"So are you going to go?" Winnifred asked in curiosity, hugging her portfolio close to her chest.
"Most likely," Charlotte looked to the side, desperately trying not to blush. "I don't think I have a choice."
"Huh?" Winnifred was confused. "Then what's the "no" part in the answer?"
Charlotte shot Winnifred an annoyed look. Winnifred stifled down a giggle.
"Whoops. Sorry."
"You're impossible," Charlotte grumbled, picking up her pace. Winnifred bit her lip in an almost futile effort to hold back the laugh. Charlotte obviously had no sense of "proud departure". Really, what's the fast pace for if she could easily catch up? Which Winnifred easily did, slightly knocking Charlotte on the shoulder.
"O'cmon, you know I'm joking." Charlotte's smile was interrupted by a call behind the women.
"Freddie!" Winnifred instantly turned around at the familiar voice, feeling something fall up and down in her abdomen. Heath quickly ran up to them, eyes impatiently racing over their faces.
"Hey Lottie, can you continue without Freddie? I need to talk to her. Privately." Winnifred silently studied Heath. He shot her an once sided glance, as if knowing that Winnifred got to the last unknown bit of him. The small, partly choked organ inside her screamed NO! at Charlotte, whose nod and carefree "sure" choked it fully. Heath patiently waited while Lottie disappeared from earshot. Winnifred meanwhile studied his pockets. Their convulsing movements gave away Heath's fiddling with the cards, or the cigarette box, whichever was left.
"Let's go, shall we," Heath suddenly proposed. Winnifred shrugged and wordlessly set the pace, forcing herself to lower down the portfolio. Out of the corner of his eye, Heath studied Winnifred's emotionless face. There were two questions in his head; the first one left confusion, the second one left void. Heath decided to go for the first one, as it was more important. He grasped into the knife which was in his hand. If Winnifred answers to this, then his theory is correct. Not that he wanted it to be.
"Can I have the letter back?"
Winnifred slowly turned to him. Her eyes fell on his outstretched hand, then up on his calm, waiting face. Winnifred blinked, then, shoving the bag up to her front, carefully took out the light piece of paper. Her eyes darted back on Heath's face. Something moved in his lips, however it disappeared the moment after. Winnifred quietly sighed and placed the folded letter into Heath's palm. His hand slightly shook. Without looking at it, Heath tucked in in his pocket, then continued walking. Winnifred wordlessly followed him. The fist covered the organ, yet she could feel it painfully pulsing at it's metal fingers. The plains shook from the slightly visible wind.
"Was it on your work table?" Heath quietly asked, looking at the dusty road untwisting before them.
"Yes," Winnifred quietly answered, clenching on her bag, trying to make the pain from the cutting bag strap deafen her guilt. Heath thoughtfully chewed on the inside of his lower lip for a moment.
"Did anyone see it?"
Winnifred was quiet. Her fingers tightened around the strap.
"Charlotte said that no one came in when I was gone."
"You were gone?" Heath raised his eyebrows.
"I got a call from the hospital." Winnifred watched how Heath looked away to the side, preparing to ask the next question. She did not want to hear it from him.
"My office is next to Browning's, if that's what you mean," Winnifred slowly said, carefully following Heath's expression. Heath bitterly smirked.
"Damn you," he suddenly said, not looking at her. Winnifred stopped, astonishment and hurt leisurely filling the emptiness in her chest.
"What?" It was a coarse whisper. Heath simply glanced at her, before looking away. There was no remorse in his eyes. Deep, deep hurt sliced her heart back and forth, it's abrupt strokes coloring with blood as her organ convulsed. Winnifred quickly reached out his pocket and clumsily snatched the letter.
"Then why did you write this?" The paper shook in her hand as she held her voice from breaking all together. Winnifred quickly took in the air with her nose, desperately trying to keep her vision straight. Heath's eyes shifted to the paper she held in front of him.
"Because I needed to tell you at some point."
"Tell me," Winnifred bitterly repeated. "Tell me. Not write."
The wind ruffled the prairie grass, quietly whistled in the clouds, brushed against Winnifred's ankles. Bent the paper, harshly clasped in between two fingers.
"Winnifred," Heath quietly started, before falling silent again. He wordlessly took the paper out of Winnifred's hand. She blinked, allowing the small crystals run down and away her cheeks.
"What does Jack want to do?" Winnifred quietly asked. Heath passed his hand through this hair, not looking at her.
"Nothing of which I know."
"And what do you want to do?"
"Know."
Winnifred looked away, trying to hide her tears. Heath quietly smirked under his breath and started walking. Winnifred didn't follow, following his fading silhouette with her eyes. She squeezed her head with her hands. Then, Winnifred abruptly turned around and ran, following some sort of impulse. Flinging the bank's door wide open, she raced up to Browning's office. Winnifred glanced into the window. The office was empty. Her fingers rested on the round, gleaming doorknob. This is ridiculous. Her fingers slowly wrapped around the knob. Fucking ridiculous. Winnifred stared at the shining surface, beaming directly into her eye. Her fingers loosened, before slipping off. Tears automatically streamed down, as Winnifred coldly observed the door knob in front of her.
"Winnifred?" Winnifred tiredly turned her head to the right. Browning was standing there, questioningly observing her.
"What are you doing?" Winnifred blankly looked at him for a moment, then bitterly smirked, sliding her hands into the pockets of her vest.
"I thought you were in your office," she calmly shrugged, walking forward. Jack crookedly smiled.
"Well?" Winnifred's eyes traveled down, then back up at him.
"Do you have a cigarette? By any chance." Jack seemed surprised, however nonetheless reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. Winnifred leaned down, holding her hair with her hands away from the dangerous flame that sparked in the lighter. The smoke unpleasantly sizzled inside her mouth, filling her with the acidic taste of both uncomfortable calmness and bitter memories of high school. Jack wordlessly studied her while she straightened back up again. His eyes narrowed.
"Are you...are you crying?"
Winnifred held herself from coughing and blew out a large puff of smoke, obscuring her face.
"Nope. See you tomorrow, Jack."
She walked past him before he could understand any further. Winnifred was done with the cigarette at the entrance, throwing it into the bush with disgust.
Dear Winnifred,
So if Jack've seen it, then he must have some connection with Falcone. It'll be too much of a coincidence if he didn't. Think yourself; Jack won't go for the first mobster, asking him if he has this guy named Heath and is willing to blackmail him.
See where I'm going? I'll do what my client wants me to do. Sure. With my conditions however. They involve his client. We'll see how this scheme works out.
I didn't mean it by the way. Actually, I did, but I don't mean it now. I'm sorry, okay?
Your buddy,
Heath
Heath looked up and rested his chin on his hands with a sigh. He heard Johnathan quietly swear behind him, accidentally cutting his palm on a piece of paper.
"Do you know Judge Mitchell?" Heath randomly asking, studying the wall, decorated in chemical diagrams, brain diagrams, and notes of various kinds in front of him.
"Mitchell?" Johnathan repeated, licking his bloodied palm. He frowned.
"No." Heath sighed and dropped the pen on the desk.
"Didn't you live in Gotham?" He tiredly pointed out, rubbing his forehead with his hand. Johnathan thoughtfully wrapped a towel around his palm, standing behind Heath. His eyes studied the diagrams.
"So he's a judge there?" He tore off the pinned brain diagram from the wall and observed it. A crease formed above his eyebrows.
"Yeah, I know him."
"Really?" Heath turned in his chair in surprise.
"When?" Johnathan, still looking at his paper, sat down on the couch, layered in papers and compared the wall diagram with the one next to it.
"When I was fifteen. He was part of the investigation lead on the case of the murder of Matilda Crane. Pen please?"
Heath wordlessly raised his eyebrows and tossed Johnathan the pen. He nimbly caught it with one hand and crossed something out on the brain diagram.
"And? Did he...you know."
"No," Johnathan shook his head. His eyes traced the lines of the diagrams.
"It wasn't a big case. Someone just wondered why a regular client of the egg stand wasn't coming anymore."
"What about high school? That must have been a big case," Heath commented in curiosity. Johnathan smirked.
"As if you don't remember." He looked at Heath. "I made it before the police could arrive."
"Poor Sherry Squires. Freddie is prettier though."
Johnathan chuckled and placed the diagrams aside. He leaned back on the couch, visibly relaxing.
"Very true. Another reason why teenage psychology, second to insanity, is by far the most interesting to study. At one point they're mature and all, before doing something stupid."
"Like falling for Sherry Squires," Heath concluded, organizing the stack of papers on the desk into a neat pile. Johnathan lightly smiled, bitter merriment drowning in his face.
"So why do you need Mitchell?" He asked. Heath grimaced.
"I need to force him to resign."
"You need to?" Johnathan snorted. "How much did those guys pay you to make you so desperate?"
"Nothing," Heath sighed, grabbing another pen from the holder. His fingers spasmodically tugged off the cap, before clasping it back in place with a small clink.
"Just the guarantee that I won't be shuffling my next deck of cards in jail."
Johnathan quietly whistled and glanced at Heath in confusion. His eyes traveled down on Heath's fingers, tugging the pen cap back and forth. His eyes flickered back on his friend.
"Which thug is it?"
"The Roman," Heath passed his hand through hair, clasping his fist.
"And the worst part is that's it's not even him. It's Jack."
"The Browning guy?" Johnathan repeated, quickly thinking something to himself.
"You think he's tied to him?"
"That's what I'll try to prove," Heath crookedly smiled, standing up and walking in front of Johnathan.
"If he really wants to see me in jail, well then I'll give him all the opportunities. I'm a nice guy."
Johnathan shook his head with a distorted grin, before back glancing up again.
"Let me guess, Freddie again has no idea what you're up to," He stated, looking at Heath with a mocking stare. Heath rolled his eyes and plopped down next to Johnathan on the couch.
"It's a funny thing. She kind of started this whole nonsense. But of course I won't tell her. You think she'll...respect me after all of this?"
"She might," Johnathan shrugged. "She doesn't seem to mind that so far I've killed two people and paralyzed one." Heath smirked.
"True." His brown eyes softened. "I just don't want to get her into all this dirty business. It's already too much that she's working for that asshole."
"Unless Freddie'll get into it herself," Johnathan pointed out. Heath simply looked at him, deciding not to answer.
"Repeat what we're doing again," Charlotte demanded. Her voice was about hit the banshee notes.
"We are going to investigate our boss's slate," Winnifred patiently explained, desperately hoping that Lottie would believe her.
"I don't think it's as flawless as everyone thinks."
"Oh yeah?" Charlotte sarcastically raised her eyebrow. "Do you know how much the world cares about what you think?"
"What do you mean?" Winnifred fired up. "I know about..." she quickly counted in her head.
"Five people who care, including you."
"Freddie, you can't just go on and do stuff without having a valid reason," Charlotte half closed her eyes, visibly summoning her running out patience source.
"I do have a valid reason," Winnifred argued. Charlotte's eyes snapped open.
"A reason you can't tell me," she acidly pointed out. Winnifred pressed her lips. Charlotte rolled her eyes.
"Freddie, the entire town knows about your so called relationship slash who punches one first with Jack when we were in school. If you think I'm doing this just because you want to equal out the scores..."
"This isn't about me."
"Then what, Heath?" Charlotte snorted. "Even better." Winnifred was quiet for a moment.
"Lottie, don't think I don't know the consequences. I do..."
"You just forget them sometimes."
"...I do," Winnifred admitted. "But this is important. It actually is." Charlotte looked at her for a moment.
"How important?" She finally asked. She noticed how Winnifred's eyes avert to the side.
"I don't now," Winnifred confessed. "But I think it is very important for...some people."
Charlotte sighed and rubbed her forehead with her hand.
"Freddie, did you just hear yourself?" Winnifred hastened to fix her mistake.
"Lottie, if something happens, I'll take the blame for myself, seriously, all you'll have to do is pay some fee or something..."
"Stop here," Charlotte cut her. "I'll do this just because I don't fancy Jack myself and because you never meant anything bad for me. So what do you want me to do again?"
"Distract Mickey," Winnifred quickly said, face lightening up with joy.
"You were the best in Drama Club, so it must be easy for you."
Charlotte scoffed and stood up.
"And what do I ask him for? Birth certificates?"
"Work agreements," Winnifred lightheartedly corrected.
"And what if Jack catches us?"
"Out of town. Banking stuff."
Charlotte's green eyes narrowed, and she opened the door. Looking out of her office, she saw that Mickey was sitting inside Browning's office, filling out some papers.
"Well?" Winnifred asked, looking over her friend's shoulder.
"Damn you," Charlotte muttered. Winnifred's eyebrows slightly twitched.
"That will be the second time I'm sworn at in two days," Winnifred thoughtfully said at loud. Charlotte turned her face towards her.
"Not surprised. Was the first one Jack?"
"No, it was Heath."
Charlotte stifled an exclamation and confidently made her way towards the office. Winnifred hastily stepped aside from the doorway, positioning herself next to the bookshelf where Mickey couldn't see her. Charlotte left the door open, making it easy for Winnifred to hear.
"Hi, sorry for the trouble...I'm Charlotte Munich, one of the new employees."
"Hey there. Mickey, and no, you don't trouble me at all."
"Really? Well, I am an..."
"Accountant?" Winnifred heard both of them laugh.
"Specializing in business agreements," Charlotte added after having her laugh. Winnifred slightly winced. It was too obvious.
"Specializing in business agreements?" Mickey seemed to think the same.
"I didn't hear of that kind of accountant."
"I'm not surprised. It's the oversimplified version. I'm the official representative of NBAAUSA, National Business Agreement Association of the United States of America. I verify business agreements and records. Nothing much, just fancy words and boring procedures. Browning said I could check his records for the company credit. Doesn't change anything, only adds more reliability." Winnifred raised her eye brows in amusement. Whoa. Lottie does know her stuff. She could practically hear Mickey's neurons hammer the wooden words WHAT on his brain wall.
"I mean...Browning knows right?" His voice was uncertain.
"Of course. It's illegal otherwise." Winnifred heard the chair swiveling back and the sound of an opening closet and the shuffling of papers.
"Here's the documentation of Browning's non competing alliance with Gotham National Bank..." A folder slapped down on the table.
"Agreement with Maine Local..." Another slap.
"And the rest." There was a loud thump. Charlotte hurriedly collected the folders.
"Thank you, Mickey, that's all I needed. Hey, I was thinking...do you want to go out sometime?"
Winnifred simply shook her head with a smile and glanced out the glass. Mickey looked slightly embarrassed, while Charlotte was busy fake blushing.
"Sure," Mickey agreed after a short hesitation. "How bout tomorrow?"
"Great," Charlotte broadly smiled. "At one, at the pond. That's the real reason why I came by the way."
Mickey smirked. Charlotte waved to him and then quickly walked back to her office, firmly closing the door.
"You. Were. Absolutely. Awesome!" Winnifred immediately sprang up to her friend, taking the folders from her hands.
"NBAAUSA?"
"I thought it up," Charlotte shrugged with a smile. "No one knows all government organizations by heart. Name a small secretary a big name and they'll fall for it."
"Especially if they're made by a belle femme," Winnifred chuckled, taking off the snap from the folder and taking out the papers. Charlotte punched her in the arm with a grin and quickly began clearing off the table. Winnifred hastily spread them across the surface, looking over the titles. There were thousands of them. Agreements with big banks, tiny banks, names of unfamiliar people, pledges against fraud and cartel formations, all ending the same way, with Browning's large signature.
"This is not it," Winnifred muttered in irritation, moving on to the left of the table.
"Did Mickey give you any personal documents?"
"Should've," Charlotte absently answered, intently studying one document. She lifted the paper up to her eyes.
"Freddie?"
"Yeah?" Winnifred shuffled through the papers.
"Come over here." Winnifred tucked out a document, glanced at it, before putting it back down in annoyance.
"What?" She asked, walking up behind Charlotte. That one wordlessly showed her the document.
"This document concerning Millard's stocks. It's so strange."
"Who?" Winnifred turned to Charlotte in confusion. Her friend wordlessly tucked the check inside her vest, tucked all the other folders into her bag, and walked out the door. Winnifred hurriedly followed. As soon as they were out of her office, Charlotte quickly locked it.
"Let's go, I'll explain on the way," she threw to Winnifred.
The day was sunny and bright. Winnifred impatiently tucked her hair behind her ear, closely following her friend's words.
"I know you guys aren't much of newspaper readers, maybe except Johnathan," Charlotte started, lowering down her volume. "But Bill Millard was one of the most prosperous, corrupt businessman in Gotham City. He managed steel. I know, because I was on a tour of his company in twelfth grade."
"Why?" Winnifred furrowed her eyebrows.
"Senior project, remember? You and Heath skipped it."
"Oh. Oh yeah, that's right."
"Yeah." Charlotte was quiet for a moment. "He died two years ago. The court ruled that it was a heart attack. Although there were rumors that Millard was actually poisoned by his butler."
"What?" Winnifred's eyes widened. Charlotte bitterly smirked.
"It's Gotham," she sadly noted. "Murder is common there. Here we are." They stopped at the local library. Charlotte pushed the creaky door and walked in.
Winnifred was always kind of wary of the library. The books were old and gave off an ancient smell, but it was the lighting and the old style which really creeped her out. The bookshelves were made of dark wood and close together, the dusty, dark rugs were embroidered in twisting patterns, and the lamps gave off an reddish light. Johnathan loved this place. Winnifred hated it. Heath just laughed at them.
Even now, Winnifred involuntarily glanced around for ghosts. Charlotte confidently made her way to the counter and leaned over the granite desk.
"Hello, can we see the newspapers of 1999?"
"What topic?" The librarian asked in a boring tone.
"Bill Millard's demise, please."
"Follow me," The librarian stood up and led them to a far away corner. Walking behind her, Winnifred leaned over Charlotte's shoulder.
"You know how weird that sounded?" She quietly inquired.
"What?" Charlotte wrinkled her forehead.
"Bill Millard's demise, please." Charlotte shot Winnifred an annoyed look and walked over to where small, round table where the librarian laid out the newspapers.
"Thank you." Charlotte waited for the librarian to leave, then kneeled over the table. Winnifred sat on her knees, slightly moving the papers with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes studied the flashing titles. William Millard Found Dead In His Bedroom. Billionaire Millard Dead. Millard's Butler Accused Of Murder. Young Nick Singhin Accused Of His Boss's Murder. Winnifred lifted her eyes on Charlotte. She answered her with a silent stare. Winnifred looked down at the date.
"On the night between 16th to 17th of November, 1999 Bill Millard was found dead..."
"What was the date on the contract?" Winnifred slowly asked. Charlotte took out the contract.
"17th of November, 1999," she read out. Winnifred frowned.
"How...how is that possible?"
"Well, Millard was found dead at around..." Charlotte glanced at the newspaper, "11 in the morning, and the stocks were bought at 8.56. Doctors predict that the heart attack occurred at 9.31, so technically Browning had all the legal right to buy the stocks."
"And how many did he buy?"
Charlotte turned one newspaper towards Winnifred. Banker Jack Browning Becomes Owner Of Millard Company.
"Apparently more than 49 percent," Charlotte grimly smiled. Winnifred glanced up at her.
"You think this all is too coincidental?"
"I don't know what I think," Charlotte sighed, leaning back on the chair.
"Given that all of this happened in Gotham and it's corrupt history..."
"Heath would be able to prove this," Winnifred muttered to herself, picking up one newspaper and studying it.
"What?" Charlotte leaned forward. Her face was perplexed. "Heath knows this?"
"Heath knows something," Winnifred emphasized. "I don't exclude the possibility that he may even prove this."
"But you need so many confirmations," Charlotte argued back, resting her arm on the table and bending her fingers as she talked.
"Doctor confirmations, medical analysis, testimony of like a thousand different people who are god knows where right now..."
"Well that's why you brought the folders right?"
For a moment, Charlotte drilled her friend with an annoyed stare, before taking out the folder from her bag. Winnifred reached for them, yet Charlotte held them back.
"I'm afraid you'll still have to tell me why we are doing this?" She warned.
"What is there to tell about, you've seen with your own eyes that Jack is involved in dirty business?" Winnifred argued, eyeing the folders with her eyes.
"By pure luck, sure," Charlotte agreed,"But you seemed to know this beforehand?" Winnifred passed her tongue over her upper gum. Sighing, she quickly glanced around her and leaned forward on the table.
"I think Jack is involved in dirty business," Winnifred quietly started, "because Heath is involved in it -" Charlotte's eyes slightly rounded, however her face retained the same focused expression.
"-and somehow those two intersected."
"You know how fanatical that sounds?" Charlotte shook her head in disbelief. "You're basing your claims off what I assume Heath accidentally mentioned and driven by your strong dislike towards Jack, you conclude that he is corrupt?"
"Why not?" Winnifred shrugged. "He already had minions in school."
"Freddie," Charlotte did have any words.
"What?" Winnifred rebuffed. "When Heath asked me about the letter, he was concerned whether Browning came into my office or not, which means that he was already suspicious of that guy."
"Because it's Heath! What kind of testimony is it?" Winnifred rolled her eyes in impatience.
"Okay, let's just say I was using my gut feeling," she snapped and waved the newspaper in front of Charlotte's eyes.
"But it was correct wasn't it?"
"Not confirmed yet," Charlotte growled, slapping the newspaper down. Crossly glancing at Winnifred, she handed over the folders. Winnifred eagerly snatched them, swooshing the newspapers off the table in one big movement of her hand. Charlotte quickly gathered the scattered newspapers on the floor into one stack.
"Here," Winnifred looked down on the floor, "You can look through all the business stuff, since you're the better expert out of the two of us."
Charlotte mumbled something unpleasant and obediently took the documents from her friend.
"And what are you going to do?" She asked, eyeing Winnifred, or rather the documents that were in front of her face.
"Research his personal letters."
"You mean who he had sex with?"
The documents slapped down on the table to reveal Winnifred's irritated face. Charlotte grinned.
"No," Winnifred forcefully said, "It's just that I may recognize some mobsters' names."
"That sounded weird."
Winnifred ignored her and lashed out the letters in front of her. To her hard luck, most of the personal letters were business letters. Winnifred glanced at Charlotte sitting in front of her. That one already requested the librarian for more newspapers and was writing something down in her notebook.
"Hold on just a sec," Charlotte shot to Winnifred, "I'm gonna run back home to grab my camera."
"Oh...yes, of course."
Winnifred followed Winnifred turn round the corner of the bookshelf before looking back at the letters.
Mister Jack
Winnifred tilted her head. This letter started strange. Winnifred looked down at the signature. The Roman. What the hell? Winnifred hurriedly took out her own accountant notebook and on the back of the page with numbers on it began writing.
-The Roman?
Winnifred glanced back at the letter itself. Her forehead wrinkled.
I agree to your terms, as long as you hold true to mine. It is quite possible to do what you are asking. However, I heard you want to strike the same business with Richie. That's a bad idea, Mister Jack. More mob dealers does not mean more guarantee. Quite the opposite. Nicky will bring you the details.
The Roman
Winnifred felt her legs go sweaty under the skirt she was wearing. Holy shit. The inside voice inside her head once again declared Heath's letter. Richie really has problems. Winnifred automatically shuffled through more papers after the letter she was holding. More letters from the Roman, detailed accounts of a completed assignment, list of companies. Winnifred, the letters bending in her grasp, walked around the table and harshly turned the newspaper Charlotte was studying. Foster's Company Ousted From It's Throne. Winnifred looked back at the messily scribbled note.
12/12/2001
Tomorrow at regular for about foster business. CF
Winnifred felt an involuntary shiver pass through her spine. She frantically searched through more papers, trying to find the word Millard.
nicky will find him at eleven. you have four hours. Roman
Winnifred felt the distorted feeling of victory seep out through the sweat bead on her forehead. Apart from that, her emotional capacity seemed run out. It was so unbelievable, even with all the evidence in front of her. Winnifred looked for some more familiar names, yet none of them mentioned Heath. The letters dated back to about her stay to Maine. The folder was empty. Winnifred sat there, biting her lip when Charlotte returned.
"Sorry, I ran to Sammy on the way...what happened?" Charlotte frowned.
"Photograph everything," Winnifred shoved the letters towards her friend. Her voice was blank. Charlotte glanced at her in concern, before shutting on her camera. For a while, Winnifred listened to the active clicking of the camera. After ten minutes, Charlotte placed her device down and looked at Winnifred.
"Well?" Winnifred nodded.
"Read them." Charlotte obediently shifted the letters towards her. As she read, her eyebrows came closer and closer together, slight interest transforming into concern, before twisted realization.
"God damn it..." Charlotte snatched the nearest newspaper and quickly scanned it with her eyes.
"Well?" Winnifred bitterly smirked. Charlotte swiveled to her.
"This makes so much sense! Foster was a well know mafia dealer, and who in the entire Gotham world with its apathetic police can oust out mobster? Only another mobster." Charlotte turned back to the newspapers.
"Same with Luchesse. If you ask me, this is a perfect scheme. Jack strikes a deal with a mob dealer to get the best situation possible in the excessively lucrative Gotham business for," Charlotte triumphantly shook a contract in her hand, "A secure, police-proof banking account at sixteen percent."
Winnifred shook her head.
"I have to tell Heath."
"You do," Charlotte agreed. "Here," she tossed Winnifred the camera. "In case he doesn't believe you. I'm going to take all the documents myself."
"Thanks."
Winnifred ran out the library and raced to the mill.
"Heath!" She flung open the door and skidded into the room. Silence warily greeted her. Winnifred looked around in concern, but the mill was empty. Not letting herself down just yet, Winnifred ran back to the town. She didn't even make it downhill. Even from here, she saw the the church wall was void of its players.
"Damn it."
Winnifred raced back into the forest, hitting the branches out of her face. The dormitory main door was open. Tripping over the stairs, Winnifred made it to the sixth floor and flung Johnathan's door open, not even wondering why it was unlocked.
"Johnathan!..." He turned, and suddenly she was attacked by snakes hitting her in the face, crawling up her body. Her brain exploded into a million, bloody bits. Winnifred screamed.
A/N: All the roads lead to Rome...or the Roman in this case ;) (the Roman is Falcone's nickname btw). Man, I don't know whether I should publish the next chapters cause its all downhill from here...