Chapter Five: Victor and I Make A Deal


Bed.

The feeling of my own bed was so good, the moment I fell into it, I fell asleep for about four hours. When I woke up, I coddled myself in a sapphire-blue robe and walked to the kitchen. I didn't know I was singing anything until a voice spoke in the darkness:

"You have an amazing set of pipes."

I grabbed the nearest weapon I could, turned on the lights, and saw that I pushed it against the body belonging to Victor Zsasz, who was grinning increasingly in amusement. And I understood why: I held a wooden spoon to his neck. He hadn't even shifted in his position, leaning into the corner of connected counters.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I questioned harshly, throwing the spoon in the kitchen sink.

"Calm down. I'm only here on business."

"Yeah, I know what you do for business—so that doesn't put me at ease," I said carefully, stepping closer to the kitchen table where underneath hid only one of my many measures for home security.

Apparently, he read my mind. From behind him, he held up a pistol.

"Looking for this?"

I frowned.

"Like I said," He stated coolly, "I'm here on business. You're not in any danger."

"From whose perspective?"

He chuckled at my wit, stepping towards me and placed my gun on the table. I took it, holding the firearm in my hand loosely in any case he changed the tables on me.

"I'm assuming Penguin passed along my message?" Victor asked hopefully.

"The business proposition, you mean. Yes, he did pass it along to me. No, I'm not working for you."

"Like all messages, they all get garbled somehow. You're misunderstanding the message."

"Am I now?" I challenged.

"Yes. So, with your permission, I'd like to explain," said Victor smoothly.

He pulled out a chair, implying that we were going to have a nice conversation. Hesitantly, I sat while he slid a chair from the table, sitting in reverse.

I was rigid, feeling not at all comfortable with him being in my house when I had all my bases locked. But that didn't stop a man like him—a thief could break into my apartment; the locks could keep a zombie out but an exceptional thief or a man with a will like Victor's could find a way in. For a moment, Victor was quiet as he observed my narrowed eyes, the rigidity of my disposition. He looked around the apartment and smiled.

"You have a nice place here."

"Thank you. You were going to explain?"

Victor smiled even wider: "I'll be blunt. I want you to come work with me."

"In what context? Sharing contracts Falcone gives you? I'm not a hitwoman, Victor."

"You have the potential to be."

"Ugh—I'm so tired of people telling me about my potential."

"Like who?"

"Fish Mooney, Jim…now you," I said, gesturing to him. "Fish wanted me to be like her, you know. To be a woman in power, to be strong—but she doesn't know that I am strong."

"But you don't have power."

"I don't need it."

Victor chuckled, "And that's why I want you on my team, Sylvia."

I stared at him: "I'm totally lost right now."

He leaned forward. I leaned back.

"I don't want you to work for me or with me, to be honest. But I certainly don't want you working against me either."

"You're a homicidal maniac with exceptional set of target practice skills. Why would you have any reservations about me?"

He said honestly, "I try not to underestimate strong-willed, confident women."

"So, you come into my apartment when I am at my least prepared so you can make—what—a peace offering?" I asked, gesturing to the apartment in general.

Seeing my skepticism, Victor held out his hands like he was about to give up.

"I think it would be a hoot-and-a-half if you would come with me to fulfill a contract. There's good money involved."

"Money isn't my passion."

"So, what is? There must be something you want."

"Why are you pressuring me so hard to join you on your little jobs? What I want to know is this: What's in it for you?"

"Suspicious, huh?"

"Overtly cautious," I corrected. "And I have reason to be. You tried killing my brother before, remember?"

"It was a job."

"He's still my family."

"Let's not dwell on the technicalities, shall we?" Victor insisted, splaying his fingers on the table. "Falcone has some pretty tasty contracts coming up—people he needs disposed of and tortured. And you—I've seen how you handled Joseph that day."

I gave him a look.

"You gave me advice on how to break into the back of the store. That worked out nicely—I meant to thank you for that."

"So, return the favor," Victor suggested.

"In exchange for what?"

"Well, you don't want money."

"I don't."

"But," He said slowly. "There is something you should consider before you tell me 'no'."

"What if I am telling you 'no' right now and you're just refusing to listen to me?"

"You're not. Are you?"

I stayed silent. And he grinned widely.

"I can make you into an exceptional killer, Sylvia." Victor persuaded. "With a little training, a different flair" (he eyed my robe) "You could make for a beautiful, unsuspecting weapon."

"And why would I want to be a weapon?"

"Because you want to be able to protect your true source of passion."

"And, in your opinion, what may that be?"

I just wanted to see what he was pitching to me. Perhaps noticing this, Victor stood and seemed to glide to the living room and returned with the picture of Oswald and myself during our first date. He wore a suit; I wore a yellow sundress. We were smiling in the photo.

Victor placed the picture in front of me, pointing to the likeness of my boyfriend: "You want to be his weapon, don't you?"

"How do you know this?"

"A guess. I know your type," said Victor lazily. "You don't want money or power, and you certainly don't give a damn about your own personal welfare. But you care about Cobblepot. And you care about his success. And you care about his happiness. And while I don't know much about you, I know you would do anything for him—die for him, kill for him. And that, in itself, is valuable to me."

"Why do I feel like I am being threatened?"

"You're not, trust me. If I was threatening you, you would know."

"You're telling me that you will train me, make me a professional like you so I can protect the man I love with every fiber of my being—and this is purely out of the own goodness of your own heart?" I said skeptically. "I never knew you were such a romantic. Why do I not believe you?"

"You have a cop for a brother, and one heck of a paranoid fellow for a boyfriend—"

"Fiancé," I corrected immediately.

"—Congrats," said Victor, holding his hands up in the air and then lowering them to his lap. "You have every reason to be suspicious. But I don't want anything from you except to say that I trained you, made you. You, Sylvia, are a project."

"I'm offended."

"Sorry." Victor said, sounding less than apologetic. "But you asked what I will get out of this arrangement. And that's what I will get."

"Bragging rights?" I scoffed. "You want the right to say you trained me."

"That's all," He crossed his heart with his finger. "And you, in turn, get all the training you'd like from me. Just look at me as your mentor."

"I see you more as being a horse's ass."

"Don't be rude."

"A horse's butt then."

"Please be courteous," Victor said sternly. "I've not insulted you, have I?"

"You haven't. I apologize."

He smiled, getting to his feet: "That is my business proposition."

"How would it work?"

"You come with me on contracts from time to time," He stated, all business-like. "And I show you just how a true professional gets things done. You may back out anytime you want, but you have the same blood as Jim's."

"Meaning what exactly?"

"You can't stand to lose." He winked at me. "So, I know you won't back out. What do you say? Do we have a deal?"

I stood to my feet as well.

He held out his hand.

"Deal."