Just and righteous as he liked to see himself, the nagging feeling of a guilty conscience was relatively new to Jim Gordon. Sure he had made some mistakes in his life, especially in his teenage years, but his occupations as a soldier and cop had always given him ready excuses. Though they never really eased the nasty feeling that lingered after having been forced to hurt or kill a person, like a faint shadow in the corner of his vision, impossible to grasp, but never to truly go away.

And yet, he liked excuses, he preferred not to personally take responsibility. Professional responsibility of course, but in his private life he either chose to use his job as an excuse or prevent situations that might lead to him feeling guilty altogether. He had never cheated on Barbara, unless one counted the first encounters with Leslie, even though Jim had been convinced that his former fiancée had clearly broken up with him at that time. Since high school he had not been in such a precarious situation. It did not help that he had thought at the time that he could blame it on the alcohol or the strange allure the man seemed to have these days. He knew all too well that he had not been drunk. And thinking about the effect Oswald had on him only made things worse.

Just when he successfully managed to concentrate on his work, Nygma approached and riddled him with questions about Oswald's condition. Jim only stated that he had not learned anything new, which in consequence had caused Bullock to raise his eyebrows, his partner did not tell him that he had visited Penguin again. The following sarcastic comment he met with a more aggressive defense than he had anticipated, but thinking about what had happened and how damn good it had felt made Jim feel so far out of his comfort zone that he did not dare to even try to cope with the events.

For most of the day he tried not to think about it, hoping that his friend would forget about the call he owed him. At least work proved to be a welcome distraction, although the Moonshine case was reminding him of Oswald's predicament. Unfortunately, in favor of the case he had to acknowledge the idea of some kind of vampire affliction, no matter what the scientific explanation proved to be. Before Jim could make up his mind, Harvey decided upon visiting the Moonshine Club after sunset. Whether his partner merely wanted to satisfy his curiosity about the new nightclub or had any hopes of finding new clues, was beyond him. Not that he cared much, following this lead was just as well as any other approach.


Oswald found the envelope lying on his desk when he entered his office shortly before opening. The antique gold colored paper was decorated with a tasteful art deco design and spelled nothing but his name. He felt relieved when Gabe mentioned that it had been delivered earlier the day with instructions to place it there. The letter inside was short and handwritten. It was an invitation by a Stephano Mandragora, the owner of the Moonshine Club and Galante's boss. He was asked in an excessively polite manner to join him for dinner this evening in a private room of his establishment. The fact that he could not consume normal food anymore did not bother him much. Many criminals of a high status were known to be paranoid and overly cautious, usually for a good reason. The polite refusal to eat at a meeting was not uncommon.

As busy as he was with arranging shady deals and organizing meetings with various suppliers and affiliates, he could not help but to glance at his cellphone more often than he liked to admit. Jim did not call, and Oswald was not so sure anymore whether he actually counted on him calling or had already accepted that he was waiting in vain. His pride kept him from calling Jim himself, besides, he wanted to give him time to think. The situation made him feel restless and rather uneasy. Every time he thought back to their unlikely encounter, his cheeks flushed slightly and his stomach felt very light. For months he had hoped for something like this to happen, although he had tried to suppress those thoughts in order to not feel too disappointed by the shattering reality of Jim not even acknowledging their friendship. And yet, now that he had shown very clear signs of attraction towards him, things proved to be even more complicated than before. Especially since Oswald was now faced with the even harder task of suppressing any feelings that might exceed mere physical desire. After all, a heated make out session was one thing, but Jim developing actual feelings for him was still an utter impossibility.


They met Galante at the entrance of the Moonshine Club. Oswald had left Butch to take care of his own establishment this time and had taken Gabe with him instead, as well as Zsasz, who seemed to be indispensable these days. The proprietor was a little less overbearing than at their first meeting, his manner was more humble, which Oswald decided to be a good sign. The room they were shown to was situated in the back of the club. It was just as lavishly decorated as the public halls, if not even more luxuriously. He almost let himself get distracted by the beautiful 20s style furniture and the magnificent paintings that complimented the mood perfectly. A well dressed and sophisticated looking man with stern, but gentle features, impeccably groomed silver grey hair and a thin dapper like moustache had already taken seat at the head of a long dining table. He looked straight out of an early black and white movie, and somehow it was hard to imagine him as anything but a Mafioso. If he had not known a man such as that was most likely trouble, Oswald would have probably taken a liking to him.

"Mr. Cobblepot! Stephano Mandragora… I see you have accepted my invitation. Please, sit. What a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
His gravelly voice was friendly and almost sincere.

"Likewise, sir."
It was only when he took the seat opposite of Mandragora at the other end of the dining table that he noticed something that caused him to almost break his polite and collected demeanor. Zsasz looked as calm and indifferent as ever, though he nodded slightly as his boss gave him a short questioning look. Since Galante took a seat next to his superior, Zsasz and Gabe also joined the other men at the table.

"Thank you for your invitation. I had already been lamenting that I would unfortunately have to deny an exquisite meal, but given the circumstances, I suppose I didn't have to worry."

The man opposite of him laughed heartily. If there had been any doubt before, the subtle shape of his fangs did not go unnoticed.
"No, most definitely not. But you couldn't have known, could you."

While exchanging pleasantries, Oswald's brain was working on accessing the situation. The Bartinellis disappeared when the Maronis and Falcones took over. And come to think of it, the name Mandragora did in fact ring a bell. Could he be the former head of the Bartinelli family? If he had been turned at least thirty years ago, he could very well be the same person. The idea simultaneously fascinated and scared Oswald. He was not ready to share his empire again so soon or otherwise get into conflict with such a powerful player. And if there was any man who could pose a significant threat to his new empire, it was Gotham's first ever Don.

Fortunately, living under Falcone's and Maroni's wings, he had developed a very convincing poker face. Moreover, the presence of another mob boss was way less daunting now than about year ago, when he was still holding Fish's umbrella. Meetings with Falcone had been intimidating back then. Working for Maroni, too, at first. But things had soon lost their menace, when he got used to them. Besides, he was the number one in this city now, and he would not bow before anyone ever again, that much he had sworn himself the moment he had climbed the edge of the rooftop after sending Fish flying to meet her demise.

"I have to admit, your establishment is quite impressive."
He decided on a diplomatic approach, at least for now.

"I'm glad to hear that, I paid utmost attention to recreated or exceed the look of the original club. Did you know I used to run it back then?"

"No. But I figured as much. I apologize, I did not mean to come off as aggressive on my last visit, but you know how things work in this city. I thought some rooky with little knowledge of the recent developments concerning Gotham's underworld had forgotten his manners and I felt it was my place to set things right."
Pleasantries aside, he did not like to postpone the actual business talk any longer.
"As I see now, you are neither a rooky nor have you forgotten your manners. However, I still wonder why you didn't talk to me earlier."

Mandragora just smiled and slowly folded his hands in his lap.
"Let's say, I wanted to see first who I'm dealing with before approaching you."

Oswald could not suppress a frown. He understood the reasoning, but that did not mean he liked it.
"Well, now you did. I can't help but wonder what you are aiming at. Why did you come back?"

"My my, the young are always so impatient. Let's not get to business on an empty stomach, my friend."
Mandragora gave Galante a sign and the man got up and left the room. Oswald blinked in confusion, what was that about? But before he could ask, Galante returned with a young man and a woman in tow. They were gagged and their hands bound behind their backs. The smell of expensive champagne on them together with the fancy evening get-up made it painfully obvious that they had been unsuspecting guests of the Moonshine Club before being chosen to end up as a meal for Mandragora and his royal avian guest.


"Have to hand it to whoever runs this joint. They got style…"
It was more than obvious that Bullock was enjoying their investigation.

"It's nice, I guess."
Jim was less convinced than his partner, probably due to his dislike of dodgy nightclubs and crowded party locations.

"Oh come on, don't be such a sourpuss. And stop drinking soft drinks, it's embarrassing."

"I don't drink on duty. At least if I can avoid it."
The younger cop could not help but sigh.

"Look, this is my third drink and we ain't getting nowhere by the looks of it. So either you chat someone up to reveal vital information or you join me now and make the most of it."

They had been sitting at the bar for about an hour now and everything looked painfully inconspicuous. Not even a little brawl or hints towards drug dealing, for Gotham's standards the club seemed strangely tame.

"Look, I'm going to get some fresh air. Try to stay put unless duty calls."
His partner chuckled at the ambiguity and resumed watching the other guests, while Jim went to the restrooms in hope of finding a backdoor that led into one of the alleys behind the club. After a short search, he got lucky and found himself in an alley adjacent to the one they found the body in two nights ago. He walked around for a bit in hope of finding something of interest, but the alley proved as unremarkable as the club itself. Something had to be wrong, it was all too clean, no place in Gotham was this impeccable. Not that he approved of drug dealings or particularly fancied witnessing some prostitute giving a shady guy head in a dark corner, but at least he would not have had this annoying feeling of having missed something.

He found himself standing at the spot where they had found the corpse when he heard the sound of a door closing coming from the club's exit. Did someone just left the building? No one was in sight. Then footsteps. Jim turned around again, but could not see anyone in the dimly lit street.
Just as his hand went to his badge and he already opened his mouth to shout 'GCPD', he felt strong hands closing around his arms, pulling him back. The hot breath he felt on his neck was oddly familiar. He had a hunch of what was happening to him and he did not at all feel like ending up as a midnight snack for some fanged low life. With all his strength, he smashed his elbow into the assailant's stomach which apparently took the attacker by surprise and gave Jim enough room to break free of the grip and spin around to face the guy.
Though guy was not quite the right term. He had expected a brawny man judging by the strong grasp, but before him he saw a slender woman approximately his height.

"GPCD! You didn't commit a crime yet, so I-"

But the woman just grinned, showing her threatening teeth and jumped towards him, knocking him off balance, trying to reach his neck. He fought her off as best as he could, unfortunately, she proved to be very quick and relentless.

"I always liked some fight in a guy. If you surrender now, I might even let you live. Then again, you're a cop… and witnesses are problematic enough as they- AHHH!"

Jim's fist connected heavily with her jaw and sent her stumbling for a moment. He used the time to draw his gun, although he was not too convinced it would help much.

"Didn't your parents teach you that you shouldn't hit a woman?"
She was straightening herself, pushing her long tussled hair out of her face.

"Yeah… if a woman tries to kill me, I make an exception."
Carefully, he took a step back and aimed his gun at her chest.
"Hands in the air, I don't want to hurt you, but I won't hesitate if you try something again."

To his surprise, the woman hardly seemed impressed. She even shrugged and kept approaching him, showing her fangs and playfully licking her lips.
"Go on, give me your best shot."

There had been times in which culprits had been suicidal or simply crazy. Something told Jim that this woman was neither.
"This is my last warning."

Of course, it did not stop her coming at him and when she sped up, he fired a shot at her. All of sudden she was gone. He was certain of having hit her at least somehow, and when he heard a cough behind him, he spun around and took aim again.
The woman's shoulder was bleeding, but the flow of blood already seemed to cease and although she winced slightly, she seemed rather unimpressed.
"That stung…"

Jim swallowed hard. Slowly he noticed that his situation was way worse than he had realized.
"Shit…"

He fired a few shots, turned around and ran towards the door that led into the club.
But before he could reach it, he was pulled back violently. The gun was knocked out of his hand and his head bent so that she had better access to his neck. His breath was heavy, he rarely panicked in a dangerous situation, but he most certainly felt scared now. He had no idea how to get out of this alive, she was too fast, too strong and bullets hardly seemed to bother her. If he cried for help now, no one inside the club would hear, and outside, no one would care.

His mind was racing and just as he could feel her lips touching his skin, there was loud shriek and she suddenly let go of him.
Relieved but alarmed, he spun around only to witness two people fighting impossibly fast. He could see that the other person was dressed in dark colors, was bald and… were those suspenders hanging from the guy's hips?

The hand he felt on his shoulder made his heart skip a beat. He cringed and held his breath, but the low chuckle he heard then made him feel a wave of relief.

"Sorry to startle you, old friend."
Oswald smiled smugly.
"It's five minutes to midnight, enough time left to call me, don't you think?"