Marco stood at the back of a line that snaked halfway across the East End Precinct's new lobby. Every single person in front of him was a construction worker in paint-splattered coveralls and steel-toed boots, and every single one of them was holding a fistful of small paper receipts.
The Burger King franchise window had been installed just last week, and already the workers had learned how to exploit the system.
"Holy shit," Marco muttered, watching a guy in a hard hat exchange five receipts for a free Whopper. "They cracked the five-receipt-for-one-burger scam. When it comes to making money, you people are more creative than Wall Street."
He needed to hire more people. Even Darnell was starting to look worn down around the edges. The job was grinding them all into dust.
After twenty minutes of waiting, he finally reached the window, flashed his badge, and pointed at the register.
"Put it on the chief's tab."
The teenager working the counter did not even blink. "You want fries with that?"
"Yeah. Large."
Five minutes later, he walked into Bob's office carrying a paper bag with a burger and fries. Bob looked up from his desk, saw the bag, and let out a sigh.
"You know," he said, tapping ash from his cigarette, "according to the expense reports, I have eaten over eight hundred burgers this month."
"That just means business is booming." Marco dropped into the chair across from him. "Burger King, McDonald's, Dairy Queen... you got any other plans?"
Bob's smile widened. "Domino's. We are finalizing the contract this week. They will be opening a location right next door."
Marco leaned back. "You are going to turn this precinct into a fucking food court."
"I am going to turn this precinct into a profitable enterprise," Bob corrected. He opened a folder on his desk and pushed it toward Marco. "By the way, I met with Essen yesterday afternoon. She has agreed to the restructuring."
Marco sat up straighter. "Wait. She agreed? You are taking power out of her hands, and she just agreed?"
"I told her the West End is a lost cause." Bob blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. "Loeb's people are entrenched there. If the East End does not back her, she will have to rely on Gordon alone to stand on the front line and take all the heat. And considering Gordon just ended up in the hospital... She is willing to trade some authority for a reliable ally."
Marco shook his head in admiration. "You just negotiated control over tens of millions in funding like you were ordering a pizza."
"Billions," Bob corrected. "But the funds are under strict federal oversight. Every dollar must be spent according to regulations and approved guidelines." He smiled faintly and tapped ash into the tray. "That is why equipment procurement is the safest option. Vehicles, weapons, body armor, communications systems. All of it qualifies as legitimate expenditure."
"And you get to skim a cut off the procurement contracts."
Bob let out a strange, wheezing laugh. "Procurement is all about relationships, Marco. You cannot call it a kickback when everyone involved gets what they want."
"Of course." Marco chose not to press the issue. Bob's corruption was like gravity. It was inevitable and not worth resisting. "Speaking of things we want, we have got a couple of problems brewing."
He told Bob everything. He explained how Strange had targeted Edward, and how someone had used magic to track Raven through the city. Bob listened without interrupting. He smoked steadily.
When Marco finished, Bob stubbed out his cigarette and rose from his chair. He walked to the window and looked down at the precinct floor below.
"You know what the problem used to be? The East End had no money, people, or equipment. Nobody took us seriously. We were the joke precinct where careers went to die."
He turned back to face Marco.
"Now we have money. If people still do not take us seriously after that?" Bob's smile turned cold. "Then what was the point of having money in the first place?"
Bob sat back down, pulling out a fresh cigarette. "The East End is not a playground anymore. We protect our people. That includes your forensic analyst and your demon girl. Anyone who fucks with them fucks with us. And we have the resources now to make that hurt."
"Understood."
"Good." Bob lit the cigarette and waved Marco toward the door. "Now get out of here. Go visit Gordon. Bring him fruit or something. Make it look like we care."
"We do care."
"I know," Bob said with a grin. "That is why I told you to make it look like it. Appearances matter."
---
The assault vehicle's tires scraped against the curb outside Gotham General Hospital. Darnell killed the engine and grabbed a fruit basket from the back seat.
"I told you we should have left earlier," he grumbled, checking his watch. "Visiting hours are just as brutal as rush hour traffic."
"Gordon's not going anywhere."
They walked through the hospital's sliding glass doors into the smell of disinfectant and institutional despair. Gotham General always felt less like a hospital and more like a holding pen for the city's casualties.
They found Gordon's room on the third floor. Through the glass window in the door, Marco could see him half-reclined on the bed, staring out the window at the sky. An IV drip hung from a stand beside the bed, and a piece of gauze was taped to his forehead. He looked hollowed out.
Marco knocked once and opened the door without waiting for a response.
He set the fruit basket on the bedside table. "You were in way better shape yesterday when you were trying to kill me."
Gordon slowly turned his head. When he saw them, he forced a faint smile. "Marco. Darnell. Thanks for coming."
"You are the boss," Darnell said, dragging a chair over and dropping into it. "We had to make sure you were not dead."
Gordon said nothing for a moment. Then his gaze dropped to the white bedsheet. "Crane got away, did he not?"
"Yeah," Marco said, leaning against the wall. "He got away. That bastard set traps in the woods."
Gordon took a deep breath.
"It is my fault. If I had been more careful, if I had not inhaled that gas, I should have caught him."
"Alright, cut the self-flagellation." Marco banged twice on the metal bed rail. "You inhaled the gas because you gave your mask to one of your rookies. Honestly, if it were me, I probably would have let the kid take his chances. By the way, do you remember what happened after that?"
"Not clearly. I did not hurt you, did I?"
"Hurt me?" Marco suddenly lunged at Darnell, grabbing him by the collar with both hands. "Loeb! Flass! Stay away from Barbara!"
Darnell jumped to his feet, struggling awkwardly while shouting toward the hospital bed. "Look at me, damn it! It is me!"
"I will kill you!" Marco clutched Darnell by the throat. "I will kill all of you! No one touches my daughter!"
He released Darnell and they slapped hands like they had just finished a comedy routine.
"That is how it went down," Marco said. "So next year at the department Christmas party, we are performing this as a skit. We will call it Gotham's Iron Man and His One Weakness."
Gordon looked like he wanted to rip out the IV line and throw himself out the window.
"Oh my God," he muttered, covering his face with one hand. "Please tell me you are joking."
"Afraid not." Marco was still grinning. "But on the bright side, now the whole department knows two things. First, you and I had a knock-down, drag-out fight. Second, you ended up in the hospital. The way people look at me now is completely different. So thanks for that."
Gordon lowered his hand, staring at Marco. Then, he nodded. "I remember it clearly. You won. I did not stand a chance."
"Damn right I did. Alright. Jokes aside, let us talk business. Crane getting away is a fact, but we will drag him back. And you remember Raven, right?"
"I do. The girl connected to demons." The moment the case came up, Gordon's focus snapped back. "Are the assassins back?"
"I am not sure. She says she can feel someone using magic to track her through the city. Gotham is huge. With the manpower we have now, there is no way we can do a city-wide sweep to find someone who might be sitting on a flying carpet."
Gordon listened in silence. One madman with fear gas was still loose, and now there was a magical tracker as well. Gotham's shadows seemed to be growing thicker by the minute.
"Even if we add manpower from headquarters, it still will not be enough." He leaned back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. "Maybe we need to change our approach. You once told me that some information cannot be heard by the police, but some people can hear it."
Marco raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You mean..."
"The underworld has its own rules and its own networks," Gordon said quietly. "Their eyes and ears are sharper than ours, especially in places where the law does not reach."
"Not bad." Marco patted him on the shoulder. "You have evolved from stubborn, by-the-book Gordon into flexible, pragmatic Gordon."
"No." Gordon shook his head firmly. "You need to remember, we cannot cross the line. We cannot sink to their level. We are just asking around."
"I know. Confidential informants. CIs." Marco smiled knowingly. "So are we going to have a chat with your old friend?"
"No." Gordon's expression hardened. "He is not my friend. And I will never be friends with criminals."
---
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