The City in Pieces
Chapter Twenty-One: Beating a Dead Horse
Chance hoisted herself on the kitchen counter, now clad in jeans and a hoodie. She withdrew a cell phone from her hoodie pocket, checked through her contacts' list, and then dialed the number accordingly. Chance took an interest in her fingernails as she listened to the dialing tone. When no one answered and the beep sounded, Chance sighed and left a message.
"Sir," said Chance, "I tried calling you to let you know that I went by Salvatore Maroni's club an hour ago. Apparently, he knows that Joker and Ace are on the prowl. I was going to leave it alone, but he told me that if he knew anything, he couldn't say. It may be a false lead, but I'll find out one way or another. Call me when you get this, Sir." Chance hung up and tossed the little device onto the counter.
Chance pushed herself off the counter and strode leisurely into her living room. She turned to the arm chair closest to her. Maroni stared at her in slight fear, though Chance was sure that most of it was irritation. She had kidnapped Maroni from the club, knocked him with chloroform, then dragged his body through the tavern. The bouncer had assisted her in the process then left with permission. The bartender closed the door behind him when he knew that Chance could handle the rest by herself. Chance strode toward the door and locked it. She then turned to Maroni.
He was bound around the chest and arms. His mouth was taped and his hands were tied together furiously by rope. Chance sighed.
"Looks like my boss didn't answer." She glanced at the cell phone display to check it casually. At Maroni's silence, she shrugged. "It's no worry, of course. If he doesn't answer, it usually means that he's busy. Dealing with drug lords, crime bosses, and criminal masterminds...like you," she added sweetly. Maroni glared at her. "Ah, don't give me that look, you old fucker, you." She patted his cheek delicately. "You should have known that our little deal wasn't over."
He retorted something, but the tape muffled his reply.
"Oh, wait, no." Chance said wistfully, shaking a finger. "I believe when I left our partnership, I said that I'd never see you again." She shrugged. "Well, the past is funny, isn't it?" She turned. "Now, when you told me that if you said anything, you would be killed, I was just going to let it go. But I think you know, or else you'd have never said any—"
Maroni muffled something distasteful. Chance looked at him.
"You need to speak up. It's hard to tell what you're saying when you're gagged. Drink?"
He shook his head. Chance clicked her tongue disappointedly. She walked into the kitchen, took out a bottle of Coconut Rum out of the freezer door and opened the bottle. She poured some of it into a glass; she crossed the threshold and sat on the couch opposite of Maroni in the armchair.
"You know, I'm surprised you're still alive." Chance sighed. "You've got my skeletons in your closet, probably more than my own boudoir," she coined the term in a perfect French accent. A charming smile. "But since we worked together at one point, I should be responsible for some of those skeletons." She sipped the rum. "You know, Maroni, I believe the last time we talked, you proposed a little rendezvous," she indicated his bonds.
Chance leaned forward and ripped the tape off his mouth in one tug.
Maroni yelled out of pain. Chance rolled her eyes.
"Oh, suck it up..." she sighed. "That didn't hurt."
"Says the one who ripped it off." Maroni snapped at her. "What happened to the control freak? Did you get lessons from Ace? That crazy bitch?" He moved his arms but he just jerked around. She had batted him down very well with tape. Chance smiled at him. Maroni glared at her. "You can't fucking do this to me, Chance. Not you!"
"I didn't do this to you, buddy," breathed Chance serenely. "I have my own men around Gotham, Sally-May."
"Since when do you work with people?"
"Since I found a new path. Thanks for joining in the conversation." Chance said. "I've been gone for five years, seven for you." She sipped her rum. "And I've realized that after all these years, a partnership isn't a bad thing. Trust seals the deal. I didn't trust you." A pause. "I still don't."
"You think I have information that you can use?"
Chance clapped a hand to her glass.
"Good for you." Then she frowned. "I don't think you have information, Maroni. I know. I had a teacher who taught me how to read body language, voices, even words." She pointed at him. "Your voice, your words."
"You're talking."
"You're not listening." Chance said seriously.
"Just tell me what you want to hear."
"You think that will save you?" questioned Chance with a little laugh.
"How about we come to some kind of agreement...?" Maroni said quietly. Chance could tell that now he was beginning to feel frightened.
"I'm not interested in money."
"Favors?"
"I have soldiers for that." Chance dismissed passively with a wave of her hand. She bit the inside of her cheek. "You're running out of options." She saw Maroni glanced at hand.
"Who did that to you?" he said quietly, seeing the scars on her knuckles.
"They're the least of them." Chance said. "And if you don't start talking, I'll make sure my scars match the ones on your body."
"But..."
"You don't have any scars: I can put them there."
Chance raised the glass. She drank the remainder of the rum, set the glass on the table, then rose to her feet.
"Speak."
"I don't know anything." Maroni whispered. "I don't know anything."
"Answer me: who knows about Joker and Ace's plans? Where are they hiding?"
"Look, Chance, I said, I don't know."
Chance reached behind his head and pulled his hair back. Her face hovered over his. Maroni's face was immersed in fear as he met her piercing, blue eyes. It was if lightning struck them, so bright and daring. Maroni's past with her knew that she was intense, but he hadn't anticipated the new Chance to be so...dangerous.
"Tell me. Where are they?"
"I don't know!" Maroni cried out. "I don't know!"
"Then who does!" her voice was hoarse.
Maroni cried out as Chance pulled his hair back, forcing his head against the chair.
"Please, Chance, stop this! I don't know!"
Chance sighed irritably. She threw his head against the chair. Maroni glared at her as she walked away.
"I'm getting annoyed, Maroni." Chance said, hands on hips.
"Then walk away."
Chance laughed shortly.
"Still think I'm that restrained solo leader you hoped to cock one day?" she chuckled. Maroni stared at her. "I'm not solo, Maroni. I'm not even the sole leader." She smirked when he continued to give her a confused look. "I work for a dangerous man, Maroni."
He suddenly looked tired.
"Chance, I don't know anything. I don't even know this clown's purpose."
"Someone does."
"I don't know anyone."
"You know something, surely. You're one of the top dogs guarding Gotham." She was speaking true, but her voice was condescending. Maroni's face hardened. She was mocking him. "Oh," she said, shaking her head. "Oh, no, wait. Joker and Ace have come to town, so that only means that your job as a crime boss is a piss-poor one, gone to the dogs. Rewind the clocks back a year. I imagine that government wouldn't have even tried touching you. Falcone, for instance, was even well-known at the bar, and he paid off judges to keep him out of jail."
Chance shrugged.
"Then again, Falcone at least had some pull in this town."
"Chance, I have told you everything I know."
Chance's eyes narrowed. She stood in front of him.
"You've told me nothing."
"I have nothing to tell you."
Chance scoffed.
"Then you better come up with something fucking clever. That's what is going to be engraved on your tombstone," she added. "Tell me who would know what Joker and Ace have planned."
"I don't know, you fucking bitch," retorted Maroni irritably, spitting his words at her.
His saliva flew from his lips.
"You are trying my patience."
"I don't know what to tell you, Chance." He sighed. "I missed you when you were the smart-alec lackey who wanted to take Gotham as her castle. Suddenly you're just a wild bitch off her leash when she finally returns."
"I don't want Gotham anymore." Chance said simply. "It's full of people who are too cowardly and petty, and those who aren't are too terrified to deliver justice. I am Gotham's deliverer. I can bring it down, and it can be rebuilt from the ground and up. Brick by brick. The rich thrive and the poor are depraved. Well, Maroni"—she leaned forward, her hands grasped the arms of the armchair; his eyes widened—"a storm is coming, and it will come soon. And the men on their pedestals will realize that while they partied in bars, wasted their money on hotels with cheating directors on their backs, and complaining about how their feet hurt in their $200 shoes, Gotham's citizens want retribution.
"The rich will be equalized with the poor, and the city of Gotham will tear itself apart in all-out war between those who deserve to die and those who wish death could come sooner."
Maroni shook his head, or what head he could shake.
"You're psychotic."
"Yeah, well, it comes with the package deal when I joined a group," sighed Chance. She straightened. "Okay, Sal. Spill the truth," she withdrew a knife from her hoodie. "Or I spill your blood."
Maroni gave a withered sigh.
"I've told you...I don't know anything."
"You—"
But Chance was interrupted when her cell phone rang out in the room from her hoodie. She took it from her pocket and answered it, still holding the knife in her hand.
"What is life's greatest illusion?" said Chance into the phone routinely.
From the other end of it, the deep voice of Bane answered,
"Innocence."
"Sir." Chance said, acknowledging Bane.
"Chance, you have Salvatore Maroni in the hide-out?"
Chance glanced at Maroni who watched her questionably.
"Yes," she answered.
"He knows your whereabouts?" said Bane disapprovingly.
"Sir, he was unconscious when my men brought him here. I made sure he saw nothing." Chance told Bane, sitting on the edge of the table.
"What makes you think he knows about the clown?"
"Maroni and I used to work together, remember: he has been in Gotham longer than Falcone had been top dog before he went insane when Crane got to him. Maroni's been acting as the Godfather for some time here in a dive bar in a sports club. He's got Gotham's finest under his silver dollar; if there's news, he's the first to know. Though, he claims that he's got no information."
"You're beating a dead horse if he truly doesn't know anything." Bane said. "I believe my orders were to spy on Joker, not to tie up loose ends. This task is not about revenge, after all."
"It's not revenge, I assure you," said Chance calmly, glancing at Maroni. "I just know how he works."
"It's a dead trail if he hasn't confessed to anything."
"He knows something."
"You don't have the time to beat it out of him, Lieutenant. Move on."
Chance bit her lip aggressively before responding patiently,
"All right, Sir."
"And Chance..."
"Sir?"
A pause.
"Don't ever leave a voice mail on a cell phone. There is a reason why we use code messages."
His voice had become dangerous. Chance nodded.
"Yes, sir. I understand."
He hung up. Chance sighed and turned to Maroni.
"Well," she said, "it looks like that my boss has decided that you're not part of the problem. My orders are to set you free."
Maroni looked relieved.
"Before I do, know this. My men are in Gotham. Some of them are actually the few you've recruited. So who exactly do you have in your pocket? Hm? Behave. My men are watching you."