Chapter Eighteen: Maroni is a Bastard


The last time Jim and I had an actual discussion was back at the hospital. Even after Oswald helped him uncover what Commissioner Loeb was hiding (whatever that was), I hadn't heard from my brother for several days. I could have been the bigger person, called him up, and told him that this whole stupid fight was petty…but unfortunately, he and I shared the same Gordon DNA and I was just as stubborn.

Despite the sibling rivalry, I noticed just how easier my life was without Jim butting into everything I was doing. Normally, he would question my antics, what I was doing, where I was going, and it would unnerve me. Without him being so concerned, I wasn't sure if this was better.

He wasn't the focus of my life, thankfully. Otherwise, it would have driven me bat shit crazy.

From Monday to Friday, I worked among the staff, filling in for shifts as a waitress or bartender, and I sang on Friday evenings. Every now and then, Oswald would depart from the club, leaving me in charge.

He left the other day, saying that he needed to speak to a barmaid about obtaining her diner, operating strictly as a silent partner. Gabe had gone with Oswald to this specific diner; according to him, it wasn't worth a nickel.

The club was open, and we were running relatively steady.

Oswald's mother, Gertrud, visited the club, and she was doing her little swaying dance to the siren's song. She at least stood out of ear shot. I kept my eye on her just in case someone tried to hit on Mama Cobblepot. Let's see someone try to put the moves on her while I was on guard.

"I'd just go along with it, Gabriel," I said carelessly as I placed a bottle of beer in front of him.

"This diner isn't going to make any money."

"Does it look that bad?" I giggled, sitting across from him at the table.

"It's like something you'd see from that movie, 'Road House'. Only worse," Gabe muttered; he twisted and popped off the cap of his beer, took a long swig, and sat it down none too gently (Not that he was angry; he was just a big guy).

"Dingy, huh?"

"Yeah. It's been fun though."

"How so?"

"This girl," He laughed. "The barmaid's daughter...she got swept off her feet by some guitar player. Won't come home. Barmaid ain't interested in money—she wants the kid back home. So, Boss and me, we find the guy, tie him up, and Boss tells me to cut his fingers off."

"Sound about right," I stated, unaffected by this. "Guitar player without fingers doesn't have much to offer a classy woman."

"Did he tell you why he wants the diner?" asked Gabe mysteriously.

"One can only guess."

"He said he's gonna kill Maroni in that diner."

"He's always been ambitious."

"You're not worried?"

I quirked an eyebrow and leaned forward saying, "Should I be?"

Gabe chuckled, "You know, most of the fellas here can't understand why you're so calm all the time. You just go along with whatever the Boss does, don't you?"

"Pretty much."

"Does it bother you?"

"Does what bother me?"

"Him being out all the time," Gabe said gingerly. "You're pretty much running this night club by yourself, what with him running around and plotting against the bigger bosses."

I smirked, and sat back in my chair: "Gabe, are you implying the possibility of whether or not I get lonely?"

He shrugged, preferring to neither confirm nor deny it. I drank from my glass of sweet tea, running my tongue across my teeth.

"Why are you asking these questions?"

Gabe shrugged one shoulder, tapping the surface of the table with his finger tips to a tune that I didn't recognize as he said, "Just curious. I was thinking the other day—I don't know much about you. We've worked together for Maroni—"

"—You worked for Maroni," I reminded. "I never claimed to be working for that hothead. Besides what is there to know?"

"I don't know. Like the small things…"

"For example?"

"What's your favorite color?"

"Purple," I answered without hesitation. "What's yours?"

"Red," Gabe replied with a small smile.

"There," I said, tapping the table. "Now you know something about me. And I know something about you. We're just bonding a little closer every day."

I watched as several people came into the club. Most of them were partnered up with someone; no one seemed to come to this place alone, and if they did, they had every intention of not leaving the club the same way.

A woman in a bright shiny, glittering white dress stood at the center stage, singing some odd lullaby. The red spot lights hanging above the stage brightened; and a disco ball above my head swiveled slowly. Refracted light bounced on and off the walls. After the newcomers ordered their drinks, some slow danced in the middle of the floor.

"Looks like things are picking up," Gabe said nonchalantly.

"Looks like it," I agreed.

An Irishman wearing a light brown suede jacket approached the table. He didn't seem like he had come over to have a little chat; it looked like he had something to say. I stood to my feet, smiling politely.

"I have a meeting with Penguin," He stated gruffly.

"Well, good for you," I greeted sarcastically. "Do you want a gold star?"

He sent me an odd look like it was the worst thing ever that I didn't know who he was (and I didn't), then he appeared offended when I still didn't recognize him. Within seconds of us meeting, Oswald popped up from behind me, his hand on the small of my back.

I gesticulated to the grumpy man in front of me, "Oz, is this a friend of yours?"

"A business associate," He corrected kindly. "And not a second too late. Punctual as ever!"

"Businessman with a suitcase or businessman with a gun?"

"The latter," Oswald replied shortly.

"Go figure," I said, glaring at the Irishman. "A businessman with a suitcase would have learned some fucking manners."

Oswald gestured for the Irishman to step to the side so they could speak; after a minute or two, Oswald pointed to the balcony above where they would be able to speak more privately. The man in question nodded and then went about his merry way, heading up to the balcony.

I looked at Oswald expectantly: "Do I want to know?"

"I'll explain later," He promised.

"Mmm."

He caressed my cheek before he kissed me. Shortly after, he was pulled to the side by his mother.

"You promised you'd dance with me," Gertrud reminded happily.

"And I will, just as soon as I finish with that gentleman up there."

"Who knew running a nightclub would be so much work!"

She let him off the hook.

He then met with the Irishman, who was eyeing me from the balcony. I met his gaze, unblinkingly. After a moment, the man dropped the stare and looked elsewhere. I smirked at Gabe, who pretended not to smile.

My phone started vibrating. I stood and pulled it out of the back pocket of my jeans.

"I better take this," I told Gabe; he nodded, and waved his hands for me to go ahead.

I slipped out of the club, standing in the back-alley way. It smelled like rainwater and sewage outside, but it was a lot quieter out here than in there.

I answered the phone: "Jim, you better have a damn good reason for calling me after not talking to me for days!"

"Sylvia, don't talk. Listen."

There was that worried sound in his voice; the angry protective growl was all too recognizable.

"For once—" I began furiously, but he cut me off.

"Vee, I said listen. Your life is in danger, you need to get out of Gotham."

"My life is always in danger," I muttered more to myself than anyone in particular. "What makes this time any different?"

"Where are you right now?"

"I'm at the club—where else would I be? Why?"

"You need to go home," Jim instructed firmly, "pack what you need for a few weeks, grab the first train out of Gotham, and stay gone until all of this is over."

"Until what is over? What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"I've been investigating this serial killer...They call him the Don Juan Killer, the Ogre—he kills the loved ones of any cop that investigates him."

"Then shouldn't you be protecting Lee?" I reminded him callously.

"She's not leaving town."

"Well, neither am I."

"Vee—"

"No, James," I retorted harshly. "I am not leaving Gotham. This serial killer isn't even going to dare touch me. Now, if it makes you feel any better, I will go home where I am not in the open and easily accessible, but I am not leaving."

I started walking out of the alley, heading to my car.

"Avoid any dark cars—he drives one."

"This is Gotham," I said sardonically, "everyone has a fucking dark-colored car; the only vehicles that aren't dark is the weird ice cream truck with tinted windows that has a tear-stained mattress in the back."

I sat in the driver's seat, locking my doors just in case someone was to pop up and tell me they were this Ogre.

"I'm glad you're finding humor in this," Jim said sarcastically.

"You don't speak to me for days. And the first time you talk to me after all this time is to tell me that my life is in danger. I'd keep the judgment out of your tone if I were you. Speaking of which, apology accepted…jackass."

"Just get home, lock the doors. Make sure you stay there, at least for the night."

"I have a life outside of your mayhem, you know."

"Just do as I say, please?"

"Fine," I sighed heavily. "I'm going, I'm going. Do you want me to call you later or…"?

"Just get home, Vee."

"Will do."

"Vee!"

"I'm still here, no need to yell," I chided. "At this rate, my ears will go long before I do."

"I am sorry," Jim said softly. "I should have apologized before, but…anyway, I love you. I just want you to be safe."

"Wow, it only took a serial killer to get you to admit when you're wrong," I snickered. "I'm going now. I love you too."

We hung up. I started the car, and headed back home. I figured Oswald would put two-and-two together when I didn't come back from talking on the phone. It seemed customary that he would be privy to my coming and going whenever Jim was a part of my life.


Per my agreement with my wonderful, protective brother, I locked all the doors and windows. Tomas had long since been gone—he couldn't face me after getting his ass kicked and I felt guilty for having taken my anger and self-loathing out on him. With Oswald's life pardoned and the agreement settled between Falcone and Maroni, it was safe to assume that as far as my life was concerned, Maroni would spare mine as well. So there hadn't been a need to replace the guard. But just when I thought the chaos was over, this Ogre guy had to start making threats.

Assuming he was even aware that Jim had a sister. He seemed to keep that fact of his life under lock and key.

I sat on the couch, watching the news with the curtains drawn and the blinds closed. I thought the days of hunkering down inside my home had ended when my father died in the car accident, but then Jim became a police officer and it had started all over again. Hiding from the gangsters, hiding from the murderers and rapists—after a while, it all became mundane.

Three hours had passed since I had left the club. My phone started ringing and it nearly gave me a heart attack. I answered on the third ring: "Hey."

Jim's voice returned: "Hey back. Are you home?"

"Of course," I responded casually. "Just, you know, waiting for the apocalypse."

"Ha. You're hilarious."

"All I need is a blanket fort," I joked. "Some cheesy horror movies, a bag of popcorn—brings back the old days, right?"

"Except you're not trying to steal my gummy bears."

"Well, if I'm being honest, you never could finish the whole bag. Wimp."

I heard him laughing on the other line, and it made me smile. I had missed these talks, just talking about old times when we were kids. Back when things weren't so messy. I held the phone between my shoulder and crook of my neck as I continued eating my dinner: chicken sandwich with fries. A dinner fit for a Queen.

"How's Lee?" I asked conversationally.

"Working."

"How is she liking the Medical Examiner work?"

"It keeps her busy," He said with a low chuckle, "but she seems to enjoy it."

"And how's Harvey?"

"Lackadaisical."

"What's new."

"I know, right?" Jim replied, letting out a snicker of his own.

"How are you?"

"Tired."

"Have you been sleeping any?"

"Now you sound like Lee," Jim noted with a tone of annoyance.

"Well, I can't imagine you are," I said factually. "You're running around, trying to find this Ogre guy. I guess he's not fooling around, huh?"

"Not at all."

"Has he contacted you?"

"Yeah."

"Did you trace the call?"

Gritting his teeth, Jim answered, "Not enough feedback."

"Well, it makes sense," I said, mouthful of fries. "He's been doing this to cops for how many years, right? He's figured out the system by now."

"Mm-hmm."

There was a knock at the door. It was quiet at first, then it escalated the longer I waited.

"Vee?"

"Shh. Someone's at the door."

"Don't answer it."

"Jim, I have to answer it," I said curtly. "It may be important."

"Just keep me on the line, would you?"

"So be it. If it keeps you from yelling in my ear again, fine."

I placed my plate of sandwich and fries on the coffee table, wiping my hands on my robe before I stood. As promised, I kept the phone by my ear, and slowly opened the door.

Standing in front of me was Oswald, who looked as though he had been crying.

"Jim, I'll have to call you back."

"Is it him?"

"No, it's someone else." I answered vaguely. "I'll call you back." I hung up the phone, and opened the door completely. "Oswald? What's wrong?"

He came inside wordlessly, and I closed and locked the door after he did. He sat on the couch, knees bent, his elbows atop them as he clasped his hands together tightly. He was trying to hold himself together, but the more he tried, the more fragile he appeared. I bit the inside of my cheek, approaching him.

I kept my voice soft and soothing: "Baby, what happened?"

"Maroni…" Oswald responded finally after a moment's hesitation; his voice shook, and his eyes glowered in hatred. "He told Mother…everything."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, and licked my lips uncertainly. How could Maroni tell Gertrud anything and she believe him? She barely knew him; and she raised Oswald herself. But seeing the way he was slowly becoming undone—I figured Gertrud must have confronted him. Whatever the result, it didn't seem to help the matter any.

I joined him on the couch, holding my arms out and he moved into my embrace. He laid his head on my lap, his arms wrapped around my knees. Oswald's shoulders shook as he silently cried. Just seeing him like this, so devastated—it filled my heart with rage and hatred towards Maroni. The one innocent and saintly aspect of Oswald's life was his mother, after all.

I rubbed his shoulder, and combed my fingers gently through his hair and off his face.

"Shh, it's okay, baby," I whispered.

"I'm going to kill him," Oswald said shakily.

"I have no doubt about that. I'm guessing that's what the Irishman was there for, hm?"

"Yes."

"Will he do it?"

"Yes. They hate Maroni almost as much as I do." Oswald said coldly.

"Glad to hear it; Maroni's a bastard. Is there anything I can do?"

He sat up, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand as he faced me. He sniffled, and then he cleared his throat. He seemed to have gathered himself together pretty quick.

"What do you want to do?" He asked. Asking for suggestions.

I smirked, saying, "Honestly, if given the chance, I'd slit the fucker's throat, and deck the halls with his bowels, but that's just me."

Oswald let out a small snicker, "You always know just what to say."

"It's the highlight of my day when I can make you laugh." I responded lovingly. I took a fry from my plate and offered it to him: "Want one?"

"I'm not hungry."

"I can make you something to eat if you want."

"I'm a grown man, I can make my own dinner."

"I know you can. But I like doing it," I offered, getting to my feet.

Oswald looked around the apartment, noticing the lack of light.

"Why is it dark in here?" He questioned.

I walked to the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator. The light from the fridge nearly blinded me and I squinted my eyes when I closed it, hoping they would adjust quicker. Back in the living room, I placed a bottle of chardonnay on the table and two glasses.

"Jim called me," I said cynically. "Told me that this serial killer would be after me."

And Oswald was pissed again. I stopped him before he could react, putting my hand over his.

"It's fine," I said quickly. "I don't think this person is after me. He seems like the type to try and cut the girlfriend before he goes after the sister. But just to appease him, I told Jim I would hide out here for the rest of the day, and see what happens the day after."

"And when were you going to tell me this?" Oswald asked coolly.

"You were busy with the Irishman. And I didn't think there was much to fuss about. This Ogre guy, the 'Don Juan Killer' as the papers call him...I don't see him as a threat."

"Are you sure that's not your genetics talking?" Oswald remarked sarcastically.

"I'm pretty sure it is," I sighed, pouring the Chardonnay in both glasses. "But I can't afford to know for sure."

Oswald scoffed, rolling his eyes, but he couldn't suppress the little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Someone endangers your life, you drink wine and watch bad movies," Oswald said ironically. "But god forbid someone greets you without saying 'hello'."

"It's common courtesy, babe," I retorted defensively. "You don't just walk up to someone you've never met and say 'I'm here to see Penguin'. That's fucking rude. I mean, I know I grew up with a brusque family, but damn, people need to remember their manners."

"In his defense, he didn't know who you were."

"That doesn't matter," I persisted. "I don't care if I am a bum living on the streets or the owner of Buckingham Palace, respect goes both ways."

"You certainly have your priorities in order," Oswald commented.

I took a sip from my glass: "Damn straight."