Thanks to all of you who took the time to comment and review the last chapter. If you keep taking the time to review – even just a few words so I know this thing is being read – I'll keep on writing.
I hope no one minds that some of the secondary characters are beginning to be fleshed out and they are gaining stories of their own. I haven't forgotten who are the king and queen in this chess game, so don't worry. Let me know what you think about it by reviewing.
The Endgame
Chapter Twenty-Six
"Life Is Short"
It was 9:00 o'clock in the morning when Charlie finally arrived at his third floor apartment on Dixon Street, near Robinson Park. He found Leo sitting in front of the television, in his pyjamas, eating a bowl of cereal and watching an old movie on the classics channel.
"Pop!" Leo jumped up onto his feet, excited to see him. "Where were you last night? Mom is pissed."
"Don't swear." Charlie pointed a parental finger at the eight-year-old, dark-eyed, dark-haired boy he considered his son. "Why aren't you in school?"
"Mom needs me to run errands." Leo responded matter-of-factly. "Did you hear about the explosion yesterday? The Joker? Whoa. That was one hell of a blast."
Charlie looked at him, closed his eyes, and waited.
"Heck." Leo corrected himself. "One heck of a blast."
"Where's Mom?" Charlie changed the subject abruptly.
"Bedroom, I think." Leo went back to his movie and cereal. "Glad you're home, Pop. I was getting worried."
"Didn't mean to worry ya." Charlie tussled the boy's hair playfully as he passed him to go and look for his wife.
He found her at the back of the spacious apartment, in their bedroom, still in her nightgown, lying on the king sized bed, reading a magazine. He walked in and closed the door securely behind him to keep their conversation private from Leo. The boy had no idea what he did for a living or that the Joker of Gotham's generous pay days were keeping all of them in a style they had, previously, been unaccustomed to. Leo was caught up in the public's fascination about the Joker, like most boys his age. There was nothing more intriguing to a young boy than someone raising hell and getting away with it.
Cha Cha looked up from her reading. He noticed how rested she looked. Not at all like a wife who might have been up all night worried about the fate of her husband involved in a very dangerous heist, not to mention explosion.
"Where you been?" She said in a bored fashion, batting her eyelashes as if to indicate she was really less than interested anyway. "They said the Joker got away ….. again."
"Oh really." Charlie walked over and pulled the magazine out of her hands in a abrupt manner that startled her. He flung it against the far wall. She looked up at him, affronted, dark eyes squinted in barely concealed fury.
"Well, I'm glad you didn't worry yourself at all whether or not I made it out of there alive." He leaned down and she cowered back a little into the pillows. "As long as he's safe. You know, you might miss the paycheck if I was blown to hell. Did you ever think about who's going to support your little ass if I'm not around?"
Cha Cha huffed and moved over to the other side of the bed to get to her feet and put some distance between herself and his temper. "I could sell some of my art. You really don't give me much credit, do you?"
He took a good look at her. She had her long black hair woven up on her head in her customary style that she had done every three days at the salon downtown, her nails were long and perfectly manicured, and her make-up was flawless. She was the kind of woman who turned heads and caused traffic accidents; beautiful latina with a figure that she now considered perfect since she had her boob job. He thought it made her look cheap and cartoonish but there was no denying she was an attractive woman to any man with one thing on his mind. Right now, Charlie had other things on his mind.
"Why isn't the boy at school?"
"I need him to pick up some things for me today over at the art shop and a few other places." She crossed her arms across her newly enhanced breasts in a defiant manner.
"He's not your errand boy."
"Don't start with me, Charlie."
"What did you say?" He was beginning to realize that there had been something big seething for a long time now. Something in his chest like a dull ache, nudging at him to give it expression. It was a feeling that he couldn't put words to or he would have told her by now. But it was there, bubbling, festering, ready to pop. "What did you say to me?"
"I said don't start with me." She repeated and took a few steps around the bed to challenge him. He had never raised a hand to her. She wasn't afraid of him that way. "Don't start pushing my buttons!"
Charlie blinked at her for a few seconds and then hit his forehead with the heel of his hand, like something had just dawned on him.
"Ooooohhhhhhh…..why didn't you tell me? You have buttons! You mean, all this time, all I had to do was push a button?" He got a little closer and she rolled her eyes at his sarcasm.
"Stop it."
"Oh, no." Charlie shook his head and reached out to take her chin in his hand, making her look at him. "No, we're just getting started. Now where are these buttons, Cha Cha?" He looked around her torso and poked with a stiff finger into her ribs and on her breasts, as she flinched and pushed him away in annoyance. "Where's the "make a meal" button, or the "be a decent mother" button? And I really wanna know where the "fuck your husband" button is. That one's out of order, I think."
"Stop it, Charlie!" She was more insistent now and frowned as he continued to poke at her as she slapped his hands away.
"Christ. Here I thought you were just a lazy, self-absorbed, high maintenance, cold, little bitch. And all I had to do was push a fucking button." He stopped poking her and just stood there, at a loss of how to get her to see his side of this. To see how much she took without ever giving – anything – in return.
"That's a hell of a thing to say." She pulled a pout now. "Why would I want to fuck you when you talk to me like that?"
"Well, I got good news, Baby." He told her with a wry smile, his temper dampened, his mood lightened at the realization he had just had.
"What?" She looked sideways at his sudden change in demeanor.
"You don't have to fuck me anymore."
"What?" Now she looked wary. "You're not going to threaten to leave again, are you? You know you'll never see Leo again if you abandon us."
"You." Charlie corrected her. "I would be leaving you – not him."
"He's not your own. He's not your blood. You have no claim to him." She stood up straighter now, confident, as always with this approach.
Charlie wasn't up to a repeat of an argument that occurred so often lately, he could repeat it line by line. She had him where she wanted him. Here. Where he would continue to pay the bills. She knew he would never call her bluff where Leo was concerned. It was beginning to dawn on him just how evil this threat was. He was the only father that Leo knew. He was there through the pregnancy and on the day he was born; it was Charlie who cut the cord, and watched him learn to walk and talk. He paced the floors with him as an infant, in the middle of the night, through ear infections, teething, and bad dreams. Just because the biological father was on death row, seemingly years from execution, and wouldn't allow Charlie to adopt "his blood", all bets were off when it came to any possible parental rights he had.
"I'm going to catch a shower and then I have to go out for a while. When I get back, I want all your shit out of the spare room. Your easel, the paints, and all the rest of that crap – gone. That is my room now. Oh, and get some fresh bedding in there and air the place out. The place smell like turpentine."
Her eyes got wide, incredulous. "Who do you think you're ordering around?"
"My wife. My dear, doting, spouse." Charlie sneered sarcastically. "The one who's going to earn her keep around here from now on."
"Are you going to see the Joker?" Cha Cha steered around any agreement to perform chores for him today and went to a topic she found a lot more interesting. "Are you getting paid for yesterday?"
"You better not count on the big pay days anymore from the Joker. I fucked up yesterday." He nearly laughed out loud at the look of undisguised fear in her eyes.
"He's going to fire you?"
"If I'm lucky." He gave a feeble laugh.
"Apologize." Cha Cha stepped up close now to ensure his attention. "Just grovel if you have to. Promise him anything to make amends."
"You don't know what you're talking about, believe me." Charlie was remembering the last time he saw Midget, driving that hummer, wired for a one-way ticket to hell, completely oblivious to the fact he only had minutes left to live. The Joker had "fired" him, all right.
"No, I mean, maybe I should come with you." Cha Cha grasped the sleeve of his jacket now and he twisted away from her. "I mean you should promise him, anything." She looked at him meaningfully.
It took a moment for him to understand what she was insinuating and he shook his head, letting his breath out slowly.
"You just never give up, do you?"
"Well, it's the least I could do if it smoothed things over for you, for us. I'm thinking of our future…."
"No, you're thinking you'll finally get to fuck him."
"No. I was thinking maybe I could save your ass." Her frustration was obvious and her motive transparent. He enjoyed watching her get so close to what she wanted and being able to pop that little bubble of fantasy right under her nose.
"The Joker is being well taken care of right now by a very classy woman who seems to have him completely focused on her. The last thing he'd want right now is cheap, easy, sloppy seconds."
He waited just a beat and then timed it perfect to duck and miss her white-knuckled fist that swung out to clock him.
"Close, baby, but those new boobs seem to be interfering with your aim." He baited her, actually chuckling now, as she slapped him on the shoulder and the chest, wearing herself out until she was sitting on the edge of the bed, frustrated and about as pissed off as he had ever seen her.
"I hate you, Charlie." She looked to be on the edge of tears. "You can be so fucking mean."
"Mean?" He stood beside the bed, looking down at her. "I'm doing you a favour. Do you have any idea what kind of freaked out, psycho ward, grade A, classic nut job, the Joker really is?" Charlie leaned down to get her attention and she looked sideways at him, the first tear starting to pool in the corner of one perfectly lined and shadowed eye. "He's got loose nuts and bolts rolling around in that head of his. He's unpredictable and would kill you as soon as, or maybe in addition to, fucking you. Or he might just decide to carve you up like a pumpkin because, well …. because it's Friday. No reason, no rhyme, nobody's home behind those blacked out eyes."
Years ago, it was her need to be taken care of that had attracted him, pulled him into a crazy relationship with a woman, still married at the time, to a man sentenced to die at Blackgate and three months pregnant with that man's child. Her situation was bleak but she could make Charlie feel like a rock star when they started living together and eventually welcomed Leonardo into the world; they got married as soon as she was free. She never really took to motherhood but Charlie didn't mind, he could fill in that gap for Leo, as long as he felt important in her eyes. He was appreciated and the abundance of sex made up for any other shortcomings. Then at some point, she seemed to get bored. She needed more excitement than even his occupation could provide. He had committed the cardinal sin, in her eyes, of becoming too predictable, too humdrum , her everyday man – no excitement – when compared to someone like the painted prince of Gotham.
He turned to leave and she reached out and grasped his pant leg from where she sat on the bed. It wasn't hostile, just insistent.
"Charlie, you didn't mean it, did you? You're not going to stop sleeping here with me, are you?" Her voice was like honey, purring, seductive. "Forget all this craziness. Forget about going to see the Joker right now. Come to bed, Charlie. I'll make you feel better – so much better."
But something had happened. Some important piece had clicked into place. Where once he would have given in to this tactic, taken the pleasure for what it was worth, it now just left him feeling sad.
He looked at the bedside clock.
"I haven't got a lot of time, Cha Cha. I meant what I said. I'm staying here for Leo. I'll take care of things just like I always have but I'm done with us as a couple. You can do what you want, see who you want, fuck who you want. Makes no difference anymore."
"But I want you."
"That road's closed, Baby." Charlie pulled his pant leg free of her grasp. "Get Leo ready for school. I'll drop him off on my way over to see His Purple Highness."
Bruce Wayne sat in front of his computer and read and listened to the news reports, at full volume, in the aftermath of the heist and explosion at the Armory. Three soldiers dead, two henchmen dead, and one soldier, the female, taken hostage and traumatized to the point that she, apparently, had wandered around all night until she finally ended up at her apartment early this morning, remembering nothing that happened after she left the Armory in the custody of the Joker and an unknown, unnamed, henchmen, disguised in a balaclava. She could offer no details about this man or what transpired between herself and her abductors, in the van.
"Post Traumatic Stress Reaction." Alfred commented, reacting to the report as he laid out tea and sandwiches.
Bruce frowned.
"Oh I am sorry, Sir." Alfred apologized quickly, realizing that Bruce's hearing was still significantly impaired from the explosion. He spoke up, loudly, forming his words carefully. "Post Traumatic Stress Reaction!"
Bruce nodded, gesturing to his ears with frustration.
"I hope they're right that my hearing loss is temporary or you'll be hoarse from shouting. I'm sorry."
"Not at all, Sir. Just so happy to have you here in one piece."
Bruce frowned again and rolled his eyes.
"I said…!" Alfred began but Bruce waved him off.
"It's okay. You know, I still can't understand why the Joker warned me about that hummer." He picked up a sandwich, pulled the slices of bread apart to check out the contents and then began to eat it, contently. Alfred smiled at the habit, something he had done since boyhood. "I mean, he gave up a clean get away and put himself at risk just to tell me to back off. Just when I think I understand what motivates him, he throws me another curve, and I'm lost."
Alfred cleared his throat to speak loudly this time.
"You are much better off not understanding something as dark as the Joker's mind. But I do think he sees a certain challenge in your interactions and he does like games. He was assuring himself of another chance to play. It may be just that simple. Not complicated at all."
As Charlie sped towards the tenement, after dropping Leo at school, he mentally went over his plan of what to do when he met with the Joker. He hoped he was alone. That would make this easier. If he could just keep him engaged while he apologized, it would give him time to get a clean shot off and end this thing. He took no personal pleasure in plotting the murder of his boss but since he felt certain he would meet a fate similar to Midget's in a time of the Joker's choosing, this was self defense. Leo needed at least one person in the world looking out for him. Joker had no one depending on him. He was more expendable. It was just that simple.
The truck radio played the news report and everyone was talking about Private First Class Janice Minsky and her sudden reappearance after her harrowing experience as Joker's hostage yesterday afternoon. He had to smile when the news reporters explained how traumatized she was because she couldn't even remember where she had been the night before or offer any details whatsoever about her abductor. He reached in his pocket and took out a matchbook with the Night Owl Motel logo on it, a souvenir from their brief time together. He knew that she, maybe more than most, would be glad to hear that the Joker had been killed. And he knew that he was risking very little in terms of arrest or punishment if he were ever identified as the killer. He could give any reason for taking the clown prince out and it would be more than sufficient to walk free. It amazed Charlie that this guy had lived this long. There were so many who would love to pull that trigger.
He pulled his truck up into the courtyard just yards from the kitchen entrance and patted his chest where his holstered magnum rested, in wait, and slipped a hand into his right jacket pocket to feel the glock, loaded, safety off, ready to go. He made a mental note of the knife in his boot and went over every possible scenario he could think of, every possible way the Joker could attack. He knew the Joker would prefer a knife fight. He usually liked to deal out his form of retribution up close and personal – Midget was the exception – and knives were his preference. Charlie knew he was no match for a knife in the Joker's hands so he would have to shoot before he had the chance to threaten him with a blade. He took a few deep breaths, pushed his longish hair behind his ears, and then jumped out of the truck to get this over with.
The door was unlocked and when he opened it he was subjected to a sight that threw his mind into a tailspin. He wasn't alone. She was there. They were having breakfast. A huge breakfast by the look of the items strewn on the stove and countertop. He could smell fresh coffee. He looked at the table where the Joker was seated with his back to him, dressed casually, in jeans and plaid shirt with a grey vest. His hair was less green than usual. In fact, it looked nearly all dark blonde.
"Morning, Charlie." Claire greeted him from her spot across from the Joker where she was eating eggs and toast and Charlie noticed that there was a chess board between them on the table. They looked to be in the midst of a game while they enjoyed their morning meal. The Joker didn't turn to greet him.
"Are you speaking to that traitor? The one who left me stranded ?" The Joker's voice was the usual nasally whine he could put on when he was pissed off, but still he didn't look in his direction.
Charlie didn't know what to do. He hadn't counted on her being there. And she was looking nervously from him to the Joker in a way that put Charlie even more on edge. Something was wrong here.
Then she seemed to get a silent order from the Joker because she looked at Charlie and nodded at him and at the empty chair waiting.
"Please, sit down." She said a little breathlessly, watching him very carefully.
Charlie frowned at her, confused now about how he could execute his plan now with her as a witness. He went ahead to the chair offered and sat down. He turned to confront the Joker and that's when things got surreal.
The Joker wasn't there. In his place, was a very young, slender man, pale to medium complexion, deep brown eyes, and a face, unlined, unblemished, aside from the two crooked scars that snaked over each cheek in cruel relief.
It was a shock to his system as Charlie took in the full reality that this young man, sitting at the table, was the Joker. And it occurred to him that Cha Cha had been right all along. Under the paint, despite the scars, this guy was a looker. There was a sense of nobility in the curve of the nose and without the black paint surrounding them, the hooded eyes were sensitive and expressive. He grinned and displayed the callow teeth that were not nearly as menacing without the crimsoned mouth. The hair was clean and ran more to curls than the stringy mat he usually sported with the green dye; the forehead was unlined without the covering of cracked white paint. So young. Much younger than Charlie had guessed.
"Ha, ha." The Joker gave a dry laugh. "Now he's worried, hmmmm? Now I've let the cat out of the bag. What could it mean? I've let you see my true identideeee. Is it a good sign or a bad sigh, eh, Charlie?"
The voice was the same. No doubt who this man was. Charlie's mouth had gone too dry to speak. He fingered the glock in his pocket absent-mindedly as he tried to make sense of the huge difference between killing a painted murdering psychopath versus the young man before him.
"Where's the peace sign?" The Joker referred to Charlie's standard greeting.
Charlie lifted his right hand from his pocket, uncomfortably, since it meant distancing it from the glock, even for a few seconds, and poised his fingers in the familiar "V" shape, wanting things to appear normal, not strained. He could feel Claire's eyes on him. He was being scrutinized.
The Joker took his fingers off his black bishop and raised his right hand but instead of returning the peace sign, he slowly, with a diabolical grin, raised his middle finger in an altogether different sentiment.
Charlie hastily returned his hand to his pocket. Claire watched him do this with more interest that it warranted, on the surface. She finally spoke again.
"Coffee, Charlie?" She offered sweetly with that cool British accent.
He didn't answer but she got up to fetch the pot that was done brewing.
"You do not serve coffee to the men." The Joker looked at her with disapproval and she turned from where she was standing by the counter, pot already in hand, as he explained to her. "You can fill my cup but he can serve himself."
She didn't argue. Instead she made her way over to fill the mug by Joker's right hand as he watched her with a look that could only be described as unabashed affection. She glanced nervously again at Charlie as she put the pot down beside the chess board, on a trivet that was waiting. And Charlie noticed that she had picked up something on her trip to the coffee pot; the small, pearl-handled gun that had been gifted to her by the Joker. She quietly lay it down by her left hand and then she gave Charlie a stern look. A look that told him her instincts were to protect this young man and that she understood what a danger he was to that young man at this moment.
"Have some coffee." She said pleasantly, looking more relaxed since she had added a new wrinkle to the events playing out.
"No thank you, Miss."
"Her name is Claire." The Joker grabbed the sugar bowl and a spoon to prepare his usual morning caffeine sugar speedball. He looked at Charlie but nodded at Claire, in a silent order for him to correct himself.
"No thank you …. Claire."
She said nothing. She continued watch him in a tense and observant manner. He noticed she was wearing one of Cha Cha's dresses – the brown one with the square neckline. He never liked it on Cha Cha but it looked very good on Claire. Her dark hair was down in free flowing long waves that tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. Dark intelligent green eyes watching his every flinch, her makeup was understated but the kohl around her eyes gave her an exotic appearance. She was a lovely woman. Charlie looked between the two of them for a moment or two and realized that they were, together, a very attractive couple. He with his height, rangy build, blonde colouring offset by dark eyes and she, petite, fine-boned, ivory complexioned with dark, nearly black, hair. What was their connection, he wondered. He knew she knew this young man from before but what was the previous relationship that had blossomed into this fierce alliance? It was clear to everyone at the table that she was ready to drop him if he gave even a hint that he was here to do the Joker an ounce of harm.
The Joker noticed the gun now by Claire's hand and put the spoon down as he took a deep breath and let it out in an exasperated manner.
"Look? See?" He called for Charlie's attention. "She thinks you're here to settle the score before I can settle the score."
Charlie felt two sets of eyes on him now and sweat began to bead up a little under his hairline. The Joker continued.
"And I told her, listen. I told her not to worry because when it's my time, it's my time. How often do I say that, Charlie?" Joker looked around the room like he was addressing a small crowd, not just two other people.
"A lot." Charlie felt compelled to answer.
"And I told her that I could understand why you were derelict in your duties in the middle of the action yesterday. I put you in a bad spot. You had a decision to make and you made it. And now you have the nerve to show up here this morning, like nothing happened."
Even without the paint, the stare was the same. The Joker could stare in a way that made you feel he could read everything about you and wasn't too pleased with what he read. Charlie had to look away.
"You got guts, Charlie." The Joker surprised him. He looked at him again. "And you're not stupid. Not like Midget."
Charlie wondered what was really happening here. He looked over at Claire who was listening intently, he noticed a slight tremor in the graceful fingers now brushing the pearl on the handle of the gun. The Joker continued to explain his actions for him.
"What you did wasn't planned. You acted in the moment and you fucked up. It wasn't anything personal, right?"
"Of course not."
"I still want you to work for me, Charlie."
With his right hand still in his pocket, Charlie could feel the coolness of the glock, as he brushed the tip of his finger against the trigger. He looked into the unadorned face of the Joker, at the young man behind the paint, as vulnerable and human as any other. He brought his finger up against the barrel and clicked the safety back on. Then he brought his hand out of his pocket and ran it through his long brown hair and sighed in resignation.
"I won't let you down again."
Claire sat back in her chair, hand moving away from the gun and off the table. The worry, however, did not leave her face as she looked over at the Joker. They seemed to communicate silently for a moment with a few glances between them, before he spoke again.
"Claire, it's alright. It's all good here. Why don't you run along and work for a while. I've got some things to discuss with Charlie, here."
She turned to Charlie with a question in her eyes. He looked back at her and nodded that all was well. Whatever the connection between this woman and the Joker, it was something powerful. Charlie tried to imagine Cha Cha, at any point in their union, defending him and protecting him, like this, and it was laughable. He wondered if the Joker could understand or appreciate the level of devotion that this woman was demonstrating.
"Claire?" The Joker's tone was a little more insistent.
She stood up and gave Charlie one more look before looking over at the Joker and pointing at the chess board that was being abandoned in the middle of an evenly matched game, each side with four pieces of each other's men confiscated.
"Don't you tamper with that board." She warned him sternly but with a playful expression in her beautiful eyes.
"I won't." The Joker put up his hands innocently. "It would take the fun out of beating you later."
"Cheeky." She summed him up neatly and then turned and left the kitchen in bare feet, taking a mug of black coffee with her.
Both men watched her disappear around the corner and then the Joker started spooning sugar into his mug of coffee.
"Do you play this game, Charlie?" He gestured to the chess board with his spoon.
"Nah. Never learned."
"You should. You should make sure that boy of yours learns. It prepares you for life. It's strategy, problem-solving, psychology, all in one." The Joker spoke passionately.
"Why the castle and the kings?" Charlie took note of the pieces. "And the horse?"
"It's war." The Joker explained with pleasure. "This game was invented for medieval kings to play, in the lulls between the battles, to keep their stragetic thinking sharp. It is, literally, two armies; the black and the white, facing off against each other."
"I'll give it some consideration." Charlie finally agreed.
"Good. Good. Now, tell me what transpired between you and our little hostage – the fair Janice." The Joker tasted his coffee, frowned and then proceeded to add more sugar.
"I took her to a motel."
The Joker stopped shoveling sugar, his spoon loaded but hovering in mid air and raised his eyebrows, impressed.
"Way - to - go!"
"No, no. She didn't want to go home because she wasn't ready for the pressure and the attention of the police and the press so I checked her into the Night Owl for the night. I ordered her something to eat and then I left."
"She's feigning PTSD, you know." The Joker pointed out. "She's letting on she doesn't remember a thing about you. Me – not so much. She's telling them every detail. It's like she's got a photographic memory for all my crimes and misdemenours. I swear she made some of it up. But she can't remember you – at all. Strange, hmmmmm?" He waited for him to share his impression.
"She …. " Charlie hesitated and the Joker leaned in, anxious for an explanation. "I think she views me as her protector."
"Yes." The Joker agreed dryly. "You scored that point when you dumped me on my ass at the Armory in favour of keeping her alive."
Charlie went to explain but the Joker cut him off.
"You two were a complete distraction yesterday. You'd need more than a chemistry set – you'd need a whole fucking lab – to concoct the kind of voodoo shit going on between you two during that operation. I swear I was getting a hard on just watching the two of you."
"I don't know what it was." Charlie offered up lamely and the Joker rolled his eyes in despair.
"So, you take this attractive woman, one who sees you as her hero, who clearly is turned on just being in your general vicinity, and you, what? Leave her alone at a motel with beds and shit?"
"I didn't want to take advantage. She's a nice woman. She's had a rough time."
"Charlie, I got a newsflash – are you ready?"
Charlie nodded, knowing it was coming anyway.
"You do not live forever. Get it? Understand?"
He didn't reply. But he was listening.
"You get one life. You don't know when or how it will end. In our business, even more of a crap shoot, you know? And in that time allotted, you are obligated to capture every moment of pleasure offered to you. Otherwise, you are wasting the time you've been given and really, you don't deserve to live. That is all."
Still, Charlie didn't say anything.
"Crib notes for the above." The Joker concluded, to make it simple. "Life is short-t."
Later that day, Charlie had concluded his visit with the boss and was on his next assignment. He was on his way to a bar in the Narrows, called the Penny Dreadful, where he was fairly sure he could find, or find someone who could direct him to, Thomas Schiff. The Joker was ready to take Schiffy into the operation. Charlie was to locate Schiff and deliver him. Knowing that Schiff had spent time in Arkham with the Joker, it was a certainty that Thomas had seen the side of the Joker that Charlie had met today – the unpainted version. He had heard that they had taken away his paints in the asylum. And he was ready to reveal his lodgings to him as well. It seemed the Joker trusted Schiff completely. Charlie wondered if he could ever be as loyal as that. In a strange way, he almost felt ashamed at his thoughts earlier today – of murdering the Joker in cold blood. He even wondered if that was the Joker's motive for making an appearance without the paint – to put him off any plans he had to take care of him before he could lower the hammer. He didn't put it past him. The man was brilliant. And Charlie wondered about his advice. Life is short.
He pulled the truck over at one of the last remaining payphones in Gotham, outside the liquor store by the Narrows Bridge. He stepped into the booth. The glass was shattered on all sides, evidence of the type of citizen who favoured this part of town. He picked up what was left of the tattered and stained telephone directory and paged to the "M's", not really expecting to find what he was looking for. But there it was. It had to be her. J. Minsky – 559-4423. She lived at 60 Paisley Place, near Grant Park. He rifled through his pockets and found some coins. It would be a miracle if that phone worked. It looked so beaten up and the metallic chord was knotted in a few places. He dropped the coins and punched the numbers and waited. It rang three times and he was about to hang up when he heard her voice.
"Hello?" She sounded glum, despondent. He got all of that from that one word.
He went to speak and stopped. He frowned at the receiver in his hand, wondering what the hell he was doing. He was taking it from his ear to hang up when she spoke again.
"Charlie? Is that you?" This time her voice was lighter, hopeful, almost bright.
He took a deep breath and gave in, took the plunge.
"Yup."
"I was hoping you would call. I had no idea how to reach you. I don't even know your last name."
He was confused at the relief in her voice.
"Are you okay? I was calling to make sure you were okay." He kept his voice steady. Sure, that made sense. That was reasonable.
"I'm fine. I didn't tell them anything about you."
"I know. Thank you. You didn't have to do that." He was speaking more naturally now, feeling more comfortable, remembering her eyes, her mouth, the way her eyebrows quirked upwards in that adorable way.
"Charlie, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I'm sorry. I know you're married and it's wrong, but, I can't stop."
"Was it hard, with the cops? The questions?" He didn't know how to address what she had just said.
"The cops? No. They're idiots." She hesitated and said more softly, less sure of herself. "Did you hear what I said?"
"Yup."
Silence again, as he felt the strange power of the attraction, even just hearing her voice; the spell had not been broken.
"I'm sorry." Her voice deflated. "Forget what I just said."
There was a silence that hung in the air like an empty thought bubble in a cartoon, waiting for someone to fill it in.
"I don't want to forget what you just said." He went with the truth.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Will I see you again?" Her voice was soft and pleading.
He couldn't believe this mood, this irrational "thing", had survived beyond the events of yesterday. The magic was still there.
"You sure?" But he smiled, knowing he couldn't stay away.
"Now." She said breathlessly.
"I can't. I'm working right now." He told her gently, regretfully.
"Tonight, then."
"Okay."
"I live at…"
"60 Paisley Place." He finished it for her and she laughed. It was the first time he heard her laugh and it was charming.
"Apartment 6E. Just buzz. I'll let you in."
"Eight." He mentally calculated how long it would take to have a meal with Leo and get him off to bed before he could meet her.
He ended the call and stood there for a moment, looking around at this wasted and polluted part of the city, a little amazed at what had just happened. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so absolutely alive. The smile wouldn't leave his face. She had protected him from arrest and took a chance lying to the police – for him. In the last two days, they had each looked out for the other, for a perfect stranger. He had to find out what force, what inexplicable and unspoken bond, had made them feel the need to do that. Life was short as the Joker had told him. And it was also full of wondrous surprises – like Private First Class Janice Minsky.