Case Cracked #63

Lounging on the plush couch in Penguin's office at the Iceberg Lounge, I couldn't resist an eye-roll at the sight of the man himself, playing kingpin while overlooking his club's bustling patrons through the massive office window. He was giving me the cold shoulder, acting like I was invisible. Classic Oswald.

Now, why was I here, you ask? Well, I'd been digging into this Johny Malone character, and it seemed like his existence was shrouded in mystery online. 

It was as if someone had gone to great lengths to erase his digital footprint. But who cares about online records when you've got the Penguin's ear, right? Malone's gang had tangled with Penguin's crew among others before biting the dust, so I figured the Penguin might have some insights.

Getting into the Iceberg Lounge and scoring an audience with Gotham's underworld maestro wasn't too tricky this time around. We were already acquaintances, after all. Yet, there he was, doing his whole "speak first and you lose" routine, like we were playing some twisted game of verbal chess.

The unspoken message hung in the air: "Know your place." Or something to that effect, at least. Penguin had a knack for making his point without saying a word. Ordinarily, I'd happily play the waiting game until he got arthritis or died of old age, but today I was on a mission, and the Penguin only responded to one thing: respect. Thirty minutes of silence should be enough of a gesture.

"Good evening, Mr. Cobblepot," I greeted, rising from the couch and strolling over to him. "Enjoying the view, as usual?" I threw in with a grin, peering down at the Iceberg's lively patrons.

Penguin gave me a sideways glance, playing up the act of surprise. "Oh? It's you, kid...?" he drawled, feigning innocence. "When did you even get here?" he inquired, giving me the once-over.

"Just arrived, actually," I replied with a grin as if I hadn't spent the past thirty minutes lounging on his couch and pilfering the snack tray. "I'm here to ask you about someone," I continued.

Penguin nodded, gesturing for us to have a seat and get down to business. As he turned toward his desk, his eyes landed on the now-empty snack table, and a flicker of irritation crossed his face. 

I barely stifled a laugh at his reaction. While he was busy putting on airs, Rattigan and I were busy indulging in his tea and snacks! Hah.

But Penguin quickly composed himself and settled behind his desk. "Tell me what you need, but remember, information comes at a price," he reminded me, motioning for me to take a seat opposite him.

"I'm in the market for some top-secret intel on Johnny Malone," I began, leaning in slightly. "You know, small-time crook turned kingpin-- had a few run-ins with Gotham's gangs until Batman and Commissioner Gordon put an end to his little reign of terror? Does any of that ring any bells?" I prodded, watching for any telltale signs of recognition in Penguin's demeanor.

Penguin's expression twitched at the mention of Malone, but he quickly masked his reaction. "And what business would you have with a washed-up upstart rotting in Black Gate?" he shot back, his gaze sharpening.

Normally, I'd tell Penguin to mind his own business, but I knew there was a chance to strike a deal here. The Penguin had a reputation for holding grudges, and if I could help him settle one, he might just give me the information I needed without asking for a hefty fee.

"It's not Malone himself that's got my attention, but rather the puppet master pulling his strings," I clarified. "I've reasons to believe this mastermind is pulling similar stunts over in Parador, using a guy they call the Count as their pawn," I added.

Penguin's interest was piqued by my words. "And what's your evidence for this theory...?" he inquired, his tone sharpening.

"I'd be happy to share, but you know how it goes... valuable information doesn't come cheap," I countered, raising an eyebrow. "You're not expecting me to give away the goods for free after laying down the law, are you?" I remarked, feigning innocence.

Much to my surprise, Penguin leaned back in his chair, a smug smile curling on his lips as he leisurely reached for an expensive-looking cigar and lit it up. "Fair enough," he drawled, exhaling a cloud of smoke that seemed to linger in the air like a foreboding mist.

 Well, color me shocked. I half-expected the Penguin to bring up the freebie he gave me and whip out his fine-toothed comb to start haggling like a bargain-hungry aunt at a flea market. 

It's official! the Penguin is a surprisingly decent guy if you know how to deal with him. 

"We'll trade info then," he continued, smoke rings dancing around his head like sinister halos. "However, you'll have to take the plunge first... You did enjoy a little freebie last time you paid me a visit," he added with a smirk that could rival the Cheshire Cat's. 

Scratch that-- he's back to being the worst.

Well, fine by me. Playing show-and-tell wasn't exactly a foreign concept. Besides, if the Penguin promised intel, he'd better deliver, or I'd have to start rethinking my choice in underworld confidants. 

"Sure thing, Mr. Cobblepot-- your house, your rules," I shrugged, adopting a nonchalant tone that belied the anxious butterflies fluttering in my stomach. "Here's the lowdown: Bruce Gordon, solar energy whiz, has a thing for nosing into the affairs of budding drug lords," I began, hoping to pique the Penguin's interest. 

"He was there with Batman when Malone bit the dust, and now he's got Uncle Sam's blessing to take down the Count," I explained. "Too many dots connecting Malone and the Count for it to be mere coincidence," I concluded, leaning back and waiting for Penguin's reaction.

As the Penguin mulled over my words, his fingers drummed a slow rhythm against the tabletop, a thoughtful expression crossing his face like a storm cloud brewing over Gotham. 

"Now that you mention it... Bruce Gordon—there was indeed a blip on the radar around the time Malone started making waves," he mused, his gaze fixed on some invisible puzzle."

"He vanished quicker than a magician's rabbit the moment Malone was slapped in cuffs before the GCPD could even get a whiff of him," he added, snuffing out his cigar in the ashtray with a deft flick of his wrist. "Close enough for government work," he concluded with a nod.

I couldn't help but grin at his words. "So, any juicy tidbits on Malone? If it's you, I wouldn't be surprised if you knew who the mastermind is already..." I inquired, leaning forward with a mix of curiosity and flattery in my voice. 

Buttering up the Penguin was a necessary evil, like trying to charm a snake. Who knows, maybe a little sweet talk would coax out some hidden gem from his treasure trove of information. Or so I hoped. With Penguin's connections and influence in Gotham City, uncovering the mastermind behind Malone didn't seem like such a stretch, but knowing my rotten luck...

Sure enough, the Penguin's response was a disappointing shake of his head. "As much as I'd like to claim otherwise, I'm afraid I'm in the dark about this mastermind's identity, despite my best efforts," he admitted with a resigned shrug. 

"I've got next to zilch on Malone himself—nothing you couldn't dig up on your own," he added, gesturing towards the laptop perched on his desk. "But I do have this," he announced, his fingers dancing across the keyboard as the ceiling split open, revealing a massive screen descending from above like some high-tech gift from the heavens.

With a deft tap of the Penguin's fingers on the keyboard, the massive screen sprang to life, casting a glow across the dimly lit room. A grainy video played out before us, featuring a man in a sharp suit who suddenly materialized within the Iceberg Lounge. 

But the real show began when he levitated into the air, unleashing dark energy blasts from his outstretched hand, dispatching the Penguin's henchmen like bowling pins in a strike as a strange grey mark materialized on his face, covering the rightmost third of it. 

As I watched the chaos unfold on screen, a light bulb flickered to life in my mind. "So, I'm guessing Malone wasn't exactly the 'float in the air and blast people with mystery beams' kind of guy before he climbed the ladder of influence?" I remarked, turning to the Penguin for confirmation, and he nodded in agreement. "And all that flying mojo and magic blasts vanished into thin air once he was cuffed?" I pressed on, receiving another affirmative nod.

Those simple nods confirmed my suspicions, and I was about 99% sure I had just cracked the case of our elusive mastermind. Yet, instead of feeling the rush of victory one might expect from solving such a mystery, all I felt was a gnawing sense of unease. 

"This is even worst than I expected..." I muttered, rubbing my forehead in frustration.