Harvey walked home at nine in the evening, with a can of beer, a burrito from the closest joint, and bone-deep weariness. Only in Gotham did you get called to three crime scenes in a day. Thankfully, save for the girl with the blown-up head who had been fished out of the river, the murders had been good old-fashioned passion crimes, nothing crazy. Some lady had shot her junkie of a husband, and some guy had beaten his ex's new boyfriend to death. Easy confessions, both of those cases, once Harvey had raised his voice a little.
The «explosive necklace» girl was something else entirely. Leslie and Nygma had taken care of the autopsy, and picked shrapnel from as far as the girl's toes. A part of that shrapnel was jawbone. It was the kind of weird-ass killing who usually had Nerd-boy on a little cloud, but he had been in a piss-poor mood lately, and his observations had been terse and to the point. No riddles.
No lying there, Harvey had nearly felt concerned.
Regardless of Eddie's mood, there wasn't much to be told. You weren't gonna find a manufacturer for explosive jewelry. That kind of crap tended to be custom-made by psychos. They had made a few inquiries around the companies that sold ammonium hydroxide and iodine, but the list was long, and the customer records longer. The girl herself was a Jane Doe. Dental was not exactly an option, and running what was left of her prints would take ages. There was no shortage of missing redheads, and Jim was browsing through piles of reports, but Harvey was pretty sure it would lead nowhere. They had covered the recent disappearances already, with no matches, and a few details seemed to indicate the victim had not been held captive for long, if she had ever been. She had died with a fresh manicure - pink, glittery plastic nails - and in a dress that came straight out Abercrombie's most recent catalog. Chances were no one knew she was missing.
It sucked but, at the end of the day, Harvey did not dwell on it. If you closed two cases in a day, you counted your blessings. The weird, gory one could wait. You knew you'd never see it to the end.
What you did was clear your mind with booze until you passed out. That helped.
He unlocked his door, threw his coat on the back of a chair as he walked in, and sank into the sofa, opening his beer can. Then he turned the TV on and cranked the volume up, as he had heard shifting in the bedroom. He grabbed his gun and went to wait next to the door. It was the only way out: the window frames were good old fashioned wood that distended and bloated on rainy days, and you couldn't open them without some effort. Lately, you couldn't open them, period.
It took a few minutes for the intruder to risk an exit, and she found herself facing the barrel of a gun. Again.
«Oh, come on!» she wailed.
«This is becoming an habit», Harvey remarked, moving the weapon away from Kyle's forehead. «The hell are you doing here?»
He didn't have to ask. She was looking for news about Fish. She had probably found her coat, too. He had stuffed it at the top of his closet, inside a duffel bag and behind three others, but that kid could smell trouble from a planet away. It was probably the first place she had searched.
«Did'ya find anything else?» the brat asked. «I saw the cloak.»
Harvey slipped his piece back into his holster.
«Get out. Out, out, out, now.»
«I'm gonna keep asking!»
«OUT!» the cop shouted. Then he reconsidered. «After you empty your pockets.»
The girl huffed.
«You seriously think there's anything worth stealing in this ditch?» she snapped, gesturing at the crumbling furniture and the TV he had bought used a decade before. «What do you think I snatched? Your one jar of mayo?»
So she had even snooped into the fridge.
«Pockets», Harvey repeated, since he knew of her track record.
She puffed and emptied her pockets on the sideboard, dropping his lighter, a matchbox, silver cuff-links he would have pawned years before if he had known he still had them, and two handfuls of tampons.
«I left two in the box», she announced, misreading the look on his face. «I'm not a bitch.»
He had been thinking of how many weird things had appeared in his flat since he had started seeing Scottie, and of how it was maybe time to start to worry.
He collected the matchbox, the lighter and the cuff-links.
«You can keep those», he grumbled, waving at the tampons, that vanished in a blink. «Now get out.»
The kid did not move.
«Can't you go harass Jim?» he asked. «Jim likes you. At least he did before you went and delivered him to Fish. He didn't mention you since. Maybe he's not pissed.»
She tensed.
«Yeah, well, even you are better company than Gordon.»
He lifted an eyebrow at the anger in her voice. Then he grabbed her by the hood and dragged her to the exit.
«Was a pleasure meeting you», he said as he pushed her out. «Don't come back.»
It took the little pest less than five minutes to sneak back in through the living room window. Harvey, who had been trying to enjoy his (lukewarm) burrito, tensed but did not turn.
«She did not tell me you used to be, like, together», the girl said.
So she had unearthed his old photos too. She was long overdue for a kick to the ass.
«Probably because it's none of your business», he replied. «Do I need to shoot you? I can shoot you.»
She jumped on the sofa, crouching on the cushions, and stared him down.
«You know you can just tell me what you found and I'll be on my way.»
He glared back, chewing on his food in perfect silence. Her stomach grumbled, and her eyes moved down to the burrito. She caught herself and looked back up.
«Come oooon», she insisted. «You found that coat somewhere.»
Harvey took a sip of his beer.
Maria was a smart woman. From the looks of it, after Penguin had pushed her into the river, she had let the current carry her halfway across town. Picking up her trail had been a stroke of luck. He'd thought she would feel safe in the red lights district, what with her having grown up there and all. Not that her childhood had been uneventful. It had taught her to survive, though. She would have felt safe in those streets because her orphaned teenage self had clawed her way out, and Fish Mooney was nowhere as weak and helpless as that scrawny kid.
«She's dead», he told Selina Kyle. «Bullet wound took her out.»
It was a lie, and the young thief had to see through it, but there was no point telling her the truth.
He had found bloodstains on a wet, slimy staircase that led out of the river and into the Narrows. The blood trail was thin but could be found if you knew what to look for. It had led Harvey to the nearest alley, where Fish had discarded her coat, pushing it into a manhole and leaving a washed-out pool of blood on the pavement in the process. She had rested a few feet away, then made her way out of the alley and vanished.
The cop could have pretended she had stopped the bleeding, but he didn't think so. There were dark marks on the concrete where the trail ended, the kind of dark scuffs you saw when black rubber soles scraped the floor. Someone had been dragged. Someone had fought. Harvey had looked around for a few days, pretending Fish could have backtracked, and followed the river to the sea, but he knew. She'd been taken, and he had no idea by who. Maroni's side would have given her a brutal and much publicized execution. Cobblepot, little cunt of a wannabe that he was, would have bragged endlessly. And both sides had made it known that they would pay Fish's weight in gold to get their hands on her, death of alive, so any sane person would have delivered her, stat. Which left the lunatics and the creeps.
Harvey didn't even know where to begin to search. A long buried part of himself was scared shitless.
«Then where's your two hundred grands?» the girl asked.
«My what now?»
«The reward for the proof of her death.»
«Would you just fuck off already?»
«Just tell me where you found the stupid coat and I'll look for her on my own! I won't bother you again. You think I wanna see your face?»
He took a deep, angry breath.
«Do you have a thing for suicide or something? The mob already knows you're the Wayne murder witness. How much deeper into shit do you think you're gonna be if they think you're Maria's best pal?»
The brat jumped back and clenched her teeth. She glared for a few moments. Then she left.
###
Giulia crossed her legs and looked out of the car window as the driver led it away from her safe house. It was rainy, which was good news, as the boys were not inclined to leave their bedroom. They spent their days playing the nintendo and enjoying their impromptu holiday. They were safe, or would be for a while.
She pressed her phone closer to her ear, distractedly listening to the polite greeting of her most frequent caller.
«I swear, Carmine, for a retired man, you are strangely invested in the city's fate.»
«You know me. I'm incorrigible. Sixty years caring about only one thing will leave you slightly bewildered. But I'm glad to say I'm making progress.»
«So you do like Trinidad, after all?»
«I do like Trinidad. It's a beautiful place. Very sunny, which is an adjective I never had the opportunity to utter in Gotham.»
«I'm glad to hear it. What do you want?»
«I just wanted to inquire about that loose end I mentioned a few weeks ago.»
Giulia paused and looked at the driver, who was intently pretending not to eavesdrop. The woman worked for Rino Pontarelli, one of Salvatore's lieutenant who operated in Blüdhaven, and had come to Gotham to assist with the reorganization of the family. She was a latina in her thirties or so, with long black hair and a thin, pinched face. She was also an undercover detective from MCU, which Giulia had not informed Rino of yet. She had merely requested the «driver's» services, as she weighed her options. Salvatore - ever the flatterer - used to call the cop «that horse-faced whore». He also said she had to be the one officer on the force whom could not be bribed. That integrity had motivated Giulia to keep her alive. She could do with a driver too honest to shoot her in the back.
The downside was that she had to watch her words. Up to a point.
«He's fine», she told Carmine. «Unfortunately. He and Cobblepot are joined at the hip, lately, which is not surprising. Their brand of crazy is fairly similar. You'll understand that, in my position, I can't afford a full blown assault on that mansion the boy stole from you, right?»
«I understand. Your family's safety comes first, it goes without saying.»
«I'm saying it anyway. But I did try to lure the maniac out.»
«Did you?»
«Yes, through the simplest channels. I offered him a contract. Unfortunately, he sent one of his girlfriends to arrange the terms, so I just made a very unreasonable offer and let her go.»
Giulia studied Renee Montoya's face. The woman was frowning, clearly listening in. So, she now knew Victor Zsasz was a target. It was a very important, yet very useless piece of information, as every sane person under the sun would react to the news with «Oh, thank God!».
«The longer he is left in Oswald's hands, the more dangerous he will be, my dear», Falcone remarked. «I know your position is precarious, but do not let the situation get out of hand. Victor cares not a bit about his job. What he cares about is the killing. Keeping him in my employ was a way to redirect - contain - his urges… But Penguin cares little about moderation, and he has no sense. I fear Zsasz will devolve more quickly in his company than on his own.»
«You know what I love about you, Carmine?»
«I'm about to be enlightened.»
«When you imply the people around you are blind fools, you do so very politely. But you can save your breath. How stupid do you think I am? Of course that sociopathic little snitch will make Zsasz worse. He makes everyone worse.»
That got Falcone to pause.
«I apologize, my dear, I didn't mean to insult you.»
She wondered if he was actually sorry, or just surprised to have been called out on his crap. It probably had not happened to him in forty years.
«If I manage to solve this particular loose end, I'll let you know», she said, ignoring the apology. «In the meant-»
The car went flying as a van rammed into it. It spun for an eternity. There was a white flash, and the world went still, and Guilia tasted blood. She stared as red droplets fell on her lap, then snapped out of it, and detached her seatbelt with shaking hands.
Gun, grab your gun.
The door opened and Montoya dragged her out.
«Take cover», the cop snapped, pulling her against the side of the car.
There were gunshots. The car's windows cracked. The cop mumbled curses and attempted to shoot their assailants. Giulia's body felt like cotton wool, weak and limp and unresponsive. She reached under her skirt all the same, retrieving her handgun from her holster. There would be hell to pay. There would absolutely be hell to pay, provided she got out of the ambush alive.
If Penguin wants to play it that way, he will get that full blown assault on that damn mansion.
Montoya shot again and hit her mark. Her boss - or target, depending on the point of view - wasted a few bullets, but got one good shot in. There was a third man left, who quickly understood he was outnumbered and could not hit them both at the same time. He took cover behind the van and did not move. The two women did the same. Minutes passed, with some baiting and insults from Montoya's side. Guilia just collected her breath, and her wits. She wrapped her shawl around her mouth. Then she reached for her purse, dug through it, and debated for a second on the best grenade to use. She decided the tear gas could backfire, so she went for the flashbang.
A few moments later, a very dazzled henchman found himself facing two loaded guns.
Twenty minutes after that, he found himself facing Cristiano.
###