Hero's Blood
Chapter Three
Gotham City by night was an amazing sight to behold. For all its darkness and barely concealed decay, there rose from the midden jewels, beacons to the rest of the city. The Roma, Gotham's newest hotel, had been almost completely financed by Vincent Falcone. From the penthouse at its peak, he gazed down on the city that he was driving into the ground and raged.
"I want him dead!"
Falcone slammed a hand on the marble railing edging the balcony, causing his men to jump. The mob boss was ordinarily an icily calm man. Ordinarily, though, there wouldn't be any reason for him to lose his temper. No one dared cross Vincent Falcone.
"We don't know who it is, Boss. Our boys say it's never the same bunch twice. They come into town, they bust up a coupla rackets, and then they run back to the woods."
"What are you telling me, Sal? Eh? That I've got some sort of modern day Robin hood on my hands, is that what you're telling me?"
"Sure looks that way boss."
"Then I tell you what Sal, this is what we do. We double every guard on every job. We gun these jokers down and if they bring more, we gun them down, and if I have to burn this city to the ground to do it, by God I will!"
Wayne Manor
The men gathered around the fire were not quite the same men that they had been only weeks before. To many, it had seemed a grand adventure, a merry quest to rid Gotham of the rabble who had taken it over. But the gleeful grins had long since been washed from their noble faces. They sat now as men who had seen war, and had stood their ground. But they had not come away unscathed. Tonight made that perfectly clear.
"How long has he been in there?"
"The answer is the same as it was the last time you asked, Hathaway. Too long."
Walter Donne had been the leader of the band that had gone to raid one of Falcone's many small underground casinos. It had become almost routine. There were so many of them scattered about the seedy part of the city that Falcone was stretched too thin to protect them all. Tonight should have been no different from any of the dozens of other raids, but it had been. Everything had gone to plan until they entered the count room. No less than a dozen armed guards emerged from a back entrance, spraying the room with machine gun fire. Walter had thrown himself into the line of fire, protecting his men, who had dragged him back to the car and hurried him to Wayne's house, taking care not to be followed.
Thomas emerged from the dining room, his face dripping sweat and his shirt spattered with blood. He walked slowly to the bar and poured himself a scotch, then tossed it back in one gulp.
"Thomas?"
"A moment, gentlemen." He raised himself up a bit and turned to Winifred. "Would you bring the car around, Winifred, and bring me a fresh shirt and tie?"
"Of course sir. May I inquire as to where we'll be going?"
"We'll be visiting Darlene Donne."
There was an audible intake of breath around the room, and the men gathered there visibly slumped in their chairs.
"Of course sir."
Winifred walked out and Thomas moved to the front of the room. The men around him were weary, shaken, and a bit frightened.
"When confronted with a problem, you must take decisive action. Walter was committed to this cause. We are trying to save our homes and the homes of our friends from these animals who would see us descend into oblivion. They've shed our blood now, so we will redouble our efforts. We will make them sorry that they ever set foot in our city."
Thomas walked around the room for a moment, stopping in front of the window.
"For tonight, though, we mourn the loss of a friend. Go home to your families. Make love to your wives. Remember what we're fighting for."
The men filed out of the room and Thomas stood staring out the window. He heard the soft, familiar footsteps from behind him.
"Was I wrong, Winifred? Was it a mistake to include them in what should be my fight?"
"They love this city as you do sir. Perhaps not so passionately, but it is their home as well."
"But it is my duty to protect it. It has always been mine."
"That is true. But no man can do this alone. Not even one as driven as you."
"Perhaps." Thomas turned. "Is that my shirt?"
"Yes sir."
"Thank you. Keep the car running, I'll be out momentarily."
Thomas removed the bloody shirt and stared at it for a moment. He would have to tell Darlene Donne that her husband would never be coming home again. He would have to look at the serene face of Walter's two year-old Benjamin and know that he had let his father be stolen from him. He should never have let Walter be a part of this. He had a family to think of, a wife and a child who would now be left to go on without him. They would be taken care of, Thomas would see to that in the morning. But Benjamin would grow up without a father and, worse, could never be told how and why his father had died.
He dressed and gathered his hat and coat. Beyond the hills which were home to the Manor, Gotham twinkled in the moonlight. Thomas looked down at it for a moment, then went to the car to take Walter Donne's body home.
Chapter Three
Gotham City by night was an amazing sight to behold. For all its darkness and barely concealed decay, there rose from the midden jewels, beacons to the rest of the city. The Roma, Gotham's newest hotel, had been almost completely financed by Vincent Falcone. From the penthouse at its peak, he gazed down on the city that he was driving into the ground and raged.
"I want him dead!"
Falcone slammed a hand on the marble railing edging the balcony, causing his men to jump. The mob boss was ordinarily an icily calm man. Ordinarily, though, there wouldn't be any reason for him to lose his temper. No one dared cross Vincent Falcone.
"We don't know who it is, Boss. Our boys say it's never the same bunch twice. They come into town, they bust up a coupla rackets, and then they run back to the woods."
"What are you telling me, Sal? Eh? That I've got some sort of modern day Robin hood on my hands, is that what you're telling me?"
"Sure looks that way boss."
"Then I tell you what Sal, this is what we do. We double every guard on every job. We gun these jokers down and if they bring more, we gun them down, and if I have to burn this city to the ground to do it, by God I will!"
Wayne Manor
The men gathered around the fire were not quite the same men that they had been only weeks before. To many, it had seemed a grand adventure, a merry quest to rid Gotham of the rabble who had taken it over. But the gleeful grins had long since been washed from their noble faces. They sat now as men who had seen war, and had stood their ground. But they had not come away unscathed. Tonight made that perfectly clear.
"How long has he been in there?"
"The answer is the same as it was the last time you asked, Hathaway. Too long."
Walter Donne had been the leader of the band that had gone to raid one of Falcone's many small underground casinos. It had become almost routine. There were so many of them scattered about the seedy part of the city that Falcone was stretched too thin to protect them all. Tonight should have been no different from any of the dozens of other raids, but it had been. Everything had gone to plan until they entered the count room. No less than a dozen armed guards emerged from a back entrance, spraying the room with machine gun fire. Walter had thrown himself into the line of fire, protecting his men, who had dragged him back to the car and hurried him to Wayne's house, taking care not to be followed.
Thomas emerged from the dining room, his face dripping sweat and his shirt spattered with blood. He walked slowly to the bar and poured himself a scotch, then tossed it back in one gulp.
"Thomas?"
"A moment, gentlemen." He raised himself up a bit and turned to Winifred. "Would you bring the car around, Winifred, and bring me a fresh shirt and tie?"
"Of course sir. May I inquire as to where we'll be going?"
"We'll be visiting Darlene Donne."
There was an audible intake of breath around the room, and the men gathered there visibly slumped in their chairs.
"Of course sir."
Winifred walked out and Thomas moved to the front of the room. The men around him were weary, shaken, and a bit frightened.
"When confronted with a problem, you must take decisive action. Walter was committed to this cause. We are trying to save our homes and the homes of our friends from these animals who would see us descend into oblivion. They've shed our blood now, so we will redouble our efforts. We will make them sorry that they ever set foot in our city."
Thomas walked around the room for a moment, stopping in front of the window.
"For tonight, though, we mourn the loss of a friend. Go home to your families. Make love to your wives. Remember what we're fighting for."
The men filed out of the room and Thomas stood staring out the window. He heard the soft, familiar footsteps from behind him.
"Was I wrong, Winifred? Was it a mistake to include them in what should be my fight?"
"They love this city as you do sir. Perhaps not so passionately, but it is their home as well."
"But it is my duty to protect it. It has always been mine."
"That is true. But no man can do this alone. Not even one as driven as you."
"Perhaps." Thomas turned. "Is that my shirt?"
"Yes sir."
"Thank you. Keep the car running, I'll be out momentarily."
Thomas removed the bloody shirt and stared at it for a moment. He would have to tell Darlene Donne that her husband would never be coming home again. He would have to look at the serene face of Walter's two year-old Benjamin and know that he had let his father be stolen from him. He should never have let Walter be a part of this. He had a family to think of, a wife and a child who would now be left to go on without him. They would be taken care of, Thomas would see to that in the morning. But Benjamin would grow up without a father and, worse, could never be told how and why his father had died.
He dressed and gathered his hat and coat. Beyond the hills which were home to the Manor, Gotham twinkled in the moonlight. Thomas looked down at it for a moment, then went to the car to take Walter Donne's body home.