Visiting Hours

Part Three

 

Three Years Served

It hadn’t taken the Boss long to figure out that Robin was probably the kid from that fleabag circus. Friggin’ Zucco—he’d told the idiot not to pick on a small operation like that and, naturally he’d gone ahead with it anyway and killed a couple of people.

That was bad enough, but then it turns out that was what led to Batman taking the kid under his cape and then they had Batman Junior to deal with. Yeah, sure, he liked the kid plenty but his life would be a sight easier if he’d just kept swingin’ on bars or wherever he’d be doin’ if he wasn’t in a mask.

If the jerk, if Zucco wasn’t dead, he’d have put out the word on him and that was the truth.

And then a simple google search (thanks to his guys on the outside) gave him the kid’s name and what happened to him. Well, naturally he didn’t tell the guys why he wanted the info and none of them would have the balls to ask but—now he knew who Robin was when he wasn’t doing his night job and that lead him to who the Bat had to be.

So now the question was what was he going to do with this?

The potential—damn, the potential.

He could call any reporter on the planet.

He could wrap the kid around his little finger.

He could call the Bat’s asshole buddy Commissioner Gordon and make some suggestions about why he should be released at his parole hearing when it came around.

He could send his guys out and ambush the Bat when his guard was down.

He could parlay the info into more info—like what were the real names of the members of the JLA.

He could make the Bat an offer he couldn’t refuse.

He could make the Bat several offers he couldn’t refuse.

Damn.

He spent hours, days thinking about the possibilities. Good hours, happy hours. He even had good dreams about it and woke up with a smile on his face.

He’d just about made up his mind when he got a call from his wife, the same wife who wouldn’t let his kids come to visit so they wouldn’t see their father in jail. The same wife who was supposed to be waiting for him and who was screwing his brother. He’d deal with that, with both of them but first he had to deal with the damn phone call.

Friggin’ kids.

A week later Robin dropped in and he was ready.

“So you’re the one who arrested my son. You gonna tell me about what happened?”

The kid gave him an even look, not something John was used to, especially not from a seventeen-year-old but, hell, this was Robin, right? “It was a drug bust near the docks in Bludhaven—“

“You changin’ your jurisdiction?”

“No, sometimes I work places that aren’t Gotham, I’m qualified. I’m licensed by Interpol.”

“Yeah, good for you, so there was a bust and…?”

“And he was there making a buy. He got caught holding a quarter kilo of coke. He was booked, spent a night in jail and was released on bail.”

“That’s your idea of looking out for my kid? I asked you and you said you would—that’s not what I call bein a friend.”

“I never said I’d look out for him and if he wants to deal that’s his problem. I was doing my job, it’s not my fault if he decides to be stupid.”

“You made a choice to arrest him and that’s gonna be your problem, kid.” Nobody messed with his kid. No body.

Robin wasn’t accepting delivery, not even a little bit. “C’mon, Mr. Gadolfalo—he’s your kid and your wife—his mother—is supposed to looking after him, that’s what you told the judge when you were sent here. There’s no way you can lay this on me just because your kid is an idiot.”

“My kid ends up in a place like this and your ass is grass, you hear me?”

“I doubt it. And you know as well as I do that it’s a first offense so he’ll get a slap on the wrist and be out in about five minutes, if he even sees the inside of a cell so back the hell off.”

Gadolfalo didn’t say anything for a long moment. The kid was right, Frankie screwed up by himself, even if Mary was looking after him. And he wasn’t there to knock some sense into his empty head. Crap. “…You’re the only one to call me on shit, kid. S’down and get that look off your face. I’m just pissed at my stupid son, you were just doin’ what you do, I guess.”

They were quiet for a couple of minutes then the Boss slid a letter over to Robin to read. It was from Mary, his wife, explaining what happened, how it happened and what she was doing about it, which lawyer’s she had working on the case and what they’d said. He knew which judges they had in their pockets. Frankie would walk; they all knew that, just like they knew he’d be back in trouble before the ink was dry on his check to the high priced lawyer’s retainer. It was a done deal, an old story.

Robin took a breath, like he was screwing up his nerve. “If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?”

“Without a lawyer here, you crazy?—it that kind of question?”

“Yes.”

“This why you’re here today?” John leaned back and studied the kid’s face. Whatever he wanted to know it was important to him. “Ask; I’ll decide if I’m gonna answer.”

“Did you know Tony Zucco?”

“Sure, but he’s dead now.”

“I know.”

“He work for you?”

“Sometimes.”

“What about a protection scheme in the Northeast about ten years ago, did you have anything to do with that?” The Boss nodded. Robin leaned back in his plastic chair and stared at him without seeing him. Whatever he was seeing in his head happened almost a decade ago.

“I told him not to do it, to leave the small potatoes operations alone and go for bigger fish. He didn’t listen, Zucco never listened and it got him killed.”

“You’re telling me that you had nothing to do with it, that you told him you back off?”

“I’m not telling you anything. I’m just saying what my opinion of the man was. He was a bullheaded jerk; a low-life and I didn’t like being around him. He didn’t follow orders and he got what he deserved.”

Robin looked at his hands in his lap, he’d suspected the Boss had figured it out a while ago. “You know, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“…Don’t know yet, haven’t decided.”

The kid didn’t look up. “Blackmail?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t ruled it out but I don’t do shit like that; I play fair with my friends. You’re square with me; I’m square with you. ‘You’ve been pretty good to me, like I told you, I don’t forget.”

Robin’s eyes shifted to Gadolfalo, nothing else moved. “You’re going to sit on this?”

“For now, sure. You keep playing by the rules and nothin’ changes.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well then, things might change.”

Robin didn’t really move but something about him shifted internally and he had the smallest smile on his face, you’d miss it if you weren’t looking right at him. “Mr. Gadolfalo, you know I like you and you know I respect you but this is me you’re dealing with. Changes can be a two-way street, sir.”

John gave a humorless chuckle. “’You threatening me, kid?”

The boy, the young man straightened in his chair and the full smile broke out. “Threaten? Hell no, I just wanted to make sure that we’re on the same page.” He reached into his messenger bag, the old one he always brought with him and pulled out a couple of books. “You said you were a Civil War buff a few months ago so I found the audio version of Shelby Foote’s stuff. I thought they were interesting and that you might like them, too.”

“Thanks, kid. “Looks like we’re on the same page, huh?”
 

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