babycat : thanks for your review! I don't know what I'll do with Bruce yet but I'm thinking about it!
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Little girls dreamed of white picket fence houses and white wedding dresses, and of something old, of something new, of something borrowed, of something blue. They waited for the day their prince would come, to smother them in kisses so tender their hearts would break. When they found the One, they wrapped themselves in promises of love, and soft whispers, as one would with a warm blanket in the unbearable coldness of a winter night. They reveled in their ever after, covered it all up with lies until it looked like happiness.
Little girls were made of sugar and spice and everything nice, but 'nice' did not belong in the real world. Sugar would make you ill with syrupy sweetness, and spice? Oh, no, one could not have any 'spice'. Good girls smiled and nodded and did not raise their voices. Good girls waited for their turn to speak. Good girls did not kiss girls, and did not like to. If you had spice, it had to be crushed out of you with scathing looks and terse comments. And God forbid the world could see a trace of snips, or snails, or puppy dog tails under your mask.
Good girls did not wear masks, actually. If you had to, there was something very wrong with you.
Or so they said.
«No», Barbara told the psychiatrist that had been sent to assess her state of mind. «You willfully misinterpret my words. I did not hate my parents. Was I angry at them? Yes. Did they deserve to die? Yes. But I loved them. All my life, all I ever did was to try to live up to their expectations and hope they would return my feelings.»
Leslie Thompkins had had a little more fight in her than what one could expect from that condescending little miss Perfect, so Barbara was not safely watching the news of her grisly death on television, from a motel three states away. Which was disappointing. Then again, there would be other opportunities. James did not have the best track record at protecting his loved ones, and Leslie was such a bleeding heart she would fall for the stupidest tricks in the book. The victim card was so easy to play on someone who wanted to see you as a broken doll. She would die, in time. That being said, her surviving meant she had tattled about that murder confession, which resulted in Barbara having to reside in Arkham for the foreseeable future.
She would play along for a few weeks, until she figured out which guard was the most in need of a fifty thousand dollars donation.
«Did Jason Lennon suggest your parents deserved to die?» the psychiatrist asked, taking notes.
No. No. He agreed, but the suggestion was mine, from the bottom of my soul.
«I-I… Don't recall. T-that evening, I w-was so out of it. It h-had been a long d-day, and I was d-drugged. It's all in my file, isn't it?»
She was grateful for the drugs.
«Barbara, we're doing this for you», Jason had said, getting his blade out. And he had grabbed her mother, cut a deep gash into her cheek, and invited Barbara to join him. «This is something you have to do for yourself. Only you can define who you are.»
She had stumbled to him, the world hazier than her thoughts.
She was grateful for the drugs. Without them, she couldn't have brought herself to take the knife and to follow Jason's instructions. She would not have freed herself from the masks, and the shame, and the utter misery. She would have kept waking every day to drink herself to sleep. She would have drowned in that sense of isolation and worthlessness when, in fact, she did not need anyone, and she could not fathom why rejection had ever hurt her. She did not even need Jason. She missed him like her heart torn away, but she didn't need him. She was more complete than she had ever been. She was stronger. She knew no fear.
«It is», the doctor replied. She was a fat, old lady with a closed up face and thin glasses. She worked in Arkham, so she could not be very competent. «I would like to hear the story from you all the same.»
«As I said, I don't remember anything after he gave me that 'water'. I passed out.»
And then he woke me and asked me who to kill.
And I did.
And he loved me for that.
«When did you wake?»
«A few h-hours later. He said we were going for a road trip.»
He had given her a simple, elegant white dress so she could change from her ball gown. They had showered. She had done her hair as he kissed her shoulder and told her about freedom and revenge, and she had swayed in his arms, swallowing the pills he gave her. Then they had driven to her parents.
«It's so blurry, all of it. I remember wiping my hands on my dress… Telling my mother about being her little 'piggy'. I remember James coming in… I'm…»
She started sobbing and let the tears flow. This is all so traumatic, wah, wah, wah. The psychiatrist waited for her to regain her composure. Someone knocked at the door. The therapist went to open it, the sole of her cheap moccasins shuffling on the yellowish tiles. One of the guards was waiting in the corridor.
«There's a detective to see Kean», she announced. «Gordon, remember him? Worked in the male wing.»
Barbara bit back a grin. Jim, Jim, Jim. Had he decided to reopen the Ogre case? She saw no other reason for him to visit. Maybe his simpering idiot of a girlfriend had sent him to check on her. Out of pity. It was her style.
She let herself be led away, to a creepy little room with yellowish walls and yellowish lights and yellowish windows obstructed by iron bars and years of dirt. Jim was standing in a corner, uneasy, and grimaced when he saw her. His face. He thought he could lie. He thought he could fake warmth and affection. He thought he could do a great many things, the poor, poor man. He had so much to learn.
She smiled and put on her most innocent face.
«Jim! I'm so glad to see you.»
Watching his discomfort was about as hilarious as getting Thompkins to squirm in horror with tales of Jason's games.
«I. You… We need to talk. I want to help you», he said, gesturing to the guard to leave them alone, and moving closer to Barbara. «Anything I can do, I will.»
When I needed help, James, all you ever gave me was absence. But it's kind of you to offer some now that I'm just fine.
His face was ever so slightly bruised.
«Who sent you?» she said.
If it wasn't about a case, then he had been prompted.
«No one. Barb'… Let's sit?» he suggested, walking to a set of unmatched chairs.
She took one, and he turned his own to face hers.
«First things first, I want you to know I contacted the best therapist in town. Highly recommended, he specializes in trauma counseling and recovery. I want you to talk to him. I want you to please, please let someone help you.»
Barbara pursed her lips and did not comment.
«Please», he insisted.
She promptly resumed her innocent victim act and nodded.
«Anything, if you think it's necessary», she promised. «Was it Leslie?»
«What?»
«The person who sent you.»
«No one sent me.»
She chuckled. She couldn't help it. No one was as bad a liar as Jim Gordon, and she knew him in and out. Liar, liar, pants on fire. Just like when he had tried to hide he was dating Leslie, when it was plain on both their faces. He tensed and moved away.
«You don't have to force yourself to come see me, you know?» she said. «I left you a long time ago. You don't have to worry about me. I'm just fine.»
«Of course I will worry about you. You're important to me.»
That's a new one.
«And I failed you», he finished. «It's my fault you were hurt.»
Renee! It had to be Renee. That would explain both Jim's bruise and his sudden realization that his actions sometimes had consequences.
He had not even come up with that on his own. Barbara decided to punish him with sweetness and truth. Sugar and spice and everything nice.
«Don't blame yourself», she told him in a cheerful, happy voice. «I'm glad. I'm so very glad. If you had not made that little, insignificant mistake, I would never have met Jason. I would never have been loved. I owe you so much, even if it was all unintentional.»
His face at that was priceless. The perfect mixture of pain and shame and disbelief, all of it wrapped in horror. She didn't think she had ever seen him so low. She gave him her kindest smile.
He had so much to learn.
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«What part of 'whoever holds the bridges holds the town' do you fail to understand, Hugo?», Giulia snapped into her phone. «Gotham is an island. I do not care how many labs you lose today, nor how many warehouses. The cocaine you save will do you no good when the family finds itself cut from all other resources. Now off to the North Bridge, your men are to join Cipriani's and defend the block. Are we clear?»
Hugo tried to protest again - «I just thought-» - but a scathing 'now' was all it took to get him to obey. That compliance made him much more tolerable than the pack of wolves Giulia had spent the day cajoling and threatening into defending the family instead of their asses. Salvatore had not be dead a day, and all of those imbeciles were going after each other, or Falcone's lieutenant, or whatever struck their fancy. All of that because Giulia's husband had felt the urge to taunt the craziest woman in town. At no point had he considered that maybe someone who had the gall to try to take Don Falcone out would not lose any sleep over executing him. That was so very 'Sal'.
His lieutenants were not much smarter. "But my territory is more important than that territory". Whining and quibbling like children. Giulia had seven years old twin boys who were not nearly as puerile.
She had managed to obtain some semblance of order. They had been at war with Falcone for days, and the family had taken some serious losses even before Salvatore's death. That left Giulia little to work with, and the men who remained had tried their best to scatter to the wind. She had reined in enough of them to gain control of the Adams Port, which was good, but they needed at least two bridges. She remembered being a young bride, barely twenty, sitting in the restaurant and listening to Big Lou tear Sal 'a new one' about sacrificing the Kane Memorial Bridge in some feud against the Russians.
«We traffic weapons», Luigi had told his son. «We traffic drugs! Do you think they grow on trees, coglione? Falcone will always find whores to fill his pockets, there's no shortage of foolish sluts in Gotham. Goods, however, do not make themselves. How do you think we will fare if the Russians get first dibs on every truck we try to get in?»
Salvatore had gone and taken that bridge back. Nearly died in the process, too, which his father had called a 'suitable lesson'. Giulia had not forgotten. Never cut your own supply lines.
She was the daughter of Luigi Maroni's left hand. She had been Salvatore's wife. She was the mother to his heirs. She knew how to take care of the family.
She looked down at the bodies around her: the overreaching lieutenant who had used her boys as hostages (after Sal had entrusted him with their care), his own sons, and his men. The henchmen had been gunned down as soon as her team had entered the mansion, but Franco and his sons? It had been personal, so she had let her men tie them up. Then it had been a bullet in the head for each of the sons, by her hand, as their father watched. Was the death of the young men a tragedy? Of course. But insubordination could not go unpunished. Giulia had to make sure no one would go after her children again. Letting Franco's wife and young daughter survive had been enough of a mercy.
She turned to the two hitmen she had brought with her.
«I want his head delivered to Vasily», she told them, naming the other rogue lieutenant. «Cristiano, if you would be so kind?»
The blond nodded and went to fetch his tools. His colleague, Nino, moved closer to Giulia. She walked to the door.
«Let's retrieve the boys and leave. I want them out of town by the-»
Her phone rang. She picked up, only to be greeted by a polite, composed voice.
«Giulia. I hope I am not disturbing you. I've been made aware that your family is not falling to pieces. I assume you have a hand in that?»
«Carmine?»
«Himself.»
«Where the hell are you and what are you playing at?»
She had been told he had retired. All of her trusted informants agreed on that, as well as some of Fish Mooney's hirelings, the ones that had been captured after the events of the previous night and had witnessed the whole disaster. The notion of Carmine Falcone actually relinquishing his hold on the city was ridiculous. Maybe he was injured and too weak to handle the ongoing war. Maybe he had a temporary lapse of faith. But Gotham was as good as part of his soul. He could never keep away.
Giulia had been stunned to see him let his family dissolve. Oswald Cobblepot, self-proclaimed «king of Gotham», had attempted to take over, but he was about as skilled at managing the politics as he was at managing Fish Mooney's club. He seemed to believe that, by virtue of having killed the woman who had killed Salvatore, he had acquired some special status. In Giulia's opinion, the man lived in a fantasy world. Real life was not 'Harry Potter'. There was no power transference when you happened to defeat someone, the 'wands' did not magically change owners.
«I'm not playing, Giulia. I'm done with this life. I think it is time for the established order to be shaken up a little. And, quite frankly, it has been a long week.»
«Well, you should have thought of that before sending a hitman after my husband, quite frankly.»
«Ah. The thing is, I never did. I did, however, receive a head in a box, courtesy of Salvatore. My condolences, by the way. He was a good friend, I was sad to see him go.»
«If you didn't call that hit, who did?»
«You're a smart woman. I'm sure you can guess.»
Giulia didn't have to give it a lot of thought.
«Cobblepot?»
«He paid me a visit to confess and gloat. A very informative few minutes that would have been better employed stabbing me, but you know how it goes. Hubris is quite a glaring weakness.»
«I'm shocked. A double-crosser, triple-crossing, who could have seen it coming?»
«No need for sarcasm. I'm an old man, Giulia. My wit is not what it used to be. Which is why I'm very glad to discover you have stepped forward. You're a good woman. Always had your priorities straight. I believe you can do the city a lot of good.»
«I assume this call had a goal other than letting me know about Cobblepot's being a repeat turncoat?»
«Yes. I have a favor to ask of you.»
She frowned.
«Do you, now?»
«I had to leave the city in a hurry. I left a few loose ends, but one of them will keep me up at night. I would be ever so thankful if you could take care of that matter for me.»
«That matter being?»
«Zsasz. I had an arrangement with Zsasz. And since I'm not here to uphold it and keep him leashed… He needs to be dealt with, Giulia. He does not have the strength to control himself. He'll soon become a rabid dog. He needs to be put down before he starts hunting his own prey.»
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«Where is Jim?» Sarah asked, joining Bullock at his desk. «I have a case for the two of you.»
The man was doing crosswords, though she suspected he was just passing time as he waited for a phone call. His phone was charging next to him, and had been all day.
«Arkham, I reckon», he replied. «Had to check on his psycho ex-girlfriend or something. And are you kidding me? The city's at war and there's dumbasses out there who found the time to murder someone?»
«Stabbing victim, a woman was found dead in her home.»
«Then call the husband in! Ninety-nine percent chance he did it.»
«Here is the address», she replied, handing him a square of paper with all her notes on it. «Go take a look, do not arrest the husband unless you have probable cause, and try to get Jim to join you.»
He grunted, snatched her notes, collected his phone, and stormed out.
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