"Gang War"
Part 1 of 12
by Steave
War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature ansd has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.
John Stuart Mill
He stood on top of the Falcone-owned penthouse, staring into the city that shunned him, never accepting him into its arms of embracement. Now it was his turn to shun this city, banish it from his thoughts and dreams, to fight the creature that created him. Kill it . . . after all, what could be more humorous?
His grin, embeded on his face forever thanks to his facial scarring, twitched with its own sense of excitement. He couldn't wait for the greatest spectacle to begin. His plan was going perfectly, since day one it had, and it made him giggle. His tragic "origin" had given him a sense of clarity and understanding, one that he had never known before, nor would've never known in his previous state.
Life is all about having fun . . . and if you look at everything in the right sort of light, everything is funny.
He laughed at himself, listening to the thoughts that scraped across the surface of his brain, and pushed them aside. It was time to get this party started.
The gangly creature sat in his wooden chair that he had set up on top of this building, marvelling at how intelligent he was in getting up the building, and all of the guards that he maliciously murdered along the way. They had been so easy it almost took all of the fun out of it, but he knew better, yes he knew better.
He looked back at Falcone's man who had had the unlucky job of guarding the door which led to the roof of Falcone's exquisite penthouse. The man, like himself, had an eternal smile carved into his face, with a nice little slit in his throat. The blood still wasn't finished squirting from his neck. This made him chuckle.
He looked at the table that he was sitting in front of him. A game of Chess was set up, the other chair opposite of him was vacant.
"Shall we begin the fun and games my friend?"
He spoke to his invisible friend, knowing that everything was about to be in motion . . . the irony of his plans and chess made him laugh to himself.
"Oooohhhh Sally my dear friend, this one is for you."
He reached into his purple coat pocket and revealed a switch. He pressed the big red button in the center and waited.
--
Helena felt herself thrown out of her father's mansion, not by choice but by force of explosion. Debris, shattered glass, and many other miscellanious items fell with her, and on top of her. Darkness swelled around her, choking out what little light was around her. She coughed, her ribs must've been broken, she couldn't tell though, too much pain.
Pain.
She coughed, she didn't look to see what came out, but she knew it wasn't what should've come out. She could only think of her father and uncles, familia. They had all gathered there to congratulate her father on escaping from his big prison break. She was just wondering how long it would take for the coppers to show, then her whole being was thrown from those she loved and cared for.
How many survived? Where was her father? Who would do this? So many thoughts went scrambling through her brain. She could only think that Falcone was out to get her family for what happened with that Red Hood character and his daughter. She wanted to scream but couldn't find the strength. She only coughed more.
Blood.
She had had enough, she scrambled, scratched, and clawed her way to her feet. She saw the ruined wreckage that used to be home and broke into tears. She almost collapsed in despair and hopelessness, but she remained steadfast, unwavering, and continued to search the vastness with her eyes.
Her family, almost all, were dead. Some were still alive, but her good instincts told her that they didn't have long. There was only one whom she truly cared for.
"Papa?! PAPA?!"
Some of the marble and wood began to move and from beneath the ruins, in the center of it all, stood a broken and battered man. He turned to see the sweet and terrible face of his daughter. The look of him made her think of some demon, arising from the very depths of Hell. He stared at his daughter, a man with nothing to lose. Tears of pain and loss came streaming down his face.
"Timone? Freddie?"
She asked her father, only hoping for something positive. He could only look down at his fallen brothers, they were right next to him when the blast hit, and they all landed in a massive heap. His brothers didn't make it, and he looked again at his daughter. All that was left of his family. He shook his head in answer.
"We're all that's left Helena. We go to the hideout and call the rest of the guys. Falcone gets his war."
--
Gordon had only just arrived at the Gotham City Prison when he got the call about Maroni's house exploding, only shortly after he had escaped. He and Dick had already come to the conclusion that whoever it was that had broken Maroni out also wanted him dead. Only one name came to mind . . .
Falcone.
D.A. Harvey Dent insisted that he tag along, and Gordon and Dick were more than welcome to bringing him. He had perhaps done more for this city than any other D.A. before him. Hell, maybe anyone in Gotham period, other than . . .
They were examining the bodies, the rubble, some of the guys even cried. Those that did, it was pretty easy to see where their loyalties lied.
"It's a goddamn mess out here Gordon."
"Not used to the crime scenes are you Dent?"
"Well, we had training time as a cop in order to become lawyers and attorneys. I know a thing or too, and have seen some stuff. But this . . . this is sick."
"Anyone find The Boss yet?" Dick asked this, hoping for both a yes and a no.
"Got something!" Flass, big bulky ex-Marine was proud of himself, and of course he wanted everyone else to know.
He found something alright, it was the Maroni brothers, Freddie and Timone, Sal's closest friends and family. Here they were, having lived their final minutes together. Dent's face began to flare with anger, his fists were clenched. If Falcone was behind this, there would be 9 different kinds of hell that he would be willing to put him through. He wanted Sal put away just as bad as the next guy, but to kill his whole family, was sick.
Then he remembered, "Damn, I gotta go."
"Why the sudden change of heart Dent?" Gordon asked.
"I just remembered this banquet at the Wayne Manor. I have a date, Gilda, I'm gonna be late."
"Oh yeah, aren't the Falcones gonna be there?"
Dent smiled.
"What is this Dent? A date, or work?"
Dent started for his car and turned, looking at Gordon, "You decide. You got everything under control here?"
"Don't worry Mr. Dent, we'll clean up real good."
Dent got in his Mercedes Benz and took off for the Wayne Manor. Gordon shook his head and began to clear off as much rubble off of the deceased Falcones as he could.
--
"Oh come on Bruce, that was twenty years ago . . ."
"But Gilda, it still burns in my memory to this day."
The two had been conversing for the past 5 minutes, reminiscing on the past. The two had been in the same class, grown up together. He, Tommy, Jason, Selina, Roman, Helena . . . and Gilda. They all had a unique chemistry to say the very least and loved their childhood . . . or what could pass for a childhood for some of them.
The two were standing in the middle of his party. All of Gotham's finest, not meaning the police, were there. The Board of Wayne Enterprises, other various wealthy individuals, and the Falcones. Bruce felt it necessary to throw a party after he and Roman's recent debacle. He was glad that Roman was ok, and that the video footage had been . . . disposed of. He loves Alfred, and all of his tricks, was all he could think.
"Oh Bruce, you never fail to crack me up."
"I try my hardest Gilda, but you don't make it easy."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, anymore you seem so . . . focused. What did you say you do again?"
"I'm D.A. Harvey Dent's secretary."
"Well there's your problem right there. I mean, how can you work for that guy? Yeah he's trying to get rid of Falcone and crime and all of that good stuff, but what has he done? Honestly Gilda, this Bat-thing the media keeps babbeling about does more for this city then Mr. Dent ever has."
"Glad to know that I still have fans."
The voice came from behind Bruce. He didn't even have to ask to whom it belonged. Harvey walked around him and went straight to Gilda, giving her a brush kiss on her cheek with an immediate apologetic, "Sorry for being late." Bruce felt like an ass, and for the moment, it felt good. It felt good to give people this illusion, this false sense that they actually knew him. They would never know . . . no they wouldn't.
"Anyways, Mr. Wayne, you were saying?"
Bruce was trying to think of the right words, but found none. "I was telling Gilda how lovely her dress looked and how I was surprised that you were able to score such a beautiful date, Mr. Dent."
"Nice party."
"Nice suit."
The two looked at each other, Gilda could only look away.
"So, seems like the gang's all here Mr. Wayne."
"Please Dent, call me Bruce, let's cut with the formailities."
"Whatever you say Bruce."
"So, Harvey, why so late? I've been trying to entertain your guest here, but to no avail."
"Maroni's place."
"What about it?"
". . . it no longer exists."
Gilda and Bruce shared looks of concern, both at Harvey, then with each other. All three then shared the same glance with Carmine, enjoying himself with his family and other cohorts. Many of them under his influence.
"Wouldn't know anything about it . . . would you Bruce?"
"No, why?"
"Well, it just seems that you've been getting awfully close to the Falcones lately . . ."
"Look Harv, don't accuse me of something I haven't done, especially in my own house."
Carmine and his family came to the threesome. They all shared looks, either of love, or disgust.
"My my Gilda, you look lovely this evening." Carmine said with a smirk and a smile, the usual.
"Well thank you Carmine, seems like I haven't seen you since . . ."
"You graduated high school dear, all of you . . . except you Wayne. Where did you go?"
"Oh, you know Carmine, just around."
"I couldn't help but overhear, what did you say about the Maroni's Dent?"
"I'm sure I could be asking you the same Carmine."
"How dare you Dent! You think you can just come in here and start pointing fingers about things you don't even understand? You rest assured Mr. D.A. that if you find yourself in a dark alley, you better be looking every which way."
"Carmine, enough."
Bruce found himself between the two, only hoping that he could diffuse the situation. Then, Alfred showed up.
"Martinis, anyone?"
Just before anyone could answer, the front door was blown off of its hinges. When the smoke cleared they saw a good sized group of men, and the one in the middle looked like he just got in a fight with the devil . . . and won.
"Oooh Falcone. You think that blowing up my home and killing my familia is bad . . . you ain't seen nothing yet."
To Be Continued . . .