Chapter Twenty-One: A Mother's Flock
Sylvia sat in the backseat of the four-seater car. Butch was in the driver's seat; Oswald, in the passenger's. For the longest time, they were silent, that was until Butch sighed, glancing at his watch before pointing to the leveled building some twenty yards away.
"Hobbs' campaign office," said Butch, "is the entire second floor." He glanced at Oswald: "Are you sure about this?"
Oswald said (with some attempt of calm): "Don't worry, I've got it under control."
Butch glanced back at Sylvia, who intentionally avoided his gaze as she became more attentive towards the rainy weather. She was primarily concerned with waiting for the second car to pull up. Butch gave her a once-over, furrowing his eyebrows at the both of them before he finally sighed.
"Okay, you two, you have got to tell me what the hell is going on," said Butch, looking at both of them. "I know I have to do whatever you say, but at least tell me why we are doing it."
Oswald looked at him after a brief pause: "They have my mother, Butch."
Immediate confusion.
"Who?" Butch asked.
"Galavan and his sister," Oswald answered. "They have her. They're making me do this."
"Holy smokes," Butch whispered, shaking his head. "We've gotta find your mom."
"If they find out we're looking, they'll hurt her." Oswald said quietly.
"Don't worry," Butch reassured. "We'll find her."
Oswald nodded, welcoming that smallest amount of comfort. A moment of silence passed. Sylvia leaned forward in between them, looking at Butch.
"For what it's worth, Butchy," she said smoothly, "I can definitely see why Fish kept you around."
Butch glanced at her, saying, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're an alright guy," Sylvia said, patting him on the shoulder. "New respect for you, Boo."
Butch gave her a weird look, turning to Oswald as if requesting further explanation on the fact but Oswald gave him none. Another car pulled up.
Oswald glanced at Sylvia, giving the cue.
"Be right back," Sylvia said quickly, getting out of the car.
"Where is she going?" Butch asked.
"She's going to talk to Victor," said Oswald calmly.
"What's there to talk about?" Butch said incredulously. "She's not going in there with him, is she?"
"Of course not," Oswald quipped.
"Good…" Butch muttered, shaking his head.
Oswald sent him a look.
"I can pretty much handle finding your mom," said Butch, letting out a sigh of relief. "If Galavan and his sister ever got a hold of Sylvia, we'd have one hell of a war on our hands—talk about a helluva massacre."
Oswald shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"I can only imagine what she must be feeling," said Butch, glancing at the rearview mirror where Victor, in all of his black-suited glory, stood speaking to Sylvia; they were leaned against the hood of Victor's car.
"Meaning?" Oswald questioned.
"Sylvia's a primal woman," said Butch. "She's not just protective of you. Anyone messes with any of the sheep of her flock, and you know they've got another thing coming! No, thank you!"
Oswald smiled in spite of himself.
"Second floor," Victor said calmly, glancing at the building. "All of the second floor?"
"Yes," said Sylvia.
"Mind telling me why we're going after this Randall guy again?"
"Do you need to know the sordid details?" Sylvia questioned, placing her hands on her hips.
"No, but it's always good to know—you know, in any case I get arrested by the GCPD," said Victor seriously.
A beat passed and Sylvia and Victor were laughing.
"Are you doing all right?" Victor asked, looking her over.
"That's a bit of a loaded question," she answered.
The slightest softening of his expression reflected all the concern possible.
"Get in," said Sylvia, pointing at the building. "And kill this guy."
"Any method you'd prefer?"
"Quick would be my preference, but you do your own thing, Victor." Sylvia responded, shrugging. "You know me, though. I'm a 'knife' kinda gal, not your typical gun-toting lady."
"Says the one who has two of them," said Victor, eying the Glock in her jacket and the one that was surely strapped between her back and waistband; after all, he'd been the one to spin her up on the all-too-awesome shooting styles (not that she ever used them).
"Stop flirting," said Sylvia, smirking at him.
"Well, what can I say?" said Victor, shrugging. "I miss those days when you and I would go on a man-hunt."
"Reminisce another time," Sylvia reminded.
"Sure thing. I'll take care of him," said Victor. "You have nothing to worry about."
"Thanks." Sylvia said, smiling happily at him. She started back to the car.
"Liv."
She looked at Victor.
"What?" she asked.
"If you need anything from me, you need only ask," said Victor, nodding towards her respectfully.
"You're way too professional to be a hitman, you know that?"
"Noted," Victor sighed, smirking when she rolled her eyes back at him.
Sylvia climbed into the passenger seat, closing the door on her way in. Oswald and Butch looked at her, even as she buckled her seat belt.
"What?" Sylvia questioned.
"You and Victor are a little chummy these days," Butch stated.
"Stand down," Sylvia said sardonically. "It's nothing."
Butch looked at Oswald, more expectant of a response. Instead, Oswald said, "They're like an office couple."
Seeing that neither had a problem with this, Butch figured he didn't either. They drove off while Victor moved forward.