BATMAN: GOTHAM CAMPAIGN OF CRIME
By Bruce Wayne
Batman created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.
CHAPTER 8
Alfred walked back into the examination room, a look of confusion on his wise face. Bruce was in the middle of the small room, his head slightly bowed in contemplation.
"Sir?"
The Caped Crusader looked up. "Oh, sorry, Alfred. Guess I was kind of lost in my thoughts there for a second."
"Are you feeling alright?"
"Yes. I just need some time to think some things through."
"Of course, sir."
Alfred went over to a cabinet and rummaged around for a few seconds before pulling out a canvas sling. "Here," he said, "Let me help you on with this. It's best to keep that arm immobile as much as possible, Master Bruce."
"Shouldn't I get this upper part of the costume off first?" Bruce asked.
Alfred merely nodded and with a pair of special medical scissors, he began to cut the shirt off his employer. With Alfred's help, Bruce got into the sling. It wrapped around his left shoulder and across his chest, keeping the bad arm tightly strapped across the front of his body.
"The local anesthetic I gave you for the pain should hold for another hour or so, and if it's too painful after that I can give you something else, sir."
"Sorry, Alfred, I need a clear head. I've got felons to catch."
"You don't understand, sir. You've done some damage to that shoulder. You need to take it easy for a few days." He knew Bruce wouldn't follow the advice.
But Bruce knew there was nothing else he could do tonight. Resigning himself to that fact, he turned and began to walk toward the stairs that would take him back up to Wayne Manor.
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The seven crime bosses of Gotham City sat waiting patiently, for the most part, in the oaken-paneled conference room in the Penguin's waterfront hideout. All but the tall, hideous-looking man named Two-Face was in his appointed seat. He paced back and forth across the plush carpeting, his eyes blazing in anger.
"We don't like this," he said. "We don't like being ordered around by the Penguin like some peon! What right does he have to demand our presence at such short notice?"
"Be cool, man." Eddie Skeevers calmly dug under his fingernails with a penknife as he spoke. "We all agreed the Penguin dude was runnin' this show from the get-go. Why you gettin' so uptight, bro?"
Two-Face stood behind his chair at the foot of the table, glaring at the black man. "Because Skeevers, unlike you, we're used to running our business as our own! We've never needed another man to tell us what needs to be done."
Skeevers looked up from his nails, a flat, humorless smile on his lips. "At's true, man. Hell, I'll bet you didn't even need anybody to tell you to let Batman beat you spitless, right?"
Two-Face started to reply, but Ariel Shonstein held up a hand, cutting him off. "Gentlemen, please!" the old man pleaded. "What percentage is there in fighting amongst ourselves, hmmm? We are, after all, part of the same team."
"Quack, Squawk! Are we? I wonder, old friend."
Every head in the room turned at the sound of the voice from the doorway. The Penguin, when he was sure all eyes were on him, closed the double doors behind himself, then walked over to the long conference table to take his seat.
"What the hell are --"
"Quiet, Dent," the fat man demanded. And, despite himself, Two-Face complied. "I did not ask you here to listen to you rant."
"Then why, amigo?" Jose Martinez asked.
The Penguin leaned back in his seat and clasped his hands over his ample stomach. The cigarette holder was sticking almost straight up in his mouth. "You have, no doubt, heard of my run-in with Batman yesterday, gentlemen."
There were nods around the table.
"What I wish to discover is the reason for that attack."
Antonio Castro's face registered confusion. "How're we supposed to know, Penguin?"
"Because the blasted Caped Codger knew exactly where to find me. Because he attacked me, unprovoked in public. Because he spoke as if he knew our plan. Need I go on?"
The Black Mask narrowed his eyes at the Penguin. "Are you saying one of us is in league with Batman?"
Penguin fixed a beady-eye glare on Two-Face, seated across the table from him. "Quack, squawk! Yes."
"You're crazy, Penguin." Two-Face held the Black Bird of Prey's stare, refusing to allow himself to be beaten down.
"Perhaps. But I am not wrong about this. It is the only logical explanation for Batman's actions."
"Man, why would any us want to screw up this sweet deal? There's a lot of bread to be made by ownin' the mayor of this city."
"That is precisely what I wish to find out, Mister Skeevers, along with the identity and reasons behind the fake Batman who has been harassing Dan Foster. Any ideas, Dent?"
"Only that you're trying to pin this on us, Penguin," the coin-flipping crime boss said through clenched teeth.
"Quite the contrary, my friend," Penguin assured the other man with a smile. "However, you do seem quick to take the offensive, don't you?"
Two-Face looked at the faces of the other six men seated around the long table. He wondered how many of them could he count on to back him? But their impassive faces gave no clue to their loyalties.
"You're speculating, Penguin."
"Am I?"
"Dammit!" Two-Face pounded his fist on the tabletop. "If you're accusing us of something, Penguin, you'd better just say it and quit beating around the bush."
The Penguin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "It is no secret that you do not like me, Dent. We've spent far too many years fighting over territorial matters for there ever to be any love lost between the two of us. But that does not bother me."
He chuckled and clucked. "We are, after all, merely business partners, not lovers. What does bother me, however, is having a partner in a venture whom I cannot completely trust."
"Maybe you'd like it better if we weren't your partner, then."
Gotham City's most powerful criminal chief shook his head. "I prefer to have you where I can keep an eye on you, Dent."
Mister Yu, head of the Chinatown crime organization, spoke up for the first time. "You have neglected to give us a motive for Two-Face's alleged treachery, Penguin."
"Isn't it obvious, Yu? He thinks I want to get rid of him so I can take over his operations in the city."
Penguin inclined his head in Two-Face's direction. "As you say, Dent."
The little, round man rose from the leather chair at the head of the table. "That is all, gentlemen. I merely wished to point out the difficulties we have been encountering in this endeavor and mention the fact that I am fully aware of the situation. Thank you."
The seven crime bosses filed out of the conference room, each deep in his own thoughts. Every man at the meeting knew that, very soon, they would be called upon to make a choice between the two top criminal organizations' masters. Not one of them knew for certain how he would vote.
Penguin remained behind, locking himself in the conference room and settling down with a snifter of brandy to thoughts of his future plans.
No, that was not quite right. Rather, the master criminal's thoughts were centered on one man, perhaps the only man among all the organized family bosses who even came close to rivaling Penguin in criminal genius.
Harvey Dent.
He was not small-time, not like the others: Skeevers, Black Face, Yu, even Castro. Each had carved his individual little kingdom out of the highly profitable Gotham territories, and each was content with what little he had. But not Dent. He was greedy and, worse, smart -- smart enough to know the Penguin had to be gotten rid of before he could lay claim to the whole damned city, and probably half the suburbs as well.
All Penguin country.
No longer was Two-Face merely a potential threat to the Penguin and the future of the operation. He had demonstrated his willingness to destroy all of the Penguin's carefully wrought plans by interfering with Dan Foster's campaign. No doubt he somehow led Batman to the restaurant to plague him, as well. He was an accident waiting to happen. The little man was convinced of that now. He had seen Harvey Dent's hatred for him overshadow his desire to be at least part-owner of one of the biggest cities in the nation.
The Penguin sighed. He had hoped he would not have to deviate from his set plans so early in the campaign, but circumstances undeniably warranted it, whether the crime boss wished it or not. If Two-Face was allowed to continue, any hope of getting Foster elected as their puppet-mayor would vanish. The Penguin could not allow that, not with so much dependent on the outcome. Yes, Two-Face would have to be removed from the picture far sooner than Penguin had originally anticipated.
And the Penguin knew of only one method for disposing of troublesome people.
Harvey Dent -- better known, now, as Two-Face -- did not know it yet, but he was a walking dead man.
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A two-tone 1936 Rolls-Royce White Phantom, gleaming silver on one side and dirty maroon on the other, glided smoothly onto the Aparo Expressway, its driver maneuvering expertly through the relatively light afternoon traffic. The other cars gave this mint-condition classic automobile ample room, most drivers preferring to stay back aways and just admire, for the most past, the clean side of its sleek chassis. That side, at least, gleamed like real silver.
Two-Face sat nestled in the plush cushions of the back seat, lost in deep contemplation as he flipped his two-headed dollar coin aimlessly in his hand. It was obvious the Penguin knew. Maybe not the hows or the whats, but certainly the whys!
Of course, Two-Face had expected Penguin would catch on eventually. After all, they both knew none of the others would have the nerve to make such attempts on the Penguin's throne.
Harvey Dent would have to move very carefully from now on. A single slip-up, and he would be lost instead of the Penguin. But there would be no slip-ups. Everything was perfect.
And before it was over, the Penguin would be no more.
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Dan Foster wearily said good night to the uniformed police officer outside the door of his Robinson Park West apartment. Since the second attack the day before, his personal force of bodyguards had almost doubled in strength. He had refused, on orders of the Penguin, to cease, or at least limit, his numerous public appearances, but the police feared to let him go to the corner newsstand without a phalanx of guards. In fact, they much preferred to send an officer out for the paper.
But even had the Penguin not instructed him to go on as he had been doing, Dan Foster would still have been out campaigning just as vigorously. He didn't particularly care to be mayor, but with the life of his daughter Amy at stake, he would fight like a madman for the job!
His wife Michelle came from upstairs at the sound of the door closing. Foster thought she looked very pretty, almost girlish, dressed in blue jeans and a faded workshirt. And, for a few seconds at least, he forgot his worries and fears and kissed the woman who had been his wife for almost thirty years.
"How'd it go today, honey?" Her eyes were outlined in red, a result, Foster knew, coming back to reality with a jolt, of many sleepless nights and crying.
"Fine," he breathed. "At least nobody took a swing at me, if that's what you mean." He forced a smile. "Don't let anybody fool you, dear. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. I think I've talked to more reporters in the past week and a half than I have in over thirty years' worth of broadcasters' conventions. Some of them reporter fellers can get pretty hostile, too."
"They're just jealous."
Foster pulled away from his wife's embrace, laughing bitterly. "Of what, Michelle?"
"Oh." Michelle Foster turned back to her husband, her hand flying to her mouth. "I-I almost forgot for a second, Dan," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "I thought we ... we were still a normal family. I forgot all about Amy's ..." Her voice cracked and the tears flowed down her cheeks.
Foster gathered her tenderly in his arms. "Lord, Shelly, honey! I'm sorry, love. It's just that ... that everything's going so fast and I'm working so hard," he said quickly, soothingly. "Sometimes it just seems so hopeless. I'm so powerless in this situation that I just ..."
"Don't say that, Dan," she said quietly. "I don't think I could be strong if you weren't."
They held each other for long minutes, each gathering strength from the presence of the other.
"Are the kids home?" he asked at length.
She shook her head, composing herself. "Lisa's staying at a friend's and Johnny's at the library, studying. Both of them wanted to get away from the reporters for a while."
"Can't say I blame them. I wish I had a library to hide in."
Michelle walked over to the bar, which had been replaced, courtesy of the Penguin, the day after Shark's demonstration, and began fixing her husband a drink. "Dan?
Lisa asked me about Amy this morning," she said, not looking up from her work. "She wondered why we haven't gotten a postcard or something from her in so long. She was writing pretty regularly before she ... before."
Foster ran a hand through his hair. "That girl's too smart for her own good."
"She's a woman, Dan, a college graduate. She's worried about her kid sister. And that's not an answer, either."
"I don't know, honey!" he sighed, feeling a lot older than he should. "we both agreed not to tell the kids what's going on. After it's all over, fine, but not now, for crying out loud! Isn't it enough with the two of us worrying ourselves sick? Do the kids have to worry, as well?"
"Amy's their sister, Dan."
"And you're their mother, Michelle. Maybe there's nothing you can do for Amy right now, but you can make it easy for Lisa and John."
It was a familiar argument by now, and Michelle Foster did not feel like going through it again. "Yes," she agreed. "You're right, Dan."
"Of course, I am, honey. You'll see in a while, this will be over and Amy will be back with us."
"But it won't be over, Dan, even when they let us have Amy back. You'll still be forced to work for that monster, Penguin. I-I feel like he'll be in our lives forever."
Foster set his jaw, his steel-gray eyes glinting with sudden, renewed vigor. "No, he won't," he announced in a firm voice.
"What do you mean, Dan?"
"Just what I say, Michelle."
"But how do you ...?"
"Look, honey," he said, touching her arm, "don't ask me any questions, please!"
Michelle looked worriedly at her husband.
"Please, honey, promise me you'll trust me in this."
"All right," she agreed at last, reluctantly. Now she had the life of her husband to worry about, as well as that of her daughter.
It was just as well she did not know his plans included double-crossing the man who controlled the fate of their youngest daughter.
To be continued ...
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