Dinah Lance blinked away another splash of rain. Vaulting over a low-hanging ledge, she jumped. Landing gracefully on the rooftop of a neighboring building she continued her sprint before coming to a slating stop at the ledge. Blue and red lights danced brightly in the dark light of the evening as nearly a dozen marked cruisers sat around the outside of a large, seemingly abandoned, manufacturing plant.
She scanned the scene for a moment. One of the three ambulances screamed away from the scene, its sirens blaring and the lights flashing. Hopping smoothly over the ledge, her feet found purchase against the faded brick of building and she slid down to the concrete below. Striding purposefully forward, her eyes locked onto the familiar face of Harvey Bullock. Seeing Dinah's approach, Bullock extricated himself from the previous conversation and approached.
"Canary," said the Detective, adjusting the hood of his raincoat, "Glad you got the message. We've got a shitstorm in there."
Dinah turned her attention to the factory, then back to Bullock. "Falcone?"
Bullock's grimace was answer enough, and Dinah bit back a growl. Things between the families have been escalating the last couple of months. If this was related, then the inside was going to be a mess.
"Any survivors?" Dinah asked as she began walking to the building.
"Just one," grunted Bullock, as he dug around in his pocket. "Big son of a bitch." He pulled free a small, waterproof notepad and glanced at his notes. "One of the patrols recognized him. No real name, only a nickname. Called him Mr. Hammer, apparently he ran around with the Joker for a couple of years before the island."
Dinah's chest constricted painfully, and she eyed Bullock out of the corner of her eye. In an undertone, barely audible over the wind and rain she asked,
"Any word from P…Detective Jackson?"
Bullock shrugged, "Haven't heard from him for a bit. Montoya talked to him a couple of weeks ago, seemed to be enjoying New York well enough." He snorted derisively, "Can't say I'm not jealous. Must be nice not having to deal with cape crap on a daily basis."
Dinah nodded, but was hardly listening. It had been four months since anyone had seen Detective Percy Jackson. Four months since her year of lies and manipulation had been discovered. When news of Jackson's arrival in Gotham reached Batman's ears, he became apprehensive. Percy was a demigod, a powerful one at that, and at first Dinah had been on the Bat's side. Power of that scale could be catastrophically dangerous, and so Dinah had readily accepted her job to keep an eye on the man. Nothing too nefarious, she'd just wanted to make sure he was on the up and up.
But then the man had wandered into the gym of her mentor. Her gym. A gym used by a number of capes in Gotham. It had been suspicious, but he'd been kind and charming and otherwise like any normal guy. She hadn't even been aware that she she had been spending more and more time with the man until it was too late. He'd wormed his way into her life, and was soon one of her best friends. The golden rule no longer applied. She'd grown attached to the mark. She cared about him, and it became a problem. The lies continued to pile up on one another, as her civilian and cape personalities kept coming into contact with him.
She should have just talked to him. Should have said something. Maybe she could have salvaged things. Maybe could have kept him in Gotham. But instead, he'd found out in the worst way possible. With her unconscious, on his couch, surrounded by the partners of the most prominent League members.
His reaction had been predictable, and no one had seen him in Gotham since. According to Batman, he'd put in a transfer request immediately, and had been shipped out of Gotham and over to New York within a matter of days.
Four months later, and it still hurt. Slamming the whirling storm of emotions to the back of her mind and focused on the task at hand.
"Should have seen the bastard," muttered Bullock, breaking Dinah out of her misery. "Guy looked like he was beaten with a damn baseball bat."
"That bad?"
Bullock grunted, "Any of your friends been running around and not letting us know?"
"Not that I'm aware of." Dinah frowned, "Batman keeps a tight leash on who operates here."
Bullock snorted but didn't refute it. Without another word, she opened a door on the opposite side of the interior lobby and gestured for Dinah to enter. The interior of the factory had been transformed into a chop shop. Nearly half a dozen cars were propped up on lifts. Scars of battle marred the building. Discarded shells littered the floor, and blood from the dead sat in cool pools.
Walking deeper into the shop, Dinah blinked several times in rapid succession, and her League-issued contact lenses came to life. The room was lost to a plethora of pale blues. She scanned the room, her lenses zooming in on discarded shells and blood, rapidly sending the data to the League database.
"You're missing your shadow tonight," said Bullock mused, propping himself against a wall and watching Dinah wander.
Dinah brushed it off, "She's busy."
Bullock snorted, "Sure she is."
Dinah ignored her, as she gazed up at the catwalks above them. Specifically, her attention focused on the broken and fragmented railing at the far side. It would taken a tremendous amount of strength to break through the steel.
"Was this Hammer guy a Meta?" She asked, turning back to Bullock.
"Not that we know of. There were rumors that he and his brother were part of some soviet experiments back in the '80s, but nothing concrete."
Dinah nodded. "How many bodies?"
"Seventeen," said Bullock, "Recognized a couple of them. Wise guys from Sal's side of the family and two from Christian's."
"Would take a hell of a lot more than two guys to taken down fifteen," mused Dinah.
"Hence the call," said Bullock with an aggrieved sigh. "Someone new is playing around and I'd like to know what the fuck we're dealing with." He grunted, agitated and slouched back against the wall. "Been doing this long enough now to admit that you guys have resources we don't."
"Always happy to lend a helping hand," said Dinah, turning away from the scene. With a purposeful stride, she made her way out of the factory. "If I find anything, I'll let you know."
Half an hour later, she was back inside one of her safe-houses with a fresh cup of brew in her hand. Sitting down at her desk, she pulled up the League database on her computer and began her research. She first began running an inventory on all known Metas in the city. Filtering out anyone without enhanced strength she was left with roughly a dozen Metas. When she filtered out anyone not locked out, she was only left with around three. But all three had been seen outside of Gotham within the last three weeks. The likelihood of them being back in the city was almost an impossibility, let alone with them being potentially linked to one of the families. Strength-based Metas were generally lone-wolves, which meant that whoever it was, wasn't loyal to the family and almost certainly a hired gun.
Which meant that it could have been any of nearly a hundred Metas. Sighing, she started up a program designed by Batman to scrape through Gotham international security cameras to find and identify Metas coming in and out of the city. Finishing off her cooling coffee, Dinah stood from her chair and glanced at the time. Only a little after three in the morning, too late to do anything more tonight. She didn't think that she'd find anything with the data scrape, but she would check again in the morning. In the event that nothing came up, she would try alternative methods. She knew of at least one Falcone hangout, one of the Family's laundering operations. She had been sitting on it for the time being, until she could find enough evidence to make taking it down worth something. But as an integral part of the operation, those in the know might have some idea about who this mysterious new player might be. She briefly contemplated heading out immediately, but she was dead on her feet, and she had appointments first thing in the morning with a number of her long-time clients.
One more night wouldn't hurt anything, and for now, she needed to sleep.
BREAK
The seat of Percy's seat vibrated under the heavy bass of the club. He fought off the mounting headache as he took another hefty pull of his drink. The Stacked Deck was one of the seedier bars in Gotham, and one of the few havens for the Falcone syndicate. If he had it his way, Percy wouldn't have ever stepped foot in the den of depravity but it was important to keep up appearances, especially in light of his recent accomplishments. But that was even more reason for his discomfort. Life in the Falcone syndicate was one of survival. Darwinism at its finest, where the strongest survived. As much of the syndicate was made up of wise guys looking to make their mark, Percy knew many were looking to make a splash of their own by taking the new guy down a peg.
Percy finished off the dregs of his drink and waived over the bartender to bring him another one. with a fresh drink in his hand, he swiveled back to face the room. The last thing he wanted was to get blindsided by some dickhead looking to make a name for himself. As he scanned the room however, he felt a tingle run up the back of his neck. Someone was watching him. Rather, someone of some import was looking at him, as he could see many a surly bar-goer were shooting daggers his direction every couple of seconds.
But there was someone near the back of the room that was captivating all of his attention. Her long, raven was pulled back in a ponytail which jutted out through the back of her baseball cap. He couldn't make out the color of her eyes, as they were hidden behind a pair of very fine looking sunglasses. She was wearing a finely tailored jacket, though it appeared to be purposely designed to appear more…pedestrian, but Percy could make out the fine quality of the make of the design even from a distance. Her fine anglican features spoke to aristocratic heritage and stuck out like a thumb against the rest of the rabble. As Percy's eyes met hers, her head ducked and she tried to appear very interested in the contents of her drink.
Snorting under his breath, but his interest piqued and he rose from his seat. Striding across the room, he slumped down in the chair beside her and casually leaned an arm on the back of his chair.
"You know," he drawled, causing the woman to jump, "if you're trying to blend in, you're doing a real shit job of it."
The woman froze and her right hand tensed as her eyes darted down towards her purse which was clenched tightly in her lap.
"Don't do it," Percy warned, "pulling a piece in here will cause nothing but trouble." The woman froze again, but her hand limped away from the purse.
"I don't remember asking for your company," she said coolly. She had a soft voice, distinct, with a strange hint of an accent that he couldn't quite place.
Percy snorted, "Considering you've been staring at me all night, I think I earned the right to a conversation."
Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she averted her eyes. Percy bit back a grin.
"Ricardo Bianchi, pleasure Ms…"
She hesitated, then with what appeared great effort and with a wince she gently shook his hand.
"Hel…" She trailed off for a moment, her eyes darting around the room. She coughed lightly and attempted to recompose herself. "Elaina…Maxwell," she said after a moment. Percy didn't bother to hide his snort of amusement. Leaning down so that the music muffled the sound of his voice, he whispered.
"It helps when you know the name of your cover before you're asked for it."
She didn't respond and instead made to rise only for Percy to grip her around the wrist and force her back into her seat. She glared at him, and for a moment, Percy thought she might try and hit him. She wrenched her arm free, but did not try to rise again.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" He asked. She did not respond. Rolling his eyes, Percy snapped his fingers under the table. In an instant, the woman's eyes glazed over and she relaxed into her seat.
"I'll ask again," he asked again, a little more forcefully, "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
"Helena Bertinelli," she replied tonelessly. "I am here to kill-"
Percy cut her off as with a wave of his hand under the table. His eyes darted around the bar for a moment, ensuring that no one could hear them. She had not been speaking loudly, and the bar was incredibly noisy, but given that he was fairly certain he knew what she was about to say, he didn't want to take any chances. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that she was about to announce to the world at large that she was about to say Christian Falcone.
Percy scooted his chair a little closer to the woman, and leaned in so his arm was nearly brushing up against hers.
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
"He had my family killed," she replied, "And now I will kill him."
"That man has killed a lot of people Ms. Bertinelli," Percy said cautiously, "And a lot of people have tried exactly as you have and you know where that got them?"
A little color began returning to her eyes as she turned to face him, "Others have not trained as I have,"
Percy's eyes narrowed, "and just what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
But whatever reply she was about to give never came as a startled shout of surprise across the room briefly caught Percy's attention. A pair of wise guys were starting to get into it after one had accidentally bumped into the other, causing his drink to spill over his jacket. Ignoring the escalating situation, Percy turned his attention back to the woman, but she was gone. Like she had never been there at all.
"Fuck," Percy breathed under his breath. "That's…going to be a problem."
Pulling his battered phone out of his pocket, he immediately began looking up the name "Bertinelli." The first link on the search was a news article that took the air out of his lungs.
"Gotham Billionaire and His Family Brutally Murdered in Palermo Home"
Clicking the link, he skimmed over the article. Franco Bertinelli was a Sicilian transplant, arriving to Gotham back in the sixties when he was just a boy. He made his fortune in the casinos back in the seventies and eighties when the nightlife in Gotham was experiencing a boom. Skimming to the bottom of the article, he was unsurprised to see that there were rumors and speculation about the man's alleged connection to the Falcone and Maroni families, though it was all unsubstantiated. He clenched his jaw and slipped from the bar, disappearing out a back door into the abandoned alley behind the dive.
Pulling out one of his burners, he fired off a quick text before shattering the phone in his grip and tossing it into a nearby garbage can. Making it back to his car without trouble, he pulled out of the parking spot, and made began making it back to his house. Pulling onto the side of the road near his dingy apartment complex, he entered the building but instead of following the stairs up to his apartment, he exited through a rear door into an alleyway behind the building. Following the alley to an empty street parallel to his apartment, he opened the door to his second car and pulled away from the street.
He drove for about a half an hour, making his way into the heart of the city. The neon lights of the various bars and nightclubs refracted through the thin sheet of rain, casting an eerie iridescent glow over the city. He pulled into a parking garage across the street from The Iceberg Lounge. Pulling into a spot on the third floor between a pair of expensive sports cars, he didn't need to wait long before an innocuous sedan pulled up behind him, flashing its high beams once. Smoothly exiting the car, Percy strode to the passenger side door, opened it and sat down before the sedan pulled away as Renee Montoya hammered on the accelerator and sped out of the parking garage.
A waft of cherry tobacco drifted up to him in the front seat as familiar voice from the back seat spoke up.
"All right son, you called us in, what's the emergency."
Percy's eyes flicked briefly to the rearview mirror, meeting Commissioner Jim Gordon's eyes before turning back to the road.
"Could be nothing, could be a potential problem."
Gordon snorted, sending another waft of cherry his direction. "It's nearly two in the morning Jackson, I'm not in the mood for kiddie games."
Percy nodded, "The name Bertinelli mean anything to you?"
Gordon's eyes hardened, "Where the hell did you hear that name?"
"Girl in the Stacked Deck, called herself Helena Bertinelli."
"Impossible," said Montoya immediately, "The entire family was killed back in '85."
"Never found a body for the daughter though," said Gordon thoughtfully.
"So there was a connection between Bertinelli and the Families?" Asked Percy
Gordon nodded, "Nothing solid enough to pin on the bastard, but we knew he was connected to Falcone and Maroni. We had some solid information that his casinos were cleaning cash for both of them."
Percy's brow furrowed, "And both of the Families were okay with Bertinelli cleaning for both of them?"
"Hell no," snorted Gordon. "They didn't know about it for years. Say what you will about Bertinelli, but he was clever when he wanted to be."
"Not clever enough," muttered Montoya under her breath, but Percy ignored her.
"So what happened? I'm guessing they found out?"
"Falcone did," said Gordon, "And to say he was pissed would be an understatement. Falcone didn't tolerate treachery. From anyone. It was right after his…acquisition of the Mandragora family."
Percy's brow furrowed, "That name doesn't sound familiar, who the hell was that?"
Gordon nodded. "Not surprising, they were a small family in the nineties. Antoine Mandragora was a nasty son of a bitch, but wasn't ambitious enough to amount to much more than shakedowns and the odd racketeering scheme. His son on the other hand…" Gordon sighed, taking another hefty pull from his pipe.
"Well Steven Mandragora was a chip off the old block. Had all of his father's viciousness but with none of his reticence. He was an ambitious little shit."
Percy though he knew where this was going. "Don't tell me…he made a deal with Falcone, didn't he?"
Gordon sighed again, "The families like to say that family is what keeps them together, but it's a load of shit. Yeah…he made a deal all right. Steven Mandragora sold out his old man to Falcone in exchange for a place of distinction in the Family hierarchy. Still don't know exactly what happened. Still don't know who killed the old man, but I wouldn't be surprised if Steven killed his old man himself."
"Jesus," Percy muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Blood is thicker than water my ass."
Montoya snorted beside him.
"Okay," Percy muttered, putting the pieces together. "So, Mandragora joins Falcone, and I'm guessing that because he was a vicious little bastard, Falcone used him as his own personal pitbull?"
"Got it one," nodded Gordon, "Again, never was able to pin anything concrete on him, but from our inside sources we were able to piece together that he was likely responsible for nearly two dozen assassinations over the last ten years."
Gordon rolled the window down just enough to toss the remnants of his pipe out the window. "Running theory at the time was that he was the one to do the Bertinelli's. Scene was definitely violent enough for him." Gordon closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. "I was still a newly minted detective when I was put on it. Whole house was a mess, and it looked like old Franco had been beaten to death with a baseball bat. His wife didn't look much better. Mandragora liked to send a message, and it certainly sent one."
Percy nodded, and leaned back into his own seat in thought. Well, he had been wrong then. In the bar, he had thought that Ms. Bertinelli had been about to say she was going to kill Christian, but maybe she was about to say Mandragora.
Montoya glanced into the rearview mirror and met Gordon's eyes. "So what are the coincidences that this woman shows up right as the Family fractures."
"Almost certainly not a coincidence," said Gordon heavily.
"Similar, slightly more terrifying question," said Percy slowly, "What are the chances that Mandragora is going to use this to his advantage?"
"Almost definitely," grunted Gordon, before swearing under his breath. "This is getting messier by the day."
"What do you need from me?" Asked Percy, glancing back at Gordon. "And what do we do about Ms. Bertinelli?"
Gordon nibbled on the end of his pipe, his brows scrunched in thought.
"We should bring her in," said Montoya after a tense, silent moment. "She could royally fuck this up."
"Bring her in right after she meets with a stranger at a bar? That's suspect as hell," said Percy. "And bring her in for what exactly? Max we could hold her for is seventy-two, and that's assuming whatever lawyer she has on retainer doesn't demand her release immediately. She hasn't done anything yet."
"Yet, being the operative word," said Montoya, "You were worried enough to bring her to our attention, and if she really is the missing Bertinelli, then I would bet my left tit that she's looking for payback. We need to stay on top of this before she does something stupid."
"It's not our job to police people from making poor decisions," said Percy.
"But we can stop people from being would-be vigilantes!" Said Montoya hotly. She glared at Percy when he shot her a bemused look. "Shut up, you know what I mean. We have enough on our plate without some trust-fund brat with a gun trying to avenge her Capo daddy."
"Enough!" Snapped Gordon, cutting off the argument. "Jackson's right, Renee. As much as we hate it, we can't just bring her in without reason, and right now we have nothing more than Jackson's suspicions. But-" he cut off Montoya's protest before it could form, "I agree that we can't sit back and do nothing." He turned his attention back to Percy, "Think you can find her?"
Percy considered it for a moment, then nodded.
"I'll see what I can do."
AN: Shoutout to Double0Sxvxn for being an awesome Beta and dealing with my bullshit and as always if you enjoyed this but haven't checked out my other work, give them a try you never know you might find something else you like. I'm also on discord now, where I and a bunch of other writers hang out, chat and brainstorm ideas, you just have to copy the link that's in my profile bio if you want to come and hang out with us. Stay safe, stay healthy and have an awesome week
All My Love,
LilDB
