Batman: Streets of Anarchy
Chapter One
The inmate walked out of his jail cell in his orange jumpsuit, his red messy hair exploding from every side of his scalp. His face seemed to be permanently etched into a scowl as he continued his way to the cafeteria.
Other inmates were all chattering with each other as they carried trays of yellow slop and packets of juice, but the red headed mess seemed to stick to himself, snatching an empty tray from a table and walking up to the line.
"Hey ginger! Line starts at the back," said another inmate to him. The short redhead scowled at him, as he walked back towards the line.
"At least this time he didn't punch you in the face," said another inmate, who was much skinnier, walking up to him and gesturing towards his black eye.
"Whatever," scoffed the red haired inmate, as he stared blankly at one of the white walls. Grime covered most of it, yet there was one spot, almost directly in the center of the wall, that seemed to be free of it. The inmate seemed to be fixated on that one point.
"Yo, Machin!" shouted an inmate from behind the line, breaking his concentration. "Move the fuck up!"
Machin sighed in annoyance as he walked ahead with his tray, as yellow slop which simply had the name of mashed potatoes was dropped onto it. Begrudgingly, he walked up to a table and took a seat.
The steel chairs and tables were cold to the touch, but Machin seemed to ignore it, as he stared at the decaying wall, drowning out the chaos around him.
"So yeah, I was at the part where I told Raymond to shut up about my sister. And that's when I got punched in the face. So I couldn't take it, you know? So that's why the next day-"
"Ricky?" asked Machin.
"Yeah?"
"Can you do me a favour?"
"Sure,"
"Please shut the fuck up," finished Machin, as he chewed on a piece of stale bread.
"Lonnie, your social skills are as stale as that bread your poisoning you stomach with," commented Ricky. Lonnie continued to chew on the bread.
"Believe me, it's the only edible thing in this shithole," replied Lonnie, with a blank expression, as he continued staring at the wall.
"What are you drooling over for the past 10 minutes?" asked Ricky, following Lonnie's eyes and finding himself gazing at the wall.
"Well, what is it?" asked Ricky.
"Nothing," chuckled Lonnie, as he chewed up the bread and dropped his tray on the ground, dropping the mashed potatoes. He got up and walked out of the cafeteria.
"You just dropped your food," said Ricky, catching up to him.
"It'd be generous to call that food. Plus, the rats will get it," said Lonnie, walking back to his cell, which wasn't even his to begin with. He had simply been shifted to a more secure wing, and was staying in someone else's cell.
"So, we good?" asked the dealer, sitting in the driver's seat of a rather broken down car. It was another rainy day in Gotham, though the rain had been reduced to a drizzle.
"Nah man, I don't know," said the guy buying drugs, as he fiddled with money in his pocket.
"What do you mean you don't know?" asked the driver, a confused look on his face. "You're the guy who called me here,"
"Dude, if he comes, we're both fucked," said the nervous buyer, who seemed to be shaking.
"If who comes?" asked the driver, as he reached into the passenger's seat and pulled out a small packet of a white-red powder.
"This here's all that's left of the Red Hood gang's stash. Prime material, you're not gonna find it anywhere else," said the driver, holding the packet by his right hand.
"Yeah, all that's left after Batman went after the Red Hood gang," said the buyer. The driver's face changed from one of confusion, to laughter.
"You're talking about the Batman? Come on, dude," laughed the man. "He's a fucking lunatic, quit acting like a nine year old girl,"
"Nah man, I'd rather live!" said the buyer, as he began to walk away.
The dealer got out of the car and pulled out a 9mm with his left hand, aiming it at the buyer's head.
"If you wish to live, you will buy our product," said a voice, from the backseat of the car.
"I'd do what he says, man," said the dealer.
A bead of sweat fell from the buyer's forehead, as he began to tremble.
The man in the backseat made a gesture, and the dealer shot the buyer in the head. The buyer fell to the ground, a pool of crimson forming around his head.
"Wasting our time like that. Not cool, right boss?" asked the dealer, getting in the car. There was no response from the person in the backseat.
"Fair enough," said the dealer.
"So, what is it this time?" asked Harvey Bullock, as he arrived at the scene of the crime the next morning.
"Dead body and tire tracks. No witnesses or anyone else at the scene," replied Officer Montoya.
"That's it? Then why the fuck was I called so early in the morning? Couldn't any beat cop handle this?" complained Bullock, as he lit a cigarette, while Montoya simply sighed.
"Check the body," said Montoya, as Harvey begrudgingly made his way under the yellow tape and towards the tarp that covered the victim.
Bullock lifted the tarp from the top of the body to see the victim's face, only for his eyes to go wide.
"OH SHIT!" he exclaimed as his cigarette dropped from his mouth, as he turned back to Montoya, who gave him an "I told you so" look.
"Fuckin' hell, do you know who that is?" asked Harvey, his eyes still large. "It's-"
"Alberto Falcone," said another voice. Harvey turned around and rolled his eyes towards the source of the voice: A middle aged man with rectangular glasses, brown-gray hair and a glorious mustache on his face.
"Oh great," sighed Harvey, as the man raised an eyebrow. "What is it, Gordon? Did you solve the case already?" asked Bullock.
"Alberto Falcone, the son of renowned crime lord Carmine Falcone, shot dead on the sidewalk in one of the most rundown places in Gotham. What do you think this could be about?" asked Gordon.
"Gang war? Maybe a rival gang wanted to take down Carmine a peg or two, and went after his son?" suggested Montoya.
"Could be," said Gordon, straightening his coat as he breathed in the cold morning air.
"I'm guessing you've got some other idea?" asked Bullock.
"Sort of. Carmine is extremely protective of his family. I doubt he'd let his 19 year old son out anywhere, much less the West End of Gotham," said Gordon.
"He'd be torn apart if he even stepped foot in here. And I guess he was," said Montoya.
"There's something else going on here. What about those tire tracks?" asked Gordon, as he walked up to them, quickly taking a photo.
"Forensics team will take a while to analyze them. The database is running slow," said Montoya.
"With a story like this it won't be long before the media fucks us all 18 ways to Sunday. Any chance it could be done quicker?" asked Bullock.
"For now, we're gonna have to endure the media, and Carmine Falcone's hellfire," sighed Gordon.
"So, any suspects for this whodunnit?" asked Bullock, chuckling at his own joke.
"Maroni," replied Montoya almost instantaneously, as Gordon raised an eyebrow.
"What? He's literally Falcone's rival. Makes perfect sense to me," said Montoya.
"And you're sure this isn't your own personal vendetta?" asked Bullock, and Montoya simply gave him a look. Bullock put his hands up in the air.
"Maroni's too careful for this. Going after Falcone's kid is pretty much a suicide mission," said Gordon.
"Eh, maybe the guy wanted a change in his routine, I know I do," chuckled Bullock, as he lit up another cigarette.
"What about Oswald Cobblepot?" suggested Gordon.
"Cobblepot? The guy's as clean as they come. Just because he looks like a chump doesn't mean he is one," replied Bullock.
"No, but Batman did expose him as the Penguin a couple years back," replied Montoya.
"Batman? Please, all that guy does is probably dress up as himself for Halloween and jerks himself off to bats every night. There's a reason his evidence was denied," replied Bullock.
"Yeah the reason was that the judge was bought off, if we had an impartial one-"
"Okay, that's enough from both of you. I think so far Maroni and Cobblepot are our best bets. Anyone else who could be connected to this?" asked Gordon.
"No others so far. What's our next move now?" asked Bullock.
"The body is going to be sent to the morgue, and those tire tracks will take ages to identify. Luckily, we know someone who could do it quicker," replied Gordon, as he began to walk away.
"Wait, who? Oh God not that nutjob!" lamented Bullock.
In portraits of Gotham sold to tourists, stars seem to litter the sky, and the roads are as clean as they come. In reality, the roles are reversed with the sky being dark and cloudy, clear of any stars while the road is littered with puddles, porn magazines and garbage.
From the roof of the Gotham City Police Department however, shone a beacon. An ominous symbol lit up the night sky, almost like light cutting through the darkness.
"Think he'll show up?" asked Montoya, walking up to the roof and handing Jim his coffee, who was standing next to the signal that was lighting the sky.
"Hopefully," said Gordon.
"Heard he got banged up really badly after a fight with Doctor Death," replied Montoya, taking a sip of the coffee.
"He's been through worse. Trust me," said Gordon. Just then, they heard a slight whoosh from behind them.
Gordon and Montoya turned around, only to be facing a clear outline of a man in the shadows.
"You can come out now," said Montoya, but the man didn't move. Gordon signaled for Montoya to leave the roof.
Montoya sighed and walked away, and that's when Batman stepped out of the shadows.
"What do we have?" asked Batman, in a deep, slightly intimidating voice. The ears on his cowl made him seem taller than his 6'2 height, and the symbol on his chest seemed to illuminate with yellow highlights traced on it.
"Alberto Falcone, found dead in the West End of Gotham," said Gordon, as he handed him pictures.
"Gunshot to the head, is the crime scene disturbed?" asked Batman.
"The body has been moved, and these tire tracks were taken. Other than that, barely anything," said Gordon, as he handed Batman a printed picture of the tracks.
"Drive-by shooting?" asked Batman.
"Looks that way. The real question is why was the most protected kid on Earth roaming around the West End? I mean, he's the son of Gotham's most prolific crime lord," replied Gordon.
"Brewing gang war. What if he wasn't killed there? But placed to make it look like a shooting?" asked Batman.
"I don't think that's possible, there was a pool of fresh blood. DNA analysis matched Alberto's," said Gordon.
"I need to see the crime scene," said Batman, handing him the image of the tire tracks.
"3rd street, West End," said Gordon, as Batman jumped off of the building and dove towards the ground, opening his cape and moving into a glide at the last second. He glided a few meters above, parallel to the ground, as he pressed a button on the gauntlet.
As soon as he did that, a sleek black car came driving from a corner in the street, opening the sunroof as Batman landed straight inside it.
"I'm guessing the Batmobile remote call is working, sir?" said a voice, from Batman's earpiece.
"It is. I'm headed to the crime scene, Alfred. The more I learn about the shooter, the better I can profile him," said Batman, as he sped towards the West End of Gotham.
The smell of damp streets seemed to engulf the place like a suffocating fog, as slums lined the streets while the Batmobile tore through the road, heading towards the crime scene.
Sure enough, there was some yellow tape, as well as the chalk outline of a body.
Batman got out of the car, as he approached the scene. The outline luckily hadn't been washed away, and faint tire tracks were visible. Batman knelt down as he examined the outline. He stood up, and walked up to the tire tracks, facing the body.
"Alfred, sync the cowl with the Batcomputer remote scanner," said Batman.
"Right away, sir," replied Alfred.
Batman's eyes began to glow a bluish white, as he began to scan the outline of the body.
"The way the body fell to the ground, with a gunshot wound through the head indicates that the shooter was from close range. At this range the bullet would've gone clean through. I need to find where it landed," thought Batman, as he walked beyond the outline.
Etched into a wall was a bullet hole. "The GCPD must have taken the bullet. I can analyze the impact left to determine the type of bullet," thought Batman, as he cross referenced the impact through a database that showed various possibilities for bullet indentations.
"9mm. Judging by the trajectory of the bullet, as well as the position of the body, the shooter would have to be about 5'9 in terms of height. Neither Maroni nor Cobblepot are that height," said Batman.
"What if the shooter was one of their henchmen?" suggested Alfred.
"Could be," replied Batman, walking up to the tire tracks.
"That tread pattern is unique to tires manufactured by Kord Industries," said Batman. "But the rain's washed away the tire tracks, so I can't follow it," he continued.
"I'm coming back to the Batcave," said Batman to Alfred, as he got back in the Batmobile and drove back to the Batcave.
Alfred was sitting by the Batcomputer, when he heard the roar of an engine echo through the caverns of the cave. He turned around and looked towards a waterfall, and just as he predicted, the Batmobile came speeding through it, coming to a halt on a small platform adjacent to where Alfred was standing.
Batman stepped out and took off his mask, revealing the face of playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne.
"In terms of your nightly escapades, tonight's was rather uneventful," remarked Alfred, as Bruce lightly chuckled. He walked up to the computer and placed his cowl on the table. He flipped the cowl, revealing a small socket.
Bruce took out a wire from the Batcomputer and plugged it into the socket on the cowl.
The computer, made up of 5 different screens lit up, showing an image of the crime scene.
"Any idea about the shooter, sir?" asked Alfred.
"Other than his height, nothing else. Unsurprisingly, the CCTV cameras are broken," replied Bruce.
"So was this premeditated?"
"It's the West End of Gotham. If the CCTV's weren't already destroyed you might as well call it Metropolis," said Bruce. "But those tire tracks were manufactured by Kord Industries,"
"I'm guessing many cars have that tread pattern," commented Alfred.
"Not many people would have it, it's relatively expensive," said Bruce.
"Ah yes, relatively," joked Alfred. Bruce typed in something else and 2 pictures showed up on the screens.
"Cobblepot and Maroni. The two biggest suspects for now," said Bruce.
"Both do have a grudge against the Falcones," said Alfred.
"But there's still one question. Why on Earth was Alberto in the West End in the first place?" asked Bruce.
"Maybe he was lured there. Money or drugs, perhaps?" asked Alfred.
"He was the son of Carmine Falcone. Money and drugs are in his bloodline," replied Bruce. "We need his phone, but it wasn't on his person when he died,"
"It's like a roadblock after a roadblock," replied Alfred.
"For now, the tire tracks are our best lead. I think it's time I pay Maroni and Oswald a visit," said Bruce.
"Cape or no cape?" asked Alfred.
"Both deserve a personal touch. Oswald is hosting a party at the Iceberg Lounge in a few days. I could head there and gather information. No doubt Maroni will be there too," said Bruce.
"Sounds like an idea," said Alfred. "Also, are you forgetting something?"
"I don't think so,"
"You've got a board meeting tomorrow, Lucius was able to cover for you last time, but I doubt saying that you were out with a Bolshoi ballerina will work this time," said Alfred. Bruce pinched his eyebrows.
"Right. It's at 8 in the morning. More than enough time,"
"It's almost 7," replied Alfred, as Bruce sighed.
The stench of blood and semen seemed to suffocate Lonnie's new cell, as he read a book sitting in the corner.
"Machin, you've got a visitor!" said a guard, who walked up to his cell, opening it.
Lonnie was intrigued. As far as he was concerned not a single person cared about him, much less his incarceration. The guard escorted him to the visiting room, where the only thing separating him from the outside world was concrete and glass.
Lonnie sat down on a chair and picked up the telephone. Across him was a man wearing a black fedora.
"Mister Machin," said the voice.
"Who are you?" asked Lonnie.
"That is not of importance, at the moment at least," said the man. Lonnie sighed.
"I'd rather get back to my book instead of this shit," said Lonnie.
"Settle down, Anarky," said the man. Lonnie's face froze.
"Yes, I know all about your "escapades,"" replied the man. "Especially the ones of the criminal variety, not the things you were charged for though," he continued.
"How do you know all of this?" he asked.
"That's beyond what I'm here to talk about. But I need your help," said the man.
"Why?" asked Lonnie.
"I know what this city did to you. What it took from you. I'm offering you a chance to get back at Gotham for what it's done," replied the man.
"How?" asked Lonnie.
"Go back to your cell, and wait," replied the man, as he got up and left. Confused, Lonnie was escorted back to his cramped cell. He picked up his book and sat down on his concrete-like bed.
5 minutes later, a guard walked up to the cell, with keys in his hand. He simply unlocked the cell and released Lonnie. The guard walked with him towards the exit of the prison, where two other guards were waiting for him, opening the door and releasing a puzzled, yet vengeful Lonnie Machin onto the streets of Gotham.