Slipping Into Entropy - Part 9
It didn't take very long to find a new lair; there were scumholes aplenty in a city this ragged and corrupt, even with all the recent attempts to clean it up. There was always a place where some chump wouldn't be missed and would rot in secrecy while another masqueraded in his skin. Bolting and barricading the entrance to his new base, Joker collapsed in a wet, bloody mess on the apartment's couch.
The wounded man slept through most of the rest of the night until the pale dawn, waking stiff and aching. Grimacing and spitting curses at his bane and obsession, who he knew was responsible for the current creak to his bones, he rolled off the threadbare sofa and crawled his way into the bathroom. If only Batsy knew how much damn trouble he is... Scrambling and struggling to his feet, he pouted at the reflexion in the mirror. He'd have to disguise who he really was again for the next stage, but if it worked...
On the other side of the city, in a tower higher than many of the clouds, Bruce Wayne returned to his throne. He was welcomed and then scolded repeatedly on how close he had nearly come to killing himself by Alfred. Bruce took it in stride, his mind occupied with other things. He knew exactly how close he'd come to everything; getting killed, being caught unawares, giving in to his ever growing curiosity, and most of all, letting the Joker escape. Once again. He was sorely disappointed in himself, but he was ready to battle. If the Joker wanted a fight, he would give him one. The tiny hole in his head being cleaned by Alfred's careful hands was a pale comparison to what he'd had to endure to get to this point in his life. There was no way he was going to let the Joker take any more from him.
Bruce had a very fitful night. He wasn't entirely sure if he ever did sleep or if he'd simply imagined doing so. Alfred brought him coffee and distraction in the morning. Bruce ate and drank as he normally did, but there was no solace to be had in talks of upcoming media events and especially not Wayne Enterprises. Alfred knew this of course, and usually he didn't try to sugar coat things when their lives turned sour, but the Joker was someone whom he actually feared. He feared the effect this criminal was having on the young man he'd seen grow since he was a child. Alfred remembered many things about Bruce that Bruce may not have remembered himself. He was keenly aware of Bruce's fascination with the macabre, especially after his parents' death, which Bruce didn't take much stock of anymore. For a long time, Bruce had been a child engrossed with death, and as one does when they progress from boy to man, they put memories like that in the back of their minds to be forgotten until called forth by someone else. For Alfred, those years were still fresh in his memory. Though Bruce had grown much since then, he could still plainly see the fascinated eyes of that boy staring from the young man's face when he had peered at the Joker through a surveillance screen. He feared that Bruce would not realize it until it was too late.
It was a great deal more difficult robbing places in the day than under the murk of night, but just as enjoyable. He was certain the clerks would be awash in confusion later when they realized he'd taken no money, little of monetary value; simply things that were cheap and easily replaced. The bugger of it all, of course, was that he'd had to make multiple stops, thus putting the coppers a little bit more on their toes. It was nothing he couldn't handle, of course, but it was going to make the last stage a little more tricky. Sighing and grumbling as he was forced to wash his identity away for the second time in the recent days, he organized his new supplies and got to work. ...won't he be surprised...
Lucius called not long after Bruce woke and took breakfast; he had some reports on what information went missing the previous day at Wayne Ent. He didn't want to say much over the phone, but warned that Bruce would not be happy about his findings. This did not help the overall mood of either Bruce or his caretaker. Upon arriving at the massive tower, he set his composure into place. He'd been making calls all morning, freeing up space in warehouses and storage areas around the city should the research and development department of the company suddenly have to pack up shop should a certain someone tip off the police that they had been developing equipment for Gotham's masked vigilante.
The meeting with Lucius, though not as threatening as it had appeared in Bruce's worst imaginings, was not going smoothly. From what they could tell, the Joker stole accounting data. He hadn't touched R & D files, which were under perhaps the heaviest lock and key in Wayne Enterprises. What he'd gone after were files on the finances of the company. Bruce and Lucius, having previously encountered mishaps in this department with Coleman Reese, had eliminated or at least derailed its ties to the tech work they built for Batman. They spent hours that morning pouring over the funding trails. Most of their big projects, like the second Tumbler, the Bat-pod, and the short lived cellular sonar were routed through military development ties; a near perfect safeguard against prying eyes of the media. All Wayne Ent. had to do was occasionally put together a defense project for the government, and they had the best security cover in the United States. This however, much to Bruce's frustration, did not seem to be what the Joker had been interested in.
He wasn't pleased with the result, he had to say that. It wasn't that it wasn't good, wasn't convincing; it was, and there was no way anyone would be able to spot it until he let the cat out of the bag, so to speak. It was simply that, like the redying of his hair, it hadn't really been by his choice. It was a distasteful means to an end, though he knew the Bat would find it aggravating that he was more distressed by cosmetic changes than murdering someone to get what he wanted. Waiting for his handiwork to dry, he set about rewrapping his wounds and picking out the rest of the accoutrements.
Testing his "repairs", satisfied with how things had set, he began putting on the second layer, putting a few more realistic streaks of color through his (unfortunately) now-blond hair. The last time he'd been too quick, and Bruce had recognized him a little too quickly. It wouldn't do for it to happen a second time. Scrunching close to the mirror to work on the details, he had to keep from shooting his double a contemptuous look. It was a face he thought he'd never have to see again, although it had aged a bit since it had last seen light.
Finished with the last bits of blending, all that was left was the finishing touches. Tugging another set of stolen clothes on, fancier and sharper than he'd snatched before, he rubbed some of that styling crap that people seemed to be fond of into his hair, using it to mimic a bland, ordinary style as well as hide the unkempt, uneven cut to his locks. The look complete, he was left looking into the face of a stranger, one he hated. Forcing a grin, testing the hold of his handiwork, he let the expression slip away, satisfied that everything would stay in place. You'd better make this worth my while, Bat. I don't take disappointment lightly.
By the time lunch hour hit, Bruce still had no luck in discovering what the Joker was planning. It was possible he hadn't gotten what he'd set out to get from their company, but Bruce was no more relaxed by that thought than he was when he had awoken this morning. He knew the Joker had found something to use against him; he couldn't figure out what. He felt like they were running out of time. He would go out again as Batman that night, but night was a long way off and he was far too anxious for it. He was once again left frustrated at his wits' end, slumped in a corner while various board members filtered in and out around him. They held meetings about nothing Bruce could pay attention to, he was focused solely in his search and distracted all at once. By the later half of the day, the board had overturned Lucius' decision the previous day not to negotiate with one of their rival companies, and had bartered use of their labs for another healthy investment. Bruce was too frazzled and distracted to care what their rivals may or may not be up to. When his eyes had become too sore to stare between paper and laptop screens any longer, he got up and moved to the window.
Bruce couldn't shake his bad mood. After finding nothing, they had to resort to informing several of the company directors of the situation. While Lucius ran errands trying to take on most of the work, and Bruce tried to look as oblivious to the situation as possible while still sorting through the files, at least two of the directors escaped present company, talking frantically into their cells. Now Bruce feared they may have to go to press with this. Progress had halted, he and Lucius couldn't fathom what the Joker had intended to steal from them, and a few of the chair members were sweating in their suits. If he didn't get the word out, someone else would, and he'd rather the news be under his control. Admittedly, Bruce had always tried to stay as far away as possible from this side of the company, and he was out of his depth here.
Lucius knew what was on Bruce's mind before he had to say a word; the same thing had been on his mind all afternoon. Bruce had his forehead pressed against the wall length window overlooking Gotham when Lucius broke the ice.
"We're not going to be able to keep this under wraps for very much longer," Lucius' voice was always soothing, and coming from him that didn't sound so very horrible. He was right of course. Perhaps the most well known criminal of Gotham city had been suspected of breaking into their records and escaping with them. Speculation and fear was brewing outside of Wayne Tower since the previous night, and they had to address it.
Bruce closed his eyes, weighing the options in his head while Lucius waited at his side. He took a breath. "Call a press conference. We'll announce the break in, but don't name the suspect. Not now. I don't feel right about this."
Lucius nodded gravely and moved to address the room. Bruce continued to gaze out the window as though he had nothing to do with Lucius' decisions.
Tucking a few official-looking notes into his pocket to pull out at an opportune time, he had a hard time keeping a straight face as he left the apartment complex, opting to take the public transport instead of attracting inopportune attention ahead of schedule. It was actually an amazing difference, to be able to walk around freely without having to be careful of how the light hit him, to exist without attracting stares... but not really an experience he was keen on repeating. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry or violently assault all the oblivious, boring, conforming masses around him. Schooling his face into what he hoped was the blank, serious expression that seemed to be all the rage among the business elite, he couldn't quite keep the excited quiver from his step as he got closer to the company's headquarters.
It was almost impossible to stifle his hysterical laughter as he made it through the front doors. I wonder if this has ever been done before - less than 24 hours after the crime? Projecting the same aura of business-as-usual, it was a bit harder to wrangle the staff at the front desk into allowing him admittance so soon after a break-in, but that was the beauty of it; having dropped key facts about which records had been stolen and their respective departments, it didn't seem to occur to anyone to question whether he really was a financial expert that had been sent in. Nobody seemed to even dream that the culprit would waltz back in with another face to participate in what - he hoped - was a soon-to-be bombshell.
R
It wasn't long before every news station in the area had a camera and reporter arriving at Wayne Tower. The conference was set up in the lobby, security set themselves up at the entrances and exits, and Lucius was center stage. Bruce stood off to the side, a figure of support, but assumedly without any real knowledge to add to the situation. As people and equipment filtered in, Bruce's nerves began to act up. There was nothing about this situation that he liked.
Standing off to one side, he shuffled through his 'notes' and concentrated on looking very legitimate and busy. Yes, yes, I belong here, nothing to see, move along... heeeeeeeheheh.... Snatching a pair of reading glasses from a distracted assistant to help his disguise, he perched them on the end of his nose, keeping his face buried in papers and watching events only out of the corners of his eyes. His favorite knife felt exceptionally heavy in his pocket, itching to spring out and fulfill its purpose, but that would have to wait. Not too soon. Not until we have all the cameras in place and the set is complete... His tongue darted out without him noticing, his mind too busy waiting for the perfect moment to spring the trap.
Bruce's eyes swept over the crowd. Reporters and cameras lined the front and aimed their equipment at Lucius who began addressing them in cool, sober tones. Cameras flashed and clicked, microphones were held stretched toward them, but the crowd was respectfully silent during Lucius' speech. They were getting good news, perhaps not the top notch breaking quality they hoped for in their dreams, but trouble at Wayne Ent. made for good drama. Bruce stood still at Lucius' side, hands clasped together in front of his trousers and a serene but somber expression plastered across his face. He had practiced it in front of the bathroom mirror on occasion.
Lucius told of the robbery in plain, matter of fact statements. An unknown suspect, disguised as an employee, had broken into one of their departments and seized confidential company information. They did not know who the man was. They did not know why he had stolen what he had. They did not know what he had been after. No one had been injured in the event.
Doing his best impression of a studious aide coming forward with important information, he waited until the elderly man had said his piece before quietly interrupting. Stepping forward from his position behind them, he caught Bruce's sleeve as he went, pulling the two of them up to the podium in front of Lucius. "We actually have received a bit more news on the matter. The stolen documents were, apparently, from the Finances department, and the.... eheh.. the information therein... eheheheh... Oh hells, I'm no good at this shit."
Taking advantage of the shock appearing on the faces of everyone present, he snaked one arm quite obviously around Bruce's waist, giving him a cross between a cheerful smirk and a leer. "Your best buddies in the Board Room Club have been being very naughty with your money. Right under your nose. You just haven't noticed thus far because you were busy being naughty...elsewhere," he purred at the billionaire, hand moving lewdly down from his waist in front of the cameras while the grin widened, becoming more familiar in that unfamiliar face. "I'm sorry to be such a distraction, but you really should be more attentive. It's the little details that... come back to bite you in the end," he continued, leaning closer to Bruce as he went.
All the wrong alarms went off in Bruce's head at once. What -- the fuck!? He had not recognized the man at first, stepping forward out of the crowd like he belonged there, moving into Bruce's space like it was his business, pulling him to the podium only to reveal....that hideous laughter. Guttural tones slipped into what had been a pleasant voice only a moment ago, and Bruce was caught unable to believe his eyes when he recognized that tone. The threats coming out of the man's mouth didn't make sense until he did.
By then the impostor's hand had roamed down the front of his pants and his breath was in Bruce's ear. A million flashes blinded him from anything but honey colored hair and unblemished skin and bright. fucking. green. eyes, and Bruce was suddenly livid.
"Get off of me," he snarled, loud enough to be heard above the sudden volume of the gathered press. He brought a knee up into the other man's groin and his hands flung the man away from him. Once there was some space between them, he got a good look at the man. He had hair like straw, tan skin, expressive eyes that were shooting daggers in Bruce's direction. He wore a suit not very different from the one Bruce wore; his hands were bare. His face was bare. There was no makeup, no scars, not a scratch. For a male, his skin looked unnaturally even. Was it makeup? Bruce tried to shake himself out of this stupor. Of course there was a man under all the Joker's paint, to think he'd never see the Joker take another form was foolish, utterly foolish. It was the difference between night and day, the man before him and the one he'd wished to rip to pieces last night; just like the difference between Batman and Bruce Wayne. Unable to shake his nerves, he moved forward anyway, seizing the Joker's wrists.
Momentarily winded as Bruce's knee connected and he got tossed aside, tears of laughter and mirth dropped from his eyes as a laugh fought its way out of him, insane grin spread across his face once more. As soon as he felt fingers clasp his wrist his other hand moved, knife sniking out of its black handle and threatening the restricting arm. "...ah-ah-ah. Hands off if you don't want to lose a few fingers, love," he growled, pausing deliberately at the last just to toy with the man. Struggling back to his feet, he was well aware that the media were now all eyes and ears for the events unfolding. "And what fun would be lost in the bedroom then, hmm?"
Bruce wouldn't let his eyes follow the Joker's when they flickered to the crowd. He knew they were watching, and he was seething. He would not play scared for the Joker nor for the cameras. He backed off from the knife, but held his ground, painfully aware that he couldn't take the Joker out as Bruce Wayne without a miracle accident to blame. There was really only one thing he could do.
Head cocked to the side, he considered the Joker - full with contained glee, and put on his most bemused tone. "If you really want to see my bedroom, perhaps you shouldn't be waving a knife in my face." He raised an eyebrow, hoping to keep the other man on the subject of sex and what those with cameras would assume to be one of Mr. Wayne's exotic affairs gone awry.
The grin widened, tongue flicking out for a split second. "Oh, I already have. I've seen a great deal of the many rooms you... reside in. But that's not the point. The point, Mr. Wayne," he drawled, raising the knife closer and closer to his own face, "is that you don't pay attention. You ignore things, choose not to acknowledge things, and that can be very dangerous indeed. Things like your Board members lining their own pockets with stolen or dirty money. Things like who your... friends and family... really are. Oh. And things like this."
Much to the breathless gasps of the crowd surrounding the little stage, it looked like he had just shoved the knife right into his own cheek. Easing the prosthetics loose that he'd used to cover his scars, he had both sides ripped off in a matter of seconds, dropping the pieces like trash to the floor. You could literally feel the tension in the air wind a little tighter as the media recognized just who was in front of them. "Say, thinking about that, you could probably use some help in that department. If Bats doesn't hire me first, you're welcome to throw in a bid..."
If the sound of the Joker's knife sheathing itself inside his cheek was eerie, the view Bruce got of it ripping through the latex was worse. It liked to pull farther than real skin.
"Hire you?" Bruce was nothing but restrained tension. He didn't like the accusations the Joker was making against his supporters. If it was true, that they had been squandering Wayne resources even after Bruce had gotten rid of William Earle upon his return to the world, then Wayne Ent. could be facing a completely different kind of trouble than he'd thought. "I'd really have to "not be paying attention" to want to hire you." Bruce narrowed his eyes at the Joker. "What is it exactly do you think you could do for me? You are nothing, nothing more than a petty criminal. Batman made it his duty to clean the streets of people like you. You're his job," Bruce spat. "And I need nothing from you."
He cackled in response, eyes shining with glee. "Maybe you should make me your job. And if you think I can offer nothing, teach you nothing... you're farther gone than I am! Ahahahah!" Slinking closer, knife still waving back and forth in warning, he gave Bruce a considering look. "One could say dear Bats is nothing more than a petty vigilante, and a rather shady, law-dodging one at that. You might want to reconsider working with us. Although..." Joker flashed him a mock expression of serious concern. "Given the hits you'll be taking after this... you might not want your company to have even more illegal ties. But if you want Batsy's autograph and a Grand Tour of our cozy little Batcave, I'm sure something can be... arranged...."
"You're a liar, Joker," Bruce moved forward, heedless of the wandering knife, until he was well within the Joker's space. "You are nothing more than scum, and delusional to think the Batman would ever work with you." He wanted to say more, it was all at the very edge of his tongue, but he couldn't. He couldn't talk about Batman like he knew him, he couldn't talk about the Joker like he knew him.
By now Wayne security was dodging through the throng of cameras, and the police were coming through the doors.
"Oh, he already is. Whether he realizes it yet or not," he whispered, leaning closer so only Bruce could catch the last. "...but the Dark Knight better come riding in to rescue his honey soon..." While his words were distracting the man, his knife wandered further down, making calculated slits in the other's clothing. "...one can only hold onto secrets for so long under duress. Might blurt them out by accident, in fact. And there's a whole lot more that stands to be lost than your... pants..." Sheathing the blade and dropping it into Bruce's pocket, the added weight overwhelmed the last few threads. The fabric dropped just as Joker stepped back with a chuckle, his hands spread to either side in a mocking bow.
A million light bulbs flashed. The crowd burst into an uproar, the last few of them who weren't already out of their seats jumping up to get a shot of the action.
Bruce was mortified. His face colored red in either fury or embarrassment, probably both, as the police rushed the podium. He launched himself at the Joker who looked so utterly pleased with himself, but the police got there first. Two of them threw arms around Bruce's waist and shoulders, dragging him backward from the cackling man in effort to protect him. Bruce pulled his pants up, fighting them all the while. There were at least a dozen officers with firearms trained on the Joker, but Bruce was still seeing red.
Arms wrapped around his torso as he clutched his sides, laughing so hard he was having trouble breathing, tears dripped down his face. He seemed to not even be trying to escape, just standing in the middle of all the chaos and enjoying every minute of his handiwork. The police were slowly closing in, guns and batons at the ready in case the madman made any sudden moves, but a trio of them managed to tackle him to the floor and wrestle his arms behind him. Joker's laughter cut off in a sharp moan as he hit the ground, his wounds jostled again.
Bruce finally freed himself from the police, but they immediately stepped between him and the Joker, making sure he stayed put. He glowered through the barricade, watching as the Joker simply let himself be taken into custody. His threats echoed in Bruce's mind; if Batman didn't come to "rescue" him now, he was sure to stir up more trouble with Wayne Enterprises. Bruce sincerely doubted the Joker was bluffing. Apparently he had found something within their records good enough to make claims against the company's directors, if not Bruce himself. He'd been looking in the wrong place the entire time.
Finally dragged up from the floor, arms locked into handcuffs behind him and small masses of twitchy cops on either side watching him like a hawk, Joker merely smiled at it all. He didn't even pay the slightest attention to the calls and questions being shouted by the media, or the flashes and microphones directed in his and Bruce's general directions. Those green orbs never wavered, locked onto Bruce like he was something hypnotic and intriguing beyond anything else in the room. The smug set to his mouth was just the frosting on the cake. Check. Your move...
Their eyes remained locked through the chaos for some time. Bruce watched until the Joker was taken away. The only one he would listen to was Lucius, who'd extricated himself from the crowd that the police were holding back. He told Bruce flat out that they needed a new plan, and Bruce sorely agreed. When Lucius offered him his belt, it struck him that things had become far too personal. The Joker would hold the knowledge of Bruce and his company over his head until he got what he wanted, but Bruce doubted that he'd really stop there. Even if Bruce came clean as Batman, the Joker wouldn't be satisfied.
Bruce left contemplating his One Rule. As far as he could see there was only one way of stopping the Joker's reign of lawlessness and personal battle with Batman; it would be considerably simple to take the Joker's life and end this war. What was worse was that he knew that doing so would save lives in the future, the madman killed without thought nor reason; but that rule was a law unto himself. That law was....personal.
Joker wasn't resisting, exactly, but he sure as hell was doing his best to make life difficult for the coppers who were charged with bringing him in. Hanging between the two burly officers who'd been unlucky enough to be stuck escorting him, he refused to walk. The two men were having a time of dragging him out of the building and down the steps to a waiting car. He seemed to know just where and when to lean, how to smile, exactly how to set his gaze to completely disturb everyone around him; his reputation and crimes were chilling enough without close contact and behavioral quirks upping the ante. The two seemed relieved to toss the clown into the reinforced box used for transporting the most dangerous criminals, slamming the doors and wiping their hands on their pants with a collective shiver.
After giving the Gotham PD a brief statement, Bruce returned quickly to the penthouse, this time with both Lucius and Alfred at his heels. Alfred had the television on when he walked in; every channel was playing the breaking news at Wayne Tower. Footage of an outraged Wayne confronting the Joker in - or out of - disguise played behind energetic commentary. After the third run of Bruce losing his pants, he threw the TV to the floor. Unfortunately at least three others droned on the background of the room. Both Alfred and Lucius looked a bit surprised and mildly disappointed, something they both managed to do without saying a word. Bruce restrained from storming out of their presence altogether, knowing it would accomplish little other than expressing how distraught and childish he felt at the moment. Instead he held his head in his hands. He breathed deeply and raked his hands through his hair. Unnervingly it reminded him of the Joker doing the very same thing to his hair the previous night; he pulled his hands down to his sides and away from his hair quickly. The two most loyal men Bruce had ever known stood and waited in uncomfortable silence.
"I've got to do it." They knew what he was referring to already. In order to protect Bruce, Batman had to free the Joker. All things considered, the city and its civilians might be better protected if the Joker was in Batman's custody than the Police Department's, but then again Bruce couldn't say that was entirely true any longer. The man had already escaped him twice.
It was Alfred who stepped forward. He laid a comforting hand on Bruce's slumped shoulder which felt a little awkward as they had both never been much for entering one another's personal space. "You'd be protecting what you set out to do, sir. Yourself and this empire, and most of all, this city. I hate to say it, but with a man like this....some people just can't be helped. His life is a small price to pay for the world of good you do for this city." Alfred's grip tightened while his words, confusing to Bruce at first, slowly started to make sense. "Be grateful you don't have to burn down a forest for him."
Alfred thought....he thought Bruce had meant that he had to take the Joker's life.
A/N: I'm pretty much posting as fast as we finish writing, guys, so you'll just have to be patient. More artwork and more of the soundtrack is on the way.