It was easy for these 'people', who relished in the bloodshed of others. Getting off on broken bones and shattered dreams. Not even a half-an hour ago, each of them had slipped that facade of civility and showed some of the darkest aspects of humanity. But now? It would be simply impossible to choose any of them in a crowd at high noon.
Like all this had just been a dream, they slid that mask back in place and got on with pretending until next a chance to sate their thirst arose. Who knew how many of them anyone would just pass on the street, completely unaware of the interests of their common man.
'It'll only get worse when the internet becomes a bigger thing.'
At least everyone here could be somewhat identified, their presence there must've left some sort of physical trace to picked up by those inquisitive and bold enough to snoop around. That and, it was somewhat contained. Both of which wouldn't be true in the near future if the world became as reliant on the web as it did in Albert's past life.
But after that?
These fights would become bloodier and more violent, and these human faced creatures will loose even their flimsy layer of civility. That anonymity being a crutch many would lean on just to rationalize their demands. And there would be demands. Sinking entire pay checks into a single suggestion, to add or take away items during a fight, just to scratch that dark itch.
That and with the accessibility, it would spread like an infection. Coursing through the underbelly of humanity, gaining it's own depth and sinking to the darkest abyss. From pockets of darkness to a unified ocean of depravity.
'Maybe that won't be the case here?'
With the ever vigilant Justice League running around, it was increasingly unlikely that they'll allow something like that to happen. If not, the criminals involved would be forced to be more discrete with their proclivities.
His eyes skittered across the mass of 'people', their movement indicating a predator in their midst. Or in this case, a cash cow for some.
Parting away like the red sea, a pair waltzed their way through. One figure was tall and a bit pudgy around the waist, wearing a cheap suit that looked as though he'd just torn it off the clearance section of a thrift store. Not necessarily bad or something to be embarrassed of but when it was paired with the real golden rings glittering on each of his knuckles, it combined to create a rather smarmy appearance. That and the sly grin, exposing a single gold tooth, permanently frozen in place, was enough to solidify the image of a stereotypical con-man. One, more happy to sell off the last bottle of snake oil to a terminally ill patient than anything else. And currently, his joy could be felt like a physical force. Energy coming off of him in wave, infecting the crowd to look on with grins or scowls depending on their betting selection.
But in comparison, the other individual nearly looked dead on their feet. Normally looming over the vast majority of the crowd, the man stumbled with a wince after every single step that he tried oh so desperately to hide from the pit vipers and jackals. Some sparse band-aids covered his exposed skin, a single bandage stretched across the bridge of his nose. Thin white gauze, that did nothing to conceal spots of red seeping through, was wrapped tightly around a clenched fist. And even so far way, that visible scowl on his bruising face failed to mask an thoroughly fed up expression.
Over the crowds chatter, hearing any of what was going was impossible but with how dark Malcolm's and how exuberant the con-man's expression go, it didn't like things were going well. But at least the fighter seemed to have gotten what he'd come here for.
If the way he protectively shielded the inner lining of his jackets was anything to go off of.
Standing off to the side, Albert waited. Taking refuge in a nearby alcove, he just watched on as the pair grew closer. Until finally the con-man patted the larger man's shoulder once with a glint in his eyes one would give to a prized race horse before turning and walking briskly to another ring that seem to be ramping up to a real frenzy. If him gone, Malcolm's shoulders slumped slightly before he scanned the crowd. Stopping immediately when his gaze landed on the investigator and began to make his way over.
'Let's get this over with.'
His target didn't seem hostile, not stalking or stomping his way over. In fact, there were clear signs of curiosity and defeat in single once over. Instead of stopping right in from of the teen, he instead passed on by without anything to go other than a single glance. The message was clear.
Pausing for a few heartbeats, the investigator glanced around the dwindling crowd and slid out of the small alcove to follow. Now know that it wouldn't take long for him to finally leave that place left him way more relieved than he would ever admit. Maybe he just hadn't gotten use to extreme nature of this world, but if he ever grew number to a sight like he'd seen that night…
'Just put me in the ward.'
None of this was normal. None of this should've been tolerated, it should've been shoved off to the farthest corner of the net for the sickest of people to devour. It shouldn't just be something some random person could stumble upon. Sure that wasn't how he went about it, but the point still stood.
Spotting his target off in the distance down the alley, he slowed to match their pondering steps. Only really feeling the urge to pick up speed when he turned a corner and completely disappeared from sight but with an effort of will he calmed his hitched breathe. This wasn't like before. There was no need for him to slink around like a cockroach from a beam of light. No need for him to hide behind dumpsters and strain his ears to keep an 'eye' on his target. No really worry of permanently losing his way on these unfamiliar streets.
And that was why it felt so good to right when he turned the same corner a few seconds later to spot the large figure just waiting at yet another corner farther down the way, who only nodded once before disappearing again. It was clear the man was leading him somewhere and thus far, there honestly hadn't been a reason to reject such a chance. Besides, who else was he going to follow to get somewhere recognizable?
So that's how the next half an hour was spent, the pair playing a rather game of cat and mouse or follow the leader. Turning down distance corners and squeezing past passage ways that hadn't been touched by the city's sparse garbage disposal system for a long time. If the deflated black bags, dried stains and complete lack of smell was anything to go by.
Ignoring the skittering of tiny claws, he let out a held breathe as they finally exited out of an alley that was more inline with Gotham's norm. The street in question didn't look any different from any other, stilling having the ill-repaired buildings with street lights that struggled to let out anything besides a dark yellow glow. A few residential building that were visibly leaning combined with a small corner store still brightly lit with white light made it quite clear that they'd step beyond the docks and safely made it to the more 'welcoming' Downtown area.
From here, if things didn't go well then Albert felt he'd still be able to pinpoint his location enough to find his way back home. Just fine some main street and keep walking until something becomes familiar. Might take him a long time, but getting home shouldn't be a problem. What would be a problem was that if this conversation didn't end on amicable terms, he'd be out of a job and his trench coat.
"Here should be fine."
Malcolm's voice was deep and resonant but also a bit more on the softer side, the type that would make an absolute killing doing online content. Reading spooky stories or just voice acting in general. Stopping and turning under the flickering yellow light, he crossed his arms. At least he tried to. As in instead of coming across as intimidating or authoritative, it was more like he had become a wounded animal. Flashes of pain flickered across his face as his arms barely raised themselves above the waist. Expected with how many strikes he'd taken to the arms and chest during that fight. But nonetheless, he stilled looked all too ready to interrogate the investigator.
"I know you have something to do with Livi." He pointed at the ugly jacket with a single finger, like it was up on trial. "I could recognize that...thing anywhere. Who do you think got her all those clothes?"
"Oh." Looking down at the attire, he even started to feel bad for it. At least until his arm moved out of place and an immediate urge to scratch himself to the bone exploded to the forefront of his mind. "Do you want it back?"
"Hell no!" Even beat up the way he was, the fighter still found enough freedom of movement and energy to take a few rapid steps backwards. A single hand held out as though to ward off a great evil only seen once every thousand years, on a full moon, on a leap year, on some pagan holiday like Samhain. "Keep that thing far away! Sell it, burn it, tear it shreds or make it into some napkins! I don't care what you do with it, just don't let me see it again!"
"Why buy it then?"
If it was that despised then why even pick it off the rack? Just leave it for the next guy desperate enough to make that particular purchase.
"I didn't buy it," Malcolm took a few more steps back just be sure and leaned against the nearby wall. The paint present on those bricks flaking off even from that simple pressure. And after eyeing that too, he took another few steps away from the possibly hazard and continued. "I got it for free. A thrift store was going out of business and they were just tossing out boxes of clothes, I snatched a few boxes and that was that. I only found out about that thing well after Livi and Dill got done sorting through them. But then, it was too late."
'Why not just toss it out then?'
A question right on the tip of his tongue, but he'd bite them back just as quickly as it formed. Before, he'd never had to worry or force himself to keep something if it had no use to him. Tossing out clothing and food when it didn't suit him, he'd never expected to be put in a situation where he wanted to throttle the old him for being so wasteful. Even now, he wasn't even living the life of a poor rat. He at least now had a roof over his head and space to store his stuff.
It had only taken a few weeks for him to realize exactly how blessed he'd been while roaming from motel to motel to the occasional alley when he'd gotten bad vibes from certain rooms offered up to him. And that had been enough for him to completely understand their thinking process.
Why throw something away when it might have a use in the future?
It was the hoarder's mentality.
But here in Gotham? It was just being practical.
"I guess I'll take it." Not like he really had a choice. Maybe it could be soaked in warm soapy water and used to clean his floors or something. Wearing it again was simply out of the question.
"Damn right you will! But don't try to distract me. Now tell me, what kind of scheme is Livi up to now?"
That question made him pause, it really wouldn't be good for him to gain a reputation of turning on his clients. Nor did he believe he would live very long either. Investigators that didn't quickly find lines they wouldn't cross generally don't last long, their usually silenced by a stilted past client. And with the city being the way it was, it wouldn't stop at just closing down his business.
But on the other hand, this man was essentially Olivia's guardian. Legal or not. He was responsible for her well-being and keeping her out of trouble, and this seemed like a whole lot of exactly that. If she came wondering down herself, things would get bad. Really, really fast.
It wasn't just drugs and illegal firearms this city was known for after all. Trafficking and kidnapping was also on that list. He hadn't been to the red district but from what Harley told him, it really wasn't the best place to be if one valued their mental health. Apparently, one of her friends had a history there. While she wouldn't say their name, it was clear to him who the blonde was talking about.
"I can tell you the general gist of it," Reputation was nice and all but it wasn't worth his sanity, there was simply no way keeping this to himself wouldn't eat him up inside. Especially if the unthinkable happened and he could've prevented it. "Olivia hired me to…"
And he told the man everything. From his meeting with Dillon and the rather weird first impression from Olivia. Going into great detail on her manner of speech from both over the phone and in person. Here, the crimson rising to Malcolm's face was clear to see. Not the hot thing of anger or annoyance but more inline with embarrassment and exasperation than anything else.
"She really used floozy and skank…" It wasn't a question, more a statement. The fighter even looked a bit ready to collapse against the suspect wall. "She's usually not that-well weird you know? It because of those really old movies and songs she's obsessed with. I only got them before they were dirt cheap but if I knew she would cling to that era so strongly… And before you ask, no me and Olivia are not involved in that way. She's more of a younger sister to me. It was just a childish oath she made when we were both still in the orphanage, and honestly I thought she'd forgotten all about it. But for her to be that obsessed? I thought Dill would be able to keep her ground but it seems I'll have to have a talk with her soon."
"Before that," It didn't seem like that conversation would well and they both knew it, but if there was any chance to actually start that then there was a problem that needed to be addressed first. "How are you going to hide those bruises? They look bad now and it hasn't been that long. She'll have a cow if she sees them."
"Terry didn't get my face but…" He flinched as he looked down at his arms, dark welts already slowly coming into view. Spreading beyond the leather jacket. It did not look good. Not in the slightest. "I can treat them just fine, but it's just the time that'll be an issue. I can't afford to go into hiding for a few weeks...I won't allow them to think that I abandoned them for even a moment. Never."
"If you say you can treat them fine, then I can probably handle hiding them….well at-least make them less noticeable."
"How?"
"Does that corner store have any make-up?"
***
"Stop moving so much."
"Sorry."
Albert only let out a heavy breathe through his nose as he went right back over the same spot for what seemed like the fourth time already. Normally, moving around wouldn't really be a bad thing but when he had spots of cream collecting every spot of powdery make up which also slowly but surely ruined the small and cheap brush it put him on a bit of a time clock.
Maybe he wasn't being fair, if he was covered in bruises and needed to repeatedly jab at the skin just to hide them then he too would become a twitching mess as well.
With that mind, he tried to let of the annoyance at having his work made fruitless and focus more finely on his current work. He stood hunched before a shirtless man sitting on a small tool they'd had to rent from the corner store, yes rent. It was ridiculous but required for him to work. In one hand he balanced a small trap with a series of different pigments, they were awful. Cheap to the point where it took great effort not to cause them to flake off after applying them. But beggars really couldn't be choosers. And in the other hand, a small brush was held between three fingers. It wasn't his dominant for obvious reasons so it really wasn't the steady precision he was use to.
But that's where his skill came into play.
Gentle but firm fingers nudged his hand into position, pointed out spots he'd miss and practically jabbed him in the side if an area wasn't properly blended. Disguise was a rather particular skill, being not restricted to just switching out clothes to change his appearance but also from the fact that it toed a line into some of the Arts/Craft specialties. It didn't mean he could suddenly go out and paint a beautiful picture, but hiding some bruises was a rather simple task.
While his first awful attempt all those weeks ago still kept him up at night sometimes, it was clear that he'd gotten a lot more use to the craft. His old man disguise being a key example.
"Okay, it should be good now." He leaned back after a few minutes of silence, flexing his left hand to shake off the cramps that had made themselves known during this short time. "Just let it set for a bit and you should be good to put back on your shirt."
"I don't know how I feel about wearing make-up but thanks."
Albert had a pretty similar reaction the first few times as well, make-up was suppose to be a female only product. That message had been hammered into his head from a young age and kept it's claws on him as he grew older and saw more of the world. While now, he still wouldn't just waltz around in public with angel wings on his eyes, he'd more become ambivalent to it all. The skill kept his real identity out of trouble, more than showing it's value.
From so far away, he decided to inspect his work and couldn't really find any area that stood out to him or the impressions he'd gotten from his silent instructor. If he were to compare the before and after photos of Malcolm, it would be like night and day. Before, the man's entire upper body had been covered in varying sizes of bruises. From his chest to back all the way down his arms. It was an awful sight that would've probably gotten the man in all manners of trouble at home.
But now? It was like those bruises weren't even there, at least from a distance away. There was no way his work if anyone took anything more than an interested glance.
"You can thank me by telling me your story. How did you find yourself taking care of two others? How and why are you involved in this fighting ring/circuit?"
Backstory was always nice, and if he was ever required to forward with this case then it would be prudent to learn more about all of them.
"Why do you look so familiar?" Instead of declining or accepting, the man looked at him suspiciously. Eyes scrutinizing his face as he tried to place it. A good sign, if he was recognized from somewhere good. If for some reason his name got leaked to the news relating to the Neighborhood Massacre then maybe he would have to find answers somewhere else. Snapping his fingers after a bit, the tall fighter pointed a finger in his face. "Do you work at Mr. Robinson's pizza shop?"
"Not at the moment, he put me on indefinite leave."
Who would've thought working at a pizzeria would open up so many doors? The perks of being in the heart of a community. If this line of goodwill kept being extended then maybe he should start picking up more jobs from mom and pops style stores.
"We frequent there whenever I have the extra cash. Special occasions, you know how it is. I think we saw you sweeping the floors or wiping down tables at one point."
"Did you guys go recently?"
"About a week ago," He shrugged. "I wanted to treat them to something nice. Schools going back in session here soon so it'll probably be a bit before we're all on the same schedule."
It suddenly made some semblance of sense as to how Olivia found out about him and why she asked to meet up in front of the pizzeria. Whether or not she too recognized him, he didn't know but with how open everyone involved had been it was yet another win for the community Mr. Robinson had probably spent decades to cultivate. Speaking, up the large continued. "But are you sure that's all you want? There really isn't much a story to tell."
"Try me."
"If that's what you want…" Malcolm let out a breath and began to weave his tale." If it wasn't obvious, we grew up as orphans. Me, Livi and Dill. We use to live in this orphanage some time ago but it got closed down in favor of some rich bastard buying up the land to build some condos or something. I was fourteen to fifteen at the time and I couldn't just leave the two of them to fend for themselves, so I took them with me. Trying to find work back then as an uneducated minor was absolute hell but I did. It was mostly manual labor so it was boring work but it kept us afloat...at least when some foremen didn't try to fuck me over on my pay. Given my age, they paid under the table so who was I going to turn to if they just decided not to pay me all together. And that did happen every so often."
"But, you should know that the general labor force back then wasn't as large as it is now. Spending weeks in a warehouse with the same people day in and day out, at multiple different work cites at that, often means that everyone kind-of knew everyone else. And if you know laborers, there's one thing they hate above all else: Seeing one of their own not getting paid. Maybe they would've overlooked it the first few times, given how low the chances anyone would stay in the field but it seemed this one foremen pushed them too hard. Apparently, this one foremen I worked for got really bold one day after jipping me on my pay for the second time in a row and decided to try and pull the same thing on everyone else….things didn't go well. They'd knocked over every-last one the boxes and marched out in unison, even dragged me along and blacklisted that company all together. Last I heard, that foremen was fired and the company filed bankruptcy not too long after."
"They're rough folk but living this kind of life will do that you but they're kind too their own, and by me sticking it out for so long I'd been 'adopted' as their own. They pointed me in the direction of fair foremen that would still accept my young age and that was enough for me to finally move Livi and Dill out of the motel and into an actual apartment. That was my life for the past four years. Waking up at the ass-crack of dawn and working till well after the sun finally set. But...I knew I couldn't keep doing what I was."
"The money I was earning wasn't enough. If you hadn't noticed, Livi and Dill are both really talented and smart. They deserved better education than what Gotham's public school could provide. I don't want them to follow in my footsteps, I don't want them to break their backs working long hours in a warehouse when they have better options available. Higher education is expensive as you know, with all the bills I have it'll be nearly impossible for me to be able to afford it."
"So I started askin around for extra shifts or more jobs for me to pick up, and it worked at first since it gave some of the older guys some time off but we're all in the same boat. If we don't work, we don't eat. We're freelancers, we don't got any of those benefits that full on employees got and why would they hire any of us? It's cheaper for companies to just employ contractors or freelancers than actually be forced to pay for insurance. So when work dried up, one of the older guys took me aside and asked what was going on. I told him mostly everything and after some silence, he told me of an opportunity that I might be interested in."
"Well...he didn't tell me everything what this 'opportunity' might entail…"
(A/N: Cliffhanger time! Thank you all for reading for yet another week! I can't tell you guys how appreciative I am that so many of you guys are reading and supporting this fic! I gotta say, I really love expanding these characters out into real people, with real concerns and dreams. But I'm feeling like we're slowly edging away from the realm of fan-fiction. Sure we're still in the setting of Gotham but I feel like I should switch POV for next chapter to re-orientate ourselves on the bigger happenings. Besides it has been awhile sense we've heard from the bat family and its time that changes! Thank you all again from the bottom of my heart! I hope you all enjoyed and I'll see you next week!)