I had a gun strapped to each thigh and another slung across my back. There was a dagger in my boot and a set of butterfly knives holstered on my hip. My outfit consisted of black cargo pants, combat boots, a black long sleeve shirt, and leather glove; my work clothes. "Are you ready?"
Penguin stood by the door of our apartment in his pristine suit. He leaned on his umbrella for support and the other hand held a neatly wrapped bouquet of a dozen red roses. "I've been read," he answered.
"Sorry, I don't feel like dying at Maroni's hand today," I retorted.
Butch came with us to the hospital, our own guard dog.
Falcone was restrained to a gurney in the hospital. The gurney sat in the middle of the room and the rest of the hospital wing was deserted. "Penguin," the Don breathed when he saw us. "Thank God, let me out of here. Maroni's men are gonna be her soon."
"Yes, I imagine they will, so I mustn't stay long. I thought I ought to say goodbye to you in person." Penguin put the roses on his lap and turned his attention to the cabinet and set of drawers also in the room. "It was me old friend. I did this to you."
Falcone began to struggle, pulling at his restraint. I snapped open my thigh holster and flexed my fingers, ready to draw the gun.
"It was me, old friend," Penguin continued like he was Gatsby. "I did this to you. I started the war. From the day I met you, I was planning it. I'm sorry it has to be in this little corner, but c'est la vie," he shrugged and pulled a scalpel out of the drawer.
"Why?" Falcone asked.
"Nothing personal, I assure you, sir," Penguin answered. "You have been a wise mentor and a good friend, but business must come first. I'm going to take your place, old man. I'm gonna be the King of Gotham."
"You? Never," sneered Falcone. "You're gonna burn in hell."
"I'm glad you're worried about that, but you first, old friend, you first," Penguin grinned and put the scalpel against the man's throat.
There was the sound of a cocking gun. I spun around and saw Jim Gordon with his gun to Butch's head. I whipped my own gun out and aimed it at my uncle.
"Walk away," Penguin tried to tell him.
"Shut up!" Jim ordered.
"You want to rethink that?" I growled.
Jim moved his gun and pointed it at Oswald, but remained holding onto Butch's collar, using the man as a shield. "Put it down; all of them."
I looked at Oswald for an order. I was sure that I could shoot first and Oswald probably wouldn't die. He lifted the blade from Falcone's neck and let it clatter to the floor. I placed my own gun on the ground as well as the two others and butterfly knives.
"Oswald Cobblepot, Butch Gilzean, and Miranda Saturn, you are all under arrest for attempted murder," Jim holstered his gun and handcuffed us all to the radiator.
"You're going to regret this," I growled.
"Didn't you hear? Falcone is out!" Oswald began protesting
"I heard," Jim replied, not paying him any mind.
"So release me, Jim. Release me and be on the winning side!" Oswald continued.
Jim persisted in ignoring Oswald. He asked Falcone if the Don could regain control; if he could bring order back to Gotham.
"Maroni's thugs are minutes away!" Oswald yelled at Jim. "And they're not really fond of me either, so you need to uncuff me, Jim. Jim!"
The cop picked up my machine gun. "Can you walk?" he asked Falcone.
"If I have to," the old man replied.
"Let's get you out of here; to your safe house." Jim began undoing the man's restraints.
"Jim!" Oswald called. "My friend, you are making a terrible mistake."
I studied my two companions. I couldn't reach my remaining weapons and neither could they. But if I could get Jim close enough I could hurt him and Oswald could get his keys.
"You can't leave us here!" Oswald began again. "Maroni's men will kill me; kill your niece! You arrested us. We're in your custody now. You owe me!"
"Detective Gordon!" Came a man's voice from the hallway.
"Don't kill them," Jim ordered Falcone and went out into the hallway.
Gun fire filled the hallway and echoed off the tiles. Instead of being involved, I was hunched over and unable to move from where I stood. The cold metal of the handcuffs dug into my wrists while the heat from the radiator burned. I growled and struggled, only causing myself more pain.
"Alright, let's go," Jim returned.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Harvey Bullock had appeared right behind my uncle. He helped move the four of us to the basement and into an ambulance. Jim drove and Harvey rode shotgun. The back of the ambulance was cramped with me and three men. Still, I dared not leave the vehicle without my weapons; I would be walking right into the fire of Maroni's men. It was an uncomfortable silence between Penguin and Falcone.
"You're the Devil's Darling, aren't you? Falcone asked me.
"And if I am?" I responded.
"Why don't you just kill me now?" he taunted.
"What would be the point? I'd have to sit back with an old, bleeding body; Jim would arrest me again, this time on first degree murder; Oswald wouldn't have his moment of glory; should I go on?" But still, I pulled a blade from my boot and leered at him. "I do wonder, though, how much would it take to kill you?"
"Darling," Penguin spoke sternly, stopping me from getting close enough to draw blood.