Chapter Three: Arkham
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
I had been tired after leaving the crime scene the night before. Too tired to carry out what needed to be done at the lab, I am ashamed to admit, but also too eager to get back to deciphering the poem. So, when I’d arrived at Lucius’s lab with my prize, and found the man busy at his work (assumedly carrying out the various services I’d previously requested of him), I inquired if it mightn’t be too much trouble to add another task to the list. He obliged, of course. Thusly, I left the fingerprints I had collected with him and headed back home to Alfred. Tired as I was, I still had a puzzle to solve.
Upon my arrival back at Wayne Manor, Alfred and I returned to our little scribblings and attempted to work out the details of the Joker’s next moves.
“Remind me again, Master Wayne, what are we lookin’ fer now?”
His question had come too late, however, as I’d already found what I needed, and it was not at all helpful. “Damn it all! He’s done this on purpose!”
“Oye! Wouldja let me keep up first!”
“6pm, Alfred. We were looking for a six, but there are two possible answers. In line one, we have both six words and six syllables. So we still don’t know which is meant to indicate the proper time.”
“Ah, hmm… well, but it ain’t nuffin’ to go on. It still helps narrow it down, yeah?”
I studied the numbers again, my vision wavering slightly from tiredness. Ever the optimist, the old man had a point. It was more to go on than we’d had before, at the very least. It did seem to indicate the first line of a paragraph, so it likely applied to the next murders as well.
“I suppose that’s true,” I relented, “so then that leaves us with the following: These are the only two sixes, so we know the first line to be true. For the next line… I believe, as there are four murders to be carried out, and four separate parts to the poem, we’re looking to the first line of the second part.”
“Line five…?”
“Correct you are, Alfred. So that would make it either 11pm or 7pm for the second killing; 10pm or 8pm for the third; 7pm or 4pm for the last.
“You’re sure? What if it’s A.M.?”
“It could very well be, but I have an inkling he knows I only come out after dark. Still, we’ll have to tell Gordon to be on alert at all four possible times.” I scanned my notes again, and jotted down a few more. “We’re still left with a bunch of possible dates as well, I’m afraid.”
“Six possible dates and three planned murders. Could be worse.”
According to what we’d come up with, that left April the 10th, 11th, 14th, 17th, 20th, and the 21st. It appeared the Joker liked a bit of a guessing game, despite how meticulous he’d been in plotting all of the other details. Either that, or I was still missing something, but I hadn’t supposed as much.
With a sigh of frustration, I stood up from my chair at the kitchen table and moved away.
“Good night, old chap. I’ve had enough for this evening.”
“‘Night, Master Wayne.”
My mind, unfortunately, hadn’t had enough, however, and indeed I spent the better part of the evening unable to sleep as a consequence. The Batman couldn’t be present at all the times this poem dictated that I need be, and to risk showing up as Bruce Wayne was to potentially put myself in even greater unnecessary danger.
After many sleepless hours, I had changed my mind that my meeting with Gordon could no longer wait until the morrow. As fate would have it, however, that was the exact instance before I finally fell asleep. Funny, that.
From the official police records of James Gordon, Police Commissioner of Gotham City
Case No: HS 04/06/40/3324
Incident: Murder
Reporting Officer: Cptn. James Gordon Date: Apr. 6, 1940
At approximately 1800 hours on April 5th, we got the call about the mayor. I had been with him for most of the day, but finally ran back to the office for an hour of peace and quiet (and some dinner, first meal of the day). Lousy timing. He still had six officers with him at the time, and I figured… no, “hoped” it’d be enough. The poison he ingested was mixed into his whiskey bottle. Nothing anyone could have done once he poured himself a glass and took a swig. By all accounts, sounds like cyanide. Although, it’ll be another day or so until we get the toxicology reports. I’m glad I wasn’t there. I’m no big fan of Klass, but no one deserves that kind of excruciatingly painful end. Took him a good ten minutes before his last breath, I’m told.
As we already know, this was the work of the Joker. He never even had to show himself. This was planned out far in advance, and likely he’s working with someone who was able to get in close without arousing Klass’ s suspicions. That’s scary as all hell. This Joker maniac could have friends in high places, and if that’s the case, there’s no telling what could be in store for his next victims.
When I arrived on scene, Klass was beyond saving. Glass was nowhere to be found, as had been the case all day. I told Loeb he would take a back seat ordering folks around rather than actually putting himself in the thick of it, but hey, what do I know? Paramedics were standing around not knowing what to do with themselves. I didn’t want to hear any of the horror stories, I just searched the area as best I could. I ordered the men to do the same. We covered bookshelves, his work desk, behind wall paintings, you name it. All I found was a joker card in one of the desk drawers, another taunting message written in black ink. “NOW the game begins!”
I know I’m never gonna hear the end of this, so let’s get it out of the way already. The Batman showed up when I got there. Exactly as the Joker intended, he took the bait. So now we have him to deal with again. And yeah, I let him onto the scene. I was too curious to see what he knew. And despite what the rest of the force may think of him, I was there the night he took down Crane. I think his heart is in the right place, even if his head’s a bit up in the clouds. And you can ask anyone, he delivered again. He says the next murders will take place on the 10th, 11th, and 14th.
I’m not an idiot. I know Loeb is gonna keep tight-lipped on all of this madness so long as he’s next on the Joker’s hitlist. As soon as he deems himself safe, he’ll turn around and say the Batman only knows this stuff because he’s working with the Joker. I may not have any evidence to the contrary, but neither is there any for it. So Loeb, if you miraculously get around to reading this, you can take the complaints against my actions and shove ‘em. Nabbing the Batman is secondary to our main goal here. Tertiary, even. We can deal with him after we catch this scumbag. In the meantime, I refuse to give orders for his arrest. He may be able to supply us with more valuable information on this case.
From the audio logs of Dr. Hugo Strenj
Strenj: This is Doctor Hugo Strenj of Arkham Asylum, audiolog number seventeen. April the sixth, nineteen forty.
Today we are examining Mister Julian Day. How are you my bald fellow?
Day: Takes one to know one, doctor.
Strenj: Ahahahaha! Oh, indeed! Julian and I have formed quite a bond over the past weeks. You see, I hadn’t yet begun recording these logs when I’d first met with him, but Julian orchestrated a series of murders around Gotham in the early 1930s. Unfortunately for our friend, he suffers from a rather severe case of obsessive compulsion, and it wasn’t long before his increasingly obvious patterns caused him to be apprehended. What was it they called you, Julian?
Day: The Calendar Killer, or some such, I believe.
Strenj: Oh, right, right, right. You had a bit of a ritual with days of the week, am I correct?
Day: I only killed on Fridays and Saturdays………. Sunday-Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday.
Strenj: Ah, you see? Still battling the disease, but making great strides every day! I must say, I have been impressed with your dedication to getting better.
Day: Yes, well… it’s been a long road, Doctor. I do appreciate all the help I’ve been given along the way. Much better than living in Blackgate.
Strenj: Of course it is. I can only imagine how awful it must have been for you, all the while suffering with this despicable illness. It’s simply monstrous. But now you are here, and we can finally help you on your journey towards recovery.
Day: And hopefully, one day, freedom as well.
Strenj: Ohoho, heavens, no! I’m afraid such a thing is simply impossible for you. But worry not! I am here to make life as comfortable as is feasible. You shan’t need for anything, I do so solemnly promise.
Day: Yes, well, I suppose there’s that.
Strenj: Please forgive me, Julian, I had no inclination that you were still under the impression that you might one day be released. You must understand, even if you were to be cured, the systems in place would never allow for a killer of your magnitude to reintegrate into society. It’s simply asking too much! You do understand, do you not?
Day: Perhaps. However, you yourself must surely realize that, given these circumstances, you’re likely to be met with quite a lot of resistance towards a path of recovery from those sharing my fate. What, after all, is the point?
Strenj: Indeed, what is the point of any of it, when all is said and done? In this life, Julian, we find those things that both amuse and consume us. These are the mysteries of life itself, the things surrounding us that capture our attention and take hold of our imaginations! That, my good fellow, is the very point of it all. And in so helping you to recover, I shall help you to cleanse your mind and to open your soul up to discovering that which you yearn to latch onto! The very things that will give new meaning to your life!
Day: I see. And, well, what if that which I yearn for - the thing that empowers me to live - is simply to kill? To murder… I suppose that would mean you’ve instead robbed me of my life’s little amusements, yes?
Strenj: I… er, uh… yes… yes, I suppose it would. But it is of no matter, for I know that somewhere residing deep down inside of you, there remain multiple curiosities that we’ve yet to unlock. Help me, Julian, and I shall promise to continue along with you on this journey of self discovery!
Day: Doctor, please. How naive do you think I am? We live on opposite sides of this societal threshold. The path towards righteousness cannot possibly lie on both sides of the fence, as it were.
Strenj: No, but I can help you to find it!
Day: As to that, we shall see, doctor. I’m afraid I grow tired. May I go now?
Strenj: Why, certainly! You need only ask. I appreciate our time together, as always. Please, let us postpone this chat to another time when you are feeling better.
Day: Mm. Until we meet again, doctor.
Strenj: And many happy tomorrows to you, dear Julian.
-
-
-
What an utterly pretentious fool. I do so hate that devious scoundrel. Oh… confound it all, forgot to turn off this blasted -
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
And so, very early the next morning, I headed back to the lab to examine Lucius’s findings.
‘Morning, Lucius. Were you able to get two samples of each print, as I requested?”
“Indeed, I did, Mister Wayne. They’re on the table over there.”
I nodded in thanks and made my way over to the two identical pairs of seven sets of fingerprints. Collecting the samples on the tape had only been the first part of the fingerprinting process, as the act in which Mr. Fox had carried out was known as the iodine fuming process. This process involves the absorption of iodine vapor via the latent fingerprint deposits, imposing a brownish imprint upon a more solid material such as paper, plastic, or porcelain. The iodine reacts with one’s oils from their skin, to put it simply.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The process itself is rather easy, actually. One only needs a fuming chamber - typically a glass bottle or container, and a spoonful of iodine crystals. Placing the crystals in the chamber, one must then throw in the collected oil specimen, and then place the material you wish to imprint the image onto at the opening of the bottle. After only a few short minutes you will have your embedded prints.
“And how many individuals did these belong to?” I asked.
“They’re all one and the same. Either the bottle was thoroughly rubbed down before this person handled it, or you chose poorly when transferring from the glass. My question to you is… is that good news, or bad?”
“Bad, I’m afraid.” The prints likely all belonged to the mayor. I would still give a set of them to Gordon, in case he had a database to run them through. For myself, however, it seemed I was to begin my own personal library with this set of a dead man’s.
“Sorry to hear that. Anything else I can do?” Lucius asked helpfully.
“Unfortunately, not at this time. My next step will be to find out what the good Captain discovered from the toxicology labs.”
“Right back to the beginning, then.”
“Not exactly,” I had yet to divulge our findings about the dates and times, but knew now was no better a time, as I needed to get to the grand opening event for the Asylum on the double. “I promise to fill you in later, but I’m afraid I must take my leave at once.”
“Fair enough. Don’t let me keep you.”
I had wanted then to ask how far along he had gotten with my requested upgrades, but decided instead to focus on matters relating to Bruce Wayne for the moment. It was going to be another long afternoon, after all.
From the official police records of James Gordon, Police Commissioner of Gotham City
Black Book
Incident: Departmental complaints
Reporting Officer: Cptn. James Gordon Date: Apr. 6, 1940
I’ve been informed I’m being written up with a warning for an offense of some sort involving the Batman. I have nothing to say about it other than READ MY REPORT OR GO TO HELL.
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
The Arkham Asylum opening event was rather crowded when I arrived. What was worse - and I might add, unexpected - was that there were groups of protesters in attendance. Some disliked the idea that these criminals might be getting a bit of a free ride, and it was perceived that this new facility was to be somewhat luxurious in comparison to Black Gate prison. Others, to my own personal misfortune, were there for the very reasons that Miss Vale had warned me about. One might suspect that these two groups, being under entirely opposite impressions of the situation, might look at one another and deduce that perhaps one of them were misinformed, and thus it would be to everyone’s advantage to wait until the question and answering period began. One would be wrong in that assessment.
I dodged my fair share of debris being thrown at me on my way up to the front of the crowds. People were screaming and yelling angrily from every side of me. The police were present, but they were having a difficult time of it as they worked to calm everyone. When I finally managed to butt my way to the small stage, I was greeted by the unhelpful hands of the deputy mayor as he promptly ignored my arrival. I cannot recall his name, at the moment. Nor did any of his companions attempt to help me up to the platform either. Also beside the deputy mayor stood the asylum’s director, a Mr. Jeremiah Amadeus, and a mostly bald fellow I had previously not seen before. This peculiar man wore a long white jacket, so it was easy to presume that he was one of the facility’s psychiatric doctors.
In an attempt to keep my composure and regain my bearings, I jaunted over to the director, who I’d had a part in hiring, and held out my hand to shake his.
“Jeremiah, so good to see you,” I smiled in greeting.
“Way-” Amadeus turned to accept my hand, but swayed and stumbled into the deputy mayor. Alas, it appeared the allegations regarding Jeremiah’s alcoholism indeed had merit, after all.
“And I…” the deputy mayor had to stop himself from falling forward off of the stage. “For the love of - can you stand straight for any length of time, man?!” he complained. Evidently, this was not the first time the director had been an annoyance this afternoon.
“Hic… Wayne,” Mr. Amadeus ignored the man’s rudeness, grasping my hand within his own and laying a rather generous amount of his weight upon my arm as he attempted to steady himself.
“Are you quite alright, my good sir?” I inquired as casually as I could.
“Fine, fine! Isn’t it a lovely… hic…” he swayed as his breath caught in his chest.
“Now, you see, Director?” the balding doctor reached out and steadied the inebriated man. “The weather has gotten the better of you, as I have been saying. I would implore you, please, go and lie down and leave the impending questions to yours truly. I shan't disappoint you!”
“You’re right… I’m so sorry, Mr. Wayne. Hic!” Amadeus walked unsteadily away.
“Do feel better, my good man,” I murmured sympathetically. He stumbled to and fro across to the back of the stage where one of the nurses was waiting to help him down the steps.
“My apologies,” the doctor returned his attention to me then. “I am Doctor Hugo Strenj. I hope it’s alright if I fill in for my friend for the remainder of the afternoon.” His thick German accent seeped through every syllable, the words over pronounced and somewhat lyrical. I regarded him now, eyes almost hidden behind a pair of the thickest tinted bifocals I had ever seen.
“Bruce Wayne,” I shook hands with him.
“Your reputation precedes you, my dear benefactor. I have been looking forward to meeting you for quite some time.”
“Mm, yes, you’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t recall ever seeing your name amongst those who were to be working here.” It was a very rare occasion for something so important to have slipped my mind.
“But of course, I have only just arrived a few weeks past. Our good director was searching for a Chief Psychiatrist to help manage with the day-to-day activities, and when I heard that Gotham was to open such a wonderful facility, I jumped at the chance to relocate here.”
“Indeed. Where was it you’re from, might I -” I was cut off as the ceremony had finally started, and the deputy mayor began his rousing introductions of the staff and financiers in attendance. From there, I was called to the stand, and in quite a fashion, thrown directly to the wolves.
“Mister Wayne, what do you have to say to the allegations that the facility isn’t meeting the most basic building code standards?”
“What about the patient abuse allegations?”
“We literally just saw the director stumble off stage in a drunken stupor, are you telling me you had no idea this was going on?”
“Exactly what kind of role did you play in the hiring process?!” (This was Vicky’s question, if I am not mistaken).
“Is it true you’ve been in a romantic relationship with the journalist who wrote that article about you a couple months back?” (This was absolutely not Vicky’s question, as she had slunken away).
Those are just the ones I can remember, off the top of my head. They came at me in a whirry, and though I made numerous attempts to respond, I was quickly cut off by another reporter, and then another and another.
“QUIET!” Strenj lept to my aid, yelling so loudly as to startle the crowd into a rather stunned silence. “How DARE you all throw such ludicrous and vile accusations at a man who merely helped secure the funding of our institution! Mister Wayne has absolutely no hand in overseeing the daily operations, nor could he possibly have any knowledge of the accusations that have plagued us these last few weeks. If it’s answers you want, then I beg of you, direct your allegations at me!”
“And who are you?” someone piped up.
“I am Doctor Hugo Strenj, Chief Psychiatrist of Gotham’s Arkham Asylum, humbly at your service.”
“The guy everyone’s been saying has been conducting weird experiments?” another voice chimed in.
“Oho,” Hugo laughed, “please, my methods are neither harmful or untested. I simply approach my subjects in a very informal style of interview. It allows me to gain their trust in a naturalistic and non-judgmental manner, so that they might be more forthcoming with their thoughts and feelings, and so that I might better come to understand their motives for the crimes they have allegedly perpetrated. Indeed, the only outlandish thing about it would be the unfounded claims that have been lodged against me and my fellow doctors.”
“And the abuse allegations?”
“Rumors, simply rumors. You see, there are forces within government and law enforcement who seek to discredit us in any way they can. Police officers and their superiors who have been personally wronged by our patients, and who want nothing more than to see them back in Black Gate Prison to rot in a cell for the rest of their natural lives. Politicians who rely on imprinting fear upon the masses, so that they can quash those fears and gain the trust of the public. These are the forces at play, and we should not lend credence to their lies!”
“What about the code violations?”
“We are nothing if not pragmatic in our dealings with all safety regulations. This is an old building, and yes, it has taken time to improve its foundations, but we have continuously been working towards augmenting each and every area and we continue to do so now as well. Fire codes have been adhered to, security and clearance is not an issue, professional training has been properly conducted across all staff levels… What more can you ask of us?”
The good doctor was quick. Perhaps rather ‘too’ quick, as though his ripostes had been well rehearsed ahead of time. However, at least for the time being, I had been thoroughly grateful for his humble assistance, and listened carefully as he proceeded to allay the crowd’s concerns. The man had defended me, and willingly put himself in my place to alleviate my own troubles in managing this boisterous mob, so why shouldn’t I be impressed? There was, unfortunately, something that bothered me about the fellow, however. And even though I could not quite place it, the feeling gnawed at me every time I looked upon him. Something about the look of him, the sound of him, the very aura surrounding him… was off. Even so, I did my utmost to ignore it for the time being, for I knew that at present, it was Jeremiah Amadeus who was the greater problem.
One thing was for sure, though: I knew that henceforth, I would have to insist upon taking a greater role in the development of Arkham Asylum and all matters having to do with it.
When things had finally settled down and the crowds had left the premises, I was able to chat with Strenj again for a brief few moments.
“I was going to ask, before we were interrupted, where was it that you hail from, Doctor?”
“Germany. Berlin, to be more exact.”
“Ah, and pray, what prompted your move to the United States?” I further inquired.
“Oh, you see, it was a bit of a nasty business. I furthered my studies in Poland and began working there shortly after. As you likely know, the Germans invaded late last year, and I was determined to get as far away from the fighting as I could.”
“A very long way away from it,” I remarked.
“Yes, I do so hate violence, Mister Wayne. And for such terrible events to come so soon after the Great War, it is all such a shame.” He took off his glasses and wiped them ruefully on his shirt.
“Indeed.”
“Perhaps better days are on the horizon, but until then, we must focus upon our life’s work.”
“On that matter, I was wondering if you might indulge me on a tour of the facility? It’s been a while since I saw the place, and I’m immensely curious about the advancements that have been made.”
“Of course! I would love to!” the doctor gushed.
“Wonderful, how about now?” I persisted.
“Oh,” he paused. “Erm, you see, while I would love to now, it is not really a good time. I have so many patients to see, and now I must see to our good director as well. I’m afraid we’re not prepared for visitors of your, uh… prestige.”
“Mm,” I noised, “ a shame. Truly, your performance for the press has me absolutely riveted to see your accomplishments.”
“And see them you shall! Worry not, my good friend, when the time is right, we would be happy to show you more. I implore you, give me a call and we will make a proper schedule,” he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small business card. I took it from him and pretended to read it with fascination.
“I look forward to it, Herr Strenj. I only request that we don’t leave it hanging too long.”
“Of course, of course! I bid you adieu, my good sir.”
From the audio logs of Dr. Hugo Strenj
Strenj: This is Doctor Hugo Strenj of Arkham Asylum, audiolog number nineteen. April the sixth, nineteen forty.
It seems our subject, doctor Crane, has once again been displaying some rather difficult behavior, and will not be joining us for our scheduled session today.
I was so looking forward to getting to know him more, and to learn of his thoughts on his crimes. And, of course, to ask him about his encounter with this Batman figure. Oh, I am so excited at the prospect, I can hardly contain myself. How is this Batman able to fend off an entire squadron of policemen? How, as it is purported, can one such as he take bullets to his person, and not succumb to such injuries? What drove him so desperately to withstand such trials, all so that he could capture Jonathan Crane? I am simply shivering with anticipation!
But alas, this must wait. I cannot afford to poke and prod about the Batman until I have gained Jonathan’s trust. It will take time… and time is a luxury I am running short upon. Quandaries, I tell you!
This has been Hugo Strenj, signing off.
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
I met with the Commissioner up on the rooftops of the GCPD headquarters. Something told me Jim would be working late tonight, given the growing seriousness of the situation with the Joker killings. My inclination was correct, and I found him at his usual place, smoking absentmindedly into the steady winds. It had been a while since I had hazarded meeting with him here, as it was exceedingly difficult to avoid being seen in the streets in full costume, even despite the diminishing cars on the roads as the hours dwindled on. With luck, this would be the last time I would need to for a while, as I’d been working on something that would aid our communication issues.
“I know when the Joker plans his next strike,” I spoke low with my usual rasp.
Gordon jumped at that, “Jesus!” He turned around to face me, “Quit doing that!” He took a moment to compose himself and lit another cigarette, as he had seemingly dropped the first one when I’d frightened him. “April 10th, right? You got a time?”
“It’s either 7pm or 11pm.”
“Heh,” the Captain breathed from his cigarette, “narrows it down a little.” I couldn’t blame him for being somewhat disappointed, but it was far more than we’d had before.
“Did you find out where Loeb will be that evening?” I inquired.
“Fundraising event at City Hall. Starts at 6… I’m told these things go well into the night. Actually, into the morning, is what Loeb said.”
A crowded event, exactly what I’d feared. Easier for the Joker or his accomplices to create a distraction, and to conceal themselves while doing so. Worse still, there was a possibility of turning bystanders into victims.
“Should we get them to cancel it?” Jim asked.
“No.”
“You think there’s a mole in my department, don’t you?” his brows furrowed.
“I’m not disregarding the possibility. However, I want to draw him out. If we avoid the event completely, I lose that chance.”
“We could fake it,” he suggested.
“If you have any plausible way that can be achieved in mind, I’m all ears.” I wasn’t going to get a proper reply to that.
“Damnit…”
“This could be our only chance to catch him, Jim.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m next on his little list.”
“Don’t worry about that. He’s not going to get you, we’ll make sure of it.”
“Hah, glad one of us is so sure.” He sucked in deeply from the smoke again, held it, and reluctantly relinquished the fumes from his lungs with an audible sigh. “It’s not just the Commissioner we’re putting at risk here, it’s everyone in attendance at City Hall that night. This could be a fucking bomb, for all we know.”
“The Joker wouldn’t bother with that this time.”
“And how in the hell would you know that?”
“It would ruin his game,” I replied, almost recoiling into myself at the realization that I was starting to truly understand this villain and how his mind worked. All of this, everything he’d set up for me, was all a test. He wanted to see how far he could stretch me. Physically, mentally, willfully; he had put everything in place to see what I was made of. Why? I hadn’t yet a clue, but it was evidently the most important thing to him now. He wouldn’t dare throw it all away for an easy jump to the endgame. He was more than willing to cheat the rules, but not at the expense of failing in his main aim. I was the key component in this entire contest.
“And just for one second, stop and consider if you’re wrong.”
“I have, and I’m staking my life on it. I’ll be there, you can count on it.”
He stared long and hard into my eyes. Beneath the mask, they likely revealed very little, but in the end it seemed he’d been convinced anyway. He nodded slightly and leaned back on the rail of the ledge. “I suppose you’re wondering about the toxicology reports from the coroners.” When I did not reply he continued, “Cyanide. 450 milligrams.”
The lethal dosage of cyanide was 250mg, and when mixed with alcohol the effects would have been dulled. Thus, it was a substantial amount that had been added to the bottle, ensuring the man’s demise.
I grabbed a new contraption that had been attached to my utility belt and handed it to him.
“What’s that?”
“A handheld talking device. These meetings are getting too precarious. From now on, if you need to alert me, speak into it. I have it locked to the proper channel.”
When I’d given up being the Batman, I had continued to tinker with the radioing mechanisms I had used to intercept police chatter. This one had been an experimental prototype that hadn’t quite gone anywhere, and actually, had been abandoned before completion. On the night I’d last visited Jim on his balcony, I had the idea that it could be used between us in times when we could not afford to meet in person. As such, I made a few further adjustments and it was ready as a two-way communication instrument.
“...You sonuva bitch! That’s what you meant when you said you were always listening the other night, isn’t it? You’ve got some sort of -”
“I’ll be in touch, Jim,” we hadn’t the time for his mindless meanderings, and he knew it. I handed him the sets of prints I’d collected. “For your records, they belong to the late mayor alone.”
“You’re gonna get me fired! Or worse, imprisoned!” he grabbed them absent-mindedly while continuing his complaints.
There was no sneaking away from this rendezvous, so I meekly allowed him to watch as I made my exit off the side of the roof as he stared in outrage.
“I’m talkin’ to you! This conversation is NOT done! You hear me?”
I very much begged to differ.