Wayne of Gotham (2 page)

Nervous hands held them.

Nervous fingers twitched on the triggers.

An image flashed through his mind of another time and place far away yet never far from him.
Joe Chill's hands did not shake. They were steady as granite. His eyes as relentless as a glacier …

Batman settled lower into his crouch. The Batsuit was new, and he was pleased at the response. It was essentially a form of power armor, although its ability to deflect damage had yet to be field tested. The exterior of the Batsuit still used a light variation of the Nomex/Kevlar weave, but gratefully much of the weight had been shed by dropping the armor plating. In its place now was a complex set of exomusculature beneath the exterior weave. It was his “muscle” Batsuit, one that could artificially enhance his natural movements and strength. The bidirectional neurofeedback loop maintained a dynamic stability that was tied at once into both the voluntary and involuntary neural responses from his body. That he could use the
arrectores pilorum
on his body hair as a neural source for control was all the more convenient. The electroactive polymers were liquid bound ionic EAPs, which kept the voltage low throughout the Batsuit and the heat generation at a minimum. Kevlar was always passive; this Batsuit had an active defense, a blast-ion charge reacting to force trauma. The downside was that the Batsuit could bleed if it did not react quickly enough.

The Batsuit could die on me.

I could die in the Batsuit.

A smile played on his lips at the thought.

What a wonderful symmetry.

The cape shifted around him. Its fabric was of the same reactive polymer material and moved as though it, too, had a will of its own. It shifted around him as a living thing. Its original purpose had been as a heat-sink for the exomusculature, but the ever-inventive and adaptive mind of Bruce Wayne had found other creative uses for the cape.

It's the hunt. Stalk the stalker. Prey on the predator.

Batman raised his head, searching the mad maze stretching to infinity in all directions. His mind raced. Time slowed. He was setting up the game in his mind.

The pieces were clearer to him now. He set each of them up in his mind. Evaluate. Strategize.

Jillian Masters. Anchorwoman for the WGXX news at eleven. She robbed four banks in three days. Walked out each time. Everyone thought she was covering the stories. Turned out she was the story. She holds the automatic sideways and steady. When she moves the muzzle, it stops rock solid. The 9 mm cannon in her arms appears to be an old friend to her.

Aaron Petrov. Head of the diamond exchange. Led the investigation into the thefts throughout the Diamond District. Nobody thought to look in his bags. Assault rifle with cover and good firing position. Clear field covering all the platforms between regardless of their orientation. Hand unsteady. No marksman and unfamiliar with the weapon. Three or four shots before he finds his mark on a stationary target.

Batman continued to catalogue the obstacles between him and his opponent on the other side of the twisted board. Whom he sought was obvious to him. Spellbinder—the former Fay Moffit—had somehow managed to get a release from Arkham Asylum six weeks before and promptly vanished. Fay wasn't the first to take on the Spellbinder racket. She had learned the hypnotism powers from her lover and the previous Spellbinder—a third-rate criminal by the name of Delbert Billings. She won the title after retiring Delbert with a shot through the head. Now she had used her talents to convince a number of the upstanding citizens of Gotham to do her robbery for her … again.

Old story … not even an interesting one. Just a test of the new Batsuit … with a walk in the park.

He continued listing off the opponents, in his mind.

Angel Jane-Montgomery, socialite with a shotgun … William Raymond, fireman with a full-automatic … Diana Alexandria, pop-music celebrity with a grenade launcher … James Gordon …

Batman frowned beneath his cowl.

Gordon would require some finesse.

Batman closed his eyes.

The cowling over his head was also new. Using it had required considerable training, but it had been worth the trouble. The sensors at the edge of the cowl eye openings read his eye closure, activating a subsonic imaging system—like the sonar of a bat—that communicated directly to an implant connected to his optic nerve. The image was still unclear in its details, but he had adapted to it, and it gave him a field of vision that he could interpret three-dimensionally in all directions around him. It was like having eyes in the back, side, and front of the head, a tactical awareness that extended in all directions.

Justice is blind.
Batman's lips parted over his set teeth.

The sonar imager had one additional advantage. It was based on sound, and the light-bending illusions of Spellbinder's Fun House would vanish.

Too easy …

Batman sprang, the synthetic muscles of the Batsuit enhancing his powerful legs. He shot across the open space, spinning through the warped light of the mirrors fixed throughout the hall.

Gunfire erupted from every direction. The assault rifle spat slugs from its muzzle, issuing deep, loud “chuff” sounds with every burst. Several cries of rage and fear pierced the cascade of gunfire—for Batman suddenly looked to be everywhere at once, his dark form flying through the mirrored space of the illusions and suddenly multiplied a thousandfold.

Mirrors of safety glass were holed by the rain of lead. Several shattered loudly, the round glass of their pebbled remains falling like glittering snow among the now-swinging worklights.

It's a place to start.

Jillian Masters swung her 9 mm automatic around just as Batman dropped his shoulder toward the cement platform. His tensed shoulder muscle translated into the exosuit, which tensed as well, buffering the impact as he rolled. The 9 mm barked only once before Batman's momentum carried him to his feet, striking her gun hand with the back of his forearm. The enhanced musculature of the exosuit struck the handgun with such force that the weapon tore a long gash down the newswoman's hand.

Chuff … ping! The slug from the assault rifle kicked off one of the metal stairs.

That's one, Aaron.

The other enthralled citizens continued to fire, but the maze was still in their way, throwing off their aim. The mirrors continued to suffer the worst for random carnage. More shattered with each passing moment.

No more time.

Batman grabbed the wrist of the enraged newswoman, rotated his body around and then threw her to the ground next to one of the metal stairs. She rolled quickly face down, pushing herself up with her hands. Batman quickly dropped his knee down on her back as he reached for his Utility Belt.

Chuff … clang! The strike was on the stairs only a few feet away.

That's two, Aaron … you may be better than I thought.

The Dark Knight pulled a long, black strip of plastic from his belt. Grabbing Jillian's hands, he wrapped the plastic strip around both her wrists and the metal riser for the stairs. With a quick pull and a ripping sound, Jillian was secured to the riser.

Zip ties. Sometimes simple is best.

Chuff … crack!

But Batman no longer knelt where the cement was chipped by Aaron's third round.

His black shape rushed again, bounding from platform to platform … Montgomery, Raymond, Alexandria …

Gordon. Where's Gordon
?

A
aron Petrov stood sweating on the platform. A single work light remained, shining down on his glistening hairless head. He shouted into the darkness.

“You can't have them! They are mine, and you can't take them from me! You can't … You—you can't.”

Aaron looked up.

The light vanished as darkness enfolded him.

B
atman stood up. Aaron Petrov was bound hand and feet beneath him, whimpering and sobbing like a child.

“FREEZE!”

He was waiting for me. He's behind me. Service automatic. Gordon was always a great shot. Somehow I've always known in my soul that he will be there when I die. But not today …

Batman began to turn slowly.

“I said FREEZE!”

Batman stopped. “Calm down, Gordon. You're being played by Spellbinder.”

“Like hell!” Gordon answered. There was a quiver in his voice. “Spellbinder's tucked away in Arkham … I saw her there myself yesterday before … before you …”

He's angry. He's in pain. What's he seeing? What's Moffit convinced him to see
?

Gordon's words cut like the shattered glass that lay around them. “How could you? You bastard, you killed her!”

“Who? Who did I kill, Gordon?”

“You can't even remember her name?” Gordon's voice went cold. “Barbara. My little Barbara … You put her in that wheelchair, and now you've finished the job!”

“Gordon, think! Joker put her there … remember? She's still alive, Jim.”

“I ought to just put you down right now!” Gordon screamed.

“But you won't. You'll take me in.”

“No! I'm gonna save this city a lot of trouble and expense … I'm gonna …”

“You're a good cop, Gordon.” Batman moved ever so slowly, raising both hands. “You're going to take me in. You're going to see that justice is done.”

Batman placed both hands behind his head. He closed his eyes.

Justice is blind.

Gordon raised his weapon, stepping forward. The muzzle of the service revolver jabbed against the base of Batman's neck below his fingers.

At the base of his skull.

No amount of armor—active or otherwise—would protect him at this range.

“That's right, Batman!” Gordon seethed. “I
am
going to see that justice is done! I
am
justice, you son of a—”

The cape reached up, suddenly flying in Gordon's face.

Not just for show anymore.

Gordon fired just as Batman's head shifted aside.

The muzzle blast exploded in Batman's ear as he spun around on Gordon. The neurobionic interface was disrupted, and for a moment Batman was truly blind as he opened his eyes. The cape was still affixed around the police commissioner's wrist, pulling him forward and into Batman's reach.

The spin kick cost Gordon his glasses, but the commissioner was fueled by rage, revenge, and despair. He managed to fire his weapon twice more in wild rage before Batman could force it from his hands. It tumbled into the void around them as they locked in combat. Gordon had nothing to lose in the death of his opponent. Batman had everything to lose.

At last, Gordon fell quivering beneath the careful blows of his old friend. Batman secured him as he had the others, although perhaps not so tightly.

He stood up and closed his eyes.

The cowl was responding once more.

The game was over.

It was time to claim his prize.

“I
've done your bidding, master,” she mumbled. “Everything exactly as you asked. Did it please you, master? Did I please you?”

Batman found her in a small room with a single, high-back winged chair. She was seated before a shrine.

On the shrine, a ventriloquist dummy stared at the intruder with dead, glass eyes as he approached.

Batman set his jaw. He knew the wooden doll too well to turn his back on him.

He had been called Woody when he was first carved in Blackgate Penitentiary. The gallows had been dismantled after a botched execution in 1962, and a “lifer” by the name of Donnegan had salvaged some of the wood to keep his hands busy. Donnegan was a big fan of noir and gangster films, and managed to dress his puppet creation in a miniature gangster suit with wide pinstripes and lapels to match. As Blackgate became more crowded, Donnegan and Woody were joined in his cell by a rather unlikely murderer, a usually timid man by the name of Arnold Wesker. Wesker tried to hang himself but, according to the prison psychiatrist reports at the time, was “talked out of it” by the dummy, who Wesker claimed had started speaking to him. Woody convinced Wesker to attempt an escape with him using a tunnel that Donnegan had abandoned digging the year before. Donnegan agreed to help finish the tunnel for Wesker to use. However, when Donnegan discovered that Wesker was planning to take Woody with him, Donnegan became upset. He was happy and safe in his cell with Woody and would not let him go. Wesker, under delusions that the mute dummy was actually goading him on, attacked Donnegan in their cell with a corkscrew. His initial lunge missed Donnegan but slashed Woody's face, leaving a long, ugly scar. Wesker killed Donnegan and escaped with the dummy. The escaped lunatic and his puppet both took on new personas: Wesker became the Ventriloquist, while Woody was billed as “Scarface” because of the irrepairable gash left by the corkscrew. The Ventriloquist turned out to be a terrible performer—mispronouncing all his
B
s and
G
s—but he always claimed that the advice of Scarface made him a criminal mastermind. Both eventually vanished into the dark underside of Gotham. Wesker eventually was killed by his own gang, but Scarface continued on as a strange icon among Gotham shadow society. The dummy was said to have been cursed or possessed, and there were those in the criminal underworld who swore that it spoke to them, too.

The dummy's eyes seemed to follow Batman as he walked around the chair.

Fay Moffit sat staring blankly at the dummy as she mumbled a one-sided conversation. “You really are too kind, Scar-boy! Thank you. Thank you …”

She lapsed into silence, her eyes unfocused and her breath shallow. Her head lolled to one side in the chair.

Spellbinder … is spellbound? Who hypnotizes a hypnotist
?

Batman bound her wrists. She barely moved, let alone resisted. He slung her limp body over his shoulder and turned to leave.