#14: Boiling Point (Burchette / Villalobos)

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Issue #14: Boiling Point
Plotted by: HoM, Elbe, Paugh, & Burchette
Written by: Brian Burchette
Cover by: Ramon Villalobos
Edited by: Grant LaFleche[/center]

They walked down the corridor of the precinct house, neither talking to each other, both lost in their own thoughts. When they arrived at the interrogation room, they were both a bit surprised to find that the puppet was sitting on the lap of the self named Ventriloquist.

“I thought we told you to separate him from that thing,” Bullock growled.

“Yes sir, we did, but Lt. HoMon ordered them to be put back in the same room,” the officer on guard said with more then a little nervousness in his voice.

“Why?” Gordon asked.

“The Lieutenant said that separately he couldn’t get either one of them to talk.”

“Either one of them?”

“Yes sir!”

Bullock rolled his eyes at Gordon and the two walked into the room. The man that they had identified as Arnold Wesker was fidgeting in his chair, but the mannequin would glance in his direction, and Arnold would stop.

“This can be easy or hard, it’s your choice, Wesker,” Bullock growled as he slammed the door. “Who hired you to off the Mayor?”

“What you talkin’ to that gig idiot for,” the dummy called Scarface snapped. “He ain’t got a grain in his head.”

“Shut up, you!” Bullock snapped back, and then caught himself and cursed. “I ain’t playin’ games with you Wesker! Who hired you?”

The Ventriloquist shrugged his shoulders, glancing down at his boss.

“Arnold,” Gordon said quietly, stepping into the overhead light. “Arnold, we can get you help. We can take away his control over you, but you’ve got to help us first.”

“Oh, this one must ge the good cop,” the dummy said. “That makes you the fat, gad cop.”

Bullock growled and lunged towards Scarface, but Gordon blocked him. “It won’t do any good, Harvey. He’s obviously gone, they both are. They don’t know anything. Just two bit hit men who couldn’t even do their job.”

“What the hell you talkin’ gout, pig,” Scarface practically bellowed. “I’m more then just a stupid hit man! If it hadn’t geen for Gatman, the Mayor would be dead gy now. I didn’t see any of yours’ men stoppin’ me. And as soon as I get outta here’s, I’m gonna pay that gastard gack!”

“Sure you are,” Bullock laughed. “You’re gonna plug em full of lead, ain’t ya. Gonna kill the ‘Gatman’.”

Gordon noticed that Wesker was beginning to shake from fear, but Scarface kept on ranting, “You filthy copper! You get your ass I am, and then I’m comin’ for use, unless the gig goss gets to you first.”

“The big boss?” Gordon asked, his eyes lighting up. “So you know who the big boss is? Tell us, Arnold; tell us and it’ll go easier on for you.”

“You keep your gig mouth shut,” Scarface screamed as he was suddenly in the Ventriloquists’ face. “Cause you know I can put the hurt on yous too.”

Arnold’s shaking became more apparent, “Please, I don’t know anything. Don’t let him hurt me.”

Bullock went to reply, but Gordon pulled him to the side. “We’re not going to get anything else out of him. He’s obviously not in his right mind. I say we pull them apart again and give them twenty four hours, see if that’ll break Wesker.”

The rumpled suited detective chewed on the end of the cigar, wanting to find a reason to argue the idea, but he couldn’t, it was the right call. “What about the dummy?”

Gordon’s lips twitched for a moment, “Let’s have him entered into the evidence room. Then we’ll have Wilkenson interrogate him some more. Maybe with enough time, he’ll pull something out of him.”

There was a moment of silence and for the first time since they had been partnered together, they grinned at each other, and then began to laugh.

In a secured hotel room some where in Gotham, Mayor Krol was pacing as he waited for someone to pick up on the other end of his cell phone. He didn’t like to be kept waiting.

“Holland here,” a crisp voice finally said.

“Thomas, it’s Krol.”

“Where the hell are you? The entire City Council has been on the phone all night trying to locate you. The city is going to hell!”

“I know. Somebody tried to kill me last night. If it wasn’t for the bat, I’d be dead right now. Listen to me; I want you to get the Council together by nine o’ clock. Call an emergency meeting. It’s time we get a new Commissioner in place. I’ve made my choice, but I want the Council’s support on this.”

“You got it,” Thomas Holland said without hesitation. “Care to tell me who it is?”

“Keep this under your hat, but after last nights attack, there’s only one person that I can go with… James Gordon.”

“Consider it done.”

“Mr. Sionis? Mr. Bruce Wayne is here to see you, sir.”

Roman Sionis’ eyes brightened for a moment, and then he hit the intercom button, “By all means, send him in.”

The door opened and Bruce Wayne walked through and into one of the largest offices he had ever seen, and that was saying something. It felt like it took him ten minutes just to reach the desk and the man he had come to see.

“Well I’ll be! Bruce Wayne, here in my office. Outside of a few charity events, I haven’t seen you in ages, and I don’t think you’ve ever actually been in my office.”

Bruce brought out a cheerful smile as he shook the man’s hand. “No, this is a first. How have you been Roman?”

“Can’t complain, company’s doing great. Actually since we went public, things have never been better. I think my folks would have been proud, God rest their souls.”

“Good to hear.”

“And you?” Roman asked. “Still living the life that every married man dreams of?”

Bruce shrugged, “I suppose. Still doing what I want to do, although I’m a bit more exclusive with whom I’m doing it with, these days.”

“Oh yes, I’ve read the papers. Ms. Vicki Vale is quite a catch, if I do say so myself.”

“I like to think so.”

“So what brings you down here this afternoon? Anything I can do for an old friend, you just name it.”

“Well, there is, actually. It has been brought to my attention, just recently, that a major corporation has been buying up Wayne Enterprise stock from some of my major shareholders. Although the family business bores me, I have to admit that I did take notice when I was informed of this.”

“Well of course! You’re father, and his father, were great men. They’d be turning over in their graves if Wayne Enterprises were to fall out of the family’s hands, as it were. But what can I do to help?”

“Actually, Roman, you’ve already done it. You took Janus Cosmetics to the public. You know, I’m not much of a businessman, and I leave all the corporate backstabbing and intrigue to some very good and reliable people. I’ve also been very lucky that many of my stockholders have been very loyal, even the one’s that were a bit pressured to sell. However, they are wise men, and they took the money that was given to them and reinvested it in another corporation. One that is doing rather well, at the moment.”

The phone on the desk began to ring and as the CEO was about to pick it up, a hand came down and stopped him. He looked up, startled. Wayne had moved rather quickly.

“Please don’t answer that yet, old friend. I think I’d like to tell you the rest of this little story first.”

Sionis took his hand away, but the pleasant smile had vanished from his face. “Then by all means.”

“Well, these old shareholders of mine, as I said, are extremely loyal. So once they had bought these shares, they were kind enough to invite me to join them. Well, I have a confession to make to you Roman. I’m a bit of a selfish man, I just hide it very well. Anyway, I prefer to play alone, so I offered these men nearly five times more for those shares, then what they bought them for. They were more then willing to sell. In fact, my C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises was amazed at just how many other shareholders were willing to sell, at more then a reasonable price, of course.”

“This is all very interesting, Bruce, but I fail to see what this has to do with…” Sionis stopped, his eyes widening.

“There you go, my friend. You put the last piece in yourself. Yep, Janus Cosmetics is now sixty-five percent owned by me.”

“You son of a…”

“I don’t think you should be calling me names, after the nasty little take-over you tried to pull. What I would like to know is why? Why come after my company? I know our friendship has dwindled in the last few years, but how did I offend you so badly?”

“I don’t, nor will I, explain myself to you. Why I do what I do is my business.”

Bruce laughed, “Well, the why is your business, but the what is no longer yours.”
Roman Sionis couldn’t help but start shaking, the anger rising in him, but he spoke just as calmly as before. “I’ll have my office cleared out by the end of the day.”

Bruce stepped back startled. “What? Don’t be silly. We’re old, old friends, Roman. I wouldn’t dream of firing you. In fact I still want you to run the company. Think of me as nothing more then a silent partner… who will be watching you. Now if you’ll excuse me, Roman, I have an early lunch date.”

As he crossed to the door, Sionis spoke to him, “I suppose I should thank you, Bruce.”

“Yes, you should. Oh, and the name is Mr. Wayne to you,” Bruce replied coldly as he shut the door behind him.

Roman Sionis sat in his high-back leather chair for most of the morning, ignoring all attempts at communication.

The phone rang in Gordon’s apartment just as he had sat down with his drink and the files of the Thorne murder case. His head was throbbing. So much blood had been spilled in the last couple of weeks, and not one solid lead.

He grabbed the phone quickly, hoping that it hadn’t woken up Barb or little Jimmy. He was more then surprised to hear the voice of the Mayor on the other end.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Mayor?” he asked nervously.

“It’s what I can do for you, Jim. I’m calling to congratulate you. The City Council has approved my recommendation. As of tomorrow morning at eight o’ clock, you will assume the duties as the new Commissioner.”

Gordon was speechless. It wasn’t until the Mayor asked if he was still on the line that he found his voice. “Yes sir. I mean thank you sir. It just seems so surreal. There are so many other officers that have been around longer and deserve it more then…”

The Mayor cut him off, “Been around longer, yes. Deserve it more? I don’t think so. You are the most honest man in the entire force, and we need that right now. There are a lot of things going on that you’re not aware of, Jim. Things that I’ll need to fill you in on, but not now, and not over the phone. Make sure you’re in front of City Hall tomorrow morning at eight o’ clock; don’t be late, Commissioner.”

The phone went dead, but it took Jim over a minute before he realized it, and hung it up. He stood up in a daze and wandered his apartment. Should he wake Barb and tell her? Probably not, he decided. This was not going to be news that she was going to be very happy about. But this was his chance, he realized. His chance to do change things.

He would have to assign someone else to work with Bullock on their cases. Bullock. Wait until he found out. He looked at his watch and counted back three hours. It was only nine in Las Vegas, perhaps he would call Barbara and tell her the news… he had to tell someone.

That was when he heard the faint sound coming from outside the window in the kitchen. The first time he had ever heard it, he dismissed it as a stray cat, but once he learned what it was, he has trained himself to pick up on it instantly. He went to the open window and stepped out onto the fireplace. It was dark, as usual, and even though he couldn’t see him, Jim knew he was there.
“Congratulations are in order, it seems,” the deep gravely voice said from behind him.

He turned and smiled at his friend. “Well if anyone would have known before me, I’m not surprised that it was you.”

Batman allowed himself a half smile and he brought out his hand to Jim’s, “Actually, you learned first. I just happened to over hear the conversation.”

“Listening in on my phone calls, that’s reassuring.”

“Force of habit,” Batman replied and then without further ado, proceeded to fill him in on the connection between Rupert Thorne’s murder and Boss Maroni.

“You think Maroni has been behind all of this from the beginning?”

Batman shook his head, “No. I think we’re dealing with two separate issues. I’m figuring that Maroni took advantage of learning where Thorne was going to be, and set up the murder of both Thorne and his assassin. But I don’t think he’s the one who’s been out to destroy the mob families. He’s not that powerful. There’s still another unknown player out there. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

“But you, Harvey Dent, and I were the only three people that knew we were moving Thorne.”

“The only three that we know of; there may have been another. Too many variables, still. I’m going to find Devin, and bring him in. We’ll get the answers we need.”

Gordon nodded and watched as Batman jumped onto the edge of the fire escape, but turned at the last second and saluted him. “You are the right man for the job, Jim. Don’t doubt that for a second.” Then he dove off the side of the building and was soon swinging away.

It is two-thirty in the morning. Most of Gotham is asleep. It took James Gordon until after one to fall asleep himself. He is, however, a police officer, so for him sleep is something that comes in small intervals. He learned that from being a street cop first, and later on all night stake outs as a detective.

So it was no surprise that a slight sound at the end of the bed stired him. His eyes opened slowly, his groggy mind wondering exactly what the small clicking noise was. At the moment that he saw the figure standing at the end of his bed he also realizes that his wife is awake, for she is able to let out a rather large scream that pierces the quietness of their home.

“Kill them both,” he hears a second voice say.

He has only time for one action, and in the millisecond that he sees his two options: rolling out of the bed, onto the floor and grabbing his gun, or covering Barbara, he is already in motion.

As the first shot is fired, he has already thrown his body on top of his wife’s. He feels the burn of the bullet as it lodges itself into his back. He whispers for her to lay still and be quiet, even as the other two shots are fired, both striking him and tearing into his flesh.

Then he loses consciousness.

He does not hear his son’s shrieking, jolted from a dreamless sleep He doesn’t hear the two men running from the room, and out the front door. He doesn’t hear the wailing of his wife as she rolls him off of her, her body soaked in his blood.

James Gordon is too far gone to hear anything.

Anymore.