Misconception

Chapter 10:

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman... I am Batman!

"That could have gone a lot worse…" Blake said to Gordon as they left the Mayor's office. Gordon's face was crestfallen as they made their way down some stairs, but he nodded in response to Blake's statement. They had just gotten more than an earful from Mayor Garcia for their lack of keeping criminals under their control. They paused at window on their way down the stairs. Outside they saw some protestors jeering at people who worked for the Gotham city offices and held up signs of protest. Gordon shook his head as they stood by the window watching the scene below.

All things considered, Blake was right. The Mayor was doing what he'd always done, only a lot louder. The people were always at unrest, but instead of having their hatred pointed at the Batman, it was now directed at the GCPD. It was the same rules but different players.

"There aren't as many people as there were before the press conference." Gordon stated, as he spotted the largely diminished crowd of people. He turned to Blake after a beat. "I have you to thank for that. Finding the cure immediately was the smartest move."

Blake shuffled awkwardly at the complement, but quirked a small smile. His dark eyes showed embarrassment at the praise, but he nodded anyway. It wasn't often that Blake received recognition for his hard work, and when he was, he didn't know how to receive it.

"I just did what anyone would've done." He muttered, and they turned from the window. Gordon let a smile grace his features at the Lieutenant's deflection. "Shipments should arrive within the week."

"Just be sure to analyze all the crates that come in. You know where it's coming from." Gordon warned, and Blake nodded. "I have men ready to do just that. After the all the boxes have been checked, they'll send the cure to the clinics and hospitals."

They were already suspicious that one of the leading doctors to discover the cure, Thomas Elliot, worked for Falstaff Co. Blake had been unaware at the time that the doctor worked in two places, both for the police and the sketchy businessman. Now that they knew who was funding this thing, they would be careful to watch the shipments for any drugs that the business man was known for importing. Sadly, like many crime bosses, Falstaff wasn't pinned to these crimes because the men who did the dirty work were always blamed. Falstaff claimed that they had gone behind his back to make profits, even though the money from those drug sales was never found.

This happened again and again. Every time that Falstaff's workers would 'misbehave', as the businessman put it, the PD would see Falcone rise in strength with weapons and men. It was a well-known rumor that Falstaff was involved with the mob bosses for his own gains, but they could never find a connection between the two that could seal the businessman's fate.

Gordon and Blake arrived at a back door, at the bottom of the steps, and went out quietly to the unmarked police van. They drove around the corner and saw the people continuing to protest. It was a wonder to Blake as to how these people had so much time on their hands.

"Once this is done, and killer behind bars, we can get on with trapping Falcone once and for all." Blake remarked, and shook his head as he saw how angry some of the protesters were. They drove down the road and the building behind them disappeared as they turned a corner.

It wasn't much better at the MCU.

The same type of protestors surrounded the building, only there was a bigger number there. It was mainly the PD's fault for this mess wasn't it? Gordon sighed tiredly as he turned the wheel and they parked out of sight from the group. Blake didn't look much better, but his eyes held determination that Gordon had felt in his own younger days. This man's expression always made him feel slightly better knowing that Gotham had another idealist to protect her.

They entered the MCU and headed to upper levels to cover one last thing. The boy, Derrick Lennox, waited in protective custody of the police before his aunt and uncle could come and take him home. They had been on the other side of the world when tragedy struck the Lennox family. The boy had given his story and description. It had matched up with their theories, but they didn't know what to make of the killer himself. The fact that the child had said the assassin had a gauze to cover up his face wasn't what disturbed them. It was the fact that whatever hid behind that, was a fowl smelling, and rotting piece of flesh. They didn't know whose it was, or where it had come from. They would have surmised it as being the killer's own self-inflicted wounds, due to the blood, but the fact that the boy's senses detected such a horrible smell put that theory on the sidelines.

The boy sat in silence, glancing around in fear at doors and windows. He was merely twelve years old, and fear already clouded his world. This scene struck Gordon with a sense of Déjà vu so powerful, that he stopped to be a sad spectator once more. A little over twenty years ago, a child just like this one, had clung to himself in that very same room. In his despair, this child believed his world had ended. He still remembered the way the little boy had clung to his father's jacket like a lifeline and the soft, barely heard sobs that wracked the broken spirit. Innocence that should have remained, was robbed.

Gordon had been there to tell him that despite all the horror and bloodshed that had happened to him, all would be well. Gordon himself didn't know how this could be, but he comforted the boy anyway. The child couldn't see it then, but a dim spark of hope rose up, coupled with a darker, mournful soul that also resided in the depths of his young eyes. Gordon did not know how he gave that child hope when he had none himself. It was something instinctual, something that he knew deep down, that gave him the strength to give that comfort.

"Gordon." He was shaken out of his reverie by Blake, who was glancing at him worriedly. The commissioner muttered an apology, and turned his attention to the Lieutenant fully.

"I need to tell the boy his family will be here within the hour." Blake stated, obviously not looking forward to disturbing the boy anymore.

"I'll go with you." Gordon decided, and opened the door. The boy glanced up hurriedly, but there as a familiar dull look in his eyes. Gordon paused, but started approaching the boy slowly. "It's okay son. You're safe here."

There was a silence so thick and mournful, that Blake and Gordon glanced at each other. They silently debated which one should relay the information. Blake motioned to himself, and Gordon nodded. The lieutenant opened his mouth to speak, but another voice cut the silence.

"You were the one that found me." The boy responded curtly, much to Gordon's surprise. He hadn't expected the boy to start talking. Usually victims kept all things to themselves and that included their voices.

"Yes, and also did he" Gordon replied cautiously as he motioned to Blake. The lieutenant nodded to the boy solemnly. The boy looked at Blake and Gordon.

"Thank you." The boy responded, and glanced down at the floor, his eyes dulling once more. Gordon sat down next to the boy, careful not to invade his privacy. Blake opened his mouth once more to speak, but was once again interrupted.

"There was someone else." The boy stated and glanced up at both of them. Both Blake and Gordon's expressions held a hint of surprise. The boy shouldn't have remembered any of that. They had wrongfully assumed that the Lennox heir had been too disoriented to know what was going on. "I didn't try to escape, I was rescued by someone else."

"We came to you, do you remember that much?" Blake asked cautiously, still amazed by the boy's memory. The child nodded, but the determination still resided in his eyes. It struck Gordon suddenly that the boy was merely trying to keep his mind off of what had happened. Derrick Lennox was stubbornly trying not to remember the horrors of the previous night.

"Son, we came to tell you that your aunt and uncle will be arriving shortly." Gordon stated, hoping not to upset the boy any more than he already was. The child looked up at him, his eyes moist, and mouth twisted in such a way to keep himself from crying, but nodded.

There was another silence, but Gordon couldn't bring himself to leave. Blake was having the same sentiments as well, and squatted before the boy, much like Gordon had done with a young Bruce Wayne.

"We will find him, and bring him down." Blake stated with a determination that made the boy look at him. Despair clouded the young face.

"But things can't go back to normal." The boy responded curtly, and seemed to draw into himself further.

"No, it won't be the same." The lieutenant's voice cracked. Blake put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "The sunrises and sunsets will come and go and seasons will pass. The world will move on when you feel you can't. You will be a different person, and when you are ready, always know that you can join them."

"What do you mean?" The boy asked, his voice distraught. Gordon could see the tear tracks sliding off his face, and onto his lap.

"I'm saying that even though things seem hopeless right now, everything will be okay one day." Blake squeezed the boy's shoulder and finally the dam broke for the child as he began to grieve. Gordon himself was perplexed at the way Blake handled the situation. It was almost as if the lieutenant had gone through a similar thing himself… Gordon watched on with sadness, but despair no longer suffocated the room.

That same glint of hope had been rekindled in the boy's eyes.

Bruce sat in a chair as he stared out the window. The morning was dull and overcast. He sat in deep thought as the events of the last several hours washed over him. So much had happened in so little time, and he had even less time to contemplate it all. He lined up the things that he knew and tried to make sense of it.

He knew that Falstaff would do whatever it took to get his hands on a lab and that included drugging him so that he'd sign something that could potentially destroy Wayne Enterprises.

He also knew that the killer was getting bolder as the days went by and he was still on the loose. Bruce had done everything in his power to track him down but to no avail. It seemed that not even criminals knew much about him.

Falcone was still living as free man and there wasn't any sign that they were any closer to bringing him in. Bruce knew that if he could find the sponsor, he'd be able to follow the stream to the source, and convict the crime lord, but something was always getting in the way. It was almost deliberate, that the killer chose the same night that Falstaff was making an important call, to bring chaos to the citizens. Not to mention the fact that the killer seemed to have an endless supply of toxins to kill people with. He however, never had something strong enough and untraceable at the same time, to kill older victims. Falstaff was desperately trying to get his hands on a lab that could be the key to the killer's success. The killer was also a highly trained professional. Not just anybody could afford to pay him off.

But why hire him in the first place?

Falstaff was a scumbag, but he wasn't without purpose. He had to have a motivation or reason for the murders. Bruce thought for a moment, and then it dawned on him. If Falstaff was supporting Falcone like he originally thought he was, then the businessman was probably hiring the assassin to get under the skin of the GCPD and the Batman. Ultimately, Falstaff's partnership with Falcone would pay off. Falstaff would have some influence in the workings of the underworld, and Falcone would be better off with the funds. The killer was there purely for distraction, and disrupting the people. The citizens of Gotham were currently breathing down the backs of the police and politicians, who were desperately trying to get things under control.

Everything fit together perfectly, but one variable remained a mystery to him. The doctor, Thomas Elliot, was working for the police forensic scientists, and for a businessman with questionable morals. It wasn't so much why he worked for Falstaff that worried him, it was a well-paying job after all. What concerned him was the fact that this doctor discovered the antitoxin, and worked under the businessman that started the chaos in the first place.

Bruce believed that there was more to the scheme, and it came in the form of better sales. He, Blake, and Gordon had debated that Falstaff was using this chaos as a smokescreen for what really lay behind the massive shipments that were due to arrive any week. The city government had been a little short on funds at the time, and Falstaff had stepped in to help pay for the costs like any good citizen would. They had concluded that he was going to try to import some drugs for the mob lords to make some sales. He seemed to be in their good graces already with the killer and his methods of distraction were really paying off.

Bruce was pulled from his thoughts when Alfred came into the room with his hands behind his back. The butler looked solemn after the night's events, but kept any comments to himself. The memories of what happened to a younger Master Wayne were too much to think about, so he remained quiet. Bruce himself also had sympathy for the child, knowing exactly what he was going through at the moment. He too chose not to dwell on it, and had to mentally focus on the other issues at hand.

Both the butler and the entrepreneur waited in companionable silence until Bruce was called away to keep up his image and Alfred to his work.

"It's not that I don't appreciate the distraction or anything, but sometimes this killer scares me." Falcone muttered as he chewed his food. Other mobsters sat will him eating and drinking beer.

"His methods are somewhat unorthodox for a killer, but he does get the point across." Another man shrugged, completely unconcerned with anything.

"I don't understand one thing though." Falcone continued without addressing the other man. "How he could get his hands on a wealthy kids family and not the commissioner's kid."

"That's still bothering you? So what? He did what you ultimately wanted in the long run. To get the police off our backs." A Russian mob lord with dark eyes responded. Others in the room nodded in agreement.

"I had to offer him everything to kill a kid, which he's proud of doing by the way, but he has no issue with killing two adults a few days later? Something isn't right here." Falcone remarked, a bite in his voice.

"So, you're upset because he lied to you?" A blonde mobster chuckled. "Welcome to Gotham city kid!"

"Never mind..." Falcone grumbled, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Aw, he's just in a bad mood because he was this close to being caught by the police." The blonde held up an index finger and a thumb. "At least you learned your lesson. Stay away from the dirty work lest you be-"

"Caught and prosecuted, I know!" Falcone huffed and slammed his bottle on the table. Some of the mobsters startled but some were amused. "Do you think this is a joke? We have never been so close to rebirth, but every time I turn around, something is getting in the way!"

Everyone paused, even the blonde mobster lost his grin.

"And now that the way is clear, you want to sit around and wing it without any prior planning?" Falcone ground out. He shook his head in disgust. "I am young, but old age doesn't seem to have any meaning in this type of business!"

The bar was silent, save the sound of television and chatter from others outside of their reserved room. It was in that moment that the mobsters finally realized the severity of the situation. Falcone let out a less frustrated sigh, seeing as they had taken his words somewhat seriously.

"If we don't find a source of income soon, we're moving to the next big city." Falcone's grim voice reported. "We need the next month of imports to go undisturbed, otherwise, we are through."

Moments after he made this announcement, a man dressed in a suit pushed his way into the room. Sunglasses covered his eyes, and he wasn't recognizable to any of the men present. A letter was pulled out of his coat pocket.

"Alberto Falcone." He stated dully, but Falcone didn't move. He watched the man cautiously. A moment passed, and the sunglasses man turned to look in his direction. He approached the mob lord, and dropped the envelope unceremoniously in front of Falcone. A moment later, he was gone without so much as another word.

Falcone had the envelope checked for anything suspicious, and when it was revealed that nothing harmful was on the parchment, he picked it up.

Falcone:

I have been watching your work, and am impressed with your persistence inside this city. Organized crime is dying in this city, and you are the last major lord.

I know you are distinctly aware of this, and wonder why it is that I bring these things up. I do have a purpose for this letter and the strange way it must be delivered. You see, I have a rather hefty sum on my hands that needs spending, but I can't stand giving it away to charities or the police for nothing. That is where I come to the main purpose.

I want your full cooperation in exchange for the very thing that you desperately need. It's a lifeline, and a hand of friendship should you accept it. If you are having trouble believing me, don't take my word for it. I have a vault waiting for you by Gotham bay. Enclosed is the combination and coordinates of this vault. Inside, will show you a glimpse of my wealth.

For obvious reasons, I will not give my name. All previous patrons have been caught, and I'd rather keep this as a clean deal. Once you reach the vault, collect your sums and leave a letter by the door. Don't bother trying to track us down. I'll kill anyone who wants to do so.

The letter was unsigned, not surprising. Falcone set the letter down, and read it again carefully. At the questioning gazes of the other mob lords, he read the letter word for word to the group. Another, less tense silence filled the room, before someone spoke.

"Do you believe in signs?" The blonde muttered, relief lining his voice.

"I do now." Falcone muttered in disbelief.

A/N: Here's another chapter that I put a few hours into. Did you know that time flies when you're writing? I swear that I write for a few minutes, and when I glance at the clock another hour has passed. I've kind of missed doing this, and I'm glad I'm back for the time being. Thank you Riptide2 for reviewing! I was shocked that I got a review at all, so thank you for your support! It means a lot to hear from people that they like my story. (If you don't like it, don't hesitate to tell me. I am always looking to improve my writing.) Thank you to all who have alerted, favorited, reviewed, or just read the story. It's great to see the views on this story go up after such a long time.