From the personal diaries of Selina Kyle, renowned cat burglar extraordinaire
7-16-39
Dear diary,
I can’t stop crying. I promised her I would keep her safe, and… I know it was her. There was said to be a young girl around Holly’s age with a bomb strapped to her. It went off last night, nothing left of her but pieces. Holly… my poor Holly!
I’m in shock, and so angry, upset and alone. When I get my hands on the piece of shit who did this I am going to make his death as slow and painful as possible! Nothing else matters anymore. NOTHING!
I am coming for you. I failed to keep Holly safe, but I will not fail at this. I have all the time in the world this time, and I’m going to enjoy every second of your torture!
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
Alfred was quite evidently unhappy when I returned to the car and informed him that we must drive another five or so hours Northward to the address I had obtained from Dean Reed, but he did not protest as he normally would have. I could truly feel the distance growing between us.
After a time, we pulled up to an old, dilapidated farmhouse located in Woodbury, Connecticut. A middle-aged man with graying hair sat upon a chair beside the front door, a bottle of vodka dangling from his right hand upon the porch. He slouched crudely in his spot, but his eyes were open, and he eyed us suspiciously as I exited the vehicle and marched my way toward him.
“Greetings. Mister Watson, is it?” I approached cautiously, attempting to appear as harmless as can be.
“Yeah. What’s it to ya?” he frowned.
“My name is Bruce Wayne, and -”
“The millionaire?” he interrupted, eyeing me more curiously now.
“...Billionaire, actually.” I looked him up and down, a sense of sadness washing over me as I did so. This was the man they had been calling the ‘father of behaviorism’. How far one could fall.
“Look, whatever it is, I can assure you I’m not interested.”
“It’s not your interest I’m in pursuit of, I’m afraid. Merely satisfying my own, you see. I’m attempting to track down a former colleague of yours, a Mister Crane. Jonathan Crane.”
He sat up slowly at the mention of the name, “Jonathan? You can’t possibly be wanting him!”
“That remains to be seen, but in the meantime, I am simply wanting to locate the man. I have it on good authority that you may be the one to speak with regarding that.”
“Hah!” John spat. “I neither know where he is, nor do I ever wish to see that traitorous sod ever again!”
“I had heard you were friends, once,” I prompted. “Please, tell me what happened between you two.”
He stared at me momentarily, trying to puzzle together why I would care. The alcohol, seemingly, had gotten the best of him, however, and the tirade came easily.
“Lousy dog. He ruined me. Oh, it took me a long time to see it, but I know it was him! It was all him! Every last bit of it! The papers, the poison, he planned it all!” He blinked hard and then took another lasting sip of his drink.
“From the beginning, if you would please. What did he do to you?”
“It was all because of the experiments, you see?”
“The Little Albert experiments?”
“Yes! The man had always had ill intentions from the beginning. He came up with the experiment, I’ll admit that to you… but it wasn’t at all the same.” His head wavered from side to side as he tried to compose himself. “He wanted to learn to control people through their fears, and that’s how the experiment was first proposed to me. Whereas, I was more interested in the general trainability and behavioral implications that could be drawn from it. So, yes, I stole it for my own purposes. And the man positively lost his mind over it! Said I’d soiled his plans. For all the flack I took then… all the misappropriated anger at the ‘allegedly’ cruel things we did to young Albert, it was a necessary evil. But what Jonathan had planned, that goes far beyond evil. Far, far beyond!” He took another swig.
I was doing my best to try and follow, but must admit it was difficult through his slurring. “Please, go, on. What happened next?”
“He ruined me! Let me believe all the time we were friends. Meanwhile, he was telling everyone behind my back I’d stolen his idea, tainted it beyond reparation. And then he leaked my affair with my assistant to the papers. I know it was him, and indeed always had my suspicions, but I know it now to be truth! My wife left me, my reputation was in tatters, and when it still wasn’t enough for the University to fire me, he started ridiculous rumors about my Rosalie and I conducting indecent sexual experiments on one another. That did it!”
“Did you confront him then?” I inquired.
“I did, and he was insistent that it was not him. Fool that I was, I let it go. We parted then, on good terms. But I didn’t hear from him again until 1933.”
I found myself more curious than ever about this Crane’s exploits, and decided I needed a timeline, if one could be provided. “Thirteen years is a long time, what was he doing then?”
“This and that,” he swatted at the air. “He spent some time in Gotham around 1924, took up a new hobby studying plants and such. A year later he traveled around in those botanical pursuits for a time. Came back around 1929 and did a tour around the country, but refused to tell me anything about it. 1929 to 1932 is a complete blip. I should have known… it was so obvious!” It was all beginning to fit, and I felt tremors of excitement coursing through my veins.
“What was?”
“He did it! All of our former colleagues from the University were being picked off, one by one, all around the United States. So he shows up out of nowhere in 1933, says he’s afraid we might be the next ones killed. So I let him stay with us a while. We reminisced, caught up with one another’s lives, and he got himself a house not far from us. For a year and a half, it was just like old times. And then…” he closed his eyes tightly, and began to weep. “My Rosalie…”
“I heard, I’m sorry. Dysentery, was it?”
“That’s what they said, but I know it was him! She was poisoned! That’s why he came back. Everyone who ever made fun of him at the University, or treated him badly, they all died of the same sickness. The day after she died, I found a note from him at my door, telling me he was leaving the country to further pursue his research.”
“You don’t know where it was he was going?”
“Hungary. Lots of plant and fungal studies happening there, as he put it. And for his sake, he’d better stay there. If I ever see his face again… mark my word, I will kill him.”
It all fit, albeit somewhat loosely in my mind. I wanted more details, despite knowing my current source was not in tiptop shape to provide the answers I needed. “You said he was in Gotham in 1924… do you know why?”
“Pah!” He drank again. “That’s when he seemingly abandoned Psychology, making the move to Chemistry. As I’m sure you’ll know, Gotham University poached some of our best professors in the field shortly before then. He became enrapt in herbal remedies and the like, and played a central role in the creation of Gotham’s Botanical Gardens.”
If what Watson had been telling me was true, I knew there had ought to be more information on the fellow at Gotham University. I almost smiled, knowing I was finally getting somewhere in my investigation. Jonathan Crane was indeed turning out to be suspect number one in this case. “I see. Well, Doctor Watson, you’ve been most helpful, and I offer my sincere gratitude for the information.”
“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to let me know if you find the rotten louse, would you?”
“Not in good conscience, I’m afraid.”
“Likely for the best. Let the bastard spin his straw, I’ve nothing else to lose anyway.” He sipped from the bottle again, this time coughing up a storm as I bid him farewell. He had done his best to persuade me away from hiring or placing my trust in the man, and that would have to be enough.
We stayed at a hotel for the night, neither Alfred or myself wanting to drive another 8 hours back to Gotham. I was eager to speak again with Lieutenant Gordon, but knew we wouldn’t have been able to get back home until the late hours of the morning the next day had we sought to return right away. We stayed in separate rooms, both needing our own space, especially considering the recent strains upon our relationship. Left alone to my thoughts, I went over everything I knew. Despite everything I had learned, I was left feeling frustrated. Even if this Jonathan Crane was the man I was looking for, I still had no leads to go about finding him. Time was still ticking away, people were dying, and yet all I had was a name.
I still needed to find out his connection with the crime lords overwhelming the city. Needed to understand the drive and reason for why he was trying to control others with his fear concoctions. What was the ultimate aim? How was it all meant to end, I wondered. How was I to go about finding him when he constantly moved around and had others do his bidding for him? Would I have to stumble upon someone who worked for him during my night tours as the Batman? No, surely I couldn’t rely upon such dumb luck. I needed a plan, and for the life of me I could not come up with one. I desperately wanted to speak with James Gordon.
We departed for home early in the morning, and I divulged as much to Alfred on our journey back. He had reminded me, of course, that I was to meet with the prospective district attorney, Harvey Dent, with whom I had a dinner arrangement in place for this evening. I was annoyed and frustrated, as I was quickly learning how difficult it would be to maintain my strict dieting and workout routines if I was to continue playing the part of citizen activist. Again, we fell into silence for a majority of the trip home, and I reflected upon my hectic schedule.
I had managed to get a shorter workout and a snack in before leaving the Manor for dinner. The meal was to be held at a high class restaurant called Lalonde’s, a place I had never patronized before. As the waiter showed me to the table, I got my first good look at Dent himself. A sturdy fellow like myself, his square jaw jutted out offensively as his big, scowling blue eyes came up to meet my own.
“Wayne, I presume?” the loathing in his voice was made to sound exaggerated as can be.
“You presume correctly, Mr. Dent.” I smiled, trying my best to ignore the immediate tension.
“Nice hair,” he pointed out, as it was styled in the same short, left-side parting as his own. “Listen, I’m only here as a favor to Vicky, and I don’t wanna waste any more of either one of our time than is needed, so I’ll get right down to it.” He folded his arms and leaned back in his seat grudgingly.
I myself did not know whether to take this as an invitation to sit, or if I should remain standing in preparation to take leave.
“I don’t need your money, I don’t want your money, and I sure as all hell don’t trust you of all people to have Gotham’s best interests at heart. You left this place when the city was at its worst, and it’s people like me who’ve been trying to clean up the mess, since - as I see it - your folks helped create it in the first place. I’m here as a courtesy, and to let you know where things stand. I won’t be bought, so whatever plans you may have had for this meeting… Well, you can just kiss all that goodbye. We finished?”
Suffice to say, my first emotions toward Harvey were not kind. I studied him a moment, his jaw set in stone and his eyes unwavering in their stare. This was indeed going to be a bit of a confrontation.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“I hear the caviar are to die for,” I sat down rudely and waved for a server to aid us at once. “I’ll have whatever the gentleman is having to drink.” I gestured towards Harvey’s glass. It smelled of a vintage port, from where I sat.
“You don’t hear too well, do you, Wayne?” He drained the last of his wine.
“Depends on who you ask. My butler would tend to agree with you. Your friend Vicky might be inclined to differ, however.”
He smiled snidely, “Just friends. I admire your tactics, though. It’s been fun,” he began to stand up.
“I very much doubt you got to where you are by drumming up as many enemies as possible, Mr Dent. And yet, from what I hear, you’re surrounded by them. I was told you were the man to reach out to if one was wanting to do the right thing for Gotham. Was I misinformed?”
He paused, mid-stand, and met my gaze once more. He pursed his lips and pushed them hard to the side in thought as he lazed slowly back down to a sitting position.
“And just what ‘right thing’ would you be referring to?”
“Oh, nothing too drastic… Just a customary changing of the guard, so to speak. I’m under the distinct impression that we have a few bad apples in charge.”
“Right,” he rolled his eyes, “so they can be replaced by people under your employ, or at the very least, ones who owe favors. Not interested.”
“Any favors you would feel compelled to pay for can be settled right here and now.”
“Really? And how’s that?”
“Gotham’s being strangled. I want to know by whom, and how exactly it is you plan on relinquishing their grasp.”
He studied me more conspicuously, and then after a few uncomfortable seconds he gave a sigh of surrender. “What the hell,” he waved a hand at another passing server, “One more of the Graham’s, if you would?”
“I want to know who has their claws in each branch of our city,” I continued, leaning forward conspiratorially. “And I want to know how deep it runs.”
“I understand, so that you can use these chess pieces to your advantage… but I hesitate to assume what that advantage might be.”
“My parents - whether you want to believe it or not, Mr. Dent - made a point of playing a rather large part in a multitude of city affairs. If I am to reforge these relationships, I want to make sure the people I am working with can be trusted. I want to know who owns this town, and where I can best dedicate my resources towards making Gotham healthy again. How do we best eliminate poverty? How do we maintain order on the side of good? Who of the corrupted ones need to be removed? Your enemies, Mr. Dent… I want to share them with you.”
He let out a laugh at that. It was bawdy, but genuine.
“You want to share the targets on your back as well?”
“I never said I wanted to be their enemy. Easier do more damage to the unsuspecting, after all.”
“And how would you be able to do that? I’m sorry, Wayne, I just don’t even see what you’d be getting from this.” As he said this, the first server placed my drink in front of me and I took a sip (following the proper wine tasting procedures, of course).
“Proving you wrong about my family, for one thing,” I set the glass down, luxuriating in the flavors of its contents. “You’ll know we used to be heavily invested in various charities. I find it necessary to ensure we aren’t subject to fraudulent partnerships or dealing with ill-natured figureheads. I’ve been gone a long time, you see. A lot of factioning has emerged, and none of it good.”
“You want to make sure none of your pipelines find their way being funneled into the Falcones’ pockets and the like. I suppose it’s the absolute least we could hope for from Gotham’s golden boy. I’m afraid it’s a lot more complicated than just that, however. It’s not just the Falcones, it’s the Maroni’s, The Sullivans, the Thornes, the Dimitrovs, the Zuccos, the list goes on. Then you have Gillian Loeb heading up the GCPD, rendering them basically ineffective. Wilson Klass tarnishing the mayoral office too, don’t forget. The only way to get at these guys is to hit ‘em through the legal system. That’s why I need the authoritative power to bring them down. This DA thing is my ticket to finally being able to make a difference. So, what can you offer me?”
I was again feeling caught unawares, but I knew there had to be something… some way I could be seen as useful. I needed his knowledge, his understanding of all the players in the game. At most, it would help me take steps to eliminate the ones at the center of Gotham’s decline. And at least, it could prevent me from making moves that would be of benefit to them - whether politically, economically, financially, or by other means. It was imperative that I align myself with people who made it their business to rebuild this city. People like Gordon, and… as I was beginning to believe, quite possibly people like Harvey Dent as well (arrogant and combative as he may have seemed).
I considered it while taking another swig of my wine, “Just how good of a chance do you have of winning this election?”
“Hard to say. The press has been kind. They say I get things done when the odds are stacked against me. The smear campaigns have started to creep up though, and I’m told the competition is gaining steam. Loeb and Klass have aligned against me, and quite a few people of your ilk as well. The rich and powerful are determined to stay that way, you see. If the people who have managed to keep them rich go down… it upsets the natural order of things. So, you can understand why I’m so hesitant to place my trust in you, yes?”
“If it’s my ilk who are causing you so much hassle, perhaps befriending one of them wouldn’t be so bad for your image, then,” I suggested. “And it so happens that I can offer you a fair amount. Alfred has been on my case about throwing a party to announce my return to Gotham, it might be a great opportunity for you to make some connections. Even more so if I were to announce a sizeable donation to your campaign at the event. Perhaps a seat on the board of our charitable foundation too?”
His face lit up for the briefest of seconds, “Uh… who’s Alfred?”
I hesitated, as my mind searched for an answer that was acceptable. “My butler.”
“Oh, I see… Wasn’t the Wayne Foundation dissolved?”
“All but. We’re relaunching, and with it an announcement of our plans to build a mental health wellness facility to house the criminals with… special needs, as it were.”
Harvey’s second drink arrived at that moment, and he sipped on it in careful thought, never once deeming to look my way again until he had arrived at his decision.
“I’m taking a big chance on you here, Wayne. Do not disappoint me.”
“Likewise… Harvey.”
The rest of the evening unfolded as I could never have hoped. He divulged all that he knew regarding the various crime syndicates housed under Gotham, and the numerous ventures tied to each. As well, I got to know the faction leaders, inscribing mental notes of the highest importance into my memory.
As I had already been aware, most everyone of some power went through the Falcone family. The Maroni family, headed by a man named Salvatore, was the other major Italian mafia family in the picture, and had often clashed with the Roman. The rumors were rife that a war between the two was fast approaching, and it was only a matter of when. The Zucco family, led by Antonio Zucco, began as an offshoot of the Maronis, but in recent years had seemingly switched teams in favor of the Falcone family. The Stromwell family was another big player up until a couple years prior, when they were overtaken by Rupert Thorne and his mob. Thorne was considered rather low-hanging fruit by comparison to the others, but according to Dent, he had somehow managed to bully his way into businesses of all the other crime families without causing enough of a stir to land him six feet under (his words, not my own).
The Irish crime families worked hand in hand with the Falcones, and had for decades prior. The Sullivan crew being the most notorious. The Soviets had also managed to solidify themselves into the inner workings as well, headed up by the Dimitrovs.
Commissioner Loeb and Mayor Klass were longtime friends, and rumors of their various alliances with the Roman throughout the years were not uncommon. In a sense, they had helped to build their own little empires over the decades, ensuring their growth to prominence as the years wore on.
Unfortunately, it came to light that even my own family’s organizational ties occasionally crossed paths with the many factions overwhelming the city. Dent made specific mention of a couple instances, though nothing had ever been solidly proven. Could it be that my father made ethical violations to achieve his goals? Or his father? Or his father’s father? I didn’t want to think upon it, though I continued listening intently, and did not make a move to dispute his claims.
I must confess to you now, of the varying businesses each syndicate held in its grasp, I cannot properly remember the details of that time. You see, as the years moved forward, this changed quite frequently. As well, so did the people in charge, and the names of the factions as they were replaced. As such, this is all the information I can recall at this time regarding these families.
As we drank, Harvey’s defenses continued to fall, and by the end of the night we were speaking on more familiar terms. Although, he refused to acknowledge me by my given name. Indeed, it felt to me as though we were becoming fast friends, even if we were trying to get something from one another. I was still wary of the man in some ways, but I had actually parted with him believing that Miss Vale had done me a favor in recommending his acquaintance. My small list of allies had grown yet again.
I was exhausted, and the alcohol had made its way to my head, even though I’d made a point of being conservative about my consumption. It could not be helped, however, that I would still need my senses about me in meeting with Gordon tonight. Alfred had reluctantly brought my gear with him upon picking me up from the restaurant, and I made a change of clothes whence we got nearer to the GCPD building.
The hour was late, and the streets were packed to the brim with pedestrians and cars and cyclists and other such things. We waited for a chance for me to spring into action, but it did not come. As passersby came close, we had to circle our vehicle around the block until our spot became vacant again, lest I be discovered donned in the strange attire. It happened again, and then again, for three quarters of an hour, until the coast was finally clear enough for me to make a dash across the street unseen. Once I had made my way to the top of the roof, the greeting I was met with was not in the least bit welcoming.
“Where in the hell have you been?” Gordon spat angrily.
“Investigating,” I barked my reply, attempting to mask the sheepishness I felt on the inside.
“Yahuh, and was that you there the other night when that girl blew up? Jesus Christ, people are dying here and you’re nowhere to be found! Where’d you go that night?”
“It was almost sunrise, and I couldn’t chance being seen. As for last night, I was following a lead.”
“Almost su… for the love of all that’s -” for a brief second the man looked as though his eyes would explode in his head. He took a moment to compose himself before venturing on, his voice low. “This better be good. What have you got for me?”
“The name of the Streetnapper is Jonathan Crane. He’s a former Psychology Professor at Johns Hopkins University, and I have reason to believe he may have either attended or worked for Gotham University beginning in 1924.”
Gordon stared at me in disbelief. I could sense he wanted to believe me, but couldn’t bring himself to on account of how easily I was relaying such crucial information.
“...Crane?” was all he could muster.
“Many of his former colleagues are said to have died between 1929 and 1932, and I am of the suspicion that he may have been the one behind their deaths,” I made sure to leave Watson’s name out of it, lest he be used to be traced back to Bruce Wayne. “He moved to Hungary around 1935, and it’s anyone’s guess as to how long he’s been back here.”
“Wait, wait, wait… you said Psychology? That doesn’t fit…”
“It fits. All this time we’ve been looking for a chemist, but the motive for the experiments was shrouded in ambiguities. He’s trying to control people, to see how far he can take it by manipulating them using their fears, aided by these concoctions. His interest is entirely psychologically driven. I believe Crane made the switch to Chemistry at Gotham U. I don’t have the proof of that yet, but I -”
“I can do some digging,” he offered.
My first intuition was to object, as I had wanted to learn more for myself. However, I knew that had I handled it all on my own, it would again be putting Bruce Wayne at the center of the investigation. For the purpose of preserving my identity, I would have to learn to accept the many gives and takes of this new partnership with the Lieutenant. I simply nodded in reply.
“You’ve been busy after all…”
“One more thing, the hallucinogens are being distributed across the streets of Gotham through the local Kingpin, Carmine ‘The Roman’ Falcone.”
“Falcone… Jesus. So it is about money.”
“I have my doubts about that. Crane takes what he needs to sustain himself, but his interest is purely in power. Power and control… and perhaps force.” I felt a chill run down my spine at the implications of that. Just what would he do with total control over another?
“Like forcing someone into the heart of the red light district armed with a machete… or a bomb.” Gordon took off his glasses with one hand and massaged his temples with the other.
“You’re catching on.,” I decided to leave it at that as he refixed his bifocals and stared at me incredulously.
“How in the world did you -”
“I can’t tell you how. All you need to know is the information is good,” I drew the line where the terms of our partnership ended, much to my own juvenile satisfaction.
“It had better be,” he warned. “All these anonymous tips you’re feeding me are bound to make others suspicious of me.”
“We’re both taking risks. We’re going to need a new meeting place soon. This arrangement isn’t sustainable,” I put the thought forward, hoping he might have another idea lined up.
“If this information pans out, I’ll give you your own damn office.”
I glared hard at him, willing the immense magnitude of my disapproval upon him through my eyes alone.
“We can talk about that later,” he reached for a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, fumbling around with it long enough for me to slip away without his notice. “The fuck?” I heard him exacerbate as I climbed down into the darkened alleyway below.