A/N:Sorry for the late upload this week, it's been a rough one, went through a surgery procedure, they have me on opioid painkillers which make motivation nonexistent _
The drive was quiet. A show of my nervousness, I would say.
"Bye, Bye, quiet life." I muttered, closing the cylinder of my revolver and leaning back in my seat.
"You could've said 'No', Henry." Pam quipped, and I scoffed.
"Nah, not without hating myself. Besides, if we don't get this done, we'll be hit up for 'protection' money until we give in." I tucked the pistol away and continued. "Maroni's a shark. Always was."
"That's putting it lightly, Junior. Maroni'd extort his own mother for protection money. My old man had a hot dog stand on the East End, every week a Maroni family mook would show up and demand a cut." Stocky snarked as we got off of the highway.
"But he's a bully, all bark and no bite. You show a bit of backbone, give him a bloody nose? He'll back off. Last time Maroni got into a proper conflict with another outfit…I think it was fifteen years ago, but one of his boys took a round to the face. Scarred him up pretty good. Not so much as a rumble since." Stocky continued as we made our way into the suburbs of East End.
"Where's this poker game going on?" I asked, and this is where Pam spoke up.
"Diner by the name of 'Donny's' has a speakeasy in the basement. Not Ideal." She spoke, glaring out the window.
"Best roast beef sandwich in the East End…goddamn it I'm gonna get banned after this." I grumbled,
"That's where you got those subs from? Damn it, I liked those." Pam gave a sigh, "It can't be helped. Brown, what are we looking at as far as money in this game?"
Stocky pulled into a side alley, parking behind a dumpster and pulling a balaclava over his face.
"Anywhere from ten to fifteen K. A drop in the bucket, but enough to send a message." He speaks quickly and steps out, opening the door for Pam and I. "Best to just burn it, shows you're here on principle, not profit."
With an understanding nod, the trio of us marched towards the side entrance of the diner, where we'd enter directly into the kitchen. No use in involving civilians. We're amateurs, not idiots. The side door was guarded by a single goon, smoking a cig and leaning against the wall. Stepping into the role I was so unceremoniously appointed to I stepped forward. I just wanted to talk to him, is all.
"Oi, you fucking micks keep mov-" CRK!
A riveting conversation between my right fist and his jaw, I assure you. He crumpled to the ground with a 'thud'.
"Christ, Junior…you can be a scary bastard, y'know that?" Stocky whispered, and I held back a chuckle.
"It runs in the blood, Brown. Let's go." I whispered back and we moved in. The kitchen staff didn't care, they didn't want to get involved, they were likely just a bunch of kids, trying to work through the winter months without too much drama. Unfortunate that the owner had gangsters running poker games out of the back. The basement door was disguised as a freezer, I drew my gun and looked to Stocky, who had his own handgun at the ready. Looked like some cheap russian piece, a throwaway.
"Blanks, don't worry." He whispered, and I gave a nod before turning to Pam.
Doctor Isley hit me with a look as cold as ice that said all I needed to know.
I pulled open the door and Stocky got to work, an old head at this kind of work. I followed in his wake.
Stocky handled the talking,
"ALRIGHT KEEP YOUR FUCKING HANDS ON THE TABLE, I SEE SO MUCH AS A TWITCH, YOU WILL HAVE AN EXTRA NOSTRIL YOU'S GOT IT?!" He shouted, brandishing his pistol as I swaggered in behind him. Putting on the airs expected of someone here to send a message.
The players of the game were what you'd expect. Couple of Wise Guys, maybe one or two of 'em was properly Made. Still, I put on a show of spinning my revolver's cylinder and swinging it shut, the rattling of the ratchet filling the near silent room.
"Evening, gentlemen. You all know the drill, and I know your bosses have accounted for this possibility. We're doing this by the book, so long as none of you try anything stupid, everything will be fine." I spoke calmly, glaring daggers at the assembled mooks. The two that caught my eye were both scrawny, one with a receding hairline and a dark goatee that I knew immediately.
"You. You're Skeevers right? Good. We needed a witness." I spoke, the muzzle of my gun drifting his way even as Stocky gathered the money on the table into a pile.
"Do you have any idea who you're fucking with, Kid?!" the other mobster at the table, Luca 'Toots' Mareli. Small time, started out picking pockets.
"Considering we're here because of the good Mr. Maroni. Yes. So, you'd best appoint what you're seeing to memory, Mr. Mareli. I am Henry James Macleod. I'm here because at 3PM today, some of the Maroni family's men broke one of the Rules." I walked over to the bar and took hold of a convenient bottle of Everclear that was tucked behind it, Stocky running crowd control.
"At 3PM today, a group of armed men came into the Gotham Techinical University Botanical Laboratory, hereby referred to as 'The Lab'. Now, the Lab is under the control of one Doctor Pamela Isley." I speak in a grandiose manner, casually walking over to the gathered pile of bills and dousing them in the high proof liquor. It was at this point that Pam walked in, heels clicking on the tile flooring, red hair bobbing as she strided with purpose. I took over crowd control while Stocky handed her a flip lighter.
"Now, the Good Doctor Isley here doesn't take kindly to attempts to coerce her into compliance. She wanted to use those young men as fertilizer. Be lucky that I did the job of a proper consigliere and talked her out of the warpath." I growled out.
"I still might. I know where they live." Pam purrs out, glaring ice at Eddie Skeevers.
"Do you see what I mean, gentlemen? Now, can any one of you learned men, respected men who've been in this game longer than I've been alive…tell me why there are a bunch of kids muscling in on a Civilian operation? Much worse, a taxpayer funded operation?" I expand, approaching the table, "No one wants the IRS in Gotham, gentleman, fucking with the University is a good way to do that."
A scoff finds it's way from the table, good ol' Toots Mareli.
"Civilian? You hunted down a man and beat him half to death." He drawls out, disdain on his face.
"For revenge, Mr. Mareli. No money changed hands. No profit was gained. We are not in business, Gentlemen. The fact that your men went after us, who have proven that we are willing to fight, breaks another rule. You know the one." I speak calmly, keeping my eyes on them as Pam messes with the lighter.
"Don't pick worthless fights." Skeevers sighs out with a nod as Pam sparks the lighter to life.
"Don't pick worthless fights. People get hurt, profits get lost. That's what this is. Lost Profit for a stupid reason, but unfortunately, you've forced our hands. The Lab and its people are uninvolved, leave us be, or face retaliation." With this final declaration, Pam drops the lighter down onto the properly flammable pile, setting it alight with a near translucent blue flame.
"This is a warning." Pam speaks, drawing the eyes of the room to her as she steps away from the burning pile. "This time it was profit. Next will be lives. Threats to our work will not be tolerated. Let it be known that should any come to the Lab with intent to harm…will find themselves taken by the Swamp."
Pamela is glaring at the gangsters with a cold fury that promises pain for those that don't heed her words. Without another word, she steps out of the speakeasy, letting the money burn. Once she had left, that's when they got lippy.
"You're both going to regret this, Macleod. Your daddy can't help you in the Big Leagues." Mareli snarked, and I shrugged, moving to leave myself.
"If Mr. Maroni wants a war, that's his Prerogative. Not yours, Mr. Mareli. Jump rank at your own peril. Have a good night, gentlemen. I hope when we next meet it will be under better circumstances."
Soon enough, the three of us are back in the Jalopy, Stocky having removed the Balaclava and a shit eating grin on his face, I can't help my own from growing, and I see the victory in Pam's eyes and that satisfied smirk on her face refuses to go away.
"Bra-fucking-vo, Junior! Sounded like something out of a movie, kid!" Stocky chuckles from his position in the driver's seat.
"A year in Drama will do that to a student, Brown." Pam snarks from her seat, and I let out a chuckle.
"I tried to sound like Uncle Oz. Probably didn't work out that way. But the job got done, that's all that matters." I spoke,
"Do you think they'll listen? They seemed upset." Pam asked, still smirking. No Shit, Pam.
"Money was involved, of course they'll be pissed. Still, you did things by the book. No deaths, no disrespect, just some lost cash. At most they'll hijack a delivery truck or two, but I doubt they'll escalate." Stocky assured us, I had my doubts.
"Toots seemed in a fighting mood. You might wanna stay at my place for a few days, Doc. Your place ain't exactly defensible." I suggested, only to immediately regret it when Pam got that glint in her eyes.
"So eager to get me to your home, Henry? Why that's not proper…tell me more." She purred, and I let out a long-suffering sigh.
The car filled with laughter as we made our retreat, the three of us silently praying that our work that night would be enough.
It wasn't. It wasn't nearly enough.