The Trickster

•Masterpiece•

I take one last...long...look at my stunning outfit. The greatest painters will love to have me as a model. The little golden details on my tie, shoes and guns give off a rich vibe. The dark aesthetic of my suit gives me a professional look. Finally, my mask...not only it hides my face and modifies my voice but it also gives the Trickster a dramatic touch. Even more than he already is~.

I turn on my heels and walk straight to the closest exit. Stopping in front of the door, I sense something wrong. Something is out of place...missing. How can I describe it? It's the same weird feeling you get when you can't feel your phone in your pocket.

Pocket?

I start tapping my suit's jacket. When I can't feel anything, the realisation of what I had forgotten came instantly.

-"How can I be so stupid" I say to the only pair of hears that are listening, mine.

I walk towards a small triangle table in the centre of my closet. On top of it, there's a small  hand crafted wooden box that my father made for me years ago. I open it delicately, only using my two index fingers. Inside, there's a singular black pouch, so small that it could fit in the palm of my hand.

What's inside? you might be asking.

Nothing other than my signature touch. It's my signature after I finish one of my masterpieces. A way to identify my art. I take the pouch and put it in one of the inside pockets of my suit's jacket. I turn around and walk out of my office, content that I haven't forgotten the second most important piece of the puzzle. I leave the door of my office unlocked and start descending to the factory floor. The metallique sound of the stairs informes my workers that I'm ready to leave. They can probably hear my foot straps or fill the current of the wind when I pass them because the ones that are closer to me say

-"Goodbye sir" or "Have a great evening sir"

Respectfully, I return the nice words.

I make my way to the main exit. This is more of a stealth job, so I won't be needing one of my loud and fancy cars to make an appearance. Before closing the door, I take one final look at my crew. Since this place is located on the outskirts of town, it's the safest place for them to work at. It's far away from Penguin's gang.

I take a final deep breath of the cool air before closing the door. 'They will be safe' I remind myself before walking in the slender streets.

The alleyways in Gotham are pitch black. Not even the moon light can hit over here because of the tall building on either side of my body. Which is perfect for me, since I have to keep a low profile at the moment. When I called the police department earlier today, the police officer on the other side of the line was a bit too talkative. I'm guessing he had a clue on who I was since his voice was a bit raspy and he stumbled on his words quite often. The man was probably one of Jack's friends, since he knew so much about Mister Hill's life.
In a brief discussion I learned that mister Hills and his buddies hang out at a striper club called 'Pink lips' every friday after work hours. My guess was that the guy on the phone was also a regular since he had to precise

-"The... the one where they flash you on the street" I remember him telling me.

-"Sigh" a sigh of desperation comes out of my lips.

Knowing by heart the city I was born in, it doesn't take long to walk toward the stripers club. It's located in the poor side of town. Poor is an understatement. Gotham in general is a unwhealty place. Yes of course there's Wayne enterprises, it's a large, growing multinational company. It's onwd by Bruce Wayne, he's technically the richest man of the city... if you're looking at it from a legal point of view. He bought almost every business that is situated in the rich part of town. That's one of the reasons the economy started thriving. He opened new work establishments like banks, filening agencies, restaurants, casinos, hotels and much more. That theoretically means there's more high paying jobs for the citizens.Theoretically meaning there's less poverty. Sadly, the high class members of society took advantage of his plans. The already rich moved into the city to establish a living over here. The lower class had no choice but to leave their torn down appartement to make room for the demolition and reconstruction of condos.