Chapter Ten

That summer, Gotham goes to hell in a handbasket - like seriously, half the month of June I spend hiding in my apartment because to go outside is a death wish. It's not just Gotham, though, it's a couple of other cities, too that are dealing with the chaos. The Justice League's on it, so I'm not too worried. Even if I stay locked in my apartment with the gun Falcone gave me pointed at the door, just in case.

Somehow, I live through it, and life goes on.

I don't lose my job with Falcone, either, so that's a plus.

In July, Mr. Falcone seems to make a move in the Underworld, and it's stirring up all kinds of trouble. Evidence of this is seen in the streets, among the homeless, even though the upper echelons of society don't see it. The only reason I notice, really, is because people begin coming to Falcone's office asking for help and protection.

The more I see of it, the more regret seeps in. Why the fuck did I join the mob?

I'm still Falcone's secretary, but he has some of his underlings deciding to take me to a gun range - and not the legal type of gun range either. It's in these really creepy looking warehouses, and while I have nothing against guns themselves - Falcone gifted me with a beautiful glock that works fantastically and has very little recoil (though I might have something to do with that too, absorbing the vibration) - the guys he has 'teaching' me sometimes get a little too handsy.

And I sometimes get a little too nonchalant about the broken arms that happen for seemingly no reason - "You need more calcium" is my go-to response.

They may or may not be getting suspicious.

Falcone doesn't spend too much time with the people that come to beg. He sees some of them, but if they're repeat offenders (repeat beggars, I internally correct) he has his lieutenants deal with it.

Or me.

It's when one of the old women - Mrs. Janet Smith - who is trying to appeal her eviction (Falcone has plans) starts crying because she only has the social security check, and it's not enough to support her, that I remember the condo we used to live in, back before I ever met Luthor at Falcone's Christmas party.

Mom never sold it.

It's just collecting dust, with Falcone filing paperwork every year for the taxes, and so when I come to him with the idea to charge the woman a minimal rent- "She keeps coming back, this would be easier,"- it seems like the perfect idea.

He doesn't seem terribly opposed to it.

At the same time, he's got this look in his eye that I can't place, and it makes me feel really uncomfortable. I can see why mom quit, it feels like he's looking into my soul.

"I won't help you with it."

Damn.

"Fine."

I do it because the poor woman's a widow - like mom. I do it because I miss my mom and I don't even have any grandparents left in this life. I do it to make myself feel better.

I go back out to the waiting foyer, where my desk is and give her a number.

"Call at six o'clock tonight. Someone will take it from there."

I don't tell her it's my number. I don't tell her I'm doing it out of guilt - guilt for mom and Jason and-

I wave the next visitor up as the woman leaves looking terrified and sad.

I get the call way past eight, just when I begin to give up on her ever answering.

"Hello?"

"Yes, this is Janet Smith!" She's yelling into the receiver. Why the fuck is she yelling into the receiver? I pull the phone away from my ear so I can better understand her without losing my hearing, and then . . .

"Hi, Mrs. Smith, this is Annie Simon, we spoke earlier. Can you meet me at an address?"

I give her the address and am there within thirty minutes, walking the dark streets of Gotham, only to wait for another forty minutes until she strolls up with - who the fuck is that?

I squint trying to make the other person out - and does this guy have a staff? There's definitely a cape, but what the fuck?

"Ummm . . ."

"Ms. Simon?" comes the voice of the little old lady, and I can't help the small smile that comes to my face, because she looks so damn happy to see me.

"Hi, Mrs. Smith. I found a place you can stay for a while."

"Oh thank you! And thank you, young man! This young man here saved me from some muggers just thirty minutes ago."

"Hi, I'm Robin."

I ignore him. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine. It'll take more than some upstarts to take me down."

I don't doubt it. "Well, these are your keys, the rent's taken care of for the first two months, and we can negotiate from there. Sorry it's so late, but I was expecting your call earlier."

"Oh, I know dear, but I had to get money for the payphone. Thank you so much for doing this! You're a good kid."

I don't even know what to say to that, so I don't say anything. I hand her the keys and she enters the apartment I lived in with mom for so long.

And Robin just hangs back awkwardly with me in the doorway while Mrs. Smith explores her new apartment.

"So . . . you work for Falcone?"

I ignore him again, as Mrs. Smith calls out. "This place is too big for one person, dear, are you sure you got the right apartment?"

"Yup. Look, I have to go, are you going to be alright tonight? I can check in early tomorrow morning. . ."

"Oh, I'll be fine!" She comes back in sight, and smiles widely. "Young man, why don't you make sure she gets home safely?"

Yeah . . . she'll be fine, she's already trying to matchmake - which, no offense, but ew.

"Um . . ."

I'm already headed out the hallway when he stumbles over his words, trying to follow me. He does a pretty good job, I'll give him that, and it's not until I'm a block away from my apartment that I abruptly turn around and glare at this . . . this other child soldier of Batman's.

"Stop following me."

"I'm not following you. . . we just happen to be going in the same direction."

"Bullshit."

"Huh. He was right, you have terrible language. I couldn't tell what with how polite you were being to the old lady."

"Cut the crap, what do you want?"

"I really didn't mean to meet up with you. It was a coincidence."

"I'll reiterate. Bullshit."

Oh, I think I made him angry.

"It's true. We've got better things to do than try to come up with ways of talking to a stuck up mobster's lackey. You're not even that high ranking."

"And isn't that a relief."

I really don't like his tone.

"How can you-"

He stops, as if regretting it and no. No fucking way am I letting him off easy.

"No go ahead. Say what's on your mind, boy wonder. Let me know just what you think of me."

"How can you work for them when they're just destroying this city?"

"Easy. I have to eat. So does that old lady. And I don't have that many options."

"There's always another way."

"Bullshit. Other ways include prostitution, which - no thank you. I don't even wear used shoes. Or maybe you're talking about waitressing? I had to start working at sixteen, and I did that, and got harrassed by the customers which is what technically got me this job. It's also technically illegal to work more than a certain amount of hours, and late into the night and my only other fucking option was moving to Metropolis with my father's killer. So don't fucking tell me about options. Not everyone has a nice trust fund to fall back on."

There that shut him up, but now I feel terrible, because he almost looks like a kicked puppy, and he did escort the old lady through some really terrible neighborhoods. . .

"Just - Just leave me alone. All of you. Please. Thanks for taking care of the old lady."

I walk away before I can really go off on him some more, but I turn around just before I'm too far. "And don't think I've forgotten you wiped my computer! It took me forever to rewrite those papers for school, and you're on my shitlist!"

Mr. Falcone, I decide as I watch him order a hit, is one of the worst people alive. I'm in the other room, but the door's still wide open. Some poor sap thought it would be better to steal from Mr. Falcone than suffer the wrath of Black Mask - whoever the fuck that is. He's some other mob boss (I can't help thinking he probably wasn't ever as successful as Mr. Falcone, seeing as I've never heard of him . . . then again . . . I never paid much attention to the comics, so he may or may not be a big deal . . .)

But Mr. Falcone values money and loyalty over everything else.

I try not to make eye contact with Falcone's hitman as he walks by and try to focus on breathing so I don't destroy anything in the office.

That afternoon, I stop by my old apartment to check on Mrs. Smith who keeps longer than I intended by offering tea and cookies.

And I'm definitely not one to say no to food.

She asks about my day, school, my major - political science with minors in Computer Science and Business - and then she looks at me, with this confused look in her eyes.

"What are you doing working for Mr. Falcone? You're such a good girl, with such a bright future!"

"It's . . . complicated." Staring at the cup of tea seems as good an idea as any, as long as I don't have to look up and see what I'm sure is a disapproving expression. "I guess you could say he was my only option for a while, and then it just became . . . easy to just stay put. I never wanted to stand out too much."

"Oh, sweetie, I think that would be quite impossible to achieve."

"What - stay put?"

"No! You're a pretty girl, and no matter where you go, people will look at you." She laughs and continues to enjoy her tea.

"Well, I mean the more I go through life, the more I see that."

"Stop scowling like that - you'll get wrinkles."

I sigh, because that's such a . . . such an old lady thing to say. And it makes me think of mom. Mom should be here to tell me those things and she's not.

I decide to continue to visit her on Sundays even as classes begin in late August. I don't live on campus (thank God), but I live just close enough that I can sleep in a bit. It's a bit surreal.

Greek Life is everywhere and I stay far away from it because while I love my sisters from before, I don't think I can really dedicate the time and effort that I had into the sorority - I had already been not the most dedicated of sisters, after all.

Besides, now that I'm eighteen, and halfway through college, with a nice little buffer for bills (those checks were fantastic and completely pay for school for the next two years and then some) I have a little breathing room.

I've stayed in Gotham to have access to the files on my mother's death, and considering no progress has been made in her murder case, I think I'm justified in snooping.

Because of this, my time is spent, overwhelmingly, at the library, reading up on old newspaper articles and using the computers there to try and poke holes in LexCorps main frame. Which is where I stumble on Emma and Sarah.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to -"

"SHHHHHH!"

I wince. I think the librarian is being louder than I was with her shushing, but I feel bad.

I nod to her then look at Emma and Sarah, raising my eyebrows expectantly until they wave me over - they're pouring over their laptop - and that's a facebook event for a big party at one of the sorority houses. I try not to roll my eyes.

"You going?"

Thank God they whisper.

I try not to look too skeptical.

"It'll be fun! Maybe you'll meet someone. I mean, you don't have a boyfriend we don't know about, do you?"

Well, no, but why the fuck is that anyone's business?

Dick Grayson is in my Statistics class, and while at first, I had freaked out a bit, he had taken one look at my glare and stayed away. And it was great, for all of ten minutes. The first class was fine - an overview of the syllabus.

And then we got to basic concepts.

"Who can explain correlation? Anyone?"

No one, apparently.

"Alright then, for instance I have this chart here about how when Batman is injured from a mission with the Justice League or other high profile mission, Bruce Wayne also tends to go on long isolated vacations with his sons.

Dick Grayson starts to laugh nervously. "That's ridiculous, Bruce Wayne's not Batman!"

I feel a little bad for him.

"I know, but it is suspicious, isn't it, and you're his son, you're supposed to say that." The professor looks so fucking convinced. "What other explanation could there be?"

The answer's out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

"It tells me Bruce Wayne has mad preservation skills. Who'd want to chance a Gotham with the Batman out of commission? That or he's a coward. He makes it well known how much he dislikes Batman, and he's way too busy with his partying and making poor life decisions to go beating up criminals. And I mean his parents were killed by a criminal. He's probably traumatised and sees the Batman as a protector. He probably gets scared when Batman's nowhere to be found. Correlation does not equal causation, it's just an indicator of something. For instance, an increase in ice cream sales in the summer at the beach at the same time as shark attacks increase is not an example of causation."

I swear I can feel Dick Grayson staring at me, and the professor definitely looks put out.

I mean, he's technically hit the nail on the head, but I put some doubts that theory of his, and I bet he's not about to publish it in the Gotham Gazette anytime soon.

Though with the pictures being taken on phones and the snickers from my classmates, I can't help but think I just made Bruce Wayne look like a coward on social media . . .

I spend the rest of the class trying to shut up and keep my head down.

Dick Grayson somehow finds me in the library just before closing one night in October.

"Hey, Annie, how you been?"

"Why are you sitting here?"

"Huh? Just trying to be chalant and -"

"Chalant's not a word."

"It's the opposite of nonchalant," he explains. "Anyway -"

"Nonchalant comes from the old French 'nonchaloir' with 'chaloir' evolving to chaleur meaning heated. If you're going with that logic, you're trying to be heated? Upset? Nonchalant itself means not concerned, you're trying to be concerned, then say so. Use words that actually exist in the English language, please."

He scowls. "I just thought it would be a good idea to study with-"

"The library is literally closing in ten minutes. What are you planning on cramming in ten minutes that couldn't be done at home or your dorm, apartment, wherever the fuck you live?"

He looks so frustrated now. "Can you stop interrupting me?"

"I don't know, Dick. Can you stop bullshitting me?"

He takes a deep breath, obviously holding back his ire and says, "You're really frustrating, ya know? You're almost worse than Jason was, I think."

"Your point, today, please?"

"Can you just listen to me for five minutes."

"I've given you a minute already. Talk. Or I'm leaving."

He doesn't talk for a solid ten seconds.

"I just - you said those things back in Statistics and -"

"Just because I don't like the guy and think he's way too self righteous doesn't mean I want others to know who he is. You may get on my nerves, but . . . you're his family and . . . I hate it when family is used to manipulate others. It's . . . It's nothing personal. I still dislike him."

"How can you say that?"

"Very easily."

"That's - you need to be careful. That's what I came to say. People like you -"

"Apathetic?"

"No - people that can do - wait, you consider yourself apathetic?"

I snort. Not at all. I get angry like anyone else.

"No, but I guess some people might see it that way." Like Sarah and Emma. I guess resigned would be a better word to describe me. I look away from him and try not to get lost in thought before I look back. "Thanks for the warning. I'll keep it in mind."

He follows me to the exit of the library, the librarian glaring as she escorts us out, and continues to follow.

"Why are you following me?"

"I'm not following you, we just happen to be going in the same direction."

I call bullshit, he's just like the other boy wonder. But I let it go because I don't feel like fighting all that much tonight.

And we walk without talking at all for a solid ten minutes, before Dick breaks the silence.

"You were hacking Wayne Enterprises a while ago . . ."

"It was practice."

"For?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Well, I mean, we have considerable resources. I can see if I can find the information you're looking for . . ."

"No thanks, I don't need you knowing my business."

He looks way too fucking amused.

"You were hacking into our business, isn't it the other way around?"

"Like I said, it was practice, and I didn't find out anything I didn't already know."

He's quiet again - thank God - for another few minutes, just the sound of our shoes on the pavement and our breaths taking in the cold air.

And then he has to break the silence again.

"You ever think about him - Jason, I mean."

I guess my face says it all, because he quickly lifts up his hands in surrender. "I mean, when we're not around to remind you . . ."

I think about it for a moment. "We weren't . . . we weren't exactly friends. But . . . I knew him and he was one of the only things that . . . before my coma when I was nine, I apparently had a crush on him. I don't really remember it at all, but my mom told me why I liked him. He defended me from some bullies who were being assholes because my mom was some big shot lawyer, and my dad ran one of the busiest chop shops in town and . . . I guess hearing it from someone else, and knowing . . . he was a good person, underneath his prickly exterior."

"And now?"

I shrug my shoulders.

"You haven't dated . . ."

I'm offended. "That's because half the people in Gotham are crazies and the other half are . . ." I struggle to find the right words.

"Or maybe you don't want anyone to get close."

"That's -"

"You know I'm at least a little right."

"Is that all you came to say?"

He sighs. "I didn't mean it like -"

"Yeah well fuck you. You don't know anything about me. I have too many things going on in my life to worry about a boyfriend."

"Well, maybe just start small then . . ."

"What - a one night stand? With who - you?"

I try not to laugh at his expression - "No-no-no, that's - you - I meant go out with your friends and actually - why would you . . . ?"

I roll my eyes - and would you look at that? "This is my stop. See you later, wonder boy."

If he continues to sputter at my doorstep, well . . . that's his problem.

Of course the one morning I actually bother to wake up early and have time to settle down with my coffee and the Gotham Gazette is the day there's the most ridiculous second page headline about Metropolis that manages to keep my attention - and nearly make me late for class.

See, a few years ago there was a short segment on all the news channels and radio stations about the street orphans of Metropolis disappearing with resulting Amber Alerts - they were never resolved. The abductions stopped after two weeks at most, and the panic in Metropolis continued for another month before they realized they had stopped, and then they stopped caring, because they were orphans, who would miss them? It's been a year and none of the children have ever been found.

Until today, apparently.

The girl's name is Caitlin Jeffers, and she was allegedly found in a warehouse after a nosy old lady living in the apartment complex across the street called the police for 'suspicious activity'. The story continues - she has no memory of anything that happened prior to being found and has been graciously adopted by Lex Luthor.

I scoff. While the news of an Amber Alert not having a tragic or non-existent ending is big enough, I have a hard time believing that Lex Luthor adopted her out of the goodness of his heart.

There are two pictures in the paper - before and after - with the first being probably not the best quality but features her and another, smaller girl who's half cut out, both covered in grime, while the other has a dolled up girl standing next to Lex Luthor. And by dolled up, I mean makeup and jewelry and hair that seems a little too immaculately styled. Her face is epitome of boredom and disinterest, with maybe a hint of affluence, I suppose she must feel as a token trophy child.

But there's something else, something I can't put a finger on, that seems familiar. Like I should have some kinship with her.

And in a way, I do. But I also don't, because I had mom, and she has Lex Luthor. And Lex Luthor is the source of all my misery in this life. I shudder to think of what would have happened had mom also been in the car accident with Mr. Simon. With nobody to stop the hospital from pulling the plug, I would have died in a week. So I guess I'm glad to be alive, but still . . .

Luthor has to be up to something. Why did he adopt a girl off the streets? Is this a way of getting to me? Putting aside my revenge plans, I'm worried that he's not going to let me continue as I have. He'll never stop trying to gain control of me.

Which all means I really only have one option. Not like it's new, since I decided this long ago.

Lex Luthor's going to die.

And maybe I'll make him suffer a little bit first. Caitlin Jeffers seems like a good place to start.

Christmas used to be my favorite time of year, that is until Mr. Falcone ruined it with that one Christmas Party and New Years Event where I met Luthor. But since I work for the man, there's not much I can do to get out of the event.

So I go.

Sofia Falcone attaches herself to me quickly tonight and pulls me from group to group, introducing me as the 'wonderful little secretary of dad's.'

I'm not insulted.

It's a beautiful place, though, and I have to hand it to the mobsters - they sure know how to throw a party. There's holly everywhere, the smell of cinnamon in the air (there has to be a scent machine, somewhere), and a bunch of mistletoe at practically every doorway.

It takes everything in me to avoid it, and I seem to be doing a good job.

Dinner is good Italian fare, and the conversation is light - probably because Mrs. Falcone is present. It's not even until after dinner that Falcone begins to receive guests in his office.

He spends three hours there - and because I'm his secretary, I have to stick around to pencil in any appointments that may be made behind closed doors.

And then it's finally over, and I'm ready to leave when Mr. Falcone stops me.

"Annie, come here, I'd like a word with you."

Fuck.

"I have a new assignment for you. That Black Mask is getting a little too bold, and I need someone to infiltrate his organization."

I immediately know it's a bad idea, and ask, "Why?"

"Because I need a mole."

"And you think I'm the best candidate?"

"You've proven you can keep your mouth shut, and you're smart. I'm sure you could figure it out."

This such a bad idea. On so many levels.

"How am I even supposed to find them?"

"They'll most likely approach you, what with their active recruiting of my people. And that's what I'm counting on. And there are ways. I need to know Black Mask's angles. And you're a good listener. I see you eavesdropping outside my door, but only because you don't even really try to hide it."

"And why would this be a good idea? Why should I do it?"

"Well, I mean the pay is nothing to scoff at. Don't get me wrong, it won't be a walk in the park, and it'll take up probably a lot of your time, but I think you're up to it. It's why I've had you learning how to use a gun and -"

"Please, stop right there. This has been your plan all along, hasn't it?"

He doesn't answer me.

I know what will happen if I say no - I'll have disappointed him, and people don't just disappoint Falcone and walk away unscathed.

So I nod, but inside I'm thinking about how I'm going to be a spy, and briefly wonder - how hard would it be to be a double agent.

Either way, my Christmas is ruined.

Emma and Sarah insist on my going out tonight, on boxing day, and with how stressed I am from this new assignment - it was a terrible idea to join the mob - I go.

I meet them at this club - which, what the fuck? We're twenty.

I shouldn't doubt them though, because somehow they found my old fake ID from Falcone and have some of their own.

I almost immediately regret being here, as Emma and Sarah both get progressively drunk, and completely ignore me when I try to get the bartender to stop - only he's flirting, and probably thinks he'll get lucky.

I think I'm scowling.

I'm going to get wrinkles - and oh my God, I spend way too much time with Mrs. Smith.

It's at one in the morning when I grab Emma's arm and pull her away from this one guy - watch the hands, buster - "Where's Sarah? It's late and we should get back."

Emma looks childlike when she's drunk. "Sarah?" Her eyes are wide and she she's looking at me blankly before she smiles widely and grabs my arm. "I'm so glad you're heeere, Annie! We've missssed you!"

"Yeah, I am too, but we need to get to sleep now."

"Sleep? Yeah." She's pliant and easily letting me pull her, and that's what gives me the sinking feeling in my stomach.

"Emma, when did you see Sarah?"

"Hmm? She went out back."

I might be panicking a little as I drag her behind me to find - Robin's beating up a guy in the alley while Sarah looks on - obviously too drunk out of her mind.

What was I even thinking, letting Emma and Sarah out of my sight.

Emma's pouting behind me. "You were supposed to drink too, Annie."

Robin stops with the punches - yeah the other guy's not getting up anytime soon - and turns to stare at us and -

"Yeah, that was your plan, not mine. One of us had to stay sober."

Robin looks unimpressed.

My words also seem to stir Sarah, because she turns her gaze to us and she holds her arms out for what I can only assume is a hug.

"Home?" I ask, still eyeing the guy.

She nods, and turns to look at him. "Are you coming with us, Robin?"

He looks stunned, and then schools his expression.

"Come on, up you go. Sorry for the trouble. Have a nice evening." I haul Sarah up, and put her arm over my shoulder when he grabs my wrist.

"You're one person, and despite how strong you think you are, you're small and can't carry two people. I'll help."

And he's not wrong.

It's silent, the walk to the dorms, except for the occasional nonsensical mutterings of the two resident drunks, and by the time we arrive at their dorm room - they share a room, but the building is co-ed - they're half asleep.

I sneak glances at him from the corner of my eye as we both settle the girls into their beds, and - he's glancing at me too, especially as I get up to leave.

"You're not in this room."

It's not a question.

"Nope. I live off campus."

"I'll take you there."

"No offense, and thanks for the help earlier, but I can take care of myself."

He sighs and says, "It'll make me feel better."

I roll my eyes, but don't say anything as he falls into step beside me.

"This isn't exactly what big bird had in mind when he told you to go out more . . ."

Big Bird?

I can't help bursting out laughing, trying to keep my eyes from tearing up, because all I can imagine is the yellow bird from Sesame Street, and - and - and that's Dick Grayson's nickname? Comedy gold.

Robin looks stunned by my laughter, though, so I try to pull myself together.

"Big bird?"

He looks embarrassed now. "I mean, it's just a nickname we have amongst ourselves."

I'm too fucking amused to care. "You know I'll never let it go, right? And I'll tell him you told me."

He looks resigned and mutters something about needing coffee - huh, smart kid. Coffee is life.

He walks me home, and then disappears just as quickly as he'd arrived.

I try not to feel too upset.

I still haven't forgiven him for wiping my laptop, though.