Hey, it's a new chapter! Liz faces some of the consequences of meddling, and the Cape is still a moron.
Beta'ed by the wonderful WtchCool.
- o – o -
Chapter fourteen: So Much For My Happy Ending
Elizabeth Raoul knew what day it was. She just wasn't so sure her father knew, or remembered. Even Trip knew (so did Gerry, if the cheesy e-card was anything to go by). But her father had forgotten. When she and Trip had started out on their mission to make their fathers less idiotic and more intelligent, nearly a year ago, she hadn't expected that her father's sudden influx of a metaphorical spine would make him forget her birthday.
Or, for that matter… football. He'd completely forgotten about football. Liz wasn't sure which worried her more: The lack of even a morning greeting and the pancakes he usually made for her birthday, or the fact that he wasn't even interested in the Manchester derby. It was probably going to be the derby that worried her more, though…
Liz sighed and flopped back on her bed, holding an old, ratty stuffed alligator to her chest. In the past few months—mostly since the train thing—the smuggling operation had gotten bigger. A lot bigger, actually… Hell, even she hadn't managed to do that when she'd been head of the organization, and she was a lot more level-headed than Scales had been. (There was a reason she was called Snake Eyes, after all.)
The nine-year-old sat up and stared at her door, hoping her father would come in with an apology and his usual "I'm trying to hide something and being a moron about how I'm supposed to do that" smile in place. She'd missed that—a lot.
She ended up waiting three hours before she heard the door in the foyer slam. The former smuggler crept out of her room and perched on the landing, watching the goings-on in the hall. It looked like Scales had organized a meet instead. That was odd… Usually he held those at the docks. Unless… What was Molinari doing here? Or Johnny the Bull?
"Dad hates Johnny," Liz muttered under her breath as she slammed the door to her bedroom. Okay, so she was being petty with that. It wasn't like it was her birthday being forgotten, or anything important like that. She called Trip up on Skype as soon as she'd wedged a chair under the doorknob. She needed him to search Orwell's files, or at least get Gerry to do it for him. Something was seriously up.
- o – o -
Trip had been expecting a nice quiet evening. His father hadn't gotten the supremely stupid idea of infiltrating Scales' gang this time around, and was instead keeping his nose clean. Well, mostly. Trip had no idea who'd tagged Travis' car, but he had a pretty good idea who was behind it. (Mostly. For all he knew, Travis could live in an area with vandals or something.)
His mother had invited Jack over for dinner, and it had been… Well, not pleasant, but nice. The atmosphere was a lot less strained than any time Travis had been over. It still wasn't as good as his dad being there, but it was close. Trip leaned back in his seat, feeling that all was well with the world.
Skype had to interrupt his pleasant day dreams.
The ten-year-old former vigilante shot his computer a dark look and wished he had a mallet he could use to smash it to return to his pleasant little day dream about his dad coming home and taking the stupid mask off for Dana. The program made the annoying bubble sound again, refusing to be ignored.
Trip groaned and opened it up so he could see whoever it was. He wasn't expecting to see Liz. Wasn't she supposed to be at some glitzy, mob-style birthday party, or something? She was nine, and it was her last year in the single digits. That had to be a big deal for a single parent, especially one as nutty as Scales.
-I need you to take a look through Orwell's files- Liz began without so much as a hello or a how are you. Given that it was her usual style, Trip wasn't too bothered by it. But that she wanted him to break into Orwell's secure files… That worried him just a little bit.
"Um…why?" Trip asked. "Not that I won't, but… I'm just curious."
Liz glowered at him. Given that she was at least six miles away in some hidden compound (or in Copper Hills, but it was pretty much the same thing), it didn't have the same effect. –I need you to do this because 'm worried about me dad, a'right?- Liz said. She was chewing her lower lip, the glower from just a few seconds ago vanished like it never had been.
"Oh boy," Trip muttered, pulling up another screen on his computer. If Liz was worried, something was up. Although given that it was Scales they were talking about… Yeah. It was going to end badly. Someone would probably get shot, and then Orwell would have something up on her blog by the morning about ARK being corrupt enough to help known criminals hide bodies. (Although honestly, that would be one hell of a funny exposé to read. Most of them were, in all honesty…)
Of course, there was also the fact that Orwell probably still wasn't in any shape to write another post at the moment. She'd only been rescued from Mister Crazy Toxin, aka the Lich (which gave the man far too much dignity) three days ago, after all. And that was after being his captive for four days. (Hadn't she taken a gas mask with her to use? Trip hadn't thought his hint had been that oblique.)
It took most of an hour, but he found the barest traces of…something. What he found did nothing to cheer him up. From what Orwell had been digging up, in the weeks leading to her…incapacitation, the gangs were planning something. It was big. It was nasty. It was not going to end well. Not after Liz got done with them.
He told her everything.
It wasn't until later that the ten-year-old felt he'd done something incredibly stupid, but it was too late anyways.
- o – o -
Liz padded down the back stairs, stuffed alligator dangling from one hand. She was tired, grumpy, and she'd spent the whole day expecting at least one word of recognition from her father that it was, in fact, her birthday. So far, she'd been disappointed. She was bored, hungry, and the other crime lords were holed up in the kitchen. It was the only place to go for something to eat, unless she wanted to go into her father's study and raid his trail mix. (Not a good idea, even if she was his daughter. He was nutty about knowing if there was something on hand to eat, all the freakin' time. Not that she could blame him, though, all things considered…)
The nine-year-old walked into the kitchen, still lost in thought. If she'd been paying a little more attention (or any attention at all), she would have remembered that the kitchen was soundproof. She would have remembered why, and she would have looked first.
There was a reason her father hadn't come to her room with her usual birthday breakfast—or done anything resembling that. Liz had killed…a lot of people, to put it in the safest way possible, but she'd always had clean kills. She'd never tortured anyone. The man on the kitchen table who was currently being taken apart by a number of the crime lords (well, their thugs; the only boss who was actively helping was Scales) was barely recognizable as Mick Reese.
"Lizzie Lizard," Molinari said, looking up from his spot on the kitchen counter. Everything in the kitchen/torture chamber stopped. Even Molinari's body guard/guy with the eyedrops stopped moving. Scales looked up, a horrific look on his face. He didn't look pleased to see his daughter standing in the kitchen, wide-eyed and open-mouthed in shock and horror.
"Elizabeth Victoria Raoul," Scales growled, pulling the butcher's apron off. He grabbed his daughter by the upper arm and dragged her out of the kitchen and into the family sitting room.
None of the other criminals were present, but they could all hear the dull smacks of flesh meeting flesh. They also had children of their own that they wanted to keep out of the criminal life as much as possible. So Raoul was just laying down the line his daughter couldn't cross (finally). What did it matter if she got a spanking in the process? Anything to keep the kids away from the bloody stuff, right?
They didn't comment when Noodle left the room at a look from his employer, or the sobbing. They had too much to deal with anyways. Like finding out just what games ARK was playing. And Mick Reese knew a lot about ARK's little games.
- o – o -
Dana Faraday was, for once, enjoying a Tuesday evening. Trip was safely in his room, probably waiting for the Cape to hit the roof or for Liz to get on Skype. She and Jack had the rest of the apartment to themselves, and a really good bottle of red wine. Jack even knew how to dance when he had two glasses in him. And he was a fantastic kisser, too (and she kind of got annoyed at how the interruptions always came when Jack was kissing her). She growled something under her breath as she headed for the door, not bothering to check before opening it.
Noodle, Liz's sometimes bodyguard and chauffeur was standing there, a brilliantly pink, sparkly backpack on one shoulder and a stuffed alligator clutched in his free hand. Liz was clutching to his other hand with her tiny hands, face hidden in the man's side. Judging by the muffled sounds, she was crying. The little girl looked up, and Dana realized why. Her face and shirtfront were bloody, possibly from a broken nose.
"There's a good story behind this, isn't there?" Dana commented as she let the two into her home. The public defender had a feeling she wasn't going to like it.
She was right.
Noodle explained everything—how it was Liz's birthday, how Scales had forgotten and had a meeting of the local crime lords… How Liz had come downstairs for a snack, after not eating anything all day because she'd been waiting for her usual birthday treats, and gotten a good smacking around instead.
Noodle's tone as he spoke said volumes. Scales had sworn that he'd never raise a hand against any child he had, especially not one that was his only link to his beloved Lydia. (Lydia had been responsible for a lot of Scales' happier memories, if the newspapers and other sources Dana had managed to dig up and consult were true. Although why no one else knew this, the public defender didn't know.) And yet… Here Liz was, sipping hot tea through a straw because her nose was broken.
Dana felt a hard ball of sheer terror and righteous anger settle in her gut. On the one hand, she was sheltering a child from a major criminal player (admittedly it was said criminal's daughter), but on the other, she was putting her own family in danger by doing so. Her first instinct was to run like hell from Palm City, taking Jack, Trip, and Liz with her. Screw the rest of the city; she had children and her boyfriend to protect!
"Alright," the public defender sighed. "Noodle, go to a bar—make sure it looks like you've been there for a while. Get drunk if you have to, but you were never at my home, and you haven't seen Liz since she got injured."
Noodle nodded and left without another word. He did pause to ruffle Liz's hair on the way out, though. Oddly, it didn't draw an annoyed but somewhat wistful scowl from her this time.
After the man was gone, Liz spoke up for the first time since she'd come into the Faraday apartment. "I don't want anyone to know me dad hit me," she said quietly. Dana and Jack both raised their eyebrows at this. "Do you know wot Fleming would do if 'e 'eard any of this?" the little girl said.
And that…made so much sense it was annoying. Liz knew that Fleming would take any opportunity he could to get his witch hunt against Scales made into a reality. Scales, despite his faults, ruled the docks fairly and everyone who worked there was loyal to him. Getting any hint of him not being such a… Well, a paragon of blue-collar virtue would turn every single one of them against him.
Given the current gang war in the city, it wasn't a good idea to give Fleming an inch. Dana sighed.
"Trip is in his room."
What had she just done? And why didn't she care?
- o – o -
So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Wondering what Scales (or heck, even Dana) was thinking? Drop a line and let me know!