It's always dark in Gotham.

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

Rupert Thorne is sweating. This is outside his norm, and he knows it.

The choice of a funeral parlor for making these weapons deals felt like imaginative thinking at first, which was necessary, since the goddamned Batman has been making it his personal mission to never let a businessman get a moment's sleep.

Now, though, he's nervous. Wondering whether or not the choice of location was actually a sad irony.

Still, he has to remain smooth and in control, despite the fact that his pulse is racing.

The cigar helps. Always does. This isn't something he'd handle personally, usually, but he'll be damned if the Bat hasn't gotten him edgy. First guy to call it paranoid gets the cigar in the eye.

He doesn't like to be kept waiting, either.

Finally, though, the caskets roll in, which means they can get this done. Before the Bat shows.

"It's about time."

Comments

[jla-villains.livejournal.com]

"No bitchin' allowed. You know this shit takes longer to transport."

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

"Watch your tone, Swanson. Were you followed?"

[jla-villains.livejournal.com]

"No way. Hearses ain't suspicious."

Blink.

"You all right, Thorne? Lookin' a little peaked there."

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

"A big man doesn't need a reason to sweat. I didn't come here to ask for your medical opinion, Swanson. Show me what I'm paying for."

[jla-villains.livejournal.com]

"Sure thing."

Swanson's men crack the caskets open, revealing a massive stockpile of firearms of all shapes and sizes.

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

What he doesn't use himself, he should be able to resell easily, at double the price.

But he's going to be using a lot of this himself.

He inspects it closely.

Sheer firepower should be able to bring down that costumed freak, when he doesn't have his pals in the cape club to back him up...

His jaw tightens, already imagining the bloodied body... the Bat's head on a pike.

"Good man, Swanson."

A snap of his fingers, and his compatriots produce two briefcases full of cash.

[aknightdarkly.livejournal.com]

A crash of shattered glass... and one of those compatriots grunts, dropped to the ground instantly.

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

"No, no, NO!"

Thorne grabs two arms full of weaponry and dives under a table, while everyone else immediately swivels, guns drawn...

[aknightdarkly.livejournal.com]

The familiar silhouette is well met by moonlight.

"You stand no chance."

[jla-villains.livejournal.com]

That's all they needed to hear - and they didn't even need to hear that.

Gunfire rings out in the night.

[det-montoya.livejournal.com]

An unmarked sedan pulls up along side the curb opposite the funeral parlor. Two additional cruisers are already in route. The sound of gunfire can be heard in the cabin through closed windows. She doesn't bother even opening the door before reaching for the radio.

"Central Six-Charlie-Tango, ten sixty-nine. Request additional back-up."

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

"This is Dispatch, Six-Charlie-Tango. 10-69, understood. Three units running 10-40, ETA four minutes. Do you have a visual?"

[det-montoya.livejournal.com]

More gunfire. Loud and heavy. None of it seems to be directed towards the vehicle.

"Negative. Be advised. Multiple assailants. Units use extreme caution."

She lays off the radio and forces it back into its holder. The door swings open and immediately she goes for the trunk. Like hell she's going into an unknown without a vest.

[sonia-alcana.livejournal.com]

Sonia follows Renee's lead, also not too keen on getting shot, but still anxious to get in. Thorne could still get away. This could still go south. Please let it not go south.

[det-montoya.livejournal.com]

Renee wordlessly hands her a vest. There's a shotgun in the trunk too. She's real tempted to take it along.

[jla-villains.livejournal.com]

One of the side doors of the parlor bursts open, and a darkly-dressed man comes flying out of it, crashing hard against a tree and falling into a heap.

The windows light up with muzzle flashes, and occasional silhouettes are seen, like a strobe light.

One of them might have wings.

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

The front door bursts open as well, and Thorne's backing up, firing wildly with a sub-machine gun into the building, looking panicked and terrified, followed quickly by one of his men scrambling on all fours behind him, trying to stay low and avoid the crossfire.

The gunfire drowns out the voices, outside of agitated, incoherent shouting.

[aknightdarkly.livejournal.com]

Suddenly, a Batarang flies out from inside, cracking against Thorne's hands and forcing him to drop the automatic weapon... and the man on all fours is suddenly being strangled with a cable.

A growl is all that's discernible.

[det-montoya.livejournal.com]

Montoya has just enough time to unceremoniously drag Alcana behind the car for cover. When she peers up over the roof...

What the fuck?! Batman and a garrot?

She levels her sidearm. At the Gotham's protector. "GCPD! Let him go!"

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

Thorne spins on his heels, eyes wide in terror.

"The COPS?! Who brought the fucking COPS?!"

Suddenly, another semiautomatic is drawn from his coat, and leveled right at Montoya.

Shaking just a little. "BACK OFF, COP!"

[aknightdarkly.livejournal.com]

Batman hides his own surprise at this development.

Instead, he lets the thug he's strangling go, and swoops in behind Thorne.

Not laying a hand on him, or so it seems from the angle, as he's hidden behind his corpulent frame.

Something is possibly said. Maybe. The Bat isn't known for clarity.

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

Thorne's face tightens as the Bat moves away from him again... and suddenly, he turns his gun on the man on all fours... and proceeds to shoot him right in the head, in one swift movement.

[det-montoya.livejournal.com]

Thorne's sudden movement gets an immediate response. A double tap from Montoya's Glock. Their target? Center of mass. They hit Thorne in the chest.

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

The fat man drops like a sack of potatoes as blood explodes from his chest.

Splattering onto the Bat.

[aknightdarkly.livejournal.com]

The Bat just looms, cape drawn still over his shadowed form.

Eyes fixed on the detective.

[det-montoya.livejournal.com]

She doesn't move. Her eyes and her Glock are now on Batman.

[sonia-alcana.livejournal.com]

Sonia watches the scene unfold. She's holding her breath. There's blood in her mouth from her biting the inside of her lip - a nervous habit.

She watches Thorne go down with an odd sort of intensity.

She can't bring herself to feel any concern for his life.

[aknightdarkly.livejournal.com]

The Bat just glares back for a long, silent moment.

Until his hands open up, arms spreading out, and she'll see they're empty.

Then, something that might be a grin on his face.

"Nice shot."

[det-montoya.livejournal.com]

... the hell?

There are certain things she's come to expect from Batman. Sticking around long enough to chat? Not on the list. A compliment on the use of deadly force? Every hair on the back of her neck is standing on edge.

"Keep your hands where I can see 'um!"

[sonia-alcana.livejournal.com]

Yeah, that's not right. And Sonia would know; she did stalk and impersonate the guy, after all.

But her eyes are on Thorne.

[aknightdarkly.livejournal.com]

Thorne... who gets kicked by the Dark Knight, in the midst of that fluttering cape move he does when spinning away from pursuers.

As he darts back into the funeral parlor, the voice can be heard.

"Justice is served!"

[det-montoya.livejournal.com]

Oh hell no. This isn't the real deal and she knows it. She's around the tail end of the crown vic and giving chase before he's fully out of view.

Somewhere in the back of her brain, she's hoping Alcana has the good sense to stay behind cover. And call for an ambulance.

[sonia-alcana.livejournal.com]

Alcana does have good sense. And really, her chasing after Batman - any Batman - is probably not a good idea.

She's got her phone out. Dialing 911.

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

Everyone else at the scene of the crime is out cold, bones shattered in several places. Some will never walk again.

One will never breathe again - the head wound bleeding profusely from Thorne's bullet.

Thorne himself... his eyes are still open. He's still moving.

His head turns, focusing on the two women in sight.

Alcana. Shoulda killed that bitch months ago.

That's the only rage he can muster. Sweating profusely and breathing labored, all he can feel is fear. Sheer terror that this is the end.

It can't END like this...

[sonia-alcana.livejournal.com]

Sonia keeps her eyes on him. Hard for her to look away, really, even as she gives the address to the dispatcher on the phone.

Her expression is hard. She hopes he's scared. Scared for his life. Whether or not he dies, she hopes he understands what that's like.

[det-montoya.livejournal.com]

Montoya disappears into the funeral parlor in pursuit of the fake. She keeps the Glock out front and ready. Is it going to do her much good against her assailant? The knot forming in her stomach says no. Where the fuck is my back up?

She has no clue she's about ready to walk into the middle of a showdown.