Life is so much better when you're dead

In his heyday, Salvatore Maroni used to own a chain of family restaurants all across Gotham city. One of them had been conveniently designed to serve both as a meeting place and his personal headquarters, complete with an office located above it. This particular premise presented itself especially useful in the eyes of Sofia Falcone who had now deemed the place her own. The joint downstairs was undergoing renovations at the moment, but the office could still serve its purpose of providing a secluded area suitable for discussing matters of utmost subtlety.

"Johnny, Johnny, please do not chagrin me any further," Sofia clasped her hands in a pleading gesture, elbows rested on the surface of an extravagant ebony desk. Previously it had belonged to Maroni whose penchant for ostentation outlived him by the means of a fabulously furnished lair and a bar whose contents made Sofia's heart flutter with happiness. "Have some of that fine substance our dearly departed uncle Sal bequeathed upon us." She poured the man in front of her a glass of Macallan whisky. "Can you believe this? I mean, it's not even officially in production anymore, and yet he had ten bottles of it stashed in that bar of his. Drink it all up and let's go through all of our problems once again."

The man referred to as Johnny was squat of figure, auburn hair forming a bowl shape around his head. He fixed his blank stare on the freshly filled glass and reached for it slowly.

"There's no need to go through all of it one more time, Sofia. You know damn well you won't be able to keep my mother away from whatever it is you're starting in this town." Johnny took a sip and grimaced slightly. "She's been frantic about bringing your father down since day one. Now he's in Arkham and your brothers are, let's say, incapacitated, and of course there's Sal who met his demise... there's no one left in Gotham. And she says Chicago is starting to feel a little too cramped, she wants to expand the market."

"How do you mean, 'no one left in Gotham'? You know, if I were a tad more petty than I already am, l'd say belittling our organization like this is an outrage, right?" Sofia shouted in the direction of two men hunched in the corner of the room who seemed to be occupied with some kind of a board game.

"Damn right," was a calm reply.

"I told you Johnny, do not chagrin me any further, and here you are, insulting me like this." Sofia pouted and crossed her arms.

Johnny glared at her for a moment, his eyes showing signs of weariness. He was used to negotiating with men whose power of enticement was severe enough to make you agree to whatever they had to offer as your innards turn inside out on their own in sheer panic. He certainly wasn't used to talking business to a small, red headed girl who--had it not been for a few ragged scars on her left cheek--could possibly pass for an innocent fourteen-year-old.

"Look. I don't know what you've made up in that pretty head of yours, but you know my family is far sighted. And we're not the ones to be easily intimidated. Especially not by a lil' girl like you. Tell me, do you honestly think you can run an organization on a par with what your daddy achieved back in the day? Not gonna happen, you know it. Even uncle Carmine was wise enough to secure his connections, especially family connections. You can have your shares, sure, but don't expect us to withdraw and leave it all up to you."

"But I'm not the head of this organization," the girl chuckled in amusement. "I don't run it. You've got it all wrong, you know? There is no head, so don't come here looking down on me like I'm some petulant child building up her sand fortress in the middle of the living room because the parents aren't home. And what was that lil' girl like you expression supposed to mean, hm? You've got a problem with the fact I was born with a vagina? Wanna see how petty I can get? Because using your way of reasoning I guess I'm entitled to say I've got a problem with you being born with ten fingers." Sofia reached to the drawer and pulled out a chopping board and a Japanese tanto knife. She removed the wooden sheath, unveiling the sharp metal, and arranged the items in front of her cousin. "Fix my problem, please."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Johnny ground his teeth in irritation.

"Perhaps you could use some aides?"

To his surprise, Johnny felt two hands rest upon each of his shoulders. He didn't notice when Mosheh and Yaguchi had managed to approach him as they hadn't made a tiniest sound. Sofia grabbed the knife and leaned over the desk.

"If you don't cut off your finger, I'm gonna deprive you of your nostrils, eyelids, lips, earlobes... and you're gonna look fucking stupid."

"You think you can force me to endure all this bullshit and get away?" Johnny hissed, his eyes following the blade tracing circles around his nose.

"What, you think your goons behind the door are gonna help you? Our guys bought them out the moment they appeared in their eyesight, now I'm sure they're enjoying themselves in some relatively remote place. Now, Johnny, you do as I say or you know what."

"Yeah, go ahead, do it and see what happens."

Sofia pinched his eyelid between her index finger and thumb, and pulled at it a little. Johnny jerked in his seat, but two pairs of strong arms effectively restrained his ability to move. As the knife made contact with the sensitive skin, he felt all his muscles tense up and cold sweat trickle down his back. With the first shallow incision, he let out a horrified squeal.

"Stop it! Not the fucking eyes! I'll do it, I'll do it, please stop!"

"Then step up and do it, fuckstick, and don't waste my time."

Johnny was trembling as a tiny rivulet of blood ran down his glistening face. Slowly, he took the knife from Sofia and clenched his fingers around the handle.

"Just don't try to start any drama with cutting us and running for your life, or the proverbial else." Mosheh sighed and pointed his gun at the man.


♣ ♣ ♣


Bruce was sitting idly in a lobby, gazing apathetically at the door in front of him. The steel door tag read Falcone. It had been thirty minutes since he arrived, and the prolonged waiting didn't help his growing confusion in the least. He lowered his gaze and hanged his head. Watching his pale, vein-ridged hands, he felt an avalanche of twisted strands of thoughts flood his mind. He had no idea why he was in this place. It was only this morning that he had received a letter.

Dear BATMAN, come to the Maroni restaurant at 32nd street today at 2 p.m., alone.

- Sofia Falcone.

It was addressed to his penthouse, which meant that someone knew. At this point in his life Bruce really didn't need this. There's only so much a man can take, and he knew he was slowly, but inevitably reaching a breaking point.

A blood curdling scream coming from the office ended his musings abruptly, and he jerked in his seat, slightly startled. He listened for a good couple of minutes, but he couldn't make out anything except for a drawling, female voice, some laughing men and quiet sobbing. Suddenly, the door opened, and a whimpering, stubby man got kicked out of the room by a grinning Asian in a bowler hat. The man was holding a handkerchief over his blood covered hand, and his shirt was completely soaked in sweat. Staggering, he scurried away without looking back even once.

"Tell your mom I said hi!" Sofia shouted after Johnny, leaning out of the doorframe. "Next, please," she said as she headed back to the desk, while Yaguchi smiled courteously and gestured toward the room in an inviting manner. Bruce took a hesitant step inside, looking around. The room was scantily lit by the yellowish rays of sun filtered by blinds and filled with cigarette smoke forming layered, lazily drifting clouds; some early Rolling Stones record playing quietly in the background completed the picture. His mind was already putting together the most sordid scenarios, forcing his body to react in accord, making his muscles tense up and his blood rush straight to his head. Sofia grinned at him as if she didn't notice his turmoil, and pointed to the chair in front of the desk.

"Sit, please," she chirped. Bruce took a seat obediently and gave her a quick glance, but something caught her attention and she rose from her chair. "Oh, wait a minute..." She paced to the door and left. The two men that kept his company remained silent, returning to their board game.

Bruce decided to stare at one particular point. He needed to focus on anything, any object, any shape. He couldn't let the overpowering haze take over his senses completely, he couldn't let them know that right now he was at his most vulnerable stage in his whole life. If anyone decided to use violence against him that day, the possibility was quite high that he wouldn't be able to dodge even an amateurish blow. He couldn't assess the distance, the velocity, nothing; he perceived swift movements as if they were stretching out in slow motion and vice versa. Time wasn't a logical linear quality anymore, it quickened and slowed down its pace on a whim.

Bruce Wayne had indeed been suffering insomnia. For two long years. Not counting the rare occurrences when certain circumstances would allow him to doze off for about three hours or less, he had been constantly awake. At this point, Bruce wasn't able to determine what should be done and what would eventually come out of this whole situation; all he could do was to go with the flow and hope he wouldn't drown in the process.

He blinked as the object he had decided to focus on got suddenly obliterated from the surface of the desk. Only then he realized he had been staring at a trail of blood droplets, now being sprayed by Sofia with some kind of detergent and promptly wiped off with a paper towel.

"That goddamn tit spilled blood all over, sorry about that," she muttered as she finished cleaning the desk and took a seat behind it. "So, can I offer you a drink or something?"

"I'd rather we make this quick," he said weakly.

"Okay, okay, you seem pretty displeased with your current plight, so let's get down to brass tacks. As you probably have figured out, I know it is you who dresses up as a bat and does swooshy things with his cape to instill fear in the hearts of criminals. At least you used to, as I gather nowadays you have more... pressing matters to take care of, no?"

"What do you mean?"

"Here, look." Sofia turned her laptop around so Bruce could see what was on the screen, and a video started playing. When it ended, Bruce was sitting still with his fists balled and beads of sweat emerging on his forehead. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as if wanting to rip out of his ribcage.

"What the fuck is with people getting so worked up in this place today? Good God, man, stop sweating all over my furniture... Look now, I didn't show you this video to give you a cardiac attack, I just wanted to make a point." Sofia squinted and observed Bruce for a moment. "Damn, you do look kinda groggy. What's wrong? I mean, really?" She rose from the chair and reached for the paper towels. Bruce's jaw clenched as she wiped the sweat off his face, but he remained still.

"There, there, don't go apoplectic on me here." She grinned and sat down. "Did the video disturb you so much? Health problems? What is it?"

He didn't say a word. Instead he fixed his gaze at some distant point.

"Okay, we'll talk about this later. Now listen, this little video, it won't go on the internet or anything, don't worry. I mean, not right now. But nonetheless, it's kinda well circulated among my associates. Now, I know this may look like a really small enterprise, but I assure you, our human resources are ample. And the fun part is, most of those people can be trusted. That's why now it depends only on you whether your mystery gets revealed or not. I figure you wouldn't want to come out of the closet in such style, so I'd advise you to listen to what I say, hm?"

Bruce finally looked at her, and a faint, smug smile crept upon his face.

"Why do you think anybody would listen to what you say? For all I know, dressing up as Batman and fucking male prostitutes dressed up as the Joker in abandoned warehouses is just another one of my wide array of billionaire playboy depravities."

"Oh, they'll believe it, don't worry. And you know why? Because nobody likes you, Wayne. Nobody likes a billionaire playboy. Nobody likes the Batman either, I presume. Such a perfect little story, hm? A spoiled rich bitch trying to get his rocks off, playing a vigilante and sating his desire to clobber people to his heart's content. Then he decides to play God and starts to exterminate the vermin swarming in this city's underbelly, just because he can. Maybe a couple of innocent civilians lost their lives in the process... I mean, do you have any idea how many murders you're being credited for at the moment? Even if there's no evidence, people will believe it because they will want to. As Batman you're as good as dead, now I'm threatening you, Bruce Wayne. It takes so little to leave you with nothing."

Bruce took a deep breath and lowered his head, his hands finally relaxing a little.

"What do you want from me?" He asked in a quiet, raspy voice.

"I'm going to give you an opportunity to help this city one more time. You saw that pug coming out of this room, crying and bleeding all over, didn't you? He's my cousin Johnny. His family runs Chicago. His mom is my dad's sister and, to say the least, she holds a few grudges against him. And trust me, right now she would love nothing more than to scourge this city with her poorly woven net of heroine deals and human trafficking, and who knows what else, I mean, I know Johnny's line of work is child pornography and such. And it's not that all of this makes me indignant, no. I couldn't give a shit about what they do, as long as they do it away from Gotham."

"So what makes you so different?"

"I have some of those, what do they call it, standards. I'm cautious. For example, you don't see my people pushing drugs on the streets. No, we target a very specific group and let the small fries cater to each other while we watch over them lovingly. You know, aunt Carla has got her ovary ducts in a bundle because she has to go out of her way to at least partially satisfy the abundance of clients, not to mention all of those poor college students on her payroll who concoct crack in their basements, while I'm importing only pure cocaine in fancy narco submarines and selling it to fancy rich fucks such as yourself. You'd be surprised of how many people from your environment my clientele consists. Bottom line is, I am slowly making big money without risking being capped by one of my disgruntled employees or attracting the prying eyes of policemeisters because I chose to be a little more subtle instead of getting rich quickly in a most uncomely manner. My auntie doesn't like that, and she wants to vent her spleen by making my life harder. And this is where you come in."

Bruce raised his eyebrows and gave her a questioning look.

"You know, it won't be long before they take a strike at me, especially after what I've done to Johnny. It also won't be long before the police starts to get a little antsy. You know, in a city undergoing such a severe plateau phase when it comes to petty criminality it must be pretty boring, there's no one to legally violate and so on, don't you think? The general plan is as follows: me and my associates arrange a series of scams, put some of the Vitis in unambiguous situations, and then you emerge from the shadows and remove them from my sight range. Then, you throw them into the longing arms of our happy little piglets. Then, they make bail, of course, piglets get richer, the Vitis get fierce, we get even fiercer, and we repeat the whole process until they get bored or go bankrupt. And then, we will live happily ever after."

Bruce stared at Sofia for a while. He understood the meaning of her words, but couldn't quite process them. It felt as if her whole utterance was directed at someone else while he was just sitting there, letting his awareness dissolve. Maybe it was some kind of a defense mechanism. Maybe it was his mind's way of protecting itself from even more aggravation. Deep down, however, Bruce felt something was horribly wrong. Had he been the man from two or three years ago, he would have reacted immediately. He would have frowned upon such shenanigans with all the power of his self righteousness, and stated he would never in his entire life make deals with criminals. But now everything seemed different--unclear, soiled, and twisted.

Sofia placed her hands on the desk and leaned in a little.

"I can tell by the look in your eyes that you're undergoing an internal quarrel. That's fine. You have time until tomorrow to think about it, meanwhile get out of here and take it easy. I'll be calling you tomorrow evening, don't make plans."

Bruce stood up slowly. He didn't make eye contact neither with Sofia nor with Yaguchi and Mosheh who were watching him from across the room. His mind was now completely empty. Without a word, he left the room and closed the door behind himself.


♣ ♣ ♣


Another dark, abandoned alley. Bruce wondered how many of such places he had been to ever since he started this game with the Joker. Each time there had to be cold concrete, coarse bricks, grit, dirt, dust, broken glass, and he had never imagined it any other way. Even though he did remember how all of it had begun, his own reasons and drives got lost in the way, and now all he was left with was this unceasing, mind numbing stupor, dim urges, anxiety, even fear.

Somewhere in the process, Joker had become his only reality. He inhabited all of his thoughts in his waking state, forcing the sleep out of his body, withering him down with every passing day. He would drag him out every night to play hide and seek, rewarding him every now and then by letting himself be found, sucking him into a vertigo, devouring him completely until he would fall unconscious. For two long years, Joker had been holding all of the strings and pulling them as he desired. He let him sleep, woke him with gruesome nightmares, eroded him gently with short moments of comfort and abandon. And with every passing month, Bruce found himself further gone. Even his guilt evaporated gradually, letting the task of torturing him solely to Joker.

Now he was facing him, his eyes sliding down the hunched silhouette. The last bit of sanity he had retained was grasping at straws, desperate to find a solution to all of it. Still, he knew it was futile.

"Brucey?" Joker cocked his head. "Are we going to proceed or are we back to the initial phase when I had to kill someone or at least verbally berate you to get you in a romantic mood?"

Silence was his only response. Bruce stood still, feeling cold sweat run down his body. Slowly, he removed his cowl and gloves. Joker's eyes followed his movements as the corners of his lips curled up in a smile.

"Does it mean we're not rough-housing tonight? How splendid, I kinda grew weary of it a long time ago."

"Tonight we're going to talk," Bruce muttered under his breath, finally locking his eyes with Joker's.

"Talk? Now... that's kinky." The madman fluttered his eyelids and approached him with a suspicious look on his face. "What's gotten into you, hm?" He placed his hands on the other man's shoulders, pushing him gently towards the wall.

"Y'know, this is the first time you're not greeting me with your ruthless bat-fury. It kinda makes me queasy... but then again..." He watched Bruce from behind half closed eyelids, his gaze strangely affectionate and predatory at once. "Come on, sit down, sit down..." he purred, patting his shoulder, and Bruce didn't protest. He sat down and rested his back against the wall, letting Joker climb into his lap and wrap his arms tightly around his neck.

"We can talk all you want later, right now I'm not in the mood for such heinous perversities." The clown pressed himself close to the kevlar armor, running his fingers through the dark locks in a petting manner. Their eyes met for a moment before Joker's lips rested on Bruce's forehead, and, to his surprise, the taller man found himself relaxing a little at the feel of familiar softness and warmth. Another kiss followed on his temple, then his cheekbones, eyelids, nose, chin... He couldn't help but smile faintly as the pecks gave place to licks.

"What are you supposed to be, a dog?" Bruce asked amusedly, letting Joker further cover his face with layers of saliva and greasepaint. Joker grinned and let out a flirty growl.

"I just can't get enough of your pretty face, darling. You're always trying to keep it all to yourself, it makes me sad and frustrated."

"Didn't you use to prefer the mask?"

"Uh, the mask, you say... Well, it got boring in the end. And irrelevant."

"So what will you do when you get bored of this face? Cut it up and rearrange it?"

"Maybe. My, my, you really are a talkative one tonight Brucey, aren't ya?" Joker cupped Bruce's face in both hands and smirked menacingly with his head tilted to the side. His gloved fingers ran down the sharp cheekbones, smearing the black make up a little. Humming softly, he leaned in and nipped at his lower lip gently before pushing onward and shoving his tongue all the way down his throat. Bruce sucked in breath and closed his eyes in response, white noise suddenly filling his head. His hands wandered to Joker's shoulders, initially intending to push him away, but somehow he found himself pulling him closer, yielding to the dominant tongue snaking around his own. Finally, the clown lifted his head and gave him a playfully surprised look, but Bruce averted his sight.

Joker smiled with his lower lip tucked in and lurched forward, nuzzling his face into the crook of Bruce's neck. Soon a trail of kisses descended down his jaw line, finally reaching the sensitive skin underneath his ear, licking and sucking on the delicate flesh until Bruce started to gasp quietly, the warm breath and the moist tongue making him tingle and burn. He twitched as teeth slowly grazed against his earlobe, and his fingers clawed over Joker's back involuntarily.

"Now, this just keeps getting better..." Joker murmured, pleasantly surprised with his reactions, and kissed him softly one more time. Bruce had to employ all he had in him to keep his mind from coming apart and melting away, the madman's arms closing around him protectively and possessively filling him with some indescribable longing and disgust at the same time. The white noise in his head became even more intense and cluttered, and as he was about to give in completely, one last speck of awareness ran through his head, reminding him of what he was supposed to do tonight.

"No. Stop," he rasped, trying to catch his breath, slightly pushing Joker away. "We need to talk."

The man above him propped himself on his chest and raised his eyebrows.

"What is it, Bruce?" he asked with a bitter tinge in his voice.

"This... I can't..." Bruce swallowed with difficulty and paused, words escaping him.

"Here we go again..." Joker snickered and rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers against the kevlar plates. "What is it this time? Alfred says I'm not good enough for you? Hm?" He gave him a bored look.

Bruce leaned his head back against the wall. His expression was halfway between a smirk and a snarl as he fixed his eyes on the other man's face.

"You really have no idea, do you... what it really feels like..."

"Well, it's not like you talk to me about your feelings, dear. Maybe if we found a way around this communication barrier, if you were able to articulate yourself in a more coherent way more often instead of growling at me, then maybe I would have an idea. But since things are as they are, sorry, no can do."

Bruce chuckled bitterly. "I won't cry on your shoulder, Joker. But this needs to stop. You've already managed to break me completely, you can sit back and relax now."

"Yada, yada, yada..." Joker sighed and patted Bruce on the cheek. "This is getting too dramatic, y'know. Did something happen to you today?"

"Someone taped us."

"Someone taped us doing what?"

"Someone taped us... having sex." Bruce hesitated for a moment. He had never referred to what they were doing as sex. To him it was always so much more, it felt weird to call it by name.

"About time. Has it surfaced yet?"

"Stop it... you don't understand. People who did it... the mob... now they're blackmailing me, trying to make me into an errand boy. I just... I've had enough, I haven't slept properly in two years thanks to you and now this..."

"Oh, sh, sh, sh, sh..." Joker cradled Bruce’s head to his neck, stroking his hair. "No one has the right to upset you but me. Now tell me who exactly has upset you, and I'll explain it to them."

Bruce could feel the last line of his defense dissolve with the madman’s warmth pressing gently against him, a wave of nausea churning his insides at the realization of just how much his body ached for this sickly comfort. He breathed in his smell, a mixture of cigarettes, gunpowder and sweat, and his eyes closed. The white noise scourged his mind completely.

"Sofia Falcone," he said quietly.

He couldn't believe he had just given Joker a name. It was equivalent to agreeing to his means of explaining things, but maybe Batman was indeed as good as dead already.