The Monarch Theater, Crime Alley, July 29th, 1987
Warren White glanced disdainfully around the hall, the flickering lights above illuminating the dillapidated remains of what had once been Gotham's glitziest movie theater. The seating area was in ruins, the chairs either missing, or gutted from vandalism or water damage, the rotting stuffing spilling out on the filthy floor. The old projection screen that took up most of the back wall was soiled and torn, graffitti tags almost covering the lowest part, while a few especially enterprising individuals had actually managed to climb up the side to add their art to the top where it was less likely to be painted over. The curtains that once covered the screen between movies now hung in rags from the railing above. A few fading movie posters still decorated the walls, films Warren couldn't even remember, except the one by the entrance which featured that crappy Basil Karlo dud. The Nightmare? No, no, The Terror! That was the one! Jeez, he'd seen the interns at the office put on a better show while trying to explain why they screwed up the coffee orders again.
"I know it's a bit of a fixer-upper, but you really can't put a price on owning a piece of Gotham's history, Mr White!" The man said behind him, and Warren rolled his eyes at the statement. He was giving Basil Karlo a run for his money in the overacting department, the real estate agent was virtually oozing desperation. If Warren knew one thing, it was how to pitch a sale, his entire job basically consisted of convincing people that terrible deals were actually huge opportunities, and this guy couldn't sell a parachute to a man in a crashing plane. He was probably just too shocked from anyone actually wanting to buy this rathole that he was too busy trying to pad the deal as much as possible.
"You better try to put the price on it, that's why my... associate sent me here..." Warren answered, nudging some of the trash littering the floor disdainfully "Mr. Barlow is a very busy man, but he's given me full discretion in this matter. He's interested in restoring the Monarch Theater, but that's just one of his future projects. I'm here to make sure you can make it worth his attention. Frankly, the sum you quoted me is ludicrous..."
"But Mr. White, surely you as a fellow businessman must understand! Certain cosmetic problems aside, the theater is part of local history! And let's not forget the neighborhood is due for a resurgence!" The smarmy prick said, switching his strategy to trying to appeal to a fellowship between them of all things, and Warrens regard for the man fell even lower. Warren could respect when one of his rivals at work showed better killer instinct than him, even if he still hated their guts, but this was just pathetic. The man was one step above just begging on his knees to just take this garbage heap off his hands.
If it had been any other circumstances, Warren would just have washed his hands of the whole deal, and tell the client to find someone else. But Barlow was not the type of... person one said no to, and it was his money after all. He wanted the Monarch, and he would get the Monarch. But that didn't mean Warren couldn't get the best deal for him!
"I'll give you 70% of the sum you quoted me, and not a dime more. But before I'm signing anything, I want to see the basement. Mr. Barlow's instructions, you see. He wants to make sure there aren't any... foundation issues with the building. You can never be too safe..."
....
Gotham City Police Department, July 30th, 1987
"Ya know, when th' Commissioner first got the job, I spent months waitin' fer th' other shoe ta drop. I've been doin' this for years, and I ain't never seen ANYONE going for the big chair without a cartload of dirty deals behind them! I was thinkin' bribes, booze, drugs, knockin' around hookers in his spare time at least, but nuthin'! I kept thinkin' no one could be this squeaky clean, that there's gotta be more to the guy!"
Renee Montoya rolled her eyes at the diatribe, as she watched Bullock pace behind his desk restlessly, a burnt out cigarette dribbling a trail of cold ashes as he moved. "Yes, Bullock, I've been here almost as long as you, you don't need to tell me. Is there a point to your rambling?"
Bullock screeched to a halt, spitting the cigarette into the waste basket by his feet, before he reached into the outer pocket of his greasy old trenchcoat. He fumbled for a moment, before withdrawing a familiar item, the same ones the rest of the preinct had been handed following the orientation they'd been given earlier that day. Bullock glared down at the crucifix like it personally offended him. "I honestly think I'd have prefered it if he'd just been takin' bribes like a normal sleazebag. Bad enough he had us workin' with th' Bat, but this... I think the pressure is finally gettin' to the guy, Montoya!"
"If Gordon didn't crack while having to deal with Loeb, I don't think it's happening now either. And he doesn't seem like the type to violate federal law for a laugh." Renee wasn't entirerly certain if their new instructions counted as going against separation of church and state, but she was fairly certain there was an argument to be made. Which made her even more convinced that Gordon was completely serious.
The "official" explanation they'd been given, which would be part of a public statement if the details got leaked, as they usually did, was that a dangerous metahuman killer was suspected to be present in Gotham, a killer who happened to have a strong delusion that he was an actual vampire. As such, the department had been given items closely associated with vampire fiction, which should help weaken the suspect enough to take him into custody.
The reality of the situation, which Gordon had been very clear about, was that an actual, for-real vampire was running loose in the city, and probably sinking his teeth into defenceless civilians as they were speaking, which would create even more vampires. As if Gotham needed another black mark against it. "Look, Bullock, I don't like this anymore than you do, but it's not like pretending it's not happening would fix anything. At least Gordon got on top of the problem when he found out about it..."
"Yeah, but fer cryin' out loud, VAMPIRES?! Christ sake, can't th' Bat handle this on his own? If he has to stick around, he can at least take all the freaks off our hands! I got better things th' do than run around playin' Van Helsing, ya know!"
"Batman can't cover the whole city by himself, Bullock. Even finding this thing above ground is going to be a huge job, and that's not even covering all the underground areas it could be hiding in during the day. Like it or not, until this is settled, we're going to be moonlighting as vampire hunters!"
Bullock snorted, stuffing the crucifix back into his pocket as he stalked over to the table where the coffee machine stood, brewing up a fresh batch. As he left, he grumbled just loud enough for her to hear.
"That job over in Hub City is lookin' better by the day. No masked nutjobs to deal with..."
...
Gotham Village, Shortly After Midnight...
John Wilker awoke to twilight darkness, the shadows of his bedroom lit only by a small splinter of streetlight coming in through the window. He blinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind as he finally identified the rumbling noise that had disturbed his sleep.
"...Ace?" John asked, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at the german shepherd lying in his usual spot besides the bed. The dog had his head straight up, the rumbling noise coming from the half-open jaw, white teeth glittering in the pale light as he growled. There was something different to the sound, something John had never heard Ace make before. It wasn't like when he growled at the mailman, or some passing cat, or even when he spotted a potential threat, like that junkie that tried to mug them last year. This growling sounded almost... scared.
That's when John noticed the other sound, just barely audible over Ace. A tapping noise. Like a finger against glass. Or a window. The window that Ace was staring at across the room, his eyes unblinking. The fur on the dogs back rose, his ears drawing backwards as the tapping began to come faster.
"Ace? Ace, what is it? Is... is it a burglar? What's-"
And then, John heard a voice.
"Let me in, John. It's so cold out here... let me in... let me in..."
An absurd thought struck John before the terror of the situation could. Cold? How could they be cold? It was late July for God's sake, he had to sleep on top of his covers in his underwear just to have a chance at getting rest. He didn't even notice that he'd begun to rise from the bed, didn't even notice the sound of Ace's growling becoming more urgent next to him. He walked across the room, like a wanderer in a dream, slowly moving towards the curtains covering the window...
"That's it, John... let me in... you know me, John. You can trust me..."
He DID know that voice, John was dimly aware. That was Holly, the homeless girl he'd run into outside the convenience store sometimes. He always tried to toss her a few bucks whenever they bumped into eachother, always seemed like a nice kid. Couldn't be easy being that young and living on the street. But why would she be here? How did she even know where he lived?
He was right in front of the window now. Through the thin fabric of the curtain, he could see the vague shape of someone on the other side. The shadow moved strangely, like a jellyfish drifting on an ocean current. A thousand miles away, Ace growled and whimpered. John's hand moved up to part the curtains, to open the window, to let the girl inside. Poor, lonely, Holly. She could come inside, where it was warm. Where-
A mad snarling shattered the blankness that had settled over his mind, and John startled back from the window. In the small gap in the curtains, there was a brief flash of a bloodless, white face and horrible yellow eyes, as Ace suddenly darted across the room, barking and howling like a furious wild beast! For a second, John thought Ace was going to bust right through the window to get to whatever was outside, but a horrible shriek followed, and the face in the window vanished as Ace rushed towards it. The scream began to die away, like the last tune of a broken instrument, disappearing under the sheer volume of Ace's fury. And then it was all over...
John didn't know how long he stood there, staring at that empty sliver of the window visible through the curtains, like whatever had been out there would come back if he tore his eyes away. Finally, he began to realise that Ace's barks had died down, and he glanced down at the dog sitting at his feet. He was still making unhappy, rumbling noises, but the furor was gone, his fur ruffled back to it's usual position. John sank to his knees next to the dog, running his finger along the furry neck. Ace huffed at the attention, tongue hanging from his jaw as he panted from the excitement and the heat of the room, which suddenly felt almost oppressing. John wiped the sweat from his forehead, feeling like he'd just woken from a very intense nightmare.
"That's... that's a good boy, Ace. What the hell was that thing?"
The only answer he got was a snort as Ace pressed against him. John glanced back at the clock radio by the side of his bed, and groaned when he saw that it was only 0:30. Work wasn't going to be fun tomorrow. But he sure as hell didn't think he'd get anymore sleep tonight...
"Well, come on, boy." He sighed and stood back up. "Might as well see if there's anything on TV. And tomorrow, I'm getting a damn gun."859