I neither own nor created Gotham, Bruce Wayne/Batman, Alfred Pennyworth, or Dr. Leslie Thomkins. I did create the other characters in this chapter and The Red Light District.
This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.
As Madge trudged up the stone steps of the apartment building towards the door, it flew open. She stopped and looked up. Samson was standing in the doorway. He probably would have crossed his arms if it wouldn't have bumped his bandaged hand. Madge let out a long sigh.
"What do you want?"
"Before you come in tonight, you have to do a few favors for some friends of mine."
He used his chin to gesture at something behind her. Madge turned. A long, black sedan was parked across the street. She groaned. After going back down the stairs, she strode across the street while muttering under her breath when she thought she was out of Samson's hearing range. Her smile-mask was in place as she approached the vehicle.
A passenger door opened. She climbed over the person holding it open to sit between two men. The door shut. A mechanical ca-chunk told her the doors had locked, but she wasn't worried.
She didn't get nervous when they took her to a one room building near the docks. She became slightly apprehensive when they had her go down a trap door in the floor there. She didn't panic much further when the ropes came out and they tied her in a chair. She only felt fear when one of them bent over to look her in the face and said, "Now tell us about the Bat."
. . .
The arson seemed to have accomplished nothing except destroying a building and making nineteen people homeless. Yet, there were indications of it being the work of the South Side Cartel. If it was an act of retribution, why were its effects so widespread? If it was a warning, who had been warned?
There were things Batman hated, but understood, like greed. There were things he didn't understand, but believed essential to humanity's survival, like mercy. Dangerous things he didn't understand made him uneasy.
The fire had accomplished bringing him there, but no one had made an attempt on him. When the red, white, and blue lights had approached he'd disappeared into the shadows. When the policemen and ambulance workers started asking the victims questions, he left.
The sunrise troubled him further. The women of the Red Light District would be inside by now, all who made it back at least. The fire had coincided with the time they left work.
He went there anyway, darting from shadow to shadow glancing down into the streets and alleyways. He found one girl still lying where someone had left her. Ever since he'd escorted Madge to her apartment he'd kept a long, folded piece of material in his belt. He wrapped the woman in it and carried her to his car. There he contacted Alfred, who would contact Leslie.
Batman drove the victim to an area near the emergency room not covered by security cameras. Leslie was there with a hospital gown. He left the victim with her and went underground where bats belonged in the day. Then he went back to the mansion and fell asleep cursing the fact there was only one of him while wondering if that fact was in any way connected to the arson.
. . .
Batman stood at his usual spot in the Red Light district. Nothing had happened to prevent him being there that night. However, that didn't make him feel less disturbed by what had happened the night before.
A dot of red light flickered in a familiar place. He shot his grappling gun to the top of the apartment building and swung over. Deidre switched off the lighter.
Batman gazed at her in silence. The woman's smirked. "Don't you want to know why I'm not Madge?"
He stood outside of her reach, watching her hands. She was holding something much smaller than a gun in one of them. Her smirk fell into a scowl as she held it out toward him.
"Someone gave me fifty bucks to give you this." The light from the bedroom revealed a folded slip of paper between her fingers. He took it, and then watched her walk back inside grumbling to herself.
She was one of the few residents of the area who hadn't cried over him when they thought he was dead. That didn't surprise him. Most substance abusers hated him more than the mobs. He'd caused a massive spike in the price of their "stuff."
Batman shot his grappling gun at a nearby building and vanished into its shadows. When he'd returned to his usual perch, he read the note. Afterwards, he crumpled the scrap of paper.
. . .
Batman observed the building from another rooftop. No skylight. He crept up to and circled it. He found a crack in one wall. Multiple men inside were complaining he hadn't shown up yet.
There were only two windows. Each were eight feet off the ground and shorter in length than his shoulder width. He stuck a grappling hook into the sill and pulled himself up to look in each. The area of the room he could see was bare except for a man sitting in a chair pulled up to a table. He had a few cards in his hand. From the other window he could only see the same man from the opposite side.
Batman's jaw tightened as he clamped down on the sense of urgency clawing at his nerves. The sky would turn grey in minutes. He had to go through the main entryway. Batman hated using front doors when he wasn't expected.
The voices on the other side sounded even more frustrated. He knelt down and rolled smoke pellets under the door. Then he leaned his shoulder against it and tensed. A hissing sound was followed by shouts. One caught his attention.
"We'll shoot her if you don't show yourself right now, Bat!"
He shoved the door open. There were five men. No hostage was in sight.
He dropped and rolled as gunshots echoed above him. Then he stopped and swept the legs out from under the first two men. He caught one man as he fell and broke the shooter's grip on his gun. Then he stepped on the wrist of the other man's gun hand as he stood up while tossing the table at the last three.
As the table fell back to the floor he threw batarangs at the hands of two shooters in the best position to aim. Then he threw himself at the last mobster holding a weapon. He grabbed the man and twisted his arm until he released the gun. Then he pinned the gunman to the wall. The man glared at him, coughing. Batman waited until his opponent's eyes slid shut. When the man slumped, Batman lowered him to the floor. Then he waited until the smoke dissipated before removing his gas mask.
Batman glanced around, fully taking in the room for the first time. There was a rug on the floor. He kicked it aside. A trap door was beneath it. He clamped down on the sense of urgency again. He closed the door and moved a chair and the table in front of it. Then he pulled the trap door open.
. . .
The basement was almost pitch-black. A few rays of light filtered through holes in the wooden boards. They trickled down to the concrete floor beneath her feet, the way the blood had down her face. The gag had been inside her mouth so long, she began trying to remember what things other than cloth tasted like to fight the boredom. Above her head, the voices of her interrogators had become low monotones. They were bored too.
Suddenly, there was a sound like air leaking from a balloon. The light changed from warm yellow to cold grey as the mutterings became shouts. The shouts turned into gunshots, bodies crashing onto the floorboards, and furniture being tossed around, followed by silence. The gray light turned yellow again. After a few minutes, during which there were some soft sounds of furniture being moved, the hinges of the trap door squeaked. Light fell over the steps leading to the floor. Batman flowed down them like a tall, dark shadow and looked at her.
Madge looked at him with her good eye. One was bruised shut. Dried blood ran down her cheek and chin from a cut on her eyebrow, and another on her bottom lip. There were bruises on both her cheeks.
He strode over to her while removing a finger-length knife from his belt. Then he knelt down and cut the gag, before slipping it off and out of her mouth. She smiled at him.
"How'd I know you'd show up?"
He cut the ropes that bound her wrists to the back of the chair, as he answered. "I don't know . . . considering how late I am." She flexed her hands as she felt the circulation return to them.
"What . . . this? I've had dates worse than this."
"You aren't making me feel better. Where do you hurt the most?"
"Eye, mouth, cheeks . . . used to be my wrists and ankles, but they went numb a while back."
"No pains in your chest or abdomen?"
"They didn't hit me there. They weren't really trying, just waiting for you to show up I think. Bet they're wishing you hadn't right now."
"They'll be unconscious for at least fifteen minutes."
He bent down and cut the ropes that held her legs to those of the chair. She rose to her feet and immediately fell over. He shot up and caught her by the arm, stepped around to her side, and picked her up. She smiled again.
"You're still a perfect gentleman."
"You need to rub the life back into your wrists and feet before trying to stand on your own. I'll guard the room upstairs while you do."
"Guess I can't convince you to rub them for me, huh?"
He put her down in the chair and strode to the stairs without replying. She sighed and began to do as he said. He'd raced halfway up the steps when they heard the door slamming open and furniture being shoved aside.
Madge's head snapped up. Batman's hand went to his belt and gripped a batarang. He'd only pulled it halfway free when the shots rang out. A volley of slugs cut holes in the wood floor above his head. One lodged itself into the step his right foot rested on, less than an inch from the toe of his boot.
Madge's good eye widened. Batman crept back down the steps, making no more noise than a cat. A few creaking floorboards later and the young mob lieutenant appeared above him. He was holding a machine gun. A smirk spread over his face.
"So, you're still in one piece down there. How'd I miss you?"
A woman with olive colored skin and ink-black hair, wearing a long green dress and low heels joined him. A smirk much like the gunman's own came over her face. Sparks of triumph lit her eyes.
"Didn't I say he'd come for her?"
A demon-like shriek echoed through the basement. The grins on the captors' faces only grew at the sound. "Francesca you (Censored)! I'll kill you for this!"
Madge marched into the pool of light at the bottom of the stairs, carrying her high heeled shoes in one hand. The way she carried them made both men think she was going to throw them at the other woman.
Francesca reached up and massaged the mob lieutenant's shoulder. "You'd have to get past the guns of Roberto's men, as well as his own. I think that will become difficult after he kills your man."
"Every (censored) in the entire district will be after you, you (censored) (censored) traitor! Do you really think Roberto's going to keep you?! Every man other than the Bat abandons us after we meet their needs!"
"Oh I think Roberto's needs will become recurrent. Won't they lover?"
"Sure baby, I'm just full of needs."
Batman looked up at Roberto and tilted his head in Madge's direction. "Let her go. She's of no more use to you."
"No, I don't think so. She's a loose end and, even after killing the Bat, the boss won't let me be his right hand man if I leave loose ends."
"You hear that (censored)! You're as much fish food as me and the Bat!"
The gangster's eyebrows rose. "Wow, Bat, your girl sounds as loyal to you as mine is to me." He wrapped his arm around Francesca. "She really knew what she was talking about, my girl." He kissed Francesca's cheek without lowering the gun. He'd trained it on Batman's face. The vigilante didn't look away from the barrel as he replied.
"Samson might pay you for Madge's return. She's worth a lot to him."
"I already paid Samson for your girl and mine. A good deal when being second in command of the South Side Cartel is on the table."
"You wasted your money."
Francesca's brows knit together. One of the mobster's eyebrows arched. "Really?"
"All she had to do was pretend to be kidnapped," Batman nodded to Francesca, "and I would have done exactly the same."
The olive skin of Francesca's face began to turn white. Her eyes shone dangerously as they bored into the Bat. A grin broke over Madge's face.
"That's right (censored)! You've betrayed the only man who ever cared about all of us!"
The mobster chuckled and took his eyes off the Bat to glance at her.
"That not upset you, Red? Knowing you aren't so special?"
Madge's fists clenched a little tighter, but she didn't look away from Roberto's gaze until Batman spoke.
"What makes you say that?"
Madge started. She and the other two stared at the vigilante. The mobster's brows furrowed.
"You're beginning to confuse me, Bat."
"Someone else might have turned on me. You paid for the woman who held her tongue."
Francesca felt Roberto's muscles tense beneath her touch. She began to back away from him. Her voice came out in a whisper. "Kill him. Kill him now!"
The Batman turned his gaze from the man to the woman. "Second-in-commands don't trust anyone, Francesca. If you don't get far enough soon enough, he'll kill you."
The mobster pulled the trigger. Gunshots echoed through the building. Bullets sank into the black chest plate of the Bat-suit. Madge screamed as The Dark Knight collapsed onto the stairs.
The mobster smiled at the splayed form. He aimed the gun at Madge. She stared up into its barrel. His smile widened, and then fell as a click echoed behind his back.
He turned. Francesca had grabbed a colt off one of the men on the floor. Her hands were trembling, but she was aiming the gun well enough to make Roberto's eyes widen. Tears spilled down her face as she spoke.
"You wouldn't, right baby? You and I, we're rising up the ladder together, both of us."
Roberto lowered the machine gun to the floor as he answered. "Of course baby." He plastered a terrified smile onto his face while walking towards her one step at a time with raised hands and open arms. "I would never hurt you."
She gazed at him eyes wide, breath short, tears and sweat rolling down her face. He smiled wider. "Come on lover, put the gun down. It's me. We did good tonight. You did good tonight. We should celebrate."
She lowered the gun. With a movement of his arm a pistol slipped out of Roberto's sleeve and into his hand. A bang filled Francesca's ears as pain radiated through her chest. She raised her gun and shot back. For a moment the air was filled with the blasts of gunshots. Then they both stared at each other, bleeding.
He dove at her. She squeezed the trigger again. Nothing happened. He wrapped his hands around her throat.
"You (censored) I was this close! This close to having it all! You stupid (Cesored)! I should have done this on my own! I'll take you with me! I'll . . .!"
A pair of bright, red pumps smashed into his temple. Roberto Russo fell over and bled out of the six holes in his chest and abdomen. Madge raised the shoes again to swing them at Francesca and paused.
Francesca had crumpled to the floor. Scarlet soaked through the green of her dress. Her wide, dark eyes gazed up at Madge as if she was begging for help. Madge looked down and nearly spat on the other woman.
"Go to Hell!"
"I think . . . I am. I'm sorry . . . Madge. You . . . were right. I just . . . wanted out . . . so bad. I thought he . . . loved me . . . like the Bat . . . loved you."
Madge's scowl melted away. She lowered the shoes. Francesca went on as her voice got weaker.
"If he comes back . . . like he did before . . . tell him . . . I'm sorry."
The light went out of Francesca's eyes. Her struggled breathing ceased. Madge stared for another minute.
Then she turned, walked back down the steps, and sat at the Bat's side. He seemed as still as those she'd left. She whispered down at his face and her eyes filled.
"Please. Come back like before. Please . . . , please . . ."
Tears ran down her face as she ran her fingers through her hair. She yanked a few strands while gritting her teeth.
"What am I gonna do? I can't call an ambulance or the cops . . . You said it was even more important in death than life . . ."
Anger burned through her as she stared at the still face below the dark cowl.
"You (censored) don't you dare die now! I didn't take all this (censored) for you, so you could get blown to oblivion!"
She slapped his bare jaw, then drew back and swept her hand forward again. Something shot up and grabbed her wrist. She froze.
He gazed at her out of the corner of his eye. Then he let her go and pushed himself up, wincing. "When I take one or more bullets to the chest, you have permission to slap me."
"You . . . you . . . (censored)! Can you really not die?!"
He stood up. "I'll die someday. I just haven't yet." He looked up toward the top of the stairs. Madge didn't bother to follow his gaze.
"They killed each other."
He winced again. Then he slipped up the steps. She followed behind. He caught sight of the bodies, sprinted over, knelt down, and checked their vitals before drawing back and staring for a long moment, still on his knees. Madge crept up behind him.
"Wasn't this . . . the plan?"
"Unfortunately . . . I didn't have time to come up with a better one. I'd hoped they'd only wound each other."
"She wanted me to tell you, she was sorry."
His shoulders slumped. He kept gazing down at the dead woman. Madge stared at him just as intently. "You can't blame yourself for this. She had him shoot you."
The Bat reached out and closed Francesa's eyes. Then he turned and closed Roberto's. Then he picked up both their guns and looked up at Madge.
"You're certain you don't need immediate medical attention?"
"I feel like (censored) but I'm not as bad off as that, or them."
He rose to his feet, slowly. "Watch the door." He drew a long bag from a pouch in his belt, the way magicians pull impossibly long scarves from their sleeves. He began to move from man to man checking their vitals, rifling their pockets, taking out concealed guns and knives, and throwing them into the bag.
Madge glanced back and forth from the street to him watching the process. Finally, Batman knelt over the machine gun Roberto had dropped. She wondered what he'd do with it. It was about twice the size of the bag. Her eyes widened as he took a glass vial from his belt. She forgot to watch the door as he poured its contents over the weapon's firing mechanism. The metal sizzled and melted.
"You really do hate guns don't you?"
He rose to his feet as if he was being careful not to use too many muscles doing so. He gestured even more carefully around the room. "Especially after nights like these."
Madge glanced around. She didn't say a word. He moved over to her side, took her by the arm with the hand not holding the bag, and stepped out with her, closing the door behind them.
"Let's go."
This chapter took much longer to complete than I thought it would, so I apologize for the wait. I wanted it to be right and a few things came up in my real life and that of the person I have read my stories before I post them.
Reviews are much appreciated and often responded to. They also let me know what I did right, so I can do more of it and what I did wrong, so I can fix it. Much thanks to my usual reviewers Anonymous Rex and gordios79.