Just across the Brown Bridge, Harvey Dent stood at the window of his second story brick house, one hand on the windowsill, the other grasping a half finished cigarette. He stood there staring at the storm raging outside and felt strangely claustrophobic. How long had it been since he'd felt some measure of peace? He wanted to rage and beat down on this miserable city just like the rain and lightning outside his window.

He wanted to be able to look at a woman, just one goddamn woman, and NOT see pity, revulsion, or fear etched across her features. To not always be surrounded by yes men and flunkies who were just waiting to be ordered about. It had been so long since he'd had a normal conversation he wasn't sure he remembered how. A real conversation… what a concept.

One without a twenty minute argument about where it was a beer or liquor night… Where every other word out of the other person's mouth wasn't an obscenity... God forbid he actually find someone who was intelligent enough to keep up with his opinions on politics and current events, or discuss the latest novel he'd just read.

He, plain old Harvey Dent, was tired of playing mob boss, and master criminal; for once he wanted to sit down and have a real conversation with someone. And just once he wanted to find someone who could tolerate Two-Face as well. It was impossible to hold a decent conversation with someone when his other half was constantly screaming at him about what a loser his companion was.

Fuck you... I'll be twice damned before I listen to some bitch prattle on about shit I don't care about.

Enter the opposition.

Well excuse me for finding a use for women other than just sex… though I wouldn't turn my nose up at that either.

Pussy.

Isn't a little early in the conversation for name-calling?

Oh is that what were having. I thought you were still bitching about not having any fucking friends.

Oh! Because of course people are crawling out of the damn woodwork to spend quality time with you! Admit it! You're just as hard up for company as I am!

Are you saying I need some bitch's shoulder to cry on!

I'm suggesting it would be nice to talk with someone who doesn't ALWAYS argue with you.

I could get that just by shooting the shit with one of my flunkies.

Bullshit! Over half of those idiots can't even hold up a conversation about the WEATHER!

So what! I didn't pick them for their conversational skills you jackass! What… you wanna go babe searching or something. You… ACTUALLY attracting someone to talk to- let alone fuck. This oughta be good for a few laughs.

I said I wanted someone to talk to. I don't have to end up sleeping with her!

What kind of a broad just wants to talk? Christ, why don't you just visit a fucking library! I'm sure you could find a nice uptight old biddy in there.

Just because a woman wants to talk about more than what her favorite position is does NOT make her boring. Could you be more SHALLOW!

Could you be more PATHETIC! Why don't you just go on fucking Oprah for Christ's sake? The voice suddenly took on an insulting whiny tone. Nobody loves me, I don't have any friends, I'm lonely…

Because of course you're so much better off. When was the last time you had a woman stick around for more than five minutes- let alone had one in bed? I pause for your response.

… asulky silence.

Yeah, that's what I thought. Since the great Two-Face can't get the job done, then maybe wussy boy Harvey can manage to entice a woman to stick around long enough to like ME well enough to IGNORE you!

Like bloody hell! If you think I'm gonna sit on the sidelines while you mack on some wench…

Fine! Just SHUT UP! You're giving me a headache.

Don't tell me to shut up. You're the one who came up with this stupid idea in the first place.

If this woman turns out to be even half way attractive- not to mention interesting- I want you to promise not to run her off.

What do I get outta this little arrangement?

Well if you manage to not be a COMPLETE jackass and attempt to be halfway polite… perish the thought… we might actually end up with a VERY close friend.

So you want me to be me usual charming self and pretend to be interested in what ever she prattles on about so she'll go home with us.

Harvey sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Oh for the love of God! Just don't say anything stupid!

Harvey mashed his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and reached blindly to his left for his bottle of Bud-Light. They had sent their four best guys to scope out the local bars for one that they could frequent without drawing too much attention – one where their was limited to no police presence, provided it wasn't a complete cesspool.

Sure, The Iceberg was a nice place, but it gets old constantly being surrounded by the criminally insane. He was crazy enough all by himself, he didn't need to compete with his fellow villains thank you very much. If he had to listen to Jack's laugh one more time he was gonna yank his intestines out through his throat… and that was if the coin landed unblemished side up.

The boys had managed to locate an older bar on the lower east side. They had seen a few bar fights and never once had the cops shown up. Chances were good no one would notice four or five more miscreants. It wouldn't be hard to run out any other local gangs that had claimed the area as their turf. Harvey couldn't help but smirk. There were perks to being one of the most dangerous criminals in the city.

Apparently the bartender and owner of the establishment was a good-looking woman. They had guessed her as mid to late thirties, said she was polite but not nosy…sounded like a nice enough girl. He heard Two-Face snort in disgust. She could be as nice as she wanted but Harvey silently prayed she was tolerant, too. Very tolerant…

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Jamie Mackenzie turned the corner onto Franklin Blvd, Billy Joel's 'New York State of Mind' ebbing through her car speakers. The steady drizzle of rain left Gotham covered in a hazy film and she could faintly hear the puddles splash under the tires of her Honda.

The saxophone echoed throughout the car and she couldn't help but let the feeling of self-pity get the better of her. Rain splashed against the windshield as the flip-flap of the windshield wipers swept it away.

Yes, she owned her own bar and lived in one of the largest cities in the county. Hell, she didn't even mind the fact that she was single most of the time. In fact when she'd been younger she'd loved her life.

Unfortunately her small bar, which may have once been a well-known police bar, now served the dredges of society: thieves, murderers, and gangsters. She lived alone in her small house – which was in desperate need of a new everything, and that large city also turned out to be the crime capital of the United States.

Her clientele at the bar and the crime rate of Gotham were most likely never going to change. The single part, however, was open for debate. Yes, it may have only been irritating around the holidays, and the occasional relapse into bouts of loneliness – like now... All the same, watching the cute elderly couples who inhabited her neighborhood sometimes made her miss having someone of her own. Mack kept telling herself it was over-rated, but they seemed so happy, holding hands and taking walks after dinner.

What she truly missed the most was the comfort of having someone around. Just one person to share her day with who cared about what she thought and how she felt. She and her mother had been incredibly close and she missed sitting around the bar on slow days and talking over today's paper and discussing the latest novel. But since her mothers death six years ago, all that she had left were her bar patrons, and most of them were too hell bent on reducing themselves to oblivion as quickly possible to worry about chatting up the bartender.

Mack spent more and more time driving aimlessly after work, listening to the radio; it was easier than facing an empty house. It might have only been a small three-bedroom house, but there was only one of her now and a person only needed so much space.

Mack turned onto route 54 and accelerated to a comfortable fifty-five. The road stretched in front of her and she allowed the depressing weather and slow piano to lull her into a comfortable state of misery.

Most people would have handled her current situation much differently. She could have easily befriended any number of the gang leaders the frequented her bar. They weren't normally openly rude to her, though they frequently caused and participated in bar fights. Mack could have asked any one of them for some sort of protection or maybe an employee or two to act as bouncers. It just didn't seem right to act like someone's friend simply for a few favors. Most people would have taken gross advantage of the situation. Perhaps she should have capitalized on a few of her more lucrative offers.

Of course, then those individuals would come around when they needed a favor in return, and who knew what kind of a favor they'd want. Or better yet, they'd assume she was available as their Friday night gal. Thanks but no thanks. She had enough on her plate without needed to swear fealty to some group of crooks that would only change their pecking orders within a few months.

She had considered selling both the bar and the house and moving to upstate Jersey where her aunt and only remaining family lived. Still, this was her home and all her memories were here. Besides... she'd rather eat broken glass than have to live around her aunt and her 'perfect' cousin Stacy, who REALLY DID have a white picket fence. No joke…

What she wanted was a friend. Male preferably, for a few of those colder nights, but it wasn't a necessity. She'd survived this long without any sort of steady male companionship, and she was sure she could survive a little longer. Still, it would nice to have someone to read the paper with every once in a while, and someone she could count on when the chips were down.

Mack sighed and resisted the urge to slap herself. This pity party was wearing out its welcome. It wasn't doing her any good to dwell on things she couldn't change. She squared her shoulders resolutely and turned the car towards home.

She had been spending most of her free time fixing up a large room just down the hallway from the bar. It had kept her from moping around the house and as soon as it was finished she could use the space for storage and god knows she needed a bigger office. Tomorrow she would put the last coat of paint on the walls and then she could start hanging up a few pictures.

Mack smirked. She had the most luscious picture of Nicholas Cage just aching to be hung up. She had found it on e-bay a few weeks ago and just had to have it. The poster was from a scene in Face Off. Wearing the standard suit sans jacket, the shirtsleeves rolled up, and Cage just standing there… one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a cigarette. With his smirk firmly in place and a double gun holster looped through his belt, he looked like he'd just as soon shoot you as look as you, but he'd make sure you enjoyed it.

Dangerous men in suits, a gun holster slung over one shoulder… Was there anything sexier than a well-dressed bad boy? Mack turned the radio up and forced herself to sing along with Billy Joel's 'Only the Good Die Young'.

Some say there a heaven for those who will wait

Some say it's better, but I say it ain't

I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints

The sinners are much more fun…

You know that only the good die young

By the time she turned onto her street she was singing at the top of her lungs, horribly off key, her moodiness having vanished along with the coinciding thunderstorm.

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Mack wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, smearing blue paint across it instead. It was late August but the mugginess from the summer was still very apparent. She had air conditioning of course, but it could only do so much when manual labor was involved- besides the AC system was ancient and didn't put out as much cold air as it used to.

Leaning back against the chair she had drug in from the other room she surveyed her handiwork, bottle of water in one hand. Well... what could she say? It was a dark blue. Purposely chosen to not show the normal assortment of dirt, smoke, grime, and God forbid... bodily fluids.

It had apparently been a good decision because she couldn't even pick out the brushstrokes around the windowsill. Taking a long swallow of water she looked down at her watch. Four thirty... she had thirty minutes to cool down and get cleaned up.

Grabbing the gym bag off the floor she stood up and made her way towards the ladies room. Ten minutes later she had washed her face and a few other choice areas at the bathroom sink. Applying the normal toiletries and female products she slipped into her faded jeans and laced up her steel-toed shoes. Pulling a black tank top over her head she slid her inter pants holster through her belt and slid it around to the middle of her back, quickly tossing everything back in the gym bag.

The gym bag went back to the office and her red button up got casually tossed across the back of a nearby chair. Why bother putting in on until the last minute? Mack set up her daily dose of tequila, lemon and salt, and poured herself a coke. One shot of tequila and a grimace later she found herself sitting at the closest table, coke in one hand, attempting to marshal her thoughts.

It was Monday, generally a slow evening. Most of the guys around here were paid on Friday and they would be here that same evening in full force, but towards the end of the weekend their money tended to run out and business dwindled. Then Friday would roll around and the whole cycle would start again.

Mack paused and pursed her lips. There were four gents who had started frequenting her establishment a little less than a month ago. They were nice enough guys, but they all wore suits and absolutely NO ONE dressed like that down here unless they were either lost or connected with organized crime. Mack really didn't want to start dealing with any sort of crime boss, mafia or any other flavor, and she was pretty damn sure they didn't need directions to the nearest Denny's.

They had never caused any problems but they made her nervous. Maybe she'd get lucky and they'd start drinking somewhere else. She liked her bar, but sometimes managing it could be more trouble than it was worth.

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Harvey Dent stood in front of their closet absently running a towel through his damp hair. He might spend a lot of time arguing with Two-Face about any number of things, but what to wear had never been one of them. Though, to be honest, Harvey wasn't exactly fond of the white suit he got stuck with. Two-Face was a total bastard in every possible way but he really did get the better end of the deal- clothes wise. Though the suit as a whole was quite impressive, all that symbolism you understand.

That's why I get the better half of the suit... I'm more impressive.

Harvey snorted... There are several words I would use to describe you. Impressive wouldn't be at the top of the list.

Well of course it wouldn't be you jackass. Obviously menacing, foreboding, merciless, unremitting, fearless, vengeful, callous, sadistic, heartless, destructive, and implacable would come way before impressive. Not that I'm not... impressive that is.

Four years at Gotham State and three years at Harvard, and this is what my substantial vocabulary gets used for.

Harvey tossed the suit jacket across the bed and pulled on their dress pants. Looking down, he prodded at his stomach. Thirty-eight and I still have a flat stomach. That defies all possible logic of growing old.

Yeah well, running from the cops tends to keep a man in shape... and they say crime doesn't pay!

Harvey chuckled. It wasn't often Two-Face said anything Harvey found even remotely amusing, but he did have moments.

The shirt, socks, and shoes were added in quick recession, but there was a pause as he started to reach for the shoulder rig that hung by the bed.

Two-Face growled. I don't know why we always argue about this. You're not leaving without the goddamn guns. It's fucking stupid Harvey. Even a dumbshit like you oughta know that. Remember the last time you won the toss and you left unarmed?

Harvey resolutely ignored him, but Two-Face only talked louder.

NO you don't! And do you know why that is! BECAUSE YOU WERE KNOCKED FUCKING UNCONSCIOUS! Some jackass trying to make a name for himself shot at us and you had to run like a little bitch because you couldn't return fire. THEN your stupid ass trips in the fucking alleyway and your head went flying into the nearest fucking brick wall! If Mark hadn't been there we'd be talking to St. Peter right now!

That was an isolated incident. It was pure chance damnit! And I did not trip. I was dodging bullets and dove behind that dumpster to keep from getting a piece of hot lead lodged in my ass.

And then you ran our head into a brick wall. Not that it matters. We flipped for it afterwards, remember, and I won. We don't EVER leave without the guns, so pick em' up!

Harvey sighed. He hated it when the sorry bastard was right. He wrapped one hand around the well-worn leather and slung the shoulder rigs across their back, making sure he slid his belt through the straps to keep them from moving.

Harvey felt the familiar feeling up unease rising in his stomach and promptly squashed it. He didn't know what was worse, the queasiness in their abdomen every time he wore the damn things or the fact that it had been fading recently. Shrugging their shoulders, the straps quickly fell into their customary niche.

Quickly making sure both weapons were fully loaded, he reached for their suit jacket, buttoning the front of it on his way downstairs.

Contrary to popular opinion they did not live in a house painted two completely different colors. This was supposed to be their main 'hide-out'. A house with one black side and one white side might have been a tad obvious. Of course just because the outside looked normal did not necessarily mean the inside would win a place in Better Homes and Garden. Two words... lava lamp.

Most of their work was done from various abandoned buildings inside the city limits and all of them were equipped with the standard living requirements. This house however, was the one they had invested the most time and money in. It was also the one they kept as quiet as possible.

Gotham city was largely an urban area. Subdivisions were few and far between. There might be the occasional smattering of houses pretending to be a neighborhood, but it was mostly apartment, condos, hotels, and run down warehouses. Just across the Brown Bridge; however, is Gotham County, which is nothing but one big coastal area. The only properties in that area belonged to incredibly wealthy people who wanted a secluded home on the coast. It hadn't taken long to acquire one for themselves.

Most of the arrangements had been made by Mark, their top lieutenant, through one of their forged identities. The funds for this little expenditure however, had been the result of an argument and a large wager.

Two-Face by far created all sorts of nefarious acts, all of which tended to turn a handsome profit- a fact that he constantly rubbed in Harvey's face. Harvey had eventually retorted snottily that in the space of three months he could make a larger profit with five hundred grand than Two-Face could.

Two-Face, never one to back down- especially to some wimp like Harvey, had agreed and they had started their own private competition. Harvey had quickly set himself up with a laptop, Internet service, and several forged identities purchased through Oswald Cobblepot. Two-Face had begun a very long and lengthy crime spree.

Harvey opened several off shore bank accounts and invested in lucrative companies and their subsidiaries. The minor in marketing from Gotham University and his connection to Bruce Wayne had come in quite useful.

At the end of three months Harvey officially took over the handling off all monetary gains, ill gotten or otherwise, and had quickly double their profits inside two years.

Two-Face had sulked for a good week or more, but eventually managed to console himself with the fact that they now rivaled Cobblepot as the richest crook in Gotham. Even if it did mean that pussy Harvey was good for something after all. So when they decided to move their main base of operations just over the bridge to the edge of Gotham County, it hadn't taxed their pocket book to purchase a large house on the coast.

Harvey rounded the corner and he made his way towards the living room, one hand absently fingering their coin- as always. Passing through the hallway, Harvey grimaced as their eyes fell on that infernal print of the dogs playing poker. He generally made a point of ignoring the ugly thing, but today he had forgotten. He temporarily considered 'accidentally' knocking it off the wall when he heard Two-Face pipe up.

Feel free to toss it out the front door, but that Waterhouse you're so fond of is gonna be right behind it.

That Waterhouse is an original!

Then keep your fucking hands off my shit.

Nice to know you recognize it for what it is.

Keep fucking with me funny boy and that stupid photo of the birds at the beach by what's-his-face, is gonna meet an untimely death, too.

It's by Ansel Adams you culture nazi!

Feeling the overwhelming need for a cigarette, he pulled one from their jacket and was soon inhaling his daily fix of nicotine. Entering the living room, he paused to lean on the doorjamb. Kevin and Brian were hogging the couch and John was leaning over the back of it, arms draped between the two of them. Mark, as always, was in one of the leather recliners, leg slung over the side. Their own armchair was unoccupied. Two-Face tended to be very territorial and the boys had learned early on to just sit somewhere else.

Brian Broderick, as usual was making a spectacle of himself. It was amusing, but when he ran out of stories, he tended to start making them up. Not that he'd ever admit it of course. His blonde hair had been arranged in that spiky style that was so popular these days and his suit jacket had been idly tossed to one side. Brian was fairly short in comparison to the rest of them, maybe five eight or so. At first glance he looked like a grown up Boy Scout. He had the most innocent looking face, and when he wanted them to, his blue eyes actually seemed to sparkle. He was also the consummate actor.

It was what made him such a damn good enforcer. He was one of the last people you'd actually consider dangerous, and by the time you figured him out you were down and bleeding.

His cousin Kevin Broderick was slouched in the corner of the couch, long legs stretched in front of him. Kevin was tall, wide, brunette, and bore absolutely no family resemblance to his cousin whatsoever- in appearance or personality. Kevin was, for the most part, a quiet sort of man- though he had a tendency towards sarcasm that bordered on down right acerbic. Having grown up with wealthy and affluent parents Kevin had lead a very pampered lifestyle.

Unfortunately Kevin was one of the most violent drunks Harvey had ever met and one night he lost him temper and beat a man to death with his bare hands. Not sure if his money and connections would be enough to keep him out of prison Kevin had called his cousin for help. Months later, in return for the favor, Kevin was putting his master's degree in computer science and accounting to use for their mob organization.

Harvey turned to John Westphal, who was currently rolling his eyes at some outrageous statement from Brian. His dark hair was curly and he was, as usual, in desperate need of a shave. There wasn't really much to say about John. He was a Jewish boy who had grown up in a bad neighborhood, and by nature had run with a rough crowd. He had met Brian in his formative years, which they spent planning low level crimes and doing their best to not get caught - they'd been friends ever since.

Mark Dillinger on the other hand was something of an enigma. He was a little less than six feet with blonde hair and tan skin, and had actually spent eight years with the USMC. After his tour of duty, which had included a long stint in Kuwait running black ops, he had come back to Gotham and immersed himself in every possible vice a man could have. Eventually he found work and quickly moved up the ranks up the Denati family. At the time of his employment, Denati and Two-Face were planning a mutually beneficial heist involving a cargo ship with the standard supply of firearms.

When the terrible trio had shown up with Two-Face to finalize the deal, Mark had taken one look at Kevin and, in a look of sheer disbelief, called him A.J by mistake. Later that evening, over a few beers, the whole story came out. Mark had served in the same unit with A.J. Broderick, Kevin's older brother- whom he was the spitting image off. He had also carried A.J's body back to base for a proper burial after he took a bullet between the shoulder blades. Touching wot?

Now, Two-Face had never put much stock in standard mafia tradition. They weren't exactly Italian- and they sure as hell weren't Catholic. The Denati's, on the other hand were very traditional. It might be acceptable to do business with other crime syndicates, but you simply didn't make a non-Italian a made man. Mark was Irish, and a year or so after working for the Denati, he hit the proverbial glass ceiling.

Now it was true that the only way out of the mob was in a pine box. Good help, however, was always hard to find so Two-Face had taken Mark in after his fall out with the Denati's. As expected Mark's ex-employer took exception to his interference and Two-Face had the perfect excuse to wipe them out and take their holdings. After all, it was bad form to let one of your guys get snuffed by someone other that you, right?

Now they had the perfect group of guys, all of who were connected somehow- by something other than their involvement with the same gangster. All four of them trusted each other, and by extension, generally made nice. There were no petty power plays or rivalries, unless you including the occasion bickering over a good-looking woman.

Mark was completely loyal to Two-Face and Harvey for saving his ass, and where ever they went Mark went. Where Mark went the Brodericks went, and where... well you get the idea.

Harvey finished his smoke, reached for the nearest ashtray, and took a seat in their recliner. He cleared their throat and turned towards their Lieutenants, or in Two-Face's opinion- the "Four Horsemen."

Harvey paused and snorted. How corny can you get?

This from the man who finds Happy Days funny?

The four guys turned their heads toward their boss at the obvious call for attention, and then shared a knowing glance.

They repressed the urge to sigh and roll their eyes, Brian failed. It really wasn't all that unusual, watching the boss argue with himself. Slightly annoying yes, but the boss had never done it at an inopportune time so they couldn't really bitch too much. So, they all had the good graces to sit quietly until the two of them were finished.

Besides, it was bad for your health to start talking again after they called for your attention, even if they were completely ignoring you. The one time Brian had done it, Two-Face had stopped his conversation with his other half and demanded to know why Brian was talking when he was talking.

There really was no response to that question that wouldn't get the shit knocked out of you. Unless you wanted to point out that it was crazy to try and argue with yourself and hold a serious conversation with your employees. That would most likely get you shot. Needless to say Brian got pulled off the couch and tossed across the room. The boss could be kinda scary sometimes. After all, have you ever tried to argue with a crazy person? Well don't bother, you won't win. It was easier to let Two-Face smack you around once or twice than to argue with him and really piss him off.

If you really made him angry he tended to forget he actually needed you around, and by the time Harvey cooled down enough to kick Two-Face out of the drivers seat, you were already dead and it was a little too late.

So Harvey and Two-Face continued their argument and the four of them all tried not to bring any sort of attention to themselves.

No, you'd much rather spend your free time making up apocalyptic monikers for our employee's!

Yeah, cause' calling them, our guys, DOESN'T make you sound like a fucking faggot!

I didn't call them, our guys, you jackass. I called them our lieutenants!

Oh... WELL... stop the fucking presses! Wussy boy joined up with the goddamn army when I wasn't fucking looking!

For Christ's sake! I'd like to get to the bar sometime this evening so shut it! No wonder I'm a fucking alcoholic. I'm trying to reduce myself to unconsciousness as quickly as possible, so I don't have to listen to you!

Bullshit! When was the last time you had more than three beers at a time. Wouldn't want to drink too much would you Harvey?. Then I might actually get to have some goddamn fun for once! Fucking pussy...

Just fucking forget it. When we get to the bar tonight just remember our agreement! Try not to be a complete pig!

Harvey sighed irritably and looked up to find four pairs of eyes staring at him. "Is there a reason you're all staring at us like we're some side show freak," Harvey barked.

Mark lifted one eyebrow. "Sorry, boss. Wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable." Mark lit a Marlboro, took a drag and then exhaled. "You wanna grab dinner at the berg' before head to the bar or you wanna get drive through?"

Harvey pressed their lips firmly together and in a fit of pique, threw one leg over the arm of their chair and slumped. Then in a slightly sulkily tone, "Exactly what is wrong with Happy Days?"

There was a brief exchange of alarmed looks. Was that question supposed to be rhetorical?

"Well!" Harvey voice took on an expectant tone when no one responded.

Obviously not...

They're came rush of 'nothing's' and other comments, involving how much they all preferred the older sitcoms, from their yes men.

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It was just before eleven and to Mack's surprise, Andy and a few of his friends had dropped by this evening. The surprise was that they still had a few bucks left to burn, but hey, if they wanted to spend it at her place- well, why the hell not? Andy was a good guy- big, beefy, and worked at the steel mill across town.

Sure he tended to get a little rowdy when he got hammered, and he started at least one fight a week - but, he almost always took it outside, so what could she say? Bar fights really weren't that uncommon. Deep down he was a good man. Liked his booze a little too much, but she had seen him with his kids at the local grocery store, and he seemed to be a good father. She'd never seen him pick up a woman at her bar, it didn't mean he never had, but it was generally a good sign he was faithful to his wife. What more could you really ask for it a man?

Andy's normal drinking buddies, Sam and Ty, were nice guys. Occasionally they were a little too friendly, but they kept their hands to themselves, and after a while you get used to rebuffing offers. She'd actually gotten damn good at it. It took skill to turn down a man and not bruise the fragile male ego.

Andy and his friends she was used to. Them she could deal with. Hell, there wasn't a person in her joint that hadn't been coming around for at least six months or longer. Whether it was Peggy and Barb breaking hearts in their short skirts and halter tops, or her collection of neighborhood thugs and their groupies, she knew them all and she knew how to handle them. Her environment was chaotic, yes, but you couldn't say she hadn't weathered the storm with aplomb. That was until some jackass decided to throw a wrench in her slightly rotting, but still rolling wheel.

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It was hard to be inconspicuous in an overcoat during an eighty degree heat wave, and the hat pulled down over their face probably didn't help matters much.

Of course if any one interfered, well... they could always have them shot.

Two-Face snorted. As if you would EVER have ANYONE shot...

I can think of one person I wouldn't mind shooting.

The feeling's mutual.

Harvey took a seat in a darkened corner and shrugged off the overcoat. If they were going to start coming here, then the air conditioner was going to have to be replaced. It was cool inside, but not cool enough for a group of men in suits. What could he say? He had worn a suit since he graduated from law school, why bother to start wearing jeans now?

It had just seemed practical to have their four best, dress the same way. Especially, when the other families they dealt with had a tendency to look down their nose at people who looked 'scruffy'. Apparently gentlemen wore suits- the fact that all these so called 'gents' pillaged and plundered for a living was beside the point. Besides, it hid the guns.

When in Rome...

The rest of their entourage pulled up chairs to the small wooden table that, in Harvey's opinion, was so shabby looking they were almost afraid to lean on it. He doubted the damn thing could hold five drinks without collapsing under the weight. He couldn't help it; Harvey wrinkled their nose in disgust. Being a successful lawyer, and holding a public office, had accustomed them to a certain life style. A life style that had so far been maintained thanks to Two-Face and his own brilliant investments. Needless to say, their current surroundings were well beneath their standards.

The walls, at one time, Harvey mused, had probably been paneling. Even paneling; however, needed to be replaced on occasion and the surrounding walls were long overdue. Of course, since nothing had been done about their shabby state the damn things had started to pucker slightly at the seams. How quaint...

Harvey's face hardened and his mood grew considerably worse as he inspected their surroundings.

The room itself was a little on the small side, though a quick glance behind the bar reassured him that it was reasonable well stocked. The floor on the other hand was made of an ugly beige linoleum that, at first glance, he suspected had once been white. He grudgingly admitted after a closer look that, while it was indeed stained a lovely shade of beer brown, it had at least been mopped recently.

On the far left side of the room there were four or five steps leading to an elevated section of floor, which the pool tables sat on. The tables themselves were most likely from the late seventies- how else could you explain the odd orange color of the felt? He didn't even want to think about the condition of the slate underneath or how badly the pool tables slanted.

The small, round table that they were currently sitting at was dangerously unstable. While it did appear to have been wiped down recently, you could see the cracks in the tabletop where it had been broken and then glued back together. He was willing to bet every other table in the bar was the same.

In fact there wasn't a thing in this place that shouldn't have been tossed out years ago. How in the blinking blue blazes could they actually bring other bosses to this place? It was a dive, and a little elbow grease here or there wasn't going to fix anything. This joint needed a serious overhaul. Was this REALLY the best their four "best men" could do! What the hell were they paying them for! He distinctly remembered asking for a bar they could frequent without drawing to much attention, but it had damn well better not be a complete cesspool.

Well this… clearly qualified as a cesspool!

Oh, well. This is just great. Apparently they don't think I have any standards. I want to see someone bleed for this shit.

For once, and I'm gonna be fucking sick just saying this- you're fucking right. Let's just kill the fuckers. Two-Face paused as if remembering something. Unless the broad is good-looking. Then maybe I'll just rough the fuckers up... a lot.

She'd have to be best looking bartender on the planet and have the personality to match. I don't want to even think about how much it would set us back to make this place presentable.

Yeah well, I might be the fucking anti-Christ, but I don't wallow in nickel and dime hill jack watering holes. And I sure as fuck ain't bringing Tater or the Solvetti's down here. The sons a bitches would be so insulted, it'd be a cold day in hell before they'd do any goddamn business with me again.

Harvey drummed their fingers on the table, absently flicking their Zippo open and closed with the other hand. Their lips curled up in the beginnings of a sneer.

Harvey took a deep breath and attempted to rein in their collective tempers. While he couldn't necessarily speak for Two-Face, he liked Mark and the others. They were the closest thing to friends he had, but if they didn't have a good damn reason to bring them to such a worthless, low end dive, then he didn't think he stop the other half from killing at least one of them.

In a very controlled, very reasonable voice, he managed to ground out, "Would someone care to explain this." Moving one hand, Harvey gestured expansively towards the greater portion of the smoke filled room.

Mark exchanged a quick glance with the rest of the guys. Great, five minutes after their arrival and they were both already pissed. "Look, Harve..."

Harvey whipped their head around and Mark could almost see Two-Face sliding behind his eyes. "Look...boss, I would never have brought you here without a good reason." His employer's eyes continued to bore into his own.

"Yes, this area," Mark motioned to the main bar area, "is a complete dive, but there's another room just down the hallway about thirty feet behind you. It's being redone, and should be completed by now. It's big enough to hold a pool table and a couple of tables and you wouldn't even have to mingle with the regular patrons."

Harvey folded their hands on the table in front and scowled when it rocked underneath their weight. "I... good old, plain ass, Harvey Dent... am feeling pretty goddamn irritable right now. I don't think I need to remind you that when IM irritable, Two-face is generally pretty fucki..."

Harvey tried. He really did, but it had been a long day and after arguing for most of the evening with his other half, his patience was running a little short. Mark should have known better to begin with, and he sure as hell should have at least warned them that the bar was way below the requested standard. So it wasn't really his fault when Two-Face shoved him out of the hot seat.

Two-Face leaned across the table, lips curled into a snarl. "We're not fucking happy." Their hands dug into the wood in front of them until their fingertips were white. The men across from them swallowed convulsively. "We don't think we need to remind anybody here, what happens when we're not fucking happy! So unless you worthless bastards want to sport new bullet sized holes we suggest that somebody gets us a goddamn whiskey in the next two mother fucking seconds!"

Two-Face afforded Mark a look that promised an ass beating in the very near future and leaned back against their chair, one elbow slung over the back.

The requested beverage was in their boss's hands in record time.

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Mack gave the table in the corner a cursory glance, absently tapping a well-manicured nail on the counter of the bar. The four guys, whom she knew as Kevin, Brian, John, and Mark had a habit of always sitting at that exact table… Mostly, she thought wryly, because it was the closest table to the hallway. The hallway that just happened to contain the back door.

Mack had seen them arrive. Truth be told, she had been looking for them. They made her slightly nervous. She had given the issue a fair amount of thought and they absolutely had to be involved with organized crime, there wasn't really any other explanation. Mack just wasn't sure she could handle a group of mob guys.

Not that she'd ever know any mobsters, most of her clientele were petty crooks and small time gangs, but members of organized crime had real power. They bought judges and cops, blackmailed politicians, and ran protection rackets. If they were here about the latter then she was in deep shit. She didn't make much more than enough to keep the doors open and pay her own bills.

There had been five of them this evening, instead of the usual four, and it was fairly obvious the fifth one did not want to be recognized. Who the hell wore an over-coat in eighty degree weather, not to mention wore a hat so low that it conveniently covered half his face? Hope the guy didn't think he was being slick, 'cause he might as well have carried a sign around announcing, "wanted man- please arrest me."

Mack gave them another covert glance and noticed that the tension in their corner had risen, a lot. Hey, after fifteen years in a bar, you tend to pick these things up. High tension levels meant a possible fight; something to be avoided at all cost. If any more of her tables and chair got broken, her patrons would be drinking standing up.

She raised an eyebrow as she watched John slide his chair back and practically run towards the counter. Mack hadn't realized it was possible to move that fast.

"Mack. Whiskey, top shelf, now!"

Her eyebrows went from slightly raised, to the top of her hairline. She provided the requested beverage and watched to see whom he gave it to. Yep, he slid it back to the guy in the corner, and yes, they were all looking at said guy like he was the devil incarnate.

Ggrreeaaattt... This was a good sign. Four grown, most likely dangerous and armed men, were all scared of the same unknown man. There was only one thing this could mean. The man in the corner was there boss, and they had most likely pissed him off.

A mafia boss she did not need to get involved with, but she sure as hell didn't want to deal with an angry one either.

Sighing, she looked up and wondered if God was punishing her for something. No divine assistance was forthcoming, so she smoothed down her shirt and sighed once more for good measure. Mostly likely those four guys could use a stiff drink, and it was, after all, her job to reduced men to stupidity and then unconsciousness as quickly as possible. Taking a deep breath she stepped out from behind the bar and made her way across the floor towards their table.

She wondered briefly if this would justify as hazard pay?

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Two-Face scowled and took a swig of whiskey. Not bad really... not that he'd ever admit it. Snapping the Zippo open he lit another cigarette and stared at their soon to be bruised and broken henchmen.

Kevin wasn't moving, Brian was fiddling with the front button on his jacket, and John was twirling that silver band he wore on this right hand. Mark... well Mark was looking a little pale.

Their employees were nervous and it showed. Two-face snorted, the fuckers should be. He flicked the Marlboro absently on the floor when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a pair of scuffed black boots heading their way.

Idly tossing their coin through the air, his eyes moved from the tops of the boots and worked upward. Faded blue jean encased long legs and slightly too wide hips... he smirked.

Definitely a woman.

Two-Face gave her hips a speculative look- wide hips suggested a woman who might actually have a real ass for once. Average sized waist, probably a 32... the smirk got bigger. A leather belt kept a black, fitted, tank top tucked into the top of her jeans, and… they paused. Well, well, well... will wonders never cease. An ass and a nice rack, it was a shame that red button front she wore obstructed most of the view.

A slender neck lead into an oval face complete with dark eyes, full lips, and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. He was stunned. It was an honest to god women who didn't look half fucking starved. There were curves, there were long legs, and...

His repertoire was interrupted as said female placed one well-manicured hand on the table.

"Haven't seen you boys around for a few days." Mack made it a statement; she wanted to be friendly, not nosy. "Can I get you the usual?" She gave them a pleasant smile, but couldn't help but cast a fleeting look at the figure in the back. The hat and the shadows hid his face and most everything else, but she got the distinct impression she was being sized up. It was an irritating sort of feeling and it became more so when she had to repress the urge to shiver and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Who the fuck was this nut job? Her face showed her annoyance for a brief second, but she covered it well.

Two-Face cocked their head to one side. That was interesting. She hadn't even met them yet and he had already irritated her. The broad covered it incredibly well, but he had a lot of practice reading facial expression and body language. Perhaps she had felt him staring at her?

Their was a round of agreement and she noticed that their hanger-on was gonna need another round himself. Two Bud Lights, a Jack and Coke, Gin and tonic, and a whiskey later, she was back at the bar doing her damnedest to mind her own business. She didn't need to know who he was, and she probably didn't want to know either.

Two-Face looked at the new whiskey she had brought him, making sure he checked out her ass when she left. Finishing off the previous beverage he reached for the newest one. "Let me see if I've got this right. She's the bartender and owner right?" Mark nodded; hoping like hell the boss was warming to the place.

"The wench wasn't nosy enough to ask who we were- an act, which I think any jackass will agree, is an inhuman feat for a woman. She gave me a refill I didn't even have to ask for, and the broad's got one of the sweetest fucking asses I've ever seen."

Mark nodded his assent, not really trusting himself to speak. A sudden shout for joy at this point might not be very strategic, espically as this situation was taking a decided turn for the better.

Two-Face smirk turned down right evil. "We'll reserve judgment until after we've seen this back room you've been spouting off about, but we might not have to break any bones tonight after all."

To their credit their flunkies hid their relief well, thought the sudden lack of tension in the air was obvious.

Two-Face, being the sadistic bastard that he was, couldn't help but add, "Of course, we never said somebody wouldn't bleed later this evening."

Mark sighed. Sometimes it was nice only answering to the boss and making more than the rest of the guys, but having to answer for everything that didn't always go the way the boss wanted it to, could be a real bitch. After all, the boss had a mean right hook.

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Harvey stood outside next to the black sedan, while the boys were inside settling up the tab. It was just after three in the morning and the only thing that could be heard was the wind and the occasional car driving past. It should have been relaxing.

We are NOT beating the shit out of Mark! Christ, how long do we have to argue about this?

Like hell were not! I don't recall authorizing any sort of fucking creative thinking. We asked for something presentable, remember fuckwit!

Oh, so you don't want to come back? It wasn't you I had to listen to all night yapping about the bartender and what you'd do to her if you got her alone? Yeah... rrriiiggghhhttt...

That's not the fucking point you jackass. I don't want some two-bit thug fucking making decisions and shit without fucking telling me.

Yes, It might have been nice to have a little bit of warning, but it's a goddamn bar, and he's hardly a two-bit thug! He's been are acting second in charge for years now. It's not like he decided to change the plans to a heist for Christ sake! This is the most inane conversation. You're acting like a four year old. You just wanna beat the shit outta somebody!

Yeah! I fucking do. I don't like mother fucking surprises! This is not what we fucking asked for, so it doesn't matter if it worked all right just cause the bartending bitch makes you fucking hard! It's the fucking principle you dumbshit. You let one goddamn thing slide and the next thing you now your hip deep in shit that you didn't fucking agree to.

Don't' give me some shit about it being 'about the principle'. You don't have any! And quit fucking acting like the woman wasn't turning you on, cause' you're a lying bastard. Do you want to come back here or not?

Hell yes I wanna fucking come back, but that doesn't mean I want to set up a permanent residency here - and it SURE AS HELL doesn't let the bastards off the hook! I'm not gonna have my goddamn flunkies disobeying me! But if you wanna be a whiny bitch about it then why don't you just fucking flip for it you wimp.

Fine, be a prick. But when we don't have anybody dependable left, cause you shot them all, don't come bitching to me.

Harvey dug in his pocket for the infamous double-headed coin just as the henchmen in question were crossing the parking lot towards them.

Kevin reached out one arm to stop John and motioned behind him for Mark and Brian to hurry up.

"The pay might be good, but sometimes it's really not worth it. I am not feeling all that lucky this evening." Mark grimaced.

There was a disgruntled sigh from John. "Well we probably should have warned them that the place is shabby as hell." He continued on to add a thoughtful, "still, even if Two-Face does lay into us he probably won't do much more than smack us around."

Brian's voice was hopefully as he added his two cents, "Maybe John's right. How bad can it be? You know they thought Mack was hot."

Kevin deep voice rumbled, "Do you guys remember the Chrysler incident?" They all paled slightly. "The boss wanted a black Chrysler, and we brought him a black Buick because it was the middle of July and the Chrysler we found didn't have air conditioning."

Mark snorted, "He'd been pissed if we'd brought him a car without air, but he got pissed when we brought him the wrong model."

"Bloody hell," Brian ran a hand through his hair, "Face it me boyo's. Our boss is nuts. There have been times I thought we were dead men and he laughed the shit off!"

They saw the coin vault into the air and come spinning back down into Harvey's outstretched palm. "Anybody wanna call it?" John placed his hands in the pockets of his suit coat and looked over at his friends.

Mark watched as his boss's shoulder straightened ever so slightly and sighed. "It's gonna be a long night."

"I still think it's a Harvey night." Brian took out a cigarette and went to light it.

Mark stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Put it out Broderick, I told you it's a Two-Face night and unless you wanna be wearing a cigarette burn tomorrow you'd better put it away."

"C'mon Mark, relax. No way did it come up scarred side up. Face would already be sending us home. The sooner we get home the sooner he can beat the shit out of us, and you know how much he enjoys that." Brian sent Mark a sidelong glance as John nodded in agreement.

Mark scoffed at his friends, "Do you really think he doesn't know were over here talking about it? His hearing is excellent you know. Hell he's probably been listening for the last ten minutes. He just wants us to stand here and sweat about it while he decides which one of us he wants to break in half this evening." Mark tone was cynical.

Two-Face's gravelly voice carried across the parking lot to the four gentlemen standing five or so feet away. "It's a little disturbing how well you know us, Mark. And Brian," Two-Face turned to face their flunkies as his voice dropped into a growl, "Don't call me Face. I'm not your bitch. I don't need you to think up pet names for me."

He walked nonchalantly across the parking lot, a sinister look on their face. "I should shoot your sorry asses for the shit you just pulled, but luckily for you worthless fuckers I'm feeling benevolent this evening." Two-Face sneered at them, their coin rolling across his knuckles as he came to a stop a few feet from Mark.

He nodded sharply at Kevin, Brian and John, "Go the fuck home. I'm sick of looking at you."

Turning abruptly on his heel Two-Face headed for the other black sedan, barking out an order over his shoulder. "Get in the car Mark, you're driving."

Mark received sympathy looks from his cohorts but they all quickly dispersed to their appointed places. Two-Face wasn't known for his patience.

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Two-Face leaned against the backseat and watched the scenery fly past the window of the sedan. Mark had been driving aimlessly around Gotham County for a solid twenty minutes without hearing so much of a peep from his boss. It was never a good sign when Two-Face was this quiet. It was much better to let him sound off. If he started to brew over something, it festered until he either worked through whatever was bothering, or he exploded leaving a wake of destruction in his path. Mark could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Two-Face actually work through one of his problems.

Two-Face rubbed his jaw in irritation as his mouth pressed together firmly to form one solid line. It really pissed him off to have to waste energy on beating the shit out of his employees- well... the top four at least. How fucking hard was it to just do what you're fucking told!

He looked back on today's events and had to admit that aside from the fucking shit hole they had to sit around in, most of the night had gone fairly smoothly. He had stopped to look at the backroom on his way to the pisser and had been fairly surprised. The floor was wood, and the walls had been recently repainted a serviceable blue. The room itself could easily hold a pool table and several table and chairs for poker night- just like Mark had said.

Their face fell back into his customary snarl as he came back to the same thought. Their flunkies had disregarded their orders. It didn't matter that things had worked out fairly well. They had been very explicit in their expectations and in this business a small fuck up in the details could get your ass back in the slammer, or worse- dead. Two-Face scowled. This sort of behavior was fucking inexcusable and it built dangerous work habits. Two-Face snarled and quickly fell back into his normal state of pissed off.

He sighed and ran a hand through their hair. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy taking his frustration out on other people; hell he actually fucking loved it. Still, as odd as it seemed, he wasn't really in the mood... a fact that was quickly pissing him off. Maybe wussy boy was starting to rub of on him? He snarled and inwardly cringed at the thought.

Two-Face raised one eyebrow and lit another cigarette irritably. This was fucking bullshit! His flunkies had ignored and disobeyed him. The entire thought made his blood boil all over again. It had been a good thing the bitch had been good-looking and competent, for a serving wench that is, 'cause if she'd hadn't- they all be fucking dead men.

Hell, he was already itching to plant their fists in the middle of Mark's face, and Brian was gonna get it too for that stupid "face" remark.

Not really in the mood. He snorted. The fuck...

He was probably getting sick from that cheap burger joint John took them through. He made a mental note to knock his block off too. Their lips curled into a cruel sort of smile as he place both hands behind his head. What the hell, why let Kevin off the hook. If he was gonna smack three of em' around, why not all of them.

"Mark," Two-Face sounded a little too self-satisfied with himself for Mark's personal comfort.

"Yeah boss?" Mark sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable. The only thing that made Two-Face happy were generally the very things they made other people unhappy.

"Take us home."

Mark raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes. Great... home... he couldn't wait to get his face kicked in.

Feeling satisfied now that the immediate problems were taken care of, Two-Face's lips turned into a dastardly grin. The car rolled to a stop in the driveway some ten minutes later and Two-Face climbed out of the vehicle to head for the house. Passing by Mark he nonchalantly grabbed him by the tie, and casually kneed him in the stomach. Mark doubled over and Two-Face shoved him out of the way.

Mark bounced off the car and went sprawling painfully into the gravel underfoot. He attempted to catch his breath, waiting for his boss to drag him up to slam his infamous right hook into his face. Mark paused expectantly and then, after several seconds, blinked, and looked up to find Two-Face staring down at him with an inscrutable expression.

Two-Face flicked his finished cigarette off to one side and slid one hand into his pocket to pull out his coin. He gave Mark one last glance and then flipped it into the air. Two-Face stared down at the unmarked side and then looked impassively at Mark who was still lying at his feet.

"I hadn't taken you for a gambling man, Mark." Two-Face shoved the coin back into his pocket and continued, "The next time you try and pull a fast one on me, fucking think about what I would have done to you if I hadn't liked the bitch."

Two-Face grew sinister. "The next time you disobey me, even over some fucking small shit like this, I'll make the 'Buick' incident... look like a mother fucking walk in the goddamn park."

Mark blanched and Two-Face chuckled derisively. "Don't get too comfortable down there. I'll need you in the study after I'm done giving your useless friends hell."

Turning away, Two-Face crossed the driveway, gravel crunching under his leather shoes. Mark let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and quickly thanked God that for once he had managed to make it through one of these incidents without bleeding. The boss must have liked the place more than he had let on.

Heading up the front porch step, Two-Face stepped into the foyer and tossed their overcoat and hat onto the bench seat next to the door. Maria, their maid, would hang it up tomorrow. Working his way through the hall, he managed to catch both John and Kevin standing just outside the kitchen. Without a second thought, he grabbed John by the front of his shirt, and tossed him across the kitchen. Two-Face looked around Kevin to watch John slide across the floor and slam into the far wall. He was pleased to see that his distance was improving. Turning back to Kevin, he watched Broderick sigh as he waited for the inevitable. His patience was quickly rewarded with Two-Face's famous right hook, and Kevin went sprawling across the floor.

Whistling the opening to Guns and Rose's 'Patience,' he turned and headed up the stairs to their bedroom just in time to see Brian headed back down the stairs to the kitchen. Brian's eyes widened as he looked over his boss's shoulder and saw Kevin sprawled across the floor rubbing his jaw, Two-Face, remembering the 'Face' remark, cheerfully chucked Brian down the last six stairs. Fortunately, Kevin was there to break his cousin's fall.

Feeling decidedly more relaxed, he headed back to his quarters in the far corner of the house. Two-Face entered the first of two rooms. Originally there had been a master bedroom and bath next to a moderate size office. They simply had part of the wall knocked out and had placed a door there instead.

Now they had an office/den connected directly to their bedroom. A large cherry desk was in one corner, complete with a leather executive chair. There was a small balcony to the right of the desk that offered a panoramic view of the water. Well, at least Harvey seemed to think so. Truth be told he had better things to do with his time than stare out at an ocean that wasn't going anywhere.

He tossed the suit jacket across the back of one leather recliner and picked up the remote laying in the other chair to turn on his previously recorded version of the Raiders pre-season game. The television flickered to life and illuminated the adjacent wall. A mini fridge was situated nearby and Two-Face reached down to grab the nearest alcoholic beverage. He pulled out a Bud Light and then sneered. Hell, if he had to drink beer it was at least going to be a Corona. He shoved the Bud Light to the back of the fridge, pulled out the barely approved beverage and appropriated a lime from a small dish. Two-Face made a mental note to relinquish his hard liquor stock.

He paused on his way to their desk to peruse one of the many overflowing bookcases scattered randomly around the room, that in Two-Face's opinion, held nothing of any interest. Digging around until he found Harvey's dog-eared copy of Macbeth, he opened it to find the small desk key stuffed between the pages.

Two-Face shuddered and quickly shoved the book back into the bookcase, all the while ignoring Harvey's whiny ass bitching about 'mistreating' his property. Hey, it wasn't his fault 'wussy boy' was so attached to some worthless, gay ass piece of literature.

Just because the only thing you read is Penthouse is not my fault!

Hey! Don't be insulting. I don't READ the fucking articles okay!

... Silence- then... unfuckingbelievable.

Besides, no one on the face of the goddamn planet would ever think for a fucking second that I would hide my desk key…

You mean our desk key.

I said what I fucking meant. It's MY desk. I just LET you use it! And you fucking know NOBODY would look for MY DESK KEY in YOUR lame ass, nineteenth century waste of fucking paper!

Harvey snorted. Well of course not. No one believes you can read. Hell, I'M not sure you can read!

Is that fucking so! Last time I checked I was the brains of this operation.

Really... cause' last time I checked the returns on my savings account paid for the house you're currently standing in.

You know what Harvey. You think you're so fucking smart... let's see you figure out how to read a book that's been burnt to fucking smithereens.

Two-Face grabbed the book off the shelf and strode into the bedroom towards the fireplace. Pulling out their lighter he ignited the flame.

Hey! That was a Christmas present from Gilda! Put it back!

Two-Face ignored him.

You burn that book and as God as my witness I'll have every fucking scrap of clothing we own bleached bright fucking white.

Two-Face paused. You wouldn't fucking dare, I'd destroy everything you fucking owned.

Tough shit! Don't fuck with the shit my WIFE bought me!

C'mon Harvey don't tell me you still love the bitch after all this time!

Don't talk about my wife like that!

You mean you EX-WIFE don't you. After all... she did divorce you. Two-Face twisted the knife a little deeper just for spite. Say... didn't she remarry last year. I heard she's even expecting a little brat now.

' … '

So, you still want your sentimental little gift from the devoted missus? Two-Face chuckled.

' … '

I didn't think so. But since it means so much to you, his voice dripped mock sincerity, I'll just put it on the bedside table so you have a little memento of your blissful union with Gilda!

One of these days some chick is gonna do to you what you Gilda did to me. She's gonna leave you broken and alone, and I'm gonna laugh my ass off at the sheer irony.

Two-Face snorted. Like I'd ever give a shit about some fucking broad! All this time together and you still don't know me at all!

That's funny, cause' I remember you being pretty unhappy when Renee Montoya rejected you.

Don't you dare bring that fucking up!

Aaahhhhh...Did the great Two-Face get his feelings hurt!

Why you miserable... Two-Face broke off abruptly, to angry to speak.

He growled and threw the paperback as hard as he could against the far bedroom wall. He stood there briefly, fists clenched, a low rumble in his chest, and then the lamp closest to him went right out a closed glass window with a satisfying crash. The paperback that had started the entire argument followed it shortly thereafter, onto the lawn below.

Stalking back into the office he shoved the key into the desk and gathered the necessary documents for his latest heist. Still seething, he scribbled out the remaining additions to his instructions and practically threw them at Mark when he came up to collect them. After shoving Mark back out into the hall, Two-Face proceeded to destroy another window and another fourth of the office before downing enough alcohol to reduce him to a drunken stupor.