They were the typical street level security. Big, burly, and overconfident.
From his rooftop perch, Batman observed the two men below. They chatted in loud voices, stopping to take puffs from cigarettes or down an energy drink. Neither man seemed to think anyone would dare confront them.
Batman shook his head. For over twenty years he'd been leaving beaten down scumbags for the police to haul off to jail. You'd think that would make even the dumbest thug a bit more alert.
Did they no longer fear him?
Another hour passed. No one had come to relieve the "guards." They kept pounding energy drinks. It made them fidget and talk louder. They probably kept everyone on this block awake. Not that it mattered. The residents in this part of the East End knew better than to tell people like these to shut up.
Time to take them down. Batman put away his binoculars and reached for his grapple gun. Out the corner of his eye, he caught the lights of Metropolis across the river. He froze, wondering if the alien was out tonight pretending to be the savior of the world . . . or planning to take it over.
He closed his eyes and shook off the thought. Whatever potential threat Superman posed, he couldn't do anything about it. What was going on in the apartment building across from him he could do something about.
Batman fired the grapple hook over the street. It caught on the building's rampart. Drawing a deep breath, he leapt over the edge and swung toward the ground.
The guards were laughing at something and never saw him. Batman's boots slammed into the two. The jarring impact rattled his legs. He ignored it and landed on his feet. The guards groaned, one trying to push himself up. Batman kicked him in the face. The man flipped over onto his back, barely conscious.
"Shit." The other guard started to sit up, reaching into his jacket.
Batman's leg whipped in an arc. His heel smashed into the guard's jaw. He rolled onto his stomach, unconscious.
Stepping to the side of the door, Batman pushed it open and pressed his back against the wall. No bullets came flying out. He peeked inside. A pair of light bulbs illuminated the hallway. He stepped inside, then paused, concentrating on his surroundings.
Footsteps came from around the corner, getting closer.
Batman charged across the wooden floor. He reached the intersection just as another guard appeared. The man turned, mouth agape, an Uzi dangling from his shoulder. Batman grabbed his arm and threw him over his shoulder. The guard crashed against the wall and crumpled to the floor. Batman kicked away the stubby submachine gun and punched him in the face for good measure. The man lay with his eyes half-closed, a small moan escaping his mouth.
Batman charged down the next hallway, eyes flickering, scanning for threats.
They have to be keeping them in the basement.
He stopped at another intersection and glanced around the corner. A tall black man stood by the cellar door, a Sig-Sauer pistol in one hand, a walkie-talkie in the other.
"Butcher . . . Bashman? Where the hell are you guys . . . I'm hearing shit in here. What the hell's -"
Batman stepped into the open and flung a bat-o-rang. It struck the guard in the face. He toppled to the floor.
Batman rushed over, kicking away the gun. Blood poured down the guard's nose and cheek, but he remained alive.
He checked the door. It was padlocked. He pulled out a small aerosol can of liquid nitrogen and sprayed it. After a few seconds, he brought down his fist. The frozen padlock shattered.
He pushed the door halfway open and chucked in a few smoke bombs. They exploded with sharp pops. Women screamed and coughed.
So did a man.
Batman sprinted down the stairs. The cloud of smoke obscured the guard. He tuned out the high-pitched feminine shrieks, concentrating instead on the male coughing. Just ahead. It sounded below his chest. The man was doubled over.
Batman made out a human silhouette just before he collided with it. Shoes scuffed on the wood floor. The guard had stumbled back. Batman's foot shot out in a sidekick. He hit something hard and fleshy. The guard fell to the floor.
The smoke dissipated. The downed guard groaned and tried to rise. Batman kicked him in the face.
Women whimpered next to him. Batman turned. Over a dozen women in the cell jumped away from the bars. Some stared at him with tears in their eyes, shivering. Others covered their faces.
"It's okay. You're going to be all right."
The women still cried.
Batman studied them. They all had tan skin. Asians, with a few Middle Easterners thrown in. Probably from countries ruled by dictators or torn apart by war. He figured they'd paid a large sum to the human traffickers to get them to what they believed were safety and freedom. Instead, they had traded one nightmare for another.
A sick, burning sensation pierced his stomach as he noted the cuts and bruises on their faces. Some even had cigarette burns on their arms or legs.
His gaze rested on a skinny girl sitting in the corner, hugging her knees against her chest. She rocked slightly back and forth, eyes staring ahead at nothing. Bruises and burns marred her arms and legs. The poor girl couldn't be older than thirteen.
Batman's throat clenched. Tears stung the corner of his eyes. Disgust and anger engulfed his sorrow for these women. He'd seen depravity that would drive some people mad in his time. He didn't think anything could surprise him. But this? This cruelty. This inhumanity. Even the Joker wasn't this depraved.
And they're doing this in my city. Did these maggots think he was a myth? Did they not fear what would happen if he discovered their human trafficking operation?
He spun around and grabbed the fallen guard by the collar. He yanked the man off the ground and slammed him against the wall.
"Where's your boss?"
The guard just stared at him, swallowing.
Batman slammed him against the wall again. "I said where's you boss? Don't make me ask again."
"He's upstairs, man. Third floor, Room 306. Okay? Please, just -"
With a roar, Batman flung him into the bars. The guard's head cracked off the steel. He dropped to the floor.
Batman hurried up the stairs, taking one look back at the prisoners. He'd call the police and let them help these poor women, as soon as he took care of the boss.
He bounded the stairs two at a time. He reached the third floor and dashed into a hallway.
A skinny man stood in front of him. He stumbled backwards in surprise, then smiled, showing off dark yellow teeth. "Aw, yeah, the friggin' bat."
He drew a machete, raised it over his head and charged.
Batman ducked the swipe. He punched the skinny guard in the stomach. The man doubled over, dropping the blade. Batman rammed his knee into the guard's face. He then grabbed the back of the man's head and slammed him face into the floor. He jumped over him and scanned the doors until he came to 306. A kick sent it flying open. Batman spun away from the doorway. No gunfire. He glanced inside.
The room was empty.
No! He rushed inside, focusing on the open window. He checked outside. A squat, balding man climbed down the fire escape, the streetlights glinting off his gold chains.
You are not getting away, you piece of filth. Batman leaned out the window and fired his grapple gun toward the roof. He tugged to make sure it was secure, then jumped out. He rappelled past the fire escape. The boss looked up, gasped, and raised a Glock pistol. Batman tensed.
The gun cracked twice. One round zipped through Batman's cape. The second punched him in the side. He gritted against the hammering pain and swung toward the boss. His feet slammed into the other man's chest. He flew into the window. Glass exploded around him.
Batman followed him through the opening. He landed on his feet, glancing down at his left side. No blood. The Kevlar held. It still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Not like pain was anything new to him.
The boss lay on the floor, face and hands bleeding from the glass wounds. Eyes narrowed, Batman stalked toward him, then stopped, noticing something out the corner of his eye. He turned . . . and his stomach clenched in a burning knot.
A bed was pushed against the far wall, with a camera in front of it.
Tremors of rage wracked his body. He thought of the little crying girl in the cell. Had she been on that bed? Had they . . .
Growling, he stomped over to the boss and yanked him off the floor.
"No, don-"
Batman threw him into the wall. Wooden boards caved in. The boss dropped to the floor.
"Sick bastard!" Batman kicked him three times.
"Please," the boss pleaded in a wheezing voice. "Don't kill me."
"Why not?" Batman felt the hatred, the urge, pulsing through his fingers. His gaze bore in on the boss's throat. He could snap his neck, or better yet, choke him, extend the agony.
Don't. You're better than that. The voice echoed in his head, the one that always came when he felt on the verge of crossing that line. It made him think of his mother and father. Would they want their son to be a killer? Would they be proud of him if he took a life, even one as sick as this scum's?
"I . . . I can help you," the boss croaked.
"Why would I want your help?"
"I . . . I got names. Clients. People who like . . . you know." He nodded to the bed and the camera. "Big names. You let me live, I'll give them to you."
Batman nodded.
The boss pulled out his phone. Batman stood over him as he tapped on the screen, making sure the slime didn't send some sort of SOS to any of his friends.
"Here." He held up the phone.
Batman snatched it out of his hand. He slid his finger down the screen, scanning the names. He took a shaky, enraged breath. The boss wasn't kidding when he said these were big names. They included two bankers, a real estate mogul, the president of a local environmental group, the dean of students at Gotham University, and the city manager.
All these men, enjoying these vile acts . . . thinking they could get away with it.
I'm going to have a busy night.
"So . . . we're good, right?" asked the boss.
Batman glared down him. "No, we are not good." He took out a bat blade from his utility belt.
"Wha . . . What are you doing, man?"
Batman didn't answer. He simply removed a laser torch and ran it over the metal blade. He may not be able to kill this cockroach, but he could teach him a lesson. Teach every vermin in this city a lesson.
That they needed to fear the Batman.
TO BE CONTINUED