2014.06.18 - You Cannot Serve Two Masters

Word came to the Red Hood in short order; delivered in a manner that would impress even him. Blockbuster had established a multi-layered system. Once a week, there's a chance for a certain section of the Gotham Post to contain a hidden message within the For Sale section on Exotic Birds. A simple numeric cipher derived from the alphabet of the entry including telephone number will amount to exactly 50. 
The chance of this happening randomly is next to nil, especially given bird sales on a Wednesday are not particularly high. Once called, it is supposed to ring 5 times and go to voicemail without being answered. Then, the Hood simply says something related to the purchase... that also uses the cipher and ends in a total of 50. 
Given that this only takes place if there's a need to get in contact, there's no chance of a trail. The final step is, one hour after the voice mail, the phone the Hood uses rings there times, then hangs up. That is the last indication to come to Blockbuster's mansion for a personal chat. It must be something important... after all, it means he is excluding any of his numerous intermediaries from even the possibility of finding out something is going on.
The balcony, as before, is the entry point, and is no more locked on subsequent visits than it was the first time. Roland is within his office, listening to a Shakespearean tragedy on cassette. A stack of case files is on his desk. Currently he's reading one called 'Nygma, Edward'. "There are a number of interesting assets within Gotham. Such a shame that not everyone chooses to use genius to broader goals." He sets it aside. Interest in the Riddler isn't why he came here.
	Jason, still in helmet and in no rush to take it off, arrived as quietly as he could. With Bruce out of town, he was able to swing by the man who hd taken him under his proverbial wing as he continued to work both for and against Batman in Gotham. It was a fine line to walk, this razor's edge -- and he could already feel it cutting into his boots. He wondered how long he'd be able to keep it up before he had to choose a side, once and for all.
	He frowned behind his mask at the file folder, and the commentary on Gotham's assets. "Nygma is a weasel, and playing at reform. Couple of big cases lately, but nothing that was truly important." 
	IT's a lie that sours in his mouth; Edward helped take out the Court of Owls, and that helped exile the Bruce Wayne of another world back to his dead planet. He was a Bruce Wayne that finally reconciled with his long-dead son, a Bruce Wayne that shared and understood Jason's rage, even as he regretted it....
	Blockbuster was no father-figure, though. This was not family. No mafia bullshit about the bonds of blood. Just business. 
	"What did you need me for?"
	"Nygma is a genius. Beyond me, in certain areas. And I am not a humble man." is all Roland Desmond offers. "Insanity is but an obstacle. What matters is what lies beneath." Unsurprising a man as monstrous looking as him believes in such a creed. "But how I use what Gotham has is not relevant to you. If you've some affection for this 'Riddler', I'll take it into consideration when I deal with him. Otherwise, we'll move on to prudent matters."
Slowly, Roland Desmond pushes to his feet. "I've decided the best method for us to mutually work. You will be my enemy." This is said quite suddenly. "After all, eventually you will turn on me. In such a case, you have nothing but a history of opposing me. If handled correctly, when we part ways, I will have sufficient blackmail that you will not be a threat able to destroy me. And, most important to you, you will retain your independence. So. What do I gain from this?"
A huge hand raps on the wall. The door opens, and in walks a BCPD agent smoking a cigarette. Marco Julius. He looks stern and unhappy, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant. "It has come to my attention that Nightwing has begun investigating me. I knew nobody would admit to being shaken down. By proclaiming it a death sentence, I needed only to wait for someone to try to hide an encounter. The seed has sprouted." Outside the door, a fat man laying in a pool of blood with his head rotated 180 degrees is seen before it clicks shut.
"So. You will beat this man up. Beat him up until he can barely breathe. Then you will bring him to Nightwing. And he will spout the carefully planted lies that I have told him, to draw the Batman's protege in exactly the direction I want him. Bludhaven fits you. A den where only violence gains answers. You will ingratiate yourself to Nightwing. Earn yourself favor. Join his side. And then, you shall be my eyes. My spy. If you could join him, join the Batman, then your future influence in Gotham will rise all the higher."
Roland settles back in his chair. "The first step, Mr. Hood, is information. And we must know the movements of our enemies. I have lured those from Gotham into my city. You, included. Each will be dealt with... exactly as required. To benefit our plan... of conquering the city."
Detective Julius stands tall, teeth grit, unblinking, as the folder housing Nygma is slowly closed.
	"Riddler can end up in a body bag at the end of the day and I'll shed no tears," Jason said -- and it was true. Reform for a man like Nygma was a lie. He was a sham. He'd revert, and when he did, Bruce would try and put him a box he couldn't figure out... and fail. "I don't have 'feelings' for the scum of Gotham. They need to be put down if they can't be controlled." 
	He itched for a cigarette, as Roland went on. The sudden suggestion of a double-agent ploy created a frission of fear -- he was careful. So careful. No one should know where he vanished to when he was with Bruce, just as the Bats shouldn't know he was making his way here some nights. 
	He remained silent, letting his tension work through him, bleeding out through the soles of his feet as he worked it through his body, refused to let it master him. But as Roland went on, unfurling his beautiful plan... Jason's heart soared. He didn't know. He was not safe, but that secret had not been spilled.
	"I can do that," he said, letting confidence ring true in his voice. He could. Because he was already one of them. His eyes flicked to to the side, to the detective-- unseen in the mask. 
	Julius was going to only live long enough to spill. And then... then he would have to die. There'd be no way, seeing them together, that he wouldn't realize that the Red Hood and Nightwing were already deeply familiar with each other, working in synch like well oiled machines. 
	Cold blooded murder of a crooked cop. A lie to Dick. Bruce's rules broken. Jason didn't mind being the Judas here-- especially not for the payout it promised. 
	He had just the poison to handle it.
	"Exactly." Roland states, grinning with huge teeth. "I am finding those in Gotham I CAN control. Like you. Not all of them require force. Some money. Some words. Some respect. I know what it is to be nothing. To be judged. I used to be a small, weak, stupid man. A family that made me feel small, made me feel like nothing. Do you know what that is like...?" An abrupt shift to a personal topic. It might not be expected. But there's curiosity within Roland, staring at Red Hood as if trying to understand the man beyond his uniform and codename...
"Do it." Roland states, simple and to the point. Gesturing to the Red Hood. Apparently, he wishes the beating to take place here, where it can be seen. For what reason remains unknown. "I have to make sure he survives your beating. If he does not speak his lies to Nightwing, then all of this is a useless ploy."
Trying to pull one on this man... can Jason do it? What would happen if he was caught? Is his secret even truly a secret, or is the man pretending not to know? That craggy, brutish face shows a predatory intelligence, and nothing more. All of the reading and mastery of body language and psychology are useless.
	"I'm no one's son."
	What he is? Is a master of multiple forms of combat. But this requires Bruce's touch. The ability to harm but not kill. But he has to hide it. To those who know combat, a style is a bloodlie, tracing you back to your parents, your teachers. He had to cut Bruce out of his limbs at the root of himself.
	He lets the serpentine, deadly style of the League bleed through him. Let the military teachers that Talia arraned for him echo out in the strikes that were to immobilize. He buried hours and hour and hours of training with Bruce deep in his belly, refused to let it bleed into his limbs. There were a thousand styles he could use... even if Bruce's style was most effiencient.
	Julius would regret this, later. He didn't have to kill him here. No, he could be dosed. Maybe not even death -- maybe just the long sleep, a coma. Something that simulated brain trauma....
	"Good. Neither am I. The man I was is dead. All I have are faded memories. And none of them are pleasant." Roland allows. He watches, closely. The eyes of a man with genius beyond traditional means. Every blow, every flex. The Red Hood is trained. And he can tell, keenly, the lengths he goes to hide such from him. It is the notes that are missing from the song of Julius' savage beatings that he takes mental note of. When it's over, the BCPD detective is cursing and hacking bloodily on the ground.
"He is yours." Roland states, matter of factly. "Take him. Use any street level thugs as bodies you need. Concoct a story as you wish, with lead and blood to prove your lies. Very few are not replaceable at this stage of the game... we are, after all, only in the opening act."
	This was going to be a pain in the ass, Jason realized. He had what he needed-- but making the bodies... well, Dick was going to take poorly to that. But he could do it. Stage it. He knew what Dick would look for.
	So it would have to be there.
	"Alright, sunshine. I left your legs mostly intact. Let's go."
	He dragged Julius to his feet... and marched him toward his inevitable death, and Jason's uneasy betrayal of the last family he had known.
	Roland watches as Jason leaves, grinning slightly to himself. Good. Hidden within Julius' back molar is a transmitter. When he bites on it, then audio will be sent. He is not going to trust the Red Hood. No; he'll be hearing every word spoken during the exchange. He will verify Julius doesn't betray him. He will verify that the Hood is doing what was asked. ...and if he finds out anything else... that will just be icing on the cake.
"Let the games begin..."
Category:Log