In Another Life XV
Whatever happens tonight, the smile stays on.
That's what Jack Napier thought to himself as he watched the other gangsters being searched, and any weapons they had on them being confiscated. Jack could feel himself tense up already at the thought of losing his gun, even temporarily, and especially in such a strained situation.
The bodyguard approached him, gesturing for him to raise his arms. Jack obeyed, and the man patted him down. Jack giggled. "Sorry, kinda ticklish," he said, smiling at the man, who glared back at him. The bodyguard removed the gun from inside Jack's jacket, and then patted down his waist to make sure no other weapons were concealed anywhere.
"If you're gonna stick your hand down my pants, you can at least buy me dinner first," commented Jack.
"Shut up, Jack!" hissed his boss, Salvatore Valestra, who had already been patted down, and who waited for him by the door to the adjacent room with an irritable look on his face.
"Just trying to lighten the mood, boss," said Jack, smiling at him as the bodyguard stepped back, and nodded into the room.
"The last thing we need here is your pathetic attempts at humor," growled Valestra, who strode into the room with Jack following. "This is a serious business."
"I dunno, boss, I don't think it is really," said Jack, shrugging. "We're all here, all the biggest and most dangerous gangsters in Gotham City, and for what?" he asked, gesturing around the room where several tough-looking men sat at a large table. "To plan what we're gonna do about some nutjob in a Halloween costume. It's kinda funny when you think about it."
"It ain't funny," growled one of the gangsters, as Jack took his seat next to his boss. "It ain't remotely funny that this psycho thinks he can just show up in our town and take the law into his own hands. What do we pay the cops for, I'd like to know?"
"Last I checked, you paid 'em to look the other way at your drug dealing, Maroni," said Jack. "And you, Carmine, are you still into human trafficking?" he asked, turning to another gangster. "That must be a very rewarding business, helping poor, lost souls find a new home."
"Shut up, Jack," muttered Carmine Falcone, flicking his cigar ash at him. "It's more profitable than your petty crimes, I guarantee it."
"But not more fun, I wouldn't think," replied Jack, smiling at him. "And what's the point of crime if you're not going to have a little fun with it?"
"The point is to make money, you idiot," retorted Falcone, standing up. "Which has been more difficult than usual lately, and which is the reason why we're all here. I know we haven't always been the best of friends, shall we say…"
"Understatement of the century, Carmine!" chuckled Jack. "How many of your guys have we taken out? And I don't mean for a nice dinner!"
"Shut up, Jack!" hissed Valestra, kicking him under the table as he saw Falcone's men tense up around them.
"But the time has come to put aside our differences," continued Falcone, gesturing at his men to stand down. "There's a new threat in this town, a threat to all of us, that forces us to band together in these desperate times. I've asked you all here because I'm asking the Three Families of Gotham City, Falcone, Maroni, and Valestra, to call a truce until the Batman is disposed of."
"Dibbs on doing that!" exclaimed Jack, shooting his hand up.
"Sal, if you can't make him shut up, I'm gonna shoot him in the face," snapped Maroni.
"With what gun, pal?" asked Jack. "We're all unarmed here. You'd have to kill me with your bare hands, and I doubt you'd be able to get those around my throat considering how fat they are. You wanna lay off the pasta, by the way – it's bad for the heart."
"I said shut up!" shouted Maroni, getting to his feet quicker than Jack would have expected from a man of his size. "You take it back or you're dead!"
"Jack, apologize," ordered Valestra.
Jack shrugged. "I'm sorry for saying you have fat hands," he said. "They're exactly in proportion to the rest of your body."
"Calm down, everyone," ordered Falcone. "I don't want this truce broken before it's even begun because of the actions of a few troublemakers. If you wanna fight, you take it outside."
Maroni sat back down slowly, while Valestra studied Falcone carefully. "You serious about this truce?" he asked. "This ain't just a trick to make us lay off your guys?"
"None of us are gonna have any guys left to fight each other with if the Bat keeps doing what he does," retorted Falcone. "I'm dead serious. No more fighting amongst ourselves until we get rid of the Bat. Agreed?"
"You know you can always trust the word of a gangster," commented Jack. "They're such honest, upstanding people whose word is their bond."
"I swear on my mother's grave," said Falcone, studying the other gangsters. "I won't start nothing until the Bat is dead."
Maroni nodded. "Truce," he agreed.
"Sal?" asked Falcone, turning to Valestra.
Valestra nodded slowly. "Agreed," he said. "But we can't focus all our energy on taking down the Bat, or we'll be broke in no time. I'm continuing my criminal operations, and I suggest you do the same."
"For as long as we can," agreed Falcone. "We mind our business and stay out of each other's way. And kill the Bat."
"Kill the Bat," repeated Maroni, holding out his hand.
"Kill the Bat," agreed Valestra, shaking it.
"Well, now that that's decided, drinks all around," said Falcone, gesturing to his men. They disappeared and returned with several bottles of wine, and several glasses, which they distributed among the gangsters.
"You gotta taste it first, Carmine, to make sure it ain't poisoned," said Jack, smiling at Falcone as he held out his glass to him.
Falcone took it, and downed it in one gulp. "Believe me, Jack, poisoning would be too good for the likes of you," he muttered, grabbing another one. "That's what people do to rats, and you're a much lower form of life."
"I love it when you talk dirty, Carmine!" sighed Jack, taking another glass of wine. "Did you like the smiles I left on the remains of your guys down by the docks? I just think it's a nice way to greet someone – a smile makes everything better, even a mob hit."
"I think there oughta be institutions for people like you," retorted Falcone. "Sicko."
"There you go again, making me blush!" chuckled Jack. "Well, I'm flattered, Carmine, but Italians ain't really my type. Still, it's nice we have this time now to get to know each other a little bit better. I tell ya, it's almost a shame we gotta kill the Bat – he's the one responsible for bringing us all together, after all. We should really be thanking him for making the Three Families into one, big, happy family!"
Falcone said nothing, heading over to join Valestra, who was smoking in a corner. "I don't know how you put up with that clown," he muttered, lighting another cigar and nodding at Jack.
"He's a pain in the ass, but he is the best shot in Gotham," replied Valestra. "Still, there are some nights where it's almost not worth putting up with him."
"I don't trust anyone that unpredictable," muttered Falcone. "You can never be sure they won't turn on you or something."
"Nah, Jack don't have any ambition," replied Valestra, shrugging. "He wouldn't want to run the gang – too much responsibility. All he cares about is having a little fun. And since his idea of fun is inflicting horrible violence, he gets plenty of that in my employ."
"Better you than me, Sal, is all I can say," replied Falcone. "You saw what he did to my guys?"
"What, the smiles? Yeah, he's a freak," agreed Valestra. "But gangsters can't be choosy, Carmine. You're never gonna have a lot of stable, respectable people lining up for this kinda work."
"I don't ask for stable and respectable," replied Falcone. "Just not insane. Which Jack Napier definitely is."
"No arguments here," agreed Valestra, watching Jack as he lined up various wine glasses on the table and began trying to play them. The other gangsters watched him with narrowed eyes from the shadows, and Valestra sighed, draining his glass.
"Jack, let's go," he muttered, reaching for his hat. "We'll take our guns back, Carmine."
"Of course," said Falcone, gesturing one of his men forward. "Let my guys escort you out, and you'll get 'em back outside."
"Still don't trust us, huh, Carmine?" chuckled Jack.
"I'd have to lose my mind before I trust you, Jack," retorted Falcone. "And that ain't happening anytime soon."
"You never know, do you?" asked Jack with a grin. "Besides, some would say this truce is a crazy idea, and so is trusting gangsters not to break it."
"We won't," promised Valestra, shoving Jack out the door. Once they were both safely outside, the henchman returned their weapons, and then slammed the door in their faces.
Jack kissed his gun before sheathing it back in his holster, whispering, "Missed you, baby. I promise I'll never let you go again."
Valestra rolled his eyes. "I'm heading back to the hideout, and you should too – we got that shipment of guns coming in bright and early," he said, checking his watch.
"Well, the night's still young, Sal," said Jack. "And I got places to be. But I'll be there tomorrow morning, don't you worry. I know I never do!" he laughed, as he headed off into the wet, dark night.
He whistled as he walked, his smile never leaving his face, as he headed out of the run down areas of Gotham into its more prosperous restaurant district.
He stopped at an all-night diner, and pushed open the door. It was empty except for a young waitress leaning against the counter, reading what looked like a very dense textbook.
A bell rang as he entered, but she didn't look up. Jack grinned, taking a seat at the counter opposite her, but she still didn't look up. He reached out a hand and gently tilted her chin up from the book to look at him. "Hey, what's a guy gotta do to get some service around here?" he asked.
The waitress smiled at him. "Let me think about that," she replied, looking back down at her book. "And I'll get back to you."
"Whatcha reading, a dictionary?" he asked. "Looks like it."
"This is my psychology textbook," she said, holding it up. "Studies in Abnormal Psychology, Volume 3."
"I didn't know there was enough abnormal psychology to write three books about," commented Jack. "Who knew there were so many crazy people out there?"
"I did, but then I do work at an all-night diner," she replied, grinning at him. "We get all kindsa crazies in here."
Jack chuckled as she left the book to fetch a pot of coffee, which she poured for him. "Anyway, I got finals coming up, so I gotta hit the books," she said, returning her attention to the textbook.
"And once you pass those, you'll be a real, qualified shrink, huh?" he asked.
"I wish," she retorted. "I got a few more years of college, unfortunately. And then there's medical school if I wanna be a proper psychiatrist."
"Doesn't seem worth it to me," commented Jack. "But I guess shrinks do make a lotta dough."
"I ain't doing it for the money," she said. "I'm doing it to help people. I wanna have a real rewarding career, and there's nothing more rewarding than that."
"I can think of a lotta things more rewarding," retorted Jack. "It's all wrong, y'know. Pretty girl like you, spending your life trying to help freaks and weirdos."
"How do you know I ain't a freak or a weirdo?" she asked, grinning at him.
"Oh, so you're doing it to help yourself," said Jack, nodding. "Well, that I get, toots. It's all this helping others crap I don't."
"If that's true, why do you always offer to pick me up and drive me home after my shift?" she asked.
"Because Gotham is a dangerous place for a young woman on her own," replied Jack. "There's all kindsa psychos out there, including this Batman guy. I wouldn't feel right knowing you were out there alone without someone to protect you from him."
"Yeah, I'd like to see you go up against Batman," she retorted.
"Would you?" he asked, leaning forward.
She laughed at what she presumed was a joke on his part. "Drink your coffee and stop being silly, Mr. J," she said, returning her attention to the book.
"I ain't being silly – I'm serious," he said. "You don't think I can take him?"
"I think he only fights bad guys," she retorted. "Which you ain't."
"I ain't?" he repeated. "How do you know?"
"Because you're too sweet," she replied, smiling at him. "And funny. You ain't the criminal type."
"Learn that in your abnormal psychology books, did you?" he asked.
"That's right," she said. "The criminal mind is dark and disturbed, not fun and happy like yours. That's what Professor Crane says."
"He's an idiot," retorted Jack.
"He is not," she retorted. "He's one of the most distinguished scholars in his field…"
"Well, that confirms it," interrupted Jack. "What do a buncha eggheads know about crime?"
"A lot more than I do," she retorted. "Which is why they're the teachers, and I'm the student. Now quiet – I'm trying to study."
"Not a nice way to talk to your customer, toots," he replied. "I should walk right outta here with the kinda crappy customer service I've received tonight."
"Ok," she said, returning her attention to her book. "Then at least I'll have peace and quiet. Nobody ever comes in this late except you."
"Yeah, ain't that a shame?" asked Jack, in a tone that implied the opposite. "I get you all to myself, when you ain't distracted by your book, of course."
She kept reading, and Jack stood up, heading behind the counter and helping himself to some water glasses. He filled these to varying degrees of fullness, and then arranged them on the counter.
"You making more dishes for me to clean up?" she demanded, looking up.
"Nope," he replied, moving his fingers along the rims of the glasses and playing a song. "I'm serenading you."
She laughed, shutting the book and smiling at him. "That's a neat trick. How did you learn it?"
"Years and years of practice," he said. "See, we can't all waste our lives in college, toots."
"You just waste 'em on a random talent?" she asked.
"Not a waste," he replied. "Not if it makes a pretty girl smile."
She did smile, watching him play, and he was pleased to see her wide, blue eyes focused on him, rather than on her book.
"Got a favorite song?" he asked.
"I got a lotta favorite songs," she replied. "None that you probably know."
"How's that? Think I'm too old to know modern music?" he asked.
"What makes you think I like modern music?" she asked, grinning at him. "I've always preferred older things. Older songs, older movies…"
"Older guys?" he suggested.
She blushed slightly. "What do you think?" she asked.
"I don't think," he retorted. "But I do hope."
She smiled, blushing again as he continued to serenade her with the water glasses. "Well, I gotta head out early tonight – gotta be up bright and early for a job tomorrow morning," he said at last, glancing at his watch and standing up.
"What kinda work do you do? I don't think you've ever told me," she said.
"Imports," he replied. "We got a shipment coming in early tomorrow. But I thought I'd stop by to see you and brighten up your otherwise long, dull, and lonely night."
"I always appreciate it, Mr. J," she said, smiling at him.
He grinned, heading for the door, and she cleared her throat suddenly. "You need to pay for the coffee," she said, holding out her hand. "Plus tip."
"Tip?" he repeated. "You think you deserve a tip after you buried your nose in your book instead of engaging with the customer? If anything, I deserve the tip for playing the water glasses."
"All I know is I don't get paid enough here, and college don't come cheap," she retorted. "And you come here practically every night, so you gotta have some disposable income. Otherwise you could make yourself coffee at home."
"I prefer the company here," he replied.
"Which means I deserve a tip, right?" she asked. "Since I'm the reason you're here and all."
He chuckled, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing several bills. He approached her, and then waved his hands, making the bills disappear. "Guess where your tip went," he said.
"Up your sleeve," she retorted.
"Nah, behind your ear," he said, reaching around and appearing to pull a bill out of her ear.
She grabbed his wrist, and then reached into his sleeve. "And up your sleeve," she said, pulling the rest of the money out.
Jack chuckled. "Smart kid. You'll make a helluva shrink."
"Not anytime soon, I told you," she sighed. "I'm stuck in this dump for a long while yet."
"Good," he said, smiling at her and tipping his hat. "Goodnight, Harley."
"Night, Mr. J," said Harley, smiling after him as he headed back out into the cold, wet, Gotham night.