"No wonder she cheats on him. He's repulsive."
"Easy, Dahlia."
The drive to Kendrick's house was ample time for Dahlia to have calmed down from her momentary tirade. Six men, one Scarecrow, and one Banshee rocked gently in the back of the van as it navigated the streets leading out of the metro area.
"Why did we accept a personal job?"
"Wait. And trust me."
There wasn't an option but to trust him. They were almost there.
Frank Kendrick's small mansion bore some good similarities to the Gotham landmark Wayne Manor - It was large, lavish, and luxurious. The neo-Gothic building straddled a short hill just outside the city, and was surrounded by trees and a simple security gate. When the van reached the intercom, Crane's man behind the wheel exchanged a few words with the voice and then the gate opened. Passed the massive lawn of freshly-cut grass and coniferous shrubs, they reached the driveway. There, Frank Kendrick arrived to greet them with two bodyguards.
He didn't waste time. "Good! C'mon, c'mon! Get out and get that van out of sight."
The crew emptied the van before it drove off as instructed. Headed up to the front steps, Dahlia noticed a certain gait to Crane that she hadn't recognized before. Although she never gave it thought, she realized she was used to him moving in perhaps a purposeful but relaxed way. Currently, he was moving with a bit more urgency, such as standing up quickly and feet hitting the ground a bit more firmly as they walked. It came across to her as impatient or annoyed. With the masks on she couldn't really tell, but made that guess. He definitely seemed preoccupied tonight.
Inside the front doors sat a spacious open area with warmly painted walls and detailed crown moulding. The foyer housed oppositely matching and rounded staircases leading up to a mezzanine, and underneath was a space that traveled to a central seating area. From there, two grand hallways split an east and west wing. There were an unusually small number of guards scattered about - two at the entrance, one at Kendrick's side, and one atop the mezzanine that Dahlia recognized from their previous meeting with Kendrick. At the base of the staircases, the Scarecrow waved an arm on the side Banshee walked on, briefly motioning towards the steps. She accepted the instruction and ascended. The six bodyguards that Crane brought were scattered between the foyer and sitting room, with one keeping close watch towards the stairs as Dahlia's support.
The familiar guard at the top was now sizing the Banshee up as she approached. He'd never seen her in full "uniform" before, which mixed utility and theater. Simple black and fitted clothing, lightweight shrouds draping the shoulders, cinched at the waist and hanging to the shins, flexible boots, and that creepy, white, screaming mask. She stared the guard back, until reaching the balcony's edge, where she kept a watchful eye on Crane.
The instant the Scarecrow and Frank Kendrick were seated, the mask spoke first. "So I assume you know who Mrs. Kendrick has been sneaking off with?"
Kendrick didn't perceive the correct inference from Crane's tone of voice. He replied ignorantly, "Y'gonna find out. Now listen, in about ten m-"
Coldly and bluntly, the Scarecrow stated with emphasis, "That would be Paul Herald."
They were silent. The two guards in the foyer, still in audible distance of the conversation, shifted. She figured this was some sort of conflict of interest. Maybe a friend? And also wondered what Crane's plan was. Finally, Kendrick spoke as several beads of sweat formed on his forehead. "My Paul, business partner Paul? You ain't in a position to make jokes here, pal. Knock it off."
The Scarecrow's next statement was especially cold and hostile. Even with the words directed at another person, it made Dahlia uncomfortable.
"What makes you think that I possess an ounce of humor?"
The house was silent. Outside, the sound of a large engine approached.
The Scarecrow was motionless in his reclined position. "Is it because you want it of me, because you don't see me for the true authority your colleagues do? Are we a joke to you? Fun guys in masks can't be scary to people like you, yeah. Not to the real cog-turners and world-builders. You're the real backbone of this city, with all your wealth and intellect."
Crane jerked his hand into the air and made a quick circling motion. Kendrick's bodyguards had visibly been bracing for this possible outcome, as Crane's men attacked them. In the scuffle, the familiar bodyguard atop the mezzanine hastily approached the Banshee, who turned just in time to be grabbed at the front shoulder. Controlling her adrenaline, she grabbed his hand from her opposite side and turned sharply sideways. Her body forced the guard's arm to lock out straight, which she rapidly broke with a heavy elbow strike. The guard shouted with pain just as the Banshee released him. She took a wobbly hop back and threw a hard kick into his back. The man was propelled forward and tumbled over the railing and to the floor below.
Somewhat shocked at what just occurred, Dahlia rushed to the edge and peered down to see him unconscious. Kendrick's men in the foyer were now splayed across the floor. Then turning and heading back around, the men in the sitting room were also down.
Frank Kendrick let the concern finally seep in, and dove a hand inside his jacket. The Scarecrow reacted too quickly for him, and lunged forward with arm outstretched. With a hiss, the white smoke discharged into the area around them. Kendrick's wheezing and coughing, with eyes tightly shut and irritated, distracted him enough for the Scarecrow to roughly root around in his pocket and pull out a pistol.
After turning it in his hands, the Scarecrow gave a hard smack of the pistol's grip to the man's temple. "How unprofessional, Frank. I thought we agreed on no guns?" Finally Kendrick's eyes had opened, and his open-mouthed breathing became more heavy and shaken. The Scarecrow slowly rose to a fully standing position.
"You agree to a lot of things without fulfilling your terms, eh? Such as transferring ownership of your newly acquired banking business to Mr. Paul Herald, per your undisclosed contract with him. Rather you'd falsely accuse your most esteemed and powerful vendor of theft. Wait for someone to take the middle man out, huh? That's not very professional at all, Frank. I'm the one ally you should have been investing in above all others."
Water had begun to form at the corners of Kendrick's eyes. He tried to scramble backwards from his chair but wasn't able to find his route. Every muscle in his body was tensed and hardly responsive. His eyes moved up towards the mezzanine, to the Banshee, standing menacingly above.
"So like I said, Frank - We don't do personal jobs."
Kendrick's eyes moved back to the Scarecrow. He began to mutter, fighting to say or vocalize anything.
"But after Amelia and I cleared up the misunderstanding ... I couldn't resist."
The Scarecrow lurched forward, and finally Kendrick screamed.
"Listen, I can't thank you enough for your stellar work. And such style too!"
Amelia Kendrick was a pretty older woman with a thick Tennessee accent, weighty chest, and four-inch stilettos. She and a trim, sharply-dressed Paul Herald had arrived to the property about thirty minutes after Frank Kendrick began to lose his mind.
Crane and Dahlia spoke unmasked with Amelia as the men were packing up payment from the Kendrick house with Herald's direction. Her bright pink lips were smiling the entire time, reminding Dahlia of a flight attendant. "Really, love it. It's ingenious. Frank should have learned to respect that a long time ago, if he wasn't such a dang bastard." She looked over to Dahlia and beamed with warmth. A manicured, motherly hand reached out and affectionately stroked her hair. "Sugar, I hope you never have to make such a mistake like I did. Woman to woman, I can assure you - If you don't like the road you're walkin', start pavin' another one." She couldn't make a judgement call on Amelia's moral character, but regardless, she knew she liked her.
"And ..." Amelia took a moment to shamelessly peruse the space between her breasts. "... it never hurts to have a good insurance policy." And out came a knife, from where only Paul Herald knew. A thin, folding 6-inch blade with a rose gold handle. Dahlia accepted with a smile and thankful nod. She really liked Amelia.
Glancing to Crane, Dahlia noticed that he still seemed preoccupied. He wasn't smiling and hadn't been very talkative. Saying her goodbyes, Amelia touched Dahlia's shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She blushed. Then Amelia did the same for Crane, patting his chest as she leaned back. "Please let me know if ya'll ever need anythin' at all. Ya'll have my full endorsement."