Chapter 8

Several years ago

I slip into the dress provided for me by Amanda. It's probably the most risque number I've ever attempted to pull off, but thankfully, being straight off of the CIA task force, I'm in pretty good shape. In my hand, I hold a dainty clutch purse, which contains some money, and metal marbles that when thrown, can shock a person or set them on fire, or both, I'm not sure, I haven't had a chance to try them yet. Under my dress, strapped to my thigh, are those fancy daggers that Amanda gave me. Supposedly the small microbeads coated onto the daggers will track a person once implanted into the blood, leave it to Amanda to think of something like this.

I arrive at the door of one of the many seedy bars in Gotham City. If it were up to me, this is not how'd I'd want to be spending my first day back in my hometown since graduating from high school but what Amanda wants, Amanda gets.

I open the door to be greeted with a dank, dark atmosphere. There are a couple of drunkards, but it's apparent that most of these men are on official business, by the way they stare me down suspiciously.

I make my way past the bar to a table where men in black and brown suits are huddled closely together, rolling dice and taking bets.

"Evening gentlemen." I greet them, placing one hand on the edge of the table.

The men turn around from their game to look up at me. They say nothing at first, and their stares are blank and unmoving.

I push my hand forward, leaning into the group, "I hear that Falcone is hiring."

The men all burst out into a collective chuckle, before one of them replies, "Falcone? Hiring a pretty thing like you?"

"Why not? Whatever he needs I can do."

The men put stand up from their seats, and I prepare myself to take them on, but I realize the all stood up at the sound of the front door of the bar bursting open. Two more gangsters stumble in, carrying a much smaller man in a black-and-white suit.

Poor guy, anywhere else he'd be considered of average height, but in Gotham City where the average adult man is a freakish six feet, he's puny.

"Look who came in crying for a job again!" one of them shouts, slamming the guy onto the bar.

Someone pushes me from behind, I turn around and it's one of the mobsters, who's shoving me along with the other recruit. I could take them out...but the goal is to make nice with these guys, however hard that may be.

Becoming more aggressive, the thugs throw the man to the ground, stomping on him. I bite my lip, I could jeopardize my entire mission if I help this man, but then again, I really couldn't be in much of a lower standing with them right now, could I?

I run in front of the man, shielding him from the gangsters, "Stop!"

The thugs laugh, before one of them throws a punch at me. I block it, but then another one comes from the side, knocking me off balance. I stumble and catch myself against the bar.

The next thing I know, I'm being grabbed by two of the thugs and escorted out of the bar. Looking to my right, I see that the man is being dragged out, clearly far worse for wear than I am.

The bar doors are flung open and I'm thrown out onto the dirty, wet pavement, with the man launched right next to me, before the doors are slammed behind us.

I look over my shoulder and see that the man is lying motionless on the ground. Is he hurt bad?

"Hey." I bark over to him.

His head turned away from me, he stirs ever-so-slightly, slowly turning over to reveal light blue eyes, pale skin, and an abnormally pronounced nose.

What do I say next? "Uhm...you too huh?"

With one hand, he pushes himself up, "Yeah...it's, not exactly easy to find decent work in this town, is it?"

I nod, and as I begin to push my upper half off the dank pavement, I realize my dress is now soaked from the front, covered in the grime of the street, "Dammit!"

His voice is mid-ranged, and very timid, "Do...do you have anywhere you can go?"

"Yeah, but no where with a place to wash this dress."

"Well, I have an apartment, not too far from here. It's, not much, but there's a washer and dryer. You could wash your dress there."

Is he serious? This guy is clearly new to the scene as well, considering how trusting he is. And if he's trying to pull something, well, considering I have at least three inches on him, he shouldn't be too much of a problem.

"Alright, thanks. What's your name?" I ask, picking myself up.

He offers his hand to help me, which I take, and as I rise up, the helping hand becomes a firm handshake, "Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot."

I smile, "I'm-" I realize I can't use my real name, "Just call me Trixie."

His hand lingers on my own just a little longer before he lets go. His eyes meet mine, and I realize, under the newly acquired black eye and suit that's just a little too big for his small frame, he's kind of cute. Wait...what am I saying?!

"Shall we?" he asks, gesturing to the right, "My apartment's down this way."

I feel myself blushing even under the cold wind of the night. I nod, and begin following him down the dark and bleak Gotham street.

Present Day

I wake up in what appears to be a prison cell. Did the police catch Ozzy and lock us up? No, if that were the case, it'd be him who's locked up, not me. This has to be a cell of his own making.

"Is somebody up?" it's Ozzy, stepping out of the shadows.

"Whatever you have planned, bring it on." I challenge him.

He tsksat me playfully, shaking his head, "So hostile, are we? Why is that dear?"

"Well, maybe it's because you have me locked up in a prison cell. Where are we anyway?"

"Don't you recognize this place? Well, I guess I didn't have the private room installed until afterwards, can't blame you there."

I look around, and see that the room is an office of sorts, complete with a mahogany desk and a large self-congratulatory portrait of Ozzy, and the air foul with the smell of cigarette smoke. When did he pick up smoking anyway? My cage must have been moved in recently, as it doesn't seem to be supported by anything, and it certainly doesn't fit in with the velvety look of the office.

"What do you want?" I demand.

He throws me an article of clothing. I pick it up and realize it's my old dress, the one I wore the day we met. I can't believe he held onto this, why would he hold onto this?

"Put it on, and if you can't fit it, no shame there. I mean, look at me, I've put on quite a bit of weight, haven't I?" he laughs jovially, "Now don't take too long dear, Gotham high society awaits!" he turns away, raising his umbrella to the sky, but then quickly turns back, "Oh...and in case you try an funny business."

He presses a button on his desk and a small television screen appears out of the panelling showing a black-and-white security feed of both Dr. Leland and Dr. Whistler tied up and gagged in another room.

I frown, while I barely knew those doctors a week, I'd hate to see anything bad happen to them, and it's clear Ozzy can certainly make that happen.

"Fine, but you can't be in the room while I'm changing." I tell him.

He smirks, "Of course." pressing the button again so the TV retracts, he then quietly steps into the next room.

I search in my trenchcoat pockets. Both my marbles and daggers are gone, of course. If only I knew where they are, I could get Dr. Whistler and Leland out of here. But until then, it would probably be best to follow Ozzy's orders.

And...the dress still fits, amazing.