Disclaimer: Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and the plot is also mine, except for anything from TDK.

A/N: The timeline for TDK? Well, I couldn't find it anywhere. And do you expect me to be able to tell the exact timeline from the movie? Well, I can't. So I went my own way, and dragged out spaces between events however I saw fit.

I can't just repeatedly watch the movie as a whole to make everything as exact as possible because even I don't have that kind of time.

Anyway, I decided to stretch out the time (presumably, since I think the timeline was shorter) for relationship development.

And, by the way, the mob boss conference scene may not be exactly the same as in the movie. I'm using a script version and my copy of TDK for the dialogue, but things might not always be exact for whatever reasons. (I bought the movie specifically for fanfiction uses as streaming video of the movie online is finicky about stopping and starting too much, eventually making the audio and video move out of sync. Meaning, I could easily watch the full thing online, but pausing a bunch made me buy the video.)

Funny story about buying the video, skip to where it says THE END if you don't want to hear my lame ass story:

You know how there's regular copy of TDK and one with a two disc special? Well, little Leanne (that's my name; don't wear it out) looked at both covers side by side and said. "Ooooh, I like the cover with the Joker."

I didn't realize that the one with the Joker was more expensive (because it was the two disc special). I have a bad, dumb habit of never paying enough attention. So I bought the one with the Joker on the cover.

My mom checks the receipt after we buy it and goes, "Why was that (approximately) twenty-four dollars?"

I'm all dumb like, "I dunno."

Then I look at it real close and see the writing on the top of the case that says it's the two disc special and I go, "Ruh-roh!"

So, essentially, the "prettiness" of the Joker made me spend more money than I was intending. ;P

THE END

What else? What else? Oh, yeah.

Updates will be a little slower from now on. I'm finally caught up to where I left off in my writing. (Plus, I started working on another fic since an idea kept bothering me day in and day out.)

You see, the method I use to write is by doing everything I really want to do first, then throwing it together and putting in the more tedious, but necessary parts. (I know that's a bad way to do it, but it's the only way that works for me.) So I've left off at a gap between this chapter and one that will appear down the line. I'm really bad about that.

What else?

And about the way I make the Joker talk. I've read various versions or "takes" on how the Joker speaks from various media... I decided to combine a few different ways I've read in a manner of my own. It's really not the way he talks in TDK.

I can't just regurgitate the exact same thing from the movie where his voice is concerned. That would be awfully boring. I like his voice with a certain style to it, and I needed to do it my own way.

I think I'm doing okay with it, but if you don't agree, feel free to tell me and maybe suggest what I should do differently. (Don't just tell me "ur doin it rong!" and then proceed upon leaving me in the dark. That'd be awful rude, and I would thus ignore you.)

(I could make a really ADHD story about writing this fic and the first just by adding up all my A/Ns. ...Gawsh. I've got to try to keep my A/Ns to a minimum somehow.)

And now that you know all of that, enjoy the chapter (which is longer than normal, three quarters of it due to the length of my A/N :gonk:)!

Queen Takes Pawn

by Syrenia

Chapter Three - Mob Meeting

After that night and the embarrassing and ridiculous program on the sex lives of and between Gotham's Most Wanted (seriously, was that really news-worthy?), things for Crow and her Chelsie changed slightly.

The clown did the exact opposite of what Chelsie/Crow had surmised he would do because of the program. Instead of dumping them flat and going back to his own business, he became clingy in a non-dependent way whenever he was around.

Crow gladly went to bed with him whenever he felt like it, too, the alter ego a little wary of what he'd actually do to her if she refused. But why should she refuse? It wasn't like he was a novice at fornication; he'd obviously had plenty of experience. So Crow broke her "no multiple repeat rides" rule, which was actually more of a guideline anyway.

As for the Clown Prince, he also fished for clues, as Crow explained to the ever naive and truly somewhat dumb Chelsie, on whether or not Crow liked him or felt a sexual attraction to him.

Crow had explained to her host that even the Joker must not feel "satisfied by sex where the attraction isn't mutual," as Crow had said it. (It was only logical, so apparently the clown did have some logical thoughts and emotions rattling around in his brilliantly insane and insanely brilliant brain.)

Of course, Crow worked her magic, always assuring him that she enjoyed his company and found him to be attractive. It was the truth besides, though Chelsie never wanted to interact with him, too skittish around his moody personality. And luckily, the Joker didn't seem that interested in her as of yet.

Chelsie herself was resigned to the fact that she wasn't fun like Crow.

As for how things went between the black bird and the clown, Crow received her fair share of bruises and cuts. The cuts she savored masochistically, but the bruises were not quite as pleasant and were left as marks of punishment when she did something that displeased him.

It wasn't as if Crow thought the Joker would be gentle like Scarecrow strangely tried to be, though. The clown didn't think he was in love like the latter seemed to fervently believe for whatever insane reasons he had concocted.

However, the bruises didn't faze her much; she still acted careless around the Joker, even if it meant she might get hit. She was a little bit like him in that she sort of just did things most of the time.

But it wasn't as if she didn't put up a fight; when it came to hurting him in return, she had no regrets because she certainly didn't love him. She could land a few good hits and scratch him up with her nails, and still did so even when he madly laughed at the pain.

While he laughed at his pain, Crow's pain just fueled her anger that was normally bottled up inside.

As for the fighting, it never lasted long as the clown would eventually just become aroused and instigate another sexual encounter.

The routine was simple enough for all of them, and it lasted relatively unchanged for a few months.

The Joker sat on his side of Chelsie and Crow's bed, spending the night, as was a frequent habit, his back propped up against the pillows that were against the wall at the head of the large bed.

He watched her sleep peacefully - an act people were rarely brave enough to commit in his presence, no less - hand toying with a knife as he usually seemed to do while thinking.

Instead of forcing Chelsie/Crow to his hideout as initially "planned," the clown came around her nicer warehouse hideout whenever he had free time to spend, Crow carrying on with her terrorist actions in the meantime. (At times, they collaborated, Crow picking a place to blow up and the clown setting it up, calling it a gift to her.)

He had decided to let her get used to him before he forced her back to his hideout where he decided he'd keep her locked up until she thoroughly understood her predicament and obeyed him by staying inside. At that point, he reasoned he could let her roam freely around the old plant he loosely called home.

And if she misbehaved? Well, he'd lock her back up again.

It wasn't really a plan, per se, but a vague set of ideas floating in his head.

Maybe if she couldn't be obedient, he reasoned, he would punish her; she needed to be a good girl in regards to obeying him because bad girls got punished.

Then he frowned to himself, thinking about some off-handed remark she'd made earlier and all the pesky emotions that had come with it.

They'd gotten into another scuffle where no one usually won or lost, and such usually ended with sex, but that time had proven different. She didn't want to go through with the sex, and he couldn't bring himself to force her to do what he wanted, even though he was completely capable of doing so.

So he ended up brooding away on the old sofa, glowering at the TV.

She had been nearby, noticing his dark mood. Everyone, meaning their various henchmen, had noticed his dark mood, actually.

"Why are you broodin'?" she had asked, rolling her eyes. "Not like we love each other, funny bunny."

She had walked away, the comment only making him more agitated.

At the time, he had pondered why it got to him. It wasn't as if he was in love with her, but he felt aggravated by the fact that he couldn't seem to make her feel something for him. Most fucked up women - and he had known quite a few - would fall for his twisted charm, the Joker twisting their minds so that they had some kind of affection for him before getting rid of them.

Crow, however, would not be broken down; she had no qualms with hurting him right back when he got rough, and although he liked her spunk, he realized he wanted her adoration and worship.

But then again, she wouldn't be nearly as fun if she were broken in.

And so he pondered instead why he actually needed her to like him and feel attracted to him. He didn't need her to feel anything to take what he wanted from her, yet he wanted her to feel that way. It was quite the conundrum.

Why exactly did he have these frustrating feelings?

They were actually very dangerous and were leading him to remember about how he'd once felt in his past regarding one of the few things he could factually remember.

Most of his past was foggy in his mind, made up of multiple choice to where he knew some of the memories might not be true. Other things he made up on his own.

But there were three points of his past he knew to be true.

1 -- His real name was Jack Napier. Of that he could be certain.

2 -- At some point in his life, he had a pregnant wife named Jeannie whom he dearly loved and whom was murdered by men he had then agreed to help in some way in regards to a matter of money.

3 -- He knew the true origin of his Glasgow smile. His Chelsea grin had come from those same men who unfortunately noticed he was very sad about his wife's murder, Jack never smiling afterward, the men cutting a permanent smile on his face.

He didn't know anything else for certain, never knowing when exactly he became what he was.

But even if he could regain those memories of the truth of his past, he didn't believe he would want to.

Why should he? What little he knew was horrible.

He didn't regret what he had become now, though.

Now, sitting in her bed and watching Chelsie/Crow's pale, moonlit face, he wondered what kind of past Crow and her host had idly. Chelsie had to have been somewhat unstable to begin with for a new personality to be borne in her. He found trauma was a generous trigger, but the individual had to be a loaded gun before they could fire off into some extent of insanity.

He smiled to himself a minute; he should really write this kind of stuff down.

The Joker then slunk down into the bed after pocketing his knife, facing Chelsie/Crow.

He reached up, gloved hand tracing her jawline gently as not to wake her.

The feeling that stirred within him now reminded him far too much of the emotions that played in his memories of Jeannie, the Joker retracting his hand and turning onto his back, staring up at the ceiling before closing his dark eyes.

There were remnants, he realized, of Jack Napier lingering in his now twisted soul. And such was not a good thing, especially if Chelsie/Crow was going to remind him of his past with Jeannie, or at least the part of it where he had felt those now useless feelings.

But on the other hand, he didn't want to stop seeing her; she was just too much fun to let go of just yet, he reasoned. He liked fighting with her; she was very feisty, and he really did like that quality. And not to mention the sex that followed.

In the meanwhile, he never realized that a little, pesky piece of him was reverting into his old self, interestingly splitting off from his Joker persona.

Had he known, he might have been able to stop it before the point of no return.

Chelsie woke up slowly the next morning with the creepy feeling of being watched, and when her eyes opened only to abruptly see the Joker's face inches from hers, she let out a yelp of surprise.

He laughed in return, moving back and greeting her, "Mornin-g, sunshine."

The brunette sighed heavily, heart pace slowly returning to a normal rhythm.

"Morning," she answered lamely, scrambling up to a sit and combing her fingers through her wild and tangled hair.

"We have a little, uh... errand to do today, little Chel-sie," the clown mentioned, hand playing with a knife as he watched her.

She rubbed the thick sleep from her eyes, "We do?"

"We nee-d to have a little tal-k with a few... mob bossesss," he answered directly instead of his normally vague answers.

After Chelsie had showered and dressed, pocketing Crow's beak, she basically made breakfast for the entirety of henchmen in the warehouse, the Joker and herself. (While Jonathan/Scarecrow was gone, her money had bought five refrigerators which she had stocked herself, you see.)

Not that her cooking was gourmet, but the thugs seemed to honestly enjoy it regardless. Apparently, they understood that beggars must not be choosers, especially in the presence of the Joker.

After mixed henchmen of the Joker and Crow were finished along with their bosses, the clown organized a small group as back-up, everyone piling in the dark van outside, Chelsie pulled on the arm by the clown until she sat beside him.

Once settled in the van, Chelsie blinked and made way for Crow, the latter of which snapped on her beak, adjusting it just so during the long, bumpy ride.

Their little visit would be to see mob bosses Salvatore Maroni, the Chechen and Gambol, all of which were having a meeting with other underworld gangsters, as the Clown Prince had explained to Chelsie over breakfast.

He told her they had to discuss both the annoying Batman and Harvey Dent who had been busting up the mobsters' operations effectively as of late.

As for Crow - who reviewed the information from Chelsie as she hadn't been listening at the time - she realized that if the mobsters were having to meet during the day, then Batty-kins must really be disturbing their usual modus operandi.

The Joker then spoke up in her direction, catching her attention, "Stay close and silen-t unless spoken to."

"Got it, dollfac-e?" he questioned, making sure she understood her place.

She scowled, but nodded.

'Typical henchgirl role,' complained Crow to her host, inwardly rolling her eyes.

'He seemed very serious, though,' Chelsie mentioned in return. 'And at least his orders are meant to look out for our best interest.'

Crow couldn't argue with that much; it was almost as if he cared about her well-being, at least at the hands of the mobsters. She supposed he couldn't let someone else kill off one of his toys.

Once they arrived at their destination, only the Joker and Crow got out of the vehicle, the former ordering both his and Crow's men to stay in the van and wait.

Thankfully, Crow's men were used to taking his orders as she expressed to them that he was just as much their boss as she herself was. And since her henchmen liked her well enough, they took her instructions, which was coincidentally in their best interest.

The Joker then latched a gloved hand around Crow's wrist, leading her into what appeared to be part of a hotel or something of the sort.

They went through various portions of the building until they were in earshot of the conference taking place, both listening to the proceedings quietly.

"As you're all aware, one of our deposits was stolen," said a male voice, though it seemed slightly distorted so that it apparently was either coming from a machine or a television set, as Crow deciphered. "A relatively small amount... 68 million."

"Who's stupid enough steal from us?" questioned the Chechen incredulously.

Crow then heard the unmistakable voice of Sal Maroni, "Two-bit whack-job; wears a cheap purple suit and make-up. He's not the problem; he's a nobody."

The brunette felt the pressure of the Joker's hand on her wrist tighten, and she looked up to his face from her place a step behind him. He didn't look appreciative of Maroni's assessment of him.

"The problem is... our money being tracked by the cops," Maroni then changed the subject, Crow able to hear the direction of his voice change slightly as she looked back to the double doors where the voices seemed to be coming from.

"Thanks to Mr. Maroni's well-placed sources," began the voice of the man over the television set, as Crow finally assumed it to be, "we know that police have indeed identified our banks using marked bills... and are planning to seize your funds today. And since the enthusiastic new D.A. has put all my competitors out of business, I'm your only option."

'Hey, Crow,' Chelsie interrupted her counterpart's intense concentration.

'What?' snapped Crow, annoyed.

'Have you noticed that the clown's hand is now holding ours?'

Crow looked down to the purple-gloved hand, finding her to be right.

'That's a first,' admitted Crow, 'but I wanna hear the mobsters.'

The beaked villainess returned her attention to the metal doors.

"So what are you proposing?" asked Maroni to 'Mr. Tellie', as Crow now dubbed the latter.

The other man answered simply, "Moving all deposits to one secure location. Not a bank."

"Where, then?" another mobster asked, Crow likening his voice to a baritone.

He sounded kind of like a tuba, actually, and she surmised he must be Gambol, the large black man.

"No one can know but me," came 'Mr. Tellie's' sharp reply. "If the police were to gain leverage over one of you... everyone's money would be at stake."

The Chechen questioned, "What stop them getting to you?"

"I go to Hong Kong, far from Dent's jurisdiction," the television answered. "And the Chinese will not extradite one of their own."

"How soon can you move the money?" one mobster questioned, Crow unable to recognize who it was.

"I already have," replied the television matter-of-factly. "For obvious reasons, I couldn't wait for your permission."

He added reassuringly, "Rest assured, your money.. is.. safe."

Walking them over to the door and leading them into the room, the Joker began laughing aloud in a forced manner, dragging Crow along behind him.

All the mobsters turned their gaze to the clown beside a beaked brunette, the latter of which gazed back at them with a curious countenance in a bird-like manner.

"I thought I told bad jokesss," said the Joker finally, now near the long table.

Crow looked around the conference table at that moment, eyes turning to the television which held the image of a little Chinese man.

The mobsters ignored the small woman, their gazes intently on the clown.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't have my boy here pull your head off," came Gambol's tuba voice, filling the room with its rich timbre.

Crow's attention turned quickly to the big black man, head slightly cocked to the side.

The Joker released her hand at last, leaving her in her spot and moving to the end of their conference table as he retrieved a pencil.

"How about a magic tric-k?" he asked, slamming the pencil into the table and leaving it upright, waving one hand over it as he leaned nearby it. "I'm gonna mak-e this pencil... disappear."

Attention returning to the black man, Crow watched him give a nod to "his boy," a large bodyguard who advanced towards the clown. She then watched the Joker sidestep, grip the bodyguard's head and slam it, face down, upon the table.

The body quickly went limp, sliding off the table to the floor beneath, the pencil gone with it.

"Tada!" called the clown, pulling up a seat nearby as he waved his hands where the pencil had once been. "It's... Ah, it's gone."

Crow smirked to herself, quite impressed with the little trick as the Joker grinned in Gambol's direction.

"Oh. And by the way, the suit - it wasn't cheap-uh," the Joker announced, straightening his suit jacket. "You oughta know; you bought it."

'Oh, snap!' Crow cackled in her head, thoroughly amused. 'That was pretty good, huh, sweetheart?'

'The trick was pretty creepy, but the comment was undeniably humorous,' assessed Crow's host critically.

Gambol stood up, furious, but the Chechen stopped him from going at the clown's throat.

"Sit," the Chechen ordered. "I wanna hear proposition."

The Joker pointed at the Chechen briefly, then looked to Gambol as if to say "you heard the man."

"Let's wind the clocks back a year," began the war-painted clown, "These copsss and lawyers wouldn't dar-e cross any of you."

"I... I mean," he muttered, looking around the table, "what happened? Did your... Did your balls drop off? Hm?"

"You see, a guy like me--" the clown went on, but was interrupted rudely.

"A freak," Gambol reminded everyone, laughs coming from around the table full of mafia men.

Crow rolled her eyes, turning her attention to the Joker who attempted to ignore the laughter.

"A guy like me..." trailed the clown before he got down to the point of the matter abruptly. "Look. Listen. ...I know why you choose to have your little--"

He cleared his throat into a gloved fist, "--group therap-y sessions in broad daylight. I know why you're afraid to go out at nigh-t. ...The Batman. See, Batman has shown Gotham your true colorsss, unfortunately."

"Dent," he added with a wild gesture of his hand, "he's just the beginning."

'Hey, Crow,' Chelsie interrupted once more, quickly moving on to her point. 'Have you noticed how he talks a little more like a normal person when he gets serious? He does less emphasis on the last letter of words ending in 't' and 'd' and the occasional 'y' and 'e', and he doesn't hold out the last 's' on words as much.'

'Interestin' notes, sweetheart, but Crow's tryin' to hear the conversation, okay?' Crow returned hurriedly.

The Joker then gestured to the TV and the little Chinese man trapped inside it, "A-And as for, uh... the... television's so-called plan-uh, Batman has no jurisdiction."

"He'll find him and make him squeal," he assured the mobsters, clenching his fists in emphasis.

"I know the squealers when I see them, and..." trailed the Clown Prince, pointing directly at the little Chinese man, said man soon cutting the video feed.

"What you propose?" inquired the Chechen, Crow watching him.

For some reason, Crow really liked that guy's voice and way of speaking, something rather animal about it and sending a chill up her spine to which she shivered slightly with delight.

She then looked back to the Joker who answered, "It's simple. We, uh, kill the Batman."

Laughter - thick laughter - erupted from the mobsters.

Even Crow managed to look at the clown incredulously; she knew the Bat was an obsession of his, so was he really suggesting they kill Batman, or did he just have some hidden motive she had yet to be informed of and could not yet see?

"If it's so simple," began Maroni, calming down from the good laugh the clown had supplied him, "why haven't you done it already?"

"If you're goo-d at something, never do it for free," the Joker replied.

"How much you want?" asked the Chechen, humoring him.

The Joker replied, direct and to-the-point, "Uh... Half."

Once again, the mobsters started laughing.

One them muttered, "You're crazy."

"I'm not," the Joker insisted. "No, I'm no-t."

"If we don't deal with this now," he began, looking around the large table, "soon little, uh... Gambol--"

He looked at Gambol questioningly to confirm the name, and went on, "--here won't be able to get a nickel for his grandma--"

The black man slammed the table top abruptly, Chelsie jumping like a skittish bird.

"Enough from the clown," Gambol interrupted, suddenly very somber as he got up from his seat once more, moving toward the greasy-haired man that vexed him so.

In reply, the Joker stood and casually opened his coat to reveal an array of explosives wired to his chest, purple strings hooked to a ring around his thumb, Gambol stopping his advance immediately.

"Ah, ta-ta-ta-ta... Let's not blow... this out of proportion," the clown practically teased, briefly looking to Crow with a wink.

She merely scowled.

'Great; he dragged us along only to threaten the fuckin' mob with explosives,' an annoyed Crow complained to her Chelsie.

Gambol glared at the Joker, and if looks could kill, Crow knew the clown wouldn't need to pull the string to wind up dead.

"You think you can steal from us and just walk away?" the black man asked in that baritone voice.

"Yeah," replied the Joker simply without hesitation, causing Crow to grin.

'Damn, he's ballsy,' Crow said, cackling in their mind.

'I thought you were mad at him,' pointed out Chelsie.

Crow inwardly grinned, 'I can't stay mad after he just did some major ownage with a single word.'

"I'm putting the word out: five hundred for this clown dead," announced Gambol. "A million alive, so I can teach him some manners first."

The Joker pointed at the others with the hand attached to the string on the explosives, "Alright... So, listen."

As he spoke, he dug into a pocket, "Why don't you give me a call when you want to start taking this a liiittle more serious-ly."

"Here's.. my.. card," the clown said, holding it up before placing it onto the table.

He then backed up toward different double doors to the side, his purple-gloved fingers still ready to pull the string to the explosives at any moment as he generously demonstrated.

Nodding his head for Crow to follow, he shoved one metal door open with his foot, making a loud bang before he hurried out.

Crow sighed, then slowly looked to the mob men who each came to look at her one by one, all very wary of her, their gazes intense.

Coughing into a fist, she then announced with forced calm in her scratchy-soft voice, "Just so you know, fellas, I am in no way a part of the clown's heist of your money."

"And Maroni?" she asked, giving a saccharine smile. "You seem to have forgotten that you lent Scarecrow, who is now in Arkham, some of your men, buttercup..."

Laughing nervously, she added, "I, uh... I have them, and I'll be takin' care of them until my Scarecrow comes back."

"And you are the reason I'm still getting profits from the crazy doctor's toxins?" asked Maroni, an eyebrow quirked with his countenance mostly curious, proving he didn't think the small girl a threat.

She nodded in the affirmative, "As long as I have your men - even though I no longer take ingredients from you as I've found a better supplier - you'll get your payments as promised."

The Chechen heard her mention Scarecrow, asking, "You run toxin business, Miss--?"

"Crow," she supplied her name with an exaggerated bow, slowly rising from it. "Crow is the name, and yes, I am running Scarecrow's li'l business now, puddin' pop."

"My customers. Repeat business," he complained to her, scowling. "Is way to remove side-effects?"

"Well," she said thoughtfully, stroking the underside of her beak. "Perhaps I can have my associates find a way to make a version that won't have such horrific side-effects, but I can't promise anythin', darlin', as Scarecrow is the most knowledgeable about the compound."

The Chechen smiled a bit; she was much more agreeable than the cocky Scarecrow and definitely not as crazy-minded as the Clown Prince.

"When is good time in schedule to discuss?" questioned the mobster.

"Hm, well, I believe a meeting would be best, but seeing as your last attempt at night was rudely interrupted by the Bat, I suggest we meet some time tomorrow durin' daylight hours, perhaps at the same parkin' lot since I have the address back at my base of operations," Crow offered at length with a small smile. "Would that be a suitable arrangement for you, Mr. Chechen?"

He smiled with a nod, "Is fine. We meet on underground floor at noon."

"Sounds good," agreed the brunette enthusiastically.

Thoughtfully, she then added, looking to Sally, "And, uh, Maroni? ...If your men all end up dead at some point in the unforeseeable future, don't expect anymore payments."

And with that bold statement uttered, she threw her hands in the air, running out the door she'd come in with the Joker, bellowing a cry of, "Ciao, fellas!"

From behind, Crow heard amused laughter fill the hall until she was out of earshot.

Good; they were amused and not pissed by her actions. That was always a good sign.

Maybe the Clown Prince of Psychos was brave enough to spit in the face of the mob, but she was no where near powerful enough to make those kinds of enemies as of yet.

And there was no relying on the clown to keep her safe; he was much too unpredictable to garner her trust and too uncaring to warrant her reliance.

Crow, unlike the ever clueless and apathetic to the point of being detrimental Chelsie, had a good head on her shoulders and used it wisely when it really mattered.

With her bit of business done, Crow ran around the building, carefully retracing the path the Joker had led her down earlier and finding her way out.

Thankfully, the van was still waiting for her and she climbed in before two of her men closed the doors and the driver took off.

"What, uh... What did you do?" the Joker questioned, sitting beside her.

She turned her gaze to him, noticing he didn't look too happy that she had sort of disobeyed him.

"I had to talk to Maroni about his men, and the Chechen inquired about a compound without horrific side-effects on his customers," Crow answered simply.

One of her men who heard her asked with an obvious look of discontent, "Are we goin' back t' Maroni, Boss?"

"No, no," Crow assured him, waving her hand dismissively. "As long as Maroni is gettin' a cut from the toxin profits, you're all mine. And I intend to keep you all under my wing - pun quite intended - until my Scarecrow finally decides to break out of Arkham."

"Him again?" asked the same man freely, scowling at the prospect of being the crazy ex-doctor's goon again seeing as being Crow's thug was much more fun and less likely to end with your death.

"Well, the toxin business is really his venture, babycakes," the brunette reasoned with a shrug. "I'm just babysittin' his work."

"I owe him that much," added the young woman with a sigh.

It seemed Crow was not without some kind of a twisted, albeit present and accounted for heart, which was troubling to the stormy-eyed woman.