I Need a Gangsta (I Need a Drink - Part 2)
Characters: Gabby Barnes (you), Batman, Joker.
Warnings: Swearing, some violence.
By the time I got home, Gotham local news had gone utterly insane. Summer Gleeson looked like she was going to pop a blood vessel. Missing out on a chance to record the clown prince of crime in action would make me sour too. My story was bumped to the front page just in time for the evening edition and I had Mike eating his own shorts. I was absolutely smitten, and yes, as smitten as a God damn kitten.
I poured myself a glass of Chianti and saluted Commissioner Gordon who was sounding off about solidarity and the good of the Gotham PD. He was probably forced to answer for yet another robbery by order of the mayor.
“Poor man.” I said, taking a long swig.
“Celebrating, are we?” a gravelly voice boomed.
I swore and dropped my glass of wine, searching through my jacket for my taser.
“I believe you’re looking for this.” a black gloved hand came into view holding a pink taser, my taser.
I let out a sigh of exasperation, “Jesus Christ, I guess you don’t knock do you?”
“Not really my thing.” Batman stepped out from shadows in my apartment I didn’t know existed.
Sighing again, I stared at my fallen glass and threw my hands up, “First I’m out of a job, then I’m held at gunpoint, and now I have red wine on my new carpet.”
“But you’re not without a job anymore are you?” as he glided forward I noted how tall he was, no wonder most lowlifes squirmed at the very mention of his name, “Word is you’ve scored an interview with the Joker.”
I picked up my glass and threw down a bar cloth, “Word always has some truth to it. What’s it to you? I never took you for a bodyguard type.”
“I want you to be my mole.”
Scoffing, I stomped on the cloth to soak up more liquid, “Yeah, like he wouldn’t have planned for that already, besides, my place could be bugged by now for all we know.”
“It’s secure, I checked.”
Flashing him a withered look, I picked up the cloth, “I’m not going to even go over how not ok with that I am.”
“I need your help, Barnes, and you need my protection. The last time he took a liking to someone they ended up losing a few screws upstairs.”
“What makes you think I haven’t lost some already?” when he had no reaction I exhaled, “Something tells me you’d spy on me anyway so it may as well happen with my consent, I’m in. That being said, I have some conditions.”
He stayed silent. Frigid fucker, ain’t he?
I continued, “I get in contact with you when I have something. None of this sneaking into my apartment after hours. Plus I can’t have you ruining my chances here. Joker is skittish, and needless to say, dangerous, and I’d rather keep all my body parts.”
“I can’t promise that I won’t step in if I deem it necessary.”
“Fine. I’ll leave my window open as a signal. Now then,” I snagged a bottle of spiced rum and poured myself a glass, “think I could swing an interview with you -?”
He was gone.
Downing my glass, I slumped on the couch, I’m making friends in all the wrong places.
Three weeks passed since I was promised a so called interview and not a single peep had come from the Joker. Not a car chase, body found or diamond robbed and I was going stir crazy. The final kicker was that I had completely emptied my minibar while attempting to calm my nerves. Every once in awhile I would wake up in a cold sweat with the remnants of a low whisper, kitten, from the barrel of a gun. After watching my clock strike 12am I dragged myself out of bed. I need a goddamn drink.
Once showered, I donned some jeans and a V-neck before braving the streets to flag a cab. Just as I had coaxed one over and was about to climb in, I looked up to see a purple Jaguar hurtle by. There he was, sporting his leather purple jacket, a white dress shirt, and a cane in hand, the Joker.
Immediately, I hopped in the cab and shouted, “Follow that car!”
It’s time I put my lips together.
Eventually the jag came to a halt outside a bumping nightclub and I cursed. No way was I even near dressed for the occasion. Either way, I paid the driver and got out. Think, Gabby, think! I skirted around to the alley of the building where I saw a faint light. A man in an apron was tossing some trash into a dumpster. When he walked back inside, I was barely able to snag the door with my toe.
I took a deep breath, the shit I do for a story. Luckily, there was no one in the back dish pit of the kitchen and I was able to creep my way over to some swinging doors. Looking through, I was almost blinded by the flashing and spinning neon lights. I saw the dance floor first which was bordering on the bar. Female dancers in boxes threw themselves against the glass amongst clusters of bodies, their motions fluid and mesmerizing. There were booths on the far right lined with gold carving and gold beads hung from the ceiling to provide privacy. A hint of green in a sea of red leather seats caught my eye.
As I began to push through the doors I was grabbed from behind, “We don’t like snoops in this joint, Sugar.”
“Fine by me.” I grunted and elbowed the goon in the stomach, causing him to double over, tossing me forward through the doors. A couple people screamed while I hit the ground hard and groaned.
I rolled over as the goon was collecting himself, “Com’ere you little-”
“That’s quite enough, Dorko.” that familiar sinister voice sent a chill down my spine.
The clown prince of crime bent over me, tucking some loose hair behind my ear and slid a finger down my cheek to my chin, “You really like to make an entrance don’t you, kitten.”