DCU: Split

Chapter 245: The problem

Quentin leaned against the balcony railing of his suite as the evening breeze rolled in from the city below. The penthouse of the new Continental wasn't quite ready yet. Most of the structure had been completed, but some of the custom materials were still making their way across the country. Apparently luxury took time.

A tragedy, really.

Still, the temporary accommodations were more than acceptable.

A cigar hung loosely from the corner of his mouth while a glass of whisky rested comfortably in his left hand. Below him, Star City's lights stretched toward the horizon, the city glowing beneath the night sky. It was a nice view. Not as dramatic as Gotham's skyline, but pleasant in its own way.

Quentin took a slow sip before releasing a cloud of smoke into the air, "Oliver Queen seems like a fun fellow."

The comment drifted into the shared space of his mind.

Kieran immediately stirred, "A lot more fun than Bruce." That earned a chuckle, "I'm sure we'll be fast friends."

Quentin barked out a laugh, "Right." Another puff of the cigar followed, "Fast friends."

The image of Oliver casually pulling up a chair to Kieran's meeting replayed through his mind. The man had been polite enough, charming enough, and entirely too obvious. Not that Quentin minded. There was something refreshing about someone who thought they were being subtle while standing directly beneath a spotlight.

"Honestly, this just makes me excited to meet Superman." That statement drew Nolan's attention.

The quieter personality stirred from the background, "Superman's a boy scout."

Quentin snorted, "A flying boy scout."

"A very powerful flying boy scout."

"Still a boy scout."

Before the discussion could continue, Kieran cut in.

"Well now, if that's the case, I reckon we'll get along just fine." The southern drawl arrived in full force.

"I done survived four whole tours in the Boy Scouts. Hardest work I ever put myself through."

Quentin nearly choked on his whisky.

Nolan groaned.

Kieran continued anyway, "I tell ya, nothin' tests a man's spirit quite like havin' to sell popcorn every weekend."

That did it. Quentin burst into laughter, Vey joined him almost immediately.

Even Nolan eventually cracked.

The absurdity of it was too much. For a few moments the shared space filled with amusement.

It wasn't often they found themselves laughing together these days. There was simply too much work to do most of the time.

The laughter eventually died down, leaving Quentin alone with the city once more. He took another sip of whisky and stared out across the skyline.

Star City. It felt in some ways more dangerous than Gotham, but in a lot of ways more innocent.

Not truly innocent, of course. No city was. Quentin had long ago learned that every city possessed darkness. The only difference was whether that darkness hid in alleyways or boardrooms.

Still, Star City had yet to disappoint him.

Oliver Queen certainly hadn't. The man had approached exactly as expected. Friendly. Curious. Protective of his city.

Reasonable.

That last part was important. Reasonable people were easier to work with than zealots.

A sharp series of knocks echoed through the suite.

Three quick taps.

A pause.

Two more.

The coded sequence immediately pulled Quentin from his thoughts.

The conversation inside his head faded into the background as his attention shifted toward the suite's entrance.

Only one person would be arriving at this hour using that code.

Quentin took another slow puff of his cigar before raising his voice.

"Come in, Dre."

The door opened a moment later. Dre stepped inside looking tired.

Not physically tired. Annoyed tired.

The kind of exhaustion that came from dealing with people rather than work.

Quentin immediately smiled. Now that looked promising.

And if there was one thing Quentin enjoyed almost as much as expensive whisky and good cigars, it was hearing about other people's problems.

Quentin smiled as Dre entered the suite.

"Come in, come in."

He gestured toward one of the chairs near the balcony before crossing to a nearby cabinet. A bottle of whisky appeared a moment later, followed by two crystal glasses. Quentin poured both generously before offering one to Dre along with a cigar. Dre accepted without hesitation, taking a seat across from him as the lights of Star City glittered through the open balcony doors. The city was quieter than Gotham. Cleaner too. Quentin wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that yet.

For a few moments neither man spoke. Dre took a slow sip of whisky while Quentin lit another cigar. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. Years ago it might have been, but now it simply meant business was about to begin.

"Start with the problems," Quentin said eventually. "I was under the impression you were actually going to be later than this."

Dre nodded before setting his glass down on the small table between them. "You're right, boss. The original plan we agreed on was for it to be a late-night operation. We wanted to observe first, see how the homeless population interacted with one another and figure out how we could introduce ourselves without causing problems. My boys on the street advised against it almost immediately. At night they bunch together in groups. Packs almost. If strangers approach, they assume danger first and ask questions later. We figured if we pushed too hard we'd lose any chance of making progress."

He took another drink before continuing. "So I adjusted the plan. We started putting out feelers during the late afternoon and early evening instead. That's when the problems started showing themselves."

Quentin remained silent, allowing Dre to work through the report at his own pace.

"We managed to gather some useful intelligence," Dre continued. "Word on the street is the homeless population in the Glades has been burned before. Not metaphorically either. Actual chemical testing. Kidnappings. Medical experiments. People disappearing in the middle of the night. The stories vary depending on who you talk to, but the result is the same. They've adapted."

The humor drained from his expression. "They built an ecosystem entirely around survival."

Quentin leaned back in his chair and took a thoughtful puff from his cigar. The statement resonated more than most people would understand. Gotham's homeless population had adapted too, but Gotham taught different lessons. Gotham taught people how to survive gangs, crooked cops, and violent neighborhoods. The Glades seemed to have taught people how to survive being hunted by rich people.

"The explosion didn't help matters either," Dre said. "The one that rocked the Glades years ago. A lot of people died. Green Arrow apparently saved as many as he could, but there wasn't much anyone could do. Happened long before we started operations in Gotham, but people still talk about it. They remember who showed up afterward and who didn't."

Quentin nodded slowly. The pieces were beginning to fit together. Distrust wasn't simply part of the culture here; it had been earned. People who spent years learning that outsiders brought pain weren't going to leap at the first helping hand extended toward them.

"So we have no good news yet again," Quentin remarked dryly before taking another sip of whisky.

To his surprise, Dre actually smiled.

"Not quite, sir. While we were putting out feelers, some of my people managed to blend into the ecosystem."

That immediately caught Quentin's attention.

Dre leaned forward slightly. "It's impressive honestly. Nothing like Gotham, but there are similarities. They move like a gang already. Never alone, always in pairs, always watching. Information is everything to them. They know who's entering the area, who's leaving, who can be trusted, and who can't. Half their conversations are really just intelligence gathering."

A grin spread across his face. "The funny thing is some of my men fit right in. They didn't even have to try very hard. Of course they were the ones that arrived weeks prior to us."

Quentin couldn't help but smile. "Interesting."

"My strategy at this point is assimilation," Dre continued. "We don't recruit yet. We become part of the ecosystem first. We earn trust. We contribute. We make ourselves useful. Then, once people stop viewing us as outsiders, we slowly introduce the idea of joining us."

He picked up his glass and swirled the whisky inside. "We only need a few successes. One person from one group. Another from somewhere else. They join us, their lives improve, and they make that improvement public. Once people see tangible results, they'll start wanting the same thing for themselves."

Quentin sat quietly for several moments before nodding.

"Good. Very good."

The plan wasn't flashy, but flashy plans rarely built lasting foundations. What Dre was describing was patience. Trust. Infrastructure. Those things mattered far more than dramatic recruitment drives.

"Move forward with it," Quentin said. "I want all hands on deck. The Continental opens soon, and we need infrastructure established before then. From what you've described, our primary objective is making them understand we aren't going to intentionally harm them. Everything else comes after that."

Dre nodded in agreement.

"If you have to, tell them your story," Quentin continued. "You and I both know you've changed. The man sitting in front of me isn't the same man I met years ago. There's value in that."

Dre looked down at his glass for a moment before chuckling softly. "I'm not ashamed of my past, boss. If sharing it helps somebody, then I'll share it. Though honestly, I think your story would motivate them a lot more than mine."

Quentin laughed.

"It probably would."

That was exactly the problem.

"The issue is we're still running interference on my identity. Let's not pretend anyone with half a brain can't figure it out. Plenty of people know who I am. The difference is that even more people refuse to believe it. The idea that someone like me could end up here breaks too many assumptions."

He shrugged before taking another sip of whisky.

"If I start personally recruiting people and those recruits start talking, our lives become significantly more complicated. Right now uncertainty is working in our favor. I'd like to keep it that way."

Dre nodded. He understood the value of uncertainty better than most. Rumors were useful because they diluted the truth. Every false lead created another layer between Nolan and the people trying to understand him.

"Speaking of interference," Dre said with a grin, "you'll appreciate this one."

Quentin raised an eyebrow.

"The current rumor floating around Star City is that the head of the Underpass is a man named Felix Sharpe."

For a moment Quentin simply stared at him.

Then he burst into laughter.

"Felix Sharpe? That Felix Sharpe?"

"The very same."

Quentin nearly spilled his drink. "Doesn't that guy own a couple bars in Gotham?"

"Two bars and a restaurant."

That only made Quentin laugh harder.

"Oh, that's beautiful."

"It gets better."

Quentin wiped at the corner of his eye. "Please tell me it gets better."

Dre's grin widened.

"A bar with the exact same name just opened here in Star City."

For several seconds Quentin simply stared at him.

"No."

"Different owner."

"No."

"Apparently completely unrelated."

Quentin leaned back in his chair and laughed until his sides hurt. Somewhere out there, some poor businessman was unknowingly being accused of running one of the most powerful criminal organizations on the eastern seaboard simply because his name happened to match a rumor.

The best part was that next week the rumor would probably change again.

And Quentin fully intended to help it along.