A/N: I do not own the DC Universe or any of its characters. This story is for pure fun and enjoyment of any readers it may have.
Just think Dark Knight Trilogy/Marvel Universe/Real-People-Instead-Of-Cartoons when reading. It's intended to take place right outside your window, rather than in the care-free world of cartoons.
Please be advised this story can be dark and above all, strives to be realistic.
Lastly, I hope you enjoy!
Vendetta: Chapter 2
The Foreigner
The setting sun's weakened rays of light spilled into the room, warm and faded. Since her office faced west, overlooking the San Francisco Bay, this afternoon sun bath was an everyday occurrence she looked forward to. Every so often, she would lounge in the room's center along the gray carpet like a cat, just to soak up the rays and warm herself. She had napped in said spot on occasion. Thankfully, she had locked the office door for those instances. She found it hard to believe anyone would think too highly of the Assistant Communications Director should they find her snoring on the office floor.
This particular day had matched most work days for the young woman: Long, busy, and annoying. She could always leave early if she wanted. That wisp of temptation had crept into her head today, a little over two hours ago, but she had resisted and now only thirty minutes of the workday remained. For that, she was grateful.
The Friday had started with a morning "Market" meeting at 9am, during which the company board discussed potential clients, business trends, and strategies. It grew cumbersome, especially since senior board member Earl always found a way to say, "Let's take a look at the lay of the land," every meeting when referencing customers. Today, all seemed normal until the latter half of the meeting. The second half of today's discussion, the board criticized the lack of effective solicitation done by employees within the company. She disagreed with the idea of solicitation given market conditions and found the board's attack on Customer Service employees quite unnecessary. Making small talk in hopes of a far-fetched sale did not sound beneficial to her. It just sounded wasteful. Why should CS representatives have to persuade someone to add to their order when they're already spending thousands if not millions? Didn't persuading people to have an interest in more purchases fall under Sales jurisdiction? She found herself wondering about this a lot recently, as the two departments had been exchanging blows like men in a boxing match.
After the meeting, her office became a hot spot for internal visitors. Her first visitor arrived just as she finished reading through emails, and that caught her off guard. It had been the CEO, Gerald Fox, that entered her office. That conversation had not been related to the industry, but the rest of the day had pushed that conversation to the back of her mind. Still, she could not help but be eager about it.
Following the CEO, she dealt with a company seller, company attorney, and four account specialists. All of these people stepped into her office prior to noon and somehow, were justified in doing so. This industry annoyed her when people found a way to request something of her five different ways. Not because of the workload or stress, but because of the helplessness. Of the four account specialists she had seen today, only one actually needed her input. The others had made something out of nothing.
Thankfully, the afternoon had slowed and she was able to accomplish some research regarding a newer company product. Said product had been sold to seventeen different clients and overall, had great reviews. She had forwarded the good news onto her peers in PR, encouraging them to write and produce an article on the product's success. They would find a way to harvest the information and make something of it via advertising. Classic, Corporate America she had learned.
Now here she sat, letting out a sigh that she swore shook the walls of her office, her eyes wandering along the width of her desk. Resting at the base of her left computer monitor, was an orange book titled: Foreign Destinations: Wonders of the World. Her eyes locked onto the book and her mind went blank. She longed to submerge herself back into the carefully written guides on what to-do and see in New Zealand, but more importantly, the book was out of place. This disturbed her.
Rising from her seat, she picks up the book and walks around the left side of the desk, pausing to stare out the floor-to-ceiling window. While at first uncomfortable that a fourth of the walls in her office were glass, the view stole her breath more than once a day. From the Golden Gate Bridge to the Bay's sparkling ripples, it just had that effect. And she would not change a thing about it.
Crossing the room's threshold to reach the ornate bookcases across from her desk, she found the book's home quickly. Then she stopped to admire her own work. The way the books were organized alphabetically left to right, across all three separate furniture pieces, with indexing laminated where needed on each shelf. That type of organization she loved. If only it could spread to all parts of her life, specifically, her work emails.
Smiling to herself, she drifts her attention to the plants adorning the corners and surfaces of her office. While not real, they definitely looked the part. She described them as the greatest little actors she had ever met to the CEO this morning. He had laughed at that, then pressed the conversation onto more serious matters. Matters that concerned her future. Matters that concerned her true purpose here.
She raises her right hand toward her face, palm open and squints. A warmth flooded through her, as if a campfire had ignited within her chest. It pressed against her insides, as if trying to escape in the form of a yawn, but she would not allow it. It demanded an emotional discharge for company. Instead, her current calm shaped it. The end result resonates as a small snowglobe-sized orb of light, shimmering emerald green in her open palm. Observing her own ability, the CEO's words refurbished in her mind…
"Kori, it's time. It's time to do what we brought you here to do. He'll be here today."
The Apprentice
The lead provided by Bruce Wayne must be a fake or have a catch. Dick Grayson had decided this upon seeing his destination in person. Prior to arriving, he had looked up the address via internet and was not surprised to find news articles about the brand-new building. It seemed the type a mobster could attempt robbing or extorting, but that would be extremely difficult considering the structure's fresh existence. Then he thought of the alternative option and had been grimacing ever since. The alternative being that his parents' killer had worked his way into one of the most lavish, corporate headquarters Grayson had ever seen. Whichever case, neither option satisfied Grayson.
Waiting at a red-light atop his Yamaha, surrounded by ceaseless bumper to bumper three-lane traffic, he was left to stare out across the majestic San Francisco Bay. The view itself breathtaking, with massive bridges, glass-like water, and a brilliant red-orange sunset casting its dying light, a certain island stood out.
It reminded Grayson of Alcatraz Island, though he did not have a clue where the old prison was located. Small and uninteresting, the island was no greater than three or four football fields in any direction and from where he sat up on a coastal rise, the island seemed to contain more cars than vegetation. The miniature sea of cars were parked at the base of the structure, the large parking lot conjoining with a bridge stretching from the coast to meet it. But the twenty to twenty-five story building probably drew the most eyes on this island.
Immaculate, it stood against the might of the San Francisco skyline unfazed. The entire upper exterior in glass and the dizzying height - the amount of money someone had to waste to construct such a marvel resembled Wayne Enterprise architecture. Most notable about this shining, glass monstrosity had to be its shape. The first twenty or so floors formed a natural tower, but from there it stretched out over the island. The building was shaped as a giant 'T'.
At long last, the streetlight shifts to green, allowing Grayson and the many, many San Franciscans to proceed. Riding down the hill at under thirty miles per hour and following traffic around the bend, he spots a rectangular grey-green sign reading: Welcome to Jump City. Jump City proper looked to be another mile up the coast, but the bridge to the 'T' tower on Grayson's left, was much closer. He turns onto the bridge with one other vehicle and notices the freshly painted road right away. This served as evidence enough for Grayson.
Bruce sent me here for a reason… whether it's an actual lead remains to be seen.
The parking lot near overflowing, Grayson settled with parking on the sidewalk next to the bike rack. Dismounting the motorcycle and looking up at the building in awe, he felt his stomach tighten in apprehension. Whatever he found inside would likely not be useful to his cause immediately. This meant he would have to take his time and execute patience. Too bad much of it had been spent on traffic already.
He removes his helmet, then dressed in riding gear: a leather jacket and jeans; strides along the sidewalk and into the architectural marvel. The lobby spread before him wide, clean, and flawless. The waiting area flanked the entranceway in the form of a dozen leather chairs and glass end tables. White or black, those were the two colors. Unless one counted the plants in the corners, or the golden oval engraved into the circular desk positioned at the lobby's center, at least fifteen yards away from the front door. The marble floor and front desk were excessive but matched the rest of the lobby's atmosphere. Exquisite and privileged.
Grayson made other keen observations right away. Something Batman had taught him. Always know, recognize, and assess your surroundings. He marked the exits, 4 elevators on either side of the lobby. Which made the building's population apparent when combined with the parked vehicles outside.
The 4 elevators on either side of the lobby made the building's population apparent. Two sets of staircases were nestled into the far back corners. Across the room from him and between the staircases, were floor to ceiling windows. In the center of the glass, a double set of doors leading to the welcoming terrace outside.
It made Grasyon somewhat sick. The lobby reminded him of a Wayne Enterprises building. Only it wasn't, for the golden oval engraved into the desk he approached read the following: Titan Industries: Welcome to Titan Tower, our Corporate Headquarters. So not a Wayne Enterprises building. It was a new breed of lavish.
Sitting within the circular desk, were four secretaries. All female, middle aged, and dressed for the part. As a matter of fact, two of them looked like they could be twins. Grayson was blinking, trying to determine such, when the front-facing secretary addressed him.
"Hello sir, what can we do for you today?" She met his gaze with pursed lips and raised brows. It appeared he was not the first clueless individual to wander into Titan Tower today.
Grayson opened his mouth to say something, but found himself scratching his head instead. He had not thought this through. "Hey there, I um… was just wondering if…" His pause somehow makes the woman's eyes grow larger, as if she were the predator and he the prey. His resistance would be futile. His brain scrambled for ideas, one of the other receptionists turning to watch his painful silence. He meets her gaze and smiles, then faces his initial adversary, once more. "I'm here to see Mr. Rossi. Is he available? Tell him it's an old friend."
The two women exchange a look of confusion, before Sarah, he had read from her name tag, turns back to him. "Um, no sir… I don't believe we have a Mr. Rossi that works here. Did you mean Mr. Ricci in Logistics, by chance?" She read his expression too quickly for a response. "Or is there someone else I can help you find? What are you here for, exactly?"
Interesting, he doesn't work here or Bruce gave me a bad lead, Grayson internalized, But with Bruce that's unlikely. There's something here I'm meant to find or see.
Grayson bit his lip and thought for a few moments. When collected, he gives Sarah a response to chew on, "Okay, I'm sorry… I'll just go make a quick call. Thanks," he says, then spins away from the desk. He only takes two steps when an exuberant voice sounds from one of the elevators to his right, drawing his attention.
"Don't mind our guest here, Sarah! He's actually here to see me!" An eccentric-looking man emerges from the elevator dressed in a fitted cobalt-blue power suit. The suit was complete with striped yellow tie, a Rolex watch, and pricey, leather dress shoes. His attire's formality and bright colors provided a nice contrast to his dark complexion and youth. Bold, but professional. Grayson guessed the man to be in his early thirties, as he watched him approach. Somewhat lanky and long-legged, the man seemed to bound over the space between Grayson and himself. He comes to an abrupt stop in front of Grayson and shoves his hands into his pockets. His warm-amber eyes betray nothing as he examines Grayson from head to toe. Those same eyes stop when they meet Grayson's uncertainty. "Mr. Grayson. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he exclaims, just before snatching Grayson's hand into a handshake.
Grayson found himself impressed. Facing down the man's pearly-white smile with one of his own, he wonders if he could have prevented the handshake had he wanted to. The stranger had been surprisingly swift.
"Thanks, it's nice to meet you too, Mr- "
The man cuts him off, "You can call me, Gerald. Gerald Fox, CEO and President of Titan Industries." He let the words sink in for effect, then turns his head toward the women at the front desk, all of whom were watching with wide eyes. "And Lover of Titan Tower, as these ladies like to call me."
The women at the lobby's desk all let out a hoot of laughter, getting Gerald to grin with glee.
Meanwhile, Grayson pieced the puzzle together in his head. This Fox, was likely a relative of Lucius Fox, given the building's eerily-similar design to a Wayne Industries structure. So Bruce and Lucius arranged this meeting between the two of them. And neglected to inform me, Grayson thought bitterly. The realization felt like being hit by a baseball bat, and Grayson knew the feeling from experience. Literally.
"So, Mr. Fox," Grayson says, regaining the CEO's full attention. "You were expecting me?"
"Of course I was! Don't tell me Mr. Wayne left that part out?"
The mischief in those amber eyes did not lie. It only provoked Grayson's annoyance.
"He did, unfortunately," Grayson replies dryly, eyes scanning over to Sarah and the other receptionists. They gave the illusion of being reinvested in their work. "He gave me this address to find someone else, actually. Know anything about that?" He elected to not be as blunt this time. Since Sarah the receptionist's enlightenment remained so fresh.
Gerald shakes his head, then starts fingering his goatee as if in thought. "No, afraid he didn't mention that." He stops rubbing his chin, then gestures to their surroundings. "He said you were coming here for the grand tour. You know, show you the ropes, break you in? Get that internship going and those paychecks flowing?" When Grayson does not react, Gerald's spirits seem to sink. "Awe come on man, don't tell me he left you in the dark on that too? I swear that man has got a real way of telling people things."
Grayson nods, "Yeah, that's for sure." He surveys the lobby another time, this time noticing the extravagant chandelier above them. "That being said, I uh, appreciate the offer and all …" he makes eye contact with the CEO again, "But I'm not interested in a tour. Or the internship. Do wish Bruce would have mentioned something about all that before I drove out here. But you seem to have a pretty good idea of what he's like." Gerald remains silent, his expression solemn. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Fox," he sighs, then shakes hands with the new acquaintance again. "Hopefully we meet again someday. Till then, take care."
Grayson frees the CEO from his grip and starts striding for the front doors with a mix of emotions. Behind him, he can hear Gerald entertaining the wave of surprise at the front desk. Understandable given that Bruce Wayne's ward Dick Grayson just turned down a job offer from the CEO of their business. That served as a full course meal of gossip in an office.
Outside, Grayson found the fresh air rejuvenating. It did little to quell his building rage, though. Bruce Wayne had lied to him. Set him up for some chump's way of saying "get a real job, I don't need you anymore". The billionaire could have fabricated the whole thing. Zucco could be overseas or in Mexico, but him being associated with Titan Tower seemed unfathomable. Yet Grayson refused to abandon the possibility. Bruce Wayne enjoyed making people earn the truth. Thus, he would surf the web extensively for the next few days, he decided. See if there were any crumbs or leads to follow.
Within a few steps of his motorcycle, the front doors of Titan Tower whoosh open behind him. He spares a glance over his shoulder and frowns, immediately. Gerald Fox going for a stroll?
"Hey, wait up," Gerald calls, upon spotting him. The CEO's shoes start clacking against the concrete in Grayson's direction.
Shit, Grayson thinks to himself.
He starts to hurry his retreat by making it to the motorcycle and getting the helmet over his head, just before Fox shouts again.
"Dick Grayson! Seriously, man! Just a second more of your time," the CEO insists, his powerful stride closing the distance between them as quickly as it had in the lobby. He resembled a lion closing in on its kill. All confidence and determination. Grayson did not intend to let the lion have its satisfaction.
He mounted his motorcycle and began revving the bike. The engine's cozy purr just started seeping into his ears and his right foot was leaving the ground, when a name sliced through his existence. Like a katana through printer paper. Grayson's muscles stiffened and unconsciously, he shut off the bike, planting both feet on either side of the Yamaha.
"ROBIN!" The CEO calls out, a second time.
Robin? How the hell does he know - the train of thought got cut off too.
"Robin! Yeah, that's right…" the CEO slowed his pace to survey the parking lot, checking for bystanders, then continued his march toward Grayson along the sidewalk. "... I know who you are. Now get your ass off the bike and give me a minute! Please?"
As far as days full of surprises went, today had fostered into torture for Grayson. He hated surprises. Despite such, he did as he was bid by dismounting the motorcycle and removing his helmet. His expression quizzical.
In response, Gerald Fox smirks and stops in front of him. Less than a foot away. Grayson found the man's pleasure despicable, but said nothing. Nearly six years of caped crusading and never did fate put him in a situation like this. The thought was rewarding in that he had hid his secret identity well; but downright gut-wrenching given this exact moment.
Bruce is going to answer for this one, he resolves, starting to grit his teeth.
"Now, how about that grand tour with a little sprinkle of explanation on the side?" Fox tilts his head and raises his brows. "Sound good to you?"
"Fine," Grayson relents, his shoulders sagging.
Gerald Fox strolled through Titan Tower as if he were royalty. Every floor they toured, their stark contrast in attire and demeanor drew attention from all directions. Gerald maintained his care-free, approachable attitude while Grayson kept up his defenses. He did not know what to think or believe and that did not alter his circumstances. This cavalier individual beside him, the one with the greatest authority in the entire office, knew his secret identity. Grayson clung to the hope that he had this knowledge because Bruce Wayne or Lucius Fox had shared it with him. If Gerald had discovered this information any other way or by his own means at all, Grayson's life could be compromised in an instant.
And yet, Gerald Fox acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He played the part well. Excited and happy to provide a tour for the ward of a business partner. One might describe it disturbing. Grayson continued to tie it together in his head, recalling the extraordinary speed the man had demonstrated in the lobby. Physically and mentally gifted usually went hand-in-hand these days. Meta-humans…
Currently, the pair walked the perimeter of the 21st floor, along the building's western side. The awesome view of the bay went unhindered, naturally, as what should be a wall was instead a floor to ceiling window the length of the entire floor. The glare likely irritated many employees and anyone with a fear of heights probably could not be near the long window, but it showed off the company's affluence. As was probably the intention.
"So over there is Phil Hammond's office, he's our Chief Financial Officer. Most of the folks on this floor work with or directly under him. Some Accounts Receivable, Invoicing, Pricing … but mostly finances." Gerald walked closer to the window, the half-sun remaining of the day blasted enough light through the window to give the man a silhouette. Grayson had to squint whenever he wanted to make eye contact, so usually he followed Gerald's pointing index finger. "Phil is an extremely intelligent man. If you get the chance to catch him breathing between meetings and phone calls, I highly recommend saying "hi". Trust me. Oh and by the way, that's free advice."
Grayson chuckles, humoring his tour guide. "I believe it. You only hire smart guys, right?"
Fox snorts. "I don't know, you tell me. I'm thinking about hiring you." They reach the end of the window and corner of the floor, where one of the tower's two stairwells were nestled. "This is usually the part where you say something clever to convince me you're worth the company's time, by the way."
"I mean sure, you set me up well enough," Grayson replies, swiveling to face the man. "I'm worth the company's time because I have a 4.0 GPA and uh - let's drop the charade." Grayson steps into him, lowering his voice, "What do you want and why am I here?" Grayson leans in closer. "You don't just call me out like that unless you have a reason. So spill it." Fox folds his arms and raises his chin, as if assessing the threat. "Well?" Grayson asks, as he starts to tense, his muscles going taut. "Say something or I walk out of here."
"And do what? Find Zucco by yourself?"
A cold wave shudders through Grayson. "So you do know what I'm here for," he whispers, taking a step back. "How much more do you know? Is all of this coming from Bruce?"
Fox smirks but does not answer. He pushes the metal door into the stairwell open and stands there, holding it. "Let's head up to my office."
Grayson sighs, but gives in again. Clearly this man knew something or was the lead Bruce Wayne had sent him to find. Grayson just felt like a pawn, and that pissed him off.
He followed the CEO up two levels, the primarily concrete stairwell echoing with each step. It seemed to the building's only eye sore. Everything else could be lavish, but the stairwell had to remain dark and dingy. Such matched what Wayne Enterprises did with their board rooms. Something had to take the fall.
Along the stairs, they passed two men wearing suits with wide-eyed expressions. What made them most memorable to Grayson, was that the CEO ignored them. The entire twenty minute tour of the building, Fox had greeted everyone. From janitor to executive. Why the sudden change? Grayson hoped it meant the man was finally getting serious.
Striding after the CEO through the stairwell's highest and final door, he found himself unimpressed. Way too much like Wayne Enterprises.
The top floor of Titan Tower broke the norm of previous floors. Rather than a maze of cubicles, computers, and desks surrounded by private offices or meeting rooms, the top floor had hallways. The stairs led them into one, the walls composed of mahogany paneling with pretentious paintings spaced every five or so yards apart. To their right, a floor to ceiling window and a dead end. To their left, the hallway extended for what looked to be the majority of the floor's length. Seeing as it was the only way to go without turning around, Gerald Fox starts off in that direction. His stride is more determined than before, if possible.
Following him, Grayson continues to observe. Eight steps down the hallway, it branches off to their left, leading to an elevator. Further down the hallway they pass an office door with the label "Chief Financial Officer: Phil Hammond". This gets Grasyon to stop and point.
"Hey," he says, waiting for Fox to turn around. "I thought Phil's office was two floors below us."
Fox grins. "That's Phil's other office... Now, come on. Day's ending and I do want to get home at some point." The man resumes his stride, leaving Grayson to shake his head and follow. Before reaching the hallway's end and arriving in a lobby of sorts, they passed another office and elevator. The most notable thing about the hallway - was that the right side wall - was all one office. Gerald Fox's office.
"Doris, how are you doing today?" The warmth and sincerity in Fox's voice slapped Grayson across the face. Sitting in a circular desk in the center of this make-shift lobby, was an older woman with dark, mousy brown hair. She wore a sky blue cardigan, reading glasses, and did not look the least bit busy. She did look important, though. Behind her desk, leather chairs and glass tables were tucked against the eastern wall - which was yet another floor to ceiling window. A glorified waiting area for the tower's most important guests.
Looking across to the opposite side of the top-floor lobby, another hallway started. One that looked identical to the one they had just emerged from. Likely the same layout. So whereas every other flood had eight elevators in total, this floor only had four.
Doris regards the two of them by lowering her glasses, her poker face immaculate. "Well I am here, Mr. Fox, if that's what you're asking. Is this the young man you were telling me about this morning?" She inspects Grayson as if she were an archaeologist placing a value on a distinguished finding. "Yep, looks just like you described him," she concludes, sounding resigned.
"Is that a good thing?" Grayson looks to Fox, then back to her. "Or a bad thing?"
Doris smiles, her overdrawn ruby lipstick expanding. "It's what you make of it," she says, spinning in her chair back to a binder she had opened. There she continued to work or at least appear busy, with her back to the two of them.
Fox knew that meant the conversation was over and gestures to the centermost door, directly across from the secretary's desk fortress. "Shall we?" Fox takes note of Grayson's nod, strides over to the door and pulls it open. Grayson walks into the office and discovers a new meaning to the word luxurious.
Over sized and excessive, the room dwarfed Grayson's own apartment in square footage.
Upon entering the private office, an ornate end table flanked by two magnificent red chairs caught his attention. Behind this cozy setup, a fully stocked bar called the office corner home. Complete with black stools and a teak wood counter. Scotch, whiskey, and vodka lined the shelves behind the bar, as well as various glassware. Opposite of this bar and chair lounge, to his immediate right, a pool table rested. The wall and office corner lined with more pool sticks than one could ever need. Some were black, another silver, and one even looked to be gold. Grayson discerned such things were to entertain the frequent guests Gerald invited up. He somehow doubted Gerald used them himself. At least not often.
Passing the initial recreational areas on either side, the room took on a more professional appearance. Each side of the room hosted eight-foot tall bookshelves. Grayson did not peg Fox as the reading type, but found himself surprised when passing a black leather chair and ottoman with an open book, face-down. The Fringe: Evolution of Mankind the book was titled. These bookcases, four or six in total, hugged the walls until reaching the final section of the office. This final section of the lengthy office, contained a massive mahogany desk, with gold swirls etched into its front. It sat in front of a floor to ceiling window, and was polished so great, that one could see their own reflection in its surface.
Walking around the desk and sitting himself in a black leather chair, Gerald does not acknowledge the sun's final rays behind him. The must be used to seeing the Golden Gate Bridge catch and reflect sunlight as if designed to do so.
"So now that you've had the grand tour, what do you think," Fox asks, his expression elated. The building his company called headquarters would impress anyone, and that much he made clear with every movement.
Grayson sinks into one of two red leather chairs across from Fox. "It's grand all right," he replies, eyes wandering to the drink cart in the office corner. As large as the office was, it made sense to have it there. "Mind if I have one of those?" He nods his head in the direction of the cart, a few strands of dark hair bouncing forward. The very core of what he came out here to do had changed. He needed to know why. A little liquid help while attempting to learn, sounded quite welcome.
Fox spins in his chair toward the drink cart. There, a single bottle of Crown Royal and four short glasses sat. And an ice bin, of course. He turns back to Grayson as he rises, "Sure, I'll have one myself." He adds ice and pours two fingers worth in each glass, then returns, gesturing for Grayson to utilize the coasters sitting on the corner of his desk. When both drinks are set respectively before their owners, the men study one another.
Grayson takes the first sip and accompanies the action with a question, "So how do you know who I am?"
Fox narrows his eyes, then relaxes. "My Uncle told me. He and Bruce Wayne are pretty close these days. Or should I say… Batman?" Grayson's discomfort showed more than he wanted, and Fox capitalizes. "Don't worry. The room isn't bugged or anything. Well, I shouldn't say that. What I mean is you're not being recorded in any way shape or form. If you doubt me, feel free to put those detective skills to work, Robin."
He's not lying, Grayson thought to himself. Still, he did what the man suggested by casually scoping out his surroundings. Turning this way and that, he felt more comfortable. Or as much as one could, given the predicament.
"I trust you if Lucius does," he announces, before taking another sip of his drink. While not his favorite, it sufficed.
"Good, then let's talk about why you're here. Bruce gave you Titan Tower as a lead to find Zucco, right?"
"Something like that," Grayson sighs, nursing the drink in hand. "He could have made things easier by just saying Titan Tower, but essentially, yes. He gave me the address and said it was a lead to find Zucco. He waited some time to tell me, though. I take it that was your doing? To set me up for whatever this is?"
Fox looks amused. "You're mistaking the mastermind behind all this. My Uncle and Bruce came up with the elaborate scheme." He pauses to take a sip, the glass rings as he sets it back down. "I'm just playing along because I agree with them."
Not helpful.
"Agree with them about what?"
"That this world needs some change."
Such a response baits Grayson into taking another swallow of his drink. Fox copies him, with raised brows. Silence follows. Almost a full minute of silence.
"Alright, a bit of truth for you," Grayson says, his brow furrowing. "This is how I'm feeling." He nods encouragingly, then cuts to the chase. "Fuck the riddles. Just tell me about Zucco and where to find him. I'm not interested in some stupid internship I knew nothing about." That does not get the reaction Grayson intended. Fox just looks confused. "Bruce didn't tell me anything, by the way."
"You sure about that?" Fox asks, getting Grayson to frown in response.
"About Bruce not telling me anything? Yeah I'm pretty sure -"
"No, about the internship. It's not just some stupid internship. It's the opportunity of a lifetime, in my opinion."
He's baiting me again, and I have no choice but to bite...
"The opportunity of a lifetime, eh? And just what the hell do you mean by that?"
Fox presses his glass to his lips and swallows, a sliver of sun the sole barrier between night and day behind him. It sat on the surface of the bay, clinging to life, as if it could prevent the darkness from swallowing it whole.
"Well, for starters, you'll be in a sort of hybrid role here at Titan Tower. You'll be a cross between our engineering and media teams." He smirks, "For example, you'll be testing new technology and writing reviews of said tech."
Grayson maintains his ambiguity, prompting Fox's continuation.
"Strictly speaking, you'll really be doing what you do best, of course."
"That being?"
Fox throws his arms out wide, as if flabbergasted. "Crime fighting, of course! And trust me … this city needs a purge when it comes to crime removal." He nods and drinks deep from his glass, allowing Grayson to digest the words.
None of it seemed real. 'Expect the unexpected', a favorite line of Bruce Wayne's, echoed in his mind. The sheer thought causes Grayson to bite his tongue. Mind racing, he lets logic lead the way.
"So you're offering me a cover while I hunt for Zucco? Is that it?" Fox finishes his glass of Crown, giving Grayson some time to continue the thought. "If so, that's a bit of a gamble. Hiring the ward of Bruce Wayne isn't exactly a great cover, especially if I'm just here for one man."
"Just one?" Fox leans forward. "What you're being offered, Mr. Grayson, is a cover, and a bit more. The rest will be easier to show you upstairs."
Grayson shakes his head and squints.
"There's another upstairs? This place is just full of surprises, isn't it? Still don't know if you have me convinced though. This all just seems so sudden and…" he stops speaking when Fox grins ear to ear.
"Well, let's see if I can't change your mind," the CEO says, standing.
The Mobster
Another puff of smoke wafts up to join the already lingering cloud. It clung to the dingy living room ceiling, ethereal in appearance and seeking escape. This evening it was enclosed within a small space, though, as the windows were shut. The room's entirety reeked of tobacco, the wallpaper stained yellow in the places it peeled. Like rotted skin. This decrepit place is one of many places Tony now called home, to his disgust.
"Angie, you just going to sit there puffing on that cigar or we going again," an ill-dressed woman in her mid-forties, lying next to him on the sofa asks. Claire, one of many women that often kept him company in the evening. Claire had once been a beauty, he believed. With curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and the bust to match… but smoking and drug abuse had taken its toll on her. What may have been a pretty face had become sunken and hollow. "Angie?" If she weren't such a good lay, he would not keep her around. "Angie? You hear me," she prods his shoulder with her foot.
"Yes, I hear you. Now shut up for a second," he snaps, straightening himself. The Romeo & Julieta he had selected today had a good draw, but he found the woman to be ruining the cigar's comfort. "Claire, why don't you head on out, actually. I'm good." He puts the cigar to his mouth and inhales deeply, aware of her expression.
"Are you fucking serious," she demands, starting to sit up. Once upright, she pulls her knees in and glares at him. Thankfully, she settled for a more subtle approach. "What's the matter? Is it something I did, something I said?"
"No, no it's just-"
The door to the room opens abruptly, two men in vests emerging.
"Oh shit, sorry Mr. Rossi. We didn't know you had anyone in here with you. We'll just uh…"
Tony waves a dismissive hand at them, "It's fine, boys. Miss Claire here was just leaving." He turns to her, his expression stern. "Weren't you, Claire?"
She nods her head rapidly. "Y-yes… yes, I was." She gets up from the sofa cautiously, as if the slightest movement could offend the newcomers. Then she adjusts a strap of her night gown back, so its back over her shoulder, and goes into the nearby bedroom to get dressed. She shuts the door behind her.
Tony's attention is given back to the two men. His men. Good, loyal men.
"What brings you two over so late?" He pulls on the cigar, examining the two younger men. He exhales and leans forward in his seat. "Nothing good, I'd imagine?"
"Nothing good, is right sir," one of them, Andy, says. "We got bad news from Nevada way."
Nevada? We can't take any more heat from messing up those runs.
Tony covers his face with his free hand and groans. "Shit, what is it?" Tony groans.
"Romano got caged."
Tony felt his stomach drop. Sergio, one of his favorite lieutenants…
"Let me guess, he was trying to pop cherries again?"
The two men exchange a look, then nod curtly. Andy continues with the dismal information, "Yeah. He got held up near Reno… according to Gus, they got jumped by some motorcycle kid. He uh, caught them off guard, I guess?" Andy looked as doubtful as he sounded. Likely, Gus and Sergio started the fight and lost. Or Sergio got sloppy with his dirty hobby. Regardless, now Tony had a decision to make. "We are going to post bail, sir. Right?" Andy voices the decision in question right on cue.
Tony sighs so loudly, he swore the room shook. Maybe he just should retire to a hideaway permanently with Claire or one of the other women. Any whining would be better than making decisions like this one every other night. But Tony Zucco had no regrets. Not for anyone or anything.
After studying his feet for half a minute, he looks up at the two men.
"Well … let's see if we can go get him out one last time…"
