To Play the Fool
Chapter Two
A shipment of unnamed cargo was going to arrive at any minute. The docks felt empty, but Batman knew where to look. A Red Triangle look-out here, a Red Triangle hit-man there. When it came down to it, the docks were awfully crowded for a Tuesday night. The various mob men and women were keeping an eye on their watches. Someone or something was late.
Thankfully, he knew these docks well. The first time the Batman made an appearance, he intercepted a shipment of drugs and delivered mob boss Carmine Falcone to the Gotham City Police Department. Unfortunately, half the shipment slipped by him, and was dumped into the city's water supply by the Scarecrow's men. That was right before the League of Shadows unleashed a night of neurotoxin-induced terror on the Narrows.
Not that he didn't enjoy reminiscing about the events that made mobs terrified to operate in Gotham, but he had to concentrate. The Red Triangle mob was something different. The other mobs had been around before the Batman came to Gotham. They were used to operating without the police or a masked vigilante trying to stop them. Once Batman started hitting them where it hurt, they didn't know how to react. Meeting in daylight hadn't helped their organizations survive, and they eventually died out.
The Red Triangle had been born after the other mobs collapsed. They didn't have the same fears or weaknesses the Falcone family had. They certainly didn't fear the Batman. Nothing he did could stem the flow of drugs, money, human trafficking, and weapons they brought in to Gotham. Years ago, the mobs were terrified of him. Now, they laughed at his futile efforts.
A stir ran through the Red Triangle, and they didn't try to stay hidden anymore. They were much more alert and got their weapons ready for anything. A ship was coming into harbor, possibly with their illicit cargo on board.
Batman crept through the shadows and the towering shipping containers. One man had decided to take a quick smoke break, seeing as how everything had been quiet until now. A quick jab to his throat to paralyze his vocal chords, another blow to his head to knock him out, and the man went down quietly. Batman only paused long enough to kick away his gun and steal his radio.
A second man wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings, but he kept his hand on the gun at his side. He would be more likely to make noise when he went down.
"North Watch to Beacon 2," a woman's voice came over the man's radio, barely audible to the Batman's ears. "Check in, please." He jumped and scrambled to answer it.
"Beacon 2. All quiet on the eastern front," he replied. "Not a bat in sight."
"He won't be in sight, Beacon 2. Keep both eyes open. Penguin will be arriving momentarily."
"Will do, North Watch." And the man went back to his surveillance, this time a bit more aware of the state of the docks.
No matter. No one would notice his absence for another fifteen minutes or so. He was out cold with barely a gasp of protest. As an extra precaution, Batman unloaded and disassembled his pistol before moving on to the main force.
By the time the boat docked, at least five outliers had been taken care of. About eight other men and women remained to unload the shipment. It may have been odd to have women overseeing a shipment of illicit goods, but the Red Triangle was a surprisingly equal-opportunity criminal employer. They were just as capable and cruel as any of the men that worked under the elusive Penguin. Batman had learned this the hard way.
Penguin, of course, was a code name for the man that ran the entire mob. From what Batman could uncover, the name Penguin was a nick-name he earned when he was younger, and was not indicative of his appearance in any way. However, he did have a fondness for wearing tuxedos and top hats, which might explain where he got the name in the first place. This was as far as his information went. The Red Triangle kept their lips sealed about the personal life of the Penguin, as if they knew that someone could be listening to them at any time. That, or Penguin was an extremely private mob boss.
"Let's get this done quickly," North Watch said over the radio. "Penguin will be here shortly and he doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"We know, Addison," one of the more burly men grumbled. To his shorter and lankier companion, he said, "It's like she thinks this is our first run or something."
"Well that's probably because we keep running into the same problem. Batman," he replied, tightening his grip on his rifle. The two exchanged a fleeting look of grit and tenacity.
The burly man swallowed and clutched his gun closer. "At least after tonight he won't be a problem anymore."
"What makes you say that?"
Before either man could properly react to the Batman growling over their heads, the vigilante swung a vicious right hook in the bigger man's jaw, punched his ribs with the other fist, jabbed his friend in the solar plexus with his gun, and knocked out the shorter man with a backhanded punch. They went down and stayed down for good. Unfortunately, someone else heard the scuffle.
"Beacon 9, check in," said North Watch. "Beacon 9? Somebody check on him," she ordered. She was getting angrier by the minute. This wouldn't be the first shipment she's supervised that was intercepted by the Batman.
Rather than hurry to the boat, Batman waited in the shadows for the majority of the players to congregate on the scene. There were six in all, four men and two women, dressed in dark clothing, ranging from dirty jeans and dark t-shirts to pressed slacks and leather jackets. Every one of them carried a menacing gun far too large to conceal.
A woman with short, blue hair wearing army fatigues found the men lying on the ground behind a forklift. "He's here," she announced.
Then everything went dark. A well aimed batarang knocked out each overhead light in a show of sparks. For a moment, the group was confused, but they came prepared for such a tactic. Each of them pulled out a torch and went on the offensive. Six beams of light scanned the shipping containers and shadows erratically, looking for suspicious masses of black cloth and armor.
There was no way to hide from the flashlights, and the Batman was occasionally hit by a beam. But as soon as someone thought they saw him, he was gone. Right up until one light suddenly vanished. The flashlight was crushed under someone's boot, and the owner suffered a broken nose and a concussion from the heel of Batman's hand.
One of the men panicked and swept the dockyard with a spray of bullets. Two others were quick to follow suit, amidst shouts of, "Watch it! You're going to get one of us killed!" and, "Where is he! I see him!"
A couple bullets glanced off the Batman's armored chest-plate, but for the most part, he was able to predict the path of the shots and avoid them altogether. He had hoped to avoid this part, since more people got hurt when guns were placed in the hands of scared fools, but what could be done at this point?
Batman grabbed the next closest gun, slammed it into the owner's jaw, and threw said owner into a shipping container. That flashlight fell to the ground, and the beam went still. Without missing a beat, he kicked another gunman into his neighbor, and both hit the ground.
"We're going to need some help over here!" the other woman shouted into her radio. "He's got -" and she was knocked out as well.
One of the men found himself face-to-face with the Batman and tried to swing a punch, but the Dark Knight blocked it, twisted his wrist until it snapped, and threw him into the wall.
All the flashlights and fallen and lay still on the ground. He braced himself for anyone else that was foolish enough to attack him in the dark, but no one seemed willing or able to face him. No one conscious, anyway. He allowed himself a smirk before moving on to the boat and intercepting the shipment.
Three able bodied men had managed to move one large box onto the deck and were working on a second. Batman knocked out the lights with a batarang and they took defensive positions.
"Get Grundy off the boat," one of them ordered. "We'll keep him busy."
Batman swooped down, his cape outstretched and throwing the shadow of a giant bat over the three of them, and tackled the foremost man. This one, however, had been through some training and had gone toe-to-toe with the Dark Knight a couple times before. He kicked the Bat off him and jumped up. Batman landed on his feet and braced himself for the coming attack.
The man didn't hesitate to engage him with a showy roundhouse kick to the teeth. The Batman blocked him easily and knocked him off balance. He managed to keep his footing and return with a punch or two of his own. Batman caught his fist and threw him onto his back. Before he could recover, he was clouted over the head and knocked out cold.
Now for the other two, who seemed to have disappeared. They were busy carrying the last crate off the boat. Batman started off to intercept them when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun around and was met by a massive fist the size of his head. Batman staggered backward and barely managed to dodge the next two blows. The third one hit him in the chest and sent him sprawling into a pile of wooden pallets.
He was stunned for a second, but that was long enough to gather all the details of his attacker he needed. He did not overestimate the size of his fists. The man was a giant, easily a foot and a half or two feet taller than Batman, with a touch of macrocephaly and bone white skin stretched over his frame. He wore a long, black woolen coat that was tattered at the edges, worn-out jeans, heavy black combat boots with steel showing through one of the toes, and a dirty white button-up shirt. His eyes were yellowed and bloodshot, but full of a need to fight. And fight he could. The man had the muscles of a body-builder on steroids, and he knew how to use them to his full advantage.
"Batman," he said with a slight Boston accent. His voice was deep, but scratched, and he spoke softly like his vocal chords had been injured. He cracked his knuckles, preparing for another round. "They call me Solomon Grundy. I was born on a Monday."
He raised his fists like a single hammer and let them fall full force right on Batman's diaphragm. Or he would have, had Batman not rolled out of the way just in time. Instead, the stack of pallets exploded upwards in a shower of splinters
Batman managed to get to his feet and immediately attacked back. A sizeable portion of a man's strength in a battle comes from his ability to intimidate his opponent. That was why the Batman mantle worked so well in defeating other criminals. However, with Grundy, punching him was akin to hitting a brick wall that looked down on him condescendingly and laughed at his pitiful efforts. There was no need for bravado in his case. Grundy's strength was raw and untempered. He swept his arm at the Batman and sent him somersaulting into a wall.
Grundy shrugged off his coat, throwing it aside carelessly, and stretched out his pale, sallow arms like he was simply getting ready for a workout. He stalked towards the pile of Bat, pausing to casually pick up a discarded long, iron bar. He stopped just in front of him. "How is anyone supposed to be afraid of you? I don't get it." He raised his iron bar in the air.
And was stopped by the appearance of a figure standing between the two much larger men. It was so slight that both Batman and Grundy doubted it would be much of a deterrent. The figure was hidden in his shadow, so Batman couldn't get a very good look at it, but he could tell the stranger was half his size, let alone Grundy's. There was no way it could stand up to anyone.
"Get out of here," Batman ordered, barely able to get his breath out.
"What he said," Grundy replied. Then he resumed his attack with a war cry, but the figure held its ground. He bar came down directly toward its head.
The figure's hands flashed out and caught it just before it came two inches from a guaranteed killing blow. One hand yanked the bar out of his grasp while the other smashed in his nose. He stopped for a moment to check the stream of blood spreading over his face and onto his filthy shirt, giving the newcomer enough time to dance out of his reach.
By the time he reacted to his injury, the figure had circled behind him and was provoking him by swinging the bar at him. Grundy roared in animalistic fury and went after it, swinging his fists and clawing at the air that the figure had just barely occupied the second before. The figure was so close to the ground that throwing those punches nearly toppled him over. "Missed me," it taunted in a deep, mechanically scrambled voice.
Even if the figure was doing nothing but retreating, it was still distracting Grundy from Batman's recovery. He pushed himself to his feet and tried to recover his senses. Grundy's blows took a lot more out of him than he expected. At this point, brute force wasn't an option, so he decided to go with something a bit more low key.
The stranger retreated nearly to the end of the dock and was running out of room to dodge Solomon Grundy's fury. The figure swung the iron bar to deflect his blows, but didn't have enough strength to do much more than annoy him further. Batman gathered what strength he had and took off after the monstrosity. The figure used the bar to pole vault and kick Grundy in the chin, sending him two steps backwards, which was just enough. Batman leaped onto his back, snaked his arms around his neck, and held on as tightly as possible.
Suddenly, the newcomer didn't matter to Grundy anymore. He tried prying the Batman's arms off, but his beefy fingers couldn't get a good enough grasp and those arms had an iron strength of their own. So he opted for the next best method of getting his windpipe back. He stumbled backwards until they hit a metal shipping container. The Batman let out an, "Oof!" Grundy had nothing to say because the pressure did not let up on his throat.
He rammed into the next available wall. This blow jarred several of his ribs, but his grip did not let up. If anything, his determination made him squeeze harder. Grundy gave it another go, but with the same results. Both of them were starting to see spots.
Then Grundy felt something tangle in his feet. That idiot was back and trying to trip him. With one solid kick, he sent the figure sliding off the edge of the dock and into the water. With that distraction gone, he could deal with the fact that his legs were starting to feel wobbly without help from an iron bar.
Someone blew the horn of a pretentiously expensive car, distracting the two wrestlers. Grundy took this opportunity to bend forward, throwing the Batman over his back onto the deck. He landed on his back with an audible crack! Without wasting a second, Grundy grabbed the vigilante by his shoulders and threw him over the edge to join their surprise visitor. Then he ran off in the direction of the car horn.
Batman scrambled to find his grappling gun before he hit the water, when his descent was halted by a sharp tug on his neck. His cape had snagged something and he swung gently in the breeze as he listened to the car drive off into the distance.
Failed. They'd gotten away with the shipment.
He looked up to see what his cape had snagged and was slightly surprised to see that it was a small hand. Higher up, he saw the figure, now better lit, holding onto one of the supports of the dock with the other hand. The first thing he saw after the hand was the metal head with glowing red eyes. The light glinted off of the ribbons of metal that shaped the head. There seemed to be room for features like a nose, a mouth, and ears, but they were smoothed over and only the bright, square eyes were accented.
"Any ideas?" the figure said, its jaw not moving. At this point he still couldn't tell if it was male or female. "Not that this … hurts … or anything. Take your time."
Batman found his grappling gun, shot it at the nearest crane, and pulled both of them back onto the deck. The only sounds left were a few nearby gulls and their feet hitting the wood. Well, his landing quietly and the newcomer stumbling and literally hitting the deck. The Red Triangle was gone with their shipment and newest weapon, Solomon Grundy.
He turned to the figure who had gotten up and stood at its full height – a full head shorter than Batman. He also noticed –
"You're a girl."
She brushed some dust off the knees of her black pants. "Yes. Is that a problem?"
He ignored the question. "What are you doing here?"
"I got bored. Came to help you out."
He costume said this was more of a habit than a whim. She wore black leather-like pants tucked into sensible black boots, and a leather jacket that was black at the neck and shoulders and faded to blood red at her waist and the elbows of her sleeves. The jacket's high neck connected with the metal mask with glowing eyes. The entire ensemble had seen quite a bit of use. It was stained with some dirt, but was not worn out. "Who are you?" he demanded.
"I'm Tex," she said. "I have to run, but I'll see you around, Batman."