II.
He hears her curse loudly as shots ring out, splitting the chilly, damp, gray air.
He's almost too distracted by the smell of the oncoming winter to care. But, a single "damn it" is all he needs to hear. Now they are in trouble. The familiar cocking of a shotgun, satisfying to the ears, creates a rush in both of the vigilantes. The muscles in their legs spring to life, and they bound over the cars in the used parking lot faster than ever before.
"Jus' like deer inna fuckin' forest, boss," a thick and greasy haired Italian man comments, "A buncha' cowards."
Windows, broken by shotgun rounds, rain onto the pavement around them. Even then, he doesn't quit the banter. "Yeah, yeah, grease monkey. You're the one bringing a gun to a god damn knife fight."
She glares at him, pulling him downwards beneath a vehicle of considerable size. She has never approved of his banter. She always worries it will knock him off of his game, but he is 'too smart for that'. About to tell him off, she pauses when suddenly the parking lot grows quiet. The overwhelming smell of diesel radiates from the underbelly of the beastly machine that provided cover; the foul smell burns his nostrils. The only sound is his strangled coughs.
The barking of dogs cease.
The shotgun is quiet for a moment.
The men's voices are silent.
They both caught their breaths, rolling from under the cars. They both sneak, gently gliding across the hard, dark pavement quickly as possible.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are, you fuckin' twerps."
A loud crunch of a boot meeting glass finds it's way to his ears.
"Fuck."
The shots begin again, and this time, he hears her scream. It's loud, garbled. A terrifying screech of pain and agony, one that's followed by the shouting of his name. His real name.
"John!"
She is hurt.
The smell of metallics poisons the air. Blood is on his arm. It's warm and sticky, two attributes that cause his stomach to churn.
He begins to panic.
about one year ago:
Her name is Kayleigh Lockheed, and she has changed.
In the past eight years, she has been promoted to sales and budget manager, fired, rehired, and laid off. She is tired. Only 25, the newly christened chain smoker resembles a woman who has been to hell and back. In no way is she gentle looking. Kayleigh, though a pretty woman, has noticed her features grow more and more severe. Her nose, now sharp and too pointy, seem to bug her to no end. Her cheekbones, too, speak of a dark woman who had spent too much time in front of a calculator. Even her movements are quick and sharp, just like her personality.
As she tugs on the red dress, the blonde is scanning the television. Gotham News is on, and the muted television seems to mock her. Replays of two nights ago are all she sees. The black and white subtitles at the bottom of the screen, being spoken by the over zealous man with a receding hairline, mention him, and the newest threat against the local playboy.
Kayleigh snorts. If only they knew. The Bat and The Billionaire are one of the same. The woman grabs the remote and presses the volume button once, letting the voice of the newscaster fill the silence of the bedroom.
"It has been said that the Batman's reappearance will mean trouble for GCPD's commissioner James Gordon, a long time disapprover of The Batman."
The black pumps are slipped onto her feet carelessly, and as she stands, she can feel the heel of the shoe wobble a bit on the worn down, vanilla carpet. Kayleigh grabs the stick of lipstick on the oak dresser and places her weight onto her elbows.
Dark green eyes scan the reflection in distaste.
The lamp on the dresser is casting warm artificial light on her pale face, making shadows fill the hollow space beneath her brows and cheekbones. Her lips, now painted a brilliant red seem to be all she sees. With one sweep of her hand, blonde bangs are pushed back and she stands full height. Satisfied, Kayleigh drops the stick into her clutch, followed by her phone, a pack of cigarettes, her license and some spare dollar bills.
Soft thuds are followed by the static buzz of the television powering off. She exits the apartment leisurely, and departs out the front doors. The chill of fall nips at her bare shoulders, and quickly the woman snatches a cigarette from her clutch in attempt to warm her chattering core. The silver lighter, one that can be found in any gas station, ignites the Marlboro in one flick. With the warm white and yellow cigarette dangling from her mouth, she settles to focusing on the clicks of her heels against the parking lots' damp pavement.
It's only 7:43 at night, and still it is dangerous. But Kayleigh doesn't care. This is her home and as always, hushed whispers of voices in the darkest corners of the lot are ignored, and puffs of smoke dance behind her as she tosses blonde locks over her shoulder. Hunching over the black Camry's door, her manicured fingertips graze over the handle, tugging it and confirming her suspicions. Fumbling with car keys, riddled with various keychains, she unlocks the vehicle and lights spring to life inside.
Eager to warm herself, Kayleigh falls into the leather driver seat and starts the car. The radio now breathes to life, the vocals of Bono bringing a grin to the woman's face. The old U2 CD, the stagnant reminder of a hearty childhood for Kayleigh, is set on track three: Desire. Kayleigh's head bobs in beat with the guitar and drums, and she puffs her cig. Taking off out of the parking lot, she begins the commute to the party.
Miranda Tate's party.
When, really, it wasn't a party. She had called it a charity ball, on the invitation, which really was a bust from the start. Kayleigh's green eyes rolled in their sockets when she read the poshly worded invite scribed on a pastel green parchment piece. 'Most likely recycled,' she remembered tutting over the ecosystem obsessed Tate.
Rolling down the window, she taps her cigarette before quickly pulling up the glass barrier in fear of freezing.
In all honesty, Kayleigh doesn't intend on going at first. The Wayne Enterprises employee was piss broke. Her pay, now dwindling even more-so than the past summer, was being eaten up by this damn nicotine addiction and apartment rent. Food, more often than not, was sparse. She couldn't really contribute to the charity part of the ball. Then again, there was free food and drink... But, the real reason why Kayleigh was going was for him.
The woman could only assume that now that The Bat is back, Bruce Wayne is going to be back too. And, if Ms. Lockheed's suspicions were true, Mr. Wayne wouldn't be able to resist flaunting that face of his at this popular charity ball. After all, The Waynes were certainly known for their charitable givings, and Bruce was certainly known for being the life of a party.
Kayleigh justed hoped she wouldn't have to dance.
So far, nothing.
Only two or three older looking gentleman who had eyed her a little too much for her liking. None were Bruce Wayne.
Kayleigh had arrived at 8:30. Not late, but certainly not early. The main hall and bottom floor of the hotel had been reserved for the ball, and as Kayleigh soon found out, more than half of Wayne Enterprises had been invited. It was getting stuffy in that room, and in that tight of a dress, Kayleigh knew she would have to step out sooner or later. Her itching for a cigarette was beginning as well, so the blonde weaved through waiters and boisterous businessmen to the main lobby.
Now, she stands outside, one arm propped on the other. Swirling clouds float from her nose, curling in the frigid air and leaving a misty trail in the dark. Her hand, gripping her clutch, began to twitch and she shifted. To her far right, one man whistles a wolfcall, directed at her. Kayleigh's head snaps to the man and her lips curl. A nasty glare, one that came too natural for the woman, is shot at the trio of men to her right before she take a final drag before dropping the butt to the ground and putting it out of it's mercy with her heel.
A commotion is made by the photographers down the carpet and she only assumes it's another one of Gotham's posh royalty.
In one way or another, the woman is right.
Her shoulder connects with the shoulder of another person and her clutch falls to the ground.
"Damn it."
Cursing, Kayleigh lunges to grab it off the red carpet leading into the front lobby. Irritation bubbles in her throat, and she raises her head.
"Watch where you're going, will yo-" The snark died in her throat. Exhaling, she stands full height, and cocks her head. "Huh. Thought you'd be taller."
Her dark gaze meet Bruce Wayne's and as an amused look dances across his lips, Kayleigh shakes her head. She really hadn't thought she'd get this far... And now, she had him in front of her. Did she just drop the bomb right there? Perhaps... ask?
"I seem to be getting that more and more," he mumbles, his brows raising. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name, Ms...?"
"Lockheed. I work in budget for your company. Fun stuff."
"Oh. Budget. Yeah," Bruce nods, his eyes sticking to her face as she fumbles with another cigarette. "Well, uh, I've got a party to attend..."
Lighting it quickly, she puffs once before crossing her arms. One hand rises, and she shakes her cold was beginning to bug her, and her nerves were beginning to become frayed.
"For the past few years, I've been trying to schedule appointments, you know."
"Few years? Well, hate to break it to you, but same with everyone else."
"I'm surprised Fox didn't tell you," Kayleigh breathes, letting rings of smoke dust the Armani suit which seems to hang off of Bruce's tall form.
"Fox?" Wayne's tone, now a bit lighter, seems to peak.
"I work in budget, Wayne," she utters, leaning in a bit closer. "Don't think for a fucking second that I don't know."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Kayleigh's eyes roll. The smoke clouds around her, framing the red silhouette like something out of a poem. She let the black, manicured fingernail graze against his clean-shaven chin. Leaning in, she exhales through her nose.
"A man like The Bat's gotta be careful," she whispers, her free hand tugging at his collar, "A girl could just drop the bomb to the waiting press... After all, I haven't got anything to lose."
His gaze fell. "You mentioned an appointment."
"Mhm," she purrs.
"I suppose I can fit you in."
"Much obliged, Mr. Wayne," Kayleigh smirks, patting his shoulder. She turned, her gaze flicking up to the street which seemed to glow under the darkness of the evening. "Next Monday. 12:30. I'll be see you."
With a puff of smoke, she is gone, sauntering off to the beat up Camry
A/N:
Alright. So, for those of you joining in on the story, welcome! For you who are not new and have been with me since the start, hello again! Story may be slow going and vague for a bit, but I'm sure you'll catch up. After all, Kayleigh has a good portion of time to herself for the next few days. You'll be getting a good idea as to why she arranged the meeting with Mr. Wayne!
