Chapter 11:
Interlude of Dark Knights
The Mayor's House
Over two years ago…
Gwen's internal debate on what outfit she should wear to Giselle's Halloween party – French maid or tavern wench – was interrupted by a hesitant clearing of the throat and a "Miss McKinley?"
When she looked up there was little Henry standing in the doorway of the day room with his Tron lunchbox in hand and a worried expression creasing his brow. "What's up, Henry?"
He shrugged, or at least attempted to with his weighed down book bag still on his shoulders, "Not much. It's just that you might want to give those to me to put away before my mom thinks you're reading on the job." He nodded to the items in her hand.
She glanced down and realized that she was still holding the stack of X-men and other super-hero comic books that she had picked up to move in order to dust, before she got distracted by thoughts on costume feasibility. "Oh, yes. Thanks, Henry," she said, recognizing his wisdom and handing him the stack.
He took it, but instead of dashing up to his room to put them away, he plopped down on the nearest black-and-white settee, asking curiously, "So what's your favorite super-hero?"
If it had been anyone else, she might have replied with a flippant 'What makes you think I go for the heroes?' But this was Henry, the poor unfortunate soul who had the ill-luck to be the mayor's son, so she gave his question careful consideration. Finally, she answered, "Batman."
He gazed at her thoughtfully. No quips about how Bruce Wayne wasn't really 'super' just a rich boy with gadgets. Just careful consideration as if he was trying to figure out what made her tick. It was a little disconcerting, so she did what she did best and deflected attention away from herself and asked, "How about you? Who is yours?"
"Superman," was his instantaneous reply.
"Oh? Why is that?"
The kid gave an overly casual shrug as he obliquely stated, "Archie thinks that the heroes we admire are the ones we identify with."
It was her turn to thoughtfully stare. Pausing in her dusting, she searched his face. For a kid who had just referenced his being an adopted child, he was remarkably composed. In fact, he was watching her expectantly, as if hoping she would spill her sob story to a ten year old boy.
Before she could formulate another deflection, the Venomous Ice Queen that was his mother, her boss's client, and the town's tyrannical micro-managing mayor called for her son. "Henry! You better be working on your homework!"
The old man that was trapped in a boy's body grimaced and then dashed off with a hasty goodbye and a promise to loan her his favorite Batman 'graphic novel.'
~0~
Present
Because the meet was being held beyond Jefferson's I-spy range, they scouted out the designated area during the day, identifying the best surveillance places – the ones that the participants' lookouts wouldn't see. The spot they decided upon didn't provide a whole lot of visibility and there was definitely no way they could hear what was being said by either party, but it allowed them to see what the product was being carried in, take pictures, and to follow its return into town.
Their perch in the moss-covered pine tree was almost like having nosebleed seats at a theater showing an intrigue-ridden play. The only exception was that at the end of the scene, there were no dead bodies (fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective). Most unfortunately, they were unable to see the faces of any of the visiting group of villains as their Jersey Devils baseball caps blocked their view.
She and Killian followed the overly large ice chest filled with packets of white powder and raw steak. The latter she supposed was used for camouflage. Driver and his goons took it to the warehouse district near the factory. It was empty and dark at that time of night, except for graveyard shift traffic, which they blended in with. She wouldn't have been surprised if Reeves had called and cleared them with the overnight security guard.
She and Killian scouted the area, seeking for hidden lookouts. They kept their distance and were clad in dark clothes in the hopes of not being seen. But in case they were, the pirate's all-black attire was not his usual tight pants, loose shirt, and long coat, but rather loose jogging pants and hoody jacket, and she had her bright hair stuffed up in her 'beanie' which conveniently turned into a ski mask. Killian had one of those as well.
They found two thug sentries. Neither of whom were very good at their job as they were easily snuck up upon. After quietly stowing their opponents' gagged, hogtied, and unconscious bodies in the alley's dumpsters, they waited in the shadows.
Not too much later, a greasy git of a man came out for a smoke. They soundlessly ambushed him too, trussed him up, and packed him away into the neighboring dumpster. And then waited again.
The next two to come out were gorillas of men. The first was properly suspicious with his gun out and ready. The second was not. He loudly called out for his missing mates, calling them all sorts of names and blaming their unresponsiveness to idiocy. This provided the perfect cover for their footfalls. Killian disarmed the gunman and hurled him into the wall, breaking his nose in the process of knocking him out; while she dealt with the loud mouth. A good whack with a convenient two-by-four to his thick skull and he was out for the count.
While Killian added them to their growing collection, she killed the building's lights by tripping the fuse and then she and her vigilante partner donned their night vision goggles (acquired via the Internet) and stormed one of Storybrooke's criminal strongholds.
Their raid wasn't quite up to the standard of Mr. and Mrs. Smith's choreographed perfection. There was definitely no "Mondo Bongo" playing in the background. But they moved in just enough synchronous harmony – trading off in covering each other's back – to be efficient. In the end, they immobilized the remaining four, knocking out half and injuring the other two just enough to allow them to tie them up and then gag them.
Ignoring the woozy glares of the conscious blokes, she pulled out her very own 'burner cell' and began taking pictures of the little drug operation that they had interrupted, including the four bound and gagged men. She then sent them and the pictures she had managed to take while in the tree to Belle's, Swan's, and Charming's phones with the address of the warehouse and a message to 'check the dumpsters' attached.
They stayed there on guard just in case any of their trussed-up turkeys' friends decided to drop by. When they heard the sounds of the approaching cavalry, she and Killian slipped out the back and ducked into another alley. They silently raced from alley to dark street to alley again until they entered one that led right up to the back entrance to the animal shelter. Using her key from when she had volunteered there, Tawny let herself and her fellow 'dark knight' partner in…
And then collapsed.
"You alright, lass?" Killian asked her anxiously, the first words either of them had spoken since alighting their perch.
She nodded her head and chuckled dryly. "Yeah, just adrenaline shakes."
"Ah. Luckily, I have a cure for that," he replied before handing her his ever ready flask.
She accepted it gratefully and took a long bracing swig of its burning contents. It must not have been the cure-all that he was accustomed to, because when she handed his flask back to him, he was still gazing at her concernedly.
"Something else is bothering you, Tawny-love."
She was going to deny it and brush off his concern, because she was actually feeling quite elated. They had accomplished their goals. No one had gotten killed. Neither of them was hurt beyond the occasional bruise, and the streets of Storybrooke would be free of drugs for the time being. What could possibly be bothering her?
But when she closed her eyes to avoid his piercing blue gaze, it dawned on her. Guilt and self-disgust. And then annoyance. For how could he know her better than herself?
Sighing with exasperation, she blurted, "My bloody conscience dislikes how much I enjoyed beating the crap out of those tossers. And not just because they deserved it. But because I liked the violence of it."
When he didn't say anything, she opened her eyes to meet his, not knowing if he was laughing at her or grimacing in disgust. He of course was doing neither. He was smiling at her, and there was a mixture of pride and encouragement in his eyes as he gently reassured her with, "Well, lass, you are now aware of your dark side, and from what I have overheard the Cricket chirp on about, that is a good thing." Ignoring her snort of derision, he added, "And personally, I take comfort in the fact that you are bothered by it and haven't learned to silence that 'bloody conscience' of yours."
She was touched. She truly was and said so, but in that mock-teasing way of hers so as to avoid being overly sentimental.
"Aww. Captain Hook is concerned for my soul. Who woulda thunk?"
He smirked, "Yes, well, my soul is black and thus not worth much, but yours will fetch a pretty price if I ever need to make a deal with the devil."
"I'm pretty sure that is not how it works," she commented dryly as she stood up and made her way over to the locker, where she had stashed their spare clothes.
"Says she who has never made such a deal," was his sardonic retort.
She nearly set him straight, but then realized that they didn't have time for the sort of discussion that would follow, so she merely tossed him his clothes and reminded him to take the scenic route back to his ship.
On the way back to her apartment, she could hear the sirens of the ambulance wailing as it took her victims to the hospital. And instead of feeling guilty, she rejoiced in the fact that this time it was them and not some poor despondent youth wasted on opiates.
~0~
Storybrooke Woods – August's Trailer
A few days later…
"That arcade swabbie, Chaplin, approached me last night at the Island," was Killian's opening line to her and Jefferson as he entered the trailer. They were having yet another meeting. There was so much information and so many people to keep track of that their powwows almost had to be a weekly occurrence.
Before Jefferson could chide him on his lack of greeting, she teased, drawling, "Did he? I didn't know Harley swung that way."
"He's probably one of those blokes who can't resist pirate booty," Jefferson was quick to quip, smiling widely with his imitation of a Cheshire grin. The man dearly loved to push Killian's buttons. His horrible pun and his mad delight caused her to snort. Neither was funny; she was just that kind of exhausted – slap-happy tired.
Unamused and impatient, Killian rebuked them curtly, "Hardy-har-har. Are you two done being childish?"
She and Jefferson shared a glance, silently debating the answer to that question. The socially isolated single father had a devilish twinkle in his eye, the kind that promised he would find a way to needle the pirate and she was welcome to join him.
She decided not to, taking pity on her friend who was essentially sticking his neck out for her. So more seriously, but still not quite managing it, she dramatically sighed, "If you insist, Captain. What did he want?"
"For me to be their mule," he answered her succinctly, and then probably to avoid any juvenile comments about him being or having a fine ass, he quickly clarified, "To smuggle packages across the town line, or so his note indicated."
"The kind that can't be inspected by government postal services, I take it?" she inquired thoughtfully.
At Killian's nod, her mind began to drift. During the Curse, Storybrooke was able to receive outside mail. The delivery men came, dropped off their packages at the local post office, and then left; at which point, they would promptly forget the town's existence and would continue on their merry way. After the Curse, they remembered, which was great for the good guys because it limited what the less than virtuous were willing to have shipped into town.
"What did you say?" Jefferson asked curiously, drawing her attention back to the present. "And who is 'they' exactly?"
"His 'associates', and I said yes, of course." Killian answered him matter-of-factly. To her, he asked, "Is there a gadget in this realm that will allow us to see inside without opening the parcels? I was made to understand that I would be known as Captain Hooks, if they suspected I even attempted to get a peek inside. And I'm very attached to my remaining hand." He twirled his right hand about to demonstrate the fact.
"I think that was rather the point of the threat," the mad man wryly noted.
Ignoring Jefferson, she replied, "Yes, there is, but it is not something I can get my hands on – too big and too expensive for my budget."
"I could," Jefferson volunteered, kindly distracting Killian from her accidental innuendo.
At hers and Killian's surprised looks, Jefferson elaborated, "Regina left me rather well off, and I'm known to be rather an eccentric." Shrugging, he added, "And all you'd have to do is slip by here before meeting up for the hand off."
"Thanks, mate," Killian reluctantly accepted; once again thrown off-balance by the former realm-wanderer. Tawny struggled to suppress her grin. She had never been able to figure out why Killian had an almost instinctual dislike for Jefferson. She knew that the Mad Hatter had an understandable aversion to anyone who had willingly partnered with the Queen of Hearts, but he had managed to get over it. Sympathizing with his fellow widower's loss and need for vengeance, he had reduced his antipathy to simple needling. But alas, the pirate could not seem to find it in himself to reciprocate.
Giselle had noticed this at the party. Her preposterous theory was that it was due to jealousy. Tawny had quickly dismissed the idea, promptly pointing out that even a blind person could see that Jefferson was an obsessive and only had room for one woman in his life – Grace, and that Killian had loved one woman and mourned her for over three hundred years only getting over her when he had fallen in love with 'the Savior.' It was highly unlikely that he would fall so quickly out of love with Swan and into love with the lass he called 'kitten', a term of endearment for a sister if she had ever heard one.
"But in the meantime?" Killian persisted, his blue eyes fixing on her.
Grimacing in distaste, she suggested, "In the meantime, I would go ahead and deliver them."
Both Killian and Jefferson raised their eyebrows in shocked expressions, clearly not expecting that to be her answer.
"The first few deliveries they'll watch you closely, so detours to x-ray scan their stuff would be bad," She explained. "You'll need to earn their trust, and if you wait to start being their mule until after the machine gets here, they'll become suspicious at the delay."
None of them were happy about it, but they could all see the wisdom of her statement. It still left a sour taste in their mouth. Who knew what they were helping Agustino and his lot do?
To provide some hope, she promised, "And when we do know what is going on, we'll bring in the cavalry by flooding the gossip mill."
~0~
City Hall
A few weeks later…
While they were waiting for the Charmings to arrive to town council meeting, Belle served tea or coffee, depending on the royal's preference, to those who had managed to make it on time to her hastily called meeting and tried to engage in small talk.
It was not to be.
Emma, whom she had invited along with her partner Bae to attend as well as the council members, was not going to have it. With little segue, the sheriff pointedly queried, "Does anyone know who the masked-posse-of-two is?"
Belle nearly groaned aloud. This was a futile line of inquiry. No one here knew who the masked vigilantes were. If they did and hadn't stepped forward by now, then they were in favor of the pair's actions and wouldn't tell anyways. Case in point…
"Who cares? The good guys are winning for once," was Eric's bitter reply.
"Are we sure that they are the good guys?" was Thomas' genuinely inquisitive question.
Before Eric could get anymore bent out of shape than he generally already was without his better half, Abigail interjected diplomatically, "Maybe, maybe not. But I know that Frederick is deeply grateful to them. The poppy peddlers have quit hanging around the school."
Aside from the drug bust that she had been alerted to by an anonymous text message, these two nameless guardians (It was always two according to their much deserving 'victims') had roughed up and citizen-arrested three dealers who had corners near the high school and had scared off the fourth. And the only reason that they knew that the lowlifes had committed such crimes was because pictures and a flash drive of sound recordings of the deals had been attached to their unconscious bodies. Somehow, these two had managed to place a hidden camera and listening devices in the vicinity of the deals.
"I'm not arguing against the ends, or even the means. I just don't like having a pair of loose cannons out there. Someone – not deserving – will eventually get hurt," Emma defended.
All three of the other royals looked as if they had something to say to that remark, but before they could, Emma's parents arrived and made breathy apologies for their tardiness.
While they were seating themselves, Belle took a long sip of restorative tea, resisting the urge to rub her temples, and officially opened the town council meeting. "I called you here this afternoon to discuss some disturbing rumors that I have been hearing and I'm sure you have too."
Glancing around the table she noted the Charmings, Eric, Thomas, and Abigail all nod in agreement, so she continued, "It's possible that on top of everything that we are dealing with the witches and King George, we will be inundated with counterfeit currency as well as home grown narcotics."
At this point, everyone began sharing what they had heard. Abigail's Frederick had overheard some of his students talking about the new supply of poppy and he had been approached by the school's janitor warning him of what he had heard. Thomas' Ashley had heard both rumors from former co-workers and her friend at the hair salon who had overheard customers talking about their concerns. And all of them had been approached by various business owners who wanted to know what was being done to prevent their 'impending financial ruin'.
Abigail, who is the local bank's manager, was the first to offer a helpful solution, "If the business owners and their employees are taught how to recognize counterfeit money like our bank tellers, it will be easier to track its distribution and eventually the source."
"I can help with that, and Emma can probably too," Baelfire, who had been quiet so far, piped up to offer. He and Emma, not officially part of the council, were sitting off to the side. Belle had invited them because as sheriff and deputy they had to deal with implementing whatever solutions the council agreed upon.
At Emma's questioning and slightly miffed at being volunteered look, Bae explained, "I've known some shady characters who dabbled in bogus bills and I was taught how to spot them at a few of my odd jobs over the years, and I'm sure you have too, Emma, in your work as a bail bonds agent."
The blond nodded and agreed reluctantly, "Yeah, I can recognize it, and if you need me to, I can teach a few people how to as well." She didn't look particularly thrilled at the prospect, which was no surprise as the poor girl was getting stretched thin by all her responsibilities.
Her parents saw this and tried to ease their daughter's burden with Snow suggesting, "And for tracking down the poppy plants, we can get dogs that are trained for that sort of thing," and David adding, "The dwarves and I can do sweeps with them across town, and while we are doing that we can also be on the lookout for my father."
"And Ariel," Eric insisted.
"And Ariel," the Prince agreed with quiet sympathy.
Belle had to bite back a sigh of relief. This meeting had been one of the more amiable ones she had had to endure. No one had asked her who her source was. She hadn't been feeling up to the task of defending her 'Concerned Citizen' yet again. And she had feared that with all the stress, the royals were going to take it out on each other with their bickering.
They didn't though. Abigail and Thomas helped them find money in the town's budget for the dogs, and they all left with the hope of achieving at least a small victory against their foes.
~0~
Back alley of Guy's Gym
Twilight...
"Well, lass, I must say I heartily approve of this new addition to your collection," was Killian's warm, if mistaken, greeting.
Tawny chuckled softly, proud of herself that she had been so attuned to her surroundings that she had sensed him lurking in the shadows. "Giselle will be ecstatic to hear that her wigs are so realistic that you can't tell the difference from real and replica."
At her words, he stepped away from the wall and reached out to give a lock of her newly colored hair a tug. When she grimaced in pain and there was obviously no tell-tale shifting, he finally believed her. With an apologetic grin, he said, "It suits you, Tawny-love."
She tried not to blush, but failed, for she was both thoroughly pleased that she had achieved her goal – of creating a look that was 'more her', the 'her' that she wanted to be at least – and that he had perceived that very thing.
She had had Giselle dye her two-toned locks that were now down to her shoulder blades a shade of warm golden brown, and then had added highlights of the honey blond hue. Giselle had gushed about how it brought out the gold flecks of her hazel eyes and complimented her recently acquired tanned skin (all those hours on the Jolly Roger's deck). But she didn't think that's what Killian was referring to.
As for 'her collection', Giselle had been practicing making wigs and had given her friends a few for their birthdays. Tawny had taken to wearing them on hers and Killian's 'outings' as a way to throw off any suspicions that she might be one of the vigilantes roughing up the town's poppy peddlers. Speaking of which...
As she twisted her hair into a bun to place her beanie/ski mask over, she murmured a soft "Thank you," and then began walking towards the high school for tonight's shenanigans. There was going to be a game there – teachers versus students, and there was bound to be dope pushers that needed a good thrashing.
Killian's no-doubt suggestive commentary on her blush was interrupted by the tinny ringtone of Strangler's "Here comes the Mad Hatter…"
She quickly pulled out her phone from her coat pocket and greeted gratefully, "Hello, Jefferson."
"Angelica, you and that 'noble' ass have shining armor stuff to do. Two suspicious un-gentleman are stalking the navy nun. Prowling south on 3rd Ave towards West Street." And with that cryptic and snarky report, he hung up.
Grabbing Killian's arm, she abruptly changed directions, darting south down a side street.
"Lass? Is everything alright? Young Grace is – " he asked concernedly.
"She's fine," she reassured hastily, touched that he would even care or even think to ask. After a pair of soccer moms and their herd of younger children had passed them, she added quietly, "Mother Superior is being followed. Jefferson thinks she might be attacked. Could be muggers. Could be something worse."
"And the fairy boss is no Tinkerbell," he noted sardonically.
"Yes, physical confrontation is not something she is … familiar with, at least not in Storybrooke." She added that last part recalling a few tales she had heard of Blue's actions during the war between the Charmings and Regina. The fairy might be able to take care of herself, but just in case, she wanted Killian and her on hand if need be.
"Okay, love, how many and where?"
Giving his arm a grateful squeeze for his ever present willingness, she relayed to him what she knew. He immediately suggested a plan – he split off to hunt the hunters from behind and she would approach from in front. If they were lucky, Blue would pass her, none the wiser, and then she and Killian could make their move. It sounded good and, well, sound, and when she said so, he smirked that cocky grin of his and then darted down another side street to implement it.
As she went to do her part, she contemplated her good fortune in finding a partner as capable as the captain and as collaborative as he was. Very rarely did he go all he-man on her and order her about; his M.O. was to suggest or consult with her first. It was empowering and she –
And she really needed to focus, because sure enough there was Mother Superior and about twenty yards back were two hulking figures who looked like men on a very ruthless mission – fists clenched, mouths pursed, eyes narrowed and focused on Her Petite Wholesomeness.
Unfortunately, both she and Killian were too far away to do any good when the two brutes pounced.
Coming up on each side of her they grabbed her wrists, presumably to keep her from going for her wand. The 'un-gentleman' on her left hauled her up to his chest, keeping a hold of her wrist with one hand and with the other, covering her mouth, while the other searched her person with his free hand. They moved so swiftly that the poor fairy never got a chance to shout for help.
Not that she needed to.
Her attackers were so intent on their search that they did not see Killian come up behind them, which was mistake number one. Mistake number two was that they had done this in the middle of the street, with her as a witness, and even though they had seen her approaching figure, they had dismissed her. It was truly insulting.
Pulling down her mask and slipping on her brass knuckles, she charged them, shouting, "Oy! Swine!"
Frisker swiveled around to confront her, but greatly misjudged, as his pivot propelled his face into her reinforced fist. There was a most satisfying crunch of nose cartilage as a result. His miscalculation also resulted in him stumbling backwards into a parking meter, briefly allowing her to see Silencer put Blue into a choke hold and go for the gun in his pocket.
He didn't get very far. For in that second, her masked man-in-black was upon him. She did not see what it was that he did, for Frisker was recovering and looking like a bull out for blood, but she heard what he said, and it took all that she had not to choke on her suppressed chuckles.
"I would not do that if I were you."
Silencer apparently had a few more brain cells than his partner, because he elected to throw in the towel. Shoving his would-be victim away from him, he jerked away from Killian. He then grabbed his buddy and grunted, "Let's go!"
Bloody Nose made a sound of protest. It was difficult to understand him, but his partner seemed to, because he added as he ran, "I'm not getting paid enough to be an Angel's bounty!"
At these words, she and Killian shared self-satisfied smirks before going to help up the fallen fairy.
Pitching her voice lower than normal, she asked, "Are you alright, ma'am?"
Dusting herself off, she gave a prim little nod, saying breathily, "Yes, yes, I am. I am in your debt…?"
There was no response to her blatant query for their names, as Killian had grabbed Tawny, while the fairy was looking after the retreating figures of her attackers, and had hauled her into the shadowy alley from which he had appeared. Approaching sirens of the late-arriving sheriff could be heard in the distance, so they made themselves scarce.
Later, back on the Roger, Killian summed up their night as he poured her a glass of whiskey.
"Well, we didn't get your dealer tonight, nor did we catch the muggers, but the night wasn't a total loss, kitten. The chief fairy is in our debt, and that doesn't sound like a bad place to be."
She grinned gleefully as she accepted the drink, replying, "Nope, it doesn't at all, Captain."
~0~
The Jolly Roger
"So how come you don't tell my mom that you're one of the Avenging Angels?" Henry asked him as he worked on the sailor's knot that Killian had been teaching him.
So surprised was Killian at this out of the blue remark, that he nearly burned his hand with the hot cocoa he was carrying over to the lad. The 'Avenging Angels' was one of the monikers that the Mirror had given him and Tawny after their escapade with Driver's goons. 'Dark Angels' and 'Dark Knights' were the more flattering if redundant names given them. And everyone who had come up with a name or two for them had a theory as to who it was. But none of them had come even close.
Except Henry.
"And what makes you think that I'm one of them?" he asked warily. They had been extremely careful to conceal his identity. Colored lenses to disguise his distinctive blues and his faux hand instead of his hook were a few of the ruses that they had used to throw off any suspicions. But if this twelve year old lad could figure it out, how long before their opponents did?
Henry rolled his eyes and explained his reasoning matter-of-factly as if he were a wee lad who had yet to learn his sums, "Please. You gave up your revenge to help my mom get me back, and now that I'm back you haven't started your feud up again. You've had a change of heart."
Humbled by the faith that Henry had him, he struggled to find a way to throw him off the scent, and could only manage a weak protest, asking, "What if I have just been too busy doing, shall we say, less than savory activities?"
Henry cocked his head to the side, looked him up and down thoughtfully, and then stared into his eyes, just like his mother did and challenged, "But you haven't, have you?"
But unlike his mother, he was not searching for a lie. Rather he stated it with conviction, as if he was trying to make Killian believe in himself. It was impossible to deny the lad anything when he was like that, so he admitted softly, "No, lad, I have not."
"But you don't want my mom to know."
This time he said this not as a statement but more as a question. The lady Snow really needed to work on teaching her grandson his inflections.
"Aye, if she were to know, she'd treat me different." He explained, hoping to impress upon the lad the need for secrecy.
He needn't have worried. Emma's and Baelfire's son was a clever lad; for he immediately blurted in understanding, "And then your cover would be blown!"
Looking very proud of himself for figuring it out, Henry then proceeded to throw him through another loop. "What do you and Gwen call your operation? My mom and I called the breaking of the Curse 'Operation Cobra'."
At his stunned silence, the lad looked at him in confusion and then rolled his eyes, asserting confidently, "Of course, Gwen is involved. I knew it was her before I even thought of you."
He raised eyebrow, and Henry obligingly explained his reasoning with a simple if cryptic, "She likes Batman."
At his no doubt bewildered expression, the lad began to explain who this personage was and how Tawny's preference for him mattered. He chattered on about Gotham city, mafia lords, a rich boy who seeks vengeance for murdered parents by dressing up in a black armored bat suit and enforcing justice slightly outside of the law.
"…And although I don't know Gwen's origin story, I think she identifies strongly with his," ('The lad really had no idea.') "Not even the Curse could block that out, 'cause that is when she told me liked him best. So I don't think, if given the opportunity, she could do nothing if she saw the need for something like this, especially since you've been teaching her to fight and all."
While Henry caught his breath and drank his cocoa, Killian stared at the lad who had rendered him speechless – and that is saying something. Finally, he declared with both delight and horror, "You, Henry, are frighteningly perceptive."
Milah's grandson beamed at him. His milk-mustache in no way diminishing his aura of wisdom and perspicacity.
~0~
Pleasure Island
12:20am
Killian watched appreciatively if impatiently the Triplets' show. They were very similar in form – tall, blond, leggy, and limber, but each had their own style. Paula who favored green outfits was cool, willowy, and sensuous. Laura who shined in glittery gold costumes danced with coquettish abandon, while Claudia was known for her domineering red. The secrets that those three were able to coax out of the men in this town were worth every overpriced drink he bought them on their breaks.
But tonight he was not there to see them. Tonight, he was there to meet Larue to give him the package that the mute Harley had sent him to Haven, Maine for. According to Jefferson's new tech-toy and Tawny's research, it contained some rare plant found only in Asia that was a key ingredient in some experimental hallucinogenic drug. Killian was curious to know what the little toady would need it for, or more accurately who he needed it for, but he couldn't learn that until he showed up. And the obsequious lackey-boy was late.
He finished off the ale he had been nursing and was going to order himself another, when Starkey, known as Pierre Astin here, jerked his head in the direction of the manager's office. The door was slightly ajar and he could see the stumpy fellow and the tall, sinuous woman of the mismatched eyes conversing.
He seized the moment to eavesdrop and made his way to the payphone that was just outside the office, where he pulled out a plastic payment card and started dialing the numbers listed there. It was a handy trick that Tawny had taught him, in which a person looks to be completely absorbed in battling with an unhelpful automated telephone service menu, while in actuality is only pushing random numbers as he listens in on a nearby conversation. Clever lass.
"Yes, Ms. Flo T. Samuels, you can assure your divine mistress that the flotsam that you and your brother Jet found and brought to my venerable employer is being carefully looked after. She is responding well, I am told by Dr. Dante, to the sedatives and is as fit as a fish out of water can be."
"She is being kept hydrated?" Ms. Samuels hissed querulously
"As per her instructions. Below sea-level in a salt water tank," the little man assured. "She will be ready for the Rite of Passage."
"She had better be. It costs my mistress much to hide the Dante's operations from prying eyes."
Larue gave a loud nervous swallow, and then declared, "For which, he is much appreciative, I promise you. Now will there be anything else? I am late for my next appointment."
At this unusually assertive statement, Killian hung up the phone and stalked 'irately' over to the bar, so that he would be appropriately irascible and impatient when Larue finally joined him, and not deliriously gleeful at the conclusion he arrived from that cryptic chat.
He had found the elusive sea nymph.
A/N: So sorry for the delay. I hope it was worth the wait ; )
As always, not mine.
Next Chapter: Marshalling of Forces