Commissioner Doyle strode purposefully through the dazzling chaos of the Scarlett Tower casino. The incessant pinging of slot machines, the bitter curses from the craps tables, and the gleeful cheers of grannies gambling away their family's futures assaulted his ears, yet he pressed on, unyielding, towards the employee elevator. A quick flash of his badge granted him access, setting him on his ascent to the penthouse.
Reaching the summit, he continued his determined advance, sweeping through the expansive waiting room that fronted the main office. The young blonde secretary, jolted out of her gum-snapping reverie, sprang to her feet as he barreled past her desk.
"Sir, wait! Mr. Scarlett is in the middle of a very important meeting!"
Doyle ignored her, shouldering open the heavy doors with such force they slammed against the wall behind them. The scene that greeted him inside, however, was anything but what he expected.
Inside, Judas Scarlett – Grummsdale's wealthiest man and the undisputed kingpin of its vital tourist trade – sat cross-legged on the floor at a miniature table. He wore his customary blood-red business suit, incongruously adorned with a frilly collar and a plastic crown. Parallel to him sat his four-year-old daughter, Charlotte, in a blue dress with a white apron, while perpendicular to her was his son Francis, better known as Blazer on the streets, looking utterly miserable in a pair of bunny ears. Spread across the tiny table was an ornate tea set, complete with a small boiler for the pot and a plate piled high with cookies.
Judas, an amused, jovial smile on his lips despite the cross look in his eyes for the intruder, turned back to his children. "Do forgive me, sweet Alice and good Mr. White Rabbit," he announced with mock gravity. "It appears we have an unwanted guest for our very merry unbirthday. I'm afraid we must reschedule."
"Oh, thank goodness!" Blazer growled, ripping off the bunny ears and springing to his feet. He stomped on the discarded headdress for good measure before storming out of the room.
Charlotte pouted, her eyes welling up, but her father quickly scooped her into his arms, kissing her forehead. "Now, now, my dear and precious," he soothed, "no need for tears. Next time, I'll take you to a real tea party, a place that would make Wonderland look droll. Now run along while Daddy entertains his guest. I'll be back later to read you a story."
He gently set the little girl down, and she skipped off, her momentary tears forgotten. Judas waited, deliberately, holding up a silencing hand when Doyle attempted to speak. Only when the children were well out of earshot did he move, crossing to the doors and quietly shutting them, murmuring instructions to his secretary that they were not to be disturbed. His task completed, he spun to face Doyle, a truly murderous glare hardening his features.
"I pray you have made peace with your better angels, sir," Judas snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "It is not often I have enough free time to spend with my children, and you have effectively shattered it. If you weren't the police commissioner, I'd drag you to the nearest window and see how well you bounce from forty stories."
"Spare me the vinegar talk, Scarlett," Doyle spat back, utterly unfazed. "Your little plan is already coming apart at the seams, and we're all fixing to be in the hot seat."
Judas, calm as ever, approached his desk, lighting a cigar before settling into his chair.
"I assume you're referring to that little get-together at the Carnation Cougar?"
Doyle nodded furiously.
"I had three CIs in there – off-the-books men I count on for quiet operations. Nothing about what happened last night was quiet. That weasel Vinny botched the whole thing, and now..."
"Coska and the Dock Boys are upset, Velvet wants to stir up mischief, and the Bills are joining my ranks."
Doyle paused, studying Judas more closely. The man was the picture of calm, unperturbed, perhaps even – dare Doyle think it – ecstatic. He practically radiated contentment.
"Don't you get it?" Doyle demanded, his voice rising. "They're more riled up than ever. It's only a matter of time..."
"Before they declare all-out war," Judas finished, cutting him off again. "Indeed. They're going to be a nest of angry hornets, ready to sting. Just like I wanted. Just as I planned."
Doyle balked at him.
"You wanted them angry? Are you insane, man?! The whole plan was to bring them to heel! I wouldn't have supported you all this time if that weren't the case. You promised me..."
"That we would clean up Lowtown," Judas said, pouring himself some brandy. "Yes, that was your condition for being the curtain for the great and powerful Oz, wasn't it? I assure you, that will be the end result. But as they say, you can't make an omelette without cracking a few eggs."
Doyle's face contorted with disgust.
"Like what happened at the Bazaar? I never agreed to that!"
"And yet you pulled your forces back, just as I had asked."
"I didn't think you were going to just declare war outright! People could have died."
"Yes, and I was one of them, as you might recall. I assure you, Commissioner, it serves a purpose. The Lowtown Legion was merely ignition, a spark to fan the flames. Now, the worst of them are rising to the surface, showing their true colors. Once the time is right, we take them all out, and you, sir, will be the hero your beloved Maya always knew you could be, without having to lift a finger."
Doyle suddenly thundered over to him, grabbing Judas by the collar and hoisting him up, sending his glass skittering across the floor.
"You keep my wife's name out of your filthy mouth, you heathen! She was a saint! An angel, pure from heaven, and you have no right to..."
A sharp snick sounded, and Doyle felt something press into his belly. He looked down to see a switchblade in Judas's free hand before a gaze of icy calm met his own.
"Put. Me. Down."
Doyle slowly complied, backing away. Judas sheathed his knife and straightened his clothes.
"I do empathize with your feelings, commissioner," Judas went on, his tone still calm. "I lost my own Beatrice in the same accident, don't forget. I've just as much if not more reason to see this messy ordeal through, but that requires that you trust me. Yes, things are going to happen and, yes, some people are very liable to get hurt. All the more reason for you to be ready to press the button when I say go. It will be wonderful fireworks, I assure you."
Doyle's sneer returned.
"And what about the boy?" he asked.
"Boy?" Judas replied quizzically. "Oh, you mean that one you tried to shakedown in your own precinct."
"That's not how I recall it," Doyle muttered under his breath. "My boys saw him, and Sackett! You assured me neither of them would be a problem."
Judas spun about in his chair, and he looked out the large window overseeing the city.
"Ah yes, the good detective Deborah Sackett," he mused with quiet revelry. "She's become quite the spitfire in the last few years, not helped by your perceived incompetence, I'm sure. For now, she's little more than a pig's fart on the wind, but, if she should prove to be a problem, I've a means to deal with her."
Doyle adopted a concerned look.
"A nonlethal means, commissioner. I do prefer to use my brain for these sorts of things. As for the boy, I've already everything in motion. Are you familiar with a pincer maneuver?"
"It's where you attack an enemy from two sides, ensuring they have no chance of escape. So?"
"Well, thanks to his boldness last night, the first claw has been laid. Gossip from Lowtown spreads like wildfire, and there's quite the tidy premium put on the boy's head, as well as the Slumlord's. It won't be long before an entire third of the city is set against him. I need only put a second third, and he'll come to me."
Doyle skewed his face.
"And just how, pray tell, are you going to do that?"
Judas adopted an impish grin, and he motioned for Doyle to follow.
...............................................................
Jacob had retreated inward, not a single word escaping him all day. Nina and Howard, their concern palpable, cycled through attempts to draw him out, but he remained utterly unmoving, refusing even a flicker of response. He simply occupied his cot in Paradiso, his vacant gaze directed at the window, seeing nothing beyond the glass.
The door swung open, and Deborah stepped in, her official guise shed for civilian clothes, her badge noticeably absent. "How is he?" she asked, her voice hushed.
Howard rose, a weary sigh escaping him. "Physically speaking, he's fine," he reported. "It's genuinely astounding. If Lance's account of the beating he endured is even remotely accurate, I found not so much as a single bruise."
"Oh, it was actually worse," Deborah confirmed, settling onto the cot beside the boy. "Jacob? Sweetheart, are you with me?"
Jacob offered no reply, his stare unbroken. Deborah's expression softened with empathy. She gently laid a hand on his back, rubbing small circles, silently pleading for some acknowledgment.
"It's not as bad as it looks," she began, her voice firm yet gentle. "Unwise though your actions may have been, they did ensure Vinny made it through that whole ordeal. He's undoubtedly in hiding, but I sincerely doubt he's left town. I will find him, Jacob. No stone will be left unturned, no back alley unscraped, no water too deep for me to swim. I will drag that slimy dirtbag back, wherever he's burrowed. One way or another, he will tell us what happened to your uncle."
Finally, Jacob stirred, his neck cracking audibly as it released from the prolonged stillness. He looked up at her like a wounded puppy, his eyes large and soulful. He was searching her for falsehoods, no doubt looking to her as his last line of hope. She offered him a smile, and she raised her hand, pinky extended.
"Call it childish, but this is how I give my word in its fullest."
Jacob looked at the extended finger, seeming to consider the utter ridiculousness of it, but eventually he accepted it into his own. Juvenile though it was, he could tell she was being earnest, and he appreciated it. As the two reconciled, Nina took a step back, standing next to Howard. She let out a sigh and shook her head.
"What a right mess. This wasn't at all what I had wanted for him. Merrick certainly, Gloria maybe, but not me. We were supposed to be preparing him, but just like with his father we've thrown him headfirst into a war. We've failed...again."
Howard adopted a friendly smile, and he moved to touch her shoulder, only for his hand to go through her.
"Come now, buck up," he said. "Sure, this is the furthest thing from ideal as one can get, but Jacob's still alive and safe. What's more, that armor is apparently pretty effective, otherwise Deborah wouldn't have been able to save him when she did. I'm sure you're doing all you can for him."
"Perhaps." Nina said with a sigh. "But I can't help but feel like we've put him in a bad place. I know they'll be coming for him, but what if we've only succeeded in putting a target on his back?"
Howard frowned.
"They? Who're you..."
"Uh, guys!" Lance's voice called from the other room. "You may wanna see this!"
All at once, everyone was on the move, and they made their way into a small entertainment room that had been used for babysitting. Lance had set up the TV, and what was on the screen was more than a little disturbing. It was a news broadcast, a press conference to be exact, that was centered on the steps of Scarlett Tower. The man himself, Judas Scarlett, was at the podium, and at his back was Commissioner Doyle, staunch as ever but looking a bit unnerved. After testing the microphone to ensure he could be heard, Judas cleared his throat.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you for your swift arrival. I'll keep my remarks brief, out of respect for your time. I stand before you not as a man of means or title, but as a father, a neighbor, and a citizen of this extraordinary city. Like you, I cherish its spirit, its resilience, and its people. But I come today with a heavy heart. As you're all aware, what was meant to be a celebration — our cherished Bi-annual Bizarre Bazaar — was marred by a violent and unprovoked attack. Chaos, destruction, and fear swept through what should have been a joyful occasion. My own daughter and I were nearly among the casualties. However, most troubling of all is the alleged instigator of the affair: this so-called Midtown Knight. I've had a long and serious discussion with Commissioner Doyle here, and I must say — I find the accusations hard to believe."
He paused to let the cameras flash, ensuring they caught his good side and a carefully measured smile, before nodding to a reporter.
"Are you saying the vigilante street performer wasn't responsible for the attack?" she asked.
"I'm unaware of his profession, but no," Judas replied. "I believe he was involved in some capacity — but not as the mastermind."
"But doesn't that contradict the statement from the police commissioner?" another reporter asked, prompting a visible snarl from the man standing behind Judas.
"Our infallible Commissioner made a judgment call, as he so often does," Judas said gently. "I don't fault him. In times of crisis, we all look for answers — and sometimes, the easiest targets are the first to take the arrows. But that's why he came to me. I was there, after all. And I can say with certainty: my daughter would not be here today were it not for that young man. He shielded her from harm during the chaos. That's why I believe he is not a criminal — but a victim of circumstance. And for that reason, I wish to offer an olive branch."
He turned to the camera, and Jacob was almost certain he was looking directly at him — through the lens, through the screen.
"Mr. Midtown Knight, or whatever your true name may be — I implore you to turn yourself in at the nearest precinct. I believe you're just a frightened young man in over his head, in need of protection and guidance. nTo that end, I will personally fund your legal defense and ensure that, should any punishment be necessary, it is minimal — and that the truth, whatever it may be, comes to light."
Another barrage of camera shutters and a flood of shouted questions filled the screen as Jacob, Lance, Deborah, and Howard stared in stunned silence.
"What cheek!" Deborah hissed. "I never liked Scarlett on a good day, but this is ridiculous. Truth revealed my great-granny's bunions! He's got an angle — I just know it!"
"Now let's not be hasty," Howard said, holding up a hand. "I'm far from Judas Scarlett's biggest fan, but maybe this isn't all bad. Getting Jacob off the wanted list would take a huge weight off. And who knows — he might even help us track down your uncle. He owns a casino, not a death ray."
Before anyone could reply, another reporter's question cut through:
"But what if this Midtown Knight doesn't turn himself in? If he was even partially responsible for the attack, what's to stop him from striking again?"
Judas turned slightly, offering a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"It will be the brave actions of our neighbors — our fellow citizens — that make the difference. And so, along with my olive branch, I'm offering an incentive. A reward, for any information leading to the nonviolent"—he glanced at Commissioner Doyle—"arrest of this young man: Full annulment of any outstanding debts held by my casino, plus a ten-thousand-dollar slot machine credit."
Another flurry of flashes from the feverish shutterbugs filled the screen — but that was enough. Deborah snapped the TV off and turned a glare, hot with fury, on Howard. He offered a meek shrug... then flinched, catching the thousand-yard stare etched on Jacob's face as the boy sat frozen, eyes locked on his own reflection in the darkened screen.
................................................................
that moment, another TV went dark — this time courtesy of a barbell hurled clean through the screen. Andy "The Snake" Coska had been watching the broadcast mid-workout, his face twisted into its usual sneer.
Velvet slinked into the room, her arm curling around his shoulders, a wicked gleam flashing in her black-rimmed eye.
"Midknight," she purred. "That the boy from last night? The one who dropped most of Grummsdale's worst? Present company excluded, of course."
Andy nodded, the sneer deepening.
"Seems that little runt's made a name for himself in Uptown. Time we make him famous in Lowtown, too."
"Oh?" Velvet asked.
"Get the word out, toots — like only you can. From now on, anyone dumb enough to say 'Midknight' or 'Slumlord' gets buried. Let's remind this stinking city who really runs the streets... even if we have to burn it all to the ground."