Bats Ablaze, 1 of 2

Bats Ablaze

Who woulda thunk it? I mean, you see 'the Bat' come swoopin' down on you and you think, ‘that's it, I'm done, plain and simple. Just cuz Gotham's cops are startin' to slack on the marijuana crimes doesn't mean old Bats doesn't give a fuck anymore. No way, he's a hard-ass, right?

So he lands noiselessly, cape floating about as if it has a mind of its own. Serious shit.

"Hugo Jueroux," he says my name in this gritty voice like twenty-six miles of dirt-road, his hand lightly but firmly on my shoulder. If he knows my name, he's got some twisted shit in mind for me, I know this. I can't say anything. "You sell marijuana…" he leads. What can I say? I have a bag of primo grass in a bag in my pocket right now and some 'pre-rolled joints' – P.R.J’s if you’re in the know- for Gotham's 'high' rollers, not to mention eight almost full-grown plants in my basement. "You sell marijuana and you grow marijuana in your home," he continues as if reading my mind. His hand tightens on my shoulder. I can't deny any of this, it's my occupation and I do damned well.

"Well, Hugo" he continues with that grim voice of his, "what do you have to say for yourself?"

You know that if you sell herb or do anything illegal in Gotham, and you do it as long as I have (three years now) eventually your bound to get your ass kicked by the Bat right? All my friends like to tease me when we get high, ask me about what I'm going to say when this dude busts down my door. 'Cross that bridge when I come to it', was my response, and now here I am, except it looks like it's more like 'get tossed off that bridge when he throws me off it' as Bats picks me up by the back of my belt and we fire off into the night sky.

At this point my throat finally unlocks as my disbelieving eyes look down at the streets now so far below us. "Hey man," I whimper, "look, it’s not like I sell coke to school-kids…" Jesus, this dude can move! We're booking it across town way faster than I could make it in a car, way faster. Dude swings around like he's Spiderman or something. "It's not like it's heroin or anything," I sputter, "Christ's sake, it's just weed Bats, it comes from the Earth!"

"You don't want to distract me Hugo," he advises me coldly, "if I get distracted I might drop you." He’s right. I don’t want to disturb him.

You know, the unconfirmed lowdown on the Bat is that he doesn't kill anybody, it's part of some code of his or something. But let me tell you, if you heard him say those words to you, you heard the even, icy tone of his voice, man, it's like you’re already dead.

When you find yourself hoisted like a rag-doll around town by a costumed crime-fighter, it really forces you to evaluate your existence. Thing is, even then I really felt like what I was doing wasn't such a bloody awful thing! It's just herbage, it's like a billion times less evil than cigarettes, and far less addictive than coffee! Produces happy-fun feelings instead of the murderous rage that alcohol can put people in! Goddamn.

We swoop really low and I have time for two thoughts, one: how is his arm not getting tired? And two: does he see this upcoming light post? I'm sure we're going to hit it but it's at that point that we've reached the lowest point it the arc and are now careening upward, towards who knows what. Guy is a goddamned lunatic! Just like that, the Bat lets go of the tether-line and we both somersault through the air, nothing holding us to anything. We're dead, this guy…

All of a sudden we're grounded. I'm skidding face down on a gravel-topped roof, and of course old Bats landed with perfect athletic grace. I finally open my eyes and all I can see are those big kick-ass dark-blue boots he wears.

He picks me up, and before I know what I'm doing I take a swing at him. It's all this adrenaline shit coursing through my veins after that little swing session, I mean I thought I was going to die! I instantly regret this, as Bats so effortlessly blocks me with one hand, and all of a sudden I'm on my knees and my wrist is in agony. He has me in some crazy hold, and he's only using two fingers. What the hell was I thinking?!?

"You don't want to try that again," he informs me through gritted teeth. "Do you know how many of you guys try to take a poke at me? Do you?" For a second he tightens his hold on my wrist and I'm sure he's gonna break it. I'm ashamed of the girly squeal I make, a sound I would never have imagined could come from me. He relaxes the hold a little, but not much.

"Before you try that again, you understand something: it's my job to be able to handle punks like you. It's what I do!" He sighs exasperatedly and drops my arm, which limply flops to the gravel beside me. "How many fights you been in," he asks me, "in your life?"

"Uh, three…four maybe?" I'm not much of a fighter, really.

"Three or four?" he responds incredulously, "I get in three or four fights every night of my life!

What makes you think you can just take a swing at me? You know, I would say four out of every ten criminals I get ahold of try to take a swing at me and every one of them as weak as your little attempt!"

"Is that so?" I respond from my prone position.

"I barely break a sweat these days," he reflects, sounding almost human for the first time. " Not like the old days, the early days, let me tell you. Used to be about seven out of ten. I guess you get a reputation…street creds, you know," its almost like he’s talking to himself. "Anyway, get up Hugo, we're going to have a little talk, and I warn you, a second swing at me and I put you in the hospital. Do you understand that?" All cold again.

"Sure," I respond, getting up slowly. "I only took a swing at you because I was in shock from that cross-town swing we just did." He sighed just then, as if he hadn’t thought of that. I looked him in the face, or tried to. He saw me looking and tilted his head downwards, masking his face in darkness.

"I've been watching you, Hugo Jueroux." Great. Special attention from the Bat. "First time I saw you, you were selling this 'weed' to a lawyer. Do you know his name?”

"No," I lied uneasily.

"I don't believe you," he responds and his head dips lower as he steps towards me. "I can tell when people are lying to me, you know. In a million different little ways…"

"Okay fine," I respond, not anxious to be involved with another one of his wrist-locks, "I lied because he's a good friend of mine, and the bottom line is, if you’re going after him you’re going to have to beat his name out of me, because I don’t want my friend going through the same kind of shit I just went through!" Am I shouting at this guy? Aren’t I vastly smarter than that?

“Jacob Hannah,” is all he says, which is my buddy’s name, by the way. That shuts me up. “I know his name because…” Bats turns away and looks at the moon, “he’s my friend too. One of the brightest and most decent men I’ve ever met and a hell of a lawyer, hell of a future.” Bats turns and surveys the city as I strive to understand what he has just said. “So, you know what I did? I followed you. I followed you home and the next day I followed you to school.”

“Holy shit!” is my unscholarly response, “when?”

“Doesn’t matter and don’t interrupt me.” I nod immediately. “I followed you all the way to Gotham University, thinking you were going out there to hook a bunch of innocent students the same way you hooked Jacob…” I open my mouth to protest but decide against it, suspecting it might cost me a couple teeth. “I couldn’t have been more surprised to see you actually enter a class, sit down and start taking notes.”

Bats peers down into an alleyway below us as a couple of shifty looking dudes enter it and start hangin around. He wheeled around at looked at me, his cape whirling protectively around him.

“I watched you for that whole hour, Hugo. You were not only attending class but you were taking part, asking and answering questions, the whole she-bang.” He turns around again and looks at the thugs in the alley.

“Can I speak?” I ask somewhat timidly, looking down at my feet. He doesn’t respond, so I risk it. “I do my homework and I pay attention and participate in class because its too boring to be in there and not get involved, not know what’s going on. It’s a waste of time…”

I look up at him only to discover that he’s nowhere to be seen. Where the hell did he go?

I step cautiously towards the edge of the building, every step making a crunchy sound on the gravel roof-top and peer down. One thug is out cold, spread-eagle on the pavement and Bats has the other guy off his feet and up against a brick wall, telling him some kind of dark shit, no doubt. Fleeing the scene is an old-lady with her purse in a death-grip. When Bats is done saying whatever he was saying he head-butts this guy into the brick-wall behind him, knocks this dude out too, who quickly crumbles like a sack of dirt. Bats quickly and efficiently cuffs both thugs together then launches his tether-line somewhere and rockets off. Did he forget me? How the fuck do I get off this roof?

I start trudging towards a little structure with a door on the far side of the roof-top. I try the handle and the door’s locked. Great, I think to myself, fucking guy’s abandoned me.

To be concluded....