AN: Chapter three gets a bit more interesting. Last chapter was kinda dull, but this one is home to the infamous mob meeting scene. This chapter was fun to write, so I hope everyone enjoys it. Thank you so much for the reviews and to the people who followed and favorited. Chapter four coming soon; sorry for any typos.

A rattling metal on metal crash frightens me awake. I manage not to scream, my recently awakened body too disoriented. I blink rapidly in the darkness; I can't see anything. I feel the walls around me. They are enclosing and cold. I adjust my posture in my cramped little room where I sit with my spine bowed as far as possible without cracking. Jesus, where am I? My hip nudges something that feebly rolls less than an inch away, clearly unable to move smoothly across the crunchy surface of the floor. What am I sitting in? I pinch the mess between my fingers and feel it crunch and disintegrate. Oh man, I hope this isn't bugs or something. I tentatively smell the powder residue on my hand. It smells… burnt. Wait a second.

My memory comes back in freeze frames. The drinking to forget, the mild hysteria, the severe hysteria, the brief weeping, back to the hysteria, and finally to good ole' fashioned drunken fool. At least I had a good laugh, God knows there's never enough of those. The last thing I remember was feeling cold. I chuckle. My dumbass crawled into the oven for warmth. That explains most of it, but not that banging. Instinct tells me to stay hidden. I press my ear to the side of the stove.

I pick up plenty of shuffling about. It sounds like things are getting moved around and there's not much talking. I move my eyes to the the thread of light seeping through the crack around the door to my hiding spot. If I'm gonna adjust to peek through that, I'll need to do it while there's still a commotion.

It takes me an awkward nearly ten minutes to move my body to position that will work. Several times my knee or foot would clink the champagne bottle against the walls. Anyway I shifted, some part of me would end up being pressed against one of the sides of the incredibly small oven. I even had my cheek flattened against the cool metal and scooted across several inches before I finally managed to arrange my limbs and torso correctly. When all's said and done I dust off my hands and wipe the beads of sweat sprouting on my forehead. When my ears can't detect any noise, I fear they, whoever they are, have heard me. I'm relieved when a voice finally speaks.

"The hell is this?" no one answers. I listen closely, my eardrums straining. I pick up a steady stream of sound with no discernible words. I either open the oven to listen in better, or stay silent and safe. The phrase curiosity killed the cat comes to mind as I push forward the top of the oven door. From the mercy of all the God's in heaven, the hinges do not complain.

"A relatively small amount. Sixty eight million." A man says, though he sounds like he's coming in on speaker phone or something. Sixty eight million? As in dollars? What the hell am I in the middle of?

"Who stupid enough to steal from us?" another voice asks in a Russian accent.

"Two-bit whack job, wears a cheap purple suit and makeup. He's not the problem, he's a nobody." a different man says. That description is very familiar. He must mean the man from the bank robbery, The Joker. "Our problem is our money being tracked by the cops." the man continues.

"Thanks to 's well-placed sources we know that police have indeed identified our banks using marked bills and are planning to seize your funds today-" the distant speaker phone says. The man talks so fast about things I know nothing about, so I instead focus my efforts on observing the scene. I see the interior of the kitchen has been cleared out. Shelves and other appliances shoved against the wall to make room for a makeshift meeting desk.

There are quite a few more men than were talking. I can only see about half of them from my hiding spot. Not a bad spot, when I look at it. I have a clear view of one long side of the tables and both short ends. On the farthest short end, there is a television holding everyone's attention in the opposite direction of myself; I see the tv is the source of the distant voice. A Chinese man on the screen addresses the men.

"How soon can you move the money?" someone asks the television.

"I already have. For obvious reasons I couldn't wait for your permission. Rest assured, your money is safe." he replies with confidence and certainty. An inaudible whoosh of relief is released, only to be instantly sucked back in when unusual laughter begins echoing in the room. It is very sarcastic and uncomfortably growling. I take a second too long to discover its origin, as the man responsible passes by the partially agape oven. I watch a purple pair of slacks stalk by.

"And I thought that my jokes were bad." the voice continues. A voice I remember clear as day. This is the man I've been wondering about since the bank. So this is the Joker, it seems.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't have my boy here pull you head off?" a suited black man asks, anger edging his words. I watch "his boy" sit up, ready to pounce.

"How 'bout a magic trick?" the Joker disregards his threat casually. With his back to me, I can't see what he pulls from his coat pocket in the stunned silence. I see a second later as he slams a sharpened pencil into the table top with a bang. The Jokers purple gloved hands gesture dramatically around the upright pencil as a magician's might.

"I'm gonna make this pencil disappear." he tells his audience. Having enough of his games, an attacker strides forward. The Joker sidesteps the assault and grips the man's head and slings it forward face first. The echoing smack of skull on wood meets my ears.

"Tah-dah!" the Joker exclaims comically as the now deceased man slides off the table and crumples to the ground. "It's pahh," he adds a sound effect of amazement, "it's gone." he again gestures dramatically at his completed "magic" trick. I suppose the pencil did disappear. It disappeared into that unfortunate man's head. The men around him can't help but be impressed. As morbid and screwed up as it might be, I can't help it either.

"Oh, and by the way, the suit, it wasn't cheap. You outta know you bought it." the Joker informs the enraged black man who's entourage joins him in abandoning their chairs while the Joker cockily straightens his suit collar.

"Sit," the Russian accent commands the fuming man who slowly retakes his seat. "I want to hear proposition." The Joker points momentarily to the Russian as a supportive gesture to the command. As the man slowly lowers back into his chair, the Joker introduces his scheme.

"Let's wind the clocks back a year. These cops and lawyers wouldn't dare cross any of you." his finger sweeps across the air, including every man in the wide gesture. He pauses as if confused, shaking his head slightly, causing his greasy greenish hair to wave slightly like seaweed in the ocean. "I mean, what happened? Did you balls drop off?" he asks sincerely. "Hmm?" he implores for an answer. "You see, a guy like me-"

"A freak." the same black man interrupts with harsh bitterness. Soft, polite sounding laughter follows.

"A guy like me," the Joker starts again, disregarding the disruption. I can hear the slight effort it takes and see his foot begin to bounce in tiny, unnoticeable movements. "Look, listen." he says tossing the previous thought away. I can only see the back of him, but at this point I notice he begins talking more with his hands, indicating various things.

"I know why you choose to have your little," he clears his throat, "group therapy sessions," humor ruffles the smoothness of his words, "in broad daylight. I know why you're afraid to go out at night." he exhales and let's the suspense build. "The Batman." he growls.

"See, Batman has shown Gotham your true colors, unfortunately. Dent, he's just the beginning. And as for uh, the television's so called plan," he points the the Chinese man, "Batman has no jurisdiction. He'll find him and make his squeal." the leather of his gloves squeak quietly as his fists clench together. "I know the squealers when I see them, and" his point returns to the tv, finishing his sentence.

"What do you propose?" the Russian asks as the man on the tv shuts off his camera.

"It's simple, we, uh, kill the Batman." the Joker says, brushing a lock of hair back. He is met with disbelieving laughter and jeers.

"If it's so simple, why haven't you done it already?" someone out of my sight range asks calmly.

"If you're good at something, never do it for free." the Joker answers wisley.

"How much you want?" it's the Russian asking now.

"Uhh… half." the Joker is met with a stronger wave of laughter.

"You're crazy." someone in the crowd sighs.

"I'm not. No, I'm not." the Joker pops the 't' on the second 'not'. "If we don't deal with this now, soon," he shrugs at a loss, "little, uh, Gambol here won't be able to get a nickle for his grandma." the black man called Gambol angrily slaps his meaty palms to the table top, his legs shoving back his chair.

"Enough from the clown!" he bellows and, in the same motion, the entire room rises, including the Joker.

"Ah ta ta ta ta." the Joker's warning speeding from his lips, casually opening the left side of his jacket to reveal-I can't really tell. I see his thumb is hooked with a string attached to whatever jangles in his coat. "Let's not blow this out of proportion." he again jiggles the thread and sashays to give the entire room a good look. It almost seemed like he was trying to specifically show me the grenades hanging from the wall of his purple coat. Grenades? More importantly, did he just make a pun? I manage to keep my chuckle as only a breath escaping my nose. No, the actual most important thing is that my percent chance of dying young and single just spiked dramatically. Again I can't help but wonder if even that, the most important thing, really matters.

"You think you can steal from us and just walk away?"

"Yeah-"

"I'm puttin' the word out. 500 hundred grand for this clown dead, a million alive, so I can teach him some manners first." Gambol snarls. The Joker looks ready to address the threat, but instead turns to the rest of the group instead.

"Alright, so, listen: why don't you give me a call when you wanna start taking things a little more seriously. Here's my card." he fishes a playing card from his pocket. He holds it away from himself for a second, allowing me to see what it is, before placing onto the table. I silently shut the oven door and press both my hands to my mouth. His card; get it? My body quakes with silent laughter that panic ends as a muffled yet shrill giggle pierces its way through my apparently useless efforts of suppression. My heart beat drums loudly in my ears and I remain frozen for at least five minutes, maybe more, I couldn't exactly read my watch.

Even when my heartbeat settles, I don't move. Not until I fear losing feeling in my legs forever do I, again, push open the oven door. The tables are gone, the television is gone. I slowly, very slowly, open the oven a touch more and peer cautiously around like a tortoise after a storm. The men are gone and so is any evidence that they were ever here. I decide everyone's gone and begin to speed up my pace; I would move faster if my dead legs were any good to me. I scarcely have the arm strength to myself forward.

I realize I don't need it when I discover that I was wrong; not everyone was gone. With the oven door ajar completely, as soon as my arm meets fresh air, it is grasped roughly and jerked painfully.

"There you are." that unmistakable voice fills my ears. I whimper from his fingers digging into my arm. "I knew I heard a little mouse sneaking around in here. You know, people don't like little mice in their kitchens."

I manage to stay inside the oven, my free hand clutching against the wall. The Joker pulls me out slowly, my sweaty hand is slick against my last defense. "Most people, even go so far as to kill the little rodents." he says with a smile.

My body flops to linoleum; I know it is 100% impossible to get away from him, but that doesn't stop me. I have one free arm and two dead legs; the best I can do is sit upright. He doesn't loosen his grip and crouches in front of me. I wonder if he's still wired with explosives. His red painted smile twists up to reveal his yellow, yet oddly straight, teeth.

"So," he says like someone trying to break the ice, "You must be dying for some answers. All that," he rolls his eyes as if referring to high school drama, "stuff must be really confusing to you, but to someone else," he raises his shoulders, "it probably makes a lot more sense. One of this city's fine policeman- or woman-" he quickly corrects as if I made a face of offense, "would have a very good idea of what to do with the information inside that cute, little," he places and index finger in the center of my forehead with slight pressure, "mousey brain of yours." I gulp and find my mind in a shockingly rational and clever state. I suppose one's mind will usually find its way there under enough stress.

"I don't know of any police officer that would trust the judgment a woman who passed out drunk on stolen champagne before waking up inside of an oven. Then again, I don't know many stupid policemen."

"Oh, I know plenty…" he mumbles, thinking. Hopefully thinking of not murdering me on the spot. His face slowly morphs before my eyes, features twisting uncontrollably. A low, steady laughter begins forming until it's high pitched tone echoes around the kitchen. He laughs for several minutes, his hand dropping from my arm, before speaking.

"You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" he asks, still recovering from his cackling. I nod, beginning to feel that maybe, just maybe, he won't kill me. "Sorry, doll, I don't believe in coincidences. Don't think I don't remember you." I gasp a little with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. He remembers me from the bank? I'm flattered! I shouldn't be, but how can I help it? A nobody noticed by a somebody, how exciting! The Joker reads my face carefully.

"Yes, I do. I remember you." He says thoughtfully with no sign of laughing left in his voice. I watch his eyes, shockingly light in contrast to his makeup, search my face. "But you're not scared." he narrows his gaze.

"No, I guess I'm not." I drop my eyes, just realizing it myself. Why aren't I scared? I'm about to die, but I'm not frightened. "Are you going to kill me?" I ask.

"Would that scare you?"

"I… I don't know. I don't think so." I'm not lying, but that can't be true; I should be scared. Maybe I'm the freak here.

"Then there's no point, is there?" he rises to his feet, straightening his suit. I look up at him questioningly. What? From what I've seen, this is very 'unjoker' of him to do. "No one trusts a woman who can't hold her liquor." he smirks, darting his tongue across his slips and scars.

"Besides, it'd be a waste to kill someone who appreciates my jokes. I heard your little, uh, mouse squeak. And I really hope I never see you again, if I do," he shrugs as if he has no other choice "I'll have to kill you." he turns to leave but jerks to a stop after one step. "You've got a little, uh," he points to his face, "nevermind." he waves me away and is gone. My hand swipes over my cheeks and I look to see if anything's rubbed off on my palm.

I gasp at my smeared black hands. And arms. And legs and clothes and undoubtedly face. I rush to the sink and start rinsing my hands. I meet eyes with my distorted reflection and burst out laughing. I keep laughing and laughing until tears are streaming down my face, cutting paths through the grime, and I'm crippled over in laughter.

There are finger streaks of black swiped across my forehead and handprints stamped over my mouth. My right cheek is entirely smudged and my left streaks toward my nose. I fall to the floor, body wrought with giggles. I just narrowly avoided death with a face dirtier than a pig's.

Hope everyone enjoyed, please tell what you think in the reviews and follow and favorite if you liked!