The Scoop
Gotham City was one of the busiest metropolises in America, an active hub of industry, an urban center with huge potential for redevelopment…and more often than not, a cesspool of violent crime committed, for the most part, by insane people in costumes. It probably wasn't the best place in the world to raise a family, or find a rewarding career, unless you happened to enjoy being terrorized by costumed lunatics, or considered becoming one yourself. But unless you were in some way mentally disturbed, Gotham City couldn't be said, objectively, to be full of exciting opportunities.
Except for one class of people, people who enjoyed chaos, and were arguably suffering from some kind of mental disorder, based upon their career choice. These people were called journalists.
Unlike many of the supercriminals, the journalists of Gotham City were motivated purely by monetary gain and personal ambition. Like the supercriminals, they took pleasure in the misfortune of others, secretly hoping for some city-wide tragedy to occur in order to be the first on the scene and beat out the competition. The journalists hoped for catastrophe to advance their careers, and encouraged it by publicizing and glamorizing the shocking crimes and tragic events caused by the lunatics. They put aside all sense of morality or ethics in order to self-serve and promote whatever stories or opinions would sell the most papers, which were obviously the most controversial ones. All that mattered was profit, promotion, and getting the scoop ahead of the rivals. A breaking, exciting news story meant the different between the pinnacle of success and the depths of failure. And at the moment, Vicki Vale was stuck squarely in the pit of the latter.
She had hoped to use her connection gained by her brief and meaningless love affair with Bruce Wayne to get ahold of some juicy society gossip. Sadly, Bruce had proved a dead end, with no interest in society gossip, and no personality of his own to generate interest. Far from being the exciting playboy billionaire glamorized by the press, Vicki's own experience with Bruce had been deadly dull. The man was completely boring, with no sense of fun, and no element of mystery or excitement to him whatsoever. Vicki had let him down gently after a few weeks, and Bruce had taken it well, which is to say, completely emotionlessly, which had been Vicki's general experience of Bruce throughout their whole relationship. How a man could be that rich and that boring, Vicki would never know.
But now she was single and desperate. Not for a relationship – that desire was for other, pathetic women, weaker than her, women who needed people. Vicki had never needed anyone – she was a strong, independent woman, not one of those women whose ambitions ran no higher than a husband and kids, with no imagination and no career goals. Vicki had both of those things, which is why she had always been a good journalist. Even the best stories required a little imagination, and the worst ones absolutely demanded it. And in the case of no news, imagination had to completely take over to make up something to print.
No, Vicki was desperate for a scoop. Some story that would blow Gotham's collective mind and get her back on the top of her game, and on the news industry in this town. Right now she was forced to suffer the gloating of that pompous hack, Jack Ryder, a man who only got news stories because he inadvertently stumbled into them by an annoying mixture of incompetence and luck. He always seemed to be in the wrong place at the right time, hence his story about his brush with death with Deadshot, which he sold for a sizeable amount after being rescued by Batman. Or his up close and personal experience with Deacon Blackfire and his cult, another brush with death avoided thanks to Batman, and sold for a considerable price.
Ryder was currently boasting, on this particular evening at the press charity dinner, about his recent encounter with the Riddler, who had agreed to give him an in-depth interview of his ingenious way of creating riddles, which was sure to be popular among the readers of the newspaper. Criminal profiles always were, and even D-list criminal encounters like Deadshot and Blackfire proved profitable for the paper. An actual interview with the Riddler, as B-list as he might be, was going to be incredibly popular. Riddler wasn't particularly feared or respected by the people of Gotham, but he had been in the supervillain game long enough to have a perennial interest, if only for people to discuss how someone like him had managed to stay in the game for so long.
"Remind me when your last big scoop was again, Vale?" asked Ryder suddenly, breaking in on Vicki's thoughts. "It's been so long, I think everyone here has forgotten."
Vicki glared at him. "It was the Bruce Wayne expose, and you know it," she muttered.
"Ah yes, profile of Gotham City's least interesting socialite," said Ryder, smiling. "What woman broke his heart so much that he can't commit to relationships now. With that kinda nose for news, Vale, maybe a career in the tabloids would be more your speed."
Vicki bristled. Although all journalists muck-raked, most so-called respectable ones thought of themselves as a step up from the tabloids, even though they were basically motivated by the same things.
"So Riddler was really the best villain you could get, huh?" she shot back. "What's the matter, Ryder? Scared to actually interview a real one?"
"Sneer all you want, Vale," retorted Ryder. "I don't see you profiling any big supercriminals. Between Riddler and Bruce Wayne, I guarantee my interviewee is more interesting."
"You just watch," said Vicki. "I'll get a real A-list supervillain for my next story, which will blow your pathetic Riddler profile out of the water."
"Good luck with that," snapped Ryder. "These guys don't need publicity, and they don't do interviews without killing the people who interview them. Who in all of Gotham do you think would be willing to let you talk to them? Poison Ivy would choke the life out of you with her plants, the Scarecrow would fear gas you on sight, Two-Face would just shoot you twice. Who do you think is going to indulge you, and why?"
Vicki opened her mouth to make up a response when suddenly, a giant hole was blown in the wall. As the smoke from the explosion cleared, the journalists could make out the familiar, purple-suited figure of the Joker, closely followed by his henchmen and devoted and loyal henchwench, Harley Quinn.
"Hidey ho, news enthusiasts!" the Joker exclaimed. "Here's a scoop for you! Press charity dinner robbed by the Clown Prince of Crime – number of casualties to be determined, based upon your cooperation, of course. Harley, boys, let's make some headlines!"
The gang moved into the room, grabbing the donated cash and collecting valuables from the guests. "Oooh, Mr. J!" shrieked Harley suddenly, racing over to Vicki and eyeing her large diamond necklace. "Can I keep this one?" Harley cried, ripping it off Vicki's neck and holding it around her own. "Suits me, don't it? And it's so pretty and shiny and sparkly, and I love it! Can I keep it? Oh please, please, please, please, please…"
"Yeah, fine, just shut up about it," interrupted Joker, who was ignoring her and perusing the buffet, grabbing a slice of cake.
"Give that back right now!" snapped Vicki, seizing her necklace and yanking it out of Harley's grip. "You can't keep it, because it's mine! And I won't stand seeing my necklace, which I paid for myself, around the neck of the Joker's dumb blonde floozy!"
Silence fell after Vicki's outburst – Ryder stared at her as if she had lost her mind, which she temporarily had. She had been so annoyed by her situation, and by Ryder's gloating, that she was in no mood to deal calmly or rationally with being robbed.
Harley stared at her in shock for a moment, but that quickly changed to a look of loathing. "Mr. J!" she shrieked, turning to him. "Did you hear what the nasty reporter lady said to me?!"
"Nope, wasn't listening," retorted Joker, gulping down the cake and licking the crumbs from the fingers of his glove as he came over to Harley and Vicki.
"She stole my rock back from me!" exclaimed Harley, pointing. "And called me your dumb blonde floozy!"
"Well, she's right about that!" chuckled Joker. "If she had called you a dumb blonde floozy, I'd have had to reprimand her. But you are my dumb blonde floozy, pooh. Nothing offensive in that."
"But my diamond…" began Harley.
"You stole it first – all's fair in the thieving game," interrupted Joker, shrugging. "How many times have we stolen loot from the other freaks? If she's got the guts to take it back, she should be applauded for that. Way to go, sweetheart," he said, nodding at Vicki. "There's not many people who would have the balls to stand up to Harley. Especially people who ain't got balls!" he chuckled. "You guys done yet?" he demanded, rounding on the henchmen.
"All set, boss," said one, holding up two sacks of loot as the others followed suit.
"Great – let's leave these generous folks to their party," said Joker, turning to go.
"Ain't she gonna be punished?" demanded Harley, pointing at Vicki.
"No, but you will be if you don't get your ass back to the car right now," retorted Joker.
"But my diamond…" Harley began again.
Joker raised his cane and swatted Harley hard on the bottom with it. "Car. Now," he said, firmly.
Harley glared from him to Vicki, but obeyed, heading out the hole in the wall and grumbling loudly while rubbing her bottom tenderly.
"Sorry about the kid," said Joker, turning to Vicki. "She's such a spoiled brat sometimes, and won't take no for answer, trust me. I blame myself – I treat her too good."
He reached out and grabbed the necklace back from Vicki. "And if she's a very good girl, she might get to this later. Or I might just sell it. But if she behaves herself, she might deserve a reward. Or misbehaves herself, which is what I've trained her to do!" he laughed.
He strode out the hole in the wall, whistling and twirling the necklace between his fingers.
"Vale, are you nuts?" demanded Ryder, racing over to her. "You could have been killed talking to Quinn like that!"
"But I wasn't," retorted Vicki, staring after them. "In fact, I think I just got my scoop."