The Secret Star

The Secret Star by BILLA1

Disclaimer: The characters Batman, Green Lantern, Hawkgirl, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Superman, Flash & their respective secret identities are all owned by DC Comics. This story is intended for my own pleasure and is not for profit. It has been posted to this site for others to read. Places and characters not own by DC Comics are my own creation. This story is based on characters from Batman: The Animated Series. Thanks to Merlin Missy for her beta on this story.

A/N: This story was inspired by a paragraph on page 5 of Tales of the Dark Knight (Batman's first fifty years: 1939-1989) by Mark Cotta Vaz.

The Secret Star

Rating: (PG-13)

Synopsis: Batman thinks he has a new enemy - Commissioner Gordon. This story occurs during Batman: The Animated Series.

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Chapter One - "When they send for you, you go in alive, you come out dead and it's your best friend that does it." - Lefty (Donnie Brasco - 1997)

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(Gotham City - Tuesday Night)

Parker Jones had decided that there were two types of people in the world. There were those who had to use public transportation and those who wanted to use it. On cool nights like this, he wished that he was in the latter group rather than the former.

Almost every night for the last ten years, he'd caught the 8:20 bus to the Beetlewalk Mall where he worked as a security guard. "Minimum effort for minimum wage" he often said to anyone who would listen. But he knew that one day his life would change because they had told him so.

He wasn't a bad looking man. For years, people had told him that he looked a little like Val Kilmer and ten years ago, he may have borne a slight resemblance to the actor. Lately, he hadn't been able to see the resemblance and just said "thank you" if someone else pointed it out. "You know who you look like? You look like that actor guy." "Really? No one has said that to me before. Thanks."

The only real joy during his daily wait for the bus occurred on Tuesday nights. On that night, he got to share a ten minute wait at the bus stop and a twenty minute ride with Carol Johnson. Tonight he would try to be early and hoped that she would be too.

Carol Johnson was a single, middle aged accountant who dressed to stereotype. She wore glasses which did not compliment her face and kept her red hair wrapped tightly in a bun atop her head. Carol chose to wear old and dated clothing designed to fend off potential suitors, not attract them. When she was younger, a series of failed relationships convinced her that she was destined to be a loser in the game of love, so Carol decided not to play anymore. She'd settled for living a solitary life and while friendly to all, she no longer sought companionship with anyone.

In the beginning, Carol disliked Parker's attempts to engage her in conversation. But she was slightly amused when he mentioned that some people thought he had a resemblance to a Hollywood actor. In hindsight, it was an obvious attempt on his part to wear down her defenses, but it worked and she'd mentally agreed to help him turn his monologue of conversation with her into a dialogue. Now, she found herself looking forward to spending time with him at the bus stop.

On this night, as was their custom, they sat together on the bench under the glass enclosure, waiting for the bus. He was in his security guard uniform and jacket and she wore a cloth coat and scarf. She made sure to keep her purse and papers between them, signaling to the world that they were friendly, but not intimate.

"So I'm watching the Gotham Knights play. I mean, no wonder they have a losing record. Get this; the Knights are on their own fifteen yard line, leading by three. It's fourth and four and they go for it. They go for it!! Can you believe that?"

Carol smiled and stole a glance at her watch before looking back at Parker. He'd been talking almost endlessly for three or four minutes about the local football team. She might have enjoyed this discussion better if she liked football, but she didn't and he didn't seem to notice.

"No, I can't believe it," she said softly. Maybe I'll get to change the subject on the bus.

Parker threw his hands in the air in frustration. "I couldn't either. They don't punt. So what happens? That idiot quarterback, Brian Rogers tries a pass. Can you believe it?"

Carol looked down the street, staring into the headlights of the oncoming traffic hoping to see the bus as Parker continued. "He doesn't hand it off. No, he throws the ball and it's intercepted and run back for a touchdown. What an idiot? I mean, no wonder they're losing. Who in the world -"

*POW*

Carol jumped, even as she recognized the backfire from another poorly tuned car. There were lots of older, badly maintained cars in this part of town. Parker had stopped talking, but now was making a wheezing sound as if he couldn't breathe.

She turned back to look at him and saw a pained, stunned expression on his face.

"Parker, are you..."

A dark red stain grew larger in the middle of his clean uniform shirt as he slumped over her bag and papers onto her shoulder.

Carol screamed.

(Wednesday Mid-Morning)

Gordon burst into his office.

Without glancing at his receptionist, Jim yelled, "Get the Mayor on the phone - NOW!" And without waiting for her to acknowledge his request, he rushed into his inner office and slammed the door behind him.

He banged his briefcase on his desk, took off his trenchcoat and tossed it across the room and onto the sofa against the side wall. His office was large and dark, even during mid-day. As a rule, he kept the window blinds closed most of the time, lighting his office with desk lamps, but not today. He needed to look out on the city, needed to remind himself of why for over twenty years he had made sacrifices; why he'd asked others like Jones to make sacrifices as well. He opened the blinds and looked out the large bay window of his tenth floor office. The view from the window gave him a sense of isolation as he looked out on the cityscape below. How he longed for the days of being a beat cop and the personal interaction with his fellow citizens. Now he was reduced to pushing papers and working with people he didn't like or respect, like the Mayor.

"A good plan going bad," he muttered to himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of his receptionist over the intercom speaker.

"Commissioner, I have the Mayor's office on line three." Her voice sounded weak.

Dammit. He'd been angry, but there was no need to take it out on her. He flipped the switch on the intercom, "Thanks, Betty. Sorry about snapping at you earlier. Just having a bad day, I guess."

He flipped the switch again, not waiting for Betty to acknowledge his apology, sat down at his desk and picked up the phone and punched in line three.

"Gordon here," he said. The operator at the other end of the line said, "Commissioner, the Mayor will be with you in a minute."

About fifteen seconds later, Mayor Hamilton Hill spoke, "Hill here."

Gordon's tone was contemptuous. He had no respect for Mayor Hill and he wasn't afraid to show it.

"Mayor, Parker Jones was killed last night."

There was silence at the other end of the phone. Gordon yelled, "Mayor, did you hear what I said? Parker Jones was killed last night!"

Hill stammered, "I heard you...how many is that?"

"That's three of the five in the last thirty days. They're being picked off one by one."

"Well, we'll give the two survivors around-the-clock police protection."

Idiot. Gordon was livid. He stood, pounding his fist on the desk. "Police protection? For how long? I'm short-handed as it is now. I can't afford to take officers off the street for this."

"Gordon. Do you think this is Batman's doing?"

Gordon was silent and sat down. That thought had crossed his mind earlier this morning when he'd read the initial report. He inhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair. "Mayor, I dunno. Jones died from a large caliber rifle shot. That's not Batman's style. The others had ...er...accidents that certainly could have been his work. But I don't even know if he knows about the Secret Star."

"Well, find out, man! The Secret Star was your idea. Fix this problem or fix Batman."

The click at the other end of the phone was quiet but spoke volumes nonetheless.

Gordon silently cursed Hill and mumbled, "Fool" aloud. Yes, the Secret Star had been his idea and it was a good one. Gotham needed it five years ago and they still need it.

Gordon let out a deep sigh and flipped the switch on the intercom. "Betty, call my daughter, Barbara, and tell her I'll be home late tonight."

(Wednesday - 11 PM)

The bat-signal had been lit for fifteen minutes. The huge spotlight, located on the roof of the Police Department headquarters' building, put the silhouette of the winged bat against the dark, cloudy sky. The responsibility for operating and maintaining the bat-signal fell to Sergeant Hainer, who was assigned the job when Gordon decided years earlier that a light in the window would be the best way to contact Batman whenever he was needed. Under Hainer's expert operation, the signal could be seen from all parts of the sprawling city.

Gordon was anxious and paced the roof as he and the sergeant waited for Batman. It was cold and breezy. He thought about fastening his trenchcoat, but didn't. Suddenly, from the shadows, a voice called out to the police commissioner.

"What have you got, Jim?"

I hate it when he does that. Gordon nodded to Sergeant Hainer who turned off the spotlight and left the roof via the rooftop entrance, leaving Gordon alone with the man in the shadows.

When he was sure that it was just the two of them on the rooftop, Gordon approached and the Dark Knight flowed into sight.

"Glad you could make it," Gordon said, "We need to talk." I need to talk to you.

Batman's eyes narrowed, his cape wrapping around his body in the slight breeze. "Go on."

Gordon slowly put his hands in his trouser pockets, fully aware that every movement was being watched intently. He tried to keep his expression flat, but he knew his face would give away that he was unhappy with what he had to say, with what he had to do.

"What do you know about the Secret Star?" Gordon asked, not sure he really wanted the answer.

Batman's voice was low and measured, "I know Parker Jones was a member. I know the paper reported he was sitting at a bus stop with some unidentified woman when he was murdered last night. I know other members of the organization have been killed in the last month. And I know the Secret Star is funded off the books."

Gordon frowned. The fact that Batman knew so much about the organization troubled him more than the fact that he knew who the members were. Maybe he does know something. Maybe he is responsible. No! Get that thought out of your head now.

Gordon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his pipe and tobacco. He slowly went through the actions of putting the tobacco in his pipe, tamping it down and then lighting it. Batman's expression did not change as he watched his friend go through this deliberate process.

Gordon puffed on his pipe twice. "Then you know the Secret Star is about protecting Gotham. It's not about replacing you."

Batman's eyes remained fixed on Gordon. "I never said it was about replacing me. It is, as you implied, an insurance policy for Gotham."

Gordon looked away, sensing that the story of the Secret Star was about to become more hurtful to his old friend than it needed to be. "Look," Gordon said meeting Batman's eyes. "Humor me and let me tell you about the Secret Star in my own way."

Batman remained silent.

That stare. God, I hate it when he stares like that. Gordon walked toward the edge of the roof. Batman kept pace with him, two steps behind.

Gordon looked out over the dark and bustling city of Gotham, keeping his back to Batman. "Five years ago, the Mayor and I realized that you take risks for this city everyday, but one day you might meet a bullet you can't dodge and this city will be lost. You're right; funding has been hidden in the city budget for the last five years to train five handpicked men to pick up your cape, your mantle if you will, should you fall. Now, within the last thirty days three of the five have died from, let's say, unnatural causes."

Gordon took the pipe out of his mouth with his right hand and transferred it to his left. He turned to face Batman, looked him in the eyes as he said, "Care to add anything to this?"

Batman's stare turned icy. "I had nothing to do with their deaths, if that's your question." There was contempt and bitterness in his response as he added, "And I don't know who did."

Gordon exhaled; he didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. He put the pipe back in his right hand.

Batman turned his back to Gordon and said in a low, angry voice, "Jim, I spotted your snipers before I arrived. I take it your puffing on your pipe with your left hand would have been their signal to open fire. I don't appreciate this, Jim. After all I've done for you and this city; I don't appreciate this at all."

Gordon placed his hand on Batman's shoulder, but the masked man moved away. Gordon dropped his hand to his side and said softly, "Look my friend, I couldn't take any chances. There are some who think you're responsible for the killings. I know it won't make you feel any better, but I never really thought you had anything to do with this mess."

He reached in the inside pocket of his trenchcoat and took out a diskette. "Here," he said, offering the disk to Batman. "I need your help to solve this quietly and quickly. This is the file on the Secret Star."

Batman took the disk, placed it in his belt and walked back toward the bat-signal, as the night breeze lifted his cape in the wind. Gordon followed. Batman, looking over his shoulder back toward Gordon, said, "I'll check it out."

As he walked past the bat-signal, Batman turned on the light and pointed it above Gordon's head. When Gordon reached the spotlight, he turned the light off.

But the Batman was gone.

(Early Thursday Morning - 2 AM)

Bruce collapsed wearily in his seat in front of the large computer display in the Batcave. Bright lights in different locations on the massive computer array flashed on and off as it silently communicated with other computer systems in the world.

Supervillains and the common criminals had not hurt Bruce the way Gordon's confirmation of the Secret Star did. For years, Bruce had avenged the death of his parents in the only way he knew how. His parents were taken away from him by the night and he'd sharpened himself mentally and physically to become the master of the darkness; vowing never again would he allow the night to steal from him or anyone else.

But the Secret Star could take the night away from him. This government sanctioned threat to his ability to avenge meant that at some point the small legal tolerance he had been given could be taken from him by city officials who would decide, perhaps by secret ballot, who should be "their" Batman.

Vengeance, he thought. What a word. It could not be spoken with a smile. Vengeance and justice were not the same. Bruce Wayne still needed vengeance. Parker Jones needed justice. Batman would have to find a way to provide both.

"Tea, Master Bruce?" Alfred said, interrupting his thoughts. Alfred moved just as silently in the cave and in the mansion above as Batman did on the streets.

Alfred set the tray containing the tea service on a table next to the computer console. He poured a cup of tea and handed the cup to Bruce.

"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce said as he took the cup. He took a sip of the tea and then set the cup down on the console. He interlaced his fingers and raised his locked hands to his lips.

"There are two of them left, Alfred." Bruce said staring straight ahead. "They even suspect me of killing the other three."

Alfred picked up the tray from the table and tucked it under his arm. "Master Bruce, if I were looking for someone who had something to gain with the destruction of the Secret Star, you would be first on my list." He paused before adding, "Followed by Master Dick."

Bruce turned in his chair and smiled, "I would be on the top of my list, too." Followed by Dick.

He turned his attention back to the files on display on the view screen. He had the names, addresses and photographs of the two surviving members of the Secret Star. One was Steve Malone, an attorney, and the other was Roger Wood, a store manager for a large video rental chain store. Bruce silently studied the files of all five Star members, occasionally taking a sip of his tea as he read.

Alfred cleared his throat, setting the tray down on the console. "If I may venture a thought, Master Bruce. Is it possible that the former District Attorney, Harvey Dent, may have been aware of the Secret Star and have some involvement with this?"

"Two-Face?" Bruce shook his head. "I thought about him at first, but there's nothing in the files to suggest that Harvey even knew of the existence of the Secret Star when he was the D.A. Besides he's been locked up in Arkham for three months and it's not his M.O. If Harvey was going to kill someone, he would want to see the fear in their eyes up close and personal, have them witness the coin toss. Jones was killed with a sniper rifle from a distance - not his style."

Bruce sighed. "Gordon is assuming that the Star has been found out and is being destroyed by somebody outside. Alfred, I'm just not convinced of that." He paused. "Not yet," he added.

He suddenly sat up and turned to older man. "Just suppose the Secret Star isn't being destroyed at all, but someone inside is reorganizing it to fulfill its original purpose."

"The purpose of replacing you?" Alfred asked. "My word! Master Bruce, that would mean that there would be one more murder before the killer focuses his attention on you." Alfred was silent as he picked up the tray again.

Bruce stood up and was quiet for a moment before he said, "No. It makes more sense for me to be the next victim. That way, fingers don't point to the killer directly because there will still be two members left. With me gone the Star will take over and create a Batman. And after I'm gone, it doesn't matter which Star member becomes the new Batman, there will still be one more death regardless. There can only be one Star member left at the end, only one, and that one is the killer or hired the killer."

Removing his cowl, Bruce walked up the stairs into the mansion. Sleep was what he needed now. After he slept, he could put things into perspective, he could think of a plan, he could prepare. He turned back to look at Alfred. "Will you get Dick on the phone for me, please?"

Alfred nodded.

As the older man followed him up the steps, through the clock door, Bruce thought to himself, Tonight, I'll pay the Secret Star members a visit and meet the men who would be Batman.

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Chapter Two - "If we do not maintain Justice, Justice will not maintain us." - Francis Bacon

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(Thursday - 11 AM)

"Dammit, where are they?" Steve Malone yelled. He'd misplaced his keys again and he was going to be late. The keys were somewhere in his house, he knew that.

Didn't I put them on the table after I took that bimbo home? Wait. No. Check the coat I wore last night.

He rushed up stairs and looked for the coat he'd worn last night. His cashmere sports jacket was draped over a chair in his spare bedroom. The bed in that room showed the signs of the mating dance that had occurred there last night. To a watchful eye, it also showed that one of the participants in the dance was less willing than the other. Malone, you gotta stop with the interns, man. Well, she'll probably call in sick today, anyway. Maybe tomorrow, too.

The keys were in the coat pocket as he'd guessed. He looked at his watch, cursed to himself, grabbed the keys and, tossing the jacket on the floor, ran down the steps and out the door. He pulled his BMW out of the driveway and drove to his office in downtown Gotham.

He practiced commercial law and was very successful. Among his clients were some of the biggest names in Gotham. He'd been a Navy veteran and had completed law school on the G.I. Bill. He carried a mortgage on his two storied Tudor home. He'd never been married, but he was tall, blond and blue-eyed with a strong chin and manly features. Just what the ladies want.

He was living the dream, but every now and then the dream turned into a nightmare like it did last night. The intern was a mistake. Bedding the woman last night wasn't the problem, putting himself in a position where he could later be blackmailed was. She wanted it; she just needed a little coaxing in seeing that. Still, it may have gotten a little too rough for her. Might have to fix this.

There was a part of him that regretted what happened with the intern, but it was a very small part. Women like her are a dime a dozen anyway. Yeah, buy her some flowers, thank her for last night, a little extra money in the paycheck and fire her in two weeks. Dammit, thinking about that cow made me forget to put the house alarm on.

Malone thought his life was good except for the inconveniences of dealing with people who didn't want to give him what he deserved.

And he deserved to be Batman.

Malone had been approached about becoming a member of the Secret Star while he still was in law school. He'd completed the training program ahead of the other four candidates, but was told that he would be number three in line for the 'Batman succession,' as they called it.

Number three.

How dare they do that to him? He should have been number one. Why couldn't they see that he was the best? Couldn't they see that he was better than the fraud now wearing the cape?

He'd hoped something would happen to the others and he would rise on the lineal list. Yes, if he waited long enough, if he just had patience, he would be Batman.

So he waited.

For five long years, he'd tried to wait for nature and supervillains to take their toll on the imposter and on the other Star members, but it didn't happen.

"The call" never came. He was frustrated by the waiting and the incompetence of the so-called "supervillains." Why couldn't the Joker or the Riddler or even that fat slob called the Penguin simply put a bullet in Batman's head and take everyone out of their collective misery?

He should be the next Batman.

He would be a great Batman. Surely, everyone could see that, but why were people like Hill and that stupid police commissioner against him? Why were they all conspiring to keep him from his destiny, his rightful place? He'd done nothing to them. He didn't even know them. So, why did they hate him?

Why didn't they send the pretender away and let him do the job he knew he was born to do?

Six months ago, Malone decided he would do what he needed to do to make sure his destiny was fulfilled. He would have to personally eliminate his competition and then eliminate the man currently calling himself Batman.

He'd changed his business office hours so that he would have the nights and early mornings free, telling his clientele that he'd taken up astronomy and that he would sometimes have to travel away from the lights of the city to get a good view of the stars.

Then he started stalking the other four candidates.

People are creatures of habit. They want consistency and structure in their lives and this makes them predictable.

For Malone, finding the other four Star members wasn't hard. While they were all in training, they had exchanged phone numbers and addresses - at his request. He couldn't believe how foolish people could be. They were supposed to be in a secret organization, having no contact with each other after training. Yet, they readily exchanged personal information, wanting to stay in contact, not thinking about where this data could end up or who would use it.

Over the next five years, he'd kept the data updated. He knew that one of the five had gotten married, one managed a video rental store and that another one had moved twice in the last five years.

Studying their movements and daily life patterns had been time consuming, but was done easily enough. He'd kept his notes and observations in a little green book which helped him determine the patterns his prey followed. After all, if he was to be the next Batman, he would have to master observing others without being observed himself.

The Parker Jones murder was his easiest. Jones had been a classic example of a mindless drone who did the same thing everyday without variation: a true creature of habit. Malone knew the police would find the bullet, determine the trajectory and discover it had been fired from a rooftop across the street from the bus stop. He was pleased with himself for the way he'd made his way from rooftop to rooftop without being spotted. He hadn't left any fingerprints or shell casings that might be found by the police. One shot - one kill.

Soon, the police would bring Batman into the case. And when they did, he would eliminate the man who was wearing the costume that was rightfully his.

(Thursday night - 11:30 PM)

"Good night," Roger Wood said as he let his assistant manager out of the store. As he locked the door, he thought to himself that running a store beat the previous job he'd held by a long shot. Earlier in his life, he'd been an auto mechanic before he joined this video rental company as a stocker/ warehouse worker. Now he was the store manager. Just shows what can happen if you persevere.

He operated the largest video rental store in Gotham. The store was in a good location downtown and opened on to one of the busiest streets in the city.

He got to pick the hours he'd worked and he normally came in on Thursday nights three hours before the store closed to help the assistant manager lock up and prepare for his teaching sessions the next day. Every Friday morning, all of the store employees came in early to get customer service training. Wood conducted these Friday morning classes and always pointed to himself as the example of what could happen if one worked hard. The Batman work ethic.

Tonight, Wood was late and arrived thirty minutes before the store closed, having run several errands beforehand. Just a couple of minor details to take care of.

The store had been closed for thirty minutes now. The register had been turned off and the day's receipts had been locked in the company safe ready for the next morning's bank deposit. Wood had sent the assistant manager home for the night. He would leave the store in another few minutes. All he had to do was stack his handouts near the register so he could give them out to the employees first thing in the morning.

Wood walked to the back of the store to turn off the interior lights and set the security alarm. As he started to key in the security code, a voice came from a corner of the back store room.

"Roger Wood, we need to talk."

The Batman stepped into the light, his cape closed around the front of his costume.

"Batman... what the...how did you get in here?"

"I'll ask the questions," Batman snapped back.

He must have come in through the stock room window.

Wood sized up the masked man in front of him. He was shorter than Batman but heavier. I can take him.

"Talk to me about the Secret Star," Batman demanded, his eyes locked in an icy glare on Wood.

Wood was silent for a moment and then planted his feet in a defensive stance. This must be an audition, he thought and he was going to make the most of it. He would out-Batman the Batman.

He frowned and stared at the masked man in front of him.

"There's nothing to tell that you do not already know," Wood said in a voice that cracked as he tried to sound like the man in front of him.

Batman's eyes quickly narrowed. He grabbed Wood by the shirt collar and slammed him into the wall, then skidded him up the cold cinderblocks until Wood's toes just touched the floor. Ohmygod. Who in hell is this guy?

"Wrong answer," Batman growled. "You think this is a game. I - don't - play - games. Talk!"

Wood didn't know how to respond. Not an audition. Oh, crap. He smiled weakly and relaxed his stance, not making eye contact, lowering his head. He hoped Batman read his body language as "not a threat and please let me go now, thank you." But Batman either didn't notice or didn't care as he continued to pin the trembling man against the hard wall. Suddenly being the Batman didn't appeal to Wood anymore.

He'd heard rumors, everyone had heard rumors, about the bodies the police covered up, about the crazies who never made it to Arkham, and it had sounded like fun - duty too, but mostly fun - and now the only sound was the creak of Batman's gauntlets tightening.

Sweat streamed down Wood's brow. "Batman... maybe I misunderstood your question. Let me start again...okay? ...okay? ...I'm part of the Secret Star. In fact, I think I'm the number one candidate to replace you."

Replace? Why the hell did I say replace? Batman's expression had not changed, but Wood knew that was the wrong word to use. He continued rapidly, "I've been part of the organization for five years. I honestly hope I never get the call. Honest to God, I don't want them to call me." Lord, don't let him kill me.

Batman dropped him. Wood fell hard onto his knees, clutched weakly at his shirt collar as the Bat turned away from him. They thought I could replace HIM??? Batman turned back toward Wood, who backed away in terror.

"Your life is in danger," said Batman. "Three of the five members of the Star are dead."

"I know," Wood said weakly. "I read about Jones and the Johnson woman. What do you want me to do?" I got to get my breath back.

Batman prowled to the front of the store before responding. "Remain vigilant. We'll talk again."

"If I find out something, what do you want me to do? How can I contact you?"

Batman put his hand on the front door handle. "I'll contact you."

Wood watched from the floor as the Batman stepped outside, fired a grappling hook somewhere out of sight, and disappeared in the dark night sky. Wood stumbled up from his knees and thrust the door shut, locking it then leaning against it for support while he wiped the rivers of sweat from his palms onto his rumpled pants.

(Thursday night -11:45 PM)

Malone, perched on a rooftop across the street from the video store, had watched Wood enter the store earlier and watched as the Batman came out, fired his grappling hook, and vanished into the night. Dressed all in black and wearing a mask, Malone hid in the shadows. He was concerned about Batman's visit to Roger Wood.

He had planned to take care of Wood tonight. He would attack Wood when he arrived at the store and make it look like a mugging that had gone bad, by stabbing Wood and taking his wallet. Afterward, he'd remove the cash and toss the wallet away.

Can't wait to see the look on his face when he realizes it's me. He'll ask why and I'll just grin at him and tell him 'because I'm the new Batman.' And later, people will say the poor store manager was the victim of a robbery that got out of hand. Happens all the time here in Gotham. Maybe we need a new Batman.

But Wood was late getting to the store and that had thrown Malone off his schedule.

He thought to himself, if he was the Batman, what would he do? Then he smiled secretively. He was the Batman and he should expect a home visit from the imposter currently wearing the costume.

He would be ready. He would shoot the imposter and claim he was defending his property from someone who broke into his home. After all, he had no reason to expect Batman to call on him, did he? Did I turn the home security system on? Need to turn it off. Want to say he surprised me in my home and I killed him in self-defense.

Malone moved away from the edge of the roof and made his way across the rooftops, eventually getting down in an alleyway off of a side street where he'd parked his BMW.

As he got in the car, he had second thoughts about killing the imposter at his house. No, it shouldn't be at his house - a death in the suburbs would come back too quickly on him, keep too much attention focused on him for too long. People would start asking questions, embarrassing questions of the man who killed Batman in his home. No, not in the house. The intern might feel like talking. Take care of her permanently after I take care of the phony. He would kill the faker in the city and make it look like an accident, like the other two.

As Steve Malone put the key in the ignition and started his car, a look of horror came across his face as he realized an instant too late that someone had moved his seat.

The normal sounds and sights of Gotham City were suddenly and rudely disturbed by the roaring sound of a large explosion and the sight of an orange fireball of heat and black smoke rising out of an alleyway. Just as suddenly, the city seemed to return to normal save the orange flames licking the night sky and the eerie glow of red hot metal and the putrid smell of burning flesh coming from what was once a very expensive sports car.

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Chapter Three - "Justice denied anywhere diminishes justice everywhere." - Martin Luther King, Jr.

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(Early Friday morning -12:30 AM)

Tiny shafts of moonlight peeking through the cloudy sky lit the Tudor home of Steve Malone. Bruce had parked the Batmobile on a side road next to the property and made his way, carefully and quietly, to the darkened house on foot, staying in the trees that lined the cul-de-sac. He approached the house from the side.

From the trees, he quickly surveyed the unlit house. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something wasn't right. Then, it dawned on him. Outside lights. Other homes on the block had their outside lights on, this house didn't. This house was completely dark, too dark.

He fired his grappling hook toward the roof of the house and it wrapped around the chimney, securing itself. He pulled himself up to the second story and carefully opened a window and he climbed inside.

Damn.

Once inside, he saw that the window he'd opened had been wired to a home security system. A silent alarm. Moments later the telephone rang.

Probably the security company. If no one answers the phone and gives the right code words, they'll send the police. I have maybe five or ten minutes from the last ring.

He took out his flashlight, quickly scanned the room and determined he was in a bedroom. The bed was unmade; a man's sport coat was on it. He went to the door, opened it slightly and listened for any other sounds in the house. The only sound was the ringing telephone.

No one is here.

Then there was silence. The phone had stopped ringing. He closed the bedroom window.

Five minutes. Ten minutes max.

He moved cautiously but deliberately down the hallway to the master bedroom. The bedroom door was open and Batman entered warily. There was a large king size bed centered against the back wall of the room. The bed had not been made.

There were two dresser drawers and a free standing closet in the room. Batman quickly but methodically searched through drawers, finding nothing that caught his attention. He opened the closet, again seeing nothing that seemed out of place.

He opened the night table drawer and saw a small green notebook, lying on top of the other papers. He shook his head as he picked up the book and examined it. The book was a diary of Malone's movements for the last six months. It detailed the activities and personal information of the Secret Star members. It had the name of the woman who sat next to Parker Jones on Tuesdays. At the back of the book, there were four pages of what looked to be random words. Gibberish, or code.

He glanced at the unmade bed. A portion of the top sheet looked like it had been shoved between the mattress and the foundation box spring. He lifted the mattress and saw a rifle, a military sniper rifle. Batman didn't touch it, but instead lowered the mattress back on top of the weapon. He took the small green book and placed it inside his cape.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flashing red and blue lights of a police car dance across the far wall. He cautiously glanced out the window and saw two police officers get out of a patrol car and approach the house. He hurried back to other bedroom, opened the window and made sure the ground below was clear.

He climbed down the side of the building, retrieved his grappling hook, and was gone before the first officer reached Malone's front door.

(Friday, 8:45 AM)

"Morning, Betty. Get the Mayor on the line, please."

Betty answered with "Good morning, boss" as Commissioner Gordon walked past her and into his inner office. "Well, you certainly seem to be in a better mood," he heard her say as he closed his office door.

As the door latched shut, Gordon came up abruptly. Seated in the chair behind his desk was Batman. Gordon gave a wry smile and tossed his briefcase and coat on to the sofa against the side wall. I have got to stop leaving the window unlocked.

Batman stood and moved next to the window, allowing Gordon to sit in his own chair. Gordon loosened his tie, tapped the switch on his intercom and said, "Betty, never mind calling the Mayor." He pulled out his pipe and started to fill it when he noticed Batman's glare. He laughed and put his pipe down on the desk. Did Batman just smile?

"I take it you found the rifle that killed Parker Jones at Malone's house last night," Batman said.

"We found a rifle last night...this morning, but we don't have the ballistics back yet." Gordon stood up. "Wait a minute," he snapped. "How do you know about the rifle?"

"I think you'll find that Jones was killed with that rifle. Have you picked up Malone yet?"

Gordon eyed Batman suspiciously, "We've been picking up pieces of him all morning. Mister Malone and his car blew up last night. Looks like a bomb in the ignition. Funny thing, we got two calls from a security company last night saying one of their customers had a silent alarm go off in their home. Turns out the customer was Malone."

Gordon looked for a change of expression in Batman's face. There was none. He continued, "The first alarm went off about two hours before the second one. The company called the house after the first alarm and someone answered and gave the right code words and then reset the alarm. No one answered when the alarm was set off the second time."

"You don't say," Batman said flatly. He reached into his cape and pulled out a small green notebook. "Here. Take this."

He placed the notebook on Gordon's desk.

"Don't touch it without gloves," Batman cautioned.

Gordon opened the center drawer of his desk and took out a mechanical pencil. Making sure the pencil lead was fully retracted; he used the point of the pencil to lift some of the pages so he could verify that the pages contained writing. He looked angrily at Batman. "Where did you get this?"

"Same place you found the rifle," Batman answered.

Gordon raised his voice. "This is evidence. You know that. You have removed evidence from a potential crime scene." Again.

Batman's voice was low and calm, "I told you I would look into the Secret Star and I did. You don't need this book to make the case that Malone killed Parker Jones. The ballistics should do that for you and I suspect you'll find Malone's fingerprints on the weapon. But I wouldn't look on the outside of the rifle for his prints. You almost certainly won't find them there. Check the receiver group and barrel of the rifle. He would have touched it in those places when cleaning it."

"My people know how to do their jobs," Gordon replied.

Batman looked out the window as he said, "You need this book to prove Roger Wood killed Malone."

Gordon's jaw dropped as Batman gave him a 'Gotcha' look. What the hell?

Batman continued, "This book shows that Wood and Malone knew each other. If you're lucky you might even find Wood's fingerprints on the book. Wood knew the name of the woman who sat with Jones the night he was killed."

"How do you know that?" Gordon asked. Why am I asking when I know what he's going to say?

Batman shook his head. "I asked and he volunteered the information. Her name wasn't released to the public, so he could have only known that if he read it in this book or Malone told him.

"The last four pages of the book were written in a simple code, a code designed to be cracked easily. My guess is Wood didn't know about the code, and planted the book and the rifle where it would be easily found by the police, thinking that all the evidence would point to Malone as the only killer. What Wood didn't know was that Malone had written in code that he knew Wood and how they'd planned the murders together. It was Malone's insurance policy just in case Wood double crossed him. Wood was an auto mechanic before he went into retail sales. He would have had little difficulty in wiring a bomb to the ignition of Malone's car."

Batman opened the window behind Gordon's desk and stepped out on the ledge.

"Malone was proud of how he stalked the members of the Star, but he didn't know that Wood was stalking him. How you make your case about Wood killing Malone is your business," he said looking back at Gordon. "But I would pick him up pretty quickly if I were you."

Batman fired a grappling hook in the direction of a building across the street. He looked back at Gordon. "Jim, Gotham will always need a protector. You need to trust that I will make sure it always has one."

With that, Batman launched himself across the street and disappeared into the skyline of the city.

Gordon closed the window after Batman left. He looked out on the city below for a moment, before he finally sat down in his chair. He sighed loudly. Shaking his head, he flipped the intercom switch.

"Betty, get me the Mayor on the phone and tell detectives Bullock and Montoya I want to see them in ten minutes. We've got an arrest to make."

(The Batcave)

He'd taken off the cape and cowl and sat slumped in front of his computer console. His hands were in his lap. His head was lowered.

"Are you feeling all right, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked. He'd set the tea service down on the computer console and poured a cup of tea, offering it to Bruce.

Bruce shook his head and indicated with his hand that Alfred should set the cup down. Alfred did so.

Bruce smiled to himself. He had not heard Alfred come in, had not heard the clock door open. He'd shut the world out until Alfred disturbed him, not that Alfred ever really disturbed him. But then again, he would have always shut the world out if it wasn't for Alfred.

Bruce closed his eyes again. "I'm okay. Just thinking."

He opened his eyes and looked up at the older man. "Why would anyone want to be Batman so badly that they would kill, when Batman tries to avoid killing?"

There was silence for a moment before Alfred said, "Don't forget, Master Bruce, that there were three who did not kill and for those three, Batman gave them justice."

Bruce stood and smiled at Alfred. He took a quick sip of the tea Alfred had poured, put the cup down, turned and headed up the stairs. "You're right, Alfred."

As he reached the clock door, he sighed. "As you always are. You're absolutely right."

END