At Least It Wouldn't Be Batman's Mother

The Falcone family.

Carmine Falcone and his trusted associates had gathered together, all of them solemn as they silently studied the documents in their hands.

"The Cobblepot Family has pulled out of money laundering and smuggling?" Falcone tossed his documents onto the table and rang a bell. "Does anyone know what the hell is going on?"

Ringing a bell before speaking was a tradition in certain Italian organizations, meant to keep people from interrupting one another during meetings.

"I heard a rumor." Falcone's nephew picked up the brass bell in front of him and rang it before continuing. "A few days ago, Batman and Joker stormed into the Iceberg Lounge together and took Cobblepot hostage. Nobody knows what they did, but Cobblepot turned himself in that very day. He's still in prison."

"Did they get something on Cobblepot? Enough to make him do that?" Falcone asked, puzzled.

"Maybe he's just lost his mind. That freak never looked all that normal anyway."

"Hard to say..."

For a moment, the clear chimes of several bells rang out all at once.

"I have a proposal." Falcone's nephew Johnny Vitti shook his bell hard. "Whether Penguin has lost his mind or someone's got something on him, what we need to do now is take over his business."

"No. The smuggling is manageable, but the Cobblepot Family's share of the money laundering business is too big. We can't swallow all of it."

"I think it's worth a shot!"

"If we can take it all over, the Falcone family can tighten its grip on Gotham. We might even match the Four Families at their peak."

"It's too risky. The other crime families won't let us take those businesses so easily."

"They think they can stop us?"

"The bigger we get, the bigger a target we become. Too many people want to make a move against us..."

Falcone rang his bell. The discussion stopped, and everyone turned to him.

"We'll stay out of the money laundering business. Mikaela Falcone, you'll handle the smuggling operations left vacant by the Cobblepot Family's withdrawal," Falcone told his cousin. "Remember, I want all of them."

Mikaela was a middle-aged woman with curly hair and a round knitted cap. She had a gentle appearance and had taken good care of herself.

But everyone who knew her understood that, despite her unthreatening appearance, she was evil at heart and ruthless in her methods. Even in a crime family like Falcone, she stood out for her brutality.

Seeing Falcone send her to handle it sent a chill through everyone present. They understood how firmly he had committed to this decision and raised no further objections.

Mikaela nodded and said softly, "Just leave it to me."

Soon, a wave of unrest swept through Gotham City's underworld. Mikaela struck several gangs in rapid succession, robbing anyone who had designs on Gotham City's smuggling business of the nerve to reach for it.

March 8.

Gotham City's crime families held a ball, inviting prominent figures from every walk of life.

In the lavishly decorated banquet hall, Mikaela sat on a chair at the very front, surveying the distinguished guests invited to the ball. She chatted constantly with the people around her, very much the center of attention.

Almost all the invited guests had arrived. They conversed among themselves, with some casting fearful glances at Mikaela from time to time.

The ball continued. A famous singer hired for the occasion sang into a microphone onstage, and the guests began to dance gracefully to the music.

"Ms. Falcone, I hope you'll do me the honor." A shipping magnate extended his hand to Mikaela with a fawning smile.

"I'd be delighted." Mikaela smiled gently, sending shivers down the spines of some who saw her.

But just then, as the ball was growing livelier, the lights abruptly went out, plunging the entire hall into darkness.

"Have I gone blind?"

"What's going on?"

"Who turned off the lights?"

"What happened?"

"You Falcones, what the hell are you trying to pull?"

"Dammit, I knew they were up to something."

"Ow! Who stepped on me?"

"Help!"

The crowd stirred in the darkened ballroom. Mikaela immediately roared, "Everyone stay right where you are! Monica, go check what's wrong with the power!"

Gunshots rang out, cutting Mikaela off. She let out a pained groan, then gradually fell silent.

When the lights came back on, Mikaela lay lifeless in a pool of blood.

A bouquet lay on her body, looking particularly eerie.

The card attached to it read "Happy Women's Day." It was soaked in blood.

"The Holiday Killer..." Falcone rushed over after hearing the news. At the sight, he smashed a ballroom window with his fist and snarled in fury, "Find him! Kill him!"

The police soon arrived as well. They examined the scene, searched the attendees, and questioned them, but still found nothing.

Word of the case soon spread, becoming another part of the urban legend surrounding the Holiday Killer.

The Abandoned Church.

"He just shot one of Falcone's trusted people dead at a ball? And left a greeting card?" Roland stared wide-eyed at the newspaper. "Holy crap, the Holiday Killer has some serious guts!"

"...You said you'd met the Holiday Killer before?" Jason asked. "There's a seven-figure bounty on his head on the black market now. Aren't you going to consider it?"

"Hmm..." Roland thought for a moment. "Nah. There are three Holiday Killers. Whichever one I hand over, Falcone won't believe me."

"I remember you saying there were three Jokers, too..." Jason eyed Roland suspiciously. "You're not lying to me, are you?"

"What would I lie to you for? That's just how it is." Roland reclined in his chair and continued reading the news.

Jason studied his expression. He really didn't seem to be teasing a kid, so Jason asked curiously, "Then who are the three Holiday Killers?"

"That I can't tell you." Roland's expression turned solemn. "I've survived all these years on three things: being tough enough, staying loyal, and having plenty of brothers! You want me to sell out my brothers? Not a chance!"

"...Being a priest is a waste of your talents. You'd fit right in with a gang," Jason quipped, watching Roland suddenly get fired up.

The two continued reading the newspaper, chatting on and off.

"Say, the Holiday Killer killed a couple on Valentine's Day and a woman on Women's Day. Who's he going to kill on Mother's Day?"

"At least it won't be Batman's mother."