Dynasty: A Batman Tale - Part 3

NOW

Randall dread having to face his wife, knowing full well the moment he walked through the door, she would read it on his face. He had been fired, yet again. Five jobs in just as many months, Randall had been Operations Supervisor at the Gotham Port for over fifteen years, overseeing the dock workers perform their daily burdens. Then, just prior to Christmas and without any warning he was let go. The official word was that his position no longer existed. He was issued a fair severance package, but being the gambling degenerate that he was, Randall figured he could secure his future at the tables and triple his money. The casino was unkind to Randall. After coming home, now with no job and zero money, he begged his wife not to leave. He swore on his life he would be employed the very next day and pleaded for her not to take away his children.

He did as promised and found work the next day, though his new employment lasted only three weeks. At first he thought he would rather enjoy parking other peoples’ cars for money. He had never worked a job that included tips and liked the immediate gratification of cash in hand. Though when a patron of the restaurant Randall was parking cars for complained, he was fired. He desperately tried to defend himself stating the customer had confused him with another valet, but his appeal fell on deaf ears.

Over the next few months Randall explored different employment avenues, he worked as a street vendor selling hot dogs to men and women in suits catching a quick lunch between business meetings. He attempted to wash windows thirty stories above the Earth, finding out the hard way that he was afraid of heights. Finally, he secured a job as the doorman for a recently opened nightclub called Freeze. But, sadly, he lost that job last night when five women were slaughtered.

Randall hadn’t bothered to go home. He couldn’t stand to face his wife so he opted for a bottle of Tequila and a park bench. It was on that park bench where for the briefest of moments, Randall thought he found salvation in the form of a newspaper ad.

I should have known better, DAMN IT Randall, the ad even read “Job too good to be true”, but did that stop me from calling...

Randall had waited on the park bench until seven in the morning then took out his cell phone and dialed the number on the advertisement that read:

JOB TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE

60 minutes work

$5000.00 CASH

THIS IS NOT A JOKE!!!

CALL 665-956-5464

OR SHOW UP TO THE WEST 127TH STREET STATION

TRACK 16

@ 8:30AM

Regret was something Randall had grown accustom to over the past few months. He regretted losing his job and squandering his money. He regretted dousing ketchup over the man with the attitude that lost him his vendor job, and he regretted vomiting up his breakfast out over the window washing scaffold onto the streets below Wayne Tower. Twenty minutes ago all that regret was wiped clean when the man in the Fedora gave him five thousand dollars cash. All he had to do was go stand out in Gotham Plaza dressed as a clown. Easy enough he thought. He had never been so wrong in his entire life.

Randall was not prepared for the severity of the situation. He was escorted to his current position by two rather large, intimidating fellows. Randall was dressed in an oversized multicolor jumpsuit and a bright orange clown wig. His face had been painted white with a red stripe running from ear to ear across his lips. Under his left arm a wrapped package with a red button on top. In his right hand, he was holding a card.

One of his escorts held up Randall’s driver’s license, along with a photo of his family. “Drop either item and they die. Move from this spot, they die. When the police arrive, open the letter and read it. DO EXACTLY as it says or they die. Understand?”

Randall couldn’t find his voice. His heart was beating in his ears. With his family threatened, Randall had no choice but to whimper “yes.”

They paid me in cash, is this really happening? When did they get to my family? What have I done? What the hell is in this box and what does this card say and why am I such a God damn fool? Perhaps this is a... yes it has to be. I’m on some kind of hidden camera show. Of course! That’s it, any minute I bet a film crew is going to jump out to surprise me. Randall did indeed get a surprise, unfortunately it was the one he was told was coming: the police. Oh shit, this is real, the cops are here. I have to do what they say or they’re gonna kill my family.

Within one minute the peaceful scene of couples holding hands and young families out with their pets surrounding Randall at Gotham Plaza had been obliterated by the deluge of police cars that now formed a perimeter around him. A man in a grey suit and a beige duster with a thick mustache and glasses held up a megaphone. “Son, you seem to have us at a disadvantage. What are your demands?” Demands, what demands? What have they been told? Randall recalled the instructions. When the police arrive, open the letter and read it. DO EXACTLY as it says or they die. Do exactly as it says.

Randall brought the card to his mouth and bit at the corner of the envelope. He pinched the letter out with his teeth and dropped the envelope, then grabbed the letter unfolded it and began to read.

“Attention citizens and police. Gotham is MINE. I have grown bored with the silence this city has produced as of late. I don’t know about you, but I’m desperately missing the days of blood curdling screams in back alleys and longing for a symphony of bullets to dance my happy feet to, I do declare it’s time to play. And you know who I wish to play with. So come out and play with me Bats. It simply won’t be the same without you. And to motivate you for my pure entertainment I have decided to make a bang! A big, big, bang. There’s no turning back now; no, no, no. The Gotham Underground has been rigged with presents, lots and lots of presents. Just like the one this clown is holding, the others all go off in twenty-four hours. Push the button.” DO EXACTLY as it says or they die. Randall pushed the button.

Commissioner Gordon along with the first wave of officers closest to Randall were blown back over the squad cars as all the windows shattered. The only thing left where Randall had been standing were five thousand burnt one dollar bills floating back to Earth.