Being sick does wonders for your creative state…
Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, or Pasquale's Bistro (it was a part of The Dark Knight's viral ad campaign). I do own Bruce's co-worker Jenny, however. Oh, and see if you can spot the Rocky Horror Picture Show reference!
Chapter Fifteen: Bruce
The cameras are rolling, flashing, trying to make the dreary morning brighter than it really is.
I smile at the assembled crowd and wait for the questions to continue. There's been a short lull in the questions due to a "witty remark" I made (whether not it actually was witty I'm not sure, nor do I care).
"Mr. Wayne, is it true that you're planning to follow in Harvey Dent's footsteps? Will we be seeing your campaign ads sometime soon?" a pretty reporter asks, her cheeks slightly flushed with the cool late autumn air.
"Well, I wouldn't go that far." I let out a short laugh, prompting the crowd to do the same. "I'm using my resources to finish what Harvey started, that's all. I'm going to need Gotham's finest on my side for this—that much is clear."
The group claps approvingly. I suddenly don't want to be around those cameras.
"I hope each and every citizen of Gotham helps me in remembering Harvey Dent and continuing his legacy." I smile again. "I'm sorry, but that's all I have for now. I have to get back to work."
With that I turn around and finally enter Wayne Enterprises. The media certainly moved quickly—I only mentioned my plan to take out the mob my way an hour ago.
Now I need to think.
I make myself some coffee and flirt with one of my female co-workers, Jenny. She's tall—almost gangly—blonde, and as far as facial structure goes, most people would call her "homely". She's also intelligent and more sensible than most other girls I've met. She reminds me of Rachel—only Rachel was the most beautiful woman I have ever known.
"I'm curious, Mr. Wayne. Have you ever gone to Gotham Pizzaria?" Jenny asks, smiling good-naturedly.
"Not yet," I reply, smiling in return. "Maybe you could introduce me?"
"Sure." Jenny's cheeks become an endearing pink. "Tuesday at eight?"
"Certainly." I'm happy for a change of pace.
As I walk to my office, my secretary hands me a manilla folder.
"It was in your mailbox, Mr. Wayne. It's from a 'Ms. J. Weiss'." She adjusts her glasses, looking at me quizzically. "Do you know this person?"
"I'll take a look at it." I take the package and move a little faster—just in case the package from "Ms. J" happens to have a time bomb attached.
I quickly slam the office door behind me and begin to rip open the mysterious package. There's no return address, of course. Not a good sign. I can't help but hurry, for some reason.
I dump the contents onto my desk…
And stare.
I can't believe him. I just—he—when did—the nerve of him!
The glossy pictures of my "nemesis" seem to taunt me as I arrange them into a neat pile. I go through them one by one, trying not to let my mind wander. Maybe he accidentally betrayed his location to me through these pictures…
No such luck. He was careful as always—only a wall and wood floor to go by.
I continue searching nonetheless. I have a feeling that I'm kidding myself, but I push the feeling aside. That would be playing into his hands, after all. (But then I've been playing into his hands for a long time).
Shots that particularly catch my eye are Joker's long fingers slowly sliding out of his gloves, one glove dangling from between his teeth as though he is a dog. I find myself staring at it in fascination, marveling at the smooth gestures the photos display. And those hands…as I've said before, hands like those shouldn't belong to a madman. I'm sure that once upon a time, those hands belonged to someone graceful, but now…
I growl and shove the photos into the trash basket, rubbing my temples. I do not have the patience for this.
As if on cue, my cell phone rings, making my headache even more pronounced. I pick it up and check the caller—not Alfred. It's not a coincidence.
"Hello?" I wait for the inevitable.
"Hiiii, Batsy. Didja get the pictures?" Joker's voice is far too perky for this early in the morning.
"Yes."
"…Did you like them? Which ones were your favorites?" I can hear people chattering in the background—his henchmen?
"No comment."
"Fine, fine, I'll ask again later. Anyway, time to, ah, get to business. I saw you on the morning news a little while ago. So, you're planning on taking out the Mob, eh? Pretty tricky! Think you can handle it in your…ah, more delicate alter-ego?"
"Why not? I've dealt with them before."
"Oh, sure you have—as Batman. Last I heard, when 'Bruce Wayne' tried his hand at fighting the Mob several years ago, he…failed spectacularly."
"I've grown up since then. It'll be different this time."
"Want my personal opinion?" Joker doesn't give me time to answer. "You need someone who has dealt with the Mob before. Mind if I volunteer?"
"Yes, I do mind. In case you haven't noticed, Joker, I don't trust you, except when I have no choice."
"I think this counts, Batsy." Joker's giggle makes the connection crackle."Soooo…why don't we have a business meeting, hmm? Just to see how it'll work out. Any good restaurants you know of?"
"Pasquale's Bistro," I say before realizing I've sealed our deal.
"Oh, that'll be fine. All right, so…we'll meet there for lunch?" There's a hint of "less discussing, more doing" in Joker's voice, a tone I'm steadily growing familiar with.
"Sure. But remember—"
"—No guns, knives, thugs, hostages, or bank heists going on simul-tan-eous-leee, I know. Don't worry, I'm taking this…seriously. No need to, ah, go batty on me."
"Good. See you then."
I hang up and wonder what the hell I just got myself into.
