Well, here we are. Part one of final chapter. Part 2 will be out tonight, and the Author's Note will probably appear in the next few days.
(Sniffle).
Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, only this plot.
Chapter Fifty-Four: Batsy (End)
I watch as Schiff's hands claw at Fico's neck, his expression eerily serene.
The rest of Joker's men are cheering him on, keeping the other Mobsters fenced in. Joker and I are standing off in the sidelines, waiting patiently. Joker had expected this sort of thing to happen. It had crossed my mind—the possibility of someone escaping, trying to fight his way out.
"We'll let Schiff and the boys handle it," Joker had told me, a sly grin on his face. "Trust me, they'll know what to do."
And they most certainly do. Several of the boys are checking on the rest of the Mobsters, just in case they get any ideas. Schiff's been shoved off by Fico, but is still holding his own.
"I'm gonna kill you—" Fico growls, but Schiff knocks his legs out from underneath him, sending him sprawling.
Joker's men clap their hands, and Joker's cackle cuts through the air.
Schiff bounces on his toes, that serene smile still on his face. "Get up," he says, as Fico glares up at him. "We're not done."
Fico scrambles to his feet, breathing hard in his rage. Schiff nods and clenches his fists, head cocked to one side. Fico's fist lunges forward—and misses. Schiff punches him in the jaw, and I hear something crack.
Schiff glances quickly at Joker, never taking his eyes off Fico. "How'm I doing, Boss?"
"You're doing great," Joker calls, nodding his approval. "Just as…always."
Schiff beams as Fico leaps at him with blood dripping from his mouth. Fico slams his fist into Schiff's jaw—but not before Schiff knees him in the stomach, and Fico's punch hardly connects.
Joker's men (and the "audience") cheer as Fico slumps to the ground. Schiff adjusts his collar and bowtie, hands trembling with adrenaline. He kneels next to Fico, Schiff's expression that of a wide-eyed innocent once again. A bruise is forming on his cheek.
"Now what, Boss?" he asks, bouncing on his heels once again. His eyes are gleaming with a manic pleasure. "Now what?"
Joker laughs and ambles over, staring down at the fallen Fico. "Good question, Schiff." He looks at me. "What do you think we should do, Batsy?"
The phrase floats around in my mind, taunting me. What do you think we should do, Batsy?
What, indeed. The revenge plan is in motion—the first "acts" of the evening have occurred. Now the audience is waiting for the others.
I turn away from the Mobsters, from Joker's waiting goons, and from Joker. I stare out into the blackness of the theatre, where the "audience" waits.
I turn back to the Mobsters, looking them over. Most of them are struggling, others are staring at me with pleading eyes. Joker is lifting Fico's chin with his boot, smirking down at him. I'm vaguely surprised to find my skin beginning to warm at the sight.
In any other situation…but not right now.
My mind is out of control again. To kill or not to kill. The choices slam through my brain, taunting me.
"Y'know, I think you've got one hell of a handbasket waiting for you," Joker says to Fico, his tone deceptively easygoing. "And I'm not the sort of person to, ah, stand people up."
He moves toward me, his knife flickering in the stage lights. "You ready, Batsy?"
I shut down the swirling roar inside my brain and nod. "Yes."
"Good, good." Joker tosses the knife to me, grinning. "Why don't you make the, ah, introduction this time?"
I raise the knife up to the light, watching as it takes on a sickly yellow gleam. Slowly, I point the tip at the Mobsters, watching as they huddle even closer together. The point of this particular "act" is to keep everyone in suspense—the Mobsters, the audience, everyone. It has to be perfectly timed.
"Well," I clear my throat and gesture to the audience. "I think another musical number is in store. Something like, say, Michael Buble's Feelin' Good?"
It may not be as dramatic as Joker's usual monologues, but it'll have to do.
The soundtrack cheers and claps as once again, Joker's 'boys' prove they can hold a tune and be coordinated as well. The Mobsters, meanwhile, are growing more nervous with every line of the song.
I stay on the sidelines, keeping my eyes on the Mobsters, watching their every move. They fidget, their eyes shift from side to side, their faces gleam with sweat…and it's clear that they're slowly sinking into the realization that they are going to die, and soon.
Joker and his 'boys' know this. I know this too. And since we all understand the feeling of imminent death intimately, they sing their hearts out.
Finally, the song ends, the audience applauds, and the Mobsters are now openly trembling in fear.
Joker takes the mike from me once again. "Lady-aces and, ah, gentledeuces—I hate to say it, but the night is only so long, and we only have so much time."
The "audience" groans and whines in despair.
Joker holds up his hands, placating. "Ah-tatatata, don't worry. We have a grand finale that will…and I mean will…blow you sky-high!"
The "audience" likes that idea.
Before Joker can say any more, a strange phup-phup-phup-phup sound chops through the air dimly. The Mobsters stare up at the ceiling, mouths open and clearly dumbstruck. A large clang follows, making the theatre shudder and quake.
Joker grins at me. "Batsy?"
I take the walkie-talkie out of my pocket and nod. I press it close and say, "We're ready."
I hear an affirmative from the South Korean smuggler I hired for the occasion. He's never let me down before.
There's an ear-splitting sound that I can't quite describe—somewhere between a roar and a creak—and the roof is suddenly gone, lifted up by a black helicopter.
It's raining outside, and the rain pours down on the stage, slicking it with water, soaking our clothes and weapons. Joker laughs wildly, head raised to the sky, catching the raindrops on his tongue. His arms are outstretched, welcoming the storm. He spins slowly, taking me by the hand and lifting it up, as though proclaiming me champion.
I look up at the sky, at the huge metal shipping crate that descends onto the stage, and can't believe that the plan has gone so well.
I know what's inside the crate—Joker and I arranged everything by phone with the smugglers. There's caviar, and champagne, and cots—but only enough for so many people. It might last them all until they get to their destination…a glacial crevasse in the middle of nowhere. But then again, these people are greedy…
I gesture for the 'boys' to take the Mobsters away. Fico screams and tries to fight them off, but the boys are tough, tougher than he is, and simply drag him into his last home along with the others.
"Hey, ah, Batsy?" Joker turns to me, chewing on his lip. "Are you…sure this is such a good idea? I mean, they're all being shipped off together. With supplies. How can we be sure they're not going to have some 'connections' come and save their oily—"
I smile at him and shrug, taking the mike from his hands. "For those of you who are thinking of calling the PETA on us to save these…dogs, trust me when I say: only one of these guys is going to go hungry."
Once the Mobsters are settled inside, I look at them all one last time. They're confused by the white linen table cloths, the champagne glasses, the caviar, the large wardrobe filled with parkas, the chandelier (how the smugglers managed to hook all this up is a feat in and of itself). They look at us, then at the finery, and their eyes together seem to form a huge question mark.
Joker, mike in hand, is gleefully walking amongst the Mobsters, shoving the mike into their faces and crooning "Soooo…how does this, ah, make you feel?" and getting responses ranging from numb terror to a variety of colorful profanity.
I find my way over to Bertineli, who is glaring at me silently. I look him over, making sure the restraints are secure—if even one of the Mobsters breaks loose (besides Fico, of course), we'd have to kill them outright, which would "take the…fun out of it" as Joker says.
Schiff hands me the keys as he walks by, grinning at Bertineli with too many teeth.
"Open your mouth, Bertineli," I say as kindly as I can. It's the "kindness" that makes him shudder, his eyes losing that cool glare for a moment.
Bertineli reluctantly opens his mouth, and I place the keys to everyone's shackles inside. "Bite down." He bites down on the iron ring, looking uncomfortable. "Great. When you get to your destination, those will help you break free."
I turn and walk back onto the sure ground of the stage, hands in my pockets. Joker and his 'boys' scramble off the entryway to the crate and wave as a large automatic door slowly closes, then locks, leaving the Mobsters with nowhere else to go…but up.
Joker looks at me and leans over, whispering in my ear "I saw that" and wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "Sometimes, Batsy, you're just too cute. Always a good samaritan on some level, hmm?"
I roll my eyes.
As the helicopter lifts off, we bow as one, and the curtains close.
