Happy belated Christmas, everyone, and a Happy New Year!

Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight. Rico Falcone is mine, as are the Odessa Twins, but the rest of the Mob belong to DC Comics/The Dark Knight. Jack O' Lantern and the bellhop are also mine.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Joker


I know where Batsy's going to be tonight—it's on the news, in bright neon colors.

"Bruce Wayne is finally having his meeting with the Mob! Where the meeting is to be held in unknown, but rest assured, GCN will bring you the latest updates…"

Well, well. What do you know? Looks like I was right about things going on in Batsy-land. Or, ah, Wayne-land, in this case, I suppose.

"Keep everything runnin', okay Jack?" I say, scratching my gray guard-cat Jack o' Lantern behind the ears one last time before heading out.

Jack purrs in agreement, his underbite not hindering him in the least. His orange eyes shine with the knowledge of mischief in the works.

I let the boys cook dinner for themselves (I already ate) and head outside. It's stopped snowing now, and the ground makes comforting crunch-crunch-crunch noises as I walk. I'm nice and warm in my purple jacket and fancy blue sweater and wool pants—yep, I'm dressed to the nines. I mean, might as well play the part along with Batsy, right?

And as for how to find the meeting…well, that's easy. Ask for directions.

--

"…Please, don't! The Boss didn't tell me—"

"And yet…here you are, guarding his cash. He at least gave you the address…"

The Sabatino Family goon flounders, his eyes wide as a freshly-sharpened pencil rests casually right on his left eyelid.

"…Right? And maybe, if you tell me, I'll let you go. Actually, no, not maybepromise. Hm?"

A lone tear streaks down the goon's cheek, and I know that it won't be long now. It only took half the lowlifes in this joint to find the jackpot. Typical…

"I-It's at the Wayne Foundation building…stuffy-lookin' place! Has a big W on it…you can't miss it!"

"Great!" I say, grinning as I calculate the time. Mustn't arrive late for such a fancy gig.

Oh-ho, lucky me. Knowing "Bruce Wayne", he wants the Mob stuffed with fine wine and little, ah, herring snacks before laying it on them. I've got time.

The goon lets out a pathetic whine, and I remember he's there. Well…I did promise.

I let him keep the pencil. A little…souvenir. Whether or not it'll be useful to himis a another story.

--

I park outside the Wayne Foundation building, wondering how the paparazzi haven't started swarming the place yet. Maybe they're out of pencils?

Oh, well—more room for me to park.

I walk in, waving to the secretary at the front desk, whispering "The Meeting" to her as she stands up, clearly wanting me to stop. But then she nods and gives me directions—clever girl—fifth floor, fourth door on the right.

There's a gun under her desk…and her hand is this close from it. Damn. Batsy doesn't take any chances. But she is a clever girl, and I'm sure she doesn't quite have the guts to use it.

I nod to her. "I'm taking the elevator. I want to be…punctual."

I try not to do something, ah, bad to the young, freckled bellhop when the elevator finally gets moving. I grin as his eyes widen in fear and he tries not to look at my scars. I lean against the shiny metal (bulletproof?) wall, humming to myself as up, up, up we go, into paradise or despair?

Either way, I don't care. I just want to be on time.

After awhile, the bellhop stops trying to look like he isn't looking at me and just flat-out stares. It's obvious he wants to…well, do something with me, but isn't quite sure what yet. Typical.

"Something on my face, kid?" I ask, rocking back and forth on my heels, hands in my pockets.

"Uh…no. It—it's just—I've seen you on the news. And…" The bellhop really is young—his voice says it all. A college kid working a night job—or maybe he dropped out. Something like that.

"And?" I lean forward slightly, grinning as my pockets make a telling clink and jangle. "Did the broadcast, ah, catch my good side? Hmm?"

Bellhop's gaze flicks to my coat, then back to me. There's…understanding behind those eyes. He knows exactly what's in my pockets—and they're not…fleshy. Gotcha.

"I think they did a good job," Bellhop says, trying his best to meet my eyes. "You're very, um, intimidating."

"Thanks," I say as the elevator doors finally open. "Looks like you'll get to keep your job after all, Hopster."

I step out of the elevator and continue on my way, counting: one…two…three…four. I can hear people talking through the sturdy oak door in front of me, though it's muffled. Top secret indeed.

"…For coming. I'm glad you took the time…yes, refreshments will be served…"

I count to three and open the door—no use in waiting, right?

Everyone in the room immediately turns and stares blankly as I smile and nudge the door closed with my foot. I clear my throat, looking around at all the old, familiar faces. The Riley Family, the Maroni Family, the Odessa Family, etc.—here they all are, everyone but their ladies and kids, all sitting in their Sunday best listening to…Batsy.

"Hey, Riley," I say, waving to the redheaded Mob boss opposite me. "How're the kids?"

"Fine," Riley says, lilt prominent, while he is clearly anything but fine.

I look around. "Sabatino? Your wife doing good?"

A similar response.

And on and on, until I get a good look at Batsy.

…Who, of course, looks pretty, ah, unhappy with me being here. Scratch that. Nobody's happy to see me here. Surprise, surprise.

I take the only empty seat—a spot between the two burly Odessa twins—take off my coat, and rest my hands on the table, looking around, not saying anything. I'm sure everyone's mostly surprised at my, ah, new look—I mean, has anybody seen me without my trademark clothes? I don't think even Batsy has had that honor yet.

I brush a few strands of hair out of my eyes. "Sorry I'm late. I was…moving house." I incline my head toward Batsy, smiling as nicely as I can. "You were saying, ah, Mr. Wayne?"

Batsy clears his throat and gives me The Look I taught him. He then looks toward the Mob.

"You'll have to excuse me for a moment. I need to…talk this over with our new arrival."

"Sure thing," I say, standing up and following him outside. "So, what's on your mind, Wayne?" I whisper, grinning from ear to ear.

"You weren't invited," Batsy whispers back, his gaze going from the room where the Mob's still sitting, to me. "I'm not even going to ask how you found out. Get out. Now."

"You're going to need someone to take your side. C'mon, you honestly think they'll jump for the chance to be considered chicken?"

"And you don't mind that?" Batsy's hands are already clenching into fists. "I thought you cared about your—"

"—Oh, by the way, I'm the one who's really profiting off whatever they do. A bankroll's a bankroll."

Batsy sighs and slowly unclenches his fists. "You know what? Fine. Just promise me you won't cause any trouble here. Play along, but don't kill anyone."

Oh, look. An…opening. "You're going to have to…pay me back," I say, smiling. "I'll help you here—but with any other meeting with the Mob after this, you're on your own."

Batsy looks like he's going to be sick. He'd better not—not while we're dressed this fancy.

I tap my chin thoughtfully. "Unless, y'know, something doesn't…go as planned on both our ends."

"I thought you didn't make plans."

I smile and shrug. "Only little ones."

Batsy runs a hand through his hair, looking…agitated. "About that 'pay-back'—"

"We'll get there," I assure him. "Let's just get through this first, hmm?"

Batsy nods and opens the door, and we go back to our places. I wonder if the Mob heard us—not that it really makes any difference.

"As I was saying before the interruption," Batsy says, his voice colder and more businesslike than I've ever heard, "I believe it's time for we citizens of Gotham to put our city's wellbeing to the front of our interests."

The Mob chuckles and mutters amongst themselves. I stay quiet, listening in. I smirk at the two Twins, who try to ignore me.

"I know that this may seem more than a little foolish. I have to admit that you men control this city more than the mayor himself. At least, that was how things used to be."

A smug look creeps onto Batsy's face, and I try my hardest not to ruin the moment by laughing helplessly. I want him to have fun, after all. This is Bruce Wayne's day in the limelight.

"Now, with these masked vigilantes and the like running around, things are beginning to slip. Eventually, we're all going to have to pay for this city's corruption—most likely out of our own pockets. If we don't act now, soon this city will be nothing but a chaotic dump. And we'll be left with nothing."

I raise my hand like a good student. "A chaotic dump sounds fine to me."

The Mobsters chuckle and talk amongst themselves again. Thankfully I've already deflated their, ah, precious egos—money for me, humiliation for them.

"You may believe that," Batsy says coolly, not even an edge in his voice, "But try enjoying a chaotic dump where even you have nothing to gain."

Everyone goes silent. The entire room seems to get smaller, becoming just another padded cell.

Batsy runs a hand through his hair again—is someone picking up a new, ah, nervous tic?—and stares head-on at us, not flinching. I'm impressed—there's power in that look, power that I'm sure nobody expected except me.

"If Gotham falls, the economic state will be catastrophic. And not just here in Gotham. Most of us trade internationally. Other countries rely on us for resources—so what happens when we lose everything? They lose everything. The world goes into an economic collapse not seen since The Great Depression. And everything we hold dear is history."

None of us say anything. He's…caught us, you could say.

"So. You have a choice. You can 'go legit', as you say, and help me turn this city around, or you can keep doing what you're doing until everything falls apart."

Batsy leans back in his seat and waits patiently.

Fico Maroni—the guy who took over after Sal's, ah, accident—is the first to speak his peace.

"Let me and my associates talk it over…in private. It'll only take a few minutes."

Batsy inclines his pretty head in agreement and stands up, heading for the door. "I'll be right outside."

Fico looks at me, a sneer on his stress-lined face. "Members only, clown."

I raise an eyebrow and stand up, putting on my best, ah, social face. "Fine. It's not like your choices matter anyway. There's only one hand to play here."

I turn and saunter out, following Batsy. The door closes behind me, and the two of us lean on opposite sides of the door—Batsy nice and tall, me slouched.

"I think they want me to…dissuade you. Permanently." I chuckle at the idea.

"Do you think they'll agree?"

"Let me tell you, these guys are weird. They call you a freak, then they hire you. You do things your way, they moan about it. Then, they applaud you. Lastly, they sell you out. Moochers, the lot of 'em."

Batsy sighs. "So you think they'll just ignore me."

"Oh, no. No, they won't ignore you. Not after this. This playboy mask of yours is…cracking a little. Better be careful, or it'll…break. Completely."

"I've got things under control."

As soon as the words escape Batsy's mouth, the door opens—I move out of the way—and Rico steps out.

"It's unanimous. We're do things your way, Mr. Wayne…unless, of course, things don't go smoothly."

"I'm glad to hear it," Batsy says, a plastic, genial smile on his face. "Would you men care for some refreshments before the meeting ends?"