Jack of All Trades and a Knight
Revolutionary or Terrorist?
I woke up when my door opened, jerking upwards to a standing position, trying to ignore the lack of gravity. It was the freak. He just fucking waltzed in here.
I glared at him, standing up straighter and choking some. I would've thrown up, except there was just nothing left in my stomach. I winced, sore from the freak's punches, not to mention I most likely haven't slept for very long. The knife wound on my stomach, thankfully, hadn't been too deep and didn't reopen.
"Time to roll Princess," Joker sang, walking towards me with elaborate steps. I sneered, and straightened my jacket, moving around him out the door.
"I'm not a Princess." I snapped, waiting for the freak in the hall. He was really starting to piss me off. More than he had a few hours ago.
"Yeah, yeah. Anyways princess we've got some mob bosses to go and steal from. Doesn't that just sound fu-n?" He continued, undeterred, walking out into the hallway with me and slinging his arm around my shoulder. He shook me a few times, and I frowned.
"You're suicidal, aren't you?" I asked rhetorically, my lips pinched into a frown as my accented words echoed slightly in the silent warehouse. Monsieur Pietre giggled, his voice twisting around in the air unpleasantly.
I looked away from him, the expression on the clown's face starting to turn my stomach. There was something definitely wrong with him, besides the scar's and makeup. I jerked out from under his arm and walked independently glaring at the hallway in front of me. There were no window's and I couldn't tell what time it was. My stomach started to ache, before shooting pain raced through my abdomen, reminding me that I seriously needed some fucking food.
I waved it off easily. Judge me if you want, but walking beside an insane clown with freaky scar's kind of ruins your appetite. I didn't need to be getting fat anyway.
"What mob bosses are we going after, Jo-ker?" I asked, stumbling over the word 'Joker' so it came out like Joe Ker. My brow drew together in displeasure. Stupid language. It was one of the hardest fucking languages to learn; I knew I should've run to Mexico. Tequila and easy speaking; damn that sounded close to paradise right now.
I didn't even glance over at the clown as he hummed and twitched while we were walking. What a maniac. I'd defiantly rather deal with drug cartel's and gangs than this freak.
My eyes hardened as I noticed I'd been using that word more often when referring to him. It was probably because Joker was a freak.
"Hmmm. I like that. I do. Joe Ker. Hee, heee."
"Whatever you say, Monsieur Pietre." I muttered dismissively, disregarding him completely. This was getting beyond tiresome.
"Why do you even need me to go with you?" I asked petulantly, louder and ruder, my accent finally dying down some. He glanced at me, slowing down some and sticking his hands in his pockets. I took note of this, and watched him closely. God knows what the maniac had in his jacket pockets.
But in all honesty, if I cut my rudeness and bullshit, I was actually curious to know. I was a strategist, not some common thug. I wasn't paid enough to keep my mouth shut. In fact, I haven't been paid at all…
"I see it in you, you're a planner. You peg everything down, sort everything out." He began, and I snorted. That was pretty obvious. I'm pretty sure a blind and deaf man could've told me such things. I tended to wear my heart on my sleeve. Or my anger. Joker's dark eyes turned to me, his face straight and still. Both were overcome with an intensity I've only seen in…fanatics. I think anarchists are worst than fanatics. They're not predictable (obviously). They don't have anything to use against them. They're unseen, alien obstacles in my path.
"Oh really, Monsieur. Next you'll tell me my whole life story." I bit back, my accent again thickening. Finally, I could see the door leading outside from between the faded yellow ceiling lights.
He smiled but the intense air around us prevailed; stagnant and dense. "I liked your hair better longer."
I stopped, my muscles involuntarily tensing as anger flared up along with other meaningless emotions. I started walking again my walk just as smooth and collected as I was a moment before. The clown looked at me from the corner of his eye again and snickered. My eyes hardened, shutting the world out. Of course, he'd seen the news. For a moment, I wondered if the scar's on my stomach shone too, from what they did to me in that God forsaken prison. I brushed the thought aside. After all, the blood probably covered them up.
"You'd look better without make-up." I shot back, my voice vicious and cutting. His dark eyes flashed, and I stepped back half a step as his fist flashed towards me. He missed, and I grinned triumphantly before walking forward out the door. It was daylight, the sky around me cold, stormy and unfeeling; the gloating bitch it always was. Even when I was half-way around the world.
My eyes flickered down to where my shirt was torn and haphazardly tied across my stomach. I'd have to get that fixed.
I sighed; the warm exhale fogging lazily in the air before dissipating. I heard the door close, and I waited patiently. My face was calm, but beneath the clever mask my mind was running over every possibility; looking for a loop hole, any means to dump this clown and run. Proud as I was, I was still a strategist. I played the cards I was dealt to my advantage, no matter their numbers or their faces.
"Time to go, heeeheheheee. Time. To. Go-ah." Joker muttered, walking from beside me to the white van in front of us. Someone had already either replaced the window or the van.
I followed carefully, tugging my red jacket closer against the cold. I needed to get away from this freak. I climbed into the passenger seat of the van, put on my seat belt and crossed my arms. I could hear the clown muttering about something before erupting into insane shrieks that I assumed was laughter.
In all honesty, I wasn't paying attention. My fingers gently patted my red jacket over where I kept my gun. Like I was going to run around with a freak without a gun.
I was thinking hard about my next course of action. Maybe if I knocked Giggles out and ran? No. No, that'd be very stupid; he'd just go after Marie and Gary. Can't screw over the people who've given me a place to stay…
My light brown eyes hardened. There was that 'Batman' character. Hmph. This city was filled to the brim with freaks. Supposedly he was the hero. But I wasn't going to stake my life on that claim. After all, I hadn't seen him, or heard of him; and the idea of a vigilante running around in the name of justice was just a little too good to be true.
I sat still, my body numbing as I thought deeper.
Why did we need to go see the mob bosses anyway? Was I supposed to just be muscle? Something slapped me, and my gun appeared in my hand with a flash of dark grey pointed at the Joker.
"What iz zit?" I asked coldly, my eyes narrowed and my lips pulled into a displeased frown. He glanced at me, letting go of the steering wheel to shrug and smile innocently. The car swerved, but my arm stayed very still, the gun loaded and pointed at Monsieur Pietre's head. Through the rush of my anger and pride, I noticed his black and white face reflected in the dark metal.
"You weren't paying attention, doll. You should watch out. Could, uh, get you killed." He started, and my eyes narrowed into a fierce glare.
"Or you. Hit me again, and I don't care 'oo you blow up; I'll shoot you." I shot, my voice chilling, a French accent lilting the words eerily.
"Do it." Joker said back, his voice a low drawl while his dark eyes glinted dangerously. My eyes darkened in return, my arm tightening. I said nothing; giving away nothing.
"Do it. Come on, come on. Shoot me." Joker continued, and I was tempted. I could shoot him, it would take care of a lot of my problems. It's not like I haven't killed people before…
But that was during a war.
My brow's drew together, and my finger tightened over the trigger. It would be really easy. I'd probably save a lot of people.
Cosette's face flashed in my head. It was years ago, when she wasn't caked in make-up and dolled up to look like the pretty puppet that she is now. I was seventeen, and my army was growing. I was in an abandoned warehouse, and there was a captain I'd captured tied to a chair, crying. I held the same gun, loaded and pointed at him. I was going to shoot him. Killing him would solve my problems. Cosette egged me on, telling me that I had to kill him. Loup said nothing, just watched from beside Cosette.
I wanted to listen to them; I wanted to listen to myself. After all, the man was evil. He would've killed me if he had the chance. The place I lived in was a kill or be killed situation; right? That's how it always was. I'd run on the street, and if and Noir Vestes saw, I had to shoot them before they shot me.
But something about shooting a man who was tied down and couldn't fight back didn't seem right. It felt the opposite of right, in fact. I lowered my gun, unloading it, before I smashed him across the face to knock him out.
Killing someone like that wasn't honorable. It was murder.
I was not a murderer. I was not some dog on the street who killed because someone kicked it one too many times.
The memory faded, and I lowered the gun. I'd kill this clown some other time, when he had a gun to fight back with.
"Heeehehee, I knew you couldn't do it. Just couldn't kill me." He giggled, and the car swerved violently.
I put the gun back under my red jacket, and crossed my arms.
"No, Monsieur. I can kill you; I'm just not a murderer." I muttered, turning to look out the window to my side. I watched the dull yellow street lights pass us, piercing the gray light of the cold day, and I stayed still as the car swerved violently, and Joker cackled in response. Finally we screeched to a stop in front of a building. There were no window's and it looked empty and desolate. Joker got out of the car, and so did I, following inside a step behind him.
My eyes were bright and alert as we stepped inside, and there was an Asian man speaking. Joker went to saunter in there, but I tugged on his coat tail.
He turned, his eyes dangerous and posing a question and I stared back, undeterred.
I put a finger to my lips, telling him to stay quiet and wait. He stayed still, and his dark eyes slid forward to the door where the voice was coming from. There was static laced in with the man's voice, and grumblings.
Apparently the Joker had better hearing than I, and grinned unpleasantly.
Hmph. I wonder what they're scared of; to be having a meeting in broad daylight.
"Who would be stupid enough to steal from us?" An accented voice asked. He had a horribly ineloquent Russian accent that made me a little offended.
"Two-bit whack-job. Wears a purple suit and make-up. He's not the problem, he's a nobody." Another man said. I could practically see the dismissal and arrogance in his voice. He wasn't at all like the Russian voice. He wasn't the voice that sounded scared…no that was the Asian man. "The problem is, our money's being tracked by the cops." The voice continued, his voice changing from dismissal to annoyance.
"Thanks to Mr. Maroni's well played sources, we've found that their police have infiltrated our banks using marked bills and are planning to seize your funds today. And since the enthusiastic new D.A has put all my competitor's out of business; I'm your only option." The Asian man said to the room, the slight fear ebbing away into confidence.
"So what are you proposing?" A much deeper voice asked. My lip pulled back in distaste. This voice spoke like a fat, rich pimp and sounded as if he had a chip on his shoulder. That annoyed me more than the illiterate Russian.
"That we bring all money to one safe location. Not a bank." The Asian answered.
"Where then?" The pimp one practically spat.
"No one can know but me. If the police were to gain leverage over one of you, everyone's money would be at stake." The Asian replied, his voice silky and suave.
"What would stop them from getting to you?" The Russian asked. My eyebrow raised. It was an intelligent question. Unlike the pimp who was just being untrustworthy, the Russian had a point.
"I am in Hong Kong. Far from Dent's jurisdiction. And China would not sell out one of it's own."
"How soon can we move the money?" The arrogant and cold one all but growled. Obviously, none of the criminals were happy with their circumstances.
"I already have." The Chinese man answered. "For obvious reasons, I couldn't wait for your permission. Rest assured, your money is safe." He once again replied. I held back a snort. What an over confidant bastard.
"OOoo, a squealer if I ever heard one…" He murmured before dragging me with him into the shitty room. I didn't even hold back my sneer as the Joker laughed haltingly.
I yanked my arm back with a snarl and stepped back into the shadows of the warehouse. Why were a bunch of high class, rich criminals hiding out in a shitty apartment cafeteria thing? The place looked like it had metal detectors in the back, along with a buffet thing with empty metal tray's set up on them. Nice..
My eyes twinkled and I smirked even as the Joker walked up to them, the light making his face eerie. I pulled my red collar over my face to hide it. My stomach clenched. Ugh, I still needed fucking food… Not to mention the place we were in reminded me of a cafeteria. Talk about lame and unclassy.
"Ha, ha, ho hee, ho haaa. And I thought my jokes were bad." He said, his voice uncharacteristically flat as he turned to survey all the mobsters. As expected, there was a Russian, an Italian, an African American and the Chinese man was on the television.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't have my boy here pull your head off," The pimp looking mobster said, and another dark-skinned man next to him got up threateningly. I almost winced. This was not going to end well.
"How about a magic trick?" Monsieur Pietre asked, stepping closer to the table and further into the light. The pimp's eye twitched in disgust and annoyance as the Joker whipped out a pencil and stood it up haphazardly onto the table. My brown eyes narrowed as I prepared myself for any number of scenarios. "I'm gonna make this pencil disappear." He finished, and because I was so focused on the Joker, I hadn't noticed the pimp's henchman moving forward towards the psycho.
Almost too fast for my eyes to follow, the Joker's purple gloved hand shot out and firmly grabbed the man by the back of the neck, slamming him towards the table so that the pencil stabbed him in the head, and he died. By the time the man fell back, the Joker had extravagantly seated himself onto the cheap metal chair.
"Taa-Daa!" Joker said, his voice a flat growl against the silence. "It's gooooone." I didn't miss the fear that crept into everyone's faces at the mere sound of his voice. From my angle, I couldn't make out his facial expression, but from the other's, I'm glad I couldn't.
Despite all my self control and acting skills, my eyes widened in shock and awe. Not that I was at all impressed by him, don't get me wrong.
I was a proud woman. I would kill, if necessary. I would steal. Because although I am proud, I am above all else a survivor. My life has been war. I was born a soldier. Our front was the paved streets of France. I could feel another war brewing on these streets.
When I took in the fear on these proud gangster's faces, I knew I'd picked the wrong side.
"Oh, and by the way, the suit wasn't cheap. You should know, you bought it." He continued, almost conversationally, and all too calmly for my tastes. The dark skinned pimp shot up and raised his fist while the Joker just raised his brow amused.
"Enough. I want to hear proposition." The Russian man interrupted, and the man grudgingly sat, glaring at both the Russian and Joker in the shitty fluorescent light. Joker pointed at the Russian before looking back at the pimp.
"Let's wind the clocks back a year. These cops and lawyers wouldn't dare cross any of you." Joker started, gesturing with his gloved hand. I didn't buy into that. He was trying to distract them with his hands to get them to identify with them. They weren't going to sympathize with a make-up wearing freak, so he was trying to get them to look at his hands and listen to his words so they would forget he was a psychopathic freak.
The Russian, Asian, and Italian bought into it. The pimp didn't. He glared hatefully at the Joker's face, his dark eyes burning with a sneer.
"I mean…what happened. Ya…You get your balls drop off? Hmm? Hmm?" Joker said, his shoulders hunching forward. His voice gave away nothing, which made me frown. "You see, a guy like me-" He went on, his voice starting to sound almost normal. Well, normal for him until the pimp cut in.
"A freak." The pimp said, his voice a deep whip across the silence. I leaned back, observing. The pimp was underestimating Joker. He was a loose cannon, actually, he was a loose cannon in a war with only sticks and stones. There were snickers from his ami's, and I wondered how many of them would last.
I called the man a freak because I had the balls too, and I had nothing to lose. If he wanted to kill me, fine. I'd cut off my leg to spite my knee.
"You see a guy like me…" He began before he smacked his lips unpleasantly. "You see, I know why you have these little, aherm, 'group therapy secessions' in broad daylight. I know why, you're afraid to go out at night. The Batman." His voice dropped off into a dark, sinister void. "The Batman has shown Gotham your true colors un-for-tun-ate-ly…Hmph. Dent, he's just the beginning." He said, leaning forward onto the table and taking a deep breath. "And, uh, as for the, uh, television's so called plan, Batman has no jurisdiction."
"He'll find him and make him squeal." Joker went on, his voice gaining an intensity that rocked and chilled the very air in the room. "I know the squealers when I seem them. And…"
The Asian cut off of the television, his eyes showing fear before the T.V went black.
"What you propose." The Russian asked again. Joker brushed his greasy, stringy green hair back and shrugged his suit back onto his shoulders.
"It's simple, we, uh, kill the Batman."
Everyone laughed while I stared. The petite garcon told me that the Batman was the only one keeping this city from turning into another shit hole. I was definitely going to have to switch sides. As my resolve grew stronger, I remembered Marie and Gary. I couldn't let them die. My jaw clenched while everyone laughed, my mind ran over the possibilities.
"If it's so simple, why haven't you done it already?" The gray haired Italian man asked petulantly, narrowing his eyes. Joker leaned forward again and it seemed as if the room grew darker between the men.
"If you're good at something, never do it for free." He replied.
"How much you want?" The Russian asked, accepting the deal easily and leaning back.
"Uhhhhhh, half." Joker answered lowering his voice, and again people snickered and muttered things. Stupid, stupid mobsters didn't know they were dealing with a lawless monster.
"Freak."
Joker's shoulders hunched, and the air around him thickened and darkened. "I'm not, I'm not a frea-k." He growled.
I had to hold back a frown. These morons were playing with fire, and obviously didn't know it. That soon faded as I imagined the possibilities of what might happen. The pimp started to rub his fingers together angrily, gritting his teeth.
"If we don't deal with this now, soon, little Gambol here," Joker started, pointing at the pimp who was still glaring viciously at the freak. "Won't be able to get a nickel for his Grandma." He finished, dark humor creeping into his voice when the man slapped his hands down on the table. My eyes flashed and I was behind the Joker in a flash; my gun raised as the dark skinned man who hovered, crouched, his henchmen freezing with him. They hadn't even drawn their weapons. Mine was already loaded and aimed point blank for Gambol's head.
"Now, now kind Monsieur's. Why don't 'ou just sit 'back down, eh?" I asked darkly, my eyes fierce in the light. My arm never wavered, and I stared the angry pimp down. Everyone started, and Joker jumped up behind me, opening his suit jacket as the others went for their guns.
"Ah-ta-ta-tattaaa. Let's not blow this out of proportion." He chided, and everyone immediately backed away quickly. My gun followed Gambol, my aim never slipping from his head. Whatever the clown had in his jacket scared the shit out of all these mobsters', so I'm guessing a bomb.
My face didn't change from it's stony expression and my arm never twitched, the weapon still firmly aimed at Gambol's head, but I inwardly snorted.
"You think you can steal from us and just walk away?" Gambol asked, his dark eyes flickering to my gun.
"Yeah." The Joker deadpanned.
"I'm putting the word out. 500 grand for this clown dead. A million for him alive so I can teach him some manners first." Gambol growled menacingly, his pimp suit impeccable even though the man had began to sweat.
"So, uh, listen. Why don't I just give you my card, and give me a call when you start wanting to take things a lit-tle more seriously. Here's. My. Card." Joker said, completely and calmly ignoring Gambol to fumble in his pockets. He pulled out something and tossed a joker card onto the metal table before us. Everyone's eyes but Gambol's flickered to it. He tugged on my red jacket to pull me out of the room, kicking the door open behind us.
I didn't turn around, and kept my gun on Gambol. If any of them, he was a little too stuck up, and I'd have to worry about him more than the others.
We entered the darkness by the door, and Joker smiled sinisterly before tugging me through the door and out onto the street. I pocketed my gun quickly, and unloaded it before we got back into the van.
"That was funnnnn." He said to me, starting the car. My eyes narrowed as I glared at him with my light brown eyes.
"I beg to 'diff-ur." I snapped.