Joker
Story Two: Gotham's Red Knight
Chapter Two: A Few Years in the Life...
G'day! The stereotypical Aussie hello to you all. Actually, the real way we say 'hello' to each other is...well, 'hello'. If you are reading this useless piece of information then you probably enjoyed Chapter One enough to move on into this one. Did you remember to review, or at least PM? Oh well, I just hope you liked it anyway.
'A Few Years in the Life...' (Gee, I wonder where that title was inspired from? :P) skips a few years inside. If you had read my disclaimer at the end of the last chapter, you would not be wondering how you are going to be able to tell the time jumps. If you are not feeling this, then bravo, you've been keeping track of ALL the writing. Another warning: I may have to draw this Story out to six or more chapters. Ooh! Spooky!
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this character development chapter!
So, where was I? Ah yes. Molly and I were separated to different foster guardians. She got Bludhaven, I got Gotham. I knew Bludhaven wasn't ideal for children; the blokes at my dad's old precinct couldn't keep their mouths shut about all the stories they'd heard from cops who served there. What the mobs like the Falcone's and Maroni's did to cops who came close to bringing down one of their operations. Some nights I wished they'd just shut up and play poker, but anyway. I was glad that Molly was in a safer place than I was and that her foster parents actually gave a damn about her. I guess I was older so the system decided I wasn't too high priority; whoever they stuck me with would be fine by them. So there I was; bouncing in and out of the system, all over Gotham until I finally came here to The Bowery. Never quite felt as home anywhere else as I did here. This place raised me. It was where I got my first initiation, how I got into all this...
"How are we coming along?"
"Just picked the lock, we're on the move. Zed should have the alarms deactivated by now, so the safe should be easy pickings."
"That's good to hear. How's our inside man doing?"
"Eh, he was a little anxious about putting on the helm, but he realised it was for the best after we explained it was for his protection."
"Nice work, Webber. Keep it up." Red switched channels on his walkie talkie. "Zed, when you're done disarming the alarms, meet up with Webber, Barlow and the hood at the safe. They'll need you to open the electronic seal."
"Right on top of that." Informed Zed, the radio going silent afterwards. Red placed the walkie talkie on his lap, pressing himself into a comfortable position in the driver's seat.
"Why are you stealing money?" asked Jack who was sitting in the passenger's seat. "Isn't that bad?"
"Depends on who you are." Explained Red. "You see, depending on your point of view, things you would consider bad would be good and vice versa. Take this place for example." Red pointed to the GothCorp labs which his gang was at this very minute breaking into. "A new age of human exploration: discovering if a man or woman can live in ice and be re-awakened in the future intact. Great minds and important influential figures preserved for a better tomorrow when it may be possible to keep them alive forever with new advanced technology. Does that sound good?"
"I guess." Answered Jack with a shrug.
"Well, you are from a certain point of view." Continued Red. "But while these people dream about the future, the workers who create the machinery are sorely under-appreciated and as a result, underpaid. They're made to suffer amongst the poor while they give the rich and powerful the chance to live forever with all the profits going to the superiors. Now does that sound fair?"
"...N-No."
"Exactly. What we do isn't just for money. In a way, we're giving these companies...eh...incentive to change their ways by showing them what greed does to desperate people. Maybe then they'll give something back-" Flashing red and blue lights startled Red out of his train of thought. He and Jack peered into the review mirror and saw a police car pulling up behind them, a lone officer sitting inside. "Crap." cursed Red, turning off the radio and stashing it under his seat. "Jack, stay calm and keep quiet. Let me do the talking." Jack nodded in compliance as the officer walked up to the driver's side door. Red kindly slid down his window. "Hello." He greeted kindly.
"Hi. I'm Sergeant Taylor. I was just wondering if ya'll were in some kind of trouble I might lend assistance to?" asked Taylor politely. Red thought and shook his head.
"No, that's fine." He answered. "We're just waiting for the missus to get some stuff she forgot out of the apartment. Taking the kid to go meet some relatives out of town on a hiking trip."
"Oh, is this your son?" Taylor shone his light over on Jack who grinned and nodded. "Well that's nice." He then checked the back seat of the car. "For a hiking trip, you sure don't have much in the way of equipment." He said suspiciously.
"Well, the relatives have everything we need. Didn't seem right to them we squelch out a fortune on a one-time deal, you know?" airily explained Red. "We've lived in Gotham for most of our lives. Didn't really seem necessary to buy the essentials, but boy do I wish I have one of those walking poles to help me along after a long day's work, you know what I'm saying." Joked Red. He and, luckily, the officer laughed.
"Yeah, well, the boys on the force would appreciate something to take the strain off. A little liquid courage perhaps." Red chuckled at Taylor's joke. "Well, I'll leave you two alone. Have fun hiking and say hello to the wife."
"Will do." Smiled Red. The officer waved to Jack, walked back to his car and drove away. Only when the headlights were no longer in sight did Red let out a sigh of relief. He suddenly remembered the radio under the seat and quickly rummaged for it. He turned it back on to hear nothing; the others were still busy.
"Before, what did you mean by 'desperate people'?" asked Jack, still curious.
"Okay." Huffed Red, still getting his breath back. "When people can't provide for themselves or family they get desperate."
"I know that, but why do you take advantage of them?"
"Because they're the easy marks. The ones most likely to do what you say."
"How?"
"You dangle what they want in front of them. Tell them that to get from where they are to what they want, they must first do something for you." Answered Red. "They give us information, we give them exactly what they deserve." Jack nodded, but then wondered about something else.
"Why do you put that hood on them?" he asked.
"You know how our gang is called 'Red Hood'?" Jack nodded. "Well, the cops are expecting to see a guy in a red hood show up. We put our 'desperate person' in the hood to keep their identity a secret which also makes sure other people know who is responsible for this. That's its first use, when everything goes according to plan."
"And...what's the second?"
"When things don't." Suddenly, sirens blared far down the street behind them. Four cars in total bellowed towards them as four figures fled the GothCorp building. Red started up the car and popped the trunk.
Zed dived inside, cursing; "Goddamn silent alarm! Bane of my existence!"
"Bail!" shouted Barlow, chucking a duffel bag into the trunk. Webber gave the man in the red hood his duffel and jumped inside the car with Barlow.
"Wait, guys, I can't see!" panicked the red hood, feeling around for the trunk space. He only just managed to pile the remaining bags inside.
"Jack," began Red, "you remember that second use when things don't go right?"
"Yeah?" acknowledged Jack.
"Observe." As soon as the red hood closed the trunk, Red threw the car into reverse and shattered the man's legs. Red then put the car into drive and flew off down the street. Looking back, they watched as the four police cars all came to a halt, the cops leaping from their vehicles, surrounding the poor unfortunate soul writhing in pain on the pavement.
"Yes!" celebrated Zed, high-five-ing Barlow. Webber pulled himself up to the front between Red and Jack.
"Nice driving there, slick." He complimented.
"Not so bad yourself." Smiled Red. "We got the goods?"
"Everything that was in the safe. A lot o' money."
"Means we can pay off the Broker. When we get back, call up Sherman Fine and tell him we have his money." Reminded Red.
"Will do, boss."
"And hey, you met Jack yet?"
"Nah. Hey, how ya doing?" greeted Webber, shaking Jack's hand. "I heard a little about ya from the boys. They seem to like you enough."
"What do you do for the gang?" asked Jack.
"Me? Oh, I manage the gang's front." Answered Webber. "I'm a bartender."
Jack had been there to count the money many times before, but he had never actually seen how it got there in the first place. He, Red, Webber and Barlow sat around the table; Webber smoking a cigar, all drinking but only orange juice for Jack and laughing. He understood now why whenever they came back from a job that they were always so happy. The rush, the adrenaline that flowed through them that had stressed them was all being excreted through laughter. The feeling was inside him too. Even Zed, who hadn't been there for a while, came in with a smile. "Just let Hillocks know what went down. Think he's glad none of us got shot."
"Trust me, he's never happy when we're not shot." Assured Barlow. "He's hopeful it'll knock some sense into us someday."
"How much did we get away with?"
"Uhh..." Barlow pressed his tongue against his teeth and sucked air between them as he counted the blocks of bills on the table. "'Bout sixteen...seventeen and a half thousand." Zed whistled.
"Now that's a lot o' dough." Awed Webber.
"Hey Jack, you counted up twelve hundred?" asked Red.
"Yep." Answered Jack, pushing a small pile of bills to Red.
"Good boy." Said Red, pocketing the cash. "Come on, I gotta show you something." He urged Jack up out of his seat, then turned to the others. "Guys, we got seven hours until we open up top. I want this all cleared out and taken to the safe-house. And Zed, we're gonna need another cowl. Get Hunt working on another one; same size, same details, everything."
"You got it." Obeyed Zed. Jack was led out of the room, Red's arm hanging over his shoulder. He went for the staircase, until Red made an unusual turn and directed him to the cellar door.
"I promised that I would show you everything we do in the gang." Began Red as he opened the door. "You're part of us now, and when you get older you'll take part in some aspect...if you want to."
"I do." Answered Jack.
"Why's that, d'you reckon?"
"I dunno. It just feels...right." Jack looked up into Red's beam of approval and they descended into the bowels of the building.
"We've all got specific jobs in this place; I'm the leader so I have to make tough decisions, move us in different directions, strategize. I have Barlow to help me out with that too. Webber runs the gang's front; The Stacked Deck bar and casino. Not so large that we'll draw suspicion but not too small so that it looks out of the way. Zed's our computer expert; he can crack any code and break every connection...or whatever. Hammond has connections and he's great muscle. Hillocks stitches our wounds nice and clean but we never take him out with us. Trent and Hunt are good with equipment, just in case the job calls for some special treatment. And we all have to do our part in a job to get paid. You slack off, you get zip."
"I get it...but why are you taking me down here?" Jack was looking curiously at the basement filled with strange bubbling beakers, Bunsen burners, vials and makeshift machinery. This place didn't really seem to fulfil any purpose Jack could think of for the gang. "What are you showing me?"
"He's showing you me." Came a scratchy voice from another section of the basement. From what appeared to be a cramped office at the far end emerged a tall man, balding and wearing spectacles but ultimately dishevelled and unshaved. "Jack-y boy. The child found in the night. Not a clue to your origin, not a memory to cling to." The man knelt down to Jack's height, his arms resting on Jack's frozen shoulders. Without warning, he engulfed Jack in a great bear hug. "So good to meet you!" grunted the man before letting go. "The name's Essex. Walter Essex, but you can just call me by my last name. Everyone here calls themselves by their last names. Serves as some kind on anonymity amongst thieves, but I don't really see the point. Y'see, no one visits me often down here, 'cept Red, of course. Everyone else only comes down when they want what I have. Oh, but I'm just babbling on and on! I'm sorry. You're probably a little freaked out by me now."
"You're interesting." Enthused Jack which got a laugh from Red and a chuckle from Essex.
"This boy's got spirit and great promise." Complimented Essex to Red more than Jack.
"What do you do, Mr. Essex?" asked Jack.
"Oh no, just 'Essex' will do. Mr. Essex is my father. Was my father, now my mother." He swung around, facing his lair with open arms. "This is my purpose!" he proclaimed. "Chemistry. When the going gets tough, I make sure that the going gets away while the tough are left in the lurch. I make tear gas, knockout gas, smoke pellets and explosive liquid and plastic explosives for show and for efficiency. Imagine being chased by the fuzz. How d'you get away? Drop one of those pellets and you'll disappear like a cat in the night! Maybe you're trying to get some crowd control going? A little knockout gas for your less riley civvies, but if you get a couple of 'heroes', make 'em think twice with the tear smokescreen!"
"Alright, that's enough." Red calmed down Essex. "I think the boy knows what you're on about."
"I wasn't too overboard, was I?"
"No. It was a nice presentation. I'm sure Jack enjoyed it too." Red began to walk to the rickety stairs. "C'mon, Jack. Let's leave Walter alone."
"I wanna stay." Asserted Jack excitedly.
"What do you know. Looks like you got a fan, Walt." Smiled Red. "I'm not sure if you can though."
"Please!" begged Essex.
Red mockingly thought about this for a short moment before conceding; "Okay then." Jack and Essex celebrated with simultaneous whoops of joy. "Never pegged you to be a chemistry buff, Jack, but if it's what makes you happy." It was. So very much.
Sal Valestra was never the most welcoming man, but if you were on his side then at least you could consider yourself nearly untouchable...provided you stayed there. I guess he took pity on me, or maybe he figured I was easier to mould into another of his stooges, I dunno. At the time, I just considered myself lucky until I found out how I was to earn my place in the organisation. There were three kinds of people Sal hated more than any other; he despised the competition when it tried to outdo him on his own turf, he loathed one of his own betraying his trust but above all, he hated cops who smelled out his turf and wanted to shake the nest. Sure, most were on the payroll, but some were just hard cops; wouldn't take a dime, totally committed to their ideas of justice. It just so happened that there was one such detective who was getting too close for comfort at the time of my arrival. I was given the 'privilege' of carrying out the only punishment for being one of the three types of the abhorred...
Red watched as the Lieutenant walked into his office and sat down in front of him, lighting a fat cigar. He hated these meetings; not only was the man loathsome to be in the presence of, but whenever he came, it usually meant bad news would follow. "Mind if I smoke?" asked the rounded figure belatedly. His voice was so grinding that the last thing it needed was to choke on noxious fumes.
"Just tell me what it is you came here for, Eckhardt." Pushed Red to Eckhardt's dislike.
"That's Lieutenant to you, Hood." He croaked.
"Hey," asserted Red, angrily standing, "I pay you which makes me your superior. I can call you whatever the hell I want. For now, just tell me what you came here for." Eckhardt just blew smoke in Red's face which prompted him to sit.
"You may pay me, but I got enough dirt on you to have you put away and this entire place shut down. You only give me a slice to shut me up. From my point of view, I have the better deal here." Corrected Eckhardt. He changed the subject; "How long has it been since I've had to come down here? Two...Three years?" Red nodded. "Last I saw, you guys had this kid running around with you all. He still here?"
"Yes." Answered Red. Eckhardt grunted.
"It would be unfortunate to see a kid that young put in with all those sex-starved criminals over in Blackgate." The smoke was thick in the air. Red knew the difference between a bark and a bite. This was no bark.
"Jack's no kid anymore. He can look after himself." Asserted Red.
"Sure he can." Eckhardt rolled his eyes. "He's gotta be, what...fourteen? Yeah, I mean, I see lots of teenagers living the high life in prison." He flicked the ashes off the end of his cigar into a small waste bin by the desk. "Your operation is in jeopardy. There's a collar not sticking with your leash and he's closing in on your operations. Detective Blake Moran."
"How long has this been going on?" asked Red.
"His investigation has been ongoing for about three months." Informed Eckhardt. "Me and this Lieutenant...er...Gordon are part of the team aiming to take you down."
"Will Gordon be trouble?"
"Gordon's an 'honest' cop, dying breed, but if he scents a threat against the investigation, he won't pursue it."
"Wife?"
"And daughter. He'll be no problem, but Blake won't back away. Get rid of him and you deter Gordon off the case." Eckhardt suggested. "I can make the evidence disappear...for an extra cut." Red pursed his lips and sighed in deep frustration.
"Fine." He scythed through gritted teeth. "A little more notice would be handy next time."
"I had to be sure he was closing in." Eckhardt threw his cigar in the trash and stood up. "He thinks I'm a crooked cop. I best let you handle the dirty work. Say hi to the kid for me." Eckhardt reached for the door, but was stopped by Red's words.
"Eckhardt," began Red, "you better not tease Jack. That boy might be your boss someday." The Lieutenant glanced back for a mere moment before letting himself out. Red laid back into his chair. 'When did the hierarchy become so warped?' he wondered. There wasn't much he could do without his informant, despite how much he hated the thought of taking advice from the man. Still, there was nothing he could accomplish now but get rid of the threat at hand. It was just after midnight when he entered the bar. By then it was almost completely empty except for a few patrons, Trent, Barlow and Hunt at a table playing cards and Jack sweeping the floor. He nodded at Webber who began ushering the stragglers out the door.
"What's up, Red?" queried Hunt as soon as the door was locked shut.
"We got a cop in way over his head." Answered Red.
"Docks?"
"A one-way trip. Hunt, Trent; you're with me. We'll swing by, pick him up, dump him and be back in no more than two hours. You two will get a bigger cut on the next hit. Go get your stuff." Red ordered. Jack knew what they were talking about. Tonight, someone was going to die. He had only been told a few details about what they did to people and was intent on knowing more.
"Red," he called, "I want to go too." Everything suddenly went quiet. Red had turned to Jack, speechless. Everyone else was staring at the two, waiting for a reaction. Hunt and Trent were on the staircase, transfixed. Hunt more so.
"Jack...you're only fourteen." Reasoned Red, but Jack would have none of it.
"You said that I should be treated like any other member of the gang." He asserted. "I want to see everything you do, no matter how...horrible."
"But-"
"C'mon, boss. Let Jack tag along." Inserted Hunt to the surprise of everyone else, especially Jack. "The boy is obviously mature enough to understand. He knows what he's about to witness. It's not like he's walking into it blind. Perhaps it'll be good to show Jack how dirty we all get our hands." Hunt didn't really want Jack to go along, but perhaps he could scare him away. No one was ever the same when they came back from their first hit, Jack would be no exception. There was another equally long silence as Red considered his course of action. Jack waited in anticipation and was not disappointed with the answer.
"Fine. You're with us."
Sal told me exactly what to do. Told me to meet a man named Conrad in a maroon car on Lexington Street. Took me step-by-step through what we were gonna do until it was burnt into my skull. He was trying to make me think of it as a grocery list; it wasn't about what I was doing, but that I did it right. Didn't matter, I couldn't get it off my mind but I didn't want to piss off the boss. So I went out that Thursday, met Conrad on Lexington and we both went up to the cop's apartment and forced him down into the car. Quite simple really; only a dime store hooker to miss him. Cochran paid her off easily enough. When you're on the job, you try to distract yourself with the little things like; 'Gee, this bozo cop doesn't even lock the door' or 'Ten bucks wouldn't even get me to turn a blind eye' and you just fixate on that. That's what I did all the way down to the dockyards. Conrad and I pulled up outside the warehouse we found you by. He just walked inside; key in one hand, pig in the other by the scruff of the neck. I watched as Conrad tied the guy up to a chair and beat the crap out of him with his fists then a rusted old chain. I never thought the human body could bruise so much. The little thoughts. By the time my partner was done, there wasn't much of the detective left; most of his face was hanging off his skull. That's when Conrad handed me a six shooter. I was still only really a kid, barely seventeen. I'd used a gun before but only on cans and the occasional wall. Shooting a man, that's something wholly different. I took the gun, damn my hands were shaking, and squared myself before the husk. Down the sights, into the eyes, pull the trigger. Some people say pulling the trigger is the hardest...but I say it's the eyes. That's when you realise that what you're about to steal from the world is alive. I don't know how long it took me to reach that final stage...
Crash! Trent and Hunt knocked the warehouse door open as they dragged Detective Blake Moran inside, Red and Jack in tow. They slammed him down on the simple wooden chair; Hunt gave him a small beating to keep him from struggling as Trent tied him up. They both stood back and let Red walk a little closer. "Is that-Is that all?" taunted Blake, a slur in his speech. He eyed Red with a menacing glare. They both paused for a moment, eyeing each other off before Blake spat in Red's face. "Whatever offer...you give..." he shook his head. "I won't take it."
"I wasn't going to make you an offer." Red placed the barrel of his revolver against Blake's temple. A small whimper issued from his lips as he felt the cold against his searing head. "More like an ultimatum. Who knows what you've got on us?"
"You're j-just gonna kill me...anyway." surmised the detective.
"That's true," admitted Red, "but would you rather I kill those who know or the entire force and anyone else you care about? We have the power to do that, Blake. We always have." Red's eyes were so convincing, and so they should have been. Every word he was saying was true. "So, the names."
"Me! Me! Okay, only me." Shouted Blake.
"What about Gordon and Eckhardt?" interrogated Hunt. "They're on your team, they should know."
"I kept them out of the loop. I wanted this to be my big arrest." Blake began to cry at his pig-headedness and plain bad luck. "I was gonna tell Commissioner Loeb in a couple of days...when I was absolutely sure..." He sobbed a little into his own shoulder. Red leaned in closer to Blake.
"Where do you keep everything you have on us?" he whispered.
"M-My office..." choked Blake, "a-and my apartment. Third floorboard...by the nightstand. Please, you don't have to kill me." He pleaded.
"I do."
"Oh God, please."
"It's too late-"
"God?" spat Hunt. He huffed insultingly. "God doesn't care about you." Red glared at him; why did he have to do this now? "If he did, then none of this would've happen."
"Hunt." Warned Red.
"Man, don't-" Trent attempted to force Hunt off the subject, but he continued regardless.
"Do you know who it was that sold you out to the hounds, little pig?" Hunt was enjoying this too much. "Eckhardt. One of your own. Where was God to warn you about trusting the wrong man?"
"That's enough!" Red rounded on Hunt who backed away a little. "This man's been tortured enough without you twisting the knife in the wound." None of them realised that Blake Moran was no longer crying. In fact, he was quite calm and collected for a man in his situation. Behind the back of the chair, his hands were busy at work, cutting away at the duct tape with a penknife he had smuggled in his sleeve since his brawl back at the apartment. He felt the snap as his bonds were broken. "We do this quick and without any more pain." Continued Red. "Understand?"
"Look ou-" shouted Trent until Blake silenced him with a blow to the throat. He kicked the thug away and went for the other two. Red was knocked aside by Hunt as he tried to attack the officer. Hunt tried to block Blake's thrust with the knife, but it stabbed him through the right hand, cleaving the middle and out the other side. As Hunt screamed in pain, he pulled himself away and huddled against a support post. Red held up his gun but it was kicked away. Blake knelt down on Red's arms, pinning him to the floor and held the blade up for the killing blow. Bang! The blast rang out so suddenly, not even Blake realised he had been shot. Bang! Bang! Detective Moran was thrown off Red by the force of the final two shots. Despite the hurried shuffling to secure Blake in case he survived, sound was no longer registering with any of them. Hunt stayed against his support, cradling his wounded hand, staring at the revolver. There was no pulse; Blake was dead. Trent and Red, breathless, turned their attention to the shooter; Jack. He stood there; one arm extended with weapon in hand, barrel still smoking from the shot. The light in his eyes was something altogether new.
That feeling when you first kill a man, when you become aware that it is impossible to undo the unthinkable. Your whole world comes tumbling down around you. There are so many voices inside you that just scream at you, begging for you to feel something. When you realise that you haven't even reacted to what you have done, that's when the panic sets in...then the anger...then the sorrow and regret. How could you have done this? Why did you do this? You can try to explain it away, but it won't make any difference. In the end, it was your decision and no one else's. It becomes the defining moment in your life. I know that I can remember every detail. The one thing I remember most is his name; Malcolm Hall. That name haunt me until my dying day and beyond. It all does; the pain, the regret, the name...I suppose this is how it is. This is how everyone feels after their first time.
"No..."
Thanks for reading Chapter Two! I hope you enjoyed it and saw all the references I'm piling in. If you enjoyed this, please Review or PM me.
The characters are really coming together for me; I'm finding myself thinking as several people at once trying to write some of these scenes. The focus is shifting from Red to Jack and back again, as you may have noticed. It's mainly because Jack is at that age where he's between asking questions and making decisions.
Thanking my avid readers, reviewers and followers once more!
The new heights and lows I can make these characters reach now is extraordinary! It just makes me laugh with glee to know what is ahead! Until next time, have fun reading other stories (such as Keywee's Joker origin story)!
