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Car Ride

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The Clown, The Girl, and the Kindness of Men

Chapter I: The Girl

Layla Emmers sat in the stuffy office listening to Johnathan Crane boast about himself for the past hour. She shifted in the uncomfortable, itchy couch and popped her shirt collar to fan herself. The room was dimly lit with a low ambient light from the nearby lamps. The carpet is a shade of brown with pleated vacuumed stripes and the walls covered in bookshelves. The shelves themselves filled with books neatly tucked together, with little room to budge.

Crane laughed to himself and turned around from his desk in his oversized leather swivel chair to boast some more out the pitch-black window.

Layla frowned, looking back at the roaring fireplace; it began to hiss with the falling rain that slipped past the chimney cap. She knew better than to wear a sweater with nothing underneath to this meeting. Crane's house was always dark, grim, and unbearably hot.

Layla redirected her attention to the desk in front of her, surprised to see Crane staring down at her with a Cheshire grin.

"Now, as for you," he smeared, "you're in quite a pickle with me again, aren't you?"

Her eyes cast down to his hands laced together over a printed black and white photo of her father. A dissolved and lost man with sunken eyes.

"Why do you sell drugs to a man you know can't pay you back?" Layla asked, flicking her eyes up to his.

"Well, so far," he chuckled, "I've gotten all my payments, haven't I? You've made sure your father stays in good graces with me, so if anything, you should be asking yourself why you're in this room with me?"

She took a deep breath and relaxed back on the creaking velvet red couch, "and what is it he owes you now?"

Layla watched the twisted smirk curl up his angular face and dance in his eyes, "80 thousand,"

Layla's eyes fluttered, "pardon?"

"Your father was the direct cause of the loss of 80 thousand dollars worth of my new drug,"

Her mouth opened to speak, but words vanished from her mind. Crane laughed, relaxing back into his chair and tilting his head. He could practically see her mind swirl. Layla was, in a word, fascinating to him. She clearly hated her father, and yet here she sat, as she did every Friday, to listen to what trouble her father got into with him and worked out a deal to pay off his collected debt. Typically he owed a few hundred, barely reaching into thousands except for on the rare occasion. Most of the time, her end of the deal would become in, listen to him ramble, pay off what she needed, collect her father and leave.

"I-I don't have-" she stuttered, "Dr. Crane, you can't really expect me to be able to pay that by the end of the week,"

"Oh no," he smirked, "I don't, aren't you a waitress who lives in the lower level of the slums?" he laughed, "no of course I know you can't pay that off,"

Layla brought her hand to her chest and thought, "so then, what is it you expect me to do? Maybe a payment plan?"

"By the time you make a payment, your father will only rack up more debt,"

She nodded, "I know,"

"But-"

Layla glared up at him, "but I do have a few ideas on how you can pay me back,"

Jonathan stood walking around the large mahogany desk and leaning against it infront of her, "with your body, or rather, your fists,"

Awash of anger flooded her veins, "what do you mean? I'm not testing any new drugs again."

"no, nothing like that. Gotham's most wanted nutcase has broken out of Arkham again; he's hosting some underground cage matches," he explained, "you used to fight for me once. I need you to do it again."

Layla chewed in the inside of her cheek and nodded, "I'm not a fighter. I just had to get out of some situations. Are you sure you don't want someone else?"

"The prize for winning a match is 100k, that'll cover what he owes me, and I'll even split some of the profit with you," he ignored, "that is if you win,"

Layla understood; she had come to accept that Crane only listened to himself.

"when and where?" she asked softly.

Crane took her chin in his hand and tilted it up to him, "tomorrow night, I will have someone pick you up from your house. Until then, I will keep your father here in a cell,"

Layla nodded, "fine,"

"Be ready around 7; the fights start at 8:30,"

Layla pulled her face from his grasp and turned to leave the room, "I'll be ready," she spoke out, exiting from his office door and following the maze of carpeted corridors to the grand foyer and out into the raging storm.

Rain pelted her as lightning and thunder roared over the city. Though Layla wasn't angry at the rage of the storm, for she understood the needs of mother nature wanting to wash away this putrid and infested town.

Starting down the concrete steps, she walked herself along the sidewalk. Zipping cars splashing more water up into her boots. Lights and sirens ringing off more than usual tonight.

Layla walked several blocks pausing at her place of work. The lights were off, and it had been closed up long before her meeting with Crane even started. The best coffee shop in the heart of downtown Gotham. A green and white building with modern technology ran by a woman with litter regard for her employees.

Still.

She dug in her pocket and fished out the key to the back door, slipping into the alleyway and finding shelter from the rain within the pack pantry of the shop.

The smell of coffee and croissants filled her nose. Her shoulders relaxed a bit. Patting the walls, she flicked on the lights and pulled off her soaking wet sweater and pants, handing them over an empty rack near the floor to drip dry. A small sink sat in the back, where she squeezed as much water from her raven curls as she could.

Satisfied with herself, she pulled out a bucket and turned it upside down, using it as a stool.

"This fucking sucks," she moaned to herself. Untying her boots and kicking them and her damp socks off, "80 thousand dollars,"

Blaring sirens outside the shop caught her attention. Slowly she pushed the connecting door from the pantry to the shop open. The coffee lounge was an ample open tiled space, with the chairs and tables all folded and pushed to sidewalls. The center of the room was a long wraparound bar-style desk where the coffee orders were placed and made. The shop was often filled with suited men and women in the daytime, rudely demanding their coffee and tipping the spare change in their pockets.

However, now the room danced in red and blue as she watched cops gather outside on the street talking loudly over the storm to each other.

Padding her feet over the desk, she grabbed a 4x large shirt they sold and tossed it on. She watched from the shadows pulling down a bar stool and plating up a danish and glass of tap water. "Wonder if I poked my head outside and said, 'hey, scarecrow lives three blocks down!' if they would send me to Arkum or not," she mumbled to herself, chewing on the corner of her food.

"Hmm?" he voiced out, seeing a hooded shadow duck down the alleyway she used to get in the back.

The door locks from the inside, so she wasn't apprehensive about anyone breaking in back there. They would need a key. But still, it was a dead-end back there.

"Are you who they are looking for?" she asked herself, "or are you just trying to hide from the storm like me?"

BANG BANG BANG

Layla scurried off her stool and covered her head on the ground. Looking up, one of the cops had fired his gun, and they were now trying to identify the victim.

"Holy shit," she hissed to herself, watching the men shake their heads over the corpse and phone for an ambulance.

She pushed herself up to her hands and knees and crawled into the backroom, flicking off the overhead lights and opening the connecting door so the lights from outside the front could help her see in the back room.

She crawled over to her clothes and paused, "wait what I leave and they-" she shuddered, looking back at the scene.

"Wait-" she thought, looking at the back door, "I wonder if that person is afraid too."

Layla chewed on her lip, debating if she wanted to open the door or not.

"Whoever they are looking for-," she decided, "can't be worse than Scarecrow,"

Slowly she stood, making sure she hadn't provoked too much attention from the outside. More officers and an ambulance had finally shown up. The forces stood decked out in large guns and heavy protective vests. They filed into a strange formation turning on blinding flashlights attached to the scopes of their assault rifles, and began descending down the streets in every direction of the corner.

Layla hid from the light, pushing her body flush against the wall behind some large boxes of instant coffee. Slowly the light drained from the room as the officer walked on. Layla jumped to the door and opened it gently.

Sure enough, a man was hiding in the shadows. He had on a pair of ripped-up jeans and a black hoodie. His face shielded from the pelting rain, he almost didn't hear the gentle cry for his attention.

"Dude!" Layla crouched down and picked up a small rock tossing it at his feet.

The man slid his foot back, looking at the offending pebble and then looking up at the young girl in the doorway.

Her eyes seemed to glow in the dark, a bright green matching his own. Her hair curled around her face in sharp, self-cut curls; she wore a shirt that swallowed her whole.

Slowly he watched her bring her hand up and wave him over. The hooded man lunged into the building, and she shut it behind them just as the police began to shift down into the alleyway. The man's hand found her mouth from behind, and he pulled her back into him.

She whimpered in fear, feeling his other hand snaked around her waist and hold her still. Her hands clawed at his wrists until she noticed the glowing light from the flashlight seeping out from under the door.

She relaxed in his grip, watching the light drag itself from one end of the industrial double door to the other and pause.

BANG BANG BANG

A large pound on the door makes her body tense against his. She pulled her bare legs up to her, curling herself in the embrace of the man she rescued.

"Shhh," he whispered into her ear, sending chills up her spine.

His hand gently left her lips. She felt his rustle behind her. The glint of metal caught her eye. The man held in his fingers a small handgun cocked and pointed at the door.

Her eyes went wide, "oh fuck” she thought to herself.

The light shifted under the door and, not long after that, vanished.

Layla watched their shadows dance in front of them, highlighted in red and blue color. She relaxed a bit after some time had passed, and the light never returned.

"I think we're in the clear doll," the man behind her whispered, lowering his gun beside him.

Layla pushed her hand back and rolled forward, twisting, so she had to her back to the back door. The man fell back onto his ass with a sloppy plop from his soaked clothing. A puddle forming around him on the floor.

She couldn't make out a face, not with the light behind him. Just his silhouette. Tall, broad, and surprisingly gentle with her.

The man before her chuckled, "my my," he smeared, "aren't you a pretty little rat."

Layla's heart roared in her ear, glancing over at her clothes and back towards the man. He licked at his bottom lip. Her milky white skin and jet black curls illuminated with fear and flashing police lights.

"No need to worry about those," he pointed over to her clothing, "I'm not gonna do anything to ya,"

"Are you," Layal spoke gently, "are you the person they are looking for?"

"Does it matter?"

She shook her head, "I guess not,"

The man laughed once more, "what's your name, peach?"

"Um," she thought for a moment, "uh Layla, I work here."

"You make a habit out of rescuing criminals."

Layla laughed, much to the man's surprise, "um actually, yeah," she shrugged, "still, they killed someone out there,"

"I saw," he noted, "so you always work until 2 am?"

"Not always. What's your name?"

"Hmm?" he mused, pulling back his hood.

Layla watched him shake out his shaggy hair, the hint of green in a halo around the man. She shrunk away from him, her face curious. Lips parted and soft, eyes squinting to see.

"Joker," she whispered to herself, "you're the Joker."

Joker snorted, pulling his hoodie off and tossing it to the side. Slowly he stood, tucking his gun away in his pants and offering his hand out to Layla. She slipped her fingers into his palm, gasping when he yanked her up with ease. She stumbled, gripping his arms for support, her face in the crook of his neck. She could feel the warmth of his body brush against her. She hadn't realized just how cold she had become since her encounter with Crane.

"Um," she said gently looking up at him, "thank you,"

Joker wasn't paying her any attention. His eyes were on the police outside, who gathered and talked in the rain. Lightning crashed and shook the building. The warm press of Layla's body against his, as she recoiled away from the sound, brought his attention down to her.

She, too, was now holding tightly onto Joker and watching the police talk. Her face perking up, she whispered out a gentle, "look."

Joker furrowed his brow and turned back to see the police slipping into their cars and speeding off to another location. She relaxed, stepping away from Joker, and sighed.

They waited in the dark for a moment until finally, she flicked on the lights and looked back at him.

Joker stood before her in a white wife-beater and his dripping jeans. His face was void of the makeup he so often wore, and his hair was tied half up into a lopsided bun. His Glasgow smile stretched across his inquisitive face.

Her eyes soaked him in, just as he did to hers. She was tall for a woman, with broader shoulders and an overall more robust appearance to her. Her face was soft and gentle, void of the fear he so often came to face. She was curious, perhaps hesitant, but not scared.

"Do you-" she started to ask, "you want a coffee?"

Jokers blinked a few times, his shoulders bouncing. His lips curled into a smile, and he laughed. It was solid and hardy, the vibrations ripping through his body as he clutched his ribs.

"Oh, why not!" he rejoiced.

She chuckled, "alright," she mused. Walking into the open shop, she took a quick look out the glass walls and flicked on ½ the lights.

Joker shoved his hands in his pockets and walked over to where she had pulled a stool down, "It seems I interrupted your late-night snack," he noted, picking up the banish and taking a large bite out of it.

"And you still are," Layla huffed, tearing the bread from his mouth and biting into it.

Joker smirked as he chewed, watching the fearless woman stuff her face and walk behind the coffee bar. Her cheeks round with the bread, she slapped her hands together, crumbs flying onto the floor.

"Do you like sweet or bitter?" she asked behind dry swallows.

"Sweet," Joker purred, sitting on the barstool and leaning his elbows onto the table with a soft grunt.

Layla roared the espresso machine to life, letting it heat up. She gathered her materials and set to work brewing one of her favorite coffees. Joker watched her seemingly dance across the tile floor barefoot. Humming to herself as she patted the espresso beans gently into the brewer and then moved on to filling the plastic cup with the syrups and a dash of brown sugar to the mix. Then in another cup, she filled it with ice and set it to the side. Finally, she poured the hot coffee over the sweet mixture and stirred it up until the sugar and syrups melted together into the coffee.

The warm smell made her heart flutter as she added milk to the cup of ice and poured the coffee over the milk and ice, topped off with a lid and straw. She turned around, her smile reaching her eyes.

"Alright, here you go-" she recoiled as if cold water had been splashed on her face, "sorry I almost forgot who I was drinking with,"

Joker smirked, "you like this job?" he asked, "in the armpit of upstate Gotham,"

She shrugged, gathering her things and tossing them into a nearby sink, "actually, no, I hate the people who live in this city,"

Joker smiled, sucking down the liquid; it was robust and sweet, truly quite delicious, "well, you at least know how to make a good drink,"

Layla sprayed the dishes turning back; she smiled at him, "thanks,"

"So if you hate the people so much, why do you like your job?" he asked once more.

Layla thought for a moment pulling out a rag and drying the mixing cups, "I guess because I feel like I'm good at it," she shrugged, turning to face him, she leaned back on the sink and continued to dry, "though I wish I owned my own shop,"

"Ah, there it is," he mused, sucking on the straw, "you want the power to be in charge, huh?" Layla shrugged, "I guess I do," she smirked, "what about you? Seems like you really got them riled up tonight," Joker shrugged, "I uh, have a little entertainment project going on," he mused, "it keeps me out and about in the city, took a wrong turn and ran into a cop," he explained, "now they're all looking for me,"

"I see" Layla sat down her rag and pushed herself from the sink walking over to Joker, "well, I really don't spend my nights here," she confessed, "so if you need help, you shouldn't rely on coming here,"

"Bummer," he snarled, "tell me what makes you think I need your help anyway?"

Layla shook her head, "not saying you do, but I am saying it would be a real pain in my ass if you got arrested and your little cage fights got shut down."

Joker sat up, tilting his head to the side, "I never said anything about a cage fight doll,"

Layla picked up his drink and brought it to her lips, sipping it down, "does it matter that I know?" Joker smiled, "not I guess not,"

Layla licked at her bottom lip and sat the drink down, "the rain is letting up," she noted, "I need to pack up and go home,"

Joker frowned, looking over at the soft pelting rain, "and just before you were going to give me the coffee secret recipe,"

Layla laughed, "oh, was I?"

"You don't seem scared of me," Joker noted

"Not true," she shrugged, "but the way I see it, at least it was a fun ride, right?"

"Ride?'

"Ya know life?" she resonated, "it's been pretty eventful, I mean nothing to write home about, but if I had to die, I think my funeral would at least be kind of thought-provoking,"

"What a horribly morbid thing to think," Joker smirked, "How late do you work?" he asked.

"Hmm?" she thought, "well, I work until 6 when we close, then I usually come back after-" she paused, skipping over her time she uses to typically look for her father, "anyway, so I come back around 8 and clean up for about an hour or two,"

"Mind if I come back?" Joker asked Layla frowned at him crossing her arms over her chest, "I'm not looking to get mixed up with more criminals," she hissed.

"Actually," Joker hummed, "it's because I like the coffee and the conversation. Not because I want you to work for me."

"The conversation, huh?" she smirked.

Joker watched her walk around the countertop and approach him. She moved calmly and precisely like he was any other person. Stopping inches from him, he slid out of the barstool and looked down at her.

"Rumor has it, you're terrifying and malicious," she whispered, "why would I welcome that into my life?"

Joker licked his bottom lip and gave her a boyish grin, "careful doll, I'd hate for you to have to find out where those rumors come from,"

Her hand tapped on the granite countertop of the bar, "truth is, I kind of like the conversation too, much more fun than the pricks I serve in here daily, so-" she trailed off, "I'll let you in the back around 8, but just you, no goon squad."

Joker leaned into her ear, brushing back her with the back of his hand; he whispered, "deal, I'll be back the night after tomorrow."

Layla's heart fluttered, his smell filling her lugs, gun powder, leather, and mint. His warmth left her after that. He waltzed out of the building, grabbing his hoodie and disappearing into the night.

Layla took a deep breath and calmed her racing heart. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor, clutching the collar of her shirt. Taking in quick and shallow breaths, she braced herself from falling face-first into the tile.

"Oh, shit," she whispered to herself, "I can't believe I survived that,"

Relaxing back on her heels, she found her breath again. Pushing herself to her feet, she made quick work of cleaning up the mess and leaving with nothing out of place except the now missing shirt she wore as a dress.

Slipping into her sopping shoes, she walked on in the light drizzle out of Gotham upstate, over a bridge, and descended down into the slums. A horrible place, the scar of Gotham. Overrun with violent crime, drugs, and dilapidated apartment buildings.

She walked on in the rain; most left her be. They knew her father was involved with Crane and that since the young age of 11, Layla has been doing odd jobs for him. Not many people wanted to piss off Crane; after all, he ran the drug scene these people craved so badly.

Layla stumbled over the piles of trash outside her small apartment building and toppled over into the lobby. The hum of the dying lights illuminated the decaying entrance. It smelled of smoke and ash and hadn't been renovated since it was built in the 1950s. Mustard-colored carpet and brown laminate walls offended her eyes.

She pushed herself up and gathered her clothes before running up the stairs to the top floor and slamming herself into her home.

She recessed her back against the wall and closed her eyes. It was quiet, except the faint patter of rain thumping against her window. She was alone.

Opening her eyes to her open living room, she smiled to herself. These were her favorite times when Crane would hold her father in some half-assed cell under his home. She didn't worry about where he was; she could just come home and pretend she was living a life she knew she would never be able to indulge in.

Pushing herself from the door, she turned to her right and flicked on the light to her shotgun kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of inexpensive wine and pouring it into a glass before trotting into the darkness of her bathroom.

She stripped, tossing her clothes in a nearby basket, and wobbled back into the darkness of her living room, fishing out a pair of clean panties from the pile on her couch. Satisfied with her choice, she returned to her small bare bathroom and turned on the shower waiting for it to heat up.

"So," she sighed, leaning into the mirror examining any clogged pores or imperfections to fixate on, "had a meeting with Scarecrow, watched the cops kill a guy, and welcomed Joker into my life. Really good Layla mom would be so proud,"

Pushing back from the sink, she swallowed down another gulp of wine and stepped into the shower, "this is nice," she sighed, letting the water warm her. Setting her cup on the edge of the tub, she washed her hair and face.

"Good enough for me,"

She dried herself, wrapping her hair up in the towel, trotting to her bedroom. She plopped down on the twin mattress and let sleep captivate her body.

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