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“A whisky on the rocks, please.” She asked, leaning her elbows on the counter of the bar and taking off her sunglasses. The colorful lights of the club were blinding her, making her eyes itch and her head spin, but she knew she couldn't keep them on all night. She was a woman with a mission, this fine evening, and her gaze needed to stay sharp. The bartender, oblivious to her important task, nodded at her way, and dutifully turned on his heels to grab a glass from the shelves behind him. When he came back, holding a bottle of good whisky under his arm, Barbara smiled at him, showing all her perfect white teethes, and took a seat on the only free bar stool. He smiled back, rather shyly.
The Iceberg was full tonight, and the raucous crowd that had taken over the dance floor was helping little on the matter of high temperatures. Barbara could feel sweat dripping off her forehead, making the base of her makeup run down her cheeks and neck.
The bartender serving her was a young man, of tanned skin and big brown eyes; his bushy eyebrows and the curious shape of his nose made her think that he was Jewish, or perhaps Italian. He was a good looking guy, who smiled charmingly at all the women he had the pleasure to serve a drink to, no matter if they were ugly or pretty. Most of the girls in the bar stool seemed to be falling for his act, but Barbara, sensing his apprehension towards her from the beginning, was left unimpressed. When he turned away to attend the next costumers (a young business man in the company of a Mexican beauty) her all toothed smile disappeared immediately.
On the sly, Barbara turned to look at the other side of the club; pass the crowd of people talking and laughing in the reception lounge, the remains of smoke left by expensive Cuban cigars, and the human mass formed by drunkards gorging on the Penguin's liquor. Behind all this, she got a glimpse of an exit door. It was big and green, difficult to miss among the Iceberg's glitzy decorations, and anyone who had been in the club more than a handful of times knew that if they crossed that door at the wrong moment they would not make it to the end of the night without a few broken bones.
The alleyway behind that door was the place where the Penguin (because no one called the King of Gotham by his given name, except his mother, a few of his closest friends, and one Jim Gordon) took his business partners when they were being particularly troublesome. For his slim contexture, the young Don was not particularly good with violence, but in that regard Mr. Zsasz and his girls were always close by to assist.
Because of his appearance and his awkward ways, there was always someone in Gotham who was fool enough to not be afraid of the Penguin, or of the reprisals that always came whenever he was defied; but there was no one in that city stupid enough to not be afraid of Victor Zsasz. For some reason, the thought made Barbara smile proudly.
Her drink was placed before her right away, and her nice expression morphed into a nasty grin when she had to direct it to the pretty bartender again. This time she didn't show her teethes (it wasn't necessary to be over friendly) and when he lingered in her small corner of the bar, as if waiting for instructions, she nodded quickly at his way to let him know that he was no longer required. The bartender backed away, seeming nervous, but not before asking her again if she didn't need anything else. Once she was alone and the guy was out of view, Barbara's thoughts turned suddenly grim.
It was already known in Gotham that she had replaced Shannon, the young Zsaszette that a couple of years ago had been killed off by Butch Gilzean, and despite her wealthy origins and her rather poor reputation as Jim Gordon's girl on the side, that had gained her some respect in the lower branches of the Family. Whenever she went to the Iceberg, or to any other establishment in the Theater District, her bartenders and waiters were jumpy when attending her, as thought they were afraid that at the slightest provocation her boss would pop out of thin air to take them away to his house of pain. Respect was something important, she knew, and having in count everything she had done in the past Barbara knew she should be thankful. Still, somehow it felt wrong. She wasn't been feared because of her own accomplishments, but because of the monstrous man who was eternally standing behind her.
Officially, Barbara was a Zsaszette, and whenever a contract appeared for them she headed out to work with Mr. Zsasz and the girls. However, as far as cleaning was concerned, she was still being labeled as a silent vigilant. She was supposed to be out there, behind the green door, watching the life slowly pouring out of the target of the night; to hear it scream, cry and plead to the unmerciful Don and his efficient henchman; to see how Víctor would smile when its face grew paler and the blood flow stopped. And yet, she wasn't.
She was left behind on the bar stool of the club, to keep a watchful eye on the exit door and frighten off whoever might try to approach it. A part of Barbara felt proud that she had been labeled capable enough to start working, and the other felt indignant at the banality of her mission. There was also the fact that she was the only girl in the group who had to miss all the fun. This was going to be a boring night, she knew, and probably just the first one of many to come.
Time passed, and Barbara's drink quickly ran out. The bartender came back to refill it, and she fought to not roll her eyes at him. Instead, she managed to keep her smile nice and easy, and the fool returned it shyly again. When he left she put the edge of the glass between her teeth, biting it slightly, and as she gulped down the bittersweet beverage, ignoring the tears that were forming in the corners of her eyes, Barbara realized she missed Mr. Zsasz terribly.
When he was around, she didn't have to fake a smile for everyone to see and show all her perfect white teethes. If she was sad, he was fine with it, and if she was angry, he was fine with it too. He would not comfort her, because as long as she kept doing her job he didn't care whether she was happy or not; but he would not force her to change her mood to please him, or to make him feel comfortable. She didn't have to pretend to be happy. She didn't have to pretend to be anything. When Barbara was with Mr. Zsasz she didn't feel like a doll anymore. She was just a woman, free to do and feel whatever she wanted.
However, Barbara knew that being a doll could be very useful sometimes, and even thought she found that particular mask annoying, she had nothing against using it when it served her purpose. Perhaps, if the bartender she had been smiling at all night hadn't been so young and pretty she wouldn't have felt wronged by his fear. Perhaps, if he hadn't being throwing disarming smiles to all the girls in the bar, she being the only exception, she wouldn't have even noticed him. Barbara was unpredictable when it came to those things. Whenever the mob bosses of the city and their scarred bodyguards checked her out and screamed crude comments at her, she felt proud of her beauty; proud that powerful and wealthy men like those considered her attractive. But when a young man with no power, no wealth and no scars smiled at her she felt indignant, as thought she had been slapped in the face. She would feel the same if they overlooked her.
Barbara considered this as she took a sip of her third drink of the night, and quietly told the bartender that she wouldn't need anything else. He walked away then, and smiled charmingly at the next girl who approached the bar stool. Barbara gave him one last glare before turning away to look at the exit door again. She wondered if Mr. Zsasz had already finished the contract, or if he was taking things slowly this time. Normally, when the Penguin sent him to cut off his loose ends, cleaning would be a quick and boring matter more often than not.
Those nights Mr. Zsasz always came back to the apartment in a bad mood. He would head to the bathroom silently and with a grim expression in his face (something very uncharacteristic of him, for he was a rather excitable creature) and would take a cold shower that in the worst scenario could last hours. Afterwards, he would lock himself in the bedroom and fall asleep, all the while ignoring the girls and, ultimately, ignoring Barbara. Other times, when things went down smoothly, Mr. Zsasz would come back to the apartment in a good mood, and instead of taking a cold shower, he would call one of the Zsaszettes to his bedroom. Barbara wondered if there was any chance of that happening tonight, and instinctively crossed her legs.
Mr. Zsasz wasn't particularly skilled in bed. His mind would often drift away, as though he were engaged in more important business than the matter at hand. His eyes were never fully focused on Barbara, and often she would wonder if he found any joy in the act, or if he just practiced it out of custom. It took her some time to realize that his absence of mind was not due to indifference, but to more dark and primal matters. For Mr. Zsasz, sex was just another way to revive his past killings; while he thrusted in and out of Barbara, his teethes sinking deep into the soft skin of her neck, breasts and shoulders, Victor's mind was adrift between memories of blood, screams and death. She knew it. Whenever she looked up, staring with wonder into those cruel brown eyes that didn't seem to see her, she knew it.
Despite his sadistic tendencies, Mr. Zsasz was not prone to hurt his girls. He could be rough during sex (sometimes insensitive, as his lack of empathy bounded him to be) but he had never left anything worse than bite marks in Barbara's body. The occasional slap in the face was, in truth, more invigorating than hurtful. She would be lying if she said that she didn't like to have sex with him. Sometimes their encounters pleased her so much that Barbara was even willing to let other of the Zsaszettes into the bedroom. Victor was hers just as much as he was from the other girls, and even thought it was bothersome more often than not, sharing could be fun in time to time.
Lost in her thoughts, Barbara finished her drink. She was wondering whether it was wise or not to order another when she heard the entrance door suddenly been opened. She turned around, frowning. The man that entered the club was tall and well built, and it was wearing a dirty trench coat over its white dress shirt. Its hair was brown and short, and despite the dim lights, it was wearing a pair of sunglasses with a thick black frame. Barbara could tell by the way it was standing, that it was hiding a gun between its pants.
She didn't stood up immediately. In fact, for a couple of minutes she didn't move at all. Barbara just watched the man that was standing awkwardly in the Iceberg's reception, and tried to guess whether it came there for business or not. It didn't greet anyone and it didn't tell the waiters to ask for the boss's presence, as was expected from any member of the criminal world when they were making the Penguin a visit. It just gave the place a hard look, taking off its sunglasses, and started to walk through the dance floor, making the people move away by shoving and shouting. It didn't need to get any closer for Barbara to know that he was heading towards the exit door.
She shoved her sunglasses into her purse and quickly asked for the bill, not caring for the startled look that the pretty bartender sent at her way. If this guy really thought that he could interfere with a contract so easily, Barbara was just about to prove him wrong. She was a woman with a mission, after all, and she was not going to let a moron with a gun and a little whisky on the rocks stop her.
When Mr. Zsasz and the girls came back from the alleyway, it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. Barbara was in her corner of the bar again, absently drinking from a bottle of sparkling water. Things had gone a little dizzy around two o'clock, and she had been trying to sober up ever since. Besides the nosy fool that had appeared in the Iceberg earlier in the evening, no one had tried to get close to the exit door; even thought a group of drunkards with no love for life had been daring each other to cross the forbidden gate. They were thrown out of the club by Gabe's helping hand, so for the rest of the night, Barbara didn't have anything to worry about.
Mr. Zsasz opened the door quite abruptly, making her jump on her seat, and entered the Iceberg with all the nonchalance of the world; Carrie, Mathilda and Yuki following shortly after. In her lightheaded state, Barbara smiled at the sight of them, momentarily forgetting her blatant dislike of the other Zsaszettes. After that long and lonely night having only a pretty but fearful bartender as company, she seemed to find comfort in their familiar faces. The three girls looked tired; their shoulders hunched and their faces unsmiling. Mr. Zsasz, however, seemed quite pleased with himself, and as he approached her seat with an unfading smile, Barbara allowed herself to think that he looked as happy as a cat in a haystack. The thought brought to her mind the image of a cat sinking its bloody fangs into a pigeon's neck, and she immediately dismissed it.
“Barbie.” He greeted, when he was close enough for her to hear him; not cheerfully, but with a low and pleased tone that made Barbara's skin crawl. “How was your night? Did you have fun without us?” He asked her, putting a hand over the counter of the bar and the other over the back of her chair. For some reason, the sudden closeness made Barbara feel trapped. To these days, the way Mr. Zsasz's voice wavered between calmness and aggressiveness when he was excited still unsettled her. It made him seem fickle and unstable. Unpredictable.
“Something went wrong.” She responded, quietly sipping from the straw of her bottle. Barbara had already been told that when delivering this type of news she needed to remain calm. The people around them didn't need to know about their business, even if they weren't forces of the law.
“There's a dead body upstairs.” She said, furtively staring at the ceiling. She was referring to the upper floors, where Gabe had helped her to hide the corpse. Barbara stepped closer to Victor and brought their heads together, as if she were telling him a very important secret. “It wanted to stop the contract. Brought a gun and everything.” At hearing this, Victor's expression changed, and in his surprise, that place in his forehead where his eyebrows should have been lifted up. “Don't worry, no one saw it. I made sure of that.” She said, already guessing what he would ask next. A smile tugged at her lips when she remembered how easy it had been to lure the guileless gangster into the bedrooms of the second floor. Being a doll was, indeed, very useful sometimes.
“… And you killed him?” He asked, not even trying to hide the skepticism in his voice. As he started to lean forward, stepping into her personal space, Barbara found that as time ticked by it was getting harder and harder to breathe. She nodded in affirmation. Mr. Zsasz lifted his hand and took hold of one of her golden locks, carefully rubbing at it with deft fingers. “Now, how did a Barbie Doll like you made something like that?” Barbara had to bite her lower lip to keep any sound from coming out of her mouth. He didn't seem to be in a bad mood tonight.
“You told me to keep an eye on the door. That's what I did.” Barbara could see from the corner of her eye how the bartender's tanned skin grew pale at the sight of her boss. She could sense how slowly, but surely, all the guests of the club started to get away from the bar stool. They were all afraid, as she was, but unlike them Barbara was not going to let her fear take the best of her. Especially, not in front of Victor. She held his gaze, refusing to look away. He was looking down at her; smiling in that dark, crooked way of his. He seemed strangely pleased with her answer.
They were both in silence for a while. Then, Barbara lifted two elegant fingers in the air, and gestured at a soft spot under her jaw line. “You got blood on your neck.” Barbara said and, indeed, in that same place in Mr. Zsasz's throat there was a tiny bit of blood; the only evidence of the killing that had taken place that night, in the Iceberg's darkest alleyway. He frowned, placing his fingers over the red spot. When he cleaned it off, he held his hand in front of his face and stared at the blood for a few seconds, as if he couldn't understand how it had gotten there. Barbara smiled a little, not really knowing why.
Mr. Zsasz wanted to ask for more details (very sordid and graphic details, if Barbara knew him as well as she thought she did) but the night was not as young as it used to be, and they were all tired. It was better to leave that story for another time. Barbara stood up, retrieving her purse from the back of her chair, and started to look for some money to pay her second bill of the night. Before she could even find her wallet, thought, Mr. Zsasz took a couple of dollars out of his pockets and let them fall on the counter of the bar. The fearful bartender took them, looking by all means as though he were going to faint. It was more money than what Barbara had spent that night, but he didn't care to ask for refund. Five minutes later, they were out of the club and heading into the streets.