A Simple Transaction [Deathstroke]

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Bludhaven, the one city in this planet that manages to rival Gotham City’s crime rate and corruption, perhaps the two most notoriously dangerous cities in the world. One man has actually managed to begin to rise, attempting to fight the corruption – Malcolm Fontaine. Despite the fact his way of doing things may be…questionable…he doesn’t exactly have any competition as he is the only one who is attempting to do anything about the problem with the police force. He really doesn’t care who is at casualty on his rise to the top, as long as his “revolution” is successful.

A lot of his plans were put on hold and he experienced a bit of setback a month or so ago, when his father was killed in a drive-by shooting from an unknown assailant. Maybe Malcolm would be able to find out who was behind his dad’s death, but something tells him there was a bribery involved. How else could the police not have tracked down the culprit at this point? It had to be someone smart, someone who knew what they were doing when it came to this kind of thing…someone with motive. Someone who wanted Malcolm Fontaine to pay.

Whoever it was behind it, the determined son of the victim is doing whatever it takes to make sure justice is served. Our scene opens in a dark night, just before midnight on the Bludhaven docks – a shadowy silhouette of a man can be seen placing a cigarette in his mouth and slipping his hand into his pocket, along with him, there are two other silhouettes stood next to him. They’re wielding assault rifles of some kind, weapons that aren’t really able to be made out from under the moon, which is the only source of light on this evening.

The man raises an object to his face; a clicking sound is heard as a small flame shoots out from the top of it, slightly revealing the face to show that the man is indeed the millionaire owner of Fontaine Enterprises. Malcolm shuts the zippo lighter shut, placing it back into his pocket. He crosses his arms over his torso, breathing air through his nose, standing completely still as he looks out to the sea. The docks are abandoned for the night seeing as it’s so late, you can’t really get much work done without any source of light.

Malcolm pulls the cigarette away from his lips as he hears footsteps closing in behind him, he blows the smoke out from his lungs – the two men next to him raise their weapons to aim at the approaching figure, but before they can do anything, Malcolm raises his hand to call them off. At his signal, they lower their weapons, the wealthy man turns around to face the unknown person approaching, speaking aloud as his voice echoes due to the emptiness. “I was wondering when you would show up. Glad you could make it. Let’s talk.”

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Slade breathed in the cold night air as he knelt down, perched on a rooftop overlooking the Blüdhaven docks. This place was still the same stinking mess it'd always been. Faint sirens could be heard in the distance, and the distinct smell of burning filled the area as smoke billowed from the chimneys of the factories in the district. Crime here was at an all-time high, and that wasn't just because of muggers, rapists, murderers and other unsavoury characters. The police force here were in on it too. You'd have to be a lucky man to find a cop in this place that wasn't on some scumbag's payroll. It's not like it mattered, though. Slade didn't intend on being here for long.

He'd been asked to meet a potential new client here this evening, and that's all he knew. It wasn't out of the ordinary for clients to want to discuss jobs in person, as people were getting more and more paranoid in this day and age that they were being watched or monitored. Nonetheless, this was a simple safety precaution. Slade wasn't just going to walk into this meeting blind. He had to know who he'd be dealing with, if they came alone, and how he could get the hell out of there if things went belly up.

The assassin removed a pair of retractable binoculars from his belt and raised them to his eyes, flicking a small switch on the side to change to night vision. There were three men down on the docks. Two armed. One possibly carrying a concealed weapon. Deathstroke turned to the other rooftops. No snipers. No goons. No guardian angels. Maybe he wouldn't have to bail out if things went bad after all.

Slade retracted the binoculars and slid them back onto his belt until they clicked into place. He'd determined that there were no traps laying in wait, and so he approached a nearby ladder and began his descent down towards the docks. Moving quickly and quietly, Deathstroke moved closer to the three men waiting for him. After taking one last glance around, Slade decided it was time to make his presence known, and took an audible footstep into the light.

The goons immediately jumped and raised their weapons, but the man that Slade could only assume was their boss, quickly called for them to lower the rifles. 

"I was wondering when you would show up. Glad you could make it. Let’s talk."

Deathstroke stepped into the light, fully revealing himself to this man and his two armed thugs.

"I'm assuming you have my fee?"

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Malcolm watches as the shadowy figure stepped under the flickering light attached to the wall of a warehouse next to them, it’s not much, but it’s enough to reveal that the man he heard so much about isn’t dressed like someone ordinary…he’s dressed like one of those costumed men and women you see running around fighting crime and causing crime on television these days. Not the kind of thing you see in Bludhaven much, that’s more of something you see across the water in Gotham City or over in Metropolis. Around here, it’s mostly just common lowlife thugs, corrupt police and opportunists like Fontaine.

Making sure his men have calmed and won’t raise their guns again, Malcolm sucks the cigarette and inhales the dangerous fumes, blowing it out and stepping into the light to reveal himself to the hired assassin. He’s dressed in a completely white business suit, the glimmer of his golden watch can slightly be seen at the edge under his sports jacket sleeve. He knows this assassin means business, it seems idle chit-chat isn’t what he’s here for…fair enough. Malcolm reaches up, taking the cigarette between his index finger and thumb, pulling it out so he can speak loud and clearly.

“I see. You’re not here to talk. Understandable…have I got your money? Yes, I do.” Before Deathstroke can respond, Malcolm raises a hand so he can continue to speak. “One million. In cash. Half now, half when the job is done. I’ll make the call for the five-hundred grand to be brought here now if you agree to those terms…hell, I’ll throw in a little bonus for you if you do a good enough job.” A smirk forms on the lips of Malcolm as he lets out a little chuckle. “Which I’m sure you will…”

Silence fills the air of the docks, the two armed men keeping a close eye on their bosses guest, who knows what this guy could try? Those terms wouldn’t please everyone, especially not coming from a stranger…but it’s that or nothing, it seems. Fontaine knows exactly where the money is – one of his most loyal men have it, not far from where they are at the present time, one call could get the money out of reach, but could also bring it to the docks in mere minutes. The man in the expensive white suit watches his guest carefully, waiting to hear that approval or denial…either way, Malcolm has a plan.

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This man oozed arrogance, but it seemed like he was genuine. Still, something about him rubbed Slade the wrong way. Who was this guy? Right now, he seemed like some kid with access to a trust fund and one hell of a personal vendetta against some poor sap. The suit. The expensive watch. The holier-than-thou attitude. These were all indicators that he had wealth and power, and lots of it... But the fact that he was so young? He'd probably never done a day of hard work in his life. It was painfully obvious that this kid was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. So what pushed him into a life of crime in the seedy underbelly of Blüdhaven?

"I've killed men on every continent. Politicians... Drug lords... Crime bosses."

Deathstroke smirked beneath his mask as the two goons gripped their assault rifles a little tighter on that last note. They were scared.

"... And I'm still here, aren't I? So yes, I will do a "good enough job" for you."

The assassin slowly walked a little closer to the man, eyeing him closely as one of the bodyguards began to visibly sweat. These guys were pushovers, but their boss? He hadn't flinched. He was confident... And a man staring death in the face and showing that kind of confidence? He'd been close to death before. He'd seen it up close. Maybe lost someone close to him... And thanks to the 'business' he was involved in, he'd probably killed too. Maybe he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty after all.

"I'll take the five hundred thousand up front. You tell me more about the job. We'll go from there."

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Malcolm’s arguably unfair terms have been accepted, bringing a huge grin to the soft lips of his, he claps his hands together and allows a satisfied sigh to escape his lips. “Excellent.” he says, rubbing his hands together and turning around to face the two of his armed men, this is going exactly how he hoped it would. “Alright, Bobby, make the call. Get that cash brought here right away…justice is going to be served soon enough…” A scowl forms on his face at the thought of the culprit he’s putting this hit on, he turns back to face Deathstroke as one of the men talks on the phone to give the orders.

“Details? Well...there’s a reason I’m paying a lot higher than average…I’m...” Malcolm looks off to the side, running his tongue across his lips, even with his confidence, he knows the next thing he’s about to say could blow this whole operation, and maybe even make him look stupid. Getting himself together, Fontaine takes a few seconds to think of a good way to put this before his eyes dart back to the hired assassin. “Honestly, Slade? I’m not sure who your target is.” The rich young businessman puts his arms behind his back and holds his chin high.

“But we can figure out who…with your profession and my resources…we can track down who did it, and have you deliver justice.” He raises his hand, stroking his jawline a bit and placing his hand back behind his back. “Even though “justice” isn't why you do this kinda thing…it has to be nice, huh? Knowing you’re doing something good instead of doing some madman’s bidding like you probably usually do.” Before he can keep Deathstroke pre-occupied any longer, the sound of an engine running and a vehicle rolling up to the scene can be heard.

The van is pulling in, Malcolm knows it’s his because he just arranged for it to show up a few minutes ago. Coming to a haul, the door opens and the driver steps out, dressed in a long trench coat and a grey flat-cap, he makes his way around to the back, opening the back door and pulling out two large briefcases. The man almost struggles as he carries them over to the scene where Malcolm and Deathstroke stand, gently resting them down on the ground and taking a step back.

“Five-hundred big ones. Sorry boss, I couldn’t fit it all in one case.” Clearing his throat, Malcolm nods his head and responds. “That’s alright, you did what you could…you can go now.” The man doesn’t respond, he shuts the back door and gets back into the driver’s seat of the van, reversing out of the dock area. “There you have it, Slade…now, where should we begin if we want to track down this waste of human seed?”

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The kid was still hiding the details. Reluctant to tell Slade even a fraction of the valuable information he possessed. He talked about delivering justice, which meant he'd clearly been wronged by someone. Perhaps someone betrayed him from within his own operation? No. He'd have known who that person was and could track them down himself using his own resources. He had no idea who this person was at all, otherwise he wouldn't be standing here talking to one of the world's deadliest assassins. This was going to be difficult. Still, the money looked to be accounted for. It was a good start.

"You start by telling me everything you know. I need details. Dates. Names of those involved in this 'incident'. It's all vital."

Without anything else, Slade didn't have anywhere to start, but he was about to get more answers.

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Malcolm doesn’t really have much information to give to Deathstroke, all he really knows about so far is the fact his father was shot down in the middle of the street by a driving by car, no witnesses on the scene and no suspects due to the large list of enemies the new owner of Fontaine Enterprises seems to have from his little revolution. Chances are, one of those enemies are behind it, but it’s all out in the open, so it could be just about anyone in the crime underbelly of Bludhaven and Gotham City.

Scratching his chin, Fontaine pauses for a few moments, trying to gather all the information together in his head and put together a reasonable sentence. “Look, Slade…I’ve got a lot of enemies. Who doesn’t these days? In this world, you’re either a nobody or you’re a target.” Malcolm’s cigarette is beginning to burn away, he raises it to his mouth and takes one final draw of it before flicking it away into the darkness of the docking area. “There’s a lot of gangs that want my head on a pike, I pretty much run this city, so they’re all gunning for my position at the top of the mountain.”

With a light sigh, he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Two weeks ago, my father was murdered like a dog in a drive-by shooting. He was harmless, just your typical businessman…nicest guy I ever knew, nobody had a real reason to kill him. The only reason this happened was because of me.” Grinding his teeth together, Malcolm tries to hide his anger about the whole situation, he’s always been the kind who wanted to keep his cool no matter what happens.

“This city holds some of the most vile scum…but you don’t hear about it much on the news because it’s either covered up by the corrupt officials or the government on the payroll…either that or you just hear about something even bigger instead from Gotham City.” Malcolm shakes his head left-to-right, pressing his lips together. “Anyway, the coroner said he was dead in seconds once the shooting happened, no clues as to who did it, no witnesses. Basically the perfect murder. Hell, the guy might have been lying to me…these guys…they love to pay these people off any chance they get to keep people quiet…it’s sickening.”

“The first cop on the scene was ah…what was his name…” with the crazy events in the past month, it takes a moment of thinking, Malcolm isn’t entirely sure what his name is until it pops into his head. “Ah, right! Motley. Looked like he was in his thirties. I think his first name was…Leo? Maybe…Yeah. Leo Motley. I couldn’t really tell you what kinda guy he is, he only spoke to me to tell me the bad news and I didn’t really get the chance to talk to him because I was too wound up about the whole thing.” Taking a moment to think of anything else, the only thing left that Malcolm can think of is the coroner. “As for the coroner, his name I remember easily. Donald Baker. Again, didn’t get much of a chance to talk to him, but he’s the one I’ve been trying to stay checked up on and stuff about this whole thing.”

Malcolm moves his arm out in front of him, pushing his sleeve up slightly with his other hand as he checks his watch – it’s been that long already? Crazy. He raises his eyebrows in a bit of surprise, moving his arms across his chest as his sleeves go back into their previous position. “That’s all I can really tell ya about the guys involved, honestly. There’s probably a lot more behind this than just a drive-by shooting…there always is.” Running his tongue across his lips, Malcolm’s eyes dart towards Deathstroke, a very, very serious expression on his face. “Look…I just want the piece of shit who did this dead. I don’t care how you do it. Violently, quickly, torture him…do whatever the hell you want, I just want him dead. I’m going to give you everything I can to make sure this happens…so, anything else you need to know?”

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After his new employer revealed the details of this assignment, Slade knew exactly who he was. Malcolm Fontaine, a privileged young man and now, apparently the CEO of Fontaine Enterprises after his father was murdered. He'd done a good job hiding his true colors from the rest of the world, but that didn't matter.

Slade had enough information now. Two potential leads. The first was Leo Motley, a Blüdhaven police officer who was likely on another mobster's payroll. Cops on the straight and narrow in this city were few and far between, so the likelihood that Motley wasn't dirty was pretty much non-existent. Then there was the coroner, Donald Baker. If the cops were hiding something, chances were that Baker was involved too. Anything could've been omitted from that coroner's report if this was a cover up, so Slade would need to go to the morgue himself. This wasn't usually the route he'd take when carrying out a hit, but he'd made an agreement, and he fully intended to see this through to the end.

"There is one more thing."

Deathstroke noticed Malcolm's thugs tense up, gripping their weapons tightly. 

"These are unusual circumstances. I'd usually be given a target and a location, but all you've given me are two potential leads. They could take me to the man responsible for your father's death, or they could be dead ends. There's no way of knowing yet. Because of that, I can't make you any promises."

The assassin folded his arms, maintaining eye contact with Malcolm the entire time.

"If I'm going to do this, I'll need your help."

Slade could of course follow both leads himself if he wanted, but things would be quicker this way. Given Malcolm's grudge against the cops of Blüdhaven and the circumstances surrounding his father's death, it was unlikely that he'd refuse in serving 'justice'. Slade didn't care about that. This was just a way to speed up the process and move onto the next job. In a strange way, it felt 'right' anyway. He was giving this kid a chance to get answers for himself.

"If what you said about law enforcement in Blüdhaven is true, then word would travel fast between members of the force. I'd suggest we both follow a lead. That way, we'll be ensuring that both doors stay open for us." Deathstroke looked over his shoulder as he heard sirens in the distance. It probably wasn't safe to stay here much longer. "Use your resources. Arrange a meeting with Motley. Chances are he's already under the thumb of a crime family in this city, but tell him you'll offer him more. You know how these men are. They're driven by greed. Get what you can out of him, and while you're doing that, I'll be visiting the morgue at BPD headquarters. Documents, reports, recordings. Anything I can find relating to the murder of your father, I'll take."

Deathstroke nodded, satisfied with his planning.

"After you've spoken to Motley, contact me. We'll go from there."

Slade looked over at the briefcase.

"Now, my fee."

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A plan, that’s more than Malcolm had ten minutes ago. For the past month, all he’s had is the idea to hire an assassin to get the job done – but obviously things aren’t going to be that easy seeing as he doesn’t know who the one behind his father’s death actually is. Listening closely, the heir to Fontaine Enterprises takes in all the information Deathstroke has to offer. The plan is pretty straight-forward: Meet Leo Motley, who was the first officer at the scene of his father’s murder. Get any information he has to offer, which is likely going to be as simple as paying him off, corruption is pretty easy to work with these days. Once that’s over, Malcolm needs to meet back with Deathstroke to see what he found out. Combining their information might not be enough to track down the culprit, but it will be a start.

With all of this information taken in, Malcolm nods his head, snapping his fingers and glancing over to one of the armed guards. “Give him the cases, I’ll take your gun, you’ll need both hands.” The guard hands over the assault rifle to Malcolm, who holds it in one hand as he watches the hired man grab both of the briefcases and slowly approaching the assassin. With a hint of fear on his facial expression, Malcolm’s guard gently lowers the cases down onto the ground in front of Deathstroke, hurrying back so he’s stood next to his boss. The son of the murder victim gives the gun back to him, folding his arms across his chest.

“I see I’ve hired the right man for the job.” A smug and confident smirk forms on his lips as he looks side-to-side, looking directly at Deathstroke. “It’s good to have you, Slade. It won’t be long before this city has another piece of trash removed from it.” Slipping his hand into his sports jacket pocket, Fontaine grabs onto an object inside – he pulls it out to reveal it’s his cellphone, as the screen of it lights up to display the time, he squints his nose and lips. “It might be a little too late for me to do anything about Motley, but I can start first thing in the morning. As for you…I really doubt the time of day is going to stop you getting the information you need.”

Malcolm slides the cellphone back into his pocket, signaling for his guards to follow him as he strolls by the now hired assassin. “I’ll be in touch…good luck getting that information, it should be easy for a guy of your skill…” He leaves the scene with his guards, leaving Deathstroke alone at the docks – the sound of a car engine can be heard starting up not too far from them as it’s followed by the sound of the car driving away until it’s out of range, leaving things silent. A long week is ahead of Malcolm, and he fully intends on getting the information he requires.

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Deathstroke watched as his new employer's car slowly drove out of the docks and into the streets of Blüdhaven. Like any other job, he intended to see this one through to the end, even if a little extra work was required. He didn't expect to find much at the BPD headquarters, but he hoped there'd at least be a small sliver on information to start things off, and even then, Motley was another potential lead that could yield information. It'd be best to follow this trail now while he still had the cover of darkness.

Slade bent down and picked up the briefcases, then just as quickly as he'd appeared earlier, he vanished into the cold, dark night.