The Aster {Book 1 & 2} (Batman/Joker/Robin/Batgirl story)

1.12. Debts

I take a long, hot bath, shut my eyes and enjoy the feeling of every muscle in my body relaxing. My gun is on the soap dish to calm my anxiety. I could honestly stay in here forever but I can't.

I have things to do.

Once I get out I change back into my Aster suit (if you can call it that) and quietly sneak out of the steamed up bathroom window.

Mum informed me through the door earlier I was grounded forever so I know it's no use trying to be legit and asking her if I can go out.

It's freezing outside so I break out into a slow jog. I want to get this over with as soon as possible. God, I hate this feeling of having to be on my guard at all times and always having to go out at night. But that's when all the scum in Gotham comes out of the woodwork, including me.

As soon as I get near the warehouse I draw my gun. It's cold from being tucked in my belt, and I rub my hands against the handle to try and warm it up. Stupid thing to do really, but I'm a big one for creature comforts and it makes me feel better.

The warehouse is lit up like a beacon in the dark backstreets, the light seems to be spilling out through cracks in the concrete like it's trying to escape.

Someone's home.

Keeping a firm finger on the trigger, I press my eye up to the split down the wooden side door.

Inside I count at least three henchmen, all armed, all standing around the Joker who's lounging in a plush red armchair in the middle of the floor.

I open the door.

Instantly four different automatic weapons are aimed at my head.

"I came to talk with The Joker."

He stands theatrically and tosses his gun down onto where he had just been sitting. He's shirtless - wearing nothing but a pair of green jogging pants. Grotesque and insane tattoos are scattered all down his white muscular torso. They somehow make him even more intimidating.

"Ah, our little flower must be house hunting," he exclaims. "Would you like me to show you around this fine property?" He jumps over to to a corner where I can still see stains from my vomit on the floor below some rusty chains attached to the wall.

"Over here," he starts, "is the torture chamber, recently refurbished in a classic and workable decor."

He runs over to the other end of the warehouse where a decomposing mattress lies, the bloodstains on the fabric rotting away into a putrid piece of filth.

"And here," he continues dramatically, "is the bedroom, perhaps in a little need of redecorating - I think a few bespoke storage units will transform it. But in the meantime, it is perfectly adequate for you and the Bat to bed down and screw each other."

He starts to walk slowly over to me, his arms spread wide. Shit. I really don't think this is going to end well. I keep my hand on my gun but I know it's pointless. I can only take out one of them before the other three strike.

"And finally..." he gets so close in front of me I can feel his body heat and I can see every bizarre detail of his tattoos, "we have the hallway," before I know what's happening the barrel of his gold gun is pressed against my forehead, "where you're about to die."

It takes every atom of self control I possess not to react, not to flinch away.

"I need to talk to you," I say flatly. "Alone."

He throws his head back and smiles, and the gun is lifted away from my head a little.

"And why," he laughs, "should I want to talk to you?"

I swallow, stand my ground.

"Because I want to help you. And you'd be stupid to not listen to what I have to offer."

His face changes, suddenly serious. With his left hand he waves away his henchman, while with his right he takes the safety catch off his gun. When we're alone he steps back and flops into the soft armchair.

"I'm listening," he says in a bored tone of voice.

"I let Batman take me because I knew I could get him to trust me." Okay, that's a lie but it's not like he knows any different. I take a deep breath.

"He wants me to work for him. Become your partner in crime and relay all your dirty secrets back to him."

"Well? And?" The Joker sounds exasperated, like he doesn't get it, like he doesn't understand where I'm going. But I can tell by the spark of excitement in his eyes he does.

"I like his plan. But I like it a lot better if we flip it. I give you the lowdown on his secrets. As long as I leak a little hand-picked information about your upcoming plans, fictional or nonfictional, he shouldn't suspect a thing."

The Joker slouches down into his chair and presses his fingertips together, making an arch with his hands.

"How do I know you won't become a double double double double double double agent and what's the phrase... fuck me over?"

"Because I'm indebted to you," I say matter-of-factly. Please don't ask me more, please don't. I don't know how to explain.

He inquisitively leans forward in his chair and creases his forehead.

"I know every person in Gotham owes me a favour one way or another," he starts sarcastically, "but would you mind being a little more specific?"

I sigh inwardly.

"I... you saved my life. As in, if it wasn't for you I would... I wouldn't be physically alive right now. I owe you my life. And there's nothing more anyone could owe another person than their life."

A big wide smile slowly spreads across his dark red lips.

"I guess we are short of a little hired help around here. And you know, I would never trust anyone who hadn't betrayed me at least once." His smile opens up to reveal a set of grilled white teeth. "Because they know if they do it again it won't be a bullet they get. It'll be worse."

I clench my fists and stand steadfast.

"I won't betray you. You have my word. And my life."