Chapter Thirty-Three: Inglorious Basterds

To say that Oswald was interested in meeting Aubrey James was an understatement. Since his phone call was received by one of his many volunteers answering his landline, the suggestion was as titillating as it could be.

The meeting place was public. It was a casual diner, renowned for its top-selling and specialty dish, meatballs and spaghetti. The sauce was what made it so delectable and memorable.

While it was Butch who drove him and Sylvia to the diner, it was only the two of them who entered. While James had anticipated his visit, the man looked less than happy to see Sylvia accompanying him. Oswald could have objected to Sylvia's demand to be present but the argument would've left him empty-handed and tired.

He hadn't bothered talking her out of it on the way here. By all means, the woman had more than made up her mind. Still, she'd done him the favor of dressing up, wearing a cocktail dress herself with an off-the-shoulder feel, and a color that was redder than her own hair.

As they approached Aubrey James' table, the man frowned.

"You were supposed to come alone," James said unhappily, glancing with an expression as unenthusiastic to Sylvia, who grinned innocently.

"Oh, believe me," Oswald assured. "I tried to come alone. But, as I'm sure you've learned in your prior dealings with her, Sylvia is determined in everything she does."

"To include attending dinners without an invitation," James added. "Your reputation proceeds you."

"It's only because of your reputation, Aubrey," Sylvia retorted, "that I felt the need to come at all."

"Well, as flattering as that is—"

"—Oh trust me, it wasn't a compliment."

"Have a seat, either way." James grunted, gesturing to the chairs.

Oswald pulled out a chair that was beside Aubrey James, smiling when Sylvia took the seat happily. Oswald sat across from her, left hand on the table while his right sat atop his cane, pointedly feeling at ease while Sylvia glared at Aubrey.

"A public place," Oswald told James, "Smart."

"Knowing your flair for the dramatic, I thought it necessary," James responded casually as he continued finishing what was left of his meal.

Oswald smiled: "How flattering. But why exert myself needlessly? The public sees me as a man of action. You…you are yesterday's sad joke."

Sylvia smiled inwardly.

"While Galavan humiliated this city, where were you? In a warehouse with a box on your head." Oswald pointed out.

James sighed coolly, and said with the same frigid tone, "You're an unstable lunatic, Penguin, and people are going to see right through you. I've got the judges—"

"—Corrupted," Sylvia uttered.

"—The unions—" James continued, glaring at her in annoyance.

"—Not as dirty—"

"—The GCPD—"

"—Very dirty—" Sylvia chirped with a dark smile.

"—And a whole team of legal experts behind me. What do you got?" James challenged.

Oswald smirked, leaned forward and said with little worry, "I have me."

"And that's it," James returned. "Aside from this one" (he inclined his head to Sylvia) "and let's be honest, she's just as insane as you are, if not more, you have no one else. And the world will see it. Let's face it: You're psychotic!"

Oswald suddenly stood, slamming his hand on the table. And just as he did, several employees, including waiters, waitresses, and even the bus boys, clamored out of their stalls, away from their tables, and kitchen utensils to suddenly pull a gun on Sylvia and Oswald, who, when they did, looked at James with a calculating stare.

"Not this time, Penguin!" James told him. "My head will not be put in a box again."

Oswald glanced at Sylvia, who smiled at him readily. Then to James: "Ooh, you. So smart. Always two steps ahead. Never three…"

But nothing happened. James looked around, at his staff, who appeared just as confused, then to Oswald, who was smirking at Sylvia.

"Have you ever seen 'Inglorious Basterds'," Sylvia said calmly to James, who looked at her suddenly with a fear. "There's a scene that I love most in that movie. I'm sure you'll be able to tell me what that scene is…if you look down."

James peered downward, slowly.

His eyes grew wide.

"That's right." Sylvia purred. "You have all these guns aimed at my husband and me…but you've not even noticed mine. I've had it out now for the past five minutes, and it's aimed straight between your legs. So…tell your men to put down their fucking weapons, or I will shoot you."

"For what reason…" James mumbled, looking down to see that what she said was true.

"Aside from threatening him and me? I'd shoot you on principle for calling my husband 'crazy'." Sylvia said slyly, smirking at Oswald, who proudly took a pin out from inside of his jacket and placed it on James' suit.

"Relax," Oswald reassured. "I do not want you dead. Besides, what kind of fun would an election be if I was the only candidate, huh? You're right though. I do need a little more help. And I have just the right person in mind."

"I'm still down to shoot him if you want," Sylvia offered.

"No. It's over, dear. Let him go," He said lightly.

"Really?"

"Sylvia…" He cautioned.

"Fine, fine," Sylvia sighed. Once the employees had lowered their weapons, Sylvia slowly put the trigger back, and then stood.

James glared at her, saying, "You're definitely crazier than him. You know that, don't you."

"Oh without a doubt," Sylvia said happily.

"My wife is at a press conference right now," James said just as Oswald and Sylvia were walking out, "And she's telling everyone what people you really are!"

Oswald sent Sylvia a cool, calculating glance, which she returned. After a moment, James had wished he hadn't spoken his threat so loudly. For a second, it appeared that Oswald was going to sic Sylvia on him. Then, surprisingly, she rolled her eyes and walked out of the door with Oswald moving right behind her.

Once in the car, Butch started the engine and the limo casually was on its way.

Sylvia sat in the back seat with Oswald, who looked at her plainly.

"Do you have my bullets?" Sylvia asked airily to no one in particular.

As though on call, Butch reached into the glove compartment and handed her the magazine; Sylvia took it thankfully, popped the bullets in the chamber of the Glock she had used to threaten Aubrey James, and placed it in her purse.

Watching her do this, Oswald asked, "Why did you leave the magazine in the car?"

"I'd be tempted to shoot the man, if I didn't."

"So if I'd given you the 'go head, you'd have been unable to kill him."

"I'd be able to kill him—I don't need a gun to do it. But I knew you wouldn't let me kill him anyway. I was just saying it for showmanship."

Oswald chuckled, "It wasn't loaded at all."

"Not even one in the chamber," Sylvia sighed proudly. "It's all mind power. James fell for it."

"Yes, he did."

"Before you go by Arkham, could you drop me off at my club?" Sylvia asked. "I've a guest that's going to entertain tonight and I need to make sure he has everything he needs."

"Of course." Oswald said as he kissed her cheek.

Author's Note: I admit, I've had this scene planned in my head for at least a year since I started writing this story. I'm so happy I could write it!: D