In Another Life XI
Gotham City was not a good place to be poor. It actually wasn't a good place for any socio-economic bracket to live – those better off were in constant danger of being mugged, robbed, or murdered by the numerous criminals the city created with its seedy and desperate underbelly. Violence, gangs, drugs, gambling, prostitution – every vice and more could be found in the cocktail of criminality that was Gotham City. It was a hellhole if ever there was one.
But it was home, thought Jack Napier, puffing on a cigarette as he loitered on the drizzly pavement outside a liquor store. And it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go even if he wanted to leave, or any means of doing so. He felt the rain trickling through the numerous holes in his shoes and clothing, and cursed himself for choosing to gamble the last time he had any money, rather than invest in new clothes. He'd never learn, he thought, tapping out his cigarette. Jack was not a practical man – he was a man who believed he was just a dice roll or a card hand away from striking it rich. He could see himself now, going from rags to riches, in a new three-piece suit surrounded by beautiful, wealthy women in expensive jewelry, being chauffeured around the streets of this city in fancy cars, like he saw people like Bruce Wayne doing.
Unfortunately those visions never came true, no matter how much Jack gambled. He always ended up right back where he started, in the gutter, committing petty crimes to survive. But he couldn't let go of that vision and face reality – crazy, maybe. But it's what got him through the day, and through his miserable existence of a life. Jack was an eternal optimist, and a bit of charmer, if he said so himself. When he wasn't stealing or pick-pocketing, he was a very successful con man, since he had an open, friendly demeanor and a ready smile that people seemed to trust fairly easily. He had committed numerous scams, including his latest, conning five-thousand dollars out of Salvatore Valestra, one of the richest gang lords in Gotham.
Jack had heard it through the grapevine that Sal was a sucker for goats – they reminded him of his boyhood on his father's farm in Sicily. So Jack had gone to see Sal and told him he was looking to establish a goat farm just outside of Gotham, and asked him if he wanted to invest. Jack had promised to pay him back when the goats started producing milk and cheese, and Sal had given him the money. Which Jack had promptly spent in the Joker's Wild casino, and lost everything. Story of his life, really, but what was the point in living without taking a few risks?
Like now, he thought, as he saw the cashier in the liquor store come out from behind the counter to help a customer. Jack swiftly snuck inside, hurrying over to the counter and lifting a few packets of cigarettes from behind it. He pocketed these into his overcoat, and then perused the shelves for a few minutes so as not to attract suspicion.
"Nasty weather we're having today," he commented, as the cashier returned.
"I'll say," he agreed. "But what else can you expect from this dump of a town? Never a dry day."
"Lucky for you, selling liquor and all!" chuckled Jack.
The cashier laughed. "Hey, nice joke!" he said. "You're a funny guy!"
"Well, I try," said Jack, smiling as he tipped his hat. "Have a nice day," he said, heading out the door.
He whistled as he headed off down the street, hands in his pockets, feeling the stolen goods and smiling. "God, you're good at what you do, Jack Napier," he told himself, lighting up another cigarette.
He passed an alley and was suddenly seized by two men, who dragged him into the shadows. "Morning, Jack," said one, smiling unpleasantly.
"Buzz!" exclaimed Jack, beaming, although he recognized with dread one of Sal Valestra's enforcers, Buzz Bronski. "How ya doing, buddy?"
"Oh, I'm just swell, Jack," said Buzz. "And you? How's the goat farm coming along?"
"Oh, it's…uh…steady," said Jack. "Just takes a little time for the girls to produce milk, I'm sure Mr. Valestra knows how it is…"
"Mr. Valestra knows exactly how it is, Jack," growled Buzz, seizing him around the collar and lifting him up. "He knows that you're a two-bit cheat who ripped him off."
"Cheat…is such an ugly word," gasped Jack. "And so is 'ripped him off'…"
"So you're saying you got the money you owe and you're gonna pay him back?" asked Buzz, slamming him against the wall. "Is that what you're saying, Jack? Because that would be a different story."
"Well…I don't have it with me…right now…" stammered Jack. "But I can get it for him, no problemo…"
"Yeah? When are you gonna get it for him, Jack?" demanded Buzz. "Mr. Valestra ain't a patient man, y'know, and when people take money from him and don't pay him back, he can also be a very unpleasant man. People end up with broken kneecaps or missing fingers, if they don't just end up at the bottom of the river. Any of those sound fun to you, Jack?"
"No, Buzz, they don't," said Jack. "But you don't need to worry about me – I'm gonna pay him back. On my mother's grave. Cross my heart and hope to die. You can trust me."
"I don't trust any double-crossing swindler!" snapped Buzz, flicking out his knife.
"Hey, Buzz, the boss said to rough him up a little, not do any permanent damage," spoke up Chuckie Sol, the other enforcer. "He can't pay the money back if you hurt him too bad."
"Fine, Chuckie," snapped Buzz, releasing Jack, who fell to the ground. Buzz punched him across the face, and then kicked him hard in the gut. "I just can't stand crooks," Buzz muttered, spitting on him.
"The boss says you got three weeks," said Chuckie to Jack. "Next time we won't be so nice. C'mon, Buzz," he said, leaving the alley.
Jack stayed where he was on the ground, trying to catch his breath. Blood trickled down his nose, and he wiped it away, gasping. "C'mon, Jack, you got this," he said to himself. "Smile and it'll all work out. A positive attitude is the key to everything."
These were the kinds of things he told himself to get through the day. But right now, they didn't seem to lessen the pain in his body or the foreboding in his heart. He had no idea where he was going to get five-thousand dollars in three weeks, and he knew Sal Valestra didn't make empty threats. It had been stupid to try and swindle him – Jack had clearly got too overconfident to think he could get away with it. And that might cost him his life.
"Not yet," gasped Jack, struggling to his feet. "Not yet. I'm still alive, and think of all the assets I got. I got my charm and silver tongue and good looks…just about," he said, wiping his nose again. "I'll get Sal his five-thousand, and another five-thousand that I can use to strike it rich. This time in three weeks, I'll be in a penthouse with a beautiful dame and a roaring fire…not out here, in the cold and rain, bleeding and freezing to death…"
He drew his coat tighter around him as he reached for another stolen cigarette and lit it. He held that dream vision in his mind as he stepped back out onto the cold, wet, uncaring streets of Gotham City.