. Isn't that so, Joey?" 

Joey looked around in a panic. "W-Well, what if it is? I-I didn't have nothing 
to do with her snatching the diamonds. I did my part on the square! I went to 
Miami and did the pick up just like I was told to. Then I got on a flight back 
to Gotham--again, just like I was supposed to. I don't know how or when the Cat 
did it. I never even laid eyes on her! The first I knew about the switch was 
when I checked the bag back at my hotel room."

"Your hotel room?" the Barber echoed.

"Yeah."

"Joey, why didn't you report here to Thorne Towers as soon as you arrived in 
town?" Joey opened his mouth as if to answer, but the Barber beat him to it. 
"I'll tell you why. So that you could make your own switch in the privacy of 
your hotel room."

"No! That's not true!"

"You've worked with her in the past, Joey," the Barber continued. "You knew 
about her propensity to leave calling cards behind after a heist." He took a 
step closer to Joey. "What did you do, Joey? Did you write that note and plant 
it on yourself?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Joey squealed. "That sounds like a plot out of a 
comic book!"

"Oh, yeah? Then why would Catwoman suddenly steal the diamonds, Joey? She's 
operated out of Gotham City for a few years now, and she's never tried to horn 
in on any of Mr. Thorne's action. So why now, Joey?" He didn't wait for Joey to 
answer. "I'll tell you why, Joey. It's because it wasn't Catwoman who stole the 
diamonds. You did it yourself and stashed them away some place."

"No! That ain't so! I swear!" Joey babbled. "Look, it's true that I did pull a 
double-cross on her once. And that maybe she's out for payback. But I swear that 
it wasn't me who took those diamonds, Mr. Thorne. She did it, and now she's 
trying to put the finger on me." Thorne looked like he might actually be 
starting to believe him. "It's true! She's doing it 'cause when I am-scrayed 
with the entire loot from the heist we worked together, she ended up taking the 
fall."

Joey laughed a little nervously. "She had to keep a real low-profile for a few 
months on account of Batman. That gave me the time to move on to other things."

"Like join my operation," Thorne stated. "Weasel your way into my good graces. 
Earn my trust." Joey nodded somewhat reluctantly.

"Yes, sir...something like that."

"Barber, what do you suggest we do with this mug?" Thorne asked.

"I suggest we use him, Mr. Thorne. You know...pick his brains. He's worked with 
the Catwoman before. He might know what she'd do next. Where she'd hide the loot 
until things cool down."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Thorne!" Joey agreed with pathetic eagerness. "I could do that. I 
worked with her for almost three months--practically lived with her. I got to 
know almost everything about her--even her favorite late night pizza delivery 
joint." 

Nodding, Thorne took the Barber aside to momentarily speak with him in private. 
"Barber, I want you find the Cat and get her to tell you where she's stashed the 
rocks."

"Don't worry, Boss," the Barber said. "I'll only cut her a little at time until 
she squeals." He grinned, an expression completely devoid of any humanity. 

Thorne felt a chill shoot down his back at the sight. There was a rumor that the 
Barber had been a member of the US Army Special Forces during Desert Storm, but 
had been court-martialed and dishonorably discharged for torturing several Iraqi 
POWs under his care. Thorne heard that he'd actually skinned them alive. 
Shuddering, Thorne added, "Once she squeals, I want you to keep on cutting until 
she can't steal from me ever again!" 

"You got it, Boss."

Nodding, Thorne slapped him lightly on the arm. "Oh, and Barber. When you're 
done with Catwoman, I want you to do the same thing to Joey." He shook his head 
regretfully. "Anybody that brings that kind of heat on the organization, don't 
deserve to live and breathe the same air we do." He stopped, his whole body 
trembling with emotion. "That boy wormed his way into our hearts and our trust, 
and now look at how he's paid us back."

The Barber nodded in understanding and limped back to Joey. Eyeing the two goons 
that still held him fast between them, he signaled that they release him. Not 
ready to take his orders, both men looked towards Thorne for confirmation that 
they should indeed release Joey. Anxious to see them leave, Thorne made 
'shooing' motions, indicating he wanted them gone.

Within minutes, Thorne's executive conference room was empty except for him. He 
sat alone in pensive silence, ruminating over how different things were now in 
Gotham City than when he first started running numbers.

That had been back in the old southeast part of town, a place rampant with 
speakeasies, prostitutes, and drug dealers. It had all seemed so much simpler 
then. A guy who was willing to work and follow orders could go far. He, himself, 
had started at the bottom, running errands for anyone who was willing to pay him 
at first. 

Then he moved up to numbers running and protection, only to be suddenly shut 
down by a glory-seeking cop named Gordon and a crusading District Attorney, 
Harvey Dent. Dent--that creep had it in for Thorne almost from the start, 
working night and day it seemed to shut him down at every opportunity.

Thorne grinned suddenly, a wicked gleam in his eye. "But we showed him, didn't 
we?" he murmured. Thorne had arranged for the attack on Harvey Dent by a little 
weasel named Tony Zucco who used acid as his weapon of choice. The attack on 
Dent happened during the trial, and Dent was never the same again.

At the thought of the aftermath of the Harvey Dent hit, Thorne scowled. 
Unfortunately, the acid attack had the unforeseen consequence of giving birth to 
that psycho criminal mastermind known as 'Two Face.' And ever since then, the 
crazies had been moving into Gotham City and Thorne's turf. Frustrated, he 
pounded his fist into his open palm. 

Thorne used to be the most feared crime boss on the East Coast, but now, with 
weirdoes like the Joker and Two-Face running around, horning in all over Gotham 
City, taking on some of the best talent in the business for their own gangs, 
Thorne's empire was slowly being eroded. In addition, having Batman around to 
put heat on his operation wasn't helping any.

Catwoman heisting his diamonds was the last straw. Three years, he fumed! For 
three solid years he'd carefully planned and executed the whole operation 
himself, ironed out all the problems, and finally carried it through to what 
should have been a successful conclusion.

He thought of all the marks he'd called in to smuggle one ton of pure cocaine 
into the country. It took him close to nine months to distribute it to suppliers 
and dealers all around the country. He thought of the intricacies involved in 
money laundering, of the many overseas bank accounts and phony business fronts 
that the funds were filtered through. 

Finally, Thorne thought about the shadowy figures he'd dealt with in order to 
purchase shoulder-mounted missile launchers. It had taken three separate 
purchases in three different locations spread across three different states, but 
Thorne had finally succeeded in purchasing nine missile launchers and three-
times as many missiles.

As soon as he put them up for sale to the highest bidder, he'd been inundated by 
offers. A group operating out of Qurac offered the most intriguing bid: six 
million dollars in uncut diamonds, to be paid in three equal installments--
almost six times the amount that he'd paid for them from the arms dealer. This 
last batch had been the final payment.

Thorne needed those diamonds to finance a move to another town--Bludhaven, 
maybe. Or Keystone City. Some place where the mob still held sway over crooked 
politicians, and the police department might still have a few rotten apples that 
could be bought for a song. Some place where the crazies and super-powered 
weirdoes hadn't as yet gained a foothold.

"Someplace away from here..."

****

Friday, March 21/8:00pm
Wayne Manor
Gotham City

****

Dicky stirred in his sleep, the soothing strains of music tickling his 
subconscious. He could feel the first faint stirrings of wakefulness, and fought 
against them, immersing himself in the distant sounds of laughter and voices 
shouting, "Happy Birthday, Dicky!" 

He waved happily at the circus performers and other well-wishers as he passed by 
them on the way to the Big Top. Pop Haly and Elinore each hugged him in 
greeting, while Simba the lion and Bernardo the bear paid the Birthday boy a 
special tribute. With their trainers standing proudly by, the animals bowed 
before Dicky in homage as he passed by their cages. Giggling in delight, Dicky 
ran on to the main circus tent.

After the bright spring day outside, the boy's eyes had to first adjust to the 
relative gloom of the tent's interior. Almost immediately, he spotted his 
parents standing arm in arm in center ring, bowing to the thunderous applause 
around them. Smiling, they waved at him to join them. Needing no further 
encouragement, he ran into his mother's arms, relishing in the warmth of her 
embrace. The next instant, he was being lifted by his father's strong arms a 
pair of broad shoulders.

"Happy Birthday, son," his father called.

"Happy Birthday, little Robin," his mother said with a smile. Grinning from ear 
to ear, Dick felt as if he wanted to take the moment, put it in a box, tie it 
with a ribbon, and store it in his heart. He had never felt happier in his 
entire life than he did at this second.

The next instant, he was standing alone on the abandoned fairgrounds, surrounded 
by a shroud-like fog.

"Mom? Dad? Where are you? I can't see you!" he cried. "Please...Mom...Dad! Come 
back! I didn't mean to do it! I promise to be good. I promise--!"

"Dick...Dick...!" The insistent voice worked its way into his consciousness. 
"Dick, wake up, son--"

"Mom...Dad...?" Dick sat up in bed, looking around wildly. "Where--?" He was 
back in his own room in Wayne Manor.

"Dick, it's all right." Bruce sat down on the side of the bed and reached for 
him. Dick wanted to be left alone and tried half-heartedly to fend him off. "You 
were having a bad dream, son," Bruce said quietly. "It was just a dream..."

At Bruce's words, Dick felt completely spent. He leaned into his guardian's 
embrace, allowing him to hold him for a moment. "Just a dream," Dick whispered. 
He buried his face in Bruce's chest. "They're gone," he sobbed. "Really gone..." 
Dick felt Bruce's arms tighten protectively around him.

"They're never really gone, son," Bruce said quietly. "Not as long as we keep 
them in our hearts. Do you understand?" Dick shook his head. "I'm not sure that 
I can really explain it myself," Bruce admitted. "Alfred's much better at this. 
He's the one who told me in the first place."

"Alfred?" Dick asked.

"Uh-huh."

"What did he say?" 

Bruce shrugged slightly. "It was a long time ago, Dick. I'd almost forgotten 
about the whole thing until this very moment." Bruce held him quietly for a 
while, recalling his then-guardian's words. His face softening in a half-smile, 
he looked down at Dick.

"I remember how sad I was that my parents were no longer with me. Thinking that 
they were gone forever," Bruce said quietly.

"That's how I feel all the time," Dick responded, his voice low.

"But I was wrong to feel that way, Dick, and so are you," Bruce insisted.

"Huh? I don't understand." Dick looked up at his guardian. His emotions were 
warring with confusion over Bruce's cryptic words, but openly trusting that this 
man never spoke anything less than the truth to him.

"Don't you see, Dick? Physically my mother and father are gone--just like your 
Mom and Dad. But in here--" He paused, pointing at his chest. "--in my heart 
they're still alive. Just like your Mom and Dad are still alive in your heart." 
At Dick's perplexed expression, Bruce tried again. "Dick, what's in our hearts 
are all our memories of everyone we've ever loved. Our memories are what keep 
our loved ones alive for us."

Dick nodded slowly, beginning to understand.

"But sometimes it's awfully hard to remember." Looking down, Dick spoke in a 
small voice. "Like, sometimes I can't even remember how my mom sounded in the 
morning when she woke me up. Or even how my dad's hands felt around my wrists 
when he caught me." 

"The best way to remember, Dick, is to talk to others about them," Bruce said. 
"Son, any time you feel like it, I'm here to listen."

"Honest?"

"Honest."

"Cross your heart?"

"Cross my heart."

"Alfred, too?"

"Yes, Master Dick. Alfred, too." They both turned at the urbane voice behind 
them. "Master Bruce, Master Dick, it's eight o'clock. Your guests will be 
arriving soon, sirs."

"Guests?" Dick asked.

"Don't tell me you forgot about your birthday already, chum?" Bruce teased. 

"You remembered?" Dick threw himself happily at Bruce and hugged him hard around 
the neck.

"Happy Birthday, Dick." 

"Sir, the musicians have finished setting up, as have the caterers. I myself 
must head back downstairs to ensure that the temporary staff does not abscond 
with the silver."

Dick giggled at Alfred's comments, showing no signs of the earlier storm clouds. 
Bruce ruffled the boy's dark hair. "You do that, Alfred," he said with a smile. 
As Alfred turned to leave, Dick suddenly remembered his overnight case.

"Alfred! Wait! I want to show Bruce what Pop Haly and the others gave me for my 
birthday. Did you put my stuff away?"

"I'm afraid that I have not had the opportunity to unpack as yet. I placed the 
luggage in the downstairs storage closet for later. And I'm afraid, young sir, 
that you do not have time to go rummaging through luggage at the moment--"

"Aw, gee," Dick muttered.

"--As your guests will be here soon!" At that moment, the doorbell rang. 
"Speaking of which--?" Leaving the rest hanging, Alfred moved unhurriedly to 
answer the front door.

As soon as Alfred left, Bruce stood, and in an unusual display of playfulness, 
he picked Dick up and twirled him to the floor. Patting him on the bottom, he 
added, "Now, hurry up and get dressed, kiddo. We have some serious partying to 
do tonight!" Happily, Dick rushed to do as told.

****

Friday, March 21/9:55pm
Outside Wayne Manor
Gotham City

****

The party inside had been going steadily for almost two hours. The happy sounds 
of children's laughter mingled oddly with the soft, soothing strains of a string 
quartet. Catwoman was perched on the sturdy limb of a giant oak, the lone 
sentinel on the mansion's immaculate, park-like grounds. She checked her watch 
and frowned. It was almost 10:00pm.

Catwoman had been casing the mansion for almost an hour. At first, she had been 
surprised that all the cars parked out on circular drive were there for a 
child's birthday party--At Wayne Manor, she wondered? I thought Bruce Wayne only 
threw wild orgies and conducted virgin sacrifices. 

Of course, like everyone else in Gotham, she'd heard that Wayne had been granted 
custody of a young boy sometime in the previous year, following the tragic 
deaths of the boy's parents. 

Then nothing: No articles, no pictures, no TV news reports. A complete news 
blackout. The story had been buried before it ever had a chance to take life. 
Then, again like everyone else in Gotham, she'd promptly forgotten about it.

With these extraneous thoughts flashing in the back of her mind, Catwoman aimed 
her binoculars through a pair of drawn curtains and adjusted her earpiece. 
Earlier that evening, she'd planted a micro-transceiver on the outside 
windowpane. Within minutes, she shifted her leather carryall into a more 
comfortable position on her shoulder, and balancing perfectly on the tree limb 
leaned over slightly to better see and hear. 

She watched as an adult--Capt. Gordon of the GCPD--blindfolded a small child. 
Smiling, Gordon handed the dark-haired boy what looked like a donkey's tail, and 
then spun him round three times. When he was released, the little boy stumbled 
uncertainly in the wrong direction. 

"Dicky, you're so cold, you're freezing!" several children teased. Dicky changed 
directions and proceeded, still a bit unsure.

"That's it! You're getting warm!" the youngsters shouted gleefully.

"Dicky, you're hot! Hot!" They cried out in excited anticipation. 

Catwoman watched as 'Dicky' followed his friend's shouts of encouragement and 
hesitantly pinned the tail on the donkey's nose. This resulted in the other 
children breaking out in uproarious laughter. As the boy removed his blindfold, 
they were pointing and shouting in ridicule at his expense. 

Catwoman grimaced at the children's 'good-hearted' teasing. "That's why some 
animals eat their young," she muttered and shrugged. Ah, well, not my problem. 
She watched with just a twinge of empathy as Dicky, after an initial stricken 
look, joined his friends in self-deprecating laughter. "That's it, kid," she 
said in approval. "Don't ever let 'em see it hurts--no matter what." 

Unconsciously, she thought back to her own painful childhood, and the cruel 
taunts of the other tenement children. Cries of 'fatty' and 'ugly' followed her 
on her long, lonely trek to school. As did, 'Your mama's a drunk and a whore!' 
and 'Your daddy's nothing but a stinkin' convict!' 

To Catwoman's surprise, an older girl ran up to Dicky and hugged him playfully. 
As she did so, the rest of the children gathered round him, slapping him on the 
back. 

"Way to go, Dicky," a little girl said shyly.

"That was awesome, Dicky!" the older girl exclaimed.

"Yeah, even if you pinned the tail on the donkey's wrong end!" a boy needled. 
The children broke into yet another bout of amused laughter. This time, Dicky 
joined them readily.

"And how about you, Timmy?" Dicky retorted. "You almost pinned the tail on 
Alfred!"

Over the children's roars, Timmy managed to come back with, "Yeah, but at least, 
it was on the right end!" With that Dicky and Timmy collapsed on each other in 
helpless laughter, holding onto one another to remain standing. 

It was getting late, Catwoman realized. Glancing at her watch she saw that it 
was past ten already. "Don't these kids have bedtimes?" she muttered, rolling 
her eyes. "Someone oughtta call Child Protective Services." 

Gordon, meanwhile, had dragged a large sack over to the boy, and with great 
fanfare, held it open for him. Dicky eagerly closed his eyes, reached in, and 
pulled out a prize. Whatever he got, it seemed to please him, because his small 
face lit in a bright smile. At that moment, something else caught his attention, 
because the boy separated himself from the crowd of kids, and running off 
shouted, "Bruce! Lookit what I won!"

The next instant, Bruce Wayne, carrying the small boy in his arms, appeared at 
the window. Giving Dicky a brief hug, he lowered him to the floor and shook 
hands with Gordon. Dicky waved at the older girl Catwoman had noticed earlier. 
"Babs! Lookit what I won! It's so cool! A Superman action figure!" 

Catwoman watched as 'Babs' took the prize and dutifully admired it. From 
Catwoman's vantage point, the girl appeared rather plain. She had large 
unflattering glasses that kept slipping down her petite nose, and bright carrot-
orange hair worn in unattractive braids. Still, even from this distance, 
Catwoman could see that Dicky was completely smitten by the older girl. In the 
shadows, Catwoman allowed herself a small smile.

The mournful wail of an approaching siren caught her attention. Instantly, 
Catwoman dropped lightly to the ground and melted into the night. As she moved, 
the jubilant voices coming from inside, began to recede. She came across a large 
van parked outside the delivery entrance with a sign on either side proclaiming, 
'Dinner at Eight Caterers: Leave the cooking to us!' 

An idea suddenly formulating, she checked the rear-end and found the van doors 
unlocked. "How careless," she murmured in mock disapproval. She climbed in and 
quickly cased it. Smiling, Catwoman found what she was looking for, a black and 
white server's uniform. She shoved it into her carryall, and satisfied, emerged 
from the back of the truck and again slipped into the shadows that surrounded 
Wayne Manor. 

A few minutes later, she found a set of glass double doors. She tried them. 
Locked.

Shrugging, Catwoman unsheathed her right claws, and placing the long, knife-like 
nails against the glass doors, she turned her hand in a circular motion. 
Stopping, she gently pulled her hand straight back, a small circular piece of 
glass caught firmly in her claws. 

****

Friday, March 21/10:45pm
Wayne Manor
Gotham City

****

Barbara and Dicky listened from behind the door that led into the study, which 
'just happened' to be slightly ajar. The arrival of the GCPD squad car signaled 
the end of Dicky's birthday party. It didn't really matter though, Dicky thought 
philosophically. The party had been practically over anyway. 

They'd already played all the neat parlor games and were starting on the lame-o 
ones like Pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey; Dicky had made a wish and blown out all 
ten candles at once; he'd cut the cake and opened his presents. Besides, it was 
getting late, and Dicky still held out hope that Bruce might let him patrol with 
him tonight. 

After all, it is my birthday, he added to himself. Therefore, when Bruce and 
Captain Gordon excused themselves with their late-night caller, Dicky and 
Barbara waited just long enough for the grownups to head towards the study, 
before following them. Now, Dicky was crouched just below doorknob level, while 
Barbara was immediately above him. Risking getting caught, the youngsters 
nevertheless dared to peek through the opening.

"Sorry to disturb you, Cap'n." The large, rumpled man spoke in a gruff voice. 
("That's Sgt. Bullock," Barbara whispered in Dicky's ear.) "But I thought you'd 
like to know as soon as possible. We got us a stiff at the Trigate Motel. The 
crime scene boys arrived there about an hour ago--"

"--An hour ago?" Gordon interrupted. "Why wasn't I called immediately, 
Sergeant?"

"Didn't think it was necessary to interrupt your evening 'til we had something, 
Cap'n," Bullock replied.

"And--?" Gordon demanded, his voice frosty. "What do you have for me?" 

"According to the medical examiner, we have us a possible homicide. Probably 
occurred sometime earlier this evening between five and six pm."

"And what makes the ME think it's a homicide?" Gordon asked. Bullock answered in 
the same, unruffled, gravely voice.

"'Cause the stiff's got a six-inch blade sticking outta his throat. Me? I 
wouldn't rule it a 'possible homicide' exactly. I'd say it's more likely a 
'definite' homicide."

As Dicky watched, he saw Gordon nod at the information. He spotted Bruce sitting 
casually on a leather easy chair and instantly ducked back behind the door. 

"Do you have any leads on possible suspects yet?" Gordon asked.

"That's why I came here to personally report the homicide to you, Cap'n," 
Bullock said. "The room was registered to a Tommy Vignola. And guess what? Our 
Tommy-boy is also known as Tommy Santini, AKA Tommy Josefino, AKA Josefino 
Marko, AKA Joey Marko, AKA Joey Messina.

At the name, Dicky exchanged a shrug and a blank look with Barbara. He had never 
heard of Joey Messina, and therefore, had no clue what all the excitement was 
about. Quickly, he took another peek through the door. Both Gordon and Bruce 
were staring at Bullock.

"Joey Messina?" Gordon asked. "We've been after that scum since the Museum of 
Gemology heist. If I remember correctly, he was in pretty tight with the 
Catwoman at the time, although if my 'sources' are correct, he double-crossed 
her." 

Dicky remembered the museum heist. That was the first time he and Batman had 
tangled with the feline femme fatale. He wondered if by 'sources' Gordon meant 
Batman.

"Not just that, Jim." Bruce spoke for the first time. "The papers also said that 
afterwards, Messina was suspected in two murders, involving known fences who 
dealt only in museum quality merchandise, usually for private collectors who 
didn't ask too many questions. The papers theorized that once Messina sold the 
stolen items, he killed the fence in order to get rid of any possible 
witnesses."

"That ain't all, Cap'n," Bullock added smugly. "Word on the street is that 
Messina is now a bagman for the Thorne mob. And he was seen less than a week ago 
down in the Miami area. Probably on a little errand for his boss."

"Yes," Gordon said thoughtfully. "Rupert Thorne has some so-called 'legitimate' 
business holdings in the Dade County area--shipping and warehouses among other 
things. If Messina was down there recently on a job, then it's just possible 
that our Mr. Thorne may be using his 'legitimate' shipping business for an 'il-
legitimate' smuggling operation." 

"If that's so, Cap'n," Bullock added, "then we might just bag us an even bigger 
fish than Joey Messina."

"We may just, Sergeant," Gordon agreed thoughtfully, and then added brusquely, 
"Okay, I've heard enough. Bruce, I'm going to have to ask you for a favor. Will 
you see to it that Barbara gets home safely?"

"I'll do you one better, Jim," Bruce replied. "Why don't you just let Barbara 
sleepover? You're probably not going to be home for hours--if at all tonight." 
At Bruce's unexpected words, Dicky looked up excitedly at Barbara. Smiling, she 
hugged him to her, and they both leaned in closer to listen.

"Bruce, I wouldn't think of imposing--" Gordon protested.

"Imposing?" Bruce answered with a genuine laugh. "You'd be doing me a favor! 
After all the excitement of the birthday party, I doubt if Alfred or I will ever 
get Dick to go to bed tonight! On the other hand, Barbara always has a way of 
getting him to do as she asks." At this, the men shared a knowing smile. Dicky's 
crush on Barbara was probably one of the World's Worst Kept Secrets.

"Well...if you say that it won't be an imposition," Gordon said.

"Far from it," Bruce insisted. "Besides, she'll be safer here in the mansion 
than alone at home."

"And since she's stayed overnight before in order to baby-sit with Dicky," 
Gordon added with a nod, "Barbara told me that the last time she was forced to 
sleepover, Alfred asked her to just keep an overnight bag here. Just in case." 

It was Bruce's turn to look surprised. "He did?" he said, and then quickly 
recovered. "Oh, yeah...right! He did." Why am I always the last one to know, he 
grumbled? "I mean...Barbara's always welcome here." 

"Thanks, Bruce," Gordon said. "I owe you one. Sgt. Bullock, let's head out." 

The three men started for the door. Realizing that they were about to be caught, 
the children rushed headlong down the hallway, skidding out-of-control as they 
rounded the first corner. Practically flying down the highly glossed hardwood 
floors, neither checked ahead for obstacles and as a result, they both went 
careening into one of the temporary staff, who'd been hired for the evening to 
help the caterers with the serving.

As one, the three went down in a tangled heap. At the same time, a silver-
serving tray overflowing with dirty dishes that the temp hire had been carefully 
balancing over her shoulder, went airborne and struck the floor with a loud, 
resounding crash. The sharp, tinkling sounds of glassware shattering into a 
million pieces echoed for what seemed several minutes.

"Oh, no!" the young woman groaned. 

"Dick!" Bruce said sharply.

"I'm so sorry," the young woman moaned over and over. "I'm so sorry!"

"Master Richard!" Alfred sounded shocked.

"I don't know how I'll ever pay for it!" she continued, awkwardly getting to her 
hands and knees and surveying the damage.

"Barbara!" Gordon appeared thunderous. Both children looked sheepish.

"Please...I'm so sorry! I swear I didn't see them--!" The flustered woman didn't 
glance up. Fumbling on hands and knees, she attempted to clean up the mess.

At the young woman's pleas, the children's expressions turned guilty. "Ma'am," 
Dick began. "It's not your fault. We're the ones who--"

"--We're the ones who ran into you," Barbara finished.

"Uh-huh," Dick agreed. "We're awfully sorry." 

The young woman, however, wasn't listening. She was too busy muttering apologies 
under her breath while trying to pick up every piece of broken glass with her 
bare hands. To stop her, Alfred walked up to her, placed a gentle hand on her 
shoulder, and helped her to feet. She kept her eyes averted, carefully staring 
down at her feet.

"Miss?" Alfred spoke in gentle tones. "There is absolutely no need for you to 
apologize." The young woman slowly raised frightened green eyes, which under 
normal circumstances might have been particularly attractive; however, she hid 
her eyes behind a pair of thick-lensed, owl-like glasses that made them appear 
abnormally huge. In addition, she had no makeup and wore her black hair tied 
back in a severe, unflattering bun. Overall, her appearance was that of an 
extremely plain, ordinary woman.

"I-I'm so sorry about this. Please, don't fire me. I need the money--"

"No one is going to fire you, young lady," Alfred said soothingly. "This was an 
accident, pure and simple. An accident for which you are entirely blameless. 
Now, why don't you tell us your name?"

"Angie." She spoke barely above a whisper.

"You've had a nasty spill, Miss Angie. Why don't you go into the kitchen and 
pour yourself a nice cup of tea?" Hesitating slightly, Angie nodded and turned 
to leave.

"The kitchen's the other way," Dick said helpfully, pointing in the opposite 
direction. Nodding, Angie ducked her head as if to hide a blush, and hurriedly 
headed in the correct direction.

As soon as Angie had disappeared down the corridor leading to the vast manor 
kitchens, Alfred turned on his heel and pinned Dick and Barbara with a look. 
"However, you two young miscreants are far from guiltless; therefore, Master 
Bruce, Capt. Gordon, with your permission, sirs, I shall endeavor to mete out 
the appropriate punishment."

Without hesitation, both men gave their nod of approval.

"I leave the matter entirely in your capable hands, Alfred," Bruce said easily. 

"As do I," Gordon complied. "Young lady, if I had the time, I'd take you over my 
knee and give you a good spanking. But right now, I'm needed at Headquarters." 
He shook his head in a father's typical 'This is the last straw/I wash my hands 
of you' gesture.

Both Dick and Barbara glared at their respective parent. Barbara, because her 
father was always so busy that oftentimes he forgot to carry out a threatened 
punishment; Dick, because he knew that whatever punishment Alfred gave out would 
be far worse than anything Bruce could ever divine. In the end, both youngsters 
dropped their heads in defeat and accepted the inevitable.

****

Friday, March 21/10:45pm
Kattuz Luxury Apartments
Overlooking: Grant Park, Gotham City

****

"How do you know this is the Catwoman's lair?"

"How do I know--?" Joey was hunched over the doorknob, attempting to pick the 
lock. "I told you a million times! I worked real close with her on the museum 
heist. She has safe houses all over the city. But see, she has a thing about 
cats. So, no matter how many other places she has, if she wants to feel really 
safe, Catwoman always ends up here--the Kattuz Luxury Apartments." 

He felt the lock give with a soft ~click!~ Giving Barber a smug grin, Joey 
opened the door, and with an exaggerated flourish, waved Barber in ahead of him.

"A cat burglar with a real fetish for cats," Barber mused. "That's not something 
you hear about every day."

"Tell me about it. She's always rescuing cats from all around the city. She even 
breaks into people's homes if she doesn't think that their cats are being 
treated right."

"She sounds a little strange," Barber conceded. "Strange--but in a nice sort of 
way."

"Strange--you got that right. One night, when me and the boys were supposed to 
meet her to go over the final plans for the museum job, she scared the hell out 
of us when she introduced us to her new tabby--a full-grown Bengal tiger that 
she'd rescued from some roadside circus." Joey suddenly looked nervous. 
"Hey...what if she still has it?"

"Don't worry. I've got it under control," Barber reassured him. Joey felt 
anything but reassured. He started backing away towards the exit. 

"Naw...you ain't gettin' me to toss this joint," Joey whined. "I tell ya, it 
ain't safe! This broad's crazy! She's probably got a whole--whatchacallit--
menagerie by now!"

"And I told you that I've got it under control," Barber said menacingly. "Now 
shut up and look for the bag. Or do you want me to shut you up permanently?" 

Shaking his head nervously, Joey recalled how easily he'd killed the hotel 
manager, his favorite knife buried up to the hilt in the super's throat. I 
shoulda got it back, he berated himself. But he'd been unable to touch it, not 
with the old guy's eyes staring back at him. 

Next, he saw himself with his own vocal cords sliced open, his eyes staring up 
unseeing. He shivered suddenly and glanced over at the baby-faced, cold-blooded 
killer. Even though today Joey's body count had just been increased by one, he 
knew that he was an amateur when compared to a professional like the Barber.

"Okay...okay, b-but you check the backrooms, 'cause I ain't goin' in there," 
Joey said. Nodding, the Barber started towards the bedroom, his limp slightly 
more pronounced than usual. Joey glared at his retreating back, and sensing an 
opportunity, grabbed a heavy candelabrum, and sprang at Barber from behind.

The next instant, Joey found himself on his back, staring up at the Barber's 
ice-cold blue eyes. Worse, the metal tip of Barber's cane was buried in his 
larynx, choking him. Joey struggled helplessly under the unrelenting pressure, 
unable to breathe.

"Please...!" he choked. Barber let up just enough to allow Joey to gasp for air.

"You're nothing but a lousy, backstabbing, chicken-livered, dirty double-crosser 
who'd probably sell out his own mother!" Unexpectedly, Barber broke out in an 
amused grin and stepped back. "I like that." Joey sat up uncertainly.

"What--?"

"It'll make killing you later all the more fun." 

Joey's eyes widened and his forehead broke out in a sweat. "L-Look, this is all 
some big misunderstanding. Honest! I-I'll do anything you ask--anything! Just 
please--don't kill me...please." By then Joey was on his knees, sweat breaking 
out from every pore on his body.

Barber's amused expression turned cold.

"Get up," he snapped. "Rats like you are a dime a dozen. You have no loyalty to 
anyone but yourself, and you don't know the meaning of honor. Mr. Thorne took 
you into his organization and entrusted you with a real important job. And what 
did you do? You tried to stab him in the back--"

"What--?! No! I swear--!" Joey blubbered.

"--Only Catwoman duped you first." Barber placed the tip of his cane on Joey's 
chin and forced him to look up. "You have only one chance to live past midnight, 
Joey--recover those diamonds and finish the job you were paid to do." Barber 
removed the cane from Joey's chin and slowly walked around him. Suddenly 
grabbing Joey by the hair, Barber held the straight razor along his neck. "Do we 
understand each other?"

About to nod, Joey remembered the straight razor and thought better of it; 
instead, he croaked out, "Yeah...I understand."

"Good." The next moment, Barber unceremoniously shoved him aside. "Get up, Dirt-
bag, and open that bedroom door." Nodding in defeat, Joey stood unsteadily and 
somehow made his way to the bedroom. Listening against the door, he took a deep 
breath, and slowly turned the knob.

Unknown to Joey, the Barber was making a few modifications to his cane. He 
unscrewed the blunt metal tip and removed it. Next, he gave the silver handle a 
half turn until he felt a soft, metallic click. He walked up behind Joey, and 
placing a hand on the frightened bagman's shoulder, indicated that he step 
aside. All too gratefully, Joey did as ordered.

The Barber slowly opened the bedroom door and quickly moved to the side to avoid 
being silhouetted by the open door. He stood absolutely still, not daring to 
breathe. At last he heard it: The beginnings of a low, dangerous growl. Taking a 
chance, Barber flicked the light switch and several things happened in rapid 
succession--

The growl turned into an enraged roar.

Joey screamed in terror.

The huge tiger leaped across the room aiming for the source of the intrusive 
noise--Joey!

A soft ~pffffiiiitttt!~ whispered in the small confines of the room.

Joey turned to run.

The tiger caught him with a flying leap. 

Joey went down, the tiger on top...

Joey screamed. And screamed. And screamed. The weight of the tiger was suddenly 
removed from him, but he kept on screaming. Abruptly, he was yanked to his feet, 
but continued to scream. Somehow the sharp stings of several hard slaps across 
the face finally registered in his terrorized mind. His screams turned into 
mindless blubbering, until at last, in the dark recesses of his fear, the 
realization that he was still alive fully sank in.

The tiger lay deathly still on the floor.

"What--? What happened?" he croaked.

"You're not dead, yet," Barber said, stating the obvious. "But neither's the 
tiger--it's just drugged. So we have to hurry." 

Nodding unsteadily, Joey began tossing the room as quickly as his shaky hands 
would allow him. After a few minutes, they were ready to admit defeat.

"It ain't here," Joey said.

"I'm inclined to agree," Barber nodded. "Come on, the drug will be wearing off 
soon."

"Hey, how did you know?" Joey asked. "To bring a hypodermic, I mean?"

"Like I told Mr. Thorne. He pays me to know." At Joey's blank look, Barber 
added, "I always make it a point to learn everything about those I'm up against. 
I knew that the Catwoman was a potential enemy or ally of Mr. Thorne, and I 
planned accordingly."

Joey stared at Barber, a mixture of awe and admiration. "You know, you're really 
something. A gimp that can fight like Bruce Lee. A knife man with ice in his 
veins. And you talk real educated-like, y'know?" He stopped, eyes widening 
suddenly. "Hey, no offense, man! I was just--!"

"No offense taken, Joey," Barber said a slight grin playing on his lips. "Come 
on, we'd best--" He stopped, eyes narrowing suddenly. He went down awkwardly on 
his good knee and reached for something partially hidden under the bed.

"What is it?" Joey asked, instantly nervous again. The Barber held up a small, 
credit card-sized piece of paper. Reading the information on it, he looked up at 
Joey and smiled.

"Bingo."

****
 
Friday, March 21/11:00pm
Wayne Manor
Gotham City

****

Dicky and Barbara exchanged resigned expressions and continued to mop, dust, and 
polish the furnishings and lengthy hardwood floor of the main hallway. Dicky 
stood perfectly balanced, a feather duster in his hand, on an antique Ming 
Dynasty vase, which he'd placed upside-down on an antique Queen Anne accent 
table. Not realizing the small fortune he stood on with such nonchalance, Dicky 
ran the feather duster across yet another solemn portrait of a Wayne ancestor.

Of course, Alfred kept Wayne Manor in such a pristine state that Dicky bet 
privately there wasn't a speck of dust in the whole house. He was half-tempted 
to skip a spot, but just as quickly discarded the idea. Alfred would know. Dicky 
didn't know how Alfred would know, but he knew that Alfred would know. Dicky 
sighed and continued to dust the dust-free portraits that stared grimly out upon 
the hallway. 

"That one looks like he has heartburn," Barbara opined solemnly. Dicky giggled.

"You should see the fat guy way over there," Dicky said. 

"You mean the one who looks like an extra large version of Mr. Wayne?" Barbara 
sniggered. Dicky nodded.

"Uh-huh! It's a good thing they were rich, 'cause I don't think they coulda 
afforded to feed him otherwise!" Both children broke out in giggles.

"I am glad that cleaning the hallway is proving so entertaining. Perhaps, I 
should also assign you the formal dining room since you seem to be enjoying 
yourselves so much."

Dicky and Barbara turned, guilty expressions stamped on their faces. At their 
looks, it was all Alfred could do to keep from laughing out loud. They really 
are quite precious, he thought fondly. Seeing the Ming vase on which Dicky 
stood, Alfred felt his heart skip a beat. Closing he eyes, he shook his head and 
took a deep breath.

"Master Richard, I implore you to desist your current balancing act and come 
down from there--" But before Dick could move, Alfred added emphatically, "--and 
please be extremely cautious. If you break that vase, I'm afraid that the cost 
will be coming out of your allowance until you're old and gray." 

Suddenly nervous, Dicky swallowed and carefully did as Alfred asked. Standing 
next to Barbara, Dicky reached for her hand, and Barbara automatically took his 
smaller one in hers. Both children looked at Alfred with a certain sense of 
dread at what might be coming next. 

Unexpectedly, Dicky yawned. Covering his mouth, he mumbled, "'Scuse me." Alfred 
knew that it was past the boy's bedtime and that he'd been up since before dawn 
that morning. Even Robin the Boy Wonder needed his sleep. 

"You are excused, Master Dick," Alfred said. "In fact, I believe that you are 
both excused--to your respective rooms for the night." He waved slightly, taking 
in all the portraits that lined the hallway. "I don't believe these gloomy 
ancestral portraits have shone quite so brightly in all my years here at Wayne 
Manor." He smiled down at the youngsters. "And I do believe that you have more 
than made up for your earlier evening's misadventures."

The children beamed up at him. 

"Alfred, can we go say g'night to Bruce?" Dicky asked sleepily.

"I'm afraid, Master Dick, that Master Bruce is currently occupied in his study 
and has left strict orders not to be disturbed." Alfred gave Dicky a meaningful 
look. Dicky nodded in understanding: Bruce was gone for the night. He felt a 
twinge of disappointment at having been left behind, but realized that he was 
too tired to have been effective as Robin that night.

"Miss Barbara, I have taken the liberty of laying out the items from your 
overnight back on the guest bed for you. If you need anything else, please feel 
free to ask. Now off to bed...the both of you!"

"Good night, Alfred," Barbara said. "I'm sorry for the trouble I caused."

"Me too, Alfred," Dicky echoed. "I'm awful sorry." 

"I accept your apologies," Alfred said warmly. "Now, to bed." Looking rather 
subdued the youngsters headed towards the stairs. About to turn away, Alfred 
paused, hearing the distinct sounds of childish giggles, followed by, "I'll race 
you!" and "Last one at the top is a rotten egg!" trailed by more giggles. 
Smiling, Alfred headed towards the kitchen.  

****

Friday, March 21/11:00pm
Kattuz Luxury Apartments
Overlooking: Grant Park, Gotham City

****

"What is it?" Joey repeated.

"Your lucky day," Barber replied enigmatically. He took out a cell phone and 
pressed the speed dial. Within seconds, he was talking to an unknown party on 
the other end. Joey could only guess at whom the other person was, probably one 
of Thorne's lieutenants, he surmised. Either way, it was what Barber was talking 
about that piqued Joey's interest.

"Yes, you heard correctly. Richard J. Grayson, Wayne Manor. I need you to run 
the name down for me. It's possible that Catwoman may be working with him."

Pause. 

"Yes, I know who else lives there." 

Pause. 

"Well, how should I know? Maybe he's a relative or something?" 

Pause. 

"I know Wayne's rich enough to own a small country, but maybe this is some poor 
relation who's out to make his own fortune the old-fashioned way--by stealing 
it!" 

Pause. 

"Yes, I'll wait." 

Pause. 

"No! Under no circumstances are you to attempt to enter!" 

Pause. 

"Why? Because it's occupied by civilians--not to mention at least one very 
wealthy, very powerful civilian! And I don't think our boss would appreciate 
that kind of heat being brought on the organization. Got it?" 

Pause. 

"A perimeter? Okay, but nothing closer than a hundred meters. You are to observe 
only!" 

Pause. 

"Good. I'm about fifteen minutes away. Yeah, I'll be in the 'Vette, so try not 
to shoot me, okay?" 

Pause. 

"You have the information I asked for? Good! What have you got?" 

Long pause. Barber's cold features suddenly changed, becoming bemused. 

"You're kidding me. Okay, that tears it. Absolutely under no circumstances is 
anyone to approach the home. I'll go in, neutralize Catwoman, and recover the 
diamonds." 

Pause. 

"Funny guy. Barber out."

"Who was that?" Joey asked. 

"A real comedian," Barber snapped. "Look, Joey, this whole operation is almost 
over. I have reason to believe that Catwoman has the diamonds stashed at Wayne 
Manor and--"

"At Wayne Manor--!? Hey, wait a minute! That Grayson guy, I heard you mention on 
the phone! He's her new partner, right? So, we go in, rough 'im up a bit, and--" 

"No, Joey...not 'we'--me! I go in, look for any signs of Catwoman or the 
diamonds. If there are, I wait until she leaves the place, and then I take her 
out and recover the diamonds." 

"Oh, no...You're not shoving me aside! Catwoman's mine--and so's her partner! 
Whoever he is! I'll show them not to mess around with Joey Messina!"

"Sorry, Joey, but I have my orders. That phone call? I was told that there's an 
APB out for you--something about a dead man in a hotel room." At Joey's look of 
shock, Barber shook his head. "Careless, Joey...real careless. Like I said. I 
have my orders. And so do you. You are to lie low until things cool down." 
Barber took out a piece of paper, scribbled something quickly, and handed it to 
Joey. "Here. This is the address to a safe house. You'll find everything you 
need for a week--or at least, until things have a chance to cool down a bit."

Joey studied the address. It was located somewhere in the back hills overlooking 
Gotham City. "And after it does, what happens to me?" Joey asked. 

"I guess that all depends." Barber gave him a neutral look.

"On what?"

"On you, Joey. I think we've just about proved that Catwoman did snatch the 
diamonds from you. Once we recover them, I don't see why you shouldn't be given 
a clean slate. Unless, of course, you had intended on stealing them for yourself 
in the first place." He gave Joey a speculative look. "If that's the case, 
there's no telling what Mr. Thorne will do to you." 

Joey suddenly looked sick. Barber grinned humorously and slapped him on the 
shoulder. "Just kidding, Joey!" Amused, he pointed at the piece of paper. "Go to 
that address. Take a hot shower, put your feet up on the couch, and just relax. 
I promise. It's all going to be over soon."

Barber again slapped him on the back, and with a slight chuckle turned to go. As 
soon as Barber's back was turned to him, Joey's instincts took over. He grabbed 
the nearest object he could get his hands on, a heavy fireplace poker, and swung 
with all his might. This time, he connected with a loud, sickening thud on the 
back of Barber's head. Barber went down like he'd been shot.

A sudden idea coming to him, Joey dragged the still form into the bedroom. 
Taking a final look from the door before he closed it, he grinned. "Now who's 
laughing, pal?" He saw that the tiger lying next to the unconscious Barber was 
beginning to show faint signs of stirring. "Looks like the joke's on you!"  

****

Friday, March 21/11:30pm
Wayne Manor
Gotham City

****

When Wayne Manor finally quieted down for the night, her inhabitants lay 
enshrouded in her deep shadows, protected by a series of sophisticated nonhuman 
sensors; however, at the moment, her greatest protector who was all too human, 
as dark as her darkest shadows and more complex than any of her electronic 
monitoring devices was protecting the countless, nameless citizens of Gotham, 
leaving those closest to his heart exposed to danger...

By the time Alfred had a chance to return to the kitchen and check on Angie, it 
was almost midnight and the caterer's truck was long gone. It was just as well, 
he thought, opening the pantry door and reaching for his tea tin. He placed the 
teapot on the stove, and leaned his elbows on the counter. 

He'd felt sorry for the poor girl, believing that her behavior had been quite 
pathetic; however, Alfred wasn't sure that he was up to the task of providing a 
sympathetic ear at the moment. It was late, and frankly, he was just a bit 
tired. 

The teapot whistled, and Alfred poured himself a cup. He sat down at the kitchen 
table, brought the teacup up to his lips and inhaled deeply, enjoying the 
aromatic fragrance of Earl Grey. Sitting back, Alfred finally allowed himself to 
relax.

A few minutes later, Alfred finished his tea, and standing, walked over to the 
kitchen sink. He rinsed out his cup and left it in the sink for the night. At 
last, Alfred decided that it was time to turn in, and as was his nightly habit, 
walked softly through the house making a cursory check of the rooms on the 
bottom floor.

Not spotting anything out of the ordinary, Alfred paused in the long, portrait 
hallway and opened a small panel, revealing a keypad and LCD screen. He quickly 
punched in a security code, and waited for the proper verification. A message on 
the LCD screen warned, 'Disarmed; ready for arming.' At these words, Alfred then 
punched in another code. Instantaneously, the LCD screen read, 'Alarm armed.'

Satisfied, Alfred headed upstairs...

When the last sound of the children's excited giggles died out with a sleepy 
sigh, when the sounds of footsteps making a final security check quietly went 
upstairs, when the last table lamp automatically winked out--when the house 
seemed to settle at last for a good night's sleep, the kitchen pantry door 
hesitantly opened.

A feminine hand held it open just a crack, obviously listening for any sounds of 
the butler returning. After a moment, she dared stick her head out and listen. 
Satisfied, she emerged. In the dim light being filtered through the kitchen 
window, the intruder's features were barely discernible as those of 'Angie,' the 
temp hire. Her mousy demeanor was gone, replaced by a self-confidence that was 
almost palpable. Grinning sultrily, she reached back and released her hair, 
shaking it loose as it fell over her shoulders in lustrous waves.

She stopped at the kitchen table, removed her oversized glasses and lay them 
down. Next, she unslung the leather carryall she had over her shoulders, placed 
it on the table and opened it. With quick decisive moves, she undressed down to 
her bra and panties, and then neatly stored the uniform and glasses in the bag. 
She next reached into a side pocket and pulled out a two-piece, form-fitting 
costume.

Slipping into it with practiced ease, Catwoman wrapped her cat-o'-nine-tails 
around her narrow waist, and finally, brought the cowl up over her face, 
completing the transformation. She glanced at the kitchen clock--not yet 
midnight. 

Well, let's go, girl! We've got a lot to do before this night's over! She 
thought of the hour or so that she'd spent hanging upside-down close to the 
pantry's ceiling. Using an old climber's trick, she'd used the force of her back 
and legs pressing against the wall to successfully suspend herself out of sight 
until things quieted down.

Of course, when the butler showed up looking for 'Angie,' only to discover that 
she wasn't there, Catwoman thought that he'd leave. Instead, he'd stayed and 
made a cup of tea. Worse, he'd gone into the pantry to get the tea tin. 
Fortunately, he knew exactly where it was stored because he didn't bother to 
even turn on the light. Just when Catwoman thought that he'd never leave, she 
heard the sounds of water running (Probably rinsing out his cup, she thought.), 
followed by a soft step pausing at the door as the light was turned off.  

Catwoman re-slung her carryall over her shoulder, and listening intently at the 
door, stepped into the deeper shadows of the manor...

Upstairs, Dicky woke with sudden start. He felt the hot tears running down the 
sides of his face onto his pillow. He'd been dreaming about his parents again. 
Sniffing softly, he sat up. Reaching for the picture of his mom and dad that he 
always kept next to his bed, he slowly traced their features with his finger.

"I miss you," he whispered. "Why did you have to go away?" Holding the framed 
photo next to his heart, Dicky lay back and let the tears come. He thought of 
the fun they always had together, in the air and on the ground. He suddenly 
remembered the feel of his father's sure grip on his wrists, and the musical 
sound of his mother's joyful laughter that just seemed to surround him in a 
blanket of love.

At last, he thought of Bruce's words earlier that night. "Dick, what's in our 
hearts are all our memories of everyone we've ever loved. Our memories are what 
keep our loved ones alive for us."

"I think I understand now, Bruce." He sat up in the dark and gazed with longing 
at his parents' photo. "You're not really gone, Mom, Dad...Not as long as you're 
in my heart." He held the photo to him. "I promise...I'll always keep you in my 
heart. For always." Feeling better, he replaced the photo with loving care and 
lay back on his pillows.

After a while, Dicky realized that he was not going to fall back asleep, and 
shrugging, sat up and climbed out of bed. He reached for his robe and slippers 
and quietly tiptoed out into the hallway. Mindful of not disturbing the others, 
Dicky headed towards the staircase. About to pass the guestroom, he was startled 
out of a year's growth by Barbara's sudden appearance at the door.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed, sotto voce. Barbara immediately held her finger to 
her lips.

"Shhh...! You'll wake Alfred," she whispered.

"Well, you almost gave me a heart attack," Dick grumbled. "What's the idea 
anyway?"

"You're one to talk, smart guy," she retorted in low tones. "Why are you out of 
bed?" Dicky glared at her. About to refuse to answer, his small face suddenly 
looked pinched as if he were about to cry. He looked down at his feet.

"I couldn't sleep." He shrugged. "I kept dreaming about Mom and Dad...and my 
last birthday with them." This last was said in a very small, little boy voice. 
Barbara instantly hugged him to her and held him until he responded in kind. 

"I love you, Munchkin," she said fiercely. Holding him by the shoulders, she 
intensely held his dark blue eyes with her lovely green ones. "Look, anytime you 
want to talk about your mom and dad to somebody, you just let me know," she 
said. Dicky smiled back shyly. 

"That's what Bruce said." 

"He did?" she asked smiling. "Well, good for him. I always knew there was more 
to that millionaire playboy act than met the eye." Dicky stifled a grin.

"Boy, Babs...you just don't know the half of it!" 

"Oh, yeah? What do you say to you'n me raiding the fridge, kid?" she asked, 
steering him towards the staircase. "You can tell me more over some of that 
scrumptious leftover birthday cake and ice cream."

Dicky nodded eagerly. "Let's go!" Hand in hand, the two friends padded down the 
stairs towards the kitchen, when Dicky suddenly stopped. "Hey, Babs...tell you 
what. I'll meet you in the kitchen. There's something I want to show you--what I 
got for my birthday from Pop Haly. It's still in my overnight bag."

"I'll go with you," Barbara volunteered with a shiver. "This place may be home 
to you, but it's all scary shadows and 'things that go bump in the night' to 
me."  She added this last with a teasing lilt, making Dicky giggle despite his 
best efforts to remain in stealth mode. Alfred will catch us now for sure, he 
figured. But he didn't care. He felt happy, something he hadn't truly felt since 
his parents' deaths.

Smiling Dicky led her down a different corridor, in the direction of the 
downstairs storage closet. "Come on, you big sissy! I'll protect you." Barbara 
ruffled his hair affectionately.

"I feel much safer already, Dicky."

****

Hidden in the shadows, Catwoman watched from the balcony. Once the children 
passed by below her, she dropped to the lower level, alighting easily on her 
feet. She debated following them, but decided that it would be just as easy to 
wait them out. After all, the boy might not even be talking about the same bag.

****

Friday, March 21/11:35pm
Outside Wayne Manor
Gotham City

****

Several pairs of cold, hard eyes watched as Barber's 'Vette pulled in through 
the massive wrought iron gates that guarded the entrance to the vast Wayne 
estate. As instructed, the car stopped well short of the house. In fact, the 
driver killed the engine and rolled it to stop about 50 feet shy of the circular 
driveway.

The driver got out, a ski mask pulled over his face to hide his features, and 
hurried towards the house. Night vision goggles followed him as he stealthily 
rounded the huge mansion. Finally, they watched as he entered through a darkened 
patio.

****

Friday, March 21/11:35pm
Port Adams
Gotham City

****

The GCPD dispatcher reported sounds of gunfire from the warehouse area in Port 
Adams. Spotting two groups of armed men in and around the docks, Batman brought 
the Batmobile to a screeching halt and quickly jumped out. The vehicle 
automatically went into 'lockdown' mode.

As Batman disappeared into the shadows, a red light suddenly began to blink a 
steady, silent warning. 

****

Friday, March 21/11:35pm
Kattuz Luxury Apartments
Overlooking: Grant Park, Gotham City

****

Eyes closed, he lay next to the beautiful, dark-eyed daughter of a Bedouin camel 
herder. An honored guest in her father's camp, he'd been given her for the 
night. As a welcomed member of the liberating US forces, he'd been treated to a 
feast late into the night. The girl was the dessert. He lay back, enjoying her 
caresses and expert kisses. He thrilled to the feel of her wet tongue on his 
face.

Suddenly, he grimaced. Her rancid breath was enough to choke him. He turned away 
in disgust, suddenly turned off by her touch. Besides, he'd already been here 
too long. It was time to return to his unit. His men were waiting for him. He 
had a job to do. The diamonds, he thought. He still had to find the diamonds...

Barber's eyes snapped open and instantly wanted to close them again. He lay 
perfectly still, afraid to move, because at the moment, the tiger was calmly 
licking his face and occasionally rubbing his whiskers against Barber's cheek.

Think, Jase! What did they teach you in Special Forces about how to avoid 
becoming a tiger's main course? Okay...not much. He continued to lie still, 
submitting himself to the tiger's caresses. Wait a minute...! This tiger's a 
pet. What if...?

He remembered a favorite elderly aunt who had had several pet cats through the 
years. After his father had been sentenced for murder, Barber had been sent to 
live with her. At first distrustful of her overtures of kindness, Barber had at 
last grown to love her. He recalled how his aunt used to stroke her cats gently 
under the chin and behind the ears. 

~"Here, Jason," she'd say. "Like this...you try it, sweetheart."~

Dutifully, he'd do as instructed and smile as the cats invariably lay down on 
their sides and rolled onto their backs, exposing their belly. All the while, 
the cats would purr in ecstasy at his gentle touch. Slowly, Barber reached up, 
and hesitantly at first, began to stroke the tiger under the chin. To his 
surprise, the large cat responded almost immediately.

Just like his aunt's pet cats, the tiger slowly lay on its side, and closing its 
eyes, rolled on his back and exposed his belly, a sign of submission. All the 
while, the tiger was emitting an unmistakable low rumble--a purring sound. 
Cautiously, Barber raised himself to a kneeling position remaining mindful of 
the fact that a purring tiger was far from being a house cat. Continuing to 
fondle the large cat behind the ears, he managed to gain his feet. 

Giving the tiger one final rub under the chin, Barber began to slowly back away 
towards the door. At one point, the cat blinked his eyes open and stared at him. 
Freezing in place, Barber thought his pounding heart was going to explode in his 
chest; however, the tiger let out a long contented sigh, closed its eyes, curled 
up, and went to sleep.

Barber backed up until he reached the door, and with more relief than he cared 
to admit, slipped out. Closing the door quietly behind him, Barber collapsed 
against it, his knees almost giving out. Taking several deep breaths, he managed 
to steady himself and finally started out.

He had to warn his men about Joey. "The idiot!" he muttered. "Thorne will kill 
'im for sure now." Pressing the speed dial as he hurried towards the elevators, 
he waited impatiently for the other end to pick up. "Come on...come on...!" At 
last!

"It's me. Joey sandbagged me and--!"

Pause.

"No, I'm all right. But he's probably halfway there. Keep a sharp eye out for 
him, we can't afford a hostage situation--What?"

Pause.

"How do I know what car he's driving? Probably took the 'Vette--!"

Pause.

"What do you mean you think he's already there?"

Pause.

"Five minutes ago? And you didn't try to stop him?"

Pause.

"You thought it was me." Barber sighed. "Swell! That's just swell!"

Pause.

"No! You guys blew it! Under no circumstances are you to approach the house. I'm 
on my way. Repeat--I'm on my way!" Disgustedly, Barber shoved the cell phone 
back in his coat pocket just as the elevator doors opened onto the garage level. 
Running a quick search, he spotted a Porsche and headed towards it. As he 
walked, he felt his limp becoming more pronounced. 

This job is fast becoming a pain in the...knee, he thought darkly. 

It had all seemed so easy at first when he'd been approached soon after his 
medical discharge from the Army. But even his years of service with Army Special 
Operations hadn't prepared him for sewer rats like Joey.

Or pond scum like Rupert Thorne.

When this is over, he vowed, the Barber is going to be permanently retired. 

Even as these thoughts whirled through his head, Barber opened the Porsche's 
driver's side door, and undaunted by the car alarm that immediately went off, 
quickly disconnected it. He shrugged. Nobody ever paid any attention to car 
alarms anyway. Next, Barber reached under the dash and pulled out a couple of 
wires. A few minutes later, he roared out of the underground garage.

Shortly thereafter, he was pulling onto Aparo Expressway, headed north in the 
direction of Kane Memorial Bridge. Wayne Manor was situated north of Gotham 
River, nestled somewhere in the Bristol Hills. He pressed down harder on the 
accelerator.

If he puts a scratch on the 'Vette, he's a dead man!

****

Saturday, March 22/12:15am
Wayne Manor
Gotham City

****

Dicky opened the door to the downstairs storage closet. He stood on his tiptoes, 
and reaching up, his fingers found and closed around a hanging cord. When he 
pulled it, the light came on immediately. Dicky felt his small chest swell with 
pride. Just a few months ago, he'd either had to stand on something or jump up 
in order to reach the cord. Now, he'd only had to stand on tiptoe and he'd 
easily attained it.

Better yet, he'd accomplished this very grownup feat in front of Barbara. Maybe 
she'd stop thinking of him as just a little kid that she baby-sat on occasion. 
After all, he'd just turned ten. He'd be a teenager in another three years, and 
he wouldn't need a babysitter any more. Privately, Dicky didn't think that 
Robin, the Boy Wonder should even have a babysitter, but Bruce and Alfred 
insisted that 'appearances' had to be maintained. 

Moreover, Dicky knew that Child Protective Services was still not convinced that 
Bruce Wayne was an appropriate guardian for him; so, whether he needed one or 
not, Dicky Grayson would have a babysitter just like any other normal ten-year-
old whenever Bruce was required to attend some Gotham City gala. 

Dicky gave Barbara a sideways glance to gauge her reaction. She was smiling at 
him, as if aware of his thoughts. Blushing furiously, Dicky hid his discomfiture 
under the guise of searching for his overnight bag. As he did so, he sneaked 
another peak at her and felt his breath catch. She stood directly under the 
overhead light, which cast unusual shadows on her profile and highlights on her 
hair. 

Dicky thought that she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever met in his life. 
Resuming his search, Dicky smiled to himself. As long as I have to have a 
babysitter, I'm not gonna complain if the babysitter just happens to be Babs. He 
only hoped that she'd give him a chance to grow up before she met someone else.

After another brief moment, Dicky finally discovered his leather carryall. "Hey! 
Here it is!" he whispered, excitedly. "I found it!"

"That's great, Munchkin!" Barbara said. Her green eyes smiling, she held her 
hand out to him. "Come on! That cake and ice cream are waiting for us in the 
fridge!" Happily, the two youngsters hurriedly made their way through the 
darkened corridors of the manor...

Another pair of green eyes watched as the children headed towards the kitchen. 
Almost purring in delight at the sight of the leather carryall, Catwoman 
followed, her lithe movements that of a cat stalking her prey...

Unknown to any of them, yet another intruder had spotted the leather bag. As the 
children passed near him, Joey was about to jump them from concealment when out 
of the corner of his eye he detected a furtive shadow. Instantly, ducking back, 
Joey made out the unmistakable form of the Catwoman.

Oh, no...those diamonds are mine! He took out a pistol from inside his jacket. 
And when I'm done with you, Catwoman, you'll see why it ain't a good idea to 
double-cross Joey Messina!

****

Saturday, March 22/12:30am
Somewhere on the back roads of Bristol Hills
North of Gotham City

****

Barber expertly maneuvered the Porsche through the many hairpin turns along the 
darkened road. You'd think with all the lousy money in this subdivision, someone 
would think about installing street lamps, he grumbled. At last he saw it, lying 
solemnly on the crest of the hill, Gotham City's oldest continuously occupied 
private residence, Wayne Manor. Even from this distance it appeared imposing. 

And no doubt it's probably crawling with surveillance equipment. Well, his team 
was well trained in the art of avoiding detection. And any idiot who gets 
himself caught will have the resulting legal fees deducted from his pay, he 
swore. Especially that clown, Riley. 

Recalling Riley's amused taunting when he'd reported that Catwoman's so-called 
accomplice, Richard J. Grayson, was in fact a 10-year-old, Barber grinned in wry 
amusement. Well, how was I supposed to know? Not wanting Riley to have another 
one up on him, Barber reached for the phone and pressed the speed dial.

"This is me," he reported. "I'm less than a mile out, driving a black Porsche--"

Pause.

"Hot-wire, natch."

Pause.

"Oh, yeah? Well, just make sure you clowns hold your fire. I didn't sign on for 
this just to get another bullet in me." As Barber listened to the reply from the 
other end, he cut the engine and brought the car to a rolling stop just inside 
the tree line. Climbing out, he took off his jacket, revealing a shoulder 
holster and pistol. 

Barber placed the jacket on the hood, and working quickly, removed a few items 
from several pockets hidden underneath the inside lining. He picked up a black 
watch cap and put it on, covering his blond hair. Next, he donned a headset 
equipped with a powerful transceiver and an attached monocular Starlite scope, 
which gave him night vision capability. Finally, he made a few adjustments to 
his cane.

Insurance against cats and rats, he thought darkly. 

Taking out a handheld electronic device, Barber punched in a passcode. 
Immediately, a map grid of the manor grounds appeared on a small LCD screen with 
the positions of each of his men indicated by a green dot. Satisfied, he made a 
commo check.

"Riley, this is Barber. Come in." His friend's answering call came immediately 
over his headset.

"This is Riley. Welcome back to the fold, Jase. I hear it's cold on the 
outside."

"Tell me about it," Barber grumbled. "Is Team Two in place?"

"In place and waiting the 'go' order."

"Good. You just make sure Andersen waits for the order. The last time that guy 
was in charge, he almost blew the whole mission."

"Don't worry about Andersen," Riley said comfortably. "I had a 'talk' with the 
little dweeb before his team deployed."

"And--?"

"And I pointed out a few facts of life to him." Riley sounded quite pleased with 
himself. 

"Like--?" Barber prompted impatiently.

"Like if he doesn't want to return to that backwater post in Montana and deal 
with more of those militia nutcases, he'll follow procedure to the letter."

Barber grinned slightly and then returned to business. "So, do you have the 
positions of the hostiles inside?"

"Negative. There's a powerful jammer originating from somewhere around here. 
It's causing havoc with our equipment. So far we've been unable to pinpoint its 
location."

Barber swore under his breath. "Okay...we'll work around it. I'm going in and--"

"Jase, I don't like it. You'll be going in with your eyes and ears closed. This 
jammer is also going to mess with your radio. If you get in trouble, we won't 
know. Besides, the Catwoman's an A-player--world-class dangerous. And Messina's 
already killed once today. There's no telling what that punk'll do if he gets 
the chance. Maybe we should all go in--?"

"Negative, Riley! This is a solo job--"

"Jase, what about the civilians? If something happens to you, what happens to 
them?"

Barber closed his eyes. Civilians! It seemed that he had spent the greater part 
of his young adult life worrying about innocent civilians being caught in the 
crossfire. 

"Jase--? You there, Jase?"

"Yeah, Riley, I'm here," Barber said quietly. "Okay, buddy, this is what we'll 
do. I'm going in alone. You'll give me one hour--that's sixty minutes--to take 
out the hostiles. If you don't hear from me within that time, when your second 
hand passes sixty-one minutes, you are to move in and neutralize the situation. 
Do you copy?"

"I copy," Riley replied, his voice subdued. "Good luck, buddy."

"Thanks. Barber out."

****

Saturday, March 22/12:30am
Port Adams
Gotham City

****

The sound of approaching sirens was Batman's sign to retreat. The gang members 
had been eager and willing to take him on but had proved no match. Dicky's a 
better sparring partner than all of them put together, he thought amused. 
Dicky...It had been good to see him laugh and play with other children for a 
change. 

He thought of the boy's earlier heartbreak that night, and paused momentarily. I 
can't believe I found the right words to say to him. He thought of the strange 
new feelings that overwhelmed him whenever he held Dicky in his arms. Strange? 
No, not strange, he amended. Something else. Something long forgotten. Something 
long dead inside him, since his parents' murder.

Love...? He stood in wonder, unmindful of the first of the police cruisers 
pulling onto the docks. He remembered other words he'd spoken to Dicky, cold, 
measured words. Heartless words spoken long ago. Words he now wished he could 
take back. 

~"I'll be your trainer, Dicky, your mentor. In time, I'll even make you my 
partner. But I won't be your father.~ 

Batman recalled the small, scrunched face with the large blue eyes glaring up at 
him, his small fists held at his sides.

~"Okay, so maybe you don't want a son," Dicky replied defiantly. "Well, I don't 
need a father! And anyway you could never take Dad's place!"~

Batman felt his throat constrict at the memory. At the time, he'd accepted the 
boy's reply as acceptance of his rules. He now realized what Dicky had been 
trying to tell him, that he hadn't known how to be a father, or rather, how to 
be a 'dad.' 

But what about now? 

I love that boy, he finally admitted. Suddenly, Batman felt an urgent need to 
check up on his adopted son. More police cruisers came to a screeching halt, 
forming a perimeter around the docks. 

Snapping back to awareness, Batman hurriedly climbed into his vehicle, and 
immediately the powerful engine roared into life. As he pulled onto Aparo 
Expressway, a blinking light caught his attention. He felt his insides freeze. 
The manor's security had been breached. 

My family's in trouble.

****

Saturday, March 22/12:45am
Wayne Manor
Gotham City

****

Dicky and Barbara were having a pleasant time as they helped themselves to 
heaping servings of birthday cake and ice cream. On occasion, an outside 
listener could make out suppressed, childish laughter. Soon, the two youngsters 
were competing against each other to see who could stuff the biggest spoonful in 
their mouths. 

Dicky took an especially large bite of cake and ended up with frosting on his 
nose and chin. Barbara snorted involuntarily, sending milk flying out of her 
mouth and nostrils. Laughing and swallowing at the same time, Dicky ended up 
choking on his cake. Barbara immediately thumped him a couple of times on the 
back, resulting in both kids collapsing in further merriment.

"Shhhh...!" Barbara warned, between chuckles. "Or we'll wake Alfred!" Covering 
her mouth to further stifle her giggles, she added, "If he catches us, he'll 
probably make us polish the silver or something."

Dicky nodded in agreement. "And boy, you don't want to have to do that! There's 
more silver here than in a whole silver mine!" With that warning hanging over 
them, the youngsters settled down and began tackling their ill-gotten desserts 
in earnest.

"So, what did you do down in Florida?" Barbara asked.

"Oh...not much," Dicky said with a shrug. "Just the same ol' stuff."

"Like what?" Barbara asked. She knew that Dicky's idea of 'same old stuff' 
usually involved a dangerous activity performed 70 feet in the air. And although 
he rarely talked about his family, she was quite aware of his circus background.

"Weeellllll...I got to go into the lion cage this time," he said proudly, "not 
just watched from outside. Simba's trainer even showed me how to use the whip." 

"Wow!" Barbara said, impressed. "And you weren't scared? I would've been 
petrified."

"Naaaahhhh..." Dicky said immodestly. "Simba's just a giant pussycat. He 
wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Then why is he kept inside a cage?" Barbara asked skeptically.

"Awww...That's just for show. At night, he sleeps with the trainer's family in 
their trailer." Dicky shrugged as if lions sleeping in a family trailer were no 
big deal. "Jacques raised Simba ever since he was a cub."

"Jacques?"

"Simba's trainer," Dicky explained. "Jacques raises all of his own lions. His 
whole family is part of the act, even Tommy--and he's only seven." Dicky smiled. 
"He and Simba are the same age and were raised together. Tommy's mom says that 
they were practically littermates when they were still babies." He looked 
suddenly pensive. "I really miss them." He pushed his plate away. "I'm not 
hungry anymore."

"Hey, kiddo, aren't you going to show me what Pop Haly gave you?" Barbara asked, 
changing the subject. Dicky looked up at her, and as if realizing what she was 
doing, smiled gratefully and nodded.

"Sure." He retrieved the bag from the island counter and brought it back to the 
table, just as Barbara cleared it to make more room. Dicky eagerly turned the 
dial on the small combination lock and tried to open it. It remained locked. 
"That's funny," he said and tried again. It still remained locked.

"Are you sure you're using the right combination?" Barbara asked.

"Yeah," Dicky said confused. "My birthday." Staring at the combination lock, he 
decided to try something else. He leaned in closer in order to listen to the 
tumblers.

"What are you--?" Barbara began, but Dicky held his hand up for quiet.

"Shhh!" he hissed. Barbara made a wry face, but remained quiet. His expression 
intent, Dicky listened as he turned the small dial on the lock. Right...~click~! 
Left...~click~! Then slower with more caution--right again...~click~! At this 
final sound from the miniature tumblers, Dicky gave Barbara a look of triumph. 
"There! That's got it!" 

"You'd better not let Dad see you do that," Barbara teased. "He's liable to 
arrest you on suspicion or something."

Eagerly, Dicky removed the lock and opened the bag. As one, the two youngsters 
peered inside, and Dicky started removing the items: men's trousers and briefs, 
shaving cream, a razor? Dicky gave Barbara a look of incomprehension.

"I don't get it...This stuff isn't mine--?"

"No, kid," a dry, feminine voice said from the door. "It's mine."

As one, Dicky and Barbara whirled around to face the intruder. Dicky's blue eyes 
widened, becoming as huge as saucers. "Catwoman!" he exclaimed without thinking. 

By way of answering, Catwoman snapped her cat-o'-nine-tails twice: Once in the 
air, which caused the children to back up involuntarily, and next at the 
overnight bag. The end of her whip wound itself easily around the bag's handle, 
and with a smooth motion, she pulled it towards her.

Catching it in her free hand, Catwoman stuffed it into her larger carryall. 
"Thanks, kiddies," she said amused. "Love to stay and chat, but gotta go. Ta!"

With that, she was gone as quickly as she'd appeared. 

****

Upstairs, Alfred was awakened from his light sleep. He didn't know what he'd 
heard, but he knew that there was something definitely amiss. For the past few 
minutes, his subconscious had registered the muted sound of children's laughter. 
Now, another more menacing sound had crashed through the curtain of sleep.

Alfred sat up in bed, automatically reaching for his robe. In the dark, he felt 
around for his house shoes and was soon making his way down the darkened 
upstairs hallway. He paused to listen. 

He heard laughter, coupled by a strange woman's voice, and then silence, which 
was even more frightening. He hurried to Dicky's door and opened it. He ran a 
quick check. The bed was empty. "My word..." he murmured. Tamping down his fear, 
he hurried to the guest room to check on Barbara. She was gone as well.

Swallowing, Alfred moved quickly in the direction of the back stairs. The sounds 
he'd heard earlier had come from the direction of the kitchen.

****

As soon as Catwoman backed out of the kitchen, Dicky was on her trail. "Stay 
here where you'll be safe, Babs!" he urged. "I'll get her!" 

"In your dreams, Munchkin!" Barbara muttered, following at his heels.

****

Joey lay in wait. He'd watched as Catwoman entered the kitchen only to see her 
back out, less than a minute later. As she turned to run with her usual feline 
grace in his direction, Joey caught the Cheshire grin alighting her features. 

That's it, Catwoman...I'm gonna enjoy wiping that grin off your face. 

An instant later, Catwoman passed in front of him. Joey stepped out of the 
shadows and jammed his pistol against the small of her back. "Hold it!" Catwoman 
froze. "Hello, Selina." He'd moved in dangerously close to her, enjoying the 
feel of her body against his. All those months ago, working so closely with her, 
Joey had envisioned just such a moment. He'd daydreamed of the time when he 
would be in control, and Catwoman reduced to obeying his every whim.

Emboldened by the gun, Joey obscenely ran his free hand down her body. He felt 
her tense suddenly under his touch. Leaning in close, his hot breath against her 
cheek, he said, "I think you have something that belongs to me."

Catwoman bided her time, quite aware of the gun barrel currently held against 
her spine. She allowed him his fun, vowing that before the night was over, she'd 
make certain that he would never be able to touch another woman as long as he 
lived. 

If he lived.

Taking her demeanor as cooperation, Joey felt even surer of himself. "You 
shouldn't have done it, Selina. You shouldn't've tried to double-cross me. We 
coulda had some good times together." Again, he ran his hand suggestively down 
her back. "Too bad I'm gonna have to kill you--"

The next thing he knew, Catwoman elbowed him painfully in the ribs. "Why you--!" 
he gasped. Before he could say anything else, a moving train seemed to slam into 
him from the side. The force sent him flying sideways, losing his footing.

Before he could recover, Catwoman kicked his wrist, loosening his grip on the 
pistol. It went flying across the room. Less than a heartbeat later, the same 
moving train as before struck him again, this time from behind. Joey hit the 
floor face down, something or someone pinning him to the floor. Whoever it was, 
he or she was applying unbearable pressure to his thumb.

"Hey! Watch it!" he yelped. "You'll break it!" Dicky applied a little more 
pressure, causing him to squawk suddenly in pain. Abruptly, Catwoman added to 
Joey's discomfiture by suddenly landing a kick across his chin. This caused him 
to see temporary stars.

"You're lucky that kick wasn't somewhere in your southern hemisphere, you lousy 
rat!" she snarled. "You'd better pray they toss your worthless carcass in jail, 
Joey, because if we ever cross paths again, it'll be your last!" Turning to 
Dicky, Catwoman smiled and blew him a kiss. "Thanks for coming to my rescue, 
handsome! It's nice to know that chivalry isn't dead!" Giving him a small wave, 
she took off once more. Dicky gaped at her retreating form.

"Dicky! Are you all right?" Barbara asked breathlessly, then, "Are you crazy? 
You could've been killed!"

"Babs!" Dicky interrupted excitedly. "You gotta sit on top of this guy! 
Catwoman's getting away again!"

"Not on your life, Munchkin! Who's the babysitter here anyway? I'm going after 
the Cat-lady."

"You!??? B-but you're just a girl!" Dicky spluttered.

"I heard that!" Barbara called over her shoulder.

"Hey! Get off me!" Joey demanded. Dicky applied more pressure on the thumb he'd 
been holding. "Ouch! That hurt! Get off me! If I get my hands on you--!"

"Oh, shut up," Dicky muttered in annoyance. "You want me to let you go? 
Okay...I'll let you go." Releasing him, Dicky quickly leaped up, executed an 
expert back flip, and recovered to a standing defensive crouch. As soon as Joey 
realized that he was no longer being held down, he got to his feet. Seeing that 
his opponent was under four feet in height, he suddenly gave an ugly grin.

"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this, you little punk." He glared at Dicky, and began 
advancing menacingly. 

****

Barber crept through the big house, the Starlite monocular scope making his 
search easier. His gaze swept the length of the long hallway as he advanced. The 
solemn faces of the Wayne ancestors glaring down at him from above. Reaching the 
far end of the hallway, he stopped just shy of a left turn. Pulling out a small, 
angled mirror, the kind found in any dentist's office, Barber cautiously held it 
out in order to see around the corner without exposing himself.

All clear. 

Proceeding cautiously, he paused near the foot of the grand staircase. On the 
wall to the right of the staircase, a small blinking light at about eye level 
caught his attention. He moved forward to investigate it and immediately saw 
that it was the control box for the alarm system. 

He held his palm-sized electronic device to it and quickly attached two jump 
wires. He punched in a code, and almost instantly, a series of digits scrolled 
through across the LCD screen. Within a few seconds, he had the alarm system 
disconnected. 

Satisfied, he made a radio check. "This is Barber, commo check."

"Read you five-by." Riley's voice answered instantaneously in his ear. 'Five-by' 
was an old radio operator's term meaning 'loud and clear.' "What did you do, 
Jase? Black magic?" 

"Sorry, buddy...a magician never reveals his tricks. Barber out." He grinned. 
Working with Riley was as close to the camaraderie that he'd enjoyed in the 
army. Although sorry that his wound had forced him out on a medical discharge, 
Barber was beginning to think that working for the Bureau was a satisfactory 
consolation prize.

Admittedly, the undercover part sucked big time. And working with dweebs like 
Andersen had its considerable drawbacks, but on the whole, it felt good to still 
be serving his country. And closing in on these diamonds was the final phase in 
closing down Rupert Thorne and his 'drugs for illegal arms' deal, a job that had 
taken Barber from Qurac, across three continents, and finally ended here in 
Gotham City. Overall, it looked like this case was almost over.

He made a small adjustment to his handheld device, and it suddenly became a 
radio direction finder. Running a scan, the RDF signal soon indicated a hostile-
-someone skulking near the backstairs by the kitchen's rear entrance. Quietly, 
he headed in the vector reading.

Spotting movement directly in front of him, Barber put away the RDF and reached 
for his gun. Hesitating, he left the gun holstered, and instead, adjusted his 
hold on his ever-present cane. His movements that of a whisper, Barber came up 
on the person and grabbed him from behind, clapping his hand across the 
individual's mouth, keeping him from crying out.

"Quiet!" he hissed. "There're some bad people in the house. At least one of them 
is armed and dangerous--and has killed at least once already. Do you 
understand?" The older gentleman nodded nervously. "I'm going to let you go, but 
I've gotta warn you...I'm also armed. So--don't cry out and don't try anything. 
Got it?" His prisoner nodded once again.

Slowly, reluctantly, Barber released him. The older gentleman let out a deep 
breath, seemed to relax, and then turned to face him. Barber had never seen him 
before; therefore, he was probably one of the residents. 

How many relatives did Wayne have living with him anyway?

Keeping his voice low, Barber questioned him. "Who are you? What are you doing 
here? And how many more civilians are there in the house?"

"I refuse to answer until you identify yourself, sir." The man spoke with a 
quiet dignity that Barber found strangely charming.

"You've got guts," Barber admitted. Unholstering his gun, he held it to the 
older man's temple and asked again. The elderly gentleman closed his eyes, 
swallowed, took a deep breath, and then let it out. Opening his eyes, he gazed 
steadily into Barber's.

"I already gave you my answer," he said quietly.

Barber glared at him for a long moment, placing all the power of 'Barber, the 
cold-eyed, baby-faced killer' into the look. The effect was totally lost on his 
prisoner. Rolling his eyes, Barber sighed and holstered his weapon.

"It always on TV," he grumbled. Sighing he added, "Okay, mister...you win. The 
name's Barber. I'm after a killer named Joey Messina. I have reason to believe 
that he is somewhere in this house at the moment.

Alfred's eyes widened. "In here? Right now?" Barber nodded. "Does he have a 
female accomplice?"

Barber's demeanor suddenly became suspicious. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I could have sworn that I heard a woman's laugh not long ago," he 
replied. "And the children...the children are missing."

"Children? Did you say, 'children'? As in more than one child?"

"Yes...Master Dick and Miss Barbara. They weren't in their rooms."

"I see..." Barber was worried. "What's your relation to them?"

"I'm Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Wayne's valet. The family butler, as it were," he 
added. "The children are my responsibility." He made a move towards the kitchen 
door. "If they're in trouble, then I must--"

"Hold it!" Barber said a bit sharply. "Didn't you hear what I said? Messina has 
killed once already. No telling what he'll do next. Besides, there's something 
else." He paused and held Alfred's eyes. "I have reason to believe that there's 
someone else in here. Someone even more dangerous than Messina." At Alfred's 
look, he said, "Catwoman."

Alfred's initial look of fear dissipated. Catwoman dangerous? Pshaw! The woman 
was an annoyance on Master Bruce's side--always managing to elude his capture. 
But dangerous? Only to other criminals. This 'Barber' fellow obviously doesn't 
know his criminals from his derriere!

Seeing the look of disdain that suddenly crept over Alfred's features, Barber 
demanded, "What?"

Not bothering to answer, Alfred again made a move to enter the kitchen. 
Scowling, Barber grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him.

"Allow me," he said ironically. "If anyone's gonna rush in and get himself 
killed, it might as well be me. After all, I'm being paid to do it." Pointing a 
finger at the floor, he growled, "Stay put!"

Unholstering his weapon, Barber carefully opened the kitchen's back door. Empty. 
Running a quick check, he found evidence of a late-night cake and ice cream 
party. 

"Today was his birthday," Alfred said quietly. "He's only just turned ten."
Startled by Alfred's voice, Barber spun around, his weapon aimed center mass on 
the elderly gentleman's chest. The next instant, he raised the muzzle to the 
ceiling. His expression practically screamed, 'Don't you know better than to 
sneak up on a guy with a gun?!' But, since the point was obviously moot, Barber 
didn't bother. He just scowled even darker than before.

Alfred ignored him. He'd dealt with the Master of Dark Scowls for the past 20 
years. A blond, baby-faced government agent was simply not in the same league.

Before either could speak, they heard the sounds of fighting coming from the 
other side of the door. Barber glared at Alfred.

"Stay put!" he repeated. Ignoring him, Alfred pushed him aside and hurried out 
the door. Barber slapped his hand across his eyes, shook his head, and followed 
as quickly as his limp would let him.

Civilians! 

His medical discharge didn't seem like such bad deal after all.

****

Saturday, March 22/12:45am
Somewhere on the back roads of Bristol Hills
North of Gotham City

****

The Batmobile sped over the Kane Memorial Bridge, moonlight glistening off its 
dark surface. The bridge support cables cast a strange, strobe-like shadow and 
light show on the vehicle as it passed. The super turbo-charged car practically 
flew under the bridge's historic Gothic towers, moving at such incredible speeds 
that it barely registered on the Transport Authority's monitors. The guards 
blinked as their systems showed a dark blip that was there one second, gone the 
next.

Inside the famous vehicle, Batman attempted to activate the video uplink from 
inside the manor. To his surprise, it was not operational. Someone disconnected 
the first level alarm system from the inside. Batman made a fist as this thought 
flashed through his head. Since it was unlikely that either Alfred or Dicky 
would do so, it was logical to conclude that a person or persons unknown had 
disconnected it.

Batman pressed harder on the accelerator and shifted to super-overdrive. Because 
he had now crossed the bride to the hilly, curved road located on the north side 
of the Gotham River, it was too dangerous to activate the super turbo-thrusters; 
however, soon he'd be turning off onto the camouflaged wooded path leading to 
the Batcave. As soon he did, he would be able to apply the thrusters. He checked 
the chronometer reading on the dashboard. 

45 seconds to go.

While he waited, Batman pressed a button on the Batmobile's command console. A 
hidden panel slid out, revealing a miniature onboard computer system. Keeping 
his eyes on the road, Batman typed in a command code. Instantly, a schematic of 
Wayne Manor appeared. Several shifting blips showed the location of the manor 
occupants. 

Unfortunately, he had no way of identifying friend or foe. Briefly, he regretted 
not carrying through on his initial plan to have subcutaneous microchips 
implanted in Dicky and Alfred for remote identification purposes. He shook his 
head. There was no time to indulge in self-recriminations. 

He thought about activating the manor's Code Orange Intruder Countermeasures, 
which were just shy of a Code Red. This would automatically fill the house with 
knockout gas and render everyone inside unconscious. He quickly opted against 
the idea, however. Another code instantly showed him the manor grounds. Batman's 
only reaction was a slight narrowing of his eyes. Apparently, the house was 
surrounded.

On the other hand, there was no reason why he couldn't keep the intruders inside 
the manor from escaping, or those located on the outside from entering. Making 
up his mind, Batman typed in another code, pressed the 'Enter' key, paused for 
moment, and then typed three additional letters, 'S-O-S,' the international 
Morse Code letters. 

A series of alphanumeric codes flashed across the computer screen. This was 
immediately followed by a soft, computer-generated female voice: "CASTLE WAYNE 
ACTIVATED...REPEAT...CASTLE WAYNE ACTIVATED." Satisfied, Batman shut off the 
computer and returned it to its hidden storage area.

"Now, no one goes in or out." 

For a brief instant, Batman brooded over the considerable danger in which the 
two people he loved the most in the world were. Ready to fall back into his 
usual dark mode of self-recrimination, his thoughts again turned to Dicky and 
the boy's irrepressible personality.

He recalled the boy's first encounter with the Riddler less than a month ago...

"Riddle me this!" Robin taunted. He stood gazing up at the figure of the 
Riddler. The arch-criminal was hanging from the ceiling, struggling uselessly 
against Robin's Bat-rope, which was wound tightly around his waist. "What's 
black and white and red all over?"

The Riddler stopped his struggles for a moment to glare at the brightly clad 
boy. "Everybody knows the answer to that one, you stupid little Bat-brat!"

"Oh, yeah?" Robin's expression became suddenly dangerous. He released the line 
that was holding the Riddler suspended from the ceiling rafters, and the King of 
Conundrums came crashing down. "The answer is you, you big loser: When you're 
back in your black and white prison stripes, you'll be red all over with 
embarrassment 'cause everybody there is gonna know that you were put back by 
me...!"

Batman allowed himself a proud, half-smile. Dicky's training had come far in 
just a few short months. And Gotham City's worst denizens had grown very much 
aware of his abilities. 

Dicky can hold off any intruders until I arrive. He pressed harder on the 
accelerator. 

'Castle Wayne' awaited the return of its Dark Knight.

****

Saturday, March 22/01:00am
Wayne Manor
Gotham City

****

Catwoman hurried in the direction from which she'd first entered the house. 
Opening the door to the quaint, out of the way sitting room, she slipped inside 
and crossed towards the curtained glass doors. About to reach them, she was 
taken by surprise by a flying tackle from behind. 

Quickly recovering, she easily threw off her attacker, spun and kicked out. At 
the last possible second, Catwoman successfully held back, stopping just short 
of landing a killing blow to Barbara's head. 

Startled at the ferocity of Catwoman's counterattack, Barbara gasped in shock 
and stood perfectly still. Swallowing, she was unable to do more than stare at 
the booted heel hovering less than inch from the bridge of her nose. 

Sighing, Catwoman dropped her leg and took a few steps back. Staring in mild 
annoyance at Barbara, she crossed her arms and shook her head. "You really don't 
want to do this, sweetie. You're playing with the big girls now." At her words, 
Barbara found her earlier resolve. Eyes narrowed, she jutted out her delicate 
jaw and closed her hands into fists. She glared defiantly across the short 
distance that separated them, surprising Catwoman with her boldness.

Abruptly, Barbara sprang into action. An accomplished gymnast and a cop's 
daughter, Barbara had trained at her father's insistence in self-defense 
alongside the GCPD's Finest. She'd attended special classes available to police 
officers' family members, and now held the equivalent of a brown belt. In 
another few months, she'd qualify for her black belt.

Combining her gymnastics skills with her martial arts, Barbara had been secretly 
developing her own unique defensive style in preparation for her black belt 
exam. This seemed like the perfect time to test out her new skills. Catching 
Catwoman off guard, the plucky teen executed two handsprings in rapid succession 
and capped them off by striking feet first into Catwoman. 

"~Oooooffff!~ Catwoman was thrown back by the force of the unexpected blow and 
landed unceremoniously on her rear end. She glared up at Barbara's triumphant 
look.

"Okay, Red...now you've made me mad." She stood up in a smooth, effortless 
motion and un-slung her carryall. "The first one was free. But now? You play, 
you pay." 

Confident after her initial success, Barbara struck out again; however, this 
time Catwoman was ready and effortlessly subdued her. Later, Barbara would never 
quite know exactly what happened. One moment, she was in the air, kicking out. 
The next, she was the floor, facedown, her hands tied.

Surprisingly, once Catwoman had beaten Barbara fair and square, her actions took 
the teen slightly aback. Privately, Barbara admitted that Catwoman could easily 
have mistreated her; instead, the so-called 'feline femme fatale' actually 
treated her with unexpected gentleness. Or at least, Catwoman handled her with 
no more roughness than was absolutely necessary to immobilize her.

"You've got spunk, Red," Catwoman said as she wound plastic tie-wraps around 
Barbara's wrists. "I like spunk." 

After ensconcing her prisoner a little more comfortably on a soft leather sofa, 
Catwoman squatted down next to her. "Let me give you some advice, Red." She held 
up a single finger. "One...Get rid of the braids. They do nothing for you." 
Catwoman held up a second finger. "Two...Don't ever attack an opponent without 
first studying his or her movements." She held up a third. "Three...Get some 
contacts. You've got gorgeous eyes--don't hide 'em." She stood. "In a few more 
years, you'll be breaking hearts."

With a smile and jaunty wave, she turned to go. She opened the glass door she'd 
first used to enter the house and stopped.

"What in heaven's name is that?"

Struggling to turn her body, Barbara inched herself to a sitting position until 
she could see over the back of the sofa that blocked her view. Her eyes widened 
when she saw what Catwoman was talking about. 

Even as she watched, Catwoman ran from window to window in a frantic effort to 
find a means of escape. At each possible exit, the same impassable metal plate 
met Catwoman, sliding down silently, shutting her off from the outside world. 

Without having to check the rest of the house, they knew that Wayne Manor had 
somehow been turned into a prison. 

****

Alfred arrived in time to see Joey spring at Dicky.

"Master Dick! Look out, young sir!" 

As soon as the words left him, Alfred realized his mistake. By calling out, he 
had inadvertently broken Dicky's concentration, and to Alfred's dismay, Joey 
took the junior crimefighter by surprise, landing a glancing blow across the 
small boy's temple. 

Dicky went down, stunned. Enraged beyond measure, Alfred launched himself at 
Joey. "You villain! How dare you strike that child!"

By the time Barber limped in, he was confronted by the strange sight of Alfred 
hanging tenaciously from Joey's back, his arms wound tightly around the bagman's 
neck. Joey staggered under the weight as he tried in vain to fight him off. 
Alfred's stranglehold finally had its desired effect. Joey's knees gave out, 
folding limply like a rag doll.  

"You blackguard!" Alfred cried, not noticing that his opponent was now 
unconscious. "If you've hurt my young my master, why I-I'll--!"

"Alfred! That's enough!" Dicky cried, trying to get his beloved caregiver's 
attention. "Alfred! You've gotta let 'im go! You'll kill him!" By then Barber 
was also working to disengage Alfred's hold on Joey. It seemed an eternity 
before Dicky's voice at last registered in the loyal butler's subconscious. 
Alfred blinked several times, finally focusing on Dicky.

"Master Richard...?" he murmured, struggling for words. He released the limp 
form of Joey, who fell to the floor in a boneless heap, and grabbed Dicky by the 
arms, his hands and eyes examining the young boy for injury. "You're all right? 
You're not hurt?" Dick nodded at the first question, and then shook his head at 
the second. With a relieved cry, Alfred swept the startled youngster into his 
arms and held him close. Dick automatically put his arms around Alfred's neck.

"I'm okay, Alfred...honest." He stood back and looked seriously into Alfred's 
eyes. "He just got the drop on me for a second. That's all. I was never in any 
real danger." He paused and gave Alfred a significant look. "You know that, 
don't you?"

Studying his youngest charge's earnest face, Alfred at last nodded. "Of course, 
young sir. As you say...you were never in any real danger."

"Ummmm...look, Alfred," Barber said from the side. "I hate to interrupt this 
little family drama, but there's the little matter of Catwoman--?"

"Catwoman!" Dicky cried, remembering. "Alfred, I've gotta go! Catwoman took off 
and Babs went after her! I've gotta do something!"

"Whoa, easy, kid," Barber said, grabbing the small acrobat by the scruff of the 
neck. "Where do you think--?" It was the last thing he said before he found 
himself on his back and having great difficulty breathing. 

Unexpectedly, Dicky had leaped high and forward, his expertise not lost on 
Barber. Barber was completely taken by surprise by the boy's skill. The kid's at 
least a 3rd degree black belt, maybe higher! Unprepared for the attack, it was 
all Barber could do to counteract it without hurting Dicky. 

Too late, Barber realized that it was his own physical safety that he should 
have been worrying about. This kid's dangerous. Struggling against the red haze 
that surrounded him, Barber realized that he couldn't breath. Blinking through 
the dancing black and purple spots before his eyes, Barber fought against the 
unrelenting pressure on his larynx.  

"Can't...breathe..." he gasped. The pressure was released just enough to let him 
take in a minute amount of air. Momentarily, his vision cleared and he found a 
pair of blue eyes glaring down at him. A picture of the roles being reversed--
Barber in control, Joey gasping for air--flashed in his head. What goes 
around...

"Who are you?" Dicky demanded, dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. He pressed down 
a little harder on his subdued prisoner's throat with his own cane. "How did you 
get in the house? What do you want?" As he asked these questions, Dicky's 
demeanor signaled that although young, he was indeed dangerous.

"Easy, kid..." Barber gasped, holding his hands out. "I'm...one of the...good 
guys."

"Oh, yeah? Prove it! Show me some identification!" Dicky felt a little surprised 
at himself. The words had just come automatically, almost as if Batman himself 
were saying them. 

"Sorry, no can do, kid," Barber said with a shake of his head. "I've been 
operating deep undercover for the past year. The last thing I've needed anywhere 
on me was any sort of ID that would expose me as a government agent."

"That's rather convenient is it not?" Alfred challenged. "You've entered our 
home in the dark of night. You claim to be on the trail of this gentleman and 
Catwoman, but you have no proof of that. You also claim that you're a government 
agent, but you have no sort of identification. You expect us to take quite a bit 
on faith, Mr. Barber. Why should we trust you?"

Barber shrugged. "My...boyish...charm?" At their impassive glares, Barber tried 
another tactic. "Look, kid, if you'll--?"

"You've got ten seconds to prove you're who you say you are," Dicky threatened.

"But...I just said...that I can't--" 

"Five seconds..."

"Okay, okay!" Barber managed. "I can prove it...just let me call my men--"

"And let you signal them to storm the house?" Dicky scoffed. "I was born in a 
circus, mister...Try selling me another one--"

"No! This is on the up and up!" Barber insisted. "My men are outside, 
surrounding the manor. I've given them orders not to approach until I have the 
hostiles under control." Barber studied the boy's reactions. While obviously a 
highly capable fighter, he was still a young boy and possibly trusting.

"Well...okay," Dicky conceded. "But you better not try anything funny, got it?"

Barber nodded. He pointed at his headset, and Dicky allowed him to activate it. 
"Riley? This is Barber, come in." Riley's reply came so quickly that Barber knew 
his friend must be greatly worried.

"Jase! Where are you? What's going on? Are you all right?"

"Take it easy, buddy," Barber replied. "I'm fine...although I have been better."

"What--?"

"Never mind," Barber interrupted. "Look, Riley, I need you to talk to someone 
here. Tell 'im who I really am, and why I'm here."

"What? Jase, you know that's against standard operating procedure. I can't--"

Barber felt the cane press down just a bit as warning. "Buddy, believe me...you 
have to. Don't worry, I'm in no danger...yet. But you've gotta do as I say."

"Well...all right. If you're sure."

"Yeah...hold on a sec while I give my headset to the party in question." Barber 
removed his headset and handed it to Dicky. Eyes still narrowed suspiciously, 
Dicky reached for the headset and donned it. 

"Hello...?" Dicky spoke tentatively into the mouthpiece, pausing to listen. 
"Dick." Barber assumed that Riley had just asked the boy his name. "And you?" 
Pause. "Oh. How do I know you're not lying?" Pause. "Why should I take your 
word?" Pause. "Really? Diamonds?" Pause. Dicky glanced down at Barber with 
something like respect in his eyes. "Really? A hero?" Pause. "Well...I guess. 
Okay, sir. I've gotta go now. G'bye."

Dicky returned the headset to Barber. At the same time, he removed the cane from 
the agent's throat. "He says he wants to talk to you." Rubbing his throat area 
ruefully, Barber nodded.

"Riley? It's me." Pause. "Riley? Come in, Riley." Barber removed his headset and 
checked it. "That's funny," he muttered. He put it on again and tried contacting 
his friend once more. "Riley?" 

"What's wrong?" Alfred asked. 

Barber shook his head. "I'm not sure. It seems to be working perfectly, but I'm 
not getting anything. One minute Riley was there, the next he was gone." He 
stared pensively for a moment.

"Does anyone else know that you and your men are here?" Dicky asked. Barber 
again shook his head.

"I can't be sure," he admitted. He stood wearily. "I can't worry about that 
right now. I've still got a job to do."

"Uh-uh!" Dicky said, looking up at him defiantly. "I've gotta job to do! This is 
still my house, and my responsibility." Without waiting for a response, he took 
off at a run. Smiling with paternal pride, Alfred followed at a slightly slower 
pace. Shaking his head in exasperation, Barber had no choice but to follow.

"I hate my life."

**** 

Saturday, March 22/01:15am
Wayne Manor
Gotham City

****

"What kind of Twilight Zone episode is this?" Catwoman demanded of no one in 
particular. Turning towards the door from which they'd entered, she glanced at 
Barbara. "Sorry, Red, but I can't stick around. I've gotta date with a Bat, and 
I don't intend on staying here long enough to keep it."

"In that case, what if I take you home?" 

Catwoman whirled at the sound of the voice. "Barber?" she hissed. "What're you 
doing here?"

"She knows you?" Dicky demanded. He looked up at Barber suspiciously.

"The question, Catwoman," Barber retorted, "is what are you doing here? This 
wasn't the deal we had."

"You had a deal with her?" Dicky asked. His initial suspicion quickly changed to 
anger. He'd been tricked. Barber really was one of the bad guys.

"You should know by now, Barber, that I make my own deals. These diamonds are 
important to Joey, so...they're important to me." 

"They're also important to Uncle Sam! We had a deal, Catwoman!" Barber repeated. 
"You help us get the goods on Thorne and in exchange you get a full Presidential 
pardon--!" Barber was cut short when Catwoman unexpectedly cracked her whip and 
caught him by his good leg. 

"Be that as it may--!" Catwoman said, unceremoniously yanking him off his feet. 

"Hey--!!" Barber cried out as he went flying. His head slammed against the wall 
with an audible thud. He slid down unmoving to the floor, his body crumpled 
where he fell.

"--But I prefer the diamonds over the pardon," she finished. Catwoman walked up 
to the unconscious form and poked him in the ribs with her toe.

"That's what I like about you, Selina. You never change." They all whirled 
towards the sound of the new voice--Joey! Smirk firmly in place, Joey rather 
casually waved a mean-looking handgun that Dicky instantly recognized as an Uzi 
semi-automatic pistol. "Drop it!" he ordered, indicating Catwoman's cat-o'-nine-
tails. Grimacing in self-disgust, Catwoman tossed it aside.

Watching the proceedings with keen interest, Dicky noticed that the whip landed 
within reach of the famed jewel thief. He glanced quickly at Joey and saw that 
this small fact had completely escaped the gunman. The trick will be--getting to 
the whip first, Dicky thought.

Eyes on Catwoman, Joey waved Dicky and Alfred towards the sofa where Barbara 
lay. Both did as ordered without argument. Dicky sat close to the far edge in an 
attempt to get as near as possible to the whip. 

"Selina, I think you have something that belongs to me." Joey nodded at the 
carryall slung over her shoulder. 

"I do?" Catwoman gave him her most ingenuous expression. "What could I possibly 
have that belongs to you, Joey? I mean, almost everything you have you stole 
from me or someone else."

"The bag, Selina!" Joey snapped, his patience at an end. "Hand it over--now!" 
This time he aimed the gun directly at her.

Catwoman looked down at the carryall in feigned surprise. "Joey, this is my bag. 
You've seen it before. It's the one I carry on all my jobs." 

"You know what I'm talking about, Selina. My bag. I know you put it inside your 
carryall." He grinned menacingly. "Like you said...It's the one you take on all 
your jobs." He made a threatening gesture with the pistol. "I want you to reach 
in the carryall and pull out my case.

Catwoman nodded and was about to reach in, when Joey stopped her.

"Uh-uh-uh!" he warned. "Use your left hand, Selina! And I don't really have to 
warn you to go real slow, do I?" Not bothering to answer him, Catwoman did as 
told. Dicky watched, fascinated as Catwoman reached in slowly and carefully 
pulled out the black overnight case from the larger carryall. Catwoman feigned 
surprise as she did so.

"Now how did that get in there?" she asked innocently. "Is this your bag, Joey?" 
She gave him a disarming smile and a shrug. "Well, why didn't you say so? If 
I'd've known it was yours, why I never--"

"Cut the bull, Selina, and hand it over!" Joey interrupted sharply, his 
impatience growing. "Do it, or I swear I'll shoot!" Catwoman shook her head and 
tsked.

"And you would, wouldn't you? A dirty, double-crossing louse through and 
through...all the way to the end," she said matter-of-factly. "You want this?" 
Catwoman held up the bag. "Okay...Take it!" Abruptly, Catwoman flung the bag at 
Joey, who fired in reflex. Then, several things happened simultaneously--

Alfred grabbed Barbara and pulled her off the couch, out of harm's way. 

Catwoman dove behind the couch, just escaping being hit by Joey's stray bullets.

Dicky dove for the whip, lying less than a foot away. Rolling he quickly came up 
with it in hand. Holding it like Jacques, Simba's trainer had taught him, Dicky 
cracked it. Immediately the cat-o'-nine-tails wrapped itself tightly around 
Joey's gun wrist, and the junior superhero pulled.

Joey cried out as the whip's sharp ends stung his unprotected wrist. Although 
off balance, he managed to keep his hold on the gun and was soon firing wildly, 
his shots raining hot lead all around them. 

Through the chaos, Dicky heard Barbara's muffled scream. He risked a quick 
glance in her direction and saw that Alfred was shielding her under the 
protection of his own body. Somehow, the loyal butler had dragged her under an 
antique accent table decorated with a colorful Tiffany lamp. At that moment, the 
Tiffany lamp exploded into a thousand pieces. Startled, Barbara again screamed.  

Dicky's resolve escalated a notch. He had to protect Barbara and Alfred. They 
were his responsibility. Knowing he was in danger of being hit by a stray 
bullet, Dicky refused to let go of his end of the whip. 

Meanwhile, Barber had regained consciousness while the little drama between 
Catwoman and Joey played itself out in front of him. Barber had watched them, 
biding his time until he saw an opening. Now, he jumped up and took a flying 
leap that recalled his former high school football days, tackling Joey to the 
floor. The force yanked the whip from Dicky's hand, causing him to fall back 
momentarily off-balance. 

The small acrobat instantly regained his feet. "Alfred! Get Babs outta here!" he 
yelled and hurried to help Barber subdue Joey, stopped suddenly. Joey held the 
ugly barrel of the Uzi pistol against Barber's temple, his left arm holding the 
federal agent tightly by the throat. Barber's eyes met Dicky with a look of 
profound apology. 

"Sorry, kid...Guess I blew it. Damned knee..." Apparently Joey had turned the 
tables on Barber. Swallowing, Dicky looked up at Joey's ugly grin.

"You sure did, you lousy gimp!" Joey growled. "You was never on the square with 
me, were you, Barber?" In anger, Joey tightened his hold around Barber's neck 
and dug the end of the gun barrel deeper in his temple. "What are you anyway? 
Some kinda narc? I bet that's what you are, Barber...nothing but a dirty, rotten 
cop!"

Barber's young, handsome face worked its way through several expressions, 
finally settling on defiance.

"What if I am?" he asked. "What're you going to do? Pull the trigger? Here? In 
front of all these witnesses? You know what they do to cop killers, Joey? The 
gas chamber, that's what!"

"Shut up!" Joey growled. "You're just like Catwoman--a dirty double-crosser who 
only wants what's mine. Well...you ain't gonna get 'em! Those diamonds belong to 
me, and I'm takin' 'em!"

Barber smiled, a surprisingly boyish smile. He shook his head. "No, no, no, 
Joey...Don't you remember? Those diamonds belong to Mr. Thorne. Just like you 
do. And you know what Thorne does to those who take what belongs to him? I 
should know...he's given me enough orders to make 'em all disappear. Neatly, 
y'know? No mess?"

"Yeah?" Joey said, his voice beginning to sound doubtful. "Well...you know what 
he does to narcs? Last pair ended up in a dumpster down by Dixon Docks--a bullet 
between the eyes."

"That's kind of funny, y'know that, Joey? 'Cause that's exactly what he said to 
me before we left him earlier tonight. He said, 'Barber...I want you to take 
care of Joey for me tonight--a bullet between the eyes. And leave his corpse in 
a dumpster somewhere--a message to others who try to steal from me."

Dicky noticed that Joey's brow had suddenly become slick with sweat, his entire 
demeanor growing unsteadily nervous and increasingly frightened. Joey shook his 
head.

"Naw...you're lying...to save your own carcass," he insisted.

"Am I?" Barber asked, and then trying a new tack added, "Remember the address I 
gave you earlier tonight? That address is real, Joey. It's a safe house we've 
set up for all those guys that Thorne ordered me to get rid of." Barber shrugged 
philosophically. "Whenever he ordered a hit, I just pulled a switch and took 
them to the safe house, instead."  
"But how--?"

"It wasn't too hard," Barber admitted. "Thorne doesn't exactly surround himself 
with nuclear scientists. Besides, the Barber worked strictly alone. So...no 
witnesses--ever! Better yet, since Thorne wanted no evidence to come back later 
and embarrass him, he never asked questions. As for the victims, once I took 
them to the safe house, the Feds gave them a choice--the Witness Protection 
Program or Thorne." He smiled ruefully. "Funny how they all made the right 
decision." 

Barber turned slightly until he was looking up at Joey. "The offer still stands, 
Joey. The Feds are waiting at the safe house, ready to give you a new identity, 
a new start, a new life. All you have to do is put that gun down and walk away 
from the diamonds. And--"

"--And rat on Thorne?" Joey finished. Reluctantly, Barber nodded. "What if he 
finds out? I'd be signing my own death warrant!"

"Joey..." Barber said gently. "You're dead already. It's just a matter of time. 
Thorne's already put out a hit on you. You'll never make it out of Gotham 
alive." After a moment's hesitation, Joey finally nodded in defeat and handed 
Barber the gun. Barber closed his eyes in a sign of relief.

Slowly, Alfred crawled out from under the antique table, and then turned to help 
Barbara to her feet. He quickly untied her, and soon Barbara was rubbing her 
wrists. Considering all that happened, the sudden crack of Catwoman's whip 
should have come as no surprise. Of course, they were all caught flat-footed.

"Ouch!" Barber cried, painfully holding his wrist. The gun, which he'd just been 
holding, was gone. They all turned to Catwoman who held it in her free hand. She 
gave Dicky a smile.

"It's all in the wrist, kid," she said, referring to Dicky's earlier 
unsuccessful attempt to disarm Joey. "Like this--!" She flicked the whip again, 
and this time the end wrapped itself around the black leather bag, which still 
lay where she'd flung it earlier. She smoothly stuffed it back into the larger 
carryall, which Dicky noted was bulging to the seams. 

Giving them a rueful look, Catwoman held them at bay with the Uzi pistol. "I 
don't like these things," she admitted. "They're not very subtle. But that 
doesn't mean I don't know how to use them. So, I recommend that whoever knows 
how to open this jail, do so now. A cornered cat is a very dangerous thing. I 
promise...you don't want to find out just how dangerous."

"I don't believe you." All eyes turned to Barbara. Boldly, she took a step 
forward. "I don't believe that you'd kill us."

"Babs, are you nuts?" Dicky squeaked. Barbara ignored him.

"You could've hurt me, even killed me, earlier," Barbara said, her eyes holding 
Catwoman's. "But you didn't." She shook her head. "My dad's told me a little 
about you. He says that you're a jewel thief...and even dangerous. But he also 
says that you've never killed anyone."

"Even if that's true, Red," Catwoman conceded, "what makes you think that this 
won't be the first time?" Before Barbara could reply, Barber spoke up. Reaching 
for his cane, he stood slowly.

"You've never killed anyone before, Catwoman," Barber said quietly. "Do you 
think that you'd be able to kill all of us?" Catwoman glared at him, but Barber 
returned her look calmly. "I've already identified myself as an undercover cop. 
Actually, I'm a federal agent. If you kill me, you'd be facing a federal death 
penalty charge. If you just wound me, it's 25 to life. And since everyone here 
is a witness, you'd have to silence each of us. Do you think you can?"

Catwoman aimed the gun directly at him. "What makes you think I won't?"

It was Dicky's turn to speak. 

"Batman!" he said. Unable to help herself, Catwoman glanced around the room. 
Dicky giggled. "Oh...he's not here. At least, I don't think so. But you never 
know, do you? I mean Gotham is his city, isn't it?"

"The boy's right, Catwoman," Barber said quietly. Placing his weight on his 
cane, he took a step forward. "I have a feeling that Gotham's Dark Knight would 
be very unhappy if you murdered--" He counted quickly. "--five people!" He 
nodded at Dicky, Barbara, and Alfred. "Especially if two of them are minors, and 
one's a senior." He glanced at Joey and shrugged. "Well, I doubt if even Batman 
would lose too much sleep over Joey, but still, he wouldn't like it."

"Thanks--a lot!" Joey growled.

"Shut up," Catwoman hissed. "Like he said, Joey...you're no great loss. So I 
wouldn't mind killing you." She turned to Barbara. "But you, Red...I'd bet big 
bucks that your dad would do everything in his power to make sure that nothing 
happened to you."

"What do you mean?" Barbara asked defiantly. 

"It means that you're coming with me," Catwoman explained. "As my insurance 
policy."

"What?" Barbara asked, stunned.

"No way!" Dicky shouted. He placed himself between Barbara and Catwoman. "You're 
not going anywhere, Catwoman! And you're especially not taking Babs with you."

"Who's the kid's keeper?" Catwoman demanded. She glared at Alfred. "You'd best 
get him out of harm's way, old man. Before he gets hurt."

"Master Richard has everything well in hand, Madam. As he said earlier to Mr. 
Barber, Miss Barbara is his responsibility."

"If you want Babs, you'll first have to go through me," Dicky threatened. 
Catwoman stared at him, wryly amused by the young boy's audacity.

"Don't be silly, Dicky," Barbara retorted, shoving him behind her for 
protection. "You keep forgetting that I'm the sitter and you're the sit-tee. I'm 
supposed to take care of you, remember?"

"Miss Barbara," Alfred said in gentle, warning tones. "Might I advise you to 
stand aside?"

"Look, Catwoman," Barber interrupted. "You're not leaving here with 
anybody...especially not with a kid!"

"Hey! Who are you calling a kid?" Barbara protested. "I'm almost sixteen!" 

Catwoman snorted, and then fought to keep a straight face. "She's got you there, 
Barber," she teased.

"No offense, kid--" Barber began and stopped, seeing her as for the first time. 
He gave her a rakish wink and a smile.  "Sorry, Beautiful. Anyone with eyes can 
see that you're hardly a kid." To Dicky's utter disgust, he saw that Barbara 
actually blushed at the comment. He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, brother," Dicky muttered.

"Catwoman." Barber spoke in a quiet voice. "You have what you want. You have the 
diamonds. Why don't you just leave now--alone?"

Catwoman sighed and shrugged. "It's what I've been trying to tell you, Barber. I 
might have the diamonds, but I'm not going anywhere. Not as long as those things 
are there!"

"What things?" Barber asked.

"Those things!" Catwoman said, yanking the curtains open so that everyone could 
get a good look at the shuttered exits.

"What the--?" Barber muttered. 

"My word--?" Alfred breathed.

"He did it!" Dicky crowed in triumph.

"Who? Dicky, what are these things?" Barbara asked. 

"Don't you see, Babs? Bruce! He did it! He told me he was going to, but I didn't 
know he did. He never told me!"

"Dicky, you're not making a whole lot of sense," Barbara complained.

"Your girlfriend's right, kid," Catwoman interrupted. "You're not making a lot 
of sense."

"She's not my girlfriend!" Dicky denied hotly.

"Now, that's a relief to hear." For the third time that night, all eyes turned 
to the sound of the new voice at the door.

"Bruce!" Dicky cried out. He ran to his guardian who immediately scooped him up 
in his arms. "I thought you'd left!" Bruce gave him a half-smile and an 
expression that warned him to play along.

"After all that champagne I drank toasting your first double-digit birthday?" he 
teased, putting Dicky down again. "Not on your life. I must've fallen asleep in 
the study."

"Never mind the family reunion. Can you open this dungeon?" Catwoman demanded. 
Bruce gave her a long, hard look and then turned to Dicky. He studied the boy 
and spotting a definite mark of discoloration along his temple, Bruce's 
expression became dangerous.

"Did she do this to you, son?" he asked. 

Before Dicky could reply, Catwoman interrupted. "Of course, I didn't! I would 
never hurt a child--!"

"She's telling the truth, Mr. Wayne," Barbara broke in. "She could've hurt me 
when she had the chance, but she didn't. She was really nice...except for the 
part where she tied me up." Barbara added this last bit a little lamely.

"Catwoman didn't hurt me, Bruce!" Dicky looked insulted. "She's a girl!" At his 
young ward's protest, Bruce glanced at Catwoman, his normally brooding eyes lit 
in amusement. Catwoman simply shook her head. 

"The cage?" She waved at the sealed exits as a reminder, but Dicky interrupted.

"He did it!" Dicky pointed at Joey. Bruce gave Joey a look that sent chills down 
the bagman's spine. "He hit me, but it was really all Alfred's fault."

"Alfred?" Bruce asked, glancing at his loyal friend.

"I'm afraid so, sir," Alfred admitted. 

"Now this I've gotta hear," Bruce muttered.

"Yeah, we all would, Mr. Wayne," Barber said. "But if you don't mind, I'd like 
to get on with this."

"I'll second that," Catwoman muttered. She looked at the gun in her hand and 
shrugged. A lot of good it was doing her. Nobody in the room--except Joey--
believed for a second that she'd use it. And they were right. Catwoman sighed. 
This place was beginning to feel more and more like a jail.

"Get on with what?" Barbara asked Barber.

"With this, Beautiful--!" Barber gave her another jaunty wink. While Barbara's 
complexion turned a deep crimson, and Dicky rolled his eyes, Barber brought his 
cane up in a single, smooth motion and pressed a hidden release. Instantly, a 
weighted, steel mesh net shot out and enveloped Catwoman, who collapsed under 
the heavy burden.

"Why you--!" Catwoman shouted helplessly. "Barber, if it's the last thing I do, 
I--!"

"Aw! Shaddup, Selina!" Joey taunted. "You was beaten fair 'n square." He slapped 
Barber on the back in a show of camaraderie. "Always prepared, Barber...just 
like one a them Boy Scouts. Thanks for saving me the trouble!" Before they could 
react, Joey grabbed Barbara and shoved a much smaller, but no less dangerous, 
handgun against her temple. "Like I said...those diamonds are mine, and nobody's 
taking 'em from me." Addressing the room in general, he cocked the hammer. "If 
you don't want me to blow a big hole into this little girl's pretty head, you'll 
hand over the diamonds and open up this place." He gave Dicky an amused once-
over. "Okay, kid, you wanna save your girlfriend--?"

"She's not my girlfriend!" Dicky growled. "She's my friend!"

"Sorry, kid. I stand corrected," Joey conceded. "If you want to save your 
friend, bring the bag over here." The mob bagman withstood an icy-blue glare 
from the ten-year-old. About to lose patience, Joey grinned in triumph when the 
boy turned on his heel and moved towards Catwoman to carry out his orders. Joey 
next turned to Bruce. "You! Rich boy!" he snapped. "The cage! I want you to pull 
an open-sesame, or the redhead buys it." He paused dramatically. "Then your 
kid's next." Joey found himself once again assaulted by a pair of glacier-blue 
eyes. 

Not taking his eyes from Joey's, Bruce nodded curtly and recited aloud, "Three--
twenty-one--ten!" At his words, the metallic shutters immediately began to lift, 
whirring softly on their well-oiled runners. Unable to help himself, Joey looked 
around for a split-second, taking his eyes off the men he was holding at bay.

That was all the opening the men needed. The loud, familiar snap of Catwoman's 
whip rang in the room, followed by Joey's cry of pain as it encircled around his 
unprotected wrist. Dicky yanked with all his might and cried out, "Now!" Seeing 
his chance, Bruce dove for Joey, grabbing his gun wrist. Simultaneously, Barber 
sprang forward and scooped Barbara out of harm's way. 

The gun went off with an ear-splitting explosion in the enclosed room. Dicky 
ducked for cover, while Barbara screamed. Bruce drove a roundhouse blow to 
Joey's exposed middle and followed through with a left hook to the chin. The 
lousy, double-crossing rat went down without another sound.

"Bruce!" Dicky ran towards his guardian and threw his arms around his waist. 
Bruce hugged him closely to him. "That was great! Voice-activated commands--how 
cool is that?"

"You liked that, huh?" Bruce asked him. "What did you think of the command code 
I used?" At Dicky's blank look, Bruce knelt down to eye level with him, his 
expression softened. "Three--twenty-one--ten? March 21st for your birthday...ten 
for the number of years!"

In the meantime, Barbara was pinned facedown on the floor, a heavy weight 
holding her immobilized. At last, the weight slid off and Barbara was able to 
sit up. 

"What happened?" she asked and stopped. Barber sat huddled over, his face pale 
with pain. He was holding his knee with both hands, attempting to stem the flow 
of blood. "Oh! You're hurt!" she cried. Immediately, Alfred and Bruce were 
there, applying pressure to the wound. 

"No need...to worry...Beautiful..." Barber muttered, eyes fluttering half-
closed. "Jus' a scratch..." Woozy, Barber leaned on Barbara for support and 
promptly passed out.

****

Saturday, March 22/02:30am
Wayne Manor
Gotham City

****

"That's it, Lady!" Bullock growled. "You have the right to remain silent. 
Anything you say can and will be used against you--!"

"Stow it, creep!" Catwoman hissed. "I know my rights." She stood defiantly, 
handcuffed and ready for transport. Two uniformed officers stood on either side 
of her, each with a firm grip around one of her upper arms.

"That's good to hear," Bullock retorted. "Because I guess you know where you and 
your boyfriend here--" He nodded at Joey. "--are going." 

Catwoman disengaged herself from her escorts and angrily turned on Bullock. "Get 
this straight, Flatfoot! This rat is not my boyfriend! He's not even my friend! 
In fact, if I could somehow manage it, he wouldn't be a distant acquaintance--!"

"Aw...Shaddup, Selina," Joey growled. He, too, was handcuffed and ready for 
transport.

Bullock snapped his fingers at the policemen. "Get 'em both out of here," he 
grunted. "I'll be following in the chase car." Catwoman and Joey's escorts 
nodded and none-too-gently steered them to the door. Four other officers 
followed behind them. Two of them professionally brandished shotguns, while a 
third carried Catwoman's carryall, gloves, and whip. The fourth officer had a 
box containing all the weapons found on Joey. In addition to the two handguns 
he'd used that night, he'd also been carrying a switchblade and two throwing 
stars.

Bullock shook his head in disgust and muttered under his breath. He turned to 
Gordon. "Any instructions, Cap'n?"

"Call me when you've got 'em both safely behind bars," Gordon told him. Bullock 
nodded in acknowledgement and left. Gordon then walked over to where Dr. Leslie 
Thompson and the EMTs were finishing up with Barber. To his vast disapproval, 
Gordon saw that Barbara was holding the young agent's hand. Barbara felt her 
father's gaze on her, and looking up blushed furiously. Raising her chin in 
teenaged defiance, she turned back to Barber, refusing to let go of his hand.

"Will our young hero here be all right?" Gordon asked the EMT working on Barber. 
The emergency medical technician gave Gordon a neutral look and a shrug.

"It's a clean wound," he said. "The bullet went in and out. But what do I know? 
I just keep 'em alive, Captain. It's up to the doctors to fix 'em up good as 
new. Right, Doc?" Leslie gave Gordon a quick shake of the head.

"I see." Gordon caught Barber's eye and noted the rueful look the young agent 
gave him. Gordon realized that Barber knew. He was well aware that he wouldn't 
be as good as new. Apparently, he'd been shot in the same knee where he'd been 
wounded during Desert Storm. Solemnly, Gordon placed his hands on Barbara's 
shoulders and drew her to him. He reached down and shook hands with Barber by 
way of greeting. "I haven't had a chance to thank you for saving my daughter's 
life, Mr. Barber." 

"The name's Bard...Jason Bard. 'Barber' was just my cover."

"How long were you undercover, Jase?" Barbara asked, her eyes shining. At her 
deferential tone, Gordon felt a twinge of jealousy shoot through him. 

"A little over a year," Bard told her. 

"Really? Weren't you scared?" she asked. 

"Who me?" he asked. He gave her a gently amused smile, and playfully tweaked her 
nose. "All the time, Beautiful."

Gordon tousled the top of Barbara's head. "My little girl's life is very 
precious to me, Mr. Bard. Thank you again." 

"Oh, Daddy...!" Barbara protested, not appreciating being treated as a child in 
front of her new hero. "You're making me sound like a complete infant!"

"I'm going to second what Captain Gordon said, Mr. Bard," Bruce said. "I've 
spoken to Doc Leslie, and she's already okayed it, so--" Bruce pulled a 
reluctant Dicky forward. "--We, that is Dicky and I, would be greatly honored if 
you stayed here at Wayne Manor until you're able to get around again."

Bard gave them a self-deprecating smile. "Mr. Wayne...Captain Gordon, 
thanks...but honestly, I really didn't do a whole lot," he said. "Mr. Wayne, you 
and Dicky here were the ones who disarmed Joey. All I did was get myself shot 
and fall on top of your daughter. Not exactly the stuff of legends."

"I'll say..." Dicky muttered to himself. He winced as Bruce's fingers squeezed 
his shoulder a little painfully.

"Don't listen to him, gentlemen. My friend here is a bona fide war hero--Silver 
Star, Bronze Star, Purple Heart," Riley said as he walked up to them. "We've 
been on the trail of Rupert Thorne for a couple of years now. We're getting 
anywhere, until Jase came onboard. With his help we've now broken up Thorne's 
'drugs for money-for illegal arms-for diamonds' ring. Thanks to Jase, the U.S. 
Attorney General will finally be able to put Thorne away for a very long time!"

"Riley, have you heard from Andersen?" Bard asked worriedly. He'd slipped in and 
out of consciousness for the past hour and was afraid that he'd missed 
something.

Riley nodded. "Andersen just reported in. The raid at Thorne Towers yielded the 
original stash of uncut diamonds we've been tracking--plus, several metal boxes 
containing an untold number of bundles of $100 dollar bills. All in all, a 
successful raid."

"Well...that's good news, anyway," Bard said. "Now, if only he can hold onto the 
evidence long enough for you to get there." 

Riley gave Bard a smile. "Are you gonna be okay, buddy?" 

Bard nodded. "Yeah...I've been through this before. The docs'll probably tell me 
to stay off the knee for a few weeks. After that..." he shrugged. "Who am I 
kidding, Riley?" He shook his head. "Why did it have to be the same knee?" 

Riley shrugged. "Hey, buddy...Keep your chin up. Just you wait...In a few weeks 
you'll be back at the agency. Didn't you tell me once that nothing can keep 
Jason Bard down?"

Bard gave his friend a disingenuous grin. "Yeah, sure...and don't you forget 
it." Smiling, the two friends shook hands, each knowing that it was probably 
goodbye. With a final wave, Riley walked out.

At this moment, the phone rang and Alfred answered it. "Wayne residence," he 
intoned and listened. "One moment, please." Alfred covered the mouthpiece and 
addressed Gordon, "Captain Gordon...for you, sir."

"Thanks," Gordon said, taking the phone. 

"I thought you were very brave," Barbara told Bard. Bard gave her his now-
familiar rakish wink and grin.

"Thanks, Beautiful."

Sitting next to Bruce on the sofa, Dicky scowled and muttered something under 
his breath. Bruce quietly put his arm around the boy's shoulder and drew Dicky 
to him. Sighing in disgust, Dicky snuggled deeper into the warmth of his 
guardian's embrace. Being ten could be hard sometimes, he decided, but at other 
times, it could still be nice.

The quiet was shattered a moment later.

"What?!!" Gordon shouted. "How did it happen?!" Gordon listened, livid. He 
dropped his head into his hands. "Of all the idiotic...incompetent...!" He 
paused again, listening. "All right! All right! Put out an APB! I want everyone 
on the lookout for her! You hear me!?" Pause. "Yeah, well...stand in line, Sgt. 
Bullock. By the time this over, we may both be looking for a new job." He hung 
up in disgust.

"Daddy, what happened?" Barbara asked, worriedly. 

Gordon shook his head, his expression highly displeased. "It seems the Catwoman 
escaped." 
 
Everyone spoke at once: "What?! How did it happen!?" 
 
Gordon spoke in flat tones. "Apparently, Catwoman removed her handcuffs as slick 
as any circus escape artist--" (Dicky and Bruce exchanged knowing glances. 
That's how she had escaped from them back on the rooftop all those months ago!) 
"--and used some kind of knockout gas in the police sedan. According to Sgt. 
Bullock who was in the chase vehicle, the car that was transporting her, slowed 
down briefly and all the cops were tossed out. Before anyone could react, it 
took off at an extremely high rate of speed. When what passes for brains in our 
GCPD's Finest finally kicked in and they started to pursue..." Gordon's voice 
died out, and the senior detective stared off into space. 
 
Bruce and Dicky worried exchanged glances. "What happened then, Jim?" Bruce 
asked. "Jim?" 
 
Gordon shook himself back to awareness. "The Catwoman activated the police 
cruiser's 'Quick Stop Zapper' system." At everyone's blank look, he explained,  
"Each cruiser is equipped with a remote 'Zapper' system. When activated, the 
system remotely sends an electronic signal that can stall the engine of any car. 
We use it as a safe way to put an end to high-speed chases. Cars that have been 
'zapped' just roll to a stop, their engines dead." 
 
They all stared at each other. "So, she got away from you, too?" Dicky asked. At 
Gordon's fierce look, Dicky swallowed and changed the subject. "What happened to 
Joey?"

Gordon made a sour face. "He was being transported in a different car," Gordon 
replied. "His next stop will be Blackgate Prison."

Dicky gave Bard a thoughtful look. "Funny...he could've taken the Witness 
Protection Program and had a new life. Now--"

"--Now he'll have to spend life in prison looking over his shoulder for any of 
Thorne's thugs," Gordon said. "I have a feeling he's going to have a very short 
imprisonment."

"Daddy!" Barbara cried out in shocked disapproval. Gordon and Bard exchanged 
neutral glances, and then burst into laughter at the same time. "Jason!" She 
crossed her arms in pique. "Oh! Men!"

Getting himself under control, Jason spoke placatingly. "Sorry, Gorgeous. Lousy 
joke." His grin belied his contriteness. "But, hey! It's not all bad...We 
recovered the diamonds, didn't we?" Nodding, Gordon held up the bag and tossed 
it at Jason.  
 
"Jase, show us the diamonds," Barbara asked excitedly.

"Yeah," Dicky said, yawning sleepily. "Can we see 'em?"

"I think you need to see the inside of your bedroom, partner," Bruce said, 
shifting Dicky to his lap. 

"I'm not sleepy...honest!" Dicky looked up at Bruce with half-closed eyes. "I'm 
ten now!" Smiling gently, Bruce ran his hand through his adopted son's hair. 
Dicky leaned his head against Bruce's chest.

"Yeah...you sure are, aren't you?" Bruce spoke in low tones, his chin on Dicky's 
dark head.

Smiling Bard opened the bag and began to look through it. Scowling, he took out 
a child-size pair of pajamas, T-shirts, socks and Underoos. Barbara giggled at 
this, while Dicky turned beet-red. 
 
"Hey! That's my bag!" he protested, suddenly wide-awake. Slipping out of Bruce's 
hold, he ran to Bard's side before the federal agent could take out anything 
else that might prove embarrassing. Digging through the bag, Dicky pulled out 
the carved wooden box that Pop Haly had given him for his birthday and smiled 
happily. "Bruce! It's here! Look!" Dicky opened the box and his smile turned to 
one of surprise. Inside, he found a new figurine, one that had not been there 
before--a wooden, carved figure of a tiger. Attached to it was a note:
 
Take care of Sasha for me. 
(From one cat lover to another.) 
Happy Birthday! 
C.W.

"Sasha?" Dicky asked.

"An overgrown housecat," Bard explained. He gave Dicky a look of approval. "It 
seems that Catwoman is entrusting you with the care of her pet tiger, kid. You 
should feel proud." He sighed. "I guess that means she's skipping the country--
with the diamonds!"

"But how?" Barbara asked. "Dicky and I saw her put the case with the diamonds 
inside that larger bag--the one she said she always took on her jobs. And we all 
saw her pull it out and toss it to Joey."

"Yeah, but then, she took it back," Dicky reminded them. "Remember? With her 
whip?" At Barbara's nod, Dicky became thoughtful. "She stuffed the bag with the 
diamonds inside the larger carryall. I remember thinking at the time that the 
carryall looked like it was going to bust at the seams."

Barbara gave Dicky a look of admiration for his deductive reasoning. "Dicky, if 
you're right, then Catwoman must've had your bag stuffed in there already!"

"So, when Joey again got the drop on us--" Dicky began.

"--And again told her to give him the bag with diamonds--" Barbara continued.

"--Catwoman pulled a switch," Bard finished. "What a lousy break!"

"It's not that bad, Bard," Gordon said. "I know you put your life on the line 
for this case. But look at what you've achieved. You broke Thorne's organization 
in this town. I'd say that's cause for celebration, not self-pity."

"That's easy for you say, Captain," Bard retorted. "You've got the use of both 
your legs! What good am I going to be? Do you think the agency will take me 
back? I've seen it all before, and I can see it now. Rewind, play tape: 'Sorry, 
Bard...you've done a great job. Your country is grateful for your service, but 
we're afraid that we no longer have use of your assistance!' Been there, done 
that!"

"Jase, you'll think of something," Barbara said, taking his hand in hers. 

"You still have your brains, don't you, Mr. Bard?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah...so what?"

"So plenty!" Bruce said harshly. "Wayne Enterprises always needs good 
investigators to help with legal matters. Multiply that by the myriad 
corporations located here in Gotham City, not to mention that there are always 
private citizens who have need of a private investigator at different times in 
their lives. Think about it." Bruce turned to Dicky and picked him up. "As for 
you, Birthday Boy...it's time you said good night to everybody!"

"Good night, everybody!" Dicky giggled. Pausing at the door, Bruce again faced 
Bard.

"Mr. Bard, you strike me as an intelligent and resourceful young man. Unless 
you're going to be a quitter, I think that you can make a success out of 
whatever you set out to do." He held Bard's eyes. "Sleep on it, Mr. Bard. If 
you're interested, talk to me about it in the morning. Good night, everybody."

Alfred stepped forward with Gordon and Barbara's coats. "Thank you, Alfred," 
Gordon said. "Barbara and I know our way out."

"Very good, sir. Good night, Miss Barbara."

"Good night, Alfred," Barbara said. She turned shyly to Bard. "Good night, 
Jason."

"Good night, Beautiful," he said disarmingly.

Long after the house had settled for the night, Bard murmured softly to himself, 
"Jason Bard, Private Investigations..." He smiled in the dark. "Has a nice ring 
to it."

****

The End