Author’s note
This is a work of fiction inspired by characters created by Bob
Kane, Bill Finger, Paul Dini, Bruce Timm, Robert Kanigher, Sheldon Moldoff, and
various other renowned writers published by DC Comics. It is a retelling of the
origins of the Batman Universe, which is copyrighted and should not be
considered a true part of the mythology. I have created this project purely for
the joy of dictating the actions of characters that I have grown to love over
the years, and to suggest scenarios that I have often wondered myself would
happen if those said actions were to have occurred in the mythos. Basically,
its me being a kid and playing with my favorite toys again. That said, this
story will never be published, nor distributed as an original idea, for it is
not. It began as a writing exercise that at some point, transformed into an
exciting unofficial chapter in the Batman series, that which is just far too
awesome to keep to myself. Therefore, here it is. Hope you enjoy my
interpretation of the origin of one of the most iconic villains in comic book
history.
Chapter 2
“These are trying times…” A heavy voice broke the silence. The
brass lid of a lighter clapped open, and a turn of the flint wheel spawned a
sharp flame, which hungrily ate at the dry tobacco that was packed at the end
of the man’s Cuban. As to cower away with fear, the crisp leaves curled inward
at touch of the flame, the smoke rolling over the end of the cigar like a grey
liquid spilling toward the heavens. The beast that held it in his grasp between
two gold rings that sparkled in the faint light sucked in the smoke, filling
his lungs with fire. Exhaling, he sent swirls of clouds spinning from either
side of his face, which was concealed by the darkness of the room.
“The Wayne family saved my son’s life once, you know?” He
reached down, peeling back his hand ever so slightly from the surface of the
table. The cards sung to him gleefully with crimson red diamonds; a straight
flush. He threw another thousand in the pot, to which the circle of men who
joined him in the game met with defeated sighs.
One by one they threw down their cards, claiming miserably, “I’m
out.”
He turned over his cards to show them all that they had made a
wise decision, and then claimed his winnings from the center of the table as he
said with a hint of derision in his tone, “That cur of a dullard beast Luigi
Maroni took the sword to my boy. Shot him down several times.”
“I remember that night.” Another man in the room said grimly.
“It took a lot of firepower to convince him to reconsider his course of
action.”
The man with the cigar bellowed out another puff of smoke as he
pointed over at him and added, “We were North of Crime Alley when it all happened.
Johnny and I collected Carmine into my Limo. With nowhere else to turn, we took
the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge to Wayne Manor.”
With a heedful eye, Johnny Viti turned to their newest addition to
the organization—an aspiring stage performer, with street smarts, and a lot of
youthful lean muscle—and said, “You see, we couldn’t just deliver a gunshot
victim to Gotham General without having to answer a list full of unwanted
questions. That, and Maroni was out for blood. If we were to take him to a
public location, he would surely make his move yet again when the time was
right.”
“My father pleaded with Thomas Wayne to do what he could to
revive me.” Carmine chimed in from the other side of the table, as he gathered
the cards and began shuffling them. “I remember how cool and collected he was,
even with my blood spilling all about his property, and some thirty automatic
weapons pointing at his front door. But his wife, and his boy…” He paused, the
deck half split in his hands. “Ill never forget the disdain I saw in them.
Nevertheless, they took me in… They saved my life.”
“To which we will forever owe a debt of gratitude.” His father
said. His son nodded and began handing out the cards.
“However,
this is business.” Vincent Falcone scanned the eager faces of his henchmen and
said, “If rumors are true that Dr. Thomas Wayne is working under contract with
the government to develop this, so
called, Genome Enhancer, then we must
acquire this technology. If the government should so decide to avail such a
weapon in their ongoing war against
crime, I want to know that we have at our disposal the resources needed to
weather such a storm. We will fight fire with fire, if the day should arise
when super police would roam the streets.”
A
frigid man who sat next to Jack Quinzel then peered up from his cards. Jack
knew him only as Joe Chill, and as his name suggested, his very presence often
sent a disturbing chill down his spine. He said, “Our resources claim that the
project is incomplete…, that there are still a few complications with the
formula.”
“Dully
noted.” Vincent said with mild interest. “More the reason for us to take action
now before they can develop something that could potentially destroy us all. I
have a brilliant scientist on my pay roll. Dr. Jason Woodrue. He has worked
closely with Thomas Wayne for many years when they were students at the
University. I am confident that he will have little trouble filling in the
holes once we can deliver the formula to his lab.”
His
eyes then found the young but surprisingly skillful Jack Quinzel; the newcomer
whom has proven his usefulness more that once on the battlefield. From his
precision driving the night he was hailed to a job as a getaway transport, to
his witty, yet agreeable personality that many seem to trust, even as their
riches are being stripped from their luxurious homes right behind their backs.
Vincent glanced down at his hand. Again, the cards smiled at him. Not a great
hand, but not one easy to overcome either. However, there was but one card in
his grasp that drew his smile. It was an absolute card to cozen all in such a
game as he had sought to play.
Grinning
toward Jack he said to the others, “Let us put Joe Chill on this… and the new
guy.” Jack gasped, speechless. “I want to see what he can do.” Then he shot a
look of warning around the table as he admonished, “There is to be no harm to
come of the Wayne family. I do indeed owe them as much to see this all come to
a successful end that needs not a single drop of bloodshed. That said do as you
must to extract the information we so require. I am to understand that the
formula is in his possession at Wayne Manor where his private lab is located.
Find it, retrieve it, and bring it back to me at once.”
Again
his eyes were on Jack. A sly grin upon his face he withdrew a card from his
hand, and slid it across the table face down. The smooth glossy surface of the
tabletop saw that the card made it clear across his way. The corner of the card
struck the tip of his index finer where it had stopped, drawing the man’s
curious eyes.
“Sometimes,
in such a high stakes game, you only need a wildcard in your hand to reign
supreme.” Vincent said.
Jack
picked up the card to find a crude character with a fool’s cap upon his crown
as he rode atop a unicycle, emblazoned at either corner of the card was the
word JOKER.
“You
are my wildcard.” Vincent said in a proud tone. “Do not disappoint.”
He
nodded and said, “I… I wont, sir.”
Vincent
sat back in his chair. “Good.”
Late
that night, Jack returned home. A few too many drinks in, and on wavering legs,
he staggered to his bedroom. The cramped apartment was dark, the lights of
passing cars from the road that ran just outside their bedroom window was all
he needed to navigate. He found his pregnant wife sleeping soundly on her side
as she often did, her back pointing toward him as he snuck his way into the
room. He carefully slid into the warmth of the blankets next to her, and
allowed his intoxicated mind to drift off into the abyss of his dreams. His
snores went up, as did Harley’s worrisome eyes with tears running.
#
Birds
were singing, and the sun was gleaming, not a cloud in the sky. Harley sat
alone outside the coffee shop, sipping sparingly at her rooibos tea grandé. Her
doctor had long advised against caffeinated beverages, and so she had
substituted her normal double shot of espresso and daily dose of four bitterly
foul bold coffee’s for the slightly minty taste of flavored hot water that they
were passing as tea. She sat the cup down, popped open the lid, and dumped more
sugar into it.
“Whoa!”
Lillian said in a fruity voice as she approached, lugging a weighty backpack at
her shoulder. “Easy on the pixy dust, Tink!”
Harley
forced a fabricated smile her way, stirring vigorously at her drink with a
plastic straw. “If I can’t have caffeine,” She said in her naturally
high-pitched tone. “I can at least try for a buzz from diabetic shock.”
When
Lillian reached her table, Harley carefully stood, her hand at her swollen
whom, and they hugged each other. They then seated themselves at the table,
Lillian taking a quick hesitant sip at her Tall coffee.
Harley
locked envious eyes upon her drink as she joined her, and said, “God, I want
your coffee so bad right now! This tea tastes like hippie piss.”
Lillian
gave her a queer look and laughed. “Damn! If you actually know what that tastes
like, I don’t want to know what kind of parties you’re going to.”
They
both then shared in a laugh, however short lived it was, after Harley fell
silent fighting at a woeful tear breaking its way from her eye. Lillian took
her hand and asked with concern, “Harley, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“I
think Jack is cheating on me.” She confessed.
Stunned
by the news, her jaw fell open, momentarily speechless. Then she asked, “Why do
you think that?”
“He
hasn’t been himself lately. He’s gone all hours of the night. He claims he is
doing more gigs, but he refuses to invite me to any of them.” She withdrew a
tissue from her purse. Dabbing at her eyes she continued, “The other day I
overheard him talking to someone on his cell in the bathroom. He was arranging
some sort of secret meeting.”
“Have you talked to him about this?” Lillian asked.
Harley just shook her head and said, “I heard him name an
address. I have it written down. I think I am going to follow him when he
leaves tonight.”
“Harley, that’s crazy.”
“If he is cheating on me, I have to catch him in the act. I
won’t accuse him of anything until I have some evidence to back my claim.”
Lillian’s watch at her left wrist began beeping. She checked the
time, discontinued the alarm and said, “I’m sorry sweet heart. My botany class
is about to start. I have to go. But please…” she said with a caring hand at
her arm. “be careful.”
To that, Harley nodded, a flurry of flaps from her long
eyelashes chasing away yet another tear that was welling at her eye. Then
Lillian collected her things, and was on her way. Alone, Harley could only
think about the task at hand. Where was he going? What would she find there…
And did she really want to know. She dove into her purse and withdrew from it
her iPhone. Opening her Google maps app she punched in the address she had
obsessively memorized. When the pin dropped she turned on the satellite
feature, and pinched her fingers at the center of the screen, spreading them
apart to zoom in. She zoomed again and again and…
She recoiled, the breath of angst escaping her lips.
“What in the world?” She said with bewilderment.
#
The warehouse was old, abandoned, and dark. Jack drove his sedan
into a narrow alley, along the side of the deteriorating structure, and waited.
His wife wasn’t far, as she took to the parking lot of what appeared to be yet
another vacant factory building just neighboring the warehouse. She too was
watching. Her unknowing husband had left their home earlier that night,
sneaking out of bed, thinking Harley was long asleep. She felt the vibration of
the incoming text that came from his cell, and saw the brilliant luminous of
the screen as he turned it on to read the message. Not long after, he removed
himself from her side, and dressed himself in clothes she had never seen
before. He put on his favorite red jacket, and retrieved something that was
hidden deep inside his dresser drawer. She had stolen a curious glance over her
shoulder only to see a hint of steel shining in the light of passing headlights
from outside of their bedroom window, before it disappeared inside his blazer.
When he was gone, she moved as fast as a woman in her condition could, sliding
into the only pants that still fit her, and jumping into her slippers before
hurrying out the door.
She
followed him in her SUV to upper Burnley where he picked up a mysterious man,
who was carrying with him what appeared to be a body wrapped in tape that which
he threw into the trunk of the car. Hand clasped over her mouth, she breathed
her horror. “My God…” she uttered in stunned confusion.
Then
they were off to their waiting destination; the old warehouse, lost in the
shadows of Sheldon Industrial Park near Crime Alley. There, they waited.
So many thoughts raced through Harley’s mind, as she sat there
breathlessly, as if the very sound of her lungs would turn the heads of the men
across the way that she now realized she knew nothing about. The love of her
life was nothing of the man she thought him to be. All of the lies, all of the
deceit. What has this man gotten them into? Why would he risk his family for
whatever it was that was about to transpire here? She had to know the answer.
Soon, she feared, she would have it.
Jack’s anxious fingers were tapping furiously at the steering
wheel as he scanned the silent road where they had told Thomas Wayne to appear,
alone, and with their ransom at hand. Their captive, a young boy with a fiery
spirit, and an unexpectedly heavy right cross, rolled and kicked against his
restraints in the spacious trunk of the car, causing the vehicle to rock from
side to side on its squeaking shocks. Every muted scream the Wayne child tried
for through his duck taped mouth, sent a wave of anxiety through them both. Joe
Chill checked the bandaged wound at his left eye where the boy had connected
his fist once he came to, the result of a misuse of the tape that hadn’t
secured both of his hands properly. They applied much more tape after that, and
locked him in the cargo hold of Joe’s van until Jack had arrived with the
faster vehicle.
Though the kidnapping was Joe’s idea, Jack knew that they needed
leverage over the billionaire doctor if they were to obtain the formula that
Vincent Falcone desired, and so they went about their secret plot months prior.
Jack and his cunning, acquired the information needed to track down the child
from the lips of his very own private school professors, and together they
caught up with Bruce Wayne on a long walk alone toward Wayne Manor. They then
contacted his father, and made their demands.
It was here, on this night, at this time that Thomas Wayne was
to meet them. And he was to bring a copy of his research on this supposed super genome enhancer, in exchange for
the safe return of his son, and to avoid further strikes upon his home, as they
would not rest until they acquired what it was that they sought. Thomas was
well familiar with the violent history of the Falcones’, and how they
approached matters of business, and he was likely not to find the value of an
incomplete science experiment above the safety of his loved ones. Still,
however, he was late, and Jack was beginning to fight a dreadful sense of doubt
as the clock continued to tick away.
“You told him the right time?” Jack asked.
“Of course.” Joe snapped.
“Then where is he? We can’t hold this brat forever. My wife is
bound to notice the foot sized dents that are soon to appear out the other end
of my damn car.”
“You’ve been doing business with us for the better part of a
year now.” He replied scowling at him. “If she hasn’t noticed anything by now,
the chances she’ll take note of something so miner are quite slim.”
“You don’t know Harley.”
Joe snickered and said, “I know women blinded stupid by love.
You could shoot Jesus in the face in front of her and she wouldn’t bat a
suspicious eye.”
To that, Jack gave him a heedful glare.
Again Joe laughed as he threw up his arms in defeat. “Whoa,
relax. I’m just trying to tell you, I’ve been doing this long enough to know
when the shit has hit the fan. And right now, I don’t yet smell the bitter
stench of splattered feces.” His attention returning to the road ahead of them
he continued, “The man will come.”
Just then, a flash of headlights came pouring down the old road;
a sleek luxurious black car was heading their way. Joe Chill turned to his
driver with a smug grin upon his face. Jack let out a long anxious sigh.
Harley shifted nervously in the driver seat, leaning in against
her steering wheel, her whom sinking between her trembling legs, as another car
appeared from the West. She fixed her eyes upon the incoming vehicle with
scrutiny, wondering who it could possibly be. When it stopped in front of her
husband’s sedan and a well-dressed man stepped out, along with a woman who
appeared at the passenger side, her curiosity nagged at her conscious so
devilishly that she considered exiting her vehicle to have a better look. She
needn’t to entertain the idea for long, as the distraught woman from the black
car stole herself a brief glance at her surroundings, where she caught a
glimpse of the lone SUV in the lot across from them. Harley quickly hid her
face beyond the dashboard, but before she did, she saw who the woman was…,
“Martha Wayne?” She said under her breath.
Peering over the dash, she found that the prominent woman had
found no interest in the half-heartedly parked SUV that was barely visible from
the dilapidated factory building obscuring it, as she returned her attention on
the apparent host of this hushed gathering; her husband.
So she watched, unprepared for the nightmare that was about to
unfold right before her eyes.
TO BE CONTINUED…
