I always feel like, somebody's watching me...
.
.
.
More bodies moved about the Falcone Estate, more waiters with finger food flittered about, every hand holding a glass of alcohol. The bar the Chef sat at was filled with laughter and conversation, Lex and Oswald the life of their small party. The Chef was happy to let them speak, a silent presence glaring away at any who would intrude. She caught glances of the host here and there, equal parts curiosity, confusion, and frustration. Once in a while someone would ask her a question, but she deferred to her friends, not wanting to join in. The less she was seen, the better. Her seat afforded her the best view of the ballroom floor and the entrance hall. It was as she was zoning out of a story being regaled she saw someone walk in. No tailored suit and perfectly pressed shirt, a leather jacket zipped up and ripped jeans. A red modified motorcycle helmet covered the person's head. At least it looked like a motorcycle helmet.
"Oswald, what's up with Speed Racer over there?" The Chef gestured lightly to the red and black figure, who was shaking hands with Falcone.
"I don't know who that is, but if Falcone knows him, it's best to stay away."
"You know Falcone."
"True, and yet here you are, Blue Jay." Alexandera grunted in agreement.
"Miss Fox is more than capable of holding her own, if our paintball excursion has proved anything." Lex grinned into his glass as the Chef lightly kicked his leg, leaving a small patch of dirt on his white dress pants.
"You kicked my ass, Luthor."
"She also managed to flip a would be thief flat on his back." This caught the bars attention as Lex was goaded into telling the tale, not that it took much on his part. Alexandera rolled her eyes, swallowing the rest of her whiskey in one go.
"I'll be back, Cobblepot, gotta take a leak."
"Don't stay away too long." The hidden message was clear, and the Chef hummed an affirmation, picking her way through the growing crowd to the restroom. When she made it to there, the garish pink walls and gold accents made her nauseous, but the soap left her hands feeling softer than they did before washing them. More couples were on the ballroom floor, waltzing with their partners and gossiping. The Chef hung back, looking for an opening to get through, when a hand settled on her shoulder. She raised her fist, ready to strike the person behind her. The figure in the red motorcycle helmet.
"Would the lady grace me with a dance?" The man's voice was modulated, digitized heavily.
"Ain't a lady, Speed Racer, try somewhere else." She pulled her shoulder away, the man's hand dropping away. Digital laughter sounded from the stranger.
"How about a drink?"
"Had my fill."
"You're breaking my heart here, Blue."
"Take off the helmet, I'll break your face too."
"One dance, I'll get you back to your date across the floor in one dance." The Chef snorted.
" Ain't my date either." The Chef looked across the floor, more people congregated together. "Feel me up, I'll break your fingers."
"As the lady wishes." The Chef glowered at the man as he placed his hands at the middle of her back, grasping her hand softly, and with a whirl they were in a sea of gems and suits.
"If you are not here for a date, why are you here?" His leather gloves were warm and stuff. Possibly new.
"Had a favor called in. Why are wearing a helmet?"
"Don't ladies enjoy a mystery?"
"Ain't a lady."
"No, but your quite a beauty, Blue."
"Can't say the same, Speed Racer." More digitized laughter, as the man spun her to arms length, drawing her back closer.
"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself, this not a usual thing for you, no fancy dinners?"
"I was enjoying myself just fine at the bar." He smelled of new leather and a freshly blown out match.
"I know a nice place, if you'd like to leave... A cute little diner in the narrows." His hand slid lower down, and the Chef counted by digging her nails as hard as she could into his glove.
"Hands higher, before I kick your nuts higher." His chest shook as the man obliged.
"Kittens got claws."
"I got a fuckin knife, ain't no claws."
"With a beautiful dress like that... I wonder where the butcher knife is?"
"Blue Jay! I was wondering where you flew off to. Come settle a bet, Lex thinks he has one over me." The man made good on his promise to get her across the dance floor, and bless Penguin for interrupting.
"The man who called in that favor?" The man removed his hands, stepping away respectfully.
"Thanks for the dance, hope I never see you again."
"Hood! Mr. Falcone is ready for you." A squirrelly man in a ill fitting suit beckoned for the hooded figure.
"I hope to see you again, Chef." As the man left, Alexandera grabbed a glass of champagne from a wandering server, harshly setting it on the bar once she was done with it.
"Oswald, it's time for me to go." The Chef whispered lowly. "Speed Racer knew I'm a chef."
"It's not much of a secret, Blue Jay."
"Gut feeling, he was askin too many questions." Oswald eyed her, nodding after a moment.
"I've no more business here, Lex wi-" whatever Oswald would have said was interrupted by loud bangs. Anyone from Gotham knows that sound. Gunshots.
"NOBODY MOVE!" Masked gunmen blocked exits and windows, corralling men and women closer together. The Chef groaned at the screams of panic, reaching over the bar for the half filled bottle of whiskey left by the bartender, who was cowering behind the bar.
"You take me to the nicest places, boys." Lex and Oswald eyed the Chef, as she chugged the bottle.
.
.
.
The gunmen had bottled everyone into dance hall, weapons trained on anyone who spoke or moved, while other men in masks walked around with sacks, taking jewelry and cash from the party goers. When they reached the bar, Lex dropped his rings and Rolex into the sack, Oswald doing the same. When the Thief reached the Chef, she snorted.
"Sorry bitch, you want my heels? I'm sure they cost a pretty penny." The Thief balked, stepping closer in an attempt to intimidate her.
"Come again, slut?"
"Oh I'm so scared, so offended! Slut all you got, you walking sack of Chlamydia Personified?" The Chef took another swig of the bottle, ignoring Oswald's attempts to hush her. The Thief went to swing on her, but the Chef ducked back, leaning against the bar, raising the bottle as a shield. The Thief's punch hit the bottle, breaking it and sending glass flying. The clicking of cocking guns being trained on the Chef had her stilling.
"The fuck, man, boss said no physical damage."
"BITCH IS ASKIN FER IT!"
"All I said was I ain't got jewelry, and I'm not stripping." One with a gun eyed the Chef.
"Hands in the air, pat her down." With a heavy sigh, the Chef raised her arms, sneering at the creep. He roughly ran his hand up her calves and thighs, the Chef resisting the urge to kick the Thief in the face. The Thief stopped feeling something under her dress and pulling her flask from her upper thigh. Slamming it on the ground the masked man kept eye contact as he felt along her hips and sides, right before harshly grabbing her chest, squeezing hard enough the Chef knew she'd have bruises.
"Oh please, Daddy used to squeeze harder than that." The Chef laughed. It was a bluff, but she wasn't going to give the fucker the satisfaction of seeing her rattled. He also was too pissed to notice the small bump on the underside of her left breast, as he pushed her roughly back into the bar, some glass shards digging into her back.
"Bitch ain't got nothing."
"Then move on, Boss should be done soon." With one last glare, the Thief moved on to the rest of the barflies, Lex and Cobblepot quietly asking if she was okay. Under the guise of rubbing her sore chest, the Chef palmed the little vial she carried on her.
"Tell me when the gunmen aren't looking, and hold your breath." The Chef whispered, Cobblepot immediately obeying, Lex eyeing her suspiciously.
"Don't pull any heroics, Miss Fox."
"Not a hero, Lex."
"You're clear."
In a matter of seconds, Alexandera moved closer to the Thief, tapping his shoulder, and when he turned, she sprayed his face with the little vial. He punched her jaw and the Chef stumbled back, Lex catching her as she stepped wrong in the heels.
"What did I say?! No physical damage!" One of the gunmen came closer, gun trained on the dizzy Chef. "Don't make boss take your cut."
The Thief's breathing was getting audible, a couple of barfly bystanders starting to sweat. Ankle throbbing, the Chef started to push back into Lex, pushing him further back and away from what was about to happen. Things might have been okay... If there wasn't the sound of breaking glass further in the house. That broke the fragile hold on the Thiefs mental state. He rushed the gunmen and began to wrestle the gun away from he, screaming wildly, barflies dropping to the ground sobbing. Half the gunmen were now either on alert from the shatter glass sound, or the fight breaking out among their comrades...
Then the lights went out.
Panic screams. The sound of people trying to scramble to their feet and run. Barked orders. And the above it all, the wooshing of fabric above their heads.
"Batman." Cobblepot growled. "Luthor, let's go."
"Come, Miss Fox." Lex swept the Chef into his arms bridal style, staying close to the wall, trying to avoid detection. Gunshots aimed at the ceiling made plaster fall. People shoved other aside to get out, as the sounds of punches and yells of pain intermingled with the panic.
They had just made it outside when they were stopped by more gunmen fighting Robin. The small figure ducking and weaving speedily, avoiding shots and disarming anyone he got close to. It didn't take long for Robin to incapacitate the men. When the small hero looked over, he gasped, looking at the Chef.
"What happened?" For such a small figure, he spoke with raw anger.
"Batman needs you more, our friend is fine." Cobblepot sneered, not comfortable with being so near his old foe. Robin stalked closer, sword held tight in a gloves hand.
"Don't fucking go in there, kid. Bats got it covered." The Chefs jaw hurt as she talked, words slightly slurring.
"I am no child, Lady." Robins voice was resigned as he spoke to the Chef, passing them and walking into the chaos. "Go!"
The trio didn't need to be told twice, slipping into Lex's sports car, they sped off, following the Chefs direction to the safest place she knew of... Her diner.
.
.
.
Lex parked out back, her boys already there after she called. Gary held the door open, Kyle holding a bag with a change of clothes for her, and Marcus carried her in despite her slurred protests. Marcus set her in her office and handed her the clothes.
"Change, I'll make you food." And he left, leaving her alone. Alexandera stripped, kicking the boots off with a struggle. Sports bra, sweatpants and a shirt, the boys seemed to stay away from her underwear. Limping out of the office, Kyle hulking form picked her up with ease, carrying her out into the lobby, sitting her in Deker's preferred chair, Gary holding a bag of ice out for her.
"You gotta bruise, Boss." The Chef took the bag, hissing as she held it to her cheek. Lex and Oswald were about, making calls on their own phones. When they finished, it was silent for a moment.
"Who would be stupid enough to rob Falcone?" Lex broke the silence.
"Someone new, no doubt. Doesn't know the rules here in Gotham." Cobblepot eased into a chair, twisting his grip around his umbrellas handle.
"Whoever the fuck it was, needs to get their shit together. How the fuck did Batman get there so quick." Lex and Cobblepot looks to the Chef. "Think about it, so many thugs, they rounded up all of us quickly, no doubt they were there a while, made sure no one moved or talked. None of Falcone's men came to help..."
"You think it was an inside job?" Lex asked, taking the seat next to the Chef, holding the bag to her cheek, letting her relax her arm.
" I don't know. All I know is that Batman is good, but not that good. It should have taken longer."
"Not unusual for Bats to keep tabs on us..." Cobblepot sighed heavily, leaning into the chair more. "Your little stunt was stupid."
"Dickless had it coming." Her chest still hurt.
"What was in that vial, Miss Fox?" Marcus came out with a tray of coffees, sandwiches, and a bowl of soup for the Chef.
"Nothing too bad." Alexandera answered vaguely, reaching down for her flask. "Fuck! Bastard still has my booze." Marcus was already at her side, pouring liqour into her coffee.
"Miss Fox, might I hire you as my bodyguard?" She laughed, wincing at the pain.
"You couldn't afford me."
.
.
.
"They're in processing right now. Great work, Batman. Robin."
"Have any talked yet, Jim?"
"No, they are very tight lipped. We'll see how they feel after a night here."
"Keep me updated."
"Of course."
Batman and Robin disappeared into the night, sneaking into the Batmobile and riding off into the streets.
"Great work, Son. How did you hear about the robbery tonight?"
"Sources."
"Who?" Robin kept quiet.
"Miss Fox was there."
"She was a plus one."
"How do you know that?" Silence again. "Is she going to be an issue?"
"No."
"Don't allow your feeling to get in the way of justice."
"I will do what is right."
.
.
.
Not a long chapter, sorry. Stay safe, wash your hands.
The world would be bleaker without you.