"The warning signs were always there y'know, I just didn't realise it. I thought I knew the guy, but I didn't. You'd never forget a face like that, the way he was. The way he is now . . . I just can't believe I didn't see it"
Smoke rises in a darkened room, like a grey fog acting as a veil for the ceiling, concealing it within a cloud of ash. The sweet sweet familiar aroma of burning and nicotine. The addictive killer rolled up between a gloved hand, and a bottle of the good old Jack Daniels tightly gripped within the other. The thin trials of breathed in smoke run up into the ceiling to join their host cloud.
Outside is silent, not quiet. Silent. Quiet is relaxed, silent is waiting in fear, waiting for the worst. The sound of a city afraid of it's own shadow. The street is deserted, a cheaply glowing sign shines dimly in the club window, 'Help Wanted'. The 'e' and the 't' have burnt out their bulb and weakly flicker in the window's reflection. The light barely reaches the pavement, stretching down the empty street, covered in broken bottles and over turned trash cans. The window is the only one in the street which hasn't been boarded up yet, standing alone in the darkness with its pathetic sign trying to look half decent.
The sound of sirens rings through the night air from a distance, leaving only a few seconds of gap between the first and the time where the second begins. A constant feel of paranoia for the criminal. The building next to the club is abandoned, doors to flats left wide open in a hurry, the cold autumn chill seeping through low quality housing, inhabiting the once homely dwelling. The garage across the road has also left it's doors open, huge steel gates, a chain running across them like a metal snake. A car is parked half way through, moss gathering in-between the grilling, a pool of oil staining the concrete floor like black ink below the fuel tank. It's all been just left there. Shops, homes, businesses which didn't pay up.
He takes another drag of his cigarette, long and hard sucking in all that he can before he releases it, breathing out a thin trail of smoke. He replaces his whisky bottle with a fresh copy of the Gotham gazette. The head line is the same, has been the same for months now. Some guy parading around in a cape.
Another siren sounds out through the nearest alley, echoing against the thick towering walls and then back again. It's like the night before, and the night before that. A different hit every day. With always more brutality than the first.
A group of businessmen men, no doubt from upper east Gotham, are spread out on a table near the back doors. Loud and pretentiously false laughter emanates from their corner of the room as two blondes do their best to wheeze more money from their new customers. One with what can only be described as wearing a school girl/ showgirl get up, showing more skin than class. The other sitting on one of their laps with a sleazy set of sparkly underwear. It was the same type of girls who always ran the show. Tall blonde bimbos with more breast surgery than brain cells.
It's quiet tonight, not that this place was particularly popular. Going hand in hand with its convenient location and rustic settings. It was a place where any hard working average Joe could buy cheap drink, cheap sex, and if on offer something which could numb the pain more than anything. Drugs were easy to come by now since Maronie took over the shipping from the Russians. A few thousand dollars could buy you a day of heaven. Or hell. Depends on how you view it.
But that didn't matter. He was surprised it hadn't packed up and upped sticks like the rest of the neighbourhood had. But hey, where would he and Jack get a decent drink. He threw the news paper down on the counter and again took a life long swig from his no.7. Jonathan Kal had found out quiet quickly that it was best to have a stiff drink before another night of 'work', or what they liked to refer to in the Clockwork Orange as 'a bit of the old, ultra violence'. Darwin called it 'Predatory instinct of dominance and control' and Christianity calls it 'sinning'. Whatever your word for it is, it's the same damn thing all over. And it's practically legal in this shit hole excuse of a city.
Kal glanced at his watch, 2:15. He was late again. Jack was always late. He liked to call it fashionably late, but when it meant trouble with the boss, late didn't cut it.
The laughter from the back was really beginning to get on his nerves, this drove him to drown it out with the sound of his own swallowing as again he brought the bottle to his chapped lips. It was then he felt a gloved hand slap him on the shoulder in a rough but friendly manner. He slowly put down his drink and turned to view the owner. What he was greeted with was something on a whole other level.
A familiar scared smile reaching the shadowed edges of a black fedora. God he looked pretty fucked up sometimes. But he'd gotten used to it by now, he had to. He'd known Jack Napier for well over five years, nothing shocked him any more, nothing. Not even his appearance.
He wasn't bad looking, Kal envied him for that. He was also significantly younger, about half way through his twenties, whereas Jonathan was almost into his forties. But this was a young man's game, old weight got cut fast.
He had light brown hair, neatly slicked back. Always slicked back, with a few lose strands hanging over his forehead. At first this seemed a bit messy, but after seemed only to suit him more and more. His eyes were an almost unnatural shade of green, seeming unreal and sometimes impossible in their brightness. They darted around subtly, with a sharp pinpoint observance that picked up everything they saw.
Jack was like that. Even if you hadn't met him he'd know everything about you in a second. It made people feel extremely uncomfortable when he did it, reading them like an open and unprotected book. Every concealed secret, every little detail even the most observant person would miss. The guy was a genius, almost. Despite his brilliant mind he struggled to understand even the most basic emotions. It wasn't that he was retarded or anything, he just couldn't empathise.
Kal had found this out the hard way.
He wore what was basically just a plain suit with a stripped vest coat, only it looked better on him. He was like a walking coat hanger. He had this presence of class, even if he was slightly off at times. Off meaning, just a little on the nutty side. But Kal didn't mind, he thought it gave him more of an impact, he was the kind of person you would remember always. Even if you'd only talked to him for about a minutes. Something about the guy un-edged you.
But the one thing that really set Jack Napier apart was the scar's. The two jagged cuts which struck deep across his face like a sick smile. This above everything else was memorable, this was what in some ways defined him and his personality in one horrific image. After sometime though, the scar's grew on you. It had become hard for Kal to imagine Jack without them. Heck, if you told him he was born with them he'd probably believe you.
A long time ago he asked about them. And a long time ago Jack never told him.
The constantly smiling Jack Napier sat down on the next vacant bar stool next to his friend, Kals cigarette smouldering away in the nearest ash tray.
"Your late", Kal pulled out a box of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and placed a fresh one in his mouth, holding it in-between his teeth in a way which had always wound Jack up a bit, "Again", finished Kal through clenched Jaws. He frisked himself for a lighter or at least some matches but found none.
"Getting drunk again I see" replied Jack. Tilting his head suggestively at his friend. His voice was like dry ice, deep and sometimes intimidating. The sound of it broke Kal out of his search for matches as Jack held out his lighter. Kal leaned in to the flame and lit up breathing out again, deliberately in Jack's direction.
"What do I look like to you?" he asked resentfully. He again blew a small cloud of smoke in his friends direction, watching as Jack merely waved it away with a free hand.
"Like shit" he said putting the lighter back in his jacket pocket. There was a short stern silence before both men slowly started to laugh. It was this banter which distracted them from the truth of what they were doing with their lives.
"Thought you'd forgotten" He eyed hie friend with mock disappointment.
"What, and miss the chance to get another taste of the rough side, unlikely". Unlike Jonathan, Jack wasn't in it for the money. He'd met hundred's of people in this work, who let's just say had a few personal issues.
"So where ya been?" asked Kal shooting Jack a knowing look.
"Nowhere in particular" he replied turning to face the bar front way's. He waved at the guy serving behind the counter, and he started walking towards them.
"Nowhere in particular huh, sounds nice. Maybe I should go there once in a while". Kal glanced over at Jack as he turned away from him and looked over at the back table, laughter still tastelessly hanging in the air over the party of business men.
He turned to the waiter who stood in front of him "I'll have what he's having" he said motioning to Kal as he held up his bottle quickly. The waiter reached under the counter and passed him another bottle with two glasses. "Still drinking straight from the bottle" he smirked as he poured out two shots.
Kal couldn't help but look questionably at his friend and smirk back, "Don't try to change the subject". He picked up his glass and half downed it, keeping his gaze on Jack. "So?" he paused, "Where ya been?".
Jack rolled his eyes as he envisioned Kals reaction to what he was about to say. "I've been down at that club on 4th ", he downed his glass fully, bringing it down back onto the table as he did his best to keep eye contact with his prying buddy. Kal just sat there with a look of desperation stuck on his face.
"Again?" said Kal wearily.
"Again" repeated Jack without any emotion.
"Buddy, you gotta stop doing this to yourself. Face it, she's way outta you league, way outta your reach. And frankly, have you looked in the mirror lately. No offence but you not exactly Mr friendly lookin' either" Kal poured the shots this time, handing one to his stubborn friend.
Jack took it smirking, "As always Jonathan, you fill me with confidence". And again he downed it, savouring the bitter dry taste.
"Have you actually ever said anything to her?" asked Kal, not quiet finished quizzing him just yet.
Jack turned and looked right at Kal slightly agitated, but nowhere near angry. His friend was infuriating yes. But he preferred that to stupidity. "No", he threw out in a careless tone, yet he smiled at Kal suddenly and rather unexpectedly. "But I got a letter if it makes any difference".
Kal almost chocked on his drink at that. "What, how, when?" he blurted out in an incoherent slightly drunken string of words. Jack smirked his trademark smirk and folded his arms on the counter.
For the past month he'd visited a big name club in northern Gotham. Not for the drink, and certainly not for the other services. Merely for the singer who had gathered quiet a lot of attention in recent week's since she started working there. Beautiful didn't begin to describe her, more like goddess like. He'd started leaving flowers in her dressing room, always red roses and always just two.
He was unwilling to talk to her in person, his appearance leaving much to be desired. Until tonight her dressing table was always empty when he got there. This time she'd left a letter. Harleen Quinzel. Harley, it was a beautiful name.
"Yup, love and kisses and everything, shame I look like Jack skellington" Jack starred down at the bottle, losing himself in the shimmering of the glass and the alcohol that lay behind it. "It won't last though, she'll run for the hills when I say hello". He picked up the entire bottle and downed what looked like over half of it. It was a little worrying.
"What was that about still drinking from the bottle again?" Kal threw an arm around Jack's shoulder's. It was time's like this Jack hated Kal, he was always so . .
so . .
what's the word. Oh yeah, friendly.
Jack hadn't had many friends. He was a loner, he liked it. Everything else was just baggage. Kal was always so eager to be some kind of best buddy. Jack did his best to distance himself from such closeness.
"John"
"What"
"Get you fucking arm off of me" Jack violently shrugged him off.
"So it's one of those days then". Jonathan said putting his arms up in defence. He weakly snatched the bottle from his angry friend and downed the last half. They sat in silence for a while.
Kal had a few more drinks, Jack just stared into space absently, he did this a lot lately. From the back of the room they heard more laughter, a roaring gather of obnoxiousness.
"Hey you" a voice from within the group shouted, "Yeah you at the bar". Jack turned around with an emotionless expression. He spied a man in his late 40's, grey hair, obvious toupee. Black suit, quiet short, blatantly starring back at him with a cocky, half drunk look.
"Nice face pal, what happened, shaving accident". At this rather poor taste gag a swarm of giggling grew and grew until it became full blown laugh. Lower ranking businessmen licking the metaphorical boot as it were
Jack's face was still emotionless, he was immune to this kind of thing now. He'd had years off it when he was a kid. He smiled evilly, a sick grin seeping at the sides of his cheek bones.
Boy, Kal thought, Boy the Kid can be scary.
The laughter immediately stopped as the party looked away in fear. The man who had made the joke, going slightly pale with fright.
"No actually, would you like me to tell you?"His smile only increased in terror. The businessman shook uncontrollably but tried to hide it.
"N-no, s-s-s-sorry pal, it was just a joke yo' know" the man looked away as did the rest of the party. Jack turned back to face the bar. Kal sitting there half amused, half shocked.
"Never seen ya pull that one before" he joked.
"Been saving the best for the worst". He took pride in his work as he again glanced over at the table, winking as if he were the devil. "You know what?"
"What?"
"I feel happy" Jack proclaimed "And you know what else"
"And what?", asked Kall leaning in closer now.
Jack couldn't help but laugh at his almost school boy expression. "Were late". He held up his watch, 2:26. Shit.
"Great, just great. He said be there by two fifteen" Kal leapt of his chair and grabbed his hat and coat. "And it's gonna take us at least six minuets to get there". Kall headed for the door, followed by his smiling friend. "What are you laughing at?" He shot a glare at Jack as he pushed open the door, letting in the autumn coldness from outside.
"Nothing. It's just-" he was cut off by Kal immediately.
"Just what?" he shot.
"It's just that sometimes. You take things way to seriously" Jack walked through the held open door into the city's night. The sky was starless and empty, the way the Gotham sky should be, the way it always was.
He could hear Kals footsteps behind him as he walked out into the deserted road. "Yeah well, if being serious means giving a crap about my head staying on my shoulders then yeah, I'm pretty god damn serious right now". He ran up and stood beside his friend, standing in the middle of the isolated road. Gotham was always cold at night.
"So where to?" asked Jack after a while of staring up at the black void which was the sky, the hypnotising blankness that consumed the view, the moon not even being barely visible from beneath the clouds.
Kal looked up too, wondering what the hell Jack was so caught up by. "26th Richmond street, come on were late" He turned his collar up against the wind and started a fast walk from the club, only to realise moments later Jack was still standing there. "Come on Jack, what you waiting for?, a god damn UFO". Jack didn't reply, only looked at Kal for a moment.
"You go ahead, I'll catch up". With that he disappeared back into the club much to Kals frustration.
He waited out in the cold for a few seconds before he heard gun shot's, coming from inside the club. He turned quickly and faced the windows. Through the glass and the cigarette smoke he could see six, maybe seven dead bodies all sitting round a table. Two very afraid blonde woman shaking as they gripped the collars of their now dead customers in fear. He could hear their high pitched screams as their faces were splatted with blood. He struggled to see through the foggy glass, but caught a glimpse of Jack lifting some short guy up by his collar. From nowhere he pulled a knife and quiet literally ripped the guy's face apart. With two quick slashes, both masterful and violent he let the pathetic little man fall to the floor.
At first he wriggled a bit, had a bit of a spasm or seizure brought on by shock. But after about a minute he lay still. A pool of quickly cooling blood forming around him.
He took in what he was seeing and watched as Jack calmly put away his knife and walked out. He again joined Kal outside, walking past him and down the street. Kal just stood there in stunned silence. Watching him in both shock and awe. And much to his displeasure, a silent acceptance as to what is friend really was.
Nothing could surprise him about Jack, nothing.