Author's note: I would like to thank you for showing interest in this little project, and I'm happy to say that I can finally post another chapter. The reason why I didn't posted before was not of my choice, since I had to spend a week in hospital. But all is well now with my health, so we can finally move on with the story.
As for your request, I'm happy to read suggestions, criticisms and improvements but be forewarned that this was never about money. This is a mere contribution to the Batman lore and, like I said in the previous chapter, part of the challenge that was posted.
And after all this rant, let's see what's in store for today!
2. Gator's Have It Easy
"While in the merry month of May, now from me home I started
Left, the girls of Tuam were nearly broken-hearted
Saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother
Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother
Then off to reap the corn and leave where I was born
Cut a stout, black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins
A brand-new pair of brogues to rattle over the bogs
And frighten all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin"
An Irish tune floated in the grizzly room while buckets of sweat and blood flooded the central ring. Nothing but a mere whimsy fence, dusty ground, beer oozing round the already drunk audience that cheered and howled inside that awful quarter; where illegal boxing was the main attraction and money ticket to any dangly gent in the area. The Walker Law might have changed the rules, but that gambling den was nowhere near any official. The owner had actually been banned out from all the gyms and stadiums, and for a good reason.
"El Serpiente", as he was known by everyone, was still at the top of his game. His years as champion in Ciudad de Mexico had left him with quite a big fortune, the respect of a whole country and a shady business to take care of. Moving to Gotham was not entirely pleasant for him, but not a waste either. That gambling den was a golden goose, despite its appearances. Four combats each night, buckets of green and panther piss were poured and lots of silly gringos to play with. All of them stupid and willing to do anything to earn a handful of bucks to pay the rent. Well, all save for one. The one fighting with his current right hand man was probing to be a tough bone to crack. No matter how many times, it hit the dust; he would always come back up. What was his deal anyway?
"Had enough, pretty boy?" Waylon Jones, former gator hunter in Louisiana and bouncer, owned the ring. But his quips never seemed to work, since his rival remained silent. "Y'all startin' to irk me" growled the huge wrestler. The audience would normally be all excited about seeing the rowdy boxer going all berserker, but things were not on Waylon's side that night.
"¡Andale! What are you waiting for, manito? Just get to it!" barked El Serpiente.
"And wha' do y'all think I'm doing, you son of a gun?" answered Jones just before finding himself again trying the fists of his competitor. This guy was good, only not as bulky as the gator trapper. "I'm gonna eat y'all alive, ye hear? I spared ye last time, but no more. First it was your stupid tux, now it will yer skull" Waylon sent him crashing against the fence, giving the man a few seconds to reconsider his strategy. Hidden behind his Mexican mask, it was hard to tell how much pain he was suffering but that advantage was just what he needed.
"This mustn't register on an emotional level" opening his blue eyes, the stranger studied the bouncer carefully. "First, distract target..." he had come prepared to that match, even more than what Waylon or his boss could have predicted. Those fights were his 'dojo', where he learned all the dirty tricks and tried his new inventions on the unsuspecting mugs. And for that block-headed reptile, he had just the thing. The perfect trick to get even with such a monster.
"Y'all hear me? Ye're dead, mate!" when Waylon barged in for the kill, he found himself biting not flesh but smoke. The bouncer could only cough, trying to find his missing prey in that load of gas.
"Block his blind jab, counter with cross to left cheek. Discombobulate" without saying a word, the masked fighter continued with his strategy, avoiding the hunter's attacks, going for his face and slamming his hands over Waylon's ears. "Dazed, will attempt wild haymaker. Employ elbow block... and body shot. Block feral left, weaken right jaw... now fracture" a cross to the jaw fractured the Jones' mouth bone. "Break cracked ribs. Traumatize solar plexus... dislocate jaw entirely" two more body blows, and a right hook to the jaw hinge. "Heel kick to diaphragm" the blue-eyed man finished with a heel kick to Waylon's chest, sending him crashing out of the ring. "In summary: ears ringing, jaw fractured, three ribs cracked, four broken, diaphragm hemorrhaging. Physical recovery: six weeks. Full psychological recovery: six months".
The room went very still, almost deadly quiet. Not a soul could believe what had just transpired. No one, NOBODY had ever taken down the Louisiana bouncer. Not even El Serpiente dared to challenge his right-hand man. And that stranger had done it in barely three minutes, how was that even possible?
"You know what? You're right about something. You won last round. Now we're even, Gator Lips" the masked man walked over Waylon and grabbed his cut along with a sip of whisky from the manager's desk. "Same time next week?"
"Uh" the manager gulped.
"I'll take that as a maybe" the fighter picked up his jacket and headed for the door.
"Eh, eh, eh! Hold it right there, amigo!" El Serpiente walked to them. "This is MY joint and you just pummel my best hombre! What are you playing at?"
"Honestly? Nothing. He owes a jacket, remember? I'll let this one slide since I know you got a big match in three days" the winner eyed a large advertisement: B. Kane vs. Bill 'Fingers'. "But do teach him some manners"
"Just who do you think you are, escuincle?" the owner growled.
"The same guy who put out of commission your other two best 'hombres', but be my guest. This place has just earned a fortune thanks to me" answered the stranger. El Serpiente was really mad now, but knew that he was right. This was his best night in weeks. Thanks to his annoying friend, he had enough to buy a whole new batch of panther piss and new fighters for the roster.
"Muy bien. I'll let this one 'slide', but on one condition, gringo. Next time, it will be mano a mano, fist to fist. No silly tricks, ¿de acuerdo? ¿Trato hecho?" El Serpiente wasn't going to go easy from that day on, but that was far from being a problem for our strange wrestler.
"Trato hecho" they shook on it and parted ways. Just outside and waiting near a dark alley, was a shining black Rolls-Royce Phantom I Jonckheere. Reading the latest edition in his impeccable uniform, was Mr. Pennyworth, the same man who had visited the Arkham Pig on his own earlier that night. He seemed a little surprised to see no important injuries on the masked wrestler. "Long night, Alfred?"
"Nothing too out of the ordinary, sir. I take it you won this time around" smiled the uniformed man, helping him with the door.
"I did, but we still have issues to work with" he confessed while removing his mask. "How was yours?"
"Not too shabby but still needs work too" Alfred started the engine and headed for the outskirts of town. "I believe another visit to the Fox Theater is in order, Master Bruce. But that can wait until tomorrow, once Dr. Thompkins just taken a good look at you"
"I can't hardly wait" leaning back on his seat, the blue-eyed closed his eyes. On their way out of the alley, they saw several police cars flocking over a nearby joint. Another illegal hole, another night of red lights. But this one seemed different somehow and it soon became clear of the why.
In the other raids, no gurneys for corpses were ever needed.
And finally, here it is!
Our hero joins the fry with a loud bang!
More to come