The Schubert apartments was one of Pinkney's old works in South Burnley, a relic with gargoyles crouched along its ledges. Once it had ruled Uptown's skyline; now it was another forgotten husk, swallowed and overtaken by the newer concrete buildings.
Rain plastered his cape to his chest, hammered the ledge beneath him, and poured into the street below.
"I should've stepped in sooner."
"Yes, but regret rewrites nothing." said Alfred. "Now you must look forward to what must be done."
He knew the only way out was through, fortunately he planned for everything. From the start, he prepared for this, but it was move that would break Gordon's rules and end their alliance.
But it was necessary.
Some only learned through pain. Gotham's cops were no different.
"Page the sources."
"Which ones?"
"All of them."
"And what are you planning?"
"To make Loeb and his men understand."
"And that is?"
He drew the grapnel from its holster. "There are rules," he said. "Mine."
Then he stepped off the ledge and vanished into the downpour, the line firing with a crack, hurling him across the street in a blur of rain and steel.