AN: This chapter's pretty long in comparison to the others, but I don't think any will have a problem with it. Thank you summerofthe1975 for your review on my last chapter. It was so incredibly nice and I really appreciate the feedback and support. I'm glad you enjoyed. :) Sorry everyone if I missed a typo or anything. If there are any glaring errors, please let me know, thanks!
I quit my job again. I was probably going to be fired after my drunken stunt, anyway. Turns out, I did it just in time. A week or so after I quit, the owner was charged with aiding the mob and the place was shut down and put up for sale. It was a shock to everyone; it suddenly made sense why the restaurant was kept closed on weekends.
As the professional job jumper that I am, I was able to pick another one up pretty quickly. Now, I work at a bar. It's a step up, really. There's nothing biker or rapey about this bar. It's all pool tables and the customers wear suits and smoke cigarettes; it's classy, if you can get past the breathing cancer thing. Just something about the clacking of pool balls and the sound of them rolling across felt makes the atmosphere feel professional somehow. I work proudly as a bartender, barmaid, barkeep, and if i'm feel extra fancy, a bar manager. I've had it pretty easy so far, no one's started any fights or ordered overly complicated drinks.
"Another scotch?" I ask at the sound of glass clicking onto the bar top.
"Yeah." the woman answers, laying her head down on her folded arms. She's been here since three, but has only had a few drinks. She mostly just sat there gloomily.
I pour her another glass of straight scotch. I will admit, she holds her alcohol better than me. I wasn't lying about the clientele of the bar; she is wearing a pantsuit, but that somehow makes her look even sadder. The real rush doesn't come for at least another hour and, based on all movies and television shows, part of the bartender's job is to chat and talk about guests' problems. Let's give this a go, then; I've got nothing better to do.
"So, uh, what's… what's, ya know. What's 'on your mind', what's 'gotcha down', and all the other versions of the question." I ask not very smoothly, setting her drink next to her elbow.
"Look, I know it's what bartenders 'do', but it's personal." she tells me, taking the drink and downing it. Serves me right for trying to be friendly. I want to laugh; is it really so hard for me to be liked? I know it wasn't a personal rejection, but I still feel kinda bad. I bite my tongue, the dull pain containing my smile and urge to laugh.
"I'm sorry."
"Huh?" I ask, totally taken by surprise. "Oh, it's nothing." I shrug, "But if you stay much longer, I might need to take your keys."
She laughs bitterly. "That'd be a great closer for the evening." she smiles without humor. I remain silent, hoping that she's ready to spill her guts. I've grown increasingly curious over the course of the afternoon. What if she's just lost her job over a scandal with her boss. She denies it of course, but her husband demands her to explain her late hours. Here's the twist: her boss knows nothing of the overtime. Discovering that clearing her name was impossible, she comes out with the truth.
"I'm gay." she tells the microphone at the podium, the crowds of press go wild and her secretary timidly stands by her side, holding her lover's hand. Or, maybe she isn't the interesting one, maybe it's the other way around.
Her husband has been out long nights and not returned for days at a time. Finally, fed up, she confronts him.
She asks "Who's the other woman? Do you love her?" her second question broken, tears filling her eyes, but no; she must be strong. The kids are watching. Her husband looks her dead in the eye, loosening his tie.
"No, Susan, of course not. I don't love anyone but you and the kids. There is no other woman." he says and, with a movement like lightening, removes his tear away suit only to reveal his pirate's shirt and pants, all underneath a heavy galleon coat. She drops her eyes to his thick leather boots and looks up in time to see him place a large feathered at on his head. She wonders where the eyepatch came from.
"You liar!" she cries, knees feeling weak.
"Narrr, lassie! I told nary a lie! There is no other woman, there are many!"
"Hey!" a voice brings me back to reality, "Mind telling me what's so funny?" the woman glares; damn. I must have been grinning like an idiot without realizing. I'll admit, that was a pretty funny daydream.
"I'm sorry. My mind was somewhere else; I'll get you another drink."
"No, I've got to leave." she sighs, eyes down. She loops her purse around her wrist.
"I'm sorry, really-"
"Don't worry about it." she cuts me off, "Really, I've just had a rough day. It's the second time this month my husband's accused me of cheating."
"Are you?"
"What?" she sounds offended.
"Well, whether you're cheating or not cheating changes the situation completely."
"I'm faithful! He just never seems to trust me." she sighs again, retaking her seat.
"Maybe it's because you go to bars after work." I say without thinking, wiping out a glass like a bartender cliche. The woman chuckles.
"Yeah, maybe."
"You don't trust a woman who can't hold her liquor, so I suppose you have to trust one that can."
She chuckles again. "Where'd you hear something like that?" she smiles a real smile for the first time.
"I, uh, I'm not sure." I lie. The woman seems in higher spirits as she thanks me and leaves. I need to stop thinking about the Joker so much; he's made his way into my subconscious. I'm not sure what it is about him, but there's something. It's like his attitude towards the world really makes sense to me. Maybe I'm wrong, what do I know about the man, anyway? Except for the fact that he's definitely killed people without a problem.
The bell hanging above the bar entrance jingles cutely at the arrival of new customers. I shake my head. Time to get to work and keep the crazed killer out of my thoughts for as long as possible; hopefully that means forever.
Slowly but surely, the bar fills up with people. This is the busiest night I've ever worked and about ten times as many fruity drinks I've had to make. I may have lied my way into this job, but I'll be damned if I'm not a pro at making drinks. At few points this evening, I was asked to make something up for them. I always forget that I like my drinks stronger than most, which is probably why I can never get drunk without completely retarding my thoughts. Which again, is probably why I like them that way. Nameless drinks of my own concoction are abandoned, hardly sipped, but tips are left nonetheless. This job suits me far better than my last few.
I hear chalk scratch on the tip of pool cues and the quiet mumble of sophisticated chatter with the occasional laugh rising above the rest. I've never seen or heard of a fight in this bar, which is probably why I was able to be hired as bartender. With no security guards, I'm all that's left for breaking up any altercations. The crowd begins thinning at this point; the last of the tipsy men and women have left, letting me finally wipe down the dark glossy wood without another drink sloshed onto it instantly. All that remains are a few folks finishing up their pool games. My shift's about over, but I'm not allowed to leave until they do.
I clean up to pass the time, glancing over every few minutes. It won't hurt anyone if I make myself a quick drink; place is almost closed anyway. I won't let myself get drunk either, it's just one drink to make it through the evening. I take a sip of my overly alcoholic beverage. I know it's my own fault, all of this stupid self destructive behavior. I put myself in these situations. I can't help but smile. It's like I'm listening to my Dad; he was a therapist for a brief while in his youth. As a troubled teenager, his words never really made it to me. It's funny how they are now.
"It's almost like you're doing it on purpose, like a cry for help." he'd said when he caught me smoking. He was right, of course, but at the time, he just seemed like an over analyzing old man who couldn't get with the times. At the time, I wanted nothing but for him to leave and let me live my life. Now, the things I would do to have him back. I take a bigger sip and let my hand trace over my pendant. I miss them, but I need to grow the hell up and get over it. I down the remainder of my drink, pleased by the burning that lingered in my throat.
"Finish it up, you guys! It's closing time." I tell the last group of customers. Then let out a collective disappointed noise and finally leave less than five minutes later. I'm just glad I didn't have to call any cabs. I wash their cups, swiping a rag around the insides briefly and calling it good enough. I set the final glass upside down with the others when I hear the bell tickle. I huff, irritated and round the bar quickly.
"No, no, we're closed now you can't-" I nearly swallow my tongue. I almost collide into the man entering bar with his group of friends, all as tall and tough looking as he is, though, that's not what's scared me stiff; the man I was trying to kick out was the mobster Gambol. At least they're all wearing suits.
"Nah, I don't think you're closed yet." he hints, "Me and my boys here thought it'd be nice to play a little pool tonight. You wouldn't have a problem with that, would you?" he asks using polite words, only to have them contradicted by his tone.
"Uhm, no, I- that's fine, just make sure you lock up when you leave and drink responsibly." I say, trying to make a speedy getaway. What if he's brought the Joker with him? I'm trapped in by one of the towering bodyguards.
"Uh-uh, we ain't makin' our own drinks, so you better get behind that counter and start takin' orders. And Don't even think about callin' the cops, I'll bust a cap in your ass so fast you'll be dead after the first siren." he threatens flashing the gun at his hip. I nod and obey, taking my post. My last encounter was the closest I'd like to ever come with dying. I begin mixing the drinks they request. Last I checked, Gambol and the Joker weren't what you'd call friends, so chances are I'm in the clear. That is, if I can manage to not piss off Gambol before the night is out.
I spend most of my evening listening and watching pool game after pool game. These men drink less than I would have guessed. I've made about five drinks and I'm tempted to make another. At this rate, it probably won't matter whether I'm drunk or not. I start laughing to myself, managing to keep my voice from being heard. It actually wouldn't matter if I was shot in the head; there's no one to mourn for me. There's no one to miss me. My laughter slowly dies, like we all do eventually. My heart sinks low in my chest, too heavy to stay up. I lock eyes with a bottle of Jack Daniel's. It doesn't even occur to me that it might be a bad idea as I hold it by the neck and press it against my lips; I don't bother with a glass.
Approximately, I'm not exactly measuring, three shots later, I feel better. I'm nodding off a bit when the door jingles open again. I bolt upright and lean over the counter to greet the customers.
"Hello, welcome!" I say, wiping the bar to look important, "What can I do ya for?" I ask, plopping my down my elbow and resting my head on my hand. None of the people answer, but I'm not offended. They came in carrying something long and wrapped in black plastic, they probably just wanted to set it down. They'll be back. Another possibility is that they didn't want to order from a clearly drunk bartender. I smile to myself and decide to peep on the conversation and see what's in the bag.
"Somebody here for you." I hear one of Gambol's men say, the newcomers standing on the sidelines, "They say they've just killed the Joker. They brought the body."
Only the last sentence caught Gambol's attention. The Joker's killers don't wait for permission before entering the room and dropping what I assume is the Joker's body onto the pool table, ruining Gambol's game. Instinctively, I drop low behind the bar, not trusting that the Joker was so easily killed. Maybe he was; he's just a man, after all. I can't hardly see through the wall of people, but I can still pick up dialogue.
"So, dead. That's five hundred-" groans interrupt Gambol and I hear the unmistakable sound of bodies collapsing to the floor.
"How about alive? Hm?" the Joker says suddenly, crinkling plastic flowing with his words. I stand dumbfounded for a moment; this can't really, actually be happening. I watch three of the Joker's people take down Gambol's; they are held at gunpoint on their knees. Now I have a clear view to Gambol's back and the Joker as he holds a small knife to Gambol's face and talks.
"You wanna know how I got these scars?" he whispers, then leans back and continues without an answer. "My father was… a drinker, and a fiend." he says, tongue running over his bottom lip, smearing the red. "And one night, he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself; he doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit. So, me watching, he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it.
"He turns to me and he says: 'Why so serious?'" his voice takes a ghastly turn when repeating his father's words, "He comes at me with the knife. 'Why so serious?' He sticks the blade in my mouth. 'Let's put a smile on that face.' And… Why so serious?" he finishes his story, the voice he used for his father's words still leaving chills, as he twists Gambol's neck. From what I've seen in movies, I would've figure there'd be a loud crack, but his death was silent.
"Now, our operation is small, but," he address the survivors, "there is a lot of potential for aggressive expansion." he expands his arms at the word before drawing a pool cue and examining it. "So which of you fine gentlemen would like to join our team? Oh. There's only one spot open right now, so we're gonna have-" he snaps the thick wooden cue over his knee, "tryouts." he finishes excitedly, scanning over the two sharp ends of the cue shards. Finally deciding on the lower half, he drops it between the three remaining of Gambol's crew. "Make it fast." he tells them dismissively, walking through them and- right for the bar.
I drop the rest of the way down, completely hidden. I was only partially visible a second ago, maybe he didn't notice me. My grin cuts through my face. Maybe he didn't notice me what a load. Sharp knocks crack against the bar top.
"Little Mary bartender, I'm feeling a bit parched."
He is answered with silence.
"Let's see. How about 'A Death In The Afternoon'? It seems fitting, or have you already drank all the champagne?" he jokes, "That's okay, I'm more of a vodka man, anyway. I'll have a 'Bloody Mary'." he pauses, waiting for me to respond, but I don't. He huffs "I guess I'll have to make my own-" his hand shoots down and snatches me before I can dodge, dragging me toward him and over the top of the bar. Bottles and glasses shatter to the floor and the Joker holds a blade in the same hand that pins me to the wall.
"You ready to get bloody?" he grins, peering down at me and running his tongue across his lips; that grease paint must taste awful. I will admit, though, that was a pretty good pun. I meet his eyes with my own smile; it is small and sad, but a smile nonetheless. The Joker suddenly frowns like a toddler who isn't given his way.
"You're taking the fun out of this, ya know." he tells me, disappointed.
I laugh in his face. "Sorry, I guess." I keep laughing, my friend Jack Daniels tickling me. My body shakes and goes weak, but I can't stop. I reach around the Joker's grip on my shirt to wipe my damp eyes. He only watches me. At this point, he is the only reason I remain upright. I gasp heaving breaths and look into his face, beaming with tears on my cheeks. I'm surprised to find his face drawn with utter seriousness.
"Just kill me." I tell him since he doesn't seem sure what to do, but he doesn't.
"I don't like being told what to do, especially not by a drunk." he says with a furrowed brow and no smile. I take a deep breath and, to my own surprise, pull myself from his grasp; most of my astonishment stemming from the fact that he lets me.
"Then don't." I say, uncaring of the consequences of my actions; I was dead the second Gambol walked in. I sit myself on smooth bar top and grab whatever alcohol I can reach and put it to my mouth. I keep the heavy bottle in my hand as he approaches. He stands in front of me; now it's my turn to look down to him.
With his hands resting against the bar on either side of me he says "It'd be a shame to kill someone as interesting as you."
I laugh again. "What, a drunk like me? You're too kind."
"Ah, but just any drunk; a drunk that is always in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"You mean a drunk with the worst luck-"
"I mean fate." he says emphatically. I can't help but laugh again.
"A man that doesn't believe in coincidences believes in fate? You must be the drunk, now."
He laughs softly and puts on a thinking face while scratching his chin. He turns his back to me and begins twiddling his knife; I can tell he's contemplating hard. My body tenses when I'm struck with the perfect idea. I squeeze the neck of the thick glass bottle in my right hand; I'm gonna whack him. I quietly step back to the ground and take firm stance. I suck in a fast breath and double arm swing the bottle into the Joker's skull.
It clonks loudly, but doesn't have a satisfying shatter like I was hoping; another lie the entertainment industry has told me. The man falls to the floor and I let the bottle drop with him. He groans and moves slowly, but I'm out the door and sprinting down Gotham's dark streets. I bolt less than a block when my breathing is rapid and painful; damn, am I out of shape. I enter the nearest building with an open sign and stow away into the women's bathroom until an employee kicks me out an hour later.
Well, I got away, but I've whacked any chance of the Joker not murdering me over the head. I'll just never see him again- how many more coincidences can I possibly have in a big city like Gotham?
Thank you for reading and pretty please review! They always make my day. Next chapter coming soon and if you follow you'll know exactly when it's available! Doesn't that sound amazing? Wow, it makes me want to follow my own story! :p haha anyways thank you for reading
