Author's note: Ok, so before we can properly begin, I must warn y'all that this started as a challenge posted on the video "Gangsta Paradise" of Jukebox (with a 1920's version of the song). There was a comment about making a fic of our caped-crusader during the Prohibition era and well, let's just say things got really interesting from there. I did a lot of thinking about the script and decided to do something 'simple' for starters. If it goes well, we'll go deeper into the bat-cave. This story is dedicated to the marvelous M. Reaves, who wrote some of the best episodes of Batman and D&D.
Several of the roles and details of the classic Batman are changed for plot purposes.
I hope you enjoy!
1. The Arkham Pig
It was nine o'clock on Saturday and the regular crowd shuffled in. A set of red curtains shone over the black and white chess patterned floors of the speakeasy; the faint scent of Piss Panther made its way from the floors below as all tables were taken and a lonely super-trooper lighted up the stage. It was raid night, a night when anything could happen in the old quarter of Park Avenue, also known as "Alley of Crime"; but the owner wasn't really looking forward to anything else but the show. Moonshine production had gotten slow since Xmas and there wasn't really any hope of turning that around in the following weeks.
Prohibition had made its way into Gotham's town hall, police department and the on-going gang war. No one actually remembered when it actually started, but everyone in town knew that it could last another hundred years for sure. Carmine Falcone and his whole clan weren't going to let his empire fall to the Stromwell, and much less to any other small competitor like Zuko or Fish Mooney. Hence why, almost every day, news about a shooting or an unsolved crime appeared on press. Not like it mattered to the owner of "The Arkham". He had enough problems dealing with the local hero, Sergeant Bullock; his moonshine shipments and the many clients of his club. Luckily for him, the stage was owned by Pamela Isley, the most wanted red-haired woman in all of Gotham. And on that particular Saturday, her presence was just perfect to give soundtrack to the events that were about to unfold.
The thick curtain of cigar smoke was so dense, that you could cut it with a knife, two rounds of Panther Piss had barely made it from the last brawl and only a small table stood aside from all the hustle in the bar. Its only occupant had made it smoothly since the beginning of the evening, at least only he found himself visited by an unexpected guest. One he had not seeing in years.
"Sind sie nicht eine augenweide? Der britische Schoßhund" the client smiled fondly and almost devilishly, almost as if he had been waiting to have that visit for ages. "Lange nicht gesehen"
"Guten Abend, Herr Doktor" the man, dressed in black, nodded and sat on the opposite side of the table. "I see you have been busy"
"I've always seen myself occupied, my dear boy. But I must say I'm surprised to find you here of all places. This watering hole isn't for folks like you, Herr Alles für Heimat und Land" joked the drinker in his white clothing. "Too Yankee"
"I could say the same about you, Herr Doktor, but it does suit you. A little too much, to tell the truth" his guest didn't seemed bothered by this.
"Remember when we first met? I told you, mein junge, that I wasn't interested in the ordinary. People like that are everywhere, even in this place, with their boring lives and their trivial minds. I had enough about those during my studies in Vienna. Beim Teufel, das habe ich! I promised myself I would find only the extraordinary" the scientist seemed really determined. "And you, my friend, are NOT"
"Then it's a marvelous coincidence that I came to tell you that I'm going to rat you this time, Doc" the visitor gave out a cold smile. "You might own the syringes but not the patients"
"Maybe, Herr Pennyworth. Just maybe. We'll see about it, won't we?" the doctor didn't change his expression.
"By all means, Herr Strange"
"Power and the money, money and the power
Minute after minute, hour after hour
Everybody's runnin', but half of them ain't lookin'
It's going on in the kitchen, but I don't know what's cookin'
They say I gotta learn, but nobody's here to teach me
If they can't understand it, how can they reach me?
I guess they can't, I guess they won't
I guess they front, that's why I know my life is out of luck, fool"
A little look inside the machine to see the ghost.
More to come real soon!