Gotham's Discontent
Chapter Twenty-Five: What's in the Box?
When morning came, Deedee turned on her side, and her outstretched hand fell softly onto his empty side of the bed. She sat up, deterred and mildly alarmed; low-key trembling at the idea of Galavan stealing away her brother in the middle of the night to send him elsewhere, Deedee hastily threw on her short, red shorts and tank top and bounded out of her bedroom—she slid on the spiral staircase, ended up in the kitchen—
"Take it easy, pigeon!" Tabitha grunted as Deedee rounded the corner, running straight into her. Deedee stepped away, flummoxed, and glanced around the kitchen, headed into the living room. Then a breath of relief.
Jerome, Greenwood, Aaron, Dobbs—They were wearing their Arkham inmate uniforms (though, it seemed that Galavan had taken the niceties of washing them) as Jerome turned, buttoning up his long-sleeve, wearing a very delighted grin. Deedee noticed that Tabitha, normally dressed in something spectacularly buxom and shiny, wore the familiar leather-clad get-up, black high heels; her long corded whip clung to her tight hip, swaying accordingly.
"Give her some slack, Tabby," said Jerome good-humoredly, fixing his collar as if he were headed for the prom. He glanced at Deedee and pointed to the ceiling, "You need to improve your stealth work. I heard your footsteps from down here."
"I didn't hear anything," grumbled Greenwood, chomping on a piece of raw apple.
"Shocking," Jerome sniped.
Aaron stepped forward, wearing a small smile, and he quietly held out a piece of paper. Deedee already knew what it was, and she took it politely from Aaron, glanced at the childish drawing of a redhead with wild hair and bare feet on a rooftop—She folded it and placed it in her tank top. Aaron gave her a furtive look, as if he were wordlessly apologetic; and Deedee assumed that this morning was the day that Galavan would release the inmates on Gotham, part of his scheme. It would explain why Jerome looked particularly joyful.
Aaron slowly turned to Tabitha; and although he towered over her by a foot, he palmed one hand in the other, avoiding Deedee's prodding gaze, and asked, "Why can't she come with us?"
"Theo has made it clear that he does not want both Jerome and Deedee out in Gotham simultaneously," said Tabitha sternly. "Someone from the GCPD might realize, too soon, that it was Theo who organized the break-out and Deedee's release. We're setting the scene, as it were. Things like this take some time," Tabitha explained sternly. Her tone indicated that Aaron might have asked the same question beforehand. With that settled, Tabitha turned to Deedee and patted her on the shoulder, "Speaking of which, you know to stay inside the house, right?"
"Yes…" Deedee muttered.
"No sneaking out," said Tabitha, holding up a finger.
"You made yourself crystal clear the other day," said Deedee, cockily miming a rope wrapping around her neck. "So you just want me to hang around the house until they"—she jut her chin to the men readying themselves for the big day—"get back from their crime spree. When do I resume mine?"
"She's an outside cat," said Jerome on the sidelines, drawing in the looks from both Tabitha and his sister. He leaned his back against the table behind him, folding his arms across his chest. "Arkham's taught Deedee to hate the inside of a room after being in one for too long."
Tabitha regarded Jerome with a side-glance and patiently turned to Deedee once more. "I appreciate your blood lust, pigeon, perhaps more than most people do. We call that 'passion'. But this is how Theo wants to proceed. I'm his enforcer," she added when Deedee frowned. "They're going to make headlines."
"I made headlines on my own," said Deedee, hand on her chest pointedly. "If it's a crime spree on page one that Galavan wants, then let me do whatever they're going to do, how hard can it be—?"
"It's more than a one-person job."
"But—" Deedee began, but Tabitha's expression hardened—a look that she had never seen before—and Deedee dropped it. Had she been commanded by Lila Valeska, Deedee would have pacified her with a promise not to break the rules and then do so behind her back; but Tabitha's obsidian gaze, suddenly intense and stern, made Deedee reconsider it. "Fine…" Deedee muttered.
As it was the end of the debate, Tabitha strode out of the living room toward the elevator with a silent gesture for the others to follow; Greenwood, Dobbs, and Aaron did so, with Greenwood smirking at Deedee vindictively as if he had somehow gotten his way. Jerome stepped toward Deedee, whose frown didn't change even when he planted a sweet kiss on the pink of her cheek, knowing it would do nothing to try to whisper something consoling.
He knew that when she was fuming, she'd hear nothing comforting.
In her boredom, Deedee turned to the one person for amusement. Not Barbara Kean. She was awfully friendly, but she slept through most of the day. That girl was a whole new level of tired, Deedee thought as she walked into the dining room. She approached the Mayor in a Box stealthily, whom had been seated in the kitchen.
Deedee came from behind Mayor James and tapped him daintily on the shoulder; he startled.
"Hiya, Mayor," greeted Deedee cheerfully.
"Oh…Oh, no." Mayor James said quickly. "Oh, don't hurt me, please?"
"I'm bored," said Deedee. "My brother's off to the races with his friends. I'm here in the house by myself. I'd like you to amuse me."
Mayor James in a Box turned his square head to the source of her voice. She plopped down in the seat beside him, propping her chin in a resting arm on the table. He didn't seem so fun. Actually, he had seemed quite dull since he appeared in the Galavan Mansion. All he ever did was mope and moan, beseech some goodness from his surrounding captors. Deedee wondered when Galavan was going to set him free. Not anytime soon, it seemed; for his wrists were bound to the arms of the chair, and his ankles were tightly secured against the legs.
It must have been uncomfortable, wearing a suit and tie.
"So, whatcha' in for?" Deedee teased.
"I…I don't wanna talk."
"You definitely got yourself into some trouble, haven't you?" said Deedee without hearing him. "I bet you might have some issues with tight spaces after this. I ain't gonna lie, Mayor. You've got some major cajones hanging in this long. Me? I'd have lost my shit a long time ago. What, with one bad day and all…" She sighed. "Claustrophobic, apparently. What are the odds, hey?"
"It is quite dark," he lamented.
"Oh," Deedee said, realizing. "Lemme help you."
She unlatched the front of the steel box, opening the safe's door to reveal a very frightened mayor's chubby face, glistening with sweat and silent tears, staring at her with wide eyes and a hard frown. He took several deep breaths. Deedee smiled at him politely, but only just. He was the most politic of politicians after all.
Though perhaps less cutthroat than Galavan, though, Deedee pondered, her eyes staring heavily at Mayor James. Just a harmless thing, this man. She wondered what things he might have done while in his position as the Mayor of Gotham. One had to be extremely ignorant to be oblivious to the blatant law-breaking that happened in the city.
Deedee surprised him once more as she slowly leaned forward, wincing slightly when her fingernails scratched his hand as she unstrapped one of his hands from the chair, setting it free. He remained quietly stunned as she slid a full glass of water across the table in front of him. He gave the glass of water a suspicious glance, uncertain of the motives behind the eldest Valeska's kindness.
"I ain't gonna poison you, buddy," said Deedee. "What do I get if I kill you? I mean, honestly. I'm not an idiot. You must be thirsty. Please…" she added when he continued to stare uneasily at the glass of water.
Mayor James slowly reached out his hand. Deedee lunged at him and he whimpered, pulling his hand away. Deedee chuckled.
"I'm sorry," she laughed good-heartedly and she jostled him hard with a fist into his stiff shoulder, "Relax. I'm just messing with you. I couldn't resist. Seriously, though. Drink up. Want me to spike that with some booze? Might make your stay here a little more bearable. I know that it helps me."
She didn't wait for him to answer her as she reached over the table, found a bottle of brandy, and poured the mayor a separate glass. She opted for the bottle, taking a long drink from it to quench a thirst. Mayor James cleared his throat and took the glass of water in a sweaty palm, took a drink. Deedee gave him an approving smile, one that seemed genuine.
"There's a good lad," Deedee said lightly. She popped up from her chair and sat on the edge of the dining room table, swinging her legs amicably. "See? I can be nice."
"I've heard what you've done in Gotham." Mayor James said quietly. "The Circus and Arkham. If you're such a nice person, why not set me free?"
"I ain't that nice." Deedee said, palming the bottle of brandy.
"But you're still young—"
"Don't look for any redeeming qualities. I don't have any." Deedee said, nipping that in the butt. "You're gonna try to appeal to my humanity, but honestly, what has that done for anyone in Gotham? You probably tried to do that with Galavan, huh? Look where that got you. City's got more rats and fleas than any place I've ever been to, Mayor. It's…a bit of a paradise."
"But if you set me free—" Mayor James tried again.
"I ain't setting your ass free so I can get mine beat." Deedee said, holding the bottle in his face warningly. "So you can drop that, before I get mad and you can forget my kindness. How about you just be happy that I don't wanna kill you?"
"Isn't that what your master's endgame is…?" Mayor James said with a shakenly calm voice.
"Galavan isn't my 'master'," Deedee said. "I don't know what he's planning, but I know what he doesn't want. And, for now, that's your head on a spike." She annunciated the last word on her breath with a cold smile.
"But you follow his orders, don't you?" said Mayor James, a little more boldly.
"Yeah? And whose orders do you follow, Mayor?" asked Deedee. "You're a crooked son of a bitch, I hear."
"Everyone's got skeletons. Everyone. And everyone's gotta do what they gotta do, this is Gotham after all."
"Spoken like a politician," said Deedee with a tired eye roll.
"Why aren't you out there with the rest of them?"
"You know what? You're kind of funny." Deedee said. "I like how you completely deflected my question. You've been interrogated before, haven't you? Oh, have you seen the good cop—bad cop routine before? I bet you have. Bet that Detective Harvey Bullock's been in your office a few times? Oh, no, wait. I got the gist that he's one of those that fall in line. Crooked cops," Deedee whispered with a smirk as Mayor James stared at her. "No, you probably have a lot more trouble from Detective Broody. That Jim Gordon, huh? He's probably a real pain in your—"
"Business is rough," said Mayor James.
"Sitting in an office all day, probably," said Deedee casually, circling the bottle of brandy in her hand thoughtfully. "I bet it's rough on the back posture. I don't pin you as someone who takes that much of an active role with law enforcement. Bet you only come running when one of your pigs put one toe out of line, the one where you have to follow the mob. You don't seem like a straight arrow to me at all, Mayor James." She scoffed at him. "No. You strike me as somebody who goes after straight arrows like Gordon."
"Got a problem with Gordon?" asked Mayor James.
"I know you're trying to keep me talking, buddy," said Deedee, "just out of the hope that we'll have this little bond between us. But I'm actually quite bored. Have another drink. You're funny, but you're not that fun."
Mayor James finished his glass. She poured him another. Deedee watched as he sipped from his second glass. She sighed.
"I don't really have a problem with Gordon, to be honest. But he was the one my daddy slipped a piece evidence to in order to throw me under the bus; and Gordon was just doing his job, you know. Following the evidence. But you know what irks me about that guy?" Deedee pressed on without hearing an answer. "It's the whole goody goody thing about him. Like I know the man's got a good head on his shoulders, but this is Gotham, Mayor James. Full of both lawful crooks—that's you, by the way—and then there's me, the obvious bad guy. And he thinks there's a line. You got the banks who reject people for a loan that could save the house, the insurance companies who deem that a transplant isn't payable; and you're telling me that a person who sees another suffering and doesn't do anything isn't guilty?"
Mayor James cleared his throat. A chance at empathy: "Did something happen to you that nothing was done about?"
"Oooh!" Deedee chuckled, shoving Mayor James in the shoulder playfully, "You almost got me there! You should have been a therapist, buddy."
Mayor James made a weak, unconvincing laugh, playing along. He took a longer drink from his glass of brandy.
"Nah, I don't have a real problem with your cops, Mayor," said Deedee. "If anything, I just want to have a little fun with Bullock."
"Why Bullock?" asked Mayor James curiously.
"Eh, he's the one who interrogated me about Mom's murder." Deedee said. "We had this funny back-and-forth banter thing going on in the holding cell. He's kind of funny. Nothing weird, though, thank God. Don't know if you know or not, but I don't like being in the room alone with older men."
Mayor James stared at her.
"Oh, it's different now," said Deedee, seeing him pale in the face. "You can't do shit to me. I mean, look at you. But the last time a man tried to step to me, know what I did?"
"That officer who ate the baton—"
"Exactly!" Deedee said in a delighted, shrill voice, spooking Mayor James and making him jump. "Look at you, funny and smart. Not good-lookin', though. Too many doughnuts, huh?"
Mayor James frowned. It was apparent that her company was no less comforting than the solitude of the black, steel box; perhaps he had wished the door would close so he could be left alone. Deedee took a drink from the bottle of brandy and gave a great sigh, as if the two of them had drifted off to memory lane of the good old times. Mayor James didn't share the same sentiment.
A moment of silence passed between them where they shared in the liquor.
"Are you afraid to die, Mayor?" asked Deedee curiously, crossing a leg over the other.
"Everyone is afraid of death," said Mayor James.
"Well, I don't care about anyone else," quipped Deedee with a note of irritation in her voice. "I asked you the question, Mr. Deflection. Are you or are you not afraid of dying?"
He feared to answer, in the likely event that his answer would result in whatever Deedee's next move was going to be. He hesitated.
"I already said I wasn't gonna kill you," said Deedee.
"But you could hurt me."
Deedee gave a harsh sigh of annoyance, and then placed her whole hand on her chest, "I promise, I won't hurt you. For god's sakes, just answer the fucking question. You afraid of getting whacked or what?"
"Of course," said Mayor James calmly. "Of course, I am afraid."
"Well, I'm not surprised." Deedee answered, as if his response had been anti-climactic. Then bitterly, "People who are afraid to die are the ones who know that they can't take their shit with them when they do: all that money and power they've used to bring down their fellow man."
Mayor James furrowed his brow, to which she whispered, "Eat the rich."
Deedee chuckled, "My friend, Greenwood, would take that literally, you know. Man's got an unhealthy diet. It's, uh…disgusting."
Mayor James felt his mouth go dry, realizing that one of the other criminals that Galavan was playing host to was a cannibal—he raised his glass to his lips and took a long drink, to which Deedee's face broke into an amusing grin.
"Ooh, look at you, James," Deedee cooed cheerfully, "You a party animal or what? Here you go, my old drinking buddy, have another refill. You earned that one."
She filled up his glass again. She gave him a moment to really feel the buzz. He was a lot more interesting to talk to once he had a few in his bloodstream; though she chalked it up to the possibility that perhaps that she was familiar with speaking to old geezers whom had had their bellies full of booze. It was usually the only men that she had seen leaving her mother's room. Aside from Alphonse Grayson, perhaps, who might have been the best gentlemen of them.
"Aren't you afraid to die?" asked Mayor James, and the punch of his words slurred slightly. "What about you?"
"Death," said Deedee calmly, "would be an awfully big adventure…" She grinned, "Peter Pan, great movie. You seen that?"
Mayor James frowned slightly. "Now who's deflecting?"
"All right, you got me," said Deedee with a smile, popping her finger on the tip of his nose. "No, I'm not afraid to die."
"What are you afraid of?"
"A cage," answered Deedee honestly.
"And what of your brother?" asked Mayor James.
Deedee gave that innocent question some thought, and came up empty. "Guess he ain't afraid of anything, really. But if he was, why would I tell you?" she snorted. "So you could whisper something into a person's ear after you somehow manage to escape your little black box? Use it against him?"
"You told me your fear," said Mayor James.
"It ain't no secret," said Deedee logically.
"Would he be afraid of losing you?" asked Mayor James.
Deedee smile flickered with a frown. She placed her bottle of booze onto the table with a light tap from the glass onto the wood, yet Mayor James recoiled at the calm way that she had set it down. Perhaps he had pushed too far, and Deedee agreed to that because she slid off the table and strapped his free hand back onto the arm of chair—she pulled tightly. Mayor James winced.
"Jerome's a survivor, Aubrey," said Deedee. "We've survived a lot. If he lost me, he'd mourn me, and then I'd hope he'd move on."
Deedee began to walk away, but Mayor James called after her—
"And what if something happened to him? How would you react? Would you move on?"
Deedee turned on her heel. She considered his questions pensively, but she didn't really have to think that hard about it. Deedee stepped up to his chair and placed her head level with his, wearing an expression that Mayor James couldn't mistake for anything else except for anger.
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," Deedee breathed. And with that, she took the door of his lockbox and slammed it shut, latching it, and walked out of the kitchen.