Thorns and Claws

Chapter 1: Meeting the Contact

Synopsis:

Infamous cat-burglar Selanna Keel and Poison Evie plot to rob a museum in Glotham City. Ultimately, the plan is scarpered by The Bat and the criminals’ friendship is tested when one of them betrays the other. With one imprisoned, she dreams only of sweet revenge and devises a unique method of escape involving weight gain...

Chapter 1


It was raining again. This was the tenth straight day without a break in the weather, and it was beginning to become irksome. The woman exited the subway, glad to be out of the little tin box which stank of damp wool and body odor.
The platform on which the train had stopped was in a rough area of town. The benches that lay against the walls were broken and covered in graffiti. There were a few people milling about on the platform, none of which belonged to polite society. One looked to be homeless and was leaning against a cracked wall, litter around him as he took a swig from a small glass bottle. Another was cloaked in a hoodie, their hands in their pockets and casting shifty glances in every direction. Several of her fellow passengers tightened the grip on their belongings fearful of their surroundings as they beat a hasty retreat for the exit, up the stairs and out to the streets. But she was in no hurry.

She watched them go and smiled darkly, thinking that if someone truly wanted to rob them or do them harm, there wouldn’t be much they could do about it. Still, even the weather has a way of beating back the criminals of Glotham City. At least, temporarily.

As the train hissed away, she scanned the platform and looked up at a large clock that protruded from the wall. It was hanging slightly as if someone had once tried to hang from it and the glass that protected its hands was completely shattered. Still, the second hand trudged on. The time read 10:00pm.

She preferred to be early when she could, especially when, as was the case this evening, the prospect of improving her financial standing was on the table.

“Hey little lady…here all alone?” Came a voice from over her shoulder.

She had heard their approach, her peripheral vision missing nothing.

“You look like you could use some company.” Said the second man with a cackle.

She turned slightly, her back still towards them as she removed her hoodie.

“Oh, look—and she’s a blonde to boot.” Said the first man as he ran a hand across his stubbled chin.

“Oh no, two large men—where’s a policeman when you need one?” She said in falsetto turning to face them.

They faltered in their footsteps, suddenly unsure as a wicked smile played across her face. She scanned them in turn.

The taller of the two, presumably the leader, had a black cap pulled low and had a toothpick tucked into the corner of his mouth, giving him a permanent sneer. His stubble held heavy traces of grey and he was out of shape. His accomplice was younger, fitter. His eyes were hungry as he looked her up and down and licked his lips.

“Hey Toots. What’s say you come with us nice and quietly. I’ve got an itch I’d like you scratch and you’re just my type.” Said the older of the two men. He grabbed his crotch and looked over at his companion, they both chuckled fatly and took another step closer.

The woman pouted, steadying her feet and tilted her head to the side. “Aww, well unfortunately for you, you’re not my type so I think we have a teensy-weensy little problem.”

“Look bitch, I said—”

But before he could utter another syllable, her foot lashed out, quick as lighting, and caught him under the chin. His head snapped backward, and his jaw made a cracking sound as the toothpick splintered, taking several teeth with it. Overbalanced, he fell backward and uttered a bewildered groan as his feet clattered on the platform and he fell, unconscious.

His accomplice was temporarily taken aback, his head turning to the fallen thug then back to her, his fists raised in the classic boxing stance. He might have training, she would have to be careful.

“You’re going to pay for that!” He said, throwing a hard right that narrowly missed her face as she pulled back. He was advancing, punching wildly in her direction; but she parried the blows with forearms and elbows that were her automatic defense.

His face was strained, becoming more frustrated while hers was mechanical, more interested in what he was planning to do next.

“Stop. Fucking. Grinning!” He yelled between blows that she blocked or parried.
She was becoming bored.

He suddenly lashed out with a vicious kick, she wasn’t expecting and she narrowly caught him by the thigh. Checking her momentum, she rolled her shoulder and threw him several feet. He fell and skidded but was not to be deterred.

Blind rage fueled him now. He was not going to be bested, least of all by a woman. He rolled over and reached inside his jacket pocket.

He got to his feet and six inches of glinting steel had suddenly protruded from his hand, readying himself for the final attack.

He advanced on her, his knife hand raised. But she was no longer smiling.

“Oh, we’re playing with toys now?” She said as the knife whistled through the air.

She squared her feet and caught his hand on the downstroke and twisted it. The man cried out in pain, and she heard the satisfying crack of bone and ligament as the knife fell harmlessly out of his hand. She kicked it aside with a toe and stood behind him, his knees buckled as she brought his arm behind him and pulled upward.

“Ahh! Lady, please!” He cried out, his eyes wide with horror as he turned to look up at her.

“Oh, you’re looking for mercy, now?” She said huskily as she watched the face, his lower jaw now trembling in fear.

“P-please. No more! I swear I’ll—”

But whatever higher power he was about to offer allegiance to she did not know or care.
For she had released his hand and performed a roundhouse kick that caught him right behind the ear. She heard the satisfying sound of boot leather meeting flesh and he let out a groan and slumped over.

She exhaled and looked around at the platform. The supposed homeless man she’d spied laying against the wall looked at her with drunken and bewildered eyes.
“Good show, lady!” He mumbled, toasting her and tipping the bottle skyward necking down the remaining contents.

She smiled thinly, looking down at the mess of men on the floor and adjusted her long coat. Satisfied, she walked, cat-like, the length of the platform, up the stairs and out into the rain-soaked streets of Glotham City to meet her contact.