It had been weeks since he'd been out. A trip to the east coast to check into his recently acquired bio-tech firm, Medea[i], then a week in Metropolis attending to other affairs, it had been almost a month since he'd smelled the night air of Gotham. It was good to be here, if not under the best of circumstances.

The message from Gordon had been, if not panicked, more urgent than usual. The old cop wasn't a cop anymore, but he still had connections. It had been over a year now since he'd been ousted as police commissioner, over a year since Bruce had gotten a message from him. "City Morgue, 2 am, next Thursday." Short, precise, everything he'd come to expect from Gordon, but it was the tone that spoke more than just the message.

He stopped on the building across from the morgue, looking, watching. Gotham was quiet. There were the usual night noises, in the distance a siren sounded, but this time of night even the vermin were reasonably quiet. It was probably why Gordan had picked it, there wasn't much to do, considerate of him.

He cased the morgue, looking for anything unusual, anyone out of place. Things looked good, but he went through his routine, make three complete circles over thirty minutes before finally making his way down to the street. One of the back doors was propped open. It didn't take long to find the smoker who had provided his entrance. As tempting as it was the lock the kid out doing so would raise alarm that he could ill afford.

"It's been quite a while hasn't it Jim?" He asked in the vault, Gordon didn't jump like he'd used to. Maybe it was the timber of Bruce's voice that calmed him, maybe he'd learned to expect a punctual response, Bruce didn't know.

"Yes," Gordon said, his hand resting on one of the vault doors. "Thank you for coming." There was more wrong here than a simple case. Jim's voice was sad, moroseful, even. Bruce looked at the name on the vault. 'Kaylie Gordon,' it read. Oh no. He closed his eyes for a moment. Jim's granddaughter.

"I'm sorry." He said, reaching a hand out and placing it on his old friend's shoulder. This would explain why Jim had been given access. If he felt he'd needed to call Batman... that meant he couldn't crack the case on his own. Jim opened the vault and pulled the body of his granddaughter from the cold.

"Toxicology has found something, but the lab hasn't been able to identify it." He said evenly. The body was still covered in a translucent bag, he just ran his fingers over it. "She was turning tricks down at Alibasters." Gordon said. Alibasters was a strip club. Bruce knew most of the whores in the city though Kaylie certainly hadn't been one.

Jim must have sensed the question, "No she wasn't hooking, she was a dancer, had demanded it actually, working her way through college. Her mother had come to me about it. There was no way convincing Kaylie differently though, so I found her the cleanest strip club to work in that I could. Apparently it wasn't clean enough." He said, his voice on the edge of cracking.

He unzipped the body bag slowly. Her face was ghostly white, more so than the army of bodies that Bruce had seen in his years working the night. She was still made up from work, glitter still adorned her face and chest. Her face, despite the rigor mortis was stretched into a grin.

#

"Yes, Yes, Yes!" She cried on top of him. She slammed back down onto him driving him as deep into her as he would go. Not quiet the depths of ecstasy as she was used to, but she'd have the last laugh. She grabbed his hand and rolled several of his fingers around in her mouth, feeling him grow inside her. Close now, oh so close. She discarded his fingers and hunkered down like a jockey on a racehorse, pumping furiously.

"Give it to me lover, fill me up." She growled in his ear. She watched his eyes lock open as she felt the hot jets pulse from him. She smiled and buried him in her quim as he grew again. He twitched for almost a minute, deliciously, gasping for air, his pelvic thrusts finally bringing her to her own orgasm. She smiled as she fell from the giddy high. She sat on him for several moments, admiring the smile on his unblinking face. She convulsed on him, now a rigid pole, nothing but an object d'art. She tried to pull herself off of him, he'd grown considerably larger as the drug took effect, she tripped and fell off the bed unceremoniously.

"You shoulda warned me about that Mr. J." She growled through her teeth as he oozed out of her. She grabbed his shirt, discarded by the bed and soaked him up. She threw the shirt to cover him. It landed on his penis, how appropriate.

"I knew I was sexy Mr. Jerome, but you don't need to pitch a tent on my account." She giggled. She pulled on her underwear, adjusted her butt floss and scrounged around for the rest of her clothes. She'd picked this hotel because there was a fire escape she could shimmy down to avoid Jerome's goons. Mr. J couldn't send his own goons to rescue her, not yet, and she saw that as an affront anyway. She was capable of taking care of her self.

She looked down through the fire escape. Damn, there were goons there too. Well, nowhere to go but up.

"Of course it worked Harley, you need to have more faith in me." He'd say, never mind that it had been her idea, never mind that she'd found and seduced the scientist to create it and the process for making it. He always claimed the spotlight for himself. She sighed, well of course he did he was an egomaniac with delusions, (hrm, were they really delusions?) of grandeur.

Ah well, he'd never get to see the faces of their victims, never get to feel their delicious last few moments, grinding away. She smiled; Joker could claim all the credit, she got to have all the fun and make him jealous at the same time. That's how this had all started anyway really. She wanted a little variety, to convince Mr. J that it was his idea for her to screw around on him, well that was just a happy consequence.

#

"Connie, pickup Elizabeth and get down to Hotel Blackhawk wouldja?" It wasn't a request that came over his cell, Captain was laid back though, something that Frank appreciated about her.

"Problem boss?" He asked. He was still driving, juggling his Coke and phone while plying downtown Gotham.

"You'll know when you get there." She said as the line went dead. Great, doubtless Liz was at home with her newly beloved, out in Winslow. That meant a twenty-minute drive to pick her up, then another twenty minutes back into the city. He sighed. Working with a partner was a real pain in the ass sometimes. He hit Liz's speed dial on his phone and turned on Lincoln Street, heading out of the city.

"Answer the phone Liz." He mumbled on the fourth ring.

"This had better be good." The annoyed, breathless voice on the other end of the line said.

"You ain't the only one what thinks so," Frank Constance said, navigating around a slower car. "I'll be there in twenty. Maybe you could get a shower in before I have to pick you up this time." He said.

"Yeah, fine." she said angrily. She knew he wouldn't call unless it was business. Things had been a bit strained between them the last few months. He knew they were trying for a family, but he also knew that the former ice queen was enjoying herself too much too. He sighed and plugged his phone in, it was chirping at him.

"This had better be damned good." He said to the bobbling hula girl on the dashboard. He was on the way home from a bar crawl, without a girl in the passenger's seat. He was ready to finish drinking himself to sleep. No rest for the wicked he supposed.

#

"Whadda ya got Sergeant?" Frank asked, as he entered the Hotel Blackhawk. It was a seedy rundown joint frequented by hookers and junkies. The guy behind the counter kept a roll of police tape so that the beat guys didn't have to be bothered to get it out of their cars.

"Maxwell Jerome. Looks like he had himself a really good trick. He's dead." The charlie shift Sergeant said, as they walked into the elevator. Liz was still pissed being disturbed mid cotius, she fumed. Both of their expressions changed on hearing the name.

"Shit." Frank said as the doors closed. Max Jerome, head of the Fontana Families drug operations on the south side of Gotham. "You got his boys?" He asked as the Sergeant punched the button for the third floor.

"Yeah, his man give us a description that matches half the whores in Gotham, they didn't see her leave though." Frank's eyebrow shot up at this.

"She ain't around?" He asked. Shit, that made it a possible homicide, not just Max Jerome blowing a gasket while his girl blew him. He looked over at Liz, she just sighed and looked up at the elevator panel, waiting for the lumbering old crate to get them to the third floor.

"Nope." The Sergeant said.

They'd taped off the room. The floor was deserted. Frank was sure that once word got around that Max Jerome's boys were looking for the girl he'd taken to bed the rats had abandoned ship as fast as they could. Frank stifled a yawn as they walked into the room. He was momentarily blinded as the photographer captured the crime scene. He blinked a few times before recognizing the photographer.

"Evenin' Mike," he said, looking down at Max's body. He sure looked a happy stiff. Who wouldn't be going out that way?

"Jesus Frank," Liz said, looking closely at Max's face.

"What I'd be happy to go out that way myself." He said.

She scowled at him. "Spare me. Bodies don't hold expressions like that. Think about it. When's the last time you saw a smilin' stiff." Then it really hit Frank.

"Ah shit." He said, knowing now why the Captain had called him.

"Uh huh. He's back." She said. -----------------------