Friday, March 18th, 2011, 2:15 PM
Fashion District
Selina's Apartment
Selina was hunting for dust bunnies under Malik's bed when she found the notebook that had slipped between the mattress and the wall. Just a corner showing, but enough to make her curious.
What she found made her stop dead in her tracks.
The kid had built himself a conspiracy wall. Not on an actual wall, of course, but on the inside of his closet door where nobody would look. String connecting photos, newspaper clippings, handwritten notes. All of it pointing toward one central figure: Oswald Cobblepot.
The Penguin's publicity photo was dead center, with red string radiating out like a spider web. But what really caught her attention was the throwing knife embedded in Cobblepot's forehead, right through the X someone had drawn there.
"Well, shit," Selina muttered, studying the network of connections Malik had assembled.
Bank records, shipping manifests, real estate transactions, all pointing to the same conclusion that was obvious to most people that gave a damn. The Penguin was a dirty motherfucker, connected to everything from human trafficking to political corruption. Which wasn't a new low for him...
But seeing it laid out like this, by a teenager, made her stomach twist.
All those questions Malik had been asking suddenly made sense. About Cobblepot's business interests, his political connections, his security arrangements. She'd thought he was just curious about how Gotham's criminal elite operated.
Turned out he'd been conducting surveillance.
Like he's going to....
Oh shit.
Same Day, 11:30 AM
Gotham Prep
East Hallway
"Robinson!"
Malik didn't even slow down. Brandon Thorne's voice had that special quality that suggested someone was about to do something spectacularly stupid.
"Hey, bitch boy! I'm talking to you!"
This time Malik stopped, turning to face Brandon with the kind of tired patience usually reserved for particularly dim children. "What do you want, Brandon?"
"My dad says you're cheating." Brandon stepped closer, flanked by his usual collection of trust fund babies. "Perfect scores, professor recommendations, all that shit. No way some foster kid beats me without cheating."
"Maybe you're just retarded."
The words hit Brandon like a slap. His face went red, that particular shade of outrage that only came from having your core beliefs challenged by reality.
"You little piece of shit. You think you belong here? Think you can just waltz into our school and show us up?"
"What the fuck are you even talking about dude..?"
Malik asked, while he studied Brandon's face with interest. Dilated pupils, flushed skin, shallow breathing. Classic signs of someone operating on pure emotion instead of thought. Someone who could be manipulated if you knew which buttons to push.
And this motherfucker picked the wrong day, buttons would be pushed.
"You know what...I think," Malik said slowly, "that you're scared your daddy's money can't buy you the one thing you actually need."
"Which is?"
"A brain."
Brandon swung at him then, a wild haymaker that telegraphed itself from three feet away. Malik could have dodged it, could have countered with any number of techniques Ted had taught him. But why do that?
Instead, he let it connect with his shoulder, stumbling backward with exaggerated impact.
"He hit me!" Malik called out, loud enough for the gathering crowd to hear. "Did everyone see that? Brandon Thorne just assaulted another student!"
The beauty of private school politics was that everything depended on appearances. Brandon had just publicly lost his temper and gotten physical with someone half his size. Even if Malik had been the one doing the provoking, Brandon was the one who'd crossed the line into violence.
"That's not... I didn't..." Brandon looked around at the crowd of students, suddenly realizing how this looked.
"Problem here?"
Mr. Hendricks, the assistant principal, pushed through the crowd with the weary expression of someone who'd broken up too many teenage fights.
"Brandon hit me," Malik said, rubbing his shoulder. "I was just walking to class."
"That true?" Hendricks asked the crowd.
Multiple heads nodded. Even Brandon's friends looked uncomfortable.
"Office. Now," Hendricks told Brandon. "You too, Robinson. Let's get this sorted out."
As they walked toward the administrative offices, Malik's mind was already working through possibilities. He could destroy Brandon Thorne completely. Financial records showing his family's tax evasion. Evidence of the judge taking bribes. Academic records proving Brandon had been cheating his way through school since middle school.
All of it was within reach. Diana Volkov could hack the school's database, make it look like Brandon's grades had been falsified. Marcus Bellini could create documents showing the Thorne family's connections to organized crime. Hell, Malik could probably find real evidence of corruption if he looked hard enough.
The fantasy was tempting. Brandon Thorne's life imploding in spectacular fashion. His father's career destroyed. Their family name dragged through every gossip column in the city.
But that would be messy. And messy meant attention. Attention meant questions. Questions meant putting Selina at risk.
So instead, Malik filed the fantasy away for later consideration and focused on playing the victim.
Same Day, 1:45 PM
Gotham Prep Gymnasium
"You look like someone pissed in your cereal."
Malik looked up from the bench where he'd been sitting, lost in thought about creative ways to destroy Brandon Thorne's life. The kid talking to him was maybe his age, black hair that looked like he'd been running his hands through it, and the kind of grin that suggested he found most of the world hilarious.
"Something like that," Malik said. "You new here?"
"Jason Todd. And yeah, started this week." Jason sat down beside him without invitation. "Let me guess. Rich kid problems?"
"Rich kid being a problem, anyway."
"Lemme guess. Brandon Thorne?"
Malik looked at him with interest. "How'd you know?"
"I've been here a week and that turd already makes my ears bleed" Jason's grin turned predatory. "Also word is you made him look like an idiot in front of half the school."
"News travels fast around here."
"Private school gossip network puts GNN to shame." Jason studied Malik with sharp eyes. "You don't fit here."
"Excuse me?"
"Not an insult. Just observation. Rest of these kids, they're soft. Spoiled. You got edges they don't have."
Malik considered that. Jason Todd was reading him better than most adults managed to. "You seem pretty damn observant for someone who's been here a week."
"Street smarts transfer. Doesn't matter if you're dealing with gangbangers in Crime Alley or trust fund babies in Midtown. Predators are predators."
"Crime Alley?"
"Where I grew up before..." Jason waved a hand vaguely. "Circumstances changed. Now I'm here, trying to figure out how to function around people who think poverty is a fashion statement."
There was something in Jason's voice that Malik recognized. The edge that came from growing up too fast, from learning that the world was harder than most people wanted to admit.
"What happened to your parents?" Malik asked.
"Mom died when I was young. Dad was a small-time crook who got himself killed being stupid." Jason's voice was matter-of-fact, but Malik could hear the old pain underneath. "Spent some time on the streets before I got lucky."
"Lucky how?"
"Someone gave me a chance to be something more than another dead kid from the bad part of town."
Malik nodded, understanding. "Someone gave me a chance too."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, two kids who'd seen more of the world's ugly side than most of their classmates ever would.
"So what's your plan for Brandon Thorne?" Jason asked eventually.
"What makes you think I have a plan?"
"You don't have a plan?"
Malik looked at Jason with new respect. Kid was definitely sharper than he let on.
"I'm thinking long-term," Malik said carefully. "Sometimes the best revenge is patience."
"Ah, spoken like someone who knows how to hurt people properly."
There was approval in Jason's voice, and recognition. Like he was talking to someone who understood the same fundamental truths about power and consequences.
Same Day, 7:30 PM
Fashion District
Selina's Apartment
Dinner was Chinese takeout eaten straight from the containers while they sat on the couch watching the news. Selina had been unusually quiet all evening, and Malik could feel her watching him when she thought he wasn't paying attention.
"So," she said finally, "how's school going?"
"Fine."
"That's descriptive. Any friends worth mentioning?"
Malik thought about it. "Rebecca Martinez from the study group is cool. Douglas Valerio thinks he's smarter than he is, but he's useful. There's this new kid, Jason Todd, who's actually pretty sharp."
Selina's chopsticks paused halfway to her mouth for just a split second before continuing. If Malik hadn't been watching for reactions, he would have missed it entirely.
"Jason Todd," she repeated. "Interesting name."
"Why?"
"No reason. Just wondering about his background."
"Crime Alley originally. Someone adopted him recently, I think."
"Ah." Selina's voice was carefully neutral. "That's nice. What about problems? Any kids giving you trouble?"
"Brandon Thorne's been being a dick. His dad's some kind of judge, thinks that makes him special."
"Judge Thorne. I know the name." Selina's voice had an edge to it now. "What kind of trouble?"
"The usual bullshit. Calling me scholarship boy, trying to prove I don't belong. Today he took a swing at me."
"Did you hit him back?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Malik looked at her with the kind of patience reserved for particularly dense questions. "Because that's what he wanted. Public fight, both of us get suspended, his daddy makes some calls and suddenly I'm the problem child who attacked a judge's son."
Selina nodded approvingly. "Smart. But I can hear it in your voice. You want to hurt him."
"Maybe."
"What's stopping you?"
Malik considered the question seriously. "Practical concerns mostly. Going after him would be messy. Messy means attention. Attention means problems for you."
"And if I wasn't a factor?"
The fantasy spilled out before Malik could stop it. "I'd destroy him. Academic records, financial records, family connections. I could prove he's been cheating since middle school. I could expose his father's corruption. I could make their family name toxic in this city."
Selina listened to the cold recitation of Brandon Thorne's potential destruction without expression. When Malik finished, she was quiet for a long moment.
"You could do all that," she said finally. "Question is, should you?"
"What do you mean?"
"True power isn't about what you can do. It's about what you choose not to do." Selina turned to face him fully. "You could destroy Brandon Thorne tomorrow. But what happens after that?"
"He leaves me alone."
"Maybe. Or maybe his father decides to investigate how a fifteen-year-old managed to access sealed financial records and academic databases. Maybe they start looking into your background more carefully. Maybe they find connections they shouldn't find."
Malik hadn't considered that angle. His fantasy of revenge had focused on the satisfaction of watching Brandon's world crumble, not the potential consequences.
"So what do you suggest?"
"Long-term thinking. Brandon Thorne is a problem today. Judge Thorne might be useful tomorrow." Selina's smile was sharp as a blade. "True power is knowing you could destroy someone and choosing not to. Not out of goodness, but because that knowledge gives you leverage."
"Blackmail."
"Insurance. The threat of destruction is often more powerful than destruction itself."
Malik thought about that. About the information he'd already gathered on Brandon's family, about the additional intelligence he could acquire. About the satisfaction of letting Brandon dig his own grave while Malik held the shovel.
"You're suggesting I let him keep being a problem?"
"I'm suggesting you let him think he's getting away with it while you build a file that could end his family's political career." Selina's voice carried the wisdom of someone who'd played this game for years. "Patience, Malik. The best revenge is the kind your target never sees coming."