The Dark Knight Legend Read online

  They filled duffel bags with the mob’s money and carried them into the bank’s lobby.

  At that moment, the back of a yellow school bus rammed through the front window. A final clown loaded all the money bags and climbed into the bus.

  Police sirens screamed in the distance, but the last clown remained calm. The man whipped off his clown mask. He was the Joker, Gotham’s reigning criminal mastermind.

  Lieutenant Gordon stood next to the Bat-Signal. A young detective named Ramirez stepped onto the roof, carrying a cup of coffee. She handed the cup to Gordon.

  Gordon gave a half smile. Some people in Gotham were afraid of Batman, scared because he was taking the law into his own hands. The police had standing orders to arrest him on sight. But that was one command Gordon was determined to ignore. He had come to rely on the mysterious Caped Crusader to help the police frighten criminals and keep the city safe.

  Everyone at the Major Crimes Unit knew the Bat-Signal was Gordon’s way to call Batman when he needed him. No one talked about it, but it was common knowledge that Gordon had developed an odd sort of friendship with Batman. Out of respect for Lieutenant Gordon, no one on his team of officers was really trying to discover Batman’s true identity.

  “Hasn’t shown up?” Ramirez asked, looking at the bat in the sky.

  Gordon downed the last of his coffee. “Often doesn’t.” He crumpled up his cup. “But I like reminding everybody that he’s out there.”

  “Why wouldn’t he come?” Detective Ramirez wondered aloud.

  “Hopefully,” Gordon replied as he flipped the off switch, plunging the sky into complete darkness, “because he’s busy.”

  Meanwhile, two black SUVs and an unmarked white van pulled onto the top floor of a parking garage. A large man climbed out of one of the SUVs. He was a Russian mobster known simply as the Chechen.

  The Chechen’s bodyguard looked around the parking garage nervously. “What if he shows up?” the man asked his boss.

  “That’s why we bring dogs,” the Chechen replied, speaking to his guard in Russian. “My dogs will take care of the Batman.”

  The bodyguard opened the back door of the second SUV. Three enormous rottweilers leaped out onto the pavement, growling ferociously.

  While the rest of his men waited in the SUVs, the Chechen slowly walked over to the white van, where the Scarecrow was waiting for him. They had just begun to talk about how Batman was hurting the mob’s business when suddenly the Chechen’s dogs started barking.

  “He’s here,” the bodyguard said uneasily, searching the darkness for any sign of Batman.

  “We’re all here,” a man’s voice called out into the night. Five men in Batman costumes emerged from the shadows.

  The Chechen’s goons were fast and strong. It only took them a few seconds to capture all five Batman impersonators.

  The Scarecrow walked over to the prisoners. Their costumes had been created from black masks and hockey pads. “None of these are the real thing,” he reported.

  Just then, the Batmobile slammed down onto a row of parked cars.

  Wham!

  “That’s more like it,” the Scarecrow said with a nod. “This one’s the real deal.”

  Boom!

  The Batmobile’s cannons roared into action, surrounding the Chechen’s men with blasts of fire. In the chaos, the real Batman dropped onto the top of the Chechen’s van from his grapnel hook.

  Batman fought swiftly. It wasn’t long before the Chechen called back his dogs and fled. The Scarecrow, too, ran off and disappeared.

  Batman freed the imposters and told them to leave. He wished they would stop trying to help him. He didn’t have the time to continually rescue weak imitators.

  THIRTEEN

  Lieutenant Gordon surveyed the damage at Gotham First National Bank. Officers from MCU were interviewing witnesses, trying to reconstruct what had happened.

  Detective Ramirez approached Gordon as he considered the scene.

  “He can’t resist showing his face,” she told her boss, handing him a series of grainy photographs taken by the bank’s security cameras.

  Gordon flipped through the images. Even without the rubber mask, the thief still had the appearance of a circus clown—white pancake makeup, stringy green hair, and a ruby-red smile painted over scarred cheeks.

  Gordon paused as Batman shifted in the shadows. Without a word, Gordon handed over the photographs. Batman recognized the villain from other photos that had been taken at smaller heists.

  “Him again.” Batman handed the pictures back to Gordon, not too concerned.

  He wanted Gordon to send cops out into the other banks to confiscate the mob’s money, then make arrests. Taking down the mob was part of Batman’s grand plan to return Gotham to her glory as a safe city.

  Gordon also wanted the mob brought to its knees, but he had another pressing concern. “What about this Joker guy?” he asked.

  “One man or the entire mob?” Batman asked. “He can wait.”

  With a nod, Gordon began to talk out his plan of action. He wanted to organize a simultaneous bust on all of the mob banks. “We’ll have to hit all banks simultaneously. SWAT teams. Backup. When the new DA gets wind of this, he’ll want in.”

  Harvey Dent was the newly elected district attorney. He’d come from Internal Affairs, where he’d spent his days ferreting out corrupt cops, but that was all Batman knew about the man. “Do you trust him?” Batman asked Gordon.

  “It would be hard to keep him out,” Gordon replied. “He’s as stubborn as you.”

  With a smile, Lieutenant Gordon looked up, but the place where Batman had been standing was now empty.

  “It’ll be nice when Wayne Manor’s rebuilt and you can swap not sleeping in a penthouse for not sleeping in a mansion,” Alfred remarked as he stepped into the artificial light of the Bat-Bunker.

  Since the fire, Bruce had lived in a luxury penthouse and had a secret lair within city limits. In the center of the low-ceilinged chamber was the Batmobile. Behind the car, Bruce had set up machines that completely covered one wall: 3-D printers, TV screens, and computers.

  Images flickered across two of the screens: closed-circuit TV news footage of the bank robbery at Gotham National on one and a live interview with Harvey Dent on another.

  Bruce Wayne was sitting between the screens, his eyes periodically shifting from one to the other.

  “Things are improving. Look at the new district attorney,” Alfred commented, following Bruce’s gaze as it settled on Dent.

  “I am,” Bruce replied. “Closely. I need to know if he can be trusted.”

  With the press of a button on a nearby control panel, more images appeared on other screens. Bruce had clearly been following the man for some time. There were videos of the district attorney at a meeting. Campaigning. Helping a woman out of a cab. There was no mistaking the young woman in the scene; Harvey Dent was escorting Rachel Dawes about town.

  As Rachel and Dent disappeared into a restaurant, Alfred gave Bruce a questioning look. “Are you interested in his character . . . or his social circle?”

  “Who Rachel spends her time with is her business,” Bruce said.

  Alfred handed Bruce a cup of coffee. “Know your limits, Master Wayne,” he warned.

  Bruce stared into the steaming brew. “Batman has no limits.”

  “Ah, but you do, sir,” Alfred replied.

  “I can’t afford to know them,” Bruce said.

  There was a touch of concern in Alfred’s voice as he asked, “What happens the day you find out?”

  Bruce turned fully away from his screens and monitors to look at Alfred. “We all know how much you like to say ‘I told you so.’”

  “That day, Master Wayne, even I won’t want to.” Alfred headed back to the elevator, muttering under his breath as he pressed the button to take him back up.

  FOURTEEN


  With Carmine Falcone gone, Sal Maroni was now Gotham’s mob boss. Harvey Dent had called one of Maroni’s goons into court to testify against him. When Rachel asked her new boss if she could question the witness on the stand, Dent pulled a large silver dollar out of his pocket.

  “You’re flipping coins to see who leads?” Rachel asked.

  Dent smiled fondly at her. “It’s my father’s lucky coin. As I recall, it got me my first date with you.”

  He flipped his coin into the air. Heads, he’d take on the witness. Tails, Rachel would ask the questions.

  The coin spun. Rachel didn’t see anything funny about using a coin to make an important decision. “I’m serious, Harvey,” she told him. “You don’t leave things like this to chance.”

  He caught the dollar and pressed it into the back of his left hand. Heads.

  “I don’t. I make my own luck.” Dent tucked his coin back into his pocket and stepped up to the stand.

  A bullet whizzed right by the DA’s ear. Harvey Dent bravely stepped forward and snagged the witness’s gun in a single, quick, smooth move.

  The police removed the criminal. Dent was not fazed.

  “Why don’t we take the rest of the day off?” Rachel asked.

  “Can’t,” Dent replied, stalling her hands by placing his own over them. “I dragged the head of the Major Crimes Unit down here.”

  “Jim Gordon?” Rachel asked. “He’s a friend,” she told Harvey. She added, “Try to be nice.” Rachel knew the relationship between Lieutenant Gordon and Dent was strained. Before he became her boss, Dent worked to bring down dirty cops. His job didn’t make him many friends on the police force.

  Dent knew Gordon was getting help with these mob busts. “I want to meet him,” Dent told Gordon.

  Gordon looked blankly at the DA as if he didn’t know who Dent was talking about.

  “Save it, Gordon.” Dent knew who’d been working with him. “When can I meet him?”

  Gordon snidely remarked, “Official policy is to arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight.” It was, after all, Harvey Dent’s own rule.

  Dent battled back, verbally attacking Gordon’s leadership of the Major Crimes Unit. “I don’t like that you’ve got your own ‘special’ unit, and I don’t like that it’s full of cops I investigated at Internal Affairs.”

  Deep down, Gordon knew that Dent was probably right. There might be a couple of bad cops in his ranks, but there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it. “If I didn’t work with cops you’d investigated while you were making your name at Internal Affairs,” Gordon told Dent, “I’d be working alone. I have to do the best I can with what I have.”

  Gordon moved on to the business at hand. “I need those search warrants for my ongoing investigation.”

  “You want me to back warrants for five banks without telling me who we are after?”

  “In this town, the fewer people who know about something, the safer the operation,” Gordon explained. “I can give you the names of the banks.”

  “Well, that’s a start.” Dent pulled some papers from a drawer. “I’ll get you your warrants. But I want your trust.” He looked hard at Gordon.

  Lieutenant Gordon headed to the door. “You don’t have to sell me, Dent. We all know you’re Gotham’s white knight.”

  Dent grinned. “I hear they have a different nickname for me down at MCU.”

  Not a very nice one, Gordon thought to himself. But to Dent he simply smiled.

  FIFTEEN

  It had been a long day. Lucius Fox, now CEO of Wayne Enterprises, led a meeting with Chairman Lau, a businessman from China and head of LSI Holdings. When Lau left the room, though, Bruce immediately instructed Fox to investigate him and his business.

  Changing subjects, Bruce told Fox, “I need a new suit.”

  Looking him over, Fox commented, “Three buttons is a little nineties.”

  Bruce straightened his tie. “I’m not talking about fashion, Mr. Fox, so much as function.” He pulled out some sketches.

  Fox looked at the drawings. “You want to be able to turn your head?” he asked.

  “Sure would make backing out of the driveway easier.” Bruce smiled.

  Fox put the pages in his pocket. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Do you think this suit is outdated?” Bruce Wayne asked his companion as he held the restaurant’s door open for her. He was wearing the same suit from the meeting with Lau earlier in the day.

  She glanced at him and shrugged. She didn’t know much about fashion. She also didn’t know that good food wasn’t the only reason they’d come to this particular restaurant tonight. Bruce knew that Rachel was there with Harvey Dent. Pretending like it was an accidental encounter, he approached the table where Rachel and Dent were reviewing their menus.

  “Rachel.” Bruce leaned over to kiss her briefly on the cheek. “Fancy that.”

  Bruce introduced his companion, forcing Rachel to introduce her date as well. This was the reason he’d come, Bruce reminded himself. He needed to meet Dent.

  “The infamous Bruce Wayne.” Dent rose to shake hands. “Rachel’s told me everything about you.”

  Bruce couldn’t help responding with a smile. “I certainly hope not.”

  Harvey and Bruce talked about Dent’s personal mission to clean up Gotham City. Bruce was impressed by the man’s passion.

  “I guess you either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain,” Dent told Bruce. “Look, whoever this Batman is, he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life doing this. How could he? Batman’s looking for someone else to take up his mantle.”

  Bruce’s date jumped into the conversation. “Someone like you, maybe, Mr. Dent?”

  Dent leaned back in his chair. “Maybe,” he replied. “If I’m up to it.”

  Bruce liked Dent’s response. He had begun to consider the possibility that Batman could pass the job of cleaning up Gotham to someone else. If Harvey Dent was going to take on that role, Bruce knew he’d need to secure the man’s position as DA.

  New elections weren’t for another three years, but he could get Harvey the money he’d need to win that election and any others he might have in his future. Bruce offered to have a party for Harvey, a fundraiser. “After an evening with my friends,” Bruce explained, “you’ll never need another.”

  It was an invitation Harvey Dent could not refuse.

  Across town, some of Gotham’s biggest criminals were meeting in a secret conference room. The Chechen, Sal Maroni, and a muscular gangster named Gambol were sitting around a table. On a video monitor was Chairman Lau. He was addressing the group live from a secret location.

  “As you are all aware,” Lau told the gangsters, “one of our deposits was stolen. A relatively small amount—sixty-eight million dollars.”

  “Who took it?” the Chechen demanded.

  Sal Maroni knew the answer. “The Joker is a two-bit whack job, wears a cheap purple suit and makeup. He’s not the problem. He’s a nobody.”

  Lau agreed. “We need to move the money somewhere safe. I believe Hong Kong is our best option.”

  The gangsters protested. No one wanted the mob’s money to leave Gotham. It was their money. The men began to argue, unable to decide what to do next, when a roar of laughter filled the room.

  The Joker stepped from a dark corner. “Moving your money to Hong Kong won’t stop Batman. He has no jurisdiction.” The Joker said that there was only one way to protect the mob’s money. “Kill the Batman.”

  “If it’s so easy, why haven’t you done it already?” Sal Maroni asked. The mobsters in the room began to snicker.

  The Joker told the men he would happily do it for them. Only he wanted to be paid for the job. He’d already stolen some of their money. He wanted more.

  They refused.

  “Let me know when you change your mind,”
the Joker said, before strolling casually out of the room.

  When he was gone, Maroni turned to the screen with Lau. “How soon can you move the money?”

  Lau smiled. “I already have.” The camera pulled out to reveal that Lau was sitting on an airplane. With the rumble of an engine, the plane lifted off.

  The Bat-Signal illuminated the evening sky. Batman landed softly on the roof of the MCU. He expected to find Lieutenant Gordon there. He wanted to hear what the police knew about Chairman Lau. But the man who faced Batman was not Gordon; instead it was Harvey Dent.

  “You’re a hard man to reach,” Dent said as he stepped fully into the light of the Bat-Signal.

  The rooftop door suddenly swung open with a resounding crash. Gordon burst onto the roof. He was not happy to discover that Dent had used the Bat-Signal.

  “Lau’s halfway to Hong Kong,” Dent told Gordon. “If you’d only asked, I could have taken his passport. I told you to keep me in the loop.”

  Gordon responded, “Yeah? Last time your office got involved, we had trouble. There’s a leak. . . .”

  Dent was offended. “My office? You’re sitting down there with scum like Detectives Wuertz and Ramirez . . .”

  His voice trailed off as Batman stepped closer to the two men. Now was not the time to argue about whether Gordon had a couple of crooked cops on his team.

  Dent told Batman, “We need Lau back.”

  Batman considered the situation. “If I get him to you, can you get him to talk?”

  Dent nodded confidently. “I’ll get him to sing.”

  Gordon piped in. “If we’re going after the mob’s life savings, things will get ugly.” It was a subtle warning to Dent that he was in danger.

  “I knew the risks when I took this job, Lieutenant,” Dent said firmly. “Same as you.” Then, looking back toward Batman, Dent asked, “How will you get him back, anyway?” But Batman had already disappeared.