It seemed to inspire Harris. He followed Batman’s lead, stood, and looked around the room. He remained frozen for a good minute, before sitting back down, and mumbling, “I can’t do this.”
Barbara comforted, “It’s alright. It would be perfectly fine if you just want to sit and listen today.”
Harris began to cry. “It doesn’t matter what I do. Nothing I do will bring those girls back. Nothing-you hear me … nothing!”
Batman put his arm around the bulging shoulders of Leonard Harris. “It’s okay,” he tried to put him at ease. “When I got back from the war, I came down with Gulf War Syndrome. I had no job skills, and my girlfriend left me. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired-so I began drinking. My life became all about getting the next drink. I had no job, no friends, no life. One night I put a pistol in my mouth and just as I was about to pull the trigger it came to me.”
The story was complete fiction, based on others he’d gone to war with, but it captured Harris’ attention. “What came to you?” he asked in a soft voice. It was as if they were the only two souls in the room.
“How important life is. The knowledge that we have to live every day to its fullest, and anything less is unacceptable.”
Tears began to stream down Harris’ face once again. “No matter what I do, I can’t bring them back. I stole their lives!”
Batman moved closer to Harris and hugged him. “It will never be good enough to live your life to the fullest. You also have to live their lives to the fullest. That’s why you need to get better, so you can live for them.”
The passionate speech closed the deal. He wiped the tears and rose to his feet. “My name is Leonard and I’m an alcoholic,” he said in a firm voice. The group clapped.
Batman walked out of the meeting, feeling satisfied with his first encounter with Harris, having laid the groundwork of trust.
He put on dark sunglasses to hide his eyes from the triple digit temperatures of early September in Scottsdale. The sky was painted aqua, with just two noticeable clouds. They crisscrossed to form an ‘X’, looking like vapor trail from a missile. It was as if the heavens approved of his work.
He strolled across the sizzling blacktop of the parking lot toward his vehicle. He wouldn’t have to chase Leonard Harris. He would come to him-it was a fait accompli. And if there was any doubt in his mind, it was erased when he heard Harris’ voice.
“Hey Batman … wait up.”
Chapter 44
Rockfield, Connecticut
September 28-present
Outside the New York Public Library there are two iconic marble statues of lions. Their names are Patience and Fortitude. It wouldn’t be very hard to figure out which one is my favorite.
It had been three weeks since Noah’s death. Patience wasn’t getting me any closer to justice, so it was time for the roar of fortitude.
I walked into the restaurant of the Hastings Inn, an elegant dining spot on the north side of town, which fit in with Rockfield’s general disdain for the 21st Century. My father once tried to bring a McDonalds to town, which sparked the locals to form an Attica-like uprising. Murray referred to my father in the Gazette as “Mayor McCheese.” He received only 85 % of the vote in the next election, his all time low.
As a tuxedo-clad waiter walked me past a crackling fire to my table, my eyes locked on Gwen. She wore a sequined dress held up by spaghetti straps. The slit up the leg was almost too much for me to take.
Somehow her date was not clinging to her every breath, allowing us to trade a quick glance. Officer Jones was focused on the burly man at the bar who was slinging back shots like they were water, and spouting lewd remarks in a drunken slur.
Suddenly the man at the bar turned in my direction and shouted, “Just the man I wanted to see!”
He hopped off the bar stool, almost falling in the process, and rushed me like an angry bull.
“Carter … ugh … how’ve you been?”
“Don’t give me that shit, Warner,” he lashed out-he was actually slobbering-and poked a strong finger into my chest that was going to leave a mark.
“We risked our lives for you, and now you’re throwing us out like yesterday’s trash! You told me you were leaving the business, but now I hear you used our capture to get a better offer-leaving Byron and me behind!”
“That’s not how it happened. I’ve meant to call, but I just…”
“Are you denying the offer to become the highest paid person in the news industry?”
When I didn’t respond, Carter gave a two-handed shove into my chest and I fell to the ground. The uppity dinner theater crowd gasped.
I used my cane to prop myself up, but as soon as I reached my feet, Carter sent a too-close-for-comfort punch glancing past my chin. I fell to the floor again. He stood over me and glared menacingly. “Get up! You’re not so tough when you have to face the music, are you?”
I stumbled to my feet and attempted to hit him with my cane. He grabbed it from me and tossed it away. He then picked me up. A shocked look came over my face, and the onlookers gasped once again. This wasn’t in the script.
He carried me to the mahogany bar and sent me for a ride, as if the bar top was a bowling alley, my body knocking over drinks and plates before I crash-landed on the hard floor.
“Had enough!?” Carter shouted.
I had. These fake fights sure felt real.
He obviously hadn’t. Once more he raised me over his head.
“I thought you promised no body-slams?” I spoke softly into his ear.
“We gotta make it look good,” he whispered back.
“If we make it look any better, I’ll be dead.”
More shrieks and clamors filled the room. The panicked patrons scattered-and Carter sent me flying.
I crashed violently, landing on top of a half-eaten baked potato with sour cream. A sharp fork scratched my back.
“Agh,” I screamed out.
He put me in a headlock, and said for my ears only, “I take back what I said-that Gwen is a prime piece of ass.”
I let fly a “for real” elbow back into Carter’s midsection that knocked the wind out of him. I’d awoken the grizzly-not a smart move. He let out a primal scream and picked me up like a rag doll. I sensed that the “no body-slam” rule was off. He tossed me to the floor, knocking me dizzy.
Before I could begin to beg for mercy, Jones became involved. Although, a little late for my taste. He couldn’t help himself, which is what we were banking on-hero syndrome. He flashed a badge and began rattling off different types of assaults Carter had committed.
Carter laughed at the off-duty police officer and stormed out the front door. A few moments later, I could hear the screech of the Coldblooded Cruiser leaving the parking lot.
Jones informed Gwen that “duty called” and he must leave. She begged him to stay, but the thought of a potential drunk driver on the road was too much for Jones. How any man could leave her in that dress was a mystery of Area 51 proportions to me.
He kissed Gwen on the cheek and promised to make it up to her. She acted upset and looked away.
Jones put his hand on her chin and lifted it to meet his eyes. “I promise, Gwen. But I have a job to do. You understood that when you met me.”
I wanted to puke.
She returned a cold, “I guess,” and looked away again.
He kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, before rushing away.
Once the coast was clear, Gwen turned her attention to the injured guy on the floor. She knelt beside me while I continued to writhe in pain.
“Are you okay, JP?”
Despite my pain, I had to admit that things were starting to look up.