They say every thug in Gotham has a Batman story - here's mine.

Batman turned me to a life of crime.

When I was a little bambino, like 7 or 8, my parents got me this comic book digest with a bunch of different stories in it. It ended up spurring an enjoyment of the medium in general but one story stuck out - it was called Curse of Crime Alley, and it was a Batman story. I remembered loving the action and the style of storytelling. This story is from when Batman generally fought more common criminals and thugs like mobsters, crooks and such. There was a particular scene where Batman encountered a pair of brothers in a car. He climbed into the back seat and began trying to shake down these two hard working soldiers. They were just there doin' the job and he has to go and make it all about him. Anyway, it doesn't go so good for them and at one point one of the brother's draws a pistol on the Batman - I guess that ain't such a good idea. The next frame shows the brother being PUNCHED THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD, broken glass, twisted form, the whole nine. Then the final frame in that scene shows the criminal laying splayed out on the hood of the car like a rag doll with one leg dangling inside the car and the other off the side, as the hero walked casually away. I think as a young Piccridu I probably acted that scene out a million times. And it wasn't long before I realized I liked being the guy takin the punch, the guy destined to lose, the one on the wrong side.



This was when I knew I was on team bad guy.

Now, I've reimagined the story - yeah a helluva a lot more violent but this is my place so all you Batman purists who whine he doesn't kill can pound sand. There's a reason I graduated to Punisher comics.  Anyway I've replaced our Barskey twins wit me an my baby brother Tony, who God love him has a mouth that won't stop. As you can imagine, The Bat makes short work of us. Salud.




The part of the comic that started me off is at the bottom.

Me and Tony - hard at work in Gotham.

Crime Alley - or how me and my brother got whacked by the bat.

Gotham’s grime clung to everything, the city’s filth seeping into the cracks and crevices. Tony and I rolled up in our Cadillac, the beast of a car barely fitting between the crumbling buildings. Tony, always the joker, was rambling about Gotham’s legendary crime rate and how the rats were probably better organized than the mob.

"Vinnie, I’m telling you, this place makes Chicago look like Disneyland," Tony laughed, adjusting his brown leather blazer over that ridiculous floral shirt. "You think Max’s plan will work?"

"Max always has a plan," I muttered, puffing on my cigar. "Long John Logan won't know what hit him. Just stay sharp, Tony. Gotham’s got its own rules."

Tony glanced at me, a smirk playing on his lips. "You worried about the Bat? I heard he’s taken down bigger guys than us."

I snorted. "Batman’s just a guy in a costume. He bleeds like anyone else. We stick to the plan, and we’ll be fine."

"Yeah, but you’ve heard the stories, right? He’s like a ghost. They say he comes out of nowhere and makes you piss your pants before you even know he’s there."

"Stories," I said, shaking my head. "Focus on the job. We’ve got a rat to deal with."

We parked in front of the rundown building. The engine’s rumble died, leaving us in uneasy silence. I took another drag of my cigar, the smoke curling around me like a protective shield. Tony glanced at the clock.

"Max said Logan might show up after the rain starts. What if he doesn’t?" Tony asked, fidgeting with his gun.

"He’ll show," I said, my eyes scanning the building. "If he doesn’t, it’s his funeral. And if Max’s gas trick doesn’t flush him out, it’ll turn this whole place into a graveyard."

Tony started cleaning his gun, the metallic click-clack of the pieces snapping together filling the car. "Hey, Vinnie, what’s the difference between a Gotham girl and a trash bag?"

I rolled my eyes. "I don’t know, Tony. What?"

"About two drinks," he said, laughing at his own joke. "Man, this place is a dump."

"Keep it down," I growled, watching the building warily. "We’re here to do a job, not crack jokes."

Minutes ticked by, the tension in the car growing. Tony continued with his rude jokes, but I barely listened. My mind was on the job, on Max, on the thrill of the hunt. The power and danger always gave me a rush. I thought about how Tony and I had come up through the mean streets together, forged as survivors. People called us bad guys, and maybe we were, but we thrived on the dark side of the law. The power, the thrill, it was all worth the risk. Nothing else made us feel more alive.

I glanced up at the sky. Dark clouds were rolling in, the first signs of an ominous thunderstorm. The air grew heavy, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I took another drag of my cigar, the ember glowing in the dim light.

A shadow moved across the street, and I felt a chill. Before we could react, the back door of the car opened, and a figure slid in, cloaked in darkness.

"Mind if I join you gentlemen?" a gravelly voice asked.

Tony spun around. "What the fuck? Yeah, we mind! Get the hell outta—"

The figure leaned forward, and the dim light revealed the Bat emblem on his chest. "The Bat!" I muttered, my cigar falling from my lips.

"You ain’t got no business here, pal," Tony stammered, his bravado faltering.

"That remains to be seen," Batman said, his eyes cold and piercing. "When a couple of hired thugs from Chicago show up in Gotham, I want to know why."

"Why we're here is our business, so you should just leave," Tony shot back, his voice dripping with contempt.

Take it easy, bro, I thought. Don't escalate this shit.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me why you're here," Batman said calmly.

Tony kept running his mouth. "What does it matter why we’re here? Look around, this whole place is a shithole. We don’t need no freaks messing it up even more."

"Tony," I whispered, trying to calm him, but he was on a roll. The fuckin' kid's mouth was gonna bring it all down.

"Why we're here is none of your goddamn business, Bat," Tony spat. He had tightened his grip on the pistol, and I knew shit was about to hit the fan.

"Don't make this difficult on yourself, Lubesco. You can still walk away."

"Vinnie said you ain't nothin' but a fuckin' guy in a fucked-up suit," Tony sneered. He whipped around, aiming the gun at the bat. I froze—aw fuck.

"That means you can fuckin' die," Tony spat.

"Wrong move, asshole," Batman growled.

Batman’s response was swift. He lunged forward, yanking Tony over the seat. The motion knocked the cigar from my mouth as Tony's elbow connected, knocking me back. I heard the sickening crunch of bones as Batman drove an elbow into Tony’s chest, slamming him into the roof of the car. My cigar rolled under the seat, the ember glowing ominously.

"Tonight’s a bad night to piss me off," Batman growled. He twisted Tony’s gun hand, and with brutal efficiency, fired two shots under Tony's chin. Blood and brain matter splattered across the roof, and Tony’s body went limp, draped over the back of the passenger seat.

"Tony!" I screamed in rage, seeing my baby brother's lifeless body slung over the seat like garbage, his head leaking blood onto the leather upholstery. Then before I knew what happened, I was in Batman's grip. One hand on my shoulder and another ominously around my neck.

"Your baby brother liked to run his mouth. It was getting annoying," Batman said, turning his attention to me. His grip on my shoulder and neck was like iron, the pain immediate and excruciating. "If you don't want to end up like him, I suggest you cooperate."

The smell of smoldering tobacco filled the car, a reminder that time was running out. Batman’s grip tightened, twisting my neck and shoulder painfully. "Two things, Vinnie. First, why are you here? Second, it takes about 75 pounds of pressure to snap your neck. Don’t think I won’t do it."

I grunted, the pain shooting through my body. "Alright, alright," I gasped. "Max hired us... us and a bunch of others to watch that building."

"Why?" Batman demanded, his eyes never leaving mine.

"There’s a guy—Long John Logan. Max got word he’s been hiding out there since he ratted to the cops. The plan is to flush him out with gas. Either he comes out, or he dies inside."

"And if he comes out?" Batman pressed, his grip not easing.

"We're supposed to cap him. Make sure he doesn’t talk again," I spat, seething with rage. "Max's gas will kill hundreds, but that's the price of doing business."

The smell of burning fabric mixed with the cigar smoke, adding to the tension. "You better hurry with your answers, Vinnie," Batman said. "This whole car’s about to go up in flames. And remember, smoking kills."

I saw red. My mind raced with thoughts of revenge. This fucking guy, just a man in a costume, thinking he could take us down. I reached for my gun, my fingers curling around the grip.

"And if any problems arise," I continued, "we're supposed to deal with it."

My hand tightened on the gun, and I turned, aiming it over my shoulder at Batman. "Like I'm gonna deal with you, you fuck!"

In an instant, I saw Batman's eyes narrow, his fist seeming to come out of nowhere. The impact was like being hit by a freight train. I flew backward, crashing through the windshield. Glass sliced into my skin, and I felt my back snap. The pain was like nothing I’d ever felt. I lay on the hood of the car, dazed and broken, my gun still in hand but useless.

The flames were spreading, the heat intensifying. Batman loomed over me, his shadow a dark omen. "Gotham’s no place for scum like you," he said, turning away as the fire engulfed the car.

My vision blurred, the pain overwhelming. I was vaguely conscious as the flames licked at my legs, the agony becoming too much to bear. The last thing I saw was the Bat disappearing into the night, leaving the Lubesco brothers to burn in their own hell.