Chapter 1 – Intuition
I stood in the dark alley, waiting for my best friend to come so we could play cards together.
I patted my hair nervously. Then I scolded myself mentally. I knew I looked great. I'd checked myself in the mirror just before leaving my flat. I had shoulder-length, slightly wavy sunset-auburn hair. I had green orbs that reminded people of the country. I'd been told that my freckles were adorable, and that my nose was perfect. But I didn't have to worry about that with his friend, which was the second reason I scolded myself for patting my hair.
I looked down at myself in the darkness. Even though the guy I was waiting for wasn't a good dresser and didn't care about what I was wearing, either, I still liked to look sharp. I was the manager at the local Macy's, and I knew I had to set a good example for all the women who depended on me to point to fashionable clothing for them. My brother, always the overachiever, had pushed me to it. I would have been a fashion designer, but dear old Harvey wanted me to get a more professional job. But I was content, and it made good money. I was wearing a soft, dark blue ribbed sweater that had a v-neck and dark black corduroy pants that I tucked into my dark cashmere boots. I was proud of how I looked. Even though my friend wouldn't care.
Then finally, around the corner came the guy I was waiting for. He looked a little upset and still had his makeup on. I wondered what he'd been doing that night.
"I've been waiting for you," I called, smiling.
"Not so loud," he hissed back, rolling his shoulders.
"Sorry," I stage-whispered as the Joker stopped in front of me. "Why not?"
"Thought I saw someone turnin' in here. Didn't want anyone to disturb our… game tonight," he said, drawing out the word game.
Being friends with Gotham's most notorious criminal was dangerous, yes, but it was also very rewarding. And, of course, he always knew how to make me laugh.
At the same time we sat down cross-legged across from each other, and the Joker took out a pack of cards from his pocket. I guess he'd had them custom-made, because I'd never seen cards like them before. They were all in black and red, and in the deck there were six Jokers instead of two. It made playing with them more interesting?
"Poker?" asked Joker, shuffling the cards with lightning speed. His makeup was all messed up from earlier. I hated seeing it look all melty and sad. It made Joker look sad, too. I'm really not sure how that's possible considering his scars made always look like he was smiling, but somehow even with the ruby-red grin he still managed to look sad.
"Sure," I said, smiling. I wanted to cheer him up, and it worked because at the moment he reached over across the cards he had just dealt with super-speed and poked me in the shoulder.
"Poker," he said, grinning, showing his crooked teeth. I had brought him a toothbrush last week so they were clean, but there was nothing I could do about the crookedness.
We played poker and he was winning, of course. Even I couldn't beat the Joker at cards. That would be just crazy.
After playing cards for about an hour suddenly the Joker smiled and looked up at me.
"Why did the chicken cross the road?" he asked maliciously, licking the sides of his mouth.
I prepared myself for a hilarious Joke. Joker always made me laugh with his jokes—it was the best part of our relationship.
"Why… did the chicken… cross the road?" he asked, playing with one of the black and red cards in his hand.
"Why?" I asked, shuffling the cards quickly.
"Because," he paused. "He was being dragged by a guy who was also crossing the road." he snickered.
"Omg, you're too silly," I laughed, poking him in the shoulder. Dark humor was my favorite flavor.
Suddenly his face fell and he looked me square in the eyes. His own eyes searched my glittering, emerald ones. He dropped his cards.
"You wanna know how I got these scars?" he asked.
"Not again," I sighed. He told me a different story every week. I knew the real one, of course—but so why did you keep going on about it.
"I had a bad childhood," he started.
"Ohhh, hush," I held up my hand. "You weren't the only one with a bad childhood. Remember what my father did to me?"
"Remember what my father did to me?" he pointed to his face.
"Oh, no he didn't," I snapped, but in fact I wasn't sure. I couldn't really remember the truth about my friend's scars.
"My father used to hate poor Harvey," I said sadly. He always was good to me, until Harvey went to college. Then, he hated me too. "I'm amazed Harvey turned out as good as he did."
The Joker waved his hand. "No, no, no, no. Your brother isn't the good one. The, the… the, right one, maybe, but you're the good one. He's all…" he twisted his hands in midair, "regular and truth-telling. I think you're far more… interesting," he grinned.
"Thanks," I said quietly. Suddenly, when reminded of my bad childhood and seeing Joker's scars up-close, I felt very sad.
Suddenly I just remembered something!
"Joker!" I yelled. "I'm having Harvey for dinner tonight!"
"Yum," said the Joker, and I rolled my eyes.
I handed him back his cards and gave him a quick hug.
"Tomorrow night, ok!" I yelled back as I ran from the alley to my flat.