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Chapter Two - "If we do not maintain Justice, Justice will not maintain us." – Francis Bacon
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(Thursday – 11 AM)
"Dammit, where are they?" Steve Malone yelled. He'd misplaced his keys again and he was going to be late. The keys were somewhere in his house, he knew that.
Didn't I put them on the table after I took that bimbo home? Wait. No. Check the coat I wore last night.
He rushed up stairs and looked for the coat he'd worn last night. His cashmere sports jacket was draped over a chair in his spare bedroom. The bed in that room showed the signs of the mating dance that had occurred there last night. To a watchful eye, it also showed that one of the participants in the dance was less willing than the other. Malone, you gotta stop with the interns, man. Well, she'll probably call in sick today, anyway. Maybe tomorrow, too.
The keys were in the coat pocket as he'd guessed. He looked at his watch, cursed to himself, grabbed the keys and, tossing the jacket on the floor, ran down the steps and out the door. He pulled his BMW out of the driveway and drove to his office in downtown Gotham.
He practiced commercial law and was very successful. Among his clients were some of the biggest names in Gotham. He'd been a Navy veteran and had completed law school on the G.I. Bill. He carried a mortgage on his two storied Tudor home. He'd never been married, but he was tall, blond and blue-eyed with a strong chin and manly features. Just what the ladies want.
He was living the dream, but every now and then the dream turned into a nightmare like it did last night. The intern was a mistake. Bedding the woman last night wasn't the problem, putting himself in a position where he could later be blackmailed was. She wanted it; she just needed a little coaxing in seeing that. Still, it may have gotten a little too rough for her. Might have to fix this.
There was a part of him that regretted what happened with the intern, but it was a very small part. Women like her are a dime a dozen anyway. Yeah, buy her some flowers, thank her for last night, a little extra money in the paycheck and fire her in two weeks. Dammit, thinking about that cow made me forget to put the house alarm on.
Malone thought his life was good except for the inconveniences of dealing with people who didn't want to give him what he deserved.
And he deserved to be Batman.
Malone had been approached about becoming a member of the Secret Star while he still was in law school. He'd completed the training program ahead of the other four candidates, but was told that he would be number three in line for the 'Batman succession,' as they called it.
Number three.
How dare they do that to him? He should have been number one. Why couldn't they see that he was the best? Couldn't they see that he was better than the fraud now wearing the cape?
He'd hoped something would happen to the others and he would rise on the lineal list. Yes, if he waited long enough, if he just had patience, he would be Batman.
So he waited.
For five long years, he'd tried to wait for nature and supervillains to take their toll on the imposter and on the other Star members, but it didn't happen.
"The call" never came. He was frustrated by the waiting and the incompetence of the so-called "supervillains." Why couldn't the Joker or the Riddler or even that fat slob called the Penguin simply put a bullet in Batman's head and take everyone out of their collective misery?
He should be the next Batman.
He would be a great Batman. Surely, everyone could see that, but why were people like Hill and that stupid police commissioner against him? Why were they all conspiring to keep him from his destiny, his rightful place? He'd done nothing to them. He didn't even know them. So, why did they hate him?
Why didn't they send the pretender away and let him do the job he knew he was born to do?
Six months ago, Malone decided he would do what he needed to do to make sure his destiny was fulfilled. He would have to personally eliminate his competition and then eliminate the man currently calling himself Batman.
He'd changed his business office hours so that he would have the nights and early mornings free, telling his clientele that he'd taken up astronomy and that he would sometimes have to travel away from the lights of the city to get a good view of the stars.
Then he started stalking the other four candidates.
People are creatures of habit. They want consistency and structure in their lives and this makes them predictable.
For Malone, finding the other four Star members wasn't hard. While they were all in training, they had exchanged phone numbers and addresses – at his request. He couldn't believe how foolish people could be. They were supposed to be in a secret organization, having no contact with each other after training. Yet, they readily exchanged personal information, wanting to stay in contact, not thinking about where this data could end up or who would use it.
Over the next five years, he'd kept the data updated. He knew that one of the five had gotten married, one managed a video rental store and that another one had moved twice in the last five years.
Studying their movements and daily life patterns had been time consuming, but was done easily enough. He'd kept his notes and observations in a little green book which helped him determine the patterns his prey followed. After all, if he was to be the next Batman, he would have to master observing others without being observed himself.
The Parker Jones murder was his easiest. Jones had been a classic example of a mindless drone who did the same thing everyday without variation: a true creature of habit. Malone knew the police would find the bullet, determine the trajectory and discover it had been fired from a rooftop across the street from the bus stop. He was pleased with himself for the way he'd made his way from rooftop to rooftop without being spotted. He hadn't left any fingerprints or shell casings that might be found by the police. One shot – one kill.
Soon, the police would bring Batman into the case. And when they did, he would eliminate the man who was wearing the costume that was rightfully his.
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(Thursday night – 11:30 PM)
"Good night," Roger Wood said as he let his assistant manager out of the store. As he locked the door, he thought to himself that running a store beat the previous job he'd held by a long shot. Earlier in his life, he'd been an auto mechanic before he joined this video rental company as a stocker/ warehouse worker. Now he was the store manager. Just shows what can happen if you persevere.
He operated the largest video rental store in Gotham. The store was in a good location downtown and opened on to one of the busiest streets in the city.
He got to pick the hours he'd worked and he normally came in on Thursday nights three hours before the store closed to help the assistant manager lock up and prepare for his teaching sessions the next day. Every Friday morning, all of the store employees came in early to get customer service training. Wood conducted these Friday morning classes and always pointed to himself as the example of what could happen if one worked hard. The Batman work ethic.
Tonight, Wood was late and arrived thirty minutes before the store closed, having run several errands beforehand. Just a couple of minor details to take care of.
The store had been closed for thirty minutes now. The register had been turned off and the day's receipts had been locked in the company safe ready for the next morning's bank deposit. Wood had sent the assistant manager home for the night. He would leave the store in another few minutes. All he had to do was stack his handouts near the register so he could give them out to the employees first thing in the morning.
Wood walked to the back of the store to turn off the interior lights and set the security alarm. As he started to key in the security code, a voice came from a corner of the back store room.
"Roger Wood, we need to talk."
The Batman stepped into the light, his cape closed around the front of his costume.
"Batman… what the…how did you get in here?"
"I'll ask the questions," Batman snapped back.
He must have come in through the stock room window.
Wood sized up the masked man in front of him. He was shorter than Batman but heavier. I can take him.
"Talk to me about the Secret Star," Batman demanded, his eyes locked in an icy glare on Wood.
Wood was silent for a moment and then planted his feet in a defensive stance. This must be an audition, he thought and he was going to make the most of it. He would out-Batman the Batman.
He frowned and stared at the masked man in front of him.
"There's nothing to tell that you do not already know," Wood said in a voice that cracked as he tried to sound like the man in front of him.
Batman's eyes quickly narrowed. He grabbed Wood by the shirt collar and slammed him into the wall, then skidded him up the cold cinderblocks until Wood's toes just touched the floor. Ohmygod. Who in hell is this guy?
"Wrong answer," Batman growled. "You think this is a game. I - don't - play - games. Talk!"
Wood didn't know how to respond. Not an audition. Oh, crap. He smiled weakly and relaxed his stance, not making eye contact, lowering his head. He hoped Batman read his body language as "not a threat and please let me go now, thank you." But Batman either didn't notice or didn't care as he continued to pin the trembling man against the hard wall. Suddenly being the Batman didn't appeal to Wood anymore.
He'd heard rumors, everyone had heard rumors, about the bodies the police covered up, about the crazies who never made it to Arkham, and it had sounded like fun – duty too, but mostly fun – and now the only sound was the creak of Batman's gauntlets tightening.
Sweat streamed down Wood's brow. "Batman… maybe I misunderstood your question. Let me start again…okay? …okay? …I'm part of the Secret Star. In fact, I think I'm the number one candidate to replace you."
Replace? Why the hell did I say replace? Batman's expression had not changed, but Wood knew that was the wrong word to use. He continued rapidly, "I've been part of the organization for five years. I honestly hope I never get the call. Honest to God, I don't want them to call me." Lord, don't let him kill me.
Batman dropped him. Wood fell hard onto his knees, clutched weakly at his shirt collar as the Bat turned away from him. They thought I could replace HIM? Batman turned back toward Wood, who backed away in terror.
"Your life is in danger," said Batman. "Three of the five members of the Star are dead."
"I know," Wood said weakly. "I read about Jones and the Johnson woman. What do you want me to do?" I got to get my breath back.
Batman prowled to the front of the store before responding. "Remain vigilant. We'll talk again."
"If I find out something, what do you want me to do? How can I contact you?"
Batman put his hand on the front door handle. "I'll contact you."
Wood watched from the floor as the Batman stepped outside, fired a grappling hook somewhere out of sight, and disappeared in the dark night sky. Wood stumbled up from his knees and thrust the door shut, locking it then leaning against it for support while he wiped the rivers of sweat from his palms onto his rumpled pants.
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(Thursday night -11:45 PM)
Malone, perched on a rooftop across the street from the video store, had watched Wood enter the store earlier and watched as the Batman came out, fired his grappling hook, and vanished into the night. Dressed all in black and wearing a mask, Malone hid in the shadows. He was concerned about Batman's visit to Roger Wood.
He had planned to take care of Wood tonight. He would attack Wood when he arrived at the store and make it look like a mugging that had gone bad, by stabbing Wood and taking his wallet. Afterward, he'd remove the cash and toss the wallet away.
Can't wait to see the look on his face when he realizes it's me. He'll ask why and I'll just grin at him and tell him 'because I'm the new Batman.' And later, people will say the poor store manager was the victim of a robbery that got out of hand. Happens all the time here in Gotham. Maybe we need a new Batman.
But Wood was late getting to the store and that had thrown Malone off his schedule.
He thought to himself, if he was the Batman, what would he do? Then he smiled secretively. He was the Batman and he should expect a home visit from the imposter currently wearing the costume.
He would be ready. He would shoot the imposter and claim he was defending his property from someone who broke into his home. After all, he had no reason to expect Batman to call on him, did he? Did I turn the home security system on? Need to turn it off. Want to say he surprised me in my home and I killed him in self-defense.
Malone moved away from the edge of the roof and made his way across the rooftops, eventually getting down in an alleyway off of a side street where he'd parked his BMW.
As he got in the car, he had second thoughts about killing the imposter at his house. No, it shouldn't be at his house - a death in the suburbs would come back too quickly on him, keep too much attention focused on him for too long. People would start asking questions, embarrassing questions of the man who killed Batman in his home. No, not in the house. The intern might feel like talking. Take care of her permanently after I take care of the phony. He would kill the faker in the city and make it look like an accident, like the other two.
As Steve Malone put the key in the ignition and started his car, a look of horror came across his face as he realized an instant too late that someone had moved his seat.
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The normal sounds and sights of Gotham City were suddenly and rudely disturbed by the roaring sound of a large explosion and the sight of an orange fireball of heat and black smoke rising out of an alleyway. Just as suddenly, the city seemed to return to normal save the orange flames licking the night sky and the eerie glow of red hot metal and the putrid smell of burning flesh coming from what was once a very expensive sports car.