Sanctity of Sundays

While Gotham's latest threat takes it easy, the everyday lot are hard at work.

Wayne Manor, May 2nd, 9:01 a.m.

 

Something was ringing.

 

Something I desperately wanted to pummel.

 

Reluctantly, my hand reached over and felt for the phone. After knocking the alarm clock onto the floor, I managed to locate and retrieve the ringing threat, all the while, my head buried beneath the blankets. In a raspy voice, I answered, “Yes.”

 

“Did I wake you?” a familiar voice replied.

 

Despite the fact I was exhausted, I smiled softly, “No, been up since the crack of dawn.”

 

“That’s a crock, bet you didn’t get to bed before four.”

 

“Five,” I corrected before clearing my throat. She laughed softly as I sat up in bed, a smile forming on my lips as a vision of her face formed in my mind. Endless green eyes that could captivate or threaten you within seconds of one another. Thick, wavy black hair that reached the middle of her back after four months of growing it out. Long, nimble fingers topped off with shaped and sharpened fingernails often painted a light shade of lavender. “What time is it?”

 

“Little after nine,” Selina Kyle muttered, “Are you concussed?”

 

“Not that I know of.”

 

She laughed softly, “That says a lot. Well, now that I know you are fresh out of bed, it would be safe to assume that you have yet to eat.”

 

I pushed the blankets aside and rose slowly, my form still half asleep, “That would be correct. But I generally try to avoid eating this early in the morning.”

 

“Fine by me. You can watch me eat.”

 

“What?” I questioned as I scanned the room for my robe.

 

I heard a horn honk outside the house and in the same moment, over the phone. Sans robe, I walked over to the large window that faced the front of the house and looked down to see Selina’s black car parked ten feet from the main entrance. Her hand appeared through the opened sunroof and waved at me as her voice spoke, “Meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes.”

 

She hung up before I could reply. I simply nodded and mumbled, “Right.”

 

Ten months earlier, Selina and I had shared a private dinner in Wayne Manor for the first time in over a decade. From there, we had started an awkward relationship. Dinner, dancing, quiet evenings together. Reminiscing over old memories we both shared. Joked about how ignorant we both had been. Well, mostly how ignorant I had been.

 

A month after that first dinner, I had revealed my identity to her.

 

We had been at her apartment. Pilaf and stir-fry vegetables. I had told her at the start of the night that I had to talk to her about something important. Selina had laughed, “If you even think about proposing, I’ll send you back to Alfred in pieces.”

 

She hadn’t laughed when I told her.

 

She had cried.

 

I tried to explain myself but she told me to leave. Said that she needed some time to think. I had respected her wishes and left without protest, spending the remainder of the evening thinking myself the fool for telling her. For ruining what we had. Hours later, during a break in my patrols, I heard familiar footsteps approach from behind me. And then a quiet, “Mrrow,” as a slender hand touched my arm.

 

I had been forgiven.

 

And what had once been history for us had become our present. Nothing ultimately serious, for neither of us desired it, but we offered each other companionship. A constant in a world of violence and chaos.

When I walked into the kitchen eight minutes later, the aroma of fresh coffee and scrambled eggs met me as did the sound of a slightly off key voice humming. She wore dark jeans and a fitted sleeveless blouse the color of a midnight sky. Her mass of black curls hung loosely over her back and bobbed as she moved. I stepped up behind her and said, “Delicious.”

 

She turned, licked her finger and replied, “As always.” Without a pause, she faced the stove and stirred the eggs, “So were you really up until five? You sure look like it.”

 

I leaned against the counter a few inches away from the stove, “Busy night.”

 

Selina nodded before turning down the burner, “Yeah, it was all over the news this morning. Poor girl.”

 

Not wanting to dwell on images of a destroyed body, I spoke up, “So what’s the occasion?”

 

She shrugged, looked over briefly, “Nothing. Alfred said he was going to be gone today and tomorrow and instead of allowing for you to starve, I figured I would drop in and make sure you at least had food poisoning.” The corner of my lip rose slightly before returning to its normal and neutral position. If Selina had seen it, she hadn’t acknowledged it.

 

We ate in the nook, the windows open, allowing fresh air to drift in. As hard as she tried to engage in small talk, I was uncooperative and kept flashing her a grim face that declared how busy my day was. Any other person would have taken the hint and hightailed it out of my way. But not her.

 

After I had cleared my plate and drained my coffee, I rose and looked out the window.

 

She stood as well and approached me, her hand extended and traced my arm, “I guess I couldn’t convince you to go back to bed?”

 

“Are you going to make me?” I asked as my arms snaked behind her lower back.

 

She laughed, then stood on her toes and kissed my cheek, “Nah, as much as I would love to, I’ve got to get going and I know you’re just itching to get to work on whatever.” I nodded, grunted and let her go all at once. She pushed on my chest and said, “Don’t you know how to make a girl feel wanted.”

 

I led her to her car, promised to drop in later that night and then returned to the house after watching her drive away.

 

Before making my way to the cave, I filled a large mug with coffee. At Selina’s mention of sleep, my body had suddenly dragged, all too thrilled at obtaining a few more hours of rest. Instead, I sipped the still steaming coffee and walked towards the grandfather clock.

 

^V^

 

First National Bank, May 2nd, 10:10 a.m.

 

“Pete, you got a minute?”

 

He looked up from the newspaper he had been reading and glanced at the uniform-garbed man who stood in the doorway. Charles Morgan, a fellow guard and recent employee of the month. Minty aftershave and a bad nicotine addiction. He then looked back down at the paper. Police Blotter. Always fascinating reading in Gotham City.

 

“Sure,” he replied, “I’m on break for another ten minutes.”

 

Morgan entered the small lounge area and sat at the kitchenette’s table, “I’m going to go to up north to visit my mother tomorrow, it’s her birthday. Would you mind covering for me on Monday if I don’t get back on time?”

 

He paused a moment as he read on about a domestic disturbance that had occurred less than six blocks from his own home.

 

Then, without looking up, “Sure, it won’t be a problem.”

 

“Thanks, Pete, I owe you big time.”

 

As Morgan stood, he stepped over and offered his hand. After a slight hesitation and unrecognizable grimace, he complied and shook the proffered hand, “I’ll remember that.”

 

Morgan winked and then spoke as he made his way out the door, “See you later.”

 

“Later,” he mirrored. He adjusted the newspaper so that he was staring at the front page. He had been doing so all morning, stealing a glance when no one was looking. The bold type of the headlines declared: Third Slasher Victim!! The body of the article was just as dull as every other story that had been produced. Then again, how could mere ink on thin paper ever recreate the energy and emotions of the act.

 

He smiled slightly to himself; I guess you had to be there.

 

With a minute to spare, he folded the paper and placed it underneath his shirt, tucked into his waistband. That way it could stay with him for the remainder of his shift. Two hours to go, he thought as he returned to the hall. Two more hours of watching people walk in and out of the bank, depositing money, withdrawing money, pleading for money. Greedy, all of them.

 

He took up his post just to the left of the main entrance. The size of the bank and its value to the city allowed for its security guards to be armed with .38’s. He hated guns. He could hardly touch the one holstered at his hip without shaking.

 

As he stood guard over the bank’s lobby, he felt the newspaper carefully scratch his lower back with every move he made. Tickling him. Teasing him. Nothing like the way She had tried to claw at him. This was gentler, nicer. No mean intentions.

 

They were always mean to him. Calling him Peepee, harassing him for the initials his name formed, P.P. It wouldn’t have been so bad, just playful banter, but it was personal to him. He still remembered his father’s words, “Christ Pete, you’re ten years old now, you’re too old to be messing your bed.” His mother would have defended him. Had she still been alive. When he had told his father about the harassment he suffered at school, his father had told him that it would do him good to get toughened up. That in the end, it would make him stronger.

 

He smiled softly, which a passing customer thought had been a greeting, and thought to himself, You were right, Dad. It did.

 

^V^

 

Wayne Manor, May 3rd, 10:21 a.m.

 

”Master Bruce?” a voice called.

 

I ignored it and buried myself deeper beneath the covers. Maybe he wouldn’t find me. He could just go to his quarters unpack and start his day. Maybe he would tend to his chores and completely forget--.

The door opened quietly and I listened to his calculated footsteps. He muttered something about how morally wrong it was to be in bed after nine. And then his sudden intake of breath as Selina’s voice said, “Good morning Alfred.”

 

“Ms... Kyle,” he stammered.

 

Although I was still in bed, I knew she was freshly showered and wrapped in one of my robes with her mass of hair put up in a dark blue towel. It was what she had always done, despite the garments Alfred supplied her with. I felt her sit on the edge of the bed and listened as Alfred spoke, “What an unexpected surprise†Shall I prepare breakfast?”

 

“That would be lovely, Alfred,” she said softly. After he left the room, I felt her recline as her head came to rest on my lower legs. “I think we’re busted,” she sighed.

 

Her smile was out of my vision, but I knew it was in full force.

 

I cleared my throat before sitting up. Selina was still sprawled over the bottom of the bed and her gaze had been waiting for mine. She bit her lip slightly then sat up herself, “Plans for today?”

 

I paused, then spoke, “I have to catch up on some things.”

 

“Such as?”

 

I growled, “Things.”

 

“Ah, thanks for the clarification,” she moved closer to me and traced my knee cap with her fingernail through the blankets, “And after you catch up on these ‘things’?”

 

After I shook my head and brushed her hand away, I stood and walked towards the bathroom. She followed me in and proceeded to sit on the marble countertop as I opened the shower door. I simply stared at her, offering no reply. She then crossed her legs, allowing the robe to reveal slender thighs and a hint of her rear. Not wanting to give her the satisfaction of controlling me, I stepped into the shower and turned the water on.

 

After five minutes of silence, she spoke over the water, “I was thinking dinner. Out, not here. Poor Alfred just got home, the last thing he needs to do is slave over a five course meal.”  When I didn’t reply, she continued, “And then maybe some sightseeing.”

 

As I emerged from the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist, I offered her a look of contemplation, but no verbal agreement. I paused at the sink and reached behind her to retrieve a razor and a bottle of shaving cream from the shelf built into the wall. She reached back and turned warm water and then pushed the stopper in. Before I could ask her to move, she uncrossed her legs and set one on each side of my waist.

 

I looked down at her, trying to hide my amusement.

 

“What do you think?” she asked, as her feet wrapped around the backs of my knees.

 

“Dinner it is.”

 

We shared a light breakfast as we had the day before, this time instead of scrambled eggs a la Selina, it was crepes with fresh raspberry jam. As we ate, she offered a few suggestions for restaurants for dinner and I agreed to make reservations for seven-thirty. After clearing our own dishes, Selina’s idea, not mine, I walked her to her car. Her innocent plot of checking on me in Alfred’s absence had lead to a weekend together. In light of the stresses plaguing my life, it was welcome break from reality.

 

Upon returning to the house, Alfred stood in the entry hall with a smirk on his face, “How nice of Ms. Kyle to keep you company while I was away.”

 

I nodded and walked towards the rear of the house, with him at my heels. As I had failed to reply, he thought it best to continue speaking, “Would it be safe for me to assume that you will be retiring to your headquarters for the remainder of the day, sir?”

 

I flashed him a look but it had no effect on him. As we reached the grandfather clock, I said, “Make reservations at Tar Beck for sevem-thirty.”

 

Alfred smiled and nodded quickly, “Very good, sir.”

 

Having played matchmaker since my adolescence, Alfred was appeased that I had finally settled into a somewhat serious relationship, and not with “one of those dim young ladies”. He and Selina had been somewhat close years earlier when we had first gotten together years ago. I mused to myself as I stepped into the entrance to the Cave that it had been my on fault. Back when we had first dated, Alfred had actually spent more time with her than I had, just by simply passing the time until I eventually showed up. It was surely payback time, for they would team up on me in order to ensnare me into some trap or another.

 

He had boldly questioned my intentions of being with her and I had plainly lain it out that it was not the great romance that he thought it was. On one occasion I had snapped that he should worry more about his own life rather than mine. Alfred had replied that was a brilliant idea and he had promptly took the night off, before dinner had been prepared, and had gone to visit Leslie.

 

Selina, who had been in acquaintance with Leslie for some time, had laughed until tears came to her eyes when I had told her about it. Confused, I had asked what had been so funny about Alfred taking off so abruptly. She had managed to calm herself down to a soft giggle, “I believe the phrase is ‘be careful what you wish for’.”

 

^V^

 

Residence of Peter Placido, May 3rd, 10:45 a.m.

 

Sundays were his only day off.

 

Unlike others that resided in his neighborhood, he did not don his nice khakis and blue silk tie in the morning and attend the local church. And unlike others, he did not sleep in until noon and rise, slightly hungover.

 

He woke, as he did every morning, at precisely 6:05 a.m. He put on a clean pair of socks, his running shoes, a pair of nylon shorts and a plain tee shirt. He stretched in the kitchen, using the tabletop to rest his ankles upon as he stretched the backs of his legs. Then, he stepped out of the side door, locked up, pocketed the keys and proceeded to trot out to the sidewalk. Within ten minutes, he would be a mile and a half away, jogging smoothly along a quiet county highway. Alone, always alone. He found that rarely anyone would travel this road at such an hour, the sharp curves and hills warding off early morning drivers.

 

After running his circuit, he would find himself at his doorstep just in time to take the newspaper from Ronald, the local newspaper boy. Often, they would talk briefly, usually about sports or how school was going for Ronnie. From there, he would take the paper, enter the side door and set the coffee pot.

 

By eight-thirty, he was always showered, dressed, shaved and ready for the day. Over a cup of Columbian coffee, two spoons of sugar, two pieces of wheat toast and a bowl of sliced fruit, he would read the paper and listen to the weather report on the radio. That day, it was pineapple and sunny with clear skies and another front-page article about the newest slasher victim. It summarized the events over the last three months and reiterated what the police had come upon to that point. No matter how they dressed it up, there was nothing to go on.

 

Once he finished, he washed the dishes, turned the radio to a classic rock station and stepped outside. The Spring weather had been pleasant to that point and his flowerbed was blossoming. Tulips, daffodils and poesies were beginning to unfold and bring color to his home. Also, the adequate rainfall had given way for a lush green lawn that needed trimming every six days.

 

As he went about retrieving the push lawn mower from the small one car garage, he heard muted voices. He looked up suddenly, stepped away from the lawn mower and pressed himself up against the indoor wall of the garage. Without breathing, he listened carefully to the heated words that drifted his way. An argument. A man and a woman. He moved slowly in the direction of the voices, which seemed to be coming from inside his house. Having lived alone for quite some time, it seemed the only answer was invasion by uninvited guests.

 

He paused in front of the door that separated the garage and the laundry room of the house. He silently counted to three and then flung it open. With a mastered stealth, he slipped inside the darkened room and moved down the narrow hall towards the den. Towards the ever loudening voices. When he reached the room’s entrance, the man and woman’s tones had grown increasingly frustrated and were on the verge of shouting. But when he looked in, there was not a single being present.

 

Yet the voices continued.

 

“Jesus Christ, Hannah, maybe he could function if you didn’t coddle him and lock him up in this damned house all day long!”

 

“Don’t you dare blame this on me, David, don’t you even dare--.”

 

“All I wanted to do was take him to see the football game!”

 

“And he doesn’t want to go, not with you or that w***e!”

 

He searched the remainder of the house, listening as the voices bantered back and forth with one another. As he listened to the words more carefully, he came to an unfortunate understanding. Through his entire life, he had been a daydreamer, his attention span waning off and on. Yet in the last year or so, his simple daydreams had become all too vivid and all too personal. He quickly recalled the argument he had just heard, for he had heard it before, as a five year old, hiding behind the living room sofa, covering his ears as his parents yelled at each other.

 

He also knew what ended that argument.

 

Collapsing onto the floor of the den, he heard a loud clap as an invisible hand slapped the invisible face of his mother. Then soft, feminine sobs.

 

He whispered, “Mom”

 

Then, without warning, the voices vanished, the sobs were silenced and he was once more, alone.

 

^V^

 

The Bat Cave, May 13th, 8:23 p.m.

 

“Sir?”

 

I looked up to see Alfred approaching slowly. I had been in the Cave for nearly four hours, reviewing the same materials of the slasher victims that I had been for over a week. No matter what angle I tried to look at it, nothing jumped out, nothing revealed the truth. What information we had gathered had been from second hand witnesses who based their testimonies on hearsay and what they read in the papers. None of the victims’ relatives and acquaintances could believe they had an enemy that would do such a horrible thing.

 

After sitting back, I closed my eyes briefly, “Yes, Alfred?”

 

“The dinner that I announced two hours ago is now put up and resting in the refrigerator.”

 

“Fine,” I replied, opening my eyes and returning my focus to the case file lying before me on the workbench.

 

“And the telephone call I announced an hour ago was disconnected.”

 

“I’ll call Dick tomorrow.”

 

“Very well. And lastly, your significant other has given up any hope in maintaining a relationship with you and has left the country with a gentleman named Ricardo.”

 

I recognized Alfred’s dry humor and glanced at him, “Best wishes for the both of them.”

 

The corners of Alfred’s mouth twitched upwards momentarily. He then announced, “Well, sir, in the event of an emergency, say the world ends or you finally come to your senses, please don’t hesitate to call on me.”

 

As he reached the stairs, I called out, “Thank you, Alfred.”

 

He nodded curtly then continued up to the Manor.

 

As with whenever there was a major case for me to deal with, considerable tension had surfaced between us. He had never truly approved of my life choice, but even still, he supported my efforts. Over the years, he had stepped up to fill the gap that my parents’ deaths had left. I could recall many late nights, when insomnia had overcome me, and Alfred would always come to my room with cookies and milk and a story to help settle my nerves.

 

Despite all he had done for me, I still couldn’t control myself when I immersed myself in work. Regretfully, I would lash out at him, demand that he stop interrupting me and to leave me be. And he would do so, for a time. And then he would emerge from nowhere with fresh coffee or sandwiches and put his nose where it didn’t belong. That night, he had decided against getting into things and had left well enough alone. He would have questioned as to why I was obsessing over details that weren’t there if he had stayed, and that would have angered me and we would have argued in our own way.

 

Unfortunately, since I had let Selina into the other half of my life, Alfred had fine-tuned her existing skill of how to annoy me. She was a gifted student and had quickly mastered the Alfred-isms that drove me mad. Although, Selina had made it less inviting to argue with her. She did, after all, have quite the way with a whip.

 

At ten of ten, I replaced the contents of the file and put it up for the time being. From there, I walked over the costume vault and went about restocking my utility belt. Once set, I locked the belt into place around my waist and stepped off towards the Batmobile. Within minutes, I would enter the City and begin the night.

 

^V^

 

The Clocktower, May 14th, 1:21 a.m.

 

“Honestly,” Barbara mumbled as she turned to face me.

 

Although I held the greatest respect for her, I still failed to announce my presence whenever I entered her territory. After unsettling her a bit by clearing my throat, she had jumped, cursed my name and resumed typing.

 

As the Oracle, she was my direct source of information for anything. It made me wonder how I had ever been able to function before, when I had to rely on myself for information. Then again, in that time, I had relied on myself for a lot of other things. There had been no Robin or Batgirl. Just me. As their names crossed my mind, I asked her what they were up to.

 

“Batgirl just apprehended a trio of high school drug dealers, she’s been tracking them for about a week. Now they’re in traction and not about to sell X to kiddies any time soon. Robin was on Vandermark Avenue, but now he’s...” she paused and scanned a display that provided a digitized map of Gotham. Small icons depicted each of us and tracked our movements over the course of the night. Robin’s “R” was northwest of my location, moving quickly. “Hmmm, must be he’s on someone’s tail. He and Dick revamped the Redbird, now it’s almost as fast as your car.”

 

“Almost,” I mumbled.

 

She radioed him, “Robin?”

 

“Yes, O?” came his reply. He sounded in a hurry, but not distressed.

 

“Just checking in.”

 

“Ah, thanks, you really do care.”

 

He then detailed the fact that he was in pursuit of a getaway car of one Norm Richmond and the group that was after him. The name hit a sour note in my mind as I recalled the squat, balding loan shark. I asked, “What’s happened?”

 

Robin seemed slightly surprised to hear my voice but continued, “Uh, nothing major. He tried to collect from some unsavory clients and unfortunately did so without the aide of his enforcers. So now he’s hightailing it to the nearest airport or bus station.”

 

I watched as his icon passed over onto Radisson Street, not twenty blocks from the Clocktower. I spoke quickly, “I’ll be there shortly.”

 

“Right,” Robin replied just as I leapt out of the side window from which I had entered moments earlier.

 

Seeing how it was quicker than rooftop hopping, as Dick called it, I took the ‘Mobile. It had been parked two blocks over from the Clocktower and after hitting the remote, it was started and waiting when I arrived. Taking two side alleys, I made it to the long stretch of Radisson and wove in and out of lanes until I caught a glance of red and heard the rapport of gunfire.

 

After setting the car on autopilot, I opened the door and crouched on the hood. From the new vantage point, I could see the Redbird clearly twenty yards up and also two fast moving vehicles, both shooting at each other. An Uzi for sure, an AK-47, and what sounded like a .22. Maybe a Glock. Within seconds, I was directly beside the Redbird. I peered into the tinted glass and could faintly make out Robin’s form. I then heard his voice over the comm. link, “Next turnoff is the alley between the Raddisson Hotel and that apartment complex.”

 

I nodded then replied, “We’ll head them that way.”

 

With that, I leapt upon the pursuing car that had a debt owed to a man hardly capable of enforcing it. I landed soundlessly on the roof and watched as a passenger and a man in the rear seat fired upon poor Norm who was doing all he could to defend himself and drive at the same time. After taking a deep breath, I pulled my cape across the windshield and blocked out the view. The gunfire became hectic and went from aiming at Norm to straight up at me. I dodged poorly fired bullets and reached down and knocked the driver unconscious. After taking the steering wheel, I guided the nose of the vehicle into the alleyway, all the while listening to panicked screams and pleas for mercy.

 

Since I had no control over the break, I shifted the car into neutral and allowed the remaining momentum to die out as the car crashed into a garbage dumpster. As I landed on my feet on the pavement, Robin had already pulled in behind the car and was fast approaching the passenger side. Together, we ripped the poor saps out of the car and dealt them minimal blows before they collapsed. As Robin bound the moaning perps, I collected the weapons, unloaded them and tied them together with wire.

 

“Another victory for the dynamic duo,” I heard Oracle’s over the intercom. “I phoned in your location to dispatch, they’ll be there shortly to clean up.”

 

I was about to comment on Robin’s quick thinking when I noticed him touching his upper arm carefully. It was then I noticed the trickle of blood running between his fingers. After I stepped over, he smirked and spoke, “Only a flesh wound. Guess I’m not as bullet proof as I had hoped.”

 

Despite the early hour, I insisted he call it quits for the night and head to the Cave where Alfred could tend to his wound. Once he had left, I shot a line to the roof of the Hotel and waited for the police to arrive. As the two lesser wounded individuals were loaded into the police car, the third was being strapped and handcuffed to a stretcher, all the while mumbling, “Norm, can have it all, pay interest..€ Never cheat him again...”

 

Although I had a hard view on the reforming of criminals, I smirked briefly as I thought some of them did learn their lesson after all.

 

^V^