(Edited with Grammarly on 2/19/2026)
"Who the hell are you?!"
Despite how unbalanced he felt, Mateo wasn't a stupid man. One couldn't be if they wanted to survive so long in this cursed city without being found dead in an alley somewhere as the druggies robbed the shoes right off one's still cooling corpse. Willow, the statuesque woman, was clearly armed and, from her reputation, was a pretty mean shot as well. Sure, maybe he could get the chance to put out his own gun to even the playing field, but he knew there would be a bullet between his brow the moment he tried some stupid shit like that.
But he did know what kind of person would do exactly that…
Quick as could be, his hand reached out and gripped Elliot's shoulder in a vice grip. Stopping the man from reaching beneath the table, locking gazes, he subtly shook his head at the panicked blonde. There had been plenty of jobs that had gone south due to his partner being far too trigger-happy, a whole lot of unneeded bloodshed that only piled up bodies in their wake. A simple shake down turning deadly, a break in winding up with the home owners bleeding out on their own floors, and a normal drug deal ending up with them fleeing the scene with both the product and the money in question.
It was clear Elliot wasn't suited for this sort of life; he was just too easily startled. Too quick to start blasting without a second thought and far, far too willing to take a life. Maybe it was him 'proving' that he was 'hard'. That he hadn't come from suburban living. Or maybe the guy was just fucked up in the head and got off on it.
But this...but this situation was different. Their lives were in danger, they'd gotten caught on the back foot, and if they wanted to get out of this in one piece, they would need to play ball with this freak.
For now, at least.
"You may call me Howard." The man sounded exhausted, with a slight rasp to his voice as if he smoked one too many cigarettes. And when he finally took a step forward with his bodyguard not far away, the smell hit them then. Of ash and nicotine, the cheap bottom of the barrel stuff. The stuff sold for a couple of cents per stick. Those shitty rolls that unraveled at even the slightest nudge, whose tobacco mix often fell right out the bottom before one could even get a single good puff in. Not only were they poorly made, but their taste was something that required a good twenty minutes of straight brushing to even begin getting rid of. "Let's talk, you two. But first, put your weapons on that table there. Nice and easy, and this kind lady won't need to put a bullet between your brow."
His tone was flat, green eyes gazed over as he observed the two of them. And combine that with the vigilant and warning dark brown, almost black, orbs, there really wasn't much of a choice. Carefully, Mateo reached down into his pants and pulled out a handgun. Not by the handle or with his finger anywhere near the trigger, and gently placed it down on a nearby table. He gently nudged his partner, who also did as instructed, the pair sharing a silent understanding glance.
They would wait for their chance to strike. He could see it now. When this man took a seat or got within reach, snatch the little freak up by his neck and use him as a shield. Maybe he would hit him a few times just to show Willow that they weren't playing around and then-
"Your boot," Howard's voice smothered that scheme in its cradle, nodding almost in a bored way to the larger man's right boot. "It has slash marks from a few hurried draws. Maybe you should invest in new shoes or a knife sheath."
Silently, he glared at their captor. Trying to get something, anything. But no matter how he tried to shake or stare the man down, neither of them was affected in the slightest. In fact...was that a smirk on that bitches' lips?
It was a small thing, barely an upturn, but he was for sure not going insane. Willow was actually enjoying this, the sick whore she was. What right did a fucking prostitute have to look down on them? Was she really any better than them when she literally spread her legs for money?
Despite the simmering anger, he nonetheless did as commanded with deliberate slowness. Reaching down and pulling out a long, six-inch dagger. Its edge freshly sharpened and oiled to a near-perfect shine. It felt oh so familiar in his hand, sliding effortlessly into his grip. It almost felt like a sacrilege to be disarmed of his baby like this...but alas, his life was worth more than this goddamned knife.
But that didn't mean he was going to just roll over like a beaten mutt. Suddenly, his arm blurred before a heavy thump filled the empty bar. The knife sank a solid five inches into the cheap wood as if it wasn't even there. Ignoring the yelp from his partner, he looked up and realized he'd only accomplished half of his goal.
Willow, seeing the sudden movement, had slid before her charge without a second thought. A hand atop the butt of her own gun, abyssal eyes glaring a hole right through his very soul. At least she actually showed a reaction, as just barely peeking out from her side, Howard stepped out.
"How...childish of you." His voice drawled, heavy bags under those green orbs making him appear as if he would've gladly welcomed that knife being sunk deep into his flesh. For at least then, sleep would claim him. Shuffling forward, the small man took a seat before them. That intense smell of cancerous and cheap smoke oozes off in massive plumes. Mixing with not just that, but also the scent of quickly applied dollar market cologne. The stuff is strong enough to peel paint or fumigate an apartment. From up close, those lines etched into his face looked even more severe than before. "But if you're done, let's talk."
"…" Mateo leaned back, thoroughly falling back into his usual role. This was what he brought to the partnership: the muscle and intimidation. People thought him to be a brute, and he was very much fine with that misconception. He just needed to look tough, act rash, and get an outside look at things. And Elliot? He had a way with people, smiling or speaking in a certain way to make folks just love being around him. He often spoke for both of them; he was the face of their little partnership...Or at least that's what he was supposed to do. As even a few seconds passed, the blonde hadn't spoken up once. Instead, the man in question had an almost dazed expression on his face. So much so that only after a kick to his shins did he finally break free. Shaking his head, he put on that 'genuine' smile. Leaning in close, he relaxed his body posture ever so slightly until it was like Howard and he were near-perfect mirrors of each other. Before he finally spoke. "Talk? My friend, you could've come to talk to us at any time! There was no need for all this. But, but now that we're here, why don't we try to make this beneficial for everyone?"
"It's good you're amenable." Howard rasped, flipping through his small notebook. Fingers shifting, almost instinctual to his lips, as if to grab something that wasn't there, only to pause in mid-motion and let it fall back in position. Finally finding the page, those green eyes looked back up at them. "You're hard to find, especially with so little to go on. Maybe I was...too enthusiastic for my own good."
"What for?" Elliot asked, elevating his voice a pitch to put on a more soothing and understanding tone. An expert bullshitter, that one. "And I can't imagine us being hard to find at all. We're not hiding or anything. If this is about a job, then please go ahead."
"Very well. Just to make sure, what kind of work do you two do?"
"We can do some guard work if you need or want something stolen, then we can arrange that. Or if you just want someone roughed up, that can also be arranged."
As the two talked back and forth, a sort of rhythm began to saturate the room. Falling into a familiar tempo, the blonde growing more confident and fluent as it continued. This was where he flourished. He wasn't much help in a fight or doing any physical besides shooting someone dead, but give him a chance to open his mouth and it wouldn't be long before people were putty in his hand.
Glancing surreptitiously from the corner of his eye, Mateo could even see Willow begin to relax subtly. A slight thing, really, but those shoulders didn't lie. From going as hunched as a large cat ready to pounce at any given chance, to something more human. No longer as tense.
That was good at least, if things really went awry, then at least it provided them that split-second chance to turn the tide in their favor.
But dragging his gaze back to Howard, the man still looked as flat could be. He didn't look impressed, nor swayed, or really anything. Seeming as if he was just going through the motions, using that small notebook as lines to follow. A cheap black pen had joined his hands in that instance of inattention.
"We'll begin wrapping things up here." The man moved a few loose dreads out of his line of sight, looking as if he was still resisting the urge to yawn or just collapse on the table. But the air...the air shifted in some unseen way. Going from that casual disinterest or professional politeness to something sharper. "But first, where were you approximately six months ago?"
Six months? Where were they back then? Mateo could remember that period as a particularly slow period for them; jobs were few and far between, and there weren't any appetizing targets worth the trouble. Bills were due, both to the local crime lord and their landlord. But...how did they get through that back then?
"We were here, of course!" Elliot replied, motioning to the bar all around them. "We're always here after a successful job...but to be frank, we were in a bit of a dry spell back then. You know how it goes."
"I understand." Howard nodded, flipping through another page. "But I must ask you something, Elliot….how is that arm doing?"
"...It's fine?" The blonde looked over at him, clear confusion evident across his face. But Mateo, in that instance, could feel the floor give out from underneath him. Gaze flickering over to the exit and back to the enforcer standing not even five feet away, he really didn't like their odds. Maybe they could slip out through the back? "What brought that up?"
"No particular reason." Howard suddenly pointed at the man's left arm, before a command left his lips. "Just show it to me."
"Wa-"
The larger man could feel himself rise to his feet, heart beating rapidly as memories flashed vividly. Of screaming, of a little brat fighting and trying wriggle out of their grip. He couldn't allow them to see, to give them a chance to verify, but it seemed that their patience had long since faded. As in the next instance, he was staring into a small fragment of the abyss. Quick and easy death just a mere finger twitch away. Looming over them, that affable version of Willow that had once sat across them was nowhere in sight. In its place stood the end. As if the specter of death was whispering right into their ears, a prophecy on their lips.
She didn't speak, didn't need to, as the cold barrel shoved hard into the center of his forehead. Forcing him down not just with strength but also with the surety that she would pull the trigger if given the chance.
"Whoa!" Elliot waved his hand carefully, that forced smile on his face as sweat beaded down in heavy rivulets. Blonde hair sticking like glue. "He just got to be nervous, that's all! Here, I'll show you… You said my left arm, right?"
Already shoving the sleeve up high on his wrist, the thug couldn't help but close his eyes for a second in pain. This was it. Halfway up his partner's forearm, a set of three dark brown scars with clear marks of a shoddy stitch-work was present. The scars weren't particularly large, each barely the size of an inch.
That gloved hand snaked out, gripping the exposed arm and pulling it close. And for the first time since all this happened, something curdled in Mateo's guts. No, that was a lie. A lot of what happened was weird and suspect. From the clear trap these two had set to their obvious connections to Madame Clements. Even though they knew what they did all those months ago. But none of that topped what he saw before him.
As something beneath Howard's 'face' shifted. Muscles wriggled, placid flesh cracking at unseen seams. Running from the corners of his mouth, connecting with his eyes, and branching off to his hairline. Green flashed over the scar with an intensity and emotion not present... No, it was more like this 'face' wasn't capable of making anything more than a blank severe look, but somehow, it did.
Something under the man's face smiled.
"Wha-?!"
Elliot yelped at the grotesque sight and nearly toppled over, in fact, if not for the chair beneath them.
"You know," The thing began, now clear as could be. No sign of gruffness or exhaustion, but deceptively youthful. Twisting the arm every which way to make sure every inch of the scar could be seen under the light. "Finding you two was...incredibly difficult. It's not easy trying to find a single vehicle in the entirety of Gotham, and we didn't even know if your car was stolen. But color us surprised when we find out why neither of your names is on the registration. To put it in your grandmother's name, you're dead grandmother at that...for shame, Steward. For shame. How do you think she would react to knowing her darling grandson was snatching kids off playgrounds? I imagine she must be rolling in her grave right about now."
"I-I-I don't k-know what you're talking about!" The blonde snatched his arm back with surprising ease, rolling the sleeve down to cover his shame.
"At first, I thought it was our lug Hughes here that did the deed." He waved toward the pinned man, ignoring the blabbering. "But when I first saw him, I knew it couldn't have been him. There's no way he would struggle with snatching an eight-year-old...But you? Yeah, you would, though."
"I-I-"
"I don't need you to talk right now. I'm just going to tell you what happened. You and your friend were strolling around town when you came across a little blonde girl. Walking outside, alone, with not even a teacher to supervise. Just easy pickings. But maybe you had something to prove, or maybe Hughes here found it too revolting to do the act himself, so you volunteered. Put on a stupid little ski mask and tried to drag her off. Maybe she was shocked at first, but when she started screaming, that would've drawn far, far too much attention. So you threatened her. A big, strong man threatening a child who weighed less than half what you did. Threatened her in ways that you've been threatened with by larger, stronger men. And given your stature, that's a vast majority of the population."
Willow chuckled here, a dark thing but soft and more of a scoff or chortle. But it was enough to cause Elliot's face to go beet red. Shame mixed with anger across his features.
"You list-"
"But!" Interrupting him again, the dread head stood to his feet and began to pace before them. Both were getting out of reach of any desperate moves on their part, while making sure to subtly pace his guard between them. "But just as you had scared her down, you heard a war cry, and before you knew it, a rake had been used to leave furrows through your skin. And in your panic, you dropped the blonde while trying fend off a little girl with more spine than you would ever possess. Probably, if it wasn't because of Hughes, your crime would've just been attempted kidnapping, and I wouldn't be here. He snapped at you, told you come on. That you had already attracted enough attention, and seeing your initial running away, you snatched up the root cause of your misfortune. You put her in your car and fled the scene. We know everything up to that point, so we just have one question for you."
Just then, he reached into his inner pocket before withdrawing and unfolding a lone photo and tossing it on the table between them. The gun left his forehead, providing him enough space to actually study the sheet. While the photo itself wasn't familiar, Mateo was put face-to-face with the little girl he'd helped snatch nearly half a year ago. In that photo, there was no sign of the fighter from that day. No air of defiance that oozed out of her very pores as it did on that day. Instead, it was just a normal brunette girl wearing a purple princess costume.
Glancing over, he knew Elliot, too, had finally connected the dots. And like always, it was a moment too late. His skin was deathly pale, and eyes bulging as he breathed in and out rapidly. As if the entire world had flipped on its head. As he was now, he was useless. This was just how the man was; give him enough time, and he could sell someone their own shoes, to them, but once that rhythm was broken, it took forever to get him back on track.
"What do you want?"
Mateo eased into the conversation, sweat soaking the back of his shirt. He had some idea, but it needed to be said. How else could he find a way for them?
"A lot of things, really." Howard held out his hand and began to drop digits. "Wealth, power, health, women, and good food...but what I want more is to live in a world where people like you don't exist. But you're not a genie, but I know you'll still grant my wish."
Suddenly, he stopped before slamming his hand on the table. Looming over them despite his diminutive frame. A near growl to his voice, a promise of what is to come. Those cracks growing more prominently across his visage.
"Where is she?"
None of them needed to be asked what he meant, and just asking would only bring about more trouble than it was worth.
"…." Despite the unspoken threat, the thug could feel himself relax a hair. This is exactly what he'd been waiting for this entire time. Leverage had presented itself, and he was prepared to press on with as much as he could and then more. They'd tossed the ball in his court, and he wouldn't miss out on this opportune moment. So, shaking off his discomfort and making sure to lock gazes with the...thing. "How much is that information worth to you? A lot, I imagine, if you went through all this trouble just to find us."
"…"
"You were right." Seeing them not respond, Mateo felt himself relax further. Not enough to let his guard down, but enough to tell him that they'd officially entered negotiations. "About what we did and how it went down. So yes, we do know where she went after that. But if you want that information, you'll do it on our terms. I'm not asking for anything strenuous like a million dollars or anything, I just want to switch things up. First, tell your...guard to stand down. Then, we can talk."
He wanted to use more colorful words instead, but again, it wouldn't be smart to antagonize someone with a gun. Leverage or not.
The man looked at him, really 'looked' through him with a gaze that felt like tiny blades were being used to peel back his mind to allow this thing to gaze at what lay beneath.
"We were right about you, Hughes," Howard said after an intense stare down, not breaking eye contact nor taking a seat. "It's why we waited until you were together to spring this little trap. If we caught Steward by himself, he would squeal about you, no problem. But...you're too careful for him to really know anything. To really know anyone of any significance. But just catching you wouldn't work either; you're too much of a thug for any of the big players to take you seriously. You're too easily looked over for us to risk you slipping off. But we also couldn't just let Steward go either, he's your face. Without him, people wouldn't take you for anything more than a thug with a pea-sized brain. And all those contacts you made while using his face as the foot in the door you needed would go poof. You two have a bit of a symbiotic relationship going on here….Let's see how strong that bond is. Willow."
"Thought you'd never ask." The woman, without a second hesitation, with almost a gleeful expression on her face, and in a blur of movement, the blonde's head suddenly snapped back. A black gloved fist retracting just as fast. Crimson flooded, drops at first that clung to a pair of shaky finger tips.
Elliot looked down at the drops, mind not fully catching on exactly what he was looking at. Or what had happened exactly, but the pain that kicked in a moment later made sure to fill in the blanks.
"Y-you!" Now holding his nose in the futile attempt to stop the geyser from forming, the blonde now sounded more hysterical than anything else. "You-you bitch! You hit me!"
"And she will do so again," Howard interjected. "You see, Hughes, I would be open to negotiating with most people out there...But it's not good practice to do so with those who've committed crimes involving children. Tell me what I want to know. Again."
A meaty thud followed, a blur of movement, and the blonde's head snapped back once more. The sound of crunched bones and a cry filled the room, blood splattering across the table. Landing on her leather jacket and white shirt.
"If you won't-"
"Again."
Thud.
"Wai-"
"Again."
Thud.
"Ju-"
"Again."
Thud.
Every time he tried to open his mouth, to try and battle against the thing before him, only a cool and unattached command echoed. Followed by the quick as lightning fists that continuously rained down on his partner, the cries and sniffles were loud in the bar. Blood splattering and further soaking into that not-so-white shirt.
"P-please." Elliot sobbed, curling into a ball as the beating continued. "Please s-stop!"
This had to stop; there was no guarantee that she would even stop if he answered that question. In fact, it might even sign their own death warrant. But...but maybe there was a way out. With Willow beating on his partner, she'd left her charge alone. Unguarded.
It wasn't much to go on, but anything was better than being jerked around like this. Besides, even if this did fail, it wasn't as if their positions would change much anyway...Right?
And without giving himself time to second-guess himself, Mateo lunged across the table. Meaty hands outstretched to grip onto the man's jacket, and in that instance, the best future played out cleanly in his inner eye. The mastermind behind all this would be within his grip, forcing her to stop beating on the scrawny man if she didn't want her change to wind up with a broken neck. Then, with her connections to Madame Clements, get them to back down while providing them both with free passage out of the city. Only after they left city limits would he 'let' this freak go...Right off the bridge for him to go tumbling into the goddamn waves.
Neither of them would be able to come back to Gotham, forced to start over somewhere else...but this city was shit anyway. So who honestly cared? Sure, they might have to look out for Madame Clements getting some payback, but would she really stretch her limbs outside this city? Why should she care about some arrogant man getting killed?
As this was flashing in that instance and just as his fingertips grazed the collar, something jabbed into his chest. An arm well within reach, but in that gloved hand, the barrel of a gun lay flat against him. He froze all at once, gaze rising to meet those emerald green eyes that glared down at him coldly.
He...he wouldn't shoot, wou-
Something loud and familiar rang out. A pop so loud that it caused his ears to begin ringing. Sawdust went falling between them. Glass shards scattered to the ground. A light going dark. In the next moment, something searing was once more jammed into his chest.
"This is the last time I'll ask," Howard loomed over him, confusion filling him as he realized he was once more sitting slumped in his chair. "Where. Is. She?"
Mateo could feel cold sweat pooling down his back, could hear the momentarily paused beating continue more fervently, shoulders flinching at the repeated thuds of bone meeting flesh. Clenching his jaw tight one final time, the fight flowed out of him all at once.
"When we snatched her," He started, shutting his eyes painfully as the beating didn't slow in the slightest. Nonetheless, he continued. "We thought we had to be too quick about it. She was already too much from the beginning. We had some bills and obligations to take care of, and I knew of people who could get us a lot of cash fast...They're not who I usually deal with, but their money was good. They're just...unsavory. Dealing primarily in human trafficking, I knew they would offer a premium for blonde little girls...but they weren't picky. So we sold her to them."
"I should kill you," Howard said quietly, barely above a whisper, and when he did, he could tell they were serious. Truth spilled over and was close to becoming a reality just then. That already cracking face, growing in its fragility. "Just put a bullet between your brows and be done with it. Scum like you don't deserve to live on this fucking planet with the rest of us. Who? Who did you sell an eight-year-old to?"
"The Gray Gardens." Seeing the name not register, he quickly continued. "That's their name for it; they're a bunch of unaffiliated gangs coming together to try and shrug off the major crime lords' influence. They deal in it all."
"…." If anything, the man looked right about ready to pull the trigger and end this tale. Taking an effort of will, he slowly dropped the gun. Turning away, he began to stomp away. "Willow, let's go."
"Coming." The woman made sure to throw one more devastating punch to the blonde's bloody mess of a face before standing to her feet. Turning from them as well, she tilted her head back to leave one final statement. "Turn yourself in, or don't, but just know by the hour's done, the whole underworld of Gotham will know you dealt with filth like them. And just another suggestion, mention me and Madame Clements will make sure you're both turned into little girlfriends to a Big Bubba in prison."
And just like the whirlwind they entered as, they left just as suddenly. Leaving nothing but a sweaty man and a mewling pile of meat on the floor.
After making sure they were gone, Mateo leaned heavily on the table, dropping his head into his hands. Ignoring the moans of pain that had come together to form a macabre melody. Something only the sickest people could ever enjoy.
A single thought on his mind, as the walls began closing in on him from all sides.
What had they gotten themselves involved in?
There he stayed, for what felt like hours. Not moving in the slightest, not even when the sound of police sirens wailed in the distance.