Interaction(s): NoneBlue smoke hung in the stale air, vividly coloured lights reflecting off the hazy clouds as they flashed to the rhythm of the sleazy, beat driven music. The air inside the club smelled of spilled spirits and cheap cigarettes. Drunken cheers and obnoxious jeers erupted from the men seated at the small, sticky tables which were all centered around the illuminated stage in the middle of the room.
Stepping away from the glistening pole, the girl on stage bent over amidst howls and whistles as she scooped up her discarded clothing. Suddenly, a pair of sweaty panties were flung through the air as several men scrambled from their seats to acquire them. A resounding rip was heard between songs before the two men who each took hold of the string underwear began to brawl.
From across the room, the bouncer on duty let out a long sigh, shrugging towards his coworker who replied with the same expression of ‘I don’t get paid enough for this shit’ as the pair opted to let the two other men fight it out.
Chuckling from behind the beaten wooden counter, the bartender polished a highball before pouring a double of Scotch into the glass. Whistling to ensure he had the recipient's attention, he slid it down the counter to the man smoking at the end of the bar.
“Busy night?” The man at the end of the counter asked, taking the first sip of his drink before lighting the cigarette hanging loosely between his lips.
“Busy enough, sure ain’t hurting.” The bartender replied, “Heard the boss sent over a new dancer, some older broad.”
“Something about a deal gone south, it’s a debt settlement.” The other man replied as he took a long drag. “Sent me over ‘ere to make sure she dances. If she doesn’t, boss is gunna find other uses for her and if I know Black Mask, I’d sure as hell be shaking my ass off on that stage.”
“Lucky for you, it ain’t your ass literally on the line.” The bartender replied with a yellowed grin. Chuckling the other man nodding in agreement as he took another swig of his drink.
Turning back to the crowd, the bartender scanned the room as he took in the Alibi’s current patrons. The ageing nightclub was the nightly hangout to all manner of folks some of Gotham’s residents referred to as ‘unsavoury.’ Unlike establishments like the Iceberg Lounge and Casino, the Alibi didn’t bother with a false front. Most of Gotham’s police force knew what the Alibi was, but again, most of the GCPD were also dirty cops.
A sudden hush fell over the bar as the next dancer awkwardly walked onto the stage. Turning to look towards the man at the end of the counter, he exchanged a knowing smile with the bartender as the pair looked back towards the woman walking towards the pole.
“She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing.” The bartender scoff as the man at the end of took another drag on his cigarette.
“Yeah, but at least she looks good for ‘er age.” He admitted before adding, “Though I’m surprised the girls had a thong that fit 'round those ‘ips.” The man seated at the end of the counter took another sip of his drink, all while watching Lori Cunningham attempt to dance to the new-age industrial music the DJ was pumping out.
“‘Old up,” He yelled above the beat, waving his hands to signal to the DJ to kill the music. “Let's give ‘er a fighting chance. How about something you grew up with love?” The man asked Lori rhetorically, “Put on ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me,’ will ye?”
Suddenly every light in the bar went out as the speakers all went dead. Reaching for his phone, the man at the end of the bar fumbled it out of his pocket as he tried to unlock the device. Waiting for the screen to illuminate, he pressed the button again, mashing his thumb against the fingerprint scanner before slamming the device done on the counter.
“Fuckin’ thing’s dead.”
In the darkness, Lori’s screams rang out only to be quickly silenced an instant later. Blindly feeling for his sidearm, the man slid his thumb over the safety as he pulled the Beretta from the back of his belt. The darkness was suddenly broken by two glaring lights as a silhouette appeared on the stage.
“Holy shit!” The man started only to be suddenly blinded as the figure’s chest lit up. A brightly illuminated bat symbol searing into his eyes as the man fired blindly towards the stage.
“It’s the fuckin’ Bat!”
Drunken men scrambled to get out of the way as the Batman made his way forward from the stage, deactivating the beacon on his chest as Terry silently slipped into the darkness. Usually, he would have relied, over-relied if he was frank, on the suit’s cloak but it had been damaged during the fight with the Deevers. Nonetheless, the Batman was far from being out of tricks, and the EMP device he had used on the building was more than enough to restore his element of surprise.
Watching the Batman come closer and closer through the darkness, the man quickly realized that the Bat was looking for him. Jumping the bar, he ducked behind the counter, tightly gripping his pistol with both hands. Suddenly two hands took hold of the man’s jacket, and he found himself quickly hauled over the hard countertop. Slammed down against the old oak, the man felt the gun dislodge from his hands before he was roughly slammed against the bar again.
As the lights began to flicker back to life, the man slowly surveyed the room around him before raising his head up and coming face to face with Gotham’s Dark Knight. Opening his mouth to speak, he was quickly interrupted as the Batman talked over him.
“Don’t even think about offering me a drink.” Terry growled from behind the mask as he brought Black Mask’s man even closer to him. “Lori Cunningham. Her debt is paid. She doesn’t work here anymore. She doesn’t owe you or your boss anything.”
“You can-”
“I just did,” Terry snarled, “And one more thing.”
The man swallowed hard, opening his mouth only for the Batman to reply.
“Tell your boss, I’m coming for him next.”
The steady click of a pair of tall heels echoed down the narrow corridor between the steady slap of the pair of accompanying hard-soled boots. Straightening her pencil skirt before entering the interrogation room, the lawyer nodded a polite thanks towards her police escort before stepping into the room. A small man was waiting for her, his wrists in a pair of handcuffs that looked comically large compared to his stature. His clothing was ragged and well worn, full of patches and stained with what the lawyer could only guess was blood. Matted, thinning hair was parted atop his bulbous head the woman noted, taking the only other available seat at the table and situating herself across from the disgraced Doctor Jervis Tetch.
Placing her briefcase on the table, the woman looked towards her client, clearing her throat to gain Tetch’s attention. But the man continued to stare straight ahead, his eyes passing right through the raven-haired woman as they were fixated upon the wall of one-way glass behind her. Looking down at her watch impatiently, Jaina Hudson cleared her throat again as she pulled out her case notes and laid them in front of Jervis.
“Dr. Tetch, on behalf of a mutual friend.” Jaina stated, a posh accent punctuating every word with a matter-of-fact tone as she leaned forward over the table. Pulling at the lapel of her blazer aside, Jaina flashed a tattoo of a black Calavera that was barely visible beneath her blouse before she hastily readjusted herself and sat up again.
“I’ve been paid a substantial sum of money to ensure that you do not go to Blackgate.” She continued looking towards the man for any sort of a response turning her wrist upwards to look at the gold plated watch wrapped around her wrist.
“You’re late.” Jervis suddenly spoke as Jaina raised an eyebrow. The man’s eyes were suddenly fixated upon her, scanning her from head to toe. Jaina could feel her skin crawl before steadying herself.
“I beg your pardon, Dr. Tetch, but I’m afraid I arrived at the agreed upon time. If my tardiness has somehow affected our working relationship, please allow me the chance to apologize, but I’m afraid we really must discuss the details-”
“You’re late, you’re late.” Tetch repeated, smiling as he leaned closer towards the bronzed skinned woman across the table from him. “For a very important date?” Jervis asked, his eyes motioning towards the watch adorning Jaina’s wrist.
“Dr. Tetch if you’re suggesting that we move for an insanity plea, then I fully agree. Our mutual friend and I both believe that the Arkham State Mental Institution and Hospital would be the best place for you.” Jaina stated, sliding her chair back as Jervis continue to lean over the table as far as his restraints would allow for. Suddenly he slumped back in his chair, his eyes returning to staring through Jaina as he fixated once again upon the pane of one-way glass.
“Very well, I’ll issue the plea to the courts. Don’t worry, Dr. Tetch, we’ll make sure you get the help you need.” The lawyer muttered quickly as she scrambled to pack her briefcase. Standing up, she knocked loudly on the door. A sudden chill began to travel down Jaina’s spine as Jervis spoke once more.
“No time to say hello or goodbye.” He muttered towards Jaina. “You’re late, you’re late... you’re late.”
As the door opened with a loud buzz, Jaina rushed through the portal. Her stomach almost turned as she rushed down the hallway, the Mad Hatter’s words ringing in her ears.
The light of the computer screen was the only source of illumination in the dark room as the man hunched over the keyboard cracked his fingers. Watching the progress bar on the bottom of the screen waiting anxiously for the file transfer to complete. Turning on his VPN, Lonnie Machlan launched his browser before going to his most frequented site and entering the credentials for ‘MoneySpider’.
A beep echoed in the small space as it rang out from his speakers, signalling the file had finished transferring. Removing his phone from the USB port, Lonnie pocketed the device before cueing up the video.
“Lori Cunningham. Her debt is paid. She doesn’t work here anymore. She doesn’t owe you or your boss anything.”
The Batman’s menacing voice boomed out of the speakers as Lonnie began to splice the video together. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he started to type in a frenzy, the Batman was the spark. It was precisely what Lonnie needed to motivate people. Cueing up his equipment, Lonnie began to speak to the computer as he recorded his words.
“People of Gotham, rise up! For too long, you’ve survived on the scraps and toss-offs of those who would oppress you. You’re less than a dog to the likes of Fox, Sionis and Wayne, the men who sit atop their ivory towers and lord your hard work over you. You work your fingers to the bones so they can afford another vacation.” Lonnie snarled into the monitor before splicing in the clip of Batman at the Alibi.
“And one more thing. Tell your boss, I’m coming for him next.”
“Tell your boss, you’re coming for them. We won’t be ignored. We’re hungry, and it’s time to eat the fucking rich.”