One Winter Knight | Arkhamverse

Chapter 3: Probable Puppeteers

She mulls peacefully to herself the current situation, legs perfectly crossed atop the inviting covers of her bed, numerous photos, files and papers scattered like patches of snow before her. "Okay, so a few reports have said that members of the organised crime syndicates have stated that Maroni is uncharacteristically acting brashly on impulse, and relatively violently too. Yet these findings don't make it seem as if it is the result of black mail... it's willingly, yet atypical."

Suddenly, it's as if God himself has determined that Eve's devoutness to this case has earned her a hint at the next piece to this puzzle, for unexpectedly, one particular name seems to stand out like a splatter of red on a blank white canvas amongst all the other photos and files.

Jervis Tetch.

"The Mad Hatter..." The private detective incoherently mumbles aloud, a coy grin surfacing on her face. Isn't he known for creating mind control devices?

It's a mere arbitrary speculation on her behalf, but something about the delusional mad man seems to stick out to Evangeline like a sore thumb. Perhaps Mr. Tetch owed a mob member a favour? Or, like Rob suggested, it could be some form of black mail. Eve didn't know, nor did she think that anyone down at the GCPD would be aware of the appropriate answer either. Only one man besides Tetch and his puppeteer could affirm or disprove her theory.

I wonder if Gordon would allow me the pleasure to borrow that spotlight atop his precinct?

***

"Ey Sam, don't cha think the boss is actin' a bit off lately?" Seymour Rickman – a low, nobody lackey – asks his mate Andy Murdocca as they idly wait outside their boss' office.

Andy jaggedly rubs the side of his face, fingers scraping along his progressively growing stubble and emitting a scratchy, irritating sound. "I dunno Ricky, I mean, he's more violent than usual I guess. If I wanted a volatile, crazy boss I would've signed up with Two Face."

"You're tellin' me," Ricky snorts his displeasure disdainfully.

"Any particular reason you gentlemen are lazily loitering around when I specifically remember calling you to my office?"

Andy barely regains his composure from the sudden shock quick enough to prevent his cigarette from prodding hotly at his right eye. Ricky on the other hand, quite nearly carelessly drops his loaded, lethal firearm. Both men skittishly scamper to attention, blubbering out "S-Sorry boss."

Sal Maroni simply dusts off their incompetence like a speck of dust, towering and looming over them whilst taking one long, foreboding drag of his freshly lit cigar. "I've got a job for you fine gentlemen. Lefty here," Maroni soberly addresses Rickman, gesturing to Murdocca, "says you can be trusted. And I trust Lefty. If you don't live up to this expectation, both of you will have a date at the morgue. Capisci?"

The men nod firmly in unison. "Yeah boss."

"Good," Sal allows a momentary grin to play at his lips, ominously leaning in closer to them. "Cops and the Bat found out I shot the kids behind the Monarch Theatre. No one was there that night but me, the kids, a few of their men and a few of my men. I want the two of you to flush the mole out. Whether it be one of my men or one of theirs, I couldn't care less. Just find me the rat. And keep it quiet."

"Got it boss," and "On it boss man," are the simultaneous, automatic responses blurted out by Ricky and Lefty, taking Maroni's concise, sharp nod afterwards as an act of dismissal. Inelegantly, they scuttle away and vanish from Maroni's imposing, professional presence, abandoning the Italian mafia boss to his own feuding, disorderly conjectures and thoughts.