Drugs and Ninjas

[hypnotic_patter]

"At least the road's not too bumpy."

"Mm-mph."

"You won't forget to break me out of regular jail once you escape, right?"

"Mmm umf mm."

"You're the best boss ever, Mr. Meister."

It had started as a matter of convenience. The client had specifically requested both the yacht and its cargo be delivered unscathed, which seemed an unusual thing to ask of the notoriously destructive Secret Six. It was also all the way in Gotham, which did not leave a lot of time for something that had less than a day until it was due to head out to sea with its destination unknown. Getting the theft done that fast would be messy even if they could get to the target in time.

Bane had accepted the job before anyone could protest. Were they not 'owed a favor' for services rendered? Did they not already have a contact within the Bat's domain? And was not the best form of subtlety a proxy who required no ulterior motive to steal a heavily guarded yacht, should it provide him sufficient entertainment to do so, and who specialized in carrying out heists with minimal bloodshed? They knew the Music Meister mostly through reputation and Ragdoll's off-the-cuff remarks, but it wouldn't be particularly out of character for his public persona. Given his predilection for flare over material wealth they wouldn't even have to offer him a cut of the profits.

At first, Billy had put up a minor fuss at the idea of helping them out. Of course it wasn't a difficult task but he had gotten along quite well by staying completely detached from the Secret Six's activities. It kept him safe, and more importantly it kept him in the comforting dark about the more sinister work committed by his lover. Still, it was only a boat and he had been wanting to do a Pirates of Penzance theme for quite a while now. Had the perfect costumes and everything. Billy agreed upon condition that he not know anything about the cargo or the use to which it would be put, nor the identity of the Secret Six's client.

The performance was carried out flawlessly. Billy deposited the mobsters in the filthy waters of the Gotham River and claimed the ship for himself, decked out in feathered tricon and brass-buttoned purple coat. Bass hoisted the black flag and they went sailing up the east coast to a rousing chorus of jaunty sea shanties. None of them had prior knowledge in yacht-driving and the landing was less than elegant, but the loot was delivered to their fellow privateers in pristine condition.

And then things started going wrong.

It had felt a shame to waste good pirate costumes on a few uncultured mooks, so Billy had given a encore at a boringly pretentious play near the boardwalk. A fairground atmosphere and the historic tall ships bobbing along the docks made an even more fitting backdrop for one of his masterful performances. In his excitement he'd been underprepared for an interruption by the enforcers of the status quo...which was why he was currently riding in a police van with duct tape over his mouth.

Soprano and Bass had made it out in the confusion but Alto's less sensible boots had tripped her up by the Ferris wheel. She was still wearing the laced corset and leather trousers from the performance but they'd confiscated the rest of her costume. If anything she was more annoyed about the loss of the hat than the arrest.

Both criminals had their hands cuffed to chains on the floor. The guard in the van was armed with a taser but no firearm, and his ears were firmly plugged. The metal walls of the van rendered it sufficiently soundproof that even if Billy somehow got the tape off, he wouldn't be able to affect anyone until the van's doors were unlocked from the outside. Billy was already resigning himself to another round at good ol' Arkham, however long this one would last.

The van jerked to a halt.

"Here's your stop, Harris."

Billy rolled his eyes and waited to be unloaded. His arms were very sore and he was almost grateful to exchange the duct tape and cuffs for his vocal-restraint collar and an orange uniform.

The door opened not on the garish lights of the Arkham front gates, but on a darkened road. There were several men standing in front of the doors, one in a police uniform and the rest in grey suits. Billy raised an eyebrow. The guard stood, one hand on the van door. "Hey! We're not supposed to be stopping out here."

"Change in plans, bucko."

"Look, we are carrying a very--"

One of the suits whipped out a blackjack and smashed it into the back of the cop's head. He went sprawling next to Alto, who shrieked in terror.

"Hey! Hey, help, police! We're gettin' attacked!"

Another man, the one in the most expensive suit, drew a gun and smacked her in the face with it. Blood gushed from her nose, staining the metal as he shoved it in her face.

"Make another sound and I won't use the side of the gun next time."

Billy huddled against the van wall as the man approached him. The thud of his loafers against the metal floor was accentuated by Alto attempting to muffle her own sobbing. This had to be some kind of mistake. He didn't get involved with men with guns, he got involved with people in tights who threw batarangs or sonic shrieks. This was not how the script was supposed to run.

The gunman leaned in, his breath reeking of tobacco. He had narrow, dark eyes, made even darker by thick eyebrows. His voice was a rough growl. "I'm gonna take that tape off so you and me can have a little chat. You start singing and you won't have a jaw anymore. Get me?" The bloody gun was shoved under his chin.

Billy gave a short, nervous nod. He bit his tongue against a yelp as the duct tape was ripped off, involuntary tears of pain gathering at the corners of his eyes.

"Where's the fucking boat, you little faggot?"

"Boat?"

Blood smeared across the underside of Billy's jaw. "The boat. The one you stole from me last week."

Billy's voice was raspy from hours spent without water, and worse for how hard it was to breathe. "I, I don't have it. God, please--"

"Then where is it?"

"I sold it." He focused on the truth, as much of it as he could come up with. With a gun to his head he had no particular loyalties. "They wore masks, Hispanic guy heading them up. Big guy. Don't know his real name. Cuban, maybe. They just wanted it, I don't know why, I didn't know it was yours, please don't kill me!" His voice rose to a high squeak.

The one dressed as a cop shook his head. "Bullshit. What's a guy like him need with money? He probably kept it for himself."

"N-not money..." He was starting to hyperventilate. Billy's mind raced to find some way of making it not his fault, to shift the blame onto others for whatever mistake he'd made to deserve this. "I traded it. For, for..."

"Traded for what?"

"Time. Time with a--a wondrous creature. Fey, beautiful. Insatiable. Skin like vellum, limbs like a dancer." He was thinking of Ragdoll and the way he'd tumbled over the bow of the yacht like a Cirque du Soleil performer. The contortionist's fingers had just barely brushed the back of his neck as they'd crossed paths, a tiny display of fondness before stealing his feathered hat. Such simple joys seemed very far away when he wasn't sure he'd survive the next five minutes.

The gunman stared at him with a mixture of surprise and disgust. "You traded my boat and my drugs for a fucking hooker," he spat. "All that for something you could get for twenty bucks down in the Narrows."

Billy offered a shaky smile, an element of comedy to break the tension. "Man cannot live on music alone."

"He's gotta be lying."

"One way to find out." The gunman's finger left the trigger as he pressed the weakened ductape back against Billy's mouth. "Uncuff him, we'll take him along. It'll look like just another escape if I shoot the guard and the whore--"

The man's back abruptly arched. A strangled noise came from his throat as electricity pulsed through his body. The 'whore', left unattended by the suits, had gotten her hands on the taser. In a quick tongue motion that would have probably made his fey creature quite delighted Billy flicked the gag out of the way and belted out a paralyzing note. The men froze a half-second before putting a slug through Alto's head.

And breathe.

Very, very carefully Billy ordered one of them to take the keys from the guard and open their cuffs. Alto plucked the earplugs from the guard and placed them in her own ears. Billy could see the exact moment his influence left her from the way her joints all seemed to go slack at once.

"Best boss," she muttered. Billy gave her a thumbs up. She rifled through the pockets of the frozen men, stealing wallets and car keys as well as their weaponry. There was a lot of weaponry. Billy kept his morale up with a spirited rendition of "My Favorite Things" but his voice quavered as the pile of knives increased. What horrors had they been planning to perpetuate upon him in search of a simple yacht? He hadn't traded the boat for pure carnal pleasure but he had traded it to someone with no regard for risk or good sense. No one had told Billy these kinds of people might come after him. He'd done them one good turn, just the one, and look what they'd brought upon him. This was the last time he let the Secret Six strong-arm him into their foolishly dangerous lifestyle.

Alto hefted the blackjack. "You want me to put them out of commission?" she asked, looking hopeful.

Billy nodded. Alto delivered a hefty swing to the back of the mobsters' heads, sending them beyond the reach of both Billy's song and any other outside input. The electrified head gunman, immobile as he was, got a more personal treatment.

"The term! Is! Sex worker! You uncultured! Sexist! Son of a bitch!" She kept beating him even when his eyes slid closed, adding a few blows to the groin for good measure. Billy finally had to tap her on the shoulder when the man's face began to resemble hamburger. She turned, the bloodlust still in her eyes, and after a moment's pause slapped on a comforting ditzy grin.

"Um...tee-hee?"

"Let's just get out of here."

Billy averted his eyes as they left the prison van, passing by the slumped-over driver. Only Alto noticed the bullet hole in the side of his head. A police car was blocking the road, most likely used as a false excuse to stop the van, and the car keys fit the ignition. Billy huddled up in the front seat while Alto took the wheel.

"You okay, boss?" Her hand rested on his wrist, and he shoved it away.

"Perfectly," he said through gritted teeth, his pallor ashen. "Drive me to the theater. I believe my wondrous creature has some explaining to do."