“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.
It was not difficult, the following week, for Bruce Wayne to entice Millie on board his yacht. He arranged to have lunch at one of her tables on Monday and Tuesday, and by Wednesday he extended the invitation in casual conversation. The following day, on which she was free, they set out on board Bruce’s cabin cruiser with Alfred loyally at the helm.
“I don’t think I even know your last name,” Bruce said as they pulled away from the dock. “It just says Millie on your uniform.”
“Millie Steiner,” she replied. “It’s German.”
“How long have you worked at the Yacht Club, Millie?”
“Two years now.” She shielded her eyes from the sun and watched shoreline passing by. “I like it. You meet lots of interesting people.”
“I saw you leaving work the other night wearing a pretty fancy bracelet. Was that a gift from someone you met at the club?”
She blushed slightly and turned away. “He told me not to wear it. I could get in trouble if he knew you saw that.”
“Ah! You have a secret admirer.”
“Sort of,” she admitted.
“Somebody told me you were with Anton Bartizan before he was killed. Is that true?”
For a moment she seemed on the verge of leaping overboard to escape his questions. Then she calmed down and found herself a seat in one of the swivel chairs that were fixed to the deck for deep-sea fishing. “What do you want from me, Mr. Wayne?” she asked, all traces of her smile gone. “Are you a detective or something?”
“Heavens, no! I’m only making conversation. I like to know all about the women I date.”
“I think I’d better go back.”
“Have a drink first and then we’ll swing around.”
She agreed with some reluctance and Bruce shifted the conversation into less dangerous waters. Her whole manner had changed, though, and she was on her guard. He noticed her obvious nervousness when she realized the yacht was headed into Milliton Cove. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked.
Before he could answer, Alfred shouted from the helm, “Speedboat bearing down on us, Mr. Wayne.”
Bruce saw it off the starboard side, coming up fast. Almost by instinct he pulled Millie from her chair and fell to the deck. There was a burst of fire from an automatic weapon as the pursuer passed them by. The bulkhead above Bruce’s head splintered under the force of the bullets.
“My God!” Millie gasped. “They’re trying to kill me!”
“Who, Millie? Who’s trying to kill you?”
“Are you all right, sir?” Alfred called out.
“So far. Let’s get out of here, fast!”
Later, in a safe harbor, finally able to unwind a bit with a drink in her hand, Millie Steiner began to talk. “They tried to kill me,” she repeated. “Maybe next time they’ll succeed. I have to tell someone about it.”
“About Bartizan?”
She nodded. “They paid me to lure him out to Millionaires’ Cove. It was an anniversary of sorts for us—one month since we’d first gone out—and he bought me that diamond bracelet. I brought him a bottle of Courvoisier from the club. He’d never had it before but he liked it. I was waiting for him to give me the bracelet when they attacked—” There were tears in her eyes. “The fireflies. They burnt his sails and boarded us, just like in pirate days. That’s why he calls himself the Pirate.”
“Who does, Millie?”
But she ignored the question, speaking as if to herself. “He came down into the cabin to protect me, and the Pirate followed him with that cutlass. I thought they were only going to scare him and steal his money. I didn’t know the Pirate would kill him. It was the most awful thing I ever saw. Then he went through Anton’s pockets and tossed me the bracelet. I almost threw it overboard, but I knew Anton had bought it to give me and I decided I should keep it.”
“Who is the Pirate?” Bruce asked again.
But she’d fallen silent, as if a spring had run down. She stared out at the water and he realized the sun had grown low in the sky. It would be evening soon. “What are his plans?” he asked softly.
“There’ll be another attack. He said there have to be at least three.”
“Why? For the money?”
“It’s more than just money. It’s real estate. I don’t understand it all, but I’m afraid. If he sent them to kill me it means he saw me wearing the bracelet too. He thinks I can’t be trusted anymore.”
“We’ve got to get the police after this gang. Can’t you understand that?”
“Yes,” she said quietly, staring off at the low clouds reflecting the sunset.
“Who is to be the third vict
im?”
“You are. He picked you when you started noticing me.”
Bruce Wayne smiled slightly. “When?”
“I was to lure you out to the Cove with your yacht, any night this week. Now that they’ve tried to kill me I don’t know what to think.”
“If they’re still watching let’s go there tonight.”
“You’re not afraid of anything, are you?”
“I have friends in the right places.”
They’d been cruising Milliton Cove for nearly an hour and Bruce was beginning to think it was all for nothing. If they no longer trusted Millie it wasn’t too likely that they’d walk into so obvious a trap. He decided to give it another half hour and then head for home. About ten minutes later he spotted a large craft running without lights some distance away, and turned to Millie. “You’d better get below. They might be coming.” She didn’t need to be warned twice.
“What about you?” she asked from the top of the hatch.
“I’ll be right down. I have to warn Alfred.”
He hurried up to the helm where Alfred was already turning the wheel to avoid the other vessel. “He’s running without lights, sir!”
“And flying the skull and crossbones, I dare say. Kill the engine and get below. It’s time we had a little help from Batman.”
“But how can you—? The young woman will know.”
There was a roar like a cannon from close off the port side, and suddenly the air seemed filled with fireflies streaking toward them. “Below decks—quickly! I’ll handle the woman.”
There was a clatter as the first of the fireflies struck the cabin cruiser. “What are they?” Alfred asked, terrified.
“Small nails heated red-hot and then fired from a cannon. If we had sails they’d be on fire by now.” He shoved the Englishman ahead of him down the steps to where Millie Steiner waited.
“What’ll we do?” she asked, trembling with fright. “This time they’ll kill me too! I know they will.”
“Quick! You get into this locker. Alfred and I’ll take the next one.” He pushed her into the narrow enclosure and closed the door.
Above deck, the darkened attacker edged closer. Within minutes it crunched against the side of Bruce’s yacht as grappling hooks lashed them together. A half dozen armed men boarded quickly, led by a bearded pirate with a black patch over one eye.
That was when Batman swooped down upon them, swinging himself from the radio mast to land feet first in their midst. “It’s Batman!” one man shouted, firing a wild shot with his weapon as he toppled backward over the side.
Two men threw themselves at Batman and managed to wrestle him to the deck, but only for an instant. He kicked out with his feet, catching one in the face with his blue boot. Then he rolled over and yanked the other’s legs out from under him. A fourth man came at him with a deadly grappling hook held high, but Batman pulled another of the attackers off balance into the weapon’s path.
The Pirate himself had retreated onto his ship, where he was bringing the small cannon to bear on Batman’s chest. “You meddled with the wrong person this time!” he snarled.
“Not so fast, friend,” Batman said, leaping the widening gap between the vessels. He grabbed at the barrel and swung it around just as the Pirate yanked on the lanyard. Another blast of nails was loosed, but this time they splintered the wood of the Pirate’s own ship, a ketch with black sails and darkened running lights.
“Run him through!” the Pirate shouted to the only remaining crewman on his feet.
The man ran at the caped figure with his cutlass drawn, but Batman leaped up, caught the boom above his head, and swung his feet into the attacker’s chest. He came down firmly and turned to face the Pirate. “These are better odds,” he said. “Just the two of us, Pirate!”
“I won’t be stopped by you, Batman! Where’s Wayne and the girl?”
“Below deck, safe from you.”
The Pirate raised his sword, just as a blinding beam of light hit him full in the face. “What’s that?”
“Commissioner Gordon and the police, arriving just in time.”
“Damn you!”
He hurled the cutlass at Batman and turned to flee, but Batman was on him with a flying leap, pinning him to the deck, ending the battle with a hard right fist to the Pirate’s jaw.
A moment later Commissioner Gordon and his men were boarding the yacht from their patrol boat. “Your tip was certainly on target, Batman. I’m only sorry we were a few minutes late.”
“No harm done, Commissioner. Here’s the Pirate and his entire gang.”
“But who is he? Why did he carry out these crimes?”
“I don’t need to remove his false beard and eye patch to know his identity. There were enough clues to that.”
The Pirate struggled to rise, but Batman shoved him back to the deck, pulling away his disguise until they could see the face of Rusty the bartender.
“You see,” Batman told the commissioner a few minutes later, when the Pirate and his gang had been handcuffed and transferred to the police boat, “the robbery part of the attacks was always secondary. What he really wanted to do was drive people away from the Cove and bring down real estate values. It was happening already—plans for a new restaurant were abandoned. That was exactly what Rusty wanted, because once the land values were low enough he planned to buy up several parcels himself and open a restaurant and marina. I think you’ll find that the members of his gang are all waiters at the Yacht Club.”
“My God!”
“Figuring Rusty for the ringleader wasn’t difficult. The Pirate launched his attacks by firing a small cannon loaded with a charge of nails heated red-hot. The technique was especially effective in setting sails on fire, and was used not just by pirates but in the Revolutionary War as well. Rusty liked to read books about the American Revolution, so he would have known about it. He also made the remark that Anton Bartizan’s favorite drink was Courvoisier cognac, but Bartizan never had that before the night he died. If Rusty knew he drank it, he must have been on board the Dragonfly. He must have been the Pirate.”
“You’ve done Gotham City a great service, Batman,” Commissioner Gordon told him.
“It was my duty.”
“Where are Bruce Wayne and the others who were on board?”
“Down below, hiding in the supply lockers. You’d better tell them it’s all right to come out now.” And with those words Batman swung himself over the railing and dropped to the dark water below.
While the commissioner made his way down to the cabin, Batman quickly shed his costume in the water and boosted himself through a porthole in one of the lockers, helped by Alfred. It was the same way he’d left the locker earlier.
The commissioner freed Millie and then opened their door. “Come out, Mr. Wayne. I hope you haven’t been too inconvenienced.”
“What’s been happening?” Bruce asked, wrapping a jumpsuit around his damp body and hoping the commissioner wouldn’t notice his wet hair.
“Batman has captured the gang for us. It’s all over.”
Bruce Wayne nodded. “Millie here has been telling me some things. I believe she may be willing to testify against them if you need more evidence.”
The commissioner scowled at her. “You’d better come along with me, young lady.”
“Thank you for everything,” Millie told Bruce.
He smiled. “Good luck, and I hope you get back to the Yacht Club soon. I think they’ll have a shortage of help for a while.”
The Origin
of The
Polarizer
George Alec Effinger
How ironic, Bertram Waters thought, that I, one of the most promising researchers in the field of plasmonics, should be denied Ivy University’s facilities because of something as trivial as money. Until he’d found a job with Jennings Radio Supply in the summer of 1957, Waters despaired that he’d ever be able to complete his graduate studies at the college. He had a tedious job as a stock and sh
ipping clerk, but he realized that his meager wages wouldn’t entirely cover his expenses. He was already exploring other means of augmenting his income.
Waters was a brilliant young man who had grown frustrated with his poverty and the stubborn ignorance of Ivy University’s bursar. His coworkers at Jennings knew little about him because he rarely spoke except as required by his duties. In his presence, one was always aware that his powerful brain was constantly observing, cataloging, evaluating, and deciding. He was a tall, slender man, strong, but not in a bulky way. He had black hair with a sharp widow’s peak, a narrow, straight nose, deep dark eyes that people unfailingly described as “magnetic,” and prominent cheekbones that gave his face a long, somewhat sinister appearance. He had one affectation—a carefully trimmed mustache of the sort film stars had worn fifteen or twenty years earlier. Someone had once remarked, quite accurately, that Bertram Waters looked like Satan as played by Errol Flynn.
The shipping department was a wire cage separated from the rest of the Jennings warehouse. During the summer, there had been two employees to handle the stock and two in shipping. Now that school had begun again, however, three of the young men had quit their jobs, leaving only Waters to keep up with the never ending stream of orders. Again and again, he would grab the next purchase form, run to the warehouse and pull the stock, then run back to the shipping department to box it, address it, and get it ready for delivery. Mr. Jennings promised every day to hire more help, but as the year slipped from late summer into autumn, Waters was still all alone, doing the work of four men.
One day, while Waters was eating lunch alone and reading Vance Packard’s new bestseller, The Hidden Persuaders, Joe Sampson, the deliveryman, came into the shipping cage. Waters and he were not really friends—Bertram Waters did not encourage friendship in anyone—but sometimes in odd moments they talked about the few interests they had in common. Both were ardent baseball fans, for instance, and they often discussed the chances that the Gotham City club might follow the Brooklyn Dodgers and the New York Giants to the West Coast.
The Further Adventures of Batman Page 31