5

The gym in the backstreet was poorly lit, but it had a shooting gallery and knife practice area. The owner believed in training well rounded individuals. Those were the reasons Jasmine had decided to take her membership there instead of a peppy, popular one in a business area.

She had gone there after the mess at Wayne Enterprises had settled and signed out a set of throwing knives. For the past three hours, she'd been hurling the blunt blades at paper targets.

Long ago, she had learned that most of the women her age were desperate to prove to their male counterparts that they were equals. It was a wasted effort, as most of the guys didn't really care, or only wanted to josh the edgy girls into a temper tantrum or a supposed 'issue'. She found that the energy they spent trying to become a man in essence would have been better spent on skill improvement.

Jasmine wasn't a man, being emotionally distant hadn't come naturally to her. There were some things she just couldn't do physically, mentally, and emotionally because she had been born a girl. She accepted that fact. On the flipside, she was better suited to certain assignments and cases because of those weaknesses. She could understand a woman who had been attacked because she had been a woman attacked herself. She could comfort a child or a rape victim when a big man could have scared them into silence. Seeing the duality of the situation made her a stronger tool than beating her head against a wall that didn't exist.

Jack had said it years ago, find the weak points, and you know the objects. When and where it will break, and how much it can withstand. Thinking of Jack turned her gut and she threw harder.

She hadn't always taken the time to evaluate herself. Being slashed had forced her to admit there were points where she could be broken, places it would hurt. Training to be the best she could be as herself had made her far more effective than trying to prove she could make it. In her quest to build her talents and shore up her weaknesses, she had made it. She hadn't set out to, but she had. She was a functioning detective, and basically respected in her field.

In a burst of rage, she threw a knife from each hand, and watched them quiver in the board. Forcing herself to behave like an adult, she pulled the practice set from the target, signed them back in, and went to the shooting range. She emptied two clips from each handgun before deciding to go home.

Marty, the owner, watched her walk towards the door. "Saw the news. Tough day."

"Yep." She waited, knowing Marty either never spoke, or said everything on his mind.

"You okay?"

"Yep."

"Sure?"

"Yep."

He eyed her closely, and nodded at the phone. "You got my number if you need help."

She smiled, and gave him a thumb up. "I do, thanks, Marty."

It had gotten dark out, and she let the wind blow off the pavement over her face for a second. She ran a nail over her scar, and then went to her car. She started to unlock it, when she noticed a man sitting in the passenger seat. She crouched out of sight, gripping her Glock. He turned as if sensing her, and the sight of the painted face made her loosen her grip, though she didn't let go. Opening her door, she sat down and waited for him to talk.

"Sorry about that…uh…forcing your hand."

"No you're not." She challenged, keeping her voice down as some high school boys marched into the gym.

"Yeah, I am." Jack leaned his head into the space between the door and the headrest to avoid someone seeing him. "Look, I'll explain if you just drive."

She glared and slammed the door, cranking the key. "I'm getting a digital starter."

"Don't bother on my account, I can hotwire those too." His tone was dark, as if daring her to challenge him. She didn't.

After about ten blocks, she glanced over at him. "Care to share?"

"No, but I promised I would, and," he laughed, stretching the scars hideously, "everyone knows I'm a man of my word!" He said the last part almost breathily, clicking his square jaw to punctuate. Suddenly, his voice dropped into a gritty level. "What do you know about Operation 77?"

"Never heard of it."

"Neither have the people who were involved in it." He licked his lips, and moved them together, as if testing how far he could open his mouth. "It was really called Unit 40, a special forces division that never got off the ground." He pulled a flash drive out of nowhere, and dropped it into her cup holder with a flourish. "That'll be enough to get you started. Unfortunately," His voice rose, and he drug out the words, the Government has a goooooood reason to cover up, and they have done goooood at covering uuuuuuuup."

She gritted her teeth, and shot the drive a spiteful glare. She replayed everything she knew about the Joker as the Joker, but it wasn't much. She'd heard about his reign of terror, but her TV had been out of commission for weeks, and she'd yet to get another. She grew angrier with herself for being so ill informed, for not knowing it was Jack the whole time. It had been someone else's case, the beat cops' job; she had other things to worry about. "What happened to your face?" She asked, and wished she'd thought before speaking. It was and wasn't Jack. What was Jack, what was the Joker? From the silence beside her, she knew she was about to find out.

"Kid, I gotta tell you, I don't tell anyone the truth. Not that you'd believe me, but I think you'd…give it credence. So…That nice friend of your dad's did it."

"Zeke?" Jasmine gripped the wheel. "I'd bet."

Jack glanced at her. She wasn't making fun of him, she was agreeing. Interesting. "Do you know what that makes me?"

"The guy the bad guys are scared of. At least that what the police department says."

"Riiiggghhhtt, you're a cop now. Thought you'd end up in a basement sculpting forever, to be honest."

It was the strangest catch-up session Jasmine had ever had. "I almost did."

"What happened?" He sounded just like the guy on her grandparents' farm that summer so long ago. The guy that had saved her with a pencil when he could have pulled his knife instead. "Jazz?"

She sucked in her breath and shrugged. "Life happened, I ran out of money, options, friends and patience. My family has the world's worst track record for returning phone messages, so, I did what was available."

"I take it that wasn't applying for a managerial position at Wal-Mart." He spoke with his Joker voice.

"They wouldn't let me carry firearms." She quipped, skidding to a stop.

He clucked his tongue sadly. "Where's the joy in a job without some noise?"

Her green eyes shot him a look, but she didn't reply. After a few more blocks, she sighed. "You still haven't told me what's really going on."

"It ties into Unit 40."

"Jack," she started warningly.

"Okay, Operation 77." He huffed, blowing through his scared lips.

"Jack,"

"Just plug in the drive, it's not hard."

"JACK!"

He covered his ears and pulled his knees into his chest. His dark eyes shot her a hurt look, and he stuck out his tongue. He was in full Joker character. "Whaaaaaat?"

"What are you trying to say to me?"

He slid back into a normal posture. "I didn't do it."

She pulled over to a curb, slammed the car into park, and turned to face him. Rain was starting, she could hear it, and smell it though the vents. His mouth was working overtime. "Jack, really, tell me. I'm giving you one chance, and I can barely afford to do that."

"I know, I know." He said gently, looking sideways at her. It was freaky, the way his eyes looked out from the black painted sockets. He smacked his lips a few times, and then stopped moving altogether. She hadn't noticed how jittery he had become until then.

"What didn't you do?" She pressed, sliding her left hand to her gun.

"Any of it. Well, I sent the films," he corrected himself. "I didn't actually kill anyone."

She threw her head back and groaned. "Jack, you sent all the threats, you are the face that everyone is chasing. Something tells me that you know perfectly well how to do any and all of the things that are laid at your feet. Shoot, you're taking credit for them!"

"The Joker is."

"Do you know how to rig a bomb?"

"Sure, I can make one right now out of the junk on your floor."

"Do you know how to fire a weapon? Kill someone with the items at hand? Manipulate the city?"

"Der, yup." He drawled, sliding back into his persona.

"Then you're admitting you did it?"

"No, no, no, I didn't…I didn't do it." He shook his head, slapping green hair on her car seat and smearing the dye.

She slammed her fists on the steering wheel, hitting the horn accidentally. She jumped, glanced around to make sure no one was out on the streets watching and decided to control herself. "I put my friends, job, and life on the line by giving you a chance to explain. You say you can do this, but you didn't, yet you're taking credit for it?" She growled and dug her nails into the car dash. "Brilliant, Holmes."

"No, there is a Joker, he does exist. I'm just…the face that the public associates with him. My choice."

"Dear and Merciful Heaven, why?"

"Because, if I don't this may never end. The real Joker, he wouldn't send out videos, threaten specific people on his own, no I know what he's thinking, doing, planning. I'm giving the people a chance. I'm keeping the law after him, and when I can, I step in."

"And he just…"she waved her hands, "let's you?"

"Yeahhhhh, just let's me. We have a bond."

"That's gross." He gave her a funny look and she wrinkled her nose. "Not that way."

"I live in his head, you have no idea." He sounded really depressed, the way he snapped between sane and wild was creeping Jasmine out a little. "Look into Operation 77, Unit 40, whatever you want to call it. I'll give you the next clue after that." He opened the door and slid out. Jasmine realized he hadn't been wearing a seatbelt. Riding with her it qualified as suicidal. "Kid, I'm sorry, if I tell you, you're as good as dead. Believe me; you need to follow the cookie crumbs like a faithful little sugar addict. Now scram and get some sleep, think up a few lies. You're going to need them."

She watched him shuffle walk into the shadows, hunched over, ignoring the rain. With a growl that cascaded into a scream, she turned on the wipers and drove home.