Above All Else, Part 2

CONTENT:

Rating: Teen

Flavor: Action/Adventure

Language: a bit

Violence: none

Nudity: none

Sex: none

Other: none

Author's Note:

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. It's just that it takes place in the real world, so I have to have real world names. They're all made up; I totally do not know anyone by any of these names. Except the ones I used as political commentary.

Thoughts and opinions expressed by the characters are not necessarily those of the author. Except where they are. I am aware Malcolm Merlyn makes an erroneous conjecture; he didn't do his Google research before this chapter. You can yell at him. Yelling at me won't get you anywhere.

All thoughts and opinions of all characters are for entertainment purposes, only.

Above All Else, Part 2

===#===

Chapel Street Auditorium

Lorraine Waterford was an elegant woman of indeterminate age somewhere between forty and sixty. As befitted a director of beauty pageants, her clothes, jewelry, makeup, and hairstyle worked together to project an image of well-balanced aesthetics. She smiled and ushered Malcolm into her office. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Merlyn."

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice." He took a seat in one of the antique leather chairs.

"It's no trouble at all." She perched on her chair behind the desk, her hands clasped lightly upon the blotter. "I'm glad you're interested in sponsoring our pageant."

"I'm not, actually," he told her bluntly. "My wife Rebecca hated beauty contests. The thought of subjecting little girls to that kind of objectification and sexualization is truly abhorrent."

Her smile wilted, but she made a brave effort to restore it. Confusion filled her eyes, though she tried to hide that as well. Perhaps she wasn't sure she heard correctly.

"But," he said into the awkward silence, "my Good Works Committee tells me that only sponsoring science fairs and other academic endeavors is actually sexist. I might even be seen as a misogynist." He spread his hands. "We can't have that."

Waterford clasped her hands more tightly and straightened her spine. She took a very controlled breath. "I'm sure you'll find our Little Princess Pageant encourages academics. Our girls write and deliver a speech about what it means to be a little princess. There is a poetry recital, and, three years ago, we introduced a spelling bee."

"Oh, a spelling bee. That's progressive." Malcolm didn't bother hiding his sarcasm.

Her knuckles went white, and her plastic smile became more of a grimace. From the venomous look in her eye, he expected she wanted nothing more than to throw him out. However, there was one huge thing in her way: the mountain of money he was ostensibly offering. "Mr. Merlyn," she grated, "I am well aware of the criticisms leveled at an event such as ours. Usually they are leveled by people who have never participated in a pageant, so I can't imagine they have the faintest idea what one is really like. I, on the other hand, have been in beauty pageants since I was twelve. Going out on stage gives a young girl poise and confidence. It is an enriching experience that builds self esteem."

He nodded thoughtfully. "You won often?"

"Yes, I did." She unclenched her hands, recalling her lifetime training, proud in her achievements.

"And what happens to the self esteem of the losers?"

Her expression darkened. "I don't mean to make any derogatory personal remarks, but I can tell you have no women in your life."

Malcolm's stomach clenched, but he cut his reaction off before it reached his extremities. He did not clench his fists.

"Girls are not like boys, Mr. Merlyn," she explained with more civility. "We are not as competitive. Women are social creatures, and the contestants all support and nurture each other. One girl's success can be enjoyed and appreciated by all. There are no 'losers.'"

"So the kidnapping of one of the girls-?"

"Had nothing to do with this competition! As I already told those press vultures, we are all one great big family. No one here would dream of harming anyone else."

He raised a hand to calm her affronted tirade. "You have to understand, I need to be careful with my company's donations. It wouldn't do for Merlyn Global's reputation to be tarnished by a scandal like this."

"If there is anything I can do to reassure you...," she suggested.

"Actually, isn't there a rehearsal today? Would I be able to watch?"

Her smile returned twofold. "Of course, Mr. Merlyn. Let me show you around."

===#===

Malcolm felt as if he were in a shampoo commercial. Waterford twittered on about the details of the various pageant competitions, from kids through teens to adults, their expenditures, their exposures, the possibility of televised events and other city-wide publicity, and everything had a spin put on it to make it look the most desirable endeavor to throw his money into. She did practically everything but wave a baited hook in his face.

As they went down the hall, she pointed out the framed photographs of prior winners, and expounded on how noteworthy each pageant was, and how much fun was had by all. He could see that the winners of the Queen of Starling City pageants were quite beautiful, smiling with perfect white teeth, eyes sparkling in competition with the gems and elaborate sequined gowns they wore. What disturbed him were the pictures of the younger girls, who looked almost exactly the same. He couldn't help but think of the photobooks that high-class cathouses used to show their line-up of call girls for prospective clients to choose from.

He shook himself and followed Waterford into the auditorium.

"I'll introduce you to the parents," she said, beckoning him down the aisle.

"Actually..." He stopped and gave her a bland smile. "I wouldn't want to make anyone nervous. Is there somewhere backstage I could watch? We wouldn't want anyone thinking I'm a talent scout or anything."

She tipped her head, her eyes narrowing cannily. "Yes, of course. Jose?" She called over an older, swarthy man in coveralls. "Jose, please show our guest backstage."

"Of course, Mrs. Waterford."

"If you'll excuse me, I have to get the rehearsal started, or we'll be here all night."

Malcolm bid her a polite good-bye and followed Jose around towards the backstage area.

The old man stopped in the hall and turned to face him. "You're not some pervert, are you?" He squinted judiciously in appraisal.

"No, I'm undercover, investigating the kidnapping."

"You're a cop?"

Malcolm realized he didn't have a badge to back up this story. "Investigative journalism, actually." Before the man could demand press ID, he asked, "Do you know if any of these people would be capable of kidnapping one of the children?"

"Pfft!" Jose tossed a hand up. "The way people are these days? Who knows!" He resumed leading Malcolm to the backstage door. "You can't trust anybody. Not like in the old days. My daughters, they were good girls. None of this...," he flapped a hand dismissively; "scandalous dresses, showing off. Then the news, always somebody doing something worse to someone else."

"What do you think about the Vigilante?" he couldn't help but ask.

Jose chuckled. "The rich guys have to answer for their crimes? Ha!" He grinned. "It's about time."

===#===

Backstage

Backstage was a madhouse.

Jose vetted Malcolm to the harried organizers. Two young women were helping the girls with makeup, one grumpy-faced woman was yelling instructions on how the costumes and props were to be brought in, labeled and stored. The girls were running amok, shrill voices complaining, arguing, and whining about the least little detail.

"It's a dress rehearsal," the harried stage manager said in dramatic emphasis. "Of course it's going to be a disaster!" It was unclear who he was speaking to, and no one seemed to be listening anyway. He managed to have five different conversations at once- with the girls, the stage hands, and his headset- while in between, he informed Malcolm that he wasn't supposed to talk to the press, but he was more than happy to have a chat over a coffee after rehearsals.

Malcolm didn't think that was going to go anywhere. He finally ensconced himself in front of the midstage curtain, tempted to hide within its folds. He and Rebecca had always wanted a little girl. They'd talked about having another child, once her internship was over. But those dreams had died along with her. That, he thought with a stab of shame, could only have been for the better. Look what a mess he'd made with his son. If there's also been a baby...

He rubbed his face and dragged his mind back to the present. The security around here was lax. If he were some kidnapper, or casing the joint with an eye to snatching one of the girls, he wouldn't have much difficulty getting in.

"You're an idiot!"

"Well, you're a moron!"

Malcolm looked over to where three girls stood arguing in the wings. One was dressed as a 1920's flapper, complete with fringes, feathers, and ropes of faux pearls. Her dark curly hair was teased into a cloud held by a glittering tiara. A second was dressed in leotards and bedecked with coloured ribbons draping from her arms and her long golden ponytail. The two of them faced another girl made up as a clown in oversized patchwork clothes. She held a rope that was wound loosely around her legs.

"Your dad is a shoe salesman," the flapper said with disdain.

"Yeah, he's Al Bundy," the ribbon-dancer scoffed. "Why would anybody kidnap you?"

"They might!"

The flapper fluffed her curls. "Mrs. Waterford said it's perfectly safe."

"How would she know?" the clown demanded.

Malcolm began to wonder the same thing. How could Waterford be so sure the kidnapping had nothing to do with the pageant? Could she have inside knowledge about it? Damn, he'd have to try to talk to the woman again, or at least slip away and try to snoop in her office.

"You believe everything anyone tells you, Latisha. You're so dumb!"

"You're a total clueless doofus! Who else would dress up as a clown at a beauty pageant?"

"Jenny is a clown." The ribbon-dancer tugged at the oversized shirt. "Isn't this what you wear every day?"

"Cut it out, Tiffany!" This was punctuated by a sharp bark that came from a mop of fur at the end of the rope.

Tiffany jumped back. "Ugh, keep that dog away from me. I'll get fleas!"

"Dog?" said Latisha. "I thought it was her twin sister." The two girls brayed laughter at the hapless third.

Jenny stooped to console her dog. "Ignore those idiots, Tiny."

Further discussion of relative intelligence was cut short as the stage manager bellowed out: "Tiffany Georgios! Tiffany! You're up!"

The ribbon-girl squealed. "I'm on!" She and Latisha hugged and giggled in excitement. Tiffany disengaged and gave an over-exaggerated wave. "My public awaits," she exclaimed in dramatis voce. "You girls have fun fighting for a very distant second place!" She pirouetted and ran out onto the stage, her ribbons fluttering in a rainbow wake.

Behind her back, Latisha made a stink-face with her tongue stuck out and turned away, brushing her costume as if it had been sullied.

Yeah, thought Malcolm. If this was the 'one big, happy family' where all the members were loving and supportive of each other, he'd hate to see a bunch of catty little... wenches.

He peered out beyond the stage at the gathered parents. He worried that his plan to be clandestine had robbed him of the opportunity to find out which parents belonged to which child. However, it was quite clear, based on who cheered and who merely clapped politely. He watched them like a hawk, but the adults were mature enough to keep their personal opinions hidden under a veneer of civilized behavior.

"Are you the talent scout?"

Malcolm looked back. The young girl with the dog had spotted him. "Oh," he said in surprise. Surprise that he rumor had managed to arrive backstage before he did. "You didn't hear that from me," he said with a wink and a smile. He didn't want to appear too charming, or he'd look suspicious. So he hunkered down and offered his hand to the dog. The fur mop sniffed it carefully, then decided he was all right and started wagging his tail. Jenny relaxed a notch.

"Why are you looking for talent in a beauty contest?" she asked.

"Well, this is the talent portion of the competition, isn't it?"

She shrugged.

"You're doing an act with your dog?"

"Yeah. I trained Tiny myself," she said proudly.

"You're brave. I think it was W. C. Fields who once said, 'never work with children or animals.' They can be quite unpredictable."

"I am a kid," she pointed out, and he chuckled. "Besides, that's why it's a clown act. Even if we mess up and it's a total disaster, at least it will be funny. People will think it's part of the show."

Malcolm had to admire her ingenuity. Their conversation was interrupted by the stage manager calling Latisha Michaels to the stage. They made way for the little flapper girl to go out. Malcolm scanned the families in the audience again. He noted the beaming faces of the parents and complete lack of any diabolical hatred on anyone else. What did Oliver expect, for them to have banners declaring 'Die, kid, die'?

"So do you like the pageants?" he asked Jenny.

"They're stupid."

"Why are you in it? You seem pretty smart." Were her parents forcing her?

"I want to win a scholarship. My parents don't have a lot of money to send me to college," she confessed.

"What do you want to study?"

"Engineering," she said. "I want to build bridges. I love those games, you know? You have to build a bridge that can hold a certain weight. They use real physics." Her voice became more animated as she discussed something she clearly enjoyed.

"Why don't you enter the Science Fair?" He was truly puzzled. "You could build a model of a bridge." Did they still do that? Build models out of popsicle sticks? Malcolm could hardly remember his childhood school projects. Tommy hadn't really gone for extracurricular activities.

"If I build it for real, it will probably fall over." She shrugged. "I'm lousy at crafts."

Malcolm pondered this as another girl took the stage. Then it was Jenny's turn. He thought she did rather well, but he was probably biased from talking to her. Her parents weren't there, he noted. They had to work, he found out later. Could they be that desperate for money that they would try to ransom the other girl? But then why hadn't they gone after one of the richer families? Or was it a simple matter of eliminating competition?

At the end of the rehearsal, he was no closer to unraveling the truth than he was before. He hoped Oliver's lead turned out to be more productive.

===#===

Verdant Basement

Diggle followed his boss in through the back door. "I still cannot believe how many new friends Melvin has."

"Having Ben Franklin on your team never hurts," Oliver said smugly.

Diggle had expected a seedy bar, surly bikers, and some sort of throwdown before they'd be able to eke out some rumors. Instead, they'd had a couple rouds of beer, Melvin had dropped some bills, and it was just like going to the bank and withdrawing information. Actually, Diggle felt somewhat superfluous.

Oliver tensed a moment, then tried to cover it. Diggle picked up on it anyway and went on alert. Then he saw Merlyn waiting in their lair. That set Diggle's teeth on edge.

Merlyn cocked a brow at Oliver's getup.

"We were undercover," Diggle explained.

"Actually," Merlyn said to Oliver, "didn't you used to wear your hair that way?"

Oliver swiped the joke hat and wig off his head. "Did you find any suspects at the rehearsal?" he said sharply, before anyone could comment further.

Merlyn threw up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. "Well, I didn't eliminate anyone. I wouldn't be surprised if all those girls were out in the parking lot clubbing each other in the kneecaps."

"Oh, we're not jaded or anything," Diggle said. Oliver moved to the back table to start shucking his disguise. Diggle moved to the side table, flanking him and hemming Merlyn in.

"These beauty pageants are degrading to women, and it's disgusting to put children on show like that."

"Oh, come on." Diggle folded his arms. "It's just some fun for the kids. It lets them dress up and act like grown-ups."

Merlyn set his jaw. "And just what criteria do the grown-ups use to judge a group of 7-year-old girls in bathing suits?"

"By how cute they are?" Diggle scowled at the man. "What are you, some kind of pervert?"

"All right," Oliver cut in; "That's enough. Diggs, you know how to work that Google Map Earth thing, right?"

Diggle went over to the computer station, brushing Merlyn aside. Oliver continued filling him in. "We found where they're holding the girl. We don't need to know who orchestrated the kidnapping in order to get out, so we're good to go. The police can figure out the rest, later."

Oliver came over to the computer, shadowed by Merlyn. It was times like these where Diggle missed Felicity the most. She could make the computer dance and sing, and he could stand back and keep a wary eye on Merlyn. Of course, Felicity would probably feel even more uncomfortable with the man looming at her back.

Diggle shook it off. Just because Merlyn had beaten Oliver twice didn't make him invincible. Hell, if Diggle had been along, things would have gone a whole lot differently. He would've brought a gun to the arrow-fight, and that would have been that.

He zoomed in on the map. "This is the place, 368 Coldwell Street."

Oliver peered over his shoulder. "Put the little guy on the street, so we can see it."

"I do know how to use this," Diggle pointed out. He dragged the orange man icon onto the map, and it was replaced with a still shot of the street. He turned the view to face the buildings. They were typical inner city two-storey storefronts, crowded together.

"We did a quick recon earlier," Oliver was explaining to Merlyn. "This is a barber shop, between a dry cleaner and electronics shop."

Diggle added, "There are apartments on the second floor. They could be holding Crystal up there, or in the back rooms."

"We didn't get a look inside. Turn the view around."

Diggle clicked the arrows to show the buildings across the street. They were more of the same, plus a demolished lot closed off with a chain-link fence. Oliver narrated. "This Korean market was abandoned. Malcolm, I want you to get on the roof and cover Diggle as he goes in the front. I'll take the back, upstairs."

"What's out the back?"

"There's an alley, backed by an eight-foot concrete wall. On the other side is an auto junkyard. It takes up a couple blocks."

"So they can't really bolt that way?"

Diggle said, "If they do, they have to traverse the alley to get out. They're closest to the south end, so they'll probably turn right." He zoomed out to satellite view so they could get the lay of the land. They discussed insertion points and exit strategies, and made note of discrepancies between the old satellite photos and new developments. Merlyn's question about the back alley bolthole had been a good one, but it was clear that the man with the city incursion experience was Diggle.

Merlyn seemed willing to follow his lead. Diggle suspected he might be up to something. But frankly... what? Guy wasn't so heartless as to jeopardize a child's life with some petty power game. He had to grudgingly admit that Merlyn was an asset on this mission.

Oliver broke up the strategy meeting. "All right, meet back here at 8:30. I want to hit this place a little after nine. It should be dark enough by then."

===X===