BATMAN: BLACK OR WHITE
CHAPTER TWO
April 2
In what seems to be another day, the sun slowly sets behind the tall Gotham City’s skyscrapers.
…
Above, the cloud ceiling reflects no Batsignal, as if it’s missing it.
…
Inside his manor, Bruce Wayne contemplates the beautiful sunset, as the sun rays come through the tall windows.
…
Without saying a word, Bruce Wayne turns back and heads towards a grand piano, that stands in the middle of the manor’s living room. He opens its large cage, introducing one of his hands. Then, there is a faint sound, as he pushes a button hidden inside.
…
*CLICK*
…
Without any delay, a tall and antique grandfather’s clock opens immediately revealing a path.
…
The clock’s hands point at seven hours and thirty-nine minutes in the starting night.
…
Inside his Batcave, Gotham City’s favorite playboy walks and passes by a number of giant vaults like closets aligned through a long corridor. Suddenly, he stops in front of one of them.
(At the dead end a vault can be seen with the Batman emblem on it).
…
After entering the secret code the vault opens, showing its contents: rows of different kinds of clothes hanging, wrapped in plastic. Everything is perfectly organized.
…
Under his Bruce Wayne alter-ego, the Batman chooses one (the tag “Matches Malone” can be read on it).
He proceeds to disguise himself with it:
…
First comes the make-up, consisting of changing his hair color and gluing a thin mustache, along with a scar that runs up from his neck to the half of his left cheek.
…
Then he gets dressed, with a reddish brown suit and a fedora.
…
Finally, he puts on a pair of dark glasses and a golden tooth, assuming the Matches Malone persona.
…
Later in his Batcave’s garage, the Batman (concealed under the Matches Malone’s disguise) walks in front of a vast variety of cars and other different ways of transportation.
…
(Small Search and Rescue helicopters and gliders, as well as other types of aircrafts can be seen).
…
He keeps walking until he stops in front of a black, 1947, two-doors, Lincoln Continental Coupe.
…
The car looks used, though in perfect condition.
…
Matches Malone sits on the driver’s seat and starts the engine. It roars in response, and he drives away.
…
Seen from above, Gotham City’s Downtown flashes with life. Its neon signs and colorful pedestrians populate in what would be an otherwise moonless night. High-class prostitutes and their pimps; gamblers and thieves; tourists and executives; all cross the streets indistinctly. Luxury cars and taxis speed down and up the avenues and boulevards.
…
Matches Malone, comfortably inside his automobile, drives away from the top-class shore of Downtown and heads into Gotham City’s darkest entrails, directly to the East End.
…
The East End was born in the Twenties, in a time known to history as the Prohibition era in the United States of America. Within those years, gangsters smuggling alcohol established their base of operations inside and beneath these buildings. The first and upper floors were used as the offices and headquarters for their legitimate businesses, a façade which served as a front for their criminal activity. The basements, in turn, stored great amounts of moonshine. Dug tunnels connecting the basements made easier the traffic and hiding of the illegal booze.
…
When the Prohibition ended with the ratification of the Twenty-first Amendment in nineteen thirty three, the remaining gangsters saw an opportunity and moved along with their millions of dollars to new shores, namely, those of Downtown.
…
The less fortunate became its permanent residents: the homeless and vagrants, the unemployed hit men and ruffians, the lowlifes and whores, the scoundrels and pickpockets.
…
The old and then uninhabited buildings were either demolished or remodeled: warehouses were turned into porn cinemas; offices into striptease clubs and brothels; small neighborhood stores into sleazy bars and nightclubs.
…
As for the basements’ tunnels, their former owners were intelligent enough to block them up and forget about them. Their existence became an urban legend, even to the police force of the city.
To these days, twenty or thirty years later, very few people know of their existence; among them is the Batman.
…
Matches Malone arrives to the East End, leaving his car in a parking lot. With his hands inside his jacket’s pockets, he crosses the street and calmly walks through the poverty and the disease which abounds on every sidewalk. Half-naked girls and women offer their services interestedly, while beggars only extend their dirty hands, without saying a word or looking at him.
…
After a while of strolling through back-alleys, he eventually makes it to the destination of his trek: a juke joint called “Jezebel”, where mobsters and goons gather to share drinks and, if inquired politely, a little information.
…
A bouncer standing in front of the entrance recognizes him and steps aside, ignoring the order to frisk each entering customer.
…
Inside of this place the cigarette’s smoke casts a murky cloud. Drinks come and go as the bartender incessantly serves them, while the waitresses work hard to keep the clients satisfied. Two drunk men tussle to play their desired songs on the jukebox. For the time being, Lois Armstrong’s “Mack the Knife” fills the atmosphere with its outstanding jazz.
…
Despite the dim light, Matches Malone recognizes some unfriendly gazes staring at him.
…
He grins, and his golden tooth shines.
Matches Malone (to himself): SIX TOUGH LOOKING GUYS, HUH? SURE THEY HAVE SOMETHING TO HIDE.
Matches Malone (to himself): I’LL START WITH THEM.
…
Without neither hesitation nor haste, he moves towards them.
…
The antisocials take notice, and prepare themselves for the uninvited guest.
…
Upon arriving, Matches Malone takes his fedora off, in sign of respect. His interlocutors, on the contrary, lean on their elbows against the table, showing mistrust.
…
The meanest looking guy is the first to speak:
Mr. White: I’LL BE DAMN, IF IT ISN’T MATCHES MALONE!
He inhales from his cigar, blowing a dragon’s breath of smoke.
…
Mr. White: LONG TIME NO SEE.
Mr. White: WHAT BRINGS YOU DOWN HERE?
…
Matches Malone: I HEARED THERE’S BEEN A MURDER.
Matches Malone: MY BOSS IS CONCERNED HOW THIS EVENTUALITY COULD ALTER THE BUSINESS.
…
For a brief moment there is an uncomfortable silence. Matches Malone takes a match and puts it in his mouth.
…
Matches Malone: MURDERS AREN’T GOOD FOR THE BUSINESS, FOR THE BUSINESS DEALS WITH LIVE WOMEN, NOT DEAD ONES.
Matches Malone: AND DEAD WOMEN CALL POLICE’S ATTENTION, AND POLICE’S ATTENTION ISN’T GOOD FOR THE BUSINESS,
Matches Malone: NO IT ISN’T.
Matches Malone: THEY MAY BE PAYED OFF, BUT SUCH AN INCIDENT IS STRONG ENOUGH TO DRIVE RIVAL GANGS TO WAGE WAR FOR TURF,
Matches Malone: AND THEN POLICE WILL HAVE TO MEDDLE,
Matches Malone: NO MATTER WHAT.
…
Mr. Brown: I SEE.
Mr. Brown: AND WHAT YOU WANNA KNOW ‘BOUT THIS MURDER?
…
Mr. White: WOULD YOU SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU IDIOT?!
He pounds the table with his fist.
…
A man among the brutes finishes his drink. He stands up. His voice is hoarse, although he speaks in a gentle manner:
Mr. Blonde: LET’S CALM DOWN, WOULD YA? WHY DON’T WE GO OUTSIDE AND HAVE SOME FRESH AIR? ALL THIS SMOKE SEEMS TO START TO GET TO OUR NERVES.
Mr. Blonde: IT’S TOO CROWDED IN HERE.
Mr. Blonde: LET’S GO OUT…
…
He makes sure Matches Malone can see the gun in his hand, hidden under his coat, pointing at him.
Mr. Blonde: …COME ON, BE A GOOD LAD.
…
Seven men leave the bar. Matches Malone walks in front, with his hands up; Mr. Blue and Mr. Orange escort him, with their guns pointing straight at him; Mr. Pink, Mr. Brown, Mr. Blonde and Mr. White follow them closely.
…
The alley is narrow, with trashcans scattered alongside the walls.
…
Mr. White: YOU’RE GONNA TELL US EVERYTHIN’ Y’KNOW ABOUT THIS MURDER.
Mr. White: YOU CAME ASKIN’ QUESTIONS, BUT IT SEEMS TO ME IT’S YOU WHO HAVE THE ANSWERS.
Matches Malone: I KNOW NOTHIN’.
Mr. White: SHUT UP.
Mr. White: YOU’LL HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO TALK LATER.
…
He takes one last blow from his cigarette before throwing it to the ground and stepping on it.
…
Mr. White: KEEP WALKIN’, THE CAR’S JUST AHEAD.
Matches Malone: WHERE’RE YOU TAKIN’ ME? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO TO ME?
Mr. White: YOU’LL KNOW SOON ENOUGH, MY PARTNER WILL TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOU.
…
Mr. Blonde: “ALL YOU CAN DO IS PRAY FOR A QUICK DEATH, WHICH YOU AIN’T GONNA GET”.
Matches Malone: THERE’S NO NEED TO PRAY:
Matches Malone: NO ONE’S DYING TONITE.
…
Before any one could react to his words, Matches Malone turns around and grabs the two nearest thugs strongly by their arms, impeding them to use their weapons.
…
The one to his right receives a knee-kick in the stomach. He falls to the ground.
…
The one to his left is tossed upside down against the wall. He lands on his head.
…
The two are left unarmed and unconscious.
…
Next, with blistering speed, he grabs a trashcan’s cap and throws it at two of the four men remaining.
…
They too end up unarmed and out of combat, as the cap hits Mr. Pink in the hand, ricocheting against Mr. Brown’s head.
…
Mr. Brown falls to the ground, blood spurting from his forehead. Mr. Pink is propelled back against some trashcans, as a consequence of the impact.
…
He crawls for cover.
…
Panic strikes Mr. White’s and Mr. Blonde’s face.
…
Too clumsy and slow to stand a chance, they are bested easily. It only takes one more kick…
…
…and one last jab.
…
Only one, of the initial six men, remains conscious to speak. He is a coward miscreant with big blue eyes and big teeth, enclosed by a big mouth. He has a thin moustache and a chin beard. His head, in relation to his features, is somehow small.
…
He moans and whines, crouched in a corner, because of the pain in his hand. He holds it against his chest with his other arm.
Mr. Pink: WHAT THE HELL!? YOU BROKE MY WRIST, OH GOD, YOU BROKE MY WRIST!
Mr. Pink: I’LL KILL YOU, GODDAMMIT! I’LL KILL YOU!
…
Matches Malone walks towards him, like he had all the time in the whole world. Then, kindly, grabs his healthy arm; Mr. Pink, confused and without knowing what to do, merely contemplates…
Matches Malone: THAT ISN’T A BROKEN WRIST, YOU’RE JUST SORE.
…
Following this, he breaks the felon’s wrist with a swift and firm movement:
…
*CRAC*
…
Matches Malone: NOW, THAT’S A BROKEN WRIST.
…
Mr. Pink: AAAAWWWWWWW! MY WRIST, YOU BROKE MY GODDAMNED WRIST!
Mr. Pink: I’LL TALK, I’LL TALK! I’LL SING WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO!
Mr. Pink: PLEASE, PLEASE I BEG YOU, DON’T HURT ME ANYMORE, YOU BROKE MY WRIST! AWWWWW, MY WRIIIISST…
…
Matches Malone (to himself): SURE IT HURTS.
Matches Malone (to himself): WE TALK.
Matches Malone (to himself): HE TELLS ME EVERYTHING HE KNOWS.
CHAPTER TWO
April 2
In what seems to be another day, the sun slowly sets behind the tall Gotham City’s skyscrapers.
…
Above, the cloud ceiling reflects no Batsignal, as if it’s missing it.
…
Inside his manor, Bruce Wayne contemplates the beautiful sunset, as the sun rays come through the tall windows.
…
Without saying a word, Bruce Wayne turns back and heads towards a grand piano, that stands in the middle of the manor’s living room. He opens its large cage, introducing one of his hands. Then, there is a faint sound, as he pushes a button hidden inside.
…
*CLICK*
…
Without any delay, a tall and antique grandfather’s clock opens immediately revealing a path.
…
The clock’s hands point at seven hours and thirty-nine minutes in the starting night.
…
Inside his Batcave, Gotham City’s favorite playboy walks and passes by a number of giant vaults like closets aligned through a long corridor. Suddenly, he stops in front of one of them.
(At the dead end a vault can be seen with the Batman emblem on it).
…
After entering the secret code the vault opens, showing its contents: rows of different kinds of clothes hanging, wrapped in plastic. Everything is perfectly organized.
…
Under his Bruce Wayne alter-ego, the Batman chooses one (the tag “Matches Malone” can be read on it).
He proceeds to disguise himself with it:
…
First comes the make-up, consisting of changing his hair color and gluing a thin mustache, along with a scar that runs up from his neck to the half of his left cheek.
…
Then he gets dressed, with a reddish brown suit and a fedora.
…
Finally, he puts on a pair of dark glasses and a golden tooth, assuming the Matches Malone persona.
…
Later in his Batcave’s garage, the Batman (concealed under the Matches Malone’s disguise) walks in front of a vast variety of cars and other different ways of transportation.
…
(Small Search and Rescue helicopters and gliders, as well as other types of aircrafts can be seen).
…
He keeps walking until he stops in front of a black, 1947, two-doors, Lincoln Continental Coupe.
…
The car looks used, though in perfect condition.
…
Matches Malone sits on the driver’s seat and starts the engine. It roars in response, and he drives away.
…
Seen from above, Gotham City’s Downtown flashes with life. Its neon signs and colorful pedestrians populate in what would be an otherwise moonless night. High-class prostitutes and their pimps; gamblers and thieves; tourists and executives; all cross the streets indistinctly. Luxury cars and taxis speed down and up the avenues and boulevards.
…
Matches Malone, comfortably inside his automobile, drives away from the top-class shore of Downtown and heads into Gotham City’s darkest entrails, directly to the East End.
…
The East End was born in the Twenties, in a time known to history as the Prohibition era in the United States of America. Within those years, gangsters smuggling alcohol established their base of operations inside and beneath these buildings. The first and upper floors were used as the offices and headquarters for their legitimate businesses, a façade which served as a front for their criminal activity. The basements, in turn, stored great amounts of moonshine. Dug tunnels connecting the basements made easier the traffic and hiding of the illegal booze.
…
When the Prohibition ended with the ratification of the Twenty-first Amendment in nineteen thirty three, the remaining gangsters saw an opportunity and moved along with their millions of dollars to new shores, namely, those of Downtown.
…
The less fortunate became its permanent residents: the homeless and vagrants, the unemployed hit men and ruffians, the lowlifes and whores, the scoundrels and pickpockets.
…
The old and then uninhabited buildings were either demolished or remodeled: warehouses were turned into porn cinemas; offices into striptease clubs and brothels; small neighborhood stores into sleazy bars and nightclubs.
…
As for the basements’ tunnels, their former owners were intelligent enough to block them up and forget about them. Their existence became an urban legend, even to the police force of the city.
To these days, twenty or thirty years later, very few people know of their existence; among them is the Batman.
…
Matches Malone arrives to the East End, leaving his car in a parking lot. With his hands inside his jacket’s pockets, he crosses the street and calmly walks through the poverty and the disease which abounds on every sidewalk. Half-naked girls and women offer their services interestedly, while beggars only extend their dirty hands, without saying a word or looking at him.
…
After a while of strolling through back-alleys, he eventually makes it to the destination of his trek: a juke joint called “Jezebel”, where mobsters and goons gather to share drinks and, if inquired politely, a little information.
…
A bouncer standing in front of the entrance recognizes him and steps aside, ignoring the order to frisk each entering customer.
…
Inside of this place the cigarette’s smoke casts a murky cloud. Drinks come and go as the bartender incessantly serves them, while the waitresses work hard to keep the clients satisfied. Two drunk men tussle to play their desired songs on the jukebox. For the time being, Lois Armstrong’s “Mack the Knife” fills the atmosphere with its outstanding jazz.
…
Despite the dim light, Matches Malone recognizes some unfriendly gazes staring at him.
…
He grins, and his golden tooth shines.
Matches Malone (to himself): SIX TOUGH LOOKING GUYS, HUH? SURE THEY HAVE SOMETHING TO HIDE.
Matches Malone (to himself): I’LL START WITH THEM.
…
Without neither hesitation nor haste, he moves towards them.
…
The antisocials take notice, and prepare themselves for the uninvited guest.
…
Upon arriving, Matches Malone takes his fedora off, in sign of respect. His interlocutors, on the contrary, lean on their elbows against the table, showing mistrust.
…
The meanest looking guy is the first to speak:
Mr. White: I’LL BE DAMN, IF IT ISN’T MATCHES MALONE!
He inhales from his cigar, blowing a dragon’s breath of smoke.
…
Mr. White: LONG TIME NO SEE.
Mr. White: WHAT BRINGS YOU DOWN HERE?
…
Matches Malone: I HEARED THERE’S BEEN A MURDER.
Matches Malone: MY BOSS IS CONCERNED HOW THIS EVENTUALITY COULD ALTER THE BUSINESS.
…
For a brief moment there is an uncomfortable silence. Matches Malone takes a match and puts it in his mouth.
…
Matches Malone: MURDERS AREN’T GOOD FOR THE BUSINESS, FOR THE BUSINESS DEALS WITH LIVE WOMEN, NOT DEAD ONES.
Matches Malone: AND DEAD WOMEN CALL POLICE’S ATTENTION, AND POLICE’S ATTENTION ISN’T GOOD FOR THE BUSINESS,
Matches Malone: NO IT ISN’T.
Matches Malone: THEY MAY BE PAYED OFF, BUT SUCH AN INCIDENT IS STRONG ENOUGH TO DRIVE RIVAL GANGS TO WAGE WAR FOR TURF,
Matches Malone: AND THEN POLICE WILL HAVE TO MEDDLE,
Matches Malone: NO MATTER WHAT.
…
Mr. Brown: I SEE.
Mr. Brown: AND WHAT YOU WANNA KNOW ‘BOUT THIS MURDER?
…
Mr. White: WOULD YOU SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU IDIOT?!
He pounds the table with his fist.
…
A man among the brutes finishes his drink. He stands up. His voice is hoarse, although he speaks in a gentle manner:
Mr. Blonde: LET’S CALM DOWN, WOULD YA? WHY DON’T WE GO OUTSIDE AND HAVE SOME FRESH AIR? ALL THIS SMOKE SEEMS TO START TO GET TO OUR NERVES.
Mr. Blonde: IT’S TOO CROWDED IN HERE.
Mr. Blonde: LET’S GO OUT…
…
He makes sure Matches Malone can see the gun in his hand, hidden under his coat, pointing at him.
Mr. Blonde: …COME ON, BE A GOOD LAD.
…
Seven men leave the bar. Matches Malone walks in front, with his hands up; Mr. Blue and Mr. Orange escort him, with their guns pointing straight at him; Mr. Pink, Mr. Brown, Mr. Blonde and Mr. White follow them closely.
…
The alley is narrow, with trashcans scattered alongside the walls.
…
Mr. White: YOU’RE GONNA TELL US EVERYTHIN’ Y’KNOW ABOUT THIS MURDER.
Mr. White: YOU CAME ASKIN’ QUESTIONS, BUT IT SEEMS TO ME IT’S YOU WHO HAVE THE ANSWERS.
Matches Malone: I KNOW NOTHIN’.
Mr. White: SHUT UP.
Mr. White: YOU’LL HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO TALK LATER.
…
He takes one last blow from his cigarette before throwing it to the ground and stepping on it.
…
Mr. White: KEEP WALKIN’, THE CAR’S JUST AHEAD.
Matches Malone: WHERE’RE YOU TAKIN’ ME? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO TO ME?
Mr. White: YOU’LL KNOW SOON ENOUGH, MY PARTNER WILL TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOU.
…
Mr. Blonde: “ALL YOU CAN DO IS PRAY FOR A QUICK DEATH, WHICH YOU AIN’T GONNA GET”.
Matches Malone: THERE’S NO NEED TO PRAY:
Matches Malone: NO ONE’S DYING TONITE.
…
Before any one could react to his words, Matches Malone turns around and grabs the two nearest thugs strongly by their arms, impeding them to use their weapons.
…
The one to his right receives a knee-kick in the stomach. He falls to the ground.
…
The one to his left is tossed upside down against the wall. He lands on his head.
…
The two are left unarmed and unconscious.
…
Next, with blistering speed, he grabs a trashcan’s cap and throws it at two of the four men remaining.
…
They too end up unarmed and out of combat, as the cap hits Mr. Pink in the hand, ricocheting against Mr. Brown’s head.
…
Mr. Brown falls to the ground, blood spurting from his forehead. Mr. Pink is propelled back against some trashcans, as a consequence of the impact.
…
He crawls for cover.
…
Panic strikes Mr. White’s and Mr. Blonde’s face.
…
Too clumsy and slow to stand a chance, they are bested easily. It only takes one more kick…
…
…and one last jab.
…
Only one, of the initial six men, remains conscious to speak. He is a coward miscreant with big blue eyes and big teeth, enclosed by a big mouth. He has a thin moustache and a chin beard. His head, in relation to his features, is somehow small.
…
He moans and whines, crouched in a corner, because of the pain in his hand. He holds it against his chest with his other arm.
Mr. Pink: WHAT THE HELL!? YOU BROKE MY WRIST, OH GOD, YOU BROKE MY WRIST!
Mr. Pink: I’LL KILL YOU, GODDAMMIT! I’LL KILL YOU!
…
Matches Malone walks towards him, like he had all the time in the whole world. Then, kindly, grabs his healthy arm; Mr. Pink, confused and without knowing what to do, merely contemplates…
Matches Malone: THAT ISN’T A BROKEN WRIST, YOU’RE JUST SORE.
…
Following this, he breaks the felon’s wrist with a swift and firm movement:
…
*CRAC*
…
Matches Malone: NOW, THAT’S A BROKEN WRIST.
…
Mr. Pink: AAAAWWWWWWW! MY WRIST, YOU BROKE MY GODDAMNED WRIST!
Mr. Pink: I’LL TALK, I’LL TALK! I’LL SING WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO!
Mr. Pink: PLEASE, PLEASE I BEG YOU, DON’T HURT ME ANYMORE, YOU BROKE MY WRIST! AWWWWW, MY WRIIIISST…
…
Matches Malone (to himself): SURE IT HURTS.
Matches Malone (to himself): WE TALK.
Matches Malone (to himself): HE TELLS ME EVERYTHING HE KNOWS.
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