The author acknowledges that names, concepts, and images of
many characters that may be used here and ALL related characters
may be owned by other individuals and/or companies and that said
owners retain complete rights to said characters. These concepts
are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong
desire to peer into the potential these characters have in a
combined setting.
This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here
are the intellectual property of the author.
*******************************
GOTHAM KNIGHTS
Preparations, part 2
Written by -- Ali
Email -- SEricAli1@aol.com
Edited by: Jason Tippitt & Tommy Hancock
*******************************
INTERLUDE
THE TEMPLE ESTATE, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 10, 1938...
It had been a smooth ride so far. The wall was easily
scaled and the dogs that roamed the grounds freely at night were
lulled into silence with the subtle bribe of a few pounds of roast
beef. The security patrol was a joke, a pair of out of shape
yokels who fancied themselves private dicks didn't bother the
intruder who had come calling this evening. At best, mused the
intruder, they could provide some kind of sport if the job got too
boring.
The intruder took a quick look around the grounds, mapping
out possible means of entry and the degree of difficulty each one
involved. The window to the rear of the ivy-covered manor house
would provide the easiest access, the safest route. The job could
be completed and the intruder could be gone before the guards even
noticed that there had been a break in. But the back door was for
servants and delivery people, a class the intruder refused to
subscribe to, and playing it safe was not what the intruder felt
like doing. Safety was something that could wait for the next big
job.
This trip was a personal matter and demanded a little
excitement.
Absently patting one of the dogs on the head, a decision was
made and the intruder acted upon it. A quick walk brought the
intruder in earshot of the security patrol that roamed the
grounds. The two guards carried sidearms similar to the revolvers
issued to the police and flashlights that could be used to light
the darker parts of the yard. Even though they claimed to be
professionals, the intruder knew for a fact that the last time
either of them pulled a gun was probably at a practice range
against a stationary target. The intruder was far from stationary
though and was about to prove that fact over the course of the
next few seconds.
Reaching into one of the belt pouches, the intruder took out
a small silver whistle. The moonlight glinted off of the shiny
surface for only a moment before it was drawn to the intruder's
lips. Breath passed through the small object, but no noise issued
out. For a moment it seemed as if the whole action had been
carried out for no good reason, but the dogs at the foot of the
high stone wall suddenly jerked their heads up as if a cannon had
sounded and bolted in the intruder's direction. As they closed
in, the intruder's slender hand reached into a bag that was slung
over one shoulder and waited...
Cal Abel and his partner Sid Graham had walked the grounds
of the old manor house for the last ten years. They were used to
the excesses of the master of the house, which had included
unusual cruelty to those that did not bend to the considerable
weight of his ego. Still the two guards were paid well and
ignored whatever pursuits their employer chose to take up. Their
job was to keep anyone who might be compelled to drop by without
his permission out of the house by whatever means were necessary.
The guards were a necessity because of some of the whims and
caprices that the master of the house chose to enjoy. Their boss
had a great talent for destroying lives and quite a few people
would gladly be willing to exact some measure of revenge on him.
Cal and Sid had seen it all, every possible pretext to gain access
to their boss had failed but each was pretty unique. They figured
that the former lady of the house, would soon be trying some
interesting, but ultimately futile gesture to get back at their
boss for the pain he had visited upon her. It had been more than
a year since she was run out of the house, but Cal and Sid knew
she'd be back someday. They always came back.
"Are you sure they ran this way?" Cal asked annoyed.
"Yeah they probably saw a squirrel or the damn cat's gotten
out again." Sid grunted with heavy breath. He was a bulky man in
an ill-fitting uniform and his girth was enough of a load to bear
without the added weight of the holstered sidearm he wore.
"You don't think someone tried to get in do you Sid?"
"Only if the mook's got a need to be killed by a pack of
starving mutts." Sid shrugged at the notion and looked sternly at
his partner. "Nobody's getting in here and nothing's gonna happen
with the two of us on the job. We can handle any surprises that
come along."
That's when Sid was slapped in the face by something heavy
and wet. The shock of the blow caught the fat man off guard and
he toppled over landing on his back in a neat bed of daisies. The
smell of whatever it was that hit Sid was overwhelming and as Cal
looked down at his partner he recognized what the weapon in
question was.
"A steak?" Cal couldn't believe it, but he had already
begun to act. Cal was reaching for his gun when a second heavy
slab of meat slapped him in his hand, jolting the gun loose. The
flailing steak doubled back and connected with a vengeance into
Cal's face, knocking him off balance. Cal managed to keep his
feet under him to a certain degree, but he did drop to one knee.
"W- w - what the - - ?" Cal stammered bewildered as he
removed the steak from his face. The sight that greeted his
cleared vision was not a pleasant one. The dogs were running as a
frenzied pack at top speed directly for the meat that the two
guards had on them. The two didn't even have a chance to toss the
meat away before they were buried under a wave of canines. As
they tried to struggle out from under the squirming pack of
hounds, the intruder casually walked over to the two guards and
pulled out a rag that had been steeped in chloroform and placed it
over each guard's face, taking great care to avoid their hands as
they feebly attempted to fight off the attack.
Once both guards had succumbed to the effects of the
chloroform, the intruder tossed a final pair of steaks several
feet away from the two men. The dogs scampered off to enjoy
another treat from their mysterious benefactor while the intruder
tied the two men up and dragged them behind the hedge by the back
door. A quick sprint brought the intruder around the house to the
main entrance. Digging in another pouch, the intruder was
relieved to find that the locks had not been changed and the old
key still worked. A quick turn of the key, the door opened
noiselessly and the intruder entered the house. After closing the
door, the intruder finally removed the nylon mask that kept her
face hidden. Looking around the lavish surroundings, the intruder
smiled proudly. Selina Kyle, the former wife of Terrance Temple
and lady of the house had returned home.
Selina was startled for a moment as she felt something
rubbing between her ankles. A quick look down at the source
brought a wave of relief and joy to her face, it was Isis,
Selina's Siamese cat. Terrance had bought Isis as a gift for
Selina, something to keep his young wife company when he was away
from home. When Selina left her abusive husband, he turned her
out of the house with nothing but the clothes on her back. He
kept everything, including the cat. And though Terrance didn't
like cats, he knew how much Selina adored the animal. He would
not only keep it, but he would treat it well just to spite his
former wife. Almost a year had passed since Selina last saw Isis,
but the cat had not forgotten her mistress and purred contentedly
at her ankles, happy to be reunited at last.
Selina picked up Isis and nuzzled her. "I missed you so
much sweetheart! You're coming with me right after I finish what
I came here to do."
Perching Isis around her shoulders, Selina loosened the ice
bag that she had used to carry the meat with her. It dropped to
the floor with a soft thud, barely enough noise to be noticed in
the shadowy halls of the house. Selina tossed the ice out over
the floor in case the guards managed to get loose and decide to
barrel in through the front door. They would probably slip and
stumble around long enough for her to get a decent head start.
She didn't worry too much, the knots were secure and the men would
be groggy at the very least for several hours.
Moving upstairs, Selina popped the locks to the den with
ridiculous ease. The wall safe was even easier, and she stuffed
the cash and bonds that Terrance kept as "house money" into the
shoulder bag. She found most of her jewelry carefully laid out in
trays at the rear of the safe. The papers Harry had wanted were
also in the safe and Selina carefully added them to the swag that
she had already gathered. Closing the safe door quietly, Selina
replaced the bad painting that covered the safe door and headed
for the hall once more. Before she stepped out of the den, Selina
replaced her mask. If someone were in the hall, she didn't want
to be readily identified. Isis had dropped to the floor and
waited patiently by the door.
Selina had just closed the door when she heard a click
behind her. Her body tensed as she turned and found herself
staring into the smug face of Terrance Temple. Terrance held a
gun with the slightest shake of an uncertain hand to indicate that
he wasn't expecting company this evening. He'd always roamed the
halls with an automatic tucked in the pocket of his robe, a
paranoid habit he picked up early in life and never really
abandoned.
"It seems I bagged myself a burglar." Terrance said with a
sneer. "When I heard those damned dogs yapping, I decided to check
the house to be sure no one got in and instead I find someone with
a hand in my cookie jar."
"Looks that way doesn't it?" Selina responded. She dropped
her voice an octave or two making her silken voice take on a
huskier tone.
Selina studied the face of the man she once thought she
loved. The face was still as handsome as it was the day they
first met. Terrance was nearly twelve years Selina's senior but
his face hid the difference well. One would think Terrance was
still in his early twenties as opposed to his true age of thirty-
four. His build appeared athletic, but Selina knew all too well
that most of Terrance's clothes were tailored to give that
illusion. Terrance was used to soft living and while he did
manage to maintain a trim figure, it was far from a fit one. In
fact, Selina would've taken Terrance down on the spot if it
weren't for the gun he had trained on her. Quick as she was,
Selina knew that Terrance would get off one shot, and at such
close range he was bound to seriously wound her if he didn't kill
her outright.
"Hey, you're a dame!" Terrance said with a slur in his voice
that was heavy with the smell of bourbon. "And not a bad looking
one at that. Maybe we can have a little fun." The Dutch courage
that came with the gun, made Terrance a lot more annoying than
Selina remembered. He pasted a sickening sweet smile on his face
"If you wanna get out of here with a whole skin girlie, you'll
make nice with your new poppa."
The last line made something snap in Selina. Until now she
was afraid of this moment, but seeing Terrance like this, was like
seeing him for the first time as he truly was.
Weak.
Scared.
Pathetic.
In Selina's mind, the gun was becoming less and less of a
threat; the so-called man who held it had tried to kill her in so
many other ways that this situation made them equals. Selina
survived everything else Terrance had done, she'd be damned if she
let him win now. The rage in Selina had built to a fever pitch
and needed to be released. Before the night was done Terrance was
going to feel that rage up close and personal.
"Now let's see if what's under the mask looks as good as the
rest of the package. I don't care if you put up a fight either
baby, I like it rough." Terrance lurched forward and his fingers
touched the surface of the nylon mask Selina wore. Selina was
about to retaliate when fate stepped in the form of a whirling
ball of gray fur that jumped from the floor to perch on Terrance's
arm.
"Ow!" Terrance yowled and with a brutal sweep of his hand
threw the ball across the hallway. It struck the wall and landed
on its feet in the form of Selina's cat, Isis. Though the cat was
a little disoriented, she appeared to be unharmed. Isis hissed
her defiance, challenging the man who was about to hurt her
mistress.
"Damned cat!" Terrance spat his contempt at the animal as he
began to turn around to deal with Selina once more. "See baby,
that's what happens - -"
The kick nearly ripped Terrance's head from his shoulders.
The man spun like a tossed rag doll and he spat blood long before
he collided with the floor. Terrance tried to raise his gun, but
a vicious chop to his wrist halted that course of action and the
gun skittered across the floor out of reach. Fear began to take
hold and Terrance struck blindly at his assailant. Selina took a
glancing blow to the cheek that tore away her mask, but she didn't
care about that any more, she wanted Terrance to know who was
about to beat him within an inch of his life. She wanted him to
know who was about to return some of the pain he gave so freely.
She returned Terrace's swing with a hearty backhand delivered with
her right hand, which made a return trip as a solid right cross.
Terrance would have fallen to the floor in a heap right then and
there if Selina hadn't been holding onto his robe with her left
hand. As it was, Terrance cowered behind raised arms trying to
fend off the savage attacker that had entered his home.
Terrance's vision had yet to clear, but the fear of this
woman was evident enough as he spoke, "Look miss, I'm sorry..."
"NOW YOU'RE SORRY?!?" Selina screamed, "After EVERYTHING
you've done to ME, NOW you're SORRY?!" Another kick caught
Terrance full in the abdomen and he crumbled to the floor. As he
lay there trying desperately to collect himself he heard a voice
hissing softly in his ear. "Well Terrance, your apology is too
late and I don't accept it." Another savage blow smashed into
Terrace's face, breaking his nose and splashing blood on Selina's
knuckles.
Recognition suddenly came to Terrace's face as he recognized
the voice that screamed at him. "Seli - -" Another kick landed
hard in his mouth and several teeth gave way to Selina's heel.
Still another kick shattered Terrace's jawbone eliciting a muddled
whimper from him as it gave way.
"Don't you dare speak my name! You worthless piece of
garbage, to think I ever felt something even close to love for you
sickens me!" A blow punctuated almost each word as Selina spoke.
When she looked at the mess that once was her ex-husband's face,
she finally felt free of him. But before Selina left, she would
return some of the mental anguish that was heaped upon her by this
man. Selina drew her former husband's face close to her own and
spoke softly, with a quiet calm that brought far more fear to his
heart than the screaming maniac that he had just faced.
"Listen to me well Terrance, if you ever try to turn me over
to the police, or any of your criminal friends I'll make good on
this one promise; I'll be back before they get me and I will kill
you. And Terrance" Selina added with a grim smile, "I was being
gentle tonight, next time I'll give it to you just the way you
like it, lover. Nice and rough, my dear, VERY rough." Terrance
fell into blissful oblivion at that point and Selina dropped him
to the floor with as if he were dirty laundry.
Isis mewed as Selina began to leave. She turned and picked
up the cat and stroked it affectionately, "C'mon sweetheart, let's
go home." Isis nuzzled Selina's chin and purred happily. "If it
weren't for you, I might not have made it." Selina became
thoughtful for a moment, "You know some would take your little
rescue as an omen. Maybe..." Selina dropped the thought and
grabbed her bags. "Maybe..." Selina repeated again softly as she
and Isis melted into the night.
*****************************************************
FOUR: THE RUMOR MILL
THE PENGUIN CLUB, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 10, 1938
"I'm telling you Jim, I don't know anything!"
Oswald Cobblepot squirmed uncomfortably in his chair as he
repeated the same answer to James Gordon's questions for the
fourth time. At his side sat Bruce Wayne, one of Gotham's
favorite sons and an interested party in the interrogation.
Across from the rotund little nightclub owner sat Lieutenant James
Gordon, one of Gotham's Finest in every sense of the word. The
rugged detective had come calling after an attempt was made on the
lives of the two officers that sat behind him, Larry Lance and
Richard Drake, earlier in the evening. Also present in
Cobblepot's office was Dinah Drake, the daughter of Richard Drake
who was responsible for saving the lives of her father and his
rookie detective partner.
"I don't believe that! I need something Penguin, and we're
not leaving here until I have some information to work with!
You're going to give me a name Oswald or by God, you'll go over
for the attempt on my boys as a co-conspirator after the fact!"
Gordon had managed to keep his tone within the realm of calm, but
just barely. Even Wayne, who had maintained an air of polite
boredom up to this point, looked momentarily concerned over the
obvious frustration in Gordon's attitude.
"Jim" Cobblepot said in a pleading voice, "I can't do that.
I --"
"DON'T TELL ME WHAT YOU CAN'T DO!!! THIS IS NOT A DAMNED
GAME PENGUIN!!!" Gordon was practically roaring as his clenched
fist stuck the huge desk that separated the little man from the
angry detective. Everyone jumped in shock at Gordon's sudden
reaction and before anyone even saw him move, Wayne had somehow
managed to rise from his chair, where he seemed to be casually
lounging, to Gordon's side with one fluid motion.
"Jim, take it easy. Blowing up at Oswald isn't going to
solve anything!" Wayne had a firm grip on the detective's
shoulder. Gordon hadn't realized it until he heard Wayne's voice,
but the younger man was far more alert and responsive to what was
going on in the room than he appeared to be.
"It's okay Bruce," Gordon said softly as his body relaxed,
"I just lost my temper for a moment. I'm fine now." Gordon sat
back down and Wayne returned to his chair in a languid fashion
that wasn't present a second ago. It was as if Wayne had become
another man as he fell, once more, into his seat and the more
familiar casual attitude he had .
"Jim" The Penguin said softly from his seat. "I really want
to give you a hand here, but the people who talk to me trust me to
keep their identities a secret. If I violate that trust
Lieutenant, I stand the chance of going from a valuable commodity
to you and other 'interested parties' to a liability with the
potential to find myself belly up in the morgue. A fate I'd like
to avoid whenever possible. Surely you can understand my position
here."
"No Oswald I don't." Jim replied sharply, "But you may as
well prepare to stay here until I get a better answer. I'm not
cutting any deals when the safety of my men are involved."
Everyone in the room was tired. Gordon had been questioning
Cobblepot, better known to the public at large as the Penguin, for
the better part of two hours with little success. Gordon sighed
and rose from the chair to stretch. Though he was starting to
gray some, James Gordon was still a fairly youthful looking man.
His face had a stony, almost grim set to it that most cops on the
beat gain as they see the gut wrenching horrors of the city and
the cruelty of man towards his fellow man. Yet Gordon was not
jaded by his experiences on the beat, in fact it seemed to bring
him closer to the human condition. Despite everything that Gordon
had seen on Gotham's mean streets, he refused to throw in the
towel and give up on the people of this city.
Still there were times when Gordon's patience wore thin and
this was rapidly becoming one of them. The men who served with
him on the squad were some of the best, Gordon trusted these men
with his life a dozen times over and they had yet to fail him. To
know that any of them may have been intentionally sent into harm's
way after all of the good they had done for the city was something
he took personally. Still Gordon knew he had to regain control of
his emotions for the sake of the investigation. When he finally
turned to face the Penguin again, Gordon had managed to regain his
composure.
"Okay Oswald, let's take this from the top." Gordon began
in a tired voice. He was already steeling himself for another
series of denials from the club owner, but he was also determined
to break down the Penguin and get him to roll over on his source.
"If I might make a suggestion Jim." Bruce chimed in
quietly.
Gordon looked up sharply at Wayne and studied his keen blue
eyes. There was a fire there that Jim hadn't noticed before. The
eyes that looked back at Gordon belonged to the alert man that was
at Gordon's side earlier. That man had taken the place of the
lounging playboy once more. Gordon had learned a long time ago
when to trust his gut on things. It appeared as if one of those
moments had arrived as he looked at Wayne's calm face.
"Sure Bruce, go ahead."
"Well I don't want to seem rude Jim," Wayne said with a lazy
air in his voice. "but maybe it would be best if the detectives
and the young lady would leave us alone for a while; possibly wait
in the other room before I go any further with my suggestion."
Larry Lance was out of his chair before Wayne had finished
his sentence. "You can't be serious! Lieutenant, who's running
this show, us or this spoiled rich guy?"
"The spoiled rich guy," Gordon said flatly before adding,
"with my approval. I've known Bruce for a long time Lance, he's
done this department a good turn or two over the years and I'm
willing to give him some room if it helps us get some answers as
to why you two were nearly ventilated on a routine raid. Now go
home, get cleaned up and meet me at the precinct tomorrow after
you've gotten some rest. Bruce and I can handle it from here."
"Fine." Lance said with a huff. "Now we're taking our cues
from some armchair detective who doesn't know the first damned
thing about police work. Why don't we make the Green Lantern the
next mayor while we're at it?" Lance looked over to Drake and
Dinah hoping to find some support but their reaction was something
he didn't expect. Richard Drake shook his head as if Lance had
just insulted the Pope and Dinah shot a withering stare at the
young detective that left him confused.
"You must be going for the 'hoof in mouth' championship
today, right rookie?" Dinah said coolly. "It's obvious you're not
a local boy."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Lance asked
dumbfounded.
"Watch how talk to my daughter Larry." Richard Drake said
with a hint of menace in his voice.
Dinah softly laid her hand on her father's shoulder, "Now
Daddy the rookie doesn't know when to shut his mouth and learn
something, so I'll help him out." Dinah rose from her chair and
strolled over to Wayne and sat on the arm of his chair. "That is
unless you want the pleasure Bruce."
Wayne had a sleepy smile on his face as he answered. "Miss
Drake it really isn't anything to brag about." Noting Lance's
confused expression, Wayne sighed, "But if it will help move
things along I will bring the detective up to speed. You see
Mister Lance, this is not my first foray into the world of
criminal investigation, have you ever heard of Harvey Harris?"
"Who hasn't? 'Hard-boiled Harris' is still one of the
toughest plainclothes bulls on the squad. He's a living legend in
this town. What he do, save your life one night or something?"
"Actually, I saved his. Followed him into a raid that
almost went wrong much like Miss Drake did for you tonight."
Dinah flushed a little and returned to her chair. "Suffice it to
say that Harvey was grateful for my aid and chose to take me under
his wing. Ah, the days of my reckless youth."
"Wait a sec, YOU were his kid partner?" The shock was
evident on Lance's face. "Hell, I grew up wishing I could be in
your shoes, you were some kind of junior G-man, the GCPD's kid
mascot!" Lance stopped his enthusiastic gushing, realizing he had
fallen into a hero worship of a man he had clearly deemed
worthless a few moments ago. "Hey wait a second! That kid had
another name and red hair."
"Harvey felt the disguise was necessary," responded Wayne
with a bit of a yawn. "No guff from my trustees or guardian and
all that. But we did have some pretty good times." Wayne looked
at the young detective and added, "With my pedigree sufficiently
established is it possible that Jim, Oswald and I can have a few
moments alone?"
The trio rose from their seats and said their respective
good-byes, Drake with a quiet air of satisfaction, Lance with the
proper amount of sheepishness and Dinah with a long look at Wayne
as she left the room.
When the group had gone Wayne smiled another sleepy smile
and turned to Cobblepot. "Oswald, hypothetically, who would want
to do harm to Drake and Lance?"
"I beg your pardon Bruce?" Cobblepot said confused, "I just
said that I can't betray my source."
"I'm not asking you to old boy. I'm asking you for an
opinion based on you've heard about the movements of the
underworld, think of it as you would if you were giving a stock
tip based on rumors in the market." Wayne smiled as Gordon and
Cobblepot stared blankly at him. "Well if Oswald finds himself on
a witness stand," Bruce explained, "he could safely say that he
never revealed his source. All he's doing here is offering
speculation and that by basic definition, is not what you've been
asking him to do all. Oswald?"
Gordon and Cobblepot both smiled as they realized what Bruce
was driving at. It gave both men an option out of the stalemate.
Wayne's solution may be a simple matter of semantics but it was an
elegant way to solve the problem. Plus if the matter ever went
beyond these doors to a courtroom, Cobblepot's reputation for
keeping his mouth closed would be secure.
"Well that's a different subject altogether Bruce. I'd be
very happy to give Jim an opinion regarding possible suspects
worth seeking out."
"Of course I would appreciate any suggestions you could
provide. What have you heard Oswald?" Gordon asked politely.
Cobblepot settled back in his oversized chair pleased with
the change in Gordon's demeanor. It was a gentleman's game once
more and Cobblepot was in his element. He lit a fresh cigarette,
placed it in the holder and began to talk. "Well rumor has it
that there is a struggle for power in the underworld between the
venerable Maroni Family and Tony Zucco."
"Not 'Fat Tony' Zucco?" Wayne asked quietly.
"The same." Cobblepot replied before he continued, "Zucco
used to handle the protection rackets all over Gotham but he has
recently fallen out of favor with the Maroni Family. This fall
from grace has forced Zucco to move his operation to one of the
outlying counties near the city. Mind you the profit margin has
dropped considerably with the move to the sticks and Zucco looks
to unseat the powers that be in the underworld, using Gat Benson
as his muscle. But only one thing stands in his way besides the
Maronis." Cobblepot enjoyed another drag from his cigarette.
"That of course is you and your squad of detectives Jim."
"Well of course the department's going to respond to any
rise in criminal activity, especially in the mobs." Gordon said
in a matter of fact tone.
"No Jim, the department in general is not as quick to
respond to the mobs as your detective squad." Wayne replied, "If
other rumors are to be believed, a lot of the boys on the force
are on the take and willing to look the other way if it means a
nice payoff."
"I concur" Cobblepot added. "The last nine years have been
hard on everyone, even the law. Even so Jim, you have brought
together a group of officers that are above reproach. Your men
are ethical and relentless on keeping the mobs in line and with
the recent election of Harvey Dent to the DA's office on a get
tough on organized crime platform and the dashing Green Lantern's
debut in our fair city, it's getting a little hot for the current
underworld as well as any challengers from out of town."
"So why Jim's squad Oswald? Why not the Green Lantern or
Dent or even Jim himself?" Wayne queried.
"Jim's too well-known and well liked by the public at
large." The little man said with a broad smile. "He's Gotham's
hero cop, a man who will make sure that justice is done no matter
what and all of Gotham knows this. If you kill him you open a
nasty can of worms with the Feds, the DA's office and such. The
same applies to Dent. The Green Lantern, of course has powers
that make him hard to kill as well as a secret identity, but
Gordon's men are nameless faces that weaken the whole chain
without any major backlash by the public or other law enforcement
agencies."
"So then I'm looking for Gat Benson and Zucco." Gordon
thought a moment and asked. "Why not the Maroni Family too?"
"Because Jim you provide them an invaluable service."
Cobblepot said with a small hint of irony in his voice. "Your
diligent efforts tend to keep the competition out of Gotham. Dent
may change all of that eventually, but for now you are more of an
asset than a liability to the Maroni mob."
"When I collar Benson and Zucco, I'll see what I can do
about changing that." Gordon replied grimly as he rose from the
chair to leave. "Oswald, I appreciate your walk through the rumor
mill, it's been enlightening. I'll try to make sure that your
name stays out of this mess." Gordon turned to Wayne, "Bruce
thanks for your help too."
Wayne smiled at the gruff detective, "My pleasure Jim, but
it may take a little more than not mentioning Oswald's name to
keep the underworld from growing suspicious."
"Whatever do you mean Bruce?" Cobblepot asked with sudden
anxiety.
"I'm afraid Oswald you may have to spend a night or two in
jail." Bruce replied.
"Why? On what charge?!" Cobblepot sputtered.
"You're supposed to be a material witness, a suspected co-
conspirator in an attempted murder." Bruce said with conviction.
"It would seem odd if Jim didn't take you in for questioning at
the very least."
It was Jim Gordon's turn to smile ironically at the little
man. "You know, you have something there Bruce. Yeah, it would
probably be best if the Penguin were seen in the cooler for at
least a couple of days."
"You can't be serious!" Cobblepot complained.
"It really is the only way to keep suspicion off of you
Oswald." Bruce said good-naturedly, "I mean after all, old boy,
think of your image."
Gordon's smile grew a little wider as he brought out the
cuffs.
*****************************************************
INTERLUDE
SOMEWHERE IN GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 11, 1938, 1:07 A.M.
It was a dull, gray shop in a dingy little alley, on a
lonesome dirty street, in a long forgotten part of town. The
faded sign that swayed slightly in the light breeze bore faint
letters that read:
KITTLEMEIER'S SPECIALTY SHOP
UNIQUE ITEMS MADE TO ORDER
To the casual observer, that's if one ever came out to this
part of town, it would seem as if the shop had been closed up long
ago. Inside the small store was a curtained doorway, a counter, a
cash register and a lamp. The only sign of life at all was an
unseen radio that softly piped classical music into the shop. It
was often a topic of conversation among the locals in the
neighborhood as to what trade was being applied inside the dirty
little place. No one seemed to really know, but in this part of
town it was prudent for one to mind his own business and let
others tend to theirs.
It was still the wee hours of the morning when a black coupe
pulled up in front of the little shop, depositing a dapper young
man in evening dress on the front stoop of the shop. The man
tapped twice waited a few seconds and tapped three more times on
the door. Satisfied that he had used the correct sequence, the
man turned the knob and let himself in.
As the door closed, a tiny bell softly tinkled announcing
the new arrival to the store. The young man had a short wait
before the curtains parted to reveal an elderly man in a rumpled
pair of brown pants with a matching vest, scuffed brown leather
shoes, and a dingy shirt that may have once been white but had
long since given up hope of ever returning to that state.
Wrinkles had plowed deep grooves into the man's face and his eyes
were almost bug like from behind the thick lenses of his oversized
glasses. Stubble covered his unshaved chin in a sprinkling of
snow white and steel gray, and his thin hair was greasy and
uncombed. He walked hunched over slightly as if the massive
glasses on the bridge of his nose were too much weight to bear on
his frail body. He didn't smile at his guest, nor did he frown,
he just looked at the young man and pointed a bony finger at him.
"You're late." the old man stated.
"Unavoidable Mister Kittlemeier. I had something unexpected
come up."
"No excuses young man, my rules are very clear on this
point." The old man shuffled behind the counter and started to
check the shelves below. "I maintain a strict timetable to
accommodate my customers. If you can't be prompt, then we can't
do business. As if to emphasize his point, Kittlemeier deposited
a plain paper bag onto the countertop. "Please feel free to
examine the goods, but do so in a hurry, my next customer is due
in twenty minutes."
The tall young man's interest was aroused, but he refrained
from asking any questions, Kittlemeier's other rules included
complete anonymity. No client knew the business of another. The
young man withdrew a bright yellow belt from the bag and inspected
it. He flipped open various pouches while Kittlemeier drummed his
fingers on the counter top. The belt had a detachable gun holster
and huge pockets that ran the length of it. The young man
examined the gun, a nickel-plated .45 automatic carefully.
"You've made the modifications I trust." The young man
questioned.
Kittlemeier sighed, "Of course I did. Besides standard
bullets the gun can quickly speed load your non-lethal knock out
darts as well as other specialized projectiles. It will function
as I promised. In addition I made minor adjustments to the inset
of the wench for your silken cord so that it will exert less wear
on this part of the belt. I do hope you approve."
"I shouldn't have doubted your skills Mister Kittlemeier."
Kittlemeier's grunt was his only reply as he pulled out a
cardboard box and added it to the items already laid out on the
counter. The young man opened it and pulled out one of the items:
a stylized boomerang in the shape of a bat. The man smiled his
satisfaction and dug into the box once more, this time drawing
several smaller bat shaped items from it.
"Watch yourself when you examine those, they are razor
sharp." Kittlemeier said in a cautionary tone.
The young man balanced one of the tiny bats on his fingertip
for a few seconds. "Very good work, my compliments." He placed
three of them in his hand and made a wide sweep of his arm. The
three black metal bats glinted as they flew through the room and
lodged themselves into a wall over the older man's head.
Kittlemeier didn't seem too affected by the young man's
actions one way or the other. Quietly, he pulled out a small step
stool and dug the bats out of the wall. "This will be added to
your bill." The younger man nodded in agreement. Kittlemeier
continued. "The grappling hook gun has been tested and the cable
can hold up to three times your weight before stress starts to
show. I've also included the mold specifications for the Bakelite
armor as you asked. The prototype of the upper body armor is
included as well. It's been field tested and can take several
rounds of small weapons fire with only minor effects."
"Minor effects?" the young man asked with a raised eyebrow.
"You'll live, but you'll just feel like you were kicked by a
mule." Kittlemeier replied with something that vaguely resembled a
smile.
"I see." The young man began to pack his purchases back into
the box and bag. "I know your time is short Mister Kittlemeier
and this is really exceptional work. I'm sure these will do for
my purposes. After all I..."
"I don't want to know what your plans are sir. Part of
maintaining your privacy is not knowing what you will do with the
merchandise once it leaves my shop." Kittlemeier said abruptly.
"It's one of the reasons why I'm so successful in my work. I
don't read the papers, or follow the news so that I remain
ignorant as to who does what with my work. I may have an attack
of conscience if I see it misused in some way, so I choose to give
my clients a certain level of comfort by minding my business and
leaving them to theirs." The old man walked over to the register
and hit the "no sale" key. "I trust you have my fee?"
"Right here, plus a retainer." The young man said
withdrawing a wad of bills the height of a small head of lettuce.
"A retainer? Well I suppose that pays for the wall."
Kittlemeier said in a pleased tone as he counted the bills. "If
that will be all sir, I really must prepare for my next client."
"Then I'll be off Mister Kittlemeier." the young man said as
he balanced the bag and box with one hand, as he used the free one
to turn the rusted doorknob. "Thank you again."
As he placed the bag and box in the trunk of his car, Bruce
Wayne wondered if any of Kittlemeier's customers used his services
for the same kind of ends he had in mind. Bruce dwelled on it for
a few moments before sliding behind the wheel and driving off into
the dark.
Some six minutes passed before the shop was visited once
more. A yellow checkered cab pulled up in front of the storefront
and a man dressed completely in black stepped quickly from the cab
into the shop. As he entered the grimy little shop, he pulled the
brim of his slouch hat lower. The stone set in the gold ring he
wore blazed a brilliant fire red in the gray surroundings. The
bell had already announced Kittlemeier's new customer, and as the
little man entered the room he carried a smooth mahogany box.
Setting it on the counter Kittlemeier opened it to reveal two
modified .45 automatics with slightly longer barrels than the guns
normally had.
As the awesome figure in black moved to examine the guns, he
was stopped short by the old man's creaking voice.
"You're late." Kittlemeier stated.
"Unavoidable." replied the man in black. "Something came
up." The peal of laughter that followed could be heard in every
corner of the tiny shop. It was a laugh that could chill a man's
soul to the very core.
Kittlemeier however, seemed unaffected as he said the
shadowy figure, "I hear that all too often. We need to hurry sir,
my next client will be arriving in about twenty minutes and you
know my rules."
"I know." was the man in black's reply as he hefted one of
the pistols.
"You always do." Kittlemeier replied.
*****************************************************
FIVE: DEBATE AND DEBUT
WAYNE MANOR, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 11, 1938...
The final rays of the setting sun were fading away as night
finally returned to Gotham. The time had finally come. Bruce
Wayne stood in the study and stared at his long dead parents in
the painting that hung over the mantle. He studied them with a
grim resolve for what seemed like an eternity. Without a word,
Bruce turned away and strolled over to the massive grandfather
clock that stood against the wall opposite the mantle.
Bruce stopped in front of the clock and stared once more.
The clock in turn stared back at Bruce with its soft ticking as
the only barrier between them. Bruce turned and looked for any
sign that he may be acting prematurely, any omen to tell him that
this wasn't the right time or place to begin his quest again. No
sign seemed to be coming as the bookshelves stood their silent
vigil and the moon shined quietly through the window that the bat
had crashed through so many weeks ago. Nothing crashed through
this time to stay his hand, so Bruce turned back to the clock and
reached for the hands on the clock's face.
"I see you intend to go ahead with this foolishness after
all Master Bruce."
Bruce turned to see the figure of Alfred standing in the
doorway of the study. "Yes Alfred, I have to do this." Bruce
turned back to the clock and set the face for nine oh four, the
time his parents were pronounced dead by the police coroner,
pulled one of the massive brass chains on the counterweights and
stepped back. The clock slid noiselessly to the right revealing a
darkened stairwell.
"If you continue with this fool's crusade," Alfred said
quietly, "you will do so without my help, sir."
Bruce paused at the doorway but did not turn around. "You'd
leave this place?" he asked. "You'd abandon me?"
"Your mother and father were my friends as well as my
employers Bruce. I have made it my mission in life to insure your
safety, your happiness and well-being." Alfred began to cross the
room, closing the gap between himself and Bruce. "I suppose I
have myself to blame to some degree for the way you've turned out.
I should have stopped this long ago, but I thought in the end that
you would come to terms with their loss, move on with your life
and make it count for something."
"It will Alfred. I know now that this is the best way to
make a difference."
The older man shook his head. "I doubt that sir. All this
will do is lead you to an early grave and I for one will not bury
another friend lost to senseless violence and if I can't dissuade
you from this course you've chosen, then it would be best for me
to leave you to it."
Bruce stepped through the doorway and started down the
stairs. "Walk with me Alfred."
"Sir?"
"You're still pleading your case, old friend." Bruce said
slowly. "The least I can do is plead mine." Alfred fell into
step behind the younger man as they entered the stairwell. A row
of dim lamps somberly lit the path the two men were taking. As
Alfred cleared the doorway, Bruce touched a switch on the wall and
the clock slid back into place.
"Alfred, do you remember the first time I tried to go out
there make a difference?" Bruce asked.
"I should, sir, I distinctly remember stitching the wounds
you acquired." Alfred replied with polite coldness. "For someone
who dedicated so much effort and time into preparing for this
endeavor, you were not all that successful. Unless of course you
consider being carved like a Christmas goose by a petty thug some
measure of success."
Bruce nodded. "Exactly Alfred. I was stupid, I let emotion
cloud my judgment. I dived into the fray overconfident and sure
of my abilities."
"Which is why I beg you sir to give up this idea. There are
people who are paid to handle the ills of the city. It's not your
responsibility."
"What would you have me do Alfred, hide behind these walls,
insulated by my wealth while the rest of the city goes to hell in
a handbasket?" Bruce said with a smoldering glint in his eye.
"The police are ineffective. Corruption, greed and politics keep
them from eliminating the problems that Gotham has completely.
The Green Lantern may be fine as far as the newspapers and radio
are concerned, but at best he's more of a celebrity than a
deterrent. He operates on a level that makes good copy but
invariably keeps him from dealing with the real problems of this
city too."
Bruce and Alfred had reached the bottom of the stairs. The
trail of lights ended at the point and in the semi darkness,
Alfred could only make out a screen, which Bruce had stepped
behind. Alfred could hear the rustling of clothing and assumed
his employer was changing to something more appropriate for his
planned activities.
"I see, and your electing yourself a one man police force
will solve those problems." Alfred said with a hint of sarcasm.
"Master Bruce you can't honestly believe that you will become this
city's White Knight on a charger and come to its' rescue all alone
do you? Even King Arthur had the Knights of the Round Table to
protect him in battle. You'll be all alone out there sir."
"Not if you stay Alfred." Bruce answered from behind the
screen. "You're right I have no business mixing into matters the
police should be able to handle. I am probably putting my life at
risk from the second I leave here until I return home, but I must
do this despite those obvious facts."
"To avenge your parents? They would not have approved of
this you know." Alfred said solemnly. He hated using the Waynes
memory in this fashion, but Alfred was desperate to keep Bruce
from going into the night and facing the terrors that had already
managed to hurt him before.
"I guess we'll never know that for certain, will we?" Came
Bruce's cold reply. "I'm not out for just vengeance anymore
Alfred. I've trained myself all my life to take vengeance on the
man that killed my parents and all of his kind. What I didn't
consider was how big a problem this was for the people of this
city beyond my crusade. Crime has a stranglehold on this city
Alfred and no power ring or police badge is going to break it.
I need you to remind me of how crazy this whole plan is, of
how precious life is and even how incredibly ridiculous it is for
one man to play the White Knight in this town. You are my
conscience, old friend, you will keep this all in perspective for
me.
My father was a healer Alfred. He took other people's
problems and made them his own. If a man were lying in a street
dying and Dad were on his morning walk, I don't think he would've
stepped over the man and continued on his way. This is no
different, Gotham needs someone to defend her and I can't ignore
that. This is more than avenging the deaths of my parents, I'm
going to honor their memories by doing something for the common
good of the city. I'm going to help the only way I know how."
"Really sir," Alfred said incredulously, "you don't honestly
expect me to believe that picking fights with armed hoods is
considered the same as using medical skills to save a life?"
Alfred shook his head sadly, "I'm afraid that you'll have to
better than that to convince me, sir."
Alfred heard Bruce sigh from behind the screen. "No Alfred,
Dad trained for his career, he chose the path his life took. You
were with him in the war, you know how many times he rushed into
danger without a second thought just to save a wounded man. I'm
doing the exact same thing, no one's looking out for the
defenseless people caught in the middle, everyone wants to play it
safe and no one seems to want to face evil in its' own element."
Alfred saw movement from behind the screen. A tall figure
emerged but its' features were swallowed up by the darkness
surrounding Alfred. The older man squinted, trying to keep track
of the movements of the figure but he had lost sight of it within
seconds.
A sudden click sounded and a new series of lights came on,
allowing Alfred to see beyond the stairwell. The lamps revealed a
huge cavern, smoothly paved, with several cars, motorcycles and a
truck or two parked to Alfred's immediate left. Farther back was
a small table with an array of wigs and make-up; materials
valuable to disguising one's features and body shape. A turn to
the right and Alfred saw rows of file cabinets some were standard
office models, others looked like they could hold blueprints or
large maps. Alfred's eyes traveled along the entirety of the cave
taking in all of the things that had been set up without his
knowledge. An extensive chemical laboratory with several shelves
of texts relating to medical and chemical subjects from the
mundane to the exotic, a wardrobe filled with various outfits that
would allow a man to imitate any number of professions from a well
dressed businessman to a common laborer, there was a table
cluttered with electronics and wires, a small printing press, a
number of short wave radio sets, a bank of telephones and much
more that was lost in the hazy shadows of the background that the
lights didn't penetrate. The butler was amazed with the variety
of items that had been collected in this cave, and for a moment
forgot his misgivings towards Bruce's decision to undertake his
mission to save Gotham from itself.
Alfred looked for Bruce but he was nowhere to be seen.
"Master Bruce?! Master Bruce where are you?!" Alfred stared
straight ahead toward a movement in the shadows. What emerged
from the darkness was a sight that some only find in nightmares.
A grim spectre, almost invisible against the shadows, strode
into the light. For a moment, Alfred thought that some giant bat
had landed on the floor from of the cave and adopted human form.
Leathery wing-like points dragged across the floor, huge pointed
ears jutted out from the shadow's head and as the light struck the
awesome black thing, Alfred realized that this was not some
fearsome monster from a bad dream, it was just a man.
"Master Bruce?" Alfred asked the dread figure. "Sir, is
that you?"
There was no spoken response from the grim figure before
Alfred, instead a powerful hand reached into the shadow of a face
and pulled slightly, the cowl lifted up to reveal the smiling face
of Bruce Wayne.
"Were you afraid Alfred? Did I catch you off guard?"
"Indeed you did sir." Alfred said with a flood of relief.
With a sweep of his hand Alfred asked, "What is all of this?"
"Preparation Alfred." Bruce said with a quiet reverence.
"When I went out there a few months ago, I wasn't prepared to do
anything but avenge my parents. I was prepared to even die in
those streets in the attempt to exact that vengeance. I almost
got that expectation on my first night out. After I realized that
there had to be a better way of doing this, I realized that the
only way I'd make criminals fear is to become a symbol of fear, a
living symbol. When I leave this cave and go out there I intend
to come back at the end of this night and many others."
Bruce put a gloved hand on his butler's shoulder. "But
you're right old friend, I can't do this alone. I'm going to need
someone to monitor the radio broadcasts on the police and news
bands, I need someone to support my efforts and make sure that I'm
aware of all of the possible dangers that may come up. I need
someone to be my eyes and ears when I'm unable to check on a
situation personally. I need someone to be at my shoulder, even
if it's only in spirit over a two-way radio. I need you Alfred
for more than patching me up when things go wrong. You're my best
hope of surviving the dangers that are out there."
I won't stop you if you still want to leave," Bruce said as
he turned towards the sleek black roadster that was in what Alfred
assumed was the driveway to some hidden exit. "but without you, I
don't stand a chance." Bruce opened at the driver's side door of
the roadster. "Will you help me Alfred?"
Alfred considered his young friend and employer for a
moment. A decision was made quickly as Alfred said, "Under three
conditions Master Bruce; I expect the scope of my new duties to be
reflected on my next paycheck, I refuse to wear tights and a mask
for any reason whatsoever and that you do your best to return home
in pretty much the same fashion that you left. I am willing to
accept 'alive and breathing' over 'alive and well' if you have
trouble with the third condition sir." Alfred's face was the
proper mask of British civility, if he had the urge to grin, he
held it in check beautifully.
Bruce Wayne smiled openly at the older man. "We'll have to
talk about the mask and tights part later Alfred, I've got to go."
Bruce pulled the cowl back into place and slid into the car. "I
know Gotham needs a few more White Knights, Alfred, but I hope for
now that she'll be satisfied with a dark one."
As the small black car roared off into the night Alfred
looked around the cave once more and said to no one in particular,
"Another bloody room that will need dusting."
*****************************************************
INTERLUDE
PARK RIDGE, OUTSIDE OF GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 11, 1938
The suburbs of Gotham have always been considered sedate by
her many residents, Park Ridge was no different. This is a place
where people could raise their families without all of the
pressures of city living. People felt secure here, safe, far
removed from the shadowy criminals that roamed the streets of
Gotham City.
Which is why Anthony "Fat Tony" Zucco moved here in the
first place. It was one thing to deal with being a criminal
involved with Gotham's underworld, but he sure as hell wasn't
going to raise his kids around the mugs he employed. Lately
Zucco's family had not occupied this home, Tony had them moved out
when Maroni exiled the mobster from Gotham. This place served as
Zucco's base of operations for the time being, but he planned to
return to Gotham soon enough. And when he did, Zucco was going to
be the top guy, even if it meant war with Boss Maroni.
Zucco was a smooth looking character, he dressed well, kept
himself fairly well groomed, but his girth clearly showed why he
earned the nickname "Fat Tony". To say Zucco was heavyset would
be an understatement along the same lines as saying Niagara Falls
is simply a lot of running water. Zucco lived to excess and it
showed in his pudgy hands and chubby face. It was evident in his
labored breathing when he got excited or exerted too much physical
effort. But in his prime, Zucco was one of the most fearsome
legbreakers to work for the Maroni mob, it was his past brutality
that built his reputation and carried it to this day. Unlike the
Boss Maroni, Zucco fancied himself a gentleman and despite his
best efforts he still looked like a thick lipped thug trying to
appear respectable.
The Zucco gang had gathered for a council of war. The
attempt on two of Gordon's men had failed and sooner or later
someone would steer the detective in Zucco's direction so Fat Tony
had called his top men together to decide what to do next. Beside
Zucco was his new number one boy, Theo "Gat" Benson.
Benson was a swarthy man with wolf-like features. He had a
fondness for carrying a pair of guns in a shoulder holster as well
as one in the waistband of his trousers, and a small pistol in an
ankle holster which earned him his rather obvious nickname.
Benson was as big as Zucco but he was a solid, husky man who was
fully capable of delivering pain and death with or without his
weapons. Despite Benson's obvious physical superiority there was
no doubt at all that Zucco called the shots and had his loyalty.
"All right you mugs," Zucco said to stop all of the chatter
in the room, "let's get down to cases. I set up a simple gunning
job and because some broad was on the scene, two of the trigger
boys are in the hoosegow."
"We didn't know Drake's kid would be there Mister Zucco.
And we really didn't know she could fight!" replied Jimmy "the
Squirrel" Fusco, one of the key men to set up the ambush at the
old Monarch theatre. The Squirrel also bore an accurate
appellation with his nervous, fidgety bearing; reddish brown hair,
slightly bucked teeth and jowly face. The Squirrel's fidgeting
was even more pronounced than usual with Zucco's dissatisfaction
at the outcome of recent events.
"Yeah boss," Billy "the Fish" Manetti chimed in, "we were
ready for more of Gordon's boys like Corrigan, Harris, Bullock,
O'Hara or one of the other coppers on the squad. We didn't even
know the dame was Drake's little girl until it hit the papers this
morning." Billy was a man with a perpetual sad expression, his
face was one of drooping lips and sorrowful eyes which sometimes
gave one the impression of a fish out of water gasping for air.
When he became excited over some matter, the fish like effect was
amplified by his own shortness of breath from asthma, an
affliction he had carried with him from birth.
Zucco shook his head negating the two thugs' protests. "Nix
on that! You trouble boys told me you could handle this job. If
I'd known a twist could've put down your choppers, I would have
given the hit to a bindle punk! Hell if I had dug up a greaser, a
snowbird or a bindle punk the job might've only cost me two bits
to pull it off."
"Don't be sore boss," Gat Benson leaned in over the table,
putting himself between the mob leader and the two gangsters. "the
way I figure it things are about to come up roses."
"Whaddya mean Gat?" gasped the Fish.
"Yeah," Zucco added, "give Gat, what's the big magilla? It
ain't about the two boys over in the clink is it?"
"Naw Tony," replied Benson confidently, "those guys won't
spill, they got enough spinach for that gunning job that they'll
be glad to take the fall. Besides our shyster's already ribbed up
a loophole to get our boys out of the can so we don't have to
worry there. What I've got is something better, something that's
gonna give us Gordon's boys on a silver platter."
"You been snortin' a snootful of giggle juice Gat?" inquired
Nicky "the Nose" Bartelli, so named because of the solid steel
prosthesis planted in the middle of his face by an upset rival in
the local drug trade. "Nobody can get to Gordon's boys, they'll
be on the look out for any droppers. Even if we get out-of-
towners, Gordon's bulls will tumble on the whole set up and send
our boys over."
"Gordon's boys are going to be duck soup," Benson snarled
with contempt, "I've got a way to settle with Gordon and his boys
once and for all."
"Sounds like you're working a Chinese angle, Gat." Zucco
said. "What do you have that's going to make Gordon play ball?"
"Well nothing on Gordon," Benson replied, "but one of his
boys is my new ringer!"
Everyone in the room stared at Benson. Some wore an
expression of definite shock while others looked at the gangster
in disbelief.
"How'd you pull that off?" The Nose didn't try to hide his
skeptcism.
"Pretty simple bo, this guy knows that we're on the rise and
that eventually Gordon and his squad are going to be removed. He
don't want to find himself wearing a Chicago Overcoat so he
decided to join the winning team."
"You sure this ain't a bluff Gat? I mean this guy could be
giving us the what for planning to do a bust up for Gordon, how do
we know if he's on the level?" The Squirrel's comment bought
agreeing nods from some of the others in the room.
Gat straightened up and smile evilly at the assembled
mobsters, "By arranging a hit on a couple of Gordon's boys based
on my guys information." Benson turned to Zucco, "Boss, I want to
order two hits to see if this guy checks out. If we do the job
and make a clean sneak, he's okay. If we get pinched, we kill the
plant."
Zucco considered the proposition a moment before smiling.
"Okay Gat we'll try your boy out, but if this is going to be a
real test I want you to set up the jobs and do one of the hits.
You'll make sure that at least one guy winds up dead and if you
get caught I expect you to kill your finger man when I bail you
out."
"Fine." Benson answered, "In that case I know who I want to
do up close and personal and two phone calls will set it all in
motion."
"Well then Gat, you better get on the blower, I want this
done tonight. And by the way, who gets it?" Zucco asked.
"Well Drake has to be hit after what his little girl did.
If we don't burn him folks will think we've gone soft. The other
mug is mine. He got lucky once and sent me to stir for five years
and I owe him for that. I'll be glad to send him off to a dirt
nap."
"Chee, Gat," Nicky the Nose whistled, "you really have the
curse on this guy! Who is he?"
"His name is Corrigan, Nicky." Benson responded hatefully,
"Jim Corrigan."
"Fine Gat, if you want to make the second hit personal, so
much the better." Zucco said enthusiastically, "I know you'll be
creative when you take your shot. Bumping a cop when you're
feeling creative will make enough waves to let Gordon know it
would be in his best interest to back off."
Zucco smiled with satisfaction as he changed the subject.
"Okay boys, once we hit Gordon's squad we need to attend to some
of the deadbeats who ain't made good on their debts to us,
starting with Joe Haly. You know the guy who owns that flea
bitten carny he calls a circus."
"Hey!" The Squirrel said suddenly, "Gat you never told us
who turned squealer on Gordon's team!"
"You know something?" Gat replied pleasantly, "You're
right. Wait 'til you hear the fella's name is..."
And for the second time in the evening, the entire Zucco mob
stared at Gat Benson with total disbelief on their collective
faces.
*****************************************************
SIX: TICK, TICK, BANG, BANG...
ADAMS HEIGHTS, GOTHAM CITY, DECEMBER 11, 1938...
The Batman had been making the rounds in Gotham tonight. A
covert trip to the Penguin Club turned up no fresh clues towards
pinning down Zucco's involvement with the Penguin, if any.
Satisfied that Cobblepot wasn't directly involved in the attempt
on the two detectives, Batman began to tour the underworld.
Using his talent for disguise, the Batman moved freely in
criminal haunts where Zucco's men worked and played. One
particular gangster had gotten the Batman's interest with glib,
coy comments about Gordon's boys "finally getting theirs". The
half drunk little crook was ignored by most of the bar's patrons
who were more interested in drowning their cares than listening to
some loudmouth.
The Batman befriended the little man and over the course of
ten minutes learned that Richard Drake was to be the target of
another murder attempt. The little man didn't know enough details
though, he was a minor player in the Zucco mob and wasn't privy to
much of the information that the mob boss and his inner circle
discussed. Making up a pretext to leave the little thug some ten
minutes later along with buying the crook a full bottle of rye,
the Batman made a quick exit to find and protect Richard Drake.
The Batman made several calls from a nearby phone booth.
One as Bruce Wayne to Gordon making a casual inquiry into the
progress of the case. During this conversation Batman secured the
location of Drake, who had taken the night off and stayed at home.
With that information in hand Batman's next call was to Alfred to
have him search for Drake's home address and phone number. Alfred
said he would to report in to the Batman over the car radio when
the information was found. The Batman placed a second call to the
police department this time Batman, disguising his voice, played
the role of an anonymous tipster and reported that there be a
possible attempt on Drake's life. Once those calls were made,
Batman headed to his car, stripping away the greasepaint, the
false nose and fake whiskers he had worn to conceal his identity.
In the car Batman donned the costume, cape and cowl once
more. If trouble started to brew, Batman wanted Zucco to know
that a fearless creature of the night was after him. Alfred was
only able to turn up Drake's address, his phone number wasn't
listed, but he was still checking. The Drakes lived only a few
minutes away from Batman's current location. As the Batman's car
sped off into the foggy night, he hoped it wasn't too late.
*****************************************************
Richard Drake had gotten the call a few minutes ago. One of
the boys had reported that Zucco was making a major drug shipment
into Gotham tonight. Even though Drake had taken the night off,
the call made it seem imperative that he make the party for the
bust. Drake, not being one to miss a good party, grabbed his hat
and stuffed himself into a jacket minutes after he hung up the
phone.
"Don't wait up little bird," Drake said as he bounded for
the door. "police business!"
Dinah Drake was in silk men pajamas and a robe. Until her
father's rush for the door, she had been reading quietly. His
outburst had her up from the chair and rushing to her bedroom.
"Wait up Dad, I'm coming with you!"
"No time kid, Zucco's making a move and we're going to get
him. I've got to get going."
Dinah stuck her head out of the door, her black hair already
tucked into a cap and a bare shoulder edging out from behind the
frame. "Dad you may need me, and how else am I supposed to get
into the force if I don't prove I can handle the heat?"
"Personally I think you just want to see Larry again. I
think he's sweet on you little bird." Lance said with a slight
smile as he looked around for the car keys. "I thought the keys
were on the hook by the door!"
"Check the kitchen Dad!" Dinah shouted with a slight grunt.
"The rookie's sweet on me? I just think he's sweet on himself.
Besides wasn't one of the first things you taught me was to never
date a cop?"
"Well rules were made to be broken kid. Larry's a right guy,
you should give him a chance." Drake snatched the keys off of the
kitchen counter and snatched his nearly forgotten gun off the
kitchen table.
"Oh Dad, I can do better than the rookie, he mouths off too
much."
Lance stopped in mid step at Dinah's remark. "Better?
Better like who?"
"No one Daddy!" came Dinah's terse reply. "I wasn't
thinking of anyone in particular."
"Don't lie to your poppa kid, I know you too well." Drake's
brow clouded in thought for a second and then brightened. "I've
got it! You're sweet on Bruce Wayne! It didn't click until just
now. You've had a crush on him since you were a kid!"
"DAD!" squealed Dinah, "I didn't mention Bruce at all!"
Drake knew he had hit the mark and smiled another rocky
smile. "Yeah besides, he is engaged to that girl he met in New
York, Julie Madison, so I'm pretty sure he's off limits."
"He hasn't been seen with Julie for months!" Dinah
grumbled. Louder she said, "I'm almost ready Dad, just let me
button up my blouse."
"Well shake a leg little bird, I'm going! I'll wait for you
as long as it takes for the car to warm up, then you're either in
or out for keeps!" Dinah didn't have a chance to protest as the
door slammed.
A few seconds later she rushed out of her bedroom fully
dressed in a pair of tweed slacks, gray blouse and a tweed bolero
jacket. As she rushed for the door she saw her father had
forgotten his wallet and as she flipped it open, she knew Drake
had left his badge in it as well. "He'd lose his head if I
weren't around." she said with a slight smile.
As her hand touched the doorknob, the phone began to ring.
Dinah sprung back to the phone before the second ring and quickly
snatched up the phone. "Drake residence." she said quickly,
hoping that this wasn't going to be a long call.
The voice on the other end was one of Richard Drake's oldest
and dearest friends, Arthur O'Hara. "Dinah, where's yuir poppa?"
The thick Irish bass of O'Hara's had a hint of fear in it.
"We're about to join up with the boys for the raid on
Zucco's, Uncle Arthur. Has the plan changed?"
"Raid?" was O'Hara's confused reply. The fear in his voice
went up a notch when he spoke again. "Saint's preserve us!
Child, there's no raid planned at all, someone's put the word out
on your father. We got a call a few minutes ago saying that there
was going to be another hit on him!"
Dinah's face went deathly white. "Well he's headed to the
car now."
"Quickly child, stop him from leaving and keep him in the
house! Some of the boys and Jimmy Gordon himself are on the way!
Until then sit tight and keep him off the streets!"
"I'm on my way Uncle Arthur, tell the boys to hurry!"
Dinah slammed the phone back into the receiver and spun for
the door. As she wrenched it open she was stopped short by what
was on the other side. A huge figure in black and gray stood
before her. A pair of cool blue eyes stared from behind the slits
of a mask with pointed ears. From the way he stood, Dinah knew he
was prepared for any provocative action so she stood her own
ground and waited for him to make the first move.
"Miss Drake, is your father home?"
"The underworld's hitmen sure do dress funny." She
answered. "Your belt clashes with the outfit."
"I'll talk to my tailor later." the shadowy figure replied.
"Miss Drake, I'm here to protect your father, he's in grave
danger. I came in through the back way to make sure the place
wasn't being watched. I have a car out back and I'd like to get
you and your dad to a safe place."
Dinah studied the man in black and decided to take a chance
as she pushed past him. "Then follow me masked man, he's headed
for the car."
The pair sped down the seven flights of stairs quickly,
making the lobby of the building in short order. There the masked
man stopped and said to Dinah, "Go to the car, get your father and
get him back here. I'll wait for you both here."
Dinah's doubts had returned as the masked man spoke the
order. "Wait a second fella, why don't you want to go out there?"
"You said it yourself Dinah, the belt clashes with the
outfit." The masked man produced a gun from the folds of his
cape. "I can also cover you best from here if there are any
gunners waiting to get your dad. I know this is not a normal
situation, but you're going to have to trust me Miss Drake. Now,
get going!" With a nod, Dinah tore out of the door.
Dinah had just exited the building and started running for
the car. Dinah was thrilled to see that her dad was sitting
behind the wheel, reading the paper. He looked up at her and
waved and smiled before folding the paper and throwing it in the
backseat. Dinah was still too far away to yell to him but she
could hear the car's engine starting up with a slight grumble.
Richard Drake looked a little confused as he listened to the
engine and then Dinah saw him reach for the door handle with a
look of horror on his face.
That was the last thing Dinah saw before the car erupted
into a blazing ball of fire as the engine exploded.
*****************************
To be continued...