Chapter Three: Antabuse
Meow. A soft gray paw appeared from underneath the door. Pink capped claws blindly groped at the air. Meow. The distant rumbling purr became more persistent. Mia sat on the floor, her back against the wall. Mindlessly, she taunted the playful feline by dangling a pen just beyond its reach. Meow. I know, I know. I'm bored too. At least we have each other for company, right? Really, though, what do you have to complain about? You get to sleep all day. Access to free food. Not a care in the world! Do you have to find a lost sister? Do you have to concoct elaborate ploys? With an abrupt swipe, the paw captured hold of the pen. Hey! That's-
"Excuse me, can I help you?" A shriveled, old woman carrying a brown paper bag loomed over Mia. The cat capitalized on the distraction by tugging the pen free from Mia's hand and pulling it into the apartment.
"Oh no, ma'am. I'm just waiting for my friend to get home from work." Weird. This is the third person to ask me why I'm here tonight. Were the residents of Gotham fighting a war against loitering?
The woman seemed unsatisfied with Mia's answer. "It's nearly nine o'clock. Erin doesn't normally take visitors so late!" Exactly, it's nine o'clock. So why, pray tell, are you even awake? Aren't old ladies and children usually asleep by now?
"She's just running a little late." Mia continued. Three hours late.
Normally, Mia did not worry about Erin. Her friend was durable, independent, and rational. A woman who never gambled with a risky situation, unless she had all of her facts straight. If Erin was late, the delay was intentional. Nevertheless, a few hours was enough to spark a tinge of uneasiness in the pit of Mia's stomach. After several more awkward moments and a sequence of judgemental huffs, the elderly woman retired to the residence across the hall. Mia sighed and folded her arms over her knees.
Have you ever been to a therapy session before, Mia? No. What brought you to counseling today? I guess, I'm here to get over my mother. Get over your mother? What do you mean by that? She's dead. I'm sorry to hear that... How long ago did that happen? A few months ago. Is that something you'd feel comfortable talking about? Not particularly.
A faint smile tickled Mia's lips. For months, Erin had patiently waited for her stubborn client to open up during session. The discussions dragged on without much of a breakthrough, but Erin gently pursued Mia's unresolved issues regarding abandonment and loss. Although the healing was slow, Mia benefited significantly from their Saturday meetings. If Erin could wait for months without complaint, then Mia held no objections to lingering in a hallway for a few measly hours. Meow.
Back again, Cat? The paw clawed at the tattered weather strip, casually dragging pieces of black rubber into the loft. Mia reached into her leather bag and pulled out a small ziploc bag of turkey jerky. Tenderly, Mia dropped a strip of smoky meat near the flailing limb. I bet she regiments your food. Leave it to Erin to take all spontaneity and joy from food. The cat tugged the jerky through to the other side of the door. If you were mine, I'd feed you all the time. You could come live with me and Pops. Would you like that? I bet you would.
Around the corner, the elevator dinged. After a few suspenseful moments, Erin staggered into Mia's line of sight. Immediately, her heart plummeted into her abdomen. Bruises discolored Erin's swollen face. Dried blood spattered across her uniform. Concerned, Mia jumped to her feet.
"Holy shit! Erin! What the hell happened to you?" Before Erin had a chance to answer, the elderly woman across the hall barreled through her front door.
"Do you know this girl, Ms. Collins? She's been lurking out here for hours! I'll call security!" The neighbor's raspy voice and sudden outburst surprised Mia. Was that old crone watching me through her peephole this whole time? Erin, however, did not seem disturbed.
"Mrs. Kepka, everything is fine. Mia is a good friend of mine." Soothed by Erin's brief explanation, the woman eyed Mia skeptically one last time, before slowly returning to the depths of her watchful lair.
"What the fuck was that about? And- And this?!" Mia gestured to Erin's face.
"My neighbors watch the place when I am not around." Erin pulled her keys from her purse and unlocked the door; she was cautious about avoiding the real issue. Meow. "Kepka is better than any home security camera."
Careful not to allow the cat escape through the front door, the pair entered the darkened flat. Meow. Mia snapped the door closed behind them, while Erin flipped a single light switch at the end of the hallway and dropped her keys on a polished end table. As usual, the spacious apartment was pristine and orderly. Ivory walls contrasted brightly against the northern red oak hardwood floors. Expansive windows opened onto a balcony that overlooked Robinson Park and several lavish designer malls. From the fifteenth floor, the loft's position afforded Erin both a grand view of Gotham, but also a degree of privacy. No other highrise buildings challenged the height or breadth of the Woodhollow Terrace complex.
Erin moved toward the opulent, charcoal couches at the center of the living room. A dusty gray Scottish Fold leapt onto the sofa, his bobbed tail twitching with excitement.
"Well?" Mia prompted again.
"I'm fine." Erin rubbed her eyes. She landed on the couch with a wince and an exhausted huff. The cat nurturingly rubbed his round head against his owner's bandaged hand. Mindlessly, Erin fondled her cat's folded ears. "While I was on my way out of work, one of my patients got out of control."
Mia approached the entrance of the living room, but did not venture closer. "A patient did this to you? He's sedated now though, right?" Working at Arkham is going to get you killed.
"He's dead." Erin's voice was distant. In that moment, it became clear to Mia that the generous amounts of blood on Erin's uniform were not her own.
"Dead?" The question felt hollow as it left Mia's mouth.
"I killed him." Erin stated. Meow.
"Have you called the police?" Mia asked in disbelief. Erin? She couldn't- Kill a man? Could she?
"No police." Her friend responded flatly. The atmosphere of the apartment was both frigid and suffocating. The artistic inkblot paintings on the wall seemed more violent than Mia had remembered. "Arkham handles these sorts of issues internally."
Mia studied Erin carefully. "These sorts of issues? I don't think the administration at Arkham is qualified to address assault and murder. "
"Do you honestly think I would murder someone?" For the first time during their conversation, a flicker of emotion flashed across Erin's face: anger, betrayal, and annoyance.
"That's not what I meant! Just… Arkham can't suppress an issue like this! If someone assaulted you, and you reacted in self-defense then the police-"
"No police." Erin reiterated firmly. "If you thought I murdered my patient, what conclusions do you think the police will come to?"
Mia refused to back down from the argument. "You have to file a report in case something happens. You could be accused of covering up manslaughter by someone who is out to get you." Erin remained silent. The point resonated between them. Mia took the opportunity to sit down next to her friend. "Anyone who looks at you right now is going to see that this is a self-defense case. You have nothing to worry about."
"The police aren't always on your side." Erin muttered under her breath, but her energy to argue was weakened by her confidant's rationality.
"Look, I know just who to call. He sort of handled my sister's case for awhile-"
"Right, because that situation worked out so well." Erin narrowed her eyes. The words ripped into Mia's heart and caused another tense moment between the two friends. Swallowing her hurt and instinctual anger, Mia reached into her purse for her cell. That was uncalled for, but she's clearly in shock. Just ignore it. Scrolling through her address book, Mia quietly selected the detective's personal digits.
Meaningless fragments of conversation beat against Harvey Bullock's eardrums. Beer bottles clanked together. A drunken frat boy from Gotham University gallantly bellowed out the catchy Nighthawks chant. Fight, Hawks fight! With all your might! For the Black and White! Never falter, never yield! As we march on down that field! The students screeched in unison, causing Harvey to grimace. Keep marching! Let the spirit of our will, every Hawk with courage fill! Your loyalty means our victory! So fight, Hawks, fight! The off-duty police officer thoughtfully swirled the whiskey around in his glass. On the counter, he noticed his flip phone buzzing. Over the bacchanal, Harvey barely heard the cell's familiar ringtone. He did not recognize the number and, for a moment, considered ignoring the call altogether. Against his better judgement, Harvey took a swig of his drink and answered.
"Hello, I'm looking for Detective Bullock?" The voice sounded vaguely familiar. "It's Mia Mimidae."
"I'm afraid that name isn't ringing any bells." Harvey shot back the rest of his drink and pressed the phone closer to his ear. The frat boys started another round of rhythmic chanting.
"A few months back, you looked over my sister's case. Delilah?" Mia explained patiently. "You had been investigating a murder on the South End and called in my family to identify the body. It wasn't my sister, but we talked a bit after… remember? You let me look at some confidential reports, then you gave me your number."
Harvey closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The Mimidae Case had been a complete catastrophe. Last year, the charred remains of an unidentified female were discovered in a dumpster behind a local convenience store. All forensic countermeasures were taken to conceal the woman's identity; her teeth were smashed away and fire had licked away practically all organic material, melting even the fingerprints into blackened flesh. The Gotham City Police Department cross-referenced the missing persons database, scouring a potential match for the Jane Doe. Comparing the diagnostics to the available statistics, a girl named Delilah Mimidae appeared the most logical option.
The investigation was quick and the evidence messy. No suspect was ever named or arrested for the murder. In an attempt to add validity to the theory, the family was called to the morgue to identify the corpse. Both the father and brother hesitantly agreed that the person on the slab was Delilah. The sister, however, was not convinced. Everyday for three weeks, the young woman returned to the precinct. The sister's dedication both touched and annoyed Harvey, who reluctantly inherited the shambles of evidence from another officer. Before the files were permanently moved to the cold case department, Harvey allowed her to look over the documents for closure. Bringing himself back to the present conversation, the detective cleared his throat.
"Sounds like something I might do." The officer lifted his finger at the bartender to order another drink. "What can I do for you?"
"My friend really needs some help. She works at Arkham and was attacked earlier today. In self-defense, she killed a man-"
"Call the police." Harvey suggested blandly.
"But, you- you are the police! This is a sensitive situation. I wouldn't have called if it wasn't important." Mia pleaded.
The bartender slid another glass toward Harvey. "Look, I'm off the clock right now, but maybe I can drop by in the morning."
"Harvey, please. She needs to talk to someone tonight. The police couldn't find my sister, but perhaps you can help my friend." Mia played the card with the hope that it would give her an advantage. It did.
"Christ. Playing on my sympathy will only get you so far. Alright. I'll come by. Where are you?" Harvey waved at the bartender and motioned for a writing utensil. The bartender reached in his back pocket, retrieved a Sharpie, and placed it on the bar. As Mia provided the directions, Harvey jotted the information on a napkin. "Right. Okay. Yeah. I'll be there in about an hour."
"Thank you, Detective. I really appreciate it." The phone went silent. Harvey flipped the phone shut with a snap, placed it on the counter, then downed his new drink. The burn seared his throat and spread up to his nose. For a moment, he stared at the bottom of the glass.
"That last batch was the cheap shit, wasn't it?" Harvey asked picking up his cell again. The bartender polished a footed pilsner and pretended not to hear the officer's question. "No respect for the defenders of your goddamn city." The detective was slightly tipsy. How many drinks had he piled on tonight? Four. No. Six? Harvey clumsily dialed his partner's number. In his usual attentive manner, James answered the phone after only two rings.
"Home yet?" Harvey asked.
"Yeah, I just got in. Why?" The sound of James fumbling with his keys brought a smirk to Harvey's face. Inconveniencing his partner amused him.
"Don't get comfortable. I need you to meet me at Woodhollow Terrace. Uptown." Harvey did not bother explaining the details over the phone. Truthfully, he only really remembered a few foggy details from the conversation with Milly. No. Maya…? Mia.
"Is everything alright?" James asked concerned.
"Yeah, we are just going to check up on a minor situation. I'll meet you in front of the building." Before James could protest, Harvey hung up.
The officer pulled several bills from his worn wallet and tossed them on the bar. Just as the Nighthawk fans cheered for another round of beer, Harvey walked onto the dimly lit sidewalk. The evening air was thick with humidity. A gray haze blanketed the night sky, obscuring the summer stars. In the distance, a single lamp post flickered on the street drawing attention to a pair of racy hookers. Ignoring the neighborhood's blatant problem with prostitution, Harvey casually waved down a cab. A yellow taxi drifted to the curb. Harvey quietly climbed into the backseat and gave the driver the address. The armrest was sticky. Miles blurred into numbers calculated by the meter. Wildly, the driver whipped around each corner. For twenty seven minutes, Harvey fought the momentum and was grateful when the driver dropped him off across the street from Woodhollow Terrace. The buzz was beginning to wear off, revealing the dulled symptoms of an oncoming migraine.
Uptown Gotham, also known as the Garden District, was a perfect blend of elegance and modernity. With capacious, showy gardens, the neighborhood was a center for astounding scenery and architecture. The luxury highrise apartments set a standard that the rest of the city could not match. Harvey opened the glass door and flashed his badge at the doorman. Feeling slightly out of place in the building's atrium, Harvey approached his restless partner.
"What is going on?" James demanded.
Harvey moved to the elevator and pressed the up arrow.
"It's complicated. Suffice it to say, this girl used to come down to the station, claiming that the police weren't doing enough to find her sister. She wasn't altogether wrong. So I let her look over some of the files and gave her my number in case she needed to talk."
"Harv, you can't just let-"
"Spare me the talk." Bing. The doors of the elevator slid open and the two officers boarded the carriage. "We're going to fifteen."
James firmly pushed the number fifteen. "Well, what does she need?"
"Her friend is in some sort of trouble. Something about Arkham."
"You can't be serious. That could mean anything!" In frustration, James put his hands on his face. Bing. The elevator doors slid open, providing an escape route for Harvey. Followed by James, Harvey paused just before knocking on the apartment door.
"Just relax. I'm sure it's not that serious." Harvey snorted. James narrowed his eyes and hammered on the front door with his fist.
Across the hall, the neighbor's door cracked open. "Who is that? Who are you?" The old woman stepped into the hallway, wearing a white transparent nightgown.
"Uh…" Harvey bit his tongue to hold back a slew of impolite remarks.
"We are the police ma'am. No worries." James produced his badge, which caused the woman to grunt with irritation. The officers could barely decipher the curses she muttered at them. Not a moment too soon, Mia opened the door with a struggling cat in her arms.
"Detective Bullock!" The young woman paused when her eyes fell on James. "Who is this?"
"They are the police. Did you call the police? Why would you call them?" The old woman paced indignantly.
"Detective James Gordon." James reached out and shook Mia's hand, choosing to ignore the senile neighbor. "I'm Bullock's partner."
Mia quickly introduced herself, stepped aside, and allowed the men inside. "Thanks for coming by. We really appreciate it." As Mia closed the door, she caught Mrs. Kepka's disapproving scowl. The Scottish Fold brushed affectionately against Harvey's legs. The officer quickly brushed the cat aside with his foot.
"What does this look like to you?" Harvey asked, examining an artistic rendition of a Rorschach Test. James rolled his eyes and followed Mia into the living room, where Erin stood thoughtfully staring out the window.
"The detectives are here." Mia announced cautiously. "Do you think you are ready to talk to them?"
"I don't really seem to have much of a choice in the matter." Erin spat bitterly, turning to face her unwelcomed guests. Noticing the woman's disheveled appearance and darkening bruises, James hurriedly stepped forward.
"Have you been to the hospital?" James asked gently.
"For what? Bruises and a cracked rib? What would they do for me that I couldn't do for myself?" Erin growled like an animal entangled in a trap. "Let's get this over with. My name is Erin Collins and I work at Arkham Asy-"
"You're Irish." Harvey interrupted. The statement caught everyone off guard, particularly Erin. Her battered cheeks flushed hot with a sudden burst of anger.
"Wow! What a fucking observation! You must be head detective." Erin narrowed her eyes at the ceiling and laughed darkly. "This is your guy, Mia? He smells like a dirty bar." Harvey huffed defensively and opened his mouth to respond, but James put a hand on his partner's shoulder.
"Everyone just calm down, alright?"
Exhausted, Mia rubbed her eyes and apologized for her friend. "As you can see, my friend is really stressed out after everything she's been through. Erin, just tell them what you told me and then they can leave."
Begrudgingly, Erin recounted the attack in a few curt words. Harvey remained uncharacteristically quiet and listened attentively to the story. Per the usual, James took the initiative and pressed the therapist with questions. When Erin was done, she returned to the comfort of staring listlessly into the shadowed landscape. After a brief silence, James attempted to take further control of the situation.
"We are going to need you to come down to the station to file an official report." James explained patiently.
"I am not going anywhere with you." Erin stated flatly. If her demeanor was tense before, it was noticeably more rigid. Erin turned and locked eyes with James. Neither seemed willing to back down.
"If you don't want to come willingly, I can arrest you on the grounds that you confessed to manslaughter." James explained.
The tension escalated, spurring Mia into a defensive mood as well. "That won't be necessary."
"Are you threatening me?" Erin snarled.
Harvey stepped in. "Jim is just winding down from a long day. Could you excuse us for a moment?" The detective pulled his partner back toward the front door.
"We have to bring her down to the station. She confessed to killing a man."
"In self defense. Look at her. She's been through the ringer. Do you really want to bring a victim down to the station after all that?"
"I am not comfortable with this." James wavered slightly.
"Besides, there is no body. No body, no crime. We can go down to Arkham first thing tomorrow. We can make the serious decisions later." The smile on Harvey's face broadened. "Look at the brightside, at least the taxpayers have one less lunatic to feed."
Despite Harvey's optimism, James refused to reciprocate the smile. Instead, he returned to the two women in the living room. "Miss Collins, we are going to need you walk us through the incident again tomorrow morning at Arkham. Do you think you could do that?"
"My boss isn't going to appreciate that." Erin muttered under her breath.
"Those are your options." James replied sharply. Without looking at the officers, Erin nodded in agreement. Calmly, James walked passed Harvey and toward the exit.
"Goodnight ladies. We'll be in touch." Harvey dipped his hat at the two women. Mia and the soft gray cat followed after the officers to see them out.
From the hallway, Mia heard Mrs. Kepka's final attempt to harass the off-duty detectives. Careful not to draw attention to herself, Mia discreetly closed the apartment door and bolted the deadlock. Thaclunk! Mia pressed her forehead against the door and took a deep, lung-rattling breath. Why do I feel like Detective Bullock just made everything worse? For a brief moment, Mia stared down at her shoes. The apartment was hauntingly silent. What is there to say? You did the right thing. Tomorrow is a new day. Everything will go back to normal with time. Although the internal words oozed with good intention, they were not altogether true. Sympathy was useless. Erin's life won't go back to normal. The memories of killing a man are sure to haunt her forever. There is nothing I can say to fix this. The tattered weather strip along the bottom of the door suddenly brought a smile to Mia's lips. Pushing away from the door, the young woman slipped her hands into her pockets and returned to the living room.
"So, why does Professor Lollipop have pink claws?" Mia asked pleasantly, daring to break the silence.
"What the fuck are you going on about?" Erin's tense response wavered between an octave of irritation and sincere confusion.
"Your cat has pink claws." Wandering into the dimly lit kitchen, Mia fumbled for the light switch. Where does she keep the alcohol? "I'm going to pour us some drinks."
Caught off guard by the useless question, Erin squinted at the Scottish Fold as it followed Mia into the adjacent room. "Well, you may not have noticed, but the Professor has done quite a bit of damage to the front door. The weather strip is practically missing now. I put the caps on his claws before maintenance comes to repair it for the second time. Otherwise, what's the point?" The gray cat persistently rubbed against Mia's legs; the ploy for food went unnoticed. Forcibly, Mia drilled a screw into the cork and pulled the plug free from the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.
"And you chose to use the color pink to... emasculate him? Got it." Mia poured a generous amount of Cabernet into two glasses, corked the bottle with a crystal stopper, and quickly reappeared in the living room with the beverages. Professor Lollipop weaved dangerously between her legs. If you trip me-
"Wine? Really? I think I am going to need something a bit stronger than that." The gesture, however, brought a faint smile to Erin's face. At least it's working! Without a word, Mia turned on her heel back towards the kitchen. "Wait! Where the hell are you taking my drink?"
Mia stopped short, causing Professor Lollipop to unexpectedly crash into her shin. "I thought you said-"
"I never pass on good wine."
Mia shook her head, sidestepped the cat, and extended a glass to her friend. "How do you know it's any good if you haven't even tasted it?"
"Did you pull the bottle from the rack in the kitchen?" Erin swirled the burgundy liquid gently around the glass.
"Of course." Mia casually leaned against the arm of the sofa. Although Erin was bruised and bloody, the light conversation appeared to lift her spirits.
"If it was in my kitchen, it's good wine. Simple as that." Erin took a delicate sip to taste the product, before downing the entire glass. Exhausted, the therapist finally took a seat on the couch and placed the empty chalice on an end table. Professor Lollipop, purring vigorously, lept into her lap and curled into a ball. "My little Unionist. Gentle and attentive as always." I think he's just hungry. Much to the cat's protest, Erin scrunched his face between the palms of her hands and thumbed his dark whiskers.
"Unionist?" Mia inquired. Seriously. With your accent and quips, it's like you are speaking an entirely different language. The cat jumped from his owner's grasp and stared at her with a look of betrayal.
Blatantly ignoring Mia's question, Erin slipped her shoes and stockings off. "You know, I haven't had a chance to ask... How did the audition go?" That afternoon seemed like ages ago.
"I totally rocked it." Mia slipped onto the couch next to her friend. "I'm working every night this week. Next week too."
"That is a bit excessive." Erin examined the blood on her uniform thoughtfully. With nimble fingers, she unbuttoned the outer layer and shrugged it off.
"I'll actually be waitressing for a while, so the work ought to be easier." Mia tried not to stare at Erin's injuries for too long. The bruising was deep, but it would heal with rest and care.
"Waitressing?" Erin snorted. "You went for an audition and they saddled you with a serving job?"
"Honestly, it doesn't matter what I am doing, as long as I am there."
"You are determined. I'll give you that much." Erin closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Mia scratched the couch to coax Professor Lollipop closer. The cat stared unblinkingly at her hand, but did not move.
"Great, then you'll understand why I am going to stay with you for the next few weeks. I have to make sure you are alright."
"Absolutely not." Erin bristled. Professor Lollipop jumped back onto the couch between the two women.
"You don't really have a choice in the matter. I am determined, remember?" Mia mimicked. Gently, the Professor's pink-tipped paw brushed up at Erin's face. "See, the Professor agrees." Or… he is hungry.
"I can't argue with that logic. Isn't that right?" Erin did not have the energy to argue, rather she chose to scratch the Scottish Fold's chin. Content with the gentle attention, Professor Lollipop closed his eyes and rumbled out a purr of satisfaction.
Outside the police station, Harvey watched a feral tomcat pounce on an unsuspecting pigeon. The migraine from the night before pierced the backs of his eyes. An amalgamation of offensive odors assaulted his nose: sewer drains, dog shit, and carbon. As his sensitivity heightened, the smells transferred to his tastebuds. Gotham was a disagreeable flavor that only coffee could mask. Unfortunately for Harvey, there was no time for his caffeinated mouthwash that morning.
Too fat to effortlessly fly off the ground, the pigeon flopped helplessly against the concrete. The stray, with a swift motion, could have easily snapped the bird's neck with its jaws. Up against the laws of nature, the victim would find no mercy. James pulled up with the patrol car, just as the cat began pulling the feathers from the squirming bird's breast. Harvey noted that the cat was not particularly malnourished. Like many of the city's residents, the animal was merely an agent of chaos lurking the shadows. With averted eyes, Harvey opened the car door and situated himself in the passenger seat.
"You know, I really hate cats."
"That's…" Running on only three hours of sleep, James did not have the patience to feign sincerity. "Why are you telling me this? It's really too early, Harv."
"Nah, nah. Here me out. Cats are like little serial killers, right? Hunting around for animals smaller and weaker to pick off. Do you know how many times I've stepped on a half eaten rat?" Refusing to encourage his partner's behavior, James remained silent and focused on the road. "What do you think that says about the people who own them? It's like sharing a house with a person. A tiny, unbalanced, little psycho."
The sheer absurdity of Harvey's ramblings incited James into a response. "I think you are being a bit too sensitive. Cats aren't all that bad. In fact, I had a cat growing up. She'd sleep at the foot of my bed every night."
"I read somewhere that cats can develop the ability to read. Come on! They are way smarter than they let on." Harvey stared at the vehicles slowing down around them. The presence of the patrol car made other drivers self-conscious of the speed limit.
"This is why you shouldn't read. You get paranoid." James chuckled under his breath. Harvey's ramblings were off the wall at times, but amusing nonetheless.
After a moment of shared silence, Harvey continued. "Then, when you die, they eat you."
"What?" James side-glanced his partner, careful not to take his eyes completely off the street.
"My aunt, she had something like... thirteen cats. When she died, we found her the next week, all gnawed on."
"Is this what goes on in your brain?" James furrowed his brow, attempting to shake the vision of a half-eaten old woman from his mind.
"Sometimes." Harvey stared longingly out the window at The Busy Bean coffee shop. As the car passed, the officer sat up straight in his seat and adjusted his hat. "I can be productive though. For example, I was thinking that it would be better to split up today. One of us goes to that place where they lock up all the animals and the other can go to the zoo."
"That might work." James conceded. "I'll handle the situation down at Arkham while you take the car over to meet the Public Affairs Director at the zoo."
"Ah, well, you know… I think I should be the one to handle the Collins case today." Harvey suggested in his usual lackadaisical manner. Despite his partner's indifferent demeanor, James acknowledged the underlying reasons for Harvey's persistence. Rather than point out the blatant unprofessionalism of lusting after a female victim, James proposed another course of logic.
"I used to work at Arkham, remember? I think I am a bit more qualified to handle this issue."
"Right, but…" Harvey wiped his nose on his sleeve; he could not find gentle enough words to express his point. "You weren't exactly compassionate with the vic last night."
"What do you mean? I handled it according to protocol!" James retorted defensively.
"You were harsher than usual." Harvey stated flatly.
"How can I sympathize with someone who confessed to killing a man with their bare hands? If that had been a man, he'd be behind bars right now." Although James seemed adamant in his justifications, his vindication faltered. Much to his unease, Harvey's words had rattled him.
"Even now you are getting defensive. I'm just saying, I think it would be better if I went to the Asylum alone."
With the exception of the static sizzling from the transponder, the patrol car remained solemnly silent. James contemplated his past actions, while Harvey dreamt lazily of an Irish maiden handing him a cup of coffee saturated in whiskey. The disintegrating spires of Arkham Asylum came into focus as the officers drew nearer to their destination outside the city. Harvey pinched the bridge of his nose as the car sped up the serpentine road toward the dilapidated hospital. The parking lot was practically empty save for the four white school buses used to transport inmates between locations.
Begrudgingly, James pulled the vehicle around to the entrance and shifted into neutral. "Give me a ring when you need me to pick you up. If I find anything, I will let you know."
Harvey pushed the passenger door open and smiled excitedly at his partner. "Don't step in any elephant shit!"
"I'd advise you to do the same." James countered halfheartedly. "Was I really too harsh on Collins?"
"Don't worry about it, Jim. I'll put in a good word for you." Harvey slammed the door shut and moved toward the hospital's cracked stone steps. Shaking the considerations from his mind, James returned to the open road. Gotham Zoo was not a far drive from the asylum, but the beating the morning traffic was still an obstacle. Avoiding the highway, James accelerated down the backroads of the city's limits toward the park.
A wrought iron archway greeted the bustling early morning crowd. The scent of manure and popcorn permeated the breezeless air, amplified by the August sun. Despite the overpowering stench and rising temperature, guests continued to filter into Gotham Zoological Park and Gardens. The six hundred acre park was one of the city's most popular attractions, with over four hundred different animal species from across the world. Exotic trees and shrubs cast an array of dancing shadows upon the gravel pathway that led up to the admission booths. Following the traffic, the detective parked the patrol car in the main lot and proceeded on foot toward the entrance. Chaperones diligently herded groups of children from school buses to the front gates. The excitement bubbling amidst the masses of innocent gradeschoolers filled James with a genuine sense of gratification.
At the box office, James introduced himself by presenting his badge to the ticket clerk. The pockmarked man behind the glass accessed the nearby rotary phone to call the zoo's Public Affairs Director. James waited patiently, mentally counting the guests as they passed through the turnstile.
"Detective Gordon, I presume?" A short, Moroccan man with sharp-edged rectangular framed glasses approached James. The Public Affairs Director reached out and shook the officer's hand. "Samir El-Mofty. We spoke on the phone."
"Right. Thank you for meeting with me. I was hoping that you could shed a little light on a homicide case I'm currently working on." James explained.
"I can certainly try." Samir clapped the detective on the shoulder unexpectedly. "Let's chat privately in my office."
Pushing passed the turnstile, James followed Samir into the zoo. The loud, out of tune honking from the flamingo exhibit caused a group of children to explode into a fit of giggles. A man-made waterway serpentined up the center of the park, providing the ideal habitat for calico colored koi and painted turtles. Vibrant pink and white water lilies bloomed along the water's edges. Pathways looped and crisscrossed around the zoo, their boundaries lined with low hedgerows and mulch. Massive signs guided curious onlookers through the seven continents. One placard boasted: Around the World in Three Hours or Less!
Samir led James through a door and into the Reptile and Amphibian House. Brightly lit and spacious, twenty-three glass exhibits displayed scaly creatures from South America to Asia. Sifting through his keys, Samir stopped outside a door specified for staff only. The nearest exhibit read:
Armadillo Lizard (Cordylus cataphractu)
Madagascar.
Fun Fact: Their whole body is plated by an armor of spiky scales.
Without moving, the Armadillo Lizard eyed James lazily from its position beneath the sun lamp. The reptile's jagged, splintery spikes were in a rough condition. James could not tell if the lizard's injuries were the result of a stressful life of captivity or perhaps a gruelling fight with its reflection in the glass.
"Your office is in here?" James asked skeptically.
"I am a bit out of place, I know. It's not as random as you might think though." Samir found the key, inserted it into the lock, and twisted the doorknob. "When I was younger, I studied herpetology. For many years, I was even the zoo's leading herpetologist! For financial reasons, I accepted my current position... but part of me always missed my old routine. So, I asked to keep my old office." Locking the door behind James, Samir continued forward up a flight of steps. "Additionally, this building is connected to the Center of Animal Care Sciences. All the zoologists and veterinarians have access to modern equipment for research purposes."
The two meandered the labyrinthine hallways, until the corridor opened into a large white tiled room. Fluorescent lights from above were reflected in the shine of a dozen stainless steel tables. Prepackaged needles, jars with cotton swabs, and a row of neatly organized medicine bottles lined the counters. At the rear of the room, a bleary eyed anteater with a crimson ear tag paced restlessly behind bars.
"I don't use the lab much myself anymore. Perhaps when I have more time, I will resume my study on the toxic proteins in the venom glands of the komodo dragon-"
"I'm not surprised that you find research preferable to error handling." A woman in a white coat interrupted unexpectedly. Analyzing Samir's guest with the utmost scrutiny, she glided into the lab from an adjacent room. A blonde ponytail swayed aggressively behind her as she approached the two men; the black band pulled the fragile strands of hair taut against her skull. Although James was certain the woman had just insulted the Public Affairs Director, Samir only smiled and excitedly threw his hands above his head.
"Dr. Friitawa! This is most excellent! Detective Gordon, this is our head veterinarian, Amelia Friitawa. She is also our theriogenologist."
"Thero...geno...what?" James furrowed his brow in confusion.
"Theriogenologist." Amelia repeated. "I study animal reproduction and obstetrics. Did I hear Dr. El-Mofty correctly? You are a detective?" For a moment, the veterinarian's haughty expression softened. "Are you finally here to investigate last month's goat slaughter scandal?"
"Goat slaughter?"
James turned to Samir for more information, but the guide was guarded with his words. With noticeable uneasiness, Samir smoothed his striped tie. "I am sure our good officer has more pressing matters to attend to."
"Oh? Of course. Whatever was I thinking? Caring for the animals! Perhaps I should sell my morals for nicer benefits and higher paycheck." The veterinarian grumbled in frustration, her eyes cast to the ceiling.
Although Samir aimed to end the conversation there, James pressed Amelia for more details. Logically, the detective hoped that an open discussion would help alleviate the tension brewing between the two colleagues. If the situation required it, James had no qualms with filing a report to ease the veterinarian's well-meaning concerns.
"Tell me what happened to the goats." James insisted.
"Last week, the petting zoo was completely decimated." Amelia lamented. "The sheep, llamas, and geese were spared, but all six goats were brutally mutilated and their blood completely drained. Two chickens as well. It was horrendous scene. I had called the police three times hoping for someone to come down."
"Drained of their blood?" The coincidence startled James. Hurriedly, Amelia moved to a locked filing cabinet, pulled a drawer open, and thumbed through her files.
Samir shook his head in disbelief. "Experts attributed the deaths to an unfortunate electrical accident. Standing water and an exposed live wire electrocuted the animals. It was very sad, but an accident."
"I saw the bodies firsthand. Here! I even have pictures to prove it." Amelia pulled out a handful of photographs and handed them to James. Flipping through the small stack, James observed the carnage with a tinge of apprehension. Both attacks occurred in locations where families often congregated, unaware and unprotected. All of the goats were pasty white. Close up shots of the neck revealed the same pattern of tattered flesh found on the victim's neck.
"Do you know what type of animal produced this set of bite marks?"
The veterinarian was impressed by the detective's attention to detail. "No. I've been running some tests, but the results came back inconclusive."
"I want copies of these pictures and a summary of your findings sent to the GCPD." James handed Amelia the photographs and turned to address the weary director. "Are all the animals in the zoo accounted for? Have any other animals turned up dead like this?"
"Of course. We take great pride in our security system." Samir clapped his hands together, eager to highlight the zoo's accomplishments rather than the recent tragedy.
"We have had a few animals die of natural causes." Amelia pointed out flatly. "A kangaroo died last week from infection. A few oxpeckers from the African Aviary of old age. Nothing like this though. This though… this was a massacre."
A young albino girl with coke bottle glasses stumbled into the clinic nearly knocking over a tray of beakers. Locks of ivory hair colorlessly matched her pasty alabaster skin. Violet eyes scanned the room nervously as she straightened the glass instruments. Despite her initial embarrassment, the teenager's cheeks remained characteristically neutral.
"I've finished organizing the data we collected from the condors, mother. The blood samples show a significant trend toward hemochromatosis." The girl's voice was soft and unimposing, the ghost of a whisper.
The veterinarian shook her head with bitter remorse, before addressing James directly. "The only creature on earth whose natural habitat is a zoo, is a zookeeper." As the girl gathered up an armful of medications and hurried out of the clinic. Checking his watch to reassess the time, James felt a sudden irritation for the well-intentioned doctor.
"I hate to change the subject, but I think your daughter should be in school."
Defensively, Amelia bristled with contempt. "Why? So Linda can be mocked and gawked at like the monkeys they cage up for entertainment? She is homeschooled, Detective, and more brilliant than any of the bumbling little morons currently pressing their faces against the plexiglass and iron fences, fascinated by the way man plays God over the other beasts!" On the edge for so long, the conversation had taken a predictable turn for the worst. Armed with mediation seminars and techniques to calm tension, Samir diverted the attention back to himself.
"Doctor, we should allow you to return to your work. Detective?"
James did not take his eyes off the self-righteous, hypocritical veterinarian. However much he disagreed with her parenting style, there was little he could do. Her daughter seemed despondent, but not abused. Strained under the watchful eye of her mother, yet diligent in performing her tasks to the extent of a child's ability. It seemed ironic to James that a mother so adamant against zoo policy could not see that she herself had placed her daughter in a similar form of captivity.
The tautness of the seat belt tightened with every pothole. For twenty minutes, Erin endured the pain of security. Each bump in the road caused the safety strap to dig into her ribcage, sending a heated spasm up her chest. I feel fucking trapped in my own car. God damned━ Erin smashed her knuckle into the red button at her side. Unclasped, the seat belt reeled back within the vehicle's innards. The therapist took a slow deep breath, careful not to rattle the tender structure of her upper body. In the rearview mirror, Erin caught a glimpse of the bruises around her eyes. The reddish iron from the blood was already melding into a dark violet hue. All of my patients are going to be on edge today. Lies travel faster than the truth in places like Arkham.
After braving the twists and turns of the main road, Erin guided the BMW gently into the sanctuary of the lot. Once the car was within the bounds of its designated space, Erin shut off the car, closed her eyes, and prepared herself for the day ahead. The stillness of the air navigated her into the present moment: a distant hum of city traffic, the lingering scent of floral shampoo and damp hair, the faintest taste of coffee. KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! The unexpected noise startled the young woman, jostling her from the meditative trance. A searing throb resonated from her ribs to her spine.
"Good morning, Ms. Collins! Do you need any help?"
At the car window appeared the familiar, albeit undesirable, face of the officer from the night before. Of course, the blundering drunk volunteered. Without a word, Erin unlocked the door and pushed it open. Harvey held out his hand, but she ignored the chivalrous gesture. Although Erin struggled from the low car to standing height, the therapist was determined to complete the action on her own terms without the man's help. Erin purposely slammed the door and then slowly proceeded toward the trunk.
"I'm surprised that you are here so early, considering the amount of scotch you must have drank last night." Erin opened the trunk of her car and gingerly reached in for a small briefcase.
"Actually it was Irish whiskey. Jameson." Harvey corrected playfully.
Through her peripherals, Erin sized up the goodnatured detective and silently berated herself for the mistake. I can't believe I mistook my favorite drink for scotch. I must have been really out of it last night. Summoning the final reserves of energy, Erin pulled the trunk closed with a resounding thump. The downward motion knocked the woman off balance, causing her to flounder for support. Harvey caught Erin by the shoulders, but only long enough for her to regain her equilibrium.
"Are you alright?"
"What am I supposed to be showing you exactly?" Erin's tone was no longer out of irritation, but rather exhaustion. I'll be alright. Then again, I really don't have any other option, do I?
"You just need to walk me through what happened yesterday." Harvey explained.
Accommodatingly, Erin motioned the officer forward and led him up the hospital's steps. Withered flowers and unruly weeds adorned the cement pots on either side of the columned entrance. Only the decomposing stems and leaves of the once beautiful chrysanthemums remained. Eagerly, Harvey moved to open the door for her, but Erin passed through wordlessly before he could perform the polite action. In unison, Erin and Harvey lifted their credentials for the apathetic receptionist. From behind her latest edition of Fashion Magazine, the young blonde waved them on. A second flight of stairs gradually steered the silent pair toward a rowdy hallway. Am I the only one who takes my job seriously?
"Try not to interact with the patients. They upset easily." Erin warned her guest.
Nudging passed a set of swinging doors, the therapist led the detective down the main ward. Deafening howls announced Erin's arrival: KILLER! MURDERER! RUN! SHE'LL GET YOU TOO! Harvey restlessly lowered his hat over his eyes and felt for the gun at his side. While the majority of patients scampered away in a raucous, a few devoted followers lingered. Arms outstretched and twirling around in circles, Jervis blissfully revolved his way up to Erin.
"You!" Jervis cackled. "You are not the same as you were before."
"Not now, Jervis." Erin chided gently.
"You were much more… muchier. You've lost your muchness." Choosing to ignore the patient's delusional observations, Erin pressed forward. Harvey cringed as he side-stepped the red headed lunatic. "She killed a man! She killed him! He stole her muchness!"
"What is the meaning of all this commotion? Nurse! Please see Mr. Tetch to his room." A man with dapple-gray hair and a white mustache appeared from a nearby office. An addled nurse escorted Jervis out of the corridor, while the old man's topaz eyes scoured the hospital wing. His sights landed on Erin. "Dr. Collins! What are you doing here?" Arsing around apparently. What does it look like I'm doing, Dr. Marks? I'm trying to go to work! "Nevermind, nevermind. I need to have a word with you." Abruptly, the director noticed Harvey and hesitated a moment before politely adding, "Who's this?"
"Detective Bullock." Erin explained.
"BULLOCKS!" Jervis shouted from a faraway room. The inappropriate outcry brought an amused blush to Erin's face.
"I'm investigating some rumors about an assault." Harvey cleared his throat to direct attention back to himself. He held out his hand to the approaching doctor. Rumors? Can you make this anymore awkward? I swear, you better not get me fired.
"A d-detective? Oh my, I━ Surely… Apologies, my name is Delroy Marks. I'm Arkham Asylum's Administrative Director." Delroy shook Harvey's hand vigorously. Despite the director's formal attire and collected expression, his hands trembled with guilt. Erin shot Delroy a look of caution, but the nervous director blathered on. "You know, things like this happen all the time. There really isn't any need for the police to get involved."
"All the time?" Harvey raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Does that really sound like an acceptable excuse to you?"
"Oh, no! I just meant, this job… there are a lot of o-occupational hazards, you know!" The blood drained from Delroy's face as he flustered over his words. Unconsciously, the director scratched at the back of his right hand. "Please, have a look around. If you need anything at all, my staff is at your disposal." Delroy turned his attention to Erin directly. "At your earliest convenience, please come see me Dr. Collins."
Turning quickly on his heel, the director returned to his office leaving Erin to fulfill her duties to Harvey. The therapist motioned him forward, her heels striking the peeling linoleum with a rhythmic stride.
"Your boss seems nervous." Harvey commented.
"The kitchen is right down here." Erin quickened her pace, determined to get the detective's investigation over with. The short walk to the end of the corridor was reminiscent of the descent into Hell. Without air conditioning, a sweltering heat had ensconced the hospital. An occasional wail harkened to the tormented and twisted bodies of the seventh circle drowning in rivers of boiling blood and fire. The kitchen door was propped open, beckoning those brave enough to enter. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. Erin approached the threshold and surveyed the scene.
"Looks like everything's been pretty much cleaned up." Harvey walked in and pulled a tattered leather notebook from his jacket. On the counter rested the cutting board, saturated with blood. "Whoa, so is this the━"
"Yeah." Erin did not stare too long at the blood-soaked board. She entered the room and recounted the tragedy for her listener. After reciting the gruesome details for the the fourth time, the therapist noticed the dull ache of guilt beginning to develop in her mind.
"Could you tell me your relationship to the deceased? Do you know where the body is now?"
"I already told you, he was my patient. And I don't know, you would have to talk to Dr. Marks. They rushed me out of here and to the clinic before I had my bearings." Erin could not bring herself to say Cookie's name aloud. The word patient dried up on her tongue like a hard-to-swallow communion wafer.
"It is such a shame." Hugo lamented from the doorway. The sympathy was tinged with a subtle mockery only Erin could detect. "You have no idea how disappointing it is to see a colleague fail so horribly."
A cumbersome stillness momentarily muted the kitchen's occupants. Taking advantage of the silence, Hugo invited himself into the room. The haughty professor sauntered over to the splintered counter. With a disposition exuding indifference, Hugo brushed his fingers along the edge of the surface.
"And you are...?" Harvey asked skeptically. Embarrassed and annoyed, Erin turned away to concentrate on the chips of eggshell paint flaking from the wall. The woman's uneasiness produced a wicked grin from Hugo.
"Dr. Hugo Strange. You were right to call the police, Erin. I am distraught that the hospital didn't call the authorities for you." You would have loved to see them take me away in a patrol car, wouldn't you? Erin folded her arms across her chest. "It's good to see you taking everything so well. You've endured a brutal assault and embarrassing failure, yet still manage to show your face. Brilliant. Absolutely stunning." Ignoring Harvey's presence, the hungry buzzard circled around the room forcing Erin to look at him. The doctor examined her bruises from afar; the smile on his face broadened.
Confused by the surmounting tension, Harvey moved closer to Erin. "I wouldn't really consider this a failure, per se. These people are unpredictable." The detective tried to soften the situation with a laugh.
"Oh no, no, no! Make no mistake. If she had noticed the signs and taken action, none of this would have happened. Instead, Dr. Collins put the tools of destruction into her patient's hands. Prevention is key to the success of what we do here after all. Perhaps you should have paid closer attention." For the first time, Hugo addressed Harvey directly. "Do you mind, detective, if I supplied you with a little report of my own?"
"As long as━" Harvey began, but Erin finally erupted in a fury. Unable to bear the discomfort any longer, she pushed passed Hugo and scowled at Harvey.
"Go on! Please!" The therapist laughed maniacally. "Enjoy yourselves at my expense! Since you insist on dragging my name through the gutter, I'll take this opportunity to excuse myself from the conversation to meet with the Director."
Whatever. I don't have the energy to deal with your fucking ego trip, Strange. Without sparing a second glance, Erin rushed back into the hallway. The kitchen had threatened to suffocate her with the reminders of yesterday. Adding Hugo to the mix only intensified the situation. Although the air in the ward reeked of urine and antiseptics, Erin filled her lungs to full capacity. The male voices resonating from the room behind became distant, a series of muddled irrelevant noises. I should have paid closer attention? I was the only one paying attention. Sweat stung the laceration on her forehead. Calm down, don't go into Marks's office upset. Erin lightly thumped on the glass of the half-opened door with her knuckles. From his desk, Delroy beckoned the young therapist forward.
"Erin, come in. Oh, and if you could please shut the door?"Delroy asked gently. Calmly, Erin complied with the request. Must be really bad news if you don't want anyone else to hear. "Take a seat. There you are. How are you holding up?"
"I'm managing." Erin folded her hands into a steeple. The office chair aligned to the curvature of her spine, allowing her battered body a moment of unadulterated rest. "What did we need to discuss?"
For a moment, Delroy tapped his silver pen against the desk. The venerable old man muttered a few unintelligible words beneath his breath before lambasting Erin with the awful news.
"W-we think it's best if you take some time off to process this whole ordeal." A faraway voice murmured a similar message. Ack! It's only a bit a time away, Erin. You'll be back befar ya git homesack. "Also, it might benefit all parties if we worked on getting you transferred to an alternative location." The States ain't so bad. It's fer ya protection besides.
An inconsolable rage shook Erin's shoulders. "We? Who is we? Why wasn't I included in this conversation?" Delroy grew pale and stammered for a reply, but Erin held up the palms of her hands. "Do you really think this is going to look good on the record? Demoting me! Punishing the victim!"
Taken aback by the woman's forwardness, Delroy cast his shy eyes at the ceiling. The blood pulsing to the veins in Erin's neck gradually lessened. Quietly, she dropped her hands back into her lap. This was not a fight between her and the director, but Hugo's money and her ethics.
"Dr. Collins, I am required by the board to place you on medical leave at the very least." Delroy took several shallow breaths before reverting his gaze back to his employee. Erin knew that the director was not an wicked man. How objective will you remain once I am out of the picture? No wonder Strange was so pleased with himself.
"I understand." Erin whispered.
"Two months with halved pay." Delroy added cautiously. You can't be serious! Erin's mind screamed, but the words were lost. The penalty was sanctioned and there was nothing left to argue.
Erin stood up slowly, flattened her skirt, and cleared her throat. "If it means anything at all, I'd like to stay at Arkham. I think I can still do a lot of good here."
"I think you can too, Dr. Collins. We can reassess your status in October." Delroy reassured her. I really can keep going. I can do this. Don't worry about me━ No one needs to worry about me.
Fighting to remain poised and collected was a tiring process. Alone in the corridor, Erin began to walk aimlessly toward the stairs. Go home. An invisible hand squeezed her heart. Sure, because God knows sitting at home thinking about all of this is going to make it all disappear. Erin bit her quivering bottom lip. The cracks in the plaster walls were deeper than timeworn canyons. Yesterday, Cookie traversed those ravines. Adventure, meditation, obsession: Erin had no idea why the mute spent hours tracing the fissures. But I want to know! Tears streamed down Erin's pale cheeks. How could this happen to me? She covered her face and choked out a small sob.
A sharp jab to her hip brought her spiraling back into reality. "Here, we must run as fast as we can just to stay in place." Jervis pushed the corners of his mouth up with his fingers, an indication that the therapist should smile. "If you wish to go anywhere, you must run twice as fast as that." Although the words made her scoff, Erin dried the moisture brimming beneath her eyelashes with her sleeve. As quickly as he appeared, Jervis giggled and tottered away into another room; evading the nurses was his new favorite game. Erin returned her gaze thoughtfully at the cracks in the wall. I'm going to get to the bottom of this. Fingernails bit into the palms of her hands. And, if it's not too late, I may not have to run alone.
Urgency spurred Erin into a frantic search for Harvey. She hoped Hugo had not poisoned his mind too foul. Narrowing her options, Erin rushed to Hugo's office where she was relieved to hear their voices. Careful not to draw attention to herself, Erin crouched outside the door to listen.
"━was excessive force. Security is always on point here."
"Oh yeah. I've heard all about your reputable security officers." Erin heard Harvey's pen scribbling furiously against paper.
"I also have it on good authority that Erin consumes alcohol during her lunch breaks."
"Shit doc, if I had to work here I would probably drink all the time too." Harvey snorted. Having heard enough to know Harvey was still fighting the good fight, Erin rapped firmly on the door frame to announce her presence.
"Enter." Hugo called as he handed a manila envelope over to Harvey. Rather than avert Hugo's leering stare, Erin glared directly at him. "You should find all the notes and observations about the patient in here."
Harvey cocked his head to the side and flipped through the file. Paper rustled to the beat of the detective's tapping foot. Erin yearned to follow along with the pages, but she refused to break eye contact.
"It says here that Charles Randell was in your care at the time of the assault, doctor. For all the flack you've given Collins, it seems a bit… uh… what's the word?" Harvey brandished the file about dramatically. "Oh, right! Ironic. It's a bit ironic that you were so hard on her when you were supposed to be keeping an eye on him." Using such a profound word excited the officer; he hoped Erin took notice. Seemingly unimpressed, Erin ignored Harvey to address Hugo.
"Prevention is the key to success. Isn't that what you said?"Guess I won't be shouldering all the blame after all. Erin feigned a sweet, smile. Hugo's amiable attitude, however, vanished completely with the news. Taken aback by his own mistake, his iron gray eyes scanned the paperwork. Much to his displeasure, he had not taken into account the swift nature of Erin's signature.
Recovering gracefully, Hugo shook his head and smiled at the woman's challenge. "An unfortunate oversight on my part it seems."
"Stick around doc." With an unnecessary force, Harvey chucked the file onto Hugo's desk. A flurry of paperwork cascaded to the office floor. Noticeably annoyed by the brutish spectacle, Hugo cast a scowl at the detective. "I'll be back to get an official statement from you. So you may want to rethink some of those words."
The display of dominance generated a positive response from Erin in the form of a chuckle. Confidently, Harvey placed his notebook back into his breast pocket and held the door open for Erin to pass through. I know this isn't over, but damn that felt good. Having won the battle, the young therapist entered the hallway with renewed conviction. Behind them, Hugo's door shut with a loud indignant snap. I've clawed my way out of hell before. This is no different. Erin approached the barred window across the hall and admired the cloudless sky.
"You seem to have your muchness back." Harvey joined her at the sill. Erin raised a judgmental eyebrow. "It's a joke. From before━ That guy━ remember?"
"Is there anything else I can help you with or can I go home now?" Erin pushed away from the window, leading Harvey toward the lobby stairs. Regardless of his answer, Erin had already decided to return to her apartment. As Erin descended the staircase, she noted the receptionist snoozing behind her magazine. Harvey struggled to regain his voice.
"Can I buy you dinner tonight?" Harvey scratched his cheek apprehensively. The unofficial investigation was officially over. The officer diligently followed Erin out the door and down the front steps.
"It's unbelievable. You really do have no sense of proper timing." Erin grimaced at the detective's unconcealed salaciousness. Who asks a victim out for dinner?
"Oh━ Well, I… I figured we could talk out any issues you might be having." Romantic. "You can even invite Mia! My treat." Distracted by the tasteless, conversational vomit spewing from his own mouth, Harvey missed a step and lurched forward. Feigning a bow, Harvey plucked the first flower the grass presented him: a golden dandelion. He lifted the weed up for Erin's amusement.
"Mia doesn't have time for dinner." Erin explained as she paused to thoughtlessly collect the token of gratitude. "She's slaving away downtown at Oswald's nightclub."
"That's dangerous." Harvey furrowed his eyebrows, briefly forgetting his attempt to
woo the Irish maiden before him.
No shit. Again with the obvious observations. Tucking the dandelion through a buttonhole in her cardigan, Erin continued her stride toward the parking lot. "Yeah, well, it's your fault."
"My fault?! How's that?" Harvey asked confused and slightly bothered by the inculpation. The gravel beneath their feet signaled the perimeter of the grounds.
"She's looking for the man that you showed her in that blasted file."
Exasperated, Harvey rubbed his eyes and tipped his hat backwards. "I'll tell you what I told Mia: We looked for that guy for months. There were no leads. He's practically a ghost. I don't know what she expects to find." As the pair approached the waxed and polished cardinal red BMW, Erin unexpectedly twisted around to confront Harvey.
"Maybe if you spent more time chasing down criminals, rather than chasing down drinks at the bar or chasing tail, you'd have gotten somewhere." Erin retorted sharply. Assessing his position, the hesitant man wracked his brain for harmless words.
"You don't let things go do you?"
"I never forget what's worth remembering." Erin shook her head and pressed the automated button to unlock her car. "Or remember what is best forgotten."
In an attempt at reconciliation, Harvey quickly opened the car door for her. "Choose to remember what you want about me, but just wait… one of these days I'll show you that you're wrong to judge me so quickly." Erin rolled her eyes. "So, I'll pick you up at seven then?"
Honestly, I can't blame him for trying. Determination is an attractive quality though. Should I say yes? Erin slipped gingerly into the driver's seat, adjusted her mirror, then gripped the suede steering wheel in preparation. The dandelion fell from her chest into her lap. Momentarily, her crisp emerald eyes locked with the warmth of Harvey's bronze irises.
"No." Erin coyly tugged the door from the detective's grasp. Granting Harvey the smallest of smiles, Erin started the engine and yanked the car door shut.
Upstairs, Polina Koslov screeched at her husband of sixty-five years. The inconsolable old crone slammed doors and stomped on the floor. Her spouse, Henryk, was declared legally deaf two years ago; Oswald unfortunately was not. While Henryk stared unsympathetically into a blaring television set, Oswald covered his head with a pillow to muffle the earsplitting pitch of Polina's squawking. One day, I am going to give you a real reason to squeal, you relentless withered harpy. In a mild rage, the young man hurled the plush, feathered cushion across his small bedroom. Laying on his back, Oswald glared at the trembling ceiling.
Thick, vermillion red curtains prevented an overwhelming intrusion of sunlight. A bit of natural light managed to stream through the tiny holes left behind from fabric-eating moths. Although Oswald was never allowed to decorate the room according to his own tastes, he did not mind that the atmosphere reflected the Bohemian nature of his mother. Resting with mauve pillows beneath swathes of hanging scarves was relatively calming compared to his other hideaways. Skarpetki są tak brudne! Brudny! The innumerable framed photographs cluttering the wall rattled with unease. I almost miss sleeping in my office... Almost. Oswald rolled to the edge of the bed, sat up, and ran a hand through his hair.
The subtle hint of powdered sugar and frying oil wafted through the air. In the adjacent kitchen, pots clanged against pans and the sink sputtered against the air-pockets within the pipes. Oswald remained posed the edge of the bed, contemplating within the imperfect darkness. What is mother up to? What time is it? Squinting, Oswald noted the carved, yet long silent, cuckoo clock on the wall behind him: 10:25. Waking up so late in the day was not productive. There was too much to do and only barely enough time to get it all done. Oswald had hoped that returning to his mother's apartment would ease his vexation and grant him the comforts of sleep. Alas, last night he remained awake. Tossing and turning over dreams and thoughts he could not control. If only he could wipe them clean from his mind. Unfortunately, lobotomies tended to be counterproductive and out of style for the times.
His newest employee was reason for his sleepless nights. For over two weeks, Oswald dealt internally with Mia's jovial nature and playful quips. The situation was made even more difficult by the fact that everyone else seemed to enjoy the addition. Watching the subordinates he paid for loyalty enjoying themselves for no good reason distressed him. To his frustration, Mia was flawless. She performed all her tasks diligently, on time, with a personable attitude━ Not that there was ever very much to do. His initial plan to make her uncomfortable had failed: Rather than forcing her to quit, Oswald trapped himself into a condition of permanence.
Pachniesz jak mokry pies! For the love of God, shut up! Oswald got dressed, taking the time to make sure every aspect of his jet black suit was in order. Securing a plum colored tie around his neck, Oswald observed himself in a small oval mirror before exiting his cramped bedroom. He limped into the dusty air of the open flat. His mother, Gertrud Kapelput, swayed blissfully across the kitchen, ruffling the lowest fringes of her white nightgown.
"Good morning mother." Oswald managed a tone of sincerity. At least someone in this apartment is happy.
"My little darling!" Gertrud's eyes radiated with affection for her son. Her Old World accent rolled nearly every constant with a dramatic energy. "I haff made for you the favorite of when you were young." Gertrud picked up a plate of fried, powdered pastries and presented them to her son. "Chrusciki! Angel wings for an angelic boy." The crisp, sugar-dusted cookies were made with twists of dough, which were quickly fried in hot oil to form a bow tie treat.
"What's the special occasion?" Oswald asked, plucking a cookie from the plate. Forgetting Mia and the rowdy neighbors, the man smiled broadly. Childhood memories were not all bad.
"You used to love dese cookies. Remember? I'd hide dem up top of da ice box when you were so tiny. You couldn't reach to steal dem." Gertrud reached over and pinched his cheek.
"Right." Oswald crunched into the cookie, bathing in the attention. Occasionally, the affection was bothersome, but her sweets softened the embarrassment and strengthened his patience. "But why did you make the cookies? You only ever make them for holidays."
"My boy came home! Every time you come home, my heart skips and jumps. Boom, boom, boom! You stay away so often..." His mother trailed off.
Predictable. I should have seen this coming. Gertrud was rewarding him for good behavior and guilting him for his extended absences. Before his mother could begin her paranoid ramblings about hussies, tramps, and the dangers of a midnight rendezvous, Oswald changed the subject.
"These are possibly the most delicious cookies I have ever had the privilege of enjoying. Perhaps when my schedule opens up, we can make a batch together." Though empty, the promise delighted the old woman.
"Oh!" Gertrud pulled Oswald to her bosom and squeezed his head tightly. "You are such a good boy." Swallowing the last bit of his cookie, the devoted son waited patiently for his mother to release him. As soon as Gertrud set him free, Oswald reached passed her to snatch another cookie. "Take dem to work with you. Share dem with all your friends. Dey cannot resist!"
Pleasantly occupied with his pastry, Oswald grabbed his umbrella leaning against the door. Does she really expect me to carry that platter through the city and just give them away to those hopeless fools? When he did not respond, Gertrud began to shift uncomfortably. Christ, please don't get emotional. Oswald hastily grabbed the tray of chrusciki, lifting it high over her head as he moved toward the door. Gertrud beamed happily and followed him to the threshold. Unable to shorten the affectionate farewell, Oswald quickened his pace down the stairs to make up for lost time. From the dimly lit stairwell, the young man emerged from a side door onto the city sidewalk.
Naturally, Oswald melded into the sparse crowd and rounded the nearest corner. The fringes of his mind itched with incessant memories best left forgotten. What if I don't like it? Everyone loves red velvet cake, Oz. I'm not like everyone else. Stop procrastinating and try it! Fine. So, what do you think?! Shaking the voices from his head, Oswald paused next to a fly infested garbage bin. The recollection caused his hands to tremble with animosity. I'm not like everyone else. I'm better. Without the faintest bit of remorse, the heavy plate of homemade chrusciki plummeted to the bottom of the trash receptacle.
Peaks of vibrant colored icing rested neatly atop rows of tiny flavorful cakes. Tiers upon tiers displayed hundreds of unique gourmet sweets: French Macarons, assortments of chocolate, and succulent eclairs. The primary attraction, however, was the store's freshly baked cupcakes. Potential customers peered through the fuchsia tinted storefront window of Lilu's Cupcakery to marvel at the decadent array of choices. Tropical Key Lime, Grandmother's Coconut Cream, and Spiced Carrot were the newest additions to an already long list of daily flavors.
Patiently, Mia waited at the counter as the sprightly clerk gathered up a dozen different cupcakes. Oh my God, they even have a Dublin Cream cake. I knew Erin should have come with me. After a few weeks, you'd think she'd really want to get out of the house… especially on a Friday. The salesperson reappeared with a sizable lilac box and proceeded to calculate the total on the register. Reaching into her purse to grab her wallet, Mia accidently grazed the neon orange pill container labelled Antabuse.
If you had to make someone ill, without really hurting them, how would you do it? I don't like where this is going. Just humor me! Well, doctors use Antabuse for patients who want to curb alcoholism. Is it harmless? Compared to ipecac, I'd say so. Perfect, I need a prescription! I don't think you have a drinking problem, Mia. Yesterday's conversation had not been a pleasant one. While Erin tried to stick firmly to her ethics, Mia challenged that once again her plan was the only way. Seeing that she could not convince her friend otherwise, Erin begrudgingly granted her request. With a polite smile, Mia paid the cashier and tenderly guided her purchase off the counter. Hopefully this sugar rush can help me get through tonight.
The scent of vanilla, coffee, and confectioner's sugar followed her out onto the street. Do I have time to stop in and see Pops? Renowned across the tristate area, the best bakery in town was located only a city block from her childhood home. Opting to check in on her father, Mia hurried in the direction of Sew Perfect. As Mia drifted by the storefront window, she noticed Avidan crouched next to a lanky young man in a lilac colored suit. The tailor was meticulously mending the length of the jacket's left cuff, chatting blithely away with his client. Mia knocked on the store's window, flashed a smile, and waved at the pair. Avidan paused a moment from his task to excitedly point at the storefront. Although Mia could not distinguish the man's exact words, she discerned by her father's expression that he was boasting about his daughter. The patron tipped his periwinkle fedora at Mia and winked coyly. The woman felt a heated blush blaze across the cool flesh of her cheeks. I guess I'll talk to dad later. Quickly, Mia gestured a goodbye and hurried off toward the bus stop.
Following the usual routine, Mia reached into her pocket to spare some change for the homeless man who typically sat near the stop. Crap. Did I really spend that much money on cupcakes? With only enough for bus fare, Mia approached the transient man and offered him a cupcake instead. Humble and skittish, he graciously accepted the gift and shared the frosting with his canine companion.
All alone at the stop, Mia rewarded herself by taking a seat at the graffitied bench. After a ten minute wait, the fifty-five arrived with a hiss and opened its doors. Mia shuffled into an empty seat just behind the driver and leveled the box securely on her lap. Passengers filtered off and on the bus as the ten ton vehicle barrelled toward the center of downtown. If you aren't going to show your face, then I'll force you out. Baiting traps though, had proved more difficult than Mia expected. The man with the scar around his throat was elusive and Oswald's was not the happening place that Mooney's Nightclub had been years before. Tonight, she was going to increase her odds of finding him. Muscle memory prompted Mia to wrap her fingers around the hanging cord and tug.
Careful not to jostle the cakes, Mia steadily stepped down from the bus and cautiously crossed the street. A hot-tempered taxi driver blared his horn at the pedestrian, which motivated Mia to walk faster. The young woman bounded up the steps and entered the establishment without knocking. Inside, the club was dark, quiet, and practically motionless. In an hour, the business would open, but Mia predicted that the atmosphere would remain the same. Nearby, Butch sat at the bar with an alcoholic beverage already in his hand. Mia placed the box on the counter and settled in next to Butch.
"Isn't it a bit early to be drinking?" Mia asked observantly. The question was not judgemental, but filled with a natural blend of curiosity and jest.
"Haven't you heard? It's considered good luck to drink before five on weekdays ending in Y." Butch traced his finger along the edge of the glass then pointed at the package on the bar. "Whatcha got there?"
"Incentive." Mia explained mysteriously, drawing the box closer and peeking into it. Intrigued, Butch leaned over to sneak a glimpse, but Mia quickly shut the cardboard lid. "Now, Mr. Gilzean, I'd wager that you are a man who appreciates the intricacies of chocolate."
With a chuckle, Butch firmly padded his side. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"You are a man... who seeks the intoxicating swirl of semisweet cocoa and smooth peanut butter. Am I right?" Mia flipped the lid up and picked out the classic Peanut Butter Cup cupcake.
"Ah, now you are just flat out flirting with me." Butch shook his head and laughed.
"Do you want it or not?" Mia asked, swaying the dessert from side to side in a singular tantalizing motion. Although Butch reached out to take it, Mia withdrew the cake beyond his grasp. "I need your help later."
Butch raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"
"Get your mind out of the gutter." Mia leaned in to whisper. "I have a plan to get a few more people in the place. You in?" Before Mia could react, Butch reached out and took the cake by the base.
"Why the hell not! My services are always up for hire, though, I've never been paid in pastry before."
"Excellent." This is going to be easier than I thought. Mia scanned the room. "Is Oswald in yet? Who else is here?"
Butch bit into the cupcake and took his time to swallow before answering. "Cobblepot is probably off brooding in his office. I think I saw Stuart prepping the tableware. Jackson is getting ready backstage." For a moment, Butch appeared agitated. "Nothing against Jackson, but I figured you'd be playing tonight."
"It's not a big deal." Mia picked up the box and slid off the stool. "I'm a patient person." It was only the partial truth. "We can talk about that later. I'm going to check up on the others. I'll be back in a jiff."
"Thanks for the warning." Stuffing the rest of the cake in his mouth, Butch finished the frosted treat.
Mia left the bar and scouted backstage for the infamous Screamin' Fingers Jackson. The old blues musician was an unsung Gotham legend. As a child, Mia appreciated the countless family outings spent exploring music festivals and local shows. When she was twelve years old, Mia watched Screamin' Fingers Jackson perform for the first time at the Bourbon Street Blues Fest. Now, nearly thirteen years later, the young musician had the pleasure of meeting with the man in person. The last few nights, Mia and Jackson chatted about instruments, songs, and the pathetic state of local music. Noticing her approach, the old venerable black man with a shock of white hair produced large grin.
"Hey Jax, I brought some treats for everyone. Interested?" Mia presented the box to him.
"Ah, now that's sweet of ya." Jackson surveyed the selection and rubbed the gray stubble on his jaw. "Is that carrot cake? My mother used to make the best carrot cake."
"It is. I can't imagine that this will compare to the real thing though." Mia plucked up the small spiced cake and handed it to Jackson. "I hope you can at least enjoy it for what it's worth."
"No worries, sweet thing." Jackson was a good man with plenty of years behind his eyes. Mia wanted to know all the experiences he had encountered while in the music business; she was sure he had impressive stories to reveal. "Any word from Mr. Cobblepot about your performance schedule?"
"Not yet. I'll try talking with him later." Mia shook her head and smiled. "I'm looking forward to your show tonight."
"Ya might be the only one, darlin'. Ain't expecting nobody to really come up tonight." Jackson shrugged and picked at the paper wrapper containing his cupcake. Not if I can help it. Just wait, this place is going to be packed.
Twirling her hair, Mia chewed on the inside of her cheek. "A bad situation is just a blues song waiting to be written, right?" Mia slapped the old man on the shoulder and turned back toward lounge. "I'm going to clock in and pass out a few more of these. I'll check you later." With an earnest nod, Jackson returned to setting up the stage while Mia hurried back into the dining area. On her way to find Stuart Petes, the busboy, Mia bumped into Oswald. Without an apology, Oswald stepped around the woman and approached Butch at the bar.
"Gilzean, I need you to collect some checks before the house opens."
"Mhm." Butch licked the wrapper of cupcake. Disgusted by his assistant's lack of tact, the manager placed the list of patrons on the bar and turned away. "Hey Mia, I bet you can't guess Oswald's favorite flavor."
Excitedly, Mia smiled and approached Oswald with the open box. "I have a variety, but if my memory serves me correctly... you had an appreciation for red velvet cake. Am I right?"
"I don't eat desserts." Oswald scoffed callously.
Since when? For over a week, the tall pale man had seemed overly impatient and distant. His voltaic blue eyes rarely ever graced Mia with their attention. The sentences Oswald muttered grew shorter until Mia respectfully backed off. In the past, the boy was prone to fits of irrational outburst. Although they had not interacted for several years, Mia handled the current situation similarly to the way she would have in her youth.
"If you change your mind, they'll be in the back." Without malice or ill-intention, Mia removed herself from the situation by strolling over to Butch and placing a second serving of cake in front of him.
"Oh, I get it now. You are trying to make me fat!" Butch jokingly complained.
"You have it all figured out." Mia retorted.
Disappearing into the back room, Mia positioned the box on a side table and propped it open. The elated waitress tied the waist apron around her hips, pocketed the Antabuse, and punched her time card at exactly five o'clock. Narcotically, Stuart examined each steaming hot plate, bowl, and piece of silverware as he removed it from the dishwasher. The recent high school graduate typically received the worst of Oswald's rage, so he took extreme care with all of his responsibilities. For over an hour, Mia helped the boy tidy up the preparation station, set the table linens, and sweep the floors. While the other three servers waited inattentively behind the bar listening to Jackson's warmups, Mia assisted Stuart with the majority of his tasks.
By half past nine, there were no more duties left to complete. The nightclub was empty except for the three fans dedicated to Screamin' Fingers Jackson. A small misguided part of Mia had hoped that Friday night would have naturally enticed the eager young crowds to visit the club. Unfortunately, the plan was still a necessity. It's now or never.
Mia sat down next to Butch, who sipped his glass of scotch.
"This place is always so empty." Mia observed quietly.
"A lot of our clientele abandoned the place when the venue exchanged hands." It was a safe answer, but not entirely the truth.
For a moment, Mia watched Jackson play his own unique bluesy tune. "I have a plan to get them back. Are you still willing to help me?"
Butch laughed, but then noticed the contemplative expression on her face. "You can't just go out and get an audience. That takes time, advertising, and… efficient leadership."
"We don't have to play fair. In fact, I bet that if we can't earn an audience we can at least steal one." Mia smiled. "Trust me, I already have an idea. We just have to make a few stops around town."
"You want to leave right now? Aren't you supposed to be waitressing?"
"There is no one here." Mia gestured to the room's shameless vacancy. "For Christ's sake, Oswald hasn't even ventured from his office. C'mon! It won't take us too long."
"Alright, alright! Calm yourself. I already said I'd help you earlier, didn't I?" Butch cocked an eyebrow, but shot back the remainder of his drink. "Let's go━ Uh, wait, where are we going exactly?"
"The Moonlight Lounge." Mia stated excitedly.
Intrigued by Mia's expeditious response, Butch scratched his chin before finally slipping off the barstool. Taking a shortcut through the back, the pair emerged onto a well-concealed parking lot. Butch flashed the lights on his black polished Cadillac and hit the automatic locks. Without hesitation, Mia climbed into the passenger's seat, secured her seat belt, and folded her hands in her lap. The passing moments were ethereal, drifting rapidly into and out of existence. Although Butch continued to make light conversation about the nightclub scene, Mia was far away. Antabuse is used to curb chronic alcoholism. If you consume alcohol with it, it produces unpleasant side effects. Poisoning a bunch of drunks at a bar shouldn't be too hard, I imagine. As the rival establishment came into view, the woman snapped back into the present. The Moonlight Lounge. From outside, the business hummed with music as people filtered passed the massive bouncer. Now this is what a club should look like on a Friday night! I wonder if he is in there? Butch parallel parked the car with two sharp taps on the brake.
"I don't know how you expect to get into the Moonlight Lounge looking like... that." Butch commented pointing at her black slacks, white blouse, and waist apron. "You aren't exactly dressed to go clubbing."
"We aren't here to dance. So I'm not planning on going through the front doors." Mia clicked free of the seat belt and exited the car. "I am going to slip through the kitchens like any ordinary waitress." Careful not to step into open traffic, Butch followed Mia from the Cadillac to the alleyway beside the building. "Just stay out here and strike up some sanitation rumors about the place. Be ready to leave in a hurry."
"What are you going to do exactly?" Butch whispered loudly after her.
Even though she heard him, Mia did not answer. You'll see. Hurrying to the lounge's back door, Mia smoothed out her apron, adjusted her hair tie, and knocked on the door. A preoccupied dishwasher with soapy hands kicked the door open.
"What?" The man snapped harshly.
"Sorry. I stepped out for a moment and forgot the door locks." As if she had worked there for years, Mia confidently trudged into the kitchen. "I'll remember to put the door stop in next time."
Confused, the annoyed dishwasher grumbled and returned to the rising pillar of suds in his sink. Dressed like a typical waitress, none of the busy cooks and bussers gave the woman a second glance. Mia thrusted her hands into her apron and rushed to the window where a line of hot meals waited for delivery. With nimble fingers, the waitress unscrewed the childproof lid to access a pinch of powdered Antabuse. As Mia pretended to clean the plate, she sprinkled the ground up pills on several entrees and prepped glasses of water. Mmm, looks like Parmesan! A waiter approached and unquestioningly selected three of the tainted plates.
Improvising, Mia grabbed a deserted tray and moved to the main floor. The waitstaff hustled between the tables. With full hands, Mia blended into the mix seamlessly. Electro swing music trumpeted through speakers inspiring feet to dance and hips to shake. No, he's too short. The excitement of live brass barely concealed the crowd's spirited chatter. Way too fat… Mmm, much too old. That could have been him, if only he had the scar. Mia side stepped a tipsy young woman with glow sticks in her hair. The thin, pale man with the scar around his throat was absent from the club scene; the last known person seen talking to her sister at Fish Mooney's. Interviewed sources described the clean-cut male as tall, blond, and personable: a man of class and sophistication. To Mia, however, the nameless gentleman appeared only as words on a page. There were no pictures or security footage from that night, but Mia was certain that she could identify him by the descriptions. I guess you're not here.
A commotion at a nearby table caught the waitress's attention. With a shameless heave, a muscular man vomited onto his waiter's feet. The man's three companions laughed until the overwhelming scent of stomach acid caused them to wretch as well. That was fast. I didn't think it would be so- Nearby, the young woman bedecked with neon glow sticks spewed her insides out onto the dance floor. Several other people around the lounge retched, while the distressed waiters hurried into the back for cleaning supplies and fresh air.
"What's going on?" An anxious woman asked Mia.
"Looks like food poisoning." Mia pushed the brewing guilt to the back of her mind. Sometimes, you just have to break a few eggs. "Could be in the food or the water… That's what happens when you don't keep your kitchen clean. Between you and me, Oswald's downtown is a much better experience than this." The woman and those who overheard Mia's declaration took the bait and left. Other partygoers, nauseated by the pooling piles of sick, covered their mouths and and quickly rushed out the front door. I think it's time to get out of here before someone catches on. Mia let her hair down, pulled off the waist apron, and unfastened the first few buttons of her blouse. Even marginally, the smallest changes could help to conceal her identity. Following the exodus, Mia slipped through the main doors passed the confused bouncer. Butch waited near the end of the dissipating line, chatting to a group of lively girls.
"Looky there! Just like I told you. The place is so dirty that everyone is getting sick." Butch explained pointing to a woman puking onto the curb. Mia shuffled up to the group and ran a hand through her hair.
"I think we should go to Oswald's instead. It's basically a vomit fest in there." Mia explained to Butch. Those waiting in line became noticeably anxious as more ailing people exited the business.
"Oswald's?" A woman with glitter smeared across her eyelids peered around Butch. "Is it really any good?"
"Best undiscovered place in town, if you ask me!" Butch winked and turned to the ladies. "In fact, right now they're serving half price drinks at the bar. Just bring all your friends and tell the bartender Gilzean sent ya." Smooth. I bet you'll be having some fun when we get back.
As Butch waved down a taxi for his acquaintances, the cluster of females cackled excitedly. The women piled into the cab and set a course for Oswald's nightclub. Gradually, the crowds on the street lessened. Without drawing any unpleasant attention from the doorman, Mia and Butch successfully persuaded several apprehensive groups to join them for a more fulfilling night of drinking and dancing. Crossing the road cautiously, Mia gestured at Butch to return to his car.
"There is another place just around the block. Are you up for it?" Mia smiled and opened the passenger door.
"Are you kidding? I haven't had fun like this since…" Butch trailed off, but shook his head and slipped behind the steering wheel. "I am guessing you want to hit up The Stuffed Olive?"
"Yeah. A martini bar is bound to have plenty of customers on a Friday night, right?"
Nodding in agreement, Butch started the ignition and cruised back onto the boulevard. "Back there- that was brutal. Where did you come up with a plan like that?" Brutal? Watching the chaos unfold had mildly disconcerted Mia, but she had not considered the act heinous. Was Erin right? Maybe I didn't think this through. Even in moderation, poisoning innocent men and women was a crime. The way to hell is paved with good intentions. For a moment, Mia felt nauseated by her own actions. Butch, however, projected a hearty burst of laughter. "It's definitely a new one for my book. I am thoroughly impressed."
The Cadillac coasted into a lot behind a massive brick building. Atop the structure perched a luminous green olive, welcoming guests to quench their thirst at the martini bar below. Before Butch could turn off the car, Mia hopped out and started for the back alley.
As she tied the waist apron around her hips, Butch called out for her. "Hey, hey, hey! If you really want to steal customers, you can't do the same thing at every place. Otherwise it becomes more of a noticeable conspiracy. Here- I have an idea. Follow me."
Metal scraped against metal as Butch yanked the fire escape ladder to ground level. With a single heave, Butch began his ascent up the wrought iron bars. Mia followed close behind. Conscious of the growing distance between her and the ground, Mia's hands tightly gripped the dirty railing. The fall would not result in death, but a broken back was nothing to look forward to either. Butch lifted himself over the side of the wall and held his hand out to help his ensuing companion. Graciously, Mia accepted the support and scrambled to the rooftop. What are we going to do up here? The roof was painted with bird droppings and broken bricks. Scanning the area, Butch finally motioned Mia over an electrical box. A rusty screech revealed the inner wires and switches: the building's life force.
"No music, no lights, no party." Butch pulled a switchblade from his pocket. You know, that's not a bad idea. Curious, Mia moved closer to watch the process. With a steady hand, Butch moved to cut first wire.
"BZzZzZZzZZZZzzTTTTttt!"
Attached to the wires, Butch's solid form began to thrash about wildly. The blaring music below was suddenly still. Oh my God! No! A single yelp escaped from Mia's throat and passed her quivering lips. Instinctively, she covered her face with trembling hands and turned away. What have I d- A hearty laugh slowly coaxed Mia's pulse down to a normal pace. Wiping away a tear, Butch finished cutting all the wires, folded his switchblade, and returned it snugly to his jacket pocket. The grin on his face stretch from ear to ear. Son of a bitch! Furious, Mia rushed over to the practical joker and punched his shoulder.
"You are awful! I thought you died!" Despite her initial rage, Butch's contagious laughter spurred her into a smile of her own. Pranks were harmless. If anything, the playful behavior demonstrated that Oswald's right hand man had accepted her in some way.
"Sorry. I just couldn't resist!" Butch rubbed his shoulder gingerly. With newfound energy, the man grabbed a loose brick from the floor and delivered several blows to the electrical box for good measure. "Now that's how you sabotage a business. Let's get out of here before they send someone up to check."
Although it was despicable, Mia loved it. She had never felt so alive. They hurried down the fire escape and, as they had at the Moonlight Lounge, the two deviants shamelessly advertised to the slew of clubbers disappointingly leaving the bar. Visit the Oswald's nightclub down the street and to spread the word to your friends. For the final time, Butch and Mia hurried back to the Cadillac. They continued to laugh and converse about illegal business strategies, pranks, and future possibilities. The drive itself was entertaining, as the pair surveyed the hoards of young people clamouring for parking outside Oswald's. Luckily for Butch, the hidden lot in the back was designated Employee Parking Only. As the jokes slowly dwindled, a bout of tired silence fell between them.
"You know, Mia, I didn't peg you as the devious type." Butch observed. Mia felt a bit uncomfortable. Did I go too far? Does he know I am up to something? Butch shook his head. "For what it's worth, you sure do know how to have a good time." The two exited the vehicle and walked around the building to watch the hordes of incoming customers.
With a sigh of relief, Mia ran a hand through her hair. "That's what it's supposed to be about, right? A good time! What's the point of working in a nightclub if there isn't any action?"
"My thoughts exactly." Butch fondled the keys in his hands. A taxi full of loud fist pumping men drove by, ready to party and drink at the classy club downtown. "Still... that isn't the whole story is it? There is something a bit off about this whole situation."
Fuck. He's onto to me. He can't possibly know, can he? Will it matter? Oswald would flip shit if he found out I lied about my intentions. "I don't understand what you mean." Play dumb.
"I think you know exactly what I mean." Butch's grave expression settled under a pair of contemplative forehead wrinkles. "You just happen to meet up with Oswald and weasel out an audition from him. You've gone through all this trouble to improve club business. And… well… cupcakes. I think it's rather obvious." Mia stared unblinkingly at the groups of partygoers funneling toward the nightclub. "You have a thing for Cobblepot."
An awkward high-pitched grunt burst from the young woman before she could suppress it with civility. Romance, especially with Oswald, was not on Mia's agenda. Do I really come across that way? Slightly embarrassed, Mia puffed up by placing her hands on her hips. I am not sure if that is better or worse than the truth. "Look, I don't have a thing for anyone. I just needed a job."
"Uh-huh, whatever you say." The two silently strolled side-by-side down the sidewalk toward the club. Nearing the entrance, Butch reached out and seized Mia's upper arm. The touch was earnest and sincere."Just a piece of advice, Mia, because I really do like you━ You seem like a good person. Don't get messed up in Oswald's world. He's self-absorbed and more than a little off. I'd hate to see you get hurt."
The advice was genuine, but Mia reflexively brushed it away with an eye roll. For years, family and friends had attempted to persuade her into abandoning half-cocted plans or ill-advised schemes. Too often their words fell on deaf ears; Mia was practically immune to persuasion. Butch's concern, however, was unsubstantiated. Oswald and Mia were friends━ a fragile term hastily transferred from adolescence to adulthood. The nightclub owner was only a minor fraction within the larger equation. For her intents and purposes, Mia's sole objective was to remain on the staff and keep the foot traffic flowing to the business. Keeping her boss and coworkers satisfied made the former operation easier.
"Butch, thanks, but you really don't have to worry about any of that." Mia hopped the first step and entered the building behind a tall man with a turquoise-dyed mohawk.
Every stool at the bar was occupied. Slacks chased skirts as they fluttered toward the designated dance floor. Onstage, Screamin' Fingers Jackson cradled his Fender Stratocaster and pressed his mouth to the microphone. Then I began to fall so low. I didn't have a friend━ and no place to go. The fragrance of alcohol pouring generously into glasses wafted about the room, carried above the light haze of smoke. Men and women clamored for empty tables and swayed drunkenly to the bluesy melody. So if I ever get my hand on a dollar again. I'm gonna hold on to it till that eagle grins! Nobody knows you, when you are down out.
"Where have you two been?" Oswald snapped from across the room. Meandering around the throng of newcomers, the nightclub manager approached Mia and Butch. A grimace of disgust flickered across his face at the sound of his shoes sticking to the floor; the remnants of someone's spilled drink. "Stuart! Clean this floor!" With an air of urgency, the busboy behind the bar hurriedly disappeared into the back for a mop. Noticeably overwhelmed, Oswald returned his attention to his victims at the door. Patches of red highlighted his narrow cheekbones. "Care to explain?"
"Well, you see━" Butch began cautiously, but an eager Mia cut him off.
"We went out to get some customers." As the words left her lips, a faint feeling of uneasiness prompted her to look at the floor. "The place was a bit quiet."
"Did I ask you to do that?" Oswald asked plainly. Though the question seemed simple enough, his words were stained with a subtle hint of acidity.
"No. I suppose not." Mia answered honestly.
"What did I ask you to do today?" Oswald inquired.
"In all fairness━" Butch attempted to casually move between Mia and Oswald, but the manager's step forward prevented the larger man's safeguard.
"I'll discuss this with you later. In the meantime, would you give us a moment to sort out this little misunderstanding?" It was not a request. Please don't leave. Butch bit his lip, but granted the two a moment alone. With her back to the wall, Mia felt cornered. Oblivious patrons slipped by the front door, unaware of the encounter. "What did I ask you to do today?"
"To waitress... but there was no one here to serve." Mia explained softly.
"Perhaps I was unclear about your position here. Let me be a bit more explicit. You only do what I tell you. No more, no less. If that means standing around in an empty parlor for six hours, then that is what you are going to do. Understand?"
Mia fidgeted uncomfortably, but gathered the courage to look Oswald in the eye as she responded. "Yes."
"Do something like this again," Oswald gestured at the mass of people enjoying themselves, "and you're fired." Why are you so angry at me for helping your business? This was supposed to be a win-win situation. Do you really have that large of an ego trip going on? "Get to the back of the house and roll silverware." As Oswald turned away, Mia opened her mouth to protest. The back of the house?! I won't see anyone from back there! "You can work for tips tomorrow." Fuck your tips. Mia clenched her fist and tried to hold onto her anger. Indignation was manageable, but the deep, disheartening pit growing in her stomach was corrosive. The elation Mia felt earlier had dissipated with the realization that tonight, like many nights before, she would not find her sister.
