Still April 21
Mood: Sleepy
Music: "Haunted" - Evanescence
Okay, I'm going to get the rest of this written, even if I need to sleep for a week afterward. So, after Oracle's revelation, I went back and ran some odd jobs for the Bloodrain to keep up my cover while she plotted our next move. It was almost a day before she got in touch with me again. It was a long day - the odd jobs did nothing to take my mind off of who our new target was. I'd never met the associate editor - never been on the same floor as him, even - but it felt like a betrayal all the same.
Was this the reason that the crime beat was such a mess? Did the policy on not reporting ‘minor' crime or police corruption get handed down by this man, who was not only associated with organised crime but selling black-market superpowers on the side? It all made a sick sort of sense - and it was so disheartening. Did the long-time writers on the crime beat, the ones who advised me on the sort of stories I should be submitting, know that he was a criminal? Did he pay them off too? Damn it all.
When she spoke in my ear, it was a welcome relief.
<<"Scorpion - are you clear to talk?">>
"I am all by my lonesome, Oracle."
<<"Okay - we've got a plan. Does tomorrow work for you?">>
"Let me check my daytimer....yes, that's fine."
<<"Very droll. Now, here's how it's going to work...">>
The next morning, dressed in a brand new outfit that I really hope I don't get blood on, I walk into the Tribune and find myself talking to the same secretary that met me two years ago. She doesn't seem to recognize me, and barely looks away from the solitaire game on her screen as she asks who I'm there to see.
"Mr. London - I'm here to interview for the job as his assistant?"
"Oh, right - elevator on your right, third floor." I fight a sense of déjà vu as I cross the lobby and step into the elevator. Oddly, I'm the only one in it.
"Oracle? How did you get his assistant to quit?"
<<"Sent her the pictures of her that he had on his computer.">>
"Eww. They were..."
<<"No - she got drunk and passed out at the Christmas party. He stripped her and...">>
"Charming. Is everyone else in position?"
I hear her talking, but I'm not tied into the conversation. <<"Yes,">> she replies after a minute. <<"Now I don't have to remind you, be careful. If he has any juice with him, he might use it.">>
"Got it." The bell dings, and I leave the elevator and proceed down a mostly dark hallway. Apparently most of the senior staff aren't here yet, which should make my job easier. I knock at his door, and he pulls it open almost instantly. He's my guy, all right - shaggy blond hair, a tattoo matching the one the Joker described on his left arm, visible because the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up. His gaze roams up and down, lingering over my chest. He looks slightly disappointed then, and the only reason I don't hit him is because it'd blow the whole deal.
"So," he says, closing the door and gesturing to a chair. "What would make you qualified to be my assistant?"
I sit, taking a discreet glance around the corner office with its large windows as I formulate a reply. "I think you're hot," I say in my best porn-star voice, which is admittedly not very good. He doesn't seem to notice, his eyes lighting up. "And I would love to...get you some coffee."
"Well," he swallows, "I haven't interviewed the other girls yet, but you're definitely a front-runner." He licks his lips and moves closer to me. "So, is there anything you'd like to know about working here?"
"Yes," I whisper, and gesture him closer with a crooked finger. "What did you do to Donald Carter?" I whisper in his ear. He stands up and looks frantically around the office.
"Who are you?" he shouts at me, lashing out with a fist. I catch it and twist his arm, but he breaks free before I can take him down and runs for his desk. He throws a few things at me - none of it really hurts, but it slows me down - and pulls a syringe from his desk drawer. Before I can stop him, he jams it in his arm. And then all hell breaks loose.
With a scream, he throws his desk across the office, smashing out the window on one side.
"Uh, Oracle? Anytime now!"
He stares intently at me, and suddenly his eyes flash crimson. I jump aside as a stream of fire pours from them, lighting the carpet (and the hem of my skirt) ablaze. I'm still trying to beat out the flames when he picks me up with one hand - I didn't even see him cross the office, it happened so fast. There's a loud crash from behind him, and I use the distraction to kick him in the sternum. I don't think it hurts much, but it's enough to get him to drop me. And then there are three of us - Batwoman, Catwoman, and me - circling him.
What happens next seems to happen in slow-motion, like we're moving in taffy. Batwoman lunges at him, but he catches her and throws her into Catwoman. They collapse in a heap, and I see him eyeing the window. Before he can jump out I lash out with a foot and make solid contact with his shin. I hear a splintering noise that I'm fairly sure is bone breaking, but he barely flinches. He cracks me hard across the face, and there's no doubt about the sound of bone breaking then - the pain in my cheek is like a flare, and I can't keep my eye from watering. But it's worthwhile, because he's still looking at me when Catwoman hits him hard across the back of the neck with what looks like an Escrima stick. He cries out and falls to his knees. Before we can press the advantage, though, his eyes gout flame again, and a large swath of the floor starts to burn.
It's a lot like a fistfight in hell - the flames are starting to creep up the walls, but for some reason the fire alarm hasn't sounded. The sprinklers haven't gone off either, so for the moment the four of us are buffeted by the flames. The broken windows are supplying oxygen, and there's not a cloud in the sky, so no hope of rain. Kate hurls one of her batarangs at him, but he's back on his feet and dodges it ably - it skims my head on the way by and buries itself in the wall. He snarls and launches himself at her, but he seems slower - I can track him now, and if I can...
Kate hammers him in the sternum with a closed fist just as Catwoman strikes the back of his legs, and he crumples. As if in recognition of his defeat, the sprinklers come to life and the fire alarm begins to blare. He looks up at Kate, but the only fire in his eyes now is metaphoric. He casts a dejected glance around the room before he goes limp.
"Fine. What do you want to know?"
"I already asked," I remind him in a low voice, wincing with each word as my broken bone grinds. "Donald Carter. What did you do to him?"
"Nothing!" Catwoman plants a foot on his shin - the one I broke a moment ago - and he screams. "I just gave him a pill - I didn't even know what was in it!"
"Why'd you give it to him? Who did you get it from?"
"It came in the mail - no address on it or anything. They wanted him kept quiet! They knew this bitch," he points at me, "was looking into that thing with the photographer, and they didn't want him talking!"
"Call her a bitch again and I'll break every one of your fingers," Batwoman advises him in a conversational tone. "What about the bank robbery that got him arrested and put in Arkham? Did you make him forget the details of that, too?"
"The bank job? Shit, no - guy took way too many hits of juice. It'll do that to your brain after a while." He looks at me. "He killed those hostages, just like he killed your photographer. And let me tell you, that guy was a bitch to replace."
A crimson veil drops over my vision, and for a full minute the world just disappears. When I've come back to myself, Kate is restraining me and we're on the far side of the room. "Jessie," she's whispering, "it's okay. Come back. It's okay." It takes a few deep breaths, but finally I'm calm enough that she can release me. It's only then that I notice the blood on my hands. On the other side of the room is a bruised, bloody associate editor. He's looking fearfully at me.
"Where do you get the juice?" I keep my voice steady.
"I don't know. You can hit me as much as you want, but I won't be able to tell you. It comes to a mail drop."
"And you sell it to gangsters and thugs, making a pretty penny from it. Who else is in on this?"
He starts to laugh, then.
"What the hell is so funny?"
"You have no idea how big this is, do you? You think this is about making cash, killing photographers, or robbing banks? You have no idea what's really going on."
"Why don't you tell me?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Let me rephrase - tell me now or tell me after I beat on you some more."
"Do you really think I could tell you anything? By now, they know I'm compromised. Any locations or names I could give you will be irrelevant in five minutes."
"Where's the mail drop?" Catwoman interrupts from behind him.
"Corner of ninety-second street and fifth avenue. Why? It's not like that's going to do you any good."
"We'll see, won't we? Okay, folks - that's all we're going to get out of him. Someone tie him up, and we're out of here."
"What?" I can't help but exclaim. "This son of a bitch had a hand in killing Danny - and god knows how many others! I can't just let that go!"
<<"We're not just letting it go, Scorpion. I'm on the phone with my father as we speak. The police will be there in ten minutes.">>
"What's that going to do? We don't know who in that department we can trust."
<<"Dad does. Don't worry, Jessie - he'll be going away for a good long while.">>
"That doesn't help us, though - we know who killed Danny now, but we're no closer to whoever's really responsible."
<<"Not exactly. Come by the clock tower once you're cleaned up - I've got something to show you.">>
Kate's just finished securing Mr. London, and she looks appraisingly at me. Oracle must have patched our communications together, because the first words out of her mouth are "not until you get your cheek looked at."
I play the good girl and go straight to the hospital. As I sit for three hours in the waiting room, news starts to pour in from around Gotham. A half-dozen people from the Tribune, including the head of the crime beat and a couple of reporters, are missing. They never showed up for work, and all of their homes show signs of forced entry and a struggle. Two policemen are dead - I'm stunned when the picture that they show is of the two officers I tried to report were taking protection money. The talking heads on the news start speculating about a crime wave.
I know what's behind it all, of course, but I can't tell anyone. Whoever's distributing the juice is killing anyone who's both involved in the plot and known to me. They're going to a tremendous effort, at great risk, to cover their tracks. I just hope Oracle has something useful - there are many others in Gotham who're involved in this, there must be, but I have no leads on any of them. Finally I'm called in to see the doctor, who tells me what I already know - that my cheekbone is broken. He steps out for a minute to check on my insurance information, and comes back in with a huge grin.
"Good news - we can get you into surgery right away. Are you allergic to any anaesthetic?"
"Uh...no, I don't think so. Wait, you mean right this second?"
"Yep!"
"I didn't think my insurance was that good."
"Oh, it isn't - but Miss Kane is paying cash."
Of course. It's amazing how much of a difference that makes. The doctor takes me upstairs to begin prepping me for surgery, and leaves me alone to change into one of those lovely hospital gowns. I take the opportunity to contact Barbara.
"Oracle?"
<<"I copy, Scorpion.">>
"I need surgery on my cheek, as it turns out. I'll meet you tomorrow, though?"
<<"Well, it probably won't be tomorrow if you're having surgery on it - it's going to take a few days to recover from that. Don't worry about it, though - gives me more time to do some digging. Hope the surgery goes well - I'll see you soon, okay?">>
"Will do. Going off comms." I toggle the switch on my necklace and remove it, putting it and my earring on top of my pile of clothes. I change into the stupid gown, and a few minutes later I'm on my way to the OR. The anaesthesiologist is a burly guy with a bad moustache. He sticks an IV in my arm and asks me to count backward from fifty. I make it to forty-seven before I vanish into the black.
I apparently wake up a couple of times in recovery, but I don't remember it. The first time I'm awake and aware I'm in a private room. I move a little, and the sharp pain in my cheek makes me gasp. There's a noise from beside me, and I gently turn my head to find Barbara sitting beside the bed. She gives me a little smile and hands me some water.
"Easy," she cautions, "not too much. How do you feel, Jessie?"
My mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton, but I get the words out all the same. "Hurts."
"The nurse should be by with some painkillers in a little bit - I can call somebody if you want."
"No - s'ok. Why's my mouth hurt?"
"Oh - they needed to put a plate and screws in for your cheekbone, so they made an incision in your mouth."
"Okay," my head's still foggy, and my tongue's a bit looser than I'd like. "G-Glad you're here."
She looks away, and her voice is thick when she replies. "I am too. I'm so sorry for what happened - I'd really like to talk to you when you're feeling better."
"Like that. Where's mom?"
"She wanted to be here, sweetie, but there was some big do that she and her parents needed to be at. She called and asked if I'd keep an eye on you."
"Kay," I manage before drifting off again.
When I wake, I'm at home in my bed. There's a bottle of painkillers on my nightstand, and a note from Barbara.
Jessie,
Two of these every two hours - no more than that!! I'll call you in a couple days, but in the meantime feel better. If you need anything, just turn on your comms.
Barbara
That was two days ago, and that (finally, I hear you say) is the end of that story. I feel good - the guy who killed Danny is in Arkham for life, and the guy who made it possible for him to do so is going to be in jail for a long time. But I'm going to feel so much better when we get to the root of this whole thing and put a stop to it. Hopefully Barbara'll call tomorrow. For now, though, I'm going to ice my hand and have some more painkillers to cut down the ache in my cheek. Night, all.
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