Chapter 65

Batwoman and I drive through Gotham City, Batwoman maneuvering her car with lightning precision.

"Today I'm going to show you my base of operations," she announces, veering off to the left.

I raise an eyebrow, "Isn't that just your apartment?"

She shakes her head, "No, I've been mainly working out of a friend's house. She's pretty cool, if maybe a little...judgemental."

"Rich and snobby?"

Batwoman grits her teeth, biting her lip, "Well...she's just...like that, is all."

I smirk, "Uhuh."

We leave the downtown area, making our way to the edge of the city limits, where dirty skyscrapers are replaced by sprawling green lawns and formidable mansions.

"Wow, I never thought I'd ever see this part of town," I look on in wonder as we pass Wayne Manor.

She chuckles, "It's not all sunshine and roses, believe me."

We pull up to an old Victorian-styled mansion with spiral towers and large, double-paned windows. The outside is painted warm wooden brown colors, giving off the impression of a homely cottage, although it's size makes it more of a castle than a cottage.

Taking off her mask, Barbara rings the doorbell, but doesn't bother to remove her costume or hide the car.

A tall man in a coat and tails answers the door, looking down sternly at Barbara and I. He turns away to the side, "Ms. Vreeland, Ms. Kean is here, and she brought a guest!"

An equally tall woman with red hair pushes him out of the way, "A guest?! Oh Babs, you finally brought your mysterious partner in crime! Who is she?" Veronica Vreeland jumps excitedly.

I remove my mask to reveal my face.

"...oh...I apologize deary, I haven't the slightest idea who you are."

My eyes shift from side-to-side, remembering her encounter with Oswald at the art gallery, "...that's probably for the best."

We follow her into the house, which follows the warm aesthetic, with mahogany and cedar woods lining the floors and walls. Mirrors are scattered in various places in the living room and hallways, and Veronica takes her time to at least glance herself in every one they pass.

"So deary, tell me your name, and what you do," she instructs me.

"Well, my name's Natalie, and I'm primarily a police officer at the GCPD, but as you can see, I have a few...hobbies."

Veronica arches her eyebrow, "Oh...a police officer, I see. No wonder I've never heard of you-"

"Natalie tends to lead a more private life than what we're used to," Barbara interrupts.

"In other words, she never gets out," she concludes.

Veronica leads us down a narrow hallway, and down a flight of stairs to a wine cellar. Among the rows of barrels, a somewhat out-of-place marble pedestal sits toward the back, with a Shakespeare bust atop it. Veronica makes a beeline for the bust, lifting up its head to reveal a red button. Pressing the button, a wall on the other side of the cellar opens up.

"You just...had this here?" I ask.

"My family used it as a speakeasy during Prohibition, but recently we've done some, renovating."

We walk down a dark flight of stairs, descending into a cave-like space similar to what I'd imagined in my dream. The hollowed out room is dimly lit by computer screens and electrical equipment, a large computer terminal sitting at the center.

"Who do you get your weapons from?" I ask, admiring a neon-lit table displaying various prototypes and parts.

"Mostly from Queen and Wayne Industries, I have associates there who can get me whatever the companies sell to the military. But if I need something more...scandalous, I go to Lexcorp, those scumbags will get you anything," Veronica rambles on.

They move on to the next room, a large garage area where Batwoman's specialized car sits in waiting. Barbara runs a hand over the hood, "I've grown really fond of this car. V got it special from a car designer. Did the paint job and everything."

"Sure did, although, I was thinking of calling him up again, maybe get him to install some hot new gadgets into the car. Any suggestions ladies?" Veronica asks.

"Oh, I don't know. I was actually thinking about naming the car," Barbara reveals, "all good cars have a name. How about this? The Gray Ghost has the Ghostmobile, well, we have...the Batmobile!"

I chuckle, "That sounds ridiculous."

"You have to admit, the name's got a ring to it," she argues.

Veronica looks over the car, "Well, I could add some small wing details to make her more...Bat-like. I'll talk to the designer. Natalie, do you have any suggestions?"

I'm taken aback. She remembered my name this time?

"Uhm, personally, I don't exactly like the idea of driving around in a car fit to look like a bat."

She places her chin in her hand, "Well, we could get you your own car. Then we'd always have a spare lying around just in case."

Now that's unexpected, could they really get me a car? Then again, Barbara and Veronica are rich, a new car would just be a drop in the bucket to them.

"Actually, I've been thinking about something...may I make a request?" I ask.

They both nod, and my lips twist into a playful smirk, "...can I have a motorbike?"

I'm sitting down at my desk at the GCPD. I'd expected that after the commotion with Butch, I'd be receiving stern looks from my co-workers. But no one seems to be paying me any particular mind. I guess that getting dragged in by the mob for questioning is just part of the status quo in the GCPD.

"Allen, you got those files on the missing children case?" Renee Montoya asks her partner as they round my desk to her own.

He nods, "Yep, plus pictures from the press."

Allen throws a small stack of folders and papers onto the desk, and the two sit down and start rifling through the mess of paperwork.

"Whatcha working on?" I ask, pushing my swivel chair toward them.

"Haly's Circus has been reporting missing children from their act," Renee reveals.

I raise my eyebrow, "Really? I didn't even know Haly's was back in town."

"Yeah, they just came back after performing in Central City. Guess they forgot how dangerous Gotham is in comparison," Allen explains.

I nod, and return to my desk, but keep a watchful eye on their activity. Maybe this might be another case for Batwoman and the Trickstress.

Lunch hour comes around and the majority of the police officers head out to grab a bite, including Montoya and Allen. With only a few officers lurking around, I duck out from my desk and slink over to Montoya and Allen's. Opening up the files, I begin sifting through the reports and pictures. Most of them just show happy, smiling children in acrobat and clown costumes. It's hard to believe that parents still give up their children to places like Haly's Circus when they can no longer afford to take care of them. I was almost sent there, but the fire that wiped out the reservation happened just beforehand.

Looking at one of the pictures of the circus tent, showing three child acrobats performing a trapeze act during a show. In the corner of the picture, on one of the poles of the tent, a shadowy figure can be seen just covered by the sheets of the tent. Is that one of the performers? No...he's too far away from the other performers, and he's not wearing the right clothes. His legs and feet are thin, his arms stretched out, with large, black, soulless eyes...

"Snooping, are we?" Ed's sharp, nasal tone sneaks right up behind me.

Turning around, I'm welcome with the pleasant surprise of a happy, cheerful, alive Ed, smiling at me while clutching a clipboard. I want to pull him into a big hug, to embrace him and tell him that I'm so glad that he's alive. But that would spark his suspicion, and the last thing I need is him worrying about me.

Putting my hands on my hips, I raise an eyebrow, "Oh, like you haven't."

"No, it's good," he tells me, grasping my shoulder, "It shows I'm rubbing off on you."

I chuckle, "Well, that isn't ominous. Maybe I should stop. How about we get some lunch?"

He nods, "Of course, and I know just the spot. There's a Chinese restaurant that I recently discovered, and their noodles are very...efficient."

"'Efficient'? In what sense?"

Ed glances around, "...in the sense that they're prepared with suspicious efficiency. We'll be back in the precinct before the end of lunch hour."

Luckily Ed doesn't pick up on my nervous laugh, "Ha ha ha...and we'll be sent home just as fast."

Oswald sulks around the kitchen at Bamonte's, overseeing the staff as they prepare to open. His attempt to kill Trixie's lover have not only failed, they've absolutely backfired. She's probably running to him, relieved that Oswald didn't take him away from her.

Oswald gets an image of the two of them meeting in a windy, sunny field, Trixie opening her arms and racing up the hill to meet her beloved. But suddenly she stops, something's wrong with her darling, tall, handsome lover. His crisp white shirt begins seeping with blood, spreading from the middle outward. He falls to the ground, and standing behind him is Oswald with a loaded shotgun, the barrel still wafting with smoke.

The bell connected to the front door jingles. Oswald glances from the circular kitchen windows to see Fish Mooney and a couple of her men walking in. How lovely, he hasn't seen her since his return from the dead. From the look on her face, she must have just heard the news. She notices his head in the window, and her frown only deepens. A mischievous smile crosses Oswald's face, surprised?

Don Maroni and his men welcome her, Maroni crossing over to hug and kiss her on the cheeks. Her expression remains stagnant, she's all business today. They sit at a nearby table and begin talking. How shall Oswald deal with his former boss?

"Penguin! Come on out here!" Maroni cries, leaning to the side past Fish.

Maroni recently suggested that Oswald start using his old teasing nickname as a sort of mob title, and ever since has started incessantly calling him by the name. He's undecided as to whether or not he likes the idea of it. After all, it does hold many negative memories with it.

Oswald exits the kitchen into the restaurant area as Maroni turns back to Fish, "She won't bite...you won't bite him, will you?"

She doesn't respond, instead she leers at him as he crosses to Maroni's side, "...hello Penguin."

"Hello Ms. Mooney," Oswald replies, imitating her blank tone.

"Penguin, Ms. Mooney and her boss, Don Falcone feel disrespected by you," Maroni explains.

Ah, yes. Because human survival is considered disrespect. But still, Oswald puts on a show, playing innocent, almost ignorant, "Oh dear. Well, that certainly has never been my intention."

"Well, respect is very important to them," he iterates, almost sounding like a chastising parent, "now, I want a sincere apology from you, for making them feel that way."

Oswald plays along, "Oh gosh, of course...if I've in any way caused anyone to feel a lack of respect...I apologize. Sincerely."

"There you go," Maroni concludes, "Can't say fairer than that."

Fish places both hands on the table to stand, her displeased expression unwavering. Of course, this is Fish Mooney, she's satisfied by nothing less than exactly what she wants, "Bloodshed, then?" she asks.

"I'm glad. Jolly fat men are so tiresome."

Her head darts to Oswald, "And you," she saunters to him, "you little, scaly-faced bitch."

She shakes her head, "Oh...what I'm going to do to you. Torture...is far too nice of a word."

Oswald frowns, "I'm sorry you feel that way Fish-"

She slaps him across the face, sending his head back and giving him only seconds to recover before grabbing him by the cheeks, "Only my friends...call me Fish."

Author's Note:

Erik-is-my-angel1234: Thanks, I'd thought that more people would've caught on sooner considering that Oswald used the misspelling of Edward's name once before, but oh well

Thanks! :)