Batman 3 - Batman Forever by Peter David Read Free Book Online Page B

green-suited sort of “mascot” called “The Guesser” on all their publications. The Guesser was always poised with his finger pointed at the reader, demanding, “Have you got what it takes?”
    Edward Nygma always had what it took. The problem was, he was the only one who knew it. But that was going to be changing very, very soon.
    And the man who was going to be changing it was headed his way.
    Edward would certainly know him when he saw him. He’d spent enough time anticipating the moment, after all. For on the opposite wall of his cubicle was something that could only be considered a “shrine” to Bruce Wayne. There was an assortment of photographs, articles, magazine covers. He had been fairly scrupulous throughout the years.
    He’d even included, down and to the right, the first article, the very first. It was old and stiff and there were still bloodstains on the face of the young man staring into the camera.
    Nygma had it all planned out. Finally he was going to be meeting Bruce Wayne face-to-face, and he had every moment of the encounter scripted. He knew what he would say and, more important, he knew exactly what Bruce would say. He’d rehearsed it to perfection in his mind for weeks upon months, and there was no way that there could be any possible deviation. He simply knew Bruce Wayne far too well to have miscalculated.
    Someone else was walking past now, and was doing so very quickly. But it wasn’t fast enough. Edward was on his feet immediately, calling, “Mr. Stickley!”
    Fred Stickley, who wore his state of harassment with as much familiarity as other people wore backward baseball caps, stopped in his tracks. Without looking, he said, “Yessss . . . Edward . . .”
    “When are you planning to bring my project up to Mr. Wayne?” he asked. His adult face still had that same youthful impishness that had gotten him into major trouble as a kid. But there was an additional bit of barely controlled zeal that had been present ever since he’d come out of the coma, the coma that he’d been in for three weeks after he’d cracked his head on the curbside—the coma that he’d come to think of as his cocoon time, his chrysalis period, before emerging into the world with a clear and unfettered vision.
    His greatest frustration was that there were so many people out there who didn’t share that vision. He was constantly trying to rein himself in wherever and whenever he encountered someone like that.
    With Stickley, he had to rein himself in quite a lot.
    Stickley, for his part, felt absolutely no need to. “Mr. Nygma,” he snapped, “what part of ‘no’ were you unable to grasp?”
    Nygma paused a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then began, “You don’t understand . . .”
    But Stickley was already shoving a finger into Nygma’s face. “No, you don’t understand, I, your department head, have scotched this project. That is my prerogative.” Then he gained control of himself and slowly lowered his hand, not wanting to work himself up into a lather on the day of Wayne’s scheduled visit. He tried to sound pleasant. “Edward . . . listen . . . you do outstanding work on the projects you’ve been given. But the stuff you’ve developed on your own, it’s . . .”
    “Over the top? Pushing the envelope? Out there?”
    Stickley had been going to simply say “crazy,” but instead he nodded amenably. “All those.”
    Nygma grabbed him by the shoulders, his voice almost shaking with intensity. “But don’t you see? That’s the point! You think when they pointed at bread mold and said, ‘Hey! Here’s a wild thought: Penicillin!’ How many people said, ‘That’s over the top!’ But how many others had the foresight, the intelligence and, I might add”—and he adjusted Stickley’s necktie—“the stunning fashion sense, to see the possibilities?”
    Stickley’s patience was running out fast. “Edward . . . let me make this as clear and concise as I can. This . . . mind creation