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Thirty-five? Bruce was thirty-five. All her doubts left her. It had to be.
She grabbed her coat and camera bag.
I ve got to go.
She backed out of Allie s office.
Okay! Knox smiled affably and waved good-bye. Don t let your personal feelings interfere with
your job!
Poor Allie. He was still playing the wounded suitor. It was much too late for that.
Vicki just hoped it wasn t too Sate for Bruce.
Bruce woke suddenly.
He had fallen asleep on the map of Gotham City. He had been staring at it, hoping somehow that the
maze of streets and buildings would somehow open up to show him the Joker. He looked up. Thirty
video monitors looked back at him, showing thirty empty rooms. There was the slightest of noises
behind him. He quickly glanced back. Alfred was quietly folding the cape of his uniform.
That meant the butler must have brought what he asked for.
The file on my parents? Bruce managed.
Alfred solemnly nodded toward a manila folder on the corner of the desk. Even half asleep, Bruce
noticed the butler was unusually quiet.
What s on your mind, Alfred?
I m getting old, sir, the butler replied. And I don t want to fill my days grieving for old friends. Or
their sons.
Bruce conceded that Alfred had a point. But it was far too late to change his course of action now. It
had probably been far too late on the day his parents died. There was only one thing he could do one
real reason that the Batman had come into existence and the Batman had to fulfill his destiny.
Bruce asked Alfred if he might have some coffee. He opened the file.
They had the press conference on the steps of Gotham City Hall. That in itself was significant.
Yesterday, Commissioner Gordon knew, Mayor Borg would have led any press conference from the
newly built reviewing stand across the street in Gotham Square. The mayor wanted that stand, and the
celebration surrounding it, to begin a renewal of all that was good about their city.
But the Joker had changed all that. His murderous actions had instead turned the reviewing stand into
a symbol for crime and anarchy all the things that were wrong with Gotham. And, in a way, even
though the Batman frightened him off, the Joker could claim a victory.
Tomorrow, the city would tear that podium down.
Borg cleared his throat and spoke into the dozen microphones on the stand before him.
The two hundredth anniversary birthday gala has been indefinitely postponed.
That s all the mayor could bring himself to say. He stepped aside and let Harvey Dent the new voice
of Gotham City take center stage. Commissioner Gordon never thought he would see the day when
Mayor Borg could not talk forever about whatever glory or tragedy had affected Gotham. But this
renewal of the city had been the mayor s personal fantasy, something he could leave behind for
posterity and the history books. Failure here pointed to the failure of his whole political career. For the
first time since he had shared political office with Borg, Gordon realized, he actually felt sorry for the
mayor.
Dent looked straight into the central television camera and began to speak.
We re vehemently opposed to terrorism in any form. But a toxin has been found in the coffee at the
police stations. With two thirds of our police force disabled, we simply can t guarantee public safety
Dent hesitated. Somebody had ran out of one of the mobile video trucks and was yelling at the
cameramen. Gordon glanced over at the mayor. Borg started to whimper. The commissioner ran down
the steps to see what the problem was. He joined a group of technicians clustered around a monitor.
What s going on? he demanded.
See for yourself, a thin, balding fellow replied. This monitor shows the feed going out to the local
stations. But only one half of that picture is ours.
Gordon looked at the monitor for himself. The screen was split down the middle, with the left half
showing the scene at City Hall. The right half was blank, showing nothing but video snow. But then a
picture formed in the snow, and solidified to show the figure of a man sitting in an armchair in a
drawing room.
Gordon recognized the figure in the chair only when the picture came into focus. It was the Joker.
Joker here.
The Joker smiled convivially. Rather than a bizarre combination of dead white and flaming red, his
face was a neutral flesh color. It almost made him look human.
Now, he continued, his tone slightly chiding, you guys have said some pretty mean things. Some
of which, I admit, were true under that fiend, Boss Grissom. He was a terrorist and a thief. But, on the
other hand, he was great at bridge. Anyway, he s dead, and he left me in charge.
The Joker paused and leaned toward the camera. Now, I can be theatrical, maybe even a little rough.
But there s one thing I m not. I m not a killer. I m an artist.
He leaned even closer, so that his grin filled the screen.
And I looooove a party! So, trace, guys! The camera retreated as he spread his arms wide.
Commence au Festival!
His announcement was greeted by applause. Canned applause.
I even got a little present for Gotham City! the Joker continued, his voice rising with the
excitement. At midnight I drop twenty million dollars cash on the crowd!
He waved his hands again, this time as a gesture of humility.
I ve got plenty, he added, so don t worry about me.
The mayor had taken the microphone back on his side of the screen.
We are not prepared to discuss any deals he began.
You heard me, folks! the Joker interrupted. Twenty million dollars!
The Joker stood, placing his thumbs behind the lapels of his double-breasted suit coat.
And there will be entertainment! he cheered. The Big Fight! Me in one corner, and, in the other,
the man who has brought the real terror to this city. He paused dramatically, his eyes wide with feigned
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