Patrick O’Brien stood in the crowd, he stared up at the podium set up before the house. There were so many people, it really was quite overwhelming, though Pat was squeaky clean, the GCPD had nothing solid on him, and he really loved attending these big events, showing off his infamy. The hulking monster stood beside Pat, the behemoth’s dark skin covered in large rivets and patches of scale’s here and there, the giant’s skin condition was getting worse, and his humanity was fading fast as well.
“Hey, Eel, how long we gotta stay here?”
Waylon asked in that deep baritone voice, the civilians surrounding them not only heard the man’s nickname, Eel, which alone would be unnerving, but coupled with the voice? Suffice to say a majority of them stepped back.
“Come on Waylon, enjoy yourself, take it as an opportunity to get educated. Men like us, we gotta stay ahead a’ the curve, that way rich ****’s like Bruce Wayne and good cop’s like Gordon don’t get the drop on us. Like, here, look at Drury here…”
He turned and gestured Waylon’s gaze to a short man who stood beside him, Drury stared straight at the empty podium, his gaze unbreakable, the man was silent.
“Ya see that? There’s a guy who cares about what’s goin’ on. Sure, he’s creepy as hell, but he cares, y’see? I’m sure Otis would care if he were were too.”
The Eel straightened his plain brown suit coat and straightened his matching tie, which accented his white collared shirt perfectly. He looked around, scanning the crowd and furrowed his brow.
“Speakin’ of which, where is that idiot with my gelato? He’s been gone for a good forty minutes! He’s gonna miss the presentation!”
“Lucky Bastard.”
Waylon retorted beneath his breath, but for a big guy like that and a guy like Eel, with one of the best ears in the business, he needed to hear those clicks on the safes y’know, he might as well have been yelling.
“Zip it.”
Pat hissed, snapping his glare to the giant beside him. The disfigured individual that loomed over everyone else in the crowd wore a bright blue suit. He really had terrible taste in clothing. Drury on the other hand was a bit less color oriented than the rest, he wore a plain black suit and tie, his black hair slicked over. It was at that moment that Otis Flannegan emerged from the crowd, of average size and a slim build, the rat-looking man smiled, his buck teeth huge and accented. The queer looking fellow held out a bubble gum ice cream cone, which was already slightly melted.
“Really Otis? Melted?”
The rat-faced individual was ready to reply, only to be promptly cut off by the uproarious screams and applause of the crowd. all provoked by Bruce Wayne, as he had just exited his home, and quickly made him way to the podium, flashing that perfect smile of his.
“Shaddap Otis! I’m tryin’ t’ pay attention!”
The Eel snapped at the man, who in turn might as well have mentally collapsed within himself. The little man silenced and tried to hold back the tears, not that Patrick cared even slightly. The attractive man started his speech, leaving the crowd itself in awe, and for that brief few minutes while that supposedly great man spoke, he kept the attention of almost everyone in that crowd, Otis was indifferent, Waylon tapped his huge foot, obviously just waiting for it all to be over and Drury, well, Drury just kept on staring right ahead. However, amazingly enough, Patrick was fully engaged, hanging on the man’s every word as he licked his ice cream cone, eventually tossing it to the ground when he had gotten down to the cone itself. There was something off about Bruce Wayne, but he couldn’t quite peg it. Though, when it finally ended, everyone offered more applause before the crowd dissipated.
“Can you believe that? Can ya? I mean, really, there wouldn’t be a buncha’ these crazies running around if it weren’t for that so-called monster helpin’ out the cops! He’s literally doubling the rate Gotham’s inhabitants are goin’ nutso!”
Pat ranted as they walked towards their Cadillac Escalade parked outside of The Manor’s gates.
“Come on, Patty, we don’t even know if that costumed nut is real. That’s all rumors.”
Waylon replied, running his tongue along his row of yellowing teeth, all perfectly spaced, the giant took pride in his oral hygiene of all things.
“I’m hopin’ he is, believe it or not. Ever since the criminals in this town have been whispering about this freak, more’n’more of ‘em are either getting locked up, goin’ looney, or gettin’ outta the game. Hell, we’re movin’ up the ladder faster than I can believe.”
Waylon merely grunted, he obviously didn’t share the same views entirely. Hoping that a monster who preyed on their kind was real was just asking for bad luck, but the behemoth kept his moutn shut. As they neared the car, Pat's eyes fell upon Vicki Vale, Gotham’s hottest reporter.
“Hey toots.”
O’Brien winked at her, obviously catching her off guard since she stuttered while reporting, though Waylon quickly guided Pat, assuring he’d carry on toward the car, but O'Brien didn't turn away from the woman before yelling 'call me'. They then promptly made their way passed the beautiful girl and reached the SUV.
“So, Otis, what’s on the agenda?”
Pat asked, opening up the back door of the vehicle.
“We’ve got a sit down with Maroni, he’s got a proposition for us, apparently.”
“See what I’m sayin’ boys? Movin’ up the ladder faster than you can believe!”
Eel stated, letting out a little ‘bout of laughter, hopping into the SUV’s back seat. Waylon crawled in behind him and closed the door while Otis got into the driver’s seat, and Drury in the passenger. They had business to attend too.
“Patrick.”
Maroni greeted, nodding his head once in acknowledgement as he sat at the table within ‘Salvatore’s’ private seating area. Salvatore’s was, as you can guess, Salvatore Maroni’s very own restaurant, which was commonly used for his very own sit downs. As one could imagine, Pat was on edge, his heart thumping within his chest. Truthfully, he had been terrified since Otis mentioned Maroni’s name, though he wouldn’t let it show of course.
“Sal! You’re looking absolutely fantastic! Have you been working out?”
The lanky man asked, offering a smile, and holding his arms out for a hug, the regular greeting from what he’d been accustomed too. However, the fat man stayed seat, merely stuffing another forkful of spaghetti into his face.
“You call me ‘Mr. Maroni’, Patrick.”
Salvatore retorted, mouth full with food. O’Brien gulped and looked uneasily at Waylon, who would be attending the sit down with him. Drury and Otis however were to stay outside of the private seating area, keep an eye on things as Pat had put it, when in reality, he simply didn’t want the two screwing anything up in the meeting.
“Ya, sure, whatever you say Mr. Maroni.”
He straightened his bright red tie, which matched his suit, and sat down across from Sal. Two more tables were filled, one on either side of theirs, and while the men who were eating remained silent, seemingly not paying attention to what was going on between the two, both Pat and Waylon knew they were keeping an eye on things.
“So, what’d you wanna see me about, Mr. Maroni?”
Salvatore took a swig from his glass of red wine and stared at Patrick, before glancing up at Waylon, only to look away soon after. The big lug wasn’t easy on the eyes, suffice to say.
“Listen, Patrick, I know things didn’t go down too well with us the first time around. Business was lost, good men were locked up and I lost alot of money. All because of you.”
Maroni narrowed his eyes at Patrick, who in turn smiled awkwardly and attempted to retort.
“Listen, that was a mistak-”
“Shut the f**k up and let me finish!”
Maroni yelled, raising his fork as he did so, it may have actually been threatening if it hadn't been a fork. O’Brien sunk down into his chair, eyes wide. Waylon had flinched a little, but had caught himself before he ripped the fat loser in two.
“But I didn’t have you put down, Patrick. You know this. I just had you f**k off to Bludhaven for a bit. I still let you run your own crew…..”
He nodded towards Waylon.
“And I gave you a chunk. I let you in on business, not the big business, mind you, but I did let you in. On top of it all, I let you do what you do best. Crack safes. Every time we had a job going down, I let you in, because you’re damn good at what you do. You can’t deny any of this…”
Maroni went on.
“You’re right-”
“You speak one more time before I give you permission and I’ll cut your smartass f**king tongue right out.”
The man threatened, taking another bite. Patrick merely nodded his head.
“I wouldn’t be doing this if my men weren’t dropping like flies, but I need someone running my operations down in The Coventry district.”
Patrick’s eyes lit up at that. He bit his bottom lip, hard to stop himself from exclaiming his happiness, and his satisfaction.
“You’re going to be in charge of everything that comes in on the docks, making sure the local businesses pay up, you’ll be in charge of collecting and distributing our product on the street, and most of all, you’ll have to make sure no one makes a move on that territory. No one. You understand?”
“Yes, oh my god, yes. Thank you so much Mr. Maroni, you won’t regret this, I’ve got this.”
Patrick exclaimed, and Sal merely nodded.
"I've got some more jobs comin' up too. Might need a slippery sonnuvab**ch like you to crack a few safes, make sure my guys get out n' all that."
"You got it Mr. Maroni!"
Patrick exclaimed, obviously overjoyed at the turn this conversation had taken.
“But we need to talk about your crew. I can get you set up real nice. Waylon is a great asset, but, those other two…”
Pat shook his head at the mere suggestion.
“No. Nothing about my crew changes. They’re family. Besides, when I set Drury free, people start running. He’s a crazy bastard.”
“What about the Flannegan boy?”
Salvatore asked, raising an eyebrow. Patrick didn’t have a reply at first. He thought hard for a few moments.
“I made a promise to his ol’ man that I’d take care a’ him. I’m a man of my word.”
The fat man nodded, gesturing towards the door. At this point, Patrick stood and straightened out his suit jacket, starting towards the door. Waylon following close behind.
“Oh, and Patrick…?”
He turned on his heel.
“If you f**k me over again, there will be no grace.”
The Eel nodded and stepped out. He and Waylon exited the restaurant, Drury and Otis joining them, while Patrick O’Brien giggled like a schoolgirl, practically skipping towards their vehicle.
“We’re on top boys, we’re on top. No one can stop us now.”
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