«For someone with such a lucky strike, I don't feel like Jim really appreciates being allowed to return», Essen said.
Harvey leaned against the lab's exam table and unpacked his box of Chinese take-out. He handed the veggie noodles to Leslie and opened his garlic chicken.
Sarah was pissed. She had every right to be. Jimbo had been about as pleasant as waste shredder for most of the morning, and she had no idea why.
«He didn't have a lucky strike», the freshly reinstated detective announced. «Cobblepot intervened. Paid our guy, or so he says. He was reaaaal proud of it when he told Jim, too, and he'll lord it over him 'til the end of time.»
His captain stared at him, all of the implications of being helped out by the freshest Don in town sinking in.
Leslie cleared her throat.
«And I should be present for this conversation because…»
«Because it is lunchtime, and the cap' wanted to talk, and you wanted Chinese. I'm multitasking. And I figured Jim is too busy brooding and wouldn't have told you the Penguin thing at all. Whoever mentions the subject around him is liable to get punched in the face.»
The M.E. didn't deny not being told, which was as good as an admission.
«Why is Oswald Cobblepot so set on keeping Jim on the force?» Sarah exclaimed. «What does he have to gain? Is it just about when Jim saved his life?»
«Nah, it's not about that. The guy sees being helped as a divine right, and everything else as a mortal offense. He has something to gain alright. He's also collecting favors, so my bet is he's gonna wait for Jim to be right where he wants him to call them all in. Which might be in a few years, for all we know.»
Lee was stunned, and her eyes moved back and forth between Sarah and Harvey. The detective knew she had some idea of Jim's mostly unwilling business relationship with Penguin, as she had heard all about the disaster at Falcone's warehouse, but Gordon wasn't a sharer. He'd never be. While she could beg, bully and barter the information out of him, she would never be sure he was totally frank. It had not seemed to matter a month before - she was good with Jim and he was as wrapped around her finger as a guy like him could be - but now she seemed worried. She didn't ask any questions, however. She was the kind of woman who understood Jim's secrets were his to tell, and that prying would do no good.
«I want you to keep me update on any move Cobblepot makes», Sarah announced. «Any time he contacts Jim, I want to be the first to know.»
Harvey nodded, chewing on a piece of chicken.
«I might not be kept in the loop. The creep is none too fond of me, on account of my past with Fish. But if I hear something, sure, I'll tell you. Now, about something else… Is there any progress on the vigilante who nailed our victim's boyfriend?»
«Not much. Everything he obtained for that investigation of his - the phone records, the bank records - he got using Jim's identity. We know he's male, in his thirties, and 'polite', from the bank employee who talked to him. But she wasn't able to give a decent description.»
«Is Alvarez still working on it?»
«On that, and the two open cases he was on when you were suspended, and Delores Stephenson's case. You're taking that one back, by the way.»
Leslie had opened her own meal, and was attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible as she ate, intently not listening.
Bullock acquiesced.
«Alright. I'll talk to Carlos. What about the Dollmaker case? Can we keep that one?»
«Can you get your informant to come forward?»
«Not a snowflake's chance in hell.»
The captain sighed.
«I've relayed everything you told me to the Missing Persons Unit, about the Winston boys, the island, the organ trafficking ring, but without a credible source, they are not willing to listen to me. They're investigating sex offenders right now.»
«So are we keeping it?»
«It depends. Is your informant Fish Mooney?»
Harvey closed his eyes and let the words roll over him. He had heard them before. They brought back memories.
He collected himself.
«If Fish was in Gotham, Penguin would have been drawn and quartered by now. No, she's gone.»
Sarah was silent for a moment or so, knowing full well what the words meant to him, but also that neither of them should acknowledge that.
«Alright. Let's be clear. You and Jim? You have a lot of work to do before I trust you again and-»
«Come on! It was my fuck up. It was my arrest. Don't go and blame the boy for it.»
«And you're not getting any new cases, and most certainly none people expect to see solved.»
«Well that's some good use of two salaries.»
«Let me finish. I have valid reason not to trust either of you right now. You can try to cover for Jim, but in the state he's in, he has not been doing a good job, and if he had not made you handle that case alone, things might have turned out differently.»
Lee cleared her throat as loudly as humanly possible. Essen paused.
«I've made a list of six cases that have gone cold in the last year. You'll be working on that, Stephenson's case, and yes, the Dollmaker, until you find something convincing enough to get the MPU's interest. Now, those cases are hard to crack, and they are as dark and twisted as Gotham gets, and if someone can solve them, it's you and Jim. So I suggest you do just that and we'll see where that gets you. Is that alright with you?»
«It's something», Harvey said.
He was furious, but he knew he had no right to complain. He'd been a failure for years, within limits, but Sarah had never been that blindsided by his blunders before. Never on a case that simple. Never with someone rubbing it like their vigilante had.
She nodded and left. Leslie cleared her throat again, this time choking on her food.
«I really don't think I was supposed to hear that», she murmured.
Harvey shrugged.
«I dragged her here to be sure no one else would listen in», he said. «Sorry about that. I don't trust half of the unit with some of the things that were said.»
«… Cobblepot?» the M.E. tried.
«How much do you know about organ transplants?»
###
Oswald watched the security feed, intently.
Miriam's letter had brought Gillian running in. The commissioner was playing checkers with the girl, a ritual of theirs, and she was winning. She thought he let her win. Oswald had seen her play, so he knew better. She had that particular skill that only came with not merely practice, but unrelenting, continual training. Like - say - playing the same game against yourself for two decades, to be ready for that one time in a month you got to try your skills against someone else.
It was Oswald's opinion that Miriam was doing much better at the mansion than in the attic Loeb had locked her in, and that her father's visits were vastly undesirable.
«She's very good at that», Victor said from his back, making his employer jump.
He turned to the door.
«Will you stop sneaking up on people like that? It is unsettling.»
Zsasz smiled - which was not merely unsettling, but downright scary - and pointed at the screen.
«She beats everyone at this. She's a predator», he commented.
«I thought we discussed your infatuation with young Miriam and how it was not to manifest, ever.»
The hitman rolled his eyes.
«You see things that aren't there. I like her. She's. Crazy. But I have no interest in… That», he finished with a grimace.
Oswald studied his face, frowning. Truth to be told, Victor's taste for torture might have bordered on the sexual, but it was likely the only form of «gratification» he indulged in or cared for. He did not touch his sidekicks. He shrugged at the idea, anyway, and had looked nonplussed the one time Oswald had questioned him on that matter.
The crime lord dropped the topic and turned to the screen again.
«How much for Gillian Loeb?» he asked.
Zsasz joined him, leaning down to take a better look at the footage.
«It depends. Does he have to vanish? Or do I leave a bloody mess? Public execution or something quieter?»
The fact that he was listing options meant that he not only considered the mission as feasible, but also as affordable. No «two million dollars» quote.
But Oswald had Gillian in the palm of his hand, and nobody to put in his place. Not yet, anyway.
«It was merely a question.»
«Ah.»
They watched the screen in silence for a moment, then Zsasz turned to Oswald.
«I thought you said you would crush his spirit», he said. «To get him under your thumb. Did you chiiicken out, chicken?»
Cobblepot huffed.
«Seriously, Victor, did you think that was my move?»
The assassin tilted his head to the side.
«I was getting him in the right place», the crime lord explained. «Seriously. My move is planned for next week, Thursday, at two in the afternoon.»
###
Sabrina had lost track of the days.
She would wake up and go for a jog, and maybe chat with Sophie if she was out. Then she would go home, shower, and weep. The box of tampons next to the toilet had gone unused, and she never looked that way - never - so she would not start hyperventilating.
In the morning, she watched movies, one by day, in order. «When Harry met Sally», then «Sleepless in Seattle», then «French Kiss», then «While you were sleeping», and sometimes «The wedding singer». In the afternoon, she slept. In the evening, she had dates. She knew David had been ordered to propose, because he had drawn a ring in the palm of her hand to warn her. He had not tried yet - maybe he had been told to wait for the right moment? - but he would. They walked together, or sat on plastic grass to watch a night sky that was not there, counting stars that did not exist. The Screen gave fairly specific orders. After the dates, they went home - to her place, or his - and had sex. Then she showered and rubbed herself so raw that she had scabs and bruises all over. The scratches that had healed had left brownish stains on her skin.
She had gotten so used to her necklace's beeping that she did not hear it anymore. David once had to shake her into noticing.
She found great comfort in David. At night, once the lights were out and she was fairly certain the cameras were useless, she snuggled against him, and kissed him, and he let her. It was the one thing they could choose for themselves, in the dark, hidden under the covers, when Mrs. Valentine could not watch them.
The first time Sabrina had reached between his legs, he'd been shell-shocked, and she'd known he was staring at her in disbelief, even though neither of them could see the other. Then understanding had dawned, and he had rolled onto her. It had been rough, and she had been sore the next day, but it had to be quick and silent so it had to be hard, and it was still the only thing they could choose for themselves.
He was usually gone in the morning.
Then, one «While you were sleeping» day, she awoke to mild discomfort, sat up, an felt wetness on the sheets. David stirred next to her, and she turned on the lights.
In a normal context, she would have been mortified, and rushed to the bathroom, and stolen the stained sheets, and then profusely apologized to Matthew (who would have said «hey, a little blood ain't gonna make me faint»). She was not in a normal context, however, so she just looked down and started shaking. She must have looked very bad, because David immediately sat up and grabbed her shoulder.
Her teeth were chattering.
«Sabrina, Sabrina, calm down, calm down, it's nothing», he tried. «Shh, shh, come here.»
She let him pull her close, and tried to take a deep breath, but she only managed a few shaky gasps.
«It's nothing», he repeated. «I'm here. It'll be alright. Come on, Sabrina, please?»
«I'm s-sorry», she stammered. «I-I-I-I'm trying. I-»
He rocked her, rubbing her back, clearly panicking himself. She sobbed.
«I'm sorry», she repeated, this time in a clearer voice. She pulled back. «I'll stop, I-I-I'll stop. I don't even k-know why I'm cr-»
###