Batman Legacy: Book One
Copyright© 2025 by Uruks
Chapter 8: The Joke
East End, Gotham City — just after dusk
The apartment was small, cramped, and smelled like a cocktail of old coffee, paint thinner, and cheap takeout. The floorboards creaked beneath worn rugs, and the fridge rattled in the corner as if warning of its own collapse. The radiator hissed intermittently, like a grudge held over years of neglect. Against the chipped and faded kitchenette, beneath a flickering yellow bulb that danced whenever the wind hit the cracked window just right, Jack Napier stood before a fractured mirror, carefully adjusting his tie.
It was a clip-on — an insult to the dignity he was trying to muster.
Jack’s powder-blue suit hung loosely on his thin frame, the jacket and pants both two sizes too big, swallowing his bony arms and legs. The cuffs of his shirt slipped over his wrists, exposing pale, freckled skin beneath dark, heavy circles that betrayed too many restless nights. His ginger hair, wiry and wild, was swept back in a haphazard attempt at looking presentable.
He fixed the mirror with a shaky smile.
“Good evening, ladies and germs,” he muttered, voice rough and uneven. “What’s the difference between Gotham’s public transit and a funeral procession?”
He paused, waiting for the punchline to land in the silence.
“One of ‘em’s got fewer rats.”
The smile flickered and died.
Behind him, a soft voice called out.
“Jack?”
He turned slowly.
Jeannie stood in the bedroom doorway, her round belly gently rising beneath the soft folds of an oversized gray hoodie. Her dark curls tumbled loosely around her shoulders, catching the dim light as they framed a face worn by sleepless nights and hard days, yet still glowing with a quiet strength and unwavering warmth. Her deep brown eyes held a tenderness that seemed to steady the very air around her, and despite the exhaustion etched into her delicate features, there was an unspoken resilience in the set of her jaw and the gentle curve of her smile.
“You’re gonna be late,” she said gently.
Jack forced the smile back on, trying to summon some of his usual bravado.
“Don’t want ‘em starting the show without me.”
She crossed the room, her hand lightly brushing his collar, smoothing it with a tenderness that felt like a lifeline.
“You’re gonna kill it tonight,” she said, eyes bright despite the weight she carried.
Jack shook his head, bitterness creeping into his voice.
“The only thing I’m good at killing is the mood.”
Jeannie leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“You’re funny, Jack.”
He didn’t believe it. Not anymore. But she did — and that was enough. For now.
Seeing the doubt in his face started to weigh on Jeannie’s confidence. She pulled back and sat on the worn couch, folding her hands over her belly.
“Have you thought about going back to Ace Chemicals? I heard they’re hiring again.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “Ace Chemicals? That place nearly drove me insane. The smell, the dark corridors ... working there felt like being buried alive. The conditions were a nightmare—too cold in winter, too hot in summer, and the safety protocols? A joke. I was miserable every day I spent there.”
Jeannie reached out, placing her hand over his.
“You need something steady, Jack. A paycheck that doesn’t depend on jokes falling flat or crowds laughing. It’s not giving up. It’s survival.”
He sighed heavily, looking away.
“I’m just a hopeless loser.”
“No,” she said firmly. “You’re the man I love. And I believe in you.”
Jack swallowed hard, his eyes glistening.
“I’m sorry. For all of it.”
She smiled, brushing his hair back from his forehead.
“Hey, none of that. You’re not alone. We’re in this together.”
He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her in a rare, unguarded moment. Their lips met in a tender kiss — brief but full of unspoken promises.
Jack turned to look out the window as rain tapped softly against the glass, each droplet pecking like a tiny drumbeat. Beyond the wet pane, the city’s jagged skyline shimmered through the haze, a thousand flickering lights blurred by the downpour beneath a slate-gray sky. The apartment’s shadows stretched long and cold behind him, but his eyes remained fixed on the stormy vista, reaching past the cramped walls and peeling wallpaper to a future waiting somewhere out there.
“All I need,” he whispered to the night, “Is one big break. Just one.”
His hand rested lightly on Jeannie’s belly as he turned away, determination flickering in his tired eyes.
“Then I’ll get you out of this hellhole. Just wait.”
The Rusty Nail, East End — late evening
The club was half-full, the low murmur of conversations blending with the clink of glasses and the occasional scrape of chairs against the scuffed floor. Jack’s set lasted seven agonizing minutes. Not a single laugh. Not even from the bartender, who wiped the counter with a slow, deliberate motion as if marking time until the night was over.
Jack stepped off the stage, the polite, indifferent applause barely registering. The warmth of the spotlight was gone, replaced by the cool, stale air that smelled faintly of spilled beer and desperation. A waitress approached, holding out a drink ticket. Jack took it automatically but stared down at the flimsy paper like it was a verdict, a rejection letter wrapped in faux generosity.
Outside, the cold bit at his skin sharper than the empty promise of the night. The alley behind the club reeked of stale urine, damp cardboard, and wet newspaper. Jack lit a cigarette with hands that trembled, the flame flickering weakly in the bitter wind. He stared blankly at the cracked brick wall opposite him, his thoughts heavy as the smoke that curled toward the grimy sky.
He didn’t hear them approach.
“Napier.”
The voice cut through the night like a blade.
Jack spun around.
Two men stood at the mouth of the alley, their dark coats blending into the shadows, faces obscured beneath the brim of hats and hoods. One was short and wiry, his eyes sharp and calculating; the other thick-necked, broad-shouldered with knuckles scarred from countless fights.
“I—uh—look, fellas, if this is about the guy I borrowed from—”
The short man’s lips curled into a cold smirk. “No, Jack. We’re not here to collect. We’re here to offer.”
The bigger one stepped forward, flicking open a lighter that cast flickering light across his weathered face. “You used to work at Ace Chemicals, didn’t you?”
Jack blinked, heart quickening. “Yeah. Years ago. I was a tech. Why?”
The short man closed the distance, voice low, persuasive. “Carmine Falcone’s got a job for you. Quiet score. Needs someone who knows the layout. You help us get in, we help you get up.”
Jack swallowed hard. His throat felt like sandpaper. “You want me to help you rob a chemical factory?”
The big man’s voice was rough but firm. “We want you to feed your family.”
Jack’s eyes darted down to the cracked pavement beneath their feet. The distant hum of city life felt miles away. He thought of Jeannie’s hand resting softly on her belly, of the flickering bulb inside their cramped apartment, of the nights filled with empty laughter and broken dreams.
He shook his head. “I’m no criminal.”
The wiry man leaned in closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “No one’s asking you to be a criminal, Jack. Just a man doing what he has to, to survive. The city’s a mess—rules don’t mean shit anymore. You play by them, you starve.”
Jack took a step back, fingers twitching near his pocket. “I got out for a reason. That place—Ace Chemicals—it nearly broke me. The smell, the dark halls, the safety risks ... it’s a nightmare. You think I want to go back to that? To suffocate in that hell?”
The bigger man scoffed. “Dreams don’t pay the bills.”
Jack’s voice cracked. “I’m not a rat, and I’m not your tool.”
The wiry one’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a man with a family. And families do what they have to.”
Jack swallowed, pain and pride warring inside him. “Maybe I am a loser. Maybe I can’t make it on my own. But I’m not selling out to gangsters.”
The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, buzzing with tension.
Jeannie’s face flashed in Jack’s mind, her tired but determined smile anchoring him.
The big man’s jaw clenched, frustration flickering in his eyes. “Think about it, Jack. We’re not asking for a hero. Just a guy trying to keep his head above water.”
Jack shook his head again, voice softer now. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
The wiry man’s smirk deepened. “Suit yourself.”
The men turned to leave. Jack nearly let that be end of it ... until he got to thinking. The truth was, he didn’t know how much longer he could suit himself. The rent was due. Jeannie’s belly was growing by the day. The silence of the empty room waiting for him to bring home something better was unbearable.
Jack took a slow drag from his cigarette, the bitter smoke filling his lungs, sharpening his thoughts. The streetlamp above flickered, casting long, lonely shadows that danced across the cracked pavement. The city didn’t care about his pride, his fears, or his dreams. It only demanded survival.
Before the men could vanish completely, Jack’s voice broke the silence—raw and steady, cutting through the night.
“Wait.”
They paused, turning back with wary eyes.
Jack took a step forward, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’ll do it.”
The wiry man’s smirk deepened into a grin, and the thick-necked enforcer nodded slowly.
“Smart choice, Jack,” the wiry one said, voice low and satisfied. “Meet us here same time next week. We’ll be in touch.”
With that, they slipped back into the shadows, leaving Jack alone with the city’s cold embrace.
He stood there a moment longer, cigarette burning down between his fingers, the weight of what he’d just agreed to settling heavy on his shoulders. But beneath it all, a fragile flicker of resolve burned brighter than ever.
Jeannie deserved better. And Jack Napier wasn’t ready to give up yet.
The back room of the Blue Moon Club — late evening
Jack Napier shuffled onto the small, worn stage of the Blue Moon, the harsh spotlight casting a lonely circle around him. The smoky haze clung to the air like a stubborn fog, curling through the rafters and mixing with the low hum of murmuring conversations. Tonight, something was different. For once, the crowd wasn’t entirely indifferent. A few faces turned his way, some even managing a half-smile or a faint chuckle at his jokes — small victories in a city that rarely gave him anything.
He worked the room like a man desperate to believe in himself, his voice rough but gaining strength with every punchline. The applause at the end was sparse but genuine, and when he stepped down, it felt like more than just polite courtesy.
Back in his cramped dressing room, the dull glow of a single bulb cast long shadows over peeling wallpaper and a cracked mirror. Jack slumped onto the battered stool, exhaustion and anticipation swirling in his chest. Tonight was the night. The day he’d been both dreading and counting down to for days. All he had to do was help those thugs get in and out of Ace Chemicals. A quick job. Enough money to finally give Jeannie the life she deserved.
He flexed his fingers, trying to shake the creeping nerves. “Just focus,” he told himself quietly, voice steady but brittle. “One step at a time. You’ve got this.”
The stale air in the room felt suffocating, but Jack breathed in deep, drawing a shaky breath and pushing down the doubt.
Then, the sharp ring of his phone sliced through the silence like a gunshot.
He froze.
His hand trembled as he reached for it.
The light from the small screen reflected in his wide eyes — the name wasn’t familiar.
Jack answered.
His face, moments before set with grim determination, crumpled slowly, like the fragile foundation of a house struck by storm.
The room seemed to tilt. His breath caught. His jaw tightened.
The world he’d been building — the one just within reach — shattered in a heartbeat.
A sharp, insistent knock echoed through the cramped dressing room. Jack’s hand trembled as he turned the doorknob, pushing the door open without lifting his gaze. His face was a ghost—pale, drawn, eyes void of light—like a man emptied of all hope and joy.
Two men stood silhouetted in the dim hallway, their bulky frames cutting shadows into the narrow space. The wiry one stepped forward, voice low but edged with curiosity. “What’s with the long face, Jack? You look like you’ve been hit by a freight train.”
The larger thug cracked his knuckles, eyes hard. “You ready or what? We got a job to pull.”
Jack’s voice came out thin, almost hollow. “Jeannie’s dead.”
The words hung in the stale air, making the silence heavier. The two men blinked, exchanged a look that mixed confusion and disbelief.
“Come again?” the wiry one said, stepping closer.
“My wife,” Jack repeated, his voice flat, stripped of all color and hope. “She’s dead. Just got a call from the emergency workers. Some kind of freak electrical accident back at the apartment. They said she and the baby ... fried instantly. They want me to come to the hospital, identify what’s left.”
The room felt colder, the stale cigarette smoke fading beneath the weight of his confession. The thugs’ faces tightened, displeased but unmoved.
“That’s too bad,” the bigger man muttered, voice low and gruff. “Now, let’s go.”
Jack’s brow furrowed in confusion, voice trembling. “Go? What do you mean?”
The wiry thug’s patience snapped like a frayed wire. “We mean the job you promised. The one to get us inside Ace Chemicals.”
Jack shook his head slowly, the motion heavy with defeat. “No. There’s no reason to do it anymore. Don’t you get it? My wife’s dead. Even the baby. I’ve got nothing left to lose.”
Suddenly, rough hands grabbed his collar, jerking him upright. Fear flickered in Jack’s eyes—the first sign of life in hours.
“You still got your life, Jack,” the larger man growled, voice thick with menace.
The wiry thug stepped closer, voice lowering into a surprisingly softer tone, trying to sound almost sympathetic. “Look, buddy. You do this job, and you can bury the dame in luxury. Buy her the kind of send-off she deserves. Use the cash however you want after that—hire some hookers, drown it in booze or dope, hell, we don’t care. But you are doing this job. Kapish?”
The big thug released him, and Jack collapsed to his knees, the crushing weight of loss pressing down like a suffocating stone. For a fleeting moment, a dark, desperate thought flickered through his mind—why not just refuse them? Let them end what little was left of him, reunite with Jeannie and the baby in whatever afterlife awaited.