I'm making a vow right now. I will reply to all the people who review my story. I haven't been the greatest replier, but I swear, I'm going to work on that.

Anyway, here's the next installment of Bird of Prey. I had a hard time thinking about how the plot was all going to fit together, but I think I finally got it worked out…hmm…maybe I should jot it down before I forget. Anyway, school is out, I passed all my classes; I received yet another lead role in a play, that play is over, and now I'm in another show in our great capitol of Frankfort with a minor role. Oh, and I'm still looking for a job. That's the update on my life! Please enjoy the chapter, and tell me what you think!

I also believe that this is the most important chapter I have written for Bird of Prey so far.

Chapter 13

Revelations

Thursday, 3:40 P.M.

It had been six days since I last saw Bruce Wayne. He had called twice and left a message once. Thankfully, he wasn't the type of person to become obsessed and demanding. I had made myself very clear: I didn't want to see him again, and he knew that I meant it. I did. I honestly did.

I did.

The case with the Joker had hit a brick wall. I had no alternate leads and the passion that had been driving me for months on end was slowly fading away. It was heart wrenching to know that the man who murdered my parents would never be brought to justice. The police and authoritative figures of Gotham would do nothing. They no longer had any power, thanks to the criminals and corrupt. The city was surely dwindling and all that was moral and good was nearly gone. To fight for something good like this was pointless in the grand scheme of things. How many criminals could a journalist help put away? Not enough—never enough.

During the past week, sleeping had become more troublesome. Insomnia was gradually creeping its way back to me; having just an hour or two of sleep a night was a blessing. Work was slow—nothing major had happened within the last few days. There hadn't been a single murder or robbery linked to the Joker, according to police reports. But who would know now? The FBI had taken over and they never talk about an ongoing investigation.

So here I sat, staring at a blank computer screen, rocking back and forth in my chair.

My phone suddenly rang. I reached over and picked it up. "Helena Bertinelli," I said nonchalantly.

"Ms. Bertinelli, this is Detective Gordon from the GCPD. I was wondering if I could have a moment to speak with you."

My throat hitched. Why would Gordon be calling me? Unless if it was related to…

"Of course, Detective. I'm not busy. How can I help you?" I began to sit up straight in my chair and grabbed a pencil and notepad, just in case.

"It's in regard to the Joker. Now, Ms. Bertinelli, I must ask you not to repeat what we are about to discuss with anyone—except for the person you are collaborating with on this investigation. Do you understand?"

"Are…are you referring to Batman, Detective?"

"I am. As you could probably guess, I can't rightfully get into contact with him. Can I trust you with this information?"

"Yes, you can. I had no idea that you were involved with this as much as myself, Gordon. Quite frankly, I've hit a dead end."

"Hopefully I can help with that. I'm serious, Ms. Bertinelli. If the commissioner finds out that I'm discussing this with you and…him…I could get into some serious trouble. Not a word to anyone."

"You have my word. I'm all ears."

"I have a possible lead with suppliers—black market. Anyone with a brain knows that, in Gotham, a citizen can hardly get a hold of an automatic weapon. The local government uses it as a cover up—it actually makes them appear as if they are doing something responsible for this city. In their minds, no automatic weapons means less crime. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Of course. You'd have to go with the black market to get these supplies."

"Exactly—and in mass number. But I'll get to that in a moment. Do you remember Carmine Falcone?"

"I do. Unfortunately, I was out of town when he was finally arrested."

"He basically monopolized the black market and crime in his day—sort of like Bill the Butcher of New York. He was the head of the Gotham City Mafia and controlled many of the criminal activities going on. When he was captured, there was a lull in organized crime for a few months. Then, all of the sudden, criminal activity began to pick up again. But Falcone was out of the picture."

"Someone else had taken over."

"Right. Now, the Joker had always been an independent criminal years before the Falcone arrest. But now, he no longer works alone. He has a posse of cronies at his beck and call."

"You're thinking it's connected to the Gotham City Mafia?" I quickly jotted the newly discovered material down.

"Yes, I do think it is."

"All right! So, we infiltrate the system. We find out where the Gotham City Mafia operates."

"I wish it were as simple as that. They don't have a headquarters. The members include drug lords, cops, judges, gangs, the rich, the poor, et cetera. It's too diverse to tackle the entire organization."

"So…what do we do?" I tapped my pencil against the desk, wracking my brain.

"We go after the man in charge."

"Who is the man in charge?"

"I haven't been able to come across his name—yet. But according to people at the GCPD, he goes by the 'Boss.' It won't be easy—not by a long shot. You'll have to play a major part in all of this."

I stopped moving completely, unable to breathe. "What do you mean?"

"You have connections, however small they may be. And even if you don't have connections, you have your last name. Franco was a powerful man. As one of only two survivors in your family, you command a lot of respect."

I dropped my pencil and leaned back in my chair. "You want me to pretend like I was apart of his mafia?" It was the first time I had mentioned my father's business—to anyone—in such a long time. "Gordon, I was never apart of it. He sent me off to boarding school so I wouldn't grow up around it. They'll never believe I had anything to do with the…family business."

"Maybe, maybe not. What other choice do we have? Me? I'm a cop. Batman? He's pretty conspicuous. We're the only three people that have delved in to it this deep, and you're the only one with a good cover."

"I'm a journalist—an honest one, at that. I'm kind of known for my honesty. Do you actually think they would take me in as one of their own?"

"Yes. I think you fail to realize how powerful your father—your entire family—really was. They would accept you with open arms."

"It's risky."

"Everything worthwhile is risky." He got me there.

"Give me some time to think about it."

"Call me when you decide. We'll have to talk this through some more. I don't want you getting in to this not knowing what to expect."

"Gordon, it's like the blind leading the blind."

He chuckled. "It is, indeed." And with that, he hung up the phone. I held my receiver in my hand, still in shock about revelations the past few minutes brought. My notepad was full of words that began to jumble in my mind. Possibilities of who the new leader of the Gotham City Mafia was started to pop up. Then, a sudden thought struck me.

What if, in the grand scheme of things, the Joker was just a pawn? What if he just represented the GCM?

The "what ifs" began pouring in, and before I could even realize it, people in the building started leaving for home. It was now 5:00, and I knew rush hour would be awful. So I decided to wait in my office for a few more hours to mull over my thoughts. Maybe, if I were lucky, tonight I would get a certain visitor.

We certainly had a lot to discuss.

Midnight

I had gotten on the Internet and searched for any files or documents discussing the Gotham City Mafia. Having found numerous results, most of them were news articles—the same, one after another. I had not realized how big of a crime ring this actually was when over one million results popped up on the screen. I sighed and took a sip of my now cold coffee, clicking link number thirty-two. This was definitely getting me nowhere, and fast.

A chill breeze suddenly came through my office. Looking up, I noticed that the window was now opened and there he was…standing in the shadows of the room, trying to act all mysterious.

I leaned back in my chair. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"I've been here every night. You haven't," his tone was harsh and cold. The night didn't seem too kind to him. He was ragged and was out of breath.

"There really wasn't a need. With no leads, what were we going to do? Sit around and have a tea party?"

He ignored my quip. "Does that mean you have something to share with me?"

"Perhaps. James Gordon called me today."

"Did he?"

"I wasn't aware that he was in on our little investigative group we had going on."

"He was apart of it before you were." There was a tone in his voice. I couldn't quite describe it other than degrading.

"Well that was kind of you to tell me. I could have figured a lot of this information out sooner if you had."

"I seriously doubt that." I was shooting daggers at him now. No longer did I have the patience or the time to deal with his moodiness.

"What crawled up your ass and died?"

"We're dancing around the subject. Aren't we supposed to be discussing the Joker?"

"Yes, we are. But it's difficult to do that when you're being such a dick. Just because you wear a cape and mask doesn't mean you get to act all high and mighty with me. I don't like being talked to as if I were a second-class citizen. Do you understand me?" My arms were crossed and my breathing became heavier. It was about time this man stopped prancing around, acting just as I described him: high and mighty.

He paused, and I could tell that he wanted to say something to piss me off even more. But knowing that he would never get any information out of me by doing that, he held his tongue. I admired that he had even shown me a slight amount of patience. So, I decided to lighten up a bit.

"Next time, just tell me if I can talk to someone about all of this. That way, we won't have to go a week without getting any information. Deal?"

"Okay."

Without lingering on what just happened, I continued on. "Look into the Gotham City Mafia. After Falcone was arrested, they gained a new leader known as the "Boss". If I were you, I'd find out who and how many are involved in this organization and take them down. One at a time, if necessary. Gordon thinks we should put all our focus on the Boss, though."

"I don't understand. What does the GCM have to do with the Joker? He always works alone."

"Maybe everyone was just under the impression that he worked alone. That could be why it's so hard to track him down. Batman," I stated, feeling slightly uncomfortable calling him that, "I think he's just a pawn. In the grand scheme of things, who is Jack Napier compared to other people in the GCM? We're talking judges, cops, and drug lords. What if the Joker is just a lunatic they use as the face of their organization?"

"It's a stretch. From past experience, he has always worked alone. What makes now any different?"

I closed my eyes, swallowing my pride. "You, the death of my father, and my return to Gotham City."

When I opened my eyes again, he was staring at me (as far as I could tell; he still stood on the opposite side of the room). He repeated himself, "I don't understand."

"I'm not a sappy person. I want you to understand that. Shit happens: you live, you learn, and you move on. You don't dwell on things in the past. My father was a terrible person. He had a lot of enemies and a lot of money. He was the leader of large and overt gang. A mafia—picture The Godfather or The Sopranos, in real life. Having been gone to boarding school all my life, I didn't learn any of it until I was about 20 years old. He owed people a lot of money towards the end of his life. He had the money, but the man was just so damn stubborn and greedy. So they killed him—along with the rest of my family. They thought they had killed me, too. But when I learned that the money would be left to me, I gave half of it away and put the rest in mutual bonds and certificates of deposits. My cousin in Italy just purchased a 6,000 square foot home. And the bastards responsible for my family's death? I have a feeling that they still want their share."

"And you're thinking…"

"It was the GCM. And that the Joker really is a pawn."