Chapter Two: Marked
Knowing the truth about Oswald Cobblepot, the fact he was still alive had given new meaning for me. The grief of losing a loved one was replaced with the solid ambition of finding and helping him. To keep my brother safe, I made it a point to hate him whenever he and I spoke in present company. It wasn't hard; I just remembered how he used to pick on me when we were kids (taking my toys away, putting gum in my hair, that sort of thing) and played off of that. In the days that followed (while I tried finding where Oswald might have gone) I was still working for Fish Mooney, although I kept my distance.
After all, she had my boyfriend put on the slaughter with Falcone's blessing. If I didn't have to talk to her personally, I was more than grateful. Thankfully, the majority of my work was being a waitress, a bartender, and every now and then, she would grace me with her presence and ask me to spy on people for which I was paid. So I had very little interaction with her.
As I served a patron their beverage, the guy left and was replaced by a large fellow who I immediately recognized as Butch Gilzean. He smiled at me knowingly—it was no shock to anyone that I was still angry for what happened to my Oswald. Mooney could pretend to everyone else that she hadn't ordered for him to be killed, but anyone on the inside of the underworld knew better.
"How are you holding up?" Butch asked with a smile, winking at me.
"Fine until you showed your mug," I answered spitefully as I turned away to collect the glasses left by my drunken customers.
"Was it really that necessary to insult me," he chuckled.
"It wasn't necessary, but I couldn't suppress the urge," I responded, smirking at him. "You want anything or did you come over to antagonize?"
"Can it be both?"
"No," I answered.
"Don't know why you're so salty towards me, babe. I didn't order for your boyfriend to be shot."
"Well, you weren't voting against the decision, were you?" I rounded coldly, leaning forward, hands on the counter.
"How's your brother dealing with it?"
I lied: "I've not spoken to him."
"That's put a damper between you two, huh? Anything I can help with?"
"You could try putting a bullet between your eyes; that might make me sleep a little easier," I suggested callously.
Butch chuckled again, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. Holding up his hands in surrender, he slowly backed away. My temper was flaring and he could see it. My brother and I were similar in that regard; the only difference was that I lacked the restraint. I didn't have a badge to keep my temper in line, see?
"I guess we'll talk later when you're less bitter," Butch said, winking at me.
"Sure." I scoffed.
He started on his merry way, speaking to Fish briefly. I ignored them and continued helping out patrons. Shortly after the fact, Harvey Bullock and my own sainted brother came into the brothel, looking as though they were on a mission. Something case-related, I would bet my life on it. Harvey stopped by the bar, smiling at me expectantly.
"See something you like there, Bullock?" I inquired coolly, wiping the counter with a towel.
"Maybe," said Bullock, smiling at me politely. "Maybe you know something that we don't?"
"What does that imply exactly?"
Bullock chuckled, elbowing Jim playfully in the ribs as he said, "You can tell she's definitely your sister."
"It's probably the lack of enthusiasm," I suggested.
"Probably," Bullock agreed. Seriously, he asked: "Know anything about a couple of child snatchers, taking children off the street?"
"That sounds like a question you should ask Fish," I said coolly, placing the towel on a rack and then leaning over the counter so Bullock leaned forward too—he had a look in his eye like he was interested in more than just talk of business.
Despite the fear of sounding vain, I could admit that I was good-looking. I had the right amount of curves and cleavage to leave a man wanting, and every now and then, I wore make-up even though I didn't need it. I inherited the same cold blue eyes that Jim possessed; the only difference in our appearances was that I'd inherited our mother's hair color: Fire engine red.
Maybe Bullock had a taste for redheads, or he was just playing with my unidentified emotions. Didn't matter though—my heart, eyes, and pussy belonged to one man only and it certainly wasn't Bullock.
"I thought I'd ask you first," said Bullock slyly. "You're the hot tamale around this place, aren't you?"
I looked past him to Jim, saying, "Gotta love your partner, James. Real charmer."
"Yeah," said Jim, lacking enthusiasm. He quickly pulled his partner away, muttering something along the lines of not antagonizing his sister. Bullock mentioned that I was pretty and out of the two of us, I was the better looking sibling. I inwardly smiled as Jim rolled his eyes and pretended to be affronted by the comment. As soon as they'd arrived, one of the waiters had immediately sprung to Fish to let her know that these gentlemen were here for her. She came out of her booth, greeting them both with civility.
"Fancy seeing you two again," said Fish, a mixture of sincerity and irony was evident.
"Still angry with us, Fish?" asked Bullock sweetly as they embraced.
"No," Fish answered (almost sounding genuine). "We're fine, and as for you" (she looked at Jim) "You intrigue me. I knew I would regret killing you the moment I gave the word, but you know me. I'm feisty."
Bullock looked amused as ever; Jim was less than.
"What do you know about a man and a woman abducting street kids on your turf?" Jim questioned dryly.
Fish chuckled, "No foreplay with you, huh. Figures. But you got with the program real quick, didn't you? Killed Penguin your own bad self."
I frowned, closing my eyes in an attempt to assuage the feelings of animosity that started festering. I'd taken it upon myself to leave the bar, giving my shift to one of the waiters who asked to take it for the extra money. When I strolled behind Fish, Jim glanced at me with the hidden anxiety, since he knew what I knew….and what Fish didn't know. However, I played my part well. When Fish glanced at me knowingly, I made a scathing noise and glared at Jim, who appeared apologetic. That, at least, was real.
"I was surprised. Straight arrow like you," Fish pointed out, eyes glinting with wonder.
"I guess you misjudged me," Jim said coolly.
"I guess I did. You're just a little sinner like the rest of us," Fish drawled, stepping forward. "I'm almost kind of sad about that."
Jim looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there at that moment. If Jim hadn't told me the truth, I'd have almost believed he might have killed Oswald. The look of regret in his eyes was genuine….having other people think he did the deed was almost worse than actually having done the real thing. A pang of pity rose in my chest.
"We're looking for a man and a woman, middle-aged, white," Jim said, diverging from the topic. "Targeting children under the age of 16."
"He used a poisoned pen, if you could believe it," Bullock interjected humorously.
"I remember when the market only called for nice-looking girls," said Fish. "There's a buyer overseas who will take anyone young and healthy."
"Who's they?" Jim asked.
"No body knows."
"What does he want them for?"
"No body knows," said Fish apathetically. "And no body cares."
Jim gave her a less than amused look.
Fish smirked at them and then at the top of her lungs, she shouted "Sylvia!"
I startled, stepping away from the entertainment who were trying to get me on stage to sing and quickly moved towards Fish, who smiled at me. 'Come here', said the Spider to the Fly. And the Fly although reluctant sought to do as she was told.
I grimaced when Fish placed an arm around my shoulders.
"You know I didn't realize you two were related. She's your sister, right?" Fish asked curiously, smirking at Jim, who barely just nodded.
I made a notion to move away from her, but she held me close.
"I can see the resemblance," said Fish softly, smiling between Jim and me. "If I had to guess, this whole ordeal with Penguin has really drawn a wedge between the two of you. I do hope that, in time, you will become close once more." She patted my shoulder, adding remorsefully (if one could call it that), "I know you had warm feelings for that boy, but I just wanted you to know that he was no good for you. He was a no-body."
"Not to me." I breathed. I pushed her away from me, and glared at all three of them. "Not to me."
I shoved my shoulder against Jim, moving past them. Fish chuckled darkly at my reaction and Jim looked after me, shocked.
Truth be told, Oswald was a no-body when it concerned society life in Gotham. He was Fish's umbrella boy, and since his disappearance, not much had transpired in regards to finding him. It was like he disappeared off the face of the earth and yet nothing had come of it.
A short moment later as I took a smoke break in the alley where Fish did most of her beatings to discipline the rough characters that worked for her (excluding myself), I heard the door open and slowly turned to see Jim standing without his usual company. Apparently, Bullock had gone forward, heading up on the next lead wherever it might take him. Jim closed the door and stood before me.
"Nice work back there," Jim said quietly. He indicated his shoulder, rubbing it. "You might as well had dislocated my shoulder with how roughly you shoved me."
"Oh stop whining. I barely touched you."
Jim allowed himself a snicker, something I hardly ever heard come out of him. He was an angst-y bastard. I held the cigarette between my index and middle fingers, tapping the end so the ashes fell but they disappeared in the puddles of rainwater. Last night had rained a monsoon.
"She has a point, you know," said Jim softly, looking left and right of the alley to be sure no one was watching—but everyone was watching. I felt eyes on me all the time.
"What point is that?" I asked, my voice hallow.
"He was a no-body."
I shoved Jim against the wall, glaring at him.
"First off, you don't know him. So you don't have the right to talk about him like that." I snapped. I threw the cigarette down, putting it out with the ball of my heel. "And how dare you agree with that woman. She practically made his death a spectacle just for her own amusement."
Jim lowered his eyelids halfway, appearing stoic towards my petty anger. He saw himself in me, in my quick temper. Still, there was that look of compassion. But it was clear that he was a cop first, a brother second...and thirdly, a fiance when it concerned Barbara.
"He can't come back."
"He will come back."
"Why would he?"
"Gotham is his home, and I am here." I snapped.
Jim rolled his eyes, teeth bearing down.
"If he comes back, I'm a dead man." Jim growled, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me. "And you—you need to move on. Find someone else for Christ's sake, find anyone else. Just let him go."
Jim's eyes were pleading, begging. He was scared for his safety, scared for Barbara. Scared, in general. I felt sorry for him, but selfishly, I wanted my beloved back in my arm's reach. If he didn't come back to Gotham, then I would be going to him. I'd thought about it before, even considered doing it. But Jim had only strengthened my will. What kept me from leaving was Fish—she kept tabs on me constantly, feeling that any moment I would snap and betray her as well.
I just needed to know where to start first. I needed a sign.
"You know," I resigned quietly. "You're right. You're absolutely right."
"I am?" Jim inquired, startled.
I patted his shoulder and then left him standing in the alley, staring at me. I'd make him think that I had given up and wouldn't find Oswald. Just like I made everyone else believe that I thought Oswald was dead. While everyone was scrambling to hide the children from the snatchers that lurked around Gotham streets, I made it my mission to find Oswald.
0.
Fish called me into her office the next day. A waiter had pulled me none too gently from the alley behind the club, and I punched him in the jaw for that error. Fish laughed when she saw it happen, and made the waiter leave. Butch Gilzean stood at her right hand, hands clasped over his front like the usual body guard. I looked at them both before turning to hatefully look at the waiter who quickly closed the door before I gave him a black eye to match.
"You've been aggressive these days with the staff," said Fish smoothly, rolling a pen between her fingers lazily as she sized me up. "Going through the stages of grief, are we?"
"Not quite." I answered quietly, glancing over my shoulder at the waiter who was making his way back to the bar to help out. I turned back to see Butch grinning slyly while Fish observed me with narrowed eyes.
"Should I be worried about you, Sasha?" asked Fish.
"Sylvia."
"Sorry," snickered Fish, bowing her head apologetically. "I keep forgetting your name since you're practically a no-body yourself….just like the person who ratted me out to Major Crimes…." She slowly stood to her feet, and side-stepped around her desk, leaning against it as she continued to eye me.
I said nothing.
"You and Penguin…."
I hissed—Oswald hated being called that….and I hated anyone who made him feel as worthless as she did. Fish saw my resentment towards her, and she smiled because of it.
"That's not the first of my employees you've projected your anger at, Sylvia," said Fish, pointing at the bar to emphasize that I'd actually capped a few of them with blows and punches to the face. "You and your brother have quite the temper, don't you?"
I said nothing, still. Instead, I pressed my lips together, hoping I could formulate some sort of restraint like Jim, but I doubted my confidence. I didn't possess the same discipline, and I was a fighter like him. With Fish taunting me, I was thinking of cutting her with the letter opener that was on her desk.
"What am I to do with you…." Fish cooed.
She stepped towards me, her hand stroking my face. It took my will power not to scratch out her eyes. I shook with hatred, my body quivering. She looked me over with those bold-lined hazel eyes, her features brightening due to the light of the room.
"You have fire," said Fish quietly, tilting my chin up with two of her fingers so I was forced to look her in the eyes. "And you have passion. Two things I've always admired about you, Sylvia—you and I….we're alike."
"Are we?"
The words came out quietly….dangerously. It came out as a whisper, and Fish cocked her head to the side like I'd called her a name with which she was not familiar.
"You can achieve so much, if you'd allow your potential to shine," Fish drawled. "But instead, you'd lower standards for someone like that little snitch….that's all he is, my little girl. A snitch, a no-body, a useless little umbrella boy. And your actions thus far have caused me nothing but squalling."
"Are you firing me?" I asked dully, losing interest.
"What good would that do me?" Fish asked, her breath soft on my lips.
"I thought that's what you were implying," I admitted, searching her eyes for an answer. But I found nothing.
"You're more than welcome to keep working for me, my sweet little girl," Fish cooed, touching my face with both hands. Her grip tightened, and I winced. "But mark my words. The moment I hear you're turning against me, I will have you taken to the pier and shot dead as well. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal," I grunted, wincing as she shoved me away and I rubbed my jaw.
"Major Crimes will likely be on their way to ask questions," said Fish, more to Butch than myself. "Make the staff aware. As for this one…." She glared at me. "I'll keep my eye on her."
"Right-o, Boss."
"Is that all?" I questioned, feeling impatient.
Butch gave me a look, wondering perhaps why I always placed myself in the worst position. Fish gave me a calculating look. Butch turned to Fish expectantly.
"Leave us, please." Fish said softly.
Butch nodded and went out the door, closing it. When I turned to look at Fish, she was smiling wickedly. She gestured for me to approach. Reluctantly, I did.
"Major Crimes will definitely want to talk to you," said Fish, twirling her finger at me. "You're Gordon's sister and Cobblepot's….well, whatever you two were." She sighed deeply, adding, "I'll have to ensure that you will not betray our little secret."
"The secret that Falcone ordered James to kill Oswald, you mean?"
"Yes, child. That secret. So, how will I make sure that you won't deceive me, hmm?"
I bit my lip, hoping to god she would just spare me. The threat of death had long since passed. If she had wanted me killed, she'd have done so with Butch in the room. That way, they could reminisce for days later how great it was to write me off and then I'd be forgotten for the following months that passed. Fish watched me carefully, the gears in her head turning.
"You want me to stay quiet." I told her softly. "Fine. I will. If they ask me questions, I will find something to do and avoid them. But Miss Mooney…." (I'd lost the privilege of calling her 'Fish' the moment Oswald ratted her out) "You needn't worry about me."
"I treated you like my daughter, my own little girl…." Fish stated pointedly. "He's turned you against me, I can see that. There's still a chance for you though, my sweet, sweet child. First, though….you have to show me."
"Show you what?"
"Show me you're still my baby girl," Fish whispered as she stroked my face. "Prove to me that you are still loyal, Sylvia."
"How?" I asked quietly.
I stared at her, uncertainty building inside my stomach. I even felt a little nauseous with the anxiety. I glanced outside to see that Butch had directed everyone's attention in the bar towards this office, the glass walls made it easy to see Fish and me as the blinds had been opened for the audience's viewing purposes.
She grinned, and made a gesture with her hand for me to come to her. She pointed to the floor. Inwardly, I hissed. The idea of kneeling to this bitch was more than I could bear. She wanted me to kneel, to pledge my allegiance to her. Oswald wasn't dead, no—but for her to think I would swallow my pride and my grief for a woman like her after everything she'd done was more than I could handle. When I refused to kneel, she grabbed my hair and forced me down. I grunted, holding the hand that held me captive.
"You're stubborn," sighed Fish, shaking her head. "Or maybe strong-willed. It's hard to know which. Either way, you have become a pain in my side, Sylvia."
"Fish—" I began, but her actions that followed caught the words in my throat.
She picked up the letter opener and placed it against my collar bone, still holding me in place by my hair. I cringed, trying to move away. She was incredibly strong for her size. The letter opener cut into the skin, and I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. I would not give her any satisfaction.
Too many mistakes have been made on all of our parts—on my part," Fish growled. "And an example needs to be made."
"You'll never forget who did this to you…." Fish growled. "It'll be a constant reminder to me never to trust your sweet little face ever again."
Pain—constant pain. The metal reached bone, I was certain of it.
The blade continued to slice through new skin. Desperate for it to stop, I lunged forward, shoving Fish into the desk. I tasted copper. She screamed, and smacked my face. The force of it threw me to the ground. She was on me in a matter of seconds.
The door burst open, and Butch piled inside with three other goons; he pulled Fish off me. Even though I was crying in pain, I was thankful that no tears had fallen. I could leave her with dignity if permitted to leave at all. The sting on my collar bone made me put my hand on it, and when I withdrew, I saw blood on my fingers.
"Little bitch bit me…." said Fish, holding her thigh.
"Boss….Falcone said—" Butch warned.
Fish glared at me.
"Get out," Fish growled, gritting her teeth.
"You're not going to kill me?" I asked, slowly getting to my feet.
"I should," Fish snarled. "I should. It's because of Falcone that you're living right now. It's because of him that you are not lying dead on my carpet. But you don't come back here, not ever. Do you understand me?"
I nodded. She looked at Butch. Butch nodded. He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the office and then threw me out into the alley. I hurried away, not looking the gift horse in the mouth.
.0
I stood in the mirror of my bathroom, cleaning the wound. The antiseptic stung, like it was acid eating a hole through the bone. I had been grateful that Oswald had requested that no harm come to me (Fat lot of good it did, though). I was happy I was still alive. But as I cleaned off my collar bone, I saw the clear hallow design of a fish, carved into my flesh. The same design of the fucking neon red sign outside of her club.
The fucking bitch had marked me.
