EPISODE 4: PIER 7
East Gotham's Port District was one of the only areas in Gotham that was not that affected by the recent economic depression. There had been a marked decrease in the number of ships that came in and out of the city, but despite the slowdown there were still dozens of ships moving through the harbor at any given time. This Tuesday night was no different.
Bruce saw his breath puffing out of his lips into the cold air as he exhaled atop one of the boathouses near Pier 7. He wished that he had used more insulated materials in his suit for the long winter months. What made this task particularly unpleasant was the chilling sea breeze coming in from the harbor. The water in the harbor was certainly close to freezing temperatures and the air shared a similar condition. Bruce knew that this was going to be difficult. Pier 7 was just as busy as any other port in Gotham and finding out which ship carried the Penguin's shipment of contraband weapons would require nothing short of a Herculean effort. And that was exactly what the Penguin wanted. He wanted his shipment to be lost in the shuffle of a bunch of other goods coming in late at night. A large freighter had been sitting at Pier 7 for the last hour and Bruce was waiting to see them finally unload the shipment into trucks ready to take them off to their destination. Bruce moved from the boat house to where the trucks were waiting. It was a massive lot filled with large delivery trucks. Their headlights shined on one another and Bruce heard the chorus of engines humming beneath him. He continued to look at each truck for any sort of signifier that it belonged to the Penguin. He heard a man yell out that the ship was unloading and that each truck should line up to receive their shipment.
The trucks formed an orderly line and Batman hopped to another roof to get closer to the unloading dock. Along the way, his foot slipped on some ice and he plummeted towards the water below. Swiftly reaching for his grappling gun, Bruce grabbed it and fired it towards the nearest building. The hook punched a hole through the concrete wall of the harbor port house and Bruce's fall ceased, leaving his boots inches above the frigid water. Bruce breathed a sigh of relief and a large cloud of breath left his mouth. He reeled himself towards the wall and regained a position on top of the pier house nearest to the unloading zone. Bruce watched truck after truck load shipments into their respective trailers. Bruce was shivering in the cold bat-suit as he waited for the Penguin's truck.
Just as he was beginning to lose hope on this operation, a white truck pulled up to pick up its shipment. In red cursive script along the side of its trailer read 'Cobblepot Shoe Co.'. Bruce mouth formed into a sly smile.
"Perfect." Bruce said under his breath. He couldn't believe it. He had found his target. Bruce knew their route as well. In order to look inconspicuous, the Cobblepot truck would head West on 118th street until it reached Old Gotham. While he was waiting for the shipment to come in, Bruce had discovered this through eavesdropping on a conversation he heard between two of Penguin's men who were set to shadow the truck and act as a decoy if things got hairy. They were also in a white and red "Cobblepot Shoe Company" delivery truck. Bruce just couldn't believe that the truck carrying the weapons would have also been a Cobblepot truck. Bruce took special care to memorize the license plate of the truck that was actually caring the weapons and slipped down into a nearby alley. He ran towards a diner that shone brightly in the dark streets of Gotham. Bruce slipped a quarter into the payphone outside and called the police.
"Thankfully no one's out here to see this." Bruce said to himself, acknowledging the absurdity of The Batman using a pay phone. After he told the police where the Penguin's crew was headed, Bruce grabbed the grappling gun and shot back up to the top of Pier 8's boat house to begin his chase to intercept the truck before it got back to the Cobblepot factory.
Bruce had made his instructions and his plan clear. He told the police to catch the Cobblepot crew at the intersection of 188th Ave and Mulberry Street in twenty minutes. He was to be there in ten. Leaping from roof to roof, Bruce managed to plant himself on top of the Second Bank of Gotham, which sat powerfully at the intersection of the two streets. He watched the traffic lights turn green, then yellow and then red and then back to green. The cold air continued to bite at his body as he sat, waiting for the truck to arrive. Bruce glared down 118th street but nothing came. A feeling of doubt crept into Bruce's mind. He steadied himself as he planned another point to intercept the truck at if no one arrived here. But Bruce was hardly ever wrong. Only forty-seven seconds later than he had anticipated, the Cobblepot truck pulled up to the intersection. It stopped at the light as the hum of its engine could be heard from the rooftop above. Bruce scanned the bright yellow license plates. It was one of the decoys. Bruce looked further out into the distance to see two more red and white Cobblepot trucks pull up behind the first.
"Perfect." Bruce said with a smirk. He reached down to his utility belt and removed a small black gun. He unfolded it into a rifle and he attached a scope to the top. Bruce loaded the clip into the chamber and took aim at the truck. His scope moved quickly to the front-right tire of the truck. He fired a shot and the first tire exploded with a loud sound as shreds of rubber scattered into the air. Bruce quickly reloaded and repeated the action to the front-left tire. Bruce heard the screams of the men in the trucks. The two men in the first truck had gotten out of the vehicle and stood with their hands up. Bruce chuckled. The light turned green and the second and third trucks shot forward, narrowly missing their terrified allies. Bruce had to make these shots count. And he did. He took aim at the back right tire of the second truck and hit it. The metal rim of the tire hit the pavement and screeched as sparks flew in all directions. Bruce reloaded and took aim at the third truck's front-left wheel and fired again, crippling the truck and forcing it to a halt. Bruce grabbed five bat-a-rangs from his belt and threw them at the street lights above the intersection and the street corner went dark. More confused men came running out of the backs of the decoy trucks as Bruce placed the rifle down beside him. He would get it later. He had work to do.
Bruce leapt down onto the street below, gracefully landing as he fanned his cape out to slow the fall. The men were terrified. Despite the crew transporting guns, none of them were armed as to not arouse suspicion. That decision cost them. Bruce flew headlong into the first man he saw as his foot connected with the man's scarlet beard with a loud crack. Upon finishing the move Bruce looked up. There were about twenty men, nineteen now, who posed a threat. They surrounded him on all sides and were all running towards him. He reached for his belt and grabbed a smoke pellet. He dropped it at his feet and he disappeared into a cloud of dark smoke. He started swinging wildly at the men as he emerged and disappeared in the smoke again and again. These men were not trained well and they did not know how to fight. They were Cobblepot's factory workers a few months ago, fighting The Batman was not in their job description. Bruce landed punch after punch on the weak mob as many continued to fall onto the cold, hard pavement. They didn't stand a chance. One man ran towards Bruce swinging a rifle like a baseball bat. Bruce ducked out of the way and the butt of the gun collided with one of the other members of the group with a hollow thud followed by the painful scream of a man who had just lost some teeth.
As the smoke began to clear, Bruce realized that many of the men had runaway, some opting to deliver the weapons on foot instead. Bruce chased one slower man who was nearing a Cobblepot truck. The man nervously looked in the back to realize that it was one of the decoys. He turned to Bruce with a petrified look.
"Wrong truck." Bruce said in a gravelly voice as he punched the man square in the face and the resulting blow forced him into the cold, metal truck. Bruce looked at his watch. His time was almost up. The police would be arriving any second. He sprinted to the truck with all of the weapons inside, knocking the final member of the group unconscious along the way. Once he had arrived, Bruce left a piece of paper in the shape of a bat-a-rang on the back of the truck. He smiled as he was satisfied with a good night of work and he grappled back to the bank to retrieve his rifle.