A Cold Refusal

A DC Comics fan fiction. All characters owned by DC Comics. This tale is totally done without permission, etc. 

"Not interested," said the man in the blue and white parka. He picked up the half empty mug of beer on the counter in front of him and took another sip. In the relative silence of the mostly empty bar, the mug made a distinct thud when he placed it back down.

"Not interested? Come now, Captain. Surely you don't expect me to believe that you are not interested in making an easy million." The man in the green three piece suit smiled at his seated companion.

"Not interested in the job, Nigma."

"The job? The job is easy. Easiest heist ever." A pause. "Perhaps there are other factors underlying your absurd refusal."

Leonard Snart, aka Captain Cold, took a quick, deep breath and silently counted to three before saying, "What the hell are you talking about? And if you're suggesting what I think you are..."

Edward Nigma raised his hands in a show of protest. "I'm not suggesting anything. I perfectly understand that you prefer to operate in Central City. It's a Nice Place. The police are Nice, your colleagues are Nice. Even your superheroes are Nice. Relative to some of the other members of the Capes and Cowls Club. It must be wonderful, not having to deal with a violent psychotic who is truly scarier than any of us so-called 'villains.' Tell Flash I said 'hi' next time you chat."

Snart turned towards Nigma. "You think I don't see what you're trying to do here, Riddler? You think if you suggest I'm afraid of Batman that I will sign on, just to prove something?" Snart shook his head. "Ain't happening."

"I never suggested that you were afraid of Batman. I just said that you have it 'nice' here in Central City. Of course, you'd have to be mad to not be afraid of Batman. He's decidedly... Not Nice."

"Look, Nigma, Bats is scary, but in the end it's about taking a beating, physically and, you know, psychologically. The psychological beating comes from losing, and we always seem to lose. Even if we do pull off a crime successfully, we keep pulling more until the hero beats us. If I was afraid of constant failure, I woulda given this life up a long time ago. And as far as physical pain goes, you ever been hit by a super-speed punch? You're a smart guy. Force equals mass times acceleration, and no one does acceleration like a speedster."

"Then why do you keep doing it?"

"And do what? Sell refrigerators at Sears? I started out as a thief. But when I met the Flash, I became something more. At first, he was just a nuisance, but eventually he became a symbol of everything that I would need to beat to live in the world that I wanted to live in. Same holds for the rest of the Rogues. I'm guessing that's not much different than you Arkham loonies and Batman."

He glanced at Edward, who offered only a quick nod as a response, so Snart continued. "If I'm going to commit a crime without the Flash's interference, it's going to be because one of us Rogues beat him. Not because I slipped off to Gotham to be a henchman for one of the Bat villains."

"So, 'no' is your final answer?"

Snart nodded. "Besides, ya got Fries in Gotham. Why not tap the local ice bad guy?"

After a moment's silence, Cold grinned. "Lemme guess. You did, and he turned you down?"

"Victor is not really a team player. He has his own agenda."

"Killer Frost? Icicle?"

Nigma sighed. "Yes and yes. I even looked up the current Chillblaine while I was here in Central City."

Snart shook his head. "It seems no one wants to play with you. Might be something to talk to your shrink about when Bats throws you back into Arkham." He turned back to his drink.

Edward Nigma started to step away.

"Hey, Nigma, I'm gonna assume that you came to me last because you knew I'd say no, and not because I was your last choice."

Edward suppressed a smile while turning back. "Of course, dear Captai--" Snart was still drinking his beer, but he had his cold gun aimed at Edward's head.

Snart finished his drink, pulled some money out of his parks's pocket and tossed it on the counter. Getting off the stool, he holstered his gun. "Good, 'cause I'd hate to have had to prove myself to you." Then he walked past Edward and crossed the floor to the front door where he exited without a single glance back.

"Well," said Edward to himself, "that could have gone better. Still, there's always plan B."