The Aft Deck - 12:05 AM
The echo of Carmine Falcone's scream died out, replaced by the clicking of safety catches being disengaged.
"Lock it down!" Falcone roared, his face purple with rage and grief. He pointed a trembling finger at the glass doors leading back to the ballroom. "Kill the lights! Kill the engines! No one gets off this boat! Check everyone! If they have a gun, shoot them! If they look at you wrong, shoot them!"
His head of security, a brute named Luca, nodded. "You heard the boss! Seal the exits!"
The guards raised their submachine guns. They weren't aiming at the killer. They were aiming at us.
"Mr. Falcone," Bruce stepped forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. "This is madness. You have Senators on this boat. You have judges."
"I don't care!" Falcone spat. "My son is dead! Burn it all down!"
One of the guards turned his weapon toward Bruce. "Get on the ground, Wayne!"
"Oh, dear," I sighed, stepping in front of Bruce. "This is going to be terrible for the upholstery."
The guard fired.
RAT-TAT-TAT.
I didn't dodge. I held up the silver serving tray I had carried out from the party.
PING-PING-PING.
The bullets sparked off the silver, flattening against the metal. The impact would have shattered a human arm. My arm didn't move a millimeter.
"Sterling silver," I noted, looking at the dented tray. "Quite durable. But you have ruined the engraving."
I flicked my wrist. The tray flew through the air like a frisbee. It struck the gunman in the throat. He gagged and collapsed.
"Run!" Bruce shouted.
He grabbed Falcone by the collar—saving the mob boss from his own men—and threw him behind the bar.
"Get inside!" Bruce yelled to me. "Protect the guests!"
The Ballroom
We burst back into the main party. The guests were screaming. The guards inside had received the order. They were blocking the exits, brandishing weapons.
"Nobody moves!" a guard yelled, firing a shot into the ceiling. "Everyone on the floor!"
Selina Kyle was crouching behind an ice sculpture. She saw us enter.
"Took you long enough," she hissed as we slid next to her. "The Roman has lost his mind."
"We need to get these people to the lifeboats," Bruce whispered. "Sebastian, cut the power."
"With pleasure."
I picked up a magnum of champagne from the table. I shook it violently for one second. Then I popped the cork, aiming directly at the main fuse box on the far wall.
POP. FIZZZZZ.
The stream of high-pressure alcohol hit the electrical panel. Sparks showered down.
ZZZ-POP.
The lights went out.
The ballroom plunged into darkness, lit only by the sporadic flashes of fireworks outside.
"Now!" Bruce commanded.
It was a beautiful disaster.
Bruce Wayne moved through the dark. He couldn't use his gadgets, but he used the environment. He threw wine bottles to distract guards. He tipped over tables to create cover. He engaged in hand-to-hand combat, making it look like clumsy brawling to hide his training.
Selina was less subtle. She had ripped the velvet rope from a stanchion and was using the heavy brass hook on the end as a flail.
CRACK.
"Hands off the merchandise, boys!" she laughed, knocking a guard cold.
And I?
I was merely tidying up.
I walked through the panic with calm efficiency.
A guard aimed his rifle at a cowering debutante. I appeared behind him, tapped him on the shoulder, and when he turned, I jammed a silver fork into the barrel of his gun.
"It is rude to point," I whispered.
I grabbed him by the belt and the collar and threw him through the buffet table.
"Sebastian!" Bruce called out from the darkness. "The bridge! We have to stop the boat!"
"I am occupied, sir!" I replied, currently holding two guards by their heads and banging them together like cymbals. "Miss Kyle! Can you handle the navigation?"
"I drive better than I walk!" Selina shouted, vaulting over the bar. "Cover me!"
The Bridge
We fought our way up the stairs. Bruce took the point, shielding Selina. I took the rear, ensuring no one followed.
We kicked open the door to the bridge. The captain was cowering under the console.
Selina pushed him aside and grabbed the wheel.
"We're heading for the pier!" she yelled, spinning the wheel hard to starboard. "Hold on! I'm going to ram it!"
"Ram it?" Bruce braced himself. "That's a thirty-million-dollar yacht!"
"Put it on your tab, Bruce!"
The yacht turned sharply. The guests below screamed as the floor tilted.
Outside the window, the Gotham pier rushed toward us.
"Brace for impact!" I announced.
I grabbed Bruce and Selina, pulling them away from the windshield. I wrapped my arms around them, my back to the glass.
CRUUUUUNCH.
The Donna Maria plowed into the wooden pier. Metal screamed. Glass shattered. The boat shuddered violently and came to a halt, wedged deep into the dock.
Silence returned for a split second.
Then, the sirens. Dozens of them.
Captain Gordon had been waiting on the shore.
"Police!" Gordon's voice boomed over a megaphone. "Drop your weapons! We are boarding!"
The Aftermath - 1:00 AM
The pier was a sea of flashing lights. Paramedics were tending to the shocked guests. The police were arresting Falcone's guards.
Carmine Falcone sat on a crate, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was staring at the black water. He looked old. Defeated.
"He's gone," Falcone whispered to Gordon. "My boy is gone."
Bruce stood nearby, checking his tuxedo for blood.
"You okay?" Selina asked, walking up to him. She had somehow managed to steal a diamond necklace during the chaos; I saw the glitter in her clutch.
"I'm fine," Bruce said. "You?"
"Broke a heel," she sighed, lifting her foot. "Tragic."
She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
"Happy New Year, Bruce."
She vanished into the crowd before the police could question her.
I walked up to Bruce, holding two cups of bad police coffee.
"A spirited evening, sir," I said.
Bruce took the coffee. "Did we find the killer?"
"No," I shook my head. "He escaped during the crash. Or perhaps... he swam."
Bruce looked at the water.
"Alberto is dead," Bruce said. "The killer is getting bolder. He took out the son of the biggest mobster in the city on his own boat."
"The hierarchy is crumbling," I observed. "Falcone is broken. Maroni is scared. The freaks are taking over."
Bruce crushed the paper cup in his hand.
"We need to end this. Before there's no city left to save."
"Agreed," I said. "But first... might I suggest we stop at a drive-thru? All that fighting has made me peckish. And the crab cakes on board were frozen."
Bruce looked at me. He looked at the wreckage of the yacht. Then, he let out a short, tired laugh.
"You're impossible, Sebastian."
"I am simply one hell of a butler."
I opened the door to the Bentley, which was parked safely away from the carnage.
"After you, sir."
As we drove away, leaving the ruins of the Falcone empire behind us, I glanced in the rearview mirror.
In the dark water of the harbor, something bubbled.
A calendar page floated to the surface.
February 14th.
The killing wasn't over. It was just getting started.
_________________________________________________________________________
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