Free Batman 1 - Batman by Craig Shaw Gardner

sitting in here. Of course, the fact that the Joker personally designed those colorful outfits had a lot to do with their stylishness.
    The Joker grinned at good old Bob, his number-two man, as he explained:
    “Carmine got a little hot under the collar.”
    “You’re insane!” Ricorso shouted. He looked as if he wanted to leave.
    The Joker was quite upset. “Haven’t you heard of the healing power of laughter?”
    He started to laugh all over again.
    “Now, get out of here!” he told Grissom’s goons. “And give it some thought.”
    The joker’s boys escorted the other fellows out. The Joker grabbed a copy of the Globe and waved for Bob to stay behind.
    “Bob,” the Joker spoke tersely, “I want you to take this camera and follow this reporter Knox. Find out what he knows about Batman. You’ve got to learn to use people, Bob.”
    “Yes, sir,” Bob replied. Good old Bob. He always knew exactly the right thing to say.
    Bob left. Everyone was gone now, except for the Joker and the charred corpse of Rotelli. Maybe it was time, the Joker thought, for a little conversation.
    He turned to Rotelli.
    “Your pals, they’re not such bad guys. What do you say we give them a couple of days to come around?”
    He paused. He had to give Rotelli a chance to reply.
    “No?”
    The Joker could hardly believe his ears.
    “Grease them now?”
    Well, if that’s what he wanted.
    “Okay.”
    The Joker shook his head. “You’re a vicious bastard, Rotelli. I’m glad you’re dead.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

    I t had to be in here somewhere. WARNER . . . WATSON . . . WAXMAN was the last folder in the drawer. Where was it?
    A pair of fingers tapped Vicki on the shoulder. She glanced around, right at a manila folder with the title “WAYNE, BRUCE.”
    Allie Knox grinned at her. She grabbed the file from his hands.
    “I’m looking for that.” It was a very thin file.
    “I thought we were a team here.” Knox shook his head. “I’m losing confidence in you—going out with this weirdo.”
    She opened the file. There was hardly anything in here: “Bruce Wayne Attends Society Fund-Raiser”; “Bruce Wayne Gives to New Orphanage.” This sort of filler wasn’t going to tell her a thing she needed to know!
    She had had just about enough. She glared up at Knox. “You’re speaking strictly professionally, right? This wouldn’t be a personal issue for you, would it?”
    “I just want you to do your job,” Knox replied defensively.
    “I am doing my job!” Men! Vicki didn’t know the last time she had been so angry.
    “Me too,” Knox insisted. “I’m protecting my partner. The guy collects weird weapons from Japan! He probably roller-skates through the female population like a bulldozer.”
    Vicki punched the file with her fist. “Where does it say that, Knox? There’s nothing in this file but social puffery. No photos. No history. Nothing. That’s strange! Where’s he get his money? What’s he do all day? Who is he?”
    She flung the file angrily to the floor and stormed from the room.
    “Who cares?” Knox called out after her.
    She did, Vicki realized as she slammed the door behind her. She cared very, very much.
    She would wait forever if she had to. She had parked a block away from Wayne Manor. Sooner or later, something would happen. She had that same feeling she had gotten sometimes, taking pictures in Corto Maltese, just before all hell broke loose.
    Who was Bruce Wayne? If she hadn’t been so upset when she first looked at his file at the Globe, she would have realized something was really wrong. But she had put it down to sloppy filing at the morgue, or maybe Allie Knox keeping one or two choice pieces for himself.
    It was only when she pursued her other contacts—a sports reporter (once a college sweetheart) who worked for the rival Gotham Herald, and an evening news anchorwoman who she’d become friendly with during her years in fashion photography—that she stopped thinking of the lack of publicity as