In Another Life V
It had been a long night. And it was far from over, thought Jack Napier, as he sat in the car, window rolled down and smoking casually on a cigarette as his eyes fixed on the doors to the Gotham Mint. Any moment now, Buzz Bronski and Chuckie Sol were gonna come racing outta there with three million dollars in cash, and it was Jack's job to make sure they got away with it. He kept his eyes peeled on the doors, inhaling from his cigarette, trying to keep his mind on the job at hand. But his mind had always had a tendency to wander, and at this particular moment, it had wandered back to the scene earlier that evening in his apartment. The scene where his wife was yelling at him.
"You're a useless clown, Jack Napier!" she had screamed, picking up the empty liquor bottle and throwing it at him. It had shattered on the wall next to his head. "You'll never amount to anything! You don't take anything seriously, and you don't take me seriously!"
"I do take you seriously, Jeannie!" he had screamed back, trying to calm her. "That's why I'm going out tonight! The boys said we're gonna bag at least three million, and I'm gonna get a cut of that! We're gonna be rich! I'll be able to buy you all the shoes and diamonds you want…"
"I don't believe you, Jack!" she screamed. "You're always making excuses to not spend any time with me! You're off at the track, or on a job, or God knows where! It's like you don't love me anymore!"
"I do, baby, you know I do!" he had cried, trying to embrace her, but she slapped him hard, shoving him away.
"I deserve so much better!" she hissed. "So much better than some second rate gangster, some goddamn clown! I coulda been the wife of a mob boss, Jack! And instead I'm stuck with the likes of you! A failure, a waste of space, a man who don't appreciate a single thing I do for him…"
"I don't know what else I can do to show that I appreciate you!" he cried. "I buy you presents whenever I've got the money, and I take you out to nice places when I can afford it! But I can't stay cooped up in this apartment all the time, Jeannie! I'd go crazy!"
"So you go and blow what little money we got at the bars and the track?!" she shrieked.
"Jeannie, the only reason I got this job with Sal Valestra tonight is because I got in his good books," retorted Jack. "If I do this for him, he might take me on as a permanent hitman, and then we've got it made, baby. He's one of the biggest mob bosses in Gotham, and the richest. But I couldn't have ever got a shot like this without schmoozing some, and spending time with the guys! I'm doing this for us!"
"You're doing this for you, Jack Napier, as usual," she muttered, grabbing a near empty liquor bottle and drinking directly from it. "You're a selfish, greedy, mean excuse for a man, and I curse the day I married you!"
"Jeannie, maybe if you just stopped drinking we could discuss this rationally…" began Jack.
"Don't you dare criticize me!" she shrieked. "How dare you tell me what to do and what not to do?! I'll drink if I wanna, Jack! It's the only way I can stand living with you!"
She finished the bottle and threw it at his head again. He ducked, and it hit the wall again. "Just get outta here!" she shrieked. "Just go! You don't love me! You don't love anyone but yourself!"
"I'll…I'll bring you back something nice with the money I get, Jeannie," he muttered, leaving the apartment and shutting the door behind him.
Jack's thoughts returned to the present, as he puffed on his cigarette again. Jeannie was right – their life was his fault. They had married when they were both too young for it, about five years ago. And since then Jack had struggled every day to support his young wife in the style to which she was accustomed. Unfortunately, Jeannie Moore had been the daughter of one of the wealthiest drug smugglers in Gotham, and the style to which she was accustomed was well out of financial reach for all but the most successful of criminals.
But Jack had tried. He had the skills, and the makings of a good criminal. He was an excellent shot, and had worked as a freelance hitman ever since they were married. Of course that meant that at times money was very tight, but Jeannie didn't seem to understand that. She continued to spend as if they were rich, and then got angry when they had difficulty affording things like food and rent. And she had begun to drink heavily, which had turned into a huge problem. Jack's problem, he thought – he had driven her to it, after all. He should have done better. He should be running his own gang now, not begging for work from the likes of Sal Valestra. Jack had exceptional talent, but he hadn't made the most of it. And he was angry at himself for that. Not at Jeannie – it wasn't her fault. And he did love her. The thought that a beautiful girl like her had even considered throwing in her lot with a penniless, up and coming criminal was incredibly flattering to him. And that flattery had blinded him to any defects Jeannie might have. She had heard that Jack Napier was a man with great promise, and since he was far better looking than most of her suitors, marrying him seemed like an obvious choice. But after five years, when Jack's promise still hadn't paid off, she was a little upset at thinking that maybe she had made a poor choice, and blamed Jack for it. She was never in the wrong, in his eyes. He worshipped the ground she walked on. And while perhaps objectively, Jeannie came across as a bit of a spoiled, self-righteous, hypocritical brat, Jack couldn't see it. People never could, when they were in love.
He was startled out of all thoughts of Jeannie as an alarm suddenly blared through the silent night, echoing loudly around the empty parking lot. Jack's eyes snapped back to the doors, which were thrown open a moment later, and two figures came pelting out toward the car, carrying huge sacks over their shoulders, followed by a third man, clearly a security guard, who was shooting at them. Jack pulled out his gun, aimed, and shot the guard in the face.
"Drive, Jack!" shouted Buzz Bronski, as he and Chuckie Sol leapt into the backseat. "Goddamn security guard surprised us and set off the alarm!"
"How much did you get?" demanded Jack, reversing the car and speeding off into the streets of Gotham.
"I dunno exactly – probably about two million," said Chuckie, looking through the sacks of money. "It's all in thousands."
"Ain't too bad a loss," said Jack, nodding. "What kinda cut you think we're gonna get?"
"Up to the boss," replied Buzz. "As long as they don't catch us, I don't think he'll be too upset about the loss."
"Don't worry, Buzz," said Jack, grinning. "I can do my job."
And Jack wasn't lying. They returned to Sal Valestra's hideout having successfully eluded the police. "Great job, Jack," said Sal, nodding as he perused the money on the table in front of him. "Since you're the only one who did his job properly, you're gonna get a bigger cut. Here's five hundred thousand," he said, tossing a bag of cash at Jack.
"Oh…thank you, sir," stammered Jack, taking the bag gratefully. He couldn't wait to tell Jeannie that they were now the owners of half a million dollars in cash.
"The rest of you get two-hundred fifty thousand each," said Sal, tossing similar sacks at Chuckie and Buzz. "And a warning. Don't screw up again, or you don't work for me no more. You got it?"
"Yes, boss," they both muttered in unison.
"And Jack, I'm pleased to offer you a permanent place in my gang," said Sal, turning to smile at Jack. "You get one sixth of every take - more or less depending on your actions. You want the job?"
"Yes…sir!" stammered Jack, gratefully. "Thank you, sir. I promise I'll be a credit to the gang."
"You will," agreed Sal, laughing slightly. "Or you ain't gonna last."
He clapped him on the back. "Let's go celebrate this joyous news with a few stiff drinks, Jack. Coming, boys?"
Jack knew he should probably have immediately gone home to Jeannie, and presented her with the money. But he also didn't want to offend his new boss right off the bat, so he found himself sitting with Sal, Buzz, and Chuckie in a dirty dive of a bar somewhere in Gotham's lower East Side. He was laughing and making conversation with his new colleagues, thinking that his luck had finally changed for the better, and he was finally gonna fulfill his criminal potential at last.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" said a voice.
Jack turned to see the waitress standing by their table, and immediately did a double take. He had never expected to see anyone so young, beautiful, or innocent-looking working in a filthy place like this. The girl was slim and pretty, with wide blue eyes and long blonde hair, done up in pigtails. She was dressed modestly, but nicely, and her smile, although it looked a little forced around these men, was very pretty indeed.
The rest of the gang were clearly similarly struck by her, and Sal gave a low whistle. "I'll say, sweetheart," he purred. "Why doncha come and sit with us awhile?"
"Oh…I…uh…that'd be…nice," stammered the waitress, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear nervously. "But I do have a lotta work to do, and I don't think my boss would like it."
"Aw, c'mon, baby," murmured Sal, pulling out a five-hundred dollar bill. "I'll tip you real nice. And after a few drinks, maybe you'll let me take you home for a few drinks at my place, huh?"
"Erm…no, thanks," stammered the waitress, looking very nervous now. "I really don't think…that would be appropriate. But thanks for the offer."
Sal shrugged. "Your loss, sweetheart," he said, pocketing the bill. "Bring four beers for me and my associates here. And maybe you can still earn a little of that tip money anyway," he growled, snaking an arm around her waist and pinching her bottom.
The waitress pulled away. "Four beers…coming right up," she said, hurrying back to the bar.
Sal laughed. "Dumb little blonde," he muttered. "Speaking of which, how's your wife, Jack?"
"Oh…she's…uh…" stammered Jack, staring after the waitress. He tore his eyes away from her as she disappeared behind the bar. "She's…uh…fine, Sal."
"You're a lucky guy, Jack, if you don't mind me saying so," said Sal, grinning. "To be able to do Jeannie Moore every night…I mean, most guys would kill for that kinda opportunity. I don't mind telling you, I fantasize about her sometimes. Tell me the truth – what's she into exactly? She likes it rough, don't she? Whips, chains, that kinda thing?"
"Uh…we don't really…I mean…" stammered Jack, but the waitress reappeared at that moment, putting down the bottles of beer and leaving without another word. She muttered something to the man behind the bar about a smoking break, and then went out the back door.
"I…uh…I'm just gonna go out for a smoke," said Jack, standing up suddenly. "Be right back."
He headed out the back door after the waitress. It led onto a small, dirty alley, and Jack saw her curled up by the door, knees pulled up to her chest, and crying softly.
Jack cleared his throat to let her know he was there. "Oh…sorry!" she stammered, looking up at him with tear-stained eyes. "I'm sorry, I…" she stammered, climbing to her feet.
"You need a cigarette?" he asked, holding out his case to her. "I heard you say you were going on a smoking break…"
"Uh…no – I don't smoke, actually," she murmured, wiping her eyes. "I just say that whenever I need some alone time. It's been…kinda a rough day."
"Tell me about it," he muttered, putting the cigarette to his lips and lighting it. "You don't mind if I…" he said, gesturing to it.
"No, go ahead," she said, wrapping her arms around her body.
"You cold?" he asked.
"A little," she admitted. "But it's better than being cooped up in there. It's…suffocating. I hate it."
Jack removed his jacket, draping it around her shoulders. "Thanks," she whispered.
"Why do you work there if you hate it?" he asked, puffing on his cigarette.
She shrugged. "I don't have a choice. I gotta pay for med school somehow, and the scholarships only cover so much. But a waitress job ain't the highest paying job out there. And sometimes it seems like it's more trouble than it's worth. Everyone treats you like crap," she said, wiping her eyes again.
"Everyone treats you like crap no matter what your job is," muttered Jack. "You gotta learn to ignore them. Just believe in yourself. In your own abilities."
He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "You gonna be a doctor, then?" he asked.
She nodded. "A psychiatrist, I hope. It's hard work, but I don't mind that. It's just the money. My folks can't help me out or anything. I only got myself to rely on."
"Your folks back in Brooklyn?" he asked. She looked at him, shocked. "You got an accent," he explained.
"Yeah," she said, nodding. "I've noticed, actually. I'm trying to get rid of it."
"Don't," he said. "It's nice. I like it. And you should never forget where you're from, even if you end up a million miles away from it. Never forget your roots."
She was silent. "You're a long way from home," he murmured.
"Yeah," she whispered, tears filling her eyes again. "I guess I am."
Tears began falling down her cheeks, and Jack was desperate to put a stop to it. He cleared his throat again. "I just wanted to apologize for the guys," he said, nodding toward the door. "They ain't got no manners. You can't treat a woman like that, like a piece of meat with no mind of her own, no self-respect. So I'm sorry about them."
She gave a small smile. "Why do you hang out with them?" she asked. "You seem like a nice guy."
He laughed. "Appearances can be deceiving, kid," he murmured, puffing on his cigarette. "I ain't a nice guy. But they're my colleagues. No matter how I feel about them personally, I gotta put up with them for the job. It's worth it."
"What kinda work do you do?" she asked.
"I'm a freelancer," he replied, truthfully. "I have a unique set of skills which I hire out to the highest bidder. And the man in there who harassed you has just offered me a permanent contract. For a man in my position, job security really means a lot."
"I can imagine," she said, nodding. "I think if I ever get a real job as a psychiatrist, I'll never be unhappy again. But my life at the moment seems to be a bunch of temporary arrangements and uncertainties. It's scary."
He studied her. "How old are ya, kid?" he asked.
"Seventeen," she replied. "I started college a year early, 'cause of my scholarship and all."
"Must be a bright kid," he murmured.
She smiled again. "I…like to think so," she said. "But how bright can I be working in a dump like this?"
"Well, we all gotta do unpleasant things from time to time," he murmured. "That's life. Some people are lucky, some people aren't. But just because you're unlucky don't mean you're stupid. And if you ain't stupid, luck's gonna come your way sooner or later. That's always been my experience anyway."
She smiled again. "I don't care what you say – you're a nice guy," she murmured. "Mr…?"
"Napier. Jack Napier," he said, holding out his hand to her.
"Harleen Quinzel," she murmured, taking it. "But everyone calls me Harley."
"That's a very pretty name," he said. "For a very pretty girl."
She smiled again. "Thank you, Mr. Napier. You've certainly cheered me up anyway."
"Well, that's what I like to do," he said, grinning. "Spread smiles and joy and laughter. My wife says I'm a clown, but she don't…" He trailed off, thinking suddenly of Jeannie. "She don't always mean that in a nice way."
"Well, I like a guy who can make me laugh," she said. "Always have. So thank you, Mr. Napier."
She pressed his hand and then turned to go inside, removing his coat. "I'd better get back to work – Sam will be furious I've taken such a long break. At least if he fires me I'll be outta here forever," she said with a grim smile.
"You'll be outta here forever one day soon," he said, holding open the door for her. "On to a much better life."
Jack returned to where the guys were seated, but kept glancing occasionally at Harley whenever she walked past. When she caught his eye and smiled at him, he felt happier than he had in ages. Rationally, his mind was telling him nothing would ever come of this, that it was a stupid flirtation – he was a married man, with marriage vows, and a young, beautiful, bright girl like her could never be interested in someone like him anyway. But it wasn't the hope of any kind of reward on his part that had motivated his actions. It was how much he enjoyed seeing her smile. It had been a long time since he had made a beautiful girl happy, and he liked it. And he would never see her again after tonight, anyway. He was going to make sure of that.
A few hours later, the group of men left. Harley caught Jack's eye one last time. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and then he shut the door. She went to go clear up the table, and found that a small bag had been left on the seats. She grabbed it, racing out the door after the men, but they had already disappeared. Sighing, she opened the bag, and her eyes nearly popped from her head when she saw that it contained several wads of cash, and a note. She picked this up. It was written on the back of the receipt:
Harley,
Here's fifty thousand dollars – use it to make yourself a better life. I'll be rooting for you all the way.
Jack
Tears filled her eyes and she sobbed, looking around in the darkness hopefully. But Jack had gone.