Chapter 23: Sylvia Meets Vale
Sylvia meandered around The Flea.
When she normally visited the third-world shopping center, she had a mission. This time around, she had come to see Ivy Pepper…although, she didn't know why. Sylvia didn't have a certain agenda in mind when she approached the large, brooding guard, named Bole, who remembered her from the last visit—he quickly let her in without question.
Sylvia didn't even know what she would say to Ivy when she saw her. There was no one to spy on, no one to undermine, or people she suspected who'd turn against her anytime soon. While Demetri was probably a good candidate, he was still recovering in Gotham General after his exaggerated attempt to prove his loyalty to her—not that she didn't appreciate the gesture. Even now, Sylvia wagered Demetri would turn against her in due time, but for the moment, the hospital staff kept an eye on him. And that brought her to the most important question she needed to ask herself: Why the hell was she walking around The Flea, looking for her child-like spy if she had no work to be done, no money to be earned.
Hell, maybe it was because she liked Ivy, and she just missed talking to the kid.
It was strange, though.
She asked the Fences who marketed low-end products with outlandish sale prices whether or not they saw the redhead. Of course, when it came to these ruffian teenagers, they always wanted something for their valuable time, even if they couldn't offer any valuable information—Sylvia paid them for their shrugs and 'Don't know's, and continued walking.
It wasn't until she was about to leave before a teenager dressed almost entirely in leather seemingly fell from the sky line and landed on her feet right in front of her. Sylvia gave her a moment's startled gaze before realizing it was Selina Kyle.
"Nice entrance." Sylvia noted, smirking at her. "You have a flair for that, don't you?"
"I know why you're here," Selina said dryly, looking at her.
"Well, 'hello' to you, too."
"You're looking for Ivy, right?"
"Yes, I am. Do you know where she is?"
"I was kind of hoping you would." Selina replied callously, although there was a flicker of something other than sarcasm in those eyes of hers. "I've not seen her for a while, you know. And I know she's been working for you."
"No. I'm sorry, I don't know where she is. She's been MIA for a while, then?"
"Yeah…"
"Do you think she's in danger?"
"Well, I wouldn't be asking some bird's wife if I didn't, would I?" Selina retorted unhappily, bringing her weight to one foot as she put her hands on her hips.
"Okay, look—I'm all about this sass of yours, but taking that attitude with me is not going to get you any answers, assuming, of course, that I even had them. I've not seen Ivy for a few weeks, young lady. And judging from your tone, I'd say you have a better idea about where she is than I do."
Sylvia expected some backlash from the teenager, but instead, Selina looked overtly apologetic. She reeled back some sass, and she crossed her arms over her chest as though she was trying to defend herself from something emotionally traumatic. Feeling anything sort of sarcasm or cynical humor was probably too painful for someone as tough as Selina Kyle, but Sylvia noticed the smallest tinge of worry.
"Never mind." Selina said offhandedly, glaring at Sylvia.
"Wait—"
But Selina was already climbing two fire exit escapes before Sylvia could tell her to stop and tell her what might have happened to Ivy Pepper.
"Well, shit." Sylvia mumbled, watching Selina vanish onto the roof.
It seemed reasonable enough to say that finding Ivy Pepper was going to take more than just a trip to The Flea. If a ginger-haired orphan girl ended up in the obituary section of the newspapers…Sylvia sighed and headed towards the better side of Gotham to some of its more rundown apartments.
If she couldn't find a friendly face at The Flea (aside from Selina Kyle), she'd visit her brother, who—now and days—always had something baking in the oven when it came to adventures.
Jim wasn't a fan of catering to pop-ins. He despised surprises, especially the ones that came unannounced to his front door just as he was waking up in the morning. The knock that came just as he was slowly moving around his homely abode made his brain hurt and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he opened the door.
And there was Sylvia, wearing blue jeans and a white halter top. Her copper-red hair, which now extended down to the middle of her back, was pulled into a long braid which fell over her left shoulder. Immediately, he glanced down to see that she was starting to show, the smallest baby bump poking from behind her shirt.
Times were definitely changing.
"You didn't call." Jim said as he stepped aside so that she could enter.
Sylvia glanced around the messy, lived-in apartment.
Back when Jim lived with Barbara Kean, Sylvia could attest that Barbara was probably the cleaner, neater roommate. While Jim never had the flair for being tidy, she wasn't expecting this.
Newspapers littered the wood work of the living room floor; empty beer cans, crushed beyond all recognition except for the Brand name lined the kitchen counters, dining table, and even the coffee table in the living room. Clothes—probably just worn and not really soiled—were thrown over the back of the couch after having just finished doing a load of laundry…because what was the point of folding them and putting it back in the drawer, really. There were dishes piled in the sink—some were rinsed off before being added to the pile while others appeared to be a few days' old.
"Normally, you call before you pop up," said Jim as he closed and locked the door (the door knob, the dead bolt, and the chain lock). He watched her observe the environment within his living station, smiling to himself as he braced for that sisterly lecture.
"I didn't know I was coming until I showed up, honestly." Sylvia answered, surprising him when she didn't lecture him on hygiene.
"Well, it's nice seeing you, either way."
"Have you considered hiring a maid?"
"That costs money."
"So does an exterminator."
"Ha, you've got jokes." Jim rolled his eyes, but smiling in spite of her criticism. "I just made some coffee; do you want any?"
"No, I'm fine."
"No caffeine for the baby?"
"No, it's not that. I just don't care for it at the moment."
"Now, that's something I didn't think I'd hear in this lifetime or the next."
"I have something of an aversion to it." Sylvia explained as she leaned her back against the backend of his couch. "When I smell it, it makes me want to puke."
"If it's making you sick right now, I can toss it…"
"Don't worry about it. I'll manage."
He watched her curiously as he drank his cup of joe, standing with his back against the kitchen sink, noticing that she, in her own little way, looked uncomfortable. In hopes of no longer dragging out the silence, he said, "You're starting to show."
"Oh yes, that, I am." Sylvia said, rubbing her belly.
"Do I get to know if I'm having a niece or nephew yet?"
"I have an appointment next week. The doctors tell me that they're sure we'll get to find out during that time."
"That's exciting, I suppose?"
"Very much so, yes." Sylvia returned, nodding emphatically.
And then, for whatever reason, there was that painful silence, that awkward uncomfortable transition. All that could be heard was Jim's occasional sip of his black coffee, and Sylvia's boot heels clicking on the tile of the kitchen as she walked to the table, noticing that he had drawn circles over headlines, detailing the timelines of recent monster sightings.
"I hear Penguin's put a million-dollar-bounty on Fish." Jim cited, glancing the newspaper that stated as such.
Sylvia glanced it over and said lightly, "That's a fact."
"I figure it is. Came from a few sources."
"Reliable sources?"
"They're just sources. I don't know if you'd call them 'reliable'."
Sylvia nibbled on the inside of her cheek, casually looking around before saying, "Jim…?"
"Yeah?"
"Why is it awkward talking to you?"
"I don't know…I was actually wondering the same thing." Jim said uncomfortably, looking at her.
"Are you jealous?"
"Why would I be jealous?"
"I'm having a baby." Sylvia said anxiously. "You were in my position…well, Lee was, anyway. But so were you. Maybe that's why?"
"I'm not jealous that you're having a kid," Jim forced a small chuckle so that what he said didn't come out as serious as it might have. "It's kind of awkward that you're having one."
"I think all of this is awkward."
"What do you mean: 'all of this'?"
"You not being a cop, me having a baby, this apartment alone," She gestured to the kitchen. "I'm still surprised you've held off being a cop as long as you have."
"If it makes you feel any different, I'm happy."
"You're living like a bum."
"Well, it didn't take long for your criticism to come out, did it?"
"It's not a critique if it's true." Sylvia emphasized, poking the dishes in the sink, adding, "This is how you get a bug problem."
"Maybe I'm not the one with a bug problem."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that something is clearly 'bugging' you." He said smoothly, putting his coffee cup down.
"Oh, fantastic. Puns."
"You came here without calling. You're uncomfortable around me. I'd understand it if you came busting in and saw me in a compromising situation with a woman, but I'm just drinking coffee. I'm the one living paycheck to paycheck, but you're the one that looks like you've been through hell."
"That's very flattering, thank you."
"I'm not trying to insult you, but it's true." Jim sighed patiently.
"I'm just tired."
"Of?"
"Of everything. I'm tired because of the baby stuff, but I'm tired in general. I'm always tired. We've not talked in a long time so I suppose you don't know the most recent thing to have happened."
"Which is?"
"Well, Delilah's gone."
"Delilah….?"
"My protege."
"Ah, the one that dresses like a Goth?"
"Well…dressed."
"She's gone-gone?" Jim questioned, eyebrows furrowing in concern.
"Yep."
"That's a shame."
"Not really. She had plans of killing Oswald and me, so it's a good thing she's gone," Sylvia returned flatly.
"Right after that Brittany girl, huh?"
"Yeah. I'm starting to think that the position itself is tabooed."
"The fact that you're telling me Delilah is 'gone-gone'…I'm to assume that she was 'disposed' of in some dark, dingy alley?"
"In not so many words, yes."
Jim drank the rest of his coffee, adding, "Well, she endangered your life, and my niece or nephew's. I suppose that in the end that's what would have happened."
Sylvia chuckled, "I can't believe I'm hearing what you're saying. You think she deserved getting killed?"
"I don't know what I think when it comes to your people, honestly."
"Well, just so you know, it didn't end there."
"It didn't?"
"No, she had an accomplice."
"I'm guessing you figured that one out?"
"Yes, I did. Demetri."
"Do I know him?"
"I don't think you two have been officially acquainted, no, but it's safe to say that he's in the hospital as of this moment," Sylvia returned as she fiddled with a newspaper, looking it over but not reading any of it.
"Why is he in the hospital?"
"He opened his forearm with my switchblade."
Jim blinked, saying slowly, "And why on Earth did he do that, dare I ask?"
"To prove his loyalty to me."
"You asked him to do that?"
"I told him to. It was either he did that or I blew his brains out."
"This conversation is getting too frank for my taste," Jim muttered as he poured another cup of coffee.
"He chose to hurt himself, Jim."
"It sounds like he didn't have much of a choice."
"Probably not, but I didn't twist his arm."
"No. He just carved himself up so you didn't kill him." Jim replied sarcastically.
Sylvia crossed her arms and said defensively, "Well, I hate sounding like the bad guy, but that's the reality of my work, Jim. If he was smart, if he had an ounce of integrity, he wouldn't have teamed up with Delilah—he would have come to me when he found out that Delilah was conspiring against me."
"You're saying 'he would have', but why do I get the feeling you mean 'should have'."
"Because he should've come to me," She emphasized, leaning over a kitchen chair, her hands on the back of it. "Delilah would have perished either way, but Demetri wouldn't be in the fucking hospital and I wouldn't have been put in the position of threatening my own staff."
"Sounds to me like all of this drama you've endured is self-inflicted." Jim said dryly, looking at her over his second cup of coffee.
"Excuse me?"
"You might want to change your management style if people are just betraying you left and right, Vee." Jim explained, unaffected by her flaring temper. "After a certain point, I figure you'd stop trying to cater to people who don't deserve your kindness and generosity, and stick with what you know: hardy, good, clean people..."
"You're referring to the GCPD? Help them instead of people who—you know—actually deserve it?"
"From what you've told me, Vee, the people who 'deserve' your help are backstabbing, two-faced, scruffy parasites who want nothing more than to wait for you to turn your back and—"
"Okay, I get your point."
Jim shrugged and drank the rest of his coffee. Sylvia let out a deep exhale of frustration before she pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to isolate a headache from finding its way to her frontal lobe.
"Harvey Bullock could probably use your help. He's been having a whale of a time with back-up."
"Instead of telling me to go help him, why aren't you?"
Jim didn't give her an outright answer but his nonverbal response of 'meh' was enough for her.
"Well, at least it's not awkward anymore."
Jim cleared his throat, then he patted her shoulder, adding, "For what it's worth, I'm not jealous that you're having a baby. In fact, I'm thinking that maybe you're jealous of me."
"Why would I be jealous of this?" Sylvia replied, looking at the apartment as a whole. "This place is like a termite's wonderland."
"I'm guessing Penguin's kept a pretty close eye on you?"
"Of course."
"And I've not seen you outside of your club or the mansion for weeks now."
"Well, yes but—"
"—Which leads me to believe that Penguin has become very protective of you—"
"—What the fuck is your point, really."
Jim smirked.
"As happy and enthusiastic as you are about having a son or daughter, you're very bitter about not being able to do things as you would normally—killing people, for instance. You've had to change all of that, haven't you? No more knife fights, or spark wars, no violence of any kind. You have a baby to look after."
"Wow, you said all of that so smugly—you're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Jim laughed, "Honestly, Vee. I really am. For once, I don't have to worry about you because you're worried about yourself, for a change."
Sylvia let out a scathing noise, but Jim smiled sheepishly since he knew he was right.
There was another knock on the door. Jim looked at Sylvia; she looked at the door curiously, glancing at him just as suspiciously.
"Stay here." Jim warned, pointing to the kitchen.
She held up her hands in surrender, doing as she was told.
When he opened the door, Jim frowned. Sylvia recognized the woman from Oswald's impromptu press release at the GCPD station about Strange's monsters.
It was Valerie Vale, all wide-eyed and bushy-tailed so early in the day.
"Morning!" Vale greeted ironically. "Surprised to see me?"
Jim replied dryly, "Not really. What do you want."
"I have a proposition!"
"Not interested." Jim responded immediately, closing the door.
Vale was adamant though: "Oh come on, think of it as a way of saying 'I'm sorry for handcuffing you to a car door!" And she pushed her way in.
"Except I'm not."
As Vale waltzed right in, she stopped immediately in her tracks when she saw Sylvia in the kitchen.
"Oh my goodness, I didn't expect you to have company," Vale remarked, grinning widely when she recognized her.
"You don't expect much of anything, do you," Jim mumbled, walking past her to join his sister in the kitchen.
Sylvia addressed Jim pointedly, "You handcuffed this woman to a car door?"
"Without my permission, mind you," Vale added with a mischievous glint in her eye.
"James!"
"It's not what it sounds like, trust me," Jim grumbled, rolling his eyes as he poured a third cup of coffee. This time, he added a shot of whiskey. "Fish Mooney was using her and the rest of the Gotham Gazette to track down Peabody."
"Peabody…?"
"Strange's assistant," Jim explained.
"Oh, right. Her."
"And," Vale added pointedly, "just as we were going to find her together, he cuffs my hand to a car door."
"You would have gotten in the way," Jim reminded. He said to Sylvia, "By the way, Vee, this is Valerie Vale. Vale…this is my sister, Sylvia."
"No introduction needed for this one. Sylvia Gordon: juvenile delinquent since age 11. Worked for Fish Mooney as a barmaid and waitress, then for Salvatore Maroni, and, now, works for Penguin. Now, stop me if I'm wrong, but you're married to Penguin—so do you work for him or with him?"
"It varies from moment to moment," She replied coolly, as she languidly stood behind a kitchen chair, her hands clasped on the back of it. "You sound like you know quite a bit, Ms. Vale."
"I've done my research."
"But you don't know much more than what anyone else knows about me, so nice try."
Jim grinned widely, seeing Vale get shut down in a matter of minutes.
But that didn't stop the reporter from inquiring further: "You run 'Lean on Vee's', don't you?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Your brother calls you 'Vee'."
"Yep."
"Off the record, was that like a major 'eff you' to him to name a club known for serving criminals and hard-to-do workers?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
"Amazing. Someone should really do a story on you."
"It wouldn't make best-seller, trust me."
"Well," Jim sighed, "this has been fun, but if you don't mind, Vale—my sister and I were in the middle of a very important discussion before you—"
"So this is where you live," Vale continued, looking around. "Anyone interested in a life of bounty-hunting should see this. Preferably wearing a hazmat suit—you don't bring women here, do you?"
"All right…" Jim muttered, ready to ignore anything that would come out of this woman's mouth a minute after.
"Fish Mooney. Penguin's million-dollar bounty. I can help you get it."
"Why should I entrust you to help me when I have Vee."
"She doesn't know where Fish Mooney is either," Vale scoffed, glancing at Sylvia pointedly. "No offense, Mrs. Cobblepot."
"None taken."
"A million dollars can buy you a whole new place, you know," continued Vale candidly, gesturing to the apartment. "Maybe a new car…more scotch" (she eyed the Irish coffee) "and even a nice suit. You know, unless you wanna just pow-wow in this termite wonderland."
"Hey," Sylvia chuckled. "That's what I called it."
"Termite Wonderland might be a good theme park," Vale said, agreeing.
"It might be, but no self-respecting ding-dong would profit from a place named after a bug."
"Unless it was spelled differently."
"Like T-E-R-M-I-G-H-T?"
Vale mused, "Original."
"Thank you." Sylvia returned, bowing her head slightly.
"What's in it for you," Jim said irritably towards Vale, although he sent Sylvia an equally irritated glare.
"A story," Vale answered.
"Really?" Jim and Sylvia responded simultaneously.
"It shocks you that I love my job and I wanna be good at it?" Vale addressed the two of them.
"Kind of. Why not bring her in yourself? Why give me a million dollars?" Jim questioned.
"Unless you think your sister would go halfsies…"
Sylvia chimed in, "I don't want the million dollars. That'd be weird—my husband giving me the bounty."
"Well, you work for him, don't you? Consider it a pay raise," Vale said cockily.
"If I wanted a pay raise, Ms. Vale, I assure you that I don't need to go on a man hunt to earn my keep."
"Oh, I'm sure you could earn it other ways—there's no question about that."
Sylvia sent her a leery glare, and Jim put his arm in front of his sister, if anything just to pull Vale's attention from her to him.
"Vee," said Jim calmly.
"Hmm?"
"I have a book you might be interested in reading. It's in the bedroom, on the end table. Go and take a look, would you?"
There wasn't any book Jim had that Sylvia could possibly think she'd be interested in reading. But that wasn't the point, was it? Jim sent her a meaningful look—the 'I'm trying to help you out, now go, please' expression.
"Sure. Why not."
She left the room.
Vale smirked.
"You're pretty protective of your little sister, aren't you, Gordon?"
"First things first." Jim said coolly, although his teeth gritted firmly as he approached Vale.
"Going to give me the protective brother speech? 'Don't go near your sister or else' kind of thing?"
"Something like that." He said sardonically with an equally sarcastic smile. "But mainly, I'm just going to give you a little warning. It's common knowledge that Sylvia has been known to be impulsive, reckless—"
"—She's rumored to have a killed a few people—"
"—Exactly, so with that said, if I were in your position, I'd lay off with the antagonizing remarks, huh?"
"See, now if only Gotham could see this sensitive side of you…"
"Oh, good god—"
"So, how about it? A million dollars?"
"Aside from wanting a story, what's your other angle?"
"I don't have another angle."
"You're a reporter—you all are more bent than octagons."
"How flattering."
"It is what it is," Jim said, shrugging.
"Well, has it ever occurred to you that I'm just a bigger person than you?"
"Mm…"
"And…and I couldn't find Fish."
"So you lost touch with your source."
"I didn't lose touch with her," Vale insisted. "I just can't really find her. She has always found me."
"Oh, that's comforting."
"I like her though. She's very stylish. A teenager on the runway of a very leather-ish, rundown-ish theme."
"Jim! I'm not finding this book!" Sylvia's voice called from the bedroom. "HOW DO YOU FIND ANYTHING IN THIS FUCKING DUMP! IT'S LIKE AN ASSHOLE MARRIED ANOTHER ASSHOLE, AND THE TWO OF THEM GAVE BIRTH TO A SHITHOLE!"
Vale raised her eyebrows, and commented, "Colorful vocabulary."
"You should hear her when she's mad," Jim promised. "It only gets worse." Then he shouted, "IT SHOULD BE ON THE BED!"
"IT'S NOT ON THE FUCKING BED!"
"IT'S ON THERE, TRUST ME—THAT'S WHERE I LEFT IT LAST!"
"I'M NOT FUCKING BLIND, JACKASS! I CAN SEE THAT IT'S NOT ON THE—OH WAIT, NEVER MIND, I FOUND IT! IT WASN'T ON THE BED, IT WAS ON THE FUCKING DRESSER!"
Vale stared at him, almost stupefied to silence before Sylvia came out and held up a book that read 'Where's Waldo'.
"Seriously?" She stated in amusement. "This is a joke, right?"
"Kind of." Jim replied, grinning at her.
"Hilarious." Sylvia mused. She threw the book at him; he caught it, and she sauntered back into the kitchen.
Vale looked between the two of them with unbridled entertainment before she looked at Jim expectantly.
"What do you say? It's a million dollars."
"It's Penguin's money."
"So?" Vale responded carelessly. "A million dollars is a million dollars. I mean, stop being so damn lazy. It's your job, right? It's your specialty. You find people. You're a bounty hunter!"
"What's the name of your source?"
"Selina Kyle."
"Hmm."
"You run into her when you were a cop?"
"Our paths have been known to cross a couple of times."
"Oh, that's great! So, you know where she lives."
"No, I don't."
"Don't you?"
Sylvia gave her a look and said monotonously, "Why the hell would I know where she lives?"
"You're the 'Lark'," Vale chuckled. "You know everyone and anyone who's under the line of integrity and diplomacy. Penguin's the General; you're the Lieutenant, who knows the name of all the foot soldiers, right?"
"You amused me earlier. Now, you're starting to fucking irritate me, Vale."
"She doesn't know," Jim told Vale hoarsely, glaring at her. "Remember our conversation earlier?"
"Yeah, not to antagonize your sister." Vale recalled. She grinned at Sylvia, saying, "Got some anger issues, Mrs. Cobblepot?"
"I'm going to punch you in your fucking face."
"Whoa, no, no, no." Jim coaxed lightly, pulling her back. "Easy, easy."
It wasn't until when Vale was on the verge of a violent crime that she actually noticed Sylvia's unearthly glow. And then she noticed the baby bump.
"Oh, that explains it." Vale pointed out. "You're pregnant—hormones are really driving you crazy, aren't they."
"You have no idea." Sylvia responded hotly.
"Vee."
"What? She's annoying as hell!"
"I know, but don't punch her."
"Fine! I'll talk to you later." Sylvia said, pushing his arm away from her. "I'm leaving."
"Love you, Vee."
"Ditto."
As she left, Jim glared at Vale, who returned it with a look of innocence and reproachful naivety.