Chapter 48: Boom
“Scratch, scratch, scratch...” The grating sound of a steel file echoed through the basement. Fortunately, although noisy, it wasn’t loud enough to disturb those upstairs.
*Creak—*
The basement door opened, and a shaft of light spilled down the stairs into the darkness.
“Harvey, Harvey, are you down there?”
A gentle female voice called out—it was Harvey’s wife, Gilda Dent.
Harvey set the file down on the cluttered workbench. The slightly yellowed chandelier and the desk lamp illuminated Harvey seated by the table, where various metal parts, bullets, and gun components lay scattered haphazardly. He looked up at Gilda descending the stairs, her face tinged with worry.
“I—I saw on the news that you burned through a lot of Falcone’s money. I’m worried…”
“Worried I’ll turn out like Richard Daniel? That’s really unnecessary, Gilda.”
They exchanged words quietly in the basement—a routine that had become their daily ritual lately.
Gilda’s emotions stirred; as she spoke, she instinctively buried her head against Harvey’s chest, tears shimmering in her eyes. As the wife of Harvey Dent—the fool who stubbornly upheld justice in Gotham—simply waiting for him to come home each day was an agonizing ordeal. In fact, she had already wept like this to Harvey since the day after Richard was murdered.
Harvey Dent held his wife close, eyes slightly narrowed, his expression filled with tenderness yet cold rage toward Falcone’s deeds in Gotham. The flame of justice in his heart seemed eternal, burning ceaselessly.
*Ring ring—ring ring—*
“Darling, you should go upstairs. I need to take this call first.”
“Okay… Harvey?”
“What is it?”
“Remember to come up later. There’s a package for you, looks like it has a combination lock—I can’t open it.”
“A combination lock? I’ll be up soon, dear.”
After calming his wife’s nerves, Harvey sent her upstairs and picked up the ringing phone.
“Hello?”
A distorted electronic voice came through the line, disguised by a voice changer that made it impossible to discern gender or age.
“Mr. Harvey Dent, the Romans send their regards...”
...
Outside, inside a black car, five figures silently observed Harvey’s house through the one-way tinted window.
“Hey, did Dent’s wife bring the bomb inside or what?”
The boy Donny held a remote control, calm and patient. “What’s the rush? Wait until Dent comes out of the basement, then detonate.”
The hypocrite Kevin was curious. “So what exactly does Harvey Dent do down there every day? It’s been nearly half a month now, hasn’t it?”
“Who knows?” The slick Jimmy rested his hand on the steering wheel and chuckled. “Maybe he’s just preparing for the next round?”
“You mean…”
“Two shots took down an important Falcone family member. If it were you, wouldn’t you start planning the next move?” The weasel Mickey sneered. “Our champion of justice took so long to get Johnny Vitti to agree to testify, but just one night later, that guy’s already reconciled with his uncle Falcone.”
“Look at it my way: whatever anyone wants to do in Gotham—good or bad—using a gun is much easier than using justice. If he keeps killing like this, the Falcone family will soon be in chaos. Those two shots are worth more than a year of their back-and-forth.”
“Hey, Dent’s showing himself now, I’m sure of it,” the duo Willie suddenly reminded.
“Perfect, brothers! Jimmy, Donny, get ready. After this, we’re living large!”
“No problem, boss. Just watch.”
“Anytime, Mickey.”
They all watched as Harvey Dent’s figure emerged from the basement, then briefly flashed by the living room window.
“He’s out, but his wife seems to be heading down. Should we detonate now or wait until she’s downstairs?”
“With my bomb’s power, as long as he’s on the first floor, it’ll tear him apart. As for his wife—I’m too impatient. Detonate now.”
“Got it—”
“You pressing it?”
“I am! Why the hell isn’t this button working?”
Under his teammates’ stares, Donny frantically pressed the remote, but nothing happened at Harvey’s house. He instinctively looked toward Mickey.
“Mickey, is there a problem with the bomb?”
“Impossible, damn it—I checked it this morning—”
*Boom!*
Suddenly, a fierce blaze and explosion erupted, shattering the window glass of Harvey Dent’s home. Thick smoke and flames billowed everywhere. Twisted, deformed nails packed inside the bomb flew out the window—this Gotham District Attorney, if not consumed by the fire, would be riddled like a sieve by the dense iron spikes.
“See that?” Mickey snapped back to reality, proudly boasting, “I told you my bomb would go off—now start the car!”
The black unmarked car roared to life and sped away around the corner.
“Hey Mickey, why doesn’t this bomb’s power seem as strong as you said? Shouldn’t it have blown Dent’s house sky-high?” Kevin, with nothing better to do, kept watching Harvey’s place. “Did you really screw this up?”
“You clueless amateurs don’t question my bomb-making skills,” Mickey snapped. “Wait until tomorrow’s news—you’ll see how powerful I really am.”
-----------------
“Harvey Dent is dead.”
“The nails you bought—I’ll find you. It’s only a matter of time.”
The dark voice of Batman was cold and low, betraying no emotion.
But to Mickey’s ears—whether due to the glaring neon lights outside or lingering hangover—he felt as if a pair of bat-like eyes were chillingly fixed on him in the darkness. Their voice seemed deafening, and he feared that in the next moment, these furious creatures would tear him apart.
Suddenly, a sound erupted from the room, sending a shiver down his spine, nearly causing him to drop the bottle in his hand. He knew exactly whose voice it was, and knew all too well what fate awaited him; he simply refused to think about it.
“Ahhh—!”
A man screamed as he leapt from the window, crashing into the alley below. Terror-stricken, he looked up to see a terrifying, enormous shadow stepping slowly from the darkness of the alley.
“Ba-Batman!”