Chapter Seven: Oswald
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
The night was hot. After an argument broke out between Alfred and myself over the good name and reputation I was to uphold for the sake of my family, I drove straight for the red light district. I contemplated all the while where I would go to begin my investigation, and it occurred to me that I’d somewhat been acquainted with a well known and dastardly figure who used to frequent circles within Gotham’s more well-to-do citizens. I do believe I mentioned him briefly before. His name was Oswald Cobblepot, and his family was one of the founding members of the township when it was first claiming a name for itself. Like the Waynes, the Cobblepots had remained mainstays of the Gotham elite until dear Oswald became enwrapt in some rather devious criminal enterprises and exploits.
As rumor held it, Oswald’s activities were made known to the police and he was taken to court. He was fortunate enough that his family paid his way out of what he’d owed to the ravenous packs of mobsters who had caught him within their clutches, and as well they paid the judge and GCPD in bribes to allow him off with a slap on the hand. However, he was in turn exiled from the family and cut off from his father’s fortunes, as the embarrassment and taint he’d wrought upon them was too much to bear. It is also said that his antics were some of the most reviled in the underworld, and that upon learning of these unimaginatively awful crimes, his mother could not stand to look upon him ever again.
Subsequent to his exile, Oswald settled himself in Crime Alley and became a gangster in his own right on a full-time basis, earning an even more disreputable renown in doing so. As fortune would have it for the devious fellow, he was not entirely unsuccessful in his later criminal affairs. Very recently, he had purchased and upscaled a famed bar deep in the heart of the red light district, and renamed it to the Iceberg Lounge. As it posed a stiff competition with Molly’s, the bar owned by Carmine “The Roman” Falcone, it had gained in popularity in seemingly no time at all. As an article written by Vicky Vale had asserted, it was certain rumblings of the Batman having infiltrated Faclone’s hideout that had scared some of the mobsters away from his hermitage and as a result many of these individuals began flooding into Cobblepot’s refuge instead.
I had only met the man himself on one or two prior occasions, and very briefly at that. I remembered he was short, stocky, and rather haggard looking for his age, with a rough and strained voice that grated upon one’s nerves. Oh! And that shockingly pointed nose! He also had a sort of penchant for tall hats, tuxedos, and umbrellas (which for some odd reason, he carried about as one would a cane). He was, if nothing else, memorable in his appearance.
As I entered the bar, all eyes fell upon me. In a moment of panic, I almost ducked and ran, feeling instantly that this was no place for billionaire Bruce Wayne after all. However, after a few short seconds, half the eyes fell away in disinterest, and those who continued staring did so in a manner of resentment rather than suspicion. Indeed, as I scanned the room, I perceived that a good third or so of the members in attendance here appeared to be of a higher class than one might expect. It was at that moment that I realized perhaps I was on the right trail.
“I thought I recognized you,” a gravelly voice rose above the crowds in my direction, and I saw a small, waddling man of about 45 years old descending a brief set of stairs and jaunting towards me in greeting. “If it isn’t the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne!”
“Oswald, how do you do?”
“Fine, just fine. Welcome to my humble hideaway, sanctuary from the limelight and gateway to Gotham’s most delectable pleasures,” he bowed and splayed his arms in welcome.
“Congratulations, it’s very impressive,” I looked around in admiration. It was actually quite upscale in features, as everything appeared to be brand new from the flooring to the seating itself. The atmosphere was dimmed, but illuminated with cool blue lighting at each table, bouncing off of the purest of white along the walls, ceiling, and the bar stationed at the back. “I simply must ask, why the Iceberg Lounge?”
“Ah, all these bars in this area are hotbeds for police raids. None of that here, only the highest paying clientele of a certain station are allowed in here. None of them lowlives you’d find elsewhere, Heh-heh-heh.”
“Sounds like my kind of shindig. Mind if we talk privately?” I feared I’d been too anxious to get down to business, but the man obliged quite willingly and led me up the stairs and around to one side of the bar where we could speak amongst ourselves.
“I must admit, I’m a tad surprised to see you ‘round these parts. Your parents weren’t exactly known to frequent the slums, if ya know what I mean.”
“You forget, Mr. Cobblepot, I was only a mere boy when they perished. I barely had a chance to know them, and thus I’ve forged my own path in life. After all, what good is money if you’re unwilling to use it for fun?”
“You and I are of a like mind, kiddo,” he smiled intently. “And you’ve come to the right place, believe you me! We’ve got anything and everything a man of your prestige could so desire. Underground gambling halls, the likes of which you’ve never imagined. Women, of any shape, size, age, hair color, shade of skin, or any other preference you might have. Narcotics - and not those dirty ones you hear about in the news - we’re talking the purest, most euphoric, most insatiable trips known to man!”
“Mhm,” I could see I was on the right track, but would allow him to rattle on a bit more.
“Are you an investor, Mister Wayne? What am I talking about? Of course you are! I know you’re already starting to make waves with your company contracts. And that asylum you helped get off the ground? Pure genius. We’ve got a lot of ambitious clients here who are just dying for a chance at wooing your attention.”
“I see,” I allowed my eyes to wander, trying to seem a bit bored.
“Or uh… well, I mean, nothing is off the table. Whatever floats your boat, I’m sure I can set you up. This is a place of dreams, after all.”
“Well,” I considered a moment, hoping not to behave too conspicuously. “You see, my tastes are a little… well, unconventional, one might say. This stays between you and I, yes?”
“Oh, of course!” he leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Name it!”
“I’ve traveled the world, and seen and done many of the things others could only dream of, you see. As such, I’ve grown a bit bored with the typical thrill-seeking games. More and more I find my interests waning into more… shall we say, perverse territory.”
“Ahuh, ahuh,” Oswald smiled knowingly. “And would this be of a sexual nature, Mister Wayne?”
“Not exactly. In fact, more of a delineation into the realm of violence, as it happens. You could say I sort of… yearn for a purging of these violent repressions.”
“Oh, uh, I see. Well, you know, Mister Wayne, what you do with a prostitute in your own private time is really none of my -”
“That’s not what I mean,” I interrupted. “Surely, you have to know of some alternative kind of arrangements where one can participate in that kind of… play? Something a little more on the extreme side of things, as it were.”
Oswald looked around us then, appearing quite uncomfortable indeed. He mumbled to himself uncertainty before saying, “You know, there was this one guy I knew, way back when. He used to run a sort of service, perhaps like the one you’re describing. I hesitate to suggest it, as I haven’t been in contact with him for a while.”
“Yes?” I tried my utmost to appear very interested.
“That is to say, it started out as a one-off sort of incident. The guy I know, or knew… he ran a loan shark business. People got in debt with him, got beat up a couple times as a warning, and after a time, they’d be swimming with the fishes.”
“Right.”
“So this guy makes a proposal to one of the men who owes him. His time’s up, and he knows he’s gonna die. But the loan shark, he’s in talks with some wealthy bloke with an eye for… er, adventure. Has a real penchant for violence. And the man who’s about to die has a wife and a little girl, and he’s given a last sorta saving grace proposition. Let this wealthy bugger shoot him in the head, and his wife and daughter will be taken care of financially.”
I felt my hairs stand on end as he explained this to me, and was at a loss for words.
“But of course, the rich man isn’t satisfied after it’s all said and done, and neither is my acquaintance. So they do it again with some other poor sack. Then another. And then they almost get caught, and so the loan shark decides they need to dial it back a notch. No more killing was the rule, but he could do anything else, so long as he paid off their debts at the end.” Oswald studied my reaction for a moment, wondering whether or not he should proceed.
“Do go on,” I urged, against my innate sensibilities.
“So the rich guy starts bringing a bunch of his moneyed buddies into the fold, and soon it’s this whole big thing. But they get bored. Couple of accidental deaths occur. The beatings turn into something a little more vicious and perverse, they start bringing in homeless people - who don’t owe anyone anything - into the mix. They lure in prostitutes and don’t tell ‘em what they’re in for that night. Even started bringing some orphan kids into it too. Whole thing blows up as quick as it started. The loan shark gets spooked at these rich guys’ lack of cautiousness and restraint.”
“I can see how that would be a problem.”
“Yeah, so rumor has it, he hires some lunatic to off all these rich guys so that they don’t go squealing if they get caught. It sent a clear message to the rest of them, and the whole thing was finally kaput. Lucrative as it was, he said it just wasn’t worth the risk.”
“And what if the money was made to be worth the risk?”
Mister Cobblepot looked quite the deer in the headlights then. “Uh… Hoo boy, you’re really asking the wrong guy here. I never had anything to do with it, really, and most of it I only know from talking to our mutual acquaintances. I don’t even know how much of it is true.”
“Fair enough, and allow me to be clear, I have absolutely no intention of murder. Only purging my aggressions, you understand.”
“Oh, of course! I’d never dreamed otherwise!” I saw relief flood his face, nevertheless.
“Only, I must inquire… what would it take in order to gain access to this loan shark?”
“Ah,” he went white again. “I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm in giving you his address. As long as you keep mine out of it, that is,” he gulped.
“I would be forever in your debt,” I promised falsely.
“You sure you wouldn’t just want one of our best ladies of the night? Some of them - as long as ya pay enough - they’ll let ya rough ‘em up a bit. Any type of gal you can think of, I know all the most accommodating ones!”
I stared hard at him, letting him know my mind was made up.
“Alright, alright,” he took out a piece of paper and a quill he’d stashed in his hat, and beckoned one of the servers to come and fetch him some ink. When it arrived, he promptly began writing down details for me. “Remember, you didn’t get this from me.”
“Much obliged, Oswald.”
“And remember, you ever need a friend, you’ve got one here at the luxurious Iceberg Lounge! I hope to see you here again. It’s like a great big family once you get to know the crowds a bit.” He stood up and bowed to me before marching off. And even though he had been of great help to me on that evening, I couldn’t help but be sickened by the man, knowing now exactly the kinds of heathens he aided on the regular. He was not the sort I wanted to become further tangled with, that much was for certain.
I bought glasses of the bar’s most expensive champagne for everyone in attendance before leaving, as a show of good faith and thanks to my host. Rather than hoots and hurrahs, I was met with stares of reservation and malcontent. Perhaps they thought me vain in my attempts to show off my riches, but it was neither here nor there for me, as I had further business to see to.
I read the note Oswald had crudely scrawled for me:
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The Loan Shark
57 Park Row
How inventive, I thought to myself. It was a miserable address to lay eyes upon, as Park Row was where my parents had been murdered all those years ago. It pained me to read the words, though I knew I’d possibly made a grand stride forward in my search for the Joker and his henchmen.
On my drive home, I had decided that matters were getting too precarious for Bruce Wayne. Once again, I would need a change of persona for the remainder of the evening. The constant back and forth was becoming quite tedious indeed, but I could not chance having my vehicle being broken into and the burglar discovering the Batman’s belongings in the process. It simply could not be helped.
I knew it would come down to luck whether or not the loan shark was at his place of business so late at night. While most people would be home long before midnight, it was also true that a lot of these shadier characters tended to perform operations during the nighttime hours, as there was less of a chance of their meetings being discovered. And though I’d had a rather steady streak of poor luck regarding the Joker’s targeted victims of late, it appeared luck was finally on my side in this particular matter, as I could detect light coming from one of the windows at the address I’d been given. Even more fortuitous, the window a few feet next to it had been ajar.
Brandishing my grappling gun, I aimed and fired for the open crevice. I’d miscalculated, and a loud whack could be heard from my vantage point as the hook bounced off brick wall and fell back downward towards me. I aimed once more, readjusting my position, and tried again. This time I had been successful, and could only hope that the previous misfire had not alerted the building’s inhabitants to my deeds.
Having tested the line for stability, I then began my ascent. Upon reaching the open window, I peered cautiously inside to ensure the room was empty of life. It was dark, though I detected no movement, and silently climbed inside. Though my vision was diminished, I was able to discern that this was used as a back-office, with many storage containers and cabinets surrounding a small desk. I steadily worked my way to the door at the far end and slowly twisted at the handle, pushing ever so softly forward.
A hallway. Brightly lit, but empty. To my left, a closed door leading to the lit room I’d previously seen from outside. I tested the handle, and was delighted to learn it was not locked from the other side. Now was the time to proceed. I opened the door.
“Who’s there?” a raised and startled voice piped up immediately.
I turned the light off with a quick flick of the switch upon the wall and then somersaulted through the doorway. I heard a gasp, and saw movement from my right side. The light from the hallway was enough to illuminate a shadowed profile of a man, and he stood up from his desk chair in alarm as I readied a batarang in my hand. The man reached downwards to his desk, no doubt in an attempt to grab a weapon.
“Don’t move!” I growled.
He stopped directly in his tracks, and I knew he could see me; a demonic apparition vaguely outlined by the dull gleaming from outside the room.
“Wh… who is that?”
“Not a friend.” I began walking towards him, closing the short distance between us even further.
“It’s you… Jesus, Mother Mary and Joseph…”
“Can the religious psychobabble,” I warned. “They wouldn’t help someone like you even if they could.” I grabbed the desk that lay between us and hurled it sideways, hard against the wall.
“Holy… d - don’t kill me!”
I put the batarang back in my belt and grabbed for his collar, lifting him up against the wall roughly.
“You’ll be begging for the opposite when I’m through with you!” I tossed him at the bungled desk laying sideways against the wall. Anger, adrenaline, and a touch of berserk inclination drove me to break this man. I needed answers, but I wanted to inflict as much pain upon him as I could, for all I had heard of him that night. I was his judge, jury, and executioner, and the power of that knowledge flooded my being with a newfound purpose. I lifted the squabbling animal up from the ground, opening my mouth to begin the interrogation, but again my body moved of its own accord and I punched him hard across his left cheek. The force of the hit sent him spiraling away from me, but again I descended upon him.
“Stop! Please!” he protested pitifully.
Again I held him within my clutches, and I tried most strenuously to contain my emotions long enough to speak.
“You used to supply spoiled degenerates with victims for torture and murder,” I began, but once more was overcome with irrepressible hatred. I kneed him to the groin, and with his vulnerable head exposed to me, I grabbed it and flung him savagely against the wall. The risk of stealing his consciousness away was growing astronomically high, and I knew I needed to settle myself down, or lose this advantage entirely. He fought against fainting, unable to speak or to move out of my way as I clutched his collar once more and pulled him to his feet.
“It - that was a long time ago,” he confessed after a few seconds of weariness.
“That’s not the POINT!” I plummeted him downwards, smashing his back against the ground.
“I only helped them clear their debts! They wanted to do it!”
“You gave them no choice!” One hand clasped around his neck and applied pressure.
“Please…” he piped, air in short supply.
“Where did you get your victims? How did you choose them?”
“Okay!” he begged, and I lessened the pressure ever so slightly. “They were from all over, anyone who owed me money. They came to ME!”
“What about the homeless? The prostitutes, the children… the ones you TRICKED into your sick operations?” I held a clenched fist near to his face in warning.
“They were nobodies! Ain’t no one to care one way or a -”
“I CARE!” I lifted him up and tossed him crudely over my shoulder.
“Hck… Stop! Please just stop! I’m sorry, I was wrong!”
“Where did you get them?” I planted a knee down on his chest, glaring down at him furiously.
“The hood! It was the red hooded guy!” he squealed. Now, it appeared, we were getting somewhere.
“Who is he?”
“He was some sorta trader,” he talked fast now. “Ran a ring of lowlife street rats. He gave them shelter and food when they needed it, and in turn he’d employ them to do jobs of all kinds. People like me would work with him for small jobs so that nothing could be traced back to us. None of them had identities, it’s like I told ya! They were nothings!”
“They were people!” I crashed my fist to the ground beside his head.
“He’s the one! He supplied them, not me!” the man screamed hastily. There was no shame in him over the part he played in this business. That was easy enough to see. The only thing motivating him now was fear, and he was desperate to pin it all on someone else.
“Where do I find him?”
“You - you can’t… he’s dead.”
Dead? I thought. How would he know that? And then it occurred to me, if this lowlife loan shark was the one who decided to end the operation, it was very likely he had the Red Hood murdered to ensure their ties would never be discovered.
“You killed him…” I accused him.
“I… no, it was someone else!”
“Who you paid!”
“I had to!”
This cowardly thing before me was worse than scum, and when all this was over, I would need to make sure the police were made aware of his crimes. But for now, I still needed something from him I could use.
“How are the red hooded gang connected to him?”
“I don’t know, honest!”
“Think!” I roared.
“Maybe… I dunno… maybe some kind of show of solidarity?”
“Why would his victims pay tribute to him so?”
“He was their leader! All they knew was that a few jobs went bad, so they were none-the-wiser that he had anything to do with it. He probably told them he was just as bamboozled over the jobs as they were. And when he got killed…”
“They knew it would have had something to do with those jobs,” it was all starting to fit together. These victims were under the impression that the red hooded man was trying to protect them. Some might have felt indebted to the man, and may have even believed he died while fighting back against those who meant them harm. The poor misguided fools.
“Yeah, so then maybe…”
“You’re the one they’re seeking vengeance against.” It wouldn’t take much to rile men of a common terrible trauma together in order to instigate chaos and fear against a city they feel betrayed them. Had the red hooded man lived, perhaps they would eventually have resolved that he was responsible for their torturing. But because he died, they had made a martyr of him instead. This was exactly what the mafia had been doing with the homeless for Jonathan Crane.
“Where did you meet with him?”
“He had a… a shelter. Down in The Village! It’s an old abandoned building now, three stories and a little dilapidated.”
The Village, as it was often called, was located just north of what would eventually become New Town, a small but mostly abandoned residential area on the ridge of the forests.
The loan shark whimpered and cowered beneath me. There was nothing more he could say in his defense, and he knew it. He was completely at my mercy. And mercy, though exceedingly low in my possession, was what I would grant him now. For if I stayed any longer, I likely would have killed the man.
“This isn’t over,” I hissed at him as I started to take my leave. As I reached the doorway I stopped, and thought better of it. I flicked the light back on and looked about the room. Papers were strewn everywhere, as they’d likely been placed on the desk before I threw it. The sobbing man chirped and crawled away from me as he now saw the details of my suit more clearly. I walked toward the slew of papers and picked up a business card from a disheveled pile on the floor. Tommy Bilicko, it read.
Things were beginning to make sense in my mind, and I knew in my heart that Gordon would find exactly what I’d predicted upon the bodies of those red hoods he had captured. And though I tried telling myself that my part in this case was small, and that I’d be finished with it all once I’d found the Joker, I knew deep down that I could never again find the resolve to cease my crusade. Men like Falconi and Tommy Bilicko, they would all need to be taken down for their crimes. And all I had were verbal confessions given to myself alone. I had none of the proof needed to have them locked away for good. But one day, I would.
From the official police records of James Gordon, Police Commissioner of Gotham City
Investigation cont’d:
Cptn. James Gordon Date: Apr. 13, 1940
Update #46
I had an inkling that maybe our red hooded gang might have been coerced into joining in the Joker’s games. I know it goes against regulation, so I made sure to clear it with Grogan before performing strip searches. I pointed out that one of our guys was missing an ear, and another guy was missing all of his fingers except for the thumbs and pointers, and that maybe we would find more on the rest of them if we took a better look.
I couldn’t believe some of the contusions we found on the others. Even our very own Onsen Haynes of the GCPD was missing a kidney! None of them would talk about it. The best I got was “This city is gonna pay for everything” from Onsen. If the Joker has them scared, they could have fooled me. They’re committed to the cause, whatever the end game might be. And we are at the top of the list of their enemies.
Update #47
Now for the really bad news of the day. Harvey Dent hasn’t been seen in over 24 hours. We got the report this morning. I filed a separate missing persons report, but something tells me it’s related to this case, so I’m repeating it here for the records. Harvey has long been suspected to be the Joker’s 4th target, as he’s expected to win the election for district attorney in the coming weeks. Harvey represents hope for the city, and has a good chance of making positive change. The red hoods don’t seem to care about that. They’re focused on creating chaos and burning it all down.
In short, we let our guard down. Harvey’s been adamant that he’s not in danger and he doesn’t need our protection, and so we have kept our men at a distance from him. At some point our guys lost sight of him, and now it’s all gone to shit. Grogan has deployed two teams to try and track Dent down. My guess is he’s with the Joker right now and the only way to beat him at his own game is to finally figure out where he’s been hiding all this time.
From the confessions of Bruce Wayne
The next part of my investigation took place early the next day. I had planned to take a walk around the Village in an attempt to find the old shelter the loan shark had mentioned. Three stories, dilapidated, and part of the old residential slums. Being that it was such a small neighborhood, I did not expect it would be too difficult to find. And this time, rather than in the guise of Bruce Wayne or the Batman, I would once again don my ragged homeless man disguise from the days before I acquired my armored outfit.
While there were not too many three story buildings in the vicinity, virtually every housing structure I came across could be loosely defined as dilapidated. I rummaged around a few suspect premises, until finally I found one that had evidently been inhabited recently. As I poked around, dirty blankets, a few items of clothing, and some scraps of food lay all about the area, both outside and inside the measly structure. A couple poor souls dwelling within the halls looked me up and down suspiciously before darting back behind the tattered walls. I followed meekly in their general direction, seeing where each hall would lead. Eventually, I found myself face to face with what seemed to be an underground passage, and crawled my way through with only a mild bit of difficulty.
Deep within the underground passage lay a series of tunnels, leading to one rather large habitable space where groups of individuals clumped together in close quarters. They were all, quite obviously, squatters.
“Don’t think I’ve seen you ‘round here before,” a scrawny older fellow tapped me on the shoulder.
“Oh, I haven’t been here in a while. Bad memories,” I confided dishonestly.
“Ain’t no other kind, I reckon,” he sighed. “What brings ya down here?”
I surreptitiously bent close to him and spoke in a low voice, “I came about joining the red hoods.”
He moved his head away and stared at me, startled. “You know they don’t juz let anyone join ‘em, right?”
I clandestinely pulled the rags I wore upward, revealing the scars I had procured over the last year to him. “Bad memories.”
Without saying a word, he pointed down one of the tunnels. I had more I wanted answered, but something about him told me he was not an active member of the group, for he wore a rather fearful expression then.
I proceeded down the darkened path which led to yet another, similar open area. Much like an old abandoned subway but without train tracks. More people were gathered here, though none seemed any more conspicuous than the previous lot I’d seen. No one here gave me a second look, so I chose a rather harmless looking fellow and wandered up to him.
“Is this where we go to join the red hoods?”
He looked me up and down, somewhat undisturbed by my sudden presence before him, “Who wants to know?”
I again lifted my rags to reveal my malformations, “A man who seeks vengeance.”
He inspected me for a moment and then nodded, “You’ll hafta talk to Bob. He ain’t here though, won’t be here til later tonight. 11 or so.”
“Who is this Bob fellow?”
“The Joker’s number 2. He handles the recruits, distributes weapons, hands out the uniforms, and passes on the Joker’s orders.”
“What do you know of this Joker chap?” I asked. “Is he one of us?”
The man looked around, making sure no one was paying attention, and then confided in me, “That’s what they say. Only… few of us have asked around. No one can remember him from back when. Mind you, I don’t recognize half the people from those days as is, but you’d think someone would recognize a guy with them face scars.”
“Indeed.”
He shrugged, “Ain’t my place to wonder. He done good by us so far, after all. Still… no one seems to know much of anything about him. He just showed up one day and riled the crowds, talkin’ of revolution and whatnot. Before we knew it, he had a bunch of us eating out of his palms. Rest of us didn’t have much of a choice, if we wanted to stay in the community. It ain’t so bad. Then there are those like you, the ones who come of their own will. Some of them are well off too. Pretty healthy little insurgence, you ask me.”
“He has managed to do what many of us could only dream of for so long. The day of reckoning is finally here. I must confess, it took a while to find this place,” I continued my roleplay.
“Better late than never,” the man shrugged once more. “Come back tonight. You won’t be seeing Joker, but Bob’ll be here for sure.”
“How will I know him?”
“Easy, he’ll just start barking orders. And if that ain’t enough of a clue, he’s missing an eye.”
“My sincerest gratitude,” I nodded in thanks, and almost smiled at my luck. I knew immediately what the next step in my plan would be, and once again it would require the cooperation of Captain James Gordon.