When he emerged from the interrogation room, brimming with satisfaction having left Flack inside to rote-memorize the fabrication of his own wrongful convictions, Allen rushed up to meet him.
"Sir, a large number of bodies were just discovered in the waters of Miller Harbor in the East End. The count has reached fifteen so far. Our patrol officers arrived first, but Central has already taken over the case."
"Isn't that a good thing? If someone else takes the heat, we don't have to worry." Jay patted his shoulder. "What's fifteen? Maroni has dumped more people into the Gotham River in a single go—the fish there are exceptionally fat.
Don't try to micromanage everything. Besides, you look like you just escaped from the ICU."
"I can't help it; the Chief assigned too many files." Allen shook his head in despair. "Seriously, I feel like I'm going to die… Wait, Sir, that's not what I came to tell you. You'd better look at this field report. It's really… bizarre."
"Forget about that for a second." Jay tucked the report under his arm, pulled up a chair, and sat down with Allen.
"Remember, superiors will always assign you more work than you can handle. You think finishing it with all your might is the end? Wrong. He'll just think there's still room to squeeze more out of you."
He tapped the intern officer's chest. "Go tell Bob: either more money or more people. Otherwise, it might take you four hundred years to organize those files."
"Uh… this…" Allen clearly hesitated.
Jay pulled the pen and badge from Allen's pocket and slipped them into his own. "Now, you are confined for one day for suspecting a superior officer. Go home and sleep! If you drop dead here, it would be a disgrace to the East Precinct's 'tradition of slacking off'."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir!" Allen nodded, stood up, saluted, and walked out the door.
Jay tipped his chair back on two legs, leaned against the wall, and opened the report.
"…Victims are all young women, neatly dressed… strange smiles on their faces… no signs of violence, suspected suicide…"
F*ck, what kind of lunatic has popped up now?
Jay slammed the report down on the spot.
I can't wait for Bruce anymore!
If he has his fun, all these damn things will just be locked up in Arkham Asylum! Like action figures in a display cabinet, he won't bear to throw a single one away!
This isn't an ordinary lunatic; we have to strike hard!
He took the stairs two at a time, rushed upstairs, and banged on the Chief's office door.
The Chief was on the phone, smiling, and was startled by Jay's intrusion.
"I'll contact you later."
Bob hung up, frowning. "What happened? Is it not going smoothly with Flack?"
"No, that guy is handled. But Boss, you'd better look at this." Jay handed over the report. "Just happened."
"What the hell is this…" Bob took the report, lit a cigarette, and started reading. "Mass suicide? That's not right… If it were junkies high on something, they'd usually tear their clothes off…
Did the stock market crash recently? Impossible, my Wayne family stocks are still rising… I'm guessing… some 'cult ascension' bullshit has popped up again?"
He exhaled a puff of smoke. "But Central has taken over now. What does it have to do with us?"
"Boss, you really impress me." Jay looked at Bob, dumbfounded. "You are completely different from what I imagined."
"I like money, but I'm not stupid. Before you, I'd been a cop for nearly thirty years. The Solar Temple bastards in Europe a few years back are still fresh in my memory, and that bunch in California last year… hell, they even bought new Nikes."
Bob smiled smugly. "You've seen too little. Speak, what's the play?"
"Beautiful!"
Jay gave Bob a thumbs up. "Boss, we can't just wait for Central Major Crimes. This happened in the East End, after all.
And the Wayne Group just gave us a lot of money. If another batch of people dies, even just one or two, Mr. Wayne might feel his donation went down the drain. We have to 'show' that we take this highly seriously!"
"Secondly, haven't you noticed? There are more and more lunatics in Gotham now, especially cults. Unlike the mob, they don't want business or territory; they just want pure destruction.
We have to snuff them out early. Otherwise, when they snowball, it might become uncontrollable."
"True." Bob pondered for a moment. "From that hot-sauce-spraying clown to the cloaked freak, and now this… cult. Damn it, cheating millions out of a bunch of idiots so easily!
I hate things that make money I can't make the most! This isn't an ordinary lunatic; we have to strike hard!"
"Wise decision!"
"Speak. How do you plan to do it?"
"Send the officers out, increase patrol density—especially in the wealthy and commercial districts. Set up more roadblocks for inspections. Even if it's just for show, our officers can handle that much."
Jay calculated, then spoke with some hesitation, "I have another idea…"
"Let's hear it." Bob stared at him with a cigarette in his mouth. "Your expression tells me it won't be a proper idea."
"Well… what these lunatics are destroying is the order of Gotham City. If the order is completely destroyed, it's not just the officials and ordinary citizens who suffer, right?"
"You want to bring the mob into this?" Bob looked at Jay with piercing eyes. "That is a dangerous idea, and a dangerous method. If it leaks, just thinking about the newspaper headlines is enough to make you shudder."
"But catching these lunatics is too dangerous. Especially those cultists; they usually don't fear death and have no brains at all! If our men go to collect information and intel, they might just die silently somewhere."
Jay pointed outside. "Even though they're pretty rotten… they are still colleagues. This kind of dangerous work should be left to the scum of the streets. It doesn't matter if they die."
Bob's fingers tapped gently on the desktop. It wasn't until the entire cigarette had burned down and the ash fell onto the table that he snapped out of it.
He whispered to Jay:
"Handle it carefully. Anything that shouldn't remain… fill the bottom of the Gotham River with it afterwards—the fish there are especially fat…"
——————
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