(FIC) Jaevel Av En Tango: (Ch. 5) Trading Secrets
Why is work life so insaneeee??? why can't I chose one path and not question myself endlessly? mrooowwww, I drive myself crazy with the self doubt. In other news, yesterday I got the advance for my very first house project! ...HOW INSANE IS THAT??? hohohoho! someone might be living in something I designed in the not too far future!
Series: Jaevel Av En Tango (A Devil of a Tango)
Title: Chapter 5 - Trading secrets
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Bruce, Clark, Harvey, Selina, Joker
Word Count: 3500+
Summary: Clark goes to confront Vak at the Mist, hoping to unravel the ties of the crime lord, but runs into the Justice Underground with mildly disastrous results.
All chapters found here.
jij, beta'ed this and is super awesome all around!
Trading Secrets
Clark had been working his way around Gotham for most of the week. What had started as a name whispered in the night -a ghost organization that kept being brought up like some sort of boogeyman, something to be feared in the streets, but completely unreal during the light of day- had become a web of collaborators that extended to every corner in Gotham. The further he got on his case, the clearer Clark could see the strings tying everything together. The Gotham University, The City Hall, the District Attorney’s Office. Boss Gordon, the car theft ring in Little Tokyo, the warehouse complexes by the docks. He could pull on any thread and he would find a mile-long list of names… but any thread he pulled would call forth the spider, and he didn’t need to risk that now.
Not when he had yet to visit the Mist.
‘If you need a friend in Gotham’, Vak had told him. Clark didn’t need a friend, definitely not a friend with such questionable connections. If the Storm was to run Gotham, it was none of Clark’s business. But they were encroaching on Metropolis, and that he wasn’t going to take. He just had to be careful not to blow his cover -he had too much to lose if he was discovered. He and Kara were taking enough risks as it was by living in Metropolis, Superwoman and Ultraman’s city, but Kara insisted they had to keep an eye on Ultraman. Kryptonians had changed him, made him dangerous, and that had been a mistake. So it was Krypton’s responsibility to keep tabs on their little Frankenstein… not that the Kryptonian Council had much time for Kara and their reports with their ongoing civil war.
Kara said they had never really had any time for them to begin with. Krypton’s civil war had started years before Kal had been born, and it was the reason why his parents had sent him to Earth, to spare him from the war.
Clark looked at both sides of the street as he stood before the Mist's front door. He could hear police sirens not far away, and the city kept trying to smother him with the wails of her people. Kal couldn’t even begin to imagine what Krypton must be like if he was supposed to be spared in Earth, where greed and cruelty where the only constants they could count on.
The yellow sun kept him safe and gave him power -power that could change the world, he was sure, but when he looked at the way people lived their lives, he knew they didn’t want to change. No one was asking to be saved. Those that suffered wanted to get on top, but they didn’t have any desire to help the people who had suffered along with them. Every man for himself.
And Kal couldn’t risk outing himself and Kara to the Syndicate. They could probably take Ultraman and Superwoman, but the whole Syndicate… the risk of being captured was high. And Kal would rather grit his teeth at the sight of men’s cruelty towards men than risk Kara for a world that didn’t even want to save itself.
Still, he couldn’t just watch. He couldn’t not do anything. His chief editor in the Planet thought his exposés were endearing -Ms. Lane had a peculiar sense of humor- but they made a difference, and she had no problem sending them to the presses. So he at least had his words and his mind, and that made a difference without putting his secret in danger. And sometimes, when he couldn’t stand it anymore -when power tickled the palms of his hands like feathers, when gravity pushed him from the ground like wings- Kal took to the sky and helped where he could, so fast that people could barely tell he had been there, sparking doubt and hope in their eyes for a glorious moment.
But it never lasted. The hope was quickly overridden by desire and greed, or hate and fear.
Mankind would be Kal’s downfall if he wasn’t careful.
The door of the Mist opened, a valet holding it for a couple that smelled of expensive perfume and cheap cigars, and Clark moved to let them walk past him. The deep blue eye shadow of the woman had run and it looked like her left eye was a messy bruise, and yet she gave Clark a pitying look. Clark took a deep breath and walked into the club.
The alcove where the front desk was located was well lit, and a tall woman with a no-nonsense look on her face stood behind the black marble slate. She gave Clark a quick look. “Do you have a reservation?”
“I’m expected at Mr. Báleygr’s table,” Clark said, looking at the Rothko behind the front desk. The shades of blue in the painting were vibrant against the white wall, and he wished for a moment to be far from the city and its downcast skies.
“Your name, sir?” The woman asked.
“Clark Starr.”
“Just a moment,” she said, tapping her wire. “A Mr. Starr is here to see you, Mr. Báleygr.” She nodded, and smiled to Clark, her eyes candid, like he was a long-lost friend.
Clark wondered if it was a Gotham thing, but it seemed everyone in this town was… maybe not crazy, but a little unwell.
A young woman with black shoulder-length hair and dark brown eyes showed up to lead him to the table. They entered the ballroom, the sound of the band not loud enough to drown the high-pitched laughs or the clink of glasses and cutlery, but all went silent as a beautiful woman stood in front of the musicians, her black dress draping around her curves, the green scarf around her neck bringing out her emerald eyes. Her voice was low and soft, each note an act of seduction, grabbing the audience’s attention.
She closed her eyes, giving herself to the song. It was hard to look away from her ruby red lips or the way light caught in her short black hair. Long fingers curled around the microphone, the slow sway of her hips making the fabric of her dress ripple and sheen in the light.
Clark had seen her pictures before, but nothing could prepare him for seeing Selina Kyle for the first time.
He was still staring at her when they reached a set of stairs. The young man Clark recognized from his adventures with electrocution was lounging on the first landing. He nodded to the girl leading Clark, and she stood by his side, looking down at the club. “Mr. Báleygr is waiting for you, sir,” the boy said. Clark reached the top of the stairs with the voice of the Gotham starlet ringing in his ears and he turned to look at the table dominating the mezzanine.
A man with chestnut hair and white leather gloves was sitting very close to Vak, the dogs lying down close to their owner. Behind them, gauzy curtains covered roof-to-floor windows. The view wasn’t very good -mostly just the buildings across the street- but the curtains and the lighting made it seem like a refuge among the clouds.
“Mr. Starr, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“Business, I’m afraid,” Clark said, walking towards the table.
“Ah, no good. My darling is on stage, see?” Vak pointed towards the belle on the band stand. “Even Mr. Dent here has postponed his urgent business with me for now. But sit down, please,” Vak said, gesturing to the chair beside the other man.
“Dent, Harvey Dent,” the man introduced himself, turning to look at Clark. Half his face was terribly scarred, his left eye jaundiced and blind, the left side of his mouth deformed and perpetually pulled from his teeth.
Clark took the offered hand and shook it. “Clark Starr, Metropolis’ Planet.”
Harvey stared at Clark for a long moment, his good eye narrowed. “Is this the guy?” He asked Vak.
“Yes,” Vak said, taking a sip from his glass.
“Not one of ours,” Harvey said. “But I see what you mean.”
“Hrn. So be it.”
“I am sitting right here,” Clark noted, looking from one man to the other.
“I know, Mr. Starr. And I apologize for the rudeness. You interrupted my friend and I, and it just happened that we were talking about your unfortunate incident with Timothy.”
Clark frowned. “The kid downstairs?”
“Yes. Wonderful aides, Timothy and Cassandra. I think it's important to keep kids off the streets. There are many forces out there trying to pervert our youth these days.”
“So you give them work in a bar?”
Vak’s look was almost hurt, his lips pursed. “A bar, Mr. Starr? Please, no. They are my personal assistants. They are gifted youngsters with many talents. There are worse fates for growing youths than mixing it up with Gotham’s up and coming. The secret of success in this city is connections; I give them a chance to make their own with our lovely city’s reputable class.”
Connections, Clark thought, threads of the spider web that ran through the city, capturing and strangling it. The silk thread that was killing any hope left in Gotham.
They kept in silence until the song was over, the crowd’s delirious clapping drowning all sound. Selina took the ovation graciously, her smile charming men and women alike. She disappeared from the stand before the clapping died, and Harvey turned towards Vak.
“Eddie said you had the field open, but I suspect you won’t need the playground anymore,” he said, running a finger around his glass of scotch. “We have other business to attend.”
“But not tonight, Harv. Tomorrow.”
“We don’t have your time. If you delay us, we’ll leave you out of it.”
“Don’t. Nobody wins if this goes down. Eddie knows it, and I know it, and you know it.”
“Know what?” Selina asked with a smile, startling Clark. He hadn’t heard her go up the stairs. She approached the table like a prowling cat, taking a seat by Vak’s side.
“Selina, darling, I would like you to meet Clark Starr. He’s a reporter for the Metropolis’ Planet,” Vak said.
“My pleasure, Miss Kyle,” Clark nodded awkwardly. He hadn’t expected to have so much company tonight. He hadn’t thought Vak would risk it, not if what he suspected was true.
“Always nice to see new faces around this table, Mr. Starr. So often it’s just our old clique, and it gets boring.”
“Selina…”
She leaned towards the host, burying long fingers in his hair. “What brings you to Gotham, Mr. Starr? Business or pleasure?” She smiled at him, a predatory smile. Clark was beginning to suspect there was nothing but predators left in Gotham. Anything weaker had been consumed and discarded by business tycoons and dames of steel.
“Business, I’m afraid, Miss Kyle. I’m writing an article for the Planet about the Storm,” Clark said, gauging the reactions around the table. Everyone remained impassive, their expressions even bored. Clark pressed on. “There are signs that the organization is moving into Metropolis.”
“Really?” Selina said, an elegant eyebrow rising. “Why would anyone move there?”
“We hear terrible stories about Metropolis,” Harvey said, shifting a silver dollar between his knuckles.
Clark straightened in his chair. “Metropolis is a great city. There is… crime, of course, but there isn’t anything like the Storm there.”
“Amateurs,” Selina said, laughter in her eyes.
“So what is it, Mr. Starr? Metropolis wants to keep the devil they know?” Harvey said.
“No, we don’t want the devil we know. We don’t want any devils in our city, we-“
“It seems a little late for that, little brother. You have a pair of demons there, just like we have our night prowler here. Or are you looking to get rid of all the devils in your city? I hear uprisings against the Syndicate are a thing to behold,” Vak said, leaning forward over the table.
Clark gritted his teeth, his lips becoming a thin line.
“I didn’t think so. We all have our crosses to bear, Mr. Starr. But you come to me, asking your questions because no one else in Gotham will answer them. That takes a courageous man,” he said, smiling slowly, “or a very foolish one.”
“I’m not stupid,” Clark said. “And you aren’t very good at subtlety.”
There were half suppressed smiles all around the table, amused glances making Clark’s temper rise. These people, they worked with impunity, driving the city to their knees, and they hid in plain sight thinking no one could touch them. Clark took a deep breath, trying to ease his disgust. “Vak, the Watchful, and Báleygr, the Flame Eye. Both names for Odin. What do you call your aides? Ravens?”
“Crows, actually,” Vak said with a smile.
“Very cute. You don’t even care to hide yourself. It’s all in plain sight, you just make sure no one dares to ask questions.”
“You won’t believe how effective that is.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“Then why did you come here tonight, Mr. Starr?” Harvey asked, flipping his coin. “If you have all the pieces to the puzzle -and we agree with you, it isn’t much of a puzzle to begin with- then why not just go back to Metropolis?”
Clark stared at the disfigured man, knowing that saying he needed to hear it from the man himself sounded stupid, and that it also wasn’t true.
“Let’s put it another way,” Vak intervened. “I know you have a secret. I want to know what you plan to do with mine before I decide what to do with yours.” Clark’s breath caught. Vak couldn’t possibly know… he couldn’t know what Clark was. He could suspect -he had survived the electrocution his aide had delivered, but all that could tell him was that he was metahuman. And yet… that could be enough. “Really, Mr. Starr. What will you gain if you write your exposé? You will bring Ultraman and Superwoman’s attention to the Storm a few months before I intended, but if not the Storm, then some other organization will take control of Metropolis. Nothing can thrive in a city wrecked by chaos, and as much as you might dislike organized crime, it has an order, it’s organized. It could put a stop to the mindless violence that riddles your city.”
Clark barked a humorless laugh. “The mindless violence? What about the organized violence, Wotan?”
Vak’s smile was like a flash of lighting, bright and dangerous. “You would do well in not calling me that, little brother.”
Their eyes locked, and a heavy silence fell over the table.
“Well, Mr. Starr?” Selina asked, conversationally. “Why did you come here tonight, then?”
Clark’s voice was cold and full of despise. “I thought there was more to the Storm than common criminals with a contract. I guess I was wrong.”
The expressions of the people before him were back to blank, but Clark knew he was onto something. He hadn’t found any evidence to support that something bigger than a mob was moving into Metropolis, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling. And his intuition was almost always right. The contempt that had been in their eyes was gone, replaced by a new wariness. He had to be careful.
Vak put two ice cubes in his glass and filled it with whiskey. “I thought you were more than a newshound, Mr. Starr. I guess we’re both sorely disappointed.” He set his jaw, narrowing his eye. “If I didn’t know better…”
“What?”
“Has anyone ever told you you remind them of someone else? The likeness is unnerving.”
Clark shook his head, uncertain. “I don’t think I know what you mean.”
“You could have been in a lot of trouble if your story didn’t check out. You look like a badly disguised Ultraman.” Vak tilted his head, and corrected himself. “No, not a bad disguise. Just… no disguise at all. And yet… you wouldn’t happen to have a twin, do you?” He said with a smile.
Clark felt disgusted at the comparison. He had seen pictures and footage of Ultraman, the arrogant, cruel, crass bastard, and he had never found a resemblance. He shook his head.
“No, I don’t suppose you do. It would be too much of a coincidence. Well,” he said, “I have your secret and you have mine. You said some information was worth the world, Mr. Starr. Do your worst,” he pushed his chair back and stood up. “If push comes to shove, be certain I will,” he said, offering him a hand.
Clark was about to say something -he wasn’t sure what, just that he had to keep pushing, knowing he had just scratched the surface of something big and that he couldn’t give up now- when he heard something cut the wind outside just before a set of heavy boots crashed against the window, glass flying everywhere.
A figure stood in the middle of the mezzanine, the music downstairs coming to a halt, scared murmurs coming from the hall below. A white leather glove brushed the pieces of glass from the gray and purple pinstripe suit, the jacket opening to reveal a green shirt and a belt full of dangling weapons. Clark thought it was dangerous to carry them like that, they could go off on the guy himself, but the man didn’t seem to care. He had an automatic shotgun in one hand, and in no time he was pointing at Clark and Vak.
“Filthy Syndicate scum, I’m sick of your kind. The Justice Underground won’t tolerate this breach on territory,” the man laughed lowly as he shot, and Clark dove to the floor, bringing Vak with him. “We’ll see how good you are without your anti-kryptonite.”
“Crackerjack!” Harvey yelled. “Stop!”
Another wave of shots made them scramble away from the table, and Clark tried to get himself between the madman and the club owner.
“Selina, Harvey, cover me!” Vak yelled, pulling two guns from his own suit. The dogs were barking angrily and lunging at their attacker, and Clark could hear two sets of feet running up the stairs. Vak’s aides. Too many people in danger.
Vak shoved Clark and took two shots at the other man. “Crackerjack! Stop this! This is not who you think it is!” He growled angrily, glancing to look at his aides’ arrival. “Crows! Get out of here! Geri, Freki, back off! Damn it.” He crouched, taking cover behind the table, turning to fire back. “Get out of here, Starr. Get out of Gotham.”
Harvey and Selina overturned another table and were firing back, but they weren’t shooting to kill and kept trying to talk sense into their attacker, who ignored them in favor of Clark and Vak. The dogs kept tugging at the man’s suit and legs, their attack vicious and quickly tearing flesh. But the shooter ignored them, lost in some kind of fanatic throe.
Clark felt two bullets impact on his shoulder, leaving holes in his suit. He shrugged them off. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t let this man hurt others on his hunt for Clark, whatever his feud with him was.
Vak dove to his left, getting out of the cover of the table, and Clark cursed under his breath as he saw him advance towards Crackerjack, his arms shaking with each recoil, the smell of gunpowder heavy in the air, screams of terror and the sounds of fumbling chaos reaching him from downstairs. Pulling down his glasses, Clark fired his heat vision at the attacker’s hands, making him drop the shotgun.
Crackerjack swore and pulled out a hand grenade, and Vak jumped to struggle with him, the fire ceasing. “Damn you, Jack! I’m not having the Mist blown up again in my face, you crazy bastard!” Vak said. The dogs kept lunging at the other man, throwing them both off balance, and Vak snarled. “Down, boys!” Both dogs reluctantly let go of Crackerjack, growling and barking as they backed off.
“Get out of the way, Wotan. You’re defending the Syndicate, you back-stabbing son of a bitch.”
Clark saw the grenade leave Crackerjack’s hands, bouncing towards Harvey and Selina. With a burst of speed, he moved to protect them from the terrible blast, hoping that Vak and his attacker were far enough from the explosion.
“He’s not Syndicate, Jack!” Vak shout. “He’s not, damn it, he’s one of mine. He’s one of mine!”
With the last word ringing in his ears, Clark felt the building tremble with a deafening thunder, the explosion drowning everything in searing white.
Series: Jaevel Av En Tango (A Devil of a Tango)
Title: Chapter 5 - Trading secrets
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Bruce, Clark, Harvey, Selina, Joker
Word Count: 3500+
Summary: Clark goes to confront Vak at the Mist, hoping to unravel the ties of the crime lord, but runs into the Justice Underground with mildly disastrous results.
All chapters found here.
jij, beta'ed this and is super awesome all around!
Trading Secrets
Clark had been working his way around Gotham for most of the week. What had started as a name whispered in the night -a ghost organization that kept being brought up like some sort of boogeyman, something to be feared in the streets, but completely unreal during the light of day- had become a web of collaborators that extended to every corner in Gotham. The further he got on his case, the clearer Clark could see the strings tying everything together. The Gotham University, The City Hall, the District Attorney’s Office. Boss Gordon, the car theft ring in Little Tokyo, the warehouse complexes by the docks. He could pull on any thread and he would find a mile-long list of names… but any thread he pulled would call forth the spider, and he didn’t need to risk that now.
Not when he had yet to visit the Mist.
‘If you need a friend in Gotham’, Vak had told him. Clark didn’t need a friend, definitely not a friend with such questionable connections. If the Storm was to run Gotham, it was none of Clark’s business. But they were encroaching on Metropolis, and that he wasn’t going to take. He just had to be careful not to blow his cover -he had too much to lose if he was discovered. He and Kara were taking enough risks as it was by living in Metropolis, Superwoman and Ultraman’s city, but Kara insisted they had to keep an eye on Ultraman. Kryptonians had changed him, made him dangerous, and that had been a mistake. So it was Krypton’s responsibility to keep tabs on their little Frankenstein… not that the Kryptonian Council had much time for Kara and their reports with their ongoing civil war.
Kara said they had never really had any time for them to begin with. Krypton’s civil war had started years before Kal had been born, and it was the reason why his parents had sent him to Earth, to spare him from the war.
Clark looked at both sides of the street as he stood before the Mist's front door. He could hear police sirens not far away, and the city kept trying to smother him with the wails of her people. Kal couldn’t even begin to imagine what Krypton must be like if he was supposed to be spared in Earth, where greed and cruelty where the only constants they could count on.
The yellow sun kept him safe and gave him power -power that could change the world, he was sure, but when he looked at the way people lived their lives, he knew they didn’t want to change. No one was asking to be saved. Those that suffered wanted to get on top, but they didn’t have any desire to help the people who had suffered along with them. Every man for himself.
And Kal couldn’t risk outing himself and Kara to the Syndicate. They could probably take Ultraman and Superwoman, but the whole Syndicate… the risk of being captured was high. And Kal would rather grit his teeth at the sight of men’s cruelty towards men than risk Kara for a world that didn’t even want to save itself.
Still, he couldn’t just watch. He couldn’t not do anything. His chief editor in the Planet thought his exposés were endearing -Ms. Lane had a peculiar sense of humor- but they made a difference, and she had no problem sending them to the presses. So he at least had his words and his mind, and that made a difference without putting his secret in danger. And sometimes, when he couldn’t stand it anymore -when power tickled the palms of his hands like feathers, when gravity pushed him from the ground like wings- Kal took to the sky and helped where he could, so fast that people could barely tell he had been there, sparking doubt and hope in their eyes for a glorious moment.
But it never lasted. The hope was quickly overridden by desire and greed, or hate and fear.
Mankind would be Kal’s downfall if he wasn’t careful.
The door of the Mist opened, a valet holding it for a couple that smelled of expensive perfume and cheap cigars, and Clark moved to let them walk past him. The deep blue eye shadow of the woman had run and it looked like her left eye was a messy bruise, and yet she gave Clark a pitying look. Clark took a deep breath and walked into the club.
The alcove where the front desk was located was well lit, and a tall woman with a no-nonsense look on her face stood behind the black marble slate. She gave Clark a quick look. “Do you have a reservation?”
“I’m expected at Mr. Báleygr’s table,” Clark said, looking at the Rothko behind the front desk. The shades of blue in the painting were vibrant against the white wall, and he wished for a moment to be far from the city and its downcast skies.
“Your name, sir?” The woman asked.
“Clark Starr.”
“Just a moment,” she said, tapping her wire. “A Mr. Starr is here to see you, Mr. Báleygr.” She nodded, and smiled to Clark, her eyes candid, like he was a long-lost friend.
Clark wondered if it was a Gotham thing, but it seemed everyone in this town was… maybe not crazy, but a little unwell.
A young woman with black shoulder-length hair and dark brown eyes showed up to lead him to the table. They entered the ballroom, the sound of the band not loud enough to drown the high-pitched laughs or the clink of glasses and cutlery, but all went silent as a beautiful woman stood in front of the musicians, her black dress draping around her curves, the green scarf around her neck bringing out her emerald eyes. Her voice was low and soft, each note an act of seduction, grabbing the audience’s attention.
She closed her eyes, giving herself to the song. It was hard to look away from her ruby red lips or the way light caught in her short black hair. Long fingers curled around the microphone, the slow sway of her hips making the fabric of her dress ripple and sheen in the light.
Clark had seen her pictures before, but nothing could prepare him for seeing Selina Kyle for the first time.
He was still staring at her when they reached a set of stairs. The young man Clark recognized from his adventures with electrocution was lounging on the first landing. He nodded to the girl leading Clark, and she stood by his side, looking down at the club. “Mr. Báleygr is waiting for you, sir,” the boy said. Clark reached the top of the stairs with the voice of the Gotham starlet ringing in his ears and he turned to look at the table dominating the mezzanine.
A man with chestnut hair and white leather gloves was sitting very close to Vak, the dogs lying down close to their owner. Behind them, gauzy curtains covered roof-to-floor windows. The view wasn’t very good -mostly just the buildings across the street- but the curtains and the lighting made it seem like a refuge among the clouds.
“Mr. Starr, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“Business, I’m afraid,” Clark said, walking towards the table.
“Ah, no good. My darling is on stage, see?” Vak pointed towards the belle on the band stand. “Even Mr. Dent here has postponed his urgent business with me for now. But sit down, please,” Vak said, gesturing to the chair beside the other man.
“Dent, Harvey Dent,” the man introduced himself, turning to look at Clark. Half his face was terribly scarred, his left eye jaundiced and blind, the left side of his mouth deformed and perpetually pulled from his teeth.
Clark took the offered hand and shook it. “Clark Starr, Metropolis’ Planet.”
Harvey stared at Clark for a long moment, his good eye narrowed. “Is this the guy?” He asked Vak.
“Yes,” Vak said, taking a sip from his glass.
“Not one of ours,” Harvey said. “But I see what you mean.”
“Hrn. So be it.”
“I am sitting right here,” Clark noted, looking from one man to the other.
“I know, Mr. Starr. And I apologize for the rudeness. You interrupted my friend and I, and it just happened that we were talking about your unfortunate incident with Timothy.”
Clark frowned. “The kid downstairs?”
“Yes. Wonderful aides, Timothy and Cassandra. I think it's important to keep kids off the streets. There are many forces out there trying to pervert our youth these days.”
“So you give them work in a bar?”
Vak’s look was almost hurt, his lips pursed. “A bar, Mr. Starr? Please, no. They are my personal assistants. They are gifted youngsters with many talents. There are worse fates for growing youths than mixing it up with Gotham’s up and coming. The secret of success in this city is connections; I give them a chance to make their own with our lovely city’s reputable class.”
Connections, Clark thought, threads of the spider web that ran through the city, capturing and strangling it. The silk thread that was killing any hope left in Gotham.
They kept in silence until the song was over, the crowd’s delirious clapping drowning all sound. Selina took the ovation graciously, her smile charming men and women alike. She disappeared from the stand before the clapping died, and Harvey turned towards Vak.
“Eddie said you had the field open, but I suspect you won’t need the playground anymore,” he said, running a finger around his glass of scotch. “We have other business to attend.”
“But not tonight, Harv. Tomorrow.”
“We don’t have your time. If you delay us, we’ll leave you out of it.”
“Don’t. Nobody wins if this goes down. Eddie knows it, and I know it, and you know it.”
“Know what?” Selina asked with a smile, startling Clark. He hadn’t heard her go up the stairs. She approached the table like a prowling cat, taking a seat by Vak’s side.
“Selina, darling, I would like you to meet Clark Starr. He’s a reporter for the Metropolis’ Planet,” Vak said.
“My pleasure, Miss Kyle,” Clark nodded awkwardly. He hadn’t expected to have so much company tonight. He hadn’t thought Vak would risk it, not if what he suspected was true.
“Always nice to see new faces around this table, Mr. Starr. So often it’s just our old clique, and it gets boring.”
“Selina…”
She leaned towards the host, burying long fingers in his hair. “What brings you to Gotham, Mr. Starr? Business or pleasure?” She smiled at him, a predatory smile. Clark was beginning to suspect there was nothing but predators left in Gotham. Anything weaker had been consumed and discarded by business tycoons and dames of steel.
“Business, I’m afraid, Miss Kyle. I’m writing an article for the Planet about the Storm,” Clark said, gauging the reactions around the table. Everyone remained impassive, their expressions even bored. Clark pressed on. “There are signs that the organization is moving into Metropolis.”
“Really?” Selina said, an elegant eyebrow rising. “Why would anyone move there?”
“We hear terrible stories about Metropolis,” Harvey said, shifting a silver dollar between his knuckles.
Clark straightened in his chair. “Metropolis is a great city. There is… crime, of course, but there isn’t anything like the Storm there.”
“Amateurs,” Selina said, laughter in her eyes.
“So what is it, Mr. Starr? Metropolis wants to keep the devil they know?” Harvey said.
“No, we don’t want the devil we know. We don’t want any devils in our city, we-“
“It seems a little late for that, little brother. You have a pair of demons there, just like we have our night prowler here. Or are you looking to get rid of all the devils in your city? I hear uprisings against the Syndicate are a thing to behold,” Vak said, leaning forward over the table.
Clark gritted his teeth, his lips becoming a thin line.
“I didn’t think so. We all have our crosses to bear, Mr. Starr. But you come to me, asking your questions because no one else in Gotham will answer them. That takes a courageous man,” he said, smiling slowly, “or a very foolish one.”
“I’m not stupid,” Clark said. “And you aren’t very good at subtlety.”
There were half suppressed smiles all around the table, amused glances making Clark’s temper rise. These people, they worked with impunity, driving the city to their knees, and they hid in plain sight thinking no one could touch them. Clark took a deep breath, trying to ease his disgust. “Vak, the Watchful, and Báleygr, the Flame Eye. Both names for Odin. What do you call your aides? Ravens?”
“Crows, actually,” Vak said with a smile.
“Very cute. You don’t even care to hide yourself. It’s all in plain sight, you just make sure no one dares to ask questions.”
“You won’t believe how effective that is.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“Then why did you come here tonight, Mr. Starr?” Harvey asked, flipping his coin. “If you have all the pieces to the puzzle -and we agree with you, it isn’t much of a puzzle to begin with- then why not just go back to Metropolis?”
Clark stared at the disfigured man, knowing that saying he needed to hear it from the man himself sounded stupid, and that it also wasn’t true.
“Let’s put it another way,” Vak intervened. “I know you have a secret. I want to know what you plan to do with mine before I decide what to do with yours.” Clark’s breath caught. Vak couldn’t possibly know… he couldn’t know what Clark was. He could suspect -he had survived the electrocution his aide had delivered, but all that could tell him was that he was metahuman. And yet… that could be enough. “Really, Mr. Starr. What will you gain if you write your exposé? You will bring Ultraman and Superwoman’s attention to the Storm a few months before I intended, but if not the Storm, then some other organization will take control of Metropolis. Nothing can thrive in a city wrecked by chaos, and as much as you might dislike organized crime, it has an order, it’s organized. It could put a stop to the mindless violence that riddles your city.”
Clark barked a humorless laugh. “The mindless violence? What about the organized violence, Wotan?”
Vak’s smile was like a flash of lighting, bright and dangerous. “You would do well in not calling me that, little brother.”
Their eyes locked, and a heavy silence fell over the table.
“Well, Mr. Starr?” Selina asked, conversationally. “Why did you come here tonight, then?”
Clark’s voice was cold and full of despise. “I thought there was more to the Storm than common criminals with a contract. I guess I was wrong.”
The expressions of the people before him were back to blank, but Clark knew he was onto something. He hadn’t found any evidence to support that something bigger than a mob was moving into Metropolis, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling. And his intuition was almost always right. The contempt that had been in their eyes was gone, replaced by a new wariness. He had to be careful.
Vak put two ice cubes in his glass and filled it with whiskey. “I thought you were more than a newshound, Mr. Starr. I guess we’re both sorely disappointed.” He set his jaw, narrowing his eye. “If I didn’t know better…”
“What?”
“Has anyone ever told you you remind them of someone else? The likeness is unnerving.”
Clark shook his head, uncertain. “I don’t think I know what you mean.”
“You could have been in a lot of trouble if your story didn’t check out. You look like a badly disguised Ultraman.” Vak tilted his head, and corrected himself. “No, not a bad disguise. Just… no disguise at all. And yet… you wouldn’t happen to have a twin, do you?” He said with a smile.
Clark felt disgusted at the comparison. He had seen pictures and footage of Ultraman, the arrogant, cruel, crass bastard, and he had never found a resemblance. He shook his head.
“No, I don’t suppose you do. It would be too much of a coincidence. Well,” he said, “I have your secret and you have mine. You said some information was worth the world, Mr. Starr. Do your worst,” he pushed his chair back and stood up. “If push comes to shove, be certain I will,” he said, offering him a hand.
Clark was about to say something -he wasn’t sure what, just that he had to keep pushing, knowing he had just scratched the surface of something big and that he couldn’t give up now- when he heard something cut the wind outside just before a set of heavy boots crashed against the window, glass flying everywhere.
A figure stood in the middle of the mezzanine, the music downstairs coming to a halt, scared murmurs coming from the hall below. A white leather glove brushed the pieces of glass from the gray and purple pinstripe suit, the jacket opening to reveal a green shirt and a belt full of dangling weapons. Clark thought it was dangerous to carry them like that, they could go off on the guy himself, but the man didn’t seem to care. He had an automatic shotgun in one hand, and in no time he was pointing at Clark and Vak.
“Filthy Syndicate scum, I’m sick of your kind. The Justice Underground won’t tolerate this breach on territory,” the man laughed lowly as he shot, and Clark dove to the floor, bringing Vak with him. “We’ll see how good you are without your anti-kryptonite.”
“Crackerjack!” Harvey yelled. “Stop!”
Another wave of shots made them scramble away from the table, and Clark tried to get himself between the madman and the club owner.
“Selina, Harvey, cover me!” Vak yelled, pulling two guns from his own suit. The dogs were barking angrily and lunging at their attacker, and Clark could hear two sets of feet running up the stairs. Vak’s aides. Too many people in danger.
Vak shoved Clark and took two shots at the other man. “Crackerjack! Stop this! This is not who you think it is!” He growled angrily, glancing to look at his aides’ arrival. “Crows! Get out of here! Geri, Freki, back off! Damn it.” He crouched, taking cover behind the table, turning to fire back. “Get out of here, Starr. Get out of Gotham.”
Harvey and Selina overturned another table and were firing back, but they weren’t shooting to kill and kept trying to talk sense into their attacker, who ignored them in favor of Clark and Vak. The dogs kept tugging at the man’s suit and legs, their attack vicious and quickly tearing flesh. But the shooter ignored them, lost in some kind of fanatic throe.
Clark felt two bullets impact on his shoulder, leaving holes in his suit. He shrugged them off. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t let this man hurt others on his hunt for Clark, whatever his feud with him was.
Vak dove to his left, getting out of the cover of the table, and Clark cursed under his breath as he saw him advance towards Crackerjack, his arms shaking with each recoil, the smell of gunpowder heavy in the air, screams of terror and the sounds of fumbling chaos reaching him from downstairs. Pulling down his glasses, Clark fired his heat vision at the attacker’s hands, making him drop the shotgun.
Crackerjack swore and pulled out a hand grenade, and Vak jumped to struggle with him, the fire ceasing. “Damn you, Jack! I’m not having the Mist blown up again in my face, you crazy bastard!” Vak said. The dogs kept lunging at the other man, throwing them both off balance, and Vak snarled. “Down, boys!” Both dogs reluctantly let go of Crackerjack, growling and barking as they backed off.
“Get out of the way, Wotan. You’re defending the Syndicate, you back-stabbing son of a bitch.”
Clark saw the grenade leave Crackerjack’s hands, bouncing towards Harvey and Selina. With a burst of speed, he moved to protect them from the terrible blast, hoping that Vak and his attacker were far enough from the explosion.
“He’s not Syndicate, Jack!” Vak shout. “He’s not, damn it, he’s one of mine. He’s one of mine!”
With the last word ringing in his ears, Clark felt the building tremble with a deafening thunder, the explosion drowning everything in searing white.