Songs of the Lyrebird

by XxxChansalarxxX

Mia Mimidae is determined to find her sister, Delilah, even if it means traversing Gotham's dark underbelly. The popular new club, Oswald's, may hold the key to finally solving the mystery. Will Oswald Cobblepot help Mia find the truth or ruin her plans? Are her skills enough to manipulate him or will she succumb to his criminal brilliance? New villains and original characters.

4. Chapter 4: El Chupacabra

Chapter Four: El Chupacabra

Warm winds wisped wildly off the saltwater and across the powdered dunes. Despite his most earnest effort to prepare, Oswald was not suited for unaccommodating elements like sand, sun, and humidity. Miniscule grains passed through the inconspicuous cracks of his perfectly polished black shoes. The sand creeped into his socks, nesting uncomfortably between his toes. With each passing minute, the sun burned the pasty skin on the back of his neck. Oswald held onto his umbrella tightly. He wanted to open it, but knew the action would result in a series of taunts and jeers from his fellow classmates.

The Marine Biology class from the Gotham County High School was on their first field trip of the year. Located on the East End, Cape Carmine provided an exemplary ecosystem for scientific study. General education mandated that all sophomores take a natural science to complete the core curriculum. Oswald would have been happier scribbling away physics or chemistry notes in the comfort of an air-conditioned module, but other factors drove him toward the study of marine life. Chaperones lazily instructed the students to investigate the fragrance of the oyster bed left behind at low tide.

Unexpectedly, Mia hooked her elbow around Oswald's arm. Copper hair tied back into a ponytail, Mia's sunglasses perched atop her head to keep stray bangs from whipping violently against her face. Unlike Oswald, the girl was casually dressed for an adventurous day on the shore.

"There is something I want to go and check out. Come with me?" Mia whispered into his ear. The instructors were too busy complaining to one another about the heat to notice the two students disappear behind a wall of seagrass. Back on solid ground, the pair kicked the sidewalk attempting to dislodge the sand from their shoes. Oswald looked around cautiously and opened his umbrella. With a subdued smirk, the boy held the refreshing shade over Mia and himself. "Thanks. I was starting to bake back there." The boy recognized the subtle hint of coconut sunblock. "I wanted to check out the lighthouse while we were here."

"The lighthouse? I didn't think that was open to the public."

"It's just for a minute." Mia insisted. The adventures never lasted just a minute. Oswald noticed that she glossed over his statement, but he chose to internalize his objections. "Look, there is a path just up this way."

Deep down, Oswald was not even sure why he followed the girl as often as he did. Their escapades usually landed them in serious trouble with the authorities. Later, Oswald would have to sort out the mess with the school principal and his distraught mother. Despite the consequences, the boy consistently found himself in the same situation. Perhaps it was the way Mia engaged him━ or challenged his perspective. Oswald shifted the umbrella to get a better look at the towering structure. A weathered sign at the front read: Cape Carmine Lighthouse, Established 1862. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as the pair hurried up to the door. Eagerly, Mia jiggled the locked handle firmly. For a moment, a small sense of relief radiated throughout Oswald, until the girl knelt down and pulled a bobby pin from her hair. Oswald glanced around worriedly as Mia picked the mechanism.

"You know, a locked door is often an indication that the location is not receiving guests." Oswald pointed out flatly. The lock opened with a click and Mia quickly pushed the heavy door inward.

"It's not like we are here to vandalize the place… We just want to have a look around." The young sophomore entered the cylindrical atrium in awe. "Check it out! It's huge!"

Hesitantly, Oswald closed his umbrella and stepped inside the concrete lighthouse. Mia launched herself up the spiral staircase. The iron railing shook with each step, bouncing a metallic echo off the salt eaten walls. A stench of decaying seaweed filled Oswald's nostrils as he climbed the two-hundred and sixteen steps to the top. Moderating her breath, Mia clambered onto the balcony and turned to wait for her friend. Oswald's heart raced, but his breathing remained composed. Reaching the top, he gripped the railing and stared out at the open ocean. A dull ache throbbed in his knee. Below, waves beat against the shore. The platform was too high for the gulls, which circled the base of the lighthouse looking for food scraps.

After a moment of silent contemplation, Mia folded her arms on the railing and took a deep breath. "It's beautiful. It must be spectacular at night. All lit up."

"Yeah. I bet it's a sight to see." Oswald muttered. The expansive ocean withdrew into the horizon; a fathomless puddle of ancient history and latent mystery. Yet, the allure of the sea was short lived. Oswald watched Mia instead, noting the strands of hair licking her cheekbones.

Mia squinted up at the sun, then back at the side of the lighthouse. "What's that say?"

Moving closer to the inner wall, Oswald traced an inscription etched into the side of the building beneath the lens. "In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must also be present. Francis Bacon." The boy read aloud. Oswald turned back to Mia, who had returned her attention to the landscape. "Seems appropriate for a lighthouse. Wasn't Bacon the philosopher who said knowledge is power? I bet he was chock full of useful quips." Small sail boats and fishing schooners drifted across the water as Oswald returned to the railing.

"Which are you?"

"Excuse me?" Oswald was caught off guard by her question.

"Are you the darkness or the light?" Mia asked philosophically.

Oswald scoffed, but then put his hands in his pockets and leaned on the banister with his back to the sea. Mia always asked questions that annoyed him, but it was too difficult to censure her. "Compared to you, I'm practically a shadow."

"Ah." Noticing his discomfort, Mia nudged him playfully. "Is that why we work so well together then?"

"What does that insufferable gym teacher say all the time? Teamwork makes the dream work?" Oswald straightened his red and gray tie to hide his bemusement.

"Is that the class all over the beach?" Mia asked abruptly, squinting at the specks of people below.

"They are probably looking for us." Oswald snorted. Without regret, Mia rolled her eyes. Those dazzling aquamarine gems settled their sights on him, spurring the boy into a sudden fit of uncontrollable laughter━ A door slammed, jostling Oswald from the comforts of his dream state.

The salt air and sunshine faded away from his memory, leaving Oswald to face the reality of another work day. Rubbing his eyes, the manager lifted his head off the hard oak desk. Butch stood patiently at the office door, waiting for Oswald to address him directly. After a long night overseeing a bustling business, the manager had no desire to deal with his assistant. All his energy was spent on reorganizing inventory and tending to customer satisfaction.

"What time is it?" Oswald grimaced and gestured for Butch to take a seat. Don't think I haven't forgotten what you and… that… waitress did last night. With a huff, Butch slid a glass of whisky toward his boss and sat down.

"Eight." Butch stated. Noticing the confused expression on Oswald's face, he clarified further. "In the morning. Look, I just need you to sign for the truck." Butch slammed a clipboard on the desk and stared unblinkingly at Oswald. The man's voice was rougher than usual. Oh, I get it. This is a little temper tantrum. What? Are you going to chastise me for being too hard on the girl? Choosing to ignore Butch's tone, Oswald pulled the clipboard closer for inspection and pointed at the alcoholic beverage.

"And the whisky is for what exactly?" Oswald scanned the document for inconsistencies before adding his signature to the dotted line.

"I figured you might want it for what I am about to say." Butch replied boldly.

Leaning back in his chair, the nightclub manager steepled his fingers and prepared for the worst. "Is there something on your mind Gilzean? You know I take my employee's opinions very seriously."

"As a matter of fact." Butch scratched his nose and leaned forward. "I went over the till and we made double what we usually make in a week last night."

"That's great." Noticing Butch's unabiding frown, Oswald narrowed his eyes. "Why isn't this cause to celebrate?" Don't tell me you seriously━

"I'm just going to come right out and say it then. For everything Mia has done, you haven't thanked her once. What is it? Do you two have a weird history or something?"

"We knew each other in high school." Oswald explained flatly. Though I don't see how it is really any of your business. "If she really does so much for me, then perhaps I should get rid of you and promote her." Unconsciously, Oswald picked up the drink and swallowed a few ounces. Why should it matter if I thank her anyway? Do I thank the rest of this miserable lot for doing their jobs? The confrontation put Oswald in an irritable state. Butch gently recoiled and walked a fine line around the conversation.

"The girl is working her tail off to impress you and, well... She's been giving you the eye since she got here."

"The eye?" Oswald coughed on final gulp of whisky.

"You know. The eye." Butch winked, but smacked his forehead in sudden disbelief. Don't you dare ask it. I will cut out your tongue and feed it to your mother. "You have been with a woman before right?"

"That is a highly inappropriate question." Oswald gritted his teeth and gripped the edge of his desk to restrain himself. Barbarian. What sort of lewd, salacious animal━

"Are you… into men?"

If eyes were weapons, Butch would have been a dead man. "Get out of my office. Now."

"Hey, I don't judge." Butch stood up and grabbed the clipboard from the desk. "I just thought you deserved a little bit of honesty. Mia is a good kid, you know. "

Anger and rage continued to boil in his stomach, but Oswald remained thoughtfully quiet. For the moment, his resentment was solely for his assistant. The massive, blundering ogre who would torment him given the chance. Honesty? I can't believe a word you say. As Butch turned for the exit, Oswald cleared his throat. What if it were true though? What if I have been unnecessarily hard on her? Although the corner of his eye twitched, the manager's voice remained steady. "Tell Mia she can perform next Friday."

"I think she should hear that from you." Butch rapped once on the door frame for good measure and left Oswald to stew in an uncontrollable heated self-affliction.

---

A crescendo of trumpets and tambourines signaled the commencement of The Price is Right. Each new contestant screamed with excitement. Laying on the couch, Erin stroked the soft grey feline curled up beside her. The elementary school teachers clamored up to their podiums, eager to win new computers or art supplies for their students. How do they even find these people? Erin flipped to the TV Guide Channel for the umpteenth time and scanned the long list of reality courtroom dramas. Guess I'm watching The Price Is Right. As Erin approached her third week in exile, the oppressiveness of monotony began to weigh on her mind.

Although her ribs were nearly healed and the gash on her forehead was reduced to an unsightly scab, the obstinate bruises across her face remained dark with yellowing borders. Rather than endure the sympathetic sighs and tedious stares of passersby, Erin chose to stay indoors. Days transitioned into weeks. The apartment appeared to shrink with each passing hour, until only the living room, with its expansive windows and soothing sunlight, was tolerable. What is the actual retail price for the whole set?

"Six hundred dollars." Erin answered indifferently. With a groan, the despondent woman suddenly realized that she left her cup of tea on the kitchen counter. Dammit! Tenderly, Erin nudged Professor Lollipop, who stretched and jumped down from the sofa. The actual retail price is six hundred and thirty dollars! Bells heralded the contestant to the stage and motivated Erin to stand up. "And the American capitalists go wild! Raaaaaaah!"

Erin guided her hands along the shimmering granite counters and shuffled into the kitchen. Next to the empty wine rack, hung a palate of fresh sprouted herbs: basil, rosemary, chives, and mint. Leaves and soil littered the floor, evidence of the Professor's most recent caper.

"Really? That's mint, you idiot, not catnip!" Erin reached beneath the sink, grabbed a small hand broom, and gently swept up the inconvenience. Professor Lollipop appeared in the entryway, but arched his back and quickly skittered away. Guilty conscience?

After pruning back the indoor herb garden, Erin turned her attention the long-forgotten beverage. A small serving of green tea rested on the kitchen island. With an indifferent sigh, Erin seized the cold ceramic mug and dumped the golden liquid into the stainless steel sink. Shame. Just a downright shame. I wonder if I could have poured that in my plants. Warm water gushed from the faucet and onto a sudsy sponge that the woman then used to wash the cup. With added diligence, Erin dried the mug with an absorbent dish towel and placed it gingerly onto the counter. Shall I try this again? I imagine Mr. Tetch would be cheering me on right about now. Tea time Miss Collins! It's always tea time here! Erin stifled a laugh as she filled a bright purple kettle with filtered water. Nearby a single serve coffee machine sat neglected in the corner. Time seemed inexhaustible, so there was no point in rushing the brewing experience. Without a job, Erin found it unnecessary to add caffeine to her routine. With the kettle on the stove, Erin prepared the next cup by drizzling honey around its edges.

A thundering knock at the front door startled her out of apathy. What? Who could that be? Erin narrowed her eyes in contemplation. Mia has the spare key and I'm not expecting anyone. Adrenaline surged to her fingertips. Before sliding silently to the door, Erin pulled the small paring knife from a drawer and slipped it into the outer pocket of her plush robe. A masculine voice responded to Mrs. Kepka's torrid screech.

"Ma'am, I assure you—"

"Crooked cops! The lot of you. Hassling that poor young girl. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Curious, Erin peered through the peephole of her front door. The distinguished young officer from weeks prior waited patiently next to the apartment's welcome mat. What is he doing here? For a moment, Erin considered not opening the door. Nothing good can come from this. As Mrs. Kepka continued her relentless pestering, Erin began to feel sympathy for the defenseless man. The initial feeling of uneasiness subsided. If you can't handle her, then you certainly won't stand a chance against me. Erin unbolted the lock and opened the door a crack.

"Ms. Collins! Good, I am glad your home."

"Refresh my memory. Who are you again?" The question was unnecessary; the occupant vividly remembered her heated interaction with Detective James Gordon.

"He's with the police!" Mrs. Kepka folded her arms and glowered at the officer.

"Yes. I am Detective Gordon. I came by a few weeks ago to check up on an incident." James noticed Erin's guarded demeanor. "There are no need for formalities though. I am not actually here on any official business."

"Then why are you here, pig?" Mrs. Kepka practically spit acid.

Erin shook her head and opened the door a bit more, careful not to give Professor Lollipop too much room for an escape. "I can handle this, Margot. Thank you. After all this commotion, I believe I may owe you an extra ride to wherever you want this week." With a huff of disapproval Ms. Kepka begrudgingly slithered back into her flat, but not before spitting superstitiously on the floor near the detective's boots. "I think my neighbor may have just hexed you."

"I can honestly say that worries me a little." James attempted a lighthearted smile. Erin remained quiet and stared at him, waiting for further explanation about his presence. The officer apprehensively clapped his hands together to fill the heavy silence. A sharp whistle warbled from Erin's kitchen. "Did I come at a bad time?" A bad time? The last time you were here was a bad time. This is just inconvenient.

"No. You're welcome to come in." Erin stepped aside, pushed Professor Lollipop gently away from the entrance with her foot and let James into the flat. She closed the door with a snap and turned toward the kitchen.

"You look good━ I mean, you seem to be healing up well." James fumbled to find the proper words. Following her into the kitchen, the detective cleared his throat. "It occurred to me that, perhaps, I did not handle our first meeting very well." Is this a recent realization or have you been stewing over this for almost three weeks now? Oooh, that drunk detective put you up to this, didn't he? Erin placed a tea bag in her cup and removed the whining kettle from the stove. With a fluid motion, the woman slipped the small paring knife back into the drawer. James stared uncomfortably at Erin's hands. "Were you planning on stabbing me?"

"Please, if I were going to stab you, Detective, you'd be bleeding out by now." James was noticeably taken aback, prompting Erin to defensively flash her palms at him. "It's a joke, relax." After everything that's happened, I probably shouldn't be making remarks like that.

"Anyway, I thought I should apologize for the way I reacted." James explained.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Erin asked casually. Hot water splashed from the spout into the cup, saturating the tea leaves.

"No, thank you." James looked down at the Scottish Fold rubbing against his ankles. After a moment of silence, Erin lifted the steaming beverage to her lips and breathed in the sweetened perfumed scent.

"So are you actually going to apologize? Or just continue thinking that you ought to?" Erin asked, the final few words increasing with pitch. Was that too harsh? I really need to consider filtering my honesty.

The officer raised an eyebrow at her, but rather than inciting more conflict he nodded his head. "I am sorry for the way I acted Ms. Collins." Erin had never heard a police officer sincerely apologize before. Maybe there is hope for this crazy world. Although the woman did not respond, the tension in the air naturally dissipated. James crouched down and rubbed the cat's chin with his index finger. "This little guy sure is friendly."

"Friendly, but also a handful." Erin commented.

"Apparently, cats can develop the ability to read. My partner told me that." James stood up and smiled. "Harvey is quite the avid reader."

"If a cat can read, doesn't it seem a bit unextraordinary to note that Detective Bullock can as well?" Erin quipped. The detective chuckled under his breath and folded his arms across his chest. Scanning the room, he paused to assess Erin's condition: unbrushed hair, no makeup, and mismatched slippers. Erin attempted to take a sip, but the impatience resulted in a burnt tongue.

"You look like you need to get out of the house. Do you... want to go out for brunch or something?" James asked politely.

Caught off guard, Erin carefully placed the mug on the kitchen island. "Brunch." The statement was more contemplative than judgmental. I could do a quick brunch. Anything to get out of here for awhile.

"Or coffee—"

"Brunch sounds brilliant. Just give me a minute." Erin moved passed him and toward her bedroom.

While James waited patiently in the kitchen, Erin quickly scoured her closet for a presentable outfit. The woman hurriedly pulled on a pink blouse and blue jeans. With added haste, she tied her hair up into a messy bun and slipped on a pair of black flats. Makeup seemed unnecessary for lunch. Rather than spend more time covering her bruises with gobs of liquid foundation, Erin grabbed her oversized designer sunglasses and arranged them to detract from the bruises nearest to her eyes. Within minutes, she returned to James with keys jingling in her hands.

"All set?" James asked.

"Mhm." Erin politely escorted the young detective from her apartment. As the woman closed the door behind her, the spry and agile Professor bounded forward through the gap. Ambitious paws glided effortlessly across the travertine, seemingly unhindered by the laws of friction. His flight to freedom—a race to nowhere in particular—ended before it could truly begin. James stooped down, scooped up the feline, and cradled the fugitive securely against his chest. Impressed, Erin smiled and gently tugged at Professor Lollipop's ears. "Nice reflexes. With skills like that, I imagine that they've found you rather useful in law enforcement."

"Thanks?" James lightly tossed the disappointed cat back into the apartment, closed the door quickly, and then gave Erin room to set the lock. Across the hall, Mrs. Kepka's front door rattled, but remained closed. The pair moved to the elevator and proceeded to the ground floor.

"Pearly's Bistro on Seventeenth is a nice place. Want to check it out?" James suggested. Erin shrugged and walked out of the elevator, through the foyer, and out the glass doors to the sidewalk. "Let's take the squad car." Parallel-parked at the front of the building waited the patrol car. Cautiously, Erin stared at the black and white vehicle.

"I don't think I've ever been in the front of one of these things before." Erin whispered hesitantly reaching for the door handle.

"What was that?"

Shit, did I say that out loud? "Nothing—Nevermind." Shaking her head, Erin hurriedly pulled open the passenger door and climbed into the seat. Light conversation alleviated nearly all of the tension from their earlier encounter. After Erin's tirade on the frequency of erroneous weather reports, James divulged the very best routes to avoid lunchtime traffic. The ten minute ride concluded with a brief discussion regarding the dismal state of the homeless. Remarkably, the two agreed that the mayor ought to designate more funds for aiding the forgotten veterans and the down-on-their-luck panhandlers.

The sidewalk outside Pearly's Bistro was shaded by a line of neatly pruned ash trees. Radiating an exotic air of Parisian elegance, the relatively new business flourished in the heart of Uptown. Upon each patio table rested a floral vase donning fresh violet statice and sunglow freesia. A menu placard to the front of the business showcased the long list of French inspired entrees and desserts. James pulled the entrance door open for Erin, who was too busy enjoying the European atmosphere to spurn the casual paternalistic behavior.

Oh, I forgot how much I loved the smell of fresh baked croissants. The room widened, exposing the ribbed vaulting above; alternating bands of plated gold and crimson paint embellished the foyer. Waitstaff weaved between the tables which were dressed in white linens. At the rear of the bistro, a polished bar separated the patrons from the hustling kitchen staff. Hands pressed deeply into his pockets, James requested a table for two. Cheerfully, the pigeon-chested host ushered the pair across the restaurant and to a vacant table, where he graciously drew out the plush, maroon chair out for Erin. The woman acknowledged the gesture with a nod of gratitude and gently rested back in the seat. An antique chandelier sparkled from the ceiling, speckling the grey carpet with a delicate shimmer. Settled, Erin returned her attention back to the detective.

"Good morning, my name is Thomas and I will be your server. Could I get you started on some drinks?" A man with smooth, olive-toned skin smiled as he approached the table.

"A Bloody Mary for me, please." Erin responded without hesitation.

"I'll just have a water." James folded his hands on the table. As the waiter disappeared with the drink order, the detective shook his head and laughed. "Drinking at eleven in the morning? You and Bullock would get along so well." You'd be surprised. I drink to make other people interesting. Your partner seems like the type of person who drinks to numb his emotions. The woman remained silent while she flipped through the small laminated menu. Taking the hint, James followed her example and scanned the long list of breakfast and lunch options. "So, paninis… Do they have those where you are from?"

Slowly laying down the menu, Erin took a moment to study James. His cobalt suit was tightly buttoned and each strand of brown hair upon his head was neatly combed to the side. "Yes. Hot sandwiches are quite popular in Ireland." With a smirk, Erin purposely emphasized a drawl and adopted a dialect that would have offended any resident from the countryside. "Oh Jasus! You shant even have ta venture fa inta town to use tha heat a-generatin' electricity!"

James pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and chuckled. "My mistake. I thought you were from Ireland, not the Mississippi backcountry."

"Was that an insult?" Erin snorted amused.

"You and your neighbor have been taking punches at me all morning. I'm just trying to play by your rules." After a brief silence, the waiter returned with a Bloody Mary and a glass of water.

"Do you need a few more minutes to look over the menu?" Thomas asked politely.

"No need. I'll have the Croque Madame." Erin folded the menu and handed it to the waiter, who retrieved it after scribbling her order onto a notepad.

"Put me down for the same." James scratched the side of his head and slid his menu to edge of the table. "I'd rather avoid the shame of attempting to pronounce French entrees in the presence of an educated European."

The stalk of celery shifted haphazardly against a mound of ice as Erin picked up her beverage to take a sip; a splash of peppery tomato juice invigorated her tastebuds. Simple and refreshing, the woman reveled in the experience. Subtle hints of sunlight and earth melded together to form a savory aftertaste of serenity. Hidden for too long within her urban fortress, Erin had nearly forgotten the pleasure of dining out. Mia is right. I really got to get out more. I honestly can't even remember the last time I treated myself. Erin discreetly studied James, who fidgeted with the napkin folded on his lap. Some people just can't handle silence.

"So, Arkham. You know I used to work there."I knew the name sounded familiar: James Gordon. You caused quite a lot of trouble from what I understand. "From what Harvey told me, the place hasn't changed much." If you worked at Arkham, why did you feel the need to send your partner? "How is the new director handling the hospital's affairs?"

The asylum is practically bankrupt. We are severely understaffed. Hugo Strange is a micromanaging, megalomaniac with enormous influence. And, oh right, I was assaulted by a patient and in order to keep my job bowed to bureaucracy. Does Director Marks sound like a capable leader to you?

"He's managing. It is a tough job to acclimate to." Erin mumbled from behind the celery stalk.

Despite her brevity, James pursued the Arkham topic with renewed vigor. Working at the dangerous and thrilling asylum was a commonality they shared. Unlike the detective, however, Erin preferred not to publicly discuss the hospital's shortcomings or the people under her care. The mentally ill were not freakish oddities or humorous props for comedic relief. Mainstream media already demonized mental illness within popular culture. Monsters and villains did not exist. Politeness prevented Erin from pointing out this fact to James, who appeared all too comfortable sensationalizing the sick and depraved for conversational purposes.

"Then there was the whole Jack Gruber incident." James took a deep breath and shook his head. "That was a mess."

Although Erin had never treated Jack, the man left a permanent impression in her memory. On the morning after his escape from Arkham, Erin received an unexpectedly solemn phone call from the Board: Dr. Gerry Lang was dead. The news was tragic for the future of Arkham Asylum. Dr. Lang was the establishment's only professional administrator; he was a man concerned with the integrity of the field as well as the safety of his patients and staff. The night Jack disappeared the director was murdered and a riot of inmates seized control of the property. For days, the asylum remained inoperative on account of the GCPD's ongoing investigation.

"Gruber was just an alias, you know. His real name was Jack Buchinsky." James continued. "Harvey and I were close to cracking the case, but somehow he managed to evade us. We knew we were in trouble when we found out that he'd tracked down his old electrical equipment. The maniac was making plans to murder Sal Maroni, so we lured him to—"

The waiter appeared and placed the platters in front of the patrons. Between two thick slices of sourdough bread rested folded slices of warm Black Forest ham and Gruyere cheese. Atop the breakfast sandwich perched an egg. A rising sun of yoke settled into place. Laying a napkin down on her lap, Erin thoughtfully dissected her meal with a fork and knife. To her dismay, James continued where he left off.

"Where was I? Right, well, we lured Gruber to the GCPD, where—"

"Not to be rude, but I really don't care to know about all the details. Police work should be on a need to know basis, shouldn't it?"

"Well I… I suppose so. It's just, I always get a lot of people asking me about my business." James responded taken aback. "I assumed that it wouldn't hurt to talk about it since it's all over with."

"It's not really your business though, is it? What happens to other people isn't really your life. The victims—Those criminals even— their friends and family, are the ones who bear the burden. When you solve a case, you're done with it... but they live with guilt and illness for the rest of their lives."

"You're right. Perhaps, something a bit lighter to talk about then." James took a sip of water. He had only barely touched his meal. "Not everything about Arkham was negative. I met my current girlfriend there."

"You go to asylums to pick up women?" Erin rolled her eyes. Noting the smile on her face, James relaxed and broke the yoke on his bread.

"Let me rephrase. She worked there as a medical examiner, now she works at the GCPD with me. Maybe you even knew her? Leslie Thompkins."

Much to her annoyance, Erin was well acquainted with the former physician. Leslie was smart, good natured, and light hearted. Despite all the positive attributes, Erin held little respect for her old coworker. In a time when those living beings at the asylum needed her most, Leslie left to dissect corpses. What good will that do? By the time you become useful, someone is already dead and on a slab. The living are what matter. Erin, however, was not one to speak ill of others in their absence.

"Everyone on the medical staff at Arkham is quite popular. They are, in many ways, our greatest asset. It's a shame that Dr. Thompkins left before the institution could really get up and running." It all makes sense now. She left to follow you, I assume? Cliché━ A high-pitched ringtone shattered the internal judgments tainting Erin's thoughts. James hurriedly reached into his suit jacket, peered at the incoming number, and scooted out from beneath the table.

"Excuse me, I have to take this." Leaving Erin to reflect on her thoughts, James answered the phone and stepped outside to the street.

The young woman breathed a heavy sigh of relief; filtering her words for the sake of civility was exhausting. Erin finished off the remainder of her Bloody Mary and studied the excess food on her plate. Despite the slight inconvenience, the outing had awakened some provocative revelations. Administrative leave was bothersome, but she was not dead like Dr. Lang. The struggle was taxing, but she was persistent. Unlike Leslie, the therapist refused to desert the patients under her care. Taking these factors into consideration, Erin leaned back in the chair and stared up at the chandelier. James returned to the table, but did not sit down.

"I hate to rush out like this, but…" James trailed off before he got ahead of himself. With a gentle, compassionate smile he continued. "I have to go." The brevity of his words said more than any lengthy apology ever could. Rather than lambast his companion with excuses, James remained straightforward, professional, and concise. "If we hurry, I can still give you a lift home."

"No worries." Erin shook her head and smiled back at him. "I'll manage. The fresh air and exercise will do me some good."

Bidding her a final farewell, James disappeared through the bistro doors. Erin stared at his half-eaten meal and then looked down at her own leftovers. With a wave of her hand, the woman caught the attention of the waiter and gestured for a box. After a few moments, Thomas returned with a cardboard container.

"I hope everything was to your satisfaction ma'am." Thomas retrieved the officer's plate and silverware from the table.

"Everything was brilliant. Thanks." Erin packaged her sandwich, tucked the box together, and cleared her throat. "If I could just get the check?"

"Oh, there isn't any need for that." The waiter shook his head. "Your companion already saw to the bill." Really? Now why would he go and do a thing like that? I thought I made it clear that I had forgiven him already. Shaking her head, Erin sniffed loudly in an effort not to chuckle to herself. Some men just become absolutely complaisant in the presence of an independent woman. I suppose that I've no reason to complain though. Erin stood up, balanced the box in her hands, and exited the restaurant without looking back.

Beyond the barricade of skyscrapers, off in the distance, darkened clouds ominously billowed forward. Looks like the weatherman was wrong again. The storm will miss Gotham! Yeah right. A gust of wind swept over the street, causing the loose trash in the gutter to erupt into a grimy flurry of pollution. The preemptive scent of rain permeated the air. Erin moved closer to the line of storefronts, quickened her pace, and headed for home. Warm zephyrs brushed against her face in an attempt to tousle stray hairs free from their secured position. In her peripherals, Erin took notice of a vehicle gradually creeping into the nearby firelane. Instinctively, the young pedestrian clenched her free hand into a fist.

"Ms. Collins!" Leaning into the adjacent seat, James called to Erin from the passenger window of his patrol car. "Get in, I'll give you a lift."

"Wasn't there somewhere you need to be?" Upon hearing the officer's voice, Erin relaxed her defensive stance.

"Yes, but what sort of person abandons a friend at brunch and then expects them to walk home alone in the rain?" I see what you did there. Friend? Don't get ahead of yourself now. Swirls of wind caused the tree branches above her head to groan in a belabored agony. I'd hate to get stuck in this storm though. Casting a final glance toward the sky, Erin approached the car and quickly settled into the passenger seat. The woman rested the box on her lap, just as a crack of thunder rumbled over the city.

"Thank you, Detective." Erin a grin, James pressed the automated switch and rolled up the window.

---

THUNK! Panels of glass rattled against a wooden frame as old hands pulled the window closed and secured the rusty latch. On the street below, pedestrians scrambled hurriedly toward their destinations. Late summer storms were not to be trifled with, and the clouds in the sky promised a heavy torrent that afternoon.

"It's going to rain." Avidan observed gently.

Half-empty bowls of hash browns and grits nestled next to barren plates that once held pancakes, scrambled eggs, and piles of maple glazed bacon. Excited to talk to his daughter for the first time in nearly three weeks, Avidan had cleared all of his Thursday morning appointments to cook a large brunch. Stuffed, Mia leaned back in the kitchen chair and breathed a sigh of gratification. Despite the ominous howl of wind through the rafters and her father's warning, the young woman was in no rush. According to the weatherman, the storm is going to just miss us. Avidan poured another serving of coffee into his daughter's thermal mug before returning the pot to the hot-plate.

"It's a shame your brother couldn't make it today. I can't remember the last time we all got together for a good meal." Taking a seat, Avidan settled back down at the table and popped a chunk of potato into his mouth.

"You and I both know that Themis doesn't get out of bed before noon." Mia snorted, though smiled devilishly as she added a spoonful of sugar to her java. The sibling rivalry was all in good humor.

"Be kind now. Themis works hard and deserves to sleep in occasionally." Sleep in? Right, because he's actually sleeping and not fucking some hot piece of ass. "I was talking to Lou the other day and I told him all about your new job. Said he planned on stopping by and catching one of your shows. Nice guy. Older fellow. You'd like him." UGH! Are you trying that matchmaking crap again? Spare me!

Emphasizing her disapproval, Mia restlessly tapped her fingers against the tabletop. "Pops, you know how I feel about your boasting. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Why not? He'd be a paying customer after all. A customer is a customer! If you advertise for the business, your boss will appreciate it." Avidan quipped cheerfully. The last time I did that, it didn't exactly work out for me. I'd rather your clients not know my business anyway. People talk and exaggerate. It's only going to worry you. Not having the heart to destroy his eagerness, Mia used the sugar spoon to stir her coffee. Clink, clink, clink. "It's what proud parents do."

"Aw, well, I can't argue with that now can I?" Mia was too full from the hefty breakfast to pursue the issue further. Rather than argue, the young woman licked her spoon clean and rested it on a vacant napkin. The beverage was hot, but that did not deter Mia from trying to sip down a mouthful of the caffeinated elixir.

"Since we are on the subject, when are you going to invite your family to one of your performances? When I talked to your brother last night, he seemed worried about you." Themis, I swear to God, if you told dad anything I'll━ "Are you two fighting?"

Taken aback by the question, Mia shook her head firmly. "What? No! I have just been worried about Erin and busy with work. Themis understands. I'll give him a call later and sort the whole thing out. Really, though, he can be so dramatic." Amused by Mia's reaction, Avidan chuckled and leaned in closer. "And your father? Is he a dramatic, old coot?"

"You're not dramatic, but I'd be a liar if I didn't agree with that old coot statement." With a defeated sigh, Mia twirled her hair around her finger and took another drink of coffee. "Listen, Pops, I will give you and Themis the green light when I feel completely settled in. At the moment, I just have a lot on my mind."

The half-truth was enough to pacify Avidan, who nodded encouragingly. Although Mia had no intention of inviting her father to the nightclub, she was also not sure if she would ever actually make it onto the performance schedule. The noticeable increase in customers was good for business, but Oswald was unpredictable. For days, the nightclub manager blatantly avoided her questions by streamlining conversations and locking himself in his office for hours. Not that it mattered. While Oswald played the role of absentee manager, Mia utilized her time as a waitress to eavesdrop on discussions and hunt for her mark.

"How is Erin holding up?" Avidan asked gently.

"She's practically climbing the walls. That job was her life and now she has nothing to do." Mia finished her beverage and slid the empty cup to the center of the table. "That said, I should probably get back to check up on her." Standing up, Mia stretched and kissed her father on the cheek.

"Alright. Be sure to send her my regards." Avidan escorted his daughter through the apartment, down the stairs, and to the front of the store. Anxiously, the old tailor squinted up at the dark sky. "Do you need change for the bus? Maybe you should stay and wait out the storm."

"Nah. I got it covered. I'll come by again soon." Mia reassured him.

Once on the street, the young woman turned and waved a final goodbye as her father flipped the door sign from Closed to Open. The wind and cloud cover were welcomed changes to the previous month's swelter. With a bit of urgency, Mia quickened her step; catching the GAT 75 was always a challenge. Conspiracies circulated that influential elites bribed the bus drivers to purposely neglect poorer residents who appeared to be travelling uptown. There was no proof of a scandal, but for all the times that Mia watched helplessly from the curb as the bus passed by, she recognized the abject possibility that the rumor might be true. After trekking nearly five city blocks, the young woman finally spotted the stop and the swiftly approaching GAT. With only seconds to spare, Mia grabbed hold of the yellow signpost and caught her breath. Gliding effortlessly into place, the bus slowed to a stop and opened its doors. Mia thrust her hands into her pockets for the fare. A heavy weight settled in the pit of Mia's stomach as her fingers traced the edges of a hole; not a single coin remained. Earnestly, she rummaged through her purse, but only scrounged up thirty five cents.

"Are you going to get on or waste my time? Some of us have places to be." The bus driver shouted sharply.

"I only have thirty-five cents, but if I could—" The doors snapped closed, preventing Mia from stating her case any further.

With a groan, the bus pressed forward leaving the woman behind. Well, there goes that. Guess I'm walking back. Droplets of moisture fell from the dark sky onto Mia's face. Oh, no. No, no, no! Mia flipped the hood of her jacket up over her head and folded her arms across her chest. Avoiding the bumps and cracks on the sidewalk, she hastened onward with the hope of escaping the impending rain. Damn your foresight Pops. Why don't I ever listen? Soft rain began to patter against the fabric of her jacket. Maybe I could call Erin. A crack of thunder heralded a stronger onslaught, which Mia braced herself for by leaning forward. The jacket shielding Mia began to dampen; but almost as suddenly as it began, the rain appeared to cease. Confused, Mia glanced around at the uninterrupted rain and then upward at a familiar black umbrella. Oswald walked beside her, lifting the canopy higher to shelter them both.

"Oh, I—This is unexpected. Thank you." Mia stammered.

"It's no trouble at all. Lucky for you, I come prepared. Where are you walking to?" Oswald explained. The two slowed their pace and squeezed closer together until they were shoulder to shoulder. Honestly, I kind of thought we weren't on speaking terms after last Friday… what with the way you have been avoiding me and all.

"Woodhollow. It's up near Robinson Park. What are you doing in the neighborhood?"

"My business takes me all over Gotham." Oswald replied vaguely. I bet his mother still lives around here. Streams of water poured from the points of the umbrella. Another crack of lightning flashed across the sky, causing many of the remaining passersby to seek sanctuary. "We should get out of the storm. Here—I'll call us a cab."

The pair dodged into a nearby shop, where Oswald pulled down the umbrella and shook off the excess water. The glass storefront of the quaint florist shop, The Bloom Room, reverberated in tandem with the thunder. While Oswald pulled out his cellphone, Mia took the opportunity to explore the establishment. The crimson brick walls contrasted against the light gray concrete floor. Shrubs with broad, flat leaves draped across palates and dangled from the beams supporting the roof. At the far left was a wall of cleverly organized fertilizers, seeds, and vases. Coiled, industrial styled lights swayed from the ceiling. Ivy crawled between the terra cotta planters, accentuating the rainbow of newly cut flowers resting comfortably in vessels of fresh water. Mia smiled and leaned down to smell a cluster of blossoms with golden petals.

"In the Victorian period, the dahlia was a symbol of everlasting union. Only a woman of elegance and dignity could truly appreciate its beauty though." The florist, sporting a violet suit and a periwinkle apron, appeared next to Mia. At first glance, the man with short dark hair seemed familiar to her. The lilac pinned to his lapel complimented his chestnut brown eyes, which were framed by amiable laughter lines.

"They're beautiful." Mia agreed. Where do I know you from? Oh no. That suit! Oswald joined Mia near the arrangements and cleared his throat. "The cab will be here in about ten minutes."

"Really? That's great!" Mia turned to Oswald, laughed uncomfortably, and rubbed her arm nervously. Her employer raised a confused eyebrow, but did not comment on the peculiarity of her behavior. Fucking fantastic! Please, please, please don't recognize me! And if you do, for the love of God don't mention anything about my job while Oswald is here. I don't want to make up anymore lies.

"You're Avidan's girl, right? Mia. I recognize you from the shop." Fuck. The florist smiled and wiped his hands on his apron. His voice was smooth and honeyed, like that of a classic radio personality.

"You two know each other?" Oswald asked, sizing the man up with a calculated stare.

"Only from afar. It is wonderful to finally meet you in the flesh." Without taking his eyes off Mia, the florist shook hands with Oswald. "The name's Louie. Louie Berle." Awkward encounters such as this were the reason why Mia disliked the fact that her father boasted to his clients. Oswald introduced himself, though quickly returned to a defensive stance by tightly gripping his umbrella. "Cobblepot? You are the nightclub owner! Well, isn't that just…" Louie threw his hands in air and clicked his tongue. "You know Mia, your father was just telling me about—"

Hurriedly, Mia pointed at a shrub with ivory white blossoms. "These are so beautiful! What type of flower is this?"

"This? Oh, my dear." Louie chuckled to himself and leaned in closer to her. "Those are my award winning gardenias. While you are waiting, how about I show you around?"

Anything to get you not to talk about my nonexistent performances. Please. Louie led Mia and a noticeably annoyed Oswald through an aisle of thriving flowers. Each species was given a short, but enthusiastic description. From the Greek origins of delphinium to the common uses of the marigold, Louie showered his guests with a plethora of useless knowledge.

"Ah, and the pussywillow." Louie picked up a branch dotted with soft gray buds. "This gentle beauty heralded the renewal of spring. It was used as a protection against lightning." As if on cue, a bolt of lightning flashed outside. The thunder set off a cacophony of car alarms. "Supposedly, it also fostered the fertility of man." Gently, Louie flirtatiously brushed Mia's nose with the pussywillow branch, causing her to blush a deep shade of crimson. This cannot be happening. Why?

"I, um, well you see—" Mia awkwardly stuttered, struggling between politeness and blatant vulgarity. A resounding crash interrupted the unpleasant interaction and forced Louie to direct his attention away from Mia. Soil and ceramic fragments littered the floor at Oswald's feet.

"Clumsy me. My sincerest apologies." Oswald frowned and moved closer to Mia. Passively, Louie shook his head and stared at the mess in deep thought.

"No worries. It happens more than you'd expect." The florist returned the pussywillow branch to its vase and grabbed a broom from behind the granite counter. Mia glanced at Oswald, who inconspicuously dusted clumps of earth from his hands. Did he knock that over on purpose? With renewed energy, the nightclub owner grabbed his employee's shoulder and pointed to the storefront.

"Our cab is outside. Let's not keep it waiting." Oswald instructed firmly. His grip on her arm tightened as he led her forward, not that Mia needed much prompting. "It was a pleasure, Mr. Berle. Thank you for the educational tour and exceptional hospitality. Do send me a bill for the damages."

Mia remained silent and hurried to the doors, but Louie dropped the broom and rushed out from behind the counter. "There is really no need for any of that, but if you could spare just one more moment." The florist swiftly plucked up three golden dahlias, a sprig of orange ranunculus, several sunny billy buttons, and a branch of dusty miller. Fluidly tying them together with a royal blue ribbon, he presented the bouquet of flowers to Mia with a smile. "Please take these. Consider it a token of friendship." If you weren't so close to my father, I would smack you over the head with this creepy gesture.

"Thanks." Mia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and received the arrangement graciously.

Oswald clenched his jaw and held the door open for his travel companion, who stepped out into the rain. With a flourish, the night club manager opened his umbrella and held the canopy over Mia as she entered the taxi. The bouquet that rested on her lap freshened the cab with a sweet fragrance. Through the rain, Mia watched the florist lean on the door frame and light a cigar. With unexpected force, Oswald slammed the door shut and stowed the wet umbrella between his legs. Mutely, he gestured at Mia to give the driver the address. There was a tension in the backseat that the woman did not entirely understand, but she remained composed. After providing the cabbie with a concise set of directions, Mia leaned back in the seat and addressed her friend.

"I really appreciate all the help getting home. Even if the detour was a bit uncomfortable." Oswald rested his arm against the window, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Boy, he looks annoyed. Why the hell did you offer to help me then? You inconvenienced yourself, you know. In an effort to make light of the situation, Mia gestured at the umbrella. "You always carry that thing around. Even when we were kids. Why is that?"

"For days like this. Are you complaining?" Oswald sniffed, but withdrew his hand and opened his eyes to look at her.

"Not at all." Mia picked at the soft branches of dusty miller.

After another moment of silence, Oswald attempted to contribute to the small talk. "Are you prepared for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"I take it Butch didn't relay the message then." Furrowing his brow, Oswald shifted uncomfortably in the seat and cursed under his breath. "You are performing tomorrow. If you aren't ready I suppose I can arrange for Jackson to play the whole night rather than just half."

"No! I can do it." Mia practically hit the roof of the taxi, jumping up from her seat in excitement. The flowers rolled off her lap and to her feet. "Really. I'll be ready." The explosive reaction initially startled Oswald, but as the woman calmed down he offered up an amused smirk.

"Hopefully you won't stray from your responsibilities this time." Oswald muttered. Mia was not altogether certain that the chastisement was serious, so she nodded apprehensively and returned the flowers back to her lap. The vehicle parked just outside the towering condominiums of Woodhollow Terrace. Critically, Oswald peered out the fogged up window. "Uptown, huh. I don't know how you can possibly afford a place like this on the wages I pay you. A rich boyfriend, perhaps?"

Although Mia found the comment both odd and rather misogynistic, she refused to allow his words to ruin her elated feeling. "Not quite." Mia explained patiently. "I'm just temporarily staying with a friend while she is recovering. Technically, I still live with my father. You could say I bounce around a lot. It's a bit embarrassing really." It was not a lie. In fact, the declaration was one of the truest statements she had shared with Oswald for quite some time.

"Ah." Oswald observed her and then returned his gaze to the rainy street, a sudden silence falling between them. With a firm tone, the nightclub manager ordered the driver to wait, while he escorted Mia around puddles and to the door; the umbrella sheltered them from the torrential downpour. Before opening the door, Oswald asked, "Will you… be alright walking in the rain on your way to work tonight? I cannot imagine that this storm is going to let up. I can have a car sent for you. Perhaps, I can have Butch or Stuart attend to you." Oswald's face flushed after he asked the question, as if he meant for it to come across a different way.

Why is he being so weird? "My friend can drive me. It shouldn't be an issue." Mia shrugged, but smiled gratefully. "Thank you again for the ride. I'll see you tonight." Grabbing the door handle, Mia entered the building and left Oswald in the rain. Opting to take the stairwell, Mia glanced once more out the paneled glass doors, but the distinguished man had already disappeared. Pulling out her keys, the woman climbed up fifteen flights while brandishing the floral arrangement to keep rhythm with her breaths. Energy surged through her body at the thought of performing. Recklessness urged her to attempt cartwheels down the corridor and to Erin's apartment. Fighting the impulse, Mia settled for spinning wildly before unlocking the door and entering the flat.

"I was just about to call you. The storm had me worried." Erin called from the living room. Gingerly, Mia set her keys down on the end table near the front door, kicked off her shoes, and followed the sound of her friend's voice.

"Everything worked out just fine, I ran into Oswald and he helped me get a ride home." Mia explained. Bolts of electricity flashed across the sky outside, lighting up the darkened living room. "I don't think we are in Kansas anymore, ToTo!" Mia exclaimed and shuffled her feet toward Professor Lollipop, who lazily rolled over in defeat. Playfully, Mia dropped the bouquet of flowers next to the cat. Although the feline made an effort to sniff the flowers from afar, he made no attempt to investigate further.

"What?" Erin asked confused.

"The Wizard of Oz?" Mia explained, but noticing Erin's blank face, she shook her head. "Nevermind. It's an American thing."

"I was questioning your interaction with your boss." Erin clarified.

"What is there to say? I missed the bus, he noticed me, and called us a taxi." Exhaustion and excitement melded into a single sensation, prompting Mia to lay down on the floor boards and press her face into the Professor's exposed stomach. From the perspective of the ground, Mia suddenly noticed Erin wearing her shoes. "Aw, you are jealous because you wanted to come rescue me!"

"Why would you think that?" Erin rolled her eyes. Because you love me, of course.

"You're dressed and have shoes on." Mia pointed out. Unsatisfied with the amount of affection, Professor Lollipop returned to his feet and angled his puckered bottom directly in his assailant's face. "Seriously, now. Erin, your cat is incredibly rude."

Stifling a laugh, Erin leaned forward on the couch and attempted to coax the Professor away from her friend. The pretentious feline cocked his head, but did not move from his position. "I'm dressed, because I went out today. Detective Gordon stopped by to offer his apologies, and then we went out for brunch."

"Detective Gordon showed up here and took you out on a date?" Mia pushed the cat from her line of vision and sat up curiously. Irritated, Professor Lollipop's stub twitched before he relocated to Erin's lap.

"No. It wasn't anything like that. We went out for a meal and then he drove me home." Erin clarified, though Mia remained noticeably unconvinced. "Half the time he was busy talking about Bullocks."

"Balls?" Mia scratched the side of her face thoughtfully, but then bursted out in a fit of laughter. "Oh, you meant Detective Bullock. That's clever! But, hold on now, did he pay for the meal?"

"Yes, but—"

"That's a date." Mia concluded steadfastly. I don't know how they do it in Ireland, but here, men only go to brunch with their girlfriends.

"Listen. It wasn't a date." Erin reiterated sternly, petting the Professor's head roughly. "He has a girlfriend and quite honestly, I am really not interested." Despite the lighthearted nature of the conversation, Mia could tell that Erin did not appreciate the mounting immaturity. Redirecting the attention from herself, Erin pointed at the flowers on the floor. "Besides, I am not the one who came home with flowers."

"Oh those? That isn't what it looks like. Those actually came from a florist." Mia returned to her feet and picked up the arrangement of dahlias.

"Most flowers come from a florist." Erin raised an eyebrow.

"Suffice it to say that I skipped the middleman and got them directly from the tasteless source." With a shake of her head, Mia slipped into the kitchen in search of a vase. No point in letting perfectly good flowers go to waste. "I do have some good news though. I'm performing tomorrow night." Settling on a small amphora, Mia filled the container with water, removed the ribbon, and arranged the flowers. The Professor appeared in the kitchen, abandoning his master in anticipation of canned tuna or shredded chicken in gravy.

"That's great news!" Erin called from the livingroom. The lights in the apartment flickered in response to a fresh crack of thunder. Unperturbed, the cat rubbed against Mia's legs begging for food.

Sticking her nose in the petals, Mia stole a final sniff before placing them on the counter. "Will you come to the show?"

"Of course." Erin smiled broadly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Maybe you can bring Detective Gordon." Mia taunted playfully, sitting down on the couch beside her friend. The rain drummed against the loft's windows; streams of water trickled down the paneled glass. Play nice, Mia. You still need a ride to work.

"Sure, I would love to bring a cop to your seedy nightclub. Brilliant idea." Erin snorted sarcastically.

"That was a joke. Geez— Actually, I was thinking that you and Themis could go together. From what I've heard, he's feeling a bit excluded lately." Mia rolled her eyes, picked at her nails, and crossed her legs.

"As long as he behaves himself. I won't tolerate any reckless antics." The caveat was justifiable. Themis was a handful, but Mia still felt obliged to defend her foolish sibling.

"C'mon now. He's not that bad." A feeble exoneration was all the woman could manage on Themis's behalf. After all, there was no use in denying that her brother often played the role of chaotic rabble rouser.

"The last time I saw him, Independence Day weekend, he set off illegal fireworks in a bathroom." Erin pointed out placidly.

"Yeah, but to be fair, he was aiming them out the window." That sounded bad. Predictably, Erin was not convinced or comforted by the defense. "Just don't give him any explosives and you'll be fine." Mia continued, then paused before adding, "Or matches... or anything remotely flammable."

---

Scraped against the textured ignitor, the red phosphorus tip of the match flared up into a tiny, vibrant blaze. With a steady hand, Edward set fire to a rolled up shred of paper and deposited the burning contents into a conical flask. Nearby, Harvey leaned against the edge of the examining table, where a corpse rested covered by a thin white sheet. Edward gently squeezed a shell-less hardboiled egg between his fingers, then set the ovum carefully onto the open neck of a glass bottle. The peculiar man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, stood to the side, and folded his arms across his chest to observe his experiment. Influenced by the atmospheric pressure, the flask voraciously sucked down the egg.

"You've got to be kidding me." Harvey stood up, certain that the forensic scientist had tricked him in some way. He picked up the glass container and stared at Edward's former lunch snack in disbelief. "Magic?"

"Not quite. Gravity, you see, isn't sufficient enough to pull the egg inside the bottle on its own, so we changed the temperature of the air inside the bottle, thereby adjusting the pressure of—" Edward explained excitedly, but Harvey was not about to let him get carried away with facts and figures.

"Spare me the details." The detective reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten dollar bill from his wallet. "I should have known better than to place a wager against you. If it's something freaky, bet double on geeky. Am I right?"

Without hesitation, Edward plucked the bill from Harvey's grasp and flashed a smile. After years of working at the GCPD, the young scientist was practically impervious to insults and backhanded compliments. Bitter officers tried their best to humiliate him on a regular basis. Intelligence, however, was power. When it mattered, strength would bow to wisdom, granting Edward the upper hand.

"Oh!" Harvey slapped a hand to his forehead and laughed. "I get it now. That's how they get the little ships into those bottles. Damn! They should really be teaching all this science crap to kids."

"Uh, well…" Edward blinked uncomfortably, unsure of how to approach the turn in conversation. Correcting Harvey was a slippery slope that often led to confrontation. Much to Edward's relief, a soaking wet James entered the forensic laboratory to alleviate the situation. The young officer slipped off his blazer and hung it on an apparel hook to dry.

"Where the hell have you been? Swimming?" Harvey remarked with a subdued chuckle. Before James could respond, his partner abruptly shook the flask at the new arrival. "Nevermind. I don't really care. But this—Look at this egg! Can you believe it?"

Uncertain of the events preceding his entrance, James stared distractedly at the contents within the bottle. Unable to comment on the object or his partner's eagerness, the confused officer chose instead to greet Edward with a friendly clap on the shoulder. "What do you have for us today, Ed? Help us get moving in the right direction."

"Right. Yes. Well, I went over the data Dr. Friitawa sent me and cross-checked it with what we already knew. It's really all quite remarkable. Did you know that only a single male in a herd of giraffes gets to impregnate the females? It's almost always the one with the longest neck. The rest of the time, the males just have coitus with one another." Edward explained excitedly as he reached for a manila envelope on the counter. The two officers exchanged uncomfortable glances with one another, before James cleared his throat.

"And this is relevant... how exactly?"

"Oh, it's not. I read Dr. Friitawa's book this morning: Bastard Wing, Offspring. It was absolutely riveting! You must—" The forensic scientist suddenly realized that his excitement was misplaced. Edward shook his head and opened the file to reveal a series of incomprehensible charts. "Most of our combined findings were inconclusive. Isn't it wonderful though? To have all the numbers, all the data, and still have no answer? Absolutely tantalizing!"

"No. That isn't wonderful, Ed. We have been sitting on this case for far too long. No witnesses. No leads." James frowned, while Harvey silently continued to swirl the hard boiled egg around its chamber.

"Fret not, Dectective! There is some good news. I have a theory about the exsanguination." Despite his forthcoming descriptions of mammalian reproduction, Edward waited patiently for someone to ask about his personal thoughts.

"And that is?" James pressed, slightly frustrated.

"El Chupacabra." The thin, lanky man puffed up eagerly when he noticed the befuddled expression glossing over their faces. Shuffling through another stack of paperwork, Edward pulled out a printed sheet of paper and handed it to James. Finally interested enough to join the conversation, Harvey peered over his partner's shoulder and then returned his attention to the scientist.

"Okay, I know I joke a lot, but I know for a fact that wasn't English." Harvey snorted.

"Literally translated, The Goat Sucker, is a legendary cryptid rumored to inhabit the Americas. From Puerto Rico through Appalachia, it has attacked all sorts of livestock draining the blood completely from the corpses. Cryptozoologists are currently attempting to record all known occurrences, but as you can imagine, the majority of them turn out to be hoaxes."

Crouched in an aggressive stance, an anthropomorphic monster stood rigidly upon two scaly legs. Osseous spikes trailed down the creature's humped back and to the tip of its reptilian tail. Piercing red eyes with slits for pupils stared up from the paper. The dark forested backdrop contrasted significantly with the pasty, limp goat at the cryptid's clawed feet.

"Do you mean to tell me, that you've been up here with all your science for weeks and the best you came up with is a vampire kangaroo?" Harvey placed the flask onto the counter, folded his arms, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "What's the price of garlic nowadays?"

"Your gun should suffice detective. I can't imagine garlic would do any good against—"

"Ed, surely there must be another explanation! This… This looks like something out of science fiction." James scrutinized the drawing and traced the printed caption with his finger.
Se necesita sangre para sobrevivir.

"I ran the bite marks through a series of dental records supplied from biologists from around the country, but both Dr. Friitawa and myself came up empty. We managed to receive trace evidence of DNA matching sequences in several different animals. If it isn't El Chupacabra, then someone went through a lot of effort to leave evidence that reflected such." Edward explained with a thoughtful look toward the computer at the back of the room.

"This is absurd. We should be chasing a murderer, not some myth. Were there any leads on the gun?" James inquired hopefully.

"Ballistics indicate that the bullet was your standard nine millimeter." Turning back to the counter, Edward pulled out a plastic evidence bag containing the enigmatic bullet.

"That really narrows it down." Harvey sarcastically coughed. The older officer shuffled forward, snatched the plastic bag from Edward, and scrutinized the contents. "Who is to say the creature and the gun are even connected? This poor shlub was probably trying to score in the park, got popped, and some chimichanga came to reap the rewards."

"Chupacabra." Edward corrected patiently. "That IS a possibility though. There aren't any legitimized observations of the cryptid's hunting or feeding patterns. A corpse may actually provide an easy meal for an urban monster."

Sighing in defeat, James grabbed the evidence from Harvey and returned it to the silver evidence tray along with the grotesque depiction of the creature. "When you called me an hour ago, you said there was a new lead in the case. Could you elaborate on that? Have we managed to ID the victim? Give me something I can work with, Ed." As Edward opened his mouth to reply, his answer was cut short by an excitedly, passionate feminine voice.

"His name is Grover Wash." Leslie Thompkins stood in the open doorway, her white lab coat dusting her ankles as she moved a fraction closer to the conversation. Her smooth alabaster skin glowed flawlessly under the humming fluorescent lamps. The affectionate smile Leslie cast toward James caused the officer to glance bashfully at the floor. In an attempt to soothe him, the young doctor put a delicate hand on his firm shoulder. "After a lengthy investigation, we managed to crack the case open this morning."

"Investigation?" James asked cautiously.

"On a whim, we thought to run a photograph of the victim's face through the Missing Person's database again. Apparently, his wife called in a report yesterday. I couldn't reach her on the phone, so Edward and I took a short ride to the address listed in the file. It was right around the block. Mrs. Wash is a lovely woman, really. You see, she assumed her husband had been out on the town with his favorite call girl for the last few weeks. Apparently, it was common for Grover to go missing for days—or even weeks at a time."

The bashful tint of scarlet burning James's cheekbones suddenly flushed to a deeper shade of irritation. "You tracked down his spouse and talked with her in person?" Anxiously, Edward edged his way closer to Harvey, noticing the onset of a couple's' quarrel. Despite her boyfriend's reaction, Leslie's enthusiasm did not waver in the slightest.

"Right, well, that really isn't the important part of all of it." Leslie tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "We asked if—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! The wife probably killed the poor bastard. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time we saw a crime of lusty heated passion. Did you notice any signs of a churm… chi… chinchilla?" Harvey looked at Edward for help with the correct pronunciation.

"Chup-a-ca-bra." The forensic scientist repeated slowly for Harvey's benefit.

"No… and no. Despite his infidelity, she seemed genuinely upset over the whole ordeal." Leslie pulled a tattered, old flyer from inside her lab coat. "Mrs. Wash also mentioned that her husband was a recovering gambling addict, who owed a lot of money to the wrong people. According to her, he was regularly attending group meetings, but she couldn't tell us much else. In his personal effects, we found this flyer. If he was indeed seeking counsel, the other members of this group might have more answers."

Bordering on anger and desperation, James finally snapped. "Lee, we've talked about this. You can't be out on the streets gathering evidence and talking to witnesses. It's dangerous! What if this woman actually murdered her husband? You aren't the best judge of character. You could easily have walked into a trap."

"Edward was with me." Leslie folded her arms across her chest and blew a strand of dark hair out her brown eyes. The statement goaded the room's gleeful spectator, Harvey, into an insensitive fit of chuckles; after all, an unarmed brainiac was not exactly a formidable bodyguard.

"Your actions may have alerted our murder suspect! And what if this flyer is vital evidence? No judge will approve it under these circumstances. You've jeopardized our investigation. I should—I should report this to the Captain." Prying the flyer from her fingers, James studied the document with a frown. GAG: Gothamites Against Gambling. Anonymous. Meets at 10:00 pm. Last Tuesday of Each Month. 111 SW 4th Street. Noticeably upset by her lover's response, Leslie turned away from James to hide her disappointment. Staring up at the ceiling, James softened his voice before continuing, "The next time you get a lead, please just let the professionals handle it."

"Oh man, he's going to get reamed for that later." Harvey whispered to Edward.

Allowing the brief confrontation to momentarily dissipate, Leslie raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat. "As you wish, Detective Gordon." The medical examiner adjusted her lab coat and tightly gripped the cold steel table. "One more thing... unless you want to figure it out for yourself that is?"

"By all means, you've taken us this far." James sniffed with a forced smile.

"The organization, GAG, doesn't seem to exist. I couldn't find a single record on the internet or in our systems about it. Even stranger, the address on the flyer is for an abandoned warehouse. The property has been empty for decades."

"I suppose we will have to show up for that meeting then." James mumbled thoughtfully turning the flyer over for further inspection.

"A kinky little meet and greet with the GAG squad and a bloodthirsty beast. Sounds like a real blast. Can't wait." To reassure himself, Harvey patted the gun at his side. "Murderers are tricky, but chupalingas? We got this."

"Chupacabra." Edward corrected timidly once more. After a tense moment of silence, James grabbed his damp blazer from the coat rack and folded it over his arm.

"Alright then. If that covers it, then it looks like Harv and I should meet with the widow before she comes to claim the body. We need to make sure she is thoroughly vetted, otherwise we might end up in some hot water."

The comment appeared to be for the whole room, but all eyes rested on Leslie. Rather than offer a curt reply, the medical examiner shrugged and patted the thigh of the covered corpse. Keeping true to his staunch professionalism, James exited without sparing even a second glance at his romantic companion. Trailing behind, Harvey wordlessly tipped his hat to his comrades before following his partner into the bustling hallway.

"Has anyone ever told you, that you lack a certain set of people skills?" Harvey interjected bluntly.

"Trust me, I have been made aware of that on multiple occasions." With a heavy sigh, James descended a marbled staircase and entered the GCPD's central atrium. Telephones chimed relentlessly to the beat of fingers typing upon keyboards. Rookie cops filed paperwork for the senior officers, while an unpaid intern passed out styrofoam cups filled to the brim with fresh coffee. "I may be a bit harsh at times, but I have a lot on my plate. We haven't made much progress on any of our cases. So, if you don't mind, I'd prefer to focus on my job rather than my personality."

"It's good to hear you say that, Jim. I can always count on you to follow through on your commitments." Sarah Essen, the Captain of the GCPD's Homicide Division, approached the two officers and thumbed through a stack of numbered folders. Thick black curls brushed against the top of shoulders as she searched for a particular record of interest. "That being said, I was concerned when I found out that neither of you submitted any paperwork to me over the last few weeks. Care to explain? And while you are at it," Sarah finally pulled a thin file out and brandished it aggressively at the detectives. "Can one of you elaborate as to why you are looking into an assault case? Collins, E. Case 435? I'm sure that you are aware of the fact that there is a whole other division that oversees that sort of thing."

"We thought there might be more to that ordeal, but the evidence didn't amount to much." Harvey lied casually, directing attention away from his noticeably uncomfortable partner.

"Whatever your reasons, I need you two to close out this nonsense and focus your efforts on homicide crimes. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." Harvey winked pleasantly.

Though fierce by nature, the Captain's good humor returned with a grin. "Grab some coffee and get to it then! Am I paying you to just stand around?"

"No, but I am almost positive you hired me for my good looks and carefree demeanor!" Harvey grabbed his partner's arm, herding him away from the Captain and gradually toward the exit.

Pushing passed the heavy glass doors, the pair of detectives paused tentatively beneath the awning to assess their course of action. Streams of rainwater cascaded from the overhang onto the sidewalk. Tiny rivers carried plastic waste and urban debris down the street toward sewer drains.

"I probably should have brought Collins to the precinct with me after our lunch." James chided himself. "It would have saved a lot of time."

"You had lunch with…" The words slowly manifested within Harvey's understanding. Slightly offended at having been excluded, the officer pulled out his flip phone and clicked through his contacts. "Why on earth did you have lunch with Collins?"

"I wanted to apologize." James suddenly realized that Harvey's reaction stemmed from a malignant form of jealousy. "When I offered her lunch, I didn't actually expect for her to agree to it! It was a gesture of good faith. That's all." His partner remained silent, scrolling through a list of glowing numbers. "What are you doing, Harv?"

"I'm just going to call Collins. We need her to come down to the station, don't we? I'll set up an appointment with her." Although Harvey remained nonchalant, the tone of his words reflected embittered contempt.

"Try not to harass her over the phone." James advised cautiously.

"Harass? I would never!"

---

Fourth missed message: Hello Ms. Collins. Dr. Collins? That whole system always confused me. Anyway, it's Detective Bullock… Again. I have that file here at the station. It requires your signature for final processing. It'd be great to see you again too. Uh, yeah, I guess I shouldn't leave that on a message. Crap. How do you erase these stupid things? Jim! — To replay, press four. To delete this message, press seven. A coral pink acrylic nail lightly tapped the seven located on the touchscreen number pad of the smartphone. With a heavy sigh, Erin turned off her phone, slipped it into her purse, and knocked on the door. I am not looking forward to visiting a police station. Maybe, if I keep ignoring the call, they will forget all about it. No response. Themis leaves the door open, so you can just walk right in. Remembering Mia's advice, Erin tried the door handle, which opened with ease. Closing the door behind her, Erin covered her eyes instinctively when she noticed Themis's half-naked form lingering in the hallway; only a royal blue towel wrapped around his waist concealing his privates. Using a small hand cloth to rub his wet hair dry, he welcome his guest with a pleasant grin.

"Seriously? You aren't ready yet?" Erin muttered, tossing her purse on the couch. Honestly, I am not the least bit surprised.

"In my defense, you're early." Themis laughed.

"Actually, I'm right on time. Could you… get some clothes on." Erin folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Right— Sorry. I'll never understand you Irish Catholics and your virtues. Prudence! Who needs that?" Themis dramatically waved the small cloth at the ceiling.

"It's not so much religion, as it is about seeing the knob of your best friend's brother. But, I suppose it wouldn't matter, I'd need a magnifying glass to actually see it." Erin retorted. With a malevolent grin plastered across his face, Themis slowly moved to open his towel. "Spare me the proof, please. I'd rather not be able to identify your penis out of a lineup."

"One day you may have to. I've been known to get pretty rowdy." Themis returned to the inner sanctums of his room.

While the man shuffled around the adjacent room searching for an outfit, Erin explored the spacious flat. Pausing at a mirror, Erin frowned at her reflection. The bruises caused her cheeks to appear swollen and jaundiced. Her attempt to skillfully mask the marks with makeup only frustrated her to a point of apathy. Working with her hair had also been a disaster. Only half curled, Erin's hair frizzed in response to the late summer humidity. Giving up altogether, Erin secretly hoped that her busty black dress would excuse the underwhelming state of her unfinished head. Hanging on the farthest wall, several black and white photographs attracted her attention. A homeless veteran in a wheelchair attempting to overcome a city curb near a ramshackle soup kitchen. A woman, suffering the later stages of addiction, brandished a needle at a police officer as he tried to arrest her. A drag queen led an upper-class patron into a dirty alleyway. These really are provoking images. I thought Themis was following the Penthouse game.

"Did you take all of these?" Erin called out. With a shirt over his shoulder, Themis reappeared zipping up his skinny jeans. Whipping the stray strands of wet hair from his eyes, the man viewed the photographs.

"Yeah. Years ago. I don't do much work like that anymore. No money in it." Themis pulled on the white shirt. "Besides, the work was dangerous. After Delilah I just… didn't want to follow that part of Gotham anymore."

"I can understand that." Erin sympathized. You may have left the streets, but Mia is a whole other story. "Are you ready?" Rolling his eyes, Themis grabbed his wallet and moved for the door.

"Quit rushing me." Themis held the front door open for Erin, who sauntered out. "You know, those bruises are healing up nicely. You could be model, if you smiled more and actually committed curling your hair." Thanks for the compliment and the insult. How many women have you gotten with that line?

"I'd rather be recognized for my intelligence, thank you. Unlike beauty, brilliance doesn't fade." Erin replied harshly. As Themis headed for the stairwell, his companion cleared her throat. "Are you going to lock your door?"

"Ah right— Right! Bad habits die hard." Themis bounded back to his apartment and bolted the door. "I was thinking that we could take the old Ironhead for a spin."

"No, we'll take my car." Erin responded simply. Side by side, the pair began the short journey downstairs.

Themis cast his palms up in defense. "I just thought—"

"We're not taking a motorcycle to a club." Especially since you will be drinking.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch now. It's not like it'd mess up your hair. Seriously though, are you blind?" Themis smirked. Erin did not respond, rather, she led Themis to her car, where she patiently listened to his latest conquests and midnight rendezvous. Focused on driving, Erin ignored his standard chauvinist discourse, concentrating instead on the darkening clouds forming in the sky above. Great. More rain.

"Can you believe Mia is still going through with this?" Knowing Themis's stance on the matter, Erin had been expecting a similar question to arise at some point in the evening.

"You know as well as I do that you can't tell her what to do." Erin pointed out, flipping her turn signal on to avoid colliding with a neon construction cone. Despite her neutral stance on the matter, Themis continued to pursue the topic. Fearing that his sister would get caught up in a bad crowd, he began to rattle off the types of patrons that frequented downtown clubs: drug addicts, gangsters, pimps, hobgoblins. According to Themis, Gotham was a hard city filled with people who would take advantage of a young naive girl like his sister.

"Isn't your responsibility as a therapist to talk her out of shit like this?" Themis pointed out.

"I don't tell people what to do." But maybe if I had, I'd still have a job. "You are one to talk. Isn't your industry based in the exploitation of the female form?" Erin growled. Themis smiled thoughtfully out the window, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"That's different. I don't expect a man hating feminist like you to understand." The comment was meant as a joke, but forced Erin tense with a seething type of irritation. "I empower women. I help them find the beauty within themselves. When they are in front of my camera, they aren't shy, vulnerable ducklings. They become free, adventurous nymphs." Themis made an obscene gesture with his hands.

"You disgust me."

"Fine. Fine. Let's change the subject." Themis scratched the side of his face, searching for a less frustrating topic. "Seeing anyone?"

"No." Erin stared at the street, her mind flickered to James for a moment, but then retracted.

"That's a shame. I'm single now. Broke up with Cynthia at her parents' house. Boy she was mad. I mean, come on. Since when is meeting a girl's parents been considered taking it to the next level anyway?" Themis kicked his feet up onto the dashboard. "Since we are both single, we could—"

"Don't even say it." Erin warned. "In fact, I am revoking your speaking privileges. If you so much as utter a single word, I am dropping you off and you can walk the rest of the way. And get your feet off my dash." Themis tucked his legs back down to the floor and leaned his seat all the way back, a mischievous grin still radiating from his face. The silence was short lived, as Erin parallel parked her car. The pair walked up the sidewalk toward a long line.Looks like business is picking up. Mia's plan must have worked. Patiently, Erin listened to Themis ramble about the old days, meeting up with friends in bars and picking up chicks. It took all of her energy to tune him out. They waited in line for nearly twenty minutes, before coming into sight of the hefty bouncer guarding the entrance.

"I'm a bit nervous about this." Themis admitted offhandedly.

"Performance issues?" Erin asked casually. Themis shot her a dirty look, but he lowered his voice.

"Real empathic. Who issued you your license again?"

"Why are you nervous?" Erin repeated, feigning sincerity.

"When I was younger, a group of guys and I used to rag on the punk who owns this joint. I don't want to cause any issues for Mia, you know? Do you think he'll remember me?"

"Perhaps this is a good opportunity for you two to reconcile your differences." Erin explained.

"How about, if you see a weirdo with a gimp, you nudge me in the ribs and I will duck and cover?" Themis suggested pleasantly. Before Erin could respond, Themis pressed her forward toward the bouncer. "We're here for the show. You guys are really packing the house tonight, huh?" Themis observed cheerfully to the bouncer, who raised an eyebrow.

"Right. We are real busy. No offense, but the club has a certain image to maintain. You can't be beating up on your girl, then really expect me to let you both in. We don't cater to the rough type of crowd. I am sure you get it." The bouncer nodded toward Erin.

"Oh geez, I didn't—You don't think—" Themis shook his head, but Erin interrupted.

"You think he did this to me? Really?" Erin narrowed her eyes. What part of my exterior gives away the battered woman vibe? And even still, THAT is how you choose to handle it? "How about me and you go toe to toe? I'll show you who'll end up looking worse!"

"Sheesh, lady, dial it back will you? Whatever the story, I am still not letting you in looking all... jacked up." The bouncer explained.

"You are absolutely right." Themis pulled Erin to the side, before she could snap another insult at him. "Just give us a moment to sort this out."

"What are you doing?" Erin muttered.

"Just relax and trust me." Themis ran a hand through her hair, adjusted the part in her hair, showcasing the curls she had managed to finish. You can't be serious. He fleshed the curls out, giving more volume to her hair. Holding a finger up to Erin, Themis approached a nearby girl in line and humby rubbed the back of his neck.

"Excuse me? Hey." The young man smiled at the girl and her friends, feigning a look of embarrassment and humility. Gross. "Let me just start off by saying you look absolutely beautiful tonight." The girl closest to him blushed beet red as her friends cackled with delight. "Now, I don't want you to think I am hitting on you… I mean, unless of course this is working?" Fighting off the distraction, Themis shook his head allowing his hair falling into his eyes.

"It might be." The woman responded shyly, casting her gaze toward his shoes.

"Good to know." Themis causally leaned against the brick wall. "Before I get to all that, I was hoping perhaps you and your friends might be able to help me." The group exchanged suspicious glances, but no one appeared entirely disturbed by the condition. Was that an innuendo? "My poor sister over there," Themis gestured at Erin, who awkwardly stared back at the young women, "needs a bit of a touch up in order to get into the club. Could we borrow any spare makeup you guys might have on you?"

"I-I don't know." The timid brunette fidgeted uncomfortably.

"How about I sweeten the deal, and I'll buy you and your friends a round of drinks?" The boldest friend reached down into her purse and retrieved a tube of foundation, an eyeliner pencil, and a compact mirror.

"Jessica! What are you doing?" The brunette whispered in shock.

"What? He's cute and offering us drinks. If you don't jump on that, I will." The girl named Jessica replied boldly. A bit impressed by the forwardness of her advance, Themis graciously received the makeup from her with a flirtatious smile.

"Thanks, Jess. You're a doll. I'll see you all inside." Themis returned to Erin and dabbed some foundation onto his thumb. "Now, come here."

"You are revolting. You practically used me in a scheme to get laid." Erin chastised.

"Jealous much? Say the word, sweetheart, and I can be all yours."

"You are not putting that on my face. It's not even my tone." Erin growled.

"Do you want to get in or not? God. It's like putting makeup on a badger." Before she could argue further, Themis captured her face in his hands and gently brushed the neutral color over her bruises. Tenderly, he caressed her jawline and effortlessly concealed the darkest portions of her injury. "Close your eyes."

"I don't know if I can trust you." Erin stated flatly.

"Those girls think you are my sister. If I kissed you now, I would lose all hope in ever getting laid again in this part of town." The argument proceeded to convince Erin, who closed her eyes while Themis tsked his tongue and darkened her eyelids with the eyeliner. "Now chew on your lips."

"This is never going to work."

"I'm a professional photographer.. I know makeup better than most women." Prying open the compact mirror, Themis flashed Erin her reflection. I am judging you right now. Damn though. I do look a lot better. Themis wrapped his arm around Erin's shoulder and guided her toward the door. As Jessica and her friends entered Oswald's, Themis coyly handed her makeup back with winked and turned to address the bouncer. "Alright, what do you think boss?"

"You again?" The bouncer did not find Themis's attitude charming, but rather exhausting.

"She's pretty hot now. No bruises. Sexy tussle?"

The bouncer looked Erin over, until his gaze rested on her cleavage. "Yeah, I guess. I have a feeling the two of you are trouble though. You better keep it low key in there, you hear?"

"Yessir. Of course sir. No trouble sir." Themis smiled leading her passed the doorway and into the club.

"Maybe I could buy you a drink later." The bouncer joked after them. Erin stared at him blankly, biting her tongue. Fuck you, prick.

Once inside, Themis planted an obnoxious kiss on Erin's cheek and twirled her around. Erin rubbed her face with a mild irritation, but the man's attitude had an uncanny way of being occasionally heartwarming. Contagious even. A wild spark of confidence pumped through the woman's veins.

"Thanks Themis."

"Oh, no worries. You can pay me back by buying me a few drinks." Themis rubbed his chin and walked toward the bar.

"That's actually a relatively mild request coming from you." Erin laughed.

"How about, instead of drinks, we have a quickie in the bathroom then?" Themis suggested.

Erin rolled her eyes. "No. Drinks. Order what you want."

"Psh. Fine. Four cosmos."Themis requested from the bartender.

"Four? That's a pretty bold choice for a man." Erin sat down on a stool.

"I agree." Themis winked. "If you could have a waiter bring them to that table in the back where Jess and her friends are sitting, that would be great." Themis patted her on the shoulder lightly. "I'll be back. I want to make sure our friends get their reward." Themis drifted away from Erin, who sat alone at the bar. The real reward, would be you leaving them alone to enjoy their night out.

"If I came with you, I wouldn't have let you outta my sight." A man sat down next to her, with a wild-eyed grin.

"Well, it's good I didn't come with you then." Erin shot the stranger down firmly by moving her seat further down the bar. "Could I get an Old Fashioned, please?" The nearby bartender nodded and began to clean a glass for his patron.

---

It only took a moment for the skilled bartender to prepare the Tom Collins and slide it across the bar toward Oswald. Unlike all the other men at the counter, the manager did not have to wait for service. The privilege was more gratifying now that the club was packed with patrons. Lesser mortals suffered the inconvenience, while Oswald savored the distinguished taste of prestige. With an air of delicacy, the young man removed the lemon wedge garnishing his glass and placed it on a napkin. The way you wear your hat. The way you sip your tea. The memory of all that. No, no, they can't take that away from me.

Screamin' Fingers Jackson strummed his Stratocaster alongside Mia, who held tightly onto the microphone stand. The two musicians collaborated to perform a jazzy, duet rendition of Billie Holiday's They Can't Take That Away From Me. Oswald plucked the Bing cherry out by the stem and studied it. Nonchalantly, the manager traced the fruit across the surface layer of ice. The way your smile just beams. The way you sing off key. The way you haunt my dreams. Oh, no, darling they can't take that away from me! From the shadowy corner, Oswald watched the performers critically.

Locks of Mia's copper hair were pinned up by a fresh yellow dahlia. The flower perched neatly above her right ear, allowing the rest of her hair to drape over her shoulder. Darkened eyelashes elegantly complimented her smouldering smokey eyes. Her lips were painted a deep crimson, which contrasted radiantly against her pale skin. Oswald popped the cherry into his mouth and ripped the stem free with his teeth. The white dress with black polka dots swayed just above her knees. The manager could not recall if he had ever seen her wear such a flattering outfit. We may never, never meet again. On the bumpy road to love. Still I'll always, always keep the memory of…
Unpalatable and bitter, Oswald crushed the cherry pit between his molars. Inwardly, he hoped that the negligible amount of cyanide would end the relentless torment clouding his judgement. Butch's comment about the woman's motives preoccupied his thoughts. Was Mia really trying to impress him? How could Gilzean possibly know more about the way she worked than he did? Slightly irritated, Oswald downed the first half of his citrusy drink. As Mia smiled out at the crowd and then back toward Jackson, the nightclub manager wondered if his presence at the event even mattered.

The way you hold your knife. The way we danced 'til three. The way you've changed my life. No, no they can't take that away from me. They can't take that away from me. Oswald forced his gaze away, taking a moment to inspect the quality of his glass. A single water-spot near the rim repulsed him, motivating him to place the beverage back on the bar.

"Is everything alright, sir?" The bartender asked nervously.

"There is a mark on this glass. Imperfection is reprehensible and I will not tolerate it." Although the words were acrid, the manager remained composed.

"You are absolutely right, Mr. Cobblepot. I will have a talk with Stuart about it."

"No need. I will attend to Stuart." Oswald rapped his fingers on the counter, in rhythm with the accompanying piano. "Know where I can find him?"

With noticeable hesitation, the bartender swallowed before answering honestly. "I thought I saw him head to the back of house a few minutes ago. The kid has been crazy busy tonight."

"Thank you, Jay. I'll be sure to keep that in mind." Oswald stood up and smoothed down his lapels.

Meandering around the young, energetic souls eager for good drink and entertainment, the manager left the repentant bartender to consider the act of betrayal. With his hands in his pockets, Oswald shuffled into the kitchen searching for the busboy. The music hummed faintly from beyond the heavy swinging doors until the voices were practically indistinguishable. A sense of reprieve rushed over Oswald as Mia faded from his mind. Punishing Stuart for shoddy work was his primary concern—a task Oswald planned to enjoy to the fullest extent. The busboy meticulously loaded the dishwasher, taking care to organize the tableware for maximum sanitation.

Unfastening a silver cuff link from his jacket, Oswald approached the massive stainless steel sink. "Good evening, Stuart." Reflexively, the boy flinched and turned to face his boss. "We need to have a conversation about your efficiency." With a fluid motion, Oswald dropped his cuff link down the garbage disposal.

"Uh, um— S-sir, why did you—"

"Gosh-darn." Oswald feigned disappointment. "I seem to have dropped my cuff link down the sink. Would you be so kind as to retrieve it for me?"

Anxiously, Stuart wringed his hands and stared at the sink. "I'll g-get right on it, sir. I seem to remember seeing some pliers in the maintenance closet."

"Nonsense. Just reach down there and pull it out. No need for tools." Oswald urged pleasantly. The manager leaned against the sink counter and stroked the switch on the wall. Mankind's strongest emotion is fear and the most intense kind of fear... is fear of the unknown. Will he flip the switch and mince the poor boy's fingers? Stuart swallowed nervously, but slowly approached the sink and peered into the hungry void. Timidly, the busboy rolled up his sleeve and reached his hand down the disposal. "I found a water spot on my glass tonight. How many other unseemly oversights have you made within the last few hours?"

Not taking his frightened eyes off of the manager, Stuart lightly felt around for the cuff link. "I-I don't know, sir."

Without the slightest bit of warning, Oswald flipped the switch to the garbage disposal. The gyrating blades scraped against one another with a metallic growl, but jammed within seconds. Stuart yelped and violently stumbled backward. The silver cuff link obstructing the gears triggered the appliance's built in emergency feature, causing the disposal to fall silent. Expecting more mutilation, Oswald was disappointed to see that only the very tips of the boy's fingers were bleeding. Shuffling away from the nightclub manager, Stuart wrapped his right hand in his dirty apron. Glistening droplets of blood, however, sprinkled the sink and adjacent counter. Oswald grabbed Stuart by his collar, lifted him from the floor, and pulled him across the kitchen.

"N-no! I-I j-just—Please! I'm sorry!" Stuart struggled to pry himself free of Oswald's grasp. Despite his fiercest attempt, the young busboy was much too small to win the fight against his boss. Several of the kitchen staff paused to watch, but no one dared to interrupt the violence.

"Just think of this as a learning experience. I can guarantee, that after this is over, I won't ever find another inconsistency in your work. Imagine the efficiency! Like this, look here." Oswald pressed Stuart's face onto the cool iron of the industrial-sized charbroiler and cranked the dials to maximum heat. With his free hand, Oswald trailed his finger along the side of the grill, gathered a scoop of grease, and smeared it across the boy's cheek. "Do you expect my chefs to cook on this filth?"

"No! P-pl-please! I-I-I'll clean it! Right n-now!" Stuart begged. As the heat increased, the grease caked onto the iron bars sizzled against the boy's face.

"Some people change their ways when they see the light, and then there are others who need to feel the heat." Oswald leaned close to Stuart's blistering face. "Do you understand?"

"Yes! Yes!"

While the distressed response did not completely satisfy Oswald, the busboy's pained expression and thrashing body greatly amused him. What's stopping me from burning half your face off? No one here is going to save you and you obviously cannot help yourself. The kitchen and all its occupants were eerily quiet, allowing Oswald the opportunity to savor the moment. The greater the power, the more dangerous the abuse. Reality enveloped Oswald as he suddenly realized the reason for the stillness. Releasing Stuart, the manager cocked his head to listen: The music upfront was no longer playing.They couldn't possibly be changing sets already. Had I really sat through that many songs? Stuart quickly recoiled from his captor and to the sink, where he ran cool water over his branded face. With a grimace, Oswald avoided the speckled trail of blood the boy left across the kitchen.

"Get back to work. All of you." Oswald ordered sharply. The cooks obeyed instantly, returning to their prior engagements. "And will someone please clean up that blood? For heaven's sake, it's a blatant health hazard." Despite his injuries, Stuart wrapped up his hand and proceeded to sterilize the floors and counters. Now, there is a good boy. Learning from his mistakes. With reanimated vigor, Oswald joined the crowd for the brief intermission.

Onstage, Jackson prepared for the night's second set. Nearly a week ago, Oswald had painstakingly drafted a schedule with alternating performances. No one could accuse him of favoritism or contempt; the night was flawlessly balanced. Taking his frustration out on Stuart had elevated the man's spirits. I suppose it is proper etiquette to congratulate the performer after a good first show. Where has she disappeared to? Peering around an overtly affectionate couple, Oswald spotted Mia near the bar talking to a stately brunette.

A familiar figure threw an arm around Mia's shoulders, halting Oswald's approach. You got some mouth on you, Ozzie. Think you're funny? At what point did you think it was a good idea to make me look like an idiot in class? You know what's really hilarious? Streaking. Now strip. I said strip, ass sucker! Reflexively, Oswald's clenched his fists. Themis. Taking a step back, the manager considered evading the interaction altogether. Unfortunately, fate was a cruel inamorata; Mia caught sight of him and eagerly waved him over. Oswald despised the irony of the situation. His cosmic punishment for abusing Stuart manifested in the troublesome appearance of his adolescent rival. Summoning all the dignity he could, Oswald limped over to offer his felicitation.

"Congratulations on the successful show." Oswald forced a smile for civility.

Appreciative of the positive feedback, Mia grinned and thrusted the man's arm off her shoulder. "Thanks. I was a bit nervous, but everyone seems to be enjoying themselves."

"Who is your friend?" The manager gestured politely to the unfamiliar woman, completely ignoring Themis's presence.

"Oh, right. How impolite of me! Erin, this is my old friend and current boss Oswald Cobblepot."

"Erin Collins. Pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Cobblepot." Erin amiably extended her hand, which Oswald accepted graciously.

"The pleasure is all mine—"

"I can't believe it. Little Ozzie actually filled out a bit. What's it been? Nearly a decade, am I right?" Lifting his drink in mock salutation, Themis chuckled at the subtle insult. Inebriation cast a dull glaze over the man's eyes. A hearty portion of Bourbon sloshed onto the floor, as Mia's brother unsteadily brought the glass back to his lips. Amused by his own mistake, Themis snorted and slapped his forehead. "I'm such a putz." Ten years is not nearly long enough. I could have gone my whole life without subjecting myself to your boorish conduct again.

"And I am sure you remember my brother, Themis." In an attempt to prevent further embarrassment, Mia placed a firm hand on her sibling's shoulder.

"How could I forget?" Oswald managed through clenched teeth.

"Aw, hey now! No hard feelings, right?" Disoriented, Themis stared at the bubbles swirling about his drink. "I mean, I probably helped motivate you to achieve all this success. Right, Erin? You're a psychiatrologist. Isn't that what science says about bullies?"

"Nobody says that." Erin shook her head and took a drink to avoid laughing at Themis's shameless mispronunciations.

Oswald set his jaw and stared at Themis. "I've crafted a firm foundation from the bricks others have thrown at me."

"Bricks! Do you hear this guy? I never threw bricks at you." Themis laughed heartily, swallowed his drink, but paused in a sudden contemplative stupor. "There may have been some bricks. I honestly can't remember!"

Clearing her throat, Mia tugged at Erin's sleeve tenderly. "I think someone may have had a bit too much to drink tonight."

"Oi! We know you're Irish, but keep it classy. A certain someone—" A hiccup interrupted Themis, but he quickly recovered by brandishing his finger in Erin's face. "A certain someone is trying to say you've had one too many missie!" Although he meant to whisper, the intoxicated man's slurred speech was exceedingly boisterous. So, this is what has become of my old rival? Pathetic. Even though you're her brother, I can't understand why she wastes her time with you.

With a raised eyebrow, Erin grabbed hold of Themis's wavering finger and turned to Mia. "We will finish up here and then I'll make sure he gets home safe."

"Wha— No! We just started catching up. I'm having such a good time!" Themis argued, stumbling against the bar stool behind him.

Twirling a lock of hair around her finger, Mia leaned in closer to Oswald. The sweet scent of gardenias tickled his nose. "Could I speak with you privately? Perhaps up on the roof?"

"The roof?" The nightclub manager repeated for clarification.

Mia nodded and whispered into Oswald's ear. "Our absence will give Erin the opportunity to get Themis out of here." Say no more. Anything to escape the embarrassment of this imbroglio.

"Allow me to show you to the roof!" Oswald exclaimed a bit too eagerly.

Careful not to jostle the glass in his hand, Mia rushed to hug Themis goodbye. Befuddled, the tipsy man wrapped his arms around Mia, squeezed tightly, and swayed contentedly. As if witnessing a pornograpghic scene, Oswald cast a distressed gaze to the floor. Ugh. Spare me the public displays of affection. This is absurd. I should order my men to break his legs— Prying away from Themis, the young woman hurried back to Oswald's side. Weaving between patrons, Oswald wordlessly led Mia toward the back exit.

"Thanks Erin. I owe you one." Mia called back to her friend, who waved in response.

Amidst the escalating chatter and clamor, Themis shouted an undecipherable string of syllables. Neither Oswald nor Mia acknowledged the cry for attention. Instead, the pair disappeared to the far end of the establishment. Upon passing his office door, Oswald paused momentarily to step in to grab his umbrella.

"Are you certain about going up there? We could discuss matters here... in my office."

Without a word, Mia pointed her finger to the ceiling and beamed excitedly.If you insist... Closing the office door, Oswald led his employee through a corridor behind the pulsing stage. He politely opened a burgundy painted door, revealing a dimly lit staircase, and pointed his umbrella toward the summit. Despite the man's effort to discourage the adventure, Mia pressed forward. Her fingertips brushed the walls, guiding the adventurous spirit's ascent to the roof. Reluctantly, Oswald followed close behind; clouds of dust erupted beneath his feet. To steady himself, the manager used his umbrella to balance his staggered gait. Without warning, Mia stopped causing Oswald to collide with her unexpectedly.

"It's locked." Mia explained.

In the darkness, Oswald observed the female silhouette reach up to her hair and withdraw a bobby pin. After all this time, you are still picking locks. Unbelievable. As Mia fumbled for the doorknob, Oswald pulled a set of keys from his pocket. His nimble fingers wrapped around her warm wrist, delicately navigating Mia away from the lock. Calmly, Oswald unlocked the door, nudged it open, and released the woman from his grasp. See. No need for Herculean feats or roundabout shenanigans.

A light rain misted the cityscape, producing an ethereal phosphorescence from the string of streetlamps below. Reflexively, Oswald opened his umbrella and held it over them both. Mia moved from beneath the shelter into the cool drizzle. Oswald tightened his grip on the umbrella and carefully avoided the narrow river rushing into a nearby drain. What could she possibly want to discuss all the way up here? This isn't exactly an agreeable location for business. Mia peered over the ledge at the traffic below. People catch pneumonia this way, you know. The nightclub manager approached the edge of the roof and stared apathetically at the starless sky.

"The air feels so good." Mia took a deep breath. Droplets of water beaded in her hair, reflecting the artificial glow. A sinister flood rushed over Oswald's thoughts. I could push her off… Be done with this whole ordeal. The building is wet, she slipped. What could I do?

Oswald closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You always did have a fondness for heights."

"I like the idea of a different perspective. From all the way up here, Gotham isn't such a bleak place." Mia explained with a smile.

"And standing in the rain? Is that for perspective too?" Oswald sniffed.

"Mhm." Mia looked at him and slipped back beneath the umbrella. It's no use now. You are already sopping wet.

"Well, this has been a delight. Might I suggest returning to the comforts of a drier area? Unless of course, you wanted to proceed with that private conversation." The patter of rain against the canopy intensified, reinforcing Oswald's proposition.

"I just wanted to thank you for everything. The job. The recent kindness. It means a lot to me." Her gratitude seemed sincere, but Oswald deliberately remained quiet. Mia cocked her head to the side and grinned at him. "What?"

"Wet or dry, all gratitude tends to sound the same. You could have said all of that downstairs." Oswald shrugged, but granted her a faint smile.

"You seem to be missing a cuff link." Mia pointed out casually.

"Excuse me?" To clarify her observation, Mia seized hold of Oswald's wrist and pushed her finger through the unoccupied hole in his sleeve. "Ah, I must have lost it. That's unfortunate." Even if Stuart manages to retrieve it, I won't ever wear it again. What a waste. Oswald pulled his arm away from her grasp and unfastened his remaining link."Here, you can have it if you want." You can have it, if you want? Suave. Real classy. Who wants a throw-away scrap like that? Why are you acting so foolish all of a sudden? Mia accepted the token and inspected the elaborate detail etched onto the surface.

Biting down on her lower lip, the woman returned her gaze to Oswald. "Do you remember that old system we had for hiding things? Notes, coins, all the lost treasures we found on the shore— This would've been a great addition to one of our collections."That piece of silver by itself costs nearly one hundred and fifty dollars. Nothing we ever found matched that. "For teenagers, I have to admit, we were pretty adept at concealing our secrets." Were? I can honestly say that is a trait I still maintain to this very day, Mia. "It's crazy to think how many hours we must have spent playing those silly games." Why must you be so concerned with the past? Suddenly, Oswald realized that he had forgotten to speak. Rather than disrupt Mia's sentimentality, the night club manager played along with the memory.

"Ah, yes. The power of inductive and deductive reasoning. Pick a roof, hide the object, leave a single insignificant clue, and then expect the other to find it. An absolute delight." Oswald recollected the procedure with feigned nostalgia. We could have had normal hobbies, if your brother and his friends had kept their noses out of our business. The memory, however, did not wholly upset him. Although admitting the fact aloud pained him, Oswald fondly appreciated the old activities based on logic and intelligence. "And just like this entire conversation, all of those projects could have easily been executed on solid ground."

"For perspective, remember?" Mia retorted playfully. "Since you seem so persistent though, I suppose it couldn't hurt to get back to the show. Jackson promised a few new songs tonight. I'd hate to miss out on that."

Stepping toward the door, Oswald drew his umbrella closed. Shaking the water from the fabric, he allowed Mia to enter the building first. He followed her quietly down the dark stairs, careful not slip. Once on the ground floor, Oswald closed the last door and returned the keys to his jacket pocket. The pair looked at each other for a moment, until a commotion from the front room caught their attention.

A crowd of people gasped, as glass shattered to the floor. Two men scuffled within a ring of bystanders, throwing drunken punches at each other. The taller of the two fell over groaning, his nose broken and blood spewing onto the floor. Taking action, Butch grabbed Themis who jumped to hit the man again. Wiping blood away from his lip, Themis struggled furiously against Butch's grip. What the… what happened here? Before Oswald could voice his objection, Mia stepped forward and asked the question for him.

"Themis! Wh-what happened?" Mia exclaimed with concern. The nameless man on the floor groaned and attempted to cover his bloody face before passing out. Erin, arms folded, stepped forward with a smug expression. Careful to avoid the victim's twitching leg, shemoved closer to Mia to explain the situation.

"When I went to the restroom, apparently this guy slipped something into my drink."

"So I beat the shit out of him." Themis spat angrily. "Is that what kind of place this is? Where a girl has to get roofied to have a good time?"

"Come on there hero. What did I tell you earlier about disturbing the peace? I think it's best you go home." Butch tightened his grasp on the man and dragged him out of the circle.

"Oh, Butch! Please don't hurt him." Mia begged.

Oh no, go ahead. Hurt him, Butch. Go on. Throw him out on the street and crack his head open. Suddenly, Oswald felt all eyes fall on him. The room was eerily silent, as even the band had stopped to listen. What could they possibly be expecting from me? Bravo! A potential rapist was thwarted! The drunken fool can stay. Free drinks for everyone! I don't think so.

"What should I do with him?" Butch asked apprehensively.

Rabble rousers were not uncommon at nightclubs in Gotham, and bouncers were often given the authority to toss an inebriated troublemaker out with the evening's trash. Every Friday and Saturday, the ER prepared for the onslaught of injured patients with skull fractures, broken noses, and stab wounds. Realizing the severity of his action, a sudden grimace of anxiety crossed Themis's face. Not so tough when you are all alone, are you?

"You know the policy, Butch. I don't tolerate any sort of violence in my establishment. Get him out of here." I'm going to enjoy every second of this.

"This isn't really necessary, is it? You don't need to make a big show of it all." Erin spoke up defensively. "If anyone deserves to be thrown out, it's this creep on the floor." With relative ease, Butch roughly pulled Themis by his shoulders closer to the exit.

"I am capable of showing myself out, thanks." Themis argued quickly, knowing all too well that pain was most conveniently delivered away from witnesses.

"Just keep your mouth shut." Butch grumbled through clenched teeth

"If you don't call off this goon, you will be looking at a lawsuit." Erin asserted fiercely. Is that right? Good luck filing a lawsuit in a lawless city. Clearly, you haven't been here long. Might I suggest you find some new—

"Oswald, please." Noticing the alarm and concern on Mia's face, Oswald arrived at an uncomfortable pause. What did you expect, Mia? After all these years, I have an opportunity and you ask me not to take it? As the bouncer moved to open the door, Oswald cleared his throat and spoke up over the crowd that was only just beginning to lose interest in the situation.

"That will suffice, Butch. Just see them out. Both of them." Oswald nodded toward Erin, who rolled her eyes callously. "Then be sure to get this," the manager motioned to the unconscious man on the floor, "taken care of." Just get everything and everyone out of my sight. With a nod, Butch released his grip on Themis, but hastily escorted him and Erin out the door.

"Thank—" Mia began, but Oswald cut off her gratitude with a scoff.

"Don't invite them here again," Oswald limped passed her, "and clean up this mess. Why don't we have music?" Before the nightclub manager was able to chastise Jackson and the other musicians for the delay, the beat kicked up and business resumed.

With a sigh, Oswald slipped into his office and pressed his back against the locked door. Throwing Themis out on the street should have been a moment of poetic justice, yet all he could feel was a wave of bitter disappointment. This is her fault. She invited him here. Into my sanctuary. She's the reason why I haven't been able to think straight! Bringing up the past and trying to rekindle some long lost friendship! No. It's too late for that. Years of resentment have murdered any remaining compassion I hold toward her. Oswald sat down at his desk and covered his face. And yet… The girl is so sincere. Forgiving and generous. Perhaps, I was wrong to rush us off that roof. Did I miss something? A moment, a movement… something that would tell me exactly what I need to do to... A red three flashed rhythmically on the recorder. Missed messages? With newfound curiosity, he played the recorder back.

"Mr. Cobblepot— This is Dr. Carter. I would like to apologize for our last meeting. I allowed my temper to get the better of me. Anyway, I am more than willing to compromise and pay those additional fees you requested. Call me back at your earliest convenience." A similar message from the museum curator followed, more concise and pithy in tone. "Dr. Carter again. I have a matter of the utmost importance to discuss with you. Call as soon as you receive this." The final message exposed the curator's urgency and annoyance. "Return my call, Mr. Cobblepot." Oswald rolled his eyes, leaned back in his office chair, and kicked his feet up to the desk. For now, thoughts concerning Mia could wait. That's why I love business relationships. They are so easy to manipulate. The nightclub manager picked up the handset and dialed the private number to connect to the Museum of Antiquities.