"For the reasons stated above, the prosecution's motion to dismiss the charges is hereby granted."
The judge's voice echoed through the small courtroom.
"It is therefore ordered as follows."
"One: The murder conviction of the defendant, Otis Flannagan, is vacated."
"Two: All charges against the defendant, Otis Flannagan, are dismissed, and no further prosecution shall be permitted."
"Three: Blackgate Penitentiary shall immediately release the defendant, Otis Flannagan. His detention is null and void as of the date this order is signed."
"Four: This order is final."
A copy of the ruling made its way from hand to hand around Marco's office before finally returning to Otis. The man had dark circles under his eyes so deep they looked like bruises.
Marco tapped the morning newspaper spread across his desk. The front page featured Bob speaking to reporters.
"I heard you were bawling your eyes out at the hearing yesterday afternoon. So loud the judge nearly had you locked up again for contempt. Look at this. The chief stole all your thunder. 'Saving every lost soul,' I didn't know he had that kind of poetic flair in him."
"I just got too emotional." Otis laughed, embarrassed. He gently folded the ruling with trembling hands, tucking it into his inner pocket.
"Thank you, Captain. Thank you, everyone."
He suddenly bowed to Marco, then turned and bowed to Alan and the others gathered in the office. Darnell grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upright.
"A bow isn't gonna cut it. You're treating us to drinks. Big round, lots of them."
"No problem." Otis' face flushed. "Could we wait until I get my first paycheck next month?"
"You expect a guy with no paycheck to treat us?" Marco snorted. "And you're the only one who didn't pull his weight on this. You book the place, I'll reimburse it. But it'll have to wait, we've got enough trouble on our plate right now."
He clapped Alan on the shoulder. "You stay here. Keep an eye on him," he gestured toward Edward's workspace, "don't let him work himself to death."
Then he pointed at Darnell. "Since you're so eager to hang around the station, go next door and keep an eye on the construction crew. Don't let them slack off. We need the forensics and medical examiner departments up and running yesterday. Tell them I'll give everyone a two-hundred-dollar bonus for every day they finish ahead of schedule. And also—"
"Captain! Someone's here to see you!"
He looked toward the entrance. A limping figure was making his way into the precinct.
"Cobblepot."
He'd been expecting this. Just not quite so soon. And definitely not for the man to walk into the police station himself.
"Hey, everyone." Cobblepot raised a hand. "Captain Vitale. Don Falcone hopes we can work together and bring the criminals disrupting Gotham's order to justice as soon as possible."
"Yeah, that sounds about right." Marco smiled lightly as he stepped out of his office. He lowered his voice. "I'm guessing he doesn't trust you all that much. How'd you convince him to let you handle this?"
"Why don't you try guessing?" Cobblepot hobbled after him, chuckling under his breath.
"I'm guessing you played it clever. Recommended someone else, probably Zsasz. Don Falcone figured you were plotting something, maybe even planning a coup, so he shoved you out here instead just to keep you away from his operations."
Cobblepot's smile froze on his face. He followed Marco silently until they reached the parking lot. Then he sighed.
"You really shouldn't be this perceptive."
Marco blinked. "What?"
Perceptive? Him? In Gotham, where everyone had a PhD in manipulation, he was barely scraping by on street smarts.
"You were exactly right." Cobblepot's expression turned gloomy. "I suggested Zsasz lead the response team. Don Falcone rejected it immediately. Said he'd reached an understanding with you, no large-scale purge for now. So I'm here to assist... or rather, monitor the police investigation. Ah, thank you."
He ducked into the passenger seat of the Crown Victoria as Marco opened the door for him. "Why aren't we taking that big—"
He spread his arms wide, mimicking the Ford E350's size.
Marco closed the door and buckled his seatbelt. "I'm worried some people might get self-conscious if they see it. You've got Gordon's number, right?"
"Of course. He's a friend. He even saved my life once. I never forget that sort of thing." Cobblepot chuckled. "Want me to contact him for you?"
"Yeah. Tell him we're coming to see him. The East End can't handle this case alone. We'll meet in the central headquarters parking garage."
---
The Crown Victoria rolled over a small patch of half-dried oil and came to a steady stop in an empty space near the back wall.
Marco killed the engine. Silence filled the cabin, broken only by Cobblepot's breathing. He'd called Gordon, who had agreed to meet, but he'd spoken the entire time like he was talking to a suspect.
"I thought of him as a friend. He shouldn't have talked to me like that."
"I agree with you on that point." Marco rolled down the window and waved at the figure walking toward them between the parked cars. "Hey! Detective Gordon! Over here!"
"If Gotham had more reasonable officers like you," Cobblepot muttered, "law-abiding businessmen wouldn't be so misunderstood."
"Cut it out. You and 'law-abiding' don't belong in the same sentence." Marco opened his door and stepped out. "As for me, the law's a tool, not an ideal. Hey!"
He extended a hand to the approaching figure. "Good morning, Detective Gordon. I'm Captain Marco Vitale of the East End Precinct."
The pride in that introduction was so blatant even Cobblepot winced. But Gordon just smiled faintly, lifted the hem of his trench coat out of the way, and shook Marco's hand.
"James Gordon. I'm currently heading the Major Crimes Unit."
Marco's smile faltered for just a second.
You're leading Major Crimes now? Then what the hell was I bragging about?
He recovered quickly. "Where's the previous captain? Peter Grogan?"
"He said he hasn't been feeling well lately. Transferred to Homicide." Gordon looked resigned. He knew being put in charge at a time like this meant he was the designated scapegoat. "Anyway, forget that. You getting involved with him..."
He pointed at Cobblepot, who had just finished climbing out of the car.
"...eventually you'll land in trouble you can't get out of."
"It's fine. Mr. Cobblepot is a sensible partner. Don Falcone took a loss, he's obligated to check things out." Marco patted Cobblepot's shoulder. "Let's get to business. Done Falcone called you to his estate too, didn't he?"
"That's right." Gordon nodded. "I told him the police would catch the perpetrators. I also warned him not to act rashly. It won't do him any good."
Marco felt his blood pressure spike.
Seriously, man. Do you turn every conversation into a confrontation?
He took a breath and motioned toward the car. "Let's talk inside. We need to consolidate our leads."
---
"A disciplined group of masked gunmen. Well-armed. Leader's prone to violence. And now they're sitting on seven million in unmarked old bills."
Marco watched Gordon's reflection in the rearview mirror. The detective was sitting in the back seat.
"What else?"
"That's all I've seen so far," Gordon said. "'Get out of this city,' clearly they want to replace the Roman. That's a massive undertaking. Where did they get the manpower? The weapons? Who's Gotham's biggest arms trafficker?"
Both men immediately turned to look at Cobblepot in the passenger seat.
He raised his hands defensively. "It really wasn't me. I watched the footage too, half their guns were Eastern European models. Normally, they could have come from my inventory... I only manage business for Don Falcone, of course. But yesterday I checked all clients who bought Eastern European weapons in the past year. Their orders were small, and they all still have their stock. You know there hasn't been a gang war in Gotham lately."
He shrugged. "Maybe they brought the weapons into Gotham themselves?"
"War..."
Marco repeated the word, then suddenly turned to Cobblepot. "If you wanted to overthrow him and take his place, what would you do?"
"Why would I? I would never—"
"Enough. Please, just answer. I'm saying hypothetically. If you keep dodging, I'll make sure he thinks it's real."
"Okay, okay!" Cobblepot blurted out. "I'd start by provoking conflict between him and other gangs. Then I'd win over some of his men to support me."
"Conflict already exists," Marco murmured. "So the next step..."
"He wants to replace the Roman, which means he wants control," Gordon said from the back seat. "Next step is consolidating power."
"Consolidation and offense might happen together, but..."
Once again, both men turned to look at Cobblepot.
"He's going to come to you," Marco said quietly.
"Me?"
Cobblepot's eyes darted nervously. "Gentlemen, you want me to gather intel for you? We may be friends, but that's far too dangerous for a businessman like me."
"It won't be that simple," Marco shook his head. "Don't even think about negotiating terms. You have a reputation for being clever. He won't trust you. He'll only want you to supply him with weapons and ammo, not bring you into the fold. And if you refuse... He'll find a way to wipe out everyone in your bar."
"My bar..." Cobblepot forced a laugh. "Well, if he requires my services—"
"Not services. Submission."
Marco cut him off. "Think about those three guards. The ones who got captured alive. This guy's not the 'surrender and you're spared' type. Don Falcone might give you a second chance if you screw up, he'll just break your other leg, maybe a few ribs, teach you a lesson. But this new player?"
He leaned closer, making sure Cobblepot was looking him in the eye.
"He'll break every bone in your body. He'll torture you for information about Don Falcone's operations. Then he'll kill you, steal your inventory, and take over your contacts. You'll be a corpse in a dumpster, and he'll be running your business."
The car went silent.
"Don't even think about playing both sides," Marco said quietly. "And be very careful. Because you really don't want to pick the wrong one."