Disclaimer: As some of you may notice, the last half of the first section is from the movie, with some inner monologue from the smexy Crane. I did not write that portion of the dialogue between Crane and Falcone, all rights go to Christopher Nolan, etc. I just thought it would be fun to play around with what Crane and Scarecrow might have been thinking then. If you re-watch the scene like I did, you see his bitch face is on the entire time, lol. I hope this chapter is long enough for you guys, I know in the past some of my chapters have been pathetically short. This IS my longest chapter yet, so I think I deserve some props for that haha :P
Crane cursed as he stepped in yet another foul smelling puddle that plagued the alleyway to The Falcon's. Falcone had insisted on meeting in his favorite bar off St. Andrews Street, managed and run by none other than the mob boss himself. Ironically, it was one the only legitimate business he owned, and served as a front for his other dealings in the underworld. Situated off the canal separating Downtown Gotham from the Narrows, the location was less than pleasant- hence the puddles.
"Spare some change?" queried an elderly homeless man, warming his gloved hands above a trash can fire. Balding, what hair he had left on his head was shoulder length and matted, and his salt and pepper beard was no better kept. The wool coat he was wearing, however, looked suspiciously name brand and was the only dirt free item of clothing on him. He could have been a thieving drug addict, or a laid off businessman- you never knew in these times. Crane supposed the former.
"Why? With that stolen coat you seem to be doing just fine."
"This ain't stolen!" he replied indignantly, in a voice hoarse from the cold. "A fella gave it to me."
"With his wallet and other valuables, I am sure," Crane replied sarcastically, as he took his time sidestepping trash and other debris that littered the dank alley the man no doubt called home, and walked up to the side exit of the bar. It was best that no one besides Falcone knew that he was here.
"Well, yeah," the vagabond replied, as if it were the most obvious explanation in the world. "It's a nice coat," he mumbled, bemused. He held the lapels of the jacket open for inspection and nodded in a satisfied sort of way, as if, with his new coat, he had everything going for him in life.
He would make an ideal test subject, Johnny boy, hissed Scarecrow. Who would miss him?
We have enough patients at the moment, without adding another street urchin to the mix, Crane replied as he rapped three times on the metal door, paused, and then knocked twice more- the code required in order to visit Falcone. Scarecrow though, had something else in mind.
The homeless man's shouting brought Crane back to his senses.
"Whoa whoa! Hold up man, look you can have the coat, jeez! Just hold up, alright?"
Crane suddenly realized his arm was outstretched. He was pointing his fear toxin weapon at the tramp, who must have mistaken it for a gun. It rattled him how easily Scarecrow had taken over without his knowledge or consent.
Scarecrow- !
Calm down sweetie pie, just having a little fun.
"Doctor Crane?" grunted a low voice. "Mr. Falcone is waiting."
Jonathan masked his annoyance, along with his fear toxin gun, before turning around and facing the muscled bodyguard that was standing at the door. "Of course," he said smoothly, and walked inside; leaving the homeless man to puzzle out what had just happened. The side exit door slammed shut behind Crane, and the unnamed beggar remarked to himself, "Damn coat's more trouble than it's worth."
Inside The Falcon's, it was comfortably warm, and Crane's fingers ached as they adjusted to the warmer temperature. He could hear faint music playing from the front of the bar, but it soon faded as he was escorted down the hallway. Framed newspaper clippings of past heists and other memorabilia hung on the walls, including articles of a number of Falcone's hits performed on rival mob bosses and prosecuting attorneys. It was surprising how much the DA let him get away with, but then again, it wasn't really.
This is stupid, even for you, Johnny, Scarecrow whispered as they continued walking. We need Falcone if we are to have enough toxin to dose the entire city in a few months. This will only serve to aggravate him. Let him have the girl, we can always play with her afterwards. It was strange for Scarecrow to be the rational half for once, but Crane was not about to concede.
If we do not put our foot down, he will continue to ask for more favors. We can't afford to attract anymore unwanted attention from the DA's office, not when they can still stop us. Recall Rachel Dawes? Just the other day she had alleged he was guilty of corruption after he had testified to Victor Zsasz's insanity. Her accusation was true, but her moral outrage, grating.
We won't attract any attention, Scarecrow said, rolling his eyes. If we are really going to do this, at least admit the reason why.
Crane knew what he was hinting at. We made a bargain remember? She will give us information in return for protection.
Cool, calm, collected Crane, couldn't resist a pretty face, sang Scarecrow.
As I recall, that seems to be your weakness, Scarecrow. More than once he had to put up with his other half's escapades to the brothels of Gotham.
I wouldn't call it a weakness, Johnny boy.
At the end of the hall was an open door, and Crane slipped past the burly, muscled henchman and walked into the office first, closing the door on the man behind him. He had to ensure that Falcone's and his would be a private conversation. With any luck he would uphold his bargain with Moretti and get rid of Rachel Dawes; killing two birds with one stone, wasn't that the saying?
We'll continue this discussion later, he told Scarecrow. Something told him that handling the crime lord would require all of his attention.
He sat down stiffly in the chair in front of Falcone's desk, and said abruptly, "No more favors, someone is sniffing around."
Clearly not used to being spoken to in such a way, Falcone leaned forward, feathers ruffled, and said "Ey, I scratch your back you scratch mine Doc, I'm bring in the shipments-"
"We are paying you for that," he interrupted. Idiot. This man's lack of intellect was evident, and Jonathan did not relish the time they spent together.
It was a wonder Moretti is related to him, he thought.
"Maybe money isn't as interesting to me as favors," Falcone responded, stubborn as ever.
Perhaps not.
We are getting nowhere, Scarecrow whispered. Let me handle him. And without waiting for a reply from Jonathan, he assumed control over his body, removing his glasses as he did. Jonathan was the one that needed prescription glasses, not Scarecrow.
Scarecrow lowered his voice to a sinister whisper, and spoke. "I am more than aware you are not intimidated by me, Mr. Falcone, but you know who I work for, and when he gets here-"
"He- He's coming to Gotham?"
"Yes he is." Scarecrow's face remained just as impassive as Jonathan's, masking the personality shift, but both of them took pleasure in the slight edge of fear that crept into Falcone's voice when he spoke. "And when he gets here, he is not going to want to hear that you have endangered our operation just to get your thugs out of a little jail time."
"Who's bothering you?"
"There's a girl at the DA's office."
Jonathan began to grapple with Scarecrow for control of his body, but his other half refused to lend him control of a single muscle.
"Well buy her off," Falcone said, completely unaware of the struggle that was going on right before his eyes.
Obviously I have already thought of that you insipid fool, Scarecrow meant to say, but Jonathan instead replied, "Not this one."
"Oh, idealist huh? Well, there's an answer to that too."
"I don't want to know," said Jonathan, but Scarecrow's look of hunger showed in the gleam of his blue eyes, which flickered a predatory green in the yellow light. It was a look familiar to Falcone- one that many of his associates, and even himself, wore. Some crimes men didn't commit for money, power, or love. They committed those crimes because they enjoyed it, they reveled in it.
"Yes you do."
Falcone was not completely unobservant.
"Then you will, of course, understand why it is best that you do not visit Arkham in the meantime. Your presence at my mental institution will only fuel Miss Dawes's beliefs."
"Hey, now that I did not agree to. Alright, you don't have to testify in court for a while, but I'll visit my girl whenever I want to. That was the whole point of sending her there!"
"And what should I tell the DA when he asks why Carmine Falcone visited my Asylum? It was a courtesy call?" His voice dripped with sarcasm and impatience.
"Alright, alright, I'll do like your boss says. And I'll hold off on the visits too, capiche? Tell my little dove not to be too disappointed, I'll stop by soon enough," he chuckled. "Bet you wished you lived The Life, huh Doc? Having girls like that on your arm, and at my age? But then again, you don't look like the type that gets out much." He snorted at his little joke. "She was always my favorite; I gave everything she ever asked for, shoes, clothes, jewelry, and look how she repays me. Caps my best Lieutenant and gives the DA enough evidence to send me to prison for 10 years. Good thing I got friends in high places or I might of actually served half of that!" He laughed, like only a man that had an entire city under his thumb could. "But that's women for you, right?"
"Mr. Falcone, I don't see how any of that is relevant."
"My point is, I don't like sharing Doc. I didn't like sharing this city with the Maroni family, so I got rid of every last one of them, from that mobster Luigi to his snot nosed little kids. I don't share my business and I don't share my women, so if I find out that someone on your staff so much as touched her-"
"-They will be dealt with accordingly," Crane said coolly, rising from his chair. "Of course."
"That includes you, Doc," Falcone added menacingly.
It was a good thing Crane had already turned to head for the door, otherwise Falcone might have seen his smirk.
"I am warned."
"Time for your meeting with the Doc," said Jason, a recently hired twenty-something security guard, as he stopped in front of her cell. He was a tad more enthusiastic in his job than most of his co-workers. This was only a temporary job, he told anyone that would listen, until he passed the civil service exam and became a cop. It will be a sad day in hell when that happens, she thought. Jason was literally the worst security guard there- he never showed up on time, missed Count frequently, and was highly susceptible to Ivy's charms (when she wanted, Ivy could be very flirtatious and charming).
She stood up and waited obediently in front of her cell door until it was buzzed open.
"How'd the exam go?" she asked as they walked down the hallway together.
"Eh," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "They said I'm not ready yet. Something 'bout forgetting to read about a girl named Miranda Wrights, or some shit."
"Hey, you'll get there," she said encouragingly. "Soon I'll be calling you Deputy Jason, huh?"
"Yeah," he said gloomily. "How's Ivy?"
"Oh, fantastic. She talks about you a lot, you know."
"Really?" he asked, perking up, his brown puppy dog eyes as wide as saucers.
"Definitely," she reassured him. It wasn't a lie, not really. Ivy did talk about him, just not always in a positive way. "She told me she wants to see you more. Maybe you can schedule some more shifts in Ward C. I know she'd be thrilled."
"I'll try," he said, scratching the back of his neck and scrunching up his face in thought. "Doctor Crane's paying us overtime to work in the basement, though, to work on... stuff," he finished lamely.
That delicious bit of information caught her interest. "Ain't it creepy, though? How do you even get down there?"
"Only the Doc has the keys for the elevator- Whenever we need to enter or leave, he buzzes us in or out, not that that's often. Most the guys just stay down there 24/7. The lunch ladies deliver the food."
Great, she thought. That was not what she wanted to hear. She would have to inform Ivy that Jason didn't have the keys they needed, but he still had other uses. Jason was one of the few guards that worked in the Security Department, monitoring cameras. If they could only figure out a way to disable the cameras in the hall leading to the elevator, they'd be one step closer to escaping. Losing her lighter to Crane had been a set back, and just thinking about it still made her blood boil, but Elena was determined to find a way out. Jason would very likely lose his job for (unwittingly) helping them escape, but that was unavoidable collateral damage.
Jason led her into Crane's office, and she heard the familiar click as the door was locked behind her. Apparently she was still a flight risk. Again, Crane was not there yet so she mulled around the room, looking for anything of use to her. Her eyes scanned the carpeted floor for stray thumbtacks or forgotten pencils, but the floor was as clean as the rest of the room. On Crane's desk sat a lamp, a pad of sticky notes, and a jar of paperclips. She helped herself to two paperclips, then double checked under the couch and behind the bookshelves to make sure Crane was not lurking somewhere out of sight, before sitting down in his chair and propping her feet up on his desk. She sincerely hoped he hadn't installed any security cameras in this room, otherwise she was in trouble.
Taking the first paper clip, she bent it straight. She did the same for the second one, except she added a little upward bend at the end of it to create a hook. Her lock picking skills were a bit rusty, but she still remembered the basics. Inserting the first paper clip into the bottom half of the desk drawer's key hole, she gently tried to turn it left, and then right. She assumed the lock should turn right, since it had a little more give. Then, using the second clip, she delicately pressed it into the lock and began to wiggle it up and down to release the pins. The desk, with all it's scratches and dents, looked ancient, so hopefully it only had three or four pins. After hearing three soft clicks she tried to turn to lock, but it wouldn't budge. She blew her side bangs out of her face, and wiggled the paper clip a little more ferociously. Upon hearing the final click of the last pin, she turned the lock and opened the drawer.
She was beyond disappointed when she found the only thing inside was a black, leather bound notebook and pen. No lighter, or weapon of any kind, unless you counted the pen. She considered simply taking the pen and locking the drawer back up with the paperclips, but something told her that Crane would know she had taken it. He did not seem the type to simply "lose" things. He probably had every single item in his office archived, for all she knew.
Opening the journal, she found it was a record of all Crane's patients. Many of the names she didn't recognize, and she flipped through the pages until she found a familiar one. "Harleen Quinzel" it read in cursive script. His handwriting sucks, she observed, That's probably the reason he became a doctor.
"Patient has become despondent, as of late," the entry dated two days ago wrote, "Upon hearing of injuries Mr. John Doe "Joker" received in a recent confrontation with correctional officers. Following transfer to Ward C, patient has become less hyperactive and more cooperative. It is suggested the transfer be permanent, and visits between patient and "Joker" be minimal, if at all, allowed."
Harley will be thrilled to hear that, Elena thought.
She flipped the page, and next was "Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley." Hadn't Harley once called Ivy, Pam?
"Refused blood-work to be conducted; when seduction did not succeed in convincing the observer otherwise, patient resorted to violence and had to be sedated. Various immunities to natural toxins and disease is intriguing."
Ivy tried to seduce Crane? She would have paid to see that.
The name on the next page caught her eye. Oh lord.
"Elena Moretti: Recent appointments have shown patient to be irritating, vexatious, and determinedly unhelpful. Appears pale, and slightly malnourished, but otherwise healthy. Slits on wrists/ stitches healing nicely. Niece to Carmine Falcone, relationship (?). Grade reports imply above average intelligence, yet observation suggest otherwise. Emotional. Curious grey eyes. Circumstances regarding institutionalization to be investigated further. Ideal test subject."
Her entry was much longer than the others, but far from flattering. She scoffed, then shoved the journal away from her in disgust. She was not irritating! If that word were used to describe anyone, it would be Crane!
Vexatious, emotional- who does he think he is? Some psychiatrist. She re-read the line containing the words, "observation suggests otherwise" and felt overwhelmed with annoyance. She was not coming here every day to be pricked and prodded like some guinea pig.
"Circumstances regarding institutionalization to be investigated further"- like hell he was. Falcone was vicious, but not as intelligent as he liked to think himself. She was sure he would never deduce the real reason why she ratted on him and killed Jacobs, but Crane on the other hand... He had discovered the trick she pulled on Red, setting off the fire alarm. She couldn't let him figure it out; she was sure an emotionless psychopath like him wouldn't hesitate to tell Falcone if it benefited him. She was filled with a sudden anxiety, and felt on the verge of tears. What did it matter to him why she was here, anyways?
Why does he have to be so goddamn nosy? she thought furiously, fighting the wave of despair that threatened to overcome her.
What to do, though? She could hide his journal, but he would certainly find it eventually, or force her to tell him where it was. She couldn't take the pen either, he would find that too. Shakedowns of patient cells were common at Arkham, and more thorough that those performed at Gotham's prison.
Suddenly something clicked in her head, much like the pins of the lock had, and a brilliant idea hit her. Picking up the pen, she began to write.
Shout out to Azura Soul Reaver, The Eclectic Eccentric, Megushie, Lola93091, jedidah, takara410, ThePhantomismyLove, a Panda (!), ATLAsnaps-fan, Wolfish Imp and Blue Wonderland for leaving such kind reviews! Especially Blue Wonderland, I think I cried when I read yours omg you are too sweet! And thank you everyone else who followed/ favorited, I promise to keep updating as frequently as possible! ;D