The Second Page

Its 1 am and I am making my baby purr. I don't like to create a nuisance for the Gotham residents at this hour. I just let it auto - drive, having mouthed my destination a few seconds ago, while I settle down to a cat-nap all drooling over Sinatra's voice. Life seems so special sometimes. The incandescent rumble of the wheels and the full moonlight and everything else.

It's a pity I am going to a street of horrors trying to hunt an animal with no plan in my head. But I just do it. For the heck of it. Because I am Bruce Wayne who loves to be Batman.

I am a cold calculating bashing machine but sometimes the night gets the better of me.

There's house on the corner of batmobile radar beeping. It's Lazy Suzie's house. She's old and grey and no worth for the oldest profession in the world. She was called Lazy as she seldom did anything on the job and sometimes just fell asleep, while her clients went about her.

And she was also the first one, who consoled Bruce Wayne, when he was brought a freshly christened orphan into Gotham Police Station - even before Commissioner Gordon put a coat around me. Yes it was her. Alfred had gone inside and I was sitting on this creaky bench all dead. When this lady hugged me tight and told me.

"Everything will be all right." She was a little drunk but her affection was infectious and warm and still rings inside my chest so many years later.

"Stop Zatanna"

Yes - I do programme my batmobile with some of my favourite names. I get down. It's raining. I take out all the dollar bills wrapped in newspaper and knock on Lazy Suzie's door.

2 mins later in my batmobile- I look down my side rear view camera and take a snap as Lazy Suzie takes the money. She is not surprised. There is no frequency to my visits but I ensure she lives her last days comfortably.

She was the first one to offer me some calm and love when my whole world had come crashing down to me, all because I wanted to go for that late night show of Zorro. Dad was adamant but Mom gave in to my persistent nagging and I lost them both.....just because of me.... Godamn brat of  a boy Bruce Wayne!!!

This is programmed too.... in my brain...just before I prep myself up to hit a perp I remind myself why I am here. Its all my fault. And the rot of Gotham needs to pay.

Wacken Street is just 5 mins away. I put up my cowl and check my receivers.

"Alfred are you there"

" Yes Master Bruce - watching reruns of Dexter - He is just so much like you."

" I don't kill - Alfred."

" Yes you hit them so hard that they usually don't recover for a lifetime."

Mmmm... Hmmm..There are two people I can never win with my tongue. One is my faithful butler and then ... there is always Selina.

But Alfred is so wrong. Some do get up and they make it a point to make me feel so good about being so righteous. There was a guy, I met some years back...Some Castle - called him the Punisher. Had to fight my teeth out to save Joker from him. He had a point but still my code - it may seem juvenile.It may seem a fickle but its me...it defines me. And I just can't let it go even if it rebounds and hits me harder than before.

Let's get the show on road and not get distracted.
  

The First Page

Took me some time to realize that I am still a man. Mind and flesh and blood and bones. Just not a machine who loves the night and thinks he can conquer all. It took a lot of coaxing from Alfred to do what I am doing right now. Writing, thinking, feeling and putting them all in here...probably no one will notice...I hope no one does. I am actually a little bit like Bundy. I do everything believing its right. The right thing to do. The compulsion is like a passion which drives me on. But does it in some level also create this streak of extravagance, creeping into me every now and then. Sometimes that extra batarang or that extra hour in my baby - My Batmobile.

Its a little overpowering. You just can't be Batman until and unless you love what you do. Yes I am driven by guilt.. by blame...but the sorrow has worn out with time. Now it's more like a drug. I just need that night breath cocaine in my veins.Or else I am just dead. I hate the sun. Its always the moon or that starry night or just blackness which beckons me. Sometimes I just go for a stroll through the rooftops of Gotham, knowing pretty well its the night off for Crime. But I still do.

Its required. Not for Gotham. But for me, Bruce Wayne.

I am right now typing and also analyzing some photos from this horrendous triple murder of hookers in Wacken Block. No one cares for an odd hooker. Easy come easy go. So if someone starts ripping them silently over a period of few months. It no big deal. Its just one small column, probably after the 7th Murder. Gordon knows but he's too busy busting Falcone's neck to seriously start thinking about some perp getting his jerkies off. So it has to be the goddamn dirty Batman who has to think about Slim Betty and why her eyeballs were forked out and then ketchup poured in the sockets. Nice signature move. The man is definitely sick but he is an artist.You need to admire what he has done to the body. Its magnificent!!!

You must be hating me right now. But one of the traits of being a profiler is you need to drown yourself into the world of the perp. Love him, admire him, understand him, Be Him....then only you get close to his butcher knife and can explore the Gacy in him. You feel for his victims later, after you have snatched their justice from him. But not now. Now just be in awe of his art.

Alfred interrupts me with hot mulligatawny soup and some roast chicken.

" Master- long night?"

"Yes - just checking some stuff."

"Well- tomorrow's  Board meeting - people will be waiting."

" Which Board Meeting?"

" Well it's a quarter-closing affair and Lucius was quite vocal about you not going bungee jumping from Machu Pichu"

I simply look up to Alfred and ask, "What do you want old man?"

"Nothing - I just want you to have your 5 hours of sleep - you are not Clark Kent."

Alfred doesn't even wait. He simply utters those words and walks and doesn't even look back.

Gotham's worst fears me from head to toe. I have conquered the shadows, the pain and all my fears till now. But when I need to be tucked deep in my bed. Still its my butler, more than my father who orders me and I need to follow.

I take my tablet and just transfer the Crime Scene photos and get up, biting the drumstick.

The soup's not too hot and the smell of coriander hits me hard. I have touch of flu so it feels soothing.I guess I''ll just sit and eat and think about....Selina for a while. Such a pussy she is!!!
But the photos of the prostitutes come back to plague my mind. They are all women. Imagine Selina getting butchered like that. The thought sickens me - I have felt her skin - its hot and cold and it burns and it knees me down,but just can't see it bleed. Sometimes I have hit her. Perils of my work and her passion colliding but I have felt awful. Because there were moments when I truly loved her. Making love to her has been the singularly finest moments of my life.

I put on my mask. I haven't changed out of my  Bat-suit. I can deliberate and think and analyze and find out my perp in a week or ..... I can just do it my way - all brute and brawn.

I hiss to my Batmobile and shout, "Sinatra"

And the voice of Frank comes wafting through the Batcave, "I did it My way"

Bob defnitely didn't get this right. I love music and its a part of my life. Without it Batman won't be Batman. He never brought that out profoundly in any of the comics.

Alfred screams, " Master - why so late?"

I scream before the batmobile hood shuts in. "Because I just can't help it."

Its  My Way or the Highway. Thank you Frank.

Gotham - here I come!!!!