The Odyssey || 𝗕𝗿𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗪𝗮𝘆𝗻𝗲

Seven | Suspected

He couldn't see. It wasn't that he wanted to because, at this point, he really didn't, but it was even more frightening not being able to know what exactly was going on.

There was something sharp pressed against his throat, he was too afraid to gulp, to speak.

"Tell me something, love..." Her voice was low and uncannily soft like a winter British hum, dark and terrifying. She was behind him, leaning over his shoulder.

"What do you know about The Coon?"

More panic. "Th...The Coon?" He repeated with caution. He was so frightened that his bound hands were clenching and unclenching clammily. He was sweating profusely.

"Mm-hm." She replied ever so calmly, like a pleased purr.

He knew better than to answer the question, his boss would have him killed...but he'd be dead now if he didn't tell her. "His name's Joe." He spoke semi timidly with his busted lip. "Joe Jefferson. Gangster, been in Blackgate Prison for a good nineteen years."

"Mm." She purred again. "Tell me about the mobster."

"M...mobster?" God, now she was asking about the boss.

"Ah, Ah..." the sharpness became much more evident at his throat as it was pressed ever so lightly "Don't play dumb, Lawrence..." she clicked her tongue with amusing scolding.

"Him and Falcone have been in cahoots since the eighties." He spoke as quickly as he could to save his life. "They was pullin' money from that company together, his sister Gwen was part of it too. Now that kid of his is runnin' things, tryna stop the flow...but..." He paused for his own sake, squeezing his eyes closed behind his blindfold.

"But?" She repeated expectantly.

He took a breath. "But I heard they got plans to shut the little girlie down once and for all..."

"Really..." She inquired interestedly.

"That's all I know, I swear!" He exclaimed, beckoning for her to let him go. He didn't know who she was, so she had no reason to kill him, right?

"I trust you, Lawrence."

"You do?" He was relieved for a moment, thinking she would possibly let him go, but the quiet hiss she made behind his ear gave him a last moment of alarm before the piercing object plunged through his throat.

A small grin grew on her dark painted lips. "Yes, Lawrence, I trust you."

•••

"So they dated?" Dick inquired with creased eyebrows, glancing at the butler.

"I believe it was far more than that, Master Dick," Alfred replied, holding the tea tray as the young ex-ward tilted his head with confusion, tucking his cycle helmet under his arm.

"High school, huh..." He glanced over at the unmasked man leaned over the console in deep concentration. He shook his head. "Well, it still doesn't explain why he hasn't looked into her yet." He looked back at Alfred with skepticism. "Bruce suspects everyone."

"I understand your concerns, but sometimes it is hard to think of someone so special in such a way." The older man tried to reason with the younger vigilante, who was dragging his gloved fingers through his tousled black hair, stressfully.

"Al, another one turned himself in. They're doing it for protection." He said sternly before pausing and sighing. "I'm..." Richard shook his head. "I'm not saying she's guilty, I'm just saying he needs to look into it. This femme fatale didn't show up until she was in Gotham. The mob used to own her company." Suddenly, out of urgency, he turned back towards Bruce. "You said you don't believe in coincidences."

He was only partially listening, as what he was looking at was far too important to be bothered with the conversation he had no interest in being involved in.

"...I don't." He replied dryly.

He was staring at the screen with a great amount of concentration, filtering out Richard's small comment about touchiness and his goodbye to Alfred as he departed on his bike back to Blüdhaven. Records, newspaper clippings, anything regarding Elizabeth over the last year was displayed.

She was his friend, but she was still a suspect. He hated to admit it, but motive regarding the Italian mob was relative, and the timing was similar. Evidence of meta activity was yet unclear in the subject, he still had no idea what or who it was.

The only clues he had were the key terms shadow, woman, and remembrance. The most recent of subjects had turned themselves in at 1:36 AM, muttering about some mistake he made in the past, a large mistake that led him to become who he was. M.O. seemed to be the use of the memory. Regret. Only Italian mob gang members. Personal Vendetta.

Unfortunately, there was only one current possible suspect.

And he was taking her to the ball tomorrow night.

There were no clear ties besides the Company's prior engagement and the timing of appearance, though surely the list of people who had a vendetta against the Italian was to the moon and back.

The chance of it really being her was a good thousand to one.

But he had to be sure.

He always had to be sure.