His response is cut off by Falcone talking again. Loudly this time, and angrily.
'...and I tell you something, your Honour. I don't care if you were pals with his daddy, or Thomas goddamn Wayne thought the sun shone out of your butt, because he obviously didn't know you very well, did he? That kid comes in here again, threatening me, he ain't walking out. I don't care who hears me say it.'
The bar's gone quiet. Bruce looks around - there are a few shocked faces nearby, a few pretending not to have heard. But it seems like the guy was right, seven years ago. he can do what he likes in here, say what he likes, and no one's going to call him on it. It really is a kind of power. Just not the kind he's willing to let rule Gotham.
Falcone straightens his jacket, and calms himself. The judge looks pensive, but holds his tongue. Gradually, the murmur of voices starts up again and covers the moment.
Bruce turns to the ghost, his tone both decisive, and softly amused.
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'...and I tell you something, your Honour. I don't care if you were pals with his daddy, or Thomas goddamn Wayne thought the sun shone out of your butt, because he obviously didn't know you very well, did he? That kid comes in here again, threatening me, he ain't walking out. I don't care who hears me say it.'
The bar's gone quiet. Bruce looks around - there are a few shocked faces nearby, a few pretending not to have heard. But it seems like the guy was right, seven years ago. he can do what he likes in here, say what he likes, and no one's going to call him on it. It really is a kind of power. Just not the kind he's willing to let rule Gotham.
Falcone straightens his jacket, and calms himself. The judge looks pensive, but holds his tongue. Gradually, the murmur of voices starts up again and covers the moment.
Bruce turns to the ghost, his tone both decisive, and softly amused.
'We can go.'