The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

75

The cold breeze has just begun to set into my bones when I sense a presence behind me, a set of eyes on my back. I suppress a satisfied smile. My hair catches on the light wind, more pronounced up here.

Voice laced with irony, the Batman says, "You called?"

I turn my head, first to the huge spotlight the Joker assured me would be present when I got here—which I not so subtlety draped a corpse over to resemble a bat figure—-and then to Batman himself. It's like he's crafted from the very darkness around us, no more than a shadow turned solid. I can barely make out the points of his ears, the stern jaw beneath his cowl.

"Yes," I say. "I called."

He's silent a moment. "Turning yourself in?"

"Me? Of course not. But if you go down to the vault, you'll find six henchmen... eight," I correct myself, suddenly remembering the Scarecrow's men, "with duffel bags full of gold."

Batman's indecipherable. "Thanks for the tip."

"You're welcome." I cross my arms over my chest and wait.

Finally, he sighs. "You want credit in the papers? A new vigilante?"

"No."

"Good, because I work alone."

"So do I." I narrow my eyes and take a step forward. "But I want to help. And you need me."

He asks, "Do I?"

"Yes. When was the last time you successfully caught a villain?" When he doesn't answer, I press on. "Would you know how to even find one?"

Drily, he says, "Looks like there's one stood right in front of me."

I shake my head. "I don't have the time or patience. But I do have connections. I could reach almost anybody in Gotham, for you."

He thinks it over for a moment. "And what do you want in return?"

"Protection," I lie. "I don't want credit. No papers. Only a safe Gotham."

He asks, "Why?"

My hands curl into fists. I can't lie to him about this. There's no faking that kind of pain, that kind of rage. "I lost people I care about," I say quietly. "Now... This is all I have left."

Silence hangs before us. Below, Gotham continues to live. Police sirens ring out from blocks away, people walk through the streets, store lights and apartments become small yellow squares in my peripheral vision.

Batman finally speaks. "The men in the vault, are they alive?"

I shrug. "When you see the size of their machine guns, you'll understand." He shakes his head slowly, and I continue. "This is why we need each other. I can't bring them to justice without it ending in a shoot-out, and you can't bring them to justice without finding them."

Batman says, "Tell me your name."

I raise an eyebrow. "Tell me yours."

He nods. "Point taken."

I hold out a hand. "Unkindness."

He takes it and gives a firm shake. "Batman."

"I'll be in touch."

He frowns. "How will I find you?"

"Like I said, I'll be in touch."

I make to leave, but he stops me with one very firm arm across my chest. "You're going to just walk out of the bank?"

"You have a better idea?" I ask.

My question was rhetorical, but he says, "You asked for protection. Hold on."