[b]Gotham City Diamond District 11:20 PM[/b] Got a joke for you. A lock is like a woman. It's expensive? No, that's not it. A lock is like a woman. It's what stands between you and money? No, still not it. A lock is like a woman. It requires just the right touch. [i]--CLICK!--[/i] There it is. And there it goes. The deadbolt lock was free. With it gone there was just a single lock on the doorknob that I could have opened with a strong look. I popped it free quicker than a high school boy pops off his girl's bra. And just like the proverbial teen necking in the backseat of a car I was in the promised land. Through the door and down a dark corridor was Zinkman & Sons Diamond Exchange, one of the top diamond emporiums in Gotham and by extension the entire east coast. I am Ahab and this is my white whale, I am Javert and this is my Jean Valjean, I am the Trix Rabbit and these are my Trix. I'm at the finish line after sixteen months of prep, recon, and manipulation. I bribed bureaucrats at City Hall for copies of the building's blueprints. A hacker I know who owes me more than a few favors broke into the security company's mainframe to pull out their security schematics on the place. I [i]dated[/i] Issac Zinkman's youngest daughter for six months just to get a feel for the family and learn any trade secrets. We broke up two weeks ago. Oh, Cinnamon. You had the face of a horse, but the body... of a horse. And now that I think about it, was Cinnamon your real name? I thought it was your nickname... and there was that strange way you laughed at my jokes, like a neigh or something... .... Did... did I date a horse for six months? Before any more thoughts of my potential bestiality could fill my head something hard and firm found itself resting on the back of my neck. "Don't move," a voice said from beside my ear. "You're coming with me." "Or what?" I whispered back. "Or--" Something sharp and painful coursed through my body. My feet fell out from under me and I slammed to the floor writhing in pain. The electricity was still working its way through me when a black sack was pulled over my head. Just for good measure a sharp kick to the face bloomed more pain through my body and knocked me unconscious. [hr] [b]Gotham Heights 1:12 AM[/b] When the bag came off my face I was relieved to see that I was not in a police station. That relief quickly vanished when I saw where I was. It was a large, open-ended room with high ceilings and ivory furniture that matched the ivory carpet, that matched the ivory walls. Pretty much me in my black burglar outfit now stained with my own blood stood out in the room like a sore thumb. Even the two muscular thugs flanking both my sides were dressed in ivory shirts, slacks, and shoes. "Did I die and wake up in the 70's?" I mumbled to myself. "If only kid." In the middle of the room, in a big chintz chair the color of -- what other color but Ivory -- was Rupert Roth. I didn't know Roth personally -- I wasn't big time enough to -- but I knew him based on the stories I'd heard about his underworld exploits. He looked like an extra from a bad disco movie. He wore an ivory shirt with half of it unbuttoned, a large gold necklace and medallion caught in the steely gray fur on his chest. He had on a pair of ivory pants that would have looked embarrassing on a man half his age, but made Roth look clownish. Rupert Roth was the last great Jewish gangster in America. Now days most people associate the mob with the Italians, and it is a fair association to make given the sheer numbers involved. But back in the day Jews were the top dogs in the underworld. Guys like Arnold Rothstein, Bugsy Siegel and Meyer Lanksy handled their business like CEOs and quietly made millions. Murder and violence were involved, sure, but not like it was with the Italians. More importantly, they got out of crime and went legit. Roth had followed that model very well. A gambling empire amassed in the late 60's went major league in the 70's and he removed himself from crime altogether by the time the FBI started hitting the Gotham mobs hard. Now the only organizations Roth belong to were the Chamber of Commerce and the Rotary Club. But there was still that edge. He still had the juice that made him very dangerous, and had me scared shitless to be dragged into his living room in the middle of the night. "Johnny Lamonica," he said after a moment of silence. "I've heard of you." "Good things, I hope." Roth waved his hand in a so-so manner. "I hear that you're smart, I hear that you're a good thief, I hear that outside of some trouble as a kid, you ain't never been pinched." "And that I like long walks in the moonlight and a good '62 Bordeaux?" "I'm questioning your smarts, Johnny," Roth said, ignoring my joke. "First off I've had a tail on you for a solid week and you didn't see him, and then your here with me making stupid jokes." "Sorry," I said with a shrug. "It's a defense mechanism, I guess. Why have you been following me?" "Issac Zinkman is a close and personal friend of mine. We go to the same temple, we sit on the same charity boards. He knows who I am and about my past. So, he comes to me asking about this guy dating his little girl Cindy--" "Cindy," I said with a sigh of relief. "That's right, Cinnamon was her nickname... thank god." Roth looked at me with contempt and with a slight nod of his head the muscled gorillas on my right slapped me across the face. My face which was already operating at a dull painful throb exploded in pain. My ears rang and I had to bite my tongue to keep from crying out. Roth stared at me long enough to make sure he'd gotten his point across before starting back. "So Issac has this funny feeling about the guy his little girl is dating, especially after they broke up two weeks ago. So he comes to me and says 'Rothy, this putz made my little girl cry. Find out what he's got to hide and then fucking burn him.' And what do I find out, but the fact that this son of a bitch is an ace burglar, a burglar with a rep across town as reliable and smart, two things that are almost impossible to find when it comes to crooks. Not only is this guy a burglar, but he's planning on robbing my dear friend blind. You, my friend, are in for a world of hurt." "Unless," I said cautiously, mindful of the two looming thugs on either side of me. "If you were going to hurt me, you would have done it right away with no spiel, or you would have turned me in to the cops. You did neither, so I'm waiting for the part where you give me options." Something passed across Roth's face. It could have been a smile. It may have been a snarl, or it may have been gas. It was probably something of a mix between the three. "Smart," he said. "Just like they said. Option 1. I inform Issac that you not only broke his little girl's heart, but also that you were in the middle of stealing his entire life's work when I caught you. Knowing my friend like I do he will kindly ask me to feed your own balls." "A cannibalistic eunuch. Not the way I wanna go out." "Option 2. You're a thief. Steal something for me and we will call it quits." "Steal what, and from where?" That look again. I was now certain that pained grimace had to be Roth's version of a smile. "The where is easy. GCPD headquarters. The what? Now, that's gonna take some explaining..."