[A Diner in Queens]
"John Constantine."
The man took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke directly at the 'No Smoking' sign on the wall.
"Exorcist, demonologist, master of the dark arts... and currently, an unemployed bloke looking for a gig. How's that for an answer? Satisfied, Stark?"
John didn't seem fazed by Tony's aggressive posture. He leaned back in the booth, his demeanor lazy, like a cat that had just eaten the canary.
"Happy," Tony said without looking away from John. "Clear the room. I'm buying out the restaurant for the afternoon."
"On it, Boss."
John's casual arrogance told Tony one thing: he wasn't leaving empty-handed today.
Once Happy had ushered the grumbling patrons out, Tony finally relaxed his shoulders. He crossed his legs, his expression shifting from defensive to analytical.
"You still haven't stated your purpose," Tony said sharply. "And more importantly: What is your relationship with the Joker?"
At the mention of the name, the air in the diner grew heavy.
"Two men with no past appear in my life on the same day," Tony continued, his voice dropping an octave. "Calling that a coincidence would be an insult to my intelligence. And I don't like being insulted."
John smirked. He stubbed his cigarette out on a pristine white saucer.
"Straight to business. I like that."
John held up a finger.
"One: I need a legal identity. Passports, social security, the works."
He held up a second finger.
"Two: I need a base of operations. A Detective Agency. Help me set that up, and we can call it even for saving your life."
John stood up, brushing ash off his trench coat. "As for the clown... we can talk about him after I get my payment."
"Wait!"
John paused mid-turn, looking back with a raised eyebrow.
"Your papers will be ready tomorrow," Tony said, not missing a beat. "As for the agency... consider it done. I own half the real estate in this city anyway."
Tony snapped his fingers. "Happy! Get on it."
Happy, who had just sat down with a coffee, let out a long suffering sigh. He gave Tony a resentful look but pulled out his phone and walked away again.
"Now," Tony stood up, planting his hands on the table. "I want to know about the Joker."
John held out his hand, palm up.
"Five million."
Tony blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I told you, I'm a detective," John shrugged. "Consulting fees, mate. Information isn't free."
"You just asked for a building!"
"That was for saving your life. This is for the intel. Separate transactions."
Tony stared at him in disbelief. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're rich," John countered. "Do you know what five million buys in this city? A very pleasant night with a boatload of models and top-shelf whiskey. Don't be stingy, Stark. Unless Stark Industries is going under?"
Tony grit his teeth. Aside from the Joker, John Constantine was rapidly climbing the list of people he wanted to punch.
He pulled a checkbook from his jacket, scribbled a number furiously, and slapped it into John's nicotine-stained hand.
"Take it. Now tell me what you know."
John flicked the check, grinning. "Pleasure doing business."
He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, his eyes shifting to the window.
"Hold that thought. We've got company."
Tony followed his gaze. A black sedan had pulled up to the curb. A man with a receding hairline and a bland suit stepped out, followed by two agents who looked like they were carved out of granite.
The man waved at them through the glass with a polite, disarming smile.
A moment later, Happy led them to the table.
"He says he's from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division," Happy said, stumbling over the mouthful. "ID looks real, Boss."
Tony rolled his eyes. "Strategic Homeland... what? Just say S.H.I.E.L.D. or something. It saves time."
He turned to the intruder. "Look, Agent... whatever your name is. I'm busy. If you want an autograph, call my secretary."
Phil Coulson kept his smile fixed in place. "Agent Coulson. And I'm sorry to interrupt your lunch, Mr. Stark, but we aren't here for you today."
Coulson turned his gaze to John.
"We're here to speak with Mr. Constantine."
Tony stepped in front of John instinctively. John was his only lead on the Joker. If the government dragged him into a black site, Tony would be back to square one.
"Not happening," Tony snapped. "He's consulting for me. Get your own wizard."
"Mr. Stark," Coulson said softly, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable weight. "At the Addison Hotel... Mr. Constantine used magic, didn't he?"
It wasn't a question.
The atmosphere in the diner froze.
S.H.I.E.L.D. knew. They knew about the light, the web, the impossible escape.
"I know what you want," John said, cutting through the tension. He lit another cigarette, ignoring the glare from the agents. "And since Mr. Stark here has already paid my consulting fee... I suppose I can share with the class."
John exhaled a cloud of smoke. "But that depends on the Boss." He nodded at Tony.
Coulson turned his smile to Tony. It was a polite smile, but it was the kind of smile that said 'We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.'
Tony weighed his options. These guys knew too much to be ignored. And frankly, he was curious. A government agency that tracked magic? That was new.
"Happy, get the agents some coffee to go," Tony waved his hand dismissively at Coulson's subordinates. "Have them wait outside. The grown-ups are talking."
Coulson nodded to his team. They retreated to the door without a word.
Once they were alone, John leaned forward, his elbows on the table, the cigarette dangling from his lip. The playful hustle was gone. His eyes were dark and serious.
"The Joker and I..." John began, his voice low.
"We're both Outsiders."
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