The Man from Gotham
by betty

The Man from Gotham

betty

Summary

"Your husband is a schmuck to eat out when he's got a dish like you at home."

Notes

Petronelle speculated that if there's one person in the DCU who bisexuality made sense for, it's Harvey Dent. Somehow, this mated in my mind with a pastiche of the Maltese Falcon.

Imported from Archive of Our Own. Original work id: 1576.

Chapter One

"I've made discreet enquiries," she says, and puts her little purse neatly in her lap. "They say you're uncouth, violent, uneducated, and are on close terms with all manner of unsavoury people."

"You don't need to flatter me, sweet cheeks. If you've got the money, I'll take the case." I don't tell her that I've been known to take cases where there wasn't any money. I only do that for interesting cases, and from the look of her, she's got a domestic. Women always dress up to tell you they think their husband is cheating. They want to hear that their husband is a schmuck for eating out when he's got a dish like her at home.

"Very well, if I'm your employer, I think it's appropriate for you to call me Mrs. Dent."

"Sure thing, babe."

She purses her red little lips under the lace brim of her hat. "I believe my husband is conducting a clandestine affair."

Since we're following the script so close, I say, "What? Your husband is a schmuck to eat out when he's got a dish like you at home."

"Mr. Malone, I do not require assurances of my attractiveness from a man who thinks a toothpick is a fashion accessory. Let's keep this business, shall we?"

Ouch, that hurt. "It's a match," I protest.

"I thought it was a splinter," she says dismissively. "I would like you to determine if my husband is indeed conducting an affair, and give me the name of the woman involved."

"For proof that will stand up in court it's extra," I warn her. I'm admiring this lady more and more, but I don't think we're gonna be buddies.

"Not necessary. I have no intention of enduring a sordid court case. Give me the woman's name and I will deal with her myself."

My kind of dame.

I get lucky the first night following Dent. I don't want to brag, but I'm a master of disguise. A slouch and brown paper bag and I'm a bum who he doesn't even see. He leaves work with a spring in his step, and I hear him tell the taxi driver an uptown address. I wonder if she's married, or if he's keeping her. Any case, I step around the block and hop into the car Alf, my secretary, accountant, and man Friday has kept waiting. He drives while I change into something a little more upscale.

But when I get to the apartment, he's already leaving it. Either she's not in, he's not much in the bedroom, or it's just a place he keeps to change clothes. I'm guessing the last one, because he's out of his business suit and in some pretty sharp threads, all prettied up. The spring's left his step, and now he's prowling. He prowls all the way down to the ground floor, and hails another cab. I have to move pretty quick to stay out of his way, but they don't call me the best for nothing.

And Alf's pretty good himself. He stays back while we tail him, and I don't think there's more than a man or two in this city who would even notice. Alf's solid. When he gets out at the Lazy Susan I figure he's got a chanteuse on a string, but then he walks around the block to the Coq d'Or. This case just got interesting.

The bruiser at the door doesn't look too impressed by my best suit, but I bribe him. What the hell, I'll expense it.

Inside it's all laughing and jazz and tobacco and something that's not. Dent's easy to spot. Every eye in the place is on him and it's easy to see why. I go up to the bar, and when I get the bar keep's attention by flicking a match in his ear, say, "get one for pretty boy, from me."

When the barkeep leans over to tell him, Dent looks up at me and I show him my teeth. I can tell he's interested, because he takes a good long look at the suit with disbelieving eyes, and then shakes his hair out of his eyes with a smile and comes over.

"Matches," I introduce myself, and stick out my hand.

"Janus," he says.

"Not Apollo?"

"A man of education," he says with that smile, and I'm beginning to think I may have a conflict of interest here.

"Is that what you call it when you buy 'em for the articles?"

"You interest me," says Dent, which I can tell he means as a complement. It's fair, because he's interesting me too. "I'd like to get to know you better."

And in the back alleyway, we do. I decide I shouldn't expense this, after all.

The next day, Dent doesn't go to his apartment after work. He goes to his club, and there's no way I can get in. Luckily, I'm a master of disguise, so I put on my Bruce Wayne costume. It's just a good suit and an attitude, but it works wonders. Treat people like crap and they assume you're someone who can get away with it. I throw the doorman the keys to a locker in Jersey and say, "Park my car," and push past him.

Inside, I walk like I know where I'm going until I see Dent. He's alone in a booth and scowling at a sandwich. Poor guy, I forget that not everyone has Alf to cook for them. I slide in across from him and wait to see what will happen.

It's not what I expected. He recognizes me, but looks irritated rather than surprised or worried. "You," he says, like he's found a fly on his sandwich.

There's no good answer to that, so I just stay quiet and wait. I find it works a lot of the time. A man with something on his conscience is a superstitious coward, and he'll talk to fill the quiet.

"You're Janus' friend," he says, disapprovingly.

"Not yours?" I ask. I admit, I'm a little confused, but I don't show it.

"I don't approve of his friends, by and large," he says, and takes a bite out of the sandwich. "Or his habits."

"I don't think your wife would either," I say. It's a stab in the dark. He scowls.

"I have been nothing but faithful to my wife. I can't control Janus' deviancy. He does what he likes."

"You can't... influence him?" I ask.

"How could I? He has his own mind." He looks honestly confused. That's two of us.

I figure I need to report in to Mrs. Dent.

"I hope you have a name for me, Mr. Malone." She's still dressed to the nines, so maybe it's her everyday wear, what do I know.

"I do," I admit, "but I don't know if it's any help. Does Janus mean anything to you?"

She pales, and her clutch purse nearly slips from her hand. "But Dr. Strange said he was cured!"

"I hope you got that in writing."

"Thank you, Mr. Malone. Your help is no longer required."

"Do you mean that I'm not getting paid?"

She gives me a look. "I'll settle my account with your man up front, but I think our financial relationship is over."

Which is much neater. I decide I'll expense the Coq d'Or cover fee, after all. I'll be needing it, to bribe the bouncer with tonight.