The van belched black smoke as it shot out of the East End precinct parking lot. Three Toyota Crowns followed behind, heading toward the highway.
Darnell gripped the steering wheel absent-mindedly, glancing at his partner. He hesitated, then finally couldn't help asking, "Did that guy make some excessive demand? Why do you look so preoccupied?"
"He wants us to follow the route he designated and drive in front. He'll give instructions over the radio along the way."
"Heh, cannon fodder to scout ahead. But didn't we already agree on the price?" Darnell made a face. "Besides, the Roman's convoy is following too. Most likely it'll be just like before, nothing will happen and we'll get paid for free."
"Yeah, that's what he said too. With Falcone's reputation, everything should be fine. But we also need to watch out for Mooney doing something desperate." Marco tapped the body of his AR-15 with his finger, his brows furrowed. "Something feels wrong."
"What's wrong? You think Mooney's not crazy enough?" Darnell honked twice, forcing a Toyota trying to change lanes back into position. "We just keep our eyes open. No need to get so tense."
"But he emphasized it several times, said Mooney is vicious, insane, and never lets grudges go. He even brought up the fact that he used to be her gofer to prove how well he understands her, told us not to take her lightly."
"...Zzzt... Officers, please turn right at the upcoming intersection and follow Finger River westward."
Cobblepot's voice suddenly came through the radio. Marco froze for a split-second, and the turn was already right in front of them. Darnell jerked the wheel hard to the right. The van's body tilted sharply, and both men let out panicked yelps, leaning their upper bodies to compensate.
The wheels slammed back down a few seconds later, and the vehicle wobbled back into balance. The two bounced in their seats, slamming into the walls of the cabin. Marco's ribs ached, and his organs felt like they'd been rearranged.
"Is the suspension broken?!"
"What suspension? This van was never fine." Marco rubbed his forehead, the violent jolt leaving him dazed. "Where was I?"
"You were saying Cobblepot used to be Mooney's umbrella boy. But that's nothing new, everyone on the street knows. I heard he betrayed Mooney and she tried to have him killed." Darnell straightened the vehicle out. "He later defected to the Roman. Falcone stood up for him, so it got settled."
"But think about it, would you tell a complete stranger that you screwed up at work and got chewed out by the chief, just to prove he is a petty idiot?" Marco tapped his knee with his fingertip. "Not unless it was really important. But when I asked him what exactly happened, he said nothing, everything was under Falcone's control."
"When you say it like that... yeah, it sounds a little off. You think he's hiding something? The Roman's old? Can't handle it anymore?" Darnell gave a crude grin. "At his age, I'd be shocked if he could still get it up. You're just overthinking it. Even Maroni wouldn't openly challenge Falcone. If they tried, Gotham would already be at war."
"What did you say?!"
Marco's roar nearly made Darnell yank the wheel off the column. He scrambled to correct course, and then realized Marco was staring at him.
"H-hey man, don't scare me like that. What did I say? I just said that if they really tried to challenge Falcone, Gotham would already be at war, and things wouldn't be as peaceful as now."
"Exactly." Marco nodded woodenly. "Cobblepot's last words to me were: if we screw up, the war in Gotham might begin."
"What?" Darnell's soul nearly left his body. His palms were instantly soaked in cold sweat. "They're going head-to-head with the Roman? Then... fuck!" He swore loudly. "This run is going to be hell. Why didn't that bastard say so earlier?!"
"Maybe he's afraid that if he said it, Bob would stand by and watch?" Marco grabbed the shotgun and began chambering rounds with sharp chk-chk clicks. "If we keep going, the nearest way to cross the river is Robinson Bridge beside Robinson Park. But that's a major road with crowds everywhere. Mooney wouldn't be crazy enough to pull something there... right?"
"If she did, it wouldn't just be a mob war. The entire city's cops and crooks would lose their minds." Darnell instinctively eased off the accelerator. In the distance, towering glass facades and dense billboards signaled the approach of the commercial district. Traffic thickened, and their speed dropped sharply.
Normally, on patrol, he would've rolled down the window and started yelling already, but now he hunched down, quietly driving like a nervous mouse. Commercial districts were congested by nature, and after dodging several of the busiest main roads, they found themselves in the narrow back alley of a shopping street.
A delivery truck was parked unloading goods, blocking nearly the entire lane and leaving only a narrow passage beside it.
"Shit, what if that guy's an assassin in disguise? That's how it always goes in the movies." Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. "When we squeeze past, boom!"
Marco checked the rearview mirror. The three Toyota Crowns followed one after another. The last car was a fair distance behind, not enough to get fully trapped, but turning around would be extremely hard.
"Tell the cars behind to stay alert. I'll get out and check. Chamber your rounds."
He drew his pistol and jumped out of the van, thumb flipping off the safety. Body pressed against the cold metal side panel, he crouched low and lightened his steps, creeping toward the delivery truck like a prowling cat.
Wasn't this how he'd approached during the prisoner ambush case? And hadn't he taken someone out then?
His luck should hold this time too... right?
The truck's engine was still running, the chassis trembling slightly from the idle vibrations. Holding his breath, he suddenly leaned forward, gun leveled at the driver's cabin.
But through the side window, he saw only a man in overalls, whistling as he leisurely pushed a trolley of pickled chicken and lettuce into the restaurant's back kitchen.
"Clear." He gave Darnell a thumbs-up and returned to the van. "Squeeze past. And seriously, stop watching so many James Bond movies. You think everything is espionage."
"Got it! So I shouldn't watch Enemy of the State either, huh."
Darnell steadied the steering wheel, inching the van past the truck, its side brushing close as it squeezed through. His driving skills were solid, barely a few millimeters of clearance, yet he avoided scraping the vehicles. But the alley was far too narrow. After the delivery truck came a tight right-angle turn. The van's nose struggled around the corner and finally cleared the cramped back lane. The road ahead widened at last.
"What kind of ridiculous route did that guy plan out?" Marco couldn't help getting irritated. Roads like this were perfect for ambushes. He picked up the radio and called Cobblepot. "Are you sure about this route? There are way too many ambush points."
"...Zzzt... No problem. After leaving the commercial district...zzzt... head north through Coventry, then west...zzzt... pass the university and turn south. From there, cross the river. It's not far from Mr. Falcone's estate."
"Fine. Stay alert."
For some reason, Cobblepot's voice sounded muffled, as if the signal wasn't good. Marco put down the radio. Darnell glanced at him.
"So we go through Coventry and detour past Gotham University? That's a hell of a long loop. What is he playing at?"
"No idea." Marco shook his head. "Either he's trying to pull Mooney's forces around with us, though the longer the route, the more time she has to prepare, or he's trying to avoid something."
The convoy moved northwest into Coventry. Just a few streets to the right was the Sprang River. The streets here were wider than in the commercial district, and the convoy gradually picked up speed.
"We've covered two-thirds of the trip. Hopefully nothing else goes—"
Before Darnell could finish, a deep rumbling rose in the distance. The low, furious engine roar rolled nearer from behind, rapidly becoming louder.
Marco snapped his head toward the rearview mirror. A group of heavily customized motorcycles were weaving through traffic at suicidal speed, front wheels lifting as they swerved through the lanes.
"Say fewer ominous things from now on! Watch it. No idea if they're after us or just street racers."
He had Darnell edge the van left, pinching their lane against the divider and leaving only a razor-thin space, just enough so that if the bikes attacked from that side, they'd get crushed under the tires. He rolled down the window, cold wind blasting in as he rested his weapon on the edge.
But it seemed he was overthinking.
As Gotham police officers, they couldn't open fire unless the enemy initiated an attack. The bikers might not have that concern, but Falcone's men did. From the cracked-open windows of the trailing cars, bright tongues of muzzle flame erupted instantly.
Braaap! Braaap!
The lead biker jerked violently. His motorcycle spun out of control, metal scraping and tires screaming as it flipped onto the pavement, showering sparks before being swallowed by the following traffic.
"Wow," Darnell said, watching through the rearview mirror. "Aren't they supposed to do some cool bullet-dodging stunt? That ended fast."
"No time to admire it. MP5s, Falcone really has money to burn." Marco watched the remaining motorcycles slow down but continue tailing from a distance. "I'm guessing they're not just street racers, or they would've bailed already. But... tsk." He spat out the window. "This is Gotham, who knows."
They passed Gotham University and turned onto the avenue. The scenery ahead became increasingly desolate and run-down. It was an abandoned slum meant for demolition, but stalled due to administrative disputes. The residents had long since moved out. Construction should've begun earlier that year, but the investors proposed new development plans and the whole project was frozen again. Only broken walls and rubble remained, silently telling the story of decay.
"What was supposed to be built here again?"
The empty buildings lining the road stood like hollowed-out bones, windows and doors scavenged by junk collectors, leaving black gaping openings like dead eyes. Their vacant stares made Darnell unconsciously slow the vehicle.
"Low-income housing. But Wayne Enterprises wants to reduce the affordable housing area by two-thirds and convert the rest into educational and commercial real estate."
Marco looked at the peeling walls covered in layers of graffiti. Distorted faces and strange symbols glared wickedly in the dusk light. "We bust our asses to scrape a few thousand dollars from Bob, and Wayne Enterprises has at least twelve billion in liquid assets."
"That's depressing. Our extra monthly cut isn't even a hundred and twenty dollars." Darnell glanced at the piles of trash and excrement. "Though still better than the poor bastards who had to live here."
"Something's off. There's fresh garbage... so where are the people? Where are the homeless?" Marco scanned both sides of the road. Too quiet. "Stay sharp! How far to go?"
"Three or four intersections before the bridge."
The silhouette of the highway bridge appeared on the horizon. As the Chevy approached the last two intersections before exiting the slums, a pile of construction rubble on the east side suddenly kicked up a cloud of dust.
"Oh hell!"
Darnell's reflexes outpaced his voice, before the shout even left his mouth, his foot had already stomped the accelerator to the floor. The van shot forward, but not fast enough to avoid a Chevrolet Suburban bursting out from the side and slamming into the G20's right rear wheel.
CRASH!
The reinforced paneling crumpled. The G20 spun, nose twisting east and tail swinging west, momentum still carrying it diagonally forward until it smashed into the concrete base of an abandoned phone booth.
Both vehicles took serious damage. Marco had braced his muscles and gripped the overhead handle with all his strength, but the impact still drove the air from his lungs. The seatbelt bit painfully into his chest.
"Damn it! What the hell!" He looked out the shattered window. The Suburban sat smoking about ten meters away, side glass cracked across its surface. Behind the half-inflated airbag, he could just make out the driver struggling to lift a shotgun.
"Shit!"
He kicked the door open with both feet, drew his pistol, and fired three shots through the Suburban's driver window.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The glass collapsed. The first round pierced through the airbag and into the driver's chest. The second blew open his face, blood and brain matter splattering across the seat and window. The shotgun clattered from his hands.
He didn't even give the scattergun a glance. He ducked back into the van, slammed the door shut, and shouted, "Call for backup!"