The Wingman #9: Love and Monsters

==The Gotham Royal Hotel==

 

Stairwell: Floor 13

 

A barbed tendril shot out from behind Jenna; pulling Gar off the railing, it caught him just as he reached the thirteenth floor and threw him at Franco's feet. The flamethrower fell out of Gar’s hand and rolled out of his reach. As he hit the ground, his forehead scraped against the concrete floor. Shocked, Jenna's eyes followed the tentacle back to the source, her mouth open, as the red tendril retracted into Ramsay Rosso's arm.

 

"In answer to your earlier question, Miss Duffy," Rosso spoke, tilting his head towards Franco. "That's how I healed him."

 

"Didn’t exactly stick the landing, did he?” Franco chuckled, kneeling beside Gar. “What’s the matter, Firefly? Did you leave your jetpack in your other suitcase? How very careless!" he remarked, clamping a hand on Gar’s chin.

 

In return, Gar headbutted him. Hard. Blood gushed out of Franco’s nose, and the mobster stumbled backwards, taking a moment to steady himself. "You’ve got a meta on the payroll?” Gar growled at him. “Afraid of a fair fight, you coward?"

 

“Not afraid, no,” Franco stated, wiping the blood off his face with a white handkerchief. “But I am practical. Why exert myself at all?”

 

Gar readied himself for a second lunge, eying his fallen flamethrower lying between Rosso’s legs.

 

"Ah-ah-ah. Think it through, Firefly. Whatever slight lover's tiff we're having is irrelevant. You kill me in cold blood and she'll never love you," Franco goaded him. “Oh, not that you could.”

 

As he rambled, Gar’s eyes locked with Jenna’s.

 

“Maybe not,” Gar replied, rising to his feet. “But if it frees her from you, then so be it.”

 

Franco’s smile faltered. “Shame.”

 

As Gar raised his fist, something peculiar happened. His arm stopped in mid-air, mere inches from Franco’s face. The rest of his body followed suit, as though he had been frozen in place. His thoughts, his feelings, were still his own, but now his body seemed to answer to an outside force.

 

“How-?” he gasped, struggling to push the word through his lips.

 

Rosso eyed the fresh wound on Gar’s forehead, smiling. “That’s a nasty cut, Mr Lynns. And one cut is all it takes.”

 

Franco grinned, as he nudged Gar’s arm out of the way, and struck his face with a right hook; payback for his broken nose. “What, you thought that hentai thing was the only weapon in Ramsay’s arsenal?” he tutted.

 

"Davey, stop it, don’t hurt him!” Jenna urged him. But try as she might, she found herself unable to intervene. Her eyes widened; her body was frozen in the same manner that Gar’s was. “Why-? Why can't I move?" she struggled.

 

Franco stepped away from Gar, and sauntered over to Jenna's side, running his hand through her strawberry blonde hair: "Cause, I don't want you to," he whispered, giving Rosso a nod of approval.

 

Rosso took a step towards Gar, his brown irises replaced with pitch black eyes. A deep sense of unease washed over Gar as the man's form shifted to that of his true self: Bloodwork. First, his slick black hair fell out; next, his clothing tore apart as his size expanded; Red muscle pushed its way through his skin and blue and black veins rose to the surface

 

"I can feel your blood pumping through your veins, from your head to your toes," Rosso spoke, a sick sense of pleasure taking hold of him. His throat pulsed as he taunted his paralyzed prey: “The possibilities are endless. I could burst an artery, cause a brain haemorrhage. I can create a blood clot. Give you a heart attack. Or, I could simply do this;"

 

And then, against Gar’s will, he brought his own right fist crashing against his mouth. His knees buckled, but he stayed upright. The next blow came from his left hand. Then his right again. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. With each punch, more blood shot out from Gar’s mouth. With each punch, his body shook but stayed standing. As the pattern repeated, Franco giggled with childlike glee, placing an overly familiar hand across Jenna’s back. And though she tried to close her eyes, save herself from the heartbreak, Rosso wouldn’t let her.

 

“Davey, stop him! Please, stop him!” Jenna pleaded, tears falling down her face.

 

But Franco didn’t care. For him, this was merely a lesson in loyalty, a way to punish Jenna for her ‘disobedience.’ "Oh, Firefly, man, why are you hitting yourself?" Franco snickered. "Why are you hitting yourself?"

 

"Davey, stop it! Stop it Davey! You’ve got me, let him go!” Jenna shrieked.

 

“I do have you, don’t I?” Franco’s smile became a bitter sneer and his grip on her back tightened.

 

“But I can hardly invite Ramsay on our honeymoon, can I? This, is the only way you’re gonna learn.”

 

At this, Rosso raised his fist and Gar involuntarily stepped forward. His movements were unnatural, haunting; his arms hung limp at his side like a ragdoll and his feet dragged along the ground. Gripping the railing, Gar was forced to clamber atop the bannister overlooking the stairwell. Rosso’s hand shook slightly and Gar’s whole body lurched forwards before regaining its precarious footing.

 

“Davey, for god's sake, I'll go with you, just stop it!" Jenna screamed.

 

Franco raised a hand, halting Rosso.

 

"No tricks?" his eyes narrowed.

 

Jenna swallowed. "No tricks."

 

Franco clapped his hands together in childlike delight. “Well, that’s alright, then!” he declared.

 

Disappointed, Rosso tossed Gar aside and relinquished his control over Jenna.

 

"Just keep him pinned there for now, Ramsay, then come find us at the rendezvous,” Franco ordered, grabbing Jenna by her arm. “I don't want him following us." Unnoticed by either of them, Jenna kicked Gar’s flamethrower over to his side, before departing with Franco. Though badly injured, Gar mustered all the strength he could to unscrew the fuel tank, and with his other hand, retrieved his lighter from inside his pants’ pocket. He had to fight through the control. For Drury’s blessing, for Jenna’s sacrifice to mean anything, he had to fight this. He stuck an old tissue in the bottleneck of the canister, and flicked the lighter.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rosso chuckled. He could only see Gar’s hands fidgeting, not the weapon he was crafting. “My lifeblood is inside your veins. Your body, your will, is Bloodwork’s, to do with as I please.”

 

"That's the thing about blood…” Gar grimaced, and with every ounce of strength he had left, he pushed the lit projectile along the ground towards Rosso.

 

“It boils."

 

The canister exploded under Rosso’s feet; bathing his body in bright orange flames. Rosso screamed in agony as his red skin burst and popped. Finally, he stumbled over the ledge, falling thirteen stories and as he hit the ground, he popped like a balloon, erupting into a puddle of hot red goop. Gar didn't linger for too long. Whether Rosso reformed or not was unimportant, not when Jenna was still at that maniac’s mercy. Pursuing Franco, Gar swung open the door to the 13th floor corridor, ducking around corner and corner until he reached the passage entrance.

Gar and Franco locked eyes from the opposite ends of the hallway. Franco gave Gar a mocking salute, and then locked the passageway behind himself and Jenna. Gar limped towards the tunnel entrance, pounding his fists against the metal door until his knuckles bled, but it was no use. They were gone.

 

===The East End: Six Years Ago===

 

Johnny LaMonica exited the apartment building, blissfully unaware that he was being watched. A huge smile on his face, he clicked his heels and counted his stack of 20 dollar bills. ‘Another successful day out,’ he smirked as he propped up the collar of his leather jacket and ran a comb through his greasy black mane of hair. What happened next was a bit of a blur for LaMonica; a strand of red web bigger than any spider’s latched itself onto his jacket and propelled him upwards into the clutches of a purple and orange figure, dangling him off the fire escape.

 

“Christ! Look, pal, I got money!” LaMonica panicked, waving his wad of cash in his assailant’s face.

 

“Drug money.”

 

“What? Sure, if that’s what you’re into, maybe-”

 

“No.” The assailant slapped the money out of LaMonica’s hands. “Every week, you hit up this block and sell your skag. It stops tonight.”

 

“Look, I can’t just up and leave. People… They, uh, depend on me! It’s the False Facers, really, they give me the H! I only sell it, I swear!”

 

"I don’t care. The East End is off limits. Don't let me catch you dealing again. If I do, I'll drop you from a taller building."

 

"Taller wh-?"

 

The Black Spider let go, and LaMonica plummeted two stories, landing on his leg.

 

"You broke my leg, you psycho!" LaMonica whimpered, tilting his head to his stack of twenties. They had landed in the puddle right beside him.

 

==Gotham Royal Hotel: Lobby==

 

Drury sat in the center of the room, surrounded by broken glass and pine needles. Bruce had stripped Carson down to the black undersuit he wore beneath his armour, and handed him over to the GCPD officers stationed outside. He had not yet mentioned Drury’s involvement to them, well aware that Bullock would jump at the opportunity to cuff him personally.

Bruce bent down and offered Drury his hand. Their eyes made contact and a sense of acceptance washed over them both. ‘It was time.’ Drury bit his lip and accepted Bruce’s hand.

 

"Where's the suit?" Batman asked.

 

Drury paused. It took him a few seconds to realise that Bruce had meant his Moth costume. "It's in a car around back,” he mumbled. “Was gonna grab it when things got bad, but well, they really got bad."

 

Batman murmured understandingly, as he escorted him to the awaiting police barricade. A group of men in white hazmat suits were moving the two large cloudburst devices onto a S.T.A.R. Labs flatbed. Drury cast his eyes over to Sharpe and Mayo outside, reluctantly giving their statements to two young officers, and smiled. Sharpe was complaining that Krill’s belt had been confiscated before he had the chance to test it.

 

“By the way, I won that belt in a trial by combat. I thought you bozos cared about the law!”

 

Drury turned his head back to Bruce. "I’ll keep my end. Confess to Ra's' murder, to helping Bane, Slabside… And do my time for the GCPD raid. But that means you gotta let Gaige go, understand? You gotta let them all go."

 

Drury’s lip curled as Sharpe’s echoes of “Police State! Police State!” filled the air.

 

"Your father in-law is still part of a major criminal conspiracy. There will be an investigation."

 

"Yeah, and you'll do what you have to. I know. But if Sionis knows he was involved, in any of this-”

 

"He'll have my protection. And The Wayne Foundation will cover any medical bills."

 

"Good." Drury turned his head to look at Eric, standing beside Cass at the police convoy. "Go easy on him, alright? He did good. They all did, actually."

 

Bruce nodded. "The Outcasts will be moved to GCPD, until Jim can arrange for them to be transferred to Blackgate. The Misfits will be kept here for now. Once they can corroborate your story, they’ll be free to go,” he addressed Drury. “Provided, Chancer doesn’t make anyone else cry.”

 

Drury caught Bruce’s eye and laughed.

 

Bruce smiled softly in turn. "Are you sure about this?" he asked.

 

"Well, if it's easier, I suppose I could just fake my death," Drury smirked back.

 

Bruce's smile vanished instantly.

 

Drury rolled his eyes playfully. "Yeah, maybe some other time.”

 

As they approached the police barricade, Drury stopped. “Wait. My kids. Please, let me say goodbye."

 

Bruce nodded to him, and at Gordon, positioned at the other end of the roadblock. Drury reached into his back pocket and frowned.

 

"Sorry, do you have your phone on you? I sorta fell on mine."

 

==Wist Residence: Gotham Outskirts==

 

David Wist was dressed in a red flannel shirt, an elegant gold watch around his wrist. Sat on the porch swing, he was watching the sun rise on his homestead, sipping a beer. There was something particularly special about a Gotham sunrise. A reassurance that you had survived the night. A promise that things were going to be ok. Silly, Wist realised, but he did used to rob art galleries dressed like an earth wire. His momentary bliss was interrupted by voices inside the house. No stranger to home invaders, he jumped to his feet and ran inside, stopping in his tracks as he caught sight of the bizarre situation. Sighing, Wist put his hand to his forehead. "Margaret, hand it over.”

 

“Margaret!" he repeated sternly.

 

"I found it!" his wife snapped at him, holding aloft a silver prosthetic limb. Axel was chasing her around the room, wearing nothing but a white towel draped around his waist.

 

"You stole it," Wist stated, crossing his arms. Watching from the landing upstairs, Axel’s sister, Kitten, giggled shrilly. His older brother, Simon, covered his mouth with his hands, trying to stifle a laugh of his own, while his younger brother, Cammy, was laughing so heavily that green bubbles were blowing from his nose

 

"It was shiny, all shiny and chrome and new, it's mine!" Pye spat back.

 

"Christ sake... Give me the boy's arm!"

 

The prosthesis, flew through the air into Wist's awaiting hand.

 

"Not fair! Not fair!" his wife protested.

 

"You want something shiny? Here;" Wist opened his coat pocket and pulled out a single silver spoon. No sooner had he waved it in front of her face, had she ripped it from his grasp and ran out the room.

 

"I am... sorry about her," Wist apologised, handing Axel his arm back. "She's a lovely woman, really, and I do love her. But we do have our struggles..."

 

"S'not worth apologising over," Axel shrugged as he sat at the dining table and screwed his arm back into place. "I get it. Mom, Miranda, used to complain to Dad about her challenges, something about her nymphomania."

 

"Kleptomania," Wist said sternly, sitting opposite him.

 

"That," Axel blushed. "Earrings that went missing and so on. Dad, thought it was funny. Used to, I mean. Never was all that self aware, I suppose. He used to say to me, 'Son, there are two types of people in this world; the tricksters, and the ones getting tricked.'"

 

"Hence the Trickster, I imagine. Still, we don't all get to choose our gimmicks. Mags’ with her compulsions, that poor fella Karlo, Croc… Hell, I wanted to be a Clock Villain: I used to be a watchmaker, you see. But Slugsy and Tockman swooped in first, and well, the novelty wore off."

 

The landline phone rang, and Kitten thundered down the stairs, snatching the phone before Axel or Wist had a chance to stand up.

 

"Daddy!" Kitten squealed into the receiver excitedly.

 

Drury bowed his head. He had hoped it wouldn't be her. He always did struggle giving her bad news. "Carson and his associates are in GCPD custody. It's over, you can come home," he spoke, almost robotically, his mouth dry.

 

"Home? To Keystone? Or home home?" Kitten inquired. Her brothers had joined her at the phone, craning their necks so that they could overhear their father.

 

"If you want to go back to Keystone, that's fine, I'm sure Axel's friends can work something out. But I thought... I thought you would maybe like to come back to the manor?"

 

"I don't get it. They lifted your exile?" Simon stood up.

 

"They caught him," Axel stated.

 

Drury paused. "Uncle Chuck and Mr Reardon are gonna help Mr Wist move you back in. Wayne Enterprises is going to handle the finances and your Uncle Norbert is gonna help with any paperwork. But... you'll be living with Grandpa Gaige for a while."

 

"But I don't understand! Where will you be?" Kitten whined.

 

"Kitten... I did some bad things. I need to answer for them. Got to keep you safe. Grandpa Gaige-"

 

"We don't want Grandpa Gaige, we want you!" she protested, her voice becoming shriller still.

 

“I know, cupcake, I know.”

 

Drury moved the phone away from his ear and dropped his arm down by his side.

 

"They'll understand," Bruce stated.

 

“You don’t get it… Every missed birthday, every cancelled family dinner, the divorce, Miranda…” Drury wiped the tears from his eyes. "They shouldn't have to understand. They've been forced to their whole damn lives."

 

===Six Years Ago===

 

Johnny LaMonica finished recounting his story to his superior, a blond mobster dressed in a lilac suit. The mobster smirked, and took in a deep puff of an expensive cigar. "So, the East End has a guardian angel... I'll be damned..." he spoke, blowing white smoke into the dimly lit office. A confederate flag, hung from the rafters like a banner.

 

"You’ll be damned?” LaMonica hopped forwards, waving his crutches in the mobster’s face. “We’re all damned! He’s gotta go!”

 

The mobster swivelled his chair around, and turned to the bodyguard stood behind him, a man dressed in a set of purple and gold, high-tech armour. “You believe this shit?” he chuckled.

 

Lightning Bug crossed his arms, but said nothing.

 

“Boss-!” LaMonica protested.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” The blond mobster nodded insincerely, rising from the leather chair. He walked over to the other end of the room, and lifted a loose floorboard; beneath it, was several bags of pure heroin. "You come back tonight, and you take these to your guys on the street. Spread the word; From now on, you only peddle this. Least, until our pest problem is dealt with."

 

He threw a sample at the dealer, who fumbled as he caught it.

 

"You think this guy's a junkie?"

 

"What, you think this guy's a good Samaritan, hitting smack dealers out of the goodness of his heart? In this neighbourhood?"

 

LaMonica shrugged.

 

"He's a junkie, alright. Just traded his needle for a mask. And if he ain't, he's sure to know someone who is. That's how we nail him."

 

===Gotham Royal: Floor 12===

 

Roman Sionis exited the elevator, a scowl on his skull-like face. He did not appreciate the time he’d spent trapped in his own elevator, nor did he appreciate the irony that it had been the Red Hood who had discovered him and Li, and he certainly didn’t appreciate the Hood’s muffled snickering, as he and Li shuffled past him. Sionis held his smartphone to his ear, in mid-conversation with Warren White.

 

“Nah, I don’t know who this Carlton guy is,” White explained, standing outside the hotel, dressed in a navy-blue overcoat. “Some Firebug wannabe. Had some kind of beef with Walker, I overheard him screaming his name. Oh, they got Walker too, by the way. Guess the cops didn’t take too kindly to him robbing their precinct.”

 

"And the Bats?" Sionis asked, throwing a cautious glance in Red Hood’s direction.

 

“C’mon,” White chuckled. "They got nothing on you. If they had, you'd be in that van alongside Day."

 

"Thanks, Warren. Send the word out to the capos:"

 

"The Doc? Already on it. He can't hide for long, we’ll get him. Oh, hey, if you hurry, you can catch the perp walk. Hell, give me a sec and I’ll get you a photo. It's like Abbey Road over here." White snapped his fingers excitedly as the quartet of Krill, Day, Drury and Carson were directed towards the police transport by a squad of SWAT officers.

 

As Carson was carted away, Paul Booker's eyes narrowed. "Who the hell was that?" he rasped as Big Sir draped a comfort blanket over his shoulders.

 

===Ground Floor: Lobby===

 

Joey Rigger climbed down the grand staircase. He had woken up in the hallway alone; Gaige had vanished, Drury and Carson had taken their fight elsewhere and Gar was probably with Jenna, sitting in a tree somewhere. His head still thumping, Joey vaguely remembered a black figure shushing him. Flannegan was already there, his elbows resting on the balcony.

 

"That's Drury!" he gasped. "What's he doing?"

 

Flannegan’s nose wrinkled, his thin face lined with disgust. "He cut a deal.”

 

~-~

 

Jenna and Franco walked down the passageway, their only light source being strips of luminous tape stuck to the floor. After about a mile of walking in absolute silence, Jenna spoke up:

 

"You were wrong, you know," she said softly.

 

"What's that, Jelly Bean?" Franco asked with faux-interest.

 

"I do hope he kills you."

Done