Chapter Twenty: The King of Gotham

In a matter of two weeks, Gotham lit up like a firework on the Fourth of July.

When Maroni attacked Falcone's bars, Falcone retaliated and attacked Maroni's warehouses. Falcone would attack two of Maroni's men; the Italian Don, the hothead that he was, would double the damage and go after four of Falcone's lieutenants.

Every channel on Gotham's News exploded with reports of the power struggle between Carmine Falcone and Salvatore Maroni. There was a live video streaming from Gotham Five where five men on both sides of the families were just fighting, literally, in the streets. Guns, knives, brass knuckles—like a modern-day version of the West Side Story. Absolute anarchy.

I stood on the roof of my apartment complex, looking above all the other buildings. The black sky was clear, a blanket of stars shown overhead. Even from this height, I could hear the gunfire, and see the wisps of smoke rising from different parts of town.

It was a full out gang war.

The neutrals were hiding in their complexes, in their houses, in their basements. Forget the other Five Families. Forget the Narrows. Forget everyone else; if you were on Falcone's side, you were getting blown up by Maroni. If you were on Maroni's side, you'd find a bomb waiting under your car, ready to ignite the moment you revved up the engine.

I kept my cell phone on me, and I glanced at it a lot more frequently than I cared to admit. I had never felt more anxious and yet exhilarated than I did standing on the roof, waiting, anticipating. I didn't know what phone call I would receive; I was hoping to hear from Oswald soon.

Today, Don Falcone had been hit. One of Maroni's men had hit the car with a rocket launcher; he was rushed to the hospital. Oswald said he was tying up loose ends; I was smart enough to know that it meant he was going to finish off Falcone.

I volunteered to go, but both Butch and Oswald insisted I remain behind. 'Too dangerous', they said.

Perhaps I would consider doing what Oswald told me to do. But the longer I waited, the more worried I became. Falcone was unpredictable.

An hour passed, and I stared down at my phone.

I'm not going to wait here and hope for the best. Not when I knew that I could do something about it. But where would I start—

Did I even have to ask myself that anymore?

I left the roof, down the elevator, jumped into my car, and drove down the highway.

When I walked into the GCPD station, I had to stand for a few minutes with my jaw open. Police officers stormed through the building, gathering men by the handful, pushing them into cells. Maroni Loyalists tried clawing their way through the bars; Falcone Loyalists snarled in response, like wolves. I looked at the balcony, searching for Jim. I couldn't see him. But I did see someone else who could help me.

Harvey Bullock. The main man himself.

I headed up the stairs, two at a time. Breathlessly, I stopped in front of him. He was just getting off the phone, and the look on his face said I was already running a little too behind.

"What happened? Is Jim okay?" I panted, bending over slightly to catch my breath.

"You're out of shape, Kitten," Harvey said cynically.

"I blame my anxiety. And you're one to talk."

"If you think you're coming with me—"

"My brother is out there, Harvey." I interrupted him harshly, straightening. "If you think I'm just going to stay behind like everyone else wants me to—"

"You didn't let me finish!" Harvey shouted over me.

I stared at him, taken aback.

"You didn't let me finish! If you think you're coming with me, you're right."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Yeah, I just finished talking to him," He said, getting up. He took his hat, and placed an extra magazine inside his pocket, lock and loading his gun.

"Where is he?"

"He's at the hospital, guarding Falcone."

"Maroni's men will be there to finish him off!" I snapped furiously. "Why the fuck is he there!"

Harvey grabbed my arm, pulling me with him, saying, "He's trying to get him to safety."

I followed Harvey out in a semi-jog (mainly because Harvey had trouble keeping up with a sprinter like myself). He tossed himself in the driver's seat; I jumped into the passenger side, closing the door. He revved the engine and bolted into the street.

"Everyone agreed that Falcone was out," I told Harvey unhappily. "I guess Jim has this convoluted idea that Falcone can bring back control."

"He lost control a long time ago," Harvey interjected.

"No shit, Sherlock. Tell me something I don't know."

Harvey side-glanced me, rolling his eyes as he drove through a red light: "You're less of a putz than your brother, that's for sure."

He took a hard right.

"You're so sweet—no wonder you're already married."

"I'm not married."

"My point exactly," I responded sarcastically.

"How you and Jim grew up without killing each other, I will never know," said Harvey; he winced when his side-view mirror on my side broke off after skimming against another vehicle.

"I sure hope you have insurance."

"It's against the law not to have car insurance," Harvey retorted.

"Ooo-oooh! Big Bad Harvey Bullock, following the 411 on rules. Such a bad-ass."

"I'm going to push you out of this car."

"I'll just drag you out with me. And you know I will."

Harvey stomped on the brake just outside of the Emergency Room. Empty ambulances crowded the basement. We jogged through the hospital, following the sounds of gunfire.

"Stay back," Harvey warned.

"Don't have to tell me twice," I muttered, pushing my backside against the wall.

No doubt Maroni's men had tried to finish off Falcone while he had been vulnerable. Harvey took a leap forward and after exchange of gunfire, I didn't hear anything until—

"Jim! It's me! Don't shoot!" Harvey shouted.

The gunfire stopped, so I came out of the wreckage. Jim held two pistols: one was his spare. Seeing Harvey, he looked relieved. When he saw who accompanied him, he suddenly became really, really pissed.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Jim shouted, pointing at me furiously.

"She wanted to come!"

"And you let her!?"

Harvey shouted back. "I will not be the dead man who tells this woman to chill!"

I smirked at Jim: "Finally! Someone who listens to reason!"

"You can't be here, Sylvia!"

"Too bad, I'm already here!"

"Don't worry about her!" Harvey bellowed. "There are ambulances in the basement. Where's your man?"

"About that," Jim panted. "We have to take Penguin and Butch Gilzean with us."

Harvey looked like he might have a stroke as he said, "Penguin and Butch Gilzean?"

"I arrested them for attempted murder; they're in my custody—"

"Ah! I don't even wanna hear it right now—let's go!" Harvey retorted, waving his hand at him.

I followed Jim back to wherever Falcone was being harbored. On the way there, I smacked him in the arm, hard.

"You arrested Oswald, how dare you!" I snapped. "What kind of fucking asshole are you, James Gordon!"

We burst into the room, door banging open. Falcone was sitting on the gurney, restraint-free. Oswald and Butch were handcuffed to a water heater. My mouth dropped open and I glared at Jim who ignored me as he quickly took the cuffs off both of my boys.

I slapped Jim in the arm again: " Are you fucking kidding me! You"—slap—"are such"—slap—"an ass!"

"Stop hitting me!" Jim retorted.

"God! I can't even believe you right now—"

Falcone interrupted, "Perhaps we should put aside our quarrels for another day?"

"He's right, let's move!" Harvey ordered.

We all were moving down the hall as fast as we could, but in all consideration of the fact, it wasn't all that fast. Oswald had his own complication, but he could still run pretty fast; Falcone was hurting to walk.

"Through here," Harvey directed; after we turned the corner, we stood in the parking garage where a few ambulances were parked, unguarded.

"Get in the back," Jim ordered, pointing at the double doors of one empty ambulance.

Butch and I opened the doors. I helped Oswald in; Butch (reluctantly) aided Falcone, giving him a stepper upper into the ambulance. Harvey jumped in, after I did, closing the double doors.

Falcone watched me with hawk eyes. I didn't even need to ask the reason why.

'Birds of a feather, flock together'. As far as he was concerned, pigeons and penguins were just as guilty.

The ambulance ride was not fun to say the least. It rocked, and rolled. Without seat belts, it proved to be a very memorable, hazardous bumpy ride. Some bullets penetrated the ambulance while others ricocheted.

Jim bellowed, "GET DOWN!"

And we hit the deck.

"I don't know about you all," I giggled, "but this is like the most fun I've had in my entire life!"

Butch stared at me like I had gone mad; Oswald couldn't comment; Falcone was still glaring at me, regardless of his opinion on the matter.

Under his breath, Harvey muttered, "Crazy broad."

"I heard that, Harvey," I said pointedly.

"I said it loud enough where you could hear me."

"No, you didn't. You didn't think I was listening. Now that you've been caught, you're trying to pretend you wanted me to hear it all along."

"God," Butch said irritably. "Have you ever tried not speaking your mind?"

"Haven't thought about doing that before. I'm not about to start now."

Falcone chuckled, "Argumentative one, isn't she?"

Oswald muttered, rolling his eyes, "You have no idea."

"I'm pretty sure I do," Harvey said sardonically. "I've heard it the entire way here."

"Fuck you, Harvey."

Harvey snickered, "Same to you, baby doll. You crazy broad. See, that time I said it loud enough for you to hear."

The truck suddenly stopped with a jolt; the doors swung open, and Jim looked at all of us. I hopped out; the ambulance itself was totally wrecked; the hood was smoking; the windows were shattered.

Harvey asked Falcone, "Are you sure no one knows about this place?"

Jim held tight onto Oswald as we strolled forward.

"I'm sure," said Falcone. "Nobody. Anybody else who knew about this place is dead."

And…just like that, a figure came a-strolling, wearing an incredible amount of leather, and a permed up-do. She reminded me of a black cat, the way she strolled towards us.

"Selina?" I recognized her.

"Hellooo," She greeted smugly. "What's up?"

A door rose up with a metal clang. It was an astonishing—if not devastating image—of a very much alive Fish Mooney strutting towards us with a band of new followers. The difference between the last time I saw Fish and this time was that not only had her hair changed, so had her eyes. One, sky-blue eyeball had replaced the original hazel-brown.

What the fuck…

As if reading our thoughts, Fish drawled, "I know...I know...it's astonishing. Sometimes I astonish myself."

Perhaps it wasn't worth the effort of trying to run. Maybe it was because at some point, we knew this would happen. I knew for a fact that all of Fish's followers held guns and I was not about to get blown to pieces because I wanted to chance a 20% success rate of a 500-yard sprint escape.

Harvey, Jim, Oswald, and Falcone were bound by the hands, their binds placed on hooks, like slabs of meat waiting to be shipped out to the deli. I was uncertain as to why they had left me alone—that was until Fish approached me. I looked at her, eyes wide. And I was ashamed to admit that I had never been so intimidated by another woman as I was at that moment.

"How have you been, little girl?" She breathed.

"I have to admit, I've had better days. How've you been?"

"Time has not helped that tongue of yours, has it?" Fish said coldly.

She grabbed my hair and pushed me down on my knees. My kneecaps hit the concrete, hard. I winced, but didn't make a sound; I was just trying to hold onto her hand, hoping she didn't pull any harder on my hair.

"Despite what you've done to me," Fish growled, "I will give you this one chance. You were like a daughter to me...once."

"Take it from me, Miss Mooney," I grimaced. "I wouldn't call you a part of my family, so I'd say you're wasting your breath on me."

Fish brought my head down, striking me in the face with her knee. I grunted, falling down on the concrete. Looking down, I could see rain water, and blood.

Fucking bitch broke my nose.

"You're right," Fish said, smirking. "It's clear I don't mean much to you."

"Wow, you're very perceptive."

"For Christ's sake, Vee!" Jim shouted. "For once in your life, stop talking!"

I turned on my back, looking up at Fish. Seeing my smile, she growled deep in her throat. She tied my hair several times around her fist and dragged me to my feet; the feeling of my roots being torn out of my skull was a bit too much.

She forced me to turn; I looked at Falcone, Oswald, Jim, and Harvey, all watching me.

Jim and Oswald had never looked more helpless. They were restrained, but I was certain that if they ever had a moment of freedom, they would claw Fish Mooney's eyes out within a second. A young man approached Fish, holding out a phone.

"It's him, Boss," He said.

She dragged me along, walking away to speak more privately on the phone with the said contender.

"Don Maroni," Fish answered smoothly. "Yes. Alive and well. Well, that's a long story" (She emphasized by yanking my hair forward and I tripped over my feet) "We need to talk. I have something you want."

She hung up, smirking at me.

"My mark on you never stayed, did it?" Fish drawled; she traced my collar bone with a fingernail. Instead of the Fish symbol she had carved into my flesh so long ago, there was still the aftermath of Oswald's love bite instead. She gave me a look of 'seriously?' and I smirked at her.

"I told you, Miss Mooney," I said breathlessly. "I never belonged to you."

"Your brother's right…You really should learn when to stop talking."

A car pulled up, and out came several of Maroni's men, led by the Don himself. Fish dragged me with her—again—It was like I was restrained by my own hair! If that wasn't humiliating, I didn't know what was.

"Get on your knees," Fish ordered.

"I didn't get on my knees for you before—I'm not about to start now."

Maroni approached her with open arms. I glanced at Oswald who was in between two strong emotions: Fear and Anger. It seemed to be his common go-to these days. Jim looked nonchalant, like he was seeing where this was heading. Harvey had long since been let go; he just hung back to see what would happen. Falcone looked pretty damn peaceful for someone who was going to be taken off the roster any minute now.

"Fish! You, mysterious, crazy, gorgeous killer, you. I love you," said Maroni happily. He stood in front of Falcone, smirking: "This is delicious. You're hard to kill, old man."

"No, I'm not," Falcone said smugly. "Your people are second-rate."

Maroni gave him a look.

"Well, he's right." I muttered.

And that was when I regretted speaking my mind. Jim and Oswald let out quiet exasperated sighs as Maroni turned to me. It was like I had been invisible, up until now. Fish was smirking as he stepped towards me, closing the distance between us.

"Hello, Sylvia." Maroni said smugly. "How've you been?"

"So-so," I answered, grinning broadly at him. That's right, just make it worse on yourself. "You?"

"I've never felt better."

"Good to hear. Sorry I missed Mack's funeral," I lamented sarcastically. "I was able to get to know him on a deeper, intimate level. I was able to see what kind of lout he really was before—you know—he died. Shame the doctors never figured out what the fuck happened to him. Or, you know…bothered to care."

I glanced at Fish saying, "One of his men came in with another one of his lackeys and tried to rape me. I bit his dick off, shot him in the balls, and he bled out like a stuck pig. Just let that slowly sink in—this is the man that you're going to be working alongside and—"

Maroni punched me straight in the face. He was a quick one with a heavy hand. I won't lie: It hurt like hell.

"That all you got?" I managed, smirking. "You punch like your mother."

"You have a death wish, don't you?" Maroni said all too happily.

"Well, you know—"

Maroni punched me again, and that one really hurt. It brought me down to my knees, actually.

"Vee, shut up!" Jim shouted.

Fish grabbed me by the neck, smiling at me.

"You're only going to make it worse for yourself, darling," She said softly.

I looked at Fish, and I could see it in her eyes that she wasn't kidding. Maroni spoke to Falcone, speaking in such low volumes that I couldn't ignore her.

"Miss Mooney," I said quietly. "If you let Oswald or Jim—either one go—I'll bow to you. I'll do whatever it is that you want. Just, please…Don't."

My resolve broke when the fleeting thought came to mind—if Jim and Oswald both died tonight, I would be completely alone. Fish seemed to gather that, and the malicious smile that spread across her face scared the hell out of me!

"Butch!" Fish called.

Maroni turned curiously as Butch came to her side.

"Take Sylvia. I've learned what it has been like to die and feel alone in this cruel world. Maybe she will learn what it truly feels like to have the wish to die…" (She grinned widely at Jim and Oswald) "when she has no one left...much like I was when I was cast out of Gotham."

"No..." I whispered, shaking my head.

Butch grabbed my arm.

"No. Fish, you can't do that. Please!" I begged.

Damn my humiliation! Be damned my pride. I just wanted to make sure the two people left of my family were safe. What was the point of all the hell I had been through and back if this was how it was going to end!

"Take her away, Butch!" Fish snapped.

"Fish, you can't do this! MY WHOLE FAMILY IS THERE! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"

I screamed, and shrieked. I kicked, I struggled. Butch held fast to me and pulled me away. I could not break free of his grip, no matter the effort as he shoved me into a closet.

"I'm sorry, Sylvia," Butch said—and he sounded genuinely apologetic.

"Butch! BUTCH! Get me out of here! YOU CAN'T DO THIS! YOU CAN'T! Let me out! PLEASE!"

It was a small closet. Nothing more than a janitor's cell for household cleaning items such as brooms and mop buckets. It could barely fit three people. The light switch didn't work. I jiggled the door knob—It didn't budge.

"LET ME OUT!" I screamed. "PLEASE! LET ME OUT!"

I banged on the door, kicked it—I damn near broke my toe! Soon my words became nothing more than shrieks of devastation and fury.

Look around, Sylvia. Is there anything you can use—

There was nothing that could get me out of this closet. A mop, a broom, and a mop bucket. There wasn't even a single damn lockpick or a fucking bobby pin. The one time I get locked inside a closet had to be in one where the janitor had some obsessive need to keep everything squeaky clean and dust-free.

I rubbed my face, wiping away the tears. No matter how much I tried to force myself to stop crying, only more tears came out.

Fucking pussy—come on, you can get out.

I looked up. What if the ceiling had a venting system? Could I climb up there?

Even if I could, there was no way I was getting up to the ceiling. The mop bucket stood no more than half a foot, and I was short as it was.

"FUCK!" I shrieked, kicking the door again.

Well, back to screaming.

"Someone let me out of this fucking closet, right—"

I heard someone shoot once. At first there was nothing. Nothing but silence. Just terrifying, ear-ringing silence. And then shots fired from each and every direction.

Well, at least I'm in this closet, safe and sound.

"Until the victor retrieves the spoils," I said darkly.

Damn, that joke was in bad taste—even for me.

And then more silence followed.

"LET ME OUT OF THIS CLOSET, FOR FUCK SAKE!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.

More silence followed. Holy shit, did they all kill each other?! The sound of a machine gun went off like it was having a killing spree.

Then it stopped.

And then one single round was fired.

"FIIIIIISH!" I heard Oswald scream. "WHERE ARE YOU!"

"Oswald?" I breathed.

At least he's alive…What about Jim though?

"He's a survivor," I muttered. "They both are. They'll both get through this. Fuck the rest of them." I kicked at the door. "AND FUCK THIS DOOR, GOD DAMN IT!"

The door…

THE DOOR!

"Thank you, police officer James Gordon!" I said, smiling widely. I stood, reaching my hands in the vast darkness.

Find the door knob.

Where the hell is it. Fuck!

Ah! There it is.

Jim was used to breaking down doors. His job demanded it, especially in Gotham. Back when he had just finished the police academy, he was showing off to his buddies how to kick down a door. I had only seen it done twice. That was some years ago.

Did one break above or below the lock? Did it really it matter? We'll do both.

Here we go…here we go...okay...and KICK!

"GOD DAMN IT, my fucking foot! Holy shit, that fucking HURTS!" I shouted, rubbing my ankle. "What the hell is this thing made of! Solid gold! Fucking fuckery!"

Try again.

And…. KICK!

The door bust open, the lock was still set in place, but the door had nearly come off its hinges. It was only when I came out of the room that I realized just how hot and cramped it was in that small-ass closet.

After hearing the gunshots, I shouldn't have been so shocked to see all the bodies lying on the ground, including the dead body of Don Maroni. I looked over the dead, making sure none of them looked like my brother. It didn't appear that Jim, Harvey, or Falcone had been hit in the cross fire.

Where's Oswald?

Where's Fish?

I looked around, searching for possible routes. I saw the fire escape; stairs led up to the roof.

I do love a roof, I thought. Bingo.

I ran up the stairs, climbing them two at a time, breathless.

And just in time to see Oswald and Fish Mooney in a power struggle. Butch held a gun, aiming at either Fish or Oswald; he seemed to switch between the two—his love for Fish begged him to shoot Oswald but Victor Zsasz' training ordered him to take down Fish.

With both parties shouting at him to drop both of them, Butch first shot Mooney then he shot Oswald.

While Butch was immediately regretting hurting Fish and they were talking about it, Oswald slowly rose to his feet and hit Butch over the head with a plank of wood. After knocking him out temporarily, Oswald grinned at Fish with only one thought on his mind. And she seemed to figure it out quick.

"It's all good," She said, smiling warily.

"Good-bye, Fish!" Oswald ran towards her, lifted her up, tossed her over the fucking roof ("No!" Butch shouted); her scream echoed even as I heard the splash.

"I'm the King of Gotham," Oswald said, smiling to himself. Then he stood on the ledge, and screamed for all of the city to hear: "I'M THE KING OF GOTHAM!"