It was only by the sheerest coincidence that Jack Potter got a look at her. He didn't credit himself with any amount of skill over the GCPD boys. If he'd blinked, he'd have missed her, and he certainly wouldn't have heard her. She was a shadow running across that corridor, even in high heels, her black leather suit eating up what little light there was in the closed museum and not giving any of it back.
But he did get a look at her, just out of the corner of his eye, and it was enough to make him break from his patrol route. He had the impression of a bare face floating in all that unseen black, a glint of teeth on the smoothly tanned skin. Almost the Cheshire cat's smile, lingering behind a body that had faded. Even now, he could remember that smile.
He rounded the corner and caught a real glimpse of her. Her catsuit outlined her with incredible tightness, only tiny wrinkles in the fabric where she moved giving away that it wasn't a layer of black paint over her firm, well-muscled body. And there was something perversely exciting about watching those wrinkles move with her, bunching and clenching and pulling taut to show off the smooth workings of her musculature. She was a work of art in boundless motion, even just coming to a stop and staring appraisingly at the path before her.
The set-up of this exhibit was simple. The hallway she was in ran for several yards, protected by electric eye lasers, and then opened up into a little chamber where guests could gather around the pre-Columbian jade jaguar figurine and marvel at its importance to Mayan culture. Between Catwoman and that prize, the lasers swept in swirling formations, cutting up, down, and to the sides. Jack had worked there three days a week for four years now, and he couldn't make heads or tails of what the lasers were supposed to be doing in their crazy pattern.
But after just a few moments of staring--almost like she were confirming some private hypothesis instead of really trying to discern what orders the lasers were following--Catwoman burst into motion. Her catsuit stretched and swam over tight muscles as she became a somersaulting whirling dervish. She seemed to expend no effort at all, dancing with the lasers like a cat would play with a length of string, easing forward, then to the side, backwards a little, then forward in sweeping gulps. The lasers didn't get close to her. Her pitched breathing was a whisper, but it was still louder than the pillow-soft falls of her feet and hands on the ground. In an ejaculation of motion, she flew past the last laser beams and fell to all fours, mewling in a contented exhaustion that was more like that of a held breath than any serious strain. With a deep breath, she erected herself, staring straight ahead at the artifact--now a cat with a canary, puzzling out to get it out of its cage.
Jack couldn't just watch anymore. As much as it was probably a good idea to pretend he hadn't seen anything when a freak decided to rob the place, he couldn't cash his checks and call himself a guard in good conscience if--having chanced upon this opportunity--he didn't at least try.
He dialed the volume on his walkie-talkie as low as it would go and pressed talk. "Freddy, we've got an intruder in the south wing. It's Catwoman! Call the GCPD and tell them to get down here, now!"
There was no response, even at the whisper-quiet level he had set the walkie for. He should've guessed that Catwoman had done something to block off communications. She wouldn't leave a thing like that to chance. Cursing inwardly, Jack drew his sidearm and aimed it at Catwoman as he kicked out his foot into the nearest laser.
Only the silent alarm went off--no sense in alerting a thief that they were caught until they were well and truly caught--but Catwoman must've been wired into the system, because she cocked her head almost instantaneously and emitted a displeased growl. Knowing that she was alerted, Jack thumbed his safety off.
"Hold it right there!" he called. "You're under arrest!"
Catwoman turned, seemingly instinctually, at the sound of his voice. As if she were just politely turning to regard the person who'd spoken to her. But in that casual, seemingly harmless act, her hand whirled with an almost unseeable speed and a glint of light was the only warning Jack got as something hit his pistol and forced it out of his hands.
Catwoman was moving, even then, running through the laser hallway with their dots of scarlet light roving over her body like fingers fondling but unable to hold her. Her breasts jiggled with the motion, full and proud in a comfortably wicked constraint within her catsuit, bounding within that tight embrace as if they might break loose at any moment. Jack caught a glimpse of her, but almost helplessly he was also searching for his gun. He saw it on the floor, having hit butt-end first, and only now toppling over. There was a sort of shuriken in the shape of a cat's-paw that had hit the barrel, four crescent-shaped claws curling from the body of the implement to shear into the gunmetal. Then, before Jack could even think of picking it up, he felt a gust of wind at his back. He turned instinctively, knowing that Catwoman had just dashed past him. So thinking, he completed his turn, looking where she must've gone at the mouth of the hallway, but he saw nothing. No shadow, no stir of movement, no evidence that anyone had ever been there at all. Yet he knew, with all the certainty in his gut, that Catwoman had just rejoined the fraternity of shadows that kept silent vigil over the museum at night.
***
Jack Potter ended up having to stay an hour after his shift, just explaining to the GCPD what had happened and no, he hadn't noticed anything at all that could point to Catwoman's current whereabouts.
Selina Kyle's night was not going well either. Back at the latest hide-out of the Gotham City Sirens, she was wracking her claws over the spot on her dresser that had meant to have an ancient Mayan artifact catching the eye... at least until she grew bored of it and sold it to the highest bidder. Although she couldn't have cared less about the jade itself--such things came and went, and she prided herself on a capriciousness towards them--the fact that it'd been taken from her, to her way of thinking, grated.
Just a little ways away, Poison Ivy was using the computer, while Harley Quinn was bound and gagged by a succession of vines. Ordinarily, Selina would've thought it was a little kinky, but living with Ivy and Harley for a little while had convinced her that it was the only way to get some peace and quiet.
Harley's toys littered the floor, although that was almost overrun with the grass and creeping vines that Ivy had grown after taking out the floorboard. Selina considered herself above that kind of tacky decor, although she had a dozen cats running roughshod over the place. They were giving Selina a wide berth at the moment, although one sat on Ivy's lap and another was curled in front of Harley, flicking its tail in her face.
"I had it!" Selina fumed, carving more wood shavings out of her barren would-be display. "It was in my hand! I'd looped the cameras, hacked the entrance codes, spoofed the communications--and some flatfoot gets lucky and sours the whole heist. I know life isn't fair, but how can it be that unfair to me? I deserve nice things when I put such hard work into stealing them."
"And looking good while you do it," Ivy observed, idly tapping at the keyboard with one bored finger. The monitor scrolled down and down.
"Don't try to flatter me. It's no fun having your ego stroked when I don't have something to be all egotistical over. You're making me feel like I'm getting a participation trophy in crime."
"Just trying to cheer you up. I'd rather hear you moaning on about Batman than complaining you couldn't pull off a heist."
"You're one to talk. When aren't you whining about some environmental cause or another?"
"If you want," Ivy said dangerously, "I could have you gagged and tied right beside Harl. Maybe then I could have an intelligent conversation around here."
"About your poor, precious plants? How long can you natter on about them, anyway? Say what you will about Harley's clown fetish, at least the Joker does things."
