Chapter One: Compromising Situation

Joker sat in a dark colored van with tinted windows. He'd yet to buy the fascinating wardrobe he'd planned on getting with the money he'd 'borrow' from the mob; nope, for now, he was in a garb of blue jeans and a dark violet collared long-sleeve shirt, which he'd undone to bring mid-elbow length. His hair, while remaining a soft tint of blonde, was the permanent green dye, and the make-up...well, that would come in time. The image was in his mind, but not quite set. He needed a rag tag team of expendable but dependable soldiers before thinking of coming in contact with the mob.

He wasn't afraid of them—he was just smarter than the other imbeciles that tried to take on the mob without backup. Work smart, not hard...the only piece of advise his father ever taught him before being sent to the Void with all the other scumbags Joker didn't regret dispatching. His black gloves went over a pocket knife in his denim jacket when he heard the van door slide across, revealing a large, stocky man (not really fat, but otherwise big-boned) as he shoved someone inside none too gently. Hearing a woman grunt angrily, her execution hood hit the van's floorboard harder than what was needed.

Seeing the man, Joker relaxed, hand still on the blade for habit sake, rather than defense. He smirked—the scars elongating on the pale disfigured face—when Joe Murklay, one of the first assets to Joker's army, slid in with the grace of a cow on a carriage. The van shifted with the new weight, but Joker found his presence to satisfactory.

The van sat a block from the nearby brawling tavern where the tough guys and promiscuous girls all hung around like the ruffians their mothers and fathers wished for them not to be. Then again, one was born only as bad as their parents...Joker wondered if his father would be happy about his reformation or disgusted—either way, Joker wasn't bothered. The old man was a dead beat anyway—figuratively and literally, speaking.

Joe wore a black shirt, XXL per his size, and it still made his stomach poke out. Baggy pants sported a large rump, and when he sat down, the shift of weight on the van became very obvious that he needed to drop a few pounds. Joker was silent as Joe slid the door shut, then pulled off the newcomer's hood.

"Well, well, well," Joker mused, laughing when the girl looked at him with a ferocity he already admired. "When I told you to select the better ones of the bunch, I didn't expect a beauty pagent, Joe."

Joe gave Joker a look of condescension.

"This one's the real deal, Boss."

"Boss?"

Joker and Joe turned to look at the woman who'd spoken. She had found her voice, hearing the title. Her hair was reddish brunette, soft and fair, lining down her shoulders and back in rough tangles. Dirt covered her cheeks, and there was a black bruise on her right cheek where someone had given her the right hook spot-on. Joker frowned when she laughed derisively.

"And here I thought I was meeting some mob boss, or something," She laughed quietly. Her voice was cynical, mocking him.

"Oh, it's worse." Joe chuckled darkly. And doing so, Joker stooped down to her level, on his knees, and placed the pocket blade right beside her jugular. Instantly, the girl froze, but fear didn't taint her cold glare. Joker found her bravery impressive, but mildly annoying.

"Why'd you bring her here, Joe?" Joker asked plainly, staring her down. She never blinked.

"She's good."

"I doubt that," said Joker, lowering his knife. "She's a woman."

"She's good," repeated Joe strongly.

Joker looked at the woman's cheek, noticing again the bruise. "Did you hit her?" His hand took her chin, making her look the opposite way so he had a better look of her nasty welt.

"Yeah," Joseph replied casually. "She put up quite a fight."

"I'll laugh if that was an initiation," chuckled the woman, her eyes haunting Joseph's with a glint of distaste.

Joker ignored her, turning his head slightly to give Joseph a look.

"I'm not hiring girl scouts," Joker replied sardonically. "If that was the case, I'd nab a few kids on the block and threaten them with detention." He smiled at that. "In fact, that sounds a hell lotta fun. Remind me to do that when we get through."

Joker began to put his knife to this girl's throat again, ready to slash it and be done with the amusement but when he moved the knife, he didn't feel it in his hands. Joker looked at his fingers, seeing that what he imagined had been, unfortunately, correct. Where did he...? He looked at the girl to see she held it in her hand, smirking at him.

"Well..." Joker began, stunned.

"I told you she was good." Joe reminded quietly.

"Why am I here?" she demanded, pointing the knife towards him. She held it steadily; her hands weren't shaking. Joker smirked; she knew what the game was all about.

Joker glanced at the knife warily, then smiled pleasantly. He stood carefully to his feet and sat back on the seat of the van, hands up as though in surrender. He could easily disarm her right now, her eyes switched between Joseph and himself. There were two of them, one of her. Evidently, she saw the odds as well, for she stood on one knee, and laid on the other, prepared to fight if it came down to it.

"Answer me." She whispered seriously. "Or I'll kill you."

Joker raised his eyebrows, saying, "A bit harsh, don't you think?"

"No different than what you'd have done to me if I didn't pick you."

Joker side-glanced at Joseph, whose hands were in the air as well. He seemed more nervous than the boss, but then again, the guy was new, untrained, and inexperienced. Unlike him...unlike this fair woman who turned out to be more than just a fiery brunette. Joker noticed a tense line to her face—she was steady, but there was a emotional, female-driven fear about her.

"True," Joker contended. "But things have changed a bit for your case."

"How so?" asked the girl.

"I'd like someone with your skills; I've never been pickpocketed before, needless to say, on my own territory. I'd slit your throat in a heart beat—there's two of us, one of you. I don't have to tell you that though, of course."

"I can count," She replied cynically.

Joker chuckled. Smart girl, covering her fear with sarcasm.

"What do you want with me?" she demanded. The knife was still held firmly in her hand.

"Your services." Joker replied, smirking at her. He pointed at her. "You have a talent. I'm lacking in a couple of lackeys—I think we could help each other."

"I think you need to help yourself," she responded curtly. "The only thing you offer is crime."

"Crime pays."

There was a soft glimmer of something in her eyes, a familiar reach that Joker saw. She returned guiltily, "The pay off is shit."

Joker chuckled humorously. "How about a treaty?"

"You don't look the type to keep a promise."

"Then a compromise."

She smirked at him, and Joker felt his loins burn. There was something seductive about her, something so dangerously vindictive that if she was given the chance, she'd probably kill him—happily too. She was a professional criminal like him; he saw that her fingerprints were burned...no fingerprints, no identification. Her skill was high enough to pickpocket him of his most prized possession, and she hadn't let her guard down...not even once.

"This conversation is over," she said quietly. "I'm leaving. You follow me, you or your pal here," She glanced vehemently at Joseph who stared at her with awe and anxiously, "I'll end it on the streets."

"I'll need that back," Joker told her, glancing at the knife.

"I doubt it." She replied mysteriously. She climbed out of the van, never once leaving a chance for him to jump on her back and stab her right there. Never once did she have her eyes leave his, and they never did until the van door slid shut. Joker hopped out of the van in time to see her sprinting like a ninja down the streets, zigzagging through the boisterous streets of late day Gotham City.

He'd get the knife back. He always did.