SEL Chapter 21

Helena climbs out of the battered muscle car that ‘Mags’ drives and heads into the seedy, 24-hour gym. Hardly anyone is there at this hour, and the handful of guys lifting weights would fit in nicely at Noonan’s.

She briskly spins the combination into the specified locker and takes out the backpack inside, finding a camera, an extra lens, a tripod, microphones, and a laptop. There’s also a cap with the logo of the Metropolis Meteors. Genuinely curious, she shoulders the bag and heads out into the frigid Gotham night. Even crumbling old tenement buildings in the Narrows have the occasional gargoyle making faces at the street below. The one on the corner above the flickering streetlight has a jacket tossed over his head. Ugly, too serious, and blind. It’s like Batman never left.

Helena climbs into the car and drives downtown. There’s a Knights game tonight, so parking is scarce, and the sidewalks are less desolate than usual. The subway will be crowded as well. These things will matter if this job, whatever it is, goes bad. ‘Mags’ doesn’t do big, messy gigs because she doesn’t want to get caught in a running gun battle with the GCPD.

She has to hurry after she finds parking, jogging almost two blocks with the backpack on. She reaches the Wayne Fountain, one of Gotham’s rare monuments that isn’t routinely vandalized. Bronze statues of Bruce’s parents smile warmly at anyone crossing this square—it’s too small to be called a park.

Helena puts on the hat and sits, drawing a few looks.

A hand falls on her shoulder, and she jumps. She had no idea that someone was approaching.

The woman beside her wears a Gotham Knights jacket with the hood up, but up close, even at night, Helena recognizes her. Dread creeps into her throat.

That hand is still on her shoulder, and the teal fingernails gleam in the light of the streetlamps. This is an unusually discreet Jade Nguyen, known also as Cheshire. She’s no Shiva or David Cain, but by Helena’s standards, she counts as a heavyweight. She’s an assassin who uses poison. She isn’t crazy like the Arkham crowd, but she has a big ego and can get carried away.

“Let’s go,” Cheshire says.

“Just us? No secret password?”

Cheshire elegantly pulls back the cuff of her sweatshirt to reveal a small luxury wristwatch. The face is worn on the inside of her wrist.

“No time to wait for the other one.”

Helena can’t argue; she’s just the help.

“OK.” She gets to her feet. It’s best if ‘Mags’ doesn’t recognize Cheshire in these clothes. If she changes in her distinctive green, then it’s reasonable to know who she is. Until then, Helena has to play dumb.

Her heart rate is up. Having those poisonous nails so close to her skin was not relaxing, and why is there an assassin on this job? Noonan wouldn’t have pulled her in for a hit.

Cheshire leads Helena into an apartment building. It’s nice; this is the good part of downtown, and respectable people live in these units, which have nice views. But it’s not a truly wealthy building. There are doctors here. Lawyers, maybe. Families. It’s not fancy enough to have a doorman or anything, just a buzzer. Cheshire punches in a code with a knuckle; the door unlocks, and they push through.

Helena automatically uses her cap to ensure that her face is hidden from the cameras, and Cheshire’s doing the same with her hood.

“Don’t,” Cheshire says in the elevator, as Helena starts to pull on a pair of latex gloves.

“It’d be easier if I knew what I was doing.”

“Is that what your life is?” Cheshire asks, glancing at her. “Easy?”

Helena snorts. “OK, sis. You’re the boss.”

It’s interesting; Cheshire isn’t by any means bubbling with enthusiasm, but she also doesn’t seem particularly annoyed about being here. Helena simply doesn’t know what’s going on. Is Cheshire slumming it in Gotham? Is this a job that she likes? What could the Penguin want in a place like this?

High in the building, they make their way down a carpeted corridor. Cheshire lowers her hood and shakes her wavy black hair out. There aren’t any cameras up here.

“You’re sure I don’t need my gloves?” Helena asks.

“Quiet,” Cheshire replies, pressing a doorbell. She holds it down, releases, then holds it down again. Finally, she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

After an interval that can only be the time it would take someone to drag themselves out of bed, the door opens.

Inside the apartment stands a puzzled, conspicuously athletic redhead in her underwear. She doesn’t have Barbara Gordon’s chest, but there’s an unmissable, almost comic bulge in her panties. Her hair’s a mess, and she peers at them blearily.

Cheshire grabs her and pushes her into the apartment. The redhead snaps awake and attempts a break, but she’s no match for Cheshire, who slams her against the wall and twists her arm behind her back.

“Little girl took a Karate class,” Cheshire purrs, amused.

Helena warily shuts the door. She can’t let Cheshire kill this woman.

“Who the hell are you?” the redhead snarls, and this isn’t right. This woman is startled and afraid, but not afraid enough.

“I want your help,” Cheshire tells her. “A few minutes ago, your paramour, you know which one, got a text from you. You said that you were lonely and needed to see her.”

“I didn’t text anyone. I was sleeping.”

“I know. She’s going to come here, Riley. And you’re going to give her what she wants.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb. I need my candidate happy. Nobody makes her happy like you. Not her wife, not her voters. You must be doing something right.”

Helena struggles to keep up, but it looks like Riley understands.

“We broke it off,” she says tightly.

Cheshire twists her arm. “So put it back on.”

“She won’t come! It’s the middle of the night. It’ll make her wife suspicious.”

“The wife isn’t home. She’ll be here, Riley. And I don’t want to argue.”

Helena doesn’t have time to react; Cheshire simply touches a finger to Riley’s neck. A single drop of blood wells up.

“Did you feel that?”

“What was it?” Riley demands.

“That’s you having about three hours to live. Make them good, and I’ll give you the antidote.”

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want. I want Viti Saxena happy. Do it or die. There’s no hospital that can save you. But I can.” Cheshire uses her free hand to take a pouch off her belt. She flips it open to show several vials.

Helena doesn’t like where this is going. It sure looks like the Penguin wants dirt on Viti Saxena, but it would be foolish to be sure of anything with so little information.

If she’s going to break character and intervene, this is the time. The antidotes are right there. But Alfred will also have antidotes, and it looks like this redhead’s life isn’t in immediate danger.

Intervene?

Or play it out?