[center]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/drrqNvx.jpg?2[/img]
[b]Part II:
Economic Darwinism[/b]

[i]"The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me."[/i]
-- Ayn Rand[/center]

[b]Gotham City[/b]


Parker drove through Gotham City while Handy McKay rode shotgun. The car was a rental, checked out at the airport under one of the many false aliases Parker used. He used a different name to check into the hotel down the block from the rental car place. Parker used the room safe to store the five grand he'd flown in with. The money would be used to buy a quick getaway if the job went sour.

They cruised through downtown Gotham until traffic came to a stop. Handy lit up a cigarette and cracked the window to let the smoke filter out. Parker looked around at the tall buildings. It was just like he remembered from all those years ago. He and three other guys tried to pull a night time raid on a downtown bank not far from the spot they currently sitting at. They had just blown the safe and were heading out the skylight when he showed up.

The Batman hadn't turned out to be the great big monster a lot of crooks said he was, but he was sure as hell something more than a guy wearing a cape. He broke Parker's left hand in two places and permanently scarred it with some razor sharp knife thing he had thrown at Parker. Parker had been the only one of the four to get away, but he had to make his escape empty-handed. Short on cash, he had had to do some quick muggings on the street to get enough dough to pay for fixing his hand and getting out of town. Parker had left town with his tail between his legs and hadn't been back since.

"Traffic's moving," Handy said with a nod towards the moving cars. 

They headed north and hit the expressway out of town towards the wealthier side of town. Parker and Handy cruised slowly through the posh suburbs. Hunter's Creek was just a scant fifty blocks away from Narrows, but it may as well have been on another planet. There was no trace of the old junkies on the corner, doing the dope fiend lean as they shot up and fried what little brains they had left. No sign of the hookers who walked the streets, selling their bodies to feed themselves and their children. No dilapidated buildings with its copper piping and electrical wiring ripped out by money hungry fiends looking for a quick payday.

Parker always felt uneasy surrounded by these big lawns and big houses shining in the early morning light. He wore fancy clothes and stayed at five-star hotels, but in his heart he was just plain old white trash from the city, something that would never change. The people out here were tantamount to American royalty with their fleets of cars, jets, and boats. His destination, the mansion decked out in the Spanish colonial style, loomed on the hill above it all. Guys like Parker and Handy were called criminals for no other reason than the types of crime they committed. Parker stole money and jewels, the guys who owned the houses out here stole elections and peddled Democracy to any third world country with finite natural resources to exploit. They robbed pension plans and left retiring employees penniless. Society condemned guys like Parker, saying they were the problem with America, all the while the people out here overthrew governments to avoid paying fifty cents on the dollar for exports. The only difference between what Parker and Handy did and what the businessmen out here did was that their work had been deemed too big to fail by the government.

Parker and Handy were stopped outside the big manor by an armed guard. The rental car idled outside a big iron gate while the man gave him the stinkeye and double checked their identification. They were led inside the gate before being led into the big house by another guard. Parker wasn't too impressed by the large courtyard and expansive corridors. The place was small by House of Windsor standards. The guard showed them into an office somewhere on the third floor and left him alone. 

Handy took a seat while Parker walked up to a wall that looked as if it were a shrine to the home's owner. Three different photos of Thomas Segel shaking hands with the last three US Presidents, one of him in New York ringing the stock exchange bell, a cover of a financial magazine with a younger looking Segel on the cover. Photos of family accompanied the ones of achievement, but Segel was always in the middle of whatever was going on. That didn't surprise Parker. A man like that had to be center of attention in everything he did. For guys like Thomas Segel, if you weren't first you might as well have been last.

"Gentlemen."

Thomas Segel came through the door with a large smile and a soft hand out and raised for a handshake. "I have to say you gentlemen come highly recommended. Parker, especially. Have a seat."

Parker took a seat next to Handy and looked at Segel from behind his desk. It was dark, made of some wood that probably cost one hundred bucks a square inch.

"Mr. McKay told you the details, Parker?"

"He did."

"Good," Segel said with a grin. "But I'm afraid there's been a slight change."

Segel filled them in. After the Bat's arrival, the criminal order in Gotham had been thrown out of whack. The mob guys running the show got their asses handed to them by the Bat and their entire organization blew away like a house of cards on a windy day. The whole scene was like the wild west now, independent operators working shoulder to shoulder with the freaks in costumes and makeup. 

Jefferson Skeevers was one of those independent operators. Overnight, Skeevers had set up a drug-dealing empire that included almost the entire city and over half the surrounding county. Based out of the Finger Housing Projects, Skeevers operation cleared at least twenty million dollars a year.

"And I want it," Segel said with a humorless smile. "See, I work in the import-export business--"

"Drug dealer," said Parker. "You're a drug dealer."

"I supply many things, Mr. Parker. I have contacts in the Middle East and South America who can provide the finest product, but I don't own any of the market share. Skeevers has the market cornered with an inferior product. What I need is an aggressive takeover of the market."

"You sound like you're in the boardroom," said Handy. "All due respect, cut the shit and get to it."

"Skeevers keeps his stash -- both drugs and money -- inside the Finger Homes. I'm going to pay you gentlemen to steal them from him along with something else. Skeevers himself."

"Kidnapping?" Parker asked. "I don't do kidnapping."

"It's basically another theft -- stealing someone from their everyday life. And, Ffr what I'm paying you most certainly will," Segel said with his arms spread. "Money's not an issue. I need to have all three taken to send a message. Money, product, and the man with the connections. That's when I step in and fill the void with my own product."

"Why us?" Handy asked. "You got an army of muscle at your disposal."

"I need it to look like an outside job. If one of my guys gets caught then it ends up coming back to me."

"You know I like to rob banks," Parker said. "Because when you rob a bank, the president of Wells Fargo doesn't put a bounty on your head. You rob from criminals they take it personal and don't stop taking it personal until your dead."

"Like the syndicate in New York?" Segel asked with an arched eyebrow. "I've done my homework on you, Parker. "

"Outfit," Parker said tightly. "They call themselves the Outfit."

"Whatever they call themselves, there are still people who would like to know what your pretty little face looks like."

The plastic surgery scars had long ago healed, but Parker was on his second face after pissing off a lot of made men from New York City. that was a long time ago now, but guys in the Outfit always had long memories. Parker squeezed his fist so hard the knuckles were turning white. Handy looked at Parker before looking at Segel.

"You're an asshole," Handy said without blinking.

Segel let out a laugh at that.

"I'm a businessman, Mr. McKay. And a damn good one. Find a weakness and exploit it. It's the law of the jungle as well as the boardroom. You will be paid well, rest assured, but also know that the price of failure -- for you especially, Parker -- is going to be high. So what do you say?"

Parker had a violent fantasy of reaching over the desk and snapping Segel's neck with his barehands. He was unarmed, as was Handy. In twenty seconds guards would be kicking in the door. They'd never get out the mansion alive. 

"We'll start on it tonight," Parker said through gritted teeth.