Talia was acutely aware of her danger. She was far too close to the Tibesti compound just now, and Adem had just slipped up, letting this call be intercepted. And Shiva herself had met with Talia often enough to recognize her voice immediately.
So she was forced to dive into the role, and alter her voice just enough that it would sound believable, but wouldn't ring false to Shiva's wary ear. A tall order, certainly, but Talia had been pulling off the improbable and occasionally the impossible since she was old enough to walk. She hunched her shoulders to reduce the resonance, and pitched her voice higher and more nasal than her normal smooth, controlled tone. "Who is this? Why are you taking my brother's phone?"
"I'll ask the questions," Shiva said. "Who are you, and what did he tell you?"
"I don't have to tell you anything," Talia snapped back, making it a petulant whine.
"If you want this man to live, you'll answer me," Shiva replied. Cool and calm and collected, as she most often was.
Talia needed to put genuine fear into her voice, and thought of Damian in danger. Her words came out angry as well as afraid, but that was just more verisimilitude. "Don't you dare hurt my brother! He has an important job, and our father will hear about this!"
"I am your brother's employer, and I do not care who your father is," Shiva retorted, impatience and irritation showing, which was just the note Talia wanted to strike. "His life is mine to take. Now answer me, what did he tell you?"
To Talia's own surprise, she bristled at the thought of Shiva killing Adem. Well, he was useful, and replacing him would be a trial. She had to keep her voice high and peevish, when her natural inclination was to growl a threat. "He only said he met a girl. Baba is always after him to get married. But he hadn't even met the girl, he just saw her. Why do you care?"
Shiva huffed in annoyance, and Talia heard her voice more faintly as Shiva held the phone away from her. "You are a fool, and your little sister is a brat," Shiva said.
A tap and scuffle; she'd thrown the phone, and Adem caught it. "She's my older sister," he said, sounding just the right degree of wounded and confused.
"She doesn't sound like the moon and stars herself," Talia muttered sulkily, and heard Adem gasp in realistic horror.
"Sorry about that," he said to Shiva. And then, chidingly, to her, "These are important people, habibti."
Shiva scoffed, audible even without speaker phone, and apparently walked out. A man's voice added, "Be careful who you call, and when."
"I will, Tareq," Adem said obediently.
"Are they gone?" Talia asked, keeping her voice pitched like the fractious sister. There might be a directional microphone aimed at Adem's door, still. Shiva was nothing if not careful.
"Yes. But I should be more careful about calling you." Adem sounded rattled, and Talia couldn't tell if he genuinely was, or if he was putting on a show.
"Yes, you should," she agreed.
"You'd miss me if I got hurt," he said, and that was on two levels. He was saying something plausible for their roles, in case anyone was listening, and also gloating over the fact that she did apparently care if he survived this mission.
"Of course I would. Who else would I send out to get a job and keep us all safe?" Talia replied, reminding him that it was business first between them. Before he could reply, she added, "I'll tell Baba you met a girl, anyway. At least it will stop him asking."
Which was code for the fact that she would be moving into position. He didn't need to know she already was, and had been for some time.
Adem sighed. "Let me know when he starts up with asking about the wedding." That was the expected, coded reply, that he would await her orders.
If at any time in the near future, Talia left him a voicemail or a text saying that their father had asked about the wedding, Adem would know she was in position to strike. The problem was, Talia would rather catch Shiva inside Tibesti. She knew more routes in and out of the place than Shiva and her men did, and meeting her inside would rally the loyalists within the fortified compound. Attacking Shiva in the open would make it too easy for Shiva to call in her own reinforcements.
Talia didn't think Shiva wanted to personally use the secret hidden within the Tibesti compound. She simply wanted control of it. And that, Talia meant to deny her, even if she had to risk her own life to prevent it.
They had codes regarding Shiva's movements, but most of them were on Adem's side, and Talia couldn't directly ask without making the conversation change abruptly. So she simply said, "Be careful of your boss, she sounds like trouble. Let me know if she gives you any more problems. Maybe Baba can find you another job."
Adem gave a shaky laugh. "I don't think she'd like that very much. No, I'm here until this is over. I'll try to call you when I can."
On that note, they said their goodbyes, and Talia dropped the phone with a heavy sigh. Perhaps it was worth it to strike now.
No, that was only her impatience speaking. She missed Damian, and wanted to know how matters at Guyot-Perrin were proceeding, and had a hundred other things to do besides nursemaid this situation. Talia had already contacted the leader of the Tibesti compound, and several of his subordinates, making each of them think he was the only one she trusted enough to contact. They had all assured her of their loyalty – not that she trusted any of them entirely. The men who followed Shiva now had made similar assurances.
No, the main purpose of her calls had been to alert the men holding Tibesti that the Demon's eye was upon them. They would not go over to Shiva if they believed a superior force was lurking nearby. Talia did have a strike team on standby – across the border in Chad. They were far enough away that Shiva would not detect them, yet they could be air-dropped within an hour of her call to activate them.
Talia had given orders to each of her contacts in the Tibesti compound to pretend to yield to Shiva, and let her bring her forces inside. Then Talia would spring the trap, and Shiva would find herself outnumbered and fighting on ground of her foe's choosing. It would have to be enough; failure was no option.
…
With the rest of the household busy with various tasks, Selina headed over to Jay's building to reclaim her cats. He really must have been feeling the holiday spirit, to send her over there without supervision – or he just really wanted the cats out before they destroyed anything else. She borrowed Bruce's van again, and made her way in past Jay's various alarms and trip wires, giving a quick wave to the cameras in case he was looking.
The first thing she noticed, stepping out onto the tenth floor, was that he hadn't been exaggerating when he called her. "Mother of God, Miss Kitty, you really wrecked the place," she murmured.
Miss Kitty was lying across her shoulders, and just flipped the end of her tail twice, not even opening her green-golden eyes.
Selina caught the end of her tail and held it down, gently. "Don't talk back to me. I know, you were worried, but you're not the one who has to pay for all of this. The whole floor's going to have to be sanded and repainted."
Miss Kitty twitched her tail out from under Selina's hand, and rapped her across the knuckles with it. Selina just caught the end of it and shook it for a moment, feeling Miss Kitty flex her paws. "All right, heathen. Go round up the rest."
After yawning and stretching, Miss Kitty leapt down and sauntered off. Selina set about opening up all the carriers and making sure they were clean and ready to be used. Only one or two cats would sleep in them, the rest preferring cat trees or window sills.
Gradually the clowder arrived, meowing and rubbing against Selina's legs. She picked them up and kissed them and petted them, checking coat and condition as she did so. All of the cats seemed fine, bright eyes and glossy fur. Hades was a little on the thin side, but then, he only had about four teeth left. "All right, old man, canned food for you from now on," Selina murmured to him.
Even the ferals let her touch them, though they held themselves stiff as she did so, looking away from her. The fact that these cats would lacerate anyone else who was so presumptuous – and that they came to her, when they hid from most people – was something Selina preferred not to examine. Some things, she didn't want or need to know, even about herself. When she'd woken up from what should have been a fatal fall with only minor injuries, and a black cat sitting on her chest purring loudly, she'd decided that questioning her luck was a bad idea.
A certain feline thread was woven throughout her entire life, though, she couldn't deny that. Selina had been born into a tough life, skimming the edge of poverty. They couldn't afford much, couldn't even afford pets, but Selina had a way with the local alley cats and considered them her own. Her father – the man she thought was her father, anyway – had been a violent drunk, and her mother Maria bore the brunt of it. Until she couldn't take it any more. Selina had been the one to find her in the bathtub, her wrists cut. It was just the two girls and their dad, then. Growing up around the East End, she saw a lot of people who had it worse than her family, but that didn't make being hungry and cold and lonely any easier to take. Her sister Maggie had found strength in faith, and grew up to renounce worldly things, but Selina had a hunger for the good life. After a few drinks, Bryan Kyle tended to say she got that from her mother.
Shortly after Maria's death, Maggie went to live with an aunt on Mom's side. Selina hadn't wanted to leave Gotham, which held all her memories of her mother, and she hadn't wanted to live with her strict, religious aunt either. Maggie thrived on stability. Selina followed her own path, getting in trouble at school for her attitude. A lot of what they tried to make her learn seemed boring and irrelevant; the few teachers who could capture her attention called her a bright, even gifted child. Those who tried to make her memorize things saw only the surly, defiant troublemaker. Only in gymnastics, which she'd loved since she was little, did she really live up to her potential.
Eventually Bryan's liver gave up the fight against his increasing alcoholism, and Selina found him, too, dead in his favorite armchair. Helluva childhood, really. She was a young teen then, and she ran away from home. The streets taught her a few sharp lessons about survival, how to be adaptable and rely on herself, and how to take what she needed from people who had more than they deserved. She wasn't quite as quick a learner as she needed to be, though, and wound up getting arrested for stealing food. Seagate Juvenile Home for Girls was her next address.
That place was a hellhole for a teenage girl with a chip on her shoulder and a resentment of authority. Fortunately, Selina's natural gifts – her agility, her determination, and her cunning – served her well, and her spirit was never broken. Once she got hold of the code to the alarm system, she even got to practice some skills that would be useful later in life, running around the rooftops. Stealth became her best friend.
She made one big mistake in Seagate: when she scraped together enough dirt on the Warden's ongoing embezzlement, she told the vicious bitch. That got her stuffed into a sack and thrown into the ocean. Like an unwanted kitten, not that she'd realized it at the time.
She'd survived that, of course, clawing her way out of the bag and returning to settle the score. Selina left Seagate with evidence of the Warden's embezzlement – and some valuables, too. The rest of the girls ran, but even then Selina had no interest in forming or joining a gang. She set up by herself, living in an old warehouse in the East End with a healthy population of feral cats. Her stealth and bravado made becoming a burglar (a cat burglar, even) the obvious choice; that, and she'd seen how well the corrupt Warden lived on stolen funds. If everyone at the top was a thief of one kind or another, she might as well live it to the hilt.
At the same time, with her figure filling out, Selina found other ways of supplementing her income. It had all been just so easy. Planning thefts took lots of research, careful timing, plus skill and determination; and sometimes she ended up with little to show for her efforts anyway. Meanwhile any woman who could walk in six-inch heels, wear vinyl, and not burst out laughing at the deepest (usually weirdest) fantasies of rich men could make good money, mostly without ever having actual sex as part of the job. The outfits and the toys got a little expensive – hand-braided kangaroo leather whips weren't cheap, and neither were the good corsets – but she could always make her clients buy them for her. A certain type of man would fall all over himself to spend money on her; it was part of their masochistic fantasy, she figured.
There were problems, as there often were among the extra-legal professions. Selina had discovered a hole in her education when she got the hell beaten out of her by a pimp; she could put up a fight, but didn't know how to win one. She'd ended up finding a good teacher in Ted Grant, also known as Wildcat, whose personality left a lot to be desired but whose skills were very useful. Selina had a goal, and it was the same one as always: freedom. True independence, enough money to do whatever she wanted and to never need anyone else again. No one else was reliable.
She had other mentors, a sensei to teach her martial arts, a master thief to hone her education there as well. Selina learned fast, and kept her eyes on the end game. She made a friend in Holly Robinson, as well, someone who needed Selina's protection at first.
Her problems had begun when she got ambitious, and started mixing her two careers. Selina had never stopped lifting whatever she wanted, whether it was a cute scarf in a department store, or expensive watches from a client. And the men she saw tended to tell her all kinds of things, trying to impress her – or they just had the kind of secrets that burned, the longer they kept them.
One fine night, she went after the biggest score of all, and broke one of the biggest rules in town by trying to steal from the mob. That one got her thrown out a window despite all her training and finesse, and on the way down she'd flashed back to Seagate and the Warden. Except she wasn't thrown in the ocean that time, only the cold hard ground of the alley awaiting her thirty stories below.
Selina survived the fall, somehow. She was sore as hell and bleeding from a couple places, but she lived. And when she woke up, she was surrounded by the cats that lived in the alley, with one particular black cat perched on her chest. Miss Kitty's green-gold eyes were inscrutable as always, but she had never left Selina's side since. Things were … different, with Miss Kitty in her life. Even Holly had remarked on it. For a while, Selina had considered the cat her good luck charm, and hadn't looked at it any more closely than that.
Not long after, Selina had seen Batman at work, and decided that it was better to have a costume and an alias. Even her sensei called her Cat, so why not? Catwoman broke into the scene, settled the score with the mob, and with time and still more training she became not just a master thief, but the master thief. One who never took an apprentice; the Cat walked by herself, and all places were alike to her. She traveled all over the world, saw things she never could've imagined when she was young, and lived a luxurious life.
Now, Selina strode as confidently down the hallowed halls of Wayne Manor as she did the worst back streets of the East End. She slipped past even Red Hood's security. She had everything she'd ever wanted as a little girl, all the freedom she could wish for, and a few people worth sharing it with. Plus, of course, her best girl Miss Kitty, and all the feline company she could ever want. No one, not even Batman, could tell her what to do and make it stick. And not even Joker could threaten her successfully. She'd made it by any standard.
In about an hour of such reflections, she had all the cats in carriers, and began taking them down to the van. Since she was doing this alone, she'd brought a handcart to move three or four cages at once, but it was still a lot of work. Pushing Franklin's carrier toward the back of the cargo space, she reflected that she'd become a thief to avoid hard work. Stealing seemed so much easier than breaking her body and will at some dull nine-to-five that'd never let her get ahead anyway. In the end, it turned out becoming a master thief involved some serious sustained effort, but by then Selina had found her calling. At least that sort of work was fun.
Selina drove all the cats home, and set them loose, re-rigging her security to work around the sensors Batman had left in place. She wanted to just remove them, but he'd be hurt … and it could be useful, if Joker got out.
She had to make a few calls. While the tenants were out of her building, she was having some remodeling done, and everything was getting a thorough cleaning and a fresh coat of paint as part of the 'mold remediation' that had been her excuse. Also the damn load-bearing wall Joker had broken down to get in was being repaired. Funnily enough, she didn't need to rob a bank to pay for that. Selina had enough contacts to get good rates on quality work, and she kept her legitimate income separate from her extracurricular money. The money she made on rent just went back to property taxes and improvements on the building, and a big expense like this she supplemented with the dividends from her stock portfolio. That much the mob had taught her, to keep some money perfectly legal. It made things easier with the IRS.
It was simple, with that project underway, to have the painters go over to Jay's building too and fix the tenth floor. She sent Jay a text to let him know when they'd be there so he didn't shoot anyone as a trespasser.
Selina sat down at the bar in her kitchen, and watched the cats roaming around her apartment. Miss Kitty leapt up to the counter in front of her and sat down, her tail curled around her ankles. She looked like an Egyptian statue, doing that. "Hey, girl," Selina said. "I take it we're safe here for now? And Harley and Pam are safe enough, wherever they happened to land?"
Miss Kitty only closed her eyes in a slow, deliberate blink. Selina sighed. "What about Joker? He'll get out again, we both know that. Jay and Kala have it in for him. Are you so unconcerned because the next time he gets loose, the two of them put him down?"
A sudden itch disturbed Miss Kitty, and she began to nibble furiously at her front paw. Selina chuckled. "Yeah, I know better. You're not a Magic 8-Ball. But I do listen."
The cat sat up, shaking herself to get her fur in order, and strode forward to bump her forehead against Selina's. They just leaned into each other for a moment, both of them purring.
…
"Well, that was awkward," Jay muttered as he and Kala headed up the stairs. He was still kind of surprised at himself – it had made sense in the moment to just let Selina go to the apartment after the cats, and his only thought had been that she deserved to do all the work of catching and transporting them herself as penance for them shredding the walls. Only now did he realize that a year ago, he wouldn't have let anyone have access to that building without him there.
Having a Super for backup was making him too soft, maybe. It was too easy to know that Kala could hear what was going on in the building if she wanted, and she could get him there in a moment if they needed to. Or maybe it was just fatalism – he already knew Selina could get in if she really wanted to steal something of his. She'd done it before.
The remark prompted a long, slow exhale from his side. "That's one way to put it, although it wasn't as awkward as it could have been," Kala replied with feeling, eyes flicking to the ceiling in annoyance, and he had to chuckle at that. Oh yeah, they'd come a long way since that last debrief. Giving him a quick sour look, clearly guessing at his line of thought, she continued as she ran restless hands through her hair, "Shut it, Big Bad. I meant what I said down there and we're not arguing over it. None of you are changing my mind. So what's on the agenda for the day? Take over the world?"
"Nah, that's Friday," Jay teased. "Not sure, honestly. Nothing solid on the agenda so far. Eat a bunch of leftovers, go over the data on one of the five or six cases we've got open. As soon as the sun goes down, go out and patrol. Things are gonna be uneasy with Joker locked up again."
"Sounds delightful, as always," Kala said, her voice droll but not without humor. "You know me, I love checking-up on a few of our nearest and dearest. 'Tis the season for those kinds of cozy gatherings, right?"
Jay grinned at her sense of humor, a little dark and a lot quirky. "Yeah, you know how much I like to get my fist all cozy with these guy's faces. But that's Gotham for you. There's a rumor Sionis is about to finally make bail, and Joker was taking shots at Two-Face right before he got locked up, so Dent will probably want to kick him while he's down. Not to mention the usual rounds of bullshit," Jay replied.
His girl had paused a moment, one dark brow ticked up, looking at him with that thoughtful expression of hers. "You sound almost happy about it," Kala pointed out.
"Well, at least we get a reprieve from shit blowing up. And Harley's gone, so I don't have to worry about finding pieces of her nailed up around town." He paused, thought about it, and then grinned. "Also, it's been a couple days since I got to see you kick someone's ass. I miss that. Patrol sounds like fun when I get to watch you in action."
He punctuated the statement with an affectionate smack on the butt, and Kala yelped, swatting at his arm, shooting him a mock-threatening look. "Knock it off, you heathen! Figures. Although, for what it's worth, I like watching you work, too. It's a twisted base for a relationship, you know that? But we make it work." Her eyes radiated deviltry when she grinned at him, laughing.
"Look, all this started for real when I busted you in the mouth and you broke my nose. Doesn't get much more twisted than that, but at least we're twisted together," Jay teased, grinning back at her. Kala just rolled her eyes, but a smile lurked at the corners of her mouth. They stepped out from behind one of the swinging bookcases together, and his comm buzzed in his pocket. Jay groaned at the interruption. "What now?" he asked when he took it out, K watching him curiously.
"Turn on the news, channel twelve," Babs said.
"You couldn't have got hold of us when we were all in the Cave five minutes ago?" Jay asked, heading for the nearest TV.
"Sorry, Jay, I don't control when the news networks decide to broadcast a given story," Babs replied. "Although now that I know about it, I'm covering it with every camera I have."
"Wait, you don't control the networks too? That's news to me," Jay said sarcastically, and Kala smacked him lightly for the pun.
One of the parlors on this floor had a nice big TV mounted behind an antique Japanese painted screen. Jay moved it carefully aside, found the remote, and turned the TV on. The flatscreen lit up with images from a street he recognized in the East End. But the scene taking place was nothing like business as usual.
Dozens of women were marching with signs, glaring at the reporters. Jay tried to remember what had happened recently that would cause a protest on his side of town, and also tried to categorize the crowd. The women weren't united by any trait he could see, other than just being women. White, black, Hispanic, Asian, young, old, all of them did have one more thing in common.
They looked angry.
"Oh, shit," Kala murmured with a frown forming, her gaze on the screen intent. "You think this has something to do with Joker and Harley? Look, the one banner there – it's just a harlequin pattern. After what he said last night..."
"Fuck me sideways, I hope not," Jay groaned.
In his ear, Babs said, "According to the part of the broadcast we missed, but which I just found, this is in protest over a man named Henry Williams, whose wife died last year. He was found not guilty of murder today. Apparently local sentiment is that he did kill her, and just got away with it."
"That explains some of the signs," Jay said, reading them as best he could with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
Babs continued, "From what I'm reading, there just wasn't enough evidence to convict. Her body was found in an advanced state of decomposition, without enough soft tissue remaining to establish cause of death. He claimed she left him, and that's why he didn't report her missing. There are some hospital records of hers that hint at domestic violence, but she never reported it as such. He has priors, including assault, but nothing like this."
"Dammit. No way to tell whether he did it, then, with no evidence and no confession," Kala mused, her frown deepening. She wasn't liking this any better than he was.
Jay raked a hand through his hair, glaring at the screen. "With everything going down lately, I haven't had time to watch out for cases like this. Otherwise we could've gotten Donna to use her lasso and get a confession from the guy."
"We can't use superpowers for everything. The justice system has to work without our intervention, or capes end up becoming the final authority on everything. No one wants that. The whole point of our mission is to hopefully work ourselves out of a job, in the end," Babs reminded them.
"Yeah, you see that happening anytime soon?" Jay scoffed, but shook his head. "I understand, though. We can't do everything. It's bad enough trying to hold back the masked psychos. Hauling out a Wonder for something like this? It's major overkill."
"Still, I hate the thought that he got away with it," Kala grumbled.
"So do they. Can't blame them either," Jay said.
Babs spoke up then. "Add this to the growing list of things we need to monitor. With Joker back in Arkham, the situation on the streets is going to change rapidly. Are you two planning any other out-of-town retreats?"
Kala finally looked up from the broadcast, eyes raising to the ceiling again at that. "No, She-Who-Knows-All, and the last one wasn't planned either. And it was only eighteen hours. We'll stay within reach, in case you need us. Just keep us informed."
"You're always within reach, but I appreciate it. Let's hope nothing else ridiculous goes down. There's a New Year's Eve party I'd like to attend," Babs said dryly.
"Oh yeah? Is it all the Birds getting champagne-drunk at the Clock Tower? Are we invited, too? A Robin is a kind of bird, y'know," Jay teased.
"No, there's more room at the Manor for everyone to sleep it off if we do over-indulge," Babs shot back. "I thought we did New Year's over there when you were Robin."
"Maybe we did, but remember Dick wasn't always coming home, and you weren't Oracle yet, and Bruce wouldn't let me drink champagne because I was underage," Jay said with an amused snort. "I missed a lot of stuff, Oracle. And I would've snuck off and stolen scotch anyway. New Year's with a bedtime and no booze is pretty boring."
"Well, it's still boring by your standards," Babs laughed. "All of us don't always end up at the Manor, but this is the first year you're officially back. Sue me if that makes me feel familial."
"Awww, you're killin' me here, Big Sister," Jay said, a little uncomfortable with the attention.
Kala nudged his jaw gently as she leaned toward his comm. "So what is the Wayne Family New Year's Tradition? We usually just watch the fireworks from Mom and Dad's apartment, which has a great view. And, well, Dad and I sneak off to watch them from above for a little while."
Babs answered, "Rooftop fireworks viewing. From the right vantage point, we can see the show over Gotham Harbor – and all the rich neighbors who spent serious money on fireworks, too. Bruce even put in an elevator for me. The rest of you can climb, or Kala, you can hover."
"Oh great, a bunch of acrobatic daredevils getting drunk on the roof together," Jay laughed, but it did sound like fun. "If we can see all that, can anyone else see us? 'Cause that could be a problem. No one needs to know the Waynes all clamber around the roof like drunken monkeys."
Kala nudged him again, mock-scowling at his tone, and Jay just nudged her right back. Laughing, Babs replied, "No, the trees are high enough that there's no direct sightline from any of the other properties. Trust me, Bruce got very serious about that when Dick was dating Kori – we don't need people seeing flyers landing at the Roost."
"How very convenient for me," Kala said with another short laugh.
Jay looked at her seriously. "How about it, K? You wanna hang with the family for New Year's? Or were you gonna go back to Metropolis?"
Kala's expression grew irritated for an instant, glaring as she raised her eyebrows at him. Okay, maybe the wording could have been better, he had to admit. "I'm not leaving 'til the night of the 3rd, I told you that. Unless you're being passive-aggressive and want me to go back to Metropolis." There was a chilliness in her gaze then, still deflecting because of Bruce's decision earlier. He should have known better.
"Hell no, I want you right here. I just didn't wanna step on family time if I could help it," Jay said quickly. And then he added with a smirk, "I've still got a backlog I'm working on."
That brought them back to status quo, Kala elbowed him with her eyes widening, and Jay only scoffed. The comm is on, he saw her mouth with furious disbelief. "Don't talk about your backlog on my line," Babs said, chuckling.
"You can't complain, you recorded the sex tape," he retorted, and Kala groaned aloud, lightly punching his shoulder.
"I didn't want to hear the sex tape in the first place, but since you didn't follow protocol, I might as well have some fun at your expense," Babs replied.
"Well, enjoy that, because I'm gonna go have the most fun I possibly can with my girlfriend, and considering she's a professional singer, you might even hear her all the way downtown," Jay taunted.
That earned him a shove this time as Kala exclaimed his name in horrified tones, and Babs just laughed. "I highly doubt that. Enjoy your day, and we'll see what happens tonight."
With that she signed off, and Kala glowered at him. "What is wrong with you? Not cool, Robin, God," she said, shaking her head at him with an annoyed sound.
Jay paused to look at her carefully; she didn't seem genuinely angry, just momentarily put out. "It's troll versus troll, K. I can't let Babs have everything her own way."
"Yeah, but at my expense? Just give her positions next time, make the update on our scorecard complete. Everyone's gonna think that's all we do. I ought to make you sleep alone, just for that. Less to imply that way," Kala said, jutting her chin out.
Jay stepped close, looming over her. He met her gaze with the intensity that always got her attention, and then smiled, slow and wicked. "You sure you wanna do that, Kala? Here I thought you took time off just to spend it with me. It'd be cruel and unusual to leave me all alone."
Kala looked up at him, her hazel eyes dark and knowing, making him flash back to that first night when she settled into his lap in the chair like a queen taking her throne. Not for the first time, he thought to himself that she was nothing like what he expected from a Super. "You know what? You'd deserve it," she murmured, and the words were a dismissal, but the tone was something else entirely. That huskiness in her voice only meant one thing, in his experience.
She was so damn perfect. And God did he… Jay cut off his own train of thought before it got to the treacherous word, instead catching Kala's hips and picking her up onto the nearest table so he could kiss her more thoroughly. She laughed then, never hesitating when she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him close.
They kissed, and kissed, and he ran his hands though her hair, and her nails raked up his back, and he let himself drown in the taste of her mouth, and he gripped her thigh to adjust her so he could get even closer, and she pulled away to say in a voice hazy with lust, "Keep it up, Big Bad. I've still got a room here, I don't have to sleep with you."
Still teasing, and Jay growled, nipping the pale column of her throat, Kala gasping and moaning softly as he did. "Who said anything about sleeping?" Her legs tightened around his waist, her hands threaded into his hair, and his free hand cupped her rear, ready to just lift her up and shred the pants right off her…
"Hey, did Babs get hold of you … guys …" Tim was speaking as he walked into the room, but one look at them and his voice faltered, his expression turning disgusted. "Oh come on, you could at least lock the door. Or go to your own room. Ugh."
Jay looked up, at a loss for words, and Kala glanced at Tim just as confused through her tousled waves. Her hair was all mussed from him running his hands through it, and he knew they both looked completely dazed. Then Kala broke into her silvery laugh, and dropped her head against Jay's chest. "Oh God. Sorry, Tim," she said, her shoulders shaking, still short of breath.
"Whatever, just don't make Alfred clean up after you," Tim said, and left the room rolling his eyes.
"That guy really needs to get laid," Jay said after a moment. "He's just not right."
That earned a quiet chuckle from Kala, still not having moved. "As much as I hate to think about it, for so many reasons, I'm pretty sure Cassie's taking care of that," Kala managed to say.
"I dunno, he's just so weird about it," Jay replied, then squeezed her thigh. "So, you wanna go look at current cases? In my room, with the door locked?"
Kala leaned back to look up at him at that, biting her lip, laughter in her gaze, and damn she was sexy. "I dunno, I was thinking about maybe sleeping in the library tonight."
That sparked another memory from the summer. "I'll follow you wherever. Still owe you for the damn Cheshire cat top and the Superman pajamas."
She let her teeth drag over that full lower lip, and said, "Well, I don't have the pants with me, but I did bring that shirt. I just haven't had the opportunity to wear the pajamas this trip. You know how it is."
"All my fault, I know," Jay said, and picked her up. Kala laughed, catching herself, and kicked in just a touch of hovering so she was feather-light in his arms. "My room, first, anyway. Somebody'll find us something boring to do if we're not behind a locked door."
"You weren't gonna lock the library door?" Kala asked, all wide-eyed.
"There's a secret entrance from the Cave there, you forget that already? And, all of the past aside, I don't want to kill poor Bruce. Especially not like that," Jay replied.
Kala blinked then, probably running the trip up from the Cave through her mind for a minute before she realized and winced. "Ohhh, I didn't think of that. Yeah, no no no. God, yuck, kiss me quick before that thought ruins the mood entirely."
Jay obliged, his hands on the sweet curve of her rear, and Kala was close enough to know his mood was just fine. She smiled against his mouth, that soft warm chuckle there again, and murmured, "Is there a way to make a sexy joke about potential heavy ordnance?"
"At least you know it's bigger than a .22," he laughed, and carried her off to his room.
…
The Iceberg Lounge was fairly quiet. A general murmur of conversation ran about the place, but Oswald Cobblepot preferred a certain subdued ambiance, and so things tended not to get out of hand. There were more boisterous nights, of course – one could not serve large quantities of alcohol to most of the criminals in the city without things getting heated sometimes, despite the air conditioning.
For the most part, they all behaved. Only here could one look over the room, and see Killer Croc devouring an astonishing quantity of raw yellowfin tuna, while two tables away a couple of Falcones negotiated a deal with the Riddler. The 'regular' criminals could mingle more-or-less safely with the masks here, and no one had to hide what they were. That privilege was too valuable to even the most outre members of Gotham's underbelly for them to jeopardize it.
Well, all except Joker. He'd put a bullet hole in the ceiling, once, just to show he could. Oswald had graciously forgiven the 'accident', because trying to exact retribution would be costly. Everyone knew who the Clown Prince of Gotham was.
Although lately, his stock was running low. And that was never more evident than when Harvey Dent strolled across the club to the owner's table. Oswald liked to sit here and watch the place, see the money and information flowing into his coffers, and surely some of the smarter ones suspected most of the tables were bugged. As if he'd risk that, with Oracle lurking somewhere in the city. No, there were no bugs here, just a trick of architecture that channeled sound to this specific seat. The thing was, Oswald never sold the information he acquired from his own club. He profited from it in subtler ways.
When Dent approached, his eyes intent, Oswald stood up with a gracious smile. "Harvey, old friend, is something the matter?"
"Your office," Dent said, his voice gravelly. His eyes were still as keenly piercing as all those ridiculous campaign posters, but now one of them was bloodshot, and his face gave him the appearance of being wild-eyed even when he was calm.
He certainly wasn't calm now. Oswald simply nodded, and headed to his office. With the door closed behind them, he asked, "It seems silly to offer when we just walked away from the bar, but I do keep a bottle of cognac in here for my own purposes. Would you like a drink, Harvey?"
"I'd like a lot of things, but I suppose a drink will do," Dent said gruffly.
And of course the ritual of pouring and passing the glass lent a little civilization to his demeanor. Oswald toasted his health, took his seat, and finally asked, "What brings you here tonight?"
"Rumor has it Black Mask will finally make bail," Harvey said.
"I've heard that," Oswald said. He'd heard Ms. Li talking to Carmine Falcone, actually, promising certain information Sionis had in return for a cash advance. The mob was happy to take the deal; they would rather deal with Sionis than most of the other masks in town. He was their kind of criminal, someone they could understand. People were still talking about the time Joker extorted a ridiculous sum from them, only to set it on fire.
Harvey tilted his head, studying Oswald with both eyes as if there really were two minds behind them. Perhaps there were; he hadn't made a study of psychology, beyond learning how to manipulate people. "You don't have anything more concrete than that?" Harvey asked.
"Unfortunately no," Oswald replied. "I won't be surprised if it's true. Roman pays his lawyers well. He's always been able to get out eventually."
"He's never been nailed at the scene of an organ-theft operation," Harvey scoffed.
"He usually keeps his hands cleaner than that. He thought he could trap the Bats, or more specifically, Red Hood. I'm afraid Roman lets old grudges cloud his business sense," Oswald replied.
Harvey grinned; well, half of his face was always grinning, but the half with skin was also giving an equally macabre smile. "Serves him right. Well, if he does get out, I don't want to keep fooling around with him. I've got bigger problems."
Of course he did. Joker had been moving in on his territory, killing his men, taking over the businesses that paid him protection money. And Joker wasn't like anyone else in town. Many of the big names were reliable, in their own special way. Dent would kill you if the coin came down wrong, Sionis would kill you if you got in his way, Nygma would drive you half insane with his riddles and puzzles until you wanted to kill yourself, and Croc would just eat you if you got on his bad side. Joker might just laugh, if you crossed him – or he might slaughter you in some brutal way. The fact that Joker was back in Arkham as of last night didn't change much. None of them believed he'd stay there long.
While he was incarcerated was the best time for Dent to act, however. The only time, really. The question was, just what did Dent think he could do? This was Joker, after all. Oswald maintained a careful neutrality with most of the big names; he sure wasn't going to go putting himself on Joker's list of targets.
"How can I help you, Harvey?" Oswald asked.
Dent drank, the muscles on the scarred side of his throat working grotesquely. "I want to know whatever inside angle you've got on this whole mess. With Joker almost dying, escaping the hospital, and then landing back in Arkham again, and Sionis maybe making it back out, it's hard to do business in Gotham. People are always looking over their shoulders. And no one knows what the hell's going on with Harley Quinn, and this whole thing with graffiti in the East End."
"There I can offer some peace of mind," Oswald said. "Harley isn't starting up her own gang. The whispers I'm hearing indicate she's leaving town."
"She burned down Joker's hideout, though," Dent pointed out.
"That was a goodbye gift, apparently. Since she couldn't make it to the hospital in time to finish him off." Oswald sipped his own cognac, waiting. He'd learned from Selina exactly why Harley had snapped and turned on Joker, but he wouldn't spread that around. He'd also been able to guess that the reason Selina wanted her money laundered was so that Pam and Harley could get out of Gotham. The pair of them had been very quiet, except for the burned-out building, and that was unusual with Joker doing his damnedest to provoke Ivy. The arboretum fire had been very obvious.
To Oswald's mind, it had backfired on Joker. Everybody in town knew about Harley and Ivy. Opinions on it ranged from neutral to supportive to an uncomfortable percentage who felt it looked bad on Joker, his girl running around with someone else – a woman, no less, and one whom none of them had ever been able to intimidate. Joker had never let anyone think he cared; Harley was still his, she still came running like a well-trained dog any time he called her, and the majority opinion was that the whole thing looked worse for Ivy. She was the homewrecker in the situation, and she couldn't keep Harley.
Oswald's own opinion was that it was none of his damn business, he wasn't sleeping with any of them. His interest was purely directed at minimizing his risk and increasing his profit. Given that Harley and Joker both acted as agents of chaos, any savvy businessman had to know what they were doing, if only to step clear at the right moment.
With Joker having set fire to the Gotham City Arboretum though, now he was acknowledging Ivy as a rival. A little too late, the rumors said. After Harley had beaten Joker to the brink of death, she'd gone straight to Ivy, and he'd tried to summon Ivy to duke it out. Ivy hadn't even deigned to respond. Joker didn't mind being feared and hated and despised, but he couldn't bear to be ignored.
Ivy not answering the call-out made her either look stronger than Joker, or like a coward for refusing to face him – gossip in the city was divided right down the middle on that one. Instead Harley had responded, fighting fire with fire, and the same night he burned their initials into an upscale private school, she'd burned down the place he was staying. Which significantly raised Harley's stock; if she'd stayed, she could've had a chance at taking over a big slice of the criminal underworld. Assuming she killed her ex, of course. With Joker's head on a spike, and Ivy standing behind her, Harley could crown herself queen.
She'd left, instead. Both of them left, and the traces Oswald had picked up said they boarded an unregistered flight heading west. The plane they'd been on had gone all the way to sunny southern California, and he had people checking there, but LAX was a huge airport and it would've been easy for the two women to disappear into the crowds. SoCal seemed like Ivy's kind of destination, he had money out there for any reports of unusual vegetation-related phenomena, or sightings of either woman, or any unusual rise in crime rates.
Joker could try to spin the story his way, with both of them gone, but no one had forgotten his stay in the hospital. Unless he pulled off something impressive soon, he was losing face. And everyone knew it. It didn't make him any less dangerous or unpredictable – more so, if anything – but the respect he'd grown accustomed to was fading.
Oswald looked at Dent thoughtfully, wondering if he knew all of that already, and if he had the sheer brazenness to try and take advantage. It'd be a surprise; Two-Face was hampered by his sense of justice. He might win all the way to having Joker at gunpoint, and if the coin said he should live, Dent would let him go. Which would only make Joker laugh harder at all of them.
"So you think the girls are gone?" Dent asked.
"I hadn't actually said so, but yes. I think Harley and Ivy have left Gotham," Oswald replied, settling back into the flow of seeking as much information as he could, while giving out as little as possible.
"Figured they were headed out when the Cat came in here to talk to you, all dolled up," Dent said. "Hope you got a good percentage on the money you laundered for her. Or was it a favor for an old friend?"
"People like us can't afford to have friends," Oswald replied, topping up both their glasses. "It's bad for business. I am ashamed the new doorman didn't recognize her. I hate for those of us who've built a reputation in this town to not have it acknowledged here, of all places." And then if Dent was thinking Selina had gotten a discount – which she'd wisely not said, instead complaining about high percentages under her breath as she walked out – he'd think it was Oswald's sense of honor that prompted it. Not an exchange of intel.
"You ever hit that?" Dent said lightly, as if the question didn't matter.
Oswald chuckled, while upbraiding himself for being too obvious in his preferences. He'd always had a fondness for slim, long-legged blondes with that cool, assessing aloofness that Selina had in spades. He suspected the question was less of a typical male locker-room sort of inquiry, and more Dent trying to figure out just how close Oswald was to the notoriously changeable Cat. He answered just as lightly, though with more caution than he would ever let on. "Of course not. I wouldn't let Selina any closer to my valuables than I have to. Besides, her loyalties are too conflicted."
Dent smiled. "Can't blame you there. She's trouble, that one. Let me see…"
He took out the coin then, and Oswald fixed a pleasant waiting expression on his face even as his hand dropped lightly to the gun in a spring-clip under the edge of his desk. He didn't even need to draw it; it was affixed so that pulling the trigger would put a large hole through the middle of whoever was sitting opposite him. If Dent had decided to kill him for some reason only apparent to himself, he'd find that difficult. It could be something else, he used the coin for all major decisions, but caution was never unwarranted in Gotham.
Flipping the coin with practiced ease, Dent caught it and slapped it on the back of his other hand. Raising his arm with a showman's flourish, Lady Liberty's pristine face shone at them both. "Well, well," Dent said. "I suppose I have to ask for your help."
"Of course. How can I be of assistance?" Oswald said.
Dent settled his elbows on the edge of the desk, both of his eyes bright with intelligence and determination. One of them also glowed with madness, but you got used to that in this town after a while. "Joker's day is done. He can't even control Harley, and he made Harley. Black Mask is never going to be what he once was. He can't let go of this ridiculous thing he has with the Bats. D'ya know, when he knew they were coming after the organ-harvesting thing, he left a power drill out to piss off Red Robin? Just wanted to remind him of the sick stuff he did to Spoiler."
"Not a wise move," Oswald agreed. He'd heard the same rumor from some of Black Mask's own men, when they threw in with him. All the other masks had looked askance at Sionis for that one. She was a teenage girl, and not the best of the Bat's fighters. Smacking her around was one thing – even killing her would've been acceptable, she had set herself up to fight them after all. Taking a drill to her? That was dirty. It said more about the person wielding it than the one who got hurt. The drill thing came straight out of the Eastern European organized crime playbook, and several of the gangs had used similar tactics on each other when things got rough, but that was men. Not women and kids.
"I would've laid good money on Red Hood killing him, now that he's back in town, but Hood's gone soft. Working with the Bats again, and this new girl too," Dent said, shaking his head sadly.
Hood hadn't seemed soft when he was cracking down on Dent's men for trying to recruit those kids he was protecting, but Oswald didn't mention that. "The new girl could be a problem. Hood might have agreed to stop killing, for the Bat's sake, but he hasn't slacked off. And according to what he told one of the mid-level dealers he busted on Christmas Day, the girl's more dangerous as he is." 'Eggs' Benedict had been complaining about the bust from the moment he landed in jail, and of course the inmates knew that Penguin paid for news. That had gotten a bonus, for being about the Blur; Oswald had extra money set aside for anything he could learn about her.
"Just what we didn't need, a meta on their side," Dent complained. "Still, she's not out every night, is she? Must have something else she has to do. And every meta has a weakness, after all. The point is, someone's got to step up. Scarecrow hasn't got the chops, none of the others are organized enough or want it enough. And we don't want the damn mob taking over. Might as well turn the place into Chicago. This is Gotham, the masks run this town."
"You're right, someone has to step up. Am I to assume you're thinking you should take the initiative?" Oswald said carefully.
Dent smiled. "I think we should."