Batman Story 2025 The Shoemaker
I've faced my share of dangerous villains, but also dealt with the weird, unpredictable, and sometimes comical crook. You don't always know which one you'll end up with based on their theme. After a first glance, a guy who deals with a ventriloquist dummy doesn't sound dangerous, but you'd be surprised.
Thankfully, Wesker is in Blackgate prison and Scarface is in the Batcave this time. This new guy's story, though, started two weeks ago. It seemed like a random mugging. The kid took a wallet and a pair of sneakers, Brixby's new line, Parkerstrides. they were named after Gotham's top basketball player, Parker Crispin, star of the Gotham Knights, who may even get a championship this year, provided his recent injury turns out to be minor. However, at the time, all I knew was the kid had mugged an older man and was on foot at the waterfront.
I was nearby and started to head that way in the Batmobile. About half a mile from the kid, he suddenly screamed out, dropped the shoes and the wallet, and doubled over. When I got to him, he said he was in pain all over his body. I did a quick examination using medic training and the Batcomputer scan, then inoculated him with an epiPen. It was an allergic reaction to something; if I had waited, he would have died.
Something didn't sit right. In Gotham, assuming something is a coincidence will get you killed. Unfortunately, so will being paranoid. Come to think of it, in Gotham on a bad day, going for ice cream will do the same thing. Our city has the highest percentage of home grocery deliveries in the country. We don't leave things to chance if we can help it.
When I checked the crime scene, my suspicions grew. The victim had disappeared with no trace. Again, in Gotham, this is normal; victims often don't want to testify against many of the people I face. However, this time, no one could quite agree on what had happened or what the victim looked like. The thing that confirmed something was up for me was when the surveillance cameras in the area revealed nothing at all. There had been no sign of a mugging.
The victim wasn't recorded, and neither was the kid until a block away. It was as if the first part never happened. In Gotham, that's a sure sign that someone's up to something not good. I didn't wait for the Commissioner this time. I only left a quick note explaining I'd touch base later. Instead, I headed for the Batcave.
Once there I had the Batcomputer research everything we had on both the kid and the Brixby shoes. I looked at my adopted Dad as he sat beside me. âBy the way, the wallet the kid took was empty.â
"Empty?" Alfred asked, never one to like a detail out of place. "I can see no money, but no ID, no pictures, nothing but a wallet. Wait, was it new?"
I smiled. People say I'm a pretty good detective; ever wonder who I learned that from? As a former intelligence agent and a butler, Alfred Pennyworth does not miss anything. "No, it's a nineteen-year-old leather wallet. Care to guess how old the kid was?"
He frowned. We both knew the answer to that one. We also knew the kid. His name is Michael Stensrud, and he's in stable condition at the hospital. "It wasn't the shoes he stole, or the wallet. Something did this to him, but they weren't the method used to transmit it."
"You know what it was, though. Otherwise, you'd be brooding and racking your brain for an answer. What was it?" He knows me better than anyone, after all.
I nodded, smiling at him. "It wasn't the shoes the kid was wearing. They administered the allergen into his system from the sole of the shoes. They weren't Brixby's either. They were better made, custom, and among the best quality shoes I've ever seen."
Immediately, he sat down at the extra console and pulled up three photos. "Two of them are dead, one is dying. None of them have families in America. I suspect it has to be someone trained by them. My guess is it's someone trained by either Virtanen or Cabernatti; the stitching looks closest to them. Both of them are dead, but there is the possibility they're trained by the other and doing this to throw you off. Obviously, they wanted you to find the shoes."
Again, I nodded. "From what I can deduce, it's one of these two men. Both are in Gotham; one was born here and returned. The other moved here to work for Brixby as a top designer. It's because of that, I don't think he's involved, but he could be the next victim."
"Another one who's daring you to stop him? Or is he not smart enough to think you'll figure it out? What's his name?"
"Sterling Laston Sutor. His grandfather was a shoemaker, trained by Cabernatti, but left over some argument. For twenty-five years he's been in Gotham. He's rich, from a series of patents sold to Brixby, and appears to be a model citizen."
Alfred looked at me. "I think you need a new pair of shoes, Bruce. You've got two galas in a week and a half. I think a visit from the mogul might work better than from the mystery solver."
He's very seldom wrong. Two days later, I was invited for lunch at Sutor's home. It was massive, but not from the outside. On the outside, it looked like a simple brownstone. Once you got in, you realized it wasn't what it seemed. I knew before walking in that the other brownstones had been bought years ago and the entire series of structures were part of his home.
Sutor had kept the outside look to hide appearances of grandeur. He had told Gotham Architecture Monthly it was because he liked private elegance. I wondered if there were other reasons.
His personal assistant showed me in and poured tea, then went to get Sutor. I knew what he looked like from research but wasn't sure how he would present himself. He walked in quietly. He was little over six feet and walked with a very slight limp, barely noticeable. Tan slacks, blue shirt, brown suspenders, and very nice shoes. "Mr. Wayne, how interesting to meet you. I received the message from our mutual friend that you need a favor. I typically don't do things like this anymore, but for the Mayor, I'll make an exception. Here are the two designs I would suggest. What are your thoughts?"
We talked about shoes for around fifteen minutes, during which he quickly and diplomatically steered me to his design preferences. I wondered if he was trying to hurry me out, until the shoes were settled. "Now that we have all that out of the way, let's enjoy lunch. My chef has something very special planned."
The meal was as good as anything I've ever ate. His Chef had worked in Paris. Sutor apparently liked the best of everything: shoes, food, art. He was rich and, though he didn't flaunt it, he appeared very comfortable with it.
Sutor also was very knowledgeable. He seemed elegant, intelligent, and with not a care in the world. He was open, pleasant, and almost had me wondering if I was wrong until near the end of the meal. I asked him about his career, how he had been so successful.
"Ah, that is an interesting story. I would love to tell you it is because of brilliant craftsmanship, or that it was because Nathaniel Brixby loved my designs so much he had to have my patents. The truth is something much simpler. I made my money out of guilt, Mr. Wayne. Nathaniel Brixby was so guilty he insisted on buying my designs and making me a fortune."
"Mr. Sutor, normally it's not polite to pry, but since you've been so open, may I ask what made Brixby so guilty? What did he do?"
He smiled coldly. "Simple and straightforward, actually. He felt guilty for trying to kill me. Also, he was scared to allow me to live without me owing him something. So for the last twenty-five years, I have been content to allow him to be relieved of his guilt."
Sutor laughed, and so did I. He then pointed to a painting in the dining room. "This painting is a work by Alistair Peregrine, it's called Vinganca, revenge in Portugal. The scene is the poisoning of Duke Fernando II of Braganza. It's rumored to have been by King JoĂŁo II himself. It's my favorite painting, and it only cost four million of Brixby's money."
The meal and performance ended shortly after dessert. I know vengeance; I've struggled with it and learned that it will consume you if you don't break free. While it's burning inside you, you can go off on a tangent, but I also know something else. Generally, you keep the full force of it hidden. Even if you embraced it, you know it can be ugly and dangerous. Sutor wasn't keeping his hidden, he was flaunting it.
While I've been wrong before, it's rarely about reading people. He wasn't languishing in revenge for Brixby, he was putting on a show. That meant he knew he was being checked out, which was disturbing. The question was, how much did he know? Did he think Bruce Wayne was being a plant for the cops, for Batman, or did he know something else? It wouldn't have been the first time someone put two and two together. Luthor had, as well as a handful of others, but I was able to check him into a corner which meant he couldn't make use of his knowledge or share it. Was Sutor as smart as Luthor? I doubted it, but he was as arrogant. The question was, was he as rich?
I decided to pay a call on someone with an ear for everything that dipped into anything illegal in Gotham. "His name is Sterling Laston Sutor, know anything about him? On the surface he's clean."
"Wack, wack, wack, clean about as clean as Two-Face's suit. Sutor has been dirty since before he arrived in Gotham. He's just always managed to stay under your radar, but the way he does it makes it easy. Ever wonder, Batman, where some of Gotham's most nefarious get such quality duds, including footwear?"
The Penguin sipped his coffee with a smirk. He loved those times when he knew something someone else didn't know, especially if that someone was me or the Commissioner. "He has made a fortune, all right, he and Brixby. Together, they've supplied every major villain in Gotham with clothes, shoes, safe houses, hideouts, weapons, and vehicles for years. That story about them being enemies and despising each other, they invented it so no one would know the truth. Most brothers fight, but they're still brothers. You can't have one shoe without a pair, unless you're a pirate."
"Brixby changed his name at the suggestion of his big brother. It gave him some cover, but it also paved the way for Sutor to slip into Gotham. They faked the accident and played the cops. They liked the money they made, but didn't usually like to get their hands dirty. There were a few exceptions, but most were before you and me, or when you were busy. The pair mostly stayed out of your way, until now."
"No, he doesn't know who you are if that's what you're thinking. What he does think is that Gordon asked his good friend Bruce Wayne to pay a call on him with some excuse about shoes. Our fine commissioner is one of the few people that has suspected Sutor and Brixby, but there's that annoying bit of proof. Sutor and Brixby are in Gordon's secret file cabinet, or didn't you know about that?"
It was time to end this little talk. "Each of us have information someone doesn't have, Oswald. The key is to know where to locate it when you have to. I don't need to know where your or the Commissioner's info vaults are, I just need to know where to find you both. I've never had trouble finding either of you yet."
Then I exited through his skylight, without breaking it this time. It wasnât an official visit; heâs not a fan of the mess one of those makes in his penthouse. No, I didnât know that the Commissioner kept secret files, but it doesnât surprise me; we all do. Theyâre hunches that we canât shake, but also donât have any material to tie them to. I did need to know what the Commissioner thought.
He was on the roof of GCPD when I landed. âBeen expecting you. Word got out that Sutor had a visitor, and so Iâve been up here for the last hour. Coffeeâs getting cold. Letâs go inside using the secret elevator.â He meant the fire escape.
As he poured the coffee, he looked at me. âGo ahead. Secret files, police, give me the works. Theyâre not official, itâs more like a series of notebooks where I write questions. Like why a certain billionaire always shows up and disappears at exactly the right times.â
I kept the blank look on my face. Having a few of your enemies and your friends figure out who you are is one thing; confirming is another. That lingering shred of doubt might just keep them both alive at some point, it had before.
âPenguin said youâve had your eyes on Sutor and Brixby for a while, why?â
Gordon drank half his mug in one sip; it was a cold night. âSupply chain. A homicidal maniac doesnât escape prison one night and have a purple and green blimp the next without a middle man. Sutor and Brixby own warehouses across the city, warehouses that frequently get ârobbedâ of merchandise, and yet their bank accounts just get bigger.â
âSomething didnât add up, until it did. The problem is the pair of them are slick. Their books, their workers, their management team, they donât just have a crew, theyâve got a corporation. The two of them have some bond that is unexplainable, but they pretend to be enemies, thatâs cover. The so-called accident was smoke and mirrors, but Iâve never been able to find out where their bond is. I always had a hunch, if I knew that, I can find the rest.â
I smiled. âYou should have paid a visit to Cobblepot. Sutor and Brixby are brothers. They had this plan from when the first one of them came to Gotham. He says theyâve hid under the radar most of the time, moving only when we were too busy to catch them, until now.â
Gordon whistled. âHow did he find that out? Did they admit it, or did he do bloodwork? Some days Iâm amazed at what that bird finds out.â
âHeâs useful most of the time, but he also keeps secrets. He didnât volunteer what he knew about what they were planning, but he also didnât seem nervous.â
âMeaning heâs not getting a cut of whatever it is. Is that why heâs ratting them out to you? Or was he gloating that weâve never been able to find out what he has?â
âThis time, doesnât matter. We stop the two of them, weâll stop anyone connected with them. Do you have any leads on their supply chain, where everything comes from?â
He handed me a slip of paper from a notebook that was on his desk. âI had this ready when I heard about the Wayne-Sutor thing. Warehouse 39 is their weakest link; if I were you, Iâd hit that tonight.â
I nodded and left with my grappling hook, towards the warehouse district. For once, Penguin and Commissioner Gordon were both wrong. It wasnât time to stop Sutor and Brixby; it was time to see what they were building up to, and wait.
I scanned the warehouse with my infrared before sending in the drone from my utility belt. Lucius designed it, one hundred percent clear plastic, down to the motor, silent and virtually invisible. The warehouse looked like a department store for villains. There were racks of Riddler costumes, as well as his henchmenâs outfits. Assorted Joker weapons, even different style trench coats for Hush. One section was computer equipment, looked like a combination of Mad Hatter and Mr. Freezeâs labs, and then there were a half-dozen vehicles with assorted villain paint jobs. The one thing I didnât expect to find there was the kid who had so recently been in the hospital, Michael Sternsrud.
I couldnât believe my eyes, and it turned out I was right. When the drone zoomed in, it wasnât Michael, it was Melvin. Twin brothers, and both apparently worked for Sutor and Brixby. This clinched what Alfred and I both suspected. Theyâre not trying to hide anything, they want me to know what theyâre up to. Theyâre inviting me to stop them. They want a fight, the question is, why?
Iâve never minded a fight, but I donât like one where I donât know why someone wants to fight. Motive isnât just a word for a detective, itâs how we gauge life when weâre in work mode. What was their motive? What could they hope to gain? They had an empire that, it appeared at least, would be threatened by exposure. Yet thatâs what they seemed to want. It didnât make any sense.
When the drone came back, I called Alfred in the Batcave, we needed to know more before doing anything. I had Alfred do a new search for everything and anything about both Sutor and Brixby. There was something we didnât know yet, and especially in Gotham, that can be deadly. It was time for me to visit the brother.
Family is important, even here, and among some you wouldnât expect it to be. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum for example, theyâd cross anyone else, but not each other. Riddler went to great pains for his cousin, Bookworm, even running the risk of his Uncleâs wrath. The Penguin protects his kids, keeping them out of the family business and safe in other pursuits. Even Freeze has a cousin he writes to twice a year.
All of this went through my head as I was watching Brixbyâs penthouse. In all of this, something didnât feel quite right. There was a piece I was missing, one that would tie everything together, and it was irritating me. It was lurking in the back of my mind like, well, like me in Gordonâs office waiting forâŠ
It hit me, and in a heartbeat I was swinging towards Brixbyâs place, hoping I made it in time. The first explosion hit before I reached it, but I managed to fly through the broken glass. Laying tied up on his back was Brixby, he was injured, but alive. I got him out before the second explosion, just before. The top floor was gone in a heartbeat.
I called Commissioner Gordon and he met me at Dr. Thompsonâs clinic. She lets us house patients there in emergencies. We both waited 'til Brixby came to. In the meantime, we had worked our strategy: the Commissioner would ask three questions, and I would give Brixby some advice.
âBrixby, itâs Commissioner Gordon. Who did this to you? Brixby, was it Sutor? Is he really your brother?â That last one was the only one that mattered. We both suspected what the answer was, we just needed Brixby to confirm it.
âNo, my brotherâs trying to rescue me. Heâs trying to rescue the business. Heâs, heâs in danger, theyâll kill him!â
âCalm down, Brixby, they donât have him, not yet. Is that why heâs started the episode with Sternsrud? Is he simply trying to protect his territory, or to take them down? If you want your brother to live, youâll tell me now.â
âHe started out trying to just protect what weâve built up, but then it got personal. First they just started moving in, then they threatened us. Last night, they kidnapped me, told my brother he had forty-eight hours to turn over everything to them. Then they laughed and told me they were going to kill me whether he paid or not.â
Gordon took over again. âWhere is your brother, Brixby? Who are they? We may still be able to help you both.â
Suddenly the room went black. âNo, I donât think so, gentlemen. Though my brother and I thank you for the effort. Iâll take care of the walrus and the carpenter myself. You see, this is one pair of clams they canât outsmart.â
When the lights came back up, Sutor and his brother were gone. Gordon checked on Dr. Tompkins, who was unharmed but tied up. He rejoined me as I was about to leave by the window.
âAt least we know now, donât we? Itâs them, that walrus and the carpenter reference, he was talking about the Tweedles?â
I nodded and swung out. Deever and Dumfree Tweed, cousins who resembled each other so much theyâre mistaken for brothers. They may look comical, but donât make the mistake of thinking they are. Their striped suits, bowler hats, round shape, and small stature are a distraction. Theyâre cold, calculating, and cutthroat. They once kidnapped the Mad Hatter and kept him tied up for days so they could blame their latest crime wave on him. Theyâve been fairly quiet the last couple of years, but Iâve heard rumors theyâve been consolidating power. Apparently, part of that power is related to the supply chain. It partially explained why Sutor and Brixby went from being happily in the background to becoming more high profile, of necessity. I still needed to know more, so it was time to go to the source.â
Normally, I donât use the front door, let alone park the Batmobile in front of the entrance. Yet at the Casa de la Reina Roja, I wanted the proprietors to know who wanted to see them. Years ago, the Tweedles bought a hotel and have used different names through the years. Now it was a Spanish translation referencing the Red Queen, decorated in a Spanish architectural style. There were a few guests, some legitimate, some not, but the penthouse held two permanent residents, Deever and Dumfree Tweed. The man at the front desk didnât move when I walked in, but I didnât expect him to. He was just an employee. The maintenance man headed for the elevator. âDonât bother, Roger, Iâll announce myself,â I said as I tied him up. He was currently the Tweedleâs eyes and ears, and had been one of their henchmen for ten years.
I didnât want a bomb thrown at me before I got my questions asked. All of this I knew was on camera; I didnât care, in fact, I wanted them to get the idea. I wasnât in the mood for games.
Their butler, âDodoâ Carville, was waiting with the door open. âTheyâre expecting you, Sir, in the library.â He didnât offer, and I didnât ask for directions, I knew the way. They were in full costume when I walked in, bowler hats, striped suits, and all. That meant they were getting ready to go out.
Deever did the talking as usual. They may look identical, but they were very different. Both intelligent, but Deever was the calculator, Dumfree was the muscle. Their shape hid both their brains and their strength by design.
âTo what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Bats?â
I didnât speak right away; itâs a somewhat effective way to get the villains to talk. Often, theyâll say more than I know to ask. âYes, we know about the incident with the Shoemaker and Artisan. They are running a marketing campaign right now, not that it will help them. Iâve heard someone is muscling in on their territory. It could be very bad for them.â
The pairâs smile didnât last long, but that wasnât my fault. It was the next voice they heard that disturbed them. âI suspect youâre wrong about that, Tweeds. Youâve made the mistake of pairing up against the wrong family this time. Itâs been nice knowing you both. Batman, you may want to run.â
The look on the cousins' face was one of realization, terror, and calculation. The voice had not come from someone else in the room; it had come from their shoes. A speaker inside shoes, obviously planted by Shoemaker. The pair bent down to slip their feet out of them.
âDonât try to take them off, Tweeds. Theyâre designed with a tamper-proof mechanism, meaning theyâll blow up much faster. Do you like the special shoes I designed just for you both? Theyâre very comfortable, arenât they, at least for the first few days, 'til theyâre broke in.â The voice trailed off in laughter.
I couldnât let them die. I reached into my utility belt and threw a special acid on their shoes. Hopefully, if it didnât destroy the bomb, it would melt the tamper mechanism. Then I yanked them both out of the melting leather before it burned their feet. We were through the window when the bombs went off. They would have to do repairs to over half their penthouse.
When we hit the ground, I tied the Tweedles up just to be safe, in case they resorted to their nature. âWhatâs the idea? Weâre the victims here, Batman? Thank you for saving our lives, but is this necessary?â
I leaned into Tweedle Deeâs face. âYouâre as filthy as always, Deever. If you hadnât tried to bust into Sutorâs territory, youâd have a penthouse left. Now, tell me what youâve been up to?â
I took them inside where Dodo was waiting. He was beat up, but had survived the blast. âMr. Tweedâs are you okay?â
âTheyâre fine, Dodo. Whereâs Roger? He wasnât upstairs when the bomb went off.â
âNo, heâs disappeared. Iâm having him searched for now. Itâs curious.â
I shook my head. âDonât bother, he probably left after I tied him up. He didnât want to be exposed as the one who planted the bomb shoes. My guess is he delivered the brotherâs last few packages, didnât he?â
âAre you saying that he would do this? I donât believe it, heâs worked for the Tweeds for ten years. They take good care of their employees.â
I laughed. âDodo, not all of them make the money you do. My guess is Shoemaker paid Roger a lot more this time than heâs ever made with these two. The question is, who else does Shoemaker have on the payroll?â
Dodo was honestly insulted, but I knew he wasnât involved. I just wanted to rattle the cousins. âThat is a ridiculous accusation, Batman. I have worked for the Tweeds far longer than anyone, and their safety is tantamount to me.â
I smiled. âBesides, their family arenât they, Dumson? You use an alias, but youâre Dumfreeâs twin, Dumson, arenât you? You're the backup tweedle in case one of them go down.â
Deever had enough. âHeâs family, yes, but heâs also loyal. Roger ainât, but weâll deal with him later. Batman, the question is, are you going to deal with a threat you know, like us, or two wildcards who youâve never been up against before? Youâve got to help us against Shoemaker and Artisan.â
âDeever, I deal with new costumed lunatics every other week. Iâm going to put the lot of you in prison. The question for you is, if you help me, are your chances of staying alive better than if you refuse? Shoemaker is going to try again.â
He didnât like it, but he knew he had no choice. âWhat do you want us to do, Batman? Whatâs it going to cost us besides our freedom?â
I smiled, unlike the Joker, at least Tweedle Dee you could reason with. The three of them turned a specific shade of purple when I told them my plan. They fumed, threatened, and even pouted, believe it or not, but they made the call.
The next night, Tweedle Dee and Dum were on Gothamâs Constable Park on the West Memorial footbridge at midnight. Shoemaker had agreed to a meeting, Artisan was there too. The Tweeds knew I would be there, but Shoemaker wasnât surprised.
All four were dressed in their best âGothamâ costumes. The Tweeds in their striped suits and bowler hats. Shoemaker in his leather apron, a leather flat cap topping his gray hair, a cordovan colored suit underneath, with a leather bow tie. He had brown goggles, stiff work boots, and assorted tools in his apron shaped like shoemaker tools. Artisan was dressed in a black leather suit designed to look like patent leather, a cravat instead of a tie. He had no hat, but a tinted dark visor, and the shiniest shoes Iâve ever seen.
Like Dee, Shoemaker spoke for them both. âI knew Tweedle wasnât smart enough to pick the footbridge, Batman. You knew my ego couldnât resist. No offense, Deever, but you donât think like a content creator. Batman has to always be thinking, right, Batman? So whatâs your angle, arrest us all? You know in Gotham that wonât solve anything.â
Tweedle Dee glared at Shoemaker. I paused, then looked at Dum and Artisan. âAre you two always content to let them think for you? I know Tweedleâs greed, and I suspect Shoemakerâs is similar. Do you two ever think for yourselves?â
Neither spoke, they just stared blankly at me. Shoemakerâs eyes darted back and forth across the bridge. âIt wonât work, Batman, at least not with my brother and I. We always take care of each other, always have, but then ⊠wait you know that, donât you? Youâre not trying to change their minds, youâre stalling, arenât you, Batman?â
âYou are smart, arenât you, Sutor? The problem is, youâre couldnât take the risk you were wrong? If you had, maybe your entire system wouldnât be going down as we speak. Check your secret warehouse feeds, Shoemaker, see whatâs happening.â
He didnât move, just smiled. âIâm sure you know youâre Lewis Carroll, Batman, but are you caught up on your Grimmâs? Remember itâs called The Elves and The Shoemaker. While we are here, my elves have been working, and for some time now. All traces of Shoemaker and Artisan end tonight.â
With that, smoke filled the bridge, razor-sharp needles shot at the Tweeds and me. They came from Shoemakerâs large hammer, then the bridge suddenly became too slick to stand. Artisan had sprayed it behind him as the two exited in the cloud. I somersaulted over the Tweeds, my cape blocking the needles, and pulled the three of us in the water. As the smoke cleared, I could see the two brothers airborne, propelled by mechanisms in their shoes.
For once, I heard from Dum first. âThey tried to kill us. Wait 'til I get my mits on them. Iâll show them who theyâre dealing with.â Deever shook his head. âRemember your blood pressure, cousin, besides we will never see them again. Will we, Batman?â
I didnât answer. Deeâs response was logical, but there still was a piece of all this that just didnât make sense. Any other costumed villain I had faced would have stayed to gloat, not Shoemaker, but it was more than ego. Something was still off. I dropped the two at GCPD to join Dumfordâs twin and headed back to the warehouse. Gordon called on the way.
âItâs clean, Batman, all of them are. Thereâs not a sign of any of their enterprises, legal or illegal. Brixby sold his controlling stock this morning in a merger. Both the brothers' homes sold too, every connection they had in Gotham seems to have ended. â
âIt seems that way, doesnât it, Commissioner. Tell me something, did you ever read The Elves and The Shoemaker as a kid? Shoemaker mentioned that story tonight, and one person is missing from that scenario.â
Gordon sipped his coffee. âThe wife, but we have two shoemakers, donât we, wives? By the way, Brixby used the moniker Artisan; to be more accurate he should have used cordwainer; theyâre a shoemaker who makes new shoes. The cobbler and the cordwainer would have been better names.â
He doesnât advertise it, but Gordon is one of the best detectives I know. He wasnât just making an idle comment, he was thinking out loud. It clicked for both of us about the same time. I changed direction and headed for Gotham Airport; neither of us were sure Iâd make it in time. Gordon and the bomb squad headed for the Casa de la Reina Roja.
Shoemaker was cleaning house and leaving town, but he wasnât alone. Itâs what he was trying to tell me at the bridge. The Elves and the Shoemaker, he and his âfamilyâ were done with Gotham. They hadnât been fighting to keep what they had, they were accepting a buy out, but not from the Tweedles.
I heard the first explosion two miles from the airport. The Tweedleâs hotel was gone. Iâd later find out Gordon got the residents out in time. Four other explosions followed; they were the primary warehouses Shoemaker and Artisan had held. That had to mean that, although they had appeared swept clean, there was something there Shoemaker didnât want anyone to find.
When I got to the airport, I was too late. The plane had gone. Shoemaker, Artisan, their wives, and their sons had left Gotham. If I was right, they were headed for either Italy or Spain. Shoemaker did leave a letter behind.
It was fun going up against you. I enjoyed our luncheon, BW. Yes, Iâve known for some time, but there was no need for our paths to cross, until there was no choice. Our buyer had been in the process of taking over for a few months when the Tweedleâs made their push. He has a bad history with them, so he wanted them to suffer.
Our wives were ready for us to stop running a billion-dollar criminal supply business to pay more attention to them. It was time to retire. Our boys were starting to be too well known to keep up the charade. Iâve always liked keeping things in their boxes, and people were starting to notice.
So hereâs my gift to you, Batman, in hopes you wonât try to find me. I canât tell you the name of my buyer, it was in the contract, but I can give you one more clue. Whatâ s the opposite of a shoemaker?
Iâve never liked it when the villain got away, but Iâve learned something over time. Generally, they return and itâs easier to put them in jail. For now, Iâd settle with shutting down the new owner. Whatâs the opposite of a shoemaker, thatâs easy, a hat maker. The Mad Hatter was Shoemakerâs buyer, and if they were gone, he was still in town.
On the way to his usual haunts, I put the rest together when the Batcomputer read me the results of Sternrudâs tests from the start of this all. He was never really in danger. Shoemaker had given him a medicine to mimic the symptoms to fool anyone who checked him. It also had a medicine in it to allow for the epipen I gave him, to prevent harm. Shoemaker was prepared. Itâs also why Sternsurd ârecoveredâ so fast. Shoemakerâs wife is Sternrudâs Mother; he had taken great pains to keep his family âpubliclyâ isolated from him. As the Commissioner reminded us, though, there were two shoemakers, and brothers think alike.
There was a reason Parker Crispin the new basketball superstar was an easy sign for Brixby. He is Brixbyâs son. The public had no idea that Brixby and his Mom were married and the parents of the now former basketball player. Brixby had kept it quiet, but the injury ended his sonâs career as a professional basketball player. The shoe deal did something else, it gave Brixby a way to funnel his legitimate money from the company and keep it in the family. The Batcomputer also found something else, Brixbyâs shoe company paid Sutor an enormous amount as a consultant on his companyâs sell. They had closed up, lock, stock, and barrel. The buyer of his legitimate company, who else but Lexcorp. They had covered every base they could think of. Even gave me a person to shut down.
Mad Hatter is more predictable than Shoemaker, and easier to find. His new place was called the Tea Cozy, a tie in with both hats and the tea party from Alice and Wonderland. Iâm just glad my generation of villains didnât grow up reading horror stories, or the themes would be even weirder. Tetch didnât know I was coming, I only had to dodge three deadly traps. He usually has more.
âHello, Hatter, I understand youâre now the proud owner of Shoemakerâs shop. You know Iâm going to have to shut you down. Why did you suddenly decide to get into the supply chain business?â
All I heard was his crazy laugh as he exited through a secret door in the shape of a homburg. Online they talk a lot about Joker and Riddlerâs laughs, but for my money, Hatterâs nasally chatter is more annoying. When I caught up with him, he was driving towards the main road in his Hatter van.
âAll right, Hatter, answers. What do you know that I donât? Tell me something that will keep you from being the fall guy for everything.â
Thatâs when the hat fell, and the wig came off. It wasnât Hatter, it was Roger, the Tweedleâs former henchman. All he had was fear in his eyes.
âLook, Batman, I donât know what allâs going on. All I know is Shoemaker paid me, first to plant the bombs, and second to pretend to be Hatter. He gave me this recording of Hatterâs laugh to play when you showed up. I was supposed to be able to get away, but you caught up.â
Most of the villains in Gotham used themes and gimmicks, like the âshoeâ style weapons the two used on the footbridge. This one was more clever than most. Thereâs a type of sneaker known as a self-defense shoe, meaning itâs got a hidden compartment in it. Shoemaker had given me a pair of shoes. One he had told me Hatter was the new guy, which meant his business would fail. Translation: he had crossed Shoemaker at some point in the past, but Sutor knew something else. If he gave me the real Hatter before he had time to get away, Hatter would spill everything he knew. Shoemaker also knew it wouldnât be in my or GCPDâs interest to tell Hatter enough to get him to spill anything if he wasnât facing prison.
It looked like Shoemaker had outsmarted me and wrapped everything up as nice as, well, a shoebox. The problem is he forgot an old saying, âwaiting for the other shoe to drop.â I hadnât.
Six months later, someone had spread the news that Hatter had completely taken over Shoemakerâs business. That same someone, Matches Malone to be exact, one of my other alter egos, had started a campaign making fun of Shoemaker and his âgimmicks.â It had taken half a year, but Shoemakerâs ego couldnât handle it.
He was back, this time to pull off a heist that would leave the underworld stunned. His plan was to rob the Joker, to show how clever Shoemaker was. The problem was, the Joker was in Arkham, although he didnât know it. When he got to the Jokerâs lair, he was surprised by Gordon disguised as Joker, and myself.
âBatman, Gordon! You, how did?â He swung his hammer at us both and tried to use his jet shoes again. I was prepared for him, I shot a batarang at his leg and pulled him back down. He was fuming, but refused to talk.
Gordon wiped off the disguise as they took Shoemaker away. âHe had got away scott-free and couldnât handle it. Too bad, heâs a dangerous one. You know heâll be a staple around here now?â
I nodded. âYes, but at least heâll pay for his crimes. You know, Commissioner, the people we battle really are like an old pair of shoes, they may last for a long time, but they always wear out.â
I left him laughing as I disappeared into the night.
Happy Batman Day, fellow Gothamites!
