Found the guy who’s been burglering rich people’s houses and apartments all over Gotham. He was lean, sneaky, League of Assassin type material. He went in and out of homes without a sound. Wore all black. Took only very expensive pieces of art and jewelry.
I caught him because I figured out his pattern. Most thieves wait until no one’s home. This guy preferred people to be home. Freshly home from vacations, to be exact. Expensive vacations. Vacations where people come home with collectibles, antiques, that sort of thing. He liked the challenge. He liked to take it away just after they got it, right from under their noses.
So I had the sneak come to me.
Bruce Wayne went on a high end vacation. I publicized that I was adding to my ancient Eastern martial arts scroll collection. I made sure to set a record price for at least one of them during an auction.
The sucker showed up the night I got home.
He carried only a switchblade for protection and he knew what to do with it. He was fast, slippery. None of my traps or ropes snagged him.
So I had to get in close. I let him knick me a few times, then when he got confident I took the opening and broke his arm.
Little did I realize he was just as good with a knife with his other hand. He picked up the blade and jabbed into my arm.
I didn’t feel the pain until I took it out, which was about two minutes after I threw the burglar out of the study window and I was sure he wasn’t going to get up for a while.
I took enough pills to numb the pain and give me a glazed over look so that when the GCP came to take him away I was a convincingly drowsy and half-interested millionaire.
Alfred gave me one of his looks and asked if he should call to have the window repaired in the morning. I gave him one of my looks and went to bed.
Pulled three teeth from my knuckles tonight.
They belonged to a pimp named Smokey who owns all of the prostitutes working the lower east side, by the docks.
He was beating one of his girls with a wrench when I happened upon them. She didn’t bring back enough money from her last job, or the job before that, or the job before that. He wasn’t being careful where or how hard he hit her. He didn’t care if she ever worked again.
And he was smiling as he hit her. Enjoying it.
I punched him in the face until my hand went numb.
Thought all the blood was his until I saw a small white object sticking out of my glove.
He’ll be drinking through a straw from now on, provided they can reconstruct his face.
The girl was mad at me for making her find a new employer.
Justice is hard to give to those who don’t want it.
Stopped a whole gang by myself today. Thirty-two of them. Gotham’s notorious 10th Street Dragons, an offshoot of the Golden Dragons. Or rivals. Who cares.
Picked them off one by one until I got to their leader. He had four bodyguards. Four of those types of guys who will work for anyone who lets them kill people the way they like to kill them.
These guys liked to kill people the slow way. Soften them up a bit, then cut them up a bit, then get creative with power tools.
They got through the first two preferences with me, but by the time they reached for the Black and Decker stuff the blood had made my hands slippery enough to slide out of the chains.
I kicked one of them so hard I think I felt his sternum crack under my heel. Two of them aren’t going to walk anytime soon. The fourth guy threw himself out the window. He probably didn’t realize I wasn’t a killer like them. I’d much rather someone live forever with the memory of my wrath than to die for what they’ve done.
I have to live with my memories of their crimes, it’s only fair that they should have to live with their memories of my justice.
Though I have to admit, it may have been hard for that goon to know my intentions. I’m pretty sure I was laughing loudly during the whole fight.
I stopped by the public restroom in the subway stop at 18th, one of my pre-planned safe havens, so I could get cleaned up. I left disguised as a homeless man around the morning rush hour. Someone bought me a cup of coffee.
After a night of monsters it’s nice to know there are still angels walking among us.
Batman gets in a lot of fights. Intentionally. He looks for them. Every night.
That kind of obsessive self flagellation would undoubtedly manifest itself in some equally self-involved, self-effacing way. A journal, perhaps. A record of his losses. A reminder of his failures.
This is the alternate version of Batman’s trophy room. This is the record of his wounds:
: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :
Two punks robbing a penthouse on the eastside. One got a hold of a set of golf clubs and managed to hit me in the jaw.
Lost a tooth.
Need to find a replacement before the Wayne Foundation Dinner tomorrow night. Lots of cameras will be there.
Maybe I’ll put out a press release that talks about how Bruce started kickboxing lessons just in case there’s questions.
First I need to see what Alfred can do with a set of fake teeth.
I bent the golf club around the punk’s neck just tight enough to make him wonder if he was going to breath long enough for the cops to find him.
Riddle me this: what’s black and blue and slowly being lowered into toxic waste all over?