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This most unusual deck sports a .22 calibre BULLET HOLE straight through the middle. His features are delicate, almost feminine, and he takes a vain, gangsterish pride in his appearance. He trains a cold eye on DENT's televised image as ALICIA HUNT -- 26, beautiful, Carl Grissom's kept woman -- glides over in her negligee and snuggles up. THE HAND sets the deck on an end table, raps it twice, turns up four aces off the top. JACK NAPIER, 32, is right-hand man and chief enforcer to Boss Carl Grissom. You shouldn'ta -- NICK Do you want this money or -- BOTH PUNKS FREEZE at the sudden, inexplicable sound of BOOTS CRUNCHING ON GRAVEL. NICK drops to the gravel, gropes for the gun, brings it up. The BLACK SPECTRE is blocking his path to the fire escape. EDDIE is frozen in place, his eyes glazed over, his face drained of blood. EDDIE slams into a brick chimney and slumps to the roof unconscious, a broken, weightless puppet. And sees, in the mirrored lenses where BATMAN's eyes should be, the twin reflections of his own stricken face. Trembling, NICK crawls to the ledge and looks over... NICK is still screaming as we PAN UP to the bilious yellow globe of Gotham's moon. Tuxedoed WAITERS move among the tables, deftly refilling water glasses. EDDIE You shouldn'ta turned the gun on that kid, man. Standing at the edge of the roof, bathed in moonlight, is a BLACK APPARITION. EDDIE stands rooted to the spot, a choked gurgle in his throat, as if he's just seen his own death. Or rather, its WINGS: GREAT BLACK BATWINGS, flapping in the wind. He scuttles around the periphery of the roof, his feet skidding on the gravel as he searches for a way down. A BLACK BOOT catches EDDIE high on the chest -- -- LIFTS HIM CLEANLY OFF HIS FEET -- -- AND SENDS HIM FLYING THROUGH THE AIR. And then -- casually, without a moment's hesitation -- STEPS OFF THE LEDGE OF THE ROOF, INTO MIDAIR. He runs a hand through sculpted hair, checks out his Albert Nipon ensemble. At this exact moment two uniformed PATROLMEN drag a brain- fried NICK past the mouth of the alley. ECKHARDT takes a fat brown envelope from JACK and stuffs it quickly in his coat. A dangling fat moon shines overhead, ready to burst. JIMMY Seventh is A deserted access street, sidewalks lined with the husks of stripped-down cars. His ratty t-shirt reads: 'I LOVE GOTHAM CITY.' MOM, DAD, and JIMMY pause for the merest of seconds, then move on -- pretending not to hear.
NICK has no patience with campfire tales -- but here on the roof, in the pale moonlight, he can't ignore the slight tingle at the base of his spine... And still the BLACK FIGURE draws closer, deliberate, menacing. The strange black figure is knocked bodily to the roof. and NICK sees THE HUMAN BAT, BACK ON ITS FEET, NIGHTMARISH, UNDEAD, MOVING SLOWLY AND INEVITABLY CLOSER. THIS ACTION IS SO SMOOTH, SO AUTOMATIC, THAT THE BAT DOES NOT EVEN BREAK HIS STRIDE. MAIN CREDITS ROLL: An oversized CAMPAIGN POSTER fills one wall: "A NEW GOTHAM. We TILT DOWN to find the man himself, determined, dynamic HARVEY DENT, addressing a crowd from behind his podium. it is no longer enough to go after the small-time punks and petty criminals who infest the streets of Gotham City. As they do, we SEE an EMPTY PLACE SETTING -- the only one in the hall. In the foreground: a MAN'S HAND, long, elegant, manicured. His eye darts back and forth between the TV and his own reflection in a nearby vanity. where, at the end of a line, a STRANGE BLACK SILHOUETTE is dropping slowly, implacably, into frame... Almost as an afterthought, THE BATMAN heaves him roughly back onto the roof. JACK checks his watch, reaches for his topcoat, and stands in front of the vanity. EDDIE THE PUNK goes past on a stretcher, catatonic. As they speak our attention shifts to a point at the opposite corner of the roof, some fifteen yards away... Only now, the deserted alleyway is a beehive of activity: police cars, an ambulance, a forensics van. MOM For God's sake, Harold, can we please just get a to get a -- (shouting) TAXI!! MOM grimaces in frustration as LITTLE JIMMY consults a subway map. Mercifully, the DERELICT doesn't seem to be following. The DERELICT races across the street to join his confederate, the STREET PUNK, who's already searching for DAD's wallet. They can see she's about to snap -- so the STREET PUNK, still in a crouch, trains his gun on JIMMY.