Chapter 24 - "The Assassin"
Four GCPD officers struggled to drag the unconscious Bat from the Langdons' hotel, but they removed it nevertheless, tossing it into the back of a paddy wagon. As one cop shoved its feet inside before slamming the door closed, another removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Do you think those doors will hold it?"
"I dunno," another remarked. "I'm just glad I won't be riding behind it."
Inside, Commissioner Gordon was stroking his chin as Albert recollected what had happened—powers and all. Lucius Fox already knew and Emily's powers had already been revealed, so there wasn't any point in keeping it a secret.
Once Albert finished, Gordon nodded. "I'm just glad you all were safe. If only we had been able to catch it earlier—"
"Relax, Commissioner. You did your best, and that's all that anyone can ask," Albert put in. "No one got hurt." He let out a sarcastic chuckle as he glanced down the hallway. "Well, nothing animate, I guess."
Gordon grinned. "Don't worry. We'll keep the Bat in lockdown until we find out what exactly to do with it." He exhaled sharply. "I just have no clue what this thing can be—I would've never guessed we had a giant bat roaming the streets of Gotham. All of this has turned me on my head, quite frankly."
Albert and Grace nodded understandingly. "If you need any help with the Bat, don't be afraid to call," Albert said.
Gordon nodded once more. "Will do." He extended his hand. "Thanks again, Mr. Langdon."
Albert grinned as he took the commissioner's hand. "Anytime, Commissioner."
Gordon turned and strode towards the door, giving a farewell wave to Emily, Grace, and Jill. He exited, flanked by another police officer. The door shut behind them, leaving the group in silence for a brief moment.
"Well," Grace said, "do you think any of our customers heard all this racket?"
"If not," Albert began, "they need to get their ears checked. I'll do a quick run through the rooms and let them know what it was."
"And just what are you going to tell them?" Grace asked, a grin appearing on her face. Albert froze in thought, then he placed a hand on his chin.
"I'll just tell them a robber broke in and we fought him off until the police could arrive." He grinned to his wife as he turned and took off up the stairs.
Grace chuckled. "What a wonderful plan."
Annalise was still on her bike when John finally pulled in beside her. "Took you long enough," she said, a smirk on her lips. "Kid."
John sighed as he gave her a playfully stern look. "You know, I'm already getting tired of that."
Annalise slipped off her bike, adding, "I guess you'd better get used to it." John grinned, shaking his head as he followed suit.
The two moved towards the front doors of Leo's. The club was very large—larger than John could've anticipated. He pictured some dingy, smoky bar or something—this looked almost like a convention hall based on size alone. Inside it probably looked like a mansion.
"So you've never been here before?" Annalise asked.
John shook his head. "Nope. Never. I'm . . . uh . . . I'm not one for getting out much, if you get my drift."
Annalise grinned. "Don't sweat it. Trust me: by the time this job is done, you'll have gotten out a lot." She and John moved closer to the door as Clyde jogged up the walkway towards the club.
"I thought I'd miss you two," he said, chuckling. "Y'all moved pretty fast."
"No, we didn't. You just moved pretty slow," Annalise quipped as she slunk past John, moving towards the entrance. John gestured to Clyde to enter before him, but Clyde reversed the gesture onto him—albeit with more vainglory. Southern gentleman, right.
John's expectation of the club being a mansion inside was a vast understatement. It looked like three mansions all meshed into one massive building. People were everywhere, dressed in all sorts of clothing—some were in fancy dresswear, others in worse outfits than he was wearing.
He just hoped no one would pick up the foul sewer stench off of his clothes.
Annalise chatted briefly with a man wearing a pristine tux, who directed them to a secluded booth pressed snugly against the wall. The seat was a rounded U, with leathery cushions acting as the seats themselves. John extended a hand towards the booth, and Annalise took advantage of the gesture, sliding in. Clyde moved onto the other side of the seat, and by the time John had sat down, both men were bookending Annalise into the center of the booth.
"Well, this is nice and cozy, isn't it?" Clyde remarked.
"Speak for yourself," John said. "I'm more comfortable on my lumpy couch than in this seat."
He turned his head slightly to see the guy in the tux beside him. Oops. He didn't realize that the man had actually followed them over to the booth. He let out a nervous laugh as the guy stared at him sternly.
Breaking the tension, Annalise said, "Bring us a bottle of champagne, and three glasses. We'll split it."
The man nodded, cast one last suspicious glance at John, then turned and walked away, carrying out her demands. John turned to Annalise and whispered, "Thanks." He could only imagine how red his face was.
"Don't mention it," Annalise said with a grin.
Clyde surveyed the area of the club before turning back to the others. "So . . . what are your first impressions on this little vigilante group we've got?"
Annalise snapped back to him, and she steepled her fingers together. "Well, I think it's got promise. Everyone seems to be getting along well, and we all seem to have our unique talents and abilities. All in all, I think things will work out nicely. Once this bat thing is out of the way, we can focus on eliminating Falcone and his troops—and find out what this whole riddle thing is."
"You were the first on the scene, weren't you?" John asked.
"Not technically first," Annalise answered. "Dante and I stumbled across the city hall and went in while Gordon and the DA were there. We looked around and investigated everything and found the riddle."
"We haven't gotten much of a chance to talk about the riddle and everything, given the whole bat incident and the kidnapping. Did you guys find any leads concerning the riddle?"
Annalise shook her head. "Nothing definite. Everyone has their own ideas, but nothing concrete. Not yet, anyways."
The man in the tux came back, popping out the cork of the bottle as he sat it on the table with three glasses, filled with ice. Annalise and John both gave him nods of thanks, and the man turned to leave when Clyde caught the arm of his jacket. "Hey, partner," he said, and the man shot him a look as if he had thrown slop on his sleeve. "No ice in mine, please."
The tuxedoed employee drilled daggers into him before he picked up the glass and strode off. A moment later, he returned with an empty glass. Clyde nodded and whispered a "thanks," but the man didn't seem to reciprocate.
Clyde turned back, a grin on his face. "What warm service they have here."
Ignoring the whole exchange, Annalise turned her attention to John. "What about you, John? What do you think of the Titan Movement?"
He shrugged. "Like you said, it has promise. I just think we all need to get to know one another better, learn each other's strengths and weaknesses, and then we can work well together." He nodded to Clyde. "What about you, Cly?" He figured he knew the answer.
"I think it's got promise, yeah. But . . . I dunno. I'm still not sold on everything."
"Not sold? What do you mean?" Annalise asked. You do not want to go there, John thought, but he said nothing.
Clyde snorted. "I mean—it's all these powers and everything, y'know? It all feels weird, like it's outta some comic book or movie or something."
Annalise's voice dropped in tone. The sweetness was gone. "What do you mean?" she asked. John shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"It's just that . . . working with all these freaks has got me feeling a little uncomfortable. You get the same feeling?"
"'With all these fr—'" Annalise started before John cleared his throat.
"Um, Annalise—where's the bathroom?" he asked hurriedly.
Annalise, her voice changed, spat, "Down there!" and pointed a finger. She turned back to Clyde and John laid a hand on her arm.
"Can you show me? I'm not good at following directions." He shot her a look that said, "Not right now."
Annalise inhaled sharply before she let it out. "Yeah. I'll show you." She gave Clyde a fake smile. "Excuse us for a moment, Cly."
He seemed oblivious at her fuming anger. "Sure thing."
John and Annalise got up from the booth and they weaved through the crowd until they ducked into a shrouded alcove. "What is it?" Annalise said grumpily.
"You're letting him get to you," John replied. "You know Clyde is difficult—that much is obvious from the times we've gotten to be with him. He's a pretty vain guy, if you haven't noticed."
"Vain? He's an egotistical, bigoted—"
"He's misguided," John cut in. "Clyde's older—well, humanly speaking—than the others, and he's more grounded in what he's believed his whole life. He's likely never had any run-ins with the supernatural, and he's gotten rather set in his ways. It's pretty common with older people—they get stubborn and refuse to bow down." He gave her an amused smile. "Or am I telling you something you already know . . . old-timer?"
Annalise was huffing, but she slowly began to stop. An amused grin came to her face. "Ha-ha. You got me."
"No, really, I'm being serious. You and I—and probably everyone else in this group who's had some exposure to the supernatural—has become used to these things. People like Clyde aren't. We can't just lash out. We have to learn and understand where they're coming from and try to get them to understand."
"He couldn't understand pain if a train ran into him."
"Maybe not. Some people are like that." He paused, then bit his lip. He glanced up and looked into her eyes. "I'm not trying to get too personal or anything but think in your brother's case. Wouldn't you do anything to try and get Hendrick grounded on your side? Out of . . . wherever it is he has gone?"
Annalise felt a rush of emotion within her at the mention of Hendrick's name. Even though she had felt his presence earlier, it still felt unreal that he was actually free again. John's reminder had brought those feelings to resurface. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would."
"Then we have to try and do the same with Clyde. It may be difficult—as I said, he is vain and set in his ways. But there's one thing I know, and it's that people can change, if they have people who show them they care and want to help them."
Annalise sighed. "I know. It's just that . . . I don't know, I feel kind of protective of everyone here. Being five hundred, you get to feel experienced. It sounds weird, but I feel almost like I'm the matriarch of this little group."
"That isn't weird," John said. "It's to be expected."
Annalise grinned. "Thanks, John. I'll try to understand him. Emphasis on the try."
John shrugged. "That's all anyone can ask."
The assassin breathed in silence. He made no noise, as he was trained to do. Only when necessary. "Eyes on the target, boss."
"Good," a voice buzzed through the earpiece he wore. "When the time is right, kill him."
"With pleasure," the assassin's rough voice replied. The earpiece fizzled into silence as the assassin adjusted his sniper rifle's scope. He had it trained on the window of Councilman Peter Patrick, waiting for the tall, slender man's form to reappear. He had walked past the window multiple times, but the time wasn't right.
Now, it was.
The assassin kept his weapon trained, peering through the scope. The window's shade was raised, allowing him to get a good view of the room. No one else was there; the councilman's wife and young child were downstairs. No unneeded casualties were acceptable.
The man walked past again, and the assassin's finger feathered the trigger. The bullet whizzed past, escaping through the silencer at the barrel of the rifle. Just as soon as it escaped the barrel, it seemed as if the round punctured the man's skull. Before he could even make a noise, the man's figure collapsed out of sight.
"Job done," the assassin spoke again.
"Excellent. Report back to base."
"On it."
The assassin got up, slinging the rifle over his back. He turned and made for the roof's exit.
He never heard the widow's screams when she found her dead husband.
Jim Gordon sighed as he entered his small home in Gotham. It was a modest house; nothing grand, but it was still comfortable. He slung his jacket onto the hook by the door, loosening the tie around his neck. He entered the kitchen and grabbed a glass, filling it with water.
When he turned and entered the living room, he saw his fourteen-year-old daughter, Barbara, asleep on the couch. She was in a sitting position, her laptop unfolded in her lap. Gordon grinned as he drank some of the water, sitting down in his recliner.
As he finished the glass, he lay his head back when he heard rustling on the couch. "Dad?" Barbara asked aloud. He glanced up to see her rubbing her eyes. "When'd you get home?"
"Not too long ago," Gordon answered. "Just a few minutes."
She nodded as she yawned. "I must've fallen asleep."
Gordon chuckled. "You'd better get on off to bed and get some real rest so you'll be ready for school tomorrow."
Barbara attempted to let out a disgruntled sigh, but it instead came out as a yawn, damaging her case. "All right, Dad." She closed her laptop and walked over to her dad, kissing him on the cheek. "See you tomorrow."
"Goodnight," Gordon said as he got up. He went to the kitchen sink and deposited the glass in it. He turned and was about to go to his bedroom when his cell phone rang. He withdrew it from his pocket to see Bullock's name in the caller ID.
"What is it, Bullock?" Gordon asked.
"Bad news, Commissioner. Councilman Patrick was just killed."
"What?!" Gordon gasped, exasperated. "How?"
"An assassin. Shot 'im in the head. He went up to his bedroom for something, and he never came down. His wife went looking for him and found him dead."
Gordon felt a rush of emotion within him. Patrick had always been a firm supporter of Gordon personally, and the two had become good friends. "I-I'll be at the Patricks' in a few minutes."
"All right, Commissioner. I'm headed there now. Just wanted to give you a heads up."
Gordon nodded. "Thanks, Bullock." He hung up and laid his phone on the counter. And for the first time in several years, he cried. Not just because Patrick had died, but because of everything mounting up. Gotham was falling apart.
What in the world is going on?
After John and Annalise had returned to their booth with Clyde, things had begun to calm down. All until a certain figure stepped onto a balcony overlooking the main floor of the club.
Clyde saw the man and recognized him immediately, as did John. Both men sat agape, and John glanced to Annalise. "Did you know he'd be here?" he asked incredulously.
Annalise glanced up and slowly shook her head. "No. I knew he had some connections to the place, but I didn't know he'd be here."
Clyde turned and lowered his voice. "You mean—Carmine Falcone owns this place?"
"I said he has connections. I don't know if the deed's in his name."
A disgusted look came on Clyde's face. Sensing some tension coming from the man, John nodded to his glass of champagne. "Have another drink, Cly."
"How can you just sit there with Fal—"
"Just take a drink, Cly." John's voice was firm and commanding. Obediently, Cly nodded and kept silent, picking up the glass and sipping from it.
"Just out of curiosity," Annalise piped up, "why did you want no ice?"
"It's a thing I picked up from the South, I guess," Clyde said. "Everything was always warm down there, so I got used to drinking warmer drinks. Sometimes I get ice, but more often I just take it plain."
A glint sparkled in John's eye, and Annalise caught it. Then a mischievous grin appeared on John's lips. "Hey, is that Gordon? What's he doing here?" Clyde turned his head to look, and quickly, John formed a small block of ice and dropped it into Clyde's glass.
"Where? I don't see Gordon anywhere." Clyde turned back and looked at John skeptically.
"Oh, really? I could've sworn that was him." John turned back to Annalise, who was stifling a laugh.
Clyde's eyes darted between the two of them, and he held up his drink to take a sip out of it. When the cube of ice touched his lips, he glanced down and saw it. He looked up to John. "You did this, didn't you?"
"Why would you think that?" John asked.
Clyde shook his head. "I don't hate ice, you know—I just would prefer it not being there." His charming grin reappeared. "You need to work on a better practical joke than that."
Falcone began to move from the balcony he was on, and he walked down a staircase leading to the main floor. "Looks like Falcone's planning on joining the party," John remarked. Annalise and Clyde looked to see him moving down the stairs, nodding and making small talk with a few well-dressed attendants.
Clyde's face twisted up, and he turned to the others. "Look, if he comes over here—"
"Relax, Clyde," Annalise said with a calm grin. "We'll get him to go if he does. Just don't do anything brash."
Clyde frowned. "Easier said than done."
Falcone made the rounds, speaking with a few people, but he didn't draw near their table. "I—um, I feel like I'd better cut out," Clyde said. "Suddenly I don't feel much like the night-out guy."
John and Annalise nodded. "All right, Clyde," John said. "Catch up with you tomorrow."
Clyde smiled, getting to his feet. "See ya, John." He tipped his hat to Annalise before walking out.
"He always keeps up his act, doesn't he?" Annalise commented.
"What? You mean you don't go for his gentlemanly actions?"
"It takes more to be a gentleman than just charm," Annalise said. "Like you said, Clyde is vain."
"And egotistical?" John said, raising an eyebrow.
Annalise shrugged. "I did say that. I don't know—I didn't want to say it with him sitting right here, but when I said everyone 'seems' to be getting along, he was the black sheep I had in mind."
"He does make his thoughts known. Pretty much every conversation I've had with him has led back to some remark about people with powers. Especially Vermin."
Annalise nodded. "Well, I guess we've got our work cut out for us, huh?"
John turned to her. "Us?"
Annalise shrugged, then grinned. "We're in this together, kid. All of us."
John sighed, refraining from calling her out on the "kid" again. "Yep. That we are."
A/N: Well, here's chapter 24! This one didn't seem to get too much done, but we do have our next murder, as well as a bit of downtime with some of the team and even a glimpse at Gordon's home life. As I said previously, next chapter will have more downtime and relationship-building between the team. I hope you all enjoyed it! As always, be sure to let me know your thoughts in a review and if you have anything else you want to bring up, be sure to send me a PM. Thank you all for reading! Until next time.