It's a Living

[All_That_Chaz]

Yeah sure I'll share this here too. Short narrative with a fun monologue feel to it. I've showed this in other circles and I think the subtlety is just about right but I'd love more feedback. Also I'm always apprehensive about derivative pieces, but when perspective is your main tool, I don't think there's another way to go.

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Four A.M.? Why does he always call at four A.M.? It's the boss. I can tell from the giggling. Whenever he gets an idea he turns into a ****ing schoolgirl. And that's when he calls me. He says he needs ten-thousand cards for his latest stunt. I tell him I can have them in a week. He says it's no good. Needs them by Wednesday. I tell him it'll cost him. He just laughs and drops the phone. I hear him running off so I guess that means 'yes.'

In the morning I get on the phone with Bicycle from a payphone so they can't trace me. I make the order. I had this whole spiel prepared about how I'm a buyer for the Bellagio but they're having issues with their mail so I needed them sent to a P.O. Box. The Puerto Rican sales associate just asked me for an address. I swear, I don't know why I bother with the false identities. Nobody ever follows up on these things. I tell them I need the order rushed. She says the soonest they can be in is Monday. I grumble to her that it will have to do.

I really should get over my paranoia and just recruit some of his people to help me with the mundane work, but they'd probably want a cut of the pay and you can never tell if they're listening when you tell them that secrecy will be required if they want to stay alive. I was almost burned once when one of the idiots was chatting it up with a homeless guy about what he was doing. I made quick work of them and got rid of the bodies. Disgusting work, murder is. But whatever, I had two days, I could do it myself. I had my two bins set up. One is set aside for the boss' prizes, and the other will eventually go to the shredder. Honestly I wish I could use them to heat my house but ever since they started putting plastic in the cards, the ****ing fumes would kill me.

I set about my work. Five-thousand packs on each day so I can get them to the boss at the usual drop point. I've been doing this long enough to know that it will take me about 17 hours each day to finish. It sucks, but it's doable. The gloves help. Boss said the blood on the cards was a nice touch the first time, but I probably shouldn't be leaving DNA on these things. I didn't know what he was doing with them until I saw my work in the paper the next day strewn about a dirty apartment around two corpses with their faces all torn up and painted.

The twelve-hour mark is always depressing. It's nine at night. I've been at this all day. From the look of the pile of packs, I'm going to be up until at least three in the morning. I must have been slow. I guess attrition can account for some of it. I need to remember to time myself when I'm tired. I don't feel like it tonight. My mind soon goes back into the dark recesses so I can finish working without troubling thoughts distracting me.

I finish for the day at three-thirty. Five-thousand packs down, five-thousand to go for tomorrow. Boss calls at four. Of course he calls at four. For someone who wants to come off as so spontaneous, he sure seems to have a regular routine when it comes to bothering me. He wants the cards at nine in the morning on Wednesday. At least I think that's what he said. He was in a laughing fit again. And I was distracted by visions of repeatedly stabbing the asshole in the throat with a pencil. I tell him nine will be fine and hang up.

The next day is more of the same. Although I had to stop for a couple hours for a smaller job. He's only ****ing spontaneous when it comes to harassing me to help him kidnap some public official or rig some charges or whatever. I thought I was being clever by timing myself so I'd finish at four in the morning. That way when the ass calls me he won't be waking me up. But no, now I'm just going to be up all night opening packs of cards.

And you know what? None of it matters. When all those jokers blow sky-high from that car, nobody is going to care about all the goddamn work it took. If those ****ing cops had any sense at all they could find me and get the maniac's location. Three years I've been doing this, not one phone call. I'm not one of his crazies. He can't pull off those ridiculous stunts without the help of someone who actually knows what he's doing. So he can't win over my loyalty with talk of nihilism and anarchy and all his bull****. But whatever, it's a living.

[Glucuronolactone]

I love it. The Joker is one of my favorite characters and seeing some behind the scenes is really neat. I think you managed it really well. It's interesting to see that all of the work the Joker has everyone do is pretty mundane, but when the plan is put into action it's like a fireworks show. Unfortunately the workers' boss gets all the credit for the finales. The story was a very fun read and believable. Great job.

[All_That_Chaz]

Yeah this was just something that always hung in the back of my mind. How does he get all those joker cards? There's so much spontaneity involved in his character but his stunts are so elaborate. There's no way he'd be able to do it alone. I thought it would be really funny to have this annoyed career criminal doing all this mundane work for the psychopath.

Thanks for reading

[who_cares973]

haha that was great. enjoyed it very much