Gotham's Discontent

Chapter Seventeen: Every Dog Has its Day

"What did I say about visiting your father…" Galavan sighed.

"You said not to harm him, I didn't," said Deedee, as she flopped heavily into the comfortable couch that just the other night, she had shared a drink with Tabitha. The night sky twinkled with starlight, becoming hidden by overcast. Deedee frowned at Galavan, who lowered his head with disappointment. "Theo, I did as you said—He remains unharmed." She mimicked his cold and collected voice, asserting a hand in the air with frivolity.

"I hoped that you would avoid his apartment altogether," said Galavan, shaking his head.

"I thought those were pleasant guidelines, my mistake," remarked Deedee.

Galavan took a seat beside her. Deedee side-glanced him suspiciously. He wore a heavy grimace on his face, and he folded his arms together on top of his bent knees, as if he were going to give her a long lecture about following the rules…or perhaps also put her in a lock box like Mayor James. Perhaps one mistaken loop hole had cost her freedom. Galavan looked as if he were considering that very thought, but he made a silent resolve—Deedee only stared at him, biding time.

Galavan raised a hand; Deedee made to move away quickly, however, she was surprised to feel his hand pat her shoulder as if in a consoling manner, perhaps? Or…or approving? Okay, but what does he want? Deedee's brow furrowed, looking at his affectionate paw, confused.

"I'm actually proud of you, Deedee."

"What?" she sputtered.

Galavan smiled. Okay, he's happy now?

"Well, you showed admirable restraint." Galavan said, "Granted, I didn't really want you to call on Mr. Cicero at all, but you confronted him and he's still breathing. I think that's interesting."

"Pride is a bit of stretch, isn't it?" asked Deedee cynically.

"Well, this changes things."

"It does?" Still not understanding where he's going with this, honestly, thought Deedee, stunned.

"Well, yes." Galavan continued. "See, I was under the impression that you were just a bloodthirsty animal set on a rampage. No, this is something else. You are bloodthirsty," he admitted, "but you're not an animal."

"Well-spotted," said Deedee sarcastically. "And you're proud because…?"

"I'm assuming that the reason why you didn't kill him is because it would not have made sense to do so."

Deedee's expression died, "Not exactly a bragging right, killing a blind man. I wanted to kill him, and I came close at least three times. But it's not exactly like he could see it coming. Well, that," she shrugged, "and he isn't as afraid of me as Jerome. Killing him would have probably felt like small change."

She paused. "Does that make sense to you?"

"It wouldn't feel good," said Galavan. He put it simply, and Deedee felt seen. "You're a passionate killer. It felt good killing that officer at Arkham; and it felt good killing Laura. This is easily understandable. Out of curiosity," he continued as he reached in front of him to gather the opened bottle of wine on the table, pouring himself a glass, "did Jerome cross your mind while you were there?"

"The whole time," answered Deedee. "Partly the reason why I left."

Her face fell. It had never really occurred to her just how much Jerome crossed her mind until she hadn't had him in her presence. Aside from the lonely nights in Arkham, it had been the longest since they had been separated from each other without knowing exactly when she'd see him again. For certain, if Jerome had been there and had validated the fact that it would have felt good to kill their father on the spot, she would have. Not an animal on the rampage, but a fiercely loyal one. She missed him.

"When do I get to see him again?" she asked softly, watching Galavan carefully as he sipped his glass and sat back in the couch.

He looked at her, for he seemed to have heard the sadness as well as have seen it written on her face. Deedee identified that expression on his face as a note of surprise. Some vulnerability, and perhaps that's what he had wanted to see when he had asked her about Jerome. A familial affection, affected by separation, still a dependence on his presence. He'd have wanted to see how she acted without him; and perhaps, that what he also wanted to see. How well would I obey his orders if Jerome wasn't around…?

Deedee shrugged off the assumptions with a slight laugh, "I miss him, obviously. He's all I've ever known."

"The heart wants what the heart wants," said Galavan. "Every dog has its day, and they always miss their master."

Wow, he's a hard man to read. She nodded, unsure of what to say to that. Obviously, I want him, he's my brother, and much more than that.

"You'll see him soon, my dear, but I'd like you stay focused." Galavan said. "Gotham is on the alert; and I can't bring your family here until I know for sure that they're on their toes about what could possibly be worse. It's actually a humorous adage: 'What could possibly be worse?' Don't you think that it's funny—?"

"When?" Deedee asked, but her voice hardened.

Galavan gave her a stern look. He continued as if she hadn't interrupted, "Don't you think that it's funny when people in a foul predicament say something like that? As if tempting the universe to respond in kind?"

Deedee frowned. "Yes. It's funny."

Galavan suddenly snapped his fingers twice in her face, "Deedee, focus. You're still thinking about Jerome; I need you to focus."

Deedee's upper lip quivered, not in fear, but like a feral cat whose muzzle started to twitch. Vexed.

She raised a hand slowly, lowering his fingers from her face. "Theo, I respect your authority to a certain extent, considering that you've given me lenient freedom both outside of Arkham and your home, however…" Her frown deepened. "With all due respect, please…" Still struggling to finish the sentence without images of ripping them off, "Don't snap your fingers at me like I'm your pet. I'm not yours."

"There you are," said Galavan, his face breaking into a wide grin. "That's what I wanted to see—that sadistic streak." He sipped his wine. "You were thinking about hurting me, weren't you?"

"You're glad." Deedee replied, though still irked.

"I am. Because you're focused. Now," he rose to his feet, "I'd like you to try again. Not visiting your father, and I don't have to tell you to stop trying to find loopholes within the guidelines about both he and Detective Gordon—"

"I told you that I won't be trying to kill a cop, Theo—"

"Interrupt me again," Galavan held up a finger, "and I will cut out your tongue."

Deedee's eyes widened.

"So impolite to interrupt," said Galavan, clicking his tongue impatiently. "I've been very kind to you, but I would like to get through what I want to say and then when I am finished, it'll be your turn. But believe me, Deedee, you will like what I have to say next. Okay?"

Deedee nodded.

Galavan handed his glass to her wordlessly, for her to have. Deedee took it. "Drink on that. Relax."

Deedee took a polite sip and set it on the coffee table.

"To reiterate, do not call on your father again; do not seek out nor confront Detective Gordon. Do not step foot in Arkham to visit your brother. I believe that more than covers any loopholes you could find in order to sate your personal agenda. As far as the rage that is no doubt curdling your blood as I speak, for I know that I've upset you due to my rudeness—which I didn't have to sink that low in manners, but it's the only way to curb your tongue," he noted in his own strange, apologetic way. "There's a Circus in town. Not Haley's Circus—though, had they not disbanded, of course, I'd let you sink your teeth into them…"

Let me…? Deedee thought furiously. Let me?

"The Boardwalk Circus," he said, either not noticing or not caring that Deedee's fists had started to clench. "Now I know that's what the location is called, but I do not know the name of the current riff-raff hanging about there. Would you like to know how I believe you should make your next move, or would you like to figure that on your own?"

Deedee stared at him.

"You," she said, "want me to burn it the ground, don't you?"

"No, Deedee," said Galavan, sitting back down. "I know that you would like to burn it to the ground. Because it would be a beautiful spectacle, accomplished by the former circus performer and serial-killer-in-progress. Of course, it won't be as personal as your last two kills; but it definitely would be beautiful, wouldn't it?"

Deedee admitted a nod, taking the wine glass and drinking from it.

"Better than taking the life of a blind fortune teller," she confessed.

Galavan grinned. "This, you can either do under the cover of nightfall, where the flames will roar brighter than any star," he said, "Or, you can take Tabby in the daytime where the public can see you and then she can help you escape. I don't want you caught, Deedee. So, it's either solo at night—or a partner in crime in daylight. The choice is yours. Option A or Option B."

Deedee finagled the idea in her head.

When a delighted smile broke through her deep frown at the image in her head, Galavan patted her on the shoulder, handing her the entire bottle of wine for their mutual understanding.

"Thatta girl," he commended. "I'm retiring for the night. I suppose I will see which one you picked in the morning in the paper or on TV, won't I? Good night, Deedee."