DC Legacy: Batman’s Butler #2
By The Poet 11 Comments
Disclaimer: Part of the DC Legacy Fan Fic series. Writer does not own characters appearing here
Rated: E for everyone
- DC Legacy: Batman’s Butler #1
- DC Legacy: Batman’s Butler #2 (This issue!)
- DC Legacy: Batman’s Butler #3
- DC Legacy: Batman’s Butler #4
- DC Legacy: Batman’s Butler #5
- DC Legacy: Batman’s Butler #6 (COMING SOON!)
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Continued from: DC Legacy: Batman’s Butler #1
“A long time ago, when I was much younger and I had a full head of thick brown hair, I was a spy for the British Secret Service,” Alfred began his story,
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“I was riding in my inconspicuous bright red car on an active city street. I had the top down as I usually did on such mornings so the crisp October air was rushing through me. It was quite refreshing. I always liked that car. Pity someone blew it up, but that’s another story.
I took a right on West Roberts Street and then another right on Conrad Avenue. Finally, I pulled up in front of my destination. It was a tan building with dark brown decorative stones.
I retrieved an object from the passenger seat and exited the vehicle. I threw the keys at a gentleman who had been previously leaning against a lamp post while reading the newspaper. That agent would deal with parking my car where it would continue to be inconspicuous.
I entered the building and immediately walked to a black door labeled “furnace”. I went down a flight of stairs before arriving in the dark room which dealt with heating. When I was sure I was alone, I walked toward a large metal door, which opened inwardly at my approach.
You must understand, Master Damian, that automatic doors would not be invented for another two years. So, the fact that the Agency had not one but four operational doors shows how advanced it was at the time.
After the metal door, there were three other doors. The second one was a gray door which slid away and while the next rose upward at my approach. Like most mornings, I pondered whose smart idea it was to have more than one of these doors. It was really redundant and unnecessary to have that number of doors if you ask me. One door would have sufficed but the engineers always like to be dramatic back then.
The final automatic door I had to walk through was striped and slid away. At the center of the room beyond the door was a phone booth.”
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“A phone booth?” Damian frowned, interrupting the story.
“Yes, a phone booth. Might want to ask Master Kent about them next time he is over. I think he misses them the most of all of us old timers,” Alfred laughed nostalgically, continuing, “as I said the engineers back then liked to be dramatic.
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I opened the phone booth and dialed a number. I do not remember what the number was, though I think if you used that same number on another phone you would have gotten a pizza place. Like I said dramatic.
After I dialed the number, the phone booth’s floor fell out and I flew down a tube. It always was exhilarating. It was sort of like the bat-fire poles we had back when Master Grayson held the mantle of Robin.
At the end of the tube, I landed in the middle of an office space for the British Secret Service. It was a busy morning as always. I was greeted by the sound of ringing phones and the voices of numerous pleasant looking secretaries:
“This is Central Control. How may I direct your call?”
“The secret code of the day is U.N.C.L.E.”
“I’m sorry, but Q is not available at this time.”
“I’ll transfer you to the water-proof machine gun bow ties division now, sir.”
I strolled down the rows of secretaries. Along the way I passed several of my fellow spies including a red haired woman and a bowler hat-wearing man with an umbrella. I approached a secretary behind a larger oak desk.
“Hello Miss Pettaval,” I greeted the woman. I presented her with the single rose I had retrieved from my car, “I think this will look good on your desk.”
“Oh Alfred!” beamed the secretary as she looked up from filing her nails. Her face turned pink at the sight of the rose, exclaiming, “You shouldn’t have!” She took the flower and smelled it, “It’s lovely! Thank you, Alfred! You always are so kind and thoughtful!”
“So I’ve been told,” I smirked. I nodded to a menacing red door behind the secretary and asked, “Is he in?”
Petty unconsciously turned in her seat to look at the door and then answered, “Of course.” She turned back to face me laughing slightly, “He’s always in.” she paused, glanced down at some pages on her desk, commenting, “He’s dealing with a small matter, but he told me to send you in whenever you arrived.”
“Thank you Petty,” I bowed and then headed to the office. The first thing I saw upon entering was an immense desk behind which was one of the most powerful and important figures in the world of intelligence.
Some called him “M”; others called him “Mother”. However, to me, he will always be Robert McCallum.
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