Chapter 3

Maroni won't talk, even if he were conscious, but it wasn't Maroni that he wanted. It was obvious from the phone conversation that the crime boss knew little more than even the police about Black Mask. But the henchman wearing a black suit and mask, he would know and he would talk. His closely shaved head still hung but started to jerk as he slowly regained consciousness. Groaning, he lifted his head, struggling only to find both his wrists fastened to armrests and his ankles to the legs of a chair. He jostled in his seat, grunting angrily. "I wouldn't if I were you," a deep voice warned harshly. The mobster stared straight in front to find a tall, black figure shrouded in darkness. The figure's demonic posture was intensified by the two long, sharp, horn like ears standing on top. Its face was covered entirely except for the opening baring his upper lip to his stone like jaw line. Worst of all, the mobster couldn't see any eyes in the darkness, but had the gut-wrenching feeling it was watching him.

"Who- What are you?" the mobster stammered. The figure's shroud opened, yet all the mobster saw was more blackness as an arm emerged. In its hands was mobster's face mask, causing his eyes to go wide he had been exposed.

"Black Mask, I want him," the figure growled. He tossed the mask of hardened plastic to the metal surface of what the mobster quickly realized to be a roof. Only now did he realize that he was sitting on an inclined slant. Behind the figure was the black horizon of the night cloudy night sky over the stretch of Gotham Bay, the lights of the city Bludhaven dimly glowed like ghosts in the distance.

"I aint talking," the mobster muttered. The figure glowered down at him, standing mere feet away from him. Then it lurched forward. With his eyes squeezed shut, the mobster felt gravity shift as he back legs of the chair teetered on the edge of the roof. The mobster screamed as he peered over his shoulder down at the ground, fifty feet below with only the figure's single handed grasp on his shirt to keep him from toppling over. "Oh, no, please don't!" he cried, his pale face contorted with sheer fright.

"Talk!" The figure let its arm extend slightly, tilting the chair back even further.

"Oh, no! Oh frick, please! I can't, he'll kill me!"

"What makes you think I won't?" the figure growled. "I want a name!"

"Okay, okay!" the mobster blubbered uncontrollably. "I don't know, I swear honest!" The figure inched in closer, its eyes glaring deep into the mobster's wild gaze.

"Who does?"

"A guy, one of Black Mask's guys, Flass, his name's Flass!" The sound of sirens emerged as a pair of squad cars turned the corner, entering the shipping yard, the flashing red and blue lights approaching closer and closer.

"Tell them about me," the figure said.

"Who?" The mobster's face was terror stricken and lost. He felt the grip on his shirt release and for a moment, the chair teetered on the edge before toppling over the edge. The mobster nearly lost his voice as he screamed, plummeting with the ground closing in fast. With a sudden jerk, the fall ended and the chair bound man dangled freely five feet from the pavement. The police cars pulled to a stop and a dark navy blue uniformed policeman threw his door open and stood, frozen as he stared at the chair bound criminal, passed out from fright as he swung to and fro. Brushing back his hair with a look of bewilderment, Officer Gerard Stevens noticed the thin, taught cable tied to the cross bar of the chair's legs, stretching up to the roof. High up on the slanted rooftop, a black figure turned away with a flourish and disappeared. The remaining three officers stepped out of the squad cars, all fixed on the dangling chair.

"Get a load of this," one of them said. His gaze still stuck on the roof, Stevens keyed the radio on his left shoulder.

"Dispatch, we got a 10-92, gonna need an ambulance and," he paused a moment, still trying to piece everything together. "And you better get Captain Gordon down here."