Welcome to my new multi chapter fic. My sincerest thanks to AmberZ10 and michaelfmx for their beta services and thoughts.
The air in the bar was heady, thick with the scent of smoke and booze. It was beginning to make Pamela sweat in that uncomfortable, 'I should probably be asleep' kind of way.
She sipped at her whiskey neat slower than her companions. Namely Selina, who was on her third rum and coke in little over an hour.
Pam knew from experience—lots of experience—that Selina could hold her liquor. But even so, the brunette's eyes were glassy now and she swayed ever so slightly in her seat.
"How you doin', Pammy?" she teased, nudging Pam's half empty glass. "Feel free to catch up anytime."
Bruce snorted beside her, raising his water to his lips—as he'd insisted on the role of designated driver.
"I think I'll let you do most of the footwork tonight," Pam offered. "I've got an early meeting with the Director tomorrow."
Selina's eyes widened, her painted red lips forming an 'o'. "A meeting with the Director. Hear that, Brucie? Our girl's got a fancy mission."
"That might not be the case." Pam took another sip of her drink.
"What else could it be?" Selina scoffed. "The Agency sent you to Gotham Fucking City. Did they want you to stand around and smell the roses?"
"The sewage," Bruce corrected, and Selina bobbed her head sagely.
"Fine then," Pam relented. "A mission. Say it louder, why don't you?"
Selina took the invitation, leaning back in her stool and opening her mouth to shout, "Hey everyo—,"
Pam quickly kicked her in the shin. "You're such an ass."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Selina hiccupped, rubbing her leg. "Don't make fun of a serious agent, Bruce. She's serious. Probably packing."
"Packing?" Bruce's brows bounced once. "There were rumors back in school, Pamela…"
Pam rolled her eyes. "That sort of humor is unbecoming of you, Bruce."
Selina was chuckling beside him. "And he's not even drunk."
"Just an ass," Bruce added with a wink before Pam could beat him to it.
Huffing, Pam sat back on her stool and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why did I bother accepting your invitation tonight?"
"Because you looove us," Selina cooed. "And…You know that weknow this shithole like the back of our hands, and you wanted to get a leg up on Gordon before he briefs you tomorrow."
Selina had always been sharp.
"No…I missed you."
"Pfft." Selina continued without missing a beat, "We have theories. They are two-fold. One."
Bruce held up a finger for her.
"You're here to investigate that joker running around calling himself the Riddler."
"Riddler?"
"Yeah, tells riddles…Sort of holds up museums? One museum…Mine."
"He held up your museum?" Pam raised a single brow.
Selina's nose wrinkled. "Not—Well—He really just tags property and runs away. He's all the rage."
"But he's small potatoes," Bruce added.
"Yeah, the GCPD can handle him."
"Although they haven't, yet."
Selina waved a hand. "Or option two…"
"The real 'Joker'," Bruce continued. "Jack Napier."
"Gotham's most notorious crime boss," Selina finished off her drink, pausing her speech for a moment to lower her empty glass back to the counter, the gesture for some reason making Pam a bit uneasy.
"Jack Napier," Pam repeated.
Selina nodded. "And unlike everyone and their nanny who calls themselves a crime boss in this clusterfuck of a city…His name actually means something." She was tipping her glass from side to side, the bottom dragging on the cheaply laminated wood of the bar.
"He's been a hustler in Gotham for a little over two decades," Bruce explained. "But only in the last few years has he really asserted himself as a kingpin."
"He's got Gotham by the balls."
Pam glanced back and forth between her friends. "But the GCPD hasn't had any luck pinning anything on him, I take it?"
"You'd be correct." Bruce was waving down the bartender, stuffing a wad of bills into the man's hand. "He's earned his place and he's intent on keeping it."
Grabbing his glass, Bruce downed the rest of his water, swallowing and pinning Pam with one pointed finger. "That's why you're here."
"You think the Bureau sent me back to Gotham to take down a crime lord?" Pam summarized, watching as Bruce helped Selina to her feet, slipping her charcoal pea coat over her shoulders.
"Gig of a life time, eh, Pammy?" Selina grinned, kissing Pam's cheek. "Welcome home."
"Need a ride?" Bruce asked.
Pam shook her head. "It's a nice night, I'll walk."
The incredulity in Bruce's voice was palpable when he said, "Be careful."
"You don't need to tell her to be careful, Bruce," Selina admonished. "She's packing, remember? Anyone who tries to cross Pam Isley's gettin' one in the kisser."
Selina offered a wink before allowing Bruce to lead her away, one arm wrapped firmly around her waist. Pam watched her friends go, a rush of cool night air sweeping into the bar behind them, breathing some life back into her brain.
After finishing her drink and setting down a few extra dollars for her own tip, Pam slung her bag over her shoulder and followed her friends out into the night.
Bruce's sleek black Corvette was already taking off by the time Pam made her way outside and she watched it disappear down the dingy Gotham streets.
Ducking her chin to her chest to protect herself from the chill in the air, Pamela made her way down the block towards the cheap motel her superiors had secured her.
She arrived without issue, the sounds and scuffle of the city ushering her inside her room. Plopping down onto the questionable bedspread, Pam shrugged off her coat and flopped back against the pillows, closing her eyes as the quiet buzz from the alcohol filled her skull.
/
The sharp clack of Pamela's high heels echoed around the empty hallway. It was still early, and although Pam wasn't the only agent occupying the Gotham City field office at the moment, she was the only one striding with purpose towards the Director's office.
Her conversation with Bruce and Selina the night before hadn't stopped spinning in her head.
Pam had found her calling with the FBI in D.C., but her old friends had remained in Gotham even after they'd all graduated from GSU together. Bruce and Selina'd had their fingers on Gotham's pulse for years. If there was one thing that Pamela's experience in the field had taught her, it was to use your resources. Although it'd been some time since she'd called Gotham home, the Agency must have taken her history into account when assigning her this case.
Who better to go digging through the dregs of Gotham City's underbelly than a born and raised Gothamite herself?
Whatever the Director had to brief her with this morning, Pam was sure she was already a few steps ahead of him.
Approaching the door at the end of the main hallway, Pamela knocked three times, waiting somewhat anxiously for the quiet 'Come in', that came a few moments later. Stepping inside, Pam closed the door behind her, turning the lock to ensure privacy.
James Gordon sat behind his desk, flipping through a thick file. He wore a rumpled button down, a coffee stain adorning the breast pocket. His tie was loosened, and his suspenders lay slack over his shoulders. 'Tired' was the best word Pamela could think to describe him. Worn from years of scrubbing up a city that refused to stay clean.
He looked up when he heard the door shut, peering at Pam over the rim of his square glasses. "Agent Isley. Have a seat."
Pamela took a chair from the corner of the room and sat down in front of Gordon's desk, smoothing out her pencil skirt and then neatly resting her hands in her lap.
"His name is Jack Napier," Gordon began without preamble, pushing the open folder across his desk. "More commonly known as 'The Joker' to anyone outside his inner circle."
They were right.
Pamela pulled the file onto her lap, using a single finger to push the thick rimmed glasses she wore up the bridge of her nose. Jack Napier stared back at her, a wide grin teasing her from behind the glossy surface of the photograph. His greasy black hair was slicked back against his skull, and two dark eyebrows hung heavy over his beady black eyes.
"He's fourty-three years old, suspected of loan-sharking, forgery, prostitution, gambling, narcotics—more crimes than I have time to go over today. And…He's your new mark." Gordon braced his elbows on the desk, lacing his fingers underneath his chin.
The man looked like a criminal. Pamela couldn't be sure how he'd gone so long without falling into the hands of the law.
Then again, back in school when Pam had first been applying herself to her pursuit of a career with the Bureau, Selina had thrown more than a few jokes around about the state of Gotham's criminal law enforcement. The GCPD had never won any awards for efficiency. And Gotham's crime rate seemed to rise every year.
This place was a breeding ground for scum like Napier.
"We can't nail him, Isley. He's slippery. We need a federal crime to hang our case on and evidence to back it up. We tried to keep it simple. Laundering. But the guys only endorsed one check in his entire god damn life, as far as we can tell. He deals entirely in cash. It's hard to track a guy that keeps his business so close to the vest."
Pamela looked up from the file, closing it and laying her hands on top of it. "And there's no one you've managed to arrest? Any of the men that work for him?"
"No one talks." Gordon pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket, flicking his lighter once, then twice, until the faint scent of smoke filled the air in the stuffy office. "The ones we've found defend him as if their lives depend on it. They probably do."
"What about the local prosecution?" Pamela asked.
"They're just as corrupt as Napier is. Every lawyer in this town is on his side. You know the story, Isley. Your superiors told me this is your old watering hole. Gotham is a garbage fire. If someone's not getting murdered, they're doing the murdering. And I suspect Napier does a lot of bribing to cover his tracks."
"And now we're involved," Pam prompted. It wasn't as if Gotham hadn't been on the FBI's radar in the past. But even so, if Napier had managed to keep himself above the law for this long, Pam wondered just how deep his criminal activity went.
"Napier was charged with contempt a few days ago, for failing to appear in court questioning." Gordon leaned back in his chair, a thin trail of smoke rising from the end of his cigarette.
"Questioning?"
"There was a riot at the GCPD headquarters downtown. A few good officers were killed in a shootout with some of the more notorious gangs. Napier was suspected of involvement. Called in for his testimony, he never showed. And now we have a chance to shut him down."
"What's my cover?" Pamela asked, electing to skip the finer details of the mission for now and get straight to the point.
Gordon evidently hadn't been anticipating that question so soon, because he lost a bit of his edge when he said, "We, uh…Well, we figure the best cover we can get you is that of a mob wife."
Pam's brow wrinkled. "A mob wife? What good is that supposed to do me? If Napier's crimes lie in his business dealings, the best thing to do is—,"
"Get you a job in sanitation? In his casino? You really think he'd hire a woman into one of his companies? Let's say, for posterity's sake, we could scrap up some phony cover story for you. It'd have to be a hell of an impressive resume to get you into Napier's immediate ranks." Gordon had regained his composure.
Pam's eyes narrowed. "But a wife has to have a husband. Yes? You feel you'll be able to fabricate a reasonably passable cover for a man, but not for me?"
"Look, I'm not the one you should feel insulted by," Gordon dodged when Pam's scowl deepened. "I'm stating the facts. This is how Napier operates. The only way you're going to get close to him is to slip in with the other women."
"So, a husband—," Pam repeated more slowly.
"We're assigning you a partner."
Seems Gordon didn't trust her abilities or expertise as much as she thought.
"Who?"
"Special Agent Harvey Dent."
Pam looked a him blankly. She'd never heard the name around headquarters. So whoever Harvey Dent was, he must have been stationed elsewhere. Maybe here, in Gotham. This is where agents went to have their careers mutilated. Right. Most people came out of here crooked.
"Dent is a good man," Gordon continued, unprovoked, as if he could read her thoughts. "And a better agent. He'll be an excellent partner. I've no doubt the two of you will be able to—,"
Another knock on the door interrupted Gordon, and both he and Pam stared at it a moment before the Director nodded for her to open it.
Pam did, making way for a tall, dark-haired main, a good few years older than her. He wore a dark suit and matching tie, his hair coifed and his face clean shaven. He reached for Pam's hand almost immediately, shaking it firmly.
"Harvey Dent," he introduced himself with a polite smile. "You must be Agent Isley? It's a pleasure."
"The pleasure is mine," Pam assured him, returning the handshake.
"A little late for the briefing, Dent," Gordon grumbled, although there was a smirk on his lips. "Were you waiting outside the door for that convenient introduction?"
Releasing her hand, he turned his attention to Gordon, dipping his chin slightly. "You'll have to excuse me, Jim. I hadn't realized how late I was running when I received your fax."
Gordon waved his excuse away, gesturing for them both to take a seat again. Pam did a little uneasily, already beginning to feel like an outsider amongst the men. But this was her mission. The Bureau had sent her here. And she'd be damned if she'd let a little uneasiness affect her sense of fortitude.
Pamela Isley was at her best when she had something to prove.
"We've secured you a loft downtown," Gordon continued as if Harvey had been privy to the entire conversation. "From there you'll be able to monitor Napier's activities, not to mention the fact that you'll be working right alongside him."
Gordon nodded in Harvey's direction.
"And how is that?" Pam asked.
"We secured Agent Dent a cover as Napier's public defender for his contempt charge. It will be up to him to gain Napier's trust and find a way inside his inner ranks."
Pam's annoyance was growing. This case was slipping through her fingers with every passing second, being handed over to an agent she didn't even know.
"And what makes Agent Dent qualified to convincingly represent Napier in his legal proceedings?"
"I graduated law school before joining the Bureau. I've got a bit of experience under my belt," Harvey answered, sounding sly.
"Harvey's been working deep cover cases for quite some time. He's got a fabricated reputation that Napier wants," Gordon elaborated. "He was quick to snatch him up once the charges came along."
"I see." Frustrated with herself, Pam sat back in her seat, lips forming a thin line.
"Now, as for you, Isley…" Gordon took Napier's file off the table, switching it for another folder, this one thinner than the last. "We need you to blend in convincingly with the other women, most importantly, this woman."
He slid the file towards Pam, who opened it curiously. Inside was a picture of a young woman, blonde hair and clear blue eyes. The picture had been taken from afar, giving Pam a good view of the expensive dress and jewelry she wore. And by her side was Jack Napier.
"Is this—,"
"Napier's wife," Gordon finished for her, his eyes trained on the picture as well. "Formerly Harleen Quinzel. Twenty-eight years old. Grew up in Gotham, never finished her medical degree—married Napier four years ago instead. If anyone has information on Jack Napier's personal life, it's her. She'll know how his mind works."
Harvey was eyeing the picture too, with a look Pam couldn't call entirely professional.
"If you can get on her good side, who knows what you could learn."
Harvey would have the wall of a business relationship, but Pam had a chance to build a fabricated friendship, at the very least, that would get her right on the inside track.
The mission was quickly turning around again.
Closing the file, Pam smiled and returned her attention to Gordon. "So, when do we start?"
"Napier's court appearance is in a week. You'll make first contact tomorrow. Take tonight to prepare, get to know each other, feel out your cover. I don't care. Just get ready. It's time Napier falls into the hands of the law. Good luck, agents."
TBC