Chapter Nineteen: To Start A War
After the twenty-four hours had passed, I was back at work. I gave Tiffany the day off, took her shift as the bartender. I collected all the empty glasses left from the trickling patrons and wiped the counter, humming to myself. Earlier in the morning, Butch had walked past me, nodding in my direction, holding what appeared to be a suitcase before leaving the building.
The custodians came in, swept and mopped, dusted and vacuumed. The day was slow, but I didn't mind the quiet. Oswald sat on a stool at the bar, smiling at me. I folded my arms in front of me, leaning forward on the counter.
"How was your day?" I asked.
"Fair," Oswald answered. "How was yours, my little barmaid?"
"Slow. I don't mind it, though."
"Where's Rubberdale?"
"I gave her the day off. Figured you wouldn't mind. Or notice."
Oswald scoffed, "Meaning what exactly?"
"You've been living inside your head, Ozzie," I whispered playfully. "I've seen you daydreaming, thinking of all the ways you'd kill the Don. Still going with the diner thing?"
"I haven't changed my mind."
"I still prefer my idea."
"I do too," He admitted. "It's a good idea, but too messy to be practical."
I straightened, and pretended I was offended, saying, "Well, excuse me, Mr. Penguin. I didn't realize we were talking practicality."
Oswald chuckled in response.
"All joking aside, Maroni will strip-search those men you've hired."
"You watched Butch leave, didn't you?" Oswald said mischievously. "He's putting the guns in place."
"You've thought of everything, haven't you? You're a clever man, but then again, I already knew that."
"Flattery will get you places, Pigeon. Are you trying to get a promotion?" He teased.
"It's not flattery if it's true. And, by the way, I can think of far more enticing things to do to you for a promotion and they don't involve such pretty words."
Oswald smirked: "You are in a flirtatious mood."
"I've had a good day," I explained, holding my hand out indicatively to the club. "Not one single person tried to hit on me, and one sweet old lady gave me a ten-dollar tip. Now if that is not a good day, I don't know what is."
"You're not a hard woman to please, are you, Pidge?"
"I'm low maintenance," I agreed, giving him a crooked smile.
I leaned over the counter and he met me halfway in a small, short kiss. He touched my face, caressing my jaw. His tongue pressed against my bottom lip; I parted them, inviting him to deepen the kiss.
"If this goes any further, I'll have to pull you over this counter," I purred.
Butch came through the front door and rounded the bar. Oswald turned a bright shade of pink; Personally, I would have still acted on my last spoken thought regardless if Butch was present. But I digressed.
"I put the pistol under the bar, the shot gun under the Juke," Butch reported. He then gathered that he interrupted something and said awkwardly, "Should I…?"
"No, stay," I insisted. "You already ruined the mood."
Butch cleared his throat adding, "All Conner's gotta do is get to them."
Oswald said happily, "The day is finally here. Maroni—"
And once again, we were cut off. But this time, it was Jim storming inside the club. On a mission, as always, he approached Oswald. Butch and I exchanged apathetic glances; the former took a seat behind Oswald while I remained standing.
"Sylvia," Jim greeted dutifully.
"Hey! I only promised I was going to wait twenty-four hours before I came back to work," I reminded quickly. "I kept my word."
"I'm not here about that," He responded briskly. To Oswald, he said, "I need to know where the Foxglove is and I need an invitation."
Oswald responded humorously, "Well, someone's in a mood."
"Can you help me out? Yes or no?"
"Jim, I do so love our give-and-take relationship, but it's starting to feel a bit one-sided."
Jim acknowledged my still-ever-bearing presence and said, "Fine. I'll owe you a favor."
"You already do."
I raised my eyebrows, looking at Jim: "You do?"
"I do—the thing with Loeb," Jim answered me quickly; then he ignored me once more and said to Oswald, "Then I'll owe you another one."
Oswald gave him a look: "Cards on the table? The Foxglove makes a lot of money for some very important people—"
Jim grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him off the stool. When Butch reacted, he then pulled out his gun and aimed it at him.
"James!" I scolded.
"Shut up, Vee." Jim hissed, glowering at me before turning it on Oswald: "You think you know who I am. What I am capable of? You have no idea."
Oswald said calmly (albeit shakily): "Today is an important day for me. So, I will accommodate your request. But, Detective, mark my words. You owe me a big favor."
Jim chuckled and let him go; Oswald furiously straightened his suit from where he'd been grabbed and Butch stood down.
"Wait here," He instructed firmly. "I'm going to make a few calls."
"Sure," Jim said, watching him.
Oswald moved to a different room. Butch looked at me wearily.
"Go, please." I requested. He did as I asked. I turned to Jim. "For fuck sake, why can't you just be fucking polite to him?"
Jim growled, "Do you ever stop defending him?"
"Defending him? You literally stormed into his club and threatened him!"
"You don't know what's at stake, Vee."
"Tell me then! While you're at it, tell me why you're being such an ass."
"I like being an ass. It gives me a reason to smile in the morning."
"What the hell is the matter with you?" I questioned coldly. "You were all good-humored the last time we spoke, and then you come into the building like you're going on a manhunt. You put a man at gunpoint for crying out loud."
Jim placed his hands on the counter; I mirrored him.
"The Ogre has Barbara," Jim spoke through gritted teeth.
My temper extinguished almost immediately: "How long has she been with him?"
"I don't know," said Jim resentfully. "If anything happens to her, it's my fault."
"Probably."
"Wow. Thanks for that."
"What?" I said apathetically. "You know better than to come to me for a pity vote."
"Is it possible that you've become bitchier over the past year?"
"Does a bear shit in the woods?"
"Yes?"
"Well, there's your answer," I said, slapping my hand on the counter. "I'm a nice lady when you're not threatening my fiancé or the peaceful sanctity that is my life. Besides, why are you even pursuing this guy if he's going after the people you love? Why hasn't anyone caught him before?"
"No one has pursued him because he goes after the loved ones of anyone that investigates him—I told you this over the phone!"
"Don't you fucking snap at me, that's fucking rude!"
"It's been the GCPD's dirty secret, according to Harvey."
"Ooh, the GCPD has a dirty secret. Stop the press! So, the police put it in the cold case files because no one wants their family murdered in their sleep. If that's the case, how did you come across it?"
"One of the younger officers asked me to look into it," Jim explained—for what it was worth, the volume of his voice had lowered. "After talking with the others, I found out it was Commissioner Loeb that put him up to it. He knows I won't let a killer go free."
"The young officer?"
"No," Jim said irritably. "Loeb. He wants to see me fail."
"Well, let's look it at this objectively, yeah?" I said as I cleaned a glass with my rag. "You do one of two things, right? You either bite the bullet and accept the fact that Commissioner Loeb is a prick and he's looking to see you fail, move on with your life, and your lady love, Lee, can stay alive. And Barbara too, if you asked the Ogre to spare her. Or, option two, continue pursuing this mysterious Casanova bastard, sacrifice Barbara and Lee, possibly myself, all because of your damnable pride."
Jim glared daggers.
I placed the glass in front of me, admiring its shiny value.
"For you, it's a lose-lose, Jimmy," I spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. "If you don't go after the Ogre, Loeb wins. If you do go after him, Loeb wins."
"I can't stop pursuing him. He has Barbara!"
"Maybe he genuinely loves her?" I suggested skeptically. "Maybe he doesn't want to hurt her. But while you persist, the Ogre just keeps getting more pissed off. That's what you're telling me. My solution would be to simply back the fuck off, but we both know you're too stubborn to do that."
Jim grunted, "You are of no help."
"Well, you're the one that came in, acting all tough as nails and hard as shit. Forgive me if I don't choose this moment to placate you with a blanket full of compassion and love."
Jim glared at me again.
"You keep giving me that look, your face will get stuck like that."
"You're insufferable."
"Well, that seems to be a trait we both seem to share; I could probably trace it right back to our very first ancestors that walked this earth billions and billions of years ago," I said half-seriously.
Jim sat down on the stool, folding his hands together. Fidgeting again. I placed my hands over his. His expression softened and I smiled gently at him.
"I do hope you find her," I said sincerely. "For what it's worth, I think she's hoping you do. You two may not be together anymore, but I can tell she still cares very deeply for you. Last I talked to her, anyway."
"You've spoken to her since?"
"Mm-hmm. Right before she cut ties with me," I uttered coolly. "Apparently, being friends with your ex's sister is damn near impossible anymore."
Jim allowed himself a small smile.
Oswald returned, looking more or less pleased with himself, he placed his phone on the counter with finality.
"Go to the pier," He instructed. "One of my informants will be waiting for you; they'll have what you need to get into the Foxglove."
"Thank you," Jim said briskly, turning on his heel.
"Good-bye, asshat!" I called after him lovingly.
Jim flipped me off in acknowledgment before leaving the building. Butch rejoined us at the bar counter, and I smiled at the two of them.
"Always a delight. I can only imagine what it will be like when we all come together for the holidays."
Butch said incredulously, "You three will be together for the holidays?"
"Not if I don't kill my brother first," I grumbled, rubbing my face.
Butch and Oswald exchanged amused glances.
Rick had shown up for work (finally) and took my shift, leaving me free to spend the rest of my time with Oswald. I sat next to him on the stool, and I grinned broadly when he wrapped his arm around my waist—the public display of affection just made me giddy. Rick, a tall, blonde man who liked liquor almost as much as the rest of us (if not more), placed two glasses in front of us.
The metal band was rocking the stage, and it was a full house. Urgently moving through the crowd was Butch, who looked like he was about to pass a kidney stone.
"Conner blew it," He said earnestly. "Maroni's still alive. You gotta get out of town."
Oswald took a sip of his glass and spoke to Rick as though he hadn't heard a single word: "This is flat."
Rick took both glasses back to redo it, assuming mine was just as bad.
"Did you not hear me?" Butch exclaimed. "Maroni's still alive. You gotta get out of town!"
"And miss all the fun?" Oswald said mischievously.
Sudden realization crossed the gorilla's face.
"You knew?" Butch uttered, surprised. He looked at me. "Did you know too?"
"I'm just as surprised as you are," I returned calmly.
"You set him up," Butch said incredulously.
Rick came by with fresh glasses. I thanked him kindly.
Oswald smirked, saying, "I took the firing pins out of the guns before you hid them. A spin on a trick I learned from Maroni."
"But you could have had Maroni dead!"
"True," Oswald agreed. "But I still would have been under Falcone's thumb and that has grown intolerable. No. I'd much rather Maroni be alive and out for blood."
Oswald lifted his glass in a toast. I leaned into him, nuzzling his neck.
"My criminal mastermind," I purred.
