Alfred exited the elevator to Bruce's new, albeit temporary, home: the penthouse suite at Gotham Century Towers

Alfred exited the elevator to Bruce's new, albeit temporary, home: the penthouse suite at Gotham Century Towers. The suite had been updated significantly for Bruce's particular needs as the richest man in Gotham and its most famous masked vigilante. The butler sighed when he saw the completed work for the first time. It was stylish and modern, but it was going to be a nightmare to keep clean.

Alfred inspected the layout. Everything seemed in order, undamaged and in its natural, pretentious state. There was even a basket of exotic fruit sitting invitingly on the coffee table. Alfred helped himself to a custard apple and read the attached note:

'Bruce: Sorry you had to leave last night. Hope we can take up again where things left off. I'm hosting a poker night at my new pad this Wednesday from 10pm – be super to see you there. Kind Regards, Brad.'

When he had asked Bruce what he thought of Brad Slate the previous night, the answer was only two words, and Alfred didn't care to recall either of them. Perhaps a dragonfruit will change his mind, thought Alfred.

Alfred soon came to the realisation that there was nothing for him to do. Bruce would not arrive from the hotel for at least another half hour, and the movers had done a flawless job. He decided that, in the absence of any real work, he should try his hand at the pinball machine in the games room, to ensure everything was in working order. He was reasonably unsuccessful.

'That's coming out of your salary as a fringe benefit, you realise,' mumbled Bruce. Bruce had slipped in while Alfred approached a free ball.

'I don't think my salary'd cover a game of pinball, sir. You'll 'ave me paying you.'

'Sounds fine to me.'

'Did you see the fruit on the coffee table, sir? From your new friend, Mr Slate.'

'No friend of mine would give me a bowl of exotic fruit without a custard apple.'

Alfred slyly tossed the remainder of the fruit underneath the pinball machine. 'No, indeed, sir.'

Bruce paused a few moments and pretended to examine the machine, passing his eyes up and down the ramps and bumpers. Alfred knew him well enough to know that something was troubling him.

'There's something I didn't tell you last night, Alfred.'

'About the murder, sir?'

Bruce gave a slight nod.

'Gordon didn't just call because he wanted my help. He wanted to warn me.' Bruce paused again. 'Batman works as a symbol of fear. What if some people have nothing left to fear?'

Alfred thought for a moment.

'Everyone's afraid of something, sir. An angry man wearing a bullet-proof rodent costume and flying around using nothing but a cape would do it for most people.'

Bruce was not satisfied by Alfred's glib reply. 'But not everybody, Alfred. Not everybody is afraid of the same thing. The murderer. He said he wanted to meet me.'

'Batman's not a symbol of fear, Master Bruce. He's a symbol of justice – and if people happen to fear justice, then that works for you. For whatever reason, it sounds like this man doesn't.'

'Perhaps he should.'

'I don't doubt it, sir.'

The Leech spat blood onto the pavement as he strode casually into the docks. His brown leather satchel was heavy, which always made him feel a little more secure. He met a contact every Sunday night. His business partner would never meet in person. Instead he sent a small, fragrant Italian man named Joey. Not Joe. Joey. He spat again. The meetings were unpleasant enough, but the Leech took all the company he could get. He slipped open the bolt to the old shipping container where he and Joey had recently been meeting. There inside, already, was Joey, sending a text message.

'Just a second, Paul,' he said, putting a palm up to face the Leech. 'Be with you in a second.'

The Leech had resisted the need to deal in pseudonyms when it came to matters of business. He freely let his associates know his real name, Paul Batten. Using his real name not only made things simpler, but it reminded him of why did what he did. Besides that, he hated the name the police had given him.

'Sure, Joey. Take your time.'

Joey had thumbs like an ape. It took him a good minute and a half to finish texting drivel to his girlfriend. Batten was very patient. Finally, Joey put his phone away, but kept his left hand in his pocket.

'Whaddya got for me, Paulie? Any news?'

Batten shuddered at the nickname. 'Nothing that hasn't made the newspapers.' Has voice was just above a whisper, contrasting with Joey's nasal half-shout.

'Except that the Batman…'

'The Batman will come for me. I'm certain.'

'From what the boss is telling me, you'd better be.'

The Leech shuddered again. Whatever Joey's relationship was with his employer, it was different to his. As far as Paul was concerned he and 'The Boss' were partners. If anything, Paul stood to gain more from their partnership, and he sure as hell had less to lose. He had the upper hand in so many ways. Noticing the familiar taste in his mouth, he spat more blood onto the floor.

'You really are disgusting, you know that?' Joey half-shouted, watching as the Leech wiped his mouth. From The Leech's facial expression, it was obvious the feeling was mutual. Joey continued.

'We need the Batman out of play on Wednesday night. 24 hours. Do that and we're all good as set for life.'

'I think we can afford to aim for a more extended period.'

'Extended period. That's classy, Paulie. Not necessary, though,' Joey said, shaking his head at the freak in front of him. 'Here, I got some early retirement presents for you.'

Joey's right hand reached into his pants pocket and took out another phone. 'There are numbers in here. Call 'em when you need muscle.'

He then reached into his jacket and withdrew a large envelope. 'Also, a bit of green.'

The Leech stepped in closer to take it and thumbed through the contents. There was at least forty thousand in large bills.

'Is that everything?'

'Nah, one more. Boss said I should ask about a 'Juliet'. That mean anything to you?'

'I'm so glad you asked.'

It was a code. The Leech had often longed for that name to drop out of Joey's big, dumb mouth. It meant it was time to kill him.

Joey caught on about half a second too late. By then he had 150,000 volts running through him. A couple of seconds later he was writhing on the floor.

When Joey stopped writhing, the Leech bent down and caught him in a back mount, wrapping his right arm around Joey's neck in a choke hold. It was over within a minute.

The Leech checked the body. There was another five thousand dollars from the same bill series, as well as a shiny new Colt revolver. He pocketed both of them and set to work. If he wanted Batman out of play, he needed to set an appointment. Then he needed to hurry.

In the small hours of Monday morning, Bruce caught the breaking news. Another body, that of a Joseph Valente, a known two-bit crook with no real connections, displayed publicly at the docks. Commissioner Gordon filled Batman in on the remaining details – the body was drained, but the blood had been used to write a message on the inside of a nearby shipping container:

MY CITY: GOTHAM

MY PLAN: SEE BELOW

MY CHANCES: GOOD

The font was precise enough to have been written with a ballpoint pen. On the floor of the shipping container was an appointment card for a nearby dental surgery, which read:

Thank you for choosing the BriteSmile Clinic,

BATMAN (alone or people will die).

We will see you at:

9pm this Wednesday (did I mention alone?)

A picture of two smiling children finished the card. The Leech had used Joey's blood to draw a puddle at their feet. Batman knew there was no way the police would let him go alone, even with such threats being made. He began to think about this new enemy and his curious fascination with blood. He hoped that The Leech was a little more than a lucky murderer, but he had his doubts. This was not going to be an enjoyable trip to the dentist.