Chapter 35

Oswald could not understand why the poor boy just did not promise to leave the girl and then come for her again later on. Preferably, after the bar was in better hands. His own.

The woman had insisted that until her angelic granddaughter was back home and out of the clutches of this musically inclined Casanova, Oswald would not have any chance at an offer on her establishment. But the lad was being difficult.

It was so simple to him. He had sacrificed Cassandra's company in order to gain influence, and now he could present her with a home and power and prestige.

Soon he would take his throne as the King of Gotham. Long live the king.

Movement drew his focus back on the dark-haired young man on the floor. Defiance was in the kid's eyes. Oswald liked that. He could respect that. But the boy was dumb as bricks. Maybe even dumber.

This kid is an idiot, he thought. He deserves to have his fingers severed. Besides, I am doing him a favor. If this guitar-playing fool loses the love of his life after losing a few fingers, then she was not the love of his life to begin with—and he can start his search again—like any modern-day Romeo.

Still. He hated to trample on alleged true love, but he hated stupidity more. Hence, the boy loses a finger or two.

Come on! I suffered without Cassandra for months. Surely, he can suffer without his girl for a few days, until I get complete control of that bar.

Besides, no one is asking that he stop loving her or that he must deny his love for her. Youth today, they have no patience.

Now, neither do I. He handed Gabe the clippers.

It was mid-day when he left the bar, witnessing the reunion of grandmother and granddaughter. The sound of a single finger hitting the bottom of a tin bucket still echoed in Oswald's ears. He smirked after finalizing the offer and shuffled out of the bar, thinking of Cassandra.

Then he thought of Maroni, to whom this transaction was in honor. This setting would be the perfect place to instigate the killing games. Let the war for Gotham begin.

Wait until Cassandra sees how quickly I will rise to the top. Really, I am already there, it is just that nobody knows it yet.

He increased his gait, hurrying to get home to her. Did he really just use the term "home" in regards to anyone else but his mother? The thought made him grin. He suddenly imagined himself a prince in a fairytale having been living under a curse, now coming home to roost, claiming the kingdom and a queen.

Checkmate indeed, those of you about to be slaughtered.

Everything just seemed better.

The clouds in the sky were not gray, but silver.

Crumbling buildings did not represent decay but a testament to Gotham and its architects—decades of history, stoic and still standing though battered and forgotten.

A thief running away with a woman's purse was not just a crime, but an opportunity to show heroism. Oswald thought he would give it a try and stuck his umbrella in the path of the perpetrator, sending him sprawling to the concrete, allowing the woman—who had unnaturally big jet black hair—sprinting behind him to tackle him and retrieve her purse. She adjusted her leopard pants as she stood and straightened her windbreaker.

The guy did not fight back, probably because when he looked up, the first thing he saw was Gabe hovering over him, but Oswald got a good look at his face in case he needed his services for future purposes. Terrified, the petty thief leapt to his feet and took off running again.

"Oh, thank you, doll," said the lady beaming down at Oswald, her voice cracking from one too many cigarettes. She reached for him with one skeleton-like hand that was firm in its grip, blue veins popping up to say "hi". He found it difficult not to grimace at the sound of her voice and was certain he could file down his toenails with it.

She leaned in for a hug before he could stop her, and Oswald knew immediately he did not want another one. Her hair crunched as she pressed her cheek against his.

If there are any residual sparks, we will all go up in flames, he thought. Normally he liked hugs—when he thought they would not endanger his life.

He disengaged himself and held up his hand.

"No need. I simply observed your distress and felt this overwhelming desire to come to your rescue," he said.

"I can give you money as a reward." She pulled out her Gucci wallet and Oswald saw that she only had a few dollar bills. He put his hand over hers and the wallet, while peeking inside her purse—naturally out of habit and instinct—and noticed there were several other wallets in there as well.

Huh. I believe I have been duped. I may have let the true owner of this wallet get away.

"Please, keep your money. It was my pleasure to aid you," he schmoozed, executing a deliberate slow blink and cheesy grin.

I am going to remember you lady, he thought.

"Aww . . . such a nice mama's boy," she patted him on the cheek and started to walk away, but Oswald stopped her and waggled his finger.

"Not until you give me back my wallet," he told her. She started to protest, but one look at Gabe and she relented, slouching and releasing Oswald's wallet from a hiding place inside her sleeve.

"And the watch," he said, enjoying her face wrinkle up more than he thought was possible. She swore and handed him the watch.

"How am I supposed to make a living!" she spat at him.

"By choosing your marks wisely," he responded. She snarled and walked away from him, giving him the bird. "Thank you . . ." he called as she walked away. "It was very truly a pleasure!"

A pleasure indeed, he thought as he held up a diamond ring, calculating its carat weight and investigating it for any inscriptions. He was pleased with this one—the clarity was perfect and the design was unique. He guessed the metal was platinum, which coupled with the brilliance and shape of the diamond surprised him. He looked back in the direction of the female pickpocket, but she had already disappeared into the crowd.

It had been simple slipping it from her finger.

How in the world did she come by this ring? It certainly seemed out of her league. He considered himself lucky it was not inscribed. Many dollars went into procuring this bling, so he was surprised the person who bought it had not added initials or poetry along the inside band.

Which is perfect, he thought. Because I can do it.

"Is it a good ring, boss?" asked Gabe. Oswald threw it up in the air and caught when it came down.

"The best," he said, putting it in his vest pocket. Now he just needed flowers.