"Sir, what happened?" asked Alfred, as Bruce Wayne opened the door to Wayne Manor, covered in blood. "Where are the others?"
"Dead," muttered Bruce.
"Dead?" repeated Alfred, astonished. "He took out all of you?"
"He had an accomplice," growled Bruce. "A woman. She's new."
"A woman, sir?" said Alfred. "Good Lord, I can't imagine what sort of man involves a woman in crime."
"A monster, that's what sort of man," said Bruce. "That's what that bastard Napier is, Alfred. A monster."
He took a seat in front of the fireplace, burying his face in his hands. "God, I shouldn't have put the others in danger," he whispered. "I should have handled this myself. It's my city, my problem…"
"You can't fight the rampant crime and corruption in Gotham all by yourself, sir," interrupted Alfred, firmly. "Wayne Enterprises was perfectly justified in involving the Pinkerton Agency to hunt down Jack Napier, and they were aware of the risks when they agreed to the job. Truth to tell, I'm grateful you survived the mission. It was foolish and reckless of you to go with them – if you had been killed, who would fight for Gotham?"
"Nobody else gets hurt from now on," muttered Bruce, ignoring him. "Nobody else. The only one going into the firing line is me."
He leaned back, rubbing his temples. "Can you get me Police Commissioner Loeb on the telephone, please, Alfred?"
"At this hour, sir?" asked Alfred. "He'll likely be asleep…"
"It's urgent," interrupted Bruce.
Alfred went over to the telephone and picked up the receiver. "Hello, operator, could you kindly connect me to Police Commissioner Loeb's residence?"
"One moment, sir – we'll put you through," said the operator.
"Thank you," said Alfred. He heard the ringing indicating that the call had been put through and handed the receiver to Bruce.
"Mmm…hello, Police Commissioner Loeb," yawned a tired voice.
"Commissioner, this is Bruce Wayne, of Wayne Enterprises," said Bruce. "I'm sorry to disturb you so late, but I really must speak with you at once. There's been a robbery at the Gotham National Bank."
"I'm sure the men on duty are handling it, Mr. Wayne…" began Loeb.
"No, they were not," interrupted Bruce. "In fact, there was no sign of your men at all. I was there with some men from the Pinkerton agency, and your men only showed up about an hour after the perpetrators had fled the scene."
"No doubt they were preoccupied with another crime elsewhere," retorted Loeb. "We can't police all the crimes in this city all the time, Mr. Wayne – we don't have the men."
"That's funny, because I thought your job was to police all the crimes in this city all the time," retorted Bruce. "You should hire more men if necessary. But I honestly don't think that was the problem tonight, Commissioner. While Pinkerton's men, brave men, were gunned down by some murdering lunatic, I think your men were deliberately ignoring the crime."
"And why would they do that?" asked Loeb.
"Because you told them to," retorted Bruce. "Because you were paid to do it. Someone working with Napier paid you to do it. Someone in power. I don't know who precisely, but I'll find out. And when I do, your days as Police Commissioner will be over."
"Mr. Wayne, am I to understand that you've woken me up at this ungodly hour to accuse me of taking bribes?" asked Loeb. "Because I would have a few choice words for you if that was the case. The most pertinent of which are prove it."
"Oh, don't worry, I will," snapped Bruce. "But I just wanted to let you know that I know. I want that shadow of doubt and suspicion to haunt you, the uncertainty that I might find something to follow you around like your own shadow. I want you to always be looking over your shoulder, because I guarantee you, you are being watched. And you will be caught. Pleasant dreams, Commissioner."
He hung up the telephone. "What's your next move, sir?" asked Alfred, taking the phone back from him and replacing it on the table.
Bruce was silent, lost in thought. "I have to do this alone," he murmured. "I can't live with more blood on my hands, with a guiltier conscience than I already have. First my parents die because of me, and now…"
"Your parents' death was not your fault, sir," said Alfred, firmly. "You mustn't think that."
"If I hadn't dragged them to the show that night…" began Bruce, but then he shook his head slowly. "No, it wasn't my fault. It was theirs," he muttered. "It was the criminal scum of Gotham City, the lawless maniacs that run around without punishment, who the police ignore and collaborate with. It was one of their number who gunned my parents down in that alley while I was powerless to stop it. I swore on my parents' graves, Alfred, that I would bring their murderer to justice and restore order to this city of chaos and villainy. And I will not break my oath."
He stood up, beginning to pace. "I've been going about this all wrong," he muttered. "I've been trying to use force and violence on people who love force and violence. It won't work – they're not afraid of the things they face every day. I need to be smarter than they are. Criminals are a superstitious, cowardly lot, you know, Alfred."
The telephone rang suddenly. "Answer that, will you, Alfred?" asked Bruce.
Alfred nodded, picking up the receiver. "Hello, Mr. Wayne's residence?" he said. He listened, and then handed the receiver to Bruce. "It's for you, sir. It's Miss Kyle."
Bruce sighed. As a wealthy, single, man-about-town, he regularly made the acquaintance of a number of young ladies, and he had recently met Selina Kyle at a dance hall called The Cat's Meow. After a few dances, he had taken her back to Wayne Manor, and they had enjoyed a very pleasant evening together. Bruce had thought that would be the end of it, but Miss Kyle was more determined to keep in contact than he had given her credit for. He supposed that was natural – she had intimated that she wasn't a particularly wealthy young woman, and the prospect of a long-term relationship with a rich man was obviously very appealing.
"Selina, hello," he said.
"Hi, Bruce," she purred. "I just got off work and I was wondering if you wanted to come pick me up. We could go back to yours."
"Actually, I've had a fairly long day, Selina," he said. "I just got in myself and I'm really tired…"
"Oh. Ok. Don't worry about it, then," said Selina, obvious disappointment in her voice. "Maybe tomorrow night, huh? I get off work at midnight…"
"Selina, where did you put my bottle of champagne from Harvey?" snapped a voice on the other end suddenly.
"It's in your dressing room where you left it, Ivy – just open your eyes!" snapped Selina. "And keep it down, would ya? I'm on the phone here!"
Bruce was silent. "Sorry, Selina, I couldn't help overhearing – did that woman say champagne?" he asked.
Selina giggled. "Oh yeah. Didn't I tell ya, Brucie? I work in a real fancy club. Sells all kindsa special things that aren't widely available. You should stop by some night – I'll show you a good time."
"Yes. Yes, I will, Selina," said Bruce, a plan forming in his mind. "How's tomorrow night for you?"