#28: In The Still Of The Night (Burchette / B)

He stood high atop The Wayne Tower building on a moonless night. The late winter wind blew over his back, causing his cape to fold around him. Usually, he would relish nights like this. The darkness had always been his friend.

But as he gazed out tonight at the twinkling lights of his city, Batman could feel no comfort. Ra’s Ah Ghul… The bitter wind itself seemed to whisper the name to him. As if the very air were taunting him with the name.

Batman prided himself on being one step ahead, always prepared, but he grudgingly admitted to himself that this had caught him totally unaware. It also made him wonder just how long Ra’s had been pulling strings in Gotham City.

How far back did his Machiavellian plans extend? Thorne, Falcone, Maroni, even Harvey… was he somehow involved in all of this? Did it even extend back farther than that?

The only thing he knew for certain at this point was that no one in his life was safe. He had wanted Alfred to get out of town, and to take Tim with him, but as he had expected, Alfred had refused. He had said his place was beside Bruce, and as much as that had worried him, Bruce would have expected no less from his friend.

Did Ra’s know about Tim? He surmised that the answer was yes; Ra’s was thorough, finding out everything he could know before making his move.

He also couldn’t help but wonder if The Joker’s strange behavior was somehow linked to all of this. His instinct told him yes, which made him more than just bewildered. Joker was not a pawn in anyone’s games; he was too unstable, too unpredictable. So if Ra’s actually had that maniac working for him… how was he doing it?

As he stood atop the tallest building in the city, his mind racing, still another piece of the puzzle entered the equation: The reemergence of Mr. Freeze and the original Firefly. Both, he believed, had died. Now he had barely managed to escape death by the two of them.

One thing was certain. There had been two players in all of this that didn’t seem to fit the grand scheme of things: Black Mask and The Penguin. Mask had been robbed of his gang and forced to go into hiding. Cobblepot had been shot and crippled; his place of business destroyed.

As the northern wind blew over him, he realized that one of the oldest clichés in the book might be his best bet, at the moment. The enemy of my enemy…

Squaring his jaw for what he knew he had to do next, Batman made a perfect dive off his building and plunged towards the city below.

Oswald Cobblepot was recovering as well as could be expected. He had taken several bullets, all of them removed now except the one near his spine. As he lay in his hospital bed, wishing that he had his cigarettes on him, he pondered his future.

A late evening visit the night before by The Joker had been startling to say the least, as well as informative. Something huge was happening, and he was being “invited” to be a part of it. It did, however, feel less like an invitation and more like a drafting. Couple that with the fact that The Joker did not seem like himself at all, and Oswald couldn’t help but get an uneasy feeling about the entire thing. He detested being anyone’s pawn— it stuck in his craw—but if somebody had actually gotten to The Joker… then what other choice did he have?

It also didn’t help; he thought to himself, that he was now a cripple. He glanced at the wheelchair in the corner and his face contorted in rage. He was going to pay them back… all of them! And somehow, he was going to start with Two-Face, the man who had put him where he now was.

“Hello, Oswald,” came the familiar deep and harsh sounding voice from the corner of the darkened room.

“Well I wish I could say that this was a surprise, but of course, after the last few weeks, nothing surprises me anymore.” The Penguin grumbled.

Batman stepped out of the darkness and into the light of the small table lamp that sat on the end of the nightstand. “You’re looking better then the last time I saw you.”

“Just tell me what it is you want?” The Penguin said, turning his head away from his nemesis.

“What I always want from you. Information. There’s a new player in town, Oswald, and he’s bigger and more dangerous than anything that has ever stepped foot into my city. I need you to tell me what you know.”

“I’ve been in a hospital bed for weeks now, you insufferable moron! What makes you think that I know anything at this point?”

“Incapacitated or not, you are still the eyes and ears of Gotham’s underground, and I’m betting that you know something about this latest threat.”

Cobblepot turned back to his enemy, his eyes narrowing. “Even if I did, at this point in my life, why do you think I’d help you? Are you going to hurt me? Threaten to close down my business. It’s all gone, destroyed over these stupid gang wars for power that can never be reached.”

Then Oswald heard The Batman say something he never thought he would hear. “What if I gave you my word that I would help you rebuild The Iceberg Lounge? Even make it bigger and fancier than it was before? Would that be worth something to you?”

His ears perked up. “I’m listening.”

“I’m not without connections. I could have any one of several companies give you exactly what you wanted to rebuild your establishment. I could put you right back on your perch, happy as a lark.”

Oswald started to bristle at the bird references, but seeing the wheelchair in the corner brought back that anger in him. Perhaps it was time to embrace the name that had been given to him. Perhaps wanting to be plain old Oswald Cobblepot, criminal genius and mob boss, was not the way to get what he wanted, what was due him. Perhaps it was time that the city feared his non de plume – The Penguin!

“And what do you get out of this?”

A small smile crept out from the bottom of the cowl. “You. I get you. You will work for me. You will seek out information and you will let me know anything that comes to you, and you will pass it along to me.”

“That would more than likely leave me marked as a dead man.”

“Not necessarily. I can’t promise you twenty-four hour protection, but I can give you my word that I will do everything in my power to keep you as safe as possible.”

“That’s not much of a guarantee,” Penguin sneered.

“Fine. Then you can sit in that chair the rest of your life and live out your remaining days as a has been. If that’s your choice, far be it for me to stop you.”

Penguin’s eyes continually moved back to the chair that stood waiting for him, mocking him. “I have to think about this.” He finally said.

Batman dropped a small card into the paralyzed man’s lap. “Here’s a number you can reach me at. Don’t even attempt to trace it, it’s impossible. Just don’t wait too long on making your decision, the offer runs out in twelve hours.”

Picking up the card, Cobblepot tossed it on the nightstand without even looking at it. “Get out, I need my rest.”

When he looked up, the great detective was gone.

The Batman, or the mysterious figure that could actually control The Joker. It appeared that those were his two options. The big question was, what choice would keep him alive longer…

Commissioner James Gordon walked into Arkham Asylum in the very early hours of the morning with Harvey Bullock, having been roused from a horrible dream that involved his estranged wife, Barbara, and their infant son. He had found Harvey at his door, in typical rumpled fashioned, pounding furiously.

There were no pleasantries when the Detective was allowed in; just a note that was unceremoniously shoved in front of his face.

It read:



Jim had noted first and foremost that it was not signed Two-Face. This message had been from Harvey, and that was all he needed to have his curiosity piqued. He got dressed immediately and the two of them headed to the “booby hatch”, as Bullock was fond of calling it.

When they entered the establishment, they found that they were expected and were led into a meeting room to await the one who had summoned them.

A few minutes later, the hideous face of Harvey Dent appeared in the room, the body shackled both in wrist and leg restraints. The clear side of his face turned dark when he saw the Detective sitting next to the Commissioner.

“I shoulda told ya to come alone,” Two-Face growled.

“Well you didn’t,” Bullock shot back.

“What can I do for you Harvey?” Gordon asked, trying to avoid any heated arguments.

“I had a guest today, someone I thought you might want to know about.” Came the calm reply.

Jim was relieved to hear the sane voice of Dent coming through. When Harvey talked like that, it was somewhat unnerving since it gave him that old feeling of when the two of them had worked so closely together. It was a feeling that was oddly comforting, and gut wrenching at the same time.

“Go on.”

“Does the name Rupert Thorne ring any bells?”

“Rupert Thorne is dead.” Bullock stated coldly.

“He got better,” Dent replied.

“What kind of game are you playing at, Harvey?” Jim asked, cautiously.

“No game. Check the video cameras after he sat down with me. At one point I got up so that he would adjust, to make sure the camera got a clear shot of his face.”

“Even if this were somehow true, why are you telling us?”

“To be honest, I considered all my options before deciding to inform you…”

“You flipped that damn coin of yours!” Bullock interrupted.

Harvey Dent gave him a withering look, “When I’m back on top, you will be the first one I eliminate. Let that be your only warning.”

“Shakin’ in my boots, acid face.” Bullock spat.

“Stop!” Gordon demanded. “The question is still out there, Harvey; why are you telling us this?”

“Because he’s not the same man he was. You can read a man through his eyes, and there was very little in his. He’s also working for someone. Wouldn’t say who. He wanted my support, said he’d get me out of here if I threw in with them.”

“So you decided to be a dutiful citizen and report this? I ain’t buying any of your crap.”

The change happened right before their eyes and Two-Face slammed his chained fists down on the table. “Your IQ is lower than your donut intake you buffoon! I’m telling you this because I’m using you. The GCPD can’t ignore it, and you’ll have to take steps to find out who this player is, and take him down. I want him out of this city before I get out of here! He has no right to my city! Find him, Gordon, and lock him up!”

Jim took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, “Harvey,” he began in as calming a voice as possible. “You know you’re not getting out of here.”

Two-Face guffawed at the comment. “Of course I am, Jimbo! Don’t be as stupid as your employee. Everybody gets out of here, eventually.”

As he would say no more, the men lead him back to his cell as the two cops walked out of the dark and dreary asylum.

“The man woke us up for that. He’s even crazier than I thought.”

Gordon stopped dead in his tracks. “No, he’s telling the truth.”

“… But…”

“He’s telling the truth, Harvey. I want those tapes and I want them in my office in less than an hour. Rupert Thorne has risen from the dead, just like Firefly and Mr. Freeze, and this is a pattern that I just don’t like.”

Detective Bullock said nothing, just nodded as they got back in the car and headed to the station house.

Two hours later, just as the sun was beginning to rise and after all of the survivors had been rescued, Bruce Wayne wearily entered the main floor of his estate. Batman had carried all three casualties out of the flaming building himself.

Bruce needed a few hours sleep, but just a few. He had to get back on the trail. Try to figure out Ra’s’ next move before any other lives were lost. The only thing he could almost guarantee was that the reason the store had been robbed in the first place was to help out Mr. Freeze. Too many villains… too many together…

Ra’s al Ghul

Even in his own home, the name seemed to whisper in his ears from all around him. That was, until he heard the sound of a fight coming from the east wing. The ballroom, to be exact.

His fatigue forgotten, his adrenaline pumping, Bruce raced to the closed door and slammed his shoulder into it, nearly shattering it into pieces and throwing it off its hinges.

He stopped as he saw Tim Drake and Alfred Pennyworth, boxing gloves on, freeze in place as they stared back at him.

Bruce couldn’t help himself. After the night he had had, after needless deaths at the hand of The Joker, after the nauseating offer he had laid at the feet of The Penguin, and the fact that the one enemy who knew his true identity was out there, playing the city like his own fine tuned orchestra, Bruce blew up.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!” He demanded, his voice automatically lowering into that of his other persona; something that he was otherwise always cautious about.

Tim swallowed hard, but said nothing. It was Alfred who calmly began to remove his gloves as he walked to his employer. “This was my idea, Sir.” He stated this as a matter of fact.

Bruce’s face had gone completely red. “I don’t ever want to see this again! I told you when we brought him into the house that this was NOT going to happen. Do NOT go against my wishes on this Alfred! Now get those damn things off of him and take him to school!”

“It’s a Saturday, Sir.”

Bruce was shaking with rage, “Then give him a bowl of cereal and sit him in front of the television to watch cartoons!” With that he turned sharply and stormed from the room, not looking back.

Tim walked up to the butler. “Why does he hate me so much?”

Putting an arm around the young man and watching his oldest friend disappearing around the corner, Alfred sighed. “He doesn’t hate you, Master Tim…he’s only angry with himself.”