Authors' Note: Dear readers, we find ourselves caught between personal health issues, demanding job woes, and frustrating car repairs, with little time to write. Based on the reviews and hit counts, most of you are busy, too. So we hope you'll forgive us for taking a two-week break to get the next couple chapters properly filled out, and start working on the big set-pieces in earnest.

We will be back on March 15th, and hope to see you here, too!

Also - warning for violence in the final scene of this chapter.


Holly Robinson was in the middle of her online networking course – always have a backup plan, Selina had told her – when someone knocked on the door. Holly listened carefully; if it had been 'shave and a haircut', she would've bailed out the window and run for it.

Instead, it was Morse code. Long, short, long, pause, short, short, pause, long. Which meant Selina needed to talk to her, at one level of urgency down from just picking the lock and strolling in. Hell, Selina owned the building. She could've just had a key made, but letting Holly have privacy and independence was important to her.

Holly opened the door, and an old phrase from her childhood came to mind. 'Nervous as a long-tailed cat in a rocking chair factory.' That certainly described Selina just now. "What's wrong?" Holly asked, holding the door open for her.

Selina sighed, stepping into the apartment. "Holly, you're going to have to check into a hotel or a B&B out of town for a while," she said, wincing as the words left her mouth.

"Why? What happened? Who's after you?" That was the only possible reason Selina could have for asking her to leave. They'd known each other too long for anything else.

"It's Joker," Selina said. "He's after Harley since she kicked his ass. You know I robbed a bank with Harley and Ivy. Well, Joker probably knows it too. He just firebombed the arboretum, trying to draw Ivy out, and that didn't work. Sooner or later, he's gonna come hunting me to see if I know where they are. Or maybe just to see how many ways there are to skin a cat. Anyone who helped Harley is in danger, and anyone those people care about is a potential target."

Holly shivered. Of all of the psychos out there in the city – most of whom she was happy to avoid – Joker was the absolute worst. "Does he know how to find you?"

"I'm sure there are two or three people in the city who can point him this way. He might pay for the information, or he might just start pulling out fingernails. I've got plans for everybody else in this building, but you? I need you all the way out of Gotham. If Joker gets his hands on you, I'll have to come to him." Selina was standing with her arms crossed, holding her elbows tightly.

Holly understood her perfectly. She'd only been thirteen when she'd met this amazing, impossible woman. Selina had shown up out of nowhere and beaten the crap out of Holly's pimp, then taken her under her wing and gotten her off the streets and clean. Sure, there was an element of hero-worship there, and yeah, attraction played its part too. Underneath it all was the friendship they'd built. Holly and Selina had been through a lot over the years, of which the whole Catwoman thing was the least surprising. It was strange and worrisome to see Selina nervous about anything, and even worse to realize that Holly herself was a weakness.

"I've always wanted to see Metropolis," Holly said easily, leaving all the intense emotion out of it for now.

Selina wrapped her up in a relieved hug. "I've got some friends there, I can hook you up."

"Ooh, do I get to meet Superman?" Holly asked brightly. When things got dark, Selina always forced herself to keep something light. If she let Gotham depress her, she'd said, it would crush the life out of her.

"Maybe. We'll see." Selina leaned back, smiling fondly at her. "I've got short-term housing lined up for everyone else; the official story is going to be that there's black mold in the building and no one can be here during remediation. Thank God I left three floors empty, that's already a lot of people to move."

"Smart," Holly said, squeezing her tight. Then she stepped back, taking hold of Selina's shoulders. "What are you going to do about you? And all the cats?"

Selina smirked. "Don't worry, I've got that handled. I'm damn sure not going to be here if Joker comes calling. Although, I could use your help getting everyone in carriers."

"Good, and of course I'll help," Holly said. She understood that Selina didn't want to tell her where she'd be.

She could guess, anyway. How many people in town had room for that many cats?

Red Hood had laid down the law; none of the kids were going into shared studio apartments. Everybody had to have their own bedroom with a lock on the door, at minimum. And that was more of a concern with Julio and Carl than the rest.

Julio understood that, annoying as it was to have a bunch of adults all worrying about what they did. He'd been living with Carl and the rest for months, even before Big Tommy showed up and turned their lives upside down. You'd think if Carl never turned up pregnant then, with zero supervision and plenty of reason to try to ingratiate himself, it wouldn't be a problem now.

Whatever, they each had their own room, with a bathroom between them, and a little combined sitting area and kitchenette sort of deal. It was kind of nice, really, and in Metropolis, which made Julio wonder who was paying for it and how much it cost. The area was only mildly sketchy, by their standards; a series of apartments over a bakery downtown. The kind of place where you had to lock up your bike, but not your trash can.

The other residents were a mix of older folks who'd been there since forever, young couples with no kids trying to save money, and a few loners. No one creepy, at least not that Julio had seen, but he kept to himself for the most part. Carl talked to a few of them at the mailboxes or the coin laundry half a block away.

So far no one seemed to make any assumptions about what Carl and Julio were to each other, which was fine, because Julio wasn't making any assumptions either. He didn't lock his bedroom door, though, because at least two or three nights a week Carl would sneak in, curl up at his back, and sleep there until a few minutes before his alarm went off, then tiptoe out. Julio figured it had to be nightmares or something, and pretended he didn't wake up every time the door opened.

A good life. A sane life, one with a future. No more worrying about crazy costumed villains; sure, Metropolis had its dangers, but Intergang was nothing like Black Mask or Two-Face or Joker. Julio was just starting to relax, and make plans further in advance than the next week or next month. He would be starting welding school soon, and he was a little nervous about it. But the sooner he had his own legit money coming in, the better.

Dinah Lance – and holy shit, the chick bringing them pizzas turned out to be Black Canary, the chairwoman of the freaking Justice League of America – had walked him through the paperwork to become an emancipated minor. It entailed showing an income, which apparently all the kids' expenses were being paid through a grant by Wayne Industries and that was sufficient. His own family had plenty of issues already, they hadn't bothered to show up for the hearing. Neither had Carl's.

That wasn't news. They were on their own, with only each other and a few lucky friends in high places to rely on.

Carl burst through the front door in the middle of Julio's studying, dropped his bookbag in the hallway, and called out, "I got an A in English!"

"Awesome!" Julio called back. "Should I thank that cute girl tutoring you?"

Carl blew a raspberry as he came into the dining room and threw his arms around Julio's neck. "Michelle Troupe is seriously cute. But she's going to college for journalism. Who ever does that anymore?"

"Someone must, there's still that huge building downtown with the globe on it," Julio said. "What about the rest of your classes?"

Carl paused. "Mostly Bs," he admitted. "Um, except … I got a C-minus in World History. It's boring."

"Maybe we'll get Red Hood to find another cute girl to tutor you in history, too," Julio teased gently. Carl was still sensitive about his grades; he'd missed over a year of school, and hadn't been doing too well before that. Julio was glad to be out of all of it with his GED, but at barely fourteen, Carl could still pull off a traditional diploma if he worked at it.

Carl stiffened a little at the joke, and pulled away. "Yeah, you just want Red Hood to find me a tutor who's a hot single girl."

Julio sighed and rolled his eyes. "There's hot single girls all over this town. At least, I get emails about them in my spam folder all the time. But fine, if it helps you concentrate, we'll tell him to find you a hot guy to teach history."

Standing behind him, Carl's voice was muffled, but it sounded like he said something about already having a hot guy. And again, Julio wasn't gonna acknowledge that.

Instead he turned around and spoke seriously. "Look, Carl, you're doing fine. You've got the brains for this, you just need a little help to catch up on what you missed. Nothing wrong with that. Now see, this Michelle chick made English fun 'cause she got you reading those sci-fi novels. We just gotta figure out how to make history fun, too."

Carl made such a face at that. "You could bring strippers into class and still not make history fun. Ugh. So boring."

Julio was about to make some kind of reply when they both heard a knock at the door. Even now, even as accustomed as they'd become to having stability and security in their lives, they both reacted the same way to that unexpected knock.

Swiftly, soundlessly, Julio and Carl both got up and retreated to Julio's bedroom. He kept a baseball bat behind the door, and snatched it up. Carl had his phone out, and grabbed the chair, ready to slide it under the doorknob and barricade them in.

The knock sounded again, and they both listened silently. Julio tried to tell himself that no one knew they were in Metropolis. No one was coming after them. Joker didn't even have people in this city, and he wouldn't go this far just for a couple of homeless kids – nobodies, in the grand scheme of things. It was nothing, probably just someone lost and knocking on the wrong door. Or someone in the building trying to sell overpriced makeup or leggings to all their neighbors. It was probably nothing.

Julio's heart still raced. There was a chance, however small, that it might not be nothing.

Carl's phone chirped in his hand. They both looked down with trepidation, and saw a text message. Blur sent me. Is this Carl? I have packages for you.

"Yeah, but who is 'I'?" Julio muttered.

Carl tapped out the question, and a moment later the answer came in the form of a photo … of a press pass? The photo was a silver-haired woman with bright hazel eyes and a wicked smirk, and the name below it… "Lois Lane, Daily Planet?" Carl said, his voice rising. "Oh, shit!"

"Yeah, I guess we can let her in," Julio said, putting the bat down.

He still peered through the peephole before opening the door warily.

Lois Lane – for that was the woman standing on the doorstep, with two big bags in Christmas colors beside her – nodded at him. "Good kids. Stay smart, stay wary. Even in my town, a little paranoia can't hurt."

"Um, hi," Carl said, his voicing spiking high. "You're … you're really Lois Lane. Like Superman's Lois Lane."

"I haven't been Superman's Lois Lane for a while," she said with a slight grin. "He's still my story, though."

"That's … that's what I meant," Carl said hurriedly. "I didn't mean like, y'know, uh…"

Julio sighed and put a hand on Carl's shoulder. "Sorry, we don't meet many celebrities."

She cocked a dark eyebrow at them. "No? Dinah said you two were the steady ones out of the lot. Mind if I come in for a minute? I've got your Christmas presents, but you can open them early if you want."

"You got what?" Carl squeaked.

"Christmas presents. Courtesy of Blur. I'm sure Dinah and Hood and the rest will send something, but Blur's got an inside scoop to the Supers, so I get to be the delivery girl. Trust me, I'm gonna demand payback." When Julio stood back and held the door open, she stepped into the hallway, handing him one bag and passing the other to Carl. "Have you had dinner yet? I'm getting Maggiano's delivered."

"Nah, we haven't eaten yet. That's cool, thanks," Julio said. He tried to peek into his bag without making it obvious.

Carl was trying and failing to do the same. "So, um, you know Blur and Black Canary? Do you know Red Hood, too?" he asked Lois.

She grinned. "Of course I do. He's a smartass little brat, but he turned out okay in the end, I suppose. At least, if he's looking after you guys."

Julio just stared at her, the same way Carl was. She looked like a well-put-together woman of a certain age, professional, intelligent, competent. And they knew she was Lois Lane, a hard-hitting investigative reporter who'd broken many of the top stories of the last couple decades. But hearing anyone describe Red Hood as a smartass little brat, well … that casual comment put her into a whole other plane of existence.

She saw their faces, and laughed. "Guys, c'mon. I know I probably look like an old lady to you…"

"Nah, you're not old," Julio said quickly, because he'd had enough women over 30 in his family to know how touchy they could get about age.

Lois rolled on without acknowledging the protest. "But one of the nice things about getting old is you remember who some of these big scary guys were when they weren't so big or scary. Hell, I've known Red Hood since he was in short pants. Hard to be afraid of someone you've known that long."

Carl glanced at Julio quickly. Short pants – they'd heard rumors that Red Hood had been the second Robin, the same way pretty much everyone knew Nightwing had been the first one. Apparently that was true, and they had some internet searching in their future.

"We're not that scared of him either," Carl said, looking back at Lois. "I mean, he was never anything but nice to us."

She shrugged. "Of course. You're not drug dealers, or killers. You don't beat up women or kids. And you're not Batman, so he's got no reason to come after you. There's a lot of scary people out there with scary reputations, and some of them have really earned it. But a lot of them – even some of the most dangerous – won't bother you because of what you are. Red Hood is one of the most highly-trained killers around, but he doesn't target noncombatants. Fear's healthy, don't get cocky and think you can mess with some of these psychos like you've got some kind of Get Out of Murder Free card, because you don't. I've been around long enough to know which of the gray-area ones have a line they won't cross."

Julio nodded understanding. "Betcha you've seen a lot."

Lois laughed at that. "Oh, you have no idea. Now as for Hood and me, nobody in the business is dumb enough to think I'm a noncombatant. But we're good. I talked a little trash about his choice of guns, and he still hasn't taken me up on going to the range to have that argument. Maybe if he's lucky that's what I'll give him for Christmas."

Carl chuckled, smirking at Julio. To think that Superman's chronicler knew Red Hood well enough to be cracking jokes about gifts – this really was a whole other world, one they'd barely dipped their toes into. And Julio preferred, on the whole, to stay out of it.

A thought struck Lois then. "All of you kids are gonna be alone on Christmas."

"We have each other," Carl said staunchly.

"Have either of you ever roasted a turkey before?" Lois asked, and when they both looked clueless, she shook her head. "Nope. No one should be eating microwave dinners on Christmas Day. I'm going to be out of state for the holiday, but I'll figure something out. For you two, and the other kids in Gotham. My husband is a damn fine cook, and I bake a mean pumpkin pie."

"You don't have to," Julio said awkwardly.

Lois just smiled. "Yeah, I do. My own kids are pretty much out of the house. Let me be a stereotypical empty-nester here. You kids have had some hard luck, it's about time some good luck headed your way. Besides, I've got a big family, they won't mind contributing a bit to make sure you have a good Christmas. Hell, you already met my niece."

"Your niece?" Julio asked.

"Michelle Troupe is my sister's youngest daughter. We've got to plan for her birthday, too – she was born on Christmas Eve. Only my sister could have timing that bad." Lois sighed, and then looked at both of them again. "I've got to head out – food's on its way, and I already tipped the driver. Oh, and the gifts?"

"Yeah?" Carl asked, with the half-sad and half-hopeful tone of someone expecting to be told not to open them until Christmas Day.

Lois just smirked. "Blur said not to tell Hood what she got you."

With that, she took herself out – and with no prohibition against it, Carl and Julio immediately tore into the bags.

The first thing Julio spotted was the biggest box in his, and he yelped. "Holy shit, she got me an X-Box!"

"Me too!" Carl exclaimed. "And hair dye! She got the ones we talked about, After Midnight and Electric Lizard, plus Vampire Red! Nice!"

With a console apiece and a selection of games, as well as gift cards to get more, both of them were ready to proclaim this the best Christmas of their lives.

Little did they know that a group of dedicated people in both Gotham and Metropolis were working to make sure they added 'so far' to that statement.

Dick was just contemplating a second bowl of cereal when Selina walked in from the garage. "I need your help," she told him. "And anybody else who's home."

"What's wrong?" Dick replied immediately, standing up.

Selina passed him, and he realized she held a small wire-fronted carrier in each hand. "Well, sooner or later Joker's going to realize I helped Harley rob that bank, and he'll probably think I know how to find her. Which, before you ask, I don't. Anyway, everyone knows where to look for me, so I can't be there. And this is the most secure place in town."

Dick just stared for a moment, then scrambling to his feet after her. "Wait – you're moving in? Does Bruce know?!"

She laughed at him, putting the carriers down in the dining room. One of them meowed, and Dick began to get a bad feeling about this. "Of course he knows. I did ask. He even helped me get everyone in my building into temporary housing – I'm not going to have any collateral damage out of this. Holly's in Metropolis. So it's just me, and if Joker wants to skin this cat, he's gotta come through Manor security, all of you, and deadliest of all, Alfred."

Alfred had just stepped into the room, and eyed the carriers nervously. "I beg your pardon, Miss Kyle, Master Bruce neglected to inform me that you would be bringing additional guests."

"Well I can't leave them there," Selina said. "And there's no place in town that will board this many cats on short notice. Don't worry, after I have a word with them, they'll all go outdoors to do their business. I wouldn't put you on litter box duty. You deal with enough bullshit from these men, I'm not making you clean up any more. Although, you might want to move the more breakable ornaments higher up on the tree."

Dick and Alfred shared a horrified look. "How many cats do you have, Selina?" Dick asked carefully.

"I didn't count," she said breezily. "But there are nineteen carriers, and I'd appreciate your help unloading. I've got to have the Traverse back in two hours."

"You rented an SUV to move?" Dick asked.

"No, of course not," Selina laughed. "I borrowed it. And if it's not back where I found it in time, the owner will report it stolen. Now help me, would you? Some of the carriers are pretty big. Plus I've got some luggage."

Alfred closed his eyes on a sigh. Dick just groaned. "Alfred, would you get Bruce and Tim and Jay? I'll start helping Selina. Sounds like this is gonna be a team effort."

Dick followed Selina out to the garage, where the entire back of the large SUV was taken up by crates. And two of them were dog-sized. "Did you bring a leopard?" he asked nervously.

"Come on. Don't be so dramatic, Dick. I wouldn't keep a leopard in an apartment; that would be cruel." Selina rolled her eyes and grabbed two more carriers, heading back to the house. Picking up one of them, Dick peered through the wire. He couldn't see anything except a pair of golden eyes, and then something inside hissed at him. "Okay, never mind," he muttered, grabbing a second carrier.

By the time Dick set down his burden in the parlor, Bruce had turned up, frowning. "I said you could stay here," he was telling Selina. "I thought most of the cats weren't actually yours."

"Well, yes and no," she said with a shrug. "In the legal sense, they're all mine. I feed them, I make sure they're neutered and have their shots. But about half of these are feral, in the sense that you can't pet them, and they don't belong to anyone but themselves. The ones that are tame, you'll know because they'll be in your lap."

Bruce sighed. "Selina."

"I can't leave them there, Bruce," she insisted. "What if he shows up looking for me? And finds them? Most of the people in this town know better, but Joker has no limits. And if he hurts one of my cats, I'm going to blow his damn head off." Dick could swear her eyes gleamed as she said it, and he knew enough about cats to know that if she'd actually been one, she would've been arching her back and fluffing her tail, her claws out ready to strike.

"I would never have told you to leave them," Bruce said gently. "I would've appreciated some advance notice, though. We could've adjusted the decorations to be a little safer."

She looked around, seeing all the tempting ribbon and garland, and relaxed, her hackles going down. "Yeah, okay. I see that. I'm sorry, Bruce. I just … better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?"

"You're forgiven," he said, and Dick smiled. Tim walked up then, looking at him curiously, and Dick put the carriers he held down with a shrug.

Miss Kitty chose that moment to stroll by, hopping up onto one of the carriers nonchalantly. Jay had also arrived, and he snorted in amusement. "You're already releasing them so they'll be impossible to catch, right?"

"Oh, no," Selina replied quickly. "Miss Kitty doesn't do well with restraint of any kind. The vet does house calls, for her. But she goes where I go. I need to explain things to all of these before I turn them loose." With that she was gone again, heading back to the Traverse for another pair of carriers. Alfred had gone out while they talked, and returned with a put-upon expression and two carriers.

Jay looked at the Dick, and shrugged. "What the hell. Let's get Donna and Roy in on it, too. Call 'em up and tell them both to head back from Clock Tower early, we're gonna have a circus here."

Dick didn't make that call, just walking with Jay back out to the car. Selina smiled brightly at them as she headed in, adding, "One of you will have to get that big carrier. It's got the five sisters in it, and Batty alone is sixteen pounds."

"Jesus fuck," Jay laughed. "There's five in one carrier? How fucking many cats do you have?"

"She hasn't counted, or she won't tell us," Dick said grimly.

Bruce was right behind them, and added, "I wouldn't put it past her to bring every feral in the East End."

"I'd need a lot more than nineteen carriers for that!" Selina called back to them. "But since you mention it…"

"No!" Jay yelled. "Shit, we're gonna end up on fuckin' Hoarders, I just know it."

After a night of broken sleep and a breakfast just as haunted by Sebast's absence, not to mention the lack of Christmas decorations, Kala fled her own house for someplace friendlier. All four parents were at work, but the Lane-Kent penthouse had been home to Kala for long enough that she found some peace there even when it was empty of all but the two dogs. And Mom and Dad were sure to have at least put up lights.

She was right, the terrace was trimmed in white lights, the ornamental plants covered in netted multicolored lights. Kala smiled, knowing Lois had argued for the clean look of white lights, while Clark wanted multicolored ones that twinkled. Even when they weren't home, she could feel close to them with just that simple bit of decoration.

Although, it was hard to call a place 'empty' when her arrival on the balcony touched off a burst of baying that made it sound as if a dozen bloodhounds were inside, instead of two small beagles, both already in their ugly Christmas sweaters, clearly Dad's work. "Hi, Bagel, hi, Chewie," Kala called as she unlocked the french doors and let them swarm her feet. "Who's the best girls? You are, yes you are, what good girls."

Chewie sprang up and snapped at the air in delight; it had taken Lois over a year to break her of the funny 'trick' of snatching at someone's scarf, or a lock of hair, while jumping up. Bagel wasn't doing any jumping these days, but she did stand up with her front paws braced on Kala's thigh, whining excitedly as her white-tipped tail lashed back and forth. Kala petted and talked to them both until they settled down enough to run around the terrace, sniffing. Not for the first time, she wondered what they smelled all the way up here. Her nose was keen, another super-sense, but she'd read that dogs experienced the world primarily through scent in a way that informed their entire worldview.

Kala sat in one of the low-slung chairs her father had built, and let her mind drift pleasantly. Metropolis surrounded her, a steady rumble of city-noise. Different from Gotham, or Phoenix, or Seattle, or any of the hundreds of other places she'd been. The faint honking of car horns, the hum of machinery, the snatches of music – mostly Christmas music – on thousands of radios, the million little city-sounds could have been anywhere, but her sensitive ears recognized it as home. Perhaps there was something about how the wind moved through the buildings, or how the babble of myriad voices tended toward a typical Metropolis accent.

There were only two other places Kala knew as well: the ephemeral silence of the Fortress, and the endless sighing of the wind across the Kansas plains. She was starting to learn Gotham's pulse the same way, its tense silences and bursts of noise, but she hadn't been there long enough for its rhythms to sink into her soul-deep the way Metropolis and Smallville had. That familiarity would come with time.

Kala found herself wondering if she'd ever be able to share her city with Jay. She'd gone to Hong Kong with him, but hadn't brought him here. Metropolis was a little too bright and clean for a Bowery boy, perhaps. And Smallville … God, he'd be so uncomfortable in Smallville. The slow pace of life there would drive him crazy, the open landscape would have him jumping at every noise, and she didn't even want to imagine what he'd think of the Kent farm. Jay was decidedly a city boy, and the sound of coyotes in the night would unsettle him, sounding like a threat he couldn't predict and prepare for. If the Pelham's cows got loose and turned up to graze in the front yard, he'd probably have an aneurysm.

Her reverie was interrupted when Chewie leaped into her lap, twenty-five pounds of friendly beagle landing right on her navel. "Oof! Easy, Chewie, if it wasn't for invulnerability, you could rupture a spleen."

The younger beagle just licked her face, wagging her tail. Bagel came running over; attention paid to one dog always got some jealousy from the other. Kala stood up before they could both climb into her lap, and lead them inside.

She saw that Christmas decorating was in progress. The tree was up, lit, and decorated with a variety of ornaments they'd all acquired or – in the twins' case – made over the years. The star had been left off, though. By longstanding tradition, Jason and Kala put that on together. When they were little, Dad had held them up to do it. Wrapped gifts stood atop a bookshelf near the tree; nothing could go under it, not with Chewie in the house. There were evergreen swags along the shelves, bound with red and gold ribbons. Kala knew that the kitchen would have themed accessories, from the spoon rest to the glass cutting board to the towels. The only question was whether Lois had decided to put out the reindeer set, the poinsettias, or the nutcrackers.

Like her own house, the apartment was full of the personalities of the people who lived there. Kala saw her mother in the coaster on her side of the sofa, a gift from Aunt Tobie: it was a simple ceramic square with fancy script engraved on it, reading, 'You call me Bitch like it's a bad thing.' On the other side, where her father normally sat, the drink coaster was an uneven circle, with '#1 Dad' inscribed in unsteady letters. Kala had made that one, in fourth grade art class. Jason had made a similar one for Mom that lived on her desk in the study. Mom claimed she needed the serenity more there, where she did most of her work.

Kala smiled softly. She couldn't be jealous about the silly coasters; she and Jason had given Mom a beautiful topaz locket on their sixteenth birthday, and Kala knew she still wore it regularly. She treasured it, honestly.

For a moment, Kala thought of Sebast, in Ponce surrounded by family. Family she knew, family she also loved. Normally, two weeks out from Christmas, she'd be there with him, deep in the jovial craziness that was the Season with his relatives; his mother and grandmother deep in the heart of it with the older women, pulling Kala herself in to play a part as always.

Maybe not anymore. Maybe never again.

That brought a sad smile, especially after the last day of a ghost in her house. And this maudlin line of thought wasn't helping. She pushed the thought away with a sigh, and Jay rose to mind, thoughts still on family. That made her bite her lip. The only mother he'd ever known had died by the time he turned thirteen and there had never been another woman to make that gap less empty, not that he had ever told her. As much as Jay would deflected and deny it, in the man he was, she could guess at the little boy he had been. Kala could all too easily imagine him bringing home drawings to hang on the fridge, making a lumpy mug out of clay and painstakingly writing 'Mom' on the side.

If she looked, Mom and Dad – and Daddy Richard and Lana – probably had a lot of her old artwork saved up somewhere. Where had those mementos of Jay's childhood gone? Lost when he had to hit the streets, hauled out with the trash by some landlord more worried about getting a new tenant in the dead woman's apartment than what had happened to her son? Kala fought it, but just the sudden thought was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Jay would be annoyed with her, if he knew what she was thinking. He didn't want pity, and she couldn't explain how that differed from the compassion she felt. Not everyone gets a family like yours, that's just life, he'd told her before. Jay probably thought pity meant she wanted to fix him somehow, and that set him off. She had never had a chance to find out of that was really why he reacted so badly, or explain that she didn't want to fix him. Kala wanted to fix the situation, not him; she wanted to give him someone he could trust and rely on the way he had never really been able to. He gave her so much, he let her figure out who the Blur was in a way no else ever had, who the larger measure of Kala was, and she wanted so badly to do something similar for him. If she could somehow give him some measure of the support she'd always had…

The key turned in the door, startling Kala out of her thoughts and making her smile instantly. She heard her mother's voice first, sharp as ever. "Goddammit, Kent, that was city's story. You had no right to step on my toes!"

"Now, Lois," Dad said soothingly, and Kala had heard this argument a million times since she turned six. It was just what they did; God, it was almost their own brand of particularly obnoxious flirting, not that Mom would always admit to it.

With Jay on her mind, she went to them both and flung herself into her mother's arms. Lois gave a startled oof and hugged her back. "Well hi there, baby girl," she chuckled. "What, nothing left in the fridge?"

Nothing in the world could be quite as comforting as that warm, husky voice, little as Lois wanted others to know. "I love you," Kala said, her voice trembling, and reached out to her father, too. Clark enfolded them both in a hug as Kala just breathed in the sense of home. "I love you both so much."

"We missed you, too, munchkin. What brought this on?" Clark asked gently, kissing the top of her head. Kala stood up a bit like she'd had since she was a little girl, pressing into the gesture in happy acknowledgment.

They stayed as they were for a moment, Kala just basking in the warmth as she did in sunlight before shaking her head, pulling back a little to smile at Lois. "Mom? Just for the record, I'm so glad to be your Mini-Me."

The incredulous look on Mom's face was utterly worth it. Lois laughed out loud after pause at that, looking past her at Clark. "Well, that's only taken eight years. Either that, or she's brain-damaged. Taken any hard hits lately, baby?"

About this time, the year she turned sixteen, Kala had been adamant that she would have nothing to do with the world's insistence that she was Lois Lane 2.0, Half the Awesome of the Original. So desperate had she been to avoid it, she had fallen head-first into the madness that followed her to this day. And now, looking back, Kala was grateful to be around for the chance to realize how lucky she was. How lucky they all were. Smirking with her own inherited dose of Lane snark, Kala shrugged nonchalantly, although she knew her eyes shone with shared mischief. "Just a car trying to run me over, but you know. All in a day's work."

Lois shook her head, looking heavenward, and pulled Kala close again. "This crazy damn kid … Kent, I blame you for all of it."

"And you wouldn't change them or give them up for anything," Clark reminded her.

Kala didn't need to look, too busy hugging her mom, to know Lois had just grinned at him for saying it.

It took less than half an hour to move all the cats in, and Selina piled her own luggage haphazardly by the door. She set up food and water within sight of the cages, ten large dishes and five separate filtered fountains. There were toys and treats to unpack too, but she wanted them to see the most important things first.

While she arranged things, Jay sat down in one of the parlor chairs to regard the wall of carriers they'd built. Bruce had taken the other chair, looking defeated. Tim and Dick were watching with awe and terror, and Alfred looked on aghast. Jay just shook his head in amazement. "The things you do for love, Bruce."

Bruce tensed, shooting him a look, then said, "Harley Quinn's sister and her family are currently staying in a condominium I own on New Providence in the Bahamas, at Selina's request. Housing twenty cats shouldn't have come as a surprise."

"Oh, there's more than twenty," Selina said, and sat down in front of the leftmost cage, ignoring the dark looks that passed between everyone else. She stuck her fingers into the top cage, and made a low chirruping noise. Miss Kitty hurried over to stand atop that carrier, purring loudly.

From inside the cage came a grumpy-sounding meow, and Selina opened the door. The cat inside was only visible as a gray streak, seeming not to touch the ground between its carrier and the door. Selina worked her way down the row, chirping or meowing or purring or chuffing at each door before releasing the occupant. Jay couldn't decide if she was really talking to them, or if she was just putting on a show.

Some carriers had only one cat, like the first gray and the very round tuxedo who bolted from the next box with a distressed whine. The third carrier had a pair of young cats, a gray tabby and a black kitten, both of whom cased the room, sniffing everyone. The fourth carrier held a big fluffy black. That one stalked out, stared at everyone, and gave a rusty mew. Selina reached into the same carrier and gently withdrew a bigger, fluffier white cat who looked startled to see strangers. "It's okay, Mouse, stick close to the Captain," she murmured, and set her down.

She promptly crawled right back into the carrier, and Selina moved on as Miss Kitty stuck her head in and sniffed at the white cat. Jay saw a few more singletons and pairs, most of the cats choosing to dart out of the room, and then Selina got to one of the two big cages. A huge furry orange and white cat leapt out, followed by a leggy spotted one with a short tail, and both of those cantered off together.

The next carrier was the other big one, and Jay recognized a couple of the cats he'd seen on the roof. "These are the sisters," Selina was saying, as the tiny fluffy one walked right up to Jay and hopped into his lap.

"Aw hell, now I can't get up," he complained, as the cat kneaded his leg and purred.

"Just pet her," Selina scolded, as another tabby with black stripes rubbed against her and trotted to Dick. Before he could react, the cat was standing on his lap with her forepaws against his chest, shoving her face against his jaw.

Dick laughed, and petted her, getting a loud purr in response. Meanwhile Jay noticed the biggest cat in that group had gone right for Bruce and climbed his leg. "Not you again," he said worriedly.

"Oh, Bruce, stop it. Batty won't hurt you," Selina said, then added, "Not on purpose, anyway. She doesn't know her own strength. Pet her, Bruce, she's friendly."

Jay had started to gingerly pet the tiny scrap of fluff perched on his knee, and the cat – Norway, that was her name – arched and twisted until he was scratching under her chin. Meanwhile Bruce started to pet the big cat, and she folded back her ears and complained loudly. He lifted both hands, still looking at the cat named Batty as if she were some alien life form, and she meowed even louder, swiping at his hands. "Selina," he called.

"She yells when you pet her, but she yells louder when you stop. Just keep petting her, she'll chat the whole time. She never shuts up; her father was a Siamese, I think. It's charming when you're used to it."

"She's trying to claw me, Selina," Bruce said, raising his hands out of range. Batty stood on her hind feet and succeeded in sinking her claws into his sleeve, dragging his arm down and rubbing her face extravagantly against his hand.

"She's trying to grab you, Bruce," Selina said, still not turning around. "You stopped petting her. She just wants you to love on her. If you don't pay attention to her, she'll bite your fingers."

"I'd noticed," he said grimly, and Jay couldn't help laughing. He did start petting the cat again, and she made a series of weird mrrowr noises that Jay supposed were what Selina had meant by chatting.

Tim had been laughing at them all quietly, until a cat climbed his chair and started sniffing his ear. "Uh, Selina, what's this one doing?"

Selina glanced at him, releasing another single cat, a fluffy calico that ran out of the room. "That's Lydia, she's sweet. She'll let you pet her all day, but she's not fond of being held. And Bolt's around … ah, of course. Alfred, the cat lurking right behind you is Bolt. No one but me can touch her. If she cries and rubs against your leg, just talk to her. She acts like she wants to be picked up and snuggled, but of all of them, she's the only one who'll actually hurt you if you spook her."

Alfred looked down with a sigh, just as another of the black-striped tabbies looked up at him and gave a piteous cry. "Your pardon, Miss Bolt, I do not wish to be clawed to ribbons," he said in dignified tones. Apparently that was the right thing to do, as the cat mewed again and head-butted his leg.

Little Norway was laying on her back in Jay's lap, purring extravagantly as he rubbed her belly. Dick glanced over from the cat licking his chin and frowned. "I thought cats hated having their bellies touched," he said.

"Norway likes it. She's weird. This whole litter is, honestly," Selina said. She let out a rangy marmalade cat, a stocky Siamese-patterned one, and a slim tortoiseshell in short order. Those sniffed at the food, the orange one sitting down to groom her toes.

Eventually all the carriers were open, and Selina stood up, stretching her back. She looked at the guys, and Jay saw her smirk. No wonder; Tim was petting a black cat, Jay himself had another falling asleep in his lap, Dick had a tabby trying to crawl into his shirt, and Bruce was looking more and more confused as Batty chewed enthusiastically on the fingers of one hand while the other petted her.

Bruce looked up at Selina disapprovingly. "I counted thirty-three. I might be off, it's difficult to keep track with this one trying to gnaw pieces off."

"Hey, she's not really biting," Selina argued, not commenting on the accuracy of his estimate. "You see the jaws on her? Batty can go through a raw turkey neck in about ten seconds."

"Jesus Christ," Jay muttered. "I'm glad the nice one picked me."

Selina crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "They're all nice. You wanna see a not-nice cat, try to pick up that solid gray I turned loose first. Hades is at least twelve and he hasn't given a damn in the three years I've known him. I put claw caps on to stop him from drawing blood, so he learned to punch you as hard as he can."

"Nice," Dick said, laughing as the cat that picked him shoved her face into his sleeve.

"Well, since you're all getting along, I'm going to take the car back," Selina said.

"Wait, you can't seriously just leave us with your horde of cats," Tim protested. "What if they all panic and start fighting or something?"

"You guys are supposedly the World's Greatest Detectives, right?" Jay could hear the capitalization there in her tone, one blonde brow arching. "C'mon, it's half an hour; you'll figure it out. Besides, I don't have choice but to leave. You don't want anyone tracking a stolen SUV to this garage, do you? It's only a few cats, boys." Selina gave them all a flippant grin, and went out without giving them any time to argue.

"The car is stolen?" Bruce said faintly. The cat had managed to get most of his index finger into her mouth, and was nibbling at his knuckles. Also drooling a bit.

Tim looked over at Bruce and sighed. "This is all your fault, you know."

"I'm aware," Bruce said resignedly.

"They are kinda cute," Dick said.

"Don't get attached," Jay warned, already wondering what Donna and Roy and Lian would make of the invasion.

Hell, what would Kala think of a horde of cats all over the place? Nah, wait, she liked meerkats, so she liked animals in general. She'd probably think this was cute.

Norway patted his hand with a furry paw, and stretched her head back so he could rub her chin. "Okay, this one is cute," he admitted.

Chad Mullins had worked for Two-Face for ten years. He had too many priors on his record to get a straight job most places, and the few jobs that would hire ex-cons involved more physical labor than he really wanted to do. He had muscle, and loyalty, and no conscience to speak of, so he found a home in organized crime. The Falcones and the other big families tended to dress it up a bit too much; they had jargon, for fuck's sake. Chad wasn't too keen on kissing anybody's ring, and as an outsider, he'd have a long road to becoming a made man. If ever. He was just cannon fodder for the mobsters, and he was smart enough to see that quick.

So, the masks. A little more dangerous, but a smart guy with a strong stomach could go far. He'd gone to Two-Face, and didn't regret it. The big guy could get a little crazy about the whole coin toss fairness thing. As Chad saw it, life wasn't fair, and it wasn't his job to make it fair. He just did what needed to be done. Some days it was easy, picking up protection money and dropping it off at the vault. Some days it was hard, tracking down a debtor and breaking some bones – the tracking down was the hard part, not the violence. Chad didn't mind that. Besides, some days he got to have a little fun. Some of the debtors had wives or girlfriends, and women were weak. They'd fall in love with a useless sack of shit who got himself into a bad situation, borrowed money he couldn't pay back, and when Chad showed up to even the score sometimes the pretty wife or girlfriend would try to pay their man's debt another way.

He always made the man watch. The whole point was for it to hurt the guy.

On this particular night he'd been headed out to collect from a guy who was hooked on poker. Like, Chad had seen crackheads less addicted than this fool. He'd lost his house and was living in a shitty apartment in the Narrows, barely making ends meet, his wife had left him and his regular income was getting docked for child support, he'd even been arrested once at an illegal game, but the numb fuck was still out there gambling. He couldn't quit. He also owed Two-Face fifteen grand, and he'd just about been able to keep the interest paid. Still finding a table to sit down at, still looking for the big win that would pay it all off. Maybe buy enough roses to get the ex-wife to talk to him again.

The guy was an accountant; he was great with money as long as it wasn't his own, and he could be useful to their organization. He was late with his payment this time, but the coin toss had come up to the unblemished face of Lady Liberty, so Two-Face had been planning to make him an offer instead of breaking a knee. A little embezzlement, a little cooking the books, a few other favors. The man still had some pride left, some kind of principles, so in addition to collecting the interest tonight Chad had been instructed to offer him a free bump of coke. As a friendly gesture, just between them. Just a little bit, enough to make him feel focused and sharp, and with luck and a few more such freebies, he'd be hooked soon. He already had an addictive personality, after all. Then they could reel him in more easily.

Except Chad never made his appointment. He left Two-Face's headquarters all right, driving a big four-door sedan, and halfway to his destination he'd been rear-ended by a fucking septic tanker. A huge, heavy vehicle, it had rammed into his back bumper hard enough to lock up his seat belt when it threw him forward, hard enough to rattle him – and he didn't rattle easily.

The next thing Chad knew, the front windows of the car both burst. On the driver's side, someone shoved a very large gun into his face. On the passenger side, someone else reached in, unlocked the door, and jumped into the seat, also holding a gun on him.

Chad really didn't rattle easily. "You two chucklefucks realize if you both shoot, you're liable to kill each other?" he said, sounding bored. His heart rate had picked up, but he'd been through similar shit with Penguin's gang and the Maroni family. Two-Face took care of his own, for the most part, so the odds were good.

"Just be quiet and do what we tell you," the one in the passenger side said, lowering his gun to Chad's lap. The other moved to the back door, climbing in, and pressed the barrel of his gun against the back of Chad's head. At no point did he have a chance to reach for his own weapon – and the septic truck was right behind him still, idling. If he cut up, that thing could just ram him into the nearest wall.

"All right. Whaddya want?" Chad said, and finally let himself glance at the passenger.

His skin broke out in gooseflesh, and his balls tried to climb back up into his belly. The man was wearing a clown mask.

Some of that realization must've shown on his face, because the guy giggled. Literally giggled, like a teenage girl. Fucking hell, just what no one wanted to deal with, Joker's freaks. Chad had avoided that crazy bastard all his life. Two-Face and the coin thing was wacky. Joker? Hell no. And half his people were bonkers, too. Chad began to worry as he drove, following directions, the cement mixer behind him.

He knew what this would mean, if Two-Face had been behind it. He'd be forced to drive to a construction site, one of these assholes would shoot him in the head, and the heavy vehicle following would be a concrete mixer that would pour fresh concrete over his body. Getting the condemned to drive was a dumb move, because he could always decide to just floor it and ram something, maybe take his killers with him. Two-Face usually got them to go somewhere secluded, then bundled the target into the trunk for the last part of the drive. Safer that way.

But the vehicle following wasn't a concrete mixer. Chad wondered what the hell they were playing at. And why Joker would want to start shit with Two-Face now, when the Clown's reputation was tarnished. "What's the plan, boys?" he said lightly, keeping tight control over the worry gnawing in his belly. Joker didn't do things in any rational way.

The gun at the back of his head shoved against his scalp, the muzzle digging in. "The plan is you do what we tell you, and maybe you live to see the sun come up tomorrow. Talk too much, screw around, try to fight, and you die. Got it?"

Well, they were holding out hope. That could be good or bad. The hope of survival was a potent tool; a man would obediently walk right up to his grave, as long as you convinced him he had a chance of escaping alive. Once they knew they were gonna die, they got desperate. Chad knew that, and still the hope worked on him. He'd just have to keep a careful eye out.

Their destination turned out to be the wastewater treatment plant on the edge of town. Chad began to feel nervous again as his two captors ordered him out of the car, and started patting him down. They took his gun, his brass knuckles, even his pocket knife, and then they cuffed his hands behind his back. For a couple of nutjobs, they knew their work. And then they marched him at gunpoint into the plant.

It stank to high heaven, of course. Chad's eyes watered, but he kept his gaze moving, looking for a chance. If anything looked like a possible escape, he'd take it. Being shot running was no worse than whatever Joker could dream up, and he might get lucky. Even if he didn't, hell, he'd had a good long run. Better than most, in this town.

Then he saw two goons, standing up at his approach, and beyond them Joker's right hand man. Jonny Frost, the guy's name was, and word on the street said he was the only sane one in the Clown's crew. Except you had to be mental to be that loyal to Joker.

Frost was standing next to a chain hoist, his hand on the controls. Chad's eyes followed the chain, jerking and twisting, into a tank of raw sewage, and his gut began to roil. Joker was beside the tank, looking at his wrist, though he wore no watch. "Okay, Jonny, bring 'em up," he said jovially.

When Frost pressed a button, the chain retracted. Chad knew what to expect on the end of it: a man, chained by the ankles, who'd been lowered head-first into the sewage. He came up coughing and retching, and Chad had to think unpleasantly about how long he'd been under. It'd be bad enough, just holding your eyes closed while the foul stink invaded your nose. To be under long enough that your lungs burned and your body overrode your brain, trying to take a breath of that slop? Ugh. Two-Face might hang a man upside down and gut him like a fish to send a message, but he wouldn't do this.

"Last time, Eric," Joker asked. "I need that address."

"I don't know!" the man wailed. Chad realized that he knew the guy, and his stomach turned. Eric was another bagman working for Two-Face, and hearing the pathetic pleading tone in his voice was worse than the indignity of drowning in liquid shit. It was bad enough to contemplate a death like that, but the thought of begging at the end?

Black Mask and Two-Face had gone a couple rounds recently, and Two-Face had caught one of Mask's lieutenants for retaliation. The coin toss had come down with Liberty's scarred face showing, and in this case, that meant a slow death instead of a simple bullet to the head. Mask liked the brag about the power drill he'd taken to Spoiler, so Two-Face's guys had used one on their captive. Chad hadn't been in on that one, but the guys talked about it, about how Mask's lieutenant had never begged. He'd even managed not to start screaming for a good while. They'd ended up coring him in the forehead sooner than Two-Face would've liked, had he stayed to watch. It was a kind of respect.

Chad thought about running, but the guys on either side had hold of his arms. And they could always shoot him in the leg to stop him running, then drown him all the same. He'd take his chances, if he could twist loose. Life wasn't fair, after all, and he'd accepted that he was going to die tonight. He'd just rather die clean, if he could.

Joker strolled around the edge of the tank. "It's a simple thing. You can walk away from this, friend. Oh, you'll have to leave town, because Harvey will want your head on a pike, but that's nothing. And hey, look on the bright side! The smell will wash off eventually. You can live. Just give me the address."

"I don't know it, I swear I don't know, please let me go," Eric blubbered. "I'll go find out for you, I promise, I'll find out and tell you just please!"

Joker waved a hand irritably, and Frost hit the button again. Eric screamed, the sound cut off by bubbling, and the chain began to buck and shudder again once he was under.

Then Joker turned to Chad, giving an eloquent shrug. "It's so hard to find good help these days. Really, Harvey's boys are terribly under-informed. I hope you can help me out, this is getting tiresome."

"What address do you need, sir?" Chad threw that respectful little word on the end just out of a hunch. Joker didn't respond to threats, everyone knew that. Maybe going the other way, pretending this was a normal civil interaction, might work. Anything for a few more seconds of life.

Joker laughed, and Chad's skin pebbled up again. He thought he'd been spooked in the car, with two crazies aiming guns at him. Hearing that laugh … maybe it was time to leave town, if he survived this. Things in Gotham had been simmering away since Black Mask got arrested, and it looked like the pot was boiling over.

"Sir! I like this one. It'd be a shame to hook you up to the dunking vat there," Joker said, coming up to his side and slinging a friendly arm around his shoulders. Chad managed not to shudder, his eyes flicking back and forth between Joker's leering grin and the chain, whipping around in shorter arcs. How long did it take a man to drown, anyway?

"Tell me what you need," Chad said.

"No loyalty to your boss? No little speech about how Harv's gonna come cut half my face off for screwing with his crew?" Joker pulled a sad face at that, but his eyes were avid.

"Would it make a difference?" Chad asked.

He got rabbit-punched in the side for that, but didn't stumble. "I don't appreciate a smart mouth," Joker said sternly. "Now. All I need is a simple thing. A month ago Harv's boys were recruiting in the Bowery, and they ran across a group of kids squatting in an abandoned building. Pretty damn quick those kids got rescued by a bunch of do-gooders, but I want the address of the building they were in. Got it?"

Chad did know about that one. Two-Face had been pissed. He'd sent out a simple recruiting run and ended up with a bunch of his guys beat up and jailed. Red Hood, Catwoman, Black Canary, and Blur had all been in on the rescue. Chad figured Joker's target was either Red Hood, whom he claimed to have created, or Catwoman, who hung out with Harley whenever the Clown's girl wasn't with him.

He wouldn't say Harley's name to Joker right now, though. That'd be a sure way to end up dead, possibly more unpleasantly that Eric. The chain had stopped shaking so violently, just wobbling a little, and Chad felt almost hypnotized by it.

"I know where the place is," he said. "But the kids are long gone. No one knows where they are."

Joker hit him again, low in the belly and too fast for him to tighten his abs. "I know that, you idiot," Joker snarled, the tone of pleasant amusement replaced by a deep snarl that barely sounded human. He hit Chad again, a little higher, and forced a grunt of pain from him. "I want the address, not the kids. The brats would be nice, but they're scattered to the winds. Too much work to round them up. No, I need to send a message to Hood that'll bring him running. And if I can get his friends, too, well … I'll take the Cat and the Canary. Neither of them have any respect. New girl Blur, well, someone should figure her out. Preferably by dissection. Might as well be me."

Chad hadn't heard too much about the Blur, except that her part in the rescue had been rather dramatic. The guys they'd bailed out of jail had confirmed she was a meta, blindingly fast, but she'd also been utterly furious with them. Hood had acted like he needed to keep a check-rein on his partner, and wasn't that something? Maybe he just wanted all the blood on his own hands, but Chad wondered now just how dangerous that girl really was.

It wasn't his problem. None of this was. If he walked out of here tonight he'd keep going 'til he was outside Gotham, out of the state, find a new name and maybe take a straight job. Day labor in construction was looking pretty damn good right now. He spoke the address clearly, promptly, and saw the chain finally go still as he did.

"Wonderful, thank you, that's such a big help," Joker said, his voice expansive and friendly again. He slapped Chad's shoulder affectionately. "You win the big prize, pal!"

"Yeah?" Chad asked, and felt that treacherous hope rise up. Joker's employees hadn't let go of him yet, though.

"Yeah," Joker said, smiling fondly. "You're not going in the tank. In fact, you get to ride out of her right back to Harv's headquarters. How's that sound?"

"Very good, sir," Chad said, trying not to start shaking. He was so close to surviving this, so close to getting away. Even the stench of sewage smelled like life; every second he breath that thick, foul odor in was another second he wasn't dying.

"I can't let you drive, though," Joker said, in confidential tones.

"Of course not," Chad agreed, nodding.

"Good man," Joker told him, patting his shoulder.

A curving line of heat ran up his belly, and he looked down. Joker suddenly had a knife in his hand, and it was red. Chad's white shirt bloomed red, too, gaping open when he breathed in.

Joker had just cut him from navel to breastbone, and for a moment he was so shocked couldn't even feel the pain. Then Joker drew the knife along a horizontal line, crossing the top of the fishhook-shaped cut he'd made first, and Chad felt that one. He sucked in a breath, trying not to scream.

"Gotta make sure he knows it's me," Joker said conversationally, and rammed the knife into Chad's throat. It went all the way through his trachea, sliced open an artery, and the tip pricked between his vertebrae. Not quite long enough to sever the spinal column completely, but the pain in his belly was gone.

Joker's goons let go, and Chad tried to run. Even with his throat cut, the animal instinct to survive was strong in him, and some desperate kind of hope had him lunging away … except he spilled to the ground, his limbs distant, not answering the frantic signal from his brain.

His heart raced, he tried to breathe and got a lungful of blood, but the spouting wound in his neck seemed to be the biggest problem. Chad heard Joker say to his men, "Shove him in the backseat, and stick the other one in the trunk. I want Harv to find them tomorrow. Shame it's so cold, they'd get whiffy real quick in summer. Ah well, teach him to try taking my percentage…"

The voice faded as Chad's vision darkened. He had time for one last thought: it was a better death than Eric's, at least.