Bruce Wayne entered Joker's Wild, one of the many casinos owned by Sal Valestra, and looked around for some indication of where the owner's office might be.
"Right this way, Mr. Wayne," said an attendant, hurrying over to him. "Mr. Valestra is expecting you."
He led him through a secure door to another part of the casino, which was draped in elegant luxury and clearly only available to the establishment's most exclusive clientele. Bruce had obviously been one of these until recently, but he couldn't say he missed it – he had plenty of other places to make his public appearances and reinforce his image as a carefree playboy billionaire.
Past this section was another secure door, which led to a flight of stairs with a gold-plated door at the top. The attendant knocked, and a voice said, "Come in."
"Mr. Wayne is here to see you, Mr. Valestra," said the attendant, popping his head in.
"Send him in," said Valestra, standing up and smiling at Bruce from behind his large, oak desk. Bruce noticed that the room was decorated with very expensive art – he was no expert, but if some of the paintings in the room were genuine, they should have been in a museum. And he suspected they might have been, until Valestra stole them.
When he had received Valestra's invitation for a meeting, Bruce had thought about just dropping in on him as Batman. But Valestra was a smart man - he might put two and two together regarding his identity after extending the invitation to Bruce. Plus he didn't want to have to deal with another dismissal of arrest, as had happened with Buzz and Chuckie. Best to meet with him as Bruce Wayne for now, and wait until he was in the process of committing a crime to confront him as Batman.
"Bruce, it's so good to see you again!" said Valestra, beaming at him. "I was very sorry to have received your letter – it's not just the financial hit, or the publicity hit, trust me!" he chuckled. "I've truly enjoyed your company over the years, and I'm sorry I have to part with it."
"Yes, well, I'm sorry it has to come to this," said Bruce, shrugging. "But I really can't have any dealings with a man who threatens my friend. I hope you can understand that."
"Of course I can," said Valestra, nodding. "I understand loyalty, believe me. Have a seat, and a cigar," he said, offering him a box.
"No, thanks," said Bruce. "I wonder if you wouldn't mind telling me why you invited me here. If it's to ask me to change my mind, I won't."
"I'm sorry to find you so resolute," said Valestra. "Resolution isn't a quality you'd expect from a man like you, or at least, a man who acts like you, a flippant, uncommitted playboy."
"Well, I'm like that in most aspects of my life," replied Bruce. "But not all."
"Of course," agreed Valestra, smiling at him. "We all have aspects of ourselves that we wish to keep private, hidden sides of our character we're reluctant to reveal. We all have a public image we like to project out into the wider world. I understand that more than most."
"I bet you do," agreed Bruce. "I'm not an idiot, Sal – everyone in Gotham knows what you are."
"That's true," agreed Valestra. "I may be a criminal, but I try to be an honest one. I don't pretend to be better than I am, and people seem to accept that. They know I'm crooked, but they come to my casinos anyway because I can provide them with a good time. It's amazing what people will overlook if you entertain them, as I'm sure you know."
He lit a cigar for himself. "Let me tell you a little bit about my background, Bruce. I didn't grow up all rich and famous like you. My father was a two-bit thug, and my mother was a prostitute. She would pimp herself out to bring home money, while Dad would knock off a liquor store or two, and even then we barely had enough to survive on. One day when I was about eight, the guy Dad was robbing had a gun himself, and managed to get a shot off, straight into Dad's side. He got away, but he was hurt, and we couldn't afford the hospital. Even if we could, they would have sent him to prison after he was healed, and Dad didn't want to risk that. He insisted he'd got the bullet out, and that he would heal. But he didn't. Mom and I watched as his wound grew infected, and he died in pain and agony weeks later. Mom kept turning tricks to keep us alive, and she'd take me to the street corners with her, making me stay outta sight while she serviced her customers in their cars. But one night she got shot in the face by a client. I don't know if he wanted her to do something she refused to do, or if he just did it for fun, and I suppose it doesn't really matter. But I watched it happen. I saw the blood splatter on the glass, and I watched him dump her body out of his car and drive away. I felt completely numb as I stared at her, face down in the road, with her blood seeping outta her, swirling in the puddles on the wet street. I think you know what that's like, don't you?"
"Yes," murmured Bruce. "I do."
"I made a vow then, Bruce," said Valestra. "I vowed that I would put an end to the chaos that caused situations like this. The poverty, the instability, the desperation – it all had to go, so no other little boy had to suffer what I suffered that night. The cause of my suffering wasn't the people who had shot my mom and dad – it was the system itself, the whole rotten, corrupt system that kept my parents poor, that kept my dad outta the hospital, and that let their murderers get away scot free. I told the cops about my mom's murder - I gave them the type of car, the color, even the license plate number. But they never caught him. They never even tried to catch him. Nobody cares about the lives of street-walkers and whores. They're criminals, and nobody cares about criminals. And then we're surprised when criminals don't respect the law. But why would they respect a system that doesn't respect them? It's not the criminals' fault, you see. It's the chaos of society that drives people to act in insane ways, that makes them rob and murder senselessly. Oh, those base human instincts will always be there, but they can be controlled. And they must be. Now you can try doing that through law and order, and I support that. But that isn't enough. That can become corrupted, because all good things can turn bad. It's much easier to go bad, and most people are motivated by what's easier, not by what's right. Crime is easier. So the only way to stop chaos is to organize the crime. To make these actions purposeful, so that you're not just robbing and murdering for the hell of it, but for good reasons. Now you might doubt that such a thing is possible, but it is, Bruce. I'm living proof of that. I take money from the rich like you, through my casinos and my properties, and give it to the poor – I'm on the board of several charities working to redistribute wealth in disadvantaged neighborhoods. My holdings give them millions of dollars a year, and we're making progress. It's slow, but all good progress is."
"You're a regular Robin Hood, Sal," retorted Bruce, sarcastically. "And your excuse for murder?"
Valestra grinned. "What's the cops' excuse for murder?" he asked. "When people do bad things, sometimes there's no helping them. Sometimes they gotta be put down, for the greater good. Society gives the police force the institutional power to do that. I'm just cutting out the middle man. The people I order killed, they deserve it."
"Like Alicia Hunt?" asked Bruce. "Or Ernie Reeves? Or Dr. Davis?"
"I told Jack not to do his stupid Joker calling card thing," sighed Valestra. "I knew somebody would connect those dots eventually. But there's no telling Jack what to do. But yes, since you ask, they did deserve to die. Alicia was romantically involved with me, and I hated having her killed, honestly. But she was talking to the cops, providing evidence and testimony to build a case against me. Killing her was self-preservation, not just for myself, but for this entire city – if I go down, the chaos will run wild. Gotham will be set on fire and burned to the ground. Organized crime is the only thing standing in the way of that. She had to die, for the greater good. Ernie Reeves was stealing from my operations – he was taking drugs from the shipments I brought in and selling them on the side. To school children. It's one thing to provide a service to consenting adults willing to pay for it – it's quite another to provide that to vulnerable children without the capacity to understand the long-term consequences. That's not organized crime – that's evil. So he had to be stopped. And Dr. Davis had been my physician for a long time. He knew all my physical ailments and prescribed all my medications, medications which could easily be tampered with if people knew about them. He sold my medical information to a rival of mine, Carmine Falcone. Fortunately he was taken care of before he could tell anyone else. In fact, most of my criminal rivals have been taken care of, thanks to your pal the District Attorney. It's been a wonderful benefit for me, actually, allowing me to consolidate my power and ensure that any crimes committed in this city are under my express orders. I can control the chaos. I'm sure you understand how wonderful that feels."
"What chaos do you think I'm controlling?" asked Bruce. "I live for chaos."
"I don't think that's true," murmured Valestra. "You see, you knew about Jack's crimes. Of course people do take a morbid interest in any high profile criminal case, but no paper has made the connection between any of the Joker card murders and me. But you have."
"I have friends in law enforcement, as you know – Harvey told me," retorted Bruce.
"I don't think he did," said Valestra, quietly. "I think while I'm being relatively honest about who I am, you're wearing a mask, Bruce. In fact, I think you wear a couple masks. And one of them is shaped like a bat."
Bruce stared at him. "Are you accusing me of being Batman?" he demanded.
"Not accusing – just speculating," said Valestra, puffing out his cigar. "You fit the profile, you see. He's got to be someone with a vendetta against criminals, a victim of a crime. Well, that's innumerable people in Gotham. But he's also got to be someone wealthy enough to afford all the equipment he has, personally branded, of course. Not to mention the car. It's got to be someone rich, with a history of crime affecting his family. And you're the most high-profile person who matches that description. Of course there will be others, which is why I'm not accusing you. But you do fit the profile, as I said, and your principled stance in boycotting my casino proves there's more to you than meets the eye. Which is why I said I think it's you. I called you here because I was hoping to confirm it, and to let you know that I understand you. I understand exactly what you're going through - I understand your burning desire for order and justice. But it's best to leave that to the professionals. Amateurs tend to get hurt."
"Is that a threat?" asked Bruce.
"A warning," said Valestra, shrugging. "Which you're free to ignore if you're not the Batman, obviously. But if you are, I would tread very, very carefully if I were you. In fact, I would give up the whole thing before something goes horribly wrong. And it will, Bruce, I promise you."
"Good thing I'm not Batman then," retorted Bruce. "I don't have the time nor the inclination to do something as outrageous as that. But thank you, Sal, for the amusing joke. It might be Jack's nickname, but you're quite a joker yourself."
"Perhaps I am," agreed Valestra, smiling. "Well, I hate being wrong, but I'm only human after all," he sighed. "Feel free to play some cards on the way out, Bruce, if that takes your fancy. And if you do know who the Batman is, or if you happen to bump into him one dark night, tell him to rethink his strategy. We both want the same thing for Gotham. But his way of doing things is chaotic. Mine is organized. And only one can prevail. Good evening."
Bruce stormed out of the room and back down the stairs, annoyed and furious that Valestra seemed to have figured out his secret identity. He had tried to be careful and discreet, but now the most notorious gangster in Gotham knew, and that was hugely dangerous. Not just to him, but to Harvey, and everyone he cared about.