Chapter Seventy-One: Charleen's Sanctuary
Author's Note: Hope everyone around the world is doing okay with this Coronavirus. In light of these hard (and weird) times, I've been able to write another chapter. Hope this helps cheer someone up Be safe, my Lovelies!
"You saw who last night?"
Oswald rolled his eyes when Sylvia had repeated herself once again. He predicted her reaction, but it irritated him no less when she sounded steadily more skeptical as he tried to describe what he'd experienced last night.
He sat on his throne in the Meeting Room of the mansion with Sylvia adjacent to him. They both glanced precariously over at their teenage guest sitting in the living room, watching cartoons; Charleen's over-all morning disposition was pleasant.
While Charleen ate a bowl of cereal and drank a cup of coffee (Sylvia's influence, no doubt) and watched morning cartoons, distracted, it seemed like the optimal time to discuss the supernatural incident.
"Are you asking me to regale the story once again?" He said defensively.
"No. I got it the first time. It's just hard to believe."
"The ghost of my deceased father came to visit on the exact night some miscreant violated his resting place—what about that is so hard to believe?"
She tilted her head towards him: "I'm not saying I don't believe you."
"Well, your cynicism isn't exactly reassuring," said Oswald with a small grudgeful pout of his bottom lip.
He took the cup of coffee she'd proffered earlier; up until now, it had been untouched, but seeing as his morning was just starting out horribly, he didn't even mind the coffee's bitter aftertaste.
"What did he say?"
Oswald scoffed.
"No," She insisted. "Tell me. What did he say?"
"I told you already. He said someone can't be trusted."
"And he didn't say who?"
"No. He disappeared beforehand."
"That's weird."
"You're telling me." Oswald muttered, shaking his head and glaring at his cup.
"And just seconds after, the police come knocking on the door." Sylvia contemplated aloud, tapping her chin with a thoughtful 'hm'.
Oswald inwardly smiled at her attempt to figure out this inexplicable phenomenon. He suspected that while she didn't completely believe his tale, as she rarely believed in anything due to her atheistic perspectives, Sylvia—much like Ed—always believed there was an explanation for everything, even if that explanation was the worst humanely possible thing to ever happen. If anything, she was trying to help him feel like he wasn't losing his mind due to the stress he'd currently been experiencing.
"What do you make of it?" Oswald asked curiously before taking another sip of his coffee, grimacing a second after.
"I don't know what to make of it. But your father believes there's someone in our inner circle who can't be trusted. He was one of the few who had your best interests at heart. I think we should believe him."
"I didn't question his intentions."
"Presentation-wise, I'd have hoped he would just say the name of this person. I figure if you're going to come back from the dead, wouldn't you just say it? Why be so cryptic?"
"Who knows how these things work!"
Sylvia glanced at him, taken aback: "I'm just saying that if I was a ghost and I knew someone was going to fuck with you, I'd make a point to plan this shit out. Write a goddamn note or something—don't waste time breaking picture frames. Ghost Hauntings 101."
"Well, if my father appears again, I'll point out your critique and then you two can discuss his ambiguous methods between yourselves," said Oswald acerbically, scooting out of his chair as he moved to stand.
"I'm trying to be supportive."
"I think you are, but I don't need theories as to why he wouldn't or didn't say this traitor's name. I need to find him—or her" (Oswald glanced arbitrarily at Charleen, who giggled at a cartoon) "as well as the location of my father's remains so I can put him back to rest, properly."
"Which would you like me to do?" Sylvia volunteered, standing to her feet.
"Neither. I'll take care of it myself."
"Oswald, you do realize that you have two press conferences in the next three hours."
"I do realize this."
"And you also realize that because of your timetable, you don't have time to 'take care' of anything."
"What are you suggesting?"
Oswald raised his chin a little, watching Sylvia as she approached him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer to her. The feeling of her body pressed against him was welcoming, and warm.
"I'll interrogate the ranks," She answered with a calculating smile. "I'll see who it is that might be trying to cause problems for you. The same person may be responsible for desecrating your father's grave. Either way, I'll be handicapping one person or two."
Oswald cradled her face between his palms first before his fingers traced her jawline; he kissed her, smiling against her lips as his burdens were lifted from his shoulders; the weight of it, running the Underworld and the city as one person, seemed less disconcerting now.
"You do that."
"Would you prefer me to bring them to you dead or alive?" She asked delicately.
Butterflies fluttered about in his stomach when she kissed him again, this time her tongue flicked upwards to lick his upper lip. Her dark tone might've had something to do with it too.
"Alive," Oswald decided as he wrapped his arms around her; his hands ghosted underneath the hem of her shirt, stroking the small of her back. He closed what little distance was between them. "But if they prove to be impudent, you have my permission to escalate that to 'barely'."
"'Barely alive' is my default," Sylvia purred.
"You two remind me of the Addams Family."
Oswald let out a short exhale of marked irritation while Sylvia smirked at him as they both glanced to see Charleen standing next to them.
"Don't you have some cartoon to watch?" Oswald asked starkly.
"Don't you have a meeting to run or some shit?" Charleen responded smartly, putting a hand on her hip. "If you spent as much time going after the fuckers who fuck up your shit left and right as you do rubbing fronts with her" (She made an obscene gesture) "you'd be running this 'underworld' five times better."
"Your criticism isn't warranted."
"And yet, it came out anyway. Sylvia…" (Sylvia looked at her curiously) "Do you guys have, like, bubble bath stuff or anything?"
"Are you planning on staying the day?" She asked gingerly.
"No! No, of course not. What a stupid idea. I just wanted to take a bath before I went back outside."
Oswald rolled his eyes again, glancing at his watch: "I don't have time for this. I have to get going."
"Shoulda spent less time..." Charleen muttered as she turned to walk away.
"Excuse me?"
"What?"
"I didn't hear you," Oswald snipped. "Would you like to run that by me again."
She turned back on her heel and said snidely, "I said you should've spent less time necking."
Oswald's disposition towards her insolence was surprisingly calm as Sylvia watched him step towards her; he spoke lowly, "How frail your memory must be if you have already forgotten what we talked about last night."
Sylvia raised an eyebrow when Charleen and Oswald had been glaring at each other and it was up until that point where Charleen's attitude faltered at his warning.
"Yeah, but—" She began to argue.
Oswald sent her a stern glance, snapping his fingers and pointing to the living room.
Charleen huffed, but she walked out of the room in a silent pout. Sylvia watched after her before looking at Oswald in surprise.
"What did you talk about last night?" She asked interestedly.
"Civility, and the importance of manners."
"Really?"
Oswald grinned at her show of incredibility. However, he didn't mind the way she was looking at him, with a whole new expression of unveiled desire at his small show of parenting a teenager, even if it was somehow articulated through subtle threats. His strict posturing, and over all duty to restore order always seemed to strike a chord in what was Sylvia's tangled mess of sexual attraction to him. Maybe it was because she was a natural free spirit and when it came down to it, sometimes even a spirit needed grounding.
"You sound surprised," Oswald mused.
Sylvia sat on the edge of the table, gazing at him in fascination.
"Well, she normally snaps at me when I try to steer her in the right direction. I've never successfully shut her down like that. Not yet anyway."
He stood in front of her, smiling when she looked up at him inquisitively. He held her chin with his index finger and thumb, encouraging her to meet his eyes.
"That's because you frequently enable her."
"Hey! I can be strict when I wanna be. And, just so you know, the girl is a bat out of hell," Sylvia reminded. "Sometimes, you need to let the beast out before it can be tamed. I did all the hard work for you."
"And when the beast is out, how do you intend to domesticate it?"
"By nurturing it and letting the beast know it has no reason to feel threatened by yours truly."
"Is that what you intend to do with her?"
"Isn't that what you do on a daily basis?"
Oswald smirked: "Alas, you're not a beast."
"Oh, I'm not?"
"No. You're not." He kissed her forehead: "You're a phoenix."
"I feel strangely validated and empowered by that," Sylvia returned, playfully scrunching her nose at him.
"As you should be."
"Oh, I am. Don't you have a meeting to go to?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Running late as ever."
"The meeting can't start without its Mayor. And a meeting that can't start without you is a meeting worth attending."
"That's good advice."
Sylvia raised her hand dismissively, "It's what my dad used to say about his court trials. Who's your meeting with?"
"A few of our associates."
Sylvia cracked a grin: "Penguin's associates or the Mayor's?"
"I'm wearing the Mayor's hat this morning."
"Sounds boring."
"It will be."
"And your associates are…?"
"Politicians."
"Very boring," Sylvia quipped. "Predominantly male, cunning, boring, swinging their dicks around about analyses and diagnostics?"
"Aren't all politicians?" Oswald joked. "That's a vague way to describe a conglomerate."
"Ha. You're a politician and you have a dick—I'd say you're a part of that conglomerate."
"With one caveat, surely."
"That 'caveat' being that you're not boring." Sylvia said slyly.
"I feel strangely validated and empowered by knowing you think that."
"Excellent callback."
"Thank you." Oswald chuckled; he kissed her one more time before looking at his watch again and sighing in displeasure. "I really do have to go."
Sylvia nodded, and said smoothly, "Take the limo to your wonderfully boring conference. I'll be taking my car."
"Driving the kid back to the city?"
"Most likely. On the off chance she doesn't want to go back, and she wants to stay here, how do you feel about that?" Sylvia asked carefully.
Oswald glanced at the living room where Charleen had remained sitting as she giggled as a cartoon character was shot through a cannon and he looked back at Sylvia.
"As long as she remembers to talk to you in a civil manner, I'm fine with it."
"Are you, really?"
He smiled guiltily, saying, "Honestly, rudeness and impetuousness aside…I don't mind having her around. She's easy to deal with."
"That's interesting, coming from you, who's married to someone who's often rude and impetuous. Good to know I'm easy to manhandle at your leisure."
Sylvia bit her lip to suppress her need to jump him when Oswald leaned into her and kissed her neck. His tongue licked her earlobe; she stifled a quiet moan.
"Believe me. It's an absolute pleasure." He kissed her swiftly on her cheek. "Time to go."
He straightened and Sylvia felt the heat rise to her face.
"I'll see you later tonight."
"What do you want for dinner?" She asked, although she felt embarrassed for how breathless she sounded.
"You know what I like." He returned with a small smile. "I leave that decision for you to make."
"Ooh, decisions, decisions. Have a good conference. I'm sure it'll be tedious and extraordinarily pedantic."
"As pedantic as they come."
He swiftly kissed her before he left the mansion.
Sylvia hopped off the table and headed into the living room to see Charleen switch the channel to a different cartoon show.
"The bubble bath stuff is in the bathroom, under the sink," Sylvia answered her question from earlier and Charleen gave her a look.
"I'm going to take one and then I want to go."
"Alright."
"Okay. Like, I really mean that." Charleen said, standing up.
"I'm sure you do."
"Good. I'm glad you're sure."
She started to leave, and Sylvia offered offhandedly: "I mean, we could drop by the Flea, pick up your things and then you could just stay another night just until the storms are over; the forecast of heavy rainstorms, and all that. If that's something you want to consider."
Charleen turned on her heel with a hesitation as if she hadn't heard her correctly.
"I guess we could, but—hey—just so you know, I'm not going to stay the entire week. It's not like I wanna stay here or anything, like a rich loser or something."
She headed to the bathroom and closed the door.
Sylvia chortled at her half-hearted attempt to sound genuine.
The Flea looked no different than what Sylvia had remembered, back when she'd met Ivy Pepper for their first rendezvous, back when she needed a spy to watch Delilah…Things seemed less chaotic during those days.
The car had been parked outside, a couple blocks away to deter leering prospectors from the idea to rob or disassemble her vehicle. Meanwhile, Sylvia followed Charleen, who strode a few paces ahead, to the place where the latter kept her things.
"My squat's just up here," She said candidly, pointing ahead to a vague area.
The 'marketplace' that was the Flea was the generic version of a festival, full of booths and yet still janky and sketchy as an empty, dark alley with broken toilet seats and dingy couches, all but eaten away by moths. They stopped a few steps away from what looked like an abandoned apartment complex; broken windows, shattered roofing; the mold climbing up the wooden stairs and porch seemed to be 90% of its make-up. The smell of settled rainwater, wet dog, and mellowed piss was rank enough to make one want to puke in the poor excuse for rose bushes that had been planted along the porch.
Sylvia held a hand to her nose; even Charleen gave her dwellings an embarrassing once-over after she'd spent the night in a mansion. Her slighted gaze and blushing cheeks made Sylvia half-smile apologetically.
"I'll just be a minute," Charleen said quickly, jerking a thumb behind her. "I just got a few things. You stay out here."
"Are you sure you don't need help?"
"Of course, I'm sure. Just stay out here, 'kay?"
"Sure. Take your time."
"Okay. But don't touch nothing."
Sylvia nodded, and she watched Charleen head inside the dilapidated excuse for a home.
One minute became two. Two minutes became ten. And Sylvia's radar that detected the difference between paranoia and instinct started blaring. She sighed inwardly, knowing the odds of Charleen becoming infuriated once Sylvia intruded upon her personal space were huge; by this point, it was better 'safe' than 'sorry'.
When Sylvia walked through the door, its ear-cringing creak was the first to unnerve her. It was surprisingly dark for a building with so many broken windows; the sound of water droplets falling into a body of water, even while there was no puddle in sight along the corridor of hardwood floors.
The sight disgusted her. Not because she'd been living the fancier life these days, but because it brought her back to the way she'd lived when she'd run away from home.
Her life lived on streets at some point when she'd run away from her father's judgmental eyes and his unfair criticisms; stealing things that didn't belong to her to pawn off to Fences, who'd only give her the barest scraps of change, even if the items taken were genuinely expensive; drinking alcohol bought by even more irresponsible, older kids to dull the pain of feeling lesser than the rest of Gotham's elite.
Sylvia felt her heart pang again for Charleen.
What Isaac knew was that his unofficial ward was living on scraps after having been thrown into a harsher world than what she likely deserved (even if she did supposedly burn her parents alive in their own bed). What Isaac didn't understand was that this horrid world was her reality, and she'd lived in it so long that the idea of living a different reality, even a better one, scared her senseless. Sometimes, a girl would continue to live her terrible, wretched life than choose a better one out of comfort—not comfort of riches or leisure, but one of familiarity; for change, even for the better, was scary itself.
Sylvia's ears perked when she heard a couple of voices down the hall, a few rooms away. Their voices sounded younger.
"Where's the dough, ginger?" A young male's voice spoke; he was likely in his late teens.
"I don't have it," Charleen's voice came out cynical, but by now, Sylvia could detect the cynicism was trying to hide what really lurked beneath the surface: Fear.
"I saw you come into the Flea with the Mayor's wife."
"So? She was just giving me a ride."
"Come on. You're slick enough, sneaky enough. You're telling me you didn't get anything off her?"
Sylvia slipped right beside the door from where the voices came. Peeking through the hinge of the door, she saw there were three guys in the room; two burly male teenagers and a skinny one; the latter had spoken. He seemed to be the Alpha of the pack.
"Look, I don't have the money. And, honestly, the three of you are pigs anyway so fuck it." Charleen said snidely. "You want to live here? Fine. You want all this" (She moved to a piece of furniture that had served as her bed and threw a bunch of jewelry and money onto it) "take it. It's yours."
"You're being awfully generous."
"No. You're just being a fucking jerk, Miles."
Miles. Sylvia narrowed her eyes. It wasn't any of the cops that Charleen had named earlier, so this was likely a 'co-worker' of hers. Not one of the best people to hang around with from the looks of it.
"This ain't enough to cover what you spent."
Ah. Sylvia rolled her eyes. Charleen owed money.
"You were rolling in it," said Miles coldly. "You had money flowing out of your pockets. You said you were going to pay me back in full, but then you end up buying the whole Flea booze from every nick and dime store you could find. Suddenly, when it's time to pay me back, you ain't got any money. I wonder why that is."
Charleen frowned and held her up hands: "Fine. I took your money. I tried winning some games, but they're all rigged. And yeah, I did have a lot of money at one point that I got from an old geezer; he was my sponsor, but…"
"I thought the whole point of trying to double my winnings was to attract a larger, richer crowd? But that plan really fell through like all your other ones. You really wanna do me a favor, kitten, you'd go back to your 'sponsor', get what you owe, and bring it back to your real sponsor. Me. How's that?"
"He's dead now," Charleen replied uneasily.
"Ooh, color me shocked. A real shame. Really. Paddock was the prime score. You know, I was always curious. Did you have to fuck him to get that kind of cash?" Miles asked, stepping forward. "The way you fucked me?"
The back of his hand brushed the side of her face and Charleen flinched.
"Do you have any idea what you're gonna have to do in order to pay back what you owe?"
"We still have the back-up plan."
"The 'back-up plan'? They don't trust you anymore than I do."
"No, they do!"
"So how come you haven't done anything about it?"
"You know better than anyone else that this shit takes time."
"Well, I'm impatient. And you know what. You're going to pay back what you owe in other ways. You…" He drawled as he grabbed her chin in his hand, "are gonna have to entertain not just me, but all my pals here. Maybe, even, at the same time, since you're going to be just as generous with yourself as you've been with my wallet."
"No, no," Charleen said angrily with an attempt to push him away. "You said you wouldn't do that to me. You said—you promised. Just one person at a time—you promised."
"I make the rules. I make the changes. And I've decided to the change the rules. It's just what I do."
Sylvia frowned.
So, Miles wasn't a co-worker or some loan shark. He was a pimp, and Charleen was his ne'er do-well.
"You said you'd give me time."
"Well, you were given six months to pay back what you owe me; that's more time than I've given anyone. You tapped out, and now I'm gonna take what you owe me. Just like before, except I think I'm gonna be a little rougher this time. I'm feeling on edge."
Once Miles grabbed Charleen and yanked her shirt above her head, Sylvia burst inside and slammed the door shut behind her. Immediately after, Miles and his two goons turned around, wide-eyed; their leader held Charleen by the neck as he shoved her in front of him, a switch blade held sharply against her carotid.
"Who the fuck do we have here?" Miles snickered.
"You know who I am, you little brat," Sylvia said calmly.
"Don't mess with these people; they have a gun!" Charleen squeaked when Miles punched her in the face as his goons pulled out their Glocks from behind their backs.
"Sylvia…You mean, Penguin's wife?" Miles said surprisingly, looking from Charleen, who stayed down on the ground, to Sylvia.
"You know what she looks like," The youngest of his pack hissed. "Stop acting like you're dumb."
"I doubt it's an act," Sylvia scoffed.
Miles took one look at her before he held up the switch blade, pointing it in her direction.
"Dude…"
"Shut up, Freddie," Miles snapped at one of his goons. "I know what you're gonna say. We can't hurt her, 'cause she's a lark."
"She's the Lark, man," Freddie hissed, glancing at Sylvia, clearly intimidated. "Show some respect."
"What does it matter? Word on the street is that Lark don't hurt kids."
"Yeah, well…"
"Do you, Lark?" Miles asked smoothly, stepping a foot in her direction. "You help us poor children, don't you?"
"Only people who really deserve it," Sylvia said unhappily.
She glanced at Charleen, who rubbed her aching jaw reprovingly.
"It'd go against your nature if you were to hurt any of us. I'm seventeen," said Miles smartly. "That, there, is Freddie; he's fifteen. The other one is Joe. He's fourteen."
Joe said sarcastically, "I'm actually sixteen…fucker."
"No one asked you, Joseph."
Charleen slowly stood up and Miles kicked her in the stomach, hard.
"Stay down, piglet." He spat. "You're not going anywhere. Just cause she's here to visit, doesn't mean you're getting off easy. In fact, I was kinda hoping to do that myself, but first—"
It happened fast. Sylvia lunged forward, decked him square in the throat so he fell, gasping for air. Joseph was punched in the face; Freddie was kicked in the gut, and his and Freddie's guns as well as Miles' switchblade were smacked out of their hands and tossed through the window. Groaning, Freddie and Joseph warily got to their feet, aching already, and Sylvia looked at them dangerously.
"Stay here!" Sylvia ordered when the two were about to bolt.
"But you don't hurt kids…" Freddie began.
Sylvia pointed to the floor; Freddie and Joseph slowly moved to that part of the room and shakily sat down, glancing at Charleen who looked up at Sylvia in confusion.
Sylvia moved towards Miles, who'd finally caught his breath. She grabbed his hair by the roots and moved him off his feet; Charleen quickly stood and walked after her as Sylvia opened the door to the bathroom, all but kicking it down to get inside.
"Wait!" Miles stuttered. "W-wait! What are you—urghghhh!"
Sylvia shoved his entire head into the commode; the water was a murky brown and yellow; there was no telling how long that putrid smell would linger, or how long that waste had mellowed before his face was thrust inside. When his fingers clawed the bowl of the toilet and his shoes kicked underneath him as he tried to stand, Sylvia slackened her grip on his mane, allowing his head to lift out of the water.
Shit covered his face, and he puked up the piss he'd accidentally drank from being held under.
"I'm going to ask you one time," Sylvia said, her voice laced with an angry, eerie calm. "You're going to—"
"Fucking bitch! Fuck you!"
She shoved his head into the water again, and this time she held him under for a total of thirty seconds. His hands raised to scratch the back of her wrist, and when she brought him out again, Charleen moved inside the bathroom completely with a half-attempt of rescue.
"Sylvia…" Charleen said quietly, eyes widened to reflect surprise, if not astonishment. "Just let him go…He's always like this, it's—"
"Stop talking." Sylvia said darkly, her eyes flickering at her furiously. "I'll deal with you later, young lady."
Charleen urgently sat on the side of the bathtub, crossing her ankles on the ground as Sylvia allowed Miles to raise his head up for air. He puked again and managed to open an eye to glower at her.
"How long have you been taking advantage of her?" Sylvia questioned coldly, pointing to Charleen.
"She gave herself to me!" Miles snapped, glaring at her. "She came to me first! She's a fucking twat who—"
Sylvia shoved his face back down in the water. This time, she flushed, and the vile decay swiveled before running down the drain. The water ran clear, and when Miles had a moment to breath he shouted, "SHE ASKED FOR IT! I DID NOTHING WRONG!"
The toilet bowl filled up with water and he was forced to hold his breath. Sylvia looked at Charleen, whose eyes cast downward as Miles was pulled back up for air.
"You knew she was taking money from Paddock," Sylvia said curtly.
"Yes! Yes…" Miles coughed. "She said…god…" He coughed again.
"Was this a way for her to pay you back!"
"Yes!"
"How much money did she take from you?"
"Twenty grand," Miles hacked, rubbing his throat. "Twenty fucking grand."
"Where did you get twenty grand."
"I won it, gambling."
"Did she take it from you, or did you give it to her?"
Charleen stood: "He gave it to me!"
Miles sputtered, "She said she could double my winnings! She said she was good at gambling! Sh-She lost it all on a fucking double down at some fucking table! She owes me, you fucking cunt!"
Sylvia shoved his head down into the toilet again, and this time she held him under for a minute, glancing at her watch. Charleen stepped forward.
"Sylvia, I owed him forty-thousand dollars. Isaac…" Charleen started helplessly. "Isaac knew I was living bad, but he didn't know I owed people money. He gave me money to try and get me a better life, but I couldn't do that knowing I owed Miles. I had to get rid of him first—"
"I said 'be quiet'!" Sylvia snapped, pointing at her. Charleen nodded quickly, biting her bottom lip to stop herself from crying.
Sylvia held up Miles' head, and he started sputtering again.
"You're a real scumbag, aren't you? You've been turning out a teenager, you fucking prick!"
"Not a teenager on paper—she was a part of it…" He managed weakly. "Wait! Wait!"
She threatened to submerge his head again before he waved his hand and thrust it inside his jean pocket, holding out a driver's license; Sylvia snatched it from him; her anger imploded when she looked at it.
It was a faux driver's license for Charleen, which had her look a lot older than what she really was in the picture; her name and address were printed on it, and her stated birth date claimed her to be 21 years old.
"I just…I find the targets," Miles said quickly. "They pay in cash. Charleen gets them drunk, and they pass out later. They don't remember anything…"
"So, you're getting people drunk, tricking them to have a sex with a minor, then blackmailing them to rob them blind?"
Miles snickered, "Pretty good, huh?"
"You're a teenager who gave another teenager twenty grand," Sylvia chastised. "You think because she's bad at gambling that she owes you. She doesn't owe you anything, but an apology. You're a fucking idiot. For going after unsuspecting drunks, and ruining their lives, that makes you a predator."
She slammed his head against the toilet bowl, and Miles grunted, lying down on the floor, unconscious. She looked at Charleen who stepped a pace backwards.
"You are something else," Sylvia said harshly, standing. "I was under the impression you were this misunderstood, helpless little girl. But, in reality, Miles is your pimp. You work for him. I could be sympathetic if it were not for the fact that you've been taking advantage of an old man's kindness, conning him for months, and didn't even try to tell him what you were really doing with his money, even when he was, literally, on his death bed!"
"I told him I was sorry—"
"No, you're not. You're not sorry for sleeping with other men. You're sorry you've been conning a dead man. Every time you took his money, you lied to his face. He offered you sanctuary. And how did you repay him? You treated him with indifference and disrespect!"
"Yeah, but—"
"—Why did you lie to him?"
"I just—"
"Why did you lie to me?" Sylvia asked furiously.
"Because—"
"Those men you've slept with," She added indignantly. "Their marriages, ruined. Their careers, ruined."
"Yeah, but I—"
"What this your idea or his?"
"It was mine," She admitted.
"And those names you gave me? The officers?"
"Miles…I mean…we set them up."
"Fuck me," Sylvia muttered, looking at the ceiling. She shook her head. "Was any of what you told me true? Was all of this an act?"
Charleen looked up at her and said with wringing hands, "No."
"So, what was the plan, then?"
"I just…"
"Why did you come here? Why were they here?"
"They came by," Charleen said meekly. "They were here when I came here. I really was just going to come and get my stuff. I didn't want you to find out about this, I just" (Her bottom lip and her voice were shaking). "I just…I j-just…"
Miles groaned from the floor, rubbing his head. As he came to, he looked at Sylvia: "Oh fuck, she's still here?"
"I am." Sylvia returned curtly. She leaned against the wall. "So, what was the plan where I'm concerned, Charleen? Was I next on your to-do list? Work me over with your sad sob story, make me go after the people who allegedly wronged and raped you, and then I get rid of anyone who had any connection to you and Miles' little con?"
"That was the plan," Miles uttered, rubbing his head again. "We all know you're a bit of a charity sap. We all know you're always pulling people off the street, trying to help them. Seemed stupid to ignore an opportunity like that."
Sylvia frowned, glancing at Charleen: "What were you planning on doing to me?"
"It doesn't matter…" She muttered weakly, staring at the floor.
"You were going to go through with it, it seems."
"Like she said," said Miles, standing up. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters. To me!" Sylvia said heatedly.
"We were…" Charleen looked up. "I was going to stay with you for a week, build your trust and when you and Penguin were okay with me being in the house, I was going to let Miles come inside and we were going to…to take what we could in one night. Hop a train out of the city…"
"Damn good plan." Miles murmured, glowering at Charleen. "Would've gotten away with it if you didn't come up here and ruin everything. Leave it to you to fuck everything up all the time."
"Enough!" Sylvia scolded.
Charleen looked like she wanted to die where she sat as she stared at her lap. And despite it all, Sylvia felt for her.
"You know what you are, Miles?"
He looked at her pointedly.
"You'll manipulate someone who's less privileged than you, fuck them, threaten and abuse them until they think everything you feel is wrong with them is their fault. You strike me as someone who has the balls to shoot a person in the back, but you don't have the nerve to stab them in the face. You really need to rethink your gumption, kid. And you…" She looked at Charleen, who couldn't meet her eyes, and she spoke sarcastically. "I was capable of a lot of things when I was your age. I didn't build up the immunity to stop feeling guilty, at least not until I started working for Fish Mooney, so congratulations. You're a bonafide criminal. You can fuck up the mafia now. That'll open up a lot of doors."
Miles chuckled, "Yeah. Fat chance of that ever happening. She's too weak-minded. The only door she knows how to open is between her legs."
Charleen gasped when Sylvia grabbed him by the neck and shoved his face down in the toilet. She didn't remove her hands until his arms and legs had stopped squirming. By then, he couldn't say anything, let alone slew an array of misogynistic insults. Sylvia stood, wiping her hands on her lap.
"You're not going to kill me, are you?" Charleen whispered.
"No." Sylvia said coolly. "I understand why you did what you did. People like Miles are personable, and they can talk you into anything, make it seem like it was your idea instead of theirs."
"Yeah. That's exactly what he did."
"What I don't understand is why you still suckered a man like Isaac who only had your best interests at heart, who cared so much about you that his dying wish was for me to take care of you."
"That's what he said?"
"That's what we discussed."
"You didn't take care of me. You killed the guy that was keeping me afloat!" Charleen said angrily. "You killed the guy who was helping me survive!"
"No! What I did was remove the thing that was holding you back from your true potential. You want to make something of yourself in this town, you need to find your own path. People who are arrogant and pretentious like him are not worth depending on for survival. You want a sure thing? Depend on yourself!"
Charleen cocked her head to the side: "I know you're trying to be helpful and shit, but I'm really just the victim in all of this. Miles was—"
"Miles was a manipulative little shit, abusive in all degrees, and that's something you can't help. What you and he chose to do to Isaac was repulsive. Isaac doesn't know that you betrayed his memory, that you played him for an idiot; you'll never get the chance to apologize for it. That's something you'll have to live with for the rest of your life. And you deserve it."
"Wow," Charleen uttered cynically. "Nice words spoken to a little girl."
"If you're big enough to con people, lie, cheat, and steal from others, you're big enough to get hit with the truth. Now, if you want to get out of this rancid place you and Miles have called 'home' and go where the real criminals live, you're more than welcome to stay with Oswald and me."
"Wait. After all this, you still want me to stay with you?"
"Of course. I made a promise to Isaac. Unlike some people, I try to honor the dead. Also, you're not sleeping here, are you?"
Charleen raised an eyebrow: "You're a little crazy, aren't you?"
"Yep. And don't you forget it."
Charleen smirked when Sylvia left the apartment. She quickly followed.
"So, what are you pitching me now?" She asked eagerly as Sylvia sat in the driver's seat.
"A home, however temporary you'd prefer. A sanctuary, even, if you want it to be."
"So, am I supposed to be like your protégé or something? Am I gonna be Lark's right-hand or—"
"Well, in order to be my right-anything, we'd have to be friends. But according to you, we're not. Remember? You don't even like me that much."
Charleen shrugged, putting on her seatbelt as she sat in the passenger's seat: "I don't know. That's the first time I've ever seen anyone really straight-up kill someone."
"You disapprove?"
Charleen grinned broadly: "Nah, I thought it was pretty fucking cool. No one's really stood up for me like that."
"Does that mean you like me a little?"
"Yeah, just a little. Um…You…You're not gonna tell Penguin about any of this, are you? He doesn't strike me as someone who'll forgive this type of shit."
"Not unless you give me a reason. But you're right."
"So…?" Charleen said uneasily.
"How's this?" Sylvia offered. "I won't tell him that you were scheming to rob us, and you don't tell anyone, including Oswald, that Miles drowned in a toilet."
"Deal. So, we're good?"
"Sure, Charleen."
Charleen smiled at her happily: "Call me 'Charlie'. All my friends do."
