Title: The Patron Saint
Author: J. R. Giroux
Date: Spring 1999
Author’s Notes: Edward Nigma, and Gotham City belong to D.C.
Comics. McCaviety is, once again, still
mine and I’m not sharing.
She was cramped and something scuttled by her. It smelt like rotten meat and salt
water. She listened as the claws of the
rat scratched against the metal of the ventilation conduit.
“Ugh, how did I let Edward talk me into
this?” She thought. Placing one hand in front of another she
slowly pulled herself along the venting shaft.
She tried to remember the directions on the blueprints she’d read. “Let’s see, I just took a left which means
it should be right up ahead…and sure enough, there it is.”
She dragged her body along the
slime-encrusted metal. Her black suit,
which covered her from head to foot, served her well in keeping the muck
off. It did not however, do anything
for that g-d forsaken rotting seaweed smell.
As she came upon a grate covering the air
duct she paused and listened. Hearing
nothing she moved closer, reached into her belt pouch, and removed a
mini-crowbar. She pried at the edges of
the grate until the rust and the bolts gave way. The grate fell towards her, clanging against the sides of the
duct. Frowning, she quickly grabbed the
gate, moved it behind her and laid it down quietly.
“I’m getting sloppy in my old age.” She clucked her tongue at herself. “I’d never have let that happen when I was
in peak form. It’s getting so that it’s
harder for a girl to earn her dishonest keep.”
She listened again, but it didn’t seem
like the noise from the falling vent cover had been heard by anyone. Cautiously she stuck her head out of the
vent. Seeing no one, she swung around
so her feet were sticking out first.
She jumped, or perhaps slid with all that slimy mold, and landed lightly
on her feet. She crouched, shrinking
into the shadows and took a good look at the room.
It smelt as bad as the rest of the
shipping yard did. What was that
persistent rotting smell? She wrinkled
her nose at the odor and vowed to take a piece out of Edward’s hide for talking
into giving up her usual routine for tonight.
For the most part, the people she robbed had a good deal more money, and
smelt a lot better.
“I gotta find a new fence. Someone with a better sense of smell. All right Edward, I’m here. Now where is that precious cargo you told me
was coming in tonight?” She walked,
still hunched over to avoid the windows, to the desk. She slid into the old leather chair and briefly caressed the torn
red-brown arms.
Her bright blue eyes glanced over the
paper work lying on the top of the desk but nothing was there of interest. She tried the top drawer of the desk and
found only some paper clips and a playboy magazine. She systematically searched the rest of the drawers in the old
desk until she came upon one that was locked.
Reaching into her belt pouch she pulled
out another small tool. Placing it in
the lock, she swiveled it around until she heard the tumblers fall into place
and the lock sprang open.
“Bingo.
Thought you could hide the good stuff from me did you?” She hummed to herself as she went through
the layout plans for the ships arriving tonight. “Ah, here it is. Ship’s
log for The Patron Saint, Argentine
registry. Isn’t this interesting! It’s only carrying fruit yet it claims to
have a cargo weight twice what it should.
Come on boys, mangos don’t weigh that much. If you’re going to fudge the books you might as well make them
believable.”
She risked a glance out the window at the
shipping yard. She spotted The Patron Saint and slammed shut the
ship’s log and decided to go see just what was on board that ship. “They’ve got to be smuggling something
valuable for Edward to have sent me all the way down here. Artifacts perhaps? I don’t know how I’m going to get anything really large home to
Edward. I just hope he can sell this
stuff.”
She recognized about five men out there
that were probably guards. They were
big, burly, looked mean, and were patrolling a very specific area. She glanced back at the vent. If she went back through the shipping yard’s
offices she could come out behind the goons.
However, that meant more slime and scuttling things. If she went out the window and down the fire
escape, then she might be seen. On the
other hand, she could probably take the guards easily. Maybe.
If she moved fast and hit hard.
Real hard.
She looked out the window at the guards
again and then back at the vent. At
bright pair of small yellow eyes attached to a pointed whiskered face standing
at the edge of the duct decided things for her. She’d take the window.
Heck, she’d probably only have to fight them on her way out. It was better to get it over with now rather
than latter when she had to carry whatever it was out of that ship.
Opening a window, she winced as it creaked
on its rusted hinges. A guard heard it
and looked around, but thankfully not up.
She crept out on the fire escape and was about to jump down onto the
guard below when the heavy crane that moved cargo off the ships and onto the
docks began to stir. She stopped to
watch it. Maybe they’ll remove the
precious cargo for her and she’d not have to work as hard for it.
Two of the men began shouting at the one
operating the crane. “Hey, watch it! We don’t want to damage the goods! We’re getting good money for those things.”
“Ha, you try operating this thing with
only a couple of lights on. It’s pitch
black out there. I’m lucky the moon’s
full so I can see where to put down those crates.”
“Well, you don’t want the coast guard or
the police seeing do ya? Hey, I said be
careful!”
“Shad up and put the shipment down. The buyer never said what kinda conditions
he wanted them in.” Another one spoke
up. “Hey, Marty. Grab that crow bar and come help us open
these up.”
The man standing underneath her nodded and
moved forward as the crates touched the docks.
Marty picked up the crow bar and started to undo the nails on the
crates. The wood cracked and splintered
under his weight and the top was off the first crate in no time.
She decided that this was the perfect
opportunity to get in closer. She
slithered down the fire escape ladder and ran from shadow to shadow, hiding
behind whatever was conveniently nearby.
She finally hid behind a pile of crates marked “fresh shrimp” not more
than five feet away from where the men were unloading their smuggled
goods.
They had the tops off the other two crates
and were working on the last. When it
finally cracked and slid off the smugglers pulled out the tray of fruits that
was on the top. They pulled out some
straw and before they could go any further a black shape struck Marty laying
him flat.
She had leapt out from behind the shrimp
bins and gave Marty a flying kick to the chin.
Before the other four knew what was happening she’d delivered a right
hook and a kick to the stomach to Marty and successfully knocked him
unconscious.
“Get her!” The crane operator yelled jumping down from the controls.
The tried to circle her but it was no use.
Every time they surrounded her she’d do
a back flip or roll right out from in between them. On her way out through them she’d kick someone or hit them in the
head. She couldn’t keep this up for
long though. Moving that fast takes a
lot of energy out of a person.
“Oh for cryin’ out loud. She’s a woman in a pair of black
pajamas. We can take her!” The operator shouted again.
He moved toward her, meaning to take her
one on one. She waved him forward. She dared him to come closer. She smiled nicely and then delivered a
perfect kick to his ears. He went out
like a light. She was beginning to tire
but couldn’t let them know it. She trotted
back a few paces to make them follow her away from the crates.
“I have a surprise for you boys. And you want to know what it is?” she
called. She reached into her belt pouch
again, felt around for a second, and pulled out a small canister. “Did you know they make knockout gas in travel
sizes now? Normally I use them on guard
dogs but hey, that’s what you are isn’t it?”
She pulled the key out, tossed the can,
and ducked behind a forklift for cover.
The can fell right into the middle of them and burst, spraying its gas
into the air. They began coughing and
trying to wave the gas away but they’d already inhaled too much. One by one they dropped to the wooden planks
of the dock, out cold.
When the smoke had finally cleared she got
out from behind the machine, calmly strode past the unconscious men, and to the
crates. She rubbed her hand together,
“Now let’s just see what’s so important that Edward had to send me here to
steal from the men who stole it from Argentina.”
She peaked over the edge of the box they’d
removed the fruit tray and straw from.
Her blue eyes widened and her mouth dropped. “Oh my G-d.”
Staring back at her were the dark eyes of
children, covered in filth, dressed in the poorest of clothes, and obviously
starved. Quickly she removed the fruit
trays and straw from the other boxes and saw the same thing. The children were packed five to a box; most
of them girls but a few boys, and all were silent and staring up at her.
“Edward never said anything about
this. What am I going to do with
children? What was he going to do with
children?” She was beside herself. She leaned against one of the crates and put
her head in her hands. She shivered at
the thought of what the passage had been like for these kids.
“All the way from Argentina to
Gotham? No food, barely enough air,
packed in like animals. My G-d.” She turned around again. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get help okay?
The bad men won’t hurt you. I
promise. Oh, you don’t speak English do
you?”
Her brows furrowed and she bit her lower
lip. “Just sit tight…oh, bad choice of
words.”
She turned and ran to the nearest call
post for a Coast Guard emergency. She
pressed the summons button for the guard.
The intercom built into the unit buzzed to life.
“This is the Coast Guard post. What is the nature of your emergency?”
“There are smugglers unloading children
from the ship The Patron Saint on
Pier 31. I just saw them. You have to help!”
“Okay ma’am. Calm down we’re dispatching a boat and calling the police. We need some additional information from you
about the scene…”
“Just get here. Hurry! Those poor
children are starving! Who knows what
abuse they’ve been through?”
“Ma’am, if you’d just calm down we can
help you. Ma’am? Ma’am?”
She’d already left the call box. She returned to the crates and peered over
the sides at the children. They were
trying to stand up but kept falling from lack of space and disuse of their
legs. She reached in and pulled them
out one by one until they were all out of those awful crates. There were about twenty children in
all. They remained huddled close
together as if they’d forgotten how to spread out.
She hugged the one little girl who began
to cry and wiped her eyes. “Now you
just wait here okay? Help is
coming. I promise. These are good men and women. They’ll take care of you the way you should
be taken care of.”
She didn’t think the children could
understand her, but thought maybe the tone of her voice could get the point
across. She heard a police siren coming
closer. She hastily grabbed the ropes
that had been tying the crates to the crane and dragged the smugglers together. Using the rope she tied them up in one giant
knot. As the siren got closer she gave
a few children a final hug and then ran off into the night.
She shimmied back up the fire escape and
this time followed it all the way up to the roof. She watched as the cops got out of their patrol car, saw the
children, and then radioed for more help.
One of the young waifs moved shyly towards an officer. She smiled.
The kids were going to be okay.
She waited until all of them had been
packed onto the Coast Guard boat to be taken to the proper authorities before
leaving. She was tired. She smelt bad. She needed a bath, and Edward still had some explaining to do.
She reached Edward’s apartment almost
near dawn. Out of politeness or just
plain weariness she knocked on his bedroom window. When he didn’t answered she rapped harder. Finally she woke him up.
The thin middle-aged man sat up in bed,
yawned, and stretched.
“Come on, Edward. It’s cold out here!” she called through the
window.
His eyes got a bit wide when he saw her
and got up right away to open the window for her. She crawled in and slid the window shut behind her.
“You smell awful.”
“You’re going to look a lot worse then I smell
unless you have a damn good reason for sending me to steal a bunch of kids,”
she threatened.
“Then you did get to them in time?” He sighed.
“Good, I was afraid they’d be sold before you could get there.”
“Edward.
You have ten seconds to explain yourself.” She crossed her arms in front of her and looked sternly at him.
“I didn’t want the children for myself if
that’s what you were thinking!?” He
shot back quickly. “What would a fence
need with street waifs? I’ve got
clients like you who bring in the real valuables for me to sell. I’d overheard Sammy Klink at the
Rabble-Rouser Night Club saying he’d just ordered some fresh new meat and that
it was due in on The Patron Saint.”
“Sammy Klink? The pimp?” Her jaw
dropped in amazement.
“He’s going big time. Or at least he was until I sent you down to
spoil his day.” Edward sat down in the
chair next to his bed. “I gathered from
his comments that the ‘fresh new meat’ translated to young children, probably
stolen. I may be a criminal too, Hon,
but I don’t abide by selling anyone, much less kids into prostitution. What happened to the kids anyway?”
“The police and Coast Guard have
them. And the name of the ship they
came in on, and the bums who were to deliver them.”
“Good girl, I knew I could count on
you.” Edward smiled at her, reached out
his arms to hug her, but upon getting closer to her stopped and took a deep
breath. He backed away. “Faughh, what is that smell?”
“That my dear Edward is what Gotham’s
docks smell like.” She flopped down on
his bed. “There’s nothing to connect
Sammy to the kids you know. He could
just bring in another shipment.”
“Not likely.” Edward said, turning on the TV.
“I placed an anonymous tip with the police before I went to bed. They’ll get him. Hey look, Hon, your kids are on TV.”
“What?
The story broke that fast?” She
sat back up to look at his television.
Sure enough, twenty little faces stared out of the screen at her. A woman reporter was trying to interview the
little girl whose eyes she had wiped.
“Just who was the mysterious woman who
called in the report about the smuggled children? Perhaps we’ll never know, but this little girl would like to say
something to you, where ever you are.”
The reporter held the microphone up to the little girl’s mouth.
She hesitated at first but then blurted
out, “La mujer en negro. Ella salvo
nosotros. Ella es la Santa de todas
nosotros.”
“Well, now. I’m not sure what this little one said but it was certainly
heartfelt. Back to you Ron.”
Edward clicked off the TV. She turned and looked at him, “What did she
say?”
He raised an eyebrow. “The Argentine government has a warrant out for your arrest for grand theft of their national museum’s artifacts and you can’t even speak the language?”
She flopped back down onto the pillows of
his bed. “Hey, I just go where you tell
me to go and steal what you tell me to steal.
No one ever said I had to be able to read the warrants that get signed
out on me in foreign countries. But
really, what did she say?”
Edward turned to the window to look at the sun coming up over the roofs
of the buildings next door. “She said,
‘The lady in black. She saved us. She is the Patron Saint of us all.”
He turned back to her. “Did you hear me? Hey, did you hear…” He sighed.
She was fast asleep on his bed.
He covered her with his blankets and tucked them in around her
shoulders. He wrinkled his nose at her
odor again. “Ugh, I’m going to have to
burn those sheets when she wakes up.”
Edward settled himself down in his chair,
put his feet up on the edge of the bed, and followed her example by falling
back to sleep.