Blackened Heart IV: The Wages of Sin
CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Drama
Language: some
Violence: no
Nudity: yes (f, underage)
Sex: discussed (pedophilia)
Other: none
Author's Note:
The Harvard story is true, as I recall it. (It was NOT Malcolm!)
Britishisms courtesy of the Raglan Shire Brain Trust, with special help from Judi.
This chapter contains an interaction with the child prostitutes. It is not detailed, but I'm putting this warning here anyway.
Blackened Heart IV: The Wages of Sin
==#==
Diane set about washing her car - inside and out - before breakfast, in the cooler hours of early morning. She let the simple physical activity quiet her mind, a sort of useful meditation. Sometimes she ironically wondered if her former husband had developed the strategy of intentionally upsetting her in order to get the house clean. She had to admit, it wasn't her favorite activity, so she'd been a little lax about it, filling her time with other interests and pursuits.
Rick had pulled that gambit far too many times, so he was now cleaning his own house. Or he'd found a more domestic wife. Diane hadn't really thought about him in years. Of course, thoughts of Rick led her wandering mind to thoughts of Malcolm Merlyn.
She still didn't know what to make of him. When he first contacted her, with the idea of taking part in the SEA Change operation, she'd scrambled to find any excuse to refuse. There were two types of people who helped the organization: volunteers, like Justin and Lynne and the others, who donated their time. Then there were those who donated money. Big corporations funded a lot of charities, for various reasons. Tax breaks, she assumed. For all she knew, rich businessmen threw money at her organization in penance for their guilty pleasures. Or to throw off the authorities. Why no, inspector, I'm not a pedophile; I donate regularly to stop such awful things.
So when a 'rich businessman' aka 'the root of all evil' contacted her, wanting to come here, it set off all kinds of alarms in her head. He resisted her efforts to put him off, and when she finally talked to him on the phone, she'd bluntly asked him what he hoped to achieve. His answer had surprised her, and revealed to her the human being behind the label.
Something had happened - it was personal; he didn't say what - to make him step back and re-evaluate his life. And he found it wanting. He had a need to help people. Not in the normal sense of giving your neighbor a hand with the yard work, or making cookies for a church or school bake sale, but to really help, to profoundly change someone's life. Rescuing children from Hell and giving them new lives, new freedom... A chance for them to wake up without an overwhelming fear choking their throats. A chance to look forward to the coming day instead of dreading it as a continuation of an endless nightmare.
Even after meeting him in person, Diane still had a knee-jerk reaction to him being the head of one of the largest corporations on the planet, a stuffed shirt dispensing favors like an Olympian god. She couldn't help but be afraid that if she stepped out of line, if she messed up, made one little mistake, or somehow insulted him, that he'd pull his funding like a kid taking his toys and going home, and she would have to face the very real possibility of having to close down the organization.
He had tried to set everyone at ease, even good-naturedly participating in the group's teasing. Diane herself had seen fleeting glimpses of the depths of his spirit. It was like peering into a deep well, and seeing brief flashes of light reflected by the dark water far below. She wondered about the scars he had. He must have been young, she thought. Perhaps too young to have any other form of escape from what had been troubling him.
She shook herself and shut the door on those thoughts. She'd told him it didn't matter, that it was in his past. She would respect that and let it go. It was what he did now that counted.
==#==
Afterwards, Diane got a quick shower and half dried her hair with the industrial hot air blower. If she let it dry fully under those, it would frizz out and be a complete wreck. She threw on some fresh work clothes and was finger-combing her damp locks when she met Mack and Malcolm just outside. "Mack, did you make Malcolm scrub the latrines?"
The young woman grinned irrepressibly, but Malcolm spoke up for her. "I offered to help."
"I'm innocent, boss," Mack said unconvincingly as she traipsed towards the showers. "Ta-ta!"
Diane shook her head, unsure whether to laugh or apologize.
Malcolm just chuckled and said, "I was just heading to get some coffee, if you wanted to join me?"
"I definitely need some."
When they got to the canteen, they met a chipper Justin waiting for them, coffee freshly brewed and hotcakes on the griddle. Diane hadn't been planning on much of a breakfast besides industrial-strength coffee, but now that she'd gotten the stink of old manure out of her sinuses, her stomach rumbled at the thought of food.
"I hope you like hotcakes," Justin was saying to Malcolm. "Otherwise, I'll have to eat them all myself and risk turning into a blimp."
Diane rolled her eyes. "Justin, you're skinny as a rail."
"Maybe I should eat it all, then. Leave you lot to fend for yourselves."
"I, for one," said Malcolm, "am grateful, and will certainly do my part to help you keep your railish good looks."
"My new best friend!" Justin served him up a plate of hotcakes.
"Flatterer," Diane teased Malcolm.
"Slave-driver," Justin accused her in turn, offering her a plate as well. He sat down with them with his own coffee mug. "Don't think I don't know you had the poor fellow scrubbing latrines all morning."
"That was Mack, not me!" she protested, nearly choking with her mouth half full. The two men laughed. Diane shook her head and conceded she was outnumbered. She attacked her food, instead.
When they finished eating, they sat chatting over their coffee. Justin brought over the pot and refilled their mugs. "So," he asked amicably, retaking his seat, "What's the worst prank that was ever pulled at your university?"
"Pranks?" Diane asked with a quirked brow. "That's what you want to hear about?"
"Come on, American universities are world renowned for their horrible discipline, terrible student hijinks, and barbaric hazing rituals." He looked at Malcolm. "Did you have hazing at your fraternity?"
"No, Pi Kappa Iota Mu were very serious about academics."
"Well, that sounds dreadfully dull."
Diane laughed.
"There was this one famous incident - infamous, I guess I should say - at Harvard," Malcolm mused. He glanced at Justin. "Harvard, you know, is one of America's top institutions of academics."
"Mm-hm."
"Well, this certain incident concerned a Freshman who was trying to moon someone from a second-storey window. The glass couldn't withstand the pressure from his - ah... posterior..." Diane snorted into her mug, and Malcolm spared a quick look to make sure she hadn't scalded her nostrils. "The window broke, and the Freshman fell out to land - posterior first - in the bushes."
"Was he killed outright?" Justin asked, with mock concern.
"No, he survived."
"Alas."
Malcolm smiled. "His parents promptly sued Harvard for not having the foresight to install bars on the windows of the upper floors to allow their son to forcibly moon people in safety."
"Ah, the USA, Land of Lawyers."
"If I were them," Diane said, "I'd have expelled that kid for being too stupid to go to Harvard."
Malcolm wagged a finger. "Then you wouldn't be able to recoup your losses by charging exorbitant tuition fees. You have to think of the long game."
Justin said, "If your parents invested the settlement money wisely..."
"It wasn't me," Malcolm insisted. Diane put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
"Are you sure?" Justin asked with a gleam in his eye. "I can just picture you, being a young rake, mooning passers-by..."
"Justin!" Diane scolded him, though she could hardly stop laughing long enough to do so.
"It was not me; it was a news story I heard, years after I graduated." Malcolm pinched his lips together, trying not to grin at the good-natured teasing.
Diane turned to him. "They didn't actually win the lawsuit, did they?"
Malcolm tilted his head. "You know, I never did hear a follow-up story saying whether they did or not."
"I can still hope not, then," she replied.
==#==
After lunch, they gathered in the canteen for a meeting. It was as informal as a meeting could get, nothing like the corporate meetings at Merlyn Global. Mack and Amy sat up on the table, their feet resting on the bench where Justin, Lynne, and Kristin casually draped. Malcolm sat a little apart, still feeling the outsider to their tightly-knit group. Diane paced before them.
"Okay, we're coming down to the wire, folks. The liaisons should be here today, so that means tonight is liberation." Her voice resonated with excitement, and Malcolm could feel it thrumming between all of them like a charge of electricity.
"Who are the liaisons?" he asked.
"There's an inspector from the Thai Ministry who goes undercover as a translator for an American agent - we usually get one on loan from the FBI," Diane said. Justin chimed in to help her explain.
"He poses as a prospective client at each of the active brothels."
"They tape evidence of the child prostitution activities, get a head count of how many children are present in each location."
"They move them around sometimes," Justin added. "Especially if they feel the law is going to get off its arse and actually do something."
"We try not to use the local police force," Diane said, not quite able to completely mask her disdain.
"Too many leaks," Justin agreed.
Malcolm nodded.
"Anyway," Diane went on, her expression clearing, "once we have the evidence, there's a huge raid. The cops take the traffickers, and we rescue the children." Her eyes lit up, and Malcolm had to smile at her fierce dedication.
"So." She stepped to the table and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Here's the last minute checklist. We need to try to make this as perfect as possible. I want a double check on the bedroll and blanket inventory - and air them out.
"I want each child to have a piece of fruit, and their own toy that is theirs to keep. We need a count of stock on hand, then we can take the van on a shopping run. Justin, you are on grocery duty."
"As you wish, mon capitan."
"Malcolm, um... I'm not sure what you'd like to work on?"
"Anything you need, Diane."
"Well, you can help me with the toy inventory. And we'll stick everyone else on laundry duty."
"Yay," came the flatly unenthusiastic cheer from the women.
Then Lynne said, "At least it's not as hot and stuffy as the supply shed."
==#==
The storage shed was hot and stuffy, having no windows. They left the door propped open with an old chunk of wood. The toys were bagged and stored in numbered boxes. At first, Malcolm thought they were cheap carnival toys, so that SEA Change could stock a lot, and give them to the children for a week or two. But no, they were small, but of good quality. A toy a child could treasure.
Most were plush animals - various bears, tigers, penguins - but there were others as well. Plastic cars, rubber duckies, yo-yos. Malcolm held a little tugboat in his hands, memories drifting by, bare glimpses of a life long gone. Tommy when he was so young. Back when Malcolm's life was whole.
"Hey...," Diane said softly, drawing him back. "You okay? You sort of zoned out there a little."
"I was just thinking about my son. It's been many, many years since a toy could bring him so much comfort." He placed the boat carefully in its designated bag and scribbled a note on the inventory page. "We've grown apart since then. It's hard trying to get that back. One of the things I regret is not being a better father."
"I'm sure you did the best you could."
"No." Malcolm shook his head. It was polite of her to say, but... "No, I was always a little... self-absorbed." He grimaced. "I could have done so much better."
"But you still have a chance to make up for it."
"Is that really enough? How do you make up for a lifetime of disappointment?"
"You keep moving forward," she told him. "Malcolm, children are incredibly resilient."
"Yes, that's true." He looked at her. "Do you have children of your own?"
Her expression darkened a little. "No. When I was younger, I thought it a terrible thing to bring a child into this messed-up world. I was such a horrible pessimist back then." She laughed a little at herself. "Now, all the children we rescue are my kids." A fond smile played across her lips.
"Did you ever adopt any?" He resumed browsing through the toys.
"No... It was tempting. But I don't think I could give one child the exclusive attention they would need. They'll be adopted by caring families in the US or Europe." She frowned a little, then. "Though I've heard some horror stories from Central Europe. Why is it that tourism tries to cater to rich white American perverts? What is it about these corporate pricks that- er, sorry! Present company excluded." She ducked her head apologetically.
"They say that 'absolute power corrupts absolutely,' and in America, money is the ultimate power." He frowned. "I've always hated that saying. Why should power corrupt people? Wouldn't a decent man use his power wisely? For the greater good?" He had to sigh. "Then you hear about these religious leaders, abusing their authority, and you have to wonder."
He shook his head, then met her eyes. "I try not to let money and power affect me, but it must. It affects how I make decisions, what avenues are open to me, and believe me, with enough money, nearly anything is possible."
"Well, I think a conscientious man, who is keenly aware of his power, would be careful not to make the mistake of abusing it."
"Do you think a man with so much power can really keep his perspective?"
"I'm sure that from the top floors of those high-rise office buildings, we all look like little ants down here," she said with wry humor. He chuckled softly. Then she sobered. "Maybe then it becomes tempting to treat people like insects. But I think all you need to do is stay true to your moral compass. That will faithfully guide you, even when you lose sight of where you're going."
Malcolm frowned in thought. Moira had been his moral compass, these long years that had left Rebecca silent in her grave. A broken compass, its heading faulty. Was he truly a monster? Was he lost?
"I'm sorry," Diane said in worry. "Did I say something...?"
"No," he reassured her with a quick smile. "Not at all. You've just given me a lot to think about. Thank you for that."
Flustered, she turned to the box she was working on, idly rifling the contents. It surprised him, this shy side of the fierce warrior who stood up to injustice and defended her convictions. With all her strength, there was still a softness to her. "Sorry," she muttered defensively. "I didn't mean to get all philosophical."
"No, I like that," he said. "So many people go through life like... mindless little ants."
A smile tried to break free from her, but she ducked her head to hide it.
"Well, like good worker ants, we should get back to it." With an answering smile, he turned his attention to the task at hand.
==#==
After a short break for lunch, a car arrived at the gate, bringing the liaisons.
"This is Inspector Prem Naraket from Bangkok." Diane introduced everyone on her team. Malcolm nodded a greeting to the man, who seemed a bit short and skinny for law enforcement - but that was probably the idea, for his undercover work. Diane had explained the two step operation for rescuing the children. The inspector and an American agent would pose as a big money client and an interpreter, to visit each of the establishments, get a count of how many children were present, a recording of the men peddling them for sex, and to set up a 'party' that would actually be a raid.
"We're all ready to go," Diane told the agent.
"Ah..." He gave an embarrassed little smile. "It's Connor, our American liaison. He's sprained his ankle. I'm afraid we have to postpone the operation for five weeks."
Disappointment smothered the enthusiastic atmosphere in the room within seconds. Everyone had been so excited to finally be doing something proactive. "Five weeks?" Diane exclaimed, clearly upset. "But everything is in place. I've made the travel arrangements already. The people at Heathrow are all set..."
"Can't you call in another agent?" Kristen asked.
"I'm sorry," the inspector said. "I can request another agent, but they will have to find someone, rearrange schedules... It would probably take the same amount of time. Or even longer."
"I'll do it," Malcolm said.
Everyone just looked at him with various expressions of surprise and incredulity.
"What?" He quirked a brow. "I'm not 'rich white American' enough?"
Diane and Prem Naraket shared a look. She came over to Malcolm. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
She led him into the kitchen. "Look, Malcolm," she said, pacing the length of the counter with nervous agitation. "It's not that we don't appreciate the offer." For a moment, he thought she was going to revert to walking on eggshells around him, but then she faced him and told him bluntly, "But this is an undercover police operation. It's dangerous."
"I'm willing to risk it," he said.
"It's not just dangerous for you," she insisted. "If you slip up, even in the slightest; if these people smell a phony, they will disappear - they will pack these children off to God-knows-where. Or even... eliminate them so they don't have to deal with the baggage." It wouldn't be difficult for the sex traffickers to rebuild their business. There were so many lives to sell, so many people so desperately poor. They became disposable.
"Look, not to foster the evil corporate businessman stereotype, but I am quite adept at lying."
"It's not just lying. It's not just words. You have to be a man who can look at a child with lust in his eyes. And talk about..." She gritted her teeth and forged on. "Talk about how much you enjoy porking little girls!"
He suppressed a flinch, recognizing how she was testing him. He approved. "Actually, I don't," he told her. He recalled the captain of the Sea Pearl. A facilitator only. "I don't have to be into it; I can be setting up a party for a bunch of 'friends' who are."
"I don't know, Malcolm." She ran a hand back through her hair. "You're going to have to see them, in their working environment. It will be painful."
"More painful than the Hell they'll have to live through for five more weeks?"
Her eyes flashed a moment in startlement. He saw pain within them, welling up. She seemed unable to look away. Then her eyes shone with something else. Gratitude. Now she blinked and turned, shyly ducking her head. "I'll have Prem discuss the details of the operation with you. If he thinks you'll pass muster, then..." She opened her palms in acceptance.
He nodded. She wanted badly for this operation to continue, but she would not jeopardize it with false hopes.
==#==
So Malcolm met the inspector in Diane's office for a short and intense drilling session. Fortunately, Prem Naraket told him, his interaction with the sex traffickers would be minimal. They didn't know much English. She do Boom-Boom; she do Yum-Yum. Yes sir; virgin very good; twenty thousand dollar!
Malcolm understood what Diane had meant. Even these childish euphemisms turned his stomach. All he had to do was keep his face impassive as he practiced the typical exchange with Naraket.
Then the agent fitted him with camera and wire. "When you go there," Naraket advised, "when you see them, it is best to pretend they are not children. Not human. When you speak of them, pretend they are sheep. Or dogs, who do circus tricks. Anything but the truth. Now, to activate the recording..."
Malcolm had questioned visiting all the brothels on the same day. "Wouldn't they notice they all have big parties lined up at the same time?"
Naraket snorted. "They are competitors. They don't talk."
"Still, it seems risky to hit them all at once."
"They don't talk about clients, but one gets hit by a raid, they all know it. They will bolt."
And destroy the evidence behind them, Malcolm thought with a shudder. Like Diane had warned him. He steeled himself for the most ruthless mission he had ever undertaken.
==#==
Things went smoothly until the last operation. This was the biggest brothel, opulent compared to the others.
Before, they had met the traffickers in small offices and viewed the wares paraded past them in dingy back rooms, toddlers on display, like the Starling City Little Princess beauty pageant. This place had a lounge in the receiving room with a leather sofa and low table. Their host, full of obsequious smiles, bid them sit and have some tea.
Malcolm delivered his lines, about looking to book a big party, for Naraket to dutifully translate.
Meanwhile, a tea tray was brought in by a girl who couldn't have been older than 4 or 5. Makeup had been artfully applied to accent her eyes, her cheeks, to glisten her lips. A second girl, even younger, ghosted along beside her. Both wore bright smiles. There was a shine in their eyes, too, but it was not joy. It was the fear of a rat caught in a trap.
The older girl poured a cup of tea and offered it to him. Malcolm bit his tongue to keep from uttering a polite 'thank you.' He nearly spilled the tea when the smaller girl began petting his knee.
He shot a glance at Naraket, who was in negotiations with the flesh peddler. The inspector spared him a brief warning look. Malcolm settled himself down. It wasn't as if they were going to actually do anything right here and now.
He set his tea cup down, untouched. To distract the girl from sliding her hand even further up his thigh, he asked them, "Are you still virgins?" It was the first thing that popped into his head, a standard question for his role. He didn't even know if they understood English, but apparently they recognized the word 'virgin' at least.
It had the desired effect of making them back up a little. Their smiles faltered, and they turned shy. Then they held up a number of fingers, like little children showing how old they were. I am this many. But in this instance, what they meant was how many men they had serviced.
Malcolm found himself on his feet, rage boiling inside him. Naraket's eyes widened in alarm, fearing their cover was about to be blown to bits. "What's the meaning of this?" Malcolm snapped at the pimp. "I thought you said they were virgins!"
Naraket hastened to translate, but the trafficker waved him off, understanding well enough. "They do Yum-Yum - no Boom-Boom. Boom-Boom still good virgin." He rattled off something in the local dialect that Malcolm didn't quite catch, harshly gesturing to the girls. "You see! Virgin, very good."
The girls lifted their dresses; they wore nothing underneath. Malcolm glanced at Naraket, who shot him a hard, nearly desperate look. Don't mess this up!
Malcolm took a breath and straightened his shirt. He wasn't sure he was supposed to tape this part, but no evidence could be more compelling than this. He moved to the girls and crouched, trying to turn his body to block the pimp's line of sight, but he couldn't manage it fully without being too obvious.
He just steeled himself. Just like inspecting a livestock purchase. He wondered if the girls pretended they were sheep, placid animals with no thoughts in their heads. He quashed that thought as well. It was a cold-blooded job, and he intended to see it through.
"Fine," he said, straightening after a cursory examination. "But I expect they'll remain so for the party tomorrow." He fixed the pimp with an icy glare. "I expect a full turnout of your retinue - of all ages and experience levels, girls and boys - and I expect your full attention for the event. You're certainly getting paid enough to buy this place outright, ten times over!"
Naraket translated as quickly as possible, and the pimp fawned and nodded enthusiastically. Malcolm slapped a roll of money into his hand and escaped without a backward glance.
==#==
Malcolm and Inspector Naraket didn't speak in the car on the way back to the SEA Change compound, for which Malcolm was grateful. He tried several times to stop wiping his hands on his slacks, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was on his skin.
They were the first to return to the compound after their errands. Naraket retrieved the surveilance equipment from Malcolm's shirt, and explained that the Department of Juvenile Observation and Protection would be reviewing it. Malcolm nodded at everything and managed a calm facade until he could bid the inspector goodbye.
Then he went into the lavatory to wash his hands. Though he ran them under the rushing hot water and soaped them up numerous times, he couldn't scrub away that dirty feeling.
The memory of the encounter tried to replay in his mind. He shoved the images away. It's in the past. It's over and done with. It's time to move on.
His thoughts were interrupted by a cool Oxford accent. "You all right, mate?" Justin appeared in the doorway, his head tipped in concerned curiosity.
Malcolm drew a breath and collected himself. "I'm - yes." He shut off the faucet and turned to dry his hands.
"Come to the canteen. We'll get you some coffee." The young man considered him with pursed lips. "Or maybe something stronger."
They headed over to the canteen. Malcolm sat down and let Justin putter about making the coffee. The young man chatted inanely about his trip to the market, about his long-standing feud with the coffee maker, nonsensical little things. He dug around in a top cupboard, declaring that this was 'the stash of rotgut.'
He brought Malcolm a mug of coffee, and tipped the bottle so he could see the label.
Malcolm nodded.
Justin gave him two splashes in his mug, and took one in his own. Malcolm blew on the hot coffee and took a sip. "Ergh." He tried not to say it out loud, but neither the coffee nor the liquor were exactly top of the line. Far from it.
Justin shrugged with a sympathetic half smile. "You know, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. Or, if not of course..."
Malcolm mulled it over, but ended up shaking his head. What would he say? What could the young man do about it?
Justin nodded. "More manly that way," he agreed. He sipped his coffee.
"It's just... Now we have to wait," Malcolm said. "Naraket has to take the tapes to his superiors, make sure they were done properly. If I screwed up..." He grimaced, teeth clenched. He wanted to go in there and massacre them all. But what would the Dark Archer do with the children? "It's going to take them another day to put together the raid. That's another night she- that they-" His fingers tightened on the mug as he fought back the images in his mind.
Justin gripped his wrist. "You can't think like that. It's one more night, like last night. Like the night before that, and countless others before that."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No. It's to put things in perspective." He withdrew his hand. "You're not responsible for the things going on this night any more than you were for all those other nights before. Or any that come after this one, once the brothels get re-established. Or any of them in the countries around the world."
"Then why are we here? You make it sound so hopeless, Justin!"
"I know, at times, it seems like trying to empty the ocean with a teacup. But you have to keep your perspective on a human level. No one is big enough to lift a whole supertanker to bail with, or powerful enough to make the sun go supernova and dry up the seas."
"So it is hopeless." Malcolm frowned into his mug. Thoughts of supernovas scouring the seas entered his mind, however.
"That's not what I'm saying. Look, if we sit back on our arses with our teacups and don't do anything, then we'll never make any headway. If we stubbornly go about it, fighting impossible odds, maybe we'll attract the attention of others, and they'll join our cause." The young man gestured, gazing off at an imaginary shoreline. "We'll grow and spread our ideals, our commitment, and someday we'll have a teacup brigade the size of a supertanker. Someday we'll reach a tipping point. But we have to start small."
Malcolm didn't reply. It sounded so much like what he and Robert tried to do with the Glades, with Starling City. He'd run out of patience with it. Some people might join the cause, yes. Like Oliver, and his cohorts. But so many just didn't care; they couldn't be bothered.
His thoughts were interrupted again when Justin touched the back of his wrist with two fingers to capture his attention. "You're responsible for what it is you can do. You went out there today, and believe me, not many people could handle that. Even if you couldn't rescue any children tonight, by tomorrow, dozens will be liberated. It will all be worth it, you'll see." His dark eyes met Malcolm's in earnest. "When you see their faces light up, when you see their souls free... That will give you the proper perspective."
Malcolm nodded, his troubled thoughts assuaged somewhat.
Justin nursed his coffee for a while. Then he suddenly said, "Look, I... this is going to be weird, but I just want to say... I wasn't molested as a child."
Malcolm blinked at him in surprise, and a bit of confusion.
"Well, it's sort of a thing." The young man shrugged. "A lot of people just assume that anyone so active in child rescue must have been... especially if you're a man."
"No, I didn't think that."
"Me either. I mean..." He cut himself off sheepishly. "I grew up in a rather well-to-do neighborhood. But it wasn't all Eton and cream teas. My mate, down the street... He didn't make it past secondary school. He killed himself."
"I'm sorry."
Justin nodded mute thanks, not looking up. "It's everywhere, really. I just brought my teacup to the most concentrated bit I could find."
"You're a good man, Justin."
He blinked and looked up. "I hope I was... some comfort."
"Yes. You've given me a lot to think about." Malcolm braved another slug of his doctored coffee. "Oh, and the rotgut was helpful, too."
Justin chuckled. "I've got some of the good stuff in my trailer. If you ever want to stop by and talk some more, or anything. Well, you know where to find me."
"Thank you. I think I'll go for a walk." He stood up from the table.
"All right. Remember to be careful."
"I will."
==#==
Merlyn Global, Starling City
The intercom buzzed, and Tommy picked up the handset. "Yes?"
To his surprise, it wasn't his secretary announcing the arrival of the Queen Consolidated representative he was supposed to be meeting. "Mr. Merlyn, this is Peterson in security. Oliver Queen is here. He says he has a meeting with you."
Ah, yes. He'd had Oliver banned from the building. He made a note to reward Peterson's diligence. For a moment, Tommy was tempted to have Oliver thrown out on his ass... But then cooler thoughts prevailed. Oliver was here to beg. This should be good. "Good job, Peterson. Escort Mr. Queen up."
"Yes, sir."
==#==
Oliver marshaled his thoughts during the ride up. Tommy was angry; Tommy was lashing out. Oliver had to maintain calm and try to reason with him. They had been friends all their lives. Surely they could work this out.
The security guard remained silent behind Oliver's right shoulder as they exited the elevator and waited for the secretary to usher them in.
Tommy stood up from behind his desk. "Thank you, Peterson. Please wait outside."
"Yes, sir."
Oliver felt a chill at seeing how much Tommy resembled his father. Power seemed to suit him. After the guard had left and closed the door, Oliver stepped forward. "Tommy...," he started.
"Wait." The young businessman held up an imperial hand to cut him off. He picked up his cell phone from the desk and dialed. Oliver carefully preserved his patience as he waited for Tommy to finish whatever he was doing. After a minute, he nodded in satisfaction, thumbed a button to click off the phone, and stuffed it in his inner jacket pocket. "Oliver." He came around to lean on the front of the desk. "This is cute, you posing as the QC rep, since we both know you don't work there."
"I came on behalf of my family."
"What do you want?"
Tommy's tone was clipped, his eyes hard. Oliver tried to dredge up his own childhood feelings towards his friend. "I want... I came to ask you to stop what you're doing."
"What? Expanding my business?"
"Destroying Queen Consolidated."
"Or what?" Tommy folded his arms. "You'll put an arrow in me?"
"Of course not."
"Because that's what you do, isn't it? Threaten one-percenters, then shoot them if they don't do what tell them?"
Oliver shook his head. "This is nothing like that."
"No? It sure seems like it."
"You're not doing anything illegal." Couldn't he see the difference? "I can't force you to stop. I can only ask."
"Well, you asked. Like you say, I'm not doing anything illegal, so unless you want to get all Vigilante on my ass, you can leave."
"Please, Tommy, for the sake of our friendship, can we put aside this hostility, sit down, and talk calmly about this?"
"We are no longer friends." His words were cold, dark stone.
"I realize that," Oliver said placatingly. "And it's all my fault. But doesn't twenty years of our lives mean anything? Can't we at least try?"
"You want to know what twenty years of friendship means to me?" He uncoiled, stepped forward, his eyes like flint. "It means get ready to be disappointed by someone you thought you knew."
Oliver turned away from his stare. He recalled Tommy telling him how often his father had let him down. Malcolm had damaged him, left him with raw scars. Oliver had tried to be a loyal friend to that lonely boy all those years. Now, with his own father's vendetta, with his complicated relationship with Laurel, his loyalties had become divided. "I know I hurt you," he confessed. "And I'm sorry, Tommy, I really am. You're mad at me; I get it." He looked up. "But taking over Queen Consolidated? I know you want to get back at me, but this? Think about everyone else you're hurting. Thea, my mother; they haven't done anything to deserve this. Hundreds of employees at QC - and what about Merlyn Global? You are stretching real thin, Tommy. What if this breaks and snaps back in your face?" Oliver took a breath, because his voice was rising out of control, becoming too belligerent. "It's not too late to ease up and take a more conservative stand."
"The people I'm hurting?" His face twisted in rage. "You're a murderer! You have no right to talk to me about 'hurting' people!"
"What can I do to make this right between us?"
Tommy was taken aback. His guard slipped, and words seemed to desert him.
"I will do anything. Anything within my power to make things right."
"Within your power," Tommy repeated slowly. "Of course, that leaves out giving up Laurel."
"I can't make up her mind for her."
"You could tell her the truth."
Oliver shook his head. "That would only hurt her." Look at what the truth had done to his and Tommy's friendship.
"Hurt you, you mean," Tommy sneered.
"Look, you know the truth," Oliver bit back, riled at the needling. "Why don't you tell her?"
"I tried that," Tommy snapped. "She wouldn't listen. She didn't want to listen; she didn't want to hear. She wouldn't believe I wasn't just making up some bullshit to try to break you up. I-" Suddenly, he yanked his phone from his pocket and threw it on the desk. "How can you claim to love her when you just keep lying? You lied to her; you lied to me - and what the hell was that? Some kind of sick joke? Let me tell Tommy to go talk to Laurel, to get his hopes up that he can be with her, while I just run over there and screw her brains out right in front of him!"
Oliver recoiled. His jaw slackened in shock. Tommy had seen-? "Oh, God..." The timing of that had been... oh. Oh shit. "Tommy, I didn't mean-"
"Well what the hell did you mean, telling me time and time again, it was over between you two?" Tommy slammed a fist over his heart with each demanding question. "That she loved me? That I deserved her?"
"Tommy, it was complicated!" Oliver ran a hand back over his hair. "You were there; you saw how complicated it was. She hated me for being such a douchebag, for getting her sister killed. I felt guilty. But underneath it all, we still... She still loves me. And I love her... and I'm sorry." Could anything be more screwed up? Why couldn't Tommy have remained loyal to his friend's memory and never gone near his girlfriend after he'd 'died'? "I wish I had been stronger, but God, Tommy!" How could he explain the hurt, the ache he had suffered; how damaged he had been, unloved for so long, how desperate for that lifeline? He didn't need to explain it, he thought in irony. It's what Tommy was feeling right now. Love denied. He couldn't find the words, but he let everything show in his eyes as he sought Tommy's gaze.
For a brief moment, Tommy's eyes mirrored his own. Then they turned cold, his defenses rising. "You want to make things right?" he said. "Turn yourself in to the police."
Oliver looked at the floor.
"That's what I thought. Get out." He twisted to press a button on the intercom. "Annette, send Peterson back in. He can escort Mr. Queen out of the building."
"Yes, sir."
==#==
Verdant Basement
Oliver had gone to talk to his mother, but she did not agree that meeting with Tommy was the best course of action. Perhaps work could take his mind off things, so he'd gone to the club. He met Felicity on the way in. Diggle was already there.
"So how did it go?" the soldier asked.
"It went well," Oliver said calmly. "We totally blew up at each other. If we were in counseling, that would be the first big step in reconciling, wouldn't it? Air it all out."
"It's easy for you to joke at a time like this," Felicity griped, settling down at her work station. "Your job isn't on the line."
Oliver just gave her a look.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, your big fortune, boo hoo. You'll have to actually get a job."
"I have the club," he protested lamely. He glanced over to see Diggle edging away from the two of them.
"A real job," Felicity clarified. "Meanwhile, my worse nightmare are coming true! The company is in trouble-"
"Not that big of trouble," he protested. "Walter can do... something. He's connected."
Diggle gave him a pitying look. "You have no idea how big corporations work, do you?"
"Well, my dad took me to his office all the time. It was... a lot of phone calls and meetings..."
"As I was saying," Felicity was saying, "The CEO and acting CEO and the co-owners of Queen Consolidated are at each other's throats. The company is being ripped apart; shareholders will bail like lemmings; the stock will plummet into the toilet; holdings will be liquidated; jobs will be downsized..." Her voice rose higher, going more breathless. "Thousands of people will lose their jobs! I'll lose my job! Either I'll have to schlep at Tech Village computer store or - Oh my God! - I'll end up working at Merlyn Global!" She put her head in her hands.
"Nobody's gonna...," Oliver started. Then he looked helplessly at Diggle. The soldier gave him another pitying look. "I'm sure Walter or my mother will be able to do something. If we just had more time." He raked his hands back over his head.
Felicity sat up and chewed her lip speculatively. "What if Merlyn Global funds got... you know, stuck in some computer SNAFU for just a little while?" Her fingers ghosted over her keyboard, planning.
Oliver and Diggle stared at her until she turned her chair to face them. "What?"
Diggle said, "Felicity, did you just suggest corporate espionage?"
"Uh..." Her eyes darted between the two men.
Oliver said, "I usually shoot people involved in corporate espionage."
"This... is different?"
It was tempting. But no. He sighed. "Tommy already accused me of threatening him and planning to kill him if he didn't stop buying up QC stock. But he's not doing anything illegal. I can't- we can't-"
"Use our powers for personal gain?" she finished in a meek voice.
"Yeah."
"I didn't mean it like that. I just... was brainstorming solutions, like I usually do." Head down, she slowly spun her chair back to the screens. "I wasn't thinking."
Diggle went to her with a comforting hand. "It's okay, Felicity. We know what you meant."
"I have to go," Oliver said. "I have to..." He didn't know what he had to do, but he had to leave. He went out.
==#==
Oliver went to pick up Laurel. Or, rather, he went to ride home with her, since she had her car, and he had left his bike parked at Verdant. The walk hadn't helped clear his mind. He really didn't know what to do.
Turn himself in?
To be treated like a criminal? No better than Adam Hunt, Jason Brodeur, Frank Bertinelli, or Count Vertigo? Oliver was not engaging in some crime spree. He was helping people. He was carrying out his father's dying wish. Righting his wrongs.
No, he couldn't give himself up.
"Can we just get take-out and have a quiet night in?" he asked Laurel, too mentally weary to deal with crowds.
"Sure, Ollie."
They picked up some subs. With a worried glance his way, Laurel asked, "So how did it go with Tommy?"
Oliver blew out a long, tired breath.
"That bad, huh?"
"He doesn't want to listen. He's... angry, and really, he has every right to be."
"He doesn't have the right to take it out on your family business!"
"He's not doing anything wrong." Oliver hunched in his seat. "Technically."
"Maybe I should go knock some sense into him," she said, glowering. Her fists clenched on the steering wheel, and he had no doubt she intended to do just that, only barely stopping short of actual physical 'knocking.'
That would not end well. He had to defuse her, somehow. "You were angry at me, too, when I came back," he said, hesitating to reopen those wounds.
"I... yes. But I didn't do anything to try to hurt you."
There was an awkward silence. Perhaps Tommy's anger was different. It had completely annihilated any former feelings of love and comradeship Tommy had once had. Was there nothing left for he and Oliver to build upon? He could not reconcile his childhood friend, the mild-mannered boy, always the quiet one in their group of wild partiers, with this new Tommy, this new... enemy.
Was that how he had to deal with this situation? Seeing Tommy as his enemy? He couldn't bring himself to do it.
And if Tommy was the righteous one, what did that make Oliver?
Laurel navigated out of the Glades and into a quieter residential area, towards her apartment building. She continued exploring her former anger towards him. "Look, I realized... shit happens. That's life. No one is ever going to be perfect. I decided to reconnect with the person, not their... not your actions. I realized what was going on. I mean... I understood it on a rational level." She turned into her parking spot. "If Tommy ever gets to that stage, he's going to regret things."
"If," Oliver snorted.
"He will, in time. When he cools down." She touched his arm.
They got out of the car and went up to Laurel's apartment. They sorted the sandwiches, got drinks, and settled on the couch to eat like bachelors. But no TV. Laurel wasn't done with their talk.
"What about your mom?" she asked. "She's practically his foster mother."
Oliver sighed. "I already asked her. She thinks Tommy won't listen because of Malcolm's influence." Or, Oliver thought with a frown, Moira was just afraid to go anywhere near Merlyn Global. He could write it off as paranoia, but he was all to familiar with what Malcolm Merlyn was capable of. He shook his head to concentrate on Laurel's words.
"That doesn't seem like her, to give up without a fight."
"She thinks Walter and his investment partners can weather the storm."
"She's putting her faith in Walter?" Laurel's eyebrows went up. "Even during the- " she refrained from calling it The Big Divorce- "everything?"
Oliver shrugged and sipped his soda. "She says he is loyal to the company. Dad was his best friend." He had to hope his mother was right, that Robert had inspired the same loyalty in Walter that he had in his son. And that whatever personal animosities Walter and Moira had, they would put them aside in a united front when it came to Queen Consolidated.
After they finished eating, Laurel rubbed Oliver's shoulders to try to make him feel better. He appreciated the soothing, but when she put her arms around him and started kissing, a bolt of guilt shot through him.
"What's wrong, Ollie?" She eased back to look into his face, but he wouldn't meet her eyes.
"I'm sorry. I just..." He trailed off, not knowing what to say.
"I understand," she said softly. Her hands gently stroked his neck.
"I have to get to the club," he said lamely.
She nodded and slipped loose. "Take care, Ollie. We'll get through this."
"Thank you." He gave her a quick parting kiss. Whatever happened to him, whatever hardship he suffered, he would not lose her again.
==#==
Tommy sat in front of his TV, the sound muted, a glass of wine in one hand. In his other, he held his cell phone. Once more, he hit replay on his voice mail.
"Oliver." There was a bit of scratchiness from the phone rubbing the fabric of his jacket pocket. "This is cute, you posing as the QC rep, since we both know you don't work there."
"I came on behalf of my family."
"What do you want?"
"I want... I came to ask you to stop what you're doing."
Tommy concentrated on Oliver's responses. They were faint, but still audible. A bit of volume boost would take care of that. What Tommy wanted was to ascertain if Oliver's words were enough to cast suspicion on him. Suspicion of a very wary and biased cop.
Of course, Oliver didn't come out and admit to anything, but it's what he didn't say. He never denied any of Tommy's accusations, or even scoffed at them for being ridiculous. No, he'd just accepted them. As truth.
Was it enough to get Lance up off his ass and investigate? Probably not. But maybe he could bypass Lance altogether. His dad had contacts in the police force. Surely someone owed the elder Merlyn a favor. Or could be bought. It wasn't as if Tommy was trying to do anything shady, now was it?
All he wanted to do was see justice served.
==X==
End Notes:
"Come on, American universities are world renowned for their horrible discipline, terrible student hijinks, and barbaric hazing rituals." He looked at Malcolm. "Did you have hazing at your fraternity?"
... Though when I was typing this sentence in, my handwriting looked like it said "terrible student hygiene." Which may or may not also be true. :X
.
"No, Pi Kappa Iota Mu were very serious about academics."
... This is world's second most obscure in-joke. :X
.
"Well, my dad took me to his office all the time. It was... a lot of phone calls and meetings..."
... Oliver has about the same grasp of corporate offices as I do. What DO all those people, in all those buildings, actually DO all day?
.