Paper Planes

III

"Do I really look like a guy with a plan? You know what I am? I'm a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it!"
—Heath Ledger

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"He's got to be joking, right?" Bleaker scoffed, his stubby fingers fiddling with the loose strands of his worn sweater as he lounged in the ripped mahogany barcalounger. "He actually wants us to cater to this woman? He was about to off her, and then suddenly he changes his mind?"

"Don't question the boss, Bleaker. You know how he is. He's unpredictable." Horton plainly put, a ball-point pen held tightly in his clutch as he doodled on an old piece of lined paper.

The bald man, who goes by the name of Spalding, sat silently in the corner.

"It just makes no sense! He's never let anyone stay in this house who isn't one of his men, and now this woman sees him escape and suddenly she's an exception?"

"I don't know why you're freaking out over this, Bleaker. Maybe the boss was about to kill her, noticed the hefty rack she's got, and decided to keep her around for a little bit for some fun. I mean fuck, dude, he's been couped up in that cell for six months, the guy has to be horny." Spalding stated.

Bleaker scrunched his nose in disgust, picking mindlessly at his overgrown fingernails. "You think the Joker actually has sex? I always thought he was asexual or something, I dunno. He just doesn't seem like the type."

"He seems like the type to have some pretty kinky sex to me." Spalding snorted, a look of disapproval present on Horton's features as he tapped his foot irritably.

"You two know better than to talk that way about the boss," he scolded. "Remember when Garling joked about him having a tiny dick and he ended up circumcising him in front of all of us?"

Spalding and Bleaker loudly gulped at the memory, Garling's convulsing, bloodied torso still imprinted in their brains.

"Excuse me?" A small voice called from the opposite end of the room.

Three pairs of eyes darted towards the direction of the sudden sound. Ember stood in the doorway, her fingers laced together as she nervously fiddled her thumbs.

"Are there any towels?"

Bleaker raised an eyebrow, glancing in Horton's direction as he simply shrugged. The men knew that the nicest, most upkept room in the entire house was the Joker's.

"You'll have to borrow one of the bosses." Spalding informed her.

Ember loudly gulped, her gaze diverting to the floor as she tried to think of any possible way to get one of the men to ask him instead of herself.

"Look," Bleaker began, standing to his feet and slowly making his way towards the cowering woman in the doorway. "There's a reason he's keeping you around. I have no clue what that reason could be, but he's given you your own bedroom, with a fucking bed with sheets and all. No one has ever stayed in that bedroom, so I'm almost certain he's not going to stab you if you ask for a damn towel."

"Quit harrassing her, Bleaker." Horton scolded.

Ember glared at the man, his face no longer hidden by the grueling clown mask. He was visibly young, younger than herself by the features of his face. He's undeniably attractive, strutting a mess of chocolate brown hair that curled around his ears and a pair of bright blue eyes.