Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hazel crouched like a vulture as she stared down the neck of the latest homicide victim. She studied the details, committing them to memory: Jagged edges of flesh; sawn vertebral column; dark clumps of coagulated blood. The area around the body was clean, no pooling of blood on the ground beneath the victim.

The Forensics would determine the type of weapon to cause such catastrophic injury, but at face value this looked just like the other 5 headless corpses that had been called-in over the last few months.

Face value. What the fuck.

Hazel stood, her boots grinding on the asphalt as she turned. Her ice blue eyes met the dark stare of her partner and with a nod she gestured to meet him at the perimeter of the crime scene, snapping off her latex gloves as she walked.

“Sick fucks,” Jason grumbled as he lifted the tape for Hazel to duck under, then followed close behind. 

“These murders are graphic, that’s for sure” Hazel answered absently.

Her words flowed with an ease that she had earned by time and practice; short, sharp responses, the hint of disgust in her tone – but not enough to be considered emotional. She arranged an appropriately grave expression on her face as she responded to the scene, her mindfully crafted veneer hiding her indifference. Desensitised to violence early in her career, Hazel suspected that corpses had never unsettled her as much as they should.

She didn’t like violence or enjoy gore, but her body didn’t respond the way others did. Her heart didn’t thunder wildly in her chest; stomach churning and mouth flooded with saliva. It didn’t pale her, send her into shock, or leave her with recurring dreams and night sweats.

Crime scenes were just work.

The nightmares she did have had plagued the dark recesses of her mind for as long as she remembered, but she never dreamed about corpses.

“What do you think?” Jason asked.

“These are aggressive crimes. Our killer doesn’t just want the victim’s dead, they want them disfigured, humiliated. Maybe teaching them a lesson or making an example of them?” Hazel furrowed her brows. “It takes more than a fleeting impulse to severe a head, you need the right tools, space and time. It also takes considerable strength.”

Hazel took a final scan over the tape, watching the crimes unit mark and photograph the scene.  She acknowledged them with a wave before turning to make her way up the alley, Jason falling into step beside her. As she approached her vehicle she continued with her musing.

“There is no evidence the kills have happened on sight, so we are dealing with someone who has the means and know-how to transport a body without leaving an obvious trail. They are meticulous in their process, no fingerprints, hair or other sources of DNA, other than the victims. We are looking for someone patient, perhaps with some knowledge in medicine, forensics or law.”

Hazel disabled the lock on the driver side door and let herself in. Sitting at the wheel she watched Jason fasten his belt on the passenger side. 

“We find out who this latest victim is and how they link with the previous kills. Once we know what motivates the crime, we will be that much closer to finding our killer.

**

Hazel watched the blinking light on her telephone for a moment before picking up the phone. She listened intently whilst scribbling notes on her pocket pad.

 “Hispanic male, 45 years. Name Matias Antonio Alvarado. Got it.” Hazel thanked the caller and hung up.

The coroner had confirmed the identity of the headless corpse.

“Okay.” Hazel mused whilst scrutinising her notes, “Who are you Matias?”

Hazel punched the name into the data base on her computer, almost instantaneously Matias Antonio Alvarado’s mug shot appeared. Scanning her eyes quickly over the screen she read his charges.

One misdemeanour for first time Cannabis possession. One felony: Violence against women. Orchestrating street prostitution in the Narrows. For this crime, Mr Alvarado was a repeat offender.

Hazel exhaled while tapping her fingers. This new information provoked old theories she had temporarily put to rest. Yet, too many pieces conflicted and northing felt like it clicked. Jesus, how many more bodies would turn up before she could get some traction on this case? She didn’t dare think.

When the first three murders had been reported, Hazel felt it no coincidence that they were all sex workers, but then, the next two bodies had turned up with clean records, seemingly no identifiable link between them and no link with the first three victims. Now a pimp had been added to the list and Hazel felt in her gut that it was no coincidence.

Hazel was startled out of rumination by a loud rap at the door and the foggy outline of her superior through the opaque glass. Hazel groaned inwardly. Lieutenant James had been out of office a few days on personal leave - his mother was in the late stages of dementia. Not that she wanted his mother to be unwell – but his absence was a relief under any circumstance. He would be expecting some progress on the case and Hazel would be pleased if she had anything meaningful to report - aside from yet another headless body. 

It had been a long day already, starting with the 6:00 AM call-out and followed by interviews and phone calls up the ass, hysterical family members begging for answers she still couldn’t give. Hazel really didn’t need her butt whooped by her boss.

But yet, here it came.

The Lieutenants beady, narrow set eyes drilled into her as he pulled the seat opposite her desk. He took out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at his brow.

So, what can you tell me detective? Lieutenant asked in a tone that invited her to fail him.

Hazel flicked through her notes on her desk “The latest victim, Hispanic male…

“No” her boss interrupted, rising from his seat, hands to waist as he turned away. Hazel heard him suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly, attempting to settle his obvious agitation.

“No.” he repeated more steadily. “I am not interested in the meagre details from today’s latest shit-show. In fact, I trust I have heard most of it plastered all over the news. What can you tell me, that is new, detective? Have you, in any way, scratched the surface on this case?”

Hazel felt the heat of anger wash through her body just under the surface of the skin, her gut was a broiler room and the heat spread out like flames on spilled oil. Hazel wondered if her boss could see the flicker of contempt in her pale eyes, or maybe the warmth of her rage, radiating through her skin.

Prick!

“Perhaps, you might like to entertain my suggestion now”

“What was that?” Hazel asked, even though she already knew the answer, her voice cool despite the fire raging within.

“Stop searching for the most complicated answer. You think it’s going to make you detective of the year. It’s not, Hazel, it’s a rookie error.” Hazel stared at him blankly letting his scorn wash over her. “Start, in the most obvious place, this city is full of supervillains, men and woman who do crimes like this for sport. They lust for blood. For Chaos. How many of these freaks have you interviewed?

Hazel didn’t answer. The answer was zero. And it wasn’t the first time he had asked her to do it.

Lieutenant James pointed a finger, shaking it “You know, ever since batman disappeared, this city has gone even further to shit, and that sorry excuse for an institute, Arkham, should be closed - permanently!”. His whole body hummed with agitation, “we have the worst-of-the-worst back out on the street because of the breakout. If they had been rotting in a maximum-security prison where they belonged, it never would have happened! And you haven’t suspected any of them, have you!

Hazel wanted to argue; to justify her decisions, but she worried that her carefully sculpted composure would fail her. What did her idiot boss expect? That she should just work through a laundry-list of known killers based on nothing? These murders didn’t fit the handywork of any of Gotham’s supervillains and if she tried to make it fit, she would be blind to the truth. The truth would present itself to her, eventually. Besides, even if she suspected it, what then? March the supervillain into shop, in cuffs? These guys didn’t hang around once they made their bust-out. They weren’t lining up for interviews or chilling downtown waiting to be locked back up. They were gone; seeped into the bedrock of Gotham’s underworld without a trace.

Hazel opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a blood curdling scream from outside her office.

Hazel’s eyes widened in surprise, instinctively touching her hand to the gun at her hip as she leapt to her feet. She charged out of her office, her supervisor hot on her heels.

Hazel scanned the common area where cubicles were separated by dividers. Most of the desks were empty and a crowd had gathered near reception. Hazel couldn’t make out the words but several of her colleagues were babbling frantically to one another and Hazel moved quickly in their direction. 

“You’ve got to see this” Jason nearly shouted as he met her, turning on himself to lead her at a light jog.

“Move. Move!” Hazel shouted at the by-standers as she pushed through the crowd to find the receptionist laid out, pale faced, on the floor, being fanned by one of the beat cops. There was a parcel on the desk that had freshly been opened.

With a quick scan of her eyes Hazel assessed the scene; Jill the receptionist must have been opening mail - the box on the desk - when she endured a terrible shock that caused her to faint. Hazel eyed the box on the desk with an uncomfortable certainty; everything she needed to know was inside.

“Stand back” Hazel shouted as she approached the desk.

Was it a bomb? Hazel crept closer.

The crowd fell silent around her as she approached.

Hazels fingertips gripped the rough edges of the cardboard packaging as she peeled the flaps all the way open, revealing a large cooler box inside. Hazel exhaled, steadying her hands before prying open the cooler lid.

Fuck.

Hazel stared.

The head stared back.

Hispanic, around 45 years from what she could tell. Hazel was confident the dead man looking up at her was  her victim, Matias Antonio Alvarado.

The head was laid facing upward, the eyes opaque and cloudy with a sticky, empty stare. The skin had a blue hue but darker, almost black, at the jagged area where the neck had been severed. The blue lips were cracked slightly open, showing bottom teeth, one of them gold plated.

Without touching, Hazel explored the face. A furrow deepened in her brow. There appeared to be some kind of obstruction in the mouth. It was hard to see through the jaws, only slightly ajar, but there was definitely something white.

“Jason, evidence bag and tweezers.”

Jason rushed to get the tools that Hazel asked for.

The crowd fell silent as Hazel aligned the tweezers carefully into the corpse’s mouth and ventured in. The obstruction was lodged deep, wedged into the throat. Hazel was careful as she passed through the lips, it was obvious even at the initial touch that rigor mortis was present. Hazel’s hand remained steady as she felt the tweezers scrape against something papery.

Squeezing the tweezers shut she tested the resistance of the object, worried it might tear if she applied force. With a smooth motion Hazel pulled and was relieved when the object came easily - until it unfolded and lodged again in the mouth cavity. With a final twist, the object flicked out from behind the teeth.

Hazel stared at it in disbelief.

It can’t be...

A murmur of alarm swept the crowd as bystanders came to recognise what Hazel held in her grip. Suddenly, Hazel regretted acting so rashly. She knew better; she should have cleared the area. Why was she so impatient all the time?

Information like this could fuck up her case, and cause hysteria across the city.

Hazel looked up and her eyes met the hard disapproving stare of her boss. He had seen it too, clear as day, and if the ruddy colour in his cheeks was anything to go by, the dude was pissed.

Fuck.

The Joker playing card she held in her tweezers was in plain view for all to see, and everyone knew what it meant. After the disappearance of batman and a few years of quiet from Joker – every Gothomite’s worst nightmare: The Clown Prince of Gotham was back.

Chapter Text

“Hazel wait!” Jason called after her as she stormed out of the building towards her car.

Hazel was pissed-off and hearing Jason call after her just annoyed her more. She spun, her eyes narrow, daring him to waste her time.

Jason slowed his trot to a walk, pulling up beside her.

“Hey, how’d you go in there?”

Hazel rolled her eyes and let out a huff. Jason was alright. Well-meaning. He wasn’t going anywhere if she didn’t give him something.

“Lieutenant James let me have it, yeah. We all knew that was coming.”

“So, what is our next move? I guess Joker is our number one person of interest because of this?”

“Let me stop you there, Jason” Hazel snapped, making no attempt to conceal her irritation. "The Lieutenant may feel validated by this strange piece of evidence, but it makes no sense to me. This isn’t The Jokers work. Even the lieutenant has not experienced the Joker first hand, but I have.”

“Please, my insides hurt. ... the boss said he'd make the voices go away. He said he'd go inside and replace 'em with bright lights... like Christmas!”

Hazel remembered the sound of the man’s crying as he had desperately clawed at his belly. Joker had blown the place to pieces with a phone detonated bomb and walked straight out of his cell, leaving hell in his wake. It had been the first really horrific act of violence she had seen first-hand, and yeah, it haunted her for months. Hazel had made the decision then and there that if she wanted to make it as a detective, she would have to harden up fast. Gotham was not a city for the faint of heart. She had also realised something else that same night; The Joker was a ruthless genius. The things he did were objectively terrible, yet, if one removed the moral lens, the elaborate crimes he undertook were nothing short of art. This wasn’t his work.

No, this was not loud enough for The Joker. Sneaking around hiding bodies. It wasn’t his style. What would be the point? Drawing the media, using a live hostage for leverage and killing them for show. Walking into a warehouse full of mobsters and manipulating them into his games. Joker hit people in the face with all the horror he could summons. He didn’t lurk.

“But you’re going to look into the card, right?”

“Of course, I am! Jesus.” Her partner was dragging her into the ground right now. He was still eyeing her suspiciously. Did he require more reassurance? What more could she say?

Hazel groaned. Resenting being told what to do, resenting having to jump hoops. Even to Jason. Even though he was a nice guy.

“Shit” Hazel sighed. “I am going to go visit one of my informants, see what I can squeeze out of them regarding Joker”

Jason looked physically lighter at the news.

“Great!” he almost chirped stepping towards the car.

“No.”

“No, what?” Jason stopped; his brows pinched together.

This was an annoying situation - Hazel didn’t want company. Some of her interviews were not exactly ‘by the book’

“No.” she repeated as she dropped into the driver seat and pressed lock on the doors.

She didn’t like the way Jason tiptoed around her, it was weak and unsatisfactory. However, at times like this it was useful.

Hazel didn’t look back as she turned the ignition and pumped the gas. She could imagine his sorry face where she left him hanging on the pavement. Too bad. She didn’t need a shadow where she was going.

**

Hazel gasped, throwing her head back into the pillow as Miff rolled off her. Damp with sweat and a bare leg kicked out of the sheet she stared at the chipped paint on his ceiling, waiting for her breath to steady.

Beside her Miff rustled around, searching for a smoke. 

"Want a smoke?" he asked.

"Yea, thanks."

"Cigarette? Or weed?"

Hazel threw him an irritated glance.

“Give me a joint and I’ll arrest you for possession.” Weed was still illegal in Gotham - although it seemed like the least of the cities concerns.

Miff snickered passing her a cigarette. He sparked his joint with a lighter and took a deep drag before leaning over to light hers.

Hazel watched his hands. They were one of his most attractive features, covered in intricate tattoos across his knuckles and backs of hands. Two bands were tattooed on his pinkie and ring finger, a scorpion running the length of his middle finger and on each knuckle were roman numeral - Hazel wasn't sure what he was counting. The scorpion was her favourite. Damgerous, delicate. It fascinated her.

He was Lean, with lightly freckled arms. He wasn’t a heavy built guy, but he was wiry and strong, his muscles flexing as he moved. He stayed lean simply because he never sat still long enough to keep an ounce of fat on him. He had been growing a pony tail for as long as she had known him, blond but with a hint of red. It was a wild mat of hair almost waist length. Miff was a true 80's rocker.

He lay down next to her, staring with his sapphire blue eyes. His smoke balanced between his first and middle finger, he drew gentle circles on Hazels ribs with his pinkie.

Hazel dragged her smoke then rolled over to face him.

“This is a little more than anything I have asked you to do before.”

Miff ashed his smoke carelessly of the edge of the bed.  As he returned, he winked playfully. “Sounds big. We might need to do what we just did… again.”

Hazel paused. She was fond of Miff; he was a decent enough dude all things considered and actually what she was about to ask was big. She almost felt uncomfortable asking it. However, she pushed that aside. Miff had been an informant for a long time. He knew what he signed up for.

She couldn’t help thinking about the sex. It was good. She would hate to see anything happen to him...

Miff had been an informant for the department for 7 years. Hazel did not sleep with him in exchange for information. Not exactly. Miff gave the department information because he was on the payroll. Hazel slept with Miff because she wanted to. Of course, she knew it was a sweetner that helped him remember details he might otherwise forget.

“I need you to find someone for me.” She said cautiously                                                                                                            

"Okay?"

“But before you freak out, I just need a hint. Just send me in the right direction and nothing will come back your way.”

Miff pressed himself up on his elbow.

“Who exactly, are we looking for, Hazel?”

Hazel chewed at her lip. Miff was her only chance and she didn’t want to scare him off. His knowledge of Gotham underground was unrivalled. He was able to be pre-emptive and stumble to the right place, in the right time.

Hazel looked him in the eye with her ice blue stare. He had come through for her many times before and she believed he would now.

Hazel reached to her bag beside the bed and produced an evidence bag.

She held it out to Miff and watched his eyes widen at the sight of the Joker card in the bag.

“Jesus, Hazel!" He pushed himself up creating distance between them. As though the card itself was a threat. "You don’t just go searching for him."

“Please! If I don’t catch a lead on this case I am fucked. I need your help.” Hazel searched Miffs face. He looked upset more than angry."Just a hint of his wear-abouts will do." Hazel reasoned.

"I don't know where he is! Anyone with a lick of sense makes a devout practice of not knowing where he is! It's called self-preservation!"

"Surely you know someone who knows…" Hazel persisted. "You could find out, without getting too close. I am not asking you to make contact - if that is what you are worried about..."

"Again, I don’t know where he is! People don’t mix with him unless they are desperate and neither should you.  That’s when you end up in his dept. It’s not me I’m worried about… it’s you. You are biting off more than you can chew this time. Jesus Hazel. Listen to me for once!" 

Hazel stiffened. “What the fuck, Miff!” She swung her legs off the bed to stand and yanked on her blowse. “It's not your business to worry about me. I don't need anyone worrying about me. You are an informant on payroll! So, fucking inform!”

Miff leaned back into his pillow, fingers buried into his hair and palms resting on his forehead. A long silence stretched between them. Finally, Miff spoke.

“I know a woman… she’s done a job or two for him when her luck was out. Maybe she knows something… but Jesus, Hazel, this isn’t the sort of trouble you should go looking for… are you sure you won't reconsider?”

Hazel gave an irritated shake of her head.

“Just find him.”

**

“I have sent word of your request. Go to the address -alone - and wait. If he decides to meet you, my contact will come to meet you at that spot and take you to him."

Hazel recalled Miffs words as she travelled to the meeting spot. She was vulnerable alone on the dimly lit street, yet she felt worse revealing herself beneath the pale orbs of lamp light. She stuck to the shadows where she wouldn't be noticed, her dark clothes blending her into shadows, her hair tucked into a cap to hide her femineity.

She was travelling on foot as instructed, south, through The Narrows towards the dockyards. The old buildings she passed stood in disrepair, most of them abandoned, except for squatters and drug addicts looking for a dry place to sleep.

“I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the father except through me.”

A man’s voice broke the silence. He called repeatedly from an adjacent alley and as Hazel passed, she caught a glimpse of his rag covered form, standing on a milk crate and preaching into the night. It was strange how insanity was obvious, even at a glance.

The homeless were generally harmless – opportunistic criminals at times but not hardened master minds. They were a stapple in the setting of downtown Gotham, particularly in recent years, and even more so in The Narrows. The alley was probably full of sleeping bodies, hidden from Hazel’s view in shrouds of darkness.

Hazels feel clacked softly as she continued.

Hazel had the feeling she was being watched, not just by the preacher,  or the homeless who slept nearby. A chill ran through her. In these parts, someone was always watching. The Narrows was forsaken ground, claimed by depraved souls who wished to remain nameless and unchecked as they carried out their shadowy deeds. GCPD had lost it's grip on this sector of Gotham long ago.

Hazel stayed on high alert as she marched. Street muggings were common in this area – and worse things happened. A morbid image flashed into her mind’s eye, of the bays frigid waters submerging her body. How many mobsters had been disposed of right here? Tossed into the Atlantic with bricks tied to their feet? The bay was a mob graveyard.

Hazel squared her shoulders. Her mind was playing tricks. The real threat was not out here on the street, it wasn't the bums, it wasn't the Beretti Family, or even the Falcone's. The real threat was yet to come and she needed to stay focused. If she succeeded in her mission, if she found him, that’s when things would really get interesting. It was a threat she wanted, needed, in order to solve her case. She only hoped that Miff had come through for her.

No-one knew where The Joker hid; if they did, they pretended not to. There were only whispers of the clown, where he had been moving, or where he might be running a job sometime soon. Only Gothams most desperate turned to him. The savviest of the underground players, men like Miff, kept a watch on The Jokers movements, simply so they could walk the other way and avoid the hellfire he unleashed. The Joker would not be forced into covert operations. Gotham was his to roam as he pleased. Motivated by loyalty or terror, sometimes both, the wise remained silent and the authorities were destined to chase Jokers ghost.

Until now... if he was willing to meet. hazel couldn't deny a sense of thrill at the possility.

The downhill was getting steeper as the road led towards the decommissioned southern dock yard. Soon Hazel saw the spot, a junction between two streets, a large sign on the corner indicating the dock number. Already a figure waited. It could mean only one thing. The Gotham Clown Prince had agreed to meet her and he had sent his contact.

Fuck.

As Hazel approached, the woman raised her head, her weathered face harrowed and empty of expression. It was hard to tell her age, she looked around 50, yet a hard life could add years to an appearance.

“I’m detective Madden. You must be Rose… Miff said you would be expecting me.”

The woman stared at her flatly, before turning away and Hazel fell into step behind her. Hazel followed several feet behind, guided in part by the clacking of the woman’s boot heels on the uneven road surface. She marvelled at how the skinny heels buckled and swayed over the cobblestones but the woman kept her balance effortlessly.

**

Hazel followed the woman down the south bound road where rows of large warehouses lined the shore. Finally, the woman slipped into a passageway between two abandoned warehouses, using the small flame from a lighter to pick footholds in the dark, she lead Hazel into a courtyard at the opposite end of the passageway. In the centre of the courtyard sat a small pale building. It was a church in ruin.

The white stone building was almost iridescent against the night sky, dark in places where moss grew thick. Hazel’s eyes explored the little building curiously. it was so out of place. She struggled to imagine the history behind it. She eyed the windows, one long and arched in the front and one in the upper story which was round. Some windows were stain glass, and some were missing. Again, the feeling that someone was watching.

The woman grunted impatiently and Hazel followed her up a small flight of stairs towards the wooden doors that marked the entrance to the church.

Reaching the top step, Rose moved aside. Her distant gaze left Hazel with nothing to read, and Hazel paused waiting for further instruction. With a hint of irritation, the woman gestured at the door.

“Are you coming in?” Hazel asked. She’d grown attached to the company. The reality was settling in of where she was and with whom she was meeting.  

For the first time the woman smiled. Her thin lips spread to reveal grey teeth and for a moment her amusement brought life to her features.

"Not me, love. God’s left this place far too long." her voice was dry. "I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for that I owe Miff." her expression changed to one of pain. "Don’t go getting him in trouble, child."

Hazel nodded, but before she could push the door, the woman reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Whatever you do, don't go staring at his scars.” The woman whispered in a conspiratal tone. “Don’t be listening to his stories, neither. There is only one truth: he was spat back from Hell. He was marked that way by the devil himself. Diabali!” Rose shook her head and scuttled down the stairs. Her figure faded into the black and Hazel was alone on the doorstep.

**

Hazel pressed her bodyweight against the heavy wooden door and pushed. As it swung open, her senses were overwhelmed by the waxy scent of candle smoke, mixed with wood rot. Hazel stared in bewilderment. At the end of each row of seats, lining the aisle stood gothic candelabras with their candles lit - an explanation for the dim lighting. The front of the room was lit by more burning wicks, set just like they might before a Sunday service - a stark contrast against the otherwise tumbledown interior.

Under the eerie light in restless shadow, Hazel saw him. He stared into the wall of tiny flames above him, his purple coated shoulder broad, gloved hands held behind his back and feet wide. He was an effortlessly commanding form.

Hazel blinked in fear and awe at the sight before her, as the door fell shut with a thud.

Cocking his head at the sound he turned, consuming hazel with his gaze. The shadows bounced across his face and his crooked red grin widened in greeting, and then he spoke.

“Ah, welcome Detective. You're righ-t on tiime”

Chapter Text

She watched his shadowy form looming in the corner for a beat. It was surreal. The horror story that Gotham barely whispered about was in the flesh just metres from her.

“Good evening, Sir. My name is Hazel Madden. I am a Homicide Detective with Gotham City Police Department”

Hazel withdrew her badge as she approached and held it up for the clown to see.

Somewhere overhead in the small church building wind whipped through cracks creating a steady whistling sound.

“I know who you are, Detective.”

The rasp of the clown’s voice was unexpected. As cliché as it was, the timbre of his voice sent a shiver down Hazel’s spine. So did the look in his eye.

As the clown watched her, Hazel was taken back to the night in Gotham Police Department. He had blown his way out of his cell and walked free amidst debris and chaos. Effortless. She was a rookie cop at the time. Not someone he would remember, but she would never forget that night. It had helped shape her. His presence had changed the whole atmosphere in the station. The place was charged with nervous energy just knowing he was in the holding cell.

The air was charged with nervous energy now, but this time it was all hers.

“I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me,” Hazel continued, voice steady. “Since I am only familiar with your criminal alias, please advise me how I might best address you this evening?”

“Ahhh, pet names already” the clown purred – “and what shall I call you, Doll-face?"

“Detective Madden will do nicely” Hazel flashed him a business-like smile.

“Madden?” the clown tested the name on his tongue “Is that Irish? It’s distinctive. Not many Irish in this hell-scape of a city.”

True. Her father was Irish, but she wasn't going to get baited into discussion. He was probing her. Asking her to give up more of herself. No chance.

Hazel tucked her badge away and answered her own question.

“Very well, Sir. Let’s go with J, Shall we?”

The clown’s eyes narrowed.

“Why don’t you come over and take a seat, Detective Madden.” the clown gestured at the space near him.

Hazel kept her smile fixed

“Thank you.” she replied politely but remained standing.

A sinister grin spilt the clowns face and in two long strides he closed the gap between them. With a force that knocked air from her, he bowled her back against the wall. Hazel snatched for her holster, relieved to find the familiar wood handle beneath her fingers. Just as his switch knife met her throat with an ominous click, Hazel rammed the barrel of her colt into his jaw.

The cold knife felt like heat on her skin, teasing. She could feel the blade catching where it touched, ready to slice her open. She took her breath with steady caution.

The clown looked down at her with murderous intent, and she held his stare, unwavering.

“Relationships are built on trust.” He dropped an octave “So, I think it pertinent we are completely honest with each other, detective. I will start by telling you I’d be pleased to spill your guts, right here and now. So, don’t, ah, tempt me.” His eyes wandered her throat “In fact, I’d like nothing more than to cut you up into pretty, little, pieces. But you are of use to me, whole. For now. Law means nothing here, Detective Madden. It’s important you know that. Your life can end in a heartbeat.”

Hazel felt the beat of heart against his knife, acutely aware that any of those beats could be her last.

Hazel used her thumb to cock her pistol, pressing the barrel deeper into his neck.

She wasn’t going to show him fear. She knew well enough not to let him sniff weakness. Besides, he was pissing her off.

“Cutting me would be the last thing you do. We’re at a stalemate” her pale eyes flashed as she raised her chin, exposing her neckline provocatively to his knife. “Do your worst, J.” She gritted.

Hazel watched the jagged smile of paint and scars pull up on his cheeks. His gaze was disconcerting; she had never seen eyes so empty. Yet, there was a glint of something in those depths. Glee.

He was laughing at her.

Her rebellion was a joke to him.

“You're a spicy little number, Detective.” He clicked, his eyes warming as he eased his pressure slightly. “Why, so, serious, hmm?”

Hazel didn’t back off. The barrel of her colt still jammed under his jaw.

“I'll never let you take me in.” He raised his brows. “If that’s what this is about then you’re suffering delusions of grandeur" his expression flattened. “You spent much time at Arkham, Detective? You ever had the pleasure of their psychiatric program?"

Hazel blinked but stayed silent.

“Didn’t think so.” the clown concluded. "If you don't go in crazy, you sure as shit come out that way - it's cutting edge, torture. Shit I'd be proud of if it was my joint! Nah. I’d rather be sent to Black Gate prison. But they don’t let crazy people choose.”

Hazel studied his features.

The infamous paint was a haphazard job; smudged black sockets, and rough white paint. Patchy and cracked. She scanned for the nuanced expressions beneath the paint that might indicate his intentions but found nothing.

The clown was a hard man to read.

Hazel felt the rise and fall of her chest as she held eye contact. She counted her breath in and out, settling her nerves and steadying her gun at his jaw.

She cleared her throat softly against the sharp edge of his blade.

“I understand, J. I am just here to ask you some questions, completely off the record.” 

“Rather unconventional circumstances wouldn’t you say? Making your way down these parts… going to all that trouble to find little-old-me…?”

The clown leaned right in, so his nose nearly touched hers. The smell of his grease paint thick in her nostrils.

“…All to ask me a few simple questions... doesn’t seem like sound reasoning to me, detective. Doesn't sound real smart!”

Ignoring her gun, the clown straightened up. He spun the knife on his fingers then pocketed it in a flurry of gloved slight.

Hazel slowly lowered her weapon but didn’t holster it. She let the air from her lungs.

“Now. I don’t see any sense that you would be wearing a wire, given that I happily confess to all my so-called crimes… but you’re feisty, and I am not in the mood to have you put holes through me... so, be a good girl and lay that weapon on the ground.”

Hazel didn't want to surrender her weapon. Her mind ticked; the clown wouldn’t hesitate to spill her blood, that she knew, but he had allowed her to find him. There was a reason he had agreed to talk, and a reason he hadn't killed her already. Her gut told her it was more than blood sport. She could see it in his eyes. What was it?

Curiosity.

Noone came looking for him like this. It was irregular. Something he didn’t understand.

The clown wanted answers from her. Maybe as much as she wanted answers from him.

Hazel nodded. Slowly bending her knees she reached to the ground, placing the weapon down and sweeping it aside with her foot.

“Good” the clown purred his eyes trailing her face as she rose again to meet him, “this will, ah, only take a sec…”

The clown raised his hands to turn her and with a roll of her eyes she complied, raising her palms to the wall.

He kicked her heels, and she parted them. The same way she had done to crooks so many times.

It was degrading on this end of it.  

Hazel chewed her cheek and resisted the urge to spin and knee him as he started his frisk. She drew a sharp breath as heavy hands cupped her ribs. The heat from his hands burned right through his gloves to her skin as he patted her waist, leaving the sensation of warmth down her sides and over her hips.

“turn” he muttered, coaxing Hazel’s body around to face him. In the process, he plucked the cap from her head and tossed it aside so her cropped black hair fell, free around her face.

Their eyes locked and Hazel felt herself transfixed by the alien-like void of his pupils.

“Not, ah, hard on the eyes, are ya cup-cake.” he chuckled "I mean... detective Madden"

The hairs on her neck stood on end as a fierce retort bottled in her throat. How dare he! It took every scrap of self-control to swallow it back down and by the gleam in his eye he knew exactly how tight he’d wound her.

Animated amusement filled his expression “Ha! We got a live one ‘ere.”

The paradox of body language the clown emitted was distracting. He was deadly, as much as he was nonchalant. Charming even. Right now, his grin and casual demeanour invited her to relax. He would have to do better; Hazel knew a cop killing fiend when she saw one.

The clown’s eyes narrowed, refocusing on his search “hang tight sweat-heart, we’re almost done”.

The clown bent a knee, dropping low and close as he cupped his large hands around her ankle. Slowly, he swept the length of her jeaned leg all the way to her upper thigh. Heat rushed to Hazel’s neck as his gloved hands ghosted between her thighs, before repeating the search on the other side.

Satisfied she was free of weapons and wires, he stood again, looking over her with heavy eyes.

"You’re clear."

No shit.

“Great. J, Can I ask you some questions now?” Hazels voice up beat.

“tut tut” the clown pressed a gloved hand to her lips “the walls have ears.” He cocked his head listening intently and Hazel froze as she heard the distant voices that had caught the clown’s attention.

At that moment the door bust open and a party of men teamed in, guns slung at their shoulders.

Hazel shifted, her eyes darting at the men and back to the clown.

“Just doing the rounds, Boss.” He froze when he saw the woman standing beside Joker “Ah, sorry boss, not meaning to interrupt or nothing, everything alright in here?” he asked

“We are peachy. My, ah, date and I are getting hungry though. Sort it out, will you?”

Without a word the party turned and left, the heavy door falling shut behind them.

“That’s better. They won’t be back for a while, so we have some ah, privacy”

“Date?” Hazel asked incredulous

“You prefer I tell them you’re one of Gotham’s finest, hmm? Wouldn’t end well for you.”

Glass scraped under boots as the clown moved away and dropped into the first long bench pew. Hazel glanced up and saw the remains of a shattered out led light window. It’s coloured remnants littered the floor beneath their feet.

“Well do si-t” he said, rolling his eyes. “You did come all this way to talk, didn’t you?

Hazel sighed as she moved to join him. At this point all protocol had been pushed aside and she was running on guts and luck.

The old bench seat creaked a little under her weight as she sat, and she slipped a hand into her coat. She could feel the clown watching intently.

“You keep up with the news?” she asked as she withdrew an evidence bag.

“I keep up with everything in this city, cup cake.” He pressed his tongue to his lip to lick the scar that Hazel shouldn’t stare at.

“What do you know of the serial killings happening in town?’

The clown chewed aimlessly at the inside of his lip, eyes blank. He looked bored.

“Another corpse turned up last week, but this time we get sent the head, and we find this in the mouth”

Hazel produced the evidence bag and dangled it at the clown.

The Clown’s eyes widened slightly. It wasn't much but it was enough for Hazel to catch.

This was new information to the Joker.

"Okay, you got my attention Detective. So what? You think this means I killed these people? You here to arrest me?"

"Did you do it, J?"

"No." The clown gave a heavy blink of his eyes as he watched Hazel

"Then why would I arrest you?"

The clowns grin spread wide.

“What would it matter if I did it or not. I know I’m the prize fish that all of Gotham’s finest lust after. Bring me in and your lieutenant would cream his pants -  Ya gotta admit it would be a notch on your belt bringing me in, hmm? Don’t pretend you wouldn’t ah, get off on it too.” his eyes trailed down her figure and back up as he said it.

“Hmm” Hazel smiled in amusement “I’m not here to bring you in. I will leave that to the batman." if he ever returns..."I’m here to solve my case, and right now, this" – Hazel wiggled the evidence bag. "Is serving as a distraction. I don’t believe it’s authentic. Somebody has tried to frame you, or perhaps a fan trying to mimic you."

“So, what do you want, Detective?”

He sounded irritated now. Hazel didn't know if he was irritated with her, or simply the mention of the batman...

“You know what an informant does, J” she asked mater of factly.

The clown’s eyes grew wide. 

"You want me to work for you, detective?" he gave his knew a slap. "And they said I was crazy!"

"You know J, I don’t think your crazy – I think you're smart. You have spent a long time crafting a reputation and committing crimes that serve your agenda." Hazel waved a hand gesturing at the clown’s face paint and his trademark suit. "this is a carefully curated image. You care how it presents. You must care that someone is out there, an imposter, riding your coat tails and suggesting that their sloppy handywork is yours?

“It sounds like you care” the clowns voice oozed

Hazel stood from her chair, tucking the card back in her pocket. "I do care. Because this fucking card is stopping me from doing my job. 6 victims. I have established a link between 4 of them, but two stand out like dogs balls, why? And why the card?" Hazel sighed and rubbed her fingers into her temple before raising her ice blue eyes back to the clown. "I have a lieutenant breathing down my neck, insisting I follow this lead with you as number one suspect and all the while I know it's bullshit! We have that in common: you and I both know it's bullshit."

"So-what?" the clown gave a lazy shrug.

Hazel spread her hands appealing to the Joker." As far as I see it, we both have an itch to scratch. Let’s scratch it together and cure the itch a whole lot faster."

The clown raised an eyebrow “Ya want us to scratch each other, detective?’

“You know what I mean.”

The clown leaned back his large arm slung along the seat back and his knees relaxed open. He looked at her blank faced.

That blank expression was starting to piss her off.

“What’s in it for me?" he asked at last. "It Sounds like you've struck out and now you want me to do your job for you, Detective. Tell me I'm wrong.”

Hazel froze, her eyes flicking back and forth over the clown’s features.

Hazel felt her pulse rise. Sure, the clown had his connections. But Hazel had the resources and man power of the Gotham Police behind her, and she was a dam good detective. Did he honestly think she offered nothing?

“I thought you knew everything that happened in your city?" she thrust the evidence bag towards him "doesn't look that way." she shoved it back in her pocket and softened her posture. "I think there may be a tactical advantage to working together."

“How so?” The clown’s eyes darkened “You think I’m gonna find this killer and march them into the station?”

The clown’s eyes shone with sadistic glee – Hazel assumed he was imaging the myriad of ways he might dispose of the imposter…

Hazel shrugged “Tell you what, you keep your ear to the ground and feed me anything you hear. You do that and I’ll let you know what I hear, and you can restore your reputation faster. Simple. You’re good at what you do, I assure you – so am I.” Hazel smiled teasing, “And to sweeten it further, the next time you get wrangled in and they try committing you to Arkham – I’ll let them know you aren’t crazy. You want to spend your days rotting in a cell at Black Gate Prison like a real crook, not a nutjob - I’ll put in a word for you.”

He nodded slowly – "ok, say we help each other out a little, in the final stretch it’s gloves off - your suspect will never see the inside of a jail if I get to them first – you understand, don’t you?”

Hazel nodded. “sure.”

“Well then, I suppose you have a deal,” the clown stood and extended a gloved hand at the detective “May the best man, or ah, woman, win.”

He’d come around easier than she thought…

Hazel held her chin high as she gave the clowns hand a brisk, firm shake. He caught her hand.

Leather against her skin, strong hands. The Joker. Her synapses fired and sent a small wave through her belly.

The sound of the church door creaking open caused her to turn, pulling her hand free from the clown’s grip.

The men hustled in with wind at their backs, letting the door fall shut on the night.

“Burgers, boss?” the first man held a take-away bag in the air.

The sting of a wasp fired up in Hazel’s neck as she watched them, catching her off guard. She slapped at her neck as she spun, her eyes meeting the defiant smile of the clown where he lingered behind her. Instantly, she knew that he had jabbed her.

“You asshole!” even as she spat the words, she felt her knees buckle beneath her.

She crumpled and his arms shot out to grab.

“Easy detective.”

She wanted to shout out at him, punch him but she was powerless.

Then the Joker and the old church faded to black.