In Another Life IV

Chapter 1

The Ace of Spades was a cheap, dirty bar in one of the most run-down areas of Gotham City's lower East Side. It catered to the likes of thieves, local thugs, and various petty criminals, all of whom entered its dingy, smoke-filled premises in order to escape the difficulty of their own sorry lives. To the man entering the door at that moment, assaulted by the stench of smoke and unwashed bodies, the bar seemed like a circle of hell, where the scum of humanity went to indulge in their worst sins.

Not that this man was particularly religious, or self-righteous, or judgmental. He just didn't like dealing with criminals, and he could hardly be blamed for that. They were an untrustworthy bunch. But he didn't have a choice. A few days ago, a man in a fedora had entered the First National Bank, where he worked, around closing time, and had asked to speak to him, to present, in his own words "a business proposition." This so-called proposition was to aid in a robbery of the bank by unlocking a few doors, which he would have access to as a junior manager. The man had given him until today to decide, and told him to meet him at The Ace of Spades at this appointed time to give him his answer. He had tried to refuse the man there and then, but the man had insisted that he think it over. He couldn't risk the man appearing in his place of work again, and he hated to cause a scene by going to the police and possibly risking a scandal and personal disgrace, so he made the decision to confront the man in the fedora where he had suggested, and give him his final answer.

He caught the eye of one of the men at the bar, whom he recognized as accompanying the man in the fedora. The man nodded at him. "He's waiting for you in the back," he muttered, nodding at the door by the bar.

He nodded, and opened the door. "Mr. Quinzel, right on time," said the man in the fedora, smiling at him. "Please sit down."

Mr. Quinzel obeyed. The man in the fedora struck a match on the wooden desk, bringing the flame up to light the cigarette in his mouth. His face was still hidden in shadow, but his eyes were fixed on the man seated in front of him as he smoked calmly. "Good to see you again, Mr. Quinzel," he said, smiling. "It's George, isn't it? Can I call you George?"

"No, thank you, I'd prefer if we remained on an unfamiliar basis," replied Mr. Quinzel, firmly.

The man in the fedora laughed. "So I take it my little business proposition is being rejected?" he asked. "You ain't changed your mind?"

"No, I haven't," agreed Mr. Quinzel. "Thank you for the offer, Mr. Napier, but I refuse to take part in any criminal activity whatsoever. No matter how much you promise to pay me. Now if that'll be all..." he said, rising.

"What's the hurry, George?" asked the man in the fedora, grinning. "Your wife expecting you back?"

"She is, actually," retorted Mr. Quinzel, coolly. "And I hate to keep her waiting."

"At least let me get you a drink before you head home," said Mr. Napier, standing up. "You probably need some liquid courage to face that family of yours. You got kids?"

"One," replied Mr. Quinzel, nodding.

"Hey, same here!" exclaimed Mr. Napier, beaming as he stood up to pour two glasses of whiskey from a bottle. "You and me, George, we're the same kinda man, deep down. I know that accent – Brooklyn native, ain't ya?"

"Yeah," agreed Mr. Quinzel. "Thank...you," he said, slowly, taking the glass from him.

"And I'm guessing not the rich part of Brooklyn," said Mr. Napier, chuckling to himself. "You're like me – moving to Gotham for a better life for your family." He sipped his drink. "Have you found it, working all day in a bank?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr. Napier, I have," replied Mr. Quinzel. "I'm proud of my job, and grateful that I can provide a better life for my family with it."

"Oh yeah, family's important," agreed Mr. Napier. "All you're gonna have left in the end."

He knocked on the door. A second later, it opened, and a young, teenage boy entered, dressed in the same shabby style as the man in the fedora, down to the hat itself.

"Yes, sir?" he asked.

"George, this is my son, Jack," said Mr. Napier, draping an arm around the boy. "I'm training him in the family business, so he can inherit it when I'm gone. Jack, this is George, junior manager at the First National Bank."

"Uh...pleased to meet you," said Mr. Quinzel, nodding at the boy.

"Yeah...uh...likewise," replied Jack, nodding.

"Now all I'm trying to do, George, is provide a better life for my son," said Mr. Napier, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "And you could help me with that. I mean, a family man like yourself has gotta understand the importance of taking care of your own kids. Don't matter if it's Jack or...what's your son's name?"

"I have a daughter," retorted Mr. Quinzel. "Harleen."

Mr. Napier laughed. "Good name," he said, grinning. "Harleen Quinzel. Pretty girl, is she?"

"She's four years old," retorted Mr. Quinzel. "But yes, someday she'll be a very pretty girl, just like her mother."

Mr. Napier exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Here's the thing, George," he said. "Wouldn't you do anything in the world for little Harleen? Beg, borrow, and steal for her? Well, that's how I feel about my Jack," he said, ruffling the boy's hair. "And the only way I'm gonna be able to provide for my Jack is with the skills I got. Namely, as a criminal. I mean, I ain't good with numbers and figures like you. But I am good at committing crimes. So that's what I gotta do. Every man has gotta use the talents he's got to provide for his family. And I'm asking you to help me do that. You can't refuse a fellow family man, can you, George?"

Mr. Quinzel cleared his throat. "I admire your sentiments, Mr. Napier, but putting aside any judgments about right and wrong, from a purely practical level, if I'm caught helping you, I'm gonna lose my job, and then I won't be able to provide for my own family. I'm not going to risk that. So I'm sorry, but it's still a no."

Mr. Napier continued to smile at him. "Oh well," he said, shrugging. "Worth a shot, anyway." He held out his hand. "Nice to have met you, George – you head back to that fine family of yours. Take care now."

Mr. Quinzel nodded and left. Mr. Napier watched him leave the bar, and then said softly to Jack, "Follow him and find out where he lives. Later on tonight, we're going to be paying him a little visit."

"Yes, sir," muttered Jack, heading out the door to shadow Mr. Quinzel.