"He's in here, boss," said Chuckie Sol as Jack opened the door to a filthy warehouse.
"Thanks, Chuckie," muttered Jack, stamping out his cigarette. "Keep watch with Buzz, will ya? I want a word alone with Mr. Stamper."
He entered the room and shut the door to see a man tied up and lying in a heap on the floor. He was battered and bruised and appeared to be sleeping.
Jack kicked him hard in the chest. "Wake up, Mr. Stamper," he hissed.
The man moaned and opened his eyes, which widened in terror as he saw Jack standing in front of him.
"N…no, look, I swear, I dunno anything about him!" the man cried, terrified. "I worked for him once, twice, a long time ago, and I ain't seen him since!"
"Relax, Tim, I ain't even asked you any questions yet," said Jack, smiling. "Wanna smoke?" he asked, holding out a cigarette to him.
"Uh…uh…sure, thanks," stammered Tim, confused by this apparent generosity. Jack put the cigarette to Tim's lips and lit it for him, and took it away after he'd had a few puffs.
"Feel a bit better, huh?" Jack asked, kindly.
"Yeah…sorta," agreed Tim.
"Good. Cause I want you to be feeling in tip top shape before I break you," said Jack, still smiling. "Unless you wanna tell me where Joe Chill is now, of course, and then I'll just shoot you in the head nice and quick."
Tim began whimpering. "Please, I swear, I don't know…"
"My sources say you do," interrupted Jack, leaning forward dangerously. "And I always trust my sources."
He hauled Tim to his feet, taking his tied wrists and throwing them over a hook attached to the warehouse ceiling. He began to crank this up, chatting to Tim the whole time.
"You wanna know why I became a criminal, Tim?" he asked, casually, not waiting for a response. "Because the only way to get things done in this world is through illegal means. And if you're trying to find a bad guy, sometimes you gotta become a bad guy too. Sometimes you gotta find sources close to this bad guy, associate with people who might know 'im, make connections with 'em, and the only way to do that is to be just as dishonest and disreputable as they are. You gotta think like a bad guy to catch a bad guy – you gotta know all his games and secrets and tricks, and the only way to know 'em is to practice 'em. It's all a matter of business, really. Just like your torture's gonna be. I don't take any pleasure in this kind of thing, believe me. But I just gotta find Joe Chill. And if the law won't help you, sometimes you just gotta take matters into your own hands."
Jack picked up a crowbar and tapped it into the palm of his hands. Tim was hanging eye-level with him, and Jack smiled at him. "I'm sure you understand. Nothing personal."
He swung the crowbar so it collided hard with Tim's face with a satisfying crack. Tim howled in pain as blood began pouring from his nose. "Now tell me, dammit!" roared Jack, suddenly furious. "Where is Joe Chill?!"
"I don't know!" screamed Tim. "I swear I don't know! The…the rumor is he's back in Gotham, but I don't know where!"
"Oh, I think you do," hissed Jack. "He's contacted you, hasn't he? How?" he demanded, swinging the bar again so it collided with Tim's kneecaps.
"He…he called me, but…it was from a payphone!" shrieked Tim. "He didn't tell me where he was hiding! He only told me he was back, and that he'd be contacting me again soon with a meeting place!"
"And did he?" demanded Jack, hitting Tim in the ribs now. Tim broke down sobbing again. "Did he?!" repeated Jack, smashing the bar against his body repeatedly. For what seemed like ages, the torture continued with Jack's violent beatings, and Tim's screams and sobs.
At last, Tim cried, "I was meant to meet him at a diner! But when I got there, he was gone!"
"What diner?" demanded Jack.
"Promise…promise you'll stop beating me and I will!" gasped Tim. "Promise you'll let me go!"
Jack's hand reached out and seized Tim around the throat. "I'll let you go, Tim," he hissed. "Now tell me the name of the diner!"
"Mandy's," gasped Tim. "Now please…"
"Let you go?" suggested Jack. "Whatever you say, Tim."
He pulled out a gun and shot Tim in the face. "Enjoy your freedom," he muttered, storming out of the room to change out of his blood-stained suit.
…
Jack immediately headed to Mandy's diner after he had changed, which was a typical place of its kind located in a reputable part of town, not too far from the university. Which was good, thought Jack, as he entered the diner – it meant that suspicion wouldn't be raised by people asking questions.
He took a seat at the counter and pretended to study the menu while his eyes roved around the room.
"Can I get you anything, sir?" asked the waitress, coming over to him.
"Just a cup of coffee, thanks, sweetheart," he said, still looking around.
"Sure thing," she said, leaving him alone again.
Joe Chill wasn't here. He hadn't really expected him to be - it wasn't likely he was a regular customer - but maybe someone in here would recognize him and know his whereabouts. Otherwise he'd have to start all over again, tracking new informants and pressuring information out of them. And by the time he did, it was likely Chill would have skipped town again.
"One coffee," said the waitress, placing it in front of him. "Cream and sugar?"
"Just black is fine for me, sweetheart," he said, putting down the menu and rubbing his eyes.
"You ok?" she asked.
"Yeah, just…got a lotta stuff on my mind," he muttered
She laughed. "Tell me about it," she said. "I just graduated from high school, and I'm starting medical school in a couple weeks. Talk about nerve racking!"
"Yeah, never cared much for school myself," said Jack, sipping his coffee.
"I figure if I don't wanna be stuck working in a diner the rest of my life, I need to start improving myself," she replied. "And I've wanted to be a psychiatrist for as long as I can remember."
Jack snorted. "Don't waste your time, kid. I've been to see a hundred of 'em, and every single one was a useless quack."
"What did you go to see them for?" she asked.
"My father took me," he replied. "Thought it would help me with some issues. It didn't."
"What issues?" she asked.
He glared up at her. "You meant to get this personal with your customers?"
She shrugged. "Sorry, I'm just curious. Working in a diner is great practice for being a psychiatrist – you get to meet all kinds of interesting people. And if I meet an interesting person with real issues that I can talk to, that's even better practice."
"Well, I don't wanna be a case for you to practice on, sweetheart," he snapped. "Why doncha get back to work?"
She was silent, and then went to go serve other customers. Jack tried to think up his next plan of action, sipping the coffee slowly and lost in his own thoughts.
"Don't you ever smile?" asked the waitress suddenly.
"Don't have much to smile about, kid," he retorted. "Don't you ever stop talking?"
"It's called customer service," snapped the waitress.
"No, it's called annoying the customer!" he retorted.
"Well, you don't have to come back!" she snapped.
"Don't worry – I won't!" he retorted. He took a deep breath. "I'm actually just here because I'm looking for someone. Maybe you've seen him around."
"Maybe," she agreed, wiping down the counter. "Why are you looking for him? Is he a friend of yours?"
"No. I just really need to find him," he replied. "It's a matter of life and death."
"Yeah?" she said, curious. "What does he look like?"
Jack described Joe Chill to the best of his abilities. She thought for a moment and nodded. "I think he was in here last week. Good tipper. And he didn't mind me chatting to him."
"Was that the only time you've seen him, or is he a regular customer?" asked Jack.
She shrugged. "I've seen him a couple times. Wouldn't call him regular, but I wouldn't be surprised if he dropped in suddenly. So maybe you'll be coming back after all if you're so desperate to find him, even if you don't like the customer service here."
He laughed despite himself. "You got spirit, I'll say that for you, kid," he said, holding out his hand to her. "I'm Jack."
"Harley," she said, shaking his hand and pointing to her name-tag. "If you wanna complain to my manager."
"I don't," he replied. "In fact, I'm prepared to offer you a very good tip if you do a little favor for me."
"What favor?" she asked.
He wrote a number down on his napkin. "If I give you my number, can you give me a call if that guy comes in?" he asked, handing it to her.
"Not unless you tell me why you're looking for him," she retorted.
He shrugged. "I'm gonna kill him," he said.
She stared at him, shocked. "What?" she gasped.
"I'm gonna kill him," he repeated, calmly. "I've been searching for him for fifteen years so I can kill him."
She laughed awkwardly. "That's…that's a joke, right?"
"Do I look like I'm the kinda guy who enjoys jokes?" asked Jack.
"But…why…why would you wanna kill a guy?" she gasped.
"Same reason I was forced to see a shrink for years," retorted Jack. "Because this guy did something real bad to me once. Something that destroyed my life. So I'm gonna destroy his. That's justice, kiddo. You're probably too young to understand that, but it's true."
"I…I hope you realize that I…can't do what you want," she stammered. "I can't be responsible for someone's death…"
"Well then, don't worry about it," he said, shrugging. "I'll have some guys of mine keeping an eye on this joint and they'll let me know if he comes in. If he does, I suggest you get outta here quick before the bullets start flying."
"How do you know I won't warn him and tell him to leave?" she asked.
He studied her. "You wouldn't do that, would you?" he asked. "Not when he deserves to die."
"I don't think anyone deserves…" she began.
"My father sent me to a shrink after this guy helped brutally rape and murder my mother," interrupted Jack. "I found her body. I was fifteen. I killed the other guy, who I used to think was my father, but this guy got away. I've spent every waking moment of my life trying to find him again. I'm not going to let him get away again. Don't try to help him get away again. A man like that doesn't deserve your help."
She gazed at him in pity. "I'm so sorry…" she began.
"And do you know what the shrink said about why I was so upset?" he continued. "I told him everything about what happened, and do you know what he said? He said my anger derived from an Oedipus complex. He thought I was upset because I hadn't been able to sleep with my mother, even though I murdered a father figure. He thought I was frustrated at only acting out one half of my fantasy. That's when I gave up on shrinks. Don't waste your life twisting people's real pain into your own stupid theories. You won't help anyone. Least of all your patient."
He drained his cup and stood up, throwing some bills down on the counter. "See ya around, kid," he muttered, heading for the door. Harley watched him go, staring after him in pity. She held the napkin with his number for a moment longer, and then slid it into her pocket.