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Chapter 5 – The First Laugh
The warehouse at Gotham's docks was quiet, except for the faint drip of water leaking through the roof and the buzzing hum of a dying lamp. Dust floated in the air, stirred only by the restless movements of the four people inside. A map of the city lay spread across a wooden table, pinned down by a knife in the center. Cigarette smoke curled upward as Jack Napier stood over it, his grin just wide enough to unsettle.
"This," Jack said, tapping the blade against a red circle drawn on the East End, "is where we'll make our entrance. Maroni's casino. The crown jewel of his empire."
Grimm leaned forward with a scowl, his massive arms folded tight. The chair creaked under his weight, as if even furniture had to brace itself against him. He wasn't one to smile at speeches. "That's suicide. Maroni doesn't forgive. You hit his money, he buries you where no one will find you."
Jack exhaled a stream of smoke, tilting his head as if he was enjoying a private joke. "Exactly why it's beautiful. The whole city tiptoes around him. But imagine the look on his face when he realizes someone walked right into his vault and took what was his. Priceless."
Rico spun his car keys around his finger, leaning back in his chair with his boots propped casually on the table's edge. His voice carried doubt, even if his expression stayed calm. "Big talk, Jack. But you're asking me to park outside Maroni's place while you stir up hell inside. If the timing's off by even a second, I'm driving home alone."
Jack didn't look offended. In fact, he smiled wider, showing too many teeth. "Rico, my reliable wheel. You'll hear the music before you see us. Screams, alarms, maybe a little fireworks. Don't worry—when the curtain drops, we'll be right where you expect us."
A high-pitched laugh broke the tension. Minks, jittery as always, had stacked a tower of empty bottles in front of her. The unstable pile tipped and fell, scattering across the table with a loud clatter. She clapped her hands like a child who had just broken a toy on purpose.
"Chaos!" she giggled. "We should go in with masks. Paint our faces. Make it a game. You know, like musical chairs—but with guns."
Grimm rubbed a hand down his face. "She's out of her mind."
Jack glanced at her and gave a slow nod, almost proud. "She understands. A little chaos, a little theater. People don't fear guns—they fear what they can't predict. By the time we leave, Gotham will know someone isn't playing by the rules anymore."
The silence that followed was heavy. Grimm's jaw was set like stone. Rico chewed on his toothpick, eyes narrowed, still calculating if this madness was worth the risk. Minks, on the other hand, looked ready to spring from her chair and paint her ideas on the walls in blood if no one gave her something to do.
Jack finally broke the quiet. His voice dropped lower, sharper. "Tomorrow night. We walk in, we take Maroni's pride, and we walk out richer than we've ever dreamed. But money is only the second prize. The first… is the laugh. The city will hear it and never forget."
Ash from his cigarette fell onto the map, burning a small black mark into the circle he had drawn. None of them moved to brush it away.
The game had begun.
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The next night, Gotham's East End glowed under flickering neon lights. Maroni's casino was alive, filled with music, dice rattling, and the desperate laughter of people chasing luck they didn't have. Suits, cigars, and cheap perfume mixed into a stink of greed that hung over the whole place.
Jack, Grimm, and Minks walked up the steps together, blending with the late-night crowd. Rico was already in position two blocks away, engine idling, radio on, eyes scanning the street like a hawk. He had a stopwatch running on his dashboard.
Jack wore a crooked smile and a cheap suit that looked borrowed from a thrift store. Minks had her hair tied into two messy ponytails, chewing gum loud enough to annoy anyone near her. Grimm was the opposite—dark jacket, broad shoulders, face carved into a permanent scowl. He looked less like a gambler and more like the kind of man casinos threw out.
At the door, two bouncers eyed them, but Jack handled it with ease. He slipped a fake ID across, leaning in with his grin. "Gentlemen, the night is young, and my luck's burning a hole in my pocket." His tone was so casual, so annoyingly confident, that the guards didn't bother pressing. They waved the group inside.
The casino was packed. Lights flashed, coins clinked, and slot machines sang like broken music boxes. Dealers barked, players shouted, and waitresses weaved between tables with trays of drinks. To anyone else, it was a heaven or a hell depending on your wallet. To Jack, it was a stage.
He leaned toward his crew as they moved in deeper. "Remember: chaos first, money second. We paint them a picture they'll never erase."
Minks giggled, eyes darting over the crowd. "I want to make them scream."
Grimm cracked his knuckles. "Just give me the signal."
Jack's grin widened. "Oh, you'll know."
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It started small. Jack walked to a blackjack table, sat down, and played two hands, losing both. His laugh rang out sharp, cutting through the casino noise. The dealer looked uncomfortable. Players glanced at him, unsettled. That was the point.
Then Minks knocked over a drink tray on purpose, glass shattering, red liquid spreading like blood across the carpet. She let out a fake gasp, then laughed manically as she crouched to pick up shards with her bare hands. People pulled away, muttering. Security glanced over.
Grimm chose that moment to shove a man at the bar. The drunk barely knew what hit him before Grimm's fist dropped him like a bag of cement. Screams rippled. Chairs toppled. The atmosphere snapped in half.
And that was the signal.
Jack stood on his chair at the blackjack table, pistol in hand, smile splitting his face. "Ladies and gentlemen," he shouted, voice cutting through the chaos, "tonight the house doesn't win. We do!"
Panic erupted. People ran. Dealers froze. Security rushed forward, but Grimm met them like a brick wall, knocking one out with a single swing, then tossing another into a row of slot machines. Sparks flew as the machines broke, the flashing lights turning wild and erratic.
Minks jumped onto a table, pulling a spray can of paint from her bag. She tagged a giant red smile across the casino wall, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. "Smile for the camera, Gotham!"
Jack fired a single shot into the ceiling. The boom silenced the room for a moment. He pointed toward the back. "Vault. Now."
A terrified floor manager was dragged from behind the counter, shoved forward by Grimm. The man's face was pale as chalk, sweat dripping down his forehead.
"Open it," Jack said simply.
The manager's hands shook as he led them down the hall, past panicked staff and gamblers pressed against the walls. The vault door loomed, thick steel, unbreakable to anyone else. But the man had the code. His trembling fingers punched it in. With a hiss, the lock disengaged.
The vault swung open, revealing stacks of cash, boxes of chips, and gold bars gleaming under harsh light.
Minks clapped her hands. "It's like Christmas morning!"
Grimm grabbed duffel bags and started filling them. Jack didn't rush. He walked inside slowly, running his fingers along the piles of money as if it wasn't real until he touched it. His grin widened.
"This," he whispered, "is how legends start."
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Alarms finally wailed, late but loud. Security regrouped. Sirens echoed faintly outside. Rico's voice crackled through the earpiece. "You've got two minutes. Cops are rolling in."
Grimm hefted the bags onto his back. "We're ready."
They moved fast, guns up, pushing through the chaos they'd created. Minks laughed like a child on a carnival ride, spraying more graffiti across the walls as they went. Grimm shoved aside anyone in the way. Jack walked like he was strolling through a park, gun swinging loosely in his hand.
At the front, armed guards tried to block them. Grimm charged first, a battering ram of fists and fury, clearing a path. Jack fired another warning shot, the sound ricocheting like thunder. The crowd screamed louder, scattering like birds.
Then they burst out into the night. Rico's car screeched to the curb, doors already open.
"Go, go, go!" Rico barked.
They piled in—Grimm tossing the bags, Minks diving headfirst, Jack sliding in last with a wide grin plastered on his face. The car peeled out, tires screaming, headlights cutting through the dark.
Behind them, sirens wailed, but Rico knew these streets better than any cop. He drifted corners, ducked into alleys, cut through back roads. The city blurred by in streaks of light and shadow.
Jack laughed the whole way. Not just a chuckle—full, wild laughter that filled the car and made even Grimm glance at him like he was insane.
When they finally lost the sirens and coasted into the dark safety of Gotham's industrial district, Rico pulled over, engine humming low. Silence filled the car, broken only by their heavy breaths.
Then Minks clapped. "That. Was. Perfect!"
Grimm shook his head, still catching his breath. "We should be dead."
Rico lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke out the window. "And yet… here we are."
Jack leaned back in his seat, grin painted across his face like it was carved there forever. "No," he said softly, eyes gleaming, "here's where we begin."
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