Batman

Smoke & Mirrors

Chapter 1

The notorious and unforgiving metropolis of Gotham City found itself in the firm grip of summer, its denizens still managing to thrive under the oppressive heat that permeated both day and night.

Commissioner Jim Gordon stood, his back against the wall of an office building, gun in hand. The derelict tenement building around the corner had been identified as the hideout of a local lowlife who just might have a lead on the string of mysterious kidnappings that had been plaguing the department for the past three months. Gordon knew that backup was nearby, just in case things went bad, but for the most part, he was on his own for this one.

The exterior of the building was covered in graffiti of every color, most of it indecipherable after years of being painted over. The door was just as old as the building itself, barely hanging onto its hinges. It was thankfully silent as Gordon pushed it open, a wave of mildew and rotting wood odors assaulting his nostrils. Every step up the ancient wooden stairway became a struggle, trying desperately to avoid a creak or groan from the prehistoric planks. Gordon wiped beads of sweat from his brow and wiped his hand on his trousers before steadying his grip on the reliable six-shooter.

After an agonizingly slow ascent to the fifth floor, Gordon finally found himself standing on front of room 505. With any luck, his rat was nestled inside, blissfully ignorant of the situation that was about to come crashing down on his empty head. Gordon took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. A thousand variations of what was about to happen ran through his head, most of them with unpleasant endings. He shoved them out of his mind and tightened his grip on the gun, raising it in front of him.

The door exploded inward, flying off the hinges as Gordon kicked it, landing in a heap on the filthy tile floor. There was a lone, dingy bulb flickering in the tiny kitchen.

"Eddie Balcom! Police! Come out with your hands in the air!" Gordon bellowed, scanning through the darkness back and forth like a predator. Nothing but grim silence answered him. The curtain on the far living room wall billowed inward like phantoms, fueled by the stale hot air from the city outside. Gordon quickly ran to the window and threw his head out, looking down, then up. Nothing there.

"Damn it." Gordon cursed under his breath. He grabbed his radio from inside the folds of his jacket, signaling to his backup.

"Unit 23 this is Gordon. We lost him." A blood-curdling scream echoed off the nearby buildings, cutting Gordon off in mid-sentence. He knew that sound. "Stand by." He said to the small radio, turning his attention to the rooftop. He watched the form of his informant, Eddie Balcom come hurtling over the edge of the building, hanging by his left ankle. Holding him in place was the silhouette of Gotham's Dark Knight himself.

"Tell me what you know about the kidnappings, Balcom." The Batman growled.

"I don't know anything! I swear!" Eddie answered back, flailing like a wounded trout, trying desperately to grab ahold of anything he could to save himself.

The Batman narrowed his eyes and loosened his grip on Balcom's ankle, letting him slip a few inches.

"Jesus! Look, I don't know anything, if I did, I would tell you, I swear to God! Just don't drop me for the love of Christ!"

The Batman considered this for a moment or two, finally pulling the creep up by his ankle and dropping him onto the fire escape below.

"Take him in." He growled to Gordon. The Commissioner nodded and turned his attention to Balcom, who was cowering at his feet.

"I think resisting arrest and obstruction of justice should hold you for a while." Gordon said, striking a match on the metal railing to light his cigar. "You going to keep looking for leads?" He asked, looking up to find himself talking to no one. He shook his head and tossed the match, cuffing Eddie Balcom as they began the long descent to the waiting police cruisers below.

Back at the precinct of the Gotham police department, the main conference room was full of officers, all seated and staring up at the front of the room as their newly appointed criminal psychologist laid out the profile of the kidnapper.

"Our suspect is likely a white male, aged twenty to forty years old with above-average intelligence, working alone. Modus operandi suggests a mild to moderate case of dissociative identity disorder and possible obsessive-compulsive disorder. Chemical traces of chloroform and hydrochloric acid at all five crime scenes suggest at least a basic aptitude in chemistry. No fingerprints or DNA evidence has been collected as of yet, but our suspect doesn't show any signs of stopping anytime soon. I'm sorry we have so little to go on right now, but I do ask for your patience and understanding."

"Dr. Quinzel?" A voice came from the back of the room.

"Yes, Sargent?" Harley replied.

"You said this guy isn't planning on giving up the kidnappings anytime soon. How can you be sure?"

"I know the type. He isn't going to stop until you guys stop him. Trust me." She said with a smile. "Okay, boys, that's all for today. Be careful out there!" Harley collected her paperwork as the officers filed out of the room and back to their desks. She had to admit, she had been just as surprised as anyone when Jim Gordon had asked her to be the precinct's new criminal profiler, but she was qualified for the job, after all. And besides, it was a chance for her to use her brain. Something she had been sorely missing for years now.

Harley dropped off a copy of her profile work at Gordon's desk before grabbing a cup of coffee and heading to her own office. She only worked here a couple of nights a week, but Gordon had insisted on giving her an office of her very own. He had said something along the lines of it being her 'reward' for going straight and getting out of Arkham.

Harley shut her door behind her and locked it, careful to put her little 'office hours are over' sign on the outside of the room. The office wasn't anything luxurious, but it was fairly secluded and had a pretty decent view of the city. She had gone about getting a few little decorations for the place, like a cute little sign on her desk that said 'the doctor is in.' Ivy had even given her a little ficus tree.

Harley set her coffee down and peeled her blouse off, followed by the damned torture device called a bra. If there was anything she hated about this job, it was the stupid uniform. She took the time to open her window and let in some fresh air before walking across the room to a small, free-standing locker where she kept a change of clothes. She then shimmied out of the long skirt she was forced to wear, throwing that into the locker as well. She wore no underwear beneath it. It was too damned hot to be wearing panties. Harley bent over and grabbed her duffel bag from the locker, going through it and picking out something that wasn't going to constrict her like a snake in this heat.

"Now there's a million-dollar view if I ever saw one."

Harley instantly recognized the voice and smiled as she turned to find her beloved Nightwing perched on her windowsill.

"Hiya, Bluebird. You come all the way across town to spy on me at work?" She teased.

He smiled and let himself in, tossing his mask onto her desk. "With good reason, from the looks of it." He stole a swig of her coffee and made a terrible face. "How can you drink that? It's almost ninety degrees outside."

"It helps me stay awake for the night shift." She giggled as she made her way over to her desk and kissed him.

"Doesn't red bull do the same thing?" He asked.

"Doesn't agree with me. Did you find anything out?"

"Not much. Bruce got ahold of Gordon's informant a while ago, who didn't tell us anything we didn't already know and Tim's on lockdown for the night. How about you?"

Harley reached around Dick and grabbed her profile, handing it to him as she pulled on a pair of denim shorts and a black tank top.

"This narrows it down a little bit. Two-Face maybe?"

"No." Harley replied. "Not Harvey's style. If it were him, he'd be kidnapping them two at a time and the victims would probably be from drastically different walks of life."

"Good call." Dick said, setting the report back on Harley's desk. "So what time you get out of here again?"

"Twenty minutes. Go beat up some bad guys and I'll meet you at home." She kissed him again as he grabbed his mask and headed for the window. "Bluebird?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"You know we've got less than a month before the wedding, right? We need to start hammering some things out soon."

"Not a problem. We'll spend the day on it tomorrow. Promise." He replied as he dove out the window into the oppressive summer heat.

Harley watched him from the window as her dashing hero swung from rooftop to rooftop until she couldn't see him anymore. She turned and took a sip of her coffee and made an equally awful face. She tossed the cup into the trash can and flung her door open.

"Can somebody get me a red bull?"

Beneath the rocky shoreline of Gotham North, Bruce Wayne sat in front of his computer monitors, reading the profile Harley had just faxed him. It sounded plausible, given what little information they had to go on regarding this mysterious kidnapper.

Bruce read through the document over and over, wracking his brain trying to come up with a name that fit. There were plenty of them; the trouble was narrowing it down. He opted for a different approach.

Bruce opened a custom-made program on his computer and input the data from the profile, then ran it against all recorded inmates that had ever been processed at Arkham Asylum. The computer chirped in compliance and began compiling the possible outcomes. Bruce folded his hands and waited.

"Bruce!" A familiar female voice rang throughout the cave, instantly drawing his attention. He found a pretty, twenty-something woman with auburn hair and haunting gray eyes, walking toward him with a smile on her face and her arms outstretched to hug him.

"Barbara. It's nice to see you." He stood and hugged her. It had been over two years since Barbara Gordon had set foot in the city. She had gone off to pursue some kind of criminal justice course at a college in Metropolis. "When did you get back?"

"This morning. Dad told me all about the kidnappings, figured you guys could use a hand. I assume my suit is still here?"

"Of course. We could use all the help we could get. Have you spoken to anyone else yet?"

"No. You're the first. Couldn't track down Tim or Dick." Barbara's voice fell slightly when she mentioned Dick's name. It wasn't surprising, given their history. This reminded Bruce that Barbara had no idea about Dick and Harley, or their upcoming wedding. He wasn't about to open that can of worms, though.

"So what are you working on?" Barbara asked, turning her attention to the computer monitors.

"I'm running a comparison of Arkham inmates against the data compiled into the department's criminal profile. Hopefully, this will narrow down our list of suspects."

"That's right; dad mentioned something about the department finally getting a profiler on payroll. So who compiled the report?"

"Harleen Quinzel."

Barbara stopped and stared at Bruce as if he had six heads. "Harley Quinn's working for the police department? When did she even get out of Arkham?"

"Ten months ago next week."

Barbara looked extremely surprised. "No incidents since then?"

"She was actually responsible for putting the Joker back behind bars about six months ago. That's a big part of what landed her the job working for your father."

Barbara took a silent moment to let all of this sink in and found that she was actually quite impressed. "Good for her. So you want me to keep my ear to the ground, see if anything comes up?"

"Sure." Bruce replied, turning his attention back to the computer.

"Okay then, I'll be in touch." Barbara waved and let herself out as Bruce's computer chimed that the program had completed and come back with four possible matches.

Match one: Wesker, Arnold J. Alias- the Ventriloquist. Status: Released

Bruce highly doubted that Wesker was behind these recent kidnappings. There was nothing for him to gain from it, monetarily speaking, and while the man was crazy, he didn't inflict pain on people for the pure enjoyment of it.

Match two: Nygma, Edward T. Alias – the Riddler. Status: Incarcerated

Nygma was still locked up in Arkham, so Bruce immediately disregarded this piece of information.

Match three: Elliott, Thomas C. Alias – Hush. Status: At large, no outstanding warrants

Bruce sat forward in his chair and read over the name three times. Tommy Elliott did indeed fit the profile, but he hadn't set foot in Gotham for almost five years now. If he was indeed behind this, why now? What was the game? Bruce pondered this for a moment or two and finally clicked the mouse to bring up the final name. When it came up on screen, Bruce's eyes went wide with shock. It couldn't be…

Across town, a train pulled into Gotham station, the metallic clanks echoing throughout the ancient building. The doors slid open into the empty station like the teeth of an enormous steel serpent. Only one man got off before the train sped back into the night. A man who was feared throughout the streets of Gotham City by both the lawful and the lawless. A man who had, in his youth, fought crime on these very streets. But those days were far behind him now. He was here for an entirely different purpose.

His heavy boots scraped the sidewalk outside Gotham station as he scanned the area and smiled.

"Home sweet home."

Match four: Todd, Jason M. Alias – The Red Hood. Status: WANTED