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Batman: From Dark to Knight
John Louis
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE: It Begins. ................................................................................................ 1
CHAPTER TWO: Descent. ................................................................................................. 7
CHAPTER THREE: Enticement. ...................................................................................... 12
CHAPTER FOUR: Execution Experiment. ...................................................................... 17
CHAPTER FIVE: Keeping the Faith (Part 1). .................................................................. 24
CHAPTER SIX: The Delivery (Earlier That Night). ........................................................ 27
CHAPTER SEVEN: Initial Discovery. ............................................................................. 31
CHAPTER EIGHT: Accusations. ..................................................................................... 38
CHAPTER NINE: Repercussions. .................................................................................... 43
CHAPTER TEN: Biological Entity. .................................................................................. 47
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Maneuvers. ................................................................................... 49
CHAPTER TWELVE: Secondary Discovery. .................................................................. 54
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Injury Report. ............................................................................ 57
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Second Impressions. ................................................................ 67
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Stop The Presses. ......................................................................... 73
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Reevaluation. ............................................................................... 78
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: In-depth Analysis. ................................................................. 82
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Chemical Engineering. ............................................................. 89
CHAPTER NINETEEN: False Identities. ......................................................................... 92
CHAPTER TWENTY: Pampered Personalities. ............................................................ 100
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Dead Ends (Part 1). .......................................................... 108
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Disaster and Discovery. .................................................. 113
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Intricate Identities (Later that same night). ................ 118
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Night Movements (Part 1). ........................................... 124
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Night Movements (Part2). .............................................. 127
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Medical Inquiry. ................................................................ 132
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Feedings. ..................................................................... 137
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Monster Hunt. .............................................................. 140
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Keeping The Faith (Part 2). ............................................ 144
CHAPTER THIRTY: Nightmares Encounter. ................................................................ 147
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Status Update. .................................................................... 156
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: Higher Chemical Enlightenment. ...................................... 160
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: Scientific Advancements. .............................................. 163
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: Medical Reexamination. .................................................. 170
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: Give and Take. .................................................................. 173
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: Forensic Discoveries. ........................................................... 178
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: Prison Informants. ......................................................... 180
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: Loose Ends. ................................................................... 185
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: Assassination Attempts. ................................................... 192
CHAPTER FORTY: Timely Rescues. ............................................................................ 193
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: Miraculous Escape............................................................... 198
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: Refusable Offer (Earlier That Night). ................................ 203
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: The Chase. ...................................................................... 211
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: Direct Disclosure............................................................... 222
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: Dead Ends (Part 2). ............................................................. 226
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: Once Over. ............................................................................ 231
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: Power of Prayer. ............................................................. 233
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: Entrapment. ...................................................................... 237
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: Intrusions. ........................................................................... 242
CHAPTER FIFTY: Dark Revelations. ............................................................................ 245
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: Deadly Solutions. .................................................................. 253
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: Reversal of Fortunes. ............................................................ 256
CHAPTER FIFTY- THREE: Injections. ......................................................................... 259
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: Scientific Pursuit. ................................................................ 263
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: Frontal Assault. ..................................................................... 267
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: Stalled Engagement. ................................................................ 274
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN: Silent Revelation. .............................................................. 278
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT: Standoff. ............................................................................. 281
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE: Bat to Hand Combat. ............................................................ 285
CHAPTER SIXTY: Final Devotions. ............................................................................. 288
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE: Rules Of Engagement: .......................................................... 290
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO: An Issue of Blood. .............................................................. 293
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE: Strange Agreements. ........................................................ 298
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR: Combat Zone. ..................................................................... 303
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE: Servant Intervention. ............................................................ 312
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX:Final Report. ............................................................................ 315
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN: The Truth Shall Set You Free. ......................................... 327
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT: Hope. ................................................................................. 333
Epilogue: .......................................................................................................................... 339
1
BATMAN: From Dark to Knight
CHAPTER ONE: It Begins.
Although he did not know why, Gino Genneti felt surprisingly nervous as his
Cadillac pulled into the filthy back alley. He told himself to forget about it. This place
was the perfect spot for the exchange. No one was going to bother him in this dump.
This area which was known as, “Crime Alley” was as hideous as any place in
Gotham; that was saying a lot. It was a trash strewn, garbage reeking, sewage encrusted,
filthy, dead zone. The buildings were ancient and crumbling; they had not had power or
water for decades. People still lived in them using any available window as a toilet. Gino
even saw what might have been the remains of a dead body (although whatever it was it
had been chewed up pretty good by the rats and rabid dogs).
No, no one was going to care what anyone was doing here. Besides if there was
any trouble, which there wouldn’t be, he could handle it. He was well protected as were
his two comrades. All three were heavily armed and wearing kevlar body armor. One of
his associates, named Tony was currently holding a suitcase that had the merchandise;
Fifteen kilos of pure uncut heroin. The driver, a guy named Luca, was an experienced
professional. That really meant that he was a crazed, cold blooded killer who would do
whatever he was told. Gino said to himself, “In Gotham they should teach such skills at
the vocational schools.”
Still something was upsetting him; but what? He had made all the necessary
arrangements. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this a hundred times before. The two sides
had agreed to the alley as neutral ground. This territory was controlled by The Loboys
gang and he had given them a cut of the product as part of this arrangement.
More importantly the Gotham City Police had been notified. He had paid off all of
the area patrols. They had even promised to keep an eye out for anything unusual. It gave
him such a warm, tingly feeling to realize that at this moment there were three police
cruisers who were essentially working for him. He had met with Officer Dan Good Jr. a
few hours ago. It was business as usual when he slipped the cop ten crisp c-notes. He told
him about the where and when and to keep an eye out for anything hinkey.
2
That’s when the guy got shifty and said to him, “Whatever you’re gonna do, make
it quick. There’s been some trouble.”
Gino asked through teeth clinching a cigar, “Trouble, what kind of trouble?”
That’s when the officer got all evasive and started looking around like he was
expecting something to happen, “I don’t know, they aren’t telling us anything, but it’s
like something bad is going down on the streets and no one is talking.”
“What do you mean? What’s going down?”
“The brass is keeping it under wraps. I only know that some Loboy hoods got
busted up or something?’
“When did this happen? How many guys got busted? Did the cops do this? Heck
most of them are working for the Loboys?”
“No nothing like that…maybe another gang fight or something.”
Gino was about to ask for more info but the cop said, “Listen I don’t know what to
tell you, but something is happening. If I were you I would get your business done
quick.” The policemen glanced over his shoulder, looked forward and glanced back
again. He took a slow breath and said, “Listen I gotta go.”
Gino wanted to ask some more questions, but before he could say anything the cop
took off. The car squealed slightly and left some dust in the air. Gino stepped back
reflexively.
He wondered what that was all about? Who was busting up whom? Was there or
was there not a rival gang that was causing trouble? Could one or two of Gotham’s finest
actually be acting like real cops? If any of the cops Gino paid off wasn’t telling him
everything then it was an act of betrayal. They and their families would pay with their
lives.
Gino thought maybe The Loboys were involved in some new conflict. Those
Loboy idiots didn’t know how to stay out of trouble. They were always looking for a
fight. Still all of the gang bangers knew not to be mess with the family.
“No! Snap out of it.” he said out loud. This was going to be a simple exchange,
supply and demand. The supply came through the family pipeline directly from the rag
head poppy fields in Afghanistan. Even the Russian army couldn’t slow that down. He
had the supply, and Gotham certainly had the demand. The Mexicans had the money. He
never trusted the greasy spics but they knew better than to double cross him.
3
Gino’s thoughts were interrupted when the driver said, “Hey boss, they’re here.”
He looked up to see a large, white, windowless, panel van drive up from the opposite
direction. The vehicle pulled to within 20 feet of them and turned out its lights. “All right
boys this is it, stay sharp.” Gino yelled as he and his three associates got out of the
vehicle. At the same time four men got out of the utility van but did not move forward.
The arrangements for this exchanged followed the agreed upon rules. Each side
would bring four men, the guy in charge, an expert assistance and two body guards. His
expert was an accountant whose job was to examine the money to make sure those taco
eating, grease balls didn’t short change him or slip in counterfeit bills.
Walking across the sticky pavement and avoiding stinking piles of goo, Gino
approached the van and recognized the guy in charge. He barked, “Ramos, you got the
money.”
Ramos Sanchez replied in a thick Spanish accent, “Si senor Gino, you got de
stuff.”
With a snap of his fingers Tony handed him the cache. The two men exchanged
briefcases. Gino handed Ramos a large metal suitcase and in return Ramos handed him
an even larger executive case.
The Mexican pointed to the van and said, “Let’s take a look” The side of the van
opened to reveal test tubes each containing a light red chemical. The “chemist” who the
Mexicans had brought along, opened the briefcase and made several small holes in the
four plastic bags containing the white powder.
He stuck a Q – tip into the holes and began putting small amounts of the powder
into the test tubes and mixing it with the liquid. Meanwhile Gino’s accountant began to
examine the bundles of 100 dollar bills. He began counting several of the bundles and
held a small flashlight to some of the bills to check for authenticity.
Finally after several minutes of this Gino turned to his accountant and growled,
“All there Louie?” The accountant, Louis Grisholder replied, “Yes sir Mr. Genneti?” At
about the same time Ramos Sanchez turned to his assistant, “Are we happy?” The
chemist replied, “She checks out, it is what it is.”
At that Ramos turned to his business associate, grinned and said, “Senior, Gino it
is always a pleasure to work with you.”
4
Gino knew that the dirty Mexican didn’t mean it, but at least he kept his word. He
breathed a sigh of relief, see everything worked out according to plan. What could go
wrong?
But then everything changed. One of the men yelled, “What was that?” One by
one the men heard a flitting noise, as if something was being sucked up a large soda
straw. The criminals looked around curiously. Someone asked, “Do you hear
something?”
Another replied, “I hear it. What is it?”
“Sounds like air leaking out of a hose?”
“Hose nothing man, check the tires.”
Several of the men stepped forward and bent down to look at their vehicles tires.
One of the Mexicans yelled, “They’ve been shot, somebody shot holes in our tires.”
Six men drew their weapons. Gino was holding a 9mm, while his two assistants
each pulled machine pistols. The Mexicans produced similar weapons. Each of the men
acted quickly, as if they had been in an ambush before (they had).
Gino, Ramos and the four heavies fanned out and began to find cover. The two
experts leaped into the van and slammed the door. As they settled to their new positions
all of them heard the sizing noise begin to cease as the last of the air escaped the
punctured wheels.
Ramos was hiding behind an overflowing dumpster. He shouted, “Gino, what cha
doing gringo?” To which Gino replied, “This ain’t me man, what’s going on.” The men
continued to scan the area.
As the men concentrated on finding out how someone had punctured their tires
they heard two whooshing sounds. With a sudden, shattering sound sparks came from
under the hood of the two vehicles and both the van and the Cadillac went dark. One of
the Mexicans yelled, “They just shot out the batteries.”
With a flash, the street lights busted and the alley was plunged into near darkness.
From all over Gino heard the men yelling, “What the heck…it’s the Mexicans they did
this….No was us man…I can’t see a thing.”
And then it happened. With a loud whooshing sound the whole area exploded
with a blinding flash of light. All of the men screamed and dropped to the ground. One of
the men yelled, “What was that?” Gino knew it was some kind of flash grenade. He had
5
seen the things used on a rival family, but nothing this powerful. He felt like he had been
hit by a truck. The ground seemed to swirl, his face felt wet and his ears were ringing in
pain.
He attempted to get to his feet. He needed to see what was going on, who had
attacked them, how many were there? He heard someone yell, “Gas!” His face started to
burn. He took a deep breath but gagged. The air felt as if he was breathing burning
gasoline.
Gino’s Genneti’s world was ripped apart. He began to cough and gag violently.
The other men were screaming and several began to fire their weapons…at what?
The whole alley erupted into a grinding, cacophony of smoke, gunfire and
screaming. Gino’s men were retreating to the side of a dumpster a few feet back from the
Cadillac. From what he could tell the Mexicans had moved behind the van. All of the
men were coughing violently and several were screaming in between gasps.
He heard Tony say, “Whose there, come out and show yourself.”
One by one the men started firing. Through the flashes of the pistol shots Gino
looked up to see…what. In the middle of the Alley was a huge dark shape. It seemed to
shimmer in the blackness for a moment. Gino tried to think, what was this? Where had it
come from?
Then with blinding speed it attacked. The thing leaped forward and engulfed
Tony. Gino heard his subordinate get off a shot but that seemed to have no effect. He
heard a wet cracking noise and Tony screamed, gurgled and went silent.
Gino Genneti could barely hold his eyes open and his face was a fiery mask of
pain. Through the strobbing flashes of gunfire he saw the huge black shape move toward
one of his men. He heard the man wretch, scream and then something crashed through
the windshield of the Cadillac. That was Luca! Is he dead?
Through the haze he saw the other men began to fire round after round at the black
swirling shape. But whatever it was kept disappearing and reappearing. In an instant the
thing had flashed across the alley. The two experts hiding in the van literally flew out of
the busted side door. A second later both men’s heads were slammed to the ground
by…what? Gino fired at it, but just as quickly it evaporated.
One of the Mexicans screamed, “Madre!” While the other howled “Diablo.”
Neither man had time to speak again. The two men were lifted off their feet, and their
heads were smashed together. Blood, chunks of hair and skin went flying.
6
That left only Ramos and himself. Gino knew that the other man grew up on the
streets of Mexico City and had been in numerous shoot outs with both the police and rival
gangs; the man was as tough as they come. Gino thought he could see Ramos trying to
stake out his target. But just as quickly as the Mexican aimed the black shadow swirled
and was elsewhere.
A second later Ramos disappeared from his field of vision and he heard the
Mexican’s bones crack like dry sticks. Next came a sound something like a coke bottle
being busted. Was that Ramos’ jaw? Gino heard the man hit the concrete with a wet
splattering sound.
The gun fire and the screams stopped. Gino was the only one left and all he heard
was the guttural moans of the wounded men. His face burned and his breathing was
coming in loud gasps. His terror put him to the edge of shrieking panic. He had
discharged his bladder and his hands were shaking so much he could not even hold the
pistol. As he felt his strength ebb all he managed to say was, “Stay back, who are you?
You don’t mess with the family; don’t you know who I am?”
Immediately the black shadow appeared next to him. He felt a hideous stabbing
pain in the back of both of his hands. Screaming, he dropped the pistol, fortunately it did
not discharge. Then electric fireworks of pain ripped his right side apart. Something had
struck his rib cage; Gino wretched and vomited in agony as three of his ribs broke.
Then he heard the thing speak in a guttural growl, “I know who you are. I’ll tell
you who I am. I am a criminal’s worst nightmare.” Gino felt the creature grab his arm
and twist it with such obscene force it broke his wrist and dislocated the shoulder from its
socket. He barely had the energy to scream. His body convulsed as he began to pass out
from the pain. He heard the thing say, “This is my city and I am taking it back.”
The last thing he saw was the black shapeless mass begin to fly away.
7
CHAPTER TWO: Descent.
Gotham Gazette cub reporter Bart Tobler sometimes thought his toughest job was
just having faith. He was young enough to still believe he could make a difference
(although that idea was rapidly fading). But, he was jaded enough to accept the practical
realities of life in the big city. Looking out the window, he had to dig deep into his well
of faith to believe that all of this somehow made sense. He thought to himself, “How do
you save something that doesn’t want to be saved.”
He hated his job as an entertainment reporter. It was a waste of his interests,
talents, time and efforts. He could care less about the latest scandal concerning Gotham’s
celebrity set or the next up and coming heavy metal band etc. The only thing that made
journalism in Gotham exciting was that in this city it didn’t matter what area you were
assigned. If you wrote on Gotham City, you wrote about crime. If you wrote about
politics, you wrote about crime. If you wrote about sports, you wrote about crime. If you
wrote about entertainment, you wrote about crime. If you wrote about science, you wrote
about the latest application of technology to further crime.
Today, as every day, he huddled in his cramped, dirty cubicle in the Gazette
building. He leaned into his work not unlike a long distance runner leaning into a steep
hill run trying desperately to deny the exhaustion he felt. He pounded away at his old and
unreliable electric typewriter. This was the one that kept sticking and frequently missed
the letter s. He complained about it and was told to just not use words that have an s. He
heard about these new kinds of computers called word processors. He believed that The
Gotham Gazette would be getting those about the same time as the rest of the third world.
The reporter wrinkled his brow in an attempt to focus his concentration among the
yelling and shouting. The floor was a veritable cacophony of machine grinding noises,
police scanners, radios blaring the latest updates on recent stories, inexplicable crashing
sounds, reporters screaming at copy editors, copy editors screaming at secretaries and
secretaries just plain screaming. All of this was surrounded by wafting clouds of dust and
smoke produced by chain smokers, (most everyone but himself) and by burnt out,
antiquated, machinery.
His friend Joshua Justice wrote about Gotham’s education system. The headlines
of some of his latest articles included:
How To Spot Predators at Your Child’s Day Care.
Gotham City School Superintendent Wants Every Student To Know The Difference In
Sounds Made by A Handgun, Shotgun and Assault Rifles.
8
Mayor Touts His Every Convicted Felon Gets a College Degree, Will Cover Nearly Half
of Gotham HS Graduates.
Bart Tobler shook his head in disgust at the middle headline. Gotham’s
superintendent of public schools was a real piece of work. The man had no real
background in education. He owned a publishing company and contributed large sums of
money to several key politicians’ campaigns. Rumor had it that he also made contribution
to some numbered bank accounts in the Grand Cayman Islands. In return, his company
would supply all the text books for the school system. The superintendent position was an
added bonus. Meanwhile the man made his home in Hawaii and rarely visited Gotham.
You could make the argument that today was a particularly bad day (there was
always someone around here willing to make an argument on just about anything). The
details of this morning’s headline crime were particularly horrific.
The late Pastor Alan Duce, of the Gotham United Friends Church had been a
courageous and tireless advocate for justice in Gotham. His church ran one of the cities’
largest food banks and homeless shelter. He worked with local state and federal law
makers to bring economic revival to the city and held pray rallies to promote peaceful
change.
Yesterday he was killed in a monstrous drive by shooting; it could better be called
a drive by massacre. As always there were conflicting accounts. Some of the witnesses
were paid to lie by the perpetrators. Others lied to get their name in the media, some lied
for the fun of it and others were just plain delusional.
What was known was that a black panel truck drove several times around the
church before shooting the windows out. After throwing several huge molt off cocktails
into the building, the killers continued to drive leisurely around the church firing
automatic weapons at everyone who ran out of the blazing inferno.
The assassins drove off when they were sure the pastor was dead. The fire
department and the police showed up about 45 minutes later when they were sure the
coast was clear. After all, the Gotham PD would never want to over tax themselves or put
their members in harm’s way.
Bart Tobler’s friend Jordan Johnson got the story. Jordan commented in that
squeaky accent of his, “Dis story is so bloody it might be the worst in today’s paper. I’d
bet it makes the front page. Hey it might even make it to other cities.”
Bart knew that if other papers reported this story the headline would likely include
the statement – Only In Gotham.
9
He believed that his column on allegations that Cobblepot’s club, The Antarctic
Zone served alcohol to minors (probably in exchange for their services as heroin mules)
would likely go unread; this was old news. The citizens of Gotham had come to expect
this.
For most in this city the word Gotham was another name for Hell. The phrase
“When Gotham freezes over” had become a popular expression. As well as: 1) Abandon
hope all ye who enter Gotham. 2) Gotham: The worst of times and the even worser of
times. His favorite was: What’s the difference between the Mos Isley Space Port in the
movie Star Wars and Gotham. One is a wretched hive of scum and villainy inhabited by
monstrous beings. The other is a scene in a George Lucas Film.
But he wanted to believe that things were getting better. His faith was based on the
premise that prayer changes things. If he was nothing else, Bart Tobler was a man of faith
and prayer. Not that it was doing much good. For instance his church, The New
Jerusalem Community Church had sponsored forty days of prayer for Gotham. Every
hour of the day for forty days two people from his church volunteered to pray for the city.
The vigil was to affirm the congregation’s belief that the situation in Gotham would turn
around.
The only noticeable result from the event was that the next day thieves broke into
the church and took everything that wasn’t nailed down, including the copper from the air
conditioning unit (which did not work anyway).
But both the Christian and the reporter in him would not give up. Things had to
get better.
Finishing up his story, the reporter gave it one more scan for punctuation and
syntax (in Gotham it was referred to as sin-tax). Finding no errors, he got up to turn the
work into the powers that be. In this case it was Mr. Marcus Kelton who is the managing
editor of Entertainment and Special Events. Mr. Kelton was currently the highest ranking
African American employed by the Gazette. Bart enjoyed working under him. It was not
just that they were both African Americans. Marcus Kelton knew the newspaper business
inside and out. He was a man of integrity and something of a mentor to Bart. He thought
that if anyone could give him a good word it would be Mr. Kelton. He always had a
positive perspective no matter how bad things got.
Walking to his editor’s office involved negotiating his way through a maze of
desks and mounds of papers. The man’s office was not much bigger than a bathroom. It
was constructed mostly of wood paneling with a poorly hinged door attached to
unpainted two by fours. Knocking carefully, so as not to crack the cheap door, Bart raised
his voice, “Mr. Kelton, here’s the masterpiece, the next Pulitzer Prize coming up.” Mr.
Kelton, replied back, “Come in Bart, and please shut the door.”
10
What was this about? Bart’s reporter’s instincts began to flare. He entered the
small office, shutting the door, which barely left enough room to sit down. As he took his
chair he noticed the stern look on his editor’s face. Mr. Kelton spoke in a low serious
voice. “Bart, I am afraid I have some very bad news. I was just informed that due to
budget cuts each department has to let two people go.”
The man paused a moment, allowing his words to sink in, then he continued, "I
have no choice in the matter. Since you and Jordan Johnson were the last hired it is only
fair that I let both of you go. I am really sorry, I truly am.”
Bart Tobler felt the air leave his chest from what felt like a punch to the stomach.
He gasped and felt his vision swirl. He looked up and then down and repeated the motion
two more times.
His first reaction was denial. It couldn’t be, wasn’t there something Mr. Kelton
could do. He wanted to argue his case, he wanted to negotiate and convince him how
wrong this was. All he could say was, “No! Why?”
“It has nothing to do with your skills as a journalist; you are a fine reporter and an
excellent writer. It has to do with the fact that the Gazette’s owner has tripled the salary
he pays himself at a time when revenue is down. This seems to be happening all over.”
“But, Mr. Kelton, I‘ve been a good reporter, isn’t there anything you can do?”
Marcus Kelton’s demeanor relaxed “Yeah there is, I have a little money for
freelancers saved up. Normally this would be a two week notice starting next Monday. I
think I can get you an extra month or on top of that; maybe a week or two more. That will
give you about two months or so to find another position. In addition, I’ll be happy to
write you a letter of recommendation and I have a lot of friends in the business.”
Bart felt hot tears begin to trickle out of his eyes.
Both men sat for a moment in silence.
The editor leaned toward Bart and placed a friendly hand on the man’s shoulder.
He spoke softly, “Listen all is not lost. I’ve been in this business a long time. I have
friends everywhere and I have a list of other contacts you can try.”
“Really, who, where?”
“I know people in radio, television, magazines and newspaper throughout the
country. Marcus smiled and said, “We journalist have got to stick together.”
11
“You mean in other areas of the country? But my life is here in Gotham. I moved
here from Chicago.”
Marcus Kelton began to rise signaling the end of the meeting. He spoke, “My
advice is to move back to Chicago or really anywhere else. You know as well as I do that
Gotham is no place for anyone to have a life.”
12
CHAPTER THREE: Enticement.
Future Gotham City Police Lieutenant James Gordon shifted nervously while
checking his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. He opened and closed his brief
case and paused for a moment to see if he needed to go to the bathroom again. Realizing
that he did not, he decided to get another cup of coffee and then thought better of it. The
last thing he needed was for his bladder to hit when he was seeing the chief. So he
checked his watch again, crossed and uncrossed his legs, tried to read the paper but found
himself unable and shifted in his chair some more and checked his watch again.
He was supposed to meet with Police Commissioner Gillian Loeb at 9:00 AM (He
had arrived 40 minutes ahead of time) the clock now showed 9:20 AM. The
Commissioner was currently in a meeting in the large briefing room. Gordon shifted, and
decided against grabbing a magazine from a nearby desk (it would look too relaxed).
He took a second look at the briefing room. The door was shut and two officers
stood guard. About half an hour ago he had seen the chief, a couple of assistant chiefs
and several guys in suits all but run into the room. He was new to Gotham but he thought
that the guy in the light brown suit was the deputy mayor. A few minutes later several
young officers looking pale and nervous were marched in. What was going on in there?
He knew it was none of his business. He knew not to pry or ask questions that
were not his concern. He realized that he had one foot in the grave and the other skating
on thin ice. Before he returned to Gotham, Jim Gordon was convinced that no other
police force would have him. He had sent resumes to over 100, count’em, 100 police
departments. He had heard nothing positive.
No, Gotham was the only department that would give him half a chance. If
Gotham didn’t work out, that would be the end of it. It would mean that he was a cop no
longer. If James Gordon was anything, he was a cop. It was the only career he ever
considered pursuing and the only one he had ever held after he left the military. His only
other career opportunities included selling used cars, insurance, paper or plastic; do you
want fries with that?
He took a deep breath to relax. He had to admit that even menial labor might be
better than living in this cesspool. Gordon flashbacked to yesterday’s ordeal. In order to
save money he had taken the train from Chicago into town. This gave him a chance to see
Gotham close up and he didn’t like the view. Seeing the filth of Gotham’s under belly
would make a proctologist want to puke. As Gordon was driven to the station he felt like
he was in a Herodotus Bosch painting.
He had worked the south side of Chicago and had been on special assignment in
East L.A. Gotham made those places look positively elegant. He thought of wife Barbara,
13
who was likely pregnant. He could not conceive of raising a child in this dump. He
wondered if the phrase “living in Gotham” wasn’t a contradiction in terms.
Gordon’s thoughts were interrupted when Gotham City Police Commissioner
Gillian Loeb along with a few other men exited the briefing room. Their faces were ashen
and covered with sheens of perspiration. They exited quickly taking long, nervous strides.
Commissioner Loeb leaned against the doorway for support starring off into space.
What was going on? Was this no more than a typical day in Gotham? He reminded
himself again that whatever it was, it was not his business.
As the Commissioner stood unmoving by his office door, the secretary, a 20
something blonde wearing too much make up and a skirt so tight that Gordon thought she
could have worn it while scuba diving, announced, “Sir your 9:00 o’clock appointment is
here.”
This broke the silence. After a little shake of his head the Commissioner walked
over to Gordon and grabbed his hand. He squeezed Gordon’s fingers rather than giving
him a real handshake all the while avoiding eye contact. Smiling, he spoke through
gritted teeth, “So you’re James Gordon, I heard a lot of good things about you, welcome
to the team. Listen, give me a minute and then I will call for you.” With that he retreated
into his office.
A minute turned to 20. Finally Commissioner Loeb opened the door and waved at
the secretary. The woman shook her head sympathetically and said, “The Commissioner
will see you now.” Gordon thought he heard her say, “Good luck.”
As Gordon walked into the office he could tell that Commissioner Loeb clearly
had the largest office in the building. It had lavish wood paneling, plush carpeting and
was decorated with what looked like expensive antiques. Loeb sat behind a huge,
polished, mahogany desk.
He thought to himself that it looked like a king on his throne.
The Lieutenant’s eye caught several black and white photos suspended in gold
trim pictured frames. Noticing Gordon’s interest Loeb spoke, “Like the pics? They’re
original Ansel Adams, from his private collection. Beautiful aren’t they?”
“Yes magnificent.” He replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. His
real thought was how do you afford that on a cop’s salary?
The commissioner gestured for him to sit down and picked up his file from
Chicago. Loeb began to leaf through the folder muttering to himself, “Yes, I like this,
14
very good.” Finally setting the file down he looked at Gordon smiled and said, “Well
everything seems to be in order.” With that Commission began to drum his fingers on the
table.
Gordon immediately tried to explain himself, “Please…y…you have to
understand, I know I have made mistakes but I assure you I am an honest cop.”
Loeb’s smile only grew as he chuckled and said, “That’s the least of my
concerns.”
“If you read my report, you’ll see I give a full account of my actions. But please
let me say this…”
Loeb cut him off with a wave of his hand, “Listen Gordon, you handled it
correctly.”
The new lieutenant jerked involuntarily…handled it correctly, is he reading the
same report?
The police chief smiled and said, “You kept everything quiet and the media stayed
out of it. You contained it. That’s what gets things moving along.” He tapped his fingers
a few more times.
“Moving along?”
Loeb stared at him for a long moment. He continued to smile that syrupy smile as
he spoke “Listen Jimmy, can I call you Jimmy?” He continued without waiting for a
reply. “I’ll be frank with you, everyone knows Gotham has its unpleasant side.”
Unpleasant side!?! That’s like calling World War Two a bit disruptive.
“But we cops we take care of each other, we watch each other’s back. We know
when trouble is coming and when to get ahead of it.” He tapped his fingers a few more
times and subtly smacked his lips, “Do you know what I mean Jimmy?”
James Gordon stuttered, “I, I…think I understand. I’ve always tried to be a team
player.” In fact he did not quite understand. His chest began to feel heavy and he felt as if
he were shrinking into the chair he was sitting in.
The Commissioner’s smile only grew. He cocked his head and began to tap with
both hands while telling Gordon, “That’s what I like to hear. The citizens of Gotham will
only respect you if you show leadership and solidarity with your fellow officer. Your
ability to respect this will determine how far you go in this city.” Loeb leaned forward,
15
lowered his voice slightly and said, “But trust me, if you play your card’s right, a cop can
really get ahead in Gotham.”
Get ahead. There’s only one way a cop gets ahead in Gotham. Gordon felt the
shrinking continue.
The two men sat quietly for a several long moments. If Gillian Loeb was waiting
for a response, the lieutenant had none.
The Commissioner cleared his throat and sat up slightly. The man looked down at
Gordon’s file and flipped through some of the papers. “I’m looking at your starting
salary. I see they started you off as a first year lieutenant. It’s criminal how little they pay
us. This is especially true for you with a wife and probably a baby on the way.”
“How did you know about Barbara?”
This time the Chief’s smile turned condescending if not wicked, “Oh you know
how the cop’s grapevine works, I have friends in Chicago, heck I have friends
everywhere.” He explosively pronounced the last word. “I like to know all about my
lieutenants.” He punctuated these words with a few more taps on the table.
What the heck does that mean? Is he keeping me on a short leash?
The Commissioner stopped the drumming and sat motionless for several seconds.
The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Each man was waiting for
the other to speak.
Gordon wondered what the man wanted him to say. Did he expect him to nod in
approval and let him know he was on board?
For a second he wondered if he was going to be told that this was not working out
and he was not going to be hired. Would he really lose his job before it began solely
because he refused to turn dirty?
The stillness was broken as the man slapped the table with his hands and stood up.
This signaled the end of the meeting. Still smiling he extended his hand and said, “We
expect big things out of you Jimmy. I am sure you won’t disappoint us.”
Taking the chief’s hand Gordon replied, “I’ll do my best.”
“I’m sure we will all get along fine.” With that Gillian Loeb turned to enter his
private bathroom.
16
As the lieutenant got up he felt light headed and nauseous. For a moment it
reminded him of the way he felt the first time he saw a dead body. It was a curious mix of
feeling like someone had just punched you in the stomach, and a dizzy sense of unreality.
As he left the office he noticed that it seemed much smaller than when he first entered it.
So where did that leave him? First and foremost he was a cop, pure and simple. He
was a cop trying to do the right thing in a den of thieves. A cop doesn’t run from a fight
because if he does no one is safe.
That’s easy to say, but a cop’s job is to arrest the bad guys. What if the cops are
the bad guys?
All he could say to himself was, “Maybe a career in the food service industry
wouldn’t be so bad.”
17
CHAPTER FOUR: Execution Experiment.
The entrance to the basement of Blackgate Prison had until recently been unused.
The area was usually flooded and filled and infested with rats. The guards often
threatened to, and in some cases actually proceeded to, shackle inmates and through them
to the vermin.
For years it was normally sealed off by a huge metal door that had been rusted
shut. But recently the area had become active again. The water was pumped out, and the
area cleaned up.
Now that it was working the door could be pushed open, but it was not easy. The
opening was much smaller than a regular doorway and staff physician Dr. Eric Lambert
struggled to push the door open and get his massive girth through the slender opening.
He cursed and felt that this was one more example of how fate had mistreated him.
It was his unfortunate lot to be a full time doctor working in one of the worst prisons in
the country.
He reflected on what people meant by saying Blackgate was one of the country’s
worst prison. What exactly did they mean by that? Did that mean the actual structure? It
was true that the building was falling apart. The cells were cramped, cracking, unpainted
concrete hovels that were constantly damp and moldy. There were no windows, no real
ventilation, no air conditioning and little heat in the winter.
Maybe they meant the conditions that prisoners were held under. The prison cells
were eight feet by ten feet, with a fold down metal bunk and a thin mattress. The cells
included a small metal desk with a rickety plastic stool, a couple of shelves to put
personal items on, a sink and a small metal toilet jutting up a few inches from the floor.
The inmates were issued a small clump of toilet paper every morning. They had to
request for their toilets to be flushed by an outside mechanism. The guards routinely
withheld flushing as a punishment.
The men were confined to their prison cells twenty three hours a day. They were
allowed out one hour a day to walk around in a small prison yard. They were permitted
only minimal contact with other inmates. The food was a mish mash of whatever was
available, mixed together with flour and water and served as watery mush. Inmate
clothing, pillows, towels, blankets and mattress covers were little more than torn, thread
barren, brown stained rags.
18
Maybe they meant the lack of services and opportunities. There were no
educational, job training or rehabilitation programs. Visiting hours were for one hour a
week on Saturdays. The prison personnel performed a body cavity strip search on all
visitors. This kept the number of visitors to a minimum. If an inmate was sick or injured
bad enough he could be taken to the infirmary. But they were never given the same
quality of care as normal hospital patient and rarely were they ever taken to an outside
medical center even if it was a life and death emergency.
Maybe they meant the staff. The guards were chosen for their size and strength.
They worked six hours a day guarding the already confined prisoners. They were
required to lift weights and practice martial arts for two hours a day. The guards were
officially encouraged to be firm with the inmates. This translated to senseless brutality
and sadism. Inmates were routinely beaten, humiliated, forced to stand in painful
positions while being subjected to excessive heat and cold. Stories of inmates forced to
eat dead rats, have caustic substances rubbed into open wounds, being dangled from a
rope from the top tier and burnt with acid and electricity were common.
Of course all of this was vehemently denied by every official source. Anyone who
even suggested a statewide or federal investigation was quickly silenced by bribing, force
or threat of force against the potential whistleblower’s family; a promise that was always
kept. The bottom line was that Blackgate Prison was hell on earth and nobody cared.
As Dr. Eric Lambert walked down the basement steps he reflected that as staff
physician his main job was to dispense pharmaceuticals to the guards. They got what they
wanted, when they wanted it. These include rather dangerous amounts of amphetamines,
beta blockers, pain killers, tranquilizers, muscle relaxers, anti-depressants, anti-
psychotics and of course a wide array of steroids. He provided anything the guards
needed to give them the edge.
Lambert brooded on his misfortune. He had graduated top of his class at Gotham
Medical College. His fellow graduates practiced at prestigious clinics and were paid
handsome six and even seven figured salaries. Meanwhile he was the doctor to the dregs
of humanity.
Of course his colleagues had never been convicted of assaulting their anesthetized
female or male patients. Now his fate was sealed and he was just as much a prisoner as
the inmates.
Turning the corridor he consoled himself with the understanding that this
arrangement had one ghastly advantage. Under any other conditions he would not be able
to be involved with such an interesting and potentially rewarding project. He was part of
a team whose research would soon change the world.
19
He finally made it to his destination which was a small decrepit room at the end of
the basement. The small alcove was a makeshift medical lab, with an examination table,
medical machinery and several IV stands complete with bags of multicolored liquid.
Standing at the doorway he saw the two scientists who were leading this
experiment. Dr. Keith Krueger was a geneticist. Dr. Lambert put the man somewhere in
his mid 50’s, short and rotund, he had a deceptively boyish face and thinning blonde hair.
Dr. Jason Bohl was a geneticist and a biologist who researched cell transformation and
degeneration. He was probably in his late 30’s. He had short, well cut brown hair and a
well groomed brown beard. Dr. Lambert knew that these men were colleagues of Dr.
Artemis Daniels who is the head of the project.
As he entered the room neither men looked at him, but one of the two commented,
“So you finally decided to show up. Glad you could walk all the way down to the
basement. Is everything in order?”
Ignoring the insult Dr. Lambert replied, “Our patient is right behind me, have all
the preparations been taken care of. Dr. Krueger spoke up, “Of course they have. But
that’s not your concern. You got the man here and that’s all that was required of you.”
Dr. Lambert again ignored that insult and said, “So you’ve made the changes to the
formula.” Dr. Bohl chimed in, “Any work on our part is our business. You were to
provide us with a subject and make sure that they fall within certain health parameters.”
Dr. Lambert offered. “Given our last two failures let’s hope this goes well.” The
two scientists continued to scowl at him but he continued, “This one’s vitals are
especially good. I think he will produce the desired results.” Dr. Krueger grunted, “Like
you know anything about that.”
As if on cue, two huge, burly guards escorted a small inmate into the room. Both
guards were covered in sweat and breathing hard. Dr. Lambert knew this was a side
effect of steroid abuse. What was left of the physician in him wanted to warn the men.
Instead he handed them each an envelope with several hundred dollars and a brown
prescription medicine bottle filled with even more performance enhancing drugs. He
knew that it would buy their cooperation.
As the guards exited, all three men turned their full attention to the patient. His
name was James Rocky and he was serving life in prison for the murder of three rival
gang members. He was 34, but looked older with a wrinkled, craggy face that sported
several ugly scars. He was missing several teeth and had long, stringy, prematurely gray
hair. Poorly done prison tattoos covered his upper body along with old and new scars,
cuts, bruises and abrasions.
20
Dr. Lambert had chosen Mr. Rocky for this procedure because frankly he had no
family and was suffering from some serious medical conditions. He had hepatitis and
some new type of syndrome that attacks the immune system. It was called GRID and no
one really knew what it was. He was very sick. His loss would not be missed. All that
mattered was that he was healthy enough for this procedure.
The inmate had been given a series of experimental drugs for the last two months.
He was told that it was to treat Hepatitis. Dr. Lambert thought it was almost amusing how
completely untrue that was. The Doctor chuckled to himself when he thought about what
was really happening. In fact Mr. Rocky was being changed; he was going to be the next
phase in human evolution. He was also going to make them very, very wealthy.
Dr. Lambert had followed the parameters given to him by the two scientists. The
procedure called for the patient to undergo a four drug regime over two months. He had
finished with the first three. Tonight would be the conclusion of this phase of the project.
This would tell the tale.
Dr. Krueger turned to Eric Lambert and spoke, “Okay you can go.” Dr. Lambert
responded, “Go! Go where? I’m a member of this team. I want to stay and see what
happens.”
Dr. Krueger growled, “You are not part of this team! This is a cutting edge genetic
procedure. A simple physician has no understanding of what we are doing. We required a
patient, which you provided. You are a good errand boy but the rest is beyond your
understanding. Now go!”
Before Eric Lambert could speak Dr. Jason Bohl interjected, “Dr, Krueger, while I
agree that this man’s presence is of limited value to this experiment, we must remember
that we need him to secure future volunteers. He is welcome to stay as long as he keeps
out of the way.”
Dr. Krueger shrugged and replied, “Far out of the way.”
The two scientists turned their attention to the patient. Mr. Rocky was told to
undress and lay down on the makeshift metal gurney. The inmate was secured down
across the wrists, upper biceps, chest, waist, thighs and ankles with strong Kevlar straps.
When he asked, “Why am I being strapped down for this?” He was told that it was all
part of the procedure and he needed to remain very still.
Once he was strapped in an IV line was inserted into the back of his hand, and a
breathing mask was placed over his mouth and nose. Sensors were attached to his head
and chest. Dr. Krueger administered an IV of an anesthetizing agent. Within five minutes
James Rocky was fast asleep.
21
When it was clear the patient was sedated Dr. Bohl opened a small refrigerator and
retrieved an IV bottle of a bright green liquid. A casual observer might think the
substance was radiator fluid. The scientists knew it was so much more than any other
drug ever invented. Jason Bohl held it up to the light staring with reverence at the
glowing green liquid.
The liquid was attached to the IV line. The three men stared silently for several
minutes. Slowly the green serum made its way into the IV line and into Mr. Rocky. None
of them dared say anything for fear of jinxing the process.
After five minutes Dr. Krueger asked, “What is the patient’s temperature?” Dr.
Bohl spoke into a small recorder, “99.2 degrees and rising.” Keith Krueger answered
back, “Good, excellent.”
Another five minutes passed. The patient was began reacting to the drug. Large
beads of oily sweat were forming all over his forehead which began to run down his face.
The rest of his body began to glisten with a wet sheen. Dr. Krueger asked, “Now?” Dr.
Bohl replied, “102.8 and rising.” Dr. Krueger again answered back, “Just what we
wanted…excellent.”
After ten more minutes the patient was dripping with sweat. It was puddling on the
man’s stomach and even dripping onto the metal table. This time Dr. Bohl volunteered,
“104…no wait 105.5 degrees and climbing.” Dr. Krueger checked his watch and replied,
“The real fun should begin any second now.”
As if on cue James Rocky began to convulse. His whole body began shaking. A
trickle of blood began to run out of his nose. White foam began sputtering out of his
mouth. His eyes were dark red from bursting capillaries in his corneas. His loosely
secured head banged repeatedly on the metal table with a sickening, gonging sound.
James Rocky’s muscles were shrinking, contracting and twitching with a life
almost all their own. Dr. Lambert thought that if the patient can feel pain, this must be
excruciating. Oh well, not his concern. Dr. Bohl spoke again, “Temperature is 107
degrees and his heart is going into arithymia.” Dr. Lambert commented, “About time.”
The other two men looked annoyed at him.
In only a few seconds the body temperature jumped to 109, 110, 111 degrees.
What was left of James Rocky’s bodily fluids began to flow out of him. Sweat mixed
with blood was now running off the table into small puddles on the floor.
With this much fluid lost James Rocky’s blood began to thicken and turn black
from lack of oxygen. His veins began to collapse as they were too dry to maintain
22
organic integrity. A sticky black ichor of coagulating blood and stomach acid began to
spurt from the patient’s mouth and nose. One by one his overheating organs began to
shut down.
Dr. Krueger looked at the still body on the table and asked his colleague, “Do you
think is he still alive?” Dr. Bohl answered, “He’s at 115 degrees. At this point I am still
getting some brain activity, so I would say he is still alive but not for much longer.”
Dr. Bohl allowed himself an optimistic smile as he said, “I believe we are entering
the second phase of this portion of the procedure.” Turning to Eric Lambert he spoke as if
talking to a disobedient child, “Remember, your job. As I said before, if this comes to a
successful conclusion we will need to transport the specimen out of the facility
immediately.”
Dr. Krueger asked him, “Should we add additional restraints?” Dr. Bohl
concurred, “Yes, let’s do that quickly.” With that he opened a cupboard and produced
steel shackles. These were not cuffs used on prisoners. These were thick steel bands of
the type used to restrain large, wild, animals. The three men quickly placed them on the
inert form.
Then they stood with their fingers crossed. What did or did not happen in the next
few minutes would determine the success or failure of their current efforts. For what
seemed like an eternity the prone form that was once James Rocky was deathly still. Then
one of the doctors noticed a twitch. The movement was feint at first, unnoticeable to the
untrained eye. Then more visibly, the hands began to shake. This was followed by
movement travelling up the arms into the shoulders. Soon the whole body was shaking.
This was just what the scientists expected. They had done it! The patient had been
revived, born anew.
Now the thing that was once James Rocky was twisting and yanking at its
restraints. Dr . Krueger quickly replaced the green liquid with a large IV bag of normal
saline solution. They had to get some fluid into him. Within seconds the fluid level began
to decline in the bag. With the extra fluids the creature howled and screamed even louder.
The scientists beamed with the pride of a father looking at his first born. They had
done it. All of preparation and planning had come to fruition. They had accomplished the
impossible.
Pointing to the hall and barking orders, Jason Bohl all but shouted at Dr. Lambert,
“Make sure that the delivery vehicle is ready to go. We will push this thing to the truck.
The driver will take it to the prearranged sight. Mr. Rocky has no real next of kin. As
23
usual you will list the cause of death as contagious influenza brought on by Hepatitis.
This will allow you to say you ordered the remains cremated.”
As Eric Lambert left, the two men took a moment to admire their handiwork. They
had created a new life form. They fully acknowledged that the snarling monster was the
product of the finest scientific endeavor ever undertaken.
But, they knew that their work was not finished yet. There was still one more
important phase of the operation. Dr. Bohl commented, “This is still not the results that
Artemis Daniels desires. When will the new formula be ready?”
Dr. Krueger answered. “The new formula is being shipped as we speak. It will be
a few more days before it arrives. I already have that clown Lambert looking for three
more patients but it will be six to eight weeks before we are at the final stage. That should
give Dr. Daniels plenty of time to get ready. After that, if we are to believe Eric Lambert,
we have at least a dozen more candidates lined up here and at Arkham. That’s the nice
thing about criminals in Gotham. If one or more dies there’s plenty more where that
came from.”
24
CHAPTER FIVE: Keeping the Faith (Part 1).
“If God has his hand in all of this, he sure knows how to hide his tracks.” Bart
Tobler said while yawning. “I prayed, my family prayed, my friends prayed everyone I
know prayed for me to seek his will in coming to Gotham. I was sure that’s what he
wanted; and now this.”
The listener sat comfortably and patiently in an over sized office chair and said,
“We often think we know his will, but God is so far beyond our understanding that we
often mistake his presence for his direction.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Of course, God is always with us to strengthen, comfort and encourage. But that
does not mean that he promises to make your circumstances different.” The speaker was
The Reverend Doctor Raymond Samson London, senior pastor of the New Jerusalem
Community Church, which was Gotham’s largest African American church. In his early
60’s he was small and round, but with a deep, rich, voice that made him a commanding
presence. He had been the pastor for 35 years and had seen the church through much
growth and change.
One of the associate pastor’s had called Bart when he first arrived in Gotham and
invited him to an open house. When he took them up on it, he found that a lot of the
prominent black leaders in Gotham attended the church. It was then that he met Pastor
London. The man took an instant liking to him.
It was nice to be part of a church community and the pastor was always someone
he could talk to. They had been meeting in the mornings for fellowship, prayer, coffee
and the best homemade pastries Bart had ever tasted.
Now he had the unpleasant task of telling the Pastor that he would likely be
moving on. Staring at the floor the reporter said, “I really wanted to make a difference. I
wanted to use my position at the paper to bring about change.”
Dr. London sighed and shook his head. “Son let me tell you something. Everyone
wants change. They want things to change for the better. They want that as much as they
want to win Ed McMahon’s sweepstakes. Every person who meets with me wants things
to change for the better. But it’s always what they think is better.”
Bart looked up from the floor and got a quizzical look on his face.
25
The pastor explain, “They want healing, they want a better job and they want a
loving partner. They come to me to help things change. I pray with them, I pray over
them, I anoint with oil and pray for healing, I cry with them, I cry for them. All this time,
I trust God to make it better and you know what?”
“No what?”
“As long as I have been a pastor I have never seen anyone healed of Lou Gehrig’s
disease.”
“What is Lou Gehrig’s disease?” Bart was not sure where his pastor was going
with this.
“Lou Gehrig’s disease is sometimes called ALS. It causes a person’s nervous
system to degrade. No one has ever been cured of this disease.” I’ve prayed over a dozen
people with ALS, I’ve anointed them with oil, and claimed victory of the disease.
Everyone one of them died a slow painful death. This’s true for a lot of disorders,
Alzheimers, Parkinson’s Disease, certain types of cancers, type I diabetes.”
Bart responded, “That’s optimistic.”
“I’m not trying to be optimistic, I’m trying to be realistic. Sometimes God doesn’t
change our circumstances, he changes us.”
“You look at what’s happening all around us. Someone has to do something.”
“Let me ask you this, why? Why does someone have to do something?”
“What do you mean why?” Bart Tobler could feel his righteous indignation
building, “Look at the crime and corruption. Look at the suffering, look at the pain in the
eyes of your parishioners. Are you going to sit back and let that happen?”
The pastor stretched out his hands palm down and began to raise and lower them
in an up and down motion; the universal sign of calm down. He spoke, “No one is saying
sit back and accept anything. But what if you do something that you think is right but is
against God’s plan. What happens then? You’ve heard the prayer that says, let me change
what I can, let me accept what I cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
Bart Tobler had heard this before, “Yeah, I think they call it the serenity prayer. I
can tell you that I am anything but serene right about now.”
“Remember God gives wisdom and the power to do his will. But God has his own
timeline. You need to trust in Him and let him work it out. Remember the Israelites
26
wandered in the dessert for 40 years before God lead them to the promise land. Even then
they had to fight for it.”
The pastor let that sink in for a moment and then continued, “Remember the
process of being a Christian is not to seek God out as if he were a cosmic ATM machine.
It is to die to yourself so that he might live in you.”
“I know that but…”
The reverend continued uninterrupted, “You might consider the writings of CS
Lewis who likened Christianity to a being a house that the Lord now owns. At first he
starts fixing the dripping faucet and leaky roof. But what he really wants to do is to
rebuild the house from the ground up. I would add that God is not always concerned with
where the house is located that is your life circumstances, race, age all of that. God wants
to do the interior decorating.”
Bart Tobler understood and believed that to be true but was not sure that he was
comforted by Dr. London’s words. He did not get into journalism to resign himself to
letting evil go unchallenged.
He wanted to say more but he checked his watch and realized that he was late to
his next assignment. He still had a job to do.
After saying their goodbyes, Bart promised he would be in church next Sunday
and the pastor promised that if he heard of any job openings he would let him know. As
he was leaving the pastor spoke as an afterthought. “You’re still young. You will be
missed, but maybe Chicago is your promised land.”
Bart thought to himself, “It sure beats life here in Sodom and Gomorrah. “
27
CHAPTER SIX: The Delivery (Earlier That Night).
Dr. Artemis Daniels, grew impatient. It wasn’t just that it was 4:30 AM and the
driver was late, (and a complete, brainless fool). Nor was it that it was unseasonably cold
and he had not brought along a heavier coat. And it wasn’t because he was a naturally
impatient man who had little time for anyone who did not match up to his intellect. Not
that there were many who could, he met Lex Luthor once and believed the man to be an
idiot. No, the reason that he was impatient was that he was about to make history and
history could not wait.
If his colleagues at Blackgate don’t completely screwed things up then this will be
the crowning scientific achievement of the 20th century.
He and three other scientists stood near their laboratory which was located in a old
brick building near the dump on Gotham’s eastside. For as populated as Gotham was it
was surprising how remote this location was. It was surrounded on three sides by the city
dump and virtually invisible from the nearest roads and neighboring buildings. The
building was a concrete structure that was accessible only by a dirt road. Ironic that this is
where the historic groundbreaking work was to be done.
The other three scientists, Ritchie Strunk a molecular biologist, Jeff Ratley a
chemist and Mike Fritz a geneticist shifted nervously. They lacked the brilliance and the
visionary perspective he had. They were capable assistants but would share in none of the
recognition or profits from this venture. Only he and a few of his supporters would inherit
that.
“When’s the driver going to be here?” One of the scientists asked, “He was
supposed to arrive an hour ago.”
Dr. Daniels took some time to give some positive encouragement, “You know Dr.
Ratley if you keep smoking those unfiltered death sticks you will probably drop over
before the shipment arrives.”
The Chemist grunted at the comment but Dr. Daniels knew it was enough to shut
the man up.
The four men stood in silence until they all heard the unmistakable rumbling of a
large diesel truck approaching.
In a moment the truck came into view and slowed as it entered the area. With a
hiss of the air breaks, it came to a lumbering stop. Immediately one of the scientists
directed him to back the vehicle up to a large open metal garage door.
28
The driver turned the motor off as he opened the door and said, “Hey buddy is
there a bathroom around this place.” Dr. Daniels swung around allowing the driver to see
the 9mm he had strapped to his hip. He spoke through gritted teeth, “Your orders were to
stay in the truck. Do not attempt to leave. This will not take long.” The man quickly
complied.
One of the other scientists opened the back of the truck revealing a metal crate.
The metal box filled the back half of the truck making it about ten feet high by six feet
long and four feet deep. The crate was on wheels and the truck had a ramp or else it
would be too heavy for the four men to move.
Dr. Fritz grabbed a handle protruding from the center of the crate and began to
ease it onto the ramp. As he touched the massive structure a guttural scream came from
within. The scientist’s first reaction was to jump back in horror as the scream was
immediately followed by a crashing thud against the cage. This was followed by another
scream which seemed neither human nor animal.
The three scientists gapped in horror as whatever was in the metal box began to
scream, screech and smash against the side of the container. The only opening in the crate
were a few air holes about the size of a quarter at the top and bottom. There was no way
to see what was inside the crate. After what seemed like an eternity but was in fact less
than 30 seconds molecular biologist Ritchie Strunk spoke. “D…Dr. Artemis is that what
you told us it would be? We had no idea.”
“I gave you all the details that were necessary. You should not act so surprised.
You knew we were making history.”
“But what do we do?”
Dr. Artemis exploded, “What do you mean what do we do, we do what we are
here to do. We get the package into the building.”
“But, its…its…”
Disgusted at the man’s cowardice Dr. Daniels flashed his gun at the scientist. He
would tolerate no more dissent, “You knew the risks when you agreed to take the job.
Now let’s get it out of this cage and into the containment area.”
Hesitantly, with quick unsure, jerking motions the four men maneuvered the crate
off the van. The distance between the van and the containment area was less than ten feet,
but it was slow going. Their progress was hindered by the tendency to jump back every
time the cage’s occupant screamed and pounded the box. When they were less than five
feet away from the containment door a bulge appeared in the metal.
29
This was followed by four more jackhammer blows at the exact spot. A small hole
had formed in the metal wall. The three men noticed a look of concern on the usually
stern demeanor of Artemis Daniels. He glanced quickly and with an unsteady voice
yelled, “We had better hurry.”
Dr. Daniel’s pointed to the containment door. He instructed the others, “There is a
large sliding metal door on the left. Pointing to Mike Fritz he ordered. “Press the code I
gave to you and then slide it to the right.” When the door was slide open it revealed a
pitch black room.
The task completed Dr. Daniel’s instructed, “As you can see the box will now line
up with the open door. There are four latches on this box that line up with the door frame.
We can secure the box to the door.”
The four scientists carefully maneuvered the crate to line up with the latches. The
occupant inside the box continued to howl and pound on the crate. Each assault moved
the box ever so slightly, making it hard to maneuver. After what seemed like a long time
the four perspiring men got the cage into place. The latches clicked into place securing
the metal box to the door frame.
Dr. Daniels pressed a button of the side of the crate. With a loud noise the front of
the crate crashed to the containment room floor. They four stepped away from the now
worn down metal container. Artemis Daniels took a breath and cleared his throat, “As
soon as our specimen steps out of the crate a set of metal bars will descend trapping it
inside the holding cell. The bars will be a few inches off the floor. After I detach the cage
we will need to close the sliding door. We need to get the front panel under the bars.
Once it is out of the way, a third metal garage type door will descend from the top of the
structure. It and the bars will be able to secure the creature.
After a minute the scientist could hear the occupant of the cage walk into the
holding area. Dr. Daniels instructed Jeff Ratley. “Please press the green button which will
lower the bars.”
A moment later he barked, “Okay gentlemen get ready – three, two, one.” With a
loud electronic snap the clamps holding the front of the box to the sliding door wrenched
open. This allowed the crate to be moved back ward. Three of the scientist dragged it
away from the holding cell. The fourth waited until they were done and slid the crate’s
front door under the bars.
As soon as that task was completed Dr. Daniels pressed a button on a remote. This
caused a steel reinforced garage door to descend. It thudded with a loud locking sound.
The specimen was now secure.
30
Dr. Daniels let the other three men move the metal crate and the detached front
panel back to the truck. He walked to the front and spoke to the driver, “Our business is
concluded here. Please return the truck to the prearranged spot.”
The driver looked at him quizzically, “What did you guys have in that thing, a
gorilla or a rhino?”
“That is not your concern. Your job was to deliver a crate containing a biological
specimen. That is done, so now your job is to return the truck to its prearranged location,
no questions asked.”
The driver nodded cooperatively, “Hey anything you say buddy.”
A few seconds the truck’s engine rumbled to life and the vehicle moved forward.
As the truck drove out of sight Dr. Daniels repeated the man’s last words, “Indeed,
anything I say.”
31
CHAPTER SEVEN: Initial Discovery.
Bart Tobler left his morning meeting with the pastor feeling as if he had been
diagnosised with a terminal disease. He muttered to himself, “That would almost be a
blessing.” He quickly dismissed such thoughts and then considered there was a certain
irony in that he was on his way to a hospital. Then he realized why he was on his way to
the hospital and got even more depressed.
He was assigned to cover a story on the celebrated musical entertainer, the lovely,
the talented Sharria Nitely’s nose job. Ms. Nitely was Gotham’s current hottest celebrity.
Her latest album had gone platinum and she was upfor a Grammy.
Officially the diva’s operation was to correct a deviated septum, allowing her to
breathe easier and hit higher notes. Unofficially it was in fact, her latest cosmetic surgery.
This was to match her so-shiny-they-glowed-in-the-dark teeth, as well as breast
augmentation, belly and hip tucks.
He checked his watch; the operation was set for 7:00 AM. The skies were cloudy
and the weather called for rain. Gotham General was one of the cities’ oldest buildings. It
stood 15 stories high and featured the gothic architecture similar to so many other
surrounding buildings. The main entrance featured the classic gothic arches with two
huge gargoyles on either side. Entering the building, he saw that the foyer was dimly lit
but he could see a small empty garden where plants once grow.
He walked to the front desk to speak to the attendant; an elderly woman who
looked to be in her eighties. She was bent over either asleep or finding something on the
floor endlessly fascinating. He rapped on the table to get her attention and dutifully
presented his press pass. He said, “Excuse me ma’am, my name is Bart Tobler I am a
reporter from the Gotham Gazette. I am here for the press conference regarding Ms.
Sharria Nitely’s operation.” Without looking up she replied, “I’m sorry but she died last
night.”
Bart was taken aback, “What!! Sharria Nitely’s dead? How?”
The elderly woman looked up, her face a mask of leathery, sagging wrinkles. She
smiled and spoke through stained broken teeth, “I’m just funning with ya, chocolate bar. I
tells that to everyone.” She laughed a nasally guffaw, then said, “Oh yeah, they’s told me
somethin’ about dat. She’s that fancy, smanchy singer getting her nose all prettied up.
You think maybe the doctor’ll be putting a bone through it?” Again with the laughter.
“That’s room 312, mention my name and they’ll gives ya a good seat.”
32
Bart’s first thoughts were in order, 1) What was that? 2) Only in Gotham would
such a racist comment be tolerated. In a decent city that woman would have been fired
for saying that. 3) This will be the most interesting part of the article I have to write.
He thanked her and quickly walked to the elevator, which had an out-of-order sign
on it. Bart quickly walked up the steps. The overt racist slur still stung. He thought to
himself that here it is in the 1980’s and people can still get away with those comments.
As he walked up the stairwell he amused himself by trying to count the number of
broken floor tiles and chunks missing from the wall.
He had been on the third floor. And he knew he would find no such conditions
there. The third floor was where the wealthy went to be treated. It was immaculate and
elegant. It had a water fall and fish pond in the common area, real works of art on the
walls, a private dining room and luxurious room accommodations.
This was the third time he had covered a celebrity operation. The first time was for
Gotham TV weatherman Ritchie Harold’s emergency surgery. The poor fellow had been
doing an onsite report during a severe storm and was struck in the face by a piece of
flying masonry.
Next he had reported on the knee replacement surgery of professional wrestler
Hardcore Andre Holocaust. The man had been injured when he attempted to crush his
opponent’s skull with a medieval war hammer and managed to hit his own knee instead.
The joke was, why didn’t the sports department cover this story? Did they know
something we didn’t?
Arriving at the waiting room, Bart was relieved to see that the conference had not
started. There were two other journalists present. The first was Chris Lovette from the
Gotham Free Press. He was chatting with Karen Imbus from the Gothics; the City’s
independent art magazine.
He arrived with a huff, “Please tell me that I am not late.”
Chris smiled, offered his hand and said, “No, us throng of reporters are jockeying
for position to get this life changing story.”
Bart replied, “Let’s have a contest Chris, how about we write in our stories that if
anyone calls a certain number they will automatically receive a $1000.00 reward. Then
when nobody calls, we will know how many people read our stuff.”
Karen entered the conversation, “That assumes the people who read your
newspapers can figure out how a phone works.” They all laughed, misery loves company.
33
The three continued to chat for a few more minutes until the doctor and patient
came to meet the press. Dr. Leonardo Adonis, (real name, Solomon Lebowitz) surgeon to
the stars, smiled and displayed a perfect set of glimmering white teeth. This highlighted
his perfect bronze skin, and well sculpted, aquiline nose. Clearing his throat and speaking
in a deep rich voice, that would make Don Pardo jealous, he explained, “Ladies and
gentlemen of the press, thank you for taking your time from your busy schedule. Please
allow me to explain the procedure that we will be assisting Ms. Nitely with.”
Chris chimed in, “Assisting? What part is she doing herself.” Ms. Nitely’s smiled
at this. The Doctor gave the reporter a condescending look and continued without
commenting. He took a few minutes to explain the intricacies of a deviated septum and
how the operation will correct the problem. After the explanation he finally got around to
asking, “Are there any questions for myself, or Ms. Nitely?”
“Doctor are you only correcting the deviated septum or will this involve cosmetic
surgery?”
The Doctor hesitated and looked a Ms. Nitely, who looked back at him. Dr.
Adonis cleared his throat, “Well…the operation can be accompanied by certain outward
physical corrections to avoid complications.” Realizing the obvious follow up question he
continued, “Those complications are too detailed to go into right now.”
The man answered a few more technical questions thrown at him. Sharria Nitely
answered a question about how the operation would improve her singing. With that
Doctor Adonis proclaimed that they were out of time and would return after the
operation.
The three reporters were left standing there in silence when Chris Lovette breathed
in and said, “Well I guess it’s time.” And with that he held out his fist with three small
toothpicks. Bart and Karen groaned but Chris reminded them, “You know the
arrangement. There is no reason for all of us to sit around waiting for the operation to
conclude. So one of us stays or returns at the end. That person calls the other two to tell
them if anything important happened.”
Karen and Bart each quickly grabbed a stick. Karen let out an, “Allrriight!” While
Bart said, “Shoot.” Chris and Karen high fived each other while Bart just smiled holding
the short stick. This was the third time the three of them had done this and each person
had lost once, so he guessed it was only fair.
He said to the other two, “Okay congratulations. You two take off and I’ll wait
around for the results. I’ll call you if there is anything you guys need to know.”
34
With that, they said their goodbyes and Bart was left sitting with his thoughts.
How do I make this story interesting?
When nothing came to mind he got up to walk and think. His thoughts soon
returned to his future. He had only a short time to either find a new job here in Gotham or
move elsewhere. If not, he would become like most of Gotham’s citizens - unemployed.
As he turned the corner he thought that after he wrote the story he would have to
update his resume and then start sending it out. He thought there might be work in the
paper in Metropolis, The Daily Planet. The other option was to freelance. The Gazette
paid pretty well for stories about crime, of which there was no end in Gotham. He
remembered the universal mantra of papers everywhere, if it bleeds, it leads.
Turning another corner he thought to himself, oh well, there’s always work at the
Post Office. Except the ones in Gotham drive armored cars and carry guns. This turn lead
him to a dead end in the back corridor of the oldest section of the hospital. He started to
turn around and walk back, glancing out of a small, cracked, unwashed window he saw
that the sky was still dark and looking down he noticed…what was that? There it was
again, Bart saw a red and blue flash, like an ambulance or police vehicle.
He stood on tip toes to get a better look. The back of the hospital formed an alley
that was not visible from the street and right now it looked like the police were having a
convention. Bart looked down and counted five…six….seven police cars. There were at
least ten no more like twenty police milling about. But what was even more unusual there
were four, no he counted five ambulances in the alley.
Now he grabbed a nearby chair and stood on it in order to get a better view. His
reporter’s senses were tingling. One by one the ambulance doors were opening and the
cops, not ambulance personnel, but cops, began taking gurneys out of the vehicles. Bart
could see every single person down there was a police officer, not one medical personnel
or ambulance driver. He mused to himself that this was the hardest he had ever seen the
Gotham PD work.
As the gurneys were wheeled into the side door, Bart felt his eyes nearly bulge
out of his head. Every single gurney contained a body that was covered up. Why were
they bringing dead people into the hospital? What had happened; was there an accident
somewhere?
Now Bart Tobler’s reporter’s senses were in full nuclear meltdown. He began to
make a mental count. There were two gurneys per vehicle. That means the cops were
bringing ten bodies into the building. Then he noticed something. One of the arms moved
on the stretcher. The arm wasn’t flopping around; it had grabbed the cops hand. Bart saw
35
that some of the gurneys had IV’s attached. These weren’t corpses at all. They were
bringing in people who they did not want identified. What was going on!?!
Now his reporter’s instincts were doing warp eight. He ran to the nearest set of
elevators and pressed the button. Nothing happened. Then he noticed a key hole by the
four elevator’s buttons.
He thought that if you needed a key to use this elevator then that’s the one the
police are probably using. He watched the floor numbers listed above the elevator. He
noticed that all four were going to floor 12.
He ran downstairs to the first floor of the hospital. The first set of elevators did not
work but the second set did. Waiting for, the elevator car seemed like an eternity, but
wasn’t that always the case? Finally the car opened and Bart saw that the car was loaded
with people.
The person closest, a doctor wearing a white coat, said, “The elevator is full and
beside we’re going to the 12th floor.” Bart had no idea what that meant but he mustered
as much confidence as he could and said, “The police told me to get up there now!” The
riders groaned, but squeezed in tighter to make room for one more person.
This of course was a bold faced lie. Bart wondered if lying in pursuit of the truth
was ever acceptable. The police did it all the time. Lying was a standard part of both
undercover work and interrogation tactics. And of course everyone knew that when it
came to politicians…
Before he had time to consider the recriminations of his actions the car arrived at
the 12th floor. The door opened and the passengers swarmed out. As they left the car, they
were greeted by two police officers who were standing guard. Bart tried to get by them,
by standing close to the lead doctor and speaking to him, “Well it’s happened again, this
is no surprise.” The doctor said nothing but as he exited the door, he gestured to one of
the guards and pointed to Bart.
The guard grabbed Bart, forcibly by the arm and said, “Excuse me sir, who are
you with? Do you have some ID?” The last part was not stated as a question. Bart flashed
him his press pass and knew he had better talk fast, “The Gazette was called, they sent
me down to cover the story. Can I speak to whoever is in charge here?” The officer
ignored the question, “Sir, this area is restricted and only authorized personnel are
allowed in here. I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave.”
Bart commented, “I need to talk to your boss. Your name is Officer Poindexter. Is
that the correct spelling of your name” How many victims are you bringing in this
time?” Of course he had no idea if the injured parties were victims of anything,
36
but he had to think fast. He needed to think really fast.
A second policeman walked over to him. This one was much larger and fiercer
looking than his colleague. He growled at Bart, “Maybe you didn’t hear what the man
said. Get on that elevator and get out of here or you will be arrested.”
Bart could see the hopelessness of his situation, “Gentlemen, I don’t see the need
to get rough here. I mean look around you, the cat’s already out of the bag. Beside,
you’ve heard of a little thing called the first amendment and the people’s right to know.”
Now both cops were in his face, “You can either get on that elevator by yourself,
or with one of us; your choice boy.” The last word was given special emphasis.
Bart was trying to think of something to say, while looking at his surroundings. In
the distance he could see a line of gurneys being taken off the far elevators. Medical
personnel and police officer’s were running around while men in suits were barking
orders. Whatever was going on, sure had these people scared. Finding his voice he said in
a near whisper, “You can’t contain this forever, please, please tell me, are the people of
Gotham in any danger?”
The two police softened at this. The larger of the two said in an equally low and
ominous voice, “I don’t know buddy, I don’t think anyone really knows what to make of
this.”
Bart was about to ask a follow up question when one of the suits came over. He
was a short stout guy wearing an out of date brown polyester sports jacket that was too
small for his wide girth. Speaking through the stogie he had in his mouth he yelled, “Hey
who is that guy.”
One of the policemen said, “Did you call the Gazette?”
“The Gazette, heck no! Why are you asking me about the Gazette?” Then it
dawned on him and he choked out, “Is he a reporter?”
Bart flashed his press pass at the man and spoke, “Bart Tobler, Gotham Gazette.
How many incidents does this make, four, five?” Of course he had no idea what he was
even looking at, but he continued to pretend to know more than he did.
The man came over, puffing on his stogie and said. “We didn’t call the press. I
don’t know what you are doing here boy, but you got five seconds to get off my floor.”
Again with that boy thing Bart thought to himself. He could have replied, but this
time he knew he was licked. One of the cops had been blocking the elevator door with his
37
foot which kept it open. Bart was given a shove as the cop removed his foot and the
elevator immediately started to close. Just as it was about to shut, the suit blocked the
door and stuck his stogie smoking face in. Bart expected him to say, “Here’s Johnny.”
Instead he gave one final warning, “This is an ongoing classified operation. If I see you
or any of your annoying friends from the media, I will have you all arrested for
interfering with an investigation. Capisce!”
As the elevator door closed and the car began to descend, Bart knew he would
need to talk to Mr. Kelton. He had no intention of worrying about some celebrities’ nose
job. He had a real story on his hands and he was going to find out the truth.
38
CHAPTER EIGHT: Accusations.
Lieutenant James Gordon wondered for about the 1000th time, what was going on.
This was the sixth time he had come to work in the morning to find the office in chaos.
The Commissioner was running in and out of his office. Official looking men in suits,
who were not police personnel, were dashing in and out. It seemed that everyone was
picking up a phone every few minutes for another hushed conversation.
Gordon knew better than to ask. He had tried in the past and had been rebuffed
with everything from, I don’t know, its classified, it doesn’t concern you, I can’t talk
about that now, You don’t wanna know, and the ever popular, shut up and mind you own
business.
He had been told to report to the Commissioner at 10:00 AM. He was not late and
this time neither was the commissioner. At exactly 10:00 AM the door opened up and he
heard a voice say, “Lieutenant Gordon, please meet me in the conference room in five
minutes.”
When he arrived he was greeted by a stern looking Gillian Loeb and two even
sterner looking suits. The first man was short, wearing a wrinkled gray suit and had an
even wrinkly looking face. He had his nosed turned up as if someone were holding a dead
mouse under his it.
The second man had light blonde hair and bright blue eyes. His handsome features
were offset by the appearance of a waxy sheen to his face. Gordon thought that he looked
like an animatronics figure you would see at Disney Land.
The animatronics spoke first, “Officer James Gordon. My name is Officer James
Ackley and my partner is Officer Greg Pavely we are with Internal Affairs.”
Before, Gordon could respond Commissioner Loeb said, “I have other things to
attend to. I will leave you gentlemen to continue your work.”
After he left Gordon spoke first and loudest, “Internal Affairs! I’ve just joined the
force. What can Internal Affairs want with me? Listen if this is about Chicago, I’ve been
over all of that…”
Officer Ackley waved a dismissive hand, “No this is not about Chicago or your
status on the force. We have a few questions we need to ask you.”
“About what?”
39
“We cannot divulge the details of the investigation. We simply need you to answer
a few questions.” The officer picked up a file and showed that the front had the name
GORDON on it. He began leafing through it. Taking a moment to let the silence sink in
and without looking up he said to Gordon, “Your name is James Gordon and this is your
correct current address?”
“Yes.”
“Is the height and weight in your file correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Gordon replied. He thought to himself, they’re asking about
my height and weight; I passed my physical.
The second officer spoke for the first time. He had a high pitched, nasally voice
that matched his facial features, “Stand up for a moment.”
Gordon stood up all the while wondering why they are so interested in my height
and weight. Is shorty there jealous?
He heard the two officers speak in a near whisper, “His height, from what we can
tell, probably makes him about right.”
True, he was a fairly large man, but what has that got to do with anything. Do they
need someone to portray Abraham Lincoln in their next all important PR campaign?
Gordon sat down without being directed. The two investigators ignored this slight.
Officer Ackley spoke, “You have a background in martial arts training. Tell me about
that.”
Gordon thought, what in the heck…this is nuts. He stammered and tried to
compose a succinct answer, “Well…yes I have been a practitioner of various martial arts.
I started when I was young. I wrestled and took karate lessons. As I got older, I took up
boxing and studied other styles. I taught martial arts and self defense in Chicago.”
This seems to perk up their interest, “And what about military training? Do you
ever do any type of commando work?”
“Commando work? If you must know it is a matter of public record that I was a
member of the Marines. But as far as doing commando as a cop…well I never
parachuted to a crime scene?”
“Please Officer Gordon. We need to get through this.”
40
“Okay, but these questions seem a little silly.”
The two officers pretended not to hear that comment one asked, “Have you lived
or visited Gotham prior to starting this position?”
“I’m originally from Gotham but have spent the last few years in Chicago. I…Uh
had not returned to Gotham before starting this position. I interviewed for the lieutenant
spot by telephone. I came in by train the day I met with Commissioner Loeb for the first
time. My wife flew in, and we had our belongings delivered.”
“Is there anyone who can verify this?”
“My wife can, and you can call my ex-employer. They will tell you that I rarely
took any time off. I mean I can’t prove that I have never been to Gotham any more than I
can’t prove I have never been to Outer Mongolia.”
“Yes, that is true.”
The Lieutenant’s reply was followed by another period of uncomfortable silence.
Finally Officer Pavely spoke, his voice even more nasally than before, “Gordon where
were you last night between the hours of 2:30 and 4:30 AM?”
Gordon almost laughed at this, “I was home in bed asleep, where do you think I
was?”
“Who can verify that?”
“Other than my wife, how about the entire cast of Charlie’s Angels.” He was
about to say, “Your mother and your sister, but thought better of it.”
“Look, don’t get smart with me, this is serious business, you don’t want to get
written up right after starting the job…”
“No, you look, these questions are ridiculous…”
Officer Ackley interrupted the two squabblers, “Gentlemen if you please. This is
part of an official police procedure.” The two men relaxed. “Officer Gordon if you will
remain here for a moment, I need a word with my partner.”
The two men got up and entered the office in the back of the conference room.
The door slammed shut behind them leaving Gordon alone with his thoughts.
What was going on? Who or what were those men trying to find?
41
He had to think…think. What did the questions tell him about who they were
looking for? The person must be pretty good sized and have some serious martial arts
skills. This person or persons apparently had military training, and operated late at night.
But why, what kind of crime were they committing and why all the secrecy?
If internal affairs involved him and now his wife, he needed to take a more
proactive approach. Getting up he went over to the office door and put his ear against it.
He heard bits and snippets of the conversation, “….We could be onto
something….Gordon is no small guy and I don’t know If I believe that he has never been
to Gotham….If we put this on him, it might buy us some time…the chief and the mayor
want us to move fast…rumor has it that Washington has taken an interest…Fifteen more
were brought to Gotham General this morning, what does that make…nearly one
hundred”
Gordon heard the two men get quiet for a moment. One of them spoke, “This time
it’s different. Three of the victims were Gotham PD. He’s going after cops.”
Lieutenant Gordon strained to hear the next statement. One of the men said, “We
all know that Gordon’s not a team player, he’s not one of us. He’s ruffled some feathers
and quite frankly doesn’t seem to get how things are done around here. This could be the
answer to our problems.”
Gordon had heard enough. Before the men exited the back room, James Gordon
ran back to his seat. He had no idea what was going on but it sure sounded like they were
looking to make him the fall guy. He knew, heck everyone knew, that the Gotham Police
Department had a nice, comfy, little operation and they didn’t want anything ruffling
their feathers.
A few seconds after he had sat down the door opened and the two men emerged.
Again it was Officer Ackley who spoke first, “Okay Gordon we have no more questions
for you. If we need you, we will be in touch.” Greg Pavely squeaked, “We will be in
touch as our investigation develops.” With that, they left the conference room.
Gordon had no idea what was going on. It was clear however that what they just
said amounted to a threat. He was in someone’s crosshairs and he was clueless. Maybe it
was time to get out of dodge.
Except leaving would look really bad; fleeing the scene of a crime. No, running
would only be an affirmation of their suspicions. He thought that maybe he just ought to
do nothing. He was not the person they were looking for, so maybe once they realized
that they would move on. Gordon almost laughed at that. When did guilt or innocence
make a difference in Gotham?
42
It sure seemed like they were looking for a convenient scape goat. Even if these
guys knew for certain that he was not the man they were looking for that meat nothing.
So he had to do something, but what…but what? Where could he go for help? He
really had no one to turn to.
A moment later he remembered that they had mentioned Gotham General; that’s
the local hospital. He heard one of them say that they brought a bunch more in. A bunch
more what? He decided that if he wanted to find out what’s going on, then that’s
probably where he should begin. He had no other leads. He just needed to come up with a
plan.
43
CHAPTER NINE: Repercussions.
Bart Tobler ran through the crowd in the news room; pushing, shuffling and
excusing himself. He made haste to tell Mr. Kelton what he had found. But as he neared
his supervisors door Joshua Justice yelled, “Hey Mark, he’s here.”
Just as Bart arrived at the office Marcus Kelton promptly stepped out and with a
deep commanding voice said, “Tobler where have you been?”
The reporter’s enthusiasm quickly turned to something else. He was surprised by
the sternness in Mr. Kelton’s voice. He was obviously angry at him, but for what? He
had the makings of a real story. The reporter spoke in an excited tone, “I was at the
hospital. I had to wait until the doctor finished the surgery.” He then quieted his voice but
began to speak faster, “Listen chief I think I have something big we need to talk.”
With that His boss held up his hand, “You’re darn right we need to talk.” He
gestured, “Not here, let’s take a walk to the corner room.” He made an after you gesture
and began walking to the Division Chief’s office.” Bart was confused. He thought he
had a story. A moment ago he was elated. Now he felt as if all motion had ceased and
every eye in the place was looking at him. It did not help that a few people were
snickering or whistling the death march. “Dum Dum Dee Dum, Dum Dee Dum Dum
Dum Dee Dum.”
Arriving at the office, Bart jumped when Mr. Kelton slammed the door behind
him and put both hands flat on the table. Leaning forward Kelton growled, “What is
going on with you?”
Bart tried to explain, “I was at the hospital covering Sharria Nitely’s nose job.
While she was having surgery I was walking around….”
Kelton angrily cut him off, “Do you know what happened to me?”
“Uh..no…sir.”
“I was just called onto the carpet by the owner of this paper; the owner! To put it
mildly he was rather upset with me. He had just gotten off the phone with the Gillian
Loeb, and someone from the mayor’s office. It appears that one of my reporters, one who
was assigned a minor celebrity story, took it upon himself to interfere with a police
investigation. Is that the case?”
“Well…I…thought I saw a story…”
44
“And further more that same reporter trespassed into a closed area of the hospital.
Yes?”
Bart felt himself sinking, “I…I didn’t know I was trespassing until I got there...”
He tried to continue but felt himself wither under his bosses’ icy stare, “…I guess it was
kind of trespassing.”
“And what was worse, when politely asked to leave he tried to push his way in.
Yes?”
“…I started asking questions…”
Kelton continued the barrage, “I was informed by the Gotham police, the owner of
this paper, my immediate supervisor and just about everyone else who could yell at me.
Bart, the police are involved in a highly sensitive and classified investigation. Your
attempts to infiltrate yourself into the situation may have comprised the investigation.
Furthermore the powers that be assured me that if anything like this happens again it will
result in some reporters being arrested and the Gotham PD refusing to have anything to
do with this paper!”
Bart sat speechless, quivering, he felt like he had to throw up and was on the verge
of an attack of diarrhea. He has already been laid off. The last thing he needed was a bad
report from the one man who might be able to help him get a job.
“What were you thinking? Tell me? Did you see something that caught your
interest?”
“I thought I did.” Bart replied barely audible.
“And you took it upon yourself to check it out.”
“Yes.”
“And when you got there you just couldn’t take no for an answer.”
Bart choked out, “It seemed interesting chief.”
At that Kelton paused for a moment, then his face broke out with an ear to ear
grin. His tone instantly changed from anger to encouragement, “Well congratulations,
now that’s how good reporters follow up on stories.” He then held out his hand for Bart
to shake.
Hesitantly Bart took the hand while thinking, what the heck…
45
Realizing the confusion Kelton chuckled, “You think I’m upset? Why would I be
upset? For what, you doing your job? They can chew me out all they want, but that
doesn’t change a thing. We are reporters. A reporter has a sacred duty to report the facts.
I don’t give squat what the police want because we don’t work for them. We work for our
readers, and if there’s something going on in this city that’s important, then the readers
have the right to know. “
Bart was stunned and encouraged by this turnaround, “But what about the owner
and the cops?”
“I couldn’t care less. All of those high and mighty law enforcement officials need
to remember the Bill of Rights protect us and limits them!” Gillian Loeb is a crook and
everyone knows it. I would say organized crime runs the Gotham PD but it very well may
be the other way. And Loeb’s good buddy, the owner of this institution, needs to
understand that we’re running a newspaper here, not a blamed public relations firm.”
With that his tone changed again, this time more serious, “Now tell me what happened.”
Bart told him everything that he had found. As he finished he handed Mr. Kelton
his note book in which he had jotted down the information. The supervisor took the
notebook and flipped through it briefly and handed it back to Bart. He spoke, “And when
you asked the cop if the city is in danger, he expressed a note of concern?”
“Yes, that was about all I got out of him.”
Kelton thought for a minute then mused, “What we really need is to get on that
floor and find out what’s really going on.”
Bart replied, “How are we going to do that, the place is guarded.”
“Let me think about it for a while. Meet me in my office after lunch say about 3:00
o’clock. We need to formulate a plan.”
Bart knew the conversation was over but as he left he asked, “Aren’t you worried
you might get in trouble?”
Kelton answered, “Before you arrived, I made some discreet inquiries. The other
editors will back me up. We agree that if we can’t do our jobs then we’re wasting our
time. The owner and his well connected higher up friends need to know that reporters
report what’s important. If we can’t do that, then this organization doesn’t need to exist.
We tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may.”
“It hasn’t done much good so far.”
46
“That doesn’t mean we don’t persevere.”
“Even if it gets you fired?”
Marcus Kelton shrugged, “That’s a possibility, it’s always been a possibility. We
knew the risks when we took the job. We both may be looking for work in the next few
weeks. Who knows, maybe I’ll join you in Chicago.”
47
CHAPTER TEN: Biological Entity.
It was well past midnight when Dr. Artemis Daniels returned to the Gotham dump
and the secret lab. He drove slowly with his lights off so as to not attract attention. Earlier
he thought that maybe he should have worn night vision goggles but decided against it.
There was enough light coming from the Dump to find his way around. He worried that
night vision goggles would destroy his depth perception and make it harder to negotiate
the sharp turns.
Arriving at the lab he got out of his car and walked to the door. He inserted his key
and turned the lock. He also inserted a magnetic key card in a slot near the door knob.
Without both the key and the magnetic card the door would remain locked. He opened
the thick metal door and repeated the processes with a second, door which required an
additional key and magnetic card.
The last barrier was a metal bar the prevented the door from opening up. It could
only be lifted from inside. Dr. Daniels pressed the call button and spoke the code word,
“rebirth.” A moment later Dr. Michael Fritz, who had been on duty removed the bar and
opened the door.
Without pausing or greeting the man, Dr. Daniels strode over to the containment
area. It was a concrete cell 12 feet high by 20 feet wide and 25 feet deep. The front of the
cell consisted of two dozen three inch solid steel bars set deep into the concrete. A thick
metal door was on the far right side of the cell. Artemis Daniels tried to stare in but the
cell was pitch black. The “patient” was apparently asleep in the corner. He could hear the
steady rhythm of the thing’s snores and snorting exhalations.
Without saying a word to the other scientist Dr. Daniels picked up the clip board
by the sink and began to study the charts. He flipped a few pages and murmured to
himself. Again without turning to address the man Dr. Daniels barked, “How recent are
these readings?”
“The creature was sedated and the readings were taken about two hours ago.”
Dr. Daniels began to look at the charts. Blood pressure, pulse rate, adrenaline
level, white and red blood cell count, etc. He compared these readings to the previous
readings and was buoyed that there was steady progress. He put the clipboard down and
smiled as he said, “And I saw that it was good.”
48
Looking into the cell he asked, “Has the patient been eating, when was the last
time you fed it?” Dr. Fritz replied, “An hour before I took the readings I fed him a total
of 35 lbs of cooked beef and vegetables, all mixed with vitamin and mineral supplements.
I let him digest the food and then sedated him.”
“What about that other thing?” Dr. Daniels asked.
“He almost seems to have figured out what that makeshift latrine is for. I didn’t
have to hose down the cell floor near as bad as yesterday.”
Artemis Daniels felt a rush of enthusiasm and said, “Good, in a day or two we will
begin grafting the shock suit on the creature. Then we will begin its obedience training.
After we have the thing trained and under our control, we will introduce our friend to the
correct interested party. Then we will all be rewarded.”
Dr. Mike Fritz brightened at the thought of the financial gains to come.
“Dr. Ratley will be here in an hour to relieve you. Continue to monitor the
creature and let me know immediately if anything changes.” Dr. Daniels said as he made
his way toward to exit. But before he opened the door he turned and said, “One last
thing. Your assessment on the creature’s ability to use the latrine is a bit overly
optimistic. In the future hose down the cage a little better. That is unless the creature is
not the responsible party for those horrible smells.” He smiled at his own incredible
witticism and left Fritz the fool to get busy with his assigned duties.
49
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Maneuvers.
Midnight. The quiet and deadly commando reporter stalks his target. His ninja
training makes him both silent and invisible. The victim will not recognize the attack
until it is far too late. Bart Tobler stopped thinking this way and laughed to himself. It
was a good thing that he really had nothing to lose because this scheme had about a
snowball’s chance of working.
Mr. Kelton had thought the plan up, which was good because he could never have
come up with anything so crazy. His boss went back to this hospital and did some
tactical reconnaissance work i.e. he had a look around. He figured that there were only
two sets of elevators that went to the 12th and 13th floors. The ones near the back entrance
were locked down when not in use. The set he was observing now was fixed so as to go
only from the first floor to the 12th and 13th floors and back down again; amazing what
they are doing with technology these days.
Marcus noticed that a night a guard was stationed at the elevators on the first floor.
From his previous encounter he knew that there were guards on the 12th and 13th floors
during the day but not on the 1st floor. This was probably to prevent drawing any
attention from bystanders. But at night they needed extra security because that was when
someone was likely to sneak in. So there was a police officer posted on the first floor and
likely on the top floors.
The key to getting up to the 12th floor was to get by the officer on the first floor.
The idea that Mr. Kelton had dreamed up was pretty risky, but was probably about as
good as anything anyone was going to come up with.
His boss had given Bart enough money to rent a nice, official looking, blue pin
stripe suit. The goal was to make him look like a high ranking law enforcement official.
Bart rarely wore suits and the only two he owned did not measure up to the one he now
wore. He tugged on the tie to loosen it a little and scratched at the collar. He remembered
the old adage he believed was attributed to Henry David Thoreau; be wary of any venture
that requires the purchase of new clothes.
Bart had gotten to the hospital about a half an hour ago but hung back as far away
from the front area as possible. He figured that he was not particularly noticeable but was
able to keep his eye on the guard by the elevator. The trick was to make sure that the
officer didn’t see him. He was aware that he would be recorded on the hospital’s security
camera. He kept looking down pretending to write in a leather bound notebook. Anyone
50
watching would not see his face and believe he was diligently writing something official.
In actuality he was writing the alphabet over and over again.
He waited for another minute for his editor to play his part. Bart got a strange
sense of reassurance that when, not if, he was arrested his boss would also be going
down.
As if on cue, Marcus Kelton came running around the corner wearing the sickly
green hospital scrubs that he had purchased only hours earlier. Bart saw that the man did
a good job of feigned panic and being out of breath; he was a good actor. Racing to the
guard’s station he began pointing frantically while yelping, “Sir, you gotta help, one of
the psych patients has gotten loose, he’s threatening people.”
Shaking the boredom off himself, the guard sprang to alert status but said, “I’m
not allowed to leave my post, you’ll have to get another….”
With that Kelton grabbed the guard and frantically tugged on his sleeve. “Yes, but
he’s got a bottle of alcohol and a lighter…”
The possibility of a blazing inferno within the hospital was enough to get the
guard’s undivided attention. He jumped up and ran with Marcus Kelton down the hall.
Bart thought the Gotham PD was incapable of reacting to anything that quickly except for
a bribe and a donut.
The reporter saw his chance but he had to act quickly. He waited until the two
went around the corner and walked quickly but confidently to the guard station. He
glanced around and immediately found what he was looking for, which was the clip
board with a list of names on the front page. This was the official list of people who had
access to the 12th floor. Reaching into his leather notebook he took out an official
looking document and slipped it under the first two pages of the clipboard.
He turned and walked quickly back to the waiting area. Kelton’s ruse would not
take more than a minute or two, the guard would return shortly. Bart sat down glancing to
the guard station and did a double take. He wondered who was that guy in the rumpled
brown suit walking toward the station?
*******
Jim Gordon arrived at the hospital around midnight hoping that the security would
be a little more lax at that time of night. He had walked around a little earlier in order to
check things out. No one had paid him any attention, but if they had he was ready to
51
show his badge and official Gotham P.D. identification. He hoped that the identification
would get him to where he needed to be. He had looked around and came to the
conclusion that the 12th and 13th floor was where he would find answers. That was where
the cops and the suits were going to and from. Now he just had to get up there.
He noticed that guard by the elevator door got up and ran from his post. He
wondered if it was some kind of emergency. If the guard was gone long it might
complicate his plans. He hung back for a few minutes trying to look relaxed. Out of the
corner of his eye he noticed a sharply dressed black man get up from the lounge and walk
over to the guard station. Was he doing something? The man walked away a few seconds
later. Finally the guard returned to his station.
Gordon figured that whatever got the guard’s attention may provide enough
distraction to keep him from focusing too much. Best to catch him now, while he’s trying
to get situated so he won’t look to close. He walked up to the officer, who was just sitting
down while exhaling a deep breath.
Holding out his badge and his I.D. he tried to act casual, “Everything okay
buddy?” The cop looked up and saw the badge and the I.D. and immediately relaxed,
“False alarm, a nut case got his hands on a bottle of alcohol but the nurse got it from him
and got him back to bed.”
Gordon noticed the guard’s name tag it read Denny Phipps, and he was Gotham
PD. Gordon put the badge and the I.D. away, his whole plan hinged on the hope that the
guard would not focus on the name on the I.D. Still acting casual he replied, “Yeah, I
guess you never know what you’re going to get. Say, why do they have those psychos
(Gordon hated calling that but he needed to get on the guard’s good side) here, I thought
they all went to Arkham?”
Officer Phipps stretched and scratched, “Arkham is long term and these guys will
only be here a few days. They evaluate them and ship ‘em back home or to Blackgate or
Arkham or whatever rate hole they came from.”
Gordon glanced around nonchalantly. From his periphery he noticed that the well
dressed black man was approaching the station. Keeping his focus he said, “Oh yeah that
kinda makes sense, either way I got to go up to our own little disaster area on 12th. My
name is Randy Kunkle I should be on the list.” Jim Gordon used the name of a police
lieutenant whose name he had heard mention several times in association
with….whatever was going on.
52
He waited to see what the guard would do. If he asked him for his I.D. or if he
knew this officer Kunkle by sight Gordon would simple say, “I meant, I am standing in
for Randy, he told me to tell you that.”
But instead of asking to see his I.D. again the guard looked at his clip board. His
finger ran down the list of approved names, finally stopping about three quarters of the
way down he said, “Ah he you are.” Handing Gordon the clip board he pointed to a line
on the last page, “Sign here, while I get the elevator.”
Officer Phipps stood up and put his key in the lock above the elevator buttons. The
numbers above the elevator immediately lit up and began to descend from the twelfth
floor. The officer took the clip board back and pointed to a white phone on his desk, “I’ll
let them know you’re on your way. Good luck up there.” Gordon breathed a sigh of relief
and said a small pray of thanks for good old Gotham inefficiency.
********
Bart Tobler saw that the guy in the crumpled suit was a cop and was walking
toward the elevator. He figured that the guard was probably distracted and this was his
best opportunity. Steadying himself he figured this is it; now or never. He approached the
two men.
As he stepped closer he heard the guard say, “False alarm, a nut case got his hands
on a bottle of alcohol but the nurse got it from him and got him back to bed.” In fact he
knew that there had been no nutcase. The nurse was Kelton’s sister in law, who worked at
this hospital and had agreed (with some coaxing) to go along with this crazy plan.
Finally arriving at the desk, he heard the plain clothes officer call himself Randy
Kunkle. He committed that name to memory. If got up to the 12th floor he might be able
to milk this guy for information. The guard found the cop’s name on his list and pointed
him toward the elevator. Now it was his turn.
The officer turned to see Bart Tobler wearing an official looking pin stripe suit. He
asked, “May I help you?” Bart handed him his identification, which was a card that
Marcus Kelton had made up earlier. He had used the graphics arts equipment and
laminator at The Gotham paper.
The cop looked at the I.D. “Mr. Mike Fritz. Who are you with?”
Bart Responded, “I’m with the Internal Justice Department, out of their Special
Threats and Contingencies Unit.” He explained, “We deal with special circumstances that
53
don’t fit in with anything else.” He leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice and
said, “What do you think, does this qualify?”
It seemed to work, the guarded whispered back, “Sure seems that way to me.”
Looking at his list he furrowed his brow, “Sir, I don’t see you on my list, maybe I better
call upstairs.” With that he reached for the phone. Bart put his hand out and exclaimed, “I
may not be on your list, check the rest of your clip board. We sent a memo over and you
should have gotten it this morning.”
Lifting the top two papers the officer found the sheet that the reporter had inserted
earlier. This was the final part of the plan. Bart hoped that the false I.D. and the bogus
memo would be enough. If not his last hope was that he could out run the cop and
probably the plain clothes officer. He held his breath.
The guard looked at the memo, “Yep, here’s the memo. Okay, sign here.” Bart
silently exhaled thanking his Lord for what may have been divine intervention. Taking
the clip board he signed the name illegibly. The guard pointed as the elevator door was
opening up.” Guess you can hitch a ride with Officer Kunkle there. I’ll call up and let
them know you are coming”
Bart Tobler handed the clip board back to the guard and stepped on the elevator
with the stern looking police detective. This was it. The door closed and the elevator
ascended. He was on his way to…what?
54
CHAPTER TWELVE: Secondary Discovery.
The elevator door closed and Bart Tobler felt his nervous tension as well as his
dinner begin to rise. He was trespassing and standing three feet from a Gotham
Policeman. He was sure that this guy was going to blow his cover and arrest him. He felt
himself start to sweat even more. Pretty soon he was going to soak all the way through
his suit coat. This made him want to scratch at his collar which he was sure was a dead
giveaway that he wasn’t what he claimed. That thought made him all the more nervous.
His hands were shaking and he was feeling light headed.
********
Jim Gordon looked at the other guy. The federal officer in the nice suit looked a
bit fidgety but otherwise radiated an air of authority. Gordon began to worry that this man
would know who should and should not be at the hospital. If he was caught he would
likely be fired and that would end his days as a cop. He wondered if maybe he should
pretend to forget something, hit the down button and go back to the car and give up this
crazy idea.
********
Bart noticed that the other guy looked uncomfortable. Maybe he was up past his
bed time or maybe whatever was up there was really that bad. He wanted to breathe
deeply, but was afraid that would get the cops attention. His stomach had accelerated
from nauseous to preflight preparations for projectile vomiting. To make matters worse if
this stunt got him arrested, he would likely never work as a journalist again.
********
Jim Gordon took a deep breath and said very quietly to himself, “No. They
drugged me into this. Whatever’s up there, no matter how terrible, is now part of me, my
wife and my unborn child.” If he was under suspicion for something he knew nothing
about then there was no way to prove his innocence. He was going to see this through.
********
Bart Tobler quickly said the Lord’s pray. He knew he was using deception but that
was part of the job. The people had the right to know and this was his only chance to get
the story. At least that’s what he told himself. If by some miracle this worked he would
have a lot to discuss with his pastor. Oh well, at least he had the decency to feel guilty
about it.
55
Looking at the cop he noticed the guy was really nervous; what was his problem.
What was going on; Bart shudder to think what he might see on the 12th floor? He
thought to himself that if he was going to get this story he might as well start with this
guy. He asked, “Well what do you make of all this?”
********
Gordon shook the cobwebs from his head. The guy just asked him a question.
What to say? He thought quickly and then answered, “I don’t know, I just came in on it.
I only know what they tell me.” Gordon winced. That was a stupid response. He had
opened himself for the obvious next question.
“What have they been telling you? Oh by the way, Mike Fritz.” He extended his
hand.
Gordon took the hand and gave it an extra long shake in order to give himself a
second to formulate a response, “Kunkle, Officer Randy Kunkle, as to your question I
can only say that the problem doesn’t look like it’s going to go away.” He thought that
he needed to ask a question. He swallowed and said, “Are you new to the investigation.
What did they tell you?”
********
Bart thought, at least this guy is willing to chat with me, but I need to get more
information. Beside he had to appear to know what was going on. He looked at the cop
and said, “I was briefed, yesterday, but I don’t know anything about the latest update.
How many did they bring in today?”
The man got a quizzical look on his face and thought about it for a moment and
responded, “I heard fifteen.”
Bart remembered that was about the number he saw this morning. He wanted to
ask what was done to them and what did it, but knew that if he asked those questions he
would reveal his own ignorance. So instead he probed a little more, “Were they in about
the same conditions as the previous victims?”
********
Conditions, what conditions? Gordon didn’t know what was going on up there.
How do you answer that when you don’t have a clue what was up there or why? “You
would have to ask the doctor about that. I’m only here to observe.” Gordon had to get
more information from this guy or he was going to be discovered in the next minute, “So
are there any theories on your end?”
56
********
Bart had a theory alright. His theory was that he was about to be discovered as a
reporter, nuisance, interloper and trespasser. The testable hypothesis was that in about
five seconds this guy was going to put him in cuffs. He swallowed, feigned distraction,
“…Well I won’t call it a theory, but we haven’t seen anything exactly like this.”
The cop was about to reply when the elevator door opened. The two men stepped
through. The guard at the desk looked up from his magazine. Gordon hoped that he
didn’t have to show his ID; it was déjà vu all over again. He began to speak, “Officer
Phipps told me to tell you that he was going to call….”
The guard interrupted, “Yeah he called me, here put this badges on.” He tossed
two light blue plastic tabs at the men. Both men put the tabs on dutifully and signed their
fake names in an unreadable scrawl (an idea they came up with independently). Officer
Randy Kunkle aka James Gordon, and Federal Investigator Mike Fritz aka Bart Tobler
walked forward to see what the Police were hiding.
57
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Injury Report.
If Bart Tobler was walking naked on a fashion model’s runway surrounded by
people who hate him he would not have felt more exposed. It was bad enough that he
was surrounded by cops. No, he had to go and impersonate a federal agent – the guy who
was technically in charge. He continued to walk straight trying to do his best to pretend
he knew where he was going.
He didn’t understand why the cop, what was his name Kunkle, yeah Randy
Kunkle was walking so close to him? Didn’t this guy have anything better to do? Did he
suspect? Was he going to pull out the cuffs any second now? And why was he being so
tight lipped, couldn’t he give him even the smallest tid-bit of information?
Bart took one more breath and said, “Have you been up here before?”
********
James Gordon didn’t know which way to answer. If he said yes, he might be
expected to give the guided tour and he had no idea where he was going. If he said no, it
could cast suspicions as to why he was up here in the middle of the night. In keeping with
his avoidance tactic he chose the middle ground, “I was up here early on, but I think
things have changed.”
“Changed? How have they changed?”
Gordon coughed to give himself an extra second and then came up with, “Let’s
see how, after you.”
After a few more hesitant steps both men’s attention was caught by a doctor
examining a clip board. After several seconds in which the two parties expected the other
to talk first it was the physician who broke the silence. “So who are you with and how
can I help you?”
Introductions were offered. Lieutenant James Gordon and Gotham reporter Bart
Tobler gave their fake names. The physician responded, “Good to meet you, I’m Dr.
Barry Solomon and I guess I’m the guy in charge for now.” Dr. Solomon was young,
with ginger hair and a ruddy, freckled face.
The doctor spoke, “I’m surprised to see you guys here this late. The place is
crawling with cops and official looking people during the day. They pretty much leave us
alone at night.” Suddenly he went quiet, “They’re… they’re not bringing more in are
they?”
58
Both men responded, but Gordon spoke first, “No, nothing like that. I’m here to
get a look around when there aren’t all the cops.”
Gordon heard the other guy say, “I’m with a special investigation unit. I thought it
would be better to wait until things had quieted down.” James Gordon wasn’t quite sure
what unit this was, but knew better than to ask questions.
This time it was Dr. Solomon’s turn to speak up, “You know, I’ve got something
that the other doctor’s might have missed. Here let me show you.
Turning the corner both men stopped abruptly as they were stunned into silence.
Neither man noticed the other standing with an open, gapping mouth trying to take in the
horror of the situation. They continued to follow Doctor Solomon, barely realizing they
were even walking. Although the main lights were off, there was plenty of light coming
in from the hallway and from glowing hospital equipment for the two men to get an
understanding of what they were looking at.
They were in a hospital bay about the size of a grade school cafeteria. Crammed
together were hospital beds with patients. The place was packed to the point there was
barely any room for a person to stand in between the beds. It looked like all of the
patients were in casts, hooked up to tubes and blinking, beeping machines. Many were
raised or supported by metal bars and nylon straps. Virtually all of the patients were
covered in either casts or bandages.
Gordon saw that many of the injured were covered in hideous bruises and lined
with stitches. His first thought that the place must look like a M.A.S.H unit during war
time. It took on a surreal quality to think that a moment ago he had no idea what was up
here. Now he was surrounded by a crowd of horribly injured men, some barely clinging
to life.
He saw one man whose face was entirely wrapped in thick bandages like a
mummy. Some of the bandages had dark stains leaking through. Next to him was a man
whose jaw was literally held together by a metal brace, a large breathing tube centered in
the middle. After that was a person with both legs in suspended casts, he too had a large
breathing tube protruding out of his mouth. The guy next to him had yellowish gel
smeared over his face and much of his upper body. Beneath the sauve was red swollen
skin, possibly the result of fire or chemical burn.
Gordon saw a man in a full body caste. He like many of the men had multiple IV
bags containing various colored liquids. Despite the medication, the man was moaning
softly. Next to him a man was laying on an elevated bed his feet raised up. Gordon
wondered if he had been the victim of a massive head trauma. The guy lying across from
59
him had his whole upper body covered in stitches. Had his arm been ripped off and
reattached?
The injured were hooked up to a variety of machines and monitors. The machines
blinked, breathing apparatuses hissed, other monitors clicked and beeped. Gordon
thought that he sounded like some satanic free form musical rhythm; complete with
multiple red and green lights.
The odor was overwhelming. Gordon had been around enough corpses to know
the smell of death. This wasn’t quite that but it wasn’t much better. It seemed that the
powerful smells of hospital antiseptic and draining infected wounds were fighting it out
for dominance.
Then Gordon noticed that next to the back wall was a row of beds that were
curtained off. Dr. Solomon noticed that Gordon was staring at that area and said, “That’s
where they keep the cops.” It was all James Gordon could do not to jump out of his skin.
Did the man say cops? Gordon tried to compose his self he asked, “…did you
say…cops?”
“Yeah, there are ten so far. These are Gotham Policemen who were engaging in
what appears to be ongoing criminal behavior. The two guys over there were found beat
up with over 100 pounds of heroin in the trunk of their cruiser. Those three that were
brought in today were standing watch while a gang raided a department store.”
Gordon could not believe what he was hearing. All he could think of was that
whatever was happening, it was happening to dirty cops. Heck that could be the vast
majority of the Gotham Force.
Finally they stopped at a patient, who like the other people on this ward was in an
upper body cast, and a leg brace. The man was also on a breathing tube and had several
IV bags attached to a line entering his arm. The Doctor turned to the two men and said,
“Here take a look at this.” The doctor produced a flashlight, which he turned on. Pulling
up the patients thin hospital gown he shone the light onto the man’s stomach.
“The patient is suffering from severe trauma to the stomach and upper intestines.
But this is what I wanted you to see.” A little above and to the right of the navel was a
hideous yellow and purple bruise in the shape of four knuckles and fingers. The
differentiation between the finger shaped marks was easy to see.
“Look at it. It’s an imprint of a fist. That means who or whatever hit this guy was
able to cause severe internal damage with one punch. This was done while fighting four
other armed thugs. Who could do something like that?”
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Gordon didn’t know and it was almost impossible to maintain his composure.
This was it; this was what was going on. What caused this carnage? What did this? He
wanted to scream but he had to play it cool. He had real information now and he knew he
was close. Taking a breath he spoke as calmly as he could, “How many victims total?”
Doctor Solomon looked at his clip board and began to count down a list. Lifting
the top sheet and the next one he finished his count under his breath. He responded, “We
have seventy- eight here, I believe there are twenty-seven upstairs. At last count thirty-
six have been released from here and are now in county lock-up.”
Just as the doctor spoke Gordon noticed that several of the patients were hand
cuffed to metal railings. That meant that they were technically under arrest. As he looked
down the aisle of beds he could see the cuffs on many of the beds. He wondered if
everyone on this ward was under arrest. He wanted to ask that question but instead he
inquired, “How many are still cuffed.” The Doctor flipped through the papers on his clip
board, before saying, I don’t know how many they have restrained, but obviously all of
them are under arrest. If any of the ones who are unconscious wake up you guys will be
the first to know. Don’t expect me to restrain rapists, robbers, murderers and other
assorted criminals”
Rapists and murders, who were these guys? What happened here? Was this a
gang war? Is that what the brass is hiding? Did cops do this? Gordon thought for a
moment, if this is something the Gotham PD is doing, I am going straight to the press and
turning in my badge. If I have to I’ll call the Justice Department….” His thoughts were
interrupted as the federal investigator, what was his name Oh yeah Fritz, Mick or Mike
yeah Mike Fritz said something.
********
Bart Tobler stepped away from the other two. It gave him the opportunity to click
the pocket tape recorder on. He had a chance to look over the broken bodies; it seemed as
if everyone in here had been hit by a truck. Pointing to two patients in large body castes
but with exposed arms he asked. “Those tattoos on those two guys, I recognize them as
Lo Boy tattoos.”
The Doctor just shook his head, “Yeah they brought five of them in two nights
ago. An elderly couple got lost in LoBoy territory. They were stupid enough to get out of
their car to ask directions. Five gang members decided to rob the couple and have a little
fun. At least that’s what the only one who is currently capable of speech said. They
surrounded the couple and boom! That’s when it hit.”
Bart could barely contain himself. He wanted to scream, “What hit them?” He
knew he couldn’t do that without blowing his cover. He had to keep up the illusion that
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he knew what was going on. So instead of shouting, he asked, “And have they added
anything to their original statement?”
Shaking his head the doctor replied, “Nah, same story every time. If they saw
anything they say they were attacked by a shadow, a black blob. Some of them said,
devil, demon, diablo, Dracula, vampire, monster, a giant black flying creature, a giant
bat, a human panther. One of the fellows down there kind of waxed poetically and called
it…what did he say… oh yeah, the blackest sins of man come to claim vengeance.”
Bart kept his cool but added in his best sarcastic voice, “And none of them claim
to get a good look at anything.”
Before, the doctor replied a voice spoke up, “I did, I saw everything.”
All three heads turned to see a man struggling with his cast and bandages to sit up
in bed. It took a moment but he wrestled himself into a more comfortable position. The
man cleared his throat and grumbled, “Can I have a glass of water?” As the doctor
signaled to an attending nurse, the patient continued, “Listen if you press the button there
we can talk better.”
Bart pressed the button which caused the top of the bed to move the man in an
upright position. He continued, “Whoa, not too high there Sachmo.” Bart was too
interested in what the man might have to say to register the slur.
********
Gordon tried to look calm but he was exploding inside. This guy knew what had
attacked these men. He had to get to get this information, but he couldn’t look to eager.
As the nurse came by with a tall glass of water, the injured criminal spoke, “Yo, I
don’t care what those superstitious spics, or dem catholic (he pronounced it without the
“h”) guineas say - It wadn’t any monster or demon.” He paused for a moment to gulp the
large plastic glass of water.
“Careful, don’t drink so fast?” Gordon commented
“Why the heck not?”
Gordon didn’t really know why, he had just always heard that.
After gulping down the water, the patient handed the glass back to the nurse,
“How about another one honey? And then maybe could you get me a beer and your
phone number?” The nurse walked off, ignoring the comment.
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The doctor turned to the men and said, “Listen I think I will go upstairs and check
on the folks upstairs. I’ll leave the three of you to get acquainted.”
The injured patient turned to the other two, “You guys new up here, I hadn’t seen
ya before?”
Gordon responded, “Before, your time.”
“Yeah I guess, I’ve only been here three days. Everybody’s real hush, hush, but
some of these guys have been here for more ‘n a week. He stopped for a moment and
said. “Oh yeah, the name’s Chermak, Steve Chermak.” He extended his unbandaged
hand.
Gordon casually took the hand still keeping the cool exterior. He asked, “So what
do you believe we are dealing with?”
Steve Chermak thought about the question for a minute then said, “I don’t know
for certain, but it wasn’t any monster, or monkey, or Godzilla, Dracula or even a Wookie.
Look I ain’t like these kids; I did me two tours in Nam. I mean I know how to keep my
head….”
“I know you’ve said that, but why don’t start from the beginning.”
“ I didn’t want it to be this way.” Mr. Chermak began. “I did me two tours in
Vietnam infantry; saw a whole mess a bad things. I came back from Saigon with three
purple hearts, a pat on the back and an addiction to H. I had to feed the need, so I starts
helping some guys run a pipeline and dealing for some of the gangs. I got busted several
times movin product. I ended up doing a nickel at Blackgate.”
Gordon nodded just to show that he was listening.
The man continued, “I wanted to stay out of trouble but you know how it is,
smucks like me can’t catch a break. I ended up doing odd jobs and doing work when I
could get it. But no one wants to hire a con. So then I met me a real nice lady and she had
a daughter what needed braces…”
Gordon broke in, “Let’s skip to the night in question.”
“Oh yeah, so I’m got my CDL license as part of my parole. And they got me a job
driving this delivery truck. So I was at the Pub, I like to have a beer or two now and then.
That’s when four guys I know come up to me. They tell me that they have access to a
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warehouse with all of these nice appliances, you know, TV’s, stereos, microwave ovens,
and even some of them home computers.”
“And all you had to do was drive the truck, right?” Gordon asked.
“Yeah, they said that no one would be in the warehouse and they would do the
loading and unloading.” Mr. Chermak continued, “Each of us was gonna get 2 large for a
full delivery. Think about that. Two grand just to drive a truck. I mean $2000 buys a lot
of kid’s braces don’t yeah think.”
Gordon was annoyed, “Yeah, get on with it.” He couldn’t stand it when criminals
tried to justify their behavior.
“Well I drove the truck to warehouse around 2:00 AM; the boys were already
there, waiting for me.”
The injured man suddenly grew quiet.
“Go on.” Gordon said, more of a command than a request.
Chermak exclaimed, “Look, you gotta believe me, I had no idea them boys had
busted up and hogged tied the two night watchmen. I didn’t know nothin’ about that…”
“Then what happened.”
“Well I’m in my cab drinking some soda while those guys are loading the back.
I’m guessing they’s about half done, when I get out too take a leak. I’m in front of the
truck when it hits.”
Gordon took a deep breath and as casually as possible he asked, “When what
hits?”
“Him! Suddenly everything goes dark. I mean understand, the boys kept a small
light on so they wouldn’t bump into each other, and there was a street light at the front
and far side of the warehouse. But all of the sudden the lights are out and everything is
black. I don’t know what to make of all this, but I get to the nearest cover which is behind
the dumpster.”
He continued, “Fortunately for me, I am not looking at the rear of the truck
because that’s when things go crazy. I hear this loud explosion, and the whole area lights
up for a second. I knows what just happened. It was a flash grenade, we used ‘em to
blind the gooks in the jungle. Well then I hear this hissing and sizing noise. I can’t see
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much, but I am able to make out all of these clouds of smoke and I recognize the smell of
CS gas, again an old friend from Vietnam.”
“So then I hear the boys start to scream, they all seem to be running in every
direction. It was just like the first time you are in a fire fight. But within ten seconds the
screaming stops. All I hear is my buddy Greg moaning and making a gurgling sound. I
thought they’s all dead.”
“What did you do then?”
“I kept my head, I‘d been in fire fights before. I carry a double barreled sawed off
twelve gauge in my truck…for protection, I mean, you never know. I manage to get to
the gun, when I sees it. My truck door is open and the light is on. So for about a second I
get a half way decent look. It was all black and gray; it seemed to quiver like…like…I
don’t know…maybe it was like Dracula.
“So I point my gun and pull the trigger. I figured for a second that I had killed it.
But when I look up, I sees it standing there holding a big, black cloak. I’m thinking it was
a man, but the guy was big, I mean huge, like seven feet and big and thick. What’s more
he must have been wearing some unbelievable body armor.”
Next thing I know, I feel something stab my hand and arm. I drop the gun and
then I see only blackness.
I wake up like 12 hours later in this bed. The doctor’s tell me that in addition, to
getting three holes in my hand; I sustained me a concussion and a broken sternum. The
cops think that whatever it was picked me up and threw me across the pavement. I
received a broken pelvis.”
The two listeners said nothing for nearly a minute. Both men seemed to be taking
all of this in. Finally Gordon gained his composure and asked, “What caused the holes in
your hand, did the thing have a knife?”
“Nah. It was one of dem little black souvenirs that it threw at me.” The storyteller
stopped and thought about it for a minute, “You know when the doctors patched me I
think they got careless and left one on the table behind me.”
********
Both men turned their attention to the small portable tray next to the wall at the
head of the man’s bed. Lying on the table was a small black object. Bart Tobler reached
over to pick it up. “Ow!” he exclaimed drawing his hand back. He gasped at the
65
noticeable trickle of blood dribbling down his newly cut finger. “What the heck,” He
exclaimed.
“Oh, did I mention that those things’ll cut ya?”
Grabbing a tissue for his finger, Bart Tobler reached over and carefully picked up
the object that he now knew to be razor sharp. He carefully examined it, turning it over in
his hand. It was a deep, dull, black, and heavy for its size, about 3 ½ inches long, and
shaped like…like.
The other man walked over and took one look at it and exclaimed, “Look at the
wavy curves. Those are for your fingers to get a better grip. But the shape, it’s…it’s a
bat…it’s like a miniature bat.”
Bart Tobler agreed, that thing looked like a bat, but why? Who would use
something like this? If you wanted to hurt someone, why throw this, why not bring a
gun? The questions began piling up. Bart had to force himself to remember that he was
supposed to be familiar with this stuff so he couldn’t act to surprised.
Steve Chermak exclaimed, “That’s what he stabbed me with. Somehow one of
those managed to get into my clothes and the police missed it when they searched me.”
Nursing a cut finger Bart asked the man a question, “What do you think it was that
attacked you.”
Mr. Chermak responded, “For the flash that I saw it, I thought for sure it was a
man. But if it was, he was the toughest guy alive. I’m figuring he might be like that guy
in Metropolis; the one that supposed to be able to fly.
Then he began to laugh. This caught the other two men by surprise. The injured
man spoke up, “The part I like though is all of those cops getting what’s coming to them.
I mean that’s what’s really got the powers-that-be scared. This thing doesn’t ain’t leaving
out corrupt cops. That’s got’em peeing their pants. Heck, everyone knows that most of
the pigs in this town are as dirty as the criminals.”
The three men talked for about fifteen more minutes. Bart asked the man to go
over some of the details, but he gave up no new information. The conversation ended
when the patient began to get sleepy.
The reporter didn’t know what to do next. He had enough for a story, a good
story, was there anything else? He was thinking about making some excuse and getting
out of there when the cop, Officer Kunkle said, “Listen I got to go to the bathroom.”
Tobler nodded and made some comment about checking his notes.
66
After the cop had left Bart Tobler knew that he had only a moment. Taking the
camera out and turning on the flash he steadied the instrument and began snapping.
Knowing that the sound of a camera clicking and the flash might attract the guard, the
reporter took only a few pictures. Two were of a man who was in a full body cast,
another was of a man’s thoroughly messed up face. Another two were wide angle shots
of the whole floor and the rows of injured men. Finally he took one last shot of the black
razor.
He had gotten all that he came for. He knew he needed to get out of there.
Walking quickly to the elevator he said a brief pray of thanks when the sliding door
immediately opened. All but throwing his temporary badge to the guard, he entered the
elevator and pushed the down button.
As he began to descend the full realization of what had happened began to settle
on him. He had just gotten the story of the year. As unbelievable as it was someone or
something was busting up criminals in Gotham. Some monstrous creature of the night
was at work.
67
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Second Impressions.
Bart Tobler was half asleep when he heard a knock on his front door. Although it
was not particularly loud it drove him bolt upright. He was nervous, in fact it was fair to
say that his nerves were fraid, or better yet coming completely undone. It had been five
days since his story on the bat-like vigilante was published and 4 4/5 days since the
police had literally laid siege to the Gotham Gazette. When the police found out that
someone had violated their makeshift inner sanctum they flew into action. He was certain
his arrest was imminent.
He understood that the cops were more than a little upset that a reporter snuck into
their hospital ward. No sooner did the story hit the streets than a dozen cops were
marching into (some would saying raiding) the Gazette building. Suddenly Bart Tobler
was a person of interest to the police. Heck, he was public enemy one.
They had the video of him at the hospital, now they had to find who he was. Of
course they had no way of knowing that he definitely worked for The Gazette. But they
were working hard to find out. Mr. Kelton told him that for once the Gotham PD was
actually doing a real police investigation.
It was agreed that Mr. Kelton would take credit for the article. He told the police
that the information was sent anonymously by an unnamed source. No one could connect
Bart to the story.
Nevertheless his employment on the Gazette was a matter of public record. The
management had told the police that Bart Tobler was the reporter who had first wandered
up to the 12th floor, when he should have been covering a celebrity story. It did not take
them long to put two and two together.
What had slowed them down was that the newspaper men were under no
obligation to say anything and they did not. When asked if the man in the hospital video
worked for the paper the words, “I take the fifth,” were mentioned more at the Gotham
Gazette than in all of the cities’ liquor stores. The reporters, journalists, copy editors and
even some of the management maintained their silence and solidarity. It was good to see
reporters getting together and standing for something they believed was right.
Curiously the police accused the paper of sending two reporters to trespass (of
course the paper neither confirmed nor denied sending anyone). Bart did not understand
this at all. Was the cop, Officer Randy Kunkle, a reporter? Was he some kind of backup
in case Bart Tobler was stopped before he could get to the hospital floor? Marcus Kelton
vehemently denied this and seemed just as confused about this as he was.
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A few seconds later a second knock was accompanied by Mr. Kelton’s voice
saying, “Bart, open up it’s me.” The reporter thought it was good to hear a familiar voice
as he replied “Okay, I’m coming.”
He open the door to see his boss and was taken aback because standing next to
him was a tough looking guy in a rumpled brown suit. Bart actually shook his head to
make sure he was seeing things correctly. To his utter amazement there stood the officer
from the hospital. He stuttered, “Officer Kunkle?”
As the man entered the apartment he said, “First, Officer Randy Kunkle is my evil
twin brother. My name is James Gordon. Call me Jim, and don’t worry. I’m not here to
investigate or arrest.”
It took Bart a moment to parse all of this. Here was the same cop who was with
him in the hospital. This was the man who accompanied him when he investigated what
could possibly be the biggest story of his life. But if he was a cop why did he change his
name?
What was going on? Bart took a deep breath to collect his thoughts and then
asked, “If your name’s Gordon, then that means you were sneaking around just as I
was…right?”
“Yeah that’s correct. I guess we both had the same idea. It was quite the
coincidence eh?”
“That would explain why the police came looking for two reporters.”
“I’m no journalist, I really am Gotham PD.”
“Okay second question, why were you sneaking around the hospital.”
Gordon gave a brief summary of his motivations and how he proceeded. He did
not give too many details; just the facts. Bart thought that was what you expected from a
cop. “They either thought I was the guy or someone whom they could pin this on. Given
that I’m new to the city I don’t see how they could possibly believe this. I can barely find
my way to the local shopping center, and I’m supposed to be sneaking around at night
busting up criminals?”
Gordon scowled with disgust, “I no sooner got home that night when I noticed that
Internal Affairs had placed a plain clothes officer outside my home. Fortunately I was on
to the guy and snuck back into my house through a basement window.”
Marcus Kelton laughed and commented, “Maybe you are the guy.”
69
“It would be nice to make a difference.”
The three men chuckled at this.
Gordon continued, “When I admitted to sneaking up to the hospital that night I got
reamed good, but my immediate supervisor and my fellow officers stood with me. When
Internal Affairs threatens a cop and his family we tend to circle the wagons. In the end
they put a letter in my file, but no big deal.” James Gordon concluded by saying, “You’re
boss has already told me what you two were up to.”
The three men sat there silently. Finally Bart gathered up the courage to ask, “Am
I in some kind of trouble?”
“You were, but that sorta ended yesterday. The police have backed off.”
“Why?”
Gordon smiled and said. “Well they really don’t have anything too much they can
pin on you. At first they were taking about arresting you for impersonating a federal law
enforcement officer. You however, listed yourself as being with Internal Justice
Department out of their Special Threats and Contingencies Unit. But no such agency
exists, so they didn’t think they could make that charge stick.” Gordon produced the
memo that Bart had planted and handed him the crumpled paper.
“The word from the grapevine is that guard who let you up there, Officer Denny
Phipps is being ribbed mercilessly by his colleagues for falling for that one. The rumor
that I heard is he got an official looking summons from The Congressional Office of
Elvis and Bigfoot Sightings.”
“Ouch!”
“They thought about getting you for interfering with an investigation, but you
really didn’t interfere with anything. They probably could get you for trespassing, but
they usually don’t do that after the fact.”
Gordon paused to collect his thoughts and continued, “The real truth is that the
police don’t want to bring too much attention to this situation or themselves. They’ve
come under a lot of criticism for keeping this quiet for so long. The last thing they want is
to keep rehashing this and making an enemy of the public and the paper.”
Now it was Kelton’s turn to speak “I was never more proud to be a journalist. Our
paper finally developed a backbone. Half of the Gotham Gazette threatened to quit if the
70
paper’s owner didn’t stand his ground. Every single one of Our department heads got into
a staring contest with the police and the cops blinked first. So it looks like you are in the
clear.”
Exhaling a huge sigh of relief, Bart Tobler whispered a silent prayer of
thanksgiving. It took a moment but he could feel his reporters instincts start to churn. He
asked, “I saw on television that the police have acknowledged the truth of the story.”
Kelton answered, “When the story broke, so did all chaos. The police at first
would neither confirm nor deny any of it. But that didn’t last too long. They had to come
clean. The next day 300 people stood outside Gotham general as four ambulances
brought in a dozen bikers who were attempting to smuggle 200 lbs of cocaine into the
city. At that point it seemed that brass finally figured out, what everyone else knew
already. They couldn’t keep this under wraps anymore. So, score one for the people’s
right to know.”
Bart was glad to hear it, “Well that’s good.” Then he thought for a moment and
asked, “Is that why you came here, just to clarify the situation and to tell me I’m off the
hook?”
Gordon replied, “No, there’s a little more to it than that. You see I need your help
and I wanted to get to you before anyone else did.”
Bart was more than a little surprised to hear this, “My help…sir I don’t think I can
be of much help. I was let go from the paper, I’m currently in the job market.”
He no sooner said that when Both James Gordon and Marcus Kelton’s face lit up
with a huge smile. Marcus said, “Oh you hadn’t heard? I got some good news for you.”
“What news?”
“You are the man.” The editor said, “That story is the biggest thing to hit Gotham.
You’ve been rehired and someone even mentioned a possible Pulitzer.”
It was a good thing that Marcus Kelton was doing all the talking because Bart
Tobler was speechless. He went on, “We need to iron out some details but you are back,
and this is your story.”
Before Bart could say anything Gordon spoke up, “Before we continued I need to
propose something to you. Bart I want to cut a deal right here and now.”
Bart was processing the good news but was now in full reporter mode, “What kind
of deal?”
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Gordon answered, “The brass is really worried about this. This Batman guy has
been going after corrupt members of the Gotham Police. Two nights ago he busted up a
bunch of guys who were smuggling marijuana in the trunks of new cars being trucked
into the city. Of the twelve guys brought into the hospital, four were cops. Heck one was
a sergeant. Trust me when I say that this Batman person has got a lot of powerful people
scared.”
“They are putting together a task force to track this person, persons or thing; I’m
definitely included. In fact the grapevine says that my name is being floated for being the
head or second in command.”
“You? I thought you said you were new to Gotham.”
“Nah, I’m from here but was out of town until recently. But as far as this goes,
I’m fresh as a daisy. What scares Gotham PD is that this vigilante is busting up criminals.
To be honest that includes a substantial number of individuals on the force. I guess they
figure that If I’m new, I’m clean.”
Bart replied, “In Gotham that makes sense. But again, what do you want from
me.”
“I want information and I’ll make a deal. I am going to plead with my supervisors
to work with the press on this. I will let you have first crack at anything we find if you
will return the favor. I have already talked to Mr. Kelton here. He agreed although we
will have to hammer out a few details.”
Bart looked at his boss who nodded his approval.
Gordon continued, “Here is what I am asking. If you find anything, I want you to
tell me and no one else. To be honest with you, I’m currently the only cop that I trust.”
Bart asked, “You trust me?”
Gordon smiled, “We obviously have similar ideas and motivations. You were on
the outs at the paper and you went to those lengths to get the story. I admire your guts and
your cleverness. I asked around. The people who know you said you and you editor are
two straight up guys. You’re honest and you’re even a strong church goer, I guess that’s
good. You want to see the truth being told. You’re new to Gotham but from my old
stomping ground.”
Bart was surprised, “You mean you’re from Chicago too?”
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“I was on loan to the Chicago PD. But I ran into a little problem,” Gordon quickly
related his story.
Bart answered, “Yeah, I remember that, that was you huh?”
“Yep, I guess I know how to jump into the thick of it.”
“I always thought there was more to that story. I told people you got a raw deal.”
“I did, I ended up in Gotham.”
Bart had one final question. “So who or what do you think is doing this.”
Gordon went silent, he had obviously thought a lot about this. “Boy, I sure don’t
know. I’m thinking it’s some kind of super human character. We’ve all heard about that
guy in Metropolis who can fly. If something like that is busting up criminals in Gotham,
we’ve got our work cut out for us” He answered, then continued, “But to tell you the
truth, my gut tells me it’s a lot worse. I don’t know how or why, but I think things are
changing and maybe not for the better.”
Bart gave a slight nod in agreement and replied, “I am a man of faith, I’ve been
praying for Gotham. Somehow I think my prayers have not been answered.”
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Stop The Presses.
GOTHAM GAZATTE
Police Overwhelmed By Batman Sightings But Still No Leads
Bart Tobler
It has been seven days since The Gotham City Police Department’s
decision to make public the recent incidents of criminals being viciously
assaulted by a bat like creature. This reporter has coined the term
Batman and it seems to have stuck. The Gotham Gazette has decided
that this is the name it will call this elusive vigilante. The Gotham Police
have agreed to follow suit
In the wake of this revelation, the Gotham PD has admitted that
they are overwhelmed by a flood of sightings of this elusive person(s) or
creature. “It has been unbelievable,” quoted a GCPD source who wished
to remain anonymous. “Our phones are ringing off the hook. In the last
five days the GCPD has logged a staggering 900 calls.”
Among the more dubious claims include:
A gentleman called the police claiming he saw the bat creature fly
out of a glowing UFO hovering over his house.
Several frantic individuals called the police saying the Bat monster
was standing on the roof of a local church. The police pointed out that
they were seeing one of the many gargoyle statues that have always been
there.
Several women have claimed that a dark angel visited them in the
night and they are carrying his child.
One of the branches of the Gotham Library has informed the police
that a religious group is meeting at their facility claiming they are
followers of the Bat Demon who will usher in the apocalypse.
More than 100 calls have come into the police from people who
claim they know the identity of the Batman, or that they are the Batman.
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The same source also commented, “With all of the sightings it has
been difficult to separate truth from fiction. But what doesn’t change is
the fact that something or someone has assaulted a large number of very
dangerous individuals.”
The police have been quick to point out that all sightings prior to
the public announcement have been from known criminals who have
been assaulted by the Batman late at night. The testimony of a reliable
witness who has not been charged with a crime, Ms. Theresa Glover (a
false name), is printed in the accompanying article.
Meanwhile the police are not willing to comment on any
development in their ongoing investigation into this matter. Detective
James Gordon could only say, “We are following up on every lead.”
The police have asked for calm in this situation. Detective Gordon
said, “Despite all of the crank calls, the special hotline number will
remain open for now.” He does ask, “Please take a second look and be
sure of what you are seeing before you waste the police’s limited
resources.”
Woman Claims Batman Saved Her Life.
Bart Tobler
The Gotham City Police released the testimony of a woman who
says that the Batman saved her life.
Ms. Theresa Glover (not her real name) says that Batman saved her
from an attack by accused multiple murderer Grady Dellwood.
Meanwhile her injured assailant remains in custody by virtue of being in
a coma at Gotham General.
Ms. Glover agreed to tell her story. We have withheld certain details
of the incident to protect her real identity.
Bart Tobler: Take us back to that night. How did it begin?
Theresa Glover: It was late and I was driving home after work. It
had been raining all night and it was really coming down. As I
approached exit 34 my car stalled out.
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BT: Because of the rain?
TG: My mechanic told me that this is common among older model
cars. He said I should have pulled over to the side of the road and waited
until the heat from my engine dried it out. I wish I would have know that
now.
BT: But what did you do?
TG: Instead I pulled off the exit onto Dorsey Avenue.
BT: That’s not the best neighborhood.
TG: I normally would never go into that neighborhood even during
the daytime and especially never alone. I waited in my car and I guess I
tried to start it too many times. I ran my battery down. Now I knew I
needed help. I was hoping that someone would come along. I guess what
I really wanted was for a cop car to come by.
BT: But none did.
TG: Well you know what they say, “You can never find a cop when
you need one.” I looked around and saw a house up the street with their
lights on. I figured I can’t wait here forever, so I got out of the car and
started to make my way to the house.”
BT: How far was the house from your car?
TG: It was about 1000 feet. It was pouring down rain and the wind
was blowing hard. I had an umbrella but it did not help much. I was
wearing a knee length dress and it was pitch black out. There was a lot
of lightening flashing around me. I was really scared.
BT: Then what happened?
TG: I was about a quarter of the way there when I heard the sound
of smashing glass. This was followed by a howling noise. I turned
around (Ms. Glover paused at this point).
BT: Can you continue?
TG: Yes I’m fine.
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BT: That was Grady Dellwood?
TG: That’s what the police later told me. I turned to look and when
the lightning flashed I saw that there was this man…this Grady Dellwood
person. He was standing next to my car wearing a long overcoat and he
was holding a huge axe. He had smashed out all of the windows of my
car. When the lightning flashed again, I saw him growl and he said
something like “Here chicky, chicky chick.” At least I think it was
something like that.
BT: What did you do?
TG: I began to run. I’m pretty athletic, I ran track in college. I ran
as fast as I could. I got to the house and began pounding on the door. No
one came to the door. I thought I could burst through a window. But
they were barred with a metal grate. I later learned there was no one
home.
BT: Then what?
TG: All I could do was run toward some larger buildings screaming
for help. I made it to another building and began pounding on the door.
As he approached I heard him scream something like, “There’s no one. I
killed them all. They saved you for me.” I don’t know. That’s when it
happened.
BT: What happened?
TG: There were like these flashes of lightening. The first flash I saw
what I thought was a large black bird or maybe a small airplane flying
toward us. The second flash there was a huge black creature standing
behind the man and I swear I sawing him smiling. Then I heard a scream
and a second later the next flash came and there was no one there. They
were gone. For a moment I thought I was dreaming; this couldn’t be real.
BT: What happened next?
TG: The door opened and a man let me in. He told me that this was
a small tavern and that it had closed. He was still there cleaning up and
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he hadn’t heard the pounding at first. He called the police for me and I
told them my story. They called me a tow truck.
BT: What did the police say?
TG: Nothing, they just took my report and they said they would call
me. They contacted me the next day. They told me that this was part of
an ongoing investigation and must not to tell anyone anything about it. I
haven’t heard from them since.
BT: You heard what happened to Mr. Dellwood?
TG: I heard he got roughed up pretty bad.
BT: That’s to put it mildly. Grady Dellwood suffered a fractured
skull, a smashed nose and a broken jaw. He suffered damage to the
spinal cord. The doctors are not sure that he will walk again. He has
other worries. In addition to the penalties he faces for attempting to
assault you, the police have charged him with two murders and are
investigating his involvement in three others.
TG: So whatever it was that I saw that night, it saved my life.
BT: What do you think it was?
TG: I don’t know, but if I was a criminal I would be very, very
scared.
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Reevaluation.
Doctor Artemis Daniels received the telephone call he had been expecting. He was
not worried; he feared for nothing. He was in control, it was that simple. The gentleman
on the other end of that phone could neither help nor hinder his progress. Still he did play
some part in the larger plans (an admission Dr. Daniels loathed to admit) and he did not
like having these setbacks.
Picking up the phone he answered, “Yes.”
The voice on the other end said, “Dr. Daniels I assume you know why I am
calling.”
“You watched the news, obviously.”
“So please inform as to what happened.”
“What happened is what you saw. I contracted a group of workers to deliver my
chemicals to a warehouse. When they arrived, that bat thing, or whatever he thinks he is
interfered.”
“Back up a bit please. In fact start from the beginning.”
Dr Daniels knew that this was his chance to put his spin on it, “The chemicals that
were smuggled in are essential to further our progress. Their unique molecular
composition allows me to create a stabilizing formula that will bring our plans to fruition.
This is the final stage of the experiment.”
“I arranged for the chemicals to be taken into Gotham and escorted to a
warehouse. It took some time to set this up. I worked through an intermediary who I
personally never met. He secured the manpower to move the containers. I remained
anonymous so that nothing could possibly be traced back to me.”
“Since I was not going to be present at either pick up or delivery I arranged for
every phase of the transfer to be video tapped. I had a camera planted on a telephone pole
a few days before. I had to be sure that the men I hired did what I order them to do.”
The voice responded with what Dr. Daniels thought was a note of condescension,
“Well there was obviously an element that you did not think of.”
Dr. Daniels could feel his blood pressure rising. He knew he was being baited but
he had to remain in control. Forcing himself to chuckle he answered, “Hey, you tell me
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how I was supposed to know that some freak in a rodent costume would assault those
men? You saw the video, could I have anticipated that?”
After a moment of silence the voice said, “No I suppose not. Do you know how
he found out about the shipment?”
“I’ve thought about that. He can’t possibly be aware of the importance of those
chemicals. There is no way he could know what was in those containers or what they
were used for. I have been given a full report from my contacts in the Gotham PD. They
tell me that whatever this thing is, it has targeted street criminals. Apparently it has
busted up a number of drug deals. I am guessing that the bat creature thought that those
barrels contained narcotics.”
“What will the police find when they analyze the contents of those barrels.”
Dr. Daniels allowed himself a smile, “That’s the beauty of the plan (he meant
genius). When the cops analyze it, they will find what they believe is a harmless
household product. This adds an unexpected but beneficial twist. The Bat monster beat
up a group of men over nothing. This makes the creature appear that much more
dangerous and unpredictable to both the police and the public.”
Dr. Daniels heard what almost sounded like admiration as the voice said, “That is
quite fortuitous.” Then the tone changed, “So why did you send the tape to the police?”
“I told you there is no way to link that tape of the Batman to me. Batman, I believe
that’s what the papers are calling it. Therefore we are completely safe. Since the cops are
after this…this bat thing, I thought I would give them a little help. I made two copies of
the video and sent one to the media and the other to a cop who has been in the papers
lately. I figured I could give them some useful information about our mutual enemy.”
“So let me understand this, you thought that sending the police this tape would
help them catch this “Batman” or at least learn a little bit about how he operates.”
“That’s what I just said,” Artemis Daniels scowled.
What about the chemicals?”
“Of course I had a backup plan; I have a second delivery coming in from Canada
through Metropolis. It arrived the same time.”
“And then, we will have our final product?” The caller asked.
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Dr. Daniels looked at the monstrous behemoth grunting in the cage. Allowing a
Cheshire cat smile he said, “Then we make history.”
The conversation took up a few more precious minutes of Dr. Daniels valuable
time. The caller finally got to the question that Dr. Daniels had waited for, “So what do
you think this Batman is.”
Dr. Daniels anticipated this question. It was what everyone has been asking. In his
most professional voice Daniels recited his well rehearsed answer.”My best guess is that
someone is experimenting with processes similar to what we are researching. This being
true, it reflects the need for haste if we are going to be the first to utilize this technology.”
Of course he suspected that this was not the case, but conveniently lied. He wanted to
give the man a sense of urgency.
This got the desired results. Losing all sense of composure the voice on the line
literally shouted, “…Similar to ours? That’s impossible…it can’t be! You have
explained the source of your process. No one else could possibly have access to it. There
is no way anyone could be paralleling this process, ridiculous.”
Of course it was ridiculous. Artemis knew good and well that no one could
possibly be doing what he was doing. He needed to keep the man off balance. He
followed with the knockout blow, “I am not willing to say anything is impossible. I do
know that we need to continue with all speed if we are going to succeed. Now if you
have nothing more to say, I must return to my work,”
Dr. Artemis Daniel could all but hear the caller deflate as the man said, “Yes, of course
you are correct. I will let you continue. Please keep me updated.”
“You will be the first to be notified when I have information I am ready to release.” With
that he hung up without waiting for a response.
Dr. Daniels could not help but chuckle. People thought they were so smart. In fact they
were so easily manipulated…
WHAM!
The scientist’s thoughts were interrupted with another loud crash. Then a loud
inhuman growl, which turned into a siren like wail.
The creature began throwing itself against the bars of the cage. Each smashing
blow was accompanied by an ugly crunching sound which echoed throughout the room.
Each blow brought bits of plaster raining down from the ceiling.
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Dr. Daniels kept his head. With one fluid motion he grabbed the huge
tranquilizing gun. Taking aim he fired the feathered dart into the monster’s chest. In less
than a second the hypodermic spring loaded dart plunged enough tranquilizing agent to
knock out a full grown Male African Elephant.
The creature, growled in rage and fury. Manically it hammered fist the size of
soccer balls against the steel bars. The impact made a terrible metal shrieking sound. The
thing kicked frantically, flinging its body at the bars and even using its massive oversized
head as a battering ram.
In about a minute the creature’s rage began to subside. Within two minutes the
thing was down; the threat avoided. This was good, but the scientist knew that this could
not last forever. The creature’s tolerance for such paralyzing agents continued to grow
exponentially.
Dr. Daniels was visibly shaken. Even he did not know that the creature could
generate this kind of power. The chemical that were now in his possession were
definitely needed. They had to proceed to the next phase with all speed.
Only when the creature was completely quiet did Dr. Daniels venture forward to
examine the cage. As he expected, the bars had withstood the assault, but just barely.
Several of the bars were twisted. And one had been broken slightly from the metal frame
it was welded to.
He would have to tell the three stooges to fix the problem. Dr. Ratley knew how to
weld steel. He needed to repair and reinforce the damaged bars. The other two could help,
the creature needed to be contained. Dr. Strunk was scheduled to arrive any minute now;
he could take care of the problem.
The scientist steadied himself. He was not built for this sort of thing. He was the
brains of the operation. Let someone else get their hands dirty. He took a deep breath and
began counting the days until the final phase began.
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: In-depth Analysis.
Bart Tobler checked his watch and shuffled some papers on his lap. He checked
and then double checked his tape recorder and tried to look nondescript. He sat with
several hundred people in the rotunda in Gotham City Hall waiting for the press
conference.
It had been four days since a security tape that contained video of the Batman in
action was mailed to both Jim Gordon and himself.
As soon as the knowledge of the film came to light everything broke loose. It
seemed that every cop, reporter, politician as well as other assorted crazies wanted a
piece of the video. Several news outlets began a bidding war to purchase the footage.
Some private collectors even offered even large sums of money to buy the film.
It took the cool headed professionalism of James Gordon to finally settle things
down. Gordon asked The Gotham Gazette not publish any pictures or release the video to
the television press for two days until the footage could be analyzed. This seemed like an
eternity to the reporter. Stories lived and died in 24 hour news cycles. Reluctantly Bart
Tobler agreed in exchange for getting first crack on reporting whatever the police
discover from the footage.
The arrangement was simple. Bart would be the only reporter who attended the
briefing for the Gotham PD, which took place yesterday. The same information that was
about to be released at this press conference was being released by the Gazette. Already
the paper was ready to publish a special afternoon edition which hit the streets the
moment this conference was finished. This gave the police time to do what they needed,
while giving the paper the scoop. That’s the way it worked around here, you scratch my
back and I’ll scratch yours. Still the arrangement was a pretty fair one.
This conference was attended by print and television media from around the
country. Currently there were more than 200 journalists in the rotunda who were
jockeying for position. In addition to the media there were federal officials, politicians
and other assorted VIP types crammed into the town hall.
Bart knew he was a significant part of this press conference but he did not want to
bring attention to himself. That will come later. Tomorrow he was scheduled to be
interviewed by Dan Rather on the CBS news, Ted Koppel on Nightline, by Barbara
Walters on 20/20. There was even talk of a 60 Minutes segment; the mountain!
The press conference was scheduled for 10:00 AM and for once Police
Commissioner Loeb was not late. The crowd quieted down as Loeb walked up to the
podium. Standing behind him were several deputy assistant police commissioners, the
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mayor and assistant mayor and James Gordon. Bart thought nothing made you look
official quite like having a group of people standing behind you while you spoke. Set up
left to the podium was a large white screen. There was a video projector placed about 20
feet back.
Commissioner Loeb opened the conference with some comments about law and
order and how the people of Gotham will not tolerate vigilantism. Even a casual observer
could see that the man was nervous. All of the higher ups were. Whoever or whatever this
Batman thing was it had a lot of important people running for cover.
Loeb spoke briefly and when he was finished the journalist began to shout and
wave their arms trying to get the Commissioner’s attention. Loeb coughed and informed
the audience that he would not be taking question. Before he left the podium he
introduced Lieutenant James Gordon who was tasked with making the presentation.
If Loeb looked scared, Gordon looked determined. Although brand new to
Gotham, James Gordon radiated the authority of the righteous. If anyone had nothing to
fear from a vigilante it was Gordon. The journalist figured that Gordon was the kind of
guy who would much, much rather be working the case than giving a press conference.
This was probably why he would never rise to a position of power.
James Gordon addressed the crowd, “Ladies and gentlemen of the press, fellow
police colleagues, and honored guests. As you are all aware it has been four days since an
anonymous source mailed a video tape to The Gotham Police Department and Gotham
Gazette. The paper graciously agreed to give us a couple of days to analyze the material.
That is what we are presenting here.”
“At this time we do not know the person or persons who mailed the video to us.
Of course we know the location of the incident, as there were 6 assault victims. We
determined that probable location from the angle of the video. We discovered that the
camera was mounted to a telephone pole at the far end of the lot. The camera had been
removed by the time we got there. We do not know why they took the video, how or if
they knew the Batman,…uh that’s term we are using, was going to be present. ”
At that point a reporter interrupted, “If they didn’t know that the Batman was
going to be there, then why video tape the scene.”
Gordon answered, “We just don’t know at this point. We have very few leads. If
anyone has any information, “He cleared his throat for emphasis, “Any real information,
please call the hotline.”
Turning toward the screen the lieutenant said, “Okay let’s watch the video, the
part that actual contains the Batman lasts about a minute. I will show you that first and
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then we will watch it a second time but start a little earlier.” He signaled to his assistant
who turned off the lights in the building. The white screen lit up and a soundless black
and white picture began.
For a minute or so the picture was an explosive strobe of images. The action was
so fast it was hard to see what was happening. The screen was filled with bright white
flashes, swirling smoke, and moving shadows. Bart could clearly see a large black figure
darting about. The resolution was clear, but everything was moving so fast that it was
difficult to make out any detail. The last thing the viewer saw was a large black creature
seemingly fly away.”
The crowd began to rumble. No one present really was quite sure what they had
just seen. The Lieutenant regained control. “That may be difficult to see. Fortunately I
can advance the video a few frames at a time. When we do that we get a better
understanding of the event. The action does not begin until 44 minutes and 36 seconds.
Let’s take a look at what happens.”
“44:36. The white cargo van containing the six assault victims and six 55 gallon
barrels of a yet unknown chemical pulls off the street. It drives down the alley and parks
in the back lot of this abandoned building. The driver pulls forward and backs up to the
garage door. Please note that the wind is blowing pretty hard. Gotham airport listed it at
19 mph. That becomes important later.”
“45:52 - One of the men, whose name is Joe Hargraves, gets out of the van. He
enters the back door. About a minute later, two of the outside lights go on as does an
interior light. The garage door opens and the other five men get out of the van.”
“48:55 - Two of the barrels are unloaded. Now please direct your attention to the
man in the top center of the screen. That is Clay Hargraves, Joe Hargraves’ 16 year old
brother. Notice that he stops and looks up at the building next to the warehouse. That
building is seven stories tall. When questioned, Mr. Hargraves said he heard a thump of
some sort He said he didn’t think much of it.”
“49: 40 - This is where things get interesting. I am going to advance the film a
frame at a time. Please look at the right edge of the warehouse, about right here.” Taking
out a stick he pointed to a spot on a screen. He continued, “Notice that as I advance the
film a frame at a time at the 49: 40 second a white object appears in a small cloud of dust.
We took this portion of the video to the FBI. They have special equipment to enhance the
video. Ladies and Gentlemen you are looking at a grappling hook fired by a gas powered
pistol that looks something like a flare gun.”
“49: 46 - Now you see all six men stop what they are doing. This got their
attention.”
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“49:49 - The two outside lights and the interior lights go out.” James Gordon
explained, “This was accomplished by a small wad of plastic explosives on the electrical
line on the front of the building. It was set by a simple relay. It was arranged with such
skill that it even fused the end of the electrical cord so that no one could get shocked.”
“49.50 - You will note that the two lights at the each end of the building are still
on, as is the light from the lot behind the building next door. These lights are on a
different underground line. This is fortunate because without them the picture would be
completely black.”
“49:55 - The bright white explosion you see is a flash grenade. It is designed to
temporarily blind an individual without doing injury. The second smaller explosion is a
grenade containing a type tear gas. Residue of this substance is currently being analyzed.
You will note that the flash grenade goes off on the right side of the van. The three
individuals on the left side are largely unaffected by the explosion. Clay Hargraves is
incapacitated, the explosion is close enough to cause second degree burns on his arms
and chest. In addition he suffers a laceration to his head when he falls.”
“49:59 - Here is the first appearance of the Batman. I will advance the frames and
you can see him appear of the right side of the screen. It may appear as if he is flying. We
do not believe that is the case. He is sliding down a rope line attached to the grappling
hook and secured on the other end. This stunt obviously takes a great deal of skill. But
let’s take a little closer look at that.
“50: 01 - Notice that he picks up momentum and releases himself from the cord.
As he does he hits the man on the right square in the chest, knocking him out and
breaking several ribs. Keeping the momentum going he hits the next guy in the jaw. Both
men are knocked unconscious. That’s three men down in the first five seconds.
“50: 07 – As he strikes the third guy he gathers some momentum and jumps onto
the top of the van. Please note the man to your left, Joe Hargraves. He has the presence
of mind to kick the tear gas grenade away. The wind has mitigated some of the gases’
potency.
“50:10 - This is where things get real interesting. As I stop the film, please look at
Mr. Hargraves’ right hand. You will see four flashes from the object he is holding. A
semiautomatic Browning 9mm was recovered from the scene, it had fired four shots. The
police recovered two rounds from the wall across the street. That means the Batman was
struck twice.”
“50:13 - Notice that the Batman does not stop or slow his momentum at all. That
means he is either bullet proof or wearing some very effective body armor. Instead of
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stopping, he leaps off the van and puts all he has into a spinning side kick. The kick
strikes Mr. Hargraves square in the jaw.” This elicited groans from the audience.
“50:15 - The last two men round the front of the van to assist their colleague. They
have only just begun to draw their weapons. While they are doing this the Batman takes a
step backwards and in two leaps jumps on top of the van again. Now watch as he runs to
the front of the van surprising the two men.
At this point Gordon paused the film and says, “50:17 - Here it is. This frame is
the clearest full frontal picture we have of the mysterious crime fighter.” This elicited
loud murmurs and barks of excitement. Apparently some of the audience objected to the
phrase, crime fighter, while others embraced it.
Gordon did not let this stop him. “We have enhanced that picture, which I am
putting up now. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Batman.” The detail was not real
good, but it clearly showed what appeared to be a large man wearing some deep black
suit with a mask that had horn like points on top. A black billowing cape flowed behind
him. Although fuzzy, the picture clearly showed that a bat shaped emblem was centered
on the man’s chest. Tom commented, “We carefully analyzed that picture. Our estimates
show that the figure in the picture is 6’ 8” tall, although the costume may add several
inches. Even counting for the thickness of body armor, the man is still broad chested with
large arms and legs. You are looking at one large, very fit specimen.”
“50:19 - As the two men begin to draw their weapons, watch what happens. You
really can’t get the details very well, but what you are seeing are these.” With that
Lieutenant Gordon held up the black objects.” He explained, “These are metal throwing
knives. Apparently he can’t always retrieve them from a fight. The analysis shows that
they are made of some type of cutting edge alloy. They are extremely strong, lightweight,
perfectly balanced and have been honed razor sharp.”
He continued, “Notice that he throws two with each hand. Both knives strike their
mark, hitting the men’s hands and forcing them to drop the weapon. Now he delivers a
swinging left hook to the face of the first man and shoves him into the second. The
cracking heads renders the second guy, named Shelby Strunk, unconscious. As Mr.
Strunk falls Batman pulls the other guy back and delivers several hard punches to the
stomach and ribs and a solid elbow to the head.”
“50: 35 - Now we see him climb on the van and jumps to the roof of the
abandoned building. He retrieves the grappling hook, and attaches it to a square object
that is possibly on his arm or his belt. We cannot see because the details are covered by
that cape of his. We believe that this is a small, but powerful motor. The motor begins to
wind the rope around a pulley or some similar device. The result is that it pulls him
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upward. The motor may be mounted on top of the taller building and he activated
remotely. We do not know for sure. We believe that this creates the illusion of flying.”
Gordon asks, “Are there any questions?” Predictably this was followed by a
cacophonous roar from the press corp. The shouts were accompanied by leaping and hand
waving as reporters try to get the speaker’s attention.
Bart saw that Gordon answers their questions as best he can. Not being a journalist
he struggled with some of the wording. Unfortunately, most of the questions are
answered with The Lieutenant saying, “That is part of the ongoing investigation and I
cannot comment at this time.” After about 15 minutes, Commissioner Loeb steps in and
announces an end to the press conference.
As the reporters file out, Bart approaches James Gordon. The two exchange a
familiar node and smile. Bart lets out a laugh and asks Gordon, “So off the record is the
Batman human or not?”
Gordon responds, “Off the record, just between you and me?”
“Certainly.”
Gordon looks around making sure they are not overheard, “Do you know a guy
named Tom “Just For Kicks” Gaither?”
“Yeah the three time kick boxing champion. They show reruns of his fights on
cable TV.”
“I asked him to take a look at the footage. He told me something interesting. If you
remember the kick that Batman gave Mr. Hargraves?”
Bart nodded.
“Tom Gaither told me that such a kick requires perfect timing. It involves every
muscle in your body moving in perfect unison to drive all of the momentum you can
muster into the hardest kick a person is able to deliver. He said that there are maybe 20
guys in the whole world who can perform it flawlessly. None of them while wearing
body armor and while people are shooting at ‘em. He told me that if the guy is human,
he is in a class by himself.”
“If he’s not human?”
“Why would he take the time and trouble to learn that kick? For that matter why
throw those black things if he is some kind of superman?”
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Bart had no reply to either of these questions.
Gordon concluded, “Either way we are in uncharted territory with this guy. I am
pretty certain that he is not going away.”
Finally Bart asked, “So what’s the toll? How many guys has the Batman sent to
the hospital?”
Gordon answered, “I don’t know. They’re not telling anyone that. But I’m
guessing that he number is over two hundred.”
Bart let out an audible gasp, “Two hundred! Wow, how many are Gotham PD?”
“A lot, I mean a lot. From what I’ve heard he’s gotten it right every time.”
Bart Tobler chuckled, “At this rate you’ll be the only cop left in Gotham.”
James Gordon did not reply to this.
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Chemical Engineering.
Lieutenant James Gordon was not happy. That fool told him to call him first thing
in the morning. He called at 9:00 AM, 9:25 AM and here it was 10:15 AM and all he was
getting was a phone ringing off the hook. He thought of that comedy show that was on
about a decade ago. What did that telephone operator say, “One ringy dingy, two ringy
dingies…” He smiled to himself; this assignment was really getting to him. Finally on
the eight ring the call was picked up. The voice answered him in a mock southern accent,
“Army of Northern Virginia, General Lee’s tent.”
Gordon had to remind himself that the guy on the other line was not a cop, but a
fulltime civilian consultant. He returned the greeting, “I take it that this is Dr. Timothy?”
The response came, “You got it man, R. Lee Timothy, forensic investigator and your
personal hook up to higher chemical enlightenment.”
Gordon let out an audible sigh. Dr. R. Lee Timothy was a brilliant scientist and
consulted with the Gotham PD any time a chemist was needed. In keeping with Gotham
tradition, Dr. Timothy had a shady past (In this town, when was it ever the other way).
According to the grapevine Dr. R. Lee Timothy was a major west coast manufacturer of
high grade LSD and other recreational drugs. When the FBI started really cracking down,
he escaped arrest by moving to Gotham. The word was that Gotham PD figured that Dr.
Timothy knew more about illegal recreational substances than just about anyone, and so
they hired him. Once again Gordon thought to himself that this was something that only
made sense in Gotham.
Gordon returned to the business at hand, “Listen, I am calling to see if you
analyzed that stuff that we confiscated. Yesterday you told me you would have the
results. You do remember as far back as yesterday?” Dr. Timothy groaned, “Daddy-O
you are harshing my mellow. Yeah I got your results. I took a page out of the Gotham
PD and launched my own investigation. In my attempts to discover the contents of those
barrels I took the radical step of reading the label attached to them. The stuff has a
chemical name as long as your arm but the commercial name is Softoria. I tested it and so
far, the results show that what you see is what you get.”
“Meaning that the contents were indeed this stuff called Softoria?” Gordon
Inquired.
“Yeah, it’s made overseas in South Africa.”
When nothing else was said Gordon prodded, “What is it?”
“Softoria is an antibacterial agent. It kills germs. It doesn’t have the grease cutting
effect of a good dishwashing detergent and it’s not as caustic as, say bleach, but it does
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kill germs. Pretty tame stuff. Your bat freak went all rage monkey on some guys
who were importing a mild sanitizer – real bad scene.”
“And you are certain of this.”
“Well because of the nature of the case, I took the liberty of contacting the
Gotham College chemistry department. They can do some magic, that I’m not equipped
to test for. The results were exactly the same. I also sent got approval from the poobahs
upstairs to send some samples to the FBI, Interpol and US Army Medical Research for
Infectious Diseases, they’re called AMRID?”
Gordon interrupted, “I know who they are. How long will that take.”
“About two weeks, maybe three for Interpol, but I seriously doubt they are going
to find anything different.”
“Who uses the stuff?”
“It’s basically hand soap. You might find it used in conjunction with a harsher
cleanser. You could use it wherever you find biological contamination or hazardous
organic material spills. You could use it in food production, hospital or veterinary clinics,
some of the blow out parties I go to…”
“Who specifically orders the stuff?”
“Well that’s the thing, really nobody.”
“Nobody?”
“Nah, there’s a number of similar products manufactured in the good ole US of A
and they cost less. To tell you the truth none of it is really any better than Spic ‘n Span
with a little bleach mixed in. I called the FBI and the Customs Agency, and I have a few
more calls out. So far as I can find out, no one imports the stuff.”
“Does it have any use in the manufacturing of drugs, explosives or any other
criminal uses?”
“Not that I know of, and believe me I would know. I mean you can’t drink, snort,
smoke or shoot this stuff or anything like it. You’d do better to try to get off sniffing Top
Job and that stuff burns your nose, let me tell you…”
Now Gordon was annoyed, “Come on.”
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“Dude you are wrapped way to tight, you know I can help you with that.” Dr.
Timothy paused a moment, at least long enough for Lieutenant Gordon to understand that
he had just made a serious offer. He continued, “Anyway, I even called a friend of mine
in Berkley who works for a company that makes cleaning and disinfect solvents. They all
agreed with me. I think this is dead end.”
“So then why would someone want to smuggle this in.”
“Other than avoiding some paper work and a few import fees, no reason that I can
think of. If I am not out of line I could offer a speculation”
“Go ahead.”
“Maybe the bad guys are opening up a new pipeline and this is a dry run.”
“You mean that some organized crime element in Gotham is trying to start a new
smuggling operation. They thought it was a good idea to smuggle something harmless as
a test run?”
“It’s what I would do.”
Jim Gordon replied, “Yeah that’s my thoughts too.” While thinking, yes it is what
you would do. He continued, “That theory makes more sense than anything else.” He
figured he had gotten all the information this guy was going to give him. He ended the
conversation, “Good work. Let me know if you find anything else. If I don’t hear from
you, I will call you in a week to see if you’ve gotten anything new.”
“Ciao baby, be cool, fly low.”
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CHAPTER NINETEEN: False Identities.
Always one to appreciate a good bit of humor James Gordon shared a joke he had
thought of on the way to this meeting. Leaning over to his fellow officer he asked, “Hey
Merkel what’s the definition of the Gotham PD.” “I dunno,” came the reply. Gordon
answered, “People who spend more time focusing on the Batman than the Batman does.”
Merkel chuckled and responded, “Ain’t that the truth.”
And indeed it was the truth Gordon thought. With all the attention Gotham was
getting Batman was all but was the singular focus of the police’s efforts. The
headquarters of the Gotham Police Department had become Batman Central. Every task
force update, every memo, every briefing, everything they did these days was focused on
the Batman.
Eight more busted bodies had been brought in last night. It seems that a group of
thugs were shaking down a bunch of the businesses near the east water front for
protection money. They had the unfortunate luck to run into the dark crusader. All eight
were on life support at the hospital. Four of the men were Gotham PD.
Gordon spoke, “That’s Gotham for you, where stopping a man who fights crime
has become more important than fighting the crime itself.”
“What was that Lieutenant?” His supervisor, Captain Dan Good said hearing the
last comment. “Nothing sir.” Gordon replied. He thought it was ironic that Gotham PD
never put this much time and attention into catching murderers, rapists and robbers.
Dan Good continued, “Listen people we have important work to do…” Gordon
saw the contradiction. Everyone knew Good was dirty. The police grapevine indicated
that he was running a numbers racket on the south side. His son Dan Good jr. was said to
be working for Genneti and his crew. He cared about policing about as much as he cared
about life on Mars. Both were different worlds. It took something like the Batman to
make Gotham police act like real police.
Captain Good spoke up, “Okay let’s begin…” Another meeting, this was the third
meeting in four days. Everyone was quite sure that there will be more to come. Higher
ups liked to have meetings. Meetings kept them involved and in looking like they were in
charge. The reality was that meetings kept them from getting their hands dirty. Gordon
thought that if we spent as much time looking for the Batman as we did in meeting about
him, we would have found the guy by now.
This particular meeting was for the members of the Batman task force. The six of
them were handpicked by Dan Good. Gordon pretty much knew why he had been
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picked; he was the high profile one. He had no idea why the others had been selected. Of
all them he knew Stan Merkel was an honest cop and a good detective. It must have been
a real oversight that he wasn’t fired already.
“Okay listen up cops.” Captain Good said, “What you are about to see is for your
eyes only. What we have here is a shot in the dark, but it is a lead. The folder we are
handing out is a result of a cooperative task force between FBI profilers and our own very
capable staff psychologists.” As he spoke he handed out a manila envelope containing
several sheets of paper, “Please take a look at this and then hand it back in. As you
already know, do not discuss this with anyone.”
As the folders were being distributed he continued, “What you are seeing is a list
of possible Batman suspects. Each of these people or groups of people have been given
the once over. The FBI and our people agree that these individuals fit the criteria of
someone who would put on a big, black costume and go around busting up bad guys.
Take a moment to give this a read through. I’m gonna hit the john.” With that he left as
everyone began to read in earnest.
PRELIMINARY REPORT: POSSIBLE BATMAN SUSPECTS
The following information is a tentative assessment of individuals who could
possibly be, or be involved with the vigilante now called The Batman. Please keep in
mind that this information is speculative. In some cases we can only guess at a possible
motive. At the time of this writing no one has been questioned or formally investigated.
Likewise keep in mind that this is the summary of a report submitted to Commissioner
Loeb. Any further release of information from this summary or our submitted report must
come through his office.
Listed below are six individuals or groups that we have identified as possibly
being or being involved with the Batman.
1. Bill Latham jr. and Michael Lewis: Bill Latham jr. (age 23) is the manager of
Comic World, the city’s largest comic book store. Bill Latham sr. is the owner of Gotham
Media Management. He purchased the store for the expressed purpose of giving his son a
place to work.
Bill Latham jr. is extremely intelligent, graduating first in high school and magna
cum laud in college (He has a degree in journalism from Gotham University). Mr.
Latham is described as being shy and withdrawn. His fellow classmates describe him as
often being in his own world,
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We must consider the possibility that Mr. Latham has decided to bring his super
hero fantasies to life.
Working at a comic book store gives him ample time to consider turning himself
into a superhero. Most disturbing, his store carries a large selection of military
magazines. These magazines advertise the sale of military hardware. An interested party
could purchase, body armor, gas grenades, grappling guns etc. Mr. Latham comes from a
wealthy family and has the means to purchase such equipment.
After closing hours his store hosts a fantasy role playing tournament. One of the
more popular games that just appeared on the market is entitled Dungeon and Dragons. It
attracts groups of 100 or more. This puts Mr. Latham in contact with other likeminded
individuals. Michael Lewis is someone who we believe could align himself with Mr.
Latham in an effort to create a superhero.
Michael Lewis (23) is currently enrolled as a senior at Gotham University in the
school of Criminal Justice. He is also in the US Army National Guard and is stationed as
an intelligence analyst at the HHC 134 located in Gotham. He is familiar with both police
and military operations.
Mr. Lewis is athletic and is a regular practitioner of the martial arts. His height of
61’’ 190 puts him on the low range of the Batman’s physical stature. One unusual aspect
about Mr. Ellis is that he is an amateur magician. He performs at local clubs and books
through local entertainment agencies. This gives him a real understanding of the
importance of mystery in any clandestine undertaking.
It is more than possible that Mr. Latham and Michael Lewis decided to bring their
superhero fantasies to life. We believe they have the means, motive and opportunity to
create the Batman.
2. Scott Uecker. Anyone who has lived in Gotham for more than five years knows
Scott Uecker’s (age 33) unfortunate story. Scott Uecker was an outstanding running back
for the LLU football team and played three years for the Gotham City Wildcats. After his
football career ended Mr. Uecker enlisted in the Gotham PD. He quickly rose through the
ranks and even made detective in four years.
It was six months to the day after his promotion that his career came to a horrific
end. He and his partner were called in to investigate a robbery-homicide. They were
greeted with gunfire by the suspect upon arriving on the scene. The perpetrator killed
Scott Uecker’s partner and two civilians. Scott Uecker shot and injured the man. The
suspect resisted when the detective tried to cuff him. In his anger Scott Uecker lifted the
man up and slammed him on the pavement three times in a row, killing him. The whole
affair was caught on a security camera.
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This attracted national attention and had the city sharply divided. Many felt that
Mr. Uecker’s actions were warranted or at least excusable given the circumstances.
Others felt it was a clear case of police brutality. No charges were ever filed, but Scott
Uecker was fired from the Gotham PD. He is currently employed as a security supervisor
at Gotham University.
It goes with saying that Mr. Uecker is a world class athlete and a skilled
policeman. His driver’s license lists his height at 6’ 4’’ and his weight at 225 lbs. This
puts him closer to the Batman’s dimensions than anyone else on the list.
3. Brian Tevington: When we looked at ex-military living in Gotham. Major
Brian T. Tevington (age 42) came to our attention. Mr. Tevington is a retired army
commando with 20 years of service. He was a US Army Ranger and Special Forces
(Green Beret) operative. Much of his work is classified. His military file (known as a 201
file) lists him as an outstanding soldier. His psychological evaluation lists him as intense,
driven and focused.
We should point out that there are other veterans living in Gotham. We also have
no specific motive for why Major Tevington might want to don the persona of the
Batman. In addition Major Tevington’s 201 file list his height at 5’9’’ making him
potentially too short to be the Batman. We include him because his skills as an operative
should not be ignored.
4. Tom “Just For Kicks” Gaither. Most residents of Gotham remember Tom
Gaither as one of the cities’ most celebrated athletes. He is the three time world
kickboxing champion. His record of 81 wins and 3 losses speaks for itself.
Mr. Gaither is proficient in many martial arts forms holding black belts from
major martial arts schools in judo, jujitsu, kung fu, taekwondo, aikido etc. His height of
5’’10’ makes him a little small to be the Batman. Likewise his age of 51 makes him a
poor candidate. Similar to Major Tevington we can find no motive to explain why Tom
Gaither might want to be the Batman. We include him on this list because if anyone has
the fighting skills to be the Batman it is Tom Gaither.
5. Bruce Wayne: Yes we include Bruce Wayne (27?) on this list. Mr. Wayne’s
story may be the most familiar of anyone in Gotham. As a young boy Bruce Wayne
witnessed the brutal murder of his parents. This gives him an obvious motivation to seek
revenge on the criminal element.
That said, it is well known that Bruce Wayne has absolutely no skills that would
enable him to be the Batman. Anyone who reads the society pages knows that Mr. Wayne
allows others to run his corporation. That gives him time to attend to more carnal
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pursuits. These activities have brought him in contact with the police although no arrests
have yet been made.
We cannot dismiss Bruce Wayne as a suspect. We do not mean that he is the
Batman. He lacks the physical skills, the training, the discipline and even the sobriety.
We suspect he may be funding the Batman. There has been much speculation that the
Batman is really a group of individuals who have perpetrated this effort. As Gotham’s
wealthiest resident, no one is better suited to funding this operation.
6. Xin Sheng Guo. Some of you may know Xin Sheng Guo (67) as the unofficial
may of Gotham’s Chinatown. Specifically he is the owner of a chain of Chinese
restaurants which include twelve large, three star dining establishment, as well as fifty of
the Go Wok Chinese fast food shops.
Xin Sheng Guo has been an outstanding critic of both Gotham PD and the Gotham
political structure. He has long claimed that the police and politicians have taken a blind
eye to crime in Chinatown. His recent comments concerning the murder and arson of
several merchants in Chinatown shows that he has no confidence in the ability or
willingness of Gotham PD to protect them.
Mr. Guo is an elderly man who walks with a cane. He clearly could not be the
Batman. What is not widely known is that he is the owner of the Red Dragon School of
Martial Arts. The school trains competitive athletes. In addition, it offers a variety of
weapons and firearms training. He has more than 100 trained practitioners at his
establishment.
This begs the question, why would Mr. Guo attack criminals outside of
Chinatown? Perhaps by expanding the range of his activities he hopes to throw
authorities off of his trail.
It is a debatable point that the persona of an animal as a specter of vengeance is
part of the Asian culture. Could one or more individuals affiliated with Mr. Guo have
created a bat as a harbinger of retribution? Their frustration over what they see as the
police’s inactions serve as powerful motivation.
********
When everyone at the table had finished reading the memo, the supervisor
regained their attention, “Comments people?” The group of police officers asked the
most obvious question first, “Are we investigating these people?” Captain Good
responded, “We have been tasked with following up on these individuals. Does anyone
have any comments, questions or insights on any of these names?”
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Brian Switzer spoke first. He was a large, heavy set man with thick, dark hair. He
said, “I take classes at Tom Gaither’s School. The man just had two knee surgeries,
there’s no way he is the Batman. He has trouble walking, let alone zip lining and beating
up gangs of criminals” There was a murmur of general consensus among those seated at
the table.
John Keaton was next. He was the oldest member of the group. Pushing 60 he had
a sallow face and thinning gray hair. Gordon knew he had been suspended a few years
ago, but he didn’t know what for. What do you have to do to get suspended from the
Gotham PD? It was probably something noble and honorable? The older officer spoke,
“I knew Scott Uecker pretty well. I worked with his partner Joe. I spoke to him about six
months ago. Folks I’d like to tell you that he has worked through the anger and the
bitterness, but that’s just not the case. He’s as angry now as he was then. Also I should
point out that the report is wrong. Scott Uecker left his job at the University. He took a
job as security assistant chief at Wayne Enterprises about two months ago.” This caught
everyone by surprise.
Jeff Heist was next. In contrast to John Keaton he was the youngest person in the
group. He had a mop of brown hair and a wide boyish face. Gordon did not know why he
was selected for this assignment until he spoke.
He said, “You’ve come to the right place with Michael Lewis and Bill Latham. I
know’em both. I shop at Comic World and am a member of their gaming club. I find it
very hard to believe that either of them could be so organized. Bill Latham can barely
remember to comb his hair. He has two assistants who run the place. He spends hours
talking about whether or not the space ships in Star Trek’s Star Fleet Command could
overpower the Death Star in Star Wars. It is highly unlikely that he would ever want to do
anything that would interfere with such scholarship, but I will check it out.”
Everyone chuckled at this. Gordon now knew why Officer Heist had been
assigned to this investigation. He was one of them.
Detective Merkel agreed to take a look at Brian Tevington. He said, “I have a
buddy who works at the Pentagon. I’d like to check out Mr. Tevington and see if any
other commandos or people like him have settled in Gotham. In fact I can think of a few
people who could have been included in that report.”
Next was Sarah Essen. She was a tall, shapely brunette. Gordon had seen her
around. He admired her quick intelligence and keen wit. Before she could talk, Dan
Good spoke up, “Essen you’ve already been working on the financial end of things.”
Sarah responded, “Yeah I talked to the IRS, and we are going over Wayne Enterprises
and The businesses in Chinatown with a fine tooth comb.”
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Dan Good said, “We already have several ongoing investigations in Chinatown. I
used to work that beat. I am going to talk to some of my colleagues and see if there is
anything going on.” Officer Good addressed the last cop in the task force, “Gordon see
me after the meeting I have a special assignment for you.”
The group discussed possibilities, contingencies and strategy for the next few
minutes. Captain Good asked, “I know this wasn’t in the report but I am curious about
what you folks think. Is the Batman one guy or more than one guy? Is he really that well
trained or is he superhuman?”
Jim Gordon paused for a moment to collect his thoughts and replied, “From the
beginning I thought and still think that this is bigger than any one person and bigger than
Gotham.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“No one person can put on a suit and do what this Batman is doing.”
“You think?”
“How can one man know the location of where groups of criminals are in the act
of committing crimes? I mean even in Gotham that would take half the force to gather
and analyze the information to do that. Can one unarmed man continue to take out groups
of armed criminals without getting hurt? I think this has to be an extended cooperative
effort by people who have the resources to pull this off.”
“Such as?”
“My best guess would be some aspect of the government, FBI, CIA, Department
of Defense, who knows? There’s only one name on that list they could possibly have
those resources.”
“I assume you mean Bruce Wayne?” Captain Good asked. There were nods of
agreement.
Gordon offered as an afterthought, “Well that said Mr. Guo is quite wealthy and
has a number of devoted followers…”
Dan Good responded, “But of anyone on this list your money’s on Wayne?”
Gordon offered, “Hey you know what they say, follow the money.” Again there
were murmurs of agreement.
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After a few more minutes of discussion the meeting came to an end. As briefcases
were opened and closed, as papers were ruffled and chairs were pushed in Captain Good
said, “You have your jobs people, let’s get busy.”
As the participants began to leave Captain Good spoke up, “Gordon, can I see you
for a moment.”
The Captain began to dig into his brief case and muttered, “Where did I put them.”
Finally after searching for a few moments he emerged with a standard white envelope,
“Ah yes here they are.” Speaking to the lieutenant he said, “Gordon what’s your
schedule look like for tomorrow evening?” Gordon thought about for a moment retrieved
his pocket calendar and checked the date, “Nothing going on, why?”
With that Good smiled, “Well I am glad you mentioned Bruce Wayne. It seems
that he is holding a charity ball at the Hellman Hotel tomorrow night; a real fancy affair.
Commissioner Loeb had purchased tickets for $500.00 a piece. Unfortunately for him he
couldn’t go. He gave them to me, but I’m not the ball going type. Why don’t you go
along with your wife? Listen, We’re about the same size, if you need a tux, let me loan
you mine.
Gordon responded, “Well that’s awful nice of you, I could use a break, but how
will I know if I am even going to get close to Wayne.” Dan Good smiled, “The first part
of your assignment is to meet with Bruce Wayne and evaluate whether he has something
to hide. The second part is to have a good time. Sharria Nitely will be performing. There
will be steak and lobster and the champagne will flow like nectar from Heaven. You’ll
love it”
Gordon felt like saying, “Yeah and maybe get me to be a team player with a police
force that’s so corrupt it makes the KGB look like the Keystone Cops.” But he instead he
said, “Okay sure, the wife could use a night out.”
“Excellent, I will talk to Loeb. In addition to the tux you can have a formal
evening maternity gown and some rather impressive jewels sent to your house for your
wife.” The captain said while repeatedly patting Gordon on the back.
Gordon again had no doubt that none of this could be purchased on a cop’s salary.
So now he was accepting gifts from a corrupt cop to investigate Gotham’s biggest drunk
in order to see if that man was supporting a super human vigilante. This made him think
of a line from the movie Apocalypse Now, The bull crap piled up so fast around here you
needed wings to stay above it all. Oh well, he thought, at least the food will be good.
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CHAPTER TWENTY: Pampered Personalities.
Can I take either of your coats sir, madam? Is this table to your liking? Would you
like an horderve? Is there anything else I can do for you? James and Barbara Gordon
were definitely not used to this kind of attention. Having never attended an expensive ball
before, Jim Gordon had no idea what to expect. He knew that the tuxedo he was wearing
probably cost three months of his salary. He considered not eating or drinking lest he
stain it.
He didn’t realize that there was a small army of waiters, waitresses and whatever
you call all those other people who were asking if they could do anything for him every
30 seconds. Any number of the guests seemed to be giving the waiters and waitresses a
lengthy list. Jim figured that they had a lot of needs. At home he was happy to help
himself to a drink and a couple of pretzels. Barbara seemed to be enjoying all this
pampering. He found it disgusting.
He figured that if you were exposed to this kind of pampering on a regular basis,
you would go from liking it, to expecting it, to believing that you are deserving of it.
Eventually you come to believe you are entitled this kind of attention because you are
somehow better than others. That didn’t fit in well with the protect and serve view of
policing.
The Wayne Foundation was hosting this event. The money raised will go to the
police benevolent mercies fund. It helped retired, injured and disabled police officers.
James Gordon figured that there were about 400 people attending the Ball. At $500.00 a
ticket that was 200 large. So if nothing else, the overpriced, over hyped ordeal was for a
good cause. He figured he shouldn’t get too cynical about doing something nice for
others.
The Lieutenant and his wife walked across the plush red carpeting and below the
huge crystal chandelier reflecting cool amber light. Lined across the wall were sculptured
statues of nude Greek gods. The musicians on the main stage were planning a soft classic
piece that Gordon thought he recognized as Mozart.
Set up around the periphery were various entertainment venues. A group of older
ladies waited in line to have a real Gypsy fortune teller do tarot card readings. Next to her
was an artist doing sketch drawings of people. Down from him was a magician
performing close up card and coin tricks. Jim always liked magic so he probably would
take a look a little later.
The banquet table was being prepared by a score of catering personnel in white
shirts and black pants. They busied themselves carrying huge stainless steel pans of
steaming vegetables, mashed potatoes and several types of meat. Others were lighting
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cans of sterno and checking and rechecking to make sure there were enough plates and
silverware.
Gordon had to admit that the steaks that were cooked over an open grill smelled
delicious. Next were piles of bright red lobsters steaming fresh out of the pot. Most
impressive they had just about anything you wanted to drink including both Coke and
Pepsi products; amazing!
The couple saw groups of distinguished looking gentlemen in tuxedos some with
tails. With them were beautiful, young, expensive looking women with perfect hair,
perfect teeth, perfect skin and wearing silky dresses and dripping with glittering jewelry.
The Gordon’s were directed to their table where they were seated with three other
couples. Jim Gordon took a deep breath and took a good look at his surroundings and
realized just how out of place he felt. What was a working class stiff cop like him doing
here hobnobbing with all of these big shots?
It was then he felt a poke in the ribs. He jumped and exclaimed, “Whatwasthat!?”
His first instinct was to draw his gun, except: 1) He wasn’t carrying it and 2) His wife
was the one who poked him. “Why did you do that?” He asked. She responded, “Jim
why are you looking so tense? Can’t you relax for even five minutes?”
Jim Gordon didn’t understand. He asked, “What do you mean, I am relaxed.”
“You’re looking around the room like you’re on a stake out. Can’t you just act
normal for once?”
“What am I doing wrong this time? I’m just sitting here?”
“Okay, yeah right whatever, you know everything.” She replied.
Jim didn’t understand. He wondered if anyone could understand. Barbara was just
in one of her little moods. No matter what he did she would find fault. Was this a part of
her pregnancy? If so, the baby couldn’t come soon enough. Could the doctor give her
something for it? Of course she was like this before she was pregnant.
A little later the other three couples set down. The trio included city councilmen
and his escort (not his wife), a guy that Jim Gordon had seen on television anchoring the
local news along accompanied by his wife. The third and most outgoing was a man
named Dan Miller, who Gordon later learned has been on the board of Wayne Enterprises
for more than 35 years. He was an elderly man with a soft spoken voice. He seemed
proud to introduce his wife of 43 years. Gordon wondered if he and Barbara would even
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get half that far. Gordon took an instant liking to Mr. Miller’s friendly demeanor and
quick wit. Soon both of them were laughing and cracking jokes.
As fun as all of this was Gordon knew he needed to stay focus; he was here for a
reason. As casually as possible he asked, “This ball was put on by Wayne charities. Is
Bruce Wayne here yet?” The other three men looked at each other and a moment later the
television anchorman answered, “No he will probably make his grand entrance shortly.
But don’t worry; you’ll definitely know when he is here and every minute thereafter.”
The lieutenant wasn’t sure what that meant.
James Gordon was surprised, not all that unpleasantly, that he actually became the
topic of conversation. The news anchorman said that he remembers seeing Gordon on
television in connection to the Batman investigation. The lieutenant answered in the
affirmative and then the cat was out of the bag. Jim Gordon became the center of
attention.
Wasn’t he the cops in charge of the Batman investigation? – No I am one of
several people who could be called second in command, third if you count the
commissioner.
Have you seen the Batman yourself? – No ma’am.
Who do you think the Batman is? – I have no idea.
How close are you to capturing the Batman? – We are following up every lead.
Oh well, he remembered it was Oscar Wilde who said, “The only thing worse than
being talked about is not being talked about.”
After a few minutes of this, Gordon was relieved when an official looking
gentlemen took the stage. The man tapped the microphone a couple of times and asked if
everyone could hear him. Most of the crowd seemed to answer yes. The man spoke
slowly and deliberately and said, “Ladies and Gentlemen we are about to serve dinner,
but before we do let’s all greet the man whose generosity made this event possible.
Ladies and gentlemen I give you Mr. Bruce Wayne.”
On cue a huge, black helicopter with Wayne Enterprises written on the side rose
up from the side of the building. It turned in mid-air and set down on the landing pad just
outside the ballroom. Gordon recognized the vehicle as a Huey 20la. The bird was
originally developed for emergency medical evacuations. He had heard that these some
corporations purchased them to ferry their executives. It was an impressive piece of
machinery.
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The banquet room’s large glass doors open up and two attendants ran up to the
helicopter. They placed a set of moveable steps at the helicopter’s side and opened the
passenger door. Out stepped the man of the hour, Gotham’s wealthiest citizen and most
eligible bachelor. Bruce Wayne waved to the crowd his bright, white smile beaming in
the landing lights. He had two young models, both blonde on each arm and a drink in
each hand.
As he walked to the door he stumbled and spilled a drink. This gave him the
opportunity to grab or Gordon thought grope the young lady next to him. Smiling he
entered the hall to the scattered applause of the attendees.
Without hesitating or even taking a moment to greet any of the guests he walked
to the microphone. As he approached the center stage it was apparent that the two young
ladies seemed to want to stay behind. Both tried to pull themselves away from their host
but he gripped them even tighter and walked them to the stage. Placing his mouth almost
on top of the microphone he said in too loud and a slightly slurred voice, “Is this thing
one? Check one, check two; hey waiter can I have the check please?” This caused the
sound to feedback with the results being a squeal that made the crowd reach for their ears
and Bruce Wayne to smile.
He continued, “Hey glad to have you here for…for whatever this exceptionally
worthy cause this is.” He laughed at his own joke, bent over and made a gagging sound.
He continued, “Let’s have a blast, I mean one mother of a blowout. Let’s see how drunk
we can get, and the skinning dippy in the hotel pool will be later.” He motioned to the
two ladies who were starting to look both nervous and annoyed and said, “Who’ll pay
money to this cause to skinny dip with these two fine specimens.” Both women had a
sickly look on their face.
He continued, “I remind you that hotel rooms are free but only if you are staying
with someone you just met tonight.” There was strained uncomfortable laughter. He
concluded, “I’m hungry and since I’m paying for this party and since I’m the richest guy
here, I’m going to be first in line.” With that he turned from the microphone and belched.
This was just the beginning. Throughout the evening Gordon and everyone
present saw Bruce Wayne become increasingly more boisterous and belligerent. The
billionaire made his presence known by grabbing other people’s drinks and eating food
off of their plate. He openly insulted his male guests and made even ruder comments to
their wives.
While everyone else was eating Jim Gordon saw Bruce Wayne walk up to the
magician. The illusionist was set up at a podium. The man was wearing a flamboyant
purple costume and had dyed purple hair. Gordon figured his unique appearance was his
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calling card. From what he could tell, the man looked quite skilled. Most of the people
who went up to see him work had delighted and amazed reactions to his tricks.
Bruce Wayne gave the man a once over and said, “Let me introduce you to my
two friends, this is Bambi, this is Candi. I call them Bambi Candi, funny huh?” Looking
at the magician he said, “Show me a trick, I’m paying for this, dazzle me.”
The magician, whose name Gordon later learned, was Phil Dalton waved his hands
with practiced dexterity and produced a deck of playing cards from thin air. Taking the
deck out with a flourish he had one of the models select a playing card and sign her name
on it. Returning the card to the deck he placed the deck into the paper card box and with a
clap of his hands made the pack disappear.
Next he produced a locked metal container about the size of a Cracker Jack box
and a set of keys. He invited the model to unlock and open the box. When she did, she
found another locked box and another and yet one more. When the last box was opened
sure enough it contained the deck of cards with the signed card on top of it.
The two models smiled; impressed and mystified. Bruce Wayne started to walk
away but then stopped and turned and said to the magician, “How did you do that?” Phil
Dalton smiled and said, “Can’t tell or else I’d have to kill you.” Bruce pounded the table,
“Kill me, heck, I’m paying your salary. Now tell me how you did it.” Phil Dalton looked
around uncomfortably. He spoke hesitantly, “Mr. Wayne, I can’t reveal how I did a
trick.”
Bruce got into the magician’s face, “You telling me no? Do you know who I am?
I’ll tell you who I am, I’m Bruce Friggin’ Wayne that’s who.” The magician tried to say
something but was cut off, “I’m the guy who is paying your salary. I’m the guy who can
make sure you never work in this city again, that’s who I am.” One of the models gave a
tug on Bruce’s arm, “Bruce baby let’s go, I want to get my fortune read.”
“Shut up skank I’m talking, you ‘re listening. Now Mr. Wizard The Lizard, yeah
that’s a good name for you Mr. Wizard, the fagoty, purple headed lizard. Here give me
that deck.” Mr. Dalton reluctantly handed him the deck. Bruce Wayne took the cards and
threw them in the air and laughed as they scattered everywhere.”
The magician looked like he wanted to crawl up and die, but Bruce Wayne was
not through with him. Snapping his fingers he signaled to two large men in cheap blue
suits who were obviously his bodyguards. Speaking, while grabbing a fresh mixed drink
from a waiter’s tray he spoke, “Rocko, Guido as soon as Mr. Wizard, The Lizard picks all
that crap up, have Aunt Maggie write him a check and then get his butt out of here.” The
bigger of the two replied, “Uh…right boss.”
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And on it went. Bruce Wayne continued to embarrass himself and his guests for
the next hour. He went table to table, poking, prodding, provoking. He continued to eat
food off of their plates while sipping from their drinks. He made rude inappropriate
comments, gestures, grabbing at the females guests and even the men in a few instances.
As he approached Gordon’s table, the billionaire was now slurring and stumbling.
He went up to the councilmen and sputtered, “Well councilmen Sanders are you still
paying off Gotham PD to turn a blind eye toward your embezzlement schemes?” The
councilmen barely concealing his anger responded, “Mr. Wayne don’t you think it’s time
you call it a night?”
“Hey the night’s still young. My two friends her have a lot of energy that we need
to work off later don’t you Bambi Candi?” The two women said nothing, but both wore
pitiful apologetic expressions; it was clear that no amount of money was worth this
abuse.
The billionaire continued his verbal barrage, “Speaking of candy, where’s your
wife, did you wait until she turned 40 and trade her in for two twenty year olds.”
Councilmen Sanders responded back in a tired voice, “My wife couldn’t make it. This is
my niece Jennifer…” Bruce Wayne laughed and made a wet belching sound, “You’re
dating your niece, what are you from Kentucky?” With that the councilmen scowled,
“Charity or no charity, I’m not putting up with this crap.” He forcefully rose from his
table and began to walk to the coat room.
Bruce Wayne spotted James Gordon and said, “Speaking of crap, where’s Loeb?
Wasn’t he supposed to be at this table? What, is he tied up with his latest embezzlement,
smuggling, extortion, human trafficking, drug running scheme?” The older gentlemen
spoke up, “Commissioner Loeb couldn’t make it, this is Lieutenant Jim Gordon.” The
inebriated playboy swayed back and forth and belched even louder, “Jesssee only a
lieutenant, they sending me the third string, I’ve been arrested by better.” He laughed
and stumbled as a shiny string of drool fell from his mouth.
Noticing that his wife was pregnant he asked, “So you have a bun in the oven, or
as the councilmen would say in Kentucky, Mary Fred has got one in the pot.” Walking
over to her he began to vigorously pat her stomach while saying, “So this is where babies
come from.” Turning to one of the models he said, “See that’s where babies come from,
what you suggested was a whole lot more disgusting.” As he spoke he began to run her
stomach even harder.
Jim Gordon had had enough. Leaping out of his seat, he gave the drunken playboy
a thud to the chest with his shoulder. Growling through gritted teeth he said, “Mr. Wayne
you will take your hands off my wife this instant.” Bruce Wayne was about to say
something, when he noticed the look in the cop’s eyes. Backing down he said, “Yeah
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okay, no big deal.” With that he grabbed at the two models and gave them both a tug
while saying, “Let’s blow this joint, we got a better class of corruption to attend to.”
By now Barbara looked sick, she had gone pale and her eyes were watering. Jim
Gordon turned to his wife and said, “Do want to stay or go?” She said nothing staring at
the floor. He repeated again, “We will do whatever you want, stay or go.” Finally she
whispered through gritted teeth, “Why did you bring me here if you knew this was going
to happen. Why do you want to embarrass me?”
Embarrass her, how had he embarrassed her? Did she like that drunken idiot
rubbing his hands on her? Jim Gordon spoke, “I couldn’t let him treat you that way.”
“He was our host, and he is a billionaire. Jim don’t you have any respect for me?”
Oh my gosh, he thought to himself, now I’m the bad guy. “Would it have been
different if he wasn’t a billionaire?” He asked.
Barbara Gordon gritted her teeth and said, “Oh you have all the answers.”
Jim Gordon did not want any more trouble and he wasn’t going to sit here and
argue with his wife. He was a guest of both Commissioner Loeb and The Wayne
Foundation. All he could think to say was, “Can I help you in some way? Can I get you
anything; Barbara what can I do to make you happy?”
Before his wife could answer he heard someone say, “You’re James Gordon, the
guy who was on television.” The detective turned to see Bruce Wayne standing alone,
speaking through clenched teeth with his hands balled into fists.
“Yeah what of it?”
“Don’t think that I don’t know what you’re doing here.”
“What I’m doing here? I’ll tell what I’m doing here Mr. Wayne, I m leaving.”
Bruce Wayne ignored the comment and continued, “Look everyone knows my
story. Poor little Brucy. He’s the poor, poor boy who lost his parents in such a tragic way.
Could he be the one who turned costume crime fighter to get revenge on Gotham’s
underworld?”
Now he had the cop’s attention, “You guys are desperate for anything that might
lead you to this guy. Heck if he’s going after criminals that’s most of Gotham’s finest.
Well guess what?” Gordon said nothing, so Wayne continued, “When you do find him
you know what I want to do?”
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“No. What?”
“I want to give him a swift kick in the butt for being so stupid.”
Now Jim Gordon was actually interested, “What do you mean?”
Swaying and Slurring, the billionaire inhaled and continued, “Gotham likes being
Gotham. They like being the baddest bully on the block and nothing and no one is going
to change that.” The drunken playboy paused and swayed back and forth. He choked and
slurred, “Do you know why my parents were walking home from the movies that night
instead of taking an armored limousine?”
“No.”
“Because they wanted to walk the city, they wanted people to know that they were
one of them. Look where it got them. Yeah everyone mourned their loss, but the dirty
little secret is that even if they had survived it would have changed nothing. I am not so
naïve. I know that even if I could make a difference, Gotham wouldn’t want me too.”
Bruce Wayne seemed to relax a little, “Don’t get me wrong, I admired what my
parents were trying to do but they were incredibly naïve. They couldn’t save Gotham and
this Bat freak won’t either. You know why? Because you can’t save what doesn’t want to
be saved.”
Bruce Wayne, belched, farted and coughed up a wad of phlegm. Continuing he
slurred out, “Me I’m not so stupid. I prefer a more epicurean perspective. Life is to be
lived for one’s own pleasure and if you want to taste its full flavor you have to take big
bites. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to honor my parent’s legacy by taking a dump
in the outside fountain.”
Gordon could not contain himself at this, “That’s absolutely disgusting.”
“Yeah well, that’s life. You know, the same people who were running my father’s
company then are running it today. I’ve accepted that arrangement but it can’t last
forever. The reality is that those old men won’t be there forever. I’m thinking that I
should sell Gotham industries to Japanese and move to Monte Carlo where they really
know how to party.”
“You’re a disgrace to your parent’s memory.” Was all Jim Gordon could think to
say.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Dead Ends (Part 1).
Officer Dan Good called the team together, “Okay, I guess everyone is here, we
can go ahead and begin,” The task force began to assemble around the table. James
Gordon took a seat next to the only female in the group. Sarah Essen smiled at him and
he said, “Glad to see you and I’m glad to still you are still a cop.” This elicited a chuckle
from him.
It had been five days since Gordon had become “famous” for his little run in with
Bruce Wayne. Boy, had he ever been called on the carpet for that one. He could still see
Loeb’s face puffing out red like a cartoon character grunting, “No Lieutenant Gordon it is
NOT standard policy for an officer of the Gotham Police Department to threaten to
assault the person you are investigating. Especially if that person happens to be Gotham’s
wealthiest citizen.” Still it was Bruce Wayne’s actions that started the exchange and no
one could really blame him for being upset. Gordon reminded the chief he could have
arrested the drunken playboy for sexual assault.
But that was past. Now was the time they reviewed how little they had come up
with. Captain Good spoke up, “Okay people what did we learn? Gordon, we’ll start with
you.”
James Gordon replied, “Batman was spotted at a medical research facility the
same night that I was having my altercation with that drunken, profane, conceited…”
“That will do Gordon!”
“Has this sighting been verified?” Someone asked.
Gordon was about to speak when Sarah Essen spoke up, “Pretty much so. Two
patrolmen spotted him a little before midnight from two different directions. Also a
security camera caught him on tape running across the roof.”
Someone spoke up, “Did they get a good look at the Batman?”
Essen answered, “Has anyone ever gotten a good look at this guy? They didn’t see
much, but they both said they were sure of what they saw. The security camera was
blurry, but it looked like him. Who else would be running around on roof tops only to
disappear into thin air?”
Jim Gordon appreciated the way Officer Sarah Essen spoke up for him. He had to
admit she was real class act. He found himself staring at her more and more.
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Blinking to regain his attention he said, “Bruce Wayne can’t be the Batman. He
was vomiting all over his guests at midnight. The wait staff and the guests agreed that he
didn’t leave the party until well after 2:00 AM. Of course this is the perfect alibi if there
is more than one person playing the role of the Batman. Beside we never really suspected
Wayne of being Batman, only of providing financial support.”
This segwayed to the next question Dan Good asked, “On the topic of money,
Essen what have you got?”
She answered, “Wayne Enterprises finances are a matter of public record. The
corporation has been audited several times by the IRS. I got a copy of their books and
took it to our accountants. They assure me that, as far as they are able to tell, every penny
is accounted for. If someone is hiding money in order to fund this Batman project they
are doing a perfect job of it. Of course if Wayne is supporting the Batman, you would
expect that we would find nothing.”
Good thought about this for a moment, “That’s true, but that’s also not the most
productive thinking. If we assume that by finding nothing it strengthens our case against
someone…well that’s a slippery slope,”
James Gordon was actually impressed that a guy like Dan Good had put that much
thought into this investigation. The word was that the man was as crooked as they came,
yet here he was acting like a real police detective.
Sarah was professional enough to accept the rebuke, “You’re right. I can dig a
little deeper if you want, but no one has found anything yet.” She continued, “We also
looked at businesses in Chinatown. None of their businesses ordered anything weapons
related in the last six months. Sure there were a few orders for oriental knives and
swords, but these were decorative and nothing that anyone could really use for a weapon.
She smiled and added, “Unless you count the Chinese hot sauce.”
Dan Good managed to give a polite smile and said, “Okay let’s move on. Heist
what do you have on the two comic book experts.”
Officer Jeff Heist replied, “I think we have a dead end here. I already mentioned
that I frequent Comic Book World. We sent Greg Williams in separately. He’s a twenty-
one year old rookie who looks like he could be sixteen. I familiarized him with the comic
book scene and he started hanging around the store.”
“What did you get?”
“We’ll the same night that Gordon was hobnobbing with the Gotham’s elite
Williams got himself invited to our late night session of D&D, that’s Dudgeon’s and
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Dragons. We played until 4:00 AM. We can tell you that the Batman was all anyone
talked about, but we doubted any of them could be him.”
“Did you see our two friends?”
“Both Officer Williams and I were quite sure that Lewis and Latham were present
the whole time. There’s no way either found the time to suit up and go snooping around
uptown. The bottom line is that both of them are eccentric, but they aren’t the Batman.”
Now it was Officer Merkel’s turn, “We can take Brian Tevington off the list. It
seems like Gordon’s buddy Bruce Wayne, Brian Tevington found solace in the heavy
consumption of spirited beverages.”
“He’s taken to drinking?”
“Oh much more so that than just that, it seems that one of our guys, Rick McEvoy,
you know big Rick, was called into an altercation involving Brian Tevington. He
attempted to arrest Mr. Tevington for drunk and disorderly and that’s when Mr.
Tevington attempted to use some of that Green Beret commando stuff; he resisted arrest.”
“Who won?”
“McEvoy managed to subdue him. He got a black eye and a bruised rib for his
trouble, but he managed to break Tevington’s nose and wrist.” That was met with
affirmation, “Hey score one for the good guys,” Someone said.
Stan Merkel continued, “Either way, Tevington’s been in lock up for three months
facing felony assault on a police officer. So unless he’s the world’s best escape artist, he
ain’t him. Meanwhile I talked to the Pentagon. Gotham has a fairly high number of
veterans who had Army Special Forces or Marine Reconnaissance training. Quite a
number of soldiers who fought in Vietnam have made Gotham their home. A lot of these
could be potential suspects.
I made a number of inquiries. I looked for guys who had financial resources and or
were a crime victim or had members of their family victimized. I also looked for guys
who maybe had a history of violence or mental illness. I got a few hits, but no one in
particular stands out.”
Good replied, “Okay, I get the point. What have we got on Tom Gaither?”
Brian Switzer spoke up, “We checked both the hospital, his Doctor’s report and
looked at the X-rays. The guy’s knees are shot. He’s had surgery three times on his left
knee and is looking at another one coming up. We checked out the members of his
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school, but nothing jumped out at us. He charges a lot more than other martial arts
schools. I guess when you have that reputation you can demand a higher price. Most of
his students are reasonably wealthy, successful professional types, you know doctors,
lawyers, and bored house wives.”
John Keaton spoke next. “I do have some news. I caught up with Scott Uecker and
I can tell you that he still trains like he’s going to be in the Olympics. When he’s not
working as a security guard he’s either running, lifting weights or doing a variety of
martial arts training. But don’t get your hopes up. He was on duty when the Batman was
spotted the other night. We checked the security tapes. He never left his office during that
time.”
Gordon could hear an almost audible groan from the group. This was the one lead
he thought might work out.
Dan Good continued the bad news, “We took a good look at Chinatown and we
didn’t find much. They’re angry at what they perceive as the Gotham PD’s ambivalence
toward them. But they confine their anger to Chinatown. They see the rest of Gotham as
the enemy. I doubt that any of them are going to risk their lives fighting Gotham’s
problems.”
With this the whole group sat dejected. Every lead had been thoroughly followed
up on and eliminated. They had all done fine police work and come up empty handed.
Dan Good interrupted saying what everyone already knew, “Okay we are back to
square one. We still need to follow up on any possible weapons shipments coming into
the city in the past year. In addition we have a whole mess of people who have called the
hotline. I want you folks to divide up into three teams of two and begin to look over those
leads.”
Everyone responded with a deep guttural groan. They knew it had to be done, but
that did not make it any easier. The vast majority of those calls were from kooks,
attention seekers, paranoids and other associated nut cases. It was going to be next to
impossible to tease out any information that could be a real lead.
Gordon was not completely surprised that Sarah Essen suggested that they team
up. He was glad to have her company. She impressed him as a smart, dedicated officer.
She had a keen insight and a delightful wit. There was also the way that hair of hers
teased at her collar…
Jeff Heist was teamed with Brian Switzer. Stan Merkel teamed himself up with
John Keaton. Each team was given a stack of call in sheets that were taken from the
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police information hotline. John Keaton took the sheets but left the room, saying he had
some business to attend to first.
Gordon looked at the pile and sighed in exasperation. He had gone through a lot
just to come up empty handed. He had made an enemy of the cities’ richest man, gotten
in trouble with his wife, and had been ream by just about everyone from the chief on
down. The icing on the cake was that they were still no closer to finding Batman.
Gordon began to wonder if they ever would. Maybe, this person or these people
were just too good. As he thought about it he couldn’t help but keep coming back to
Bruce Wayne. Everyone knew he was the boy who watched his parents get murdered
right in front of him. This is the same Bruce Wayne who disappeared for well over ten
years overseas. No one really knew what he was doing at that time. Bruce Wayne, a man
who had more money to finance an operation like this than anyone in Gotham. Now
Bruce Wayne was off the police’s radar. Wasn’t that convenient?
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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Disaster and Discovery.
Officer Rob Shinkle always enjoyed a quiet evening at home. By this he did not
mean his personal domicile. That featured a frustrated stay-at-home wife and three
tweenage kids. His home, sweat home, was about as quiet as feedback at a heavy metal
concert. No, by this he meant the midnight shift at The Gotham City Waste Management
System aka The Dump.
This was the only time he really had to himself. He worked rotating shifts and
caught this one three times every two weeks. That’s when he, for all practical purposes,
had the night off. Yeah sure it smelled bad, but even the “living filth” of Gotham stayed
away from it. Like most cops in Gotham Rob Shinkle neither wanted to work too hard,
nor interact with the general public.
As he cruised around the dump, (never inside it, the area was strewn with stuff that
could, and likely would, puncture his tires) he listened to soft music. The night was
cloudy and the news predicted rain. He had seen a couple of drops on his windshield.
There was nothing like a lazy, rainy night. Who knows, maybe later he could actually get
a little shut eye. He even considered turning his police radio off.
He drove around for a while and then felt a yawn coming on. This meant that he
should probably go find a place to park. As he turned the corner he noticed something
bright off to his left. He had never seen a light come from that area before. A moment
later he saw the light began to flicker and almost dance. He shook his head to clear his
vision. Was the light getting brighter? That couldn’t be what he thought it was…could it?
Doggone it, he wanted a quiet night. He knew he would be up to his neck in
trouble if he didn’t check it out. He drove straight a little further and pulled off road to go
up a small incline.
Sure enough his fears were confirmed; the dump was on fire. This was not
unexpected and not a cause for too much concern. The dump was the final resting ground
for every manner of flammable garbage and chemical mixture. This was not the first time
that part of the dump caught fire and likely won’t be the last time. Oh well he could
handle this. Following obvious procedure, he called it in, “HQ this is officer Shinkle,
patrol 209, I have a 732 I repeat a 732 at the south side of the Gotham Waste
Management System.”
The radio beeped and a staticy voice called back, “Rob you got a fire at the
Dump?”
“That’s a 10-4 April, south side about 100 yards west of the blinking tower. I’m
on my way to investigate.”
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“I am sending back up and the fire department. You be careful. Rob.”
“Will do Ms. Johnson.”
Officer Shinkle was not too fussed. It looked like it was going to rain any second
now. Heck, if it cut loose, the fire might be out before Gotham’s bravest got here. Still he
had to check it out; protect and serve. Hoorah!
Driving cautiously, he took the first gravel road on the left, which seemed to wind
around. As he approached, he was shocked by what he saw. His first thoughts were, how
did that happen? The dump was not on fire, but that big white building at the end of the
dump was ablaze. If he remembered correctly it seems that technically that building was
not on the dump’s property. He was pretty sure that the land fill ended at the road that ran
in front of that building. He had driven past it a number of times but he had no idea who
owned the structure or what it was used for.
He slowed as he got closer. As he approached the burning building he heard
something… He went a little further and stopped the car a safe distance from the blaze.
He turned the engine off, rolled down the window and sat as quietly as he could. A
second later he heard it again. It was a screeching howl that sounded as if it were made
by an animal. What was it? It sounded like a dog growling and howling at the same time.
If that was a dog, it was a big dog. Could there be an animal or group of animals trapped
in that building?
There…there it was again. He heard it but this time it seemed further away.
Keeping his hand on his piece Officer Shinkle got out the vehicle and approached the
blaze. The cop could see green and red flames licking the sides of the building. Through
the shadows and flames he could see white, black and yellow smoke. That meant
flammable chemicals were burning.
He quickly concluded that judging by the monstrous, bubbling smoke he guessed
that the whole building had been filled with some kind of chemicals. Was someone
storing paint or toxic wastes in there? He wondered if this was a drug lab. Not knowing
the type of substances that were ablaze increased the risk; you never knew if something
was going to explode.
Rob Shinkle could see that the structure had no windows. The door was chugging
smoke while flames licked the outside door frame. The metal door was crumpled at the
bottom of the entrance; it was a blackened chunk of slag. The cop also noticed a huge
hole in the right side of the building. That probably meant something exploded.
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Walking cautiously toward the blazing building the policemen realized that whole
interior looked to be engulfed in flames; no dog could be alive in there. By now it was
beginning to sprinkle. Good, he thought, that will help keep the fire from spreading.
Officer Shinkle was about to go back to his car and drive back a few hundred feet
when he caught a glimpse of something. There were three objects lying in on the ground
about 30 feet from the main entrance of the building, which was starting to crumble in the
fire. He ran over and saw to his shock and horror that the three objects were…bodies,
three smoking bodies.
They were laid out in a nice even row. Somebody had dragged them there. He ran
to the bodies to see if any of them were alive, but even a cursory glance showed this was
not possible. The three bodies were covered with gobs of blackened skin and hair mixed
with melted clothing. The flesh beneath were seared red. The clothes were largely burnt
away or had been melted onto the blistered skin.
As he approached the corpses he stopped in shock and disgust. To his horror he
saw that the bodies were not just burnt, but mutilated. One corpse had its whole head
nearly hanging off. The other had a hole the size of a bowling ball punched through its
chest. What kind of messed up crap was this?
Then something caught his eye. Was that what he thought it was? Officer Rob
Shinkle did a double take. He could not believe what he saw. There was movement
inside the building. No, that couldn’t be right. There is no way he just saw that. He waved
the smoke in front of him and concentrated. He squinted to make sure he could see
clearly.
At first he thought it must be a trick of the light. But as he blinked and stared he
saw that sure enough, there was a human silhouette moving in the dancing flames. His
mind exploded! Someone was trapped in the fire! He immediately ran to the front door
and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Can you hear me, are you okay, hang on, I’m coming
in.”
To his utter shock and amazement a harsh gravelly voice echoed out, “No stay
back, there are dangerous chemicals ablaze.” Rob Shinkle had a brief moment when he
wondered if this were real. Someone in a burning building was warning him to stay out.
How was that possible? Were fire fighters already on the scene? Where were their
trucks? This can’t be real, it can’t be.
Frozen with indecision, Officer Rob Shinkle did not see a drum burst open setting
its greenish, brown contents ablaze and he did not hear the explosion. He neither smelt,
nor saw an angry spay of burning hot, green liquid spray out of the remains of the melted
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door. The hot semi-gaseous vapor struck him, singeing his face and burning his eyes. But
what was worse, he felt as if his lungs had burst into flames.
Officer Shinkle clutched his throat while grabbing at his face. He tried to scream
but nothing came out. He realized that he was chocking and attempted to force himself to
inhale. His mouth, throat and chest were exploding in a fireball of pain. He took two
steps backward and fell to the ground.
He tried to cough, he tried to gag, but he simply could not breathe. He
remembered his training and attempted to flop onto his stomach. He was taught that
landing on your stomach would force air out of you and clear the airway. But nothing
happened. In his last moments he thought maybe he could get to the car and radio for
help. He never got the chance. The darkness enveloped him from all sides.
*******
Officer Shinkle was sure he had passed out, but he did not know for how long or
what had happened to him. He was unable to walk, talk and his vision was blurry. He
was spinning dizzy, his arms and legs felt heavy and his face felt like it was on fire.
Something was wrapped around his head and he felt hands grab his waist and shoulders.
He was breathing and he felt as if he were being dragged on the ground.
It took him a moment to realize that he had been exposed to some type of toxic
fumes that nearly he killed him. Now he was sliding on the ground away from the
burning building. This meant that something or someone was rescuing him. But, who, or
what was doing this?
He felt himself stop and he heard the roar of the fire a good distance away. He
even felt the rain began to sting him; it was coming down harder. He felt his arms regain
movement, he flexed his hands. He reached for his face and felt a hard plastic thing. An
oxygen mask, someone had put an oxygen mask on his face. He began to tug on the
elastic bands securing it to him. He heard the same gravelly voice as before say, “Keep it
on, you need the oxygen. There’s about ten minute of air in it. The life squad will be here
soon.” He began to hear the sound of the approaching fire siren.
The voice paused and then continued, “I was too late to save the others.”
Blinking tears and rain drops out of his eyes Officer Rob Shinkle looked up to
see…to see…Oh my gosh, was all he could think. Saints above, it…it…can’t be…This
isn’t real. He had seen the video; he heard the reports… but this, not this.
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Officer Shinkle had another flash of unreality, he blinked once, twice, three times,
and he shook his head, but knew that it was no illusion, delusion or chemical induced
hallucination. Leaning over him was that thing, that creature called The Batman.
Just like the eye witnesses reported, the thing was huge. It was draped in a
swirling black cape. The rain seemed to be absorbed into the blackness. The cop tried to
make sense of it all. He scanned the visage before him. It was wearing a mask that had
two horns protruding from it, and a giant bat was silhouetted on the chest.
Officer Rob Shinkle wanted to yell, stop, you are under arrest! Raise your hands
where I can see them. All that came out was a choking garbled cough. The sirens were
getting closer.
The next thing the cop tried to do was reach for his weapon. Grabbing at his waist
he attempted to draw his .45 revolver. His fingers barely touched the metal, when a giant
black wave swung down. With one sweep, the Batman had torn the leather holster and
the pistol from the cop’s belt.
As the policeman looked up, The Batman, dropped the clip holding the bullets to
the ground, they landed on the wet grass beside him. Holding the weapon in his gloved
hands the Batman growled, “I don’t like these things.” With that, he grunted and began to
twist. To the cop’s amazement, the Batman began to bend the 45 until the metal broke
into two pieces with a loud crack. He threw the two pieces down with force, as if to
shake something loathsome off his hands.
Next the Batman leaned down and gently but firmly grabbed the cop’s face.
Speaking over the approaching siren he said, “Listen to me, I didn’t start that fire,
whatever did this was trapped in that building but it isn’t there now. It escaped, and is
loose on the city. I can tell you it isn’t human. Gotham city is not safe. You have to warn
people.”
Officer Shinkle tried to respond. Pushing off the wet ground he forced himself to
sit up and was trying to shake the haze from his head. The rain continued to pelt his still
burning face. He attempted to speak. He needed to know what had happened, what
started the fire, what was going on? As he got to one knee he looked left and right and
saw nothing. The Batman was gone. He was there one second and not there the next.
They were in an open area; there was no place to hide. How did he just disappear?
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Intricate Identities (Later that same night).
Jim Gordon thought that the fire department should thank the Almighty for his
assistance. The torrential downpour kept the fire from spreading, so their job of
extinguishing the blaze was pretty easy. The firemen soaked the structure until there was
not even the slightest hint of burning cinders. They concluded by poking around the ashes
to make sure that the fire could not restart.
They were reasonable certain that the chemicals had burned themselves out and
were no longer a threat. The rain continued to pour making it unlikely that they had
anything to worry about. Their job done, they left about two hours after they arrived.
Officer Shinkle was able to tell the ambulance drivers what happened. Since
Batman may have been involved the police on duty called Captain Dan Good. He
promptly called Lieutenant James Gordon. The detective got to the dump about 1:30 AM,
approximately five hours ago. He had picked through some of smoldering rubble to
examine the remains. He knew not to disturb the crime scene. Although with the
thoroughness of the fire and the down pour, there really wasn’t much left to investigate.
He attempted to get the forensic experts to the scene. But none of them could be
reached. It was rumored that they typically left their telephones off the hooks in case
someone might call.
Now only Jim Gordon remained. He stood next to the crime scene which was
cordoned off with wavy stripes of yellow caution tape. Checking his watch Gordon
thought to himself that despite the hour it was still pitch black. He was soaked to the
bone and freezing cold. He did not have the foresight to wear any rain gear. In a hurry to
get to the crime scene, he grabbed the first umbrella he could get. This turned out to be a
decorative parasol that had belonged to Barbara’s grandmother. Unfortunately it was not
much bigger than something you would place in a mixed drink.
He checked his watch one more time before he saw the approaching headlights.
Finally he could see the lights of the Brown Ford Pinto drive up. The vehicle came to a
stop and an umbrella the size of a parachute poked out. Attempting to control it, Bart
Tobler was literarily yanked backwards in the freezing wind.
Gordon had called the reporter from a telephone in the Dump manager’s office a
few hours ago. He told him to arrive about 6:30 AM. The journalist was right on time;
what promptness and professionalism. This was so unlike any of the members of the
Gotham PD. He figured the press was going to hear about it, so per their agreement he
contacted the one person who will get the story straight.
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The reporter approached the policeman. In addition to the huge umbrella, Bart was
wearing a yellow rain suit and black goulashes. Extending his hand, while still trying to
balance the huge umbrella he spoke, “Officer Gordon, what brings us out on a night like
this?”
Gordon thought that it was good to see Bart again. The two had been exchanging
information on the telephone, but had not seen each other since the press conference.
They were both sort of thrown into the middle of this Batman thing. Shaking his hand
Gordon replied, “Sorry to have to bring you out in all of this. I figured you would want to
see this for yourself.”
With that Jim Gordon proceeded to tell the reporter everything he knew. He
finished the story by saying, “By the time I got here the fire was nearly out. We called
some of the crime analysis boys but we couldn’t get thru to any of them,” He continued,
making no attempt to hide his disgust, “I called the supervisor and he said he would do
what he could. That means he will do nothing at all. Those Crime Scene Investigators get
in around 9:00 AM. That means they will be here at 11:00 AM unless they stop
somewhere for an early lunch.”
“Ouch.” Was all Bart could think to say. Regaining his focus he asked, “Do you
believe this guy? Do you really think it was the Batman?”
“Yeah, it probably was him. We checked the air supply that Officer Shinkle was
given. It was a small self contained bottle. SCUBA divers call them pony bottles. This
one was not police or fire department issue. It had no writing on it; in fact it was solid
black. Interestingly enough it was both smaller than the ones we use and seemingly had
more compressed air.”
“So it was real state of the art stuff?”
“Yes.”
Tobler asked the next obvious question, “So how does the fire involve the
Batman?”
Gordon thought about this one for a longer moment, “I don’t know. When you are
dealing with someone like Batman you don’t know what to think. But I do think that
setting fires is not his M.O.”
Bart agreed, “Why would he kill three people, hang around in a burning building,
and then rescue a cop? That doesn’t make sense. If however, he was investigating
something going on in the building then everything comes together.”
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“That’s true, and there is one other thing. One of the corpses had an imprint
around his mouth. It looked like the oxygen mask was placed around him.”
“So Batman tried to save one of the victims?”
“Sure looks like it. Why would he kill them and try to save one? Not unless he
wanted to interrogate them. But then why start a fire?”
“Again, it sounds to me like he was investigating something.”
“There’s one more thing.” Gordon repeated the warning Officer Shinkle had
heard. He explained, “If what he is saying is true then the thing that killed those men
escaped and is loose in Gotham.”
Gordon continued, “Listen you can have an exclusive but we need you to sit on
this for twenty-four hours.”
Tobler wanted to protest but Gordon cut him off. “We need time to investigate.
We need to check some things out. Heck we don’t even know who the deceased were or
what they were doing here. Please give us twenty-four hours and then you can run with
it.”
Bart Tobler put up some obligatory protests but agreed to wait before printing the
story provided there were no other leaks to the press from Gotham PD.
Gordon concluded, “Thank you my friend, I owe you one.” He thought for a
moment and then said, “Say a pray for me and for the people involved in this situation.”
Bart responded, “I do, everyday.”
James Gordon actually felt grateful for this. He added, “It’s important we proceed
with caution, we don’t want to start a panic. There’s enough of that with the Batman out
there.”
Bart Tobler’s first thought was that it seems like it might be time to panic. So was
every thought after that.
*******
“Okay Gordon what’s going on?” Captain Dan Good wanted answers, James
Gordon had few. It was 4:30 PM; Gordon had been on the telephone all day. He had
changed out of his wet clothes, but had not had a chance to take either a shower or a nap.
His shaking hands were wired from caffeine and he felt sick with exhaustion. Every
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member of the team looked equally wired. This whole Batman thing had really ground
them down.
None of this matter to Captain Good, who wanted results. Gordon could see the
Captain drilling him with his eyes. Looking at the tired lieutenant, The Captain said,
“Let’s talk in the conference room.”
As Gordon and the others filled into the conference room the last person was
barely seated when Dan Good asked, “Where’s Keaton?”
Someone answered, “I saw him on the phone a few minutes ago.”
The Captain muttered something about being on time. Then he barked at the
group, “So what do we know?”
John Keaton entered the room and apparently having heard the question spoke
first, “The owner of the Gotham City Waste Management said that he sold the building a
little more than a year ago. The official records bear this out. He put it on the market and
a law firm in Metropolis purchased the property. He did not think that it was being used.
Nobody remembers seeing anybody around there.”
“So who owns the building” Captain Good asked.
Officer Keaton continued, “We contacted the law firm of McDowell, Lizotte and
Thornberry. They purchased the property for a group called J-Fleming Inc. They never
met anyone from the organization. All of their transactions occurred over the telephone
and by mail.”
“So who are J-Fleming Inc.?”
“We can find nothing about them. They were incorporated about 14 months ago.
We obtained their incorporation papers from the IRS and several other sources. Their
mission statement was vague. They listed their purpose was to acquire property, selected
items and commodities for discreet clientele. Their director Joan Fleming listed a mail
drop as their address. There was nothing else; we have no way to know who these people
are.”
Sarah Essen jumped in, “I went to the mail drop and talked to the owner. She
checked her records. The employee who did the paper work was a seventeen year old
who has not worked there in nearly a year. I was able to track the girl down. When I
asked her if she had any memory of who rented the box she indicated she was likely
stoned at the time.”
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“That’s helpful.” Good responded. Shuffling papers he asked, “Who were the
three dead men.”
Brian Switzer was responsible for that part of the investigation, “All three men had
wallets with photo ID. The three corpses have been identified as Ritchie Strunk a
molecular biologist, Dr. Jeff Ratley a chemist and Michael Fritz a geneticist. Next of kin
has made one positive ID and we are waiting for the other two.”
Switzer spoke up, “Interestingly enough. Strunk and Ratley were killed before the
fire started. There was no sign of smoke in their lungs. The wounds indicated powerful
violent trauma.” He handed Captain Good the preliminary autopsy report and continued,
“Dr. Michael Fritz died of smoke inhalation. The preliminary autopsy seems to agree
with Gordon that The Batman tried to save him. We will obviously know more when the
full autopsies are completed.”
Detective Good replied, “Why were three scientists in a building by the dump?”
Now it was Jim Gordon’s turn, “That’s the million dollar question. We have no
way of knowing what was going on in that building. The rain is finally slaking off and the
technical experts are going over the wreckage. Unfortunately most of the building was
destroyed by the fire. Worse yet, the rain washed away most of the forensics. I’m afraid
we may not have a lot to go on.”
“So who were these guys?”
Stan Merkel spoke next, “The three scientists worked for an organization called
Advanced Medical Solutions. Here is where the plot thickens. Batman was spotted at the
AMS Building that the night Jim was having his altercation with Bruce Wayne.”
There was silence at this revelation. Merkel continued, “I had one of our
patrolmen bring in some material about AMS. We got all of the stuff that is public record.
Apparently they are a medical research laboratory that specializes in cutting edge, high
tech genetics research and development.” Merkel stopped talking and allowed the others
a moment to take this all in.
Captain Good was about to speak but Gordon cut him off. “We have no idea if
AMS has any involvement in whatever was going on in the dump. Nor do we have any
idea why Batman would be interested in AMS. I called up the head of AMS and he
assured us that he had no idea what Batman was looking for. I plan to pay him a little
surprise visit tomorrow and see if I can’t jog his memory.”
“Good idea.” The Captain replied, “Anything else?”
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After a moment Sara Essen spoke up, “Yeah, I just got off the telephone with the
hospital. I got the latest word on Officer Shinkle, the policeman on the scene at the fire.
He has second degree chemical burns on his face and hands. The gas did a number on his
lungs. Good thing Batman got that oxygen bottle on him or he would have died. They
think he will recover, but it may take time.”
The police personnel seated around the table looked at one another. Finally Officer
Switzer spoke, “This lends credibility to the idea that Batman did not start the fire or
attack those men.” No one responded to this but most nodded their heads.
After a few more comments about the morning’s occurrence Officer Good spoke,
“I guess that wraps this up. This meeting is concluded. See me first thing tomorrow and
I’ll have your assignments for you. Okay people, this gives us a solid lead. Let’s shake
this tree and see what falls out.”
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Night Movements (Part 1).
The last time this building had a working elevator they used horses, ropes and
pulleys to raise and lower it. Or so Bart Tobler thought as he was walking seven flights of
stairs to his apartment. It had worked the day he first looked at the apartment and the day
he moved in. After that it seemed to work only when other potential tenants were visiting.
So, every day he was forced to walk down and up seven flights of crumbling concrete
steps, strewn with garbage and graffiti covered halls. Walking up these steps always
involved stepping over someone’s trash, avoiding plaster falling from the ceiling and not
squashing a dead rat or two. Amazing how in Gotham you always seemed to get more
than what you bargained for.
He finally made it to his apartment, ready to call it a night. The buildings hallways
were small, crammed, dimly lit, and strewn with refuse and gang graffiti. Loud music,
shouting or screaming could be heard most every night. And this was supposed to be a
fairly nice apartment building. Bart wondered what the low rent places were like.
His door was a huge metal monster which was set deep into solid concrete. You
needed to unlock the door knob and two deadbolts in order to enter. Each lock required a
separate key that was the size of a small kitchen utensil.
Bart Tobler entered the apartment and shut the door behind him. He instinctively
turned the dead bolts, and closed a latch and the chain on the door. Next he reached for
the light switch and flicked it…on. Bart Tobler flicked it up and down several times. The
hallway light did not come on. Bart thought to himself that it must be a burnt out bulb.
No bother, he had spares in the cabinet.
He walked a few feet and found the lamp by his sofa chair and flicked the switch-
nothing. He repeated the process several times but the light did not come on. What was
going on? Did the power go out? He looked to the stove and saw the digital clock on the
stove was still working. Did one of the breakers get tripped? Let’s see, where did the
manager say that box was?
Then a hissed voice pierced the darkness, “Bart Tobler. We need to talk. You need
to know that I didn’t kill the three scientists.”
The reporter screamed and lunged for the door. Panicking, he tripped on the rug
and slammed into the wall. His hand struck a picture hanging near the door. The thing fell
striking him in the head. He screamed, “Oooohhhhh!”
The voice continued, “Listen, I’m not here to hurt you. I need to tell you
something important.”
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Bart could barely speak he was so scared, “Who…who are you?”
The voice was deep, gravely, and foreboding, but this time it seemed a bit lighter,
“You should know Mr. Tobler, you’re the one who named me.”
Finally it dawned on the journalist who the intruder was, “B…B…Bat…Batman?”
“Thank you for reporting that name, but don’t give yourself too much credit. It
was the name I came up with myself. I am after all wearing a giant bat on my chest. At
some point I was going to identify myself. Still you are the first person to announce the
term to the public.”
Now the reporter was getting to his feet. He felt his head to see if the picture frame
had cut him. His hand came away dry. He was still terrified and was gasping for breath.
He finally found the words, “Who are you, how did you get in here, and what do you
want?”
“I told you we need to talk. I did not kill those scientists.”
Bart stared into the darkness. It did him no good to look to see where the voice
seemed to be coming from. He was not sure but as he looked to the darkest corner of his
living room he thought he saw a black swirling shape that seemed to hang in mid air. Bart
spoke again, “The police came to that conclusion. They think you even tried to save one
of them.”
“I did, but it was too late. Listen I don’t have much time. Those scientists were
breeding some kind of creature. It wasn’t human and it wasn’t any kind of animal I am
familiar with.”
“W…What was it then?”
“I don’t know, but it was powerful enough to kill two men with one lunge and
break out of a concrete building. It is out there and the people of Gotham need to be
warned.”
“S...So why tell a reporter? Why not go directly to the cops.”
“I don’t trust the police. Gotham PD is as corrupt an organization as any in this
city. I’ve been dealing with that in my own way.”
Bart Tobler knew that this meant a lot of busted up police.
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The shadowy voice continued, “The police may decide to sit on this information to
further their own investigation or in some misguided attempt to protect their own image.
You seem to be dedicated to getting the truth.”
By now Bart Tobler had gotten over his initial shock. His reporter’s instincts were
kicking in. He had to know more. The first question he thought of was, “So why are you
investigating this?”
He received only silence as a reply, “How did you know that this creature was at
that specific location?” Again only silence. “Do you have any guesses as to what kind of
operation they had set up?”
This time a sudden movement on the other side of the living room caught his
attention. He felt a cool breeze blow on him. Before he could take in the moment the
hallway light and the lamp came back on. Shocked, he gasped, “What the heck…”
It took a moment but then he realized what had happened. The movement he saw
was the drapes and the4 breeze was from the open window. Somehow the Batman had
jumped.
Bart Tobler quickly ran to the window. Sticking his head out he looked in all four
directions. Seeing no one he withdrew. He shut the window and knew he should have
about a million questions. But the only thought that came to him was a quote that he
believed came from the German philosopher Freidrich Nietchze: Where you stare into the
abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Night Movements (Part2).
It had been a day. Lieutenant James Gordon was dizzy from exhaustion, yet still
cranking on caffeine and adrenaline. Despite having gotten up at a little past midnight he
stayed at the office until 6:00 PM chasing down potential leads. That put him smack dab
into the middle of rush hour traffic. In Gotham that meant bumper car to bumper car
collisions by impaired drivers. He always enjoyed watching his own fellow police
officers handle the situation. They usually offered the person who caused the accident a
chance to avoid a two hundred ticket by giving them fifty dollars!
He finally made it home to his (nearly always) irritated wife around 8:00 PM. He
tried to explain but all he got out of her was, “If you don’t like to eat supper when I fix it
you can make it yourself.” As he was too tired to fix any real dinner he made a quick tuna
salad sandwich, some fruit and a glass of milk. He sat down in his easy chair still dressed.
The last thing he remembered was telling himself, “Let me sit for a moment and then I’ll
get undressed.” This turned out to be good intentions until the wispy allure of sleep
overtook him. Within a minute or two he was unconscious.
“What was that?” He heard himself say, as he shot up from a deep slumber. He
looked around in the dark room. Shaking the sleep out of his warm cottony head he took
stock of the situation. He could see the glowing led display on the video cassette recorder
read 12:10 AM. He was still dressed and still had his service revolver in place. So
Barbara went to bed and did not bother to wake him. He guessed she didn’t want the
company.
He was not sure what had woken him. Then he heard it again, the buzzing of the
front door bell. “What the heck, who could be calling us at this hour?” Stretching, he got
up, quickly put his shoes on while saying, “Who is it, I’m coming?” He tapped his side to
make sure that he was wearing his piece, yep, it hadn’t gone anywhere in the last thirty
seconds.
Opening the front door he could see thru the locked screen that there was no one
there. Some kids might be playing a prank? He looked all around and then saw…a box.
There was a cardboard box and some envelopes sitting on the front porch. What was this
about?
Gordon turned on the porch light and stepped outside. He examined the
mysterious gift. It was a brown card board box about twelve inches cubed. Additional
there were five solid black 9 x 12” envelopes sitting on top of it. What was in them, who
sent them?
As he bent to pick up the package an eerie, deep voice seemed to emanate from
the darkness, “Lieutenant James Gordon. We need to talk.” Gordon jumped at the shock
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of hearing someone speak. Standing bolt upright he looked left and right but could see
no one, and had no idea where the voice came from.
“As you probably already guessed I did not kill those men at that lab. I tried to
save one, and did save the life of the police officer.”
The revelation struck Gordon like a lightning bolt. His first thought was, he’s
here, The Batman is here! Dropping the box he immediately drew his .45 service
revolver. Flinging himself against the front door and assuming a shooters stance he
yelled, “Come out where I can see you! Keep your hands in plain sight, you are under
arrest.”
Again the deep, haunted, gravelly voice coming from no direction in particular,
“Be careful with that box, it contains forensic samples of volatile chemicals.”
Gordon looked left, right, up, down, where was he? He yelled again, “I mean it,
you are under arrest, come out with your hands visible and you will not get hurt.”
“Listen Gordon we don’t have time for this. If you won’t listen, I’ll leave. The
citizens of Gotham are in danger.” The lieutenant relaxed his stance and grip a little but
still remained on full alert. “That’s what you told Shinkle at the dump. What kind of
danger?” Gordon continued to look around. Where was that voice coming from?
“Those scientists were breeding some sort of genetically new creature.”
“A creature, what kind of creature?”
“An extremely powerful creature killed two of those scientists and broke out of the
lab.”
Gordon thought for a moment. He had to keep the Batman talking, “What could do
that, a grizzly bear, a Siberian tiger, a radioactive elephant?”
“No! This was no animal like we know. I don’t know what it was but it was big
enough to bust through a brick wall.”
“Who are you? How did you find about all of this.”
“Going back to a previous case I was working on, I tracked a container of very
dangerous chemicals being smuggled into Gotham. That’s when you caught me on tape.”
“You’re wrong, about that one. Those chemicals were nothing more than sanitizer;
they weren’t dangerous or really even illegal.” Moving carefully across the length of the
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porch he continued to scan the area. “How does it make you feel you busted up guys
who barely committed a misdemeanor?”
“No! That was meant to be a distraction and a cover for the real work. It is true
that those barrels were harmless, but at the same time another group of chemicals were
brought in on a different route. Those men were part of a larger operation and they knew
it. Your people should question them more thoroughly.”
Now Gordon was interested, this could be a real lead. Keeping his stance he asked,
“So what is this chemical.”
“I was able to obtain a sample from the burning shack where the three scientists
were killed. I examined it and was unable to determine the exact chemical composition.
It has extremely long chained amino acid molecules. I believe it can be used to
genetically alter inert viruses. These same viruses when injected into a host will deposits
the genetic material in the DNA of the host.”
“Say that in English.”
“It’s possible that the drug can be used to create new life forms, very deadly life
forms.”
“How is that possible?”
“The science is in its infancy. Whoever is doing this is using information and
technology that is far beyond anything that the scientific community possesses.”
“So who’s doing this?” Gordon slowly began to lower the revolver. He probably
wasn’t going to find the guy. He figured that if what this guy was saying was true he
needed to hear this.
“I kept surveillance on the three scientists who were sneaking out at night to their
makeshift lab at the dump. They worked for Advanced Medical Solutions. I investigated,
but I didn’t find anything. I think two of your patrolmen caught a glimpse of me. I got
careless.”
Gordon did not respond. He knew that two patrolmen saw Batman, but was not
about to give this man any information. He said, “Go on.”
“I monitored their activity at the dump, but made no attempt to break into the lab. I
needed to get to the man in charged. I overheard the name Dr. Artemis Daniel. He seems
to be the ring leader but no one with that name is living in Gotham, it’s obviously an
alias. When I showed up last night the building was ablaze. I regret that I was too late to
save the three scientists.”
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“If what you say is true then these men are employing technology that is beyond
even our most brilliant scientists. Where did they get it?”
“That’s what I am working on. Take a look at the box I gave you. It contains both
the samples and my analysis on the chemicals I recovered. I would suggest you work
with the FBI or Interpol or even the CDC to have them analyzed. They may find
something I missed.”
With this Gordon put his revolver back into its holster. He carefully picked up the
box. The Batman continued, “Gotham has to be warned. I can’t trust many of the Gotham
PD. I spoke to the journalist who has been reporting on me. I told him the city is in
danger.”
“You spoke to Bart Tobler?”
“He’s a good reporter and an honest man who tries hard to get his story straight.
I’m sure he’ll do his job.” This statement was followed by a tense moment of silence.
Gordon took a moment to examine the box but did not open it. The Batman spoke again,
“Lieutenant Gordon.”
“I’m here.”
“If this is what I’m thinking it is, then no one is safe. We have to find these men
and put a stop to it. That’s why I need you and you need me. I need someone on the
inside of the Gotham PD. You’re an honest man and a good cop, one of the few in
Gotham. Consider what I’m saying. We’re through the looking glass on this situation; it
involves forces that we don’t yet understand.”
“Whoa, hold on, you‘re wanted for numerous assault charges. I can’t work with
you on anything!” Gordon stepped off the porch and began to look around. He began to
scan the roof tops, and some of the trees. He could see nothing, but that didn’t mean the
guy wasn’t out there. Gordon continued, “How long do you think you can keep this
charade up. People are getting hurt. Turn yourself in and I will guarantee your fair
treatment.”
When he heard nothing, he repeated himself. He walked around the house and
looked through his and his neighbor’s bushes and hedges. He even went back to the
house and got a flash light. He searched every nook that could hide a large man. He at
least hoped to find out where the Batman had been hiding. Maybe a broken bush or a
footprint might show where he had been. But he found nothing. The vigilante had come
and gone and left no traces that he had been nearby. After about an hour the policeman
gave up and went back inside.
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After another tuna salad sandwich Lieutenant James Gordon got undressed and
finally got to bed. Despite the day’s busy events all he could think about was the offer the
Batman had made, “I need you and you need me.”
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Medical Inquiry.
Advanced Medical Solutions was located in an impressive steel and glass high
rise. James Gordon counted nine stories. He and his now steady partner Sarah Essen
approached the front entrance. It gave him a sense of confidence to have her by his side.
Officer Essen commented, “Boy these creepy mad scientist laboratories look a lot more
impressive these days.” Gordon chuckled at this.
The foyer was large, spacious and modern. A small fountain stood in the center
and various pieces of modern art sculptures (Jim Gordon thought that’s what they were)
decorated the walls. Two security guards stood next to a scanner and metal detector at the
entrance. Gordon noticed that their badges said they were employees of Advanced
Medical Solutions rather than contracted from a security service. Both men were old,
over weight and bored. Gordon thought that this was Gotham, so that meant they were
probably armed and trigger happy.
The two guards were about to ask the two policemen to empty their pockets.
Before they could Gordon and Essen flashed their ID’s. The two men looked at each
other and then the older of the two inquired, “Can we help you with something officers?”
It was Essen who spoke first, “We need to speak to the receptionist, is that her over
there?” The detective pointed to an attractive young lady behind the larger desk which
was strategically placed between the two escalators.
Before the guards had a chance to answer the two detectives walked up to the
desk. The young reception smiled a big wide smile and said, “How can I be of service to
the two of you?” Flashing their badges in unison James Gordon spoke, “We are here to
see Dr. Brad Brown I assume he is in.” Losing her bright winning smile the receptionist
stuttered, looked at her notebook and said, “I’m not sure, is he expecting you…do you
have an appointment?”
Essen held up the badge again and responded, “Lady this badge is all the
appointment that I need!” She softened her tone which Gordon’s ears made her words
even more menacing, “Now before we have to start arresting people for interfering with a
police investigation please tell me what floor Dr. Brown is on?”
The woman looked nervously to the two security guards. She could see that they
would get no help from them. She hesitated and said, “That would be the 7th floor. Should
I tell him that you are coming up?”
“Whatever you want.”
Jim Gordon was so very, very impressed.
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*******
The elevator stopped smoothly and the doors hissed open. Gordon and Essen
stepped out to meet a group of three men wearing lab coats, two men wearing suits, and a
nicely dressed woman. As they stepped out of the car a tall man with wire rimmed
glasses wearing a lab coat stepped forward extending his hand which Gordon accepted.
The gentlemen said, “I’m Dr. Brad Brown founder and CEO of Advanced Medical
Solutions. We’ve been expecting you. Let’s go to the conference room.”
The detectives followed the group to a corner room. The room was about fifteen
feet square. It contained ten leather backed swivel chairs which sat around a large table.
An unplugged coffee maker sat on small table in the corner. A white board hung on the
wall. Jim Gordon thought that the room was functional without being extravagant.
Dr. Brown gave his introductions, “Joining us are Dr. Chris Carlson and Dr.
Farrell Carney who were the deceased scientist’s immediate supervisors. The two stern
looking men in the tailored suits are our attorneys, Mr. John Bauer and Mr. Nate Cordes.
This is Kate King our human resource director.”
Before Gordon or Essen had a chance to say anything the lawyer Nate Cordes
spoke, “Please understand that we are shocked at this tragedy. Michael Fritz, Jeff Ratley
and Ritchie Strunk were good friends and trusted colleagues. We are all hurt by this
loss.”
Lawyer number two John Bauer chimed in, “Please understand that neither
Advanced Medical Solutions nor any of its employees have any knowledge of what the
three scientists were doing in that building by the Gotham waste disposal center.”
Gordon thought both statements sounded prepared, really prepared.
The human resource director slid several large folders to the two detectives. The
lawyer continued in a less formal tone, “Our organization holds no property other than
this building. Anything those men were doing, they were doing on their own with no
knowledge from anyone here.”
Dr. Farrell Carney spoke next, “Those files contain summaries of the three men’s
recent projects. There is nothing in there that links them to the Batman and we had no
idea why he would want to kill our employees…”
Lieutenant Gordon interrupted, “Batman did not kill those scientists. He was
investigating whatever they were doing at that lab, but he told me that when he
arrived…”
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At his last words everyone in the room except for Sara Essen sat up, or at least
leaned forward. They all began to speak at once, “You met Batman? You spoke to
Batman? Is he real? What’s he like? Can he really fly?”
With that Gordon lifted his outstretch palms down hands and slowly raise them up
and down; the universal signal for calm. When the group quieted down he resumed,
“Yes, the Batman paid me a visit.” He proceeded to tell them an edited version of the
night’s events. “As of right now we are assuming that his story is true.”
The whole room turned silent, Gordon produced a piece of paper with chemical
notations on it. Sliding the paper to Dr. Brown he continued, “Batman tracked a chemical
of unknown origin and purpose. Our preliminary analysis shows that it has no known
commercial name nor can we find any company that makes it. Samples taken from the
fire shows that it was present in substantial quantity at the lab by the dump. Do you have
any idea what they would be doing with this stuff?” Gordon didn’t tell them that this was
the Batman’s analysis.
The lawyer John Bauer chimed in, “Is that what this Batman thing was doing
when he broke in and entered this facility?”
The two scientists examined the analysis. As they stared intently, they began to
murmur to themselves and to each other. Finally Dr. Carlson spoke up. We have no idea
what this stuff is. Without examining it ourselves we can’t tell you anything about its
makeup or why any of our people would be working with it.” With that Dr. Carney
jumped in, “I work closely with Dr. Fritz, and I know he did not have any undisclosed
chemicals at his work station. In addition as Dr. Fritz’s immediate supervisor he would
need to clear the use of any new chemicals thru me.”
Essen broke in, “You do realize that we are currently checking Dr. Fritz’s personal
financial transactions to find out where he might have ordered any of this stuff from. We
will be taking a close look at your books to see if anyone engaged in off the books
purchases of any unregistered chemicals.”
The lawyer Cordes responded, “I am confident you will find no improprieties.”
The others at the table murmured their agreement. Dr. Brown chimed in, “The chemicals
and procedures that we use are heavily regulated. We are required to keep accurate
records of all purchases. Again, whatever activities those three men were engaged in it
had nothing to do with anything here at Advanced Medical Solutions.”
After another pause Gordon spoke, “There’s another thing the Batman indicated
that the scientists were raising some kind of animal in that lab.” Anticipating the obvious
question Gordon put his hand up and continued, “We don’t know what kind of animal,
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only that it was a very large and extremely powerful. According to Batman this thing puts
the people in Gotham in danger.”
Dr. Brown responded, “We were informed of this when we were contacted
yesterday. We can assure you that none of the scientists were involved in any kind of
animal research. What do they think he was working with: a bear, a gorilla, a Siberian
tiger?”
“Again we don’t know but according to our technical people it managed to bust
through three inch steel bars and bust a hole in a brick wall.”
The group registered shock and began to murmur amongst themselves. The two
scientists looked at the detectives with measured incredulity. Dr. Carney spoke, “It is
difficult to believe that any animal could do that. I’m certainly no expert on this topic, but
wouldn’t a full grown African bull elephant be the only animal in the world that could
possibly be that powerful? I must say an eight ton elephant is pretty hard to hide in a
major city.” He continued, “What we do is mostly chemical analysis of new medicines
prior to their approval for use by the FDA. We are the last hurdle before a new drug can
make its way to the public.”
Now Essen continued the conversation, “I understand your mission statement but
could it be possible that the three men were genetically modifying an animal? Could they
have been using gene altering drugs to create a monster tiger or something like that?”
The scientists looked at each other and then at the detectives. Dr. Brown spoke up.
“Well people have been breeding animals and plants to bring out desired characteristics.
This has been ongoing since ancient times. All of the foods we eat as well as all domestic
animals are a product of these efforts. Dogs, cats, cows, horses, sheep, pigs, camels,
llamas were bred from wild animals to be used by humans. The last animal that was
domesticated was the silver fox in the early 1960’s. Please realize that’s more animal
husbandry than genetics. A good dog breeder would know more about that than we
would.”
He paused to allow the two cops to digest this, “The next phase of this type of
research is genetically modified species. There is a limited amount of work going on in
this field. Scientists have been experimenting with genetically altered strains of
vegetables for some time now. The idea is to grow crops that have a higher yield, more
resistant to diseases. I can tell you that this is not a focus of any of our ongoing research.
I do know however that the science is in its infancy. We are nowhere near ready to create
some new super strong species of animal.” He chuckled and added, “It would sure get us
a lot of attention to breed King Kong, but the science simply does not exist.”
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Dr. Carlson picked up the conversation, “To attempt to do something of such
magnitude by manipulating genetics would be much more difficult. You would have to
isolate the genes responsible for the specific characteristics. Then you would have to have
a way to alter those genes to produce the desired result. That is of course is the goal of
genetic manipulation. The problem is that we are decades away from being able to do
anything on that level.”
Dr. Carney was the next to speak, “I have no way to know what the three scientist
were doing in that lab, but I can tell you that none of them had any special knowledge of
animal breeding. Ritchie Strunk was a molecular biologist, Jeff Ratley was a chemist and
Michael Fritz was a geneticist. These men worked in a laboratory with microscopes and
specialized equipment. If you wanted to know about animal breeding you might want
start with the zoo or for primates maybe call Jane Goddall or the National Science
Foundation.”
James Gordon saved the best question for last, “One last question and then I would
like to see the scientist’s work station. Does your organization employee or consult with
anyone named Artemis Daniels?”
Gordon noticed that no one seemed to react to that name. Dr. Brown turned to Ms.
King and asked, “Kate do we have anyone like that on our payroll?” Kate King took
nearly a minute to flip through her papers before finally responding, “No sir, as far as I
can tell we don’t consult with anybody by the name Artemis Daniels.” The rest of the
men slowly shook their heads.
Dr. Brown continued, “Well if you want to see the work stations, I am sure that
Dr. Carlson and Dr. Carney can take care of that and they can answer any questions.” He
then paused before continuing, “Detectives Gordon, Essen.” The two detectives looked
up, “The work we do here is by most people’s standards pretty esoteric, meaning boring.
Creating monsters through genetically manipulation…that’s the stuff of Hollywood
science fiction.”
Jim Gordon had asked around before coming to Advanced Medical Solutions.
That was the conclusion of everyone he consulted.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Feedings.
Deep in its cold, wet, nest the creature wreathed snarled and growled. The
experiment that created it left no memory of its original identity. The prisoner named
James Rocky is lost forever. In his place is a terrible, new, life form. What was once a
man is a horrific perversion of life with monstrous strength and an insatiable hunger.
The experiment that created it was incomplete. It remains sentient, self aware but
barely capable of what we might call rational thought. It understands basic sensations and
relates them to a primitive concept of well being. It understands heat and cold, pleasure
and pain. Its brain is developing a pattern related to the concept of safe and unsafe.
The concept of time as a linear notion is not completely lost on it. It seems to
understand that the light comes and goes regularly. It certainly does not know what
causes the darkness, but it realizes that it is safer moving in it.
It has been many cycles of light and dark since it escaped from the place that
birthed it. It has found this place cold, alone and dark. It has taken refuge for three cycles.
Now all it knows is hunger. Every neural fiber and synapse in its being screams this hot,
jangling message: Feed!
In the deep recesses of its newly created primitive brain it realizes that this need
will soon be fulfilled. The creature senses that another large being lives among the cold,
wreckage. It seems to recognize a kinship and identity with the species it now hunts. For
two cycles of light and dark it has been sensing and stalking this prey. Now the prey is
weak, it is not aware of the creature’s presence.
Deep in the more primitive recesses of its brain it processes information in a way
no modern human brain ever could. With its hyper sense of smell it can process the decay
that this creature brings. It understands to a degree that the prey is old and its skin is
leathery with little of the warm moist meat that it desperately craves. Furthermore the
creature is filled with chemicals not natural to its species.
What attracts the creature is the sound of the thick beating heart. It can almost
taste the salty, copper blood pumping through it. It can sense and drools at the taste the
sinewy, fibrous muscles and the warm moist bones filling with the dark marrow. It
shivers at the thought of the soft organs engorged with warm blood.
It has waited patiently for the prey to return to its nest for the darkness. He waits
for it to become vulnerable. The creature feels itself driven beyond all caution by the
horrible stabs of hunger. With a screeching howl it attacks.
*********
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It was just getting dark when old Timus decided to bed down for the night. Being
one of the many, many homeless in Gotham, Timus Jackson spent his day panhandling
change from strangers. Much of his mental facilities have been destroyed by the ravages
of life on these cold, mean streets. But he still knows what a fifth of ripple costs and who
will sell it him.
He had eaten at the shelter and had begged enough to buy tonight’s bottle by 8:00
PM. Now he was returning to the warehouse to drink and fall asleep. It was his schedule
for as long as his he could remember.
He has been living at this warehouse for nearly a month. The police rousted him
from his home in the old factory before that. Prior to that he had been in a basement, but
it flooded taking all of the stuff that he had collected from local garbage cans with it. But
this warehouse was reasonably warm and free of drafts. It contained a mattress that was
filthy but in good shape. He had stolen some blankets and a pillow from the last shelter
he had been at.
As he lay down he heard it again; a low grumbling sound. Timus had heard it for
the last two or three nights. But then again he was used to hearing things that weren’t
there. So at first he ignored it, but this time he it was louder. He swore he could hear
something moving. He called out, “Who’s there?”
No one called back. Was it the ripple playing tricks on him? He called out again.
“If there’s someone there you better come out, Old Timus, he carries a shotgun, and I
know how to use it, I fought in the big one.” This was a lie on both accounts. Timus
Jackson was neither a veteran nor was he armed.
Again, he heard a growl, only louder and he knew it was definitely for real. Now
Timus could see something moving in the dark shapes in the back.
“I sees you, now you come out. Old Timus he don’t want no trouble.”
Whatever it was came forward. As it stepped toward him enough light shined from
a street light outside to reveal what was making the noise.
Timus Jackson’s heart nearly stopped when he saw what stood before him. The
vision was worse than any delirium tremors that had ever tormented him. The thing
looked like a man, but was not. It stood nearly eight feet tall. Its skin was red and patchy
and covered with angry purple bumps and blotches. The arms were longer than any
human as were the fingers, which ended in sharp black claws. The head was
proportionally larger than a man with huge bulbous, black eyes and a huge mouth. Inside
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the mouth were two rows of sharpened yellowing teeth. The thing’s head and upper
shoulders were covered with stringy wet black hair.
With a roar the creature attacked. It took only one swipe with its black talons to
sever the ceratoid artery. The laceration caused a swishing spray of warm, arterial blood.
Timus Jackson was rendered unconscious immediately. He died only seconds after hitting
the ground. He was mercifully spared the horrors that came next.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Monster Hunt.
Jim Gordon thought to himself he needed another meeting like Custer needed
more Indians. Meetings were essentially a way to imagine yourself doing something
productive when in reality you were taking an extended coffee break.
There had been a few new developments and the chief thought that it was time to
take stock of the team’s lack of progress. In some ways the situation felt like the chickens
had come home to roost. Gotham PD had ignored its duty to protect and serve and it
should surprise no one that a threat would evolve that was beyond its ability to contain.
The whole gang was here: Merkel, Essen, old man Keaton, Switzer, and Heist.
Dan Good addressed the group, “This incident certainly seems to confirm the Batman’s
statement that some kind of animal is indeed loose in Gotham. This information is
however, strictly confidential. The Commissioner is not prepared to commit to this
scenario. Brian Switzer responded, “How many people have to die, before we commit to
the fact that there is something out there that’s eating people?”
Dan Good ignored the remark and continued while passing out a folder containing
black and white photos. “What we have is the partial remains of a street bum who
appears to have been eaten. I have a folder containing photos taken at the crime scene.
People, they are not pretty.”
Without the background information Gordon would have had no idea what he was
looking at. The pictures showed twists of bloody rags and smears of thick dark stains on a
dirty concrete floor. One showed pieces of what appeared to be gnarled bones, in another
something that looked like it could be a human limb was visible. One cop remarked it
looked like road kill, another like some grotesque work of modern art.
Officer Dan Good gave them a moment to look over the pictures. He explained,
“You are looking at what is left of Timus Jackson, a 61 year old homeless man. Mr.
Jackson had been living on the streets for as long as anyone can remember. He had been a
regular at one of the soup kitchens. When he didn’t show up an aid worker went to his
place of residency which was an abandoned factory near the waterfront. That’s when she
discovered the last mortal remains of the former Mr. Jackson.”
Sarah Essen spoke up, “Are you sure this was some kind of animal? Gotham has
had regular incidents of cannibalism. Some of these occurrences are associated with cults,
some with gang initiations. There was even speculation that it happened because people
in Gotham were trying to avoid starvation.”
John Keaton drily commented, “They have been talking about special tasks forces
to investigate that for years.”
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Dan Good ignored the banter and gave them a chance to digest this information.
When everyone had looked at the pictures of the grizzly crime scene he continued,
“Obviously forensics has not gotten back to us with all of the lab work. Preliminary
analysis shows a bite pattern that looks similar to a human or simian but much larger and
with two rows of teeth. Whatever did this was able to bite right through a man’s thigh.
We were able to collect a few footprints and the tracks that resemble a human’s but are
much more distorted. The prints were larger and wider than even Wilt Chamberlain’s
feet.”
“So are we looking for a mutant gorilla on steroids?” Brian Switzer asked. He was
only half joking. Jeff Heist added, “The whole thing could be faked. No one saw
anything.”
“We’re not sure what we are up against. But I will tell you this. The officer on the
scene, Lieutenant Jack Stevens called in the K-9 unit. He was hoping the hounds could
pick up a scent and that they could track whoever or whatever killed the man.
Unfortunately once the hounds got the scent, the curled up with their tails between their
legs whimpering; they refused to follow.”
For a long minute the group sat silently. Sara Essen broke the silence, “So then at
least privately, off the record, does this confirm the Batman’s assertions that an animal
escaped from the lab that caught fire last week?” Good took a moment to respond but
said, “We are in no way prepared to say what Batman’s role in this situation might be.”
Gordon interrupted, “Wait a minute! We know that Batman saved the life of a
police officer at the fire. He turned over forensic evidence to me and warned us of an
animal on the loose. What part of that makes him a suspect?”
“Nobody said anything about being a suspect. I said we don’t know if he’s telling
the truth. After we capture him we can ask him.”
Now it was John Keaton’s turn, “I think it’s rather peculiar that no sooner does a
masked man in a bat costume show up than a monster is loose on our city. Awfully
convenient timing if you ask me. What proof do we have that this is some deranged
scheme on the part of Batman.”
“Why would he do that?”
“So that the cops believe they need him. He finds this so-called monster and he
has instant credibility.”
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Gordon exploded at this, “I’m telling you that the Batman beats up criminals, he’s
a masked vigilante and not Dr. Frankenstein!”
At this the other officers offered their increasingly vocal opinions, “…We don’t
know what Batman is…Why should we believe anyone like that…Find out who created
the Batman and you’ll find out who created this monster…We don’t know if it even was
a monster…Maybe this Batman is some kind of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
Dan Good began to wrap the table with the edge of his clip board while shouting,
“Alright people that’s enough. This is getting us nowhere. I’m in charge and I said,
QUIET!!”
With that the group quieted down. Good continued, “Gordon, you and Keaton
both have a point. We know that Batman’s current MO is to assault criminals. He has
exhibited near superhuman abilities and assimilation of advanced technology. He
seemingly saved the life of a cop and has given us forensic evidence that we otherwise
might not have. This indicates that he is more than a deranged crackpot. He may in some
perverse way, really believe himself to be on the side of the angels.”
Officer Good paused for a moment to let this sink in to the group, “Still the higher
up’s opinions align more with John’s theory. The word from on high is that we are
treating this as another Batman sighting. Knowing as little as we do about him, there is no
way to know what motivates him or what he is capable of.”
He continued, “We still have our assignment, which is capturing the Batman. We
will meet again once I get the full report on this incident. We’ll want to see if any of this
leads us to the Batman. You know your jobs, get busy.”
After a few more questions and comments the meeting broke up.
Gordon and Essen were following up on the strange chemical that Batman
extracted from the lab. There were still a few leads related to their earlier investigation of
Advanced Medical Solutions. Jim Gordon knew he had to follow up on everything, but
he doubted that any of this would bring them any closer to the Batman.
As they walked out Sara Essen turned to him, “Even after what happened at the
dump, the strange chemicals delivered to our door, the mostly eaten dead body with all of
the bite marks, the foot prints Gotham PD cannot bring itself to believe that there really is
a monster loose. They still want to blame it on Batman, the brass is becoming obsessed.
They are clearly ignoring a real threat and focusing all of their attention on this
vigilante.”
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Gordon grunted his response, “They feel threatened. Loeb and his cronies were
never worried about anything other than lining their own pockets. Now Batman is going
after these guys and he seems to be the one thing in Gotham that might actually bring
them to justice.”
“Besides that, the Batman is bad PR. He focuses the public attention on the
deficiencies in the system. Think about it. Good is acting like a real cop for once, but
don’t be fooled. I still thinks he’s mostly concerned about his next promotion. He’s not
going to get that if he doesn’t produce Batman on a silver platter. That’s at least part of
it.”
“What’s the other part?”
“I think they fear that if this creature is real they may need Batman to stop it.”
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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Keeping The Faith (Part 2).
“See I told you that these things have a way of turning around.” The Reverend
Doctor Raymond Samson London, senior pastor of the New Jerusalem Community
Church told Bart Tobler. Placing a fatherly hand on the reporter’s shoulder he continued,
“You were so worried that you had no future and now look, you’re a celebrity.”
Bart Tobler hardly thought of himself as a celebrity. Furthermore the good
Reverend London never actually said that things have a way of turning around. From
what he remembered of the last conversation he was told to resign himself to his
imminent unemployment. But the man was filled with a bubbling positive energy so he
could be forgiven. More importantly that energy came from a sincere faith in God’s
power and presence; that’s what Christians are supposed to strive for. So I guess it was
okay if the 62 year old good natured pastor had a little bit of selective memory.
He was right that this whole Batman situation had changed everything. Now his
articles on the topic were being printed in major newspapers across the country and
around the world (it was interesting to see that other parts of the world were becoming
just as shallow as Gotham). His phone was ringing off the hook from people who wanted
to know more about the Batman or wanted him to do them a favor of some sort. His
friend Joshua Justice joked that the Gazette was going to fire him because they were too
cheap to hire a secretary just to take his calls.
He should have been overjoyed by his new found fame. Instead the whole thing
left him confused and disgusted. It was one thing to write a story when there was a story.
But the Gazette had him writing story after story even when there were no Batman
sightings. Bart thought that if Batman ceased to exist that would not stop the paper from
printing an endless number of articles on him. In fact at this point the paper he worked for
might as well have become the Batman Daily; all Batman all the time.
Oh well, at least this meeting was a welcome change of pace. The Reverend had
asked to meet Bart and he obliged, Bart commented, “Well I don’t know that I am a
celebrity, and I certainly don’t have any reason to believe that God brought me to the
Batman or vice-versa.” The pastor replied, “Did I say that was the case?”
“No, but people are talking as if I won the lottery. Prior to this I couldn’t get
anyone to give me the time of day. Now everyone wants a piece of me. It’s gone from the
topic that I’m reporting on, to the fact that I am the one reporting it.”
The Reverend responded to the last comment. “Well maybe that’s all part of God’s
plan. Are you at least praying toward that end?”
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“I have been praying for Gotham since I arrived here, I find it hard to believe that
God sent us some crazy, masked, vigilante. I mean he’s no more than a guy in a bat suit
assaulting alleged criminals. Now people are acting like he’s our savior instead of a super
powered nut case.”
“Well the people of Gotham are certainly rallying around him.”
Bart Tobler reacted to this statement. “Rallying around him?! This guy is taking
the law into his own hands. He viciously assaults people who have not been convicted of
a crime.”
“He does catch them in the act.”
“That means nothing. We live in a country where a man is innocent until proven
guilty.”
“Do you really think that’s the way things work in Gotham?”
Bart Tobler had no response to that, so all he said was, “I don’t know.”
“Think about who watches the Watchmen? Many of the criminals he’s brought to
justice have been ex-members of Gotham PD. When the police flagrantly break the law
then the rules change.”
“I’ve written about that in my article. He’s definitely got all of the right people
scared. But a costumed vigilante is crazy. We’re making him into a celebrity and The
Gazette is making money hand over fist.”
The Reverend lowered his voice, “Kid, I watch what’s going on in Gotham. I have
a keen eye to the streets. I can tell you that since this Batman story broke people have
woken up a little bit. Folks are starting to consider that maybe there’s more to what’s
going on than meets the eye.”
“They should be looking to God for that. Our hope is in Christ.”
“Well the Lord works in mysterious ways.”
Bart shrugged at this idea, “You can’t believe that this…this Batman is somehow
God’s will.”
The pastor smiled, “Again you know I don’t ever claim to know the mind of the
Almighty. I do believe that God can use every opportunity that comes our way.
Remember we are his workmanship created for God works in Christ Jesus.” The man
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paused, checked his watch and hefted himself up off the chair to signal the end of the
discussion. Taking a gulp of breath he commented, “Don’t think that we can understand
God’s ways. Even if God did not send the Batman that does not mean that the situation
can’t be used for his glory. Who knows maybe that’s why he brought you into the
picture.”
Bart thought about this for a moment and realized this proposition made about as
much sense as anything else he had heard recently. Taking it all in, he said, “I’ll pray
about it, but unless I get knocked on my butt on the road to Damascus, I’m done.”
The good reverend did a double take at this statement, “Done…what do mean by
done?”
“I mean that I’m done, I’m going to turn in my resignation at the Gazette.”
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CHAPTER THIRTY: Nightmares Encounter.
Tom Bauer cautiously approached the main warehouse. It was 3:00 AM and he
was always tired. Heck, he couldn’t imagine how anyone could not be tired at this hour.
Feeling every one of his 57 years, he yawned and stretched but was determined to do his
job.
After retiring from the New York City Police Department he had taken this job as
the assistant chief of security at this factory. He told his wife that at 52 he was too young
to quit working and he still wanted to do something with his police credentials. Plus with
his daughter off to college, they needed the money. This security job opened up and so he
and the wife moved to Gotham.
He was one of only a few people assigned to the third shift. The others were
loading up the trucks on the other side of the plant. No one was assigned to the
warehouse during the third shift, and so nobody should be in the warehouse right now.
The security guard on the second shift, John Knapp, had told him that a couple
guys heard some strange noises coming from the warehouse. Knapp had done a walk
through but hadn’t seen anything. He believed that he heard a growl or snore, but said he
couldn’t locate the source. He thought it might be a dog, or maybe even a homeless
person who snuck in.
Tom knew that this happened every once in a while. He remembered that a month
or so ago two large dogs had somehow made it into the warehouse desperately trying to
escape the winter’s cold. In times past some of Gotham’s homeless had managed to get
into the warehouse. That hadn’t happened on his watch but it was always a possibility. Of
course it could be nothing at all, amazing how a man’s imagination can take hold in a big
empty warehouse.
It was a simple question of finding which critter was squatting and then running it
out. He hoped it wasn’t a skunk, he hated skunks; imagine the stink, not to mention the
embarrassment if they sprayed you.
He admitted he was a bit more alert since hearing those reports of some kind of
creature loose in Gotham. Supposedly, even the police were taking this seriously. He
didn’t know what to make of all of that. I mean weren’t those stories confined to Loch
Ness or something? Well he doubted that he was going to see Big Foot. Thirty years in
the New York City Police Department taught him to keep his cool. In the past five years
he had not encountered a serious incident. He doubted that he would now.
Arriving at the two huge metal doors, Tom Bauer fumbled for the right key.
Opening the doors he was surprised to see the warehouse was pitch black. Even the
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security lights and the exit signs were off. There was a small amount of light coming in
from the windows but even with that he couldn’t see a thing. He thought to himself that it
must be a power surge. Stepping into the darkness the security chief reached for the
breaker box on the right.
His movements came to an abrupt stop when he hearing a growl. It almost
sounded human, but was too deep for a man to make. He immediately turned on his
flashlight and brought it up to his shoulder in order to scan the area.
From nowhere came a voice, “Unless you want to die, turn the lights off.”
An ordinary man would have jumped out of his skin. The seasoned police veteran
instinctively went for his sidearm. Less than a second later he realized that he was not
carrying a firearm. He settled on second best and grabbed for the club and pepper spray
that he did have. Finding his voice he yelled, “Who is there? Come on show yourself.”
At first nothing happened but then his eyes caught movement above him. Shinning
his huge flash light upward he beheld a huge black figure silently gliding down. At first it
looked as if the creature had large black, bulbous wings, but on second look it was clear
that it was a black cloak. He also noticed that the creature was not flying but was hooked
onto a thin filament that reflected off the flash light’s beam. As the creature landed beside
him with a soft woosh Tom Bauer found his voice, “Are…are…you really him…I mean
Batman.”
Before he got an answer, he heard another growl, louder, longer with an angrier
intensity.
Tom watched as the mysterious, black, figure quickly disengaged the filament. A
moment later the wire began to roll up like a tape measure in a small box the dark figure
was holding. All the security guard could think to say was, “That’s quite a set up you
have.”
Disengaging himself from the unreality of the situation the Guard asked, “You
didn’t answer my question. Are you the Batman and do you realize that you are
trespassing on private property?”
“Yes, I’m Batman. If you have been reading your paper I am tracking an animal
that escaped from a lab by the Gotham land fill.”
“Is…is that thing in here?”
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The Batman growled in a low menacing tone. “Don’t you hear it? I tracked it to
this warehouse.” The eye sockets in his mask began to glow green. Tom Bauer assumed
that he had turned on a set of built in night vision goggles.
A second later the security guard heard the growl, louder and closer.
“Shouldn’t we call the cops?”
“No! No police. Bullets may not stop this thing. The police will only get in the
way and get themselves hurt.” As he spoke he pulled out what at first looked like a rifle.
On second look Tom Bauer noticed that it was dart gun, commonly used to tranquilize
animals.
Tom heard another roar, this one even louder. He thought he saw something move
in the darkness.
The Batman spoke, “You need to get out now! Lock the door behind you and clear
this factory.”
“I...uh...can’t do that, I am in charge of security.”
“The best way to secure this place is to do what I say. Move quickly before it
shows itself.”
The Batman had no sooner said those words than Tom Bauer shined his flash light
in front of him, where he could hear a heaving, snarling, and growling. He saw something
he would take to the grave. Standing before him was the same creature Timus Jackson
had seen in the last moments of his life.
The difference was that it had evolved to a less human looking form. It had grown
to well over eight feet tall. The skin had turned black and purple, the bumps and blotches
that had covered it a few days ago were busting open; black pussing ichor oozed out. The
head was larger, flatter than a few days ago. The jaws protruded unnaturally as drool
bubbled down.
Batman raised the dart gun and sighted in on the creature. Firing, the dart flew out
making a snitting sound. But a half a second before it struck home, the creature pivoted
at the last possible moment. Tom Bauer heard, but could not see the dart hit the concrete
floor in the inky blackness behind the monster.
The security guard heard the masked vigilante growl and say, “We’ll have to do
this the hard way.” Turning to him the Batman yelled, “Get out now!”
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With a howl of rage the grotesque monster attacked. Leaping with long arms
extended Tom could see the huge black claws on the tips of the spindly fingers.
Batman leaped and shot a cable out from his gauntlets. The cables had large
hooks attached which stuck deep into the chest of the monster. Tom Bauer heard a sizzle
of electricity. Sparks and smoke began to shoot out from where the hooks made contact.
Snarling, with spittle spraying out of its mouth, the creature drops to its knees.
Batman cautiously approached, but then the demonic thing roared up and tore the hooks
from its massive, fleshy chest. In an instant it began to grab and twirl the still sparking
wires around the massive arm, and with another roar tore the hooks from the metal cable.
Tom Bauer could see a haze of smoke and smelled the acrid odor of what he could only
assume was burning flesh.
Tossing the now useless hooks to the side, the gigantic beast screamed and
charged again. Anticipating the charge the Batman rolled out of the way. Missing its
target the nightmarish creature slammed into six solid 100 gallon drums. Bouncing off
the drums, the walking nightmare turned to renew its attack.
The Batman regained his stance and threw five black objects. The monster stopped
in its tracks as the objects embed themselves in the creature including both eyes. With a
huge leap the dark warrior threw himself at the creature. His boots slam into the
abomination knocking it back. Almost immediately the Batman jumped onto the monster
and began to slam punch after punch to the thing’s hideous faces.
When he was a boy Tom Bauer’s father had taken him to see Sugar Ray Robinson
fight Jake LaMotte. Both of those men threw thundering punches with lighting speed. But
neither of those pugilists could come close to the fury the Batman unleashed. In a matter
of seconds the Batman had struck the creature with what looked to be nearly 100 blows.
Shining his light on the action the security guard could see that the outer part of
the Batman’s gauntlets had metal spikes protruded from their sides. The Vigilante shifted
his weight and raked the spikes again and again across the creatures face. The sharp metal
points began to rake swollen red grooves in the hideous purple face.
With an ear splitting howl the demon roared in pain. Dark, red blood glistened in
the flash light beam as it streaked down the deformed face. Taking a step back the
Batman raised the dart gun again. Tom Bauer had never seen anyone move so fast. In an
instant he loaded a dart into the chamber and fired. The dart rammed home into a small
wound that the Gauntlets had made at the base of the neck.
The creature pulled at the dart and flung it at the Batman. It missed the dark figure,
but it gave the creature time to charge the man. Batman tried to spin away but was a little
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too slow. To his horror the security guard could sees the creature lunge and grab the man.
Effortlessly it picked the smaller figure up and hoisted him over its head. With terrible
force, the hideous thing slammed the dark warrior into the concrete floor. The impact
made a wet cracking sound. The vigilante exhaled a loud grunt of pain.
The monster reached down for the fallen figure, but the Batman rolled out the
way. He came up with both fists and delivered a sharp upper cut to the things jaw,
snapping its head back. This gave the fighter time to step away from the thing’s clutches.
Before he could comprehend what was happening, He saw the Dark Knight do
something inexplicable. The specter seemed to spray, what looked like black paint at the
creature. As the creature moved forward the Batman threw what appeared to be a white
cloth at the monster. The beast grabbed the object, looked at it for a second and discarded
it.
The vigilante threw three more of the small black things. All three struck the
nightmarish face of the demon. One managed to land directly into the black bulbous eye
next to the cut the first one inflicted. As the gigantic thing reared back, Batman jumped
and planted one of his boots in the same wounded eye driving the sharp black spike even
deeper.
But the Dark Knight was a little too slow. The beast swiftly caught the leg of its
opponent. With a thunderous blow it slammed the Batman onto the floor. The creature
flung its fist at his opponent’s head, connecting with a powerful haymaker.
The Batman rolled quickly toward the knees of the monster. Putting all of his
momentum into the roll the Dark Knight managed to trip the monstrosity sending it
tumbling end of end.
The Batman was backed up against the side of one of the loading platforms. He
tried to get to his feet, but his legs appeared shaky. Tom Bauer could see the monster
open its mouth to display rows of sharp yellow teeth. With a roar it lunged to sink them
into its opponent, Cornered the Batman seemed to know the collision was unavoidable.
The defender lifted his hands and held the spiked gauntlets in front of him. The
huge distended jaws chomped down with tremendous force. At the last moment Batman
raised his gauntlet and rammed it into the abominations mouth. The gauntlet began to
bend as blood dribbled down the monster’s chin.
As the two combatants struggle Tom could see the creature begin to claw the side
of the Batman. The security guard could see that the man was wearing some kind of body
armor, but the sharp black claws began to rip and shred the fabric. In a moment he saw
exposed bleeding flesh.
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Reacting with the same instinct that saved him through numerous tight spots as a
New York City cop, Tom Bauer grabbed the largest thing he could get to, a huge fire
extinguisher. Leaping from the top of the concrete balcony with a roar he brought the 50
lb metal objects on the back of the creatures head with all his might. The impact made a
sharp thudding sound quickly followed by a loud crack.
Leaping off the Batman the creature raised itself on shaky legs to its full height.
Frozen in fear Tom Bauer seemed to realize that there is nothing he can do that will stop
such a demon. His last thoughts were of his wife and children.
But before the creature could attack, the Batman leaped to his feet. Pushing the
guard back he screaming, “Get behind me!” As he did, he threw something and covered
the fallen security guard.
In that second the world ripped apart in a deafening explosion of noise smoke and
fire. The impact sent the monstrous beast flying backward. Batman and Tom Bauer were
likewise knocked off their feet. Before Tom can even process what has happened the
vigilante regained his footing.
“What the heck was that?”
“Flash bang grenade. You okay?”
“Yeah I guess so, but that thing…”
Before he could say another word he heard the splintering, shattering sound of
glass breaking. The monster had jumped out of the side window and with a roar began to
run away. Through the smoke and dust Tom Bauer could just make out the last traces of
the deformity as it ran into the night.
“I have to catch it. The sedative I shot it with should soon render it unconscious.”
“Are you sure?”
“No…not exactly.”
Getting to his feet the security guard began to slowly move his arms and legs to
see if anything is broken. As he did the Batman rose and took two steps forward before
stumbling to one knee.”
Grabbing and steadying the masked figure the security guard chided him, “Whoa
there fellow, you are in no shape to pursue anything. In case you didn’t notice, blood is
running out of the hole in that mask of yours. From the way you are holding it, I’d say
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your wrist is broken. Meanwhile that wound in your side is also dripping blood. I better
call an ambulance.”
The Batman grunted and said, “No, no ambulance, I have resources.” With that he
stepped away from the security guard. Tom Bauer glimpsed him speak into a smaller
black box that he could only assume was a portable walky talky. He could not hear what
was being said, but he overheard the word Elba or Alden or something like that.
Quickly scanning the area the Batman picked up the syringe and the dart. The
vigilante looks around and retrieved the white cloth that he threw at the monster. The
security guard watched as he put both the dart and the cloth in a compartment on his belt.
The two men stood there staring at each other. Tom Bauer broke the silence,
“What was that thing?” In a low guttural tone the figure in black responded, “I’m not
sure, something a mad scientist cooked up. I’m not going let it kill anyone else.”
Batman walked to the same window the creature exited from. But before leaving
he turned to the security guard, “Thank you for saving my life. Please tell the authorities
as little as possible. The police in Gotham cannot stop that thing and they will only get in
the way.”
Tom Bauer wasn’t sure what he was going to say. If nothing else he knew he’d
have quite a story to tell his family.
********
The being that had been James Rocky was lost, hurt, enraged and afraid. What
had attacked him, what could hurt him so bad? It realized that its face was torn wide
open and it had lost a lot of blood. The monster could not understand that the electricity
the enemy had used against it had caused partial organ failure. It could barely inhale and
its exhalations were coming in rasping grunts. Part of its brain had been fried and it had
trouble processing the information its hyper senses were picking up.
It did not hear a large armored vehicle approach from behind it. The van came to a
stop about fifty feet from the monster. Six men got out of the vehicle. All six were
wearing gray and brown urban camouflaged fatigues. Each man had fully loaded M-16
A1 rifles with a 30 round magazine.
One of the men said, “Well I’ll be, this nightmare really exist.” The leader of the
team growled, “Of course it exists. We were told that it was real.” The man replied, “I
guess that Batman guy did a real number on it.” The leader answered, “So it would
appear.”
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Another soldier asked, “What’s our orders, do we waste the thing right here?”
With that he raised his weapon.
“The leader quickly answered, “Negative soldier, we have other means.” With
that he produced a dart gun loaded with a large hypodermic syringe. He took aim at the
monster.
Now aware that it was not alone the being that was once James Rocky recognized
the threat. These six were not like the old prey, soft, weak. But they weren’t like the
creature that hurt him so badly. These six knew fear and were hesitant.
But then his hyper senses detected something. One of the creatures surrounding
him held a chemical similar to the one who had hurt him. Only this chemical was even
stronger. As strong as from the place where he first escaped. In its mind the James
Rocky thing had some idea of life and death, existence and nonexistence. It knew that
this chemical could hurt him very badly.
As soon as its injured brain recognized the threat it immediately began filling its
body with powerful hormones and adrenaline. The creature roared and leapt at the men.
One of the soldiers yelled, “Captain watch it, that things moving.” With that he
fired the automatic weapon and put ten rounds into the monsters side. The creature
doubled over but rose to its full height determined to attack again.
This was all the time the Captain needed to fire the dart directly at the monstrous,
deformed face and scored a direct hit. Before the gargantuan had time to pull the dart
out, the syringe forced the full amount of the deadly fluid into the thing.
The chemicals reacted instantly within the manufactured physiology. In a matter
of seconds every cell in its body was flooded with the lethal concoction. One by one they
began to shut down, and die.
The creature felt no pain, it did not scream, it did not attempt to escape. Gripping
its chest it fell to the ground. Within a matter of seconds it was dead.
The soldiers slowly approached the corpse. One of the soldiers gave it a couple of
good swift kicks. When it did not move one of the soldiers stated, “Wow, looks like your
witches brew worked; that things road kill.”
The Captain did not respond to this instead he barked orders. Sergeant, bring the
van up. The rest of you lift that thing into the van. Someone may have heard the shots.
We have to get the carcass back to the boss. Come on, double time!
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Working quickly, it took the soldiers less than a minute to load the remains into
the van and climb in with it. As the van drove away, the group leader made a call on a
remote satellite radio. Speaking slowly and clearly in case the transmission was a bit
garble he said, “Dr. Artemis Daniels this is Captain Nick Verail. We have the package
and are in route. We encountered no resistance and no one saw us.” The voice on the
other end replied, “Very good captain, then everything is going according to plan. We are
back in business.”
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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Status Update.
Bart Tobler had reasoned that there were probably only two good things that had
come out of the Batman clap trap. The first was that for the moment he had a job. The
second was that he struck up a friendship with Jim Gordon, a man of unflinching
integrity.
Under the guise of comparing notes the two had met for breakfast. It was supposed
to be a work related meeting but in fact it was a chance to spend some time with one of
the few men he could trust. He didn’t know how the policeman would react when he told
him, “You heard me right Officer Gordon, I’m seriously considering resigning at the
Gazette.”
“Why would you want to do that? You are the most famous journalist in Gotham.
Is it true that Bob Woodward asked to write a book with you?”
“You can talk to my Hollywood Agent or my P.R. man.”
“Okay, I admit that I’m disgusted with all the hype, I mean why do you think I got
in touch with you in the first place. You’re honest, and you get your story straight. I
shudder to think how some of your colleagues (saying the words with special disgust) in
the media would have reacted. I know it’s a circus, heck it’s the same at the precinct. But
you got to live above all of that nonsense.”
Tobler responded, “You can do that, you’re an honest cop, one of the few. But me,
I’m part of the problem. This guy is a sociopathic criminal and the paper is getting rich
off of it. Just to let you know Bob Woodward has more class than to write a book on
Batman. But I’ve had other offers for book deals and someone wanted to discuss the
movie rights with me.”
“So, do your job. Report the facts.”
The reporter looked at the detective, “I wasn’t raised to be part of a corrupt
system. When you think of a black man in Chicago you probably think of someone
growing up in a ghetto. But that’s not me. My father is a physician and my mother is a
school principal; she even published several text books. I guess I get my skills as a writer
from her. I grew up in a financially comfortable home.”
Stopping for a moment the journalist dug in his back pocket for his wallet.
Reaching into the wallet he took out a picture. He continued, “My parents are leaders in
our church and were active in the civil rights movement. Here let me show you a picture
my mom took of my father and I when was I was a toddler. You might recognize the guy
whose lap I’m sitting on.” With that he handed James Gordon the picture.
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Gordon took the picture and was taken aback, “Holy Cow! That’s Martin Luther
King Jr.!”
Bart Tobler went on, “Yep, that’s the kind of people my father was friends with.
But do you know what he did when wasn’t meeting with national figures.” Without
waiting for a reply he continued, “He volunteered two days a week at a free clinic
treating people who had no way to pay for a doctor. When my mother wasn’t addressing
a national conference of educators she was doing crafts with preschoolers in Sunday
School. That’s the kind of people they are and that’s how I was brought up to be.”
James Gordon thought about this for a moment. But before he could reply the
journalist continued, “One thing my parents taught me was that if I am supposed to be a
Christian I should be a man of integrity. I became a reporter because I love writing and I
respect journalist standards. I take great satisfaction in telling people the truth.”
The policeman thought about this for a moment and said, “Well in a way that is
what we are both trying to do. My job is to get to the truth. There are darn few doing that
in Gotham. Most of my colleagues are crooks. That’s why they want us to get the
Batman, before he gets to them.”
Bart Tobler answered, “My father told me that whether you’re changing the world,
or changing a bandage, if you’re not telling the truth you’ve completely lost your
purpose. Once you tell one lie, there’s no way anyone can really know if you’ve ever told
the truth again.”
Both men stood in silence. Then the reporter exclaimed, “This whole story has
spiraled down into a sewer of sensational, hype and propaganda. Sure it sells newspapers.
But I’ve gone from being a credible journalist to the ring leader of this circus. Now the
facts don’t matter, only what sells!”
Now it was Gordon’s turn to get reflective, “Kid I understand what you’re saying.
I have seen cops who are so dirty they forgot what it meant to be clean. They took an oath
to protect and serve. They were supposed to stand for something. But then they go to the
other side and make a mockery of all that we are supposed to uphold. But I am not giving
up because if I did, then they win. You’ve heard it said that the only thing that needs to
happen for evil to thrive is for good people to do nothing.”
Bart thought about this for a moment and quietly replied, “Yeah. I’ve considered
that. I mean I can’t be responsible with how others distort the information I report on.
But I don’t know...”
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“Mr. Tobler you have a job to do. If you aren’t the one to tell the truth then who
is? Without people like you it’s only going to get worse.”
The reporter chuckled, “That’s true. At the rate things are going Dan Rather is
going to be doing stories on UFO’s and the New York Times will be doing daily Bigfoot
updates. Somebody has to stand for the truth.” He thought for a moment and said, “Well I
hear about some cable news channels that are in the works. Maybe they will hold
themselves to higher journalistic standards.”
*******
After the meeting Gordon decided he needed to walk to the precinct. He
remembered that the French had a word called espirit De’ escelar. This translates the
spirit of the staircase. It describes that feeling of regret when you think you should have
said something in a previous conversation that you only now thought of.
That was occurring overtime. He should have responded differently when his
friend accused Batman of being a sociopath. Thinking this through the policeman
believed that the vigilante was anything but that.
The crime fighter had inflicted some pretty serious injuries, but he had not killed
anyone. What’s more it was becoming apparent that the Batman had dispensed his own
brand of justice.
For instance people committing property crimes were roughed up and
incapacitated. But none of them, not one of them received anything more than a broken
arm, rib or mild concussion.
Organized crimes figures received serious injuries but nothing permanent. For
instance mob drug runner Gino Genneti received three broken ribs, a broken wrist and a
wrenched shoulder. Bill Stanton the dirty cop who was caught with 20 lbs of heroin near
a playground suffered two broken hips and a smashed nose. Joe Hargraves the guy on the
video received a seriously broken jaw. But all of those men will make a full recovery.
Finally serious violent felons were on the receiving end of some real violence and
possible permanent injury. Ramos Sanchez the Mexican drug dealer who was wanted for
murder in Mexico may never walk again. That serial killer Grady Dellwood is still in the
IC unit.
Gordon thought to himself that ordinarily he would be appalled by this, heck he
was appalled. But in Gotham, there’s no reason to believe that any of those men would
ever be brought to justice. In all likelihood the only ones who would even be arrested
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would be those who didn’t have enough money to bribe the arresting officer. Even then,
most of those criminals would buy their way out of prison.
He wondered what Bart would have said if he had brought this up. He figured that
the man would look to his unflinching faith. This was good; it was what gave the man a
moral compass. Everyone needed one of those. Jim thought that his could use a good
tuning up from time to time. As he walked he found himself saying under his breath,
“God I really could use some of that guidance my friend talks about.”
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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: Higher Chemical Enlightenment.
Jim Gordon took several deeps breath and let out a long sigh. He knew what was
coming and that made it worse. He encouraged himself by constantly repeating softly, “I
will get through this, I will get through this.” After several minutes of this he caught
himself saying, “With God all things are possible.”
Gordon shook his head and asked himself where did that come from? That darned
Bart Tobler was rubbing off on him. Oh well, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. He
needed some divine intervention about now.
Picking up the telephone he dialed the extension. The phone rang, once, twice and
after the third ring he heard a voice say, “Hello Timothy’s mortuary you stab’em we
slab’em. We are at your and everyone else’s disposal.”
“Dr. R Lee. Timothy, this is Jim Gordon.”
“Oh yeah Gotham’s caped crusader connection. Catch any creatures of the night?
“Can we not have all this fooling around, time is short. Dr. Timothy, I wondered
what you found with those samples?”
Gordon was surprised to hear silence on the other end of the line. Normally, Dr.
Timothy would never be at a loss for words. After a few moments it was the scientist’s
turn to let out a loud sigh.” The scientist said, “Well we don’t know.”
“Who do you mean by we?”
“I mean everyone. I had permission to send samples to three major commercial
labs, the FBI, the CDC, Johns Hopkins, AMRID and Interpol. And we all came to the
same conclusion.”
“Which is?”
“We don’t know squat. We examined eight samples. Each sample contained
basically two things. The first was an unknown chemical. We don’t know what it is, but it
appears to be a virus, except it has a longer amino chain than any virus known to man. It
was surrounded by several other chemicals that no one can identify.”
Gordon listened intently, when the scientist paused again, The Lieutenant prodded
him, “Go on.”
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“Well there are some theories that we may one day be able to inject a virus into
living organism. That virus would contain genetically altered material. The material then
bonds with the living organism’s DNA. This leads to desired changes in the organism.”
“Is this possible?” Gordon asked.
Not now and not anytime real soon. Even if the viral delivery system was in place,
you would need to create a chemical that would yield the desired results. DNA is just too
complicated. Imagine a rubik’s cube the size of the moon, with millions of sides and
millions of squares on each side. Now imagine solving that cube.”
Gordon got the idea. It was similar to what the scientists at Advanced Medical
Solutions told him. He thought for a moment and replied, “You said that there were two
chemicals in each sample…”
“Officer Gordon.” Dr. Timothy said in an uncharacteristically soft voice.
“Yes.”
“Listen I like to laugh and joke and have a good time, but this has got me bugged.”
“In what way?”
“The second chemical was human DNA…sort of!”
“Sort of?”
“Each sample had the DNA, from the same white, male. But each sample is a little
different.” The Chemist replied.
“Different in what way.”
“In Each sample the DNA was less human than the one before. The first sample
was about 95 % human. The last was less than 70%.”
“But how could it be from the same person?”
“All of the unique genetic markers carried over from sample to sample.”
“So what does that mean?” Gordon asked.
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Well each person has unique DNA. We looked at the part of the DNA that we use
to separate one person from the next. Each sample contained that DNA sequence. But
other portions of DNA were increasingly altered.”
When Gordon didn’t reply, the analyst exclaimed, “Don’t you get it. Whatever
that thing was, it was becoming!”
“Becoming”
“Dude, do I have to spell it out for you? The first sample came from something
that was about 95% human. The last sample came from the same person, or thing, or
creature feature, but it was only about 70% human.”
Now it was Gordon’s turn to be silent, “Are you sure about this?”
“How can I be sure about stuff that hasn’t even been invented? I don’t know,
nobody knows. But it looks to me that somebody has created a way to change human
physiology into….something, whatever. I can say that we are in the twilight zone,
through the looking glass, Dr. Frankenstein, Jekyll and Hyde, the island of Dr. Moreau
stuff. Man I can only wish this was a bad acid trip, because knowing this is real is a lot
worse.”
Gordon took a moment to collect his thoughts. He asked, “What is it becoming,
what kind of creature is it turning into? I’ve seen what it did to a homeless man and we
got a report from a security guard who saw this thing fight Batman. I want you to tell me
biologically speaking, what is this thing? ”
“Biologically speaking no one has any idea. But if the reports are true somebody
whipped up Frankenstein on steroids.”
The two men talked for a little longer, but Gordon had no more questions to ask.
He concluded by saying, “And you will send a copy of your report over to our offices.”
“Yeah man, I’ll have Mr. Scott bean it over; you’ll get the full gestalt.”
Gordon ended by saying, “Well you seem to have done good work here. Thanks
for all your help.”
“Yeah that’s what we get paid the big, big bucks for. It’s quitting time and I’m
going to go make a deliberate chemical assault on that portion of my brain that processes
this information.”
Lieutenant Jim Gordon wished he had that luxury.
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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: Scientific Advancements.
Dr. Keith Krueger and Dr. Jason Bohl stood nervously in their makeshift
laboratory in the bowels of Blackgate Prison. The two men tapped their fingers, walked
in little circles and checked their watches every few seconds. “Where is that incompetent
fool?” One of them scowled. The other one grunted, “He needs to be here now!” This
exchange had been going on for the last 30 minutes.
Dr. Jason Bohl knew that they had a limited window. With the recent fiasco
involving the first creature, the authorities were beginning to expand their search.
Certainly there was nothing that would lead them to Blackgate, they had been far too
careful for that. But, there was always the possibility that those morons could accidently
stumble on to something. Besides, who knew what that Bat creature’s methods or agenda
is?
When those three idiots at the lab got themselves killed it meant that the
responsibility fell on himself and his colleague. Dr. Artemis had made the need for
efficiency very clear; there was to be no screw ups. The procedure was to move forward
tonight. He was not a man to be ignored. If that idiot, that gross, incompetent fool
Lambert did not come through he would have to get the guards to bring the subjects
which could take time.
This night was chosen because of a major storm that was coming through Gotham.
Even this deep in the prison Jason Bohl could hear thunder. The plan was for the three
men to be scheduled for a prison transfer. Along the way the prison bus was going to skid
off a bridge presumably killing the three inmates.
The two guards were going to jump clear of the vehicle and make a miraculous
escape. Or so they though, in fact there were going to be no survivors. When the
authorities got around to retrieving the van they would find that the back door had jarred
open. The only conclusion will be that the three prisoners and two guards been killed and
their bodies wash away.
His next thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable clanging of the rusty metal
door at the end of the hallway being opened. As the door slammed shut with a sharp
bang, Dr. Bohl heard footsteps moving toward him. As they approached he began to
make out what they were saying, “Where are we….are we still in Blackgate…I’ve never
been to this part of the prison…” He could hear the sharp cruelty in the guards voices
saying, “Shut up and keep moving…we don’t have all day…Say one more word and you
won’t make it to the end of the hallway.”
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A few seconds later Dr. Eric Lambert entered the room accompanied by three
inmates wearing hand cuffs and leg irons. They were surrounded by the same two huge
guards who usually brought the subjects down.
Once in, Dr. Lambert signaled to the guards and they unlocked the restraints. The
prisoners shook their hands to get some feeling back into them. Dr. Lambert handed each
of the guards an envelope containing cash and the usual assortment of pharmaceuticals.
Dr. Keith Krueger looked over the three prisoners. The first was tall and thin with
thick, wavy black hair. Dr. Krueger judged the man to be in his late twenties. He bore
several tattoos on his neck and several scars on his face. Dr. Lambert said, “This is
Wayne Logan. He’s 28 years old, doing two life sentences for the murder of two of
Gotham’s finest.”
Mr. Logan did not respond to this information, but one of the other two men
smirked and said, “All right.” The next two men looked a lot alike. They were both heavy
set, with what Dr. Krueger thought of as a dumpy, stupid look on their face. They both
had a smattering of facial hair and both men were missing teeth.
Dr. Lambert continued, “This is Dalton and Caleb Murphy. They are brothers age
26 – 27. They are both serving life sentences in the psychiatric wing of Blackgate for a
number of crimes that involve murder and cannibalism. They were considered too
dangerous for Arkham Asylum.”
Dr. Bohl looked at the men as he thumbed through the report that Dr. Lambert had
assembled on them. He noticed that the subjects had a vacant far away stare. That meant
that the tranquilizers that Dr. Lambert had been order to give the men were taking effect.
After a minute of reading he turned and addressed the three men. “You know what is
being asked of you? You understand that there is no turning back.”
The three men looked at each other and then at the doctor. They nodded their
heads in agreement. One of the brothers asked, “Are you going to turn us into zombies?
Dr. Jason Bohl chuckled at this and thought that turning the Murphy brothers into
zombies would likely increase their IQ’s. Instead he answered, “Oh my no, you have the
fortune of being the next wave in human evolution. We are going to bring you to your
full potential. We will make you better than you have ever been, better in fact than
anyone has ever been.” A wicked smile appeared on his face.
The two brothers looked at each other and simultaneously said, “Cool!” All while
giving each other high fives.
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Looking very stern Dr. Krueger spoke up, “Lambert have all the arrangements
been made?” Dr. Eric Lambert obediently nodded his head, “Yes the van will take off as
soon as I give the order. It will never arrive.”
Dr, Bohl broke in, “Well let us begin.” The three inmates looked at each other
apprehensively, but none were willing to show weakness.
The three men were asked to remove their clothes and lay down on metal gurneys.
They were strapped down around the forehead, neck, upper and lower arms, chest, waist,
thighs, knees and ankles. Oxygen masks were placed over their faces. That task
completed they were wired up to a series of machines, that measured heartbeat, blood
pressure, body temperature, and respiration. One of the men murmured through the mask,
“What’s all this for? We were told we were gonna take a pill.”
Dr. Krueger continued to focus on his work and murmured, “This is all part of the
procedure; try to relax.” Reaching into a metal cabinet he produced three large IV bags.
Dr. Lambert noticed that the bags were slightly larger than the last time they performed
this procedure. The liquid was still green, and reminded him of radiator fluid. But it was a
little darker than before and cloudier. In fact he could see what appeared to be thick
gelatinous globs floating in the medicine. He looked closer to see some tiny dark specks
swirling in the fluid. He spoke quietly, but audibly, “Are those things alive in there?”
Keith Krueger turned to Dr. Lambert and spoke in a menacing and demeaning
voice, “Here is where we need your unprecedented skills as a physician. Please insert the
IV’s. Do you think you can do that?” Dr. Lambert did not reply but began to insert an IV
into the back of each man’s hand.
As the IV’s were attached, the three inmates began to jerk at their restraints.
Wayne Logan gritted his teeth and growled through his mask, “What is that stuff? What
are you doing to us; I should have known better than to trust you.” Dr. Bohl patted the
man’s head in a reassuring, but condescending way and replied, “Now, now you must not
be apprehensive. You are our star subjects. We are going to take good care of you.”
With that the two scientists and Dr. Lambert began to stare at the IV bags. They
watched as the green liquid oozed out of the bag and dripped, dripped, dripped into the
IV line. Each drip leaving a small thin string connected to the next drip.
All six men remained silent. The three had virtually no movement, still they
attempted to glance around. They strained at the restraints, while flexing their hands open
and close. The two scientists stared impassively, unblinking. Then one of the inmates
spoke through the mask, “Hey, I’m starting to feel kinda hot.” Dr. Lambert saw a thin
sheen of perspiration beginning to build on the man’s skin. Jason Bohl spoke into a small,
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hand held cassette tape recorder, “All three subjects’ body temperature are up 3 degrees.
Oxygen intake has increased 11%. Average heart rate is around 93 beats per minute.
Dr. Bohl checked the equipment and said, “Right on time and just as I expected.”
A minute later the first man’s brother exclaimed, “Man, I’m sweating like a pig in a
butcher’s shop. Is this supposed to happen?” Dr. Krueger grunted noncommittally and
replied, “You’re fine.”
Four minutes later Dr. Bohl turned on the cassette recorder, “Eleven minutes into
the procedure and average body temperature is 104 degree, blood pressure 180/110, pulse
rate is 107 beats per minute.”
Within a few minutes all three men were shaking, and gasping for air. Dr. Bohl
responded to this by opening up the oxygen valves all the way. The men’s skin was
turning bright red, and beading up with rivulets of oily sweat.
Dr. Krueger added a saline bag to each man’s IV line. Meanwhile Dr. Bohl
instructed Dr. Lambert, “There are some cold packs in that small metal refrigerator. Can
you apply them to the back of the men’s neck and their forehead? Eric Lambert replied,
“We didn’t do that before.” Dr. Krueger all but lunged at the man and roared, “Well
we’re doing it now. Go get the ice packs!” Dr. Lambert quickly complied.
Dr. Bohl made another recording, “Seventeen minutes into the procedure and the
average body temperature for the three men is 108 degrees, average blood pressure is
210/ 140 and their pulse rate has sky rocketed to 140 beats per minute.”
The two scientists and Dr. Lambert watched as one by one the three inmates went
into cardiac arrest. Wayne Logan began to scream, and wreathe, his fists were clenched
so tight that his hands were bleeding. He was pounding the metal table with such ferocity
Eric Lambert thought that the man had likely broken his hands.
The two Murphy brothers were in even worse shape. Dalton Murphy, the heavier
of the two was convulsing in strobbing, epileptic jerks. His fat frame strained at the
restraints and his body hit the metal tablet making a sound that reminded Dr. Lambert of
wet hamburger slapping a burning hot grill. The man was making deep, choking sounds.
Blood was coming from his nose and running into the oxygen mask.
Caleb Murphy the younger of the two was wailing and crying out for what
sounded like his mother. Blood laced foam was drooling out his mouth and out of the
oxygen mask. Dr. Jason Bohl noticed that his head restraint was not on tight enough. The
man was banging the back of his head on the metal table. The noise almost sounded like a
steel drum beat. Dr. Bohl quickly adjusted the head restrain and forced a suction tube into
the man’s mouth.
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The chaos continued for several minutes, with the situation continuing to
deteriorate. Dr. Lambert could see that the subjects had voided their bladders and could
smell that they likewise released their bowels. All three men continued to convulse
violently while screaming and retching. Caleb Murphy had twisted his right arm enough
to dislocate it from his shoulder.
Dr. Bohl and Dr. Krueger worked feverishly to contain the emergency. They
continued to suction the subject’s mouth in order to prevent them from choking to death.
Dr. Lambert was instructed to get another set of ice packs as the previous ones had
already melted. Cold compresses were applied to the inmate’s foreheads, restraints were
tightened and the scientists began to massage muscles that were constricted so much they
barely looked human. Dr. Lambert was told to be ready with adrenaline injections and
have the defibulator standing by.
Finally after nearly five minutes of this agonizing chaos the three men began to
quiet. Wayne Logan’s heaving gasps calmed to a simple panting. He released the grip on
his own hands. Dalton Murphy’s screams slowly began to calm to softer sobbing and a
low moaning sound. Dr. Bohl turned on his recorder and spoke exhaustedly, “All three
subjects seem to be calming down. Blood pressure, oxygen intake, temperature has
stabilized.”
Dr. Lambert had never seen this kind of chaos in all of his years as a physician.
All of the cabinet doors and draws were open. Emergency equipment of one sort or the
other littered the floor. The room stank of perspiration, excrement, and vomit. The metal
tables were dripping bodily fluids.
The two scientists were both covered with sweat; drained from the ordeal. Dr. Bohl
continued to monitor the subject’s vitals but wobbled unsteadily on his feet. Dr. Krueger
stooped on a chair with his head hanging almost between his legs.
After about fifteen minutes a wicked smile curled Jason Bohl lips and he spoke
more animated that he had previously, “The patient’s conditions have stabilized, all of
their vitals are returning…”he hesitated and continued, “…returned to a semblance of
normal.” With that he clicked off the recorder and let out a small chuckle.
Dr. Krueger looked up and said, “We will know more when the subjects awaken.”
The three men began to clean up the place and after about thirty minutes the room
was restored to some order. The inmates had been sponge bathed down and they were
released from their restraints. Dr. Lambert could see the immediate results. The three
men’s bodies had changed. Their muscular structure was so well defined it looked like a
cross between a body builder and someone who had their top layers of skin removed.
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One by one the men began to wake up. All three were groggy and disoriented.
They began to look at their arms and legs while flexing their hands open and closed.
Wayne Logan hopped off the gurney only to find his legs were very shaky. He sat down
for a moment and got up again, this time gaining his balance.
Caleb Murphy stood up and looked around the room as if it were the first time he
had seen it. He stared at his hands for a while and began to stretch and flex his arms. His
brother Dalton shook his head trying to clear the cobwebs. He began to bend and twist at
the waist. In a moment he was shadow boxing as if he was trying to regain some measure
of control.
Dr. Krueger spoke in a calm almost fatherly voice. “It will take some time for you
to get your orientation back. The procedure was a success. Welcome gentlemen to your
new life.” The three men just looked at him. Keith Krueger lowered his voice and asked,
“Do any of you remember anything?”
Disoriented, they all asked, “What happened? Where are we? What did you do to
us? Why do we look like this?” As the fog lifted the three men began to notice their new
physique. Dalton Murphy asked, “Hey I’m not fat anymore, but why do I look like this.”
Dr. Bohl jumped in, “Gentlemen, all will be explained. You will be told in detail
what happened as well as the wonders that are ahead. But first we need to get you out of
Blackgate Prison.”
Caleb Murphy spoke up, “Oh yeah, we’re still in Blackgate.” The other two
looked up, the realization dawning on them. Wayne Logan asked, “How are we leaving?”
Jason Bohl pointed to the hallway, “There is a prison van waiting. It is supposed to
transfer you to the hospital. But we will be let out of the van at the 23 street Bridge.” The
Murphy brothers nodded, recognizing the bridge Dr. Bohl was referring to. The scientist
continued, “At that point the driver will place a rock on the accelerator and jam the
steering wheel. The force should send the bus over the bridge. The authorities will
assume that the van went out of control in the storm.”
The two Murphy brothers looked at each other and simultaneously exclaimed,
“Cool!” The two men high fived each other, but this time the slap was so hard the
resulting noise caused the scientists and Dr. Lambert to wince from the sound.”
Keith Krueger asked, “Is anyone thirsty?” He held up three large bottles of water.
All three men spoke as one, “Kinda thirsty but more hungry, very hungry.”
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Jason Bohl smiled and said, “Good that’s the reaction that we were looking for.
“The van made a run to the nearest Fast Jack’s Gourmet Burgers. We have a huge bag of
two dozen of their one pound burgers with extra cheese and double the special sauce.” He
paused and said, “That’s two dozen for each of you.”
Wayne Logan grunted and said, “That’s a good appetizer but what’s the main
course? What I really want to know is when do I get to take care of business?”
The two scientists looked at each other and one asked, “Business, what business?”
Wayne Logan grunted and growled, “I want to kill Batman. You see that stuff
about me being a killer isn’t exactly true.”
“What do you mean by not exactly true.”
“I may have over exaggerated a bit. I’m doing three years in Blackgate for fencing
stolen property. I’m not a murder. Well at least not yet, but I soon will be. I want to kill
Batman. You see, he killed my brother.”
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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: Medical Reexamination.
Dr. Artemis Daniels willed himself to be calm. Closing his eyes he pictured a
white dot in a sea of blackness. He willed the dot to grow smaller and smaller until it had
vanished completely. It was a technique from 15th century China. He had learned many
such techniques. He imagined a water fall covering him as he stood in a pool. As the
water cascaded over him he pictured the poisons, and imbalances being washed from his
body. As the water rose upward he imagined his flesh and bones relaxing and realigning.
He was in control.
Staring at the conference screen he inquired, “So Dr. Bohl, Dr. Krueger you tell
me that the next phase of the operation has been successful? Dr. Keith Krueger
responded, “Yes the three subjects endured the procedure normally and are now resting
comfortably in the new secure facility.”
“How have they progressed?”
“Quite well, in the last few days they have eaten approximately 150 pounds of
food, mostly beef, eggs, beans, and chicken. They have all put on at least 50 pounds of
muscle. That growth rate is expected to continue until they have reached their ultimate
height and weight.”
“Is their strength and endurance development going according to plan?”
“Seemingly so, we have been keeping track of their strength increase on our
weight machines. All three are very strong. By the time their development is complete we
are confident that the three subjects will meet the goal of lifting a fifteen hundred pound
weight over their heads. The creatures will have a far greater endurance than the winner
of the Boston Marathon and a reaction time nearly twice as fast as an Olympic
lightweight boxer. Their skin will be extremely dense and their internal organs will be
highly resistant to injury.”
Dr. Artemis Daniels nodded with approval and asked, “What about their mental
condition?”
Keith Krueger interjected, “All three are still a bit disoriented, and the two
brothers sometimes jabber incoherently, but they seem to be progressing as expected.”
“Continue.”
“They are interacting fine…that is…they seem to be getting along. They are
perfectly capable of communicating. They do fine with feeding, cleaning and dressing
themselves. But there is one thing.”
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“Yes.”
“That idiot Dr. Lambert claimed that the one volunteer named Wayne Logan was
in for a double homicide. This is not the case. The man was convicted of a fairly minor
property crime.”
“Really?”
“He somehow found out that we were doing something in the prison and
volunteered for the procedure.”
` “He did what?”
“The man is intelligent and resourceful. We have not had time to pursue it
thoroughly, but it seems Dr. Lambert may not have been as cautious as we had hoped.
Somehow Wayne Logan figured out that something was going on in the prison and
managed to get himself selected for the procedure. It seems that he believes Batman
killed his brother. The man is driven by his need to get revenge.”
“I did not think Batman had killed anyone.”
“That’s what we told him, but he still says that he wants to kill Batman.”
“Interesting.” The line was silent and Dr. Daniels asked, “Are the fail safes in
place?”
` Dr. Keith Krueger continued, “Yes. They require weekly injects with the formula
or they will go into painful withdraw and die. Plus the implanted bio-net allows complete
control over all sensation and motor function. The subjects know that if they do not obey
us, we can paralyze them with pain. We also have the ability to kill them at any time. I
press a button and they die instantly.”
He paused and continued, “I wonder if maybe we shouldn’t do that to Mr. Logan.”
Dr. Daniels answered back, “No, that will not be necessary. He knows who the
boss is. Besides, we may be able to put his hatred for Batman to good use. This is going
as well as I had hoped and more than enough to proceed to the next phase of the
operation.”
He hesitated and then spoke again, “…But it appears that there may have been a
setback.”
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Dr. Bohl asked, “What set back?”
“You remember our previous effort. As you are quite aware the project escaped
from the laboratory near the Gotham garbage collection plant. That creature engaged the
Batman prior to its containment.”
“Yeah that’s been all over the papers.”
“Well it seems that the ever resourceful Batman managed to get a set of the
creature’s fingerprints, which matched its previous incarnation. If I remembered correctly
that was a man named James Rocky. This gentleman was certified as being deceased.”
Dr. Bohl, exploded, “What! That’s impossible! When the creature’s hands
increased in size it both altered and faded the monsters fingerprints. Even if you could get
finger prints, they would be stretched and altered. There’s no way it could be traced back
to James Rocky.”
As I said, Batman has proven to be very, very resourceful. This leaves us with a
few loose ends. Did the two of you follow up on Blackgate as instructed?”
Dr. Bohl said, “Absolutely, after the subjects were loaded into the prison van we
went back to Blackgate. We took all of the equipment out and replaced it with a bunch of
useless items that was in the room before we arrived. It is now filled with boxes of old,
mildewed newspapers, broken furniture and cracked dinner wear.”
Dr. Krueger added, “Meanwhile the guards who drove the van that contained the
three subjects thought that they were being paid to crash the vehicle. They were in for a
rude surprise. Captain Verail and his mercenaries dropped the guards in the drink along
with the van. Nobody suspects, nor will they find anything out of place.
Dr. Bohl spoke up. “We stayed at Blackgate for a few minutes and sprinkled dust
and dirt all around to make it appear that no one had entered that room in years. I am sure
it will withstand scrutiny.”
He thought for a moment and added, “The guards who helped us don’t have a clue
who we were or what we were doing. I doubt that they even got a good look at us. But
Dr. Lambert is another story. He knows everything. He could easily lead the authorities
right to us.”
At this Dr. Daniels smiled and replied, “Don’t worry about him. He is one of the
loose ends that I was referring to.”
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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: Give and Take.
“So tell me one more time what happened. What did you say when you met
Batman?”
Forcing a suspect to repeat themselves over and over while pretending not to
understand what they were saying was the oldest interrogation technique in the book. The
idea was to pressure the person to contradict themselves or reveal holes in their story.
Lieutenant James Gordon smirked inwardly. These interrogation tactics were not going to
work on him. He was telling the truth. He always told the truth, if for no other reason
than when you tell the truth you only have to remember one story”
He betrayed his bemusement with a smile while saying, “You asked me what
happened? The same thing that happened the first four times I told you. Would it help to
speak Espanol?”
Captain Keith Irey and his thug assistant Tim Lorenzo were not amused. They
were from Internal Affairs and were in charge of questioning him after his recent
encounter with Batman. Captain Dan Good sat in the corner. He was watched the whole
interrogation but did not comment.
Gordon eyed the two other cops contemptuously. He had open disdain for the
larger man. As far as he was concern Officer Tim Lorenzo had no skills as, and no
business being, a cop. He was part of a trend by Gotham PD to hire huge, tough goons
who sole qualification as police officers were their willingness to beat someone to a
bloody pulp on a moment’s notice. Of course if the goon they hired was racist and willing
to through a little extra effort toward minorities, well so much the better.
Captain Irey was an older man with sagging features and a face spotted by
blemishes. It was the worst kept secret in Gotham that Irey was dirty. He had been an
inside informer for a number of racketeers. No one could nail him for anything. That was
assuming anyone even cared. The man walked with a stoop and Gordon noticed that he
had a number of nervous tics. He spoke in a winey New Jersey accent. Glaring up at
Gordon the captain squeaked, “Listen somethin’ doesn’t add up. Why should the
mysterious Batman be contacting you? There is no reason for it, unless you are working
with the guy.”
Gordon responded, “I don’t know Batman’s motivations. You will have to ask
him. I guess he wanted Gotham PD to have some information and I’m the only cop he
can trust.”
“Is that what he said to you?”
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“No I told you what he said to me.”
“Tell me again. And while we’re at it suppose you explain to me why you’re such
good friends with that jig reporter?”
Now it was Jim Gordon’s turn to be mad, “You want to knock it off with the racial
slurs. I have an arrangement with Mr. Bart Tobler. He’s an excellent reporter and he gets
his story straight. Some people prefer to talk to him than to us and we cooperate. All of
this has been cleared.”
Before Captain Irye could say anything Dan Good interjected, “Gentlemen, The
Gotham Police Department’s relationship with this reporter is a matter of record. It is not
relevant to this discussion.”
Again Gordon was amazed at how Captain Good was behaving. He would have
thought that Good and Irye would be working on some illegal scheme. But here was
Good acting like a real cop. This Batman investigation seemed to bring out the legitimate
police detective in him.
The two interrogators were willing to let this go. Keith Irye spoke in a slightly
softer voice, “Okay when did he contact you.”
Gordon continued but made sure that neither his voice nor his mannerisms gave
anything away. He wanted to look perfectly detached. Speaking calmly he said, “I heard
the door bell ring at 3:00 AM. I thought it might be someone from the precinct or kids
playing a joke. I put my robe on and grabbed my piece. When I looked out of my living
room window I saw a black envelope attached to the porch railing. I opened the door and
grabbed the envelope when I heard a voice.”
“The Batman’s voice?”
“Yes, that’s what I assumed.”
“What did it sound like.”
“Like an empty growl from the darkest pits of Hades. It was completely void of all
human warmth.”
The two interrogating cops looked at each other. Officer Tim Lorenzo spoke,
“Really?”
Gordon smirked, “Of course not, it was a deep male voice.”
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Captain Irye balled his fist and took a step toward the lieutenant. Speaking in a
low menacing voice while shaking his head he growled, “Don’t push me Gordon, you
will lose and lose big time. Now would you recognize the voice if you heard it again?”
“Maybe, but I was still half asleep.” Gordon continued, “The Batman told me that
when he confronted the creature he was not sure that he would be able to capture the
thing. He wanted to at least get fingerprints. While engaging the monster he sprayed ink
on its hands. He then threw the beast a piece of cloth material that the thing threw back at
him. He retrieved the cloth after the fight. That cloth and some photos of the prints he had
lifted off of it were in a plastic evidence bag inside the envelope.”
“Did you see where the voice was coming from?” Officer Irey asked. Tim Lorenzo
grunted and asked, “Do you think maybe he was invisible and standing next to you.”
This time Gordon really was annoyed. He spoke forcefully, “Look, I think we
have more important things to worry about. The Batman pointed out, what we know to be
true. Those fingerprints are three times the size of even Officer Lorenzo’s paws. The
prints themselves are elongated. Don’t you see what that means?”
The other two cops looked at him without saying a word. He continued, “If we can
somehow match those prints to an existing set of prints, then it means that someone or
something changed an ordinary person into some kind of monster.”
The two men continued to stare. Realizing that he was getting nowhere with these
two Gordon addressed Captain Good, “”Dan, if there is a way to turn ordinary humans
into cannibalistic, super human demons then we’ve got to do something and I mean now.
Any such chemical would be the perfect biological weapon. What would keep someone
from dumping it into the Gotham reservoir?”
Nobody responded to this. After a lengthy moment of silence Captain Irey asked,
“What else did the mystery man say?”
Gordon stood up and exclaimed, “He pointed out what I just told you. We need to
find who those prints belong to. He suggested that we look at people who have gone
missing or were declared dead.”
Irey squeaked back, “And that’s what you did?”
Gordon continued, “I suggested to the task force that we start looking. We began
searching everything we could. We tried and are now trying to match those fingerprints
with people who have recently been declared deceased. We were doing fine until you and
you’re thug enforcer drug me in here.”
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Tim Lorenzo balled his hands into tight fists and growled through clenched teeth,
“You watch what you’re saying punk. I’m not the guy who always seems to find himself
entangled with public enemy number one.”
Gordon was about to say something when from out of nowhere Captain Dan Good
stepped between the two men. He spoke calmly, “Captain Irey, Officer Lorenzo, I believe
it is clear that Lieutenant Gordon has broken no laws and violated no policy. If this
known criminal vigilante wish to bestow evidence to Officer Gordon there is nothing the
good lieutenant can do but accept the evidence following all proper police protocols.”
The captain turned to Gordon and spoke, “This includes telling his supervisor everything
the moment something happens.”
Gordon stepped back. In a low voice he stuttered, “You were late getting in, I
didn’t see what the harm was in comparing finger prints. What else are we supposed to
do with what we have?”
Captain Good cut him off, “There was no harm. It was the next logical course of
action. Lieutenant Gordon, you serve on this task force at the pleasure of Commissioner
Loeb. If I even think you are helping that lunatic I will be the first to press charges.”
Gordon hesitated and thought about this for a moment, “Sir, I take my oath very
seriously. I would never aid a suspected criminal.”
Dan Good softened and responded, “I am quite certain that you would never do
such a thing.” Looking directly at the two internal affairs officers he exclaimed, “You are
an honest cop and I am sure any investigation is going to show that. I wonder if that is
true of other police personnel.”
With that Gordon knew the meeting was over. Captain Keith Irey and Officer Tim
Lorenzo glared as they began to gather their stuff. Captain Irey spoke, “I still wonder
why this Batman thing picked you Gordon.”
Gordon said nothing at first but then spoke, “If I am right about this, then we are
all in big trouble. I suggest that we spend less time chasing shadows and more time
worrying about the biggest threat to hit Gotham.”
Neither the two interrogators nor Captain Good responded to this claim. All three
walked to the hallway speaking amongst themselves in deep panting whispers. Gordon
knew that they were scared. Despite seemingly being injured, (Gordon still considered
the possibility that the Batman was a government project and more than one man was
behind that mask.) Batman has been very busy. Word was that nearly a dozen criminals
were brought into the hospital last night. Three of the injured were Gotham PD, including
a lieutenant.
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Gordon figured that Captain Dan Good and the rest of those dirty cops must really
feel like the Dark Knight was closing in.
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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: Forensic Discoveries.
“So you really think that’s our monster?”
“It’s the best we’ve got so far.”
All six members of the task force were gathered around the finger print card in
front of them. They were glad to have finally made a breakthrough through and elated
that they found their man.
A couple days ago Gordon had taken the finger prints that Batman had given him
to forensics. The forensic experts were stunned at what they saw; even to the point of
thinking that they were the victims of a practical joke. The finger prints looked too
stretched out to be human let alone to match any print in their system. One of the
technicians, referring to a popular kid’s toy, said that the prints looked like they belonged
to Stretch Armstrong.
When Gordon told them who gave it to him, they quickly became a whole lot
more serious. Realizing the gravity of the situation, they said that they would do their
best to match the fingerprints with the ones in their data base. In addition they shipped a
copy off to the FBI.
A couple of days after his encounter with the two goons from Internal Affairs
Forensics called back and told them that there was no match. If the creature had been an
actual human being at one time, that person was not in their system.
But the team was not finished. It was Sarah Essen who suggested that they
examine files of people who were recently deceased. Jeff Heist added that they should
look at people who were incarcerated at Blackgate Prison and Arkham Asylum.
The group suspected that whoever created this abomination might be influential
enough to be able to fake the subject’s death. Plus it seemed likely that they may have
picked someone from a captive group.
Since there was no data base with this information it had to be examined by hand.
The process was tedious and time consuming.
In addition it was not lost on any member of the team that John Keaton seemed out
of sorts. At first he was against this line of inquiry, but when it was made clear that there
were not a whole lot of other leads he went along with it. But he was often late and work
assignments were often late.
179
Despite this set back they had finally made a break through. They had found a set
of finger prints that matched the ones on the cloth.
The general public was unaware that when the police matched fingerprints they
did not match the whole print. They usually looked at specific marks that were referred to
as “points,” These were the curves and twists that all human finger prints contained.
These points were stretched on the fingerprints Batman provided. They were, however
still in roughly the same position in relationship to the rest of the print. Therefore while
difficult, it was possible to compare the two.
As the team gathered around the fingerprint card Gordon commented, “So James
Rocky is our man?” Essen responded, “It matches up, it took us a while because we did
not suspect someone who was both in Blackgate and reported dead.
A moment later Brian Switzer, holding a large manila folder, joined the group. He
spoke, “I pulled what information I could on James Rocky. He was serving a life
sentence at Blackgate for triple homicide. He was declared dead of acute Hepatitis a few
months ago.”
“Who declared him dead?” Gordon asked.
“Let’s see, according to this the prison doctor signed the death certificate. His
name is Eric Lambert.”
Gordon turned to the task force. Captain Good was on assignment and that left
him in charge. He began to give orders, “Officer Switzer, I want you to go find Captain
Good and tell him what we’ve found. But don’t do it too soon. Give me at least a two
hour head start. Jeff, I want you to find out where the body of Mr. James Rocky
supposedly went. Is it buried anywhere nearby? Stan, I want you to see if we have
anything on Dr. Eric Lambert. In addition I want you to take one more look at who owns
the lab at the dump and any connections there may be to Advanced Medical Solutions.
See if there is anything we missed the first time around.”
Lieutenant James Gordon turned to Sarah Essen and spoke, “You and I are going
to Blackgate. Before we do, there is a stop we need to make.”
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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: Prison Informants.
“Uh…Uh….Uhm Officer Gordon, may I say that this is most irregular.” The man
behind the desk looked more than a little uncomfortable as he spoke. James Gordon
thought that when William Galvin, the warden at Blackgate prison, woke up this morning
he probably thought that he was going to have an uneventful day. At this point, that
remained to be seen. He answered the man, “When I am irregular I use prune juice.”
Gordon noted that the Warden’s office was small but immaculate. The trash can
was empty and it looked like this was the first time anyone had sat in any of the chairs.
He suspected that the man had not actually done any work in it. The administrator was
fidgeting behind the clean, unmarked desk,
Mr. Galvin ignored the joke as he tried to maintain his composure. He managed to
say, “Really sir, I don’t know why you did not call ahead of time. The three of you just
dropping in unexpectedly like this is…well unexpected.”
Gordon almost laughed out loud. Bill Galvin was essentially a figure head who
had no experience running a prison, or really anything else. A few years ago a group of
businessmen got the bright idea to put together a public relations campaign to lure
potential businesses to Gotham. They visited the chamber of commerce of fifty of the
largest cities in the US. To that end, they brought along some important political,
community and business leaders. Many of these people were appointed to key positions
because of their good looks and speaking abilities. For instance, before she was the Head
of Gotham Social Services Chelsea Cole was a lounge singer and ran her own aerobic
dancing studio.
The plan had not worked. The most positive comment the efforts generated was
from a soft drink company whose CEO declared, “There’s not a chance in the world that
our business will have anything to do with that cesspool.”
Sarah Essen who was seated to Gordon’s right commented, “Mr. Galvin we are in
the middle of an important investigation. We told your secretary about the file we needed.
As soon as you provide us that information, we can resolve this matter.”
Warden Galvin managed to sit down and fold his hands. He spoke, “This is in
regard to an inmate here named James Rocky?”
“Yes, that’s correct. Are you familiar with him?” Gordon asked.
“Uh…I might remember the name…uh…you must understand that I can’t
possibly be familiar with all of the men who are imprisoned here.”
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“We understand.” Gordon’s replied. He wondered if William Galvin had even met
any of the inmates at Blackgate.
The four people in the room sat in silence waiting for the secretary to retrieve the
file. Gordon knew that the silence was uncomfortable. This was good. He wanted the
warden to sweat a little. Just because Bill Galvin was a figure head who rarely entered
Blackgate, did not mean that he was not involved in whatever was going on.
The silence was broken, when the Warden looked at the fourth person in the room
and exclaimed, “Wait a minute, haven’t I seen you before?”
Bart Tobler calmly replied, “I don’t know, have you?” Gordon had insisted that he
accompany them on this trip. The reporter was not at first clear why he was needed. He
was starting to get the picture when Bill Galvin stated, “Yes, I’ve seen you on television.
You’re that reporter Bart Tobler.”
The Warden jumped up and thrust a hand at him, “It’s an honor to meet you. I
have been following your reporting of this Batman story.” Pausing for a moment he
asked, “What brings you here? Does Gotham PD bring reporters on all of their
investigations?”
Gordon interrupted by saying, “Yes we never do anything without a reporter and a
television crew.” The warden replied with a steely gaze. Gordon knew he had gone too
far with that remark. He corrected himself, “Mr. Tobler has been working close with us
on this investigation.”
Bill Galvin lowered his voice and asked, “So you have met Batman? What’s he
like, I mean he is real isn’t he? Can you introduce me to him?”
The reporter smirked at the prospect and replied, “I’ll see what I can do. I mean if
you help us, then maybe we can help you.” Bart knew this was how Gotham worked.
Before the Warden could reply there was a knock on his office door. The secretary
opened the door and stated, “Here’s the file you requested, the one on the dead guy.”
*******
After the three visitors had thoroughly examined the information Lieutenant
Gordon closed the file and asked, “According to this James Rocky died of acute hepatitis
about three months ago.”
“If that’s what the file says, that must be what happened.”
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James Gordon handed the Warden a file he had brought with him. “As I am sure
you read in the paper…excuse me saw on television. Some sort of creature had terrorized
Gotham.” William Galvin nodded in recognition. Gordon continued, “The file you have
in your hand contains the finger prints that Batman managed to get from the creature
when he tried to stop it.”
The warden looked at the file. A look of utter astonishment came over his
handsome features. The man shut the file and stared straight and asked, “Are you saying
that this beast…this monster is James Rocky…or at least has his fingerprints?”
Essen spoke up, “That file was given to Officer Gordon by the Batman himself. I
made sure that the comparisons were correct. We matched our prints to James Rocky’s
prints. I compared them to the ones on file in Gotham, another set owned by the state
police and a third set in the FBI files. There is no doubt, that creature was James Rocky.”
William Galvin looked at Gordon, “What does this mean. How could a dead man
turn into a creature?”
James Gordon looked at Sarah Essen who commented, “That’s what we are here
to find out. Suppose you tell us what’s going on.” With that the three visitors sat up and
even edged their chairs a little closer.
“I don’t…I don’t know.” The man stared straight ahead; unmoving. Essen could
see that the man’s breathing had become faster and deeper. His face was getting red and
his eyes were watering up.
Speaking softly she asked, “Who else can help us. Who else in Blackgate can we
trust to tell us the truth?”
Speaking in an equally low volume Bill Galvin answered, “I don’t know. I really
don’t know anyone here. When they gave me this job, they told me that my duties were
more to the public relations end. I mean we have to keep up appearances.”
Bart Tobler asked, “Who signed off on the death certificate?”
Searching the file the Warden found the name and said, “Let’s see, according to
this the attending physician was the prison doctor. A man named Eric Lambert.”
“Have you ever met Dr. Lambert?”
“I think I might have been introduced to him when I was first hired here.”
“Can you or anyone tell us a little bit about the man?”
183
With that the Warden yelled for his secretary, who entered the room a moment
later. Ms. Virginia Spar was a buxom woman, about 50, with mostly gray hair and bright
blue eyes that seemed alert. Gordon figured that if anyone knew where all of the bodies
were buried in Blackgate, it was her.
The warden was about to speak when Ms. Spar waved him off. She began, “I
heard you through the door. You want to know about Dr. Eric Lambert?” She waited a
moment for a reply. When James Gordon nodded his head she pulled up a chair and
continued, “Yeah, I’ll tell you all about Dr. Lambert.”
*******
Lieutenant James Gordon figured that he had made Ms. Spar’s day. Clearly the
woman had some information to get off her chest. She spoke for nearly 30 minutes
without interruption. At the end of this epistle James Gordon came to several
conclusions 1) Dr. Eric Lambert had a lengthy history of corruption. The man was clearly
dirty. 2) Dr. Lambert had been sued quite a few times and was the focus of a shocking
number of investigations by the AMA. The man was incompetent. 3) The man came and
went from Blackgate at irregular hours. He often brought consultants in the prison. Ms.
Spar showed the log in records, virtually none of the names who listed themselves as Dr.
Lambert’s guest were legible. The man was up to no good. 4) The death rate at Blackgate
was by far and away the highest in the nation.
Waiting for the woman to pause to take a breath, Officer Essen asked, “Ms. Spar
who hired Dr. Lambert?”
“All of the specialized personnel, such as physicians, nurses, psychologists are
hired by the Gotham Department of Health or the Gotham Department of Social Services.
I believe that they have an outside agency that does the selection process and initial
interviews. You would need to contact those agencies to find out who actually hired Dr.
Lambert.”
With that the three visitors stood up. Lieutenant James Gordon extended his hand
to Warden William Galvin and spoke, “We thank you for your time. We will be in touch
if we need anything.” He then turned and taking the hand of Ms. Spar said, “Ma’am
you’ve been more than helpful. We thank you for your service.”
As the three began to leave Warden Galvin put up his hand and said, “Wait…un
Officer Gordon. What do I do now, I mean I know I have to conduct an investigation, but
I’ve never done anything like that. What’s the next step?”
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James Gordon replied, “Well the Gotham police need to be contacted as does the
district attorney’s office. From there they will get in touch with you and the three groups
can start the investigation.”
“Who do I call, can you recommend anyone?”
James Gordon thought about this for a moment and said, “I think I can have the
right guy from Gotham PD get in touch with you. As for the District Attorney’s
Office…uhm…” He thought about this for a moment and said, “There’s a new guy there
who is making a name for himself. He seems honest and is trying to make a difference.
His name is Harvey Dent, why don’t you give him a call.”
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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: Loose Ends.
“So the good doctor is not home huh, maybe he’s making a house call.” Lieutenant
James Gordon hoped that Stan Merkel found that comment humorous. He might as well
add a little levity. Since leaving Blackgate Island the news had been all bad.
Officer Stan Merkel fired back, his voice surprisingly clear over the static on the
police ban radio, “Not likely, Officer Andy Barnes asked a few of the neighbors if they
had seen anything. A couple of the witnesses said they saw him running to his car with
two suitcases. I seriously doubt he was heading for the golf course.”
Gordon gritted his teeth and punched the dashboard.
Sarah Essen turned slightly from her driving duties enough to admonish him, “Hey
take it easy on the car, it’s government property.”
The three of them were in an unmarked police that was at least 15 years old. The
car was loud and uncomfortable. The engine misfired and the muffler did not work,
neither did the passenger’s window nor one of the windshield wipers, nor the radio. The
interior upholstery was faded and torn in several places and the vehicle clearly smelled of
marijuana. Still, it did belong to the police department.
The Lieutenant sheepishly replied, “Sorry.” He knew he had to keep a clear head.
Still it would have been so much easier if Dr. Lambert had been home. Oh well, he
thought, we will have to work with what we have. He responded into the hand held mike,
“You have the make, model and license number of his car?”
“Oh yeah, a 1980 Corvette, cherry red, licenses number LQR 312.”
“Okay, put out an APB on that car and get a description of Dr. Eric Lambert to
anyone and everyone. He is wanted for questioning on charges related to…to…well
whatever the heck happened to James Rocky and all the damage that monster caused.”
“Got it.” Merkel replied.
Gordon took a moment to clear his throat and collect his thoughts. He asked,
“Merkel, did Brian Switzer come up with anything?”
“Yeah, we may have caught a break. A black and white did a drive by and George
Rogers may be home. The officer says that his car is out front and the upstairs light is on.
He even heard the television on through the open window.”
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Yes! Finally some good news. Before he left Blackgate James Gordon had Jeff
Heist, Stan Merkel and Brian Switzer make some discreet inquiries. The organization
who hired Dr. Lambert to work at Blackgate was called Professional Services Personnel.
They had their office in the same building as the Gotham City Department of
Corrections.
The man who actually hired Dr. Lambert was a guy named George Rogers.
Officer Heist was able to find out that the man had not come into work that day. Jeff
Heist had talked to a friend of his at The Department of Corrections and got the address
of Mr. Rogers. Gordon, Essen and Tobler were almost to the man’s house.
The lieutenant concluded the conversation, “Inform any units in the area that we
may need back up. We really don’t know what this guy is up to or what will find.
Meanwhile get to work on finding our lost doctor.”
Detective Merkel responded, “Will do, I’ll check the airport, maybe he’s going on
a missions trip.” With that, Gordon heard the click of Merkel’s mike.
As the car slowed down, James Gordon saw that they were in a blue collar
neighborhood. The houses were old and they looked a lot alike. Most were well kept and
many had bicycles and other children’s toys in their yards. It was not much different from
the one he lived in.
As the car turned yet another corner Sarah Essen pointed to a two story
brownstone and informed the others, “There it is. That’s the address we’re looking for.”
Gordon saw that the house had a driveway but told Sarah to park on the street.
Passing the house, she drove to the first available parking space which was about three
car spaces down. As the three began to exit the unmarked police vehicle, Bart Tobler
asked, “Hey guys, what kind of car did Merkel say Dr. Lambert was driving?”
Officer Sarah Essen responded, “A red, 1980 Corvette, license number…LQR 312
I think. Why?”
Pointing to a car across the street the reporter replied, “Because, that’s it over
there.” Both officers stopped to look at this. Gordon commented, “So Mr. Rogers has
company.” Essen replied, “This has just gotten interesting.”
Standing at the edge of the front steps all three gave the house a once over look.
Gordon took a deep breath and said, “So this is where Mr. Rogers lives. Let’s see if it’s
still a lovely day in the neighborhood.”
*******
187
As they approached the front door, they noticed that there was a second side door
that had steps leading to the second floor. Gordon saw that the address Merkel had given
him indicated that George Rogers lived upstairs. Sarah knocked on the front door of the
bottom floor.
A few seconds later a woman opened the door. She was young with curly brown
hair and glasses. She was holding a baby wrapped in pink while another young child
(Gordon guessed the other little girl was about five years old) clung protectively to her
mother’s leg.
In a well practiced move both Lieutenant James Gordon and Officer Sarah Essen
held out their badges. Seeing this, the women stepped back while her expression
immediately went from cautiously curious to a shocked look of concern.
Both cops smiled and Sarah Essen spoke softly but matter-of-factly, “Ma’am my
name is Officer Sarah Essen, and this is my partner James Gordon we are officers with
the Gotham City Police Department. Do you live here?”
The woman raised her hand to her chest as if to catch her breath, “Yes, my name is
Rhonda Zwelling, I live here with my husband Frank and my two daughters Margaret and
Betty.” Then her expression changed to real concern. Her voice went up about an octave
as she asked, “What’s wrong, is it something with Frank? Oh my….”
Sarah cut her off immediately, “No ma’am nothing like that. We just need to know
if Mr. George Rogers lives upstairs and if he is at home.”
With that the woman visibly relaxed. Taking a deep breath she said, “Yes he does
live here. In fact he owns this property. I believe he is home. That’s his car out front.”
Now it was James Gordon’s turn, “Have you seen Mr. Rogers or do you know if
anyone has been up there to see him?”
The woman thought for a moment and said, “Well there were at least two other
people with him earlier. I heard them talking. It seemed like they were in a heated
discussion. I don’t know what they said, but it sounded serious.”
“Did any of them leave?”
“Yes, somebody came running down those steps about three hours ago.”
“Did you get a look at this person?”
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“No, I’m sorry; I was getting Betty down for her nap.”
James Gordon looked at the Baby. He knew that this would soon be him. He
commented, “So this is Betty. She’s a doll.”
“Thank you. We are sure found of her.”
“My wife is pregnant with our first. We don’t if it is a boy or a girl, or what we
will name it. We considered Betty as a possible name.”
“It was my grandmother’s name.”
“Thank you for your time ma’am.” With that the three of them turned to the other
side door.
“Good luck with you investigation.” Ms. Zwelling replied. As she shut the door
Gordon heard the older child say, “Mommy I gotta go potty and can I have another Pop-
tart?”
Jim Gordon thought to himself, yep that would be him real soon.
********
“Jim Gordon you are out of your mind, and so am I for agreeing to this craziness.”
Bart Tobler exclaimed. The panic in his voice was quite evident. He grunted in pain,
exhaustion and frustration.
“Nah, you’ll do good.” Gordon chuckled.
“Beside if anyone is going to get hurt it’s me.” Essen chimed in. Gordon
continued, “I thought you were supposed to be athletic.”
Bart Tobler retorted, “Yeah volleyball and soccer, not circus skills. These stuff is
more suited to the flying Wallendas”
“Only if this doesn’t work, then you’ll go flying. Hey if this doesn’t work maybe
we can swing over on a trapeze.”
Bart Tobler shook his head. He was crazy to go along with this. He thought about
how this predicament arouse. No one answered when Gordon knocked on the door, even
thought the television was on. Since they did not have enough evidence for a warrant the
only recourse was to sneak a peak in the living room window. The only problem was that
the window was twenty feet off the ground.
189
That’s when ringmaster Gordon thought of this hair brained scheme. He suggested
that he pull his car directly under the upstairs living room window. He could stand on the
vehicle’s roof while Bart Tobler sat on his shoulders. Then Sarah Essen could climb on
Bart’s shoulders. This would allow her to see inside the window.
Sarah Essen who apparently had studied gymnastics took to the idea immediately.
Somehow the two had talked him into this. Bart had second, third and fourth thoughts
even before he agreed to it.
Now he was trying to maintain his balance so that the three of them would not go
tumbling backward. Sarah Essen’s feet were digging into his shoulders while her calves
were grinding against his ears. It was all he could do to keep her steady.
Essen said, “I’m almost there. Can you move a little closer?”
Jim Gordon replied through gritted teeth, the strain in his voice quite evident,
“Yes, but make this quick.”
Bart Tobler exclaimed, “If we get any closer won’t we fall off the car?”
“Just make this quick,” Gordon grunted.
Essen was now leaning against the window pain. She began to encourage the other
two, “Okay gentlemen, I’m almost there, a little closer.”
The tension was interrupted by a child’s voice, “What are you doing.”
Gordon and Tobler immediately turned to look at who was speaking. This action
managed to through their balance off enough for Essen to exclaim, “Hey watch it!”
Tobler could see that the older of Ms. Zwelling’s children, he thought her name
was Margaret, was standing on the porch staring at them with a bemused look on her
face.”
The girl spoke again, “Is that fun?”
In a strained voice James Gordon responded as politely as he could, “We’re just
trying to see something.”
The girl was about to speak when her mother came onto the porch saying,
“Margaret you leave those people along, they are busy…” As she appeared she stopped
190
to stare at the three people standing on top each of each other. She spoke, “”Oh my…are
you folks okay.”
Bart Tobler grunted, “Never better, how’s it going up there Essen.”
The lady looked up and down at the three people precariously balanced on the side
of her house and said, “If you need to look around the upstairs, I can help. I have a key.”
Both Gordon and Tobler exclaimed, “You do!”
“Mr. Rogers sometimes goes on skiing trips to Vermont and he has me feed his
fish.”
Bart Tobler looked down at James Gordon and growled, “Why didn’t we or rather
you think to ask?”
The Lieutenant looked up and sheepishly replied, “Usually it’s the landlord who
has the key to the tenant’s apartment not the other way around.”
Gordon was about to yell for Essen to try to climb down when the officer yelled,
“Jim…Jim…I need to get down, we need to get there up there now. Call for back up.”
The reporter grunted as Sarah Essen all but jumped off of him. Her knee managed
to connect with the side of his head on her way down.
Gordon all but yelled, “What is it, what’s wrong?”
Sarah jumped off Gordon and the roof of the car. She looked at Gordon and with a
stuttering panic she said, “We need backup and forensics. We’ve got two bodies up there.
They’ve both been shot in the head.”
********
“Okay are we ready to go?” Marcus Kelton asked. He was not an impatient man
but he needed to get this story to print. He arrived about a half an hour ago. Jim and
Sarah were involved in the crime scene investigation and didn’t have time to talk. The
journalist had called his friend and editor to pick him up.
Bart Tobler replied, “Almost, I need to talk to the lieutenant for one last wrap up.”
The last few hours had been pretty chaotic. The reporter understood that he was not
allowed anywhere near the crime scene. He had managed to make a nuisance of himself
by bugging the investigators as they entered and left the house. The cops had to do their
191
jobs, but he had a story to write. Bart felt like a petulant child being forced to wait in the
car.
Apparently the two men upstairs were indeed George Rogers and Dr. Eric
Lambert. They had been forced to kneel down and were each shot once in the back of the
head. The murder weapon was a .45 caliber hand gun. Given that Ms. Zwelling did not
hear a gunshot it was likely that the killer used a silencer. The position of the entry
wound indicated that death was instantaneous. When asked, Jim Gordon commented,
“This shooter knew what he was doing. He was a true professional. There are probably
more of them in Gotham than anywhere this side of the KGB.”
The reporter was informed that based on what Ms. Zwelling reported and
preliminary forensic analysis of the bodies, the murders happened about three hours
before we arrived. The police were canvassing the neighborhood but so far there were no
witnesses. No one got a look at the killer or killers.
Bart Tobler was tired. This had been one very exhausting day, even for him. It was
one thing to be the Batman’s unofficial press agent, as some of the boys in the news room
had taken to calling him. It was another thing to be at ground zero of a double homicide
investigation. He needed to get this exclusive to the paper and then he needed to go to
bed.
While yawning he didn’t see Both Sarah Essen and James Gordon approach. With
a start he asked, “Anything new to tell me.” Essen spoke first, “Forensics are combing the
room for any evidence, maybe we‘ll get lucky.”
Gordon grunted at this and said, “Sarah that sounds like unfounded optimism.
Whoever is behind this, and whatever he, she or it is up to, they know what they are
doing. They’ve been ahead of us on everything. I doubt that they are going to be so
courteous as to leave fingerprints or forensics. In fact it looks to me, like they are tying
up loose ends.”
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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: Assassination Attempts.
When Bart Tobler finally arrived at his apartment he was dead tired. It had been a
long day and all he wanted to do was go to sleep. He and Marcus Kelton had spent the
last hour putting together a story for a special edition of the Gazette. Per his agreement
with Lieutenant Gordon he could not write about any of the facts of the ongoing
investigation. But he most certainly could do a story on the death of two men who were
subjects of that investigation. But that task was completed and now all he wanted was to
go home and go to bed.
This meant that he was too tired to notice the metallic blue Cadillac sedan that had
followed him from work. He did not see that it stayed about six car lengths back. Nor did
he notice that it stopped at the corner of the block he lived on with its engine idling.
As he got out of his car and walked toward the front he paid no attention to the car
as it began to pull forward.
Bart Tobler fumbled for his key to the front door of the apartment complex. He did
not notice as the car began to slowly accelerate. As the reporter put the key in the door,
he barely heard the three loud cracks of a handgun.
The first of the three shots hit him in the left side, immediately doubling him over.
The second one struck him in the right shoulder spinning him around. The third one
caught him in the center of the chest and caused him to topple over the railing and strike
his head on the pavement below.
He did not hear the squeal of the tires as the metallic blue sedan pulled away
leaving a trail of exhaust fumes. All he heard was a loud roaring sound in his ears. He felt
an electric explosion of pain all over his body and he began to convulse. He barely heard
the screams of the other people on the street. He barely felt the two bystanders who
immediately rushed to his aid.
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CHAPTER FORTY: Timely Rescues.
Jim Gordon checked his watch and knew that Barbara was almost certainly asleep.
He parked his car on the street about 100 feet from his house. He had a garage, but
figured that if he drove into the driveway he might wake his wife up.
Whether he was home on time or not, he usually made dinner. Now he stopped at
a burger place so that he would not have to enter the kitchen. The kitchen was usually a
mess. The last time it, or any other part of the house for that matter, was cleaned was
when he cleaned it.
When he worked late Barbara normally got a pizza delivered and spent the
evening watching television. He knew what he would catch if he wasn’t quiet. He was
more than willing to sleep on the sofa, eat pick up breakfast at a fast food joint and
shower at the prescient just to avoid yet one more debilitating argument. Gordon
remembered a joke - I used to wake up cranky and grouchy. Now I just let her sleep.
The Lieutenant yawned as he walked up the sidewalk to his house. He heard a
group of young teenage boys singing the refrain from the band Nazareth’s song called
Hair of the Dog. They wanted desperately to sound tough and were likely praying that
their parent’s did not hear. Gordon smiled at this.
In addition he felt good that he and Essen had definitely put in a good day’s labor.
Gordon could not believe how well they worked together. There were times when it
seemed like they could read each other’s mind. She was smart, witty, insightful, and
supportive. Sarah Essen could be gentle and playful and as tough as any street cop. She
worked out regularly and was a skilled marksman. She could handle herself in about any
situation. She was the best (police) partner that he had ever had.
He thought of her firm lean body and the way her police issued .45 draped low
around her waist; no woman alive worked a pistol holster quite so well.
James Gordon shook his hand and gave himself a slap in the forehead. This kind
of thinking could get you in real trouble. He had a wife and a child on the way. That was
that; wasn’t it? The weary cop exhaled with a sigh as he approached his front porch. He
clearly had a lot on his mind. All he could think of was how good the sofa would feel. He
gave himself over to the wistful, sinking sleepiness.
He did not see the metallic blue Cadillac as it approached his home.
As he opened his door he did not see the Cadillac begin to slow door.
As he fumbled for his keys he did not see the passenger window roll down.
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As he turned the lock of his front door he did not see the .45 appear.
But he jumped with a start when an extremely loud, deep voice screamed. “James
Gordon, get down, hit the ground, hit the ground now!”
Lieutenant James Gordon cop’s reflex instantaneously kicked in. He immediately
dropped to the ground. No sooner did he fall to the porch but the door he was standing in
front of only a moment ago exploded into 100’s of shattering splinters. He heard three
loud reports from a firearm.
With practiced efficiency the veteran cop pulled his piece and began to twist his
body in the direction he thought the bullets were being fired from. Another round struck
the porch railing about two feet above his head. Two seconds later another bullet hit no
more than six inches from him.
All he could think was that they were drawing a bead on him. Another shot and
they would have him dead. Struggling he raised his weapon and saw the metallic blue
Cadillac. Another second and he saw the shooter. The man was wearing a black ski mask
and had his pistol pointed right at him.
Then Jim Gordon saw something that would take him a long time to piece
together. A large black shadow seemed to appear out of nowhere. The thing looked at
him and screamed, “Gordon hide, these men are mine.”
Despite years as a cop Jim Gordon’s mind was in overload. He threw himself off
the porch and scrambled around the corner of the house. He wanted to hide but he knew
he had to see this.
The police lieutenant heard a loud explosion inside the car as all four windows
exploded outward. He later realized that this was some sort of flash bang grenade. A few
seconds later the policeman’s stomach became instantly nauseous, and his face and eyes
burned. He understood that the flash bang grenade contained some sort of incapacitating
agent.
All this time most he thought that’s him, it’s him. That black thing…my gosh, I’m
looking at the Batman.
Jim Gordon saw that in one violently swift move the passenger door was ripped
right off the car. The man who tried to shoot him was viciously yanked from the car. The
man’s face was discolored and blood was coming out his mouth, nose, ears and even his
eyes. He was flung like an under stuffed mannequin into the air and landing with a thud
on the concrete sidewalk.
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Next with blindingly swift speed the vigilante reached through what had been the
front window for the driver. Although the man was nearly unconscious he had the
strength to raise his pistol at the dark shape. Gordon saw the Batman grab the pistol and
actually break it in half. Somewhere in the recesses of the lieutenant’s mind he
remembered that broken pistols had been found at several of the Batman’s attack sites.
The man was pulled beneath the billowing cape that was draped around the black
specter. The figure just seemed to stand there silently with his back to Gordon. Then the
night air was broken by the scream of the would-be assassin. The man was thrown
unceremoniously to the pavement below.
Lieutenant Jim Gordon was trembling as he tried to get to his feet. He looked
down to see if he was bleeding or wounded in any other way. His head was swimming
and he felt both dizzy and even more nauseous. He thought the shots had missed, but it
all happened so fast.
As he looked up he all but fell to the ground in shock. Standing right in front of
him was the focus of his efforts for the last several months. Jim Gordon lumbered to his
feet, took a deep breath and tried to focus on what he was seeing. The figure was close to
seven feet tall, although some of that was the costume. The top of his cowl had large
horns that made his appearance even more sinister.
Gordon saw that the eyes seemed to have a red sheen and the skin around the
man’s mouth was a pale and gray. Then he realized eyes sockets were covered and the
mouth and jaw were part of the costume and not part of his actual anatomy.
The cape was a dull gray black that went from his neck to a few inches below his
knees. The costume was made of a flat black material that literally seemed to absorb the
night. Gordon could see that the gloves had sharp spikes on them. The man or whatever
he was had a large belt with several compartments. In fact as his focus became a little
clearer, James Gordon could see numerous pockets, containers and compartments on the
costume. He was probably a walking arsenal.
The policeman had heard that if you confront you fears that makes them less
scary. Yet seeing him up close made him even more fearful. So here he was in the flesh
or whatever he was. The creature, the man, the myth, the urban legend was standing in
his front yard. The talk of all of Gotham and the seemingly singular focus of the Gotham
Police was here now. What had turned this corrupt, wicked city on its head and had given
hope to some was standing right in front of him.
All James Gordon could say was, “Batman?”
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The masked figure nodded. Then in the same deep gravelly voice he had heard
before the Batman said, “Are you all right?”
The policemen began to bush himself off, while tugging at his clothes looking for
marks, tears and stains. I few seconds later he said, “Yes, I think so.” He began to stretch
his arms and legs feeling for any soreness.
“Listen Lieutenant we don’t have much time. Whatever Dr. Lambert was involved
in and whatever was going on at the dump is coming to a close. Whoever is behind this is
cleaning up his mess and cutting all loose ties.”
Jim Gordon nodded and said, “That’s the conclusion I came to.”
In that same monotone voice the Batman said, “They are moving fast, I was barely
able to get to you. I was too late to save the reporter.”
At this James Gordon reacted as if he had been punched in the stomach, “What!
You mean Bart Tobler is dead?”
“No. Not dead, he’s been shot three times by the same two guys who I just took
care of. He’s in surgery right now, but it could go either way.”
Gordon just stood there. He was stunned. He had no idea what to say next.
The Batman continued, “Listen we have to find out where they are. It seems all
but certain that they have a base of operation in the city. We need to find it and fast. You
need to pour over everything you have gotten from the three scientists, from Advanced
Medical Solutions, as well as anything you can get your hands on from the files of Dr.
Eric Lambert or Mr. George Rogers”
The stunned cop felt like he was outside his body. His friend Bart Tobler has been
shot. It didn’t seem real. He took a deep breath. He was a cop he had a job to do. Think,
focus, and act. Catching his breath he said quietly, “We are having that material being
sent to our office. But we don’t know what to look for.”
“Look for anything out of the ordinary, any place or location that is found in more
than one file. Remember the name Artemis Daniels. One more thing.”
“Yes.”
“While performing reconnaissance on the lab at the Gotham dump I overhead a
word on several occasions. I couldn’t quite make it out, but it sounded something like
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Pan Zulu or something like that. See if any word like that shows up in any material you
have. I will be in touch soon.”
The two men looked at each other silently each taking the other’s measure.
Batman spoke again, “Jim you and your team must be careful. Whoever is behind this is
extremely dangerous. Guard everything, especially each other.”
James Gordon looked down. He had a million questions but seemed to not know
what to say. As he looked up to speak he looked at the Batman…but the Batman was not
there. Somehow the man had disappeared in plain sight. How was that possible?
The police officer walked from one end of the house to the other. There was no
trace of the man. How he could do that was beyond him. He knew he had to talk to other
members of the team. They had to work on this Pan Zulu thing or whatever it was.
But as of right now he had more immediate concerns. He had a busted up
automobile and two busted up assassins making low moaning sounds in his front yard.
Several of his neighbors were outside wondering what was going on. Some were
standing with flashlights in their hands. A few of the bravest souls were cautiously
walking up to the crime scene. In the distance the sound of approaching sirens cut
through the air. Gordon could see the flashing blue and red lights.
The moment was interrupted by the shriek of Barbara Gordon. A light appeared in
the bedroom window. It was amazing that she had stayed asleep this long. In a voice as
high pitched and as shrill as the approaching siren she screeched, “James Gordon what is
all of that racket? What the heck are you doing!? Don’t you know I’m carrying your child
and I need my sleep? How many times do I have to tell you this? Why do I put up with
this?”
The policeman shook his head nearly overwhelmed by the surrealness of it all. For
once James Gordon smiled at his wife’s ministrations. He said, “Honey, you won’t
believe who I’ve just spoken with.”
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CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: Miraculous Escape.
This had been a red letter day. Not only did Gordon get to walk into a double
homicide, not only was he shot at, but he found out that his good friend Bart Tobler was
in the emergency room fighting for his life. His head was swimming with the knowledge
that this may go down in history as the single worst day of his life.
Lost in his own sorry and drowsiness it was easy to ignore the chaos that
surrounded him. The emergency room of Gotham General was the point of the sword for
all of the crime, violence and misery the city offered up on a nightly basis. It was never
any other way.
The area was crammed with people. Some were wreathing and moaning in pain.
Children were crying, people were shouting in a variety of languages. Many of the
patients had waited hours to see a doctor and were screaming at the receptionist that they
demanded to see the doctor immediately. Cops were grabbing people and threatening to
arrest even severely injured patients if they did not behave themselves. Others lay
unmoving on the floor, which was cracked and stained.
Medical personnel were shouting and barking orders, many ran frantically, others
sat dejected. Patients were being wheeled on gurneys at high speed. Others were in the
waiting room covered in bandages and gauze. One man was vomiting on the floor, while
a maintenance man was trying to hand him a mop and a bucket.
The static filled loud speaker was constantly blaring incomprehensible messages.
Many of the overhead florescent lights were out; several others were only strobbing and
making a loud sizzing noise. The place stank, of blood, body odor, disinfectant and even
backed up sewage. Gordon had no idea where that last smell was emanating from.
It seemed that half the cops in Gotham were in this room, each one trying to shout
over the other one for quiet. Some of the higher ranking officers were barking orders
while the rookies were running around confused out of their minds.
At least he had Sarah to keep him company. He certainly did not have his wife.
She had seemed mildly concerned that he had just been shot at. She seemed to not even
believe him when he told her that the Batman had saved his life. And she had no interest
in going to the hospital to see how his close friend was doing. Her words kept playing
through his head, “I’m not feeling good, I need my sleep. Beside I don’t know this
reporter friend. And by the way, isn’t he black? Just don’t wake me when you get back.”
“I need Bart Tobler’s faith.” James Gordon didn’t know why he said that to Sarah
Essen. But he knew that was what he was feeling right now. The two sat next to each
other shoulder to shoulder in the emergency room of Gotham General. The lieutenant was
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trying to comfort his colleague, who in turn was trying to reassure him. Both of their eyes
were red and swollen. Gordon didn’t care, he figured that maybe big tough cops don’t
cry, but friends sure did.
Now he could feel the warmth of Essen’s body next to his. He knew he should not
be feeling this way. He still loved his wife. His mantra had become, she is still adjusting
to being pregnant and living in a new city. We will be fine once the baby is born. He kept
telling himself that over and over again.
Trying to change the subject in his own mind he looked around and saw a group of
people that he could only assume were from Bart Tobler’s church. They were huddled
together holding hands and praying as a group.
His partner coughed and in a shaky voice said, “Well I’ve been praying.” She
paused and asked, “Do think God hears our prayers?”
“He hears them alright. But whether or not he responds…well I sure hope so.”
Changing the subject she said, “I can’t believe this, we were just with Bart earlier
today.”
As upset as Gordon was he remembered the cliché, crime waits for no man. He
was still a cop and this was another criminal case; even if it was personal. Gordon
clinched his fist and gritted his teeth as softly commented to his partner, “Sarah, we’re
gonna find out who’s behind all this.”
He stood up for a moment to shake the stiffness out. This ordeal had pumped his
adrenaline up and now the exhaustion was settle back down with a vengeance. He looked
around and saw Marcus Kelton. Bart Tobler’s boss was standing in a corner of the room.
The man had clearly been crying. Now he was talking to some of his other reporter
friends.
Gordon figured that this would be front page news at the Gotham Gazette. He
spoke to Essen, “You know for being new to Gotham, Bart’s collected quite a few
friends.” Sara replied, “Being a well known journalist will get you that.”
Earlier at his house Gordon had been peppered with questions from the other
officers who had arrived on the scene: “Did you know you’re attackers?” “No.” “Did
you have any idea that someone was after you?” “No.” “What cases were you working on
that might be related to the shooting?” “The whole world knows I’m on the Batman
case.” “Do you have any idea why they attacked you?” “You would have to ask them
that!”
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Despite the noise and chaos Gordon felt the thick, warm embrace of sleep taking
over. He closed his eyes and felt the blackness sinking inward. Sarah was having just as
much trouble keeping awake; she seemed to fall in and out of a light sleep. From time to
time she let out a slight snore. It was cute. He exhaled a long slow breath and felt his
hands and arms getting heavier. He was drifting like wisping smoke.
The two cops had been to sleep for no more than 15 minutes when Gordon felt a
firm nudge on his shoulder. He heard his name being called, while the nudge turned to a
sharp poke and then a stronger push. His first instinct was to grab his gun and empty at
whoever was trying to wake him. Instead, he grunted and said, “What…who…what’s
going on?”
Captain Dan Good was standing over him. He spoke softly when he said, “Your
reporter friend is out of surgery. The doctor is going to brief us on his status.”
*******
Gordon had been in this briefing room before. It was one of several rooms where
doctors met with family members, or in this case police, friends and the media, to discuss
a patient’s surgery. Right now he and Essen along with Dan Good and several other cops
he did not recognize stood next to Marcus Kelton and two other reports. To the right of
them stood a large man Gordon was pretty sure was Bart’s pastor who he remembered
was named Dr. Raymond London.
A moment later the surgeon entered the room. He introduced himself as Dr. Dave
Espich. The man looked utterly exhausted. His hair was disheveled, his face looked pasty
and was covered with a thick sheen of sweat. His breathing was heavy and he seemed to
pause after ever third word or so. He spoke, “Well I can only tell you that your friend was
lucky, I mean very lucky. But the news is not necessarily all good.”
Taking a deep breath he continued, “About four hours ago, Mr. Bart Tobler was
brought into us with multiple gunshot wounds. When I began to remove his outer
clothing I first noticed that he was wearing a Backup Jacket.” This elicited some positive
nods and murmurs from the crowd.”
James Gordon, Sarah Essen and probably everyone in Gotham were aware of the
backup jacket. Most of Gotham’s residence owned one. They were the latest trend for
kids, teens and adults. The Gotham based company that made them was called Assurance
Clothing. The jacket’s official name was the Assurance Casual Coat. Everyone called
them Backup Jackets, or sometimes Second Chancers or even a Gotham Bullet Proof
Vest.
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They were stylish imitation leather coats that were made with thick sturdy layers
of enhanced polyester and Kevlar. They weren’t bullet proof, but they were very strong
and almost impossible to cut with a knife. As they were more expensive than a regular
leather coat, they were not that popular outside of Gotham. In the city they were all but
mandatory.
Gordon knew that the jacket’s lining can take a lot of the impact out of a bullet.
They had saved more than one life here in Gotham.
The doctor continued, “Here is where it get’s amazing. The first shot struck Bart
Tobler on the left lower part of his torso about five inches to the left of his belly button.
This is typically not fatal. He was carrying a reporter’s notepad in his left lower pocket.
The notepad and the jacket did not completely stop the bullet, but it did absorb much of
the velocity.” Again this statement was met with murmurs of approval.
The doctor cleared his throat and spoke, “The second bullet caught him in the
upper right chest, right here.” He pointed to about where his right nipple was. He
continued, “Once again he was very fortunate. He had a cassette recorder in that pocket.
It was an older model with a metal rather than a plastic cover. The bullet barely made it
past the thing. The wound was superficial.”
Dr. Espich pause, collected his thoughts and continued, “The third bullet struck
Mr. Tobler dead center in the chest. Miraculously the bullet hit the large metal button on
his Backup Jacket. This deflected the bullet and took some of the impact out. Without
that, the shot would likely have been fatal.”
Before anyone could comment the surgeon held up his hand. He spoke
emphatically, “But the news is not all good. That third bullet did not strike the spinal
cord, but it did lodge next to it. There is quite a bit of swelling and possible nerve
damage. It’s too early to tell.”
“So what’s the prognosis, will he live?” Someone asked.
The doctor answered, “I am guardedly optimist that he will pull through. But you
don’t know about these things. An infection could develop and things can go south real
fast. Plus, I can guarantee you that if he makes it he will have a lot of therapy ahead of
him. That said, I think in all likelihood he will survive.”
This was greeted with applause and high fives. Even the cops who were in charge
of the investigation were smiling. Essen gave both Gordon and Captain Good a hug and
said, “Finally some good news.”
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When the doctor was finished giving his briefing he turned to go the same way he
had came. It was understood that he still had patients to see. For Gotham General the
night was young. The group who had come to receive the status update likewise turned
and began to walk back to the waiting room.
*******
As Lieutenant James Gordon and Sarah Essen walked out of the hospital, Captain
Dan Good said what all three were thinking, “Someone has gone to great lengths to
silence everyone involved in this case. That means that any answers we may find are in
the files we got from the medical lab, the prison doctor and the guy who hired him.”
Turning to his two subordinates he said, “I want you two to go home, get some shut eye
and then meet me in the conference room after lunch around one o’clock. We need to see
what’s in those files.”
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CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: Refusable Offer (Earlier That Night).
The three black utility vans bounced and rattled over the broken streets, which
were covered in a mixture of broken pavement and the dirt road beneath it. The vans
swerved to avoid large sink holes (they were far too big to call pot holes), mounds of
rotting garbage, dead animals and other large obstructions.
Several times people ran out to the vehicles shouting and waving their hands.
Whether this was to warn them, rob them or seek emergency help did not matter; they
were ignored. This was true of anything that did not require the drivers to get out and
move by hand. So far they had to do this only once. A local gang had chopped down a
telephone pole and laid it across the street. They were attempting to rob any driver who
stopped. The van drivers moved the pole but flashed their machine pistols deterring the
gang from attempting an all out assault.
What was left of the crumbling pavement was covered in broken glass and chucks
of sharp pieces of metal. The drivers occasionally swerved to miss human bodies, both
living and likely dead that were, for whatever reason, lying in the middle of the street.
Dr. Artemis Daniels sat in the passenger seat of the middle van. He thought to
himself that he had no qualms about running over the drunks and recent corpses. The
problem was that it might slow down the mission.
They were already a bit behind schedule. Earlier when he approached one
intersection he saw a wrecked ambulance on fire and a telephone pole slammed on top of
it. A little further on he saw what appeared to be several gang members attacking two
women huddled in a taxi cab. He figured that this was likely a gang trap. The moment
anyone tried to help they would be attacked by all involved including the two women.
Finally the motorcade bounced its way into a back alley near a large brick
warehouse. Dr. Daniels could see that rotting garbage lined the sides of the buildings and
the stench was intolerable. Fortunately they were not going to be there long.
As they came to the end of the alley the three vans killed their engines and turned
off their lights. They glided to the back of the warehouse near the loading dock. Dr.
Daniels turned to the two guests in the back seat and said, “Gentlemen we have arrived.
The demonstration will begin shortly.” With that he signaled to the driver and his
personal body guard, Captain Nick Verail who exited the van with him.
Captain Verail had served with the US Army Special Forces and the Navy Seals.
All of his five associates were ex-military. They had been carefully selected by Dr.
Artemis Daniel for their proficiency and loyalty. All were seasoned soldiers with
commando training.
204
A moment later his two guests exited the van with their two bodyguards. The first
was a large husky man named Dimitri Vasiliev. He was the Soviet Union’s deputy
ambassador to the US who was currently visiting Gotham under the guise of a diplomatic
mission. He was about fifty years old, with close cropped steel gray hair, and deep gray
eyes.
Standing rigid next to the diplomat was Colonel Igor Petrov, an officer in the
Soviet Military. He was a tall lean man in his early 40’s with dark blonde hair and pale
blue eyes. His face bore several scars that he acquired while serving in Afghanistan.
Four of the five soldiers that were under Captain Verail’s command exited the first
van. They were carrying loaded machine pistols and immediately fanned out so as to
cover all directions in case someone tried to shoot at the group. The fifth soldier was
order to stay in the van with a special guest.
Exiting the third van was Dr. Keith Krueger and Dr. Jason Bohl. Dr. Daniels was
quite satisfied with both men. They were brilliant scientist, although not in the same
league as himself. Nonetheless they had gotten the job done; they were both serviceable
lackeys.
Exiting with them was the real package. The creature that had once been Caleb
Murphy lumbered out of the van followed by his brother Dalton and Wayne Logan. Their
predecessor, James Rocky was a deformed monster that barely looked human and had the
intelligence of a rabid chimpanzee (that was not a metaphor). In contrast to the previous
creation they retained their previous intelligence and memories.
They had the proportions of a short stocky man, but were in fact well over seven
feet tall. They had thick barrel chests and the hairless bodies were huge, rippling with
muscles. Their upper arms were larger than most men’s thighs and their legs were as big
as a normal man’s waist. One of the behemoths growled and let out a loud exhale that
border on a howl.
Satisfied with how his experiment turned out Artemis Daniels spoke to one of the
giants, “Mr. Caleb Murphy, are you ready?”
In a deep growl the titan replied, “Let’s make this happen.”
Climbing six steps to the top of the loading dock, Dr. Daniels pounded on the
metal door. He waited a few moments then repeated the action. Finally when no reply
came, he yelled, “Edward Genneti, this is Artemis Daniels, I know you and your men are
in there. I just came to talk. Please let me in, this will only take a moment.”
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After a moment of silence a voice answered, “Dr. Daniels, Eddie is not here.” We
were just guarding his merchandise. We don’t really know where he went or when he’ll
be back.” Dr. Daniels did not reply. Instead he motioned toward the behemoth. The man
smirked and grunted, “Got It.” As he moved forward, the others instinctively moved
back.
Taking three quick leaps the giant slammed into the steel door with all of his
might. The noise reminded some in the group of a car crash or even an explosion. The
door buckled but remained on its hinges. Stepping back the giant crashed into the steel
door with devastating force. This time one of the hinges broke from the frame in a cloud
of dust and falling concrete. The sounds of astonished gasps and yelps of fear came from
the other side.
This time Caleb Murphy took several steps back in order to get more speed. With
an ear splitting scream he attacked with all he had. He hit the door a third time and the
metal structure went flying in a burst of gray dust and flying concrete; the noise was
deafening.
Dr. Daniels walked into the room and looked at the shocked faces of the six men
inside. Seeing the man he was looking for he spoke in an almost bemused voice, “Eddie
Genneti, I thought you might be home.” Edward Genneti, lieutenant in the Genneti crime
family, and five of his associates stood in a state of motionless shock.
A moment later several of the men went for the handguns they had been carrying.
Immediately Nick Verail and his soldiers raised their machine pistols as the captain
yelled, “Drop the guns, right now. Don’t give me a reason.” The men complied.
Dr. Artemis Daniels walked up to Edward Genneti, who was visibly shaking. He
spoke in a soft, silky voice, “Eddie, it’s good to see you. How’s your brother Gino?”
Edward Genneti answered, “The police have Gino; you know that.”
“Oh that’s right, I believe he had a run in with a giant flying bat. Is that right?”
“You know what happened.”
Dr. Daniels chuckled, “Yes, things haven’t been the same since he left; have
they?” The other man said nothing. Dr. Daniels continued, “You see Gino was good at
accounting, or at least he had a good accountant. But that’s not really your forte is it?”
Again the reply was silence.
Now the scientist was standing only inches from the frightened man. In a voice
barely above a whisper he said, “You see I ran the numbers and you came up short. Why
206
do you think that is?” The man tried to answer, “Sir, I can only tell you that I have done
everything you’ve said…” Before he completed the sentence Dr. Daniel raised his voice
and said, “Save it you stinking guinea. We know all about the secret bank account.”
Speaking in a louder voice he said, “You know the arrangement. You obtain the
product from the wetbacks, and you deliver the money. You are in charge of street
distribution and we split the proceeds.” Raising his voice to a higher pitch he yelled,
“You thought no one would notice you’re skimming the profits? Did you think I wouldn’t
know?” Shouting now, “Did you really think you could steal from me!?!”
Edward Genneti dropped to his knees. He was trembling, paralyzed with fear and
crying. All he could do was gasp out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Dr. Daniels growled, “Apology accepted Edward.” With that the terrified man
looked up and said, “What?” The scientist put a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder.
Lowering his voice to a condescending tone he said, “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie we all make
mistakes. You and your family have served me well.”
Edward Genneti warily got back to his feet. Smiling weakly he said, “Really?”
“Well Eddie when you steal from someone there is a price to be paid.”
“A price?”
“Well you will have to give me back the money you stole from me.”
“Yes, yes, I sure will Dr. Daniels.”
“For the time being I will have to put someone else in charge of your phase of the
operation at least until trust has been reestablished.”
“Yes, I understand completely.”
“Oh, there is one more thing.”
“Yes?”
With that Dr. Artemis Daniels snapped his fingers and said, “Mr. Murphy.”
The huge creature moved forward, smiled a wicked smile and cracked his
knuckles. The scientist likewise smiled and said, “This is Mr. Murphy he’s my new
quality control and efficiency expert. Mr. Murphy, would you please help renew these
gentlemen’s commitment to the basic principles of our organization.”
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With blinding speed the monster leaped forward and grabbed Edward Genneti by
his shirt collar. Before the man had time to react he was hoisted high into the air. The
giant grabbed the gangster by his legs and with an overhead twirl he slammed the man
violently to the ground. The criminal screamed as four of his ribs and his sternum
cracked. His jaw was broken in two places from the impact. He spat blood and mercifully
lost consciousness.
Caleb Murphy grabbed the man nearest to him. Palming the man’s head in his
massive hand, he lifted the hapless victim in the air and brought him down head first
against the skull of another man. Both men gave out a loud grunt and fell to the ground
unconscious.
The next man had the presence of mind to go for a gun he had hidden away. But
before he could produce it the behemoth grabbed the weapon and hurled it at his face.
The impact sent the gun flying off in the other direction. The man’s face exploded as his
nose was crushed. This move was followed up with a solid punch that smashed bone and
sent teeth fragments flying. He hit the ground in an expectorant of blood and teeth.
The last two turned to run. In a barely visible burst of speed, Caleb Murphy
grabbed both men by the neck. They both tried to struggle, to no avail. The giant hoisted
both men completely over his head. The first he smashed through a wooden table, the
second was tossed effortlessly across the room.
Dr. Daniels bent down to the barely conscious Eddie Genneti and spoke in a
matter of fact voice, “Now you listen to me you greasy, two bit, brainless, thug, wop.
You tell your people that I am watching every move they make. Double cross me again
and my associate will grind every member of your family into Italian sausage. Do you
understand me?”
The man let out a barely audible groan.
“Good, that concludes this lesson on accounting and finances.”
*******
Standing outside the warehouse Dr. Daniels turned to his Russian associates and
said, “I trust you have been impressed with this demonstration.” The two men nodded
noncommittally. The Russian Soldier responded, “The specifications on strength and
endurance, do you stand by these numbers?” Dr. Daniels answered, “Of course there is
some individual variation but yes I believe Mr. Murphy has demonstrated his capacities
quite admirably.”
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The diplomat spoke next, “And we will have access to the process?”
Dr. Daniels answered with mild irritation, “Oh no, the formula and process is mine
along. You will pay me for each successful transformation. Upon completion of our
agreement I will send my two associates Dr. Bohl and Dr. Krueger to administer the
operation.”
“The chemicals involved will be delivered by Mr. Logan and his two equally
suited compatriots, the Dalton brothers. Again I will caution you that neither of my two
scientists knows how to create the formula and I doubt that even your best scientists will
be able to reverse engineer the chemicals. Please allow this most recent event to reflect
on what happens to people who try to steal from me.”
The diplomat scowled, but acquiesced. He mumbled, “Yes that was our
agreement.”
The Colonel spoke next, “Excuse me sir, but part of this demonstration was for
you to perform a service for us.” Dr. Daniels nodded, “Yes, I have not forgotten.”
Turning to Captain Verail he spoke, “Sir, if you would bring out our guest.”
Nick Verail turned and spoke to the mercenary in the van, “Sergeant, bring the
man out here.” A second later the soldier brought out a prisoner in hand cuffs. He was
wearing a tattered gray jump suit and sported several facial injuries. The man was small
in stature, bald, pale. He was visibly shaking and his eyes were red with tears.
Colonel Igor Petrov barked at the man, “Viktor Mikhailov we know you have been
selling secrets to the Americans.” The scared man could barely talk but managed to say,
“No I have not, she seduced me but I gave her nothing.” The colonel shouted, “Silence!
You were given the privilege of serving as a translator at the Embassy in this nation’s
capital. This is an assignment that many would kill for. How do you repay us, by being a
traitor to your country.” The man tried to protest, “No…nothing I gave her was of value.
The money was going to my family.”
The Colonel turned to Dr. Daniels and spoke, “Sir if you will proceed.”
Artemis Daniels smiled and said, “Mr. Logan, this is your chance. You know what
to do, and please don’t hold back.”
The group stood waiting. After about a minute of silence Dr. Daniels said, “Mr.
Logan?”
The titan snarled and said, “I’m no man’s trained baboon. You want someone dead
you kill’em yourself.”
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Dr. Daniels did not move or say anything for a minute. The big man stood his
ground, man and monster stared at one another.
Finally Artemis Daniel said, ‘Dr. Bohl would you show our guest how we deal
with recalcitrant subjects.” The bearded scientist said, “Yes sir.” And with that he
removed an object that looked like a television remote control and pressed a button.
Wayne Logan screamed in pain as his whole body seemed to ripple and his eyes
turned white. As he dropped to the ground his whole body convulsed and he began to
gag. Several of the men heard an electrical sizzling sound that seemed to emanate from
within the big man.
Dr. Daniels spoke, “As you can see we have complete control over our subjects. If
they do not do what we ask them…well you see the results. Mr. Logan will make a full
recovery in a few hours. At that time the two of us will have to have a little talk. I am
sure that he can be persuaded to be more cooperative.”
The Russian ambassador grunted with approval.
After a moment the sizzling stopped. Wayne Logan groaned and shivered.
Everyone could see that he was barely conscious and in a great deal of pain.
Finally the other Murphy brother spoke up. “Hey can I volunteer for this.”
Dr. Daniels smiled and responded. “By all means, please.”
Dalton Murphy approached the man and said, “Hey nothing personnel it’s just
business.” With one clubbing swing he struck the back of the man’s head. The resulting
blow caved in the entire top of the prisoner’s skull. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Artemis Daniels spoke, “Mr. Verail could you kindly instruct one or more of your
men to retrieve the body bag from the van and place the remains into it. The soldier
replied, “Yes sir.” He barked an order and two of the men went to retrieve the item.
Dr. Daniels continued, “Dr. Bohl, please take responsibility to dispose of the body
at the hospital’s incinerator. Jason Bohl replied, “Yes sir.”
Dmitri Vasiliev spoke, “As you know, I do not have the final say. I will report all
I have seen to my superior. He will likely be interested. He’ll want to know when we can
expect to make the final arrangements.”
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The scientist and crime boss answered, “I will be ready in a few days. There is one
more thing that I have to take care of. It seems that my carefully laid plans did not come
off as I had expected. I have a couple of variables that need to be refocused.”
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CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: The Chase.
Sarah Essen wondered if the stress of current events were causing her to go
completely off her rocker. Or maybe it was that she was becoming obsessed with this
case; this was never a good thing. Maybe it was just the madness that was life in Gotham.
Many of her fellow cops would say it was because she was a woman and didn’t know
what she wanted. But she knew what she wanted; to solve this case.
She also knew that she should be in bed. She got back from the hospital late last
night and Captain Good told her to be in by 12:00 noon. Yet here she was at 6:00 AM.
reporting for duty. She tried to get some sleep; she even took a hot shower and a light
snack. She remembered feeling dead exhausted as she plopped down in bed. She
remembered tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling. Finally after several hours of
this she decided, heck with it, I might as well get something done. So after another
shower and a big pancake and bacon breakfast she decided to start on those files.
She parked her car in the garage which was located below the Police
Headquarters. There was supposed to be a guard posted at the front, but she had never
seen one. Rumor was the last two had been shot. The garage was dimly lit, and smelled of
backed up sewage; in other words it smelled better than most places in Gotham. The
ceiling tiles were hanging loose in places and the pavement was cracked and covered
with stains. Many of the concrete columns had somehow been completely busted in half.
The wall next to the main entrance was pocked with bullet holes. She thought that it was
still a whole lot better than most of the other precincts.
Exiting she made a survey of her surroundings. Nope, there was nothing unusual
and no one with a gun. That was always a possibility but given the recent events, it was a
very real consideration. What had she gotten herself into?
As she walked to the front desk she had to step around several piles of what
looked like excrement and steaming piles of vomit. Essen wondered which cop left that.
Walking into the office she met the desk clerk, a young guy named, Evan Martin. Essen
thought to herself that he was a nice guy who always had a good word to say. She
wondered how anyone could be cheerful in Gotham.
The young man looked at her, “Well Good morning Essen, you’re here early. Did
you see that pile of biological contaminant in the parking garage?”
She responded, “Who left that little present?”
“Art Hoovler brought a guy in for questioning. The guy was naked and freaking
out on PCP. We told him not to bring suspects in through the garage, but, he didn’t
listen.”
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How is he supposed to question someone like that? Sarah wondered. Then she
thought that the safety and rights of the criminally accused have never been a priority
with Gotham PD.
Changing the subject Sarah asked the man, “Did the files we were waiting for
arrive?” Officer Martin answered, “That’s an affirmative, Officer Keaton is with them
now.”
This surprised her. She asked, “Keaton. John Keaton is in this early. When did he
arrive?” The desk clerk answered, “He got in about an hour ago.”
Well that was a pleasant if interesting surprise. She would not have to work alone
this morning. She waved and said to the young officer, “Well have a good day.”
The conference room was on the second floor and on the other side of the
building. It took about two minutes to get there. Sarah stopped at the second floor front
desk to get some coffee. She paid .50 cents for a Honey Bun, which she was sure would
go right to her hips.
As she entered the conference room she saw the stack of card board boxes filled
with files on the main table. Here were the police reports on the Batman attacks, the
forensics gathered from the fire at the Gotham dump, all the information related to the
creature that had terrorized Gotham and the files from three scientists at Advanced
Medical Solutions. Recently added were the medical prison files from Eric Lambert and
the stuff from George Rogers’ work and home.
As she entered the room she was greeted by John Keaton who was surprised to see
her. He commented, “Hello Sarah. What brings you in this early? I thought you were not
scheduled to be in here until noon?” The man was bent over and holding one of the
boxes. Next to him was a flatbed cart with two boxes on it. He sat the box he was holding
down and turned to greet her.
Sarah answered his inquiry, “Well I couldn’t sleep and wanted to start looking
over those files. What got you up so early?”
“Well Captain Good wanted us to move the boxes to City Hall.”
“City Hall! Why are we moving them to City Hall?”
John Keaton hesitated for a moment and turned away from her, “I think it has
something to do with the FBI and the Justice Department personnel who will be joining
us. I guess doing this at City Hall makes this more discreet and more official.” Pointing to
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one of the boxes he said, “I have my van at the loading dock around back. I thought we’d
take this stuff down on the flatbed. I’m guessing we can get it all in three trips. My van
should be large enough.” Pausing a moment he asked, “Can I get you to help me load the
boxes.”
Sarah hesitated and said, “Sure.” With that she picked up a box, it was heavier
than she thought but managed to get it onto the flatbed.
“Not too heavy for you is it? I mean don’t hurt yourself.”
“No I’m okay.”
With a grunt the older man heaved one more box on the cart. Inhaling deeply he
said, “That’s about all we’re going to get on this cart. Let’s take it down.”
While waiting for the elevator, Sarah asked, “When did you talk to Captain
Good?”
“He called me last night. He instructed me to move the files by noon tomorrow. I
wasn’t sure how many there would be or if I’d get any help, so I came early.”
Sarah thought that answer seemed okay. All of that sorta made sense.
After that batch of files was placed on the van, the two returned for a second cart
load. On the way back Sarah asked, “Where in city hall are we supposed to lug all of this
stuff?” John Keaton hesitated and said, “I don’t know, my orders were to take them to the
lower back door. Two guys would take control of the boxes. I think they will probably be
from the Department of Justice or the FBI.”
“Wait.” Came her reply, “Captain Good told you to surrender those files to
someone else?” The man shrugged nonchalantly and answered, “Mine is not to question
why.” Essen found this unusual, Captain Good may be a dirty cop (or so everyone said)
but he had been running a good investigation. This did not seem like his usual M.O.
The two cops returned to the conference room and began to load more boxes.
Essen noticed that Keaton was working a little faster and seemed to be a little more
focused. She asked him, “Is everything alright? You seem tense.”
The man stopped and looked at her. Pausing he said, “Well no, everything is not
alright. I got reamed yesterday.”
Essen looked at him curiously, “Reamed, by whom?”
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“Who do you think reamed me; our high commander.”
“Dan Good reamed you? What did he do that for?”
“He said I have not been pulling my weight on this investigation. That I have not
produced any new leads nor have I worked the case as hard as the rest of you.”
“That ridiculous, you’re part of the team. You and Stan Merkel were the one who
got us the information that lead to George Rogers in record time.”
“I don’t know what the man wants from me. But Sarah….”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been a cop for twenty-five years. I want to make lieutenant. There’s no way I
‘m going to do that if I screw this up.”
“I understand, but if you’ve screwed anything up I don’t know what it would be?”
Sarah Essen thought about this for a moment and continued, “Listen this doesn’t sound
like Dan Good at all. The man runs a tight ship, but he’s not unfair. Maybe he’s letting
the stress of things get to him, maybe I or Jim could talk to him.”
John Keaton jumped in, “No, please don’t do that. Let’s see what happens. If I
need to, I’ll talk to the Union Representative. Meanwhile, let’s finish this task.” With that
he loaded the last box on the cart.
The flatbed cart was loaded high with precariously teetering boxes. John Keaton
grunted as he began to push the huge load toward the elevator. Saran said, “Listen that
coffee has hit me pretty good. Can I join you downstairs in a couple of minutes?” John
Keaton replied, “No need, I got this. Listen, Captain Good will be at City Hall at 9:00
AM. Why don’t we just meet over there? I’ll tell him you’re coming.”
“Sure, I’ll see you in an hour. And John, don’t worry, everything will be fine.”
As the older cop disappeared behind the closing elevator door, Sarah Essen could
not escape the conviction that this was so unlike Dan Good. Still if he had been order to
move the files then that was that.
She thought that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to call in a status report. If the man was
going to be at City Hall at 9:00 AM he had to be up and about. He’d appreciate the
update. She hurried to the nearest phone and dialed the Captain’s private number. He
answered on the fifth ring.
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She heard a sleepy voice say, “Hello, who is this?”
“It’s Sarah. Good morning Captain.”
“Officer Essen why are you calling me, I’ve given you the morning off. Go back
to bed.”
“Well sir, I couldn’t sleep. I got in and helped move all of the files to John
Keaton’s van. They all loaded up and he’s on his way to City Hall…” Dan Good
interrupted, “Moved the files, what files are you talking about?” She quickly filled him in
on the details.
Upon hearing this he burst into anger, “I didn’t tell him any such thing. Call down
to the dock, see if anyone’s down there. Tell them, to arrest John Keaton immediately.
Meanwhile I’m going to put out an APB. Go, hurry.” The line clicked dead.
Sarah hung up the phone and punched the connection for the dock. An officer
answered on the first ring, “Hello, what’s up.” She all but screamed, “Listen this is
Officer Sarah Essen. Do you see Officer John Keaton?”
“Yes, he’s getting the last box on the van. The man looks like he’s in a hurry.” The
officer replied casually.”
“Stop him, arrest him and do not let him leave.” She shouted.
“Arrest John Keaton…why?”
“This is a direct order from both Captain Dan Good and me; arrest that man. Hold
him until I get there.”
With that she hung up the phone and began to run to the nearest set of steps.
Opening the metal fire door she began to take the steps three at a time. Quickly exiting to
the first floor she ran an all out sprint to the back loading dock.
Sarah threw open the door, and grabbed her piece. Entering the room she saw a
young police officer laying face down on the floor. There was a large gash on the back of
his head. She thought she saw him move. The man was hurt but was probably alive.
Officer Essen saw John Keaton’s white van in the loading dock. The engine was
running, but there was no one in the van. As she approached the vehicle, she caught a
blur of movement from her left. As she turned she saw Officer John Keaton. He had a sad
look on his face, and was holding his revolver.
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Essen frozen as the man began shaking his head. In a low voice he said, “Oh
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, you must believe that I never ever wanted it to come to this.” With
that he pulled the trigger. Sarah Essen heard the thundering blast of the handgun and felt
the bullet slam into her chest.
*********
Officer Sarah Essen thought she had been out for only a few seconds. She turned
to see the white van speed away in a cloud of exhaust. Her cop’s instinct’s kicked in as
she tried to remember the license plate number.
Sarah’s chest burned and her head ached. She had hit the floor hard. Checking her
chest and stomach for blood, she was relieved when her hands came away empty. She
took a deep breath and awkwardly tried to get to her feet. She stumbled but was able to
maintain her balance. Taking a breath she looked to see the young officer on the floor. He
was moaning and moving his arms a little. It was good to have confirmation that he
wasn’t dead.
A moment later two officers came bursting through the door. Seeing her, one of
the two yelled, “What’s going on here? We thought we heard a shot.”
Sarah pointed to the man on the floor. Gasping for air, she said, “Officer John
Keaton knocked this man out and shot me. He has important evidence that he is getting
away with. Captain Dan Good has already put out an APB. I have the make and license
of his van.”
Holding her by the shoulder the officer asked, “Are you okay. Did you say you
were shot?”
She replied, “My vest took the brunt. But I feel like I have been hit in the stomach
with a hammer.” As she tugged on her shirt, she saw the flattened bullet fall to the floor.
Her double thick kevlar vest saved her life, but she would have a brightly colored bruise
for days to come. She touched the area and grunted in pain.
Just then a police lieutenant entered the room followed by several other cops. Two
of the officers went to the injured man. He groaned again but seemed to be coming
around. The Lieutenant barked, “I was just informed that there are two black and whites
that are chasing Officer John Keaton. Captain Good is on his way to intercept. Was that a
gunshot I heard a moment ago?” Raising his voice he yelled, “Now somebody tell me
what is going on.”
********
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Captain Dan Good breathed a noticeable sigh of relief into the hand held
microphone in his car. He commented, “Essen is okay?” The voice on the other line said,
“That’s an affirmative. She’s shaken and banged up but she insisted that she join you.
She just left with a bunch of black and whites.”
Captain Good responded, “Good, now tell me how many cars are tailing the
suspect?” The voice on the radio came back, “We have five cruisers and if you turn left
on the outer belt you might be able to get in front of him. We have a chopper en route.”
Dan Good replied, “Good stay on him. That scum is not getting away!”
Turning left on the main freeway ahead. The Captain could indeed see that
speeding white van followed by five police cars. Each car had their lights flashing and
sirens on. Other drivers were swerving to get out of the way. They were approaching at
what he guessed was ninety to one hundred miles an hour.
Captain Good slammed his foot on the accelerator to get ahead of the van. He
knew that John Keaton taught high speed chase tactics. He would not be easy to take
down. As the van approached, the Captain swerved to the left. He was going try to box
him into the far right lane.
He glanced out of his rear view mirror. He saw that trailing the police cars were
two black sedans. He thought to himself that the two vehicles were right on time and
were where they needed to be. Clicking the talk button on his radio mike he said,
“Dispatch, tell the other units that they two black sedans trailing the black and whites are
with us.” A moment later the voice came back, “Who are they?” The Captain pressed the
talk button and said, “They are with us, that’s all you need to know.”
That task completed he slammed the car into the side of the speeding van. The
smack of the metal made a crunching noise. His passenger side rear view mirror went
flying off the car. He hit the van again and a third time. He knew that ordinarily this
would force the larger vehicle off the road. John Keaton was no ordinary drive. He
anticipated when the blows were coming and jerked right to lessen their impact.
Officer Good could see that the side of the van was battered and streaked with red
from his car. As he positioned himself to take another swipe, he saw John Keaton look at
him. As the man looked back to the road He gave the steering wheel a hard jerk to the
left. The van impacted with the Captain’s car.
Dan Good’s vehicle swerved out of control. The back tires screeching right and
left as the driver fought to maintain control. The policeman did not panic but instead
remembered his training. He steered into the skid and depressed, but not slammed the
break.
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Regaining control, he floored the accelerator. As he approached the van he saw
one of the police cruisers attempted to ram John Keaton from behind. The technique was
to slam into the passenger’s side tail light. The resulting impact should send the van into
a spin to the left. Captain Good thought that if he hit him at the same time, there would
be no way the van’s driver could maintain control.
Before he could position himself to smack the van, John Keaton steered the
vehicle into a hard skid first to the right and then left. The choreographed swerve enabled
the back of the van to smash into the driver’s side wheel of the pursuing police car. The
result was that the black and white cruiser went into an out of control spin. Within a
second the police vehicle smashed into the guard rail. The front and back bumpers and
other parts of the car went tearing off as the guard rail was peeled back like a ribbon.
No sooner had the van regained forward momentum than it attempted to slam into
Captain Good’s car. Fortunately he swerved and the van missed him by only a hair’s
breath. Dan Good breathed a sigh of relief and worked to regain control.
A second later he heard a loud noise and saw that the lead unit was trying to shoot
out the back tires. This was a dangerous maneuver. If there were any civilians they could
be hit by a ricochet. Fortunately the road had been clear. Dan Good got over a lane and
backed off. He wanted to give the cruiser a clear shot.
John Keaton apparently saw what was happening. He sped up and swerved the van
to the right. Dan Good saw that there was an exit ramp ahead with cars on the highway.
The cop would not be able to shoot with other cars around.
But before the officer could take the shot Keaton slowed down and stuck his head
and arm out of the window. Bringing his service revolver up he fired one, two, three,
four, five shots at the pursuing police car.
Immediately the black and white began to smoke as the round cut through the
radiator and the engine block. Fire began to spurt from under the hood. The car went into
a swerve and began to slow down. Dan Good hoped that none of the bullets struck the
car’s occupants.
The Captain tried to pull up to the passenger’s side of the van. He had to stop
Keaton from taking the exit ramp. The last thing he needed was that maniac trying to
escape with civilians around. He floored the accelerator and swerved toward his left. The
car and the van smashed into each other; each driver fought to maintain control over their
respective vehicles.
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Captain Good took a deep breath. He could feel the sweat pouring down his face.
His hands were cramped tight on the steering wheel. His neck and shoulders hurt from
the impacts. He shook his head as his ears filled with a loud groan from…from what?
The policeman shook his head and looked into his rearview mirror at…what the
heck. There was something out there. It was some kind of vehicle that was coming up
fast. Whatever it was, it was huge and it was moving like a black blur. It passed the other
cop cars like they were standing still. The thing was causing a deafening roar as black
smoke poured out its back end.
Seeing it close up, the Captain thought it looked like some kind of high tech
military vehicle.It was solid black and covered with what might be metal plating. The
wheels were huge; larger than the back of a dragster. Dan Good moved to the left, giving
it a wide berth.
The huge, black vehicle moved in close to the speeding van. The policeman
watched in fascination as the next series of events unfolded in a matter of seconds. The
black juggernaut pulled within four feet of John Keaton. As it kept pace with the van a
black cord or rope shot out the side of the mysterious vehicle. The line punctured the side
of the van right above of the driver’s front wheel.
The two speeding vehicles were now connected by a wire or cable. The scene
reminded Captain Good of some sort of weird daredevil or circus act. John Keaton
swerved to his right in an attempt to break the connection. The van lurched off the side of
the road sending up dust and gravel.
But no sooner had he swerved then an electric arc seemed to shoot through the
cord. Dan Good had taken his teenage nephew to see the film Mad Max recently; it felt
like he was seeing a deleted scene from that movie. The van rattled as it was hit by some
sort of electrical current.
A second later the cord was literally sucked back into the host vehicle. The wire or
whatever it was left a large black burn spot on the van. The monstrous vehicle let out a
huge roar and a billowing cloud of smoke burst from under the hood and out the exhaust.
It began to pick up speed and in a moment was nothing more than a dark dot on the
horizon. Dan Good had gone to the Indianapolis 500 a few years ago. He guessed that
those cars had nothing on this thing. He wondered if even the helicopter could follow it.
Before he had any more time to think about what he had just witnessed his
attention was drawn back to John Keaton. He guessed that somehow the vehicle’s
electrical system had been shorted. White smoke was puffing out from under the hood as
the van began to slow down. The driver was apparently fighting to control the wheel
which no longer had its power steering.
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Within 30 seconds police cruisers had pulled up to all sides of the slowing van.
They maintained a safe distance in case the driver started shooting at them, but they were
not going to let him escape. He had hurt several of their own; a cardinal offense among
cops everywhere.
No sooner had the van rolled to a stop than the police units surrounded it. Dan
Good pulled his vehicle behind one of the black and whites. His unit was banged and
scrapped from the impact of the chase.
The police formed a tight phalanx around the crippled van. One of the cops spoke
through his car’s loud speaker. “John Keaton come out with your hands held high. Do it
Keaton – you’re not going anywhere!” When there was no reply, the officer spoke up,
“Come on man. It’s over brother; don’t make us take you out.”
Dan Good could feel the tension as the moments ticked by. Every cop present was
crouched behind their vehicle with their guns pointed at the smoking van. The two black
sedans sat back about 100 feet. Their occupants stayed inside.
The silence was interrupted by the squeal of another cop car arriving at the scene.
As the black and white came to a stop, Sarah Essen stepped out. Dan Good thought it was
good to see she was okay. Running up to another car Sarah conferred with the officer.
A few seconds later her voice came over the loud speaker, “John Keaton, this is
Sarah Essen. I am okay. I was wearing my vest. The guys whose vehicle you crashed are
okay. They’re hurt, but not seriously.” She waited a few seconds for the man to digest
this and continued, “No one has died John, and no one has to get hurt. Listen you know
we want information. We’re ready to make a deal if you surrender peacefully.”
Good knew that this was not exactly true. It was up to the prosecutor to arrange
any kind of immunity or reduced sentence. Nevertheless if there was any place on earth
where the purveyors of justice liked to wheel and deal it was Gotham. Keaton was aware
of this and that might make Essen’s tactic effective.
For a moment there was an almost palpable silence. The police held their position
waiting for a response. Captain Dan Good was about to remind the other cops to do
nothing for the moment. He wanted to give Keaton a moment to comply thereby avoiding
bloodshed.
Then the stillness was cut by the sound of a gunshot. The driver’s side window
was splattered in what at first looked like red paint. Ever person there knew what had
happened. Several of the cops reacted and ran to the front of the van.
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Opening the front door, the officers stepped back as the still body of John Keaton
fell from the driver’s seat, his firearm still in his hand. One of the officers knelt down to
examine the fallen figure. A moment passed before he said, “The man’s dead, self
inflicted.”
Sarah Essen walked over to Dan Good. The two just looked at each other. Finally
Essen looked at the damaged car and smiled and said, “You know your car looks about
like I feel.” The two cops almost chuckled at this.
Just then the two black sedans opened up and eight men in dark suits piled out. All
eight of them ran toward the van and its now dead occupant. Some of the cops
instinctively stepped in to block their path. One of the men pulled out an I.D. and
shouted, “FBI we’re taking charge of this crime scene. Please step aside and let us do our
job.”
The policeman turned toward Captain Dan Good who was the ranking officer on
the scene. The Captain stepped back and shouted, “You heard the man, secure the area
and let them work.”
The men opened up both side doors and the back. They began to grab and move
the card board boxes that filled the vehicle. A moment later one of the FBI men walked
over to Dan Good. He was a tall, broad shouldered individual with a tailored suit. One
thing for certain was that the men in the FBI were definitely sharp dressers.
The man spoke in a low voice, “Would you like an update.” Dan Good spoke in an
equally low voice, “You can speak freely. I was about to inform Officer Essen of
everything.” The man said, “Sir we’ve secured the vehicle and it looks like all of the files
are intact.” Dan Good replied, “Very good Kramer. Get our files back to Gotham Police
Headquarters and impound that van. I want to know what that black monstrosity did to
it.” The man answered, “Yes sir.” He turned and walked back to the other FBI agents.
Sarah Essen looked at her superior in shock. “What do you mean by our files?
Since when do you give orders to the FBI? What are you going to inform me of? What’s
going on here?”
Dan Good looked at his subordinate and all but whispered, “We need to get the
other members of the task force. Don’t say anything to anybody. We definitely need to
talk.”
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CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: Direct Disclosure
Per Captain Good’s instructions the members of the task force met in the
backroom of the Quartermaster Restaurant. Jim Gordon had eaten there before. It was a
favorite among some of the boys in blue.
The restaurant was possessed of a quiet, relaxed atmosphere, goodness knows they
could all use a little of that. Plus it was the closest location that offered a private room.
The superior officer greeted the remaining members of the task force. Sarah Essen had a
tired, haggard look on her She sat on Jim’s right while on his left was Jeff Heist, Stan
Merkel and Brian Switzer. Seated at the corner were two FBI agents who identified
themselves as John Harper and Jim Botta. The Captain’s son, Officer Dan Good Jr. was
the last man at the table.
After everyone had order their lunches Captain Good spoke. “What I am about to
tell you must stay in this room. I wanted to wait a little while, but current events have
forced my hand. First although I have been a Gotham Policeman for nearly 20 years, I
have been part of an FBI investigation for nearly five of those years.”
This brought sounds of shock from cops seated at the table. The FBI agents said
nothing. The Captain continued, “This operation has been in the works for nearly a
decade. It was an investigation that I initiated. As I rose through the ranks of the
department I gained a greater understanding of what we are all aware of; the Gotham City
Police Department is a cesspool of crime and corruption. I refused to sit by and watch
what is essentially organized crime make a mockery of justice.”
There was some murmuring from the cops at the table. No one had anticipated this
occurrence. James Gordon thought that Good was just another crooked cop.
The Captain continued, “I contacted the FBI because there was simply no other
cop in Gotham at the time that I felt I could trust. It took some time to get things going
but an operation was established with the Feds. I took on the role of a dirty cop. The FBI
gave me information that I used to further the illegal operations of the corrupt members
of the Gotham PD. In this way I was able to move through the ranks of Gotham’s finest.”
As he said the word finest, he pantomimed spitting on the ground and then
continued, “I ingratiated myself with Loeb and his cronies in order to win their trust and
help them pad their pockets. Believe me when I say it has been an ugly business.”
He paused, looked down and then continued, “While they thought I was one of them, I
was keeping a file on virtually all of Gotham PD’s leaders. For five years we have been
gathering information about the vast illegal activities within the force.”
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One of the cops asked, “Excuse me, but you said five years? It’s taken you that
long to get evidence that Loeb was dirty? I mean wouldn’t that be apparent from the day
you met him?”
Captain Good snorted derisively, “We could have nailed him on three felonies
within the first week of the investigation. And don’t worry we are going to take him
down hard. We needed to get a broader range of what was going on. In the next few
months we will probably hand down at least 100 indictments against the leadership of the
Gotham PD.”
This elicited yet more exclamations. Gordon asked, “What do you mean when you
say, we are there other agents working with you?”
The superior officer replied, “Yes, I am not at liberty to reveal the exact number
yet. Obviously my son is working with me.” His son replied, “The family that spies
together fries together.” This elicited a few chuckles and the father said, “Let’s hope not.”
Jeff Heist spoke up, “So why five years. That seems like a long time to find out
the obvious.”
Dan Good nodded his head and continued, “That’s a good question. As the
investigation expanded we saw we could not limit ourselves to just corrupt cops. We
wanted the criminals they were working for. There are several large mafia families
operating in Gotham and numerous gangs. We want every single one of them. When all
of this is over I would not be surprised to see the number of arrests go into the 1000’s.”
Before anyone could say anything the policeman continued, “So that brings us to
us, by that I mean this task force. The FBI was planning to wrap up the investigation and
move forward. That’s when we began hearing rumors of some vigilante busting up
criminals. We didn’t know what to make of this. We wondered if this was some new
criminal enterprise, was this something Gotham PD was doing. Heck for a while Jim
Gordon was on our radar.”
Everyone turned to Lieutenant Gordon who responded, “I know, that’s what
pulled me in. When I realized I was being targeted I decided to do a little undercover
work.”
Captain Good continued, “We figured we needed to follow up on this. I bribed
Loeb in order to let me be the head of the task force. We picked each of you because
were thought you were the most honest and creative officers we had.”
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Jim Gordon interrupted, “What about my theory that Batman is a government
operation. It seems to me that an organization such as the CIA or the Military would be
one of the few groups that could sustain such a project.”
The superior officer responded, “You are correct, in fact that was my first thought.
We have investigated that possibility to the best that we can. We have worked through
the Justice Department and called in every favor we could from every source we have. So
far no one has given us any reason to connect the Batman with any kind of clandestine
operation. I am telling you that I as far as we know, Batman is not working for Uncle
Sam.”
One of the FBI men, Jim Gordon thought the guy’s name was John Harper
interjected, “Many of these groups are very hush, hush. It has long been the policy of US
Intelligence to make sure that the right hand does not know what the left hand is doing.
Still, we shook a lot of trees. We are reasonably confident that if the Batman was a
government operation someone we spoke to would know something.”
“Then what is he?” Someone asked.
The FBI man answered, “You know what we know. For some reason, someone or
something, or some group of things is carrying on this crusade. This task force knows as
much as anyone. But let’s get to the task at hand. Someone has created a way to turn men
into monsters. We don’t know who, but we do know that the Batman seems to be on our
side on this one.”
There were murmurs of agreement from the group. The Captain spoke up,
“Obviously John Keaton was feeding these people information. They killed two of the
people involved in their own operation. They tried to kill Lieutenant James Gordon and
the journalist who was covering the story. I don’t have to remind you that whoever these
people are, they are running scared. Keaton’s actions were that of a desperate man.”
Captain Good allowed a moment for the group to digest this. Gordon had to be
impressed; the man was a capable leader. The superior officer continued, “All of this
means three things. The first thing is that they are trying to close up shop. We do not have
a lot of time to find these guys before they disappear forever. The second is that at this
point the FBI will have to be included directly with the investigation. It has gotten too big
for just this task force.”
Gordon asked, “Won’t that tip Loeb and his cronies off?”
“That’s a good question. We are confident that we can keep the investigation
going. He has been contacted by the Justice Department who informed him that the FBI
is involved, but only in the Batman investigation. Hopefully he suspects nothing. Besides,
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we have more than enough to get our indictments. Right now we have a more pressing
urgency.”
The Captain paused and leaned into the group, “There is one more point to be
made. As I said John Keaton took a desperate risk to steal those files. That means that
there is something in there that the bad guys do not want us to find. I know we are all
wore out but we need to find out what’s going on. What is so important in those files that
John Keaton was willing to kill cops to keep it hidden?”
Taking a breath Dan Good looked at the seated assembly and said, “Eat up, and
then we have got to start pouring over those files. We don’t have much time.”
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CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: Dead Ends (Part 2).
Sarah Essen looked up for a moment, stretched, rubbed the back of her neck and
tried to rub the haze out of her eyes. Jim Gordon felt like doing that, only stretching
might make his neck hurt even worse.
They had been looking at file after file for nearly ten hours and everyone was a
little stir crazy. From time to time you could hear someone groan, or yawn, or crack their
knuckles or their back. On occasion someone stopped staring at their reams of paper to
say, whisper, yell or groan, “pan zulu, pan zulu, pan stinking zulu.”
The group was cramped into the basement of the Gotham FBI building. It had no
windows and very little ventilation. The room was hot and stank of sweat and stale
coffee. Gordon knew everyone was fueled up on the most widely abused drug in
America. They had gone through pot after pot of the stuff. They had even dug up two
extra pots and conscripted them into use. Every available shelf space that didn’t contain a
loose stack of files had a coffee pot or maker. All of them were bubbling, percolating,
steaming. Every minute or so someone would pour another cup or make another pot.
Gordon thought of it as a trade off. Sure being cranked up on coffee kept you
awake but it also made you jittery and gave most people an upset stomach if you drank as
much as he had. This lead to flatulence and this made the room smell even worse.
All of the relevant files were stacked in loose piles according to origin. Each team
was examining the bundles for potential clues. The two FBI agents Jim Botta and John
Harper were looking at the Forensic evidence taken from the remains of the lab at the
dump as well as the autopsy files on the three dead scientists.
Agent Botta had informed the group, “The Crime Scene Investigators had pulled
traces of at least 50 or so chemicals from the site. The FBI had tried to trace some of
these substances to see where they had been bought and who purchased them. All of them
traced back to that group known as J-J-Fleming Inc. The same mysterious people who
purchased the building that burnt down. All of them were purchased through the same
mail drop that was used to buy the property. The transactions were paid for with money
orders purchased in cash at the mail box office. No one at the office remembers who
bought them.”
Both Gotham PD and the FBI had made one more attempt to find out who rented
the mailbox, even running fingerprints on the mail drop office and the box in particular.
They had come up with nothing; i.e. a dead end. But still they persevered. The two FBI
agents were in constant contact with field agents who followed up on every conceivable
lead.
227
Dan Good and his son were looking at police reports on Batman’s assaults.
Gordon knew they were by far and away the most interesting files in the room. They
described Batman’s brutally efficient incapacitation methods of Gotham’s lawbreakers.
The reports, while fascinating, were not really helpful to the task at hand. Both
Gotham PD and the FBI believed that the Batman was not cooperating with these
monster makers. The question on everybody’s mind was if the Batman was in the vehicle
that stopped John Keaton’s van? A news helicopter had filmed the chase and it went
national. The press was already naming the vehicle the batmobile.
Gordon doubted that any of the information on the Batman attacks was going to
help. Still it had to be examined. The two Good’s were nothing if not meticulous; both
men had put on reading glasses and were going over each report line by line.
Officers Jeff Heist and Brian Switzer had made an interesting find. They were
assigned the material from Advanced Medical Solutions. Dr. Michael Fritz had written in
the margins of his notes the words: Dr. D at the well may need this. There was no one at
AMS that had a last name that started with D, nor did this seem to refer to anyone that
Dr. Fritz consulted with on his experiments.
This aforementioned Dr. D may have been the mysterious Dr. Artemis Daniels. If
so, this might have been a real clue. But what was The Well? The FBI and Gotham PD
had looked at every possibility that the group could think of. There were several bars in
the city called The Well. The indoor skating park on North Street was converted to a
concert hall called The Well, but it had been closed for two years. Was this the nickname
of some laboratory? So far no one had come up with much of anything.
One of the other scientists, Dr. Ritchie Strunk also had a curious sentence in a
margin of his experiments. It read: Drs at the gun need to check this out. Mind you the
note was badly scrawled and barely legible, but Gordon was pretty sure that’s what it
said.
What did it mean? What was the gun? Was this the same place as the well? Was it
a group of people? Did he mean a point in time? No one could figure anything out.
Gordon and Essen examined the Dr. Lambert’s prison files. Most of these were
standard medical reports. But two of the notes might have some relevance. In James
Rocky’s file he wrote: Tell BK about patient zero.
There was a guard at Blackgate named Byron Kennet. He had been interviewed a
couple of hours ago. He admitted what everyone, but the warden seemed to know
already. Dr. Eric Lambert had dispensed massive pharmaceuticals to the guards.
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It was encouraging to hear that Warden Galvin had taken Gordon’s advice and
called Harvey Dent earlier that morning. Oh well, the man was clueless but at least he
was trying to do the right thing.
There was one other point of interest. A few days before Dr. Lambert was shot he
had order medical transfers for three prisoners Caleb Murphy, Dalton Murphy and
Wayne Logan. That was the night of the really bad storm. The van had slide off the
bridge on 23rd street. The van had been retrieved but the three inmates were missing. The
remains of the driver and the passenger were still in the van. Gotham PD listed the
victims as presumed drowned and closed the case, no surprises there.
In Wayne Logan’s file the physician had scrawled the words: Tell D D at the mug
about this guy. Again did D D mean Dr. Artemis Daniels? What was the mug? There
were a couple of bars in Gotham named The Mug. Officers showed a picture of the late
Dr. Lambert to the employees and patrons at this bar. No one had seen anyone matching
that description, i.e. another dead end.
So after 100’s of man hours of investigation all they had was four cryptic
sentences:
Dr. D at the well may need this.
Drs at the gun need to check this out.
Tell BK about patient zero.
Tell D D at the mug about this guy.
In addition it was not lost on anyone that there was absolutely nothing about Pan
Zulu. So what the heck did it all mean?
*******
Gordon was feeling tired and irritable. Now he knew that he was going to make
himself feel even worse. He likened it to a man who had just gotten beaten up deciding to
run out for a boxing lesson as he dialed the phone.
One ring, two rings, three rings four rings, maybe the fool wasn’t in, heck he
might be in another part of the country and had no idea how he got there. But no such
luck, the Lieutenant heard a click and the voice on the other end said, “This is Dr.
Frankenstein, I am away from my desk visiting a graveyard. I am currently working on a
more realistic version of the Mr. Potato Head Game.
“Dr. R. Lee Timothy?” Gordon responded.
229
“You got him. Although I do think a portion of my conscience is currently being
channeled elsewhere.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second. This is Lieutenant Gordon.”
“Yeah I recognized the voice and the seriously buzz kill mojo. How may I serve
my fellow creature of the night?”
“Did you get the latest copy of the forensic reports?”
“I got it right here. Say, why did they send me two copies?”
“I don’t think they sent you two copies.”
Gordon heard some murmuring and then the man said, “Oh yeah there really is
only one copy. That will make reading the thing a whole lot easier.”
Gordon smiled at this. Ordinarily such humor at a time like this would be one
more irritation. But when you were as tired as Jim Gordon was you started getting slap
happy. He responded, “I figured you would have learned to deal with such trivialities.
Anyway, have you got anything new that might help?”
“What to stay awake?”
“C’mon doc.”
“Okay, okay listen, I did see one thing that caught my eye.”
“Yeah?”
“It seems that the guy who shot the doctor and his buddy Mr. Rogers may have
left some trace evidence.”
“How?”
“The techies found a barely visible, partial outline of a shoe on the sidewalk, the
porch and a faint trace on the steps going upstairs. Seems it was a small amount of a
white powder that matches the front and back of a shoe print. It is likely that the perp
stepped in it.”
This clearly aroused Gordon’s curiosity. He asked the obvious question, “What
was the white powder?”
230
“Well you might think it was heroin or cocaine, but no, this was another addictive
and deadly white powder that people use to escape the doldrums of real life. And by that I
mean confectionary sugar.”
“Confectionary sugar!?” Came the shocked reply.
“Well I am reading the chemical analysis. And that’s what it is. There are a lot of
different types of sugars out there. This one is commonly used in the manufacture of
candy.”
“I suppose that’s helpful; it could be a clue. Where in Gotham is this stuff used?”
“Hold on kemosabe. This stuff is used by everyone. If it really was on the perp’s,
shoes he may have stepped on some cotton candy or dried cake icing. There’s no
guarantee that this will lead you anywhere.”
“Right, but who uses it?”
“Anyone in baking or candy making might use this type of sugar. That includes
home use. It can be found in ice treats, candies, bake goods. If you wanted to make some
of my special brownies you might get the stuff.”
Gordon could feel the let down. This seemed like a real clue. In all likelihood it
was something someone got stuck to their shoe. He asked, “If the person did step into
some candy wouldn’t there be traces of other materials?”
“Possibly, but some sugars don’t break down the same way as other organic and
inorganic substances. You just don’t know what you’re going to get.”
Gordon thought for a moment and asks, “Is there anything else of interest in those
reports.”
“Nothing that I can find?
“Well thank you for your help doctor.”
“May all your days be circus days.”
Gordon sure felt like that at times. He hung up the receiver and starred at the
telephone for a long moment. What does it all mean? The detective slammed his fist in
frustration.
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CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: Once Over.
David Cain gave himself a once over before exiting the custom made, cherry red,
Chevrolet Corvette. It was an elegant machine; worthy of a man with his skills and
stature. At the same time it was not too noticeable. Of course he owned a Ferrari 308GTS
Quattrovalvole, but he couldn’t take such a distinguish car with him on his work; that
might bring unwanted attention. So he used the Corvette which was elegant but not too
noticeable. It was a real shame that people couldn’t appreciate greatness.
The windows were tinted and he was sure that no one in the Hospital parking lot
could see him. He needed to make one more check before he completed the first part of
his assignment.
He looked at his I.D. to make sure nothing was amiss. The laminated card showed
him as a 40 year old Hispanic medical student named Humberto Gonzales. The card was
printed on a machine identical to the one the hospital used. It was a perfect forgery. In
fact the driver’s license and credit cards were also perfect forgeries.
He had done his homework to perfection. He had memorized every detail of the
hospitals blue prints, learned the shift routines, and studied their security plans. He left
nothing, and he meant nothing, to chance.
So the last thing he needed to do was look the part. He checked his disguise in a
hand held mirror. The makeup and hair dye was flawless, the latex was expertly applied.
Part of his amazing skill set was the ability to create a costume that could fool even the
closest scrutiny. His own mother, had she not been brutally murdered, would not only not
recognize him but probably instantly invite him back to her place for a drink.
He was confident that it was impossible for anyone to detect his genuine
appearance. He took a moment to go over what would happen next. He took a deep
breath and focused his brilliant insight to visualize every step of the assignment.
He imagined a white light in the center of a endless black darkness. He made the
light as bright and as clear as possible. As the light grew in intensity he literally aimed his
concentration on the center until the radiating light peeled back. He could see the future.
He felt every step he took and everything he had already done to complete the
assignment.
The other two had bungled the first part of their assignment. They shot the reporter
three times and did not kill him. David Cain smirked to himself; he had never shot twice
and had never missed even once.
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He fully acknowledged himself as the world’s premiere assassin. Of course he
realized that there were others like him out there. There was a man named Slade Wilson
who was gaining quite the reputation. Supposedly that freak Cobblepot had a couple of
excellent guys on his payroll.
The two men, who were sent to kill Gordon, knew their jobs although they were
nowhere near his category. They would have completed the task except for the
interruption by the Batman. Who could have predicted that?
Now this Batman was an interesting situation. He seemed to have skills that
rivaled…well… even his own. No one seemed to know this creature’s motivation or
methods. Artemis Daniels seemed to hint that he had some knowledge or insight about
the dark crusader. If so, he wasn’t sharing it with anyone.
David Cain was pretty certain that this all came down to the Batman. Why else
would anyone want to risk drawing attention to himself by killing the cop and the
reporter. Dr. Daniels will be in Russia in a day or two, with no way to for the cops to
trace him there.
But maybe the Batman could. Maybe the good doctor figures that by killing the
only two men who the Batman had contacted, he could stop the man, or whatever he was,
in his tracks. He certainly would have no one to feed him information.
Well none of that mattered now. David Cain was hired to kill Bart Tobler and
make it look like natural causes. He never failed to deliver on a contract.
*******
He had already made a number of reconnaissance runs. He had checked to see
what security was present, where the cameras were posted, the location of nurse’s
stations, where the doctors stayed at night, the entrance and the egress.
As he made his final walk through he felt a nudge. He looked around and saw that
he had been bumped by a tall black man wearing a derby and carrying an umbrella. He
felt like telling the guy to watch it, but decided that he needed to keep a low profile.
Looking about he murmured to himself, “Let’s just give this place a once over.”
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CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: Power of Prayer.
“I’m hungry and I need to go to the bathroom.” Jim Gordon exclaimed while
rubbing the back of his neck. He followed this by stretching and groaning. Essen replied,
“Boy talk about not knowing if you’re coming or going.” They both laughed and she
slapped at him playfully. He stood up and stretched and then stretched some more.
He had not eaten in a while because he was chasing down a lead. He called in a
possible connection between something he found in the files and a medical supply
company. He had a rookie check it out and waited until the man called back. Of course
the lead went nowhere; another dead end and no surprises there. Now he was hungry and
needed to stretch his legs. He told the group, “I’m going to the Deli. Does anybody want
anything while I’m out?”
Most of the guys had already grabbed a bite but a few of the team members
wanted candy bars. A couple of guys wanted antacids and Brian Switzer wanted a bag of
chips, a big bag of chips. Essen asked for a pack of bubble gum. As he put his coat on
Gordon asked, “Any particular brand?” Essen replied, “Nah my favorite went out of
business over a decade ago.”
Jim Gordon smiled at this and made his way to the bathroom. All of that coffee
had really upset his stomach. He was to the point of nausea and possibly diarrhea. As he
entered the bathroom he was glad to see that the lights worked and there was toilet tissue
in the stalls. This was quite different then most of the restrooms in Gotham. He even gave
the toilet a flush, and to his surprised it worked. Again, this was a rare occurrence.
Sitting for a moment Lieutenant James Gordon thought about his circumstances.
He guessed that this was the place to do it. It only took a moment of quiet contemplation
to realize how tired he was and how screwed up things were.
They were facing an enemy that was right out of a science fiction movie; turning
men into monsters. How do you stop such an operation? Was he ever out of his league on
this? Not that it mattered, the investigation was going nowhere.
What else was bothering him? Well how about the concept that police department
he was working for was, in most cases, little more than a organized crime syndicate.
Fortunately the FBI was going to come down like a ton of molten lead. It will be
interesting to see how that all plays out.
He was getting all kinds of heat for coming in contact with a bizarre, super human
vigilante. Some people even thought he was the Batman. That was a joke, if he had the
money to pull something like that off, why would he stay in Gotham? The irony was that
Batman was the only one who had done anything on this case.
234
His wife was pregnant with his first child and she hardly spoke to him anymore.
The few times she did speak were curses, threats, insults and complaints. Worst of all the
one man who he had come to trust was in the hospital barely hanging on. Bart Tobler was
one of the most decent human beings he had ever met. He was an excellent journalist, a
true professional and a man of integrity. You don’t see much of that in Gotham.
Now the man was in the hospital fighting for his life. The doctors were still not
sure if the pressure on his spinal cord had caused permanent damage. He may never walk
again. It wasn’t fair! Jim Gordon felt tears begin to roil up and he heard himself punch
the side of the bathroom stall. It wasn’t fair. God in Heaven, it wasn’t fair.
God, that’s the one thing that Bart had and maybe he needed. He was not raised in
a religious home and it was not mentioned much. He had never really given it too much
thought. Yet, it sure worked for Bart. The reporter really believed that prayer changed
things.
Lieutenant James Gordon looked up at the light fixture and said in a low voice,
“Well it can’t hurt. If you’re up there I could use a little guidance.” Lowering his head he
was surprised to realize that he remembered that prayer Bart had recited. It was called the
“Our Father,” or “Lord’s Prayer.” He began, “Our Father who art in Heaven…..”
********
Finishing his business in the restroom Jim Gordon dried his hands on the paper towels.
He felt better, uplifted in a way he couldn’t quite articulate. There was lightness to his
spirit as if some of the responsibility had lifted. Either way he planned to enjoy the walk
to the deli. He checked his coat for the list of what the others wanted. He needed to
remember to get Essen her bubble gum.
Bubble gum….bubble gum. Essen said her favorite bubble gum was not made any
more. James Gordon stopped and remembered the name of the gum. It hit him and it hit
him hard. Who made this stuff and where did they make it? Yes, he thought he knew.
Was that it? Could it really be that simple?
If he was right…then he had it. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts.
Bubble gum! Yes, that was it, that’s the clue. With that idea still in his head James
Gordon ran to the nearest pay phone.
********
An hour later Gordon called the same number that he had dialed an hour ago. In
the interim he had gone to the deli and the corner market. He didn’t want to share his
235
thoughts with anyone in case this was a false lead. The phone rang once, twice and then a
high pitched female voice said, “Gotham Public Library, Reference desk, this is Dottie
Cox.”
Gordon had spoke to Dottie Cox on several occasions before. She worked the
reference desk and could find out most anything at a moment’s notice. If it was out there,
she would find it. Plus the materials at the reference desk could not be checked out. This
meant that, unlike all of the other sections of the library, nothing was stolen.
He answered, “Dottie this is Lieutenant James Gordon. We spoke a little while
ago. Did you find out anything?” She answered back, “Detective I believe I have
everything. Here let me get my notes.”
Gordon excitedly scrawled down the information. This could be it. His head was
dizzy from the confirmation of his suspicions. He had to concentrate to make sure he got
everything. He asked her to repeat herself several times to make sure that he heard her
correctly. He stopped her twice to ask where she got the information from.
When she had finished he thanked her and told her to please not discuss this with
anyone. She replied, “I’ve worked with Gotham PD. I know how to maintain
confidentiality. That’s part of the rules of being a librarian.” He responded, “Thanks
Dottie, you’re the smartest person in Gotham.” With that he hung up.
Barely able to contain himself, he all but ran to the conference room. He didn’t
want to tell everyone what he had put together; it still might be nothing. But he had to tell
Sarah. She could give him some perspective. He took a deep breath. He did not want to
appear as anything but bored.
Entering the conference room he said, “Sarah, I need you in the hall. There’s
something you need to see.” She replied, “What is it?”
“You’ll see, come on.”
Stepping into the hall she asked, “What’s going on?” Gordon had them walk to the
stairwell where no one could hear him. He turned and said, “I think I got something.”
“What is it?”
“Sarah you remember saying your favorite bubble went out of business? Can you
remember the name of that gum?”
“Yeah…let…me think. It was called Bamzooka. It featured a ninja as a logo, and
offered prizes for labels. What about it?”
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“What was the word Batman wanted us to follow up on?”
“Pan Zulu.” Essen thought for a moment then said, “That does sound like it.”
“Right, he told me to see if there was a word that was something like Pan Zulu.
Bamzooka is pretty close.” Before the female detective could say anything Gordon
continued, “Now I had Dottie at the library look up some stuff. Bamzooka Bubble Gum
was owned by the Welldon family. There manufacturing name was Well Done
Confections. Remember that the one scientist Dr. Michael Fritz wrote Dr. D at the Well
may need this. We wondered what the word well meant, maybe it means Well Done.”
Sarah’s eyes opened in surprise she exclaimed, “Jim you don’t think that they’re at
the old Bamzooka factory?”
Gordon continued, “Now get this, and remember what that other scientist wrote?
We thought he put down Drs at the gun need to check this out. The piece was barely
legible; we could hardly read his chicken scratch. What if instead of gun he wrote gum as
in bubble gum?”
James Gordon continued, “Now let’s consider the two notes by Dr. Lambert. One
of the notes he wrote was Tell D D at the mug about this guy. The word mug is gum spelt
backward. This may have been his personal code. Writing something backward is a not
uncommon way of disguising your thoughts. Consider his next little scrawl which was
tell BK about patient zero. Well the company that currently rents most of the facility is
called Knealman Brothers. This may be why he wroke BK instead of KB. I suggest that
we discreetly do some checking on the Knealman Brothers.”
Essen nodded her head in agreement, but did not say anything. She waited for her
partner to continue. He said, “The building is huge and it is still somewhat active. It’s
now known as Well Done Storage, because it is mostly used as a storage facility. There
are a few businesses that rent some office space. Get this, Bamzooka Bubble Gum went
out of business but the company currently leases their machines to a smaller bakery. That
may be where Dr. Lambert’s killer picked up the confectionary sugar.”
Sarah Essen looked at him with a strange mixture of shock and admiration. She
exclaimed, “Jim, this is a solid lead. It may be the lead. We have to tell everyone.”
Jim Gordon waited a moment before answering. Looking right and left he lowered
his voice and said, “We will. But before we do that, I need to make one more call.”
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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: Entrapment.
“This place is an obstacle course and I’m not as young as I used to be.” Sarah
Essen exclaimed as she jumped from a ten foot high fence onto a dilapidated metal
dumpster with a slanted lid. She would have slid off the thing except for a blackened pile
of goo that was stuck to the top of it. Now she had that was stuck on her pants; yuck!
James Gordon smiled at her, “What you didn’t know that you were running the
Gotham Olympic Danger Course? Up next is the 100 yard dead body hurl.” She replied,
“Dead bodies, I thought they ate those things in Gotham.” She tried to laugh at her own
joke but then her knee hit a jagged piece of metal, “Oooch! Didn’t see that”
“Watch yourself Sarah, it’s just the two of us and I can’t do this without you.”
Earlier Gordon had taken what he discovered to Captain Good. The man was less
than impressed. He thought that the connections were weak and that trying to search such
a big place was a waste of manpower. When Gordon complained that they had no solid
leads he was told that the FBI had an anonymous tip that might be worth looking into.
Gordon remembered his surprise. He asked the Captain, “What anonymous tip?”
Good smirked and said, “The FBI is following up on that and we are to give them our full
cooperation.”
It took some cajoling from both himself and Officer Essen but Captain Dan Good
relented a little. He allowed Gordon and Essen the opportunity to check the situation out.
The two parked their car a few blocks from the massive Well Done building. They
were currently trying to sneak in the back way. Unfortunately the back way was an
impossible tangle of accumulated of junk, debris and detritus all held firmly together by
thorn laced weeds. The two cops figured that they were covered in dust, dirt and probably
the remains of at least a dozen different life forms.
A few hours ago they had looked at the blue prints to the building and had driven
around it several times. There were no lights on and no cars in the parking lot. This
seemed odd. Usually bakeries start their production well before sun up to guarantee the
freshness of their product. So far, there were no lights or movement inside or out.
Finally after stumbling around for what seemed to be an eternity they arrived at
the back of the warehouse. The door was solid metal. They had brought a lock pick kit,
but neither of them were particularly skilled at this. If the door had anything more than a
standard door knob lock they were in trouble. A dead bolt lock, if it was secured by a
padlock, latch or chain from inside means that they would have to find another entrance.
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Fortunately it had seemed to have a single key lock. This made his job much
easier. Jim Gordon took out a thin piece of metal and inserted into the lock. With some
deftness, he gave the tool a twist and a shove. The result was that the locking mechanism
was forced backward and with a pull, the door came open.
Gordon looked into the inky blackness. He smiled and said to Essen, “Remember
if we are caught we say that we saw a disturbance and when we investigated we saw
someone suspicious enter the building.”
“That’s original, glad no cop ever thought to use that one before.”
He took a deep breath and said, “Here are your goggles.” He handed Essen a pair
of night vision goggles that he had borrowed from the equipment room. Both cops turned
the devices on and adjusted the head strap.
Anyone who has ever worn night vision goggles has to be amazed at how things
looked. Gordon and Essen could now see in the pitch black room. It was as if the room
was bathed in a low wattage green light. Gordon had no idea why everything looked
green, but he marveled at the technology and was glad he was not bumping into things.
Taking a look around, he could see that they were indeed in a warehouse. Huge
stacks of crates and boxes lined the wall. Some were wooden, some metal and some
cardboard. Many were wrapped in sheets of plastic and sitting on wooden skids ready to
be loaded onto an awaiting truck. At first glance nothing looked out of the ordinary.
Then he saw a faint glow in the far corner of the cavernous building. He starred at
it for a few seconds. It did not flicker or change. Gordon could see no movement related
to the light at all. He suspected that it might have been a light on a piece of machinery.
Essen whispered, “Okay so we are looking for proof that this place is a mad
scientist’s laboratory.” Gordon answered, “The next two sections are more storage areas.
Then you have the manufacturing part. The office space and individual rooms are at the
far end. That’s where we need to be.”
The two crept along the outer wall staying behind the towers of crates. Finally,
after about 400 feet they came to the first hallway. Jim Gordon looked carefully for
anything that seemed misplaced, anything out of the ordinary or any sign of trouble.
Suddenly their eyes seemed to burst in a blinding explosion of angry white light.
Both cops knew immediately what had happened. All of the lights in the warehouse had
been turned on at once. This caused the bright flash and rendered the night vision goggles
useless.
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Both Essen and Gordon tore their headgear off and flung themselves against the
wall. The both drew their weapons and assumed shooters stances. Both blinked madly
trying to force their eyes to adjust to the bright light.
As the two tried to focus they heard a voice come over a loud speaker, “James
Gordon, Sarah Essen please remain where you are.” The voice paused for a few seconds
and continued, “Look behind you. You will see that you are outnumbered and out
gunned.”
The two detectives turned and saw four men crouched behind a metal crate. The
men appeared to be wearing army camouflaged uniforms, thick Kevlar vest and steel
helmets. More to the point, the soldiers were pointing M-16 rifles at them. The voice
said, “Look to your right.” This time the two detectives saw two more military men
pointing rifles at them.
The voice allowed them a moment to take this all in and then said, “Now please
lower your weapons to the ground and kick them to the two men to your right.” After
they had done this the voice continued, “Now please lay flat on the ground and lace your
fingers behind your head.”
As they were lowing themselves to the floor Jim Gordon replied, “We are Gotham
Police. We are investigating a possible break in. What you are doing is highly illegal. Let
us go immediately and we will consider not pressing charges.”
“Save it Gordon. We know what brings you and Essen to our humble abode. We
are in complete control. Your noncompliance will result in your immediate termination. I
say this just so we understand each other.”
“Do you always sound like a movie cliché?”
“Shut up!”
After they complied two of the soldiers searched them top to bottom. Two more
kept their guns trained on the cops. Two more stood looking outward for any other
possible intruders. They found a smaller snub nosed .22 on Gordon and a can of pepper
spray on Essen. Both cops had boot knives. It was obvious to both Gordon and Essen that
these guys knew how to conduct a search.
The two were yanked to their feet and forced to walk forward. Standing in the
center of the warehouse was a short man with brown hair and a brown beard holding a
bullhorn. Speaking without the device the bearded man instructed the others, “Please
bring the two detectives here.”
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As Gordon and Essen were shoved forward the man said, “Let me introduce
myself, I am Dr. B. That’s all you need to know. If you look over to that booth you may
see the man watching the video screen is my colleague Dr. K.” Pointing to the soldiers he
said, “These highly motivated men are my body guards. They are lead by Captain Nick
Verail. Since he will complete the next phase of this operation I am sure that he does not
mind me giving you his real name” The lead soldier nodded and scowled. Meanwhile
another soldier was bringing a very large gun mounted on a heavy tripod into the area.
The man known as Dr. B continued, “You were looking for monster makers and
you have found them. Here let me show you. Boys come on out.” With that Gordon and
Essen’s jaws dropped out of shock, surprise and fear. Walking out from behind a stack of
crates was three of the largest people Gordon had ever seen.
All three men were well over seven feet tall with no hair on their head or body.
They were bulging with huge muscles. Gordon thought that every part of them looked
big. They were wearing what looked like loose fitting black hospital scrubs. Gordon
figured where else could you find clothes that would fit them.
“This is what you have been looking for. As you can guess we created the
technology to turn three inmates at Blackgates from hapless losers to creatures of
incomparable power. They were career criminals who would likely have died in prison.
Now they are…masterpieces.”
“But how did you do this? Who helped you create this process? Where did you get
the technology?” Gordon asked.
Dr. B chuckled and then spoke in a condescending voice, “My dear detective, you
don’t really believe I am going to tell you anything else? The villain captures the hero
and reveals his plans to him? That only occurs in movies.
This time it was Essen’s turn to speak up, “How did you know we would be
here?”
“Ms. Essen we have been monitoring your progress since the beginning. I heard
everything you said to Captain Good. Once you figured out about this place we called in
a false tip to distract the FBI and the rest of Gotham PD. We have to deal with a loose
end. We need to take care of you and that reporter friend of yours. Oh did I mention that
Mr. Tobler is being taken care of as we speak.”
James Gordon burst in, “But why kill us, Gotham PD knows what we know.
Killing us will only draw attention to your actions.”
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The scientist nodded his head and spoke, “True, but we will be out of the country
in a few hours. After that neither the FBI or Gotham PD or even US intelligence will find
us. But there is one person who might be able to track us. This unexpected factor has
been a growing thorn in our side. You two are not the loose end we speak of.”
With that he nodded to Captain Verail. The man pulled out a 9 mm browning hand
gun. Forcefully grabbing Sarah Essen he wrapped his arm around her throat and held her
tight with the gun against her temple. The other five soldiers formed a circle around the
scientist and the captives. Gordon could see that they were scanning the room looking up
and down. The three giants spread out and looked up and down also.
Dr. B looked up and spoke into the bullhorn, “You can come out. We know you
are up there.” The room fell silent. Everyone in the room looked up except for Nick
Verail. He gripped Sarah Essen even tighter and pushed the handgun into her temple even
harder.
Dr. B spoke again, “You’re not as clever as you think you are. This building is
covered inside and out with secret video cameras. We set them up before this operation
began. We saw you approach and we know you are up there. Now come on down.”
There was still nothing.
“Listen if you do not come down immediately I will order Captain Verail to shoot
Officer Essen in the head. You have one second to decide.”
No sooner had he completed the sentence then the ceiling window exploded in a
thousand shards. The broken glass rained down on the warehouse floor. Fortunately it
was to the left of where the group had gathered. As one Captain Verail’s men pointed
their weapons upward.
A second later a huge billowing shadow began to quickly descend. Even in this
well lit warehouse it was difficult to tell where the edges of the black cloudy shape
actually ended. Gordon saw no wires or any means of support. All he could think was
could the man really fly, if not how did he do that?
No sooner had he come to a graceful, silent landing than the five soldiers moved to
surround him. All five had their military assault rifles pointed directly at the shadowy
figure. The scientist smirked at the figure who was covered in a dull black uniform with a
strange black insignia on the center of his chest. The scientist said, “Glad you could join
us Batman.”
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CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: Intrusions.
“Ah. you’re awake, good. Can you hear me okay?” one of the three doctors
leaning over Bart Tobler asked. Normally doctors at Gotham general hospital spent very
little time with their patients. Understaffed and overworked, most physicians barely had
time to read the accompanying chart and only a moment to decide the continuing course
of treatment.
But in a high profile case such as this, other factors came into play. This man was
a well known journalist; if he died needlessly it could have serious repercussions. The
hospital’s board of directors, legal staff and public relations team had all been contacted.
The verdict was clear; get this guy back on his feet any way possible.
This was not an easy task.
Earlier that morning Bart Tobler had complained of headaches and nausea. His
vital signs began to drop. A decision was made to take him back into the operating room
and get a second look. It was good that they did. What they found shocked the few
competent surgeons still left in Gotham. That fool, Dr. Dave Espich had not closed all of
the wounds properly. The reporter was bleeding internally and an infection had spread.
It was common knowledge of among hospital staff that Dr. Espich had been
drinking when the patient was brought in. His attempts to treat the patient’s wounds had
not been successful; his work was sloppy. In any other city he would have had his license
pulled and criminal charges would be filed. In Gotham it was all in a day’s work.
Fortunately a competent surgeon had gotten to him in time. The wounds were
treated properly and Bart’s vitals leveled off. The man was doing as well as could be
expected. He was awake for a while, but had drifted off to sleep. The attending
physicians decided that it was time for a consultation.
The doctor gave his shoulders a light shake and asked again, “Mr. Tobler can you
hear me?”
“Yeah I’m awake.”
“Good. Did you have a good sleep?” The doctor asked.
“I still feel sore, my whole chest is numb.”
“Well you’ll feel that way for a while. But your vital signs are good and I am
optimistic that things will improve.”
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“That’s good, I am so thirsty and I tired.”
“The nurse will get you some water.” She walked away to get a drink.
Mr. Tobler, you had a relapse, we detected internal bleeding and had to rush you
into emergency surgery. We are confident that things should improve from here. We are
going to keep you for at least a few more days.”
After that the doctors exchanged a few more pleasantries and left. The nurse filled
Bart’s water jug and then left him alone with his thoughts. He looked around; he was in a
hospital room. An IV line protruded from several bottles of fluid and stuck in his arm. He
had an oxygen tube attached to his nose. Several machines monitored his progress. Next
to his bed he had an alert button that he could contact the nursing staff. He doubted that it
worked.
The whole thing was depressing, but at least he was relatively comfortable. All in
all he should be thankful that he was alive. He had little recollection of the shooting. He
remembered walking toward his apartment and then nothing. Some journalist he was. The
biggest thing to ever happen to him and he couldn’t remember a thing. He smiled at this
thought.
After the doctors left he began to drift in and out of sleep. He thought that the
pain killers were effectively making him feel like he was floating in a warm, gooey pool
of thick syrup. Bart smiled and thought to himself that those drugs were really messing
with his mind to come up with prose that drippy. He better think up something better or
he would lose his reputation as a hard hitting journalist.
His mind floated in and out. For a while he thought he could think of something
that happened. Then he’d remembered that it was pretty crazy and he believed he had just
dreamt that thought. He knew that about 20 years ago some people thought taking drugs
would open your mind and increase creativity. If they were like he was now, he didn’t see
how they could even write a coherent sentence.
Curiously he thought he remembered seeing an older black man standing over
him. If he was correct the man was wearing a dark suit and a derby type hat. He did not
know who the man could be. Was he someone from his church? Was he with the
hospital? Was he a guardian angel? Was he really even there? Bart thought that he may
well have hallucinated the whole thing.
The one thing he could do was pray. He took comfort in that. Things were not
good right now but at least they were not worse. He had a good job and good friends. He
had been shot, but at least he would recover. He was in a warm bed and at least he could
still drink and eat.
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He had to believe that all of this somehow made sense. His faith had sustained him
so far and it was still the driving force in his life.
His thoughts were interrupted when someone entered the room. The lights were
low, and all Bart could see was a silhouetted form against the outside hallway light. The
person just stood there for a few moments and then began to walk toward his bed.
Bart could see that it was a man, but had did not recognize him. He didn’t think he
had met the guy. As the fellow approached the bed, Bart noticed that the man was tall and
broad shouldered. He had dark skin but and was possibly Hispanic or middle eastern, or
even from India. He had a thick crop of gray hair and a thick well groomed gray beard.
The guy was wearing a dark suit and was carrying a large leather satchel. He didn’t look
like he worked here. Was he a consulting physician, a cop, a reporter from another paper?
As the man stood next to the bed Bart got the idea that there was something not
quite right about the way the man looked. He strained to get a better look at him. But as
he leaned forward the man turned to the side. He got the impression that the man was
wearing a costume. But why would he be doing that? What was going on?
Bart asked, “Have we met?”
“No this is our first meeting.”
“Are you a doctor?”
The man stood there and glared at him. Finally after several moments he spoke in
a deep low voice, “No, but you could say I am a specialist. Just to be sure, let me
ask…you are Mr. Bart Tobler?”
There was something menacing about the way he said that. Bart looked at the man
and said, “What is your area of specialization?” His hand quietly slipped to the call
button. He began to push the button hoping that the man would not notice.
But just as his thumb began to press the button he felt a powerful thud across his
hand. The pain killers had prevented him from feeling much but it only took him a
moment to realize that his hand had been violently swatted away.
The man reached down and ripped the wires from the call button. He looked down
at Bart. He was smiling a wicked smile and said, “Let’s not have any of that. We want to
keep my area of specialization between the two of us.”
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CHAPTER FIFTY: Dark Revelations.
This was the second time Jim Gordon had seen The Batman and he was every bit
as awe inspiring and menacing as the first. He stood there unmoving like some dark
sentinel as pieces of glass and plaster fell around him.
Gordon’s mind was reeling and he felt chilled. It wasn’t just his physical presence,
although the man was huge, and the costume was terrifying. It was what he could do; the
danger he presented. In addition no one knew the first thing about him; he was a true
walking mystery. Gordon doubted that anyone would not be intimidated.
The scientist spoke, “So this is the famous Batman that everyone is talking
about?”
The figure just stood there unmoving.
“You know how to make an entrance.”
The Batman said nothing.
“So who are you under that suit?”
Nothing.
“Okay, well consider this. Standing about two feet behind you is a professional
mercenary. He, like the other men are professional soldiers with Special Forces training.
It took some doing to obtain, but we have a mounted .50 caliber machine gun with
armored piercing rounds pointed directly at the back of your head. If you even think of
moving he will not hesitate to see if the costume you are wearing is bullet proof enough
to stop something that can rip through two inches of steel. Plus these other two soldiers
will not hesitate to kill detectives Gordon and Essen. Do you understand me?”
In a deep, gravelly voice the Batman replied, “Yes Dr. Bohl, I understand.”
The scientist was visibly shaken by this revelation. He recovered and asked, “You
think you know me.”
The Batman continued, “I saw you and your colleague earlier.”
“When?” The scientist asked.
The dark figure spoke, “It took some time but I traced your identity to a young
graduate student at Johns Hopkins. By young I mean that you started college at the age of
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fourteen; a remarkable prodigy. You had your Ph.D. in genetics by the age of twenty one.
You did brilliant, ground breaking work. There was even talk of a Nobel Prize. But then
you dropped out of sight. You seem to have had extensive cosmetic surgery, but you
made the mistake of keeping your beard.”
Dr. Bohl shrugged at this, “Yes, it was always a source of pride.”
The Batman continued, “Your mentor Dr. Keith Krueger disappeared at the same
time. I believe that is him coming toward us. He looks nothing like his picture from
twelve years ago.”
“The surgery is remarkable. “
This time Dr. Krueger spoke, “You have us at a disadvantage. You know us, but
we don’t know you. Please tell me who has the innovation, the courage, the fortitude and
the psychosis to dress up in a kid’s costume and assault criminals in Gotham.”
The Batman said nothing, but Gordon noticed a faint movement of the head and
eyes. The man was clearly taking in his surroundings.
“I mean it.” The scientist shouted, “Identify yourself!”
The vigilante said nothing.
This time it was Dr. Bohl’s turn, “Sir you will take off that stupid costume now.”
The Batman remained unresponsive.
The scientist signaled to the soldiers holding Essen and Gordon. They tightened
their grip on the pair.
The Batman did not move a muscle. Gordon just saw the man standing unmoving.
“I will have you and the two cops shot right now.” Dr. Bohl took a deep breath
and all but screamed, “Take off that ridiculous suit. Do it now!”
“I can’t,”
“Well you better or you and your two friends are dead.”
Now Batman raised his voice, “I am not capable of taking this costume off on my
own. I require the help of another who gets me into it and chemically and electronically
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seals the costume. Without this assistance and special equipment I am literally a
prisoner.”
The two men looked at each other as if to consider this. Dr. Bohl replied, “Okay
then identify yourself.”
The older man nodded and said, “Yes, tell us who are you.”
The Batman seemed to take in his surroundings once more and said, “My name is
Brian Aldrich. I am from a small town located just outside Casper Wyoming. I am 34
years old and have been the Batman for a little under a year.”
The two scientists looked at each other. Then one spoke, “How did you come
about to be the Batman?”
The Dark Knight spoke, “About twenty or so years ago scientists from S.T.A.R.
laboratories were on a scientific expedition to the Andes Mountains in Peru. They were
looking for new plants that had medicinal properties. Or at least this is what I have been
told. I did not come into the project until much later.”
“Go on.”
The vigilante continued, “As the expedition made their way through the Andes,
they stumbled onto a hidden cave that contained an unexplained chamber.”
The two scientists looked at each other. Gordon thought that their faces might
have displayed a hint of recognition. One spoke, “A chamber, what kind of chamber?”
“Again that was twenty years ago, I did not see any of this. But apparently the
chamber was filled with all sorts of advanced scientific equipment. There were metal
tablets with a type of language and hieroglyphics printed on them. There was a pool filled
with a strange liquid.”
Dr. Krueger interrupted, “What color was the liquid.”
The Batman answered, “I don’t know, I never really thought about it. I am sure the
scientists conducted extensive experimentation on it. When I saw the stuff it was coal
black. But I am getting ahead of myself.”
Now everyone was listening. All of the soldiers and the three mutated men were
staring in rapt attention. The man continued, “The researchers could not figure out where
the material came from. Some thought that it was an advanced research base created by
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Nazi scientists who escaped to Peru from Germany. Others thought it was constructed by
beings from another planet or another dimension. No one really knows.”
The masked man stopped to let the audience digest this and spoke, “S.T.A.R.
laboratories spent a decade examining these findings. Deciphering the hieroglyphics took
time but they eventually cracked the code. They found that it referred to human DNA.”
“What about it?”
“It seems that a small number of individuals have an extra strand of DNA. The
liquid was designed to bond to that strand. It is however, very rare. Under the guise of
cancer research, S.T.A.R. laboratories began collecting blood samples from everyone in
the country who gave blood or had any kind of blood test taken. In a decade they
collected over eleven million samples. They found that only about a thousand people had
this special DNA.”
“What was the DNA?” Dr. Krueger asked.
“I know nothing about genetics. You will have to ask the scientists at S.T.A.R.
labs. They decided to obtain a small number of people to experiment on. Since the
researchers had no idea what the results would be, they chose five people who had the
DNA but no strong ties to the community. I was raised in a foster home and do not have a
real family. The other four people were likewise unattached. All five of us were
unmarried, with no children and little family.”
“What did they do to you?”
“They contacted us, paid us a lot of money for our cooperation and injected us
with the liquid.” The Batman replied.
“Then what happened?”
The Batman paused and said, “All of us began to develop abilities.”
“What kind of abilities?”
“I gained incredible strength and speed, as well as size. I used to be five foot nine
inches and weighed 150 lbs. Now look at me. Two others who I will call J and L seemed
to know things, kind of like a type of mind reading or being able to see things that aren’t
there.”
“You mean like telepathy or clairvoyance?” someone asked.
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“I believe that’s what they call it.” He continued, “Another person who I will call
T gained the ability to understand all of the equipment; T can read and understand the
hieroglyphics. He or she, and don’t expect me to tell you which, did in little over a month
what took the top scientists at S.T.A.R. laboratory years to figure out. Another person
who I will call D gained the ability to heal and energize us. Before I go out as Batman, D
touches me and my abilities double.”
“So, tell us about the suit?” Dr. Bohl asked.
“That was a separate project S.T.A.R. scientists were working on. They have been
working on an all purpose high tech battle suit for years. We acquired the technology and
this suit from their labs without their knowledge.”
“You mean you stole it?”
The man continued, “We applied T abilities to understand the stranger’s
technology. From the knowledge we gain we made improvements to S.T.A.R.’s original
design and upgrade the suit’s effectiveness. This Bat costume is made of some mutated
spider web weave mixed with a new generation of Kevlar and a tungsten-titanium mesh.”
“So what happened to the five of you?” One of the soldiers asked.
The Batman spoke in a low voice, “We went rogue. J and L discerned that the
process we were subjected to could never be reversed. We are stuck like this forever.
They really have no idea why or how the chemical we ingested works or what the long
term effects will be. We found out that they were going to weaponize the formula. We
knew that S.T.A.R. laboratories did not want to get entangled with our government. They
were more interested in dealing with a foreign power. They felt it would be politically
expedient and financially profitable to bypass US scrutiny and were willing to sell the
technology to China, South Africa or even North Korea. There was even some talk of
disposing of us as collateral damage.”
“And that’s when you left?”
“Yes. We understood that the process was way too dangerous to move forward. So
we took all of the notes, the liquid and the equipment. T was able to use the technology to
enable us to break into S.T.A.R. laboratories financial accounts and appropriate over one
million dollars to fund our efforts.”
This time it was Sarah Essen who spoke, “But why become a vigilante? Why this
costumed crime fighter ordeal?”
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“We knew we had to expose what S.T.A.R. labs were doing. We could not go
public. We had stolen the technology and we had no way to prove that we were not the
corrupt ones. Telling the police that we can read minds and that S.T.A.R. laboratories
was planning to betray their country hardly stands up in court.”
“If we went public they would deny everything and simply take back what we
took from them. So we thought that a costume vigilante would bring a certain amount of
attention to us. I hoped that maybe we could find someone, like Lieutenant Gordon and
the reporter who could help us bring the truth to light. Beside we thought we could do
some good. So J and L simply use their abilities to know when a crime is about to occur
and I go in and bust it up.”
Dr. Krueger smiled and almost laughed, “But then we entered the picture.”
The dark figured responded, “It seemed too much of a coincidence that no sooner
had we begun our operation than someone was creating monsters in a hidden lab. We
weren’t sure if you were part of S.T.A.R. labs trying somehow to flush us out or another
rogue element within that organization.”
This time it was Dr. Bohl’s turn to laugh as he spoke, “And you will never know
who we are.” Pointing to the huge creature named Wayne Logan he ordered, “Tear that
costume off of him.”
The monster cracked his knuckles several times and then cracked his wrist, elbow
and neck. The behemoth grinned and said, “With pleasure.” He took a massive step
forward punched his own hand a couple of times and growled, “Cooperate and I promise
that this will not hurt much.”
The Batman said nothing but shifted to a more aggressive looking stance. This
caused Dr. Bohl to remind him, “Resist him and you and your two friends will die.”
With that the behemoth grabbed the Batman’s two small protruding horns on the
top of the cowl. With a grunt he yanked and heaved on them. The Batman went flying in
the air, his feet dangling three feet off the floor as his head covering was being held by
two massive hands. The suit however did not rip.
The creature lowered the Batman. This time he put his hand on the Batman’s
shoulder and pulled at the cowl with only one hand. His efforts were met with a massive
electrical spark. The air sizzled and smoke appeared. Gordon could smell ozone. Wayne
Logan jumped back and howled in pain.
The creature grabbed his hand, which everyone could see was blackened and
blistered. The giant shook his hand and growled in pain. Batman did not move but said,
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“Did I forget to mention that the suit has a built in defense mechanism. Anyone trying to
rip at it will find it a shocking experience. “
The gargantuan was bent over holding his burnt hand. He reared up ready to
charge when Dr. Bohl yelled, “Mr. Logan stand down.” When the creature started to
lumber forward Dr. Bohl reiterated the command, “I mean it. Now is not the time to fight
The Batman.”
The scientist looked intently at the costume and commented, “I just noticed that
the costume has numerous pockets and pouches. Open those up and see what is inside.”
The mammoth being replied, “Gotcha, but I want another crack at that suit.” He
quickly grabbed one of the pouches and began to tug and pull at it. Nothing happened.
The pouches stretched a little but did not open or tear.
Frustrated the giant went to another pouch and then another pocket. Although
Wayne Logan was inhumanly strong the costume resisted his intrusions. Try as he might,
nothing was ripping or tearing.
Finally he managed to rip open one of the larger pouches on The Batman’s belt.
With a loud metallic click the flap popped open. Everyone in the room craned to see what
was inside the compartment. The giant’s huge hand barely fit in the space but he
managed to pull out the only item it contained.
Looking curiously at what he had in his hand he said, “I think it’s a piece of
paper.” Turning the item over, he saw that it was indeed a piece of folded white paper.
Dr. Bohl commanded, “Give me that.”
The behemoth handed the man the paper. Dr. Bohl unfolded the sheet. Gordon
could see that it was a detailed, colored, sketch drawing of a face. The picture was of a
man of indeterminate age. The image had handsome features and thick, dark brown hair.
Dr. Bohl nearly dropped the picture in shock. He and Dr. Krueger looked at the
portrait and then at each other. They were both visibly shaken by what they were looking
at. Gordon figured that whoever that was probably figured prominently in this mess.
He lowered the picture and just stood staring for a long moment. Regaining his
composure he stepped toward the Batman and all but whispered, “How did you get this
picture? Where did it come from? Who gave it to you? Answer me?”
The Batman responded, “So you are familiar with Dr. Artemis Daniels then?”
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Dr. Krueger shouted at him, “How could you know Dr. Daniels? Who are you
really.” Dr. Bohl yelled, “How did you get his picture? What is he to you?”
The Batman spoke, “So that really is Dr. Artemis Daniels. I wasn’t sure until you
told me just right now. That’s the first of several things I came here to do.”
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CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: Deadly Solutions.
Bart Tobler didn’t need to be a reporter to figure out that the man standing next to
him had come here to kill him. He tried to take a deep breath. His chest hurt as he sucked
the oxygen, he felt so weary. He just couldn’t get his breath. He tried to scream as loud as
he could but all that came out was a dry rasping sound. He tried again, he could feel the
air leave his mouth but the only sound was a loud gasp.
He leaned forward with all the energy he could muster, but even this made him
feel dizzy. He remembered in the back of his mind that it is best not to yell for help. The
experts say that you should instead yell fire. So he swallowed, hoping to get some saliva
in his throat and with all his might he yelled, “Fire, help, fire, doctor, nurse, police,
there’s a fire.” Even with all the effort he could not get any volume. He doubted that
anyone outside the room would have heard him.
The effort sent him spinning with dizziness, his chest was burning and he was
panting. He tried again, when he saw the flash of the man’s fist moving toward him. He
felt an explosive thud right in the center of the chest. This caused an electric explosion of
pain as his body convulsed. He nearly passed out.
When the room stopped spinning he could see the man was holding a large
handgun inches from his forehead. Bart Tobler did not know much about guns but he
could see that this one had a silencer on it.
The man spoke and said, “We will have no more of that. Attempt to yell, or call
for help and I will simply pull this trigger. By the time anyone checks your vitals, I will
be long gone. Not only will you be dead but your family will not be able to have an open
casket funeral. I am told that an open casket funeral is therapeutic. You wouldn’t want to
deprive your loved ones of something therapeutic?”
Bart grew quiet. He needed to think. At the moment the guy was in charge. The
man spoke, “I’m amazed at how well the threat of a closed casket funeral affects people.
Even when facing death they think of their loved ones. Humans are indeed strange and
wonderful creatures.”
The man opened his satchel and began to root around in it. His movements were
awkward as he was still holding onto the handgun and keeping an eye on Bart. A few
second later he produced a black box. Opening the box he pulled out a large syringe. He
removed the cap from the syringe and laid it to the side.
He began to feel around Bart Tobler’s arm, he muttered, “I have to find a vein,
where is it?” All the while he kept the gun pointed at the reporter. Finally after a few
seconds he apparently found what he was looking for.
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Taking the syringe he pushed the needle tip into the vein, and began to push the
plunger down. Bart Tobler instinctively began to tense up and cry out.
This earned him a sharp hit from the back of the man’s gun hand. The killer
commented, “Stop squirming, this drug won’t hurt you, although you might feel it go in. I
don’t know, I’ve never used the stuff.” He finished pushing in the syringe’s plunger.
Bart felt a cold liquid go through his arm, as if he was being injected with dry ice.
His whole arm was cold and numb. The frozen feeling began to spread through his body.
When the coldness came to his head he began to feel even drowsier than he already was.
The killer put the syringe back into the box and placed the box back into the
leather bag. He spoke softly, “We will need to give that stuff a moment to work.
Supposedly it is synthesized from the excretions of salamanders in Haiti. I can tell you
that it won’t hurt you but it will leave you completely paralyzed.”
Bart Tobler immediately realized that this was the truth. The feeling of cold
numbness spread throughout his body and he couldn’t move. He tried to lift up his hand,
but all he did was make it quiver slightly.
The man continued, “Again don’t worry about that drug. It will begin to
breakdown in your body within 30 minutes and within 60 you will have your movement
back.” The killer paused a moment, “Of course it will not come to that. I have prepared a
three drug cocktail. The first which you are currently experiencing paralyzes. The second
will slow your respiration and opens up the arteries and veins to the third drug. You could
say it kind of opens up the pores.”
He continued, “It’s the third drug that really makes the magic happened. It causes
cardiac arrest. It only takes about fifteen minutes and you will feel no pain, or so I am
told. I guess you’ll have to be the judge of that. Anyway by the time anyone figures out
that something’s wrong it will be too late and nothing they do will revive you. Of course
by then I will be long gone. The best part is that the drug is untraceable through standard
autopsy testing, a real marvel of technology.”
The stranger paused for a moment and said, “Let’s see how were doing here.” He
grabbed two of Bart’s fingers and began to squeeze and twist. Pain shot up the reporter’s
arm, he felt everything, but could do nothing. He wanted to scream but all he could
manage to produce was a slight grunt.
The man said, “Good, seems your coming along fine. Here, we won’t need this
anymore.” He returned the handgun into the satchel. He rooted around a pull out a black
255
box similar to the first but bigger. When he opened the box Bart could see that it
contained an IV bag filled with a tan liquid.”
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CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: Reversal of Fortunes.
As the masked vigilante finished speaking the rest of the group began to tense up.
Dr. Bohl growled, “What do you mean the first of several things you came here to do?”
The Batman ignored him. Jim Gordon thought he saw a faint red light appear under the
masked man’s cowl.
The Dark Knight looked up and barked, “Gordon, Essen get ready.” Lowering his
head and speaking into what Gordon could only assume was a hidden microphone the
Batman said, “Captain Good, Go!”
With that the lights in the building immediately went out and the room was
plunged into darkness. Gordon heard the gravelly voice say, “Eyes closed.” Gordon shut
his eyes as tight as he could and looked straight down. He knew that Sarah Essen was
doing the exact same thing.
The others were beginning to react to this sudden darkness. They did not have
time. Even though he had his eyes closed Gordon could still see the bright burst of a flash
bang grenade. He immediately smelt the burning powder that Batman had thrown at the
two people who were holding a gun to his and Essen’s head. The explosion occurred
behind them, so that none of the blast touched him or Essen. The two men screamed in
pain, blinded by the flash and the incapacitating powder.
Jim Gordon reacted instantly by taking his elbow and smashing it into the face of
the man who was behind him. The grip had already been broken, the elbow connected
with the man’s nose and Gordon thought he heard him fall.
Gordon figured that Batman must have night vision goggles built into his cowl. He
thought he saw the shadowy cape blur forward and strike the man who had been holding
Essen. In a second the lieutenant pulled free and although the room was pitch black
Gordon grabbed at what he was certain was his partner.
No sooner had the two scrambled out of harm’s way than Gordon felt something
pressed into his hand. He heard the unmistakable rasp of the Batman’s voice say, “Here
are your firearms, the safety is off.” A thin red light shine from the dark figure’s cowl and
pointed to a stack of large crates to the side of the warehouse. For a brief second Jim
Gordon wondered if maybe the man could shoot laser beams out of his eyes. The
Batman said, “Let’s get behind those crates.”
As they stumbled to safety the trio heard the booming voice of Captain Dan Good
from right outside the warehouse, “This is Captain Dan Good Gotham PD. This building
is surrounded. I order you to drop all weapons and come out slowly with your hands held
straight up.”
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Suddenly the emergency lights came on. Gordon could see the two scientists, the
six soldiers and the three creatures standing in the middle of the warehouse looking
disoriented. All of them were shaking their heads and rubbing their eyes trying to focus
their vision. Two of the soldiers were bleeding from the nose. A third soldier was still on
one knee and apparently in a lot of pain. He was likely the one who was holding the
machine gun to Batman’s head.
What concerned the detective the most was the emergency lights. He spoke to the
costumed figure, “I thought you said that you took care of the emergency lights.”
Batman replied, “I completely disabled the backup generator. I had no idea that
they had yet another backup. This is not good.”
The three watched from behind the crate as Dr. Bohl took charge. The man
barked, “Captain Verail, Dr. Krueger and I will be making our escape through the
tunnels. You and your men will have to cover our escape and then make your egress in a
few minutes. Caleb, Dalton you will obey every one of Captain Verail’s orders.”
The two behemoths just nodded. One of them said, “Uh yeah sure boss.”
Nick Verail responded, “Right, okay men you know the drill. We’ve practiced
this. We have got to buy some time.”
With that the five other men spread out and began to take defensive positions.
Captain Verail yelled, “Murphy brothers stay with me. If anyone tries to get into this
building you put the hurt on them.”
The two massive creatures grunted, “Got it!”
The lead mercenary looked at the massive Wayne Logan creature and said, “Looks
like you are going to get your wish. Go get’em.” The largest of the three behemoths
growled and said, “It’s what gives my life meaning.”
Gordon could see the two scientists run to the far off corridor. Batman turned to
him and asked, “You say this area has secret underground access passages?” Gordon
replied, “Yeah the whole warehouse district is covered with these underground tunnels.
We know they ‘re there but we couldn’t find them on any map or blue prints.”
Batman growled, “That means if those two get to the tunnels they will disappear
forever. You and Essen have got to stop them.”
“What about you?”
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As he watched Wayne Logan approach Batman said, “Looks like I am going to be
busy.”
The gargantuan stepped forward and growled at the masked man, “You there Bats
in the Belfry. You think you’re a big tough man of mystery. Well I got a few secrets also.
If you’re dumb enough to face me I ‘m gonna kill you. If you’re the pathetic coward I
think you are, then I’m going to escape with the two eggheads and go kill me some
innocent people. Heck I’ll be thinking of you every time I crush someone’s skull.” With
that the massive beast turned and ran into the next storage area. As he left his fading
voice cried out, “Catch me if you can.”
Lieutenant Jim Gordon could see the black shadowy figure pursue the man. With a
woosh of his cape the Batman sprinted after the giant. He could not think about that now.
He and Detective Essen began to run after the two scientists. Meanwhile the six
mercenaries were firing at the windows aiming for Captain Good and his men. The
deafening sound of gun fire rang out continuously.
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CHAPTER FIFTY- THREE: Injections.
Even if Bart Tobler could move he would still be paralyzed with fear. The whole
thing couldn’t be real, it couldn’t be real. He wanted to wake up and believe that this
would all be over. He could barely breathe and his chest felt so very, very heavy.
Yet he knew it was real. He had been shot and was lying in a hospital bed. This
stranger standing next to him was an assassin, a real life assassin. This man had killed
people. He ws going to kill him with the casualness of a bored waitress taking someone’s
order. There was nothing that he could possibly do about it. He wanted to scream, he
wanted to explode but there was nothing he could do, nothing, absolutely nothing. The
feeling of stark terror was equaled only by the desperation of being totally immobile.
A few minutes ago the man had injected something into him. This demonic drug
had left him completely paralyzed. He tried to move, he tried to scream, but no sound
escaped him. Bart Tobler thought that by sheer force of will if he could move his hand,
even his pinky then he could break the spell. With all his might, with every ounce of
concentration he willed his hand to move …move…move…and…nothing. Nothing
happened.
The killer spoke in a near whisper, “Okay, that should be long enough. The first
drug has worked its magic and we are ready to proceed to phase two.” The man held an
IV bag filled with a tan liquid which he sloshed back and forth. He continued, “This drug
will slow done your respiration and heart rate. Once it is in your system phase three will
be to induce cardiac arrest.” The man began to place the bag on top of the IV pole and
spoke, “Let’s get this into place.”
The reporter was screaming, frantic, erupting inside, He knew he was about to die
and there was nothing he could do about it. Help, help someone, help me, help me, help
me. In the name of God and all that is holy someone, anyone help me! Mom, dad, can
you hear me, can you help me.
But before the killer could place the IV bag on the pole both men heard a loud
knock on the door. Next came a high pitched female voice saying, “Hello is anybody
home?”
Bart’s mind was racing, someone was at the door.
The voice continued, “Hello how are things going in there.”
Bart thought, yes, there’s someone here; there’s someone, anyone.
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Bart could not turn his head, but he could turn his eyes and he saw that it was a
nurse. A nurse was making her rounds. Maybe there was a chance after all.
The woman entered the room and said, “Well I hope I’m not interrupting
anything.”
Bart wanted to tell her to run and call for help.
The killer spoke in a surprisingly friendly voice, “Hi, my name is Mike Fritz. I’m
one of the pastors from Bart’s church. I was just making a ministerial visit.”
The woman began to walk to the bed. Bart wanted to will her to come closer,
closer to see what was going on.
The woman said, “Please to meet you my name is Deb Tuttle. I am one of the
nurse’s aides.”
Bart could see that she was a buxom woman with thick, brown curly hair. She was
wearing thick glasses and was chewing gum. She snapped her gum and said, “The reason
I popped in here was that the call button was pressed a moment ago.’
Bart thought, yes, yes check the call button, see that it has been ripped out.
The assassin said, “Oh I must have hit it accidently I am sorry about this. We are
quite all right.”
The woman sat down on a chair on the far side of the room. Bart considered this a
good thing, while she was here the killer couldn’t continue his work. Maybe the drug
would wear off and he could call for help. The reporter wanted to scream at her yes, stay
let’s have a nice long chat.
The woman said, “You know I am a real fan of you Mr. Tobler. I wanted to tell
you that I read all of your articles on the Batman. They are really exciting.” She looked
up and said, “You know I saved the first article you wrote on the Batman. Do you think
you could autograph it for me? Please.”
Bart wanted to tell her that if she could save his life, he would be glad to write her
biography; just stay, just stay.
The killer started to look a bit agitated. He quickly commented, “I am sure that
when Mr. Tobler wakes up he would love to.”
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The woman seemed surprised at this statement. She said, “Wait is he asleep?”
Bart Tobler wanted to say, “No! no, no I am not asleep. Come over here, you will
see that he is lying.”
The man paused and said, “Well…he is fading in an out. But we are having
confession.’
Ms. Tuttle asked, “Confession? Are you Catholic? Are you a priest?”
The murderer stumbled and said, “My no, that’s just what we call it.” He paused
for a moment and said, “But this is a rather private moment.”
The journalist tried to say that it was anything but private. Unfortunately he still
could not move.
The aide said, “I understand. I’ll let you two get along.”
Bart wanted to scream no, no, no don’t go, come back, come back.
The woman got up to go and stopped for a moment. She looked and said, “What’s
that?’ She pointed to the bag of tan colored liquid.
The assassin pretended not to notice. He asked, “What’s what?”
Deb Tuttle answered, “There’s a bag on the IV pole and it’s not attached to
anything.”
The killer paused and said, “Well maybe it’s there for a reason. Don’t you think
you should leave it?”
Bart tried to tell the woman no don’t leave it, don’t leave it. Take it with you.
The woman said, “No, we’re not supposed to leave things like that hanging
around. If Julie left that she is going to be in real trouble.” The woman walked over and
grabbed the bag.
The reporter thought yes, that’s the spirit take the bag, take it. Once again he tried
to speak but nothing came out.
Before the man could do anything the nurse’s aide grabbed the IV bag and walked
toward the door.
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The murderer just looked at her and said, “Well Debbie, it is Debbie?” The woman
acknowledged this with a nod. The man continued, “It has been a pleasure to meet you. I
am sure that Mr. Tobler would love to give you that autograph once we are done.”
The woman responded, “Well I have got rounds but I can be back in about a
hour.”
The assassin smiled and said, “I am sure that we will be done by then. Oh and
Debbie will shut the door behind you.”
The woman did just that and exited.
The killer turned to Bart and said, “That was an inconvenience. I bet you’re
feeling pretty good about yourself aren’t you?”
Bart Tobler could say nothing but he was feeling elated.
The man spoke again but in a lower more menacing tone, “Well don’t feel too
good. I told you that I consider myself the country’s premiere assassin. That means that I
follow the old Boy Scout motto; be prepared.”
He pulled out another large black box and opened it. Reaching inside he produced
a second bag filled with tan liquid. Wasting no time the killer hung the bag attached an
IV line and inserted it into the existing saline line.
This time when the journalist tried to scream a low guttural rasp came out. The
journalist had the presence of mind to consider that this might be the last sound he will
ever make.
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CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: Scientific Pursuit.
Essen and Gordon were crouched behind a large wooden crate and thinking the
exact same thing. It was insane to rush out in the open right now with bullets flying all
around.
The roar of gunfire, the glass windows shattering, the dust and plaster flying and
bullets slamming around them created a scene of horrific chaos. It looked like something
right out of a war movie. Only this was anything but a movie. Deadly shrapnel and high
velocity rounds filled the area like a swarm of angry hornets. It was as if the very air had
been poisoned. The two cops could hear the occasional thump as bullets slammed into the
front of the crate they were behind.
Gordon could see that the soldiers were hunched behind stacked crates and boxes
and were firing at any outside movement. The cop fully understood that these were his
colleagues who were taking fire. They were brave men, the few left on Gotham PD, but
they were not soldiers. They were outmatched and outgunned.
It seemed that everyone was shouting and screaming. The lead soldier was
screaming orders at his subordinates and the soldiers were yelling…just to be yelling.
Meanwhile shrill screams could be heard from outside, that meant that some of the M-16
rounds had hit their targets. One of the soldiers was dragging the 50 caliber machine gun
into place.
Both cops wanted to start firing at the mercenaries. But if they shot at them it
would draw their fire and cause the two of them to be pinned down. Beside Gordon
thought that their .45’s might not even penetrate the mercenaries body armor.
More importantly they had to stop those two scientists; if they made it to the
underground tunnels they would get clean away. They already had a substantial head
start. Heck, they were probably in the tunnels already.
James Gordon wanted to tell his partner to stay put. He did not want her going any
further. Heck, she should not have come this far. It was wrong to bring her into this and
to let her get deliberately captured and held hostage. He hated himself for putting her
through all of this. It was wrong, dead wrong.
He knew he could not stop her. She knew the risks. When he suggested that she
stay behind, she made it clear that she was in it all the way and would not take no for an
answer. James Gordon knew that Sarah Essen wanted nothing more than to be the best
cop she could be. She was his friend, his partner and his equal.
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Gordon yelled to Essen over the roar of the fire, “We’ve got to catch those two.”
Essen responded, “Jim I know, but if we go out there we are dead, heck we take two steps
and those mercs will gun us down.”
He shouted, “Stay low, and move along the wall; let’s be quick about it. Once we
get to the other side we will have to make an all out dash to the hallway.” She responded
by looking into his eyes and saying, “Let’s do our duty.”
He put his hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes and said, “It’s why we
get paid the big bucks.” With that both cops roared and ran.
********
Keith Krueger thought that this was the most senseless waste of his time
imaginable. He and his colleague, the increasingly risk taking Jason Bohl were in the
laboratory smashing equipment, dumping boxes of paper and throwing chemicals and
accelerants all over the room.
Artemis Daniels made this part of protocol abundantly clear. They were instructed
if they were ever compromised that this lab had to be destroyed, but the police were right
on their trail. The whole plan was a bust, and they needed to get out and out now. You
didn’t need to be one of the world’s most brilliant scientist to realize that only one course
of action was required – run!” He screamed, “The police are already on their way, we
need to get to the access tunnels.”
Dr. Bohl was furiously splashing chemicals all over the room. He responded,
“You knew the risks when you took the job. All of this has to go. Get the papers in that
file cabinet over here and dump them in the center of the room. There is a can of gasoline
in the corner.” The man finished his statement by firing his weapon into a piece of
machinery. The equipment sparked and smoked.
Dr. Krueger spoke frantically, “This won’t help anyone if we are both dead. Jason
we’ve got to flee and now. What if the Batman busts through that wall?” He was quickly
dumping the last of the paper files on the floor.
The other man grunted and said, “Captain Verail will hold off the police and the
Batman. We only need another minute or two. We’ve got to get this done.”
The senior scientist thought to himself, if anyone could hold off the Batman it
would be the three creations. He grabbed several notebooks, splashed them with
chemicals and threw them in the center of the room.
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Dr. Bohl grabbed the hard drives of two computers. He shot each one, and
smashed them with a metal stool until they lay in pieces. Dousing them with accelerant
he gasped, “Listen you have a gun, if any cop approaches, shoot’em.”
“Shoot them? I’m a scientist not a thug,” Dr. Krueger said while pouring the last
bottle of some flammable chemical on the papers.”
The two men surveyed their work, everything was shattered, broken, crushed, and
most of it was in a heap in the middle of the floor. The place was reeking from a
dangerous smell of a variety of chemicals. Some areas of the room were already starting
to smoke as the mixtures interacted.
Dr. Bohl grabbed one last thing. He held two large bags filled with the same green
chemical he had used to transform the three prisoners. He dumped the liquid on the floor
and threw the plastic bags on top of the pile. Both bags landed face up. In big bold letters
the word LAZARUS was clearly visible.
The two men stepped out of the lab and one of them ignited a piece of paper with
his lighter. He tossed the burning wad while make a mad dash down the hallway. Both
men could not remember when they had run so fast.
********
The two detectives rounded the hall; each quickly glanced at themselves and at
their partner. They were out of the line of fire and had made it this far in one piece. But
each knew that there was no time to congratulate each other; they had to find the two
scientists.
They did not have far to look. Neither detective had gotten five steps before they
saw the two men running out of one of the rooms at the end of the hallway. Gordon knew
that they were out of range of his weapon and so he did not yell halt. He thought that
there was a chance that the two men would not see them until they were closer.
But before he could take another step the room the two men exited from exploded
into a huge fire ball. Billowing waves of fire and black smoke roared down the hallway.
For a brief second Gordon wondered if the blast would strike him, but no, he was too far
away. Both he and Essen continued to run toward the flames and toward the two
suspects.
When they got to the room they saw it was engulfed in flames. Thick oily clouds
of black smoke were pouring out. This made it impossible to see what was ahead. Plus
neither cop knew what kind of Dr. Frankenstein chemicals caused that fire, or what
would happen if they breathed it in. Gordon covered his face with his hands and yelled,
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“Don’t breathe that crap!” She responded, “On it, that stuff will make you grow another
head.”
He was amazed that she could joke at a time like this. His admiration for her grew
every second. But they couldn’t think about that now. They sped past the burning room in
order to continue the chase.
The two scientists were just up ahead. They apparently did not know that the cops
were right on their heels as they turned the corner and entered a large annex.
The two detectives turned the corner and threw themselves into the room. Both
had their weapons drawn and Gordon yelled as loud as he could, “Gotham Police, stay
where you are and get your hands into the air.” His voice was raspy from the smoke, but
he managed to make himself heard. He and Essen tried to draw on their targets but as
they scanned the room the two men were not to be seen. Both cops looked around, where
had they gone?
Just then they both heard the loud report of a handgun. Gordon felt something like
a hammer slam into the left part of his stomach. It took him no time to realize that he had
been shot. The impact and burst of pain doubled him over.
Essen grabbed him and pulled them both behind a nearby wooden counter. As she
did three more rounds struck the ground just inches from them. One more slammed into
the counter causing the wood to splinter.
As the police officers moved further back they could see the scientists on the other
side of the room. They were hunkered behind a thick work bench and from what he could
tell both were armed. This had turned into a shootout and the bad guys had just drawn
first blood.
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CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: Frontal Assault.
Moving silently and effortlessly Batman followed the monstrous Wayne Logan
into the second part of the warehouse. This area of the structure was also stacked with
boxes and crates. It was larger than the previous one and the emergency lights were
dimmer. He stuck to the shadows and was virtually invisible. This was an excellent
environment for him to operate.
The Wayne Logan thing was nowhere to be seen. That obviously meant that he
was either in the next area or was hiding. Batman reasoned that if he was hiding he
wanted to launch a sneak attack.
He retreated to a dark corner of the cavernous room and began to scan from left to
right, up and down. He looked for anything out of place. Was there a crate that had just
been moved? Was there a pile of dust that had fallen in the last few seconds, a shadow, a
noise? Nothing escaped his notice.
Not seeing anything out of place, the Batman changed the vision settings on his
goggles to infra-red. This picks up the heat produced by the surrounding objects. The
whole warehouse lit up in red and green auras as the amount of heat each item produced
glared in the visor. He scanned slowly again left to right, up and down, looking for an out
of place heat signature. The problem was that if the creature was well hidden behind one
of the massive stacks of crates, infra-red would not help.
When this method failed to locate the man monster the Batman considered that it
simply was not in the room. Still he could not let his guard down. He could not let that
creature jump him from behind.
He switched the goggles back to normal vision. Then switched the right eye to
20X magnification giving him the ability to see minute details. He switched on the
hearing amplifiers. These would allow him to listen for any sounds out of place that the
human ear could not pick up on. Carefully, silently, effortlessly, like a dark mist in a
pitch black room the shadow glided along the wall.
The silence was broken when he heard the creature snarl and growl, “Hey Bat
punk, you listening or have you turned tail and run.” The Batman stood still and tried to
find the source of the sound. The noise echoed through the cavernous room so much it
was difficult to pin point the origins.
The voice continued, “You remember when you started this one man crusade?
One of your first victims was a young 19 year old named, Martin Logan. You remember
him, thin, short kid with long brown hair, several facial scars? No match for a big tough
superman like you. Do you remember him?”
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The Batman remembered him well. It was on one of his earlier sorties. The man
was threatening a lady with a knife. Where was the voice coming from?
“That kid was my brother. He is border line developmentally disabled; he
couldn’t get much farther than a third grade education. Remember that kid?”
The creature had given Batman time to digest this and then went on, “In a sane
society he would have been placed in a special school to help him learn and develop his
skills: a place run by caring professionals. Can you imagine such a place? Well you won’t
find that in Gotham.”
Batman wondered what this was all about. He remained unmoving and continued
to scan for the man’s location. The voice continued, “No, in Gotham my mom did what
she could for the two of us, but she had been forced into heroin addiction in order to
make her more compliant as a dancer at one of Cobblepot’s establishments. We were one
of the ranks of the legions of homeless in a city that mocks its victims.”
The Batman wondered why he was telling him this. Was he trying to get him to
feel sorry for him? He still could not locate where the thing was, but believed it was in
the front part of the warehouse, near his location.
Wayne Logan snarled, “My brother grew up begging on the streets. I did what I
could to help him, but I made some bad choices and ended up at Blackgate. The night
you assaulted him he was not attacking that woman. She was a professional cat burglar
named Selena Kyle. She promised my brother a million dollars if he acted as her look
out. She thought it was funny to tease my brother by making such a crazy promise.”
Was this true? The Batman had no idea that things had occurred that way. What
did all of this mean? Whoever Wayne Logan was, he had a real knowledge of how to
hide his location. Was this a skill he had picked up in Blackgate? Listening carefully he
thought that the noise emanated from somewhere near his position, but he could not
locate the actual source.
“Selena Kyle was a trained martial artist, she was never in any danger, in fact she
gave him that knife. She thought it was funny to hear someone like Martin beg and fight
for the million dollars she owed him. So when you attacked, what did you do? You broke
his jaw, three ribs and dislocated his arm and shoulder. He suffered a concussion and
possible brain damage. Meanwhile Selena Kyle walked away with a pouch full of jewels
she had just stolen.”
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Batman did not know this. He remembered that the female victim in this case did
not seem particularly shook up by the assault. Now that he thought about, she winked at
him and took the knife. He could not worry about that now. He had to find the man. He
was pretty sure that the voice came from a higher position. Wayne Logan was probably
perched on the very top of a large stack of crates.
The creature roared, “My brother’s injuries are healing but his mind is not. Listen
to me you monster, my brother suffered what they call a psychotic episode as a result of
the head trauma. The charges were dropped when of course that witch Selena Kyle never
showed up to press them. But my brother couldn’t even walk out of the hospital. He is
currently at Arkham Asylum with a 1000 other lunatics. Right now a fat, indifferent
nurse’s aide is probably feeding him a bowl full of gruel while trying to avoid changing
his diaper, which they do about once a week.”
The creature that had once been Wayne Logan leaped from the top of the tallest
stack of crates and landed deftly on the concrete floor below. Staring right at the Batman
he screeched, “I know you’re over there, so you tell me what right do you have to
permanently damage someone? Aren’t we supposed to have a system that does that? Of
course if the system worked at all you would be behind bars. So I guess I get to be the
vigilante here. Come on out and face me, or do you want me to come over there and rip
your head off?”
With that the monster roared and charged. The Batman anticipated this and pulled
out a sleek black object. He called it a batarang because its aerodynamic design was
similar to a boomerang. It was about eleven inches in length and weighed about one half
of a pound. It was made of a tungsten, titanium, aluminum alloy; very light, very strong.
Its edges were fabricated to be microscopically sharper than a razor blade.
The dark warrior’s gauntlet had a special twelve inch attachment for throwing the
batarang. It was a flexible piece of nylon tubing that elongated to quadruple its size.
When used properly it created the same effect as a bull whip and could launch the deadly
device at astonishing speeds.
As the attacker leaped the dark figure hurled the batarang at nearly 400 feet per
second. The razor sharp piece of metal lodged itself between the bottom two ribs. The
behemoth doubled over with an agonizing grunt.
As the giant hunched over and tried to turn away. The vigilante leaped at it and
with a swinging power kick struck the batarang. This caused the device to embed deeper
in the creatures flesh; Wayne Logan howled with rage and fury.
The shadowy, shrouded figure produced something that looked like a gun.
Loading a large dart into the weapon he fired at the massive creature striking it in the
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neck at the ceratoid artery. With a low hiss the dart forcefully delivered its chemical
cargo.
The two figures stood there and looked at each other. Both were interested in what
would happen next. Wayne Logan pulled the hypodermic dart from his neck and asked,
“What kind of stuff did you shoot into me?” The shadow responded, “An antidote to the
chemicals they used to create you and a powerful traquilizer. It should begin to work any
second now.”
The two stared at each other for a long minute. The mammoth, hairless being
slowly began to shake his head and said, “No, I’m feeling fine.” Smiling a wicked smile
he snarled, “Now let me show you plan B.”
The monster lunged and swung his huge arm like a club with astonishing speed.
The Dark Knight barely avoided the blow. Batman followed up by opening a pouch and
hurling a large capsule at the thing. The capsule, about the size of disposal lighter,
exploded in the creatures face with a bursting cloud of thick, oily gray smoke.
The substance was a powerful disabling agent. It was mixture of an acid based
pepper powder that would instantly blind a person, a chemical agent that caused
involuntary vomiting, and a neuro-toxin that shut down most of the person’s nervous
system. The results were that the victim was instantly incapacitated.
When the dust cleared Batman saw that the creature was standing, and smiling.
The powder had seemingly no effect on the giant. In addition he was holding the
batarang, ignoring the gaping wound in his side.
Wayne Logan grinned an even bigger malicious smile bearing his teeth and
growled, “That all you got?” With a roar, he charged. The crime fighter did not even see
the monster swing the batarang at his face, but heard and felt his mask rip open. He saw a
thin spray of blood shoot out.
Then the gargantuan continued the charge by tackling him into a large crate.
Fortunately the crate moved with the impact which absorbed some of the force. The
costume had several layers of protected padding, one of which was a series of liquid
filled cushions about the size of a dime. They were layered over each other so that they
mimicked reptilian scales. This system was designed to distribute any force through the
whole structure thus minimizing the impact of any blow; but it had its limits.
The crime fighter felt like he had been hit by a car. The wind was completely
knocked out of him. He knew that without the costume’s protection his spinal cord would
have snapped. As of right now he could feel the grinding twists of two broken ribs. He
grunted and struggled to inhale.
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The creature lay atop of him pinning him to the floor. But it still did not have a
good purchase. Calling upon his unparalleled martial arts skills the Batman instantly
considered every viable working offensive move from the position he was in. Twisting
and arching upward, he managed to throw the larger being forward.
He was not able to hurl the gargantuan off of him but that was not the goal. He
managed to get his right arm free enough to grab a black box, about the size of a chalk
board eraser in a pouch on his utility belt. Holding the box against the center of the huge
chest he pressed a button.
Wayne Logan was hit with enough electricity to floor an elephant. The device
made a loud sizzle, and an arc of blue sparks flew off the connectors. The giant’s skin
began to smoke with the smell of burning flesh. The man roared and flew backward to
escape the charge.
The Dark Knight was on him in an instant. Pulling out a large expandable baton
the black figure swung the weapon in a full circle and smashed the stick into the
monster’s head, once, twice, three times. Wayne Logan’s forehead was left with angry,
red stripes. Thick, dark blood began to ooze down the huge face.
The behemoth reared back and took a massive swing at the cloaked man. It was
not meant to connect, just create space. With blinding speed the mammoth figure grabbed
the baton and forcefully yanked it out of the owner’s hand. The metal stick went flying.
He was ready to launch another attack but before he could get a correct stance he
was struck twice in each eye by the smaller, black, bat shaped throwing knives.
The Wayne Logan thing screamed and grabbed the knives pulling them out of his
face. Shaking his head to clear his vision he felt the thwup of two pieces of metal attach
to his chest. Looking down he saw two talons that were attached to a series of wires. The
wires were connected to a larger black box about half the size of a shoe box. The black
object had several dials and buttons on it.
This was another of the Batman’s potent weapon; one that he was sure would end
the fight. With a flick of a switch over 100,000 volts of white hot electricity shot through
the wires and into the creature that had once been Wayne Logan. The huge body was
flooded with pain, he hit the ground jerking, convulsing.
The two talons began to spark as smoke began to rise from the connectors. The
creature at first seemed to be unconscious. But to the Batman’s surprise the mammoth
being pushed up with one hand. Then it rose to one unsteady knee. The Dark Knight
turned a knob to increase the voltage to the device’s maximum output.
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At first the gargantuan fell, staggered by the increase in output. But a few seconds
later the thing gave several gasping inhalations. With a roar he staggered and wobbled
back to one knee, then two. The creature regained his purchase and with a deafening
scream he ripped the two talons out of the blackened patch of burnt flesh that was the
front of his chest. Grabbing the two wires in his massive hands, he twisted and snapped
them like twine. They exploded in a cascade of blue sparks and silver smoke.
The thing, was still smoking when the giant grinned again and through smoking,
gritted teeth snarled out, “Your tricks don’t work on me. Now let’s see what I can do.”
The massive creature lunged with all his might. Batman side stepped him in an
attempt to avoid the charge. He was not fast enough. The attacker reached out and pulled
the defender to him. The momentum forced the two combatants against the wall.
The thing yelled, “Now, my turn.” With that, he struck him in the stomach with a
huge haymaker of a punch. The costume absorbed some of the blow, but it still doubled
the Batman over.
Next came two jabs to the masked cowl. The face plate that protected the mouth,
nose and chin held, but it staggered the receiver. Before he could block the blows, the
Dark Knight was hit with three more rapid fire punches to the already broken ribs. Pain
exploded up his side, he felt like his whole rib cage had been twisted around.
The Wayne Logan delivered a crushing head butt to the Batman’s nose. He could
feel the bone crunch under the force of the blow. The back of his throat was filled with
blood. Before he could raise his hands two more crossing blows caught him in the face.
He felt several of his teeth dislodge as he expunged a stream of frothing blood. Less than
a second later his whole face felt like it was on fire, he thought that his jaw was likely
broke.
As the Batman doubled over he barely felt two well placed knee thrust strike him
dead in the solar plexus. He hit the ground and tried desperately to wriggle away from the
onslaught. The monster began to stomp on his arm and shoulder. One of the kicks
connected with the back of his head.
The Batman felt the blackness come in from the sides. He knew he was getting
decimated and yet all he could think about was…peace. He was overcome with a floating
sense of peace. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the end of his efforts. All he wanted to
do was sleep and end this crusade forever. He was so tired.
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Yes, he wanted to put all of this behind him and detach himself from this hideous
struggle. He knew that many people believed that there was a better place you went to
when you left this life. Maybe he would go there and be reunited with his loved ones.
“No!” he heard himself say. He would not go down like this. If that monster
escaped the people who made him, would make thousands like him. He reached into his
utility belt producing a round object about the size of a hockey puck.
He hurled it upward. The flash bang grenade exploded in the frenzied berserker’s
face. The impact knocked the wreathing nightmare back and caused him to fall violently.
The Batman punched two small buttons on his belt. The first sent strong ammonia
spirits into his nose helping him regain his senses, this was followed by a flow of oxygen
originating in a small bottle he wore. This helped him clear his head. The second button
opened a small compartment containing two ampoules. The Batman swallowed both
tablets which immediately began to flood his system with a powerful mixture of
adrenaline, Benzedrine (an extremely strong stimulant) and a powerful pain killer.
Both combatants got to their feet at the same time. They stared at each other taking
their opponents measure. The Batman knew he had several broken ribs and he worried
that one of them had broken off and punctured a kidney. His nose was smashed, he was
missing one, no two teeth which he spat out and placed in a compartment for possible
reattachment. On second look he believed his jaw was not broken but he may have a
concussion.
The Dark Knight looked at his opponent. The creature had a angry black burn on
the center of his chest and it was breathing hard. His ribcage was still bleeding; in fact his
whole side was soaked in blood. One of his eyes seemed to be closed shut and there was
a white liquid dribbling out of the socket. The monster was bleeding from the lacerations
he had given it with the baton. Finally the grenade produced angry burns on the left side
of his face.
Batman knew that the creature was twice his size, incredibly strong and
superhumanly fast. Its skin was tougher than leather and it seemed to barely register pain.
None of the weapons he used had much effect on the juggernaut. He had been foolish and
it had cost him. But he acknowledged that he was one of, if not the best trained fighter on
the planet. He still had a lot in his arsenal.
With a roar the Batman became the aggressor, launching himself at the beast. His
enemy saw the challenge and gladly accepted. The two titans clashed in a fight that both
knew only one would survive.
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CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: Stalled Engagement.
“You know Dad the family that engages in full mortal combat together, stays
together.” Officer Dan Good Jr. joked. His next comment was interrupted by a burst of
automatic fire coming from the huge structure in front of him. As several of the rounds
pinged off the police cruiser in front of him he said, “Whoops, almost didn’t duck.”
His father, Captain Dan Good was currently in charge of this chaos. He lifted his
head long enough to return several shots. He shot a sideways glance at his son and
chastised him saying, “You just keep your head down. It’s bad enough I have to be the
boss I sure as heck don’t want to have to baby sit my wayward kid.”
“Mom would be so proud of both of us…that’s assuming either of us live through
this.” he replied in between the exchange of gunfire.
Captain Good allowed himself to think, kids these days, before returning to the
task at hand. Right now he had about a dozen men and half a dozen FBI agents pinned
down in the front of the warehouse. They were huddled behind several of the police
cruisers that were parked about 50 yards from the building. Some of the men were
crouched behind a couple of concrete embankments a little closer to the building.
He needed more men. There was supposed to be a whole heck of a lot more cops
than this. In addition he had requested the presence of several swat team units. No one
was showing up; the cowards. Didn’t they realize the importance of this operation?
Tragically the FBI man, John Harper had been struck dead center in the head. His
lifeless body lay spread eagle, face down directly in front of the rest of them. Another one
of the cops had taken a round in the arm. His buddy had applied first aid and he would
live, but was out of the game which was not good as he needed everyman.
His son was crouching low and speaking on a walkie talkie. When he was finished
his father asked, “What’s up, any good news?” The son answered, “We are still having
trouble seeing inside, but we believe that there are six bad guys. All are heavily armed
with military equipment and are dug in behind heavy crates. They are gonna be hard to
dig out. Meanwhile those big guys you were telling us about, apparently there are two of
them in there.”
“Any sign of Essen or Gordon?” the father asked.
The son replied, “There’s no sign of them in this part of the warehouse. We think
they are chasing the scientists. They may be near the blaze that just erupted. Several of
our people heard gun fire from that area.”
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“What about Batman?”
“No word, but he seems to have disappeared. But we think there were three of the
big, bald, baddies. Since we spotted only two, maybe he’s going after the other one.”
“Any idea what caused that fire?”
“You’re guess is as good as mine.”
The Captain growled in frustration. All of this stuff adds to the confusion and
helps those soldiers, or whatever they are get to the underground passages. If they get to
those tunnels it means that they will likely get away. Then he suddenly had a thought. He
asked, “Say do we have a scope in the trunk of this cruiser?”
His son responded, “Yeah I think we did pack one.”
The captain quickly moved to the back of the police vehicle to retrieve the object
exclaiming, “Good, I want to take a look.”
A scope was a mounted telescope. The ones they used were extremely powerful.
The police were fond of telling people that they could read newspaper print on the other
end of a football field. It took the policeman only a few seconds to set it up as he began to
scan what was visible in the warehouse.
After about a minute he pounded the car with his fist and exclaimed, “It figures,
just proves that the day is getting better and better!”
Seeing his father’s frustration his son could only ask, “What?”
His father paused to collect his thoughts and said, “Those men are mercenaries,
highly skilled mercenaries. They’re well trained and are carrying combat weapons, but
that’s not the worst of it.” The captain paused looked down and then back into the scope.
He muttered, “Yeah that’s him.”
His son asked inquisitively, “That’s who Dad?”
The father answered, “I know the head guy. His name is Nick Verail and we have
history from when I was in the Army Special Forces.”
“I remember, you got out a little after I turned eight years old.”
“Well about the time I was leaving Special Forces there was a young hotshot
lieutenant fresh out of West Point and Ranger’s School. His name was Nick Verail. I got
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to know him because we were the only two from Gotham City. I took an instant disliking
to him.”
“Why?”
“He was an exceptionally skilled soldier, top of his class at West Point, a real
athlete and a more than able leader. Back then the Green Berets would choose up teams
and have war games against each other; he always won. But he was mean, arrogant and
prone to fits of anger and did not take orders well. He was a capable leader, but not a
team player. He was the kind of guy who wouldn’t care if he got someone killed as long
as he looked good.” Captain Good paused as if to remember and continued, “The powers
that be overlooked all of that because he was excellent at what he did.”
“What happened to him?”
“A decade ago he crossed the line. He was providing muscle for cocaine dealers in
Florida; acting as private security. When the brass found out they had him arrested and
dishonorably discharged. He served time in Florida and then disappeared. There were
rumors that he had died.”
“Officer Dan Good Jr. looked at his father and said, “Well as Mark Twain
said….rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”
The Captain gritted his teeth and in a low growl exclaimed, “I tell you what,
there’s absolutely no one I would less like to go up against.”
Dan Good thought that this was especially true in Gotham where they were
hopelessly out gunned. They were armed with .45 hand guns and the cruisers were
equipped with short barreled 12 gauge shotguns. They packed a punch, but did not have
much range. Meanwhile from the sound of it the bad guys had automatic weapons and at
least one heavy duty machine gun.
There were sirens approaching but there had been sirens approaching for the last
fifteen minutes. What there was none of was any new arrivals. Captain Good pounded his
fist in frustration wondering where his backup was. More important where are those
APC’s?
This assignment had been a screw up from the beginning. The Gotham PD had
two armored personnel carriers. These were essentially large combat vehicles that were
designed for urban warfare. They were constructed with four inch steel walls and huge
puncture proof wheels. They could punch through walls. More importantly they would be
filled with a dozen Special Weapons and Tactics (SWAT) personnel. These men were
combat trained in urban assault. Good thought that in Gotham that should be every cop.
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The Captain wanted those APC’s in order to drive right through the walls of the
buildings and overwhelm the bad guys if they did not immediately surrender. He had
been assured that they would be ready to move at a moment’s notice and would be there
right from the start of the operation.
He had been told that they were en route, but that had been 30 minutes ago.
Unfortunately they were nowhere to be found, and neither were the other cops whom he
needed. Crouching low, the officer spoke into his cruiser’s radio. Higgins, Westmore
where are you guys.” he waited and repeated the question.
When Higgins answered it was barely audible, “We were order to secure the north
end.”
Captain Good could not suppress his anger, “The north end! There’s nothing going
on at the north end. We need you here and now!”
There was only silence.
The Captain growled, “Secure the north end, heck I’m surprised that most of you
guys aren’t at home securing the area under your beds. Let me make this clear, if you,
Westmore, and the other cops are not in my visual in two minutes, not only are you fired,
but I will see to it that you and the other cowards are charged with complicity…am I
making myself clear!?!?
There was no response.
“Captain Good growled spoke into the radio, “All available law enforcement
personnel are to proceed to the Well Done Storage area. Anyone not immediately heading
this way might as well turn in your badges. No excuses. Let’s move it people. Call in,
who’s out there?”
Five minutes later there was still no response.
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CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN: Silent Revelation.
“I do hate it when we are so rudely interrupted don’t you?” David Cain asked the
journalist. “I mean if the woman had stayed I would have had to kill her and no one
wants that. I am a professional and have no interest in giving my services away.”
Bart Tobler heard every word and was able to see every detail, yet the drugs
prevented him from moving. He was going to die and yet he could not even cause his
finger to wiggle.
The killer hung the bag filled with the tan liquid on the IV pole.
Bart was pleading harder than he had ever pleaded before. Pleading for his life, his
mind screamed, God help me, God help me, please someone help me, help me, help me,
help me.
The killer began to insert the bag into the existing line in his arm and adjusted the
flow of the liquid coming from the bag.
Out of the corner of his eye, Bart could see the tan liquid surging down the clear
IV line. He was frantic, yet he could not move. He was sure that he was sweating
profusely thought he was shivering.
The killer just looked at him with an almost bored expression. He checked his
watch and said, “It should only take a few minutes for it to take effect.
Bart could see the clock on the far wall. He saw the second clock revolving ever
so slowly around the numbers. One rotation, two rotations, three rotations and by the time
it got to four he felt his breathing begin to slow down. He felt like he was reclining or
sinking. The edges of his vision were getting darker.
He was screaming inside, what can I do, what can I do?
Then as if a flash of light or inspiration he heard one word. Pray.
Attempting to take as deep a breath as possible he prayed for peace. For the peace
that passes all understanding. He believed that when he prayed he was talking to God the
creator of the universe. He was speaking to God, who made and loves all.
The killer asked him, “Are you feeling it yet?”
Bart took another deep breath and thought, you know what, I am. As he began to
pray he remembered a sermon from a long time ago. He was a teenager, just coming of
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age. He had been raised in a church and always had a sense of being religious. But as he
got older his mind was filled with teenage things, girls, sports, cars, hanging with his
friends, girls. He never really had a lot of interest in religion.
But there he was on a Sunday morning sitting with his friends; after all he never
sat with his parents. That was so not cool. The pastor’s theme was that the grave was not
the end. The man approached the pulpit and in a toning cadence explained that you had
only two options you can grow old and die, or you can die before you grow old. But the
grave is not the end.
The pastor emphasized that it is said that we all will die. But as long as you’re
alive it’s not late. The grave is not the end.
The man of God explained that one day your loved ones are going to have a nice
ceremony for you, put you in a metal box, drop the box in a hole, cover it with dirt and
then they will go back to the church and eat chicken and potato salad. But the grave is not
the end.
By now people were saying “amen.” “that’s right,” and “come on.” Bart
remembered the pastor saying that life will go on for them, but not for you. At least this
life will not go on, but the grave is not the end.
The journalist knew he did not have long to live. But now his thoughts were on the
sermon. The preacher explained that there is no way a loving God would make you and
not make a way for you to be with him. Everyone in that church it seemed was swaying
and shouting, “Amen.” “And we take comfort from St. Paul’s words in Romans chapter
eight that are present sufferings are not worth considering to the glory that is to be
revealed in us.”
Then the church got quiet. Bart thought it was one of those moments when the
only thing that seemed to exist was you and the person speaking. He remembered the
words, One day all of the pain, all of the suffering, all of the wounds, all of anguish, all of
the confusing will fall away like a scabs off a fresh healed wound. All of our troubles will
seem as useless as an empty bucket of paint. We will stand before the creator of the
Universe; our God, our Lord, the author and finisher of our faith Jesus Christ.
As people began to clap, cheer and weep, the pastor invited anyone who wanted to
receive Jesus Christ to come forward. At that moment Bart Tobler felt a gentle warmth
lift him and carry him forward. He knelt at that altar for nearly fifteen minutes while the
man slowly told him the wonderful story of how Christ died on the cross for our
salvation. When we open our lives, receive and commit ourselves to him we have his
assurance of heaven.
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Bart recalled that when he went back to the pew he went to where his parent’s
were sitting. He was crying, they were crying and he had been changed forever.
The Assassin looked at him and said, “Hey are you crying? Yes, you are. I guess I
can understand that.”
Bart Tobler mouthed the words, “Oh no you don’t.”
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CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT: Standoff.
Sarah Essen could hear herself scream, “Jim, you’ve been shot!” She saw the
flames licking at the wall behind her. She could hear the gun battle in the background.
None of it seemed real. The chaos surrounding her seemed like a dream, a movie, a
nightmare.
She had just seen her friend and partner take a bullet to the stomach. She saw him
double over clutching his stomach. Another bullet pinged off the floor just inches from
their position. Of all the ridiculous things, she wanted to yell stop it, just stop it. She
gritted her teeth and reminded herself that she was a cop. She did not need to get her head
in the game; she was dead smack into it.
Jim Gordon spoke up and said, “It’s okay Sarah, I’m pretty sure the vest took that
round. The two of them, tore at the Lieutenant’s shirt. Pulling it to one side, they both
breathed a sigh of relief to see a .45 slug embedded in the kevlar vest. Sarah knew that
Jim will have a nasty bruise the next day, but he was okay.
He was thinking the same thing when he said, “Hey at least we’ll have matching
bruises.”
She said, “We’ll compare wounds later. Right now how about if we work on
inflicting a few?”
He grunted and rose to his knees. The two cops peered around the cabinet they
were hiding behind. The room was filled with boxes, tables, desks and other equipment.
Essen thought that it must have been office storage space of one sort or another.
Meanwhile the air was getting increasingly thick with smoke from the fire that seemed to
be spreading.
It took the two police officers only a few seconds to locate the two scientists that
were hunkered down behind a metal desk on the other side of the room. The men must
have seen them at the same time. Both men fired at Gordon and Essen who fell back out
of the line of fire.
Lieutenant Gordon said to his partner, “Sarah I noticed there is door in the corner
to their right. It’s open and it looks like a set of steps going down that probably leads to
the access tunnel. If they get through that door and make it to the tunnel they will
disappear.
Sarah replied, “I saw that door, the only thing keeping them from making a dash to
it is if we keep them in our direct line of fire.”
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“Well speaking of fire that’s the other issue. If you look around you can see that
the fire is spreading. We can’t wait these scum bags out and I don’t think anyone is
coming to help.”
“Jim Gordon, what crazy, insanely dangerous stunt do you want to pull this time?”
He peered out from behind the cabinet for a second and ducked back. He spoke
slowly, “If we both fire at the same time we can force them back for a moment. This will
give me time to move to the far side of the room. I can sneak around their position and
take them by surprise.”
Essen considered this for a moment and said, “Jim, maybe this isn’t worth it, I
mean if you try to sneak up on those guys there’s a good chance you’ll be killed.”
“What do you suggest?” he asked.
“We stay put no matter what happens.”
“Sarah if we let these guys get away, they‘ll take the secret to turning men into
monsters with them. This is our only chance to contain it.”
“Jim, we’ve done more than 99% of the cops in Gotham would have done. We
allowed ourselves to be captured just to help some guy in a Halloween costume and now
we’re shooting it out in a burning building. Jim you have a wife and a child on the way.”
“We’re cops Sarah, we signed on to protect and serve.”
He looked hard into her eyes. She lowered her head.
He spoke quietly, “Okay on three we both lean out and fire. When you see them
retreat back I’ll run behind that desk over there.”
Saran Essen squeezed Jim Gordon’s hand and whispered, “Be careful Jim. I mean
real careful. I can’t lose you.” Her eyes began to water.
He looked at her for a moment and nodded his appreciation. He replied, “Okay, on
three, one…two…three.”
With that both cops leaped out and began to fire, squeezing their triggers as fast
as their fingers could move. Jim Gordon did not hesitate. He waited until both of the
perps drew back and hurled himself outward. A second later he had scrambled to a desk
about fifteen feet to the right of Essen’s position and into the mouth of the lion’s den.
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*******
Jim Gordon listened carefully. He could hear the sound of gun fire coming from
the far side of the building and the sirens that were wailing continuously. The fire had
gone from a distant hum to a dull roar. But he could not hear anything from where the
two scientists were hiding.
It was Essen’s job to keep them pinned down while he snuck around to their left.
He knew if they tried to make a dash to the door she would fire. He could see her from
his current position. She had refilled her clip and she sat behind the cabinet in a shooters
stance. He worried about her so much.
Quickly and silently he moved to the next location which was behind a stack of
boxes. Scrambling behind the stack, he had no idea what was in them or if they would
stop a bullet if the two men fired at him. He knew he couldn’t think like that. He had to
keep moving.
He paused a moment to collect his thoughts, calm himself and…do what? Pray?
Was he really considering petitioning the almighty? Yes, if he ever needed such help,
know was the time. He spoke softly, “God please protect me and guide my hand.”
The next location he scurried to was about 20 feet to the right. It was a metal filing
cabinet. The bottom two drawers were cracked open. He could see that they were stuffed
tight with papers and folders. Good, that might slow down any stray bullets. He realized
that this put him out of line of sight of both Essen and the two scientists.
He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. The smoke was getting thicker and
he felt sweat burning on his face. He scanned the area in front of him to see where to
move next. The most likely location was another stack of boxes about 30 feet in front of
him. This would put him no more than 20 feet from the two men. From there he could
move to a desk to their left and then…His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of gun
fire. Bullets slammed into the cabinet in front of him. He instinctively moved back from
the filling cabinet and crunched down to make himself a smaller target.
Somehow they knew he was here. His plan was a bust. He heard Essen fire round
after round, while bullets slammed into the cabinet she was hiding behind. He wanted to
fire but the stack of boxes blocked his line of sight.
Suddenly he heard a gunshot and then Sarah Essen screamed. Gordon’s head
seemed to explode with the instant awareness that she had been hit.
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He quickly tried to move back to her location but had to retreat when two bullets
struck within inches of him. One of the scientists, he thought it was that Bohl character
had a bead on him.
Before he could return fire the man was scrambling behind the desk that had
offered him cover. Once again Gordon had no clear shot. He moved to his left and fired
three rounds but none came close to hitting the criminals. He watched helplessly as the
two scientists ran through the doorway, down the steps and out of his reach.
He immediately scrambled back to Essen. She was not moving and her right leg
was soaked with blood. He knew that if the bullet struck the huge Femoral artery on the
inner part of the right leg she was in real trouble, in fact she would likely bleed out in a
matter of a couple of minutes.
All he could do was say, “Please God, please God, please help me. I need your
help. I don’t know where to turn.”
She was pale and unmoving. He wondered if Sarah Essen was dead.
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CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE: Bat to Hand Combat.
“Had enough of this beating punk? Surrender right now and I’ll make your death
as painless as possible.” The hulking snarling figure cursed. Batman said nothing. Instead
he continued to circle his opponent looking for weaknesses.
The two combatants continued their death battle. It was Batman’s superior skills
and cutting edge technology verses the superhuman brutality of a mutated monster.
Giving his enemy no time to react the Batman lunged at the gargantuan. Wayne
Logan roared and moved to meet the direct assault. But it was a feint. He circled to his
right side stepping the initial attack. The big brute swung his huge fists directly at the
Batman’s head. The defender ducked low and swung a second metal baton he had with
all he had on the monster’s knee cap. This blow connected with the joint making a dull,
wet, cracking sound.
Batman spun and brought up the baton and smashed into against the injured eye.
The impacted cause a spray of blood. That was, however, not the main point of the attack.
As he spun, Batman leaped three feet into the air. Coming down he put his full force into
the knee cap he had just struck. The attacker felt the bone rip downward.
The monster screamed in agony and bent over to grab the injured joint but
instinctively tried to raise his knee upward, which he could not do. The result was even
more pain. The giant cursed and screamed. The Dark Knight knew the knee would be
useless. He watched as the brute stumbled backward and fell to the floor.
Batman moved in for one more blow. He hoped to get in another good head strike
that would blind the other eye. But as soon as he got within striking distance, he realized
that the monster had been faking. The creature turned rapidly and hurled a piece of
broken concrete striking the vigilante in the face. The slab exploded into shards of dust
and cement splinters. Batman was forced backward desperately trying to retain his vision.
Wayne Logan grabbed Batman in a bear hug and began to squeeze with all of his
might. The defender felt as if his whole rib cage was going to collapse under the crushing
force. His broken ribs quivered with a life all their own. The pain was overwhelming. The
monster pushed him into a heavy crate which added to the pressure.
Batman responded with the closest weapon he had, a devastating head butt to
Wayne Logan’s nose and a second one to his jaw. The monster grinned and delivered a
head butt of his own. He huffed and growled, “I can do this all day scumbag.”
Wiggling both hands free Batman retrieved another batarang from his utility belt
with his left hand and his last flash grenade with his right hand. With a grunt he took the
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deepest breath his situation would allow and with all his might jabbed the batarang into
the wound the first one made. At the same time he tossed the flash grenade next to the
creature’s ear. He twisted his head to the left to avoid the impact.
The resulting thrust and explosion was all the force he needed. The behemoth did
not release the bear hug but the impact loosed it enough to allow Batman to raise both
arms. He raked the gargantuan face with the sharp blades on his gauntlet and ripped
downward. The monster reared backward and released his grip.
This allowed the Dark Knight all the time he needed to employ his most
devastating piece of technology, his grappling hook.
With a press of a button on his gauntlet the Dark Knight opened a compressed
CO2 cartridge that released a powerful air burst. The force shot a collapsible titanium
grappling hook upward like a missile. The hook was attached to a filament wire made of
the same material as his costume. When the hook reached its apex which was about 40
feet in the air Batman depressed another button which opened the grappling hook. As it
descended it secured itself to one of the rafters above them. With one final button a
powerful electrical motor began to withdraw the filament. The result was that both
fighters were pulled in the air at 20 feet per second.
Wayne Logan found himself flying upward. Batman twisted in mid air and
growled, “This is where you get off.”
Swinging himself to the right the Dark Knight put everything he had into a upward
knee thrust that connected with his opponent’s jaw. With a crack, the impact caused the
giant to completely release his hold on his opponent. He dropped like a sand bag to the
concrete floor and landed with a dusty wet thud.
The Batman released the grappling hook. Allowing his cape to act as a make-shift
parachute, the vigilante fell toward his prone opponent. He intended to land on the
monster with the hope that this would be the finishing blow.
It was not. In the last possible second, the monster rolled out of the way causing
the Batman to land hard on the floor. The fall did not injure him, but he was unable to
remain on his feet. He rolled to the right, the wind knocked out of him.
When he turned the crime fighter saw that the monster was bleeding profusely
from wounds in the head and chest. His right shoulder looked smashed and his right rib
cage was depressed, as if every rib was broken. The creature was heaving from what
may have been a collapsed lung; each gasping breath was accompanied by a spray of
bloody spittle.
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The man still had some fight left in him. Before Batman could move the creature
grabbed him and held him aloft. With a terrible violent strength the gargantuan slammed
the dark crusader onto the concrete floor. Hoisting him a second time the next slam was
even harder.
The creature stood over his opponent and delivered several rapid fire boot stomps
to the head. Batman attempted to block the blows and realized that the monster did not
have the power he had before. That vicious assault would have killed him if Wayne
Logan was at full strength. Twisting onto his back the prone combatant hurled his last
incapacitation capsule at the towering hulk.
The resulting corrosive spray was enough to send the monster back as the fiery
substance burned into the ruined eye socket. The Batman rolled away and managed to
make it to his feet.
The man roared and shook his head, trying to clear his eyes of the burning powder.
Continuing to gasp and howl the monster regained his footing and growled at his
opponent.
Batman could feel the blood pump through his temple as he increased the flow of
oxygen to its maximum output. He could feel his heart jack hammering and he knew that
he dared not take any more stimulants. He was a bloody mess and probably had both a
concussion and several broken bones. He wanted to quit so badly but knew that if the
creature escaped, more of his kind would be created.
The nightmarish beast crouched low like a stalking animal. He was trembling with
pain and rage. Through a broken jaw, and spitting teeth he snarled, “I told you this was to
the death. Let’s finish this.” With that he moved in for the kill.
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CHAPTER SIXTY: Final Devotions.
Clinging deep to his sustaining faith he remembered some of his most precious
jewels. St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans chapter eight verse eighteen: I consider that our
present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. He
thought of Paul’s first letter to the church at Corinth chapter fifteen verse fifty-five:
Where O death is your victory? Where, O death is your sting? The sting of death is
sin...but thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
He had strived to live a life worthy of the calling of Christianity. He would not
abandon his faith at the hour of his passing. He silently recited The Revelation of St. John
chapter twenty one verse four: He will wipe away ever tear from their eyes. There will be
no more death or mourning or crying or pain for the old order of things has passed away.
He knew he was paralyzed, the drugs that were flowing through his system made
it impossible for him to move. But he thought he could hear himself whisper the most
famous prayer of all, “Our Father who is in Heaven….”
The killer looked at the IV bag and said, “Well it seems to be empty.”
“Holy is your name….”
Checking his watch David Cain commented, “According to what I was informed
the substance has had enough time to do its work.”
“Your kingdom come, your will be done…”
The killer looked at Bart and asked, “Did you say something.” Stopping to listen
he said, “Nah, beside even if you did, it doesn’t matter.”
“On Earth as it is in Heaven…”
“This is it. Let’s proceed to the next and final phase.”
“Give us this day our daily bread…”
The assassin carefully disconnected the IV line.
“And forgive us our sins…”
Folding the IV bag carefully he placed it back into the box that it came in.
“As we forgive those who sin against us…”
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Next, he placed the bag into the satchel.
“And lead us from temptation…”
Looking into the satchel he said, “Now where did I put that stuff?”
“And delivery us from evil…”
Smiling wickedly David Cain proclaimed in mock triumph, “Ah, here it is!”
“Now and at the hour of our death…”
“This is the final phase of the operation.”
“For yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory, now and forever.”
“Do you have any last words? Oh, of course you don’t.”
“Amen.”
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CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE: Rules Of Engagement:
Captain Dan Good swore loudly and almost ripped the radio right out of the car.
He needed backup, and he needed it now. They could not wait the bad guys out, not when
they can run to those access tunnels. The Captain was surprised that they had not done
that already.
More importantly he needed those APCs. They were the only method he had for
storming the building. If he and the few men who were with him tried to charge the
warehouse they would be cut to ribbons. Even now some of the men had moved further
back to a more secure location. He couldn’t blame them.
In any other city the cops would do what they were ordered to do. Not here, not in
Gotham. Here, most of the cops expected to be paid off or bribed. The few good ones
who actually arrested criminals knew that the perpetrator simply paid the prosecutor or
judge off and were back on the streets the next day. Why should any of them risk their
lives for such a system? This was ridiculous, this was insane…this was Gotham.
He felt nothing but a total sense of despair, he wanted to take his badge off, call a
cab and go home. Why should he be the one to stick his neck out for this city?
Taking a deep breath, He thought he would try one last thing. Picking up the squad
car’s microphone he said, “April put me through to all channels and to any home police
band frequencies.”
He waited a moment and the response came in, “Got it, the ears of Gotham are
upon you.”
Pausing for only a moment to collect his thoughts he spoke softly, “Attention all
cars and every other police personnel who may be listening. This is Captain Dan Good. I
am in a shoot out at the Well Done Warehouse. It’s where they used to make the
Bamzooka Buble Gum; you know the place.”
He paused to let the listeners comprehend this simple fact and continued, “I need
your help, Gotham needs your help. Most of you know of the events that have led me
here. It’s no secret that the perpetrators have created a weapon worse than anything the
Russians have pointed at us. At this point I do not believe that I and the few police who
are here can stop these guys. If they get away then everyone is in a world of hurt. I mean
it people, no one is safe.”
He thought about his next words and spoke, “Listen there’s no worse place in this
country to be a cop than in Gotham. We all know that. But now is the time that Gotham
needs cops. So I am asking you this; do you remember your oath when you were sworn
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in? Do you remember how you felt when you signed on to protect and service? Do you
remember how you felt needed, and that if you didn’t do it, it didn’t get down? Do you
remember? Do you?”
His own words were affecting him. He had to take a moment to clear his throat
and continued, “ Man has only those rights that he can defend. We are at the point of the
sword…we are the thin blue line. And so I ask. If anyone is out there and willing to help
please acknowledge. Is there anyone out there who still believes that there is some good
left in Gotham?”
Static and silence was the response.
Captain Good was about to say something else but stopped himself. He had said
all he needed to say. He didn’t mind asking but he was not going to beg.
He was greeted with more static and silence.
He was about to turn the radio off and walk away. Then he heard a squawk and a
voice say, “This is Officer Johnson and Officer Leroy. We are enroute.”
This was followed by, “This is Diego, I got Gonzales, Sanchez and some of the
others are right behind you.”
“This is Officer Goldstein, myself, Officer Yu and DeSalvo are on our way.”
“Hey this is Watson, does this mean I get to use my gun on an actual criminal for
once?”
“This is Branston; it’s about time we got to be real cops.”
“This is Patty Herron, I’m with Patty Hoeper and Christine Alley. If Sarah Essen
can put herself on the line, then so can we.”
“Hey guys, this Bob Wilson and I speak for Joe Cantalupo. We are in the APCs.
We were told to stand down, but those bureaucrats can pound sand. I don’t care if they
fire me. I am not sitting on the sidelines. Oh by the way, myself and the Lupo have half a
dozen fully armed S.W.A.T who are mad as hornets and ready to kick some bad guy
butt.”
This chatter continued for another couple minutes. Dan Good saw the cop cars
entering the area, one after the other. He began to direct the cars to where they needed to
be. He mentally calculated all of the necessary angles of approach. He needed to make
sure there was proper cover. No one was going to die needlessly on his watch.
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Over the next few minutes one black and white cruiser after the other poured into
the area. The arriving policemen were able to exit the vehicle and gather near his
location. The cops who were already present fired with renewed effort. After a few
minutes they had the mercenaries pinned down; if any of them stuck his head out it would
get shot off.
A minute later the cops heard their rumble before they saw them. Several of the
rookies thought that the Army had arrived. No such luck, but this was the next best thing.
Several of the cops took time to stop firing and actual applaud. The two armored APC
were arriving and ready for action.
The Captain took a deep breath and thought to himself. This was it. This was The
Gotham City Police Department’s moment to show the world what they were made of.
This was their baptism by fire.
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CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO: An Issue of Blood.
Jim Gordon went from a silent prayer to pleading for the life of his colleague.
Sarah Essen was not moving and was smeared in blood. In fact she was soaked in it. How
could one bullet do that much damage? He remembered hearing only one shot before she
screamed, yet it looked as if she was hit in the leg and the chest.
Cradling the fallen Essen he screamed, “God, please God please…” Somewhere in
the back of his mind he was sure it was too late, no one could lose that much blood and
survive. All he could do is look down at his friend, his partner and his equal and ask,
“Why?, Why?, Why?”
To his utter amazement Essen opened her eyes and said, “Why what?”
Gordon could not believe it. How could she be conscious? Was this one last burst
of adrenaline fueled energy before she bled out?
Essen stirred and asked, “Did I hit my head?” She seemed disoriented but was
otherwise active. She placed her hands to her side and said, “My leg hurts somewhere
near my right knee cap. Jim I might have been shot.”
You might have been shot? What?”
“I’m serious, my leg is tingling pretty good.”
Lieutenant Gordon quickly examined her blood soaked leg. He felt around the
inner part of the thigh. He thought she had been hit in the femoral artery, which might
account for the copious amount of blood. But as he probed he saw that there was no
wound on the inner part of her leg. He asked, “Are you hit in the stomach?”
She felt around and lifted her shirt and said, “No, the vest is intact.” She was about
to say something else when she shrieked, “Aaawww that hurts.”
After a few seconds of probing Gordon looked down and said, “You seem to have
been hit right below and a little to the right of your right knee cap.” He quickly got out a
knife and began to cut away the torn pant leg.
She replied, “Be careful that hurts.”
As he cut away her pants leg he said, “Yep there it is. The round entered the front
and exited out the back of your upper calf just below the knee cap. From the placement of
the wound I think it missed the bone. We won’t know until we get it cleaned and X-
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rayed. We’ll need to get you to the hospital. He paused and added, “Of course I’m no
doctor.”
She almost smiled and said through gritted teeth, “You could have fooled me.”
Sarah had her brave face on but she was grimacing and her eyes were watering. He
worked quickly while still trying to be as gentle as possible. The lieutenant looked around
and found a wad of paper towels. He placed half of the paper towels on the front wound
and half on the back wound. He took some of the pant leg material and cut it again
making it into a longer strip. This he tied around the wad of paper towels.
He made sure that the bandage was tight but not so tight that it cut off Essen’s
circulation. This type of injury did not require a tourniquet, which could damage her leg
below the wound. Next he grabbed a box and gently placed her right foot on the box. He
needed to make sure the wound was elevated.
As he finished his work he said out loud, “Where did all the blood come from?”
Both looked up and saw that a niche in the cabinet contained a compartment that looked
like a refrigerator. Gordon thought that it looked like the ones college students have in
their dorms to keep food and other stuff (i.e. beer) cool.
The refrigerator was white with a big red plus sign in the center. The door was half
open and contained a hole in its center. Blood was still streaming from inside it.
As Gordon opened the refrigerator he could see that it contained plastic bags filled
with blood. There seemed to be about a half a dozen bags in the cooler, four or five of
them were busted. A few were still dripping. Both of them exclaimed, “This is a blood
bank?”
They looked at each other and Essen said, “So the bullet went through the
refrigerator rupturing those blood bags and struck me in the knee.” Her companion
shrugged and said, “I guess that’s why the wound is so small. By the time it got to you
the bullet had very little punch left. ”
She asked, “So all of this blood, I’m covered with is not mine.” Almost as an
afterthought she commented, “I wonder whose blood this is and what were these guys
doing with it?
Before either had a chance to process this query the moment was interrupted from
a series of gunshots coming from the front of them. This brought both cops back to the
moment. Gordon wondered if there were more mercenaries coming up the tunnels.
Both cops brought their guns up. They stood silently for a moment. Then Sarah
Essen coughed and James Gordon followed suit. They had been distracted by the
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emergency. They quickly realized that the room was getting increasingly smoky. The
Gotham PD and the mercenaries were still in a full pitched battle in the main warehouse.
The sounds of shouts and gunfire echoed down the hall.
Gordon looked at his partner and said, “We can’t stay here. Can you walk?”
Essen said, “I think so.” She struggled to her feet grimacing in pain and took one
step and then another. She took two more faltering steps and then regained her balance.
Her next two looked better. She spoke, “It hurts but I can make it.” Pausing, she looked
around and said, “Where are we going?”
“We need to get back to the hallway and get to the other side of the building. That
will take us away from the fire fight and the tunnel. When we find a door we go outside
and get you to the nearest ambulance.”
Essen interrupted, “But what about the scientists?”
He answered, “They’re long gone by now. You are now the primary responsibility
and so I guess we’re temporarily out of the game.”
She looked frustrated but knew he was correct. It would do them no good to
continue the chase. That of course meant that all of this had been for nothing.
With that she placed her right arm around Gordon’s back using him for support.
The two of them got a few steps when they heard something from the doorway that led to
the tunnels. Essen asked, “What was that?”
“Sounded like voices” he answered. As he said that he quickly moved himself and
Sarah behind a huge metal desk.
“Is that the scientists?”
“Why would they come back? I fear its more mercenaries. Sarah we need to be
ready”
As he said that he heard the voice again. Essen asked, “Did they just say your
name?”
“That’s what it sounded like to me.”
Both cops crouched in a shooter’s stance trying to control their breathing heavily.
A few seconds later they heard it again. A voice exclaimed, “Jim Gordon, Sarah Essen,
you guys there?”
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Gordon kept the position but relaxed a little. He recognized the voice, “Switzer is
that you?”
A second later Brian Switzer, Jeff Heist and Stan Merkel walked up the steps with
a fourth person in tow.
Brian Switzer said, “You looking for someone.” Gordon could see that Stan
Merkel had Dr. Jason Bohl securely handcuffed.
Before Gordon could ask, Jeff Heist answered, “His buddy drew on us, short fat
guy with blonde hair. I had to put him down.”
“You sure you got him?”
Heist looked at his two partners who nodded, “Yeah, the round struck him right in
the forehead. His body is about 300 meters down the tunnel. Oh by the way, we managed
to snag a few rookies from the precinct who are right behind us. I order them to check out
a couple of the side tunnels.”
Gordon asked, “Where did you guys come from? How did you find the entrance to
that tunnel?”
Merkel answered, “Oh we did some highly technical police forensic work.” He
paused and waited for what was almost a punch line, “We went to the factory that was
two buildings down and asked the foreman present about the tunnels. He told us that the
tunnel ran under the factory to the warehouse.”
Heist interrupted and continued the story, “There were a lot of off shoots, but the
one we came up seems to be the main one.”
Switzer spoke next, “It was pretty much a straight shot from the factory to this
warehouse. We wanted to get here sooner, but we had to proceed with caution because
we were worried about walking into a trap. We met our two friends on the way.”
The group stood there in silence when Merkel asked, “I hate to state the obvious,
but this building is on fire and is there a gun battle going on?” As he spoke he heard other
voices coming from the tunnel. Brian Switzer walked over and yelled, “Over here guys,
we got work to do.”
It was then that the three noticed Sarah Essen one of the cops asked, “Is that blood
all over you? Are you injured?”
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Essen answered, “It’s a long story but yes, I took one in the leg.”
Before the men could speak Gordon asked, “Merkel is the tunnel clear.”
“Yes assuming the guys from the factory have the good sense to stay clear of this
mess.”
“Then you take Essen back and get her to the hospital.” He looked at Jason Bohl
and said, “Heist, Switzer you take this piece of garbage with you.” Getting into the
defeated man’s face he continued, “If he tries to escape or gives you any trouble you
know what to do.”
Brian Switzer grabbed the man’s cuff and gave them a playful yank upward
sending the man to the ground with a grunt of pain. The big cop said, “Got it.”
Gordon looked up as a half a dozen members of Gotham’s finest entered the room.
He spoke, “Listen we have at least six armed mercenaries in the main part of this
warehouse shooting it out with Captain Good. Between them and us is a burning
building. I won’t order any man to follow me. But I know what’s at stake and I am going
to finish this.”
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CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE: Strange Agreements.
Bruised, battered, bloody, beaten, broken, the Batman thought it ridiculous that his
mind would conjure up such alliterations in the midst of a pitched battle. He had heard of
such things, soldiers in life and death combat recalling jokes from their childhood, or a
favorite song. Perhaps it was the mind’s inability to accept the reality of such
circumstances. He thought that he and his opponent were more than two punch drunk
fighters. In reality they were more like two wounded animals; the most dangerous kind.
The two men circled one another waiting for an opportunity to strike or counter
strike. Both men knew that they did not have much fight left. Neither man could stand up
straight. Both were spitting blood from internal injuries.
The Batman knew he had one last weapon. Some would say that it was the most
powerful of weapons. He spoke through blood stained teeth, “Listen, I don’t know how
this will turn out but I will tell you the truth. I did not assault your brother.”
Wayne Logan snarled, “You lying coward, you think that will save you?” He
moved in closer ready to lunge.
Batman crouched expecting the attack but repeated, “I encountered the incident on
my way to another engagement. When I got there the victim, a woman named Selena
Kyle had done her work. Your brother was already on the ground bleeding. She said he
assaulted her. I saw no reason to doubt her. I had urgent business to attend. I had no
choice to believe her; it was my mistake.”
The man stiffened just a bit and said, “I know her. The woman is a hellcat and a
world of hurt.”
“You know her?”
“I’m surprised you don’t.”
“She’s come to my attention. She keeps some dangerous company. It seems that
she has regular contact with any number of organized crime figures. She attends their
parties and often plays escort when they go for a night out. It certainly looks suspicious,
but I cannot prove anything. I’ve had no time to set up a watch on her.”
To Batman’s surprise the behemoth stood up, laughed and said, “You’re not as
good a crime fighter as you think you are.”
The vigilante cocked his head but said nothing.
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“Selena Kyle has got her claws in everywhere.”
“What?”
“She and that partner of hers Helena Something or other.”
“Helena Bertinilli.”
“Yeah, that’s them.”
The huge man paused and seemed to relax a little, “She’s a cat burglar.” He
paused to take a deep, rasping breathe and continued, “…even calls herself the cat burglar
or something like that. From what I have been told the woman’s obsessed with cats. They
say she owns like a dozen of them and pampers them like spoiled children…she’s even
trains them.”
Now it was the Batman’s turn to relax slightly, “You’re telling me the truth?”
“Oh yeah, they think that they’re some kinda female Robin Hoods. They break
into the wealthiest homes and businesses in Gotham and steal the most expensive items.
The fence the loot and donate the money to a number of charities after a substantial
personal consignment. They both have expensive tastes; so they keep busy.”
“How do you know this?”
“I was one of their fences. They delivered stuff to me and I would sell it to people
like Cobblepot or one of the gangs.” He paused and looked down before continuing, “I
really am not a violent man. If you checked my record, you would see a string of property
crimes, breaking and entering, receiving stolen property. I did it to support myself and
my brother. I knew it was wrong...”
“But you did it anyway and paid the price.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
The huge man looked up at Batman and for the first time the Dark Knight could
see real hurt. The vigilante spoke quietly, “So how did you get involved in this?”
Wayne Logan chuckled again and said, “I volunteered. I was one year into a three
year stretch at Blackgate. I had some connections in prison. Word was that there was
some strange mojo happening at the prison. There were rumors of bizarre experiments
going on. I knew that sleazy piece of garbage prison doctor was involved. So I faked that
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fat idiot out. It was easy to make that paranoid fool think I knew more than I did. I
threatened to expose him if he didn’t use me as a guinea pig.”
“In order to get revenge on me; is that it?”
“That was the plan.”
Batman approached the man cautiously, “Listen to me your brother’s current
condition was a result of a brain tumor.”
The giant instantly registered shock but the crime fighter continued, “The good
news is that it was nonmalignant but it was advanced, that’s why the headaches, the
slurring speech and cognitive problems. The doctor’s got it all, but it left him in pretty
bad shape.”
The giant looked imploringly and said, “ Will…will he recover?”
The Batman nodded, “He’s not at Arkham Asylum. Your brother is in a program
at Gotham General. The doctor in charge of the program developed it at the Mayo clinic.
He’s getting better care than just about anyone in Gotham.”
The behemoth collapsed to the floor. He looked up and down and spoke softly,
“You mean we…we have no fight.”
Batman stood over him and spoke menacingly, “I feel for you, but I can’t let you
help Artemis Daniels.”
Again the giant laughed, inhaled a ragged breath, coughed and laughed again.
“What?” The Dark Knight’s replied.
The man stumbled to his feet and asked, “You don’t think I am working with that
maniac do you? He wants to sell me to the Russians, like I’m his property.”
“The Russians?”
“I’m telling you that he met with a Russian ambassador, or diplomat or something
or other. I didn’t really catch a name, heck all those Ruskie names sound the same. He
negotiated the services of the three of us and the process to create more like me. The
problem for him is that I am no man’s lap dog.”
“Then help me stop him.”
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This time the gargantuan smiled and said, “I can do that to a certain degree.” He
fumbled on the belt around his pants and pulled out a small metal box. He threw it to the
Batman who caught it.”
“What is this?” The crime fighter asked.
“With my improved vision I could see them type their computer password from
across the room. They had no idea that I could access their files. A few days ago they
made the mistake of leaving me alone. They thought they could control us, what a joke.”
The monster steadied himself and spat blood. Batman could see the man was in
bad shape. He let him continue, “I decided to do my civic duty. I got into their computer
and I down loaded a bunch of files to half a dozen floppy disks. That’s what’s in the box.
I also included everything I could find out about these guys.”
The Batman did not quite understand the last part, “What do you mean find out
about these guys?”
“I have improved hearing, they didn’t know about that. I overheard a lot of their
conversations. The guy in charge, Artemis Daniels was in and out a lot, I heard some of
the telephone calls he made. He seemed to be talking to the head of about every crime
family in Gotham, plus a few in New York City, Metropolis, Chicago, Los Angeles,
Miami.”
He paused to allow Batman to take this all in and continued, “This guy is like
some kind of criminal mastermind. Heck I still have no idea of how he was able to create
me. It makes you wonder what else he can do.”
“Why did you make these files? Who were you planning on giving them too?”
“I dunno. I had a few friends that would hold it for me and deliver it to the press
and the cops if anything happened to me. I thought maybe I could use it as a bargaining
chip. If they jerked my chain or if they tried to hurt me I would threaten to expose them. I
was just bidding my time to see how things would play out.”
Batman looked at his onetime opponent and implored, “You’re a smart guy. Join
me, help me stop him. I can hide you and probably clear your record…”
Before the vigilante could finish Wayne Logan interrupted him. “No…those scum
bags have two fail safes. The first is a device planted at the base of my neck. It contains
one fourth of a pound of C – 4 explosive that they can set off by remote. If I ever try to
get away or if I’m ever more trouble than I’m worth; Boom! Plus I require weekly shots
of the chemical they gave me or I cramp up and die. So my journey ends here.”
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“No! It doesn’t have to be that way. I know people who can help you.”
The gargantuan shook his head, “Nah, you know as well as I do that this Dr.
Daniels is employing some science fiction stuff. No one can help me.” He paused and
looked at Batman, “Besides I don’t want to live like this.”
Everything that happened next was a blur. The big man inhaled a huge sucking
breath and quickly got to his feet. Taking several large steps he retrieved one of the
batarangs that had been employed against him only minutes earlier. He held the thing and
turned it over in his hand.
Realizing the gargantuan’s intentions the Batman screamed, “No!” But even as he
did he knew that he was in no shape, or position to stop him.
Wayne Logan gritted his teeth and took a breath to steady himself. The Batman
thought he saw the man mouth the words, “I’m sorry.” He held the batarang high above
his head and roared. With terrible strength he drove the razor sharp object into the base of
his neck. His huge body shook and recoiled from the impact.
The man screamed in pain but did not stop. Another quick thrust and a turn of the
batarang ripped flesh, and caused a squirt of arterial blood. The behemoth groaned, and
wreathed with pain but did not stop. With an inhuman determination Wayne Logan
twisted and pushed the batarang deeper. It took no more than a second to create a ragged,
gaping hole.
Roaring, frothing staggering with pain, He plunged his hand into the wound and
with a twist retrieved the metal item. Batman saw It was surprisingly large, about the size
of a softball. He held it up over his head, blood running down his arm. Through gritted
teeth he growled, “Think of it as one last act of defiance.” With that he lobbed it in a high
arc at the Batman saying, “Here this will help you figure out the technology he’s using.”
Batman caught the device and approached the big man. He knew that even in his
mutated state the man could not survive a wound like that. As he reached for the
behemoth the giant collapsed to the ground.
Batman cradled the goliath’s bloody head knowing that there was nothing he could
do for him. The dying man looked at the Dark Knight and said, “Listen, tell my brother
that I made some bad choices and I’m sorry. Tell him not to do what I did and tell him I
love him.”
Batman nodded and spoke quietly, “I will, I promise.” He held the gentle giant as
the man Wayne Logan exhaled his last breathe.
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CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR: Combat Zone.
“Okay, people let’s get ready to rumble.” Dan Good exclaimed as the two armored
personnel carriers shuttered and rumbled to life. They were parked on the edge of the
warehouse so that the men inside the building had no idea that huge vehicles were there.
They were about to get a big, nasty surprise.
Inside of the metal behemoth the heavily armed S.W.A.T. team member sat with a
look of intense anticipation. Wearing full tactical gear and carrying automatic weapons
each man knew he was cocked, locked and ready to rock. The other cops lined up behind
the vehicles with military precision. Good saw that each man had a look of grim
determination. Here and now was a time for them to do what the police were supposed to
do. They were Gotham’s finest and they were going to take the bad guys down hard.
The Captain gave one last word of encouragement, “Okay people let’s be cops. All
units move forward.”
*******
Captain Verail crouched behind a large crate with a look of contempt and disgust
on his face. When he looked out at the cops scrambling around outside all he could think
of was, what a bunch of amateurs. He knew that he and his men were outnumbered but
not outgunned. They had the discipline and skill level that was head and shoulders above
the buffoon cops. He almost had to laugh; not one of his men had been hit. Meanwhile
they had nailed several of the flatfoots. These wimps were better at eating donuts than
anything that involved a gun.
He recognized his old colleague Dan Good. The man was in charge which was
quite the coincidence. But he was a no match for a real soldier. Captain Verail had no
respect for Good or any of Gotham’s slimiest. His job was to hold the cops here while the
two scientists started a fire that destroyed the lab. That was standard protocol; leave
nothing behind for the enemy to use.
In a moment the way would be clear and he and his men would make a bee line to
those tunnels and then disappear. Of course they would have to negotiate around the fire
that was raging. That was however, part of their training.
He smirked as he looked at his secret weapon. He saw the two mastodons
squatting behind another set of crates ready to lunge like ferocious, wild animals.
He noticed that the cops had pulled back away from his line of sight. Were they
trying to sneak in another way? Were they falling back and regrouping? Perhaps they
have had enough and were retreating and going home. It really didn’t matter.
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He was shaken out of his thoughts at the deep rumbling sound of a large engine.
One of his men said, “Boss look, here they come.”
*******
With a grinding roar the APCs burst through the warehouse wall in a shattering explosion
of glass, concrete, plaster. The monster vehicles continued forward unstoppable, dust and
smoke billowing from the steel juggernauts.
Nearly two dozen cops were huddled behind the armored vehicles protected by
their thick skin of steel. They squeezed as tight as possible as bullets ricocheted off the
APC making dangerous pinging sounds. The Captain screamed the order, “Grab some
cover and lay down suppressing fire.”
Immediately the men burst outward running for crates, boxes, equipment and
anything to escape the deadly fuselage laid down by the mercenaries. Captain Good saw
two of his men go down. The bodies fell prone, unmoving on the dirty concrete floor.
The officer quickly twisted out from the APC and caught the fleeting glimpse of
the shooter. Captain Good fired four rounds at the man, but it was too late. The assassin
had ducked behind the crate. Captain Good scowled, and exclaimed to no one in
particular, “That was Verail, I know it.”
He had no time to think about this as several loud rings accompanied the bullets
that had struck only inches from his head. He ducked low as several of his men fired a
burst at the mercenary who was gunning for their captain.
Crouching behind the APC Good pounded on the metal door and yelled, “Okay
guys you are up.” He stepped back as the jaws of the vehicle opened and the SWAT team
came bursting out. This was repeated at the other APC. When all of the men had exited
their vehicles the captain pointed to his left and spoke over the gun fire and screams,
“Guys you have got to secure that hallway. That is the most likely place that the perps are
headed. If they make it to the tunnels they can escape.”
Keeping his head down one of the SWAT members said, “Are you sure the
tunnels are that way?”
Captain Good responded, “Not really, but that seems the likeliest scenario and the
area has to be secured.”
The twelve men gathered together and began to lay down a furious barrage of gun
fire at the enemy. As they made it to the hallway two of the SWAT members screamed
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and went down. Not willing to leave a comrade behind another swat member grabbed for
the two and took a bullet in the leg for his troubles. Captain Good growled and nearly
broke his hand when he punched the armored APC.
He saw that several of his men had moved to the right and were beginning to circle
to the mercenaries left. That should help pin them down. But a moment later an explosion
off to his right sent debris flying in a swirl of black smoke. The bad guys were using
grenades.
It didn’t help that the whole area was beginning to be engulfed in smoke from the
burning flames.
To his left he saw a group of cops entered the area from the main hallway.
Blinking and staring through the smoky haze he thought he recognized James Gordon but
could not find Sarah Essen. That group was forced back by heavy fire from two of the
mercenaries. Another grenade exploded and two cops went down screaming. Once again
it looked like it had come from Nick Verail.
Good knew that the fire would soon spread to the front of the warehouse. The
whole area was becoming choked with black, swirling smoke. Men were yelling and
running from one place to another. Those who could keep their head implored their
fellow officers to stay low or get shot. The wounded men screeched horrific, banshee
wails. Some were praying while others were crying for their mothers. Some of the cops
were attempting to drag the wounded to safety but were only making themselves targets
as they broke cover.
Captain Good recoiled and tried to keep his head among the smoke, fire noise and
blood. He knew he had to show leadership as he stood in one of the worst horrors to
inflict humanity; the swirling chaos of close order combat.
********
Jim Gordon thought he had gone from the fire back into the frying pan and back
again. To his front was a constant spray of gun fire and to his rear was a growing inferno.
The Gotham PD outnumbered the bad guys at least five to one, but the mercenaries had
assault rifles and grenades. He had to think. What were their plans? How did the
mercenaries hope to escape with all of these cops pinning them down?
The answer came with a huge roar as one of the mercs yelled, “Clear a path.” With
rage and fury the two monster berserkers Caleb and Dalton Murphy attacked. The two
hairless creatures were carrying huge pieces of metal equipment which they hurled at
Gordon and his fellow officers.
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The objects exploded off the wall shattering into shards of debris. Some of the
shrapnel struck home, several of the cops screamed as the jagged metal pieces tore
through flesh. One of the Dalton brothers roared, “Hey punks make way for Andre the
Giant’s big brother.”
The other one shouted, “Hey I’m the whole front line of the Gotham Wildcat’s
hurray for me.” As he hit the crowd of police officers he grabbed two men and hurled
them twenty feet in the air. Several of the defenders attempted to fire at the huge target
but before they could aim, his brother swung a huge metal pole. The object connected
with a man’s wrist making a wet, cracking sound.
The SWAT team was hunkered down to Gordon’s right. Responding to the
brother’s onslaught one of them fired a tear gas grenade. The cylinder hit, bounced and
began to hiss a yellow powder which had the immediate effect of searing eyes, nose,
mouth, face and throat. Men began to cough and gag in response.
Gordon yelled, “You idiot, we are in a closed space, you’re making it easier for
them.” It was true. Caleb and Dalton Murphy were impervious to the scalding vapors.
One of them smiled and said, “Thanks!”
The other SWAT team members rushed to attack the two brothers from behind but
were greeted with more gunfire from the entrenched mercenaries. Several of the
policemen were struck but were somewhat protected by their thick body armor.
Gordon saw one of the giants pick up a huge crate filled with various metal items.
The creature laughed and said, “Bowling for dollars.” He threw the crate into the center
of six cops who scattered and indeed fell like bowling pins.
Several of the police kept their head and were in a shooters crouch. Gordon was
sure that the brothers had been hit several times by police fire. The two gorgons seemed
unaffected by the bullets. He wondered what it would take to put these monsters down.
Jeff Heist nudged Gordon and said, “To your left, the bad guy’s cavalry is
coming.” Both men turned to see several of the mercenaries coming right at them. Now
they had to stop not just the two brutes but armed soldiers.
Three cops tried to rush one of the brothers but were batted away like stuffed
animals. The three men screamed as they slammed into a wall and went down. Another
cop jumped out and attempted to unload a full clip into the behemoth. The first round
connected making a small dark hole in the side of Dalton Murphy. But even as the cop
pulled the trigger the mutated monster spun with blinding speed out of the line of fire.
Before a second shot struck home the creature had grabbed the officer’s gun and smashed
him in the face with it. Blood and bone sprayed as the cop fell back unconscious.
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The mercenaries had taken a position along the hallway wall. From there they
could fire effectively to the right and left of the Murphy brothers without hitting the
charging dynamos. One cop went down as rounds struck him in the stomach and two
more in the arm. The man next to him was a sitting duck for Dalton Murphy’s
roundhouse punch.
` Lieutenant Gordon screamed at the remaining cops to pull back. They were going
to have to regroup and get to better cover. Unfortunately much of the area behind him
was on fire. The flames were licking the walls sending off black, oily clouds of burning
chemical smoke. The lieutenant knew that any area that was not on fire soon would be.
Whatever they were going to do they had to do quickly.
*******
Captain Dan Good, his son and two other officers fired at one of the mercenaries
who was running toward the hallway. A moment before the gunman would have moved
out of sight he stopped and jerked. He fell hard and attempted to roll to safety, only to be
struck by several more rounds. He let out a scream then spasmed and went silent.
Another mercenary slipped and was caught dead center by the remaining SWAT
team members. Every one of them opened up on him. The volley of gun fire caused the
man to jerked and twist as if doing a weird dance.. He fell down as a red pool began to
flow beneath him.
Dan Good thought, two down, four to go; that was assuming we can stop those
creatures.
The room was getting smokier and smokier. He knew that they couldn’t stay in
this building much longer. He saw movement from the corner of his eye. In an instant he
knew it was Captain Nick Verail moving to his right.
As the man moved behind a crate Captain Good heard a voice yell, “Hey Good,
I’m going to kill you. You were always second best.”
The officer’s first reaction was to give chase; he wanted to make the man eat those
words. But he was a professional, and so Dan Good stood his ground and spoke into his
walkie talkie, “He’s coming your way.”
On cue a half a dozen police officers wearing protective gear and carrying twelve
gauge shot guns entered the same back door that Gordon and Essen first entered into the
warehouse. Captain Good spoke into the walkie talkie saying, “This is a fully trained
commando who is armed and highly dangerous, fire no warning shots.”
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The newly arrived police quickly spread out and began to move quietly from one
crate to the next. Meanwhile Dan Good, his son and two accompanying officers came in
from the other direction. Scanning quickly left to right the four men were alert but
cautious. They were not going to let the man who had shot their fellow officers get away.
When Good and his men had gone about fifty feet they heard several shots and
someone scream, “Drop! Get face down on the floor.” This was followed by the sound of
men scrambling trying to pinpoint the exact part of the warehouse where the shots had
originated.
Turning a corner, Captain Dan Good saw Nick Verail on the ground bleeding. He
was surrounded by six cops all with guns drawn. Two officers were in the process of
cuffing the man.
Good all but spat at the man with contempt. He growled, “Get this man to an
ambulance and then get him out of here.” He thought that the mercenary was unconscious
but as he was being moved the man scowled and said, “Took an army of you to bring me
down.”
Captain Good replied, “That was your weakness and why you were a good
operative, but never a real serviceman. You never cared about your fellow soldier; it was
always about you and you only.”
As the perpetrator was lead away the Captain barked, “The rest of you. We have to
stop the two big guys before this whole warehouse comes crashing down. All of you,
follow me.”
*******
Gordon could see that the two brothers were superhumanly strong, superhumanly
fast with skin as tough as leather. But leather is not bullet proof. Both of the behemoths
were bent and bleeding. The lieutenant knew that the two were going to charge forward
and they may not be able to stop them. He and several other officers had found a niche
that was out of the immediate reach of the two crazed berserker brothers. It was currently
not on fire but that wouldn’t last long.
Through the smoky haze Gordon thought he could see Captain Good approach
with at least eight other cops. They were moving into position along with the remaining
SWAT team members.
One of the giants turned and seeing the approaching force roared, “We got to get
out of here now.” With that he lunged forward and ran directly at Gordon and his group.
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His brother grabbed at him and yelled, “Get back here you idiot.” But before he could
pull his sibling back a dozen guns exploded from the front and back. The force knocked
the giant off his feet as he screamed in pain.
The other three mercenaries seeing that the area behind them was no longer
secured leaped forward; their rifles blazed. They were trying to punch a hole through the
police. This was a last ditch attempt to make it to the tunnels.
Gordon realized that this was the act of desperate men. No sooner had the
mercenaries abandoned their position, when they were fired upon from front and back.
Two of the men went down immediately. One dropped to the floor and raised his hands
up.
The two groups of lawmen turned their attention to the twin titans. Shot gun blast,
pistol and even automatic weapons fire thundered; it seemed to go on forever. Gordon
figured it was no more than a minute but you can fire a ton of bullets in a minute.
When the firing stopped it took a moment for the smoke to clear. The police were
huddled together waiting to see what would happen next. Several of them were already
reloading.
Gordon was amazed at what he saw. The two brothers were not moving but
standing like giant sentinels. Their bodies were peppered with at least two dozen bullet
wounds. Each wound was leaking red, a few were actually squirting.
Finally one of them said, “Hey Caleb.”
The other answered, “Yeah Dalton.”
“I don’t feel so good.”
“Yeah me neither.”
“My stomach hurts.”
“I’ve got a splitting headache man.”
One began to teeter, while the other started to wobble in slow circles. The older of
the two lurched forward and steadied himself against the wall saying, “I need to lay
down.”
His brother answered, “Yeah me to.”
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Dalton was the first to fall. He hit the floor with a titanic thud. Then he shuttered
and went silent. A moment later the second brother, Caleb walked over to his fallen
comrade and said, “I always was the tougher of the two of us.” With that he dropped to
his knees and fell forward. Letting out a loud groan he likewise shuddered and went
quiet.
The police stood transfixed for the moment. There was no more gun fire but the
warehouse seemed to be alive with the creaks and groans of a building that was in its
death throes. The police looked around to see the flames were increasing in intensity and
parts of the walls and ceiling were beginning to crumble.
Gordon could barely see through the smoke. He did manage to see that some of
the police were attempting to remove their fallen wounded. A moment later emergency
medical technicians and Gotham Fire Department personnel were entering to assist in the
removal.
Captain Good made his way forward and said, “Gordon, you okay?”
The lieutenant answered his superior officer, “I’m not anything resembling okay,
but at least I am not shot; not for lack of trying.”
“What about Essen?”
“She wasn’t so lucky.” Dan Good gritted his teeth and looked down, but Gordon
continued, “She’s okay, I sent her out the back way with Heist and Switzer.”
“What about the scientist?”
“One of them is dead, the other one is in custody.”
Another younger officer said, “Captain Good, other than the guy you bagged,
there is only one survivor.”
“Does that account for all the bad guys?”
“It does.”
The young officer spoke again, “Sir you will want to hear this. Some of our guys
spotted what they were pretty sure were several caches of ammo. That fire is heading
right toward them.”
This got the Captain, the Lieutenant and every other cop in ear shots undivided
attention. Good said, “If that ammo cooks off we could be in a world of hurt.” Thinking
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quickly he asked, “Have all of the dead and wounded been accounted for?” An EMT
answered, “They’ll be out within the next minute or so”
The Captain screamed, “Excellent! Listen up people, we are leaving! Everyone
follow me. We don’t want to be anywhere close with that ammo cooking off.”
As the police and safety personnel began to move toward the doors. Lieutenant
James Gordon though that it was as if Hell itself was reclaiming the building it had leased
to Gotham. As he left his final thought was, what about Batman?
*******
As the vehicle was approaching the warehouse Soviet assistant ambassador Dimitri
Vasiliev could see the building was in flames. He could see dozens of police cars with
their red and blue lights flashing. He had been monitoring the police band radio and knew
that the warehouse was literally a war zone.
He had come to collect the three weapons; the huge altered men. In addition, he
was to be accompanied by the two scientists. He had been careful to use unmarked
vehicles that were rented but could not be traced back to anyone from the Soviet Union.
He was glad he had made that decision because the plan was a complete disaster.
Obviously the whole situation had collapsed. He had no idea if Dr. Daniels was alive or
dead or if any of the technology had survived.
Worse yet, the American government may have had the opportunity to seize the
technology. By this time tomorrow every intelligence agency in the US might be
analyzing the data. This would be very bad for the U.S.S.R.
Either way he could not stay here. He had to make immediate contact with his
superiors. Signaling the driver he said, “Plans have changed, take us home.”
The man replied, “Yes sir.”
With that the vehicle turned around and made its way back to Washington DC.
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CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE: Servant Intervention.
Bart Tobler said his last amen and relaxed as best he could. He knew he was soon
going to be with his Lord. He saw the killer rummaging in his black satchel. He pulled
out the last black box. The man opened the box retrieved the contents which was a large
syringe filled with a reddish fluid.
The assassin pinched his arm to find a vein and stabbed him with the hypodermic
needle. The reporter looked down to watch what he assumed would be the last thing he
ever saw in his life. The man began to push the plunger down sending the deadly contents
flowing into the reporter’s arm. He commented, “Nice knowing you, this will end our
engagement.”
But just as the villain started to push the plunger Bart’s eyes caught something.
Standing behind the contract murder was a man. It was the same tall, elderly, black man
that he was sure was in his room earlier.
********
The stranger saw that David Cain had not injected the deadly drug into Bart
Tobler. He thanked his good fortune that he had arrived on time. He had been there
earlier but was forced to wait in the parking lot. He had hoped to get to the room before
any of this abomination began, but he simply did not have the stealth skills of the contract
assassin. The killer’s skills for maneuvering invisibly seemingly rivaled those of his boss.
It had taken some time but he finally got the door open without making a sound.
He knew that to allow even one sliver of light in at the wrong time would alert the villain.
Fortunately the man was so preoccupied with the task of killing the journalist that he was
not expecting visitors.
He entered the room quietly and hoped the murderer would not hear him coming.
He walked slowly, tiptoe on soft soled shoes so as to make no noise. He bent down so
that he did not cast much of a shadow. He measured the distance, ten feet, then seven
feet, four feet and then one foot.
Raising the black box in his hand he quickly lunged and placed the front of the
object into David Cain’s neck. The killer’s lighting fast reflexes kicked in and he
instantly turned to counterattack. It was too late. The stranger depressed the box sending
a powerful electric charge through the murderer. The explosive burst dropped him
immediately. His unconscious body hit the floor, convulsed and went still.
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The stranger went to work quickly. He pulled a syringe from his coat pocket and
injected it into Bart’s arm. As he did he noticed that journalist was regaining some of his
movement. The man was trying to speak and he began to murmur in a whisper.
The tall man leaned over and placed his ear next to his mouth. He could barely
hear, but was sure the man said, “Am I going to die?”
He responded, “Not today.” As he finished the injection he said, “This is an
antidote to the chemicals that I am pretty sure the killer was putting into you. It will
counter the effects of that poison. Ghastly business if I do say.”
The task completed he turned his attention to the prone figure. He pulled out a set
of handcuffs and ankle cuffs. Yanking the killer’s arms back he snapped the cuffs onto
the man’s wrist. He gave them a good strong squeeze to make sure they were on as tight
as they could be. These were no ordinary cuffs. They were made from a tungsten-steel
alloy that was far stronger than the galvanized steel of ordinary police handcuffs. They
were also much thicker. In all, they were nearly ten times stronger than standard police
hand cuffs.
They also had small sharp teeth around the edges. When pushed against the skin
the teeth dug in and eliminated any hope of pulling them off. The ankle cuffs that went on
next were similarly situated. The stranger thought to himself that this should hold Mr.
Cain for the moment.
He moved to the next task. He pulled from his coat another hypodermic needle.
This contained a tranquilizer, similar, but much more powerful to the one the killer had
likely first injected into Mr. Tobler. Even a man as athletic as Cain would not wake up
until sometime tomorrow.
Then he gave the killer one last injection. This was controversial and there had
been some discussion about its use. This killer was so adept at escaping from prisons it
was decided to use something that would keep him grounded for a while.
The chemical the stranger next shot into him was a powerful neurotoxin. It
immediately attacked the central nervous system and the lower brain stem causing
inflammation and swelling. The assassin would not be able to walk for at least six
months. For a long time thereafter would have trouble getting his balance. His vision will
be blurry for months and he will likely need corrective lenses. With excellent treatment
he might regain all of his faculties. It remained to be seen how good the medical therapy
at Blackgate Prison is.
Finally he laid a large black envelope next to the assassin. He spoke softly, “The
man has been incapacitated, you survived and you are safe. The authorities will be in this
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room in a matter of minutes. If anyone asks you what happened I am sure that you will
tell them the truth; a tall, older, African American gentlemen rescued you.” With that he
turned and left the room.
The stranger still had one more task. He moved quickly down the hall and to the
stairwell. He walked down three flights of stairs and exited onto the first floor. He turned
left down the hallway and to the administrative offices.
The rooms were closed this time of night. Using a special tool he had no trouble
picking the lock and getting the door open. He entered the area and shut the door behind
him. He walked to the nearest phone and dialed a prearranged number. When the
connection was made a computer dialed via an untraceable route, the emergency number
to the Gotham police. When the call was answered by the operator the computer played a
recorded message in an electronic voice:
“Hello, my name is Jeff Nolan, I am a friend of Gotham Gazette journalist
Mr. Bart Tobler. Mr. Tobler is a patient at Gotham City General having just
survived an assassination attempt. A moment ago, I saved Mr. Tobler’s life.
A very dangerous contract killer named David Cain was hired by the same
man who hired the first killer to murder Bart Tobler. David Cain is now
shackled and incapacitated in Bart Tobler’s hospital room. I do not believe
he will stay there long. Next to David Cain is a black envelope which
contains relevant evidence that links him to no less than twenty five violent
felonies. Interpol and other law enforcement agencies will likewise be
interested. I trust you will do the right thing.
The stranger knew that the same message was going out to The Gotham Police
Department, the FBI, the State Police, Interpol, hospital security, the Gotham Gazette and
all of the Gotham television stations. It would redial and repeat itself ten times; that
should get their attention.
The man knew his work was finished. He checked the hallway and walked quickly
to the exit. He could not wait to get out of this costume and all of this latex and makeup.
He deeply desired to get to the manor and his regular duties befitting a first rate butler.
Besides he was monitoring the police channels. He knew that Master Bruce was having a
time of it. In addition to being the loyal servant of Gotham’s wealthiest resident he was
also an expert in emergency surgery and was as talented as any ER physician. Bruce
Wayne would likely need those services.
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CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX:Final Report.
STATE SENATE HEARING
THE FOLLOWING IS A SELECTED TRANSCRIPT FROM THE STATE SENATE
HEARING ON THE EVENTS THAT TRANSPIRED AT THE WELL DONE
WAREHOUSE BETWEEN THE GOTHAM CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT AND A
CURRENTLY UNIDENTIFIED CRIMINAL ORGAINIZATION.
continued:
SENATOR ANDREW GLANCY: Well I hope everyone enjoyed their lunch. This
session is resumed. May I remind the witness that he is still under oath?
JAMES GORDON: I understand.
GLANCY: You still wish to retain council at this stage of the proceedings.
BETH ALBRIGHT: I will remind the chairman that I am assigned to this position as
part of my duties representing The Gotham Police Department.
GLANCY: Very good. Now I would like to review the information that you submitted in
your deposition. I believe it is on page 17.
GORDON: Yes
GLANCY: You spoke with the costume vigilante known as the Batman shortly after the
attempt on your life in front of your home. Is that correct?
GORDON: Yes, we spoke later that evening.
GLANCY: What time was that?
GORDON: About an hour after the last police and medical personnel had left.
GLANCY: How long did the conversation last and what was discussed during this time?
GORDON: The Batman indicated that he thought he knew the identity of Artemis
Daniels.
SENATOR DIANE HENSON: This being the man who you believed was behind the
creation of these mutated criminals?
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GORDON: Yes senator.
HENSON: And you had no other information about this Dr. Daniels except for what the
Batman had given you, which was only a name.
GORDON…Uh…Well at that time, yes! Later, his name came up in the records we were
examining.
GLANCY: Please go on.
GORDON: The Batman said that he believed this Artemis Daniels was a dangerous
criminal named Ra’s Al Ghul.
SENATOR ROBERT STEVENS: This Ra’s Al Ghul, was he known to Gotham Police?
GORDON: Not to Gotham Police, but both the FBI and Interpol had heard the name. A
number of high ranking members of organized crime families had mentioned him in
conversations that were being monitored by these law enforcement organizations.
HENSON: Why did Batman say that knowing the identity of this Ra’s Al Ghul was so
important?
GORDON: Batman believed that if Dr. Artemis Daniels was indeed Ra’s Al Ghul then
he had several leads on capturing him. If Artemis Daniels was not Ra’s Al Ghul he was
still a dangerous criminal and needed to be stopped.
GLANCY: I could see why that was important. What did he propose?
GORDON: He told me that if we could locate Dr. Daniels operational base we could
find out if he was Ra’s Al Ghul. He wanted me to contact him if I discovered its location.
GLANCY: The Batman did not know where this organized crime group was operating
out of?
GORDON: No I figured that out on my own. I believe we covered my detective work.
GLANCY: We did indeed. Tell me, how did you then contact Batman?
GORDON: He had given me a telephone number. We later learned that it was to an
office that was rented using a false name. We were not able to trace how the Batman
rented it or how he paid for it.
GLANCY: So what did he want from you?
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GORDON: He told me he would recon the warehouse. If no one was there he would
alert me. If Dr. Daniels was present he would apprehend him. If his associates were
present he would need to get them to confirm that Dr. Daniels was indeed Ra’s Al Ghul.
SENATOR SUSAN GERARD ESSEX: Why did the Batman not just apprehend the
associates? If he really is so tough why did he need you?
GORDON: If all we did was capture the perpetrators they may not be willing to talk.
Then we would have no way of getting that information on the scientific process used to
create the mutated beings. It could have been located on a computer file, but we had no
way of knowing that.
GLANCY: So what happened?
GORDON: I would remind the committee that we were desperate. We needed to get this
information immediately. As you will read in the disposition we had every reason to
believe that the criminals were leaving Gotham and taking the mutation process with
them. We needed to find out the actual identity of Dr. Artemis Daniels and apprehend
these guys quickly and so we had no time for long term planning. It was hit the ground
running.
HENSON: So you made a deal with a wanted criminal? Is that correct?
ALBRIGHT: May I remind the committee that my client has already addressed that
issue. We refer to our previous statement.
SENATOR JACK BAILEY: The one in which you discuss the need to adapt police
procedures due to the growing threat from paranormal criminals.
ALBRIGHT: That is correct.
GORDON: We are not living in the same world you and I grew up in. We have people
who fly and people who employ science that is far more advanced than what we are
aware of. Like it or not crime fighters such as Batman are here to stay, and yes we need
them.
GLANCY: Please continue Lieutenant Gordon.
GORDON: The Batman performed reconnaissance on the warehouse. He called me from
an untraceable number and told me that Dr. Daniels was not present, but the others were
and that they were in the process of getting ready to leave. So we agreed on what I admit
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was a hastily constructed plan. Batman informed us of the location of several video
cameras that were being used to monitor the warehouse.
STEVENS: He told you where they were?
GORDON: Yes. Officer Sarah Essen and myself agreed to allow ourselves to be
captured. Once we were captured the Batman would allow himself to be seen on the
perpetrators video feed. We were hoping that the suspects would force Batman to reveal
himself
HENSON: My Gosh! Do you realize how dangerous that is?
GORDON: Every second of the way. But we knew we had to get that information. It was
the most viable plan we had at the time.
GLANCY: Well you certainly have more guts that anyone I know. But I do question you
wisdom and professionalism engaging in a dangerous stunt like that. Continue.
GORDON: When Batman revealed himself, he allowed them to search him. They found
a drawing of Ra’s Al Ghul that he had made. When they recognized the picture we knew
that Dr. Artemis Daniels was Ra’s Al Ghul.
SENATOR BRIAN COLBY: Weren’t you worried that you would be killed?
GORDON: If everything went according to plan we would have been okay.
GLANCY: But that did not happen, did it?
GORDON:…Well…(takes a drink of water)…I went to my supervisor Captain Dan
Good and publicly he turned me down, and told me that he was not following up on my
lead. But that was not the case. This was a front because we worried that our activities
were being monitored by the bad guys.
BAILEY: Were you being monitored and if so how?
GORDON: We believe we were, but we have not been able to prove it. We suspect that
an FBI agent named Todd Lowry was working for Ra’s Al Ghul. He has not been seen
since the warehouse incident and is wanted for questioning. If I may continue, Captain
Good quickly put together a SWAT force to raid the warehouse. Batman informed us that
there were areas outside of the warehouse that was not being covered by the video
monitoring system, what you might call blind spots.
STEVENS: Captain Good was going to sneak a whole swat team to the warehouse?
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GORDON: If everything went according to plan once Batman had the information he
needed, the electricity would be cut off. That would make the suspects vulnerable to the
Batman’s flash bang grenades. Once disabled, Captain Good could move in and
apprehend the perps.
STEVENS: Did Captain Good go along with this?
GORDON: He gave me the approval to go ahead.
HENSON: Was this cleared with Commissioner Loeb?
GORDON: I did not ask at the time, but he later told me that it was.
HENSON: You know that Commissioner Loeb denies that.
BAILEY: Commissioner Loeb claims that it was you and Captain Good who…I quote
(reading from the Gotham Gazette) fell under the hypnotic, evil influence of that demon
the Batman and came up with this cowboy scheme that got a lot of men killed.
GORDON: I admit to coming up with the scheme but I had full permission from my
supervisor.
HENSON: Captain Good claims he had the go ahead from Commissioner Loeb. The
Commissioner denies giving this permission.
ALBRIGHT: Madam Senator, may I remind you that my client is emphatically not
accountable for the disagreement between his supervisor and the Police Commissioner.
HENSON: I am quite aware of that. That will be covered in a future hearing.
GORDON: I would also like to add that given Commissioner Loeb’s current legal status
I would be cautious about believing him. Let me just say this that if everything went
according to plan we would have been able to arrest the suspects by the book.
HENSON: But that is not what happened was is it Mr. Gordon?
GORDON:…Obviously not.
BAILEY: This lead to the biggest shoot out that occurred on US soil since the American
Civil War.
GORDON: I wouldn’t know that as I am not a historian.
COLBY: What did happen, why did the plans go so terribly wrong?
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GORDON: We made three mistakes. The first is that Batman had rigged the generator to
go off when the power was cut. This would have prevented any back-up lights to go on.
The criminals would have been plunged into total darkness. Unfortunately, the suspects
had rigged a secondary back up and the emergency lights did come on. We lost the
element of surprise.
HENSON: Ha! The great Batman wasn’t so smart after all.
GORDON: We all make mistake, but if I may continue, the second mistake was that the
Gotham Police Department did not assemble in time. Captain Good was left without the
resources and man power to resolve the situation. He will tell you about how the
Armored Personnel Carriers were ordered not to participate in this operation.
GLANCY: I am sure we will hear from him.
GORDON: The worst part was that right before we began the operation we discovered
access tunnels beneath the warehouse and the other surrounding buildings. The blueprints
were in total disarray, we had no idea where they went or what their actual configuration
looked like. We realized that if the suspects made it to the tunnels we would lose them.
HENSON: And so you created a perfect storm that lead to an armed conflict that caused
the death of twelve people including Gotham Police and FBI agents, as well as 20 others
being wounded, one of whom was your partner Sarah Essen.
GORDON: I was in the thick of it. Those events will be forever etched into my mind.
COLBY: At least your partner made a full recovery.
GORDON: For that I am thankful to God every day.
(Transcript ends)
“So here it is. I am holding up my end of the bargain.” Here are the files from both
the hearing and all additional files.” Jim Gordon said as he handed Batman the files. The
dark figure took the files and began to leaf through them. He continued, “I waited until
the hearings were over. Nothing really came of them. Given that Loeb and his cronies are
on the way out, I guess the committee felt that no further actions were necessary.”
Jim Gordon was shivering and he thought he heard his teeth chatter. It was cold on
top of the Gotham Police Headquarters. It would be nice if they could meet in an alley
instead of a roof. The police windbreaker was woefully inadequate. But there was one
more thing to consider. The Batman was not the only man of mystery. The detective
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smiled as he thought of it. He glanced to his right where a huge object was draped with a
dark black cloth.
“This is what I wanted,” The Dark Knight proclaimed, “I really hope that there
may be something in these files that leads me to Ra’s Al Ghul.” Gordon noticed that the
Batman shook a little and was leaning on an exhaust unit for support. The man must have
taken a real beating.
“So how are you feeling? I know you were in a heck of a fight with that creature.”
A few days after the Welldon affair the Batman mailed Gordon a video of part the fight
between himself and Wayne Logan. The camera must have been mounted on the
vigilante’s costume. It showed how the giant had died. “I know that the fire at the
Warehouse reduced everything to ashes and rubble, but I still find it interesting that we
did not find the body,” Gordon commented.
“I find that interesting too.”
“Well the fire was pretty devastating, maybe that whole area was reduced to
cinders. A really intense blaze could do that.”
“Perhaps.”
“But at least you got out.”
“I was lucky. But yes, I escaped just moments before the fire reached that portion
of the warehouse.” The Batman said in a still low voice.
The two men stood there silently. Jim Gordon looked at the black envelope that he
was given by the Batman. He asked, “So this is what you have on the infamous Dr.
Artemis Daniels?”
“That’s all I can give you. The man’s name is Ra’s Al Ghul. He claims to be over
500 years old. He may be older than that. He discovered a hidden chamber with advanced
technology. The chamber contained a pool of liquid he called the Lazarus Pitt. Ra’s Al
Ghul enters the pit and he is restored to the health of a young man. Over the years he has
discovered other Lazarus chambers. I found the location of one such chamber. But when I
went there the chamber had been abandoned, the pool drained. I have been hunting him
for some time.”
Gordon asked, “That sounds a lot like the story you told at the warehouse. Is there
any truth to that story?”
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Batman shook his head and exclaimed, “No, I invented a story that was similar to
the Lazarus pit. I wanted to see if the two scientists showed any sign of being familiar
with it. I’m not sure how Ra’s Al Ghul recruited them, but I suspect he told them very
little about the chamber or where the mysterious liquid came from. The man likes to
compartmentalize his information.”
“So you’re name is not Brian Aldrich?”
“No, Brian Aldrich was indeed a young man from Wyoming. He was likely killed
in a boating accident. His body was not recovered. I borrowed his identity because it
could not be linked to anyone who was alive or verifiably dead.”
Gordon felt a chill when he thought about that. I guess stealing an unfortunate
victim’s ID was not something that bothered the Batman. He added, “Well I can tell you
that we probably will not be getting anything out of anyone, anytime soon. The one
captured mercenary was willing to talk in exchange for time off his sentence. Nick
Verail, Jason Bohl and David Cain have pleaded the fifth. Interestingly enough they are
being represented by one of the best criminal law firms in the country.”
“That is an interesting development,” The Dark Knight replied.
“I am not worried; we have them dead to rights. Harvey Dent is an excellent
attorney and he feels his case is more than winnable.”
“Harvey Dent is cleaning house.”
“The man is a tornado. He has already indicted seventy-five high ranking
members of Gotham PD on felony charges, including our ex-commissioner Gillian Loeb.
Over 500 police have already resigned rather than face criminal charges. An additional
200 arrests have occurred as a result of Captain Good and the FBI’s investigation.”
“And Captain Good, how did he fare?”
Gordon both shook and nodded his head in a funny bobble while making a strange
face, “Well not good at first. He was the scapegoat for all that happened at the
warehouse. He was forced to resign. But he was immediately rehired by the FBI along
with his son. He was allowed to keep his retirement and received a pay raise.”
“You made out pretty good Commissioner Gordon,” Batman said with the
slightest hint of humor.
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“Well that’s a tad bit premature. I am the number one, odds on favor to be
appointed Commissioner. The mayor will announce his pick next Monday and the board
has to approve the hiring. But the word is that I am the man.”
“And us?”
Gordon thought for a moment as to how he wanted to say what he was sure needed
to be said. He looked at the dark figure, standing there silently, his cape blowing in the
chilly wind. Taking a deep breath he figured the best way to say it was just to say it, “I
have thought long and hard about this. In fact, while you are the talk of Gotham I guess I
am the go to guy on what we know about Batman.”
The vigilante stood silently, but Gordon thought he gave a small nod.
“Everybody and I mean everybody asks me who I think the Batman is. For some
reason I never tell them what I am about to say. I don’t know why, perhaps I want them
to figure it out on their own, or perhaps I am waiting to talk to you.”
Batman turned his head silently. Jim Gordon assumed that this meant he was
genuinely curious.
“In order to figure out who the Batman is you need to figure out his methods.
Consider that a few nights before the warehouse incident you halted no less than eight
crimes. The night began with stopping a mugging; thirty minutes later you busted up a
drug deal. Let me think, oh yeah one hour later you captured a wanted felon who was
about to knife a rival gang member etc. etc. etc.”
The two men stood staring at each other. If Batman had a sense of pride or
accomplishment he betrayed none of this. Gordon continued, “So how do you know
when all of this crime is about to happen? How can you be at the scene of so many
crimes in time to stop them? How do you do this night after night?”
“I see only three ways. The first is that you are part of an organization that sets
these crimes up yourself. In other words you entice criminals to commit crimes. You or
the people you work with can get the names of repeat offenders and make contact with
them. You ask or encourage them to break the law so you can bust them. Police call this a
sting operation and it happens all the time. But, we can dismiss this possibility,”
Gordon was surprised when the Batman said, “Really?” He figured the masked
man was not one for unnecessary verbiage. The policeman continued, “Yeah, if you were
part of a sting operation there would be other unaccounted people involved in these
crimes. At least some of the people who were arrested after you incapacitated them
would tell us about accomplices, partners and other people who were involved in the
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crime and then disappeared. We checked out that possibility and dismissed it; we didn’t
get even a hint of that happening.”
“The next possibility is that you are superhuman. Many of my colleagues believe
that this is the most likely answer. Twenty years ago anybody suggesting such a thing
would be considered a kook. Now we read about that guy up in Metropolis. Many believe
that by some means unknown and perhaps unknowable you are able to gain knowledge as
to when a crime is about to occur. You possess some sort of psychic ability and through
some miracle of technology and theology you know when a crime is going to happen.”
“Is that what you believe?” The Batman asked.
“It is a possibility, but if you possessed that power I think that things at the
warehouse would have gone differently. No one who had any ability to predict what is
going to happen would have wanted things to occur the way they did. Of course, it may
be true that you have these abilities but they are not always reliable. No ability is ever one
hundred percent perfect; even the best musicians sometimes hit bad notes.”
Gordon waited to see if the Batman was going to respond to this, but he did not.
“That leaves the possibility that you are monitoring known felons. There are tens
of thousands of people in Gotham who have extensive criminal histories. If you were part
of an organization that is listening to their conversation and tapping their telephone you
could learn which of these people were going to commit a crime and stop them.”
“This seems the most likely scenario. The police bug suspected criminal’s houses
and wire tap their telephones. We do that all the time. But we need probable cause and a
warrant. If you do round the clock surveillance on known felons you should have no
trouble catching a few people in the act. Of course, in order to do this you throw the US
Constitution out the window.
“This is what you think I am doing?”
“I don’t know. We have searched some of the apartments and houses of the
criminals you have apprehended. We found no listening devices, no bugs, or wire taps.”
“But I figure it this way. If that is what’s going on it would take quite a number of
people to pull it off. You would need dozens of people on monitoring duty. There are
some private sector interests that might have the money, manpower and technology to do
this. In Gotham we have Luthorcorp, Wayne Enterprises, and S.T.A.R. Laboratories,
maybe a few others.”
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“The problem is that these companies would be risking financial ruin if any
connection between themselves and the Batman were ever established. Besides, we have
gone over their finances with a fine tooth comb. Once again we have found nothing to
believe that Bruce Wayne or Lex Luthor is funding a large scale vigilante operation.”
“That leaves one possibility, the good ole U S of A. My best guess is that Batman
is part of some government agency’s secret project. It’s not a stretch to believe that the
FBI, CIA NSA are involved. They really are the only ones out there that have the money,
the technology and the trained manpower to continue an operation like this.”
Batman stood impassively. Gordon wondered if he had struck a nerve. He paused
to let the masked vigilante digest this. He spoke, “Maybe you are part of a clandestine
military operation. Suppose I tried to track down the most athletic, capable Navy Seal to
come along in the last five years. I wonder if I would find him standing next to me?”
“But here’s the thing. If you are part of a secret intelligence operation then we
have a problem. My guess is that such an endeavor would not exist simply to fight crime
in America’s most crime ridden city. When government agencies put in this much time
and effort they probably have some other hidden agenda. I haven’t a clue as to what that
would be. I couldn’t even begin to speculate.”
“So I have said all of that to say this one thing. If I ever find out that you are not
working in the bests interests of Gotham City….” Not one given to theatrics, Lieutenant
Gordon took one step toward the Batman and even paused for dramatic effect. He
continued, “I will use every resource at my disposal to hunt you down. I will pursue this
with a single minded determination. And I will, with a righteous rage and fury, take you
down hard.”
The two men again stood just a couple of feet apart. Jim could not see The
Batman’s eyes. He somehow thought that they were looking directly into his. He asked,
“Sir, are we clear on that?”
The Batman stepped forward and answered, “Yes. I understand completely and I
agree.”
Gordon cleared his throat as if to change the subject, “I have laid down the terms
of our arrangement. There is a document in the folder. It states that when and if I am
appointed Commissioner you will be given a special deputy status. You may continue
your work provided that you stay within the boundaries of police procedure. You will
turn over, in a timely manner, any evidence that relates to any and all police
investigations. You will report to me when I signal for you.” He paused and said, “The
way things look, I may need you real soon. These weird threats seem to be coming more
and more.”
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Batman had a quizzical tone when he asked, “Signal, what signal?”
Gordon smiled and even gave a chuckle. He pointed to the large black cloth and
said, “I am glad you asked.” Whatever was under the cloth was about eight to ten feet
tall, the same width and about five feet deep. It was on a three foot high concrete
pedestal.
He grabbed the cloth and gave it a huge tug. The fabric slid to the ground
revealing a huge spotlight. Pressing a button the mammoth device shot a huge beam of
light into the night sky.
Both men’s eyes followed the light to see a large bat symbol silhouetted against
the gray clouds of the night sky. Gordon spoke, “Meet the new bat signal. We will use
this to signal you, and to let the residents of Gotham know that they have a protector.”
James Gordon could not see if the Batman was smiling. He did think he heard
lightness to the vigilante’s voice when the masked man said, “I approve.”
The Lieutenant was still looking at the Bat Signal when he said, “After I am
appointed police commissioner, I will need to get with you. I have at least a dozen cases
that may involve paranormal and meta human activity. Can you meet me up here
Thursday of next week?”
His inquiry was greeted by only silence. He repeated, “Batman what about next
Thursday?” When he looked around there was nothing. The Batman was gone. He heard
only the cold Gotham breeze and the sounds of the city below.
Jim Gordon shook his head and muttered, “I wonder if I will ever find out how he
does that?”
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CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN: The Truth Shall Set You Free.
“Really sir, I will say again, I am not in charge of the flowers and the
decorations.” Dr. Raymond London exclaimed with an obvious note of irritation to his
voice. Jim Gordon smiled as he noticed that the hand that held the telephone was even
quivering a little. “And no, I know nothing about security for that day. There will be over
one hundred police officers in the building. Why don’t you ask one of them?”
Dr. London looked over his glasses at Jim Gordon. His stare seemed to say, “See
what kind of grief you have caused me.” Jim thought this is what you get when you agree
to host a media event like his swearing in ceremony.
When Jim Gordon’s appointment to Gotham City Police Commissioner was
announced the powers that be wanted a public ceremony. They considered several venues
such as City Hall, and the Gotham Symphony Orchestra’s Theater. The mayor wanted
something that would appear to be more community oriented. Somehow it was decided
that the New Jerusalem Community Church would host the swearing in ceremony.
The Pastor was initially excited about this, but that was before it became a media
circus. He had been fielding calls all day and the ceremony was still three days away.
Finally, the good reverend had the opportunity to close the telephone receiver
which he did just a little harder than he probably intended to. Exhaling, he yelled for his
secretary to hold his calls. Taking a deep breath he said, “Okay, that was something
simple…made infinitely more complicated.” Looking at the other three men in the room
he said, “Where are we?”
“I was just asking these two gentlemen how well they were sleeping, eating, that
sort of thing.” The speaker was Devin Justice, the pastor of ministerial counseling at the
church. He was a board certified clinical psychologist and had experience working with
trauma victims. He was a handsome man in his mid 30’s with a soothing, gentle voice
and mannerisms. Bart knew him from the church and his brother Joshua worked for the
Gazette.
He was recommended to Jim Gordon by both the Police Human Resources
division and by his friend Bart Tobler. The Gotham PD used him frequently; he was quite
good. Gordon had seen him four times since the shootout. This was a more informal talk
with both the pastor and Bart who had been released from the hospital but was still
recovering.
The reporter was walking okay. He went to therapy three times a week to help
regain full movement. Everyone noticed a marked improvement but he still needed a little
help from a cane to get around. The doctors assured him that he would regain full
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movement in time. Fortunately, he was uninjured in his assault by David Cain. The drugs
had no lasting physical effects; no lasting “physical” effects.
Bart answered the man’s question, “I am sleeping just fine, but I’m still on
medication. I still have nightmares”
Dr. Justice asked, “Jim how about you?”
“I’m a cop, I never sleep that well. But I took your advice and I go for a long walk
before bed time. That helps, but I also have nightmares.”
The reporter interjected, “Sometimes I wake up and for a brief moment I think that
the killer is standing in the room.”
Gordon answered that, “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Mr. Cain is right
now facing five first degree murder charges. He has been successfully transferred to what
is known as a super maximum prison somewhere out west. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Yes, except in my mind.” the reporter replied.
The session continued like this with Dr. Justice’s gentle probing and the two
men’s responses. Every now and again Dr. London would interject with a pearl or two of
wisdom. Dr. Justice continued his inquiry:
“How are you eating?”
“How is your relationship with your family and friends?”
“Are you getting regular exercise?”
And so it went, until Dr. Justice asked Bart, “Will you continue on as the Gazette’s
crime reporter?” Gordon felt the tension in the room rise quite a bit.
Bart answered, “I really have no choice. I have to make a living and it’s the best
paying job for me. In addition to my own byline, I have my own weekly column.”
Jim interjected, “Where he will pontificate on the evils of siding with costume
vigilantes.”
The four men sat and looked at each other for a good long minute.
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The journalist smiled, “It is no secret that I have not shared Mr. Soon To Be
Commissioner Gordon’s enthusiasm for working with the Batman. I have written several
columns questioning his decision. But I respect his opinion.”
Before Gordon could interject, Bart continued, “And I have to begrudgingly agree
that there may be a growing threat from these costumed and meta human characters. The
rules have changed.” He looked at the policeman and asked, “I guess it has been
confirmed that there is some guy wearing a green leprechaun outfit with question marks
all over it who has committed a series of robberies.”
Jim Gordon nodded, “He’s on our radar. He calls himself Edward Nigma or E.
Nigma or something crazy like that. I have already contacted our third shift ally in the
matter.”
The reporter continued, “So for now, I will defer to my colleague’s judgment.
Likewise I respect him as a friend. As a journalist however, I will always strive to uphold
the truth.”
Gordon responded, “I guess we are in the same business, because I want the truth
also.”
Deciding that this was enough of this discussion Dr. Justice asked Bart. “How are
you doing spiritually? Have you learned anything about your relationship to God because
of this?”
Bart repeated the question to himself a couple of times and then answered, “You
know I have reflected on this question a few times and the answer is that I have not
learned as much as some might imagine I have.”
The other three men bristled at this. Dr. London sat up in his chair while Dr.
Justice leaned toward the speaker. Bart continued, “Don’t get me wrong, I was terrified, I
still cannot believe that I did not have what doctors euphemismistically call an
involuntary bowel contraction.”
The three men chuckled at this. The reporter continued, “But I realized that I was
going to die a long time ago. I didn’t know how, or when. We all hope to grow old and
die, and probably expect to. But the whole point to being a Christian is to focus your life
on Christ so that you will be ready to meet him.”
Dr. London interjected, “They say everyone must face death. That’s really not
true, some people don’t think about it until it’s too late.”
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“Right,” the journalist commented, “Of course facing your own mortality is scary.
I mean looking into the eyes of a paid professional assassin who is giving you his
undivided attention is terrifying. But we know that the grave is not the end. Our daily
walk of faith should and does comfort us to know that a better place awaits us.”
Dr. Justice asked, “Did you feel the Lord’s presence at any time during the
episode?”
Bart smiled and nodded, “Just when I felt overwhelmed with panic I remembered
one of my favorite Bible verses, Philippians chapter four, verses six and seven.”
Dr. Devin Justice chimed in, “Philippians chapter four, verses six and seven one of
my favorites.”
Dr. Raymond London joined the choir, “Philippians chapter four, verses six and
seven is one of the best.”
Spontaneously the three men recited the verse from memory, “Be anxious about
nothing, but in everything in prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests
to God. And the peace of God that passes all understanding will guard your hearts and
minds in Christ Jesus.”
With that the three men laughed and high fived each other. Jim Gordon knew it
was one of those rare moments when real joy transcends the person’s circumstance.
That said, the psychologist turned to Jim Gordon and asked, “Commissioner have
you ever felt it?”
Jim paused for a moment and responded, “Yes, in a certain way.”
The other three men looked at him. He could feel the prodding in their stares. He
continued, “I am still processing all of this. What happened back in that warehouse was
the worst situation I‘ve ever been in. I still feel overwhelmed, but there was a point when
I truly felt that my spirit transcended the chaos of battle.”
He paused to collect his words and said, “When I thought my partner had been
shot, I realized that this was too big for me. I felt overwhelmed like I couldn’t continue.
And I felt like something took hold of the situation and I actually felt like whatever
happened, it would be okay. That there was something more important that was guiding
the circumstances.”
Dr. London answered, “Let me be the first to tell you that there was.”
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Jim Gordon thought for a moment and explained, “There was a sense of pure truth.
Like when you strip away all of the falseness what was left was what was important.”
The pastor responded, “The truth shall set you free.”
The policeman explained, “As a cop I am always looking for the truth. When you
get rid of all the lies and extraneous details then what’s left is what happened. It’s the
essence of any investigation. I have always been amazed that the truth of right and wrong
seems to transcend who we are.”
Bart smiled and said, “I had no idea that police were that philosophical.”
“Oh we are, because we have time to think about it. We all know that decent and
honest behavior goes beyond the human condition. Any action no matter how evil can be
justified that it was done for the greater good. The Nazi’s sincerely believed they were
making the world a better place. Plus they believed they were the master race and could
dictate right from wrong.”
Dr. London nodded in approval, “That’s right. We call it moral relativism and it’s
basically the idea that there are no moral absolutes and that if I believe something is right
then it is right, regardless of how much it hurts others.”
“That’s true but our country is founded on the principles that all men are created
equal and that no one is above the law. If those truths don’t come from God and are
guided by God, then where do they come from?”
No one said anything until Bart Tobler said, “It seems all four of us are dedicated
to the truth. I want to get to the truth of a story, Jim wants to get to the truth when a crime
is committed, Dr. London preaches God’s truth and Dr. Justice tries to get people to face
the truth about themselves.”
The four men sat silently pondering this truth. Finally the silence was broken by
Dr. London who proclaimed, “Gentlemen I hate to break up this mutual admiration
society, but the truth is that lunch time is over and I have to get to an appointment.”
The journalist employed his cane to struggle out of the chair. He let out a low
grunt and said, “I have a column about this new police commissioner I have to write.”
Gordon grunted and said, “I guess the new police commission will go fight
crime.”
Dr. Devin Justice said, “Gentlemen I will see you all this Monday at the swearing
in ceremony. Bart, Pastor London and I will see you at Sunday morning worship.”
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Jim Gordon thought for a second and said, “So tell me, what time is the Sunday
service?”
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CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT: Hope.
The young man took three steps just fine, he wobbled on the fourth step but
quickly regained his balance and continued. Dr. Leslie Thompkins smiled and said,
“Marty you’re walking great. Do you have any dizziness?”
The young man whose name was Martin Logan replied, “No, I feel much better.”
Dr. Thompkins was amazed. The boy was making incredible progress. The new
Police Commissioner, James Gordon visited the hospital a few weeks ago. He called
Marty aside and showed him the video of his brother’s last moments with the Batman. He
told him how sorry he was about his brother’s death, but that he ultimately helped the
police with their ongoing investigation in the matter. He told Marty that he could be
proud of his brother.
Marty took the news hard but was heartened by his brother’s last gesture. Dr.
Thompkins was worried that this would set him back. But no, quite the opposite, even
though his brother was gone, it somehow gave him an internal drive. She was amazed
and wondered, where do they find the strength?
Dr. Thompkin’s assistant Vickie Glancy spoke up, “Okay people let’s try our bend
and reach exercise. Once we do our warm ups we need to do some tests to see how much
you improved on your exercises.” This was followed by a few groans but a general sense
of compliancy. Fourteen hands stretched and began to reach up and out.
The seven were part of a larger group that had been selected for a cutting edge
program at Gotham General. They were men and women who had a variety of
neurological damage. They had been treated with surgery, medicine and rehabilitation
therapy. From here they were going to a halfway house to learn life skills and then
hopefully into the job market as productive citizens.
As the head of the project Dr. Thompkins was responsible for doing tests and
collecting data. She had already published one article in the prestigious New England
Journal of Medicine and was scheduled to give a talk at the next American Medical
Association Meeting. More importantly she wanted this to be a pilot program to help
people around the world.
Her thoughts were interrupted by what she considered the most annoying voice in
the world. It said, “Well it looks like we are having fun here.”
She turned to see the tottering, disheveled figure of Bruce Wayne. She replied to
his comments with an icy sternness, “What do want Mr. Wayne?”
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“I need a moment of your time doctor.”
“I am in the middle of a therapy session.”
“I need a moment of your time doctor.”
“Can it wait? What I am doing now is important.”
“I would remind you that your therapy session is paid for by a grant from the
Wayne Foundation and I control those purse strings.”
She grunted to show her annoyance, She gritted her teeth and scowled, “On for
goodness sake…” She was about to say something she was sure to regret, so she forced
herself to regain her composure. She gave a sigh of resignation and said, “Okay, you win.
Vickie, could you leave us alone for a moment? Take the group into the next room; I’ll be
in to help you in a moment.”
Once the group exited the room she looked at Bruce Wayne who was sitting and
rubbing his head.
She said, “What do you need from me Mr. Wayne?” The last two words were said
as a curse. She couldn’t believe this guy. He was a hopeless, obnoxious, drunk who was
always hitting on her. It was a disgusting form of harassment. How could any woman like
this guy? Regardless of how wealthy he was, the man was a pig.
Dr. Thompkin’s disgust only increased when the man belched loudly and with
slurred speech he said, “You must excuse me, I had a rough night last night. I got in
late…well actually I haven’t gotten in at all.”
“Sounds like a typical night for you.”
“Did you know that they have wine that cost five thousand dollars a bottle? I find
it really funny that I vomited up stuff that cost more than most of the people in Gotham
make in a year.”
“Is that what I smell?”
“Oh well being fabulously wealthy does have certain obligations.”
Dr. Thompkins had nothing but obvious disgust for this excess. Trying to nudge
the man to the point she asked, “Let me guess, you will pull my grant money if I don’t
date you; is that it?”
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“No, if I were going to threaten you that way, I would say something like I would
make sure you never work as a doctor again. I could do that you know.”
“Mr. Wayne, I am very busy and if there is a point to all of this…”
The man regained his composure and said, “Dr. Thompkins I know your grant
comes up for renewal in 6 months. When it does I want you to leave the project.”
The physician was shocked by this. She had conceived this program. Bruce Wayne
continued, “I’d like you to transfer the project to Dr. Adam Vanwinkle. He is an excellent
physician and has been a consultant for this program. He’s had over fifty papers in
reputable research journals. He is a logical choice to take over.”
Dr. Thompkins was stunned and could feel her anger begin to rise. But all she
could say was, “Why?”
“It has come to my attention that you had written to several Gotham city
councilmen about opening the Washington Street Clinic. It closed down about two year
ago. It seems they had a little problem with their books or something.”
Dr. Thompson gave a gasp of exasperation, “They were caught and convicted of
embezzling city funds. They were claiming that were treating patients and prescribing
medicines. In fact they were selling the drugs on the black market. Literally hundreds of
people were not getting medicines prescribed to them. They flooded the area with the
same prescription drugs.”
He continued, “Right now the building is empty. I guess some of the street people
are using it as a get together area or something.”
She gritted her teeth and asked herself how anyone could be so stupid. She
corrected him, “The old medical clinic is a refuge for Gotham’s homeless population.
They have no place else to go. Shortly after it was abandoned it was used as a center for
dog fighting. The police finally got around to shutting that down.”
Bruce considered this and said, “I guess that is what happens to most of the
buildings in that part of town.”
“Crime Alley,” she replied.
“Crime Alley,” he replied and then said, “Anyway you were interested in opening
up a new clinic in that area. I would like to see the Gotham Foundation help you in this
matter.”
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“Really?”
“I talked with the board of The Wayne Foundation. They are willing to revamp the
building and provide the startup capital to get the clinic running. In time you would of
course have to take insurance when available and Medicaid and Medicare. I don’t know
that we can pick up the tab indefinitely. This may involve some fundraising on your part
down the road. But I believe you mentioned that in your letter to the Gotham City
Council.”
The doctor was flabbergasted all she could think to say was, “Why yes, yes of
course.”
The billionaire continued, “Of course you can pick your staff. I believe the old
clinic had about a dozen nurses and five doctors. I think they were regular doctors. You
know just plain old doctors.”
“We usually refer to them as specialist in internal medicine. I believe they also had
a part time OBGYN.”
“OBGYN what did that guy do, handle obituaries? That’s what it sounds like.”
“No Mr. Wayne, that’s not what an OBGYN does.”
“I suppose that making sure women are capable of bringing babies into the world
safely is important. I mean babies are the people you do not want to see in the obituaries
for a long, long time.”
The two of them chuckled at this. They sat there for a long moment and Dr.
Thompkins said, “I don’t know what to say. This has been something I have wanted to do
for a long time. I mean this current project is important but I really wanted to see a clinic
open up in that area.” She chuckled nervously and repeated, “I really don’t know what to
say.”
The man looked at her for another long moment. She never really noticed those
deep dark eyes of his. He spoke softly, “Then say yes. Those people need you. There is
really no other way that they are going to get a doctor of your quality.”
“Why are you interested in doing this?”
He chuckled and said, “Wayne industries needs some good PR. You see, Gotham
has gotten a certain reputation. This image has become a bit of a hindrance to doing
business both at home and internationally.”
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“I see,” she replied.
“Plus I admit that there is this negative connotation that has been unfortunately
created by people who have misunderstood or deliberately misrepresented my own
innocent actions. Both myself and Wayne Industries’ image could use a little sprucing
up.”
“Oh, I can imagine.”
Again there was a long moment between the two. Dr. Thompkins noticed another
more serious change in his demeanor. He continued, “Dr. Thompkins, it is no secret that I
have a connection to Crime Alley. You know with the loss of my parents and all…”
She cut in, “Mr. Wayne, everyone in Gotham knows your story.”
“I admit that Crime Alley is probably my least favorite place in the world. Yet, if
we don’t do something, it’s only going to get worse. That will lead to more needless
suffering. I can’t say that Bruce Wayne is the most concerned citizen out there but I don’t
want to see any other kid go through what I did.”
“I understand,” she commented while thinking that this was definitely a different
side to Bruce Wayne.”
The moment was broken when Bruce Wayne coughed, belched and scratched
himself. He groaned and grunted as he got up and said, “Well I got to get cleaned up and
then I am flying out to Las Vegas. I’m having lunch and probably more than one martini
with Mr. Sinatra. He has a reputation for having a drink or two more than is necessary to
get the job done.”
“So I’ve heard.”
The man turned to leave but stopped and said, “I did want to mention one more
thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I like the feeling you give.”
“Feeling, Mr. Wayne?”
“Well the way you have been working with the Logan boy. When people see the
improvements he made…it causes you to have an upbeat outlook on things.” He paused
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to gather his words, “How do I say this? It makes people more optimistic about the
future.”
She replied, “It gives them hope Mr. Wayne.”
“Yes, Dr. Thompkins. It is important to give hope to the people of Gotham .”
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Epilogue:
The voice on the other end of the secure line chuckled and said, “I guess we can
drop the Artemis Daniels moniker. The name Ra’s Al Ghul is now one of the most
recognized in the world. It seems that your name has graced the front page of every major
newspaper in your country. Now that it was discovered that you can turn men into
monsters you have become the talk of the western world. Now that I have received a
promotion I have to be more careful about whom I affiliate myself with. I do have a
Politburo to answer to.”
Ra’s Al Ghul gritted his teeth and scowled at the stinging insult. He had no
interesting in listening to this man’s diatribe. But he needed him and he needed what he
could provide. He answered the challenge, “Listen Yuri, it is true that people know my
name, but they don’t know what I look like. Trust me when I say that I have had centuries
of practice hiding from the world.”
“I suppose that is true.”
“And some of the people who know my name are aware of the technological
advancements that I have at my disposal. Since the time of your promotion others might
have become interested in what I have to offer. You can talk to your Politburo about that,
The man considered this, “I thought the technology was lost in a bit of a tangle
with the Batman.”
“It is true that I lost the end products when my efforts were sabotaged. I still retain
the research and the resources.”
The Russian chuckled again, “You were definitely stymied by this Batman thing.
Tell me sir, how will you deal with his research and resources?”
Ra’s wished he could reach through the phone and rip the man’s throat out. But he
kept his composure and said, “I am addressing those concerns. The fact is, you need my
technology. If not, I am sure there are Middle East clients who are interested in what I am
selling. I believe that some of them are not particularly aligned with the Soviet Union’s
ideology.”
The man didn’t say anything so Ra’s continued, “Either way Yuri I want to trade
the Soviet Union’s plutonium for my research. You are the best source for this plutonium
but not the only one. There is India, or China…”
Now it was the caller’s turn to get angry, “You would do business with those
slanted eyed, yellow skinned, barbarians…”
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“Calm down Yuri I have made no overtures to either. The Soviet Union is my first
choice for the plutonium. I would add that you have my assurance that I am not making a
bomb. If I wanted one of those I could have made one before the Americans did. I need
the plutonium to create….a new power source. This has been something I have been
working on before you were born. With this new power source I will be able to
fundamentally change the economic structure of the entire world. Whichever country
gives me what I want will be the primary beneficiary of this new technology.”
The man on the other end said nothing, but Ra’s Al Ghul was sure that he was
interested. He added, “Besides if you read about me then you know what those altered
giants are capable of doing. Do you want such people as part of your armed forces or
fighting against them?”
The voice on the other end was hesitant, but replied, “You points are well made.
The Soviet Union cannot afford to be at a disadvantage in this matter.” His speech
faltered slightly. Ra’s Al Ghul assumed he needed a moment to collect his thought. The
speaker continued, “I need a few days to proceed with this. I will have to assuage the
members of the Politburo that we can go forward. Some of my former subordinates in the
KGB will need to be consulted. I do believe we can do business.”
“Excellent. I am glad we can continue our relationship.”
“Tell me about this costumed character. He seems to be very resourceful. He has
certainly captured the attention of the East and West. How will you deal with him?”
Ra’s Al Ghul considered the question and replied sternly, “Yuri I admit that he
took me by surprise. I was not prepared. Next time I will be ready, and he will never get
in my way again.”
“Bold words comrade.”
“Yuri I believe that he and I have met before. In fact I am quickly developing a
contingency plan that will not only eliminate him as a threat but possibly incorporate him
into my ongoing efforts.”
“Really?”
“I have big plans for The Batman.” He didn’t add that in actuality he has had these
plans for a very, very long time.