Chapter 21: Another One Bites The Dust

Sylvia sat adjacent to Oswald at the end of the dining table. The housekeeper, Olga, had prepared a dinner fit for three people as Sylvia requested and once the dinner had been completely set out, Sylvia had encouraged her to take a plate of her own and eat it wherever she found most fitting. Olga could understand what Sylvia was saying, but responding to her only in small adequate phrases ("Da") was all that was needed. When the maid/cook left the dining room, Oswald and Sylvia were beside themselves, eating in peace and quiet.

By no means was the silence uncomfortable. In fact, between the two of them, the silence was gratifying and most welcome. From the morning when Sylvia had discovered Demetri's betrayal, to getting him admitted to the hospital, going to the baby doctor appointment, coming back and after the argument that she and Oswald had only a few hours ago settled, it had been a long day for her. Even as they sat, it was only six-thirty in the evening, so the day was still not yet over.

"I think Grace took Olga for granted," She noted aloud after she finished eating the meat loaf with the ketchup paste.

Oswald looked at her, momentarily stumped by her sudden observation: "I'm sorry?"

"Your stepmother. Grace?"

Slightly embarrassed that he'd momentarily forgotten just to whom Sylvia was referring, he smiled in spite of himself and replied, "Yes, she has a flair for cooking, doesn't she?"

"Does she have any family?"

"Grace?"

"No. Olga."

"Oh! I'm not sure."

Sylvia giggled, "So easily distracted; your mind is all over the place, mister."

"I'm sorry. It's been a long day."

Sylvia frowned when her cell phone started to ring and she commented, "Apparently, not long enough."

She leaned ever so lightly to the right so she could get her phone out from the back pocket of her pants. When she saw who was calling, she rolled her eyes and answered it: "Barbara?"

"That's my name, honey."

"What do you want?"

"Ooh, you sound tense. I sure hope I didn't interrupt anything!"

"It's fine," Sylvia placed her fork on her plate. Suddenly, she'd lost her appetite. "What's up?"

Oswald minded her from where he sat, watching her protectively.

"You might wanna head over here. Some loser came over here, tried to stiff us—I think he's in pretty bad shape. Don't know if it's one of yours, or—"

"He wouldn't be one of mine." Sylvia retorted coolly, placing the phone between her ear and the top of her shoulder. "If he was one of my people, you would know."

"Ooh, that's provocative."

"Is he injured?"

"Quite."

"Did you stab him?"

"Well, he hit me in the face, so naturally…you know me, girlfriend. Do the math."

"Is Tabitha fine?"

"She's good—thanks for asking."

"I didn't care if she was alive or dead either way, but I know how much she means to you…for whatever reason."

"That's so sweet. I'll tell her that."

"Don't bother. I can go there and tell her myself." Sylvia returned dryly. "What does the guy want?"

"He thinks we built shit on his territory, won't stop talking about it…"

"So, it's a business dispute, then."

"Seems like it, doesn't it?"

"And you're sure it can't be settled by you lovely ladies."

"Boy, I think I did interrupt something. Your apathy is just all over the place, girlfriend."

Sylvia sighed, "Fine. We'll be there."

"Cool beans. See you later, baby." Barbara returned, and she made a swift 'muah' sound right after hanging up.

Oswald crossed his arms on the table, his plate of unfinished dinner forgotten the moment he heard Tabitha's name; his appetite skipped over him. When he saw Sylvia put her phone down, looking less than enthusiastic, he waited for her to talk. And she did.

"That was Barbara."

"And what did Ms. Kean want?"

"Some guy came over, tried to intimidate her and Tabitha, squeeze them for money. The club's on their territory, so now they're having a quarrel about profits and whatever else they have going on." Sylvia told him unhappily. She drank the last of her water, adding, "And here I was thinking we would have a quiet dinner for a change."

"You should know better than that, Pet." Oswald sighed, getting to his feet. He stopped shortly in front of Sylvia so he leaned down, kissed her forehead, and added lovingly, "However, I appreciate your optimism."

"Mm. That was my realist coming out. Optimistically, we could let them sweat a little longer and have a little romp session, if you catch my drift," Sylvia hinted, smirking up at him as she leaned back in her chair and carefully lifted her foot up between his legs and gave his package a little nudge.

Oswald smiled at her in return; as well, his face blushed a nice shade of pink before he cleared his throat, all business-like. He lifted his cane and the end of it lightly tapped her ankle bone with a slight reprimand.

Sylvia shrugged, saying, "All work and no play today. Poor baby", lowering her foot back to the ground.

When he didn't let up, she shrugged again and then stood. He watched her take the plates into the kitchen; when she came back, she was pocketing a Glock between the waistband of her jeans and her hip.

"Wanna bring Butch?" Sylvia asked.

"Might as well."

"BUTCH!"

Oswald jumped when he heard her scream. Like a dog being whistled to the surrounding area, Butch responded to the summons, almost too readily. He appeared as though he'd been waiting just behind the closed doors for anything to happen.

"Hiya, Butchy." Sylvia said, grinning at him. "How's the mallet?"

Butch chuckled sarcastically, "Aren't you just funny. What's up?"

"Joy ride, darling."

Butch and Oswald followed her to the car. Pointedly, she took the driver's seat, leaving Oswald to occupy the passenger's while Butch happily crawled into the back, taking up the two seats once more. Oswald closed his door, looking at Sylvia momentarily as she fixed her hair in the rearview mirror.

"How are you feeling?" Oswald asked her.

"Frisky, but otherwise, peachy keen, jelly bean. How are you feeling."

Oswald didn't respond to her statement verbally but he did offer her a modest smile.

Flattered by how often she was making passes at him, it was hard not to be tempted by her. When they had first started dating three years ago, Sylvia's casual flirts and passes had been overwhelming as they happened so often and so lightly, Oswald was never sure if she meant them or not. Knowing she meant every single flirt, he'd managed to take it all in stride. Every now and then, he had to exercise his own professionalism, knowing that Sylvia could care little about business prospects or perspectives.

Sylvia drove them to The Sirens, a smoother ride than any Butch or Oswald had the luxury of experiencing. When they got there, all three of them stepped out of the car with Sylvia leading the trio through the doors. Like the last visit, she was passively watching the band on the stage; her nose curled in bias. It was some rag tag band crew with no pension for entertainment. Then again, maybe she caught them at a bad time—it was almost closing time, and they had to deal with the raucous man who was sitting on a couch, beat to a pulp with a bag of ice held just beneath his jaw.

She idly swooped by the bartender, who offered her a drink. Politely, she declined for reasons she didn't give them. When Sylvia approached the man, he looked at her uncertainly.

"Hey." She greeted, grinning lightly. "You look like shit."

He rolled his eyes. Just as he did, Barbara and Tabitha came sauntering in, looking more or less pleased with themselves with the outcome of their beating. Oswald and Butch came up shortly after they did, all meeting in that area.

"So…" Sylvia sighed. "What's his name?"

"Why does that matter?" questioned Tabitha. "He's a no-body."

"It matters because I asked." Sylvia returned patiently, although her eyes glared daggers at Tabitha with little subtlety. "What's his name?"

Barbara and Tabitha glanced at each other, not knowing. So, Sylvia asked the man herself.

"Bowis." He said, rubbing his jaw. "My name is Bowis."

His speech impediment caused by the jaw injury was easy to notice.

"Boris." Sylvia repeated. "So, tell me, Boris. What happened?"

"I told you what happened," Barbara said despondently. "Over the phone, remember?"

"I want to hear it from him."

"Why?" Tabitha asked.

"Because I do. Now if that's something you can't deal with, I'd love it if you just left the building, okay, please and thank you," Sylvia said crisply, holding out her hand ignoring Tabitha as she turned her attention to Boris, who was watching the women's interaction with curiosity, but mild appreciation for Sylvia's manners.

Tabitha grumbled something under her breath while Barbara said quietly, "Actually, she's in a pretty good mood. I wouldn't push your luck, babe."

Boris looked at Sylvia (sometimes glancing over her shoulder to address Oswald as well) as he said, "We were told that the cwub was built on our tewwitowy—so we came, saw that it was so, and then the bitches—"

"—Hey, uncalled for! —" Barbara gasped, although she feigned hurt.

"—attacked me," Boris finished, glaring at them. He said to Sylvia, "They owe us money."

"'Us'? Who's 'us'?"

"The losers that came with him," Tabitha answered for him.

"And, where are they?"

"Dead."

"Oh, how charming." Sylvia muttered, rolling her eyes. She looked at Boris: "Babs told me you attacked her first. Is that true?"

"Well, I might have smacked her a wittle…"

"'Wittle'," Barbara mocked him. Tabitha smirked alongside her.

"So, let me get this straight: You come barging into a club that you don't technically own," Sylvia uttered calmly, "hit the first person you see, and then expect them to turn over their club to you based on the fact that they built their club on your territory. That's what I've got. Am I right?"

He nodded.

"Cool..." She sighed. She looked at Oswald, who watched her with a little smile of his own, and said, "Well, baby. It's all yours. I have no hand to play in this. Both sides of the story are there."

"You mean 'stowy'," Barbara giggled while Boris glared at her.

"We really don't have time for this," Oswald said impatiently.

"He started it," Tabitha said contemptuously, to which Oswald glared at her.

"It's a lie," Boris insisted. "The cwub was built on our tewwitowy."

"'Cwub'!" Barbara giggled. "What's a 'cwub'?"

"Cwub!"

"What's a 'cwub'!"

"Cwub!" Boris repeated, trying to enunciate but unable to get any further.

"What's a 'cwub'? I mean, can anyone understand him…"

Oswald impatiently stamped his foot ("Enough!") and Barbara, although she quieted down, still grinned broadly, ready to mock the next thing that came out of the injured gangster's mouth. Just adding salt to the wound—kicking the man while he was down, that kind of thing.

Sylvia sat on the couch beside Boris, who glanced at her uneasily. Seeing that she wasn't doing anything, Boris somewhat settled, although he didn't relax much.

"We will work something out," Oswald said calmly, looking at Boris, who appeared somewhat satisfied by Oswald's peer mediation, although the ladies didn't look that much into it.

Sylvia grinned widely; she always enjoyed watching her hubby work. This scene was no different.

Oswald turned to Barbara and said professionally, "Now, this is his territory. You built your club on his land. What are you willing to give him in return?"

Barbara looked thoughtfully at Oswald then she turned to Boris, who watched her with piqued interest as Barbara slowly took a cherry garnish out of her drink, provocatively sucked the fruit dry of any alcohol, and then placed the garnish on Boris' leg, with a cheerful "boop!", to which Butch smiled in amusement, Tabitha smirked, and Oswald looked like he might lose his patience.

He said pointedly, "That is not helpful."

"Are you seriously telling me you don't see what's going on here?" Barbara returned. She pointed to Butch, adding, "He is behind this."

Oswald, Tabitha, Boris, and Sylvia glanced at Butch, who said incredulously, "What are you talking about?"

"He sent this ding dong to squeeze us," Barbara said flippantly, "hoping that it'd send us back to you, so he could lord it over Tabby, ain't that right?" And she gesticulated to all parties respectively.

Oswald turned and looked at Butch dangerously.

Butch chalked it up to hilarity, saying, "That's c—that's just—that's crazy—that's just crazy! She was in Arkham, hello!"

"'Hello'! So was I!"

Butch looked a little stumped after that.

Sylvia raised her eyebrows, looking at all of them, including Boris, with interest. This was turning out to be an entertaining show after all!

"Is that true, Butch?" Tabitha said curiously, looking at him.

Guilt was Butch's new look, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to make himself smaller. Boris looked all kinds of betrayed, while Oswald looked up at the ceiling, scoffing, "Unbelievable!". He took a few steps towards Butch, who could recognize that expression from a mile away; it read 'how dare you go behind my back…' After the fact, Oswald turned. He looked at Sylvia, nodded to her.

Sylvia clicked her tongue, pulled out her gun that sat on her hip, cocked the hammer back, and then blew Boris' brains out all over the couch. Meanwhile, Barbara and Tabitha grinned simultaneously.

"Run your club. But just so we're clear." Oswald spoke directly to Tabitha: "The only reason you are still alive is Butch. The moment he gives me the word, you're mine. Sylvia…"

Sylvia stood, pushed Boris' dead weight onto the floor, and grinned beautifully at the ladies before following Oswald out of the club.

"Boss—"

"Not a word, Butch." Oswald said, raising a hand and callously getting into the passenger seat.

Sylvia smiled sympathetically at Butch, saying, "If it's any consolation, I see why you did it."

"You hate Tabitha though…"

"Yeah, I do, with the burning intensity of a thousand suns, but…I know the feeling of having the upper hand and since you have only one hand, I imagine that's all you really have left when it comes to that woman." Sylvia returned, patting his shoulder.

Appreciative of her sentiment, Butch moved to the back seat and tried to make himself seem small for the rest of the ride.