Chapter 9
…She writhed beneath him, abandoning herself completely to the act of love. Right eye tightly closed, her mouth hung open, warmly smiling in pleasure and acceptance. With a violent movement her body shifted—
—a blackened horror was beneath him, as the naked eyeball stared back at him, accusatory. The charred and exposed tendons holding her jaw together quivered, and the left side of her mouth trembled; he was locked in the embrace of a laughing corpse—
Bruce snapped upright, gasping for breath. Immediately he forced himself to calm. Minding his surroundings, a gray shadow filled the bedroom and hung over the darkened grounds beyond; dawn was but a few hours away. And to his left—
"Rachel," he said softly, reverently. She lay supine, her head turned to her left, mercifully masking her injuries from his view. He gently brushed away a lock of her hair that covered her face.
Bruce lay back, staring up at the ceiling. So what does this all mean?
Reflexively he looked back at Rachel. Her head had shifted in sleep; now it was her good side that was hidden, while her ravaged face stared back at him. Especially her left eye—the grey iris lost in the immense whiteness of her eyeball. An unblinking, unchanging orb, seemingly glowing in the darkness.
Bruce turned away, closing his eyes. Be careful what you wish you for; you may get it…
"Hmph." What an awful thing to think! Bruce chided himself; after all Rachel had suffered at his hands, despite all that she came to him, willingly, and gave him the opportunity to love her. And here he was, repaying her generosity and love with, with…
Suspicion?
To say it released it; a disquieting voice whispering from within. Just a few weeks ago she wished I was dead—more than that, she hoped I'd suffer the rest of my life with the guilt of letting all those people on the ferry die. And then, a while later, she told me she wants to see the Joker dead. Afterwards, he had dismissed it—it was an obvious overreaction, based on her injuries and grief from Harvey's death. Ironically, I also rejected the possibility of being with Rachel, precisely because I had failed her and Harvey.
Whether she would believe him or not, he truly had no intention of making any moves on her last night. We were in the right place at the end; everything patched up, friends again. Moving on from their painful past, to the most important thing in the near-term: stopping the Joker. It was all good, no worries—
—until she seduced him. Or he seduced her. We just gave in and did it. Right?
Wrong—she came to him, and not for a late-night game of chess. It was impossible to forget Rachel standing there, how her curves filled out his robe… Once the fire started, we burned to the ground, but she lit the match first. It was all—out of place.
She had a change of heart—but why? Bruce considered, but no rational explanation could come to mind. Rachel wouldn't tell me she hated me unless she meant it; I finally earned her pardon, but no denying she was ashamed of me all those years ago. His cheek still tingled at the memory of her slaps. If she was telling the truth, and willing to be with me after the Joker was caught—or killed—why would she jump the gun?
"Because you're a hell of a catch, Bruce Wayne!" He mouthed it silently, because having heard it all too often, saying it himself was a special embarrassment. She either gave in to her desires, or it's all part of some sinister scheme to get back at me. Now that he voiced his fears, he couldn't help but laugh. Exactly, Rachel's gone Mata-Hari on me, trying to seduce me with her feminine wiles. Once she pulls out of me the secret of where the Joker is, she'll kill him with her bare hands. And then take care of me!
Bruce laughed scornfully at the absurdity of it all. He looked back at Rachel; her 'bad' side continued to stare back. He didn't turn away.
The intensity of the light coming in was noticeably greater than before. She rolled her head back, so that her face was level. The light played across her face, and her face twitched. Suddenly with an unnerving swiftness she instantly awoke, startling him. "Good morning, Bruce." Her voice sounded dehydrated.
"Morning Rachel." Smiling, he leaned over to kiss him. She then laid on back, her good side turned to him.
"So we finally did it." She smiled, as much as was possible for her.
"All I can say is—thank you."
"No need to thank to me. I really needed that."
"Anything else you might need?" He drew closer.
She looked past him. "Oh! It's after 5:30, I'm need to get back to Gotham."
The moment passed. "Let me get dressed; I'll take you home."
"Not Alfred?"
"Heck no—I need to get you out before he wakes, or I'll never hear the end of it."
Rachel smiled. "Okay." She slowly rose and began to put on her robe. "What're you up to today?"
"Some meetings at Wayne Enterprises, an appointment with the Mayor."
"How about tonight?"
Bruce paused. "Late night business."
She smiled. "Care to let me know what?" Her voice was playful.
Bruce returned the smile. "Ah, I don't think so. Sorry."
"Come on, we're partners!" Bruce did a small double-take. "I need to know where to focus our investigative resources. We don't want to be stepping on each other's toes out there."
"I'll be sure to keep clear. Easier that way."
Rachel was silent for a while. When she spoke, her tone was gentle: "Okay. I was hoping you and I could work together the way you, Harvey and Gordon worked together. But perhaps it's better this way—"
"—Sonny Fazio."
"The Frog?"
Bruce chuckled. "I see his reputation precedes him."
"We had him pegged as a relatively low-tier guy among the Families. Why the particular interest?"
"Because he's out and about. Relatively speaking. I've got my eye on him and his men."
Rachel considered his response, then nodded in understanding. "Maroni and all the other top-dogs, they've gone to ground."
"Scared to death either of the Joker, or the police."
"Which means those feeling freer to walk in the light—"
"—are more likely to have contacts with the Joker than the others."
"You really are the world's greatest detective."
"I'm a lover, not a fighter."
Rachel came up to him and kissed him. "You're great at both, I can now speak from personal experience."
Her words suddenly opened a space in his heart. Stroking her chin, he said: "You really should stay out of danger. Until we get him."
Her voice was hard. "I'm not afraid. He can't hide forever."
Bruce nodded. "God help him when you catch him."
"Exactly. Now if you'll give me a moment, I'll get dressed." She left his bedroom. Minutes later, Rachel returned fully clothed, looking no different than last night, although her lipstick was fairly smeared.
Bruce quietly led her downstairs. By now Alfred was usually well underway with making breakfast and doing morning chores. There was no sign of activity anywhere. Alfred, you glorious bastard, you!
They drove back into Gotham in silence. When he got to her place, Rachel quickly got out of the car as he pulled up across the street from her building. "You be careful tonight, Bruce."
"You too, Rachel. Bye."
"Bye."
Rachel sat on the floor of her shower as warm water streamed down upon her. Despite having soaked and scrubbed herself for over an hour, she could still feel the stink and slime of Bruce Wayne coating her.
Yet, it's strange how calm I feel. Now that it had happened, it seemed oddly…detached. She remembered the intensity and vividness of the experience, yet the more she focused on them, the greater the mental distance between her current self and those memories became. In her mind, she could almost play them back as if they were a videotape—from many angles and speeds. It helped her analysis and understanding of the encounter, while lessening the emotional impact.
Overall, from beginning to end Rachel judged her mission to be a success. Although she couldn't possibly claim to understand Bruce Wayne completely, she knew him well enough to know that guilt had a powerful hold on him personally. If she was going to get Bruce to sleep with her, she had to ease his feelings of responsibility for her injuries and make him feel comfortable in her presence again. Everything she did last night was designed to give Bruce an opening for him to take the initiative in making her feel better, and it worked to perfection: from stirring him to inviting her over for dinner, to picking her up, to offering to let her sleep over. If I had sought him, it would have been easier for him to decline; each time I accepted Bruce's offer to help, it made him feel better about himself, softening him up for the final blow.
The hardest part was being patient enough to spend all those hours in his company, be it at the kitchen table, walking the mansion, or sitting on the couch, without betraying either boredom or agitation. Nothing harder than doing nothing—especially when you're lying in the Devil's lap and pretending to enjoy it. And the second hardest part was the final step. I guess I did my job too well—instead of making his move after kissing my hand, he decided to play the chivalrous gentlemen. Rachel's stomach heaved at the memory of him calling her 'my lady.'
I had to make the last move after all, even after I thought I had him charged up enough that he should have exploded. Instead, she lay in a cold sweat on that bed for almost two hours, before she mustered enough courage to strip down and offer herself to him. She scowled at the memory. Not courage—pain. I scratched at the edges of my face until I was almost spitting blood. But while physical pain drove her to Bruce's bedroom, emotional pain slowed her steps. Each step I took towards his bed was another dagger in Harvey's love and trust. The look of pain and disbelief on Harvey's face as she carried out her plan left her heart in step forward she did: for justice. For revenge.
As for the act itself, the less said the better.
Rachel felt—indirectly—the water flow through her exposed jaw, dripping out from her lower jaw. Bruce didn't know it yet, but he would pay for what he did to Harvey and her. First, I'll kill the Joker—slowly, painfully. Then…
…then go back to Bruce? Try as she might, Rachel could not block out the positive aspects of last night. So gentle, so tender—so honest? She shook her head. No, not honest—quiet. That was the greatest contrast between Harvey and Bruce. Harv was a screamer; Bruce was quiet, very quiet. Unlike Harvey's repeated—and loud—'Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!', Bruce stole up on her like a thief in the night, finished almost before she knew he started. Well, not like a thief—like a Batman.
The water continued to fall; she remained still as a stone. I love Bruce; I hate Bruce. So what do I do? Rachel sighed and slowly got up. I'll kill him after breakfast.
At the DA's office, things were today as they were yesterday: dull, repetitive, futile. Rachel sat down at her desk, but she couldn't stand it. Barely able to keep herself from exploding with anger and disgust, she promptly got up and left the office.
A half-hour later, she was down at MCU. Walking into the lair of the enemy. Crews were still putting things together after the Joker's people bomb, so there were only a few cops and detectives about. Heads turned her way as she walked through the halls. No wolf-whistles this time; all of them are staring at my burned face. But what are they feeling—disgust? Contempt? Sympathy?
A shabby detective came up to her with a weak smile. "Morning, Miss Dawes."
His name escaped her. "Good morning, sorry…"
"—Douglas, Michael Douglas. And no, no relation," he said.
"Could have fooled me." He looked just like the famous actor, except for his hair, eyes, nose, mouth, skin and teeth. "Sorry, any luck finding Wuertz?"
Douglas shook his head. "His place is empty, when we asked his friends and family, all one of them could say is that he's 'on vacation'."
"But he's been called for questioning regarding Harvey—Dent's kidnapping." She cleared her throat. "How could he just leave?"
"I don't know. But it wasn't a warrant or a subpoena, so technically he's free to go."
She came up close to him and put a hand on his shoulders; Douglas flinched. "Do you think he defected to the mob?"
Eyes widening, he shook his head. "No, no way. He's worth ten times more with the badge. My guess is, he's laying low, and waiting for the wind to blow another way. Then he comes back all nice and clean."
Rachel gritted her teeth. Once the Families get clear of any association with the Joker, the protection money will flow again, and everything goes back to where it was before. Maybe Bruce could stop it, but then again—
"—keep me in the loop, Lieutenant."
"Of course. Please excuse me." He hurriedly left.
Probably off to warn Wuertz off himself, she thought sourly. It was no use; until they rooted out all the cops on the mob's payroll, the police would be worse than useless. Rachel turned to leave, but before she could exit she was stopped.
"Miss Dawes, a moment?" A young police officer had stopped her; his face was so fresh and eager, so innocent, it almost made her laugh.
"Of course, Officer—"
"Kristos, Constantine. Everyone calls me 'Constant'." He smiled brightly, a puppy loose in a den of rabid hounds.
"How can I help you, Officer—Constant?"
His face suddenly became sober. "Follow me," he whispered. Tugging on her sleeve, he led her outside. "I'll take you back to the DA's office."
They headed round back and got into a squad car in the police parking lot. As they entered the morass of Gotham traffic, he began speaking: "I think I know where Wuertz is."
Keeping her voice level, Rachel responded: "Where?"
"64th Precinct Station, in Central West." He looked nervously to and fro, as if expecting to be overheard.
Rachel understood what he was suggesting, but was still confused. "I know there's tons of Gotham City cops on the take," she said matter-of-factly, making Kristos wince. "And the DA office is well aware of the rumors that certain police stations, and precinct areas, might as well be local mob headquarters. But Central West is the cleanest, richest, and crime-free neighborhood of the City. Seems unlikely."
"Commissioner Gordon may think he runs the police from City Hall, but those in the Force who think otherwise run it from CW. Two-bit cops who extort standowners may freelance, but everything else is cleared through there."
"Aren't you breaking a Code, officer?" Rachel asked gently.
Kristos frowned; he still looked cute. "Yeah, but they broke it first. The Joker killed some of my buddies, that ain't ever happened before. Cops get a cut, the wise guys get a free hand, neither of us shoot the other, just those getting in the way of business. That's the way it's supposed to work." He paused. "The guys on top crossed the line when they let the Joker loose, we gotta stop them."
She nodded thoughtfully. "And you think Wuertz is hiding out there?"
"I don't know, but if he's anywhere in Gotham, he's there. The only other possibility is the mob, but they'd be the first to whack him."
Rachel was silent, lost in analysis. "Alright. Tonight, I'll go there and flush him out."
Kristos' eyes bulged with astonishment. "You can't, they'd make you disappear without a second thought!"
"That's so sweet of you," Rachel said. "How about you come with me?"
"They'd make me disappear—"
"Constantine, you know there's a million dollar reward for information about the Joker and those responsible for murdering Harvey Dent. Come with me, and you'll get it all."
"I don't know—"
"—that's not all you'd get," she purred. With some difficulty, she began slipping down the left side of her blouse, so that her shoulder and left cleavage was exposed.
"I'd be very, very, very grateful," Rachel cooed, stroking Kristos' right cheek.
Swallowing, he nodded. "Alright. Best to be there before eight, we don't want to face the night shift, if you get what I mean."
On the contrary. "We'll be there at 7:30. Don't worry, I'll get a SWAT team from New York, no bent cops to spoil things."
"Got it. Where to now?"
"Midtown, on the Narrows side."
Bruce was all false smiles as he weaved his way through the throngs of Gotham's elite. There were hundreds of them, all in sharp business dress, making their way into the main dining of hall of the Commonwealth Club, one of Gotham's richest and most exclusive society halls. This afternoon's luncheon was a fundraiser—what made it intriguing was the purported and ulterior motives for that fundraising. Officially, he and everyone else was here to help raise money for the battered Gotham Police Department in its ongoing hunt for the Joker and the remaining mob bosses. Unofficially, it's a reelection campaign stop for Mayor Garcia and all the other pols. It made Bruce wince to know that, in all likelihood, Harvey would have been here, if only…
As he engaged in banal chatter with his fellow uppercrust, Bruce's mind kept going back and back to Rachel. Too early to start planning the wedding. Yet now that they had both taken that irrevocable step forward, a powerful force within kept driving him to walk away from it all. I could leave the Batman behind, she could quit the DA's office, and we could have a life together. It was a sorely tempting vision of their future, but in the end…
…before I can hang up the cape, I have to bring the Joker down, and I have to make sure all that Harvey worked for is not lost. The signs on that front were worrisome: more and more mobsters were being released, and it was only a matter of time before they got back in control and put Gotham back under their thumb. Well, when they do, I can beat them, bring them down again. But the Joker is a threat to us all. Bruce knew he was a force that couldn't be beaten down with his fists. But he can be stopped—he's just a man, after all.
Almost without him noticing, Mayor Garcia, dressed in a swift black suit almost as cut as his own, had approached his table. "Afternoon, Mr. Wayne," he said warmly, offering his hand.
Bruce shook it firmly. "To you too, Mayor."
"You got a minute, Bruce?"
"Of course." Excusing himself, he got up from the table and followed the mayor, who led him to a small banquet room adjacent to the hall.
Closing the door behind him, Bruce asked: "How can I help?"
Smiling, Garcia said without missing a beat: "Ten million dollars, no questions asked."
"Two million, but I need some answers."
The Mayor chuckled softly. "Bruce, this is Gotham. Gotham Rules, remember?"
"I wish I could forget."
"Me too. But your money will help change things for the better."
Bruce cocked his head, squinting and smiling as if he'd bitten into a lemon. "Reelection's not for another three years. Need to be careful not to pull out too many apples, too often."
The Mayor's smile finally faded. "You may not believe me," he said softly, "but it's not for me."
"Well, the Presidential election is next year, so come January you can call the National Party and—"
"It's not about politics, it's about Harvey. And Rachel."
Bruce blinked to remove some moisture from his eye. "To Dent, may he Rest in Peace."
Garcia nodded. "We're going after the Joker, but things are a bit delicate."
"Let me guess, don't know who to trust in the police, right?" Bruce said with as little bitterness as he could.
"Yeah, we still don't know how the Joker did it. Best guess is the mob let him use his contacts, never knowing what he had planned. But that's beside the point. Point is, if you have to get something done, sometimes you have to do it yourself."
"Get what done?"
"The Joker." He made a silent throat-slashing gesture, which appalled Bruce.
"And what are you—we—going to do about him?"
Garcia did not respond. "Ten million, no questions asked?" The Mayor nodded. "If I give you the money, what say do I have?"
"Nothing. Which is best for your protection, as things might get… a little rough."
"I don't know whether I should be outraged or impressed," Bruce said casually.
"Now Bruce, we all know that because you and your friends—"—he pointed out to the main hall—"have all the gold, you get to make the rules. Sometimes you give to Party A, sometimes to Party B, but either way, you get taken care of." The comments stung, but they had the bitter ring of truth. Bruce said nothing, Garcia continued: "And sometimes, well, let's just say the mob ain't exactly Robin Hood; their guns usually don't point uptown, get my drift?"
Rich people in Gotham make a tacit agreement with the underworld to keep the unwashed masses at bay; Falcone hinted as much. "But things have changed. The Joker broke all the rules, and because the wise guys picked him to be on their team, they've overstepped."
"Is that what the money's for? To put them back in line?"
Garcia did not answer, but he did smile. "Nothing in writing, our hands are clean."
"And our money?"
"Cleaner. No one will know who gets it, and if you keep your mouth shut no one will even know you're missing it."
"All-cash deals." Bruce chuckled mirthlessly. "'Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster.'"
"Stare into the abyss and the abyss stares at you," Garcia replied impatiently. "Yeah, I remember Nietzsche from college too. Don't tell me in the past you haven't been willing to roll up the sleeves and take care of things yourselves, right?"
"Of course." Bruce reached out to shake his hand. "I'll let you know before I leave."
"Gotham's counting on you, Bruce. I know you won't let me down."
"Mayor." Bruce shook his hand and returned to his table.
In the cool evening air, Rachel stood nervously across the street from Precinct #203 Gotham police station at the corner of 11th St. and Pemberton Avenue in Central West Gotham. The neighborhood was filled with sleek midrise towers housing investment banks and legal offices, with immaculate streets devoid of potholes. Even the police building itself was an attractive structure, six stories high and shining brightly from lights protruding from every floor.
Dressed in conservative attorney garb Rachel only stood out as a result of her half-face mask, but by and large the people on the street ignored her. Representing the tail end of the daily workforce finally heading home for the night, the streets were rapidly emptying and traffic was dwindling to a trickle. She checked her watch: 7:30. Showtime.
It took considerable effort for her to convince Janos to make a raid on the police station to search for Wuertz, who was eager to begin large-scale operations against the mob. Rachel finally convinced him by saying she had learned of a likely contact of the Joker's in the underworld from a highly confidential source, but would only divulge it once Wuertz was eliminated. She scowled. This had better be worth it!
Janos had said nothing of what was being planned, except to be here tonight. Rachel had informed them that she had second doubts about her presence, that it might give away the operation. Clear as a bell she remembered his chilly response: "It won't matter."
A Gotham police car came down the street and stopped at the corner next to her. Officer Kristos came out and said: "Good evening, Miss Dawes."
"Same to you, officer."
He looked speculatively at the precinct office. "Looks quiet."
"Yeah." Rachel suddenly felt uneasy. I shouldn't be out here, I'll compromise security, Janos be damned. Without another word she suddenly turned and walked away.
"Wait, where you going?" Kristos followed after her. "What's going to happen?"
"I don't know," she responded, still walking.
Kristos now ran her down. Grabbing her right arm, Rachel whirled about. "What?"
"There's something not right, I think we should—"
–Before he could say anything else, a man in a business suit who was walking in the other direction suddenly dropped his briefcase and came up behind Kristos. Immediately he gurgled and clutched frantically behind him; to her horror Rachel saw that the man in a suit had garroted Kristos, a bright red line growing and darkening across his neck. Without another sound his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped to the ground. Right after he fell the man in a suit grabbed her and crossed the street.
"Wait, what are you doing—"
"Quiet!" Instantly Rachel was quiet. They turned into an alley. She gasped: it was Janos, but he had been unrecognizable as his normally messy hair had been combed into an impeccable do.
"Why did you kill him?" Rachel suddenly felt sick.
"No witnesses."
Rachel was still horrified, but nodded. In for a penny, in for a pound. She peered around the corner; nothing was happening, not even with Kristos lying dead on the sidewalk. "Are you going to mount a raid on the police station?"
He smiled. "Perhaps."
"How—" A thunderous explosion echoed through the district. Rachel gazed in awe as the doors to the front lobby of the station blew apart. As she continued to watch, she could see bright lights streaking towards the rest of the building from multiple angles. Missiles! Floor after floor exploded, glass shattering and spraying across the road. The few people about screamed and fled, while cars either rushed away or crashed into each other. More rockets flew into the burning structure; finally with a final thunderous clap the building collapsed in upon itself.
"Let's go," he said harshly, as they exited and walked away. Turning the corner, a car was waiting for them; they got in.
"Back to HQ. Hope you're ready, we have a busy night ahead."
"What do you mean, you destroyed that station, everyone inside is dead!" Rachel shuddered at the incomprehensible brutality of it all.
Janos' phone rang. He answered it and said: "Good, bring them all in." Janos smiled. "We have him."
"Wuertz? How?"
"We studied the blueprints of the station. Checking with city records, it was obvious that there was a hidden tunnel, leading from the basement of the station to the basement of another building at the end of the block."
"Ahh," Rachel said, understanding. "That's how they could use this station as a secret mob headquarters; no one would see people coming and going."
"Exactly. I had a squad of men waiting at the entrance. After the first explosion they started coming through. Eight came before building collapsed. We killed three, captured the others. Wuertz was the first to be captured."
"Not surprised," she said darkly, "he'd be the first rat to flee." Rachel turned to look back; the first police and firetrucks had arrived. "How many men and women were in that building? How many good cops?" she said softly to herself.
"Too bad for them." Janos yawned and stretched in the backseat. "I expect you'll be busy tonight."
"Yes." We have Wuertz! She straightened. "Very. Burning the midnight oil, I imagine."
"Ahhhh! I didn't mean it!"
"What?"
"They, they had me by the balls, I had to do what they say!"
"How much did they pay you?"
"Nothing, nothing, it was give me Dent dead or alive, or you'll be dead."
"You talked to the Joker?"
"No, it was Maroni, he paid me—ahhh!"
"I though you said you weren't paid?"
"I wasn't I wasn't!"
"That's enough for now. Unhook him."
Two other men began removing the electrical wires that had been attached to every part of Wuertz's sweating naked body: his wrists, ears, toes, private parts. Shackled to a wall, he was squirming like a trapped pig, his face so red Rachel thought he would sweat blood. To his left and right hung the four bodies of his colleagues, whom she had taken special care to kill as painfully as possible before dealing with Wuertz.
Rachel had removed her mask and strode up to him, facing Wuertz directly. "What are we going to do with you?" She turned her head so that the left side of her face filled his vision. "What should we do?"
Shivering violently, Wuertz swallowed hard, but a trickle of blood still dribbled out the corner of his mouth. "Ask me anything, I'll tell you anything you need to know!"
Rachel was not amused. "You already have, and your information is worthless. Where is Maroni?"
Wuertz didn't say anything; his eyes bulged. "The Majestic Hotel, he has a pad there, that's where he must be."
She shook her head. "Even the police knew about that, it was the first place we looked. Anyplace else?" He looked even more frantic, but all that came from his lips were babble. "Save it." She got up and picked up a bucket.
"What, what are you going to do with me?"
Rachel smiled sweetly, seductively. "I'm going to give you a bath." She took the mop and dipped it into the bucket. Thick gelatinous fluid dripped down from it. She then bent down and began gently swabbing Wuertz's feet.
"Do you know how I got this injury?" Rachel said conversationally. "After you and Ramirez turned us over to the Joker's men, they had both of us tied up in a room filled with barrels of gasoline." She began swabbing upwards. "All of them wired to explode. The Batman got me out, but not before I caught some." She gestured to her face, then swabbed his belly. "Harvey wasn't so lucky; he burned." She swabbed until every part of his body beneath his neck was coated.
"Jesus, what is this? Is that—"
"—they burned him, blew him to bits, nothing was recovered," Rachel said, unable to hold back tears. "You killed him, just because you were on the take."
"I swear, I didn't know—"
"—Anyway, one of things I enjoyed doing growing up was sitting in front of a warm fire and reading a book. Simple pleasures for simple people." Smiling, Rachel took out a book from her purse. "This is The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. A classic, read it in high school and college as a psych major. Been looking forward to rereading this for some time."
One of the men brought up a chair and put it behind Rachel, then gave her a lighter. She nodded and he left. "While I take the rest of the evening off and read my novel, I decided your final punishment of the evening would be to make you suffer what Harvey and I experienced." Smiling, she lit the lighter, and the lights in the torture chamber were dimmed. With only the light of the lighter filling the room, she was a flickering half-horror. Wuertz began screaming uncontrollably.
"You're afraid—good! Hope you don't die right away." Rachel winked with her good eye and dropped the lighter at his feet, then sat down facing Wuertz and began to read.
'Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance that was never lighted by a smile…' Rachel lost herself in the words of Robert Louis Stevenson as the flames grew higher and brighter and the shrieks grew louder and louder, drowning out the cackling of the flames and the sizzle of roasting flesh.
When the final embers died out, the lights came on again. Rachel was still, sitting cross-legged, her eye buried in the pages of her book.
Janos walked up to her, trying to keep from retching due to the hideous singed odors of the room. "From one sadist to another, you are one mean son of a bitch."
Rachel lifted her head up and smiled. "Pleasure before business. Now that Ramirez and Wuertz have received justice for their crimes, we can go to the main task at hand: wiping out the mob."
"About time." He stood with his arms crossed in front of him, disgruntled. "Will you now tell us who our next target is?"
Rachel snapped the book shut. "Sonny Fazio. But we're not going to hit him."
"Why not?"
"My source is currently tracking Fazio's associates. He hopes eventually that they will lead to the location of Maroni and the others, maybe even the Joker."
Janos nodded. "Your 'source' must be well-placed indeed. Therefore—"
"—the moment we use this information to kill Fazio, my source will immediately know I was responsible, and not tell me anything more."
"Spoken like a true intelligence agent." Rachel did not smile at the compliment. "Do you think this will work?"
"Nothing's certain. It's one lead, we'll follow others."
"Very well. Now that the crime heads are being released, we will be able to track them."
"Exactly. I'll see what we can get from the DA and police, and my source."
"But we need to start hitting soon."
"Agreed. We have the locations of five street-level enforcers, we go after them next."
Rachel got up and shook Janos' hand. "A pleasure doing business with you."
Janos nodded, then turned back to face her handiwork. "What do we do with them?"
"Make sure they're found."
"Sending a message?"
"Of course. Good night."
"Long time no see, Commissioner."
"Too long."
"We seem to have a developing situation."
"An understatement if ever I've heard one." Turning off the Batlight, Commissioner Gordon turned away from his masked partner-not-partner to gaze out on the blazing nightlights of Gotham. He let out a loud sigh, straining to keep his head up as he leaned out.
"Tired?"
"Been very busy lately." Gordon had spent most of the past two days dealing with the aftermath of the attack on Precinct 203. Nineteen more cops killed at the scene—fifteen in the building, four nearby—and seven others elsewhere. Just this evening he had gotten word that the bodies of nine missing officers had been recovered all across Gotham. One of them was Lieutenant Anna Ramirez, who had died of electrocution, but whose body showed signs of brutal torture beforehand. Four more were almost certainly dirty officers and detectives, men who had been under the eyes of IA for ages, but nothing proven. They had died the same way Ramirez had: electrocution proceeded by torture. And the final body…
...Wuertz. His entire body burned to a cinder, with the exception of his head. The coroners said the expression on his face would give them nightmares. He fought the urge to gag.
"Bad day for the boys in blue," Batman said curtly.
"The worst. Who the hell would rocket a police station? And torture and kill cops—then dump their bodies for everyone to find?"
"These are not nice people." Before Gordon could bristle at that lame comment, Batman continued: "Whoever did this wanted to send a message."
"I don't get it, why would the mob kill so many police officers? That's never been their M.O., the trick is to get cops on the take."
"Get rid of any links in the chain back to them."
"Maybe." Gordon hesitated, then decided to tell him. "We've long suspected that cops on the mob's payroll have used precinct offices as part of their joint operations. We never had a hint that they were working out of Central West—probably that's why, good cover. Don't know how many of the cops at 203 were bent, if any. But the bodies we found across the street, all of them had undergone IA investigation in the past, and none of them were assigned to Central West." He shook his head. "Not a coincidence."
"The detectives, Wuertz and Ramirez, they were responsible for Dent and Dawes being caught by the Joker, right?"
"Wuertz almost certainly. Not so sure about Ramirez, but she was with Dent just before he disappeared."
"Not a coincidence, either" Batman responded.
Gordon rubbed his forehead. "What it is, is a hell of a mess."
"Whoever killed Wuertz wanted him to suffer a long time before he died," Batman said roughly. "And they wanted their bodies to be found, to send a message: beware."
"But why would the mob want to send a message to police officers not to collaborate? That doesn't make sense!"
Batman did not respond immediately. Then: "What about a third player?"
"Third player? What do you mean?"
"Not the mob. Maybe the Joker."
"You don't count the Joker with the mob?"
"No. The Joker's on his own island."
Gordon laughed. Then frowned. "Someone out there wanted to kill cops, probably crooked ones, but if a few straight ones got in the way, no biggies." He shook his head. "I don't know whose side they're on, but I want them out of the poker room."
"I'll get on it."
"Good luck." Without another word, Batman flew off into the night.
As the sun faded from the sky, Garcia straightened in his chair. "This is an unexpected pleasure—"
"—I'm in. Three million, no questions asked." A piece of paper with a long string of numbers fell from Wayne's hands on his desk.
The Mayor beamed. "Do you want a receipt?" Bruce Wayne gave him a disbelieving look. "I'm kidding."
Wayne sat down across from him. "How do I know you'll keep everything off the books?"
"Trust but verify."
Wayne nodded grimly. "I've asked my friends, confirmed what you're up to. I've done my investigating, nothing's showing up in the transaction logs of the banks." His gaze narrowed. "Switzerland? Macao?"
"Not Gotham. But that's all I'm saying; remember, you agreed, no questions asked."
"Well, at least one more question: what will I get for my money?"
Now Garcia dropped all pretense of civility or friendliness. With an ugly sneer to his face, he whispered: "The Joker's head on a platter, and the rest of the mob as garnishments."
"Fair enough."
"I'm glad we understand each other."
"We don't. Good night, Mayor." Wayne abruptly got up and left. Garcia scowled, but as he looked at the account numbers and code information, his frown turned upside down. More bullets for the gun.
It was well after dark when Bruce got back to Wayne Manor. Alfred had prepared an elaborate dinner for him, atypical. Bruce didn't object, also atypical. He began eating in silence.
"This is a very dangerous game, Master Wayne, and that was a very dangerous move."
"Ummummm." He kept eating.
"Don't believe what they say, you can always track money, even anonymous cash."
Bruce swallowed. "I stopped counting what we've spent downstairs after one hundred million, a few million more won't be the straw that breaks the camel's back."
"You may be able to hide the source of the money, but you cannot hide your culpability for whatever that money has bought," Alfred chided.
"No, but I'm playing a hunch, I need to see how it plays out."
Alfred looked distraught. "It sounds like the Mayor wanted your money to hire an assassin to kill the Joker. Is that what you want?"
Bruce said, "No."
"That wasn't a very convincing no."
"But it's true." Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. He returned to his food.
"What would Miss Dawes say about this?"
"'Bruce, I don't think you should have done that, you have no idea what that money is for, it's not the same as Batman, be careful,'" Bruce said in a plausible Rachel-accent.
"Be sure to tell her that the next time you see her."
"Might be a while."
"Harumph. Lover's quarrel, already?"
Probably time to stop avoiding it. Bruce put down his spoon and propped his head up with his right fist, staring expectantly at Alfred. "I don't know what you're insinuating, Alfred," Bruce said plainly. He fought the urge to wink.
"A gentleman never kisses and tells," Alfred replied. "I expect nothing less of you, Bruce Wayne."
Bruce leaned back and idly stirred his soup with his spoon. "It wasn't a mistake, but it was."
Alfred ostentatiously got up and in a loud voice said: "So many dishes, I'd better get started putting things away."
For a while Bruce ignored Alfred as he began cleaning up. Then he said: "Ever do the right thing for the wrong reason? Or the wrong thing for the right reason?"
Alfred stopped to look at Bruce. "What's past is past. The question is, how will the both of you go forward. You seem of two minds about the issue."
"I loved her, and she loved me. But—"
"—beg pardon, Master Wayne, but she didn't love you. Not entirely."
Of all the things he expected Alfred to say now that everything was on the table, that was the last thing on the list. "What?"
Alfred looked distraught, agitated. Finally, his shoulders slumped, and he took out a card from his vest pocket. "For you, sir. I believe the time is now right."
Bruce took it from him; it was from Rachel. Dear Bruce, I need to explain…
…He read it, then read it again. With extreme deliberation, he put it on the table. The words were in front of him, and he kept reading them.
"When did she give this to you?" His voice was a tight whisper.
"After Dent declared himself to be the Batman at that news conference."
"So she wrote it before." He fell silent.
…Don't make me your one hope for a normal life…
…Did you mean it?
…Yes…
"Bruce." Alfred had sat down next to him and put his hand on his shoulder.
Bruce blew the air out of his lungs with a whistle. "Lo, the muddied waters ere become more muddied."
"She didn't tell you before?"
A very good—and important—question. Bruce's mind flashed back to every conversation he had with Rachel, from when she first awoke in the hospital, to two nights ago… "She said that she told Harvey she would agree to marry him, but that was when she thought she was about to die. In the hospital, when she came to, she reminded me she loved Harvey. So…"
"If Dent had survived, do you believe Rachel would have chosen him over you?"
"Before you gave me this note, no. Now…"
"Obviously the circumstances are very different."
"Obviously," Bruce said, more snidely than he intended, but Alfred did not seem to mind. "I bet she wrote this after I saw her back in the pad, the night before Dent's press conference." He searched back in his memories to that night. "I said to her, I reminded her, that she once said we could be together, once I gave up being Batman. I asked if she meant it, she said yes." You're leaving out some important parts! "That gave me the strength to go down the next morning to turn myself in."
Before Alfred could respond he continued: "She also… warned me not to make her my one chance at a normal life. And she said that we couldn't be together after I turned myself in." Alright all the cards are on the table now.
"My conclusion is, she had decided to move on from you. Even if you gave up being Batman."
"According to this note, she doubted I ever could. That's why she… chose Dent."
"But now…"
"—Dent's dead. Even if she still doubts I can give up the Batman, she came to me, and…" his voice trailed away.
"All options are on the table?" Alfred suggested.
Bruce finally chuckled. "I guess so."
Alfred's smile gave way to a pained look. "Master Wayne… could you ever choose to stop being the Batman?"
"Of course, Alfred," Bruce snapped, "I would have done it if Dent hadn't stopped me. Batman's a symbol, even I can't do this forever." The impact of those words swept over him. "Dent was so close, he would have solved everything." His voice fell to a whisper. "Now… he's dead, and the Joker's still free."
"And until the Joker is stopped, and Dent's work is completed…"
"…I must still be the Batman."
"You always have a choice, Bruce. Never forget that."
"If only it were that easy."
"But it is! Don't forget, you can always change your mind." Alfred got up. "Both of you can."
"Rachel," Bruce mused. Then he threw Alfred a smile. "She's just like me; a big messy bag of complications."
Now Alfred smiled back. "Aren't we all."
It was winding into the evening, and Bruce was sitting on the couch where, a few days ago, he and Rachel spun the night away.
No matter how important it was, it's not the only thing—even if it's everything. "Anti-Lombardi," Bruce said with a smile to himself. We did it, we could do it again, or not. But the real question is, do we build a life together? And the essential preliminary to that is, whither the Batman?
It was a draining issue to consider. Every new ache in my bones pushed me harder to make Dent the solution. After all, no matter how much I have, I've lost so much, and given so much, just so that others would not come close to losing what I did! He chided himself for the selfishness of that thought, but there was too much truth in it to deny anymore. Batman was—is—an extreme solution to the even more extreme problems of our age. But as problems are solved, old solutions no longer apply. When the City and its people can step forward and run their affairs free of the grip of crime… my job is done. It's not yet over, but it's the beginning of the end; I know it is!
The conclusion was inescapable: Rachel and I can be together! But she's hurt, wounded, not just physically, but mentally as well. He couldn't even begin to imagine the pain of losing a loved one like Rachel did with Harvey. If Rachel had died… I would have died that night as well. I could never have endured. That was an iron fact. Instead, Harvey died, and even if she loved me, that could not stop her pain. Then she suffered at the hands of the Joker. His fists clenched. She lost her faith in me, rightfully so. I was able to comfort—smile—but she'll only begin to recover when we stop him. Once we do—the healing can truly begin.
"You overthink things Bruce," he warned himself, but inside he was in a much better place. Let's just go slow, don't push ourselves to the edge. Be friends. Keep it steady, and then when it's all over, we'll have it all. Already Bruce began to marshal in his mind the list of things that would be needed to bring Rachel to full health again. Difficult, but not impossible. And he would do everything to ensure she recovered psychologically as well. No doubt I'll play the leading role in salving her soul—
—The door rang; Bruce was alert at once. It couldn't be. Alfred buzzed him. "Who is it?" he asked.
"Complications."
"You're looking happy tonight, Rachel."
"Thank you for noticing Bruce!" She was dressed not in casual clothes or in her normal business suit garb, but in a tight all-black number, clinging tightly to the curves of her body. Her stockings were even blacker, and she wore the highest heels he could ever remember seeing her in. Her hair was lovingly coiffed, and she wore a generous supply of makeup—at least, on part of her.
"What brings you here this late hour?"
"I'm feeling really good for a change, and I wanted to share that with my closest friend."
To his side Alfred had a perfectly serene look on his face. "Well, while you're here, is there anything Alfred can get you?"
"Just a glass of Chardonnay? Something bubbly."
"Very well, I'll bring it up."
"Thanks Alfred!"
"Guess I'll be sleeping downstairs again," Alfred said as he disappeared down the hall. He threw him an evil look, but said nothing.
Bruce smiled. "Just you and me."
"Yep. Let's go upstairs."
"Upstairs?"
"Yes, Bruce, you already gave me the tour. Come on!" She tugged at his arm, and reluctantly he followed.
All of a sudden he didn't want to talk much at all. "Work going alright?" he asked laconically.
"Actually, work's a disaster—all those dead cops, Blackgate being emptied as we speak. If you want my opinion, Gotham's about to go to hell."
Okay! "Thanks for being an optimist."
"Just a realist." They began climbing the second flight of stairs.
Bruce stopped them. "Rachel, about your note."
She looked at him. "Alfred finally gave it to you."
"I'm so sorry."
Rachel was surprised. Then smiling. "Don't be! It's all in the past!"
"But Harvey—"
"—is dead. Yes, he's dead, nothing can bring him back." Abruptly she turned away. "But I've moved on." She turned to face him. "Not because I want to, not because it's easy."
"Rachel…"
"Oh Bruce, I loved Harvey as much as I love you. Life doesn't give us the luxury of wallowing in the past. We can do it, but it doesn't change things, and so it doesn't help. You of all people know that."
"I guess not."
"I'm serious. Your parents were murdered, you took action." Bruce's eyes widened, but she cut him off: "The wrong kind with Chill, the right kind with Batman." Her lips quivered slightly. "Same with me. I loved Harvey; Harvey died; time to move on." She resumed climbing.
"I'll always be there for you Rachel, no matter what, you can always count on me as your friend."
She beamed. "Exactly what I said to you!" Without stopping she pulled and pushed him into the guest bedroom.
"So what would you like to—oomph!" As soon as they entered she whirled about and threw herself into him, kissing aggressively, kicking the door shut.
"Right now," Rachel said, her voice heavy with desire, pulling her arms out of her sleeves.
"Oh, wait!" Bruce tried to stop her. "We don't have to rush things—"
"—yes we do, because you never know what will happen tomorrow." She was now halfway out of her dress, the sleeves dangling from her waist as she pushed him to the bed.
"You might think this is what you want—"
"—I want it, you want it, there's nothing wrong with this." Again she launched herself fiercely at Bruce, almost biting him in her efforts to keep her mouth attached to his.
Eagerly Rachel suckled; his tongue reflexively extended into her mouth, and she bit it! "Umph!" Bruce stopped holding back; he pulled her arms violently away from his chest and shook her. Her head rolled about, then faced him, a wicked grin on her half-face.
Bruce's voice took a hard edge."I just don't want you to be hurt."
Rachel nodded slowly. Her arms slackened; he released her. Slowly, gently, she caressed his face. "I love you, Bruce Wayne, I want to spend the rest of my life with you." She pulled closer, until once again their bodies crushed together. Kissing him gently, nuzzling his neck. "No secrets between us, no masks." She pretended to pull at his face, then slowly took off her mask. "Just you and me, loving each other as only we can." Rachel pulled away a bit, looking down. When she lifted her head up, she smiled again, an innocent grin. Pulling up the hem of her dress all the way, she pressed her left hand to her lips in mock embarrassment. "Oops. Guess I forgot my bottoms."
Bruce's dark knight was rising. He backed up slowly, Rachel's arms locked around his neck. Grabbing her waist, he leaped backwards, taking her with him. She straddled Bruce, not once breaking her gaze at him. Slowly she unbuttoned his shirt; he removed her bra.
Staring up, Bruce Wayne didn't even notice her mangled features; half of Rachel Dawes was worth more than an infinity of everything.