Chapter Two
Ace of Wilds
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"So, handsome, are we still on for tomorrow?" Rachel Dawes asked, voice gently chiding. She straightened the lapel of her black suit, smiling warmly at the District Attorney seated behind his nice, hardwood desk. Harvey Dent smiled back, leaning back in his office chair. But the DA couldn't help noticing that even as she smiled, Rachel's eyes kept darting towards the quartz crystal clock sitting on Harvey's desk, her slender, dark eyebrows sinking together between her eyes. She kept tucking her non-existent loose hair behind her right ear, her nervous gesture. She started to lick her lips, another nervous habit, but stopped when she tasted lipstick.
Something, Harvey thought, was on the Assistant DA's mind.
"Rachel?"
"What?" She asked, startled, blinking her beautiful blue eyes. Something in Harvey's chest melted, warmed by the return of her now hesitant smile. She reached up to tuck another imaginary strand of hair back, but stopped herself before her fingers made it past her chin. Instead, she fiddled with the other jacket lapel, chewing her lip for a minute before snatching herself back to the present. "Did I wander off?" She added. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head, smiling, his face tender.
"We're still good for tomorrow night. I checked with the theatre this morning. But what's got you so preoccupied, Miss Dawes?" He teased, poking her gently in the ribs. She took a solid whack at his arm. Her hand stung where her palm met hard muscle. Grinning, she replied, "I'm waiting for a call."
"From who?"
"A friend," she replied casually, again brushing back at her hair.
Suddenly, she wanted to change the subject. If Harvey found out she had connections, even friends, in the Queen of Swords, he'd throw a fit, and right now her left temple was pounding, echoing like a percussion concert through her skull. She didn't have the time, the patience, or the willingness to deal with Harvey complaining about the people she associated with. Harvey Dent's prejudice against the young women who worked in clubs and hotels like the Queen of Swords was one of the few things she did not like about the man. It wasn't as if they were anything scandalous. Show girls, who actually wore more clothes than most women claiming that professional title, the girls at the Queen of Swords had helped Rachel out a lot in her job. Not that anyone besides Harvey knew that, but still...
"Bruce Wayne?" He asked softly. She could practically taste the edge of challenge in his voice. The pounding in her temple began spreading behind her forehead, tiny trailing tendrils of pain reaching to span her entire brain. She didn't feel like dealing with a headache now, darn it. The pain always dulled her reactions, her senses.
"No, not Bruce," she replied, trying not to snap. She flipped open the flap of her purse, rummaging through the taser, papers, business cards, candy, breath mints, designer sunglasses (a gift from Bruce), and everything else the women of Gotham City would be considered smart to carry in their purses, and finally found her miniature bottle of Tylenol. Popping the red plastic off the top, she shook out two little white pills and knocked them back, dry swallowing the medicine. Replacing first the lid to the bottle and then the bottle to her purse, she finally gave Harvey her full attention.
She hadn't seen the look of irritation flash across his face when she'd said Bruce's name. He didn't like to say things like this to Rachel, didn't want to upset her or hurt her feelings, but he despised the way she said her "old friend's" name. There was such rich affection in her voice. She never said his name with that same unconditional, gentle tenderness. His name always passed her lips in irritated concern, exasperated affection, or annoyance.
"Who, then?" He demanded.
She opened her mouth to reply, and her phone beeped from the deep pocket of her black slacks. Reaching in, she grabbed the electronic device and flipped it open. The screen read NEW TEXT MESSAGE.Accessing said text message, she checked the sender: Ms. Papillon. The message itself only said, "Free 4:30." Rachel glanced at the clock on Harvey's desk, missing the way a muscle in his jaw twitched. The time was 4:05. She bit back a sigh, forced herself not to give into the urge to mess with her hair some more. She didn't want to leave Harvey right now, like this, in the middle of this argument, small thought it might be. But she knew the schedule of Butterfly- oh, excuse, Ms. Papillon- and the other girls at the Queen of Swords, and she knew it would be hard to get another free moment with them.
"Harvey, I've gotta go, I'm sorry."
"Who is it?" He snapped as she backed up towards the door. She didn't want to turn her back on him, didn't want to do anything that might hurt him even more, but she needed to go, now. The Queen of Swords was half an hour's drive from the District Attorney's office. She'd be lucky to make it anything close to on time.
"Yeah, well... fine. Go ahead, it's okay." This time, he was the one that touched her hair, smoothing his work-roughened hand over the dark silken strands. "Give Sadie my regards."
Blinking, Rachel wondered at this new display of peacemaking. Was Harvey trying to offer her an olive branch? She knew he didn't like Sadie Damundo, probably because she and her two sisters were under suspicion of having Mob connections. But Sadie was her particular friend, and Rachel knew exactly what the truth behind those Mob connections truly was.
"I... I will," she murmured, trying to mask her surprise. Darting forward, she planted a lingering kiss on Harvey's harsh, but still soft mouth. "Thank you, Harvey."
She left, before Harvey changed his mind and started hassling her again.
Sliding behind the wheel of her non-descript, beat up car, the one she used specifically to travel to the Queen of Swords and the other show clubs so it wouldn't get stolen, she turned the key in the ignition, listening to the engine rev. She let the chrome purring wash over her, soothing away the tension that had been building since she'd received Butterfly's text message. She hated the fact that her boyfriend despised her two closest female friends. But, she thought, brushing back her hair behind her ears, it wasn't anything she could help now. She needed to get to the club and see Butterfly and the others.
Wrapping her hands around the steering wheel and knowing she was going to despise the traffic, Rachel pulled out of her parking space. It wasn't until she hit her first red light that she saw the Joker playing card laid out on her dashboard.
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Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:
Chapter 3: Blood, so real she could almost taste its copper sweetness, flooded her mind. She could hear the melodic, rushing, gushing tide of that blood calling to her. Only the blazing heat of the Joker's hand, now sliding up and down her thigh, kept her anchored, kept her from floating away on that arterial tide.
Chapter 4: She'd never felt her heart trip in her chest, never experienced that acrid taste of terror in the back of her mouth, so violently before. And all because of Paperdowski and his idiotic bank manager, and the man in makeup who'd decided to wreck everyone's plans.
Chapter 5: "Are you a monster?" He whispered, and reached out one gloved hand to cup her face. What would she do? Would she flinch? Blink? Lunge for the knife? Her skin was icy, even through his glove. Her eyes were glacial emeralds, but they didn't freeze, they burned. He could feel them searing away his flesh, turning his blood to molten lead, his entrails to ashes.
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okay, what do you guys think? Do you like the fic so far? I'm trying to weave six different characters' lives together, how am I doing?
Butterfly (the word papillon is French for butterfly) is not a main character, she's the person that draws the "Four Queens" together.