I'm super excited to see that some people started following this story, it's a very reassuring feeling!
Before diving in, I just want to ask an important question, so I hope all my readers answer: How do you imagine the Scarecrow and Jonathan interact with each other? How does the Scarecrow talk to Jonathan, particularly in regards to his opinion on other people? Or do you prefer when their isn't dialogue written between the two? I've seen various interpretations in different fanfics, but I'd like to hear what my readers most like or think is most in character. Help a girl out here!
At nearly midnight, the young woman entered her apartment building on the border of Gotham Heights and The Narrows. Luckily for her, it was still within the Gotham Heights district, but just a few measly blocks down was the most dangerous part of town, full of thieves and thugs and any other kind of imaginable criminal. However, it had never really concerned her—she knew she could handle herself, and if she ever couldn't she had a few family ties that could take care of any problem for her.
After disappearing from the skyscraper down in Old Gotham, the redhead immediately called her client for a meeting. Quickly, she had the item exchanged, and her client ensured that the rest of her pay would be delivered to her the following morning (if not, she'd most likely attempt to wreak some havoc).
Now, as she ascended the staircase in her complex, the redhead felt a strange sense come over her; something felt off and suspicious, though she couldn't say what. Over the years, she learned more and more to listen to her intuition, to observe situations better, and right now she could tell that there was something out of place. The more paranoid side of her thought something was out of place in her apartment, because just her luck these sorts of things only happened to her.
With an almost exasperated sigh (couldn't whatever the problem was at least wait till the morning?), she reached under the skirt of her dress for the knife she always kept on her. Cautiously, she finished the walk up to her fourth floor apartment, halting only to remove her keys from her small clutch. Upon opening the door, she discovered all the lights were on, which nearly worried her until she saw who was sat in one of her arm chairs.
With a roll of her eyes, the redhead tossed her knife down on a table, closing the door behind her as she crossed her arms.
"What, couldn't find a more convenient time to pay a visit?" She questioned, her voice not sounding as airy and sweet as it had earlier in the night. Now, she sounded huskier, with a hint of stereotypical Italian mobster laced in it.
Across from her sat the Chechen, Sal Maroni's top drug trafficker, smirking in amusement at the young woman, "Midnight is good time for Maroni, so is good time for you."
The woman quirked an eyebrow as she pulled the long, silk gloves off her arms, "And what is it that Maroni could need from me at this time of night?"
The Russian reached to the table beside him, lifting a glass to his lips (and the woman knew that whatever he was drinking had to belong to her) and taking a quick sip, "He wants a meeting; he has new job for you, rather urgent, too."
"Urgent, huh? And I'm assuming you're to escort me to this meeting whether or not I agree to it?" The Chechen simply nodded, as the woman also took off her mask, then reached up to remove the red wig from atop her head. Though she was never fond of disguises, every now and again she thought it was better to be safe than sorry on a job. She then removed the hair cap keeping her long brunette locks hidden all evening.
The Chechen stood, knocking back the last of his drink and preparing to head for the door. But a small hand and minatory expression halted him in his steps, "I'm not goin' out in this," the woman spoke, referring to the fitted blue dress she still worn, "Now, I'm gonna change into something else, and you're gonna make me a coffee while you wait."
The Chechen narrowed his eyes at her, "What…?"
"You'll find it in the cabinet above the fridge," the woman said unquestionably as she walked into her bedroom, grinning slightly-she knew she could get away with being a little difficult, and it was satisfying to remind others of that when they didn't necessarily have the upper hand, "And make sure to add a lot of that vanilla creamer."
The Chechen stood for a few moments, brow furrowed—since when was he to take orders from this girl? He was Maroni's right hand man, he wasn't a fucking barista.
"I don't hear it brewing!" He heard her voice call from behind the door. With an annoyed eye roll, The Chechen walked into the kitchen, muttering to himself in his native tongue.
Some thirty minutes later, the Chechen was escorting the young brunette up the back steps of a high end club in the middle of town, nodding in brief acknowledgement of the man keeping security at the back door. Most never would have guessed that the expensive place was actually owned by Salvatore Maroni; if they had any clue, the nightclub wouldn't nearly be as popular as it was.
The brunette yawned loudly, stretching her arms above her head, "Honestly, he couldn't wait til morning? It's past my bedtime, ya know."
The Chechen wouldn't admit that he was amused by the woman (he honestly did like her from their past few encounters, but he had a tough persona to uphold), choosing to maintain a straight face, "Recent circumstances made it important we meet now."
The woman quirked an eyebrow curiously, but continued to follow him, a little too interested in what kind of a job Maroni had for her.
Without her heels, expensive dresses, and makeup (which now was still smudged around her eyes, she having been to lazy to really try taking it all off before the meeting), she wasn't nearly as impressive. The heels gave her height and power (being 5 foot 3 is not very intimidating, after all), and the dresses gave her enticement and grace. All elements of the characters she played. Now, clothed in a very casual sweater and boots, she could have been mistaken for any other person on the street. That, however, was a trick she learned to be useful—never stick out unless you have to. And when you're going to meet a guy like Sal Maroni, it's best to keep as low a profile as possible. Especially when he requests for your audience specifically.
The two criminals walked together in silence, the chatter and music of the roaringly busy club occupying the air where their conversation lacked. Quickly, they came to a private room just away from the primary public space; the Chechen looked around them before opening the door and leading the brunette inside ('And that' doesn't look suspicious at all.' the woman thought to herself briefly).
Upon entering the small space, the woman's eyes immediately zoned in on the gaze of Sal Maroni, who sat back casually in his seat, drink in hand. His usual patronizing gaze bore into her green eyes, giving a grin of both familiarity and confidence.
"Ah, Octavia," Maroni greeted in his signature condescending tone. He sat surrounded by two guards, his expression held a sense of superiority as he took in the appearance of the young woman, "it's been a while."
"Well, ya know, between the two of us ruining lives and killing people, we hardly can make time for each other." Octavia grinned wickedly as she took a seat across from the crime lord without an invitation; she very nearly asked for a drink for herself, which would have been her own way of saying that he, to this day, still wouldn't be able to intimidate her.
She was comfortable around Maroni, at least to some degree—the Baresi family had been involved with the Italian mob, as well as her grandparents when they first moved to the U.S. Since childhood she'd see the mobsters come around the house every now and again (of course, in those days her mother insisted no "business" talk in the house, especially when she had her young daughter glued to her side with wide-eyed curiosity), and as she got older, she was taught the tricks of the trade. Of course, one wouldn't say she was technically a part of the mob, but she was the closest she could get without making any promises she couldn't keep.
"And to what do I owe the pleasure of having a Russian break into my apartment and drag me off into the mysterious night?"
Maroni chuckled lazily, "Still dramatic as ever, I see." Octavia quirked an eyebrow impatiently, and the mobster got straight to business, "We have a new job for you."
"I guessed as much." the young woman kicked her feet up onto the table sat between them, "I, however, need the specifics before I consider agreeing to anything."
With a sigh, Maroni stared at her boots for a moment before returning his look back to her eyes, "As you already know, we've been gaining quite a lot of power around Gotham recently…"
He was referring to the arrest of Falcone several months back. Once Carmine Falcone was finally taken in by the police, it gave Salvatore Maroni the opportunity to become Gotham's new number one crime boss. His rise to power was a surprise purely out of how quickly he managed to do it; it was as if Maroni was just waiting for the right time, having everything already in place to take control. And if Octavia were to be honest, she suspected Maroni would manage to hold onto his level of power greater than Falcone ever had (or maybe she was just being biased).
"And our Chechen friend here has been doing wonders with our drug trafficking." Maroni casually pointed two figures at the Russian, who in turn looked rather smug about the compliment he received, "However, we're starting to notice somethin' suspicious."
"What kinda somethin;?" Octavia didn't want to sound too intrigued, in hopes that Maroni wouldn't see how eager she already was to start a new job.
"We been doin' some deals with a more shady figure—"
"Aw, someone shadier than you?" Maroni gave her a warning glance, the kind a father gives his child when they've been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Behind her, Octavia was almost certain she heard the Chechen suppress a chuckle.
"We're nearly certain there's something goin' on with this guy; we don't trust him. We think there's somethin' wrong with the products he's giving us and that maybe he's messin' with our supply as well." Maroni sat up a little straighter, keeping his eyes focused on Octavia, "We want you to find out what he's up to."
"We talkin' some stalker work or going in undercover work?" Octavia questioned.
"We wanna know exactly what he's up to; wanna know what he's doin', where he's hidin', why he's doin' whatever it is he's doin'."
"Hmm, sounds complicated." Octavia joked before pondering the request for a moment, "And what do ya plan to do when I get you the details?"
Maroni carelessly shrugged, "All depends on what you bring back to us."
In Octavia's book, that response essentially meant they had every intention of killing the man if they felt it necessary. It didn't phase her, though the moral side of her knew it should have.
"Well, you have my interest," Octavia gave a small grin, trying not to dwell on her previous thoughts, "so, who's the lucky bastard?"
Now, Maroni shared a look with the Chechen that didn't sit well with the young woman. When he looked back at her, his eyes were completely serious, "Scarecrow."
Octavia stiffened, eyes evident of her shock; she wasn't sure what she was expecting the man to say, but it most certainly wasn't that. How could they get involved with a guy that, only five or six months prior, threatened the whole of Gotham? Better yet, how could they expect her to get the intel they needed without her life being completely at risk?
Maroni could see the cogs turning in her head, hesitation evident in her expression, "What, job sounds too big for ya?"
"If I'm being honest, yeah," Octavia replied. "This guy isn't just some street thug or mobster, you gotta understand my concern. He won't be an easy guy to fool; hell, I have a higher chance of failure than success."
"Failure isn't an option here, Octavia." Maroni responded seriously, "This Scarecrow is good to have as an ally for the sake of intimidation, but if he's messin' with our supply, we need him outta our hair."
Octavia was flabbergasted, "You're telling me you honestly plan to potentially kill the Scarecrow?" She nearly laughed, "Somehow, I don't imagine that going according to your plan."
Maroni grinned once more, "that's where you come in, kid. Believe it or not, you're one of the best hitmen Gotham has to offer."
"Oh, I believe it." She responded cockily, smirking at the room of gangsters who all seemed to roll their eyes, "However, he's much smarter than the average criminal; he'll be a challenge."
"Look," it was obvious in Maroni's tone that he was getting tired of this back-and-forth squabble, "what would pops say about you backin' outta a job opportunity?"
Octavia rolled her eyes, "He wouldn't say shit; if anything, he'd be glad that I didn't take such a risky job, so don't bring my family into this."
Maroni, after seeing that, once again, manipulation tactics weren't going to work on the woman, sighed, "Kid, we want you on this job. I've discussed this with a few colleagues—" at that, the man stole a glance up at the Chechen, "—and you're the person we want. And imagine, you could be the person that brings down the Scarecrow; think of the kinda recognition you'd get."
Octavia would admit that a part of her was fond of the suggestion—she'd admit, she was a bit egotistical, but doesn't everyone want recognition for their work every now and again? However, being a criminal herself was a bit of a hinderance; if she was recognized for taking down the Scarecrow, she could only imagine the kind of dirt the public and police would try to dig up on her.
"Octavia," she looked back up at Maroni, "we don't got all night."
"All morning." She obnoxiously corrected before she could catch herself—now really wasn't the time for her to be a smart ass, which was obvious from the expression on the mobster's face.
Her thoughts were traveling a mile a minute as she tried to decide what the hell she wanted to do. She could feel the pressure of the eyes of everyone in the room, which only made her brain work more frantically. Of course this job would be risky, but hadn't she been in enough other dicey positions to be prepared for it? And she could admit that, though initially frightened of the man five months ago (but maybe that fear was only magnified by the panic Gotham was in at the time), she was ultimately fascinated by him; he had half the city in the palm of his hand, he had so much power over so many people, even if just briefly.
"Okay," Octavia spoke before realizing the conclusion she came to, "I'll do it." Maroni grinned largely, preparing to speak, "But, I need room for failure on this." The room looked confused, "Yeah, yeah, I know ya said failure wasn't an option, but honestly, in this position, I deserve a little wiggle room here. This would be a challenge for anyone."
For a few long moments, Maroni was silent in thought, eyes never leaving the young woman's face. Octavia stared right back, bullheaded in her decision.
"Fine, if you mess this up we won't kill ya."
"You planned on killing me!?" Octavia's eyes widened as she stood up defensively.
Maroni held up his hands, though he didn't seem to regret the words that had just left his mouth, "Sweetheart, we're not the fucking Boys and Girls Club—we don't leave room for error."
Octavia rolled her eyes, "You think killing people solves anything, don't ya?"
The man shrugged nonchalantly, "It's usually worked in the past."
"Whatever." Octavia let out a large sigh that turned into a yawn, "look, I'm goin' home now—we can finish up this business once I'm well rested." She walked for the door without a care for the mobster's disagreement, "Send someone to my apartment tomorrow so we can work out a contract and shit; for now, I'm gettin' some sleep."
And with that, Octavia exited the room, hearing Maroni and the Chechen begin discussion of the job almost immediately. However, all she was concerned about was falling into the mess of pillows and blankets awaiting her back home.
The following day, Octavia was sat in front of her computer, researching rapidly all there was to find on Jonathan Crane. Before choosing a plan of action with any target, she found it best to get all necessary information available on them. And with a target like the Scarecrow, she knew that she'd have to spend a lot of time on her research.
Of course, there was a lot to be found on the web, most articles about his Terror Night about five months back. Though she was more than aware of everything that had occurred that night, she nonetheless read through each article, looking for even the slightest trace of any new information. Digging further back, she found more articles from his time as the Director of Arkham Asylum, though many of those he was only briefly mentioned in. More still, she found a few articles and webpages about his recent breakout from Arkham, which had occurred about a month back.
Being the kind of spy she was, Octavia eventually knew she'd have to dig deeper than the public internet database had to offer, so she turned to her more private databases (she had quite a knack for accessing the Gotham Police Department's database, much to their utter frustration).
Some time in the middle of the afternoon, The Chechen and another of Maroni's men let themselves into her apartment, irritating Octavia something great (she was lucky that she had actually clothed herself this morning, or else she would have killed them for walking in on her in her under garments). They presented her with a first draft of a contract, as well as a few notes Maroni had written out for her. She read through everything carefully, filling in subtle changes here and there before handing it to the Chechen to look over.
"You should probably let Maroni know about a few of those changes," she spoke dismissively as she turned back to her computer screen, continuing to create her profile on the Scarecrow.
Behind her, she heard the Chechen grumbled as he pulled a cell phone from his pocket to contact his boss, and another few minutes later the Russian returned the papers to her hands, insisting that everything was set and that she had to sign it now. There was obvious impatience in his tone as Octavia grabbed the pen she had been holding between her lips. She quickly signed the form, but before returning it to the foreigner, she went to her printer to create a copy of it. Finally, everything was complete, and the two men prepared to leave.
"Wait," Octavia called out as they stopped at her front door, "When will you be meeting with the Scarecrow again?"
For a moment, the Chechen stared at her with a raised brow, "Next week; why?"
"It's my easiest way of tracking him," she responded as if it was completely obvious, "This man is a criminal in hiding, it's not like I can just go out to any old, scummy bar and ask for his whereabouts." The woman stood, walking to another desk and opening up a drawer before rifling through its multitude of contents; for someone who was so efficient at their job, one would think said person would be a little more organized, "I'm going with you that night."
She lifted up a small, rectangular device to the men's gazes, "What is that?"
"A GPS tracker," Octavia rolled her eyes, "When you meet, I'm gonna get this tracker on his vehicle to follow him to wherever the hell he keeps all the drugs." She set the item down among her piles of paper, "It's incredibly simple, I'm almost surprised none of you had thought of it sooner."
The Chechen simply glowered, receiving a mocking grin from the young woman.
"Now, I'll need all the info about your meeting time and place so that I can plan for this." Octavia returned to her couch, picking up a notebook and looking at the Russian man expectantly, and quickly he obliged and gave her all the details he could.
As soon as the men had left, Octavia returned to her research, eyes falling on an image of Jonathan Crane being taken into custody by the police. She studied his expression for a few moments—he was incredibly calm and collected, an air of coolness in his eyes. Perhaps in another life—if she hadn't been assigned to ruin him, and if he wasn't a crazy criminal—she imagined he'd be the kind of guy she'd try to hook up with at some high class party (She'd be the first to admit that she was quite a fan of the simpler things in life, such as sex. Yeah, sure, she liked to sleep around, but at the end of the day who cared?).
But, no, she had a job to do, and she'd be damned if she didn't put every effort possible into this.
To give an idea of my timeline, I imagine the beginning of this story is set 2-3 months prior to the Dark Knight. I'll most likely be delving into some TDK territory, though at this point I'm not sure how quite yet. Another point of clarification that I realized while rewatching TDK: I'm not entirely certain on whether or not the Chechen works freely from Maroni. For the sake of the story, I've assumed that they work closely together on anything regarding drugs, since Maroni's the big man in town in regards to organized crime.
Aaand we finally know something about the OC! How does everyone like Octavia so far? Leave reviews, let me know what you think of the story, and keep an eye out for an update in a week!
