There was a meeting today. There were always meetings as they went hand-and-hand with her job. It was all in the name of creating this little niche, her place in the world.
However, the day job as it were was not the prominent thought in Talia's mind. This gloomy city was becoming alive once again, a bucking bronco to its ever-present guardian. Many of her Beloved's enemies had escaped their confinement and were loose in the streets. It had only been a matter of time before they made a move against him.
They had made their first move last night.
Worrisome was the fact they had all realized they had a common enemy and joined forces. Talia had feared such a scenario would come to pass; however, it appeared her Beloved was not that enemy. By all accounts, it seemed these dangerous rogues were targeting each other. Her Beloved just seemed to be there at the time, a bystander to the battle.
Why would these people want to fight each other?
As Talia walked the corridor, her heels clicking and clacking on the floor, she pondered this question. Trailing behind her were two of her assistance, women in matching pant suits, each carrying briefs of the impending meeting. For quite some time, these rogues had largely acted independently of each other. Ego, she theorized, was the primary motive for this. Something had changed, though; something that made these put aside their differences and join forces. She had missed whatever sparked this latest crisis, some brewing conflict between the one called Hugo Strange and the infamous Joker. She did not like that she had missed this significant fact.
It clearly had been festering out of sight of the general public and her Order had failed to identify the brewing hostilities. If she had known, she would have done what she could to guide them to this conflict long ago, albeit with less participants. Ridding the world of two miscreants would have made Gotham, if not the world, safer, and place less responsibility on her Beloved.
For now, the situation needed to be monitored to ensure she could use it to her advantage. Observing was all she would do for now as it involved multiple parties with unknown objectives. However, it also served as a good training assignment for Damian to see how well his patience had improved. If he could suppress the urge to make the killing strike at every opportunity. An assassin did not take the first or even the second opportunity to eliminate a target, but the perfect one.
There were other variables to consider, however. Though she had been in Gotham for some time, she wasn't as familiar with the other Arkham escapees as she should have been. She needed to review the others to ensure they would not complicate matters as well. She was familiar enough with the Riddler and the woman connected with Nature, Poison Ivy. Their activities had either made international news, or occurred just before her arrival in Gotham. The Scarecrow she had monitored due to his attempt to poison Gotham's water supply during Bane's siege of the city. She may not have made a move against him, but her father had ordered a reconnaissance mission to ensure the Scarecrow's poisons would not harm their efforts. There was even the sniveling little man, the alleged Mad Hatter she had encountered at one point. His mind controlling technology would need to be removed from the current game as soon as possible.
That left the others, such as the walking crocodile man, the infamous Man-Bat, and the two-sided Two-Face. Research would need to be done to see what threats they poised.
As if that were enough, a second escape had been committed the previous night as well. The man who had helped bring her Beloved to her attention was on the loose, Victor Fries, the dreaded Iceman. By all accounts, she was under the assumption the icy man was content to serve his time in prison; his escape had cast that into doubt now.
Finding out what his objective was paramount. He was a wildcard that could alter the game currently in progress. No doubt her Beloved would want to end the brewing conflict as soon as possible, but there were too many players to make that an easy feat.
Some thought was going to have to be put into her own move. The others had already made theirs and she was not one to make a misstep. The Order would need to be properly prepared, though the ones that failed to observe the growing antagonism between Hugo Strange and the Joker would need to be disciplined.
She really should have seen this coming and would have if properly informed.
Reaching a set of double doors, Talia paused, her assistance stopping as well. She straightened out her blouse and blazer, smoothing out her skirt. These dark matters would need to wait until another time. For now, she had business to conduct.
Opening the doors, she entered a conference room. A long table was positioned right in the middle of the room, a few men already seated. Immediately, they stood up as courtesy dictated.
"Mr. Maximilian Shreck," Talia greeted, her eyes focusing on a man with white hair and oddly youthful features. It was a strange dichotomy. "Welcome to Head Development Corporation. I hope you haven't waited long."
Maybe he shouldn't use that word. You know, the R word.
Retire.
Because as soon as he starts planning it out…
First the escape of all those Arkham prisoners, then the fight that brought down what was left of the Nora Fries Foundations, and now…
It hadn't been easy getting everyone in the bullpen to quiet down, and for the first time in a long time, Gordon found himself yelling. Once he had all the attention, he didn't mince words. "I just got off the phone, and people, we are in a Def Con One situation. No, the president is not in danger, but Gotham is. Earlier today, Victor Fries escaped Blackgate. For those who don't know who Victor Fries is, we call him the Iceman and I don't have to say he's a dangerous son of a bitch.
"From this point on, any and all available officers are to find Fries and put him back in Blackgate, I don't care how. Consider him armed and extremely dangerous. Take no chances. I need people out on the streets," for all the good that would do, "and I need a team heading over to Blackgate to find out how the hell he pulled this off. Get me some answers and find him."
Gordon hoped he sounded forceful enough, but even to his own ears he sounded like he was trying too hard. That didn't change how bad the situation was, though. With so many high profile criminals suddenly out on the streets, to have this one in particular…
It was almost like going back to the beginning. Had it really been that long? The first time he had to deal with Fries, he had been a commissioner struggling to hold a corrupt department together while fighting that same corruption and lacking much of the spine that he had grown over the years. The last time he had even seen Fries, it had been through a complete accident and desperation had him cutting a deal with the disgraced vigilante.
To even think that far back also brought back other memories. These memories hurt now, hurt so much more considering...considering when Fries first made his debut was when Sarah had joined their ranks. She was new to the other officers, but she had been looking to make a splash. A defender for him and an ally that had become so much more over the years.
It was coming full circle, wasn't it? At the beginning and now here at the end. Two old forces, the Mob and Victor Fries making one last reach for glory and right as he was going to retire. It would make for an interesting story, wouldn't it?
As the Commissioner took his leave of the bullpen, one that was a mesh of constant activity, he felt his age, felt the scars, and knew that time was running out for him. He could practically hear a voice calling out "Last call!" and figured that he could stay to finish this last one. It was just one more, wasn't it?
Just because it was going to be his last one didn't mean that everything would be tied up in a neat little package. Damn it, he would do his best, one last time.
No one deserved to be put in the middle of hostile territory. No one deserved to be pressed into a mess and given sole responsibility to clean it up. He knew that from experience.
"I am used to waiting," Max answered smoothly as he stepped away from his seat. Reaching an empty one, he pulled it out in offering. Chivalry could sometimes mean all the difference. "I called you...you were kind enough to agree...to our meeting. Please, settle in. Get comfortable. We have...a lot to talk about."
Curious how this Ms. Head remained cool. This was not his first time meeting with a woman in this position, it wouldn't be the last if trends continued, but that did not mean he could thrown manners out the window. Normally there would be a response, whether it be the welcomed sight of flattery, derision in some, and more often than not polite gratitude for a needless action. This stoicism was new.
However, Ms. Head accepted the seat and he was gracious enough to push her in before strolling around the conference table back to his own. "I was not expecting your call, Mr. Shreck," she told him as he reached his seat.
"If there is one thing to expect...here in Gotham, it is...my call," Max replied as he sat down. "I call everyone, no matter how long...it takes. That's just good business. The only surprise there should be...is that it took as long as it did."
With a gesture of his hands, one of his associates slid over a folder, one his company used specifically for presentations. This wasn't your standard manila, but styled and slick black and white with the cat logo his corporation was known for, smiling widely.
"Compared to others, you are a relative newcomer. In which case...allow me to welcome you to the jungle that is Gotham," he continued.
"I am well aware of this city's reputation," Ms. Head replied, her voice carefully neutral. It was almost dismissive, but Max had been around long enough to know how to work with it.
"The financial...not the other elements," the mogul clarified. "This is a beast all of its own. So many...try. Not everyone makes it. That is why...those who are still playing...well, we help one another out."
What kind of style was it that a lady such as this kept one of her eyes covered with thick, luscious strands of hair, baring only a single green pupil that flickered down to the folder. Exotic was a word that came to mind. One of her fingers traced the logo's outline. "So, this is a meeting out of mercy?"
That accent, so alluring. Faintly he wondered where it came from. "Far from it. I like to...extend a hand to every one. It is...up to you...if you accept. The contents of that folder contain a proposal. You can read it later, at your discretion, but allow me to sum it up. I would like to build a new, modern, and state-of-the-art power plant. Nothing wrong with the old one...but for how long? The city grows every day. More and more people need power. Eventually, the old plant will be that: old. Sometimes...it's best to get ahead."
"Wouldn't you require a contract with the city first?" Ms. Head asked. That green eye was watching him, measuring him. This lady had quite an intelligence about her.
"I wouldn't be concerned about it. Things...change. The one thing that doesn't...is the need for investment." He placed his hands on the table, fingers intertwined. He looked nowhere else but at this potential investor. Outer appearances were a distraction and he was more than capable of seeing past them. "Plans are being drawn up, Ms. Head. This...is going to happen. This is also your chance...to get in on the ground floor. The details are in the folder you have."
Again, the eye flickered to the proposal. She was following his direction, good. It was subtle actions like this that gave away the flow of a negotiation. What came next was more art than science. Keep up the pressure and break down resistance? Back off and let everything bounce around? Continue to persuade through a different angle? Everyone was different and that meant different approaches.
Which one would work best here? That was why this was art. First impressions and first meetings were not anything to pin expectations on. The sole exception was that he knew she spent an inordinate about of time with Bruce Wayne. Bruce was acting shrewdly, something that was out of character...for a playboy, and most forgot about the businessman. That she was associating with him meant that there had to be some acumen with her. Pressure may be the wrong course to take, so withdrawal or persuasion were still available.
Ms. Head opened the folder, her only visible eye moving from left to right as she began to read. No, not read, skim. This was not the time and place for detail-oriented reading. "I hear your arguments, Mr. Shreck. I do have questions."
"Ask away," he consented, nodding his head and offering a small smile.
"I have heard of your insistent pitches for this project." So she was also a woman who kept her ear to the ground. "I have done some investigating and I know about the current power surplus. The current plant is always being held to regulations and standards and there is a proposal reaching the city council for more upgrades. Why would it not be a waste of money to invest in your plant now?"
"You can only update for so long. The current technology managing that plant...will reach its limit. It's a race against time. Time, Ms. Head, and time...picks no sides. We need people of vision...who see into the future. Instead of waiting for the inevitable, I want...to get ahead of it. Those who don't...plan for the future...are doomed to be fools."
There must have been something to that word choice because that lonely green eyes was piercing into him. Max bore it, not in the least bit intimidated. So many had tried, but here he still was, wheeling and dealing.
"You speak truth," Ms. Head agreed. "We should be planning for the future. My only concern is if this plant is doing so. A man like you knows that even a sure bet is anything but, and time does make fools out of all of us."
She wasn't teetering one way or the other, which meant she could still be won over. "I understand...development is the primary source of revenue for Head Inc. There is...a way you could still...gain benefits...from this proposal beyond that of the plant. We are still looking for the ideal location and land in this area tends to be...already taken. As part of the urban development sector, if you were to find the land...the ideal choice...and at a reasonable price...you would still make a profit regardless of what happens. Just...food for thought."
She was giving him that look again and he knew what she was thinking. Why give her a bone, especially one that could give her a leg up over him. Sometimes, to win, you needed to put yourself at a disadvantage, or at least create the illusion of it. He knew what he was doing. Some remnant of greenness was preventing her from recognizing the game he played.
"You have a lot to think about. Shall we...schedule another meeting? Preferably over lunch. There's an establishment that...I've had my eye on. The reviews are promising." Withdrawal was now the option to pick. Too much information and too much bait had been offered. Ms. Head needed time to process and allow her greed to get the better of her.
"Indeed, you have given me much to consider. I will give you an answer shortly," the developer promise as she stood up, pushing her chair away from the conference table. "We will be in touch."
Nodding, Max began to stand up himself, but then he felt a nudge in his arm. Glancing to his left, he looked at his son questionably, Chip nodding his head in the direction of their would be investor. The younger man's lips spoke a silent word...oh yes.
"One more thing, before we take our leave," the mogul spoke, regaining Ms. Head's attention. "Like anybody in this city...you know...that we've been shopping around, looking for anyone who is interested in the properties held by Computron. If you are interested...I would recommend you make a bid for it. It doesn't hurt to...expand your portfolio. You also would benefit from...being quick. There are parties outside of Gotham who have...expressed interest."
"And I will give your recommendation the same due diligence," Ms. Head promised. "It was an interesting meeting, Mr. Shreck. There may be many more avenues in the future that we may be able to collaborate on."
That might mean everything it promised, or it was an attempt to rush him out. He had to accept it regardless, but if it meant he could pull on it at a later date, why all the better. There had been many empty promises he had cashed in on before; there was little reason to see why this would be an exception.
"I do hope we have many more opportunities," he said, signaling the end.
For today, at least.
The sound of cards shuffling ripped through the air. Once, twice, and then the cards were distributed to each place, one at a time until the three players each had five cards. The deck was placed on the table by Two-Face, picking up his hand to see what he had. Scarecrow and Croc did the same, their cards fanned out in front of them.
The three were seated around an old wooden table, round because there wasn't any other options. That was because the one square table was taken by the Joker, his fingers taping on a laptop. His carefree demeanor was gone as he worked, his sunken eyes focused on the screen.
"Three," Croc grunted as he threw down three cards. As dealer, Two-Face placed his hand on the table and reached to the stack, tossing Croc his cards. Scarecrow threw down two and received two cards back. Picking up his hand again, the former DA studied his hand before putting down three cards and picking up another three.
Now came the real game.
Somehow, a set of poker chips had been found and each player had their own colored chips, some more than others. The ante was already in. Croc tossed in another bet, the blue chip bouncing into the small pile already there.
"Match," Scarecrow drawled as he tossed in a blue chip as well.
"Raise," Two-Face countered as he tossed in three blue chips.
Croc stared at the pile as he considered his hand. Despite his looks, the man could play. He had won the first two hands in quick fashion. True to his nature, when he had a good hand he was aggressive. It was when he had less favorable hands that he took his time.
Finally, "Match." A couple more blue chips were tossed in. All eyes turned to Scarecrow. He stared at the growing pile before he two matched the raise.
They were all in. Seeing as it was Two-Face's turn, he turned his hand over, three tens, a two, and a jack.
Croc's turn. Two nines, two sevens—no, three sevens. A full house.
Scarecrow grimaced before tossing his card's down. A queen and jack were seen, but the other three cards failed to flip over. Clearly whatever he had didn't beat Croc's hand.
"For such a grotesque creature, you are surprisingly good at this game," the thin man complained. Croc just reached out and took the pot, a toothy grin on his scaly face.
"I'd say he was cheatin', but he ain't wearing a shirt,'' Two-Face groused. Placing his cards on top of the deck, he then moved it over to Croc, who then picked up the rest of the cards and began shuffling.
"I'm the only one allowed to cheat," the Joker called out over his shoulder. He didn't even look away from the computer, clicking on some link as a new webpage appeared. "After all, I'm the one with an ace up his sleeve."
"Which is why you ain't playin'," Two-Face growled back. "Everyone knows you're a card cheat."
"It's not cheating if you don't get caught."
"Which you have, multiple times," Scarecrow pointed out. Card games were one of the few entertainments allowed in Arkham and poker was one of the most played. Two-Face and Scarecrow had played with the Joker, along with the others, and there hadn't been a game yet where someone didn't suspect the clown to be cheating, or caught him in the act. Depending on the players, those times were the closest to the shotguns being used.
"Doesn't surprise me one bit," Croc added before he began dealing out the cards. "You guys play often."
"Whenever they let us into the common area," the burlap-wearing man replied. "Which isn't often considering our high profiles. They only let the Joker out for one hour under heavy guard."
"I'm surprised they even let him out for that long."
"You can thank his lawyers," Two-Face grunted as he picked up his hand, tossing in his ante. "He may look stupid, but he has a dream team of defense lawyers. I had to deal with twenty appeals from them a week whenever he was locked up. Bastards never let up."
"You know, I sometimes forget you were the District Attorney," Scarecrow remarked as he picked up his own hand, also adding his ante. "How does it feel to be locked up with the same people you've prosecuted?"
"About as fun as being in a locked room with people you've snitched on."
Croc chuckled. "You must be popular in Arkham."
"Only to shrinks and doctors."
Cards were tossed down, each player receiving replacements. Once again they tossed in their bets, though Croc bowed out early. That left the last two men standing.
"Raise," Two-Face said as he shoved in a whole stack of chips. This gave Scarecrow pause as he stared at the large pile. One finger tapped his cards over and over as he thought. His eyes darted down to his dwindling stack of chips and then back.
"Fold," he finally said in disgust, tossing the cards down.
Half of Two-Face's face smirked as he tossed his hand down as well, taking the pot and beginning to organize them. It was about time he got a win.
"Not a big risk-taker, are ya," Croc remarked as he moved the deck over to the former professor.
"Not with a three of a kind," the man muttered back. "And not with those stakes."
"Shoulda played the hand then," Two-Face advised. "I only had pairs."
Suddenly, a set of doors flew open and sauntered in Harley Quinn. "Drinks, boys!" she announced as she headed right for them, setting down foaming mugs of beer in front of each one. Some foam was dripping down the side of each glass mug.
Scarecrow grimaced at it. "You didn't happen to see any tea, did you, my dear?"
"Come on, Scrawny," Croc taunted as he picked up his own mug and took a healthy drink from it. "This'll put some hair on your chest. You could use some."
Two-Face sipped at his, savoring the taste. "Not bad." It may have been his time in the asylum talking, but he found the beer hitting all of the right spots. He hadn't realized he missed it until now.
"'Fraid not, Doc," Harley responded. "I'm fresh out of tea."
"Water would have sufficed," the thin man told her.
"Aww, c'mon. Live a little! It's not often we're all out of jail!"
"Arkham isn't a jail, you know."
"Might as well feel like it," Two-Face grumbled.
"Shut your mouth," Croc growled. "Arkham ain't no prison. I've been rotting away in a real one."
"Care to spend a night there?" Two-Face countered. "Hundred bucks says you wouldn't last the night."
"I could do it standing on my head!"
"Ohhhh, boys!" Joker suddenly called out. Spinning around in his chair, he placed an arm on top of its back and looked at them with a wide smile. "Clean your guns and pack your bullets, we have an errand to run."
The three men shared looks with each other before returning their collective attention to the clown. "I suppose you're expecting some resistance if you want us going in with guns," Scarecrow surmised.
"It's the Boy Scouts' motto, Straw Head: always be prepared," the Joker countered. "And though I like to be presentable at all times, one mustn't stumble into a gunfight with a knife. That's how you get killed, don't ya know?" His smile grew wider. "Besides, a little danger helps add some spice in life and right now, I could go for the Buffalo flavor."
