Update (2013): Chapter is fully edited and ready for your reading pleasure! Enjoy the new additions!
At ten in the morning, I walked into the agency as Lacey Fowlson, and no one recognized me.
I maintained an intimidating air about me as I walked, each step becoming my attempt to evoke uneasiness in the people I passed. Did I look like a typical criminal? Would I be able to act like a delinquent? I felt like one.
Out of my peripheral vision, I noticed officers letting their hands fall to the comfort of their pistols tucked away in their harnesses. I was satisfied at their mistrust, to say the least, and continued my walk to the front desk. My curiosity got the better of me when I turned in passing to catch a glimpse of my newly golden hair in the mirror, and I gave a firm tug at the shiny locks. They didn't budge. The chestnut strands of my own hair I had dyed the previous evening mixed in well with the lighter hair, making it look more natural than one solid color by itself. Kara, the hairdresser who tended to my dilemma this morning, did a wonderful job and imparted a great deal of information to help me retain the look for a month or two. All of the clothes I had laid out on my bed the night before were outfits I imagined Lacey would wear, and today I took the liberty of donning the most enduring one I could put together. I had form-fitting dark wash jeans that looked a little worse for wear, paired with a black wife beater and a cropped leather jacket matching the hue of my new eyes. For a criminal, I looked decently put together, but not formal enough to make the disguise unbelievable.
"CI Violet Whitman," I intoned, holding out my identification card to the front desk secretary. She looked up from whatever task she had been preoccupied with, tossing her gum around in her mouth. Her eyes narrowed at the obvious problem with my ID, so I leaned in toward her to prevent eavesdroppers and added, "I'm here to see Commissioner Gordon about my new ID for undercover work."
"Very well," she answered with beady eyes, fishing out a copy of my application form from a drawer of files next to her desktop computer. "Welcome, Miss Whitman." She regarded my rough façade with an unwarranted sense of alarm.
I gripped the application in my right hand, whistling my way down the hallway and ignoring the rest of the stares I received once I reached the door of Gordon's office. The door was cracked when I arrived. Whispers circulated out of the small space, muffled and unintelligible to my ears from where I stood. I could barely make out the words exchanged, but at the hinge of the door, I caught the remainder of the private conversation.
"—I don't think she should go through with this, Jim. There has to be another way."
"Miss Whitman is a smart girl, Scott. I'm anxious, too, but Violet has had enough experience to bear the responsibility of this task. She's reached her current position as chief detective by her dedication to criminal investigation." A pause. "I wouldn't doubt her ability."
I could hear Genton's habitual rubbing of his stubble with his hand, smoothing from the plane of his cheek down to his chin in deep thought. A nervous tick, and a pretty obvious one.
"What are you proposing her to do as a start in finding his location?"
"We're taking her to one of the Joker's men who took part in the attempted murder of the mayor. He hasn't had any visitors since his arrest, and he might be a little eager to relay some information when provoked."
I had heard everything I needed to hear, so I knocked and pushed open the door to put an end to the conversation.
"Good morning, gentleman." Their heads turned at the familiarity of my voice, but I could see the typical surprise in their faces when they took in the changes of my appearance. "Lacey Fowlson reporting for duty, sir." I sent a mock salute in the direction of Genton, whose jaw slackened slightly the closer I walked toward them. He nodded with approval, saying nothing, and dismissed himself to leave me alone with Gordon. "How do I look, Commissioner?"
Gordon's tentative smile gave me enough hope to conclude I looked convincing.
"Violet isn't detectable at all." He said it as if he was amazed. "And that scar…" I instinctively reached out to touch it, brushing my fingertips along the trail. "You wear scarves when you're working, last I remember. This mark adds credibility to your criminal background. You're set. Let me look over your profile for one moment." He lifted a coffee mug off his desk, taking small sips when he finished reading over the paragraphs dedicated to my false history. "That's quite a life there."
"I threw in the criminal background additions in case I get caught. I'll have crimes to be cited against me, which may prove beneficial if the Joker is listening nearby." The details weren't sorted out when it came to the topic of arrests, but I firmly believed they would let me go if I had been caught in a crime I wasn't primarily responsible for. I hoped.
"Right." He set his coffee down and fed the form through a scanner. As the machine hummed to do its work, he met my gaze and raised a brow, inquisitive. "So, you all set and ready?"
I handed over my real identification card to Commissioner Gordon, along with my credit cards, keeping any extra cash I had in my wallet stowed away in my pockets. Then I slid my new ID— Lacey Fowlson: 25 years old, 5'5", blonde hair, brown eyes—into the coat pocket of the brown leather jacket I had on at GCPD. Two automatic pistols were strapped under my frayed denims for later use. When we entered Gotham City Prison, I kept my face poised and stoic, running over the attitude I had to assume in my mind.
I was Lacey now and it was an obligation to hide Violet's entire professional mien. Lacey thrived off of the crime in Gotham; violence made her who she was, abuse molded the animosity of humanity in her mind, and murder instigated that itch she would constantly be scratching so long as Gotham continued birthing evil from its underworld. I had to be unfair and cruel to get the information I wanted, and I had to remind myself that this inmate we were visiting was a criminal. He deserved justice, and if that meant slapping him around with empty threats, then that would be my intended action.
A guard at the entrance of the wing sized us up when we fell in short of where he stood. His respect for the Commissioner was obvious, but one glance at me and his open veneration fell into an stern frown.
"Who's this girl?" The guard questioned gruffly. His eyes followed me every time I made a movement. Though it was starting to grow aggravating, I took gratification in knowing my plan was working.
"This is Chief Detective Violet Whitman. She's here for investigative business concerning Williams' involvement with the Joker, under certain circumstances." The guard's weatherworn, sunburnt face atoned. He lowered his weapon.
"My apologies."
"It's alright." I let myself surface for the time being, looking to Gordon for affirmation I can direct orders to the guard. "When you lead me to his cell, don't refer to me as detective. Just mention to Williams that he has a visitor. When he asks who it is, reply with the name Lacey Fowlson. Got that all?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good." I turned my attention to Gordon. We exchanged a calculating stare, one that could easily go unnoticed under the guard's scrutiny, and the stare spoke of a silent acknowledgment I would have to push the boundaries in securing the information I wanted. "I'll be out in a couple of minutes."
The guard opened a heavy steel door, revealing what seemed to be an unending hallway of prisoner cells. I heard a few wolf whistles and crude comments howled at me as I passed by, but it was something expected in a place that housed Gotham criminals. I ignored the background commentary and focused on my goal: Williams' cell.
Fifty cells in, the guard stopped. The dark cell held an energy that felt out of place within the pit of my chest, but I swallowed my fear down and stared inside. Huddled in the corner of his prison was a lanky and pallid man. Dirty hair hung in lifeless heaps around the hollows of his cheeks and his deep set eyes that glistened like the film of a drug-induced stupor appeared vacant when his head turned at our footsteps.
"Williams, you've got yourself a visitor." The guard's thick Jersey accent made the prisoner's shoulders twitch in surprise.
"Who would visit me?" he jeered. The higher tenor voice spat sarcasm at the guard when he went to handcuff his wrists together. Williams looked at me, unfamiliarity evident in his bruised eyes.
"Some girl named Lacey Fowlson. Says she got a proposition for you." He motioned me in and closed the cell door, skipping the locking ritual.
I stood in front of him for a short moment, unsure of where to start with how I would approach questioning. I'd been accustomed to interrogation rooms, when most of the prisoners were more than willing to spill secrets in exchange for a shorter sentence. But this man had already been sentenced and confined. Fate dealt her cards for him, and Williams had nothing left to lose other than his life as a bartering component for locations.
"So… Lacey. Whatcha want from a guy like me, huh?" His lips pulled back to reveal crooked teeth tinted pebble gray.
"I want work. With your boss." I waited for his face to give away any sleight of emotions. Annoyance, rage, hatred; the normal sentiments I see suspects hand out to their interrogators. But Williams' expression didn't deviate from the blank, deadpan stare he had assumed the moment I walked in the cell.
Instead, he hissed low, "He's not my boss anymore." His bright blue eyes swirled around in their sockets, searching for something I couldn't see. "It's not like you could negotiate with a guy like him. He kills them all in the end… all of them…"
The man was mental. I took this as a clear sign Lacey should cut deep into the core of Williams' insanity and root out the Joker's imprint. Relying on the physical training I endured some years ago, I lifted him by the scruff of his jumpsuit and held him with my forearm against the wall. He was light for a man. My palms suddenly itched in the thrill of being dangerous, holding his neck in a vice he couldn't loosen.
"Where is he?!" I nearly screamed at him. Reaching down, I pulled out the pistol from under my pant leg and pressed it below his chin. A delighted laugh escaped my lips, the comfort of Lacey's unbreakable backbone easing into my frame of mind. "The guard won't help you if you scream, I'll give you that much." I was breathless from the excitement, panting at the rush. My hand pushed the end of the gun even harder into the underside of his jaw, enough that I believed I could leave a nice purple bruise behind if I tried. Williams squirmed under my grip, kicking at nothing but the air beneath his feet. Helpless was where I wanted this man. I had to get him to the point where his own life would become more valuable than an end to his crumbling mental state. He was close to my face, and he still couldn't recognize me. This new face, the feline glimmer of Lacey's smile, terrified him. Williams wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the corner and let those voices inside his head reign his actions again. Much more than this.
"Ah, Williams, time is ticking."
"He's in several places!" he shouted out the best his strained vocal cords would allow. The man choked for fresh air, clawing with his handcuffed wrists to let me release him. My hold on him lessened for the time being, but the threat of the gun firing at any moment hadn't ceased.
"Does he ever return to previous spots?" I asked with less bite in my voice than the last question. Williams licked his lips to speak and swallowed thickly, a little too long for my patience to allow. I shoved him into the opposing wall roughly, moving my gun to the middle of his forehead. His whimpers echoed out into the hall, where I heard several prisoners searching around for the disruption. "Do you really think I can't work for him when a scampering rat like you did? Huh? Tell me. Is it because I'm a woman?" I bit back, teeth bared and feral like the animal Lacey was.
"He—he does. Yes, returns to previous spots." Williams let out a few laughs at the thought of it. "Want the locations?" He licked his lips, eyes directing downward and up at me. "Give me a little something something, sweetheart." Another laugh reverberated through the cell. I slammed his head into the wall hard enough to bleed, but not enough for him to fall under unconsciousness. I could feel my blood pulsing erratically through my veins, tingling from the ends of my toes right up to the numbing rush in my head.
"Look, buddy, I'm not one of those whores walking the streets of the Narrows at night, and I'm certainly not a harlot. Have some respect for someone who can blow a hold clean through your head at the pull of a trigger." I cocked the gun, letting the bullet slide into place beside his head.
Williams' body burst into panicked spasms at the click. Tears leaked through his psychotic eyes. "I'll tell you! Please! Just please don't shoot me." He began to quake with trembling sobs, and the pathetic shell of a man curled into himself reclusively when I let his body drop to the floor. My first objective was completed. Lacey's fear tactics won.
"Good," I grinned, satisfied with my work. "Be specific, if you have the decency to remember."
After I emerged from the prison cells holding a list of ten different landmarks and addresses, I shared my updates with Gordon and shook hands with him in parting, knowing there was a chance I could be dead by the end of the day if I wasn't careful. I managed to flag down a taxi a couple blocks from the prison, hopping in the car and picking an address halfway down the page and the deepest in the Narrows I could recognize.
"Where to, miss?" I recited the address to the taxi driver, looking down at the scribbled numbers on the piece of paper just to be sure.
He seemed to know where the address ended based on his taciturn behavior after my reading off of the paper. Nevertheless, he complied without complaint or comment, and I imagined him flooring the gas pedal of the taxi as soon as I exited the car. We passed by Gotham's inner city, crossing a lengthy bridge into the downtown area. The population went from crowded to nearly empty as the buildings reduced in quality and number by the minute. More trash littered the sidewalks. The sophisticated dress from the upper business districts dwindled down to women donning suggestive or service clothes, and men of the mob looking clean-cut as ever in their designer business suits that tucked away concealed weapons from any wandering onlooker. This was the Narrows, a slum and epicenter of crime, churning out Gotham's most wanted criminals as fast as the city's piling debt.
It was mid-afternoon once I finished up my scaring tactics with, and during that time I had packed a knife in the inner pocket of my jacket for extra defense. The nerves were beginning to bubble up inside my stomach, I couldn't help that. I had never been in this part of the city alone before; I was always accompanied by the police force, all armed and at the ready for any outbreak of gunfire. It was worse that I was a woman and alone. The odds were stacked against me in triple over a lonesome man walking the streets. Pondering over the fact that I'd be standing face-to-face with the insidious, painted man raised goose bumps on my flesh more than the idea of being cornered in an alley did. I began to wonder if he would accept me into his gang or not. There was one certainty I was sure of, however. I wouldn't be coming out alive if my acceptance was a no-go. There had to be an initiation of some sort, and I was determined to go great lengths to pass it; I just wasn't sure what those lengths were.
It struck me odd that Williams had managed to pass the tests himself, but his blatant showcase of insanity convinced me otherwise of my doubts.
I can do this.
"We're here, miss." A line of warehouses greeted me when we rounded the last block. With a brief look at my notes I hastily scrawled down, this was the address I had selected. I was here.
I handed the driver some extra dollars on account of where we were and stepped out of the taxi. Priority number one, I needed to calm down. Walking in as a petrified statue would cost me my life. After inhaling a couple deep breaths for a minute, I approached the warehouse with a newfound confidence. I willed Lacey's personality to take over, visualized her energy coursing through my limbs, her itch for revenge and murder sending vibrations through my fingertips. Williams firmly implied that the Joker appeared at this warehouse. It was where deals were dealt and lives were taken in exchange—where most of the corrupted blood was spilled. A bulletproof vest was not an option, not when I wasn't a member of the GCPD today.
This was my plan. My decision, and I was going to prove all of them wrong.
I entered a gritty room, throwing open the doors in a showy manner on purpose, and pulled up the corners of my mouth to get the attention I required to make my case.
"Hey, boys."
The tone that emerged from my lips was seductive and cruel, and it came from an unfamiliar voice of mine. Joker's henchmen rose to their feet the instant I spoke and raised their guns in a measly attempt to threaten me. I twisted my features into a disapproving glare.
"Aw, come on. I 'm here for business, boys. Where's your boss?" The group of six men exchanged confused glances with one another and looked back at me. They lowered their guns, smiles cracking the serious of their faces in seeing a small and apparently frail woman standing among them. I whistled low, reaching down and pulling out the pistol from its holster under my right pant leg. "Let's not get too happy I'm here."
I waved the gun at each of their heads in a thoughtful manner and pointed it at the closest man's leg. Part of my conscience, the austere, moral side of me, rejected the action in firm disagreement. But at the other end, Lacey's character begged for pain. I convinced myself it wouldn't kill him; it was being done for a purpose and he would survive the encounter.
I fired a round into his leg, blowing a clean hole through.
"Ooh…" I flinched away from my infliction and let my lips graze a kiss across the firing chamber of the gun. "Ouch."
The men minus the wounded circled around me and raised their guns again. At the time, I acted on instinct and remained still. One wrong move and I knew my insides would be blown outward.
"Listen, maybe one of you could go get him for me. I'm here for a job application, sweets." I dropped my gun in surrender, holding my hands up with devilish innocence.
"We're filled." A deep voice to my right responded. One of them moved closer and prodded my side with his caliber.
"Is that so?" I glared, motioning to the man clutching at his leg and writhing on the blood-stained floor. "Looks to me you've got an open slot, hun-"
"Gen-t-le-men, gen-t-le-men. What've we got here?" The childish, growling tone of a man's voice echoed the room—a man far too familiar for comfort. Heavy footfalls approached the circle and the men scattered like herded sheep in a field of wolves. "You've caught us a lady friend, have you?" He approached from behind me quickly. The airless presence was almost maddening to experience firsthand, but I kept up the façade strongly and plastered my own roguish grin on my tainted lips.
A sharp blade smoothly slid across my cheek, shining a reflective beam off the warehouse lights as it ran across the point of my chin. The Joker came into view before me at a quick skip, scars and all.
"Pretty one." He muffled his bone-chilling laughter into silence and proceeded to drag his knife across my scarred neck. His brows furrowed at what he saw, and I watched him hesitate for only a moment, intrigued at the knife-work done to my body.
"She wants a job, boss." A lackey chuckled in the uncomfortable silence. "She shot one of us in the leg to get her point across."
Joker's black eyes glanced down at the pain-stricken man. The white paint cracked under muscle movement and his painted smile drew up into a twisted grin. He stepped away, waving his hand forward to signal a henchman to press a gun in warning against the base of my spine. Blood poured from the dying man's wound like a fountain, painting the floor a beautiful crimson around his quivering body. The Joker hopped around him and laughed, kicking at his wounded leg for his own amusement.
The scream was like child's candy to this man's ears. He snatched a handgun off the guy closest to him and fired an extra two rounds into the wounded man's body. Shrieks of agonizing pain pierced everyone's ears. The only one classically comforted by the noise was the Clown Prince. Joker popped his lips, satisfied with the slow death.
I lifted my leg stealthily and slid my second pistol out of the other holster. His horrific gaze shifted to me in a second, upturning another insane grin at the sight of a gun in my hand. He waved his own pistol at the man behind me, laughing when I fired into the guy's leg.
"Ooh, I think I like her already!"