There had been a shadow on her fire escape every night for the past three weeks. Never at the same time, always gone by the time the first rays of sunlight hedged over the city skyline. She never saw when it arrived, only woke up suddenly in the night to see the figure hunched into itself sitting like a gargoyle. The first week, the Chef was paranoid, sleeping with a cleaver she took from work, expecting it to be a thief casing her home for her schedule, ready to fight back. By the second week, she slept a little easier, it hadn't broken it's habit yet of simply standing guard out of her window. Alexandera figured it was one of her "friends" sending someone to keep an eye on her home, odd but it did make her feel somewhat... safe. By the third week though...
She had forgotten about it, hadn't thought about the shadow out her window after associating it to one of her Rogues, so when she had gotten up to use the restroom one night after a night of drinking, she flipped the switch to her bedroom light. Red and green and yellow and black. On their own, it would have been easy to distinguish which gang, which Rogue, the figure belonged to. All together though... that made things difficult. Robin. The light made the once shadow scurry away like a roach. It didn't even jump off the side of the building, it flew upwards like it's namesake. Robin.
The Chef's home was being cased.
In the safety of her kitchen, Alexandera sent a text out from her Rogue phone, telling them all to stay away from her apartment. That her place was compromised. She didn't receive any answer back, but that was fine. Silence meant they understood, and she wouldn't have to answer questions. Breathing in the cold air, she stepped back into the heat of her domain. It wasn't busy today, most of her usual's out doing whatever they did. Word of her food had spread out to the minority of Gotham. The do-gooders and the neutrals. Citizens not affiliated with crime, or those who worked on their own. Tazer and Deker were cutting up in the lobby though, she could see them sitting in a booth chowing down, a backpack settled on the table, blocked by both their large bodies. Some of the new customers kept glancing their way occasionally, looking uncomfortable with the prison tattoos and scarred bodies. Word had gotten out about her place sure, but with those two around it wouldn't take long for those not in the life of crime to stop coming by. The idea didn't bother the Chef. She was safer that way. All it took was one goody two shoes thinking she needed to be saved.
Finally the doors closed for mid day break. Deker was the one to hassle the stragglers not in the know out the door as Marcus shut the blinds. The Chef pulled a full pot of coffee off the warmer and sat herself on the cashier counter, pouring coffee while Tazer poured amber booze from his flask into her own rusted thermos.
"You gonna get rabies from that damn thing, Mama Chef." They exchanged cups, as Tazer pulled his favorite chair, a padded hair backed office chair on wheels, from it's table.
"That's tetanus, I think?" The Chef shrugged, not entirely sure she was right, sipping at her spiked coffee. "What's up, you guys free?" Deker grabbed the backpack from their earlier table.
"Mama Chef, you askin' us on a date?" Deker flinched when Marcus punched his shoulder. "Ow, fuck Guey, I was jokin'." Alexandera chuckled at the look Marcus gave the thug.
"I'm on the clock. Respect the Boss."
"Damn, Mama Chef, if you ever decide to join our world, you'd have half the damn city under your control."
"Oh yeah, we're gonna rob a bank, I'll pay you in burgers and fries. Museum heist? Steak, baby." The Chef could hear laughter from behind her, Kyle and Gary listening in.
"What'd we get for a hit?"
"A fucking block party barbecue." That got Marcus laughing with the ragtag group. "For real though, what's up?"
"We got all the shit them idiots gave ya when ya came back fenced." Deker hefted the backpack into the Chef's lap. "Don't spend it all in one place, don't put it all into your bank account" Alexandera unzipped the bag hesitantly, blanching at the stacks on stacks of cash.
"Holy SHIT!" The bag slipped from her grip, spilling its' contents onto the floor. "That's roaming probably cause!" Marcus began to clean up the cash that had fallen out.
"Ey, not like we could return the shit they stole. Or the drugs. Did you want the drugs? No? Kay, we weren't sure." The Chef pulled her hat off to rub her head, feeling the thickness of her regrowing hair.
"You guys are crazy."
"It's Gotham. If you ain't a little crazy, you don't live here." Alexandera placed a hand on Marcus's arm, halting him.
"How much is in there?"
"Fifty G's." The Chef pointed to the thugs in front of her.
"You get two grand."
"Wha?"
"Que?"
"You guys went through the trouble of... this," The Chef gestured towards the bag, "You get payment. And... Gary, where's the order slips?" A packet of paper was tossed through the order window. Alexandera scribbled on the paper for a minute.
"Alright fuckers. It ain't a barbecue, but y'all get these." She handed out the papers. "Free meals. Whatever you want, for a month. If you want something special it'll be worth three days, and I'll need to know in advance." Deker and Tazer looked at the tickets as if they were winning lottery tickets.
"Can you make Tamales? Chili Colorado? Pozole?"
"Uh, yeah?" Deker pulled her close, placing a sloppy kiss on her cheek before he was tugged harshly back by Marcus.
"Respect the Boss!"
"Pinche, Marcus!" Deker looked to the Chef like a man in love. "You know how hard it is to find a place that makes good food from home? Mama Chef, if you can make it good, I'll marry you!" Tazer sat cackling with Kyle and Gary, while the Chef looked anywhere but Deker.
"Just take your money and leave, I gotta prep for tonight." Marcus handed out the cash and tossed them out, leaving the Chef sitting down doing math.
"Boys!" The Chef barked out, and in almost military precision, her three employees stood before her.
"Yes, Chef?"
"Twelve grand."
"What?"
"You each get twelve grand. For all this shit. I think that covers all the back pay I owe you when you guys first came here and when I was in Metropolis. I hate owing debts." The Chef could feel heat flooding to her face and ears. "Just take the damn money." Marcus passed out the cash, and hurried the boys back into the kitchen.
"Chef?"
"Yeah?"
"You... You're gonna be fine." Alexandera looked up at Marcus. "You're my boss. As long as I work here, ain't nothin' gonna come for you, ain't no roaming probable cause that will keep you down. If they do..." Marcus rolled up a sleeve to his shirt, showing a surprisingly beautiful bouquet of flowers. "You'll owe my a barbecue." Realization hit the Chef hard. It wasn't tear marks, or tally marks. Each death was a flower. "Hell... even if I didn't work for you. You're good people, Chef." The bell to the restaurants door jingled when it opened.
"We're closed, come ba-"
"Hello, Blue Jay."
"So... You want me to be your date?"
"In so many words, yes. I need a bird who's not afraid to peck." Cobblepot sat across from her, ignoring the coffee mug before him as he kept eye contact with the Chef, who had forgone her coffee for her own flask.
"Why?"
"For lack of a better term, Falcone is a bully."
"So are you."
"He's passive aggressive."
"Ah, well okay, I can understand you wanting to fuck with him then."
"It will only be for one night. I, of course, will pay for whatever is needed, all you need to do Blue Jay, is look pretty and ruffle feathers where it's needed." Alexandera took a swig, mulling it over.
"Why me?"
"You're a blue jay."
"Yeah that answers it." The Chef's tone was laced heavily with sarcasm. "Why not take one of your girls?"
"He frequents the Iceburg, he knows who my people are. If the dinner were held at my establishment he wouldn't say anything, but it's being held at his place... He has free reign."
"Sucks to suck, bud." The Penguin fiddle with his umbrella, twisting the tip into the grout between the tiles, flanked by his bodyguards, while the Chef was flanked by her boys. "Okay, when?" Penguin schooled his expressions.
"The fourteenth."
"Mob boss holding a party on Valentines day?" Alexandera laughed hard at the irony. "Okay, Bird Brain, I'll go to your party."
"Really?"
"Beats staying home, getting drunk, and masturbating." Marcus slowly reached for the flask, taking it away to be refilled.
"Charming." Cobblepot rolled his eyes, but was still smirking. "You'll be perfect."
"Wayne Residents, Alfred Pennyworth speaking." This was a bad idea...
"Hey Alfred, it's me."
"Miss Fox? How are you doing today? Did you wish to speak with Young Master Wayne?" A very bad idea...
"No!... Do, uh... Do you know how to do fancy make up?"
This was probably the first time Alexandera wasn't grumbling at the fact Lex had bought her a metric fuck ton of clothing, it was also the first time she had actually gone through the entirety of the clothes he bought. When she was on the plane, she only got so far as the lingerie before she "Noped out". Designer clothes were scattered around the apartment, resting on the coffee table, the couch, on her TV. At least she found something that would work... much to her chagrin. Lex did have good taste, maybe she could use the left over money from the backpack hidden her closet to pay him back. A knock on her door made her jump.
"Hey Alfred! Smokebomb?"
"Lady Chef, good to see you well." Damien brushed by her as if he owned the apartment, Alfred following after with an apologetic smile. "Your apartment is messy."
"I was looking for something to wear, kid."
"I am not a child, Lady Chef."
"Not a lady, kid." Alexandera turned to Alfred. "I found an outfit, I think... I just don't know how to do make up that doesn't make me look like a clown." Alfred looked to the dress that was hanging on the blinds, bending the plastic with it's weight. A black dress, with blue embroidery and sequins in an ocean wave design, a slit going from the ankles to well above the knee, stopping at the thigh.
"Miss Fox that is a beautiful dress, your date won't know what hit him."
"Not a date. It's a business dinner at best." Alfred didn't doubt it, with the scowl on her lips.
"I was under the impression that Saint Valentines Day was a day for romance?" Damien sat himself on a clear patch of couch, back straight, as he took in the clutter.
"Usually, but I ain't your usual broad."
"You are hardly a broad." The Chef snickered.
"You right, you right." Alexandera ruffled Damien's hair, mussing it while the boy scowled. "So Alfred, can you work with this?" The Butler hummed in thought, looking at the dress and the Chef.
"Yes, I believe I can, how are you going to do your hair?"
"Uhh, down?"
"I can work with that."
"Butler, medic, cook, chauffeur, make up artist? Alfred do you have a much younger brother or sister?" Alexandera looked at herself in her dirty mirror, impressed. Hair curled in waves, blue smokey eye shadow and dark blue lipstick. The Butler had even shaved down the fuzz on the side of her hair.
"No, but I am available." The Chef guffawed, smacking the older mans arm.
"You're out of my league, Alfred."
"Very true, Miss Fox." Alexandera pushed the man gently out of her bathroom, making their way into the living room. Damien looked up from his phone, eyeing the Chef critically.
"You look beautiful, Ukhti. Your date will be pleased."
"Not a date, but thanks, Kid." The Chef sat and pulled out a pair of heeled boots from it's box and wrappings.
"Where did you receive these clothes?"
"A friend."
"Your ex fiancé?"
"No, Lex." The Chef missed the dark look Damien shot Alfred, too distracted by lacing the strings and her phone ringing.
"Alright, that's me." The trio shambled their way out the door as the Chef locked up.
"Stay safe tonight, Ukhti. Do not take a drink from anyone other than the servers, do not hesitate to call us if you do not feel safe." Damien smirked when the Chef sighed.
"Yeah sure, Big Brother. You gonna give the shovel talk to Bird Brain, too?"
"Shovel talk? Bird Brain?" They crowded into the rickety elevator.
"It's the term used when someone threatens to bury a person if they wrong their family, Master Damien." Alfred tucked the tag from the Chef's dress back into the collar.
"Ah. Yes, I believe I could do that for you." Damien held firm when the Chef nudged his shoulder. The door opened.
"Not needed, but thanks." Walking out into the cold, the Chef regretted not bringing a jacket. A sleek limo sat waiting out front, a driver by the back door for her. "Drive safe, Alfred."
"Of course, Miss Fox. Enjoy your night." The Chef sighed, but nodded, walking up to the driver. Damien watched as the door opened, and a very familiar voice called a greeting to the Chef as she slid in. She waved good bye to the two before the door closed, and the driver made his way back to the front, leaving Damien and Alfred behind.
"That was Penguin."
"Indeed it was, Master Damien. He is considered reformed." Damien turned sharply on his heel, walking to their own town car.
"His associates are not."
"I'll ready your suit when we return home."
"You clean up well, Blue Jay." Cobblepot sat across from her, eyeing the Chefs get up. "When we are at the dinner, please refer to me by my name, none of this Bird Brain business." The Chef grabbed a glass of champagne from the built in bar, downing it in one swallow.
"Sure thing, long as you don't give anyone the impression we're fucking." Cobblepot snorted, but it was more of a warbled squawk.
"Blue Jay's are too common."
"Charming. So am I gonna be arm candy all night, or am I allowed to wander?"
"For your safety, it would be best for you to stay by my side, there is bound to be dealings that you don't want to be privy to... Are you trying to get drunk?" Cobblepot eyed the Chef as she downed a second flute of bubbly.
"Gonna take more than what you got to get me drunk. If you want me drunk, though..." The Chef pulled the dresses hemline aside, showing a well concealed flask on her thigh.
"Exchange the flask with a gun, and you'd fit right in, Blue Jay."
"Trust me, Oswald, I got protection." Cobblepot didn't question the remark. The Rest of the drive was silent, save for sound of empty glasses tinkling on the bar.
The Falcone estate was opulent. Large and imposing, front lawn gardened beautifully with potted flowers and trees. Servants opened limo doors for guests and led them into the looming mansion. The Chef didn't wait, opening the door for herself and ignoring the offered hand to help her out of the limo, standing on her own. Cobblepot stood next to her, shorter than normal while she was in heels. Cobblepot led the Chef up the steps, regal despite the waddle gait, greeting those he knew warmly, Alexandera was quiet, glaring at anyone who made eye contact. Where the Wayne Manor was sparsely decorated, clean but still inviting, Falcone's home was over furnished with riches, art, and furniture. While warm from the fireplace, it felt like empty and cold. Men in tailored suit talked in groups, women in furs and jewels literally hanging off their arms, or huddles together to gossip. The Chef felt her lip curl into a sneer, already eager to leave.
"Oswald! Good to see you, Amico." A clean shaven man with slicked back hair firmly shook Cobblepots hand, false grin wide. "And who is your lovely companion, I don't recognize her." That grin morphed into a leer.
"Pleasure to see you as well, Falcone. This is Miss Fox. She runs an establishment in Gotham." Falcone offered his hand to the Chef, which she ignored.
"Oh, and what establishment would that be, Bellissima?" Alexandera ignored his offered hand.
"I run a restaurant near the narrows."
"Oooh? That seems to be a little dangerous for such a beauty."
"About as dangerous as your job... What is you do again? Organizing the Policeman's ball? Security for small businesses?" Alexandera cocked a brow as the leer dropped from Falcone's lips, Oswald giving a light chuckle.
"It seems my reputation precedes me..."
"I wouldn't call it a reputation, more of a rap sheet, without the mug shot." Oswald didn't bother to hide the guffaws at the angry twitch in the mobsters eye.
"Well... Bellissima, you are quite the little firecracker."
"More of an atom bomb, I'd decimate anything in my blast zone... and you're standing a little too close, Puto..." Alexandera looked down to Cobblepot. "Let's go." The Chef and The Penguin sidestepped Falcone and his slack jaw, arm in arm towards the bar.
"I knew you were the right choice, Blue Jay." Cobblepot said, hand resting on his chest, trying to subdue his laughter.
"If the rest of my night is going to be insulting these fuckers, you can call on me for any dinner you got." Both settled into high backed bar stools, leather seats overstuffed and comfortable. The tender swept in. "Two Angel's Envy, neat."
"I'll have to keep that in mind." Two glasses of whiskey was placed before the two, Cobblepot raising his in a toast. "To giving twice fold what they throw at us." The Chef clinked her glass to The Penguins.
"To their bullshit and fuckery, and pissing off assholes." The bartender made it a point not to say anything, afraid of what they might say about him.
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Many people made their way to The Penguin, some catching up with pleasant conversation, but most coming to make snide comments, to which Alexandera showed no mercy in being a bitch. Some recognized her from Wayne's dinner, or the Metropolis tabloids. Within an hour the only people sitting at the bar were "associates" Cobblepot actually wanted to be there, plenty of glasses of whiskey (which is the only thing The Chef was making them order). Cobblepot was regaling the surprisingly friendly group a tale from his Rogue days, when The Chef felt a tap on her shoulder.
"I knew you'd look ravishing in that number." Alexandera turned to see Lex in a handsomely tailored white suit, the only one in a see of black. There were women flocked behind him, enviously glaring at the Chef, the barflies raising glasses in greeting.
"Gotta say, you got taste." Alexandera signaled to the bartender, but he already had a glass ready, which she pushed into Luthor's waiting hand. "Luthor, you know Oswald don't you?" Cobblepot extended his hand to Luthor, grin half-cocked.
"Lex! Great to see you, I thought you weren't going to be able to make it this year."
"I was able to bulldog a deal in time to make my way here. I only flew in a few hours ago." Lex sipped at his whiskey. "If I had know our friend was here, I would have come sooner."
"Well you're here now, pull up a chair, we've got one more left." Alexandera eyed Lex's entourage of glaring women, a smug tug on her lips as Lex sat in the offered stool, filling the length of the bar to capacity. She raised her glass of whiskey in a mock toast as the women filtered away, Lex and Oswald launching into tales of business deals as the Guard Chef kept an eye out for interlopers. The bar was the only spot in the dreary atmosphere that held laughter.
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Sorry for the delay! I had this chapter done for a hot minute, but honestly forgot to post it. I'm taking a break from writing as I desperately look for a job. I hope you enjoy this chapter and the foreshadowing.