THROWAWAY CARD
Chapter 9
Disclaimer: Batman and related characters are the property of DC Comics.
Author's Note: If anyone's interested, the picture that really started this whole story off (it depicts a scene from this chapter) can be seen at my DeviantArt account: the link's in my Author Profile.
Above Gotham Plaza, 6.12 a.m.
On the streets of Gotham, even the homeless and the junkies had found dry spots to hide in to wait out the storm and doze, in the hope that when they awoke there might be some sign of dawn in the waterlogged charcoal skies. On the rooftops, although she didn't know it yet, the hard part of Selina Kyle's night was only just beginning. She paused lithely on a ledge perhaps six inches wide over a drop of sixty feet, head raised, water spilling from her shining suit.
I hate the rain. Why do I live here?
She flung herself suicidal-fashion out over the drop, gloves springing lethal claws as she freefell. Her hands snatched at a fire ladder on the opposite building with barely a clang, and she descended with dignity to the street below.
The tarmac was awash: it was like stepping down into a shallow river. The storm drains roared with overspill to each side of her as she checked her belt pouch for the tenth time.
The microchip was still there. A night's work well done. Now for the tough part: getting it home and getting the information off it. Selina wriggled her shoulders in anticipation. Home. Mmm. Warm and dry.
But in the distance, a sound that made her turn…
Someone crying?
Catwoman cocked her head, listening above the battering and splashing of the rain. She took a long breath in and held it so that the sound of her own breathing didn't interfere. Yes. There it was, a low-level sound, several streets away if she was any judge. Soft crying? Someone hurt?
Investigate?
Cats are known for being naturally curious, but Selina was also capable of being naturally compassionate to those in pain. Like a shadow, she slid along the alleyways amid the hiss and spattering of water, until she could peer out into the dead-end street at the intersection of forty-six and third.
There was someone lying in a crumpled heap right down at the end, huddled against the wall. Someone extremely wet, who was still making that constant muttering sound that could be sobbing.
Selina, cautious, moved forward. The smell of rain overwhelmed any other scent in the alley, even the usual reek of refuse. The figure huddled against the brickwork did not move, face-down in a pool of water.
Was that crying, or…
Catwoman, mere metres from the fallen figure, took an instinctive step backwards, her top lip curled in disgust.
…laughing. Oh, my God.
The prone figure was the Joker. He was utterly soaked through with rain, the purple suit black with it. His green hair was dark and slick to his white face and his shoulders shuddered occasionally with pained giggling.
Selina stood quite still, and automatically looked upwards at the nearby buildings, scanning the ledges and rooftops for Batman.
No dark shadows were silhouetted against the neon glare of the streetlamps. No police sirens wailed out of the pre-dawn darkness. Just the unrelenting rain and the madman crouched before her on the sidewalk. The city at this hour was just beginning to wake up properly, delivery vans and commuters starting to move in the streets. It was still fairly quiet.
Catwoman's first instinct was to turn away and walk straight out of the alley, but something stopped her. A memory of being a child in the park, of seeing another child cut very badly by a big sliver of glass. It had been a bottle left behind by drunken partygoers crossing the park several nights previously, which had broken unseen in the long grass and lain there waiting to be discovered by an unwitting, innocent hand.
How can I leave him here, free, an accident waiting to happen? It's lucky I've found him and not some poor stupid city girl…
She padded forward and crouched close to the Joker, wary of a trap. A scrap of turquoise green poking out from under his arm caught her attention.
He looks injured…what's that…?
Lip still curled fastidiously, she hesitantly reached out a gloved hand and turned him over.
A sling. A cast. Broken arm?
The Joker groaned as his back slapped wetly into the puddle. The fingers on his injured left arm were gripping at his collarbone. Selina gave him a cursory glance, a once-over, just to check she wasn't going to have this proximity to him backfire on her. He lay still on his back as she rifled his jacket for the inevitable gun or vial of acid.
"All out of tricks today?" she said to him, when a search of the deep exterior pockets revealed nothing. "That's not like you."
Not just injured. He's feverish. Tonight just gets weirder and weirder…
She went for the inner pockets next, wanting to gag in revulsion at the feel of his toast rack ribs under the sodden shirt. He kept up a steady low murmur of non-verbal sounds throughout the procedure: some hysterical bouts of giggling, some whimpers of pain. As she turned out the shallow waistcoat pockets he broke out into a fit of coughing which seemed to only fuel his continued amusement. But there was no retaliation to her ransacking his clothes.
Nothing. Huh.
Catwoman pushed gracefully to her feet and took two small, delicate steps backward, regarding him coolly. The rain seemed to be getting harder, until it became an almost solid curtain of water around them both. At the mouth of the dead-end street a car drove past, throwing up a tall slew of spray.
The Joker coughed harder, because the water was getting into his mouth. He rolled onto his side and made an attempt to push his body upright on his one good arm. Catwoman snapped her whip out from its place around her waist and moved forward sharply, perching her full weight across his back to keep him pinned where he was crouched. The memory of that screaming child, covered in blood, being carried from the park by paramedics was vivid in her mind.
Can't leave dangerous things lying around where innocents could get hurt by them…
A motorcycle courier hummed past in a cloud of spray at the mouth of the intersection.
But then, I'm a dangerous thing, too.
She stood up from where she was leaning on him, curling the whip back into a neat coil, then bent fluidly and grasped at his collar.
Gotham Streets, 6.03 a.m.
"Alfred."
"Sir?"
The butler's voice over the car's intercom was clear and as fresh as if he'd enjoyed at least eight hours sleep and had made time for a healthy breakfast into the bargain. Sometimes Bruce envied the man's poise. No matter what I throw at him, Alfred always seems ready for it.
"Joker lost me at the marina."
A slight pause.
"Well, I'm sure you'll find him again, sir," came the reply. "He's six foot five and not exactly inconspicuous. It's the rather questionable tailoring."
"I will find him."
Inside his head, Batman effortlessly squashed the flare of self-doubt as he had done so many times. His confidence in his own abilities had to sustain him. Without that poise, without that surety, there was nothing.
"I suppose it would be foolish of me to ask if you managed to attach one of your miniature tracking devices to the gentleman before he, ah, evaded you?" said Alfred's polite, cultured voice as Batman flipped a few switches on the car's dashboard. Panels whirred open.
"It would be foolish of you to ask, but more foolish of me to lie."
The small tracking screen that whirred open from just to the left of the steering column was black and empty. No flashing dot to indicate a trail to be followed.
"Ah," said Alfred, quite calmly, rather as if he'd just discovered a rogue speck of dust on a picture-rail. "Well, not to worry, sir. Problems like the Joker tend to rear their ugly heads quite often. He won't stay hidden for long, it's not in his nature."
Batman pushed the useless screen closed and rested his chin on one hand, thinking.
"Alfred, would you do something for me? Run a name through the Cave's computer. Sam Wright."
"Of course," the butler responded. "I assume this task takes priority over my pressing need to polish the silverware?"
The thin lips under the line of the cowl curled in a wry smile. "This is one time you can assume with impunity, Alfred."
"Duly noted. Good luck, sir. I'll be in touch."
Batman registered the tiny click that indicated the Manor connection had been terminated, then allowed himself one short thump of his battered gauntlets at the steering wheel.
I must be getting stupid in my old age. Never underestimate him. Not even unconscious, not even if he's apparently dead. How often has he been considered dead, anyway? He's got more lives than a cat.
A van drove past the mouth of the side road where the Batmobile was parked, and offloaded a batch of newspapers to the sidewalk. CLOWN PRINCE IN CUSTODY, one headline read, above a familiar photograph of the Joker's soot-stained face. THE JOKE'S ON YOU, JOKER! exulted another, displaying an identical picture. More morbidly, a third offered LAST LAUGH? with a slightly different photo of the Joker huddled over in pain.
Reliable Jim Gordon, as good as his word. Except I now have a real problem. If I can't find him before he does something flamboyant and dangerous, the real perpetrator of these crimes will be able to evade me. Not to mention the amount of people who could get hurt in the process.
Gotham City, 6.32a.m.
Catwoman cursed the Joker soundly and silently under her breath, and tried to adjust the way she was dragging him so that her shoulders didn't hurt so much.
If I can just leave him somewhere conspicuous, like outside the courthouse or the police station…
Frustrated, she drew back a booted foot to kick him in the ribs, then sighed and thought better of it.
Wow, I'm just such a nice person. I can't even kick a dog when it's down.
She got a better grip on his soaked, ruined clothes and dragged him a few more feet down the alley. He was incapable or unwilling to do anything to make her job easier, and was a surprisingly heavy dead weight.
"Congratulations," she hissed at him as she dug her claws into the yielding purple cloth, "you're even a pain in the ass when you're barely conscious."
This wasn't the way she had planned her night going, not at all. In her plan she'd have been home by now, teasing juicy titbits of data from this oh-so-insignificant little chip, probably with clean hair and a big mug of creamy hot chocolate.
This outfit is most definitely evening wear only. Too fancy for the daytime. I don't really want anyone to see me come home…and certainly I don't want to be seen anywhere near this guy…
The 'home' she currently had in mind was a dingy and cramped apartment on the west side. Moreston Block was well known for being a troubled area - countless council plans to regenerate the area had fallen by the wayside, and even the families placed there by the social workers tended to be wary of their neighbours. It was a place for the poor, the lost, the mean-spirited, and the criminal.
Selina liked it: no-one gave a damn if you came home at all hours of the night, and if you were wearing a cat costume it probably just meant you were a pretty expensive prostitute. And it was amazing the sheer volume of incidents that no-one saw around Moreston: over three hundred people lived there and yet the night the local street gang killed three members of a rival gang (and one of their own, by accident) no-one had seen or heard a thing.
Catwoman flattened herself against the wall and peered out onto Lincoln Street. The bakeries were open, the pervasive scent of new bagels and hot ovens spilling out into the dullness, and the small convenience store on the corner was changing shift. A yawning man in orange exchanged keys with another man who looked no less tired, and pointed to a delivery of newspapers lying bundled on the sidewalk. Catwoman glanced at the papers fleetingly, then double-took and stared with real alarm.
Clown Prince in Custody…The Joke's On You, Joker…Last Laugh…?
Don't they recycle those headlines every time he escapes?
She looked down at the untidy, crumpled figure whose collar she had so neatly scruffed in her hand. Definitely the Joker. There couldn't be any mistaking him…unless…
She crouched beside him and scrubbed hard at his white face with her hand, then at the lips. Makeup steadfastly failed to come off on her gloves. The green hair was green all the way to the scalp. Her fingers briefly traced the deep, scarred laughter lines that extended from the corners of the mouth all the way up into the sharp cheekbones.
She whipped her hand away as he suddenly snapped at her like a rabid dog. Slitted green eyes regarded her with all-consuming hatred.
"Uh-oh, too slow," the Joker reprimanded himself in a whisper, looking up at her with a twitching grin. "Let's play again, pussycat. It's no fair cheating. It's do as I say, not do as I do." Another lunge and snap, and Catwoman rapidly adjusted her grip to the back of his neck, out of range. She could see there was no real strength in him, as his head lolled loosely after every attempted bite and he wasn't even trying to get up.
But sometimes even cornered, wounded rats will turn and fight the cat if they can't get away.
Satisfied she wasn't going to suffer any immediate injury, she looked out again into the street. The sandwich boards leant up outside the store were proclaiming the same message now: the Joker's latest escapade was over. Batman had brought him to justice and the city was safe once more.
Catwoman wiped some rain from her face and looked down at her charge.
"Well, if that's true," she murmured, "what are you doing out here? Batman may have his faults, but he doesn't make mistakes about things like this. If he says he's got you, he's got you."
The Joker didn't answer. His eyes were closed again, and he appeared to be faltering on the edge of consciousness. Selina inwardly groaned - now she'd have to carry all of his weight - and watched the first customers of the day buying their papers and stopping off for a chat on the way to work. People. Normal people, normal lives, people who wore suits and had desk jobs. People whose biggest concerns in life ran to how many calories were in a greek salad and whether Celebrity X was really dating Celebrity Y. How did it happen, this sudden, subtle shift? When did you wake up one morning and realise that not only did you have to worry about chipping your nail varnish, you also had to try and save the world in ways that normal people would never even know about…?
Selina regarded the collapsed form of her new biggest concern and felt very, very tired and alone.
So now what the hell am I supposed to do?
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Review Responses:
Nightmare1: Wow, that's weird deja vu! That little section is actually one of the only bits of this story I previewed in my LiveJournal, months ago, before I started work on pulling this story together properly. As for whether Ivy's involved...well that would be telling... :)
Dark-Lady-Devinity: Thankyou! And yeah - there was Batman, giving himself a good mental dressing-down.
SpiderFreak: Hee, thankyou. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter too.
meow: It is certainly not a good thing - but luckily for Alonso, he seems safe for now at least!
Kelly Renee: I hope they were heebie-jeebies in a good way:P
giveGod theglory: Ouch indeed. He's tough, though, our hero.
LexLuthor13: Heh, not even Batman can be utterly omnipotent. He's good, but he's not that good. I'm really happy you approve of my Joker (and yes, he can be very hard to do some days!) Thanks for adding to Favs!
JuliTina: Thankyou very much, and I'm very glad you found it too! Your compliments mean a great deal to me. I don't think you're twisted for finding that bit funny - but them I am a twisted Joker-fan myself, so I guess I'm not the best to judge.
robster72: I'm sure those two won't be apart for too long (it's too much fun writing dialogue between them!)
Cyn Wraith: Gushing of praise is always welcome here. thankyou for your good wishes : I'm feeling a lot better now. There's a lot more intrigue to come hopefully.
Farthingale: :KJ pounces: As a picky English graduate I demand to be Noted about those things! I'm so glad you're enjoying it: after all, it's really for you I'm writing it, oh prize-winning person...and some days I disturb myself with how easy it is to write the ramblings of a psychopath, while other days I am tearing my hair out trying to get him right. :grins: You annotated your printouts! Wow, teacher, did I get an A:winks: I feel really important now...I have annotations...
tdei: Thankyou very much! I'm reallyhappy it has appeal even for someone who isn't a completely rabid fan of Batman. As for what that name means to Joker...hmmm...we shall see.. :evil chuckle:
And a special mention to Shimotsuki for the wonderful fanmail. Thankyou so much.