Disclaimer (why do we do these again?): I don't own The Dark Knight or its characters, only my own.

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What must have been a week passed by without much notice; the days melted together. I slept when I wanted to, talked to Bakin' when I wanted to. Most of the days were spent slumped in one of the chairs in the kitchen, smoking a little and listening to the radio. I read too much and ate too little as I always did when there was no one around to feed besides myself. I took the contact highs when they wafted across the hall. I talked to myself and the radio, worrying a little that I might be losing my mind. I let it go.

I wasn't crazy. Just bored.

All at once it was Monday morning, and I was asleep at the table, head cradled in the bend of my arm. Someone on the radio was chirping about how wonderful the weather was going to be today.

"Partly cloudy and breezy today, folks. Perfect weather for a walk in the park! Hahaha!"

I pried myself from the table and reached back to turn the radio off. Instead, it just changed to another station. I groaned and got up to unplug it. The music stopped, and I sat back down at the table. I heard the window creak in the spare room. I sat up and smiled.

In stumbled a very well dressed, muscle bound man. He must have had a hard time getting through the window.

I blinked at him and said, "Hey."

The man sniffed at me and sneered.

"Mr. Maroni would like to speak with you," he growled. His voice was just as grating on my ears as Batman's.

"Macaroni?" I grinned. The man sneered. "How's he been? I heard about that wreck with Dent-"

"Mr. Maroni is recovering considerably well," the man said. "He says he needs to speak with you and another contact."

"Prob'ly Pengy," I sighed, getting up and rubbing my aching neck.

There was a grunt from the spare room, a clank of metal against metal. I opened the refrigerator and stared blankly at its contents. I wasn't overjoyed about Maroni's visit. He had never been very pleasant unless Pengy was around, and even then he managed to be severely sarcastic. In business terms, however, he was an animal. He knew what he wanted, what he needed, and how to get it. I retracted from the fridge and smirked at Maroni as he hobbled into the room. He didn't look too intimidating now.

"Macaroni," I grinned, shutting the fridge and leaning back against it.

Maroni sneered at me. A think scar ran across his jaw now, no doubt a mark made by glass and metal that used to be his car before Harvey Two-Face sent into rolling down the road. His nose was broken, his eyes blackened and bloodshot. He wore a brace on one leg and held crutches.

"Ever thought of using the elevator?" I asked, cocking my head to one side in mock concern.

"Very funny," Maroni slurred in a thick, nasally voice.

"Please," I said, holding back laughter, "have a seat. Want anything to drink?"

"No," Maroni growled.

One of his men pulled out a chair for him to sit. I stood at the refrigerator, smiling as Maroni winced his way into the chair.

"Seen Chechen lately? Haven't heard from him in a while," I asked. The Chechen was one of the only mob bosses in Gotham I got along with. His absence worried me.

"He's underground," Maroni sighed, "having surgery. Joker did a number on 'im, just like Gambol."

"Gambol was an asshole and you know it Mac," I said. "I actually liked Chechen. He's a funny guy."

There was a long pause. No one moved. I smirked and leaned against the refrigerator, Maroni grunted in his seat. Maroni's man stood with hands clasped.

I felt the question coming, as I had with Batman, and my smirk deepened when it came.

"Joker came through, didn't 'e?" Maroni asked.

I laughed stupidly at him and nodded. "Last week I think. Hasn't been back through since."

"I want him."

"I didn't know you swung on that side of the fence, Macaroni."

"Shut up."

I held my hands up in defense.

"I kid, Mac, I kid. Oy vey. Relax. I know you want 'im. I dunno where he is-"

"Did you send 'im to the motel?"

"I did."

"Where would he be now?" Maroni sounded excited now.

I shook my head at him. "I don't know, Mac. I loaded him up with Jed and sent him on his way. I don't follow them, and I wasn't about to ask, now was I?"

"You know something, Freaky, now tell me."

I blinked at him. I was tired. I didn't feel like dealing with his shit tonight.

"You need to talk to Penguin?" I asked.

There was a long angry pause on Maroni's part.

"Fine," he growled.

He got up shakily from his chair and hobbled to the door.

"Even if you did know where he was, you wouldn't tell me, would you?" he asked from the door.

I shook my head at him. He left. I flipped him the bird and propped my bare feet up on the table.

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My newest group of freaks was driving me up a fucking wall. Two of them were paranoid schizophrenics that spent most of their time talking to themselves more than each other. Another had a personality disorder. One was a manic depressive who was always droning on about how she wanted to kill herself. I told her she might as well, considering she talked about ti so much. We found her in the bathroom a few days later. She had cut her wrists wide open. A few of the others were psychotics. The majority were escaped prison inmates. And they were driving me up a wall.

I couldn't sleep at night because they stayed up and yelled at each other until dawn. The schizos sat in the corners of the rooms with their hands over theirs ears, screaming about the voices. I kind of got the hint after a while that there were some prison-shower stunts being pulled when I wasn't around. Ugh.

On a few occasions, I caught myself thinking about how quiet it had been at that girl's apartment. What was her name again? Weirdo? Psycho? Freaky? Freaky! That's it. And she was a little freaky, wasn't she?

So, so quiet.

One day, after an extremely long and noisy night, I decided I was sick of this bunch of goons. I decided to get rid of them. As I looked at each of them as they sat on the floor, some of them playing cards, some of them mumbling to each other, to themselves. I tinkered with some ideas, letting my tongue wander around the inside of my cheeks.

I'd send the schizo twins off to Wayne Enterprises and see how long it takes for them to get arrested. I'd rile them up first. Yeah. Get them going on some kind of trip. Ooooooh! Maybe I could get a hold of some acid! Ooooooh, that would be fun. Send them in screaming about bats and voices and streaming colors and shit like that.

I could send the psychotics to the mall and see how long it takes for the rent-a-cops to catch them. Then the real cops. They'd probably have to bring in the big guns at some point. I think I'd stick around for that. Watch from afar like some high school kid with a crush.

Eh. I'd figure out what to do with the cons later.

First, the schizos. I called 'Crow and asked if he had any connections. Of course he did.

"What for, if I may so bold as to ask?" he said in his professional, psychotherapist voice.

"I'm bored," I said.

He sighed, gave me a name and an alley, and hung up. I gave the info to one of my inmates and sent him off. He came back an hour later with the stuff.

"Thanks," I said, and stabbed him in the throat. "Clean that up, wouldja?" I told the others.

The place we were staying at, funnily enough, was Gambol's old bar. I figured after all I did for him I deserved to take up his place and keep it nice. It wasn't working out well: the place was a wreck with all the trash, broken bottles and... people problems. I kept myself upstairs most of the time. There was - or used to be - an inn up there. No one rented much anymore. Ha. Ha.

Hahahahahahaha-hehe-hahahaha

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Thanks for reading (maybe, unless you just scrolled to the bottom of the screen). R&R. Next chapter to come out soon... hopefully.

-Jess