Craig Shaw Gardner - The Batman Murders

The Batman Murders

Craig Shaw Gardner

Prologue

Why, then, was the man laughing?

There was no moon in Gotham City. The steaming August day had brought heavy clouds, but no rain. The dark clouds hung there like a blanket pressing the heat onto the sweltering streets below. Darkness and heat, a bad combination. It brought crime into the city like a roach, scurrying from its hole and looking to see what it could devour in the absence of light.

There was no moon in Gotham City. The humid air seemed to dull the streetlights and neon, their glow barely filtering to the street. Sounds, though, were everywhere---music, arguments, laughter, screams, all fighting with one another on the sleepless streets, the million voices of the city rising and falling with a rhythm to match the waves down by Gotham harbor.

Some listened for the music.

One man listened for the screams.

There was no moon in Gotham City, and darkness bred all sorts of things.

But darkness had another friend. A shadow moved on the rooftops, on a night when there were no shadows. And this shadow leaned over the edge to watch his prey.

There were three of them in the alleyway below, three common criminals, about to break into the First Gotham Bank. Their voices carried in the still, heavy air, and he heard all their plans, but he still had to wait for them to make their move. First, they would commit their crime. Then they would meet the Batman.

Still, he wished they would get on with it. Maybe it was something about the night, but it was very difficult to wait for action. The cape was heavy on his back, the fabric of his uniform damp against his skin. Why was he worried? The three below were no match for him.

They started at last, all three of them moving to the side entrance of the bank. Maybe had to wait for a prearranged time. There was probably a fourth man, a driver, who would show up when they'd finished the job. They had used glass cutters to cut a small hole in the glass on the side door, and a thermite lance to burn out the old lock so that they could just push the door in with the kick of a boot. It looked like they had found the weakest point in the old bank building. All three walked quickly inside. There was no alarm. These guys were professional enough to take care of that.

But it was time for Batman to get to work, too.

He tugged one more time on the hook he'd set on the chimney. It would hold. The bank robbers below had spent so long waiting that he'd had plenty of time to find the best place to secure his line. He stepped to the edge of the roof, then jumped, gliding down on the rope.

Something was wrong. The building was higher than he thought. The angle was too great, he was going too fast. He landed on the ground with a jolt, jarring his left leg. It was a foolish mistake. He'd been out of action too long, too eager for the hunt. He had to calm himself, become centered. He'd have a fight on his hands soon enough.

He took a step, and felt a pain in his left leg. He must have slightly twisted his ankle. His mistake would cost him more than he thought. Still, there was nothing to do but ignore it and go on.

He walked quickly to the side entrance. The criminals had left the door open four or five inches, enough so somebody would notice. Maybe they weren't as professional as he had thought. He knew there was a night watchman in his place. If he could, he should get to the crooks before they got to the watchman. Sweeny, that was the watchman's name. Sometimes even Batman was amazed by all that he knew.

The door opened silently, and Batman crept inside, staying in shadow. He was on the main business floor of the bank, the one with all the teller's cages and loan officer's desks. One of the three criminals was across the room, working on the upstairs vault. There was no sign of the others, but the door that led to the basement levels was wide open. That's where the real money would be, down in the large vault the bank used to supply all its branches. There were safe deposit boxes down there, too, full of the valuables of hundreds of the bank's customers. There was no sign of Sweeny, either. He hoped he wasn't too late.

Batman had to move fast, before the robbers got too far. He'd take out the one up here first. He reached down to his belt and pulled out a modified boomerang with an attached nylon line. A simple toss, and the boomerang cord would wind itself around the robber long enough for Batman to knock him cold.

He threw as he stepped forward onto his left foot. He grunted as pain shot up his leg. His toss had gone wide. The boomerang clattered behind the teller's cages.

"Wha---" The crook looked up from where he had been concentrating on the lock. He stood and took a couple of steps toward the cages.

Trouble. Batman had to take out the guy now, before he could warn the others. He moved toward the vault as fast as his injured ankle would let him. The ankle didn't allow him to move as quietly as he would like, either. He could hear the sound of his boots on the floor as he ran. He was breathing heavily by the time he reached the crook. The robber turned around, and Batman put all he had behind a single punch.

The crook yelled as he saw the fist, just before Batman knocked him senseless. One down, but Batman might have lost the element of surprise.

He hurried to the door leading downstairs. There was an old, circular, wrought-iron stairs in the alcove here, dating back from when the bank was built, close to a hundred years ago. He knew, before he even looked down, that the stairs led to three levels of basement---a basement where the bank's founding fathers thought that vaults and safe deposit boxes would be safer from robbers. There was a service elevator back here, too. It was Batman's business to know about banks, and that knowledge would serve him well now. It was Batman's business to know about every aspect of crime.

The elevator opened as he walked through the doorway from the bank. There was no place for him to run. He braced himself to fight.

The man inside the elevator stared at him openmouthed. It was the night watchman.

"Sweeny?" he called softly.

"Batman?" the watchman replied incredulously, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Sweeny, what's happening?" he demanded.

Sweeny shook his head. "Happening?" he asked. "I just began my two A.M. rounds. Is something wrong?"

Somehow, Batman realized, the watchman has missed the criminals---and luckily for Sweeny, the criminals had missed him, too.

"Don't worry," he told the watchman. "I'll take care of it."

Batman took a step toward the elevator. The pain in his left leg was even worse---he shouldn't have run on it. His knee wanted to buckle underneath him. He leaned forward, trying to catch his breath.

A gun went off behind him. He heard the whine of a bullet, close by his ear. The crooks had found him. If he hadn't leaned forward, the bullet would have caught him in the back.

"Keep out of the way!" he barked to the watchman.

He turned to face the robbers, two of them, with guns drawn. Both of them were smiling. He'd show them there was nothing to smile about. He'd teach them to fear the Batman.

"Who do you think you're trying to fool?" Sweeny called out behind him. What was the watchman talking about?

Somebody shoved him in the back; somebody who had to be Sweeny. Batman realized the watchman must be working with the bank robbers, making it an inside job. Not Sweeny. He'd been with the bank for almost twenty years.

Batman tried to stop himself from falling, but his leg collapsed underneath him, and he toppled over the railing, three long stories down.