172-174

Chapter 172: The Mob Empire Changes Hands 

Carmen Mary Falcone. Born in Naples, Italy. 

When she was sixteen, she fell for a guy and got pregnant. Her old man went ballistic and beat her, and she lost the baby. 

Mary, who maybe didn't know any better, a deadbeat boyfriend, and an out-of-control violent father – a perfect storm for tragedy. Maybe Mary and her dad both regretted it later, but hey, no do-overs in this life. 

As for the boyfriend? He vanished from Mary's life after that mess went down. To put it plain and simple: he bailed, didn't look back. So yeah, probably not losing any sleep over it. 

Mary cried her eyes out all night, then packed up and left. She ended up in Gotham City and spent the next forty years on her knees in bathrooms, cleaning to get by. 

She never had her own kids, but she raised ten orphans here. Nine of 'em grew up to be big deals in this country. But when she found out what the tenth one had been up to, what he was still up to... she cast him out. 

She tipped off the cops about this tenth son, cried her heart out all night, and then left home again. 

And that kid? That was Carmine Falcone. For years, he'd been waiting for his mother to make that call, to come back home. 

When Batman finished hearing all this and raced to a dead end in the East End, all he found was an old woman sprawled in a pool of blood. He clenched his jaw, his fists tight. Another life he couldn't save. 

But then, he remembered what Cody had said just as he was rushing out of the botanical garden. 

"If Joker and Riddler want to kill again, they won't pull it off until at least after midnight tonight. Before then? No way they can do it – not with their own hands, anyway." 

Maybe that cop was spilling a little about some weird ability he had, but Batman didn't have time to dig into it then. Now, though, that line sparked a flicker of hope. He grabbed his comms and punched in the hospital's number. 

"Metropolis hospital? I need an ambulance. An elderly woman, Carmen Mary Falcone, is critical, but there might be a chance. The location is...?" 

Meanwhile, Falcone and a couple of his muscle were back at his place. An hour had passed since Joker's call. He knew the hit was a bust. 

"Losers. A bunch of pathetic losers... Can't even handle Riddler, and no word back yet. This ain't gonna cut it. I gotta make another call, tell the family to track down that--" 

He was rambling, pushing open his study door. But the second he saw his room, whatever he was gonna say just died in his throat. 

A guy in a suit, a pasty face with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, was chilling in his chair, messing with something on the desk. 

Didn't matter what he was messing with. The point was, he was in Falcone's private study. 

"How the hell did you get in here?!" 

If it was Cody, he probably would've had a real wisecrack ready. But nope, just a mob boss, a couple of goons who instantly drew their guns, and a Joker who wasn't even cracking a smile. 

"An hour's gone by. He's not dead yet." 

Joker just blew off Falcone's question, idly messing with stuff on the desk. "So," he drawled, "your old lady's teeth are all right here." 

"What'd you say?!" 

Falcone practically choked on the words, his teeth grinding. Joker had called him on a number only his mother and brothers even knew. Deep down, he knew there was a twisted logic to what the lunatic was saying. 

"I said... these are her teeth. I pulled every single one of your old lady's teeth right outta her mouth, and then I arranged them into a smiley face--" 

Joker's face was a mask of cold fury as he spat out the words, slow and deliberate. He was talking about torturing Falcone's mother, but he looked like he was in pain. As he finished, he raised his gun, aiming right at Falcone. 

"That smile... it's right there on your desk." 

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! 

Five shots echoed in less than a second. Joker stepped out from behind the desk. Falcone's three bodyguards each took a round, crumpling to the floor. Blood gurgled out, staining the fancy, colorful rug. 

Falcone clutched his arm, slumping to one knee. He was still breathing, but any thought of fighting back was gone. Joker was just too fast on the draw. Falcone couldn't even get his own gun out, and his goons? They were down before they could even squeeze a trigger. 

Carmine's mind raced. The situation was clear: resisting now would just be putting his head up against a bullet. Not a good bet. 

Smoke curled from Joker's revolver as he walked. He nodded towards the doorway, at a guy leaning against the wall, arms out like he was trying to fly, who looked an awful lot like a penguin. Smart guy. He hadn't gone for his gun right away, just backed off and watched. That one shot Joker missed? Yeah, that was the Penguin ducking out of the way. 

"You. Fat boy. You're my assistant now." 

Oswald - Penguin - heard Joker, but he didn't answer right away. Instead, he stammered out, "I... Car... Carmine's old lady... she-- she lives in Metropolis." 

Joker acted like he didn't even hear him and kept going. "You and Carmine here will set things up. All his resources? They answer to me now, through you. All for one thing--" 

"Kill Riddler." 

He said it, then walked out the villa door. Penguin was still sputtering, "Metropolis is... it's... it's a solid three hours from here." 

Carmine stayed on his knees, face like thunder, twisting his head to glare at Joker's back as he left. He knew exactly what the Penguin was getting at. Penguin wasn't questioning if Joker had really grabbed Carmine's mother. He was stating a fact. 

Joker's timeline wasn't: rush to Metropolis, call Carmine, find out the job failed an hour later, then pull his mother's teeth, then race back to Gotham. No. It was: rush to Metropolis, yank Carmine's mother's teeth right away, race straight back to Gotham, then call Carmine, and then, an hour later, put those teeth right there on his desk. 

In other words, whether Riddler was iced in that hour or not, his mother was already screwed. 

Even with that sinking in, Carmine couldn't fight Joker's orders now. Even knowing he was a totally unpredictable, lying lunatic, if he could find Carmine's mother, he could sure as hell find his other brothers, too. 

He'd already lost his mother. He couldn't lose his brothers, too. 

Chapter 173: A Run-In at the Watering Hole 

My name's Chuck Brown. 

I'm an aerodynamicist. Sounds good, right? Makes people think I've got it together. But the truth is, I got a bunch of other titles I keep locked up in here. Never say 'em out loud. Drunk. Lousy father. Deadbeat husband. Failure at marriage. Pathetic nobody. Accomplice to a lunatic. Weirdo who digs kites... 

I picked up the glass in front of me and washed down those titles with the tequila inside. Booze. Man, what an invention, huh? Makes you forget the worries, the heartache, the pain. Erases the past, the present, the future. 

Too bad it only lasts 'til morning. 

I always figure, if there was a drink that could make you forget everything forever, I'd cash in every single pathetic dime I got for a shot. Cheapest deal I could ever make. 

"Nah... no way," Chuck Brown mumbled, face down on the bar, his voice dreamy. "Gotta remember the kites. Gotta remember my kid..." 

"Uh... hey barkeep, you got anything... non-alcoholic?" 

A voice piped up outta nowhere right next to him. The strange question made Chuck, drunk as a skunk, squint sideways. The guy was just wearing a plain tee, shirt, and jeans. Looked okay, but kinda intense, like maybe he wasn't exactly on the up-and-up. 

Chuck squinted at him, but didn't really register it. He was so wasted, just seeing the guy was a struggle. His brain had checked out. Came to a bar and doesn't wanna drink? The barkeep's eyes narrowed. He figured this guy was here to cause grief. His gaze flicked down to the shotgun stashed under the counter – standard gear for any joint in the East End. After a beat, he managed to fight the urge to reach for it. 

Helps that the guy looked like he could handle himself. The barkeep didn't want to tick off some gang higher-up. 

"Look pal, this is a bar. If you want somethin' like milk--" 

"Nah, nah, water's fine," the guy chuckled, a little awkward. "My landlady, Mrs. Liars, told me to drop by her husband's place here, said she'd hook me up with a discount. So, here I am." 

Oh, a renter. The barkeep, Liars, finally relaxed. He tapped the counter. "This is a bar, kid. No non-alcoholic stuff. If you got an allergy, I can do you ice water." 

"Ice water's perfect, thanks-- oh, you got any grub? Didn't grab dinner yet." 

Cody pulled some cash out of his pocket and put it on the counter, checking out the joint. First time he'd ever been in a bar. Back home, he was just a regular writer and homebody, not exactly rolling in dough. Never hit up bars or clubs. Arcades and internet cafes, sure, those were fun. 

The bar itself was pretty basic – wood floors and walls. By the door, there were pictures, posters, flyers tacked up, even graffiti sprayed on the walls. In the corners, some machines he didn't recognize – pinball, maybe? Or a jukebox? Soon as he walked in, the noise of the crowd was mixed with some loud house music. Good thing the barkeep turned it down for the news, otherwise nobody would've heard a damn thing. 

"Earlier this afternoon, Riddler's calling card showed up in Gotham Square..." 

Cody checked out the news feed, didn't see anything he didn't already know. So he went back to his burger, fries, and fish sticks, scoping out the rest of the place. There was a dartboard on the wall with a few darts stuck in it. Next to that, a little table where some beefy guys were playing poker, looked like they were betting serious cash. A few women in not much clothing and some guys with ink and crazy hair were hanging around the card game. That whole table looked like trouble... I mean, like people you really didn't want to mess with. As for the rest of the crowd... folks who looked totally out of it, either hammered or maybe even drugged; couples practically glued together in the corner; others openly haggling over prices... yeah, this was a real mixed bag. Cody figured most bars in the East End were probably like this dive. 

And in a place like this, the guy next to him, sitting at the bar in a cheap blue suit, just nursing a drink, seemed totally out of place. 

Cody saw him passed out on the bar and gave his shoulder a nudge. "Hey, you don't look like you're having a good time. Maybe slow down, pal-- Hey, Liars, get him a glass of ice water too." 

Liars just shrugged and slid another glass over. 

Cody casually nudged the water towards the guy. Nobody saw the few drops of milk appear outta nowhere under his palm, dripping into the glass and vanishing as it jiggled. "It's on me, buddy." 

"Oh, thanks..." The guy in the blue suit mumbled a thank you. Didn't even look at what was in his hand, just picked it up and chugged it down. A few seconds later, he slowly straightened up. He probably still thought he was wasted, but he was making sense now. 

And the first thing outta his mouth? 

"Liars, another tequila." 

Cody sighed. Guess the milk was a waste of time. Should've just saved it. 

"Hey, pal, you like kites?" After a few more sips, the guy actually started talking to Cody. Figures. Probably only felt brave enough to talk to a stranger when he was hammered. "I... I really do. I'm an aero... dyn... aerodynamicist. I'm real good at makin' 'em..." 

Huh? Cody's ears perked up. This sounded familiar. He remembered the main goal for this trip. 

[Mission Special Reward: Kite Man's Friendship] 

He pulled up his system menu just to be sure. Yep, the client was listed as Charles "Chuck" Brown. 

"Making kites? Figured an aerodynamicist would be designing planes or race cars or something. Why use all that smarts on kites?" 

The guy's face just fell when he heard that. 

"If I didn't love kites, I wouldn't have gone into aerodynamics in the first place." 

"So, uh, you design kites for a living now?" 

The guy hesitated, couldn't answer right away. Looked pretty uncomfortable. 

"Oh, sorry," Cody said, seeing the look. "My bad. Let's talk about something else." He waved at Liars. "Hey, get this... uh, mister..." 

"Chuck Brown. You can call me Chuck." 

Bingo. 

"I'm Cody-- Hey, Liars, hook Mr. Chuck up with another one. It's on me." 

Chapter 174: The Batman with Strong Learning Ability 

Cody and Chuck got to talking in the bar. One was a downer, and the other was a downer, so they actually had a lot in common. 

"Holy cow—you're seriously a super-pro!" 

Cody's eyes went wide. He'd just watched Chuck take a sheet of paper and, with his bare hands, fold it into this intricate, beautiful paper airplane. It could circle the entire bar and then fly right back to their spot at the counter without him even reaching out to catch it. 

"No way! My paper airplanes only ever flew about twenty yards, and that was when I won first place in my class's paper airplane contest." 

"Cool, huh?" Chuck chuckled. "That's why I dig aerodynamics." 

"I was messing around with 'wind' back in school... it's all about balance, isn't it? The whole world's air pressure just flows from high to low, trying to find that balance – and in the process of finding it, they brush against everything..." 

Chuck's eyes started to get a little hazy again from the alcohol. He mumbled about the wind, but it sounded like he was really talking about himself, trapped without freedom. 

"Eastward, Westward..." 

A moment later, he drained the last drop from his glass and patted Cody's shoulder. 

"Hey man, I gotta head home. Had a good time tonight, thanks." 

"No problem, Chuck." Cody grabbed the paper airplane off the table. "I'm gonna use this to totally show off to some kids." 

As Chuck stumbled towards the bar exit, Cody spoke up again. 

"Hey, Chuck." 

"Hmm? What's up?" 

"If you ever run into trouble, you can look for me at the Gotham PD, or just come back here." 

"Haha, appreciate it." 

He gave a wave and disappeared out the bar door. 

Cody turned back around and finished off the fries he had. 

Just sticking a bug or a tracker on someone right away felt kinda rude, he thought. But hey, it's the information age now. Even without doing that, he had other ways to get a handle on the guy's info. 

Just then, the news on the TV was wrapping up too. 

"Breaking news update: Ms. Carmen Marie Falcone, who lived alone in Metropolis, was discovered roughly half an hour ago lying in a pool of blood in an alley. Her teeth had all been pulled, and her throat was cut, but miraculously, she was not deceased. She has been transported for emergency medical treatment. This news is appearing on Gotham television because the elderly woman is suspected of being the adopted mother of prominent Gotham City businessman, Mr. Carmine Falcone." 

Cody, who was eating fried fish, was startled. He looked up at the TV screen, his first thought being relief. The old woman being taken to the hospital meant she hadn't died on the spot, which was a small mercy amidst the terrible situation. 

His next thought went to what those Falcone thugs at the botanical garden had said after waking up – someone had threatened Carmine to send him after Riddler, but Riddler had instead found Poison Ivy and taken them down in the garden. 

If the TV report was accurate, then the person who did this could only be Joker. 

A war between Joker and Riddler... he thought. Add the Falcone family and Poison Ivy into the mix, and what the heck was Gotham City going to turn into? 

He couldn't come up with an answer to that question, but he had a gut feeling that something big was about to go down very soon. 

He took out a napkin and wiped his hands, then tailed a guy walking out of the bar. The guy had secretly slipped a pill into another woman's drink just now and was trying to leave with her, probably heading to a hotel or motel. 

Following the pair, Cody pulled out his assassin's blowgun. 

Tonight, The Kooky Cyclist joins the hunt. 

About half an hour later, Chuck finally made it back home. 

He entered, flipped on the lights, and casually hung his jacket on the rack by the door before walking inside. 

"I'm home..." 

No one answered, which was only natural. 

He'd divorced his wife two years ago. Custody of their kid went to her, and Chuck was living alone now. Aside from sending child support checks regularly, he only got to see his son sometimes. Other than that, his life was empty. 

Flipping on the living room light, Chuck flopped onto the couch. He deliberately avoided looking at the empty corners of the room, and instead turned on the TV. That way, there would always be voices in the room, which helped him escape the loneliness a little bit. 

Honestly, living alone wasn't always a bad thing. Before Chuck got married, he lived alone too, but he hadn't felt this lonely back then. He had a job, coworkers, hobbies, and goals. 

When he was truly plugged into the world, he naturally had connections with others, and those connections made the loneliness disappear. 

But now... 

Chuck reached under the couch and pulled out a cardboard box filled with bottles of booze. He popped one open and just started chugging it straight from the bottle. 

He'd been fired a few months ago for helping a criminal. Even though he'd been forced to, his boss hadn't wanted to hear his explanation. 

So now he had no family, no job, no coworkers, no goals. He hadn't even picked up his aerodynamics books again. 

The blue suit he was wearing was just the inertia of years of habit, pushing a zombie-like existence forward, day by day. 

Shouldn't he do something? The thought flashed through his mind for a second, then vanished. 

He took another swig of booze. It didn't matter what he did anyway, and besides, he didn't feel like doing anything right now. 

Just then, a hoarse, icy voice echoed in the room. 

"Chuck Brown." 

The voice was so terrifying that Chuck nearly dropped the bottle in his hand. He spun his head towards where the sound came from, and saw a dark figure standing in the corner of the room – a tall, powerful silhouette with two pointed ears. Its voice was flat, with no discernible anger or joy. 

"You were forced to build a Joker-Mobile for the Joker once. You must have a way to contact him – find that way." 

Although the wording was a request, the tone sounded more like a command. 

"Uh, I... I was just forced to. I really don't want to have anything to do with him again." 

"Chuck Brown, you saw the news, right?" 

Hearing that, Chuck subconsciously looked at the TV. Of course, he'd seen it. The terrible state of Carmen Marie Falcone, that old woman, was still being reported on the screen. 

"He also attacked a family of five this morning, Chuck. Their kids were about the same age as yours. And if we can't find Joker, he'll keep killing – Riddler, regular people, old folks, kids... are you really going to do nothing about that?" 

Chuck fell silent again after hearing Batman's words. He was absolutely terrified of Joker, but the cases Batman mentioned did make him think of his own son. And when he looked up, he could still see the horrible image of the old woman on the TV. 

"Just find him. You don't need to fight, Chuck." 

After a long silence, Chuck put the bottle down on the table. 

"I'll help you," he replied. "But I have one condition." 

"You have to guarantee my son's safety."