Chapter 11

"Master Wayne? Bruce?" Bruce did not respond. Alfred put down the tray with tea and sat next to him.

"Sorry, Alfred." But he fell silent again.

"I presume your being home early, meant the evening didn't go well with Miss Dawes."

Bruce chuckled softly. "That would be a profound understatement."

"What happened? What did she say?"

Bruce bit his lip. "She confessed that there are indeed mercenaries running around Gotham killing criminals, policemen, whoever gets in their way. And… she's not just feeding them information from the DA office. Rachel's hands are dirty."

"How dirty?"

He had to swallow something that was rising up his throat. "Blood-red," he managed to gurgle.

A look of uncomprehending horror filled Alfred's face. "Impossible."

"I didn't want to believe it, but there's no mistake. She's doing it—no, she's enjoying it." Bruce shuddered.

"Master Wayne, the money you gave to the mayor—"

"—another mistake in a long line of mistakes I've made," Bruce said bitterly.

"What are you going to do?" His wizened eyes suddenly widened. "She knows! If you move against her—"

"—I won't. Not yet."

Now Alfred's eyes narrowed. "You didn't make a deal with her, did you?"

Bruce shook his head. "No. Well, not exactly." Before Alfred could object, he cut him off: "The mercs have to be stopped, and I will stop them."

"What about Rachel?"

Bruce took a deep breath. Do I dare do this? There might not be any choice. "I have a plan to get her off the hook. But it will only work if she changes her mind."

"And she said she wouldn't."

"She said once the Joker's dead, everything goes back to normal."

"Do you believe that?"

Yes—No—Maybe? "I don't know. But like someone told me, there's no going back." Bruce got up and went to the window, looking out into the darkness. "I need to think of another way to bring her back. Soon."

"And then?"

Bruce turned to face him, his face extremely grim. "We're all-in at this point, Alfred. Whether we make it—flip a coin."

"Not very reassuring."

"But it's truth."

"I guess that will have to do."

The next Monday, as Rachel left the DA office at one o'clock for lunch, Bruce caught up with her. "Afternoon Miss Dawes."

She kept walking at a steady pace. "Same to you Bruce. But I don't have time to chitchat, this is a grab-and-go lunch."

"I know of a way to get you out," he said hurriedly.

"We still have a job to do. Till then, sorry." They crossed the street.

"Rachel, you're just an expendable pawn to them," he said louder than he wanted, but the onrush of traffic forced him to raise his voice. "The minute they're done, they'll kill you to hide their tracks."

"We all have to die sometime." Rachel now was in line for a food cart. Bruce got as close to her as he could.

"Tell me what I need to know, and I can protect you," Bruce whispered in her right ear. "We've all made mistakes. This is the one chance I can give you to put yours behind."

Rachel smiled grimly. "You can't exactly expunge accessory to murder one."

"Rachel! Listen to me—"

"—oh I'm listening. What do you need to know? Wait, let me guess—you want to know the location of my new friends. Once they're out of the picture, I can walk away, right?"

Her face may be half-gone, but she's still sharp as a tack. "So where are they?"

Rachel shook her head as she ordered some Vietnamese fish soup. "Sorry Bruce. Until the Joker's dead, no can do."

Bruce continued walking at her right side as she headed back to the DA's office. "Rachel, it's more important to me that you live than the Joker receives justice. But you're living on the knife's edge—at any moment, they could decide you've outlived your usefulness."

She suddenly stopped, forcing the other pedestrians to walk around them. Turning to face him, she whispered: "I'm in too deep."

Bruce nodded. "I know, I was in the exact same situation as you're in now." His mind wandered back to when Ra's al-Gul wanted him to execute—murder—that farmer. "It's not too late."

A trace of uncertainty flickered in Rachel's eye… which suddenly turned to cold disdain. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to be here. We will kill the Joker. And I don't care how many we have to eliminate before we do. So a word of advice: don't get in our way."

Bruce nodded tightly. "You know where to reach me."

She smirked in response. "If I do, it'll be a booty call." Rachel turned on her heels and crossed the street to the DA's office.

Bruce watched her cross the street, unable to keep his body from momentarily reacting to her words. Lucky for you, I've got other alternatives.

Down at the docks on East End, there was a steady stream of workers making their way to the subways and bus stops on their way home from the end of another day's shift. At Pier 412 the battered but massive cargo ship Italian Princess lay tied to the quay, bobbling gently in response to the rhythm of the waves.

With the final approach of night, shadowy figures appeared and made their way to the ship. Some rose from rubber dinghies by way of mooring ropes, stealthily climbing aboard. Others on shore quietly cut their way through the locked gates to enter by way of the ramps.

One by one sailors patrolling the decks were permanently silenced by the figures, their bodies dumped overboard. A moment later small explosions and the eruption of gunfire shattered the night. Inside the great ship, the figures, clad in black with night-vision goggles and submachine guns remorselessly cut down anyone in their path.

Those topside made their way down into the forward cargo hold by way of grappling ropes, just as their bretheren who entered the ship from the dock burst through the main entranceways at deck level. Moving swiftly among the stacks of goods over fifty feet high, they converged on the entry door to the midship cargo bay, where on the other side of the door lay their target.

Bursting through, they entered the darkened hold. Switching on the lights, they saw a Joker-style mannequin, propped up scarecrow-style, wearing a large white sign in red letters:

SURPRISE!

Seconds later the Italian Princess blew up in an explosion that was heard and felt from one end of Gotham to the other.

That evening when Rachel entered the facility there was no one there. This is unusual. "Hello?"

She entered the main operations room—a vicious backhand sent her sprawling to the ground. Stunned, she laid on the cold bare floor as someone grabbed her shirt from behind her neck and roughly brought her to her feet. The barrel of a gun pressed against the bridge of her nose, right between her eyes.

"Well well, look who's here?"

Rachel stumbled to her feet. "Janos? What's going on?"

Janos stepped back but still kept the gun pointed at her. "Answer this question or you die: why did you betray us?"

"What do you mean? I didn't betray you!"

Janos looked grim; his finger tightened on the trigger. "We were given information from a source that the rest of the underground in Gotham was hiding on a ship docked at the piers. I sent most of our teams to strike, but when they were all aboard the ship blew up – it was a trap. Twenty men gone."

"It wasn't me!"

"Really? My source said they got the information from you."

"Then they're lying! No one in the DA's office knows where Fazio and the rest of the mob are hiding."

"Interesting." He cocked the pistol. "But nothing you said proves you did not betray us."

Rachel had not felt any fear since being knocked down; in fact, she was getting angry. Raising her hands up in exasperation, she said acerbically: "If I wanted to betray you I could have told the police about this place a dozen times over. And why would I come back here after setting your men up?"

Janos said nothing, then finally lowered the gun. "Yes… you're right. Once you came in, I knew it wasn't you. But someone betrayed us."

"Any idea who?"

"Yes, but I hope I'm wrong – it would mean complications."

His words didn't make any sense, but the last thing she wanted to do was deflect blame back to herself. Quickly she asked: "What do we do now?"

"Including me, there are six of us left." He shrugged. "That so many died is not all bad, means more profit for the rest of us. The problem is, we can no longer carry out our mission."

That scared Rachel more than his threat to kill her. "What? We're not going to go after the Joker anymore?" If not, then why still do this?

"Yes and no. We cannot go after Joker now, especially because we do not know where he is. But we have enough men to carry out one more raid. As planned, we will kidnap Maroni and his family, then we use them as hostages."

"Hostages? Who are we going to ransom? The other Families wouldn't give us a nickel for their lives."

"True. We will extort our employers: the Mayor and the other fatcats of Gotham. Give us more money to hire additional men, or we report to the world our nefarious deeds."

Rachel nodded in understanding. "I see. They hired you through an intermediary, to preserve plausible deniability, except they made one mistake: me. Because they approached me directly, I can blow the entire operation."

Janos smiled. "Exactly. Now I would have threatened to kill you if you didn't go along, but I'm sure you'll still play along."

"Don't be so sure—"

"—in exchange for cooperating, we promise to continue hunting the Joker."

"Can you do it?"

"All we need to do is bring in new contractors. A few weeks delay only."

Rachel nodded. "Then we have a deal." They shook hands. "So, where is Maroni?"

"Hiding in plain sight. We will wait a few days before acting. In the mean time, I have a job for you: go see the Mayor, and test the waters—I need to know whether he's still with us, or will sell us out."

"I will. Just let me know when you get Maroni."

"Is this place clean?" She wasn't referring to upkeep.

"Trust me, Rachel, if you want to be boss in this town, you always have to have a secure place to make deals, where no one can snoop."

"Looks peaceful enough," Rachel said, taking in the views of the Mayor's vacation home in Black Plains, a very rich suburban area north of the Palisades, on the west side of the Gotham River across Gotham City.

"Tea?"

"No thanks."

The Mayor nodded grimly. "So what happened at the docks?"

"Janos and his men had a tip that the mob was hiding on that ship, they launched a raid and blew it up."

"Killing half a dozen dockworkers," the Mayor said grimly. "We've warned him to cut down on collateral damage, but…"

"He doesn't listen very well, I know."

"Did he get them?"

"Oh yes, they were all there. But he lost most of his men. He sent me here to make sure the money keeps coming so he can finish the job."

The Mayor shifted uncomfortably. "That's the thing. Money's not the issue—we have plenty of backers. But we've read the reports, the Joker's still loose. If he can't bag the prize…"

"He's going after one more target, to get as much info as he can from them before disposing of them. After that, he needs a new infusion of funds to get new people in to help finish the job."

The Mayor stirred his drink. Taking a sip, he said: "We'll see how it goes."

"Is that a yes?"

"A maybe. We'll talk again soon."

"Alright. It's been a pleasure." Rachel got up from her couch and headed for the door.

Mayor Garcia laughed mirthlessly as he watched Rachel go. Women—who knew they could be as crazy as men? "Oh well, she'll be out of the picture soon enough," he said to the empty room.

Pouring one last drink before calling it an evening, the Mayor's hand froze in midair—all the lights went out. "What the—?"

—There was a sudden thump from upstairs. Jesus! Garcia fumbled for his cellphone, dialed and waited. "Come on!" What the hell were the guards doing outside—

—a dark mass knocked him to the ground; his martini shattered upon impact. Rough hands grabbed him and threw him into a loveseat.

"Good evening, Mayor Garcia," the Batman rumbled.

"You're the Batman!"

"Very good. We need to talk."

"You need to die—"

"—we'll all die in good time. Before that time comes, however, you're going to do what I ask."

"If you think you can threaten me—"

"—Only if necessary."

"I'm not scared of you."

"Then why are you sweating? No answer? Good, because I'm here to help."

"I'm not going to—" Garcia's voice cut off as the Batman grabbed him by his collar and held him close.

"Where are they?"

"Who?"

"The mercenaries. Where are they working out of?"

"I don't know that."

"You lie!" He raised his hand to strike. Garcia desperately—pathetically—held up his arms in defense.

"No, no, it's true! We only deal with them through an intermediary, a guy named Smith."

"Where's Smith?"

"I don't know, he calls us, we don't call him." The Batman looked angry, and again raised his hand.

"Wait, why don't you follow Dawes? She's working with them, she'll lead you straight to them!"

The Batman paused. "I've tried. She's picked up near the DA's office, and her pickup gets lost in the downtown traffic."

"Wait, you can't put a trace on her?"

"Dawes is a pawn—I'm dealing with the king!" He let Garcia go.

Garcia cautiously got up to his feet. "If I get you the information, what will you do?"

"Bring them to justice."

"You mean kill them?"

"No. Trials."

"That's no good—"

"—they're mercenaries, probably foreigners. No ties to Gotham or the rest of the country. They're not Maroni, they have no leverage."

Slowly the Mayor nodded. "Quite true. But you'd have to get rid of Dawes, too—"

Batman backhanded Garcia, sending him flying backwards. "—if I won't kill mercenaries, why would I kill Dent's fiancée?"

Spitting blood, the Mayor hissed: "Because she can spill the beans, bring us all down—bring down all the work Dent's done."

"She won't do that. She won't betray Harvey that way."

"But if she's alive, those mercs will make her testify—"

"—I'll deal with all the loose ends." Batman threw down a cell phone. "Give me their hideout in a week's time, or I'll be back for you." Without another word the Batman opened the living room doors and disappeared out into the garden.

Two days later, Mayor Garcia, showing no signs of his encounter with the Batman, was having a late-night cocktail with Bruce Wayne. "We should do this more often, Bruce." They were sitting out on the porch, under a brilliant night sky, the distant lights of Gotham off to the east.

That's Mister Wayne to you, bud, Bruce thought crossly, but he let it go. Flashing a vapid smile he said: "Who's got time these days?"

Garcia laughed and drank some more. "Seriously, you said this was urgent."

"It's about the Batman." Garcia choked as the tequilia he was drinking went down the wrong pipe. "Easy there," Bruce said as he slapped him across the back.

Gurgling, the Mayor held up a hand. "Didn't have to hit me that hard. What about the Batman?"

Bruce dropped his amiable expression, now all business. "Last night, he broke in here and threatened me regarding the, and I quote, 'death squads running around my city.' Is there something you haven't been telling me?"

Garcia laughed. "He's being a bit melodramatic—it's his style." Bruce continued to look skeptical. "With your money and everyone else's, we hired some outside experts to take care of the Joker."

"So all the exploding buildings, ships, police stations, and dead mobsters and cops washing up out of the sewers—that's their handiwork?"

"They have been a bit messier than advertised—"

"—we have to put an end to them."

"A point you, me, and apparently the Batman are all in agreement with. The question is, how."

"Commissioner Gordon."

"No—he's a good man, good cop, and that's why we can't trust him."

"Because our hands are dirty?"

Garcia laughed and raised his hands in front of his face. "I don't know about you, but my hands are clean as a whistle, and I sleep just fine at night."

"So do I, but if we don't stop these guys they'll bring us all down."

"Can't disagree."

"So? What's the plan?"

Garcia fell silent. He then pulled out the cellphone the Batman left him. "The Batman said he'd take care of it, call him when we had their hideout."

Bruce smiled and pulled out an identical cellphone from his jacket. "Go on."

The Mayor's eyes widened. Nodding, he continued: "I talked it over with my friends, and we made an offer to Smith, our contact with the mercenaries. Instead of giving additional funds to them, we paid off Smith to rat out the mercs."

"Sounds expensive."

"You don't want to know. Anyway, here's the address." Garcia showed him a piece of paper with an address written on it.

"Just north of the Narrows."

"The only question is, to whom do we give the honor of wiping them out? The police, the National Guard, another outside group, or the Batman?"

"Hmm. Law enforcement is risky, because they might start investigating. Hiring a second group of mercenaries to eliminate the first group of mercenaries—that's how we got into trouble in the first place." Bruce smiled. "Do you want to make the call or shall I?"

"By all means, go ahead." Bruce dialed; a harsh voice on the other line said: "Leave your message." Bruce read the name of the address and hung up. As soon as he did so, the phone flared up and ignited. Hoping he looked panicked, he quickly dropped it onto the patio, where it sizzled against the marble.

"Jesus!" Garcia backed away. "I guess it's out of our hands now."

"Let's hope the Batman succeeds."

"Actually, let's hope they all kill each other off."

Despite the act, Bruce couldn't get himself to say something in agreement. "Perhaps we should call it a night," he said instead.

Garcia nodded. "Sorry this venture didn't turn out as expected, better luck next time."

"Better luck next time." Noting his staggered movements, Bruce said: "Do you need a driver?"

"No, my sister's waiting in the car to take me home."

"Gotcha." He watched as Garcia stumbled and bumbled to his car, and waited until his vehicle had disappeared from view before heading down into the Cave.

For the rest of the week Bruce played private investigator as he hovered within eyesight of where Rachel lived and worked. During the workweek, Rachel had gone to work, then came home and stayed the night, until repeating the next day. The lack of sleep was getting to him, but grimly he maintained his covert vigil.

That Sunday evening, as Bruce played a panhandler seeking a handout on a corner across the street from her place, he spotted out of the corner of his eye Rachel emerge from her apartment. She was dressed as if going to work—white blouse, black silk pants—but she was moving with an unusual sureness and speed. She's going out—and not for a night at the ballet. Moving nondescriptly so as not to bring attention to himself, he faded into a nearby backalley, where there was a small scooter concealed under a false-dumpster. Casting off his hobo clothes, he sped off to the nearest hideaway, where a complete Batsuit and Tumbler lay waiting to take him to tonight's main event.

"Once more, where is the Joker?"

"Go to hell."

Janos shrugged and belted Maroni in the stomach with the crowbar. He clutched over and groaned loudly, spitting out some blood.

Janos pulled up a chair and sat in front of Maroni, whose eyes were blackened and his nose trickled blood. Sweat pouring down the sides of his head, Maroni was completely tied down to the chair he sat in, but to his credit did not struggle.

"I must commend you on your evasiveness," Janos said conversationally. "Your wife and daughters were not there when we raided your house."

"Maronis are survivors."

"Unfortunately, your elder son wasn't so lucky."

Cold anger flashed in Maroni's eyes, but he did not explode. "Bruno fought for his Family. He knows what's important in this world. Honor, respect!"

Janos brightened. "Don't you mean money? Now, our friends haven't paid us nearly as much as you paid the clown."

Maroni grunted with frustration. "If you wanted to do business, all you had to do was ask."

"The offer is still on the table. The Joker for your life. Deal? No deal?"

"I'm tellin' ya, it's Joe! Joe's the Joker's contact!"

"How did you know that, if you weren't making deals with Joker?"

Maroni laughed bitterly. "Fazio's sloppy, I know everything the Frog does."

"But not how to contact this Joe, eh?"

"Give me a few days, I'll take care of it, no problem, okay?"

Janos shook his head. "Not okay." He pointed to the door off to the right. "You see that? You don't want to go in there. Tell me more before I send you in."

"What's so bad about that door?"

"Once you go in, you don't come out."

"Kill me here or there, doesn't matter to me."

"Oh it matters. My friend in there… she's not as nice as I am."

"She?"

"It will be very unpleasant if you go there."

"You know what, I don't give a damn anymore. Let's get this over with, then I'll wait for you in hell."

"Haha very funny." Janos shook his head. "Okay you ask for it, you get it!" Janos snapped his fingers, and two of his men dragged him inside.

The room was dark, but as the door shut behind him the lights came on. He was not alone; there was another young man, dressed in a suit, tied up just as he was.

It took a second for Maroni to recognize who it was; when he did so he was horrified. "Antoni! What happened?"

His youngest son was gagged; profuse amounts of sweat poured down his fair-skinned forehead.

"Don't worry," he said reassuringly. "I'll get us out of here—"

"—I wouldn't bet on that." A female voice called out from the shadows. It sounded familiar. "Don't recognize me? How about now?" She stepped out of the darkness; to his horror, Maroni was staring at a woman who on the right side of her face was a pretty young thing, and on the left—a charred, singed horror of human remains.

Maroni still didn't recognize her, but it came to him in an instant. "Jesus!"

"Do you like my new look? I'm getting used to it myself."

"Dawes? You're that ADA, the broad dating Dent!"

"Not exactly. More like his widow." She strode over to Antoni and began tossling his hair with her fingers. "What a handsome son you have."

"He's an architect, completely outside the Family business, you have no right bringing him here!"

"On the contrary, history has shown threatening innocent loved ones is a good way to get people to comply."

Maroni was completely confused. "Who are you guys? Is that skinny creep a rogue detective?"

"Much worse." She walked up and sat next to him. "We're here to take out the Joker. I believe you can help us in that regards."

"Why should I tell you anything?"

"You will regret it if you don't. After all, isn't one of your sons already dead thanks to us?"

Maroni let loose a stream of foul curses at Rachel, who merely stared back at him impassively. When he was spent, she said: "That wasn't what I was looking for."

She turned around and ungagged Antoni, who immediately cried out: "Pop! What the hell's going on? What happened to Bruno? Where's Mom, Patti and Lori?"

"It's nothing, son, don't worry," Maroni said.

"If you don't want anything to happen to him, you'd better talk."

"I'm telling you, it was Joe, Joe! That's all I know!"

"We'll see."

From a distant tower Batman surveyed the nondescript building whose address Garcia provided. It was an unremarkable lowrise structure, about three stories high with a first-floor garage, completely dark. There were two men patrolling the exterior of the complex, and he had detected signs of at least one other moving on the upper floors. Building plans showed that there was a large abandoned underground tank facility adjacent to the basement of this building—a perfect place to house and supply a large urban strike force.

Extending the ribs of his cape, he launched himself into the cool night air, descending swiftly towards his target, the roof of the building. He grimaced upon contact—these landings were hell on his knees. Won't have any cartilage left before long. Wearily he got up and looked for a rooftop entrance—there was none. He crept to the edge of the building, doing his best not to make a sound but betrayed by the creak of brittle roof tiles that broke under his boots.

Fortunately there was no response from within. Peering down, there was a large, dusty set of windows which weren't boarded up. Batman lowered himself over the side with a wire and saw that there were no security devices attached to the window. Taking out a tool from his belt, he gently shimmed the locks open and lifted the window, then went inside. He was in a large empty office space, with a single door on the other side. It was unlocked.

Pleased by his good fortune, Batman went down the hall to the main stairwell. Peering down, he saw the movement of a single guard, who was patrolling the base of the stairwell. He went down one floor, then pondered the best way to take out the guard. By the direct approach.

At the opportune time, he hurled himself down the stairwell and landed with a smashing thud atop the guard. He barely had time to scream when Batman grabbed his head and smashed it into the floor, causing him to go instantly limp. Binding his arms and gagging his foe, he quickly surveyed his equipment: black suit, mask with goggles, standard body armor, a radio and a submachine gun. Turning off the radio, he made his way to the main entrance.

Batman briefly wondered how to take out the two guards. Keep it simple stupid. He opened the door and let it swing open, then hid off to the side. Sure enough, a few minutes later one of the guards came in. He was relaxed, not suspecting anything; it only took him a few seconds to put him down. He had gotten to his feet when the radio at the guard's side chirped with activity—someone was speaking in an East European language. Just as he whirled to the entrance the other guard burst in with lights on his helmet brightening the scene; they collided, with the guard squeezing the trigger and letting off a brief burst that fortunately missed. Because he was holding the gun, the guard momentarily did not have use of his hands; it was all the time Batman needed to wrestle him to the ground and knock him out.

Calming himself, Batman went back inside. Descending the stairs, he found himself in a small basement. At the far end of the basement a large hole had been cut in the wall; he carefully made his entrance. There was about a five foot passage filled with dirt, then he was suddenly met with a large grey steel wall, with a pressure door at the other end. Fiddling, he managed to get it open and step inside. As he did so, he thought he heard the faint sound of gunfire from above, but he ignored it.

Antoni Maroni screamed as electricity coursed through his body. When Rachel shut off the circuit he collapsed in his chair, weeping.

"Goddamnit let him go!" the elder Maroni shouted. Smiling, Rachel turned his attention back to him.

"Did you say something?" she mused.

"I told you everything I know, everything anyone knows about Joe."

"What does he look like? Where does he live?"

Maroni looked near tears. Choking, he said: "I dunno, short guy, blonde hair, nothing special, looks like any dude off the street. When the Joker escaped that ferry situation, he disappeared for a while. We all thought—hoped—he was dead, but then this guy Joe meets us, says he speaks for the Joker."

Rachel smiled brightly. "See, I knew you were holding back! Just a second." Rachel turned the dial on, and Antoni started to scream again.

"What are you doing?!"

"It's set to a low current, he'll be fine—for a while. You were saying?"

Maroni looked at her with murder in his eyes. Rachel shrugged. "The longer you stay silent, the longer Antoni fries."

Maroni started speaking rapidly, barely audible over his son's cries. "A week later, Joe meets up with Rico, bringing a necklace of the Chechen's and a ring from Lau… with a burned finger still attached." Involuntarily Rachel reached up to touch her own fried face. "Said the Joker made it out, and that he'd talk through Joe, that he'd be running things."

"What did Joe tell you to do? What were your instructions?"

"He, he told us all to sit tight and lay low, that he was gonna take care of Batman and the police." Now he pleaded. "And that's absolutely, 100% everything I or anyone else knows."

Rachel looked at him critically, then smiled. "Thanks, Sal, that was very helpful." She went over and turned off the current; Antoni gasped for air, but was otherwise alive.

Maroni tried to smile. "So, can we go?"

"Here's the thing—" there was the sound of gunfire in the distance. A moment later Janos popped in. "Trouble?"

"The Batman, he's here," Janos said tightly.

"Okay. Please capture him alive if you can."

"What?"

"I'll explain later. Now will you excuse me?" Janos nodded and left.

Maroni had a crooked grin. "Batman here, whaddya know."

"You think he'd risk his life to save scum like you?" she asked.

"Oh no, Miss District Attorney, Mrs. Rachel Harvey Dent Dawes," he said sarcastically. "But I do think he'd risk his life to put down scum like you."

Rachel looked at him, then shrugged. "My new associates may be in for a rough time, but he can't touch me."

"Really? We've studied this Batman guy; he hates crooked cops and lawyers as much as wise guys, maybe more so. You've thrown it all away to play Assassin, so after tonight, say hello to my buddies in Blackgate."

Rachel laughed heartily. "All true, but I know something you don't know." She opened the top button of her blouse. "I know who the Batman is—in fact, I've been sleeping with him."

Maroni looked properly stunned. "Do you wanna know who he is?" He nodded.

Rachel leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Batman is Bruce Wayne."

"Bruce Wayne? Bruce Wayne is Batman?!"

"Uh-huh." Rachel smiled. "Of course, now that you know his secret, I'm afraid I'll have to kill you." She went over to the table and picked up a revolver.

"No, wait!"

"You're right, I won't kill you." Looking straight at him, she cocked her arm and fired her pistol at Antoni. The bullet caught him in the chest; with a gasp he sagged back against the chair and was still.

"No Antoni!" Rachel then pointed the gun at him and fired again, catching him in the throat. Maroni gargled as blood spurted across the room. Putting the gun on the table, she came up to him and whispered in his ear.

"Oops I lied. But at least you should stay alive long enough to see dear sweet Antoni die first." Maroni strained to respond, but Rachel had already left the room.

Batman ran as fast as he could through the tangle of pipes and tanks. Two gunmen were in pursuit, stitching the ground behind him with automatic fire. Turning the corner, he grabbed at a ladder and began climbing up as quickly as possible. He just made it to the next level when one of the gunmen turned the corner and fired his way; the bullets impacted the pipe to his left, spewing steam.

Taking advantage of the momentary cover, he began climbing up to the next level. The other gunmen had joined him, and they climbed up the ladder to the level below him. Batman then deliberately made himself visible; they both fired, but he was already behind a wall. One of the gunmen then began climbing up the ladder to his level, while the other gunmen stood below giving cover.

Smiling grimly, Batman took out a detonator and pressed the button. The small plastic explosive charges he left behind on the rungs of the ladder exploded, severing the ladder and sending the first gunmen tumbling to the floor ten feet below. His partner jumped to the side to avoid being crushed by the falling debris; Batman took advantage of his distraction to leap down and knock him out cold. Quickly disarming him, he made sure the first gunmen was still alive (he was), then grimly made his way back to the main antechamber.

Opening the door, he was back at the main floor, where there were crates of supplies stacked against one wall. The opposite wall was bare, but he could clearly see bloodstains on the wall, no doubt where the previous victims of the mercenaries had been executed.

The opposite door flew open and a thin blonde man entered, dressed as the gunmen he had dispatched. "Say goodbye, Mister Batman," he sneered, but before he could raise his submachine gun, there was a loud gunshot. The final gunman grimaced and fell to the ground; Rachel stood behind him, lowering her pistol.

"Rachel!" As Batman took a step towards her she fired at him, hitting him in the belly. The armor of his suit just barely prevented penetration, but it could not prevent the energy and momentum of the bullet from smashing into him. As if punched in the stomach he staggered and fell. Striding up to him she kicked him in the groin, which didn't hurt because he was protected, but kept him from regaining his balance.

"Poor, poor, Bruce," Rachel said sadly. "Never know when to quit, do you?"

"Rachel," he gasped. Getting to his feet, Rachel simply stood before him, gun at her side. "What, what is this?"

She smiled and gestured around. "My vengeance. My justice. If you go into the next room, you'll see the latest victims of justice—Maroni and his son."

Bruce staggered, not just because of the bullet impact. "How could you?"

"It was… the right thing to do."

"I don't believe it!"

Rachel shrugged. "What's done is done." She dropped the gun. "So, are you here to arrest me?"

"First tell me, how many of them were here? Are there any more?"

"Janos here said there were six, including him. I saw two other guards when I got here, but I don't know about the other three."

"They're down, I took them out coming in."

"So that's all of them. What are you going to do?" Before he could answer, there was a burst of gunfire behind them. Then another.

"Who's that?" Rachel asked. "Did you tell Gordon?"

"No." A moment later the door began to open.

"Get behind me." Rachel did so. When the door opened, a black-garbed man, resembling the gunmen he had taken out except for a large gas-mask which covered his features, entered, brandishing a submachine gun.

"Who are you?" Batman asked.

"Hello Rachel. Batman. Bruce."

Rachel gasped; Batman simply stared. It sounds like him, but it couldn't be—

The gunman slowly removed his mask. A tussle of blonde hair spilled out; dark eyes stared back, the man's chin strong and grim—

"Harvey?" Rachel whispered.