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Gotham's Dead End Bar Ch.8
🕑 Added 2024-01-05 18:04:34 +0000 UTC“This… is exactly what it looks like,” I admitted with a slight pause. No use trying to hide it.
“Ho~? And what exactly~ does it look like?” Bruce Wayne smirked. He was enjoying this…
I glanced at my occupied hands. Batgirl and Black Bat didn’t even react to Bruce’s presence. They just kept melting under my fingers. Either they were even better trained than I assumed or they were already too far gone.
I glanced at Robin. He might as well have been asleep by how relaxed he was receiving headpats from Didi. Finally, I glanced at the vigilante runway show that was taking place in one corner of my bar. It had attracted everyone else’s attention by this point and for good reason. Even the straightest men could enjoy a skimpy-swimsuit male runway show when the models were embarrassing themselves just as much as they were showing off.
“… I’ve got nothing.”
Bruce chortled, coming over to take a seat at the now-empty bar, “Yeah, that sounds about right. So, Mr. Barkeep, what have you got in stock?”
“I’m not going to offer you headpats,” I deadpanned.
“Damn!” Bruce mimed a snap. “Foiled again!”
Damn it all… He really was just that likable. I found myself grinning with him, “How about a nice sipping brandy?”
Bruce hummed, “Hmm, do you have cold Sam Adams on tap?”
I blinked, “Sure, I do.”
“One of those then!” Bruce declared with a grin. “Oh, and put all the drinks from tonight on my tab.”
“Here to make friends, Mr. Wayne?” I asked.
“You can never have enough,” He answered charmingly.
“True enough,” I nodded.
I had to take my hand off Batgirl’s head to fetch Bruce a glass and fill it from the bar’s taps. She snarled when I did, almost literally snapping her teeth at me for daring to pause her headpats for a second. That second was enough for her to regain some of her wits.
“Bruce?!” Batgirl gasped. “… Wayne…”
She said his last name with a pause that was too long to be natural. Bruce tensed ever so subtly, readying himself for a fight. Batgirl gave me a shifty glance out of the corner of her eye.
I rolled my eyes, “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Shit…” Batgirl breathed.
Even with his ‘secret revealed’, Batman didn’t let his Bruce Wayne persona drop for a second, smiling calmly for anyone who could be watching, “Is that so?”
“Hell, I’ll do you one better,” I decided. “In the Dead End, secret identities will stay secret no matter what. Think of it as an extension of our neutrality.”
As I said it, I implemented the rule into the bar’s rulebook. It was an actual book but it wasn’t near enough for me to write in. That didn’t matter all that much when it was metaphysically connected to me, Didi, and the Dead End. A thought had it written down just as if I’d taken a pen to its pages. And so, another rule slid into place over my domain.
“How do you hope to accomplish that?” Bruce asked.
“This is my domain,” I shrugged. “I’m not above fooling around with reality a bit to have it function as I want.”
He was naturally still paranoid, “And you’re sure this will work?”
“Positive,” I guaranteed. “Just keep in mind that it’ll apply to villains as well though. So don’t go trying to break my neutrality with the fact that no one can connect real names and capes.”
“I wouldn’t,” Bruce said flatly, his voice not matching his still-smiling face.
I nodded, “I didn’t think you would. So as long as you keep your moral code, people will forget Bruce Wayne is Batman the instant they walk out of that door.”
“That…” Bruce paused. “Does sound useful. But they will still realize I’m Bruce Wayne in here.”
I let a mischievous smirk pull at my lips, “Yeah, I think the reactions will be funny.”
Bruce stared at me, his eyes flat and calculating at the same time. Eventually, he sighed, “… It would be kind of funny.”
“So…” Batgirl considered. “I could tell you that my name is Barbara Gordon and you won’t remember it when you leave the bar?”
“Nope~” I smirked, smug as a bug.
“Wait, what?! Why not?!”
Bruce sighed again, seeing the punchline coming, “Because the effect won’t work on prior knowledge. Not to mention, this is his domain.”
I tapped the tip of my nose, “Spot on, big fella.”
Batgirl — Barbara — gaped at me, “Y-You know…? Do you know all of our secret identities?”
“And more,” I agreed. “For example, Superman is a farmboy who daylights as a humble reporter in Metropolis. Cassandra here was born and raised as an assassin for the League of Assassins. Barry Allen, Oliver Queen, Dick Grayson, do those names ring any bells?”
Barbara’s mouth worked open and closed but no words came out. Bruce sighed. I had a feeling he’d be doing that a lot around me. Black Bat — Cassandra — was content to ignore the conversation, leaning into my hand with a happy little (─‿‿─) on her face.
“Batgirl,” Bruce ordered. “Standard operating procedures don’t apply to Mr. Barkeep. Make sure to adjust and act accordingly.”
His solid ‘Batman’ voice was a lifeline that pulled Barbara back to Earth. She went ramrod straight, “Understood, Batman. Estimated threat level?”
“Unknown. Do not physically engage or antagonize.”
“Understood. Sir, as far as I’ve seen, Individual: Sean Caine has been nothing but friendly and civil.”
“Or neutral at the very least. I am aware. Official Bat Policy has him down as a potential ally.”
“Also, Sir — Cass, Damian, and I may be compromised.”
“Acknowledged. Surrender yourself for examination at the end of the night.”
I watched their exchange with amusement, “You two know I’m right here, right?”
“( º﹃º )” Cassandra got my attention, ‘Headpats…’
I chuckled, “Yes, yes, headpats. I haven’t forgotten about you. And for the record, Didi and I haven’t done anything malicious to them. These really are just supernaturally potent headpats.”
“Sir,” Barbara continued in her ‘work’ voice, likely to hold back the blush that was threatening her cheeks even now. “Individual: Sean Caine claims-…”
“I heard,” Bruce cut her off, his amusement barely audible in his voice. “I’m right here as well, Batgirl.”
“Ah… right,” Barbara’s embarrassment caught up to her all at once as she flushed as red as her hair. “I’m just gonna… find a hole to curl up and die in…”
“There, there,” I soothed, resuming her headpats. “I’m not going to tease you. Too much. And everyone else is distracted by stupid sexy Nightwing and Red Hood.”
Then Ivy made a little choked noise in her throat, reminding us all that she was still here. Barbara mimicked her a moment later as that realization set in. Bruce was finally letting his amusement show on his face.
I glanced at Ivy, “Well… almost everyone else.”
Ivy was practically twitching in disbelief, “Bruce… Wayne… Batman. Bruce Wayne… Batman? Bruce. Wayne? Batman…”
Bruce’s laugh started as a slow chuckle. As it grew, it became clear that this was Batman laughing, not just Bruce Wayne. And with the way Barbara was looking at him, Batman laughing was a very rare occurrence.
“Oh, yeah, this is going to be hilarious. Well, Pamela, how does it feel to be one of the first to discover my secret?” Bruce asked, wiping a tear from his eyes.
“Holy shit…” Ivy muttered breathlessly. “The conspiracy boards were right. I think I need to sit down…”
“Conspiracy boards?” Barbara asked in confusion.
Turning to Bruce, I raised an eyebrow, “Anything you want to tell us about your online activity, Bruce?”
He shrugged, “Misdirection is important. It’s been an exceptionally effective tactic so far. Only conspiracy theorists believe the Bruce-Wayne-is-Batman theory and the rest of the world laugh at them. Sure, Batman has to have a secret identity but Bruce Wayne? That buffoon? When was the last time conspiracy theorists got something right anyway?”
“You started the theory yourself, didn’t you?” I shot him a knowing look.
“… No comment.”
“Not only is Bruce Wayne Batman, he’s also the crazy person on the internet who is trying to prove that’s true?!” Ivy asked incredulously.
Bruce looked her dead in the eye, “The butts match.”
Ivy recoiled as if struck and wheezed, “I can’t breathe! Oh, my Goddess! You’re the ‘butts match’ guy too?! This can’t be real!”
“The butts match…? Where have I heard that phrase before?” Barbara thought aloud.
Bruce answered, “It’s how the Bruce-Wayne-is-Batman theory started. I would find pictures of myself from behind as Bruce Wayne and as Batman, and photoshop poorly drawn red lines around the butts. And I’d post my ‘findings’ for all to see that the ‘butts match’. It’s become something of a ‘me-me’ at this point.”
Barbara groaned, “Bruce, you speak 16 languages. I know you know how to pronounce meme.”
His lips twitched, “Perhaps.”
“Wait, hold on, you can’t even see your butt as Batman! You have a cape!”
“That’s what made the original post so funny!” Ivy said, still cracking up. “He’d just draw a butt on the cape and say it matched no matter what! I-I can’t~!”
“You either have entirely too much free time as Bruce Wayne or not enough,” I said flatly. “I can just imagine the chaos you would be causing online if you never became Batman…”
My comment seemed to make Bruce introspective for a moment, “It would have been a very different life…”
Robin brought him out of his introspection, walking nonchalantly on top of the bar, “Father.”
“Damian, costume rules. We’ve talked about this,” Bruce sighed. “Thankfully, those rules don’t seem to apply in this place but you need to keep practicing so you don’t slip up when they do.”
Robin — Damian — paused, “Ah… Apologies.”
“And get off my bar,” I added with a snort.
He paused again, “Ah… Of course, Esteemed Barkeeper, Liege of She-Who-Gives-Perfect-Headpats.”
Thankfully, he dismounted on the other side of the bar. Didi came up beside me, smiling indulgently, “Having fun, Dear?”
I couldn’t help but grin, “Loads.”
Damian tried again, “Father. I would like to adopt She-Who-Gives-Perfect-Headpats.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Damian.”
He cocked his head in cute confusion, “Why not? You, yourself, are a serial adopter. I am just following in your footsteps.”
“Because you’re too young to adopt a grown women. And I am positive Miss Didi is more than she seems,” Bruce explained.
Still confused, Damian raised an eyebrow behind his Robin mask, “Yes? That is obvious. Her headpats are divine.”
“Please don’t adopt someone who is at the very least a goddess. Your Demon is bad enough.”
“Goliath is a Dragon-Bat. Not a Demon. And I think I have proven myself capable of taking care of him. I would do the same for She-Who-Gives-Perfect-Headpats.”
I piped up, cutting myself into their father-son conversation, “Well, I don’t want you poaching my best and only waitress. Didi’s mine. I’m more than willing to fight for her.”
Damian was unphased by my declaration, “Very well-…”
Bruce was quick to interrupt that before Damian could take me seriously, “No! Barbara, grab him.”
“On it, Bruce,” Barbara said, hopping off the bar to hold Damian back, even going so far as to cover his mouth. His eyes narrowed at me from behind his mask.
I chuckled, “I’m just messing with you, little bird. You can come back for more headpats whenever you want.”
“And I’m more than willing to indulge a good vigilante like you, little Dami~” Didi soothed.
That seemed to satisfy him. He went slack and instantly slipped out of Barbara’s hold, showing that he could have done so at any time. Once he was free, he stood straight and nodded, “Then a deal is struck.”
Coincidentally, right as he said that I noticed a stream of people coming back to the bar. They were coming for refills or just to reclaim their earlier seats. It seemed the vigilante runway show had finally come to an end. And of course, they were reacting appropriately to the sight of Bruce Fucking Wayne sitting casually as can be at the bar.
“Is that…?”
“What’s Wayne doing here?”
“Shit, it kinda fits though, don’t it?”
“I mean…? Yeah, kinda.”
“‘Course the billionaire playboy with more money and heart than sense would come to the Dead End.”
“He probably doesn’t even care that the villains who usually try to kidnap him are here.”
“Oh yeah, didn’t Scarecrow try to hold up one of his gallas recently?”
“Is he drinking… beer? Like just, some guy?”
“Shit, that’s Sam Adams! I’d know it anywhere!”
“That’s not something to brag about, you damn drunk.”
“Should we…?”
“Nah, don’t want Mr. Barkeep to think we’re bothering him.”
“Yeah, but how many people can say they’ve had a beer with Bruce Wayne?”
“I mean, we still are. Just without pissin’ off Mr. Barkeep for bothering his other customers.”
“… Fair point. Respect the Dead End and all that.”
Bruce met my gaze and gave a minute shake of his head. I got the message. He didn’t want to out and out reveal himself as Batman to everyone just yet. He wanted to draw this out. Savor every reveal and reaction from his Rogues gallery. And with a Rogues gallery like Batman’s, I’d just found my entertainment for the next year.
Nightwing and Red Hood came back over to the bar, seemingly in high spirits from their modeling fun. They were still in just a pair of skimpy, skintight trunks and their masks. But at least they weren’t arguing over inane shit like the dysfunctional Bat Family they were.
“Just keep your dick in your pants, ‘Wing. Heh, dick…” Red Hood chuckled.
Nightwing shoved him goodnaturedly, “Shut up, Hood. I could say the same to you. I saw the way the ladies were eying you up just like me.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have a verified carnal record of prior offenses.”
“Ha ha,” Nightwing deadpanned before turning to the bar and me. “Hey, Mr. Barkeep, can we get our… costumes… back…?”
He trailed off as he caught sight of who was sitting in front of me. Both he and Red Hood stopped short. I could practically see their brains rebooting.
Bruce smirked that playboy smirk of his at them, “Hello, Dick. Jason. Pleasure seeing you boys again.”
That made the two half-costumed vigilantes freeze for an entirely different reason, “Uhhh…”
I put their worries at ease, “Secret identities will always stay within the Dead End. I guarantee it. Hell, you can all take off your masks and no one will remember who’s who when they leave. I know you won’t but still. You could.”
“Wait until Alfred sees this,” Bruce chuckled. “You boys remember Alfred, don’t you? He was with me the last time you saved me.”
Quick on the draw as they were, Nightwing — Dick — and Red Hood — Jason — quickly picked up on the fact that Bruce Wayne didn’t want to reveal himself to be Batman despite my guarantee. Of course, they didn’t know he was just biding his time for the joy of the bit. Still, they couldn’t help but react with horror at the mention of Alfred.
“Alfred’s here…?” Jason gasped.
Right on cue, an aged, dignified-looking man in a butler’s uniform approached the bar, “Apologies, Master Wayne, finding a parking spot took longer than expected.”
Bruce waved dismissively, “No worries, Alfred. Though you did miss the show. No matter, come join me for a drink. Consider yourself off the clock for the moment.”
Alfred nodded, sitting next to his master, “Very well, Master Bruce.”
He turned as if noticing Dick and Jason for the first time, raising a single, unreadable eyebrow, “Masters Nightwing and Red Hood. That is… an interesting choice of costume. Is it a limited edition?”
They both let out choked gurgles at that. Understandable, considering Alfred helped raise them just as much as Bruce did.
Thankfully for their sakes, one of the returning villains took the attention off Dick and Jason, “Well, my aunt’s twisted tail feathers, if it isn’t Bruce Wayne. How’d you hear about this joint?”
“Cobblepot,” Bruce greeted in return. “You know, just word of mouth. I wasn’t expecting to stumble across it on my night out though.”
Then Harley made her entrance in characteristically bombastic fashion, “No way~! Brucie-Boy~! Do you remember me~? Do ya~? Do ya~?”
She got right up in his face as she asked all of that and Bruce just sighed, “I do. Hello again, Harleen.”
“Do you two know each other, baby?” Ivy asked with a slight knowing smirk.
“Oh, yeah~!” Harley chimed. “Brucie and I went to med school together~!”
Her answer took Ivy by surprise, “Really?”
Harley cheerfully reminisced, “Haha~! So many all-nighters~! Honestly, I barely even recognize him now. He’s all rich and suave and playboy-y. I liked him better when he was just the edgy goth dude in my postgrad psych class.”
“Huh, I didn’t know Gotham’s golden boy was a doctor,” Two-Face said, finding a place at the bar as well.
“I dropped out. You know me. I can never finish what I start,” Bruce deadpanned before his expression softened. “It’s good to see you again too, Harvey.”
The Harvey Dent side of Two-Face grunted and looked away. I slid a well-timed drink in front of him for him to act stoic and unaffected into.
“Well, isn’t this just a right, proper reunion,” Penguin chortled.
As the unlikely grouping of three villains and a billionaire caught up, Barbara leaned over the bar to whisper to me, “I don’t think I realized how many of them he knew as just Bruce Wayne.”
“‘Just’ Bruce Wayne?” My smirk was met with rolled eyes. “But yeah. And now think of their reactions when they find out who he really is.”
“( •_•) ( •_•)>⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)” Cass mimed an explosion, pulling a pair of shades out of her utility belt afterward. Somehow, she made it seem like she was walking away from her ‘explosion’ at the same time.
I chuckled, “It’ll certainly be something you won’t want to miss.”
“(>▽<)”
IIIII
A few days after Bruce Wayne made his debut at the Dead End, business was proceeding as usual. For the Dead End and for Gotham as a whole. He’d only visited the bar once more since that first night. But already people were taking notice of what Gotham’s biggest public celebrity was up to.
So much so that the Dead End was to be on the nightly news. Gotham News Network (GNN) had picked up the story, as they were wont to do with news like this. And like all stories involving Bruce Wayne, they were practically obligated to run it.
It couldn’t be understated just how famous Bruce Wayne was. You couldn’t walk 20 feet in Gotham without coming across his name. He had his own bank. Several hospitals in his name. The trendiest, most affordable fashion line on the market. Too many tech and industrial branches to count.
Even outside of the city, his name was well-known worldwide. That sort of thing tended to happen when you were one of the richest men in the world — and handsome and likable to boot. Entire news studios were dedicated to Bruce Wayne gossip and to being his personal (unwanted) paparazzi corps. The same could be said for entire sections of the internet.
Bruce was Gotham’s favorite son. Not because of how rich he was. Not entirely, at least. The sheer amount he donated to charities in the city — enough to match some states’ collective GDP — certainly helped though. No, he was Gotham’s favorite because he was just so wholesome.
At the core of his persona, Bruce Wayne was a himbo. He was hotter than Hell and just genuinely a good person as far as anyone could tell. He was constantly cheerful and optimistic and he loved his city. Sure, he had his fair share of scandals but they were all so mundane it was refreshing.
Unfortunately, he also had the self-preservation instincts of a rock. So the idea of him visiting a bar full of villains didn’t even raise any eyebrows. Bruce’s visit was what focused attention on the Dead End. Everything else about the bar held that attention and made the GNN reporters dig deeper.
“-And now, we have something of a unique story, even for Gotham. After all, it’s not every day that a villain opens a completely legal business. Vicki Vale has the story on the ground. Throwing it to you, Vicki,” A bog-standard news anchor — handsome but unremarkable — said, playing the stepping-off point perfectly.
The news broadcast cut away from the anchor. A woman in her late twenties took his place. She was pretty, as one would expect from a reporter on TV, with flowing red-gold hair and a picturesque smile. She stood below a sign that flickered ‘Dead End’.
“Thank you, Tom. This is Vicki Vale with Gotham News Network. I’m standing in front of a new bar in the city. One that’s been making waves recently. It seems to cater to a unique selection of clientele. Even Bruce Wayne was seen visiting for a drink or two.
“Wayne’s visit would have been a story on its own but that’s not all this bar has to offer. So let me be the first to give you the inside scoop on the ‘Dead End’. Walk with me, won’t you?”
Vicki turned and made her way into the Dead End. The view from the camera followed her, making sure to get her full figure in the frame. Especially Vicki’s perky ass in that tight pencil skirt of hers. She’d trained her cameraman well and he knew to give her fans what they really wanted from her segments.
Vicki wanted nothing more than fame, fortune, and acclaim. To put herself in people’s minds and keep herself there. And she was willing to do just about anything to get those things, whether that be reporting on interesting stories or playing to her strengths as a beautiful woman. Vicki Vale was a shark and a woman of ambition on top of it. And she smelled chum in the water at this ‘Dead End’.
She made sure the camera got a good view of the bar as she entered. Already, she could tell this story was shaping up to be a classic. What else could you call getting so many villains on film at once? Two-Face, Catwoman, the Riddler, Harley Quinn, Cluemaster, Bane, it was a star-studded lineup and Vicki had the exclusive scoop!
Vicki paused and turned back to the camera, “As you can see, this bar — the Dead End — caters to costumed villains just as readily as it does regular citizens. Is this business as usual? Or is something nefarious going on here? Come on, let’s find out.”
The bar’s patrons had already begun taking notice of her. Having so many villains and rough-looking men and women staring at her was an intimidating sight. But Vicki wouldn’t be quailed. She held her head high, put a sway in her hips, and walked up to the bar’s bar. No one stopped her.
There at the bar, Vicki found a young-looking man — early twenties at most — staring at her from the other side of the bar. He was casually leaning against the bartop with his arms spread wide and a towel slung over his shoulder.
He was tall and lean, attractive in a pretty sort of way. His features were sharp and currently set in an almost bored expression. His hair was mostly gray and artfully messy on his head. Darkly styled with a plethora of piercings and accessories, he cut a goth image. Not that unusual a choice in Gotham, to be fair.
It was his eyes that captured Vicki’s attention and took her breath away for the briefest of moments. For that moment, she thought he looked so much older than his physical appearance suggested. Those eyes were intense, a deep, stormy gray that seemed to roil and churn like thunderclouds just before a rain.
“Yo,” The bartender said simply. “Welcome to the Dead End. What can I get you?”
Vicki quickly recovered from meeting his eyes, clearing her throat, “Hello, I’m Vicki Vale. Gotham News Network. May I speak to the owner of this establishment?”
“You’re talking to him.”
“Ah, I see. Would you mind answering a few of my questions?”
“So long as you don’t try to bother my customers, sure.”
“I can do that. What’s your name, Sir?”
“Sean,” The bartender answered. “Sean Caine. I’m the owner and bartender of the Dead End. Most of these idiots just call me Mr. Barkeep.”
“Hey!” Harley Quinn interrupted, shouting like a heckler. “Bane resembles that remark!”
“You are very lucky you’re cute, chica,” Bane grunted, his voice obscured by that trademark mask of his.
“And funny!” Harley added with a slightly mad cackle.
Vicki was thrown off her game slightly by the interruption. It was so strange to have Gotham’s villains sitting around civilly and even joking around with each other. She glanced at her cameraman.
Sean rolled his eyes, “Harley, I’m trying to give an interview here. Shut up or I’ll start watering down your drinks.”
Harley recoiled as if shot, even doing a pratfall off her chair, “Gah! Got it, Gothboy! No need to do anything drastic on my account!”
He turned back to Vicki, “Go ahead. I don’t think we’ll be interrupted again. Threatening their alcohol is usually pretty effective like that.”
“Right…” Vicki collected herself again. “Let’s start with some softball questions. Do you run this bar by yourself?”
“Nope, it’s a collective effort between me and my girl Didi over there,” Sean answered, pointing to the end of the bar.
The camera followed his gesture, panning over to capture a young woman handing out drinks to a few women in Joker paraphernalia. She was pretty, kind-looking, and even more goth than Sean. As if sensing the camera’s attention, she turned and gave a small smile and wave.
Elsewhere, several people just so happened to be tuning into the live broadcast. From England to Los Angeles, something mystical seemed to pull at the attention of those in the know. Upon seeing Didi, their reactions were… mixed.
John Constantine choked and coughed, his surprise interrupting a drag from his cigarette, “Oh, holy shit! Fucking Gotham, man…”
On the Justice League Watchtower, Zatanna Zatara was doing a routine check of villain activity on public channels. When she saw Didi on the GNN broadcast, she froze, “Uhh… If I ignore this, will it go away?”
Eventually, she sighed, “I should probably tell Bruce at least. This seems like the sort of thing he’d want to know about.”
Lucifer Morningstar caught sight of Didi out of the corner of his eye in his own bar, “Hmm? Oh ho, Lady Death is slumming it with the mortals just like me. The Dead End… How interesting…”
Even Jason Todd got in on the action, “Huh… I guess I was a bit too distracted to notice her before. But where do I know her from? And why does she feel like… an old friend?"
Back at the Dead End, Vicki asked, “Just two employees? Is that enough to run a bar this busy?”
Sean gave her a chuckle and a secretive smirk, “We get by just fine on our own.”
“And this place is what it seems to be? Just a bar, I mean?”
“Something like that. It’s a bit more complicated considering the clientele we have to deal with but it isn’t some criminal front or secret hideout.”
“Tell me, Mr. Caine, why did you start a bar for villains?”
“Not just for villains. The Dead End is neutral ground. It’s kind of the whole point of the bar. A place for people on either side of the cape game to come, have a drink or two and relax. This place opens a dialogue that’s sorely lacking, not just in Gotham but in the cape scene in general.”
“Is…” Vicki hesitated at the unorthodox answer. “Is it working?”
Sean smirked, “I don’t know. How about we ask someone who’s benefited directly from that dialogue?”
“Hey, Marco, Timmy!” He called out. “You boys wanna be on TV?”
Vicki’s cameraman looked concerned that things were coming off the rails. Vicki motioned for him to keep filming. She could feel her instincts tingling. This was going to be big…
Two men approached the bar from the tables. One exclaimed excitedly, “Hell yeah, Mr. Barkeep! Imma be famous! Hey Ma! Look, I’m on the news!”
The other one was more sedated, “What’s up, Mr. Barkeep? Whatcha need us for?”
Turning back to Vicki and the camera, Sean introduced the two men, “Say hello to Marco and Timmy. They’re… well, they’re goons. Sorry, boys.”
Marco — the quieter one — waved Sean off, “It’s fine. No good way to say it, really. We do what we gotta do. We ain’t proud of it but it is what it is.”
“My God…” Vicki gasped in horror, staring at Marco’s partner. “How old are you?!”
“Uh… Oh, I know this one! I plead the fives,” Timmy said, very obviously not of legal age.
“The fifth, Timmy,” Sean corrected. “And he’s just a product of his city, Ms. Vale. Nothing more, nothing less, Timmy’s story is his to tell. Right now, we’re here to talk about the positives of offering people like him a safe place to be.”
“O-Of course,” Vicki tried not to show how shaken she was by the child who’d been made into a common thug by Gotham’s poverty. “How has the Dead End benefited you two?”
Timmy was more than eager to share, “Oh, man, it’s just about the coolest spot in the city now! Like, Mr. Barkeep don’t let my friends and I drink or nothing but we still get to hang out with the OGs and the villains and listen to his stories!”
Sean smiled, “I was thinking more about how the neutrality benefitted you, Timmy. Your meeting with Batgirl, for example.”
“Ooooooohhh… yeah, B-girl was great!”
“You’ve actually had heroes in here?” Vicki asked in surprise.
Marco replied first, “Sure, he has. Batgirl most of all. I ain’t gonna air out her business though. I will say she’s been mighty helpful to us mooks and thugs. She got us on this insurance plan so we can actually get healthcare. It’s been a lifesaver. Shout out to Bruce Wayne as well, I guess. That beautiful himbo bastard.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Sean clapped. “That’s what the Dead End is all about. Reaching over barriers and finding compromise on neutral ground. With an unhealthy sprinkle of alcohol introduced into the mix. It’s not always about brooding, dressing up in BDSM gear, and punching the city’s problems. I’m looking at you, Batman.”
“Is it wise to be provoking Batman like that when you have a bar full of villains?”
“He knows where to find me. And he knows that I’ll smack him down the same as anyone else if he breaches the Dead End’s neutrality.”
“Ah…” This interview wasn’t going how Vicki expected but she was pressing on anyway. “That does lead to an interesting question. How can you be sure no fights break out? There are a lot of people here who would usually disagree with each other violently. How can you enforce this neutrality you preach?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Sean smirked knowingly. “I’m the one who controls their alcohol supply.”
Vicki couldn’t help but laugh at the unexpectedly humorous answer, “That’s it?”
Timmy barked a laugh as well, “Nah, Mr. Barkeep is bein’ humble. He got major chops himself. You should hear the things he’s done! Man, Mr. Barkeep can tell a damn terrifying story! He totally could smack down the Bats!”
“And this place has become something of a sanctuary for a whole lot of Gotham’s underground,” Marco added. “Everyone who comes here knows not to cause trouble. Not after… the Clown Without Humor…”
Vicki noticed the way Marco shuddered as he said that title and her nose for news perked up, “Clown Without Humor? Stories? What’s all that about?”
Sean just chuckled, “I don’t think the Bat Family would appreciate me telling one of my stories on live TV. Most of them would just cause a panic. As for the Clown Without Humor, well… Joey met me when I had just opened the bar. He fucked around and found out.”
“That… sounds ominous,” Vicki blinked.
Sean shook his head, “Nah, it sounds worse than it actually is. Joey still comes around. He’ll just never have a career in the Clownz ever again. Hard to do with a Dead sense of humor.”
“Again, that sounds ominous,” Vicki deadpanned, forgetting she was on camera for a moment.
She quickly shook it off and returned to her interview, “And these stories they’ve mentioned? You’re sure you won’t tell us about your life, Mr. Caine? Gotham wants to know.”
With an amused quirk on his lips, Sean said, “I don’t think they do.”
“I can already tell you’ll be capturing hearts and minds with your strategy here, Mr. Caine. Gotham will want to know. And I’ll find out,” Vicki said with firm determination in her voice.
She could practically taste the ratings on offer here. Sean Caine and his bar would send her career into the stratosphere. This kind of cooperation was the sort of thing that won Pulitzers. For breaking the story, Vicki would be the one to bring the Dead End into the public consciousness. She wasn’t going to let anything stop that.
Sean stared at her for a few moments. To Vicki, it felt as if his gaze was physically heavy, piercing her soul. Those stormy gray eyes were intense and mesmerizing. It took everything she had for Vicki to stand strong.
Finally, he smiled and spoke, “You’re an interesting woman, Ms. Vale. So I’m going to let you try. I might just let you uncover my secrets.”
“Exclusivity,” Vicki pressed even further. “I want exclusive rights to stories about the Dead End and yourself, Mr. Caine.”
“I think I can do that. I look forward to working with you, Ms. Vale,” Sean’s smile twinkled.
Vicki held herself steady and straight. Her hands were shaking for some reason… “As do I, Mr. Caine.”
Sean leaned back and an unseen weight lifted from Vicki’s soul, “I think that’s the end of this interview. You and your cameraman are welcome to stay for a drink but the camera will be turned off. If you stay, you may even hear one of my stories~”
Vicki blinked at his teasing tone, absently signaling for her cameraman to cut the feed, “That’s it? I don’t have to dig for them?”
“No, hearing the stories is the easy part. If you hang around here, you’re bound to hear one sooner than later. Getting people to believe you is what you’ll have to work for.”
“That doesn’t seem so hard…”
Sean chuckled as if he knew something she didn’t, “Let’s see if you’re still saying that after I tell you about the time I helped a teenage Cali girl blow up a high school full of vampires on top of a literal portal to Hell to defeat a Mayor-Turned-Snake-Demon. That should be a simple enough story to start you out with.”
“Oh, storytime~!” Harley called out. Immediately, all the villains in the bar and more than a few mooks crowded around the bar to hear what Sean had to say.
Vicki was left blinking in complete confusion, “What…?”
Comments
Rival
The question on everyone's mind: when is Sean going to take responsibility with Didi? The certifiable best girl ever.
Lictor Magnus
This is sorry is so wholesome. Every chapter puts a smile on my face.
