Batman Arkham Knight (20 page)

The report in the wastebasket seemed to glow in the room’s fluorescent light, begging his attention.

Tanks were leveling the already crumbling tenements in Old Gotham City. His men were doing their best, but they might as well be fighting a war using peashooters.

He grabbed the wastebasket and shuffled the report back in order. Batman and Nightwing had confronted the Penguin’s thugs at the industrial waste site and managed to stop them before they were able to retrieve weapons their boss had hidden there.
Thank God for small victories.
They followed Cobblepot’s men to three other sites, and were able to stop them there, too. In each case they retrieved weapons that otherwise would have made it onto the streets.

Gordon’s anger grew. Batman had always been a miracle worker, but he could no longer be trusted. That ship had sailed.

Sergeant O’Hara of the Fifth Precinct dropped another set of papers on Gordon’s desk then hurried back to join his men on the streets. O’Hara was a good man and a trusted ally. The new report he’d brought revealed that Batman and Nightwing had engaged in a final confrontation with the Penguin and his men. This time they not only secured the weapons cache, but captured the Penguin, too. Better yet, Cobblepot agreed to talk—but only to Gordon, and only if the police protected him from Scarecrow.

As much as he would have preferred to throw that stuffed turkey out with the rest of the trash, Gordon reluctantly had to agree.

* * *

“I’m here, Cobblepot,” Gordon said as he entered the interrogation room. So what have you got for me?” To his relief Batman wasn’t there. The Penguin was sitting in an oversized chair, chomping on a huge cigar. Gordon continued to stand.

“Please, Commissioner, I prefer ‘the Penguin,’” the disgusting mobster said. “You know, because of my walk. It’s not like I have any choice. One leg’s three inches shorter than the other. But I got used to the slings and arrows I suffered through early school, and with time I embraced my true nature. It doesn’t hurt that my favorite meal is fish.”

“Cobblepot, the point.”

“Of course, Commissioner. I’d like to level a charge against Batman and Nightwing. Breaking and entering. Assault and battery. They think they can enter a man’s home, beat him within an inch of his life, then drag him off to prison without a shred of proof. Is that not injustice? Are you not shocked that such unfairness exists, nay,
thrives
in Gotham City? Now, I’m not a lawyer, but I’ve tortured enough of them to know something about the law. I don’t think Batman’s following it.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that,” Gordon said, glancing at his watch. “And I’ll be looking into the problem—but we’re not here to discuss Batman, are we?”

“Oh, no. Of course not. Ahem! As you know, I see myself as a businessman. My nightclubs, my racing parlors, my massage studios…”

“You mean your drug dens, gambling rooms, and houses of prostitution.”

“Neither you nor Batman have ever proven that, have you? When I consider opening a new concern—always legal and aboveboard, I remind you—I write out an extensive business plan and offer stocks to those interested in investing. Until it’s confirmed otherwise, I insist you acknowledge that my businesses are strictly legal.”

“We know the kinds of businesses you’re talking about,” Gordon said, “and when you say ‘investment,’ we hear ‘extortion.’”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” the Penguin said. “But I am a businessman. Scarecrow, on the other hand, is an insane nutjob whose mad schemes are hurting my businesses, and badly. I would love to see you take him down. After all, my tax dollars pay your salary.”

“Remind me to send a thank-you note,” Gordon said as he sat down and tossed several papers to the Penguin. “If you hate him so much, why were you planning to sell him those weapons? And before you deny it, here’s the bill of sale. Signed by Crane, and countersigned by you.”

The Penguin swatted the papers off the table without looking at them.

“First of all, those weapons were my legal property. My lawyers will forward you our licenses. I’ll expect to have them returned before the day is out or before Gotham City implodes, whichever comes first.

“Second, what kind of businessman would I be if I didn’t sell him my product, especially when the fool was willing to pay even after an absolutely… reasonable markup? Profit makes for strange bedfellows, you know.”

“A lot would depend on whether or not you knew what he was going to do with those weapons,” Gordon replied. “If you did, you’re Scarecrow’s accomplice. And if I can prove it, I promise you will never see the light of day again.”

“Easy to say, impossible to prove,” the Penguin countered. “But no, I had no idea what he was planning to use my weapons for. Truth is I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell me. And since Batman and the brat heisted the weapons before they ever got to Scarecrow, whatever’s happening on the streets has nothing to do with me.”

The Penguin took another puff from the cigar then crushed the stub into the styrofoam cup sitting on the table.

“Anyway, for my concerns to grow and prosper, I need Gotham City to be relatively at peace. Chaos is not a good atmosphere for business. But, and here’s the real reason for this powwow, you might ask the same question of Simon Stagg. I think you’ll get a totally different answer.”

“Stagg? The industrialist? What does he have to do with Scarecrow?” Simon Stagg was known to walk life’s gray area, but as far as Gordon knew, he had never crossed over to the dark side.

“Hell if I know. But I
do
know Scarecrow was going to see Stagg on one of his airships. He’s probably there right now. Which, of course, is what I already told Batman, as well.”

“How did he react?”

“Exactly as you’d expect. Abrasive. Macho. Threatening. Big and self-important. But he turned me over to the Nightwing kid and took off like a, if you’ll excuse me, bat out of hell. Now, that kid I like. He’s got none of Batman’s ridiculous angst. He makes me smile.

“So what exactly are you going to book me for?” the Penguin continued. “Weapons legal.
Check.
Bill of sale.
Check.
Taxes paid.
Check.
You’ll never Al Capone me. And I believe my indecent exposure charge has now exceeded the statute of limitations. So, if you can’t find a charge that will stick longer than it takes to get a personal-sized anchovy pizza delivered here, when can I go? I do have a business to run.”

Batman glided to the rooftop overlooking Wayne Plaza. Lucius Fox was patiently waiting for him. He was running a few minutes late, but Fox had been following his progress, and dealing with the Arkham Knight’s tanks had taken longer than expected.

Fox felt a gust of cold wind wash over him and he buttoned his coat for warmth.

“Pleased to see you made it through the, umm, traffic, Mr. Wayne,” Fox said.

“You know how things get in Gotham City during rush hour,” Batman said, almost smiling. “You have the new synthesizer?”

Fox handed him a small pen-shaped device. “Complete with Simon Stagg’s voice. The man has given quite a few speeches in the past few years, so I was able to cobble together rather a large dictionary. You should be able to say most anything and get a fairly decent Stagg simulation.”

“Thanks, Lucius,” Batman said, fitting the synthesizer into the side of his mask, an inch from his mouth. “Any idea which airship Stagg is on?”

“Of course. That was the first thing I investigated when you texted me. I’ve pre-programmed your GPS to take you to it.”

Over the years Stagg Industries spent a small fortune introducing Gotham City to the idea of environmentally safe dirigible travel. In the beginning it had been considered a novelty and a thrill for the very rich, but the idea of traveling the city without having to deal with gridlock made it increasingly popular with businessmen rushing to their appointments. Stagg now had more than seventy ships crisscrossing the sky, and nearly a thousand landing pads, and to date there had not been a single mishap.

Fox reached back into his coat pocket, took out a small plastic case, and opened it to reveal a small computer component.

“I brought a new dongle for your communicator. It’s stronger than your previous one, should you be required to go underground again. It will hop onto any location’s electrical system and connect through that to the WayneTech system. It also interfaces better with your sensors, so you won’t have to scroll through different screens.” He gave his employer a mischievous smile. “There’s an extremely large commercial possibility for its architecture, as well. I’ll expect a very generous Christmas bonus.”

“You’ve more than earned it.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, sir.”

* * *

Batman stood for a moment on the edge of the roof and waited for the wind to pick up again. When it did, he launched himself into the sky, and began to fall, but then his cape unfurled into large bat wings. Hidden struts gave the wings rigidity, allowing him to catch even the most insignificant breeze and use it to propel himself back up.

He loved gliding over the city, because it looked so serene from this high vantage point. The breeze rushing against his face was inviting, invigorating. There was no crime here—there were no enemies, and nobody wanted him dead.

Threading through Gotham City’s brick and steel canyons like a hawk on the wing, he felt at peace with himself. The bat was definitely his avatar. Up here it was just him, the night, and nature.

He soared around WayneTech and activated the pumps he had built into its tower. They gave him another boost, which in turn allowed him to coast up toward a pair of identical airships that hung in the air over the skyline. He veered toward the one that had “Stagg-1” airbrushed onto its hull. Once he was in position, he fired his grapple and connected to the dirigible’s landing struts. He made his way across the hull and found its emergency entrance door, then activated his new voice synthesizer.

“Open the emergency entrance,” he said in Stagg’s gravelly voice. This was where Fox’s device would either work, or he’d find a dozen armed security thugs waiting to deal with an unwanted trespasser.

A moment later an iris portal spun open. He climbed inside and shut the door behind him.

Lucius would be getting that bonus.

He activated his comm and checked the airship schematics that Fox uploaded to him. Dozens of red dots appeared. His enemies were all over the ship.

“Lucius, I’m inside,” he said, “but you can see my problem.”

“Indeed—too many sheep and no hint of the shepherd. But not to worry, we have a sample of Simon Stagg’s DNA. Despite his reputation, he’s actually quite civic-minded. His company sponsored a blood drive after the earthquake and he was the first in line to donate.”
A pause, then Fox added,
“I’m isolating it now and feeding the results into the sensors. It should pop up on your screen in three… two…”

“I see a green dot,” Batman confirmed. “Thanks, Lucius—your upgrade works perfectly.”

“I’ll stay at the monitor, sir, in case you need anything else.”

He made his way through the first level, easily avoiding Stagg’s thugs. No point in alerting the entire force until he had no choice.

Three red dots were moving around in the room ahead. He grabbed his Batarang and somersaulted inside, pitching it at the closest thug. Landing on his feet and spinning, he kicked the next one in the throat, dropping him to his knees. He then dived to where his Batarang fell and spun it into the third thug.

“How long did that take, Lucius?” Batman asked, his voice firm despite the pain he felt where he’d been shot.
Nothing I can’t manage.

“Slightly less than eighteen seconds,”
Fox replied.
“Not bad, sir, but not nearly a record.”

“And you can do better?” Batman said, damping down irritation.

“We all have our areas of expertise, Mr. Wayne. Given time, I might perfect cold fusion. You excel in, well, more physical activities.”

“Can’t argue with that. I’d like to, but I’ve got work to do.”

He scooped up the Batarang as he again checked his sensors. The green blip indicated that Simon Stagg was in a room on the deck directly above him. A hallway led alongside the room he was in, and there was a stairway not far away. Two thugs were moving in his direction, and he waited for them to pass. Then he darted out into the hall and sprinted for the stairs.

Reaching the next floor, he quickly located the room in question. The door was locked, so he sprayed explosive gel on the bolt and set it off. There was a sharp
bang
, the door swung open, and Batman saw Simon Stagg…

Inside a small prison cell.

Stagg was relatively short, no more than five foot five, in his mid-fifties, with the squat face of a bulldog and a wild mane of thick silver hair that seemed to fan up at the sides. He looked like he could be a short-order chef at a greasy-spoon diner, but Stagg was in fact a multi-billionaire. And where Bruce Wayne inherited much of his fortune, Stagg’s various self-created enterprises supplied him his wealth. It had yet to be determined how legal some of those enterprises were.

But despite his wealth and power, Stagg was now a prisoner on his own ship, locked inside and chained to the bars. The moment Stagg saw him he screamed and pulled frantically at his chains. He slammed his head against the bars and cut open his forehead. Blood poured out.

“You’re a monster,” he shouted. “Now Scarecrow’s sending monsters at me. Leave me alone. I swear to God I won’t let you turn me into a monster, too. I’ll fight you. I’ll fight
all of you
. Keep away from me.
Keep away
.” His voice was becoming more hysterical with each sentence.

Stagg’s eyes were glazed over. He’d been drugged—most likely poisoned with Scarecrow’s fear venom.

“Stagg, I’m here to help you,” Batman said, keeping his voice calm and even. “Scarecrow is making you see me as a monster, but I’m not. I’m your friend.”

“Nonononono. You
are
a monster. Your face doesn’t have flesh. I can see your skull where the skin should be. Your eyes are on fire. You want to burn me with them, but I won’t let you.” He lowered his voice to sound menacing. “I have soldiers here, you know. With weapons. And they’ll put you down like the damned monster you are. They won’t stop until you’re dead.”