A Dark Knight
The weight in Dillion's coat was going to drag him down. Any moment now, he was sure that he would collapse in a heap, pinned down by the weight, the awful weight. His hand kept gliding back to his pocket, to explore the cold metal, the barrel, the hammer, the trigger guard, the gun.
"Dillion, relax. You'll have a heart attack on the way to the door," said Taylor.
The men were sitting in the back of Nick's car. While Dillion sweated, Taylor checked his own heater one last time, while Nick whistled a show tune. They sat across the street from grocery store, Cain and Sons.
The sun had long left the sky. The moon weakly slipped past the clouds. A few police zeppelins coasted on the far end of the city, shedding their light on crimes yet unknown.
"One more time Nick. How many honks if someone comes in?" asked Dillion.
"Twice, one short, one long."
"And if it's a cop?"
"Two long ones. Jesus, Dillion, we've been over this a hundred times just tonight."
Dillion looked out the window at the store. Most of the lights were out, but a few in the back could still be seen. He took steady breaths, as he tried to tamp down on the rising panic. Taylor put a hand on his shoulder. Dillion looked at his friend, Taylor's rough face contorted into that warped smile of his. A bit crooked, the debt from a loan not repaid right on time. Educational, Taylor always told him.
"Dillion. It'll be fine. It's a grocery store, not Blackgate penitentiary. Cain's an old man. One look at these," he said, as he held his revolver, "and all the fight'll go right out of his system.
We know where the safe is. We know he leaves last. Hell, if we knew the combination, we could just bust in after, but not everything can be easy."
Dillion opened his mouth to protest, but it faded. They sat in Nick's car, smoking and watching the grocery store. The rain came and went, unable to commit.
"Maybe they're leaving together?" said Dillion.
"No way. Sue never saw them leave at the same time. Always the same, she said. Always the son, then Cain," said Taylor.
Sue was their source. She worked at the grocers for almost two years before the old man fired her from dipping into the register. It was over a round of drinks at a hazy bar, that Sue mentioned how much money was in the safe. The kind of amount that could rebalance a few scales.
"Looks like your gal was right," said Nick. He tilted his head towards the store. The son walked out into the night, around the corner.
The momentum shifted irrevocably. The weight in Dillion's pocket was no longer at risk of weighing him down. Now it dragged him along, as he and Taylor got out of the car, the latter flicking his cigarette butt into the gutter. At the door they paused, as Taylor pulled up his bandana and Dillion did the same.
"Like clockwork, pal. We'll be drinking cocktails in Metropolis by sundown tomorrow."
The next few minutes unfolded rapidly. The light ring of the bell above the door as the two robbers stepped into the store. The look on Cain's face as they pulled their guns, that recognition, the one that lurked in every true son and daughter of Gotham, the understanding that this city will come for you one day.
What Dillion and Taylor didn't see was the flicker, the other side of that knowledge, the vow that when that day came you would make the city pay in kind.
Dillion watched the door, as Taylor marched the old man to the safe's hiding spot. Under gunpoint, Cain slid away the apple stand. He removed the two boards. The safe sat below the floor. Another one of Gotham's customs. Valuables were not to be flaunted.
The radio played a tune, the same one Nick had whistled in the car.
"Dillion get over here. Help the old man get it out."
Dillion and Cain grunted and heaved the safe out of its hiding spot.
"Open it."
Cain stared at the safe.
"We don't need you to open it. We have other methods. But this night will be much more pleasant for you if you help us out."
It was a bluff. They would be lucky to get the damn thing into Nick's car and none of them were safe crackers.
"We can start on kneecaps or feet, your choice."
Cain gave Taylor a withering look and began to unlock the safe. Dillion ran a hand on his brow, wiping the sweat that poured out when he wasn't paying attention.
The safe door swung open. Dillion gasped, as Taylor hooted. It was packed with stacks of bills, almost bursting with them.
"Keep your heater on him," said Taylor, as he shoveled bills into his bag. "We'll need at least one more bag, maybe two."
In contrast, the next few minutes seemed to last forever, even though Dillion felt control had definitively left his life.
The door rang out.
"Hey, pa. I forgot my wallet by the register…"
The son trailed off, as he stared at the scene before him. Dillion saw the calculations on his face, the weight of his options.
The gunshot startled Dillion, even though it came from his own gun. A bottle exploded on the shelf next to the son, who turned tail and fled through the door, the bell ringing once more.
"Get him, dammit, get him," shouted Taylor.
Dillion ran to the door, his feet sliding on the contents of the bottle. He barreled through the door and whipped his head around. The son was fleeing down the street.
Dillion leveled his pistol at the man's back. His finger met the trigger. He could not bring it to press down, now that the first wave of fear was gone.
Another shot erupted and the son fell.
"What are you doing?" said Nick.
Before Dillion could respond, Nick shot again. The son was getting up. The first shot cracked on the pavement next to him. Shots two and three hit their target. He was still, save for a faint wiggle in his left leg.
"Enough gawking. We gotta make tracks," said Taylor, bag in hand, money spilling out with each step.
"You were supposed to honk."
"I did, I did! You clowns didn't hear it."
They ran to the car. Dillion opened the door. Thunder cracked behind him as Nick coughed. Cain stood in the doorway holding a shotgun. He was owed his pound of flesh.
"My boy! You killed him!"
Dillion hit the pavement, as another crack coincided with the window shattering. Taylor was shouting and Nick screamed in pain.
Dillion aimed his gun and squeezed. Cain turned red and fell back into the doorway, his arm caught awkwardly on the entry bar.
"Nick got tagged. You hit, Dillion?"
"All clean." Dillion's hands shook violently.
Taylor loaded Nick into the car and took the driver's seat. They sped off, leaving behind the carnage. Sirens already marked them as wanted men.
"Where are we going?"
Dillion had asked Taylor that question four times already. The man drove in a frenzy, darting through traffic, nearly causing accident after accident.
Dillion cradled Nick, who was awake but loopy, his arm wet with blood. The bag sat next to them, a few red bills fluttering around the car, the wind penetrating through the shot out window.
"Where are we going?"
Taylor glanced back at them, his eyes wide.
"We gotta put some distance between that place and us. I know a spot. We can hide out for at least tonight.
Like clockwork, Dillion. It can still work out."
The sirens drifted through the streets, but this was Gotham. A night without sirens was like the ocean without water. There was no telling which ones were meant for them.
"We gotta hide out. Patch Nick up. Count our bread. Maybe Metropolis is outta the picture. I hear Hub City has room for guys like us," Taylor muttered. He recited the plan, the possibilities.
It only made Dillion want to scream. He saw the spray of red from Cain. The flinch from the son as he fell.
Nick whistled a sloppy show tune through gritted teeth.
Taylor eased, as they crept through the dingier neighborhoods, even by their standards. Few of the streetlights worked. The husks of apartment buildings and businesses leered at them, home for the rats and bums. It was easy to get lost in this maze.
The crescent moon peeked through a break in the clouds, triumphant at last. Dillion let the tension seep from his shoulders.
A shadow crossed the moon.
"You see that?" asked Dillion.
"Don't start with that crap now," said Taylor.
"Somethin in the sky."
"We go all paranoid now and we may as well march into the station and handcuff ourselves."
Dillion relented, but he continued to scan the rooftops. Nick whistled on.
There was a loud pop. The car began to bounce and shake as Taylor swore.
"The tire!"
The whole car shuddered and stopped. Nick yelped.
"We hit a light pole," announced Taylor.
Dillion exited the car, as did Taylor. Nick stayed on his seat. Taylor crouched to appraise the flat tire.
"Well?"
Taylor looked up at Dillion with an expression that made his blood run cold. Dillion took a look himself. Embedded in the ruins of the tire was a sharp metal blade, with scalloped points along the bottom.
"No way, no goddamn way," said Taylor, his voice hoarse. "He ain't real. Grab Nick, I'll get the bag."
The streetlight exploded as something struck it. The car lurched from an impact. Dillion felt Taylor grab his arm, as he was dragged away, towards a cluster of rundown buildings.
Behind them, Nick's gun went off, before his screams rose into the night.
"Quit that!" yelled Taylor. Dillion realized he was laughing. Bills sailed through the air behind them as they fled.
Taylor shouldered a door open and pulled him into one of the buildings. They clambered up the treacherous stairs. They ran till they ran out of room, their flight ended in a dingy spot near the top floor. Taylor peered out of the cracked window. Only a sliver of moonlight remained.
"We can make our way to one of the nearby buildings. There must be a way across.," said Taylor, "Lose that thing in the maze."
"It got Nick," whispered Dillion, as he suppressed another fit of nervous giggles.
"We gotta worry about ourselves. You try that side of the floor, I'll check for a path over here."
Dillion began to turn to the door, but stopped himself.
"Wait," he said.
"What it it man? We don't have time for this."
"You think I'm gonna leave you with that," Dillion said, pointing to the bag.
"Are you nuts? We have bigger problems than your paranoia."
"I am not leaving you alone with the money. I killed a man. My life is over without that." Tears welled in Dillion's eyes. He felt the weight.
Taylor angled his gun up first.
"Easy, easy."
Dillion held his hands aloft.
"Don't do anything stupid Dillion. We can work this out still. We can make it."
Something growled outside.
The cord wrapped around Taylor's gun arm, anchored by a scalloped end that dug into his flesh. He screamed as the line went taut, as he sailed through the window.
Dillion lunged, not for his friend, but for the bag. His fingers missed the fabric and he watched a downpour of money float away. Taylor was crying out in pain, somewhere out of sight.
Dillion recoiled from the window. He retreated deeper into the building. The nervous laughter was gone, replaced by straight dread. Dillion crept and crawled and prayed as he went from room to room. Every creak, every moan of the worn edifice startled him. Tonight was supposed to be the end of a long nightmare, not a revelation that it had uncharted depths awaiting him still.
Dillion rounded a corner and entered another ruined bedroom. The window of this one was bricked up. A footstep creaked somewhere behind him.
He whirled round, revolver raised.
"Stop! Stop! I'll shoot!"
Another creak.
He pulled the trigger.
"I didn't want any of this!"
Another creak.
Dillion fired again. And again.
The muzzle flash gave but a glimpse, but that was enough.
Stalking through the darkness was a figure wreathed in black, a swirling cloak around its shoulders, two pointed horns protruding from an ebony face. Two white slivers glared at Dillion in that brief flash.
"I didn't mean to hurt anyone."
Another creak.
Dillion shot where the figure had been. It was closer now.
One bullet left. One way out.
Dillion pressed the barrel to his own temple.
"I'll see you in hell!"
The figure lunged forwards. Strong hands wrestled the gun away, his own fingers cracking and popping in their grasp.
Dillion stared up into the dark cowl.
"You're already there."
Gordon missed Chicago. He never thought he would miss Chicago. It drove him crazy when he lived there, the pace of life, the weather, the crime. His partner was a pain and Barbra complained he worked too much. Compared to Gotham, Chicago was paradise.
"Looks like they got a two-fer-one special, eh, partner," said Flass. The tall, blond bull of a man stood over the dead man in the street. Gordon was next to the older one in the doorway. The shotgun still lay near his outstretched arm. Gordon hoped he got one of the bastards.
"Robert and Bill Cain," said the beat cop that was first on scene. "Robert ran this store for at least twenty years."
Gordon grimaced and stopped thinking about Chicago.
"We got any witnesses?"
The cop looked at his shoes.
"Anything?"
"Lady that lives in a nearby apartment saw a car take off. Said three robbers. Then she said four. Told me two different directions," said the cop, Lewis, Gordon thought.
Flass let out an ugly laugh.
"Waste of time, Jimmy. Trail will be cold by morning Leave it to the local boys."
Gordon swallowed his disgust and turned back to Lewis.
"Get as many men as you can. Have them fully canvass the neighborhood. Anything helps. We'll radio in to see if anyone's got a lead in either directions."
"And here I thought you wanted to see your wife one of these days, Jim," said Flass.
Two months in Gotham and Flass was still a thorn Gordon couldn't pull out. He was sure that the Commissioner was using Flass to keep an eye on him.
Before he could respond, their car's radio squawked.
Gordon grabbed it.
"Gordon here."
"It's Bullock. Heard about your double homicide. Might have something you want to take a look at."
Bullock. Another pain. Gordon couldn't make sense of the man.
"Been a long night already. Better be good."
"Good might not be the right word for it, but you wanna see it. It's on Fletcher, three blocks east of Crime Alley."
"Be there soon."
Flass got in the driver's seat.
"Don't worry, partner, I can get us there. Wouldn't want you to get lost."
Gordon thought of Chicago and got in the car.
Three men dangled from a cable, looped around their torsos. The cable was anchored to a gargoyle, the last one on the dilapidated building it sat on. They were all in various states of injury, bruises and broken bones. A bag of cash sat below them, along with three revolvers, all empty. Some of the bills were stained with blood.
Gordon looked at the display.
The other cops stared in awe. Even Bullock appeared a bit stunned. He held his cigarette, unlit, perpetually threatening to bring it to his lips.
"What do you make of it, Detective?" said Bullock.
Gordon remained silent.
"Think it's really him?"
"Too soon to tell. Get these men down."
Gordon turned to give the others orders, to make sure Flass didn't try to sneak a sample from the bag, when he heard a murmur from above.
"What?"
The same murmur.
He got closer to the trio.
"Keep away."
Gordon saw that one of the robbers was awake, muttering through a swollen jaw.
"Keep away. Keep it away."
Gordon leaned in.
"Keep what away? What are you saying?"
"He's going to get me. No way out, no way out."
"Who?"
The robber grew quiet for a moment, and then in a voice marred by terror, he said:
"The Batman."