He never would have expected a black Cadillac to be waiting on the corner of Gerard and Ninth. What he expected even less was a beautiful woman, her face obscured in the darkness by a dark headscarf to casually step from the black car. She was of slender feminine build and her shapely legs were encased in formfitting black slacks, the rest hidden behind a becoming dark coat. Soft blonde curls trailed out of her head scarf and she wore sunglasses even though it was dark. She pulled a tiny device from the coat pocket resting on her hip and pressed it to her lips.
"Have you got it?" The chilling mechanical drawl he had become used to over the past months cut through the night air. Dr. Crane smirked as he opened his car door to reveal the unconscious form of a young man, his blonde hair matted and falling to the opposite side of his face sprawled in the back seats of his car. A scarred grin further marred his sallow skin. Silence ensued as the obscured figure peered into the car and Dr. Crane watched her.
A croaky metallic purr shattered the silence and something about it turned the Doctor's stomach.
Security guard Samuel Hughes had only been a guard at Arkham for two weeks when the Joker had first escaped. While he had not been anywhere near the actual sight of escape and had not been on long enough to develop an emotional attachment to the two guards the joker had murdered on his way out, it had been enough to make him reconsider his profession. The guard's faces had been sliced in an eerie smile from ear to ear with only god knows what. Hughes promptly quit, however had been at Arkham long enough to become familiar with the principle staff.
It was for this very reason, as he walked along Gerard Street on his way to the market on a crisp October night, that he was able to immediately identify bloodless corpse lying on the corner of Gerard and Ninth as Dr. Jonathan Crane.
He knew better than to touch the man to check for vital signs (the bullet lodged in his chest made any such action perfunctory. He also knew that as a black man in a bad neighborhood at night, calling the cops would almost guarantee him a spot in jail for at least a night, regardless of his innocence. He put his cell phone away and walked until he came to a phone booth three streets over. He fished a quarter out of his pocket with clammy hands and quickly dialed 911.
"Hello…" A distinctly female and distinctly bored voice droned from the other end of the line, along with the usual spiel.
"There's a body on the corner of Gerard and Ninth." He breathed into the phone and hung up so quickly that he barely heard the woman's surprised gasp. He nearly sprinted away from the booth and into a nearby diner.
"…and that's when she said 'These shoes will match perfectly with my dress!" And all I could think was…"
Bruce Wayne sighed miserably as his date for the evening droned on and on about something. He was not entirely sure what, nor did he particularly care to find out. She was just another air-headed upper-class doll and he needed to keep up appearances. He had a feeling that she was not all that fond of him either. Why else would she see fit to torture him?
"…because there is just a fine line between vintage print and carpet bag, you know? And she looked more like she was a gaudy wall-paper mummy…"
Bruce sighed as sirens blared in the distance. He pulled over, feeling as if the extra seconds he would now be forced to spend in this woman's company were the equivalent of being relocated from the first to forth circle of hell. Her blatantly fake black eye lashes fluttered as she laughed and her impossibly large yellow hair brushed his arm as the momentum of the car forced her closer.
He watched the police cars and ambulance fly by.
"…I mean, honestly. Whoever said that orange is the new pink is seriously deranged-"
"Where do you think they're going?" He asked and the blonde woman looked almost offended at being cut off. She huffed slightly and waved his thought away with one of her orange hands. Bruce thought she rather resembled an overly-made-up carrot or an anorexic pumpkin with fake eyelashes and a bad wig. "Looks like to the slums." The way she said slums made him cringe.
He focused his attention toward the quickly disappearing ambulance as she resumed her inane prattle with a vengeance. As he restarted the Lamborghini and flew back into the lane he took out his phone and texted Alfred.
Keep an eye open
He sent, knowing that if anything important were to happen Alfred would no doubt contact him and was probably already surveying the city from the bat cave and watching the news. He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and pulled it out of his pocket at the next light. The lavish restaurant he was taking tonight's bimbo to loomed in the distance as he quickly peered at his phone.
Cut tonight short; it read and Bruce actually smiled. He could deal with that.
Review Reply:
pride1289: Thanks!