Half Jack

Man

Something made a noise. Like a trash can banging or some shit.

I froze in the boarded up doorway. Was it the bat?

Psh. Just a cat.

Wait. Wait.

Not just any cat. Some chick with a cat face. I instinctively grabbed tighter to the cash in my hand and turned to run. I'd managed to stay away from the crazy fuckers long enough to know--when you someone dressed like some kind of animal or goth circus freak, don't ask questions. Just go.

But then the cat mask came off.

I sighed, "Suzie Q! What the hell you doin' scaring me like that? Whew man. I knew you'd come back girl. I knew--"

"Where's your boss."

I put my hands defensively in my pockets.

"Now Suze, you know I ain't talking about that."

"Shame." She said. But it didn't sound like her voice.

"S-Suze. What's up with you man. Why--Oh no, please no--"

Homer

"Hahahahaha! And then what'd you do to 'em? Give the old one two? Showed em where it hurts huh kid."

"Just like you said." Not just like he said. I did way worse.

(what's a goon to a goblin)

He slapped me on the back, laughing and chewing his cigar thoughtfully.

"That reminds me!"

I listened carefully as Penguin stomped off for a few minutes.

I walked here as soon as Bruce left--which was when night fell. He'd explained quickly that since Alfred was gone he hadn't had the heart to hire another butler, so I was to be watched by some stupid servant or something. That was okay because I got rid of her and was able to leave his newly re-built mansion with no contest.

When Penguin returned he told me to hold out my hands. I did. He dropped something in them. They weren't wrapped or anything--that wasn't really his style. As soon as I felt them, however, I knew what they were.

I smiled, "What color are they?"

"Black. White didn't really suit you anymore, sorry to say."

"No. You're right."

"Mhm. Try 'em on. Go."

I did. And like day turning into night, they seemed to mold naturally to my ears, my face. And in that moment I could forget all about Gordy Boy, about Bruce Wayne, about Angel, my moth--

"Blood." I heard myself say instinctively, "I smell blood."

"Get outta here. Go." Penguin seemed to be looking worriedly towards the staircase, where footsteps marched, pounding against the walls. Another set of footsteps were off rhythm, like they were being dragged.

"Down the stairs you fall..." I heard a voice. And it sounded like--

"What're you freezing for, kid? Use the door behind the mirror over there. GO." He hissed again. This time he shoved me into the arms of some henchman, who promptly moved an old funhouse mirror out of the way and shut me into the narrow passageway behind.

Penguin

Looney. That was the fellow's name. He was the dealer who'd been around longest. He'd managed to steer clear of the clown, ivy, the bat, you name it. For years. And now he was writhing like a severed worm on my floor, coughing up red teeth and groaning. There was a rope around his neck, but he was still breathing. Barely.

It all happened so fast. One of my boys tried grabbing at a chick in a mask holding a metal baseball bat. She got him first. Then two men--one tall, one wide (they looked hellishly familiar)--grabbed me up by the elbows and sat me in a chair. Looney was dragged up by the rope and forced to kneel dizzily in front of me. I followed the rope with my eyes like a trail. It was a she--the only one lacking in the mask department. She was made up like a damned harlequin clown.

What the fuck is it with clowns?

Before I could ask, she--it, whatever--spoke.

"Now now. Everyone can just relax," As she said this, she yanked Looney's rope. He coughed, hissed.

She continued, "We're not here to kill anyone important, or ask for ransom, or find out where a certain someone may be.... All we want is... business."

"You're the fool who sent me the head." I guessed. She ignored me, kicking Looney in the back with a sudden fit of rage. I felt a little bad for the guy. But just a little. In this business, it wasn't right to get attached to anyone.

(you bought the kid sunglasses. you told him to run

fuckin softie just like you were with riddle)

"I have to say..." She patted Looney's head with a gloved hand that I remembered too well, "You're one of the few "mobsters" I know of who've been able to keep things almost completely underground. You make your money, but you don't play around in the city like it's yours."

"I was never interested in playing." I replied, tasting my cigar once more. I wasn't afraid. Why should I have been? I'd come close to nearly every wack job in this city and got nothing except a knife in my mouth and a few burn scars on the back of my head. I could deal with this one easy.

"But I am. And that's where you come in."

"You wanna work for me?" I laughed.

She laughed back. And then I did get scared a little.

"Work for. What a horrid phrase. No, no. For now we won't confuse ourselves with definitions. Let's call this a---a partner-ship."

She held her right hand, over Looney's quivering head. I leaned forward and shook it. No question.

I smiled benignly as she tightened the noose around Looney's bloody neck and put him out of his misery. Maybe later I would regret this. But for now, an idea settled in, chilling the burn marks on the back of my head. A definite purpose for her. And this time, no thing--money, love, regret--would get in the way.

Kill The Riddler.

Homer

As soon as I felt the midnight air hit my lungs I ran. I didn't even know where I was going. I just had to get out of there.

My footsteps pounded in my ears, bounced off bricked walls and windows, arguing back and forth like two voices in my mind:

"That was Cosette! It was!"

"You're forgetting something. She's dead. Gone. Pushing daisies. Get it?"

"She's not! I hear better than anyone and I know what I heard."

"Dummy."

Maybe I would go to the bridge. Yeah, the bridge. That seemed like a good idea. I touched the gun in my pocket.

I was stopped by a pair of hands before I could turn down by Ancient Orchard.

I lashed out at first. But once I heard the stranger's voice I was calm again.

"Homer. Homer stop. Geez. Geez Holmes, what are you doing out here?"

"What are you doing out here?"

"I'm uh. Hey. Where'd the new sunglasses come from?"

"Why are you wearing a rag on your face?"

"...I think both of us have things we'd rather not talk about." He chuckled, "Come on. I'll walk you back to Wayne Manor."

"I can walk by my--"

"I insist. Let's go." Jay took hold of my jacket collar and I could tell he wasn't going to let go until he knew I was safe with everybody's favorite rich douchebag.

I struggled with him. If it worked, I could lose him easily.

It didn't work. And what's worse--my jacket slipped off and somehow, by some stupid chance, Jay found Harvey Dent's gun in my pocket. I could feel shock and then, after the awkward silence, a grim frown shadowed his usually pleasant, ask-no-questions voice:

"We'll have a little talk."