Clown Prince of Crime

Part One

"The mysterious vigilante calling himself Batman as been sighted once again roaming the streets of Manhattan, this time foiling a drug ring moments before what police say would have been the start of a gang war. At this point in time, authorities don't know who Batman is but are continuing their investigation. In other news, Harvey Dent appears to have the election for Senator clinched, after rescuing dozens of people from a building that been lit on fire during the incident involving Batman and Jack Napier. Police believe Napier died in the flames that occurred three weeks ago."

The Joker kicked the television off the table and leaned back into the couch of this small and wretched opponent. The female owner who had originally lived here lay dead just a few inches to the side of the twisted killer.

"Batman!" The Joker exclaimed with a grimace across his face, "Who does that wacko think he is? Me?" He asked with a measure of resentment to this new caped crusader. "Showing up there, ruining my well-laid plans, making me into a…a joke!" He rose up from the couch, only a few spots of white paint still marked his face, "And Dent, oh he's a fool if he doesn't think I'll go after him."

He snapped his fingers and stared at the smash television, "Damn, now I'm going to miss out on Friends!"

Bruce stared at Matt Hagen, one of Wayne Enterprises' ambitious younger elite, "You're going?"

"Of course I am; the Gotham Arts Ceremony is a very prestigious event, I wouldn't pass it up for the world." Hagen replied, "Why do you ask?"

Bruce shook his head; both men had run into the other while riding the elevator down to the lobby. "I'm not."

"What?" Hagen's eyes slowly expanded in surprise, "You've gone the last seven years; I remember the last time you left with both the Hilton sisters. What's keeping you back?"

His reply was simple and vague, "Work."

Hagen frowned, "Work? You can't skip it for one measly day; some of the most famous women attend this event to just meet you."

"If I meet a woman, I'd like it to be a bit more spontaneous, not something some socialites been planning for months." Bruce replied, "Besides, I never liked it, the whole thing was just a social gathering, it has nothing to do with art."

"And the problem with that is?" Hagen inquired almost stunned.

Bruce shrugged, "Look at this way, Matt, with me gone, your chances at meeting some lovely young lady to spend the evening with are higher." The elevator came to a stop and Bruce quickly filed out.

"Where you headed?" Matt asked following Wayne towards the exit.

"I've got work." Bruce replied.

"Give me your money!" The mugger screamed forcing the young woman up against the wall at knifepoint. "Give it to me!" He yelled out pressed the knife up against her neck.

"Please, don't." The lady pleaded, just coming back from work on the way to her children, "I don't have anything."

The mugger didn't take kindly to this waste of effort, "Jewelry, watches, anything! I'll kill you, I swear!"

"Leave her alone." A voice called out from the shadows of the street alley. The mugger turned and saw the figure emerge, "I told you to leave her alone." Batman ordered coldly.

"You think you're the big boss down here?" The mugger backed away from the woman, "You're not anything to me!"

Bruce closed his fist and casually approached the knife wielding maniac. "You had your chance."

The mugger lunged forward and swung clumsily with his weapon. It was a simple matter for Bruce to grab it. He then began to apply the pressure in the right points and continued until he heard a cracking noise.

"Ah!" The mugger stared at his broken arm, twisted at the wrong angle, "What did you do?" He screamed as Batman aggressively approached him. "Please don't!"

"Why should I?" Bruce asked emotionlessly, "You didn't show her any mercy." He slugged the mugger across the jaw and then grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, "So why should I?" Bruce rammed the mugger's skull against the side of the wall, leaving a crimson stain at the point of impact.

The mugger moaned on the floor, slowly whimpering beneath quite pleas for a reprieve. Bruce paid no attention kicking him across the jaw, sending the thief reeling back.

He took a moment to stop and look at the would-be victim. She stared at him terrified, "Don't hurt me!" She begged.

"Hurt you?" Bruce stepped back, looking at the bloodied face of the mugger, "Get out of here." He told to the woman who was more than happy to comply. Bruce could kill this man; it would really be a simple matter, but did he want to?

"Remember that I could have killed you." Bruce stated forcefully, "And the next time I see you doing this, I will." He quietly vanished back into the shadows as if he never existed.

An hour later, Bruce stood on a rooftop staring across the city with a difficult question before him. How far was this going to go? Would he kill, willingly? When did justice become murder?

The stain of the mugger's blood was still fresh on his knuckles. "I didn't anticipate this." Heroics always seemed clearer in dreams and visions. "I came close to doing it tonight; I need to think this over, put things into perspective."

Bruce concluded it must be the fatigue of the grueling regiment he'd been putting himself through over the course of the last few days. A good night's sleep would do him good.

Harvey Dent walked into his living room with a book between his hands; and the smell of wine in his breath. The ringing phone demanded his attention and he answered it moments after the first loud declaration of somebody trying to get into touch with him. "Hello?" He asked.

"Mr. Dent?" An aide, said to him, with a sense of desperation in her voice. "I've got news."

"About?" Harvey inquired, worried that somehow his poll numbers had taken a dip for the worse.

"John Cellar, your campaign advisor?"

Dent grimaced, the man was his most trusted friend, what could this be about he wondered. "Go on."

Several excruciating moments passed while the aide seemed to try and find the strength to even relay into words necessary to explain, "Mr. Cellar; was found dead at his home an hour ago. A smile had been carved into his face."