Part 2 of Gotham Noir: The Man with the Lonely Eyes.
Posted so quickly in part because of Samibee's incredible artwork, http://samibee.livejournal.com/13848.html, which would inspire anyone to stay in the mood.
Rating: R(overall), no higher than PG-13 this chapter.
Warnings: Again to emphasize, Clark is not Superman in this. He's not exactly 'normal', which admittedly is a tentative term itself, but the very much superhuman aspects of his abilities have been toned waaay down. He is not going to be flying around Gotham any time soon. But he does have a little extra trick or two that are gonna come in handy later.
Chapter summary: Clark decides he needs to talk to the elusive Mr Wayne, and ends up tailing him on a very suspicious expedition into Old Gotham. He gets a little lost, and is found by a ... friend?
"Hey farmboy! Rise and shine, already!"
I woke the next morning, as usual, to the dulcet tones of Lois in full chipper mode. I wondered briefly about the option of smothering myself with my pillow, but decided against it on the grounds that she'd take it as an insult, and insulting Lois has a nasty way of coming back to haunt a man. The image was pretty alluring for a minute there, before her persistent prompts had me on the floor and shambling towards the door.
"Lois? What the hell time is it?" I asked as I let her in, and grabbed at the files that slid around in a sloppy bundle as she tossed them to me one-handed, the other hand behind her back.
"It's eleven am, Kent! What happened to you? I thought you farmboy types got up with the dawn, and all that." She swept magisterially into my grey sitting room, looking smart in her killer heels, raising one dark eyebrow in askance at my pre-caffeine mess. I shuffled after her, trying to keep a hold on her files while entertaining vivid fantasies of sleep, or a steaming cup of coffee. Whichever arrived first.
"I've no idea, Lois. Maybe it's the air in this city, or something." She grinned.
"Gotham not agreeing with you, Kent? Well, I've got just the thing!" And like a conjurer pulling out her best illusion, she swept her hand out from behind her back, and presented me with a tall, steaming cup of creamy coffee, hot and fresh. The fragrance hit me like a kick in the gut. With another grin and a flourish, she pressed the warm ceramic into my hand, and watched with an indulgent expression as I inhaled the first glorious mouthful.
"Got it from the diner down the street," she explained with a smug look, and settled herself down to lounge casually on my sofa. "They want the mug back when you head out. I said it was a caffeine emergency, and the lovely young man behind the counter understood instantly what I meant. He must have been telepathic!"
I grunted into my coffee. "Knowing you, you could have asked him for a pink monkey, and he'd have tried to get it for you. Not that you'd ever ask. Flirt." Damn, but you had to love the woman. You'd never imagine marrying her, but as a pal she knew no equal, and that was certain.
"My, aren't we grumpy this morning," she smiled, and patted the seat next to her. I sank down, cradling my coffee, and waited for the news bulletin to start.
"I rang up Metropolis while you were out of it, Clark. Had Jimmy do a quick search for me, go back over those files on Weiss we checked before leaving. Turns out our boy has had a long history of dealings with the city of Gotham, and most of them shady."
My hand came up to rub the bridge of my nose before I could stop it. "No offense, Lois, but any idiot could have guessed that after last night."
"Shut up and listen, farmboy. There was some buried stuff, a few deeper secrets. For instance, there was quite a bit of info suggesting that he had a number of dealings with that DA who went nuts about a year back, Harvey Dent. I got hints of entrapment there, but on which side I'm not sure. And he had quite a bit of dough sunk into a nightclub downtown, the Iceberg Lounge, and a number of 'gentlemen's clubs' down in Old Gotham, none of which are exactly on the up 'n' up. But as far as I can gather, he was just funding them. There's no suggestion at all that he was ever more involved than that, and dirty as it is, I can't see him getting killed just for that."
"No," I agreed. "It was far too personal for that. Whoever did that to him sure held one hell of a grudge."
She nodded, that predator's look of avid contemplation on her fine-boned features. "Exactly. I mean, to pass up the Sehri-At when you had it right in your hand ... Whoever it was must have really hated him."
"Or had no need for the money," I mused, and Lois shot me a sharp glance.
"You got something you want to tell me about, Kent?" she murmured dangerously. I shook my head. It was far too early for that. Just a hunch. Something to keep in the back of my skull for awhile, though.
"Well," she muttered, after a long moment of trying to stare a couple of holes through my left temple, "if you're sure. I guess I'll be on my way, then."
I blinked. "Where are you off to?"
She shrugged. "I've got an appointment downtown. Gotta try and bully that Police Commissioner into letting me have access to their old files on Weiss, and the murder notes if I can get them. It's tough going, though. The one time in Gotham's history they have a Police Commissioner with scruples, and it's when I'm trying to work a story in his town!"
I stared. "A Gotham official with morals?"
She grinned. "I know. Talk about your contradiction in terms! And he ain't just putting it on, either. The stubborn bastard actually believes what he's saying, worse luck. I tried sweet-talking him on the telephone earlier, and he just wouldn't play ball. 'The press will be informed of the essentials in due course." Phah!"
"Lois," I began, incredulously, detecting a worrying hint of respect in her tone. "Please don't tell me you're going to flirt with the chief of Gotham police!" A sudden parade of images went through my mind, with Lois in a prison jumpsuit foremost among them, brought up on a charge of sexual harrassment of a city official, and then the picture of the tired-faced, rumpled man of the night before staring in fatherly bemusement as she crossed her legs silkily at his desk. Lois just dropped her chin into her hand and stared sulkily at the floor, tapping lightly at her cheek with one tiny fingernail.
"Nah. I'd never get away with it. Besides, I think he's got a wife stashed in the suburbs somewhere."
"You needn't sound so disappointed about it!"
She stood up, clipping me playfully on the ear. "But I am disappointed, Kent," she pouted, then sobered again. "If I could flirt with him I might be able to weasel my way into his confidences. I don't like having a front row seat to a murder, and then not be able to follow it up just because some official gets a case of conscience on me! Still, I have to give him credit. There's not many men who can out-stubborn Lois Lane, even for this long." I could swear she liked the old bastard. "You coming?"
I shook my head and sat back in amazement as she strolled thoughtfully out the door. I had a few theories of my own to check out first. But I did make sure to call after her. "I'm not bailing you out if he arrests you for gross indecency, Lois!" She waved back with a grin, and sauntered off down the stairs, her hat at that jaunty angle that made me think I needed a bigger build to carry off the image of her protector. Not that she needed one, of course. But it's the principal of the thing.
***
The Gotham Towers was pretty much a wash-out, as far as getting information on the murder. After being grilled by the police, and suffering the unwanted questions of anyone with a morbid interest and time to spare, the staff were tight as clams and about as well-disposed. I did strike kinda lucky on my other topic of interest, though. One of the waitresses in the downstairs lounge had caught the tail-end of Bruce and Selina's little spat, same as me, and kept an eye on the distressed woman.
"I'm not surprised he left her, though," the perky little blonde drawled disparagingly. "A woman like that."
"A woman like what?" I was a bit sharp with her, I'll admit.
"Well now, don't get excited. I just meant a woman with a reputation for skating as dubious as Selina Kyle's deserves every heartbreak she gets. Trying to drag Mr Wayne down to her level! No, she's just not the right sort for a man of Mr Wayne's class."
I stared at her. I thought about Selina's easy flirtation and casual charm, about the pain she let slip around the other man, about her proud despair in this very lounge the previous evening. I thought about her sassy confidence and the weary humour of her smile, and the sadness in her eyes when she looked at Wayne. And him, too. He'd been cold and angry, but there had been no marks on Selina's arm when he released her, no harshness in the way he held her. He hadn't lashed out at her attacks, only accepted them with the tired resignation a man gets when he's hurting.
I didn't know what had happened between them, but this little worker was way off. I'd have told her that, too, but I doubt a lady that single-minded would've listened to social advice from a blow-in like me. I walked away, rather than keep listening to her little spiel on what a man like Wayne needed in a woman. I wasn't going to get anything more out of that place.
Which left me high and dry, with only one place to go unless I wanted to watch Lois try to pull a fast one on Gordon. And while it might be entertaining to watch her get ejected forcibly from a building, I wasn't exactly in the mood. So. Wayne Manor it was. I wanted a talk with our elusive Mr Wayne.
Unfortunately, getting to the man wasn't nearly so easy as it sounded. When the taxi it'd taken me a straight hour to flag down finally pulled up at the bottom of his drive, my first impression was that if I hadn't already seen him, I'd think he was trying to compensate for something. The term 'fortress' came to mind, and the whole place just reeked of old money, like if you broke open a wall you'd find the green stuff in the mortar. And maybe a couple of skeletons, too, while you were at it.
"Right. Wayne Manor, like ya asked." The cabbie broke into my thoughts with an impatient Gotham drawl. "You getting out, or what?"
"You're not bringing me up the drive?", I asked, staring at the mile-long strip of gravel. He shook his head emphatically.
"Not on Wayne turf, kid. Not on your life."
"Why not!"
"'Cause I'll get stared at, that's why not!"
I blinked. "Excuse me?" And so help me, that big bruiser went cherry-pink with shame.
"It's the old guy," he muttered. "The one they got on the doors up there. He stares at you if you drop in uninvited."
"Stares at you," I repeated, and he flinched at my tone.
"Look, mister, you ain't got no clue what I'm talking about, so shut yer yap. When that man looks at you like that, you don't ever want to do what caused it again, alright? It's like he can see yer soul, and when he raises that eyebrow of his, you just know you ain't measured up. It's like, I dunno, havin' a priest shake his head at you, or somethin'. You're lucky I brought you this far!"
I sat back in my seat, and watched in blank amazement as the back of his beefy neck went slowly red with shame. He refused to meet my eyes. And he made no move to start the cab. I could have just got out and walked, but that drive was long, and to be quite frank I'd never heard such a crock in my life. But before I could open my mouth, he stiffened, and I looked back up at the house. There was a car pulling away down the drive.
We watched it coming towards us, the cabbie and I, and for some reason I ain't sure of even now, my gut clenched in sudden nervousness. And when the great black Packard limo drew up alongside, and the tinted driver's window rolled down, my new friend practically quailed, and I all but joined him. The dignified older gentleman in the other car raised his infamous eyebrow.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked, politely.
"No," I shook my head, very carefully not looking at my companion. "No, just getting our bearings. Little lost, is all."
"A Gotham cab, lost?" There was just a hint of a smile in his respectful tone.
"New on the job, sir," came a gruff voice from in front of me, and I smiled desperately in agreement. Our opponent gave us an indulgent look.
"Are you quite sure, young sir? I do believe I remember you, from a month or two back?"
"Not me, sir. Maybe it's my cousin you remember? Mother always said I looked just like him." Smile and nod, smile and nod.
"Indeed." He didn't believe a word of it. "Well, if you're sure ..." We nodded rapidly. "I'll bid you good day, gentlemen. I do hope you find what you're looking for."
The pair of us slumped in relief as the window went back up, and the muscular car pulled away towards the city. The look on my cabbie's face was smug when he turned to look at me, and I had to hide my smile.
"See what I mean now, pal?" he asked.
"Clear as crystal. Now hadn't we better hurry?"
His face went wary. "Hurry?"
"Of course. Don't want to lose him, do we? Not much point in a tail-job if you lose the mark." His face went a rather unflattering shade, but the twenty I waved at him put a certain gleam in his eye that let me know I had him made.
We set off back into Gotham, the black Packard in our sights the whole way.
***
They must've known we were tailing them, but I figured they'd at least allow for the possibility that we were trying to find our way back to the city, poor lost boys that we were. Once back inside the city proper, we pulled back a bit and let them have their head. After a while, though, they started to slow down, searching the streets, and I had my new friend pull over so I could get out and try following them on foot. He was all too happy to see me go, and take the twenty as a keepsake. We were heading into Old Gotham by that stage, and he was starting to get a bit jumpy. Not that I blamed him. Where the rest of the Black City held her criminal court at night, the old town wore her shroud of menace even in broad daylight. I couldn't help but wonder what squeaky clean Bruce Wayne was up to down in the slums.
As evening started to draw in, and the night-people began to move out onto the streets, the Packard started drawing attention and, smart sharper that he was, Wayne hopped out in an alley behind one of the larger gin joints, a hefty bag over one shoulder. The limo pulled away again almost instantly, and its erstwhile occupant set off deeper into the creeping alleys of the old town, heading north towards the Red Light district and Amusement Mile.
I stayed on him as long as I could, conscious all the while that we were heading into unknown territory, at least for me. Wayne seemed perfectly at home, a suspicious fact in and off itself, but every small street and twisting alley was completely unfamiliar to me, and after a while they started to blur into each other, a dark sameness filled with filth and shadows and blank, unfriendly faces, and I realised that without the beacon figure of the billionaire and his bag ahead of me, I was utterly lost.
And no sooner had I thought it, than I turned a corner after him, and found him gone.
I turned quickly in place, scanning back down behind me, and off into the smaller alley to my right, but there was no sign of the man at all. I checked above me, searching the fire escapes, got nothing. The rusting doors set into the walls to either side were long since rusted to their frames, or their doorways piled high with filth and human garbage. No escape there. Panicking slightly, I darted along the length of the block to the next junction, in case he'd simply sped up, but the distinctive figure was nowhere in sight. I'd lost him.
And in the process, I'd lost myself. In Old Gotham. As the night pulled darkness down over her streets, and brought the specters of blood and violence in behind it. Not the best career move I've ever made.
There was no point trying to find Wayne. My best bet was to try and retrace my steps, find my way out of this labyrinthine stew, and hopefully before the real hardcases started coming out. Not that I was afraid of getting hurt, per say. Whatever Lois may think, I'm no pushover, and I had a few tricks up my sleeve that no-one would suspect. At least, no-one I'd ever met. The problem was the fuss it would start. Even in Gotham, they take notice when some blow-in starts beating on the hoods and hardcases of the old town, and with everything I had going on, I couldn't afford that kind of attention.
But nothing in Gotham is ever bloody easy, and while I'm no slacker for directions, even the best of memories requires some manner of landmark to orientate around, and the city seemed determined to confuse. I'll bet there are people living their whole lives in Old Gotham who still get lost when the mood strikes her to make them. But at least they knew enough people to stop and ask. The hard stares I got pitched whenever I started to approach someone quickly put any thought of that from my mind. And after a while, I started noticing that I was being tailed myself.
I noticed it first when one of the pro skirts started to give me the spiel, before her eyes flicked west and she shied back. The streets started thinning around me, just a touch, as people gave me that little bit of extra room to get shot in. Someone'd sized me up for prey, and the wary had picked up on it, the way smaller predators scatter when a shark swims by. My obvious confusion and good clothes made me an instant mark, and really I was lucky to have gotten as far as I did before getting picked up. Any hopes I'd had of a clean sneak evaporated, and I started looking for a good place to turn on whoever it was.
A blind alley would be best. Let them think they'd got me pinned, that they had all the advantages, and it'd give me some cover so I could do what I had to do. It shouldn't be too hard. They wouldn't be expecting what I could do to them, and there were few things a Gotham hood was likely to have on his person that could do me any permanent damage. But I wasn't looking forward to it. Strange as it may sound for someone who's so good at it, but violence repulses me. Don't mean I won't do what I gotta do, but I don't have to like it.
I headed off what passed for a main thoroughfare in Old Gotham, down an alley and out onto one of the smaller streets behind a can-house. Two men peeled off behind me. I picked up the pace a bit, like I was scared, and they matched it instantly, dropping all pretense of disinterest. The chase was on. I saw a blind alley up ahead, and angled deliberately into it, wondering if they'd pick up on the intent behind the move and back off. No such luck. Either they were pretty dumb, or just didn't care what I thought I could do.
But someone picked up on it, alright. Just as I was about to cut in and turn, a man stepped nonchalantly out into my path, and I had to draw up sharply or I would've cannoned into him. A brief spurt of amazement went through me, that they had been so sure of my path as to have someone lie in wait, when I realised that persuit behind me had stopped also. Sending the newcomer a wary glance, I looked back over my shoulder to find my pursuers frozen, staring at him with wary unease.
"Either you're tougher than you look, kid, or you're just plain stupid," the interloper drawled easily, breaking through the tense silence. "Don't you ever look where you're going?" I stared dumbly at him as he brushed past me to get a better look at my pursuers. "Little out of your way, aren't you boys?"
"We saw 'im first, fair and square," the younger of the two spat, but his companion quickly laid a cautioning hand on his arm.
"Out alone today?" he asked, nervously. My new friend smiled sharply.
"You don't see anyone with me, do ya?" And something in his tone had all of us sending jumpy glances into the shadows, waiting for some invisble bogeyman to jump out. The pair of them flinched back, and shook their heads uneasily. "Well, there ya go. You got business my way, boys?"
"Ah, no. Not tonight. No." They were backing away as they said it, and he smiled knowingly.
"On your way then. And send my regards to Ma Peters, won't you?" One last nod, and they ran for it.
The man turned back slowly, to give me the once over, and I took the opportunity to take his measure too. He was a slim man, somewhere in his late twenties, but with that tired look of someone who's been around the block a few times, maybe done some time. His face was mostly shadowed by a fedora and glasses, but a narrow mouth with a narrow mustache was visible, and a match bobbed up and down between his teeth. Combined with the narrow brown suit with its red shirt, the overall effect was sharp with heavy overtones of sleaze. The guy looked every inch the small-time hood. Not the kind of guy I'd expect to lend me a helping hand. Or to convincingly scare off any opposition.
"You look a little lost, kid," he drawled, that laconic Gotham edge to his accent. "What's a blow-in like you doing down the slums this time of the evening?"
I bristled a bit, but since I was quite visibly not doing so hot, I had to let it go. "I was looking for someone. I got a little lost."
He smiled sharply. "Ya think? Who you lookin' for, a dame? Plenty of action 'round here without going after someone specific, you know."
"A man, actually," I snapped. His smile faded a bit.
"You're in the wrong place, then, boyo. You want to go east a couple of blocks, if you're looking for that kind of action. It's bust season, though, so I'd leave off if I were you. Come back another time, and in some other outfit, ya hear?"
I stared blankly at him for a minute, before his meaning filtered through, and I blushed. "I didn't mean it that way."
He stared back for a minute, watching the red rise up my cheeks, then smiled again. A different smile, this time, more open and with a hint of camraderie. "No, I don't suppose you did at that. You got a name, kid?"
"Ah, Kent. Clark Kent." And I held out a hand for him to shake. It seemed the natural thing to do, and he took it easily, a sly grin lighting his tired face. He had a firm grip, for all he looked like a lightweight.
"Nice to meet ya, Clark Kent. Name's Matches. Matches Malone." He slung a friendly arm over my shoulder, and I realised that his slight appearance was deceptive. The slick tailoring of his suit made him look slimmer than he was, and there was a strong build disguised beneath that sleazy outer appearance. "Stick with me, kid. I'll show you around, help you get your bearings. You hungry?"
I blinked, a little uncertain about this sudden familiarity, but at his reminder my stomach decided to make it known that I hadn't eaten since just after leaving the Gotham Towers, some six hours ago now, and I was beginning to feel it. I'd lost Wayne, so there was nothing urgent I needed to get to, and he seemed okay. At the very least, he might help me get out of Old Gotham, and there was obviously something about him that discouraged the local heavies, though damned if I could tell what it was from looking at him. So, really, what was the harm?
"Starving," I answered, and followed readily at his quick grin as he started off down the street, one arm still wrapped in a friendly manner around my shoulders.
Gotham had decided to let me survive a while yet.
Chapter 3: Night On The Town