Chapitre 63: Night birds
Leroy was still gone, so I decided to examine the remains carefully. The odor was more tolerable now that the strange chemical reaction that had turned the bodies into an unappetizing slurry was over.
Assassin tissue samples are sent into special tubes and then into your pocket. I really hope they don't leak, because this shit is definitely going to be hard to launder. Now it's time for the weird weapons.
Well, as far as I can tell, the blades are made of the highest quality metal, but the hilt and decorative elements are made of something resembling bronze in color and relatively soft. The two knives, along with the katana, are also sent to my pocket for further analysis, though the main lab at the secret base isn't ready yet, but you can always drop by your neighbor's place and use his equipment. Hmm, I wonder if I can make it all the way to the batcave without the owner noticing? I'd have to consult with Zee, since technology wouldn't exactly help.
Reflection didn't stop me from continuing to survey the battlefield.
Curious... The piece of trash can cut perfectly, bringing to mind the door to Strange's secret lair. There, of course, the cut was less than perfect, but the greater thickness and stronger materials of the barrier in front of the casemates must be taken into account. In addition, the marks indicated the use of some specific weapon similar to Wolverine's claws, and the pigeon ninjas who died not the most pleasant deaths just own stylish bracelets with retractable paired blades that cover the fist in a fighting position.
"Good, you're here," Leroy finally came running in with Sugar and a large bag on his shoulder. - Let's get cleaned up and get out of here.
"But why?" My curiosity didn't stop me from packing the weapon into the thick tarp that had been handed over.
"Intuition. And just when things start to get unhealthy, you gotta get the hell outta here.
"I thought you were more reckless.
"The crazy ones don't live to be seventy-five. That's it," the old man put away the last blade and stuffed the resulting pile into his bag, "let's go. Keep up.
He picked up his four-legged friend in his arms and sprinted toward the docks, picking up a decent pace.
I followed, trying to keep up, which was quite problematic because of the interfering weapons and the unusual route, which implied the use of parkour to overcome obstacles. An elderly man approached the tail drop (there's no other way to call it a run) with all responsibility, as we didn't meet a single living soul along the way.
"Don't slow down," In one of the alleys, the old man slid aside a sewer manhole and stepped down, crossing into the underworld.
The darkness was no obstacle for me, nor was it for my acquaintance, who was striding quietly forward, heading somewhere to the north. The silence, after ten minutes, began to tire me, so I decided to ask the most important question of all.
"Leroy, how do you navigate space?
"I can see with my brain or something. Ha-ha, maybe ass, the doctors who examined me don't know the answer to that. Any other questions? -my interlocutor clearly relaxed and started joking again.
"What's got you so worked up? I doubt this is the first "unhealthy stuff" in your life, and it's unlikely you've gotten off so quickly every time.
"Martha's behavior. When I got there, she was surprised, though she didn't show it," he spat into the nearby sewage. - Hell, if it weren't for my powers, I wouldn't have felt a thing. I don't know why those assholes came after me, but it wasn't to get me drunk.
As we walked along, Leroy told me more about the beginning of the meeting, but it didn't shed any light on what had happened. He was just coming back from an evening walk, looking forward to training together, when suddenly two ninjas stopped him and asked him to come with them to meet a certain family. And refusal, judging by his feelings, they obviously did not mean it. As further events unfolded, I could watch from the front rows.
"It's clear that nothing is clear," I said thoughtfully. "Have you seen a symbol like this before?" I showed him the hilt of the katana, pulling open the edge of the tarp.
"Ha-ha-ha, let me see!" he replied, lifting his dark glasses and showing off his whitish eyes.
"Uh, sorry, I misspoke.
"Huh, it's okay. I can "see" things in volume... Damn, you just can't imagine how sometimes I want to sit down with a fresh newspaper, reclining in a comfortable chair with a bottle of rum in my hand, because they don't translate such things into Braille. Hell, they could just make the letters a little more convex and I'd be able to read by now. As for your question: no, I've never seen or heard of such a thing.
"Hmm, maybe some old scores?
"I highly doubt it.
"Are you sure? Maybe in his youth he managed to hurt serious people?" I asked another leading question.
"You know," he said thoughtfully. - It could be a new score, though I'm a hundred percent sure I've cleaned up all the loose ends, and it's impossible to get on my trail. And inviting me into the family doesn't seem to fit with revenge.
"I see... If it's no secret how did you get to China in the first place?
"Oh, let me tell you, it's boring to go anyway.
Leroy Smith was born, oddly enough, in New York City, though he never called it anything but "Rotten Apple" during the course of the story. His parents were killed in a brutal shootout by local gangs on the pier. He was also shot, from which he fell into the sea, but, fortunately, he was picked up by a passing merchant ship, whose captain took the wounded child to the hospital, where he was successfully operated on and then placed in an orphanage. Naturally, the boy was not going to stay in such a dangerous city, especially considering that he became a witness in the case of mass murder, but for some reason they forgot to put guards on him. As the boy was quite clever, he decided to escape, for which he secretly snuck onto a cargo ship bound for China. Having survived not the most comfortable voyage, the young orphan found himself on the streets of a foreign city, and only by a miracle he managed to get attached to the local dojo, where he was noticed by sensei, offering him training. As a result, my acquaintance has spent almost all his life in the Celestial Empire, honing his skills, and has recently returned to take revenge, and judging by the fact that he did not stay in New York, from which it is much easier to swim in the right direction - the revenge was accomplished.
Suddenly Leroy froze at the stairs leading to the surface.
"Here we go.
I didn't ask where, because it was clear as day that we were near another Gotham slum. There were a few abandoned buildings, where we could stay for a week, and the war grandfather didn't need more than that, because the tanker would be leaving in six days. As far as I understood from our short conversation, my interlocutor is quite a well-known person in narrow circles, and in his homeland he has good connections, which will not only allow him to avoid unnecessary attention of bird assassins, but also to pull an eye on their ass in case of problems.
The chosen stopping point was a dilapidated boiler room in the basement of the house, where Smith had made a good bed for himself beforehand. Dumping his bag in the corner and pouring water from a bottle he'd grabbed for the dog, the older man took off his kimono and stood in the center of the room.
"A small incident is no reason to cancel the training, and besides, you helped me a lot today, so I'm ready to show you the true art. Attack.
"Listen, you are a very tough fighter, why couldn't you handle those opponents yourself?" I said, carefully walking around the gray-haired man in a circle, remembering his words. - And I had to deal with one of them for quite a long time.
"Age..." the old man sighed sadly. - Twenty years ago, I would have taken them down with one left. Besides, they used some archaic and not very effective style, which is relatively easy to counter. But did you see their weapons? The slightest mistake and they're dead. All right, you're done talking. Let's go.
"Hah !" I try to attack from the back, knowing full well the futility of this action, but no one canceled the limitation of the joints and the time required to turn around.
Expectedly, I was met with a strong rebuff, ending up on the floor after a perfectly executed hip throw.
"Not bad. You've obviously gotten stronger since the last time we met, and you've even learned how to fall properly, but your technique is still that of a country bumpkin with flashes of skill. And you should not be too fond of steroids, or your pussy won't stand, and your women will go to someone else.
"Thanks for your concern, but it's not about steroids.
"Hmm, well, if that's the case. Now, let's pick up the slack, and get your cane out, I've seen you hit with it.
As I knew I shouldn't take her far, so I calmly pull the gadget out of the tarp with the weapon, and attack the man again.
Leroy really trained me this time, picking apart every slip-up and telling me how to fix it. Given my pumped up brain and reinforced body, I learned a lot by the end of the class. Naturally, I'd still take a beating from a more or less trained opponent in a fight, but now I had a chance to take down one of today's assassins without tricks, which was actually incredibly cool.
"Come on in, we'll practice some more, because I'll be here for six days," the old man said, leaning against the doorjamb as he saw me off.
"I'll try. I've got my own problems to deal with right now. If anything, orient yourself for tomorrow at the same time. Thank you for the training," I thanked him a little stiffly and made myself comfortable with the tarpaulin with the trophies, most of which I decided to leave here, and headed towards the abandoned car.
When I'd gotten about a kilometer away, I shoved my blades into my pockets, glad of my foresight. I could carry a lot of useful stuff, and not many people could sense the irregularity.
I was still making my way through the not-so-wealthy neighborhood until I suddenly came across a police cordon near one of the houses. Right away, the medics wheeled out a gurney with a body and began loading it into a transport. Whoops, flashed and disappeared into one of the vehicles, an absentee detective who answered to the name Harvey Bullock. I knew him not only from comic books from a past world, but I'd also encountered mentions in the papers I'd read from the library.
This heavyset thirty-five-year-old man with a slightly unshaven face and a fondness for classic brimmed hats and good Cuban cigars could be considered Commissioner Gordon's right-hand man. And since he's here, something out of the ordinary has happened, which leads us to... I look up sharply and notice a familiar silhouette with pointy ears on the roof of a neighboring building.
The dark figure swept his cloak out of sight. Heh, I'll take that as an invitation. I changed and made my way up the fire escape, where I encountered a superhero scrutinizing me through the eyepieces of his mask.
"Knight," he was the first to say hello, nodding.
"Beth...men.
We greeted each other, after which there was a long silence.
"I was the first to speak, and immediately told the story of the assassins' attack, showing one of the blades I had obtained.
"May I?" A broad-bladed dagger moved into the superhero's hands.
He activated the scanner built into the wristband, aiming the narrow beam at the weapon. Thirty seconds later, the device beeped at the edge of audibility, displaying the results Bruce read out.
"That's what I thought. It's based on a high-strength alloy of silver and copper called Electrum. It's been prized for its unique qualities since ancient Egypt.
A flick of a pocket on my belt, and a bronze ornamented throwing knife with the exact same symbol as on the cold steel I'd gotten.
"I'm going to die tomorrow," the man said suddenly, giving me an unreal shock. - That's what the message said.
"Oh, man. It's not funny. Tell me what happened.
***Retrospective***
Tonight was a very busy night for Bruce Wayne. To begin with, he had Barbara's blood analyzed again in search of foreign impurities, which he had discreetly obtained at today's training session. As they say: trust but verify. The result, as always, was negative, which was both gratifying and frightening.
The man sat down at the batcomputer and updated the information on the old enemy, in the process casting frowning glances at the small open window broadcasting a hefty metal box with darkened glass in front.
After the incident at the cannery, the Joker, or rather Jay Arkham, changed his worldview a hundred and eighty degrees. A couple of times the superhero even began to doubt whether the man in front of him, that for two years terrorized Gotham, arranging deadly pranks, which only a crazy clown prince seemed fun and funny. And each time, the Dark Knight came to the conclusion, yes - it was him. The strange green-haired man who really loves female attention and quietly tries to be a hero was once indeed the Joker. Blood tests clearly indicated that connection. And Harley Quinn, no matter how naive and kind she tried to seem, would have figured out the impostor in no time and finished him off with extreme cruelty.
At the same time, the facts spoke of a change of personality, and this was expressed not only in a change of behavior, but also in a changed appearance. His facial features became softer, no longer resembling an angry grimace, his skin color became closer to natural, and the scars almost disappeared, turning into thin whitish strips at the corners of his mouth.
Frankly, the superhero was suspicious of the omnitool, but all of that was shattered by one notable detail: laughter. The same insane, creepy-as-hell laughter. Bruce was sure that the crazy clown was simply hidden in the dark depths of his mind, waiting for his time.
Jay, of course, is trying to keep his cool, but frankly, he's not doing a very good job. When he gets a little nervous, his true nature comes out. At such moments, Batman felt himself standing at the edge of a strong whirlpool: if you stumble a little, you'll be immediately dragged to the depths from which there is no return... No living person, what can be said, even a superstrong Kryptonian is not able to get out of the dark waters, but not Jay. He seemed to calmly plunge into the madness and immediately emerge from it collected and calm. At a couple of meetings, Gotham's protector didn't hesitate to check his old enemy's heart rate and found that after laughing, his heart rate was clearly lower than when he was excited.
The cave owner's musings were interrupted by a computer alert that reacted to key words on the police frequency. A deep crease creased the man's forehead as he listened to the recording.
"Alfred, while I'm gone, please send the robot to feed Henry.
"All right, Master Bruce," the butler emerged silently from the darkness, watching Wayne Jr. put on his bat suit. - You asked to inquire about the adoption. There are no particular barriers to adoption, but priority will be given to full families.
"Please don't start. I can't have a relationship while the city's in danger.
"But he's always in danger," the elderly Briton tactfully pointed out.
"Exactly, Alfred, exactly.
The Batmobile's armored hatch closed with a quiet rustle, cutting off extraneous sounds, and immediately elements of the holographic interface appeared on its inner surface. A quick check of all the systems, and the car with a little slippage starts off, heading towards the crime scene through one of the numerous tunnels adjacent to the cave.
"Hello, Harvey," a changed husky voice behind him made the detective flinch only slightly.
"I see you're back in ninja mode?" He asked, not turning around and taking out a nearly finished cigar, which he put out on the metal parapet of the fire escape adjacent to the apartment. - Come on, you should see this.
Batman climbed through the window following the policeman and found himself in the studio apartment, where the artist apparently lived, considering the paintings and the prepared easel with paints on the walls. But the first thing that caught the Dark Knight's eye was the naked, bald man crucified on the wall, who looked like a dartboard or a needlepoint, since he had at least thirty knives sticking out of his body.
"The landlord saw him when he came in for the rent," Bullock said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his gray fall coat. - He was living under the name Sam Striggs, but it was fake. No papers, no prints, the real John Doe.
The detective took out a new cigar, lighting it again.
"Death occurred five or six days ago when someone used him as a target. But the curious thing is that the unsub deliberately missed any major arteries. Someone clearly wanted this man to die painfully and for a very, very long time. By the way, the throwing knives are top-quality.
"I'd like to take one.
"Take it, there's plenty of them here anyway.
The superhero carefully retrieved the throwing weapon, lingering his gaze on the hilt.
"Do you recognize the symbol?" Harvey asked, knowing the answer perfectly well.
"Owl.
"Yeah... You think there's a connection to that story...
"I see what you mean," the conversation didn't stop Batman from continuing his examination, but that was the question he didn't want to answer. - There's something under the fingernails. - He carefully took a sample of epidermis with a metal spatula, then placed it in his wristband and started scanning.
While the analysis was underway, the superhero continued to survey the crime scene, picking up a strange scent.
"Do you smell that?" Like a bloodhound, the city's protector reached the wall where two blood-splattered paintings hung. - Hmm..." he took both down. - Give me a cigar.
"My cigar?" There was indignation in Bullock's voice, but he handed over the requested item anyway.
"The smell of solvent. It is too intense and pungent.
"The guy just spilled a jar, so what?
"Maybe, maybe not...
After touching the wall with the smoldering cigar, the fire instantly spread and now both people present could see fiery symbols forming into the phrase, "Bruce Wayne will die tomorrow."
"Yeah, well, John Doe wasn't exactly Nostradamus. Even at the very least, he was killed five days ago, and Wayne's still alive," the detective shook his head.
"Unless he didn't know when he'd be found. You say the landlord came by to collect the rent.
"He always came every last Saturday of the month. So the murdered man knew he was going to be killed and found today, so he left a warning," Bullock said quickly, as if afraid of missing a thought.
"The solvent evaporates pretty quickly... It wouldn't have that effect in five days.
"So the killer did it," the man shrugged. - I can only wish him luck, because even Wayne's guards have guards, so he won't get away with it. Oh shit, he's gone again," the detective turned around to find he was alone in the room. - Okay, time to call forensics.
***End of retrospective***
"Yeah..." I said thoughtfully, after the fascinating story about the corpse and the message. - But can you tell me what kind of owls? I've never heard anything about them before.
"An old urban legend, like a coffin on wheels or black curtains:
Beware of the Court of Owls
that watches all the time,
ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch
behind granite and lime.
They watch you at your hearth.
They watch you in your bed.
Speak not a whispered word of them...
Or they'll send the Talon for your head.
"Sounds kind of grim, plus the scarecrows definitely don't have any real ninjas in their arsenal.
"You kept a sample of the remains, didn't you? I can do the research.
"Ha-ha, no, that's not interesting," I shook my head. - I'd like to see your secret lair, to look at the equipment, after all.
For a moment I thought Bats flinched, but it couldn't be, and a hundred percent of it was my imagination.
"You know... Let's go, I wanted to show you something anyway," Gloomy Mouse waved his cloak pathosely and headed for the stairs.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone