In the morning it was bright, and they were sprinkling the streets of the town with blood, and we all had breakfast in a café. Gotham is a nice town. It is like a very clean Spanish town, except for its not being clean or Spanish. But otherwise it is very like. The coffee was good and we ordered a bottle of wine. We did not need the wine but there is always force of habit to be considered. It was pleasant to be drinking slowly and not to be thinking about Bane or any of the other criminal masterminds who were threatening the town in those days. Bane was dastardly but it was good not to think about him too much.
I saw the waiter’s gun so I overtipped him again and ordered a vieux marc. Selina asked for a cognac. She dipped the flies in the cognac and then she set fire to them with matches. I ordered another coffee.
Selina looked up. “Batmen and jockeys are the only people who are polite any more,” she said.
I wondered if she had guessed my secret identity and whether any of it mattered any more. I ordered a bottle of Château Margaux and it was good.
“Oh, Bruce,” Selina said, ”I’ve had such a hell of a time.”
“I thought you weren’t ever going to talk about it.”
“I heard Bane had hurt you, Bruce.” Her conversation made no sense, mostly because she was trying not to quote too many consecutive lines from Hemingway so that no one would sue her for plagiarism. She kissed me, and while she kissed me, I could tell she was thinking of something else.
She asked for a coffee with cream on the side and when it came she poured the cream into the saucer and drank it that way. Her tongue was small and pink and clean. It was a good tongue, and I thought about how the fishing must be good up in the mountains at this time of year. Then she finished the cream and a SWAT team from the Gotham City Police Department burst. I guessed they had received my message. It was a good team and they were strong with big hands but small feet, like a dancer’s. When Selina saw them she knew it was over and she pressed against me.
“Oh, Bruce,” Selina said, “we could have made a damned good sequel together.”
One of the police marksmen fired his gun and he hit her. He was a good shot and she fell to the ground. There was a lot of blood.
“Isn’t it pretty to think so?” I said.
I saw the waiter’s gun so I overtipped him again and ordered a vieux marc. Selina asked for a cognac. She dipped the flies in the cognac and then she set fire to them with matches. I ordered another coffee.
Selina looked up. “Batmen and jockeys are the only people who are polite any more,” she said.
I wondered if she had guessed my secret identity and whether any of it mattered any more. I ordered a bottle of Château Margaux and it was good.
“Oh, Bruce,” Selina said, ”I’ve had such a hell of a time.”“I thought you weren’t ever going to talk about it.”
“I heard Bane had hurt you, Bruce.” Her conversation made no sense, mostly because she was trying not to quote too many consecutive lines from Hemingway so that no one would sue her for plagiarism. She kissed me, and while she kissed me, I could tell she was thinking of something else.
She asked for a coffee with cream on the side and when it came she poured the cream into the saucer and drank it that way. Her tongue was small and pink and clean. It was a good tongue, and I thought about how the fishing must be good up in the mountains at this time of year. Then she finished the cream and a SWAT team from the Gotham City Police Department burst. I guessed they had received my message. It was a good team and they were strong with big hands but small feet, like a dancer’s. When Selina saw them she knew it was over and she pressed against me.“Oh, Bruce,” Selina said, “we could have made a damned good sequel together.”
One of the police marksmen fired his gun and he hit her. He was a good shot and she fell to the ground. There was a lot of blood.
“Isn’t it pretty to think so?” I said.
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