I neither created nor own Batman, Gotham, or Dr. Leslie Thomkins. However, I have created the other characters in this story. I also created this Red Light District of Gotham City.
Alice tiptoed into the room. Francesca was chuckling as she pointed to a page in one of the magazines Madge had brought earlier. Jeannette seemed to be trying not to laugh probably a good idea with deep bruising in her midsection and three cracked ribs. Alice tapped her knuckles against the door. Both women looked up at her.
"Hi, Jeannette, how are you doing?"
"Good as can be expected I guess." Alice barely understood the other woman speaking around her tubes. It made the younger woman feel awkward. Instead of asking herself why, Alice turned to the other visitor.
"His Francesca, what are you both looking at?"
"This" The darker woman held up the magazine. "Is that not the most disgusting outfit ever?"
Alice glanced over the glossy page graced by a model dressed in what might be called clothes. "Yes . . ."
Francesca and Jeannette both rolled their eyes as the former brought the magazine back down into Jeannette's eye range and flipped to the next page. Alice wrung her hands for a few heartbeats. How could she bring it up?
"What do you think about Batman's outfit?"
Both women's heads snapped up. Alice blushed and looked down at her toes. "Well I guess you haven't seen it recently have you Francesca? And . . . and I don't suppose you noticed . . . last time . . . you . . . saw . . . it . . . Jeannette. I should probably just ask . . . Madge . . ." For a moment, Alice stared at nothing.
"Why the sudden interest in the bat's fashions?" Francesca asked.
Alice started and looked down at the white, tiled floor. The silence was broken by Jeannette.
"Samson."
The blonde woman blushed. Francesca glanced back and forth from her red face to the Jeanette's white. The patient somehow made herself understood around the tubes.
"Get out Alice, now."
The younger woman stumbled backwards before turning and rushing into and down the hall.
. . .
Alice pawed through Madge's bottom drawer. She'd already torn through and re-tidied the bed, the closet, the bathroom, and the other drawers. Her hand was shaking when it touched a wide, long, thick, bound stack of paper. She drew the object out and stared at a sketchbook.
She shook it. A few bills fluttered out to land on the floor. Alice gathered these up and stuffed them into Samson's wallet. Then she began to flip through the book.
The young woman started at the demonic renderings of people she knew. Her eyes grew wide at the cartoons of Samson. Something twisted in her gut when she saw a drawing of herself. A thought bubble was over her head. Inside it was an image of a knight on a horse. The drawing of Samson stared back. Inside his own thought bubble was an image of a girl in chains with a dragon breathing fire at her.
Alice shut the notebook. She shot to her feet, strode out of the room, and slammed the door behind her. There were other rooms to check. Samson would probably want to look through this himself anyway.
. . .
Francesca opened her apartment door to see a white face framed by red hair.
"Madge?"
"Someone took my sketchbook."
"Alice must have it. Everyone's rooms are slightly tidier and our money's gone. She just left to pick Samson up from the hospital otherwise we would have all torn her to pieces by now."
Madge was already running down the hallway.
. . .
"Excuse me. I'm here to pick up Samson Roberts."
"All right hon, Samson Roberts' doctor said she wanted to talk to you before we release him. She's busy with other patients right now. You need to take a seat until she can chat."
"Okay, thank you."
Alice sat in an empty chair and picked up a magazine. A few minutes later the March issue of "Life in Metropolis" was torn from her hands and replaced with a red face framed by redder hair.
"Get off my sketch book."
Alice glanced down at the edge of the art book peeking out from under her skirt, but she didn't move. Madge glared at her.
"I you don't give it to me, I'll tell the Batman that Samson gave you that bruise after he was warned to be careful with how he used his good hand."
Alice's eyes went wide. She rose slightly from her chair. Madge nabbed her sketchbook and yanked it out from under the other woman.
"And if you tell Samson anything, he'll kill me. Can you imagine what Batman does to murderers?"
"He wouldn't do anything if everyone would be good and mind their own business!"
"No, I guess he wouldn't."
"Which one of you came to pick up Mr. Roberts?"
Both women's heads spun around. They met the chilly gaze of a much older woman wearing a white coat and holding a clipboard in her folded arms.
"Me," Alice replied.
"Did he give you that bruise on your wrist?"
"No." Alice tugged the sleeve of her shirt down over the dark discoloration in her skin.
"And I suppose you also aren't responsible for the chewing tobacco I caught him "enjoying" fifteen minutes after you visit."
"Yes! No! What chewing tobacco?"
"You're a bad liar. You're a worse influence on my patient, and he's an even worse influence on you. Giving him everything he asks for, because you're afraid of him, isn't love. I'd rather send him to the police station than home for both your sakes, but when I called they said you had to complain for them to do anything. Will you?"
"Of course not!"
"I was afraid of that. Since that's the case, you should know this. If he ever harms you, or any of the other girls he uses, in a way that finally gets the notice of the authorities, I will testify against him. I'll also advise the D.A., jury, and whoever else I have to, to keep him off the streets. Leaving him is the best thing you or the others can do for him at this point."
The doctor pulled a card out of her pocket and held it out to the younger woman. Alice took it with trembling fingers. She stared at it, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact with the other woman. Dr Thomkins words barely cut through the haze her earlier ones had created in the girl's mind.
"Call the first number if you or someone else requires immediate medical attention. Call the second to set up an appointment to talk about why you smuggle, lie for, and think you love a man who physically abuses you. Call the last number for someone to drive you somewhere safe."
"Are they all your numbers?"
"Yes."
Leslie Thomkins turned and walked away. It took five minutes for Alice to realize Madge and her sketch book were gone. She then asked after Samson at the desk again. Five minutes after that, he came out to the lobby and she walked out with him to the cab.
. . .
Francesca opened her door to staccato knocking for the second time that day. Once again it was Madge. This time she was sweating, red-faced, and holding her sketchbook.
"Do you have a sharp knife, a needle, and some thread I can borrow?"
180 seconds later Madge was slicing into her mattress. It would probably be safer to just burn the book, or at least a few select pages. She didn't bother asking herself why she was doing this instead. She crammed the book under the loose springs and sewed the hole up, sloppily. With the sheets pulled back over and tucked in no one would notice. Madge gave her borrowed implements back, got dressed for work and went, determined not to think about it again.
Just a few minutes after she left, a spare key unlocked the door, which then swung open. After a brief search the intruder discovered the sloppy sewing up of the mattress, ripped open the stitches, found the book, hastily flipped through it, stopped and studied one particular drawing, put the book back, and re-stitched the hole closed faster and neater than Madge had. Then the intruder vacated the room, locking the door behind.
. . .
"Hey Madge!"
Madge glanced up at Deidre.
"What?"
"My client wants me now, and I'm going to need a pick-me-up afterwards. I'll give you ten bucks to go to the hall closet and grab my stash from behind the bleach."
Madge rolled her eyes but headed towards the door. Ten bucks was ten bucks. Deidre gave the red-head's retreating figure a feral grin.
. . .
Madge shoved the last bottle of bleach to the far right. Apparently, management had just stocked up. She drew her searching hand back and scowled at the cobwebs she'd collected for her trouble. A bang made her spin around. The door had slammed shut.
With a string of curses Madge rushed to, grabbed, and tried to turn the knob. It stuck. She kept trying while kicking and even slamming herself against the wood. Management also seemed to have a thing about secure, closet doors. Under normal circumstances Madge couldn't blame them, but now she had a dozen profanities for them, along with Deidra, her "stash," and her ten bucks. Eventually Madge stopped, backed up, and sat on an overturned bucket. She glared at the piece of wood barring her from the rest of the world.
She knew how to pick locks with hair pins, but minutes ago she'd taken her hair down for a client that liked it that way. That old trick probably wouldn't have worked on the lock of this door anyway, or management would really be wasting their money and time. It at least would have been a way for her to waste her own overly abundant free time now though. Instead, she threw her shoe at the door and settled back to wait. Someone would come and open the door eventually, right?
Every time Madge heard someone walk by she shouted and banged on the door. The footsteps might pause, but they always continued on after a minute. Members of this community minded their own business, especially in this joint.
Eventually, silence spread throughout the building and crept into the closet. Her stomach felt emptier. The club had closed.
Others were going and getting something to eat, before paying their way into some building with a bed they might not have to share. She was in here. Deidre got a lot of curses thought her way.
Madge didn't even hear the footsteps or the lock picking. Maybe she had fallen asleep. If she had, the creak the hinges made as the door swung open jolted her awake. In the doorway stood a tall, imposing figure slightly darker than the surrounding shadows.
"Bat!"
The cry was more surprised joy than girlish squeal. At least, Madge told herself so. The woman didn't even try to explain to herself why ran right into him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and laid her head against his chest. He didn't reciprocate.
"How long were you in there?"
"Eh," She shrugged while pulling away, "I walked in less than an hour before closing time."
"Do you know who locked you in?"
"Deidre. That (censored). She was probably high enough to think she could rifle through my purse for cash if I were indisposed.
"Was she correct?"
"Nope," Madge grinned while sticking her hand down the front of her dress. She brought out a wad of bills. 'This is where I keep it when I can."
Batman turned his gaze from her to the door, closing and relocking it while he spoke. "I'll walk you back."
"It's almost daylight, Bat."
"I won't walk beside you, but I'll be nearby."
"You worry too much, Bat."
Madge went out the door with her purse. Everything inside it had been torn through. She'd reorganize it sometime after she woke up that afternoon, maybe.
Every now and then Madge studied the surrounding shadows to see if she could spy her escort. She couldn't, but he was there. She knew it.
The woman went into the apartment and laid a wad of bills next to the head of a passed out Samson. Apparently he had missed his stash of brandy during his hospital stay.
As she walked down the upstairs hall she went by an open door. A feminine voice called out of it. "Where've you been Madge?"
"You don't want to know."
If she could have seen the other woman's smile, Madge would have known her questioner already knew.
. . .
A young Lieutenant of the South Side Cartel sat at the poker table, attempting to be careful not to blow too much, but not quite succeeding. He could get more here and there. Just once he wanted to score big, just once.
"Mr. Russo!"
He looked up at the older, shorter, less important man holding a phone receiver.
"Call for you. It's supposed to be important."
Placing his cards face down Russo rose from his seat and went to the phone sitting on the countertop holding it to his ear he said his name and waited. A familiar voice greeted him.
"How would you like to kill the Bat?"
A wide, cold grin spread over his face.
Reviews are greatly appreciated and often responded to.
Thanks again to Anonymous Rex for the detailed and encouraging reviews.
Special thanks to gordios79 for answering a question I had while writing this chapter. :)
