balcony’s Leptis Magna marble table was a cube of Moroccan hashish. In the bottom drawer, a bag of pure cocaine. Both were courtesy of the management.
But still, Batman was not partaking; even his cigar wasn’t lit. He was getting high in another way: by inhaling the sweet smell of success all around him. It was in the air. In the trees. In the glare of the sparkling buildings he saw everywhere he looked. The surroundings alone were intoxicating him. And whether this had to do with Chief Bada’s bubble bath, or something else entirely, Batman was definitely jonesing on them.
The view from the balcony was spectacular. It overlooked both the casino’s giant pool and its rear concourse, where everything was either gold, green, white or aqua blue, and everybody was one of the Beautiful People. Beyond the casino’s grounds was Albert Boulevard, the l’avenue principale of the upcoming Monaco Grand Prix. Batman could clearly see both the race’s starting point and its finish line from here. Farther out, beyond the wavy tree-lined streets, was the magnificent harbor, jammed with mega-yachts. Beyond that, the sparkling Mediterranean Sea.
In between getting thrown out of Delta and starting up their pirate-busting business, Batman had made a killing on Wall Street. He’d wheeled and dealed his way through hundreds of exotic financial transactions, earning his trading company tens of millions of dollars on a daily basis and growing himself a small fortune. When he was at the height of his Master of the Universe powers, he’d stayed and played in places like this. He knew the taste of the good life was hard to get rid of once it’s been on your tongue.
Seeing all this glamour and wealth, and knowing it substituted for oxygen in Monte Carlo, made him realize just how much he missed those days.
And how much he wanted them back.
* * *
THE CHAMBERMAID HAD finished clearing away Batman’s snack of pâté de foi gras and grilled bald eagle eggs when Twitch returned to the penthouse. He’d just received his third massage since arriving here that morning.
“When it comes to rubbing, the babes here are way better than the ones in Shanghai,” he told Batman, looking refreshed—again.
He began browsing the bar’s medley of champagnes.
“We got nothing better than this 1965 Jamre de Grape crap?” he asked.
Batman stretched out on his divan.
“Drink it through a straw,” he said sleepily. “It tastes better that way.”
Twitch grabbed a La Vielle Bon-Secours beer instead, and then pulled up a chair next to Batman.
“In the win-win department,” he said, “we’ve been invited to three parties tonight.”
“Who’s throwing them?” Batman asked.
Twitch shrugged. “Models, modeling agencies, race car companies,” he said. “What more do you have to know?”
Batman sipped his water. “Nothing, I guess.”
Twitch eyed the four girls across the room. “Any luck with the Wi-Fi?”
“Not at last report,” Batman replied. “But I’m hoping it gets fixed somehow, eventually. You know, with time.”
“I just hope the Z-box stays in one place while we’re waiting,” Twitch said.
Batman pretended to yawn. “That ‘Z-what?’” he replied wryly.
The main reason they were here—to establish an eavesdropping station—was on hold at the moment. Twitch’s ultrasophisticated spy stuff only worked when his laptop was able to get Wi-Fi, and that hadn’t happened since they’d arrived. It was somewhat curious that a place like the Grand Maison Casino didn’t have Wi-Fi in every suite and apartment, in every nook and corner, but that was not the case. The chambermaid told them it was being installed as part of the ongoing renovations downstairs and could come to life anytime.
“How long have we been here?” Twitch asked Batman after a while. “It seems like a week.”
Batman adjusted his sunglasses. “Seven or eight hours, I guess,” he replied. “I’ve already lost track.”
“Well, no Wi-Fi aside, don’t you think it’s getting a little odd?” Twitch said.
“The free booze, food, lodging, and gorgeous women, you mean?”
“Exactly,” Twitch said. “Why are we getting all this royal treatment? Just because we happened to fly in on the plane that the bitchiest actress in the world uses?”
“You got a better theory?” Batman asked him.
“I guess not,” Twitch replied.
“You want to ask someone for one?”
“And ruin the party? No thanks.…”
“Then drink up.…”
Twitch drained his beer and reached for another. “But how about we contact Snake and the Gun, then?” he suggested, still antsy about their situation. “See what’s shaking with them?”
Batman yawned for real. “You know the rules,” he said. “They’ll call us if they have anything to report. And the same for us.”