Chapter Eight: A Happy Reminder, All Things Begin to Crumble Before Negligence.

Another year verging upon two had passed since the death of Vincent Falcone.

Yet, Gotham had fallen to the point that the edge of oblivion seemed a sweet dream. Much like Dante's Divine Comedy was the city suffering through the realms of hell itself having chosen wrong? Some begin to believe that, Holly counted among them.

Crime was getting out of control more than it ever had been. Vincent had kept a leash on certain things, taboo methods of getting income, but now his son had let the rabid dogs go about their business no matter how unsavory. The depression was over the media and the rich kept saying to anyone that asked and that lie made everything so much worse. There was this place built up that almost seemed like it had always been there, residents calling it The Narrows. Buildings stacked with shotty construction forged with cheaper labor to house as many as possible into one tight space so that the rest of Gotham would appear clean. People metaphorically swept under the rug by those in power.

It didn't help with dirty cops piling up on Falcone's payroll. No cop, dirty or not, though dared to set foot in those narrows unless absolutely necessary. Soon those same cops found out that blue blood pay and a little side hustle were not going to keep them from moving in to become residents of the narrows themselves. The divide between the social classes only stretched further apart, rapidly so, as the rich devoured the poor to maintain their status. Putting on pretty scenes of new charities for the news to broadcast around the world when in reality they did nothing but make breeding grounds for the deprived and gave easy access to the drugs Falcone pushed. To the drugs she kept a record of and helped smuggle through the docks for him. The pressure was on and Gotham was just waiting to be put down or explode.

Holly sat in the office of a dimly lit warehouse on the Eastern docks, papers piled high and ledgers precariously stacked. August Haas was gone. The old man had not died, nothing like that just yet. He simply accompanied Vincent's body to Sicily then merely stayed, retired from Gotham. She could not blame him. Now, however, the business of the Falcone's in Gotham fell upon her shoulders to keep a record of. A dying art in a way.

BANG!

She jumped at the gunshot snapping the pencil that had been between her fingers. Her eyes became unfocused as she looked up in a panic for the source then remembered why she could not see. Holly closed her eyes, took in a deep breath then set the splintered pencil down. She took off her newly acquired reading glasses. Setting them upon the open ledger for Meteor cleaning products. Kingsley placed her hands upon the desk and stood, stretching her back with a couple of new tiny pops from her spine. That chair would be the death of her posture yet she could not bring herself to buy a new one. Rather than fill her thoughts of a plush new seat she opened the office door and poked her head out to look down at the warehouse floor, rubbing her hand to try and find that one splinter she knew she was going to have. She could not make out exactly what was being said below.

Holly had been spotted by one of the guys who pointed at her to get the other's attention. Five men she knew the faces of and three younger-looking fellows she did not. One of them was cowering with his hands over his ears.

"Sorry Ma'am! This Maroni punk was talkin' trash." It was George's voice from one of the five.

Holly crept out of the office slowly. Her body was still tense from the sound of gunfire. To them, she may have looked like a paranoid weathered field mouse finally coming out of its den for the first time since spring. Carefully she made her way down the iron steps, her face was full of tiredness and she'd stopped caring about wearing makeup to cover the fact when late nights turned into warehouse sleepovers, that ran into longer days. She was not even wearing shoes at the present and her bare feet made little sound once they touched the smooth concrete.

"George..." she spoke lowly, looking from the bulked-up man to the three obvious teens, "We don't kill children, not in her-"

"We ain't kids you old bitch!" She had been about to say that they didn't kill kids in here anymore since Haas did not approve but she was now severely thinking about changing her mind.

"Dude shut the fuck up."
And only soft whimpering from the third.

It felt like Deja Vu. Had she and Stacey also looked so pathetic?

"I know, I know," George turned with an arm on Holly's shoulder to walk away several steps, enough so the young men wouldn't hear them whispering, "we caught em trying to spy on the lounge is all, or get booze underage, either way, they shot Franky in the shin tryin' to run away. They're Maroni loyal too. Just scaring em though, promise. I know you get your panties in a fucking twist about using this place to give a man his final words."

She scowled, "That and we can't have Maroni baring his teeth at us right now George. You saw the fucking news, blondie shot Chill while telling the whole broadcast that Falcone says hi," she crossed her arms as George removed his arm and stared at her, "we have enough of a spotlight as it is."

"Yeah, and?" He casually turned his head to the other four Falcone men and gave them a gesture to take the teens someplace else. They were escorted, dragged in one's case, out the side door.

"And? And?!" Holly hissed, "And even as Gotham is too scared to do jack shit to Falcone right now, as we ride the high life with the city in our pocket, Maroni is just waiting for us to slip up. There's no way anyone would ignore kid killers in organized crime, George. Are you seriously that fucking dense," as George opened his mouth to protest she spoke up again, "don't answer that. Look. I've got to see Carmine in a couple hours anyway... if you pull this shit again in my house," she gestured to the warehouse as if it was more than just a storage facility, "I'll kill you myself." No, she wouldn't, but he just had to believe that she might.

And maybe he did, "Yeah... sorry 'Olly." He used the nickname from when they were dating and it made her scowl turn into something of a pathetic frown, "I'll take em to the river, dunk their heads a bit then drop em off outside town. Aight?" She honestly did not believe him. If there were three missing teens on the news in a couple of nights she would not be surprised.

"If you shoot them in the back you know Falcone will give you to Maroni as recompense. So yeah, drop em off." Holly warned him as an act of kindness for their history together, however brief it had been.

She rubbed her temples before going to fetch her shoes from the office as the men left in a dark van. Holly washed her face in the office's bathroom sink and applied the basics of makeup. Socially acceptable, that was all she needed to be. She poked her cheeks and willed a smile until she felt her nails slightly digging into her skin. Afterward, she looked up and stared at herself in the cracked mirror.

Beth's lifeless stare looked back at Holly.

A knot twisted deep in her gut and she suddenly dry heaved into the sink. This work was killing her, sinking into her brain like a lethal poison year after year. She simply was not built for it. Her hands clenched the side of the sink as another dry heave came. She wanted out, and there was no end in sight.

'Eternal servitude' the thought taunted her.

Exactly a couple hours later she was walking into the dive under the massive iron tracks of the trainways. Holly never liked the way those tracks creaked and groaned, high off the ground towering among the sky. The expensive bus or even an angry cabbie was far better than squeezing into one of its graffitied cars. She was more likely to get stabbed or mugged on the train anyhow. Holly put the thought of the train system out of her mind by shifting her eyes around the lounge instead. White and black checkered tiles on the floor always seemed so out of place, nevertheless, it gave the building under the bridge a bit of charm. Thankfully the smell of strong booze and food replaced the smell of spring-warmed garbage from outside and she could pull her lips into a smile that was not scrunched from the odor.

"Carmine," she opened her arms wide as if for a hug but was patted down instead by a man that had been sitting at the next table over. They stopped when they felt the gun in her jacket and looked to Falcone who waved her closer regardless, "new muscle again?" Holly tugged her jacket off and folded it next to her, gun still inside, as she sat in the booth with him.

"You know how it is these days, hard to find good help." He laughed at the all-too-true tongue and cheek. Holly chuckled along, she felt disconnected and was doing just enough to fit in, to be old friends with a man that couldn't give two fucks if they were friends or not.

"I saw the news." She started in a more serious way.

"Me too," he was being sarcastic tapping the paper that was on the table folded neatly, "Bruce Wayne, back in Gotham." He knew what she meant but changed the subject on her.

She obliged to the change, "It is certainly a surprise after all this time, though I am sure he'll be returning to that fancy university of his."

"Princeton."

Holly's smile faded, the topic of Bruce Wayne had often been taboo around Carmine. She could not understand the strange one-sided friendship; though had heard it was because Wayne senior saved Carmine's life and of course, a life debt was passed to the young boy upon his parent's death. It was all anyone needed to know and dared not to ask more. "Is that what it was called, sounds regale." She did not care and she let him know by putting an elbow on the table reaching her hand over towards the wall to toy with the cheese shaker.

"She's going to take the fall, claim insanity, in love with me or something." He addressed her concern finally.

"In love with you? Not another one Carmine." Holly looked at him with furrowed brows.

"No," he said then he gestured with a hand as if it truly was not what she thought it was, "No, really it ain't some whore this time. She's got a history of being a loony for the wrong type of guy."

Holly's facial expression did not change, "Context."

"Jesus Kingsley, you and Haas always went dark places first."

"We have to assume the worst Carmine, it's a part of our- my job, you know, the one your father gave me to do." August always knew how to deal with Carmine's bullshit.

"Well right now, it's your fucking job to make sure the law has no reason to come after my docks, the boys can handle the rest." At her annoyed face, he lowered his voice just a tad so those on the payroll would not hear any kind of leverage, yet his tone was casual, "Listen, Holly. If it makes you feel better knowing, I've got a guy takin' a temp job at the loony bin as security. He owes me a considerably large debt and he'll be keeping an eye on her to make sure she plays the part."

Her hand removed itself from the cheese shaker to rub her temple with her thumb, "Alright. I'll go put him on the books since I assume your boys haven't." Tracking all their illegal money was just as important as their legal funds if not more, not just the dock funds. If her name was going to be all over and linked to the ledgers, then they were going to be done right. Not by leaving it to: 'the boys.'

She started to gather her coat as one of the muscled help came to whisper something into Carmine's ear.

"Yeah, yeah, you go do that," he grabbed the newspaper that had been laying down on the table and flicked it open, "Looks like the Wayne boy's been stalking about the riverside. Just threw a gun into the water. Tch. What a waste." Not a lot went on in town without Falcone being informed. He sounded sad and giddy at the same time. It was a difficult mood for Holly to describe, so rather than reply and risk his anger she just nodded then put on the coat as she stood.

The gun was right there, in her pocket. She could shoot him. It would be easy. A temptatious little idea. She would be done with this life, done with the torment, and to make sure she'd have her out, she'd just have to waste another bullet on herself right after. Her fingers brushed the metal of the gun as she stuffed them into her pockets, but, her other hand found that little trinket she carried... an old stale pack of cigarettes. The plastic still wrapped around them despite their age. Her nail clicked against the plastic as she curled both hands.

"Carmine," Holly smiled in a sullen way, "take care of yourself. Gotham keeps getting more and more dangerous by the day."

"Yeah," he gave her a sideways glance, "I know."

And then she was gone, walking out the front way she could see a handsome, dirt-free, Bruce Wayne with a terribly grim face approaching. Marching even. Come to confront Carmine about killing his parent's murderer it seemed. Holly did not bother to stick around as he came closer. The golden child was in for a wake-up call if he thought Carmine would bend to the cries of children or money waved around.

Instead, Holly made her way back to her ride, Tony, the driver had been working a double as a cabbie. He often left the meter off for her though.

"So where to?"

"Uh..." Fuck, she didn't get the guy's name she'd planned to put on the payroll record, "Hell, Tony." She pressed her head against the plexiglass divider in a defeated manner.

"Already there." He chuckled light-heartedly, "Seriously, I need to show my boss... my other boss, I went somewhere today and made the gas money at least."

"Sorry, Tony," Holly reached into her boot and took out a small roll of twenty's meant to bribe others in a pinch, sliding it to him, "I don't know and don't care right now. Just drive around until someone else hails you."

Not more than five minutes into their drive did Holly flick out a lighter with a cigarette between her lips, "Hey, hey! You can smoke in my personal car but not the cab." He was looking at her from the rearview mirror.

She took the unlit cigarette from her lips, "You're right, I probably shouldn't smoke anymore... it's killing me." It was killing her not inhaling cancer-causing toxins right now is what it was. She felt the lack of nicotine hit her hard in the next few minutes, irritation rising and giving her blood pressure an unneeded spike. So when Tony pulled over she was about to ask slash yell at him what the hell he was doing, having forgotten what she told him when they started their drive, but the cab door opened before her mouth did.

"Oh, uh... Excuse me."

As she turned her gaze from Tony's face in the review mirror to the open door she found herself looking at a middle-aged gentleman with crow's feet just starting to take hold over him and the kindest blue eyes she'd seen in a long time. His head had ducked as if to get into the cab yet was now standing with just one leg in. He slowly backed out of the cab with a sheepish smile to which Holly leaned over, "Hey, wait."

He did, his quizzical look genuine but he flicked his eyes up as if looking for another cab to flag down.

"I don't mind sharing if you don't." Holly needed a break from scowling mobsters and thoughts of new cigarette laws. Maybe a chat with a stranger would do her some good, "Besides I'm just taking up Tony's time here. I'm sure he'd like to actually do his job at some point." She smiled kindly in a way that was asking him to please humor her. Her heart knew this was Gotham it was ready for the rejection, for him to shut the door. Be that as it may, she hoped for a moment. It was a happy reminder that the feeling still existed in her.

"Sure, if you really don't mind. More people should carpool in this city anyway." He re-entered the back of the cab, Holly moving aside, and he sat down then clicked in his seatbelt. He eyed the fact that she did not have hers on.

Holly's hands fiddled with it for a moment, "Heh, safety first…" as she spoke she swallowed. She'd not worn a seat belt since Beth's corpse roll up was next to her in the back of that sedan. Her hands shook and she let go of the belt, it slithered across her lap back into the seat.

He said nothing at first. Only reached over with the same kind smile and helped her buckle in, "I'm heading to the GCPD." He spoke to Tony as the cabbie had been watching them.

"Yessir. 'Bout twenty minutes with the traffic by the look of it. That shootin' at the court this morning got everyone an' their mother with a camera scurrying round the streets still." Tony turned on his blinker signal and merged into the hustle of traffic.

She held her hands one over the other in her lap to keep them steady, "… I'm Holly." She sounded like she was choking a bit and cleared her throat.

"James," his smile was even in his voice, it was real and kind and she knew that yet held this fear that it was all an act, "… I know it's none of my business to ask you Holly, are you all right?" He had been looking at her hands but his eyes came to her face when he questioned.

"Huh, oh," 'Yes I'm fine. Don't worry.' She couldn't say it. She couldn't lie. It was caught in her throat, and she feared if she opened her mouth to say that then nothing would come out. Her fake smile fell to something sullen, "Well. Probably not, it's been a tough few weeks. Thank you, for asking." Her heart felt like it had been dumped into a bucket of ice. It felt good. It allowed her to breathe, "Are you, alright yourself?"

"For my ride deciding not to come at all, I'm doing well. Though I've been worried about the state of things lately." He spoke to her as a father figure might to the eldest child that had already been out in the world and was back for a visit.

Holly thought perhaps he too needed a chat with a stranger, "Why is that?" She may have just been projecting.

"It's my job."

Holly chuckled, "What, are you a cop?" She had expected him to say politician.

"I am, actually."

Well. Fuck.
Holly likely looked like the guiltiest person in the city at that moment, she swallowed. Her next words were, "… Thank you for your service, officer."

"Haha, no... thank you," if he noticed her awkwardness towards him being a cop – which he did – he took it in great stride, "It's good people like yourself that share cabs with others that will help the city more. Every small bit counts and people need to know that."

"I seriously doubt sharing a cab makes me a good person. I've turned a blind eye to a lot of things." She admitted.

"We're only human, we can't always be as good as we want to. The point is trying our best."

"You're an idealist, aren't you?" He was not a cop on their payroll that was for sure.

"Maybe." He laughed again.

The cab lurched and Tony muttered under his breath until he could get the window down, "Hey asshole! Yeah you, what do ya got the brains of a chicken you fucking prick!" He was leaning out the window arm extended as far as it could reach flipping the bird at some cyclist courier that was weaving in and out of traffic, "Nearly hit that fucking idiot with a goddamn cop in the cab," He smiled an awkward toothy grin, "No, uh, offense officer."

Never mind, Holly was no longer the guiltiest-looking person in the city at that moment. She did laugh though, an honest light-hearted laugh. A grin pulled across her lips, "You shouldn't swear in front of the officer, Tony, he might stick you like a miffed meter maid."

James had a good sense of humor to tell her words were just tongue and cheek, he laughed too. Once they had a good chuckle and the cab filled again with what counted for silence in the bustling city James asked, "What is it you do for a living?"

Holly looked at her hands, 'I'm a gangster's bookie mister cop.' No, this time she had to lie to some extent, "I'm a stewardess."

"I'm sorry, that's uh, what is that?" He sounded like he had an idea but was still unsure and trying to be polite.

"Don't worry, it's not a common profession. I manage funds, properties, some legal and the occasional public affairs of one of Gotham's wealthy families." That was in fact true, "Though lately, I suppose the need of my employer has me simply as his glorified accountant and unwanted babysitter." It was frustrating for the woman and telling someone had lifted a weight she had not thought she'd been carrying around.

"That sounds stressful."

"Ha," she smiled softly, "it is. Certainly not as much as a blue blood for this rotting city though."

He only nodded.

"GCPD sir," Tony pulled quickly to the sidewalk pissing off another cabbie as they had tried to get into the space first, "have a nice day." Angry honking nearly drowned out his words.

James reached into his coat producing a slim brown wallet, speaking up over the noise, "What do I owe you?" She could see he had a bunch of ones and a couple of tens when he opened it. The picture of a baby with a bright smile was where his ID was supposed to be.

"I'll cover it," Holly had one hand pressed to the glass of the cab window on her side flipping off the honking cab before it sped off to go around the block again, "As a thank you for the conversation," her hand lowering back to her lap, "besides I've still got to waste more of Tony's time today."

"Thank you." He did not stick around, there was no reason to. So he shuffled out of the cab and when he shut the door Holly unclicked her seat belt then rolled down the window.

"Hey!" She called out to him, reaching her hand through the cab's plexiglass divider slot and wiggled her hand at Tony, "Let me give you my number," Tony opened his glove box to find something to write on and with.

"Oh thank you, but, I'm not uh," he just pointed to the ring on his finger and a big embarrassed smile overcame his features, he walked back to the cab window, "what for?" He had assumed at first and she liked that he thought twice about it.

Holly wrote her first name and a pager number, "You're a good person, James. So, if you," she leaned out the cab a bit to reach the scrap paper out to him which he took and looked at. She slid back into the cab, "ever find yourself at the barrel end of a Falcone gun. First time's free." Holly turned away from the cop and rolled the window up, "Drive Tony."

"Jesus, yes boss;" He was back onto the road within moments, "can't believe you gave a cop your fucking number."

It was an unhappy reminder of what world she lived in. Good people, idealists, like James would always be caught in the crossfire. They became martyrs with white headstones if their integrity lasted that long and she was a person that helped break them down bit by bit if it didn't. She could never have good friends, but maybe, she just did not deserve them either. Holly wondered, what he would do with her name and number. Could she find an out through the legal system?

'Falcone says hi.' Carmine told that woman to say it when she shot Joe Chill. Holly knew better, it was not a message for the world, it was a message to rats in his kingdom. There was no out through legal means.