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 10
Octopus stared in wonder at the tall, distinguished man who strode from Two-Face's private den, walking past him without any sign of recognition. He wondered what Dan Foster was doing here, of all places. Of course, he was just as happy that the candidate hadn't noticed him, on the off chance, he would report the fact of his visit to Octopus' boss, the Penguin.
The armed man outside Two-Face's door never took his eyes off Octopus or his hand from the butt of the pistol tucked in his waistband. Whatever Octopus' stated intentions for this visit, it did not pay to take chances with his boss's life. This man named Octopus had spent too many years working for Harvey Dent's arch rival, and, frankly, he would feel safer killing Octopus then and there. But he was under orders.
The intercom in the wall buzzed, Two-Face's signal to send in Octopus. "You want me to come in, too, boss?" the guard asked, eyeing Octopus closely.
"No need," the crime boss said. "We think we can handle matters."
Octopus stood and walked to the office door, stopping before the armed man and raising his arms above his head. "Want to search me again just to make sure?"
The guard gave Octopus a dirty look as he opened the door to let him in. Octopus brushed past him, laughing to himself. It was always fun to bait the other guy's goons, he thought.
Two-Face was once again seated in his chair. "So, you're one of Penguin's men."
Octopus nodded. "Yes, sir," he said. "At least I was, sir." Respect cost Octopus nothing, but, he had discovered, potential employers loved to see it in a man.
"Was?" We were under the impression the Penguin isn't the type of man who allows his people to up and quit on him."
"He don't know I'm not working for him no more, sir."
Two-Face raised his single eyebrow. "So you've just decided it was time for a change of scenery? Not very reliable, wouldn't you say so, Octopus?"
"I'm looking out for myself, sir. Besides, Penguin's been treating me more like dirt than anything else lately. I decided I was better off coming to see you. Besides, Penguin's planning something with this Foster thing." He leaned forward, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. "I think he's planning to screw all the rest of you guys ... I mean gentlemen ... out of your shares."
"Do tell."
"Yes, sir."
"And how does he plan on doing that?"
Octopus shrugged. "Beats me, sir. Penguin ain't let me in on anything he's done for a long time now. He just uses me to drive his car and do errands."
Two-Face chuckled as he shook his head in disbelief. "Really, Octopus! How stupid do you think we are, hmmm?"
"I don't know what ..."
"Come, now! You come waltzing in here with some story about what a poor, mistreated soul you are, how all you want is too join our organization for protection from the Penguin, and you expect us to believe it?" He laughed. "Go back and tell your boss it doesn't wash, Octopus. If he wants to get a man inside our gang, he'll have to come up with a better way. Much better!"
"Honest, Two-Face, sir," Octopus assured him, "this ain't part of Penguin's plans. Hell, if he even thought I was here, he'd kill me for sure. I'm telling you the truth, sir. It's just that when Penguin pulls his double-cross, I don't want to be caught in the middle of it. I don't know what Penguin plans to do afterward, but I'm still going to be around this business."
Through cold eyes, Two-Face studied the hoodlum for several long moments. "How can we be sure you're not lying to us?"
Octopus smiled the smile of a man who knows he has the proverbial ace in the hole. "Because I can tell you where he's got the Foster chick stashed ... sir," he added hurriedly.
"She's in the city." Two-Face made this statement as a fact.
Octopus was startled. "Uh ... yeah ... yes, sir."
"If we know that, why do we need you?"
This was turning out to be a lot harder than Octopus had expected. Still, the very fact that Two-Face was already aware of what was supposed to be a secret confirmed his view that he had made the right decision in coming to see the rival gang leader.
"I guess you'll have to decide for yourself, sir. I mean, I showed you I'm willing. Now you got to decide if I'm able."
"Does he still have the girl at his hideout?" Two-Face did not know for certain this was where Amy Foster was being held, but if he had kidnapped her for something as vital as this operation, he'd want to keep her nearby in case of sudden trouble. He figured the Penguin would take similar precautions.
"Yes, sir. He's got her in a cell in the basement with round-the-clock security."
"Very well, Octopus." Harvey Dent smiled at the man with one half of his face. "Welcome to the organization. Oh, by the way ... you'll need a new name. We don't like fish."
^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^
At that moment, a few miles to the southwest of Two-Face's hideout, Batman was driving the Batmobile through the Diamond District of the city. He had been driving around aimlessly on patrol. He was hoping to come up with answers to even a few of the many questions plaguing him.
So far, he hadn't succeeded in answering those questions.
Parking the rolling arsenal, the Caped Crusader decided a little swinging from the rooftops was what he needed to clear his head. It was just a matter of a few minutes more when he was leaping from the cornice of a building, firing a strand from his grapnel at a building up the street.
I can't shake the feeling that the Penguin is up to something. But what?
He shook his head.
I need to ask a few questions before I can get the answers I need.
Reaching the apex of his swing, Batman let go of the wire in his hand and grabbed hold of the next wire. He swung and landed on the ledge of an apartment building. He winced in pain at this maneuver, rubbing at his still-sore shoulder.
The number one question I need to ask is where is my phony double?
Batman squatted down on the narrow ledge.
How am I supposed to find that phony Batman? For some reason, the Penguin seems to had taken a big disliking in Foster, and whatever the Black Bird of Prey hates,, he gets rid of. So why not incriminate me in the process? It doesn't cost him anything extra, and it's a good bet I would've been too busy dodging police to chase after him if the Commissioner doesn't call off the dogs.
A startled gasp from a nearby window interrupted Batman's thinking. He turned to see a small, nervous-looking certified-accountant-type staring in wonder, his hand frozen in midair in the middle of tossing bread crumbs to pigeons roosting on the ledge.
"Excuse me, citizen," Batman said, rising, "I'm just an ordinary crimefighter going about my mundane business. Sorry if I disturbed you." With that, he leaped out into the air, letting the little man stare in awe. He shot a wire to the opposite side of the street. He twisted in mid-swing, smoothly turning the corner of Forty-First Street and heading west across town.
In short order, he came to the corner of Forty-First and Finger Avenue and stopped to catch his breath on a rooftop.
He didn't rest for long.
As he scanned the street below, his eyes focused on the Finger Avenue entrance to Gotham Central Station and the figure clad in skintight, black and gray that stood poised before it.
Look what I found!
The Dark Knight did not even have to wonder long at the fortuitous circumstances that had brought the phony Batman here, for, from his perch high above the street, Batman could see the entourage of Dan Foster making its way toward the station. Foster, two deep in worried-looking bodyguards, was making slow progress up the block as he shook hands with each and every person who passed near enough to him.
Take your time, Foster. I've got to sweep some of the garbage off the streets before you get here.
Swiftly, Batman shot a line to the roof of the building directly across from him on Finger Avenue. He swung himself over to it and scampered across the rooftops toward Forty-Third Street.
Penguin's got Batman Junior rigged up with too many fancy gadgets, especially that nerve gas, which I'm not too thrilled about getting hit with again, so I'd better not give him the chance to use it.
With his grapnel, he lowered himself down the side of the building. directly over the head of his unsuspecting double. He dropped the last dozen feet to the sidewalk behind the other's back, his booted feet making no sound that could be heard over the noise of the heavy traffic.
Silently, Batman raised his fist. Then, abruptly, he lowered it again.
I just can't bring myself to hit an opponent when he's not looking.
"Don't you think you're a little too old and a lot too early in the year for trick-or-treating, punk?"
The fake Batman whirled and the Masked Avenger saw his mouth was hanging open under his mask.
"Y-you!" he gasped.
"Nope! Guess again!"
Batman lunged, immediately pinning his double's arms to his sides with a bone-bending bear hug. The other struggled in the real crimefighter's steely grip, but Batman wasn't weakened by nerve gas now, and the advantage was most certainly his.
"Okay, you dastardly villain, we're going to play 'Tell Batman Everything' now. I think you can figure out the rules for yourself."
The fake Batman twisted suddenly to his right, yanking hard on the real Caped Crusader's damaged shoulder. Batman's grip loosened a little and the other man pressed his advantage by driving a heel backward into his captor's shin. The fake tore himself free and while Batman was still making sure nothing had been broken in his aching shin, disappeared into Gotham Central Station.
Batman followed his double through the revolving doors and through the light, post-rush-hour traffic of commuters and subway riders.
Gotham Central Station used to be a source of real pride for Gothamites in the days of passenger trains. It was a masterpiece of architecture, the so-called Crossroads of the World. But these days, in the era of air transport, the old station was little more than another stop on the subway map and a stopping place for several nearly bankrupt commuter railroad lines. Some in the city even wanted to tear down the street-level portion of this monument and build a luxury hotel atop it, but this proposal was met with resistance and its continued existence became one of the year's cause for celebration. For the time being, at least, Gotham Central Station would stand.
Up ahead, the fake Batman leaped over a turnstile, bringing an angry shout from a Transit Authority policeman who started after him. The Dark Knight was right behind them both as he vaulted the same turnstile. Batman reached to his utility belt for a Bat-A-Rang, but a sudden flow of passengers disembarking from a nearby train blocked his way.
"Out of the way, citizens!" he shouted, dodging and weaving through the crowd like a running back carrying the ball toward his goal. But this was Gotham City and the residents of this city tended to ignore such shouts, especially in places like Gotham Central Station, where, as everybody knew, half the odd people in the world hung out.
Batman stopped dead in his tracks and from his utility belt, pulled out his grapnel. He shot a line to the ceiling and pushed the button to rise above the crowd and swung his body through the air after his prey. Even the most jaded Gothamites could not help but be amazed by that.
The tunnel terminated in the enormous, high-domed-ceilinged central core of the station. Batman dropped to the mottled marble floor right behind his fleeing double and the persistent Transit Authority policeman. There were few other cops about the station, but those stopped what they were doing to gape at the pair of costumed Batmen running by them.
Batman got a clear path ahead of him and threw a Bat-bolo at the black-booted feet of the phony. The man stumbled and fell to the littered floor. He cursed loudly as he yanked the bolo free from his trapped boot, but before he could rise again, the real Batman was standing over him.
"This is getting to be a really boring habit, punk," the Masked Avenger said seriously. "What say we end it right here and now?"
The fake cursed again and sprayed a cloud of gas at Batman's face from the squeeze dispenser in his hand. Batman ducked under the noxious fumes and grasped the other man's arm. He yanked the fake roughly to his feet and then tossed him over his hip, sending him flying through the air and slamming him again to the floor. Dazed, the man in the Batman suit shook his head spastically and groped for something in his yellow utility belt.
He threw another of the miniature box-shaped explosives at the spot where Batman had stood just seconds ago. But the Caped Crusader was already moving away to avoid the flash and flame. While he did that, the other scrambled to his feet and started running across the huge, domed area, toward the giant clock faces set in the center of the terminal.
Batman called out, "You're not going to make this any easier on yourself, you filthy criminal." He shot a wire to the ceiling and swung himself after the costumed man.
When the fake looked over his shoulder, all he saw was a dark blur arching through the air toward him. He stopped suddenly and, at the last instant before the swinging blur's feet could strike him squarely in the chest, he threw himself to the floor, rolling back onto his feet and running with all the speed he could muster toward the escalator leading to the balcony that surrounded the station.
Batman released his hold on the wire and dropped to the floor. He spun and fired another line at the balcony's railing, then pulled himself up to it.
The Transit Authority policeman who had pursued the fake through the turnstiles stood in the center of the station, his head tilted back to watch the action on the balcony. He wasn't sure about what was going on up there, for all he could see was two identically garbed men grappling with one another at the balcony's edge. They traded blows for long seconds that seemed like minutes, neither man seeming to hold the upper hand. Then, with a teeth-jarring blow that echoed through the high-vaulted room, one of them fell to the floor of the balcony, apparently unconscious.
He could see neither man for several minutes as the victor knelt on the floor beside the other man. Then the winner of this odd battle stood and ran down the escalator, disappearing through one of the many tunnels leading to the station.
To be continued ...
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