IX
The house is in South Gotham, one of those old bricks-and-mortar affairs that looks ugly and outdated by modern standards, but looks don't matter much, because ownership of such a home is a status symbol more than anything else. It either says 'my family was here when this city was going up around their heads' or it says 'we may not have been here first, but we've got money now, so who cares?'
In Alberto Falcone's case, it's actually both—although his ancestors certainly weren't living in this neighborhood when they first came over on the boat. No, the Falcones' ascent to power came later, running parallel to the re-establishment and refinement of organized crime in Gotham—they missed out on the first wave, the mafiosos cropping up in the wake of the Prohibition, so they were forced to bide their time and await an opening. Thirty years ago, they finally got it.
Of course, Alberto wasn't even alive back then, and now his father is locked up in the nuthouse. Carmine's incarceration left a vacuum, and at the time, Alberto wasn't prepared to step up and take over the operation—how could he have been? The old man's breakdown had come out of nowhere; Alberto figured he had at least another decade until his father slowed down enough to make a mistake and get himself killed. As it turned out, all he could do was secure as many of his family's assets as he could, and then stand back and watch helplessly as a dozen two-bit "gangsters" swarmed in to attempt to fill the void that Carmine left.
That was several years ago, and Alberto has been biding his time and gathering his strength. Now, things are about to change.
The study inside the old house is a troglodyte's dream, decorated in dark colors, furnished in mahogany and sporting a huge fireplace. Alberto much prefers more modern, minimalist décor, but he is all too aware that appearance is everything in this game, and so he leaves it the way his father had it—for now.
He sits in an armchair at the hearth, watching the tall flames, hands steepled meditatively in front of his face. Alberto is a young man, relatively speaking, only twenty-eight, and he's aware that his youth is a disadvantage—almost as much as his weedy appearance. He is of average height, but thin and bespectacled, all of which culminates in a scholarly appearance that does nothing to win him respect among his so-called "colleagues." They respect the appearance of power, the brawn, but the foolish oafs seem to completely miss the fact that without the mind, without strategy, then muscle is nothing.
It is a truth which Alberto wishes to hammer into their heads, shortly before eliminating them completely.
The promptest way to do that, in his estimation, is to find a common enemy, one that the usurpers have failed to take down themselves, and destroy it. Clearly, since this is the Italian mob, there are plenty of enemies from which to choose… and yet Alberto finds himself reluctant to pursue the more common route of assassinating the police commissioner or the new DA. They're like crabgrass—the moment they're removed, two more spring up to take their place.
Instead, he has chosen someone unique, someone… irreplaceable. While the Joker may be on the same side of the law as the family (strictly speaking), he has again and again proved himself to be a loose cannon. He does not play well with others, and more often than not, he seems to take the position that the mobsters take up too much of the Bat's attention—a viewpoint that doesn't exactly benefit them. Sure, things have died down now that the vigilante freak is a wanted man and doesn't have nearly as much freedom with which to work, but the Joker is still not a friend to the mob.
So, a few days ago, Alberto laid his cards down. He put out the word—he's going to take down the Joker by Christmas. His goal was met with scorn and laughter, but by this point, Alberto is used to being underestimated. He knows it will result in the others being thrown completely off-balance when he actually succeeds and he intends to take advantage of it, moving swiftly to knock them down from their pedestals and take his rightful place as emperor of the city.
But first things first. He has less than a week to make good on his promise. Earlier in the week, he received a report that Joker henchmen were spotted in the Narrows. A few careful tails later, and his right hand, his cousin Johnny—brawny but brainless—came to him with confirmation:
"It's him, all right. Looks like he's been squatting in an old project on Sixteenth. Been there a couple'a days."
"Excellent," Alberto replied. "We must move quickly. He's known for being difficult to pin down. Assemble a group and keep a close eye on him. The moment it's confirmed that he's inside the building, go in and take out everyone." When Johnny didn't immediately move to obey, Alberto raised a testy eyebrow. "Something wrong?"
"Not wrong, it's just… the fellas say they seen a girl with him."
"A girl," Alberto repeated impatiently, shaking his head as if to ask 'and this concerns me how?'
"Yeah. Little thing, redhead, maybe in her twenties. You think they're—"
Alberto lifted a slim hand to halt his cousin's doubtless crude insinuations. "Please, Johnny. I'm not interested in speculation on the Joker's private life, if indeed a sorry freak like that has anything resembling personal interests. Suffice to say that if there is a woman keeping company with the clown, she has either thrown in her lot with him intentionally or is being held by force, and I don't much care which. She's collateral damage either way. Stick to the plan, and make sure the men won't be… distracted by a female presence. At least not until the Joker is confirmed dead. Beyond that, it doesn't matter."
Johnny nodded and withdrew without further comment.
That was several hours ago. Now, Alberto sits up and waits for news, planning his next moves, adding contingencies just in case something goes wrong. After all, the Joker is notoriously slippery, and Alberto is not the type to assume success on the first try.
His phone rings. He stares into the fire for a moment longer before moving to answer.
The voice on the other end is panicked and breathless, a clear indication of a job gone wrong, and Alberto closes his eyes for a moment before turning his attention towards deciphering the muddled words spilling over the line.
"…building was wired… exploded, got everyone inside. Johnny was leading the group… doesn't look like… any survivors."
Alberto's mind works rapidly, recalibrating around the loss. Calmly, he asks, "Did anyone actually see the Joker, either before or after?"
"We watched him pull into the building. The boys spotted the girl through the window of the apartment he was in. Johnny gave the go-ahead."
Alberto releases a hiss of frustration. "Did anyone actually watch him leave the vehicle and go into the building?"
"The van went into an underground garage; we couldn't get a good look without giving ourselves away."
"So, theoretically, the Joker could have departed in the van and left our boys to lead a suicide charge on an empty apartment."
A pause. "The girl was there. Johnny thought—"
"No, Johnny didn't think, and now, Johnny is dead," spits Alberto, his one concession to the annoyance welling up in response to the disappointing report. There is silence on the other end, allowing him a moment to collect his thoughts.
Johnny is dead. It's a loss, but nearly as great as one might think—family is always difficult in this business, especially extended family, and Johnny was a pliable fool. All it would take was the wrong people whispering in his ear and he could have easily become a liability. It's likely that Alberto himself would have had him killed eventually, and so his death is of little significance.
No, the far more significant loss is the Joker's neat elusion, which sends Alberto back to square one. He finds it interesting but not surprising that the clown was expecting an attack, to the extent that he wired his own hideout with enough explosives to bring the whole building down. Himself, he wouldn't be comfortable in a structure that was little more than a ticking time bomb, but then, to each his own.
He returns his attention to the phone. "I'm assuming that no one knows where the Joker is now."
"No, boss. Me and Scully were watching from the front street, just in case. We didn't see nothin'."
"Unsurprising," Alberto remarks dryly. "Get the message out. Every available man is to scour the underworld, question every snitch, tap every source of information. Leave no stone unturned—time is important. We have until Christmas to locate him once more and take him out—do you understand?"
"Yes, boss."
"Good." Then, as an afterthought: "And spread the word. It's likely that the Joker knows we're targeting him, which means a counterattack is not out of the question. Everyone must be prepared and on guard at all times."
"Yes, boss."
Alberto nods and ends the call. Calmly, he places his phone on the desk and steeples his fingers again, fighting his impatience as he stares into the fire and begins afresh, planning out a course of action for when he finds the Joker once again.
The clock is ticking.
Consciousness returns all at once—I open my eyes with a sharp inhale, my mind taking a moment to catch up with my body. I'm in the passenger seat of a car, slouched haphazardly, though someone has been considerate enough to buckle the belt across my waist. I look to my left and am unsurprised to find the Joker driving, face paint stripped for travel once more. A quick check of the backseat reveals that we're alone, and with a soft groan, I struggle to sit up a little straighter.
"Well, that was embarrassing," I mutter acidly, figuring that if I call myself out, then he won't be able to make fun of me.
"Hmm?" He sounds distracted, but I go on anyway, because talking is clearing away some of the webs in my head.
"Fainting," I clarify. "Nobody does that outside of harlequin bodice-rippers." He gives me a sideways look, and I concede, "Well, not that I knew of until just a minute ago."
"Ah, well… don't be too hard on yourself, Em," he says lightly. "Up till then, you were doin' great."
I chuckle harshly. "Well, thank you." He nods but doesn't respond, and in the beat of silence that follows, I realize that I can't continue to put off thinking about what just happened. I'm too tired to feel the usual moral outrage, even though I know there were people in that building, probably police. I'm too tired to feel properly scared, even, so I turn my head to look at him and quietly ask, "So do you by any chance feel like filling me in on what's going on?"
He doesn't respond, checking his mirrors before merging left into a turning lane. I nod. "Okay. Well, then, how about I tell you what I'm thinking and you tell me if I'm warm or cold?" Again, no answer, but that's slightly more encouraging than a no, so I take a second to organize my thoughts before beginning.
"Okay. Well, I have no clue what that was all about, but I think I figured out why you killed the cop. I think you want Batman to show up at the scene, to see my blood, and to realize that you've got me. I think you're calling him out to play, but I also think this thing with me isn't your main focus. I think it's misdirection; I think you're keeping him busy with me while you work on another project. How am I doing so far?"
"Not terrible," he says genially. I'm a little surprised by the confirmation, and I pause to absorb it before deciding to quit while I'm ahead.
"So where are we going now?" I ask, settling back into my seat with a sigh.
"Somewhere quiet," he answers briefly. "Now hush."
I think it wisest to obey, and besides, I'm too worn out to pester him anyway. I close my eyes, tilt my head back against the rest, and wait for the ride to be over.
We drive for a long time, leaving the Narrows and skirting the hub of the city, heading, as best as I can tell, to the West Side, another area with cracked streets and condemned buildings in abundance. My head hurts and I'm still feeling woozy despite retaining consciousness, and so for now, I'm content to stay silent, to give my curiosity a rest for a while. With any luck, there will be time later to figure it all out.
Finally, we reach a dark little business district that consists mostly of old wooden buildings- mostly still in business from the looks of them, and the Joker pulls into an alleyway behind a row of them. The alley is almost totally dark when he shuts off the headlights, and I wait for him to get out before following slowly, not even certain if this is our final destination or just another errand. He comes around the car and takes my elbow, and, once again showing an uncanny ability to navigate the dark without any apparent effort, he walks me to the back door of one of the buildings, where he strikes the door once, hard.
A narrow slot slides open at face level, and I see a pair of eyes peering out at us before the slot closes abruptly and the door swings open.
Compared to the frigid, electricity-less apartment, this new place is practically inviting. There are lights, there's heat, and, as I follow him hesitantly inside, I smell food.
I quickly locate the source of the smell, a stack of pizza boxes on a table in the center of a makeshift lounge area further inside, and I break from his side without thinking twice, making a beeline to the boxes and shooting hostile glares towards anyone who dares to look at me, warning them wordlessly: if you get between me and the food, I will bite your hand off.
No one stops me, and I flip the lid to find the most beautiful sight I've seen in days: a full pepperoni pizza, probably on the cheap, greasy side, but after twenty-four hours with nothing in my stomach, it looks perfect to me. I grab a piece and kick back on an overstuffed, unclaimed couch, propping my feet on the table and tearing into the slice with something very close to bliss. Only once I'm halfway through with it does it occur to me that I'm not actually alone, and I glance up to see the gathered henchmen all staring as if they can't quite believe how thoroughly I'm making myself at home. I switch my gaze to the Joker, who is watching me with one corner of his mouth turned down in an expression that could either be contempt or amusement.
Fuck it, I justify to myself, I'm hungry, and fainting once in one night is enough for me. They don't want me to eat, they can come rip this pizza from my cold dead hands.
Fortunately, they all snap out of it once it becomes apparent that I'm not going to address them. The Joker is talking, and they turn their undivided attention to him, leaving me to pig out in peace.
"All right, fellas, listen up. Now, the first move went well—but little Alberto isn't stupid. Yeah, you know, crazy… but not stupid. He's gonna know we've got his number now, and you can bet his next move is gonna be a little… less… pre-dictable."
He pauses, staring at one of the boarded-up windows facing the street, blocking our presence from the everyday observer, and the silence stretches out for a minute. I watch quietly, unconcerned for now, helping myself to another slice of pizza. Finally, one of the henchmen says, "So, what do you want us to do, boss?"
The Joker snaps back into himself abruptly. "Ah—counter-strike. Fast. Ya know, these mob guys—they're all about ego; they're expectin' us to run scared. They think this is an extermination… and, well, they're right. They're just a little muddled about who's the vermin in this scenario. So, uh— Mumbles? Take some of the guys, do some recon." He jabs a finger at two random others to indicate who he's talking about, and elaborates: "Find the hub. These fellas don't have imagination, they're gonna have a watering hole somewhere around here. I want you to find out where. Oh, and I don't want to see anyone leaving this place— or coming back to it— in gear. No masks, plainclothes. Let's keep it subtle for now."
I've never seen him talk plans with his men before, and I find it somewhat fascinating— it's like the Joker equivalent of a pep talk: positive and cheerful with a hint of menace, lest they forget.
He shakes his head as if just remembering something. "And you know what— while you're at it, find out what you can about baby Falcone. See where he's livin' now, and figure out where he'll go once he finally gets it through his skull that he's in danger. All the relevant information you can find. You can take one of his men if you need to, I don't care. Just don't leave any loose ends."
It might just be my imagination, but I think a couple of the men give me pointed, split-second glances at the words loose ends. I ignore them. As nervous as it makes me, being surrounded by strangers that are also killers and quite possibly insane, I'm also aware that whatever's going on between the Joker and me is none of their fucking business. While I definitely don't want to be left alone with them, I doubt I'm in danger of one of them taking it upon himself to remove the distraction.
I finish the second slice more slowly, already feeling impossibly full, considering how hungry I was just moments ago. I resist the urge to stuff myself, knowing that that's the fastest way to make myself sick, and brush the crumbs from my fingers before noticing that the Joker is retiring to a back room, leaving me alone.
My immediate impulse is to follow him, but I fight it back right away. Now that I've got some food in my stomach, I'm feeling a little stronger and a little braver, and although I don't necessarily anticipate spending time with these guys in the future, I also know that the quickest way to establish myself as the weakest dog in the pack is to trot everywhere at the alpha's heels, unwilling to face the others. If I do end up stuck around these guys longer than I'd like, being perceived as a cowering hostage is the last thing I want.
So, pulling my eyes away from the room into which he's disappeared, I give the faces around me a quick scan. Mumbles has disappeared along with the other two henchmen the Joker indicated, leaving three more guys, unmasked, of various ages, sizes, and—judging by the guy rocking back and forth in the corner—mental states. The other two are watching me, and, raising my eyebrows in a mask of carelessness, I ask, "Sup?"
"Who're you supposed to be?" asks one of them, an older guy with a grizzled face and watery eyes.
I chuckle sharply. That's a good question. To them, though, I just say, "Ah, the Joker's best friend."
Eyebrows go up. Grizzly exchanges looks with his colleague, a younger guy who blinks and twitches a lot. Twitchy mumbles, "He has friends?"
"Friend, singular," I say helpfully, and then frown. "At least, I think."
They look doubtful, but neither of them challenges me. I think the way I came in might have helped the illusion. I lean back against the couch, spreading my arms across the back and looking around. The place is gutted, the windows boarded up and without furniture aside from a few tables, mismatched chairs, and the couch I'm resting on, but a while ago it might have been an old shop. There's a staircase in the corner, and I wonder if maybe this is one of the old style of shops, where the owner lived on top and ran his business from the bottom.
The henchmen slowly sit down in chairs on the opposite side of the table from me, and with a quick, cautious glance towards the back room where the Joker disappeared, I decide to see how much information I can glean from them.
"So," I say casually, watching as they dig into the pizza boxes, "Alberto Falcone."
"Yeah, what about him?" asks Grizzly, fixing me with a wary eye.
"We're taking him down." It's a statement, not a question, and it's a little bit of a gamble—but judging by the way they relax minutely, it pays off. If they think I'm already in the know, they won't be as inclined to stay tight-lipped about it. I push a little, warming to my role. "What I don't understand is why, exactly. I mean, sure, his old man was a main player, but Carmine's in the loony bin and last I heard, the big name was… ah, what's-his-face. Maroni."
Grizzly humphs. "Maroni got all beat up in a car accident last year. He's not the boss he used to be."
"So, what, Alberto Falcone is?"
"Little fish," Twitchy puts in sourly, "with big aspirations."
"Idiot if you ask me," Grizzly snorts. "You don't go around tellin' people you're gonna kill the Joker. Puts you on the wrong radars."
Oh. I frown. "There are a million and one people lined up to kill the Joker. I can't imagine he'd take much notice of yet another death threat."
"Yeah, well, who knows how he's gonna react?" Grizzly says, putting up a hand to signal that he's as confused as I am. "He says take out Falcone's operation, we do it, we get paid. Waste of time trying to figure out why, and risky, too." At this, he gives me a sharp, meaningful look, and I show my palms, signaling surrender.
"Just trying to catch up. I haven't seen him in like nine months." That much, at least, is true.
The conversation halts abruptly as the Joker returns, face painted once again. He scans our little assembly as he strides up, and I give him my best innocent face while the guys guiltily return their attention to their food. He doesn't say anything, though, dropping instead onto the couch next to me, and I try to scoot unobtrusively away. He puts an arm along the back, catching my shoulder before I can get too far, and I stop moving in resignation.
"So, boss," Grizzly speaks up. "What's the plan for us?"
The Joker clicks his tongue thoughtfully, tilting his head back and regarding the ceiling with faint interest. "Waiting game," he says at length, before tilting his head down and squinting at Grizzly, regarding him thoughtfully for a moment. "You're new here, aren't ya?"
"Came on board about a week or so ago," answers Grizzly, looking rightfully hesitant.
"Riiiight, right, right. Well, uh—new guy, what you're gonna find out here soon is that… most of this job is waiting. You can only hurry things along so much. So," he says, lacing his hands behind his head and closing his eyes, "enjoy the downtime while you can."
The relaxed gesture means he's taken his hand off my shoulder, which in turn means I'm able to scoot to the opposite end of the couch, and this time, he makes no move to stop me. I put my elbow on the rest, tuck my hand beneath my head, and take advantage of the rare peace to puzzle out some of what I've heard.
So Falcone's the target. He probably put himself on the radar when he decided to announce that he was planning to kill the Joker, and then… I think back to the conversation we had in the van, the only time the Joker volunteered a hint of his plans. Gift-giving. Batman. I guess this is his way of killing two birds with one stone—taking out the idiot who plans to kill him and simultaneously eliminating one of Gotham's crime elements so Batman has one less thing to worry about—and one less thing to distract his attention from the Joker. It's…. weird, but it makes sense, in a way.
I let out a soft snort and close my eyes. Figures he's the kind of guy who gives a gift he can benefit from, too.
Now that my eyes are closed, I realize how thoroughly worn out I am. It's been a big night, what with all the murder, mayhem, and blood loss. There's a little voice nagging at me, telling me how foolish it is to go to sleep among my present company, but wearily, I stifle it. I don't have much choice, and the longer I go without, the weaker I'll be. My stomach is full and it's warm here, and though it's impossible for me to currently feel safe, I'm as close to comfortable as I'm going to get.
Just for a little while, I think as the drowsiness closes in.
A/N - Whew. Okay, hopefully that filled in a good many of the holes in the Joker's plan and made up for the delay in posting this (I meant to have it up on Friday, but a ridiculous weekend involving a good deal of people kept pushing it back). And hey, we finally get to see Alberto Falcone! Isn't he a little shit?
By the way, The Joker Blogs series two has (finally) begun. If you haven't watched The Joker Blogs on Youtube, you absolutely should, because Scott McClure's Joker, by now, has become its own entity in my mind, just as valid a variation as the other canon Jokers. The people involved in making that show are wickedly smart, know their comic books AND their Nolanverse, and are doing fantastic things with the story. So go, watch, subscribe, and cry at the beauty of it all.
Next chapter is one of my favorites. I'll try to get it up by the end of the week or the beginning of next week- summer classes officially start today and they look a little intense, but I can't wait to see what you guys think about it, so I'll hustle. In the meantime, as always, I live for your feedback, so scribble something in the little box down there and make my day. :)