Julia Tarantella knew that she mattered little in the grand scheme of things. Truthfully, little did matter aside from the cosmos. The sun would still rise and set if she died, just as Gotham would rot to the very center. So she figured she would at least go out looking good. Well tailored jackets, skirts that complemented her darker complexion. Gold earrings, a gift at her initiation from Don Falcone.
Of course, there was nothing improper there. She refused to be a comare, to the Don or anyone. Not that he had ever asked, all she was expected to do was to go to his underbosses and collect payment each week. The underbosses collected their from their territory, the Don took a portion for his continued protection. All Julia had to do was collect the money and make sure that it reached Don Falcone's consigliere in its entirety.
Stealing from the mob would be very stupid, and Julia prided herself on her intelligence.
It was a Thursday when she met him, her usual pickup day at Fish Mooney's club. Trent was her usual meet for this, but she couldn't see him through the low lights of the club. Something detached itself from the shadows, a thin, pale visage in a black suit. Her eyes narrowed, hand twitching toward the knife she kept in her jacket pocket. But it was only a young man, a little red around the eyes and with some teeth that needed to be introduced to modern orthodontia. "You must be Miss Tarantella."
A hand was stuck out, waiting for a shake. She accepted. "Julia, where's Trent?"
"Oh," The man's eyes lit up a little. "He was scraping a little of the top, telling Miss Mooney that her clients were having trouble and keeping it for himself. She took care of him. I'm Oswald Cobblepot, her new assistant."
Julia snorted. Mooney'd been short for a few weeks, she needed to be more on top of her men if she didn't notice that. Although maybe being on top of Trent was her problem. She smiled. "Well, here's hoping that you're wiser, Oswald."
He gave a rather high pitched chuckle, "Oh, I am." His eyes widened. "How rude of me, what do want to drink? It's the least I can offer."
"Lemonade, you need a clear head on this job." Julia watched him go get it, watching for any stray movement. It would be all to easy to slip some poison in among the ice. But it came back clean, and was a refreshing taste when compared to the hard liquor and piss flavored beer the other boys preferred. "So, shall we get down to business?"
Oswald nodded, "Of course, you'll find the payment in full." He slid a stuffed manila envelope across the table. Julia hefted it, then peeked inside. Wads of hundreds, fifties, and more stared back.
Julia transferred it to the messenger bag on her side. "The Don may want reparations payed for what Trent took. Can you guarantee Mooney will pay?"
"I am sure that she would. Miss Mooney loves the Don like a father."
"That's what Trent said too."
"Well she does."
Julia snorted. They all say that, 'I would never betray the Don, he's family', all the like. Quite a few of those had to be replaced with more controllable underlings. The door opened, cold air spilling in. A couple of Mooney's men had come back, all smiles and booming laughs. One of them noticed her and Oswald's little soiree.
Unfortunately, he decided to interrupt.
"Hey, honey trust me you don't want that little penguin. Now me," he shoved an elbow onto her table, smiling, "I'm a real man."
"I've asked you not to call me that." Oswald spat, eyes narrowing.
"I'm here for Don Falcone's payment, and he'd be more than willing to straighten out you, real man or not." Julia replied, voice cold. So would her knife, he wouldn't be so handsy without his hands. The guys quickly backed up, all apologies. They were alone again.
"I'm terribly sorry, I'll see that Miss Mooney is informed and they are removed." His voice was still a little strained, hands shaking a little.
She waved her hand, brushing the moment aside. "I'm sure they'll screw up on something bigger than a little flirting. You shouldn't let them bother you, especially with that name. You react, they want you to react even more."
"What would you know?"
"I didn't have a very happy social life as a child." Julia chuckled a little, "Learn to control your anger. When they can't see it, they won't expect it." She patted her messenger bag, reassuring herself the payment was still there. Her lemonade was gone, and she would need a cab to get the payment back to headquarters. Oswald was looking at her like she'd just sprouted a second head that had burst into a performance of Dixieland. Julia stood, her hand out for him. "It's been a pleasure, Mr. Cobblepot."
His hand was clammy but his grasp was firm. "Until next week Miss Tarantella."