AN: :)… also, I'm sorry for Walter Gutz in this chapter. He's not very evolved.

That is all…

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

"They're alive."

Ross Ross didn't turn around from where he was standing in front of his desk. He pulled a cigar from the box of them on the desk, picking up the cigar cutter at the same time. "I know." He inclined his head towards the TV screen which was on mute, but images of the vigilantes called the Arrow and Arsenal were being helped from the wreckage of a house by a large man.

"He's being helped by the vigilantes." There was no real note of surprise in Gutz's voice. Just a statement of fact.

"So it would seem," said Ross mildly. He turned around to face the other man. "We didn't retrieve any bait?"

"No. Franco was unable to overpower the big black bastard."

Ross half smiled at Gutz's casual racism. "I believe the preferred term is African American."

"You can call him whatever you like, the color of his skin is black. The description fits. This namby pamby country and its need to skirt around the facts to protect feelings." Gutz snorted. "It's a waste of time."

Ross gave him a sympathetic look. "You miss apartheid, don't you my friend?"

A scowl passed over Gutz's ruddy features. "The system was working. It didn't need tampering with. Everyone knew their place."

Ross wasn't sure many would share his take on the South African apartheid, but held his tongue. Gutz's accent was getting thicker. That always meant he was getting a little agitated. "Bunny Forbes-Hamilton always did know how to make interesting friends." He picked up a lighter, sucking on his cigar as he lit it. "Aligning himself with vigilante mercenaries was a smart move." Ross examined the end of his now glowing cigar. "Is Franco still alive?"

"Yes. You want me to do something about that?"

"No," said Ross easily, "we still have a use for him." He paused. "Is our informant still with us?"

"Yes. I thought it was a good idea to have them close by when this all went down, in case they betrayed us." Gutz absently patted down his heavily gelled comb over. "I like my consequences to be immediate and brutal."

"And that's why we're such a good match." Ross puffed on his cigar. "I like my consequences to be random and brutal. The real torture is in the unexpectedness of it all."

Gutz smiled. "Your skill as a torturer is without compare," he agreed approvingly. "It's a joy to watch you work." His smile widened even more. "The way you made Teddy scream." Gutz shook his head. "It was a thing of beauty. They say fear toughens the meat, but I disagree. I think it adds a flavor all of its own."

"I'll bow to your authority on such matters," said Ross calmly. He didn't share Walter's love of certain taboo meats, but he supported his right to enjoy them, particularly when it meshed so well with his hobby. "It was a shame, but Teddy was a necessary sacrifice to make to the greater good. I'd like to think a part of him understood that right before the end."

"Perhaps." He shrugged. "What do you want to do now? We're no closer to getting our hands on that poofter."

"We just need to increase the motivation of our staff."

Gutz grinned. "We're going to torture Franco?"

"No, the other one, the informant." Ross winked at him. "Random and brutal, remember? I like to keep my underlings guessing as to where the knife will fall. If one fails, they all fail. It's a highly entertaining motivational tool." Another puff of the cigar. "To that end, gather the troops in to watch. There is no point putting on a show if there is no audience."

Gutz inclined his head. "Sure. But where do we go from here?"

Ross pursed his lips. "These vigilantes, they'll make the next move. We'll let them, see how far they're willing to go to protect their charge. It won't match my commitment to killing that little shit, slowly and painfully, but I do like to know my opponents limits. It's a handy tool."

"This Arrow guy, he used a kill a lot. But he hasn't done it for a while. Gone soft or something."

"Unless he's willing to kill, there is no way to stop us," said Ross, stating a fact which was obvious to him. "And even then, he's not going to win. Algernon Forbes-Hamilton is already a dead man, he just doesn't know it yet."

"You will leave me some good parts of the meat though won't you?" asked Gutz a little anxiously. "You promised. I don't want the whole carcass bruised."

"But of course, my dear friend. I would never deny you your simple pleasures."

Gutz relaxed. "Good. And the vigilantes?"

"Why, we'll burn their lives to the ground, obviously. My brother's memory deserves nothing less." He sighed heavily. "Ah, my dearest Albert, how I miss our games of chess." Ross gave a sad smile. "He was an outstanding player, you know."

"I remember."

"None could equal his genius when it came to the chess board, or the way he could make me laugh." Ross' lips twisted. "You did not deserve the ignominious end dealt to you by Forbes-Hamilton's treachery."

Gutz laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You will have your revenge, my friend. Justice will come to all who have dealt such a blow to your family."

Ross smiled. "I know. I just wish Albert could be here to enjoy the show."

"He will be, in spirit. And afterwards we can celebrate, a feast in his honor."

"That would be something he'd enjoy," agreed Ross wistfully. "I might even join you in that feast."

Gutz's eyes lit up. "Really? You hardly ever partake."

Ross inclined his head. "But this is a special occasion. My brother's wake festivities. I want to honor his memory by dining on the flesh of his murderers. It feels like the right thing to do."

"It is," said Gutz, clearly thrilled at the thought of being able to share his unique appetites with his best friend. "I will make sure to do Albert's memory proud in the kitchen."

"Of that I have no doubt. However, the recipe for rabbit stew begins with—"

"First finding yourself the rabbit," finished off Gutz excitedly. "I know. We will, soon enough. In the meantime—"

"Yes, you can have some fun," said Ross indulgently. "I can never deny you anything when you look at me with those big brown eyes."

"Find work you love and you'll never work a day in your life," said Gutz happily.

"I've always enjoyed your attitude about some of the less agreeable aspects of life," said Ross admiringly. "Shall we gather the troops, and spark a little extra motivation in them, hm?"

Gutz nodded. "On it. It will be a wonderful warm up for the main act."

A main act Ross was very much looking forward to now. He could feel the hunt closing in, knew the feeling well. It never ceased to thrill him. The animal knew its life was in danger now, it'd react off instinct, trying to fight back. It was the moment the hunter had to take complete control of the situation, while letting the beast think it had a chance at survival. It just heightened the pleasure of the whole victory, this dance of death. Ross couldn't wait to see his injured animal make their next move, knowing he was prepared for anything. No man or beast had ever bested him in this arena, and they never would. Of this he had no doubt.

#

Oliver sat down at his kitchen table and looked at the plate full of cold cuts and salad with a decided lack of enthusiasm. He wasn't hungry, but he knew he had to eat, fuel the body and all that. Trouble was, turns out when you find out the woman you're madly in love with is actually another man's wife, it tends to take the edge of your appetite. Oliver still couldn't believe tonight had happened. It was so far removed from anything he'd ever expect to find out about Felicity, his brain was struggling to process it. He just hoped that he hadn't shown any of his internal floundering to Felicity. She didn't deserve anything but complete and utter support from him, just like she'd given him time and time again over the years. Oliver just prayed he pulled it off. His cell phone rang and he reached for it on instinct. He glanced at the number as he put the phone to his ear. "Hey John, is everything okay?"

"Yes, it's fine. I'm just on the way back to the Cave. I'm coming from Roy's place."

"Is he okay?" asked Oliver in concern.

"Yeah, but he remembered what happened in the basement."

Oliver closed his eyes and grimaced. He really hoped that Roy could have been spared that particular trauma. "How did he take it?"

"Less screaming then I thought there'd be," said Diggle conversationally. "We talked it out. He's going to be okay."

Oliver ran his hand back and forth through his short hair. "Damn it, why couldn't that part of the night have just stayed blank for him? There has to be some upside of having a house fall of you."

"Well, if there is, forgetting you ate penis burgundy isn't one of them."

"Are you sure Roy is okay?"

"He's shaken, but assimilating. Might not eat meat for a few days. Well… no hot dogs anyways."

Oliver sat back heavily in his chair. "Tonight was definitely not a good night," he sighed.

"Speaking of which, how'd it go with Felicity? Should I be dusting off my tux? Am I going to be cordially invited somewhere sometime soon?"

Oliver's lips twisted in a bitter smile. "You're about five years too late."

"What does that mean?"

Oliver closed his eyes again, suddenly tired. "I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

"Are you and Felicity okay? What happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"And by nothing, you mean…?"

"I mean I didn't ask her to marry me."

"Okay, probably a sensible thing, given the circumstances."

Oliver tensed. "What circumstances?" Had Diggle known about her marriage this whole time?

"The circumstances by which she accidentally comes across the ring you were going to propose to her with in the dirt. Not exactly the stuff romance novels are overflowing with."

Oliver willed his muscles to relax. "I guess not."

"Was Felicity upset about the ring?" Diggle sounded confused.

Oliver couldn't blame him, but he hadn't processed the whole thing enough to share the details yet. He still needed it to bounce around in his brain for a little longer, get a hold of his emotions. "Yes and no."

"I'm hoping our talk about this tomorrow will be a little more illuminating," said Diggle dryly.

"John, I'm sorry. I'm just… tired. I need to think about tonight, all the stuff that went wrong, formulate a plan."

"On that note, why don't Roy and I go and talk to Pang tomorrow?"

Oliver's brow furrowed. "You and Roy?"

"I think the kid needs to get back on the horse, so to speak. Go right back out into the field and find his feet again. Besides, if memory serves, you and Felicity have a full day planned at Queen Consolidated tomorrow. Haven't you got seven meetings and two conference calls to fit in tomorrow?"

"Yes," said Oliver flatly, not feeling particularly inspired by that thought. All he really wanted to do was get this Felix thing sorted. It all felt very much up in the air to him, and Oliver wanted a plan for dealing with this unwanted piece of Felicity's past, but she'd been so upset tonight, he hadn't wanted to push her for a game plan.

"Then it's settled. Roy and I will do the check on Pang, and whatever intel we get from her, we'll formulate our next move with. We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Definitely. We need to get this Ross situation dealt with." Oliver's jaw hardened. "This guy clearly doesn't have many boundaries when it comes to what he's willing to do for his revenge. Last night was a message to let us know he wasn't playing."

"And then some, but we've gone up against tougher. We'll deal with Ross and Gutz like all the rest, and come out the other side." He paused. "So, you sure you're okay?"

Oliver half-smiled. "Are you playing the role of den mother tonight? Are you going to call in on Felicity next?"

"I have a feeling Bunny will be all over that," said Diggle wryly. "I'm assuming he had a front row seat?"

"We went outside to talk, but he certainly got the pertinent bits." Oliver could tell that Diggle was still curious, but he couldn't bring himself to talk about it just yet. Tomorrow he'd tell his friend about Felicity being married, and the fact that he planned to be nothing but supportive when it came to anything she needed from him. There was a loud knock at the door, and Oliver frowned. "John, someone's at the door. I've got to go. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Count on it."

"And thanks, for checking in on Roy. It was a tough night for him."

"He'll be fine, we all will."

"I know." Oliver hung up, and headed to the door as the knocking started again. Oliver couldn't help but hope that it might be Felicity on the other side of the door, telling him it was all a joke and there wasn't some specter of a husband looming between them. Oliver opened the door, and his lips tightened as he saw who it was.

"Expecting someone else, Mr. Queen?" asked Quentin Lance calmly.

"No." Oliver tilted his head slightly. "It's a bit late for a visit. I'm assuming this is a business call?"

"It is." The older man's sharp gaze ran over Oliver's bumped and scratched face. "Looks like you've been having a full evening already."

Oliver didn't blink. "I cut myself shaving."

Lance arched an eyebrow. "I feel like you don't put the effort you used to in your lies to me," he said dryly. "The thrill is going from our relationship."

"I'm okay with that if you are," said Oliver calmly. He really didn't need this tonight.

"So, do I get to come in?"

"Is it going to take that long?"

"With your current attitude, I'm guessing yes."

Oliver steeled himself for another tense conversation tonight. He and Detective Lance had a rocky relationship at the best of times. They'd gotten past Lance's burning hatred of him, but Oliver knew that the father of two women whose lives he'd messed up in the past still had plenty of side eyeing left in reserve for him. He stepped back. "Then you'd better come in."

Lance walked into the foyer, and Oliver gestured towards the living room, closing the door and following after him. Lance stopped and turned around when he was in the middle of the room.

"Can I get you something to drink?" asked Oliver.

"Not a social call, remember."

"I know, but politeness costs nothing," said Oliver. A small smile tugged at his lips as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "That's my mother talking."

"Moira had class, there was never any doubt about that."

"No," said Oliver quietly, "there wasn't." He looked at the other man. "Felicity told me you helped her out tonight. Thank you."

"Felicity is a good kid, I've got a lot of time for her."

"So have I," said Oliver huskily. All the time in the world and then some.

"Mm," murmured Lance, looking at him intently.

Oliver fought the urge to defend his relationship with Felicity to the subtly disapproving Lance. Felicity wasn't his daughter, Oliver didn't need to justify anything, but the instinct remained. "You said you're here on business?"

"While I was glad to help out one of your employees tonight, Oliver, one of them I was too late to do anything for."

Oliver stiffened and frowned. "Who are we talking about exactly?"

"Do you know a Carter Maitland?"

"Yes, he works the front desk security."

"Not anymore he doesn't."

Oliver's frown turned into a concerned scowl. "Dead? How?"

"He was murdered… in a very specific way."

Oliver searched the other man's face. "In what way?"

"This is to be kept between us," said Lance tightly. "We don't need the press getting involved in all of this before they have to."

"I share your general ethos when it comes to keeping the press at arm's length," said Oliver flatly. Thinking about that reporter manhandling Felicity at the office still made his blood boil. Diggle shouldn't have waited for that elevator, just thrown him down the shaft. He looked up to see Lance watching him with interest again. "We've had some issues with paparazzi trying to get to Felicity," said Oliver tightly. "One guy got up to the office and was harassing her. Put his hands on her," muttered Oliver, hands balling into a fist in his pockets just remembering those marks on Felicity's arms. His 'no kill' rule was very important to Oliver, but someone hurting Felicity, nothing else mattered beyond that.

Lance looked unhappy to hear that. "You want to give us a name and an official complaint so we can deal with this guy?"

Oliver gave a short shake of the head. "He's dealt with, and we've upped our security."

"Only now part of that security is dead," said Lance.

Oliver tilted his head. "You don't think that's a coincidence?"

"I'm not a huge believer in anything being coincidental." Lance then just took a moment to stare at the marks on Oliver's face. "You know, Carter, he put up a hell of a fight."

"You think I got these—" Oliver waved a vague hand at his face, "killing an employee of mine tonight? And what would my motive be exactly?"

"I don't think you killed your security guard."

"Well, good, because I didn't."

"However, you might want to come up with a slightly better story than the shaving one going forward into this investigation," said Lance dryly. "Not that the shaving cover story wasn't a real winner, you understand."

"I was looking for something in the bushes and got scratched up," said Oliver calmly. "Happy now?"

"You're a billionaire, don't you have people to look in bushes for you?"

"My bush man was having the night off."

"I guess he deserved it," deadpanned Lance.

"I'm not an unreasonable overlord," agreed Oliver calmly. "You were going to tell me something about how Carter died?"

"You heard of the Optometrist?"

Oliver's jaw hardened. "Damn it."

"Yeah, pretty much my thoughts on the subject." Lance shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "This looks like victim number two in Starling. Can you tell me anything about Mr. Maitland, anything unusual in the last couple of days?"

"I sent him home sick yesterday," said Oliver. "He was complaining of stomach pains. I had him checked out by the company doctor, Sera Finn. I can give you her number if you need to talk to her."

Lance nodded. "Yeah, that'd be good. Anything else?"

Oliver had pulled out his phone, looking for Sera's number. "He didn't come in to work today, but beyond that, I can't think of anything." He showed Lance Sera's phone number, which the older man scribbled down. "Although, he did mention he was having an issue with one reporter in particular, came back more than once, trying to get up and see Felicity. The guy was being really persistent." It suddenly occurred to Oliver that reporter might have actually been Felix, trying to deliver his 'not so divorced as you think we are' news.

"You got a name for this guy?"

"No," said Oliver without hesitation. "Sorry." If Felicity's ex was involved in this in some way, Oliver was going to be the one to investigate that. In fact he had a lot of unanswered questions about Felix Finlay, not least of which were what his intentions were towards Felicity.

Lance closed his notebook. "Okay, well, you know the drill, if you think of anything else, you know where I am."

Oliver inclined his head. "Of course." He walked Lance to the door.

Lance walked through, but then turned around for one last comment. "And thanks for being the only person tonight who didn't comment on how I smell."

Oliver had noticed the strong smell of woman's perfume on Lance the moment he'd opened the door. "Figured it's none of my business."

"Felicity didn't tell you she maced me with her perfume tonight?"

Oliver gave a short shake of his head, not surprised by the information. It was Felicity after all. "She didn't mention it."

"But still, the fact I smell like your girlfriend didn't pique your curiosity?"

"You don't smell like Felicity."

"I'm covered in her perfume."

"Felicity doesn't smell like perfume." Oliver was an expert in this particular area. He knew Felicity's scent, and it wasn't Shalimar. It was something far more exotic and distinct. In fact it was vaguely frustrating to him when she did choose to wear perfume, because it masked her true fragrance, which Oliver was unabashedly addicted to.

Lance looked a little confused by how emphatic Oliver was on the subject, but he just nodded. "Okay, well, remember, anything you can think of. We need to get this bastard off the street."

"We will," said Oliver with great confidence.

Lance arched an eyebrow at him.

"And by we, I mean you and the SCPD, of course," said Oliver smoothly.

"Mmhm," muttered an unconvinced sounding Lance. "Just leave it to the professionals, Oliver. This guy is dangerous and sick. He needs to be taken down by people who know what they're doing."

Oliver held his gaze steadily. "And I have no doubt he will be." He smiled. "Goodnight, Detective Lance. Thank you for letting me know about Carter. I'll make sure his family is taken care of." Oliver closed the door and grimaced. Great, two sociopaths running around Starling at the same time, and he was dating a married woman.

Was this day never going to end?