Melted Gold

Gratitude

He was thankful for the warmth of the pub, crammed in a corner in a dusty old trench and his hands wrapped tight around a cup of coffee. He was thankful for the trench that he bought of a peddler for his nice jacket, that kept him hidden in the open. He was thankful for the thick rimmed hat he borrowed from Gordon, not quite sure yet if he would give it back, but the hat did wonders to hide his hair and face. He was thankful for the gloves he dug out of the trash hours ago to hide alabaster skin.

He was most thankful for the bar keep, allowing him to huddle in the corner with his coffee and french-fries, ones he actually paid for. He shivered, he had a lot to be thankful for while the cold outside became more and more bleak, powdered snow beginning to dust along rooftops and street sides. Soon the city would be as perfect white as he was.

Joker rubbed his hands together, he couldn't really feel the cold anymore, his chemical dip years ago had numbed him from the elements while also keeping him in a constant amount of sharp pain. Pins and needles dancing up his legs and through his nervous system like ants on a hill. He was so use to it that it was easy to ignore. What wasn't easy to ignore was the radio static behind the bar. Every morning a familiar voice whispered along the empty station to hand out what little clues he had to the whereabouts of old friends.

"Roses are Red

The Streets are Two

The Queen Stands Guard

And her Knights Love you..."

The voice was eerie and hushed and hard to hear, but Joker could catch a pin drop in a night club if he had too. He stood, thanked the man behind the bar and headed out. He knew what Riddler was hinting at, and although Gotham didn't have one, Joker knew where the unofficial Red-Light District was in the city, and he knew exactly who the Queen of the Whores was.

~~~~~~~~

Sometimes you had to pay for what you need, and when you didn't have money, well, you used what you had to get it. Joker had cash on him, he was lucky, but the ladies of The Ally were less fortunate. Some as young fourteen could be seen draped over cars and hustling Johns for their next meal. Joker paid the girls no mind, he was after their leader.

She had many names, this woman, some called her Queen, others called her Red, but these girls, these poor orphans, street rats and throw-aways...

They called her Mama.

And Mamas don't come soft. Mama was large with boobs that could kill a man and an ass that would make them apologize for it. She had thick red curls that swam down her shoulders and over pale cleavage. Her sharp eyes as blue as Joker's were green and thick full lips painted black. She was a real knock out, and Joker knew she would claw anyone's eyes out who dared look at her, or her girls the wrong way.

Mama was a bear, and she protected her cubs from danger.

"What are you here for?" Mama snapped, tapping pretty red nails against the old, worn table. Joker flashed her a couple bills and put them down between them, "What you payin' for, Doll?"

"Information," Joker drawled and watched his cash vanish down Mama's top, "Anyone suspicions been lurking around?"

"Besides you?" She asked, adjusting herself and crossing her legs, tight jeans highlighting all her assets, "A couple, no more than usual."

Joker hummed and traced some cracked in the wood, letting his fingers dance and play, hopping from one track to the next much like his brain was doing. His thoughts jumped from one idea to the next, hopping and skipping like a rabbit in the meadow and suddenly he had a thought.