19. Heavy Lies the Ground

"Dios mio," Anita cursed. Oh my god. She pulled off her glasses and pushed the laptop away.

"Que paso, Mami?" Dora asked over her shoulder, looking up from the stacks of dollar bills she was sorting and counting. What's up? She and her mother were back to back in separate booths. Dora had been accounting the cash exchanges while her mother tackled the card transactions.

Anita turned around and steeled her eyes on Dora. "Dora, que paso? Ques hicieras?" Dora, what happened? What did you do?

She knew what her mother meant immediately. She had been doing her own accounting, and her sums had come up... well, for lack of a better term... huge.

Revenue was through the roof—much, much higher than she was used to seeing. It wasn't until a year ago that Dora started looking into the Alibi's books, but she knew this heavy stream of income was unusual. The only time she had ever seen such large gains was when...

Anita left her booth and slid into Dora's. "No soy tonta. Ques hicieras?" I'm not stupid. What did you do?

Dora scrambled for an answer. She couldn't find one. She hesitated.

In that time, her mother pushed. "I'm not stupid, Dora. Your father pulled this shit all the time. What deal did you make? Who did you make it with?"

Her mom was too privy to this kind of thing. Dora had no choice but to admit it. "Ma Gunn."

Anita's eyes flickered, searching for something. Thinking. The answer dawned on her. "Todas las putas." All those flirty bitches. Anita probably had no idea who Ma Gunn was, but a sudden influx of hot slutty girls, consistently hitting below their weight, was hard to hide, and they had to answer to someone.

"Yeah."

"What did it cost?"

"Nothing," Dora said at first, then in response to her mother's skeptical look, she explained the details, leaving out that Ma Gunn worked for Red Hood.

"Does this have anything to do with Holly, Carla's new bestie?"

"No," Dora lied. Her mom had probably recognized Holly from her time hooking for Stan under Kosov's regime. Since Red Hood took over, Holly didn't come around the bar during open hours anymore, so Dora hoped that was enough to put her off the scent.

Anita just sat there, staring at Dora. Her jaw was clenched. She was studying, reading her daughter.

The scrutiny made Dora uncomfortable. "Mami, what's wrong?"

Anita wiped a tear from her eye before it fell. "You're just like your father."

Dora said nothing.

"God damn you, Dora, I know you love the family, but you love this fucking bar just as much, and you think it's the only way to provide for us. You can't fucking separate the two."

Dora bit her lip, anxious.

"It's a blessing and a curse, I swear it is," her mother continued. "That's what you two were blind to. This bar is like a ship at sea. You can't predict what happens. Sometimes the wind blows well, and we're good. Sometimes it doesn't, and it hurts us.

"That fucking pride, thinking you can defy reality, fate, luck, o otro mierda. Doing everything in your power to do so. Making deals with criminals, Dora? Those are the same mistakes your father made. Dealing with the Devil. Selling his soul. It's what got him killed. Look who he fucked with! Sooner or later, the Devil's going to collect. Adelita, I don't want to lose you the same way I lost him." Tears gleamed in her eyes, but they did not fall.

Dora had no idea what to say. Adelita. Her mother never invoked her middle name like that unless she was being very sincere... and very serious. A long silence passed between the two.

Finally, Dora managed, "It'll all work out, Mami. I promise." I hope.

Dora understood her mom's worry, but she didn't quite understand her grief.

Her mother and father... their relationship had always been tenuous. Dora knew the story, her abuela had told her.

Decades ago, Ana "Anita" Silva and Philip "Monty" Montgomery met in the Alibi. Monty was tending the bar one night, and Anita was stood up by her friends, so they talked and laughed the night away, until one thing led to another.

But it wasn't happily ever after. It was complicated ever since.

Dora's parents were off and on for years. Dora's grandmother said that her dad was head over heels for her mother, but her mother kept dumping him and taking him back. Anita was the fun, attractive, outgoing girl, while Monty was the reserved, average-looking, loner type of guy. He was the shoulder to cry on, the rebound, the friend with benefits—but never the boyfriend. The bartender, but not the guy she went home with.

Still, the casual relationship persisted. While passionate and charismatic men would divert Anita's attention, Monty had a smoldering steadfast appeal that Anita couldn't resist coming back to. Dora's abuela said that Monty became an expert in serenading Anita because his affections never strayed.

Anita gave birth to Dora out of wedlock, while her parents were "off." That's why Dora's last name was Silva, not Montgomery.

Monty stepped up not just because it was his duty, but because he truly loved Anita and Dora. It took Anita years to see his commitment. Dora's parents were finally married when she was five years old.

As a naive little girl, Dora liked to believe there was finally true love between her parents, but they didn't have Carla until five years into their marriage, when Dora was ten years old. The sisters grew up with their parent's temperaments towards each other shifting from hot to cold and back again as often as the seasons.

Mercy wasn't born until Dora was sixteen, and after that her parents' marriage went frigid for good. Her dad developed a drinking problem, and they divorced when Dora was seventeen. Carla was seven, Mercy was barely one.

To Dora's knowledge, neither dated or moved on since the divorce. The split was rough at first but they eventually got along well enough. If not spouses or even lovers, her parents were at least good friends, business partners, amiable co-parents.

But the way that Anita was acting now was odd. There might have been something more lingering between them than Dora never realized. Why else would Anita be so grief-stricken over her ex-husband?

"Ay, ay, ay..." Anita shook her head in concern. She stood up and gave Dora a kiss on the forehead. "I'm heading home. Are you staying here again?"

"Yeah," Dora said.

"You should come back home every once in a while," Anita said, looking forlorn. "Carla and Mercy, they miss you." She cupped Dora's cheek. "Especially Mercy. She asks about you all the time. Come see her. Read her a bedtime story, sing her a lullaby, make her breakfast, pick her up from school, brush her hair, something. She misses you."

"I'm sorry..." Dora couldn't meet her eyes. She missed Mercy too. "I just got a lot of work to do, mami."

"Alright," Anita sighed. "Can you take the cash to the bank tomorrow?"

"No problem."

After her mother left, Dora zipped up all the cash and receipts into leather pouches, locked them in the safe in the office, and descended the stairs to the cellar. It had become much roomier since Jessie took all the crates and palettes of expensive liquor, and now it looked more like a proper flat than a stockroom.

Dora had pretty much moved in, and couldn't remember the last time she actually went home to the apartment she shared with her mom and sisters. She felt it was a waste of time to walk or even drive the seven blocks between their apartment and the Alibi when she spent all her time here anyway. Plus she liked the privacy. Before her dad died, while she was still going to Gotham University, she had lived in one of the studio apartments upstairs. She moved back in with her mom and sisters when her dad died, and Black Mask's racket was getting too expensive. Renting the unit to someone else was just smarter. With the new deal with Ma, money wasn't much of an issue anymore, but ironically, now Holly was living in what used to be Dora's apartment and none of the other units were vacant anymore.

Dora kicked off her shoes, wriggled out of her clothes, and collapsed on the mattress in the corner. She curled up in the covers and let out a breath, reveling in sweet relaxation.

There was another reason she liked it down here. She wouldn't admit it to anyone. Down here, it was easier to remember that night, the way his lips and hands and body felt on hers. It was easy to imagine things going further than they had...

There was a simultaneously pleasant and annoying tingle just north of her knees and south of her belly button.

She had to scratch that itch before going to bed, wishing he would do it for her.

#

Dora woke up the next afternoon, and proceeded straight into her "morning" workout, which was climbing up the six flights of stairs to Holly's apartment. She let herself in.

Holly was sleeping, splayed out on her bed, half-clothed. She mumbled a good morning to Dora before rolling over and pulling up the covers to block out the late morning sun. Dora took a moment to pull the window's blinds closed before heading for the bathroom. Holly mumbled gratefully, "Love ya, Dee," and fell back asleep.

By the time Dora had showered and come back downstairs, it was close to noon: opening time. Rochelle and Lily were sharing coffees and lunch, chatting about something or other.

"Join us for lunch?" Lily offered.

"Sorry, no time. I gotta hit the bank," Dora said, just grabbing a coffee cup and walking into the office. She walked back out a minute later with a backpack, stuffing the leather pouches of cash inside.

"How come you don't have a security service take that?" Lily asked.

Rochelle and Dora shared a quick look and scoffed. "And have it stolen?" Dora said. "Armored trucks get hijacked all the time in Gotham." If Lily didn't already know that, she must not have been a Gotham local for long.

"Good point, but you're going to take a backpack full of cash on the subway?" Lily eyed the bag. "People get mugged for less. Do you want me to come with you?"

"Precisely why I'm taking my car. It wouldn't hurt if you tag along, though. I'd like the company. Traffic in this city is a nightmare."

Lily stood, taking a last sip of her coffee. "Let's go."

"Alright, see you, Rocky!"

Rochelle waved them off as she picked up their empty coffee cups. They walked onto the sidewalk. Dora was already beginning to dread the mid-afternoon traffic, but at least she had someone to talk to now. She looked up and down the street for her old black Impala.

"Where did you park?" Lily asked.

"I could have sworn it was right here, in front of the Alibi..." Dora said, looking around. She always parked it by the curb, on this or the opposite side of the street. There was always a spot available within view. "Maybe my mom took it?"

Their apartment was seven blocks away, and Anita usually walked. Maybe she was especially tired last night? But she knew Dora needed to go to the bank the next day, so why would she take the car?

Dora texted her and asked about it. The reply came back, "It was parked out front when I left last night."

Her mind whirled. Maybe Carla took it for a joyride. She used to do that all the time, until Dora and her mom started to keep a close eye on their keys and locked up the spares. She texted, "Does Carla have your key?"

Her mother replied no and asked if everything was okay.

A sick feeling boiled in Dora's chest, but she told her mother not to worry about it.

"Is everything okay?" Lily asked.

Dora ignored her and walked down the sidewalk, mumbling, "Shit, shit, shit," under her breath. She made a lap around the block and into the back alley to make sure she or her mother hadn't parked it around the corner and forgotten about it, but still couldn't find the car.

"Dora, did you lose your car?" Lily finally asked.

Dora liked Lily now, but that question nagged her for some reason. "I don't know, I need to make a call." On the way back the Alibi, Dora phoned the bank that had given her a loan against the car title, just to check if they repossessed it by mistake.

They hadn't.

Dora stomped back into the Alibi, taking deep breaths, trying not to panic.

Rochelle noticed immediately that Dora was upset. She set aside the keg she was tapping and went to her. "Dee, are you okay? Why are you back so soon?"

"Have you seen my car?"

"What? Isn't it outside?" Rochelle looked out the window.

"No, it's not!" Dora snapped, louder than she meant to. "Sorry..."

"Dora, talk to me," Lily said in an even voice. "What make and model is it?"

"It's a black '67 Chevy Impala." She looked at Lily desperately, hoping her question meant she had seen it.

Lily looked grim. "I saw it right outside when I went home last night. I remember because I checked my hair in the side mirror."

"So that means between closing last night and now, it disappeared?" Dora deduced, frantic.

"Sounds like it was stolen," Lily said.

Stolen. That was the word Dora was trying to avoid saying, to avoid thinking.

"Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!" She kicked over a stool and slammed her fist on the counter.

"Whoa," Rochelle said. She and Lily both stepped back.

"Hey, chill out, it's just a car," Lily said. "Your insurance might cover it."

"It's not just a car," Dora sobbed, but her eyes were dry. She was angry, not sad.

She didn't use the car often because in Gotham, walking, buses, and the subway were typically faster and easier. It did come in handy sometimes, like now when she needed to drive across town to deposit money in the bank. More importantly, the car had belonged to her father, and her grandfather before him. Although the car was 50 years old and barely ran, her father cherished it like a family heirloom. It was his main hobby and ongoing project. He had spent a great deal of his free time and money keeping it running, despite the persistent admonition from her mother. It was almost an extension of the Alibi to Dora and her dad.

What Dora learned from her father, and her mother never realized, was that despite how much money was spent constantly fixing the old Impala, in the end, it was still cheaper than paying off a newer car.

"Maybe you should call the police?" Rochelle offered.

Dora didn't even have to think about it. "No way, I don't want those detectives sniffing around here again. We got a good deal going with Ma, and I don't want to fuck it up." Bullock was annoying, and while Montoya might mean well, she was too judgmental.

"Well, if it was stolen," Rochelle said, "considering the type of people that have been coming to the bar lately, there's a good chance it's in a chop shop."

"Which means it's as good as gone," Dora groaned, pressing her forehead into the bar counter.

Lily held up a hand. "Wait. Not necessarily. A '67 Impala? A vintage car like that might actually be worth more whole than in parts. There might still be a chance you can get it back."

Dora perked up. "What, seriously? How?"

"Jessie and I are tight," Lily said. "She used to run with a gang of street racers and bikers, so she might know who took it."

That was enough to give Dora hope, but Rochelle didn't think so. "Dora, you're not seriously thinking about asking the person that stole your car to give it back? Even if you find them, even if your car is still in one piece, why would they do that?"

"I'll figure that out when I meet them," Dora said. "Maybe I can comp their drinks here?"

"Or you could tell them you're Red Hood's girl," Lily pitched. "That'd make them regret stealing your car."

Dora's look swiveled to Lily, astonished. "Wait, I'm not... how do you... who told you..." Then she rolled her eyes, realizing. "Holly."

Lily smiled in amusement, nodding her head. "Holly."

#

Against Rochelle's resistance, Dora left the cash deposit in her hands, and found herself at the Vermilion Hotel's lounge. It was apparently a slow evening. There were only a few patrons dispersed throughout the room, most in intimate pairs, engrossed by each other. Dora found Jessie reclined in a booth, reading a book and nursing a scotch. She recognized the bottle, a Glenkinchie, formerly belonging to the giant crate in her cellar. As Dora approached, Jessie sat up and took off her glasses. "Oh hey, what's up? Can I get you something?"

Dora slid into the booth, poured herself a cup of whiskey, and explained the whole situation to Jessie. Jessie listened attentively without interrupting. Dora finished with, "Do you know who might've taken it?"

Jessie fidgeted with the end of her braid, looking at Dora gravely. "You might not be dealing with just a group of car thieves. It could be a whole legit gang."

"Oh." That made Dora pause. In the past it would have made her reconsider everything. But not today. She pressed on. "Do you know which?"

Jessie looked quite impressed that Dora was unfazed. "Yeah, actually. The only gang I know with a chop shop around here is the Street Demonz. They pushed the LoBoys out of Park Row when Red Hood took over. He helped them reclaim their territory."

Dora knew about the Street Demonz. They were an outlaw motorcycle club that specialized in smuggling, trafficking, and distribution of everything illicit in Gotham, be it stolen goods, drugs, dirty cash, chopped auto parts. They had competition other than the LoBoys, but not much. She knew that because they used to come around the Alibi before Black Mask took over. Her dad had hung out with them occasionally, even used them to get parts for the Impala. A lot of the members were Marine veterans like him.

"Is their clubhouse still that warehouse by the docks?" Dora asked.

Jessie seemed surprised that Dora knew that—and concerned too. "Wait, you're not actually thinking of going there?"

"Jess, you really don't understand. It was my dad's car. I at least have to try."

Jessie conceded with an exasperated breath. "Well, you'll need someone to vouch for you if you want to get anywhere near the clubhouse."

"Do you know anyone?" Dora perked up.

"I do actually," Jessie said, smirking.

She placed her left hand on the table in front of Dora. Her ring finger had a tattoo of a black box on it, obviously covering up a tattooed wedding band. But that wasn't all. The whole back of her hand displayed a larger tattoo, one of an angry red skull with horns shaped like exhaust pipes. Dora recognized it. It was the emblem of the Street Demonz.

She blinked. "You?" When she first met Jessie, Dora didn't immediately want to label her a biker groupie just because she had a lot of tattoos, wore black clothes and leather boots, liked whiskey, and worked for a crime boss. She never noticed the tattoo simply because Jessie had too many for one to stand out. But if the shoe fits.

"Yeah, me. I was an honorary member of the Street Demonz."

"What do you mean by 'honorary?'"

"They're a bit—" Jessie paused, scoffing. "—actually very sexist. A woman can't be a fully-patched member, but I used to be married to a high-ranking one. Hence, 'honorary.'"

Notes

Oh man, I'm so excited! This chapter is the start of a hefty plot sequence that will really shift the story into overdrive. This is my attempt at making Dora a more proactive character rather than reactive. You know. Dora does stuff, instead of stuff happening to her.

Lily and Jessie make more appearances in this chapter, played/inspired by my dear friend Lily-Lucid and Akrasiel. I didn't know when I created Jessie that I would be utilizing her so much and exploring this side of her backstory, but I'm really glad I did.

Some FYIs. The chapter title references the song "Heavy Lies the Ground" by After the Burial, a pun on the phrase "heavy lies the crown." It basically means that Dora refuses to move on from her past, so responsibilities inherited from said past threaten to bury her. She's digging her own grave instead of climbing out of it. Needless to say, it's a complicated song.

The Street Demonz are property of DC, not mine. Their conflict with the LoBoys is a reference to No Man's Land and War Games. The 1967 Chevy Impala is a reference to Sam and Dean's car from Supernatural, if you haven't noticed. Cuz in my head, Red Hood/Jason Todd is sometimes played by Jensen Ackles. Also, Dora's father Philip Montgomery is fancasted as Jeffery Dean Morgan in my head, a.k.a. John Winchester from Supernatural and Negan from The Walking Dead. Just thought you should know.

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