By Smitty
Part Three: Christmas
Gotham City: Wayne Manor
The snow covered Gotham overnight. Tiny white flakes began glinting in the light of street lamps and automobile headlights just after midnight, dancing and swirling as if choreographed to Tchaikovsky. By the time the sun rose over the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge, a fluffy jacket of snow covered the buildings, the walkways, the park benches, and the cars.
Despite having been skating the rooftops until after one--Robin had been retired when the snow began to accumulate--the morning found Dick Grayson out in the great flat stretches of land behind Stately Wayne Manor. In a few short hours, he had managed to disrupt the pristine acres of powdered frosting with snowballs, clumsily constructed snow creatures, and indentations meant to be identified as snow angels.
The boy has had a busy morning, Alfred thought as he warmed milk for cocoa. Nearly as busy as Bruce himself, who had spent the hours since waking methodically studying the offers Teresa Gazzo had made Oliver Queen, Edward Lamont, III, and every other Gotham entrepreneur. How he acquired this information had no doubt skirted due process and was not something Alfred wanted to know.
"Alfred!" Dick burst out, slamming in the kitchen door, dripping chunks of icy snow behind him.
"Yes, Master Richard?" Alfred replied with one eyebrow raised. He reflected, with a touch of the pride due one who knows the habits of little boys, that Dick had managed to return to the kitchen at the exact moment that the hot cocoa was ready.
"Cool, cocoa," Dick said, taking the cup from Alfred's waiting hand and drinking from it deeply as he tramped wet footprints across the kitchen floor. "Where's Bruce?" he asked, returning to his original mission after sucking up a considerable amount of cocoa. "He's missing all the fun."
"I believe he's a bit preoccupied by some extremely tedious research," Alfred noted. He hesitated to banish Dick--as ordered--to the study where Bruce obsessed over Killer Moth, Teresa Gazzo, and the unfortunate deaths of two local businessmen.
"Oh," Dick replied with a wrinkle of his nose. "Does he need help?"
"I'm sure," Alfred said after careful consideration, "that if you were inclined to construct another snow-person, Master Bruce would surely understand."
Gotham City: Lance Florists
"Di-NAH!"
"I'm right here, Mom!"
Dinah Laurel Lance stumbled into the main showroom of her mother's flower shop, barely balancing a flatbed of baby poinsettias in her arms.
"Two weeks until Christmas, Dinah," Dinah Drake Lance admonished her daughter. "It's our busiest time of year and you're out late every night and sleepy in the morning."
"One more flat," Dinah grunted, shifting the box in her arms to her hip. "You wanna get the door for me?"
"I need your help around here," the elder Mrs. Lance told her daughter, moving to the door and resting her hand on the handle, but not opening it. "I know you want to run around and…do whatever it is that you're doing, but at least for the holidays, Dinah…."
"Mom." Dinah propped the flat between her hip and the wall. "I'm looking for Dad's--"
"I know Dinah," her mother insisted, balling her free hand and tucking it under her arm. "But…" She stopped and sighed. "Never mind. Just…I need your help around here for a bit, ok?"
Dinah studied her mother for a long moment and then sighed reluctantly. "Ok. I'll be around."
"That's my sweetie." Dinah Sr. smiled and touched her daughter's cheek. Dinah smiled back and shifted the flat to both hands as her mother let her through the door. "Oh, by the way," Dinah Sr. called as Dinah shifted her load onto a table already covered with tiny poinsettias, "David Knight called."
Dinah narrowed her eyes as she made a show of fluffing the tiny leaf-like petals of the little plants. Her mother's tone was deliberately casual. Dinah was familiar with that tone. It usually meant Mom had something up her sleeve. And there was a better than average chance whatever was up her sleeve was going to have a direct effect on Dinah's life.
"He has tickets to the Nutcracker."
"Here in Gotham?" Dinah asked in disbelief. "On Christmas Eve?"
"He has some business in town and decided to stay an extra day. He's very excited about the performance. It's really an Event, you know. And…" Dinah Sr. paused significantly, beaming. "He wants you to go with him."
"Mom," Dinah groaned, "David's boring."
"Dinah," her mother scolded, "David's a perfectly nice boy. And smart, too! He's well on his way to becoming just a great scientist as his father."
"His father's boring, too," Dinah muttered under her breath.
"Dinah Laurel Lance!"
Dinah winced. She was in for it, now.
"Ted Knight has been a good friend to me and to your father when…when…" Dinah Sr.'s voice broke off in a gasping little snuffle and Dinah Jr. opened her eyes and glanced over at her mother worriedly.
"Oh, Mom." She dusted her hands off perfunctorily and wrapped her arms around her sobbing mother. "Mom, I'm sorry."
"I…I just…I'm sorry Dinah," her mother managed, brushing away tears with both hands. "I just miss him so much."
"I know," Dinah said, brushing her fingertips through her mother's dark hair, noticing how the lightest touches of gray were wending through the otherwise glossy black strands. "And I'm going to find his killer, Mom. I promise."
Gotham City: Batman It's quiet. But not quiet enough. I believe in Gotham City. But this city may not be the same Gotham in which I placed my faith years ago.
Gotham City: Justice Center
Aristedes Monroe worked late, as usual. His crystal tumbler of whiskey sat next to a sheaf of newspaper articles on his desk, for once untouched since he poured it.
He flipped to a section in the Gotham City Code, found the statute he was looking for, and jotted its number on his legal pad. Then he lifted the top newspaper article from the stack and checked the date. He rifled quickly through a collection of hastily gathered police reports his paralegal had assembled earlier that day and found one that matched the date in question. He scribbled another note and tapped his pencil slowly on his desk. He meticulously paperclipped the police report and the newsclipping together and marked them as a new exhibit.
Monroe checked the time on his watch and reached for a quick drink of his whiskey. It was late and he had an appointment.
Gotham City: Vauxhall Opera Shell
The glitterati of Gotham glittered brightly for the charity benefit performance of the Nutcracker the night before Christmas. Vivid taffeta and silk paired with sober black tuxedos to form gossip-worthy couples. Bruce Wayne was in attendance with Julie Madison, a minor starlet who had done a number of television commercials for Wayne Enterprises. She was beautiful, shiny raven curls piled high on her head and beside her, Bruce was equally resplendent in his favorite of a wide tuxedo collection. They were a pretty pair but the gossip columnists held little hope for the future of the couple. They'd speculated a little too enthusiastically on several of Bruce Wayne's previous romances and came away without so much as a public breakup.
Then again…this always could be The One.
Gotham City: Bruce Wayne
Julie Madison is a friend. We attended Eton together where she studied acting and dumped me for being a 'shallow wastrel'. Since I took up the reins of my father's business, she's been happy enough to be in my company, although she hasn't said anything about rekindling old flames. It's better that way. She doesn't think I've changed, which makes her an excellent, if unwitting, cover. Besides, there are other women complicating my life.
Gotham City: Vauxhall Opera Shell
"--speed of light, and conservation of energy says that--"
Dinah Lance tuned in to David Knight's enthusiastic monologue long enough to make sure he was still speaking in technobabble and then tuned back out. Her eyes traveled around the guests, picking out the mayor and young Derek Powers talking to the new DA, Mario Falcone with a woman she didn't recognize, and Teresa Gazzo on the arm of a tall, handsome man with dark hair and a square jaw. She noted him with interest, promising to determine who he was and why Teresa Gazzo was interested in him.
"Dinah? Dinah, are you listening?"
"Hmm?" She turned her attention back to David and gave him her sweetest smile. "I'm sorry, David, what were you saying?"
David beamed at the attention.
"I was just asking if you were ready to go inside?"
"Oh, yes, thank you." Dinah smiled and took his arm, her razor-sharp mind still plotting away.
Gotham City: Rogers Yacht Basin
"Ed's dead."
"Tell me something I don't know." Army Lydecker tipped back a bottle of bitter imported beer and frowned at the label. "Where the hell did you get this swill from?" he asked Warren Lawford. "It tastes like kerosene and my wife's perfume."
"Morocco. Cost me twelve dollars a bottle plus import tax."
"They make beer in Morocco?"
"What do you think they drink there? Cow piss?"
Lydecker eyed the bottle with suspicion.
"That's what it tastes like, all right."
"Gentlemen!" The third member of their party, bespectacled Gunther Hardwicke, pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "If you haven't noticed," he growled, "we have a little problem."
"You mean like Eddie showing up with a knife in his back?" Lydecker asked, taking another swig of his beer despite his complaints about its flavor. "Kinda ironic, you think?"
"We don't know that he was going to turn us in," Hardwicke pointed out. "And we don't know that he took the money."
"Right." Lydecker rolled his eyes. "And that little boy Caroline had is really his, too. Pull the other one, Gunther. Eddie was a prissy, neurotic little weasel. Who knows how many people could have gotten on with their lives without him."
"He was a prissy, neurotic little weasel who died without telling anyone where the numbers of our Swiss accounts were hidden." That got their attention, Gunther realized with glee, watching Army choke on his beer and Warren snap his feet off the table and spin in his chair. "So that's why I want to know," Gunther said, eyes gleaming, "which of you killed him?"
Gotham City: Vauxhall Opera Shell
"Time to go in," Bruce murmured in Julie's ear, resting one hand in the small of her back to lead her toward the just-opened doors to the theatre.
"Finally," Julie said as she swept into the opera shell, letting Bruce escort her up the spiral staircase to their balcony seat. "Away from the gossip patrol. So how much do you think my dress will cost by the time all those columns go to press tomorrow?"
"At least three times what I paid for it," Bruce said wryly, holding the curtain for the balcony seat while Julie passed. "Your fashion's good for my estimated net worth."
He stepped in behind her and sat. His sharp eyes tracked the entry of Gotham's elite, cataloging the presence of dozens of well-known names. Lucius Fox was at home with his wife and new baby. Leslie Thompkins insisted on keeping her clinic open Christmas Eve, even though Bruce had archly offered Alfred as an escort. Harvey and Gilda Dent had often occupied the last two seats in the Wayne box but those seats had been empty for several years. Mostly, Bruce used his extra seats to impress visiting business colleagues, but on this frosty bright Christmas, there was no one to be impressed. Unless he brought Julie back to the cold empty halls of Wayne Manor--and he wouldn't, not with Dick scampering about--Bruce would be as alone this night as he would any other.
These lonely thoughts nearly kept him from seeing Mario Falcone enter the opera shell. Bruce's mind immediately cleared and he studied the slim, dark-haired man as he escorted his date through the crowds. He didn't seem particularly interested in socializing, his attention completely focused on his date and the navigation of the crowds. Bruce focused on the date, wondering whose company Mario was keeping these days. Thin, brown hair swept up in a glossy twist, a dress of rich cinnamon brown--unusual in fashion today and elegant. He didn't know her.
"Who's that down there with Mario Falcone?" he asked Julie, who knew everyone.
"Who?" Julie leaned forward and peered through her opera glasses. "Heavens, Bruce, do you have any sense of discretion whatsoever?"
"I've just never seen her before," Bruce defended. "I didn't want to ask her out or anything."
"Well. I don't know her, but her choice of dress is certainly intriguing. I can hardly believe Mario Falcone's showing his face in these parts, what with all that scandal about his family last year."
"He's still pretty wealthy," Bruce said mildly. "Even if he is getting rid of the family business."
"Hm." Julie shifted her gaze to the balconies and let a predatory smile slide over her face. "Dinah Lance is here with David Knight."
"David Knight? Ted Knight's son?"
"Good answer. But I saw the picture of you and little Miss Lance cozied up at the Plaza on the front page of the Gotham Mirror."
"That rag?" Bruce scoffed. "It was a business meeting."
"Of course it was."
Gotham City: Police Headquarters
Jim Gordon was working late again. It was past eight o'clock on Christmas Eve and his wife was waiting for him at home with James and Barbara, who had finished her shift at the library at six. He fingered the pack of cigarettes sitting in his desk drawer, thinking of going up on the roof and flipping on the damned signal. He hated the thing, hated the idea that he couldn't police his own city.
But the fact of the matter was, Gotham rounded up more crime with the Batman than without and Gordon knew he'd be remiss in his duties if he let one single preventable crime be committed.
That didn't make it easier.
Gordon dropped the cigarettes and slammed the drawer shut. The sound echoed in the empty office and when all was silent again, he stood up and put his coat on, heading resolutely out the door.
"Commissioner?"
He turned, surprised to hear Lopez's voice in the dark office. She'd been working hard since her partner had betrayed them to the second holiday killer. Since the Thanksgiving murder of Edward Lamont, Gordon couldn't remember being in the office when she wasn't.
"Go home, Lopez," he said. "Get some sleep. Have some dinner."
"Were you waiting for the call, sir?"
Gordon let his body be taken by the sigh because he had been, in fact, waiting for a call to report the discovery of another wealthy citizen, stabbed in the back.
"It might not come tonight, Lopez. Tomorrow's Christmas Day."
"Yes, sir."
"I don't want to have to leave my family either."
"Yes, sir."
"That's why I'm still here." Gordon sighed and felt in his pocket. He came up with a pair of cigarettes. "Smoke with me, Lopez. We'll give ourselves cancer and then we'll go home and pretend everything's fine."
"Yes, sir."
But she took the cigarette and, snagging her coat off the back of her desk chair, walked outside with him.
Gotham City: Vauxhall Opera Shell
The prima ballerina of the Gotham City Ballet Company, beautifully bedecked as the Sugar Plum Fairy, started her trademark set of thirty-two fouettes when Dinah noticed Mario Falcone's date slip from her seat and leave the theatre, clutching her handbag.
"David, if you'll excuse me," Dinah whispered, slipping from her seat and scooping up her own purse.
David popped up immediately. He might have the personality of a walnut, Dinah admitted to herself, but his manners were impeccable. She smiled stiffly and slipped past him.
Down the carpeted stairs carefully, as to not catch her high heels on her long black dress and Dinah paused at the doorway. She leaned her shoulder against the edge, sidling around to scan the foyer. Empty.
The ladies restroom was her best bet. Dinah squared her shoulders and walked with forced nonchalance across the plush foyer, her heels sinking into the carpet with each step. She turned right before the coat check window. The sign indicating the ladies room was to her right. She turned to reach for the door when an iron grip clamped over her arm and hauled her into the coat closet before she could scream.
Gotham City: Batcave
"I believe we've spoken about the scaling of the equipment in the past," Alfred Pennyworth said serenely.
"I'm bored," Dick Grayson answered belligerently, traveling the length of the Bat-computer on his hands. "When's Bruce coming back?"
"Master Bruce will return when his event has concluded."
"Why does he have to go to those things?" Dick bent himself at an angle that looked painful to Alfred and somehow wound up on his feet. He squatted down with his hands on his knees and pouted.
"It is what he believes he must do to protect his identity and keep his loved ones safe," Alfred said calmly. "As long as you are up there, perhaps you could complete a task I have left long since unfinished." He extended a soft white cloth in Dick's direction. "The top of the computer has a tendency to become unforgivably dusty."
Dick bounced off the frame immediately, tucking his knees into his chest as he tumbled toward the dry, cracked surface of the cave floor.
"Sorry," Dick said with a shrug. "I should put on my Robin suit in case Bruce comes home early.
Gotham City: Vauxhall Opera Shell
Larry Lance hadn't raised his little girl to be a pushover.
A twist and grab combination had released the grip on her arm and given Dinah control of her assailant's wrist. Seconds later, she was shoving a much larger body up into the nearest row of hanging coats. The rows of wool and cashmere swung and creaked on their metal hangers as the man's bulk crashed into them. Dinah rotated her palm to get a higher grip on the arm she'd already twisted behind the man and pushed her forearm under her attacker's chin. Enough applied pressure would render him unconscious in seconds.
Something brushed against her cheek, something thin and metal and she tensed until she realized it was the pull-chain for the overhead light. Dinah twisted her head to the side, snagging the chain in her mouth and tugging it down, the metallic tang lingering on her tongue even as the switch clicked and the tiny room was flooded with dim yellow light.
Bruce Wayne grinned sheepishly at her.
"Hi."
Dinah gave him one last shove, pushing him away from her and stepping back, still on the defensive, but no longer threatened.
"Mr. Wayne." She kept her eye on him as he detached himself from the line of coats and carefully straightened his jacket. "You'd better tell me that you thought I was a serial killer."
Wayne looked wounded, but the expression quickly slipped away.
"I needed to talk to you," he said, his voice losing most of its levity.
"I have a phone," Dinah told him with no little amount of incredulity. "My mother owns a flower shop. That makes two phones. And a greenhouse where I can be found all day. What were you doing, just hanging out in the coat room on the off chance I might wander by?"
"I saw you get up," Bruce answered stiffly.
"You're a really weird guy, you know that, Wayne?" Dinah set her hands on her hips and shifted her weight from her defensive stance. "What do you want to know?"
"You said Bobby Gazzo didn't have any boys."
"That's it? That's what you dragged me into a coat closet to talk about?"
"That first night," Bruce repeated, "you told me Bobby Gazzo didn't have any boys. Wasn't that exactly what you said? Bobby Gazzo didn't have any boys."
"He didn't," Dinah confirmed, her brow furrowing in consternation.
"Then who is Bobby Jr.?" he pressed. "Teresa introduced him to me as Bobby Jr. Her little brother, Bobby Jr. Looks like your information is a bit faulty, Ms. Lance."
"Bobby Jr. wasn't Bobby's," Dinah explained with a sigh. "I can't believe you're making all this fuss over Bobby," she muttered under her breath before explaining, "His father was Bobby Sr.'s older brother, Tony Gazzo. Bobby Sr. was little Robbie's godfather and when he had his brother killed--"
"More conjecture?"
"Freak yachting accident," Dinah told him, each syllable clipped. "With Tony out of the way, Bobby Sr. was head of the family. He didn't have any boys, and his two younger brothers were offed by Boss Maroni, so he took on his nephew."
"Named after him?"
"Tony Jr. died with his father in the yacht. Robert was the second son." Dinah cleared her throat, watching Bruce carefully, and continued. "They started calling him Bobby instead of Robbie and tacked the 'Junior' on the end to make him sound legit."
"So why didn't he inherit the business? If Gazzo wanted a male heir, why is Teresa running the company?"
"Bobby's a halfwit," Dinah explained, a note of contempt in her voice. "The business was his, but Teresa bought it out from under him. She owns 51 percent of the shares."
"Smart girl."
"Funny how that happens sometimes." Dinah crossed her arms across her chest. "If you're done wrestling the Gazzo family history out of me, I should be getting back to my date."
"I've gotten the information I need," Bruce said as he opened the door for her. "I shouldn't have grabbed you like that."
"Actually, if you're going to go around grabbing people to get their attention, you should at least put your hand over their mouths to keep them from calling for help," Dinah advised as she stepped out of the coat closet. Bruce followed and caught up to her in the main foyer just in time to hear a woman's scream echo from above.
"Isn't that your line?" Bruce asked, in reference to the scream, but he was pushing ahead of her, running for the stairway in the direction of the panicked sound.
The same stairway Dinah had come down less than ten minutes before.
A couple of the opera hall security guards beat them to the stairs, pounding up ahead of Dinah's delicate heels and Bruce's Italian leather dress shoes.
Dinah's heart sank when she reached the top of the steps and saw the people clustered in the balcony where she had been sitting. Bruce stopped short and she ran into his right shoulder. He stepped aside silently, which should have warned her, but she already knew.
David Knight was slumped forward, the handle of a silver knife protruding from his back.
"Oh, no," she whispered. "Oh, David."
Gotham City: Gordon Household
"It's for you, Jim."
But they all knew it was.
Barbara handed him the phone and rejoined Babs and Jimmy at the table. They picked quietly at their cold food and listened to him grunt into the phone.
"Yeah. Yeah. That's--ok. I--yeah. Fifteen minutes, tops." He hung up on the phone and the heavy clank of the receiver echoed into the tiny living room.
"I'll get your coat," Barbara said resignedly.
"I was hoping they'd wait 'til tomorrow," Jim said heavily. Barbara left the room.
Babs reached over and wiped away the gravy dribbling down Jimmy's chin. He wiped his hand in the napkin's wake, smearing potatoes along his still-chubby chin. Babs offered Jim a smile. He returned it tiredly and retreated into the hall where Barbara waited with his heavy winter coat.
"Stay warm," she said stiffly, buttoning it up for him as he pulled on his heavy gloves. She wrapped a muffler around his neck and watched as he settled a cap on his head. "You, too," he said, kissing her before he went out the door.
"How can I?" she whispered to the closed door. "I'm the only one in our bed."
Gotham City: Clocktower
"Look, there's someone on the roof besides Commissioner Gordon," Robin reported, following the Batsignal in to the roof of the GCPD.
"Yes." Batman stopped at the edge of Gotham's high-rising clock tower, holding a hand out to stop Robin's forward motion. "Stay here," he ordered the boy, bracing one foot on the ledge of the roof and throwing the jumpline to a wicked spire on the next building over, angling for a back approach to the GCPD building.
"Aw," Robin protested to the cold night air. "Shoot." One elf-booted foot kicked at the powdery snow building up in the corners of the roof.
"Psst."
Robin straightened and whirled towards the face of the Clocktower, small fists coming up.
"Who's there?"
"PSST. It's me."
"Who?" Robin's head cocked to the side, his fists sinking as his ready stance relaxed.
"Me, um, Batgirl."
"Oh. Robin peered into the shadows surrounding the walls of the clock housing. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm working on the Killer Moth case. What are you doing?"
"I'm waiting for Batman." Robin nodded toward the blinding Batsignal that silhouetted the two, soon to be three, men standing on the roof of the GCPD building. "I make the Commissioner nervous, sometimes. He doesn't think a kid should be fighting crime."
"Yeah, well, you are pretty young."
"I'm not that young," Robin protested, puffing his chest out.
Batgirl grinned.
"Yeah? How old are you?"
"I can't tell you. It's part of my secret identity."
"Ohhh, I see." Batgirl put her hands on her hips. "So I hear Killer Moth has been sending threatening letters to important businessmen. He wants one hundred thousand dollars from each of them, or he's threatening to kill them."
"Do you think he'll go through with it?"
Batgirl shrugged.
"He certainly tried with Bruce Wayne."
"Yeah." Robin considered this. "Do you think he's the one killing all the millionaires? Oliver Queen and Edward Lamont and now David Knight?"
"No," Batgirl said after a moment, squatting down and wrapping her arms around her knees. "Oliver Queen and David Knight were both from out of town. As far as I know, all the letters have gone to people who live in Gotham."
"Maybe those are the only people we know about," Robin pointed out. "Maybe the police in Star City and Opal have the letters Killer Moth sent to them." He bounced on his toes. "Maybe we're looking at the wrong person for all this!"
"Why? Who are you looking at?" Batgirl wanted to know. "And aren't you cold in those tights?"
"Huh?" Robin looked down at his legs, covered only in flesh-toned leggings under the green shorts. "Oh, no. They're um, made out of this stuff. They're really warm. And there's silk and fleece in the vest. It's insulated."
"Insulated, really?" Batgirl stood and crossed her arms over her chest. "And no ducking my question, Boy Wonder. Who do you and Batman suspect?"
"Well." Robin bit his lip and visibly waffled on the subject. "I don't know that I should say."
"Oh, because Batman said so?"
"Well, he didn't say, exactly."
"It's probably not the same person anyway," Batgirl said loftily. "After all, Killer Moth went after Bruce Wayne with a gun and all the others were killed with a knife."
"Oh. Right." Robin frowned. "We should see who else got letters and see if there are attempts on their lives."
"I can get a list."
"Really?" Robin looked surprised.
"Civilian job." Batgirl winked. "I can get all kinds of info. I can check on the Opal City and Star City death threats, too."
"Cool."
"Hey, if I get that info, can you teach me how to…you know. With the ropes?"
"You mean the jumplines?" Robin could easily get the same information from the Batcomputer--if he could explain it to Batman--but he didn't mind trading the research time for something he liked much better. Flying.
"Yeah. How do you and Batman ride around on them without slipping?"
"Oh, watch. See this…."
Gotham City: Gotham City Police Department, Roof
"So this man just appears on the roof when you turn on the spotlight."
"Be as skeptical as you like," Gordon said calmly, puffing away on his cigarette.
Aristedes Monroe took out a cigar and lit it. He warmed his hands on the tiny gleam of heat and tucked the cheroot into the side of his mouth while he pulled on his gloves.
"Those things will kill you."
Monroe stiffened visibly at the gravelly voice behind him.
"Evening, Batman," Gordon said neutrally.
"Good evening, Commissioner." Batman stepped partially from the shadows, enough to permit the slightest edge of light to gleam against his costume. He inclined his head. "District Attorney."
"You know Mr. Monroe?" Gordon asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.
"Only by reputation."
"In that case, Batman, this is Aristedes Monroe. Monroe, meet our local urban legend."
"Batman." Monroe removed the cigar from his mouth with his left hand and held out his right hand.
Batman inclined his head.
Monroe dropped his hand.
Gordon chuckled and tossed his cigarette into the snow piled against the Batsignal. It flared in the cold drift and went out.
"I'm sure you've come to the same conclusion I have," he said, smile dying.
"Holiday is back."
"A copycat."
"Knives this time. And businessmen."
"Holiday was Alberto Falcone," Monroe recited. "And Holiday Two was Sofia Falcone."
"Suspects?" Batman's voice revealed nothing.
Monroe and Gordon exchanged glances.
"We have some ideas," Monroe cadged.
"Mario Falcone," Gordon said bluntly. "His brother and sister were nuts and we know he burned down the family home last fall."
"Mario Falcone successfully took custody of his brother and is currently dismantling the family's business," Batman gritted out.
"Maybe he's dismantling everyone they did business with, too," Monroe offered with a sardonic grin.
Batman was silent for a moment.
"I'll look into it," he said.
Monroe glanced over to Gordon.
"He does your detectives' work?"
"He can get places we can't," Gordon replied, nodding toward the space next to Monroe.
Monroe looked back at Batman, statute and section on the tip of his tongue.
The only evidence of Batman's presence was a single set of bootprints, already filling with snow.
"He do this often?"
"If you're going to stay in Gotham," Gordon said, flicking off the Batsignal and reaching for the rooftop door, "you might want to get used to it."
TBC on January 1