A breath of tangy sea air is always best when inhaled straight through the nose. My lungs expanded, invigorated, and I was peaceful again. Gotham City's docks were always a dank slab of commercialized fishery depots, but today was an important day for me.
Weak but strengthening blue light encompassed everything. The horizon was just a grey-blue smear of pre-morning. One or two fishermen and equipment workers walked about here and there, clocking in early and preparing for their day's work, but I would only be a few minutes. The car was still running and I couldn't stay long.
My umbrella seemed like a silly precaution now, the black clouds were too sparse to let fall a single drop, but I held it tight just the same, comforted by at least having something to occupy my hand.
I stood on the edge of the concrete walkway, the choppy, lapping harbour water just one wrong step below. This was the place where I had last seen her, exactly one year ago today. Before she left me forever. I stared past the water's surface at a section of Gotham City skyline directly in my view, but it wasn't the object of my focus.
I planned ahead to make certain that the time of day was accurate, too. I still remembered that if I stood at this exact same spot when the sun rose, it would appear as a heavenly sliver between two skyscrapers in the distance.
To the few workers who would notice me standing here aimlessly, I would only appear to be a man simply lost in his thoughts. Of suicide, perhaps. Either, or. It was of no consequence to me. They weren't the reason why I was here.
I caught myself contemplating. I had to admit, I never thought much of her when we first met. Likewise she with me, I'm sure. To be perfectly honest, I think her initial reaction said it all. Every surfacing memory I had in that moment brought a new regret, but I soon realized that they were all trivial. Favorite movie? Favorite board game? Favorite artificial flavor? Meaningless.
I'm still glad she happened to me.
As the only child of two Greek immigrants, she was never well-off financially. Despite the heavy accents of her parents, she spoke perfect English. Her father was a fisherman who found work on this very wharf I was currently standing on, and her mother managed a small, Greek-run produce store in Park Row. I knew that they would both would not come in to work today, though, and not ever again.
She was uneducated as far as most upscale employers were concerned. With only a high school diploma to her name, her dreams were cut short in order to help her parents stay on solid ground. It was her choice after all was said and willingly done, her decision was uncontested. She rose at 8:00 AM sharp the next morning and donned her forest green apron, hauling fruit from a delivery truck and setting to work on their display.
It's hard to forget that autumn afternoon we crossed paths, even if I wanted to. In a bizarre twist of fate, I have a few street toughs to thank for that. They decided on that specific alley, situated away from prying eyes, and long enough to hide midway inside so that I could continue to absorb their punches in private.
One of them had me by the lapels of my black sport coat, hauled me inside, and threw me to the ground. I stumbled and fell, landing in a greasy, stagnant puddle at the building's edge. The water wasted no time in soaking through the pitiful layer of my dress pants. I held out a pleading hand of surrender.
"No, no, no, wait, stop," I stammered.
One of the three, a solid mass of a guy with some Spanish name I can't remember, strutted forward, grabbed me roughly by my collar and hoisted me onto my feet. "You think we're playin' games?" he threatened inches from my face. He braced his arms and rattled me once, stretching my shoulder seams to their very limits. "You think you can just come in here and disrespect us?!"
"I-I-I—" I was cut off by being tossed into a towering pile of discarded, broken grocery supplies and crates.
"Have at him, boys," the Spanish man said to his cronies, stepping back and allowing them forward.
What came next is the worst part to relive. No matter how much I'm used to being the bullseye for a pulverizing blow, I'll never get used to the pain that follows. Gina Carlto was my first during my schoolyard years. She was a beefy third-grader with no neck and still has the sharpest, most accurate right hook I have ever known. Needless to say, I was no match. My teeth have taken quite a few knuckles over the years. Three of them aren't even mine as a result, but the dentist I chose by way of random process had pride in her work, thus most strangers usually cannot tell.
I heard the squeak of a metal barred door somewhere far off in-between the noise of knuckles connecting to my bones. My body curled reflexively into a ball, as if it would somehow minimize the pain. It never does. Every punch wrung a strangled, unintentional cry from me. Their unrelenting energy meant that they were far from done.
"Hey!" somebody screeched from a distance. "Stop it!"
I felt one less fist.
"Mind your own business, we got a score to settle!" one thug hollered in retaliation.
"Step away ri-right now, all of you, before I call the police! I mean it!"
My attackers altogether relented, but not from fear of the threat. They were very much in control of every aspect of the situation, but apparently they couldn't resist a sideshow. I panted from the lasting ache they left behind, and it only kept getting worse by the second, spreading to places they never even pummeled. I had enough sense of mind left to register that the interrupting voice was female. And bluffing like mad.
"We ain't afraid'a no GCPD!" answered the leader. "So just go back where you came from and keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you."
The female was silent for a beat. I couldn't see her over the hill behind me.
"I mean it," she warned again with inflated, shaky bravado.
The leader scoffed. None of this was worth his time. He gazed over at me with a sneer.
"Well, looks like the lady says he's had enough, boys," he oozed sardonically. "You have a nice day then, ma'am. This piece of shit is your problem now."
He saved one last kick for my stomach, doubling me over, and walked away. Another spit on me in passing, and then all three filed out of the alley, leaving me alone. Or at least I thought I was alone. I don't know how serious the female was about going to call the police. A hollow clatter echoed somewhere and the quick slapping of shoes got closer.
I didn't see her turn the corner. All I could see was the black of my tightened eyelids. I was clenching my teeth so hard that I swore I would crack them.
"Oh my God!" I heard her fretful, breathless voice. A breeze brushed my skin and I suddenly sensed her presence very close to me. "Stay where you are, I'll call an ambulance!"
"I don't-...need one," I grunted. The young woman had just witnessed me being beaten into tenderization, I didn't need the extra humiliation of being carted away on a stretcher and a blaring vehicle.
"Does anything hurt? Can you stand?" she asked quickly.
I couldn't even muster the energy to give her a disdainful look. I was certain my condition would have been enough of a blinking neon sign for her. "Just...give me a second."
I forced my eyes open, expecting her to appear in my view. I just didn't expect her to be completely blocking my entire perspective. Her concerned, angled brows were shot to her dark hairline, which was pulled back into a mess of a ponytail. Her owl-like, dark brown eyes wouldn't cease darting in a panic, they were shifting over every inch of my body. Her puffed lips were parted dumbfoundedly, elongating her oval face.
"Do you need help standing up?" she asked firmly, like she was trying to take control of the situation.
"No," I said pertly in a tone that I hoped would put an end to her questioning. She was beginning to irritate me with the constant barrage. If she really wanted to help she would just leave me be and let me hobble home on my own. Just like every other time before.
I shifted onto my hands, preparing to boost myself onto my knees. My upper lip felt warm and wet. I sniffled to test my nose, and as a result snorted a large glob, confirming to myself that I was indeed bleeding. Thankfully the girl backed away to give me my space, but her hands stayed hovering in the air, poised to catch me if I tumbled like a newborn fawn.
Wobbling and stiff, I somehow managed to stand just fine without her help, something I was proud of. I am resilient. I survive.
"Here, sit down on this," she said, gesturing to a discarded crate large enough to fit the both of us comfortably. "I'll wait with you here until the cops come." Both her hands touched my shoulder in an attempt to guide me. I shrugged her off. She quickly retracted.
"I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"
"No."
The girl put her hands on her hips, not sure whether to be offended by my stubborness or not. I stole a glance at her to size her up, gauging what I was up against. A tad on the weightier side, her form-fitting t-shirt gave a small peek of semi-roundedness in her stomach, though this effect also worked to her advantage and accentuated her more important curves. Her jeans also stretched across strong thighs. Still, she didn't seem all that threatening.
"Look, miss," I began.
"Pardon, I should have said earlier. Call me Renata."
"Renata," I repeated blankly, "I appreciate your concern—", somewhat, "—but there is no need to trouble yourself. I'll be out of your way in a few minutes."
Renata stepped close enough that a waft of her subtle, powdery perfume floated into my face. Meanwhile I was sure that I reeked of the stale-sour scent of spit.
"I can be a witness," she insisted, blocking my path. "I've got your back, don't worry." She said it as loyally as if we'd been friends all our lives.
I didn't answer and acted as though I hadn't heard her. My right knee was throbbing something fierce and it felt bad enough that I needed to sit down for a little while. Side-stepping her, I limped to the crate she indicated. My motion would just appear to her that I had silently taken up her offer. I allowed her to think that for now, my pride was going to be a slow process to build up again after this incident.
Settling gingerly into a seated position, my body unwound by the slightest margin. A little relief was better than no relief at all.
A discarded wooden baseball bat lied several feet away, which must have been the hollow clattering noise from earlier. Well, at least this Renata girl deserved some credit in not being recklessly weaponless when taking a couple punks on.
She didn't sit down next to me, opting instead to hover like a satellite and look me over head-on.
"It's going to be a while to wait. Do you need anything to eat in the meantime?" she offered.
My stomach was like a black void. To tell the truth, I hadn't eaten in quite a while. Yesterday afternoon to be precise. I didn't answer her question, though, I could scrounge for something myself later, it wasn't important. Neither were the useless cops. All I needed was a moment to catch my breath and wait for my skull and ribs to stop pounding, then I'd be out of her hair and she'd forget I ever happened.
Her eyes searched me, anticipating permission or a reply. "I'll go get something for you anyway," and she bounded away, disappearing back into the produce shop. "Don't go anywhere!" I heard her call from inside the propped open door. Presumably she would also take some time to call 9-1-1.
Now that she was gone I hoped I could slip away, but my chest still convulsed in heavy, lugging breaths. I wouldn't get far before she came back.
She emerged again within the minute, jogging back to me with a plastic-wrapped sandwich clutched in her hand. And an ice-pack.
"It was all I could find that was ready-made. Here." She placed the sandwich in my hands, careful not to transfer any of my blood onto her. Preservation of evidence or just plain squeamishness, I couldn't tell.
"...Thank you," I said shortly, hiding my begrudgement well. I didn't need her help, I got through life so far without much of anyone else's. Still, I was pretty famished. "So what do I owe you?" I added while unwrapping the plastic, preferring to get to the point. An eye for an eye, a favor for a good deed, that was the way people worked in this town. Can't get everything for free, because even the air you breathed had a price.
"Don't worry about it," she said dismissively. "It's taken care of. Eat."
I almost laughed but instead suppressed it and smiled into the first bite as my teeth sank into the bread. Naive. Phony nobility. I'd seen her type before, nothing new.
The sandwich was some sort of bland turkey and lettuce combination, but it would get the job done at least. Freshness was another plus since the bread still looked fluffy, and though the lettuce was limp it still retained it's crunch.
"I brought this for you, too." Now was when she chose to sit down beside me. She held up the ice pack.
I looked at it questioningly.
"You've got a nasty-looking welt under your eye," she explained.
I touched my left cheekbone. It felt fine.
"The other one."
Touching my right, I cringed instantly. The spot felt raised and brutally tender. Placing the sandwich aside for a moment, I accepted the ice pack, shivering at it's first contact with my face, but in seconds I relaxed from the relief.
"Can you tell me your name?" she asked conversationally, clearly expecting the exchange because she shared hers.
I pretended to need a pause to finish chewing another bite when I really was just buying time. I scratched my brain for an invented name, but what was the use. It wasn't any concern of mine whether she knew my real name or not.
"Oswald."
"Oswald," she repeated, nodding. "You don't hear that kind of name around anymore. Very distinguished."
I made a non-committal noise and stared ahead at the grime-encrusted brick wall.
The autumn chill in the air was mild. Goosebumps formed on Renata's exposed arms, but she took little notice of their appearance. True to her word, she stayed with me.
The cop's arrival was an uneventful affair. Two responding GCPD officers, seasoned and grim from years of grudgingly having to babysit for petty crimes such as this one, went through the motions, asking only the questions they needed to. Renata did most of the talking, thankfully. I wasn't much in a mood to. All I had to do was refuse their one-time offer of an ambulance.
She led the officers to certain points of the alleyway, gesturing to the corner where she found me and describing the street thugs in exquisite detail, everything from what they were wearing to their physical features, all without prompt. She was very theatrical with her hands, even going as far to illustrate dimensions and height. Once they took a short statement from me, they promised Renata in dull tones that they would do their best, and they left.
I felt an urge to tell Renata that the officers weren't going to follow-up, that her optimism in the GCPD was unfounded. But I didn't care enough. Let her think that justice would come through. She'd find out soon enough.
By now the autumn light was softening. Had to have been around 5 P.M. by then. My aches had subsided enough that I could walk home unassisted and not collapse. I wasn't looking forward to seeing the mottled purple mosaic that had surely painted my body when I would step into the shower tonight.
Renata stood up to see me off when I told her I would be on my way.
"Do you need me to call a cab? Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Nothing you can help with, I assure you."
Renata still looked doubtful. "Here." She dug into her pocket, fishing out her store's business card. "Take this phone number, call me if you need anything else. If I'm not at work, you can call me here." Swiping a pen from her apron pocket, she quickly scrawled her home number on the back of the card. "You really took quite a beating back there. I'm just worried for your well-being." She held it out for me to take, pinching it between her fore and middle fingers.
I accepted the business card and placed it in my pocket without looking at it. "Thanks," I said automatically.
"If it's alright with you, can I see you again?"
See me? I had no idea what she meant by that. Oh, I knew the phrase in the way that other people used it, but Renata's intentions were difficult to figure out judging by her tone. I wasn't egotistical enough to assume that she wanted to see me again for reasons outside of this incident.
"I just need to know that you're okay," she clarified.
Called it.
I'm not much for promises. Too delicate to be kept. One wrong move and they're stopped cold. I thought of refusing her point blank to save her the trouble of holding out hope for an update on my condition, but my mother taught me better than that. I had to be a gentleman, a man of class above all else in the face of trial and adversity.
"We'll see," I told her. It neither confirmed a yes or a no, but the answer would still placate her in the meantime.
She nodded affirmatively. "Get some rest, then. You deserve it. I'm really sorry this happened, I hope you'll be okay, Oswald."
She would never know that the fight she had broken up was entirely my fault. I had been the one to provoke those thugs into a foaming-mouthed frenzy just minutes earlier. It sounds stupid on paper, I know; a twiggy beanpole single-handedly inciting a scuffle against three street hoods who practiced chin-ups from their fire escapes every day. But they had it coming. They called me penguin.
A/N: This story idea came to me about two weeks before Gotham's pilot premiered. I was so excited for this show, I've been keeping up with promos since April when I first heard it was coming :D I know tons about The Penguin already, I've been a huge Batman fan for years, but I wanted to wait until I watched a few episodes of Gotham to be certain whether or not the show would make some changes or take a few liberties with the character. It's been pretty consistent so far after two episodes, so I feel safe uploading this now.
Fair warning, this story might be a short one. Maybe a two or three-parter. At least that's what I'm planning, but I do have a tendency to get carried away sometimes. Thank you for reading if you made it this far!