Fic: Untitled, Nine
Hello.
Patrick, this is Richard. Richard, this is Patrick. How do you do? Shake hands. You’re going to be very good friends.
See-we’re going to play a little game. The winner gets to put a smile on the loser’s face. How’s that sound?
Not a lot of fun? Oh, it’ll be lots of fun. You just haven’t got the taste for it yet. Once you really savor those emotions, it’ll be so much fun.
The game-go fish. Simple game. You’ve all played, right?
Good. Here’s the deck of cards.
And here’s the knife.
Whoever find my card, wins.
Patrick lost.
He didn’t play the game.
You see-Harvey went for the cards. He was thinking about rules.
Dent understood. He grabbed the knife. He couldn’t make Harvey smile without a little help, so one of the clowns held him down.
Harvey thrashed and struggled and begged and cried about fairness and rules, but Dent understood.
He really enjoyed it. He really made a mess.
You can’t blame him-Dent hasn’t had much practice making people smile. Harvey’s face looked like it’d been run over by a lawnmower.
Then-Dent killed Harvey. On his own.
And Melvin killed Dent.
All right. Time to get down to business. Lots of work to do, people!
Who here’s had experience with parades?
These’re your nametags. We’re going to honor Commissioner Loeb’s death with a guard and killing. That’s straightforward.
You, you, and you-go find a truck driver. Two. Or a garbage disposal.
Ooh-better yet, find one of those hazmat trucks or an oil tanker. That’ll really make a splash.
Move!
I want everything in place. I’ve got a good feeling about the timing.
It’s all coming together.
And after we’ve killed the mayor, let’s go down to the ferries.
Six uniforms. Plus me. Makes seven. Lucky seven. So seven uniforms.
I’ve got a list here. List of names. Courtesy of Officer Wuertz.
Pick a name, pick a uniform. Listen carefully-pick ones that’re your size. I don’t want you looking out of place with a uniform that doesn’t fit.
Here’s their profiles-height, weight, and-oh look. There’s even photos.
We’ll stick them in Melvin’s apartment-it’ll have nice view of the parade. So they can hear.
We’ll stick them in there tonight-tomorrow’s the big celebration. Let them sit and wait.
Bring duct tape, blindfolds, rope.
And a timer.
A city up in arms.
Gotham’s mighty law enforcement, out to show their true colors.
So many snipers. Sharpshooters. Let’s count them.
Rows of officers. In uniform. Gotham’s finest.
Garcia-pathetic speech. Gotham deserves a better mayor.
“We must remember that vigilance is the price of safety.”
Interesting. What does he mean?
Another excuse to make more surveillance plans?
“Stand by.”
Standing.
“Honor. Guard. A-ten. Huh!”
Another excuse for more police on the streets?
“Port. Arms!”
You’re just exchanging one Mob, for another.
“Ready. Aim. Fire!”
One set of rules, for another.
“Ready. Aim. Fire!”
I have no rules.
Ding.
And the crowd goes wild.
It’s a standing ovation.
My best show yet.
Screaming and scattering.
Running for shelter.
All those neat lines a-helter a-skelter.
Sniping and searching and shooting each other.
Nothing like friendly fire to shake up a circus.
Cowering and showering and Gotham a-towering.
I love this job. I love this city. She lets me do things I can’t do anywhere else.
She really lets me put on a show. The audience couldn’t have been better.
Time to go.
I’ve got to prepare. Got to practice for my next act.
Wouldn’t want the audience to stop laughing.
Sooo…
Thomas has something very interesting to tell me.
He says that the Bat and the psycho had a little chat. A friendly conversation. He says that the freak is going to take off his mask.
He also says that Harvey plays interesting games. Harvey likes games of chance. Harvey likes to play the odds. Harvey likes to flip coins.
And
Harvey likes to yell. He gets an odd gleam in his eye when he’s about to kill someone.
Harvey got so upset that little Tommy got away.
What did I say?
I know the psychos when I see them.
This is where I take some chances.
This is where my plan could go a hundred different ways. Each with a hilarious outcome.
This is where I watch what he does.
Depending on what he chooses, the game changes.
But I can speculate.
If I read my freaks right, I know which script they’ll use.
There’s always the thrill of uncertainty.
I find that when Gotham adds her little twists to the plot, she never fails to make things better. Much better than anything I could ever dream of.
Like Gordon dead. That was unexpected.
Batman’s alone now.
Like me.