Fic: "The Prince's Ghost", Chapter 4
(Shorter chapter than previous installments, but since it's been over two months since I last updated I felt the need to post something.)
Title: "The Prince's Ghost" (4/11)
Pairing/Characters: Bruce Wayne/Jim Gordon, John Blake, Lucius Fox, Gerard Stephens, Renee Montoya, Harvey Bullock, Mike Engel
Rating: R (overall)
Wordcount: 3,426
SPOILERS: The Dark Knight Rises
Summary: After the events of TDKR, things in Gotham go back to normal and Gordon is getting used to working with a new Batman - until a familiar face is spotted around the city.
Author's Notes: This is fast evolving from a standard multi-chapter fic into the length of a small novel, which may or may not be a good thing. Updates will continue to be slow in coming, as uni assignments are now coming along thick and fast, but I am going to try at least to get another posted before Christmas.
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
-------
Chapter 4:
Generosity and Parsimony
It could never be said at any point in its history that Gotham’s East End had been considered a desirable neighbourhood. The streets upon streets of crumbling brownstones clad in garish neon signs advertising numerous and dubious pleasures had undeniably seen better days, as had so much of Old Gotham, yet it was still infinitely preferable to the Narrows. Here the occupants were merely desperate, not yet desolate, and subscribed to at least the belief that they were still human.
“I’ll do the talking on this one,” Bullock said as he and Montoya climbed the gloomy stairwell of the apartment block on the somewhat whimsically named Meadow Avenue. Montoya cast him a sideways glance, narrowing her eyes.
“There a reason why you’re treating me like the proverbial rookie today, partner?” she asked. “‘Cause if you wanted a kick in the balls all you had to do was ask.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Bullock countered, pushing open the door to the second floor. “Just that I got this one covered. Sukie knows me.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Montoya muttered darkly. Bullock rolled his eyes.
“Jeez, have a little faith, why don’t you?”
Stepping over a passed-out wino slumped in the corridor the detectives walked the length of the hallway, coming to a stop at apartment No. 207. Bullock knocked, Montoya schooling her features into an expression of polite neutrality as the door was opened on the chain and a young redheaded woman peered out through the gap. Wide blue eyes assessed them. Afraid. Calculating.
“Hey, Sukie,” Bullock purred, leaning against the doorframe and putting on what he thought to be his most charming smile. Montoya mentally congratulated herself for resisting the urge to bang her head against the wall. “Long time no see.”
The pretty blue eyes immediately dropped their pretence of innocent fear in favour of open hostility.
“Not long enough,” the woman sneered, not releasing her hold on the door. “Didn’t no one tell you I ain’t on the game anymore?”
“C’mon, Sukie,” Bullock looked genuinely hurt. “You know I left Vice years ago!”
“Yeah?” she drawled, arching one perfectly-shaped eyebrow. “Then give me another reason why you’re still bugging me?”
With the initial unpleasantries exchanged Renee decided to take pity on her partner and bail him out before he got too far out of his depth. Harvey would thank her for it later, even if he wouldn’t appreciate it then and there. Taking a step forward she flashed Sukie her badge, reckoning she might as well start again from the beginning.
“Detectives Montoya and Bullock, MCU,” she said brusquely. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Joseph Malone, Miss Jones.”
“Matches?” With her attention redirected from Bullock, Sukie seemed genuinely surprised at the errand. “Why’d you want to know about him?”
“We have reason to believe he has some information regarding an ongoing case and we’re looking to talk to him.”
“You mean arrest him,” Sukie said coldly. Montoya forced herself to smile. Well, if they were going for brutal honesty two could play at that game.
“If we find out he has anything to do with the murder of Anna Sanchez then yes, Miss Jones, I’ll personally drag his scrawny plaid-covered ass down to Central Holdings and give him a makeover he won’t forget in a hurry.” Montoya’s smile brightened. “If not, then I’ll have to forego the pleasure for now. Would you mind if we stepped inside?”
A fractional lift of her eyebrows was the only change in expression on Sukie’s face, yet Montoya could tell she was nonetheless impressed. The redhead’s next question was proof enough.
“You got a warrant?” she asked.
“Reckon we’d be asking if we did?” Bullock griped, at which Montoya shot him one of her more severe warning glares. Sukie was at least considering the idea of letting them in; now was not the time to be antagonistic.
“We’re not here to search, Miss Jones,” Montoya continued, her voice softening a fraction. Yes, now was definitely the time to be conciliatory. “We really do just want to talk. If you could spare us a moment of your time? It shouldn’t take long.”
Sukie paused a moment, frowning at the detectives as she thought it over. Then she shrugged and shut the door in their faces.
“Nice going, partner,” Bullock quipped, but before Renee could tell him to shut up and be patient there was the rattle of the chain being taken off and the door swung open inwards on its hinges. It was as near as they’d get to an invitation. The detectives exchanged glances, and Renee smiled sweetly at Bullock.
“After you, partner.”
The apartment was small; pokey and sparsely furnished, but clean and in surprisingly good repair. Montoya made a note of the layout as she and Bullock followed Sukie into the kitchen; a bathroom, two bedrooms (one with the name ‘Donny’ written on a plaque on the door in the shape of a smiling blue elephant) and the kitchen - which with a sagging couch and small television in one corner appeared to double as a lounge. Various drawings of aliens, stars and space rockets were pinned to the refrigerator with brightly-coloured magnets, and splayed out on the couch was a large stuffed toy camel. Judging by the way the camel’s head drooped drunkenly to one side and its stuffing was squashed down almost to nothing Montoya deduced that it had been well-loved over the years. The only incongruous item to be seen was a vase of two dozen red roses set on the tiny kitchen table, looking overly large and very out of place. A gilt-edged card had been propped up next to them.
“From Matches,” Sukie said over her shoulder, busying herself filling the kettle from the sink. “They came this morning.”
Montoya picked up the card for a closer examination. The handwriting was an almost child-like scrawl, but perfectly legible: Baby, you set my heart on fire. M. xx.
“Cute,” Montoya commented flatly. Sukie shrugged, plugging the kettle back in and flicking the switch.
“He likes me, and I like him. Got manners, makes me laugh, and unlike most guys I know -” She shot a glare at Bullock, who had seen fit to take up what part of the couch was not occupied by the camel. “- he’s a real gentleman.”
“Romantic too,” Montoya commented, waving the card between two fingers. Bullock snorted from where he was lounging across the other side of the room, taking his cue to revert to his usual role of douchebag in the Good Cop/Bad Cop partnership that was Bullock and Montoya.
“Romantic and a gentleman,” he said sceptically. “Sounds too good to be true, ‘you ask me.”
“So what?” Sukie bit back, folding her arms across her ample chest. “He ain’t cheatin’ on me, if that’s what you’re driving at; not in Gotham. I’d know if he was. I may not be on the game anymore, but the girls’d let me know.”
“Seems like you’ve already forgiven him, though,” Montoya observed, still twirling the card in her fingers thoughtfully. “I mean, nine years? Not sure I’d take back a guy’d run out on me for so long.”
Whatever she had expected, Montoya had never imagined she’d strike such a nerve so early on in proceedings; yet at her question Sukie turned away, leaning heavily on the edge of the sink, the muscles of her neck tightening as she clenched her jaw. Other sounds filtered in to fill the resulting silence as Renee waited patiently for a response; the low whistling of the kettle as it boiled, the creak of old springs as Bullock shifted impatiently, the blaring of a TV set in the next apartment, whilst elsewhere in the building a baby cried at the top of its lungs and a woman bawled at it to shut up.
“He had to go,” Sukie said finally, quietly breaking the oppressive hush. “He didn’t have any choice.”
“Why would that be?” Montoya asked gently. Sukie raised her head and the expression in her eyes was tired and sad, all pretence at anger or bravado gone.
“Gotham wasn’t safe for him after Dent took out Maroni. Wasn’t safe for a lot of people. Word was he went to Chicago and ended up playing gigolo to Carla Viti for a while till she got bored with him.”
Bullock made a choking noise from over on the couch.
“And he lived?” he asked incredulously. Montoya could understand his astonishment, as she was having a hard time believing it herself. Carla Viti, head of the Viti crime family and matriarch of the Chicago Mob, was the younger sister of the late Carmine Falcone with a reputation for being every bit as ruthless as her brother - and then some. The men she picked out to perform ‘bedroom security’, as it had been dubbed, rarely had any choice in the matter and just as rarely lived long after they’d fallen out of her favour. Sukie gave a thin smile.
“Matches is a survivor. Should I have been angry with him? Maybe. He’d been gone nine years and not so much as a postcard! But in all that time he never stopped sending money to pay for Donny’s schooling, so I guessed that we meant something to him after all.” She shrugged. “Yeah, he’s been around. He spends the night sometimes but he ain’t livin’ here - and I dunno where he’s staying either, so don’t bother asking me.”
Bullock raised an eyebrow.
“So what’s got him acting secretive all of a sudden? Used to be you couldn’t miss the guy.”
“He says it’s best I don’t know. There’s people who’d kill to know where to find him.”
“He forget to give Carla Viti a goodbye kiss on his way out of Chicago?” Montoya asked archly.
“No, it’s...” Sukie looked back and forth between the two detectives. “You guys know what’s going on between the Mob bosses, right?”
“Hard not to.” Montoya was unable to conceal a wince at the thought. “Last we heard it was set to go down between Arnold Stromwell, Gianni Valestra and Rupert Thorne. Gonna be hell when it finally kicks off.”
But Sukie shook her head.
“You’re info’s out of date. Valestra’s out of the running; he transferred all his support to Stromwell Saturday morning.”
Bullock let out a long, low whistle.
“Shit!” he murmured. “Guess that means it’ll be Stromwell.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Sukie said. “Stromwell and Valestra needed to call a truce in order to stand a chance against Thorne; and it’s going to be bad this time, real bad. Thorne’s got a backer - serious power, serious money - and he’s dangerous. Matches is the last of the gang bosses to commit to a side, and the guys at the top are getting impatient. Both Thorne and Stromwell have been trying to lean on him, seeing which way he’ll jump, but Matches isn’t having any of it; says he’ll make up his own damn mind or they can start their war without him.”
“Either he’s stupid or he’s got a hell of a lot more balls than I ever thought he had,” Bullock murmured, grudgingly impressed. Once again the thin smile tugged at Sukie’s lips.
“If there’s one thing Matches has never been short of, it’s balls. Dumb and an asshole at times, but he’s never run away from a fight.”
Once again silence descended on the little kitchen and Sukie sighed heavily, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear before raising her eyes to meet Montoya’s.
“If you’re really looking to talk to Matches you can do no worse than try the Stacked Deck. He’s still friendly with Lou, the barman; he might know somethin’ I don’t.”
Montoya glanced at Bullock, who shrugged - a movement which sent the already lopsided camel toppling sideways into his lap. He’d caught her meaning, though; that had come easy. Too easily it would seem after their cold reception in the hallway.
“You reckon Malone would be happy with you telling us that?” Bullock asked, setting the camel to rights against the arm of the couch. It still leaned drunkenly to one side.
“There’s a lot of things Matches wouldn’t be happy about,” Sukie said simply, implying that she wasn’t afraid that Malone would find out, or she didn’t care if he did. “Like he wouldn’t be happy with me letting you through the door. It’s dangerous to be seen talking to you guys.”
“Ain’t it always been dangerous?” Bullock commented glibly, but Sukie shook her head.
“No, not like it is now. Not since before -” She lowered her voice, her eyes flickering towards the hallway door, as if she were afraid someone might be listening in. “- Y’know, since the Bat showed up. But someone’s gotta speak up for Anna. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? That guy Hinsky, and the murders of Anna and Johnny. You reckon Matches is involved and you want to find out what he knows - or did.”
Montoya held her breath, her heart hammering hard in her chest. If what Sukie was saying was true - and there was no real reason why it shouldn’t be - they had just struck gold; the vital thing now was to keep her talking. In her head Renee heard the voice of Lt. O’Shea giving the lecture on interrogation techniques all those years ago at the academy: Take it easy, tease it out bit by bit as it comes. Give them time. Don’t appear too eager, or they’ll clam up on you.
“You knew Anna Sanchez?” Montoya prompted. Don’t appear too eager. Sukie nodded.
“We worked the same corner years ago, kept in touch. I told her not to get mixed up with garbage like Johnny but she wouldn’t listen, and now she’s wound up getting hurt, like I knew she would.”
“So you reckon that’s why someone killed her?” Give them time. “Because she talked?”
“No, not her; Johnny. Johnny came round here the night before he was killed. Matches was over and we were watching a movie, but somehow Johnny knew he would be here and turned up hammering on the door fit to wake half the neighbourhood. He was in bad shape, shaking and white as a ghost; Matches had to feed him two shots of rye to calm him down. I don’t know much of what he was saying - I went into Donny’s room to make sure he wouldn’t be scared if the noise woke him - and Johnny wasn’t making much sense anyway. From what I could hear though it was clear that he’d talked to someone about Hinksy.”
“About what time would you say that was?”
“Eleven-twenty, eleven-thirtyish; maybe a little later. He was definitely gone by twelve.”
“Did you hear Johnny say who he’d talked to?”
“No. Like I said, he wasn’t making much sense, but whoever it was Johnny thought Matches could protect him when they found out. Some hope! Matches is worried enough about protecting himself, let alone anyone else. Johnny shoulda known better than to talk - and now thanks to him Anna’s dead.”
“You’re talking to us,” Montoya pointed out. Sukie shrugged, folding her arms and dropping her gaze to the floor again.
“Johnny wasn’t careful who he talked to. You’re ok, Bullock, you were never one of the bent ones, and your partner’s no snitch either. If anything happens to me it won’t be because of you.”
“If you need witness protection we could -” Montoya began, but stopped when Sukie bit her lip in an attempt to stifle her laughter.
“Sorry,” Sukie apologised when her shoulders had stopped shaking. “But you guys know that’s the quickest route to the bottom of the Gotham River, and if I wanted that I’d just hand myself over to the Mob with ‘snitch’ written on my forehead in magic marker!”
“Says the chick who’s with the boss of the Waterfront gang,” Bullock commented bluntly. Sukie’s smile vanished to be replaced once more with the familiar glare.
“Like I said,” she said quietly. “Matches is different. He’s a gentleman; he’d never hurt me. Don’t ‘spect you to believe that, but it’s true.”
-------
“So much for you doing the talking,” Renee complained as they stepped back out into the hallway.
“Hey, I had it covered!” Bullock countered. “She only pretends to hate me. Another minute and I would’ve had her eating out of my hand.”
“Right,” Montoya scoffed, as they stepped back over the wino on their way out. “And here was I thinking that was just the traditional female response to the legendary charms of Harvey Bullock.”
“Bitch.”
“Asshole.”
The walk back to Harvey’s beaten-up old Ford was short and uneventful. Rough and rotten the East End might be, but its more unsavoury activities were largely nocturnal; unlike the Narrows, which tried its best to replicate Hell on Earth 24/7.
“Seems the rookie was right,” Montoya remarked as she climbed back into the car, automatically reaching for the belt as she settled back into the lumpy passenger seat. “They’re mob hits, all three of them, and Malone knows the answers as to why - that is if we’re buying her story.”
“Don’t see no real reason not to,” Bullock said, slamming the car door and startling a lanky old tom cat from where it had been rooting through a nearby trashcan.
“So you’re taking her word on it?”
“Sure there’s more to it than that,” Bullock replied. “There always is, but she’s pointed us in the direction of Malone, which is as good a start as any. Not like she had anything to gain by talking to us in the first place, either.”
Renee nodded her agreement, looking back up to the apartment block. Sukie would no doubt be watching from a window until they’d gone.
“Nine years,” Montoya pondered. “Wonder why he came back to her?”
“Because of the kid.”
Renee turned to look at Bullock, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
“He’s Malone’s?”
“Nah, little Donny was on the way well before she met Malone. Story goes the condom split one night she was with a john and she was holding money back to get a termination, but her pimp found out and the guy woulda cut her up over it if Malone hadn’t stopped him. After that Malone promised he’d take care of her and the kid. So far he’s made good on it, and mommy’s able to stay off the streets thanks to ‘Uncle Lon’.”
Renee made a non-committal noise, impressed despite herself. In her experience there were few men anywhere, let alone in the Mob, who would stick up for a hooker like that.
“Reckon he’ll talk?” she asked. Bullock shrugged.
“If he don’t talk to us he’s gonna get a Bat up his ass, which means he’ll get what’s been coming to him for a long time. I don’t like it when the scumbags know more than me; but that’s something I’m looking to see remedied real soon.”
“Still,” Montoya mused. “What he did for Sukie... Kinda makes you wish there were more like that.”
“Don’t,” Bullock sneered, turning the key in the ignition viciously and the engine sputtered into life. “Malone and his kind are the worst there is. One day they’ll knock over a pension fund, but the next they’ll help a little old lady across the street. They hide their dirt well under the manners, playing at respectability, and no one will lift a finger to stop them ‘coz they dress nice, act polite to the people that matter and grease the wheels in all the right places. In my book that makes them worse than the freaks; ‘cause at least the monsters don’t pretend to be human. So don’t go getting all nostalgic ‘bout ‘gentlemen’ gangsters - cause the moment you do, there’s no turning back.”
Renee gave Bullock a sideways glance. She herself had only known Gotham after the Batman, but Bullock was one of the remaining few who had struggled to stay even partially clean in a police force that was more than filthy.
“That how Carmine Falcone played it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Bullock said quietly. “And it sucked.”
Looking down on the street from her apartment window, Sukie watched the detectives get in the car and drive away. Once they were out of sight she crossed to the phone and hastily dialled a number.
“Vince? It’s Sukie. I need to talk to Matches.”
-------
Chapter 5: The Need to Avoid Contempt and Hatred
Title: "The Prince's Ghost" (4/11)
Pairing/Characters: Bruce Wayne/Jim Gordon, John Blake, Lucius Fox, Gerard Stephens, Renee Montoya, Harvey Bullock, Mike Engel
Rating: R (overall)
Wordcount: 3,426
SPOILERS: The Dark Knight Rises
Summary: After the events of TDKR, things in Gotham go back to normal and Gordon is getting used to working with a new Batman - until a familiar face is spotted around the city.
Author's Notes: This is fast evolving from a standard multi-chapter fic into the length of a small novel, which may or may not be a good thing. Updates will continue to be slow in coming, as uni assignments are now coming along thick and fast, but I am going to try at least to get another posted before Christmas.
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
-------
Chapter 4:
Generosity and Parsimony
It could never be said at any point in its history that Gotham’s East End had been considered a desirable neighbourhood. The streets upon streets of crumbling brownstones clad in garish neon signs advertising numerous and dubious pleasures had undeniably seen better days, as had so much of Old Gotham, yet it was still infinitely preferable to the Narrows. Here the occupants were merely desperate, not yet desolate, and subscribed to at least the belief that they were still human.
“I’ll do the talking on this one,” Bullock said as he and Montoya climbed the gloomy stairwell of the apartment block on the somewhat whimsically named Meadow Avenue. Montoya cast him a sideways glance, narrowing her eyes.
“There a reason why you’re treating me like the proverbial rookie today, partner?” she asked. “‘Cause if you wanted a kick in the balls all you had to do was ask.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Bullock countered, pushing open the door to the second floor. “Just that I got this one covered. Sukie knows me.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Montoya muttered darkly. Bullock rolled his eyes.
“Jeez, have a little faith, why don’t you?”
Stepping over a passed-out wino slumped in the corridor the detectives walked the length of the hallway, coming to a stop at apartment No. 207. Bullock knocked, Montoya schooling her features into an expression of polite neutrality as the door was opened on the chain and a young redheaded woman peered out through the gap. Wide blue eyes assessed them. Afraid. Calculating.
“Hey, Sukie,” Bullock purred, leaning against the doorframe and putting on what he thought to be his most charming smile. Montoya mentally congratulated herself for resisting the urge to bang her head against the wall. “Long time no see.”
The pretty blue eyes immediately dropped their pretence of innocent fear in favour of open hostility.
“Not long enough,” the woman sneered, not releasing her hold on the door. “Didn’t no one tell you I ain’t on the game anymore?”
“C’mon, Sukie,” Bullock looked genuinely hurt. “You know I left Vice years ago!”
“Yeah?” she drawled, arching one perfectly-shaped eyebrow. “Then give me another reason why you’re still bugging me?”
With the initial unpleasantries exchanged Renee decided to take pity on her partner and bail him out before he got too far out of his depth. Harvey would thank her for it later, even if he wouldn’t appreciate it then and there. Taking a step forward she flashed Sukie her badge, reckoning she might as well start again from the beginning.
“Detectives Montoya and Bullock, MCU,” she said brusquely. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Joseph Malone, Miss Jones.”
“Matches?” With her attention redirected from Bullock, Sukie seemed genuinely surprised at the errand. “Why’d you want to know about him?”
“We have reason to believe he has some information regarding an ongoing case and we’re looking to talk to him.”
“You mean arrest him,” Sukie said coldly. Montoya forced herself to smile. Well, if they were going for brutal honesty two could play at that game.
“If we find out he has anything to do with the murder of Anna Sanchez then yes, Miss Jones, I’ll personally drag his scrawny plaid-covered ass down to Central Holdings and give him a makeover he won’t forget in a hurry.” Montoya’s smile brightened. “If not, then I’ll have to forego the pleasure for now. Would you mind if we stepped inside?”
A fractional lift of her eyebrows was the only change in expression on Sukie’s face, yet Montoya could tell she was nonetheless impressed. The redhead’s next question was proof enough.
“You got a warrant?” she asked.
“Reckon we’d be asking if we did?” Bullock griped, at which Montoya shot him one of her more severe warning glares. Sukie was at least considering the idea of letting them in; now was not the time to be antagonistic.
“We’re not here to search, Miss Jones,” Montoya continued, her voice softening a fraction. Yes, now was definitely the time to be conciliatory. “We really do just want to talk. If you could spare us a moment of your time? It shouldn’t take long.”
Sukie paused a moment, frowning at the detectives as she thought it over. Then she shrugged and shut the door in their faces.
“Nice going, partner,” Bullock quipped, but before Renee could tell him to shut up and be patient there was the rattle of the chain being taken off and the door swung open inwards on its hinges. It was as near as they’d get to an invitation. The detectives exchanged glances, and Renee smiled sweetly at Bullock.
“After you, partner.”
The apartment was small; pokey and sparsely furnished, but clean and in surprisingly good repair. Montoya made a note of the layout as she and Bullock followed Sukie into the kitchen; a bathroom, two bedrooms (one with the name ‘Donny’ written on a plaque on the door in the shape of a smiling blue elephant) and the kitchen - which with a sagging couch and small television in one corner appeared to double as a lounge. Various drawings of aliens, stars and space rockets were pinned to the refrigerator with brightly-coloured magnets, and splayed out on the couch was a large stuffed toy camel. Judging by the way the camel’s head drooped drunkenly to one side and its stuffing was squashed down almost to nothing Montoya deduced that it had been well-loved over the years. The only incongruous item to be seen was a vase of two dozen red roses set on the tiny kitchen table, looking overly large and very out of place. A gilt-edged card had been propped up next to them.
“From Matches,” Sukie said over her shoulder, busying herself filling the kettle from the sink. “They came this morning.”
Montoya picked up the card for a closer examination. The handwriting was an almost child-like scrawl, but perfectly legible: Baby, you set my heart on fire. M. xx.
“Cute,” Montoya commented flatly. Sukie shrugged, plugging the kettle back in and flicking the switch.
“He likes me, and I like him. Got manners, makes me laugh, and unlike most guys I know -” She shot a glare at Bullock, who had seen fit to take up what part of the couch was not occupied by the camel. “- he’s a real gentleman.”
“Romantic too,” Montoya commented, waving the card between two fingers. Bullock snorted from where he was lounging across the other side of the room, taking his cue to revert to his usual role of douchebag in the Good Cop/Bad Cop partnership that was Bullock and Montoya.
“Romantic and a gentleman,” he said sceptically. “Sounds too good to be true, ‘you ask me.”
“So what?” Sukie bit back, folding her arms across her ample chest. “He ain’t cheatin’ on me, if that’s what you’re driving at; not in Gotham. I’d know if he was. I may not be on the game anymore, but the girls’d let me know.”
“Seems like you’ve already forgiven him, though,” Montoya observed, still twirling the card in her fingers thoughtfully. “I mean, nine years? Not sure I’d take back a guy’d run out on me for so long.”
Whatever she had expected, Montoya had never imagined she’d strike such a nerve so early on in proceedings; yet at her question Sukie turned away, leaning heavily on the edge of the sink, the muscles of her neck tightening as she clenched her jaw. Other sounds filtered in to fill the resulting silence as Renee waited patiently for a response; the low whistling of the kettle as it boiled, the creak of old springs as Bullock shifted impatiently, the blaring of a TV set in the next apartment, whilst elsewhere in the building a baby cried at the top of its lungs and a woman bawled at it to shut up.
“He had to go,” Sukie said finally, quietly breaking the oppressive hush. “He didn’t have any choice.”
“Why would that be?” Montoya asked gently. Sukie raised her head and the expression in her eyes was tired and sad, all pretence at anger or bravado gone.
“Gotham wasn’t safe for him after Dent took out Maroni. Wasn’t safe for a lot of people. Word was he went to Chicago and ended up playing gigolo to Carla Viti for a while till she got bored with him.”
Bullock made a choking noise from over on the couch.
“And he lived?” he asked incredulously. Montoya could understand his astonishment, as she was having a hard time believing it herself. Carla Viti, head of the Viti crime family and matriarch of the Chicago Mob, was the younger sister of the late Carmine Falcone with a reputation for being every bit as ruthless as her brother - and then some. The men she picked out to perform ‘bedroom security’, as it had been dubbed, rarely had any choice in the matter and just as rarely lived long after they’d fallen out of her favour. Sukie gave a thin smile.
“Matches is a survivor. Should I have been angry with him? Maybe. He’d been gone nine years and not so much as a postcard! But in all that time he never stopped sending money to pay for Donny’s schooling, so I guessed that we meant something to him after all.” She shrugged. “Yeah, he’s been around. He spends the night sometimes but he ain’t livin’ here - and I dunno where he’s staying either, so don’t bother asking me.”
Bullock raised an eyebrow.
“So what’s got him acting secretive all of a sudden? Used to be you couldn’t miss the guy.”
“He says it’s best I don’t know. There’s people who’d kill to know where to find him.”
“He forget to give Carla Viti a goodbye kiss on his way out of Chicago?” Montoya asked archly.
“No, it’s...” Sukie looked back and forth between the two detectives. “You guys know what’s going on between the Mob bosses, right?”
“Hard not to.” Montoya was unable to conceal a wince at the thought. “Last we heard it was set to go down between Arnold Stromwell, Gianni Valestra and Rupert Thorne. Gonna be hell when it finally kicks off.”
But Sukie shook her head.
“You’re info’s out of date. Valestra’s out of the running; he transferred all his support to Stromwell Saturday morning.”
Bullock let out a long, low whistle.
“Shit!” he murmured. “Guess that means it’ll be Stromwell.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Sukie said. “Stromwell and Valestra needed to call a truce in order to stand a chance against Thorne; and it’s going to be bad this time, real bad. Thorne’s got a backer - serious power, serious money - and he’s dangerous. Matches is the last of the gang bosses to commit to a side, and the guys at the top are getting impatient. Both Thorne and Stromwell have been trying to lean on him, seeing which way he’ll jump, but Matches isn’t having any of it; says he’ll make up his own damn mind or they can start their war without him.”
“Either he’s stupid or he’s got a hell of a lot more balls than I ever thought he had,” Bullock murmured, grudgingly impressed. Once again the thin smile tugged at Sukie’s lips.
“If there’s one thing Matches has never been short of, it’s balls. Dumb and an asshole at times, but he’s never run away from a fight.”
Once again silence descended on the little kitchen and Sukie sighed heavily, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear before raising her eyes to meet Montoya’s.
“If you’re really looking to talk to Matches you can do no worse than try the Stacked Deck. He’s still friendly with Lou, the barman; he might know somethin’ I don’t.”
Montoya glanced at Bullock, who shrugged - a movement which sent the already lopsided camel toppling sideways into his lap. He’d caught her meaning, though; that had come easy. Too easily it would seem after their cold reception in the hallway.
“You reckon Malone would be happy with you telling us that?” Bullock asked, setting the camel to rights against the arm of the couch. It still leaned drunkenly to one side.
“There’s a lot of things Matches wouldn’t be happy about,” Sukie said simply, implying that she wasn’t afraid that Malone would find out, or she didn’t care if he did. “Like he wouldn’t be happy with me letting you through the door. It’s dangerous to be seen talking to you guys.”
“Ain’t it always been dangerous?” Bullock commented glibly, but Sukie shook her head.
“No, not like it is now. Not since before -” She lowered her voice, her eyes flickering towards the hallway door, as if she were afraid someone might be listening in. “- Y’know, since the Bat showed up. But someone’s gotta speak up for Anna. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? That guy Hinsky, and the murders of Anna and Johnny. You reckon Matches is involved and you want to find out what he knows - or did.”
Montoya held her breath, her heart hammering hard in her chest. If what Sukie was saying was true - and there was no real reason why it shouldn’t be - they had just struck gold; the vital thing now was to keep her talking. In her head Renee heard the voice of Lt. O’Shea giving the lecture on interrogation techniques all those years ago at the academy: Take it easy, tease it out bit by bit as it comes. Give them time. Don’t appear too eager, or they’ll clam up on you.
“You knew Anna Sanchez?” Montoya prompted. Don’t appear too eager. Sukie nodded.
“We worked the same corner years ago, kept in touch. I told her not to get mixed up with garbage like Johnny but she wouldn’t listen, and now she’s wound up getting hurt, like I knew she would.”
“So you reckon that’s why someone killed her?” Give them time. “Because she talked?”
“No, not her; Johnny. Johnny came round here the night before he was killed. Matches was over and we were watching a movie, but somehow Johnny knew he would be here and turned up hammering on the door fit to wake half the neighbourhood. He was in bad shape, shaking and white as a ghost; Matches had to feed him two shots of rye to calm him down. I don’t know much of what he was saying - I went into Donny’s room to make sure he wouldn’t be scared if the noise woke him - and Johnny wasn’t making much sense anyway. From what I could hear though it was clear that he’d talked to someone about Hinksy.”
“About what time would you say that was?”
“Eleven-twenty, eleven-thirtyish; maybe a little later. He was definitely gone by twelve.”
“Did you hear Johnny say who he’d talked to?”
“No. Like I said, he wasn’t making much sense, but whoever it was Johnny thought Matches could protect him when they found out. Some hope! Matches is worried enough about protecting himself, let alone anyone else. Johnny shoulda known better than to talk - and now thanks to him Anna’s dead.”
“You’re talking to us,” Montoya pointed out. Sukie shrugged, folding her arms and dropping her gaze to the floor again.
“Johnny wasn’t careful who he talked to. You’re ok, Bullock, you were never one of the bent ones, and your partner’s no snitch either. If anything happens to me it won’t be because of you.”
“If you need witness protection we could -” Montoya began, but stopped when Sukie bit her lip in an attempt to stifle her laughter.
“Sorry,” Sukie apologised when her shoulders had stopped shaking. “But you guys know that’s the quickest route to the bottom of the Gotham River, and if I wanted that I’d just hand myself over to the Mob with ‘snitch’ written on my forehead in magic marker!”
“Says the chick who’s with the boss of the Waterfront gang,” Bullock commented bluntly. Sukie’s smile vanished to be replaced once more with the familiar glare.
“Like I said,” she said quietly. “Matches is different. He’s a gentleman; he’d never hurt me. Don’t ‘spect you to believe that, but it’s true.”
-------
“So much for you doing the talking,” Renee complained as they stepped back out into the hallway.
“Hey, I had it covered!” Bullock countered. “She only pretends to hate me. Another minute and I would’ve had her eating out of my hand.”
“Right,” Montoya scoffed, as they stepped back over the wino on their way out. “And here was I thinking that was just the traditional female response to the legendary charms of Harvey Bullock.”
“Bitch.”
“Asshole.”
The walk back to Harvey’s beaten-up old Ford was short and uneventful. Rough and rotten the East End might be, but its more unsavoury activities were largely nocturnal; unlike the Narrows, which tried its best to replicate Hell on Earth 24/7.
“Seems the rookie was right,” Montoya remarked as she climbed back into the car, automatically reaching for the belt as she settled back into the lumpy passenger seat. “They’re mob hits, all three of them, and Malone knows the answers as to why - that is if we’re buying her story.”
“Don’t see no real reason not to,” Bullock said, slamming the car door and startling a lanky old tom cat from where it had been rooting through a nearby trashcan.
“So you’re taking her word on it?”
“Sure there’s more to it than that,” Bullock replied. “There always is, but she’s pointed us in the direction of Malone, which is as good a start as any. Not like she had anything to gain by talking to us in the first place, either.”
Renee nodded her agreement, looking back up to the apartment block. Sukie would no doubt be watching from a window until they’d gone.
“Nine years,” Montoya pondered. “Wonder why he came back to her?”
“Because of the kid.”
Renee turned to look at Bullock, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
“He’s Malone’s?”
“Nah, little Donny was on the way well before she met Malone. Story goes the condom split one night she was with a john and she was holding money back to get a termination, but her pimp found out and the guy woulda cut her up over it if Malone hadn’t stopped him. After that Malone promised he’d take care of her and the kid. So far he’s made good on it, and mommy’s able to stay off the streets thanks to ‘Uncle Lon’.”
Renee made a non-committal noise, impressed despite herself. In her experience there were few men anywhere, let alone in the Mob, who would stick up for a hooker like that.
“Reckon he’ll talk?” she asked. Bullock shrugged.
“If he don’t talk to us he’s gonna get a Bat up his ass, which means he’ll get what’s been coming to him for a long time. I don’t like it when the scumbags know more than me; but that’s something I’m looking to see remedied real soon.”
“Still,” Montoya mused. “What he did for Sukie... Kinda makes you wish there were more like that.”
“Don’t,” Bullock sneered, turning the key in the ignition viciously and the engine sputtered into life. “Malone and his kind are the worst there is. One day they’ll knock over a pension fund, but the next they’ll help a little old lady across the street. They hide their dirt well under the manners, playing at respectability, and no one will lift a finger to stop them ‘coz they dress nice, act polite to the people that matter and grease the wheels in all the right places. In my book that makes them worse than the freaks; ‘cause at least the monsters don’t pretend to be human. So don’t go getting all nostalgic ‘bout ‘gentlemen’ gangsters - cause the moment you do, there’s no turning back.”
Renee gave Bullock a sideways glance. She herself had only known Gotham after the Batman, but Bullock was one of the remaining few who had struggled to stay even partially clean in a police force that was more than filthy.
“That how Carmine Falcone played it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Bullock said quietly. “And it sucked.”
Looking down on the street from her apartment window, Sukie watched the detectives get in the car and drive away. Once they were out of sight she crossed to the phone and hastily dialled a number.
“Vince? It’s Sukie. I need to talk to Matches.”
-------
Chapter 5: The Need to Avoid Contempt and Hatred