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Walking head high, Bombon hopes both that someone takes him up on the provocation and that he reaches his destination on time. A bit contrarian, but when isn't he? There's an itch under his skin that refuses to leave, one that tells him that he needs to fight. Be it for survival, in retaliation, or for fun, it doesn't matter as long as he can prove that he still can.
It's never good to be idle. Someone unable to fight is dead meat and no-one here has pity left to spare. Bombon almost laughs. Just a few years ago, he would've been shanked already. Now, people actively avoid him.
He hasn't even reached adulthood and yet he already has a Name to himself. It's no wonder that being a goon is always in demand when this is the kind of treatment you get in return.
"Don't mess with him." Be it himself or the ones that stand behind him.
"He's dangerous." A status for which he has broken the bones of both himself and others.
"Never provoke the Mad Dog." Because he can and will bite.
Maybe he should get himself a dog just for the sake of messing with his street cred. The Mad Dog's dog. Watch out for the dog, they'd yell. Which one?! They would ask. It would be hilarious. A glint of silver.
His eyes snap into those of a woman twelve feet ahead, challenging her to pull out the gun on him as she planned. They walk up to each other. Three. Two. One. She passes by.
He listens to her retreating footsteps. They're too loud to have grown up in Central. Maybe Northern Alley? They're reaching where the lines between the two are getting blurred. Less and less people recognize him. Which may be a good thing, but hey, Bombon has earned his street rep. Though he can't complain. They've probably heard of him but don't have a face since he's usually holed up with his people.
Or maybe it's his trenchcoat? A massive upgrade from his jacket. An old one that he got from the granny he knows is secretly part of the Elderly Mafia Society that no-one has proof exists. The coat is a treasure he got by her finding him funny since he was 7. Take that random whore who birthed him! He was a cute kid.
A shout can be heard ahead, which isn't unusual, but the raw pleading is. How can someone still beg here? Fight for yourself. Anything else is temporary at best.
Out of curiosity, Bombon glances into the side street. As expected, a goon is beating an average-looking guy who's curled up on the ground. Someone has definitely pissed there. It's a very pathetic display from both sides actually. What are those punches? No way either of them grew up in Crime Alley. But if either of them did, they were handed a golden spoon.
Like, the guy on the floor is literally wearing a Bronco. If he squints it almost looks familiar. Actually- Bombon takes a few steps closer and takes a good look. Hey, he knows this guy! One of the rare few who dared set up a stall truck moving all over the Alley. People let the guy be because his food was cheap.
If he remembers right - he does - the man also gave him leftovers a few times. Wait, not this guy, his father. The big burly man who beat up a thief the one time someone tried to rob the stall. That explains it.
It's enough for Bombon to finally give in and ram an elbow into the goon's side. He doesn't let the man get more than a curse, before snapping out his knife and slamming the blunt side into his eye. The bloody scream echoes through the side street. With the amount of blood that his hand brings back, that eye will probably need to be taken out. But it's not enough.
Bombon grabs the man's shoulder to drag him close and throws a knee into his gut. The choked-off echoes are satisfying. One kick to the side and the goon is down.
Turning to the stall owner's son, he asks, "You good?" The answer is a choked-out yes. Bombon nods and tells him, "Tell your old man, I've paid my debt, will you."
He turns away and goes back into the starting soft rush of people that comes with the sluggish waking of Gotham's nightlife. Like this, he's just one more face in the crowd.
It doesn't take long for him to reach the women's shelter. The building is ugly as always, a combination of narrow gothic buildings and a modern clinic, somehow ending up with futuristic windows and crumbling walls. Bombon is still impressed. He would have bet that the building was a lost cause.
Pushing the door open, he finally lowers his head as he walks through the comfortable space. This is not the place for fights. He easily waves himself through suspicious gazes and reaches the staffroom. As he steps inside, a woman snaps her head towards him. Her features twist into a snarl and she growls, "Who the fuck-"
"He's for me!" Another one chimes in. Both of them look at the young woman walking in.
"Hey Zoey," He greets.
She returns it with a cheery, "Hi! We'll go out of your way. Sorry for the scare Carol!"
The woman, Carol, rolls her eyes but turns away with angry mutters. Bombon follows Zoey easily as they walk a little further into the building until they reach the lockers.
"A'right," she starts, "I'll have you know that Bristol has more hidden secrets than the desert has sand, but I've got a few names that may be a lead."
No time for small talk? Bombon internally chuckles. That would be hilarious. But he has to ask, "Are the names reliable?"
Zoey shrugs as she gets the needed paper out of a bra's pouch. "Probably. Could also just be my dear wantin' the names to get to Hood."
She shrugs again, but Bombon still can't believe that she's shaking up with a Bristol girl. Not just anyone from there, someone with a Name. Zoey is ambitious like all Central Alley kids need to be, but she got out of it early enough not to have developed its sharp edge. No doubt she would try to stab him if he said it, but it's true. Zoey is an East Alley girl through and through. More than that, she has been known to search to become someone's arm candy since her stint as a working girl. Her attempts are infamous if you know the right people.
Bombon hums. Focusing back on Zoey, he asks, "She tryin' to get rid of competition?"
Her answering shrug is expected, but it does make him muse the answer to himself. It's a good strategy. Either those are the traffickers Red Hood is after, or her competition gets a nasty visit from the deadly vigilante who uncovers some other dirt on them. And Hood is from the Alley. He would do as much damage to rich people as he could "for the right cause," and Batman couldn't be on his ass for it. Either way, the Bristol girlfriend gets rid of them.
"Any chances to introduce us?" He asks. Because depending on the type, Trolley could be interested in adding that contact to her list.
Zoey laughs. "Think not, but I can ask."
That's good enough. It wouldn't do to bypass the opportunity regardless.
The two of them step out, and Bombon's eyes snap to the small figure walking by. Perking up, Zoey calls out, "Hey Izzy! What're you doin' here?"
The girl turns to them with a grin and starts hopping closer. "Heya Zoey! Was just with one of the girls and stealin' food." She holds her bag of cookies up.
Turning to him, she says, "Hey Bombon! You stayin' here or on an errand?"
He shrugs with an easy smile. "Just pickin' something up."
The girl beams up at him and draws Zoey into an easy conversation about her latest adventure. Bombon just takes the girl in. Izzy. One of the nicest kids around and helpful even to those she can't gain anything from. She's terrifying.
Sociable, friendly, cute, and a good listener. Her social skills pull people in and keep them there, creating a slowly expanding network. She's one of the most genuine people in the Alley. The 11-year-old almost never lies and when she does, it's the bare minimum. That's dangerous. But instead of letting that be a fatal flaw, Izzy wields the truth like a weapon.
Not only that, the girl is more skilled than she lets others think. She hears a little too much, sees behind subtext she shouldn't understand, and then, just so happens to tell it to the right person.
Izzy can smile and twist words in her favor, never stray from the truth. It makes her a reliable informant, while her age and sweet nature only helps the ever-growing image she projects. It makes people forget that she's a Northern Alley kid.
Yes, they are more personable than many others, but if there is one trait that could define them as a whole, it would be vindictive. Slight them and they make sure to strike you where it hurts. By far the biggest example is Red Hood.
Most don't notice, but his retaliations reek of Northern Alley in the way that they're vicious. And Izzy embodies that.
The girl is slowly building up to become a Someone. And not through being meek. Bombon is a friend to her, and by association, so will his people. It's always good to be prepared.
His walky-talky comes to life. "Bombon, meetin's in 10. Be there." He almost forgot about that.
Smiling, Bombon excuses himself, "Looks like I gotta go. I'll meetcha whenever somethin' new 's goin' on."
The girls give him enthusiastic goodbyes, which tells him that their relationships are good on their tracks, and he walks away. Can't let his big bad leader wait.
Out of the shelter, the sun has fully set already. Nightlife is picking up. Shoulders square, Bombon strides forward while projecting the warning that should someone try to start a fight, he'll finish it. No-one stops him.
It barely takes five minutes to reach the meeting point. There, Trolley is lounged against a building. As soon as she sees him, she pushes off and starts walking in the other direction. Bombon almost wants to be offended. He isn't, but it would be funny out of principle.
Walking faster, it takes no time for him to walk beside her and her shoulders drop slightly with him having her back. She asks, "You've got the list?"
He wants to roll his eyes but keeps them locked with the man who's still debating on whether to mug them or not. "Obviously." Five. Four. Three. The man looks away. Trolley hums.
Unbothered, she explains, "Kinda hard to say what the meetin's 'bout, but we're workin' with it bein' a check-in and maybe an info exchange. Any talkin' points?"
Bombon thinks it over. Their gang is whole, they have food, no disputes going on except the hints of internal rebellion in one of the other kid gangs while another is dealing with infighting. They have weapons, buildings- "A daycare," He says.
Trolley thinks it over, then nods in agreement. Because they are the biggest street kids gang in Crime Alley - scratch that - easily the biggest in all of Gotham. An organization of 66 minors and 7 people that just got over 18. They are massive. Through that and the resources they made access to, they have the luxury of taking in the youngest the streets have to offer. As an unspoken law, kids from newborn up to six years old don't belong to any group. It doesn't matter where in the Alley; the babies on the streets are helped by everyone as best they can, and that means affiliations don't matter.
But there is one exception to the rule: If it directly assures their survival. And in Central, a baby is more likely to be stabbed for being loud than handed to an orphanage.
If a street kid looks past that and takes one in, that's good and well, but then comes the next major problem: Babies are dead weights. They can't contribute, have no skills, are reliant on others, and use up resources. For a street kid? It's unlikely they'd both make it out alive.
This is where the raw achievement for them both comes in. Trolley's gang is big enough and has enough recourses to spare. That's how they have 8 babies. 3 literal babies that were thrown out one way or the other, 4 toddlers and 1 five-year-old. That's almost a third of Central's street babies. And now they're trying to take in more. That's going to need a daycare.
In front of them stands a building with a red emblem on the door. Goons go in and out as the night progresses, but the two of them just stride past the entrance. It's almost ironic to be here, the building where they first met the crime lord.
Back then, the Red Hood had just burst into the scene, and in just a few short months, Crime Alley was undeniably his. That's when he reached out to every kid gang of Central. Most kids left their gangs instantly. They didn't care that they quit their lifeworks, their hide was on the line. "Severed heads" was all that was whispered. But the two of them went to the meeting.
It hadn't mattered that their gang had barely 11 members at the time, Trolley decided to go with or without anyone. Bombon followed.
Gotham's youngest gang leader and her haggard dog. In one of Crime Alley's criminal strongholds, they stood as two scrawny kids against the biggest shark in the pond. And they came out with a deal.
Once again, they step into the wooden office with Trolley's head held high. This time he doesn't step in with the expectation that he's going to scratch and bite. Helmet on, Hood doesn't look up from where he's typing on his laptop, but mutters a short, "Be right with you."
The girl rolls her eyes and lets herself fall into a chair to comfortably lounge. Bombon, on the other hand, ignores it and seats himself on the table in front of the wall of books. The position gives him a full view of the room from the door to the window framing the crime lord.
A few moments later, Hood finishes his business with a distorted sigh. Just like he has since they made a deal, the man takes off the red helmet and gives them a full view of his masked face. Despite the white lenses, he radiates an annoyed kind of fondness.
"You weren't supposed to be here for another hour," He lightly complains.
Trolley gives him a sharp grin. "Just didn't wanna be late."
That's true, but it's also to give them time to deal with unexpected encounters and to scout the area beforehand. Hood knows this and rolls his head along with his hidden eyes. It's a good thing that he uses a helmet because, without it, his true age shines through: Someone who only just grew out of being a street kid. But Hood has also experienced a home with enough food to get to his current size.
"Sure you did," The crime lord mutters.
What follows is a routine talk, where Trolley speaks on how things have been going and the movements of any Names in Central Alley.
Bombon listens through it all, noting Hood's reactions to everything that is said. As a recognized gang, their status holds enough power to argue. But compared to a fully fledged one, even especially Red Hood's, they're disadvantaged enough to be cautious. Trolley pitches their need for a daycare, which the crime lord supports as expected, which then evolves into the two of them negotiating the organization and ownership of such a building. It sates a hunger for control in him to watch.
Despite the way that he has grown into a Name himself, Bombon knows at heart that he has been born weak. Too weak for whoever birthed him to pay for his survival, weak enough to be left alone in whatever ditch he hid in, so weak that he was never seen as a threat and instead helped out of pity. Central Crime Alley rarely bothers with pity. Yet that's how he has survived up until now. Through a list of traits, like being so low on the chain that he got crumbs people had to spare, just on the side of good looking that he hadn't attracted the wrong kind of attention, and yet entertaining enough that the dangerous people took a liking to him.
It's how he got his name from his favorite patron granny at age 7. Bombon, for loving the stale candies that she likes to hand out. To this day, she has never given him her name, but he knows without a doubt that she is a Name. It might be why he thinks of her so often, he muses. An unknown, yet with enough presence to hold power. If he believed in fairy tales, Bombon would think that she's his fairy godmother. One with a vicious grin and knives hidden under her dress, telling him that if he's too weak to punch he should bite until his opponent bleeds and dies from infection. He has taken that advice to heart.
"My insignia goes on the door," Hood says bluntly. Tilting his head back, Bombon thinks that makes a lot of sense. A building marked under Red Hood's protection. But Trolley purses her lips.
She tilts her chin up and argues, "Not on the door. If it's there, it should be in the kid's corners."
Places hidden from passer-by but where any street kid knows to look. Bombon studies the crime lord's face to find any hint of a reaction.
Hood thinks it over, then gives a nod. A satisfied smile draws on his leader's face. Just from that face, he knows that today has been full of good transactions for them. They've secured protection and housing with enough information to have paid off the debt. It's stupid to leave one open for more than a month; the price of the debt will just slowly start rising like a credit card and bleed out all the resources that were gained.
"Last thing," Hood says with a downturn twist of his lips, "I need your help."
On the seat, Trolley straightens up and Bombon's eyes turn sharp. It's not unheard of that the crime lord asks for help from kids. But it's different when it comes to them. No-one in Crime Alley is more connected than Central street kid gangs, as they not only grow up in the heart of the Alley, but circumstances also force them to make enough connections to get the right kind information.
He will empathize again, that Central is dangerous. Deadly without a doubt. It's the reason why there are only 5 kid gangs in total, with each having around 20 members, instead of the 15-ish small ones that the South shuffles around at convenience. And Trolley is at the top of the food chain. So when Red Hood asks for help, the crime lord means business that has the potential to affect the Alley as a whole.
"A short while ago, a kid came up to me and told me she was hired by a shadow gang for a job," Hood explains. "Her job was to distract the cops if they got too close to their operation."
Hood leans forward. "Thing is, she got hurt while doing so. A bullet graze that she got brought to the hospital for before she ran off. While that's shitty, it's common enough. What isn't common, is gettin' paid 3 grand for it."
That's three zeros hanging. He barely holds himself back from tensing up, but that's a lot of money for something so common for runners. 3000 for getting injured. That doesn't happen.
The crime lord goes on, "That's already suspicious, but then she got given a letter to deliver to me."
Leaning forward, Trolley chimes in. "But with how they've hidden themselves enough to pass you, that could've just been to lure you in. Show me."
Hood hands the letter over. Bombon hops down from his corner and walks up to read over her shoulder. As he goes through it, his eyebrows gradually raise until he's sure that he must look as flabbergasted as he feels. Turning to the crime lord, he asks, "And it's legit?"
Hood waves in a so-so gesture. "From what I've found? Probably."
Trolley's head snaps up at the words. "But you don' know and haven't found any leads." It isn't a question.
"Which is why I need you," Hood confirms.
Trolley hums in contemplation. "I'll have my people be on the lookout," She decides. "Some of 'em can smell words like sharks do blood... With the right incentive."
Bombon stops himself from laughing, but Red Hood has no such reservation. Fishing for more than is being offered by the crime lord has proven to pay off.
When he can breathe again, Hood agrees, "Sure, I'll give whoever gets info a finder's boon."
Satisfied, Trolley nods with a proud grin. "Always happy to do business with you."
She means it in more ways than one. Bombon hears the relief for getting enough resources to keep their people fed, the gratitude for letting them keep their freedom when it could have just as easily been taken, and the pride in being given trust and being able to trust in return. He won't say it, but feels the same way.
Either missing the undertones or skillfully ignoring them, Hood rolls his eyes, "As if you squirts don't just enjoy extortin' everything you can from me."
With a feral grin, Trolley doesn't say anything to oppose. "We'll see what we find. Have to get news of that sweet boon to my people somehow."
Swinging herself up, she gives a short wave and walks off. "See ya round."
As he follows her, Bombon can hear the crime lord sigh in exasperation and grins. The two of them stay silent as they leave until they are way back into the heart of Central.
Cold, Trolley tells him, "If you find 'em and they're a hazard, get rid of 'em."
Bombon scoffs. "Obviously."
Living in the heart of Crime Alley is a deadly kind of danger. They're not going to let anything touch the one guy that makes it a better place. They will make sure of it. Worst case, they'll need to clean up a bloodbath big enough to attract the Bats.
After all, Central Alley kids are feared for a reason.