BATMAN REBIRTH
Chapter 1
The small entourage of vehicles moved slowly along the open and currently rather quiet streets of downtown Gotham, the night shrouding the city like a thick blanket. There were three vehicles in the tiny caravan carrying its precious cargo – two smaller cars, all black and with no license plates surrounding a long white limousine with windows tinted so dark, they were as black as obsidian stone to anyone who looked their way. Slowly, the trio halted, and the back window of the limousine opened. A man sat within, peering up at the building under construction they had halted beside, but made no effort to rise. He was a tall and somewhat thin man, dark hair kept somewhat long and as perfectly manicured as his nails, his nose hooked and lips thin, a cigarette pressed between them with a trail of smoke lazily drifting up and out of the open window. The building was obviously under construction, surrounded by a chain link fence plastered with advertising signs of the fence company, the heavy equipment suppliers, and of course, the construction company doing the actual work, bright white letters on black background proclaiming "COBBLEPOT INDUSTRIES."
"The Daggett Building," said the man in a slightly lazy fashion to the man who sat across from him in the limo, though he kept his piercing blue gaze out the window. He raised the black straight umbrella he held in his hand and tapped it gently on the floor of the vehicle, obviously thoughtful. "We were supposed to have completed this project last week." He spoke in a crisp English accent, his tone even and smooth, even with the obvious displeasure that they were behind schedule on a very large project like this. "Precisely what has been the hold up, Rook? And why was I not informed until now?"
The man who sat across from him sat very still indeed, his jaw set and near black hair ruffled, his hands clenched in his lap. "The foreman told me just two weeks ago that everything was on schedule, Mr. Cobblepot," he said in a surprisingly firm tone. "I trusted him to have done his job right. That was my mistake."
"Yes. It was," said the man in the tuxedo idly as he looked back up at the building. While it looked nearly finished to an untrained eye, Cobblepot could tell that the interior was no where near finished, and that the plastic wrapping for the windows littering the ground meant that they had only just been installed, and likely not been faced or chalked yet. More delays. "Business in Gotham is running dry, Rook. It would be most unprofessional of me to not deliver what I promised to my clients. Gotham has been a good place to expand the business on both fronts for the past six years, but there is no where left to build. It is, after all, an island. And I will not have my reputation tarnished by foolish mistakes like this."
"Yes, sir," Rook replied in a quiet tone.
Cobblepot sighed and rolled up the window, leaning back in his leather seat as he reached up to straighten his bow tie, leaning back on the black umbrella. Flicking the ashes from his cigarette into a provided tray, he looked up at Rook once more. "In the future, I expect more from you," he said in a tone that suggested a scolding. "The foreman who told you it would be finished... I have no use for an employee who would lie to me. Take care of it." Rook merely nodded in reply.
"You're all business, aren't you, Mr. Cobblepot?" asked a soft and teasing voice. Cobblepot turned his head slightly to look at the woman who was beside him. Blond, with a stupid ditsy smile, her finger gripped by a lock of her smooth hair as she twirled it, eyes a lovely chocolate brown. She would do for now... Cobblepot doubted highly she would last more than a week at her current position, however.
"Of course, Miss Partridge," he said to her with a charming smile, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth to tap the ashes into the ashtray again. The girl did not look put off or anything but somewhat shy when he called her that – apparently it was her real name. "Do not fret. We will be arriving at the club in just a few moments."
"I can't believe I'm really going to the Iceberg Lounge," said Miss Partridge breathlessly, clearly excited as she reached out to touch Oswald's sleeve, her eyes wide and shimmering. "The waiting list to get a table there is a month long. How did you get in?"
"Easy," he said smoothly, smiling as he put the cigarette back between his lips, took a deep drag, the burning hot tip bright red as he did so, before he pulled it away and exhaled. "I own it."
In a matter of moments, the limousine pulled up to the front door of the short but expansively wide black building. On the exterior, it would have been very low key indeed if it weren't for the hoards of people clustered behind red velvet ropes vying for their chance to get in. Two very tall, very large men were standing beside the door, dressed in black suits and wearing sunglasses despite the darkness of the night. Bright searchlights stretched into the sky from the roof of the building, swirling around to draw the attention of party-goers out on the town, even though the place was already filling up with those who had reservations and those who the bouncers determined would make their other guests happier.
The driver had parked next to the carpet that extended directly out from the front door to the curb, and he opened their door for them as every head in line turned in wonder to see who had showed up. A wave of sound spread over the crowd as Oswald stepped out, tossing up his umbrella and catching it around the middle with a smile, before turning to help the girl, Miss Partridge, after them. Waving lazily to the crowd with his umbrella-laden hand, Cobblepot lead them up the red carpet toward the club as Rook exited the limousine right after entirely unnoticed, following them in silence.
The club itself was massive inside. Two stories with a wide open dance floor in the center of the building, the stage wide open and with no back or curtains to it, wide enough to hold a six-person band easily on it, the DJ's booth set right in front of the raised platform. The entire place was done up to look as if it were made of snow or ice, the floor made of thick Plexiglas with water shimmering with lights below it, ice blue leather upholstering all of the lounge chairs, and white painted metal making up the rest of the furniture. Dozens of little booths around the lower floor made for cozy spaces for couples and parties to nestle, with lots of small round tables set near the bar, and even more up on the second floor, where the private VIP and meeting rooms were located. The top of the dance floor was crowned with a massive and beautiful crystal chancellor that shone multicolored light down onto the dance floor like a disco ball would. Dozens of people were already inside the room, drinking, laughing, talking, and of course, dancing.
Oswald lead the girl up the grand staircase to the rim of the second floor, using his umbrella as a walking stick, setting her down at the table near the railing that overlooked the dance floor, just in front of the second bar. The band below was rapidly setting up as the DJ kept the crowd complaisant with prerecorded mixes of his own. There were more than a dozen staff members roaming the tables, taking drink orders and mingling with customers to make them feel welcome and happy, not including the two bartenders at the lower bar the one at the upper bar, and the security posted at nearly every other door.
"Wait right her, my dear," he said as he set Miss Partridge down and kissed her hand with a smile. "I won't be long. I just have a little bit of unfinished business to attend to before we enjoy the rest of our evening. A new employee to initiate, you see."
The girl hardly seemed to notice was Oswald was saying as she smiled widely, taking in the interior of the club, the beautiful dance floor, and the many happy customers that surrounded them. "Okay, Ossy," she said in an airy tone. Cobblepot visibly winced at the nickname and looked at her disapprovingly, but she didn't notice, her eyes already elsewhere. Perhaps a week had been a generous estimate...
Straightening his black tie, Oswald took hold of his umbrella again and made his way to one of the several private rooms around the second floor, the guards only standing slightly straighter as he moved passed them and into the surprisingly expansive room. The private rooms were done in the same white and ice blue as the main room, a long rectangular table within and a large fish tank installed in the wall with a back light that illuminated the tropical fish within. Pictures of glaciers and icebergs and marine life decorated the other walls, and a self-service bar table was visible at the back of the room. Six men and one woman were already inside, and two of the men obviously did not see or hear him enter, for they alone kept conversing.
"It's simple," said the small, rat-faced man who was pouring himself a glass of brandy from the bar, squinting up at the much younger man before him, just barely out of high school by the look of him. "I know you're new here, but it's hardly rocket science, kid. Cobblepot does things his certain ways. You just pay attention to the details and you'll do just fine."
The older man took a swallow of the brandy within the glass as the youngster visibly fumbled with it, clearly nervous. "It's... hard to know what's truth and what's rumor, what with all the crazy stuff flying around out there on the streets..."
"Well, let me spell out a few of the more basic points to you," said the older man, swirling the brandy in his glass and looking thoughtful. "He has code names for all his men. He loves birds, you see. So we've all got names to go after birds. You'll get one, too. Learn it. It'll be your name here. Me, they calls me Whistler here." He shrugged, obviously thoughtless on the subject and sipping his drink again. "Essentially, you just do what you're told and don't ask any questions. You do that, you get a nice paycheck. Done and done."
"D-Does Mr. Cobblepot have a code name?" asked the youth curiously as he sipped his brandy and made a strained face.
"As a matter of fact, he does," he said with a wide grin, the other people in the room looking pale as Oswald listened in a dead silence, his expression very grim. "But what else is to be expected? He's a smart guy, richer than you can imagine, but bit of an odd ball, if you know what I mean. Always wears a tux, obsessed with birds, eats that raw fish stuff the Japs like... People have taken to calling him Penguin. Don't think he likes it much, though." He snickered and put the glass up to his mouth again.
"Oh, I think you know very well how much I detest that name, Whistler," said Oswald suddenly, his tone icy and dark. Whistler startled and whipped around, pale as a sheet as he saw Cobblepot standing behind him, his open jaw shut suddenly as Cobblepot pressed the tip of the black umbrella to the man's throat. His eyes, which had been so bright before, now shone with a dark anger that seemed to bubble up from his heart. "And I think this is the second time I've caught you using it."
"N-No, sir, not using it," he sputtered quickly. "J-Just tellin' the new kid w-what's what, that's all!" He was slightly trembling, as if Cobblepot was threatening him with something much more dangerous than the tip of an umbrella.
"How about you inform the young lad," he said, glancing up at the young man who now had his back to the wall and was gripping the glass of brandy between two hands, but looking more confused than afraid, "what code name I prefer?"
Whistler took in several gasping breaths, swallowing roughly. "E...Emperor," he said quietly.
Oswald smiled at that, and pulled the umbrella tip slowly away, much to Whistler's obvious relief. In a flash, the umbrella whipped up again, slamming sharply against the side of Whistler's head. Obviously, whatever the umbrella was made of was much more durable than simple hollow aluminum like most umbrellas, for it crashed against Whistler's head as if he'd been hit by a crowbar, dropping him to the ground at once. "And you," he said to the young man, "would do well to remember that." He sneered down at Whistler, who squirmed on the ground, injured but very much alive.
"Now," said Oswald, his tone pleasant again, ignoring the previous events entirely, motioning to the youngster to have a seat at the table, "have a seat. We have your future to discuss... Weaver."
