7
Gordon wondered why he spent his days sweltering and his nights huddled in a jacket. He glanced over at Jasmine, but she didn't seem to notice, her own jacket was worn solely to hide the two semi-autos and an occasional knife strapped between her shoulders. Right now it was probably buckled over her leggings, under her wraparound skirt. He often wondered why the knife was so special, almost a trademark. He never asked.
Jasmine's braid moved a little in the wind, strands coming loose and jabbing her eyes. She pushed them back, and kept her eyes fixed on the Bat Signal. Gordon often wished she'd quit being a cop and start a family. She was one of the gentlest people he knew, but also, one of the strongest. He had yet to find something she couldn't bounce back from.
Which was why he'd asked her to join him.
Suddenly, a rustle let them know a third person was on the roof, and Batman walked into the light.
"Here's the file," Gordon said, handing him a flash drive. "It should help. This is Jasmine Richards, by the way."
The man in the black costume gave a nod, eyeing her closely. She waved, and glanced at Gordon's face, the slight smile trying to hide behind the facial hair. "I think you and I were set up on a blind date, Batman. Sorry, I don't date."
The normally stern mouth twitched in the cowl. "Neither do I, Miss Richards."
"Bummer. It was nice to meet you, anyway."
Gordon sighed. "Okay, okay. I just thought it might be a good idea to have another person in the department you could reach. You never know what could happen." He peeked at them almost hopefully, and Jasmine laughed.
"Dude, not happening. No offence," she waved a hand in the general direction of the man hunched in the black cape.
"None taken," the rough voice answered almost laughingly.
The policeman cleared his throat. "There was another reason I asked Jasmine up here. She's working an angle on the Joker, thinks there might be a military connection. Would you be able to look at it for her?"
The shadowed eyes looked Jasmine over as if judging her ability to handle the task. "Do you have proof? Something for me to work with?"
She handed him an envelope with some of the documents printed off, and a couple of the photographs. "I'm running his name, but if there is a military background, I need a way to find it. As legal as possible would be nice, but I can live with myself if it isn't."
"Personal reasons?"
"Very." She ran a finger along her scar and looked back up to the Bat Signal.
He slid the envelope into a pocket where it instantly vanished. "I'll see what I can do. No promises."
"Didn't ask for any." She mused. "What can I do?"
"Be patient."
With that he was gone. She raised an eyebrow at her boss. He shrugged, and walked back towards the stairs. Jasmine leaned over and snapped off the light, then leaned over the wall, eyeing the cars moving below. She wondered how many families were riding together, or if it was only friends and solo acts. Maybe a date or two, there was a new line-up of films starting that night.
Tilting her head back, the young cop studied the sky, watching clouds drift by. The moon would blur or vanish, and then return, eyeing her back. She wondered what the moon saw, in the woman there below. Wondered if the moon thought about what could be, or if it dismissed humanity as a scurrying waste.
Laughing at her own fancy, Jasmine walked back inside and decided to go home.
She drove mindlessly, turning up the Skillet CD way too loud to avoid thinking anymore. The silence hurt when she got back to her apartment building, and she couldn't wait to turn on the radio just for a sound besides herself. She vowed to get a Television that weekend, not that she'd actually watch it. Noise, to avoid being alone. Sound, to keep her from going mad at her solitude.
Without really knowing when she'd decided to, she picked up the phone and dialed a number. It rang ten times, and went to voice mail.
"Hey, this is Brian, can't talk but leave your name and number, and I'll call as soon as I can."
Jasmine blew out a breath she didn't recall taking, and said in a rush, "Hey-Dad-it's-me-Jasmine-just-called-'cause-soemthing-happened-today-and-I-needed-to-talk-to-you-please-please-please-call-back-this-time. Bye, love you."
She hit the red button and studied the painting on her wall. She had done it herself, all warm colors. She'd thrown paint on willy-nilly for a splattered background, and then painted a man in an overcoat and hat as a foreground. The splatters were red, orange, brown; the man was jet black with no features. It looked terrifyingly real all of a sudden, and she couldn't stand to look at it. It looked too much like a mobster in front of a wall where he'd lined up his victims. Or like the Joker….
Jasmine ripped it off the wall and turned it around, slamming her fist into the light switch and the room went dark.