There was no way Vicki or Pete could know where they were going. Barbara might be trustworthy, but a journalist? Absolutely not. Michael didn't mind stirring up trouble for Batgirl, but if her identity became public knowledge, that would be a disaster on a whole different level.
"If I give you another lead, can you at least skip the blindfold this time?" Vicki attempted to bargain, even though she knew the answer.
"No." Michael tore a cloth into strips and tied it over the eyes of all three of them. "If you even think about taking it off, I'll break your toes."
Vicki fidgeted uncomfortably. "You know, you didn't have to tie it so tight. And why the toes? I'd use my hands to take it off."
"Because I felt like it," Michael replied, his tone leaving no room for further complaints. "Now, what's this lead you're talking about?"
Vicki, always the dramatist, leaned forward despite being blindfolded. "I'm not telling you unless you let me see. Otherwise, just kill me now." She craned her neck as if offering it to Michael.
Michael chuckled, pushing her back into her seat. "I didn't say you couldn't see it. Just wait until we get there. Also, the person you want dead? I promise, they'll be gone by tomorrow."
Vicki's mood instantly brightened. "Remember, you said that! Heh, this might just be my lucky day. I've already figured out who your black-clad friends are working for."
"Oh?" Both Cindy and Michael perked up at that. With all the evidence they had found so far, how had Vicki managed to figure it out when they hadn't?
Cindy, for one, didn't think much of Vicki's intellect. But Michael, knowing the journalist's peculiar streak of luck, wasn't so quick to dismiss her. Vicki's knack for being in the right place at the right time often bordered on supernatural.
In the comics, Vicki Vale always had this uncanny ability to stumble onto the biggest stories. Thugs trying to mess with her would be interrupted by a passing superhero, vital clues would land in her lap, and even the higher-ups who tried to sideline her would suddenly be outvoted by board members rallying to her side.
Her luck was almost a superpower. That's part of why Michael decided to keep her around—sometimes, you just needed a bit of good fortune.
"Go on, tell us," Michael urged her.
"Well," Vicki began, savoring the attention, "I examined the wound on the corpse. It's... unique, to say the least. I'm sure you both noticed it, too, so I started thinking about ritual killings."
She paused for dramatic effect, but Cindy just rolled her eyes and lit a cigar.
"Gotham's had its fair share of crazies, but ritual killings aren't the norm," Cindy muttered through a puff of smoke.
Vicki grinned, knowing she had the floor. "Exactly! I'd never seen anything like it, either. So I wondered if it wasn't some original method, but rather an ancient one. And then it clicked—this type of killing matches a record I came across while covering an old murder case."
"An ancient form of punishment?" Michael folded his arms, trying to recall anything from his extensive reading that might match. His mind was drawing a blank, aside from grotesque executions like being drawn and quartered.
Even Cindy seemed stumped.
"That's right," Vicki continued, clearly enjoying the moment. "It's an ancient Roman punishment. The victim is tied to a post and killed with a short Roman sword, left to bleed out. Now, when you think of the Romans in Gotham... who comes to mind?"
Michael immediately groaned, realization dawning. "Carmine Falcone—the Roman."
Cindy laughed and shook her head. "Hates Gordon, hates Batgirl. Yeah, 'hate' might be putting it lightly. Didn't Batgirl roast him under the Bat-Signal once?"
She wasn't wrong. Years ago, Gordon had tricked Falcone into a meeting, and Batgirl had been waiting to ambush him. After humiliating him, Batgirl had left him tied to the Bat-Signal like some roast. That kind of humiliation didn't just sting—it festered.
If Falcone was behind all this, it made sense. But the situation became far more complicated if that was the case. Falcone wasn't some reckless thug; he had once been Gotham's shadow emperor, and a man who had reached those heights was no fool.
Falcone wouldn't go out of his way to kill an assassin from the League of Shadows unless he had a reason. The League, with its centuries of tradition, would recognize the ancient method of execution and see it as a direct provocation.
He wasn't just killing someone; he was signing his name to it.
The Falcone of ten years ago might have had the power to stand up to the League, back when Gotham was his. But now? What did he have left?
"It could be a setup. I thought Falcone was still locked up in Blackgate," Barbara said, wanting to search for confirmation but blinded by her restraints.
Vicki laughed at her. "Oh, sweetie, you're a little behind. Falcone was let out on 'medical parole' months after he was sentenced. He's been back in Gotham for a while."
"Exactly," Cindy added. "No one would go out of their way to frame a man who's been off the radar for a decade. He's stirring things up again—just like old times."
Rain pummeled the windshield harder now, and Cindy's driving had become even rougher as she navigated the winding, muddy roads out of the city. The thick forest blurred past the windows, and Michael noticed several fallen trees whizzing by. The storm had officially turned into a full-blown tempest.
"Who knew the Wayne estate was this far out? You'd think Bruce would have chosen a spot closer to the city. Maybe next to the police station?" Michael muttered, half-joking. "Would've made Bat-Signal meetings a lot more convenient."
Vicki, meanwhile, had gone quiet after delivering her lead. But Michael could tell she was straining her ears, probably trying to memorize the route based on sound. It was a futile effort. No amount of luck would let her navigate these backroads later.
As Michael's mind wandered back to the situation at hand, the pieces started to fall into place. If Falcone was provoking the League, then he had to have some serious firepower. Trained assassins or not, the League members were still human, and they could be overwhelmed by superior numbers or heavy weapons.
Except for their leader—Ra's al Ghul, the immortal "Demon's Head."
So what was Falcone's play here? Why was he antagonizing the League when he could have just hired them? What did this have to do with Gordon?
If it was about revenge, then his targets should have been Gordon, Batgirl, and the Penguin. After all, it was Gordon who had orchestrated the sting, with Batgirl's help. And while they were distracted, Penguin had swooped in and taken over Falcone's empire.
It made no sense for Falcone to provoke the League. The smart move would've been to hire them, not piss them off.
The rain continued to batter the van, and Cindy turned down a narrow road that led even further into the woods.
"You're thinking the same thing, aren't you?" Michael asked, breaking the silence. "Falcone's preparing for war against the League. He's expecting them to come after him."
Cindy nodded, her eyes locked on the road ahead. "If he's playing with fire, we need to figure out how this ties back to Gordon. Why would Falcone risk all of this now?"
"Maybe Falcone knows something we don't," Michael muttered, his thoughts still churning. "Whatever the reason, we need to be ready."
"Let's hope we can find out before we run out of time," Cindy said grimly.
Outside, the storm howled, and the dense forest swallowed them whole as they sped deeper into the unknown.