A/N: One of my crazier pieces, to be sure. Read and review despite the insanity. Please feel free to comment on the entire ridiculousness of this idea. Some language. Crossover with Batman. Minimal knowledge of Batman lore required. (Do you know who Bruce Wayne is? Alfred? Tim Drake is Robin. You're all set. That's all the info you need.)


Dolphins and Bats

by RRP


The one problem with being a Sweeper is that everyone thinks you're supposed to be a moron. I dunno when this whole stereotype started drifting as common knowledge, but I can tell you it's not always true. If anyone actually thought long enough to look at my resume, and see that handy little line, 'place of birth', and 'parents', I can tell you they'd be pretty damn surprised. I've got connections, and I could skip this whole Sweeper thing if I wanted to.

Okay, so I didn't graduate from Harvard or any genius junk like that, but I did fairly well in the fancy school my parents sent me to, and even managed to snatch a degree in Security Science and Administration. (Think Quantico). And I'm frankly getting tired of all this shit about us Sweeper's being idiots. Okay, okay, so I'll make allowances for Willie and some others, but Gar was okay.

But that degree I mentioned? It says Security, not 'Child Care'. In case you don't understand, I'm talking about Debbie Broots. Sweet kid, nice checker game, but still. A guy like me has a reputation to keep, eh? I didn't mind kid-sitting in a pinch when Broots was on the lam, but that does NOT in any circumstance mean that I'm the Centre's newest child care provider.

So, when Miss P calls me at five AM, telling me to get my ass in gear and over at her house, I'm lost. Why the hell would she be calling me at five AM? I managed to mumble a 'Yes, Miss Parker' and hang up the phone. Getting out of my bed was another matter. It was cold, the bed was warm, what else is there to say? But you don't say no to Miss P, so I dragged my sorry hide out of bed, showered, and put on a suit. Complete with gun, of course.

And now here I am, driving down the road in near-darkness at five thirty AM, wondering what on earth is going on. I'm concentrating on this question so much that I nearly pass Miss Parker's house. The lights are on inside, and I skid into the driveway. It suddenly occurs to me that I've always had the Lincoln when driving 'round Miss Parker, and she's never seen my car. It's an absurd thought, but I'm suddenly downright thankful that I finally sold that old Ford (despite the nice V8 under the hood) and bought a decent Thunderbird, one of the newer models.

Then, my own stupidity slaps me in the face. Miss Parker calls my house at five AM, telling me to wing it, and now I'm sitting in her driveway, still behind the wheel, musing about my choice of cars.

I move, and fast. I'm at her door before anyone can blink. I knock, and stand there like a good little Sweeper. The door slowly creaks open, and Miss Parker's there- dressed and spiffy looking but for the tired look in her eyes. I'm bright enough to hide my concern, for fear of losing my head.

"Sam." She sounds a little surprised. Did I get here too fast? I hope not. I pretty much used up my self-will quota for the day just getting out of bed. Damn, it's cold outside. I should have remembered my coat. Thank goodness, she's waving me inside. I step inside the house, and she shuts the door. Then, I notice the rugrat on the couch. Good Lord! She called me at five AM for this? Debbie Broots is sitting there, lower lip trembling.

"Broots is missing." Miss Parker's talking to me. Pay attention, Sam. I don't have to try too hard. That one statement caught my attention. "He didn't go home last night. Debbie called last night, and now I've got to go to the Centre. I'll call as soon as I can." And just like that, she's gone. Didn't even ask me if I was okay with this. Ah, well. So is life as a Sweeper. Be nice to the kid, Sam. Nice.

"Hey, kiddo." Yep. That sounded really nice, you moron. Try actually saying something other than hi. "You had breakfast?" She shakes her little head, bangs bouncing on her forehead. God, kids are so cute sometimes. Breakfast. Stay on track, Samster. I walk to the kitchen, and start digging around.

I'm barely there for two minutes when Debbie pipes up. "S'ok, Sam. I'm not really hungry." Not good. Not good. I hope she isn't sick. Maybe she's just worried.

"You tired?" I ask next. She shakes her head again.

"Checkers?" The Kid asks hopefully. I try not to wince. Willie somehow found out from Miss Parker that I lost a game to an eleven-year-old, and I haven't heard the end of it. One thing is certain- if we do play, I'm not letting her win every game this time.

"Sure." I shrug, and she cracks a small grin, pulling out the checkerboard. I sit down across from her, and notice the bags under her eyes. God, she looks really tired. She should probably be sleeping. So, I'll let her win a game or two.

Five games later, I think Debbie's starting to realize that I'm a little better at this than she thought. I tried to shuffle my wins and losses, but she's a pretty bright kid. She gives this little-big sigh, and puts her hands on her lap.

"I think I'm done." She announces, trying to sound indifferent. I nod, and look up at the clock. Nearing eight o clock. Five rounds of checkers, I'm at Miss Parker's house watching Debbie Broots, and the clock has just hit the time I usually wake up. Together, the Squirt and I put the checker board away, and then sit in silence. I'm at a loss here- I don't know what activities to offer, and she's got to be struggling to stay awake.

"You wanna catch a couple hours of sleep, kid?"

"Nah..." She pauses, as if she's not sure she wants to tell me something or not, then makes up her mind. "I keep having nightmares."

Please! Can this get any worse? I'm a Sweeper, not a damned shrink. This is Sydney's job. Oh, well. It's for the kid.

"What about, kiddo?"

"Different things." Debbie shrugs. "Some of it's just made up, but some of it was real when I was living with Mommy."

It just keeps getting worse. Now it's not just nightmares, she's having shitty flashbacks. Damn.

"You gonna be okay?" Really, I'd like to help. But I have this foggy feeling that I'll somehow manage to make it worse, or something. Let her Dad take care of her. I hate being so indecisive sometimes.

"Yeah, I guess." She looks up and gives me that look. I don't have a name for it yet. Her mouth curved into this sad little smile, eyes big and moist. Great. Debbie probably has no idea how deathly that look is to the hard core kind of Sweeper I am. And no one's going to make fun of me for that, either. I know that look would even melt Willie.

Little girls. What the hell do little girls like to do? Play with dolls? I don't think I could do dolls. Not even under penalty of death. Maybe I should get her out of the house. I'll have my cell phone, and Miss Parker probably wouldn't torture me for too long before killing me. And frankly, I'd rather die than sit in here with the Kid giving me that look. I don't know how bad human remains stain carpet, and I'm sure to melt if she keeps giving me those eyes like that.

Then, my phone rings. Not Miss P already! Surely! I pick up my cell, and snap it open, pushing the little green button.

"Hello." Hey, at least I've got some telephone manners. The Parkers seem to think those are void. Well, then again, there were certain people where I grew up that never let me forget what to say and how to say it.

"Sam!" A near-happy sounding voice greets me, and I blink in shock. Now? Why now? Why did the moron have to not even bother to say hi for nearly a year, then call now? And at eight AM no less? Then, I sneak a look at the kid. This may be a good thing after all. "I'm in the area, and I wanted to know if you're home. Is it okay if we stop by?"

Good Lord! I've been blessed! He's actually here!

"No, I'm not at home. But you can stop by anyway." I pray that Miss Parker won't be mad. I pray hard. "I'll give you directions." So, I give him directions, continuing to sneak looks at the Kid. I may actually get to act normal today, opposed to the silent dork I act like at work. I whip up something for the kid while we're waiting, and she eats without protest.

Then, like clockwork, I hear a car pull into the driveway. Debbie, who's curiosity and excitement have been growing ever since I refused to tell her who was on the phone. I hope to God I'm not making a mistake here. Big part of my past just pulled into the driveway, and if she decides to be a blabbermouth, I'll never hear the end of this at the Centre.

I answer the door, and good grief, it's even better than I dared to hope. He's got Timbo with him. Alfie's standing there by the limo, looking cool and collected. Tim is trying out that 'cool guy' look. He's been spending far too much time with Dick. Debbie's peeking out from behind me, suddenly shy. Her eyes widen in shock, and it occurs to me that her dad probably reads the newspaper. Oh shit. I hope she doesn't have a heart-attack or anything.

"You're Bruce Wayne..." The Kid stammers, blushing fiercely. Bruce bends at the knees, and extends his hand. He's so great with kids...

"Yep. You can call me Bruce."

"I'm...I'm Debbie." She replies, shaking his hand, and then looking up at me with this strange mixture of awe and confusion on her face. I shake hands with him as well, simply being polite. The gesture was really unnecessary. God, I've known Bruce since we were five, for crying out loud.

"Hey, Bruce. Hey, Tim!" I call out, and he waves with a grin. A dorky grin. Yep, he's definitely been spending time with Dick. I wave them inside, again praying Miss Parker won't kill me. Everyone but Alfred comes inside, and stands in the foyer. Think, Sam. Think. Now what?

"Debbie, this is Timothy Drake." Good idea. Introduce the kid. "Tim, this is Debbie Broots." Tim nods to her, and she nods back.

"Just call me Tim." He says with a smile. She grins back, and nods. There's a brief period of silence, then Bruce speaks up. Good ol' Bruce.

"Ever been in a limo, Miss Broots?" Debbie shakes her head, laughing at the formal title.

"You can call me Debbie, Mr. W-I mean, Bruce." Here we go. On one of Bruce's famous rides. So we all pile into the limo, me nodding to Alfred on the way in.

"Hi, Alfie."

"Hello, Master Samuel." I grin at Alfred's insistence on proper English labels, and sit with my back to the driver's seat. Bruce takes a seat next to me, and Tim and Debbie take the other side. Debbie's eyes are wide in wonder, and it occurs to me that there is no way on heaven or earth that she's going to manage to keep her mouth shut. I hope Broots doesn't slaughter me. Or Miss Parker. Alfred pulls out of the driveway, and we start down the street, Alfred only speaking enough to ask Bruce where we want to go.

Bruce looks at The Kid, and then Tim, and replies, "The Aquarium, Alfred." Hoo, boy. Bruce is ready to fire up the big guns. Bad comparison, but hey. He gets to tell Debbie that not only does he own most of Gotham, but he also owns Blue Cove's Aquarium- one of the biggest in the New England States. I insisted that he didn't, but Bruce had to come up with a creative excuse for coming to Blue Cove ever once in a while. I told him I could just visit him there, but no, Bruce wanted to own a couple sharks and stingrays.

On the way, Tim impresses Debbie by telling her he's sixteen and can drive, and showing her all the handy little gadgets in the limo. Okay, so not all the gadgets. Even I don't know where all the special little ones with 'bat' attached to the name are. I said I've known him since we were five- Bruce can't get anything past me. Alfred says I'm observant, Bruce says I snoop too much. I like Alfred's name for it. And when the hell did Timbo turn sixteen? God, he's growing up fast.

We arrive at the Aquarium, and we're literally ushered in amidst stammered, 'Mr. Wayne!'s, and other various ejections of surprise. Bruce leads us around the building, talking to Debbie the whole time, motioning to various tanks and naming the fish within. We go through areas usually reserved for personnel, and I can tell Debbie's tickled when one of the employees lets her throw a fish to a shark. We make a detour to the bathroom so Debbie can wash her hands, and we're almost done with the tour when we stop to watch a baby dolphin.

Debbie's enthralled. Hands on glass, nose almost touching the thick panel, she whispers in awe, "Does it have a name yet?"

"Not yet." Is Bruce's reply. He's got that twinkle in his eye, and I have the feeling he's about to go on one of his generous spurts. "Would you like him?" Debbie whirls, not understanding. Hoo, boy.

"You mean name him?"

"I mean have him. He'd stay here, of course, but we could put a little gold plate over there on the information panel with his name and your name." I bite back a sigh, knowing that I've just dug myself into this way too deep. It's all Bruce's fault, he's always been the off-the-handle one.

"I don't think I could...that's too much..." Debbie stumbles over her words, and Bruce shakes his head.

"Nonsense. I've got the entire building, I think I can let you have one dolphin. What do you want to name him?" I cringe, thinking that the poor beast is going to be named Flipper or Spotty or something. Debbie thinks for a moment, and looks at the baby dolphin again, before replying.

"Odyssey."

"What?" Bruce and I ask at the same time. Alfred raises an eyebrow, and Tim laughs.

"Cool name, kid." Tim is the first to actually speak, and Debbie grins. Bruce smiles- something that's a rare sight these days, and he's been doing it a lot on this particular day. I should probably be worried.

"Odyssey it is. I'll see about that plate and get the papers. Be right back." Bruce ducks out, and disappears around the corner. Debbie has her little eyes locked on the baby dolphin, and I actually sigh this time. I'm going to have one hell of a time explaining this to her Dad. Tim edges over to me, and whispers, concern clear.

"Did you see him smiling?" I nod.
"Yeah." Alfred, overhearing Tim's anxious inquiry, interrupts.

"Master Bruce is allowed to smile, in fact, it's very healthy. That young lady over there just managed to do what Mr. Kent of Metropolis has been failing at for years."

My phone picks that particular moment to ring, and I fish it out of my pocket- no pun intended.

"Hello?"

"Sam, I'll be back in fifteen with Broots. Have the kid ready." Miss Parker. My stomach drops, and my heart skips a beat. I look at my watch. Good lord! It's after noon! How long have we been at the Aquarium?

"Sam?"

"Yes, Miss Parker." I reply. She hangs up, and I speak to Debbie.

"Hey, kiddo. Miss P's found your Dad. You ready to go?" Bruce comes back around the corner at that moment with the manager on duty, and I nod to Alfred. "Alfie, we gotta go."

"Understood, Master Samuel. Just a minute, and I'll gather Master Bruce. You and Master Timothy go along to the limo." I look over at Bruce, who is introducing the manager to Debbie, pointing to the tank, and then at the info stand. He hands Debbie something that looks like some type of free pass with her name on it, the manager is scribbling notes down on a pad of paper. Debbie's eyes are as wide as saucers, and she keeps nodding to whatever Bruce is saying.

I take off at a near jog for the limo, Tim following. We pass the little cafe on the main floor, and I duck in. Tim's giving me this strange look, and opens his mouth to ask me something. I silence him with, "For Debbie." He nods, and sticks his hands in his pockets.

I order a piece of pizza and a soda, and get them bagged. It pays to know Bruce. Within five minutes, we're back on the way to the limo. Tim and I have barely gotten in when Bruce and Alfred appear, flocking Debbie, who's tightly clutching some papers to her chest. She slides in, really quiet, and stares in wonder at the floor. I pry the papers out of her hands, and give her the food.

I get a warning look from Alfred- it's not the limo, he can get that cleaned. It's the food. If it was his choice, he would have taken the time to cook her some twelve course meal. Tim himself approves of my eating preferences, as does Dick. Alfie can live with it.

We're on our way back across Blue Cove, and I see Alfred sneaking looks at the Batmap hidden in the front panel, retracing our drive to the Aquarium. I get a couple minutes to sort my thoughts on the way, and I nearly smile at how ridiculous everything sounds. I got pulled out of bed at five by my employer (employeress?), end up with Kid Sitting Duty, and my charge not only meets Bruce Wayne but acquires the possession of a dolphin. There aren't many other eleven year olds who own dolphins. And she even picked a decent name for the thing.

Alfred slides into Miss Parker's driveway, and what I had been dreading is true- she's already there, tapping her foot, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. Broots is looking like a nervous wreck behind her. Bruce and I slide out of the limo on opposite sides, and I see Miss Parker's eyes get a little wide. Debbie flies out of the back, and into Broots arms, squealing.

"Daddy!" After the initial hug, she's babbling. "I met Bruce Wayne, and I saw his fish, and he gave me a dolphin and-" Broots cuts her off.

"A dolphin?" I can only imagine the thoughts going through the poor guys head. 'Dolphin? Toy, surely. We don't have room for a dolphin! I don't even have a kiddie pool!'. Bruce walks around the car, and extends his hand to Broots. Broots shakes it with a stammer, "Mr. Wayne." That strangely echoes Debbie's own.

"Please, just call me Bruce. And the dolphin's at the Aquarium. You're welcome to stop by and see it anytime." A little relief works its way onto Broots' face when Bruce mentions the Aquarium, but not much. He still looks incredulous. Bruce turns to Miss Parker next. I'm praying that she doesn't kill him or me, and I'm also wishing Tim would stop staring at her legs.

"You must be Miss Parker."

"Correct." She nods grimly, and shakes her head.

"Bruce Wayne." Bruce replies, his eyes smiling instead of his mouth. I've always figured Miss Parker to be a pretty sharp tool, but when Bruce said his name, it was like something clicked- I don't know if him saying it simply made it official, or it finally hit her who he was. Her mouth formed a little o, and she silently shook his hand.

Hopefully, I'll somehow worm my way out of this one. Then, I hear Bruce offering,

"Sam? Want a lift?" I shrug in Miss Parker's direction, and turn to Bruce with a grin. Saved by the multi-billionaire, Bruce I knew you'd come through!

"Sure, Bruce. Hey, Tim." Tim's head perks up at his name, and I grant him what must be the wish of every sixteen year old to grace the earth- I toss him my keys.

"Follow us in the 'bird, okay?" His face lights up like it's Christmas day, and he catches the keys. He vaults out of the limo, and takes a quick look at his surroundings before pulling a fancy looking back flip body twist over the Thunderbird's hood. For his stunt, Tim receives one whistle from Broots, one 'Cool...' from Debbie, one grin from me, a raised eyebrow from Miss Parker, and two warning looks from Bruce and Alfred.

I slide in the limo, thankful for a quick exit, and Alfred backs out of the driveway for the second time today. I look back at Miss Parker as we leave- her mouth is still hanging open, as is Broots, and Debbie is looking at the papers with wide eyes. I survived a five AM wake up call from the Ice Queen, and Kid-Duty, and got to impress Miss P. It's been a pretty good day, after all. Pretty damn good.

God, I love being a Sweeper.

Disclaimer: Me? I'm not assuming anything! Don't be silly, of course I don't own Bruce Wayne. Although I may be daring enough to claim some small ownership to Tim...on second thought, nix that. I don't own any of them.

Dolphins and Bats

by RRP


“Hey, Rich boy. Whatcha still doing here?” The taunt echoes down the hall, causing several to laugh. I watch the object of their teasing stride towards the security offices, away from them; jaw set, eyes hard. The sweepers are acting like moronic first graders, and I suddenly wish I didn’t insist that Sam tell me how he knew Bruce Wayne.

I knew the billion-dollar doofus owned the Aquarium, but I always assumed it was just because the man liked fish. I guess that’s what he wanted people to think. And I think I just blew his cover to half the people in Blue Cove- considering half the people in Blue Cove are Sweepers or Cleaners at the Centre.

It all started as a normal evening- I left the Centre with some snapped words to Broots and Syd, and drove home. I made myself a small dinner (contrary to popular belief, I can cook) and ate in silence. (No, really. I sat there and talked to myself.) I was getting ready to read before I went to bed when the phone rang. I answered it with my usual, “What?”. There was a sniffle on the other end.

“M…Miss Parker?” I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was Debbie Broots. And I didn’t have a single clue to why she would be calling me at nine in the evening.

“Something wrong, Debbie?” How the hell do I do it? Manage to sound so caring and nice around her. Some maternal instinct, I guess. I resisted the urge to shudder.

“Do you know where my Dad is? He said he’d be home at six.” Something deep inside of me said uh-oh big time. Broots walked out of the Centre at the same time I did- an unusually early five forty-five.

“He left the Centre when I did, Debbie. He’s not home yet?” And with her answer, I was decided. Broots might be an idiot sometimes, but he’s not careless- especially when it comes to Debbie. Something was really wrong, so I hopped in my Spyder, and gunned it. Debbie spent the night at my house, and when Lyle called the next morning at four something (he’s worse than Jarod sometimes, really) demanding that I come in to see about a explosion in the Centre’s employee car garage, my heart sank.

I called Sam, and he agreed to come over, without asking questions or arguing, just saying ‘Yes, Miss Parker’ like he always does. I hung up, and woke up Debbie. Sam arrived about half an hour later, and I hastily explained. He simply nodded, and I left him with Debbie.

Outside, it was a bit cold for a summer morning, but I could live with it. Next to my Spyder in the driveway sat a sleek black Thunderbird, and I raised an eyebrow. I didn’t think we paid Sweepers that much money.

It wasn’t until around noon that day that I had all the answers- Broots had again been with Jarod, the bomb had gone off but he hadn’t been in the car, and the bomb wasn’t even meant for him. Things in the Centre get really messed up sometimes. Jarod found the bomber, sent him off to jail, and everything was fine and dandy. (Turns out, the bomb was supposed to be in the car of some Sweeper- old grudge or something.) Broots was shaken up, but okay, so I threw him in my car and called Sam. He answered, but when I told him who it was and when I’d be back, he paused and then his voice sounded a bit funny.

Then, I pulled into my driveway. The Thunderbird was still there, but the house was empty. Broots was again a nervous wreck, and I stood on the front porch wondering what to do. That’s when the limo pulled up. I could barely see through the windshield, just enough to tell that it was an older man. The doors opened, and Sam and a familiar looking man stepped out.

Debbie was flying into her dad’s arms a second later, babbling about a dolphin or something. Sam was standing there, looking a bit worried. Then the familiar looking guy introduced himself to Broots. I was too busy trying to figure out what the hell was up with Sam to listen to the introduction. Then, he was standing in front of me.

He knew my name, and I assumed Sam had told him, but I gave him the cold shoulder. His next words hit me like a freight train.

“Bruce Wayne.” I knew I had seen him before, I just knew it! His face has been across all the papers in America. I managed to shake his hand without looking like a complete fool, and then he strode back over to the limo.

“Sam, want a lift?”

“Sure, Bruce.” Sam shrugged, and climbed into the limo, and I was standing there trying to figure out what exactly had just happened. Sam, my Sweeper, was on first name terms with the world-wide known billionaire. He tossed the keys to the Thunderbird to a teen I hadn’t noticed before, and the kid pulled a hot-shot Olympic move over the roof of the car.

When we had our wits gathered, (sometime after the limo and Thunderbird left), I told Broots and Debbie to go inside. With what the man has gone through, I could at least get them something to eat. And I had to call Sydney and have him bring his Lexus around- my Spyder didn’t have enough seats for Broots and Debbie and me.

Back to the present, it’s two days later and I’m still wishing I hadn’t wormed the whole story out of Sam. His parents are millionaires or something up in Gotham, and he grew up with Bruce Wayne. He was sick of being regarded as some lazy, rich moron in Gotham, so he went to college and came here. I pointed out that all he had done was go from a lazy, rich moron to a underpaid one, and he laughed. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Sam laugh before. There’s more than meets the eye to this story. I’m sick of conspiracies.

My cell phone rings, and I answer with, “What?”

“Hello, Miss Parker.” The voice replies. I’m not sure whether to be angry, or melt. He’s getting awfully daring, calling me at work.

“Hello, Jarod.” Is my sarcastic, dry response.

“I found out something interesting yesterday.” He announces. He’s going to make me guess. God, I hate these games! Cool down, Parker. Play along.

“What, Wonderboy? That ice cream does indeed induce brain freeze?”

“Brain freeze?” Ooh! I caught him off guard! Score one for me!

“Headache, genius. What did you discover?” I can almost see him shaking his head to clear thoughts he didn’t intend on having- refocusing and getting on track.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the billionaire Bruce Wayne-” I cut him off.

“Oh, yeah. I should have mentioned that I dated him in college.”

“You dated him?” Lots of surprise there. He’s really slipping. Either that, or I’m getting better. This may be fun after all.

“I’m joking, Labrat.”

“Would you stop calling me names?” He demands before continuing. “Anyway,” Hey. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say ‘anyway’ before. I really got him off track there. “There’s a certain member of your team that-”

“Sam.”

“What?” I’m enjoying this far too much. I think I’ve distracted him a total of three times already. That’s a record it’ll take a while to break.

“Sam. I know. I found out the other day when Wayne gave Debbie Broots a baby dolphin.”

“Oh.” Speechless Pretender! Score four for me! If I wasn’t in the Centre, I might actually cheer. “Well, then.” God, he sounds a lot like Sydney when he’s quiet like this. “Uh, Parker?”

“Hmm?” I surprise myself. I didn’t say ‘what’. I wonder what’s wrong with me. I’m being nice to him.

“Never mind. It was a stupid idea.”

“What?” I persist. Call me crazy, but I want to know what’s going on inside that head of his.

“I dunno. I thought maybe we could meet somewhere, talk for a while. Like we used to.” Uh-oh. Now what do I say? I don’t want to hurt him, but I don’t want to get hurt either. Ah, what the hell. Since when have I been one to not take risks?

“Where?”

“What?” He’s surprised again. I don’t think he was expecting me to say yes. I ask again.

“Where?”

“Um…how about the Aquarium? I think it’s pretty safe.” I dunno, Wonderboy. The Centre may have spies there to see if the sharks have high IQ’s.

“Mmk.” I’ll remember the Aquarium, but I scribble something else down on a piece of paper, just in case any one is watching.

“Saturday. Two PM.” He continues, and I can sense excitement in his voice. I know he’s going to be wary as hell, but he’ll come.

“Great. Seven, tomorrow.” I reply. I hope Wonderboy’s smart enough to figure out what I’m doing. “No, Jack. The names are just an old joke from work. See you then.” I hang up, with an understanding, ‘Ohh…” Coming from Jarod just before I do so. I love playing with his mind.

There’s a knock on the door, then Broots ducks in, looking worried as he always does. He puts some papers on my desk, just routine reports, and stands there for a minute as if working up courage to say something.

“Um, I wanna thank you for taking care of Debbie…” He finally stammers. I raise an eyebrow and reply.

“Don’t you think you should be directing that to Sam?”

“Well, if it wasn’t for you she would have been at the house by herself at that time.” Broots says, the logic of the statement ringing true. “I guess I’ll see you later today…” He nods, and backs out of the room. I swear. Did I actually just hear him squeak in the hall?

A clang from behind my chair startles me, and I whirl around to see the air vent duct pop off the wall, and Angelo crawl out. We sit there, looking at each other for a moment- me startled, and him studying me.

“Wayne has much hurt.” He finally speaks. I blink. “Wayne is the Dark Knight. Wayne is the Dark Knight.” How come when Angelo has these little revelations, I suddenly get the feeling that my life may be in danger?

“What are you talking about Angelo?” Who the hell is ‘Dark Knight’? Or, what? Angelo’s pacing now, rubbing his chin with one hand.

“Wayne is the Dark Knight.” He repeats. Angelo stops pacing, leans close, and whispers in my ear. “Bruce Wayne is the Batman.”

I don’t know what to do or say- Angelo’s rarely ever wrong, and I know that he’s never actually seen much of the world outside the Centre. How did he know about that old Gotham legend, then? Batman’s not even supposed to exist. It’s supposed to be some kid’s tale that they tell around Gotham to scare the would-be criminals. But Angelo persists, saying it again. “Bruce Wayne is the Batman.” And just like that, he’s gone. Disappeared, and I can hear the faint clink rattling in the air ducts as he flees.

Now I’m curious, and I’ve got to ask someone. Within half an hour, Sam’s agreed to meet me outside the Centre in the parking lot. I stand by my Spyder, waiting for him to appear. I spot him, but don’t say anything until he’s standing next to me.

“Angelo’s been acting up, babbling something about bats. You grew up in Gotham. Does the Batman actually exist, or did our resident empath get his hands on some old comic books?” A flicker of apprehension lights in Sam’s eyes, then is gone.

“I’ve never seen him,” He stammers. “But I’ve heard enough stories. I think he exists.” Sometimes, Sam is as easy to read as an open book. He’s lying, and I can see straight through him. I’ll take it a step further.

“Oh, I forgot to mention that for some reason Angelo thinks Bruce Wayne is the Batman.” The flicker lasts a little longer this time, panic and surprise mixed in with the apprehension.

“That’s…that’s insane.” He mutters, looking down at his shoes. I move in for the kill. I’m dangerously close to his face, and I think he’s starting to sweat.

“Is it? Don’t lie to me, Sam. I don’t like to be lied to.”

“Miss Parker…” God! He sounds like Lyle when he whines. “I’ve known Bruce since I was five. There isn’t a thing about him that I don’t know. This is just insane.”

“The idea that Wayne is Batman, or the fact that Angelo figured him out?” The flicker evolves into a full deer-caught-in-headlights look, and I turn and stalk away, satisfied with my answer. Sam is standing behind me by my car, hands at his sides, horrified look on his face. I sneak a look back, and see him fumbling with his cell phone. I think I just scared the Sweeper.

I’m having an okay day after all.