A/N: LONG author's note here, I'm afraid; I just have a few things to say. First off, a very, very special thanks to ujemaima, psychadelicious, corbsxx, Btch, Other, golden peaches, pourquoibella, Cleonie Quinn, mehar23mia, elfenwindakachrno, Kate-Smiles, linalove, Laurenmlbc, Draven98, Lady-night-shade04, Charl, anna, TinkerbellxO, Lady Liesel, SleepyHeather, JordanGoombette, trickstersink, shamenteen, PurgatoryNymphe, Dissolved Starr, Love-lyLove-lyLovely45, Nii, KorroksApostle, anonymous, AmberCyn, lov3tan, and Moz. If I could, I would send you all a Batman plush doll. :D Thanks so much for your awesome feedback, everyone; it totally inspired me to write this chapter super fast.
There's a story/movie inconsistency in this chapter that I just wanna warn you about now: in the movie, after Batman is in the Narrows and Crane fear-gasses him, we learn from Alfred that there's a span of two days between that incident and the day of the birthday and the film's climax. In this story, there's obviously a much bigger time gap, which I had to do in order to expand the character development. Just wanted to warn you.
Tomorrow I'm going out of the country on vacation and won't be back for two weeks. I don't know if I'll have internet, but I promise I will respond to you all as soon as I come home.
Now, onto the chapter. It's a BIG one, 23 pages, but I think you're gonna like it. ;)
Housekeeping
Chapter Eleven
/
The only thing Estelle said about her conversation with the completely ballistic asshole in 307 is that we would discuss it during Monday morning's housekeeping meeting. That made the entire weekend the monster's ball before the execution, basically. I nearly bit the bullet and asked her just to give it to me straight, yell at me, punish me, whatever it was she was eventually going to do; the thought of having to spend the glorious weekend worried about it, and then have it all recited in front of the other girls on Monday was more despairing then anything in the world. But there was a particularly irate look in her eyes that made me swallow and bite back the question. Sure, I could wait until Monday. No big deal.
In the end, it was just as well. I was completely bummed out for the rest of the day, moping on the train ride home and wandering aimlessly around my tiny apartment between tears and sips of vodka. Henry watched me from his spot on the armchair with this confused look on his face, and when I finally collapsed in bed, curling around one of my pillows and sniffing rather pathetically, he jumped up on the bed and rubbed his face into my arm, suspecting that the lady of the house needed a little cheering up.
The more I tried not to think about the whole thing, the more it bothered me. It's one thing to have vomit-inducing cereal guys try to hit on you, or having tall, brooding, scarred guys laugh their freaky laugh at you, but getting totally bitched out by some pretentious prick really bites. What stood out most to me, I think, was how he asked me if I was stupid. Somehow that hurt worse then anything. Just because I was young and I was working as a maid in a disgusting hotel instead of going to university didn't mean I was stupid. I was not stupid.
Henry meowed loudly and rolled onto his side, pressing his paws into my arm and looking up at me with his big green eyes as if to say What are you so upset about, you've got your favourite cat, vodka, and two days at home. Stop moping.
That cheered me up completely. I've never been able to explain to dog-people just what it is about cats that totally lift your spirits and make you forget about everything.
The glorious weekend consisted of very limited activities, such as sleeping way late into the morning, watching ridiculously bad daytime television shows, still in my pajamas, while eating Special K, and long cuddles and snuggles with the man of the house, who obviously felt he deserved the attention when he literally flopped onto a magazine I was reading while sitting on the couch. By the time 4:00pm rolled around come Saturday afternoon, I decided that a trip to the market was in order, both to get something for dinner and to pick up another bottle of my favourite paint-thinner flavoured vodka.
It was a wet day, hence the staying in bed way into the A.M., and I marched along in my grey sweats and purple hoodie towards the market, which luckily sat just a few blocks away from my apartment. There were few people out wandering the streets that afternoon, but come evening it would be aflutter of activity; drunkards would come swaying out into the streets from the bars, hiccuping and starting arguments with fire hydrants, while the local gang boys would stand around on the sidewalk corners, sharing cigarettes, cursing creatively, and sizing up anyone who even dared to walk past them. The hookers with their brightly coloured wigs and sequined mini skirts would stick out their legs adorned in fluorescent-coloured leggings and rub themselves provocatively whenever someone pulled up to the curb to offer to take them for a ride. The Narrows in the daytime is the last thing next to Paradise, but the Narrows at night is the last place you ever wanna be.
The little corner market is run by a very hard-looking Greek man in his early forties who always looks at me suspiciously when he sees me come through the door, as if he can't quite decide whether I'm just an ordinary girl struggling to get by living in the Narrows, or if I'm some heroin addicted whore who's going to use his bathroom to shoot up. I always give him the same polite smile and keep my hands visible at all times; my gut instinct tells me he has a shotgun hidden under the counter.
I picked up the essentials: canned tuna for his highness, a bottle of my favourite brand of vodka, a Caesar salad kit, tampons, and a bag of juice berry candies. I was walking towards the counter with my items in tow through the candy aisle when suddenly my eyes rested on a bag of Reisen chocolates. I stopped and looked at it for a moment, smiling just slightly. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a Reisen; when I was a kid, I just loved how they tasted like chocolate ice cream when they were soft enough to chew. It was making my mouth water.
Then, all of a sudden, I remembered what Jack had said the previous day. How come you don't put, uh, welcome chocolates on the pillows?
I don't mind telling you, I was more than tempted to buy the Reisens, take them with me to work, and start putting the individually wrapped chocolates on Jack's pillows every time I cleaned the room. He seemed like someone who could use a little cheer, a little gesture of welcome here and there. As far as I knew, he didn't really have a home; he'd been staying at the Palace for nearly two weeks and hadn't said or hinted that he would be moving on anytime soon. Did he have a family? Somehow I doubted it, but at the same time, perhaps he was married but on the verge of divorce...maybe that would explain his isolation as well as his general grumpiness and awkwardness around people.
No...that wasn't it. Jack was so strange that you couldn't even imagine a woman who could put up with his erratic mood swings and intimidating presence, or the way he dressed himself. But then where did he go all day? He disappeared for hours at a time, I knew that; did he have friends to visit? Did he even have a job?
Sighing, I reached out to take the bag of Reisens, determined to show Jack that he was welcome at the Palace...well, as welcome as you can feel at the Palace.
But I paused...because a part of me knew that if I left chocolates for Jack, that he'd become suspicious. He'd become defensive, wondering what I was playing at, and then he'd corner me the same way he cornered me in the bathroom. He said it himself, don't do me any favours.
So I left the Reisens on the shelf and walked up to the counter.
/
I was sipping cool vodka, watching a bad late movie, and lazily stroking Henry, sitting in my lap, when I heard the screaming.
My head twisted immediately to the left, to the window, because it sounded like it were coming from outside. Normally in this side of the Narrows, a little screaming is nothing to get too worked up about. Using it's a couple of drunkards who are laughing so hard they're screaming, or it's someone getting mugged, or a whole assortment of other causes. I remember how scared I was when I first moved in and heard screaming downstairs in the street and I had been too freaked out to look out the window. Now, it felt more common to me than having a drink after getting home from work.
Although I knew almost instantly that this wasn't like all those other times; something was wrong. There was screaming outside, real genuine horrified screaming...and it wasn't just one person.
Shooing Henry off my lap, I set down my glass of vodka and went to the window hurriedly, drawing back the curtain and looking out into the night. From my window, you get a glimpse of the street down below, but there's typically nothing to see, and tonight was no different; the street was alight with the glow from the streetlamp, but the road and the sidewalks were vacant. Puzzled, I felt my eyebrows knit together as I tried to get a better look down the street, and even contemplated opening the window and leaning out. For a moment, it seemed like everything had calmed, that maybe the screaming I had heard was something (relatively) harmless going on in the streets. Frowning, and sticking a hand on my hip, I drummed my fingers on the windowsill and looked over at Henry, who was surveying me from his comfortable spot on the couch, giving me this look as if to say Screaming in the Narrows ain't nothing new, cupcake.
I glanced out the window once more, only to convince myself that there really wasn't anything going on down in the streets, and I broke away to collect my vodka off the coffee table and take a long sip.
My throat burned as the alcohol went down, and then I heard it again, the screaming; nearly dropping my glass back down on the coffee table I rushed to the window and forced it open, sticking my head out and looking down onto the streets.
People were running through the streets, whole hordes of people who enjoyed the night life, running as fast as their legs could carry them, flailing their arms about and screaming, I mean really screaming; I stood up on my tippy toes to see if I could get a glimpse at what was the matter, but all I could see was the people running.
And then, all of a sudden, I could hear screaming erupt in the hallway behind me. Looking over my shoulder, Henry was hissing at the front door, and closing the window I rushed to the door and pressed my ear against it, listening intently. There was someone screaming somewhere in the building, followed by the sounds of other residents probably checking to see what the commotion was. Throwing caution into the wind for a moment, I unlocked my door and stepped out to see what was happening.
The hallway was a frenzy of sudden activity; the more screaming there was, the more my neighbors left their apartments armed with bats and crowbars and the like, as though the building was overrun with intruders. I lingered in the doorway, watching as the men charged through with their weapons of choice while their wives or girlfriends stood in the door, just as I was, desperately wanting to see what was happening, but forbid by the men of the house to leave the doorstep.
My neighbor across the hall, Mrs. Bellamy, who was a very cranky woman with an even surlier husband, was clutching together the folds of her housecoat and grasping her hair, all done up in curlers, as if it was going to fall right off her head. Obviously Mr. Bellamy had run off same as the other men.
But the moment she saw me, she frown tightly and began to point her finger at me. "Jane you get inside and you lock the door and don't come out til it's mornin', ya hear?"
More screaming erupted, but not all of it came from within the building. "What's happening?" I yelled across the hall to Mrs. Bellamy.
She was in the midst of closing the door when she opened it a little and yelled out to me. "Them crazies from Arkham Asylum's runnin' loose all over the Narrows!"
And then she slammed the door.
Panic swelled up in me all of a sudden, like being splashed with a great gush of icy cold water, and taking a step back into my apartment, away from all the screaming and yelling and shouting, I slammed the door, threw myself against it, and locked all the locks as fast as I could with trembling fingers. My heart was pounding in my chest, but as soon as the door was secure, I stepped back and listened.
For a moment I tried to relax and considered what Mrs. Bellamy had said. Was it really possibly that the inmates of Arkham Asylum had escaped? All of them? When had this happened? Why had it happened? The security around that place was tighter than any prison I knew of, how was it possible that the inmates had escaped?
Whatever the reason, I wasn't taking any chances. I rushed into my bedroom and collected my baseball bat from where it was leaning against the bedside table, and then going into the kitchen, I pulled open once of my utensil drawers and pulled out the biggest, sharpest butcher knife I could find. Going into the living room with a bat in one hand and a knife in the other, Henry looked at me as if I was Commando Jane ready to kick some ass.
But truthfully, I wasn't ready to kick some ass. I was shaking, praying that the inmates wouldn't find their way to my door.
The screaming intensified outside the window, and Henry became so rattled that he jumped off the couch and went padding into my bedroom, presumably to hide under the bed until it was all over. I moved away from the door carefully, going towards the window and taking another moment to look out, but instead of being met with a horde of screaming people on the road beneath my window, everything was hazy.
It was like a thick, white fog had settled itself on the street, distorting the light from the streetlamp and making the road beneath it disappear almost completely. For a moment, I frowned deeply and lowered my weapons. What in the hell was that?
More screaming came from the streets, and finally the fog was so thick that it was hard to see anything outside the window, so I moved away from it, making sure it was shut and locked. The drama inside the building had seemed to settle a little, but there was heavy conversation even outside my door by several people, I could hear it, like they had all gotten together to discuss what was happening.
Cautiously, I moved towards the door without planning to open it, and gnawing on my lower lip I pressed my ear up against the door to see if I could pick up anything that they were saying.
It sounded like my neighbors, all right, but I couldn't hear much of what they were saying...I could only pick up a few key words here and there: Arkham...inmates...all over...fear...something in the air...downtown...Narrows...Batman...
Somehow, the moment I heard someone say Batman, I felt considerably more calm. I let out a deep breath and lowered the bat in one hand, thinking that my neighbors outside were calm enough that I could probably let my guard down if only by a little.
Surely whatever was happening, Batman was here somewhere, he was here in the Narrows doing something to save us, whatever that might have been. Moving back, I sat down on the arm of the couch and continued to listen to the muffled conversation outside my door, as well as the screaming coming from the streets outside my window. I don't know how long I sat there like that, I expect only until the screaming finally started to subside to the point where all I could hear was the hurried conversation outside my door. Feeling slightly more confidant, I let the bat rest on the couch but clutched the butcher knife protectively to my side as though someone would come bursting through the door at any moment.
But when nothing happened, I swallowed through the lump in my throat, and downed the rest of my vodka in the glass in one gulp, grimacing at the burn before going into the kitchen for a refill.
I sighed heavily as I leaned against the kitchen counter and bowed my head to my chest, listening to my heart slowly return to a more natural speed. By the time everything had quieted and I had gone hunting for Henry under the bed, it was 1:20 in the morning. Drowsy from the alcohol and all the excitement, I checked again to make sure the door was locked, and fell into bed.
/
As soon as I woke up, groggy from lack of sleep and slightly hungover from overindulging in vodka over the course of the long night, I got up out of bed and went directly to the TV, turning it on and finding it all there, everything explained: the upheaval of Arkham Asylum that resulted in emptying every single patient into the Narrows, the strange fear gas that scared people so badly that some had gone so far as to attack one another, the crash of the city train downtown just before it hit Wayne tower, that idiot Bruce Wayne's drunken debacle at his own birthday party -resulting in burning his century-year-old family manor right down to the ground- and finally, and most importantly, how Batman had saved Gotham City. It had been a very busy night.
I spent the majority of the afternoon curled up on the couch, still in my pajamas, with my eyes glued to the television. As it had turned out, that gorgeous doctor at Arkham Asylum Jonathan Crane had either gone completely nuts or was nuts to begin with, and had a play in the whole thing. Hard to believe that just a few short weeks ago I was watching him make an address on behalf of the asylum. Even more shocking was the news that he had been experimenting on his patients, like they were everyday lab rats, with the same fear toxin that was still floating around in the Narrows, waiting for our greedy lungs to suck it right in and go crazy with fear.
I watched the whole report feeling sick to my stomach. There were some real creatures that lived in this city, especially in this end of the city.
But what was even more along the lines of what the fuck is going on was that the city rail in downtown Gotham had crashed, that somehow Batman had derailed the train so it wouldn't collide with Wayne Enterprises and instead crashed into the streets below. Watching the footage of the wreck, I couldn't believe my eyes; so many things had happened overnight, and yet when you're in the Narrows, you don't hear much of what's going on downtown.
The wonderful thing that had come from all this, I found, was that Batman was finally deemed a hero. I couldn't help smile as I watched the news anchor interview several police officers about the ordeal, who generally praised Batman for his bravery. Obviously not everyone was thrilled about his vigilantism that continued to show up Gotham's finest, but if you ask me, it was about time someone had stepped up and took out the trash, so to speak. Where would Gotham have been, right at that moment, if it weren't for Batman?
All in all, it was very exciting. Gotham had a hero to call its own, and just in time too, as the police were sending out bulletins warning people in the Narrows to stay indoors or wear a face mask when going outside because of the fear toxin floating around; but they were also warning us to keep a look out for escaped Arkham patients in their orange jumpsuits, despite the fact that they were doing everything in their power, including enlisting in the help of Batman, to track down all the escaped patients.
/
The next morning, I had never been so happy to reach the Palace at such a dreaded time in the morning. Adorned in a face mask, and carrying around my butcher knife in my purse, I had literally run from the train to the hotel hardly taking the time to look at anything or notice anyone. The streets were next to deserted; there were police cars going in every direction, probably trying to catch all the escaped inmates.
When I got inside the door of the Palace, the mildewy air had never smelled sweeter as it did when I took off the face mask, and finding that the front desk was unattended, I went into the break room and was immediately met with Polly's frightened glance, who then sighed in relief when she saw it was only me.
"Jane, Jesus...you scared the shit out of me," she breathed, and sat back in her chair at the table, pushing her hair back. "Sorry, I've been on edge all night. I don't think I slept at all."
"You and me both," I said, taking off my jacket and hanging it up, feeling a little more relaxed knowing that I wasn't the only one who was probably freaking out more than I should have about the whole thing. I came over to the table and sat down next to her, where she had a copy of the paper lying flat on the table surface. "What's going on, any news?"
"Not really," Polly said, leaning on her fist and looking down at the paper. "The police have captured a few inmates; they're taking them to Blackgate, y'know, on the other side of the city?"
"Why?" I asked, skimming over the paper briefly, looking at the headline that read Drunken Billionaire Burns Down Home with a full picture of the wreckage. I scowled and shook my head. Funny thing there was Bruce Wayne could just rebuild the damn thing, it wouldn't teach him a lesson at all.
I put the paper down and returned to the conversation at hand. "I mean...Arkham's still functional, isn't it? The place didn't blow up or anything, did it?"
Polly shook her head, running her fingertips under her eyes, trying to mask the great big dark circles that were there. She looked exhausted, and we had a long day ahead of us. "I don't know, the papers don't really tell you a whole lot."
Looking at her sympathetically, I rested a hand on her arm and stood up. "I'm gonna make some coffee."
She groaned happily in her throat, and leaned over on the table. "Thank you."
I smiled a little and went over to the coffee maker, and fetched a filter from the cupboard as well as the can of coffee grounds sitting next to it. When Polly didn't say anything more, I looked over at the door to Mr. Halterstead's office, which was closed and dark, as per usual, but it bugged me a little more than it usually did; you'd think what with the crisis that was going on in the Narrows that day, that the man would have taken some time to come in and do some actual managing. Then again, I guess that's what Estelle was for.
The absence of someone else suddenly popped into mind, and I paused measuring the coffee grounds with the scoop and looked at Polly over my shoulder. "Where's Martin?"
Polly turned a page in the newspaper, absent-mindedly. "He went to be with his daughter...in case any crazies from Arkham show up at her door. It's just her and her baby; they live alone, y'know."
I nodded, smiling to myself just a little, and turned back to the coffee. That was pretty nice of Martin. Being the older gentleman he was, I wasn't sure he'd actually be able to tackle an inmate if they broke in, but he did love duck hunting in his youth, so he told me, and kept several of his rifles around, for nostalgic sakes as well as home defense, and no time like the present to make use of them, if need be. I turned on the machine to start the brewing when I suddenly thought of my parents, living it up in fancy Metropolis while their youngest daughter all but disappeared in the Narrows. Had they heard of what happened? But of course they must have. Metropolis wasn't exactly far from Gotham, surely they'd have heard by now.
I sighed, watching the brewed coffee drip into the stained pot, thinking how nice it would be for my dad to show up all of a sudden and insist on staying with me through this ordeal, if only for one night.
I turned around and leaned against the counter thoughtfully, when I heard the front door open and slam and Lois came walking in, hotly, with her scarf wrapped around her face. Polly and I both looked up at her in amazement as she dropped her big purse and literally tore the scarf from her face. She was flushed and obviously pissed off.
"Is this a fucking gong-show or what?" She snarled as she walked past me to hang up her coat, and Polly and I exchanged brief looks of nervousness. "Can't even breathe the air in this goddamn city anymore without getting killed!"
Huffing, she collected her bag from where it sat on the floor and slumped down into a chair across from Polly, rummaging through her bag and pulling out her nail file, as though filing her fake nails was therapeutic. "And now I can't turn on the damn TV set without hearing about that Batman. Batman this, Batman that...the police are treating him like he's the best thing that's ever happened to this stupid city."
"He is," Polly literally growled under her breath, taking both me and Lois by complete surprise, and looking up to behold Lois' appalled expression, she threw her arms up in the air. "Let's face it, Lois; where the hell would this city be without Batman right now? We'd be breathing in that fear gas shit and scaring ourselves to death, that's what!"
Lois gaped at her, as though she were speaking utter nonsense. "We're breathing that fear gas shit in now, Polly; where the hell have you been? And here's something else," she pointed a long, bubblegum pink fingernail at Polly. "It's because of Batman we have these weirdos putting fear gas in the water and letting loose all the patients out of Arkham."
"Yeah, cause that makes a whole lotta sense. Batman just...opened the doors to Arkham Asylum and told them to come on out and run amok, that's totally what happened," Polly retorted, sounding more angry than sarcastic. I think her exhaustion was taking a greater toll on her than she first perceived.
The coffee maker dinged behind me, so I reached up to the cupboard to take out three plain white mugs and set them down on the counter before taking the coffee pot and pouring coffee into the three mugs.
"Oh please," Lois droned behind me. "If an everyday citizen is gonna go out and do good for the city, that makes like...20 genuinely bad people who are gonna go out and retaliate, that's the way this city works."
I brought the three coffee mugs to the table, not catching Polly's counter-argument as I absent-mindedly poured milk into my coffee and stirred it thoughtfully, taking gradual sips and, after grimacing from its bitterness, decided that it definitely needed sugar.
At this point Lois looked like she was going to explode, her face was so red. She finally looked at me and held out her hand expectedly. "Jane, c'mon, help me out here. The Batman's a loon, right? They might as well throw him in Arkham with the rest of the monsters, once they catch them all. Am I right or am I right?"
Tearing the decade-old sugar packets open and pouring the sugar into my coffee, I looked down at the table and shook my head. "Sorry, I'm with Polly on this one. I think the Batman's a hero."
A strange silence settled between the three of us at the table. Without looking up, I imagined Polly crossing her arms and smiling smugly at Lois, and Lois just gaping at me with that stupid expression on her face that she sometimes had.
But then, looking up, Lois just scoffed and waved her hand at me as though my opinion didn't matter at all. "What d'you know, you've obviously got a soft spot for freaks. I'm sure the Batman would be right up your alley."
Gripping the coffee mug tightly between my hands, I was about to open my mouth with full-on retaliation, when the front door opened once again, and all three of us turned and looked towards the door of the break room.
Estelle came lumbering in, much to our relief, looking flushed and frantic; looking at the three of us for a moment, she nodded her head in greeting. "Good morning." And then, pulling the chair out from under the table, she took a seat next to Lois and began rubbing her face with her hands. We all sat quietly, expectantly, wondering what she was going to say about the whole ordeal.
Finally she spoke, with one side of her face pressed into the palm of her meaty hand, looking like she was just as ready to pass out as the rest of us. "All right...well, I'm sure you're all wondering what's going to happen now that everything has...happened. I talked to Mr. Halterstead this morning, and we decided that we are...well, we're going to stay open."
This came as no real surprise to me. If I had thought for one moment that Estelle and Mr. Halterstead would have agreed to close down the hotel, I wouldn't have bothered making the trip from home to get there on time for the maintenance meeting. Neither would the other girls, probably. But across the table, Lois looked as if she had just been given the biggest letdown of her life. Polly, sitting next to me, said nothing and kept her gaze on the table top.
"Now obviously we'll be taking extra precaution as to who we let rent a room for the next couple of days, but moreless, business remains the same as usual. We don't wanna be throwing anyone out, but we don't wanna let in the Arkham crazies, obviously. We're just gonna be on the look out, y'hear?" Estelle looked at each of us directly, and we had nodded in quiet agreement.
Immediately Lois had to bark up. "Who's gonna watch the desk?"
Estelle sighed, and though she'd had more than enough of Lois to last her the day. "Martin will be back around 10, and I'll be on patrol, as usual."
I felt Polly tense next to me. She obviously felt that Martin protecting his daughter and her infant child was more important than his job manning the desk of a shitty, broken-down hotel. It crossed my mind too, but for a fleeting moment, and perhaps rather selfishly, I was relieved to know that he would be coming back. We were four women working alone in the hotel, after all. We were fairly vulnerable.
For a brief fleeting moment, I thought of Jack upstairs in 310. Would he have done something, say...if a murderous Arkham patient had found his way into the hotel and was looking to cause some mischief? He was tall and intimidating and fairly toned...I bet an Arkham patient would take one look at Jack and go running off in the opposite direction.
I smiled to myself for a moment. If I had gone to Jack, maybe he would have helped. Maybe he would have gone so far as to protect me, if there was a potential danger in the hotel. That'd show Lois...that'd really show her.
Gauging all our reactions, Estelle sighed and shook her head. "It'll be all right, ladies. I don't know if you've noticed, but they've got the entire police force going up and down the streets, they're gonna find these guys and life will go back to normal. For now, let's all just try and keep our heads and do our jobs, yes?"
Lois promptly nodded while Polly, reluctantly, also nodded her head, and then I did too. Estelle sat up straight. "Well then, let's begin the day, shall we?"
Polly stood up without another word and left the break room without touching her coffee or looking at anyone. It wasn't hard to see that she was pissed, probably a combination from lack of sleep and Lois's ignorance and then Estelle's casual brush-off of the whole situation. I didn't blame her, not for a second, but oddly I wasn't feeling nearly as worried as I probably should have been.
As soon as Lois wandered out of the break room, Estelle stood up and snapped her fingers at me. "Jane, before you start, I want to talk to you about something."
I stood up dusted my hands off on my apron, and then paused for a moment. I could have laughed to myself, thinking that it wasn't going to happen. Despite everything that had happened, despite the fear gas in the water and the escaped Arkham patients and the Batman saving the city, I had still thrown away half a Cuban cigar on Friday, and obviously Estelle wasn't about to let me forget it.
Estelle rubbed her face once more, not really looking at me, and I prepared myself for the onslaught I knew was coming. "Jane, the replacement appliances for room 301 will arrive tomorrow, so I'd like you to go in and give it a thorough clean, okay?"
I froze, and then I frowned. Was that all? Perhaps she had forgotten about the Cuban cigar from Friday. Perhaps the asshole hadn't given her as hard a time as I figured he would; maybe he even went so far as to tell her that he had overreacted and shouldn't have left his cigar in the ashtray if he didn't want it thrown away.
I waited, but it seemed as though that was the only thing Estelle wanted to discuss.
Like an idiot, I gaped at her in amazement, and managed to nod my head. "O-Okay, uh...how do I get into the room?"
Estelle waved her hand at me. "I'll be up after Martin gets in and I'll unlock it, probably about 10:30 or so."
I nodded, regarding her for a moment in case she actually was just waiting to bring up the Cuban cigar thing, but she gave me look as if to say what and I just nodded once again and smiled a little. "Sure thing, Estelle. Sounds good."
And I slipped past her into the lobby to make my way up the stairs to the third floor, secretly doing a happy dance the entire way.
/
The third floor was nearly empty, save for a guest in 304 and Jack in 310, but I liked the fact that it was quiet. The Cuban cigar guy was gone, which was a complete relief; I had a feeling that if he saw me again, he wouldn't mind tearing into me a second time, and then reciting the whole ordeal back to Estelle so that she would remember about the Cuban cigar and punish me after all, and probably punish me a little extra for letting her forget and thinking I could get away with it. But luckily, he was gone, and the floor was blessedly quiet as I made my way through the rooms, except for 301, but it could wait.
The Batman doll was there to greet me when I turned on the light to the maintenance closet. He was sitting perched on my cart, exactly where I had left him, looking rather fierce, if I do say so myself. I smiled widely the moment I set eyes on him.
"Well, Batman..." I cooed at the little doll, and put my keys in my apron pocket before picking him up. "You've become quite the hero, and yet you've decided to stay here with little ol'me all day? You're quite the gentleman!"
Anybody walking by who might have heard me would have thought I was nuts.
Once again the Batman doll accompanied me to each room on the third room, proudly, and I was happy to see that each room was basically as I'd left it; I guessed there hadn't been too many people renting out a room to fuck a prostitute in when they're running from Arkham inmates and breathing in fear gas. But it was pretty great; all I had to do really was dust, make sure there were towels and stuff, and make sure everything was in working order, and then move on to the next room.
Considering how angry the Cuban cigar man had been on Friday, he had left 307 in pretty tip-top condition. I figured he had been mad enough at me that he could have made a total slob of himself and obliterated the room in whichever way he saw fit, just to piss me off. But I was surprised, and equally very grateful, to find that it was actually just about as clean as I would have made it. He had even tried to make the bed, which tugged at my heart a little, almost as though he had left some sort of apology by trying to make my job easier. Perhaps he had just been having a really bad day, and me throwing out his expensive Cuban cigar wouldn't have helped in the least. Hell, I'd probably have been mad too.
When I took a break for lunch, I tried the knob to 301 and found that it was still locked, and my eyebrows knit together in confusion. Estelle had said she'd unlock it once Martin got in, and that he was coming in at around 10:30...perhaps he hadn't made it in after all?
But once I got to the lobby, there he was, sitting at the desk and reading the newspaper. I have a theory that Martin reads the newspaper all day long and memorizes every single headline. You ask him what's in the news and he can recite at least twenty different stories to you without batting an eyelash. But seeing him confused me even further. Here he was, so where was Estelle?
"Hi Martin," I said, smiling, as I came up to the desk, and he looked up at me and his eyes lit up, like they always do when he sees someone he recognizes.
"Hey there Jane," he said happily. He looked exhausted, with big circles under his eyes, just like the rest of us, and his silvery hair was totally askew, but he was still smiling. Good ol'Martin; the Narrows could be in a state of damn near emergency and he'd still be smiling. "Glad to see you got to work in one piece."
I nodded, leaning on the front desk. "Tell me about it, what a nightmare...how's your daughter doing?"
"Oh, she's good," Martin said, nodded. "Yeah, uh, she's got her boyfriend with her, a big fella, he was gonna stay with them all day, I think."
I gave him a half-hearted smile. That was good to hear; even if her dad had to work his crummy job during a panicky time, at least Martin's daughter had a nice big boyfriend to come over and watch over them. But the thought immediately made me sad. My dad was off in Metropolis, and I didn't have a boyfriend...who was around to protect Jane? Skinny, defenseless Jane? Sure I didn't have a baby, but I had a cat, and he needed protecting too.
Jack once again flitted across my mind, but I shook my head and smiled at the ridiculousness of the thought. How exactly would he have reacted if I asked him to come home with me and watch over me and my cat in case someone broke in? I didn't even want to know.
"Uh, listen Martin..." I said, returning to the task at hand. "Estelle was supposed to come upstairs to unlock 301, d'you know where she's at?"
"Oh yes, uh..." Martin thought for a moment, and then nodded as if he suddenly remembered. "She had to run a few errands, she said, and then she had to pick up a few things. Said she'd be back probably around 1:00 pm or so."
I sucked in an apprehensive breath, wondering why she had taken off when she said she wanted 301 cleaned, but then again if she had to pick some things up, it was probably the replacement appliances for the room, and then I could clean it. Either way, I nodded. It was noon, and once I was finished lunch she'd come by and open the door to the room and I could get it done before cleaning 310 and finishing up for the day. It was all good.
"Thanks Martin." I smiled at him, and went around the desk into the break room to get my peanut butter sandwich.
/
1:00 pm came and went, and there was no Estelle, but I put it to the back of my mind by finishing the rest of the rooms on the third floor. 305 had needed an intense cleaning after it looked like the guest spilled alcohol everywhere and threw the mini bottles down just to spite the hotel itself. The sheets I pulled from the bed were discoloured and soaked, and I washed my hands extra thoroughly after disposing them in my cart, feeling repulsed. I swept over all the pieces of furniture with a wet rag, wondering how on earth the guest had gotten brandy, or whatever the hell it was, on the television screen, inside the bathtub when the bathtub clearly hadn't been used, and even on the window sill. What the hell had this guest been doing, exactly? Getting totally plastered and then dancing around the room, unknowingly spilling his poison everywhere?
It was very exasperating and took a long time to clean everything up. When I pushed my cart down to 310, I was very annoyed, and knocked on the door with a little more strength then I intended, so that my knocks sounded pissed off. Jack wasn't going to like that.
But surprisingly, as I waited and listened for him to come to the door, I was only met with silence. After a moment or so I knocked again, and again was met with the same silence. I stepped back and stuck my hands on my sides. Sure, Jack came and went all the time, but there was fear gas floating around outside; had he actually willingly gone out into the streets, even when the police had warned all of the Narrows to stay inside as best they could?
I shook my head. Then again, Jack wasn't exactly the type to obey anything anyone might have suggested, especially if it were for his own good. He wouldn't have liked being told what to do, and would have purposely gone against what they said, just to spite them. It didn't surprise me at all.
I took my masterkey from my apron pocket and opened the door, welcomed by cold, dead air. Jack had gone out, all right; I'd come to notice that he often left the television on, even if he wasn't watching it, even if he was sitting at the desk with his back to the screen. He probably just liked listening to it, the same way I liked to listen to soap operas playing while I painted my nails, or reread one of my magazines. Sometimes it was just nice to have a little white noise in the background, I could appreciate it fully.
But the television was off, a sure sign that Jack wasn't there. So I went into the room and looked around, noting that the bed needed to be made, but other then that, everything seemed to be in good order. I went around the bed, sliding by the desk, when I looked down at the desktop to get a glimpse at what he had been working on so hard these past two weeks.
Like it had always been, the desk was completely covered with clippings of all sorts, from newspapers and magazines and postcards and posters and the like. A pair of black-handled scissors sat next to the lamp, and close by was the red Sharpie I saw him bring in that one day. Curiously, I looked over the clippings, wondering if he was making a collage or something.
Funny thing was, though, that none of the clippings seemed to have anything in common. He was cutting the pictures of people out and leaving lying around, as though their purpose was to lie in random spots around the desk. I frowned a little, looking a little closer; they weren't pictures of celebrities or politicians. They seemed to be pictures of ordinary citizens...I don't know if they were Gothamites or what, but they were just regular smiling or frowning or pensive or angry people.
Why was Jack cutting out pictures of people? What did he need them for?
I shook my head, deciding it really wasn't any of my business and I shouldn't have been snooping. I was about to go back to the bed when I spotted something else: the little tin of greasepaint sitting underneath the lamp.
Looking over my shoulder and listening for a moment, all I was met with was silence and I knew that I was probably alone on the third floor, so I reached for the tin can and picked it up, running my thumb over the smoothness of the silver plating, and I twisted the top off.
I didn't know what greasepaint was, really. I figured it was just your regular, every day paint, with maybe a different consistency than say, poster paint. If you put it on your face, maybe it would be caky, but then again maybe it wouldn't be. Either way, my curiosity had gotten the best of me.
It was bright cherry red, like really ridiculously red lipstick, and it smelled odd, like a typical paint smell, but a little stronger then other paint smells. Judging by how much was left in the can, Jack had been using it quite a bit. But what exactly what he using it for?
I placed it carefully in the palm of my hand and stuck the end of my pinky finger into the paint, inspecting the paint thoughtfully and marveling at its greasy consistency, spreading vibrant colour over my skin easily. I studied it for a moment, wondering again why on earth he would need it, since I had never seen him wear it and I had never seen it anywhere in the room before.
I shrugged, and setting it back where I found it, I placed the cap on top and then headed into the bathroom to wash my hands.
Met once again with the curtain over the mirror, I turned on the tap and ran my red hand under the water, confused at first because the greasepaint didn't seem to come off very readily. I frowned and rubbed both my hands together, and then feeling somewhat relieved when the paint came away from my skin easily. I scrubbed them both thoroughly until they were relatively clean (albeit my one hand was a little stained, but not noticeably), and I dried them with one of the towels.
And then I noticed that there was another one, another little tin can of greasepaint sitting on the countertop next to the faucet. I looked at it for a moment, wondering how I hadn't seen it when I turned the water on. Picking it up, I inspected it, deciding that it was definitely the same brand as the red paint, but when I twisted off the cap, I was surprised (and yet not so surprised) to find that this can had white greasepaint.
I felt a little bit of childish glee run through me for some strange reason, but the question was immediately on my mind once again. I'd never seen Jack wear either the red or the white greasepaint, and he obviously wasn't an actor who wore it in plays, judging from what he had said previously...so what did he need it for?
I shrugged it off, set down the white greasepaint where I had found it, and went into the room to make the bed.
/
I loitered in the staff room drinking lukewarm coffee and flipping through an old tupperware magazine when Estelle finally showed up; the bell jangled over the front door and I could hear her heavy footsteps, along with her curt, annoyed tone of voice as she complained to Martin about the fact that she had to wear a face mask when she went outside. I checked my watch and swallowed my anger. It was 5:15.
Estelle pushed her way through the door to the break room, her jacket done up all the way to her double chin, and she was carrying two big blue binders which I assumed were the books. She'd probably gone to the bookkeeper; why that kept her busy all damn day, I have no idea. But when he saw me sitting at the table, presumably with a sour expression on my face, she paused and blinked at me as though this were indeed her kitchen and I, some complete stranger, had taken up a seat at the table and welcomed myself to a cup of coffee.
Her annoyance was not hindered by my presence; frowning at me, she shrugged her big shoulders. "What are you doing down here? Aren't you done?"
I sat back and crossed my arms, trying to keep my cool. "You asked me to clean 301, but I can't get into it. It's still locked."
Estelle blinked in confusion for a moment, until an exhausted realization glinted in her dull eyes for a moment. Her face fell with indifference. "Oh," she said simply, and then put the binders down harshly on the table, reeling back up to unbutton and peel her jacket. "But the rest of the third floor is done?"
Why yes, the rest of the third floor was done; it had been done by 4:13, which was about the time I had come back downstairs to ask Martin yet again if Estelle had shown up, and when I decided to wait for her, I had seen both Polly and Lois come and put on their jackets, collect their purses, slip on their face masks, and leave for the night. There was nothing I hated worse than wasting time.
I nodded tensely. "It is."
Estelle hung up her jacket. "Well good, that way 301 shouldn't take you too long." She then dipped one of her huge hands into the front pocket of her apron and rummaged for a moment, ignoring my dark eyes, and when she finally produced them, she presented them to me, motioning for me to take them.
There was nothing; no apology for completely forgetting that she was going to open 301 in the morning, or for making me wait around so long. Nothing at all.
I took in a deep breath, once again swallowing my anger. For a moment I wondered if she had done this on purpose; perhaps this was the punishment for the Cuban cigar freak-out on Friday. Perhaps, instead on lecturing me about something so fucking trivial, she decided just to play with me a little bit, test me a little, see how far she could go before my buttons were pushed.
Well, two could play at that game. Studying the keys for a moment, and then looking up into her expectant gaze, I chewed on the inside of my cheek for a moment. "Could I possibly do it first thing in the morning? It's already dark out, and I don't want to leave too late."
It was the absolute truth; I did not want to get caught making the trip home any later than I possibly had to. The Narrows were dangerous enough before the fear gas in the air and the Arkham patients running loose. Even if the Batman was lurking around these rooftops, keeping an eye out for trouble and saving the damsels in distress, I didn't even want to take the risk. But of course, when you speak the absolute truth, you really shouldn't say it in such a teeth-gritting tone of voice that might make someone want to smack you, because it sounds less sincere, doesn't it?
Well, Estelle glowered at me so darkly in that split second that immediately I was sorry I had said anything at all.
"I would really rather you got it done tonight," Estelle said sharply and dangerously, and dropped the keys on the table where they landed with a clang, making me jump a little. I stared down at them in pure hatred, and pressed my eyes closed for a moment, taking in a breath and holding it. As much as I wanted to take them and throw them back at her, Estelle's lumbering figure was bad presence enough already that I looked up at her and nodded without another word.
Estelle huffed angrily and turned around to lumber out of the break room, saying something to Martin that I couldn't quite make out, before making her way into the inner sanctums of the hotel.
I sat there for another few minutes telling myself to calm down and be cool, to get 301 clean and over with fast so that I could make my hasty way back home. I tried to take my mind away from it by calculating whether or not I had enough cash on me in my wallet to take a taxi back to my apartment, but the hell of it was that taxis were hard to come by in the Narrows in the evening. I remembered suddenly the butcher knife that I had stashed in my purse, and thought that if anyone really did try and pull something funny, when I was getting off the train or something, well a knife was better than nothing, right?
Sucking in a deep breath, and letting it out in a giant sigh, I took the keys off the table and went back up to the third floor.
/
Luckily, with 301 being ransacked of its appliances, there wasn't very much to clean, really. There was minimal dusting or vacuuming or washing of any kind. I changed the bed sheets slowly and quietly, and restocked the bathroom with clean bath towels and washcloths and bars of soap. By the time I had finished absolutely everything, it was 6:35, and very dark outside, and I was absolutely miserable.
When I closed the door to 301, I immediately knew that this had been my punishment for the Cuban cigar goon. It seemed so typical of Estelle all of a sudden; she knew just as well as I did that if the guy didn't want the cigar thrown out, he shouldn't have left it in the ashtray, there was no way that I was at fault there, no matter how expensive the cigar. But the asshole had been unpleasant enough, and I'm sure his conversation with Estelle had been just as unpleasant. According to her logic, somebody had to pay for that. Might as well have been me.
I was halfway down the hall towards the maintenance closet, with dirty sheets gathered in my arms, blinking away misery and staring down at the carpet, when all of a sudden I heard a voice shouting out behind me. "Hey! Hey sweetheart! Hey!" Shaking my head, and wondering how I hadn't even heard it to begin with, I turned around and looked down the hallway, frowning.
A man stood inside the door to 306, far enough away from me that I couldn't really see his face, but not too far away that I could immediately see that he was a Falcone goon. The jet black hair greased up hairdo is always a dead giveaway. I paused and stared at him in confusion; when had 306 been rented out?
He held up his arms all of a sudden, as if to say what the fuck. "I'm talkin' to you down here, you ignore all yer guests? Huh?"
Feeling my face flush with embarrassment, I hurried down the hall towards him, clutching the sheets in my arms so they wouldn't go flying about, and as I approached the goon I was rather taken aback by his attire. He was dressed only in a white wife beater, striped blue and white boxer shorts, and black socks. A heavy gold chain hung around his neck and barely met the curly black chest hair protruding from the neckline of the wife beater. He was a Falcone goon, no doubt about it; he had puffy cheeks and a profound forehead, and overall looked quite shifty. When I got up close to him, he was shrugging his shoulders with an appalled look on his face.
I cleared my throat, shifting from foot to foot when I came to stand before him. "I'm sorry, sir." I said in gentle apology, figuring that letting my misery take over my mood would certainly be the final thing to ensure my dismissal from the hotel.
"Yeah, I hope yer sorry," the goon said, scoffing a little in his throat and waving his arms around, as though conducting a painfully sarcastic orchestra. "I pay $89 for a shit hotel room, the least I can expect is decent housekeepin', ya know what I'm sayin'?"
I clenched my fingers in the folds of the cold sheets, desperately trying not to let the anger appear on my face. I cleared my throat. "I'm very sorry, sir. What can I do for you?"
The goon threw me an unimpressed look and scratched his hairy arm. "Well first you can get an ashtray for my lady friend." He thumbed behind him into the room, and that was when I noticed suddenly that there was a woman in 306 behind him, constantly moving in and out of the bathroom. I didn't get a very good look at her, but the flashes of what looked like bleached blonde hair and red pleather instantly screamed whore.
Clearing his throat, the goon pulled my attention back to him. "Youse guys say smoke in the room, but no ashtrays?" His voice peaked for a moment, as though he couldn't believe the stupidity, and once again he held out his hands as saying what the fuck.
I nodded eagerly, desperate to get him whatever he wanted just to make him happy, shut him up, and be on my way. "I'll get one right away, sir. Is there anything else you'd like?"
"Uh, yeah!" The goon said, and shifted his weight around on his two feet and though he were getting a little worked up, like bitching out the maid was pretty damn entertaining but he was holding back his glee. There was a glint in his dark eyes that told me the son of a bitch was enjoying it more than he should have been. "Don't you put any shampoo in here? $89 for a room and no shampoo, what kinda hospitality is that?"
Once again I nodded, and eased even a tiny little smile, just so he wouldn't tip over the edge and go nuts. "I'll get it for you right away, sir."
I turned then and walked quickly down the hall, but not far enough out of earshot that I couldn't hear the goon shouting to me, "My lady friend likes her hair clean and smellin' like flowers, ya know!"
In the sudden safety and darkness of the maintenance closet, I threw down the sheets onto the floor in complete disgust and marched over to the cupboard where we kept the complimentary items for the rooms. Throwing open the door, I grit my teeth and muttered fucker and prick under my breath as I gathered a few bottles of shampoo, just so he couldn't bitch at me or worse, complain to Estelle in the morning, and then picked up the ashtray. Throwing the cupboard door closed, I suddenly took a moment and urged myself to calm down. On the verge of furious tears, I dipped at the waist and told myself to calm down, just calm down. The sooner this asshole got his precious items of hygiene that I for one was flabbergasted he even knew existed, the sooner I could make my way home on the dangerous route through the Narrows and be snuggled up safe and sound in bed, with all the locks thrown on the door, with vodka in my system, with Henry cuddled up in my arms, with the sound of the rain making me fall asleep.
Standing up straight and composing myself, I left the maintenance closet and headed down the hallway towards 306. The goon was lingering around in the doorway, probably ready to lecture me some more, but I just stood up straight and walked towards him with confidence, confidence that I could get him whatever he needed without having to punch him out.
He had this smug smirk on his face when I got close enough to him, and by then it was really hard not to punch his stupid face right in, but I pulled it off, stepping up to him gracefully and holding out the ashtray and the shampoo bottles he wanted, and smiling just the slightest. "Here you are, sir. Sorry about the inconvenience."
The goon took them from me gingerly. "Well it's about time," he muttered unhappily, and juggled them around, until the whore appeared at the door behind him, and I got a good look at her. I'd seen her before, down on the corner, definitely; she was a young but very rough-looking chain smoker, probably a drug addict, judging by how scary skinny she was and the hollowness of her cheekbones, and the dark circles that lined her eyes. She wore heavy makeup and long fake eyelashes over dead gray eyes. She had a cigarette dangling on her lip that was already coated in cheap pink lipstick when she took the ashtray from the goon without looking at him, and then the shampoo bottles after glancing narrowly and disapprovingly in my direction. Disappearing from view and retreating back into the room, I listened as the shower in the bathroom started up, and the door closed.
I inched back a little, but obviously the goon wasn't quite finished with me. He turned back towards me and frowned. "Who's heard of a hotel that don't give out free shampoo? $89 for a room, I think that calls for a little service, don't ya think?"
I found myself frowning at him, first for his comment, but then after realizing that his gaze was suddenly on my chest. I wanted to laugh at him; first he berated me for not having the room up to his grand expectations, next he was checking me out? I crossed my arms to get him to stop, but I couldn't help the frown that felt heavy on my face. He looked back up at me, seemingly unimpressed. "Anything else I can do for you?" I asked cooly.
He took a step back and leaned his weight onto one foot, and then very obviously gave me a once over, and I nearly scoffed in his face and stormed off down the hall in the other direction. I probably would have if he hadn't shrugged and then gave me a wolfish smile. "Yeah, uh...listen..." he looked down at the carpet, wiped his nose, and then looked up at me once again, still smiling. "Why don't you join us inside for a drink, since I've been such a prick and all."
Almost immediately as he said it, a red flag went off in the back of my head. I felt the frown melt from my face, and the anger I was feeling was slowly being replaced with apprehension. I uncrossed my arms slowly and regarded him seriously, but he wasn't letting up. He continued to leer at me, his eyes clouding over with something I couldn't quite identify, but something I definitely didn't like. Part of me thought that maybe he was only trying to be polite, and really make some sort of gesture of apology for being such an asshole, but my mind was telling me to move along.
I took a step back, rose one hand, and shook my head. "No thanks, that's not necessary."
The goon took a step towards me, and the apprehension I was feeling was very quickly turning into panic. He nodded his head towards the door, and started to grin very deviously. "Well then why don't you just come inside...we'll make it worth your while."
I took another step back, my entire body flooding with panic, and I swallowed as he took another step towards me. Once again, I shook my head. "No, thank you."
Suddenly his eyes flared with anger, and his grin was gone, replaced by an angry pout, like that of a child who doesn't get what he wants and is about to throw a tantrum. Before I could turn and take off down the hall, his hand lashed out at me and grabbed my elbow, making me gasp and instinctively try and pull away. His fingers bit into my skin like claws and I winced at the harshness of it. Breathing in frightened little gasps of fear I try to pry his fingers off me, but he simply pulled me towards him and my feet in their little tennis shoes slid right across the carpet. I was suddenly right up flush against his body and looking up at him I suddenly realized that although he wasn't much taller than me, he wasn't lithe in form, and his arms were big.
Looking down at me, his eyes glimmered once again with malicious intent and he grinned. "C'mon, babe, it'll be fun, I promise it'll be fun."
Trying to wrench my arm out of his grasp, I was on the verge of tears when all of a sudden he stepped back towards the door, bringing me with him, and he was nearly inside the door before my voice broke free from my dry, scratchy throat.
"Let me go!" I shrieked, although not nearly loud enough that someone might be able to hear me. I pounded my fist down on the wrist of the arm that gripped me but he simply laughed as though such an effort to escape him was completely futile. Tears were threatening to spill and I was shaking completely in fear as I shrieked out once again. "Let me go! Let me go!"
And then, suddenly, all was silent, following the opening, and the slamming, of a nearby door.
The goon stopped pulling me as we both listened to heavy, solid footsteps as they made their way down the hall towards us, becoming louder and louder like thunder with every step.
We both looked simultaneously down the hall to where they were coming from, and I very nearly let out a gasp of relief, if only I hadn't seen the malevolent glare in his eyes.
Jack.
/
XD
