Back in Gotham.
Part the fourth, in which while Mr Giles is at the shops Miss Lehane makes decisions behind his back, and there is much Exposition.
"This is good. I mean, really good. You really made this?"
"Yes, miss."
"Enough with the 'miss' bullsh... stuff. Call me Faith. You cook for him a lot?"
"Breakfast, on the rare occasions that he's up early enough. Other meals Master Bruce normally dines out."
"Master Bruce is sitting right here."
"And you eat like this every day? Seriously, dude, how are you not fat? I mean, I've seen you naked and your ass is... well, if I'd had a quarter on me, there'd have been bouncing."
Bruce looked up at Alfred, who smiled innocently. Faith leaned back in her seat, belched quietly, and instantly adopted a 'so what are you gonna do about it?' expression.
"Okay, make your pitch."
"His pitch, Miss Faith?"
"How old are you, Faith?"
"It ain't the years, big guy, it's the mileage."
"Twenty? Twenty-one?"
"And one more. Quit with the flattery."
"I felt I owed you a compliment."
"Is there a point to all this?"
"How long have you been doing what you do?"
"Since I was fifteen. And I know there's only been a bat in Gotham for, what, a year and a half tops?"
"How much training did you have?"
"The moves don't matter. Look, you're working up to what makes me any better than you at killing vamps. What it comes down to is this."
Faith stood up, took a single long stride to Bruce's couch, stuck her hand under one end of it, and lifted. Effortlessly.
Alfred had just begun to clear the brunch plates. He put them down on the table, very carefully, straightened up, and exhaled slowly.
"That's impossible," he said.
"No," said Bruce, clinging to the couch. "But it's very unusual. Could you put me down now, please?"
***
It was ten minutes later. Alfred was staring at the screen of Bruce's laptop.
"I thought this was a hoax," he said.
"I wasn't sure," Bruce replied. "But it was worth looking into, just in case."
"Two thousand girls spontaneously gain the ability to bench more than Schwarzenegger, and you think it's a hoax?" Faith scowled. "What, you thought the entire world was in on the joke except you?"
"I thought," Alfred replied, "that the odds of people believing something increases dramatically when they're told it might be real. After the first news report of a girl showing unusual abilities, people would start looking for them in their own children. And they would start seeing what wasn't there, and exaggerating what they did see."
"That was less than two years ago," said Bruce. "What did you do before that?"
"The same thing, only it was a little harder."
"How strong are you?"
"Pretty strong."
"Stronger than a vampire?"
"Most of them."
"You have other abilities, other enhancements. I saw you fight. It wasn't just power."
"I'm fast, and I'm tough, and I heal real fast. It's a pretty wicked package, when you get right down to it."
"And you killed all five of the vampires we met last night?"
"What can I say? I'm just that good."
"No questions, nothing resembling a trial?"
"Good thing about this job is it's pretty easy to spot the bad guys. They're the ones chowing down on Batman. You'd rather I waited until they were done, then asked them to talk ethics?"
***
"Stake through the heart?"
"Yes. Needs to be wood, obviously."
"Sunlight?"
"Sets them on fire. They burn real easy, too."
"Crosses?"
"Hurt to look at, hurt to touch. Most of 'em will steer clear, but the really dangerous ones will just walk over and knock it out of your hand."
"Does it have to be blessed or sanctified in some way?"
"I have no idea. You can't just strap a couple of bits of wood together and wave it at them - it needs to be an official crucifix. But I don't know how it gets to be official."
"Holy water?"
"Like acid. Not much use in a fight, but I did hear a vamp got killed once by being tricked into drinking the stuff."
"Mirrors?"
"No reflection. Oh yeah, and they can't go into a private home unless they're invited."
"That one's true?"
"Unless they kill the owner. Then they can just waltz right in."
Alfred said: "How about decapitation?"
"Not much out there that won't kill. You want to know the best thing about fighting vampires? When they die, they turn to dust. No fuss, no mess."
"Do they feel pain?"
"Yes. Probably not as much as we do, and they heal real fast, but if you kick a vamp in the balls, he'll go down."
"And you'll teach me how to fight?"
"I can give you some tips. I can't promise you'll last five seconds in the field."
"If I might be so bold, miss - why?"
"Because he's going to go out there anyway. I've had people die because I couldn't be bothered. I'll do what I can, while I'm here."
"And how long will that be?"
"It's complicated. Gotham isn't exactly vamp party central. This town scares them."
"I'm not sure if I should be flattered."
"Not you. This whole place. But the guys we're here for... these guys are scary, too."
***
It started with a racketeer named Abraham Cale, a World War II veteran who started his criminal career as a hijacker and occasional numbers runner. By the early 1950s he was running illegal lotteries across New Jersey. Then he vanished. At first he was assumed to have been the victim of a mob hit, but when he reappeared it became clear that his disappearance had a darker root.
Cale treated vampirism in much the same way as he treated crime - it wasn't about what you have now, it was what you might have tomorrow. He built himself a gang and by the 1960s had managed to dominate drug distribution and prostitution across the East Coast. Everyone paid tribute to Cale and, in return, he occasionally rewarded his most loyal lieutenants with a transformation to what he described as a higher state.
There was a problem, though. While smart for a vampire, Cale wasn't particularly clever for a human, and he ran his empire through terror, rather than anything resembling a coherent business structure. After he died his empire quite simply fell apart.
***
"What happened to him?"
"He came to Gotham." Faith smiled.
***
It was 1982 when Cale went to Gotham, and the city was just completing its brutal slide into economic depression. Families were starving, the streets were thronged with unemployed, and criminals divided themselves into the desperate and the cunning.
The average vampire, like the average criminal, relies on brute force and intimidation to shape the world to his will. But there is a significant difference: criminals and cops face one another on a fundamentally level pitch, so they need to use their brains to survive. Most vampires have never had to learn to think.
***
"From what Giles said, it was really nasty. The local gangs took him apart piece by piece, and sent videotape of what they were doing to his minions. Every day, for three months. After that, Gotham had a rep. If you went to New York the Mafia might cut your head off. Over in New Jersey, the local cops would throw you in a cell with a nice big window, then write you up as escaped. But in Gotham? Well, there's a rumour what's left of Cale's still alive, in a box, in some foundations somewhere."
***
The problem was that Cale had set a precedent. After him, every vampire out there wanted to be Vito Corleone. Scores of them came to Gotham looking to fill the vacuum Cale had left. Most of them never came back out.
***
"So what's changed?"
"That's a story and a half, and I didn't exactly hang on the details. But basically a couple of months ago a girl was killed. She... did the same job I did, and Giles and me were supposed to be helping her. We turned up too late. So we shook down the local underworld and killed anything we found with fangs, but first of all we made sure to get some answers. These guys didn't exactly paint a pretty picture.
"Basically, the guys we're after are from Russia, or Eastern Europe. Something like that. It's the old classic 'Russian Mafia scares out local goons' thing, only with vampires. And the rumour was Gemma - that's our girl - was killed on orders out of Gotham. We asked who a whole lot, but nobody knew his name."
"They didn't know who gave the orders?"
"The guys we found, they didn't kill Gemma. From the sound of it this guy made the trip down from Gotham personally, just to kill him a Slayer. Nobody saw him up close, nobody spoke to him. All they had was how his goons referred to him."
Bruce waited. Faith hesitated a moment, whether from nerves or a desire to grandstand he couldn't tell.
"They called him the Monk."
So... yeah. This thing now officially has a plot. And a basis in comics canon. Now all it needs is a title, which is by far my greatest weakness - "Vampires vs Bats" probably won't do.
Oh, and thanks for reading.
"This is good. I mean, really good. You really made this?"
"Yes, miss."
"Enough with the 'miss' bullsh... stuff. Call me Faith. You cook for him a lot?"
"Breakfast, on the rare occasions that he's up early enough. Other meals Master Bruce normally dines out."
"Master Bruce is sitting right here."
"And you eat like this every day? Seriously, dude, how are you not fat? I mean, I've seen you naked and your ass is... well, if I'd had a quarter on me, there'd have been bouncing."
Bruce looked up at Alfred, who smiled innocently. Faith leaned back in her seat, belched quietly, and instantly adopted a 'so what are you gonna do about it?' expression.
"Okay, make your pitch."
"His pitch, Miss Faith?"
"How old are you, Faith?"
"It ain't the years, big guy, it's the mileage."
"Twenty? Twenty-one?"
"And one more. Quit with the flattery."
"I felt I owed you a compliment."
"Is there a point to all this?"
"How long have you been doing what you do?"
"Since I was fifteen. And I know there's only been a bat in Gotham for, what, a year and a half tops?"
"How much training did you have?"
"The moves don't matter. Look, you're working up to what makes me any better than you at killing vamps. What it comes down to is this."
Faith stood up, took a single long stride to Bruce's couch, stuck her hand under one end of it, and lifted. Effortlessly.
Alfred had just begun to clear the brunch plates. He put them down on the table, very carefully, straightened up, and exhaled slowly.
"That's impossible," he said.
"No," said Bruce, clinging to the couch. "But it's very unusual. Could you put me down now, please?"
***
It was ten minutes later. Alfred was staring at the screen of Bruce's laptop.
"I thought this was a hoax," he said.
"I wasn't sure," Bruce replied. "But it was worth looking into, just in case."
"Two thousand girls spontaneously gain the ability to bench more than Schwarzenegger, and you think it's a hoax?" Faith scowled. "What, you thought the entire world was in on the joke except you?"
"I thought," Alfred replied, "that the odds of people believing something increases dramatically when they're told it might be real. After the first news report of a girl showing unusual abilities, people would start looking for them in their own children. And they would start seeing what wasn't there, and exaggerating what they did see."
"That was less than two years ago," said Bruce. "What did you do before that?"
"The same thing, only it was a little harder."
"How strong are you?"
"Pretty strong."
"Stronger than a vampire?"
"Most of them."
"You have other abilities, other enhancements. I saw you fight. It wasn't just power."
"I'm fast, and I'm tough, and I heal real fast. It's a pretty wicked package, when you get right down to it."
"And you killed all five of the vampires we met last night?"
"What can I say? I'm just that good."
"No questions, nothing resembling a trial?"
"Good thing about this job is it's pretty easy to spot the bad guys. They're the ones chowing down on Batman. You'd rather I waited until they were done, then asked them to talk ethics?"
***
"Stake through the heart?"
"Yes. Needs to be wood, obviously."
"Sunlight?"
"Sets them on fire. They burn real easy, too."
"Crosses?"
"Hurt to look at, hurt to touch. Most of 'em will steer clear, but the really dangerous ones will just walk over and knock it out of your hand."
"Does it have to be blessed or sanctified in some way?"
"I have no idea. You can't just strap a couple of bits of wood together and wave it at them - it needs to be an official crucifix. But I don't know how it gets to be official."
"Holy water?"
"Like acid. Not much use in a fight, but I did hear a vamp got killed once by being tricked into drinking the stuff."
"Mirrors?"
"No reflection. Oh yeah, and they can't go into a private home unless they're invited."
"That one's true?"
"Unless they kill the owner. Then they can just waltz right in."
Alfred said: "How about decapitation?"
"Not much out there that won't kill. You want to know the best thing about fighting vampires? When they die, they turn to dust. No fuss, no mess."
"Do they feel pain?"
"Yes. Probably not as much as we do, and they heal real fast, but if you kick a vamp in the balls, he'll go down."
"And you'll teach me how to fight?"
"I can give you some tips. I can't promise you'll last five seconds in the field."
"If I might be so bold, miss - why?"
"Because he's going to go out there anyway. I've had people die because I couldn't be bothered. I'll do what I can, while I'm here."
"And how long will that be?"
"It's complicated. Gotham isn't exactly vamp party central. This town scares them."
"I'm not sure if I should be flattered."
"Not you. This whole place. But the guys we're here for... these guys are scary, too."
***
It started with a racketeer named Abraham Cale, a World War II veteran who started his criminal career as a hijacker and occasional numbers runner. By the early 1950s he was running illegal lotteries across New Jersey. Then he vanished. At first he was assumed to have been the victim of a mob hit, but when he reappeared it became clear that his disappearance had a darker root.
Cale treated vampirism in much the same way as he treated crime - it wasn't about what you have now, it was what you might have tomorrow. He built himself a gang and by the 1960s had managed to dominate drug distribution and prostitution across the East Coast. Everyone paid tribute to Cale and, in return, he occasionally rewarded his most loyal lieutenants with a transformation to what he described as a higher state.
There was a problem, though. While smart for a vampire, Cale wasn't particularly clever for a human, and he ran his empire through terror, rather than anything resembling a coherent business structure. After he died his empire quite simply fell apart.
***
"What happened to him?"
"He came to Gotham." Faith smiled.
***
It was 1982 when Cale went to Gotham, and the city was just completing its brutal slide into economic depression. Families were starving, the streets were thronged with unemployed, and criminals divided themselves into the desperate and the cunning.
The average vampire, like the average criminal, relies on brute force and intimidation to shape the world to his will. But there is a significant difference: criminals and cops face one another on a fundamentally level pitch, so they need to use their brains to survive. Most vampires have never had to learn to think.
***
"From what Giles said, it was really nasty. The local gangs took him apart piece by piece, and sent videotape of what they were doing to his minions. Every day, for three months. After that, Gotham had a rep. If you went to New York the Mafia might cut your head off. Over in New Jersey, the local cops would throw you in a cell with a nice big window, then write you up as escaped. But in Gotham? Well, there's a rumour what's left of Cale's still alive, in a box, in some foundations somewhere."
***
The problem was that Cale had set a precedent. After him, every vampire out there wanted to be Vito Corleone. Scores of them came to Gotham looking to fill the vacuum Cale had left. Most of them never came back out.
***
"So what's changed?"
"That's a story and a half, and I didn't exactly hang on the details. But basically a couple of months ago a girl was killed. She... did the same job I did, and Giles and me were supposed to be helping her. We turned up too late. So we shook down the local underworld and killed anything we found with fangs, but first of all we made sure to get some answers. These guys didn't exactly paint a pretty picture.
"Basically, the guys we're after are from Russia, or Eastern Europe. Something like that. It's the old classic 'Russian Mafia scares out local goons' thing, only with vampires. And the rumour was Gemma - that's our girl - was killed on orders out of Gotham. We asked who a whole lot, but nobody knew his name."
"They didn't know who gave the orders?"
"The guys we found, they didn't kill Gemma. From the sound of it this guy made the trip down from Gotham personally, just to kill him a Slayer. Nobody saw him up close, nobody spoke to him. All they had was how his goons referred to him."
Bruce waited. Faith hesitated a moment, whether from nerves or a desire to grandstand he couldn't tell.
"They called him the Monk."
So... yeah. This thing now officially has a plot. And a basis in comics canon. Now all it needs is a title, which is by far my greatest weakness - "Vampires vs Bats" probably won't do.
Oh, and thanks for reading.