Enter the Demon
Dawn was still an hour away when I heard footsteps in the floor below. I startled awake, but then fought to maintain my composure so that I wouldn't wake anyone else. If I woke the Den up by inciting a panic over nothing, I would never hear the end of it.
Pressing my ear close to the floor, I heard what I expected to: Rabbit's squeaking voice. Rabbit was a small, thin man- not smaller than me, but that isn't saying much- but he had proven himself to be the best at scouting for our gang. If he was talking, it meant two things: whoever just came in the building had been intercepted, and he was amiable enough to merit talking to. The assessment was further confirmed when I heard the voice of the gang's leader, Fox.
This piqued my interest. Fox did not usually stay out so late, and lately, he'd been relying on the rest of the gang to do most of the jobs for the past two weeks. When I tried to listen, though, all I heard was the muffled sounds of dialogue. Fox did sound excited about something, so I went ahead and sat up to wait for him.
A few moments later, Fox slammed the second story door open with a thunderous noise. He smiled when everyone startled awake, but when his eyes fell on me- the only person that was fully awake and waiting for him- his smile faltered briefly into a scowl. After a few moments of confusion, Mouse lifted his muscular bulk off the ground and fired up the Coleman lantern he had lifted last week. Light fell on the small apartment room and orange-yellow light bathed every face of the Den.
I had been in the Den for about a year now, and for the past month, we had lived in relative luxury for a gang of under-twenty homeless kids. Fox's notoriety as a fence and the leader of a successful pickpocket gang had allowed him to claim the territory of an abandoned apartment building in the west end of Central City. There was no electricity, no water and the toilet facilities were still the dumpster behind the building, but it was a roof and walls. It was more than I had had for the past two years.
Fox wasted no time with his announcement.
"Good news, Den! We're going to be rich!" We all silently waited for him to continue. Fox had burdened us with a great many get-rich-quick schemes that turned out to be stay-fed-for-another-week schemes at best and barely-escaped-juvie-slash-death schemes at worst. Fox's excitement, though, was never impeded by failure.
"Now, now. Settle down," he continued, oblivious to the fact that we had still not responded. "This time it's serious. Look what the city is plastering over every street!'
He pulled out a flyer and threw it to the floor where everyone could see. It was a colorful poster listing dates, times, a website, and huge, bold lettering that read: CENTRAL CITY BAZAAR!
"Yeah, I've seen a few of those, so what?" Hawk spoke up. She was a slender young woman of seventeen years, and though she was the only girl in the group, she had earned a reputation that put her at the top of the pecking order.
"So what?" Fox sputtered. He looked around, but the rest of us were giving the same blaze stare as Hawk had. "This is not just a simple market! They are closing down sixteen square blocks for this thing. It happens in two weeks, but this flyer says that it has been advertised online for months. Booths and stalls have already been rented out by vendors. Not just local ones either, but from around the world! In two weeks, there are going to be a lot of new people in Central City with overflowing wallets, generous dispositions, and- most importantly- exotic items for sale."
This finally caught everyone's attention. Fox was a fence, and a damned good one for his age. If our gang could bring in exotic goods, they would go for high prices in the local black market. If Fox was right, this would be a score that could change the dynamic of the group for a long time. Now, with everyone's rapt attention, Fox put on his business face.
"We are going to need to spend the next two weeks in preparation. Mouse, I need you in stockpile duty; lift some heavy storage containers and find a place we can cache them. Rabbit, you're going to be the mark; find targets that are preferably old, weak, and generous. Hawk, I need you to work with Weasel on swiping the high-ticket items; things that people aren't going to find anywhere else."
I waited patiently, staring at Fox until he gave me my job. When his eyes scanned over to me, he sighed a bit to conspicuously.
"And, uh, Bat. You just pull in whatever cash in that you can. Beg if you need to. Y'know, highly trafficked areas."
"Seriously?" I demanded. Unfortunately, my voice took that exact moment to crack, so I took an extra second of silence to control the tone of my voice. "You know I can do more than that. Why are you putting me down like this?"
Silence flooded the room while the lantern flickered across all the eyes that had just turned on me. Suddenly, my rational brain caught up to my pissed brain and I remembered that everyone in the gang was older than me by at least a few years. Fox spoke quietly.
"Are you questioning my leadership, kid?"
"Uh," I gulped. When my father was still alive, he gave me a lot of advice over a wide range of topics, and one bit of counsel he gave was: 'Discretion is the better part of valor.' It didn't save him from the mugger, but maybe it would help me now. "No, Fox. I get it. I'll bring in what I can."
Fox nodded, and the tension eased in the room. Everyone put their things together and headed out the door past Fox. By the time dawn hit, the apartment building was cleared of any mark made by the Den. We may call this place home for now, but as a group of orphans, we know that nothing is permanent.
I was the last to head out to the street, but Fox stopped me in the doorway.
"Listen Bat, you know I respect your work, right? You've done good for the gang," he said in an apologetic tone. I avoided his gaze and kept silent. "God, you're stubborn. Hear me out. The rest of the gang, they don't like that I took in someone as young as you. I have to give tasks by seniority, or I lose the respect of the entire crew. You get that, right?"
I looked to him with a flat expression.
"Yeah, I get it."
I wasn't always called Bat. Two years ago, I was Bruce Wayne, son of the wealthy Thomas and Martha Wayne of Gotham City. Two years ago, my butler shot my parents, and I was left to fend for myself. One year ago, Fox found me cowering away from a group of bats in the rafters of an abandoned gym. So, he calls me Bat.
I know exactly how much he respects me.
The two weeks passed in a breeze. Everyone had been preparing and doing research, but I had continued to do my daily routine which namely consisted of walking the street. According to Fox, I was a pickpocket, but I had made a rule for myself that I would only take what I needed. I would occasionally need to swipe food, but begging would usually get me enough for the day. I still owed it to Fox to bring in items to fence, so about every week I would bring him an expensive electronic device that I had taken from a big store that wouldn't miss the stock. Otherwise, I had a lot of time on my hands and I used that time for thinking. Most of my thoughts centered around one question:
What am I doing with my life?
Sure, I was a little bit young to be having such existential questions, but I've been watching the pattern of street life and noticed a few things. One, once you are homeless, you are likely to stay homeless. Two, people who live on the street, don't tend to live very long. Three, those who do last tend to find unsavory work in unsavory parts of the city. I didn't want that as my future. Even if everything were to go well at the Bazaar, I would probably still be a homeless kid in a gang full of minors.
I thought and I thought, but I couldn't find an easy way out of the situation I was in. As I walked down the streets of the Bazaar, I set my shoulders in my decision. I would still do my work for Fox, but I would prove my worth to him.
I spent most of the morning of the Bazaar's first day scoping out the area. Fox had been right; it was a big hit and the closed-off streets were crowded with people mulling about from stall to stall. The booths were a wide assortment ranging from rinky-dink mall kiosks to Arabian-like street vendors. The patrons were mostly American, but some seemed to be foreign buyers, even overseas races. While the Americans ranged from rich to eccentric to tourists to curious, the foreign patrons were nearly unanimously rich. I decided to look among them for my big-ticket item.
After an hour of looking for old people that would be too feeble to notice the swift hand of a pickpocket, my eyes landed on the perfect mark. She was a girl, roughly my age, dark-haired, and Middle-Eastern, I guessed. She wore comfortable clothing that was darkly colored, and shimmered as though it were made of silk. Close to her were two enormous, oriental men that were so heavily muscled, they made Mouse look like, well, a mouse. They too were dressed comfortably, but I could see the straps of heavy shoulder rigs under their vests. The most eye-catching feature, however, was the golden, bejeweled, curved knife that was attached to the girl's belt.
I wasn't worried about the bodyguards. After a year of being in Fox's gang, I had learned several things about the trade. On one hand, they would probably shoot me if they caught me, but on the other hand, I'd never been caught before. When you are at my height, people tend to ignore you as long as you aren't underfoot. And I was quick. A few months ago, I had followed a street magician around, and I learned a few things.
At the next booth she stopped at, I slipped in close. I didn't want to bump into her, that would just draw attention. I moved with the flow of the crowd and pulled the knife free of her belt. It was lighter than I expected, but I used that to my advantage and rushed back into the crowd.
Once I was off the main street, I looked at my earnings. It was beautiful. The blade was sharp and glimmered in the light, and the hilt was adorned with a variety of gems that reflected blue and red light on my face. The edge itself was molded to a forward bend that gave a wicked look to it. Take that, Fox! This would certainly show that stuck-up, lanky fence who his valuable gang members are. I looked up with my sly smile in time to see my victim making her final transaction at the booth.
My jaw dropped when I saw how much money she pulled from the satchel at her side. I did some quick calculations and recalled the instructions Fox had given me. I decided that he would be even more impressed if I could bring in some cash as well.
I sidled back into the crowd, but the people were moving the wrong direction from where I wanted to go. Ah, well, it would have to be easier than getting the knife anyway. Carefully, matching my speed with the trio, I reached forward under the flap of her purse and-
A slender hand appeared on top of mine.
The vice-like grip wrenched me into a roll back into the relatively empty street. I was able to react quickly enough that when I came out of the roll, I landed in a crouch. I looked down, pulled my new knife on instinct, and looked up to see that both guards had their guns drawn and level with me.
The girl, though, held up her hands to halt the two massive men. She looked at me with wide eyes.
"You stole my kukri," She muttered with eyes narrowed. Her accent was heavy and difficult to place, but her English was clear enough. After I realized that she was talking about the knife, I just nodded and straightened from my crouch.
She began to walk confidently towards me. "Give it back, boy."
When she moved, I lifted the knife between us and held it as menacingly as I could at her face. She stopped in her tracks and looked me in the eyes. There was surprise, but that turned quickly into what looked like admiration as a small smile crawled across her face. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, but I tried to hold the knife as confidently as I could.
Looking back on the moment, I am sure that she did something, but I never saw it. I opened my eyes and felt the cold asphalt under my face and a weight pinned my arm behind my back. I grunted in pain, but the pressure didn't let up.
"You are an impressive little boy," The girl complimented, her voice coming from behind my back. "But I do not like having my own blades pointed at my face. Do you apologize?"
I grunted again, but she twisted my wrist and I cried out.
"Sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Good to hear. Tell me, now; what is your name?"
I turned my head painfully, and I caught a glimpse of her knee on my shoulder.
"Bat," I uttered tersely.
"Truly?" She chuckled. "No last name?"
I said nothing.
"An orphan then. Let me offer you a deal, no? You have some impressive confidence and useful skills that I would hate to go to waste. Come with me, and I can promise that you will be made into something great."
I wanted to refuse out right, but my musings from earlier today brought me up short. I wanted to be out of the street. The girl may be the shadiest character I've encountered on the street- and that's saying a bit- but I may have no other opportunity like this. Fox wouldn't be able to bring me to my potential, but maybe this girl would offer me a chance.
"And if I don't want to run off to another country with a knife wielding girl and her two pit bulls?"
"Simple," she responded without irony. "My 'pit bulls' kill you for having the audacity to touch me."
Well, that seemed to settle the matter. I nodded in acquiescence and crawled to my feet. The girl was standing between her two bodyguards and I regarded her with a cold glare that I felt was owed to someone who held me in such a trap.
"You have made the right choice, Bat. The Demon's Head will have much use for you."
"Who are you?" I asked.
"My name is Talia al Ghul. Now, let us go see my father."
