To Play the Fool

Chapter Three

My first day at Wayne Enterprises wasn't bad. My responsibilities were much the same as the last office I worked at – filing, approving payroll, handling Mr. Wayne's correspondence, making and returning calls, arranging meetings and appointments - nothing horrendous. There was just one problem.

I got there a good fifteen minutes early so I could meet my new boss and so we could get to know each other. I didn't see the man until well after noon.

The others in the office didn't look worried. Obviously this happens quite a bit. That piece of knowledge did not make me any less annoyed. This man had no business ethic if he couldn't get here on time. Of course, since he owned the place, he wasn't late. He made his own, "on time." This would also explain why every meeting was scheduled at or after 2 pm. It made me wonder why I was needed here so early. I made sure my face didn't show how annoyed I felt.

When Mr. Wayne did decide to show up at the office, there was a definite stir in the staff. Not one of scrambling to look busy. It was more of a passing of knowing nods and smirks, like an inside joke was going around. Mr. Wayne was late again.

He stopped at my desk to drop off his coat. "Any messages?" he asked, not really looking at me. He was distracted by his own phone.

"Oswald Cobblepot's office called to confirm your meeting at 2:00 today." A look of disgust passed his face briefly, but I went on. "There was also a Ms. Star Hansen who wanted to know if you were in yet."

"I thought I gave her my number."

"She said she lost your card and hasn't had a chance to put it in her phone just yet."

He chuckled a bit and started for his office. I took his coat to hang up, and he stopped in his tracks. "Are you new?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. "Jenny Harkness."

He shook my hand. "Just seems like you've been here forever."

"Déjà vu. It happens."

"Guess so. Thanks." He turned and went into his office while I finished hanging up his coat.

My anger lifted with that little exchange. He was charming and kind, and that was why he could get away with murder. And he was injured. He moved stiffly like he had bruised his ribs or something. And it hurt his arm to shake my hand. I wanted to ask what had happened to him, but I held my tongue. After all, it was my first day. And if he didn't want to tell me about his injuries, I wouldn't say a word.

2:00 came a lot faster than I thought it would, and once it came around, I wanted to send it back where it came from and demand a refund.

Oswald Cobblepot arrived on our floor at 2:01 pm. I couldn't see him yet, but everyone could hear him shouting, "Where's Bruce's office?" at the closest intern. The poor man meekly pointed towards my desk. I quickly finished up my phone call so I could deal with him.

"Mr. Wayne," I paged into his office. "Mr. Cobblepot is here to see you." I kept my eye on the man in question as he approached.

"Two minutes," Mr. Wayne replied.

I felt like paging back and asking, "Really?" but I deliberately took my hands away so I wouldn't.

Cobblepot approached my desk with the subtlety of an elephant. He wore a genuine evening suit from the Victorian Era, complete with spats, a top hat, and a cane. Seeing how he carried his 69 inches, I would guess that it was genuine. He had a long, hooked nose, black, beady eyes behind round wire glasses, pale skin that seemed to glisten just a bit, a rather stocky build, hands like a walrus' flippers, and thin, brown hair slicked back. He slammed his cane down on my desk, set his top hat down, pulled off his gloves and tossed them into his hat. "I have an appointment with Bruce," he announced.

I almost expected his voice to be nasally and parrot-like, but it was just the opposite. He sounded like and English gentleman, except one that was born in America and had a condescending tone that he just couldn't seem to get rid of. It struck fear in the stomachs of all those who heard it, including mine.

"He'll be just two minutes," I said. The joy had gone out of my soul the moment I realized I would have to deal with him. Now the only thing left was cynicism and sarcasm.

This did not sit well with him at all. "He wants me to – Do you have any idea who I am?"

I had no choice but to answer him honestly. "No."

"No?" He was turning red with seething rage.

"No, I'm new. My last company wasn't nearly big enough to attract the attention of clients as distinguished as yourself."

He was immediately placated. "Oh, I see. I'll just wait here." He took a seat by my desk. "I don't suppose you've heard of the Cobblepot family? It's one of the oldest families in Gotham City."

"No, I'm sort of new to Gotham."

"That's a shame. We were one of the most powerful people in the eastern United States."

"Was that before the Waynes?" I do study history, after all.

His face snapped back into a scowl and he leaped to his feet. This would have been the perfect time for Mr. Wayne to open his office door and invite Mr. Cobblepot inside with a bright and cheerful smile to begin their meeting, saving me from having to deal with him. Unfortunately, this was not to be as Mr. Wayne was still 'busy.'

For one minute and forty-eight seconds, Oswald Cobblepot lectured me and screamed at me how the Wayne family had ruined the Cobblepot dynasty and deserved no honor because they were a bunch of thieves. He listed off his family's accomplishments that I should be grateful for and that I didn't deserve to be a part of. These accomplishments fell into one of two categories: outright lies and taking credit for anything built by anyone, and claiming that someone else stole all the credit. I couldn't help but notice that according to him, the Waynes were the worst offenders, having been given the honors for more than half of whatever he listed.

I patiently stood there and watched his mouth move and his face get redder and redder. I bit my tongue so I wouldn't accidentally blurt out an insult or argue with him. Instead, I gave him a blank, passive stare. Nothing he said could make me react, which made him even angrier.

Finally, as Mr. Cobblepot was insulting my intelligence and existence, Mr. Wayne opened his door, cutting him off. "Mr. Cobblepot!" he said with all the faux kindness he could muster. "Come on in. How are you?"

Cobblepot grumbled an answer and slid into his office. Mr. Wayne gave me an apologetic half-smile and closed the door after him.

The entire office was deathly quiet once he disappeared, and everyone was looking at me. "What?" I said, daring them to ask what had happened. And everyone got back to work, or at least tried to look busy. I sat back down and tried to get something done.

I heard arguing coming from Mr. Wayne's office, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. After a couple minutes, things were getting very heated and I heard something shatter. I wasn't the only one listening in. Several people in the office reacted with gasps. I was tempted to go in and make sure no one was bleeding, but the continued arguing assured me they were fine.

Three minutes after that, Oswald Cobblepot flew out of the office, snatched his hat and cane from off my desk, knocked off several papers in the process, and pushed a line of people away from the elevator. A group of people were expelled from the car before the doors closed and he was gone. I could swear the office was about to burst into applause.

I knelt down to pick up my papers, or at least shovel them into a manageable stack. I was surprised to see Mr. Wayne join me and help me with my mess. "He's a rather unpleasant one," he said.

"Did you know that Wayne Tower would never have been built without significant contributions from the Cobblepots?" I put my pile of papers on my desk.

"Is that so?" I took the papers from him and he gave me a hand to help me to my feet. "What did you think of him?"

"He's a parasite," I said honestly. I went into his office to find what had shattered. It was a white vase that once held a bouquet of roses. I grabbed a trash can and started picking up the pieces. "He feeds on the weak and tries to make strong men think they are beneath him. He comes from a wealthy family, which is where that suit came from. He took it at first because he couldn't afford to purchase one of his own, possibly because his family cut him off. However, since he has recently come into quite a bit of money, he has developed an appreciation for it. Not the history behind it, but because of the power it gave him. He smokes cigars regularly, but not often. They're mostly for looks. He used to be a hard worker, most likely as an administrative assistant or a bank teller. He had a job that required the extended use of a keyboard. He also used to be engaged, but something went wrong. He wore that ring long after she was gone. He also spends quite a bit of time around a large variety of birds, no less than eight. He said goodbye to them before he left today."

"I didn't ask you to guess," he reprimanded.

"I didn't. He had a patched elbow, patched knee, and a few other minor repairs which told me he values the suit now, but those repairs wouldn't have been necessary had the proper care been given in the first place. This means that he didn't care for it at first, possibly because it was so outdated that it looked ridiculous. Then when he came into money, he appreciated its nostalgic charm. It made him unique among his fellow businessmen. The hat was custom made for an L. Cobblepot to go with the suit, which means it was handed down to him. I could see the faint outline of cigars in his breast coat pocket, and I could smell them a bit. However, he didn't smell like cigar smoke and he didn't have any stains on his hands or teeth, which meant that while he always have them on hand, he doesn't smoke them for pleasure. The pads of his fingers were slightly flattened, which usually happens to musicians and typists after long periods of time. They weren't quite as flattened as a musician's, which meant something clerical. There was a slight indentation on his ring finger where a ring should be. He also had a cut by something that bounced off the ring and cut the skin above and below it, leaving a very faint scar. He wore the ring for a long time, but he was never married or she would have made some repairs to that suit herself and there would be more of a trace of her in his life. And I think he keeps the ring in his left pocket."

"And the birds?"

"I counted four different feathers that were stuck to the lining of his hat, two from his right cuff, one from his pocket, and there was an eighth one stuck to his left pant leg. Eight different birds that he touched just before he left today."

Mr. Wayne picked up the bouquet and straightened it out. "You'll have to teach me how to do that."

I chuckled. My sister thinks I'm related to Sherlock Holmes. I think it's more likely I'm related to dr. Joseph Bell. "Observation and deduction. All there is to it."

Mr. Wayne sighed and looked at the bouquet wistfully. "I was going to give these to Star."

"Star? Star Hansen. The girl who lost your number."

"Yes, my girlfriend."

"Ah." Now I had a name to go with a rumor. And a confirmed rumor at that. "How did you meet her?"

"She's an actress."

"Really? Film or Television?"

"Theatre. I met her after seeing "Sunset Boulevard" at Capitol Theatre."

"Who did she play? Betty?"

"She was in the chorus." He smiled, remembering the night. "I went backstage to meet the girl that played Betty, and Star got to me first. I'm glad she did. Betty was a bit of a diva."

I had to chuckle at that. When I talked to Star, she didn't sound like she was a back-up singer. She was confident and in control, which was why I wondered if she was the lead. "She's a smart girl, very funny."

He chuckled. I didn't even know the half of it. "Yeah, but she didn't want our relationship all over the news. So if you don't mind …"

I nodded. "Not a word. I promise. Well, it looks like the flowers survived. I'll see if I can find a new vase."

"No, don't worry about it. Thanks, Jenny." He took a seat at his desk. "I promise it won't always be like today."

"Oh, I know." I closed the door after me as I left.

I returned to my desk and got back to work. Five minutes later, Mrs. Miller stopped by. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm doing fine."

"I'm so sorry about Mr. Cobblepot."

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

"What did he break in Mr. Wayne's office? We all heard it."

"Oh, it was a vase."

"He didn't throw it, did he?"

"No, it was just knocked off the desk. No assault charges needed."

"Well I can tell you he'll be banned from this building from now on."

"I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that."

Bruce Wayne let out a long breath intended to calm him down. Sometimes being Batman had its drawbacks. For instance, as long as he wasn't wearing his costume, he couldn't pummel anyone senseless even if they deserved it. For another thing, Batman had led him to people like Oswald Cobblepot.

Some weeks ago, he had managed to catch a glimpse of Penguin and recognized him as Oswald Cobblepot. Unfortunately, without any evidence, the police couldn't do anything to stop him. So Bruce decided to get some dirt on his own. He agreed to the meeting with Mr. Cobblepot in order to find something that could be used against him.

But when it came down to it, Bruce couldn't justify using his company to catch this criminal. What the man was proposing was ludicrously dangerous and more than a little insane. So how had the man managed to build up a successful business in the first place?

This wasn't the only question bothering him, though. What to do about Tex? She wasn't overly concerned about the illicit shipment getting out on the streets, but she fought to save Batman's life. What, if any, motives did she have? And could she be counted on to fight Penguin's gang? He had to find her before she could do any damage.