THROWAWAY CARD
Chapter 4
Disclaimer: Batman and related characters are the property of DC Comics.
Author's Note: Once again, thank you to everyone who's read my little story so far and let me know what they think! Proper review responses at the end of the chapter as before.
Rooftop of Gotham Police Headquarters, 1.57 am.
"Uh, Commissioner?"
"I know what you're going to say, Wilkins," came the reply from under the sodden arch of an umbrella. The younger man cringed, very slightly. "It's what someone always says at roughly this point." Gordon's tones were weary and flat as he mimicked the voice of every young rookie in the precinct at some point. "'Shall we turn it off, Commissioner? He ain't coming. Hell, maybe he ain't even a real guy.'"
Feeling he was being patronised, Wilkins wisely kept his mouth shut. Gordon tilted his umbrella so that the excess water sluiced off to one side. "And then I'm just heading home in the darkness on Third, and suddenly a voice from my back seat says to me, 'Gordon,' it says, and I nearly brain myself on the car roof. Again. So no, Wilkins, we are not turning the signal off."
The young officer, somewhat at a loss in the face of his superior's world-weary sarcasm, did the only thing he could think of and saluted smartly, rainwater gleaming on his bad weather overcoat. Gordon sighed.
Why me?
Sometimes, in the early days, he had wondered why it was that the Batman had chosen him to come to, him to trust: he had felt special, a Chosen One, and his liaisons with Gotham's own Dark Knight had given him great status amongst his peers. But now…now…Gordon reached up a hand and wiped his brow. His hand came away slick with grime - soot and sweat from the last crime scene. He regarded the charcoal smear for some moments, unhappily.
Back then I believed that all this could be washed away, made clean.
He looked up from under the umbrella at the roiling sky.
And now we seem to have all the rain in the world and yet it only makes things dirtier.
"Go indoors and help the boys downstairs with their reports," he said to the luckless Wilkins after another few minutes. It didn't serve any purpose to continue making the lad feel useless, and it was getting wetter by the minute. Gordon almost smiled to see the relief on the boy's face as he turned and headed for the square of warm yellow light that was the roof door.
Am I getting older or are my officers getting younger?
"I thought you'd prefer to talk to me alone," he said to the dripping darkness after a moment. Rain splashed loudly from the gutters, poured in torrents down the side of the building.
"I have something for you."
Gordon paused to congratulate himself silently: once, for being right, and twice, for not jumping like a startled gazelle when the voice spoke to him out of the driving rain.
"Glad to hear it," he said, his eyes flicking to try and locate the familiar looming shadow in the darkness. "I assume we're talking about the Joker here? It fits his MO, and he's been out for over a fortnight with no hint of trouble. Knew it was too good to last."
A zipped plastic wallet landed abruptly in the puddles at his feet. Gordon crouched down and examined it, wiping water from its slick waterproof surface.
The face of the Joker leered out of the photograph inside at him. Gordon repressed the lurch of revulsion and dread that the madman's image always provoked in him and looked more closely.
No. Wait.
The mad eyes were squeezed shut: the paper-white skin bruised across the high cheekbones and the teeth were clenched fiercely.
He's not laughing. He's not even grinning. He looks -
"What happened to him?"
Another pause from the darkness.
"I found him at the Amway warehouse," came the reply. "He wasn't quick enough to escape his own explosives."
Gordon let out a long breath, realising in that moment how tense he had been.
"You have him, then?"
"I have him."
The commissioner gazed for a long moment at the photograph, watching the raindrops spatter on the plastic cover.
"There are more pictures inside. Use them. The city deserves to know that it doesn't need to be afraid anymore."
There was a slight edge to Batman's voice that Gordon neither recognised nor liked very much: but he nodded.
"I'll make sure every household gets to see these in their morning paper and knows who they have to thank for this lunatic's recapture."
"Thankyou."
Gordon waited. Over the years he had developed a fairly sophisticated sense for defining whether or not he still had company or not: it saved the embarrassment of having to stand around trying to have a conversation with an empty patch of shadow. The night simply didn't feel empty enough yet.
"Is there anything else?" he offered, when nothing was forthcoming after a minute or so. "I mean, I know I called you - but as you've already got the Joker in hand -"
"Make sure the press know that the Joker suffered heavy injuries as a result of his carelessness."
There's that edge again. Almost, thought Gordon, if I didn't know better, like anxiety. Or anger. Or even…deception. I'm a policeman, I know what deception sounds like…
"I will. The more he suffers, the better the public feel. They'll also feel better knowing he's back in Arkham where he belongs…"
"He is in a coma. I would not be expecting him to wake up anytime soon." The response was so swift this time it almost felt like an interruption.
Are you lying to me, old friend?
"Is that all the information you can give me?" he pursued: but by that time the night had the empty feel of an abandoned theatre, with all the main players having taken their applause and left the stage clear.
And me just an understudy, thought Gordon, as he walked towards the door, photographs in hand, already preparing his press conference in his mind. Reading the lines I'm prompted to…
Gotham City, alleyway, 2.13 am
A few blocks away from where the Bat-signal, no longer required, was being shut down, the sleek Batmobile was parked behind a row of green dumpsters. Rain slid from it as if it was oiled, with new rainfall almost seeming to part around it. Locked, Batman's car was as good as a fortress: behind sheets of heavy armour plating and bullet-proof army-grade tinted glass, the driver was not only invisible but extremely secure.
The Batmobile lay dormant like a basking shark in the quiet of the alley, until a sudden dull click sounded in the interior, and a small pair of lights flickered briefly in recognition as its owner drew near.
Batman dropped from the dripping fire escape above without a sound. His boots rippled the puddle he'd landed in without causing a splash, and he strode to the passenger side of the car first, without hesitation.
The Joker, delirious and limp, lay strapped into the seat. Normal seatbelts had been replaced with the same high-resistance restraint straps used in prisons and hospitals: designed to hold even the most determined patient or prisoner. Three straps enclosed the Joker's skinny chest, with four more binding his arms and legs. Batman had reluctantly left the madman's face and neck unrestrained. The Joker had developed an alarming tendancy to stop breathing for short periods during the last half hour or so, and any further pressure on his throat and face would have only made this worse.
So if he gnaws his way out of that, I only have myself to blame, thought the Batman, bitterly. Lying to Gordon, even if it was in the service of the greater good, always made him feel jaded and old.
He turned away and threw himself into the driver's seat. The Batmobile glided out of the alley, scattering stray cats and a few loose cans in its wake, and swung off down the main drag towards Gotham General Hospital.
Gotham General Hospital, 2.45 a.m.
Pulling to a halt at the service entrance of the hospital, Batman took another look at his passenger. The Joker's breathing was loud and harsh in the almost silent interior of the Batmobile.
I wish I could believe he was faking this…
He approached the hospital by the almost unused east side, ducking behind an off-duty ambulance as a truck full of laundry trundled slowly by, and his eyes fell upon one of the fire exit doors, which was open. In the tiny spill of light from the emergency door, a thin, worried-looking man in doctor's blues was huddled out of the rain, smoking a cigarette. The plastic laminate of his ID gleamed a little from the pocket of his tunic.
Batman slipped closer. The doctor looked neither young nor old: his face had gone a few days without shaving properly and his black hair was starting to recede. His dark skin was dull with fatigue. He looked worn down, overstressed, and, most importantly, looked as if he could be easily persuaded.
"Doctor," Batman said, from out of the shadows. The man started, dropping his cigarette in shock and cursing as he did so. "What is your name?"
The doctor's dark eyes went huge as he picked out the silhouette of pointed ears and cape in the shadows just beyond the building. He made an incoherent sound, then stammered:
"Ari Kelly…"
"One more question, Dr Kelly," said Batman, taking a single step forward into the light. "Can you keep a secret?"
Gotham General Hospital, 3.47 a.m.
Extract from the diary of Ari Kelly, 32 years old, doctor of this parish:
Oh shit. Oh, god help me. He's awake.
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Review Responses:
Jen Rock - Thankyou very much for your kind and detailed review! I'm always grateful when people point out pieces of imagery they really liked (it helps me do more of the same in future!)
Meow - Thankyou very much for the encouragement! I hope you enjoyed Chapter 4.
Tagg - :KJ chuckles: Thankyou for such an enthusiastic review, it brightened my day. :) I hope you're pleased - he's finally awake...
Hades' Phoenix - I'm not great at writing romance...though I occasionally try (and then hide in a cupboard until the barrage of rotten tomatoes stops) And ah... "Best of All." I loved that story from the first time I read it. But I wasn't planning to use that particular plot point here (although it could be interesting...hmmm...:makes evil plotting noises:) I can't help wanting my Batman to be a thinker as well as a fighter, I'm a sucker for men who think. :) Thankyou for more compliments, and look, he's actually awake now. Just for you.
SchattenShadow - Careful in that straitjacket! I'm glad you're enjoying the continued story.
Nightmare1 - Thankyou:) I must admit I've always loved the duality of Gotham, and this is going to remain a central theme in this story. (Listen to me, I sound like an English lecturer...)
Robster72 - Yay, you liked that bit of description! I had a lot of fun visualising that part and writing it. Lovely to know it's appreciated.