"Hey, there. You lookin' pretty. Very fancy. Boss'll like that, for sure."
The thug with the missing front tooth lay a thick, heavy hand on Misty's shoulder. She would have flinched, but the girls told her not to. Let them touch you a bit, they'd said, just so you don't get a rep as being frigid.
"He better be happy we found him a London goil." Another brutish man wiped his nose on his sleeve. "We goin' up there soon? Fuckin' cold in here."
"We'll go when we're told," barked the first one, who was now eyeing Misty's legs. She angled a slender foot so that the front of her dress swung to the side, showing her shapely leg up to the middle of her thigh. She had been right to wear the slit-legged dress on her first night. None of the other girls had legs quite like hers. A filthy smile spread across the thug's face, and a dirty laugh gurgled in his muscular throat. Misty tilted her chin downwards and smiled coyly. Keep 'em on your side, she remembered, but don't speak unless you're spoke to.
Misty wasn't a particularly bright girl, but she was good at following the rules. And although she'd heard them all trading dirty desires concerning Harley Quinn, she didn't want to be like her; too outspoken and bolshy with her skimpy outfit and her brash New York accent. Misty sniffed proudly. And they called her a whore!
"Let's get a fuckin' move on," said the foul-mouthed guard again. "The Boss'll change his tune when we show 'im what we got for 'im."
"C'mon, babe." The first guard grabbed Misty by the crook of her slender arm. His strong grip hurt a bit, but she didn't make a sound. "You gonna meet the Boss."
This was it! This was finally Misty's moment. She'd known a lifetime of playing sweet and coy would turn out well for her. It turned out that sweet and coy was just what the Penguin wanted near him at the moment. She could hardly believe it when the Madam had said she'd got a chance to be one of the Penguin's escorts at the new Iceberg Lounge.
As she was led down the grand corridors, she could smell the dust and damp in the place. She'd always thought that the Lounge was in the old museum, but rumour had it that the whole building belonged to Two-Face. Misty had heard about Two-Face, and she was glad that he didn't demand women for company. She shuddered as she thought of the acid-scarred face.
"Aww, you cold, sweetheart?" The thug beside her mistook her shudder for a shiver. "You better get used to it."
She kept her silence and marched on in her heels, guided by the thugs, until they reached a big set of double doors. They looked like they had been carved out of an impressively large slab of mahogany. The second thug walked forward and knocked on the door.
"Boss? It's us. Can we c'min?"
"What?" Misty heard the reply, almost mistaking it for a squawk. "Whad'ya want? I'm busy."
The thug looked back at his accomplice, and at Misty. "We got that British boid you asked for."
A brief silence, during which Misty briefly wondered what would happen to her if Penguin didn't want her. Hopefully, it'd be back to the Madam. Maybe she'd be passed around the guards first, if she wasn't so lucky. They all looked mean, and the disgusting things she'd heard them say they would do to Harley Quin…She swallowed the lump in her throat hard.
"Bring 'er in."
Misty thanked whoever as the doors opened and she was walked in.
The huge circular room was adorned with chandeliers hanging from the roof like stalactites, giving off a frosty glow. Velvet drapes hung straight down, unmoving, from the arches. In the centre of the room, perched on a greying chaise longue, was a short man in a moth-eaten tuxedo. He was squinting at his right hand, which was busy unravelling a bandage that was wrapped around the fingers on his left.
The thugs came to a stop about ten feet in front of the gilded chair. Misty felt the burly crook release her arm as they both stood in front of the Penguin, blocking her from view with their considerable bulks. Misty could just see the Penguin through the gap.
Penguin finished unravelling the bandage, which to Misty's disgust had got browner with stale blood as it unravelled, and cast it aside.
"Ugh," grunted Penguin with a throat full of phlegm. His eyeglass – was it real? – glimmered as he tilted his head up.
"Look a' this," he growled at his mooks, holding up his hand to reveal a stump where the middle finger once had been. It was healed over with stretched white scar tissue, and still had a bloody crust around it as if it had been clumsily hacked off. The other fingers looked beaten and crooked. Misty squeezed her eyes shut in horror as the Penguin brandished it wildly at his henchmen. "I can't even facking swear no more!"
He turned to the thug on the right, the one that had initially eyed up Misty. "You see that? That Bat wanker did that to me. Broke my bloody 'and. Had to lop that one off 'cause it went all green and nasty in the bandage." Misty nearly threw up. "When I catch 'im I'm gonna fackin' take both of his knackers."
Misty swallowed again. She was a little thankful for the mooks in front of her. True to his name, Penguin was a short, stout, waddling little fellow; he and the dusty surroundings made Misty feel like the cleanest thing for miles.
"Wha'f you brought me then, lads?" He grunted at them, pointing with his bad hand. Misty ignored the stump as much as she possibly could. It was like trying to ignore a beacon in the middle of a field. "I 'ope you got what I asked for."
The thugs stepped aside. The first one clapped her roughly on the buttock and pushed her forward. She almost stumbled in her heels, her calves shaking, but she kept herself upright. She stretched up and leant on one hip, angling her chin down, pointing her chest forward. Her fingers twitched as she tried not to cross them.
The Penguin's chapped lips twisted into a smile. "Well," he mused, "You're a pretty one, aint'cha?"
Unsure how to reply to that comment, Misty flashed him a soft smile and a girlish, nasal giggle.
"Wha's yer name?" he grunted, sitting himself heavily back down and stretching behind the chaise longue. He produced a thin silver case, opened it carefully and extracted a cigar that was thicker than any of Misty's fingers. He jammed it between his teeth, and groped in his inside pocket for a matchbook.
"Mmmisty," she said, with the emphasis on the first letter of her name, tossing her auburn curls back with a flick of her head. Penguin's eyes went from her slender neck down to her breasts, eventually resting on the top of her exposed thigh. He either grinned or grimaced as he exhaled a fug of smoke. It was rather hard to tell.
"And you're from London, eh?"
"I am, Sir." Misty looked his straight in his good eye. She blithely the other eye, once she had recognised with horror a bottle wedged into the skin around the other eye socket. It seemed there would be quite a few parts of her new employer she'd have to ignore. A rivulet of plaster dust suddenly cascaded from the ceiling, somewhere above the Penguin's head.
"Sir." Echoed Penguin. "Nice and polite. She's a good girl ain't she?"
The mooks chuckled darkly. Misty pouted, her cheeks flushing.
"C'n you make drinks?" he barked.
Misty nodded.
The Penguin frowned. "Speak to me when I ask you a question," he barked. "Don't be so bloody rude. I wanna hear your accent. Reminds me of my boy'ood," he crooned.
"I can make drinks for you, Sir." She spoke in a measured, sultry tone.
"How 'bout my clientele?" He spoke the French word with no semblance of an accent. It was almost jarringly funny. "I want you to make their drinks and bring 'em over to 'em. Can you manage that?"
"Happily, Sir."
"Well done boys," said the Penguin, sitting up and tipping his little legs over the side of the chaise longue. "Looks like you finally did sam'ink right."
As he turned his back, Misty saw the mooks exchange a triumphant look. One of them cleared his throat. "Unh, Boss? We also got the other stuff you wan'ed."
The Penguin froze. He turned slowly and menacingly on his heel. His eyes flickered from his subordinates to Misty, and then back again.
"You better show me quick." Penguin beckoned him forward with the hand holding his cigar. He looked at Misty. "Why don't'cha go stand over there." He gestured to the wall by Misty's right. Obediently she took a few steps out of the way, and perched delicately on a chair. She swept the gold fabric of her dress away from her legs, giving her new employer a clear shot of her supple thighs. Sure enough, he glanced over a couple of times as the thugs produced a suitcase and laid it on the bottom of the chaise longue. She averted her gaze so as not to be nosey, but she heard the clasps on the suitcase open. As the Penguin chuckled gleefully, she could swear she saw a velvet curtain twitch. She blinked her eyes back into focus. It must have been a trick of the light.
"That's loverly!" Penguin was laughing with gusto. "An' you nicked it from right under Dent's rotten nose?"
"Yeah, Boss," said the foul-mouthed thug. "I done it myself. Single-handedly."
Misty's head snapped back to the Penguin. The air in the room became as tight as a drum.
"What'd you say?" growled Penguin hoarsely.
The thug began to panic. "I – I didn't mean nothin' by it, Boss," he stuttered. "It's just a phrase."
With reflexes that seemed unnatural for such a rotund, hunchbacked man, Penguin reached inside his suit and produced a small handgun. He aimed right at the thug's vest-clad torso. A sharp shot rang out, and the thug crumpled to the floor. Misty made a sound halfway between a gasp and a squeal.
"That'll teach the lot of you," panted Penguin, as if the force of the bullet was a cause of exertion; "To watch your fackin' mouths!"
There was a crash and a tinkle of metal on the floor, and burst of smoke rushed out from the centre of the room. For a surreal moment, Misty thought that her employer had set himself alight with a cigar. A shadow dropped nimbly in front of her, and she heard the thud of a fist on a skull.
Loudly, she screamed in terror.
"There's someone over here," cried the loud but youthful voice of the shadow in front of her. Misty scrambled to her feet, but teetered on her high heel. She fell arms outstretched towards the floor, but was stopped by a firm arm wrapping around her waist. Someone strong flung her up into their arms as if she was a ragdoll.
There was a loud noise and a jerking sensation as she and her captor was pulled suddenly upwards. Pressing herself against a strong armoured chest, she screamed right into the captor's ear.
"Shh," a stern, deep voice hushed. "You'll be fine. Hold on."
She clung for dear life to the strong arms of her captor, squishing her eyes shut, getting jostled about and hearing muffled yells and assorted banging noises. Her bare shoulders could sense the air becoming colder as they seemed to descend upwards. Suddenly she heard glass smash nearby, showering her with shards like tiny knives, and adrenaline forced her eyes open.
She was suddenly dropped to her feet and grabbed around the waist. As she turned her neck to face her captor, a kind of elated fear gripped her as she recognised the black cowl.
"Hold on to me," barked the man she recognised as Batman. He looked out across the horizon, raised his opposite arm and something shot out of the wristguard of his glove. Misty jumped, but she looked through the eye slits of the cowl and saw a pair of brown eyes. At least he looked human.
Suddenly they swung off of the side of the building. Misty almost felt her insides being left behind, and she whooped right into Batman's ear. If her screams had hurt, he didn't flinch. They landed upright on an opposite building, and Misty's knees buckled a bit before she staggered upright.
Batman put both arms on her shoulders and gently helped her regain her balance. "Are you alright, Miss?"
"Y-yes," she stammered, looking at the sculpted chin flecked with dark stubble, and the muscular arms holding her steady. She'd heard some of the girls speak about Batman before, but she knew now that they were lying when they said they'd seen him in the flesh: they had said he was just a man in a suit. He looked like much more than a man. She looked him up and down and was almost overwhelmed by the strong sense of power that emanated from him.
Someone else landed next to them, making her jump and wheel around. The source of the noise was a fierce-looking youth with a neatly shaven head. He didn't look much younger than Misty herself, and he was carrying the briefcase that the thugs had offered Penguin.
"Where did you come from, and what were you doing with the Penguin?" He asked her, a little bluntly.
"That's none of your business." She folded her slender arms and leaned a little closer to Batman.
"I think you'll find it is." He squared his shoulders haughtily. "If it wasn't for us, you'd be dead by now."
"I would not!" Misty threw her hair out of her face. "I was gonna be a waitress!"
The boy scoffed. Batman stepped neatly around Misty, and came between the two of them. "Stop it," he said sternly. Both of them turned away from each other. Batman walked a few paces across the roof of the building, checking the other side. Misty wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as the cold fog stroked her bare skin.
Batman turned to her. "Miss, if you'll follow us down the other side of this building, we will deliver you back into Gotham."
"What?" she said. "Back to Gotham?" Now that she had been forcibly liberated from Penguin's employ, she had nowhere to go. The Madam wouldn't take her back, out of fear of being traced by Penguin and subsequently terrorised. There was nobody else that wanted or even needed a twenty-something bit of arm decoration like her, especially not while she'd been reputed as one of Penguin's girls. She'd never be any gangster's girl after a title like that. Nobody would dare piss him off.
"Yes," he said flatly. "You'll get a police escort back into the City."
"Police escort?" She echoed in horror. "Are you crazy?"
Batman said nothing, and she was intimidated into silence. With seemingly no other choice, she and the youth walked towards the opposite side of the roof with him.
"Robin," said Batman to the youth, "When we get to street level, please make sure that the suitcase is delivered to Commissioner Gordon personally."
"I will." The youth crouched down near the ledge of the building, gripped the side and flung his legs over. Misty gasped, but she heard his boots connect with metal: there was a steel staircase only a few feet below. Batman slipped over after his ward, and held out his arms to her. She tilted her head, thinking it over, before leaning forward, taking his arm and stepping down. It was either go with him or stay on the roof, stuck in Arkham City. The best choice was him – for now. Perhaps he was telling the truth; maybe she would just get dropped back into Gotham. Then she could start again.
The three of them had just descended the first set of stairs when Misty saw the sirens come blazing down the alley like wildfire. To her surprise, a GCPD car drove straight into the alley and parked just below the bottom of the fire escape. Her heart dropped to her feet as she saw the officers step out, in full body armour, handcuffs gleaming on their belts. That was what awaited her – a cell with her name on it, and nobody to spring her out of it. She began to pant.
"What?" growled Robin. "They're not supposed to meet us here! It's too far close to Penguin!"
If Batman was as surprised as Robin, he didn't show it. Misty looked at him: he had this planned this out from the start, didn't he? And he was meant to be the hero who had rescued her; admittedly from a life of being passed from man to man like a toy until she lost her looks at thirty or so, but he had released her into a world where she would be hustled from prison right back onto the streets.
The three of them stopped on the iron landing, about four flights up, and Batman glared down at the officers below. Robin was right, it was too close. And what was Gordon playing at? This part of the City was unsecure and dangerous, even for the police. Especially for the police.
Suddenly, there was a muffled cry and a flash of glittering gold on his right side. Before either man could react, they saw before them the terrified face of the girl whirling down into the darkness, her gown twisting in the night air like a cobweb on the breeze, before she hit the unforgiving black ground with a sickening crunch.
Without hesitation Batman vaulted the barrier and landed almost noiselessly next to her crumpled body. Blood seeped out from behind her head, and her glassy eyes were wide open, staring unseeingly up at the falling snow. Both police officers raced over to her body. Batman took her slender wrist and wordlessly felt for a pulse, although he could see the telltale protruding vertebrae in the side of her neck. Robin landed swiftly next to him, looking down at Misty's body with an expression of blatant shock.
"What happened, Batman?" asked one of the younger officers. "Is she dead?"
Batman looked up at the officers. He didn't need to say a word. The older officer plucked his radio from his belt and began to mutter into it.
"Did she fall?" asked Robin incredulously.
Batman looked up at his young ward, and saw the raised eyebrows above his mask. For a young man who appeared to be so tough, Tim Drake hadn't seen as much needless death as he had. There was still a fascinated dread in his eyes.
"I believe she jumped," he replied.