I couldn't help but pat myself on the back.
Truly, my genius knew no bounds.
"Get your free clothes along with a complimentary potion!" I hawked, holding up various shirts. "Don't miss out! We've got Fuck Falcone T-shirts, Maroni Is Overcooked Macaroni hats, and Cosa Nostra? Cosa Nobody coats!"
The various homeless and vagrants of Gotham lined up at my stall, taking the clothes with patriotic gusto. The line nearly covered the whole damn street. Even with all the helpers I'd brought, we were almost overwhelmed as word continued to spread.
Ah, the spirit of Goonion had truly spread far and wide! Even the people in the mob's territory couldn't help themselves from supporting my righteous cause.
Cobblepot had berated me for spending an exorbitant amount of money printing and buying custom clothing made from high-quality fabrics. But look at how wrong he was!
The homeless and vagrants were literally running away with piles of clothing plastered in mob insults, cursing out the families without a hint of fear. No doubt, by the end of the day, the clothes would be everywhere, spreading the message across the city on every street.
My plans were truly beyond comprehension.
"Wipe that smirk off your face, you freaking lunatic…" Red Hood palmed his helmet as he sat at one of the plastic tables off to the side. "I can't believe you roped me into this."
"Tsk, tsk. Is that any way to treat your boss?" I waggled a finger at him. "I'll show you how it's done."
I grabbed a dozen nice wool sweaters, each one printed with a picture of the various dons, all artistically edited with phenomenal artwork.
"Did you really have to draw dicks on all their faces?" Red Hood grumbled.
I ignored him and raised the sweaters high. "Sweaters go to whoever shows the most spirit!"
The crowd paused and looked toward me.
"GOONION!" one person yelled.
I immediately tossed them a sweater.
Seemingly getting the message, several more voices joined in.
"GOONION IS THE BEST!"
"FUCK THE MOB!"
"FALCONE CAN EAT SHIT!"
"That's the spirit!" I shouted, throwing several more sweaters into the crowd before looking back smugly.
Red Hood just sighed.
—
"So, is your grand plan to taunt them to death?"
I spun around on a stool as Red Hood watched me with his arms crossed.
The warehouse I'd used to store all the clothes and potions was alive with motion, dozens of workers moving cases into cars while the goons I'd paid handsomely traveled all over the city, guarding and passing out the free merch.
"Well, taunting them is just a nice side effect of my main plan," I said.
"So you do have a plan." Red Hood's voice went dry. "Thought you were just winging it."
I huffed. "What do you take me for?"
"A crazy idiot?"
I raised my finger, but… in retrospect, between Volition and having way too much money, I might have been losing my grasp on normalcy.
"Okay, I might be just a smidge crazy," I said. "But I refute the idiot part! My plan is very well thought out."
"Sureee."
I could practically taste the sarcasm in his voice, but I continued on. "What do you think the mob's biggest advantage is over the big crazies?"
Red Hood rubbed his chin. "Their rep?"
"Well…" I waved my hand in a so-so gesture. "Partly. But even the biggest crime families are stuck in the shadows of monsters like the Joker. So…?"
"What is this, Jeopardy?" Red Hood snorted. "Spit it out."
"No fun." I rolled my eyes and pointed at him. "It's pretty simple. They're established."
"Barely," Red Hood scoffed.
"True." I nodded. "The rise of the Bat, Commissioner Gordon cleaning up the police, and even your own actions have put a real dent in them. But I'm not talking about their actual power. I'm talking about their established existence in the minds of the people."
"I don't follow."
"The mob's existed for damn near half a century. Even though their prime is long gone…" I sighed. "The shadow of the mob still lives on like a fucking parasite in plenty of Gothamites. I'm not sure how old you are, Red, but for us, I imagine the impact is a lot lighter."
I shook my head.
"But the mob? They were like an ugly scar that never healed for a lot of old folks I knew. In the minds of the people who lived through their heyday, that fear is still there. Smaller, sure, shoved to the back of the mind compared to something like the Joker, but all the more insidious for it. Because as long as it's there, the mob can still prey on it."
"The protection fees." Red Hood's posture stiffened. "You're talking about the old poor neighborhoods. East End, the Bowery, places like that."
"Bingo!" I shot a finger gun at him. "Even after shrinking this much, as long as people acknowledge them, even if it's just the older folks, those schmucks can still tap into that money. It's been happening for so long that most people have accepted it as par of the course. And I don't think I need to explain to you how people are with change."
"So that's your angle?" Red Hood nodded slowly. "I can see it. But those old bastards won't take it lying down. They'll start sending enforcers to break legs, even if it costs them men."
"You're absolutely right!" I grinned devilishly as I leaned forward. "That's why, my good friend, we don't give them any time at all."
I waved my hand and pulled several garish-looking bats and hammers from my inventory, all brightly decorated in pink paint, ducks, and ribbons.
"Oh?" Red Hood picked up a hammer with a ducky on it. "I'm listening."
"Let me tell you a little secret power of mine called Pacifism."
—
Johnny Viti had been in the game for damn near thirty years.
He'd done more hits than he could count and beaten plenty of men bloody. He wasn't what anyone would call a picky guy. Women, kids, old, young, it didn't matter. Whatever his uncle Falcone asked of him, Johnny did without much complaint.
But maybe it was a sign of the times that even he was being forced to deal with stupid shit like this.
"Where's the homeless bitch who was running around in those shitty shirts?" Johnny asked.
The random associate practically wilted under his glare. "Uh, over there in the alley, sir."
Johnny scoffed and pulled out his pistol.
All this trouble over some brat slandering them. Gotham really had gone soft. Back in his day, people had the good sense to keep their mouths shut when the mob came knocking.
Now they were wearing those shirts in the middle of the street like it was some damn parade.
He stalked toward the alley, gun held low at his side.
The alley was narrow, damp, and reeked of piss, trash, and old rainwater. A few cardboard boxes were stacked near the wall, and a trail of bright pink ribbons led deeper inside.
Johnny frowned.
Where the hell was the old—
Something slammed into the back of his knee.
Pain shot up his leg as he buckled with a strangled grunt. Before he could turn, another blow cracked against his wrist, sending his pistol clattering across the pavement.
Johnny hit the ground hard, pain blooming through his knee
"Nice hit!"
"You sure your power's working? He looks kinda shit."
Johnny groaned and tried to push himself up. His vision swam for a second before he looked over his shoulder.
Then he froze.
Two men stood over him, both dressed head to toe in bright pink and wearing weird Halloween baby masks. One held a rubber ducky hammer. The other had a pink bat covered in Barbie stickers and ribbons.
Johnny stared at them in dawning horror.
What the fuck? Were these two new crazies?
"Eh, we can just hit him more and find out," one of them said.
"Why are we wearing these again?" the other asked.
"It's thematic. He's getting beaten by babies. The Goonion sent babies to beat him!"
The other guy just shook his head. "Let's get to the good part."
"Wait—" Johnny tried to say.
"Nope."
The rubber ducky hammer came squeaking down.
***
Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices.
I have advanced chapters on Pa tre on/daisyberry if you wanna read ahead.
My flight got moved up to Saturday, so this will be the last Goon update for this week.
Sorry for the abrupt notice!
Goon shall return the week after next.