Read Online Batman 6 - The Dark Knight by Dennis O'Neil - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dennis O'Neil
Ads: Link
I might,” replied Bruce.
“Know your limits, Master Bruce.”
“Batman has no limits.”
“Well, you do.”
“I can’t afford to know them.”
“And what happens the day you find out?”
“We all know how much you like to say, ‘I told you so.’ ”
“That day, Master Bruce, even I won’t want to. Probably.”
CHAPTER TEN
T he weather that Monday morning in Gotham City was gorgeous. It seemed that winter had finally gone, and spring had arrived. At 9:30, District Attorney Harvey Dent was running up the steps to the courthouse and at 9:31 he burst into one of the chambers. The courtroom was filled with lawyers, spectators, uniformed policemen, and Salvatore Maroni, who was to be tried that day.
“Sorry I’m late,” Dent said to no one in particular as he sat at the prosecutor’s table next to Rachel Dawes.
“Where were you?” Rachel whispered.
“Worried you’d have to step up?” Dent grinned and opened his attaché case.
“I know the briefs backward.”
Dent’s grin widened and he pulled a silver dollar from a pocket. “Well then, fair’s fair. Heads, I’ll take it. Tails, he’s all yours.”
Dent flipped the coin in the air, caught it, slapped it on his wrist, then uncovered it and displayed it to Rachel.
“Heads,” Dent said. “You lose.”
“You’re flipping coins to see who leads?”
“My father’s lucky coin. As I recall, it got me my first date with you.”
“I’m serious, Harvey. You don’t leave things like this to chance.”
“I don’t.” Dent winked. “I make my own luck.”
From the defendant’s table across the aisle, Maroni said, “I thought the DA just played golf with the mayor, things like that.”
“Tee off’s one thirty. More than enough time to put you away for life, Sally.”
The bailiff told everyone to rise, and court was in session. The judge entered and took his place at the bench, banged his gavel, and told Dent to call his first witness.
“I call Wilmer Rossi,” Dent said.
Two uniformed guards brought in a thin man wearing a shabby suit. This was Wilmer Rossi. He sat in the witness box, was sworn in, and gazed at the approaching district attorney.
Dent leaned toward Rossi. “With Carmine Falcone in prison, someone must’ve stepped up to run the so-called ‘family,’ right?”
Rossi nodded.
“Is this man in the courtroom today?”
Again, Rossi nodded.
Dent turned his head to stare at Maroni. He was smiling. “Could you identify him for us, please?”
“You got me, Counselor,” Rossi said. “It was me.”
Dent turned back to Rossi, no longer smiling. “I’ve got a sworn statement from you that this man, Salvatore Maroni, is the new head of the Falcone crime family.”
“Maroni? He’s the fall guy. I’m the brains of the organization.”
There was a brief burst of laughter from the gallery. Dent looked up at the judge. “Permission to treat this witness as hostile.”
“Hostile!” Rossi screamed. “I’ll show you hostile!”
Rossi lifted his hand from his side, and somehow it was holding a gun. He aimed at Dent’s face, barely four feet away, and pulled the trigger. There was a click as the gun’s hammer fell on the firing pin, but there was no shot. Dent took a single step forward, grabbing the gun with his left hand as his right, curled into a fist, struck Rossi in the mouth. Rossi slumped back into the witness chair and spat blood.
Dent ejected the clip from Rossi’s weapon, letting it fall to the floor, and crossed to where Maroni sat. He dropped the empty gun onto the table in front of Maroni, and said, casually, “Ceramic .28 caliber. That’s how it beat the metal detectors. Made in China, I believe.” Turning back to the witness box, he said, “Mr. Rossi, I recommend you buy American.”
Dent straightened his tie and watched the bailiffs wrestle Rossi from the witness box.
“Your Honor,” Dent said to the judge. “I’m not done with this witness . . .”
An hour later, Dent was
“Know your limits, Master Bruce.”
“Batman has no limits.”
“Well, you do.”
“I can’t afford to know them.”
“And what happens the day you find out?”
“We all know how much you like to say, ‘I told you so.’ ”
“That day, Master Bruce, even I won’t want to. Probably.”
CHAPTER TEN
T he weather that Monday morning in Gotham City was gorgeous. It seemed that winter had finally gone, and spring had arrived. At 9:30, District Attorney Harvey Dent was running up the steps to the courthouse and at 9:31 he burst into one of the chambers. The courtroom was filled with lawyers, spectators, uniformed policemen, and Salvatore Maroni, who was to be tried that day.
“Sorry I’m late,” Dent said to no one in particular as he sat at the prosecutor’s table next to Rachel Dawes.
“Where were you?” Rachel whispered.
“Worried you’d have to step up?” Dent grinned and opened his attaché case.
“I know the briefs backward.”
Dent’s grin widened and he pulled a silver dollar from a pocket. “Well then, fair’s fair. Heads, I’ll take it. Tails, he’s all yours.”
Dent flipped the coin in the air, caught it, slapped it on his wrist, then uncovered it and displayed it to Rachel.
“Heads,” Dent said. “You lose.”
“You’re flipping coins to see who leads?”
“My father’s lucky coin. As I recall, it got me my first date with you.”
“I’m serious, Harvey. You don’t leave things like this to chance.”
“I don’t.” Dent winked. “I make my own luck.”
From the defendant’s table across the aisle, Maroni said, “I thought the DA just played golf with the mayor, things like that.”
“Tee off’s one thirty. More than enough time to put you away for life, Sally.”
The bailiff told everyone to rise, and court was in session. The judge entered and took his place at the bench, banged his gavel, and told Dent to call his first witness.
“I call Wilmer Rossi,” Dent said.
Two uniformed guards brought in a thin man wearing a shabby suit. This was Wilmer Rossi. He sat in the witness box, was sworn in, and gazed at the approaching district attorney.
Dent leaned toward Rossi. “With Carmine Falcone in prison, someone must’ve stepped up to run the so-called ‘family,’ right?”
Rossi nodded.
“Is this man in the courtroom today?”
Again, Rossi nodded.
Dent turned his head to stare at Maroni. He was smiling. “Could you identify him for us, please?”
“You got me, Counselor,” Rossi said. “It was me.”
Dent turned back to Rossi, no longer smiling. “I’ve got a sworn statement from you that this man, Salvatore Maroni, is the new head of the Falcone crime family.”
“Maroni? He’s the fall guy. I’m the brains of the organization.”
There was a brief burst of laughter from the gallery. Dent looked up at the judge. “Permission to treat this witness as hostile.”
“Hostile!” Rossi screamed. “I’ll show you hostile!”
Rossi lifted his hand from his side, and somehow it was holding a gun. He aimed at Dent’s face, barely four feet away, and pulled the trigger. There was a click as the gun’s hammer fell on the firing pin, but there was no shot. Dent took a single step forward, grabbing the gun with his left hand as his right, curled into a fist, struck Rossi in the mouth. Rossi slumped back into the witness chair and spat blood.
Dent ejected the clip from Rossi’s weapon, letting it fall to the floor, and crossed to where Maroni sat. He dropped the empty gun onto the table in front of Maroni, and said, casually, “Ceramic .28 caliber. That’s how it beat the metal detectors. Made in China, I believe.” Turning back to the witness box, he said, “Mr. Rossi, I recommend you buy American.”
Dent straightened his tie and watched the bailiffs wrestle Rossi from the witness box.
“Your Honor,” Dent said to the judge. “I’m not done with this witness . . .”
An hour later, Dent was
Similar Books
