Months had passed. Gotham was the same rusty cistern filled with the scum of humanity. The denizens which floated atop its festering waters, like turds in a sewer, were still the same too. Why should any of it change? Just because a nobody struggling to keep his veins clean had vanished did not mean anything. It happened every day. Sink or swim.
Jack had been a lost cause. He had worked a shitty job, lived in a shitty apartment, attended the nearest NA meetings, and did petty crime for an extra buck and some excitement. The crime was one old habit he hadnât been able to kick. It helped that he had met and befriended Johnnie, who knew the best fences and always had a dirty job available for any seasoned thug.
She wasnât the only person who actually took note of Jackâs disappearance - there was his sponsor, employer, and landlady. But she was the only person that Jack considered A FRIEND to have made note of it. It was possible she was the only person who actually missed him and wanted him back.
Jack wasnât coming back, ever. Jack was dead. Yet like a ghost - if you believe in such things - there lingered a man-shaped shadow which wore his face. It looked like Jack⌠if Jack had been dipped in ivory, black ink, and acid. It sounded like him too, though the accent he had kept as subtle as possible was now unleashed.
It was this man that came looking for Johnnie at her makeshift office. She had come so far already, was rubbing shoulders with the big names that showed up on GNN. She chose her own jobs, helped out whoever paid the most.
He had knocked on the door before just letting himself in, seeing that the light was on within. The dead part of him still clung to him sometimes, so he felt more than a little anxious at seeing her now. Wondering if she still had that appetite for destruction, worrying he might have to kill her if she turned him away.
So he showed off his new silver smile, whore-red lips stretching as he opened his arms.  âYa miss me, sweetheart?â he drawled.
Johnnie had worked hard at carving herself a little slice of Gotham, but she had never been a one piece kind of gal. In the end, she could only rely on herself, the past had shown her any attachments, any sort of familiarity, friendship, would only blow up in her face.Â
She had actually thought Jack and her would do it together, they worked every shit job, grinding their nose against the stone of Gotham, but when she had needed him the most, he had up and vanished. Johnnie liked to think that he had died, it certainly would have been understandable, Gotham had a way of chewing people up and spitting them out in the bottom of the harbour. It was easier to think of him that way than running out, leaving her to muscle in the rest of the guys, plenty of incels who refused to take shit from a woman, they had earned their own watery graves over time. Luckily a few of the smarter ones clicked on, Johnnie wasnât someone to screw around, she wasnât shy when it came to cuttin off extremities when things didnât go her way. If things went as Johnnie said, then everyone was well supplied and paid.Â
Johnnie had a good gig going for herself now, she had men at her disposal and some of the biggest names in Gotham looking out for her. She was big enough not to get fucked over, and more than a few people were looking to her for supply and demand. Falone, Maroni, the crime families may have known Gotham for generations, but they were out of touch with the people, they didnât get their hands dirty, they had people show off their âstrengthâ with displays of their own. Johnnie lived here, grew up in the Narrows with the shit-kickers who worked for her. They had an understanding, Johnnie made their lives a little easier, steady work, decent pay, she had sacrificed a lot in the early days so that she could establish herself.Â
The knock at the door had her looking up with a glare, there shouldnât have been anyone around, not too many people knew of the office and business hours were most certainly over for her. She always wore twin pistols now, snuggled to her body with black leather holsters, she also carried an assortment of knives. As big as people got in this city, it was all too easy to forget exactly how many people wanted you dead, Johnnie wasnât about to be seen dead on the news from some addict looking for a fix.Â
Her brow furrowed as she came to stand, walking around the desk as she took a look over the man with his arms held out. It was... Too strange. He was too pale, too thin, Jack hadnât spoken with such a broad accent but there was this man, standing like the echo of Jack. Her jaw clenched at the presumption, before it started to spin at the implication of him being actually alive, that he had abandoned her. Much like her jaw, her fist closed tightly before she slammed it into his nose hard. âYou fucker. Think you can waltz where-the fucking-ever you want!? In then out of my life for months, and you show up with a bad hair job and a shitty paint job and thatâs all you have to say?â She snapped, glaring at him. âI thought you were dead... You have exactly thirty seconds to explain why I shouldnât honor that memory.â She said, a hand coming to rest on the butt of one of her pistols.
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