#29: A Mirror Darkly, Pt 3 (LaFleche / Villalobos)

Eleven years ago, Gotham City
Jim Gordon

I should quit. I really should. I mean, I’m not stupid. I know what this is doing to me. It makes me smell bad, turns my fingers and teeth yellow and might, just might, be drilling pot holes into my lung tissue.

And all of that might be matter if every time I lit up a cigarette, the burning gravel at the back of my throat and rush to my head didn’t feel so damn good. Besides, it calms my nerves. And working as a cop in this town, they need all the calming they can get.

“A bat-signal?”

“Christ!” I say, spinning around to face the massive beacon I’ve had installed on the roof of headquarters. The arms I had to twist and brides I had to dish out in order to get this thing up here will be well worth it. But I don’t think he’s going to see it that way. Not yet anyway. “Don’t you ever just say hello?”

“What is this Gordon?” Batman says. As always he stays as deep in the shadow as he can. The light from the signal is casting a glow he clearly finds uncomfortable. Good. I want him that way. “Shut it off.”

“Mmm,” I say, lighting a smoke. “You came didn’t you? It’s not like I just dial up 1-800-MASKED-MYSTERY-MAN, now can I?”

Batman shifts trying to melt further into what shadow there is. “We can set up a system. Something less…public.”

“Oh I think we should. But the signal isn’t going anywhere.”

Batman shifts again. He’s got nowhere to hide.

“This isn’t how I work, detective.”

“True,” I say. Here it comes. My big push. The one that’s going make or break this whole insane relationship I have with a vigilante. “But you’re going start.”

He doesn’t like that. If he calls my bluff and leaves, the game’s over. But I didn’t spend years in homicide because I can’t read people. True, the outfit makes it hard to figure this one out. But despite what he pretends to be, Batman is still just that – a man.

“Explain yourself,” he says, growling like something predatory and hungry. It sends a chill down my spine. But he doesn’t leave.

“Here’s the thing Batman. We have something of a problem you and I,” I say. I’ve rehearsed this in my mind dozens of times. I just hope to hell my voice doesn’t shake. “Thing is, Batman, you’re both everything I want to be and everything I’ve sworn to fight.”

He looks at me through the blank eyeballs of that ebony horned mask of his and pulls his cloak tighter around his body. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, not to put too fine a point on this, friend, but you’re a criminal,” I say. “Just to make myself crazy I used to try and count how many felonies you commit on a given week. Assault. Break and Enter. Mischief under $5,000. Fraud over $10,000. Theft. Assault with a deadly weapon. Kidnapping. That’s just last week. And never mind I’m pretty sure that car of yours is a violation of the highway traffic act…”

“Of course I’m a criminal, Gordon,” Batman says, his lips pulling into that sneer that makes it looks as though he’d happily eat you for breakfast. “I have to be a criminal. I’ve always been a criminal.”

“I’m not finished,” I say, using my best drill-sergeant-dressing-down-a-cadet voice. “By any moral and ethical standards of law enforcement I should have you locked up.”

“But….?”

“But this city needs you. You work, damn it to hell. Maybe…maybe in a town this bad, our heroes need to be outlaws,” I say. “But if you are going to do what you do, and I am going to do what I do, then we need have to an understanding.”

Batman steps closer to the glow of the signal, which is still flashing that bat-symbol off the clouds. “Go on.”

“I know what we are up against in Gotham. I’ve seen it, just like you have. And it’s getting worse. I mean, Jesus, that Joker guy we just put away? I’ve been carrying a badge and packing a gun a long time Batman. I’ve stared too often in the dark night of the human soul. But that guy…” I say, blowing smoke from my nose. “Look, it hasn’t taken you long to become the city’s boogey man. Criminals talk about you like you are the damned devil himself. Everyone else thinks you are a just an urban myth. Hell, even some of my officers think I created the whole idea of Batman to try and put the fear into criminals. So I figured, ‘Why not start?’”

Batman walks over to the control panel for the signal, running his fingers lightly over them.

“The signal is a way to letting them know, Batman. Every time it goes up, some punk doing something he shouldn’t going to be looking over his shoulder. Looking for you in the shadows. Always afraid you’re somewhere, waiting…”

“Striking fear and terror,” Batman says. “It’s the best part of the job.”

He always talks like that. Seriously. Like he’s been carved out of a damned Spillane novel. I can’t tell if this guy is the most brilliant man I have ever met, or the most insane. Maybe he’s both.

“So here is the deal. I send the signal up when I want to meet,” I say, kicking the control lever and shutting the light off. Batman noticeably relaxes. “You’ll make a reasonable effort to contact me and work with me to bring down the most serious cases. In exchange, I’ll continue sharing information with you and I’ll do what I can to keep the more…problematic elements of the department off your back.”

“I don’t do well with rules,” he says. “If I refuse?”

“Then this comes to an end. And you go on the most wanted list,” I say. “But we both don’t want that.”

This is it. This is where I find out just how far Batman is willing to go. I can’t control him, but I can’t have him running lose all the time in my city. There has to be a system. And this has to be it.

“You just said I work,” he says, his voice softening ever so slightly. “If that’s the case then why mess with what’s not broken?”

“Frankly, because while you work, you aren’t working well enough,” I said. I have the advantage. I have to press it now before he shifts back into ice man mode. “Do you know how many of the punks you bag end up serving time in prison?”

“I don’t know…”

“No you don’t, do you? You beat these idiots down like they have never been beat down before. My boys pick them up, send them over to Gotham General to get their bones casted. And then what? Nothing, that’s what, Batman. Yeah, stopped a mugging or a drug deal, but I don’t have any evidence to take to D.A. Most of what you leave behind can’t be admitted in court. So once they heal up, they head back on the streets.”

“Back on the streets nice and scared…”

“Sure,” I said, flicking my smoke off the roof. “But sooner or later they go right back to doing what they did before. Only they do it better to avoid attracting your attention. Which, by the by, makes my job harder.”

Batman is silent for a long moment. None of this has occurred to him before, it’s clear. I know this much about him. He’s obsessed. I don’t know why or how, although I could guess. Profiling come easy to me. Someone close to him was a victim. Probably when he was young. He’d need years to become what he is. But whatever that initial event was, it’s blinded to him to everything but his war. And he just didn’t think it all through.

“So what do we do?” he says at last.

“Well there is a new kid working the in the D.A’s office. Harvey something or other. Assistant to an assistant D.A. But Merkel says he’s sharp and he’ll help. You bring me what evidence you have on a case. I’ll take to the kid. He’ll never know it came from you,” I say. “If he thinks its enough to convict, we’ll bust our crooks….”

“And if not?”

“Well, then I guess we have a choice. We either collect more evidence, or you do that thing you do.”

Batman says nothing but walks to the edge of the roof, and throws his black cape over his shoulders. He turns his head slightly to look back at me.

“Deal,” he says. “You’re good at this Lieutenant. Better than I thought.”

“At what?”

“Brinkmanship. Keep this up, Gordon, and you’ll make commissioner some day.”

“Oh, dear lord,” I say. “Don’t wish that on me.”

Batman grinned. Not that I’m-going-to-eat-your-soul grin. But a normal, human grin.

“Still, a bat signal?” he says. “That’s not very mature.”

“Says the guy dressed up like Dracula.”

“Touche,” he says, turning to leap from the roof.

“Goodnight Batman.”

“Goodnight….Jim.”

Today. Gotham City
Two Face

Half of us wants to kill them all. The other half merely wants to run them down with a truck. But we know better. We need them. For now.

Cobblepot. We always hated this one. Fat. Stupid. Slow. Survives in our city only luck. He is a minor cog that will be removed. When the time comes, we’ll enjoy it.

Black Mask. Half of us respects him. We suspect he is more like us than he’ll admit. He commands fear and loyalty. We know something about that. We’ll kill him, but with some regret.

Batman. We hate him the most. Betrayer. False friend with a false face. Black Mask might stab us in the back, but we’d at least know he wants us dead. The Bat plays at being our friend. Always concerned about poor Harvey. We hate him. We will kill him. Slowly. The coin said so. But he got us out of prison. So we listened.

“You three listen up. Because if I have to repeat myself you’ll wake up in a hospital bed,” he said to us. “Ra’s is still moving his chess pieces. He won’t risk open fighting until he is ready. The longer he is allowed to operate in comfort the fewer options we have.”

“Ok, big boy, so what do we do to unsettle him,” Black Mask said. He thinks he is in the same league as Batman. The same league as us. Fool.

“Guerrilla attacks. Keep him off balance while I work to drop to the hammer on him for good,” Batman said.

“And how are you going to do that, Batman” Cobblepot said.

“Never mind…Penguin,” Batman said. Cobblepot shifts uncomfortably in his chair. We giggle.

Batman rolls out a map on the table. Points to a warehouse in the Finger Lane industrial park.

“Ra’s will strike here. His ultimate plan will be more subtle than a street war, but his troops need weapons to maintain control once he takes the city. Thanks to Mr. Cobblepot, who has generously provided us with locations of his weapons stores, we now know where the most lethal stash in the city can be found,” Batman said.

“Ahem. Well, yes. No trouble at all really,” Cobblepot said. “Intergang had placed a rather large order of some rather nasty hardware. Rocket launchers. Explosives. And some kind of STAR labs design that, frankly, I don’t really know what it does. But from what I gather it makes a tremendous mess.”

The plan was simple. Each of us had men. Enough together to fight Ra’s forces. Batman gave us our orders. Protect the warehouse. Drive off Ra’s and then leave the warehouse to Gordon. No civilian causalities. No deaths. We always knew Batman was a weakling.

So we waited in the warehouse for the enemy to arrive. Hiding behind a crate, I watch the main door frost over. Then freeze and crumble in a heap.

Mr. Freeze. We hate him almost as much as the Bat.

Freeze directs his foot soldiers to start emptying the crates of weapons. A man named Jones grabs a crow bar. Black Mask steps out from the darkness first.

“Oh I wouldn’t do that Jonesy,” he says. “I hope you enjoyed your 30 silver pieces, boy!”

“B-boss? Mask? Uh, what are you doing…”

“Never mind him. He is an ant,” Freeze says. “We have our orders, Jones. Unpack the gear. I will take care of Black Mask personally.”

“Will you now, Victor? I’m not too sure about that,” Mask says. “Mr. Dent?”

“Dent?”

We step out from the crate and fire the pistol. Something special Cobblepot says he got from the Spider. Fires a single, explosive dart. We shoot for Freeze’s face plate.

The glass cracks and steam pours from his face plate. Freeze’s howls, clutching at his face, reeling. We laugh.

“Boys?” Black Mask says, and our troops come out of hiding, surrounding Freeze’s men, weapons cocked. We laugh again.

“Now, we’re under orders not to kill you. But frankly, you traitorous sacks of crap, our general’s not here. So unless you drop your collective knees and beg, I’m going to kill every last one of you just for the shear…”

We hear a laughter coming from the catwalk above us. Only one creature we know of laughs like that. We know enough to start looking for a way out.

“Oh I so love a captive audience,” the Joker says.

“Joker? I heard you were working for this Ra’s guy, eh? I got no problem turning you into fish food!”

“Roman, lend me your ears! It’s too bad you’re not as smart as you are ugly! I’ve been here for hours!”

We open the nearest crate. “Mask, it’s empty!”

The Joker laughs. Several men, their faces painted like his, step forward armed to the teeth. The weapons we were supposed to protect, weapons that could level a city, are in the hands of a man who makes us look sane.

“Why I’ve never shopped here before, I’ll NEVER know! I mean, I’ve often wondered where I could get my hands on science-fictiony weapons. And well, here we are! BWHAHAHAH!”

“Ok, Joker. What do you want?” Black Mask says. “Maybe we can cut a deal?”

“What we have here, Mr. Mask, is a failure to communicate! Things have become far too organized in Gotham, Black Mask. I'll take it all away from him. All of it!! And you are all going to pay for what happened to me!” Joker says, turning his back on us and walking away.

“Happened to you? What are you…” Black Mask says.

“It’s hunting season boys! Bring me some trophies!”

We can’t escape. All we can do is shoot back as hell fire rains upon us from above.

Today, Gotham City, The Cave
Alfred Pennyworth

This house is haunted. Not in the literal sense, mind you. I don’t believe in such things anyway. But the ghosts are here. Master Bruce won’t let them leave. Clocks set to the very hour his parents were murdered. Their clothes preserved in the rooms as though they never left.

They weigh upon the man constantly and, though I hate to think such things, the brooding is like a fuel to him. It's an elixir that keeps him going. The blood must always seep from his wounds to keep Batman alive. But there are moments when the ghosts retreat and Bruce Wayne steps forward and Batman melts into the ether.

It happened when Jason first arrived. And when Master Grayson walked through the manor’s doors. While Master Bruce will hardly admit it, not while he is locked in a struggle with his other father, its happening again. Master Drake is chasing away the ghosts.

“Um, Alfred….”

“Yes, Master Tim.”

“My arms are killing me.”

“Yes, Master Tim.”

“So…uh…gah…can I get down now…really…I don’t know…how long…”

I glance over at the boy, hanging from the still rings. He’s been holding the iron cross position for several minutes and his arms are trembling. He starts to sag and I think he is going to fall when the rumble of the car drives the bats into frenzy. Batman has arrived.

Master Tim pulls hard to right his body and hold his position.

Batman leaps from his car and marches to his bank of computers. He casts an eye back to Tim and then at me.

“How long?”

“Oh I’d say four minutes, sir.”

“Four?”

“Oh at least, sir. He trains with a particular dedication.”

“Tim, you can get down now,” Batman says, pulling his cowl back. “Get some water and then practice that meditation I showed you the other day.”

“Aw, Bruce,” the boy says dropping. “That was nothing. Really. My arms don’t even hurt.”

“You heard me.”

“Yes sir.”

Bruce punches up a list of communications equipment stolen recently by the Joker – equipment Bruce believes is destined for the hands of Ra’s Al Ghul.

“What are you up to Ra’s?” he says under this breath. “Alfred, did you get that information I wanted.”

“Perhaps the master of the manor would like something to eat or, dare I say, a shower. I understand you want to play at being a creature of the night, sir, but there is no need to smell like one. You have been in that costume for two days,” I say.

“Alfred..”

“Very well, sir. But the water in my eyes are not tears of happiness I assure you. The data you wanted is on your desk. I shall join you once I retrieve a nose plug.”

Bruce walked to the desk and opened the file. It didn’t take him long to read it.

“This is it?”

“Indeed, sir. It would seem the details of the procedure have been lost or destroyed. However, I though the name of the attending surgeon would catch your interest.”

“Mmm. It does. Dr. Thomas Elliott,” he says. “This might explain a great deal. Shortly after we first arrested him, the Joker was diagnosed with brain cancer. Elliott was called in to operate.”

“That was so long ago, sir. Surely, Ra’s would not have been involved…”

“He could have been Alfred. Who knows how long he has had his eye on this city. It’s possible he was watching me all along and used Elliott to do something to the Joker’s mind. Maybe the Joker has been an unwitting sleeper agent all this time,” he says. “It would explain…Tim! Get away from there!”

Tim was not sitting in front of the screen with the list of stolen equipment. He hopped out of the chair at the sound of Bruce’s voice.

“Sorry, but…”

“What did I tell you about using the computers down here?”

“I know but I think this list is….oh never mind,” the boys says and turns to walk away.

“Tim, I cannot stand sulking. Knock it off. You think what?”

“Well,” Tim says, bouncing back into the chair. “I’m not a detective or anything. But this kind of stuff is like a hobby for me, you know? But if you had a big enough transmitter you could, like, I dunno, hack into everything in the city.”

I stare at the screen trying to look like I know what the boy is talking about. But I don’t see it. Bruce does.

“I suppose if he…oh dear lord…why didn't I see this sooner?”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“Tim’s right. This equipment would allow Ra’s to broadcast to most communications systems in the city, given the proper broadband transmitter. He could control everything. Computers. Fire. Police. EMS. All of it. Anything networked.” he says. “He’d be able to interfere with any attempt to organize an attack against him.”

“I did good, right?” Tim says.

“Yes, Tim. You did good,” Bruce says.

A red flash on another computer screen draws my attention. “Sir, Commissioner Gordon is request a meeting.”

“When?

“Now, sir. Something about an out of control fire at the Finger Lane industrial park…”

“A fire? Damn it,” he says, pulling his cowl back over this face and running to the car. “I’ll be back when I can, Alfred!”

“Godspeed sir,” I say. “And heaven help any criminal down wind from you.”

Today, Gotham City
Batman

Morrison Ave and Miller Street. The old banker’s district. Now home to desperate. The depraved. And those who live off their corpses.

It’s also the beating heart of Gotham’s weapon’s trade. Everything from military grade rifles to imports from Apokolips can be found here. Given what Roman just did, Ra’s is going to need all the weapons he can get. Which means the league will be coming here. The warehouse in the building below me is where the Cobblepot often stores merchandise. Five gets you ten, Ra’s knows what kind of hardware is in there.

I probably should have told Gordon. But he needs time to simmer down. To cool off and think straight.

Then I see them. Five leaguers. All in black. Moving through the shadows in the alley behind the warehouse. You’d never see them if you didn’t know what to look for. At best, you’d think your eyes are playing tricks on you. They’re that good.

Which is fine. I’m better.

The wind pulls hard against my cape on the way down. I’m aiming for the big one. Has to be Logan. A born killing machine. Easily one of the top 10 hand to hand fighters on earth. He also has a bad back. It’s about to get worse.

My heels dig into his upper spine with all the force my 225 pounds carry after a 12 storey drop. Logan’s lungs can’t find the air to scream. He goes down hard. Don’t worry. He heal up. Eventually.

One down.

The two behind Logan pounce. A direct attack. Arrogant. They’re in love with their skills. They don’t know me. But they won't forget me.

One does a leaping kick for my head. I slip it and seize his partner by the throat, lift him from the ground and slam him into the side of the warehouse.

“You must be new,” I snarl, before knocking him out. His buddy rushes again – head long into the treads of my boot. His nose shatters as he goes down. These two will likely reconsider their profession.

Three down.

Number four is about three feet away, still hiding in the shadow. I hear the whistle of the throwing stars before they reach him. Idiot. I capture them in the cape and dive low, throwing a drug tipped dart into his groin. He howls like wounded a dog. Music to my ears. He drops and writhes on the ground. I’ve just pumped him full of modified Scarecrow toxin. Right now he thinks black widow spiders are hatching in his eye balls.

God, I love my job. Four down.

The last one drops from the fire escape above me. I flip backward and hear the crack of a bull whip. I let it hit my arm and snap around my wrist. Hurts like hell. But I don’t care. The whip is a tell.

“McGuiver,” I say. “I hope Ra’s is paying your medical insurance, punk.”

“Still full of anger, eh Wayne?” he says, pulling hard on the whip. Trying to pull me down. I don’t go anywhere. “You fight a battle you cannot possibly win. This isn’t your city anymore.”

I grin. He’s still pulling hard, but he’s not strong enough. Not nearly. He’s scared. But not enough. Not yet.

He will be.

“You were there that day in China, weren’t you Bill? You saw what I did to Moh. I’ll tell you something no one probably knows, Bill. I enjoyed every second of it. And you know what? I miss how that felt.”

I can feel the whip shake and his arms tremble.

“Funny thing, Billy. You’re about the same size of Moh, aren’t you? I wonder, do will you bleed as much?”

The whip goes slack and I pull back hard. McGuiver loses his balances and falls forward. I leap up and at him, driving my fist into the side of his head. His body spins and lands in a heap. He tries to get up. I let him get to his knees. Let him think he might have a chance. But he doesn’t see my boot coming in time. His jaw shatters like glass.

“Now, Billy, its not nap time yet,” I say. He groans as he spits blood. “Tell him, Billy. Tell Ra’s. I’m coming for him!”

I drive my fist into his face for good measure. Five down.

Then I smell it. Barely there, riding the breeze. But I smell it. Behind me.

I spin and throw three batarangs into the darkness. The results should be just shy of lethal. If they hit their marks. Which they won’t.

The sound of sword cutting the air and my weapons echoes through the alley. The pieces of my batarangs clang to the ground.

“Really, Bruce. Is that anyway to say hello after all these years?”

The breeze shifts and I smell it again. Jasmine. Damn it to hell. It’s her. The woman. More than Vicki. More than Julie. She owns my heart.

I say nothing as she steps from the darkness into the moonlight.

“After all, beloved, I think we have lots to talk about,” Talia says.