Note: this story is complete on AO3
Jim woke in the back of a van, with his wrist, knees and ankles wrapped in duct tape, mouth taped shut. He tasted blood. He had done his best to fight, even after being tased, and his abductor had been forced to punch back. Jim had not done much damage. He had not been in a state to.
The van was moving - slowly, as far as he could tell - but there were no windows, so there was no way to see where they were nor where they were going. He couldn't even look at the seats: a steel divider had been summarily welded between the back and the front of the van, only leaving a small opening to allow the use of the rear view mirror.
He could hear voices, though: the inane, constant chatter of Mrs. Valentine, and the occasional terse answer from her so-called "grandson". The rumbling of the motor and the noise of the road made it hard to understand what they were saying. As for the sounds he heard… No city traffic, no honking, no music, just the asphalt under the wheels, and the regular whoosh of street lamps. They had left town. Jim couldn't see his watch. He couldn't tell how long the trip had been nor guess how far from Gotham they were. He kept listening, trying to get any hint of their location. The van turned on a dirt road, going slower, shaking as it rolled over rocks and holes. It stopped a few minutes later.
"Get him inside, Nate, dear", Mrs. Valentine said. "I'll see if Sophie managed to calm the poor girl down."
Jim listened to her footsteps as she walked away, then the doors opened and "Jonathan" entered the van. He shut the doors behind him. The cop thrashed. His abductor just stepped over him and dropped a duffel bag next to them. He peeled the tape that covered Jim's mouth away.
"You son of a bitch", the detective hissed.
Jonathan unzipped the bag.
"Shut up", he muttered, giving Jim a hollow look. "She'll be in the control room soon enough. You listen to Sophie. She's a bitch but she will keep you alive."
There was a beep from the bag, and the man rummaged through it. He pulled something black out of it, a sort of metallic chain covered in dark cloth, with plastic parts where -
Jim recognized an explosive necklace and tried to roll away, trying his best to kick Jonathan despite his bound legs. He did manage to push the doors open and rolled out of the van, dropping onto a paved ground. His abductor swore and pushed him down, forcing the necklace on. The device locked with a click. Then, the kidnapper released Jim.
"Don't run. Get out of the control room's range and it will blow", he said.
"If you think for a second-"
Jim went silent when he saw the man's expression, the emptiness of it, the absolute resignation. He was not wearing a necklace, but his throat was chaffed and scarred. So he was a prisoner too, just restrained in some other, less blatant way.
"What now?" the cop asked.
Jonathan's face twitched, then he smiled, going from bland and exhausted to handsome in the span of a blink.
"I'm so glad you decided to move in, James. You'll see, it's such a nice neighborhood, very quiet. You are renting number one, aren't you? I'll show you around."
The detective stared at him. His theories about Delores Stephenson and Sabrina Bakerton had never included 'moving in' and having 'neighbors'. To be fair, they had not included old ladies faking dementia either.
Jonathan pushed him away from the van. Jim finally saw the house - the manor - and recognized the place immediately. He knew it. Everybody knew it. Just like Wayne Manor, it had been looming over Gotham City for centuries. It was the old Crowne family home, which meant Adora Valentine had to be Margaret Crowne, grandmother of tech magnate Robert Crowne and retired CEO of Crowne Industries.
That explained quite a few things.
###
Things tended to get a little bit gory when military grade weaponry was involved. Oswald's side had machine guns, shotguns, and pistols. Barbara's side had about the same arsenal - except for the machine guns, as they were apparently less portable - and then she had the rocket launcher. She liked the thing. It made a glorious mess.
«You did good, Willy», she said as she hopped over the splattered remains of two of Cobblepot's guards. «I believe this will get the point across quite nicely.»
They had control of the mansion, though they had lost fifteen men. The survivors would get three hundred thousand dollars instead of two, because having a reputation of generosity was very important when you wanted to keep using men as cannon fodder. Hiring was always more difficult when you were stingy. Which meant Ozzie had better be ready to offer magnificent wages, because forty of his men needed to be replaced.
Barbara made her way to the mansion. They didn't have much time left. They had waited for Penguin to leave the house for a trip to the club before attacking, but it was not impossible that he had been warned of the assault. So her team needed to grab the hostages and leave quickly.
She walked into the mansion, chuckling as her sneakers squeaked against the blood covered marble tiles.
«Gotta say, boss, that's a hell of a point you made, alright», Willy commented, trying to tiptoe around the blood and corpses. «Though it's hardly my business to say, I think you could have bought Gilzean back for half what you spent on us guys. Not to mention, you know, there wouldn't have been a price on your head.»
«You think?»
The thug looked into the closest room, grimaced, and moved away from the door.
«Yeah. So, huh, why the big show of force?»
They all deserve to die.*
«They all deserved to die.»
Willy looked at her as if he thought she was insane and hoped she wouldn't read his mind.
«They all deserved to die», Barbara repeated, shrugging. She mumbled the next line. «Tell you why, Mister Willy, tell you why. Because in all of the whole human race, Mister Willy, there are two kinds of men and only two…»*
She made her way to the living room as pathetic-replacement-for-Butch hurried after her.
«What kind of men, boss?»
She walked into the room, still looking at Willy, and paying no mind to the terrified weeping coming from the sofa, where Mrs. Kabelput and Ozzie's little guest were cowering.
«There's the one staying put in his proper place and the one with his foot in the other one's face»*, she explained, kicking the closed one corpse in the head.
Her shoes squeaked again.
Miriam's bodyguard had not really wanted to fight to the death. He had been shot in the back as he was running to the window, or so Barbara had been told.
Gertrude wailed. Miriam, who was curled up against the old woman, shrieked.
«Oh, get over yourselves», Barbara snapped. «We're not going to hurt you?»
«Why would you do this?» the crazy old coot whined, with that insufferable accent of hers. «Why would you be so cruel?»
Barb' took a deep breath and donned her best commercial smile. The gallery one. The «I'm going to be very patient with your uneducated, uninformed, and downright mentally deficient ass» one.
«Why. That's a good question. One I'm not so sure you want the answer to, seeing as you obviously never cared about the problem at all.»
«W-what do you mean?»
«I mean if you had paid attention, we wouldn't be here at all. You would have opened your eyes when little Ozzie started torturing cats - which I'm sure he did - and slapped sense into his mind, and that would have been the end of it. But no. No. Oswald was 'such a good boy'.»
She saw the doubt in Gertrude's eyes, even if she immediately defended her son.
«He's not like that. He's never been like that!»
«Oswald is nice!» Miriam added, but then again she would think so. Her bedroom was filled with bones.
«Oswald is niiiice», Barbara mimicked, rolling her eyes. «I can't be the first person to point out he's not right in the mind, and I believe you know that, Mrs. Kabelput. Now, on the 'why' I'm being so cruel… Oswald took it upon himself to have my right hand abducted, and delivered to his BFF Victor Zsasz the serial killer, so the freak could have fun torturing him in his basement. All of that so I would obey him. WELL, GOOD LUCK WITH THAT. So now, now, I have to kidnap the two of you and trade you for my friend. It's not my fault, is it? HE STARTED IT, DIDN'T HE?»
Gertrude's world came crashing - just like dear Mother's - and she didn't try to defend her boy anymore. Something mean flickered in Miriam's eyes, and she looked from Gertrude to Barbara, frowning.
Willy was called out by a teammate, which distracted everyone. He left for a few moments, and came back nervous.
«Hey, boss, one of Penguin's men is alive», he announced. «He was hiding in a panic room. He says he has important information.»
Note: This story is complete on AO3.
Barbara raised her eyebrows.
«Why is he under the impression that I care about information? Do I strike you as a criminal mastermind? Because I'm not aiming for criminal mastermind.»
«Uh, I dunno, boss. He's upstairs.»
The blonde rolled her eyes.
«Very well. Take the girls away, I'll join you at the factory», she said, leaving the room.
Finding Penguin's man was not too difficult, you just had to follow the sound of mockery and punches. She walked into Ozzie's office - which was suddenly adorned with one less painting and one more concealed door - and shot the ceiling to get everyone's attention. Her men moved away from their captive. It was Gabe.
«Heeeey! Gabe! Isn't that a surprise!» she exclaimed, shooting in his direction.
He threw himself to the floor. So did several of her hirelings.
Hirelings had such a nice sound to it.
«No, no, please, don't kill me!» the henchman begged. «I work for Maroni, I work for Maroni!»
Barbara blinked. That was mildly surprising, coming from Oswald's favorite pet.
«Wait. Maroni, Maroni, crime lady Giulia?»
«Yeah, yeah, Giulia. I used to work for one of Salvatore's guys, Frankie. Except Frankie was a cheap asshole so I sort of quit and started working for Cobblepot instead. Pay was better, and alimony doesn't pay itself, you know?»
«You're aware you're making the exact opposite point of what you were going for, right?»
He held his hands up in the air.
«She called me like three weeks ago, said we used to have a nice business relationship and she could use a reliable man, and also that Oswald was kind of a cunt, so, heh, I figured 'better pay', 'job security', 'less likely to be stabbed'. I was just collecting intel on Zsasz before getting my ass out of here, I swear.»
«Giulia Maroni», Barbara repeated, because she had absolutely no interest in the rest of the story.
«Yeah.»
«Well, then, I hope you have an excellent memory, because you're going to have to pass a lot of messages.»