Chapter Seven: Bob Is Dead/ Flass Is Arrested

A/N: :) Another chapter for you, lovelies!


I wore comfortable jeans, a purple tank top under a black leather jacket, and even more comfortable tennis shoes. I painted my eyelids with periwinkle eye shadow and winged eyeliner. Seeing this new image of myself in the mirror only sharpened my confidence. My ginger locks were pulled into a ponytail; damn hair had grown past my shoulders over the year and I still hadn't decided whether or not I should cut it. Around that time, there was a knock on the door.

"It's open!"

Upon my command, my guests entered.

Victor led two women inside. I looked at them suspiciously, lowering my hands to my side as Victor closed the door. He was dressed in his usual black leather attire, and his female counterparts mirrored him in the same style.

"Sylvia," greeted Victor, "these are my girls: JJ and Al. Girls, Sylvia."

JJ was an Asian girl, standing at or a little taller than my height. She had one heavily marked eyebrow; the other was shaved off; a great deal of her body was covered in leather with the exception of her face and her legs, wearing fishnets instead, and impressive combat boots. Presenting herself to me, she didn't smile and she remained poised, her hands interlaced behind her back, like a soldier.

Al was taller with beautiful bronze skin, and a buzzed caramel-colored hair cut; she wore a black pantsuit and the V-line cut deeply into her valley, showing off the soft outline of her breasts. This woman wore a dragon-shaped earring on her left ear; the right had three piercings in her earlobe. Like the other one, she didn't smile either.

Both women carried handguns.

"You'll see them from time to time," said Victor smoothly, indicating the girls.

"They're not full-time?" I asked skeptically, glancing at JJ.

"I have a life outside of homicide," She said, smirking.

"What do you do?"

"I freelance as a hit-woman."

I stared at her.

"Isn't that the same thing?" I asked, looking at Victor quizzically.

"No," She answered for him. As if this was the most obvious answer in the world.

"Well then…." I muttered uneasily. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

"You didn't," JJ assured firmly. "I get plenty of contracts but Victor gets the more interesting ones. So I just go for the ride."

"Huh. What about you?" I asked Al.

She grinned pleasantly: "I have a bakery."

"Where?"

"Outside of Gotham."

"Cool, I can dig that."

"Tell us about you," JJ said coolly. "What do you do?"

"Nothing much," I said, shrugging. "I organize staff work schedules in a restaurant owned by my fiancé….and occasionally work for Maroni, but—"

JJ and Al immediately raised their guns to me.

"Whoa…." Victor warned, and he placed a hand on their arms, lowering their weapons as the girls looked at me shiftily. "What did I just finish saying? She's on our team, ladies, remember?"

"I guess you don't like Maroni," I said smoothly, crossing my arms. I looked at Victor: "You didn't tell them who I was before introducing us?"

Victor smirked: "I thought it would be fun."

"Glad you're happy then," I scoffed, walking into the kitchen to pour myself a drink just to take the edge off.

If I was going to be working with trigger-fingered women, I was going to need a little extra encouragement not to hurt them.

Victor frowned, walking two paces over before he took the wine bottle from my hands and placed it on top of the refrigerator.

"Why the hell did you do that?" I demanded curtly, glaring at him. "You can't just take shit out of my hands—that's fucking rude."

"I need you sober, Sylvia," Victor said strictly. He took the bottle and placed it on the lowest shelf in my refrigerator, closing the door. "And I didn't tell them you were working for Maroni, because last I checked, you weren't working for him."

"I'm not working for him, but I prefer for him to think that I do. I figure I might as well conform to the idea while I can still play ignorant."

Victor chuckled darkly, "That's stupid."

"Well, sue me." I sighed, leaning against the refrigerator. "The longer he thinks I am playing his game, the safer I am."

"Don't you work for Maroni?" JJ asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Honestly, no."

"Then who do you work for?"

"Technically? Oswald."

"Who?"

"Oh right," I muttered. "You don't know him by that name. Sorry. I work for Penguin for the most part."

Al laughed, "That little creep? Why—"

I yanked a counter drawer open, grabbed a steak knife, and shoved the blade against her neck, my other hand behind her head to keep her in place. Three seconds following, JJ cocked her gun, aiming it at me, while Victor didn't react; instead, he seemed content to lean against the kitchen counter.

"Whoa…I..." Al mumbled as she tried to step back, but I kept her in place.

"Do not ever insult Penguin in front of me…" I said dangerously.

"She didn't know," Victor said lazily. "Just let her off with a warning, all right?"

"Fine." I tossed the knife into the sink.

"There ya go. Now aren't we all just happy friends again?"

JJ and Al glared at me. I crossed my arms, looking at Victor, who checked his watch before saying, "All right—It's show time!"

I followed him while the others kept a close eye on me.


An hour later, I wrinkled my nose at the warehouse that Victor had driven us to. From the outside, it was nothing impressive. I didn't know what I had been expecting, but it certainly had destroyed any imagination of a torture chamber.

"Falcone sent Fish here?" I asked Victor as I followed him into the building.

"He's a simple man, really." He said monotonously. "Doesn't really ask for much."

I glanced up at the ceiling. There were chains hanging from the beams. I didn't want to ponder why they were up so high. JJ and Al followed on either side of Victor; I, on the other hand, kept my distance. Under a swinging circular lamp was a body on the floor and no one in the chair.

As we approached, the man moaned as he lied face-down. Victor stuck out his boot and turned the man on his back. He was bleeding from the nose and looked like he had gotten beaten up by a downgraded version of the Hulk.

"Oh my," Victor drawled sarcastically. "What happened here?"

"Call…." The man struggled. "Call Falcone."

Victor said pointedly, "No kidding" before he shot the guy in the head. He turned to me. "That was Bob."

"I gathered that," I replied glancing at the now-dead body of the torturer. "Which means Fish is gone."

"Yep. Falcone isn't going to like that."

"Fuck him—No disrespect," I said quickly when Victor glared at me. "But we need to find Oswald. Fish is vengeful and she'll be looking for him. And I know where he is."

Victor wordlessly agreed and he followed me out to the car. I held out my hand for the key and he gave it to me. The girls crawled into the back seat and their doors were not even shut before I revved the engine and smashed my foot on the accelerator.

Victor glanced at me, observing my pursed lips and trembling hands as I drove.

"I can feel you staring at me." My voice shook as I spoke. "What?"

He said with much dread, "You're not going to get all needy and worried on me, are you?"

We were back at the club in half the time it had taken to drive to the warehouse. I pulled my own gun out from the back of my jeans, looking at Victor pointedly.

"Fish wants to kill Oswald. I'm not worried." I cocked my gun. "I'm fucking pissed."

Victor grinned widely as he got out of the car with me and they followed me into the club. I was several feet ahead (thank god for wearing shoes instead of heels). When we arrived, I saw Oswald on his knees in front of Fish Mooney and her gorilla cohort, Butch Gilzean. Fish wielded a metal bat and she pulled it back behind her to swing.

Coming up behind me, Victor shot his gun at the ceiling. Fish and Butch looked behind them in surprise. Seeing me, Fish gritted her teeth in hatred.

"Looks like 'Mooney's' is the place to be," Victor said pointedly.

And a fire war started. Bullets flying. People dodging from tables, to walls, to chairs. It was almost a miracle that Oswald didn't get caught in the cross fire. In less than a minute, Fish and Butch were on their feet and out the back door. Victor looked at me.

"Coming?" He asked, gesturing for the girls to follow.

"I'm staying behind in case anything else happens," I said breathlessly, reloading my gun.

"Suit yourself."

He left with the girls to go after Fish. From the ground, Oswald looked up at me like he wasn't sure how I had gotten here and why, perhaps, had I come, armed and dangerous with Victor as my back-up. I smiled simply at him, holding out my hand to help him up. He took it and sat in the nearest chair, rubbing his face. There was a nearly empty bottle of Chardonnay on the table; I poured the rest of it in a glass, and handed it to him.

"Are you okay, Ozzie?" I asked gently, sitting and then leaning back in my chair, opposite of him.

"I'm fine," He answered briskly.

He tossed the drink back, setting the glass on the surface.

"Partying hard, huh?"

"I was," Oswald grumbled, glaring at the back door where Fish had disappeared. He glanced at me: "I'm assuming 'Bob' is dead?"

"Dead as dead can get."

"What's the point of being 'the best in the business' if he's so easy to put down?" Oswald questioned harshly, glaring at the empty glass.

"Well, hopefully Victor will take care of her."

"Yes. Hopefully." He muttered. Still glaring. Then he said to me, "You were with Victor the entire time?"

"I said I would be."

"How did he know to come here?"

"I led them here. When I saw that Bob was disarmed—"

"—I thought he was dead—"

"—That came after," I corrected. "He was alive when we were there, but only barely. Victor shot him."

"Why did he do that?"

"Loose ends?" I guessed, crossing my leg over the other. "I don't know. Maybe he just wanted to kill the guy. Bob didn't do his job; he let Fish escape, so I think Victor did the guy a favor. If he hadn't killed him, Falcone would have."

"And if Victor doesn't get Fish back?"

"I can't determine what will happen. If she's smart, she won't come back. She has no men, no land, and Falcone wants her dead."

Oswald nodded slowly, taking in the information. A moment passed as he observed my attire.

"What are you wearing?" He questioned, gesturing to my clothes.

I said carelessly, "I threw it together at home. I was going to wear the cliché with boots and leggings, but I tried it once and never did it again. Besides, I can't run in heels. But everything tends to happen in its own time. Like this shit with Fish."

Oswald sighed in annoyance: "I have a feeling you're trying to tell me something."

"I am."

"Then please, get to the point!" He hissed, rubbing his temples.

"I will in my own time." I said calmly, although his snappy remarks were getting hard to ignore.

"Oh, for the love of—"

I interrupted him as I continued with my story and he sat back in his chair, looking at the ceiling.

"In my senior year of high school, I went to the prom. I had on this long dress, and I wore stilettos. While drinking punch with a few of my lady friends, some fucker came up behind me, slapped my ass. I saw his face only for a few seconds, so I tried running after him."

"Did you catch him?"

"Not initially."

"Then why, pray tell, are you telling me this!" Oswald said impatiently. "If this is some metaphor to explain how to deal with Mooney, would you just skip the narrative and get to the conclusion?"

"No." I chided, leaning forward. "I will not skip it. Now" (I continued, regaining my patience) "As I was saying, I didn't catch him—not initially. Too many people in the crowd, the lights were terrible. I was pissed off, of course. Some weeks later, in the middle of the class, in the hallway, I started screaming. When one of our teachers came out, he asked what had happened. I told him the guy had groped me."

Oswald stopped staring at the ceiling and looked at me, startled.

"He was eighteen while I was seventeen, so he became a sex offender for touching a minor."

He stared at me: "So the point of the story is….?"

"The point of the story is that Fish may have evaded now. But karma's a bitch. She'll get what she deserves. Until then, don't worry about it."

He gave me a look. "That's your point? That's your advice? 'Don't worry about it'?"

I stood and took his hand: "Come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"Home. You're inebriated, you're tired and irritated, so I'm bringing you home to sleep it off."

"I am not drunk!"

"Don't argue with me, Oz. I've had a very long day," I cautioned, pulling him up to his feet.

"You are not taking me anywhere. I'm staying right here," He pouted, sitting back down.

"You're acting like a child."

"If I'm acting like a child, then that makes you a pedophile and I will damned if I am going anywhere with a sexual deviant."

I raised my eyebrows at him. I hadn't expected that response, anything but that honestly. And it had taken me by surprise.

"Come with me, Oswald." I attempted a gentler approach, taking his hand. He gave me the dirtiest look possible.

"I'm not going anywhere with you. You can just leave."

Kind approach is out the window.

"You cannot sit here all night. You're coming with me whether you like it or not." I said sternly. "And trust me—it will not be the first time I have had to drag my family out of a club."

"Unhand me, woman!"

I started taking his arm and he started cursing like a storm.

"You can say all you want, babe, but watch the tone."

"I'll talk to you how I want to talk to you!"

I glared at him and he glared right back.

"All right. I guess I'm dragging you." I sighed reluctantly.

I took his arm and pulled him out of the club. After fighting for a few minutes, he surrendered Despite his grumpy attitude, he allowed me to lead him out of the restaurant and I drove home.


Oswald was sound asleep under the covers. He was mumbling, but the words weren't recognizable. He turned on his side, pulling my pillow closer to him and nuzzled it. I closed the bedroom door with the smallest 'click'.

I had arrived at the GCPD station only a half-hour after putting Oswald to bed, and the station itself was like a home away from home. There wasn't much order there since the Waynes had been killed, but despite the corruption of the police and other officials, it was still home. First entering, I saw several people crowding a desk, like they just couldn't step away. They surrounded a large, stocky fellow who had a great deal of facial hair and smelled like cheap musk.

I held a tray carrier with three coffees and as I walked by, the man spoke to me in a grating voice.

"You got a nice wiggle there, baby."

I stopped and turned.

"Detective Flass," I greeted politely.

"Ooh," He drawled. "You know my name, huh? I don't know yours. I don't think we've been properly introduced.

His cop buddies around him snickered.

"You don't need an introduction," I replied coolly. "And even if you did, I am certain I would not want it."

Flass raised his eyebrows at me.

"Ah, I recognize that hateful tone," He chuckled. He bounced himself off the desk and strode towards me. "You must be the mutt's sister."

I dropped my polite facade immediately: "I beg your pardon?"

"I heard you can be a bit of an ice queen."

I scoffed before rolling my eyes and walking away. I saw Jim sitting at his desk and placed a coffee on it, smiling when he looked at me with surprise.

"Thanks," He said gratefully.

"No problem. Where's Nygma? I got him one."

"Forensics Lab."

"Thanks."

"Sylvia…."

I looked at him, stepping back.

He said sincerely, "How have you been?"

"Fair. You?"

"Fine."

"Is that all?" I asked curiously. "No arguments to be had? No cases to discuss?"

He patted my hand, saying, "Sometimes I just want to check on you. Isn't that what brothers do?"

"They do," I confirmed. "But it's odd when you do it."

I patted his head with my free hand, walking on as he looked after me curiously.

I opened the door to the forensics lab and saw Edward Nygma sitting on a stool, wearing his usual lab jacket, looking through a microscope at what appeared to be his lunch. Curious, I strode over to him and placed a latte in front of him. He glanced up and smiled.

"You know," I said smoothly, "if you told the guy to leave out the onions, they'd probably indulge you."

"Surgically removing them can be quite relaxing," Nygma quipped.

I took a seat beside him, asking, "So how did it go?"

"How did what go?"

"The poetry—you know, with Kristen?" I offered to jog his mind. "How did it go?"

"Well," sighed Nygma. "First, I was excited when I gave Ms. Kringle the letter, and in between the moment I handed it off and the time she read it, I bounced between hopeful optimism and suicidal pessimism. I was humiliated when I found Detective Flass and his colleagues mocking my poem I had given to Ms. Kringle..."

"Edward, I'm so—"

"Wait," said Nygma quickly. "I'm not finished."

"Oh…?"

"As I was sitting here, Ms. Kringle visited me and apologized for the hideous display and said that my poem was, in a word, 'thoughtful'." Nygma finished, smiling at me.

I stared at him.

"So…." I began slowly, "how do you feel now?"

Nygma let out a sigh and said happily, "Pretty good!"

"Oh, good!" I congratulated, patting his shoulder. "I'm so happy for you."

"This is not your house!"

Nygma and I glanced at each other, startled, and then as we heard the commotion coming from the main lobby, we both headed out of the office to see what it was about. He remained on the balcony while I walked out, looking on.

Jim stood in front of Detective Flass, who looked at him like Jim was already defeated.

"This isn't your house," Jim repeated, his voice was hard. "You're a drug dealer and a murderer. You don't belong here. You don't deserve the badge."

Flass snickered, looking at his cop buddies, all of whom were grinning like simpering fools. I crossed my arms, side-stepping a few officers who looked as though they might rally with Jim.

"Can you believe this crap?" He said skeptically. "How long have you been here? A few months? Why don't you come preach to me in five years?"

Jim equals 'challenge accepted'. My brother turned to the rest of the audience, all of the police in and out of uniform who were watching the scene unfold.

"He murdered Leon Winkler!" He addressed everyone. "An innocent man who trusted us! Who trusted this!" He held up his own badge.

And a few of the officers nodded in agreement, murmuring.

"Enough to step forward," He continued, looking at Flass disgustedly, "to help us solve a case. A man who died so Detective Flass could protect himself."

"IA ruled it a suicide," Flass dared to remind them.

Jim announced to the station: "I'm arresting this man."

"You get out of here. I'm protected."

"You can help me or you can try and stop me either way," Jim continued as though he hadn't heard Flass, "I'm doing my duty."

Three officers stepped forward to Jim's rally.

Flass immediately became defensive, snapping, "Hey! Back off! I'm protected!"

"Shut up, Flass."

I raised my eyebrows, surprised as Jim who turned to see Captain Essen approaching, saying, "Arnold Flass, you're under arrest for murder."

As she cuffed him, Flass was protesting the entire time, even as Alvarez read him his rights. Watching Flass get put behind bars made me smile. The others who were resentfully eyeing my brother slowly backed off and went somewhere else to chill. I looked at them all then patted Jim on the back.

"You're just taking them down one fucker at a time, aren't you, Jimmy?" I said, grinning widely.

"If you're not careful, you might be in there with him," said Jim half-seriously.

"Don't worry about me. I have my bases covered. Besides…." I leaned forward and challenged, "if you had a pair that big, you'd have arrested me a long time ago. Enjoy your coffee."

He caught my wrist and I sighed tiredly.

"I'm being serious. Watch your back. Flass has a lot of powerful people backing him…."

"Like the Commissioner?"

"Probably higher than that."

I smirked saying, "Like I said, I have my bases covered. No need to worry."

"You sound confident."

"That's because I am. Do you know why?"

Jim waited.

"I have you for a brother, a one-of-a-kind friendship with Victor Zsasz, and I am engaged to Don Maroni's right-hand man. No one is coming after me. Now, if you'll excuse me, as fun as this day has been for me, I have to get home to my fiancé. Good work arresting that guy," I congratulated. "Serves him right for making a pass at me."

"Pass? When did he make a pass at you—"

"Good night, James!" I called over my shoulder on my way out.