I look out my window and across the cancer sprawl of this city. I should have stayed in an easy-going town like Chicago. Gotham, mother of monsters, one man couldn't possibly hope to clean it up. Trouble is, one man's trying.
"I'm not seeing anyone." What's the matter with Merkel? Can't he can see I'm preoccupied. The Mayor is on my back, the police union filing grievances and the tabloids are having a field day. As if I can control the Batman.
The morning paper lies on my desk. "Hit man bites the bullet". Nice touch, Bats, force-feeding him every shell in that big auto's magazine then pounding on him like a sack of gravel. I'm not saying I don't have those urges, but I'm not a vigilante. I'm the Chief Commissioner.
Merkel silently places a note before me, a list of names. My eyebrows shoot up, it's pretty much the 'Ten Most Wanted'. "They're here, Commissioner Gordon. No bodyguards, no lawyers or handlers, just them all holding hands. I stuck them in the board room." He puts a hand to his ear, questioningly. I shake my head--this one is off the record.
These are the men I never see, just their jet-set suits and operatives. There can only be one reason for this dubious honour. They're all scared, and not of the Law. All I've ever been to them is a business expense, an inconvenient bureaucrat to be tied up in his own red tape. No, they're scared of the dark--and its knight.
I pull on my rumpled jacket and straighten the cheap tie; they've tried to buy me better, but they can't afford it. I'm just a cop with budget restrictions and low morale. These scofflaws are billionaires with friends in high places. Yet they come to me for protection. I have a friend too--and sometimes I have good days.
The room is heavy with expensive cigar smoke; a fine Havana, my favourite when I can afford them. My lungs are even tighter than my pocket these days; bet they know I'm trying to quit.
It's like seeing them naked minus their suits, and they're feeling exposed without the muscle. Only Y Lin is inscrutable as ever, the fractured raku patina of his face a contrast to sheer silk mandarin robes. He bows.
"Commissioner Gordon, so kind to see us without appointment." His long-nailed fingers fan from the wide sleeves and include the others with a gesture. So, Y Lin is brokering this meeting. He's been around the longest and survived even the terror of an avenger the Chinese called Ying Ho, but the Shadow was right by me. Y Lin's eyes slide to Don Carnero, immaculate in a fine linen suit but looking like a shaved pig.
"We are here as business men with a common interest," begins the Don. He places a small device in front of him, a green light comes on. "Mutually assured discretion," he murmurs urbanely. Glad I aced the bugs.
Oh, I know your business very well. Extortion, racketeering, murder.
"I think you know my friends here," he continues.
I look around the room and it's like the Seven Deadly Sins. Pappy, the big Negro, in the loud jacket--he's got the white stuff cornered. No friend of the Don or the Mandarin, but he's here all pearly whites and diamonds. Then there's Ruby. She is really something else, nearly as big as Pappy and probably tougher. She's certainly meaner with the girls she runs. Ruby doesn't like men, probably because she isn't one. But she sure likes hurting women. I've seen the coroner's reports; a real sicko. She's the one with the cigar; it's like her to rub in a man's weakness. Even she tries on a smile--she needs more practice.
"Well, gentlemen and lady." She doesn't like being called a lady, and is about to open her trap when she catches Y Lin's narrowed eyes. She forgets it.
"What's this business might we have in common," I continue, "apart from crime and punishment?" I know it's the punishment.
"You, Commissioner, are a good man. You perhaps consider us bad, however it is all only business. Nothing personal and we all know the rules." Y Lin glances around the table and receives affirmative gestures.
Oh yes, you know the rules even better than I do, sometimes I think your lawyers write them. Let me take a wild guess. Someone isn't playing your game.
"It's that psycho buddy of yours," Ruby blurts out, unable to contain herself. "He's lousing it up for everyone. What's with him anyway?"
For Ruby, it's personal. Selina was more to her than fast muscle and a specialty top trick. Now Selina is a lush, and all for a man--a Batman.
Don Carnero's buffed fingernails drum on the table, and Ruby subsides behind a thick pall of cigar smoke.
"Ruby don't say it nice, but she says it right. Something's got to be done about his vendetta before we gotta take the law into our own hands."
He's threatening open season on the streets of Gotham. I sure don't want that, but can't resist a dig.
"I thought vendettas were your specialty? We're still looking for some of your old business competitors." I already know from the papers how well his specialist did taking on Bats.
Y Lin steps into the awkward silence, bowing apologetically. "Commissioner, we have all lost face. A certain young man is returning to Hong Kong in disgrace. He was once a likely successor to the mantle of Bruce Lee. One last favour, then he would be free to pursue a legitimate career." He spread his hands. "Now he is broken, his beauty destroyed and the precision instruments of his hands and feet are crushed beyond repair."
Pappy grinds his beringed fist into the table top. "He locked my best man in the trunk of his caddy with a boa constrictor. Now he has to sleep with the light on."
Ruby just glares. I know what happened to her toughest gal, she fell in love with the hit. For Ruby it was more than failure; it was a betrayal.
"We wish to offer you a business proposition." Y Lin nods to the Don.
Carnero oozes affability. "You know Batman belongs in Arkham with the other costumed crazy men. You know it's only a matter of time before you'll have to stop him anyway. Neither of us wants him hurt, just… ah, outta the way."
I have to hold myself in check. Sure Bats has his problems, but I won't let this oily killer bargain over him. Whatever else Bats has done, he's brought them here sniveling like whipped dogs. He could have my pension for that alone.
Y Lin catches my expression and changes the pitch. "We will agree to downsize our illicit operations by fifty percent on a permanent basis. Is that not a police chief's dream?" His long, red-lacquered nails points around him. "We are all minorities here and had to make our way best we could. Now we can afford more legitimate enterprises. All we ask is that you enforce the law without fear or favour. He is by far the most dangerous man in Gotham and should be the most wanted."
That's rich coming from this ancient, insatiable spider; only luckless flies know the extent of his web.
I look around the table. They are all scared, scared of a more ruthless, uncontrollable force than their own evil empires. Of an avenger their greed and brutality has raised. Well, they can keep their pieces of silver. I don't care what the politicians, press, or public think. Long as I'm Commissioner, Bats is jake with the Law.
"No deals," I state flatly. "Deals ended with Loeb. If I take in Batman, it will because he lets me, and I think he will if it goes as far as deliberate murder. If he doesn't, then I'll go after him, that's the rules." I look at each of them in turn. "It's the same rules for you too, and I'll pick up your hit men. Or what's left of them if he gets there first."
After they've filed out, I notice a scrap of paper on the table. It's a doodled oval with a stylized bat, and the letters T.V. I get a hunch and go over to the set, tuning in the local station. It's not the first time Bats has fooled me with his disguises.
There is a newsflash from the top of Gotham Tower--fooled again. I'm looking at the real Ruby; in the naked flesh there's no mistake. She is hanging by her heels from the end of a cable. It isn't pretty.
She's big and ugly enough for a man to impersonate, unfortunately everyone can see she's really a woman now. I might have guessed Bats would find a way to be present while we discussed his fate, but why Ruby? At any event, they'll know Bats was there now, know he was toying with them.
As she turns in the breeze, the camera zooms in on her back. Written, in what probably is her blood, is the word "pimp"; and what's that sticking out of her fat ass? A big Havana kept burning by the same breeze that turns her battered face to the camera. Jesus Christ! Did he have to do that? Such insult to any woman is an insult to all feminists. They'll make her a martyr and never even think of the girls she's destroyed. Ruby must have found Selina drunk and beaten her up again, that would account for his revenge.
I got a real bad feeling about that cigar, Ruby. I sure hope you didn't do anything over the top, because it's going to burn down before they can reel you in.
Dammit! How long before one of these stunts turn lethal and we are on opposite sides? I'm getting tired of visiting ex-partners in Arkham or the cemetery, tired of this necropolis we call Gotham. Finally Barbara had enough of being Mrs. Commissioner and left, taking little James. I can't say I blame her, especially after my monkey business with Sgt. Essen. Sarah Essen is still in the Big Apple, still single, still waiting. Times like this it is so tempting to just walk away, like I did in Chicago. Still, you can't run out on a friend.
I loosen my tie and fingers scrabble automatically for a cigarette. Muscle memory, I haven't carried smokes for weeks. Merkel comes over and hands me a cigar. Good man, Merkel. He hides them on me, then rations them out when he sees I need one. I light it and inhale luxuriously.
The newscaster is talking about an earlier victimised woman now; nasty details. I choke and flap away the smoke. Sure enough, it's Selina in the stretcher. Looks like Ruby caught her drunk again and used a baseball bat, both ends from the blood stains. Suddenly they cut back to Gotham Towers and zoom in--the cigar has just exploded. What a mess.
My smoke suddenly doesn't taste so good. This is the wrong way. I have to believe it's wrong or I'd end up under a hood myself. I remember my childhood fascination with the Shadow. He laughed at any law except his own and dealt swift, pitiless justice. But it's not a voice on the radio now, it's happening out there and on my territory. This is the sort of stunt the Joker would pull, he's probably watching it right now in Arkham and smiling his face off. They'll be airing out another room at this rate.
Merkel calls me to the 'phone; this had better be important. It is, Alfred Pennyworth is no casual caller.
"Commissioner, I assume you saw the newsflash." He pauses awkwardly. "I'm...I'm worried about master Bruce."
You and me both, Alfred, you and me both.
"It isn't my place to criticise, Commissioner, but someone has to talk to him before it is too late. Someone has to stop him."
Alfred is one of the most unflappable men I have ever met and the most loyal. Making this call didn't come easy.
"I've just been thinking the same. Alfred," I reply. "I'll use the old searchlight, somehow I haven't got around to dismantling it." Poor Alfred, he has no one else to turn to. No one else knows.
"Thank you, Commissioner. I know he respects you."
He pauses, battling a lifetime of service and assured discretion, then it all comes tumbling out: the increasingly brutal training regime, advanced body armour, experimental weapon systems, gruesome research into physical and psychic pain techniques. It's worse than I feared and way too big for me, I don't think even the National Guard could take Wayne Manor now. Inside the underground fortress, locked behind the muscle plating, is a boy trying to exorcise his thirty year old horror. Alfred says he still has the nightmares, and since that last ghastly business with Catwoman and the Joker, he's living them. Then Alfred tells me exactly what the Joker did to Bats and with Selina watching not even able to blink. My dick crinkles in sympathy and I understand everything.
"The hollow tooth," Alfred continues. "He thinks I've recharged it with Zyklon-B+. It isn't, it's a designer drug that only mimics death for a few hours. I've never disobeyed the young master before, but I couldn't bear to think of him using it on himself. I believe that he is seeking death. It's his only possible escape."
We end on that note. Tonight the Bat symbol will shine again on Gotham Towers, for the last time. I re-light the cigar stub and think. This isn't some crazy I can talk myself close enough to grab, and he'd go through our local SWAT team like they were bugs. It would take a bazooka to dent that armour and if I can't take him alive, I won't try. Maybe I'm not the man to take him in. I can think of only one and I'm not sure you can call him a man. Anyway, he's under Federal authority and this is my area of responsibility. After all, I let it happen on my watch.
No, there isn't any man for the job. Not a man.
"Merkel," I yell. "Get me Selina Kyle's file and put me through to Gotham General." My cigar is starting to taste good again, and ideas are falling into place.
"Selina, it's me, Gordon." I continue quickly. "No, don't hang up, this is a personal call."
"Yeah, you go to every beat-up whore's bedside." At least she can talk.
"You're sounding better than the reports. I guess you caught the news?"
"About Ruby? She did me with a bat handle. It's a pity that trick cigar hadn't been a stick of gelignite. Made me feel better than a bottle of good scotch and I sure could use one."
Good, there's still a touch of the cat left in her.
"Look, Selina, I know what she did and why. I also know what the Joker did to Bruce."
Silence.
"Selina, we both know who Bruce really is and who you are. We know it's past time for games." I fill her in on what Alfred told me, what the mob threatens. Then I make my pitch.
"It can't go on like this. One or both of you will end up dead and probably many more." I tell her my offer--make that ultimatum. I'll get her costume out of forensic, get her into a wheelchair, both their files go into the shredder.
"And if I don't?" she asks.
"I'll call a press conference and reveal Batman's identity, yours, and every goddam crime lord in Gotham. To hell with my pension; I'll swear out warrants on the lot of you and kiss this madhouse goodbye. You can abuse yourself to death and he can have his Gotterdammerung. Oh, he'll lick my boys and those National Guard turkeys. Then it goes Federal and that means the big blue schoolboy--nobody can beat him. Of course by then Gotham will be in ruins and thousands of innocents dead... up to you."
"Thanks for the choice, Gordon. What if I say yes?"
"Crime goes down by half and stays there. You both leave Gotham and let ordinary people get on with their lives."
Not for the first time, I feel the resentment churn. All those costumed psychos in Arkham; none of them existed before he came along. He gave them validation; they're all bound to him one way or the other.
"Why should he listen to me?" she whispers. "A failed costume villainess, a drunk, a tramp--plus I look like hell." The toughness starts leaking out of her in sobs. "Look at the state we're both in. The Joker and Ruby have ruined what chance we might have had. We're both fucked-up where it counts."
Got to shake her out of the self-pity, got to get her fighting again.
"Come on, you could go anywhere with Bruce's resources and contacts. The best micro-surgeons are in China; grafts, reconstructions, who knows what's possible. You've both got the strongest wills and toughest bodies I've ever come across. Go to some atoll and play Adam and Eve, artificial insemination if that's what it takes. Jesus Christ, Selina, you're a woman. Don't you know how to fight for your man?"
"What if he doesn't want me," she wails.
Forget that noise, she has to believe in herself. "Wake up, Selina. He loves you, he's always loved you. It's only the Bat between you, not the man, and it will kill him if you're not at his side; he can't kick it on his own." I find that I'm still a romantic and my voice starts breaking up. "This is the last chance either of you are going to get. If you love him, you'll take it."
A vast bat shines on Gotham Towers, like the emblem on the chest of a dark, brooding giant. My hands itch for the cigar in my inside pocket. Be patient; look at poor Selina. She sits like stone in the chair, limned in the searchlight's glow. Merkel and I wait at the other end of the roof, this game is for cat and mouse only. Fledermaus--the flying mouse--that's what Sgt. Essen called him. I'm thinking of Sarah more now that I'm playing the matchmaker. I know where I'm going after this; I'm entitled to some happiness too.
Merkel nudges me out of happy dreams. A shadow is falling through the beam, the flying mouse has landed in my net.
There are no cameras or tapes, I respect them too much for that. So we simply watch as she rises out of the wheelchair and faces him, not easy when you're torn to rat-shit down there. How tiny and vulnerable she seems against this armoured colossus, yet she has his heart.
Who knows what passes between them? They just stand there; then Catwoman's knees go. He scoops her up before she's even halfway to the ground and envelopes her in his cape.
Silhouetted by the searchlight's beam, a great bat spreads his wings over the city, a cat curled against his chest. The cowled head turns like a turret toward our stake-out in the shadows. I can't read lips, but I know it's goodbye--then they jump. It could be a lovers' leap, or a grand exit; typically gothic.
Merkel rushes over to the edge, but I sniff the Havana and carefully light it up letting the fragrant smoke cure my mouth and tongue. Either way, it's over. I have two calls to make; one to the airport, the next to someone in New York.
I feel like I'm waking from a bad dream. It was called Gotham.