Something's hissing angrily at me. My eyes fly open and I jump to my feet, searching the shadows for the noise. I subdue my reflexes just long enough to realize that it's the tiny radio tuned to the police band hissing static into my left ear.
I was chasing Harvey, but Harvey's not here. I look around once more to confirm it before I make my way out of the factory. My ankle is burning with every step I take, but I can't afford to take the time to cater to it. I grit my teeth and immediately regret it as pain thumps through my face.
"…at the First National Bank. Repeat, armed robbery in progress at the First National Bank. Suspect believed to be the Joker-" I can't waste my time going from roof to roof, not now. I break into a limping run, trying to ignore everything but the sensation of movement. The radio cuts out, spitting fragments of words into the static.
The Batmobile's roof slides open as I approach and I leap inside. I don't wait for the roof to finish closing before I take off, screeching around empty street corners and speeding through red lights.
The bank is on fire. I pull myself out of the car and creep around the back, avoiding the attention of the police officers out front. They wouldn't have noticed me anyway, since their attention is focused through their gun sights on the front door. Jim's on the bullhorn directing a handful of his officers as they search for evidence by firelight.
I let myself in through a window that leads down a long, empty hallway and head for the vaults. My fists are clenching on their own as I round the corner.
The vaults are standing wide open, the money inside reducing to nothing more than greasy black ash as fire dances between the stacks of bills. A man in a clown mask is laying on the ground in a puddle of blood. The Joker is nowhere in sight. From the looks of the corpse, they haven't been gone for long.
I step through the flaming front door. One of the younger cops is so surprised to see movement that he accidentally pulls the trigger of his gun. The bullet hits my body armor and drops lifelessly to the ground.
I don't need to say a word. I walk right through the center of the crowd of police officers. Some of them take a step back from the look on my face.
I get in the car and drive away. I don't know where he is, where he's gone to ground this time. I don't know how he planned this without my knowing about it.
I have a good idea of what he plans to do with that money, however. Christmas is only a few weeks away, and whatever sick plan he's got brewing in his head will require a lot of money to pull it off. His plans generally do.
My lungs are still stinging from the herbicide earlier. I want to go out there now-I need to-but I recognize my limitations. Even if I could find him tonight, he might be able to get away from me again simply because I wasn't in top condition.
A grunt of frustration forces itself from my mouth. I hate to do this. I hate to risk Robin on a night like this, a night when I cannot protect him as I should. He could die if I give in to the pain. But others can and will die if I don't stop the Joker. I have to do it.
I turn the wheel to the right and I head for one of the Joker's old lairs. The radio in my cowl works long enough for me to tell Robin to meet me there, then there's a tremendous crackling burst of sound in my ear as it dies.
In silence, snow whipping in swirls around the car, I drive through the thin grey light of dawn. I steer automatically, focusing my attention on my ankle and my jaw, using pain control techniques to numb the pulsing ache emanating from each of them. When I am three blocks from the lair, I park the car and take to the rooftops.
Robin is crouched on the roof of Funny Bones Comedy Club, the Joker's old hideout. As I approach, dropping down from a higher roof next door, the rising sun shines in a perfect halo behind his head.
No. I will not let anything happen to him. I land next to him, ignoring his shocked glance at my battered face. Bruce Wayne may have to take a short vacation until the bruises fade from my jawline. "He's here," Robin says. "How'd you know?"
I didn't. It hurts to move my jaw, so I don't answer. Instead, I narrow my eyes and glare into the alley. A stolen van with a balloon company's logo on it is parked at an uncomfortable angle between two dumpsters. He must have kicked Harley out again. She's the only one of his minions that knows how to parallel park.
We creep across the rooftop, lowering ourselves to the Joker's bedroom window. I can see him now, sprawled on his side, chuckling in his sleep. A silver gun resting atop the blankets gleams at me with the promise of mayhem. Still dreaming, the Joker reaches out to it and clasps it tight.
Robin's got the window unlocked. On the count of three, we burst inside, and the Joker's eyes fly wide as he sees us bearing down on him. The gun in his hands flips like a fish and aims itself directly at Robin's forehead.
No.
(to be continued)