The Joker dragged himself up. Between the bullet in his shoulder and the wound in his leg, everything seemed to hurt. He laughed half heartedly. Maroni's little bitch sure had some fight in her. He watched the old pickup truck drive away for a second, taking not of the license plate. Joker pulled out an old flip phone and held down the speed dial. "I need you to track down someone for me, Sam," he said to his henchman, "License plate 3B0-XD7." Pause. "A truck, I don't know. Find it." He hung up, and climbed into the car.
The girl's contact was tucked in the backseat. He was lucky she hadn't tried to climb back there; the game would have ended too soon. He had tucked the money into under his seat before she had arrived, and he started piling it back in, ignoring the growing pain in his shoulder and humming tunelessly. He then remembered the exchange. Maroni's bag lay on the passenger side dashboard. It felt almost empty. The Joker rummaged around it, finding only a blank greeting card. "250 Fifth Street, number 60." Joker grinned. Something at that address was worth five hundred thousand and he was going to find out. After he stopped ruining his suit, though.