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 11
A warm spring breeze blew off Gotham Harbor that night, gently scattering the remains of the day's litter left behind on the waterfront and rippling the otherwise calm surface of the water. A lone man stood outside the entrance to a seemingly abandoned warehouse, standing well back in the shadows that all but hid him from view, save for the glowing red tip of his cigarette. He leaned comfortably against the wall as he smoked, the fingers of his right hand never straying far from the pistol strapped to his waist. Seldom, if ever, did the armed man have to move from his post for reasons other than working the cramps out of his leg muscles. Hardly anybody, other than the drunks and the derelicts who slept in the shelter of the surrounding warehouses, ever came to the docks after dark, anyway, but each night, the man was sent to stand watch over the heavily padlocked door. It wasn't necessary, he thought, but that's the way his boss wanted it.
And he knew better than to argue with the Penguin.
But he was bored, dammit. Night after night in the darkness looking out for ... what? Nothing, that's what! The Penguin was the big fish in Gotham City, and there wasn't anyone who was stupid enough ... well, there was always the Joker -- but he was certifiably crazy, anyway ... to dare launch an attack on his stronghold.
The armed man flicked the cigarette butt across the dark, deserted pier and looked at his watch.
Two-forty-seven.
It was more than four hours until another man would relieve him of this chore, but already he was tired. He sure hated night work, he thought, yawning. Maybe if he just rested his eyes for a few seconds he'd be okay. That's why he never saw the black-gloved fist that sent him slumping, unconscious, to the hard ground.
The woman in the skintight, formfitting, purple suit with long black, leather gloves and boots stepped from the shadows next to the unconscious figure, tenderly rubbing her knuckles. Wasting no time, she dropped to her knee beside the man and quickly rummaged through the armed man's clothes. In his hip pocket she found two keys, both, obviously, for the heavy locks on the warehouse door. As an afterthought, the costumed female picked up the guard's pistol and heaved it across the dock, into the still waters of the bay.
The darkly garbed figure stepped quietly to the door, trying not to rattle the thick padlocks against their metal hooks as she opened first one and then the other. She set both down on the ground and then carefully and slowly pulled open the door.
There was a single, glaring bulb burning in the partitioned-off vestibule just inside the entrance. The costumed woman peeked through the narrow crack between the door and the frame and saw a husky man seated behind a desk, his attention focused on the early edition of a newspaper. His gun was in a shoulder-holster under his left arm.
Making as little noise as possible, the costumed woman pushed open the door and charged like an angry cat at the seated thug. The man started suddenly when the door flew open, dropping his newspaper in surprise. But his astonishment was short-lived and, with a growl, his hand reached swiftly for his gun. He wasn't swift enough, however, and the masked intruder had vaulted over the desk and slammed into him before his fingers could close around the pistol's grip. The seat skidded backward across the floor several feet before one of its legs snagged in a hole in the linoleum and the chair crashed to the floor. The masked woman rolled away from the toppled office chair and sprang back to her feet, prepared to face the gunman. But the gunman was no longer a threat now, not after hitting his head against the hard floor.
Catwoman cocked her head, listening for activity on the other side of the partitions. She could hear nothing, which probably meant those inside had not noticed her entrance.
She slipped silently through the door that lead to the interior of the warehouse and found herself in a vast, dimly lit room of poured-concrete construction. Scattered around the perimeter of it were a few crates, but aside from that and judging from the immaculately clean quality of it, it was obvious this warehouse had not been used to store anything in a long while. The information she had received was correct.
She moved quietly across the concrete floor to a single fire door on the opposite side of the room. Catwoman pressed down on the bar and, after checking to make sure no more guards awaited her on the other side, she went through the door. It was like she had stepped into the finest hotel in the city.
The walls of the wide corridor were lined with heavy oak paneling on which hung a variety of paintings by famous artists. Being an expert in such artwork, she was sure they were not copies. After several yards, the corridor branched off into two, one lined with doorways leading, Catwoman assumed, to offices, sleeping quarters, and the like, and the other, much shorter, with a single plain wood door at the far end. She took the shorter corridor.
The door opened onto a stairway that led down to a basement. Catwoman started to descend into the darkness when she heard a sound behind her.
It was the shuffling of many feet running across a linoleum-covered floor.
She turned to face a trio of men rushing down the hallway at her, guns drawn. Cursing under her breath, she dashed down the stairs, the three gunmen at her heels. Catwoman came to the bottom step and, lost in the darkness of an unfamiliar place, tumbled to the floor with a thud. She lay there, holding her breath as she listened to the gunmen's shoes pounding against the wooden stairs in pursuit. In a moment, the first man reached the bottom of the steps, but, like Catwoman, he, too, was hampered by the darkness and therefore did not see his prey lying in his path. With a yelp, he tripped over the huddled shape on the floor and crashed to the floor, his gun flying from his hand. That was one.
Catwoman's eyes had partially adjusted to the dim light and she could make out the dark forms of the remaining men on the stairs. They had stopped short when they heard their comrade's cry and now were listening, waiting for the intruder to make the next move.
She didn't have to.
Catwoman watched in surprise when another dark shape seemed to rise mysteriously behind the men on the stairs. A large, dark figure wearing a cowl.
She watched as the new form crept up behind one gunman and pushed the henchman off the stairs toward her.
With a startled cry, the man found himself flying through the air and landing on his rear end with a spine-jarring crash. Catwoman knocked him unconscious before he could utter a second sound.
That was two.
Batman didn't worry about subtlety with the third and final member of the group, preferring instead to launch his attack, first by knocking the gun from the man's hand and then punching him down the stairs.
And that was three.
Batman peered into the darkness and looked at Catwoman.
"Meow," she said in greeting.
All she received in reply was a grunt.
Both costumed figures noticed a glow coming from under a door. They felt their way carefully across the small basement until they came to the source of the light.
Feeling around with his hands, Batman could tell it was indeed a door, a reinforced metal door held shut by a slip-lock over the knob. This was the place.
"So," she whispered in his ear, "what brings you here, handsome?"
"Probably the same thing as you," he whispered back.
Batman pulled back the bolt and swung the door open. Inside was a ten-by-ten room, furnished simply but comfortably with a bed, an easy chair, a small desk-and-chair set, and a television and radio built into the whitewashed wall. Lying asleep in the bed was a teenage girl. She was sixteen, but to Catwoman she looked much younger in repose, practically a baby.
Catwoman knelt by the bed and gently shook the girl's shoulder. She responded sleepily, pushing away her hands, but Catwoman persisted, and soon the girl's steel-gray eyes opened. She looked into the purple cowl the woman wore and her mouth opened as if to scream. Quickly, Catwoman placed her hand gently over the teenager's mouth and brought a warning finger to her own lips.
"It's okay, Amy," Catwoman whispered reassuringly. "I've come to take you back to your folks!"
No one challenged the darkly garbed man and woman and the young girl clad only in a nightgown as they hurried quietly through the sleeping headquarters of the Penguin, past the still-unconscious guards. Once free of the criminal boss's hideout, they ran across the silent dock to the Batmobile parked several hundred yards away on a dark street. Batman gestured for the girl to get in the back seat while he and Catwoman slipped into the front.
It was a quick ride to another location. The hideout of Two-Face. The Caped Crusader escorted the girl inside the warehouse.
"Daddy!" the girl sobbed as she saw one of the two men who waited patiently in the spacious seat. She threw her arms around Dan Foster's neck and held him tightly to her, crying convulsively against her father's strong shoulder. Foster clung to her just as tightly, touching her to make certain she was really with him once again after the weeks of uncertainty and torturous waiting.
"Well, Foster, you have your daughter back," Two-Face said of the tearful reunion.
Foster nodded. "Yes," he managed to say. "Thank you, Two-Face. Thank you so ..."
"You know how you're supposed to thank us, Foster. That'll be more than adequate, we're sure."
Inside the room was four very unlikely people. One of Gotham City's most powerful criminal bosses; a candidate for the job of mayor of the city and his young daughter; and a man, Two-Face thought, clad in the black-and-gray garb of the crimefighter called Batman.
Little did Harvey Dent know.
^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^
"I still don't trust that man, Dent," Dan Foster said, seated now in the master criminal's hideout.
Two-Face glanced over at the man in the Batman costume who leaned casually, arms folded across his chest, against the wall of the study. "Benson?" he said. "We explained about him to you already, Foster. He was necessary to the plan." Dent spread his hands in front of him and smiled on one half of his face at the candidate. "We assumed you'd understand there was nothing personal in the attacks."
"It's hard not take being threatened with murder personally, friend."
The criminal waved this aside. "In our line of work," he chuckled, "we do it everyday. Nevertheless, he wouldn't have killed you, Foster. But we had to force Penguin into a position where his plan was in jeopardy. We had to make sure there was enough interference so that it couldn't possibly succeed."
"You mean you wanted me to lose the election? But why? I thought you were the Penguin's partner?"
"So did he," Two-Face chuckled. "True we stood to make billions of dollars each with you under our control in City Hall, but frankly, it's more important to us to have Penguin out of our hair at this moment. Besides, now that we've gotten your daughter back for you, we can still proceed as planned. Only without the Penguin!"
The door to the study opened and Amy Foster, now dressed in blue jeans and a man's shirt, entered. She didn't speak to anyone as she crossed the room and stood by her father's chair. Though she was freed of the Penguin's clutches and back with her father, she was still frightened by the terribly scarred criminal who had supposedly arranged for her rescue. Little did anyone know, she was following instructions from someone else in the room.
"How are you, honey?" the candidate asked softly.
She nodded, keeping her eyes on Two-Face. "Fine, Daddy. They found some clothes for me upstairs. Is that really Batman, Daddy?"
"No, honey. He works for Mister Dent."
Suddenly the door flew open and a man clutching a rifle in his hands rushed in, his face taut with excitement. "Boss ..."
Two-Face rose, eyes blazing. "How dare you enter without permission, Davis!"
"Sorry, Two-Face," the man stammered. "But this is an emergency! The Penguin and his gang of goons are attacking the hideout!"
"What?!"
"There's gotta be two dozen of 'em, boss, and they're all armed to the teeth. We tried to hold 'em off at the front door, but they blasted their way right past us! Those goons are out for your blood, boss!"
Two-Face was already running through the door, a semi-automatic handgun from his desk drawer clutched in each hand. "Damn them," he said through clutched teeth. "How'd they know?"
He stopped abruptly and turned to the man with the rifle. "Get Foster and the girl downstairs, Davis. They'll be safe there."
He pointed to the costumed man with one of the guns. "You come with us, Benson!" Then he was gone, running to lead his troops into battle.
"You heard the boss," Davis said to the masked man who had yet to move.
"Yes, I did, punk," the man in the Batman costume said. "Only he's not my boss!" With that, he punched the henchman in face with a tremendous blow. The thug was sent sprawling to the floor unconscious.
Dan Foster stared. "Good lord, man! Y-you really are the real Batman, aren't you?"
"Yes, he is, Daddy!" Amy said gleefully.
"But how'd you ...?"
"I seriously doubt we have the time to go over all the details, Foster, but suffice to say, I took Two-Face's flunky's place yesterday. Although I don't fully understand how anyone could've mistaken that imposter for me."
"I don't understand ..."
"Any second now this place is going to look like the battle scene from any World War Two movie of your choice. I don't think you want to be in the middle of that, especially with your daughter here!"
The veteran newsman gripped his daughter tighter to him. Already in the distance, he could hear the crackle of gunfire and the shouts of many men engaged in battle. He nodded quickly. "You're right, Batman. What do you want us to do?"
"I'm going to get you out of here."
Pressing a hidden switch on his costume, the Dark Knight seemed to speak into the air. "Catwoman, two for pick up. Are you inside?"
In his ear, he heard: "Be there in a jiff."
Batman turned back to Foster and his daughter. "In a moment, a woman will be here to lead the both of you to safety. Follow her instructions implicitly. If you don't, she'll get mad ... you don't want to get her mad. Understand?"
They both nodded.
A moment later, a costumed female entered the room.
"My, God!" Foster started to say. "That's Catwoman! I thought she was a criminal and ..."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah! That's what you newspeople always say," Catwoman replied.
"Daddy, she helped save me from the Penguin," Amy explained.
Catwoman ordered, "Let's go."
The woman known as the Princess of Plunder stepped cautiously out into the hall, looking both ways. It was clear. She signaled for Foster to follow. They hurried along the empty corridor, Catwoman in the lead to make sure the way was clear of gunmen. Only once did someone appear around the bend in the hallway, but the female fatale grabbed him by his shirt before he could shout out an alarm and knocked him into unconsciousness.
Finally, the trio reached the back door. The fighting had yet to spread to the rear of the big warehouse.
Catwoman led them to the Batmobile and had to two civilians get into safety of the rear passenger compartment.
"You'll be safe here," she told them.
Foster nodded. "Yes. I don't know how to thank you and Batman. You've ..."
"Forget it," Catwoman said lightly. "Just make sure the newspapers spell my name right. Now just stay here until tall, dark, and broody returns."
Dan and Amy Foster just sat in the heavily armored vehicle.
Catwoman turned and ran toward the front of Two-Face's hideout where the sounds of gunfire had grown closer together and louder.
Also making his way toward the entrance from the inside was Batman.
It's going to be the St Valentine's Day Massacre all over again if I don't do something to stop these clowns.
Outside a kitchen, a lone thug stood, his gun cocked and aimed down the hallway as the last line of defense against the invaders lurking beyond a single, fragile door. He whirled when the opening door bounced off his arm, not bothering to see who he was firing his gun at. Batman leaped up, kicking the gunman in the face.
He dropped to the floor next to the unconscious man and took off in a low crouch to the end of the corridor. There he paused next to the door, peering through the keyhole. Even in the narrow strip of the room he could see through the small opening, it looked like the climax to an episode of the old television show "The Untouchables." Two-Face's men had overturned the long sofa that ran the length of the wall opposite the entrance to the huge living room and were kneeling behind it, popping up sporadically to return fire. Batman could not see the door to the room, but he could see bullets from that direction drilling through the plush fabric of the sofa, ripping it to shreds. The sofa's heavy antique wooden frame protected the men from harm.
Neither Two-Face nor the Penguin was anywhere to be seen.
Straightening his shoulders, Batman grasped the doorknob.
Here goes nothing.
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After he had organized his men, Two-Face disappeared from their midst. None of the men was bothered by this fact. After all, he was the boss and he had more important things to do than shoot it out with a gang of rival criminals. That's what they were paid for, wasn't it?
The criminal mastermind had not reached his high position without learning something of the hazards the leader of a crime empire faces. Thus, he had an escape route planned for just such a contingency as this, a route unknown to any other man in his organization. He should have anticipated the attack by the Penguin, though, and moved his operations elsewhere. But, he realized, locking himself in his study, this was not the time for an analysis of his mistakes. That would come later, when he was once again safe.
In his haste, Two-Face almost tripped across the unconscious Davis on the floor. The crime boss cursed. "No, dammit! It can't be him!"
Two-Face growled and kicked at the man's head. Stupid, jackass, he thought as the helpless gunman was sent even further into dreamland. To hell with him. He'd leave this incompetent fool for Penguin's guns! He stepped over the man and moved quickly to the wall behind the desk. He jabbed his finger into the narrow crevice between two of the wall panels, and with a low hum of a well-oiled machine, the panel slid open.
The crime boss stepped into the dark tunnel beyond the panel, pausing to look back with wistful eyes at all the things that decorated the room. He hated to leave it all behind. Perhaps if he just took ... No. A loud pounding on the door brought his thoughts back to the matter at hand and, with a sigh, he ran down the dark tunnel as the panel began to slide closed.
The pounding on the door grew louder and more forceful until, with a crash, the lock burst open and the door slammed into the wall. The Penguin, his beady, little eyes shiny with hatred burst into the room right behind his huge henchman Shark. Penguin's eyes flickered quickly over Davis lying prone on the floor, to the almost closed panel, behind which he could hear the fading echo of retreating footsteps.
Shark lumbered across the room and shoved his hands into the remaining space between the panel and the wall. He grunted as he applied his powerful muscles in a contest against the mechanism that operated the hidden entrance. Slowly, he halted the progress of the sliding panel and, with an extra burst of strength and the screeching protest of metal grinding against metal, he tore the panel almost completely from its track.
The footsteps were almost inaudible by now, but the Penguin knew his rival was down there, somewhere, and he would not get away. The Man of a Thousand Umbrellas knew he could let no treason, no matter how insignificant, go unpunished. Two-Face's acts warranted nothing less than death!
Far ahead, he could see a pinpoint of light that grew larger as he and Shark approached. Obviously the tunnel, carved from solid rock beneath the warehouse, culminated in a cavern or room of some sort. The fat man holding an umbrella in his hand slowed as he neared the crudely carved entrance to the lighted area. He could hear the sounds of splintering wood coming from there, like someone was tearing frantically through a crate.
Someone was, for when the crime king peered carefully into the room, he saw Two-Face, his two handguns lying on top of a stack of crates just out of his reach, rummaging through packing material in a hastily opened crate. The small rough-walled room was likewise carved into solid rock and was filled with boxes and packing crates marked "Ammunition" or "Guns." The disfigured-faced criminal had quite an impressive arsenal hidden beneath his Gotham hideout.
Penguin and Shark entered the room silently while Harvey Dent's back was to them and Shark effortlessly hefted a crate of guns over his head.
"Quack, squawk! Two-Face!" the Penguin called out.
The other criminal whirled, something long and metallic from the crate clutched in his hands. He saw Shark and then the crate he held and, as the big man tossed the two-hundred-pound weight at him, Two-Face threw himself headlong to the cold, stone floor. The crate shattered on the spot where Harvey Dent had stood just a second before. But before the thing had even landed, Shark was running toward the rival crime boss, an animal-like growl growing in his throat.
"Call him off, Penguin!"
Two-Face was on one knee, the metallic object in his hands pointed at the little man's ample belly. It was a rifle, of sorts, but its barrel was far wider and its ammunition clip bulkier than the norm. The Penguin came to an abrupt halt, as did his henchman/bodyguard.
"This gun shoots special explosive charges, little man," Harvey Dent hissed menacingly. "And even though we're not the best shot in the world, even we couldn't miss you and your big ape!"
"Then you had better kill me now, Dent," the Penguin said calmly. "Otherwise ..." His words trailed off and he smiled evilly.
Two-Face rose carefully to his feet, mindful that his aim did not waver from his rival's belly. "We don't think so, Penguin," he said. "You may have the strongest man in town in your employ, but even the two of you aren't going to be able to survive this thing."
"Perhaps not, but I shan't be the only one to die then this day, my two-faced friend. My people outnumber yours and once they find your no-longer-secret entrance down here, they will kill you." He cackled and clucked. "Unless you prefer to go back now and save them the trouble, hmmm?"
Two-Face laughed harshly. "You don't think we're a fool, do you? There's another way out of here, you know. Your thugs will never find us once we choose to disappear."
"But you are a fool, Dent," the Black Bird of Prey roared with laughter. "You sought to confound my project, but you became far too greedy for your own good. You should have been satisfied with your share of the profits rather than trying to have it all. But now, alas, it is too late!"
"For you maybe. Maybe you don't know it yet, but you and your men aren't leaving here unless they're either dead or captured by the cops. Batman is here!"
"I know about your costumed lackey," Penguin said, shifting his weight on his feet and waving his hand through the air.
"We're not talking about him, little man. The genuine article is here. Even as we speak, he's probably mopping up everybody left alive upstairs." He gestured with the gun. "Tell your big creep to stand still, Penguin!"
The Penguin looked at Two-Face through his monocle, smiling. "Enough of this farce," he said at last. "I'm afraid the time has come for you to die. Mister Shark!"
Two-Face raised his weapon. "You're only partially right, Penguin. It's time for death, all right, but not ours." His finger tightened on the trigger. "Sure as hell not ours!"
He fired.
The small projectile exploded from the gun's barrel, streaking unerringly toward Penguin's expanse of chest. But the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas was moving even as the deadly explosive homed in on him. He quickly opened his bullet-proof umbrella which blocked the projectile!
Two-Face had time to curse loudly only once as the explosive bullet struck harmlessly against the protective umbrella.
Seeing Shark coming toward him, Harvey Dent quickly turned toward him without proper aim and fired again. The explosive bullet flew over the head of its intended target and buried itself instead in a large crate containing four dozen hand grenades. With a deafening roar and a blinding flash of light, it detonated amongst the shipment of grenades, setting off a chain reaction among the thousands of pounds of explosives stored there.
And then the sky fell in on Two-Face, the Penguin and the Shark.
To be continued ...
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