While Doing Whatever Evil the Joker Commands.
It was Smiles who Luke had to look out for. And Smiles who made him dim his suit lights to darkness, land near-silently on the alley floor, and free a Batarang from his suit. He’d modified the simple metal design in his lab. This, at a signal from his suit, would inflict as much of an electric shock as a Taser.
One of his friends overseas had been a sniper. Luke had talked with her countless times about how she calculated distance and wind and light and movement. She’d never missed a shot.
The three men reached the edge of the alley, still unaware of his presence behind them.
Luke lined up his shot, then freed two more Batarangs for his second and third, anticipating how the other two might scatter.
His job wasn’t to kill them.
He’d seen enough of that overseas for a lifetime. Still discussed it in group therapy with the others.
The victims of these men deserved justice—real justice, through a court of law. Not vigilantism. And as screwed up and evil as these men were…they had some right to a trial, too.
Luke fired the Batarang at Smiles’s wiry frame.
But the Joker’s Second must have heard the buzz of the electric charge.
Faster than Luke had expected, Smiles grabbed Bozo and whirled, the Joker’s Number Four pressed against his chest.
A human shield.
The Batarang hit Bozo right in the chest, stunning him. The chains jangled as they hit the concrete, Bozo following them. Utterly unconscious.
As Luke had anticipated, Chuckles whirled toward his companion, rather than run for cover. Luke fired his second Batarang, right where he’d calculated.
Chuckles and his baseball bat thudded on the ground.
Smiles sized up the alley, his pale face gaunt and sneering. “Come out, come out,” he whispered, his voice high and reedy. A poor imitation of the Joker’s natural bone-chilling voice. “No one likes a party pooper.” He beckoned with his long knife. It glinted, catching the light of the streetlamp.
One against one: much better odds.
Luke stepped out of the shadows, letting the insignia on his chest flare brightly.
Smiles grinned crookedly, dancing on his feet—an uneven, unbalanced move. Something he’d seen plenty of people do when they thought they knew about boxing. It only served to make his center of balance unwieldy. “Catch me if you can,” Smiles whispered, and sprinted away.
Let him run. Luke was already dialing the GCPD. He had learned early on that he risked losing two unconscious criminals if he didn’t make sure they were secure before going after a third on the run.
It was a matter of a few minutes to get Bozo and Chuckles tied to a lamppost, sirens sounding from a few blocks away.
Good.
With patrol cars swarming down the block, Luke leapt into the skies, scanning the streets below.
It had been five minutes max. But a great deal could happen in five minutes in Gotham City. There were sewer entrances everywhere—the preferred route of many of the city’s worst.
There. Sprinting toward the docks, that knife shining in the dark.
Smart, yes, but untrained. Unaware that the glint was a dead giveaway.
Smiles turned a corner in the labyrinth of dockside warehouses. Heading for the small marina. Luke banked right and landed in the shadows just north of his route.
Only to discover that Smiles had found a way through the warehouses, rather than around them.
As Luke landed, the alerts on his helmet flared, and—
He ducked, falling back as Smiles slashed at him.
Not fast enough. The knife dragged along his side. Sundering metal plates. And flesh.
Luke swore, shutting out the pain, despite the warmth of blood filling his suit.
On an unarmored person, that blow would have gutted them like a fish.
Smiles smirked at the blade, the blood on it. “You know how much this DNA will sell for?”
Luke’s blood leaked from him. Dangerously fast.
He had to end it now.
“Too bad you won’t find out,” Luke said, and moved.
His suit insignia flared, bright as the flash on a camera bulb. Blinding Smiles, throwing him off-balance—
Luke barreled into him. Slammed a palm into his elbow, forcing his fingers to splay and drop the knife, then blasted his fist into Smiles’s face in a decimating right hook.
Bone crushed and blood sprayed.
Luke wasn’t done yet. As Smiles reeled to the right, Luke swept his leg out, turning the criminal’s already uneven balance against him.
Smiles went crashing to the wooden planks, groaning.
Luke was on him in an instant, his Batarang firing right onto his chest.
Smiles slumped against the planks, nose leaking. Unconscious.
Luke didn’t