6959/Five Slugs in the Gut: Payphone's Broken and the Cabbie's Blind

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Five Slugs in the Gut: Payphone's Broken and the Cabbie's Blind
Date of Scene: 19 March 2019
Location: New York City
Synopsis: Joker calls for a ride back to Gotham. Business proposals with Deadshot and Stockholm ensue.
Cast of Characters: Joker, Deadshot, Stockholm




Joker has posed:
The Joker's raid on the federal building had failed to recover Homeland Security's hostage, and now the Clown Prince of Crime found himself down in the underground of an unfamiliar city. The Joker was used to dealing with the likes of Batman, the Justice League, maybe even the League of Assassins, but not the full force of a clean, orderly municipal police department, enhanced by multinational electronics and backed with the force of the United States Federal Government. Joker was now a terrorist, and he was being hunted by the worst types of American patriots: patriots that served without ignorance.

Joker, meanwhile, had found himself blind.

The Joker had managed to get to the New Lots with full dog and horse patrols hunting him, after having picked the lock on his handcuff in the hospital and painfully wrested out of his restraints with a disclocated shoulder. No easy feat, with five Action Force pistol rounds clawing around in your belly and impacted between a rib. He had managed to take a detective's gun after a fight, and took a hostage until he got to the second floor of the hospital and did a quick Parkour dive into a trashcan.

Now, he was in a cartel patch doctor's clinic, with the guy carving up his insides looking at Joker's internal organs as potential jewelry for some Third World dictator's liver transplant. He was still awake, in blood curdling pain, drinking from a bottle of Everclear grain alcohol. He quivered and growled and twitched, as the scalpel and forceps worked through the bullet wounds in his stomach and chest.

He lost a lot of blood, but it was hate that kept him alive. The huddled criminals and barbaric street doctors inside worked steadily for their fees, a fee Joker didn't have.

Deadshot has posed:
Deadshot was out of prison, and it wasn't a government sanctioned release either. He had been been spending life sentences locked away from the world until his escape, orchestrated with a healthy doses of skill, luck, and bribery. Now he's back in the Tri-State Area, attempting to dig up contacts, both old and new. And he didn't really care about who's 'side' they were in, if you even believe in sides.

  For the most part the gun for hire was blacklisted. His old contacts had been wrapped up with him when the Batman took him down, so work was slow. He didn't have a severe lack of funds yet, but he wasn't extremely comfortable with the amount he was left with after his prison-break. Taking every lead he could, he was following hunches, rumors, even getting to crimes before the police in an attempt to find some 'big names' of the game.

  He had no luck, until he got a call from a less-than-reputable doctor about a patient that matched up pretty conveniently with some chatter he'd been keeping up with.

  Arriving at a location that he wouldn't exactly classify as 'sterile' he glanced up and down the street. Cartel territory wasn't a location he wanted his actual face seen around, after all he was wanted. Putting his red visor down the assassin walked up to the door, knocking sharply twice. A brief moment passed before it opened a crack and the person behind the door looked him up and down, taking in the form that was very clearly Deadshot, or at the very least, someone who wasn't a cop by any means. A few sliding locks later and he was let in, a flickering neon light that read 'clinic' casting a uncomfortable shadow across the room.

  As he was gestured to another room he first saw the body laying on the table, a... grimy looking doctor seemingly slicing into the not-so-still form. He waited a moment, but the doctor seemed very unconcerned about the patient's health, so he might not actually have all the time in the world to observe.

  "So. Are you actually the Joker, or just a shot-up lowlife?"

Stockholm has posed:
Who isn't wanted by an active Federal Manhunt and has two thumbs?

This girl.

To be honest Stockholm really wasn't doing anything when the call came in through one of her contacts that there was a job in NYC.

It was one of those, money maybe, definitely a favor being called in though and paying off one of those is better than the current currency around these parts any day. One of those favors for someone who owed someone else a favor.

Seriously if she knew who the end favor was for she might have brought more guns or knives.

So the time it took Joker to get from a Hospital Bleeding like a stuck pig Stockholm made her way up the I95 in a fast car, not new, but clean plates, and arrived in the New Lots.

She does slow her roll as she pulls up and squints a bit at the back of Deadpool. "Neh.. way to mobile to be the package.... fuck me." and Stockholm decides to park one building down, just in case this turns into one of those bullet storm or exploding building sort of nights. She isn't dumb.

She is determined though to finish this job though so she heads into the .. well Deadshot called it.. less than sterile establishment. Going through the whole knock and wait.

She isn't as well known as the two criminals already in residence, but the look she gives could blister paint, and yeah she does not look like a cop. An odd yellow sort of jeweled flannel, ice blond hair, cystal blue eyes. Less leather and guns visible then some of her jobs.

https://goo.gl/XZCPq9

Which isn't to say she isn't armed, she certainly is and once inside she lets a curved blade slide from her sleeve into her hand as she lurks back waiting to see what is said or attempted. Watching closely. Profiling two very different criminals now that could practically be at opposite ends of the spectrum.

Joker has posed:
Joker's head shifts sideways, his bottle of Everclear drooping from his mouth as he lets it rest beside him, in his loose fingers.

"Well well well, Floyd, you've come out all the way to see a rodeo clown that sat on bulls***."

There's a low laugh, as he looks away, looking up at the ceiling as he winces from the street doctor's ministrations.

"I'm the Joker, Floyd, the only card without a name." There's a low buzz overhead as a helicopter passes, murmurs throughout the clinic as Joker looks nonplussed. "So are you here to put a bullet in my suffering head? It would be a lot better than some Advil right now."

Faces watch Deadshot, and the woman behind him, Stockholm, quietly, patients and enforcer guards and doctors and nurses. A whole lot of criminals, both in need of medical treatment the system denies them, and the rejected underclass of men and women of medicine trapped by their errors.

Deadshot has posed:
Deadshot might crack a smile, but the clean white mask kept him looking professional. Honestly, people said the Joker has a sick sense of humor, but there was something to be said to still crack jokes while laying barely recognizable and bleeding out on a table while a doctor sliced you up.

  "I honestly wasn't sure if it was you, after hearing how bad you were. But no, can't say anyone has hired my to put you down. Not that the government would call me up for a job anyway."

  He reaches into his vest, which draws a couple of swift and uncomfortable looks from the cartel members, but it's a bundle of hundreds, offering it to the nearest one that wasn't bleeding or otherwise injured. The man who takes it flips through it quickly, then nods to the doctor digging around in the Joker. The doctor, sighing, appears to start taking his job more seriously.

  "Still, I can't jump back into the area without contacts, so you dying isn't in my best interests at the moment."

  In the busy room he hasn't been overly concerned with the criminals around him, so positioned as he is, Deadshot hasn't noticed an unmet criminal element behind him.

Stockholm has posed:
At the laugh from the Joker well Stockholm can't help but curve a crooked sort of smile. Is it because he laughed, or because he sounds like he is in chewing on glass levels of pain.

Hell maybe it is both, sadists.

Oh look Deadshot is being an opportunist. That makes her life so much simpler than if he was being a contract killer tonight.

Shew. Though man she is itching to kill someone right now. What is it about rooms full of killers anyways.

"Joker, your UBER is here."

After a moment to let that drop in the room, really she isn't that big on telling jokes though she couldn't help herself. Honestly it's the audience. Stockholm continues "I personally have no issues killing everyone in here if The Joker dies. Consider that encouragement to not lose the patient Doctors." a bright smile "So please to be taking the nice assassins money and patching up the Clown Prince.... I'd say wheels up soon but I didn't fly here."

That curved blade in her hand twirls a little bit, idle fidgeting as she looks ready to do what she said, start killing. She wasn't bluffing but honestly she does seem to have some professional restraint.

Joker has posed:
"We're all allowed to do stupid things, Floyd, otherwise God wouldn't have invented death," Joker explains to Deadshot.

Joker grins broadly upwards as he smells the money and feels the doctor be more careful, removing a bullet.

"Well, boy-o, I think you've found an ally. There's a new business opportunity in Gotham City, and it involves us thieving gentlemen, and the guilds that employ us. I don't know much more, other than Sal Maroni winding up with his brain in a hammock in the hospital."

Joker looks over Deadshot's shoulder, motioning with a limp, lifted finger at her. "That's Jules, my driver. Old friend friend from Gotham. Funny way how all roads lead out of Rome these days, eh?"

He sits up, grunting, forward on the table. "Patch me up, doctor, we're rolling. I'll take my chances." He twists the bottle of Everclear shut with a cap he'd been cradling in his hidden hand, and sets it on the table.

Deadshot has posed:
Deadshot shrugs, seemigly unconcerned. "So long as you've got some sort of plan rattling around in your head."

  Hears the laugh behind him and he turns his head slightly, enough to take in the woman who laughed fully with his uncovered eye. Even the cartel members didn't flat out laugh at the bleeding, probably mentally insane, man on the table. And she looked like she might have a higher body count than most of the cartel members too.

  At least he didn't have to worry about her being a cop. And any further worries he might have had we gone shortly after when the Joker confirmed her status and she made her crack about being his UBER. He repositions to include her, nodding briefly in her direction, more polite than any of the company in the room probably would be.

  "Deadshot." He introduces himself. "Try not to kill someone on the way out?" He offers as a suggestion, watching the knife twirl around in your hand. "I did already pay them, and it's bad form to break a contract."

  As the Joker starts getting up he moves over to him, offering an arm to the roughly stitched and wrapped figure. "Easy. Moving fast and killing yourself won't help my future bank accounts." It's hard to tell if the assistance is out of some sort of previous loyalty and kindness, or cold professionalism.

Stockholm has posed:
Stockholm continues to be chipper giving Deadshot a return not, polite. "Jules I suppose, though most of these people know me was Stockholm." yup like the syndrome.

The blade stops twirling and she lifts her hand and scratches the side of her head very softly, like she is considering something very hard, ignoring the tiny bit of blood that beads up where the knife cuts herself. It isn't a deep cut at all, just for show, and scalp wounds bleed so much easier than other places on the body. "I suppose I will do my very best to offer restraint for the completion of said contract Deadpool." a slow beat of a pause "Absolutely not promises though." and there is that bright smile once more as she looks around at the various cartal and Doctors. "You heard the man, patch him up. We have places to be that are not this horrible city." she really does prefer Gotham.

It makes more sense to her.

Joker has posed:
Joker grumbles and lays back down on the bed, pushing his hips up and lengthening out his legs. The doctor mutters in Spanish, before he goes right back into Joker's insides, hunting another bullet.

"Word is that someone is making a big push on Gotham City. I wasn't notified, so naturally, I am mortified that I am not included."

"Business logic, Floyd. If someone doesn't let you go to their tea party, you don't get a cut of the taxes for the stuff. The mover comes into the city, whoever it is, and we side with the locals. The underdog is always the more profitable position, especially if you're a free agent."

Joker grimaces as another bullet is removed, his head thrashing to the side for a stitch. "You pick up a contract working for whatever family pays the best, do it piecemeal and small form, in case there's a sea change." Joker fumbles around in the green bomber jacket he picked up on the way to the clinic, pulling out a pack of cheap cigarettes. "Personally, I plan on retaking my crown, as the King of Gotham, a Dark Knight be damned." He slips the cigarette out, and lights it a lighter scavenged out of the jacket pocket. He leans back, exhaling the fumes opposite the doctor and the rest of the clinic.

Deadshot has posed:
Deadshot is expressionless due to his covered face. "Stockholm. Very... cheery." He says, drawing connections to the famous psychological phenomenon as well as the capital of Sweden, though he doubts it has anything to do with the later. Considering how she doesn't seem to care that she's drawing blood, it's probably safe to assume she's not all right in the head either. He always gets stuck with the crazies....

  As the doctor begins his brief babble in a language, he withdraws the offer of assistance. He takes the time to listen to the mastermind.

  "I'll take the devil I know. Last I checked that was you. Though it's been a while since either of us were in Gotham. I'd like to have a little more information on who exactly is pushing before I start dropping bodies. It's not my style to cause reckless mayhem Joker."

  His eyes are drawn to a few of the uninjured cartel members gathering in a corner and speaking in low tones. He didn't appreciate not knowing the language of the group around him, it makes him edgy. His arms cross his chest, as if impatient with the time it's taking to patch up the patient, but it's purely precautionary.

Stockholm has posed:
"Honestly I think that most situations call for at least a small measure of reckless mayhem." at least she is honest about her opinion of such things. The knife going back to twirling slowly in her left hand as her attention drifts towards the cartel members clustered in the corner. Her eyes slowly narrowing.

Her words though are for Deadshot. "So is it true you never miss when you take a shot?" a bright smile sidelong for him. "I'd love to compare notes on that sometime. I tend to miss but I think it is because I am honestly just not as careful most of the time as you seem to be."

"Also I am onboard for steady pay and helping you rebuild Joker, especially if it means sticking it to the Bats.. stupid flying rats." there is a whole lot of venom in her voice. "Who do they think they are. Seriously who died and made them protector of Gotham all high and mighty .... lording over us all like we aren't allowed to commit some felonies." okay she is getting a bit more heated as she lets out a bit of a rant.

Then from the hand no one was watching because it was not twirling a knife flies a throwing knife right THUNK into the base of the skull of one of the huddled Cartal. "They plan to kill us and sell the Joker back in Gotham." she notes even as she draws a second knife and lets it fly.

She is damn precise with those knives.

Also is she serious or did she just want to kill some random Cartal sorts. Hard to say.

Joker has posed:
"I plan on getting to the bottom of it, Floyd, then I'll be in touch. Remember, they can't hire you, if I hire you first."

As the knives go spinning, Joker points his cigarette, directly in front of the doctor's eye, just within range to put it out there.

"Now patch me up, Doc, nice and slow. Stay where you are, and stitch me up, so I can see you. Do it real gentle, so I don't slip."

Joker doesn't like New York City criminals, moreso than Gotham City criminals. At least in Gotham, they didn't betray you when you were tanning.

Deadshot has posed:
Deadshot doesn't look fully convinced, after all the opinion is coming from a knife-twirling... well. He doesn't have a word for Stockholm in his head yet. It's a different kind of crazy than the Joker, which is the kind of crazy he is more used to dealing with. And here he though that by getting outside of Gotham he might actually get away from that element. He should know better.

  "Whatever the shot, I never miss." He confirms. Probably the one thing he might be called egotistical about, though it's hard to say it's all ego all things considered. "And I have my own issues with the Bat. He doesn't think that hired guns are innocent. We're just doing a job." He says, breaking down his moral compass very quickly.

  After all, it's not -his- fault so many people want to kill eachother anonymously.

  When the knife lets fly from Stockholm's hand, he isn't far behind pointing his gauntlet with silenced guns at a thin medicine cabinet and firing, the whizzzzzz-CLING sound followed by a thud in the next room as the ricochet takes out a partially visible target. He's absolutely showing off, gotta keep that street cred up.

  "I'd do what the nice man says doc."

Stockholm has posed:
"Nice shot." she notes as she walks over, still twirling the knife in her left hand and retrieves her knives from the two unfortunately cartal men she treated like cows in a slaughter house, right to the base of the neck. "that was an absolute pleasure to see. Too bad there weren't more for you to shoot... though there is the door guard and probably someone on lookout." Stockholm is ever the optimist really.

She cleans her knives and puts them back wherever they came from, seems to be couple sheaths in her right sleeve really. Not too mysterious. Not like she has magic. Then she ruffles through their pockets picking up their wallets and going through them quietly. Probably for the best, it keeps her quiet for a little while at least.

"So wait, you only kill people when your contracted to kill people. You don't ever rob or maim people. Exactly how well does that pay?" okay so Stockholm sounds a bit skeptical about this whole concept. Then to the Doctor "ETA on that stich job Doc?"

Joker has posed:
The wound is stitched, and bandaged, with Joker watching the doctor carefully.

"You know, Doc, you weren't exactly nice, the way you took those bullets out, and now, here we are, with your boys grudged against me, and you with a flaming hot cigarette next to your eye."

The patch doctor starts whining and crying and babbling in broken English, shaking softly, frozen in place next to the cigarette.

Joker brings the cigarette down just below the eye, where a tear tattoo would be located, the Spanish doctor yelping first, then screaming in fear, pulling away.

Laughing grimly, he pulls off the table with a lurch up and a pivot to get his feet over the edge. He pulls his stolen jacket down over his naked upper body and large bandage over his gut as he lopes towards the exit, wearing a pair of hospital rubber shoes from back in the New York metropolitan hospital that Homeland Security dumped him in and a pair of pajama bottoms provided to him as an inmate.

"Come on, pals. Let's ride."

Deadshot has posed:
Deadshot continues watching the the surrounding cartel members, a few lights blinking on and off attached to the red circular visor over his eye. He doesn't respond to the compliment, carefully watching the rest of the room for any response that might be hostile. At his point a clock was ticking with how much time they could probably linger there before somebody caused more of a hassle than he really wanted to deal with.

  "It pays well enough. Hate is a really powerful motivator for people in high places."

  As the Joker finishes his cigarette with all the class you might expect from someone of his caliber, Deadshot starts walking to one of the stabbed bodies, retrieving his payment. Falling in behind his could-be employer he adds a simple "Don't break contracts."

Stockholm has posed:
"Interesting." is all Stockholm says to Deadshot's lesson in how well contract killing pays. She seems to be genuine, she does find it interesting.

That said Stockholm isn't stupid enough to turn her back towards the cartel still up and mobile in the room. Walking facing them, still twirling her knife in her left hand as she does. "What he said!" not that it really had to be said. I mean Deadshot said it so it really was said well enough right.

Hell Stockholm doesn't even shoot or stab the door guard as she puts on some speed, opening the door for the Joker and slipping out onto the street first. She even does a good glance .. glance glance... to make sure there isn't an ambush waiting outside, or a SWAT Team. All before heading to the car, popping it open with the remote in her hands she gets the back seat open for the Joker "All aboard the Gotham express.. this isn't platform platform nine and three quarters but we aren't exactly going on a magical mystery tour."

Joker has posed:
Joker huddles in the cold of the fading winter, peering around as he hears distant sirens and honking horns. He slides into the car, closing the door. "Find me at the Stacked Deck, Floyd, when you're back in town. I'll try to find out who is moving in on Gotham. Then, I'll figure out whether or not you're a knife for the defense, or if I hire you to plant you with the poachers."

He turns to Stockholm, in the car. "So, Jules, what kind of music we have in here? I'm kind of in the mood for some ragtime."