The road was still that same gravel path winding through the western suburbs, but the wind wasn't as cold as it had been last time. When Marco pulled up to the villa again, he noticed things had changed.
Inside, Falcone was reclining on the leather sofa in the center of the reception room, eyes closed, hands folded across his stomach. He looked like he was resting. But Marco knew better. The Roman never really rested.
Two months. That's all it had been since their last meeting. But Falcone looked older. The lines on his face had deepened. His hair was disheveled. That was what worried Marco the most. Falcone letting his appearance slip meant he was rattled.
The sound of footsteps made Falcone open his eyes. He straightened up slowly, and in that single motion, the tired old man vanished. His gaze was sharp.
"Good to see you again, son. You're not the same man you were before."
"I got promoted. That's all."
Marco shrugged, but his attention wasn't on Falcone. It was on the floor. Unlike his last visit, there was a dark stain on the expensive handmade rug. He stepped around it and sat down across from the Roman.
Falcone watched him with a faint smile. "A small promotion. But an important one. Captain." He nodded slowly. "Well done. Very well done. Chief McGinnis told me he'd send his most capable man. I guessed it would be you."
He picked up a rough clay cup, and took a sip.
"I hope he wasn't exaggerating. Because in my experience, the price of incompetence is always very high."
Marco met his gaze. "The chief is a practical man, Don Falcone. Especially when it concerns the stability of the East End."
"Stability?" Falcone let out a soft laugh. "My vault was robbed. My men were slaughtered. And now someone tells me Gotham doesn't need me anymore. That I should 'get out of my own city.' Do you think that's what 'stability' looks like?"
"That's the destruction of stability." Marco leaned forward slightly. "Which is why I'm here. The people who did this... they're a threat to both the GCPD and to you. That makes them our common enemy."
"Pretty words. So tell me, how does your police department plan to deal with this 'common enemy'? Like you deal with street muggers? Issue a few warrants and wait ten years for a conviction?"
Falcone's eyes lost their warmth. What remained was empty.
"You can't do it. This is my wealth. My dignity. My city. I'll take it back myself."
He gestured, and Zsasz stepped forward from the shadows. Marco hadn't even noticed him standing there. Zsasz handed Falcone a VHS tape, which the Roman tossed into Marco's lap.
"This is my courtesy to the police. If you find any clues in the footage, you'll tell me immediately."
Marco caught the tape but didn't look at it. He kept his eyes on Falcone.
"I understand your urgency. But your methods will only make things worse. Right now, you've got armed men on every street corner. They're stopping people at random, beating anyone who looks suspicious. You're turning the whole city into a war zone."
"And?" Falcone's expression didn't change.
"And that's exactly what the people who hit you want. They're hoping you'll go to war with the GCPD. They're hoping you'll lose control. That's when they'll strike again."
Falcone stared at him for a long moment.
"What's your suggestion?"
"Give me time. Tell your people to pull back, not completely. You didn't build your empire through street violence and chaos. You built it through order. Someone just broke that order. So we work together to restore it."
The room went silent.
Finally, Falcone leaned back into the sofa. His face was unreadable.
"You speak well. And you're brave. I'll give you that. But I don't need words. I need results."
"You'll get results."
"Good." Falcone waved his hand dismissively, his gaze drifting toward the fireplace. "You can go. Remember, time is a luxury. And neither of us has much of it."
Marco stood but didn't move toward the door. "I'll watch the tape when I get back. But I have a few questions first."
Falcone's eyes narrowed slightly.
Marco held up the VHS tape. "The money that was stolen. What denominations?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I need to understand the situation. You're the victim, aren't you?"
Falcone watched him for several seconds. Then he spoke, "Most of it was unmarked bills, twenties and tens. Old notes, non-sequential. Some fifties and hundreds mixed in. The scene was cleaned out. They didn't leave a single bill behind."
Marco nodded slowly. "Not even one?"
"Not even one."
---
"Not a single bill left behind?"
"That's what he said."
Edward sat at his desk in the precinct's temporary forensics setup, really just a corner of the evidence room with a folding table and a desk lamp. He drummed his fingers on the table.
"Clean and disciplined. No amateur behavior like grabbing cash and throwing it around." He pulled out a notepad and started scribbling calculations. "Old bills... mostly small denominations... that's roughly three hundred kilograms. They'd need a vehicle to haul it out."
Marco blew on his tea, watching Ed work. "I watched the footage. They all wore matching masks. Looked like... I don't know, skulls maybe? Does that mean anything to you? Death, revenge, whatever. Think, Ed. This is what you're good at."
"You could at least—" Edward sighed. "Never mind. On the surface, yes, skulls suggest death or vengeance. But whether there's deeper symbolism, I'd need more evidence."
He flipped through the crime scene photos Marco had brought.
"The guards died badly. Five were killed during the firefight. But the other three..." He tapped a photo. "Captured alive. Died from severe blunt force trauma to the skull and internal organs. That tells us something important. Their leader is violent by nature. Sadistic, even. Someone like that usually had an unhappy childhood, long-term abuse, maybe neglect. Now he's cruel, bloodthirsty. He controls his crew through fear and efficiency." He looked up at Marco. "That's all I can profile with what we have."
"Damn." Marco gave him a thumbs-up. "That's impressive. If headquarters had you doing this earlier, GCPD would be top-ranked nationwide by now. So tell me, where do I go to catch these guys?"
"I'm not a magic eight ball." Edward smiled, but there was no humor in it. "But think about it. What will he do with seven million dollars? Blow it on drugs and hookers? I doubt it. Someone this organized and disciplined... he has a goal. An obsession. My guess? He'll use the money to recruit more people."
"Which means Falcone's people will have to do the legwork."
"Exactly."
Marco scratched his head. At least he hadn't promised Falcone a specific deadline. He stretched, stood up, and left the office. In the hallway, he pulled out his phone and called Darnell.
"Hey! Captain! You're not doing attendance checks, are you?"
"No. You heard about Falcone getting robbed, right?"
"Of course. Everyone's talking about it." The background noise on Darnell's end was chaotic. After a pause, probably after he found a quieter spot, he continued. "Want me to dig up some intel for you?"
"No. I want you to stay the hell away from it." Marco's voice was serious. "If anyone tries to pull you into this, you say no. Understand?"
"You're talking like someone's gonna die. What's going on?"
"The people who hit Falcone are extremely dangerous. Until you can draw your gun faster than they can, don't go anywhere near this. Best thing you can do is go home and stay there."
"Uh... relax, man. You know I don't go looking for trouble. But staying home? Forget it. I'm fine where I am."
"Then be careful."
Marco hung up and stood there for a moment, staring at the phone. Then he felt it, that strange sensation he hadn't experienced in a while. The system notification.
He grabbed two sheets of scrap paper from a nearby desk, ducked into the men's room, locked himself in a stall, and focused.
The words appeared in his mind:
[You have altered the fate of Otis Flannagan in a significant way. Skill Point +2.]
So Otis really did get his case overturned. Combined with the two points he'd saved from the Mooney and Fries incidents, that gave him four skill points total. He stared at the four cards floating in his mind. Finally, he invested one point into the Revolver card.
The card flipped over. A point of light in the swirling nebula behind it flared bright, expanded, and transformed into text:
[Lightning Draw:
Your draw speed surpasses everyone present, even the Flash would meet his match.
Base accuracy reduced by 40%]
[Progress Missions:
Draw weapon: 0/1000
Firearm shots: 0/1000]
[Complete all missions to increase skill level. Don't ask if it's accurate, ask if it's fast!]
Marco stared at the notification.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.
Okay. Trading accuracy for draw speed... was that even worth it? And he'd been so close to finishing his previous training regimen, and now he was stuck with shooting tasks again?
If this skill had shown up earlier, he could've saved... wait. No. He'd picked it himself. His choice.
He sighed and reluctantly invested another skill point into the Revolver card.
This time, the skill that appeared... was only half-visible.
[Skill Level: 2]
[Required Points: 1/2]
[*******************]
The rest was hidden.
"You've got to be shitting me."
This really was a trial version system.
He sat there, until he heard someone walk into the bathroom. He immediately shut up.
"Hey, Captain? You okay in there?"
"Uh... yeah. I'm fine. Toilet paper's just rough."
"I knew the precinct shouldn't be using that cheap single-ply crap. One poke and it tears. We should at least get Charmin or Cottonelle. I bet logistics is skimming money even off the toilet paper budget. You got us that free coffee machine, right? Honestly, you should handle the toilet paper procurement too—"
"How about you finish pissing and get out?"
"Alright, alright. Jeez."
The footsteps faded. Marco exhaled and reluctantly invested another skill point.
[Skill Level: 2]
[Required Points: 2/2]
[Bullseye:
Base accuracy +30%. Additional +10% within seven meters.]
[Progress Missions:
Successful firearm hits: 0/1000]
[Complete all missions to increase skill level. Beyond seven meters, you're fast. Within seven meters, you're fast AND accurate!]
Marco dragged his numb legs out of the stall. At least the shooting task would save him time and money at the range. Not a total loss. He had one skill point left. He decided to hold onto it. Not having something in reserve made him uneasy.
The cooldown for Hammer of God had reset too.
He crumpled the paper in his hand and tossed it into the trash. If a fight was coming, then a fight was coming. It didn't matter who the target was.