It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that I was angry. I wanted a fight. I wasn't even sure why I was angry. The day I was released from Arkham Asylum, I thought Dr. Pennyworth was going to give me a ride home. As usual, something came up, another life to save. So, I took a cab. Half way through the ride, I changed the destination. He didn't say anything about it.
The place hadn’t changed much. I heard it was dubbed Crime Alley after my parent’s death. In a lot of ways, I still blamed myself. I know there was nothing I could have done, but we were in that alley because of me, because I couldn’t handle some anxiety.
I walked over the to spot. The image of their bodies flashed through my head. I could feel the anger build up inside of me. There was no stopping it. I wanted to scream. I wanted to let it out. I wouldn’t have to wait long to release it.
“Hey, whacha doin’ here?”
I hadn't even seen them approach me. The voice came from behind me. I turned to look at them. Four men wearing dark clothing. It was dark enough that I couldn’t see their faces.
“Nothing. Look, I don’t want any trouble.” It was a lie.
“This guy doesn’t want any trouble. You came to the wrong place.”
They kept coming closer to me. The leader pulled a knife from his pocket, a switchblade. He flipped it open.
“I don’t have any money or credit cards on me or anything.” That was true.
“We hear that all the time. It’s never true.”
They were 20 feet away, then 10. I was waiting for the opportunity. The leader was five feet from me, then three. I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket and started to hand it over. I dropped it at his feet. He didn’t fall for the trick.
“Pick it up.”
The other goons didn’t appear to be armed. I picked up the wallet and threw it into his chest. He used both hands to grab it. I followed the throw with a punch to his face. It was the best punch I had landed up to that point in my life. The leader tumbled backward and flipped head over heels. His buddies just watched while I side kicked one in the face and front kicked another in the kidney and the face. They were down, so I moved onto the last attacker.
“Hey, this is the police. FREEZE!”
I looked at the noise and saw the flashing lights. I threw my hands up and stood where I was. The perpetrators took off, bruised and beaten. A plainclothes cop got out of the car. He had a mustache as many cops do.
“What are you, crazy? I saw you walk down here. You’re lucky I showed up when I did. Those guys…”
He steps closer to me and sees the blood on the street.
“Never stood a chance. Who are you?”
“My name is Bruce Wayne. My parents were murdered here. I was just paying my respects.”
“Wayne of Wayne Enterprises? Well, I wouldn’t come here alone, and I’m a cop. Next time you want to visit, I recommend buying some security or at least giving the GPD a call.”
“Sorry, officer. I thought I could handle myself. Thank for your help Officer.. I didn’t catch your name.”
“No, I’m sorry. I never gave it. The name’s Gordon, Jim Gordon. I’m a Sargent in Homicide or, well, I used to be. I’m just on my home if you’d like a ride.”
“I’m out of your way.”
“My wife can cook you dinner, and I can take you home after.”
“Is she a good cook?”
“Not really, but don’t tell her I said that.”
“Alright, that sounds pretty good.”
I got in his car, and we went to his house. His wife, Sarah, cooked an amazing meatloaf. I saw a picture of his son, but he wasn't at the house. I decided not to inquire. His daughter joined us for dinner. She was ten at the time. Dinner was quiet, mostly. I didn’t have much to say anyway. After a while, Jim took me home.
“Mr. Wayne, what are you going to do now?”
“Now, that you’ve overcome your issues.”
“I’ve been in and out of Arkham for a decade. I don’t think it’s the last time I’ll leave.”
“What happened to Gotham? It’s worse than I remember. It only seems to get worse.”
“Four mafia families and a corrupt police force.”
“There are good cops, too? Like you?”
“They are few and far between. It’s so bad that I’ve thought about going back to Chicago. There’s no room for advancement here. Well, I'm not even in homicide anymore.”
“Why is that?”
“A few years ago, I solved a murder involving a mafia hit man. I was told not to solve it. The guy who did it, killed this guy and got high in the scene of the crime and passes out. The dead guy’s wife comes home, calls the cops, and we arrest him. They wanted me to destroy evidence. I said no, and the rest is history.”
“You don’t work homicide anymore?”
“Where do you work?”
“The pawn shop unit.”
“There’s a pawn shop unit?”
“That has to be terrible.”
“What would it take to get Gotham back?”
"Back to what?"
"To where Crime Alley is just Park Row again."
“Bruce, I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Say you had the help of a multi-billionaire. What would you do then?”
"Well, in that case, I have some ideas. Do you think Wayen Enterprises would have anything to offer?"