Author's notes: Now I feel I'm alive and kicking. Here comes another chapter, just please note this one required more insertion of original dialogue and so on...

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Fuicchi's Italian Diner. It was one of the many food outlets of Gotham, virtually all of which were owned by the criminal underworld. This had been Falcone's favourite until he'd ended up in Arkham.

The usual crew were here with their minions, but this time there was something...missing. It was like having a jigsaw with a few of the pieces missing- incomplete.

Maroni sat to one side, dressed in a suit designed exactly the same as most of the others. He was eating some pasta, but he barely seemed to touch it, like if he did he would acquire a fatal illness or an electric shock. The man never had much of an appetite, but this was something new.

The Chechen lay slumped on a comfortable sofa two tables away, munching on noodles and glancing at the television. When he wasn't careful enough, food would fall out his mouth and stain his trousers, custom designed by some of the world's best.

Drew took a seat on another one of the sofas, sitting down and raising his knife to slice into a small cheese and tomato pizza. He rarely ate fast food, but recently the group had decided on a meeting and a meal. Luckily for them, Maroni had a place which was good for both. Fuicchi's was that place. Expensive, with staff that would act unfriendly to new faces and a front which looked unappealing and dirty, nobody would bother trying to come in. If, somehow, they kept going, they'd have discovered a luxurious back room with world-class food.

All three bosses were aware there should have been a fourth.

"Drew, you seen Gambol today?"

The Londoner shook his head.

"Haven't heard from him for two days. When we had our meeting interrupted by our smiling friend."

Both turned to stare at the Chechen, who shrugged.

"The bastard must have chickened out and taken his thugs with him."

Maroni clicked his fingers and one of his aides went and switched the television on. The remote had been damaged and presently the criminals hadn't got around to replacing it. Besides, they weren't keen to spend more than necessary in their current situation. It hissed to life slowly. A couple of mobsters kept talking, and the head criminal hissed for them to shut up.

"And if true, this poses a grave possibility for a flu pandemic."

The news reporter signed out on their report of a possible disease, and then the screen went back to the newscaster in the main studio.

"The body of crime lord Tyreese Gambol has been found in a billiard club on 47th Street. Police were called there by club owners who promptly arrived to discover the boss dead from a sharp object, believed to be a knife, impaling his brain as well as two other bodies, believed to be his men. Items found at the scene, including a broken pool cue and black bag, have been impounded as evidence. The range of murder suspects ranges from his fellow criminal masterminds to a group of copycat vigilantes. No CCTV footage has been found of the murders."

Drew turned to the Chechen.

"Wonder what happened to his other thugs."

"Probably ran off to save their asses."

Maroni's voice couldn't have been less caring. Before he could talk again, the reporter finished up his mentioning of Gambol's death and moved on to another topic, and all of a sudden the violent mobster was forgotten.

"The People's Republic of China has recently filed a complaint to the United States that one of its citizens has had their rights violated by their kidnapping in Hong Kong. The man in question, a Mr Jasper Lau, was taken by force from his office in Hong Kong by a man they give vague descriptions of, saying he resembles a kind of nocturnal creature, suspected to be the Batman. Lau was found this morning outside Gotham City Police Department Headquarters. Little else has been revealed. We go live now to interview District Attorney Harvey Dent."

The screen cut to a blonde-haired and good-looking man. None of these criminals needed to be introduced to him. This was the man who had managed to foil an assassination attempt in court and forced the mob to run with their money as fast as possible. Cameras flashed and dozens of microphones stuck out, each desiring to get the news.

"The Chinese claim their international rights have been broken, Mr Dent. Would you care to comment?"

Dent took a deep breath, and then leaned forwards.

"I don't know about Mister Lau's travel arrangements... but I'm sure glad he's back."

None of the three mob bosses spoke for what felt like eternity. They all knew what they were thinking.

He squealed on us.

Chechen broke the frosty silence, and for a second Drew swore his food had gone cold in seconds.

"I put word out. We hire clown. He was right."

He continued chewing on his food. The Londoner angled his head to look at the other two.

"I swear they're getting better at predicting nowadays. Either that or the clown's a bloody mystic."

Maroni nodded in agreement.

"I think our priorities are understood now, right?"

Drew and the Chechen nodded.

"We have to fix real problem. Batman."

"And Lau?"

Drew raised his hand in the thumbs up position.

"I've sorted it out. I've got prison staff notifying me if he ends up in county, and we've got three of my best men in there. If he arrives, he'll wish he had his vocal chords removed before Batman took him back. Maybe we'll actually do that to shut him up forever."

Maroni smiled, then instantly his mood went back to frosty.

Lieutenant Jim Gordon had somehow got to the back of the diner. He was carrying a pair of handcuffs and a handgun lay in his belt. He gestured towards the television.

"Our boy looks good on the tube."

"You sure you want to embarrass me in front of my friends, Lieutenant?"

Gordon smiled.

"Don't worry. They're coming too."

And as he finished speaking, at least four officers rounded the corner, heavily armed. A couple of mobsters went for their guns, but Maroni and Drew signalled for them to drop their weapons. If they started a firefight here, they'd be outgunned, at a disadvantage, and certain to end up dead.

One of the detectives, Stephens, grabbed the Chechen, who was trying to finish his lunch, and dragged the struggling criminal outside. This was immediately followed by the rest of the mob, Maroni and the Londoner included, being led out the restaurant at gunpoint. Drew noticed Chechen had been handcuffed in one of the prison buses and Stevenson was now leading him and the other crime boss to the exact same vehicle. Another cop gestured for them to hold out their arms, and the two reluctantly did so, feeling cold metal snap shut around their wrists. As he was cuffed, Drew raised his middle finger and rotated his hand. He must have pressed a dangerous button because the next thing he knew he landed on his back, grunting.

Stephens grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back onto his feet, and he got into the bus, taking a seat not far from the Chechen. Maroni sat on the other side of him.

Drew looked at the bus interior. It looked as if it was the last of a generation to be replaced. Air conditioning was of mixed competence, with the windows reinforced with bulletproof glass. A few of the seats were stained or smelled of substances he didn't want to imagine. He turned his head to Stephens.

"This is first class accommodation? I'm insulted."

"If this is an insult, wait till you get to county. Thirty years to life, good riddance to you."

Drew shrugged, or at least attempted to.

"Maybe we'll get it, maybe we won't."

With those words, he chose to sleep the rest of the way.

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The bus suddenly jerked and Drew found himself almost going over the rail in front. Now awake, he realised they'd braked.

"Alright, scum, as you've got up, it's time for court."

None of the bosses seemed concerned.

"May Judge Surrillo have no mercy on your souls."

"Aren't you meant to say for her to have mercy?" Maroni cut in.

Stephens shook his head. Drew sighed as the other cop moved forward and uncuffed them one by one. With the guard raising his weapon, the three marched out the bus and into the courtroom.

Inside waited Harvey Dent, his assistant DA, numerous defence lawyers in the pay of the underworld, the other criminals arrested at the diner, and a fairly short lady with black hair and brown eyes. This must be Surrillo, the Chechen thought to himself.

The group went to stand the usual spot. This was procedure they were all familiar with, Maroni in particular. A criminal knew that at one point there would be a court incident in their careers. And for the Chechen and Drew's first time, here it was.

"Salvatore Maroni, Alex Drew, Dimitri Yurin..."

Drew essentially fell asleep during the name-reading. He knew everyone he was standing next to, so why have to listen to something he didn't need telling again?

He stood for what felt like an eternity, then snapped back to attention.

"...Eight-hundred and forty-nine counts of racketeering, two-hundred and forty six counts of fraud, eighty-seven counts of conspiracy to commit murder..."

For some reason, the small woman's voice faltered and stopped. She was still alive, and unhurt, so something must have not made sense. She pulled the offending object away from the piece of paper, and the three spotted a card with the word Joker marked on it, but then refocused their attention.

"...How do the defendants plead?"

Loud shouting filled the room like a firework in an echoing tunnel, and Drew could barely hear a thing. The stenographer looked on in confusion, unsure what to do. At that point, Maroni looked across the room.

Dent was smiling at the boss, evidently pleased he'd got this far. The look in the DA's eyes showed how triumphant the man was, and the message was clear.

Maroni, your time's counting down.