What If [Nygmobblepot]

Ch3: Oswald's

Oswald's POV

I'm filling glasses even when the place is lacking people. Frankly, it's not the turnout I expected or wished for and Jim Gordon also made it clear he's not coming. There's only couple people sitting at one of the tables, few by the bar, some of my employees wandering around and a band playing a song that keeps repeating itself. At least one punk by the stage seems to be enjoying it, dancing along like a maniac. He cheers loudly as the song ends and I look up, glaring at him and roll my eyes as one of the speakers lets out a horrible sound.

"Penguin." A voice behind me says and I turn around with the bottle of champagne in hand but as I see Salvatore Maroni approaching with couple men, my instinct tells me to turn the other way and run. "Where ya going?" He asks before I can take two limping steps away from them so I close my eyes briefly before turning around to face them.

"Don Maroni." I say as I step over to him. "It's such a pleasure to see you." I don't put effort in trying to seem sincere, it'd be a waste of energy considering we both know I don't mean it.

He smiles, looking up and down at me as if measuring me. "Look at you." He says. "From the trunk of my car to running your own club." He looks around. "The place looks good, Penguin. Hell of a turnout." Both he and his men chuckle at that but I refuse to show my irritation.

"How about a table?" I ask, nodding towards the abudance of free ones. "Drinks? My compliments, of course." I'm not looking to piss him off, he did almost kill me last time.

He looks at the bottle in my hands. "Expensive stuff." He observes. "Let me see." He says before taking it from me and looking down at it. "I had a little chat with Falcone." He says then, looking up at me. "I came here to let you know that all is kosher between us." He smiles widely but then smacks my cheek, too hard to be a friendly gesture. "As long as you don't go giving Falcone any more of my secrets." He says, pointing a finger at me but still smiling.

"No." I say simply. "Nothing like that."

"Of course not." He replies. "Grab a glass." I frown a little but take one of my glasses I had been filling from the table. He stands behind me, gripping my shoulder with one hand while pouring the champagne into the glass with the one still holding the bottle. "You better hope that old man Falcone lives a long life." He tells me and I watch the glass get dangerously full. "Because the second he's out of the picture, so are you." The champagne spills over the glass, dripping down my hand to the floor. He pats my shoulder harshly as he walks away, making me spill even more of it. I close my eyes, waiting for him to be gone.

"M-Mr Penguin?" A voice says and I frown as I open my eyes. Where do I know that voice?

"What?" I ask as I try to put the glass of champagne back on the table without spilling more.

"I.. What happened?"

I turn to see Edward Nygma looking at the mess on the floor.

"What are you doing here?" I demand instead and gesture at one of my employees to come clean it up by snapping my fingers and pointing before I walk away.

"It's the opening of your club.. Is it not?" Edward looks around, apparently more uncertain about it every passing second. I can't blame him.

"It is." I just say as I walk behind the bar, grabbing a towel I can use to dry my sleeve. "That's not an answer to my question, though. Why are you here? Don't you work at the GCPD?"

"In forensics." He says. "I'm not a cop."

"I didn't think you were." I mumble as I put the towel away. "So, what do you want, Mr Nygma?" I ask as I turn to him, the counter between us making it a safe distance.