Warning! This chapter contains a little bit of mild language. Please, don't forget to post a review. Again, thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers.
XXIV - When Night Comes Down
Selina Kyle's flat, East End, Gotham City
It was already night when a well-dressed woman with honey blonde hair combed in a simple bun exited the apartment complex and got into a yellow cab that was waiting for her.
Make no mistake, dude. It's her.
Across the street, protected by the shadows, a young man wearing a baseball cap and sweat clothes that were old and frayed, watched her go and checked a tracking app on his phone. The signal was clear and strong.
He crossed the street and hurried up toward the signal source. After a few flights of stairs, Damian reached the right floor but it was difficult to find the right apartment. He roamed through the corridors until the red warning sign flashed on the screen strongly.
Damn right!
He glanced around and noticed he was completely alone. Without wasting time, he managed to break and enter the flat swimmingly.
Just like old times.
Kyle's place was small and the the decor was very Spartan. Damian lit a small flashlight and took a good look around in an attempt to get some clue. Out of sudden, he felt something plush and soft tangling between his heels. Startled, he stepped back and realized it was a black cat.
That's all I need, he mused and crouched next the pet. It was then he noticed something sparkling around the kitten's neck.
Damian stared, unbelieving, at the necklace around its slender and furry neck. He would recognise it anywhere, had known it all his life. The robin pendant carved with a combination of different precious stones attached to a small golden nest, worn but still solid. Its centerpiece adorned with four tiny, exquisite pearls posing as little eggs.
The necklace! His mother necklace. Damian could not believe his luck.
"Hey there, little fellow. Let me..." he whispered as he took off the necklace from the cat's neck. The animal meowed, thwarted, and Damian grinned as he pulled the jewelry into his pocket.
"Believe me, you're not gonna need it."
Glancing around, Damian made one last brief inspection before getting out. One mission accomplished. Now he needed to prepare himself to be elsewhere.
Modern Office Block, Central Business District, Gotham City
Since it was a Saturday night there were few people around the complex of business offices. The area was mostly empty as a yellow cab pulled up outside the ultra-modern building. An elegant Selina Kyle got out and moved inside, a medium-sized package in her hands.
The foyer was desert except for the guard at the reception desk. Selina exchanged a few words with him and headed for the elevator. A small smile emerged at the corner of her bright red lips.
Gotham Caesar's Palace Hotel, Midtown, Gotham City
Flanked by a team of his fiercest-looking bodyguards, Oswald Cobblepot crossed the huge and fancy lobby of the Caesar's Palace like a king. The reception area was indeed palatial, ornated with Brazilian mahogany furniture and crystal chandeliers as gleaming italian marble abounded on the floor and walls, making it an imposing space.
Drawing so much attention of many people as possible, the group reached the elevator, stepped in and headed to the 38th store – the presidential penthouse. Once there, they were welcomed by a beautiful blonde whose provocative outfit left little to the imagination. She led only Oswald to a private room and addressed to a man silhouetted against the window.
"Leave us alone," the man demanded in his native tongue. As soon as the gal left he turned to Oswald, his voice had a strong Eastern European accent, "Please, have a seat Mr. Cobblepot. May I offer you something to drink?"
"I am fine. Thank you," Oswald replied as he took a seat in front of the large desk table and studied the environment around. "You've built quite a reputation."
"And you should have stayed overseas."
Oswald narrowed his eyes. "My dear Chechen, I didn't come here to fight. I'm sure there's plenty of market for our goods."
"Are we to be friends, then?" the man who was called The Chechen said with a hint of mockery.
"We are allies, my dear. Which can be a good deal more effective," Cobblepot answered with a level of assurance beyond what he really believed.
"How do I thrust a man that I've never met with my money?" the other man asked bluntly.
Oswald smirked. "Our friend in common must have told you that I provided reliable material for a fair price for many other freedom fighters over the years."
"I'm not a freedom fighter from a godforsaken impoverished nation Mr. Cobblepot. I'm a businessman whose only wish is to succeed in my dealings, just like you. Around ten years ago, my brother died in the hands of a freachk and I had to run away before the PD and the DA came into my heels. Now I have a chance to make things right. And with your help I might."
"Very well. But be aware that Gotham only demands one thing of its people. To be truly awake."
"Is that a threat?"
Oswald shrugged. "Threat is a strong word."
"And yet it happens to be the word I used."
Grinning, Cobblepot replied, "Consider it as a piece of friendly advice."
The Chechen nodded solemnly and with a snap of his fingers three metal suitcases were placed on the table by his men. One of them opened the closest box, displaying the money.
"I'm sure that's enough for the time being."
Oswald made a signal to his bodyguards who then took the suitcases and moved off. "You will not regret doing business with me."
R. H. Kane Building, Central Business District, Gotham City
Reaching the 51th floor, the elevator chimed and its doors opened. Selina stepped out and headed down the hall. No sign of life until she got at the end of the corridor where there was a large door labeled "Data Processing Office". Before she could knock, it opened and a smiling man pulled her inside the room, closing the door behind them.
"You're late," he prompted.
"I've brought Chinese. Hope you like it," she said, handing him the package. She glanced around the huge office – all glass and steel. It was sparse place, although a single terminal was connected to a large mainframe, rows of hard drives on shelves on either side.
"My kind of girl," he replied happily and led her to an area next to the large windows. "Come, let's find a seat."
Container Park, Waterfront, Gotham City
The van slowly pulled in at the side of the road. Mitch Hawker and two other young men got out and crossed the road as the van left. On either side of the road there was an enormous container park. The containers were piled on top of each other like a giant baby's building blocks.
They entered a long corridor, the walls of the containers were rising and stretching in front of them.
"You guys arrived early to the party," a big older guy stepped out from the shadows. There were another one at his side.
One of the young men who just arrived returned the admonition by saying, "In fact we're right on time. Our other guests are who are late."
Everyone laughed except the big older guy, who only grinned slightly.
"Hey, guys, we have a smart ass among us." then turning to the bold young man he said, "Look, cupcake, advisers run no risk. So drop the attitude before nobody wants to work with you anymore, okay?"
The young man snorted and retorted, "Advice when most needed is least heeded."
"That's why I don't like working in a damn day care center," the big older guy said, turning to his pal. "These damn guys are so full of themselves."
"Then it's a good thing, gramps, that what you think doesn't mean oogatz to me!"
The big older guy's friend grabbed the arm of his fellow and advised, "Let it go Paulie. This speaking chimp is not worthy." The older man only nodded in response.
This is going to be easy, DJ mused.
Disguised by the darkness, the teenager – already in his suit, mask and hood – watched them from afar. Five men. Five armed men. And more yet to come, probably. He realized he needed to act – and fast, before the cavalry would arrive.
R. H. Kane Building, Central Business District, Gotham City
"So..." Selina began seductively, "How long you've been working here?"
"Almost five years. I started as an intern, and today I am already in a management position," Bryan Holland, an IT expert in his late twenties, answered sheepishly as he adjusted his glasses up to his nose.
They were sitting on the floor over a picnic blanket, lit only by the the skyscraper line beyond and the dim light provided by the surrounding machinery. It was a nice and romantic overview. However, for Selina, this was not a romantic encounter. It was work.
"Is that Wayne Tower right there?" she asked nonchalantly, pointing to the building opposite.
"Yep. And we have a splendid view of what it's called 'the vault' floor."
"The vault floor?" she asked, not believing how lucky she was. Her instinct and assumptions were right.
"I have a friend who works there and she told me the 51th floor is the automated data processing center of the tower. Pretty much the heart of Wayne Enterprises, where all their secrets are kept encrypted and sealed from the public eye."
She arched her brows and looked inquiringly at Bryan. "She?"
He chuckled. "What? Are you jealous?"
Selina shrugged and bowed her head to one side, playing the 'ingenuous who looked indifferent yet was outrageous' role. She thought if she was not a thief she could have been an actress. A good one, by the way.
"She's just a friend and you're far beyond beautiful than her," he assured fondly as he reached for her face and ran a thumb over her cheek.
Selina wondered for the millionth time how she had gotten roped into this but replied with a timid smile that soon faded as he grimaced and quickly stood up.
"I guess..." Bryan began sheepishly, "I need to go... you know... to the toilet. I'll be right back," he finished his sentence and practically ran off from the room.
"Sure," she muttered and a small beginning of a grin touched her lips. The smart droplets she had surreptitiously added to his drink were working right on time.
A soon as Bryan left, Selina changed her attitude. She got to her feet and checked her wristwatch, sighing. It was almost ten o'clock. Performing an operation of recognition as intricate as this was definitely not her style. But, she reminded herself, the end justified the means.
Once again she made sure that there were no security cameras spying on her and then pulled out her cat gloves and a small device from her bag. Next she dressed the gloves, produced retractable diamond cutters from her 'claws' and began carving a small aperture in the large glass panel.
A suction cup adjusted to the palm of the glove allowed her to take out the piece of glass without breaking it. A sharp gust of wind came through the opening and she positioned the device – a mobile-like thermographic camera mix with a 3D real-time scan sonar – on it, taking extra care to not let it fall. Slowly moving the camera, Selina managed to map the 51th floor of Wayne Enterprises headquarters only ordinarily. It was not perfect, but it was enough to get by.
Once the work ended, Selina gathered all her gear, glancing once again at the camera. The Wayne Tech logo appeared on the side of the device and she chuckled before the irony of the situation.
Hiding everything in her bag except the small piece of glass, which she put back in its original place, Selina shifted uneasily at her seat. Should she stay and wait for the geek guy or should she go and let a note to him?
After a quick mental deliberation she finally chose the second option.
Container Park, Waterfront, Gotham City
Attacking armed thugs head on is suicide. I need to disappear, pick them off silently, one by one, DJ mused as he sprinted silently between the shipping containers.
Reaching the top of one of them, he pondered his options for a fraction of a second and suddenly threw a smoke bomb to the floor, causing the thugs to panic and cough.
"Who the..." one of them trailed off.
"WTF? Cough, cough... Ugnn" the big older guy tried to speak but the words got caught in his throat.
The smoke made the thugs' eyes, nose and throat to smart. Two of them ran off – Mitch and his bold young fellow – while the others remained in the middle of the smokescreen.
The big older guy's pal pulled out a gun and fired at random until a pair of shuriken like objects came flying through the air and quickly locked his arm on his side trapping his hand. "My arm!"
Bearing his night vision goggles, DJ swooped down to the three thugs.
"It's him!" someone screamed. "Nghh!"
Without too much thought, DJ took them down. The sound of punches, kicks and smashed bones mingled with groans of pain. When he apparently knocked them all unconscious, he stepped back a bit in order to analyze the situation and to took the gun from the shooter's hand.
Out of sudden, Paulie bursted from the ground, smashing the pistol from DJ's hand and then smashing his back against the container's wall. The whole steel compartment shook with the force of the clash. He grabbed the pistol and point it at DJ's face, who snatched it quick. The goon snatched it back and DJ smacked it out of his hand.
Growling and entirely beside himself, DJ lunged at the big guy, seeming to intent to hurt him more than ever before. On the other side, Paulie slipped his hand into his jacket and grabbed a flint knife. He sliced DJ's forearm and spun him around until he had the tip digging into the side of his neck. They both were breathing heavy.
Damn it!
"Gotcha!" the thug hissed, breathless and really pissed. But before he could move on, DJ managed to grab his hand and twisted it to the point the big guy let out a scream as he finally dropped the knife.
"Aghh!"
At the same time, DJ took advantage of the moment and threw his head back, hitting Paulie full in the face with the back of his head, putting him on the ground beside the other goons.
He pulled away from the pile of beaten men to regain his breath, panting and gasping for as much air as he could fit into his tired lungs.
Gotham Caesar's Hotel Restaurant, Midtown, Gotham City
Dmitri Antonovich and Oswald Cobblepot were sitting at an elegant restaurant table enjoying the end of their meal. Their ladies had dismissed the dessert course and sailed off to the restroom to touch up their makeup and chatting.
"How did everything go with our 'special friend'?"
Oswald snorted awkwardly and answered, "So far so good. He's not an easy man."
Dmitri smiled at the indignation in the other man's voice. "Many people would say the same of you, drug moy(1)."
"Well, he's about to find out that I'm not to be trifled with."
"And come to think of it, neither does he."
"The Penguin flies ever alone," Ozzy began anxiously, "and this guy... This guy wants to take advantage of the delicate situation I'm facing. And thanks to his stupidity he can ruin everything."
Dmitri squirmed in his seat and spoke in a lower tone. "Easy, drug moy. You shouldn't brood over such things. Don't take any hasty decision. You should consider your campaign. I heard the numbers are on your side."
Oswald sighed. Between running his nightclub and campaigning with special interest groups, coordinating his criminal operations was making his life a real juggling act. But he had not gone so far to give up right now because some idiot mobster wanted a slice of the cake.
"Yes," he drawled and took a sip of a sweet, dark red liqueur, eyes focused nowhere in the distance. "It's just the beginning. Things are about to change in this town. Radically. In few months, my vision of what this city should be will be complete."
"You just spoke like a true winner. Just be careful with all those masked weirdos and the media crows around."
"They pose no threat to me, Dmitri."
As soon as Cobblepot finished his line, the women approached the table smiling and giggling.
"Why did you take too long? I thought I'd have to go after you," Antonovich complained humorously.
Veronica Vreeland pouted seductively. "Oh, Dimi. Don't be such a wet blanket!"
"What's the big deal about spending some time beautifying ourselves?" Sophia Starr asked, feigning innocence.
Known as 'a beauteous queen of Gotham society', Sophia was a widow of considerable wealth, whose late husband had been a tycoon of the oil sector. When they had first married he had been old enough to be her father and the gorgeous blonde from Texas had been labeled as a trophy wife who had managed to be an interloper among the city's elite.
Like her, Cobblepot knew what it was to be an outcast between the old money aristocracy even being a wealthy person.
"No big deal, my darling lark," Oswald told her as he took her hand and kissed it. "Dmitri is just fed up with our man talk."
"Man talk, huh?" Vreeland asked a little bit suspicious. "I hope your guys' secrets doesn't refer to any other woman."
The men laughed almost instantly and Oswald remarked, "I have no secrets, my darling. My life is an open book... With some missing pages I must emphasize."
The silly half-joke sparked some laughs as Oswald smiled to himself. He had lots of secrets. Some of them he had buried deep enough to ensure it would never see the light of the day.
However the occasion was interrupted by the bip of his mobile phone. He checked the message and frowned then excused himself. "I'm afraid I have to go."
Three pair of disappointed eyes flashed him and he got a bunch of ohhs and ahhs in response. He looked at Sophia. "My darling, I'll leave you in the more-than-pleasant company of the Antonovichs." He then raised his hand in a signal to the waiter, who hurried over. "We'll have our check please."
"Of course, sir."
"Hey, hey, it's on my dime," Dmitri interjected.
"Thanks, my friend. Would mind to take Miss Starr to her home safely?"
"Of course not."
Cobblepot nodded and left in a hurry.
Container Park, Waterfront, Gotham City
"We need to get out of here!" the bold young thug advised Mitch Hawker as they ran between the containers.
"He's gonna get us!" Hawker replied in despair. His red converse was slapping the hard tarmac as he raced around like a headless chicken.
Suddenly, Garcia – the bold young man – stopped cold and glanced at the other side of the park. "Is he still in there?"
"I don't know. I can't hear or see anything in there. Let's keep going, man. I don't wanna go head to head with Batman."
"Do you think it's him?"
"Don't be stupid. Of course it's him."
"Thought the guy was dead. Or at least, he would have to be old..." Garcia's voice trailed off when a noise echoed and he instantly rushed out saying, "Go, go, go!"
They split apart and he slipped down a side corridor as Mitch went ahead.
Moving, ghostlike, through the dark corridors, DJ's silhouette crossed the adjacent intersection. Feeling trapped, Mitch pulled a gun from his back pocket and walked toward the corner where he last saw the vestige of a floating cape. "Stay back! Or I'll shoot you!" he barked.
"Not advisable," the masked vigilante stated on top of the container positioned behind Mitch's back and swooped down upon his old friend. The gun landed away from both of them.
As Mitch tried to recover to a defensive posture, gasping for air, DJ offered in a tone much graver than usual, "You don't need and don't really want to do this. Why screw everything up?" The darkness prevented him to be recognized.
"Who are you? A good samaritan?" Mitch asked and then took one quick step toward DJ and threw a big right hook that DJ easily blocked and countered by hitting Mitch's nose with his elbow.
"Hakk!" Mitch went to his knees, putting both hands to his face, covering his bloodstained nose.
"Things doesn't have to be this way," DJ tried one more time.
Angry and pained, Mitch turned to him, "Hell it's not!" And then he stood up and threw another right, which DJ sidestepped and responded with a straight jab to the already-damaged nose. The blow seemed to knock Mitch down, sending him straight to the ground.
"Sorry my friend," DJ whispered and turned away, aiming to find the last thug without being noticed.
Out of sudden, a strong bright light focused on him, temporarily blinding and disorienting him as a bunch of very armed men appeared in front of him. At least a half dozen.
Thug Number One announced, "Heh. Well, look at this guy."
"Hey, Bat-boy, I hear Penguin's put a price on your head. I'm cashing you in," Thug Number Two said, grinning.
With no way out and cursing his lack of options, DJ threw another set of smoking bombs and then run away as fast as he could.
"What's he...?" thug Number Three asked in the midst of strong smoke.
"Making our day," thug Number Two answered, any semblance of a smirk was now gone as the smoke was stinging his lungs.
"Damn right," thug number One agreed angrily and yelled, "Everyone! Go after him. Now!"
Thug Number Four flanked to the far side and Number Five followed the masked teenager up the middle. All of them gun-toting.
Meanwhile containers swung from cranes, blocking the light and throwing DJ in and out of dark shadows.
"Batman! Can you hear me?!" thug Number Two shouted, gun in hand. "Show yourself. I promise it's gonna be fun. Not for you, of course."
DJ tried to slip down another alleyway but thug Number Three was there with a knife in hand.
"Slice 'n dice," he sang. "Don't move. It's cleaner that way."
DJ fought him off and escaped, disappearing. The other thugs converged to the point Number Three was laying down unconscious. Number One made a signal to them split apart to search for the hooded guy.
Then feet beet atop the containers like tin drums and DJ leapt over Number Two's head. He sped over the vast field of containers and leapt the gaps with ease as a burst of bullets came to his side.
He dropped back down into the corridors, turned around and saw Number Four and Number Five coming at each far end of the corridor toward him.
"Oh, oh, looks like you're in trouble now, boy," Number Five said tauntingly as DJ stood motionless.
"Checkmate, masked freak," Number Four proudly stated as both thugs pointed their guns at DJ.
Suddenly the noise of helicopters filled the air and several flashes of aerial searchlights were shining down at them. The voice of a SWAT team leader commanded over a high speaker, "Police! Don't move!"
More voices and the sound of barking dogs. "Drop the gun down!"
Taking advantage of the sudden moment of distraction, DJ ran at Number Four, leapt, kick his gun and snapped two fists into his throat. Number Five came toward them, firing, but DJ used Number Four as a shield and darted out a shuriken at Number Five's hand, making him to lose the gun.
Tossing Number Four's injured body to one side, DJ turned around the corner and sprinted full tilt, out of the sight of the police and out of of reach of the the bad guys. Panting, he left the container park behind and stepped into a scrap metal yard. Mountains of waste were raising at either side of him.
"Freeze!" a male voice emerged behind him. "Hands up."
DJ glanced around as he raised his both hands in surrender. He then took a step forward, reaching the edge of an industrial canal where the scrap metal was unloaded. A large industrial barge was chugging towards him, only a few hundred meters.
"Turn around. Now," the other man demanded.
He finally spun around to face his captor. It was Garcia. The guy was an undercover police officer posing as one of the Penguin's goons.
"Come quietly!" he yelled, leveling his Smith & Wesson.
"I'm afraid I'll have to decline."
"Then I'm afraid you will be going to jail. One way or another," the young cop threatened.
"Does it now?" Saying that, DJ reached the edge quick and jumped into the water.
Astonished, Garcia fired at least three times and then ran at edge of the canal. There was no sign of the hooded guy.
Gotham Caesar's Hotel Bar, Midtown, Gotham City
"Why did you take so long, Mr. C?" Russell Waters questioned dully as soon as Oswald got closer to him. He was uncomfortable sitting in that bar stool for a time that seemed an eternity. In the twenty minute interval between his text to his boss and the apparition of him, lots of things had happened.
"Well, at least I can always be on time tomorrow, but you'll be stupid forever," Oswald retorted wryly. "It took me some time to mislead my guests and the staff." Not that he had the need to explain himself, but he did it anyway.
Russell hesitated for a moment. "I have good and bad news."
"Spit it out," Cobblepot ordered.
"The Russian vulture got his wings clipped. Clean service," he whispered.
"Great. And?"
Russell took a breath and continued. "We had a situation at the waterfront. Police showed up..." he trailed off, uncertain if he must go on when he saw Cobblepot's face getting red in visible anger. "The Batman..."
Oswald cut him off, "Batman? This freak is dead and buried under the deep blue sea."
"They say he's immortal or that's more than one," Russell chimed reverently.
His boss gave a short laugh in a clear signal of disbelief. "Drop this shit, okay?" He then looked at the ceiling and begged, "Why can't this masked clown get a day job, huh?"
Russell gulped and remained silent, so Oswald stared at him. "I mean, it had to be him, boss. It couldn't be anybody else."
Oswald inhaled sharply. "It's just an idle individual in a costume. A copycat looking for trouble. There's nothing supernatural in this. What about the shipment?"
"Forfeit."
"Lame! The men?"
"All arrested. I'm sorry, boss..."
"Russell... Would you kindly … get out of my face?"
Scared and outraged, the henchman stood up and headed for the exit.
(1) Drug moy = My friend