It had been a week since Lucy's disappearance, and despite consoling words from Alfred, John felt responsible for her predicament. Bags were forming under his eyes and a heavy weight in his heart was dragging him deeper into depression.

Since he had found Lucy lying helpless on the beach, John felt a responsibility towards her. It sounded selfish, sure, but deep down he knew all this must have happened for a reason. And he was certain he could save Lucy from whatever inner turmoil she was struggling against.

The nurse who was injured didn't notice anything different about Lucy's demeanor. In fact, she relayed to John that she couldn't believe Lucy had it in her to knock her out cold... Lucy was far from fully recovered.

Now finding her was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. If she didn't want to be found, she'd find ways to stay hidden- and so far that's exactly what she had done. The tracking beacon on her suit had been deactivated since Halloween and it was nowhere to be found. Instead of looking for Lucy, John knew he needed to track down one of the two men she would be searching for.

The Joker, of course, knew how to disappear. He had been dangerously quiet since Halloween. As much as John wanted to beat the living daylight out of him, he instead took up searching for Carmine Falcone.

John was certain that she was on the hunt for her father. It seemed obvious in hindsight that her vengeful ways wouldn't be swayed by consoling words and a bit of vigilantism. She needed to find out one way or the other that killing her father was the wrong answer… and every part of him hoped she would keep her hands clean. Otherwise, he couldn't do anything to help her. One's conscience never recovered from taking another's life.

After another week of searching, John finally found a promising lead. Following one of his nightly escapades, his alter ego had snatched up an unsuspecting mobster. Dangling the man off the side of a building was enough to make him sing.

Apparently, many were praising The Penguin for rebuilding the city's criminal enterprise. Paying Arkham's escaped convicts to do his grunt work, the Penguin's mob had a new and improved infrastructure. The man was unorthodox, to say the least, but he ran a capable operation.

However, loyalists of Falcone and his predecessor Maroni were hard to stomp out. There were still many factions refusing to acquiesce to the new system. The rumors of Falcone's imminent return to the throne only added fuel to the fire. The man mentioned an upcoming 75th anniversary dinner for Gotham's Italian-American Organization at their old clubhouse just west of the Narrows. John could think of no better place for Falcone to reappear than there.

The event was only a few days away. Making a few adjustments to his bike in the batcave, John looked over at Lucy's beat up motorcycle from Halloween night. He decided not to fix it after her disappearance. It was symbolic of the fact that she was still gone, and in many ways, just as broken. He wasn't sure if he'd find her at the Italian American club, but it was worth a shot.

. . . . . . . . . .

Disappearing back into the city was easier than I thought. Once I was able to bum a ride off of someone willing to chauffeur a gal in a beautiful dress and fur coat, I traveled north of the city to Chinatown. With a little bartering I secured a small room for rent above a hot pot restaurant. The owners were an older couple from Hong Kong who allowed me room and board in exchange for my help around the restaurant.

I knew very little Cantonese, but they took a liking to me quickly. Mr. and Mrs. Kwan had daughters living abroad, so having a young woman take one of their spare rooms was comforting to them.

I had known for quite some time about the upcoming 75th anniversary of Gotham's Italian American Club. We had attended every annual celebration up until the year of my mother's death. Memories of martinis, gold chains, old men with greasy hair and flashy women stuck in my mind like the stench of old cigar smoke stuck to old clothing.

When the night came, I stood at my tiny bedroom dresser, fiddling with hairspray and bobby pins. My short, dark hair was more maintenance than I had bargained for, but I had to look my best in order to pass the sniff test. I knew deep down that this is where my father would be. Since his return to sanity, it was only a matter of time before he came back to fight his way back to the top. He had many loyal followers, and most of them would be at the clubhouse tonight.

It was nearly 7:00 pm as I walked down the stairs and into the hot pot restaurant. Mrs. Kwan insisted I try on some of her daughter's clothes for the "birthday party" I told them I was attending. They were too kind and caring for their own good. I hoped their daughters knew how lucky they were to have parents like that.

"Aiya!" Explained Mr. Kwan, who had turned the corner to deliver some fresh tripe and tofu skins to a table. Mrs. Kwan heard the commotion and ran over to the stairs. "Oh, Michelle! You look-ah so beautiful!" she said in broken english, her eyes admiring the dress I had picked out from her oldest daughter's closet. It was a red Qipao that must have been a decade old. But it was less suspicious than the attire I had left the opera in. That would have been an easy giveaway regardless of my hairstyle.

I smiled and nodded.

"Thank you, Auntie" I said politely - an endearing term she had asked me to call her. She smiled back at this.

One of the younger male waiters snuck a glance at me, just missing a full-on collision with a steaming plate of noodles coming out of the kitchen. Mr. Kwan scolded him in Cantonese and the boy quickly ducked back into the dining room, bowing apologetically.

"We need to find you a husban'!" Mrs. Kwan chided. "You getting old! Such a pretty face!" She was a very straightforward woman. I liked that.

"Maybe someday" I said, throwing on a winter coat and heading to the door.

"You need money for cab?" Mrs. Kwan asked, walking me out.

"No no, I'll be fine. Thank you, Auntie" I said with a smile. She patted me on the shoulder and watched me walk towards the main road as I flagged down a taxi. Before long I was out of sight.

. . . . . . . . . .

I had the cab drop me off at a bar close to the Italian American club. It would be too suspicious for me to show up without a date and I knew that there would be a few stragglers around the area, boozing before the party began. Italians were all about their "happy hour".

The bar was dimly lit and littered with middle aged men, smoking and drinking their stiff drinks. An excellent place to pick up a "date".

My heels clicked and I walked towards the bar and took an empty seat. Right on cue as if in a film noir, the man behind the bar walked over to me while cleaning a dirtied glass.

"What can I get yah, miss?" he said in a raspy city accent.

"One martini and whatever this beautiful young lady wants," interrupted a man from behind me. I turned to look at him. Twice my age and balding. He looked rich, important and was definitely going to the celebration. So I played along.

"Make that two martinis," I said politely. The bartender nodded and pulled out two fresh glasses.

The middle aged man motioned to the bar stool next to me and I nodded. Taking the seat, he cleared his throat.

"I haven't seen you around here, beautiful. New to the area? I hope you aren't here all alone…a place like this isn't safe for young ladies like yourself."

"My date stood me up," I lied. "He promised we would go to the Italian American Club for dancing and jazz… Now I'm not sure what to do."

"Don't worry sweetheart" he said as our drinks arrived, "I'll get you in.. as long as you'll save a dance for me" he said with a wink, holding up his glass to mine. I smiled, nodded and did the same.

However, as I put the glass to my lips, it was quickly yanked away.

I gasped as I watched another man down the glass, placing it back on the table.

"There you are, missy!"

The voice didn't match the man's body. I watched a slender, well dressed man with a handsome jawline lick away a stray drip of alcohol from his lips. The gesture gave him away.

My eyes widened.

Clean shaven with scars hidden under a fresh set of skin colored foundation, there he stood. In disguise. Strikingly handsome. Far from the terrifying face that I was used to. It was the Joker.

He grabbed my arm, pulling me abruptly from the seat.

"Excuse me!" the balding man said, standing. "Just who do you think you are?!"

I stared at him, also hoping for an explanation.

"The better question is who are you? This little lady isn't old enough to be drinking in this fine establishment-ah."

The old man gulped nervously, staring me down.

"You wouldn't wanna be caught boozin' up a gal your daughter's age, eh?" The Joker said, raising an eyebrow. Fixing his hat on his head, the man took his leave, mumbling something as he went.

As he left, I made eye contact with the Joker. I didn't know whether or not I was more surprised to see him or upset that he was interrupting my plans.

"How old do you think I am?!" I hissed.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me towards the front of the room.

"Stop!" I yelled, raising my voice a little too loud. People were starting to stare and that's when I felt his knife poking at my side.

"Stop, heh…. Stop it, you're too much!" I said, feigning some kind of awkward laugh.

"Don't want to ruin your pretty little getup, but you're testing my patience" he said, tightening his grip on me and pulling me towards the door. I stumbled over myself but his grip was firm.

Walking me down the stairs, a limousine was waiting out front. I almost scoffed at the scenario but he beat me to the punchline.

"Sorry, no rusty getaway van this time. Fresh out of those" he said, opening the door and throwing me into the backseat. He crawled his way in, slamming the door behind him and pounding on the hood to signal to the driver to start moving.

I was finally able to take a good look at him. He seemed to be giving me a similar up and down. I wasn't sure if he was flaunting his usual grin or sizing me up. His newest disguise looked far too… normal. A lion hiding in sheep's clothing. Maybe this is why Ted Bundy was able to stay undetected for so long. Attractive psychopaths had a dangerous advantage on the unassuming.

"Well, well, well. Look at you. All dressed up" he said, knife still very close to my naked arms.

"What are you doing? Let me go, you're ruining my plans!"

"Oh Lucy…" he said, feigning disappointment. "I thought you'd be excited to see me! What happened? Didn't like our little rendezvous in the hospital?" He grinned mischievously as he inched closer to me.

Flustered, I raised my hand to strike him, but in an instant, he had pinned me down on the seat, knife digging dangerously into the side of my arm.

"You thought I'd just disappear after all that? No, no, no. We're just getting started, my dear.

He tilted his head, licking his scars. His makeup was beginning to wear off, revealing the harshness of his disfigured cheeks. Finally having my attention he adjusted his grip on me.

"You and me toots are going to say hello to good ole' daddio… It's not every day that the kids get dressed up for prom!"

My reaction must have amused him as he let out a high pitched giggle.

"Seriously, Joker… stay out of this."

He sighed as he sat up, pulling me with him. The limousine had come to a stop. I could only assume it was in some dark alley tucked away in the Narrows.

"You're way too predictable, Luce. Tell me you weren't going to go storming into ole' Napoli with nothing but a bit of feminine flair..."

"I can handle this on my own," I said defensively.

"Okay, so let's say you do the deed… it's done, he's dead… And then what? Is this a suicide mission? You gonna get yourself blown to smithereens? OR are you going to enjoy…. Every. Little. Second... Of his suffering?"

I realized his knife was still against my arm, making its way to the scar on my side.

"Death happens in an instant, Luce… but suffering… oh, suffering can last so much longer…."

I dared to inch away from him, but that only drew him closer.

"When I killed my father… like you will kill yours" he reminded, "I took my time to savor all his little emotions… that's why I use a knife, Luce… otherwise, it's over too fast."

I didn't break eye contact with him. I knew he was toying with me, testing my limits. He enjoyed watching me wade through these uncomfortable emotions between fear and attraction.

I felt the knife cut through my dress and into my stitched up wound. As I tried to let out a scream, he wrapped his hand around my mouth. I felt the warmth of my own blood as it soaked into my red dress.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" he said, licking his scar and watching me helplessly squirm.

He removed the knife from my side and his hand from my mouth, leaning back to enjoy my flustered state. I gasped for air, shaking, checking the wound. It was nothing serious… more of a warning.

I had wanted full control over this situation. However, Any freedom I thought I had was crushed in the instant I knew I couldn't put any strain on my new wound. The stitches were now ruptured and threatening to reopen.

"I'm doing this for your own good, Luce," he said, smoothing out his dark blue suit and jacket. "You want to just kamikaze your way into the joint? Die in honor? No, gorgeous, that's not how we do things. We're different, you and I."

With that he licked the blood away from his knife. I was dizzy from the push and pull of my emotions. Only minutes ago I was ready to take on the world… Now I felt like I could easily crumble to the ground.

"I'm going to show you what Gotham's finest class of criminals can really do…" he said, grinning through his slightly whiter, but still fairly yellow teeth.