THE NEXT MORNING
Boss Maroni sat in the darkened room, raising a shaking hand to his mouth to light the cigarette that dangled limply from his lips.
"I know all about Falcone. Who works for him, what little projects he's investin' his money into, the people he's had killed. I know all of that. Guy thinks he keeps himself seperate from all that, keeps himself nice and clean. But he ain't that clean."
Finally succeeding in lighting his cigarette, he took an anxious puff, eyes flitting around the claustrophobic room.
"And right now he's more vulnerable than he's been since my Dad had him in hiding. Back when my family ran things in this town. Those were the days, huh? Oh, you wouldn't know, would you? But yeah, Falcone's weak. He's lost two of his powerful friends, in the Mayor's office and in the GCPD. That Joker freak killed 'em both! If there was ever a time to bring him down, it'd be now."
Maroni shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He didn't want to be here, in this room, with this person. But those two masked freaks had made themselves quite clear, when they'd told him to go to the press and and confess everything, or else. He really didn't have any choice in the matter.
"And that's what these two masked freaks want. To bring Falcone down. And they want to use me to do it. They're the ones who told me to... to go to the press today, tell them everything I know, then to turn myself in."
Maroni smiled faintly.
"Of course, I didn't do that. I arranged this meeting with you instead."
Deathstroke leaned back in his chair, folding his arms in front of his chest.
"Mr. Maroni, it seems to me like you need some professional help..."