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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.

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.

Amid the chrome and glass sits a dark and ornate Gothic anomaly: old City Cathedral, once grand, now abandoned -- long since boarded up and scheduled for demolition. MOM yanks him off down the street and glowers at DAD. MOM, DAD, and JIMMY take a deep breath and march down the darkened street.

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.

They don't see the GUN until a gloved hand brings it down, butt-first, across the back of DAD's neck. MOM grabs JIMMY and backs up against a brick wall, too terrified to scream. There's a distant, indistinct CLANG: metal on metal.

The two PUNKS watch them break into a run -- then chuckle, slap hands, race off in the opposite direction. The PUNKS -- NICK and EDDIE -- hunker down on the tar-and-gravel roof, sizing up their take. A chill wind whips across the roof as NICK extracts the cash and begins to count it.

CUT TO: The scene of the earlier mugging, a half-block off Gotham Square.

At the moment, he's chatting with a uniformed PATROLMAN.

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