Home at the moment was a few rooms deep inside the rat's warren of warehouses in downtown Gotham. Arnold threaded his way past the afternoon drunks and the wary homeless crouching near the walls and let himself into the small apartment. One of Scarface's boys touched the brim of his hat in an automatic reflex of politeness as they passed him by.
They sat down on the dusty couch, Arnold carefully balancing Scarface on one knee and turning him so they could see each other's eyes.
Scarface tapped his hand idly on his gun. "Hey dummy."
"Yes, Mister Scarface?"
"That broad today. You got any thoughts?"
Arnold looked down into those tiny, beady eyes and gulped. "Well, she seemed like a…a nice lady, Mister Scarface."
"A nice lady.What am I askin' you for?" he bellowed. "Listen up, dummy. I like that broad." Scarface's eyes, flat and shining, gleamed as he leaned toward Arnold. "And you're gonna help me get her."
"H-h-h-help?" quavered Arnold.
"Yeah. You're gonna fill her in on the way things work around here, got it?"
Arnold nodded frantically in the spotlight gaze. "But…how will I find her?"
Scarface's jaw dropped in a grin. "You leave that to the boys."
The boys did their work fast and well. By the end of the week, Arnold had a piece of paper with Linda Karlsen's address, phone number, and daily schedule printed neatly on it tucked into his back pocket.
And now Arnold found himself standing around on the corner, waiting for little Linda to make an appearance so Mister Scarface's plan could start. Of course, the plan meant that Mister Scarface had to stay at home so that Arnold could talk to Linda about him.
Arnold shoved his hands deep into his pockets so they wouldn't keep cradling the empty air and scanned the crowd for Linda. There…there, in the distance…that blonde hair. It must be her. His right hand twitched, fingers curling themselves into their old familiar places as if Mister Scarface was with him.
Arnold readied himself and started walking toward her. Just as he got within ten feet of her, he suddenly panicked. He didn't know how to talk to girls! What on earth was he going to say to her? He didn't dare disappoint Mister Scarface.
Just then, a burly man hip-checked Linda into a parking meter. She rebounded off of it and skidded on her high heels. One went to the left, one went to the right, and Linda ended up in an graceless heap on the curb. As the man passed Arnold, he gave him a sly wink. It's Joey, Arnold thought with relief. Ah! An excuse to talk to her!
He rushed up and shyly offered a hand. "Are you, uh, are you all right?" he murmured.
"I'm fine," she said, tugging futilely at her miniskirt. She reached down and picked up her left shoe. The long sharp heel, nearly five inches long, had snapped almost in half. She pushed gently at the broken bit, worrying it like a loose tooth. A tiny tear ran down her face, leaving an ebony mascara trail as it rolled quietly down her cheek.
"Oh, don't…don't cry, it'll be all right," said Arnold desperately.
"It's just that…these shoes…were his fa-ha-havorites…" she started to bawl.
Arnold knelt down awkwardly next to her. "Here, take my handkerchief," he offered. She snuffled into it, wiping her eyes delicately with the corners. "You…um…look like you could use someone to talk to?" he asked hesitantly.
She nodded slowly, winding the handkerchief around one clawlike scarlet fingernail. The long painted curve of acrylic suddenly popped off of her nail, sending up a short spray of dried glue shards. She sniffled again and dropped the handkerchief in her lap.
"Let me…buy you lunch," he stammered. "You could talk to me, if you wanted."
Her eyes narrowed just a bit as she looked up at him through her tears. "You're not one of those creepy stalker types, are you?"
With thoughts of the neatly folded paper in his back pocket, he shook his head no and hesitantly took her hand.