August 11, 2003.

What happened in the fight with the Joker was an important lesson for me to learn.  Losing.  The Joker played me like a fool.  Ten years of training will help against low-level thugs, but I'm gonna have to learn some things in the school of hard knocks.  Experience is an able teacher.  I gained a lot of it in that fight. 

Fortunately, I escaped with my life.  Despite that, Alfred, an accomplished physician, strongly suggested I take it easy for a while.  My costume took the brunt of the acid damage, but I had a large third-degree burn that was still healing.  I heal quicker than most, but for now I'm off of the streets.  Still, that doesn't mean I couldn't fight the Joker in a different way.  I needed to know where he was going to be striking next, and he needed a new lackey.  I could pave the way for that without putting on the costume.

"Surely you're not going out, Sir?" Alfred asked, intercepting Bruce in the Bat-cave.  "I thought I told you, you need rest."

"I also need to get work done," Bruce said, applying a fake moustache below his nose.  "Don't worry, no rope-swinging tonight," Bruce continued, adding a small goatee, and then combing blonde streaks through his hair.  "I'm going undercover tonight."  Bruce put on sunglasses to complement his leather jacket, and adopted the swagger of a more self-confident and immature twenty-four year old.

"Well, ah, um, don't stay out to late!" Alfred called, as Bruce drove away on his motorcycle.

Bruce stopped his motorcycle at one of the dirtier bars in Old Gotham.  It was a place that was a good meeting place for the kind of criminals he was looking for.  The kind that would be involved with the Joker.  He walked inside and lit a cigarette.  A man with long black hair noticed him immediately. 

"Hey," the man said, walking over to him.  "I've never seen you before.  People don't just come in to this bar uninvited."

"Name's Matches Malone.  I'm new here, looking for a job.  Thought this'd be the place to hear about one."

"Hey, hey.  This ain't the unemployment agency.  Rey, frisk 'em." 

A powerful-looking man came over, and Matches spread his arms, letting the man pat him down.  "Don't worry," Matches said dismissively.  "I'm not carrying a piece.  I don't need one."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, I can solve any problem you throw at me with just my fists."

The man seemed to take offense at first, but then he smiled.  "Confidence.  I like that.  My name's Jack Ramone.  I'll give you a chance before I prove you wrong at that.  Care for a drink?"

"No thanks, I can pay for my own," Matches said, holding up a wallet.

"Hey!" Rey yelled, "That's my wallet!"  Rey was about to throw a punch at Matches, but Jack held him back. 

"Did you lift his wallet?" Jack asked.

"Yep," Matches answered proudly, tossing the wallet back to Rey. 

"You didn't even see it coming, did you, Rey?"

"No.  It was clean."

"As much as I applaud your skill, Matches, you need to learn something.  You can rob my own mother, but you don't ever take anything from one of us, you understand?"
"Yeah," Matches said, Bruce inwardly bracing himself for a confrontation.

"Since I'm such a nice guy, I'm not gonna have the whole gang put the hurt on you, an experience you probably wouldn't wake up from.  However, I give Rey permission to work you over to our way of thinking."  Rey moved slowly toward Matches, his fists raised.  "Nobody interfere," Jack said, as onlookers got out of close proximity to the fight.

Matches held up one fist in front of his face, in the style of a boxer, and positioned his other fist protectively in front of the burn on his chest.  Rey swung a fist, and Matches blocked it, replying with a jab to Rey's face.  Matches danced around to the side, when Rey turned, Matches grabbed his arm and twisted it in a wrestling hold.  Bruce considered playing with the guy, letting him go and putting another hold on him, but remembered he was "supposed to be resting."  He pivoted, taking Rey with him, and swept Rey's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.  The other people in the bar exclaimed as the tough man went down. 

Matches turned toward the bar, his back to Rey.  Rey got up, and moved to attack again, but just as he was about to make his move, Matches spun around and smashed a beer bottle on his head.  He went back down.

"So," Matches said, turning back to Jack.  "Anybody around here need a good hand?"

"I think I might be able to dig something up."
               

Continued…

[I hope you liked this story.  Please feel free to review; I accept criticism.  Also read my work on FictionPress.com.]