Sins of the Son
A Tale of Pre-Batman Gotham
Chapter Four
"Say goodnight, Gracie."
Alfred saw the thug's knuckles tighten as his finger prepared to squeeze the trigger. All of a sudden the light from the streetlight above was blotted out by an shadowy figure.
"Good night, Gracie!"
The air went out of the thug's lungs with a "whoof" as the unseen assailant landed a vicious blow to his midsection. In the murky light, Alfred could make out the shadowy shapes of the two men throwing blows at each other. What few blows did land on the second man, the larger of the two, didn't seem to faze him at all. He moved quickly on his feet, lightly sidestepping the thug's seemingly feeble attempts to bring him down.
"Aw, come on ya big lug, you can do better than that." The voice, like coals over a grate, rasped out of his defender's throat while lightning quick jabs flew at the would-be assassin.
"Uh oh, pal, looks like you're winding down a bit."
The thug was swinging wildly now, trying desperately to land something, anything on his obviously stronger, more skilled opponent.
"He's on the ropes, and here comes the champ with a one," A hard shot to the gut. "and a two," a rapid blow to the side of the head. "and a three!" The darkly clad man's right arm swung upward in a graceful, deadly arc, snapping the thug's head backward, with his body rapidly following. The thug fell roughly into a pile of garbage bags, solidly unconscious.
"And that's it, it's all over!"
Alfred's defender was bouncing up and down, waving his hands in the air. Settling, he turned to Alfred.
"Now you, pally. What did our buddy the punching bag over here want with you?"
"Ahem… I'm afraid I've caused him and one of his associates a bit of distress this evening. "
"Okay, so you're the mug that's sent old Vinnie back there to an early dirt nap. I know this is the pot calling the kettle black, but we don't really cotton to vigilante killers around here."
"They've really only themselves to blame. There I was, enjoying a pleasant drink, and our dear Vincent decided to interrupt my contemplations armed with a foul temper and a .38. I can hardly be held responsible for marksmanship failures."
"Hunh. Well, suppose you tell me what they wanted with you, huh?"
"Before I make any suppositions on that point, why don't you enlighten me to your identity, my good Samaritan."
As his rescuer emerged from the shadows, Alfred could make out the distinct shape of cat-like ears protruding from the man's head.
"You can call me Wildcat. Now, make with the 'suppositions', pal."
From the rooftop above, Thomas watched the scene unfold. He had observed this "Wildcat" on several occasions before. Being a man of means and a bit of a boxing aficionado, it hadn't taken him long to surmise the man's true identity. There was no mistaking Ted Grant's three punch knockout combo. He listened closely, however, not just because he had a hunch that tonight's festivities were connected to the rising new power in Gotham, but because he felt a sort of responsibility for Alfred. He owed his father more than could ever be repayed, and if he could watch over Winifred Pennyworth's son, then he would do just that.
Below, Alfred was attempting to concoct a reasonable explanation for what had transpired that evening.
"Well, Mr. Wildcat, I'm really at a loss. I've only come to town these last two days to see to the final arrangements for my father, an employee of one of this town's high and mighty. His funeral was today and tonight… this."
"I'm sorry about your old man, pal. Really, I am. But that doesn't explain why someone hired a couple of lowlifes to bring you down. Something tells me this ain't about your old man, this is about you."
Wildcat took a step closer.
"I watched you, pal. You were ready to take that clown on if you had to." Without warning, Wilcat's fist shot out toward Alfred's face. The Englishman nimbly slapped it to one side and swung around into a fighting stance, stopping a heartbeat short of hurling a knife-edge blow at Wildcat's neck.
"Nice moves, bud. I've seen em before. You're SAS, my guess is you ain't been out more than a year. Either that or you just keep in really good shape."
"Six months. A little less. You had no intention of striking me, then?"
"Buddy, SAS or not, if I'd wanted to 'strike you', I would have. But here's what I think. Someone doesn't like the fact that an SAS agent, or maybe you in particular, has rolled into town. Either you know something and don't know what it is, or you know what it is someone doesn't want getting out and you ain't telling me. Either way, you're in a mess, pal."
"While I appreciate your analysis sir, I haven't the foggiest idea what you're getting at."
"Have it your way, pal. See ya 'round."
Wildcat turned and strode off down the alley.
"Thank you again. Oh, and by the way…"
He turned around, looking over his shoulder at Alfred.
"If you'd have laid out Primo Carniera that expeditiously, perhaps I'd have been able to afford a weekend in Bath."
Alfred smiled.
"I'm a bit of a boxing fan, old man. I'd best be off."
This time it was Alfred who walked out of the alley, passing by a somewhat stunned Ted Grant.
"I gotta learn some new moves…"
Thomas allowed himself a slight smirk as he monitored the exchange. He might have known that Alfred had spent time with the SAS. The man's powers of deduction were obviously keenly developed.
This would bear more investigation. There was something to Grant's insinuations that Alfred's time with British special forces, or something he'd learned during his tour, was the reason behind tonight's attack. The question remained, who hired Vincenzo, and what was it that Alfred knew that was so dangerous?
From the brightly lit windows of the Starlight Hotel, a lean man looked out over Gotham with a very displeased look on his face.
"Fiorelli has failed. It appears our Mr. Pennyworth will live to see the sunrise." He turned to his associate, seated in a large wing-backed chair.
"I do sincerely hope that this was not your 'elegant' solution."
"Please. Do not insult me so. I had no real expectation that those two ham-handed imbeciles would actually succeed in dispatching Pennyworth. The man may be a bit off his game of late, but he has handled far dicier situations with great panache. No, it was necessary to gauge his abilities, and to gauge the response from the city's…costumed community."
"And are you satisfied?"
"I must say, I was a bit surprised. I had expected the evening's activity to draw a bit more attention. There are persistent rumors relating to an individual who has caused a great deal of trouble for the Falcone family."
"You're speaking of this 'Gray Ghost'?"
"Indeed. A mob hit gone bad, it would seem right up his alley, if he is indeed real. Instead… Wildcat. Unexpected to be sure, and it bodes caution. Wildcat has ties with the Justice Society, and I do not want to see them entangled in this matter. That could become very unpleasant."
"At least we agree on something. Now, I want your assurance that Pennyworth will be dealt with."
"Oh, most assuredly. I believe I must try something a bit less direct. Perhaps, given the proper prodding, the good Mr. Pennyworth might be directed to deliver himself to us. Oh yes, that's quite delicious. I can think of nothing I'd rather have more for breakfast than Alfred Pennyworth's bleached head on a platter."
"Sickening…"
"Watch your tone. You may play at leading this motley for now, but do not forget yourself."
"Of course. I shall leave this matter in your hands then."
"Good. I've only to plan the next step…"