The sudden ringing startled Jay from his sleep. Groggily, he fumbled for the lamp and the phone, squinting at the screen.
Two forty in the morning.Shit, motherfucker.
The name flashing in the notes was Cobblepot. If this guy didn't have a damn good reason, Jay swore he'd break his other two legs repeatedly tomorrow.
"Hello, what the hell do you want…"
"Jay, he came." Cobblepot cut him off. "Just now!"
"What?" Jay paused, then immediately grasped the situation. "Is he near you? Are you safe to talk?"
"Safe, he's not here." Cobblepot's voice was slightly trembling, but overall steady. However, it sounded less like panic and more like sheer rage. "He… sent… a gift…"
"Wait there, I'll be right over."
He jumped out of bed, splashed cold water on his face, grabbed his gun and car keys, and headed straight for the Iceberg Lounge in his Cherokee.
Jay wasn't unfamiliar with the bar at this hour. Usually, the most passionate crowds had left, and only those fueled by alcohol and various illicit substances remained in a heightened state of desire.
But the Iceberg Lounge was desolate. Two lackeys guarded the door. Seeing Jay approach, they quickly pulled the door open for him.
"You better have a good explanation. I've already called Gordon, and he has a terrible temper when woken up. He'll be here soon…"
"Come, Jay. Come and look."
Jay felt that something was seriously wrong. He didn't believe Cobblepot's usual cautious and humble demeanor was due to genuine fear of him or the GCPD; it was just a habitual camouflage.
But now, the man's voice sounded unnervingly calm, squeezed out from between gritted teeth, giving Jay a bad feeling.
He walked toward the innermost booth, the spot where they had sat across from each other. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot sat expressionless on the booth sofa, his face flushed, only the muscles in his jaw and corners of his mouth occasionally twitching.
His constant bodyguard, Gabe, wasn't behind him. Instead, a crude wooden box sat on the table in front of him.
Jay walked over and found Cobblepot's fists clenched tightly under the table, seemingly ignoring his presence. He took a mask and rubber gloves from his pocket, put them on, took a deep breath, and lifted the lid of the box.
Even though he was growing accustomed to Gotham's numerous crime scenes, Jay's stomach still churned violently.
The box was lined with dirty sawdust, and lying on top of it was a human hand severed at the wrist.
The wound was rough, looking like it had been hacked off with an axe, and the blood had already turned dark red. The fingers were twisted and curled, the nails filled with grime and dried blood. A thick smell of blood and decay wafted out.
Suppressing his discomfort, he carefully pushed aside the sawdust and found a folded piece of paper underneath the hand. It was a message composed of words cut from a newspaper:
"Prepare weapons and matching ammunition according to the list. Tomorrow night, wait for the location. Fail to comply, and the next box will contain your mother's eyes. – B.M."
The back of the note was a long list also pieced together from newspaper clippings. Jay glanced at it: automatic rifles, submachine guns, pistols, explosives, and even some anti-armor weapons—all top-quality hardware.
"Jay."
Jay looked up and saw Cobblepot raise his head, his teeth clenched as he stared intently at the box in Jay's hands.
"He dared to threaten me with my mother! How dare he! I will kill him myself!"
"Calm down first!" Jay motioned with his hand, pointing to the wooden box. "Are you sure this is your mother's…"
"No, I don't know."
Rage mixed with fear made Cobblepot tremble all over. "I've already sent Gabe and some men there. If he dares! If he actually dares…"
His fingernails dug deep into his palms, and the sound of the door opening interrupted him.
James Gordon strode into the room, bringing a chill from the outside.
"What's the situation? Whoa."
He walked up, looked at the severed hand in the box, shook his head, put on gloves, and quickly read the note Jay handed him.
"B.M. What does that stand for?"
"First, rule out Black Mamba. It must be Black Mask," Jay said. "Think about what they wear on their faces. Could it be Black Monkey or Black Rat or Black Moon?"
Jay suddenly felt the name Black Mask sounded familiar. Wasn't this guy also a supervillain, and a wealthy one at that?
Shit, all rich people are psychos.
"Jim, he wants to hurt my mother." Cobblepot looked at Gordon with a pleading expression. "You've met her, right? She's innocent."
"Yes, the police will protect her." Gordon nodded, his gaze complex. "Give me the address, and I'll arrange for officers to go there."
He turned to Jay. "What's the next step? What's the plan?"
"Sit down first, let's all collect ourselves." Jay signaled to both men. "Oswald, how was this thing delivered? Did he show up in person?"
"No, one of my subordinates in the back alley was ambushed, stuffed into a sack, and had his leg broken. Then someone told him to deliver this," Cobblepot adjusted his breathing, his face grim. "I've already sent the man to the hospital."
"Is this subordinate trustworthy?"
"There shouldn't be a problem," Cobblepot nodded. "He's been with me a long time."
"Alright, let's assume those details are fine." Jay turned to Gordon. "If you were Black Mask, after assaulting his subordinate and sending the gift, what would you do next?"
"I'd watch him," Gordon pointed at Cobblepot. "To see if he pulls any tricks. That means right now, someone is probably watching our meeting from the darkness outside."
"But he didn't demand that the police not be involved. This implies…" Jay took over.
"Maybe he doesn't care about police intervention, or perhaps he wants to stage a big show in front of the police… No, Black Mask isn't an idiot, that's too risky. Maybe after we leave, he'll try to kill one of us and toss the head to Cobblepot to completely terrify him."
"But that would mean facing both Gotham's legal and criminal worlds. I wouldn't do that, at least not before getting the weapons," Gordon pondered. "I'd lie low.
After notifying Cobblepot of the location, the police would naturally try to set a trap to catch me. Then I would…"
"Pull a feint?"
Jay finished the thought, but then fell into deep contemplation again.
"That's just our wishful thinking. Besides, even if that's the case, where's his actual target?"
"The gear he wants from you is enough to arm fifty men." Jay looked at Cobblepot, then at Gordon. "Have any gangs been recruiting large numbers of people lately?"
"No, I verified most of the dangerous elements today. Only a few arsonists are missing; everyone else seems to have taken the Roman's warning seriously and are being quiet."
"Indeed, there's no word of mass recruitment on the streets. No one wants to incur Mr. Falcone's wrath right now," Cobblepot added.
"Hmm, so these supplies are for future subordinates. Where could he find so many willing criminals at once? Unless he plans to attack Blackgate Penitentiary."
Jay smiled. "That's suicide, so that direction must be wrong."
"No," Gordon's expression suddenly turned serious. "There's one other place. If those people got out… it's debatable which is worse than Blackgate."
"Where is it?"
"Arkham Asylum."
Uh… The three fell silent for a moment.
"A bunch of lunatics… how bad could that be?"
Jay mused. In his previous life, Arkham was infamous as "Gotham's talent pool," but he hadn't heard of any major villains locked up there yet, and he certainly wouldn't actively go poking around.
So, he wasn't sure how dangerous these current mental patients were.
"The Gotham City government has paid very little attention to the mentally ill over the years; they just dump patients in there and forget about them," Gordon shook his head with dissatisfaction.
"So almost no one knows how many people are packed inside. Maybe I can ask Dr. Strange when he comes to Central Precinct on Friday, but there's no time for that now."
"Let's move. We need to prepare early." Jay checked his watch. It was about 4:10 AM, the darkest part of the night.
"According to regulations, you must report to your superior promptly," Jay poked Gordon, showing him the watch face. "Call Loeb. Get everyone off their asses!"
Although Gordon's expression remained tightly controlled, the corners of his mouth started twitching slightly upward, barely containing a grin.
"Captain, I admire your dedication to procedure. I will report to the Chief immediately!"
——————
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