16 Chapter 16-Not a Laughing Matter!
Chapter 16
CARMINE FALCONE
The head of the Falcone crime family found himself inside one of Gotham's prison cells, something which would have been neigh impossible to imagine just a few years ago. Yet it was an indication of just how far he had fallen.
He could feel the cops gaze at him, from beyond the bars, their eyes posing certain questions. Was this it. Was this it for him.
No. He thought through gritted teeth, not by a long shot. He was Carmine Falcone. He owned this city. He had already contacted his lawyer, and asked him to contact Crane.
The cops may have substantiative evidence against him, yet it would all be meaningless if his mental state came into question. Crane could not deny him that, not after all the things he had done for his bosses. They would help him, of they knew what was good for them.
He heard the sound of footsteps, and his hope filled his heart as two guards began to unlock the door.
"You are coming with us Mr. Falcone," they said as they opened the cell door and led him out.
"Why?" he questioned.
"You have a visitor," came the answer from the guard as he led him to the visitation room.
Had the doctor arrived already? But the court proceedings were yet to even start, he thought as he let them lead him toward the small room.
In the end, they opened the doors and pushed him in, closing it behind them as his eyes fell on the person who had come to meet him.
And it wasn't Crane, nor was it someone from his family.
No, this was a person he had only ever seen pictures of. The very person behind his headaches, and his downfall.
Thomas Wayne.
The young Prince of Gotham sat there in a chair, looking at him with those piercing gaze of his.
"You!" he uttered through gritted teeth.
"What are you doing here?" he said angrily as he began to knock on the door.
"I have nothing to say to you!" he said, and just as he was about to bang in the door, the prick opened his mouth.
"That door won't open. Not until I say so," the boy said, and he glanced out and saw no guards standing there outside as the prick continued.
"Plus I just want to talk," he added with a shrug and Falcone anger flared up as he turned towards the young Prince of Gotham.
"I have nothing to talk with you, boy," he said, and the boy shook his head and reached into his coat and took out his phone, and after some swiping and slashing, turned it towards him.
"What about now?" he said, and Falcone stilled as he saw just exactly what was on that screen.
It was his family, all of them, his wife, his children, even his secret mistress. All of them going on about their life oblivious to the red dot hovering over their head.
"You wouldn't," he bluffed, knowing about the boy's civilities.
And the boy's eyes narrowed.
"I wouldn't kill them per se, of course," the boy replied, making him smirk.
BANG!
And then a shot was fired, and he watched as his mistress began to scream as she was shot in the leg.
"Yeah. It's taking too long, old man. Why don't you just listen to what my friend has to say," came a very recognizable voice from the phone.
And it all clicked together. Thomas Wayne had several bounties over his head, for the boy had done a well enough job of getting on the nerves of all of Gotham's criminal elite.
Yet, to this day, few mercenaries had ever even attempted a hit on the guy, and none would even dare take up a hit on his loved ones. And now he knew why. It was all because of the one man, one of the most feared mercenaries, one who had suddenly vanished overnight half a decade ago, yet Falcone could bet it was now the same man on the opposite end of that phone.
Deathshot.
"Yo! I see you still standing. Maybe I should send your little boy to the hospital next!" came the voice, and he grit his teeth as he looked into the eyes of Gotham's so-called hero.
"I just want to talk," the boy said as he pointed towards the empty chair opposite to him.
Falcone huffed in rage, though a certain part of him was impressed by the boy in question. He had some bit to him, and so he moved on and sat himself down in that accursed chair.
"You are not that different from me, huh, hiring mercenaries, bribing the police…." Yet the boy cut him off.
"We are very different, Mr. Falcone. Very," the boy stressed as he leaned back in his chair.
"I try and help people with what I do, try to scrub off the rot that plagues this city. And with you and your ilk, behind bars," he said as he looked around the cell.
"…soon I won't have to do all this at all," the boy smirked, and he shook his head.
"And that is where you are wrong boy," he replied, as he leaned forward and looked the boy in the eye.
"Soon you will end up becoming the very thing you wish to eradicate," he replied, and the boy didn't falter, his gaze remained steady as he sighed rather boredly and spoke up.
"Well, we are not here to talk about me," he said as he leaned forward.
"No, we are here to talk about you,…" the boy began and for the first time in the meeting he saw those eyes glint as the boy said the next words.
"…and the secret friend you have been helping for the last month."
And the room's atmosphere shifted with those words, as Falcone felt a cold pit grow in his stomach at that.
"I don't know what you are talking about," he said as he leaned back, his mind racing as he tried to reason how he had learned of them.
"I know of the League already, Mr. Falcone," and he gulped at that. The boy indeed knew of them, and from the way he sat in this cell, he seemed to have a suspicion about their intentions as well.
"What I want to know from you is what they are planning," the boy questioned, and Carmine shook his head.
"You have no idea what you are dealing with, boy. And if you were smart you would pack your bags and leave the city while you still could," and he saw the boys eyes narrow as he questioned once more.
"What are they planning?" he questioned and Carmine was about to shake his head.
BANG!
"AHHHHH!" he shook as he saw a bullet his son in the leg, as he crouched down and began to scream.
"What are you doing?" he questioned, knowing that his whole damn business, everything he had built now lay on his son's shoulders, on his family's shoulders. And if they all found themselves injured the Falcone empire would be over.
Yet if he were to speak up about what he knew, about the League then it would all be over.
He grit his teeth as he glared at the guy, as that scathing voice from the phone cut in.
"Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok."
"What are they planning?" the boy questioned again, and as he stared into those eyes, he knew that this one was different.
Though with how much trouble the boy was causing, he should have realized that sooner. It seems that they had created a monster.
A controlled monster. Yet a monster, nonetheless.
"You have no idea what you are messing with, boy."
BANG!
And he winced as he watched his right-hand man fall to the ground. His leg shot just like the others. And with each shot, he could feel his empire crumble further.
"All I know is that he had me bring in some stuff and steal a dozen or so planes," he caved in, knowing that he had no other choice.
"Planes?" the boy questioned and he huffed.
"That's all you going to get boy," he said as he stood up, and then he got up and walked up to the door and began to bang on it violently.
"Heyy! HEYYYYY!" he shouted, yet it didn't open until the boy had gotten up himself, and just as the guards were about to take him away the boy spoke up.
"Ahh that reminds me," he began getting his attention.
"I wouldn't count too much on that doctor friend of yours," the boy said, making him halt for a second.
"You see, he might have gotten himself into a bit of trouble. So,…" he whispered as he moved past him.
"Do make yourself comfortable in the prison, Mr. Falcone, for you are going to be in there for a long, long time."
.
.
.
.
Night had fallen now, and the station was rather empty as Falcone sat there in his cell, angry at that prick of a boy. A year ago, no one in this city would have had the audacity to even talk to him with a raised voice. Yet now, a young bloke had the audacity to barge in and threaten him like that.
"The nerve!" he shouted as he kicked the food tray hard. It hit the wall and made a loud noise.
BANGG!
"That prick! That entitled bastard! I will get him!" he roared, vowing to himself to get revenge over the humiliation he had had to endure today.
"Hahaha!" suddenly, the man in the cell opposite to him began to laugh out loud; that fucking laugh got on his nerves.
"Shut up f*cker!" he shouted at the man. He couldn't see his face because of the darkness, yet the man didn't stop and continued to laugh as he stepped out of the shadow.
His face was white, covered in pain, his lips scarred at the edges, and were covered in red lipstick.
"HAHahaa!" the man continued to laugh as he stared at him with that maniacal gaze.
"What you looking at, heh! You want me to come over there and knock some sense into you, or you going to shut that mouth of yours, eh!" he shouted again, getting frustrated as the man hiccupped, and he finally noticed how the man seemed to be dressed up like a clown of sorts.
And the prison lights began to flicker as the man's laughter died down as he hiccupped.
"Huhhh! Haahhhhh," the man lowered himself as he stopped himself from laughing before he turned towards him and spoke in a chilling and shiver-inducing tone.
"Why so serious?"
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Damn! Was that fun to write!
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