|Fic -- Dirty Deeds
||[Jul. 19th, 2008|05:45 pm]
Hail the Rogues!
Title: Dirty Deeds
Word Count: 1816
Characters: Weather Wizard, Mirror Master II, Captain Cold, the Top, some Rogue cameos.
Summary: Mark learns something which might interest Len.
Warnings: Some profanity.
A bank robbery had gone wrong for Mark Mardon, the infamous Weather Wizard, and now he was being transferred to Iron Heights. He’d heard bad things about the prison, but had never been there; upon arrival, he discovered it was just as awful as its reputation. Superhuman criminals were locked in the lower level, known as the Pipeline, and travelling down to it imbued him with a sense of dread. He didn’t feel any better as he was led along the main corridor of the cellblock.
“Wizard! Weather Wizard!” a hoarse voice cried out from behind one of the cell doors, and a face peered out the small window. It only looked somewhat familiar, but was wearing a mask Mark knew well, and then he noticed that the name on the door stated it was the Top.
“Roscoe, is that you?” Mark asked curiously, pausing in front.
“Move it,” a guard grunted, and gave him a shove.
“He’s still alive, Weather Wizard!” the prisoner announced as Mark began walking again. “He’s still alive, and he needs to die for what he did!”
“Shut up, Top,” one of the guards grumbled, and hit the cell door hard with his nightstick. “Guy’s fucking nuts,” he muttered under his breath, half to himself and half to Mark.
No surprise, cuz he’s been stuck in here… Mark thought glumly. It was the dankest and most depressing place he’d ever been --- and he’d been to plenty of prisons and stayed in some fairly scummy hideouts. He was escorted to a cell a few metres down the hall, and it was as awful inside as the rest of the Pipeline.
“Enjoy your stay,” a guard said sardonically, and slammed the door shut, leaving Mark alone with his thoughts.
Without windows, the prisoners couldn’t see whether it was day or night, but they approximated it by the changing shifts of the guards. They tended to get restless when they perceived it to be night.
“Hey, screws! Lemme out!” Tar Pit demanded the first night Mark was there. That set off some of the other prisoners, and soon the guards had their hands full quieting down most of the Pipeline.
“This place sucks balls!” one inmate declared loudly, much to the amusement of the others. Several rattled and banged on their doors, trying to annoy the guards as much as possible.
“He’s still alive! He has to die!” called the familiar voice, chanting it repeatedly like a mantra. Most of the prisoners were accustomed to the Top’s rantings, and ignored him, but Mark was getting curious.
“Who has to die, Roscoe?” he asked over the din, and someone laughed at him for bothering to make the effort.
“He has to die for what he did!”
“Shut your hole, Weather Wizard!” snapped a guard as he ran past, frantically looking for a heavy-duty tranquilizer dart with which to sedate the agitated Clive Yorkin.
“Chillblaine. I know he’s alive!” Roscoe insisted, and Mark was disappointed. The only Chillblaines he’d ever heard of were a couple of dead losers who’d hung out with Lisa Snart, so it seemed like his former comrade was just babbling nonsense (not that it came as a great surprise). He couldn’t imagine anyone would care about them.
“Whatever,” he muttered, sitting back down on his cot. This place was a disgusting madhouse, and he was annoyed at himself for even bothering to participate. Let the others play games and irritate the guards; he was above it all. He was one of the real Rogues.
It was another day or so before McCulloch came to liberate him.
“What took you so damn long?” Mark demanded, and the Scotsman laughed at him.
“Just t’ teach ye a wee lesson about getting into trouble!”
Mark grumbled to himself and jumped into the provided portal, ending up flat on his face at their current hideout.
“Oops,” McCulloch chuckled at his friend’s predicament, and Mark slowly picked himself off the floor with a dirty look.
“Sorry mate, Blacksmith’s orders. She said t’ leave ye in stir so ye’d gain “a better appreciation” for yer freedom,” McCulloch shrugged. “Otherwise I would’ve gotten ye right away.”
“Right,” Mark muttered resentfully. “Forget it. What’s happening now?”
“She’s talkin’ to Cold about joining us, believe it or not.”
“That’d be great! It’d be just like the old days!”
“Pretty sure he’s nae gonna do it.”
“Maybe we can help convince him,” Mark suggested. “Why wouldn’t he want to hang out with us?”
McCulloch looked skeptical but followed him anyway, and when they wandered into the group’s main gathering area, the meeting was just wrapping up.
“Perhaps we’ll team up another time,” Blacksmith said with a smirk that Len Snart did not trust.
“Yeah, maybe,” he replied not very convincingly, and they shook hands. He nodded at his two old friends when they entered, and went over to stand with them in the corner.
“You guys really believe in her?” Len asked in a low voice, and they both looked uncomfortable.
“She’s helped bring out my potential, and it was through her that I found out about my son,” Mark said simply, and McCulloch shrugged.
“I think she’s a winner, Cold. We can accomplish a lot with her. Why don’t ye join us?”
“No thanks. I don’t play second fiddle to spooky chicks up to no good. Who needs the hassle? Besides, with her plans, the Flash’ll be on top of you guys in no time. I’d rather lay low for a while, stay off his radar.”
“I dunno. Small robberies here and there.” Len let out a sigh. “I’ve felt out of sorts for a while. Ever since that asshole Chillblaine killed Lisa, I...”
“Chillblaine?” Mark interrupted. “She was killed by a guy named Chillblaine?”
“Yeah, one of her himbo partners. Shithead died before I got a chance to off him.”
“The Top said he’s still alive,” Mark said slowly, thinking back to what he’d heard in prison.
“Dillon’s batshit crazy,” Len grumbled, annoyed to be reminded of his sister’s former boyfriend. He resented that Roscoe was alive while Lisa was dead.
“He seemed pretty convinced,” Mark countered thoughtfully. “And he does have those mind powers. He said Chillblaine has to die for what he did…you know how he felt about Lisa; maybe he knows the guy’s alive and wants revenge?”
“Hmph,” was all Len said, turning away.
“If Chillblaine is alive, wouldn’t ye want revenge?” McCulloch asked. “I would nae want to take the chance that he might be running around somewhere, unpunished. Ye should find out.”
“And just how am I supposed to talk to Dillon? He’s stuck in lock-up,” Len demanded, thoroughly irritated that he agreed with them.
“I can get him out like I got Wizard here.”
“Fine. Get him. Send him to my place so I can have some privacy,” Len said tersely, not wanting Blacksmith breathing down his neck and learning about his business. He headed for the exit so he could hurry home, agitated about the prospect of perhaps finding Lisa’s killer.
The two younger Rogues smiled slightly, knowing he was grateful.
An hour later, McCulloch unceremoniously dumped Roscoe Dillon into Len’s living room, straight from his cell in Iron Heights. The (former) prisoner was understandably confused.
“What..?” Roscoe mumbled, looking around with puzzlement and scratching at his itchy beard. It had been a while since the prison authorities had allowed him to bathe or groom himself, so he looked and smelled terrible.
“Hey Dillon,” Len said dourly. Time had not made him any fonder of the man.
“…Len! Where am I?”
“At my place. I had McCulloch bust you out.”
It was then that Roscoe noticed Mark and McCulloch standing behind Len, none of them looking particularly friendly.
“He reeks,” McCulloch noted unsympathetically.
“Weather Wizard! Did you tell them? Did you tell them he’s still alive?” Roscoe asked urgently, and Len nodded, brusque.
“Why do you think you’re here? Talk. Where’s Chillblaine?”
“I don’t know. But he has to die! He killed Lisa!”
“If you don’t know where he is, how do you know he’s alive?” Len demanded, picking up Roscoe by his collar and giving him a good shake.
“I just do! I can sense him!”
“Well then, you’ll have to sense him better, so you can tell me where he is,” said Len gruffly, tossing him to the floor again.
“My head hurts, and you hurt me,” Roscoe whimpered. He looked like a wounded animal. “The world is spinning…”
“Do it!” Len shouted, and Mark shifted uncomfortably.
“He’s not playing with a full deck, Cold. Go easy on him.”
“Mind your own goddamned business, Mardon!”
There was silence in the room for a few moments, save for a slight crackling of electricity around Mark’s eyes, and then Len sighed.
“Sorry. You’re right. Okay, Dillon, try to find Chillblaine…take your time.”
With a somewhat resentful glance at Len, Roscoe closed his eyes and began to concentrate. He sat cross-legged and silent on the floor for several minutes, and Mark soon wondered if he’d fallen asleep. McCulloch started to fidget, and Len tapped his foot impatiently after five minutes had passed, everyone staring at the man on the floor.
“I think he’s playing us…” Len grumbled eventually, and then Roscoe opened his eyes.
“He’s at Jack Monteleone’s hotel,” he announced, voice sounding calmer and seeming more like his old self. “My mental powers are erratic, but the trail is clear. He works there.”
“All right, I’m out,” Len said, picking up his cold gun and turning to his comrades.
“I’m going with you! I want to make him pay for what he did to her,” Roscoe declared firmly, and Len chuckled.
“You’re way too unstable, Dillon. Besides, this is my battle. McCulloch, send him back to Iron Heights.”
“You can’t!” Roscoe protested, eyes wide. “I helped you!”
“Yeah, you played your part in the payback, so thanks, but I don’t want you getting in the way. See ya.”
“No!” Roscoe shouted in desperation, and was quickly sent back the way he’d came via the mirror dimension. Finding himself returned to his dingy cell, he screamed and ranted with helpless rage until the guards had him sedated.
“That’s it, then,” Len said with satisfaction, turning to Mark and McCulloch. “Thanks for your help, guys --- I’m gonna go kill the sonuvabitch.”
“You sure you don’t want us to come along?” Mark asked carefully, and Len shook his head. “Then good hunting. We’ll be pulling for you. But we’d better get back before Blacksmith wonders where we are.”
“When you get tired of jumping through hoops for her, gimme a call. Be seeing ya, fellas.”
“Aye, good luck,” McCulloch waved, and the duo jumped back through a mirror to Blacksmith’s headquarters.
“We could all use it,” Len agreed grimly, and headed out the door to find Chillblaine.