Batman 6 - The Dark Knight by Dennis O'Neil Page B

you’re holding your little group-therapy session in broad daylight. I know why you’re afraid to go out at night. Batman. He’s shown Gotham your true colors. And Dent’s just the beginning.” He pointed to the television set. “And as for his so-called plan—Batman has no jurisdiction. He’ll find him and make him squeal.” He smiled at Lau’s image on the screen. “I can tell the squealers every time.”
    “What you think we should do?” the Chechen asked.
    “It’s simple. Kill the Batman.”
    “If it’s so easy, why haven’t you done it already?” Maroni growled.
    “Like my mother used to tell me, if you’re good at something, never do it for free.”
    “How much you want?” the Chechen asked.
    “Half.”
    The men around the table laughed.
    The Joker shrugged. “You don’t deal with this now, soon Gambol won’t be able to get a nickel for his grandma—”
    Gambol bolted to his feet. “Enough of the clown.”
    He came around a corner of the table and stopped. The Joker had opened his coat, revealing explosives strapped to his chest.
    “Let’s not blow this out of proportion,” the Joker said.
    Gambol moved a step closer. “You think you can steal from us and just walk away? I’m putting the word out—five hundred grand for this clown dead. A million alive, so I get to teach him some manners first.”
    “Let me know when you change your minds,” the Joker said, and strolled from the room.
    “How soon can you move the money?” Maroni asked Lau.
    “I already have. For obvious reasons, I couldn’t wait for your permission. But rest assured, your money is safe.”
    Sal Maroni decided he didn’t like some fruitcake he knew nothing about sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. He knew this private eye, ex-cop, kicked off the force for taking bribes, not for lack of ability. Ability-wise, he was as good as they get. Name of Hamlin. Did some jobs for Sal now and then. Charged plenty, but always delivered. Sal called Hamlin and said, I wanna know everything about this Joker down to his shoe size and Hamlin said, Gimme a couple weeks, I’ll be in touch. A couple of weeks passed and Hamlin called. I ain’t found anything yet, gimme a little more time. Sal gave him a little more time. A week later, Hamlin showed up at the club in the middle of the afternoon, drinking coffee from a plastic cup and looking like hell. He needed a shave and a haircut. He had lost weight, and his suit was wrinkled and hanging off him, his tie had a big gravy stain on it, and there were dark bags under both eyes . . . I dunno where to go next. Three weeks now, I been looking at this Joker and know what I see? Nothing. Driving me nuts. You sure he’s real? You ain’t imagining him, are you? ’Cause it’s like he popped up outta thin air or something. Sal didn’t like what he was hearing, said, You ain’t messing with me, are you? I’m thinking maybe this Joker gets to you, slips you a little something to keep your mouth shut, and Hamlin said, You know that ain’t me, Sal, hell, you and me, we go back, then Hamlin started to laugh, and the laughing got louder and pretty soon it wasn’t so much a laugh as it was Hamlin gasping for air. Hamlin was choking, his eyes were bulging, his face was crimson. Sal yelled to a waiter to get a glass of water, but by the time the waiter came with it, Hamlin was dead.
    Sal had his own personal doctor do an autopsy, but he should have saved the money. It didn’t take a medico to figure out that Hamlin was poisoned by the coffee he was drinking, anybody could’ve seen that, and as for the rest . . . Okay, the poison was some kind of stuff you can only get in China, Tibet, Korea, one of those places, and who cares?
    Harvey Dent had been standing on the roof of police headquarters next to the searchlight, which was sending its beam into the sky for twenty minutes when he suddenly realized that he was not alone.
    “You’re a hard man to reach,” he told Batman.
    Then the