Just Another Job
A Word: Follows Chapter 27 of Texts From Gotham if you'd like the prelude.
.
.
Jason's so far out of his territory that he doesn't get so much as a second glance coming into the strip club. Sure, he's not wearing a mask, but anyone near his part of the city would know him and would know that Red Hood doesn't waltz into strip clubs for the fun of it. It's as much a hassle as it is an advantage right now.
He can walk up and listen in on the conversation without being noticed, but he can't subtly suggest things to the workers or the patrons and expect them to jump at a single look. So, when he finds his targets, and not one empty table or seat near them, he stands near the bar. Waiting for a watered down drink that he pretends to like more than he does as he waits for a place to clear up. Counting the minutes he's wasting and hoping like hell he doesn't miss anything important.
A dancer spins and struts down the cat walk in candy red straps of lace that might have been part of a costume of some sort. A crowd of very drunk young women stumble up and away from their table. Heading towards the back room when the man leaves the stage with an exaggerated wink. Jason slides into the table that had been much too small for the group in the first place and ignores the fact that his new seat put him back to back with the woman people only called Leeta.
She's a steel eyed woman from somewhere out West who thought she could swing into Gotham and build herself up a nice little drug ring. She isn't all that bad at it, she is definitely vicious enough to do it, but she's too full of herself. Jason ignores the fact that she is laying out all her plans to her top men in public, and trusts the recorder in his jacket will pick everything up for him. He knows that if he actually listens to the shit she's saying he'll die laughing. He focuses his eyes on the woman crawling down the stage in a skin tight suit that vaguely resembles something Selina used to wear, faking interest as best he can. Trying to decide if he wants to take Leeta apart piece by piece just to show her how stupid coming to Gotham had been, or if he should just wipe her out quickly and not waste any more time on her.
It's a pleasant distraction from the catcalls and lewd comments being thrown at the dancer from the other side of the stage. Jason gets glimpses of guys way too stupid looking to be allowed out into public. They're throwing a lot of green at the woman though so her smile stays firmly in place, and Jason mentally salutes her professionalism when she takes a wad of cash from a really drunk man who looks confused as she slips away. Obviously not meaning to give her the whole thing, but she's got the black parts of her costume in one hand and is off the stage before he can protest.
The stupid quiets down as the next dancer gets set up back stage. Gender's been alternating since he got here, and Jason stares back at the bar. Contemplating getting up to get himself a refill -one with actual alcohol- as Leeta shifts in the corner of his eye. Not paying her men any attention as a man who looks like Tim steps out in a business suit.
Jason's used to it by now and doesn't even startle anymore. Not over the impersonators who make a living off of using their resemblance to celebrities and public figures. He doesn't see them often in his part of the city, because they always make too much money to be there and he's glad for it. It's too weird seeing people try to pretend to be people he knows. This will actually be the first Tim impersonator he's seen, though he knows there has to be at least a dozen people in the city taking advantage of the media's newest darling. Jason keeps his eyes down and rattles the ice in his empty glass as the man starts to move in a fluid, loose way that the real Tim would never be able to manage outside of a fight. If it wouldn't get him kicked out in five seconds flat he'd start taking video to send to Tim. No, to show Tim because seeing his reaction would be fucking hilarious.
Leeta makes an appreciative noise behind him and Jason sees the top half of the suit fly towards the back of the stage. A cheap thing with fake collar and attached undershirt. Velcroed for easy removal. No tie though, and Jason turns his head to look at the dancer. Curious to see how he managed to keep it on since Jason had thought it was a clip on.
It's not a clip on, Jason thinks. Numb and maybe a little too distant as he stares at the cheap looking blue tie wrapped around the throat of a man who doesn't look like Tim. Doesn't look like Tim because he actually is Tim. That's Tim up on stage in the most obscene pair of dress pants, and doing a really fucking good job putting his body on display. He's pulling on the tie like it's a leash and he wants to be led by it. Pulled down to his knees as his entire body rolls like he doesn't have a fucking spine.
Jason nearly swallows an icecube whole trying to stifle a noise of surprise. It ends up coming out anyway, sounding more like something a dying whale would make, and he can hear Leeta echoing the sound in obvious agreement. Which is enough to snap Jason out of a potentially deadly loop of questioning his own sanity as Tim continues to writhe.
Tim's up on stage smiling a smile that Jason would have bet all of Bruce's money the guy couldn't pull off if his life were on the line, and the audience is eating it right up. Leeta whistles. Loud and crude, and there's more than a few catcalls coming up from the crowd. Mostly female, but Jason sees more than a few men sliding up to the stage with bills in their hands.
And Tim lets them. He moves from one side of the stage to another as more and more bills get waved at him. His smile all tease and dark as sin as he rakes his fingers over his still covered thighs and thrusts his hips forward in a way that gets a loud scream from a group of women. Tim's fingers bunch in the fabric of the pants and something in Jason screams at him to look away, but Jason's never learned how to listen to others well. Not even the voices in his own head.
Leeta's up and making her way to the stage even before Tim's done ripping the pants off. Jason watches the cloth flutter back to land neatly on the suit top in fascination. Noting the velcro closures before his eyes go back, unwillingly, to Tim. Who is on his knees and arching backward in a way that show off every last one of his muscles. And his scars. He hasn't even tried hiding them at all. There's a few bills already tucked into the string of a very uncomfortable looking thong. Tim winks at a red faced man who's moving away and does a fluid roll to crawl toward Leeta. Smiling at her and not blinking when her fingers linger as she tucks some green way in the back.
She gets an especially sinful smile for that before Tim's back up on his feet. Prowling the stage and drawing the people in. Collecting money and breaking Jason's mind a little more each time he waves his ass in someone's face or bends so close to them it almost looks like he's going to kiss the ecstatic looking person before backing away. It's an expert, teasing dance that only the really experienced strippers can manage.
This isn't amateur night. The way Tim owns the stage isn't something that comes to people naturally. Which means Tim has done this before, many times before. Enough to have picked up all the tricks of the trade and earn himself something that looks like a regular spot on the stage.
Jason's so wrapped up in what he's seeing that he doesn't even realize there's music playing until the song -slow and pounding- ends and Tim makes one last sweep for money before walking off stage. He bends at the waist to pick them up, and spins to give a wink to the catcalls before he finishes strutting off stage. Jason waits for the next dancer to twirl her way out onto the stage before getting up. Ignoring the trio of men who snake the table before he's even a step away, and the serious looking conversation of Leeta and her men. That mess is so far off his mind now. He's considering shooting everything over to Babs to deal with as she sees fit.
Jason's not going to be useful for much for a good few days now. He stops when he gets outside the club just to adjust himself. He's half hard and it's going to be a bitch riding his bike home if he can't get that down fast, but his usual boner killer images aren't working quite right just yet. Mostly because one of them has always been the memory of Tim ranting about wet socks. It's melding worryingly with the heavy-eyed dancer he'd just seen and isn't doing much to help Jason's state of being as he leans against his bike.
"Fuck," Jason shoves all thoughts of Tim away and concentrates on crack addicts, the way the harbor gets chunky in winter, what Freeze might look like in a thong. Jason shudders in horror and relief. Finally able to swing a leg over his bike without hurting anything. He revs up the bike and takes off. His night is over. Jason isn't going to get much else done tonight except think about this, and damn if Jason's going to do that anywhere but in the privacy of his shithole of an apartment.
.