The Oil Man's Hat

The Texan looked at his watch for what must have been the fifth time. He wasn't used to being kept waiting, but Bruce Wayne was one of the few men in the world for whom he was willing to wait.

The oil man was on the top floor of Wayne Foundation Building in downtown Gotham City, cooling his heels in the reception area to the Wayne Industries executive suite. He passed the time gazing at the receptionist. She was pretty enough. In fact, she reminded him of his former secretary, Sly.

She approached him again, "I'm sorry you've been kept waiting, sir. Are you sure I can't get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you, darlin'," he said in an exaggerated Texas drawl.

"May I at least take your hat?" she suggested brightly.

"No, ma'am," he answered with a twinkle in his eyes, "a Texan's hat is his security blanket."

"Well, if you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask," she said with a friendly smile.

"Oh, I won't, darlin', you can be sure of that." His eyes followed her behind as she returned to her desk. ‘That skirt is just a little too long for my taste,' he thought.

The man had many faults, being a sexist philanderer among his greatest failings. He was also not above bending the law to bring down those who crossed them, although it must be said that almost everyone he went after had something to hide in the first place.

He was not without his good qualities, however. Although he found it impossible to be a faithful husband to his wife, he was a devoted father and son. He was extremely loyal to his friends . . . and he did not have a racist thought in his head.

It was with genuine pleasure that he saw the African-American gentleman striding towards him. In his late 40s and a tiny bit overweight, Lucius Fox was dressed in a stylish pinstripe business suit. Bespectacled, his hair was just beginning to turn grey around his temples. The Texas oil man was glad he was going to get this opportunity to talk to the man who really ran Bruce Wayne's financial empire.

Fox held out his hand as he approached. "Mr. Ewing?" he asked.

The President of Ewing Oil shook Fox's hand as he said with a smile that had charmed many, "Call me J. R.."

"I am Lucius Fox. -"

"Oh, I know who you are!" J. R. replied, his grin broadening.

"I apologize for Mr. Wayne, but I am glad to be able to tell you that he is now in and will be seeing you in just a moment."

"Quite all right, Lucius," J. R. Ewing replied. "I'm aware that business concerns are not always uppermost in Mr. Wayne's mind . . . unlike mine . . . and, I imagine, yours."

Fox diplomatically ignored both the slam on his boss and the personal compliment as he continued, "I also want to say, on behalf of Wayne Industries, that we are truly sorry that today's meeting was leaked to the press."

"Don't worry about it," J. R. answered with a mischievous look on his face. "That Vicki Vale can be quite, ah . . . ‘resourceful' in tracking down a story."

Mindful of Mr. Ewing's lascivious reputation, Fox did not care to speculate on what J. R. and Vicki Vale, free-lance photographer, may or may not have done. Before Lucius could think of an appropriate reply, the Texan was off on another tack.

"You know, Lucius, if you want to work for someone who takes business as seriously as you do, there is a position for you at Ewing Oil."

No one, other than Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne and the IRS had any idea at just how well Fox was compensated for his efforts on Bruce's behalf. There was no way anyone else could begin to match the package Bruce had put together for the man who managed the Wayne fortune. "I'm quite flattered, J. R., but I have no interest in leaving Mr. Wayne."

Before the Texan could respond, the receptionist from behind her desk interjected, "Mr. Ewing - Mr. Wayne will see you now."

Fox and J. R. said their good-byes. Then the receptionist led Ewing into Bruce Wayne's huge private office. Large windows looked out over the island that was the heart of Gotham City.

Introductions were made and then the receptionist left the two men alone. As he ushered J. R. into a plush chair, Bruce decided that first, a little small talk might be appropriate. "Well, Mr. Ewing-"

"Call me J. R.," John Ross Ewing, Junior, interjected.

"Do you get to Gotham City very often?"

"Not as often as I'd like," Ewing answered, "but tell me, Bruce, since I believe that we are both interested in the same thing-"

Not to be outdone in his own office, Bruce cut in and suggested, "Making money?"

"Ha!" J. R. chuckled. "No, besides that!" Ewing gave Bruce a look like one fox would give another upon entering a henhouse. "What is the story behind some of the women in this town, like, say . . . Catwoman, for instance?"

All traces of levity drained from Bruce's face. With deadly earnest, he replied, "If you ever see her, run away in the opposite direction . . . as fast as you can."

J. R. sensed that perhaps he had taken a wrong turn, but he wasn't to be dissuaded so easily. "Okay, then - what about Batgirl?"

Ever since he had become Dick Grayson's Legal Guardian, Bruce had tried to soft-pedal the playboy image he had previously cultivated to protect his Batman secret identity. Bruce learned, however, that a reputation once made, tended to linger.

Bruce decided it was time to shift gears. A rare smile broke across his face. "Now, Batgirl, that's a different story altogether! I've had the pleasure of meeting her on a couple of occasions. Extremely beautiful, talented . . . and smart."

J. R. was obviously eager to hear more, but Bruce decided enough was enough. "But no more chit-chat, J. R.. I'm sure you didn't come all this way to compare little black books."

The only thing J. R. enjoyed more than women was business. He warmed to the purpose of his visit. "Ewing Oil must plan for the future. Working together, Ewing Oil and Wayne Industries can be in the forefront of the development of alternative energy sources. There was some excellent research done in the 1970s upon which we can build. We know that oil won't last forever."

"I appreciate that, Mr. Ewing-"

"Call me J. R.."

". . . Ah, yes, well, and the fact that you run a family enterprise. On the other hand, I must say I am a bit disturbed by some of the reports I've seen on some of your business dealings."

"Exaggerations, Bruce, well, for the most part, anyway . . . spread by my many rivals in the oil business."

"Be that as it may, J. R., I'm also bothered by the fact that Ewing Oil recently acquired a Middle Eastern Oil Company that the United States Government believes was involved in biological weapons research."

"That's true, but we are in the process of eliminating that division of the company."

"Why hasn't it been closed down already?"

"Mr. Wayne . . . Bruce, I'm sure you know that a corporation is something like a large ocean liner. It can't be turned around on a dime."

"A very good analogy, J. R.. Ewing Oil's takeover of that company does make me think of a great ship."

"Oh? Which one?" J. R. asked, taking the bait.

"The Titanic," Bruce declared, making his point.

Just then, a young girl opened the door and peeked inside. Leaving it slightly ajar, she came in and curtsied.

She was too young to attract even J. R. Ewing's attention, as she appeared to be at most 13 years old. The girl was dressed in an old-fashioned blue dress with short sleeves. She wore white stockings that were at least knee-high and flat soled black shoes. The youngster had bright yellow hair, that seemed to insist on wandering into her eyes.

The girl gave a queer little toss of her head to clear her vision. "Excuse me, gentlemen," she said in a pronounced English accent. "Have either of you seen a rather large white rabbit with a yellow weskit and white gloves hereabouts?"

Bruce recognized the reference immediately . . . and it tied into a report he had recently read. In fact, that's why he had been late for his meeting with J. R. Ewing. He was pouring over computer information, trying to anticipate which of Batman's adversaries might strike next. 'Oh, no,' he thought.

J. R., oblivious to the implication of the girl's appearance and words, replied kindly, "Why, no, little darlin' . . . but how did you get in here, anyway?"

Now the door flew open. A man in his late 50s, dressed in an old English style grey tuxedo, burst into the room. Although his impossibly thick eyebrows were jet black, his handle-bar mustache and what could be seen of his combed-back hair were bright red. On top of his head was perched a high hat.

"My Super Instant Mesmerizer was our admission ticket," the man answered.

"Jervis Tetch - The Mad Hatter!" Bruce proclaimed.

"Quite right, Mr. Wayne," Tetch said in his strange accent with a little bow, "and although I know that you don't regularly wear a hyat, I also know that your guest does. In fact, he has it right now! Give it to me!"

"Are you kidding?" J. R. asked, as he gripped even more tightly to his white Stetson.

On that note, The Mad Hatter pulled a gun from his coat. To the two billionaires' surprise, the little girl also took a snub-nosed revolver from a pocket in her dress!

Bruce recalled the report that The Mad Hatter had broken a girl out of a juvenile detention facility upstate. The child had been adjudged criminally insane, as she had hacked her father, mother and little brother to death with a butcher knife . . . and sure enough, her first name was Alice.

"Better do as he says, J. R.," Bruce advised. "Mr. Tetch is quite fanatical when it comes to hats."

J. R. begrudgingly handed his chapeau over to The Hatter. Surprisingly, rather than leaving with his prize, though, Tetch and Alice pulled over a couple of chairs and sat down, covering the two men with their guns.

"What now, Mr. Tetch?" Bruce asked, trying to put the loony villain somewhat at ease.

"We wait for a couple of old friends of mine to show up," The Mad Hatter explained. "While we're here, any chance of getting us all a spot of tea?"

A short time later, at Woodrow Roosevelt High School, Dick Grayson was in the middle of taking a Calculus test, along with the rest of the class. Then a knock was heard on the classroom's tan wooden door. The Calculus teacher, Mr. Wiles, went to the door and opened it slightly. After speaking briefly with someone in the hallway, the teacher walked towards Dick's desk.

Dick looked up to see Mr. Wiles motioning him forward. Dick secured his test paper on his desk and approached his teacher. "Mr. Grayson, you need to go the Principal's Office immediately," he whispered. "Don't worry. You can finish the test later."

As he walked down the empty corridors to Principal Schoolfield's office, Dick speculated as to why he was called out of class. Could something be wrong with Aunt Harriet? he worried. He knew that Bruce would never take him out of school in the middle of the day for crime fighting, unless the situation directly effected the students, like the time The Joker invaded the building.

The secretary waved Dick into Principal Schoolfield's office. The administrator's face was etched with concern as he began, "Mr. Grayson, please sit down."

"I'd rather stand, if you don't mind, sir," Dick replied politely. "What's going on?"

"Mr. Grayson . . . Dick . . . your guardian, Mr. Wayne . . . has been taken hostage at his office downtown."

"What!"

"Evidently he was in a business meeting when this Mad Hatter person showed up and-"

"Excuse me, sir," Dick interrupted with urgency. "I'd like to go home right away!"

His request was granted and in short order Dick was driving his car towards Wayne Manor. He, however, wouldn't be remaining at home for long . . .

Barbara Gordon was in the process of approving the month's new book purchases at the Central Branch of the Gotham City Library when her friend, Myrtle, entered Barbara's office in a hurry.

"Barbara," Myrtle began, a little out of breath, "have you heard?"

"Heard what, Myrtle?" Barbara answered, looking up from her work while removing her reading glasses.

"Your friend Bruce Wayne has been taken hostage in his office in the Wayne Foundation Building! That goofy Mad Hatter has taken him and another businessman prisoner!"

Thinking fast, Barbara responded, "Myrtle, I'm going right over to Wayne Manor. Mrs. Cooper, Mr. Wayne's ward's aunt, could probably use some support from a friend at a time like this."

Leaving Myrtle in charge, Barbara left her office. Her destination, though, was quite a bit closer than Wayne Manor . . .

About forty-five minutes later, back in the executive office of Wayne Industries, The Mad Hatter was singing a little song, much to the delight of his young accomplice:

"Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you're at!
Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea-tray in the sky."

The Mad Hatter noticed J. R. staring at him. "Why are you looking at me like that, Mr. Ewing?"

"You look awfully familiar, Tetch!"

"So do you, Mr. Ewing . . . and I can tell just by looking at you that I don't like you!" The Hatter punctuated this last bit with a wave of his gun. He then turned his attention to Bruce. "That tea is taking an awfully long time, don't you think, Mr. Wayne?"

"You're right, Mr. Tetch," Bruce agreed amicably. "Please, let me call down again and see what's the matter."

Before Bruce could pick up the phone, there was a knock at the double doors that served as the entrance to the suite.

"Who is it?" The Mad Hatter shouted.

"It's your tea, sir," a young male voice answered from behind the door.

Tetch motioned Alice to answer the door, while he pressed himself flat against the right door, which was to remain closed. Every second or so, The Hatter would point his gun first at Bruce and then at J. R..

Alice opened the left double door and said, "Come in," all the while holding a gun on the visitor. The boy, dressed in a white waiter's jacket, black pants and a cap pushed down over his face, pushed a tea cart into the office.

The Mad Hatter stepped behind the youth, pulled back the hammer on his gun and pointed the weapon right at the back of the head of the waiter. With a practiced hand, he grabbed the cap off the lad's head as he said, "What kind of fool do you think I am?" The back of a black mask stretching across the back of the boy's head was clearly visible.

CRASH!

The bluish-purple form of Batgirl swung into the room through one of the picture windows! Batgirl took her fighting stance and was ready for action, but saw that The Hatter now held Robin at gunpoint while Alice continued to cover the two businessmen.

"Byatgirl?" Tetch pronounced in his odd way. "Where's Byatman?"

"Batman's sick," Robin announced without turning around.

"How apropos," The Mad Hatter said to no one in particular.

"He won't be coming, Hatter," the disguised Boy Wonder explained. "I left him asleep in the Batcave without a radio or TV, so he could get complete rest. I even took the Bat-phone off the hook."

"So what do you want, Tetch?" asked Batgirl sharply from across the room.

"Hmmm," the villain grunted as he rubbed his chin with his left hand, "as usual, I wanted Byatman's cowl . . . but since he's not here," he poked the back of Robin's neck with his gun, "and since you say that he won't be coming, I guess that Byatgirl's will just have to do."

"And then you and your friend will depart, leaving us all here safe and sound?" Bruce Wayne asked.

"Of course, Mr. Wayne," The Mad Hatter said without taking his eyes off the back of Robin's head. "All I wanted was Mr. Ewing's Stetson and a Byat-cowl for my collection."

"Well, in that case . . ." Batgirl reached her right hand towards her face.

black make-up obscured her face exactly where her domino had been! Batgirl wore a paint mask!

Despite this disappointing revelation, The Mad Hatter maintained his composure. He shoved Robin hard in the back towards Bruce. "Very clever, Byatgirl . . . but it really doesn't matter to me who you are," Tetch lied. "Now, bring your cowl over here to me, and Alice and I'll be going."

Batgirl did as she was instructed. With his gun in one hand, The Hatter picked J. R.'s Stetson off a coat rack where it had been hanging with the hand that was holding Batgirl's cowl and said, "Come along, Alice."

"But Mr. Hatter, sir," Alice complained in a thick English accent, "we haven't yet had our tea! and what a lovely tea set this is, too." With that, Alice put her gun back in her dress and began pouring tea for four. She did it with such enthusiasm and clamor that, for just a moment, all eyes except The Hatter's were drawn to her . . .

"OWWWWW!" Alice screamed.

"My dear, whatever is the matter?" asked The Hatter, rushing to her side. In his haste he dropped both Batgirl's cowl and Ewing's ten gallon hat.

"I poured boiling hot water on my wrist!"she cried, sobbing uncontrollably.

Jervis Tetch put his hand across his protégé's shoulders. "There, there," he said consolingly, "It will be alright. Let's get out of here."

Any hint of kindness left his voice as he waved his gun back and forth at J. R. Ewing, Bruce Wayne, Robin and Batgirl, "If anyone tries to follow us, they will be shot." After glancing to be sure the corridor was clear, The Hatter and Alice backed out the door and ran down the hall.

When they were gone, Robin and Batgirl sprinted after them. As he left, Robin called back, "Don't worry, Mr. Wayne. The police have all the exits surrounded. They won't get far."

Out in the corridor, Batgirl shouted, "Look, Robin. They're heading for the stairs!"

"They can't be planning to run all the way down-" Robin said on the go.

"THE ROOF!" the Dynamite Duo exclaimed in unison.

Batgirl and Robin sprinted up the stairs The costumed pair burst through the rooftop access door, just in time to see a strange object taking off.

"Holy Flying Hat!" Robin shouted incredulously.

"It reminds me of Simon's Sky Pie," Batgirl observed with chagrin, "or the ElectraPlane."

Bruce Wayne, with J. R. lagging far behind, walked up to the Dejected Duo. "Well, Batgirl, at least he didn't get away with this." He handed Batgirl her cowl. "Mr. Ewing got his hat back, too."

"I guess The Mad Hatter really only wanted Batman's cowl," Robin concluded. "Still, it seems like he went to a lot of trouble for nothing . . ."

Meanwhile, in the Flying Hat, as Alice and The Mad Hatter flew towards Tetch's secret Chapeau Chateau, Alice clapped her hands together with glee.

"Oh, please tell me again, Mr. Hatter, what it is we're going to do. It is so deliciously demented and depraved!"

"My dear little Alice, you are such a delight," Jervis said with genuine affection in his tone. "Now that I've installed the devices invented by your countrymen, Professor Chadwick and Dr. Neville, the electronics expert, in Mr. Ewing's hyat and Byatgirl's cowl, we can proceed with the next step in our ultimate plan."

"Who are those two Englishmen, again?" she asked innocently. "I've forgotten."

"Ha! I don't think so, my dear," The Hatter replied, not unkindly. "I think you just like to hear me tell you that story again."

Alice made a frowny face. "All right. I'll tell you," said Tetch, giving in.

"They were scientists, uh . . . retained by a Mr. Paul Beresford, brother of Dr. Clement Armstrong, creator of the Cybernauts. Beresford wanted revenge on the two secret agents responsible for his brother's death. He wanted to get rid of them by the most gruesome and protracted means possible.

"Unfortunately for Beresford, those two agents were able to defeat and, in the process, kill him as well. Chadwick and Neville went to prison for a time for their part in the plot.

"Since, however, their participation was under duress, they weren't in prison very long. I got in touch with them and found they had refined the technique they had developed for Beresford. For a very reasonable sum, they shared their invention with me.

"Now, with Mr. Ewing's ‘help' and with Byatgirl as our ace in the hole, we can proceed with the ultimate crime against humanity . . . and cause Byatman and Robin to be the last two human beings alive on Earth!"

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