See No Evil: Aftermath (ch. 32) (Patreon)

Jim Gordon sighed as he watched Two-Face's body get rolled out. From his angle, he only saw the unburned half of his face. For a moment, it was like losing Harvey all over again.

Harvey Dent… when this city was at its worst, Harvey had been one of the few people Jim had put his faith in. The man was uncompromising, dedicated and charming. Despite everything that the city threw in his way, Harvey had been on track to becoming the DEA. Jim had respected him. Admired him, even.

They had been friends at one point. Bonding over the feeling of being the only uncorrupt cop or lawyer there was in the city. Harvey had come over for cookouts, he had been giving advice to a younger Barbara about pursuing a career in law…

Then that terrible attack happened. Harvey… Harvey had become Two-Face. There had been moments when the man he had once been peeked through… just enough to let Jim hope that Harvey could one day return.

Now… now he was just another body. The body bag zipped up, hiding his face, before it was rolled out of the modest bar.

"Your opinion, Rene?" Jim asked, looking to one of his trusted detectives. The dark-skinned women glanced over at Vergil St. Jude, a young man with his hands clasped in front of him, dressed in a suit as he spoke with an officer. He looked young. Too young. Like a child trying to make himself more adult by dressing in a suit and getting a sharp haircut.

He also looked too young to be one of the rising stars in the city.

"Oh, he's lying," Rene answered with a shrug. "Gave us a solid story about being too scared and just hiding behind the counter, so he didn't see anything." Jim looked at Vergil, studying him. The young man was tense. Nervous, but not afraid. Not the kind of fear that would linger after a run-in with Two-Face and seeing a man die. "If word on the street is true, then he's not the type to scare so easily."

Word on the street about a secret homeless shelter open to all. Free food, free shelter, free clothing. All ran by a young man called Saint Vergil. Who was also being credited with giving out heaters to low-income housing by the hundreds.

Between the fall of the Blackgaters, the ensuing gang war… the GCPD's priorities had been elsewhere. Now that winter had arrived and hit Gotham like a sack of bricks, rumors about the mythical place exploded. Jim had already intended to investigate the place. Now it seemed that he had been given a reason.

"The place has been searched?" Jim questioned, wanting all the details before he began his investigation.

"Yes sir. If there's a stairway here, then it's a well-hidden one. The only thing downstairs is a man cave," Rene offered. They would need a court order to truly investigate the place. They would have better luck exploring the metro tunnels or having a source confirm the way.

"Hm," Jim muttered, nodding his thanks. He preferred going into interrogations with solid evidence, but if he couldn't have that, then he would just have to see what he could shake loose. "Keep an eye out. He let us search the place because he's confident we wouldn't find anything, but confidence can be misplaced." The smallest hint could be used to get a court order to have a proper search of the bar and building.

Rene nodded while Jim walked across the bar towards the alleged Saint. Officer Jenkins, a boy in blue, looked up before he got out of the chair. Vergil glanced up as well -- his body language was still tense, but he was doing a good job of keeping it off his face.

"Commissioner Gordon," he greeted with the friendly air of someone that had no reason to fear that the police commissioner was taking a personal interest in the case. "I was just going over my statement with Officer Jenkins here. Is there something else I can help you with?"

Jim offered a thin smile, "If you wouldn't mind answering some additional questions, it would be appreciated." Vergil's head dipped in a nod as he gestured to the chair in front of him. Jim took a seat, and now that he was closer, Jim really took the measure of the person sitting in front of him.

Dark blue eyes, black hair, a narrow jawline with a stubborn chin. Clean-shaven. Expensive looking suit -- wine-red dress shirt, black blazer, and tie with a watch on his wrist. Fingernails cut neatly. Gel in his hair. Neat, orderly, and someone mindful of control.

It fit his background. In Jim's experience, those that managed to get off the streets learned the value of things. Jason Todd was an example of that. He might prefer his old ratty hoodies, but that was because he was too self-conscious of anything else. Early on, when Jason first arrived in Wayne manor, Bruce had requested that he clear everything so the city would know the adoption was on the up and up. Jason had spilled a drink on a book and just about had a panic attack.

Vergil was cut from the same cloth. Orphaned young, lived on the streets for most of his life. Sixteen years old, and he was more than half a year from closing in on his seventeenth birthday.

Yet, here he was. Sitting in a sharp suit, in a building that he owned, running a company that was rising so fast that Gotham's elite were taking notice. In the span of a few months, Sainthood Enterprises went from a run of the mill company to a multi-million dollar success story.

"Ask away, sir," Vergil agreed. No lingering resentment to the police either. That was a red flag, but considering the circumstances, Vergil was likely hiding his resentment.

"Do you have any connection to Lowtown?" Jim started, hitting with a tough question right out of the gate, judging his reaction.

Vergil rose an eyebrow, "Lowtown? You mean the highly illegal homeless shelter that if I admitted I was running I would probably go to jail for the rest of my life?" He asked, not sounding impressed with the question. "No… no, I don't say I have any connection at all."

Interesting. "So, the rumors of you being Saint Vergil are…?"

"Vicious lies and slander," Vergil dismissed with a shake of his head.

"And the rumors that you run an organ harvesting operation and eat innocent babies?" Jim asked, fishing for a reaction.

"More lies. I've never once eaten a baby that didn't have it coming," Vergil replied instantly. Deflection with humor. Interesting. Very interesting. Simply because that wasn't a flat no. And that was telling.

Vergil wasn't trying particularly hard to hide his connection to Lowtown. He was denying it for legal reasons, which was understandable. So, if he flipped his answers…

'Yes, I have connections to Lowtown. I'm Saint Vergil. I don't eat babies.' Consistent. Vergil was telling him without telling him. The question was why?

"Lowtown and Saint Vergil have been building up a reputation for themselves. Bruce Wayne seems to like them -- found the heater distribution hilarious, apparently." Jim remarked, his fingers itching for a cigarette. Vergil had few reasons to be so cooperative, especially answering questions that were unrelated to the case that brought the police here. He was well within his rights to keep his mouth shut. But he wasn't.

"That's lovely to hear, but I'm afraid that breaking the law is still breaking the law. I do hope that you find Lowtown quickly. It might be in the middle of winter, but that isn't an excuse to loiter on government property or steal electricity and water," Vergil responded, his tone aloof but condemning.

Now Jim really wished he had a cigarette. If only his daughter handn't replaced the ones in his pack with some god awful spinach tasting ones that made him want to gag. Jim wasn't sure who taught her to pickpocket, but he was blaming Batman.

He tapped the table with his pointer finger a few times, letting his mind mull over what Vergil had said. Then he decided on an answer. "Perhaps, but… I prefer that people stay healthy and warm during a winter like this. Provided that Lowtown proves that all of the good things about it are true and the bad things are false… well, it's Gotham City. I have plenty of other concerns rather than a small homeless shelter."

Kids these days were terrifying, Jim thought to himself. It made him feel like an old man thinking that, but maybe he was. When he was Vergil's age, he had been washing cars to earn enough money to buy a motorbike to impress a girl in high school. Not taking advantage of the death of a major villain in Gotham to meet with the commissioner of the police to come to an agreement about the extremely illegal homeless shelter that he was running. When in the hell did that become normal?

"I can't say that I agree with the decision," Vergil said, his tone conveying his gratitude.

"Only after a thorough investigation. As you're well aware… anything that sounds too good to be true typically is," Jim pointed out. In the end, he meant what he said. Laws existed to protect people, but… if the law said that he had to send hundreds of homeless people to die of exposure, then that was a law Jim would ignore. The same way he ignored the law about vigilantism when it came to Batman.

The number of times that nearly cost him his job… he didn't care to count anymore. But, he stood by that decision, and he would make it again and again, because Gotham was better with Batman in it.

If it would be better with Lowtown and Saint Vergil?

That, Jim resolved, he would get to the bottom of.

With that thought in mind, Jim stood, “Thank you for your time, Mr. Jude. The cleanup crew will be here shortly,” he added, looking for a reaction from Vergil. The young man simply nodded, an easy smile on his face.

“Happy to help, Commissioner,” Vergil responded, sounding like he meant it.

Hm. Jim left the building after that, though not before casting a look at the bloodstain that had dried on the dark floor. Something that Jim noticed after being a cop for so long -- more often than not, the only time people picked dark wood flooring for a public place was to hide the bloodstains.

It was as he left that he finally gave in and opened up his pack and lit a cigarette. Foul smoke entered his lungs, the taste of it was absolute hell, but it gave him the kick of nicotine that he needed. Rene was giving him a judging look -- Jim suspected that Barbara had converted her to the cause, but she valued her job too much to take action. She’d just pass a message along to his daughter.

“Vergil St. Jude,” Jim muttered, heading to his cruiser while Rene fell in step. He waited until he was behind the driver’s seat, his cigarette dangling from his mouth. He took another deep drag before he snuffed out the foul-tasting cigarette in the ashtray. “How does a sixteen-year-old kid get the kind of money needed to start his own business?” Jim questioned, shifting the old cop car into drive before they took off back to the station.

“A flower business that opened up just before the start of winter,” Rene supplied, proving that she had already started looking into Vergil. Vergil St. Jude. That sounded like an assumed name.

Jim regretted putting out his cigarette, they always helped him think, but he couldn’t smoke with Rene in the car. Not when it was too cold to roll down the windows. “Business must be booming to start up a construction and game company a few months later,” he remarked as he drove.

“Dirty money?”

“Dirty money,” Jim agreed. Sixteen years old in charge of a multi-million dollar company that was less than a year old? Allegedly also in charge of a homeless shelter that hundreds lived in? It didn’t add up. His experience told him that Vergil was a proxy for one gang or another. Though, it was just a question of why and how. Was Vergil a victim of circumstance trying to make the most of a bad thing? Or did he sign his soul away for a taste of money and power?

The proper way to prove that was with a court order. Jim would bustle through the motions, but he knew that someone else had already gotten those records with less legal means. He’d just have to ask him to share.

Investigate the money, investigate his motives. Evidence always spoke louder than words. When Jim found something that Vergil didn't want him to, he would see how his story would change. And if he found nothing at all?

All the better. Jim hoped that he wouldn't find anything. He hoped that he spent the next few weeks tearing his hair out in frustration as he poured over evidence, looking for that stray clue that would unravel the entire story to reveal the truth… only to realize that what he saw and heard was the truth. He wanted to be wrong. Hoped that he was.

Every time he had been wrong about someone before, it was always for the worst. Faye Gunn, a once well-known and well-respected woman that ran a halfway home for wayward kids in Crime Alley. She had been one of the few people that had earned Jim's respect and admiration, just like Dr. Thompkins had. Only Faye Gunn had used the children in her care as drug runners and worse. Because no one suspected children.

So, Jim hoped that he was wrong about Vergil. About Lowtown. But he'd be damned if he didn't do his due diligence.

…

"You killed Two-Face," Jason Todd spoke to me, feeling bold now that there was no one else in the bar.

"That'd be a pretty impressive trick considering I was standing directly in front of him, and he was murdered from behind by one of his own men," I remarked to him, massaging my eyeballs as I felt a headache coming. This was not my week, was it? Should I have held off on reconstructing Lowtown until after Commissioner Gordon and Batman were done investigating the place?

The fact that Batman was back in town and he wasn't kicking my door down told me that Jason was running interference for me, however unknowingly. But now I just gave the Gotham Knight a damn good reason to pay me a visit. Of all the places that Two-Face could have kicked it, it had to be in my bar. What an absolute dick.

"So, that's why all the cameras turned off and no one saw shit?" Jason pressed, an argumentative quality in his voice. He was interrogating me, wasn't he? On whose orders? Batman's? Or was he doing it here and now of his own accord?

"Jason, you aren't an idiot so stop pretending that you are one," I snapped at him, feeling my temper flare as my mind fought to think over any one of a thousand different problems. "If I was going to murder Two-Face, I wouldn't do it on my fucking front doorstep," I added, aiming a glare at him. Jason glared back, a deep scowl on his face matched by a deeper frown.

"Then what the fuck was that phone call?" He demanded to know, and he really was interrogating me. Well… better Jason than Batman. I had to assume that every word I said would get picked apart by the world's greatest detective. Fuck. I did not need this problem dumped in my lap.

"You know exactly what that phone call was," I answered with a sigh, leaning back in my chair as I pinched the bridge of my nose. Stress headaches were the worst. Dropping my hand I gave a small shake of my head before I looked at Jason, wondering where exactly he fit in this mess. He wasn't on my side and I doubt that he ever would be, but convincing him that this shit was not on me could only help. "You know who was on the other end."

"Your boss. The Penguin," Jason voiced, a deadly edge in his tone. I made a gesture to show that he had guessed right but said nothing. It was a balancing game, in the end. And after so many weeks of avoiding it, I found myself right back on that tightrope. I couldn't spill my guts, which would raise the question of why I was spilling my guts to him of all people. Don't tell him enough, then I couldn't twist the story in my favor. "And he told you to let them go?"

"For… yes, Jason. I was told to let them go. Do you have any idea how letting them go like that fucks me in the long run? The cops are going to be all over the place. I'm betting I'm going to get a surprise visit from Batman that's going to end with me losing all of my teeth… someone killing Two-Face gave me a fucking laundry list of shit to deal with." I muttered darkly at him, dragging a hand over my face.

Jason shifted at that, "That's… fair, I guess. You wouldn't risk Lowtown with this shit," he seemed to agree with me. "So, why'd the Penguin tell you to let them go."

"I don't know," I lied. "But I'm pretty sure that he's the one that busted Two-Face out of Arkham, so I'm guessing that he has something planned. I just don't think that he planned for Two-Face to come here of all places," I offered. It was a bit too much information, I reflected, but when I saw Jason's eyes widen a fraction, I forced myself to scowl. "Shit, fuck. Don't… fuck. Keep that to yourself, Jason. Despite being an absolute pain in my ass, you're alright, and I don't want the Penguin arranging an accident for you because I said something I wasn't supposed to. Keep that to yourself. Don't say shit to anyone. Got it?" I stressed, pinning a look on the younger man.

Jason offered a cocky smirk, "I'm not afraid of the Penguin," he pointed out.

"Well I am," I told him, and it wasn't even a lie. "There are thousands of people down there. How many spies do you think he has amongst them?" I asked him, my tone sharp, and that cocky smirk fell when he realized he was about to receive a lecture. A long moment passed and he failed to answer. "Twenty that I know about. Some of them are LG. Two-Face snuck a fucking bomb into my house, Jason. What are the ones I don't know about sneaking in? Guns? More bombs? Do you honestly think for a second that the Penguin won't kill everyone down there if I give him a reason to? Like running my mouth when I shouldn't?" I snapped at him, letting my frustration color my tone.

Jason's lips thinned, "Maybe you should talk to Batman? When he shows up?" He offered like that was on the table.

"I'm not sure how much talking I'll be able to do with a mouth full of broken teeth," I pointed out, grasping at that idea like a lifeline.

A scoff escaped Jason, "Batman ain't like that. Not unless you give him a reason to." He argued, scowling at the idea.

I could work with this. "You say that like you know the guy,” I pointed out, my lips tugging into a frown. Cobblepot’s advice really did come through again. Forcing an expression on my face was a lot easier than keeping all of them off because there’s no way that I could have said that with a straight face.

Jason looked a bit put out for a moment, unsure what to say, as if both of us were saying things that we shouldn’t. In the end, he offered a small shrug. “I don’t,” he hedged, “but Bruce does. He funds the guy, you know? I don’t know who’s under the cowl, but I’ve seen him around. Wouldn’t exactly call the guy nice or anything, but he’ll give you a fair shake if he thinks you deserve one.”

And there was the issue, wasn’t it?

“If we deserve it, huh?” I muttered, letting out a sigh. “I’ll be honest, Jason. I couldn’t give less of a fuck about what Batman thinks Lowtown deserves if I tried.” That was the core issue. The source of my problems. I became someone that Batman would label an enemy and throw behind bars without a second thought. That wasn’t his fault, in the end. That was my decision. It’s always been my decision. Sure, things might have nudged my hand here and there…

But, at the end of the day… when I first entered the Penguin’s office, I chose to pull that trigger and commit cold-blooded murder.

“But,” I added, pinning a look on Jason, “I get that he’s not someone I can tell to fuck off without any issues. So… Jason, I need you to be honest with me. If I had something to tell Batman, could you get it to him?” I asked, leaning forward ever so slightly. Jason shifted where he stood, adopting a hesitant expression before he slowly walked forward and took a seat across from me.

“Depends on the message, I guess,” Jason hedged, but I knew that I had him hooked. I paused, searching his face for a moment, taking the moment to really consider what I was doing.

It was earlier than I would like. A lot earlier, but this was the plan all along. Just time tables moved right the fuck up from the distant future to right now.

“I’ve been gathering evidence that proves Oswald Cobblepot is the Penguin,” I told him, and Jason couldn’t keep the surprise off of his face. He shook his head, looking absolutely bewildered.

“What- Wait, what? How? Why?” He questioned, clearly caught off guard by the revelation, and I wondered if it was really that surprising.

“I got involved with the Penguin because I didn’t have a choice. I’m sure you heard some variation of the story… but I was working a henching job for the Penguin and someone put Tifa in a box. That box dropped, she came out drugged to hell and back… and I realized I was about to become a human trafficker,” I told him, getting my story in first. That’s what mattered most. Controlling the narrative. Coloring his perception of the truth so what I said would be the truth. “The thugs that were with us were drawn by the noise… They killed the other two that were with us. Me and Tifa barely got out.”

Jason listened quietly, and I sighed deeply. “Except that was the start of the problem. There was no running from the Penguin. Go to the police? We’d get bumped off before we made it to lockup. Flee the city? Thought about it, but he’d find us.”

“Why would he be looking?” Jason asked, an edge in his tone. I knew what he was asking.

“Because people died, and that makes him look weak,” I answered. I couldn’t confess to murder. Especially when I didn’t know if he knew about the bodies that I had made in that deal. “So, I had the brilliant idea to go to the Penguin. I figured I’d get his attention, and if I could make a deal with him, then Tifa and I would be fine. Course, while all of this was happening, those Jokers pieces of shit attacked Jack and the others in the sewers… and they were going to die without someone to help them out to prep for winter.”

I shook my head, “I figured I’d get my ass kicked. Maybe lose a kidney to cover costs. Instead, I got saddled with five million dollars of debt.” It was amusing, in a way. Without Lowtown… I could pay that off in a month or two. It was a comparatively small number to the amount that I needed to make to keep this place running. At the time, five million dollars seemed like an impossibly huge number. “Things were fine for a bit, but then I started up Sainthood Flowers. And 7th Heaven. Then… then I went from a bottom feeder runt in his organization to one of his favorites.”

“Because of your cards?” Jason hazarded a guess, earning a nod from me.

“For the most part. I ended up becoming someone that could offer him a lot more than just five million dollars. Which is why he invested another twenty million into me, letting me start up Sainthood Construction and Entertainment. And it was then that I realized that the Penguin wasn’t going to let me go or let go of this place. Ever. So… I started building evidence against him for when the time came he pushed too far, so I could blackmail him with it to let Lowtown go.” I continued, looking Jason in the eyes.

It was all the truth. Just with a few details missing or a fact here and there twisted a bit.

Jason seemed to mull that over before giving a slow nod, “I can pass that along, I guess. It might save you from a broken jaw,” he admitted. “But… what kind of evidence? And what’s up with those tunnels down there?”

I was hoping that he wouldn’t ask that, but I wasn’t surprised. “That was the Penguin,” I threw him under the bus without a second thought. “I mentioned during a meeting that Lowtown was beyond capacity. He said he’d take care of it, and the next thing I know Poison Ivy is on my doorstep, hands me a seed, and then she leaves.”

“So, the Penguin is the source of all your problems?” Jason questioned, needling my story in an attempt to poke a hole into it.

I shrugged, “It’s not like I don’t get anything from the arrangement. The Penguin is investing in my success because he wants to control this place through me. But, if I snip his strings on me, then I’m in a nice spot. Being CEO of a company, in charge of Lowtown -- I could do without all the stress and sleepless nights, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” I could admit it. I had said as much to Waylon. I had plenty of regrets, but I would just avoid the mistakes that I’ve made.

And coming to Gotham wasn’t a mistake.

“He has me moving drugs. A lot of them. But, because of that… I’ve been able to record him talking about it. Ordering me to go to Brazil to pick up about a hundred million in cocaine and bring it here, or telling me that he’s going to start a gang war with some bottom feeder gang to remind everyone not to mess with the Penguin Mob. It’s not as ironclad as I would like, but… Batman could put him away with it. You know, if the judge and jury aren’t bribed to hell and back,” I finished.

This would be how I did it. Things would need to be put into motion right the fuck now, but… I could snip the strings that were on me and Lowtown. And I could use Batman to do it without Cobblepot being any the wiser.

“Then you’re out of the drug business?” Jason questioned, and he really needed to get better at hiding the fact that he’s Robin.

“Never wanted to be in it in the first place, Jason,” I told him. And how things had changed in a handful of months. “I just don’t want to go down for it. Batman is free to burn whatever drugs he finds in Sainthood Flowers. I’ve never made a secret about that,” I added. I already told them about it. If anything, I was surprised that Batman hadn’t done anything about it yet.

Jason nodded, “Okay. I’ll talk to Bruce -- won’t say about what, but I’ll get him to pass a message along to Batman.” Perfect. Then Jason stood up, “I’ll go ahead and do it now. Before the paparazzi show up,” he added.

I took in a deep breath and returned the nod. The die had been cast. “Thank you, Jason. I mean it,” I offered and I really, really, really hoped that this didn’t end with us becoming enemies. If I could forever remain under Batman’s radar, then I’d be happy to. I’d much rather deal with Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd rather than Batman and Robin.

“Don’t worry about it, I guess,” Jason offered, sounding like he was about as uncomfortable with praise as I was. He chose to leave through the Staircase's front door rather than the tunnel. I remained in my chair for a long moment after he left, mulling over everything that had just happened.

I had a loose string floating in the wind that I needed to tie down. Two-Face's gang… if I could use them to jumpstart my less than savory practices… then I needed to do it now. Fake names, false identities, and I would be able to place the entirety of the blame directly on Mr. Cobblepot if I got caught somehow.

I needed to be seen as a middleman, the one that just did what their boss told them rather than the puppet master pulling the strings.

Still, I needed to prepare for a confrontation with Cobblepot. This whole mess was good in showing me exactly how lacking my security was. I had made great strides with it, but not enough. I needed better security. Cameras and microphones weren’t enough anymore. I needed X-rays to check what was coming in and out, I needed lists of everything that was brought in, I needed to know who brought it in, why, and where exactly they brought it.

This wouldn’t happen again. I'd said that once already with the Blackgaters… and I thought I had solved the problem. I didn’t. I ramped up my security to an eight out of ten, but now… now I wanted it to be a hundred out of ten. I wanted Batman to be at a loss when he tried to get into this place. I also needed to lead the cops around by the nose for a bit…

Fuck my life. Of all people, why did Cobblepot have to release Two-Face from Arkham?

I had to get moving. There wasn’t a lot of time. The vultures were circling, and I…

I moved to get up, but a flash of light caught my attention. My gaze drifted up to a TV screen placed in the corner, a football game going on pause as a breaking news announcement was made. I read the title once. Then again. And another time just to be sure.

Mass breakout at Arkham Asylum caused by Poison Ivy.

My mind went blank for a moment as my jaw fell. That…

That was probably my fault… wasn’t it?