Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

Appointment in Central City

   I chuckle as Oswald and I leave the soup kitchen.

“You know, I never realized how good you are with kids,” I comment.

"There's a part of them I can still relate to, I feel," he responds, looking up at the pitch gray sky.

We pass a pay phone booth and I stop in my tracks. Is the phone...ringing?

"Hang on, I've got to check this," I tell Oswald, approaching the phone booth.

Closing the booth door behind me, I carefully pick up the phone and hold it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Natalie, it's Amanda, I've tracked you to your location. This call is urgent, is anyone else around you?"

Just outside the plastic glass of the phone booth, Oswald stares straight faced directly at me, his eyes sunken in and unblinking. I turn away from him.

"Cobblepot's just outside the door, but I don't think he can hear us."

"You better hope he can't," she threatens.

“You’re the one calling me in the middle of the day via a public phone booth,” I remind her.

“Natalie, I need you to meet with an informant in Central City. He has some valuable tech that I need you to retrieve for me.”

I roll my eyes, “Don’t you have other agents for this kind of thing?”

“The feds are pulling back my funding, and besides, I intend on giving some of the tech to you,” she explains, “I want you to head out first thing tomorrow.”

I sigh, of course she’s adding to my workload at the last minute, and on a weekend too.

“Fine, but could you do something for me? Could you keep an eye on Oswald Cobblepot? Report anything suspicious, especially if he’s involved in any murders."

"Alright, although I have to ask why you want to keep such a close eye on your lackey.”

I turn around and see that Oswald is still standing exactly where he was a minute ago, a malicious smile creased across his lips.

“Let’s just say we have a deal worked out.”

After Amanda debriefs me of my mission, I hang up the phone and exit the booth, where Oswald links our arms as we continue walking.

“What did Amanda want?” Oswald asks.

“I’m going to have to leave town for a day or two,” I explain, “business.”

He squeezes my arm tightly, “Why so sudden? Don’t you like being here?”

“Of course I do but-” I stop myself. Do I like being here? True, it’s nice to be semi-out of retirement, or at least leading a somewhat interesting life post CIA but, do I like it?

Instead of legitimately questioning myself, I take his chin into my hand, turning his head to face me, “As long as you’re around, I’m as happy as can be.”

Direct flattery is not my usual style, but if I want Oswald to start changing his ways, he’s going to want something in return.

He dives in and kisses me briefly on the lips before we continue walking along the deserted street, arm in arm.

    We walk down the street to our apartment complex when a familiar voice calls out.

“Trixie! Hello!” it’s Mrs. Cobblepot, walking up from the other side of the street carrying a wicker basket.

I turn around and Oswald has completely vanished, and I blink several times, blindly staring at the space where he was just seconds ago.

“Be a dear and help an old woman out, would you?” she asks, totally unaware her son was just standing beside me.

I nod, “Of course,” I take the basket off of her hands as she removes the large, faded sunhat from her head, revealing a mass of gray and white curls underneath.

“My son, he still has not come home to me. Do, do you know where he is? Have you heard from him?” she asks with a pleading tone.

“No Mrs. Kabelput, I haven’t,” I lied.

She touches my shoulder with her hand as we ascend the stairs, “Do not fret child, he always comes home to his mother. I remember, when he was just but a strapping young boy, he ran away. Oh! What a terrible thing. I was worried sick for days.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like the Oswald I know. He always seemed very devoted to you.”

“Of course he is, but he is also young, and very ambitious. Such ideas he has! Even as a man, his head is always full of ideas.”

We reach her apartment, and she unlocks the door and gestures for me to come in. I set her basket down on the coffee table and take a seat in one of the couches. She opens the basket and reveals that it’s full of green apples.

“I’ll save these for later. You see, I’m going to try my hand at making an apple pie. As, as soon as I can get all the ingredients of course. But those prices, always rising,” she sighs, as she takes the basket and places it on the kitchen counter, “but I say, why not try anyway? Apple pie is so very...American.”

Personally, I’m more partial to gooseberry pie myself. There use to be a bunch of wild gooseberry bushes on the reservation, we’d pick them and then cook them into pies to eat over the winter season. I remember running down the grassy hill to the houses, carrying a big basket full of them, and how mom was so proud I’d gotten them all by myself…

“Trixie, are you listening?!” Mrs. Cobblepot snaps me out of my daydream.

“Oh...oh uhm, my apologies Mrs. Kabelput, I was caught up in a fond memory,” I excuse myself, shrinking my head past my shoulders in embarrassment.

She tsks playfully, “You’re too young to be wandering off into the past like that.”

I chuckle, but suddenly, something on the coffee table catches my eye. A small, dainty snow globe of the Sydney Opera House. That wasn’t there before.

“Where did you find this?” I ask her, pointing to the object.

She turns around and gasps, “Oh, I must have forgotten to put that away earlier,” she shuffles over to the coffee table where she picks up the snow globe, “this was always Ozzy’s favorite toy as a child. His fath-...it was a gift.”

Her long fingernails encase the glass shell of the snow globe as she brings it to my face. As I get a closer look at the snow globe, I realize that the Sydney Opera House miniature inside has been mis-colored, painted a light blue instead of the usual white. The sharp points in the architecture plus the irregular color made the tiny figurine look less like the Sydney Opera House and more like ice.

Suddenly, there’s a banging coming from directly upstairs, sending some dust falling down to the floor.

“Is that coming from your apartment?” Mrs. Cobblepot asks.

I look up, Oswald must be getting antsy, he’s not one for patience, is he?

“I completely forgot. I...I’m expecting company. Guess they just let themselves in,” I cross to the door and glance back briefly, smiling, “good day Mrs. Kabelput.”

“Farewell for now, dear,” she smiles spryly as I close the door.