Chapter Twenty-One: Galavan Dies Again

Sylvia turned on the news, and while she always expected some macabre story about a man getting beaten to death in the alley or a child orphaned in the middle of the night, she stopped sipping from her glass of vodka when a female News Reporter spoke; as she did, the screen flipped to an impossible view of a man who appeared to be Galavan, dressed in leather and looking unlike himself, hopping rooftops, landing on vehicles.

"Captain Nathaniel Barnes remains in critical condition at Gotham General after suffering a violent attack by a masked criminal late last night. So far, no arrests have been made but reports coming in from within the locked down GCPD have confirmed that the masked man is, in fact, former Mayor, Theo Galavan. Searches continued throughout the night, but as of right now, Galavan's whereabouts remain a mystery."

Sylvia stared at the TV.

Dagger and Chilly, who stood inside the Meeting Room with her, glanced at each other with the same expression, wondering the same thing: Did they hear that correctly? Was Galavan was alive? Granted, the man dressed in leather and bounding from one building to another had called himself 'Azrael'. Perhaps it was hearsay, but if the GCPD had confirmed it, it was 90% true.

"Only in Gotham," Sylvia sighed, shaking her head.

Mr. Bell shot through the doors in distress.

"Miss Sylvia! Miss Sylvia!"

"I know, I know. I saw it," Sylvia returned calmly, gesturing to the television.

Mr. Bell calmed himself, straightening his tie, as he stood behind her throne, watching the tale of woe with her. A depiction of yesterday's news repeated on the screen, showing a close-up of Galavan's bloody face, which made Sylvia frown.

"A man like that doesn't know when to stay fucking dead," She said snidely, putting down her drink on the table. She glanced at Mr. Bell. "Does anyone know where he is now?"

"No one. No one does."

"Well, that's disappointing."

A loud voice that came from the front door and echoed all the way through the mansion, shouted: "I'm the GCPD for crying out loud! If you knew what's good for you, you'd back the hell off!"

Harvey Bullock stormed inside the room, looking more disheveled than the last time Sylvia had seen him. When he came through the doors, Dagger, Chilly, and Mr. Bell pulled their weapons from the holstered pockets on their belts, and cocked, and aimed their guns at the bounding detective, who was momentarily surprised by their reaction…for whatever reason that might have been.

Harvey held up his hands and said with a chuckle, "Hey, now…I'm here on a friendly visit."

"You might want to lower your voice then," Sylvia offered, reclining back in her seat.

Harvey gave her a look, lowering his hands to his sides: "Have you seen the news?"

"I just heard." Sylvia answered flatly, turning off the TV. "Galavan's alive. Who would have thought, right?"

"And he's nowhere to be found."

"Meaning?"

"I think you know what I mean."

"I'm getting pretty tired of your quiet threats," Sylvia said patiently. "While you're changing the volume of your voice, would you ever so kindly change your tone?"

Harvey gave a polite (slightly sarcastic) bow in her direction, considering her suggestion. He may be the GCPD, but currently, he stood in a room full of guards who not only despised police officers but were ready to die for their mistress in any case Sylvia gave the word to start and finish a war.

Smiling at his submission, Sylvia continued: "I know what you mean, but you're wrong. I haven't the faintest idea where he is."

"You don't?"

"No. I don't. But if I did, I doubt I would be telling the police."

"You still want him dead, don't you?" Harvey said humorously.

"Of course, I do."

"And you're telling me you don't where he is?"

"For the third time: No. I don't know where he is."

Suddenly, coming up behind Harvey Bullock was Jim, who was breathless as he caught up to his partner. He bent down at the waist, hands on his knees, leaning forward as he attempted to catch his breath, looking up at Harvey with an unhappy expression.

"I told you," Jim said through gritted teeth, "to wait for me."

"Well, you were taking too long, Jimbo."

"I was five minutes away."

"See, that was still too long," Harvey debated, shrugging carelessly. "It doesn't matter anyway. Little Sister doesn't know anything. She just found out, she said."

Jim, who successfully managed to catch his breath, looked at Sylvia as though she'd just popped out of the ground like a dandelion. Sylvia smiled at the both of them.

"I don't listen to the news every time I walk into a fucking room," Sylvia explained, standing. "I try not to watch the news anymore. That has probably added five more years to my lifespan."

"So, you don't know where Azrael is?" Jim questioned.

"Who the fuck is Azrael?"

"The guy leaping from rooftops, the same man that shot the captain."

"Galavan, you mean."

"Yeah. That's Azrael." Harvey said pointedly.

"Well, I don't know who the fuck Azrael is, but that's Galavan." Sylvia insisted.

"That's not what the newspapers are calling him—"

"—Harvey, I swear to god—"

"—But 'Galavan' it is!" Harvey finished, grinning at her.

"You know," Jim said curiously, "There's one person who might know where he is."

"Well, you told me that your sister would know," Harvey reminded sarcastically. "I'm starting to think your detective skills are dwindling down to the bare bones. You've been out of the job too long, brother!"

"I told you that Sylvia would want to know where Galavan is—never did I say that she knew his location. Your listening skills might be 'dwindling', Harv."

"Hey, hey, I know what I heard." Harvey argued, pointing at Jim.

"Yeah, you know what you heard," He chuckled. He turned to Sylvia, who stared at them with an increasing annoyance: "Who knows Galavan better than anyone?"

"His mother," Sylvia returned apathetically.

Harvey shrugged: "Well, that's not far from the truth."

"His sister." Jim emphasized.

There was a meaningful pause between Harvey and Jim before they turned in Sylvia's direction. Expectations.

Sylvia sighed and languidly stepped behind her chair, crossing her arms over the back of it, saying, "You want to know where Tabitha Galavan is, don't you?"

Harvey and Jim glanced at each other, then nodded, both verbalizing a strong 'yes'.

Carelessly, Sylvia drawled, "Why would I know where she is?"

"You've been keeping tabs on her," Jim stated knowingly (Harvey gesticulated to Jim with emphasis.) "Her and Butch. You told me yourself."

"So, I have. But that was more for my benefit, not yours. She has been a forever pain in my side since I met her. A thorn that big never ceases to cause me pain even when she's nowhere near me. Still, I like to keep an eye on her, in any case she wants to try to contest me again. But that's enough about me: You want to find Tabitha so you can find Theo, so you can arrest him," Sylvia said, looking at Harvey. "I want to find Galavan, so I can have the luxury of killing him a second time."

"Vee—" Jim began, but she cut him off.

"Don't 'Vee' me," Sylvia snapped. "It's literally a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to kill a man a second time, a golden opportunity; and I'm shooting for the stars, babe."

Harvey sighed impatiently, "Would you just tell us where—"

"Harvey…." Jim warned.

Harvey held up his hands with a scathing noise and he decided to let Jim work out his own plan. The detective stepped off to the sidelines to the other side of the room, looking at the different knickknacks on Sylvia's bookcases while still listening to the conversation.

Sylvia minded Harvey before turning to Jim, expecting him to butter her up.

"You're in the negotiating business, aren't you?" Jim offered, gesturing to her.

"Always have been."

"So, let's negotiate."

Sylvia's eyebrow quirked upwards, and she smirked at him.

"That's something I'd never thought I would hear from you. And that would normally work on me; but our little cop friend already gave up your plans and reasons for finding Miss Galavan. You want to find Theo, put him in jail a second time—"

"—You're wrong—"

"Am I?" Sylvia voiced skeptically.

"Yes."

"I find that hard to believe. Since you're a cop—"

"—You see me right now? I'm not wearing a badge—"

"—And I'm not wearing handcuffs, but that doesn't make me any less a criminal." Sylvia interrupted him. "Not wearing your badge doesn't stop you from thinking like a cop."

She placed one arm along the mantle of the fireplace and the other on her hip, looking very much like a contemplating manager in lieu of a different proposition.

"You want to find Galavan, bring him to justice," Sylvia presumed. "I want to find him so I can kill him; and this time, I'll make sure he stays that way. If you want to negotiate, you're more than welcome to throw some odds my way, but I doubt you'll persuade me."

"Killing him changed you, Vee."

"I've changed very little since killing him the first time. I doubt I will feel any different after the fact."

"What would you have?"

Sylvia blinked and said humorously, "You want to give me something in exchange for saving Theo Galavan's life? He fucked up our lives more than once, James. He tortured Gertrud, and put Oswald through hell—not to mention, if you remember, that he tried to kill you more than once! And now he's put your captain in the hospital! He has meddled with our lives too many times, and if you think you can buy me off with some pathetic attempt to appeal to my humanity, you don't know me at all."

"I want Galavan dead."

"Which one?"

"Pardon?"

"You have to be more specific." Sylvia offered. "Personally, both of them could fucking eat dirt for all I care. Between Galavan just being his dickless self and Tabitha being a bitch, I could watch them both burn on a stake and I wouldn't lose any sleep. So, if you want to have any Galavan killed, you might want to consider being a little bit more specific."

Jim frowned. "You want to hear my proposition or not?"

Sylvia held her hand out to him with encouragement.

"Azrael or not, Galavan stabbed our captain; he's in critical condition," Jim said darkly. "I want to find Galavan, and I want to make him pay. One way or another. But he's not the same person he was. He can jump from building to building; he has super human strength. You won't be able to kill him with just a gun."

"Is he still a man?"

"Kinda," Harvey answered from behind a sculpture of a Knight, earning a cool look from Sylvia.

"Then he can be killed….kinda." Sylvia reasoned. "But you have an army at your disposal, Jim. You have Harvey Bullock and the rest of the squad at your command. Why would you need me?"

"I need to know where Tabitha and Butch are residing."

"You're a detective. Despite what your former partner would suggest, I personally doubt that your detective skills are lacking. You would have found Tabitha without my help. Yet, you came here anyway. You know I want Theo dead for what he's done to my family. Yet, you came to me. All of that said, I just want know why you're here."

"I can depend on you."

"We all know that. What else?"

"Things might get messy," Harvey answered for Jim.

"I can talk for myself, you know." Jim said irritably.

"Yeah, I know, buddy. But at the rate this conversation was going, we would have been here til next Christmas." Harvey sighed candidly, smiling encouragingly at Jim as he patted his back. "The thing is, Little Sis" (Sylvia gave a condescending look) "we're in something of a bind. Even after we find Tabitha and then, who knows, we find Galavan, we've still got a monster on our hands. He was dead, and now he's alive—big and bad as ever. And I'm not just talking about personality. He fights dirty."

"You've fought dirty," Sylvia reminded him.

"Yeah, but you can fight dirtier." Harvey responded. "You're good at this kind of thing. You're like a…what the hell are those dogs called—you know, you give 'em a piece of clothing or some kind of meat and they sniff things out—A bloodhound!"

"A bloodhound?" asked Jim, unimpressed.

"Yeah! One of those! Better than any I've ever seen!" Harvey enthused. He took Sylvia by the shoulders and said quietly, "Plus, if there's anyone more eager to see that son-of-a-bitch killed again, it's you, baby doll. You're like an energizer bunny: wind you up, and watch you go."

"So many compliments," Sylvia uttered, half-amused.

"So what about it, huh? Will you tell us where Tabitha and the Gorilla are?"

"I'll do you one better." Sylvia said, scooting her chair into the table. "I'll lead you to her. Should be easy enough. They built something of a fortress just outside a city with few enough guards."

"How many people?" asked Jim.

"Twenty or thirty guards, give or take."

"Twenty guards?" Harvey said unhappily. He whistled low to Jim. "We're gonna need more people, Jimbo."

"Not necessarily." Sylvia said sweetly, gathering her coat from a helpful Dagger.

"We're outnumbered."

"Like I said: not necessarily."

"Why is that not necessary?"

"More than half of them are in my pocket," Sylvia said with a wink. "They will literally let us walk right in."

Harvey looked a little more at ease while Jim gave him a look. Harvey chuckled: "It must be really nice to have a shoe-in with these tough characters. Don't ya think so, Jim?"

"Shut up, Harvey." Jim muttered. But even he couldn't deny that.

Some five miles outside of Gotham, Sylvia parked Harvey's car. According to her, it was better not to have the guards see a cop's car coming up the road. So, they would walk, instead.

"You pay all of these people just to keep watch on Tabitha?" Harvey questioned. "Must be a nice gig."

Sylvia strode between the two men with both hands in the pockets of her coat, glancing at Harvey with a coy smile: "Before you think I'm made of diamonds, I don't pay them all with money."

"Oh? Well, well, a little bit of Little Sister I didn't know," snickered Harvey.

Sylvia shot him a glare (one that mirrored Jim's as well).

She snapped, "I'm not sleeping with them either."

"I was just kidding!" Harvey said quickly, holding up his hands in caution. "I swear…."

"Mm-hmm, I'm so sure you were."

"So, these people that work for Tabitha and Butch…but they're really working for you."

"Yeah."

"How does that work?" Harvey asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Simple. They do what Butch and Tabitha want, they tell me what they've been asked to do. I give them money, and they provide for their families: it's that simple."

"You just said you don't pay them all with money."

"It might come as a fucking shock to you, but a lot of them just like my company," Sylvia remarked lazily, as they walked through a gate. "I'm a likable person, if you haven't figured that one out."

"How come they don't offer their services to Penguin so quickly?"

"His management style is Stalinesque. Mine is…."

Harvey prodded her shoulder, encouragingly: "Yours is…? Yours is what?"

Jim chimed in dryly, "She's like a mother to them."

"Ah! So, the people who don't want your money…They want your approval." Harvey sniggered. "Damn, that's perverted."

"Well, it works, doesn't it!" Sylvia snipped.

"So, in a way, you and Penguin have been playing House," Harvey laughed. "How does it go, huh? He's the Dad, you're the Mom. If the children don't want to do what they're asked when Mother Hen asks the first time, Dad bribes them with money—if that doesn't work, they get the rod. Otherwise, they'll do what you've asked because they want Mom's approval? That's what you're telling me, Liv?"

Sylvia rolled her eyes. "In not so many words, yes."

Harvey shook his head, laughing all the way to the door.

Jim silenced him, nudging him hard in the stomach as Sylvia stepped up to the front entrance, approaching three stocky men who eyed her carefully.

"You know who I am?" Sylvia stated calmly.

"Yeah, we do." The middle man said lightly. "What do you want?"

"I want inside." She replied politely. "I have business with Tabitha."

The male on the speaker's right spoke quietly to the latter, during which a debate had begun. It was shut down quickly when the stocky guard on Sylvia's right stepped forward and smiled at her like she was an old friend of his.

"How've you been, Mrs. P?" He asked.

"Great. How are you, Richard?" She returned.

"I've been better."

"How's the wife and daughter?"

"Catty as ever."

"She's in…high school, right?"

"Just entered Freshman year." Richard said, nodding his head, wearing a smile on his face. "She's getting big."

"And you're getting wiser," Sylvia remarked, winking at him. "Probably a good thing too. Girls at that age—fifteen—they can be a real handful."

"You'd know that personally, wouldn't you, Mrs. P?"

"I wasn't that much of a handful," Sylvia said coyly.

From behind her, Jim muttered to Harvey, "Only when she was at home."

Harvey snickered, "So that was none of the time, right, partner?"

Sylvia gave the two men a look before returning her attention to Richard, who was so talked up that he smiled in leniency.

"She's okay, guys!" Richard told his coworkers. "Let her pass."

"But Tabitha said—"

"—Nevermind what she said!" Richard snarled, glaring at them. "Who was put in charge?"

"You..."

"And I said 'she's good'." Richard said firmly.

The other guards became submissive and stepped to the side. Sylvia smiled sweetly at Richard, who held out his hand for her to shake.

"Be sweet and compassionate with that daughter of yours," Sylvia said gently. "The first man a girl can trust is her daddy."

"Yes, Ma'am. You know I will!"

She walked past him, saying, "Jim and Harvey are with me."

"Yes, Ma'am."

With that said, Jim and Harvey nodded at the guards as they let them through. Sylvia kept on walking down the hall of a mansion, while Jim and Harvey caught up to her, walking on her left and right.

Harvey leaned in: "Richard, huh? Seems like you have a nice rapport with him. Like you got a friendship, there."

"He was nearly divorced and his daughter is a train wreck," Sylvia mused, smiling a little. "He worked for Fish Mooney, once upon a time."

"Is that one you pay with your approval or with money?" Harvey teased.

"Money."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Really? The way you talked to him…."

"I don't have to pay for everything I want. Sometimes, they just like to have a decent discussion. Manners don't cost anything."

Harvey and Jim switched glances before they came through a door where, apparently, Tabitha and Butch were having it out in not so many words: Tabitha had packed her bags and was trying to leave while Butch was trying to persuade her to stay, saying he'd work on improving himself for her.

"Did we catch you two at a bad time?" Harvey snickered as they entered the room fully.

"Seriously! How do people keep getting in here! Do I have no security at all!" Butch shouted after the surprise had dulled quickly. He turned, saw Sylvia standing there, and that seemed to answer his question altogether.

He greeted her briskly, "Hi…."

"Hello, Butchy. How's the new place?"

"You think you can just barge right in, don't ya?"

"Oh, did that upset you?" Sylvia returned, feigning surprise.

"Obviously. Can't you tell?"

"I don't know," She said sarcastically. "I guess I should, but that's the incredible thing, you know. Because, how would I know what that's like."

"Guys!" Jim snapped.

Butch and Sylvia glanced at Jim, who gave them a 'can you stop' expression before he and Harvey turned to Tabitha, who stared at them irritably.

"Why the rush?" Jim asked.

"Time to move on," Tabitha answered.

"Oh, really? Is that it? Or are you worried that Galavan's coming after you too? Don't worry, Butch; it's not you. She's just afraid of her brother. Come on. Help me find him," said Jim softly. "You two hardly left on the best of terms."

"Must have been weird seeing your dead brother show up like a ninja dressed from medieval times," Harvey chimed in, leaning into her so Tabitha glared at him irately.

Slowly, she glanced between them before lowering the duffel bag full of clothes to the floor and then took two steps to a table on which an empty glass and a bottle of whiskey sat. Silently, she poured the bottle one-fourth of the way.

"That thing that stabbed your captain last night was not my brother. It was a three-hundred-year old assassin who went by the name 'Azrael'."

Sylvia rolled her eyes, muttering, "That name again."

Ignoring her, Tabitha continued, "That image I saw on the news—his clothes, the way he walked—that was Azrael. A mythical figure worshipped by the monks who raised my brother. A cold-hearted killing machine that was sent into the night to kill his master's enemies...and he wants you."

Jim and Harvey exchanged skeptical looks.

"An ancient assassin?" Jim scoffed.

"A legend." Tabitha emphasized. "My family used to tell stories of him."

"You mean, he was real?"

"Who knows. It was three hundred years ago. Probably, yeah."

"So, your brother's gone nuts?" guessed Harvey.

Tabitha put down the glass, approached Harvey and said smartly, "I don't know. You tell me. Theo convince you that he was Azrael last night or do you think he was acting? Someone got into my brother's head…It's not a safe place to be."

Jim said gingerly, "If you're right, I want to find this person. But in order for me to do that, I have to find your brother first. So help me."

"If a search team finds him," Harvey added, "They're gonna kill him."

"Or I will," Sylvia muttered, crossing her arms.

Tabitha frowned at her, saying, "Why are you here, anyway?"

"I like gate crashing," Sylvia replied, smiling sarcastically. "Makes me happy, gives me the jollies. As many times as you barged into my home, I figured I ought to do the same. See how it makes you feel? The only difference is that I didn't intimidate your people."

"I think she charmed her way in here," Butch said, glancing back at the front entrance. "I had three people placed outside those doors! And I had ten of 'em on the walkway!"

Tabitha glared: "You've killed my brother once already. Wasn't that good enough?"

"Nah," Sylvia said, shaking her head. "Given the option, I'd probably do it another twenty times, and it still wouldn't be good enough. It'd probably make me feel a little better though."

"Vee!" Jim snapped. "Could you not!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah!" Sylvia returned, waving her hand dismissively at him.

Jim turned back to Tabitha.

"You have to help me find him. He's still your brother, after all. He's blood."

Tabitha considered these words: "The sword that was used last night, the one that broke—it was fake."

"And you know this, how?" Harvey asked.

"The real one belonged to my grandfather. He was an antiquities collector, obsessed with Dumas history. I saw it once. It was beautiful, forged by the monks themselves. It's said to hold supernatural powers. Theo knew this. It's possible he'll attempt to steal it back."

"Does your grandfather still have it?" asked Harvey.

"And where is he?" Jim questioned.

"Gotham Cemetery. My grandfather has been dead for twenty years." Tabitha returned.

Crestfallen looks from Harvey and Jim made Tabitha smile a little, but she added mischievously, "He was buried with his treasures."

"So, we're going to a graveyard?" Harvey said falteringly, glancing at Jim.

"Whatever it takes," Jim said, rubbing his hands together. He glanced at Sylvia, "Coming, Vee?"

"Oh, am I allowed to talk now?" Sylvia said snidely.

Tabitha chuckled, "I guess most pigeons aren't allowed inside because of the useless noise they make."

"Stop calling me that."

"I've heard bird boy call you 'Pigeon' several times," She sneered. "I don't understand why you respond to that one. It doesn't suit you. Perhaps 'Swallow' is better for you. Bet Penguin would like that more, wouldn't he."

Sylvia stepped towards her. Jim and Harvey exchanged uneasy expressions. Butch stepped out of the crossfire, inching away to stand beside Jim. Tabitha smirked at her.

"You really want me to kill you, don't you?" Sylvia said coolly—in spite of her patient tone, her neck and ears had become flushed with both irritation and embarrassment.

"You know I like pushing your buttons."

"You're about to push the wrong ones."

"I think I'm pushing the right ones…Pigeon."

"Vee, no!" Jim quickly grabbed Sylvia's arm and yanked her back just as she pulled a switchblade from the pocket of her coat, lunging for Tabitha's neck.

Once Jim restrained Sylvia, Harvey grabbed her switchblade.

"Vee, stop! Vee…hey, hey, look at me…Look at me."

She looked at him.

"Don't let her get to you like that. She's just trying to bait you."

"If she wants to die faster and sooner, who am I to deny that type of request?"

Tabitha yawned, "Gonna have to try harder than that if you wanna get to me, little Pigeon."

Sylvia advanced towards her with Jim's arm separating the two women.

"Goddamn it, Vee, calm down—"

"One day, you're not going to have any guards or my brother keeping you safe," Sylvia threatened, glaring daggers at her. "When that day comes, I'm going to put a fucking knife down your fucking throat and watch you drown in your own goddamn blood, you fucking bitch!"

She turned on her heel and stormed out.

Already exhausted, Jim let out a deep sigh while Harvey, whose eyebrows were raised high, smiled in spite of himself, clearly impressed.

Tabitha looked at Butch, expecting him to act or say something after Sylvia's threat but Butch silently placed his arm around her waist, and encouraged her to keep moving.

Even he thought Tabitha had pushed a boundary.

Twenty minutes later, Sylvia, Jim, Harvey, and Tabitha all stepped out of a car and walked up to a large building along the outskirts of Gotham Cemetery, which was pretty big for all the people buried there. Jim and Harvey managed to become a barrier between the two women as either of them were willing to put a knife in the other's throat at the first opportunity they had.

Behind a locked gate was the Dumas crypt, to which Tabitha didn't have a key.

"You're a Dumas and you don't have a key?" Sylvia questioned sardonically. "What good are you?"

"You don't have a key either, you know."

"I'm not part of that decrepit family of yours."

"Right, like your family is all gold and glamor."

"A lot more glamorous than yours," Sylvia said, sticking her tongue out at Tabitha, who returned the childish antic.

"It's going to be a long day if these two keep going at it," Harvey muttered.

Jim uttered under his breath, "Well, at least they stopped trying to kill each other. That's an improvement."

"Compared to what?"

"You got a point."

"So if no one has a key," said Harvey with mild amusement, "how are we getting into this thing?"

Jim looked around, finding a tool shed. He left, shortly retreating with a crow bar. With it, he unhinged the lock from its placement; through the gate, they pressed on. Opening the door to the crypt was easier, all things considered. All four persons entered inside, and the spider webs, rats, and sun-stained glass welcomed their intrusion.

"Dark, dusty, uninhabitable by humans," Sylvia mused. "Like Tabitha's sex life."

"Fuck you." Tabitha hissed.

"Fuck you? No thanks." Sylvia said, raising a hand. "Not interested."

"I guess if it doesn't waddle or limp, it doesn't do anything for you, huh?"

"Well, in hindsight, I don't pander to people who follow losers."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means whatever you want it to mean—whichever pisses you off more,' Sylvia said with a cheeky smile.

"Fuck you."

"You keep coming onto me, but I'm still not interested."

Tabitha scoffed, "Go fuck yourself."

"I'll do that when I get back home; in the meantime, you can go find a cactus to blow."

"Not until you find one first."

"Ohhh, nice comeback—where'd you find that one: in your daddy's closet?"

"LADIES!" Harvey shouted, his voice echoing off the burial stones.

Tabitha and Sylvia glared at one another before moving forward and purposely keeping enough distance between them. Sylvia glanced at the stones, wondering how on earth anyone was to know which burial box was one person's or another. No names, no markings, or engravings of any kind.

"This is it." Tabitha said, patting the flat stone of a single coffin. "This one belongs to my grandfather."

Jim circled it, preparing his crow bar for the ultimate dig, but Harvey said nervously, "Hey, hey, wait, wait, wait…I think we're breaking more than a few laws here, don't you think?"

Jim stared at him: "Really? This is where you draw the line?"

"Come on…." Harvey said weakly. "This doesn't creep you out even a little bit! It's friggin' grave robbing!"

"Whatever it takes," Jim said with finality. "Do you care to help me out, at least?"

"I'm not touching that thing. Not even getting anywhere near it."

Sylvia spoke from the sidelines: "I'll help."

She shrugged off her coat, handing it to Harvey, who gladly took it and preferred to be a coat rack than to dare disturb the dead.

After Jim broke the lock, he and Sylvia moved the stone lid with equal measure. Sylvia brushed her hands on the lap of her pants after, glancing inside to see a skeleton, holding a beautiful sword. Along with this weapon, senior Galavan (or Dumas) was buried with what appeared to be a music box, a few jewels, and a crown that bore tiger eye rock-stones.

"It was said to be Azrael's sword, up until the end." Tabitha narrated, looking at the sword with a loving gaze.

"He died?" Jim asked.

"No. He disappeared. Azrael is thought to be immortal. Or as the stories say."

"That's all they are though, right?" said Harvey uncertainly. "'Stories'."

Sylvia sat on the edge of the burial box, saying, "If I took any event that happened in Gotham and told it to anyone that wasn't living within a country mile of this city, that's what they'd think it was: a story. 'Former Mayor Comes Back to Life' would make the Top 100 Best-Selling Novels."

"Would you be serious for a moment?" Harvey snapped.

"In fact, this whole thing would be a great episode for Tales of The Crypt. You know, since we're literally standing in one."

"Vee…." Jim sighed, looking at her tiredly.

"Just being candid."

"You're being disrespectful."

"We are desecrating, and literally robbing a grave as we speak, and I am being disrespectful?" Sylvia questioned skeptically. "Please."

Jim rolled his eyes and then slowly pried the sword from the grandfather's hands. Admiring it, he uttered, "It is beautiful."

"I'll take that."

Sylvia, Harvey, Tabitha, and Jim all startled to see a man dressed in the leather garb and wearing a metal-like helmet standing in the middle of the entrance to the crypt.

And then everyone reacted: Jim quickly tossed Tabitha the sword, while pulling out his gun; Sylvia snatched the gun nestled between the waistband of her jeans and her shirt, cocked it and pointed it at 'Azrael' while Harvey, who was stuck at the front lines, was thrown out of the way, and tumbling on the stone-cold floor.

Then it became a fire fight, with Sylvia and Jim shooting bullets, all of which were deflected or missing Galavan. Like a shadow, it was as though all the ammo was phasing through him or maybe he wasn't feeling any pain. Either way, the what-could-have-been-a-man advanced towards Jim, and within seconds of the encounter, Jim was thrown over a tombstone.

Then he came towards her.

And her gun was out of ammo.

"Well, I'll be a fucking—ergghh!" She managed and was cut off before Galavan grabbed her throat with a single hand, wrapping his fingers around her neck and hoisting her in the air; her feet left the ground.

"My quarrel is not with you," He said with a voice that reminded her of a machine.

"You're trying….to kill...my brother," Sylvia said with a strangled voice. "So your…quarrel…is with me!"

He threw her two burial crates away from him, and she grunted with the impact, feeling her spine strike the stone wall. It wasn't the best feeling in the world, but it could have been much worse. Shaken, she looked up to see Galavan stride towards Jim, picking him up by the shoulders and then burrowing punches into Jim like no tomorrow as he said, "JAMES GORDON: Time. To. Die!"

With one heavy punch after another that made Sylvia cringe, Galavan punched Jim, then threw him again. This time, his body went out the door.

"Oh, god! Jim!" Sylvia called worriedly, running after him.

And soon after, the door close behind her. It slammed shut!

"Tabitha!" Sylvia shouted. She grabbed the door, trying to pry it open, but it didn't budge. "Tabitha, what the fuck do you think you're doing! HE'S NOT YOUR BROTHER!"

Then she stopped for a second.

Why was she trying to go back for a woman that killed her own mother-in-law? That didn't make any sense.

Sylvia's hand dropped from the door. If Tabitha wanted to die trying to bring her brother back to whatever life he had, let her. She had to make sure Jim was alright!

She bent down to stoop by his side.

"Jim! Jim!" She said firmly, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. "I know you're not dead, you idiot! Wake the fuck up!" She slapped him once. "WAKE UP!" Then twice.

"Ow! What the hell, Vee! Stop hitting me!" Jim said, pushing her away from him. "What—where's Azrael?"

"He's not real. Galavan, on the other hand, is real. And that fucking bitch just locked herself inside that tomb with him! Great idea, bringing her along!"

"We have to get in there!"

"I know! That's why I've been trying to wake you up!"

Jim stood, followed soon after by his sister, and he tried opening the door.

"I tried that!" Sylvia snapped. "Don't you think I would have?"

"Well, I didn't know. We have to find something to open it."

"The crow bar's inside."

"You don't know how to pick a lock?"

"It's a fucking door handle—what the hell am I supposed to pick!" Sylvia shouted incredulously. "I'm not a goddamn locksmith."

"Then break the door in."

"That's your job, Jim. You're the fucking cop!"

"Well, step back then."

Sylvia dramatically emphasized the importance of giving him space, sarcastically taking three large steps back while Jim sent her a look of derision. With two strong kicks to the door, Jim broke in, only to get brutally pushed to the side by Galavan as he strode past them.

When they'd been pushed to the side, Jim had hit his head none too gently against the corner of the burial box while Sylvia fell over a body, lying on the floor, bleeding.

Bleeding?

"What the…." Sylvia mumbled, lifting her hands to see blood on them. It was only then when she realized who she had fallen on and why. "Tabitha?"

Tabitha sent her a leering glance but that's all she could muster. Jim joined Sylvia on the other side of the bleeding woman, taking Miss Galavan's hand. Running up to help was Harvey, who looked equally concerned for all three of them—at least he didn't mind being in a crypt so much now. He had a phone pulled out, speaking to the GCPD on the other line.

"This is Bullock. I need back-up in the Gotham Cemetery. Galavan's in the wind…again. I need an ambulance. Now!"

"I'm sorry…." Tabitha said through a strained voice. "I'm sorry…."

"For what?" Jim asked.

"I made him remember."

"Remember what?"

"Bruce." Tabitha grunted. Panting, she uttered, "'Death to the Son of Gotham'."

The look on Jim's face scared Sylvia more than what Tabitha had said.

"Stay with her," Jim ordered. "I'm going to find Bruce."

"Jim—" Sylvia began, standing.

"Stay with her—"

"Harvey can stay with her!" Sylvia snapped. "I'm coming with you!"

"It's too dangerous! You'll get killed!"

"I'm always in danger, and you're out of your mind if you think I'm going to let you take on Galavan by yourself!" Sylvia shouted.

"I wouldn't argue with her," Harvey warned.

"I know." Jim grumbled. Without another second's consideration, he said, "Fine! Come with me!"

Sylvia and Jim ran out of the tomb with Harvey telling Tabitha, "It'll be okay, it'll be okay."

Now in Harvey's police car, Sylvia was driving while Jim dialed the number for the Wayne Manor. Sylvia was a mad, crazy driver, but she was good; she ran all the lights, shot through stop signs, but dodged any and every car that nearly T-boned them. As good as a driver she was, Jim still was cautious, holding onto the 'oh shit' handle occasionally when the close calls came too close for comfort.

"Come on, come on," Jim grumbled.

"No answer yet?"

"None—oh wait..." Jim said, hopeful.

Someone picked up.

"Where's Bruce?"

"Alfred picked up?" Sylvia questioned, concerned.

Jim nodded in answer to her inquiry.

"Alfred, do you know where Bruce is?….Where in the city….All right, well, we need to find him; Galavan could be coming after him….He was after me; Tabitha must have jogged his memory, reminded him of his original mission: Kill Bruce Wayne."

"What a marvelous mission at that," Sylvia said resentfully. "What that poor boy ever did to him is beyond my understanding."

"No, no, you stay there in case Bruce comes home," Jim told Alfred, glancing at Sylvia irritably. "Where's the last place you saw him in the city?"

"Probably in an alley."

"Collins and Delaney," Jim repeated as Alfred informed him.

"Pretty much an alley."

"Vee, shut up! No, Alfred—no, Sylvia's with me."

"Tell him I said 'hi'."

Jim rolled his eyes.

"We're going to try to look for Bruce there. Until then, be safe."

There was a received message of doing the same and then Jim hung up, shooting a hard look at her.

"You didn't tell Alfred I said 'hi'." Sylvia noted she saw Jim's frown. "You're irritated with me, aren't you?"

"How'd you guess."

"Well, aside from your occasional frustrated looks, I couldn't figure. Care to explain?"

"You choose the worst times to be funny."

"Well, at least I make an effort at humor. What are you doing to help the situation? Skulking about?" Sylvia said, twisting her face to look like a depressed, erratic teenager. "What good has that ever done?"

"Forget timing—you were provoking Tabitha earlier."

"She provoked me first."

"When?"

"Honestly, any time I see her." Sylvia admitted. "Her very existence gives me the symptoms that are not unlike the bubonic plague. And she's provoked me plenty of times since we had shown up to her place to demand her help."

"I understand 'Pigeon' is what Oswald calls you—"

"You're goddamn right!" Sylvia said hotly. "And only he is allowed to call me that. No one else!"

"Tabitha's only doing it to get under your skin."

"Don't think I know that, do you?" Sylvia spat. "I know she says it to get under my skin. She's practically a leech by now—but I can't help it. Just because I know she's doing it doesn't make me any less inclined to rip her lungs out when she does it."

Jim sighed, "Well, she's going to be in the hospital now. Does that make you feel any different?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't put her there," Sylvia said dangerously. "Now if I had been the one to cause her that pain, I'd probably feel a little better about her condition, would I not?"

"You're about to—"

"I saw the sign, I saw the sign, just let me find a place to park."

Sylvia chose the alley itself to park, and she glanced around.

"I don't see Bruce or any characters from a story jumping and slaughtering about. Perhaps we should try a different alley?"

"No. Just go to the Manor."

"Roger that!" Sylvia put the car in reverse, floored the gas until the back of the vehicle struck the alley wall, jacked the stick into drive, and gunned it down the street with its rear end fishing left and right until it straightened out completely.

As she did, Sylvia ordered Jim to get her phone out of her coat.

"Who are you calling at this hour?" Jim questioned.

"Back up," She answered briskly, grabbing the phone from him. She hit the number-one speed dial. It only rang a few times before the other line picked up.

"Pigeon?"

"It's me," Sylvia said quickly. "Oz, I know where Galavan is."

"Where?"

"Wayne Manor. Galavan's there—He's trying to kill Bruce. Jim and I are en route. I don't know if I'm going to be able to take this fucker down with just guns alone; We've shot him—god, I don't know how many fucking times, but he's not dead yet."

"How long until you're there?"

"Twenty minutes on an atlas, but I can there in less than ten." Sylvia said, baring her teeth as she accidentally mounted a curb. "Goddamn it! Did I just pop a tire?!"

"No! You're fine, just keep driving!" Jim quipped.

"I just want you to know that if I don't make it out of this, you'll kill the bastard—and you'll make sure he stays dead." Sylvia said, mentally slapping herself when her voice came out painfully desperate.

It took less than five minutes to get to the Wayne Manor, even though it had been 20-minute drive. Wasting no time in saying her good-byes, Sylvia hung up.

"There's a .44 in the glove compartment." Jim said quickly before hopping out of the car; Sylvia grabbed it before following him closely. Just outside the gate was Galavan and Bruce Wayne, who was on his knees, struggling to get that last bit of air until Galavan finally let him go.

He was going to kill the child with a straight bullet to the eyes.

Before Galavan could execute him, Jim raised his gun and shot bullet after bullet into him. Sylvia ran past Galavan, grabbed Bruce's arm and pulled him out of the line of fire, meeting Alfred at the car, which had evidently been used to farm Galavan down until it didn't.

"Sylvia—"

"Keep your head down, Bruce!" Sylvia shouted, pushing the boy to Alfred, who, with relief, took him into his arms. The three of them knelt down against the car, watching Jim pull the trigger almost ten times, and Galavan take each bullet until no bullets were left.

And he was down.

Sylvia stood and met Jim at Galavan's wayside.

"Is he dead, do you think?" She asked uncertainly.

"Normally, I'd say 'yes', but now I'm not so sure."

Sylvia cocked the .44.

"What the hell are you doing?" Alfred asked.

"Making sure." She answered, before pointing the barrel at Galavan's body and pumping five more rounds into him.

At first, it didn't move.

"I think he's dead now, dear." Alfred offered.

And then it did. He stood up.

Jim took his gun out and pulled the trigger. Nothing came out. Sylvia sighed, and gave him a look.

"And this is why we check to make sure the dead people are really dead, boys." Sylvia grumbled.

"Aren't you going to shoot him, then!"

"How the fuck can I do that, Alfred, if I don't have any ammo left!" To prove a point, Sylvia pulled the trigger and nothing came out of her gun either.

"Let me see that!" Jim snapped, grabbing her gun.

"You don't think I know how to shoot a fucking gun!" Sylvia retorted.

"Maybe it's jammed—"

"—It's not jammed—"

"—You never know—"

"—I'm not a fucking kid with a fucking gun, Jim. I know it's not fucking jammed, and I know it's empty!" Sylvia said hoarsely.

Galavan started stepping towards them.

"You want to insult me right before we get murdered?" Sylvia said hotly. "How not unlike you, James Gordon!"

Jim aimed the gun at Galavan, like it would magically reload. At the same time, Alfred stood in front of Bruce while Jim put an arm in front of Sylvia as though these two loving barriers would shield them from any harm that Galavan would later inflict.

"You should know by now, Jim, that bullets can't kill this monster!"

Jim lowered his gun slowly while Galavan turned to face the owner of the voice, although Sylvia already knew who its owner was as she was grinning widely from ear-to-ear.

Standing with an umbrella in hand, and a smile on his face was Oswald. He clicked the tip of the umbrella on the pavement before lifting it up pointedly, adding, "My last one got stuck in your throat; I'm thinking of shoving this one somewhere else."

Warily, Galavan raised his sword to Oswald's level.

Unaffected by it, Oswald addressed Jim: "A little tip for next time. Always bring the right tools for the job. See you in Hell, Theo."

Advancing on Oswald's left was Butch, holding a rocket launcher. Oswald in his own strolling fashion stepped aside; Sylvia, Jim, and Alfred simultaneously took Bruce and moved out of the way as Butch armed his large weapon, and launched a rocket at Galavan.

After the big boom, what was left of Galavan was now crumpled, flaming pieces on the pavement. Sylvia squeaked and ran to Oswald, happily hugging him around the middle.

Butch glanced at Sylvia warily, uncomfortable. With working with Tabitha beforehand and now his lady love being put in the hospital, and having partnered with Oswald, Butch seemed uncertain as to where he stood where Sylvia was concerned.

She gave him a once-over but said nothing of fact.

"Coming back?" Sylvia asked Oswald hopefully, referring to his return as Gotham's Kingpin.

"Oh, I'm coming back. But not to Falcone's mansion. But mine."

"That's a wonderful idea."

Oswald smiled at her: "I thought you would think so." Then, to Jim, he said, "You're welcome, by the way."

After saying so, Sylvia walked back with him to the car, leaving Jim, Bruce, and Alfred all looking at each other with a mixture of relief, confusion…but mostly relief.

Relief that the monster tormenting Gotham was dead, and would never return.

However, unknown to Bruce, Alfred, Sylvia and Oswald, and the GCPD, the madness of Gotham had only just begun.