Steele’s assistant introduced herself as Anna, and offered Sebastian a seat. He sat only for a moment, however, as Moira appeared.
“Hello, Mr. Blood,” she said with a smile. “Thank you for waiting.”
“Mrs. Queen, thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” Sebastian said, shaking her hand.
“Yes, well, unfortunately, Walter and I will need to reschedule. Something has come up,” she said apologetically. “I don’t know if you heard, but my son recently has returned…”
“Yes, I may have heard something about it,” Sebastian replied. I was there, you know—not that you would remember. “My congratulations.”
“Well, then, you can understand how much my family has going on right now,” Moira said, swinging a handbag over her shoulder. “Please give Anna a call, perhaps next week or the week after. She’ll try to find an opening in the next month or so.” She turned away from him, indicating that the conversation had ended, and made her way toward the elevator.
Something in Sebastian snapped.
His body stiffened as he felt every muscle tighten up. He clenched his fists tightly, nails digging into his palms, and the pain centered him. He reached his breaking point.
“Of course I understand,” he said sharply. “It must be exhausting, going to all of the fancy events and club openings, especially where your son is involved.”
Moira turned on her heels.
“Excuse me, Mr. Blood?”
“I’m just saying, why waste time on the bigger problems in the city when your son is opening a club in the Glades. Other problems such as the Merlyn Clinic turning away sick patients, dying patients, due to the lack of funding.”
Moira Queen looked as if she was ready to squash Sebastian like a bug.
“If you’re so worried about the clinic, Mr. Blood,” she said flatly, “perhaps you should speak with the person whose family started it. I’m sure Malcolm Merlyn would be eager to hear of your concerns.” At that moment the elevator doors opened, and Moira stepped inside.
“Have a good day, Mr. Blood,” she said as the doors closed on Sebastian, yet again.
* * *
His face hot with anger, Sebastian stormed into the mayor’s office. Mayor Altman sat behind his desk, signing papers and using his shoulder to hold a phone to his ear. At the sight of his visitor, he made a quick excuse and hung up the phone.
“Alderman Blood,” the mayor said, rising from his chair. “You seem agitated.”
Sebastian started to speak, then stopped himself and ran his fingers through his hair, his frustration boiling over. He stood at Altman’s desk, breathing heavily, then sat down on the chair, putting his head between his legs.
“Alderman Blood?” Mayor Altman repeated.
Looking up, Sebastian hoped the despair didn’t show on his face.
“Mayor Altman, I need your help.” He took a deep breath. “People are homeless, starving, dying—people I serve, who look to me to help—and no one cares.” He told the mayor of his visit to the clinic, of his meeting with Moira Queen. When he was done, Altman frowned.
“Alderman Blood, as much as I sympathize, there are other issues you should be focusing your time on—issues that are more important to the city as a whole. I know your heart rests with the Glades, but you need to face reality—the Glades are a lost cause. They were before you arrived, and they will be after you’re gone. There are other parts of the city that are struggling, as well, sections we have a better chance of saving. We can’t go tilting at windmills, just because one boy is dying.”
Sebastian felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.
Anger and despair rendered him speechless, yet he clung to a single, basic truth. He knew that if he had given up hope as a child, he wouldn’t have been here today. If Father Trigon had given up on the timid little boy in his office, he wouldn’t have survived to fight for his city, his district. He remembered going to see his mother, how dead inside he’d felt when he looked at her. Sebastian looked at Mayor Altman now, and felt just as empty.
Then the emptiness filled with rage.
“Mayor Altman, if the Glades are such a lost cause, then tell me how Oliver Queen got the permits, the tax credits, needed to open a new club.” He paused and stared. “How is it a nightclub is a priority, while a medical clinic is allowed to crumble? Where are our priorities when a wealthy brat is given a free ride, just because of his name?”
Mayor Altman sat stiffly and adjusted his tie.
“Alderman Blood, what are you saying?”
“I’m just wondering, what could cause you, cause the council, to support a major new startup in a dying neighborhood? And what would cause Queen to take such a risk? Will he pay taxes? Will the Glades benefit in any way?” Leaning closer, he asked, “Or will that money go elsewhere? Will it line the pockets of other people—people who don’t need it just to survive?”
The mayor rose slowly, and Sebastian did the same.
“I’m… not certain what you’re saying, Alderman Blood, but I don’t like the sound of it,” Mayor Altman said, his voice growing louder. “Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. The Glades are a hellhole. The district has the lowest voter turnout in the city. The votes that got you elected, Mr. Blood, wouldn’t have even landed you on the ballot anywhere else in the city. No one cares about that place—not even the people who live in it.
“So I suggest you get out of my office, and find something productive to occupy your time.”
* * *
As he stalked out of City Hall, Sebastian’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket and found an incoming call from Dr. Vaca. His stomach sank to his feet, and he braced himself.
“Hello, Dr. Vaca,” he said. “How are you doing?”
“Hello, Sebastian,” the older man said. “I am sorry to bother you—I know you are a busy man—but I just admitted Mr. and Mrs. Gomez into the clinic, and I thought you should be aware.”
“What happened?” Sebastian said. “Are they okay?”
“They are okay, yes, but their home was broken into last night, while they were sleeping. The intruders didn’t inflict too much damage, so they only suffered minor scrapes and bruises. However, they lost many belongings, and are quite shaken up. I was hoping maybe you could stop by the clinic to say hello, try to lift their spirits.”
He stopped in the street, allowing the news to sink in.
“Of course I will, doctor,” he said, keeping his voice even. “I’ll stop in as soon as I can.” But inside, he was anything but calm. What is happening to my city? he thought, his mind in chaos.
The Glades were indeed a hellhole, but innocent people lived there. The mayor was wrong—people did care. He cared, and it was time to do something about it. If the system wouldn’t help, then he would need to act outside of the system.
Anger turned to resolve, and Sebastian continued down the street, heading for the clinic.
6
In the basement of St. Pancras parish, Sebastian placed the skull mask upon his head, taking a moment to gather himself. It made him feel strangely alive, gave him confidence and reminded him of the purpose of the brotherhood that gathered before him. Cyrus Gold and Clinton Hogue sat before him, as did Brother Michael Daily, who wore the uniform of the city police department. They had answered his call, as had so many others.
“My brothers,” he began, “we have not met since the passing of our leader, mentor, and dear friend, Father Trigon. As we all know, Father Trigon believed in the good of the people who live here in the Glades, and because of him the halls of St. Walker’s are filled with the guilty.” Murmurs of agreement filled the hall. “But I am here to tell you, my brothers, that our work is not done.
“Despite his efforts, the city is falling apart. Just last night, good people were maliciously attacked, their home invaded a short distance from here. Yet the officials of Starling City turn their backs, and call the Glades a hopeless hellhole.”
At that, a deep scowl
appeared on Brother Michael Daily’s face, and angry muttering filled the room. Sebastian held up his hand for silence.
“The residents of the Glades should not be living in fear. They should not be reduced to political silence. My brothers, we need to unite and speak up, or nothing will change. Our brotherhood must give them their voice back, and prove to them that they are not abandoned. The time is now, brothers.”
He lifted his hands, and the brotherhood rose from their chairs. They began to clap, and Sebastian felt the thrill of empowerment. Yet there was no time to waste. They had to act. Their mission needed to begin as soon as possible.
* * *
A few nights later, the brotherhood gathered again, and the sense of anticipation was electric. They waited largely in silence, the occasional murmur breaking the quiet, only to die down again.
The door opened and Brother Daily entered. He and two other brothers dragged a pair of thugs down the hard wooden stairs to the basement of the church. Brother Cyrus Gold stood at the front of the room, wearing his mask and patiently waiting as they were pushed to the concrete floor and surrounded.
“What the hell is this?” one of the thugs demanded. “What’re you gonna do to us, priest? Preach to us? Make us see the light?” The other thug snickered at that.
“No,” Brother Cyrus said as the lights in the basement went out. “The dark.”
The thugs began to panic and cried out, looking around frantically in the gloom. Then a single bright light snapped back on, and they came face to face with Brother Blood.
“I am here to show you what fear really looks like,” Brother Blood said as the thugs found themselves gripped by many hands, hauled to their feet, and bound to chairs. The prisoners struggled to escape, cursing and rocking the chairs from side to side. Their efforts became panicky as the gleam of several knives appeared in the darkness.
“Cease your struggling, and shut up,” Brother Blood said. “It won’t do you any good.” Then he looked around. “Begin, brothers,” he instructed, as the brothers pressed their blades into use. They sliced their prisoners, just enough to cause pain and make them bleed. They dragged the knives across arms, stomachs, and legs as the thugs screamed in pain.
When they were done, the brothers used the knives to cut the prisoners loose.
“Spread the word,” Brother Blood said as the hands gripped them again. “Let it be known that the Glades are off limits to criminals. This is no longer a playground for scum like you. Tell your friends that they can join their neighbors to make the Glades stronger, or they will face the devil.”
Then he drew his own knife and ran it over the thugs’ palms, slicing them open and watching the red blood drip onto the basement floor.
* * *
Weeks later, Sebastian sat in his office, his frustrated anger a thing of the past. He was pleased at the progress that had been made. Civic groups had begun to clean up the Glades, and new businesses had begun to open. As they showed signs of prosperity, others began to invest, and a sense of community pride had begun to flourish. They still had a long way to go, but it was a beginning.
There was a knock on his office door.
“Sebastian, are you ready for lunch?” Cyrus Gold asked as he entered.
Sebastian looked up from his desk.
“Yes, in just a moment, Cyrus.” He motioned for his friend to enter. “Come sit down, I have wonderful news.” Cyrus took a seat on the couch, and Sebastian swiveled in his desk chair to face him. Excitement was clear in his expression.
“Good news, you say?” Cyrus replied. “Even after all we’ve done, the strides we’ve made, City Hall continues to act as if we don’t exist. What more can we expect of them?”
“It’s what we’ve been waiting for,” Sebastian said. “They’ve finally begun to see the light. Expansion plans have been approved for the clinic.”
“That’s amazing,” Cyrus said. He stood and hugged his longtime friend. “Congratulations, brother.”
“I couldn’t have done it without your support—and the support of everyone in the brotherhood. The last couple of months have been a whirlwind. The night watch program is thriving, crime is down by thirty-five percent, and it finally feels as if we’re starting to make a difference.”
“Father Trigon would be proud,” Cyrus told him.
“I hope so.” Sebastian bowed his head, remembering the man who started it all. “I hope he knows how grateful I am, for all that he did for me.”
“I’m sure he knows.” Cyrus placed a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “It’s wonderful what you are doing—thanks to you, the sky’s the limit, Sebastian.”
“Indeed it is,” Sebastian agreed.
7
In the common room of the Zandia Orphanage, a small group of people attended a fundraiser for the Rebecca Merlyn Clinic. Spirits were high—Dr. Vaca beamed as he discussed the plans, while Richard and Amelia Gomez introduced their son Bobby to the donors. Though exhausted by the rigors of his treatment, he grinned broadly at the attention he received. Sebastian played his part, and socialized with his supporters.
When he finally left the festivities, Sebastian was on a high. The Glades finally were beginning to thrive, and as discouraged as he had been a few months earlier, Sebastian knew he had put into motion what was needed to fulfill his plans and dreams, regardless of any opposition from the city political machine.
Arriving at his modest apartment, he flipped a light switch and glanced ruefully at the bare white walls and sparse furniture. A small worn loveseat sat in his living room next to a side table. The sole occupant of the table was a houseplant that had long ago given up the ghost. The television stood near a fireplace that Sebastian had never used.
His bed, unmade, was in the center of the second-floor bedroom. A dresser was pushed off to the side near the closet, where an open door revealed a row of suits, pristine and crisp in a wide variety of colors. The suits weren’t his concern, however, as he approached the room—there was a figure sitting on his bed in the gloom, the only light coming from the street. Whoever it was, he didn’t move a muscle as Sebastian crept slowly forward, reaching for a knife he kept in a pocket.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Mr. Blood,” the intruder said as he rose calmly, straightening his suit jacket. Even in the semi-darkness Sebastian could see that the man was dressed impeccably, his body language confident and his limbs muscular.
He wore an eye patch, a black smudge in the semidarkness.
“My name is Slade Wilson,” the man said, extending his hand.
Sebastian didn’t reach for it.
“What do you want?”
“I… we… have a business proposition for you,” the man said as a woman stepped into the room behind Sebastian. “Mr. Blood, please meet Miss Isabel Rochev,” Slade added as the newcomer made her way to stand next to him.
“I ask you again,” Sebastian growled, “what do you want? One more time and I call the police.”
“Oh, I don’t think you want to do that,” Wilson said, holding up Sebastian’s skull mask. Sebastian’s eyes widened, and his hand shot out to grab it, but he found his wrist held in an iron grip far more powerful than the intruder’s size would have suggested. When the grip relaxed, Sebastian stepped back.
“You’ve been working hard, Mr. Blood, trying to turn this city around,” Wilson said, “and while they might appreciate the results you’ve achieved, not everyone would be thrilled with your approach to the problems.’ He held up the mask again.
“But I know a little something about wearing a mask, and while it can be a valuable tool when used right, it will only get you so far. I—” He gestured toward the woman. “—we would like you offer you our assistance in what you are doing for your city. In fact, we would like to offer you the city itself.”
What the hell is he talking about? Sebastian wondered. He frowned, but kept quiet.
“We’ve been doing our homework,” Wilson continued, “and it’s clear you’ll do anything you ca
n to save Starling City, or you wouldn’t go running around late at night with your… brothers. We can offer you something more powerful—an army with which to take control, make the city yours, and position you as mayor.”
“Mayor?” Sebastian responded with skepticism clear in his voice, and the woman—Rochev—scoffed.
“I told you, he isn’t ready,” she said.
“Now, Miss Rochev, Mr. Blood’s actions speak for him, and his love for his city runs deep within him. Deeper than most, in fact…” He turned to face Sebastian again. “…which is why you will accept my offer.”
“I don’t know who you think you are, Mr. Wilson, stalking me, breaking into my apartment, but I’ve already begun to turn this city around without your help, and I will continue to do so.” He pointed to the mask. “That proves nothing, and I will not be threatened in my own home, nor swayed by some bogus proposition.”
Wilson smirked, and despite himself Sebastian found it disconcerting.
“I assure you my offer is valid,” Wilson said. “And we have no intention of threatening you. I believe you will see the value of having a different set of allies, and change your mind. For the time when you do…” Slade handed Sebastian his card. “Let’s go, Miss Rochev.” He stepped past Sebastian and out of the room, followed closely by his companion, and they were gone.
* * *
Sebastian rounded the corner at a brisk pace, approaching the clinic for an afternoon meeting with Dr. Vaca, when he came to an abrupt halt. The entrance was boarded up. Long two-by-fours were nailed to the doors, and no one was around to be seen. Shaking off his initial confusion, he reached for his phone.
Vaca picked up on the first ring.
“Doctor, I’m down at the clinic,” Sebastian said. “What’s going on?”
“It all happened so quickly, I haven’t had the time to call you,” the doctor said, his voice panicky. “Malcolm Merlyn shut down the clinic this morning, before we could open. His support has been pulled.”
Sebastian felt his face grow warm.
“I’ll call you back.” He cut the connection and stood there, staring. In one quick moment so much of his work—the clinic that represented the progress he had been making—had been snatched away. Anger turned to steely resolve. He turned on his heel, walking even more briskly than before.
Arrow--Vengeance Page 13