DCM Volume 2 - Chapter 9: Pawnbroker Part 4

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice, Ms. Bethany." Albert greeted the woman before him, who looked nothing like the nearly soaked-through pile of clothes he had seen that rainy night. She had light brown skin that looked a lot healthier; whether that was from the decreased stress or just not being out in that incredibly weather, he didn't know. Her cheeks no longer had that hollow look to them, nor did those green eyes seem as though they were ready to drop beneath the surface of her face. And that mop of strand-like hair was now done up in a messy bun. "Would you like some tea or something?"

"No, I'll be fine." She smiled tiredly. "I already feel embarrassed enough after that night, especially now that I've had a couple days to think it over. Again, I must apologize for the way I acted... I swear I don't normally act like a child, but...

"Don't worry," He held out a gloved hand to dissuade her concerns. "NNo one will hear a word of it from me; you're my client after all, so sharing information about you wouldn't be professional."

"About that…" Bethany started to have this uncertain expression crossing her face. "IIs this what this is about? If you didn't find anything to help, then it's fine. I can just put down another payment and continue on until I get my watch back. You shouldn't feel bad about-"

"I did find something." And to further emphasize his point, he plopped down a single red folder on the desk. Just looking at it was enough to tell anyone there was a lot in there to unpack. Her hand reached out shakily and began to look over the series of documents inside, that facial expression of shock growing further in intensity as the minutes went on. Albert couldn't help but feel a spike of pride well up inside of him as everything came to a halt.

'I really should get a top hat or something.' The thought floated past him as he suddenly felt the urge to tip a hat over his eyes in a manner similar to those noir-style detective films. It would be the final piece to complete his ensemble.

"Where did you get this?"

Bethany's voice was shaky as she asked this, drawing him completely out of his rather childish ruminations. Looking up, he finally took notice of her reddening face.

"Let's just say from a very trusted source." There was no way he was going to admit outright to the multitude of crimes he committed just to get his grubby mitts on this information. Breaking and entering, corporate, espionage—the list went on. He didn't exactly know how much jail time he would be facing if this ever came to light; he would rather if it did, it wasn't in Gotham of all places. Give him a comfy cell in Metropolis or Gateway City.

'Anything would be better than being with the crazies here.'

If possible, he would come off as nothing more than a spokesperson for the actual private investigator. Maybe he could explain it as the person being extremely paranoid and secretive but still requiring money to survive? It wouldn't fool anyone looking too deeply into the agency, but just that added bit of distance was enough for him.

"And let's say I believe you." She slammed the folder back on the table, making a few photos nearly go flying. It was rather disheartening to see his work so casually tossed around like garbage, but judging from the woman's mood, saying something now would unfortunately draw him in the cross-hairs. So instead he just kept an impassive look on his face as she continued, "T-That means that fuckwit not only 'accidentally' sold MY watch, going back on his own store's word. But because of his 'mistake,'' I'm the one he's fucking over?! When I get my hands on him...

If before he didn't want to step between the two, now even more so. Bethany didn't look like the type of person capable of doing anything physical to anyone, especially not someone like Rueben with his bulk. But someone like Albert? Yeah, he could for sure see himself getting tossed about like a ragdoll. Honestly, he was suddenly grateful for the table between them.

'Maybe Rueben had the right idea,' In situations like these, it made him think back on the man's supposed paranoia in a different light: How can I get some bulletproof glass installed here? I bet it must cost a fortune. But I'm only doing it around my desk...and maybe every window I have, just in case.'

But no, this was something he would have to deal with eventually. Even though most future customers might request some truth to be unearthed, that didn't mean they would like whatever he found out. The truth was blind after all. A solitary figure unassailable from all sides, any attempt at compromise would be cruelly shot down in it's golden rays as mere falsehoods.

Plus, besides, if any customer, or ex-client, ever got too rough, that's what his gun was for. To remind them of their mortality, despite how harmless the youth before them might look.

It took Bethany a few moments, wherein she let out a couple heavy breaths that further pushed the papers out of place, before that anger of hers had been beat back. "N-No. No matter how good it might feel to wrap my hands around that fat neck of his. It won't get me my watch back. Hell, I might even get arrested."

"We can't have that." Normally, it would've been strange that the idea of going to the cops with this information at hand. What Rueben was doing was wrong, morally at least. He wasn't some lawyer, so trying to find the legality of the man's actions would be a fruitless pursuit. Anywhere else, she would've already gone to the police after paying what she borrowed. At least the threat of that happening would've kept the pawn shop owner in line. But not in Gotham of all places, and especially not at this time or date.

After the GCPD's rather public showing during lockdown, which had been broadcast all over the world, he felt he should add, Gotham's trust in their police force had fallen to an all-time low. And if what Angeline had been saying was correct, then there were even talks of their structure being rebuilt to avoid such a tragedy from occurring again. Killing and injuring all those civilians showed the globe not just their lacking training but also that callous disregard of life no one wanted those responsible for keeping the peace to have.

"Then what can I do?" She slumped in her seat, the anger still present but contained by the enormity of the situation. "And I'm guessing confronting Rueben about this wouldn't get me anywhere?"

"From what I know of the man," Albert weighed his options, such an established run primarily by trust. Trust that the things bought won't break the moment they leave the premises, and trust that they won't screw anyone over when it comes time to buy back a pawned item. And judging from the broken toaster he had been forced to buy, both conventions had been broken. But with the man's connection to the underbelly of Gotham? Trust was even more valuable than a coin. After all, it didn't matter if he made it out like a bandit in one purchase but never got anything else again in life, but the question was simply whether or not to mention this to his already visibly stressed-out client.

'Wait… This is Gotham.'

Crime itself was interwoven deep into this city's blood, pumping through every citizen to the point that it probably took something truly heinous to shake up these people. It was possible that even the pizza shop he worked at had some criminal connections, no matter how small. They knew the game and how to navigate through the mire to avoid being dragged in too deep.

With that in mind, Albert decided to just place all his cards on the table. At worst, he could just burn everything and play mom if things got leaked.

"He's a fencer." The woman didn't even blink at his words, and the expression she was sending his way was enough for him to know she thought he had suddenly become extremely slow in that small window. Pulling out another folder, this one much thinner, he continued despite the welling indignation. "Especially a gold fencer. Near the beginning of each month, he receives a large influx of gold jewelry from what I assume to be the same source. Or he's receiving the gold all throughout the month and only marks things down at the end of the month. Either way, that in itself means he's receiving a steady supply of possibly stolen goods from someone who preferred to be unknown. Meaning there's no paper trail between them. No checks, no direct deposits, or money wiring. All cash, I suspect. That means…."

"He's primarily relying on trust." Bethany finished after receiving that none-too subtle prompt, a thoughtful look on her face as things clicked into place. "And if this were to get out, not only would he possibly lose this gold stream, but also the people he sells to will also become weary of dealing with him."

"Exactly." Albert nodded at her quick assumptions, pride brushing away the bits of indignation that swirled inside of him. "Threatening to release this information would work in getting your watch back..but obviously it comes with its own dangers."

'Rueben doesn't seem like the kind of person to just take getting screwed.' The man was weasel, but a very proud one. So prideful in fact that no one would be surprised if her watch went'missing' a few weeks later after doing this. Whether or not she was roughed up in the process was a complete coin toss.

His client only nodded at that, in silent agreement with the assessment. Her roaming over the multitude of photos and their price, a slight bit of green flashing as the vast amount of wealth made itself known. If that slimeball was capable of paying that amount of money out every single month, then what did he sell them for?

"Do you know who he sells these to?"

Albert winced at that question, being the only thing he lacked a clear-cut answer to. With how hot things had gotten the other night, there simply wasn't enough time to rummage through the records. The flight had only further revealed how short his truly was.

Having seen how quickly Darnell unlocked the cellar with nothing but a chisel and a hammer, he didn't think for a second that that lock would've been any trouble for the locksmith. Possible facing off against not one but two full-grown men in a narrow alley didn't sound like a good time in the slightest.

"Sadly no." He shook his head ruefully, a slight twinge in his heart as the mystery slipped by. "My source was pressed on time and couldn't collect anymore information without risking themselves further."

"Well, I guess that doesn't matter then." Her nonchalant only further pumped that twinge into a near-physical pain; it was clear that she was disappointed despite her attempts at hiding it. He didn't need Psychology to tell him that much. "He probably sold them off to one of the markets or smelted them all down into bars to deal with that way. I'm getting the feeling that wasn't the only plan you had."

"No," Shaking his head, Albert pulled out yet another folder. This was plain and flat; it's shiny black surface flickered with barely contained malice. A prelude to an extreme measure, "But before that, I feel like it would be right to give you some more options... This one is a bit extreme, and the results will be completely out of either of our hands once it's enacted."

"...Yeah…" Bethany visibly leaned back from the ominous folder, even going so far as to cause the chair to creak. "Let me hear the other ones first. You make it sound like you'll kill him or something."

"I might as well." He mumbled, all too happy to delay pressing that button. "So here's what my source can do. First, they can retrieve it if you please. It'll take them some time to find exactly where Rueben keeps everything, but that already has multiple problems involved. First, you'll have to avoid that shop like the plague forever. And it's likely that you'll need to outright hide your watch all together. That watch, which is quite valuable if I may ask, will attract the eye of anyone who knows even remotely what they're looking at. Putting you at risk of some form of retaliation. Whether that'll be legal or not, I'm not sure. I just know it wouldn't be good for you to even possess the watch after having it snatched."

"The second problem is actually finding a window to sneak in again. Because of my source's forced flight, it's safe to say he will be on an increased watch. I'm talking of security cameras and probably heavier-duty locks. Only making everything a might bit harder than before."

'I'm not getting arrested over a watch. Or worse, get caught stealing by Batman himself.'

Either option was not ideal, but they all inevitably led him to the same place. Prison. The only difference between the two was how roughed up he would be before they tossed him behind bars.

"I can understand that." Bethany rubbed her chin in thought. "As I've told you before, I've frequented the shop some over the years and witnessed how more secure the store was. You know, there was a time where there was an actual handle on the door? And he didn't have that stupid buzzer. I don't really know what happened there; maybe he got robbed one too many times, or maybe all this started from his gold supply? But anyway, yeah. That store is going to be locked up tight. What other options do you have for me?"

"You could work with the community itself to get Rueben's store to close down." This route in particular was a lot more involved and would put her in some amounts of danger if Rueben ever caught wind of whoever was the primary spark. Noticing her look of confusion, he emphasized his plan: "Have you heard of a neighborhood association?"

"You mean like the HOA?" Her nose scrunched as though she had smelled something foul. "Isn't that for rich people? And don't they only deal with houses?"

"Just for rich people? No, commonly it's a grouping of residents coming together to regulate not just the property value of each of their homes but also keeps everything on the up and up. Think of it more like a union. But just to emphasize, the HOA won't be able to be formed here. It literally stands for the Home Owner Association, and I don't think anyone near Rueben's shop owns their homes. But yeah, with this, it'll give them not just the power to shut down his store; I've gathered they don't like him very much, but also a lot of other benefits. Stuff like rent control, neighborhood safety, and even some beautifying if they so please."

"That's nice and all." The woman hedged, obviously confused. "But how does that involve me? If it wasn't obvious from before, I don't live anywhere near there. And I don't even know if they will listen to me to begin with. Also, wouldn't that process take awhile? I'll still be paying these payments either way."

"This plan is more of a long-term solution; it'll throw some chains on Rueben and force him to clean up his act or get his business closed down. That is, if he doesn't use some criminal forces to get them to back off, but this is Gotham. I wouldn't be surprised if they're already armed."

"If it won't get me my watch back, why even bring it up?"

"Simple. It was primarily to force you to begin thinking outside the box. There's more than one way to deal with Rueben's greed without resorting to violence or other illegal means. With his business model, social and financial pressure are both more ideal. And more importantly, it'll take you out of the line of fire all together. From my research, I've verified there is a business committee here in Gotham. They oversee smaller businesses like this and make sure nothing their doing will draw in the attention of New Jersey's government. While going to them with all this information probably wouldn't be good for your health, explaining what's going on should be enough. Just tell them the price you received for the watch and what you've currently paid in hopes of getting it back. You're not paying him cash, right?"

Having a paper trail of some sort would always be important doing any sort of business, a way to prove that payments were made and take away the possibility of whoever reneging on a particular deal. It was a lesson Albert learned in his past life after a particular slummy landlord unduly evicted him on the same day he paid rent. Going to court didn't win him any favors, as he had paid in cash, leaving no documentation to actually prove any of his claims. The judge at the time had tossed out the case without giving a second glance to the twenty-something man's plight. Despite how much money he lost during that time in his life, the lesson it etched deep into his bones was well worth the price. Taking note of the sudden silence, he looked at the woman's uneasy expression. "IIf you are, that's fine. Did you get a receipt after each payment at least?"

Again, there was silence, and he could already feel this plan slip through his fingers like old oil. Even if the people on the Business Committee were altruists, they were still merchants at heart. Profit being their primary concern, meaning each of them would be meticulous to a fault. Documentation on any payments, receipts of purchases, anything and everything to make sure everything they did left a visible paper trail. If Bethany, with no receipts or proof, walked in there, it would just devolve everything into a weighing match between Rueben's word against hers.

'I guess there's truly no other way.'

As though mocking him, that black folder lied there. It's an ominous call like hooks sinking into his flesh, wrangling him deeper into the mire that would ruin a man's entire life. With a sigh of defeat, Albert pushed the folder his client's way. He wouldn't feel guilt for what was about to happen; he only provided the tools for her to enact her desire.

He only watched on as her sheepish expression slowly but sure began to fall as those eyes ran along the contents, her face growing paler and paler as time went on. Sweating began to drip down her temple as she reached the bottom. It would be wrong to say the look she gave him didn't sting slightly; it was the stare one had when they realized the person they were breaking bread with was a monster. Like having a pleasant conversation with someone for an entire afternoon only to go home feeling high on life and find their face on the news being arrested after the police found three recently buried bodies in their backyard.

"This option would take you out of the equation all together." Albert could only firm up his facial muscles to put on an emotionless mask; this person wasn't his friend nor someone whose opinion mattered to him the least. Maybe it was seeing her so vulnerable during their first meeting that made him somewhat attached—a mistake he would have to remedy in the future. In the line of work he's in, everyone has a sob story. A tale to spin. And if he got attached to every single client that came his way, things wouldn't go well for his physical or mental health. "If you don't feel comfortable doing it yourself, I can drop that information off along with an anonymous report to the Internal Revenue Service. Given they'll be required to look into it with the amount of information they gather, it won't take long for Rueben to be audited and for all his secrets to be dug up kicking and screaming. Not only will they find him fencing goods but also find him tipping the scale against you, so to speak. He'll be fined into oblivion and possibly even find himself behind bars for a long time. I'm sure your watch will be returned to you after a time, and your life will go on as normal."

'Hopefully.' Despite Bethany not keeping any personal records of how much she's paid and for what, Rueben had shown himself to be as meticulous as ever. Right there in that black folder was exactly how much she spent in payments, and it easily exceeded the initial loan amount by a good amount. Everything should wrap itself up in a few weeks with Rueben properly chastised and the watch back where it belonged. A good ending, so to speak.

He should be feeling some form of jubilation or accomplishment and be beaming up to the high heavens, maybe even patting his own back. But despite everything he gathered on the pawnshop owner—all the underhanded tactics used against his client, the forced purchases, how he seems to treat his employees, and even his fencing—it still didn't absolve that little twinge of something shoveling it's way deeper in his chest.

'He's a bad guy, right? Then why should I feel guilty?'

Psychology, a cold and calculative skill, whispered the answer to his unasked question. An observer in all ways, a third party to bounce his thoughts and ideas off of. If Albert could describe what it was like, it would be as if a rather cruel and possibly drunk psychologist undressed him with nothing more than their words alone. Tore him apart strip by strip, layer by layer, tearing through tempered steel armor plates to gain access to the gooey insides. Like a crab or lobster.

'There's more than one way to kill someone.' The insidious voice rasped in his ears, forcing him to listen to the words of wisdom being spoken. No matter how much they hurt to hear. 'Whether it be physically, emotionally, spiritually, or financially, you've never 'killed' someone before. In this life or the last.'

The poison was almost too much to bear, and suddenly, all he wanted to do was lock himself in his room and not come out again until after everything was said and done. But stopping this late in the game wouldn't accomplish anything in the end, as it didn't seem like Bethany held the same willingness he did. Even now, she has morphed from a variety of differing emotions. Fear, disgust, acceptance, anger, vindictive glee, and... sadness?

From what he could gather, she had been a repeat customer for how many years now, and maybe this store helped her out of a few financial pickles. But now she held the very thing that could shut the shop down.

"I don't know." Bethany finally said, her eyes straying from his as she raised that wary gaze. "There has to be another way, right? This can't be the last option out there. What if I just sue him for the additional payments?"

"You don't have receipts." Albert reminded her and waved his hand to the folder she held tight. "You can't use those in a court of law because of how they were acquired. And if you try, they'll throw it out without ever including it in the case. And more important, do you have the money for a lawyer?"

It was harsh, he knew, but it needed to be said. If coming here that night in hopes of receiving help from Xander was literally her last option, then there was no way she could afford a good lawyer. At least not one that a bigger shit about the case than the one Rueben could just throw money at.

"Couldn't your source just steal it then?"

Instead of re-answering the inane question, brown eyes stared blankly at the frazzled woman without even a flicker of pity evident in those orbs. At least that's the mask he tried to wear. She didn't need more options; she just needed to choose a path and follow it.

'How important is your family heirloom worth to you?'

The pair had a silent starring match, pleading eyes met those made of stone that continued until the woman let out a brief of defeat and slumped like a limp noodle.

"Fine." Bethany whispered akin to a mosquito, something barely perceptible unless one was made aware of its existence. "But I won't do it. You do it."

"Then I'm taking this as consent to proceed?" He wasn't surprised she foisted this onto him in the end; she had already shown herself to be indecisive here, and the possibility of her actually going through with it on her own was small. "Then, Miss Bethany, this has turned into a bit of a waiting game; please don't hesitate to call if there are any updates from your end."