Chapter Text
Red hoodie pulled over his head, Jason ducked into the alley that ran alongside the westside of False Faces—Black Mask's nightclub and preferred base of operations. The puddles from the day's earlier rain soaked the frayed hems of his jeans, the bass of the thrumming music audible even through the thick cinder block walls.
He nodded in thanks to Martinez as the Masker opened the backdoor entry for him, taking it as a positive sign that he was let in without hassle despite having been MIA for five days.
Five days wasn't nearly enough time for his side to heal or for him to resume his nightly activities, as Dick had so helpfully pointed out during their earlier argument. But Jason knew if he delayed checking in with Mask any longer, the infamously paranoid crime boss would start to suspect that Jason had been involved in the arms deal going tit* up or, worse, going rat for the cops.
While Dick had come to terms with the fact that Jason couldn't simply quit working for Sionis, it had been hell convincing his brother to let him out of the house tonight, especially since he still required Dick's help with basic tasks like putting his shoes on.
Initially, Dick had refused to help him, incorrectly assuming that a lack of shoes would stop him from going out. But once Jason started toeing on his Crocs, making it clear that proper footwear or not, he was leaving, Dick had folded and begrudgingly helped him lace up his worn but reliable Chuck Taylors.
After forcing a dose of antibiotics down Jason's throat, making him eat another bowl of Hamburger Helper, slipping a small baggie of painkillers in his front jeans pocket, and dressing him in an extra layer of clothing, Dick finally let him leave the house.
All Jason knew was that Sionis better appreciate the insufferable mother-henning he had gone through to make an appearance tonight.
Jason pushed the hood of his sweatshirt back as he stepped into one of the dimly lit back-of-house hallways. The indoor heat was near suffocating with how many layers he was wearing. He was probably the only person in Gotham in danger of getting heat stroke in December.
Making his way down the winding hallways, Jason passed various Maskers and scantily dressed club staff. The dancers and waitstaff were nearly impossible to tell apart since Roman insisted all front-of-house workers adhere to the minimal coverage BDSM aesthetic.
Jason gave polite nods of acknowledgment to those who greeted him but otherwise wasted no time heading to Mask's office. Which of-f*cking-course was dark and locked, meaning the crime boss was out on the floor—Jason's absolute least favorite place on earth besides the GCPD precinct.
Clubs, especially Roman's, were everything Jason hated—crowded, loud, drug-filled, and, most of all, a painful reminder of the type of work Dick had been forced into to keep their family together.
Some of the False Face girls embraced the work, but most wore the same exhausted, hollow look that Dick had the morning after Jason finally removed his rose-tinted glasses and saw his brother's silent suffering for what it truly was.
Things were better now. The exhaustion and hollowness were often replaced by a contented peace ever since Dick had stopped working. Yet, every once in a while, Jason saw the same haunted look creep back into his brother's cobalt eyes, only for Dick to blink it away whenever he noticed Jason watching him.
Jason didn't think the specter of Dick's lost childhood or the phantom touch of the nameless, faceless men would ever completely leave his brother, but their ghosts were becoming less corporeal with each passing day, and that was at least something.
Pushing through the nondescript door that separated the front of house from the back, Jason was immediately assaulted by the red-tinted light—more edgy than practical—and the familiar, yet still entirely unwelcome, smell of cigar smoke and sweat. The bass of the music reverberated through his chest uncomfortably, each beat adding to his underlying nausea.
There were dancers on all five stages, gyrating their hips in sync with the music against black chrome poles. Except for a few fetish accessories and 'artfully' placed smears of black body paint, their bodies were on full display for the clusters of men that surrounded them.
Roman liked to advertise False Faces as Gotham's premier gentlemen's club, but considering that at least a sixth of the men gathered around the stages had their dicks out and were actively jacking off suggested that the establishment was just as seedy as the rest of Gotham's strip clubs.
I'm freak
Yeah I know
Know you like to hear me say it
On the bed
On the floor
Real nasty
God, Roman had the worst f*cking taste in music.
Digging through his front pocket, Jason pulled out the small baggie of Advil Dick had packed for him and threw back three pills, swallowing them dry as he maneuvered past various alcoves and tables where a good majority of the clientele were partaking in 'private shows.'
As he approached the VIP section, he saw Mask holding court in his usual spot, surrounded by part of his inner circle, including Yuri and several of Roman's top lieutenants. The crime boss's arms were spread along the back of his favored black velvet couch, a glass of amber liqueur dangling in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. His ankle was neatly crossed over his knee, revealing a blood-red sock that matched the silk dress shirt of his otherwise all-black ensemble.
The fact that the only woman in the small gathering was a waitress signaled that, despite the setting, Mask was conducting business rather than seeking pleasure—which, thank f*ck for that. The presence of Mr. Li, Roman's accountant, further confirmed this.
Sporting the same sociopathic look of professional apathy he always wore, Mr. Li pointed at something in a manila folder laid out in front of the crime boss. Roman nodded approvingly but looked bored out of his skull. His eyes gave the papers a cursory glance before distractedly roving over the rest of the club.
Jason tried his best not to cringe when Roman's eyes landed on him, the crime boss's impassive frown morphing into a shark-like grin.
Mr. Li and the manila folders forgotten, Sionis rose from his seat, spreading his arms in a mock welcome, drink and cigar still in hand.
"The prodigal son returns!" Jason saw the words mouthed more than he actually heard them, the music managing to drown out the crime boss's booming and overly dramatic greeting.
"About time, too," Roman continued as Jason came within hearing range. He returned to his seat and gestured for Jason to sit across from him on the twin couch. "I was starting to think I'd have to come looking for you myself." Despite the playful tone, there was an edge of threat in his eyes.
Yuri, playing his role as a glowering guard dog, moved to stand by the arm of Roman's couch, giving Jason his best stone-faced stare. It might have intimidated him if he hadn't been on the receiving end of it countless times already.
Jason rolled his eyes as he gingerly lowered himself to sit. "I was shot."
"You were MIA for a week."
"Okay, let me rephrase that. I was shot.”
"We've all been shot," Roman said, unimpressed. Jason was surprised to see the typically desk-bound Mr. Li nodding absently in agreement as he cleaned his glasses with a pocket square. There was definitely a story there, but Jason wasn't sure he wanted to know it. "Find a better excuse next time you decide to go AWOL."
Yuri took that as his cue to raise his shirt to show off his scar-riddled torso which sported its fair share of long-healed bullet wounds among other twisted patches of skin. Sensing movement out of the corner of his eye, Roman glanced over at the man only to do a double take.
"What the fu—Put your goddamn shirt down, Yuri. No one wants to see that sh*t in a strip club." Roman waved his cigar-holding hand agitatedly at the other man, a look of disgust twisting his face.
Yuri obediently dropped his shirt with an unbothered shrug.
"Look like one of those washed-up, bloated fish in the harbor. Gonna have people demanding a refund after seeing that crap." Roman muttered to himself as he shook his head before taking a swig of his drink and returning his attention to Jason. "Now, where were we?"
"You were reprimanding me for almost dying."
It was Roman's turn to roll his eyes. "Stop with the kicked-puppy act. You're the sanctimonious idiot who refuses to carry a gun."
"A gun doesn't stop a bullet."
"Yeah, but it sure as hell makes people think twice before pulling the trigger when they know you can give them a matching hole."
"I'm not carrying a gun," Jason said between gritted teeth. This was a long and tired argument between them and not one he was looking to repeat, especially since his patience was already wearing thin thanks to the ear bleed music.
Do me raw
On the bed now
Next thing I know
I'm on the floor
Arse up titty out
Know you like it when they bounce
"A gangster without a f*cking gun!" Roman exclaimed, throwing his arms out in faux despair, causing his drink to slosh over its rim and onto the couch. "I swear to hell, boys, this new generation is somethin' else."
"Soft," Mr. Li supplied mildly before taking a sip from his three olive martini.
"Exactly!" Roman snapped his fingers like the accountant had said something particularly brilliant. “’Soft’. Great adjective, Li."
"I'm not a gangster," Jason ground out, a bit more testily than he probably should have, but he was getting really f*cking tired of people calling him a gangb*nger.
Yuri, Sionis, and Mr. Li all snorted in sync.
"Yeah, kid, keep telling yourself that."
Before Jason could argue more, Roman was already waving him off with a lazy hand.
"Look, I didn't wait an eon for you to finally grace us with your presence to talk about your lack of gun usage. If you want to get yourself killed then that's a you issue, but until then, I have a job for you."
Jason clenched his teeth in an effort not to respond, waiting for the crime boss to continue. The sooner they got this conversation over with, the sooner he could go home to his brothers and crawl into bed.
"I need you for a Christmas assignment."
Jason must have made a face because the next thing he knew Roman was rolling his eyes at him.
"Jesus Christ, kid. It's not actually on Christmas." The crime boss rubbed his temples as if Jason was the one giving him the headache. "You're too sentimental, you know that, right? One of those good ol' American boys who wants to spend the holidays with the family. It's disgusting. And if you weren't so goddamn good at doing what you were told, I wouldn't put up with your bullsh*t."
Roman paused, looking at him expectedly.
"Thanks?" Jason offered, figuring that was as close to a compliment as anyone ever got from Black Mask. "I think…"
"You're f*cking welcome. Now let's talk shop." Roman made some kind of signal with his hand that Jason didn't quite catch, but the reactions of those around them were immediate. Mr. Li readily handed Roman a manila folder while the waitress, who had been hovering around them, swooped in with two drinks, placing one in front of Sionis and the other in front of Jason.
He had no intention of drinking what appeared to be a Whiskey & co*ke, but Jason still glanced up at the woman to thank her before returning his attention back to Roman to hear whatever bullsh*t task the crime boss had for him.
It wasn't until Jason noticed Roman looking at him like the cat that caught the canary that he realized his mistake—he hadn't even glanced at the scantily clad woman's body, something any straight male would have done instinctively.
f*ck. Rookie ass move, Wayne.
Jason belatedly glanced at the woman's retreating form, making an obvious show of looking at her thong-clad ass, but judging by the widening grin spreading across the older man's face, it was all a little too late. His delayed reaction having made the faux pas all the more obvious.
Double f*ck.
He had been so careful to keep his preferences to himself, acting the part of a woman-loving, red-blooded male whenever he was at school or around Sionis and his cronies. He always made sure to grunt in agreement at whatever objectifying comment was made and let his eyes linger on all the parts of a woman that those around him eyed. It was a constant performance, one he had perfected.
Only Dick knew he was gay, thanks to their awkward-as-f*ck sex-ed conversation a couple of months ago. But aside from his brother, Jason had never given anyone a reason to think he was anything other than your typical straight white boy.
Crime Alley wasn't kind to fa*gs, and while he didn't know Sionis's specific policy when it came to queers, he sure as hell knew he didn't want to find out.
"Not into blondes?" Roman asked, his mild tone in stark contrast with the knowing glint in his eyes. They both knew Sionis wasn't talking about hair color preference.
Jason chanced a glance at Mr. Li and Yuri to see what the reactions of the two other men were, but neither one had seemed to notice Jason's slip-up—thank f*ck—with the former engrossed in his phone and the latter watching one of the girls on stage.
"Blondes are fine, but I already got a girl at home." Jason lied, putting on his best poker face as he resolutely ignored the image of his brother that flashed through his mind.
"A girlfriend, huh?"
"You had a job for me?" Jason countered. It was a blatant and desperate attempt to end the current topic of conversion, but it was also better than digging his own grave.
Roman watched him with an unnatural stillness for several beats, his only movement coming from the hand holding the cigar, which idly stirred his drink with a thin black straw. All traces of ill-intentioned amusem*nt had vanished from the crime boss's face, replaced by an unsettling thoughtfulness.
So this is how Jason was going to die. Not from a drug deal gone bad or a run-in with a trigger-happy cop. Nope, he was going to die because he didn't check out some girl's tit*. Fan-f*cking-tastic.
Before he could decide whether to throw up or make a run for it, an easy grin split Roman's face, momentarily stalling Jason's inner panic. The crime boss relaxed against the back of the couch, taking a drag of his cigar and blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth as he appraised Jason.
"Always so eager to cut straight to the chase. As a businessman, I can appreciate that."
Jason swallowed the bile that had been working its way up his throat, forcing himself not to let his shock at Roman dropping the topic show.
"Well, you don't pay me for my sparkling conversation skills," Jason said with a bravado he didn't feel, but it must have come out steady enough considering the snort of amusem*nt he earned from the other man.
The last vestiges of tension dissipated as Sionis took a sip of his drink before setting it down and picking up the manila folder Mr. Li had handed him earlier. He tossed it to Jason, who easily caught it.
Jason opened the folder, scanning the pages as he flipped through them before raising an inquiring eyebrow. "What's this?"
"Information on Falcon's annual Christmas party."
Jason refrained from rolling his eyes. "I figured as much. What I mean is why am I looking at some ancient crime boss's bougie party plans? You wanting to outdo him or something?" Jason said the last part more to himself than Roman as he turned his attention back to the papers, trying to see if he was missing something.
"No, you, my friend, are going to be attending the party as Falcone's thrice-removed nephew, Sunny De Luca."
Jason's eyes, which had been studying the blueprint of Falcone's mansion, immediately snapped up to stare at Roman, trying to gauge if the man was joking. Spoiler alert, he wasn't.
"You want me to do what now?"
"For f*ck's sake, turn down the goddamn music!" The crime boss yelled out to no one in particular, obviously misinterpreting Jason's question as a lack of hearing rather than dumbfounded shock. "Can't even hear myself f*cking think half the time."
Roman waited for his command to be obeyed before turning his attention back to Jason. "Falcone's the one who's been f*cking with my shipments, and I'm looking to return the favor, but I can't do that if I don't know where or when his goods are coming in. We've tried bribing and beating the information out of lower ranking members, but they either don't know sh*t or are more tight-lipped than a virgin's c*nt on prom night. So we're going to try a more subtle approach."
"And how exactly am I supposed to get this information?" Jason asked, correctly assuming that he was Roman's 'more subtle approach.' "Because I highly doubt showing up uninvited to Falcone's party and asking him for his shipment details will go over well."
"You aren't going to be asking anyone sh*t. After everyone gets thoroughly plastered, you'll slip away from the celebrations and break into Falcone's office," Roman explained as he leaned forward to tap the room circled in red on the blueprint with his cigar, "and snap pictures of his personal itinerary." Sionis shuffled through various papers in the manilla folder until he found a grainy photo of the older crime boss eating on a terrace with a small black book in his hand.
Leaning back, Roman brought his cigar back to his lips, taking a long drag before asking, "Any questions?"
Yeah. He definitely had questions, primarily, What the actual f*ck?
Jason was Roman's glorified errand boy, and now the crime boss was expecting him to pull some kind of 007 sh*t out of the blue? f*ck no! Roman had lost his goddamn mind if he thought Jason was going to agree to what was arguably the worst plan he had ever heard—and that was saying something with his track record of bad and worse decisions.
But Jason knew he couldn't outright refuse the crime boss unless he wanted to find out what it felt like to be shot twice within the same week. His best bet was to make the man realize just how batsh*t insane his plan was.
"How am I even supposed to get into the party?"
Sionis nodded toward the manila folder on the table. "Inside, you'll find a brilliantly forged invitation for Sunny De Luca. That family f*cks like rats and has an endless supply of worthless, wannabe gangster heirs, so no one will question you if you say you're one of Carmine's sh*thead nephews."
Jason moved some of the papers around, and sure enough, there was an invitation for 'Falcone's Annual Christmas Party' with his 'name' on it. Fake name or no, though, there wasn't a chance in hell that Jason was going to be able to fool these people into thinking he was one of them, let alone lasting long enough among them to slip away and break into Falcone's office.
"And what do I do if someone talks to me?"
The crime boss stared at Jason for several beats, as if he was trying to figure out the exact type of stupid the younger man was. "You could try talking back," he said slowly.
"My accent—" Jason began. He was Crime Alley born and raised, and his accent would give him away instantly; the moment he spoke, everyone would know he wasn't a Falcone.
"So drop it," Roman interrupted absently, palming his phone from his pants pocket before tapping out a message, signaling that he was bored with their conversation.
"It's not that easy—"
"Well, make it."
"I have nothing to wear." It was a weak excuse, but he was desperate for anything that could possibly get him out of the Sionis' suicide mission.
"I already let my personal tailor know you'd be stopping by for something befitting of a Falcone heir." The crime boss replied, not even bothering to look up from his phone.
Apparently there really wasn't any way out of this except to flat-out tell the man he wasn't going along with this 007 movie bullsh*t.
"Look, Sionis—"
"Two weeks," the man interrupted with an annoyed huff, laying his phone face down on the table and redirecting his attention back to Jason. "Two weeks of pay for one night."
f*ck. There was no way Jason would pass up that kind of money and Sionis damn well knew it.
"You, uh, mentioned something about a suit fitting?" Jason asked, pushing aside the nagging voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his older brother warning him this was a monumentally bad idea.
Roman's grin was all teeth. "Mr. Varriano will be expecting you tomorrow night at 10."
"I'll be there."
"Good," Roman said, picking his phone back up, "Now get the f*ck out of here. You look like the Michelin Man's red, sweaty cousin with all the clothes you're wearing, and it's killing the vibe,"
Jason ignored the jab, more than happy to be dismissed.
"But take the folder with you. I want you to know everything in it better than you know your own co*ck."
Quickly gathering the folder's contents, Jason stood ready to get as far away from the trio as he could. But before he could leave the VIP area, Roman called out to him, "Oh, and Jason, tell that girlfriend hi for me."
Despite the heat of the club and his multiple layers, Jason suddenly felt an unmistakable chill run down his spine.
