The Further Adventures of Batman (44 page)

In a suburb within sight of Gotham City, the family mansion of multimillionaire Bruce Wayne stood alone and somewhat mysterious, not unlike its owner. Although lights shone through several of the leaded windows, the only activity in the mansion this evening was in the huge cavern beneath it, where Bruce Wayne was slipping the bat-eared mask and hood from his head. One man stood by watching—Bruce’s friend and confidante Alfred Pennyworth, an aging British gentleman who ostensibly served as the butler in the Wayne mansion.

“You saw the police commissioner, sir?” Alfred asked.

“I saw him.” Bruce hung up his bat cape and began removing the costume that had become the terror of Gotham City’s underworld. “It was most unsatisfactory. The police know virtually nothing about the crimes. Even the commissioner seems content to wait until the next one in hopes this pirate gang can be caught in the act.”

“What plan would you suggest, sir?”

“Almost anything but waiting. These crimes are audacious and well-planned. If this so-called pirate ship can appear and disappear at will, the gang won’t wait long before they strike again.” Bruce Wayne finished tying the sash of a silk dressing gown around his muscular body. “Alfred, I’ve decided to lease a yacht—something large and impressive. See about it first thing in the morning.”

“Very good, sir.”

The following morning Bruce drove out to the Gotham City Yacht Club, located not far from Milliton Cove. He’d been there only a few times before, in the company of various members, but he knew no one except Rusty the bartender, a man whose weathered face hinted that he’d be more at home on some tropical island than serving drinks at an exclusive club.

“What can I get you, Mr. Wayne?” he asked, displaying his legendary memory for faces.

“Nothing right now, Rusty. Is the membership secretary around?”

“That would be Mr. Ritter. He usually lunches here. You might look out on the terrace.”

Bruce found Herb Ritter eating alone at a table overlooking the water. Middle-aged, graying, but with a perfect tan and infectious smile, he was the logical choice for a position that required the skills of a social director as well as a yachtsman.

“Bruce Wayne! What brings you out here? Sit down, sit down!”

Bruce slipped into the chair opposite him. “I’m leasing a yacht, Herb. Thought it was time I joined your club.”

“Giving up the lonely life at last? We’re happy to have you, of course. I’m sure approval by our Board of Governors will be only a formality. I’ll sponsor your application personally.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” He glanced casually down along the pier, where several large yachts were anchored. “What happened to that big schooner? Looks like a fire.”

“You must have read about it in the papers,” Herb Ritter said. “That so-called pirate business over in Milliton Cove.”

“Oh, yes! So that’s the yacht? Could we go down and have a look?”

Ritter led the way along the pier to the gangplank. “Careful, now! I don’t know how sturdy this deck is.”

“I’ll watch my step,” Bruce assured him.

“It belonged to Anton Bartizan, the man who was killed. The police just finished their investigation and took away the guard this morning.”

“What is this—a schooner?”

“A fishing schooner that Bartizan converted to a pleasure yacht, I understand it cost him a small fortune. He enjoyed entertaining young women on it, so I suppose it was worth it to him.”

“Oh?” Bruce showed the expected interest of an eligible man-about-town. “Who was his latest conquest?”

“Well, there were rumors he was seeing Amanda Royce.”

“The man had good taste.”

“The entire affair is a tragedy, and not just for Bartizan. Coupled with that earlier sinking at the Cove, it’s making people very uneasy. When they’re uneasy it’s bad for business, bad for property values.”

Bruce Wayne’s gaze was attracted to something on the scarred deck. He bent to pick up a small nail that looked as if it had never been used. There were others on the deck too. He saw at least a dozen near their feet. “Looks as if the conversion work wasn’t quite finished,” he commented.

“Oh, Bartizan was always adding on something. He was never quite satisfied, with his yachts or his women.”

They strolled back to the club and the membership secretary promised there’d be quick action on Bruce’s application.

His next visit to the Gotham City Yacht Club came about ten days later. By this time he’d taken possession of a 54-foot cabin cruiser with sleek lines and an engine to match. It was outfitted for fishing but Bruce was thinking of using it more as bait. Alfred was drafted as a one-man crew, with a firm promise that such a degradation would be only temporary.

“I feel out of my element here, sir,” the Englishman complained. “I’m much more at ease acting as your butler.”

They’d taken a morning cruise around Millionaires’ Cove, getting the feel of the place, and then docked at the Yacht Club marina. While Alfred busied himself with an intense inspection of the fuel line, Bruce strolled up to the main club building. A few people were beginning to arrive for lunch, and he asked for a table by the window, taking a stool at the bar until it was ready.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Wayne,” Rusty said, putting down the book he was reading. “Guess it’s time for me to be on the job.”

“What are you reading?”

“Book on the American Revolution. I like history. You read much of it?”

Bruce lit his pipe and drew on it. “When I have time, Rusty. Right now I’m learning all about yachts.”

“Mr. Ritter told me you had a new 54-footer. Looks like a dandy.”

“I’m pleased with it,” Bruce told him. “Only leasing it, of course, with an option to buy.”

The bartender fussed with his bottles, arranging them for the noonday trade. “You want a drink with lunch, Mr. Wayne?”

“A glass of white wine will do nicely.” He drew on his pipe again, staring out the big picture window at the hulk of the burned yacht. “Did you know Anton Bartizan very well, Rusty?”

“I served him a few times. He didn’t usually come to the bar, though. He’d sit over at that little corner table by the windows with his favorite drink, Courvoisier in a brandy snifter. He seemed like a nice man. Too bad what happened to him.”

“Is the yacht going to stay out there?”

“Only till the insurance company finishes with it.”

Bruce’s table was ready and he carried the wine over to it. His waitress was Millie, a buxom young woman in her mid-twenties. He’d noticed her once before but never spoken to her. It was obvious she was popular with the other male diners, several of whom spoke to her as they came in. There were more waiters than waitresses working the dining room, but Bruce could see the waitresses’ tables were much in demand.

After Millie brought his lunch he asked casually, “Has Amanda Royce been around lately?”

“Mrs. Royce.” Bruce knew she was divorced but still used her married name. “I had her one night last week”

“She was probably pretty broken up about Bartizan’s death, wasn’t she?”

Millie didn’t change expression. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

Bruce returned to the yacht to find Alfred munching on a sandwich he’d brought from home. “You should have come in with me. The food was quite good.”

“That wouldn’t have looked good, sir.”

“Well, let’s head for home. We’ve done enough sailing for the first day.”

“What’s your next move?”

“To find a way to meet Amanda Royce.”

That weekend an opportunity presented itself. There was a midsummer dance at the Yacht Club to which a number of Gotham City’s leading citizens had been invited. Even Commissioner Gordon and his wife were attending, and Gordon answered a late-night call from Batman with the news that Amanda Royce would be at the dance in the company of Simon Butterfield, the local real estate developer. It had not taken her long after Bartizan’s death to move on to other game.

“Have there been any further incidents in Milliton Cove?” Batman asked into the phone.

“Not since the Bartizan killing. But we’ve had patrol boats out every night. They’ll be coming off after this weekend. We can’t afford to do it permanently.”

“Thank you for the information about Amanda Royce, Commissioner.”

“Will you be at the Yacht Club, Batman?”

“I’ll be in the area,” he answered vaguely.

Bruce Wayne managed to linger at the bar on the evening of the dance, observing the arrival of Amanda Royce and her escort. Since her divorce she’d been quite the woman-about-town, displaying her shapely body and winning smile at all the best social events. He wondered how a woman like that could possibly be involved with a gang of modern-day pirates.

Bruce did know her escort, Simon Butterfield, slightly, and managed to strike up a conversation with the man as they were returning to their table from the dance floor. Butterfield obliged with an introduction. “Amanda, do you know Bruce Wayne?”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” she said with her patented smile. “How do you do, Mr. Wayne.”

The conversation, casual and brief as it was, drifted around to the incidents at Milliton Cove. “It’s terrible for property values,” Butterfield confirmed. “The yachtsmen are staying away from there in droves. One more pirate attack and the bottom will fall out of the real estate market. Just this week I’ve had two men from the Midwest drop their plans for a restaurant over there.”

“The police seem to be protecting the Cove.”

“Right now they are, but that can’t go on. I understand they haven’t a clue as to the gang’s identity.”

Bruce Wayne tried a smile himself, in Amanda’s direction. “What do you think about it, Ms. Royce?”

“I believe Anton was high on drugs or something when he told the police about those pirates. I think he imagined the entire thing.”

“They say he may have had a witness on board—a woman.”

Amanda Royce shrugged. “If that’s so, let her come forward.”

Bruce lingered until the end of the dance at midnight, hoping for a few more words with her, but the opportunity never came. Butterfield’s party was large and she was surrounded by admiring males the entire night. By the time he finally gave up the attempt it was nearly twelve-thirty. The dining room lights had dimmed and some of the waiters and waitresses were beginning to leave. He saw Millie in her street clothes heading for the door.

At that instant something clicked in his mind. He must have jumped an inch or two because Herb Ritter, the membership secretary, was passing at that moment and said, “I hope I didn’t startle you, Bruce.”

“No, no—it wasn’t that.”

“Did you enjoy the dance?”

“As much as I could without a date.”

Ritter chuckled. “I’ll try to introduce you to a few people. An extra man is always in demand for dinner parties.”

Bruce excused himself and hurried to the door, but Millie was already out of sight. The memory of what he’d seen stayed with him, though. As she’d left the club she’d been wearing a sparkling bracelet on her right wrist. From a distance it looked identical to the one in the photograph Commissioner Gordon had shown to Batman, the diamond bracelet Anton Bartizan had purchased shortly before his death.