Chapter 9: If These Alleys Could Talk

Warning: Slightly NSFW

Bruce whipped off his tie and suit jacket as he stormed through the front door. He slammed the stack of books down onto a nearby end table and pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve his headache. Alfred, who was watering plants in the nearby drawing room, came out to see the source of the commotion.

"Good evening, Master Bruce," he greeted warily. "How was your meeting with Mrs. Zellerbach?"

"It was an absolute triumph," Bruce replied sarcastically.

Alfred collected Bruce's jacket and draped it neatly over his arm. "What happened? Was she reluctant to give you the role?"

"Not at all. Once I showed her my commitment to the company, she told me to present my case to the board on Thursday. I'm supposed to read the bylaws and report there early every morning until the decision is made."

"That's wonderful news, Sir...but I assume there's more to the story?"

Bruce gave him a bitter look from the corner of his eye. "Dorian Finch came in. He made it a point to let me know who really has the control."

"Ah yes, Mr. Finch," Alfred stated knowingly. "A tricky fellow, that one. Your father never trusted him. It wasn't until after Master Thomas's death that Mr. Finch was promoted to Board Chairman."

"What was his former position?"

"He was the Chief Financial Officer if I'm not mistaken. Mr. Maganti filled the position soon after the re-election."

"According to Lucius, those two are as thick as thieves."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Really? A rather unusual pair..."

"Agreed. Maybe I can learn more tomorrow. Until then, I've got something else to take care of. Is Selina home yet?"

"Yes, Sir. I believe she's in the living room."

...

Bruce opened the double doors to the living room and found Selina sitting on the leather sofa with Isis curled up on her lap. She was typing something on her laptop and looked up as he came in. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

"You're home early," she said with a grin. "How did the meeting go?"

"It's a long story. I'll explain later. Right now, I could use some of your criminal insight."

Taken aback, Selina closed the lid on her computer and placed it on the coffee table. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, prior criminal insight."

She eyed him with suspicion. "...what do you wanna know?"

He sat down beside her. "I learned a lesson in preparedness today. Before I confront a problem head-on, I need a better understanding of what I'm up against."

"Seems pretty obvious to me, but go on."

"I want to know where the most criminal activity occurs in Gotham. I'm sure you would know."

Selina laughed. "Way to narrow it down, Bruce."

"I'm being serious. Where is the most dangerous area of the city?"

She stared at him, mildly exasperated. "As if you don't already know. It's where your parents were killed. I was born and raised there."

"Park Row?"

She nodded. "Any part of it, really. "The Narrows"—as we locals call it— is probably the worst. That part of Park Row is full of rundown buildings, dark streets, tight alleys, and railroad tracks. Every crime imaginable happens there, but the most common is murder."

Bruce shut his eyes in a feeble attempt to fight back the haunting memory.

"Why do you want to know? You're not planning to go there...are you?"

He looked her in the eye solemnly.

"Absolutely not!" she exclaimed, standing abruptly from the couch. Isis lept off in surprise and retreated under the nearby ottoman. "Have you completely lost your mind?! You'll end up in trouble in less than five minutes!"

"Is that a challenge?" he asked, mildly entertained. This earned him a burning glare that would reduce most other men to ashes.

"I mean it, Bruce! You should know better than anyone what can happen to rich people in the rough part of town!"

"Selina, I need to see these criminals in their natural element," he protested as he stood from the couch.

"Park Row isn't a zoo, Bruce! There may be animals that live there, but you won't be protected from them! Some innocent-looking homeless guy could take one look at you in your fancy business clothes with your gold Rolex and shank you as you pass by. He'll sell your watch on the black market, wear your clothes around town, and eat your left ear before dumping your body by the tracks!"

"I understand, but thanks anyway for that colorful image," he returned amusedly. "This is why I'm asking you. You know what it takes to blend in."

"Blend in?! What the hell are you planning to do?!"

"I'm going to walk the streets and see what happens there. I'll face those kinds of people in the future, so I need to know what to expect and the kind of threat they pose."

"Then let me spare you the trip! Everyone in the Narrows has done or is doing something horrible because it's the only way to survive. They prey on people who have what they want and will die to get it because they're desperate. If they're forced to choose between your life or theirs, they will choose theirs without a second thought. There! Satisfied?!"

"I won't be until I see it with my own eyes. Don't you trust me?"

Selina groaned and put a hand on her forehead. "Honestly, Bruce? I don't know anymore! You accuse me of being distant, but you haven't been entirely honest with me either. The only things I know about you and what you did over the past four years are what you tell me, and I'm not sure how much of it I believe!"

They fell into a tense silence. Bruce turned his head and stared through the archway into the short hall from where he came, an idea forming in his head. Selina stood anxiously waiting for an answer before he suddenly turned and quietly left the room.

"Seriously?! You're just going to walk away like a coward?!" she yelled, annoyed and thoroughly confused.

"Follow me."

Selina opened her mouth to protest, but when he showed no sign of stopping, she grumbled and ran to catch him. They continued quickly through the grand foyer and exited through a door to the left of the room. It brought them to a long hallway with high vaulted ceilings and green fabric walls covered in priceless paintings. At the end was a set of double gilded doors, which Bruce pushed open. Beyond was a cozy yet lavish ballroom with matching gilded walls, polished oak floors, gold candelabras, and Swarovski crystal chandeliers.

"You have another ballroom?" Selina asked, surprised. "What about the one upstairs?"

"That's the formal ballroom," Bruce replied. "This room was once used for smaller events...when my parents were alive. I've since been using it as a temporary gym."

To illustrate his point, Bruce opened the door of a nearby closet disguised as a wall panel. He reached in and pulled out a large blue folding mat. He carried it under his arm to the center of the empty floor and spread it flat. Finally, he removed his wingtip shoes and rolled the sleeves on his button-up shirt.

"Step up here on the mat."

Selina looked at him skeptically for a good time before she reluctantly unlaced her boots. She tossed them aside and stood in front of him on the foam mat.

"Try to hit me," he instructed.

"What?!"

"You heard me."

Selina crossed her arms over her chest, a defiant smirk on her face. "And why in the hell would I do that?"

"The day I came home, you asked to see what I learned. Here's your chance."

She released a hollow laugh. "You're serious? Hit you...right now? What does this have to do with the Narrows or anything we just talked about?"

He sighed. "I understand why you don't want me to go. As far as you know, I'm still the same little boy you could beat in a wrestling match. You won't trust me until you see my progress with your own eyes, which is why we're here. I want you to throw everything you've got at me. Try to throw me off. Go for my weak points. Use everything you know against me, and don't make it obvious. The best way I can show you is if your strike is complete—"

Selina's fist suddenly launched at his face. In a flash, he snatched her hand mere inches from his jaw and held it tightly between his fingers. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she glanced between their hands and Bruce's calm expression. There was no fear in his eyes. No doubt. He knew exactly when she was going to strike.

"Good, but your eyes gave you away." He released her hand and crouched into a fighting stance. "Again."

An unusual sense of self-doubt flooded through her, but she swiftly remembered herself and mirrored his position. A few seconds passed as they watched and circled each other like two predators. Making her move, Selina dashed toward him and threw several jabs and punches, but he blocked them all. Turning her body, she swung her leg in a roundhouse kick meant to strike his head, but he dodged and seized her foot as it sailed over his shoulder. She was momentarily startled by his quick reflexes, which gave him the perfect opening. He swept his leg under her other foot, dropping her to the floor.

"You've always been good at kicking, but you left your back leg exposed," he observed. "Try again."

She let out a frustrated growl and rose to her feet with more determination than before.

"Problem?" he inquired with a touch of humor.

Selina gritted her teeth. "For you, maybe. I'm playing to win now."

This back-and-forth game continued for over twenty minutes. Selina could only land one or two well-timed blows before he caught her off guard again. She dodged one of his strikes and planned to send a jab into his ribs, but she wasn't fast enough. In one fluid motion, he skillfully flipped and landed her on the mat with a loud smack. The force was not meant to hurt her, but it was enough to push the air out of her lungs. Bruce moved to the floor and used the weight of his body to pin her down as he held her wrists above her head with his other hand. She twisted her torso and legs to escape, but it was no use. He deliberately exhausted her until he could restrain her.

The two remained tangled together on the floor as they breathed raggedly.

"There. Satisfied?" he taunted, his voice deep.

Selina wanted to tell him off, but as she peered up at him, she noticed his icy blue eyes darkening in a way she had never seen before. Though she couldn't tell, Bruce noticed the same intense, desirous shadow passing over hers.

"Not yet," she purred...a deliciously indecent proposal.

Bruce let go of Selina's hands to have them suddenly seize his head and bring his mouth to hers. Tounges met, and moans of pleasure echoed off the empty walls of the ballroom as they ripped articles of clothing off piece by piece. Selina gasped as Bruce roughly pulled her hips to his. They knew one another so well they needed no time to find their perfect rhythm.

They might as well have still been fighting rather than having sex. It was a contest for control more than a demand for pleasure. Their foreplay usually involved light teasing, but this was different. It could have been a combination of the adrenaline rush from their sparring session and the residual heat from their earlier argument. Their love-making was always passionate, but it was usually fueled by an emotional need for each other that both were still too afraid to admit out loud. It always came from a place of mutual affection and respect. It came from two broken children who needed love only the other could provide.

This was not one of those times.

It was not love. It was raw, unapologetic lust. It was driven by this sudden animalistic desire that neither of them recognized but did not even attempt to fight. It was as if they were dancing on the edge of an abyss, excited by the possibility of falling.

After achieving the release, they lay down side-by-side, bodies glistening with sweat. Several moments passed in silence as they steadied their breaths before Bruce turned his head to look at Selina.

"I know I'm not always good at asking for help...but I'm not too proud to admit that I need you this time, Selina. Please...will you help me?"

Lying still, she studied the elaborate mural on the ceiling for a while. Then, she shook her head and a knowing smirk appeared on her lips.

"Damn it...I like it when you say please."

...

"For the record...this is insane," Selina remarked as she scanned the dark, deserted street through the driver's side window. "But in that getup, you might just fit in."

Bruce wore a tan leather jacket, black gloves, dark jeans, and military-style boots. A wool newspaper cap and gray bandana covered his head and face to conceal his identity. The last thing the gossip columns needed was a story about Bruce Wayne stalking the East End streets at night like a burglar.

"Thanks for piecing it together for me. You're sure it will keep people away?"

"Well—if nothing else—you look intimidating enough to keep some people away. Just try to avoid the mafia territories. They might want to recruit you."

Bruce moved to open the passenger door, but Selina placed her hand on his shoulder to stop him. As he turned to face her, she pulled down his bandana and caught his lips in an urgent kiss.

"Do me a favor, B?" she whispered as she straightened his hat. "Don't get killed. I'm too young to be a widow."

He smirked and lifted the cloth up over his nose. "Why not? If I die, you inherit my money and my estate. It would be your biggest score yet."

"Tempting, but no," she replied flippantly. "I'll park the car a few blocks back on the Mainland Bridge. When you're done, call me...if you're still alive, that is."

He closed the door behind him and started down the grimy, crumbling sidewalk. It was a few minutes before he heard the wheels of Selina's car turn behind him.

The Gotham City metropolitan area was comprised of five islands located in Gotham Bay off the coast of mainland New Jersey. The three primary islands were Founder's, Bleake, and Miagani. Further southeast was the smaller yet older islands of Old Gotham and New Gotham, known collectively as the East End. On the rare occasions during his childhood when Bruce visited the older parts of the city, he wasn't allowed to stay for long. His parents frequently did volunteer work in the East End—with Thomas and Leslie Thompkins opening their own clinic in Park Row— and they warned him of the high crime rate. Sadly, he had no concept of just how dangerous it was until that night in the alley in Park Row behind the Monarch Theater. He was within walking distance of it now, but he couldn't quite bring himself to see it again.

It was immediately clear to Bruce that the area had been declared a lost cause by the city in all but words. The asphalt roads and brick buildings were cracked and coated in years of city filth. Wet newspaper articles and other pieces of assorted litter clung to the edges of the sidewalk. Above him, old laundry lines holding forgotten, mildewed clothing zig-zagged from window to window down the length of the street. He could hear stray dogs barking in the distance and old televisions crackling through the dirty apartment windows above.

An estimated seventy-thousand people lived in Park Row, but the streets were hauntingly silent. He knew it was late, but he thought that an area rumored to be rife with illegal activities would be more active at night. Few people were out roaming the streets, and those who were kept to themselves. Their coats were pulled protectively around their bodies and their hats and scarves shielded their paranoid faces. It seemed to Bruce that even the shoddy buildings around him and the road beneath his feet were on edge. Personal experience aside, he could only imagine the things the people there had seen.

As he turned right at a fork in the main road, he noticed the street had narrowed into one lane. The space between the buildings had grown tighter and the rusted street lamps looked as if they hadn't been lit in a long time. The smell of burning coal and a faint low chugging sound in the distance told Bruce that he was nearing the railroad tracks. The windows in the apartment buildings were not glowing as brightly as the ones down the street. Instead, most were sealed tightly with wooden boards or shadowed by tattered drapes. He could faintly hear muffled voices and footsteps coming from the thin gaps in the buildings, but he couldn't see anyone. It seemed like the alleys themselves were whispering, speaking a secret language only they knew.

He had found it—The Narrows.

Across the street from him, a man dressed in dark clothing marched in the opposite direction. His head was low and he was going somewhere in a hurry. Another man in a long brown trenchcoat turned the corner and collided with the first man's shoulder. A few crude insults were exchanged, but Bruce's attention was drawn to something else. Someone with an untrained eye wouldn't have noticed, but he could practically see it in slow motion.

The man who had appeared from around the corner passed a small plastic bag to the man in dark clothes. At that exact moment, a roll of cash bound with a rubber band passed from the first man's gloved hand to the other man's. Both men pocketed their items and continued down the street as if nothing had happened.

Nothing...except a drug deal.

The clang of a glass bottle skipping against concrete came from Bruce's right side. He turned and squinted down a long, dark alley between apartment buildings. The tiny silhouettes of children were dancing between the narrow brick walls. Two were seated atop a dumpster, rummaging through the contents of a torn garbage bag and discarding bits of trash onto the ground below. Three more were crouched nearby with their hands wedged between the gaps of a sewer grate. They hastily shoved one another aside to snatch the lost coins trapped inside.

Orphans.

The soft crunching of tires against loose asphalt came from behind. Bruce turned to see a black Ford Granada parked about thirty yards behind him. A bleach-blonde woman in a revealing black dress, fox fur coat, and platform heels emerged from the shadows. She sauntered over to the car as the passenger window rolled slowly down. The woman leaned through and briefly spoke to the driver before accepting an envelope brimming with cash and stepping inside the car.

Prostitution.

Bruce shook his head and continued down the street. Each minute that passed, another crime occurred. Nothing particularly dangerous, but he refused to drop his guard. Selina said the most common type of crime in the Narrows was homicide and the nocturnal beings of the East End were beginning to awaken. He tentatively patrolled the deadly backstreets for a long while, but still, nothing happened. It gave him a little reassurance. If the worst he would face on a nightly basis were drug dealers, hungry children, and sex addicts, his mission would be easier than he anticipated.

Just as he began to debate calling Selina and heading home for the night, a woman's bone-chilling scream echoed off the brick walls of the alley beside him. Over the roar of angry taxi horns and wailing police sirens across the bridge, Bruce thought he heard the echoes of gunfire, but he could scarcely tell. His mind was on such high alert listening for any immediate noises that it was beginning to play tricks on him. He approached the entrance and leaned in closer, blocking all the sounds around him. He heard the low rumble of a man's voice, followed by a few more. Softer still was the stifled sound of a woman crying.

Bruce searched the main road and the apartment windows overhead for any sign of life, but no one was there. He was utterly alone. No one was coming. It was as if the Narrows and its residents had become deaf to the sound of pain and misery.

With time running out, Bruce squared his shoulders and stealthily entered the shadows. He stayed close to the wall to avoid detection and peered carefully around the corner to survey the threat. In an open area where three buildings converged, seven men had a young woman surrounded. All of them were holding weapons, ranging from switchblades to wooden clubs. One had his hand placed over the woman's mouth and her body pinned to a brick wall. The tip of his straight-edge knife was held to the underside of her chin. Tears pooled from her eyes as petrified whimpers made her entire body shiver. The man standing closest to Bruce at the entrance of the alley was rifling through the contents of a red suede handbag, no doubt belonging to her. Either the men anticipated a bigger score and brought reinforcements, or an armed robbery wasn't the only sinister act they had planned.

"Let her go," Bruce growled, emerging from the darkness and dropping the tone of his voice to a menacing low—a trick he had learned overseas. The woman gasped and her eyes darted straight to him, surprised yet relieved. The man holding her didn't bother to turn around, nor did most of his accomplices. He chuckled and waved the blade of his knife.

"Yeah, right. Go find your own score, asshole."

Bruce had prepared himself for a confrontation, but the man's response stunned him. He could hardly believe the implication was that he wasn't there to save the girl but that he wanted his own chance to rob her. He was finally beginning to understand the problem with Gotham. These criminals were more ruthless than he thought...and they weren't afraid.

He took a confident step forward. "I'm not asking again. Let. Her. Go."

This time, the man snarled in frustration and waved to his associates. "Can someone please deal with that?!"

Two men split from the group and approached Bruce, priming their weapons. The first swung his baseball bat over Bruce's head. While he was distracted, Bruce delivered a hard punch to his head. The man hit the pavement, unconscious. Bruce grabbed the second man by the collar of his shirt and slammed his face into the brick wall. Both were knocked out in less than ten seconds. Bruce stepped over their bodies and advanced on the men once more.

"Last chance."

Finally, all the men turned around and took out their weapons. The woman instantly sprinted down the alley and out of sight while they were occupied. The next few seconds passed in an adrenaline-fueled blur. Knives, bats, and fists came at Bruce from all sides. When one attacked, he blocked the strike only to have another attack from a different side. One man tried to charge from behind, but Bruce flipped him over his shoulder and knocked him out with a single hit.

Suddenly, Bruce heard the distinctive rip of fabric and looked down to see the main assailant retracting his knife from his side. Bruce waited for him to strike a second time before smashing the man's face against his knee. Once he hit the ground, the remaining muggers dropped their clubs and ran down the block. Bruce moved to follow them, but a stinging pain came from his right side and brought him to his knees. He withdrew his hand from the area to see his gloved fingers coated in blood.

He snarled deep in his throat, both from the pain and his own carelessness. He needed to assess the damage, but he had to keep it a secret. Selina had already warned him about the danger. Allowing her to help would only reinforce her earlier doubts about him. Alfred would help patch the wound, but not before giving him a thorough dressing down. Bruce wanted neither, so he was again on his own.

He removed his cell phone from his back pocket and pressed the speed dial. Fortunately, Selina answered after the first ring.

"Hey," he greeted, clenching his teeth to disguise the pain in his voice. "I'm at the corner of Cathedral Way and Ash Street. I think I'm done here."

As soon as the call ended, he immediately untied the bandana from around his neck and pressed it against the wound beneath his jacket to slow the bleeding. It was only a few seconds before Selina's car raced into view. The wheels came to a screeching halt as she reached across the passenger seat and thrust open the door. Bruce darted inside and barely had time to buckle the seatbelt before she sped off toward the bridge.

"Sorry for the quick getaway. You have no idea what these assholes would do if they saw a seventy-thousand dollar car parked out in the open for too long."

"It's fine," he replied, carefully keeping his right side angled against the door. It was subtle but effective in hiding his injury from view.

They spent the next forty minutes in silence as the car crossed over the Blackgate bridge, back onto the mainland, and up the quiet mountain road back to the manor. Selina occasionally looked at Bruce, waiting for him to say something. No one survives a night in the East End without having some story to tell, and Bruce seemed more guarded than usual. Realizing he wasn't going to speak, she decided to prompt him.

"You've been pretty quiet. Are you okay? Did you...see something?"

He was speechless for another moment. Without looking away from the window, he finally answered.

"Too much."

That was all he said for the remainder of the drive.

...

Bruce was running out of time. He couldn't tell how severe the slash was, but judging by the warm, damp weight of the bandana pressed against his side, it wasn't good. The dizziness, nausea, and shortness of breath from the blood loss started affecting him. Too much longer and he would lose consciousness.

Selina had been keeping a close watch on him since they left Park Row, no doubt concerned by his unusual reserve. She was amazingly observant and—given the intimate nature of their marriage— hiding the wound from her would be a challenge. He placed his hands into his jacket pockets and tucked his right arm against his side to conceal the torn fabric.

The time on the grandfather clock in the hallway read well past midnight. The lights in the grand foyer and visible portion of the upper floor were dimmed, meaning Alfred had—thankfully—gone to bed. Bruce told him he and Selina were going out, but he didn't say where. He knew how Alfred would feel and didn't want to worry him more than necessary. He didn't enjoy keeping secrets from him or Selina, but he would have to save his guilt for later.

After hanging up her jacket, Selina proceeded toward the stairs but stopped to look at him.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" she asked, her expression bothered.

"I'm sure. It wasn't anything serious. It's just...it was hard...being back there again."

Selina sighed. "That's part of the reason I didn't want you to go."

"You understand why I had to, though?"

She nodded. "I also understand why you don't want to talk about it. Maybe getting some rest will help. You coming to bed?"

"Not yet. I was supposed to get started on the books Regina gave me before tomorrow. I'll stay up for a little longer, but I'll be upstairs soon. I promise."

"Don't go making promises, Bruce," she teased. "I may just be expecting a repeat performance of this afternoon."

Bruce gave her a tired smile. "Maybe tomorrow. Goodnight."

He kissed her one last time before she went upstairs. As soon as she was out of sight, he hurried down the hall and into the study. Judging by his late pain response time after he was cut, the blade must have made a clean slice. He didn't have time to prepare stitches, so he would have to settle for staples. At least they would reduce the scarring. He hastily retrieved the stapler from the desk drawer and locked the door to one of the powder rooms. His headache worsened, making him wonder if the cut was still bleeding. He received confirmation when he removed his shirt and the fabric caught on the fresh, wet blood surrounding the wound.

The cut stretched a decent few inches horizontally above one of his ribs and was easily half an inch deep. He could see bits of ripped muscle peering out from under the folds of his torn skin.

He slammed his fist on the counter and cursed himself. He should have been able to avoid the attack. He had evaded far worse threats during his training—gunshots, explosions, swords, spears, arrows, and wild animals. If one slash with a thug's knife was enough to cause this much damage, his worst fear was coming true.

He was not prepared at all.