Tempting Sugar Plums
The lights were still on. Gordon was still up. Batman gazed at the residence from across the street. Normally, he had no such problem infiltrating, but this wasn't some punk he was here to interrogate. There was respect towards the former commissioner, and he didn't want to insult the man by coming-and-going into his home.
So he called.
The ringing went once, twice, and then, "This is Gordon."
"Jim, it's me."
There was a short silence before, "You want my findings, I'm guessing?"
"In person. Front or back door?"
"Back would be preferable. I'll have it unlocked."
The call ended shortly after. Batman just waited a few minutes before he made the journey to the back of Gordon's home. The wooden planks that made up his porch groaned the moment he set his foot on them. His next step, the sound was softer. The next one was silent.
He opened the door and stepped into the house. He entered a kitchen, Gordon standing by a coffee pot as he brewed a pot. He only looked over his shoulder before returning to his task, pulling out a couple of coffee mugs. The vigilante closed the door behind him.
"I've looked into Rhino and his friend Mugsy," Gordon reported after a few moments. He pulled the coffee pot out of the maker and began to pour two cups. "Rhino, as I imagine you already know, stopped doing his usual petty jobs a couple months ago. He's just been spending his new cash as he likes at the Stacked Deck."
Done pouring the coffee, he placed the pot back down into the coffee maker. He then pulled out some sugar and spooned some into one of the mugs. He held it up to Batman, offering him some, which he declined. Setting the sugar down, Gordon picked up both mugs and walked towards his kitchen table, handing a mug to the dark-clad man as he passed by, and then took a seat at the table. He even gestured for Batman to take a seat.
Which he did, surprising the white-haired man slightly. "Now, when it comes to Mugsy, I got a bit more to go on." He paused to take a sip of his coffee. "I paid a visit to his parole officer and found out he's made all of his appointments. Claims he has a part time job at a Goodwill downtown. I snooped there a little and as you can imagine, he's never stepped a foot in that place."
"His parole officer should have picked up on that when he checked in," Batman said.
"You're right, he should have. Turns out the person he called there is a friend of Mugsy's and is covering for him. I'm sure you remember Cool Hand Sullivan."
"He's working at the Goodwill?"
"Yep, even in a manager role too. I got the feeling he was scared straight." At this, Gordon gave him a knowing look.
"Not straight enough to cover for one of his friends."
"Clearly." Gordon took another sip of his coffee, Batman doing the same with his. "It's strange. Rhino and Mugsy are doing whatever they can to not get into trouble. It's almost as if they're building a cover story for themselves."
That was one way to look at it. It was clear they were trying to keep the heat off of themselves by acting like law-abiding citizens when in public. For two men who were always on the lookout for quick money, it was a change of pace, one that wasn't really in their characters.
What had made them change?
There was a silence that had fallen over the men, right up until Gordon spoke, "I hope this isn't getting too much for you. I heard about the bombings last night."
"What have you heard about them?" he couldn't help but ask.
"Just what Bullock told me. Two places went up and then something about a casino getting robbed."
Batman narrowed his eyes. "Which casino?"
"The Egyptian. Whoever did it left a lot of bodies." Gordon shook his head. "Which is only going to lead to a lot more bodies. The Egyptian is mob-owned."
That was not a good thing. If there was one thing the Mob hated, it was being robbed. They had no problem perpetrating crimes on others, but give them the same treatment and they would be out for blood.
"When did it get robbed?"
"About the time those bombings…happened…" Gordon trailed off. He gave Batman a knowing look. "You don't think…"
"That it's too much of a coincidence?" he finished. "No." He clenched his jaw. Those bombings had been a smokescreen for the casino robbery. Everyone's attention would be on the bombings, reducing police response should the alarm be activated at the casino, which it must have been.
"You wouldn't happen to know where the bombings happened, would you?" the white-haired man asked.
"The first was a laundromat on West and 68th," Batman told him. "The second was in East Gotham, an apartment complex on Dove."
A frown appeared on Gordon's face as he pulled out his phone. He turned it on and was murmuring the addresses over and over under his breath. He must have been using the map app on the smartphone. His frown deepened after a moment. A few more and his jaw went tight.
"What is it?" Batman pressed.
"I know these places. I was working the streets, but every patrol knew these places as fronts—Mob naturally."
"Which family?"
"Calabrese."
"Do you know who ran the Egyptian?" Batman was getting a feeling he knew the answer already.
Gordon seemed to know where he was going with this. "Calabrese."
All three locations were Calabrese-owned. This couldn't be a coincidence; they were actively being targeted. Someone was trying to send a message and they were sending it loud. Couple that with the ambush he and Damian had been investigating…
"Do you know anyone that would have an issue with the Calabreses?" he eventually asked.
"Who wouldn't? They're responsible for the rise of organized crime in Gotham, led by the Lion himself. There are literally millions of people that were harmed by them in some form or fashion."
"Which leaves us with who has the ability to hurt them this way," Batman surmised.
"A shorter list I'll grant you, but you'll have your work cut out for you."
Batman nodded absently his agreement. There were just too many unknowns. The level of violence being used was brutal as well. Was this the work of someone the Calabreses had harmed some time ago? Like Gordon said, they were the first powerful crime family in Gotham, but they had fallen off after Falcone and Maroni took over. Though, if Rex Calabrese was any consideration, they had merely changed tactics and laid low, doing their best not to attract attention while their more open competition ended up getting toppled.
Or maybe that change in tactics was because of new leadership.
Batman pulled out a phone from his belt. "I'm sending you a few pictures," he told his friend, making a text message with the photos attached. "Tell me if you recognize any of them."
Gordon nodded and waited for the text to be sent. His screen lit up and he immediately accessed the message. "The woman isn't ringing any bells," he said, no doubt referring to Selina Kyle. He ran his thumb across the screen to pull up the next picture. "I do recognize this one: Antonia Calabrese." He swiped his thumb again. "And that's her brother, Nick. They're basically made." Another swipe. "And that's Chris Ward. He's a mob lawyer."
"Any recommendations?"
"I wouldn't bother with Antonia and Nick. No way will they rat out on family. As for Ward, I'd say he's your best shot. He's loyal, but he's paid to be."
Batman read between the lines what Gordon was getting at. "I'll pay him a visit. What will you be up to?"
"I'll follow-up on Mugsy and Rhino. They're both getting money from somewhere, enough to make them toe the line."
"Be careful."
"I'd say the same to you, but I don't think you really need it."
When big things went down, big meetings were called. The cops may still be investigating, but the Calabreses had a better idea of what was going on. Within hours, Selina had learned about what had happened while she was out saving Batman's ass.
Deciding not to wait and play by the Bat's terms, she had embraced her inner feline and set the terms for their encounter herself. In retrospect, meeting him tonight instead of last night was much more preferable. Raging fires was not a great environment for a cat after all.
Upon returning, Chris had given her the grim tidings. Both of the buildings hit last night were theirs. Fronts mostly, laundering operations, and both were blown to kingdom come. On top of that, the Egyptian was also hit and robbed. Coincidence? Hardly. Not in this town.
Three locations, all theirs? She smelled a rat.
Her first order to Chris was a meeting. All the heads. Every damn one of them. If they were making money for her, they were coming. Channeling the Lion, refusing to come meant death, and then your replacement would attend. That, or they died too and she was looking to your third in the line in succession.
A lot of them were old men. A couple were on oxygen tanks. It was gross. These were the mighty survivors of Batman's war on crime. There she was, in high price designer clothes, a suit jacket unbuttoned with a white blouse that may or may not be held together with a singular button. Use your imagination. Black slacks, black heels, and a long black whip completed the ensemble, and she used this power suit as her first weapon.
Green eyes drifted over the ensemble. Calabrese alums, bottom feeders like Bertinelli, foundational and structural shakers like Cobblepot, and some new blond sat around a long conference table, either looking her way or staring at the table surface.
Selina didn't mince words. "You all heard about last night. We were hit. We were hit hard. Two buildings bombed, not that they were particularly important—" here she let her tone become a bit more whimsical, and nonchalant. The next ones out of her mouth were sharper than your standard Swiss Army knife, "—but they were ours. If anyone was going to burn them to the ground, it would've been us. Someone has grown a pair, might as well have declared war.
"But do you know what really gets me? The millions stolen from our casino. Our money. Your money. I don't know about any of you, but it pisses me off. Unlike what this lot used to do, I want to know who did it. Was it that wannabe Scarface that I've been hearing about? Someone else? One of you? I wish it was an inside job because then it can be taken care of quietly. This lot? No, why would any of you rock the boat when we stand to make billions, with a b, the second the power plant gets turned on? This smells of outside competition, which means there's a rat."
Many faces jerked her way. If there was one thing criminals of this particular cloth loathed, it was a rat in their midst. There was still something to be said about loyalty. Selina didn't particularly care, but it had its uses.
"You think someone here is stupid enough to do that?" That was one of the newer blood. Didn't have as many wrinkles as some of the other ones, but he did keep a shaved head to go along with that suit and tie he wore.
There were murmurs of agreement, but Selina was under no illusion here. They were agreeing about there not being a rat because why rock the boat here? It would be a class act in stupidity. She knew people, she knew mobsters, and you could always count on someone being greedy enough to be that stupid.
"Maybe one of the younger generation," scoffed one of the older ones. Who was he again? Well, seeing as how his shoulders were so slumped before and only now straightened so as to make it look like he was tough, he was one of the fallen old guard. Right, Bertinelli. Had a lot of white in his hair and a lot of wrinkles, but tough? There was leather that was so much tougher than this guy.
Nick had shared the story to her. Bertinellis used to have a name, one for being tough guys. Guess who tested that out. One meeting with Batman, word gets out how he stood in the middle of them, not a single one raised a gun, and that tough guy act went down the toilet. Never recovered.
"Maybe, but maybe I need to check those on life support, the ones that won't lose anything because they're a day away from death," Selina quipped. And Bertinelli's shoulders were going down. Just an act, and not even a class one. "But, new blood tends to think it can do anything."
Sometimes, it was those who were old yet still young. Next to Bertinelli was Sean Riley, another of the old guard, but once a mid level boss. Not a Falcone, if she recalled correctly. Right, Irish, but not McKillen. Needed to brush up on him. Say, hadn't there been something about marrying mob children to one another? Nick might know more.
Let's not forget those in the middle. Being very silent, though not a lot here even wanted to look at him much less talk, was the disgusting Cobblepot. Looked like he had a lemon before coming here, but he knew better than to do any backtalk. She had made sure of that personally.
"Regardless, let's focus on the facts. Three of our places are hit, two burnt to the ground, and the only way someone would be able to pull off something like this would be in the know. That's why I'm putting up a bounty to catch this rat before there's any more damage," the kingpin of the Calabreses announced, and that drew a lot of attention. She stood before all of them, not even bothering to take a seat. Of course she was the center of attention. Now to sweeten this. "Whoever gets this bounty is going to get a payday, and a one-way ticket to easy street. How about…being in charge of operating the power plant and getting first dibs on those profits?"
There might have been a few insulted, but never underestimate greed. She could see it all shine in their eyes. Perfect, she had their attention. Now to keep it.
"Don't mistake me, this is a lovely little prize for you…but if I find out who knew who the rat was the whole time, then there will be consequences." The whip unfurled and snaked all over the floor at her feet. "And it will not be quick or easy. So find me the rat, and if you want bonus points, see about getting them to talk about this Scarface character so we can get him some beachfront property on the Gotham Bay. Everybody understand?"
Gradually, but sure, she got nods and voices of agreement. She was not expecting much, far from it. But she had an eye on all of them. Either one of these people were the rat, or they knew who it was. Each one had a motive, each one would love her position in this family. Some were biding their time, others making plans.
But they were so greedy. Let the thoughts of that payday and a lucrative position with the plant act like sugar plums in their dreams. One way or another, the rat was going to foul up.
For risking her greatest heist yet, there was going to be payback. Her desire for some good ol' fashion vengeance was not entirely restricted for Max. He could use some company after all.
There had to be a clue. There always had to be a clue, especially with the Gotham crazies. Thing was, Stephanie didn't feel like this Cluemaster guy was all that crazy.
He was definitely copying the Riddler, but from the few short minutes she had seen him, he didn't look crazy. Definitely an opportunist capitalizing on the Arkham population, but definitely not crazy. His clues left behind at his crime scenes were just like the Riddler, which would get just about everyone up in arms.
Take the latest one: Hans crashed the party on this night to make a killing. Who was Hans and what party did he crash? What did killing mean? There was the slang meaning he won big, made a lot of money. Stephanie was certain that was the meaning there instead of, you know, a bunch of people getting killed.
"Hans," Harper kept repeating over and over. The blue-haired girl was laying on her couch, arms crossed behind her head, one leg bent at the knee while the other leg crossed over it, her ankle resting on the opposite knee. Her airborne foot tapped over and over in a consistent beat. "Hans. Haaaans."
"Know anyone by the name of Hans?" Stephanie asked from the kitchen table. The chair squealed as she shifted in it.
"Nope, no one at all. Sounds German though," Harper responded.
Yeah, that was helpful. "Know of anyone that's German?"
"There might be someone in the building, but your guess is as good as mine if there is one."
"You don't know for certain?"
"There's a lot of people here," Harper deadpanned. "And not all of them I care to get to know because they bully Cullen. You have to keep your head down or have a strong f-ing taser to get by."
Alright, fair point. The blonde girl didn't know the turf and this was definitely not like her suburban upbringing. Just a few years ago, she was complaining about high school bullshit and boredom. Hanging out with the Row siblings had ended that real quick.
"Hans," Harper started back up. "Haaaans."
"That's really not helping," Stephanie grumbled.
"Did I say I would be helpful?" came the reply.
"Walked right into that one," she muttered. "Well, if you can't figure out the Hans part, then what about the party? Can you at least figure that out?"
Her friend rolled her eyes, still tapping her foot. "Nope. This is your area of expertise, Trivia Girl."
"Seriously? You're going to dump this on me like all of my other group projects?"
"Yes I am. If this were an electrical problem, you'd do the same, right?"
There was a moment of silence. Then, "I don't care to answer that."
Harper stopped her foot tapping and leaned to one side, giving the blonde girl a cheeky smile. "So what does party mean to you, Trivia Girl?"
Stephanie blew air out of her mouth irritably. "Well, if we're to take it literally, then there's some kind of party or celebration. What sort of parties are there this time of year?"
"Christmas parties," Harper pointed out. "New Years after that. Some kids party because school gets out."
"So maybe one of the major celebrations," Stephanie murmured. "Maybe the party is the timing of the next theft? I'd go with Christmas or New Years in that case, since everyone is going to be at home celebrating. The police presence may even be less because people don't want to commit crimes on a holiday."
"You got proof of that?" Harper questioned.
"Not really, but you don't really hear about too many Christmas heists. Those usually make the news if they do."
"That's fair."
Stephanie knew she was missing something here. The previous clue had a central subject in diamonds. That had led her and the Batclan to Lucy's Jewelry. So what was the subject here? Hans? The party? The killing?
And for some reason, she felt as if she had seen this before. It was nagging her at the back of her head, but she could have sworn she had seen this clue somewhere before. It just wasn't coming to her. Geez, what did people use to figure out clues in the old days?
The internet came her answer. Okay, perhaps that wasn't the old days she was thinking about, but it could give them something to work with. While she was tempted to pull out her phone and start punching in the context clues here, she felt like this wasn't the place. The place was the BatCave because the super computer there could get them access to whatever intel that ever existed. Also, they would probably end up there anyways, looking for the location for whatever Hans got his killing.
"I think we need to go to the BatCave," Stephanie finally announced. "We can figure this clue out there."
"Sounds good to me," Harper shrugged her shoulders. "Just not before Cullen gets home."
Because the blue-haired girl wanted to make sure her brother got home safely. Stephanie just nodded her understanding. If she had a sibling, she would have said the same thing. Besides, Cullen should be arriving soon anyways. Any time now.
Aaaany time now.
Cullen felt like whistling, but he knew better. That would be like asking for an asskicking around here. Whistling meant you felt safe, weren't bothered by what was around you, and that meant you were a target. Only people who didn't know or complete badasses whistled in this neighborhood.
But he was in a good mood! Managed to get off the bus—city, not school, the one luxury that Harper allowed—and get back to the apartment without running into any of the usual suspects. Funny how that had been happening a lot lately. Might have heard at work that one of the usual creeps was in the hospital, something about a word being stamped into his…face? It was just what he had heard.
That was good news for him! So long as a few of those creeps were in the hospital, then he could at least enjoy the walk into the building—because the apartment itself was several stories up—maybe wait for the elevator…or take the stairs…always a choice but you couldn't ever predict which one was safer.
In an elevator, if you didn't close the doors fast enough, you'd be trapped. With the stairs, an ambush could lie in wait. However, if you were followed up the stairs, you could always hope that climbing up as fast as you could might work out for you provided you were in shape. Cullen felt like the elevator today, pretty much every day to be honest, and if Harper were with him, then at least he knew she was packing.
The elevator here wasn't the best. It always creaked and sounded like it would start falling at any second. Still, faster than the stairs.
He was in luck today, elevator was on the ground floor. Sweet! Looking around, then listening as hard as he could for any sounds, he stepped into the elevator and quickly pressed on the button to close the doors. No rapid footsteps so no one was rushing to try and catch—and the doors were closed! Fourth floor, here we come!
For some reason, the ding! always sounded like it was brand new. It just didn't match with the rickety ride. Alright, keep your head in the game; it wasn't quite safe yet. Still a couple hallways and anyone could be lying in wait.
While he strolled, taking his time and gripping the straps of his backpack, Cullen kept a look out, ready to run for his life if need be. So far, so good, he was feeling amped now. Turn the corner, make sure to check behind, keep going, and up ahead, home sweet home. One hand let go of a strap and reached into his pocket for his keys. Harper would have ragged on him that he should have them in his hand already, but cut him some slack!
Keys jingled as he pulled them out. Right, time to get a hold of the right key, didn't want to stick in the wrong one. Again. No, he wasn't spacey, it was an accident anyone could do, don't let Harper tell you any differently!
Blinking his eyes Cullen caught sight of a familiar sight up ahead. Hey, it was Arnold! He had just seen him the other day—yesterday! Guy was cool. Awfully quiet, but that wasn't a bad thing. Could use a lot more people like him in this place. It might actually make it halfway decent!
"Yo Arnold!" he called out, and boy was Arnold skittish! The guy practically jumped five feet in the air—not really, just an expression—and looked like he had seen a ghost as he whipped his head around. Slowly, a shaky smile formed and he took out a handkerchief—sweet, how retro—and used it to wipe his forehead.
"H-hello, Mr. Row. You surprised me," Arnold said.
"Mr. Row's my father. Call me Cullen," the teen corrected cheerfully, approaching his neighborhood without missing a beat. "I don't see you this time a day a lot. Ooh, you gotta another job? Is it close?"
"Yes and…not really," Arnold answered. Aw, that sucked. Would be neat to see a ventriloquist during a show instead of watching Jeff Dunham on YouTube. Again.
"Man, I'd really like to see it," Cullen admitted, cradling his house keys in one hand. "If I could get Harper to take a night off… But it's great! Two nights in a row? You're making it!"
"I suppose you're right," his skittish neighbor agreed, the older man's hand fidgeting with his handker…wait, that didn't look like a handkerchief. From a distance it did, but now up close? It looked more like a sock. Were things really that bad?
As if noticing where his attention was, Arnold became a bit more…um, skittish. Yeah, couldn't think of a better word there. "Sorry I can't stay around. I-I need to be getting ready."
"Maybe I can help," Cullen offered. He had never really had the chance to be in Arnold's apartment before. Hey, he might even get to see the dummy! That would be so cool.
"No, no! I have it taken care of," Arnold protested, waving the hand not holding the sock as if it would ward him away.
"It's no trouble. Better than being alone in my place." Hmm, maybe he should try one of those winsome smiles, however you did that.
"Oh… Um… Ah…" Now Arnold was stammering, lowering his raised hand while he was at it. Didn't really seem to know how to respond so maybe a smile really would break him. Harper used to tease him that he had a sweet smile when he was younger so maybe pulling that one out…
"It's really appreciated, kid, you're a good goy. Now's not a really good time. Mayge another."
Now it was Cullen's turn to jump. He hadn't seen Arnold move his lips, and that new voice sounded like it was right next to him. Quickly, and almost on full alert, Cullen looked around, searching for any sign of one of the guys here who liked giving him a hard time. To think, being distracted while talking to Arnold, Harper would have his hide after bandaging him up.
But then he found the sock. Yes, the sock. The same sock that Arnold had wiped his head with earlier, only now it was over his hand and down his arm. A part of the sock was tucked in what might have been Arnold's fingers and thumb, which gave the impression of a mouth.
"What's the matter? Haven't ya ever seen a sock talk before?" the sock asked.
Crazy thing was, it didn't sound one bit like Arnold.
"That's so cool," Cullen breathed out, eyes wide and enraptured.
"Y-You seem to have made a friend there," Arnold told the sock, smiling wanly.
"Course! Ol' Socko here has never met a lad he's never geen friends with," the sock—Socko boasted. "You worry so much, not that I glame you. So what's the matter with letting him in? You've never had a friend over and we're all friends, aren't we?"
"Yeah, aren't we?" Cullen echoed, turning back to Arnold.
"W-w-well, yes. Yes! I suppose we are!" Now sweat was beading on Arnold's forehead again. "But…I don't think…it's not a good time…"
"When is it ever a good time? Why not now?" Socko pressed, leaning in closer to the older man. Wow, an actual conversation between a man and a puppet. You couldn't make this up! "It's not like anyone will get hurt—"
There was another voice, one distant, muffled, but it was loud and if demanded, "What's all that racket out there?!"
Cullen found himself jerking, his eyes turning to the closed door of Arnold's apartment. It had sounded like it had come in from there,
He wasn't the only one looking. Both Arnold and Socko were as well. Was he seeing things or did Arnold look a bit pale?
"I didn't know you had…um…" Okay, this was awkward and he was biting at his lip, unable to figure a way out to go on from this.
"Sounds like mother's awake," Socko commented. The rotating of Arnold's wrist had the sock puppet's face looking at the younger Row. "Now might not be a good time, kiddo. Maybe another." The wrist rotated again. "Come on. You know how much mother in there likes waiting. Doesn't."
"Yes. Yes, of course." Arnold licked at dried lips. Then apologetically to Cullen, "Perhaps another time, when I don't have company. Maybe…after the holidays?"
"Sure," Cullen answered, taking the lifeline. Still… "Unless you need…?"
"Mother is very…particular. I wouldn't want you to get into any trouble. Hurry along then, Cullen. I'll…speak with you another time."
Something about the way Arnold looked didn't sit well with the teen. His neighbor was this thin guy, looked like he was either in his fifties or sixties, and just seemed…weak. Yes, yes, that was a lot coming from Cullen Row, but seriously. It was like the guy had been a bully magnet all his life and he still hadn't escaped the bullies. If his mother was in there, and he looked as beaten down as he did right now, was this some kind of Norma Bates situation?
He had nothing to go on, and Arnold was pretty much pleading for him to go, so he said, "Yeah. I'll see you later." Then he walked around his neighbor, heading for the next door over which was the Row sanctuary from the world. Forgotten keys were robotically worked with until the right key entered the lock and turned.
The door opened and before Cullen completely passed through, he took one last look at Arnold and had the impression he was watching a guy heading for the electric chair. There were no other words he could say, nothing he could think to do, so he entered the apartment and closed the door behind him.
Author's Note: Couldn't write this story without a Socko cameo. Socko was an "accomplice" that Arnold Wesker created during the Knightfall storyline. Arnold had been separated from Scarface and spent that whole time tracking him down with Socko's help. On another note, any thoughts about Cluemaster's latest clue?
